Lips and a chart

The Poon Economy: The importance of whores

Disclaimers

-I’m entirely too lazy to caveat each gender related statement in here. If you’re a homosexual just slap whatever pair of genitals you want on each gender qualifier.

-There are unhealthy and self-destructive ways to go about freewheeling intercourse. This is about the normal kind.

Enjoy

Have you ever been involved in a prolonged dry spell? Not the kind that involves weeks of drought, but the kind that you start measuring in increments of the calendar year? Ever found yourself at the bottom of a deep pit of self-doubt that seems impossible to climb out of?

Well, I’d put good money on the fact that you were rescued from that pit by a whore.

A woman in Indiana Jones gear that has a whip
Cum with me if you want to… well, you get the rest

Yes, the humble whore. A creature that, despite their numerous contributions to the world around them, is much reviled. But like the drug connect or the den mother, they are a necessary and integral part of the social ecosystem. Would you like to know why, within the esoteric confines of society, the role of whore is necessary? I’ll give you a brief thought experiment:

You stand talking to a casual acquaintance discussing previous sexual endeavors when they offhandedly mention a few of their own. This is perplexing to you, as you don’t even find them passably attractive or mildly interesting. You wonder to yourself, “Who could have possibly put this human in their mouth?”

Now you have your answer.

Before somebody breathes fire on me using caps lock, I’d like to say that men and women are equally capable of being whores, it is a pastime that can be just as creepy, sad, or triumphantly grimy going in either direction. What it comes down to, near as I can figure it, is people playing it a little too fast and loose with their standards. I’ll get more technical with my explanation of that later, but for now, hop in the car, kids, we’re going on a tour of pound down.

The magic school bus outside a strip club
Miss Frizzle? My pants feel funny

It’s worth explaining to the reader, before getting into the messy physics of DNA transfer, that I am generally a serial monogamist. I’ve slept with four women in my life and was dating/went on to date three of them. The one night stand has always seemed a tad bit masturbatory to me, but this is America, you can consensually waggle your flesh bits at whoever you want. Plus, everybody knows that when you liquor up a bunch of hormonal chimps and throw them into a music-filled room together magic happens. I’d rather hate someone for making repeated uninspired Nickelback jokes than for repeated unimpressive sexual forays.

Now, it’s not like I’ve never been caught in the trap of judging people/sexual partners by standards I didn’t invent, but every time some baseless opinion bubbles up in me I try my best to logic that shit back down to where it belongs. I’ve always found it curious, then, when a person I’ve known to pounce on anything that moves says something along the lines of, “yeah, he/she is cute but they kind of get around”. This seems to me like a case of biting the hand that feeds. Isn’t that a good thing to you? Doesn’t that statistically improve your odds of seeing them naked? This is akin to a homeless man waiting in line at a soup kitchen and claiming aloud “Can you believe these fuckers?! They’re giving out food to anybody who wants it! Unfuckingbelieveable!”

a can of soup
This sounded less gross in my head

Every time I hear somebody talking trash about a person who’s had less sexual partners than them, I always wonder where exactly the inspiration for that loathing came from. From social conditioning, that much is obvious, but I mean the biological or Freudian impetus our early ancestors had for ostracizing the whore from the pack. And after much research (and by research I mean the thoughts that barrage me as I try like hell to sleep) I chalk it up to three basic principles, which are: VD, performance anxiety, and religiousness. The following are my rebuttals

1: Fear of venereal diseases

a gremlin with large hands

Look dawg, I want “mucuslike discharge” coming out of my breeding parts as much as the next person, but Alexander Fleming didn’t invent penicillin so you could just have good conversation in that Las Vegas hot tub. Well, Fleming invented it on accident. Also, the first applications were for other diseases. Also, wrap your junk, or your lady junk, or at the very least don’t complain to me when you went for a touchdown when the safer option was a field goal. My point here is that science is magic.

2: Threat of being not as good in the sack

paper test and pencil

It’s an honest to goodness concern, especially when you find yourself repeatedly hooking up with the same person, that your prowess in the bedroom may not quite stack up to some of their past flings. But not to worry, whenever you find yourself having this thought during intimacy, always remember this simple fact: You are cripplingly deficient compared to their past lovers in dozens of categories. Also, if somebody has tried several restaurants and finds they enjoy certain aspects more than others, you don’t call them a food slut, you call them a rational, decision making human being. But for the purposes of this metaphor, somebody’s genitals have to be Arby’s.

I’d touch your Arby’s.

3: Religious Inclination

a cross with the male and female symbols

If your thought patterns were given to you by the good book, there’s not any combination of words I can string together to shake your belief in the importance of chastity. That said, if you marry a “born again virgin” and on your wedding night they play your flesh organ like Hendrix at Woodstock, you and I both know a little holy water to the dome did not wash away the past.

 

I’m not trying to preach total tolerance of every lifestyle here, there’s is a fine line between open-minded and trashy. Like most humans, I’m not immune to judging. There are plenty of people I seethe at for petty reasons; people who use the word “best” to describe everything, people who vehemently support causes on Facebook for roughly fifteen minutes before forgetting about them entirely, users of the word “bae”. The list is long, but on that Dickens-novel-length workup of all the things that bear my malice what you will not find is “people using their faculties to hook up with like-minded people”.

When I was a freshman and sophomore in high school, a mere five foot virgin with a bowl cut, there was a couple everyone seemed to know at our school. This is not because they were stunning Prom royalty. This is because they were both rather unsightly, and they would spend some twenty minutes after school interchangeably making out and popping each other’s acne, square in the fucking middle of the locker area. Right there. Right there in the satellite-designated center of the quad, just for all of us to take into our underprepared eyeholes.

I don’t tell this story to say that hookups like this should never happen, I tell it to illustrate that everybody has a certain sexual tax bracket they can reasonably hope to operate within, and those two were not about to get audited. That, in my opinion, is where the unsettling nature of repeatedly hooking up with strangers comes from. Sure we all sometimes successfully punch above our weight class, but it becomes disconcerting when a person routinely goes home with swamp creatures just because they can’t bear the thought of sleeping alone.

a swamp creature with a bunch of roases
I got some ribbed condoms and a Netflix password back at my place

There’s a phrase I’ve often heard come out of females’ mouths that sounds something like this, “I’m a woman with the mind of a man.” That may be a true, valid, and egalitarian statement, but even we dongbearers get relentlessly made fun of for repeatedly tonguing down wholly awful beings.

What do I mean by wholly awful? People devoid of any marketable characteristics save for having sex organs. You see, like most people, when I think of possibly rubbing my junk on a member of the opposite sex I think of a triangle, which is…. What? That’s just me? There’s no way that…

Goddamnit.

Alright. Charts. Charts are coming.

Look, we all want different things in the people that we hook up with (one time or otherwise), that much is clear. You may value religious strictness, or artistic passion, a genuine smile, or a musical aptitude, but the point is if you sat down to look at a list of things you like in a person, you could probably prioritize them. And if you prioritize them enough, I bet you could probably find three major traits to put into a triangle. For example, below are the traits that I like to pretend are in my triangle.

A triangle
Results may vary

Yours might be athletic ability, sense of style, and skill at drawing the Cheesasaurus Rex. I really don’t give a shit, my point is that there is probably a noticeable trend in your choosing tactics. Where you start getting into trouble is when you put “heartbeat” somewhere in your triangle. You and I don’t always strike gold, but at least we can claim to have some form of ideals. Granted, sometimes they get away from us.

triangle
GODDAMIT, genitals! You are really hanging me out to dry!

For the record, no one is immune to the triangle, least of all yourself. As little as they like to admit it, everyone with more than one past partner is likely to be in someone’s “ew, I put my lips on that?!” category. Either way, without getting too technical, alcohol either helps us adjust our standards to realistic levels…

triangle
Eh, mom might be okay with this

…or helps us not at all.

triangle
Dad will totally know where I’m coming from here

If I can enter the economic metaphor for the first time in this entire post, let it be to say something very simple: if people with low standards are continually selling their product it is because somebody is buying. Somebody wants to purchase it. That is how the freemarket economy works. Whether you’re slinging cock, rock, box, or lox as long is business is moving, you’ve very little reason to stop what you’re doing. In this instance I don’t mean the literal selling of the body, or at the very least I mean the kind of action that you can purchase using pisspoor dance moves and drunken compliments as currency. I don’t hate the man in the supermarket for selling me alcohol, I hate myself for buying it in the first place.

So what’s my point then? I sure have written a fair amount of words referencing reproductive organs.  In my twenty-odd years of living I’ve seen slutty overachievers and chaste troglodytes and a healthy mixture of things in between. So in a world where recreational intercourse is the official sport of younglings it seems odd that otherwise thinking people get hung up on what people choose to do with free time and half a bottle of Cuervo. People don’t yell at me when I play Golden Tee, and I play that shit profusely.

Thus, I believe it might be high time to take half a second to think of an actually insulting term before accusing someone of being a slut. Then, after that half second is over, verbally snipe them from a distance over some petty thing they said last week.

cross hairs on a woman
Did that bitch just say frenchies are basic?!

 

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