Vanessa, the Reigning Queen of the strip club I worked at in the 90’s, had figured out the secret to the male/female dynamic.
She insisted that women can simply not get all their needs met from one man.
It takes three. We need one man for sex, one for money and one for love.
In my 20’s, I didn’t *look* for specific qualities in a partner. I once fell in love with a man because of how he looked hailing a cab in the rain.
Now, in middle age, women have a roster of specifications. We want someone tall/smart/kind/successful/funny/sexy/fit/rich/woke.
We’re pushing ourselves right into the”die alone with cats eating our faces” sphere with these provisos.
And yet – why delegitimize my needs? Maybe it’s not about the size of his biceps or the car he drives, but it’s about making my soul sing.
Music Biz Guy is smart and kind and not only knows who Patti Smith is, he LOVES her. We share an appreciation for kitschy films and great books. He talks me down from the ledge when I travel to receive writing awards and can’t leave my hotel room.
He’s for Love. Platonic Love. I’m not attracted to him at all. I’ve tried. Even copious amounts of tequila, which is always a reliable kick starter for my libido, has failed me. No spark, no ignition.
Muscle Man – well, I’m not sure what he’s into. Like most men without body fat, he pursues very little outside of the gym. But he makes me feel safe.
He’s for Sex. Also possibly for High Contrast Photos. His skin is the most sublime dark chocolate. But not for Love – I could not love someone whose brain I didn’t want to lick.
Top Cop is smart and successful and fit. Perfect age for me – mid 50s. He has a summer house on the beach and can order a bottle of wine like nobody’s business. He is for Money. Possibly for Sex. Definitely not for Love.
He doesn’t know Iggy Pop from Iggy Azalea. My sordid past would worry him. He’s always been a Responsible Adult, even in his 20’s. He was having kids and passing out cigars while I was raising hell and passing out in clubs.
Rocker Dude is smokin’ hot. We have amazing physical chemistry. He’s super smart and very creative and basically perfect – except he’s crazy.
When I don’t respond to his texts he sends me 40 more. He’s intense and verbose and the male version of me, only I’m the male version of me, but either way he’s out of his mind and we can’t BOTH be like that.
He’s blowing my phone up right now. Remind me to never stick my dick in crazy, okay?
He’s for Sex. Maybe for Love? Definitely not for Money and most certainly not for Ever.
So many women place the majority of their identity into being the partner to one person. Twist their ankles stuffing their foot into that glass slipper.
I’m not looking to start a family with someone. Why shouldn’t I live at the apex of possibility?
If I could find everything in one man – one person – I would be with that person.
I want a man who will brew me coffee while I write. Let me sit on his lap and act like a little girl, even though my therapist claims that’s unhealthy. A man who will figure out why my kitchen cabinets don’t close and who will rotate my tires and that’s not a metaphor for ANYTHING except automobile maintenance.
I want a man to Pretty Woman the shit out of me. BUY ME THINGS.
Yes, I’m THAT woman.
Take me shopping on Madison Avenue, take me to Hawaii, get me a goddamn maid.
I’m the woman who wants to ride on the back of your motorcycle to a dive bar in Asbury Park. The woman who will tell you to get that neck tattoo, the woman who doesn’t give a shit what you earn or what you drive or where you live as long as you can carry me up a flight of stairs and fling me on the bed.
Yes. I’m THAT woman.
I’m the woman who wants NO responsibilities, to be in charge, to wear The Pants, to never wear pants, to do it all, to sit on the couch and just listen to the house settle and breathe.
I’m the woman who will steal your soul, heal your heart, serve you breakfast in bed, refuse to cook, kneel at your feet, smash plates when I’m angry and give you makeup sex so good you’ll always be looking for a fight.
I want a man who will love my roadmap of scars, my slaughtered dreams, my relentless need, my clenched fist, my hollow disregarded heart.
I want a man who loves me, not DESPITE the fact that I’m insane, uncivilized, emotional, unreasonable and unrealistic, but BECAUSE I am.
I want a man who knows that bliss is hidden at the center of our raw, aching parts.
I want a man who will love even the tarnished clichés of the paragraphs I just wrote.
I will build a collection of men to fill my needs, knowing that they can never be met.
Until then, I’ll slay dragons and kiss princes and dream of the day I can tell the difference between the two.
Have you found your soul mate? Does that exist?
Talk to me. I’m listening.