If recent media are to be believed, Dominique Strauss-Kahn and his pleasure-seeking libido – let’s call him Charlie – have been traveling the world in search of warm, female orifices to satiate the irrepressible urges of Dominique’s dick. Sadly, the aimless, constant schtupping has totally fucked DSK’s career. In a flash, he went from heading the IMF and being touted as a viable prospect for the French Presidency, to having his unkempt, humiliated ass hauled in to be booked for sexual assault.
He traded his reputation, a life in the making, for a quick bang with a chamber maid who alleges the sex was ‘sadistic and violent.’ If it had just been ‘okay’ sex, if Charlie hadn’t gone all frat-house gang bang when opportunity knocked, DSK probably could have weaseled his way out of the situation with a little hush money, and the world would have been none the wiser. He’d have to keep Charlie locked up for bad behaviour for a time but the crisis would have been mostly averted.
More recently it’s surfaced that DSK also attended sex parties and has been under investigation for pimping out women for orgies operating in various cities. In a nutshell, this man’s career was ruined not because of incompetence, corruption, or criminality, but because he could not keep his dick-head alter-ego Charlie from storming the bridge, hog-tying the Captain and crew and taking the ship’s payload of nukes for his own gain. He’s like Gary Busey in Under Siege, except there is no redeeming figure like the cook/special forces veteran, played by Steven Segal, to save the SS Dominique Strauss-Kahn from sinking under the weight of Charlie’s craven, libidinous plans.
But Strauss-Kahn isn’t the only man whose carnal urges have undermined his reputation, is he? There are countless cases of accomplished, intelligent, powerful men who’ve lost everything, or come perilously close to it, because they simply could not tame their mustang-like skin flutes. Thomas Jefferson, John F Kennedy, John Profumo, Clarence Thomas, Bill Clinton, Silvio Berlusconi, Eliot Spitzer, and dozens more whose gonads were like grenades with hair-pin triggers, constantly going off in the midst of reputable, accomplished lives.
It’s mind-boggling, not because of the abject immorality – I am no prude – but for the profound lack of judgement that compelled these men to such salacious acts of their undoing. Obviously, in DSK’s case, as in the case of the others, Charlie is like a squirrel on speed.
Charlie is itching for a bang when you’re out of town on a high-stakes business trip and have some time to kill, or when you’re working late at the office and spy an attractive female colleague for whom a quick fuck makes for a lengthy, messy aftermath. He wants to abandon all reason when a large-breasted, big-haired intern half his age casts a furtive glance, or when an underaged model shows up to the Christmas party. He cares little for your political aspirations, and convinces you to ignore the edict of your intellect telling you to burn the Little Black Book of fuck-buddies for-hire to avert temptation. Charlie is bored to tears with attractive, intelligent, self-respecting women who are turned off by ceaseless questions about whether they will do anal.
Charlie’s notions of what is sexually arousing and what counts as an appropriate way to satisfy those cravings were frozen in time, and failed to keep pace with other facets of normal human intellectual development. He’s kept your dick hardening in the presence of women who may be attractive to the thirteen year-old boy that lingers inside, but have nothing in common with the adult man you have mostly become. Education and cultural refinement don’t seem to have done much to dull the impact of Charlie’s influences on your sexual preferences and attitudes. His hormonal edicts guiding your conduct are uttered with nary a concern for the disaster a teenaged sex-drive has in the life of an adult with serious responsibilities.
Charlie is an oblivious yahoo from the Beverly Hillbillies. He struck psychological black gold in the stunted brains of certain males, laying claim to a large penthouse loft in the posh, upscale part of town called the Pre-frontal Cortex; a neighbourhood where intellect,
judgement, and sound decision-makers usually reside. From time to time the residents grow weary of the moonshine hangovers, backfiring jalopies, and blunderbusses going off at all hours, so they retreat to the Hamptons in the sub-conscious. With his more socialized living companions on vacay, there is nothing to keep his misanthropic excesses in check, leaving Charlie free to muss with a life.
I’m not one to judge a man for having a rabid, over-zealous sex drive. I was fourteen once. I remember when Charlie mostly ran things. There is nothing as terrorizing as the teenage male desire to stick his constantly throbbing shaft in anything moist and inviting. In the early days of boyhood, Charlie often wins the debate. With age, constructive ways to keep his urges under wraps are fashioned, at least by most men.
For Strauss-Kahn, Clinton, and JFK it seems Charlie was too much of a force to be reckoned with. Their brains never got a handle on the poor chap, so he was free to roam aimlessly in their lives, his dick bobbing in the air, fishing for a screw, reeling in whatever nibble he got. The revelations of JFK’s sexual escapades are stunning given his other commendable traits. In retrospect, it is daunting to think the Cuban Missile Crisis was in the hands of a guy so beholden to his pecker. That said, it’s heartening to know the West’s top warrior could relieve the tension of a Cold War standoff like no other: with a booty call to Marilyn Munroe. She may have single-handedly brought the world back from the brink of nuclear annihilation – one JFK hand-job at a time.
I am not casting aspersions against these men because of their sex drive. What raises eyebrows is the degree their libido was able to trump their judgement. For me, it casts these men as tragic figures, worthy of some compassion, even if it appears on the surface they acted like garden variety, pathological womanizers. No matter how bright, enlightened, and accomplished they were, they were still too often possessed by Charlie’s elephantine sexual appetites.
If you are unsympathetic, take a look at the inner dialogue in the mind of a man like Dominique Strauss-Kahn in the presence of an attractive twenty two year old woman. On the one hand he’s got his intellect making some fairly astute observations to turn his mind back to the problems at hand: staving off global economic collapse. The intellect tries to guide his thoughts toward his loftier responsibilities. On the other, he’s got Charlie imploring him that every minute not spent fucking is a minute not spent living.
It’s a no-brainer who wins, right? You’d think so, given the arguments:
THE INTELLECT: True, this woman is extremely sexually attractive. On the other hand, Greece is on the brink of having to bust open Aunt Voula’s piggy bank and sell off Uncle Kosta’s sheep to survive. Remember, it is you and I that got you here. Charlie almost ruined everything. Also, most people find it highly suspect if the Head of the IMF can’t keep his dick in his pants while the work of stabilizing the world’s money supply goes undone. I understand you have needs, but let’s address that later. In the meantime, go for a run, write a sonnet, have a fine meal at a Michelin restaurant. Remember, Charlie made peeing burn like sulfuric acid was seeping from your pecker the last time he got his way.
CHARLIE: Fucking Intellect, pfft. How many times has that loser got you laid? You are devaluing those perky tits just thinking about currency devaluation. All this talk of austerity programs is gonna waste a good hard-on. Let’s grab that pussy while the grabbing’s good!
The intellect makes a far more compelling argument doesn’t he? Which makes it a tragedy how often Charlie wins this debate. Clearly, it’s not a meeting of the minds, yet Dominique Strauss-Kahn’s intellect continuously loses the battle of wits with the stubborn, stunted rival between his legs. The moral here is not that it is fair to condemn the man who possesses a healthy sex drive; it’s a sign of youthful virility. But a healthy sex drive calls for a healthy concept of how to achieve sexual gratification.
When confronted with the arguments of Charlie vs the intellect, the man who chooses the former when doing so loses everything in reputation and career is clearly in the grip of a libido gone totally loco. The moral is, if you find yourself getting into trouble, get some counseling and medication to raise Charlie up properly. Help get him back on the path to a sexually healthy adulthood. The grown-up Charlie doesn’t need to stop craving the wondrous experience of sex. He is encouraged to do so frequently, but in ways that are exotic and foreign to his pubescent, teen-aged self.