So I was having a conversation with a woman I work with, one of those conversations that is essentially time-killing fluff.
The subject…who do I think is the prettiest woman at work?
Now I forgot for a moment that I was talking to a woman.
That is a very important consideration when discussing women’s aesthetic and bedroom appeal…with women.
I began by whittling down the candidates.
There were some women who are that bad that they can’t be mentioned without a good dose of caustic laughter.
“How about ______” we joked and laughed our asses off, because there is no way in hell _____ should even be considered a member of the female species. Brrrr.
(Sorry, I will continue to use _____ in the place of real names because frankly I don’t want to have to deal with the embarrassment of walking down the hallways at work and having _____ call me out about my little gift of public humiliation. I’m not that stupid. Close, but not… )
“_____,” I finally decide. “She is the prettiest.”
The woman agrees, and then I up the ante.
“But you know, the hottest girl in the building is _____. She’s really sexy.”
The woman waves me off, as if to halt this train of thought, or cool me down, I’m not sure.
“No, I meant the prettiest,” she scolded.
“Ah…” I reeled. Dejected. I really wanted to talk about the sexy girl. She is much more interesting to talk about for she arouses passion in me. Sexy is much better than pretty…or should be. And there is a difference, if we only listen to our bodies.
There is a common snippet of wisdom that many men are ignorant of and which I think bears repeating.
When it comes to women, never, NEVER, trust a woman to tell you anything accurate as it pertains to dating and sexing them. “Accurate” as in info which will benefit you, as a man.
Women relate as women to women.
How in the world can you expect a woman’s advice in dealing with the female race to be of any help to a man who has inherently different aims and drives?
Women’s appraisal of other women (unless they are lesbians) is purely aesthetic. Pretty. For a woman to judge another woman’s looks is akin to her opining on the woman’s shoes or make-up or outfit or earrings. It means nothing to us men.
Pretty. B.F.D. I say.
Pretty doesn’t do anything for me.
And it shouldn’t do anything for men.
If you’re a man, it’s not “pretty” you want to tap. “Pretty” is not what boys think about in the bathroom when they are stumbling into the sexually precarious zone that is Puberty.
“Pretty” does not breed.
Sexy is different to everyone, but sexy is what makes you want to plant your seed.
Sexy is what make you want to rip her clothes off and throw her on the bed and ravage her body.
Sexy is what makes you want to roar.
Sexy is what gets things flowing.
And this lady at work, _____, I find her incredibly sexy. She is attractive, but nowhere near as “pretty” as _____. The pretty one would have no problem making me spill my seed, heh heh. But it wouldn’t be virulent seed. It wouldn’t have the same reproductive force.
When I think of the sexy girl, I think of her body, her hips, her ass, her curves…pretty? Ah, who cares. The urge transcends beauty.
Unfortunately, I see too many men lapse into the “pretty” mentality. They sound like women when sizing up chicks. Pretty, cute, this is the yardstick they use to measure a woman’s appeal to their vestigial loins.
Such men intellectualize the mating dance.
They use their heads, their aesthetic emotionality. They do not allow themselves to think with the correct head, which for a man, is the Southern one. That is the brain you need to listen to, fellas. The little brain tucked away comfortably in your underwear.
That is your animal brain, that is the brain that will point you in the right direction.
Forget the face, you nut.
A man who blurs the aesthetic with the primal has lost touch with nature.
I had a friend who used to bellow if someone complained about a girl’s face.
“What are you gonna do, fuck her face or her pussy???”
Charming guy, but he was right.
And with the Oscars on (probably as I write this), I thought of a good example which illustrates the sexy vs. pretty conundrum in my own sphere of attractiveness.
There are two female celebrities who strike different chords in me. I imagine they will both be at the Awards show tonight (I know one definitely will be).
First of all, I’m not throwing either one out of bed. Not that it’s a predicament I soon expect to find myself in (barring some strange fantastical dream tonight). No, the intention of this intellectual exercise is to point out the contrasting impacts these women have upon my sexual psyche.
Sandra is certainly an attractive woman, but let’s face it. Her face is slightly flawed. That nose…
But the body. The body. Wow. Sandra elicits something savage in my gut. Something savage that has nothing to do with her face but everything to do with those legs, those hips. She arouses a raw primal drive that Amanda doesn’t.
Amanda has the more attractive face but that’s all that distinguishes her. Perhaps I’m stuck in the time warp that is her Amanda Show days of pipe cleaner legs and skeletal body. Maybe she’s developed more, but I don’t see her as sexy. Any arousal I experience is purely aesthetic (her face) or the superficially intriguing (her youth). And for some guys, this is all they need. I could see where, in utter denial of my primal urges, I might convince myself that Amanda turns me on more. I can’t bring myself to that point.
I need more, man. I need a woman.