Dennis Prager is an assferret. An assferret in two parts, no less, the second of which I must confess I have not gone near. I don't think I have to, do you?
When A Woman Isn't in the Mood: Part 1 is Prager's loving paean to marital rape and the complete inability of anyone with dangling genitalia to act like a decent human being. I imagine his thinking goes something like this: Ah, the good old days, when men grunted and their possessions promptly opened their legs for them. Such halcyon days, those, when society rightly knew that women have no sex drive of their own, and are concerned only with pleasing their masters, who in turn are concerned with big, complicated Man Things, like working and not fucking every vaguely attractive woman who passes by.
Twice divorced, Prager asserts that women are property who don't ever want to have sex and that our delicate sensibilities would be irreparably offended if we ever could imagine just a fraction of what it's like to be horny all the time. Since our owners work so hard for us to have a pretty house to keep - and because their money is why we married them - we should just give up the cooch whenever it's demanded of us. How else will our husbands know we love them? They're just dumb rutting animals, after all, who should be entrusted with knowing what's best for us.
God, this shit is offensive on every level. And I say that as a housewife, a SAHM, and a woman who's almost never denied her husband sex.
I don't "give him my body" (to vomitously paraphrase) because he needs it and I want him to be happy. I have sex because he makes it worth my while. Because I know myself, and if he's asking? It's been too damn long, and I will be "in the mood" any minute. I have sex because I like sex, and really, when presented with the option of having good sex, I can't imagine rolling over and watching TV instead.
I have sex when I'm not "in the mood" because my husband returns the favor. Because - ZOMG! - he's not just some rutting beast with no self-control or thought to my pleasure. He knows I love him because I do these crazy things like telling him. Like keeping house, though it bores me. Like bearing his children. Like letting him get away with rolling over on me in bed even though we bought a king to prevent exactly that situation. Like marrying him.
I don't recommend that everyone give it up when they're not into it. For a lot of people, that just doesn't work. In fact, I don't advise people about their relationships very often, because their success depends entirely upon the dynamic between two individuals. What works between me and my husband probably won't work for anyone else, simply because we aren't anyone else.
But today, I feel compelled to advise Prager: When someone who, on the face of it, is living the advice you've given, and calls you a sexist assferret? You have bigger problems than how often your penis is in someone's vagina.