I was talking to a Man Whore Friend yesterday (known from now on as MWF) and the poor boy is in deep distress.
He was complaining about how he didn't feel the need to bang anything that moved anymore and after establishing that he was suffering from no known disease, I decided to probe a little further.
"Is it the girls?" I asked. "Are they maybe, not so hot?"
"No," he said sadly, "they're hot."
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know. It's just that there are so many of them. They all want it. They all want me."
"Uh-huh," I said disbelievingly.
"So basically I've got it all at my fingertips- and I don't want it,"
"Maybe," I said carefully, a little wary of sending his brain into overload, "that's the problem. There's no thrill-of-chase thing going on anymore,"
Another pause while he tried digesting this information.
"That could be it," he finally admitted. "I mean, I don't hear from anyone during the week. And then Friday afternoon, bam. I'm booked for the weekend."
So far this didn't really seem like a tale of woe to me. I probed further, trying to unravel his manwhore mind. The place where he's at is full of girls. All very eager, all very willing. All knowing exactly what they want. Which is basically the same thing he wants- or used to want, until recently.
And then finally, he let it out.
"THEY'RE USING ME FOR SEX! I'M NOTHING BUT A PIECE OF MEAT TO THEM! I FEEL SO USED!"
I explained to him that he really shouldn't feel so upset because this is what he's been doing to lots of girls over the years. And while I was at it I told him that at least ninety per cent of women (I may have been guilty of exaggerating the number in order to increase his discomfort) have used men, at least once in their lifetime, for money or sex.
"Are you serious?" he asked, and I swear I'm not exaggerating when I say that he was completely horrified.
"It's a known fact that lots of girls are perfectly aware that they're being used by men and they take advantage of it to use those men right back without their ever knowing,"
"Don't you people have souls?" he choked out.
"We're not that different from you, that's all,"
He then launched into a long tirade about how heartless a species we were and didn't we realise that men had feelings too. What happened, he whined, to things like love and respect and being liked for one's character and personality. The most epic part was when he told me, and he sounded almost heartbroken, that he felt like a whore. A man whore, to be precise. It was a moment I'm going to cherish for the rest of my life.
Realising MWF was actually suffering, I comforted him as much as I could, telling him that maybe there were a few girls out there who genuinely liked him for who he was. But then I ruined it by adding that he'd probably banged them all by now anyway and so, lost them forever.
He hung up despondently, still muttering about how used he was feeling and how he was going to go and search for a girl with Soul. I cheerfully wished him good luck.
Karma, I love you.