The World Almanac Book of Facts states that the average age of a Rock Star that died prematurely in the 20th and 21st century is just thirty-six. Heart attack and drug overdose are the highest causes. When the news is … Continue reading
Castrating Casanova
Personal War: Can You Satisfy Your Wife?
“How handsome you are, my lover! Oh, how charming! And our bed is verdant” (Song of Songs 1:16).
In Casino Royale, a former KGB agent called Le Chiffre had captured the icon of masculinity, namely, James Bond. It is a rare scene for 007 to be totally naked onscreen about to be tortured in a manner that makes everyone wince, straddled over an abandoned dining room chair with the seat kicked out. The hands of Britain’s most famous agent are tied behind his back while his genitals are suspended in a seat-less chair, hidden from the camera’s lens. Le Chiffre confidently looks at Bond while swinging a rope with a knot tied in the end like a lead weight.
“You know, I never understood all these elaborate tortures. It’s the simplest thing, to cause more pain than a man can possibly endure. And of course, it’s not only the immediate agony, but the knowledge that—if you do not yield soon enough—there will be little left to identify you as a man. The only question remains: will you yield…in time?” Le Chiffre swings the rope several times and then lunges forward full pelt under the seat-less chair where the most excruciating pain was inflicted.
This question of yielding has almost been transcendent in the history of sexual masculinity. From the moment Adam took the forbidden fruit to this moment in time, men have yielded their sexuality until there is little left to distinguish from femininity. We have been perceived by our mothers and wives in the journey of masculinity from filthy little boys to dirty old men. We have been neutered, gelded, and castrated like an ancient eunuch looking out for the domestic duties of family life. The irony is that such eunuchs had their genitals preserved in alcohol euphemistically termed “precious treasure” and had them returned upon death and interred with them, so that in the next life they could be a real man.
I am not speaking about Lance Armstrong or the comedian Tom Green and their fight against testicular cancer, having one testicle surgically removed, but the willful and deliberate emancipation of our sexuality from our most precious treasure—the penis. The ancient victors used to castrate their captives as a sign of removing their power as men, enslaving them in domestic service. Sounds like the average bedroom in America today!
Pierre Abelard, the twelfth century French scholastic philosopher, theologian and preeminent logician, had a legendary love affair with Heloise. He wrote to his lover 113 passionate letters seducing his way into her home until the relationship was separated by her guardian and uncle, Fulbert. The Frenchman still met with Heloise in secret, pursuing her despite the dangers of being caught. Abelard wanted to make his bed verdant and charming, seducing his lover with masculine passion. How many men today, like Abelard, deeply desire a verdant bed with their wife in place of porn and masturbation? Ultimately it cost him his testicles—literally. Fulbert castrated him, leaving Heloise in a convent and turning Abelard into a monk. There is a cost to making a verdant bed, although our testicles are not on the line in our culture, the price can be unbearable for a man. For instance, transparency of the heart, emotional openness, and honesty are just a few of many deadly sacrifices a man will have to make to ensure a verdant bed.
Literal castration was more about the testes and the ability to reproduce, but since Freud, castration has been centered on the penis. This is the context I am speaking to, the ability to fully satisfy your wife as a man. It is less Renaissance and more Freud today. For example, a full-size imitation of Michelangelo’s David was put on public display at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, with the single exception of a fig leaf covering his penis. The public demanded that David should be displayed as its original artist intended. The leaf was removed but the public outcry was at least tenfold more than before. David’s penis was, how can I say, a little small, but in Michelangelo’s day, the size of a man’s scrotum mattered, because reproduction was his honor, not the pleasure of his wife. How times have changed! David was taken away and several inches were added, unlike the reality of many bedrooms where every inch has been rejected. Why? Porn used to be rejected in suburbia but has now become openly accepted as a way of life, thus, rejecting the real thing. Porn distorts every inch creating huge and borderline monstrous men like Greek gods, who are able to give pleasure again and again, making the real man unable to compete with it. He is castrated.
In June 1993, the world of men heard of a story you might only find in a Bond movie. A young man called John Bobbitt was rudely awakened by his wife Lorena, as she cut off his penis with a kitchen knife. Every man who heard it on the radio, watched it on the television, or read about it in the newspaper, thought of it as the worse nightmare imaginable. Every woman heard, saw, or read the same thing with a much different perspective. Lorena had driven off with the amputated appendage and then tossed it out of the window. The bottom line of this tale from the crypt is that police launched a sensitive hunt to look for the penis! Isn’t that irony in itself? Men were out looking for the penis that was lost! Needless to say, John and Lorena divorced in 1995 from a marital bed that was hardly verdant but more horrific.
The age old question, “Is it the size or quality?” is a question no man is comfortable in asking his wife, but he wants someone to reassure him. The answer is not necessarily the size but what it represents, as history shows us. It is our symbol of sexual authority and power, castrated to humiliate or exploited to exhilarate. John Bobbitt went on to star in three porn movies about his penis, among other misadventures, making the focus of male sexuality the penis. We know inherently that porn is a lie and the gelding that takes place in the bedroom is not normal, natural, or a reality to us. The answer is not in asserting the penis once more against a strong tide of feminine cliché but a rediscovery of our sexual masculinity that lights up our world when the words, “Our bed is verdant,” slip from the lips of your wife in a stolen moment over a romantic dinner for two.
James Bond wanted Vesper Lynd, although she is a double agent, but he is cornered and captured by Le Chiffre and straddled in a torturing chair, naked and in pain. Was it the size of Bond’s penis that loosed him from the clutches of pain, as John Bobbitt would have us believe, or was it something else? The castration of masculinity in its figurative sense is not something we can break out of by measuring our members and posting them online with visual proof, or a three-step program that can be purchased for $19.99 with a money-back guarantee. Bond was rescued from his torture. Likewise, men in America need to be rescued and restored with power and authority that makes a bedroom verdant, green, and flourishing. I am not suggesting men across the country make a naked stand like Buzz Lightyear, leaping from the footboard of their beds shouting, “To infinity and beyond!” What I am suggesting is that the bedroom is cultivated to be verdant by removing things that should not be there in the first place.
It always surprises me how much of the rest of the home is in the bedroom; utensils from the kitchen, various forms of entertainment from television, X-boxes, Playstations, and Gameboys, with magazines and books to compete with the local library. These things, and more, make a bedroom desolate. Take a good look at your bedroom and ask yourself, “Does this represent a verdant room where my masculinity meets with femininity in the passion of sex?” Let me even suggest, photographs of your children looking lovingly at you, no matter if you are in the bedroom, can be a distraction. It’s not just a makeover but an extreme makeover that your bedroom may need. Are the colors sensual and arousing, or plain vanilla? Is your bed comfortable, or is it like sleeping in a cot at a youth camp? Is it lit up like Las Vegas, or can the lights be dimmed so the eye is forced into focus on the silhouette of your lover? Is it—verdant?
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