Friday, March 03, 2006
Ode To Men
I love men for their strength. Sometimes it is that vein that bulges on the upper part of their foremarm. Sometimes it is the way they heft a tire out of the trunk – something I can never do without making it a major production. Sometimes, it is the way the tense their jaw and remain silent when their wife or girlfriend or mother is nagging and acting bitchy and close-to-hysterical, for no real reason (and never asking “Is it your time of the month?” even when they know it is). Always, it is the way that they get up and pad through the darkened house to see what that noise was, or stand in front of their girl when scary tough guys are approaching too fast or talking too loud and crude.
I love men for the way they give up everything but themselves for love (hanging onto their self is a form of their strength). How they worry during the day, is the guy driving her to that meeting a safe driver? Will she wear her seatbelt? How they stop me from crossing into traffic with a reflexive forearm. How they smile at me, eyes so bright, when I talk about some big success I had. How they get turned on when I win. How they try to think of ways to make their women more successful, and watch proudly from the sidelines. How they will stare, openly and with unabashed admiration, at a woman they admire and want to know better. How being in love makes them want to be better men. How they will willingly make a fool of themselves to get the ‘right’ girl to notice. How they kick themselves when they pass up the opportunity to make a fool of themselves, and the girl disappears. How they will pick up the phone, or walk over in a bar, and say something, anything - - knowing they might be rejected by the girl they are interested in but taking the risk anyway. How they hate to see a girl cry, no matter what.
I love men for the way they throw their all into sex – body and soul. How they get so much pleasure from giving a woman pleasure. How they don’t wonder if they look fat or ugly when they are naked. How they like to have sex with the lights on. How they can make any woman feel desirable and beautiful, if only she will stop judging herself and let him. How they like to look right into a woman’s eyes while making love. How pleading and slightly abashed they are before knowing they will get sex. Their single minded purpose in getting me to say yes, because of their confidence in the pleasure to be had. Their ability to focus on the pleasure alone, for it’s own worthy sake. How they fall in love a little bit every time they have sex. How they are so happy after sex, their defenses down, their outlook positive.
I love men for their beautiful bodies – they way the hair can grow thick on their arms. Their broad shoulders, and their tapering waists. Their rough palms, their broad fingernails, the way their hands can look both elegant and capable. Their cute butts –just like when they are babies, sometimes with downy fuzz. Their big masculine feet. Their comfortableness with being naked. Their unself-consciousness about the size of their penis. How noncommittal they are about their testicles – an endless source of masculine mystery to a woman. Their pretty eyelashes and seductive eyes. The way they hardly ever look into the mirror - even the most beautiful ones. The way they walk. Their ease with their bodies. Their optimism about their physical gifts, their refusal to brood on their less-than-perfect physical traits. Their smiling acceptance of their flaws, confident that they can overcome them with their better points.
I love to watch men eat. They never say, “this is too rich,” or “I really shouldn’t” or “this is going straight to my thigh”, even if all of these things might accurately describe the food and/or it’s effects. They just eat.
I love the way men give all of their attention to the things they are interested in. The way they can focus utterly on televised sport, driving the girlfriends and wives insane with their perfect indifference to their feminine companions (the game will soon be over and she’ll still be here, right? why miss the game?). The way they are puzzled that their girlfriends and wives can think attention to baseball or football or soccer takes anything away from their love of a woman. The way they can work hard and play hard. The way they refuse to be martyrs for their jobs. The way they channel surf for sports scores.
Most of all I love the way men love women. The way they indulge women’s endless obsession with ‘imperfections’ and often love the object of the woman’s insecurity and disdain – a large butt, a bit of a tummy, soft thighs. How they can generously see something attractive in almost any woman. How their attention is so often more directed to the woman than to themselves. How they eroticize the humble and bizarre – the arch of the foot, the space behind the knee, the collarbone, the muscles of the lower back. How very much they appreciate it when a pretty girl smiles at them. How they admire intelligence and strength and beauty and independence in a woman – the whole package. But how they can also love vulnerability and insecurity in that same woman. How they can let bygones be bygones – and really not need to ‘talk it out’, not because he’s uncommunicative but because he won’t hold minor things against the girl or the relationship. He just won’t. How he will ‘talk it out’ if she insists, even though he’s forgiven her and knows that he deserves to be forgiven, because it makes her feel better. How he will make sure the oil is changed and the smog inspection is up to date, because she never thinks to do it. How he will admire her in sexy expensive shoes and a great leather skirt but also admire her barefoot in a white tank top and jeans. How he likes women without makeup. How he likes women who are wearing too much makeup. How he can look at me speculatively in the check out line in the grocery store even when I’m wearing baggy sweat pants and flip flops. How he doesn’t weigh himself more than once every three months or so and always guesses that woman weighs about 15 lbs less than she actually does. How he loves the things we can’t take credit for - breasts, the curve from bust to hip, hips.
I love men. I just love them! Thank you, men.
I love men for the way they give up everything but themselves for love (hanging onto their self is a form of their strength). How they worry during the day, is the guy driving her to that meeting a safe driver? Will she wear her seatbelt? How they stop me from crossing into traffic with a reflexive forearm. How they smile at me, eyes so bright, when I talk about some big success I had. How they get turned on when I win. How they try to think of ways to make their women more successful, and watch proudly from the sidelines. How they will stare, openly and with unabashed admiration, at a woman they admire and want to know better. How being in love makes them want to be better men. How they will willingly make a fool of themselves to get the ‘right’ girl to notice. How they kick themselves when they pass up the opportunity to make a fool of themselves, and the girl disappears. How they will pick up the phone, or walk over in a bar, and say something, anything - - knowing they might be rejected by the girl they are interested in but taking the risk anyway. How they hate to see a girl cry, no matter what.
I love men for the way they throw their all into sex – body and soul. How they get so much pleasure from giving a woman pleasure. How they don’t wonder if they look fat or ugly when they are naked. How they like to have sex with the lights on. How they can make any woman feel desirable and beautiful, if only she will stop judging herself and let him. How they like to look right into a woman’s eyes while making love. How pleading and slightly abashed they are before knowing they will get sex. Their single minded purpose in getting me to say yes, because of their confidence in the pleasure to be had. Their ability to focus on the pleasure alone, for it’s own worthy sake. How they fall in love a little bit every time they have sex. How they are so happy after sex, their defenses down, their outlook positive.
I love men for their beautiful bodies – they way the hair can grow thick on their arms. Their broad shoulders, and their tapering waists. Their rough palms, their broad fingernails, the way their hands can look both elegant and capable. Their cute butts –just like when they are babies, sometimes with downy fuzz. Their big masculine feet. Their comfortableness with being naked. Their unself-consciousness about the size of their penis. How noncommittal they are about their testicles – an endless source of masculine mystery to a woman. Their pretty eyelashes and seductive eyes. The way they hardly ever look into the mirror - even the most beautiful ones. The way they walk. Their ease with their bodies. Their optimism about their physical gifts, their refusal to brood on their less-than-perfect physical traits. Their smiling acceptance of their flaws, confident that they can overcome them with their better points.
I love to watch men eat. They never say, “this is too rich,” or “I really shouldn’t” or “this is going straight to my thigh”, even if all of these things might accurately describe the food and/or it’s effects. They just eat.
I love the way men give all of their attention to the things they are interested in. The way they can focus utterly on televised sport, driving the girlfriends and wives insane with their perfect indifference to their feminine companions (the game will soon be over and she’ll still be here, right? why miss the game?). The way they are puzzled that their girlfriends and wives can think attention to baseball or football or soccer takes anything away from their love of a woman. The way they can work hard and play hard. The way they refuse to be martyrs for their jobs. The way they channel surf for sports scores.
Most of all I love the way men love women. The way they indulge women’s endless obsession with ‘imperfections’ and often love the object of the woman’s insecurity and disdain – a large butt, a bit of a tummy, soft thighs. How they can generously see something attractive in almost any woman. How their attention is so often more directed to the woman than to themselves. How they eroticize the humble and bizarre – the arch of the foot, the space behind the knee, the collarbone, the muscles of the lower back. How very much they appreciate it when a pretty girl smiles at them. How they admire intelligence and strength and beauty and independence in a woman – the whole package. But how they can also love vulnerability and insecurity in that same woman. How they can let bygones be bygones – and really not need to ‘talk it out’, not because he’s uncommunicative but because he won’t hold minor things against the girl or the relationship. He just won’t. How he will ‘talk it out’ if she insists, even though he’s forgiven her and knows that he deserves to be forgiven, because it makes her feel better. How he will make sure the oil is changed and the smog inspection is up to date, because she never thinks to do it. How he will admire her in sexy expensive shoes and a great leather skirt but also admire her barefoot in a white tank top and jeans. How he likes women without makeup. How he likes women who are wearing too much makeup. How he can look at me speculatively in the check out line in the grocery store even when I’m wearing baggy sweat pants and flip flops. How he doesn’t weigh himself more than once every three months or so and always guesses that woman weighs about 15 lbs less than she actually does. How he loves the things we can’t take credit for - breasts, the curve from bust to hip, hips.
I love men. I just love them! Thank you, men.
