We girls learned this on the playground all those years ago and sadly it hasn’t changed much over the years. There is a woeful shortage of good, strong, courageous men to fill the gap for many, many of my single female friends, but beyond that they are so self-important they think they can get away with their general douchebaggery with gals like me who aren’t even ON the hunt. We just make the unfortunate mistake of not quite fitting in some pleasing “aesthetic” of other, type-specific girls who swarm around them and feed their ego with less inhibitions and more expectations.
Somehow, through either my size or my intensity, I threaten these poor boys despite my best intentions otherwise.
In short: men feel like they need to keep their distance from me because they’re scared shitless I may want something in return… even if I don’t. I can spend years building trust that I’m not that kind of girl, but apparently I’m just biding my time to pounce when the time is right. Even though I never make a play, I never push or coerce, I never “play the game” – I just happen to “feel” more than what I’m supposed to so obviously I’m a threat.
Get over yourself, pal.
Just because there’s not a line of suitors knocking down my door doesn’t mean I’m going to go all starry-eyed and goo-goo just because you happen to say hello to me, hug me or otherwise treat me like a person with respect and appreciation I deserve. You could even give me a kiss on the cheek – other men have managed to do this and walk away unscathed.
Any guy who thinks I’d drop my husband and a successful 12-year relationship for a tussle in the sheets with an adolescent boy in a grown man’s body is seriously deluding himself.
I had my promiscuous period years ago and I learned something very important. It ain’t worth it.
I think many gals can agree with me that men aren’t as god-like as they like to think they are, and sleeping our way through each and every one of you to find the rare one who IS worth the time and trouble is an exercise in disappointment and futility. (Some of you guys couldn’t find an erogenous zone with a road map, a flashlight and a head start.)
This philosophy especially holds true for the fat chick, who gets those guys who think they don’t have to put any real effort into the process because we should just be lucky someone so magnanimous (read: horny with no real options) has decided to sleep with us.
I got two words for ya, and it isn’t “thank you.”
To be frank… the question isn’t so much if I want you but if YOU deserve me. I’ve spent a lifetime perfecting my skills, which are freaking EPIC by the way. Let me put it to you this way: every man I’ve ever seriously pursued I got and the two who were confirmed bachelors ended up marrying me. That wasn’t for my looks or my money. That was because of the stuff that lies just below the surface, something people like you miss entirely because you don’t care for the packaging.
And it’s worth far too much to just give away all willy-nilly for people who aren’t mature enough or evolved enough to appreciate it.
Since I met Steven, there hasn’t been anyone who even made the grade. Sure there have been attractions – that’s part of being around other people. Attraction is attraction and chemistry is chemistry, but what separates us from the animal kingdom is we get to apply logic and reason to our natural impulses.
So far, there has been absolutely NOTHING worth acting on.
And if anyone had ever been with Steven, they’d know how I can make that statement unequivocally with a, uh, **multiple** satisfied smile on my face.
Everything else is just an untouched cherry on a big fat sundae. Why would I blow a good thing on “strange” when out of the dozens of lovers I’ve had in my life, only about four or five knew what they were doing? I’m a gambling woman, but not with those odds.
I have been questioned in the past why I would hang around someone I was attracted to if I wasn’t ultimately going to try and be with that person. Let me sum it up by telling you how I overcame my impulsive shopping problem.
If I see something in the store I want and I think I just can’t live without, I pick it up and carry it around the store. In that moment, it’s “mine” – or rather… there’s a *possibility* it could be mine.
That’s what makes a compulsive shopper make impulsive decisions – they don’t necessary want that thing as much as they want the process of “obtaining” that thing. I want it… I’m gonna buy it… instant gratification. After we get it, disappointment sets in and we have to keep going until we get yet another “high” from that next thing we don’t have. (This pretty much covers all compulsive behavior, including promiscuity.)
So I allow myself the mindset of potentially ‘owning’ that thing as I carefully consider if I really want it at all. Can I afford it? What do I really want to get out of having it? What is my life missing right now by NOT having it, and will it really be made by GETTING it?
Nine times out of ten I will put that object back after about 20 or so minutes, when the “high” has abated and reason has set in. I push past the initial compulsive “gotta have it” to, “Eh… I can live without it.” I get the rush and the excitement without all the regret.
Best of all I anything I keep I know I really want.
Steven was what I kept, and I can’t imagine life without him. Sure he has his “boy” moments but when it’s all said and done he willingly put himself through a GAUNTLET to prove himself worthy to *me* – when every other fucktard boy expects me to chase my tail to be worthy of THEM (and I never will be… and will always be replaced by others more whateverable than me.)
He’s never wasted my time and has always, always ALWAYS shown me he wants and appreciates me – in bed and out.
Why on earth would I replace a stallion with a show pony?
So even if the relationship ebbs and flows in romance and enthusiasm – something that proponents of “open” relationships say makes monogamy unnatural and unsustainable (and are, ironically, the first ones who want to police how I manage my faithful, committed relationship) – I’m in no way suffering buyer’s remorse. There is nothing (and NO ONE) else in the store that would make me want a refund.
But of course I don’t get to make that choice because stupid stupid STUPID boys want to keep up the barrier to protect them from me or me from myself or Steven from everyone. I get no say so in the matter because I have the misfortune of being someone that no one WANTS to have any feelings at all, because the intensity that actually almost always works out in their favor makes them uncomfortable.
Forget that I’ve never made any move, pressured or pushed my way into their life and allowed them to make and enforce every stupid stupid STUPID boundary. I can behave like a 41-year-old but I get treated with kid gloves like I’m a teenager creaming her jeans at her first Bieber concert.
This used to hurt my feelings. Now it just pisses me off. It’s arrogant, egotistical and BLATANTLY unfair. And I don’t deserve it.
But I’m not allowed to get upset about it, or take it to mean what evidence suggests it means. And I’m not allowed to fill in the blanks of decidedly one-sided conversation.
Apparently what I AM allowed (and welcome) to do is work from a safe distance and do all the things my intensity demands that I do to help another person without the freedom to stand up for myself.
Uh, no thanks.
My desperate period is quite over as well, like two days ago.
If I’m so scary because I “demand” so much, maybe it’s time I finally make those demands. That will weed out the fainthearted boys from the men who are smart enough, secure enough and brave enough to allow me INTO the relationship… rather than keep me at arm’s length because of their own emotional issues.
Either I’m worth it or I’m not. If yes, then great. Man up.
I’m a great gal and totally worth it. Ask anyone who doesn’t have a penis.*
(Ginger Approved Testosterone Units include the aforementioned Steven, my two wonderful sons who have been raised to be the direct OPPOSITE of the very contentious boys of which I speak and most any gay man… who aren’t afraid to show a little love to the chunky girls.)
So until I can clone the ever wonderful, ever brave and ever loving Mr. Geevie I say we own our own strength, ladies. Don’t put up with less than you deserve. Let these guys know that there’s something better waiting if they can ever grow up from being STUPID STUPID BOYS.
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