If this is the heart of the matter, what about the Dick?

I have to come clean. I have been grossly unfair to all the Men I've Loved Before. Each time I get back into some past episode in my head — which is often — and wonder at the hurtful episodes, I feel guilty. Just a twinge of it mind you.

The Brain asks, "If it has been so bad, if all the MILBs hurt you, why didn't you stop loving after the first? Why do you still -- in the deepest, darkest sulci of your scared little subconscious -- think that maybe, maybe against all those predictions and promises, you might just bump into love. Maybe for a little while. Even if for a little while? Don't you wish Eve*, albeit so soundlessly that no one might hear and laugh — that there should at least be Some Pretender who could Be All you want and let you be all He wants you to be -- and then leave silently, without the hurt. Leave when you're sleeping, sleeping thinking you're world is intact. And when you get up the next morning, it's like BLIP! You don't remember the parting. Just the Love.

Haven't you wondered Eve*, what it would feel like to say anything, ask the stupidest thing -- without considering, keeping quiet or marking it for Google -- without the Other thinking you are dumb? Or thinking you are adding your "two bits"? Without having to be constantly smart/intelligent/etc or make failed attempts at political correctness. What a relief it would be to be the Biggest Duh in the world around someone and have them really think that's the most adorable thing you could be.

Or wear what the fuck you wanted to -- even the same black tank for three days, no kajal/kohl, no ear rings — and not be bothered if you look pretty, or wonder if you're breathing right to keep the Little Tummy in. Or look at your fragile skin and fine lines and sigh at all the Young Elastic Things out there. It's not about pretty anymore, strangely, closer to 30, it's just not about pretty anymore. You big liar Eve*, if all the MILBs were that bad, why do you still hope? (You can deny it as much as you want baby....)

And that's what I have to come clean about. I am hopelessly in love with all that a man can be, is and becomes into. The good, the bad and the downright ugly. Funny how, some cliches still work. I love the way men can keep their focus on some things (and off others). Yes, they have their distractions, but if there is something that a man wants, he will go after it no matter who he hurts, what he does or how he gets it. Unlike we women. The moment we meet someone who shows us a little something (call it love, security, the world, blah), we are quickly willing to reconsider whatever we are doing, our dreams, ambitions and plans to be with that someone. Idiots, us, I tell you.

I also completely appreciate the way men can just Get Over You in one day, flat. They will run after you, cajole, plead, threaten — all this while you are thinking you're taking your time/ keeping him wanting more/ some other skewed objective -- and then suddenly one day, the dude who loved you decides to Get Over You. Usually with another woman. Funnily enough, we women get over too, usually involving a lot of weeping, or big tantrums or definitely a lot of talking to/with friends. Men just go and screw: amazing!
"Why wait around when you can fuck around?" being the Dude's favourite refrain.

Or the ease with which men sort women. There's Pretty Fuckable: only pretty, therefore one-night stand, or post-drunk fuck or coke-trip-need-for-the-night. Then there's the Pretty Smart Fuckable: one-night stand with numbers exchanged, fuck buddy, theatre partner and fuck buddy. The No Other Option Therefore Fuckable: any chick who can be fucked because you dont have the type you want to fuck around you. "I would do a fat chick if she's pretty," is how the CockyTemptation explains it. And of course the I Can Marry. Unfortunately and rather stupidly, we women slot all of them men — the Serial Fuckers, the Mother Lovers, the Only Looking For Fuck, the Will Fuck Anything (closely related to OLFF), the Unmarriageables — all under one slot: We Wish We Could Marry him. Or keep him for life.

Isn't it funny how EVERY man — drunk, cripple, coke head, impotent, premature ejaculator, everyotherfuck — will find a chick to screw and even carry his shitload around for life? But when it comes to women — even the ones who might be called a Good Catch — they somehow end up alone, or cribbing or with some jackass they really don't want to be with? If like men, we women too were able to segregate the Fuckables from the Marriageables or even the Long Term Keepables, we'd be living happier . Like knowing you want a guy because he is good in bed and not because just because he satisfies you, you begin thinking he's the one for you etc. He does things to your vagina (and hopefully the rest of your body too). Period. (Er, period?!)

And that's why I cannot grudge the Men I Loved Before. The poor things were good for just one purpose — and not necessarily sex — and yet I expected them to be more than that. It's not the expectations either. It's Who you are expecting what from that makes all the difference. If it's a Dick, he can only give you a Dick, so why go wishing for it to come with a brain and a heart, no?

Can't grudge you boys, nah. Shrug. And that's what we women have to remember: when treating a man as a Sex Object, have the sex and don't fall for the object. As is the case with most objects, they lose their charm after the first couple of times. Shrug.

Post Scrap: confused post, written over three days, with three different pens, under continually pissing off circumstances.