We’ve had a turbulent relationship over the years; you with your boobies and your anxieties, us with our penises and our flatulence. But even though we’ve come a long way (remember when we wouldn’t let you vote? Awkward…), there are still some things holding us back from being truly at peace with one another. We are therefore writing this letter to you in the hope that we can move on from all that nonsense that happened in the past and value each other as equals in this mixed-up planet we call Earth.
Firstly, we must thank all of you for occasionally having sex with us. We enjoy sex. We enjoy sex so much that we are almost always ready to engage in it, no matter where we are or who we are with. Even if we don’t appear to be physically ready for sex, we are mentally ready for it; if our erection isn’t visible on the outside, just know that we are wearing it on the inside – imagine a brain-erection, if you will. Our brains are hard for you.
Unfortunately, our need to acquire the aforementioned sex often gets in the way of our principles, thus leading us to do some very peculiar things in the vein hope of weaselling our way into a vagina. One of those peculiar things is the unspoken rule that around 40% of our bank balance must be dedicated to the acquisition of sex. This doesn’t mean that we are paying for prostitutes (although in some cases it could be said that doing so would be a more fiscally responsible endeavour), but that we are purchasing enough food, clothes, jewellery and cinema tickets for a female that one day she will think to herself “he’s bought me enough shit now, maybe I should let him touch me”.
In years to come we may place this social practise under the same banner of inequality as our not allowing you to vote (again, sorry about that), but as of this moment in time we are still under the impression that there are only three ways to convince you that sleeping with us is a good idea:
1: We must pay for your meal at a restaurant.
2: We must be handsome.
3: We must be famous.
As the last two require us to either go under the knife or become talented, it is therefore a lot easier for us to simply treat you to a disappointing trip to Pizza Express. However, if this trend of us paying for you continues, there is a worrying chance that society may soon play out like Channel 4 documentary Sex, Lies & Rinsing Guys, where all the females become nothing more than humanoid walking handbags, having their existences afforded to them by wealthy businessmen hunched over a laptop, wanking.
Of course, you could argue that it is our own fault for allowing ourselves to be used in such a manner, but as previously mentioned many of the decisions we make are made in order to finally reach the dangling carrot that is sex. As the responsible adults in this situation, females should slap us on the wrists when we reach into our wallets in order to pay for tickets to whichever movie Heat magazine has told you to watch, and reprimand us for attempting to buy your affection.
Once we have somehow managed to have sex with you there lies another point of contention: cuddling. If we somehow seem distant from you after we have finished all the sex, you may feel disheartened as we now seem disinterested in you and are unwilling to spend the next few hours cuddling in bed like all those romantic-comedies told you we would, but fear not – just because we don’t want to spend the duration of our Saturday evening spooning you does not mean that we no longer find you attractive.
The reasoning behind our sudden lack of enthusiasm is actually far more depressing. Once a male has ejaculated (or “came” if you want to keep this informal), he suddenly feels an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and regret. As he watches all those little white beads of joy shoot forth from his man-cannon, he is suddenly struck by the thought that anything he does in life from that point on will never compare to the feeling of putting his penis inside a female. It’s a grim thought but that’s just the way the male mind works, so I’m sure you can forgive us if we don’t feel like cuddling after coming to this realisation.
Our last but equally as important complaint is that having sex with you is oftentimes like having sex with you and all of your friends at the same time – and not in a good way. While we have been led to believe from that one Sex & The City episode that we watched that a woman’s relationship with her friends thrives on sharing intimate details of every sexual encounter they’ve ever had, we’re not entirely comfortable with Natalie knowing the exact size of our testicles.
So there you have it. We hope that after reading this letter you can somewhat understand the male condition, and perhaps at least reach inside your handbag the next time you drag us to a screening of a Zac Efron movie.