Sex is weird for guys. We have simple tastes and simple needs that seem to require minimal upkeep. Hell, for that matter, we barely require attention or even presence. Most men could have sex inside our local zoo's poisonous snake exhibit and not give it a second thought until after the orgasm, when we're prying puff adders off of our balls and screaming for antivenom. From this perspective, it's almost impossible for us to understand it when a woman loses the mood. How? What's wrong with her? Is she a prude?
Before we go jumping to that conclusion, it's probably best to first turn those accusations inward. Because until you learn these basics, there's a good chance she's going to run out of excuses and just fake her own death to avoid your dong.
Sounds obvious, doesn't it? If you're surprised to find out that pressuring a woman into having sex is common among men, even if they don't know they're doing it, then I have a simple, no-effort research task for you. Scroll down into the comments section and ask an actual woman if she's ever had it happen to her. You'll hear stories that range from restless husbands who claim that they need to have an orgasm because it helps them get to sleep to flat-out ultimatums from guys they've dated. "We've been going out for three weeks, and we still haven't gotten anywhere. My dick is so neglected, I could fuck start a space shuttle. If we don't get naked soon, I'm finding someone else."
In another article, I mentioned the push-pull dynamic, which in basic terms means that the more one of you does something, the more the other person disconnects from it. Think about it in terms of lasagna. You both love it, and you happen to make a pretty damn mean one. So one day, she asks you to make her one, and you're like "Hell yes, I'll make you a lasagna. I am the Whitesnake of lasagna, baby!" Then the next day, she asks again. And every day after that until you finally snap:
"I'm going to stay with my mother. At least she sees me as more than just a great cook with an enormous penis."
"No, I'm not making any more fucking lasagna! What the hell, is that all you think I'm for? My perfect blend of mozzarella and not-too-tangy sauce? Well, I'm not your lasagna factory! I am more than just a vessel for delivering Italian food into your stomach! It wouldn't kill you to make me some food for once. Oh, that's right, just walk away and watch your cooking shows like you always do. Sometimes I think you love their preparation techniques more than you love me!"
If you press for sex too much, even if you don't think what you're doing is all that harmful, it is absolutely going to enter that push-pull model, and the very idea of having sex with you is going to become repulsive to her. It's Pavlovian in the respect that you're training her to loathe your dick.
"Sorry, but I'm a lesbian. I just now realized that."
The only way around that is to step back, take a breath and stop bringing up the subject for a while. Go out and do things with her as a couple. Not with the end goal of "If I do this, I can put my cock somewhere in or on her." If you're operating your relationship with that at the forefront of your mind, you're not ready for that relationship or the sex that comes with it.
Have you ever noticed that when you put on deodorant or cologne, it smells really good right off the bat? But after about 15 minutes, you don't notice it anymore? It hasn't dissipated -- anyone entering the room will still be knocked back by the shot glass full of Brut you drowned your red neck in. Your nose, however, has reached the point of saturation, and your brain has literally shut down your ability to perceive it. Well, the same holds true for your stank ass.
I know you don't think you smell, but sometimes you do. Specifically the crack part of you. It doesn't have to be after a hard day's work, harvesting stink berries from your funk plantation. Hell, we've all had an occasional day where we decided, "I'm not getting in the shower right now. I haven't done anything strenuous today -- just hanging around the house. One day won't kill me."
"Wait, did I take one yesterday? Surely, I did. Didn't I?"
The problem is that even if you haven't done any work, you've still been sitting on your ass all day, generating crack heat. Cultivating crack bacteria. And unless you wipe your ass with the same deodorant that you put on your armpits, it's going to generate some crack whiff. Add in the fact that we're guys, and we love to play the occasional butthole trumpet against the faux leather of our computer chairs and giggle, and we're pretty much always working up a good case of butt sauce.
Warning: I'm about to tell you the most blunt, unfiltered, raw thing I've ever said to another human. Much worse than what I already have. But it needs to be said, because you won't find a chapter on this in your health-class textbook.
"OK, are there any questions about buttholes? No? Good, let's move on."
Not all guys will have this problem, but after telling you about it, many of you are going to be shocked. The next time you get bad gas, feel free to bust out a few good ones (obviously, make sure your friends are around so you can get the most out of the situation ... you don't want them going to waste). Then after you've spent most of your ammunition in the ensuing fart war, go to the bathroom and -- without taking a crap -- wipe your ass. Don't throw the toilet paper away just yet.
Now, I want you to do two things: 1) Look at it. Some of you won't see anything at all, and that means you are probably born of supernatural seed. But some of you will immediately double check to make sure you didn't literally shit your pants. But wait, it gets worse. 2) Whether you see anything on that toilet paper or not, slowly start inching it toward your face and see how close you get before you stop yourself and say, "What in the unholy fuck is wrong with me that I'm doing this on the suggestion of a guy who writes cock jokes for a living?"
Wait, don't give me that look just yet. There's a point to this, I swear.
The reason I asked you to do that is because before you went into that bathroom, if your girlfriend were to have intercepted you, pushed you into your bedroom and told you she was about to give you the blowjob of your life right there on the spot, you wouldn't have stopped her. And after that test, I'm willing to bet that her head would have been a lot closer to your ass than that toilet paper got to your face. Knowing all that, try to estimate how many times she'd be willing to go back to that spot if she knew that every time she did, she'd be met with the aroma of shitsweat.
No matter what number you came up with, it was too high.
An occasional bad mood doesn't destroy a sex life. If it did, you were in the wrong relationship to begin with. But there are those days when a bad mood can just stretch on forever, and nothing seems to help ease it. From the time you get home until your head hits the pillow, everything just sucks, and you either make it known vocally or you sulk around the house and tell the story with your body language. Like the way you keep slamming cabinet doors or giving your cat the finger for no reason.
So the day finally winds down, and you turn off the lights and slide into bed. You feel your partner's butt pressed up against your still angry dong, and it hits you: "Man, a quickie right before I pass out in a whimpering, pouting heap would do me wonders." And right there is the problem. You're thinking of her vagina as your own personal Prozac.
"I shall name you all 'Samantha's Vagina.'"
What you're probably not realizing is that she has been walking on eggshells since you got home, and the last thing on her mind is your balls angrily slapping off of her body. She wants the day to end just as much as you because you've been a huffy bitch every second that she's seen you today. Sadly, if she doesn't have sex, you're probably going to chalk that up as "Goddamn. Can anything else go wrong today?" You're now thinking of the absence of sex as if you had just poured a bowl of cereal before opening the fridge to find a human turd floating in your milk container.
But it's not just bad moods that can shut down the sex drive. It could be the way you divvy out the good ones. There's a turning point in every relationship where the impression stage fades and both people start acting like their true, honest selves. You stop laughing at jokes you don't find funny. If she does something embarrassing, you call her on it, and vice versa. You're not afraid to full-on tackle her in the hallway when she says you have woman hips. However, for most non-asshole people, that impression stage kicks back in when you speak to strangers.
"Thank you, and just as an aside, your hair smells terrific."
It can (and usually is) something that you don't give a second thought to. Something that feels totally innocent to you. Maybe you smile a little more than normal when speaking to the waitress. Or perhaps you laugh at something the cashier says, even though both you and your girlfriend know you'd never find that funny. In your mind, you're just being polite. But to your girlfriend, you're flirting. Even if she doesn't go that far, she can easily see you being saccharine sweet to another woman and instantly reverting back to your normal old self with her, and it's insulting.
Either way, she's keeping her boobs in their holsters with the safety on tonight.
"Come on, I told her that her boobs were almost as awesome as yours. That's a compliment to you!"