Real Men

It could be my middle age coloring this opinion. Or it could be a trend completely contrary to my thinking. But something is very clear to me now. Men are losing their edge.

What's happened to men? They've gotten quite soft. They're passive. They're tentative. They have far too many feelings and issues and sensitivities. They are paralyzed by the suspicion that they have to be politically correct and appropriate and gentle. Deep down (at least in the throes of passion), that is the last thing we want. We want an animal. Don't we?

It would be easy to blame that whole quiche eating period that gave rise to the in-touch-with-my-feelings period that emerged in the 1980s. And well, while we're on the subject, let's blame their mamas for coddling them, too. That was the ruin of many a young man. They resort to fetus like proportions when they get the sniffles; indecisive embryos when faced with a conflict of emotion. And that whole taking out the garbage thing? Darwin was right--we're talking chimps.

So why do we need them? Attraction is a big part of this. And they do sport a little something-something between their legs that does make life most interesting.It is sometimes the rest of the package that is such laborious work.

Perhaps my expectation is too elevated. I always thought Burt Lancaster was the classic example of how a real man should be. When he took Deborah Kerr on the beach in "From Here to Eternity," I practically swooned. So did my Grandma. We watched it together on TV and Grandma said to me, "That's a real man." Well, Grandma should know. She went through a few herself. She was WELL ahead of her time.

Sometimes a woman wants a man to take control and be aggressive. I was once with a man who literally ripped my clothes off of me. The buttons flew from the shirt. The underwear was in tatters. He apologized after the fact but I cared not one iota. The notion that he wanted my clothing off me faster than proper decorum could dictate was exciting beyond belief. It is a hallmark that I still hold dear. Alas, the occasion is rarer for that to happen, but I still hold out hope. I'm not over the hill yet.

Tonight on my commute home from work, I sat in stewing and steaming traffic for two and a half hours. Accidents peppered I-95. The traffic was utterly backed up at Yankee Stadium because of a home game. It would have been so easy to simmer in angst and frustration. I didn't because I still have an imagination.

Oh, and I was working it.