Sauce for the Gander


Germaine Greer, a woman whose outpourings can only be fully explained by a form of oestrogen-triggered Tourette’s has done it again. She told the Cheltenham Literary Festival that girls who have so comprehensively failed to grasp the concept of cause and effect that they evince surprise when a man responds to their open legs and inviting semi nakedness with a hard-on, should have their own website, where they “name and shame” all who make the mistake of assuming that, when someone sticks an open bag of jelly babies under your nose and shakes it invitingly, they actually want to share their jelly babies with you.

“I think that testosterone is a rare poison,” she once said, with scant regard for toxicology. But she repeatedly speaks as though men are, indeed, poison.

“A couple of months community service wearing a t-shirt with the word ‘rapist’ on it would be good,” she says, for any man who is a follower of the principle of Ockham’s Razor (broadly: if it acts like it wants to be fucked, and talks like it wants to be fucked and looks like it wants to be fucked, then it probably wants to be fucked).

Any female who reckons she can invite the vampire into the room without expecting to give a little blood has been watching way too much Twilight when she should have been studying to get into big school. Growing up brings with it – except in Germaine’s World – the realisation that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. And it flies in the face of reason to expect otherwise.

Cruising through the side streets of sexuality, if you take the fare from the nice man, you give him the ride. You can brake sharply and try to throw him out halfway to where he wants to go. But you can’t blame him for getting in in the first place.

But Germaine wants to give every games-playing, prick-teasing, self-obsessed little girlie the right to plaster men’s names and numbers all over the web and call them rapists. A terrible word. A terrible crime. When it is actually committed. Germaine wants to give every creature who decides the morning after, or when the boyfriend asks where she got the hickey, or when the flowers don’t arrive, or when there is no second date, that she has been raped, a way to destroy ordinary men’s lives. “Date rape” – the soi-disant “victims” of which “crime” will be the providers of content for Germaine’s GirlsAreNeverGuilty.greer – is an unacceptable erosion of the mitigation of provocation. Germaine and her ilk believe a woman should be allowed to get naked, straddle a man, her cunt hovering above his erection like an inverted Sword of Damocles, and still expect to walk away after sharing fluids no more personal than a cup of tea.

There is always a point of no return. You pick something up in a supermarket, forget to pay and, as soon as you leave the shop you are guilty of shoplifting. Doesn’t matter if you didn’t mean to steal. Too late. You have passed the point of no return.

The law already allows any woman to bring an accusation of one of the justice system’s worst crimes against any man she wants, from behind a screen that now and forever will protect her name, her identity – even when the man is found not guilty – while hanging him, innocent or not, out to dry. With sex crimes the sense of “no smoke without fire” is ever powerful. A name, once connected to an accusation of rape, is never again quite clean. A woman who does that to a man should be made to stand up and be identified. She should be named and shamed. Eh, Germaine?

So, Erotic Review subscribers and chums will be delighted to know that, should Germaine have her way, I, as Editor at Large, will be setting up our own website, where men – men whose pricks have been teased beyond bearing, who have been led up Lady Garden paths that lead to nothing more than the exit gate, who have had drunken, desperate women fling themselves at them, wrap themselves around them, frot themselves, tongue and lick and squeeze, get horizontal and semi-naked and whisper sweet everythings, only to expect that they can take but never give – can name and shame these women. We can call it Hey…we’re all equal under feminism, aren’t we Dr Greer?

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