Some Women

I got good and hopping mad at some woman last night. It was her birthday, or anniversary of some kind, or some such thing, and she thought she was just plain entitled to a kiss on the mouth from me, even though I gave her every signal and every statement that it is not acceptable to me for her to do that. But she had to have what she had to have.

So today I sat down at my word processor and let her have it with both barrels.

I wrote her the following in an email:

“You just don’t get it, do you? You are demanding an intimacy from me that I do not want to give. My reasons for not wanting to give that intimacy are not the issue, here. You are demanding to violate my wishes, as if you think you are free to make whatever demands on my intimacies that you want to, because you’re female or something. I guess you have your excuses. There are words for that kind of behavior that men are frequently accused of. But there’s no gender barrier to such behavior. It applies to women as much as it does to men.

Words like bothering, molesting, rape. Do you think a woman cannot violate a man? I think you’re sorely mistaken. You don’t seem to understand that a woman can violate a man just as well as a man can a woman. I think you’ve just stepped over my line. I have more than a few horror stories about that sort of behavior that have happened to me in the past, and no, I don’t want to tell them to you. If you’re going to violate my basic wishes, how is it that I should trust you with something as personal as a true horror story or two about things that hurt me very much. The point is that kissing someone on the mouth is a very intimate thing to do. I don’t feel moved to behave that way with you.

That’s all there is to it.”

I wrote that email in my word processing program this afternoon, and did a copy and paste job into an email to the darned female. She had provided me with her email address and her phone number a long time ago, and she’s still asking me if I have her phone number. I had an idea that she might be in trouble when I first met her, so I told her a joke about how I don’t want to ever want to ever get married, and she didn’t think it was funny. I knew I was going to have trouble with that one, when she didn’t think the joke as funny.

The way things are, I’m an old sober man, with no wife and no girlfriend, new in town, and I apparently have a little bit of money. She’s a single woman about my age and has a few ideas. She’s wrong on all counts. She’s telling herself her own ideas about as fast as she can dream them up, and I’ve already been down that road when I was a freshman in university, not to mention what happened to me last year that I moved down here to get away from, in the first place. I don’t want to play that game again now.

Way back when, there was a woman who was a student at late summer band camp at the university, like I was. She figured she’d just throw herself at me, and let nature take it’s course. She figured she would just do the deed often enough with me, to get knocked up over it, and I would certainly do my duty, join the Marine Corps, go to combat in Vietnam, and send her back combat pay, like her sister did over the guy she hog tied, got knocked up by, and married. She had it all figured out. Her sister had already blazed the trail right under her nose.

What neither one of those women never figured out is that I am a living, breathing, rational, intelligent human being, at least some of the time. I’m a lot more than a life support system for a penis. I got my chance to be a Ken doll when I was 18 & 19 yrs old. I already been there, done that. I’m not going to be fooled again. I don’t want, nor do I need, another human being in my life to make me feel like a valid human being. And I will not tolerate another person taking liberties with my own personal Temple of God that I’m not willing to give them. I ain’t nobody’s hoe.

I don’t care if both those women know all about my blog, and are reading every segment I post, with drool running down their chins about how I’m the one who’s the great catch getting away in spite of them. I am not a Ken doll trying to do anything with any kind of Barbie doll, wanting to play house with anybody at this late stage of my life. Heck with that.

I watched my parents’ marriage go to hell in a hand basket when I was little, and I’m not ever going to disarm myself completely enough as to allow another woman to just barge into my life and take me over again, overwhelming all of my senses and all my thinking. Not me. Never again.

Just last year, I had a very young woman ask me to “be her daddy,” because she’d lost her real daddy to cancer when she was little. I felt sorry for the kid. She wanted a daddy, alright. She wanted a sugar daddy. She started right in taking my money away from me, with false promises of paying me back, and false statements about how much she and her family “love” me. She would never pay me back. She wanted my money, which was the point in the first place, as well as the last. That one succeeded in getting most of my possessions and some of my money away from me. So, I already been there done that.

I don’t need anybody to help me hide the pastrami. I been there done that, too.

See, I’ve known what it is to be lonely. I’ve known what it is to be loved, and I know what it is to be used and abused. And I’m not going to lay down and take it anymore over anybody else’s ideas. I’m just not going to put up with it. Some woman wants to be my friend, she’d better watch her step.

I’ve already watched my father assault my mother. I’ve already watched my mother break the dishes against the kitchen walls, throwing a fit because the old man wouldn’t bring home the bacon. I’ve seen and been next to all the pretty faces and pretty bodies I need to, to know what kind of a man I am, and to know I’m not some kind of a sissy. And if you think different, heck with you, too. I’ve heard enough about the Canadian Mounted Police always getting their man, and I’m watching out for the women in the red coats.

Hell, by this time in my life, I don’t need anyone to drag me down about “love” or “romance” anymore. I’ve had enough heartache to last me for a couple of lifetimes. I’ve had a bellyful of all of it. I’ve even met the woman who introduced me to the eight year old child who looked so much like me that it was like looking in a mirror. The woman wouldn’t tell me whether the girl was my daughter or not, either. I asked her.

Well, OK. So I’ve made a blockade in my will. Anyone who waits until I’m dead and gone to prove in a laboratory that they’re my child, is going to end up with nothing. I don’t care if I leave a fortune. They won’t get it. Family is for company, and that’s all there is to it.

If you think I’m good and hopping mad right now, you are absolutely correct.

 

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About geostan51

I'm a wordsmith and a craftsman. I've been known to hand crochet just about anything escept granny squares. I've got about twenty titles in my name on the Kindle Store at Amazon.com.
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