As a diminutive, attractive female within my reproductive years, I have often been subjected to many an ostentatious male display meant to enchant with the implied promise of virility. Men make spectacles of themselves by nature, especially when they find out that the attractive female in the room is a VEGAN. Suddenly, a new unspoken contest is born: Is not the meat-eating man inherently superior to his few vegan competitors? Who will win in the contest to seed his dominance among the most attractive childbearing-age females of the species?
Short answer: The meat-eating human man loses every time.
In the human male, a pair of seminal vesicles sits above the prostate and behind the bladder. These vesicles do exactly what their name implies. They secrete seminal fluid that lubricates the urethra and help sperm move down the line. Some people who consume animals are fond of arguing that our vestigial human canines are magically empowered with the ability to rip through cow hide and that our stomachs and hearts are mystically able to absorb animal fats and proteins without consequence, even though the high rates of "diseases of civilization" among prolific animal eaters would argue to the contrary. In the myriad piles of evidence definitively fingering homo sapiens as an herbivore there is also the nagging presence of seminal vesicles. Humans are the only species that has seminal vesicles and simultaneously eats meat. Carnivores do not have seminal vesicles. Only natural herbivores do.
An herbivore who consistently deludes himself that an addiction to dead flesh is good for him is going to suffer the physical consequences, although not reliably. I am not the first person to bring up the topic of heart disease and its effects upon the male phallus. There are many references to the penis-enhancing quality of the vegan diet in the documentary Forks Over Knives. Old vegan men raise the flag. Old meat-eating guys? Not so much. Nothing chills the meat-eating male to the bone (please pardon the pun) more than a mention of how eating meat is linked to prostate cancer and heart disease. Both translate into less wood less often or in many cases, no wood at all. Animal cholesterol likes to cling to arterial walls and stiffen them into rigid little tree branches until the blood pumping organ is likewise atrophied and petrified. As the corpse-eating dude continues his arterial assault with every Big Mac, Five Dollar Footlong, and KFC Chicken Massacre in a Bucket, his heart works harder and harder to bathe all of the systems in nourishing life-blood. Small extremities like toes, fingers, and of course, penises are the first to feel the effects of not enough blood.
I have a plant that every now and then I forget to water. When I make this mistake, the plant's poor leaves begin turning yellow and many fall off while the strong ones shrink and wilt until I rescue the plant with water. It is in the virile male's best interest to keep his arteries open like newly built sixteen lane freeways at midnight on Easter Sunday. The river must flow with enough water to reach the tributaries or the corn crops will wither and die, starting with the ones on the non-essential farms on the rural periphery.
There's a special hypocrisy when a chest-beating wannabe-carnivore jibes a vegan male because that "pussy" is far more likely to satisfy with his stamina and create new life because of his increased reproductive viability. Meat doesn't just have a lot of heart-attack and stroke causing fat in it designed to take a young, hot-to-trot beefcake quickly into decrepit, pot-bellied, thick-jowled, thunder-thighed non-manhood.
Meat, especially fishmeat, concentrates heavy amounts of hormone-disrupting phthalates, dioxin, and heavy metals in human tissues. If it is spawning you're after, this is why the vegan male begins to look very attractive. Not only are the pathways to the vegan male's member unclogged by animal gunk that essentially renders meat-eating guys into periodic eunuchs, he is also more likely to knock a girl up with a healthy baby in possession of all of its fingers and toes. In the harrowing book and companion website Our Stolen Future, a collection of scientific discoveries shows the havoc hormone-disrupting chemicals has wrought since their introduction to the world with the introduction of chemical pesticides and plastics in the 20th century. These chemicals, which range from tire sealants to perfumes, wind up concentrating themselves in our bodies until no man, woman, or child alive today does not carry them somewhere in his or her tissues. Even Inuits on the far off fringes of the Arctic have chemicals originated by Dow and Monsanto hiding in their body fat stores. There is almost no better way of putting these residues in one's body than eating animals and their secretions short of bathing in a toxic spill as many bird populations are forced to do. Eating high on the food chain paves the way for dioxin, phthalate, and other unpronounceables to settle within the fragile human body. We suffer the same fates as the birds who are unwittingly exposed to the toxic soup of chemicals industry has unleashed: miscarriage, infertility, low infant birth weight, small, deformed, or undescended testicles, bizarre behavior resulting of brain damage, lower IQs, uterine defects, and cancer. The one thing all the various chemicals amassing in animal tissues have in common is their feminizing effect. This literally means that exposure to plastic chemicals like Bisphenol A causes more females to be born. What it also means is less reproductively viable males are born and that exposure to concentrated pesticides can cause defects like precocious puberty, where the offspring gets her period at the age of four or in one nightmarish, rare case, the fetus's body initiated puberty while still in the womb. Chemicals from the production of plastics are also linked to the horror of hypospadias, where the male offspring is born with his urethral opening in a place where it does not belong, under the head of the penis or often in the scrotum itself. Yes, this means that a male would potentially have to pee through a hole in his testicles if the defect went uncorrected by surgery.
Had I chosen to reproduce, I would not have touched a meat-eating male candidate for fatherhood with a ten-foot pole. A mother's worst fear is that her child will be damaged and will suffer a lifetime of pain, mockery, and ill-health because of deformity, retardation, or any of the other horrible things that can happen to infants while they are still in the womb. Besides my own self-interested notions of wanting certain favors from the male to remain on the table after we fulfilled our biological duties, I would want my child to start out life with as many winning cards in his or her deck as possible. Even though plenty of meat-eaters have wonderfully healthy children who suffer no medical issues whatsoever, we also have a huge, increasing population of meat-eaters with defective offspring. A perfectly intact baby can easily morph into a childhood leukemia patient, a seven year old with breasts and a period, a type one diabetic on the constant precipice of death, or a violently antisocial hyperactivity case. For kids and adults, eating meat is an ongoing game of Russian roulette. Will the bullet be cancer from processed meat (one serving raises a child's chance of getting leukemia by 17%) or will it be sudden, uncontrollable weight gain? Or maybe the person at the end of the gun gets away with it and lives to see another day. Personally, I find it safer not to play with guns at all.
All of this talk of the physical serves only to fixate on a narrow-minded aspect of sexuality. I don't think sexuality makes the man anyway so for me, constant erections from my partner are more of annoyance than a joy. When push comes to shove (the puns never stop, I know) compassion in a man is very hot. Case in point, the fireman who rescues a kitten from a burning building. I think most women would agree with me that there are few things less attractive than a lazy, irresponsible, stupid, inconsiderate man no matter what he looks like or what he's packing.