Spotting The Con In Control
Okay, so now that I’m once again entertaining at least the possibility of what having a relationship might be like (I mean it’s been a few years since I even gave the notion let alone the actuality houseroom) this has of course got me thinking about all sorts of quirky relationship type stuff…
For instance have you ever thought about the nature of “control”? By that I mean does it really matter who, if anyone, gets to wear the metaphorical trousers in their current liaison or whatever they want to call it (particularly when it comes to that toyboy/older woman dynamic)? Is this really such a big effing deal?
Traditionally it was thus. Right or wrong the chaps were allegedly in charge; they called the shots. Or they liked to think they did. And even if they did, it did them no favours. Put it this way, alpha male revels in the thrill of the chase and there’s nothing he loves more than chasing a feisty doe (yeah yeah I know I’m mixing my metaphors here) who’s always given back just as good as she gets. Oh but once his deliciously confrontational quarry has at last succumbed to said advances, why then it’s game over. Feisty doe is now just expected to knuckle under and behave – alpha male, you see, is no longer amused by having his masculinity challenged or undermined. But guess what? He soon gets bored too. Before you know it he’s off in pursuit of more feisty does elsewhere. And why? Because slave to his own insecurities he’s foolishly stifled those very qualities of hers that so excited him in the first place. So what was the point then?
Ah but try this pair for size – although I’ll wager some of you won’t like this particular cut. Once upon a time the whole toyboy/older woman thing was a far more clichéd affair than it is now. And at the heart of this curtain twitching stereotype was, of course, sex; with strapping but naïve young buck seeking an “education” from vampish Mrs. Robinson clone who’s more than happy to provide such tutorials on a clandestine but regular basis. So who pray has “control” here then? Why hardly your newly graduated XY chromosome who instead speedily transforms from virile, amorous stag into fawning pup. Oh the flattery’s nice for a while, charming even, and just right for the ego too after what perhaps has gone before in that other less appealing life – but doesn’t it start to get just that little bit dull eventually too? I mean this wasn’t what you seduced him for, was it?
Okay then. How about I shake things up a little bit further, switch round the cups, shuffle the deck. So then, in this current climate where our older woman/younger man combination has normed way beyond mere fad or temporary zeitgeist, things should be on a far more even keel mais non? After all this is the enlightened century, the latest renaissance, where anything goes (often like the proverbial barn door in the wind if the chemistry’s right)! Indeed what we have now is the very emancipated antithesis of good old Mrs. R. who doesn’t go in for all that old self-validating rubbish and is instead most definitely in charge of her own agenda. Add to this equation perhaps a far less green, far more clued up “younger” chappie who knows just exactly what he wants and just exactly how to get it, and suddenly we have what could be the perfect combination – with neither able to get one-up on the other, keeping that spark, that interest, that wow factor alive.
And that’s the ideal isn’t it. You strike a balance, take a few turns being on top and hell, who needs “control” anyway? Certainly the savvier “toyboy” and the sassier older woman don’t, and instead seem to be the ideal candidates for getting this right, both made equal by their very differences which appear to compliment rather than contest.
However such symmetry is a precarious thing and like those first two aforementioned scenarios also prey to the slings and arrows of outrageous human nature that can upturn even this happy applecart in a moment. Suddenly he’s not so attentive, and suddenly she’s patronising, or suddenly he’s really just a juvenile slob, and suddenly she wants to sleep, and before you know it you’ve either seemingly lost control again, and lost it to the other, meaning you’re playing angst ridden catch up; or else you’ve been handed it all back, the whole kit and caboodle, meaning you can now do what you like, they’re simply “there” and annoying and it’s just no fun any more.
Maybe then this all boils down to really asking yourself what you want and being honest with your answers (a bit like my thoughts a while back on the whole casual ties set up), before stepping into such a great big unknown.
Or does that spoil the surprise? I mean, we’re a masochistic species at times aren’t we and we do all love the drama too; otherwise certain online forums would instead just be cyber tumbleweed affairs, wouldn’t they…
By Bastian Dash. Read his diary on your personal home page…
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