Get ready for a kinky generation of women, Comonation.
It seems that as history runs its course, the misinformed, hormonally-imbalanced young women of America seek ways to push the boundaries farther and farther into what is seen as “taboo” to experience a thrill and the high that comes with it. Gone are the days of the 50’s where buying a girl a cream soda at a burger joint and sharing it in your cotton-candy colored convertible was considered a pretty saucy move, one she would gush about to her friends later back home (I picture all cars in the 50’s to be either pink or light blue steel-chasse convertibles or muscle cars.)
At around the same time, smoking became the symbol of the rebellious, bold man, and he was the one the ladies were after. “He looks so deep in thought over there smoking that Lucky Strike, I wonder what his story is…” Bang. Done deal. Her heart is already melting, because all the other guys she’s talked to never inhaled burning tobacco, and that’s just… hot. “Don’t ask me why. Yeah it smells nasty, but he doesn’t give a fuck. I love how he doesn’t give a fuck.”
Soon enough though, the next generation of women grew up with it and got bored easily, looking for a new thrill, a new turn-on for their curious minds to latch onto as they hold on for dear life making horrible decision after horrible decision coping with hormones confusing them as they attempt to achieve a stable maturity. Other drugs filled up this need; maryjane in the 60’s, cocaine in the 80’s, Pop-Tarts in the early 2000’s (I went through a pretty dark time in 6th and 7th grade when I discovered Frosted Blueberry Pop-Tarts and proceeded to go into sugar-induced pastry trances that which would consume most of my free time after school. I became addicted and, soon, I was a pack-a-day Pop-Tart eater, but at the worst point, I was going through whole boxes easily. That was until I collapsed in gym class after running a couple laps one day during our normal warm-up routine. I felt like Tony Soprano having a panic attack on the inside despite only being twelve, and my heart just couldn’t take it. I’ve been clean and sober ever since.)
It seems that not even extracurricular bedroom activities escape this inevitable boredom every girl seems to reach after repeating the same thing over and over again. This time though, spicing the game up doesn’t mean hopping in a stranger’s convertible, or doing a quick line off of someone’s finger before getting under the sheets. It involves leather, and sharp metal objects, and it’s sweeping the females of this nation, apparently.
I’m sure you’ve heard of the most recent bestseller to hit the shelves, titled Fifty Shades of Grey. It’s the book every girl of every age is talking about. For the longest time, I thought it was just another teenybopper erotic thriller about some unrealistic series of encounters between under aged, horny teens that only happens on reality television. Turns out I was pretty close, but my girlfriend recently told me what it was really about: a billionaire playboy who loves BDSM and pretty much destroys this virgin college chick on the reg. And she loves it. All the girls love that she loves it, and now they love it.
I don’t really care that there’s a book about BDSM, after all it’s been around for a while, but what does bother me is the reaction it got. I had thought those were into bondage and submission were the minority. The book’s release kind of reminds me of how all the younger girls reacted when the whole vampire craze swept over America. Women got so bored with their husbands, boyfriends, hookups, etc. that they fantasized about monsters sneaking into their bedrooms at night to suck blood from their necks while banging them, all in the name of getting a rush. It took THAT to get ‘em going. Now that’s not enough. Perusing through Amazon reviews for the book, I came across numerous chicks saying it “changed their lives” and that “sex won’t be the same anymore.” Maybe I’m the only one who’s bothered by the fact that most girls say they don’t, but secretly want you to pull out chains and a mask so they can forget about boring-old you and imagine being a housewife being raped by some masochist burglar whenever you have sex. Oh, that’s not messed up at all.
Well, who am I to judge? These are fast times we’re living in and missionary followed by a cordial handshake just won’t cut it anymore. So I hope the men out there take this as a warning. Be ready for some pretty fucked up shit in the future. Judging by the course of history, it seems like it will only get weirder, though I don’t know how these crazy bitches can push the envelope any further. Sooner or later though, we’ll have to face the truth that this is now the norm, so ya better embrace it whether you like it or not. For your convenience, I’ve added a link at the bottom so you can start your shopping. Better be ready, I know I won’t be. Happy role-playing.