07-23-00
Men.
I cannot pretend to even vaguely explain their kind. I think that I understand just enough about them to have some strong opinions and feelings on their subject, but not enough to implement my theories and beliefs into action. Oh, yes. I have theories galore about men.
- The five kinds of men in a college town:
- 1) The guy that on the first day of college, held the door open for some girl and called her, "Miss." Recognizing that she had stumbled upon a rare find, she snatched him up then and there. They just got married. In effect, he never really was on the market.
- 2) The guy that on the first day of college, held the door open for some girl and called her, "Miss." Recognizing that she had stumbled upon a rare find, she snatched him up then and there. Unfortunately, she was a psychotic bitch that succeeded in inflicting masses of psychological damage and physical scarring, souring him on all women. He is now damaged goods.
- 3) The guy that is here to go to school, have fun, and move the hell on. He fully intends to have a good time while he's here, but once he graduates, he's off like a rocket, never looking back. He has no interest in securing a woman here, because he is transient in nature. He plans to find a nice girl wherever he lands a good job, then get married and settle down to corporate family life.
- 4) The guy that's had more ass than a toilet seat. He doesn't really need defined, because he is safe in the knowledge that he is a player.
- 5) The guy that's the biggest sweetheart on the planet. He listens to your problems, makes you soup when you're sick, and takes you out to dinner and a movie when you get stood up. He's every woman's best friend, and not scoring at all. He's either your best friend or he's gay. Possibly both.
Of course, there are men that are interesting combinations of the above. I am terribly incapable of discerning the good ones from the bad ones, except in retrospect. An example, you ask? Why not:
My dream (sic) date...
He's sitting there on the floor at my feet, a look of nervous anticipation on his face. I lean forward and kiss him gently on the lips, closing my eyes. I feel his warm hands slide up my arms, across my shoulders, caressing my neck, and finally cupping the sides of my face as he returns my kiss. His face moves away, and I feel his breath hot on my neck. He inhales deeply, telling me that I smell wonderful. He releases my face from his grasp, and my eyes open to see him sitting, rocked back into a crouch. Eyes half-lidded with sleepy desire, I lazily smile, as I realize there is something he wants to ask me. His brow furrows slightly, and then he takes a deep breath.
"So, you got any sextoys*?"
'Excuse me?' My eyes open wide, my lip curls, and I sit upright, desire evaporated and long gone.
"You got a vibrator?"
'And exactly what business would that be of yours?' I am horrified at this brash intrusion into my privacy.
"I figured you've got several. At least a couple."
'I repeat, exactly how does my possession or lack of possession of a selection of vibrators involve you?' The sheer cheek! That's just what a girl wants to hear, that people think she's the type to be harboring an arsenal of serious sexual hardware somewhere in her house.
