Yesterday I was in a local sports bar seducing a young woman while a pack of much more overtly masculine men were still celebrating their ability to grow underarm hair in abundance. The Yankees were losing and the chest-thumpers were sullen. Then, the Yankees were winning and they were exuberant. All the while, I was enjoying a teasing and flirtatious conversation with a beautiful and intelligent future muse, my hand by now firmly placed at the apex of a tightly wrought ass.
The Yankees lost, and the Neanderthals at the bar were, at the least, melancholy. They were certainly hung-over, gaseous and bloated. With poetic luck, I was set to orgasm as the final out was recorded. Or was it her?
Sex after all may be the only competitive sport without a distinct loser.
According to some, I am not a man’s man. Even the terminology offends. The very thought of being possessed is suffocating. Preferring the scent of a perfumed wrist, a tight ass or a mischievous smile, I take no recourse to my supposed male dominion contingency. My distance from televised sport has invited both scorn and concern, but amongst my male contingency greater concern exists for my predilection for what I really prefer: America’s Next Top Model, Project Runway and Top Chef.
Sinful you may wonder? Hardly. How about redemptive, renaissance man, or just plain cunning?
It is far too simplistic to retort that one’s masculinity is reiterated by their ability to get excited by, rich, athletic men in tight pants exercise one another. It is also too simplistic to point out that in the span of an hour long episode of ANTM or Project Runway, I see female models in their underwear a few dozen times. If my goal was to see women undress, I could easily turn on Cinemax on demand, after hours and be done with it.
Similarly my affinity for Top Chef. Although Padma Lakshmi is attractive and admittedly a rush to watch with her kitchen knives she has never once removed her clothes. Should the show’s producers read this, I submit that Padma’s exposed vulva would be a far superior gift to a challenge winner than yet another pair of steak knives.
So what gives? Why the predilection to the affairs of what is widely perceived to be the sole preserve of women’s cultural affairs? What is it about this domain that is increasingly luring men to the discussion of parsley, perfume etiquette and herbal facial washes?
Top Chef is better than porno. Porno provides tits. Top Chef provides an instruction manual to touching tits. Not only tits but the most probably well-cared for tits of discerning women with a refined palette for the finer things in life. After all, you can lead a man to a perfect pair of perky c-cups, but if you teach that man to make an Osso Buco, he will always find his own tits too. Not that I am suggesting that a man need know how to cook to get laid. Then again a finessed understanding of where all the ‘cooking’ takes place can only in the long run serve him well.
The first time I wined and dined the woman whose ass I felt as Jorge Posada smacked a two-run homer today, I heated up frozen macaroni and cheese while we sipped wine and listened to Duffy’s first album. The cheese burnt along the top. It was magical. The ability to cook is equal to the ability to watch, appreciate and knowingly discuss these television shows, the music of Nina Simone, whether Portland, Oregon is the new Boulder, Colorado, fine wine or whether South by Southwest is a better festival than All Points West. All of the above are just weapons in what I expect is a man’s well-rounded arsenal.
The most potent sexual firepower a man can posses is his ability to recognize, assimilate and manipulate current cultural phenomenon to his advantage. Culture sexual men are the modern day, bastardized equivalent of Cyrano, full of the language of seduction, but not needing the go-between. While Cyrano seduced with poetry and turn of phrase, our modern Lothario’s must use a coarser vocabulary more easily understood by our prey. Be that pop music, “Sex in the City,” or the overly-hyped crap on display at the Whitney this month, a ‘culture sexual’ is in the know.