I will tell you a true story. The man, when young, was James Dean — sort of. He had his share of bike, car and truck crashes but God knows he didn’t die in any of them.
Our James Dean met Bette Davis (sort of) and his heart fell in love for her. They were very young and totally unaware of the ugly innards of the society around them. In denial of everything but void words, a glaring propaganda instilled the young bride to focus on “serious” labor matters, in following the flock frenzy and drinking the Kool-Aid of socialism. The newly acquired urban ideology fitted well with the shockwave that she endured as a child in a war-torn Central Europe, along with her mother, seven sisters and a randomly missing, returning, leaving, missing again father.
For her, sex was not only an afterthought but THAT EVIL animalistic behavior (of the man) causing so much harm (and ensuing trouble) to her mama. No one in particular to blame for this trauma. Just being born at the wrong time in the wrong place? But what’s right and wrong about where and when you’re born?
Given Morals and Ethics
Our still alive James Dean had to silently accept and walk along with a personalized jar of Kool-Aid, carefully packed and served, every morning, to him. Bette knew how to take care of her man, to cook well, clean the house and wash the laundry; and she gave a good moral and ethical (according to the Kool-Aid standards) education to their two daughters. It was her abhorrence towards sex in marriage that slowly drained the soul of her (now not so young) less and less happier James Dean.
Music and Machines
But she didn’t figure that (or why) her James was suffering along her. He had an inclination to play the harmonika and he even crafted a band with some pals. The man needed to release pressure somehow. If this was not allowed in bed, then singing may bring some ease, he thought. But NO! Bette said. The music band is bad (and EVIL). They wander astray from the straight path, from achieving the goals of the five-year planning. Kool-Aid flew on him, again, from the red bucket.
The poor man had to drop his dreams and hide back in the metallic entrails of his heavy industrial workplace. There he could moan in peace, buried in the humming of the machines — they sang a much bearable “music” than the outer social and marital propaganda noise.
Killing Him Slowly
Alcohol was his last refuge. There he died during his late fifties, not understood but still loved and cared for on all aspects short of one: sex in marriage was not in the menu for him.
If you think with a woman-mind about this sad story, you may hurry up to put all the blame on alcohol. YES! It’s the poison that kills you slowly but surely. Do not abuse and don’t get dependent!
While still sober, take your time and read this so scientific article:
The ScienceMag.org article is not a yelled Kool-Aid propaganda message that you MUST obey to with your life. However, “it does bring up questions and suggest future studies.”
Now let’s personalize the findings: If you don’t want your man to be (the guinea pig) part of any further statistics proving that sexually rejected subjects turned to booze, then –as his loving wife– you MUST understand that there’s no actual marriage without sex! And that sex in marriage is exactly the opposite of extramarital sex, even if the positions look so stunningly similar…
You married a musical man? Let him sing about you! A graphical one? Let him draw, paint and photograph you! A poet? Sit near him and listen to his verses! A mere sexual man? Then be his mate! Forget the Kool-Aid, it is shameless propaganda — a killer even worse than alcohol.