The Death of Seduction

I have always enjoyed seducing women. To me, women are forever fabulous, and provide society with real intelligence. I mean ‘real’ in the sense that men are inevitably plagued by the need to mate while women are concerned with living life in a sensible, satisfying way. Men usually need the lure of a gorgeous car or a lovely sailboat.

I liken it to a bird of which I’ve read. Male birds of most any species earn the right to mate with the female they desire by exhibiting superior traits. It might be the enthralling mating song, or colourful puffed breast feathers or an irresistible dance routine. The male of one bird species lacks all of those desirable traits. He meets his mate because of his really cool place.

To attract a female, the ‘plain’ bird gathers colourful props, like bits of red wool, a yellow piece of a potato chip bag or a green button. This bird accumulates as much colourful stuff as it can, and uses it to decorate a small area amid ground foliage. When females see his cool digs, some find that it turns them on, and they fly in for a bit of lustful romance.

In the case of people, recent events require a re-thinking in the minds of men. Rule number one: no touching. Actually, I feel unsure about how a man should behave while earning acceptance by a woman. As with most people, I didn’t realize that harassment was so prevalent, nor do I understand what the offending men do to offend.

In the past, I have introduced myself by name. I’d try to get a conversation going about something of interest to her. I’d learn of her interests through the small talk, and then develop as much sincere interest in her for the rest of the dialogue. Now I would come to the line over which one must not step. How to get close without offending?

I used to mention her characteristic that I liked the most.

“I like your hair,” I’d say, if she had hair that I liked.

“That shade of lipstick is perfect with your complexion,” if it was true.

“You look like an athlete,” I’d say if I felt that way.

Today I’d have to hesitate. Would I offend with, “Can we meet for lunch?”

A Dearth of Mensch

If you’re a woman of gentle nature and living a wholesome life, you might be seeking a special, exclusive partner. Women who fit that basic description are up against a tough situation. Although women of this type are desirable, and men would love to partner up with such women, it doesn’t happen happily as often as it should.

The main thing that diminishes the number of happy unions between gentle women and men who desire them is the dearth of mensch. The scarcity of good, kind, decent and honourable men is a potential problem for women of that same kind. Many women are not attracted to cowboys, high rollers and tattoos on bodies rippling with muscles.

Most any woman is attractive to a man of some type, but many men are unattractive to women of taste and quality. I don’t mean divas, or wealthy women. I mean good, honest, intelligent women. A man in a flashy car with a tattooed elbow out the window will be compellingly attractive to some women, but a woman with much self-esteem might find that image dated, or even comical.

The situation is such that for some women, a good man is hard to find. For other women, a hard man is good to find.

Faking It

Some people take on the preferences of the person or people they want to attract. This is reckless. If the person you wish to attract is not aligned with your ideas of what life should be like, and how it is enjoyed, it is unwise to fake, or pretend that you fit in with their preferred style and activities.

I know a woman in her fifties who is uncomfortable about her body. She encountered a man she with whom she hoped to spend time. She succeeded in having him invite her for a weekend away in a country setting. She accepted eagerly, although she is not a fan of the great outdoors, and usually avoids situations in forest settings or cottage country.

When they arrived in a remote, secluded area, the gentleman set up his camping equipment beside a gently flowing river. The setting was beautiful, but the beauty of the environment was lost on the woman. She did manage, however, to accept the basics of sleeping in a tent in a sleeping bag. Even watching him cook dinner on an open fire was not too difficult for her to endure. The night passed uneventfully, as the zipped-up sleeping bags kept them isolated from each other.

Morning came warm, dry and sunny. The woman crawled painfully out of her insulating sleeping bag as she noticed the gentleman was already gone from his bag. She heard the fire crackling and smelled bacon frying cheerfully in a pan on the open fire. She emerged from the tent well covered by her loose-fitting garment that hid the shape within that was an embarrassment to her.

She did her best to enjoy the bacon and eggs on her tin plate, and the cream free coffee in the tin mug. Their conversation was cordial as the gentleman was patiently aware of the woman’s misgivings. All went well as the meal was enjoyed as much as possible in the surroundings that were very unfamiliar and awkward to the woman. When the meal was completed and utensils were washed by the host in the adjacent flowing river, the woman was overwhelmed by his next suggestion.

He said he was eager to enjoy the cool, clear water, and with barely a pause he stripped down to be completely naked. He stood in the morning sun by the river’s edge and enjoyed the feeling of unfettered freedom. The woman, although somewhat aghast, couldn’t help but notice that he had a very attractive body for a man in his fifties.

He strode into the river carefully on the slippery stones on the bottom and dove into the current. He emerged with his longish hair slicked back and urged emphatically that she should join him. After some rather insistent urging, she humiliated herself by finally stripping down, doing her best to keep hidden by the surrounding foliage. Ashamed as she was of her drooping breasts, heavy thighs, and sagging backside, she dashed from behind a bush into the water.

Unfamiliar as she was with the country life, she stepped on the slippery rocks in the water and fell heavily on her very white, bulbous backside in the shallows. Her flabby breasts swayed loosely as the gentleman hurried carefully to help her up. The water was cold, and her large nipples grew erect as she moved desperately to deeper water. She sank to her knees and immersed herself up to her neck in the flowing current.

The gentleman chose to overlook the woman’s physical imperfections, and implored her to join him in a swim. She dared not move, and the man indulged himself until he was satisfied with the activity. Standing straight, tall, and unashamed, he strode out of the water and lay back on a folding chair to let the sun warm and dry him.

While he relaxed, eyes closed against the brilliant sunshine, the woman crawled over the rocks and out of the water. She moved swiftly behind the foliage and found a towel in the tent. She dried and dressed herself and joined the gentleman in the warming sun. They spoke little, and she was wishing she knew what he was thinking of her.

The weekend was cut short, as the relationship potential was properly gone. The gentleman went about closing down his campsite and stashing it all in the car trunk. On the drive home the pair was almost silent, with few words exchanged. While she berated herself in her mind for having been so hasty, the gentleman did the same to himself.

When he dropped her at her apartment house, he stepped around the car as she exited it. They shook hands, and he said he’d call her. She knew he never would, and she was glad of that.

Sight; Sound; Scent; Touch

(SESTINA) A form in which the last word of each verse must be the last word of the first line in the next verse.  Also, all the other lines must end in the same words as the ends of lines in all the verses, in a predetermined sequence.

 

Beauty can be found in a million forms

Throughout nature, in all things seen and heard.

A lazy lagoon, still water, sun’s warmth

On tan sand is inviting to the eye.

Forest surrounds the lagoon, deep and lush,

Filling the day with fragrance and bird songs.

 

Anchor the boat and be still.  Hear the songs

Of the forest dwellers, sung in all forms:

Call of cricket, twitter of finch add warmth

To the day.  Strip down – I’ll avert my eye –

Dive in, swim to shore.  Cool water feels lush

As you pass through it.  Another splash is heard.

 

I, too, dive from the deck.  My splash is heard

In the quiet cove, arresting the songs

For but a moment, ‘till they well up lush

Again in the fragrant air.  Supple forms

Glide through the clear water beneath us.  Warmth

Awaits us on the sandy beach we eye.

 

You slip into shallows and stand.  My eye

Feasts on your glistening flesh, wet and lush

As you dance, dripping, up the beach.  While songs

Of birds and bugs celebrate, they are heard

From every side as you lay down on sand’s warmth

To dry.  The beach displays our footprint forms.

 

While you lay on the soft sand, your shape forms

A fitted nest in the beach.  The sand’s warmth

Comforts you until you open an eye

To watch me approach, dripping, while the lush

Foliage emits bird and insect songs

To envelop us, the only sounds heard.

 

Alone here, now, our breathing can be heard

Rising and falling, while affection forms

Between us.  Oblivious to the songs

Now, we are lost together in the warmth

Of the place and time.  I don’t see the lush

Surroundings now.  Only you fill my eye.

 

Beauty is born in the beholder’s eye,

While in the ear, great beauty can be heard.

Share these moments and life becomes more lush.

                                       ~o~

The Immature Octogenarian

Me at 18 and at 80

Some minds do not age within aging bodies. Some geezers grasp at youthful pursuits with arthritic fingers. While some old guys settle into so called golden years comfortably, others find the pensioner situation abhorrent. I think that most of the men and women that retire comfortably have perhaps always been old in their way. Perhaps they never got up to shenanigans and mischief. What of those who were always naughty and testing the boundaries of behavior? Do they all become sedate before they’re eighty? I think not.

In my mind, I still want to race sports cars as I’ve done in the past. I still want to do stunts on water skis, as I’ve done in the past. I still want to pleasure my wife, as I’ve done in the past. I’d like to have another Doberman pup to raise and walk and teach, as I’ve done in the past. I want my former life, and I’m living my old life – my old man life. It’s a new adventure as have been all the many adventures of my life.

It’s a sad realization for me that attractive women no longer view me as a virile man. I’m just another old guy. I have to intellectually remind myself of that, before I make a fool of myself and flirt with a waitress or a shop girl. I still want to flirt with her, but I have the wisdom to not do it. I imagine what a fool I would appear to be. A woman would have no idea that I was an adventurer and sometimes a dare devil.

My dearest friend is in his mid-seventies. He has been a devoted athlete all his life, and he still races open-wheeled, single seat vintage race cars and is a fervent tennis player in season. He also is a competitive snow boarder during the winter season. He might be still doing it when he’s 80 as well.

Throughout my life I’ve pursued adventure. I’ve enjoyed risks like shooting the rapids in a canoe, handling skittish horses, cross-country skiing in northern forests and riding a motorcycle down country roads. I still have the desire, but don’t have the physical structure to continue. I have no choice but to limit myself to intellectual pursuits, such as this blog.

The Lesser Evil

The lesser evil is still evil. We don’t have to accept the lesser evil as the best we can do. I refer to every endeavors, including highly educated professions and every other level of society down to careless welfare recipients. Facing two plates of food, neither of which we enjoy is a logical case. If one plate is fried chicken skin and the other plate is beef liver, the liver would be chosen by those that don’t hate it and chicken skin would be chosen by those that can’t stand liver, for whatever reason.

The 2016 presidential election in the United States of America might be a case of the lesser evil being the greater evil. Many voters believed that Hilary Clinton is so evil that even Donald J. Trump appeared to be the lesser evil. As time flows on, however, it is revealed that so called President Trump is actually a psychopathic liar, a thief, an oligarch and a traitor. In hindsight, as evil as she is, Clinton would have been a better choice.

I usually watch true police and crime series on television. Most often, there is a police interrogation of a victim, a witness, or a suspect. There comes a time when an individual is asked about his or her relationship.

“It’s fine,” they say. “You know, there are fights and stuff, like every relationship.”

NO! Accepting a relationship in which some scrapping and shouting, and even hitting is not the lesser of any evil. It is an evil-bound relationship. If a person can’t find nearly constant peace and confidence in one’s special relationship, one might be settling for the lesser evil. Don’t do it.

There should be a relationship for you where expressions of love are spoken every day. Where you are put first by the other party and the other party is put first by you. The lesser evil is not good enough. You want the absence of stress, doubt, and evil. Get it!

An Unnecessary War

It is so often referred to as ‘the war between the sexes’ and there is really such a war going on all the time. Women and men are so vastly different from each other, a great deal of understanding and cooperation is required, for us to get through life. I don’t mean within a relationship like marriage. I mean just living, going to the bank, grocery shopping, taking a walk or a bicycle ride. And all of the strife is purely natural. That’s what’s so distressing about it. Society has put many things in their proper order so we can survive as a species of mammal. It seems to be more difficult to put sexual matters into an acceptable orderly form.

There is a vast number of differences between women and men, and they are not stationary. As society rolls on through time, men are changing and women are changing. Changes of any kind, positive or negative, are traumatic for the average human. One wonders if violence by men against women is because women are not the traditional female that many men think they should be.

It’s an insoluble problem. I wondered why female television journalists most often wear garments that show chest and cleavage. It seemed out of place on someone delivering hard news, so I asked my knowledgeable daughter about it. She said it’s for style, and in that moment I understood why women show various parts of themselves. They are not expecting to attract lovers… they are expecting to look nice – and they do.

Men should see the women as pretty, well turned out, self-assured. On the other hand, if a man wants to look good, he should dress to look good to the kind of company he hopes to keep. There are myriad styles for both genders to appeal to the great variety of groups that are available to all and any.

I must admit, however, I cannot see the reasons why some people find low, baggy shorts with underwear sticking out the top attractive. I am beginning to understand the look of not shaved yet not a full beard. It’s interesting how values change over time.

When I was a kid, if I’d showed up in the schoolyard with loose baggy shorts and underwear sticking out the top, I’d have got the shit kicked out of me. For sure the shorts would be taken off me and thrown into a tree. Now, it’s cool? And shaving was promoted by vilifying “the four o’clock shadow” on a man’s face.

I’m still sure that tattoos are a bad idea. Piercing is too, but at least the holes will close by themselves if one should wise up and remove the trinkets. Tattoos are infinitely more expensive and more discomfort to remove than to acquire.

I hope I live to see society in general swing back toward sensible.

The Misogyny Plague

Although it’s repulsive, the perpetrators of the unwanted touching and seducing are following the natural instinct bred into them by nature. Almost all males in the world of mammals are programmed to impregnate as many females as possible to assure the continuation of the breed and one’s line.

The big shots who try to use their position of power to get laid have no procreation in mind, of course. It’s a need to be wanted or at least be accepted. It seems, in their muddled minds, that because they want, others must give. I suppose when a man can give orders to a bunch of employees or associates for a period of years, his sensitivity to the private preferences of others might diminish.

Perhaps it is the elevation of some women into the realm of higher office that is making weak men try desperately to subjugate any women they can oppress. Literally, oppression is to be a source of worry, stress, or trouble to a person. Of course it is suffered by the women. Of course they should not be subjected to these ‘attacks’.

To seduce a woman, one should not touch them. One should be thoughtful toward her. Send her flowers or candy. Take her out to dinner. Give her a non-aggressive gift on her birthday. Behave well, be courteous, and address her with appropriate respect.

If you possess characteristics that appeal to the woman, she might decide to enjoy some intimacy with you. If she does not find you to be to her liking, be a mensch, leave her alone and find a lover that will want you as you want her.

Never Plan Revenge

I love revenge. I love the release of stress over what’s been done against me when I am able to get even. However, I would never plan or set up a situation to get revenge. I wait until an opportunity falls into my lap. I’m not talking about big, dangerous acts of vengeance; I’m talking about small things that cause me a loss or a humiliation. I won’t bring bad karma on myself by engineering an act of revenge.

It comes to mind a situation many years ago, when we were high school kids. There’s a neighbourhood park where we’d all gather on warm summer evenings to talk, laugh, and make dates with girls who always joined us in the park. Two girls from a wealthier neighbourhood were often there; one was named Judy and the other was Barbara.

I was hoping to date Judy, a slender blond girl. I was chatting with Judy when the rumble of a Harley-Davidson motorcycle came up the street and into the park. It was Marv Morton, who I knew from school. He was from the other side of the tracks, so to speak… the working class district. I was from the upper middle class neighbourhood, and the two girls came from the really rich neighbourhood on the other side of the main street.

Marv rolled up on the mint-green bike, and the girls left me and went to ogle the Harley. I was sitting alone then. I saw Judy climb onto the motorcycle behind Marvin and the pair rolled away to the rumble of that big engine. Barbara came over to me and we talked a while. But it was Judy that I wanted. I soon went home, as did Barbara.

About ten years later, I pulled up in front of my office building in my new, silver Oldsmobile rocket 88 hardtop. A guy in a postal uniform was on the sidewalk, emptying all the business mail out of one of those green collection boxes where mailmen pick up the mail for their route. I recognized him as I stepped out of my car.

“Hi Marv,” I said. He looked up, saw my suit, saw my big car, and with obvious embarrassment, he took his heavy, loaded mail sack and slung it onto his shoulder. He nodded at me in silence and trudged away to go door to door with the mail.

That was all I needed to get my revenge. I did nothing to set it up, but just as Marv had bested me with his motorcycle in the past, I bested him by being a business executive with a nice car while he was a basic hourly worker. I felt fine.

CONFESSIONS OF A TRANSITION MAN

I didn’t intend to be a transition man.  In fact, I didn’t even realize I am one until one woman called me that.

“You’re a terrific transition man,” she said.

“What do you mean,” I said. I was getting dressed.  “What’s a transition man?”

“He’s the guy who helps a woman make the transition from her unsatisfactory life to a better existence.  It might be to change jobs, or change homes, but most often it’s to change relationships.  It could be from a marriage, boyfriend, roommate, even lesbian lovers. In view of your skill with your tongue, I’m sure a lesbian would find you satisfying.”

“So your transition has been your split from the truck-loving Ralphy Boy to what? To me?” I said.

“No, definitely not to you,” she said.  “Your destiny is to be the wonderful, gentle, safe bridge from frustrated sedentariness to life and light, and I will be grateful throughout my life for what you’ve done for me.  Thank you forever. Stay safe, be happy, and carry on your good deeds.”

And she left me like that, sprawled on my bed, where we had been lovers for weeks.  I watched her go, her behind and legs disappeared through the door, and I was left to contemplate her words.  I felt slightly hurt, but not much because our agreement had always been that we were not to pursue any long-term relationship.  It would have to be that way, because I was 64 and she was 39.

I thought about our initial contact.  I was doing something on my computer when the ICQ called for my attention. Someone named Judith wanted to say hello, so I typed back ‘hello’.

We conversed from time to time over the next few weeks. We became lovers. Judy went on to a semi-permanent relationship, had kids and built a career.

I went on to be a Transition Man for several other unsatisfied ladies aged from forty to sixty-five.

On one occasion one of the ladies showed up at my office2 years later. She must have done some research to learn where I was working. She’d been a plain, shy spinster about 40 years old, and I had liberated her. She swept into my office looking unbelievably happy and pretty. She wore a long leather coat with fur trim. She took my hands in hers and looked into my eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, and turned on her heel and swept out of the office. I love to imagine what a happy life she moved into. She’s a good person, and deserves the best. She had been a low level office worker in her father’s department until she took me home with her that day.