mas•cu•lin•i•ty (m s ky -l n -t )
n. pl. mas•cu•lin•i•ties
1. The quality or condition of being masculine.
2. Something traditionally considered being characteristic of a male.
(note: I feel sure that despite the above definition we have all had at least one aunt or girl cousin that was often referred to as being somewhat “mannish,” even prior to her unfortunate hysterectomy and resulting nosedive into menopause.)
over writing about this topic for the past three weeks. Thus far I’ve accrued a folder full of first
drafts, covering masculinity from both humorous and philosophical points of
view. I’ve explored my thoughts
regarding my views of masculinity from the perspective of physical
characteristics that I find attractive and also examined the personality and
character traits that appeal to me.
I’ve written, rewritten, edited, fretted and sweated and in so doing it dawned
on me that I was indulging in one of the behaviors that I find least masculine
simply by complicating the situation, perpetuating my insecurity regarding my
ability to be understood and thus defying the primary components that impress
me as the epitome of masculinity and that is; simplicity and a sense of self
I’m attracted to simple men. This is not
to say that they need be of low intelligence or sans intellect. Au contraire,
there is probably nothing sexier than a man that is capable of reasonable and
rational thought, creating informed opinions and the passion to defend them. Of
course if said man also possesses certain simian features of lesser primates
and the appetite of a knuckle dragging Neanderthal in the boudoir then I’m
already shopping for new china, nothing too fragile of course.
Now, as for self-confidence, let me state here that I am not speaking of
arrogance; there is a distinct difference.
Daily, I’m faced with what may well be incredibly handsome men, yet they
choose to navigate the world with an angry scowl. Perhaps they believe that
this makes them appear aloof and mysterious, when in fact they just look rather
unhappy, unapproachable and terribly constipated. I’ve personally learned that it’s prudent to
offset any antagonistic side effects of my own testosterone replacement therapy
with plenty of fiber and an occasional stool softener.
The type of
simplicity that I’m speaking of is displayed by a man that doesn’t get too
bogged down in the details and petty minutia of day to day life, a man that’s
not easily discouraged and disappointed when the cheese slips off his cracker. I want to be in the company of a man that has
a positive outlook, a man that wakes up and greets the day with joyous
expectation rather than a sense of dread. Then again, if he should happen to
have a dread locks then I’m willing to overlook any number of faults. I want a man that doesn’t feel put upon or
punished and has no need to stomp around when everything doesn’t go his way.
I don’t care how butch and masculine a guy is, if he has a fit because he
missed the 1030am cut-off time for an Egg McMuffin, blaming the employee behind
the counter, whom he feels a need to point out earns minimum wage, as opposed
to owning the fact that his own lack of planning and penchant for the SNOOZE
button was the cause of this earth shattering predicament. I have no use for
him. In fact, I have little use for any
man that blames rather than take responsibility for his own actions and their
relegate responsibility, you abdicate the power to change the situation. This
is not a masculine trait.
also nothing masculine about a man that assumes being critical and cynical is
somehow a reflection of discernment and exquisite taste. The attitude of “been there, done that” and a
sense of contempt for the world, what it has to offer, and the small pleasures
of others is not at all manly. It is not urbane or a sign of sophistication.
It’s actually quite tedious and boring. A real man is able to roll with the
punches. I don’t care what his profession is or his economic circumstances are. Give me a sissy hairdresser that can face
life on life’s terms over a firefighter that gets his panties in a knot over a
kink in his hose.
I did a
little survey of my Facebook friends regarding the traits they find masculine.
Of course being Facebook and a public forum, they all answered with a bevy of
altruistic measures of character such as honesty, integrity, loyalty and
courage, humanistic traits that are desirable in any person regardless of their
gender or sexual orientation.
I can only say that I happen to know some of these respondents (tramps)
personally and am well aware that their main measure of a man is the size of
his penis and his willingness to top. I
dare say his willingness to top outweighs his ability, propensity, or even
skill in doing so. Truth is, they
wouldn’t actually give a damn if he was a psychotic, cross-dressing serial
killer provided he could get it up, keep it up, and plow them senseless. Hell, they wouldn’t even care if he had
punctuality issues. In fact, they’ve
already had enough men fire the cannon prior to seeing the whites of their
hungry bottom eyes, a tad of tardiness here would be quite desirable and
pretty easily jump into bed with most anybody when I’m horny enough, there are
times that intuition tells me to err on the side of caution and be a bit more
In this case, I general arrange to meet a man for a cup of coffee, careful to
choose a location that is convenient for both of us but yet somewhat off the
beaten path for me, as opposed to one of my regular haunts lest I appear too
familiar with the locals. I don’t want to give the impression that I’m a bit of
a whore and have nothing better to do than hang out and drink coffee all day
(even though both facts are common knowledge and quite accurate). I also don’t
want to afford my coterie of friends and acquaintances an opportunity to cast
judgment on my latest acquisition or attempt to snatch him up for their own
less than admirable purposes.
I make it a point to arrive at least 20 minutes early so as to get the lay of
the land, secure a good vantage point and be at the ready for his arrival so we
can order coffee together.
You see, I want to witness him interface with the barista in order to see how
he treats service people and whether or not he presents them with a litany of
questions, requirements and stipulations regarding where the beans were grown,
at what altitude, the pH balance of the soil, any possible presence of
pesticides or herbicides, the integrity of the grower. He continues to question
whether the beans were harvested by machine, an indigenous worker receiving
fair pay or by some itinerant field hand from an adjacent village or
neighboring third-world nation, and in either case whether or not said picker
was circumcised. He may then go on to
question the caffeine content of the blend, darkness of the roast and whether
or not the beans were roasted over an open fire and with what type of
wood. Provided he’s not lactose intolerant, this inquisition will most likely
be followed by a several questions regarding the quality of the milk used, and
will certainly include it’s status of being organic and produced by cows of
proper lineage that are free roaming and regularly tested for any use of
steroids, hormones or antibiotics. This may be followed by exacting
specifications regarding the temperature the milk is to be steamed to and the
degree of foam that will cap off this creation. In the event the he is lactose
intolerant you can expect a thorough exploration of all other options available
not to mention his struggle to find the proper formula or probiotic supplements
to calm his sensitivity.
Fortunately when it comes to sugar he’s more or less on his own and will be
presented with a variety of choices at a little side bar. This, however, does
not guarantee that they will have his preferred sweetener.
OK, all of
this has taken longer than I generally allot for foreplay. Seriously, I’m way too exhausted to want to
fuck this clown.
Oh, and as
far as him having at my ass? That so is never going to happen; he has already
demonstrated that his refinement and ladylike standards eliminate him ever
having the opportunity to plow my lower forty.
I rarely, if ever bottom, but when I do I don’t want to take the high
hard one from a guy with his pinky extended. I’m just not that proper. Hell, I
don’t even watch Downton Abbey.
Give me a simple man that orders a cup of coffee and exchanges a smile and a
few pleasantries with those that are waiting on him. Gimme a man with a sense of humor, and an
ability to overlook that Maxwell House may be the café du jour. I fear that a man that is too particular
about the percentage of fat in his coffee creamer may also be concerned with
his own body fat and thus my BMI. No,
thank you!I want a man that enjoys man-size portions of substantial food, that
has no idea what a Port wine or balsamic reduction is, a man who is not going
to be too terribly put out if the basil in the Marinara is of the dehydrated
variety and not a chiffonade of some locally grown crop with a provenance that
can be traced to Umbria. In fact, I don’t even want a man that can determine
the difference between a chiffonade and a julienne and I’d actually be quite
content if he’s unfamiliar with the term Marinara. And if he is savvy of such lingo, please let
him have learned it in a culinary class that he took in prison or as a
condition of his work release program.
Oh, did I mention that having a good relationship with his parole officer is