There’s been a lot of talk about a “sex strike” lately — and like a lot of other women, Calico’s not having any of it. She’s not down on Alyssa Milano, who was really just trying to make a point and spur discussion of an important issue, but she’s certainly rejecting the notion of punishing herself (not to mention her husband, who is decidedly pro-choice) just to make a point to some asshole of a legislator in Georgia who doesn’t even know she exists.
Luckily, as a solutions-oriented person, Calico has come up with some alternatives to sex strikes which could get her husband’s attention and potentially change his mind on some issue upon which they disagree, should the need ever arise. After all, there’s no sense in depriving herself of sexual pleasure to bend her husband to her will when other remedies are available, right?
So, what sort of persuasive domestic protest concepts has Calico cooked up? For the answer, check out her latest post, “Participate In A ‘Sex Strike’? No Thanks.”
by Calico Rudasill, Sssh.com Sexpert at Sssh.com Porn For Women and Couples
Ever since it was first introduced to me as a small child, I’ve been fond of the phrase “cutting off the nose to spite the face.”
Initially, it delighted me simply because I found the mental image of my brother cutting off his own nose very amusing. Later, when I came to understand its meaning, I began to appreciate how widely applicable it was, as old clichés go.
With all the talk of “sex strikes” lately, the phrase has been on my mind quite a bit – because that’s exactly what I view a sex strike to be.
Why Would Some Asshole of a Legislator in Georgia Care if My Husband and I Deprive Ourselves of Sex?
To be fair, I understand Alyssa Milano’s explanation of why she called for a sex strike in response to a spate of extremely restrictive new anti-abortion bills which have been passed in various states around the country.
As such, I’m not calling out Alyssa’s call to sex-withholding arms so much as I want to address the basic idea of sex strikes – which sound to me like depriving myself of doing something I really, really enjoy as a form of misguided payback to a bunch of asshole legislators who will likely never even know I exist.
If I were to go on sex strike, the two people who would suffer directly from my protest are me and my husband – a guy who won’t even consider voting for any pro-life politician and has often donated both his money and time to the pro-choice cause.
Now, if I happened to be fucking one of the state senators/representatives who wrote these bills, or one of the governors who signed them, then I might consider a sort of modified sex strike, under which I no longer fuck him – but our gardener and pool boy would be another story, altogether.
Giving Up Sex Is A Non-Starter. Giving Up Dusting, On the Other Hand…
The good news is, if I ever do want to institute a domestic protest of some sort that would get my husband’s attention and influence him to change his mind on something, I have several options that don’t involve me becoming suddenly sex deprived.
For example, since we divide up the housework around here, I could easily just stop doing my half of the work to get my husband’s attention. Hell, as soon as he remembered how much he hates cleaning the oven, or dusting the shelves (and every little curio and trinket we keep thereon), he’d be on his knees begging forgiveness – or on his knees scrubbing the bathtub, if my strike happened within the first or third week of the month.
How About a Speech Strike? (Don’t Laugh – it’s His Second-Favorite Thing I Can Do with My Mouth)
I also believe the good old “silent treatment” would go a long way in bending my husband to my will without negatively impacting my weekly (non-autoerotic) orgasm quota. Oddly enough, even though we’ve been married almost 20 years, the man still enjoys talking to me. Weird, right?
If I were to refuse to talk to him about current events, or even just ban discussion of whatever Netflix show we happened to be binging at the time, I’d give it about three days before he began to feel like he was stuck in virtual solitary confinement.
I’m not going to do any of these sex-strike-alternative things either, however – mostly because I don’t want my husband ruining our bedsheets by using one to hang himself in the shower.
Happy Wife, Happy Wi-fi
I don’t even like imagining such a thing, but if I ever need to invoke the equivalent of the nuclear option, there’s always the approach of changing our Wi-fi password and refusing to give him the new one. Yes, I know – this is a truly extreme idea, but sometimes it’s any USB port in a storm, so to speak.
Sure, if I pull some sort of Wi-fi password trick, he could just go down the hill to Starbucks and fire up his tablet and surf the web from there, but I don’t think the baristas will be anywhere near as tolerant of his loudly-listened-to entertainment choices – or of having him sit around in his boxer shorts with no shirt on.
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