The men that have passed in and out of my life have taught me many things.
My high school boyfriend taught me that nice boys put up with a lot of girl crap.
My college sweetheart taught me that love doesn’t conquer all.
My brief tryst with a Filipino man taught me that it’s not wise to be in a relationship with a cokehead who calls me a “cunt.”
A Latin lover taught me to never toss the money on the counter but to hand it politely to the salesperson. He also taught me that Latin lovers love to spread their love around.
The man I lived with for four years taught me that if I make a sandwich for myself, I should make one for him too. He also taught me that it’s sexier not to pee in front of each other.
My boytoy taught me that I can be cruel to nice, well-meaning young men without them even noticing. I have a knack for being bad and so have learned to be more careful.
My fling with an illegal Israeli immigrant taught me that if they wrap their full hand around your neck as though to choke you when you share an opinion, it’s probably best not to see them anymore. He also taught me the meaning of the dickslap.
My affair with a rapper who was hot in the nineties taught me that I should never let myself get too bored, as I do reckless things I have no real desire for in the first place. From him I learned regret.
My Christian fundamentalist boyfriend taught me that I’m not cut out for dating extremists of any kind.
My next Latin lover (or was it my third?) taught me that some families do have healthy, loving relationships. He also taught me that some men aren’t okay with women touching the remote.
My latest heartbreak taught me that if it’s broken, it stays broken…and that I can’t heal the world if I’m spending all my time and energy trying to heal one man.
These have all been valuable gifts. But I’ve picked up some dirty, DIRTY habits along the way.
FROM MEN I HAVE LEARNED TO WATCH PORN
Honestly, my imagination has gotten lazy. I find it easier to stifle my wide-eyed romantic dreams and instead force my eyes open and accept the disillusioned state of affairs between men and women.
I also watch porn to become a better actress (and not in the bedroom…what kind of girl do you think I am?). I am fascinated by the facial expressions. Porn girls have taught me a lot about emotion. I am convinced that their “pleasure” face is the same as their “pain” face. Are those moans of ecstasy or agony? What is their subtext? Sometimes, a subtle twitch of the lip gives it away, other times you need only look at the size of the cock and the force of the thrust and you just know…that ain’t bliss.
FROM MEN I HAVE LEARNED TO AVOID CONFRONTATION
I used to be able to tell a man “I’m not interested” very easily. I was upfront, honest, dignified. Now, I let the phone ring. I don’t call back. I leave the text unread.
What am I supposed to say? “I really don’t find you attractive and I don’t want to see you again?” This way, they come up with their own excuses. I save their egos.
I suspect this is what men are thinking when they smile and say they had a great time and that they’ll call. And then they don’t…and so now…I don’t.
Here’s a doozy: Couple years ago I had a phone chat with a nice southern gent from an internet dating site. We had a pretty good conversation (or so I thought) and he said he’d call in a few days to set up a date. He didn’t. To be perfectly honest, I forgot about him the moment we hung up. The southern accent doesn’t do much for me and if you haven’t already gathered, I’m partial to Latinos.
Fast forward three years. I’m back on the dating site. Same guy emails me. I email him back because he has a rescue farm for exotic animals and this is my dream. I think, maybe it’s a sign! So I give him my number…again (fool doesn’t even make the connection). This time, he’s smitten.
Come to find out he’s way too old…he lets it slip he’s 52(!), but his profile lists a much younger age, and I can’t get my head around that accent. So when he calls (twice), I don’t answer. When he texts (3 times) I don’t respond.
I am pestered by guilt. I want to pick up the phone and say, “you seem great, but way too old for me and I just don’t think we’re a match.” But the habit is already entrenched and I just avoid…avoid… avoid…until I stop remembering and the guilt dissipates.
FROM MEN I HAVE LEARNED TO BE GROSS
I say gross, un-lady like things, and use words like “fuck” instead of “make love,” and “jizz” instead of “love juice.” This is contrary to my nature and is a nasty, nasty habit.
I HAVE RE-LEARNED HOW TO PEE IN THE COMPANY OF MEN
In fact, I once removed a bloody tampon while I was standing in front of a boyfriend. It wasn’t my fault. He’d walked in on me while I was peeing and scooted me off the toilet despite my protests that I wasn’t done. I don’t like being kicked off the toilet…and anyway, it was what I was going to do next. He treated it like a National Geographic moment: “I’ve never seen anyone do that before,” he said, as though I were an exhibit at the zoo. And then he took a dump in front of me, sound effects and all. This type of behavior is so not sexy.
So today, I take the following vows:
I, Amy Lucas, will be upfront and honest with men. If they call and ask me out on a date I will answer the phone and say, “No thank you, kind sir. You are lovely but I feel we are not a match.”
I, Amy Lucas, will not watch….will not frequently watch…
I, Amy Lucas, will speak like a lady and avoid slang words like twat, jizz, bang, spew and motherfucker.
I, Amy Lucas, will no longer pee in the company of men, and if they insist on coming in while I’m doing my business I will kegel it and will certainly NOT pull out my bloody tampon.
There! I am officially purified of the dirty habits I’ve collected from my men over the years. And the beauty of being me is that when I take a vow, I stick to it…kinda like cum stains on underwear.