Twenty-Two The Magic Number

Celebrating the age when everything changes, and men finally get the upper hand in the dating game.
-By Drew Magary | Illustration by Matt Vincent

I’d like to address the college class of 2009. Yes, I know that this is the June issue of Penthouse, but it goes on sale in May, when you graduate. They just call it the June issue so that you’ll feel like you’re masturbating to pussy from the future. And future pussy is some hot pussy, indeed.

As you are no doubt aware, you’re graduating into a decidedly shitty climate. Not only are there no more jobs out there, there aren’t even any bullshit, no-pay jobs you can take while you’re trying to get a real one, like intern at Arby’s, or amateur porn fluffer. You’re fucked. Truly, deeply, stroke-victim fucked.

But you’re also fucked in a good way. It’s true, you idealistic little bastards! Look, you college grads are now 22 years old. And 22 is the fucking magic age for any heterosexual American male. It’s the age when you finally start to gain the upper hand on women.

Allow me to explain. I never got laid in college. When I graduated high school, I was under the impression that my college career would be chock-full of drunken sexual misadventures. That was what the movies promised me. Fuck, even Mitch from Real Genius got laid in college, and he looked like Rachel Maddow.

But it never happened for me. I spent most of college getting stoned, watching The Simpsons, and waiting for my roommate to go shower so I could bang my pillow. Now, there are any number of reasons why I couldn’t get laid in college, almost all involving massive flaws in both my looks and personality. But one of the biggest reasons was the environment itself.

Before the age of 22, there’s very little pressure on women to actively go out and find a man. Before 22, most girls are still in school, safely cloistered from the real world. There’s no need to worry about marriage, having kids, or growing old. There’s time for girls to be selective, and holy shit are they ever selective. As a result, before the age of 22, men are by far the more desperate of the two sexes. Women are the prize to be won.

All that changes when you get out of college. Once a girl is out of that safe, nurturing school environment, the pressures of the real world come down on her like a fucking hammer. And the minute one of her close friends gets married, the sexual ad vantage shifts decisively. No longer are guys a mild nuisance she can afford to ignore. There’s real, legitimate pressure now to find a man who can support her and help her raise a family. That female exclusive fear of becoming an old maid who lives out her days painting watercolors of her fucking cats comes to the fore.

After 22, men are the prize to be won. The baton passes. The desperation men have for sex is eclipsed by the desperation women have for security. Women can’t just afford to sit back and have the game come to them anymore. They have to get off their asses. They also can’t be so picky anymore. They have to give consideration to guys they never would have looked at in high school. And to keep men interested, they have to tickle some pickle.

And that is awesome.

Finally, a little karmic payback after years of sexual frustration. It’s only fair. You ladies made us suffer for fucking years. How’s it feel to be in our shoes, eh? Not so easy, is it? Get us while you can, ladies! We have halfway-decent job prospects and no record of arson or sexually assaulting department-store mannequins! We’re keepers! Get us now before you lose life’s cruel game of musical chairs and die alone! It’ll happen if you don’t give us a chance! Mwahahaha!

This switch paid dividends in my personal history. No, I never got laid during my college years. But then my early twenties hit, and I ended up doing okay. I still looked the same. I still acted the same. I still had nose
hairs that just ever so slightly protruded from the rim of my nostrils. Only the environment changed, but that was more than enough.

Consider the difference between a movie like Superbad and a fucking terrible girl movie like He’s Just Not That Into You. Both feature protagonists who are desperate to connect with the opposite sex. In Superbad, they’re male, whereas in He’s Just Not That Into You, they’re female. Why does the desperation switch over from men in the former to women in the latter? Age. Nothing more. No way Ginnifer Goodwin’s character is that needy if she’s in Super bad. Jonah Hill’s character would have given a claims adjuster a handjob
to hook up with someone like her.

This is why most men are loath to commit to marriage, even if they’re in a seemingly happy relationship.
Women will say, “Hey, he loves me. So what the fuck is the holdup?” The holdup is that we waited 22 fucking
years for women to be this accessible. Forgive us if we’d like to capitalize on
it a bit longer. Give us at least until age 44 to settle down. That’s only fair.

So get ready, you frisky graduates. Maybe college wasn’t quite the nonstop champagne orgy you had envisioned. But fear not. All the pressure society puts on women to get married and start spitting out babies is about to pay handsomely for you and your penis. Hooray, unfair societal double standards! You’re about to enter the best years of your lives. With extra future pussy!