The Pill: Does it decide who we are attracted to?

What if a good, sexually balance marriage was disturbed by the female partner taking the Pill?

In Western society, there is still the trend of marrying both traditional values and pharmaceuticals of the sexual revolution. Like two virgins ‘waiting’ till marriage, but when married using the Pill/Depo/any-hormone-that-keeps-pregnancy-away.

A tiny percentage of couples who ‘keep sex for marriage’ might be staying virgins before marriage because they are afraid of pre-marital pregnancies. They have a chaste ‘courtship’, chaste engagement, and are virgins before the wedding night. Even I know that happens very rarely in today’s Europe. But the point is that the fear the couple had of pre-marital pregnancies, becomes fear of marital pregnancies after they get married. The couple get married, and their GP says ‘well did you know that the Pill is now considered to be as effective as sterilisation?’ Wherever did GPs learn this jaded line? GP theatrical school? Everyone who goes to their GP for the Pill hears it.

The woman who has only ever slept with her husband gets the Pill prescription, and a few months later she gets a prescription for anti-depressants. According to research, women on the Pill have much higher usage rates of ‘mothers little helpers’, tablets of the Valium variety. One of the listed side-effects of the Pill is depression. The fertility hormones, those responsible for monthly ovulation, are 'happy' hormones and research also proves that many women are at their happiest during ovulation.

So the wife takes a Pill every morning, and the man is simultaneously either unaware or happy to have the womb of the wife wilt, and the ovaries dried. This has to raise questions for the many women who marry the man ‘of their dreams’/their ‘Romeo’, but find that when they are married, and subsequently on the Pill for decades that they lose their attraction for their husband.... The years on the Pill condition the women to be infertile, and to ‘skip’ the high hormones of ovulation during which women are more likely to be attracted to their lovers/husbands. Also, the Sheffield University professors found that the Pill makes women more likely to be attracted to girly men. Slowly, but surely, the wife is drawn to the feminised men who walk like poodles behind the Sex and the City characters, or the man in the local clothes shop who could play a part in the local production of High School Musical. A possible rational for wanting to be unfaithful during marriage?

As for the husbands. Here’s a common scenario. A married man has a loving wife at home, and they have been married for eight years, and have two kids. Of the eight years that they have been married, the wife has been on the Pill for six years. The Pill prevented Wifey from having fertile days (when the scientific studies claim that men are most likely to be attracted to her) for years... She’s only been fertile when she’s conceived the kids. The man wonders why he’s not more attracted to his wife, and he searches for the ‘chemistry’/wild attraction that he and she shared in the early days of ‘dating’. One night, the husband goes to his younger brother’s stag party. They go to a lap dancing club. The 30 year old lap dancer isn’t a teenager anymore, but you know what, she’s not on the Pill and tonight she’s ovulating. Her bikini clad body is giving off the ‘fertile’/’I’m available’ signals and the husband pays the lap dancer a bit extra. No one asks why a married man is cavorting with a lap dance. That's Western culture for ya. Husband may go home to his wife the next day, but guess who he’s thinking of when they make love...

One Thing is Certain - Juliet Wasn't on the Pill

The Gu-ah-ardian (1996) reported the beginnings of negative scientific findings on the Pill. Originally, the 1996 studies noticed that women-on-the-Pill were less likely to chose the best BOyfriend/mate. That old 1990’s study had women-on-the-Pill smelling men’s dirty t-shirts. The t-shirts were worn by a different selection of men, and when the t-shirts were BO drenched, they were proffered to the women. The women smelled each BO-ed t-shirt, and chose what t-shirt they preferred. The t-shirt that an individual woman picked represented what sort of man/BOyfriend that she would date/mate with. In the 1996 study, women-on-the-Pill chose the BO-smelly t-shirts of partners that didn’t suit them and, were more prone to pick the t-shirt of a man that didn’t meet their needs. While women-not-on-the-Pill usually went for men that did suit them, and these men were more certain of themselves.
How can this be? How does the Pill make women less likey to find ‘Mr. Right’?

A new study from Sheffield University has more sophisticated findings. Without going into scientific nitty-gritty, the study has found that women-on-the-Pill are less attracted to ‘manly’ or masculine men. Women on the Pill are (for the time they wish to remain on the Pill) chemically infertile. The Pill essentially makes women voluntarily infertile. Some women stay on the Pill for the time they want this ‘infertility’, other women find that they stay infertile after coming off the Pill... One way the Pill works is by fooling the woman’s body into thinking that the woman is in a permanent pregnancy. Never fertile. Always winter, never spring. The Pill halts the production of the fertile juices in a woman that nourishes sperm. Another way it works is by suppressing ovulation, preventing the fertile time when the woman pops an egg.

Now hold the thought of the egg popping. Women-NOT-on-the-Pill are not taking a daily pill to dry their ovaries, and so most of them pop an egg every month. Each month they have a few days when hormones run high, and they are most likely to conceive a baby. The Sheffield University study has found that during the egg-popping time (‘ovulation’ to be exact) fertile women are more likely to go for masculine men, than women-on-the-Pill. The Daily Mail picked Sean Connery as an exemplar of such a manly man.

Women-on-the-Pill however (no monthly egg popping) are attracted to more feminine types of men. The Daily Mail picked Michael J. Fox and the High School Musical cast as exemplars of such softer, more emasculated men. To be blunt, women-on-the-Pill go for more feminine men who are genetically more similar to women, and ergo more genetically similar to themselves. Women-NOT-on-the-Pill go for mannish men who are genetically dissimilar to themselves. It works both ways though. Men are more likely to be attracted to women who are, each month, temporarily fertile during ovulation each month. A study on lap-dancers found that when the lap-dancers were ovulating, they got higher tips from men.

Now, I’ve written about a dodgy experience that I had with a rotter, let’s call him X. But I wasn’t on the Pill when I went out with him. But interestingly, Mr. X’s past girlfriends had all been on the Pill. And they stayed with him for years. They tolerated his ‘wimpy’/cowardly bullying. And what’s more when his girlfriends dropped spineless X, they stayed on the Pill and met other such less-than-proper men.

To analyse the attraction I had for X, it does correlate with the Sheffield University findings. I didn’t find X attractive when I was ovulating. I always found there was something ‘missing’ in my attraction for X during those days each month when oestrogen was at its highest, my energy levels were high, my mood was high, and frankly X seemed very low on everything, including testosterone. It was during ovulation, that I was most likely to resent his comments such as; ‘you know that I’m not with you just for your body. If I wanted a sexy body, I could always get a prostitute.’ We fought more when I was ovulating. During menstruation however, when the hormones drop and when my mood, energy, appetite, and libido dropped, that was the time that I got on best with X. His waspy ways just seemed more acceptable. X wasn’t masculine. With a good eyebrow plucking and the right skirt, he coulda done drag.

Ah, maybe I misjudged him. Maybe X wasn’t a rotter after all. Maybe he was a bitch.
This is just the anecdotal evidence, but nonetheless what about all the millions/billions of women on the Pill who keep wondering ‘why am I always attracting the losers? Why can’t I find the man for me? Why can’t I get a man?’
One thing’s certain from the perspective of the most endearing love story of all time: Juliet wasn’t on the Pill.

My X-Boyfriend and his Blow-Up Girlfriend(s)

Few things are worse than being compared (at a public function) to your ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend. Substitute the term girlfriend with ‘bonded slave’, ‘sex toy’ or ‘submissive miss’.

What would you say/do if a friend of your ex-boyfriend’s marched up to you in a crowded venue, with all London’s beautiful and brilliant there, and started to hector you about your ex-boyfriend’s new ‘love’ interest?
I was with friends of mine at a large social event yesterday, and friend-of-X-boyfriend marched up to me. Friend-of-X-boyfriend's eyes were staring intensely at me. He was dressed in sailor ensemble, with blue and white colour scheme. Friend-of-X-boyfriend beckoned to me, ‘I want a word’ he said. Like a fool, I left my group of friends and talked to him.
There were no pleasantries; this conversation with sailor suit was firstly a discussion of my CV. No doubt so that sailor/SPY-of-X-boyfriend can sail back and report on his findings. I hope sailor/spy gets at least a drink for his troubles from my ex-rotter.
‘So you have a job, I assume you have a job...’ Spy said eagerly.
‘Yeah I have a job that pays the bills...’ I stammered.
‘I heard Phil that you were working for Con. That can hardly be a great income spinner.’
I nodded. I wouldn’t confirm or deny if my job was an ‘income spinner’.
‘Well I enjoy my work, thanks, and are you still – ‘
‘Whereabouts do you live?’
I gave him my Zone One address.
‘Really? You must have money to burn living in that neck of the woods. Money to burn. Wouldn’t expect you to have the dosh mind you.’
‘Good to see you’re as...ahem...direct as before’
Sailor/spy then gave me a hard stare and declared, ‘and I assume you know that your old flame, your dearest X has a new girlfriend. Lovely lady. Not the most attractive though, you’d score on her there, but X has done really well for himself with her. In point of fact, X has done really well for himself professionally too. He’s raking in the cash. Joined the company of his choice to boot.’
At the mention of X I felt physically sick. Head ‘swimming’ and heart hammering. I became dizzy and Sailor/spy started to look fuzzy. These are the same symptoms of anxiety that I suffer whenever I am unfortunate enough to hear X’s name.
‘Good for him. I’m glad he’s doing so well.’ I said as upbeat as possible.
‘Yeah, his new girl wants to do everything right. She wants to forget completely about her life before X.’ Was Sailor-spy remotely conscious of how misogynist he sounded? What was this conversation happening in the 1540?
‘She’s eager to please him so?’ I raised my eyebrows.
‘Yeah!’ sailor said enthusiastically. ‘She’s not the same religion as he is, but she’s taking instruction on how to become a convert. Very impressive that.’
My throat tightened in disgust. Religion is sometimes just a social pageantry where ‘actors’ in the religion just play their ‘role’ in order to become part of the play. To play along with other actors. Not for anything greater or better. Clearly, new-girlfriend was looking to join X and his religious dramatics.

‘Oh, and she’s not quite as bright and well read as X is, so she’s trying her best to catch up. She’s getting to grips with all his favourite books and films. Also, she’s dressing in a more classical way, you know the way X likes women to dress.’ Sailor-spy then shrugged his shoulders playfully. ‘I think our friend X is encouraging her to shop in Laura Ashley more than New Look. According to X’s standards, she’s doing very well.’
From sailor-spy’s description, he made her sound like a mail-order bride, that had specifications on a catalogue. You know, ‘this bride isn’t as good looking as the rest, but she makes up for it by being very subservient. She will shop in what clothes shops you tell her to. She will read your favourite books.’
‘Oh she must be a very good girl, who does exactly what she’s told. You know stereotypically submissive. Let’s him get away with things.’ I snorted.
‘She’s that alright. It’s their kids that I’ll feel sorry for...’ said sailor-spy, suppressing a chuckle, ‘they’ll have his shaggy dog hair and her blow fish face. Revolting!' Sailor-spy is one charming friend to X. Sailor-spy quickly added ‘But really Phil, he’s done very well for himself. Very well! You coulda’ done worse than X.’ Resisting the temptation to challenge sailor-spy and declare, ‘I will never give that creep a second chance.’ I said, ‘I could do worse than him? Like you would know.’ Before sailor could answer back, I said,
‘I’ll get back to my friends. Good to see you again after all this time. Bye.’
‘Oh, but let’s have some tea and cakes –‘
I pretended not to hear the tea invitation.

Reflecting on this conversation, it’s no bad thing that I made sailor-spy aware that I think X’s new girlfriend a submissive miss. But who am I to look down on this ‘lovely lady’? Had I not fallen for this rotter, been for too long his silly submissive girlfriend? Had I not endured his harassment? Had I not let him roughly rip my clothes off me (the police call it strip searching), all because he wanted to punish me for being upset with him?

Sailor’s comments about her doing all the right things to placate X brought back painful memories. Of having ear-phones pulled from my ears because I was listening to ‘rubbish’ music. Of having to witness my boy ‘friend’ in furious, trembling form, because I wasn’t wearing ‘smart’ enough shoes.

I know, he sounds like a monster, but he was so nice, generous and smooth at the beginning. I wasn’t psychic enough to know that he had a split personality.
Something in sailor-spy’s description of the new girlfriend made her sound desperate, and needy. But maybe she just fell for the same lies that I did. Maybe his ‘wooing’ technique is still the same, pretend to be the perfect gentleman, send the flowers, shower the girl with gifts and love letters, and tell her you love her a million times a day. Tell her the three words when you are speaking in an angelic tone, but also tell her ‘I love you’ when you are plying her with a drink after belittling her in front of all your friends. His ‘woo’ method is a bit on the traditional, predictable level, but it works.

Now, the majority of women that I know have had one if not a string of ‘difficult’ boyfriends. I prefer to call these men ‘rotters’. They don’t just look for sex, they look for the thrill in bamboozling and pressurising (bullying?) a woman into sex and sexual experimentation. Most of these women aren’t as fortunate and blessed as I was in escaping the emotional black mailers so easily. At least I ended the relationship with him, of my own accord, and at least he didn’t get to rape me. I remember going to my GP with severe headaches around the time I was thinking of breaking up with the rotter, and the doc grimaced and said, ‘patients of mine who have described a boyfriend such as yours are very often raped by these boyfriends...’ Later I asked this doctor if the same pattern of angelic-boyfriend morphing into devil-boyfriend would happen if my boyfriend met someone else. ‘Well he’ll have had more practice by the time he meets his new girl. She’ll have bruises, but they’ll be the sort that the evening gown will cover.’

Yes, I’ve escaped without being violently raped, but I can’t help but feel enormous anger that this individual has just got another girl that he can treat like a blow-up doll. I used to go to Roman Catholic Churches and pray that X would not find a new girlfriend. ‘PLEASE DEAR JESUS’, I would implore, ‘please let him not find another dupe. Dear Lord, let the girls see his vile side before they go out with him! Let him never harm another girl!’ Bearing in mind what my GP had said, and the intimate details of his character, I didn’t see him treating any girl with respect. No matter how nice her clothes were.

A historian friend of mine assures me that there were societies in the past where men such as X were horse whipped for physically and sexually intimidating a woman. We can’t hope for that in today’s times, but perhaps they could convert the Travel Lodge in Slough to a holding area/detention centre for such villains. The rotters could get therapy and have group sessions, much like people who are addicted to substances. In the case of the rotters, it would be an addiction to harming women. The organisers of this detention centre could have blow up dolls, and the rotters could role play with them, you know basic lessons would be learned with the doll such as ‘do not shove or slap your girlfriend.’ ‘Don’t call your girlfriend a slut.’ ‘Don’t tell your girlfriend that she’s fat.’ ‘Don’t rip the blow up doll’s clothes off. That’s a Laura Ashley blouse!’

I confess to having felt slightly self-loathing when I read the numerous websites giving space to Brooke Shields previous proclamations of virginity, and then her complaining that she lost her virginity too late.

It begs the question, if Brooke was using her virginity for cultivating a cult-following to her virginal persona, what am I writing about my own ‘saved’ virginity for? Do I have pure intentions when I write about my virginity? Am I, Phil, just trying to blog about how virtuous and virginal I am? You know, is this just one big ego-trip for me? Am I trying to establish myself as some figure to be adored, like Snow White or the Blessed Virgin Mary? A big ego-boost to the tune of my typing fingers, that goes ‘everyone else is so sexual-and-sullied, and most people have lost their virginity, aren’t you special Phil because you still got your virginity’? Am I not so clean and holy? Bow down all you lowly promiscuous urchins, and despair!

That’s not why I write this blog.

I write this blog because us writers are always cautioned to write about what we know. And well, I do know why I still got my virginity. I know why my friends ain’t got theirs. And I have read more about sexual matters, contraception, abortion and, the tormented lives of women than I have about anything else. I happen to be a woman so that helps in writing about sex (or the lack of sex till marriage) making a crucial difference to the life of a woman. It’s not like I have always been so pure and virginal. I have made mistakes with men. I’ve made mistakes with immodest clothes. I’ve attracted the wrong type and I’ve paid the price. Most people who know me do not expect me to be a virgin. It’s grace from God that has kept me a virgin.

Some would argue that I thrump the virginity card, because I have no choice but to remain a virgin. Like, I’m a plain Jane. Granted, if you male readers saw the teenage acne that still speckles my cheeks, ten years after their first appearance, you’d probably have me last on your list as girls to ask out. People may accuse me of having a ‘I’m-so-unattractive-that-I can-never-lose-my-virginity-so-nobody-else-should-lose theirs’ mindset. A sort of begrudging others their sexual fun just cos I can’t get no sexual action. If that were the case, why don’t I just berate my own parents for having engaged in the activity that brought me and my brother into the world?

If I had slept with men, and tried all the different ‘fruity’ contraceptives, I would blog about my sexual experiences and how it negatively/positively affected my life. That is if I weren’t a single mother, and didn't have time to blog. I would have to care for a baby conceived during a one night stand, and a toddler possibly conceived during my only serious relationship. A relationship where I did come under a lot of sexual pressure.

My number one reason for writing this blog is that I wish to share with others the value of keeping their virginity till marriage. The Juliet factor. It’s time to dedicate this web-log to all the women (the would be Juliets!) who search for something better in their lives, who want to take control of the most sensitive part of their physical and mental identity. For the women who want ‘to have it all’ – to find the loving, faithful marriage partner, and have the decent sex life.
I write this blog in the spirit of ‘there-has-to-be-a-better-way-for-women’; rather than the ‘must-have-sex-and-heartache-all-the-way-to-the-altar’ lifestyle. I write because ‘we’ all know that the ‘women have never had it so good’ is not true for a lot of us. It's not true for those of us who have felt sexually used, who can’t find ‘good/pure’ men, who rack our brains for ways to ‘stop’ a man taking advantage and who feel life is so full of sex completely sans romance. I write this for us women who find it so excruciatingly hard to admit to ourselves that yes, some men are only interested in our bodies. And if we don’t ‘give in’ then they will ‘drop’ us. For all the girls who want to be asked out by the ‘nice’ men, but who feel that they must make themselves as ‘hot’ as possible before any guy will ask them out. For all the girls who are looking for a ‘decent’ man who accepts them, physical imperfections and all.

For the girls who ask men out, even ‘dodgy’ men. I write this for all the girls who ‘settle’ for the ‘wrong’ man. I know – I’ve been there – I stayed with someone who ‘wasn’t worth it’ because I honestly thought that I couldn’t get someone ‘better’. Better didn’t exist because I didn't see better men, other than in books and movies. But if art imitates life, let life imitate art. Let our lives imitate Romeo and Juliet.

And for the men...

I write this for the men who actually want to take the challenge, and stay chaste. I write this for the men who feel pressure to ‘perform’. For all the men who are put under pressure by women to be sexually exciting. I write this for all the men who are called gay because they don’t want to sleep around. For all the men who feel twinges of embarrassment because they are virgins, because popular culture lambasts men who are still virgins as being objects of fun and ridicule. For the men who don’t want to put girls in difficult situations. I write this blog in the hope that the ‘normal’, ‘nice’ men can get together with the ‘lovely’ girls. Readers – get mating – but get married first!

This post is also dedicated to Dawn Eden, a contemporary prophet of the chastity movement whose memoir The Trill of the Chaste inspired me greatly, and gave me the courage to write about living the chaste life.

PS - Soon, there will be a section on this blog titled ‘The Rough Side of the Smoothie’, which aims to detail my experience with the ‘smooth’ men of this world. Replies from other women and men about their smooth-to-rough/rough-to-smooth love affairs are most welcome.

Brooke Shields - Exploiting Herself or Exploiting the Public?

I just sent this to the Brooke Shield’s official website. It ain’t fan mail, but let’s see if we get a reply to it from Brooke.

The police have stormed London’s art gallery The Tate Modern to grab the picture of a ten year old Brooke Shields standing naked in a bath tub. The picture is seedy; Brooke’s eyes are hooded in black ‘hooker’ make-up and her thin body is slick with oil. Brooke’s mother disseminated the photo (some would call it kiddie porn) to get her daughter ‘noticed’.

Campaigners against child abuse have lampooned the Tate Modern for having housed the ‘art’ in the first place. Michele Elliott, founder of Kidscape argued ‘Brooke Shields was 10 years old when this picture was taken. She could not have given informed consent to it being used.’ Michele Elliott then poured scorn on the intentions of the Tate Modern, ‘if you are using a picture of a naked child to bring people to your exhibition, then you are exploiting that child. It's as if they are using a 10-year-old girl for bait.’

While I agree with Michele Elliott, that the ten year old Brooke could not have given ‘consent’, the root of this exploitation is that Brooke’s mother organised for her daughter to be photographed in this way. Brooke’s mummy thought it would be a good career move, and that the photo would help establish Brooke as a model. Brooke’s mother was a failed actress, and is understood by many to have tried to live her own dreams through her daughter. But ambition, greed and an insatiable desire for celebrity are not good enough reasons for turning your kid into a porn model.

But the point now is that the photo, laconically and ironically titled Spiritual America did have a room to itself in the Tate Modern. The photo and its title are not entirely intended for personal titillation (although paedophiles would be drawn to it) but the photo is meant to symbolise the robbing of a child’s dignity, all for the cause of celebrity and money. In a sense the child is sacrificed for the ‘religion’ of money and fame. The exhibiting of such a photo in a gaudy, gold, glitzy frame is meant to challenge us. But why do we need such challenging? Why do we need to be disgusted, so disgusted that we will sneer at such photography? Disgust is the normal reaction, but what’s really disgusting is that there are parents willing to facilitate the porn-ification of their children. If a parent won’t protect their kid, who will? And isn’t it really quite simple, if Brooke’s mother had not had the photo of a sexed-up Brooke taken in the first place, would it have ever muddied the walls of the Tate Modern?

The photo, however doesn’t just drip with oil, it drips with deceit. The photo captures Brooke’s then innocence and childhood naivety, but is designed to make her look ready for sex; and frankly growing children should not be thought of as sexually available. But the photos had the result of getting Brooke into the movies. Woody Allen gave Brooke a role in Annie Hall in the flash back scenes. The bath tub photo also influenced a French film director who gave Brooke a role in the film Pretty Baby. Brooke’s first proper role was as a child prostitute in Pretty Baby. Aside from the nude shots in the film, photos of Brooke were always a little unseemly. The cover photo of The Brooke Book shows a twelve year old looking Brooke with naked thighs, and a under developed cleavage on display.


Next Brooke became the ‘virgin’ face of Calvin Klein. The notorious caption with a pouting picture of Brooke Shields was ‘nothing comes between me and my Calvins’. Nothing comes between me and royalties more like.

Of course there was then rapacious interest in Brooke’s sex life, or lack of it. If you pose provocatively, then you will provoke prying minds. Ahem, did she go whore-image or virgin –image? Brooke became a renowned public virgin. In defying the expectations of someone who was expected to be sexually permissive in real life, Brook later decided to flaunt her virginity as a means of attention grabbing. She starred in TV commercials warning girls against early sexual involvement. I scoured you tube, but cannot find any of those TV commercials. Maybe Brooke just did the-keep-your-virginity commercials for the money. All very bow-down-to-Mamon. All very insincere. Maybe those commercials with Brooke exhorting girls to stay virginal never existed.

Then Brooke wrote about keeping her virginity in her life story ‘I'm willing to admit I'm a virgin because I feel so strongly about it...Love is what I want to wait for. I don't feel the need to experiment.’ Yeah, but she could have been talking about playing with explosives. There’s no concrete reason such as dislike of disease or heart ache or pregnancy. It does smack of someone who is afraid of sex. And living the chastity lifestyle, and staying a virgin out of fear are two very different things. What might explain Brooke’s literary love of her own virginity is that she made an agreement with her publishers to remain a virgin for some years after the publication of the book.

Brooke’s publically announced virginal status was a bit of an act. It gave the publishers of her book something to grab a headline with. And if she had been serious about encouraging others to keep their virginity, why did she continue to pose so sexually? Perhaps, using her body to excite was just a way of life. Learned when she was ten. To begin with, her naked body was used as ‘bait’ for fame, and then her virginity was used to make her seem pure and wholesome, but always in a ‘who can have me?’ pesky prep girl way. Such girls are sometimes called ‘teases’, and are also an embarrassment to other women.

Now to bring this sordid tale full circle, Brooke came out earlier this year and said she regretted not losing her virginity sooner. Guess what, Brooke’s tale of lamenting losing her virginity at the grand old age of 22 was splashed across ‘serious’ newspapers. Who really was exploited, Brooke or the public? During the course of her career, Brooke never gave one consistent moral message on virginity or sexuality. Embracing sexy photos at ten to become known, then doing the virginity thing to win the heart of the public. Manipulating public interests, but never asking what messages she was giving women.