I’m a man in my mid-30s and I just started dating after the end of a five-year relationship. The last three dates I’ve had have been with women on Terminator-style search-and-be-impregnated missions: “Has job…does not live at home…Full head of hair…MATCH! MATCH! MATCH!” For these women, a successful date isn’t “Gee, I kind of like you, let’s hang out, get to know each other, and maybe have sex.” It’s more like “OK, you’ll do; let’s buy a house and have kids now.” I’m not interested in being anyone’s sperm donor at the moment. Nothing kills romance faster than reproductive desperation. Don’t these dolls get it?
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Instead of complaining, you should thank these women for being open about their intentions. Then dump their desperate asses. But be warned: dolls who’ve been repeatedly dumped by guys struggling with cliched fear-of-commitment crapola eventually adopt new stratagems. You see, women in search-and-be-impregnated mode tend to get dumped a lot by guys in sex-with-no-strings mode. Eventually a woman will switch to stealth search-and-be-impregnated mode, telling a man everything he wants to hear (“Oh honey, let’s just live for today! Another blow job?”), biding her time until she can make him say what she wants to hear (“Oh shit, you’re pregnant? Guess we better get married”).
But if I may lecture you, NYPD, a man in his mid-30s has had plenty of time to slut around, plenty of opportunity to stick his dick in skanks, and should have figured out by now if he wants kids. There’s a point in a man’s life–around when he has to start going in for regular prostate exams–when fear of commitment and/or indecision on the wife-and-kids issue is no longer masculine or attractive or Peter Pan or Jack Kerouac or Bruce Springsteen. It’s just pathetic. I’m not saying that all men should want to settle down and/or have kids–the world would be a much better place if men who didn’t want kids didn’t have kids. But by the time you’re 40 and fat, with a real career and a swollen prostate gland, you’ve had enough time to make up your fucking mind, guys.
Since you gave him permission to go before you knew he was capable of spending $500 and seven hours in a strip club, and when you thought there was no touching involved, you have every right to forbid him to go from here on out. But let’s not kid ourselves: your boyfriend is still gonna go to strip clubs. If he goes without your permission, however, he’ll be more discreet about it, spending less money and less time there, and if you’re smart you’ll turn a blind eye.
Send questions to Savage Love, Chicago Reader, 11 E. Illinois, Chicago 60611 or to letters@savagelove.net.
