You will note there is no accompanying photo for this blog post. Discretion is the better part of, ummm, whatever.
A few days ago, something came over the Twitterverse that really caught my eye.
It was an article about how, yes, it’s wonderful that at least some men are getting the message about consent –
(okay, I know: there are men out there already commenting “But what about THE WIMMINS who don’t understand “No”????”. Don’t. Just, don’t, because unless you are verifiably working on social justice issues like campaigning publicly for more resources for male victims of domestic violence, it’s pretty obvious you are just jumping in to derail here. This is not about any of that, anyway. Move on, dude.)
– but the crux of the article was that despite this, women are still having a lot of — how to put this delicately? — sub-par sex. Essentially, they wind up consenting to bad sex.
Not violent sex. Not sex they don’t want to have.
They just wind up unfulfilled and feeling like the hype and the reality are still continents apart. They agree, and then get left out of the agreement.
The article pointed out that male orgasms are still the end-all and be-all for 50% of the participants in hetero sex acts.
That women’s pleasure is still thought of/treated as a “bonus”, a perk, an afterthought.
It stuck with me. It seemed sad, and slightly unbelievable, but there it was. College-age women are still not getting what they want out of this. They aren’t getting what they assumed would be inherent in that happy, enthusiastic “Hell, Yes”.
But I’m not college-age, and I’m not up on current dating practices, so I convened a small, private panel in Facebook Chat, composed of people that might actually know about this.
It was an interesting discussion, but, like Arlo Guthrie before me, that isn’t what I came here to talk about today*.
The thing is, near the end of the discussion, one of the male participants said, “Well, it’s not supposed to be a competition, is it? It’s not the Orgasm Olympics.”
And that was the exact moment when my brain took a gigantic leap sideways, because…
What if it was?
What if sexual pleasure was an Olympic event?
And for the next 24 hours, I wrestled with the concept.
I mean, there’s a lot to figure out.
Would this be team events, or individual competition?
Would the IOC want to separate the timed events from the endurance tests?
Would the scoring be like the scoring for gymnastics or figure skating, with a section for style/interpretation/artistic merit?
Would this finally allow women and men to compete in the same event at the same time?
(Or, as my brain asked: would they finally allow things like “mixed doubles”?)
Would we finally have a reason to outlaw both recreational drugs AND massage oils in sport?
Frankly, given that men keep on telling us that they are naturally competitive, it seems to me that the Orgasm Olympics are way overdue. It might be the only way to get the vast majority to take their partners’ pleasure seriously, and make it the reason for that consent to begin with.
And seriously: do we not “O” it to ourselves to make this happen?
* See “Alice’s Restaurant” if you find this statement incomprehensible:
** UPDATE: Here’s another article that goes into a lot of detail about the socio-political side to the article that sparked the original post…