Journalist Susannah Breslin keeps a website that we've mentioned here before, called 'Letters From Johns', on which she posts letters from dudes who frequent prostitutes. The most recent entry starts this way: "I've often heard women wonder why men with sexy wives or girlfriends would solicit prostitutes. The answer really is simple: Even Marilyn Monroe could get a little boring after a few years, and having sex with other women is fun. Just like skiing is fun, or eating chocolate cake, or playing a slot machine, or riding a roller coaster." It reminded me of an article I read on GQ's website yesterday, called Divorce: The Ultimate Aphrodisiac, where the author, Adam Sachs, is describing the demise of his marriage. His wife cheated on him, which came as a shock, because Sachs always figured, "I always thought I'd be the one who'd fuck it up."
And why did he think he'd be the one to ruin the marriage? "As a travel writer, I live an easy, pampered life. And like many without real cares, I am not unfamiliar with the urge to drive the happy bus off the side of the mountain just to see what happens," Sachs writes. "Complicating this is that disease of the brain called chronic male horniness. I used to tell people that the world will never seem more teeming with beautiful, fascinating, fuckable people than on the sunny afternoon when you walk to the post office carrying a box full of your wedding invitations."
My problem with that statement is not that he thought about fucking other people — everyone with a pulse, regardless of how much in love they are, thinks about fucking other people — it's that he attributes it to chronic male horniness, as if women couldn't possibly understand what it's like to lust after strangers. The John's reasoning is identical to Sachs's. Even fucking Marilyn Monroe gets boring, he exclaims. Well you know what, Adam, getting boned by George Clooney probably loses its luster after a couple of years, too! The fact that I even need to point out that all humans, regardless of gender, have biological urges is completely ridiculous, but I guess I'm going to have to keep doing it until men take intellectual responsibility for their wandering Johnsons.