He Called Me Gilda

He told me I was his inspiration; His Muse.  Not once did he ask how I felt about it.  Not once was I consulted on what he was to me.  I had been created for his pleasure and sure as fuck, he would use me thusly.  What's funny is he didn't and still doesn't see it so.  He believes that to be a part of the problem in how men and women relate to each other sexually is caused by the married man that creeps into a room at night when surrounded by eighty other men with thoughts running a muck...or the monster in the shorts at 4am who gropes where no consent was given.  He doesn't see that by wearing down my defences, that are there for a reason I might add, he contributes to a culture of 'boys will be boys'.

I asked someone dear to me advice on the subject of 'not being in the mood'.  She said that sometimes, we have to just concede to keep the peace.  We have been silently keeping the peace for far too long.  So long that this behavior is now expected.  Men aren't men if they're not playing grab-ass.  Men aren't men without pussy.  This is true but not in the realm we've been existing in.  Women are the backbone of every major accomplishment, every stride the human race has ever achieved.  Finally some light has been shed and for that I am grateful.  We still have work to do.

He would randomly open his pants for me to see his erection.  Like I was to hop to it because he was aroused.  Oh!  Boner?  For me?  Let me just put down this novel I'm writing to put IT in my mouth a while because if I fucking don't, I won't be left the fuck alone.  What happened to my arousal needs?  For once, I would like to be on my bodies sex schedule.  When I want to fuck, I will ask you like a fucking lady.

'Excuse me sir, pardon me...but would you mind fucking at this juncture in space and time.  If you're not overcome by some other activity at the moment, that is...'

'By all means Madam, let us coitus.'

And off we'd go!  He mentioned that previous women were alarmed to the fact that their insides were being used as something merely to rub against until ejaculation occurred.  He couldn't fathom why they would think such things.  'But this boner is for you and only you.  Are you not mesmerized by it's weight and girth?'  What he didn't realize is that women want to be asked to receive not given to.  Don't get me wrong, I like to get it.  I would like to feel like I had a say in the matter.  His erections ruled our short relationship and until now, I had no idea how angry I was about it.  The anger was there but now I know why.  His dick became something to fear.  I feared kissing him, changing in front of him, moving my body a certain way.  I was aware of all of it.  I knew that as soon as a little bit of blood had entered that fucking thing, I would not be left alone.  When I did say no, it became a tantrum.  Or a pout.  Or worse yet, after days of fucking, he would ask me 'if it hurts so good?'  No.  It doesn't.  It just hurts and I want you to stay the fuck away from me.

Men think that just because they're not wearing a mask and jumping out from behind bushes to accost you that it's ok.  It's ok to pester a woman until she submits.  It's ok to annoy her into a surrender just so you shut the fuck up about it.  It's ok to try and turn every situation into a reason for sex.  Or worse, that it's cool to emotionally manipulate her into feeling like she's ruining your bond because her legs remain closed.  Whatever happened to true intimacy?  Does anyone talk to one another anymore?  Do we just spend our days surfing porn, waiting for the next opportunity to fuck something, eat something or watch something while fucking and eating something?

I wish that how I felt at any given moment was given weight.  That I was heard when I say, 'nope, not now.'  I wish I was asked so that I could respond with something more than a sigh and the peeling off of my underwear.  Are we getting there?  Can us old dogs be taught before we murder suicide each other in a naked pile of parts and sadness?  I sure as shit hope so.

What saddens me most is that many men, if they get all the way through it, will have already decided that this isn't in reference to them and forget about it.  My hope is that it creates a glimmer of doubt that will awaken some really important questions:  Should I ask this women if I can kiss her?  Should I ask this women if she would like to be touched?  Should I ask?  Fuck yes and always.  And then, and this is the real challenge...be ok with the answer.  Whatever the answer is, accept it and move on.  No cajoling, no begging, no getting emotional about it.  Accept, respect, move on.