I don't know if I am being terrible romantic about my youth, but I don't remember being particularly attracted to men just because they had no shirts on. For one thing, men didn't go around without shirts a lot, except at the beach or by the swimming pool, or when mowing their lawns, and no-one looks his best mowing a lawn. Equally, I thought young women who squealed, "Look at his a**!", were not merely crude but weird. I mean, what is the symbolic value of buttocks for young women? Honestly. For older women, I suppose they might be an indicator of virile youth versus flat or saggy old age. As a young women, I personally was all about clothes and animated faces. [Long and embarrassing reminiscence edited.] Where was I?
Oh yes. Shirtlessness. So the other day I was walking along the beach with my friend and her new baby. It was a warm, windy day, one of those rare warm Edinburgh days when the beach is crowded with families and naked white babies and fourteen year olds in bikinis and gangs of youths. Almost nobody ventures into the actual Forth to swim because no matter how warm the sand is, the Forth is COLD. And often dirty. So I was surprised to see a gang of shirtless youths in bathing trunks swaggering towards us. Were they perhaps going to the swimming baths?
And then a funny thing happened. The swaggering youths no longer had heads. They were all naked chests. A vast magnetic smorgasbord of naked human torsos, without personality. In a panic, I forced my eyes away, and the torsos sauntered by. I looked back and they had their heads again. Goodness knows how old they were. Nineteen? I hope nineteen. They were pretty hairless.
It was a bit unnerving, but I put it out of my head until the next day when I was on the Rough Bus and teenage girls in incredibly skimpy clothing got on at the suburban shopping mall. The coltish girl in front was wearing a tiny halter shop and short snorts and actually looked very good in her outfit, if also seriously unsupervised, unlike her chubbier (but not actually fat) friends. I gloomy composed the aphorism "If you look great in a bikini, you're probably too young to wear it."
Then it occurred to me that the contrast of my reaction to mostly naked boy teengers was completely different from my reaction to these mostly naked girl teenagers: grudging admiration and pity for the later, and I don't know WHAT for the former. Feeling attracted, completely against my will, to multiple bare chested swaggering guys who could have been anybody felt super-creepy, and I didn't like it. So I told B.A. all about it.
B.A. was sitting under the portico of the Historical House with a beer and the Times Literary Supplement. He was wearing a shirt.
"Yes, well, now you know what men go through," said B.A. cheerfully. "We get used to it."
"UGH!" I said. "BLAH! I don't like it. Maybe it's because I'm growing old. Testosterone is kicking in! WAAAAHHHH!"
Showing posts with label Sexuality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sexuality. Show all posts
Saturday, 26 July 2014
Thursday, 20 February 2014
Virgin-Shaming
A Single reader with a boyfriend sent me this link, thinking it explained her office dynamic. Further questioning revealed that the most recent conversation about her chaste relationship with her boyfriend was mostly just her colleague putting her foot in it, e.g. "So are you and your boyfriend going away for the weekend? Why not? Doesn't he stay over? He doesn't? Why not?"
I don't work in an office, and thank heavens, for offices feature bored female administrative assistants who long to win the lottery and get the heck out. The gossip and tittle-tattle and attempts to divert oneself with the personal lives or emotional reactions of others are just soul-killing. It's one reason why I worked so hard to get into a PhD program; one slip in my grades, I felt, and I'd be back in the file room. (I should state, however, that I have warm memories of the women in the file room of the ODSP, who taught me a lot about humility and getting along with others.)
Young people often lack the calm confidence of the middle-aged, taking refuge in frightened anger or in-your-face bravado when someone treads on your toes. But in the West all kinds of laws have been passed to prevent harassment of women in the workplace, and these apply not only to men but to other women. It is not okay for people at work to give you a hard time about your sexual choices or to pry into your personal life. However, you are still the one primarily responsible for protecting your private life. You can't just call up HR the minute someone says, "So are you and your honey going away for the weekend?"
The way to take such a question, which 90% of the time is just as friendly attempt at passing some time, is lightly and in the spirit it is meant. "Nah, we'll kick back here, maybe see a movie" is an excellent response, and may lead the conversation right to the safe territory of movies.
Of course, 10% of the time, the question will be part of an office lady plot to find out your business, possibly because you have said something imprudent that put you on the "This girl is different" radar. Unless you are self-employed like Saint Paul, making tents beside the stall of your neighbour the spice peddler, mentioning topics like chastity at work is a bad idea. Just mentioning that you have a boyfriend is a bad idea, unless directly asked. But remember that at all times you are allowed to subtly change the subject. Throw your questioner a tidbit: "Yeah. Rob's really into film." If Rob's into film, you can change the subject to film EVERY time anyone asks anything personal. "What are you and Rob doin' tonight?" "Ah, probably watching a film." Make old Rob sound cozy and predictable, and everyone will assume you're "just normal," whatever "just normal" means to them.
Of course, if there is a real problem, with jerks making fun of you and your sexual choice not to have sex, then it may very well be time to go to your manager or Human Resources. Say you don't push your religion on anyone, and you are sick of people pushing their sexual beliefs on you and humiliating you for your choices. Nobody should be sexually harassed at work. Ever. By anyone.
Update: Thanks to the reader who linked to this in the combox. It's pretty good. In fact, when I think about the girls who gave B.A. a hard time for, well, being B.A., not their idea of who B.A. SHOULD be, I also conclude that they were idiots. However, I'm grateful that they WERE idiots, because that meant they left B.A. for me. Yay, them!
I don't work in an office, and thank heavens, for offices feature bored female administrative assistants who long to win the lottery and get the heck out. The gossip and tittle-tattle and attempts to divert oneself with the personal lives or emotional reactions of others are just soul-killing. It's one reason why I worked so hard to get into a PhD program; one slip in my grades, I felt, and I'd be back in the file room. (I should state, however, that I have warm memories of the women in the file room of the ODSP, who taught me a lot about humility and getting along with others.)
Young people often lack the calm confidence of the middle-aged, taking refuge in frightened anger or in-your-face bravado when someone treads on your toes. But in the West all kinds of laws have been passed to prevent harassment of women in the workplace, and these apply not only to men but to other women. It is not okay for people at work to give you a hard time about your sexual choices or to pry into your personal life. However, you are still the one primarily responsible for protecting your private life. You can't just call up HR the minute someone says, "So are you and your honey going away for the weekend?"
The way to take such a question, which 90% of the time is just as friendly attempt at passing some time, is lightly and in the spirit it is meant. "Nah, we'll kick back here, maybe see a movie" is an excellent response, and may lead the conversation right to the safe territory of movies.
Of course, 10% of the time, the question will be part of an office lady plot to find out your business, possibly because you have said something imprudent that put you on the "This girl is different" radar. Unless you are self-employed like Saint Paul, making tents beside the stall of your neighbour the spice peddler, mentioning topics like chastity at work is a bad idea. Just mentioning that you have a boyfriend is a bad idea, unless directly asked. But remember that at all times you are allowed to subtly change the subject. Throw your questioner a tidbit: "Yeah. Rob's really into film." If Rob's into film, you can change the subject to film EVERY time anyone asks anything personal. "What are you and Rob doin' tonight?" "Ah, probably watching a film." Make old Rob sound cozy and predictable, and everyone will assume you're "just normal," whatever "just normal" means to them.
Of course, if there is a real problem, with jerks making fun of you and your sexual choice not to have sex, then it may very well be time to go to your manager or Human Resources. Say you don't push your religion on anyone, and you are sick of people pushing their sexual beliefs on you and humiliating you for your choices. Nobody should be sexually harassed at work. Ever. By anyone.
Update: Thanks to the reader who linked to this in the combox. It's pretty good. In fact, when I think about the girls who gave B.A. a hard time for, well, being B.A., not their idea of who B.A. SHOULD be, I also conclude that they were idiots. However, I'm grateful that they WERE idiots, because that meant they left B.A. for me. Yay, them!
Monday, 17 February 2014
Scandal and Perseverance
I had a wonderful Toronto weekend! On Saturday night I met my poet pal Clara for beer, read parts of her rather occult (!) new book, and went dancing at a Goth club, which I had not done in a year. I got home after 2 AM but was up again by 9 AM so as to be driven by an old friend--my prom date, in fact!--to Solemn High Mass at the Toronto Oratorians' Holy Family Church.
I had not been at the Extraordinary Form (or TLM, for short) since I arrived in Canada, and it was like running water to the panting deer. There were three priests at the altar and a men's schola (including Dominicans) plus organ behind me in the organ loft, and it was positively mesmerizing. I began to think I should have gone to confession beforehand, la la la. Was there still a priest behind me in the box? Oh there was. Hmm.... La, la, la. A priest in the sanctuary began to sing the Epistle. Oh, so beautiful!
Aaaagh! Conscience pricked by beauty, I click-clicked down the side aisle to the box and cast myself on my knees in the compartment of the box with the green light. The last time I was in that box I was given a hard time for not going to confession often enough. However, I would admit this again at once to whichever priest addressed me from the middle. I am not good at confession; I lack a proper sense of sin. I am an arrogant worm. Wah! I suck.
And five minutes later I was out of the box, and the schola was still singing the gradual, and my soul was clean and happy, and Mass was AWESOME.
And during Mass I meditated on the subject of scandal, and now-married women who had lived with their boyfriends, and naturally don't want to be thought ill of for their sins (who does?), versus Single women who so terribly want to find love but dread that they will have to sin to do it.
The fact is that we are all sinners. This is not a world of people who sin very rarely because there are so few sins, and those who commit those few sins (like rape) are irredeemable monsters. This is a world of sinners who sin all the time because we are fallen, and there are so many sins, and the world encourages those sins, either by making sin look glamorous ("This cake is sinfully good!") or by insisting that sin is not sin at all. For example, making out with a guy whom you do not intend to marry is a sin, however serious or venal a sin that might be. Don't marry the man if you don't want to. But do go to confession.
This reminds me that I got an email recently from a guy who was invited by a girl--a NCG, he believed--to make out with her, and then shortly thereafter, she dumped him. She wanted more experience before she settled down, blah blah blah. He had been a perfect gentleman, being chaste and not initiating couch snogging sessions, which had worried this girl, even though she was not actually in love with our Eavesdropper. (Eavesdroppers, though Eavesdroppers, are still OUR Eavesdroppers.) Well, excuse me, but her suggestion that they make out, when her intentions proved not to be honourable, was sinful. She used our Eavesdropper for thrills, or made out with him as a kind of test drive, and that was bad behaviour. Not only did she owe him an apology, she owed one to our Lord and Saviour.
Incidentally, I know some readers think I am out to lunch on the doctrine of "making out is a sin" which is why I bring it up yet again. When I was twenty, I agonized over "How far can we go?" and no priest actually said. Life experience leads me to think "how far can we go" for Singles means a brief and chaste kiss-on-the-lips. And, yes, making out with an attractive man you have a crush on is one of the most intoxicating things on earth, sweeter than wine. But too bad. Fiancés (the REAL kind, with a wedding date) and husbands only. Meanwhile I know a girl who didn't kiss her fiancé on the lips until they were actually married. (His idea.)
And what dread punishment will fall upon you in this life if you make out regardless? Very likely--NOTHING. Zip. Zero. Nada. The problem with chastity education which harps on all the horrible things that can happen to you if you just go ahead and commit sexual sins is that the horrible things do not always happen. You go to college in fear and trembling for "the girls who do" and--surprise--they all seem happy and confident. Some of them are faking their happiness and confidence, of course, but others are not. Some of them are shallow, sure. But some of them are deep. Some of them ponder for a day or weeks or even months if they should sleep with their suitor Such-and-Such, and contemplate if he is "responsible" and take all "responsible" precautions, and initiate a sexual relationship with him, and eventually move in with him, and marry him five years later, maybe in church, and have his baby two years later. Everyone is happy, and nobody--certainly not me--doubts that this family is a pillar of the community and the hope of the future.
"Well!" our sheltered Catholic girl might think. "I have been lied to by my chastity educators! Sod this for a lark, I am getting drunk and letting nature take its course."
WHAM! She gets pregnant. Or an STD. Or a broken heart. Or PTSD after a string of badly-thought out sexual relationships leave her a wreck. Because too many sheltered Catholic girls are all-or-nothing kind of people, unlike their often more sensible if invincibly ignorant non-Catholic friends, who at least think very hard and discuss it with their mother or best friends before they jump in the sack, at least for their first sexual relationship. Because God allows bad things to happen to some and not to others. And this is why it is absolutely terrible for married-or-partnered women to reveal their sexual sins without a trace of remorse. They are a scandal to their weaker sisters, and by weaker I do not mean morally weaker, but the socially weaker vulnerable Single women.
Sin is not always punished in this life; there is this place called hell, or if that is too awful to contemplate right now, this place called Purgatory. Sure, there is sacramental confession, thanks be to God, but it only works if you are SORRY for your sins, and actually recognize that your sins are sins. So the repentant Magdalene weeping in the confessional may actually have the advantage over the blissfully ignorant and happy equivalent-to-married mother of three. And, as we read in Graham Greene's The Power and the Glory, feeling repentant for the sins that conceive your beloved out-of-wedlock children is a problem.
I'm not writing this to beat up on sexual sinners, especially as I am one myself, as I imagine so are most of you, if only in a venial way. Among my friends is a happy-go-lucky gay guy, and my imagination just does not go through THAT door. I don't "judge" him--though if he ever were to asked me what I thought of Sin X or Sin Y, I would certainly tell him--I just pray for him, the dear man.
No, I'm writing this to suggest that sexual sinners who, thanks to God's mercy, don't suffer any adverse affects in this life from our sins not spread this news to vulnerable, innocent, virgin women who are terribly, TERRIBLY tempted to give into their sexual desires, in part because sexual desire is one of the strongest forces on earth, and in part because they are told they will "never get a boyfriend" or "never get married" unless they do. Reflecting comfortably on sexual sin, past or present, from a position of social strength--e.g. a great, loving, marital relationship--is a scandal, a stumbling block, to Single women. It can really hurt them.
I had not been at the Extraordinary Form (or TLM, for short) since I arrived in Canada, and it was like running water to the panting deer. There were three priests at the altar and a men's schola (including Dominicans) plus organ behind me in the organ loft, and it was positively mesmerizing. I began to think I should have gone to confession beforehand, la la la. Was there still a priest behind me in the box? Oh there was. Hmm.... La, la, la. A priest in the sanctuary began to sing the Epistle. Oh, so beautiful!
Aaaagh! Conscience pricked by beauty, I click-clicked down the side aisle to the box and cast myself on my knees in the compartment of the box with the green light. The last time I was in that box I was given a hard time for not going to confession often enough. However, I would admit this again at once to whichever priest addressed me from the middle. I am not good at confession; I lack a proper sense of sin. I am an arrogant worm. Wah! I suck.
And five minutes later I was out of the box, and the schola was still singing the gradual, and my soul was clean and happy, and Mass was AWESOME.
And during Mass I meditated on the subject of scandal, and now-married women who had lived with their boyfriends, and naturally don't want to be thought ill of for their sins (who does?), versus Single women who so terribly want to find love but dread that they will have to sin to do it.
The fact is that we are all sinners. This is not a world of people who sin very rarely because there are so few sins, and those who commit those few sins (like rape) are irredeemable monsters. This is a world of sinners who sin all the time because we are fallen, and there are so many sins, and the world encourages those sins, either by making sin look glamorous ("This cake is sinfully good!") or by insisting that sin is not sin at all. For example, making out with a guy whom you do not intend to marry is a sin, however serious or venal a sin that might be. Don't marry the man if you don't want to. But do go to confession.
This reminds me that I got an email recently from a guy who was invited by a girl--a NCG, he believed--to make out with her, and then shortly thereafter, she dumped him. She wanted more experience before she settled down, blah blah blah. He had been a perfect gentleman, being chaste and not initiating couch snogging sessions, which had worried this girl, even though she was not actually in love with our Eavesdropper. (Eavesdroppers, though Eavesdroppers, are still OUR Eavesdroppers.) Well, excuse me, but her suggestion that they make out, when her intentions proved not to be honourable, was sinful. She used our Eavesdropper for thrills, or made out with him as a kind of test drive, and that was bad behaviour. Not only did she owe him an apology, she owed one to our Lord and Saviour.
Incidentally, I know some readers think I am out to lunch on the doctrine of "making out is a sin" which is why I bring it up yet again. When I was twenty, I agonized over "How far can we go?" and no priest actually said. Life experience leads me to think "how far can we go" for Singles means a brief and chaste kiss-on-the-lips. And, yes, making out with an attractive man you have a crush on is one of the most intoxicating things on earth, sweeter than wine. But too bad. Fiancés (the REAL kind, with a wedding date) and husbands only. Meanwhile I know a girl who didn't kiss her fiancé on the lips until they were actually married. (His idea.)
And what dread punishment will fall upon you in this life if you make out regardless? Very likely--NOTHING. Zip. Zero. Nada. The problem with chastity education which harps on all the horrible things that can happen to you if you just go ahead and commit sexual sins is that the horrible things do not always happen. You go to college in fear and trembling for "the girls who do" and--surprise--they all seem happy and confident. Some of them are faking their happiness and confidence, of course, but others are not. Some of them are shallow, sure. But some of them are deep. Some of them ponder for a day or weeks or even months if they should sleep with their suitor Such-and-Such, and contemplate if he is "responsible" and take all "responsible" precautions, and initiate a sexual relationship with him, and eventually move in with him, and marry him five years later, maybe in church, and have his baby two years later. Everyone is happy, and nobody--certainly not me--doubts that this family is a pillar of the community and the hope of the future.
"Well!" our sheltered Catholic girl might think. "I have been lied to by my chastity educators! Sod this for a lark, I am getting drunk and letting nature take its course."
WHAM! She gets pregnant. Or an STD. Or a broken heart. Or PTSD after a string of badly-thought out sexual relationships leave her a wreck. Because too many sheltered Catholic girls are all-or-nothing kind of people, unlike their often more sensible if invincibly ignorant non-Catholic friends, who at least think very hard and discuss it with their mother or best friends before they jump in the sack, at least for their first sexual relationship. Because God allows bad things to happen to some and not to others. And this is why it is absolutely terrible for married-or-partnered women to reveal their sexual sins without a trace of remorse. They are a scandal to their weaker sisters, and by weaker I do not mean morally weaker, but the socially weaker vulnerable Single women.
Sin is not always punished in this life; there is this place called hell, or if that is too awful to contemplate right now, this place called Purgatory. Sure, there is sacramental confession, thanks be to God, but it only works if you are SORRY for your sins, and actually recognize that your sins are sins. So the repentant Magdalene weeping in the confessional may actually have the advantage over the blissfully ignorant and happy equivalent-to-married mother of three. And, as we read in Graham Greene's The Power and the Glory, feeling repentant for the sins that conceive your beloved out-of-wedlock children is a problem.
I'm not writing this to beat up on sexual sinners, especially as I am one myself, as I imagine so are most of you, if only in a venial way. Among my friends is a happy-go-lucky gay guy, and my imagination just does not go through THAT door. I don't "judge" him--though if he ever were to asked me what I thought of Sin X or Sin Y, I would certainly tell him--I just pray for him, the dear man.
No, I'm writing this to suggest that sexual sinners who, thanks to God's mercy, don't suffer any adverse affects in this life from our sins not spread this news to vulnerable, innocent, virgin women who are terribly, TERRIBLY tempted to give into their sexual desires, in part because sexual desire is one of the strongest forces on earth, and in part because they are told they will "never get a boyfriend" or "never get married" unless they do. Reflecting comfortably on sexual sin, past or present, from a position of social strength--e.g. a great, loving, marital relationship--is a scandal, a stumbling block, to Single women. It can really hurt them.
Saturday, 15 February 2014
S. Faustino Day Reflections
Apparently in Italy today is a special day for Singles. I'm hoping that means chaste Singles, not the players who remain Single so as to sexually exploit as many other Singles as possible. (Incidentally, poor little Cupid!)
I spent yesterday A) at the passport office B) having a pedicure with a married friend and C)at the Seraphic Singles Toronto V-Day Meeting. Seven other ladies turned up; thank you, ladies! We sat in the café and chatted for two hours; next year I'm booking a table at a restaurant.
The passport office revealed no insights about Valentine's Day or Single life, although it revealed that my application was invalid because my signature touched the borders of the signature box. So I will be back at the passport office next week. Boo.
The pedicure revealed more truths about married-with-babies life. For example, a really great Valentine's Day gift a man can give his homemaker wife is permission to hire a babysitter for three hours so that she can go out and have a pedicure with her pal. Whoo-hoo! And the pedicure also revealed that the world is insane, for as I sat in the massage chair and had all that nasty boot-stained skin sloughed off my heels, I read in Elle magazine of a writer's panic when her daughter declared that she would not drink in high school. Without alcohol, worried the writer, how would her daughter ever have sex?
I had to blink. I wanted to shout, "What kind of mother ARE you?" at the magazine, but I was too shocked. Maybe I am really out of it, but is wanting your teenage daughter to drink so that she can force herself to have sex with teenage boys a thing now?
I brought this question to the meeting, and one reader revealed that she has a friend--an adult friend, a skilled professional--who hits the bottle so that she will be able to have sex with her dates.
"If she has to drink to force herself to have sex with her dates, why does she have sex with them?" I asked.
"She thinks she has to," said the reader.
She thinks she has to because the new "common sense" is that no man will marry you unless you have sex with him first. This is, of course, the exact opposite of what all women were told until my lifetime, which was that no man will marry you if you DO have sex with him first. It's even in Shakespeare, in Ophelia's song about St. Valentine's Day.
The younger of the chaste Single ladies listened to this with obvious dread and told stories about how those friends who are now getting married, at age 27, 28, 29, have been living with their boyfriends for years. The implication seemed to be that these women were getting married BECAUSE they had agreed to live in sexually active relationships for years. But I disagree. I think these women delayed their wedding day for years because they were okay with it--or said they were.
We women hear so often that we have no power of our own, and that we have to seize the kinds of power that men technically have. Grrl Power doesn't mean turning heads with a pretty dress or delicious perfume, or winning hearts with gentle, kindly actions, but with arresting attention with a loud voice, jarring clothes, a scowling face, violent fists, drunken bravado, or barbaric, vulgar actions, like exposing one's breasts to shock and mock men's primary weakness. We lose sight of the fact that we do have power, not just over men's sexual instincts, but over their hearts. We have the power to wound, and not understanding this, wound we do.
Men fall in love, and when they fall in love they are respectful of the wishes of the women they love because they want the women to love them back. Unless they have very strong religious views about chastity and self-control, they welcome the opportunity to have sexual relations because sexual relations make them feel good, but not at the cost of losing the women they love. "I don't want to put pressure on you," is a standard male line, but the ones in love really mean it. In truly loving relationships, it is the woman who calls the sexual shots. Catholic girls who are having sex with their boyfriends and fiancés (or "fiancés") have chosen to do so. They have chosen to live in an unstable para-marital union instead of saying "I love you with all my heart, and I think we should reserve sex and living together for Christian marriage." And the men, either happily or guiltily, have gone along with it.
That is why the idea of women drinking so that they can force themselves to have sex with men is so damned tragic. It is wrong on so many levels. What man would feel flattered by a woman thinks she has to give her body to him and yet is so unenthusiastic about the prospect that she gets drunk first? His feelings are not likely to be affection or even gratitude but disappointment and contempt. But unless his conscience overrides his sexual impulses, sure, he'll "hit it".
I used to be a boxer, and I was really strong for a woman. I was feisty and brave and a crazy woman terrorizing a shopkeeper backed off when I looked at her because I was ready to pound her to the ground and she knew it. But this power was miniscule to the power I have in relation to the men in my life. And this is not power over, mind you. This is power FOR. Power should never be OVER other people, but FOR other people. But I think that's a topic that deserves a whole post for itself.
Any more Operation Valentinus stories to relate?
I spent yesterday A) at the passport office B) having a pedicure with a married friend and C)at the Seraphic Singles Toronto V-Day Meeting. Seven other ladies turned up; thank you, ladies! We sat in the café and chatted for two hours; next year I'm booking a table at a restaurant.
The passport office revealed no insights about Valentine's Day or Single life, although it revealed that my application was invalid because my signature touched the borders of the signature box. So I will be back at the passport office next week. Boo.
The pedicure revealed more truths about married-with-babies life. For example, a really great Valentine's Day gift a man can give his homemaker wife is permission to hire a babysitter for three hours so that she can go out and have a pedicure with her pal. Whoo-hoo! And the pedicure also revealed that the world is insane, for as I sat in the massage chair and had all that nasty boot-stained skin sloughed off my heels, I read in Elle magazine of a writer's panic when her daughter declared that she would not drink in high school. Without alcohol, worried the writer, how would her daughter ever have sex?
I had to blink. I wanted to shout, "What kind of mother ARE you?" at the magazine, but I was too shocked. Maybe I am really out of it, but is wanting your teenage daughter to drink so that she can force herself to have sex with teenage boys a thing now?
I brought this question to the meeting, and one reader revealed that she has a friend--an adult friend, a skilled professional--who hits the bottle so that she will be able to have sex with her dates.
"If she has to drink to force herself to have sex with her dates, why does she have sex with them?" I asked.
"She thinks she has to," said the reader.
She thinks she has to because the new "common sense" is that no man will marry you unless you have sex with him first. This is, of course, the exact opposite of what all women were told until my lifetime, which was that no man will marry you if you DO have sex with him first. It's even in Shakespeare, in Ophelia's song about St. Valentine's Day.
The younger of the chaste Single ladies listened to this with obvious dread and told stories about how those friends who are now getting married, at age 27, 28, 29, have been living with their boyfriends for years. The implication seemed to be that these women were getting married BECAUSE they had agreed to live in sexually active relationships for years. But I disagree. I think these women delayed their wedding day for years because they were okay with it--or said they were.
We women hear so often that we have no power of our own, and that we have to seize the kinds of power that men technically have. Grrl Power doesn't mean turning heads with a pretty dress or delicious perfume, or winning hearts with gentle, kindly actions, but with arresting attention with a loud voice, jarring clothes, a scowling face, violent fists, drunken bravado, or barbaric, vulgar actions, like exposing one's breasts to shock and mock men's primary weakness. We lose sight of the fact that we do have power, not just over men's sexual instincts, but over their hearts. We have the power to wound, and not understanding this, wound we do.
Men fall in love, and when they fall in love they are respectful of the wishes of the women they love because they want the women to love them back. Unless they have very strong religious views about chastity and self-control, they welcome the opportunity to have sexual relations because sexual relations make them feel good, but not at the cost of losing the women they love. "I don't want to put pressure on you," is a standard male line, but the ones in love really mean it. In truly loving relationships, it is the woman who calls the sexual shots. Catholic girls who are having sex with their boyfriends and fiancés (or "fiancés") have chosen to do so. They have chosen to live in an unstable para-marital union instead of saying "I love you with all my heart, and I think we should reserve sex and living together for Christian marriage." And the men, either happily or guiltily, have gone along with it.
That is why the idea of women drinking so that they can force themselves to have sex with men is so damned tragic. It is wrong on so many levels. What man would feel flattered by a woman thinks she has to give her body to him and yet is so unenthusiastic about the prospect that she gets drunk first? His feelings are not likely to be affection or even gratitude but disappointment and contempt. But unless his conscience overrides his sexual impulses, sure, he'll "hit it".
I used to be a boxer, and I was really strong for a woman. I was feisty and brave and a crazy woman terrorizing a shopkeeper backed off when I looked at her because I was ready to pound her to the ground and she knew it. But this power was miniscule to the power I have in relation to the men in my life. And this is not power over, mind you. This is power FOR. Power should never be OVER other people, but FOR other people. But I think that's a topic that deserves a whole post for itself.
Any more Operation Valentinus stories to relate?
Tuesday, 26 November 2013
Becoming Attracted to the Right Men
This is not a chastity lecture, and thank heavens because I don't like giving chastity lectures. This is also not a learned talk on sexuality because I am not qualified. (I got a good grade in my Sexual Ethics course, though.) It is definitely not a Grade A piece of theological work to which a bishop would stamp his imprimatur. However, it is an observation that you may have sexual tendencies that aren't helping you be the best woman you can be and you can change them. Some of them anyway. Perhaps gradually.
Sexual attraction has been the dominant religion of the Western world since 1963, and the television is its prophet. I heard a woman state quite happily on the television the other night that without the bisexual "Captain Jack" character on Russell T. Davies' 21st century take on "Doctor Who", British people would not be so supportive of "same-sex marriage." I don't know if "Will & Grace" was broadcast in Britain, but if it is true that television has such an effect on the British mind, I think "Will and Grace" might have a prior claim. "Doctor Who", incidentally, is still considered a children's show. It isn't--it has been stolen by grown-ups for grown-ups who loved it as children--but dashing Captain Jack and his dirty flirty talk was broadcast long before 9 PM all the same. As the fan enthused, the children of Britain saw Captain Jack, an exciting adventurous character they acted out in the schoolyards, kiss the Doctor passionately on the lips. There's no going back!
Incidentally, the Members of Scottish Parliament have voted in large numbers for the redefinition of marriage, and one of the few brave MSPs to vote against it wants assurances that Christian dissenters will not be punished, e.g. forbidden to foster or adopt children. This is a good idea because if the history of Scotland shows us anything, it is that those in the ruling-class religion persecute those in the larger minority religions. The Catholics oppressed the early Protestants. Then the Anglicans oppressed the Catholics and the Presbyterians. Then the Presbyterians oppressed the Anglicans and, until the 1980s, the Catholics. And my guess is that the newly ruling Sexual Attractarians will have all our guts for garters.
This adds spice to my mild observations that unbridled sexual attraction is not in itself a wonderful thing but fortunately you are in charge.
Reader Margaret asked about her tendency not to feel sexually attracted to anyone to whom she is not emotionally connected. My first thoughts were that this was wonderfully lucky and mature, and St. Augustine of Hippo is rejoicing for such a prelapsarian connection between reason and sexuality. But then Margaret mentioned that it has led her to become attracted to men with SSA. Well, depending on how deep-seated those SSA are, that's a recipe for disappointment and diminished self-confidence.
Interestingly, although Margaret laudably refused to define those men by an orientation label, she applied two to herself: demiromantic and demisexual. I looked these up on the internet, and the first thing I found was this. Whoever runs this website, he has a vested interest in categorizing and defining people by their sexual attractions. But Margaret doesn't have to define herself according to hers. She is she, unique and loved by God. And she might be happier if, instead of getting annoyed when a relative stranger gives her flowers, she appreciates how pretty the flowers are and that this man spent his own money on something he thought she would like. Unless he is an utter ass, he doesn't expect her love in return: just her good opinion of his gift.
Being annoyed by normal nice male behaviour was, unfortunately, a tendency I had to get over myself once upon a time.
When I look back over my own attractions, which began with a cartoon mouse when I was five or so, I see that they were random and irrational, and had little to do with who the people were, or their existence outside my blinding imagination. This may have been "normal", but it did not make me happy. Let's see. There was a small boy with very long, dark eyelashes who didn't like me at all. Then there was Frodo Baggins. Then there was a blond boy who, in hindsight, had the peevish expression of a Canada goose and didn't like me either. And there was a dark-eyed redhead with bunny teeth; he didn't like me. There was Prince Edward--then a blond university student whom, of course, I never met. There was a female camp counsellor--she had to give me a sort of Talk. All that was before high school, although my love for my camp counsellor continued into my first months of high school.
High school memory reveals another depressing list of random and irrational crushes on boys who had no interest in me. Really, I'm amazed at my almost total lack of analytical ability and understanding of the male psyche. When a nice boy in whom I had no interest showed interest in me, I was terribly annoyed. How dare he? I had courtship backwards, and when my mother tried to explain to me that women are not supposed to court men, i.e. badger men until they magically fell in love with you, I thought she was behind the times. Ah ha ha ha.
By university I had sort of got the message. I went out out with guys who liked me and made the first "real move" and that I liked okay and thought were flattering and cute, if ultimately not who I was looking for. (Those sorts I continued to pursue in my irrational way.) This was not my finest hour, and to say I was careless with my new-found power is an understatement. Mea maxima culpa. Let's skip ahead a decade. La la la.
Okay, so by the time I was in my thirties, I was less attracted to men by what they looked like and SEEMED like and more attracted to them by how intelligent and fun they actually were. This was an advance, one that probably came naturally with age. The problem was, I got attached to them before I knew their core values or if we were at all compatible in the long term. Although I had been burned horribly by marrying a non-Catholic who by the time we married hated my Catholicism, I had not learned that I had to marry a Catholic. And not just any Catholic but a GOOD Catholic making a sincere and free effort to work out his salvation.
Many of you complain that good Catholic guys are boring. Well, I certainly thought the same. None of the ones I knew from undergrad days seemed to be interested in things I was interested in, and they also seemed terribly prim. But then I went to theology school, and I met absolutely fantastic, intelligent, cultured, non-prim Catholic men. And every last one was off the market because they were Jesuits.
But that didn't matter. Just associating with fantastic, intelligent, cultured, non-prim Catholic men reset my inner compass. By the time I graduated, I was no longer attracted to men just because they were at all handsome or because they were grad school material. They also had to be Catholic and good OR, to reflect on my amusing German mid-life crisis, Catholic and in theology school. And this, I am happy to say, is the tendency that still holds sway in my life, although it certainly does not rule my life.
I'm 39++ and married; sexual attraction is no longer such a big deal, at least, not compared to my concrete, him-and-me-alone marriage. And thank heavens. It's terribly inconvenient when you're married, not to mention when you start to look like a wrinkled apple or Gollum. (Why oh why do we not all turn into Helen Mirren, weep weep?)
Oh dear. This has turned out to be all about me. Well, what I wanted to say is that you are not helpless before your feelings of attraction for "the wrong kind of men" or feelings of repulsion for nice men who are actually interested in getting to know you better, as irrational as their interest may seem to you. I don't know about changing a deep-seated "orientation"--although I've definitely heard of gays and lesbians "going straight" and of straight women forming lesbian attachments--but I do know you can change your attitudes, both consciously and unconsciously, by intentionally associating with the right kind of men.
Incidentally, I no longer think those "prim" men of my undergrad days are so prim. Hanging out with the right sort of men helped me to see that male modesty is more likely to be prudence than neurosis. Falling in with the wrong kind of men can influence you, too. No doubt Captain Jack inspired a few curious boys to see what forcing a kiss on a boy as uninterested as the Doctor might be like.
EXCITING UPDATE: I now blog for Ignatius Press on Tuesdays. Look, look!
Sexual attraction has been the dominant religion of the Western world since 1963, and the television is its prophet. I heard a woman state quite happily on the television the other night that without the bisexual "Captain Jack" character on Russell T. Davies' 21st century take on "Doctor Who", British people would not be so supportive of "same-sex marriage." I don't know if "Will & Grace" was broadcast in Britain, but if it is true that television has such an effect on the British mind, I think "Will and Grace" might have a prior claim. "Doctor Who", incidentally, is still considered a children's show. It isn't--it has been stolen by grown-ups for grown-ups who loved it as children--but dashing Captain Jack and his dirty flirty talk was broadcast long before 9 PM all the same. As the fan enthused, the children of Britain saw Captain Jack, an exciting adventurous character they acted out in the schoolyards, kiss the Doctor passionately on the lips. There's no going back!
Incidentally, the Members of Scottish Parliament have voted in large numbers for the redefinition of marriage, and one of the few brave MSPs to vote against it wants assurances that Christian dissenters will not be punished, e.g. forbidden to foster or adopt children. This is a good idea because if the history of Scotland shows us anything, it is that those in the ruling-class religion persecute those in the larger minority religions. The Catholics oppressed the early Protestants. Then the Anglicans oppressed the Catholics and the Presbyterians. Then the Presbyterians oppressed the Anglicans and, until the 1980s, the Catholics. And my guess is that the newly ruling Sexual Attractarians will have all our guts for garters.
This adds spice to my mild observations that unbridled sexual attraction is not in itself a wonderful thing but fortunately you are in charge.
Reader Margaret asked about her tendency not to feel sexually attracted to anyone to whom she is not emotionally connected. My first thoughts were that this was wonderfully lucky and mature, and St. Augustine of Hippo is rejoicing for such a prelapsarian connection between reason and sexuality. But then Margaret mentioned that it has led her to become attracted to men with SSA. Well, depending on how deep-seated those SSA are, that's a recipe for disappointment and diminished self-confidence.
Interestingly, although Margaret laudably refused to define those men by an orientation label, she applied two to herself: demiromantic and demisexual. I looked these up on the internet, and the first thing I found was this. Whoever runs this website, he has a vested interest in categorizing and defining people by their sexual attractions. But Margaret doesn't have to define herself according to hers. She is she, unique and loved by God. And she might be happier if, instead of getting annoyed when a relative stranger gives her flowers, she appreciates how pretty the flowers are and that this man spent his own money on something he thought she would like. Unless he is an utter ass, he doesn't expect her love in return: just her good opinion of his gift.
Being annoyed by normal nice male behaviour was, unfortunately, a tendency I had to get over myself once upon a time.
When I look back over my own attractions, which began with a cartoon mouse when I was five or so, I see that they were random and irrational, and had little to do with who the people were, or their existence outside my blinding imagination. This may have been "normal", but it did not make me happy. Let's see. There was a small boy with very long, dark eyelashes who didn't like me at all. Then there was Frodo Baggins. Then there was a blond boy who, in hindsight, had the peevish expression of a Canada goose and didn't like me either. And there was a dark-eyed redhead with bunny teeth; he didn't like me. There was Prince Edward--then a blond university student whom, of course, I never met. There was a female camp counsellor--she had to give me a sort of Talk. All that was before high school, although my love for my camp counsellor continued into my first months of high school.
High school memory reveals another depressing list of random and irrational crushes on boys who had no interest in me. Really, I'm amazed at my almost total lack of analytical ability and understanding of the male psyche. When a nice boy in whom I had no interest showed interest in me, I was terribly annoyed. How dare he? I had courtship backwards, and when my mother tried to explain to me that women are not supposed to court men, i.e. badger men until they magically fell in love with you, I thought she was behind the times. Ah ha ha ha.
By university I had sort of got the message. I went out out with guys who liked me and made the first "real move" and that I liked okay and thought were flattering and cute, if ultimately not who I was looking for. (Those sorts I continued to pursue in my irrational way.) This was not my finest hour, and to say I was careless with my new-found power is an understatement. Mea maxima culpa. Let's skip ahead a decade. La la la.
Okay, so by the time I was in my thirties, I was less attracted to men by what they looked like and SEEMED like and more attracted to them by how intelligent and fun they actually were. This was an advance, one that probably came naturally with age. The problem was, I got attached to them before I knew their core values or if we were at all compatible in the long term. Although I had been burned horribly by marrying a non-Catholic who by the time we married hated my Catholicism, I had not learned that I had to marry a Catholic. And not just any Catholic but a GOOD Catholic making a sincere and free effort to work out his salvation.
Many of you complain that good Catholic guys are boring. Well, I certainly thought the same. None of the ones I knew from undergrad days seemed to be interested in things I was interested in, and they also seemed terribly prim. But then I went to theology school, and I met absolutely fantastic, intelligent, cultured, non-prim Catholic men. And every last one was off the market because they were Jesuits.
But that didn't matter. Just associating with fantastic, intelligent, cultured, non-prim Catholic men reset my inner compass. By the time I graduated, I was no longer attracted to men just because they were at all handsome or because they were grad school material. They also had to be Catholic and good OR, to reflect on my amusing German mid-life crisis, Catholic and in theology school. And this, I am happy to say, is the tendency that still holds sway in my life, although it certainly does not rule my life.
I'm 39++ and married; sexual attraction is no longer such a big deal, at least, not compared to my concrete, him-and-me-alone marriage. And thank heavens. It's terribly inconvenient when you're married, not to mention when you start to look like a wrinkled apple or Gollum. (Why oh why do we not all turn into Helen Mirren, weep weep?)
Oh dear. This has turned out to be all about me. Well, what I wanted to say is that you are not helpless before your feelings of attraction for "the wrong kind of men" or feelings of repulsion for nice men who are actually interested in getting to know you better, as irrational as their interest may seem to you. I don't know about changing a deep-seated "orientation"--although I've definitely heard of gays and lesbians "going straight" and of straight women forming lesbian attachments--but I do know you can change your attitudes, both consciously and unconsciously, by intentionally associating with the right kind of men.
Incidentally, I no longer think those "prim" men of my undergrad days are so prim. Hanging out with the right sort of men helped me to see that male modesty is more likely to be prudence than neurosis. Falling in with the wrong kind of men can influence you, too. No doubt Captain Jack inspired a few curious boys to see what forcing a kiss on a boy as uninterested as the Doctor might be like.
EXCITING UPDATE: I now blog for Ignatius Press on Tuesdays. Look, look!
Thursday, 14 November 2013
First Boyfriend Worries
Being married and childless, I don't have much of an interest in chastity books and related materials. As far as I'm concerned, that's for Single people and worried parents. Of course I dimly recall all kinds of weird physical yearnings when I was a teenager that I wouldn't have talked about even if someone had put lit matches under my toenails. Fortunately my ancient family physician had warned me about the most dramatic evidences of said yearnings, so they didn't scare me to death.
But I have had an email from a reader who is kind of scared because now she has a boyfriend and although the boyfriend is a perfect gentleman, her physical reactions to him, whether he's there are not, are dramatic. So she asked me if there was some Catholic-positive book out there she could read, and I was stumped
Can you readers recommend any good Catholic (or completely non-ideological) books on sexual feelings and reactions? I don't think we're talking about Theology of the Body (or Bawdy, depending on how you feel about C.W.) as much as we are talking a down-to-earth, your body does this because, you feel that way because, sort of book, minus the yucky here's-how-you-insert-a-diaphragm illustrations.
One of the more annoying aspects of life is that chastity arguments sound laughably reasonable and noble, etc., etc., until you are in a mutually agreeable dating relationship. All kinds of absolutely delightful, pious girls go from "I would NEVER..." to "La dee dah, let's change the topic. I don't want to talk about it." I suspect this is because nobody tells us that making out is a gateway drug. MAKING-OUT IS A GATEWAY DRUG. It is not super-innocent like it appears in Archie comics. I don't care if everyone makes out. Everyone who gets the chance probably does make out. (Sudden hypocritical sadness at thought of high school crushes I didn't make out with. oh, now it's gone and I feel a sense of undeserved virtue.) However, making-out is not conducive to chastity. If someone asked ME "How far can we go?", I would say "Cheek-kissing, hugs and holding hands."
Was I that prudent before I got married? No. Am I sorry? Yes. You should all try to be better than me. Save more money, too. And wear sunscreen. And keep in mind that sex can give you cancer.
Anyway, the point of this post is helpful books for my reader. So if you can recommend one, please mention it in the combox.
But I have had an email from a reader who is kind of scared because now she has a boyfriend and although the boyfriend is a perfect gentleman, her physical reactions to him, whether he's there are not, are dramatic. So she asked me if there was some Catholic-positive book out there she could read, and I was stumped
Can you readers recommend any good Catholic (or completely non-ideological) books on sexual feelings and reactions? I don't think we're talking about Theology of the Body (or Bawdy, depending on how you feel about C.W.) as much as we are talking a down-to-earth, your body does this because, you feel that way because, sort of book, minus the yucky here's-how-you-insert-a-diaphragm illustrations.
One of the more annoying aspects of life is that chastity arguments sound laughably reasonable and noble, etc., etc., until you are in a mutually agreeable dating relationship. All kinds of absolutely delightful, pious girls go from "I would NEVER..." to "La dee dah, let's change the topic. I don't want to talk about it." I suspect this is because nobody tells us that making out is a gateway drug. MAKING-OUT IS A GATEWAY DRUG. It is not super-innocent like it appears in Archie comics. I don't care if everyone makes out. Everyone who gets the chance probably does make out. (Sudden hypocritical sadness at thought of high school crushes I didn't make out with. oh, now it's gone and I feel a sense of undeserved virtue.) However, making-out is not conducive to chastity. If someone asked ME "How far can we go?", I would say "Cheek-kissing, hugs and holding hands."
Was I that prudent before I got married? No. Am I sorry? Yes. You should all try to be better than me. Save more money, too. And wear sunscreen. And keep in mind that sex can give you cancer.
Anyway, the point of this post is helpful books for my reader. So if you can recommend one, please mention it in the combox.
Monday, 28 October 2013
Inordinate Attachment to Eros
Saint Augustine, when considering the Lot of Woman, believed that consecrated virgins (the nuns of his day) had it best because they had only to please God. He thought married women were next in the queue because they had only to please their husbands. But he thought single women who wanted to get married had it worst because they had to please many men, and Saint Augustine recoiled at the idea of young women all dressed up and acting as attractive as possible to get a husband. I wonder if the young women ever talked to him about this. I was going to add "in the confessional", but I don't think there was a confessional in the fourth century. (Good heavens. Imagining getting in the box knowing that Saint Augustine was in the priest's compartment. Eek!)
And I have to say that I agree with Saint Augustine. Although we live in a world absolutely obsessed with appearances, nobody really cares what nuns' faces look like. Some Catholics judge nuns on their habits or lack thereof, and some Catholics judge nuns on whether or not their charism attracts young women, but Catholics don't worry about whether nuns are pretty or not. Nuns, unlike all other women, are completely exempted from our beauty obsession. Thank heavens somebody is.
Nobody except their husbands (to an extent) really worries about the beauty of married women, either. Married women are judged on the happiness of their husbands and kids, to tell the truth, and heaven help us if we flirt outside the bounds of what our community thinks is okay for married women. Once upon a time in working-class communities in the UK, married women who dolled themselves up to go shopping, e.g. chat with the butcher, were considered harlots. Husbands who marry for love and stay in love seem not to notice or care that their wives eventually look like wrinkly old boots, and thank heavens.
But then there are Single women, and unless you really do not want to get married, and really are happy to do your own thing and to heck with what the men think, you are in thrall to humanity's beauty obsession. This is especially true if you are in your early twenties and want to attract a guy your own age. The young look beautiful to the old just because you are young, but when you are the same age as a man... And we cannot really complain because we, too, have our ideas of what a cute man looks like.
Of course, I don't think we would go as far as to rate men from 1 to 10 and supply photographs for each category. Last night I meant to read some classic horror tales, but instead I surfed the manosphere. And the manosphere provided me with the same shocks and enjoyment as classic horror tales, but only because I am happily married. If I were Single I would have been out of my mind with rage, contempt and fear. You know young men in general no longer have the power to hurt you when you can stare at their helpful photographic guides to beauty and ponder in tranquility if you might count as a 6 or, on your best days, a 7.
Blogging pick-up artists portray a Godless universe in which most women are like flies at the picnic of existence, and the point of this short existence is to have sexual congress with as many of the few worthwhile (i.e. kind and pretty) women as possible. You will not find, on such blogs, much interest in spiritual or intellectual pleasures, in botany or zoology or theology or walks in the countryside. The ideal is to travel to Eastern Europe, chat up slim and friendly young Slavic women intrigued by American glamour, and roll around with them in bed until both man and woman (conveniently) get bored and agree to "move on". The PUAs bridle at the accusation that this makes them sex tourists. After all, they are giving these women the most romantic and incredible experiences of their short and otherwise meaningless lives on earth, and as wrinkled old crones on their deathbeds, they will remember the American PUAs with gratitude. Yeah.
For all their posturing, PUAs are not very rooted in reality. And they are slaves to their desire for sex with women. In fact, they are worse than slaves. They are rutting animals who use their human reason primarily to figure out how to rut with as many attractive female animals as possible, only without, of course, having any offspring they will have to care for. Which, ontologically, makes them useless and pathetic.
And worse, of course. While I pondered their degradation from this humanist point of view, B.A. seethed, "Haven't they heard of Don Giovanni?", which directed my mind to Christian truth. Actually, the Eastern European women on their deathbeds may very well be cursing their naive fumblings with American sex tourists and imploring the mercy of God. After all, extramarital (as I don't think we can call going to bed with tourists premarital) sex is a SERIOUS sin with SERIOUS consequences for both the sinners and society.
As I always say, you can ask men what they think, but you will not always like it. Men tend not to think what we want them to think. We have our idea of what they should be like, but instead they are like what they are like, and we have to accept that, if not them. We can pay attention to what they say they find attractive in women (and the slimmer side of healthy-looking weight appears to be a majority demand), or we can simply ignore it. Ignoring it completely does, of course, come with a price tag. Some will happily pay that price; others will simply not understand why it must be paid. (Rather like men without jobs, looks or character who seethe because women don't want them.)
I wanted a man, I have a man, and now I can ignore what all men on earth, save one, think about attractiveness. I am fortunate. But I worry a lot about Single women who lurch from one relationship to the next in the quest to find the man who will free them from the intolerable burden of wanting a man. Looking at break-ups and unrequited crushes from a married point of view, I now realize how awful it is to hear a weeping woman say, "But where will I find another [guy who gets me, clever intellectual, romantic poet, serious Catholic]?" I want to shake them and yell, "STOP LOOKING! JUST LIVE YOUR LIFE!" But that's easy for me to say; marriage has killed that restless longing.
But marriage has only killed that restless longing because I am married to a really good guy, a guy who hears about PUAs and thinks at once of the fate of their immortal souls, and who protests loudly, when I mentioned perhaps being a 7 on really good days, that I am beautiful, almost like a little kid who naturally finds his own mother more beautiful than anyone else's mother. And all I had to do to find this guy was to live my life as a Catholic in a relatively public way, writing my blog and my funny stories, making friends, trying to stay in good health, having decent company manners and--which has more to do with Providence than with me--looking like the kind of woman to whom B.A.--this one, unique man--is usually attracted. In short, although I did a number of things that were most likely to "find me a husband", it ultimately depended on God.
When we get in the habit of constant crushes, or an unhealthy lifestyle in which Eros dominates, only God can free us. God's laws, which sound strict and almost impossible to obey nowadays, actually protect us from seducers and men who are just vacillating and weak and, indeed, our own weak and vacillating longings. God's invitation of permanent virginity to nuns, monks and priests shows us that Eros does not have absolute authority on this earth, not over women, not over men. And God who can do anything can take away our own inordinate attachments, whether to sex or to boyfriends or to the sexual approval of men or just to "looking pretty", and may if we implore Him.
(My old spiritual director said that He always does, but I'm respecting His freedom here.)
And I have to say that I agree with Saint Augustine. Although we live in a world absolutely obsessed with appearances, nobody really cares what nuns' faces look like. Some Catholics judge nuns on their habits or lack thereof, and some Catholics judge nuns on whether or not their charism attracts young women, but Catholics don't worry about whether nuns are pretty or not. Nuns, unlike all other women, are completely exempted from our beauty obsession. Thank heavens somebody is.
Nobody except their husbands (to an extent) really worries about the beauty of married women, either. Married women are judged on the happiness of their husbands and kids, to tell the truth, and heaven help us if we flirt outside the bounds of what our community thinks is okay for married women. Once upon a time in working-class communities in the UK, married women who dolled themselves up to go shopping, e.g. chat with the butcher, were considered harlots. Husbands who marry for love and stay in love seem not to notice or care that their wives eventually look like wrinkly old boots, and thank heavens.
But then there are Single women, and unless you really do not want to get married, and really are happy to do your own thing and to heck with what the men think, you are in thrall to humanity's beauty obsession. This is especially true if you are in your early twenties and want to attract a guy your own age. The young look beautiful to the old just because you are young, but when you are the same age as a man... And we cannot really complain because we, too, have our ideas of what a cute man looks like.
Of course, I don't think we would go as far as to rate men from 1 to 10 and supply photographs for each category. Last night I meant to read some classic horror tales, but instead I surfed the manosphere. And the manosphere provided me with the same shocks and enjoyment as classic horror tales, but only because I am happily married. If I were Single I would have been out of my mind with rage, contempt and fear. You know young men in general no longer have the power to hurt you when you can stare at their helpful photographic guides to beauty and ponder in tranquility if you might count as a 6 or, on your best days, a 7.
Blogging pick-up artists portray a Godless universe in which most women are like flies at the picnic of existence, and the point of this short existence is to have sexual congress with as many of the few worthwhile (i.e. kind and pretty) women as possible. You will not find, on such blogs, much interest in spiritual or intellectual pleasures, in botany or zoology or theology or walks in the countryside. The ideal is to travel to Eastern Europe, chat up slim and friendly young Slavic women intrigued by American glamour, and roll around with them in bed until both man and woman (conveniently) get bored and agree to "move on". The PUAs bridle at the accusation that this makes them sex tourists. After all, they are giving these women the most romantic and incredible experiences of their short and otherwise meaningless lives on earth, and as wrinkled old crones on their deathbeds, they will remember the American PUAs with gratitude. Yeah.
For all their posturing, PUAs are not very rooted in reality. And they are slaves to their desire for sex with women. In fact, they are worse than slaves. They are rutting animals who use their human reason primarily to figure out how to rut with as many attractive female animals as possible, only without, of course, having any offspring they will have to care for. Which, ontologically, makes them useless and pathetic.
And worse, of course. While I pondered their degradation from this humanist point of view, B.A. seethed, "Haven't they heard of Don Giovanni?", which directed my mind to Christian truth. Actually, the Eastern European women on their deathbeds may very well be cursing their naive fumblings with American sex tourists and imploring the mercy of God. After all, extramarital (as I don't think we can call going to bed with tourists premarital) sex is a SERIOUS sin with SERIOUS consequences for both the sinners and society.
As I always say, you can ask men what they think, but you will not always like it. Men tend not to think what we want them to think. We have our idea of what they should be like, but instead they are like what they are like, and we have to accept that, if not them. We can pay attention to what they say they find attractive in women (and the slimmer side of healthy-looking weight appears to be a majority demand), or we can simply ignore it. Ignoring it completely does, of course, come with a price tag. Some will happily pay that price; others will simply not understand why it must be paid. (Rather like men without jobs, looks or character who seethe because women don't want them.)
I wanted a man, I have a man, and now I can ignore what all men on earth, save one, think about attractiveness. I am fortunate. But I worry a lot about Single women who lurch from one relationship to the next in the quest to find the man who will free them from the intolerable burden of wanting a man. Looking at break-ups and unrequited crushes from a married point of view, I now realize how awful it is to hear a weeping woman say, "But where will I find another [guy who gets me, clever intellectual, romantic poet, serious Catholic]?" I want to shake them and yell, "STOP LOOKING! JUST LIVE YOUR LIFE!" But that's easy for me to say; marriage has killed that restless longing.
But marriage has only killed that restless longing because I am married to a really good guy, a guy who hears about PUAs and thinks at once of the fate of their immortal souls, and who protests loudly, when I mentioned perhaps being a 7 on really good days, that I am beautiful, almost like a little kid who naturally finds his own mother more beautiful than anyone else's mother. And all I had to do to find this guy was to live my life as a Catholic in a relatively public way, writing my blog and my funny stories, making friends, trying to stay in good health, having decent company manners and--which has more to do with Providence than with me--looking like the kind of woman to whom B.A.--this one, unique man--is usually attracted. In short, although I did a number of things that were most likely to "find me a husband", it ultimately depended on God.
When we get in the habit of constant crushes, or an unhealthy lifestyle in which Eros dominates, only God can free us. God's laws, which sound strict and almost impossible to obey nowadays, actually protect us from seducers and men who are just vacillating and weak and, indeed, our own weak and vacillating longings. God's invitation of permanent virginity to nuns, monks and priests shows us that Eros does not have absolute authority on this earth, not over women, not over men. And God who can do anything can take away our own inordinate attachments, whether to sex or to boyfriends or to the sexual approval of men or just to "looking pretty", and may if we implore Him.
(My old spiritual director said that He always does, but I'm respecting His freedom here.)
Thursday, 17 October 2013
Beauty vs Attraction
In the 1980s, the "Glamazon" look was in style. This was the era of big, blown-out hairstyle, big breasts, long legs and a ton of make-up. In the 1990, the "heroin-chic" look was in style. This was the era of rail-thin, somewhat boyish-looking, very young women like Kate Moss. What the 2000s it-look was, I haven't a clue because I stopped paying attention the day I saw rail-thin little women dancing around outside a department store advertising MAC products. I did a double-take. They weren't women. They were female impersonators. And I realized that it was now easier for relatively fat-free, long-legged, zero-hipper young men to epitomize the "perfect woman" than actual women. The apotheosis of woman to underage-looking teenage boy was complete.
Fortunately most men are not attracted to underage-looking teenage boys, but to real women with breasts and bottoms and thighs. Of course, like other human beings, they are drawn to facial symmetry, which is why we women stare into our make-up mirrors and busily try to make nature more symmetrical. Our parents often pay vast sums so our teeth will be more symmetrical, too, although this is less common in Britain where the natives say they are unnerved by American "chiclet" teeth and Georgia Jagger pouts at the camera with her mouth open, gap-teeth on display, looking unnervingly like a spaced-out, tarted-up twelve year old.
Fortunately, most men are not as obsessed with female beauty as women are. They don't think about it; one just finds this girl pretty and that one not, whereas another man may think the opposite. And they are not so obsessed with aging. This is, in fact, one of the themes of my novel. My heroine is in her 30s. Her boyfriend is in his early 20s. Her boyfriend is clearly attached to her, but Catriona waits constantly for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. She is older; he is younger. No matter what he says, the relationship must be doomed.
But I have been ditched twice for women considerably older than me, a life lesson I am unlikely to forget. One of my rivals was over 40, and told me she could not do better than the rat who had bounced to me and then back to her. She said I would understand it all when I was over 40 myself. I'm very grateful to her because I spent the next 10 years making sure I never did. Instead, I have learned some very good news, and it is that men are not just attracted to youth and beauty. They are also attracted to energy, confidence, happiness, kindness, brains (tempered with modesty), social position and fame.
This is particularly true in Europe, where 50+ film stars like Kristen Scott Thomas still play romantic leads. In the UK, Tilda Swinton and Helen Mirren are still considered attractive, and Tilda Swinton has always been odd-looking. Definitely attractive, with those huge, expressive eyes, but odd-looking. And I think a large part of this has to do with the fact that they are famous film stars and the media raves on about how marvelous they are. Thus, society has accorded them status.
It's amazing what gives you status. In Germany, young university students do not shun older university students just because they are older. In my experience, German undergraduates think friendly graduate students are cool. This may be because Germany is still a terrifically hierarchical society, the hierarchy being based on expertise. When I studied in Germany, I was so overwhelmed by the attention of German undergraduates that I sought out another foreign student, a priest, to moan about my culture shock. But in the words of a very sweet undergrad from Hamburg, "We are only undergraduates; you are doing a DOKTORAT!" They actually felt honoured that I wanted to hang out with them. And one or two of them tried their luck...thus exacerbating my feelings of culture shock.
Sadly, this was not at all my experience back in the USA where a nervous undergraduate goggled at me because I tried to sign up on the orthodox students' club retreat ("Oh...um....are you faculty?") and the chaplain emphasized that I was not one of them ("They're great kids, aren't they?") Therefore, I am not sure how helpful my words of wisdom are for American readers. The generation gap in the USA seems very huge to me, and Mrs Robinson is a major figure of fun. Still, it may cheer you up to know that this is not true for the whole world.
Fortunately most men are not attracted to underage-looking teenage boys, but to real women with breasts and bottoms and thighs. Of course, like other human beings, they are drawn to facial symmetry, which is why we women stare into our make-up mirrors and busily try to make nature more symmetrical. Our parents often pay vast sums so our teeth will be more symmetrical, too, although this is less common in Britain where the natives say they are unnerved by American "chiclet" teeth and Georgia Jagger pouts at the camera with her mouth open, gap-teeth on display, looking unnervingly like a spaced-out, tarted-up twelve year old.
Fortunately, most men are not as obsessed with female beauty as women are. They don't think about it; one just finds this girl pretty and that one not, whereas another man may think the opposite. And they are not so obsessed with aging. This is, in fact, one of the themes of my novel. My heroine is in her 30s. Her boyfriend is in his early 20s. Her boyfriend is clearly attached to her, but Catriona waits constantly for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. She is older; he is younger. No matter what he says, the relationship must be doomed.
But I have been ditched twice for women considerably older than me, a life lesson I am unlikely to forget. One of my rivals was over 40, and told me she could not do better than the rat who had bounced to me and then back to her. She said I would understand it all when I was over 40 myself. I'm very grateful to her because I spent the next 10 years making sure I never did. Instead, I have learned some very good news, and it is that men are not just attracted to youth and beauty. They are also attracted to energy, confidence, happiness, kindness, brains (tempered with modesty), social position and fame.
This is particularly true in Europe, where 50+ film stars like Kristen Scott Thomas still play romantic leads. In the UK, Tilda Swinton and Helen Mirren are still considered attractive, and Tilda Swinton has always been odd-looking. Definitely attractive, with those huge, expressive eyes, but odd-looking. And I think a large part of this has to do with the fact that they are famous film stars and the media raves on about how marvelous they are. Thus, society has accorded them status.
It's amazing what gives you status. In Germany, young university students do not shun older university students just because they are older. In my experience, German undergraduates think friendly graduate students are cool. This may be because Germany is still a terrifically hierarchical society, the hierarchy being based on expertise. When I studied in Germany, I was so overwhelmed by the attention of German undergraduates that I sought out another foreign student, a priest, to moan about my culture shock. But in the words of a very sweet undergrad from Hamburg, "We are only undergraduates; you are doing a DOKTORAT!" They actually felt honoured that I wanted to hang out with them. And one or two of them tried their luck...thus exacerbating my feelings of culture shock.
Sadly, this was not at all my experience back in the USA where a nervous undergraduate goggled at me because I tried to sign up on the orthodox students' club retreat ("Oh...um....are you faculty?") and the chaplain emphasized that I was not one of them ("They're great kids, aren't they?") Therefore, I am not sure how helpful my words of wisdom are for American readers. The generation gap in the USA seems very huge to me, and Mrs Robinson is a major figure of fun. Still, it may cheer you up to know that this is not true for the whole world.
Thursday, 3 October 2013
Dating in an Age of Austerity Part 1
The price of a woman in my town is two drinks.
Not all the women, of course. Not the blonde middle-aged advocate getting into a cab, or the friendly, pudgy cashier at the supermarket. Probably not the willowy Polish girl waiting at the bus stop, and definitely not the bevy of old ladies tidying the Cathedral. And not even the invisible occupants of the warrens of Tollcross who, I assume, are paid in cash.
No, I am thinking of the flocks of the dyed-orange girls in micro-minis teetering on stilettos down George Street to the expensive bar or dance club of their choice, each and every one of them with parents, a life story and an immortal soul. And the price of some of those girls--again, not all--is two drinks. The task of the men who frequent these bars and clubs is to figure out which girls will go that cheap and to whom.
The girls would vigorously deny that they are for sale. They are modern, responsible women with jobs and maybe even children (currently at home with Mam) or with excellent transcripts or fledgling careers. They just want to have fun, to blow off some steam, to have some adventures, and it's none of our ***** business. If men offer them drinks, well, why shouldn't they take them, if the men look like they are good for a blether and a laugh? And if the men offer them a second drink, well, maybe they shouldn't, but maybe they will just this once because these are good guys, not like some of those other blokes in the bar, and their conversation is exciting, and actually they rather fancy them.
The men are pleased. The air is electric with male competition, but they have done very well for themselves. This is an expensive bar, and these are carefully groomed girls who put a lot of thought into their clothes, make-up and carefully messed up hair. They look clean. Chances are they are clean. And although these attractive girls could have said no to their drinks, definitely to the second drinks, and accepted someone else's drinks instead, they didn't, so chances are that the girls have chosen them, and if they went home with them in an hour that would be flattering.
Two cocktails on George Street = £3.95-£12.00 x 2 = £6.90 - £24.00
What a deal.
"If modern, responsible women with jobs and lives and an interest in grooming go for £24 a night, what is the point of dating?" think our lads about town. Going to a bar, even an expensive bar on George Street, is relatively cheap, especially as the most desirable women, i.e. young and small, cannot drink all that much before they fall down. Dating, however, is ruddy expensive.
Two dinners on George Street with wine = £36 minimum That's just risotto cakes and a glass of wine for both. Hmm. Not a lot to eat or drink, so not really an impressive date. Really, we're looking at £50 for a dinner for two. (Incidentally, minimum wage in the U.K. is £6.31/hr. Monthly rent of a central Edinburgh flat is £600/m before utilities and council tax.)
Two tickets to films in Edinburgh (Art cinema): £16.40
Two tickets to film in Edinburgh (Multiplex): £20.00 (approx)
And as they say, candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker. And unlike expensive, jaded and possibly diseased prostitutes, lots of ordinary, pretty, young women are available for £24. So why, I was asked by a cheerful realist, should men date?
After I picked my jaw off the pavement and carefully hinged it back into my skull, I made vague protests about "nice girls" and marriage and immortal souls. And then, when at last I figured out how I felt, I felt really mad. Maybe there's a reason why "respectable women" were so terrible to "tramps" and shunned them like crazy. Until the sexual revolution, the most potent factor influencing young men to get married, even more potent than parental nagging, was sexual desire coupled with distaste for prostitutes. Prostitutes could be fun, and provided variety, but ick. Fun girls in bars, though, are not icky, and to suggest that they are is very judgmental, bigoted and anti-feminist. How dare you. But now the number one problem for men that only scary marriage was supposed to solve can be solved without it. Which means "respectable women" (i.e. women who would have been considered respectable before 1970; we're all respectable now, on paper) have a much, much harder time getting married.
In English-speaking countries, it is indeed traditional for men to pay on dates. But unfortunately there is sometimes some confusion as to what they are actually paying for. How do you impress upon men that you are not "that kind of girl" when thousands of girls who look and dress like you ARE "that kind of girl" and think nothing of it? And to make all this more confusing, real, professional, prostitutes call their appointments dates. "Wanna date?" is apparently the phrase with which prostitutes solicit in Ontario, and one advert offering legal advice to battered prostitutes asked "Had a bad date?"
In some European countries, women actually resist the idea that men should pay on dates. I was told this was true of Germany: apparently German women become instantly suspicious of a man's intentions if he buys her food or drink. I don't know what that is, although I wonder if the last World War might have had something to do with it.
And now that I have thoroughly depressed you, I promise to write something more cheerful about paying on dates tomorrow. But if you have any great arguments for young men of no (or little) religious faith why they should date properly instead of taking home cute drunk girls from bars, feel free to write them in the combox. Keep it clean.
Not all the women, of course. Not the blonde middle-aged advocate getting into a cab, or the friendly, pudgy cashier at the supermarket. Probably not the willowy Polish girl waiting at the bus stop, and definitely not the bevy of old ladies tidying the Cathedral. And not even the invisible occupants of the warrens of Tollcross who, I assume, are paid in cash.
No, I am thinking of the flocks of the dyed-orange girls in micro-minis teetering on stilettos down George Street to the expensive bar or dance club of their choice, each and every one of them with parents, a life story and an immortal soul. And the price of some of those girls--again, not all--is two drinks. The task of the men who frequent these bars and clubs is to figure out which girls will go that cheap and to whom.
The girls would vigorously deny that they are for sale. They are modern, responsible women with jobs and maybe even children (currently at home with Mam) or with excellent transcripts or fledgling careers. They just want to have fun, to blow off some steam, to have some adventures, and it's none of our ***** business. If men offer them drinks, well, why shouldn't they take them, if the men look like they are good for a blether and a laugh? And if the men offer them a second drink, well, maybe they shouldn't, but maybe they will just this once because these are good guys, not like some of those other blokes in the bar, and their conversation is exciting, and actually they rather fancy them.
The men are pleased. The air is electric with male competition, but they have done very well for themselves. This is an expensive bar, and these are carefully groomed girls who put a lot of thought into their clothes, make-up and carefully messed up hair. They look clean. Chances are they are clean. And although these attractive girls could have said no to their drinks, definitely to the second drinks, and accepted someone else's drinks instead, they didn't, so chances are that the girls have chosen them, and if they went home with them in an hour that would be flattering.
Two cocktails on George Street = £3.95-£12.00 x 2 = £6.90 - £24.00
What a deal.
"If modern, responsible women with jobs and lives and an interest in grooming go for £24 a night, what is the point of dating?" think our lads about town. Going to a bar, even an expensive bar on George Street, is relatively cheap, especially as the most desirable women, i.e. young and small, cannot drink all that much before they fall down. Dating, however, is ruddy expensive.
Two dinners on George Street with wine = £36 minimum That's just risotto cakes and a glass of wine for both. Hmm. Not a lot to eat or drink, so not really an impressive date. Really, we're looking at £50 for a dinner for two. (Incidentally, minimum wage in the U.K. is £6.31/hr. Monthly rent of a central Edinburgh flat is £600/m before utilities and council tax.)
Two tickets to films in Edinburgh (Art cinema): £16.40
Two tickets to film in Edinburgh (Multiplex): £20.00 (approx)
And as they say, candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker. And unlike expensive, jaded and possibly diseased prostitutes, lots of ordinary, pretty, young women are available for £24. So why, I was asked by a cheerful realist, should men date?
After I picked my jaw off the pavement and carefully hinged it back into my skull, I made vague protests about "nice girls" and marriage and immortal souls. And then, when at last I figured out how I felt, I felt really mad. Maybe there's a reason why "respectable women" were so terrible to "tramps" and shunned them like crazy. Until the sexual revolution, the most potent factor influencing young men to get married, even more potent than parental nagging, was sexual desire coupled with distaste for prostitutes. Prostitutes could be fun, and provided variety, but ick. Fun girls in bars, though, are not icky, and to suggest that they are is very judgmental, bigoted and anti-feminist. How dare you. But now the number one problem for men that only scary marriage was supposed to solve can be solved without it. Which means "respectable women" (i.e. women who would have been considered respectable before 1970; we're all respectable now, on paper) have a much, much harder time getting married.
In English-speaking countries, it is indeed traditional for men to pay on dates. But unfortunately there is sometimes some confusion as to what they are actually paying for. How do you impress upon men that you are not "that kind of girl" when thousands of girls who look and dress like you ARE "that kind of girl" and think nothing of it? And to make all this more confusing, real, professional, prostitutes call their appointments dates. "Wanna date?" is apparently the phrase with which prostitutes solicit in Ontario, and one advert offering legal advice to battered prostitutes asked "Had a bad date?"
In some European countries, women actually resist the idea that men should pay on dates. I was told this was true of Germany: apparently German women become instantly suspicious of a man's intentions if he buys her food or drink. I don't know what that is, although I wonder if the last World War might have had something to do with it.
And now that I have thoroughly depressed you, I promise to write something more cheerful about paying on dates tomorrow. But if you have any great arguments for young men of no (or little) religious faith why they should date properly instead of taking home cute drunk girls from bars, feel free to write them in the combox. Keep it clean.
Friday, 26 July 2013
Auntie Seraphic & the Reader Who Dreams of Happiness in Marriage
Poppets! Never forget that I am not an expert on marriage. I am rather more well-known for having been Single for a long time and not having forgotten what it's like. I'm kind of new on marriage stuff. Meanwhile, I can't just write whatever I think about marriage because (A) if I write that it is absolute bliss, I risk rubbing my Single readers noses in it and (B) if I write that I want to wallop my husband with a frying pan, he (and his friends) will read it and feel sad.
MEANWHILE, whenever I write about how fabulous female friendships are, and how girls rule, and how life is not worth living without female companionship, consider that I live four thousand miles away from most of my female friends and relations. I work from home, and I go to the Extraordinary Form of the Mass which is, incidentally, where all the boys are. I have no children. My only pet is a basil plant named Paweł, and he's looking rather peaky.
ALSO, I have been married for 4.5 years, and therefore see marriage rather differently than Single readers, or readers who have been married for 6 months, or readers who have been married for 45 years, or Alice von Hildebrand and other widows.
You must keep all these things in mind, and if you ever feel really lousy after reading one of my posts, I recommend snorting, "Ah! What does she know?" and finding a cute kitten video at once.
Dear Reader Who Dreams of Happiness in Marriage,
MEANWHILE, whenever I write about how fabulous female friendships are, and how girls rule, and how life is not worth living without female companionship, consider that I live four thousand miles away from most of my female friends and relations. I work from home, and I go to the Extraordinary Form of the Mass which is, incidentally, where all the boys are. I have no children. My only pet is a basil plant named Paweł, and he's looking rather peaky.
ALSO, I have been married for 4.5 years, and therefore see marriage rather differently than Single readers, or readers who have been married for 6 months, or readers who have been married for 45 years, or Alice von Hildebrand and other widows.
You must keep all these things in mind, and if you ever feel really lousy after reading one of my posts, I recommend snorting, "Ah! What does she know?" and finding a cute kitten video at once.
Dear Auntie Seraphic,
Thank you for running this blog. It has a lot of good advice. This email originally started out as a comment, but once I realized that it was turning into a depressing monologue, I decided to Ctrl + C and post it into a good old-fashioned e-mail. :-)
May I say that I become increasingly sad (I am usually sad to begin with) whenever I read one of your posts on men & women, ESPECIALLY in marriage?
Frankly speaking, I have never witnessed a happy marriage. However, the little fairy-tale loving section of my soul just will not die, and I continue to hope that there IS such a thing as a happy, passionate, understanding marriage.
I don't think you *intend* to do this, but you are slowly but surely convincing me that there is not such a thing. To clarify, I know that love is not the way it's portrayed in Taylor Swift songs. I know that emotions come and go. But you have shown me that: The passionate feelings experienced within the first couple years of a relationship will go away - and not come back. A man will never understand you. This one BREAKS. MY. HEART. As an emotionally abandoned/abused child, all I've ever wanted in my life is to be understood. Also, I watched my parents "misunderstand" each other for 25 years.
I do not know what to think. I am so sad. :-(
Reader Who Dreams of Happiness in Marriage
Dear Reader Who Dreams of Happiness in Marriage,
Don't be sad. Well, you can be sad, but there is no real NEED to be sad. The complete and total joyful understanding that you long for is available.
The thing is, it comes from God. Your heart will be restless until it rests in Him, i.e. after you die. [Actually, some saints manage to be perfectly content with Him in this life, too.]
A good husband is a wonderful creature and a very great gift from God, but at the end of the day he is just another fallible human being and no husband (or wife) can fill the God-shaped hole in any human heart. Still, there's a reason we use "husband" as an analogy for God and "bride" as the analogy for Church, although I have to admit that these are problematic from a woman's point of view. (It helps that male mystics talk about even their souls being female.)
There are happy marriages, indeed! And as for understanding, understanding is built over time. But this understanding is not just "a feeling"or an understanding of a spouse's good points, but a deep understanding of his or her faults, too, and ultimately a coming to peace with the faults, or a noticing that the faults have gone away with work or time. Honestly, this takes TIME [and patience, humility, courage, patience, humility and courage. And patience. Also humility. And patience.]
As for "passion", the honeymoon craziness does wear off, but it flares up here and there, and anyway, it usually [with God's Grace, I should have said] leaves behind a kind of spiritual glue. The spiritual glue gets stronger and stronger. I think the reason why sometimes widows or widowers just turn over and die a week or so after their spouses die is this spiritual glue. Don't think this spiritual glue is less important than "passion." No way, Hosea.
Meanwhile, if B.A. still acted and felt the way he did when we were engaged, he would probably starve to death: every time I went away on a trip, he would stop eating. And every time I went on a trip, I would cry and live for his phone calls and get nose bleeds, etc. Although that may sound romantic, eight months [actually, two years] of that was really enough.
Crying for the passion of the early years of a marriage is like crying because it is June, not the first gloriously sunny day in April. For everything there is a season, even the passion of newlyweds. And in fact it is dangerous to think that passion is the be-all and end-all of a happy marriage because people who do tend to get divorced or run around until they realize that it is not. It is necessary to kick-start a marriage (a western marriage, anyway), including the sexual side of marriage, which continues with enjoyment, good-will and jokes, even if without the breathless passion everyone writes about in songs.
I hope this is helpful. I like marriage very much, and I love my husband very much. I still think he is the perfect man for me, although I know that he is not perfect, and he most definitely knows I am not perfect either. If I sound rather more cranky than I should about the inadequacy of men to be more than just "a part of this complete breakfast", it may be because most of my female friends and relations are far, far away most of the time.
Grace and peace,
Seraphic
I hope I got across the "spiritual glue" part. Passion is like a basil plant; it springs up and it dies (and you can get more). But love is like in the Song of Solomon: "strong as death." That's the spiritual glue.
Wednesday, 17 July 2013
Auntie Seraphic & Confused-Clueless II
This is the email I received in response to the answer I posted yesterday, and my response to that. Again, I will end with a few general observations
I completely hear you about not telling my friends every detail about our relationship, and yes I honestly do feel like they treat it as a soap opera! "Oh! What does [C-C] have to say about [Scooter] today". And not really interested in why I'm really confiding in them. I do owe it to him to keep things confidential, but it wasn't my intent at all to betray him, I'm just desperately searching for words of wisdom and guidance.
I like him--a lot--and that's why it's difficult to talk to him as a "friend" when so many times that "friend" line is crossed in conversation. What I don't understand is how he can so easily forget about the past and pretend that nothing ever happened. It's extremely difficult for me to talk to him and push the thoughts of the past out of my head and focus on just being friends. We rushed things when I was [at my college town], but as he said "we don't have a choice" because we had to see if we could be something together. And if we didn't try then we'd never know.
Telling you what I like about him could go on for quite a while. He is wonderful to his mother, and his relationship with his sister makes my heart melt. He takes her to movies all the time, they're so close and they are X years apart! He protects her and that's so beautiful to me. A man who can honour the special women in his life to me shows that he will do the same for his future wife, hopefully.
Dear Auntie Seraphic,
You are so lovely. Thank you for responding to my msg! You are correct: I am 20 now but was 19 at the time when I was with him. He is 2- now and, yes, I know, we're both young.
Yes, I have gone to confession. That confession was very painful for me, but I needed it. It was freeing. Our faith is so beautiful! But it's been almost a year, and I still haven't forgiven myself, and it just kills me. I look at myself with such disgust sometimes, and I can't help but give in to the tears...
Yes, I have gone to confession. That confession was very painful for me, but I needed it. It was freeing. Our faith is so beautiful! But it's been almost a year, and I still haven't forgiven myself, and it just kills me. I look at myself with such disgust sometimes, and I can't help but give in to the tears...
I completely hear you about not telling my friends every detail about our relationship, and yes I honestly do feel like they treat it as a soap opera! "Oh! What does [C-C] have to say about [Scooter] today". And not really interested in why I'm really confiding in them. I do owe it to him to keep things confidential, but it wasn't my intent at all to betray him, I'm just desperately searching for words of wisdom and guidance.
I like him--a lot--and that's why it's difficult to talk to him as a "friend" when so many times that "friend" line is crossed in conversation. What I don't understand is how he can so easily forget about the past and pretend that nothing ever happened. It's extremely difficult for me to talk to him and push the thoughts of the past out of my head and focus on just being friends. We rushed things when I was [at my college town], but as he said "we don't have a choice" because we had to see if we could be something together. And if we didn't try then we'd never know.
Telling you what I like about him could go on for quite a while. He is wonderful to his mother, and his relationship with his sister makes my heart melt. He takes her to movies all the time, they're so close and they are X years apart! He protects her and that's so beautiful to me. A man who can honour the special women in his life to me shows that he will do the same for his future wife, hopefully.
I don't know if it's just the age aspect, or because his relationship with his father isn't very good, but I can't seem to figure out why he's so afraid of commitment. What blows my mind is, who travels to another city that is a 20+ hour drive away to see a "friend" who is a girl? He's been seriously working on trying to come see me, and his effort has surprised me. Does this mean anything? I still feel like he has feelings, but is too afraid to admit it and deal with them.
As you said, would I still look forward to talking to him at parties? I would. I would be very interested to see how he continues to grow in his faith, and what his dreams are, and what he's accomplished. What I love about him is that he has hopes and dreams now, that aspect reminds me of myself. We compliment each other very well, he's a little quiet and I'm crazy and outgoing and love adventure where as he'd rather stay home and relax. But when we were together, he wouldn't say "I don't want to go downtown and explore!" He'd willingly come with me because he knew it would be amazing and it's something he's never experienced before. I opened his eyes to the city he's lived in for years. Which leads me to where he's from.
As you said, would I still look forward to talking to him at parties? I would. I would be very interested to see how he continues to grow in his faith, and what his dreams are, and what he's accomplished. What I love about him is that he has hopes and dreams now, that aspect reminds me of myself. We compliment each other very well, he's a little quiet and I'm crazy and outgoing and love adventure where as he'd rather stay home and relax. But when we were together, he wouldn't say "I don't want to go downtown and explore!" He'd willingly come with me because he knew it would be amazing and it's something he's never experienced before. I opened his eyes to the city he's lived in for years. Which leads me to where he's from.
He was born in [a poor, non-English-speaking country] and I know that he is worried about what my family's reaction would be if he were to come to see me. Half of my family is [Southern European], and that's the side that he is worried about, even though I don't see [his background] as an issue. My brother [might]. Ah, I just don't know. I shouldn't even be thinking about that, because he is simply not mine. Because we are "friends".
But now I feel a dilemma. I know God has told me that I haven't been patient, so I am trying. Especially right now, when [Scooter] and I haven't talked in X days, which is absolutely mind blowing because we haven't gone a day without talking. I know you're probably laughing but it really drives me nuts! He knows I've been thinking a lot lately. Maybe he's giving me space, or our mutual friend mentioned what was on my mind to him, and he's backed off now. Either way, I am waiting "patiently" for him to msg me...
But now I feel a dilemma. I know God has told me that I haven't been patient, so I am trying. Especially right now, when [Scooter] and I haven't talked in X days, which is absolutely mind blowing because we haven't gone a day without talking. I know you're probably laughing but it really drives me nuts! He knows I've been thinking a lot lately. Maybe he's giving me space, or our mutual friend mentioned what was on my mind to him, and he's backed off now. Either way, I am waiting "patiently" for him to msg me...
But I'm getting anxious because I am leaving for Brazil on Wednesday! For World Youth Day! I'm sure you've heard! :) But anyway, hmmm I just am not sure if I should even bother to msg him before I leave. I'm really quite shocked that he hasn't msged me yet.
Well, there is another novel for you to read. I won't continue to bug you after this, though, but when I stumbled upon your blog I just thought, "Wow, this woman has lots of wonderful words, maybe she can offer me some advice."
I will seek more advice from the older friend I've been talking to because I really don't feel like there's anyone else who can help me, especially not my mother!
Well, there is another novel for you to read. I won't continue to bug you after this, though, but when I stumbled upon your blog I just thought, "Wow, this woman has lots of wonderful words, maybe she can offer me some advice."
I will seek more advice from the older friend I've been talking to because I really don't feel like there's anyone else who can help me, especially not my mother!
Thank you for listening to me! God bless you!
,
Confused & Clueless
Dear Confused & Clueless,
One more email from me. If God has forgiven you, and you know He has, for you have felt sincere contrition, made your confession and no doubt done the penance you were assigned, you must forgive yourself. At least, you must stop regretting whatever it was. Perhaps you are mourning your image of yourself as "super-pure." Well, very few human beings have ever been that "super-pure." In this case, what should comfort you is the humility of accepting that you are prone to sexual temptations like anyone else and have given in to some, and then the joy that God has forgiven you and doesn't care about that now. He just cares about you. If you feel that much disgust with yourself, I recommend you speak with a Catholic-positive counsellor or with a priest or nun who works with young people.
The devil hates us, so he wants us to hate ourselves, too. Then when we are tired of hating ourselves for our sexual sins, he tells us that it is the Church's fault for lying to us about sexual sin, and we should just get with the program and do whatever we think we want. This is why it is so important for you to let God's forgiveness fall on you like cooling rain on a blazing hot day.
The reason [Scooter] can forget about the past and pretend nothing happened is because he is a guy and guys are different about these things. He has probably been committing the sin of self-abuse since he was 14, so one more minor (as you did not actually have sex) sexual sin is not going to be that big a deal to his psyche. Also, society in general has never cared that much about the minor sexual sins of men. Society shrugs and says, "Well, that's men." It's women who (A) brood (B) have historically been judged harshly. Men often just do not get that women can't just do stuff and then completely forget about it, like they do.
I don't think your feelings about [Scooter] are laughable at all. I think they are painful and they remind me of when I was 20. But I do encourage you to imagine putting all your hurt and worries in to a big bag and leaving them at the foot of the Cross for our Lord to take care of, while you get ready to go to Brazil. When you come home, it may be different, but right now the important thing is that you concentrate on the excitement of World Youth Day. It would be terrible if, when you are 30, someone asked you how World Youth Day in Brazil was and you said, "It was totally ruined for me because I spent all my time thinking about a guy and crying over him."
So don't message [Scooter] or try to contact him in any way before your trip. It could be that he himself needs time to retreat from all the drama--men often do that; have you ever heard of the "man cave"? Some men thrive on drama, but others get tired of it very swiftly. Meanwhile, what [Scooter] says about coming to see you means nothing. [Scooter] actually at your door means a lot. With men, it's most definitely their actions, not their words, that matter.
But, as I say, [Scooter] doesn't matter right now. Put him in a bag in your mind and put the bag at the foot of the Cross for our Lord to take care of, too! What matters is that you get everything you need together for World Youth Day in Brazil--your Portuguese phrasebook, your passport--and start to feel the excitement of this amazing opportunity in your life.
Grace and peace,
Seraphic
General Observations
1. "We don't have a choice" is seducer talk, a line straight out of the movies. And there's a kind of man whose interest is sparked by the convenient fact that a woman is going away very soon.
2. The sentence "I owe it to him to keep things confidential" makes me uneasy. What I was talking about was preserving someone's modesty and dignity. Women are terribly hurt when the men we kiss make us the subject of locker room talk. Well, it's not nice to make men we kiss the subject of powder room talk, either. As far as I know, all my friends' babies were created through parthenogenesis. They got married or got some boyfriend; they got pregnant. There's some connection there. Hmm...
3. Making out is dangerous for women because it can make us feel more attached to a guy than is at all reasonable. Once upon a time, cavemen just picked cavewomen and dragged them off, and it strikes me that making out might have been nature's way of helping a cavewoman cope with having to have sexual congress with a complete stranger. Many a time women wail to one another, "What does she SEE in him?" Well, it might not be him. It might be the chemicals zipping and zapping around in her brain.
4. Guys are different. Guys are different. Guys are different. And they have really short memories regarding things they want to forget, like all those really sweet things they said last week that they honestly sort of believed at the time.
5. A man can be great to his mother, aunts and sisters and treat all other women like trash. Although a man being nasty to his mother or sister is definitely a red flag, all his being nice to them proves is that he is nice to his mother and sister. Men in many cultures protect their own sisters while scheming to get their hands on other guys' sisters. This is why men have to have a little chat with each other before they court each other's sisters. Otherwise someone sometimes ends up dead.
6. It's a bad sign when a man tells you he thinks your family's ethnic group is racist. It means he's racist against your family's ethnic group. It's also a convenient excuse for him not to see you. "It's not my fault I don't come to see you. It's your racist family's fault." Race and ethnicity stuff can make dating an even bigger headache, speaking as a mangia-cake maudite-anglais cracker gora dead-ghost Taig from Toronto. Red flag.
7. Men are very much afraid of commitment to women they don't want to commit to. Occasionally men are also afraid of commitment to women they sort of do want to commit to, which is why mothers and sisters should yell at their sons and brothers about getting a move on and why girlfriends should try to make a good impression on mothers, sisters and even the nice old ladies pouring tea after Mass. However, men who are simply scared of marriage don't say "Just friends" to a girl they want as a long-term prospect.
8. There is no cure for unrequited love like international travel. And WYD must be the biggest meeting of Catholic marriage enthusiasts in the entire world.
9. Any consensual sexual sin any of us committed privately a year ago, as a one-off, and have subsequently confessed, and has no long-term consequences, matters less now than the new scuff on our best shoes. As sexual, it is imprudent and maybe even unchaste to think about it, so don't. Almost nobody knows, and nobody cares. Every Christian knows you're a sinner. If Catholic, you say so during the Confiteor at Mass every Sunday.
10. I'm really sorry girls don't trust their mothers more. But this weird post-1919 division between mothers and daughters seems to be so widespread, all I can say is that it is so important for women in positions of authority or in the public eye to be good role models and to tell younger women the truth as it is, not as we wish it were. And younger women must train themselves to always ponder the questions "What is it?" "Is it really so?" and "Knowing that, what should I do?" Many a time I have stopped myself from a slide into hysteria by reminding myself, "But I have no evidence. I do NOT know that."
10. I'm really sorry girls don't trust their mothers more. But this weird post-1919 division between mothers and daughters seems to be so widespread, all I can say is that it is so important for women in positions of authority or in the public eye to be good role models and to tell younger women the truth as it is, not as we wish it were. And younger women must train themselves to always ponder the questions "What is it?" "Is it really so?" and "Knowing that, what should I do?" Many a time I have stopped myself from a slide into hysteria by reminding myself, "But I have no evidence. I do NOT know that."
Tuesday, 16 July 2013
Auntie Seraphic & Confused-Clueless I
I alluded to this post yesterday. There were two emails, so it's a two parter. Girls! It would be helpful if you put all the relevant details in your first email. For example, if you're stuck on a guy, it would be helpful to know why, beyond bonding hormone.
Meanwhile, my unusual gentleness is because of her age. I have some extra observations underneath for older readers. By the way, in Canada and the USA, "school" can mean "college" or "university."
Dear Auntie Seraphic,
I hope you can offer some words of advice for me. I will summarize as best and as fast as I can.
Last year I left home and moved to a different city for school. Before heading back home I met a guy and he blew me away. He made me feel so loved, so wanted. He especially blew me away when he started to ask how I would feel if I fell in love with someone [with his career plans]...and then proceeded to discuss how I felt about marriage.
I was very nervous about getting involved with him because I didn't want to start something and then leave to go back home. He convinced me to "just try this" because we'd never know if we didn't try and we both knew we were running out of time. Now, I am a young Catholic striving to be a saint and he is a young Protestant who struggled with controlling his desires as a young man.
Eventually we got into a "relationship" and I compromised my values the night before I left to come back home. Thankfully the good Lord saved me, and we did not go as far as having sex, but I still felt like something was taken from me that I can now never get back again.
He came with me to the airport and we said our teary-eyed goodbyes, thinking that in our hearts, this wouldn't be the last time we'd see each other. We continued to work on our relationship when I arrived home, but we struggled to keep it together. It fell apart one night when I had told him that I had a really deep conversation with my girl friends about what had happened the night before and he got angry and he was hurt. He felt so ashamed and he felt so guilty that my friends now looked at me different and were not happy with my choices. He started to push me away and it all fell apart.
He ended communication very abruptly but somehow we'd get back into talking, then it would fall apart and come Christmas Day, I sent him a msg and he never responded. From then on, I was disappointed especially because he didn't have the decency to msg me Merry Christmas.
I'm sorry this is a novel, I'm just trying to grab all the important pieces.
After the many times my friends picked me up off the floor and told me he wasn't worth my time..and all the times I tried to hide when I was thinking about him out of fear of being scolded by my friends, I struggled to push him out of my mind. [But then a] month ago, I received a msg from him. I proceeded to get text after text after text from not only him, but from [the friend who introduced us] saying "u just gotta talk to him, he won't shut up about u, tonight pushed me over the edge, he was crying because he misses u so much".
I'm sorry this is a novel, I'm just trying to grab all the important pieces.
After the many times my friends picked me up off the floor and told me he wasn't worth my time..and all the times I tried to hide when I was thinking about him out of fear of being scolded by my friends, I struggled to push him out of my mind. [But then a] month ago, I received a msg from him. I proceeded to get text after text after text from not only him, but from [the friend who introduced us] saying "u just gotta talk to him, he won't shut up about u, tonight pushed me over the edge, he was crying because he misses u so much".
I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to think, or say, so I didn't do anything. I let him continue to pour out his 16 apologies and [I messaged him] 2 days later. I didn't know why he was back, I was angry and confused why God has let him come back into my life and distract me.
I thought, maybe we are supposed to be together, but I wasn't patient in the beginning, so now I am meant to learn patience, something I struggle with every day. Now we've been talking and trying to work on the "getting to know one another" that we had missed completely in the beginning. We have skyped numerous times and had some serious discussions.. And I feel torn now because my feelings for him are not just of that of a friends. They are more than that and its hard for me to push those aside and act as if we never had anything in the past. I am confused by what I am supposed to do because he says he just wants to be friends, and he hasn't come back to "get back together", or "be my boyfriend."
Deep down, from our discussions and our skype conversations, I truly feel he's bluffing. I feel he's scared of the feelings he has for me and isn't ready for commitment which I know he's said before.
For the past couple of days I have been seriously discerning cutting off all communication with him because I can't "just be friends" with him. I talked to my friend, the one who introduced us, and I felt I had made up my mind, and the decision was to cut him off. With that in mind, I went to the nearest chapel, and knelt before the Lord with the hopes of guidance and direction from Him, asking how I can go about cutting him off in a nice way. But instead what I received as my knees hit the floor is "you haven't been patient" and the tears just fell from my eyes. I was so overcome by emotion out of pure confusion. I felt I had made up my mind! And was thinking clearly! Yet the Lord gave me an answer of what I would have normally been ecstatic to hear!
Now, I am asking for your thoughts on the matter. I know that I care about him, truly a lot. I have thought about marriage, and I can see myself with him, but I try to push that out of my head in fear of getting hurt and being vulnerable.
Please help!
Deep down, from our discussions and our skype conversations, I truly feel he's bluffing. I feel he's scared of the feelings he has for me and isn't ready for commitment which I know he's said before.
For the past couple of days I have been seriously discerning cutting off all communication with him because I can't "just be friends" with him. I talked to my friend, the one who introduced us, and I felt I had made up my mind, and the decision was to cut him off. With that in mind, I went to the nearest chapel, and knelt before the Lord with the hopes of guidance and direction from Him, asking how I can go about cutting him off in a nice way. But instead what I received as my knees hit the floor is "you haven't been patient" and the tears just fell from my eyes. I was so overcome by emotion out of pure confusion. I felt I had made up my mind! And was thinking clearly! Yet the Lord gave me an answer of what I would have normally been ecstatic to hear!
Now, I am asking for your thoughts on the matter. I know that I care about him, truly a lot. I have thought about marriage, and I can see myself with him, but I try to push that out of my head in fear of getting hurt and being vulnerable.
Please help!
Dear Confused and Clueless,
If you just left for college last year, you are probably only 19 or 20 now. You probably won't get this now, but from an adult perspective, you are very young and vulnerable and, above all, deserve forgiveness* for your sins a hundred times faster than a thirty-year-old does. It is very hard to be between the ages of 17 and 25. Your powers of reasoning, prudence and patience have not caught up yet with your desires, particularly the desire to feel loved by a man.
If you have gone to confession, what you did the night before you went home doesn't really matter. (If you haven't gone to confession, go to a good priest for it, and let that be an end to it.) All it was, from a practical point of view, was evidence that you are a human adult female who felt very sexually attracted to that human adult male. Sexual desire is one of the most powerful forces on earth, which is why human beings have created a lot of taboos and disciplines to fence it in, to help us obey God's request/command/invitation to us not to have sex outside of the one safe, just place for it: marriage.
During this relationship, you have learned many important lessons that will stay with you for life. One is that when you have an intense experience, you want to tell all your friends about it. Another is that when you do, the other person involved may feel betrayed. (And so either you tell your friends, and don't tell the man you told your friends, or you don't tell your friends. Many married women disappoint our Single friends by suddenly clamming up when we get married. It's because our loyalty to our husbands now outweighs our need to connect with our female friends.)
The question for me is if this man is your friend. You are worried about being hurt and vulnerable, but you are hurting and vulnerable already, so leave that aside for now. A man-friend is not someone you look at and say, "Will this guy hurt me and how bad?" A man-friend is someone you look at and feel happiness because he is there. You think, "I like this man! He's a straight-up guy! I'd feel proud if I walked into a room arm in arm with him, and people thought he was my boyfriend." A boyfriend, or a husband, should also be your friend.
What I am not getting from your email is what you LIKE about this guy. I get that you are overwhelmingly sexually attracted to him, and I get that--like most women---you want a great man to love you, but what I don't get is whether or not you LIKE this man, so that even if you were married to someone else, you would still look forward to talking to him at parties.
If the Lord tells you you need to be more patient, I won't contradict! And I think you need to be more patient, especially with yourself, because you are so young. He is very young, too, and he probably has many of the same worries and fears you do. He's a guy, so he's different, but that doesn't make him from an entirely different species. He's confused, clueless and vulnerable, too.
I also think you should stop talking about your business with your same-age friends. At your age, your friends will find it all an absorbing soap opera, with you as heroine and him as villain, but if you want to have a kindly, mature, Christian friendship/relationship with this man, you must develop a comparable loyalty to him. If he is not abusive in any way, you owe him the dignity of discretion and privacy. Yes, you may need advice and guidance, but I strongly suggest discussing anything that needs to be discussed about your boyfriend with him, first of all, and then perhaps with an adult mentor, like your mother or favourite aunt or priest.
I hope this is helpful.
Grace and peace,
Seraphic
Observations for Older Readers
1. Beware the man who pressures you into "a relationship" (and what does that mean, anyway?) or anything else because you are "running out of time." Time is the one thing you are not running out of. You have all eternity before you, and the little bit you have on this earth determines how the rest of it plays out.
2. If you don't want the time, don't do the crime. Of course you want to do sexy stuff with sexy people. But you don't because you would feel simply terrible afterwards. You know Jiminy Cricket will sit on your shoulder yelling, "Bad Pinocchio! Bad!" If Catholic, you will have to go to a confessional and tell it all to a man behind a mesh screen who will say such kind and gentle things you may feel even worse and cry. This is better, however, than telling yourself you HAVE BEEN ROBBED. See #3.
3. You can get everything except virginity back. If you lose Grace, you can at least humbly ask for it back, and if you are really sorry and God is merciful, you will get it back. If you lose face, you can get that back, too. If you lose your dignity, you can get that back in time. Virginity, however, is a historical state, and you can't rewrite history. If you make a free act of will to have sex and you have it, hey presto, you're not a virgin anymore. (St. Augustine ruled that rape of a virgin does not entail loss of her virginity, as it does not include her free act of will. Of course it is still an atrocious thing to happen and to recover from, and rapists used to be executed.)
Make sure you understand the difference between Grace, face, dignity and virginity. And stop using the word "virginity" for every new experience. I once broke a date with a young man because he said we were losing our rock concert virginity together. And twenty years later I was bereft of speech when another young man told me he had lost his "black pudding virginity." Stop this at once, young people!
Incidentally, if you do something of your own free will, you were not robbed. Nothing was taken from you. You did it yourself. Let us take responsibility for the stuff we do, and call a spade a spade, and a sin a sin, and physical acts deliberately leading to sexual excitement of both parties physical acts deliberately leading to sexual excitement of both parties. Outside of marriage, these are sins.
4. Keep it classy. You did it. You feel bad. Now you don't love yourself, so you reach out to others to see if they will still love you if they too know What You Did. So you tell all your friends, and they are, like, OMG! They are all embarrassed and, like, "u gotta dump this bf, grfrd!" and when they meet up they discuss What You Did in exasperated undertones.
Your plan to repair your self-esteem with the esteem of your posse has backfired. You are angry and hurt, and misery loves company, so who better to share in your anger and hurt than your Partner in Crime? And how better to make him angry and hurt than to tell him you told all your friends What You and He Did and how they let you down.
Sadly, this passive-aggression will backfire, too, because if there is anything men hate, it is losing face and being told to feel guilty. If you want to hang onto the delicious morsel guy whose charms you savoured succumbed to yesterday, don't yell at him about it today. Just go to confession and don't put yourself in a position where you do it again. Tell the truth, which is that it felt great at the time, but you're not doing that again because you don't want to go to hell. ("God doesn't send people to hell for stuff like that." "Yes, He does. It's in the Bible. Anyway, it's not Him sending, it's us choosing, and I need you to respect my sexual choices if this is going to work out.")
If this is possible, do NOT tell your friends What You Did. I realize how hard this is, so if you really can't help it because you feel that bad, then pick the smartest, quietest one. If you tell two, pick two who don't know each other, so they can't discuss it.
5. Do not tell his friend your secret plans regarding him because his friend will tell him. Guaranteed. And then he will be angry and hurt and withdraw and say he just wants to be friends and complain about women to his friends and say we are good for only one thing, etc., etc. Bless his little heart.
6. If he says he just wants to be friends, it's over. Keep it classy. Say "Okay, if that's what you want" and then don't text him first ever again. If you find his facebook updates seriously irritating, wait a month and then subtly defriend him. Don't discuss him. Don't skype him. Don't write to him. Don't for a minute think he was the ONE and you have lost all chance of earthly happiness and are doomed to sexual frustration and eventual insanity and death surrounded by mangy cats. Rewrite the script by saying, "Ah! He was one of the really hot ones," when your friends say his name. Wink and smile.
*I just heard Calvinist Cath have a heart attack, so I concede that it is theologically risqué to suggest anyone deserves God's forgiveness for his/her sins. What I mean is that the young are less culpable for their sexual sins than the old because they are untried soldiers in the war against sin, not battle-hardened veterans comme moi.
*I just heard Calvinist Cath have a heart attack, so I concede that it is theologically risqué to suggest anyone deserves God's forgiveness for his/her sins. What I mean is that the young are less culpable for their sexual sins than the old because they are untried soldiers in the war against sin, not battle-hardened veterans comme moi.
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