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The Perils of Possessing a Provocative Pen
By Gloria Diaz
Check out Gloria's Blog — Edge of Gloria!
Fort Wayne Reader
I'm trying to figure men out, but it's proving to be depressing and a little scary. Recently I discovered if you are courteous, kind, and helpful, they assume you think they are hot and you want to sleep with them. The obvious lesson here is to treat the men you aren't attracted to like lepers, while saving the courtesy and kindness for the men you might want to sleep with. I know this seems unfair, but I don't want your hopes dashed. You're the ones whose emotions run riot when women are concerned (a.k.a “thinking with the little head.”)
This emotional quirk showed up in my life in a rather surprising way. Some of my readers may know that I write erotic fiction. I post some of it on a website, in order to get feedback. So far, I've had more than 100,000 views, with the most recent story I posted getting 4,000 views in three days. A former student who was interested in some of my writing commented on the story. He really liked it, and I sort of told him what inspired it. We emailed back and forth, then he said he wanted to talk to me.
Like the naïve fool that I am, I thought he just wanted to talk, and allow me to vent. After a few minutes of pleasantries, he got to the topic of the short story. Eventually he got around to asking me if he was the inspiration for the male protagonist.
I never saw it coming, I swear. I thought I'd described the character well-enough (boyish-looking, no tattoos) to give an accurate picture, but I guess I was wrong. The former student had mentioned that the two characters in the story were talking, and automatically thought that it was us. While it's true that we would talk after class, like a typical man, he didn't realize that I had two other classes that semester, and that he wasn't the only guy I talked to in a typical work day.
Then, the clincher. When he found out he wasn't “the one,” he told me to lie down, close my eyes, and think of him. I said, “alrighty!” and hung up. Then, I thought about what he said. And I thought about someone else that night.
My female friends on Facebook didn't exactly blow up, but they were a bit freaked out. Probably the harshest comment was “for *#$%! sake, the ego on some people.” But it's funny; the women have spoken. The men are very, very silent. They may be praying for the brother who went out on the edge and put two and two together and came up with a big fat zero.
I think it's sort of funny because this person hasn't entered my mind since he handed in his final exam. While I observe people out in public to see if they would make good characters, there are certain men (okay, LOTS of them) who are not going to make the cut in my stories. That would include the men who send pictures of their junk to women. Back in the day when I published a 'zine, I'd get mail from all over the world. I was bestowed with a letter from a Florida guy who thoughtfully sent me a 'fridge magnet and a 4x6 print of himself totally naked. I still chuckle over the video tape I saw years ago from a friend who received it from the guy whose personal ad she answered. It was twenty minutes (at least) of him masturbating. It was educational, in a way, and it allowed me to be a critic: lighting was poor, television noise in the background, subject wearing athletic socks, and overall, wasn't erotic at all. It did provide some laughs. My friend is deceased, and I don't know what became of the tape. Rumor has it one of my friend's gay friends has it.
My deceased friend did find a guy, and did get married. Of course, it wasn't the guy who taped himself. When I figure out the mystery of why men feel the need to take pictures of their equipment and send them to women they don't even know, I promise to write a column about it. But don't hold your breath—I think that's something that is going to remain a “WTF were you thinking move?” for all eternity.
And it's not like I can go out and interview men about this either. Because when I start asking them about this, they are going to start flashing me. I mean, that's the next step, right?
Guys: if you really want to show us something that is six inches long, has a head on it and drives women crazy, show us the Benjamins. It will save you embarrassment—as long as they aren't counterfeit.