The men that have come and gone into my life have always held lessons out to me like juicy, ripe, foreign fruit.
I learned early on in my life that what looks appealing to the eye may not be so fine beneath the surface.
In our elementary school we had a crab apple tree that the poor kids would run to at recess in lieu of the candy lines.
One day, I broke open an apple before eating it to discover earwigs pouring out of the center.
It was a lesson in lessons… Discovery is not always pleasant, however you can always transform something unpleasant into something useful… I threw it at a kid that had been bullying me.
I love the men that can teach me things. I hold the education & exercise of the mind in unbelievably high esteem, and so men that expand the mind are among my most cherished & sought-after gifts to myself.
I consider my relationship with such men to become distinctly paternal in nature, through no fault of either party.
I have observed that when men think they are teaching, guiding or introducing a female to new experiences, sexually or otherwise, they seem to develop a sense of overt pride & care for the female they’ve poured their ‘knowledge’ into.
I suppose it would be the sense of creation in a way, the idea or belief that you’ve concretely influenced or left a mark on a person’s character or life, and subsequently, their future. This, I assume, would be where the paternal feelings develop for the male.
It can be entirely unfortunate when a man is unable to understand, face, or work through these feelings. It can lead to the breakdown of a relationship due to an unconscious feeling of having to ‘take care’ of a partner, or there can be a mental disconnect or power struggle that develops internally, creating unstable communication or chaotic dynamics in the day-to-day routine.
The men that have been transient in my life have taught me the most, and are among my more cherished memories of men.
Mr. Sweet-n-Low was a wonderfully sweet, 40-something-year-old man with a laid-back, extremely comfortable manner. He had an ‘ol retriever dog & always bought us coffee.
We would smoke weed and snuggle on the couch listening to music, tossing the wet, slobbery green tennis ball for pup. He never made me feel anything but cozy and warm.
We rummaged around in his attic one night for fun. He gifted me a beautiful old vintage hand-sewn wedding dress that he pulled out of that attic. I still own it and think of him.
Mr. Chops was another man who was transient but so sweet.
I like to imagine that my Houdini-men are wonderfully broken, wild, modern-day Richard Burtons… fragmented and sharp, and that they do not stay because they fear cutting me too much. That although they are toughened, with sandpaper tongues and razorteeth, they still melt like heated honey when I touch them…that my voice is like home to these lost soldiers… that they find momentary respite in my innocent, wide, young arms.