There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that even the best raised men have a natural predatory streak — and that women’s intentional conduct affects it.
I did not do the whole “me, too” thing. Aside from distrusting the reach of anything that originates on the Left (it will be used as a cudgel eventually), and finding it meaningless given its incoherent blending of everything from hardcore rape to undefined “harassment.” I also hated the whole “victim” aura that hangs about it. As I discussed in an earlier post, although a perv twerked me on a bus some decades ago, that was on him, not on me. Indeed, I had mostly forgot about that millisecond in time until this whole “me, too” thing came up.
Nowadays, were someone to twerk me in a public place, I would accidentally on purpose emasculate the person (and I mean that literally, not the way Joe Biden, a known perv, says “literally”), and try to get him arrested. Back in the day, though, I just shifted my position to get him away from me and that was the end of it. In retrospect, while I’m sorry I didn’t maim him, I have a vague memory that I might have been on my way to a hearing at the courthouse, which far outweighed any other considerations.
But back to the subject of men. That sleazy little blip in my life (and please understand that this was not a frightening experience that put me in fear for my life, nor was it an invasive experience) did not turn me off of men. I really like men.
I like the way men look, I like the way men feel (rough and scratchy, but nice and warm), I like their strength (which makes me feel protected as long as it’s not directed at me), and most of all I like the way I feel when I’m with men. When I say this, I’m not talking about sex. I’m perfectly happy at a party to talk to a fascinating man who finds me fascinating too. He’s exotic, because he’s not one of the girls (and I have a lot of female friends) and that very exotic quality, if he likes me, makes me feel pretty damn special.
My admiration for men does not begin and end with appreciating their physical merits or needing them to appreciate mine (along with my brain, of course; they must always appreciate my brain). I like men’s willingness to step up and protect women; I like their willingness to fight for what’s right; I like their uncomplicated friendships; I like their physicality; I like their different approach to issues, although sometimes they can irritate me precisely because they don’t think “like a girl.”
So please understand, when I launch into the second part of this post, that what I’m saying does not come from a misandrous place.
You see, dear men, much as I like you (and I really do like you), I don’t trust you. You’re kind of like my dog. I adore him and he adores me, but I never lose sight of the fact that he’s basically a predator. If he’s driven by fear or overwhelming instincts, he may not be my friend. When I kiss his little fuzzy face, I always keep my hands pressed on either side of his little head to ensure that he doesn’t suddenly go feral and decide to take a nibble at my nose. [Read more…]