I seem to recall the recommendation, in the original edition of The Joy of Sex I still keep stashed in my nightstand (more to point and laugh at the hairy seventies models than anything else) that dabbing a little of one's scent on pulse points would drive wild a man with whom one came in close contact. I never tried it. I think, though, that the assumption is that these secretions would come from a clean, healthy vagina, and that they were intended to be taken in by someone who was already known to be capable of being sexually aroused by the wearer (in other words, a lover or partner) who would be very close at hand--and not all men within a radius of ten feet. I have no idea whether this suggestion made it into the yuppified Second Edition.

But then, perfume is not really meant to be discernible more than a foot or so away from the wearer. Dousing yourself with anything, whether it be "Vulva" or "Champs d'Elysees," so that it overpowers all innocent bystanders within a radius of ten feet, is bad manners and a form of air pollution.

This article was a truly enjoyable (and well-written) chronicle of a trainwreck, and I'm glad the author is now happily married to someone who doesn't need Ambien and scotch to love her. What fascinated me about it was how it seemed to be an entirely new version of a very old narrative, in which, by day, a woman's lover is bewitched (and often invisible, or in the shape of an animal or a bird) and comes to her at night in his true human form. At some point she breaks the spell and he is restored to his human glory, and they are married and live happily ever after, etc., etc. If there's a Cinderella syndrome and a Sleeping Beauty syndrome, maybe this is the "Fenist the Falcon" syndrome? (That's the Russian version of this tale.)

Only...which is the magical form, and which is the true form? It's hard to tell. Those of us who have benefited from antidepressants know that sometimes it really does require chemicals to lift years of the effect of depression and psychological trauma from one's mind, and the difference is often dramatic and clearly visible. Perhaps this man was self-medicating successfully. Perhaps, during the day, he really was depressed and detached and unable to relate to a woman he found lovely and absolutely necessary while under medication.

Or maybe, sadly, it really was the medicated version that was all a ruse. That's the problem with transposing fairy tales to modern life: the protagonists never manage to reproduce those perfect endings, no matter how much they believe in them. Sometimes the "happily ever after" ending involves not rescue, but walking away from the seductions of the bewitched lover and finding true love elsewhere.

If it's really true that 99/100 times someone has said "no," he/she meant "yes," then there's something really screwed up going on here. I think the burden of communication needs to be put on these coy, falsely modest people (mostly the kind of silly women who can't bring themselves to say "fuck" and refer to their nether regions as "down there") who claim not to want sexual activity to take place when they actually want it. (And I have a hard time believing that the percentage of false negatives is really that high.) Communicating one's sexual desires clearly to one's partner--and not expecting them to second-guess them--is standard advice in sexual counseling and self-help; crying, "No!" while continuing to wriggle about seductively and faux-helplessly is really the stuff of those annoying bodice-rippers on the supermarket shelves. The burden should not be placed on women--however few they might be--who really absolutely do not want to be coerced, simply because these other people can't get over themselves and be direct about what they want. If one out of 100 is raped because her partner didn't believe her when she said "no," that is one too many.

One couldn't make this stuff up.

Claud Allen's lack of impulse control is the concrete manifestation of the fundie/conservative mindset. These people can't control themselves, and that terrifies and shames them. They simply assume--perhaps to make themselves feel better--that because THEY can't keep it in their pants, or stop viewing pornography/drinking/cheating on their spouses/whatever, that the REST OF US must not have any control either.

Look at so-called "covenant marriages." Why do you need a covenant? Marriage IS the covenant! What did you think it was, an opportunity to play "queen for a day" if you're a girl, or a chance for some socially-sanctioned nookie if you're a boy? (For me, personally, yoking myself to Mr. Trench for life was all about the cake.)

I'll bet that goes double for abortion, that long-reigning Depravity Du Jour. I mean, whatever you think about the morality of abortion, who in their right mind, really, would use abortion as a form of birth control? Can you just imagine what the number of repeated surgical assaults on a uterus they seem to be envisioning would do to it? And, at at least $400 a pop, it's kind of expensive. But, you know, pay the girl and her family enough money, and you can forget how your drunken fratboy son and heir fucked up. Wish that fetus away into the cornfield. Then make sure no one else can do the same.

And don't even get me started on the similarities to extreme fundamentalist Muslim attitudes toward women, who must be punished for simply being temptations and hidden from view. And apologies if I'm belaboring what appears to be an obvious point, but it needs to be repeated over and over again: We are being forced to give up our right to make adult decisions, judgments, and occasional mistakes simply because certain middle-aged men and women in positions of power have less moral intelligence and self-discipline than most six-year-olds.