It’s like training me to pole dance, crack eggs, or kick around a hacky sack—frustrating for both the teacher and the student. Yet, I read and hear women want alpha males, so I persist.
In case you don’t know what an alpha male is, here’s what Wikipedia says:
In social animals, the alpha is the individual in the community with the highest rank. The alpha animals are given preference to be the first to eat and the first to mate; among some species they are the only animals in the pack allowed to mate. Other animals in the community are usually killed or ousted if they violate this rule. The status of the alpha is often achieved by means of superior physical prowess, though it can also be determined by social efforts and building alliances.
Basically, it’s a man who:
- Knows what he wants and takes it when he pleases.
- Is confident.
- Doesn’t care what people think.
- Takes chances.
- Demands respect.
- Is rugged and masculine.
- Is a dominant leader.
- Is driven.
- Keeps himself fit.
- Dresses fashionably.
Men in show business who play that role would include George Clooney, Charlie Sheen, David Dukovny, and Ashton Kutcher.
The alpha male is not:
- A fan.
- Overly emotional.
- A victim.
- A team player.
- Out to please anyone, unless it benefits his cause.
- Sad and lonely.
Like most men, I probably fall between the two depending on my company, mood, and if I’m on bourbon number two or three. I become further confused and annoyed when I ask my date which type of man she prefers, and she lies saying she doesn’t want an alpha male. You all do. Admit it: He’s the douche who makes you dewy.
For example, I’m on date number two last night with a lovely specimen who hasn’t done anything to scare me off yet (like burp The Star-Spangled Banner). An alpha male probably would have sealed the deal by the end of that date. I didn’t even kiss her. I went in and she did a reflexive ten-degree turn, which resulted in a corner lip kiss. I suck. I hate myself, which is very un-alpha-ish of me.
The alpha male would have been grabbing her thigh under the table, kissing her earlobe when he hit the john, and told her how badly he wanted to rip her clothes off.
I spoke of polenta.
[Insert that thing we all do when we need to let off steam. I walk in the house after the date, make sure nobody is looking in the windows, and begin punching the air while delivering creative curses, such as “Fuck, shit, piss! I’m such a fucking pussy. Kiss her, numbnuts! Ugh. Fuckity fuck-knuckles.” Then, my cats stare at me and begin calling animal rescue services.]
If I asked her for a kiss that probably would have been the final date. I should have gone in and kissed her. When she turned her face, the alpha male would have grabbed her head, turned it back, and kissed her hard and deep with no apologies. Then, perhaps my night would have concluded with playful fondling instead of a good-bye wave.
Yes, I know: Take control and be the man. It’s not easy when you’re raised to be gentle with the finer sex. I’m a delta (as in “Dummy”) male right now and I need to snap out of it. Training continues.