My War Against Pfizer, Porn, and the Mechanization of Sex

by RuwanMeepagala  Jul 15, 2014

Each part of our human triune brain offers a man a separate motivation to have sex:

1. Basal Ganglia (Sensory Reptilian brain):

Physical Pleasure

Genital contact feels good. We get a sensory pleasure reward for connecting such body parts. This is the reason most of us claim to pursue sex.

2. Neocortex (Conscious Human Brain):

Ego Gratification

We get satisfaction from another person finding us attractive enough to take off their clothes and touch our genitals. Extra points if you can prove it publicly and get further props from your friends. This is the real reason most modern men chase tail.

3. Limbic System (Emotional Mammalian Brain):

Intimacy

To merge and unify emotional experience. At it's best it can be described as transcendence, touching God, and Love--in the universal sense, not necessarily romance. Very few men explicitly pursue sex for this reason. Usually it happens by accident.

Conventional society trains us to operate from the ego. From the grade on our very first spelling test to the size of the home we retire in, we're constantly valued by extrinsic factors. Our worth as human beings is measured by output like a machine. How much can we produce and prove to each other? Dollars brought in? Friends collected? Vacations had?

The worst mechanization the modern man faces is in the realm of sex and relating with women. Those of us with y-chromosomes are born into a Matrix whose framework measures sexual value with actual numbers: How many women have you slept with? How hot was she on the 1-10 scale? How many times did you get her off?

We demonize egotistical males, frat boys, and "pickup artists" for creating the problem because they perpetuate it, yet they also are victims of the same soulless game. No boy is born into the world thinking "when I grow up I'm going to collect women and sexual experiences like trophies to prove my worth." Such a paradigm is put on us.

In my case I bought into that reality and assumed, since I was nauseatingly shy, I was simply bad at the game. I was so silent as a child that my family would make jokes about how I was autistic right in front of me. I was sensitive and got overwhelmed very easily. Through my teenage years I was barely able to make eye contact with women let alone talk to them. I understood I was too “soft.” As my friends would go on dates and get laid, I understood that I wouldn't be complete till I could prove that I was a desirable human being too.

But that's not the sad part.

I eventually learned how to play the game put on me. I idolized Tucker Max and gathered that “assholes finished first.” I studied Pickup and plowed the bar scenes till my social anxiety was desensitized out of me. I grew a mask--one that did quite well with drunk girls in stilettos. By my early 20's I could go clubbing on any given night and systematically make out with a woman or two and walk out with a megabyte of new phone contacts.

Every makeout and phone number gave me the hit of validation from women and my peers that I thought I was lacking as a child. It became my drug of choice and I was hooked quickly. I started interacting with women just for the purpose of collecting experiences to talk about. I catalogued the conversation topics and jokes that tended to yield good results for later use and got to the point of repeating exact conversations with different women. My relationships, if you want to call them that, became an interchangeable commodity.

When my phonebook become too full for me to mentally keep track of who was who, I took the advice of a mentor who suggested a make a spreadsheet to keep track of of my communications with women. I essentially created a CRM for dating. My mechanized dating life was high-yield, optimized, and efficient. I brought the same logic to the bedroom...

My primary motive for sex was the second listed reason, that of the ego. Sex was simply another arena for me to prove something. As with meeting women, sex became a sport where all that mattered were the quantifiable metrics: How many positions did we hit? How quickly and how many times did she climax? How long did I last? I literally checked the clock at the beginning and end of intercourse and tried to beat my record nightly. I didn't even care about her pleasure as much as the looks of approval from my male roommates who were also noting the start and stop times of bedspring sounds.

The saying "If it's not broken, don't fix it" applies well to appliances. However human relating is not an machine to be broken or fixed, it's an organic process; and

when you mechanize it, there are dire consequences.

As I chased sex outcomes primarily for ego reasons, I started losing the ability to feel the pleasurable sensation. (The third sexual motive, intimacy, would happen randomly, and if I did feel it, I'd deny it right away.)

The more opportunity for sex I had, the less able I was to get a maintain an erection. The anxiety about possibly having erection issues made getting hard impossible. After a few humiliating experiences in a row, I figured the machine was broken and I sought help. The same mentor who suggested a communication spreadsheet offered another rational solution, "Oh that's just anxiety. Take some Viagra and when you fuck enough women, you won't be anxious anymore."

That seemed to make sense. Despite my mask's ability to cold approach and charm, I was still pretty anxious around people. I did as suggested and took the blue pill.

It worked swimmingly. What I will say on behalf of the Pfizer Corporation is that their product does as advertised. Pop one of their chalky tablets and thirty minutes later you have a rock solid hard-on that can plow to your next sexual duration record. It turned out a lot of my friends took it too. One of them often cited a statistic he read that the number one use of Viagra in 2011 was recreationally by twenty-somethings. This new chemical weapon solved my “anxiety problem,” only to expose a much worse one.

Rumi says, “The way you make love is the way God will be with you.” If that’s the case, my guiding deity was something reminiscent of a Panzer tank. As my sex machine efficiently churned out used condoms, my soul receded into the background. There was no longer a need for organic desire. My ability to feel atrophied. I became a robot.

By the age of 24 I was completely dependent on Viagra.

Without my pills, I couldn't feel anything, period. At first I didn't mind. Sildenafil citrate can be purchased online for 97 cents/pill. The greater cost was hidden beneath the empty calories of validation. It’s easy for the male ego to fool itself when all the external indicators of happiness are there.

There was only one medicine that could save me from my medicine...

 

Read Part 2 of The Ignited Man's War Against Pfizer, Porn, and the Mechanization of Sex