As a lazy person, I love living in the future.
A series of gentle taps on a magic device can get me a bagel, the speedy assembly of any Ikea furniture, or a ride home when I’m extremely intoxicated.
And I can do it all with great speed and extremely limited personal interaction, like some kind of fat, drunk wizard living in exile. What a great time to be entitled and have no impulse control.
But guys: stop Uber-izing women.
Forgive me an adorably retrograde Sex and the City: 2015 Edition hypothesis but: we’re beginning to treat our partners in sex as if they’re on-demand cabs, freely available, no human interaction needed.
A friend of mine once counted the number of words a routine hookup buddy said to her during a typical encounter: 12! Just 12! Which is way down from the average before iOS 5. Then there’s my own recent, deeply bleak experience: a perfectly nice guy I consider a “friend with benefits,” for lack of a less boring term, invited me to his place. When I hesitated, he offered to Uber me over—a $4 ride each way. So he assumed that A) the only thing keeping me from having sex with him was eight bucks, B) I don’t have eight bucks, and C) I will have sex for eight bucks. Wait, not even eight bucks. An $8 gift card.
That he might have considered this move to be chivalrous—rather than the truth: that he presumed my blowjobs come with a delivery fee—is chilling. I wasn’t even “a friend with benefits” so much as another menu item easily summoned by the unfathomable convenience of technology. Sex with me was a meatball sub.
From the shocking number of Tumblr and Instagram accounts dedicated to outing people who act like horny monosyllabic sex golems, it’s obvious I’m not alone here. There are an army of men who aren’t looking for a down girl so much as a woman to “bring” them sex vagina.
I know why. I’ve come to realize that people use Seamless and the like not because they’re too busy spending time with family or screaming on the phone to Tokyo about the NASDAQ. They want to sit on their couch, pantsless, and avoid the backbreaking task of listing burrito ingredients over the phone. My laundry app lets me leave dirty clothes outside my door so I don’t even have to make eye contact with the person hauling away my dirty underpants. We’re starting to assume that everything is better when it’s faceless. And this is my thinkpiece-y point: all the tap-easy immediacy that’s so great for groceries and taxis is seeping into how we communicate with the people we date, and sleep with.
I’ve said this before, and I will say it again, over and over, because it’s true: men, it’s fine to be straight-up that you’re just in it for sex. This is 2015, and plenty of girls want the same. No woman who comes to your house after your local Applebee’s has closed for the night expects to be wooed with a three-course meal and rose petals on the bed. (I believe Alexander Graham Bell’s first words into the telephone were, “Watson, u up?”) But don’t confuse a woman who has a mutual, human desire to join you for sex with an Amazon Prime drone that has sensitive nipples.
Frictionless, instantaneous fulfillment can make anyone act like the cavalier dick from a sci-fi movie who’s rightfully killed off in the third act. Don’t be Paul Reiser! You’ll realize that it’s no fun to have sex with someone you’ve dehumanized. A deeply overlooked factor in great sex is the cocktail of effort and desire—knowing that the other person is happy to be here, and is happy you’re here, too. I’m old-fashioned in believing that you should treat everybody you take to Poundtown with empathy, respect, and a little antediluvian enthusiasm. At least until your Roomba can roll into your lap and really “do” your whole apartment.
source: gq.com BY JULIEANNE SMOLINSKI