Why women enforce the “must want sex all the time” masculinity norm

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New Year’s Eve was amazing. And then it wasn’t.

I’d bought tickets well in advance to see my high school classmate and rising star Derrick Stroup perform at the local comedy club. Which was good, because the show sold out. Afterward, we bought tee shirts. Derrick’s fiance either knew, or at least was kind enough to pretend to know, about this newsletter.

I wish I had more memories of Derrick from high school because now he’s famous and that would be cool. But I was well ahead of my time in high school. Nowadays no one gets bullied anymore because that would require actually talking to other kids. I figured that shit out early. I had a few friends, or like one friend and a boyfriend starting at age 15 when I started to grow boobs and my years of extensive orthodontia began.

My only real memory of any personal interaction with Derrick was me falling asleep in class one day (very normal for me) and waking up and him seeming to act as if I’d farted in my sleep and not being sure what happened but feeling a lot of negative, or at least uncertain, attention on me and hating it but reacting as little as possible because I knew, at least subconsciously, that not reacting would decrease the incentive to keep fucking with me.

I think I’ve thought a lot about that incident in the intervening years because it’s such a perfect example of me misallocating my fucks.