Never Satisfied: Do Men Know What They Want? (14 page)

T
hroughout my life, I have dealt with many scandalous women. Some of them were terrible liars, others who just couldn’t keep their legs closed. And although I take full responsibility for my choices, at some point you feel that there are no good choices to make. Women say this all the time about men but they don’t understand that men go through the same thing. At least the decent men do. We get cheated on, our wives and girlfriends get pregnant by other men, and we get sold the fantasy of marriage and kids, the whole nice package. When the reality sets in, you realize it’s just about what they can get from you, and once they get it, they move on. Yes, it happens to men too. We just don’t like to talk about it because it destroys our egos to admit we’ve been hurt. Which is why I had to use an anonymous name for this story, because I’m not different. Men can’t handle being hurt, so we hide it and carry that baggage on to the next woman. Sometimes that one painful experience can stay with us for the rest of our lives.

The baggage I’m carrying came from a woman I met two years ago; I’ll call her Jennifer. We met at a card party my friend Stan was throwing at his place. He was forever trying to play matchmaker. He went out of his way to introduce us. He said we would have a lot in common. And as it turned out, we did. We both loved working out, watching basketball, and playing cards. But what made us most compatible was that neither of us had children. I wasn’t interested in a ready-made family, and she didn’t want to play the stepmother role. “If I’m going to have a house full of kids spending my money and driving me crazy, you better believe they’re going to be mine,” she said. I couldn’t have agreed with her more. I had no desire to deal with baby daddy issues. Anyway, after discussing everything from hobbies to politics, the topics became more personal.

“So Jason, are you seeing anyone special?” she asked.

“To be honest with you, I have friends, but nobody that I’m seeing on a regular basis.”

“I appreciate your honesty. Most men would lie about seeing anybody.”

“I always say, relationships end the way they begin, so I like to begin mine with honesty.”

“So, explain to me how someone as handsome and honest as yourself managed to stay single?”

“Well, at the risk of sounding conceited, I haven’t met a woman who meets my standards.”

“And what might those requirements be?” she asked while smiling flirtatiously.

“She must be attractive, not have any kids, have a sense of humor, and be physically fit. But most importantly, she must love sports.” I laughed.

“Boy, what a coincidence! That woman sounds exactly like me. But hold on just a minute, Stan told me you only date older women. I’m only twenty-seven.

“Hey, there’s an exception to every rule.”

Jennifer was a gorgeous woman with a wonderful sense of humor. Any man would have changed his criteria to get with her. She had beautiful dark brown skin, long jet-black hair, and a body that was right out of a fitness magazine. Even the loose fitting jeans she had on couldn’t disguise her small waist and big thighs. She was everything a man could ever ask for in a woman, and then some. As the conversation continued, I set aside physical attraction and concentrated on her personality and family values. I knew we had only just met, but dating is a process of elimination and I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. I mean, why waste your time getting a phone number and wasting valuable time if you don’t want the same things, right? My facial expression became more serious and so did the subject matter.

“Look Jennifer, before we go on joking around with one another, I’d like to tell you how I feel about relationships.”

“Fire away.”

“First of all, I’m a very busy man with a lot of responsibilities. I don’t have the time or patience for game playing. I need a woman who is interested in building something.”

“Well, I’m ready for a one-on-one relationship myself,” she replied. “But I’m having the same problem you are, finding someone who meets my requirements.”

“Ok, I’ll take the bait, what are your requirements?”

“I want a man who knows where he’s going in life, keeps himself well-groomed, and can hold on to a job for more than six months.”

Although her remark was very funny, I understood exactly where she was coming from. We decided to put our conversation on hold for the time being and enjoy the rest of the evening playing cards and crackin’ jokes. She treated me like I was her man by fixing my plate and feeding me at the table. I felt as if we had known each other for years. Sometimes you meet someone you click with that makes you feel that way.

When the party was over. I gave her a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and we exchanged phone numbers. She promised to call within a couple of days to arrange a date. While driving home, I thought about how nice it was to meet her. I was also wishing we would have the same chemistry the next time we got together. No, I wasn’t being pessimistic. But those second encounters can get tricky. I call it “Second Date Syndrome.” That’s when you notice all the defects, which were either hidden or overlooked the first time. Some of these defects include the woman’s butt appearing flatter or her breasts seeming smaller than you remember. Then there are the facial flaws, or the “Ugly Face,” as I call it. This is when the nighttime beauty queen turns into a daytime tire biter. It’s truly amazing how much women can cover up with make up and a good weave. When the sunlight hits them it’s like a scene out of Dracula. Lastly, you have the most unfortunate change of them all, the personality switch. There is nothing more disappointing than discovering that the woman you felt so cool being around has suddenly lost her pleasant personality. I was hoping this wouldn’t be the case with Jennifer. Well, a man can dream, can’t he?

It was late Sunday night and I hadn’t heard from Jennifer. I figured two days was long enough to wait before calling someone, but she obviously felt differently. By the end of the week I began making excuses for her. “Maybe she lost the number,” I thought. Or “Maybe she was in a car accident.” After ten days of waiting, my compassion turned to aggravation. I began to think she had lied to me about not having a boyfriend, but Stan assured me she was single. That being the case, there was only one other possible explanation; she was playing the old “Telephone Hesitation Game.” This is how it works. The woman either requests or accepts a man’s phone number with the promise of calling soon to arrange a date. She then
intentionally
waits days, if not weeks, to use it. During this time, the number is taken through a process more complex than the U.S. mail.

It is sorted out along with all the other numbers she has collected over the weekend and put in a category. Usually this is done in the presence of her nosy girlfriends to add a little fun to the procedure. One by one each man is judged based on physical attractiveness, personality traits, estimated income, and penis size. After careful deliberation, a verdict is reached. If a man is labeled as too ugly, too boring, too cheap, or too light in the pants his number is thrown into the trash. Most women participate in this practice to one degree or another. And Jennifer was proving to be a part of this infamous sorority. “But why me?” I wondered. “What could I have done to deserve elimination?” At that point, it didn’t really matter. All I wanted was the courtesy of a phone call. Just one lousy call, that’s all!

After twelve days of subjecting myself to this mental cruelty, I copped an attitude. “To hell with her,” I declared. “It’s her loss.” I sat around that entire afternoon and convinced myself it was over. And just when my mind was finally made up, guess who decides to call? That’s right, Ms. Telephone Delay herself. I was hoping she was calling from either a hospital emergency room or a remote village in Africa. No other excuse would be acceptable.

“Hi, Jason, this is Jennifer, how are you doing?”

“Fine, how about yourself?”

“I’m doing great! Sorry I didn’t get an opportunity to get back to you sooner, I’ve been kinda busy.”

“Well, I understand how it is. Everybody has their priorities,” I said sarcastically.

While she went on about how busy her schedule was, I was thinking about how she was all over me at the party like a cheap suit, and now she was talking as if everything was cool. I wanted to curse her out and hang up the phone, but I was too curious about what else she had to say.

“So, are we still going to get together to go out?” she asked.

“What did you have in mind?”

I could hear her take a deep breathe before responding.

“Well, how about taking me out for drinks at Houston’s and then to dinner at Ruth Chris Steak House.”

I almost hit the ceiling. Not only did this woman ask me to take her out for drinks, but she had the audacity to request dinner too. All this after she waited damn near two weeks to call me. “This woman must be crazy.” I said to myself. I had other plans for her. After debating the point back and forth about a half hour, I convinced her to come by for fried catfish and a bottle of white wine. At least that’s what I told her.

When she arrived at 8:30 p.m., I had everything ready, a plate of hamburgers, a bowl of potato chips, and a cheap bottle of wine. She complained at first, but she was too hungry to turn down even that modest meal. Within fifteen minutes, her plate was clean and her glass was empty. I had never seen a woman eat like that before. You would’ve thought it was the last meal on earth. As the alcohol started to take effect, I decided to break out the hard stuff. I had a pitcher of jungle juice left over from a bachelor party earlier that week. For those of you who have never heard of jungle juice, it is a mixture of fruit juices, clear liquors, and grain alcohol. When blended properly, it tastes like fruit punch of Kool-Aid. But don’t let the sweet taste fool you; it will get you seriously fucked up.

I pulled out the tallest glass I could find and filled it to the brim. Without even asking what it was, she drank every drop of it. And the more she drank, the more the real Jennifer came out. Her proper speech became increasing ghetto. Not because of the alcohol either, it was clearly a result of her inability to maintain her front.

“Jason, I cain’t believe you didn’t take me out to dunner,” she slurred. “Nobody turns me down, not with this body.”

By 10:30 p.m., I had lost what little respect I had for her. She was drinking like a fish and stumbling over my furniture. And to add insult to injury, she began taking inventory of my apartment.

“You have a nice place here,” she said while inspecting my original artwork. “I bet you don’t have any problems balancing your check book.”

These remarks only added to my hostility since she still hadn’t made any attempt to get to know me personally. That’s right, men have feelings too. And we want to be appreciated for our hard work, not just our hard dicks. As the night went on, I began to feel more like an animal on a hunt than a man on a date. I was waiting for a moment of weakness to move in for the kill. “One wrong move.” I thought, “and your ass is mine.” But believe it or not, I backed off. My mother did not raise her son to take advantage of women. Besides, who wants to have sex with an alcoholic? Not me! I may have been a little upset but I’m no sex maniac.

I stopped serving her drinks, and put on a pot of coffee. There was no way in the world she was driving home in her condition. I had to sober her up. While the coffee was brewing, I started clearing away the dishes and wiping off the table. She moved out of my way and into the living room. I put on my favorite jazz playlist on my iPod and opened the patio window to allow the cool breeze to flow thorough the apartment. For the next twenty minutes, she lay quietly on the sofa listening to the music. I couldn’t believe she kept her mouth shut for that long. When the coffee was ready, I poured a cup and joined her on the sofa.

“Here drink this,” I said while handing her the hot cup.

“Thank you Jason, you are so sweet.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m so embarrassed by the way I acted. Can you ever forgive me?”

“We’ll see, just finish drinking your coffee so you can drive home.”

The fresh air and the caffeine were definitely doing her some good. She sat up straight and began to speak more clearly. I decided to salvage what was left of this disastrous evening by showing her my vacation pictures and telling a few jokes. She listened attentively, and occasionally smiled to acknowledge my bad humor. And for a brief moment she reminded me of the classy woman I met at the card party. A very brief moment! Shortly after midnight, I began straightening up around the apartment and washing the dinnerware; it was time to say good night. That’s when she made the terrible mistake of sizing me up for “Sugar Daddy Duty.” As I put away the dishes, she came into the kitchen to check my qualifications.

“By the way Jason, how is your credit?”

“Excuse me!”

She walked up behind me, pressed her breasts against my back, and went on.

“I was just curious because I’m trying to buy this new car and I need a co-signer.”

My immediate reaction was to slap myself on the forehead with my soapy hand. I couldn’t believe she had the nerve to form her mouth to say those words. She was clearly out of her damned mind, I was thinking. She had to go.