Gene Pool
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You would be hard-pressed to find a youthful, virile man who doesn’t enjoy the thrill of the chase. The pursuit of a challenge. I’ve been the victim of many such men. They’re all attention and 100 percent committed to their relentless pursuit until the moment they get the green light. Then it’s like a switch turns off. As soon as they obtain the object of their intent, they’re just as quickly bored and ready to move onto the next pursuit. They’re proud to add a notch to their belt; a hash mark to their headboard.

My best friend turned bedfellow was my most memorable victimizer. The thrill of the chase was more exciting to him then the thrill of the actual attainment. It’s because of him I became weary of crossing the line from friend zone to fuck zone.

On multiple occasions I have had to exercise the greatest of willpower not to give into temptation, and put up the stop sign, so as not to destroy relationships with other friends. It simply wasn’t worth the risk. Sexual attraction is fleeting. Friendship is forever.

It’s also because of the one who ruined it for all mankind that I became a bit jaded.

While at one time in society, man may have cornered the market when it came to the art of pursuit, today’s woman isn’t all that different from her male predecessors. She learned that two can play that game and she’s a formidable opponent. Why should men have all the fun? Anything men can do women can do equally well, if not better. Women are also turned on by that which we cannot have:

The unattainable man.

The man who won’t be pinned down.

The man who doesn’t have time to be in a relationship.

The man who won’t give us the time of day.

The man who won’t be swayed by our charms.

The man who’s between gigs.

The bad boy.

The musician.

The actor.

The artist.

The married man.

The man who says he prefers men.

The man who hasn’t met the right woman (you) yet.

The difference between us and them is that women are much more subtle in their technique. We aren’t so blatantly obvious. We keep a poker face. We aren’t as overt. We apply a bit of finesse. Our approach is nuanced.

Men sure love to complain about the opposite sex; how moody, needy, confusing, frustrating, exasperating, and high maintenance women are.  I could challenge these complainers with the sheer amount of men I’ve known that also fit these descriptions and more. I could play a symphonic masterpiece with my violin. I’ve attracted and hosted a parade of losers bigger than the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade with characters larger than life: whiners, smotherers, stalkers, intellectually, psychologically or emotionally impaired, alcoholic, dysfunctional, anal, horny, immature, insensitive, overly sensitive, overbearing, emotional, insecure, rude, disrespectful, and unappreciative.

At one time, I used to operate by a set of standards. I didn’t settle. My man had to meet a set of financial, educational, social, religious and family standards. But this severely limited the gene pool, and so I had to lower my standards. I didn’t need to find a man who met the entire set, just some percentage of the standards. As I continually lowered my standards to increase the pool, I was still unable to find any man who could reach any of the standards at any percentage. I then lowered my expectations and still no dice. I frequently had to date two to three men simultaneously just so I could have a one hundred percent package.

I didn’t even have unreasonable expectations. My requirements were that he must have two hands, two feet, intelligence, sense of humor, manners, interests outside of me, be independent, come from a good family/upbringing, was educated, had values, navigated by a moral compass, could make me laugh, and tolerate my fierce need for independence. But to date and maintain multiple men at the same time was overly time consuming, tiresome and I barely had time to spend even a few hours a week with one. It just wasn’t sustainable.

Then I decided to throw all standards out the window. Pickings were slim and at some point you just need to get laid and you don’t really care by whom. I became like the men who victimized me. I’m like a magnet for sad souls, the damaged, untameable, and unconquerable. A sucker for lost puppies. A benefactor for works in progress. A manager looking for a project.

It’s a wonder why I never became a nun or switched teams like so many women are doing today. The effort far outweighs the reward which rarely lives up to its promise. Luckily, men have become virtually replaceable, and women have alternative methods always capable of satisfying us how we want, where we want, and when we want, without the excess baggage, maintenance and ego stroking.

Next: Watch The Gap

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