Feminists, I’m sorry. I’ve got you all wrong. There I was, thinking that your dour, lesbianic misandry was designed to punish men for whatever your fathers did to you, with the effect of cruelly and irreparably driving the sexes apart. But I was in error.
What you were really doing, as a new confessional op-ed from an astonishingly pussy-whipped house husband in New York magazine shows, was systematically turning all men gay, for the benefit of your homosexual colleagues.
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. 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.
These are, of course, not the words of a “male feminist,” as the writer supposes. They are the words of a gay. The author, Michael Sonmore, describes his life as a cuckold in some detail. His wife gets all the action while he sits at home reading Oprah book club selections and waiting to hear the “hot stories” of her dirty hotel assignations.
So much for all that nonsense about “born this way.” Sonmore, clearly, has been bullied into submission and faggotry. Now, some people – mostly women – might consider this depressing new chapter in modern masculinity to be a problem. But not me.
You see, Michael Sonmore is a hero, a maleblazer. And I have to thank you, feminism. As any anxious “bums against the wall, lads!” jock type knows, we gays are cuckoo for cuckolds, and if Sonmore is anything to go by, you are creating them by the bucketload.
Sonmore has become the object of scorn across social media, with many finding the choice to run the story on New York’s “The Cut” microsite oddly appropriate for this emasculated man complaining about lugging around diaper bags. But really we should be praising his bravery in coming out, even if he doesn’t realise that’s what’s happening.
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.
Cuckoldry is not a new phenomenon. Researchers estimate historical levels between 10 and 30 per cent of married men. I guess we can’t blame all of the decline in marital fidelity on trashy novels like How Stella Got Her Groove Back. Cucks have always been among us, but we’re about to see them in greater numbers than ever before.
Research by David Buss provides us with insight into the cuck brain. His experiments on jealousy show that men are typically bothered more by sexual infidelity than emotional infidelity, while the opposite is true for women.
Michael Sonmore seems OK with sexual infidelity, to the point of listening to his wife describe her encounters, yet his article describes his extreme distress when she sleeps over at a boyfriend’s flat, due no doubt to fears of an emotional attachment forming.
Perhaps he has suppressed his male instincts after being subjected to the humiliating role of house husband. Perhaps he simply has a female brain, like Caitlyn Jenner, and emotional fidelity is of primary importance in his relationship.
Another explanation is that he has low testosterone, which has been dropping in men for 20 years. Testosterone and jealousy are linked, so a drop in levels may spur a drop in jealousy over wives doing whatever they please with blokes from the pub. If testosterone levels were measured like temperature, Sonmore’s levels would be somewhere around absolute zero.
There is, of course, a more obvious explanation. Years of whinging about “micro-aggressions” and female empowerment and scolding and criticising his every move have turned him into an extreme beta cuckold. In other words, they’ve made him gay. And that’s where I’m placing my bets.
Sonmore is on the bleeding edge of a coming wave of gay-convert cuckolds. For an alpha queen like me, that means a veritable buffet of fresh meat to choose from. If you don’t believe me that it’s feminism driving this new wave of beta bottoms, take it from Michael:
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.
The logic is simple, if you think about it. Men are canny about cutting out the middleman whenever possible. If their wives are screwing them by consorting with other men, why not simplify everything by being screwed by men themselves? Think about what Sonmore has to show for his marriage today. A Starbucks gift card from his wife’s latest boyfriend Paulo, with the message, “Please enjoy this latte while I enjoy your wife”?
We’re entering a brave new world where a small group of alpha straights share the most attractive women at will, while the rest of the male population hops over to my side of the pond, having bought into the tenets of modern feminism, which include daily testicular torture, ritual consumption of tampons, and a compulsory 5,000 lines of “Yes, You Can Be The Man Tonight, Honey” to be written in their own blood.
I’m advising anyone who wants to get rich to invest in turkey basters, because that’s surely the only way anyone is going to get pregnant in the future.
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.
Face it ladies, you blew it. Your abandonment of traditional marriage values like monogamy and taking care of your husband’s domestic needs in order to embrace the quick and dirty pleasures of handsome strangers with Spanish names has created the coming wave of cuckolds that are barely a hair away from dropping to their knees for another dude.
Michael Sonmore is patient zero in this wave, and I for one am as happy as a kid in a candy store. I don’t know what I was ever thinking giving feminism such a hard time, when these are the rich bounties it bestows upon my people. As we say at Boy Bar: mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
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