The Western Woman And The Golden Vagina Syndrome
Just prior to my return home to the US from my latest sojourn to Paradise, I spent a couple of pleasant hours shooting pool and enjoying a beer or two in a locally well-known pickup bar in Phnom Penh. Although I prefer a different venue for my own mongering activities, I always enjoy the atmosphere and the brutally honest inter-play that goes on between the ladies and the slightly aged patrons in this, and other similar Southeast Asian establishments.
I watched as the men would take their place at the bar, order a drink, and casually survey the scene with an apparent disinterest. Ladies, in clusters and perched on barstools, intently watched each patron’s entry, assessing amongst themselves the desirability of each of these men, whether or not to approach them, and how and when they might do so. Some were bold and aggressive, but others that were less experienced and less sure of themselves had to be chided into doing so by their “sisters”. It was clear to see that the risk any of the ladies might be rejected in their approaching these oft-times less than attractive men intimidated many of them into inaction.
I watched as these mostly less than beautiful, but hardly unattractive women would take turns trying to strike up an uneasy conversation with these men, hoping to be allowed an interview of sorts that might lead to something more—perhaps only a drink, possibly a paid sexual encounter, perhaps a much-valued relationship of some kind. The one or two among them that were more attractive usually had an easier reception, but were nonetheless far from immune from the abrupt rejection that awaited many of these ladies’ approaches. For some reason, being unusually introspective that afternoon, I watched in fascination as I thought how these circumstances that were so common in that part of the world could never take place in such venues back home. It was then that I was struck by a revelation that was more profound and poignant than was my usual.
In my homeland, in such public (and yes, often-times private) social settings, it was I who had the unenviable social status of these women. It was I who had to risk rejection by deciding whether or not to approach, when to approach, what to say, and how to handle the summary dismissal that might come my way from a western woman—often one that was overweight, far from youthful, and with an unpleasant attitude..
And I had something to offer. I am employed, make a decent income, have my own home, am not unattractive, take care of myself physically and (If I may say so) am a decent all-around fellow. All fine and dandy you might say, but I am afraid it’s certainly not good enough to get a reasonable shot at getting more than the time of day from a western woman carrying with her the ubiquitous golden vagina.
I guess that is why I gave up on western women years ago. I grew tired and frustrated with the constant angling for the relationship interview that I occasionally sought with one that was rarely granted. You see, I grew up in the USA of the 1960s and early 1970s—a time and place where being a white male was roughly comparable in societal status to being inflicted with the black plague in the middle ages. Taking a back seat to the social revolution that punished my kind for unspecified sins that had been committed before my arrival, I discovered that my gender and my race amounted to the antithesis of the social “diversification” that western society now so highly valued.
The blame and the rapidly diminishing opportunities in education and employment that inevitably developed was something I grew to accept, as I was repeatedly sent to the back of the line over and over again in favor of someone in western society more “diverse” than I. What it was that I could never accept was myself and my brethren’s new-found status as an emasculated western man in social settings that either excluded us altogether, or otherwise relegated us to the status of a bargirl in a Cambodian pickup bar vying for the attention of someone more privileged and sought after than she.
These empowered western women can go ahead and enjoy their expanded social status that they have gained over the last 40 or so years from what had already been their formidable domination of the social and domestic scenes in society—a status that had been good enough for all other women but those in the recent history of western civilization. Western women can continue to complain of their “slow” progress in their quest to expand their domination and control of western society’s education, business, its professions and politics as well. These empowered western ladies can carry on without the need for my kind. All they need is a cell phone in one hand and a dildo in the other. What use do they have for me? I doubt that I will be missed.
I for one will take every opportunity to live as many of my remaining days where I feel I more valued (even if it is for the wrong reasons) than to allow myself to be victimized by a culture that has developed so little need and respect for me in their society merely on the basis of my gender and race.
It’s less than perfect, but if my choices are either chasing after women in the land of the Golden Vagina or being chased after in the land of the Golden Penis, it’s really a no-brainer. I only hope that the influence of the west does not completely infect this part of the world—at least while I am still alive and healthy enough to enjoy it.