Thursday, October 30, 2014
Thursday, October 23, 2014
Saturday, October 4, 2014
Here's that Victorian sex advice manual that STILL isn't real, no matter how many times it's reprinted
The following is
a reprint from The Madison Institute Newsletter,
Fall Issue, 1894
INSTRUCTION AND
ADVICE
FOR THE
YOUNG BRIDE
on the
Conduct and
Procedure of the
Intimate and
Personal Relationships
of the Marriage
State
for the
Greater Spiritual
Sanctity of this
Blessed Sacrament
and the Glory of God
by
Ruth Smythers
beloved wife of
The Reverend L.D.
Smythers
Pastor of the
Arcadian Methodist
Church of the
Eastern Regional Conference
Published in the
year
of our Lord 1894
Spiritual
Guidance Press
New York City
INSTRUCTION AND
ADVICE FOR THE YOUNG BRIDE
To the sensitive young woman who has had the benefits of proper upbringing,
the wedding day is, ironically, both the happiest and most terrifying day of
her life. On the positive side, there is the wedding itself, in which the bride
is the central attraction in a beautiful and inspiring ceremony, symbolizing
her triumph in securing a male to provide for all her needs for the rest of her
life. On the negative side, there is the wedding night, during which the bride must
pay the piper, so to speak, by facing for the first time the terrible
experience of sex.
At this point, dear reader, let me concede one shocking truth. Some
young women actually anticipate the wedding night ordeal with curiosity and
pleasure! Beware such an attitude! A selfish and sensual husband can easily
take advantage of such a bride. One cardinal rule of marriage should never be
forgotten: GIVE LITTLE, GIVE SELDOM, AND ABOVE ALL, GIVE GRUDGINGLY. Otherwise
what could have been a proper marriage could become an orgy of sexual lust.
On the other hand, the bride's terror need not be extreme. While
sex it at best revolting and at worse rather painful, it has to be endured, and
has been by women since the beginning of time, and is compensated for by the
monogamous home and by the children produced through it. It is useless, in most
cases, for the bride to prevail upon the groom to forego the sexual initiation.
While the ideal husband would be one who would approach his bride only at her
request and only for the purpose of begetting offspring, such nobility and
unselfishness cannot be expected from the average man.
Most men, if not denied, would demand sex almost every day. The
wise bride will permit a maximum of two brief sexual experiences weekly during
the first months of marriage. As time goes by she should make every effort to
reduce this frequency.
Feigned illness, sleepiness, and headaches are among the wife's
best friends in this matter. Arguments, nagging, scolding, and bickering also
prove very effective, if used in the late evening about an hour before the
husband would normally commence his seduction.
Clever wives are ever on the alert for new and better methods of denying
and discouraging the amorous overtures of the husband. A good wife should expect
to have reduced sexual contacts to once a week by the end of the first year of
marriage and to once a month by the end of the fifth year of marriage.
By their tenth anniversary many wives have managed to complete
their child bearing and have achieved the ultimate goal of terminating all
sexual contacts with the husband. By this time she can depend upon his love for
the children and social pressures to hold the husband in the home. Just as she
should be ever alert to keep the quantity of sex as low as possible, the wise
bride will pay equal attention to limiting the kind and degree of sexual
contacts. Most men are by nature rather perverted, and if given half a chance,
would engage in quite a variety of the most revolting practices. These
practices include among others performing the normal act in abnormal positions;
mouthing the female body; and offering their own vile bodies to be mouthed in
turn.
Nudity, talking about sex, reading stories about sex, viewing photographs
and drawings depicting or suggesting sex are the obnoxious habits the male is
likely to acquire if permitted.
A wise bride will make it the goal never to allow her husband to
see her unclothed body, and never allow him to display his unclothed body to
her. Sex, when it cannot be prevented, should be practiced only in total darkness.
Many women have found it useful to have thick cotton nightgowns for themselves
and pajamas for their husbands. These should be donned in separate rooms. They
need not be removed durning the sex act. Thus, a minimum of flesh is exposed.
Once the bride has donned her gown and turned off all the lights,
she should lie quietly upon the bed and await her groom. When he comes groping
into the room she should make no sound to guide him in her direction, lest he
take this as a sign of encouragement. She should let him grope in the dark. There
is always the hope that he will stumble and incur some slight injury which she
can use as an excuse to deny him sexual access.
When he finds her, the wife should lie as still as possible.
Bodily motion on her part could be interpreted as sexual excitement by the optimistic
husband.
If he attempts to kiss her on the lips she should turn her head slightly
so that the kiss falls harmlessly on her cheek instead. If he attempts to kiss
her hand, she should make a fist. If he lifts her gown and attempts to kiss her
anyplace else she should quickly pull the gown back in place, spring from the
bed, and announce that nature calls her to the toilet. This will generally
dampen his desire to kiss in the forbidden territory.
If the husband attempts to seduce her with lascivious talk, the
wise wife will suddenly remember some trivial non-sexual question to ask him. Once
he answers she should keep the conversation going, no matter how frivolous it
may seem at the time.
Eventually, the husband will learn that if he insists on having sexual
contact, he must get on with it without amorous embellishment. The wise wife
will allow him to pull the gown up no farther than the waist, and only permit
him to open the front of his pajamas to thus make connection.
She will be absolutely silent or babble about her housework while
his huffing and puffing away. Above all, she will lie perfectly still and never
under any circumstances grunt or groan while the act is in progress. As soon as
the husband has completed the act, the wise wife will start nagging him about
various minor tasks she wishes him to perform on the morrow. Many men obtain a
major portion of their sexual satisfaction from the peaceful exhaustion
immediately after the act is over. Thus the wife must insure that there is no
peace in this period for him to enjoy. Otherwise, he might be encouraged to
soon try for more.
One heartening factor for which the wife can be grateful is the
fact that the husband's home, school, church, and social environment have been
working together all through his life to instill in him a deep sense of guilt
in regards to his sexual feelings, so that he comes to the marriage couch
apologetically and filled with shame, already half cowed and subdued. The wise
wife seizes upon this advantage and relentlessly pursues her goal first to
limit, later to annihilate completely her husband's desire for sexual
expression.
copyright 1894
The Madison Institute
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Candor and anonymity: trying to shift to more personal writing from "persona-l" writing
I’ve been blogging (on and off) under a pseudonym for a couple of years now – both blogging and tweeting, actually. I’ve done it for “flexibility” – I can say things I want to say, both in fiction and non fiction and feel less constrained. I feel less of a need to be circumspect and measured. I can be bold and independent. Of course, what all that noise really means is that I - and my thoughts and opinions have been able to be anonymous. From the safety of my keyboard, I have sent Robert Lincoln out to say these things that I want someone to say.
That’s great, and to the extent that I’ve gradually embraced that anonymity - I mean boldness and independence - over the past couple of years, I think maybe I’ve also grown to the point where I need less anonymity. I'm not merely saying that my need for anonymity has lessened, but that my need to not be as anonymous has grown. Now, because of new thresholds I’ve crossed over in my writing, and because of one significant outside event, I’m feeling like I have to step out from behind the curtain a bit more. I have to embrace what I have to say and how I say it. Not my persona or my pseudonym, but me, personally.
I’ve been hiding, not so much to protect myself, but to protect everyone in my past with whom I’ve had a difficult, unhealthy, codependent, passive-aggressive relationship. That is to say, maybe everyone in my past with whom I’ve had a significant relationship. Parents, siblings, friends, ex-wife, probably even children. I’ve always made a special effort not to upset other people’s apple carts, and at times, I’ve been way too protective of those apple carts on their behalf. Maybe, for a child who never really belonged anyplace, it was a way for me to buy belonging and connection, by helping others protect their secrets.
It’s a bit of a jumble and a muddle – “… a riddle wrapped in an enigma, smothered in secret sauce” as I think Jimmy James says on NewsRadio. Maybe the most significant and clearest indicator that this has all been unhealthy is that simple fact. It’s a jumble and a muddle. That’s how we protect unhealthy things, and/or seem to protect ourselves from them. We keep things muddied and vague. “Well … I’d explain, but it’s complicated.” How is it that something that looks for all the world like a problem isn’t really? Well … y’know … it’s complicated. You had to be there. There are special circumstances.”
By “it’s complicated” what I suppose I’ve really meant was that I was still grappling with the lie.
So, to the first thing, I’ve been writing for years and always struggling with making it real. I cast things in the past, or in strange places I’ve never been, and wonder why it’s so difficult. I cast them in familiar places with more familiar characters, and the reality flows into the story better. Still, up until recently, those instances have been islands – a short story here or there wherein the characters allude to other characters they might have been.
Now, however, I’ve forced myself – literally – to take up a story in the first person, present tense. While it's not absolutely "I" in the story, it's an "I" that I have to take more immediate ownership of. It feels like he has to be more authentic right now in the moment, and not eventually, following additional edits. Also, the story itself is set in a familiar place with familiar issues, and with very familiar people as characters. Under those conditions, the words aren't backed up, but flowing out like a spring flood.
I’ve gone from zero to fourteen thousand words in just over a week, and I like it. It’s all very close to first draft right now, but it all makes sense. It feels right, and more importantly, I feel right. I’ve been mildly depressed for decades and very depressed for the past two years, and I’ve come to understand that it’s because I’m continuing to fail to do what I need to do – write, and write well and authentically. I’ve always drawn back, knowing that if I write I will wound and offend my family and people in my past, but I’m finally coming to act like I accept that reality, not just talk like I recognize it. I can accept that people will be off-put or outright offended, that they might say “I never knew he was like that” or “I hope that character isn’t based on me.” All my life I’ve dreaded drawing personal attention to myself, and now I’m accepting the fact that, that’s exactly what a writer does, for better and worse. I can allow people to see me as something other than the smart guy or the funny guy or the helpful guy. I can offer them complexities to ponder and not just vagaries. “It’s complex” isn’t the same as “Well … it’s complicated …”
When I write, and write authentically, I feel great. It’s the best anti-depressant available to me, I think. It’s me finally feeling that I can offer something real to other people, which is something I really haven’t felt in a very long time.
So, better, more authentic writing begets more writing and better, more authentic writing.
Something else that has been a watershed to me, that on the surface seems entirely unconnected, is this: my ex-wife and I divorced about six years ago. Both Catholics at the time, we got a civil divorce, with some thought that down the line we would also pursue an annulment in the church.
Over the years, my perspective on the church and its annulment processes has changed from skepticism to a certain respect, but that discussion is for another time. The relevant bit here is that my ex, let’s call her Alice, told me some months back that she’d started wheels turning on the annulment process. I’ve since remarried and become Episcopalian, I didn’t change denominations so as to marry without impediment. I changed because of years of underlying issues with the Church, but that’s yet another issue for another discussion. My ex is still Catholic and might actually be considering remarrying within the Catholic Church at some point. Or maybe she’s just ready to finish up something that, for her, is a loose end.
The magical thing about all of this is that, a week and a half ago, I got a letter from the Marriage Tribunal for our diocese, with a questionnaire and several forms, indicating that the process was beginning. I was asked first of all if I wanted to participate, be represented by an advocate, present witnesses, etc. I have no real desire to present witnesses or testify directly. This is not an issue where any involved parties have governance over me. They can proceed with their hearings and examinations, and it has no impact on my daily life or my spiritual life. I do not feel a need to be dispense from anything from which I have already been dispensed.
I did, however, want to respond to the questionnaire and lay out exactly what I saw as her background, my background, how those factors shaped our married life, significant highs and lows of our relationship, and those events and issues that brought about the end of our marriage. I really had no faith that she would or could be candid about any of that, and I wanted the reality to be on record.
I spent a few hours filling in that information and when I was at the end, I had the story of a twenty-six year old relationship that was, honestly, doomed from the beginning. My response to the questions weren’t spiteful or in any way mean-spirited. I was as blunt about my own shortcomings as I was about hers and as candid about my pre-history and family of origin as I was about hers.
This really was the first time I’d set the whole picture out in writing, in any permanent form, and it provided a certain relief. It felt good to have told the whole truth, or as much of it as they wanted to hear. It was liberating. It was also infuriating because it enumerated all of those reasons we failed as a couple, many of which I had to lay at her feet, though I had to accept responsibility for being too passive and simply accepting the status quo and waiting for “the right time” to try to make a change. Mostly, though, it was refreshing and liberating.
It required me to say things that I’d been needing to put plainly and it showed me how good it feels to lay such things out. It also set a benchmark for transparency. Now that I’ve talked about this secret, could I really go back to hiding everything behind a pseudonym?
It is a singular thing, but it’s also part of a bigger issue that has its own momentum. It’s no longer my job to help people hide their inadequacies and their secrets – it never was, to be honest. It’s also not my job to hide my quirks and inadequacies. Secrets are another thing. They’re mine and they’re personal. You have yours. Yes, yes you do. I have mine. I’m responsible for mine; you’re responsible for yours, and that’s how it should be.
My family was always way too guarded about our story, and protecting it from others. My ex was always way too guarded about our story, and protecting it from others. But that’s no longer my concern. I don’t have to be silent just to keep people from conjecturing about what my previous life was like. So people figure out my father was a bully who was terribly insecure, who was afraid of all men, and who saved his bullying for women who he thought he could intimidate and control more easily. So people figure out that my ex was a control freak who was utterly dominated and emotionally manipulated by her unstable mother, and who thought that, when she married, she could become queen of the castle in her own way, exercising her need for absolute control, free (for the most part) of her mother. And the stories I can tell about myself … well, if you think those people look flawed, just wait. It’s alright to be flawed. It’s very human to be flawed and even more human (and hopeful) to admit it.
So, what this all builds toward is a desire for some real transparency in my blogging and tweeting. I want to do that, but at the same time, I still have professional constraints. My employer does not want every opinion and musing that I might have to be expressed and potentially tied back to their institution. Even if they said they did – and even if they thought they did – trust me, they don’t. There are also certain reasonable personal constraints. I’m not a Kardashian, for God’s sake. I don’t want to make my living by dumping all of my foolishness in the village commons.
So my persona/personal dividing line is starting to shift. I want to put more of me into the authentic, public me, but I know I have to keep some of that back in the pseudonymous me.
It seems like a question I'm coming very late too - where and how do writers draw their own reasonable boundaries?
That’s great, and to the extent that I’ve gradually embraced that anonymity - I mean boldness and independence - over the past couple of years, I think maybe I’ve also grown to the point where I need less anonymity. I'm not merely saying that my need for anonymity has lessened, but that my need to not be as anonymous has grown. Now, because of new thresholds I’ve crossed over in my writing, and because of one significant outside event, I’m feeling like I have to step out from behind the curtain a bit more. I have to embrace what I have to say and how I say it. Not my persona or my pseudonym, but me, personally.
I’ve been hiding, not so much to protect myself, but to protect everyone in my past with whom I’ve had a difficult, unhealthy, codependent, passive-aggressive relationship. That is to say, maybe everyone in my past with whom I’ve had a significant relationship. Parents, siblings, friends, ex-wife, probably even children. I’ve always made a special effort not to upset other people’s apple carts, and at times, I’ve been way too protective of those apple carts on their behalf. Maybe, for a child who never really belonged anyplace, it was a way for me to buy belonging and connection, by helping others protect their secrets.
It’s a bit of a jumble and a muddle – “… a riddle wrapped in an enigma, smothered in secret sauce” as I think Jimmy James says on NewsRadio. Maybe the most significant and clearest indicator that this has all been unhealthy is that simple fact. It’s a jumble and a muddle. That’s how we protect unhealthy things, and/or seem to protect ourselves from them. We keep things muddied and vague. “Well … I’d explain, but it’s complicated.” How is it that something that looks for all the world like a problem isn’t really? Well … y’know … it’s complicated. You had to be there. There are special circumstances.”
By “it’s complicated” what I suppose I’ve really meant was that I was still grappling with the lie.
So, to the first thing, I’ve been writing for years and always struggling with making it real. I cast things in the past, or in strange places I’ve never been, and wonder why it’s so difficult. I cast them in familiar places with more familiar characters, and the reality flows into the story better. Still, up until recently, those instances have been islands – a short story here or there wherein the characters allude to other characters they might have been.
Now, however, I’ve forced myself – literally – to take up a story in the first person, present tense. While it's not absolutely "I" in the story, it's an "I" that I have to take more immediate ownership of. It feels like he has to be more authentic right now in the moment, and not eventually, following additional edits. Also, the story itself is set in a familiar place with familiar issues, and with very familiar people as characters. Under those conditions, the words aren't backed up, but flowing out like a spring flood.
I’ve gone from zero to fourteen thousand words in just over a week, and I like it. It’s all very close to first draft right now, but it all makes sense. It feels right, and more importantly, I feel right. I’ve been mildly depressed for decades and very depressed for the past two years, and I’ve come to understand that it’s because I’m continuing to fail to do what I need to do – write, and write well and authentically. I’ve always drawn back, knowing that if I write I will wound and offend my family and people in my past, but I’m finally coming to act like I accept that reality, not just talk like I recognize it. I can accept that people will be off-put or outright offended, that they might say “I never knew he was like that” or “I hope that character isn’t based on me.” All my life I’ve dreaded drawing personal attention to myself, and now I’m accepting the fact that, that’s exactly what a writer does, for better and worse. I can allow people to see me as something other than the smart guy or the funny guy or the helpful guy. I can offer them complexities to ponder and not just vagaries. “It’s complex” isn’t the same as “Well … it’s complicated …”
When I write, and write authentically, I feel great. It’s the best anti-depressant available to me, I think. It’s me finally feeling that I can offer something real to other people, which is something I really haven’t felt in a very long time.
So, better, more authentic writing begets more writing and better, more authentic writing.
Something else that has been a watershed to me, that on the surface seems entirely unconnected, is this: my ex-wife and I divorced about six years ago. Both Catholics at the time, we got a civil divorce, with some thought that down the line we would also pursue an annulment in the church.
Over the years, my perspective on the church and its annulment processes has changed from skepticism to a certain respect, but that discussion is for another time. The relevant bit here is that my ex, let’s call her Alice, told me some months back that she’d started wheels turning on the annulment process. I’ve since remarried and become Episcopalian, I didn’t change denominations so as to marry without impediment. I changed because of years of underlying issues with the Church, but that’s yet another issue for another discussion. My ex is still Catholic and might actually be considering remarrying within the Catholic Church at some point. Or maybe she’s just ready to finish up something that, for her, is a loose end.
The magical thing about all of this is that, a week and a half ago, I got a letter from the Marriage Tribunal for our diocese, with a questionnaire and several forms, indicating that the process was beginning. I was asked first of all if I wanted to participate, be represented by an advocate, present witnesses, etc. I have no real desire to present witnesses or testify directly. This is not an issue where any involved parties have governance over me. They can proceed with their hearings and examinations, and it has no impact on my daily life or my spiritual life. I do not feel a need to be dispense from anything from which I have already been dispensed.
I did, however, want to respond to the questionnaire and lay out exactly what I saw as her background, my background, how those factors shaped our married life, significant highs and lows of our relationship, and those events and issues that brought about the end of our marriage. I really had no faith that she would or could be candid about any of that, and I wanted the reality to be on record.
I spent a few hours filling in that information and when I was at the end, I had the story of a twenty-six year old relationship that was, honestly, doomed from the beginning. My response to the questions weren’t spiteful or in any way mean-spirited. I was as blunt about my own shortcomings as I was about hers and as candid about my pre-history and family of origin as I was about hers.
This really was the first time I’d set the whole picture out in writing, in any permanent form, and it provided a certain relief. It felt good to have told the whole truth, or as much of it as they wanted to hear. It was liberating. It was also infuriating because it enumerated all of those reasons we failed as a couple, many of which I had to lay at her feet, though I had to accept responsibility for being too passive and simply accepting the status quo and waiting for “the right time” to try to make a change. Mostly, though, it was refreshing and liberating.
It required me to say things that I’d been needing to put plainly and it showed me how good it feels to lay such things out. It also set a benchmark for transparency. Now that I’ve talked about this secret, could I really go back to hiding everything behind a pseudonym?
It is a singular thing, but it’s also part of a bigger issue that has its own momentum. It’s no longer my job to help people hide their inadequacies and their secrets – it never was, to be honest. It’s also not my job to hide my quirks and inadequacies. Secrets are another thing. They’re mine and they’re personal. You have yours. Yes, yes you do. I have mine. I’m responsible for mine; you’re responsible for yours, and that’s how it should be.
My family was always way too guarded about our story, and protecting it from others. My ex was always way too guarded about our story, and protecting it from others. But that’s no longer my concern. I don’t have to be silent just to keep people from conjecturing about what my previous life was like. So people figure out my father was a bully who was terribly insecure, who was afraid of all men, and who saved his bullying for women who he thought he could intimidate and control more easily. So people figure out that my ex was a control freak who was utterly dominated and emotionally manipulated by her unstable mother, and who thought that, when she married, she could become queen of the castle in her own way, exercising her need for absolute control, free (for the most part) of her mother. And the stories I can tell about myself … well, if you think those people look flawed, just wait. It’s alright to be flawed. It’s very human to be flawed and even more human (and hopeful) to admit it.
So, what this all builds toward is a desire for some real transparency in my blogging and tweeting. I want to do that, but at the same time, I still have professional constraints. My employer does not want every opinion and musing that I might have to be expressed and potentially tied back to their institution. Even if they said they did – and even if they thought they did – trust me, they don’t. There are also certain reasonable personal constraints. I’m not a Kardashian, for God’s sake. I don’t want to make my living by dumping all of my foolishness in the village commons.
So my persona/personal dividing line is starting to shift. I want to put more of me into the authentic, public me, but I know I have to keep some of that back in the pseudonymous me.
It seems like a question I'm coming very late too - where and how do writers draw their own reasonable boundaries?
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