Is Puh Not Enough?
Diagnosing the straight people sex problem
As a cishet white male, and having dated one hundred women, and having fucked 1,000 women and 1,000 men, my ears have been perked up as of late, in receiving signals from a distance— faint calls as it were — a blip of wonder from far away; this thing evades me. I’m slow to assign it a label. But I know it leaves an impression on me after every sexual interaction, and I’m inclined to inquire as to the nature of this scintillating phenomenon.
Are men missing the point of sex?
Is puh not enough?
Is dih not enough?
Whatever happened to good old fashioned cock slide into pussy and shit? Everyone— friends, family, suitors, enemies, lovers — has to my knowledge, become increasingly invested, as of the past several years, in the slimy weird world of kink.
Bondage. Roleplay. Leather. Knifeplay. CNC. Age regression. Impreg. Froggy style. Cheeky style. Fuck play. Puppy shit. Being in love. Scat. Golden showers. Pits. Inflation. Public. Group. Car. Broken glass. Kitchen trad cooking vlog slow burn. The list goes motherfucking on. Why? This litany of weird ass disgusting ass shit naturally leads a man to ponderation. At some point, guys, we lost the plot. All distractions from just good old fashioned normal ahh fucking. Not that there’s anything wrong with kinky sex, but I’m slow to believe that there isn’t a clear cut anthropologically grounded cultural explanation for its rise to popularity in tandem with the rise in unfulfilled sexual parties on every end of the spectrum— complex problems that which I intend on unearthing in full over the course of this very essay.
A friend of mine named Joshua James Warren told me his dick can’t get hard during sex unless his girlfriend wears stockings and puts her hair in pigtails and has a tiny little backpack. And actually, almost every man I know has told me this as well. This led me to further ponderation. Could there be more to sex than sticking your hard cock into a wet pussy and jumping into it until you jizz inside of said pussy? Something magical? Something new?
From the male perspective, eroticism is essentially hazy at best; at worst, nonexistent. Because our understanding of intimacy (conscious or otherwise) is solely tied to, surrounding and pertaining to the stimulation of our veiny, fat ass, eight inch motherfucking mighty cocks. Hard ass cocks. Big ass cocks. Slumped cocks. Upturned cocks. Sideways cocks. Cocked-to-the-side cock. Cock blocking cock. Triangle cock. Tiny cock. Mother cock. Mystical cock. Beautiful cock. Monster cock. Wonder cock. There is an undeniable wealth of diversity found in the seemingly endless supply of variation from one cock to another. Similar to cunts, we are all endowed beautifully and distinctly. Pink. Brown. Fishy. Soapy. Loud ass pussy. Tiny puh. Autistic puh. Gaping hole. Bussy puh. Bitch puss. Homebody cunt. Inverted puh. Grippy with teeth. Hungry puss. Angry puss. Delighted deluge puh of the ages, the likes of which are seldom found within city limits— dated and to some, archaic, but when found, can and most certainly will, flood into a man’s life, sweeping him asunder into a new town, a new city, a new life— he is traumatized by ancient puh. Tender and honest puh. Evasive puh. Lurking puh. Curious puh. But the dih is simpler than the cock. And the question of puh behavior is unfathomably deeper and more intricate than any discussion surrounding dih behavior.
There is arguably a notable disparity in diversity between dih and puh— the puh being apparently abundantly more interesting. We know this because every puh is written by a different god. Sources (or forces) of stimulation and climax vary so strongly to the puh, that there is more often than not, a steeper learning curve in place than what would otherwise be in the case of dih. For every puh, an individual curriculum could (should?) be devised, and this would greatly benefit society and potentially solve the heterosexual situationship crisis. Whereas, with dih, we observe simplicity: that they are essentially all wired the same— stimulated most effectively by long, hard, fast and violent strokes of doom (by physical or spiritual or mental or idealogical means).
If we are to accept the reality that dih comes by the barrel, and every puh is beautifully and differently made, what then can we glean as this fact relates to the modern interplay? Well, the modern dih is for one, historically unprecedentedly disincentivized. With the advent of internet porn, Instagram-brain, Tik-Tok induced serotonin syndrome, Gen Z’s never before seen penchant for recreationally and medically necessitated chemical dependency, the dih has been writ large made flaccid.
Could the advent of western society’s apathy towards classical copulation (puh-negligence) be attributed— if not only in part — to the modern dih’s inescapable self-destruction? The modern dih’s idealogical deconstruction?
“The first act of violence that patriarchy demands of males is not violence toward women. Instead patriarchy demands of all males that they engage in acts of psychic self-mutilation, that they kill off the emotional parts of themselves. If an individual is not successful in emotionally crippling himself, he can count on patriarchal men to enact rituals of power that will assault his self-esteem.”
- Bell Hooks, The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity and Love
A modern dih wouldn’t be privy to its own self-mutilation, because it is trapped in its very own personal ouroboros; psychically and physically caught in an unbreakable feedback loop of hunger and anxiety— a fear-based survival state. From “I need to fuck. Why can’t I fuck?” to “I want to love someone every day and give them everything,” the modern dih is purgatorially disposed, asking questions instead of providing answers.
Ironically, despite the west’s so-idealized supposed liberation of the dih, nearly all dih is spoiled. And perhaps not in spite of this liberation, but as a result of it, does the dih shrivel and beg. Once exposed, in an attempt at freeing the dih, have we been confronted thusly by the horror of our own reflection? And perhaps our very own dick pics have now spat in our eyes and turned away.
There is a clear connection between the perilous and worrisome state of dih, to the gross, widespread, societal neglect of modern puh. But the answer to a modern question can only be found in post-modern understanding. Fortunately I am myself uniquely endowed with post-modern dih— accepting dih, ironic dih, skeptical dih. To even argue the case of puh-neglect is decidedly a post-modern dih move. Self evident. Have faith in my cock and my dih. And I will show you the world. So, again I beg the question, why exactly have we collectively decided that puh is not enough?
Because we have transcended the evolutionary process and now mutate in unnecessary ways. As a species that murders and cannibalizes itself, we have manufactured a course of civilized development designed to disenfranchise the murderous among us; in order to evolve we are obligated to kill each other less. The fastest and easiest way to do this as intelligent creatures is to create a consumerist society wherein psycho-sexual competition in battle is sublimated into the frivolous and inconsequential day-to-day life of modern dih. These effects become exponentially more defined and abrasive as late-stage capitalism marches on into the final goal of a fully automatic life— a life that negates the purposes of testosterone and manhood, and threatens even more so the fulfillment and satisfaction of puh.
Neutrality— homogenization. Voluntary castration. Now, if this rhetoric appears transphobic, think again. The postmodern dih-endowed thinker accepts the basic reality that the dih is not implicitly tethered to the masculine, nor is it even contingent on the actual physical existence of a biological cock. But in any case, the survival of man, the furthering of medicine and science and the pursuit of meaning does itself inadvertently flatten the dih. Our exhibitionism marks the beginning of our extinction. The very action we take for ourselves to grow will be that which destroys us. And it already is destroying us by way of ignoring the puh, meanwhile prioritizing the dih, when all the while, those in power assert with confidence that the puh takes precedence— and that it should not. In reality, service and attentiveness to the puh is generationally on the back burner. Well, it shouldn’t be.
I worship the puh just as I worship the dih. The world is not so keen on this balance. Perhaps it comes naturally to a semi-bisexual postmodern dih-endowed sapio-sexual such as myself, but the answer as to why the erotic has malformed into the atavistically carnal, I believe, can be readily observed in the lack of potent dih overall. For those in search of dih are found consistently wanting, yearning, desperate, as potent dih is rapidly depleted.
Top erotica picks for straight women reflect this clearly as indicated by the groveling obsession with forceful dih, rapey dih, overwhelming all encompassing dih. This thirst is not random. We live in a dih desert. As we supplement, distract from and reduce the meaning of dih, the demand thereof goes up, and leaves a vast portion of the population in a constant state of dih-deprived anxiety and frustration.
Now examine the lesbian dynamic. Puh for puh as it were (I would disavow any accusations of bioessentialism; in the instance of trans women or lesbian trans men I refer to puh [ideological/mental/spiritual/sexual] as opposed to vagina [biological sex organ] and to cock [biological sex organ] as opposed to dih [idealogical/mental/spiritual/sexual]). So, it can be readily observed that your typical lesbian dynamic is phenomenally disaffected by the atavist thirst for dih, due to the whole operation being hardly contingent on dih itself. This is why the lesbian dynamic centers uniquely on what others might consider pointless or archaic mating rituals. E.G.: Pining— the lost art — something almost unheard of in gay men (broadly speaking, dih for dih). Because pining is an exclusively erotic act— and as far as the zeitgeist is concerned, a predominantly feminine behavior (and that’s because it is feminine. And, but only as a result of the crisis). Those in search of dih no longer pine. They reach and grab and hurl themselves forth just as once did the dih. See, societally, eros dies alongside the dih, as the two are interconnected. But the lesbians are safe from the doom of puh-neglect. Puh for puh sexuality is as alive as ever. Whereas every dih-oriented sexuality is in peril.
The solution to the crisis of puh-neglect, one that may hurt to hear, is postmodern dih. Dih that questions, dih that inquires, dancing dih, truly liberated ahh dih. Going beyond the four walls and ceiling of traditional masculinity, imagining oneself as a tangible force to behold, taking that Blue Chew and getting the fuck on with it in earnest and in worship of the puh. But more importantly, in worship of those who wield the puh. And we are to be apologetic for the many years spent wallowing in our own cum rags imagining the pursuit of puh to be futile— what we’ve been told by the ruling class and anti-queer propoganda (the myth of a puh drought, and the supposed cause of which being that everyone is too busy being gay and trans: a commonly accepted myth even in queer spaces, but notably by straight women of otherwise formidable intellect) is observably, empirically incorrect. There is puh in abundance which yearns for dih. The dih-endowed must simply apply themself. Make a worthwhile effort. To expect puh to fall into one’s lap is the most amateurish and embarrassing misstep in pursuing a situationship. Puh is evasive and of course— for a plethora of reasons — brings with it challenges and tests. But will that be enough to dissuade you from your quest, young lover? A challenge? If that is too difficult for you, then you must not care all that much, and you most certainly are not worthy of puh. Educate yourself.
God told me to go to New York City and so I’ll be around Manhattan and Bushwick from August 3rd to 6th tentatively. If anyone wants to meet up for lunch and talk down to me or go for drinks, or party, just let me know. Also fairly open to getting beat up if you’re into that. Idk. I’m not sure if I’m going to act really gay or pretend to be nonchalant, but I hardly foresee me being myself. Whatever’s right.