The Great Seducer

CAN THERE be a man anywhere in the world who has not entertained the thought of a threesome (or moresome)? Just as women are genetically programmed for nurturing, consensus and multi-tasking, or so the feminists tell us, so men are hard-wired to sow children over the broadest fertile acreage. For some reason this natural, sustainable and entirely organic urge is not celebrated with anywhere near the same enthusiasm as the feminine compulsion to form spontaneous sandwich-making collectives at amateur sporting events, launch book clubs devoted to novels featuring impractical footwear on their covers or advance help-a-sister employment initiatives -- surely the only reason Silly editrix Amanda Wilson persists in showcasing the likes of A Dill Horin, Jessica Irvine, Betty Farrelly and Mike “Butch” Carlton, the meanest girl of all.

Sadly, attempts at the Billabong to enlighten women about their suppressed sexuality have not been terribly successful. Many times it has been pointed out by way of argument that men’s magazines feature erotic pictures of naked women and that the gals’ glossies also feature erotic pictures of naked women, but the obvious conclusion that a few girlfriends and a scented candle need to be assembled moist and waiting in the Professor’s breeding box has never inspired a more encouraging response than giggles. As for nominating specific friends for recruitment, quite often that approach has seen eruptions of slaps and elbows even before potential aptitudes can be touched upon.

Still, one lives in hope, even after this morning’s gross disappointment, when  a little birds’ chorus of muffled, girlish voices rose from somewhere deep between the sheets to prompt dreamy reveries of four smooth legs bookending the Professor’s robust ones.

And then Jonathan Green opened his mouth and spoiled everything.

As full consciousness returned, it became clear the alarm clock was tuned to Radio National, where the Drum editor moonlights as the Sunday morning compere. And for those alluring voices? They were some of Green’s guests going on about feminism’s continued relevance, a favourite topic of those whose relevance, and radio appearances, depend on being identified as feminists. One of his guests sounded a lot like Eva Cox, by no means the carnal catalyst, but that disappointment was not the morning’s only blow to optimism and morale. Far more annoying was Green’s tossed-off warning that women have reached a particularly hazardous stage of their social evolution.

“In an age of acid attacks and Rush Limbaugh, what is the future of feminism?” he wondered, referring to an imminent report on the Pakistani sport of disfiguring uppity women.

By now the Professor was fully awake and more than a little annoyed. A conservative American radio host, one most Australian listeners know only by repute, being equated with sexist terror and disfigurement! The muttering was about to become a full-blown fulmination when a flash of insight revealed Green’s true genius. Golly gosh, the man is brilliance made flesh!

Since the direct approach to prompting threesomes (and moresomes) does not seem to work very well, the smooth Mr Green was trying the empathetic tack. One might quibble about Cox’s value in such a ménage, but give him credit for trying. Like drive-by smears of those on the right, it seems the male urge cannot be denied, even at the ABC.

A NOTE: While Green mentioned Limbaugh and his guests generally agreed that Margaret Thatcher was not a feminist, not one link was made between acid attacks and misogynist Musselmen. With ABC gals, dissing multiculturalism must be quite the turn-off.