“You Smell Nice” and a Pole…err…Poll.

So, as a girl, I get used to catcalling. I’m not one of those girls who thinks it’s degrading. It’s kind of like the caveman’s way of complimenting you. I mean, at least most men have evolved from saying, “Huggabugga!”, striking us over the head with clubs and throwing us over their shoulders. In fact, I might be one of the people who believes that cavemen weren’t actually like that. That is, until I witnessed certain things that really DO come out of the mouths of men. They think they’re being subtle… “You look like you need a massage….” and then, they get you with your shirt off and give you something they think is like a massage for the minimum allotment of time before they get to the REAL point, which is that they want you to suck their junk. I enjoy that particular activity. But, not under some of these circumstances. Some men try to find a pretense (kind of like a porno) which no one is really watching for the plot. Others don’t even bother. They just stick their fingers right up your lady parts and, as John Cleese says in “The Meaning of Life”, “stampede for the clitoris.” When I encounter one of these cavemen, I can’t help but feel disgusted. It’s not that they’re not attractive (though if they lack certain skills of flattery, they usually lack adequate foreplay skills necessary for pleasing a woman). Many times, these guys think they “mean well.” They often have a completely untrue idea of how they actually appear to women. They’re not bad guys. They’re just selfish and transparent. Kind of boring. They want to experience all the fun of intimate physical commitment without doing any of the work it takes to get there. That to me, is more frustrating than their lack of skill in the bedroom. I don’t like the “something for nothing” mentality. If I was that easy to get, I wouldn’t really be worth having, would I? It’s not that I’m jonesing for commitment. I’m not. But I’m not just going to give it to every Tom(cat) and Hairy Dick I come across.

Subliminal messaging?

I am reminded of a man I met when I was nineteen. At the time, I was working at the local Wal-Mart as a cashier while I obtained my undergrad from the University of Alabama. This guy kept coming to my register every week asking me to go out with him. He was squat with the kind of wide face that reminds you of the cartoon kid from “MAD Magazine.” He had this blonde hair that looked more orange than blonde and this kind of red, scalyish skin that always made him appear as if he’d just over-exerted himself. I wasn’t attracted to him, so I said no. I kept saying no, but at the time, I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. So finally, he wore me down and I agreed to have lunch with him. When he came to pick me up, instead of lunch, he suggested a park near the college that was well-known for illicit sexual activities. It was the kind of park where you could find used condoms partially buried in the dirt and plenty of trash lying around. Before we got to the park, he let me go into a local CVS to buy a Sprite…which I paid for. I was clear from the beginning of that date what he wanted and why he had picked me. It had nothing to do with my personality or my brains or even my looks. Except the part of my looks that made me seem young and innocent. I knew he was trolling for an affair, probably revenge on his wife. I decided I could have a little fun with him, so I did what I always do to gauge a man’s real interest: I talk. Most men don’t like to listen to me when they have one thing on their minds. I know this. And I put them through the ringer every time. If they can maintain a significant level of interest, I won’t be as hard on them. The more they try to get me to stop talking, the more I say. This is fun for me. And yes, men, it is all at your expense. We women deserve to give you a hard time for all the time you spend trying to get your junk in us. Yes, we can see you…

So, after I talk a few minutes, he tries to change the subject back to the physical. A standard response. “You smell nice,” he says, leaning over to sniff my hair. “What kind of perfume are you wearing?” I tell him I’m not wearing any perfume. “It must be my shampoo,” I say, turning the subject back to something more erudite. Instead of thinking that his comment might not be enough to get me going, he just assumed I hadn’t heard him. After all, this wasn’t the way it had played out in his imagination when he had gone through the whole scenario. So, after he let me talk a few more minutes, he leans toward me and says, “You smell nice.” For the second time, I say thank you and keep on talking. I’m having a blast. He starts talking about how I can come to his house and wear whatever I want. He says he doesn’t care if the neighbors see us. I ask him if he’s married. His answer? “I’m seeing someone.” I’m like, “Yeah. Every morning.” A few minutes afterward, he decides to ramp it up a little bit. “You smell nice,” he says a third time while leaning in to kiss me. At that moment, my hand went up and smooshed against his face. That’s when I said it was time to go.

Seriously? Am I really that daft? Did you really think that would work? Basically, if you’re a dude, there are some things you should know about me. Sometimes, I appear easy. I’m not. Anyone who knows me can tell you. I’ve had guys trying to get me in the bedroom for years. Sometimes, it has taken them as much as ten years to actually succeed. Second, I demand a lot of commitment from my male friends. Not romantic relationship commitment. But commitment nonetheless. I have to be interested in you intellectually. I need to know that you support me and the things I like even if you never get me in the sack. Sometimes, you might succeed, but it’s not a guarantee. That’s just the way it is. Lastly, pressuring me to do something is a surefire way to get me to back off your junk. I don’t need you saying shit like, “If you need a place to put your face,” or assuming that after all my years of living I don’t know where to find your dick if I want it. If I’m not finding your dick, it’s usually because I’m not looking for it. Or it’s really really REALLY small. Then, I might ask for your help. The bottom line is: I’m a person first and foremost. I’m not just boobs for you to fondle or lips to stroke your junk. If you wanna get stroked, sometimes, you have to do some stroking first.My ego is a good place to start.

For your pleasure, I have included a pole here…err poll. Some of the stupidest one liners I’ve heard from cavemen. You can vote for your favorite! (And yep, those were things men REALLY said to me.)


~ by ImaginaryCanary on March 9, 2012.

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