[Bacchus]

Ready your barf bag, this tale will turn your stomach more than using the shitter immediately after Lindy West.

http://nymag.com/thecut/2015/07/what-ope...inism.html

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As I write this, my children are asleep in their room, Loretta Lynn is on the stereo, and my wife is out on a date with a man named Paulo. It’s her second date this week;her fourth this month so far.

She must be ovulating.

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If it goes like the others, she’ll come home in the middle of the night, crawl into bed beside me, and tell me all about how she and Paulo had sex. I won’t explode with anger or seethe with resentment. I’ll tell her it’s a hot story and I’m glad she had fun. It’s hot because she’s excited, and I’m glad because I’m a feminist.

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Before my wife started sleeping with other men, I certainly considered myself a feminist, but I really only understood it in the abstract. When I quit working to stay at home with the kids, I began to understand it on a whole new level. I am an economically dependent househusband coping with the withering drudgery of child-rearing. Now that I understand the reality of that situation, I don’t blame women for demanding more for themselves than the life of the housewife.

[...]In this way, my masculine self-image was stretched but not broken. Diaper bag notwithstanding, I was still a Man. It wasn’t until my wife mentioned one evening that she’d kissed another man and liked it and wanted to do more than kiss next time that I realized how my status as a Man depended on a single fact: that my wife fucked only me.

This guy has no status as a man. He was born a bitch, and it's only been getting worse for him since then. First off, he self-identifies as a feminist. Combine that with him staying home as a house husband and her working, and this bitch's pussy has gone full Sahara. No wonder she's sought out the opportunity to cheat on him, with his approval no less.

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When people ask how it started, I say this: We married young. She’d had sex before me, but only with a handful of people a handful of times. She never had a boyfriend, never had a lover. I was the first man she ever had the chance to get to know intimately.

If dicks were corn, here's her handful:



And that's just what she's admitting.

He married a slut. This girl didn't have a boyfriend or lover because she likely was riding the carousel at warp speed. A boyfriend would have slowed her down. Then, this simp showed up and put a ring on it.

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By her mid-30s, having already had our children and entering her sexual prime, she felt keenly her lack of sexual experience.

Sexual prime my ass. She's worn out, but she's also offering the pussy free of charge, with no expectation of feelings or commitment. So she has plenty of offers, all of them more exciting than her husband.

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Happily for me, she was willing to talk about it, willing to ask if I’d be open to exploring other options. We opened a bottle of wine and started talking, and talking, and talking.

She didn’t present it as an issue of feminism to me, but after much soul-searching about why the idea of my wife having sex with other men bothered me I came to a few conclusions: Monogamy meant I controlled her sexual expression, and, not to get all women’s-studies major about it, patriarchal oppression essentially boils down to a man’s fear that a woman with sexual agency is a woman he can’t control. We aren’t afraid of their intellect or their spirit or their ability to bear children. We are afraid that when it comes time for sex, they won’t choose us. This petty fear has led us as a culture to place judgments on the entire spectrum of female sexual expression: If a woman likes sex, she’s a whore and a slut; if she only likes sex with her husband or boyfriend, she’s boring and lame; if she doesn’t like sex at all, she’s frigid and unfeeling. Every option is a trap.

The rationalization hamster is not exclusively female. This man can rationalize as his wife's in his face infidelity as moving past judging women's sexuality.

But really, what option does he have but to rationalize? Accept that his wife doesn't love him and probably never did? Hence the lengthy essay proving that his open marriage works. For her.

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Feminism always comes back to sex, even when we’re talking about everything else. The point isn’t that all women should be sexual adventurers. Celibacy is as valid an expression of sexuality as profligacy. The point is that it should be women who choose, not men — even the men they’re married to. For my wife, the choice between honoring our vows and fulfilling her desires was a false choice, another trap. She knew how deep our love was, and knew that her wanting a variety of sexual experiences as we traveled through life together would not diminish or disrupt that love. It took me about six months — many long, intense conversations, and an ocean of red wine — before I knew it, too.

When my wife told me she wanted to open our marriage and take other lovers, she wasn’t rejecting me, she was embracing herself. When I understood that, I finally became a feminist.

War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Love is fucking other people.

This guy had to drink himself into oblivion to deal with his wife's proposal. The better move would have been to divorce her, take her money, and have her pay him alimony and child support. Make the system work for him.

But that's not what he did, because he loved her.

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That was two years ago, and today we’ve never been happier, more in tune, closer, tighter, stronger. Whatever power I surrendered, I don’t miss. I wouldn’t recommend it for everyone, but I tell everyone it works for us.

How does it work? We take turns going out. Because we have small children (ages 6 and 3), one of us stays home. (We don’t like to use babysitters because it gives us a curfew; we’d rather go out unfettered than worry about turning into a pumpkin at midnight.) Going out alone to hooking up with others was an easy transition. It does work both ways and, yes, I too enjoy sexual carte blanche. I just don’t use mine as much as my wife uses hers. What’s important is equality of opportunity, not outcome.

Instead of staying home with her small children in her free time, the wife goes on a dozen dates a month to get fucked by random men. The cuckolded husband would consider himself lucky to 1/4 of that in a year. He's so boring and emasculated his own wife doesn't want to fuck him. So good luck getting the other women of NYC interested.

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[...]

There are of course moments of jealousy, resentment, and insecurity. Recently, my wife went on a date and fell asleep at his apartment. I hadn’t heard from her since 10 p.m., she still wasn’t home at 6 a.m. My texts went unanswered and my calls went to voicemail. A tight knot of dread lodged in my stomach as I imagined all kinds of dire scenarios and realized that I not only didn’t know where she was, I had no idea whom she was with. I pictured myself going to the police saying, “I think she’s in Red Hook with a guy named Ryan. I don’t know his last name, but I think he’s a graphic designer?” I’m not sure there’s actually a word for the unique blend of acute terror and unforgivable shame I felt that morning imagining that I’d lost my wife to Ryan, the maybe graphic designer. When she finally texted me at 7:30 a.m., relief coursed through me like morphine. She wrote, “fuckfuckfuckfuck Im soooooo sorry. Fell asleep.” I replied, “Just glad you’re ok, but next time, no radio silence. Remember: you’re not alone.”

If that's how he really texts, the wife must really cherish any time she can get away from him. Small wonder she probably hasn't fucked him in 3 years.

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What surprises most people is when I tell them it’s not the sex-with-other-men that bothers me. The sex is the easy part, the fun part. It’s what the sex connects to, stands for, reveals that can be difficult. I don’t want her to fall in love with anyone else, and every time she goes on a date, I confront the possibility that she might. It happened at the beginning: The first person she dated after we opened up fell hard in love with her, and my wife, overwhelmed by his ardor, tried to love him back. Watching it happen, I was confused, angry, and terrified that she wanted to leave me. She assured me she didn’t, and whatever feelings she had for him didn’t lessen what she felt for me. Believing her then was the ultimate trust exercise. We survived because eventually I did believe her, and also because I learned to trust myself.

He'd rather the random men she meets just fuck her and leave her before the fluids have gone dry. He'd rather her cuddle up next to him with the smell of another man's cock still on her breath. All so his wife won't catch feelings for the flings she's having. They get all the sex, while he gets the emotional burdens.

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This has been the great challenge of my open marriage: to draw strength from vulnerability. Doing so requires supreme self-confidence. You must first really, truly love yourself; it is the foundation upon which all the other love is built. From everywhere comes the message that what I’m doing is for weaklings, losers, failures, pussies; that if I had money and status, I could keep my wife “in line”; that her self-discovery comes at the expense of my self-esteem. My open marriage has made heavy demands on my ability to silence the voice of doubt in my head, that gnawing feeling of worthlessness. But I find I can meet those demands, and that I am able to build my self-confidence out of nothing more than the basic dignity we all possess. I’m grateful to my wife for pushing us to take this leap, and whatever happens to us in the future I would do it all again. And when she comes home tonight and crawls into bed beside me with a hot story about her date with Paulo, she’ll do it all again, too.

Vulnerability is strength, for a woman.

He should listen to that voice of doubt. It's telling him good advice. Those feelings of worthlessness show that he's not completely insane. But he silences his last shreds of common sense by cooking up some notions about feminism and drinking the pain away. But that not enough to stop him from knowing that he's already lost her.

This is the top comment (by SmellyDoofus):

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Dude, this has nothing to do with feminism. She's not that into you but likes having a live in baby sitter.

But, it's only half accurate. While the wife in question is using him as free child care while she's getting stuffed like a turkey across Brooklyn, it has everything to do with feminism. Feminism, as an ideology, means nothing more than allowing women to do whatever the hell they want without suffering any consequences for their actions. Feminism applauds any woman's decision, no matter how destructive or foolish. And, in this belief system, it is the role of men to accept and support whatever a woman chooses to do.

So if a sane man hears his wife's announcing that she's going to fuck whomever she wants, he'd kick her to the curb, where the garbage whore belongs. Instead, this guy, who's already emasculated, buys into it, because of feminism.

The choice is yours. You can be a feminist who supports his woman's decision to get fucked by half of Brooklyn, or you can be a patriarchal het-cis shitlord who keeps his hoes in check.