Dear Men, I truly love you, but I don’t necessarily trust you

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.

MenI 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.

Men are hard-wired to be sexual predators. Untamed men, or men reared in a fundamentally misogynistic culture, never rein in their predatory nature. The only brakes placed on them are (a) women removing themselves entirely from the company of those men who aren’t close family members and (b) the potential risk to an overly predatory man if the woman’s male family members feel that the woman has been dishonored. No matter how innocent the woman, she will be killed . . . but sometimes the man is too.

In our more civilized world, men are given the message that they may not use violence to initiate sex with women. Some still do — there will always be predators — but most won’t.

However, absent violence, even the best raised men will still seek sex. They’ll use everything in their armory that they think they can get away with. Charm is always nice. Alcohol is a great social lubricant. Non-threatening touches on arms, legs, and face can work (and we’re assuming here that the man does not intend to be crude or threatening). Risqué jokes might help tell if a woman is intrigued. Different men have different techniques but, other than those men who are asexual or who have locked their predatory nature away entirely out of respect for a monogamous relationship, they’re on the prowl.

The above is a biological reality. You can fill binders of Human Resource books with rules; you can deny men their civil rights in college; you can do whatever the heck you want . . . but men will still put out feelers for sex. It’s what they do. IT’S NORMAL. (See, that’s what the Left hates. It’s normal.)

To the extent it’s normal, normal women have a role in this sexual dance. For one thing, they can yield to a man’s verbal charm or his exploratory touches or his little jokes. They can flirt with him or they can jump into bed with him. Women can drink nothing, or just a little, or too much. Women can dress in a flattering way or in an openly sexual way. Women can hook up or walk away.

Biologically, men’s predatory nature is matched by women’s receptive nature — or, in a civilized world, which is mostly what America is, by a woman’s clear signals that she’s not receptive.

I always gave out those clear signals. To this day, when I walk down the street, I intentionally try to radiate “tough fighter,” rather than “weak,” or “maybe I’m interested if you’re come on is good enough,” or “I’m selling sex, big boy.” In my single days, at parties, I steered clear of drugs and alcohol. If the risqué jokes made me uncomfortable, I don’t laugh. And if someone tried to touch me and I didn’t like it, my body language was off-putting, to say the least. Indeed, if the rumors are true that there’s a lot of wife-swapping in Marin, to the extent no one has invited me, I’m going to assume my “do not touch me” signals are still on, loud and clear.

The above dance is normal — and in a civilized society, women have a role in maintaining that normality.

What is not normal is rape. What is not normal is unwelcome, deeply physical touches that fall short of technical rape. And what is not normal is when someone, whether a president or a producer, uses a significant imbalance in power to force a woman into a blatantly sexual situation that clearly offend or frighten her.

So guys, let me say again that I love you. I do. But I know what you are and I know that we’re always dancing. If you’re a decent guy, when you realize I’m not interested in the dance, you walk away. If you’re a predator, whether by nature or nurture, you don’t. As for me, I function on a trust, but verify system. Although I’m always nice, I assume all guys are predators and I shut down as many openings as possible without giving offense . . . unless, of course, I’m interested too.

Photo credit: Strictly,, by Simon Blackley. Creative Commons; some rights reserved.


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