A statement like that on Twitter or other social media platforms might run you the risk of denunciation, cancellation, and a plethora of accusations of transphobia, but it isn’t the intent of Robert King to troll the hypersensitive online:
No, this carving isn’t directly related to the article … but it is eyecatching.
We are a sexually dimorphic species, and men and women are different. Evolution has designed us to be different. Realising that we evolved through slow steps, rather than just popping into being in an act of creation, has implications. For one thing, it means that men and women have their own separate evolutionary histories, as a result of differing (although not wholly different, of course) selection pressures. Resisting this truth — pretending that men and women are a sort of silly putty, totally moulded by social forces — has already had serious consequences in medical science, and it also has implications for my field of study.
I study the nature and function of the female orgasm. It might surprise people that there is even a set of questions about this phenomenon, but it is one of the most vexed fields in evolutionary biology. I do not claim that we have solved the puzzle of it. However, I do claim that we know a lot more about female orgasm than we used to. For example, female orgasm is multi-faceted in nature (unlike male orgasm) and is associated with a host of complex, fertility-related, functions. Male orgasm has but one (and a pretty-well understood one at that) fertility related function: reinforcing sexual behaviour. How is it that these stark differences between the sexes have been missed?
A major reason is that sex researchers, in some cases even self-described feminists, have often persisted in treating female orgasm as a mere adjunct to male orgasm. On this view — the by-product view — only male orgasms have a function. Female ones exist as a sort of afterthought of nature. Thus, clitorises have been routinely compared to (functionless) male nipples by, among others, the influential palaeontologist, Stephen Jay Gould. However, this comparison does not stand up to scrutiny. Clitorises are not substandard penises. For starters, they are large, four inches in length, on average. They are highly complex, but their structure — including muscular, erectile, and sensitive tissue — is mostly internal.
The external part — the glans — is highly sensitive, but so is the rest of it, when appropriately aroused. Clitorises connect to their own dedicated area of brain (the somatosensory cortex) utterly distinct from the male version. To see some of this for yourself you could read any number of excellent works by, for example, the brilliant anatomist Helen O’Connell.
If the structure that generates female orgasm is at least as, if not more, complex than the male counterpart, then it makes little sense to assume that the female version depends on the male one. This is doubly true of the event of orgasm itself, prompting the eminent biologist Robert Trivers to quip of female orgasms that “One has to wonder how often Steve [Gould] has been near to that blessed event to regard it as a by-product.” That may be a tad unkind — but it raises a rather important point. If we restrict ourselves to studying female orgasm, or human sexual behaviour generally, in the laboratory alone, then we run a very real risk of missing out on crucial aspects.
Let me make this point more concrete. Over the last couple of years, zoos and wildlife parks across the planet have seen a huge upswing in births, among species previously thought to be sexually frigid — like Pandas. Why? Simple. No humans were about. The animals had some privacy from prying eyes. Does it really stretch imagination to appreciate that the full range of human sexual responses might be also muted when under laboratory conditions? Inefficiency is a hallmark of good sex, and humans use the privacy of the boudoir to do more than make each orgasm as rapidly as possible. We use this space to find out about one another.
