Hate Love

      A while ago, I met someone whom I thought would fit nicely. She was smart and petite, but she had this annoying side: a boyfriend. Oh well. Suddenly, she became available and there was much elation. I put a mutual acquaintance to the task of setting us up. Once presented with the opportunity to date a nice guy, this lovely object of my desire gave a disturbing reply:

      “Who? The author guy?”

      “Yeah. He thinks you’re cute and would love to get to know you.”

      “Really? That’s odd. Have you read any of his books?”

      “Sure. Why?”

      “It’s obvious that he hates women.”

      Horrors!

      I do not hate women. I hate that I love women to the point of having my logic constantly challenged. I don’t like weakness and vulnerability and an attractive woman is my fucking kryptonite. I’m not alone in this, except for my courage to admit it. No matter how much mental preparation I undergo, I go weak. I see it coming and can’t thwart it. I love women and hate the puppeteer-like control they have over me.

      Perhaps men present the same challenge to women. Life controls us. Life sets the rules and we’re powerless to overcome. I’ll always be attracted to the best mating option. I can’t be reconditioned. Why must I fight my instincts?

      Here are some of the logical, smart, and safe controls I swear to, which can be overridden by something as harmless as a shapely bottom:

      I will not hook up with a woman much younger than I am.

·         This will never work because we have nothing in common.

·         I will wait until after date five before considering sleeping with her.

·         I’m not going to grab her boobs or butt when we make out.

·         I will wear a condom every time we have sex.

·         I will not be attracted to other women once I have a girlfriend.

·         I’m not looking to meet anyone tonight. I just want to have beers with my buds.

·         I don’t need a woman in my life.

·         I don’t mind being by myself. In fact, I rather enjoy it.

·         I’m not going to be one of those spineless, needy boyfriends.

·         If she invites me in, I shall decline and let love build.

·         I’m not going to check out her body.

·         If she reaches for my zipper, I’ll gently swat her hand and say I’m not that type of man.

·         I’ll maintain my erection for at least one hour before ... you know.

·         I’m not going out with a woman just because she’s hot.

      I’m fucking putty. Piss me off. There’s no exercise or supplement I can take to help. A gay lifestyle won’t work either, because it’s even more impulsive and, well, I don’t like men (though I do appreciate the fashion sense and cleanliness that typically comes with the gay lifestyle).

      Maybe I’ve never been in love. Hm. Perhaps once I fall in love, all of these urges will fizzle. Alas, by the looks of the landscape littered with relationship carcasses, I doubt it. Love would be the Band-Aid on a gaping wound.