If I had to nominate a column of the week, it would be Janice Turner’s ‘When Feminism Went Nuts,’ which ran in the London Times on Wednesday. Sure, some of the evidence was a little shaky (that Bebo stat, for instance, was misleading), but it was bold and badly needed, and full of thought-provoking reflections like this:
Feminism 2009 means acting out male masturbation fantasies —because you want to.
Or as David Kepesh, the sexagenarian narrator of Philip Roth’s The Dying Animal, puts it:
The decades since the Sixties have done a remarkable job of completing the sexual revolution. This is a generation of astonishing fellators.
Turner’s article was still ricocheting around my mind when I met up for lunch with a male friend. It was a long lunch – long enough that he got to telling me about some of the problems of dating younger women.
He’s in his early 30s, so for him, younger means early 20-somethings. It means that not only have these girls never heard of the late John Hughes, say, but they also pull some crazy X-rated stunts in the bedroom.
Enough guys their own age presumably expect it, but I’ve a hunch that plenty of others will respond like my friend – with slightly embarrassed confusion. As he said: “I’m like, ‘Really? Who’re you actually doing that stuff for?'”