Archive for men


Posted in writing with tags , , , , , , on January 8, 2017 by kimmy


Although my imagination tends to embellish more than I care to admit, this time he appeared more handsome and seductive than in my most fevered dreams.

Was it the lazy way he lounged against the elevator wall as it slowly lowered us to the ground, or the gently possessive curl of his fingers around my wrist that made me sweat? I wasn’t sure. The only thing of which I was certain was that my desire would never be satisfied; that this was only another one of our endless erotic preambles that invariably concluded with nothing.

For many years, too many to count, he has prowled my dreams. Like a jaguar, sleek and dark, rousing both apprehension and desire so often that the two chase each other in a never-ending circle. Predator and prey always in motion, neither captured nor capturing. And for all these many years, I blamed myself for not yielding, for not allowing the cat to savage my body and satisfy his need.

But he is and always has been a cruel hunter, not availing himself of easy game, but reserving his attention for only the choicest morsels, those who embody closest his ideal of physical perfection. And I, alas, never conformed to those lofty standards and was, in both life and dream, judged to be wanting.

Yet despite my imperfection, he maintains his irregular orbit. Sometimes so distant that I wither and freeze; and at other times, as tonight, I burn.

And so this chase would continue unabated, as it has done for decades, if not for those fingers snaking around my wrist and his dark eyes prodding me to begin my flight. I suddenly halted the game. The elevator had finally reached the ground floor and it was, at long last, time to exit.

I stepped out and the doors closed behind me, carrying him away to places I neither know nor care. The goddess may be generous and willing to forgive the constant rejection of her bounty, but even She can become weary of the game.



Posted in love, relationships, writing with tags , , , , , , , on December 7, 2008 by kimmy


He pats the lovable ditz on the head and sends her packing.  Order is restored in his sleepy little town, unpredictability and chance squashed beneath size 13 boots.

And so the curtain descends, thanks given to the generous sponsors and the home audience, once riveted to their seats around the RCA radio, breathe a collective sigh, relieved that their hero has once again escaped the clutches of a silly female.

It played out like a serial comedy, didn’t it?  Replete with canned laughter and broad jokes made at the heroine’s expense.  It’s so easy to poke fun at the dim-witted; they tend to laugh along.  But if the the ninny ever gets wise to the source of the humor, gaslighting is an effective way to throw her off.  “Why would I ever mislead you, Gracie?  I’m your friend.”

Ah, nothing beats a happy ending!   . . . unless of course an examination of the premise reveals that the hero is really not as self-important as he thinks.  Would the audience care as deeply if he had no adversary, no goofy counterpart to make him look good by comparison?  Probably not; perfection makes for dull copy.

Although she’s vanquished episode after episode,  the listener still awaits her return, secretly hoping that the ill-suited pair will reconcile their differences and fade into the sunset on a never-ending adventure.


Posted in social commentary, writing with tags , , , , , , , on November 24, 2008 by kimmy

When does flattery become a weapon?  When it is doled out conditionally with the intention of causing harm to the recipient.

Consider the case of the repentent husband.  He is sorry for his behavior and wishes to make amends with his wife.  Knowing she’s a little blue and drifting away emotionally, he decides to appeal to her vanity and offer up a compliment that’s sure to please.  After taking her out for a lovely evening, he proudly announces that she was one of the best looking women he had seen that night, bested only by a sultry brunette with long legs and a plunging neckline.

He is dismayed when the compliment does not have the desired effect.  His dismay turns to anger when he realizes his error.  But instead of backpedaling, he tries to save face by blaming her for misunderstanding him.  He tells her that she is incapable of handling honesty and behaving like a pal.  The blame is shunted to the wife and the husband feels vindicated . . .  and entitled to keep girlwatching since he’s misunderstood and underappreciated at home.

A very common scenario, no?   It’s the classic Well-meaning-but-Dim Husband versus the Hard-to-Please Wife.  But upon examination, a case could be made against the husband’s professed intention, or indeed against anyone who bestows a compliment designed to wound.

Everyone has felt the sting.  “You’re doing a great job here at the office, but you need to increase productivity.”   “Mmmm, that soup is delicious, but it could use a little salt.”  “Those jeans are fabulous on you, but they make your ass look fat.”  What is the real intention here?  To soften up the target before smackdown?

More importantly, how does one defend against this form of passive aggression?  Polite tolerance?  Calling them out?  Sneaky folks do not take kindly to being busted.  But, better they learn now that we are wise to their games, rather than later when they are alone and friendless.


Posted in musings, personal, writing with tags , , , , on November 23, 2008 by kimmy

“Would you like to see my swing?”

It seemed a rather innocent question.  That it was asked by a gentleman of whom I had been forewarned was less so.  The others at the party nodded and marched en masse to the bedroom where the item in question apparently resided.

He wasn’t the brute that I had imagined from the lurid stories told of him.  He had a dimpled smile and sharp eyes that missed nothing.  And aside from a streak of exhibitionism and a tendency to use chatter as a diversion, there was an earnestness of character that was tremendously appealing.

I had met him the previous winter, at a party where the twenty-something men guzzled Red Bull and mourned their futures.  As the young men whined and stumbled about him, he maintained a remarkable poise, an aloofness that extended to not only the drunken kids but to his companions.  His girlfriend, an agreeable brunette with long hair and abundant cleavage, was especially solicitious of his comfort.  I watched as she tended him and was rewarded with resounding slaps on the backside.  It didn’t surprise me then when I overhead him discuss plans to build a dungeon in his basement.  In fact, it seemed fitting.

I couldn’t help but wonder as I was ushered into his bedroom months later, why he was eager to share something so intimate.  Was it pride or was he looking for approval?  He had a hard time concealing his enthusiasm as he hooked the last chain and let his prize dangle from the four posters of his enormous bed.   

It was like approaching a profane altar.  I looked around involuntarily, expecting to find vessels of holy water nearby.  It would take gallons to cleanse me of the impure thoughts that sprang to mind.  My cheeks flushed as he and his malleable companion happily shared details of their activities.  The room felt suddenly hot and oppressive, laced with an electricity that made my hair stand on end.

I threw back what was left of my drink and left immediately.  I wasn’t sure if it was the imposition or my own reaction that troubled me.  Regardless, it was easier -and far safer- to maintain my distance than to contemplate any explanation.


Posted in social commentary, writing with tags , , , , on November 20, 2008 by kimmy

With whom are you sharing your deepest secrets?  Your spouse, your best friend, your secret chatroom lover?  It’s impossible to live without a confidante.

For those in a stable relationship, the obvious choice is the partner.  But can partners really support you?  Or, will they recoil in contempt when it is revealed you are not perfect?

Unconditional love has been touted as the hallmark of an evolved relationship, but how many actually have it?  When confronted with the unthinkable, most people tend to assume the role of injured party, as if the secret knowledge is a threat to their security.  “How could you do this to me?”  “Look what you’ve done to us!”  Is it any wonder that, if given the chance to be shamelessly honest, we clam up instead?

It’s unnerving to know the foibles of one’s partner.  Our reactions to their confession reveal more about who we are than who they are.  The very worst in ourselves is reflected back and that can be shocking.  Have we come into relationships with high expectations, assuming we will be nurtured and protected?  If so, that’s not much different than a parent/child relationship.   We might all be frightened children inside, but nobody wants to admit it, especially to a partner who has the same dynamic. 

More often, we confide in friends.  They are not as vested and therefore not as likely to come unglued.  But such arrangement diverts emotional intimacy from the primary to secondary relationships.   The news is filled with stories of couples breaking up over extramarital emotional affairs.   The jilted party contends, and perhaps rightly so, that both emotional and physical bodies are subject to the constraints of monogamy.  If this is correct, then couples who are trapped by their own expectations and cannot be honest with each other are doomed.  With no outlet either within or without, the relationship will implode. 

It’s easy to lay the blame for our own failures on somebody else.   It’s damn hard work to face one’s self and shoulder the burden.  Given the choice, what would you do?


Posted in social commentary, writing with tags , , , , , on November 3, 2008 by kimmy

Can two people locked in mortal combat see beyond their own agenda?  Or do they both go down with the ship?

Drawing from my own personal experience and observing the battles of others fought around me, I have often wondered if the real problem is not incompatability but poor sportsmanship.  This is nowhere more evident than in personal relationships.

We live in a society where winning is the only acceptable outcome.  Stalemate is unpalatable and most couples initially seek to avoid it by pressing their case, usually to the detriment of those around them.  Tempers are so short and disgust so high, that moderation is the very last option.  If both parties are not ready to negotiate, then any overture is seen by the entrenched as a sign of weakness. 

Most notable is the absence of that polite deference usually reserved for the benefit of strangers.  Instead, we turn on our partners like animals and shred them to bits.  We never appreciate the irony of our actions because we’re blinded by anger.

Are we then weak and foolish if we choose not to battle?  Where does one draw the line?   Is there no place for forebearance? 

I suppose it could be argued that interpersonal relationships are the microcosm of the world at large.  Each  of us -angry, self-righteous and armed- seek dominance over our former lover and ally.  And, like the bickering countries around us, we are just as heedless to the consequences.

Who then will finally call a truce?    Who will have the courage to look past their own bitterness to something greater than themselves?  No one wins when all the toys are broken.


Posted in social commentary, women, writing with tags , , , , on October 30, 2008 by kimmy

So, I open the Chicago Tribune this morning and what do I spy on page 3, just beneath the juvenile listing of consumer products favored by both Obama and McCain?  A lovely mini-article about the alarming ‘new’ trend among women.  Apparently, both the National Science Foundation and the University of Chicago have taken great pains to map our secret habits.  And what have these venerable institutes discovered?  Wives are cheating in greater numbers than previously suspected.

My question is two-fold:  Why are precious tax dollars and endowments spent on this form of voyeurism and secondly, do these findings surprise anyone?

The boards could have saved themselves a heap of trouble and expense if they simply asked the average housewife shopping at Wal-Mart… or Nordstrom’s.  Their answers would be the same, despite the income and (presumably) education divide.  If they’re not actively engaged in extramarital dalliance, then they’re thinking about it!

Who put women on a pedestal anyway?  We are just as vulnerable to human foible as any man.  If we have been held to stricter standards, it’s because men have imposed them.  If we had to choose a set for ourselves, they wouldn’t be as impossibly lofty. 

Women are practical creatures.  If something doesn’t work, we fix it.  Few of us expect to be happy in marriage because we know just how much work it entails.  Yet we’re bound to nature and are the gateway for subsequent generations.  We sacrifice personal happiness for stability, for quite often the object of our true love (or lust in this case) is wildly inappropriate.  No sensible woman would breed with a bad boy, but she wants to fuck him nonetheless.

The real surprise of this research study is the naivete of men.  I’m not certain whether it’s poignant or laughable, but they do cling to antiquated notions.  Has it never occured to them that cheating requires a partner?   That partner could be virtually any woman.  Even the married lady next door.