Photo Credit: "The Masked Man" by Sapereproductions on Photobucket
D is the man women say we want—in touch with his feelings, able to express them, sometimes to the point where I tell him to snap out of it—
Do we really want him?
“No, you really don’t,” he says. “Nobody wants the emotional man. On TV, he is the character playing Charlie Sheen’s brother on ‘Two and a Half Men’. Who wants that guy?”
D is much better looking and far sexier than that guy. Women do want him. I watched one hug him rather possessively tonight. She looked like she might crawl into bed with him and lick his instep on the way up to (one imagines) bigger and better things.
“Do you know what women really want?” he asks. Sometimes I call him Blue Eyes—because the eyes are remarkable; and I am not particularly attracted to blue-eyed men. “A guy who listens. It’s tough to listen.”
But D listens very well. He’s worked in the restaurant/bar industry in Manhattan for two decades, including places many of us remember fondly like Cedar Tavern, Park Avenue Country Club and Bayamo. He listens so well that—between listening and observing body language—he can “find the chink in any woman’s armor” as he puts it. I’m glad he isn’t interested in me; I would hate to be that transparent to a potential lover. Those blue eyes have emotional x-ray vision.
“D, are you really saying that women want a man who is sensitive to their feelings, not his?”
“Women want a man who listens,” he repeats, “but doesn’t tell you what to do.”
Yes. I have been annoyed these past few days with a guy pal who listens well but has been telling me what to do regarding time and project management. Enough! (This is why women like me are known among their intimate friends as “The Bolter.”)
“Men are easy,” D says. “Give us our downtime and we’re happy. Don’t make me go out to dinner while the Yankees are in the play-offs.”
Then he tells me about an old girlfriend who loved The Half-Time Quickie—sex on the couch if they were watching the game alone, in the bedroom if they had guests. Afterward, she would make snacks. (I would say, “I don’t think so.”) But he’s given me a great idea for a Quickie to use in my next sex book. That’s why I like hanging out with D.
This man who loves women, understands us almost too well and craves a relationship isn’t exactly in one at the moment. For a brief period of time (around the play-offs and the World Series) he was juggling two women. One gave him the “You’re too nice a guy and I have to move on” speech. (I’ve used that one myself.) He says the other, a fling turned semi-serious, is “over” but I don’t think she thinks so. (Stay tuned.)
I have chastised D more than once for whining about his “broken heart”—or as I call it “the nonsense”—over these two rather unremarkable women whom he knew/still knows rather briefly. But I confess that I find something appealing in his openness and vulnerability, a sweetness in the way he expresses longing for women. But, Baby, if you want a relationship so much, why aren’t you in one—like, married for a decade by now?
“I was out of the game for a while,” he says. “I worked long hours, smoked pot, didn’t go after women. I was in retirement from 9/11—with the exception of a brief interlude with an old girlfriend who was leaving her husband--.until about two years ago when I had a few bad experiences.”
“Whiskey dick. I was in my late thirties when I discovered that a night of heavy drinking weighs the dick down. Oh, I made sure that the women had orgasms. But I couldn’t perform very well. So I didn’t go out again for over a year.
“If he’s being honest, every man will admit he’s had an experience like that. But, for me, it was hard to regain my confidence.”
I’m glad he is talking openly about “whiskey dick”. Repeatedly, I have asked women what they’re getting out of drunken hook-ups when obviously the guy can’t perform well—and the women admit they usually don’t come. The effect of booze, drugs, recreational and prescription, overweight and sedentary lifestyles is the sex story of our time—but few people want to talk about it, especially in personal terms.
D can knock back Jameson’s whiskey with the best of them. Yet he looks fantastic. (Liz Weber and I hate him for that.)
I leave you with an email that he sent me on the night of the big snow storm. It is poignant, tart and sweet like a perfect key lime pie. This is the night I realized how good a writer Dave is—and how complex a man.
If you think the Major Emo man is easy, read this:
“Weather can play havoc with a restaurant’s night. The weather reports predicting the big storm began early Friday. All day long, people cancelled their reservations. We had almost 300 covers, (a cover being a guest), but by 5 tonight we had less then half that. What's a staff to due? I hung out at the grill a lot. I met a good-looking blond who's moving to the city in early January. She eavesdropped on my conversation with a regular. I played it cool till i started the conversation with her. I knew she was listening, i don't think she knew I knew she was.
“I ordered a couple of Jameson's for me and the bartender and commented to Stacy (the blond next to me) that her red wine was almost gone. From there it was like shooting fish in a barrel. She's a little on the chubby side, but tall, smart, funny and all around seemed like a good person. The chubbiness didn't bother me, but a side note about humans: If you’re taking the time to go out and make yourself look good, you are very aware of weight. Whoever is looking to score with the overweight woman has an advantage because there is a chink in her amour.
“Long story short: if I pursued it, I wouldn’t be writing you now. However she has my # and called my cell before she left the grill to see if I was stopping by so she could say goodbye. Hope to talk about this more, sounds like your feeling better, remember about burning the candle at both ends, miss you, db”
Why didn’t you pursue it, D?
“Maybe I was worrying about whiskey dick.”
Tomorrow: The Sex Tip of The Day: Cunnilingus To Make Her Forget Whiskey Dick
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