It is a Tuesday night.
I’m hanging out at a girl’s apartment when her roommate walks in, talking about some guy.
The roommate is not hard to look at, but not especially pretty in any way. Her nose is a little too big, as is her ass. Her thighs touch. A textbook 6, really.
She is going on and on about this guy.
She wants to show us a picture of him.
I know what’s coming next.
She shows us a picture from his facebook. He is shirtless. The dude is probably around 6’4”, and completely shredded. It is a beach picture, and his body language dominates the other guys in the picture.
The roommate then starts peppering us with other facts about him:
He is a semi-pro soccer player.
In case soccer doesn’t work out, he is in school for an MBA.
His family is filthy stinking rich (private equity consulting…think Mitt Romney)
He has an apartment that overlooks the east side of Central Park (paid for by his family).
And that’s not all.
She starts “complaining”, with a smile on her face, about what a jerk he is. She shows us the text message conversation they are having. It is like being hit in the face with game. He’s joking about threesoming her, push-pulling, not replying for hours.
I squash aside a little jealousy that this guy has better text game than me and remind myself to steal some of his quips. Shit was pretty good.
Anyways, she was about to go over to his apartment. To “hang out”. On a Tuesday night. For their first “date”. Modern courtship.
Here’s the problem:
To her, this is the World Series of dating. Going to his apartment will be the tingliest of the tingles, the zenith of her lust life. The 5 minutes of alpha to which all future betas will be compared. An ideal man whose interactions she will analyze with her friends for months.
To him, she is a way to avoid jacking off on a weekday. A microwaveable Hot Pocket to satisfy hunger. A notch he may not even tell anyone about. A one-time splooge hole, maybe a few more if she is especially skilled or compliant.
A recipe for sex, a happy alpha male, and a heartbroken average girl.
That’s the friction in the sexual marketplace. Girls, you can always have sex with a hotter guy than you can get commitment from.
So what if she wants the sex?
Fine. Bring back concubines and harems. Let these girls who want sex with alphas but don’t have the goods to obtain full commitment take a lesser status to the alpha’s wife. That is what is happening anyway, why not formalize it?
The hot alpha sex upfront, followed by commitment to a guy more at your market level when you’re “ready”, is a pyrrhic victory. That means it is not a victory. You will be less satisfied with your husband, he will be less satisfied with you, and you will have a lower quality husband than you otherwise could have got had you not spread your legs for the guy outside your league. Nobody wins, except the alpha pussy plunderer, for about 15 minutes.
The power a girl has is based not on which guy will fuck her, but on which guy will commit to her. And to what level he is willing to commit.
Take two 18 year old girls.
The first, before she ever has sex, gets a respected man of solid income potential to state before his God, family and community that he will protect her for all eternity.
The second has sex with the captain of lacrosse team in his dorm room. He never calls her again.
Which one would feminists say is empowered?
Which one actually is empowered?
Have a good Tuesday night.
