“I don’t want the heavens or the shooting stars. I don’t want gemstones or gold. I had those things and learned you can’t embrace rocks …I want a steady hand. A kind soul. I want to fall asleep, and wake knowing my heart is safe. I want to love, and be loved.” ~ Cindy Golding
I claim no universal truth.
I only know what I know and don’t know what I don’t know. What I do know is what I want, what I don’t want; what I like and what I don’t like.
I know only I can complete myself.
Only I can fulfill myself and make myself happy, but I also know that we are meant to live our lives connected. We are meant to discover someone to share our life with, and now that I’ve grown up (sort of), figured out who I am (at the moment) and can stand in my independence like the Statue of Liberty, I’m ready for you. So, let me proceed with my Man-ifesto–
The little girl in me wants to be protected, loved, cuddled and held. I want to trust you like I did the world as a child. I want loyalty like that of my childhood golden retriever. I want you to make me laugh till I snort, and allow me to cry with the pass of a tissue and the patience of a monk. Tell me when I’m being irrational with a look of sweet criticism and a hug of understanding.
Let’s get this out of the way now, I don’t care what you do. I never have and I never will. Do you love it? Do you love what you do? Does it make you smile, laugh, and stand up straight with purpose? Then, that’s enough for me.
I can take care of myself. I can buy my own dinner, thank you. Don’t bust your balls at a job, so you can pick me up in the slick car you can’t afford because I know when you look over at me in that shiny leather passenger seat, you aren’t thinking you’d like to lay me down, you’re thinking about the next car payment that will turn you upside down.
Don’t worry about how your future children are going to go to college (just enjoy them still swimming in the confines of your testes) because we will weather the collegiate money suck when it’s time. Let’s plan together.
You are a man, but let me break it to your naive 13-year-old heart, you are no Superman. Clark had Lois for a reason. Your Kryptonite is worry. My job is to stop the worry before it starts, before it destroys you. Just hold my hand, pull me close, put on your cape if you want, and be my man.
If we’ve never met and you approach me, just be forewarned, if you tell me what you do, how much your watch costs or how you ate a piece of pizza next to Vince Vaughn the other day, my heart will turn away.
That goes for the “yogi” men as well. If you use your “spiritual knowledge” as bait on your hook of seduction, I will never bite. Reciting the Yoga Sutras, telling me about your Ayurvedic diet, flashing your copy of The Bhagavad Gita or demonstrating your press handstand doesn’t make you an evolved yogi stallion, it makes you a self righteous douche.
I’m not going to swoon just cause you are a dude with a yoga mat, I’m going to swoon because I don’t see anything but passion in your eyes.
The teenager in me wants to jump your bones all the time. I want to make out with you and claw the back of your shirt with my fingers as we sit at lunch, hoping to make it through to your flesh. I want to be kissed like you are Bogart and I am Bergman. I want you to tell me I’m beautiful, but tell me I’m beautiful when I wake up and my hair looks like it’s been beaten by the wind and nested by a canary; I have eye boogers and left over mascara smudged on my cheek and you look at me and say, “Shit, you look like shit, beautiful.”
If you want to give me a wave of nausea instead of a fluttering of butterflies, kiss me like a burglar. You don’t kick in your front door every time you come home, do you? No, you put the key in the lock, turn the handle and open the door.
Kiss me like that.
Slow the entry and make your entrance with grace. You can still ravage me with your sensuality and if you knock softly, I’m gonna let you in.
Oh and while we are on the topic, just grabbing my crotch does not turn me on, it hurts. My clitoris is right here, you see? I have square footage of skin that needs occupancy, aside from my nipples and my vagina.
Touch me, kiss me, grab me.
I’m like creme brulee, I’m a process to make and a delicacy to eat.
You have to fire me up and then crack me open.
Look at me, I’m right here, you know, me the gal who’s vagina your penis is shacking up in. I know you can multitask, so f*ck me in the eyes too. My spirit needs to get wet first, my friend.
Now that we’ve got our sex life squared away, let’s talk about daily life.
Make decisions. I make decisions all day long. I keep a house, run a business, stay at home with the kids or maybe I just work 12 hour days. I have to decide all day, every day so take control, will you?
Make plans with our friends, surprise me with dinner, even if it’s Chipotle, I really don’t care—just act so I can relax. At the end of the day, I want to stop taking care and be taken care of.
I want to be included.
I want to meet your friends and your family. I want to know you, all of you not because I am possessive, but because I am interested. Your past is our present and will be our future. It shaped who you are.
Tell me about your old loves, because if I know you can still smile when you think of them no matter what happened, you believe in the good, not the bad.
Talk to me, tell me what you are thinking, even if you are thinking what it would be like to be Batman.
Your thoughts matter to me. Nothing you do or say is insignificant, stupid or silly.
Be demanding sometimes, don’t just go along with me because you don’t want to piss me off. Tell me you don’t want to see the shitty chick flick, you want to see the alien movie, but then take me to gaze at the stars afterward and make love to me in the dirt.
Debate me, challenge me because when you do, you spoon feed me passion until I’m full on perspective.
Don’t hide from me. Don’t hide your insecurities or your failure because what you think are inadequacies, are your sexy parts. If you don’t like your nose, your pectorals or your thinning hair, then I’m going to love those pieces of you even more until you thicken the love for your thinning hair and thin the follicle of doubt in your brain.
Shower me with gifts of action.
Hug me, write me a note, take me to the lake to watch the sunset, lay with me in the grass. The only flowers I want, are the ones you pick as we sit or stroll in the park—the single daisy by your feet or the hibiscus that grazes your hand. Handing me that daisy tells me that you see natural beauty around you, you appreciate it and honor simplicity. The greatest gift you can give me is love and love is as simple as it gets.
Yoga is great and all, but if soccer, rock climbing or basketball is what brings you a calm mind and uplifted heart, then do it.
You don’t need to come to yoga class with me, we can meet at the base of the mountain when your game is over and my meditation is complete. We can climb together.
I want you to go out with your friends. Please do because I need to go out with mine.
I need my girl time and my alone time. Sometimes I just need you to leave the house so I can poop in peace. Speaking of poop and pee—seat down, please. It’s a simple action and it will guarantee you a blow job. Show me some consideration and I will reciprocate in gratitude.
I’ve never seen a T-shirt or a dirty dish grow arms and legs and walk themselves to the hamper or the dishwasher. Cleaning up after yourself and being neat, shows you care about your environment and your belongings inside and out. If you vacuum your home, you probably vacuum your thoughts, too.
Clarity is sexy.
I promise you two things:
1. The woman I am right now will not be the woman I am tomorrow. I am growing and transforming every day. I become a stronger and wiser woman with each heartbeat.
2. The man you are right now is the man I want, right now. You don’t have to change to make me happy. I’m in charge of myself. If I’m unhappy with you, then I need to look myself straight into my bitchy attitude and get to the root my unhappiness. Continue being you, whether you are growing slower or faster than I am, it doesn’t matter because you are the man I choose.
There is one last thing I want all men to know and that is–be honest.
If you are honest, everything you think, say and do is driven by truth. There is no better car to own than the Bugatti of love. If that’s the car you drive, I want to sit in your passenger seat and hold your hand. When you always tell me the truth, we can drive together, until the end. ~Rebecca