On Fair Weather Friends

From the sheer volume of, um, feedback my last column generated, it looks like opinions are fairly polarized when it comes to sex during menstruation. To each his or her own — but hey, even if you only bothered to sit down at your keyboard for the sole purpose of letting me know that I’m a “SLOPPY HO,” at least I succeeded in prompting you to talk about leak week sex … suckas.

It seems like half of you are willing to enthusiastically get behind (or inside, as the case may be) a vagina hosting the Big Red for the week — and the rest of you are, sadly, mere fair weather friends of the cooter.

For the idiom-averse: a fair weather friend can best be described as the kind of person who stands by your side as a kickass buddy when conditions are good, but who will peace right out as soon as things get difficult. We’ve all got at least one of these in our lives.

The example in my world that immediately comes to mind is a maddening, consistently inconsistent friend whom I’d recognized as one of these fair weather types early in our friendship — but he is one whom I admittedly could never do without, even though he epically fails me sometimes.

Yup: Mr. Peen.

During my junior year, I had two experiences with dudes who were unable to get it up at all, and a close girlfriend recently complained of the having the same experience. The unfulfilling erection errors were all attributed (by the owners) to alcohol consumption, and I suppose it is important to note that these “gincidents” occurred in the context of fairly casual encounters. Are women supposed to offer words of support in these situations? Because let’s get real with each other here: in this particular context, we are both here for a reason; so no, it’s not okay, and I wanted to spend time under you, not talking to you.

While I’ll also admit that the vagina is not always in ready and working order — we may be distracted or, you know, just not that into it — it’s still possible to add a dab of lubrication and go to sexytown if the lady explicitly articulates her consent and desire to have intercourse. With a limp crotch cobra? Not as much.

But here’s the key: a situation like this can be salvaged. Dudes, it is no big deal if, even though you can’t rise to the occasion, you at least attempt to provide your woman with some pleasurable stimulation. In fact, I imagine a soft-serve bonecone might even be a blessing in some ways — since you aren’t seeking your own climax, you’re able to fully commit to your primary mission: her.

From speaking with a number of different men and women about the issue of temperamental peens, it seems as though we think it’s always all about us. In the face of a flaccid fellow, women feel as though they themselves are unappealing or unattractive, that she is somehow to blame for the limp penis; meanwhile, when the penis fails to get going, men reported feeling inadequate and, as one put it, “I don’t exactly feel like The Man.” Women, it infuriates me that you blame yourselves when it’s usually the fault of alcohol on the mindset of the dude you’re with. And guys, I’m sure what I said above doesn’t mitigate your fears or restore the dignity lost in an equipment malcfunction, but I assure you: all’s well that ends … well, in someone having an orgasm.

Unless you’re the Governor.

Oh, Spitzer. We aren’t so different, you and I: you got caught making plans to bang a very expensive prossie and consequently lost your reputation and your career; I had period sex and wrote about it and now people look at me funny. It’s tough having your sexual exploits in the spotlight, especially when it gives every Tom, Douche and Harry license to scrutinize you and speculate about the state of your personal life.

Alright, so you banged some ’tutes. I’m sure you wish you could do what Hugh Grant did when he cheated on Elizabeth Hurley with a hooker and admit you screwed up, apologize and then get on with your life and career — but you can’t. Instead, you have to resign and watch your political career go down quicker than a — oh, too easy.

But what surfaces as most fascinating about this whole scandal is Spitzer’s wife, Silda, and her decision to stand right next to him during his press conferences. While sister looked like she’d lost 20 pounds and hadn’t slept in a month (can you blame her?), she was right there next to her hubby — and many demand to know why. It’s almost as if people think she has become the spokeswoman for cheated-on women everywhere; her decision to appear with her husband is causing uproar among the sort of scorned women who are quoted in the L.A. Times as saying, “I'd have paraded in front of the microphone with a knife.” On the other end of the spectrum, there are women like The New York Post’s Cindy Adams saying, essentially, that a prostitute is no deal-breaker: “a husband hooking up with a hooker is not reason enough to no longer be a married lady. Sex, a primal need, outpoints fear, hunger and love as mankind's No. 1 driving force … many an able-bodied 48-year-old husband of 21 years has grazed. I'm not advocating it. I'm merely saying, so what? It's like takeout food. Less work for mother.” Really, Cindy?

Here’s one thing we should all be able to agree on: what Silda chooses to do with her marriage is her business, and being betrayed probably sucks a billion times more when all eyes are on you. But the same thing that infuriates me about women blaming themselves for flaccid penises is what kills me about this whole scandal: some people are blaming Silda for her husband’s actions.

On Monday’s Today Show, syndicated radio personality Dr. Laura Schlessinger said, “When the wife does not focus in on the needs and the feelings, sexually, personally, to make him feel like a man, to make him feel like a success, to make him feel like her hero, he’s very susceptible to the charm of some other woman making him feel what he needs.” Oh, you know what? No.

Spitzer made a poor career decision in allowing his penis to run amok; Schlessinger’s mistake was allowing her mouth to run at all. But Silda’s decision is hers to make, and who the hell are we to judge? Just because she chooses to stand by her man in good times and in bad — the opposite of a fair weather friend — doesn’t mean every betrayed woman must do the same.

And, listen, ladies: in the same way you are not to blame when the penis does not perform, you are not to blame when your dude cheats on you with a prostitute. Penises are fair weather friends and sometimes, the men attached to them are too — and if you’ve lost faith in both of these things, remember this: a vibrator will always be good to you.

Jenna B. is a senior. She can be contacted at opinion@cornellsun.com [3]. Bedroom Eyes appears alternate Thursdays.