What's In A Name?

Thinking about men in general inevitably led her to think of all the men in her life. Too many men; too many boys costumed as men, and men, conversely, costumed as boys.

There were men who were women at heart, and men who prized their testosterone above all else, who would have drunk it at breakfast instead of coffee if it were possible. These were her least favorite ones. Bunk, bulk, and bullshit, was how she thought of them.

The favored men were the softer ones who had intelligence, and sensitivity, who never stepped on her toes because she was female, and they could have. She was kind toward them; listening to their tales, troubles, and dreams. They were the men she smoked grass with, while they talked and played music on the stereo that carried her far away and sometimes into bed with them.

Making love with close friends was taboo. Nothing could wreck a friendship faster than the one eyed mouse visiting the forbidden chamber.

The tumble might be fine, even extravagantly good in fact, but the morning after found them awkward, as though something more should happen now, or more awkwardly, that not only should the night before never have happened, but no other night, afternoon, morning, and all that might lie in between those time slots, should ever happen again.

Paranoia. The horror of expected expectations on the part of one or the other. A realization that this was one the other could never fall in love with "that way". "That way", being, a visit to an altar one day down the line, or at least, an introduction to Mummy Dearest at some point.

Enduring such a visit would have been tantamount to getting dragged home like a slightly disreputable pedigree-free stray mutt that had been found by the roadside, cleaned up a bit and brought to the family fold for feeding.

A loss of friendship that had some merit, because of capitulation to a whim, a twinge in the nether regions, and a hit on the peaceful pipe was a grim thought. She knew this from experience. She should never have slept with Italian Joey. After she slept with him, he was terrified of her, and she never got to wear his cap, which she loved, ever again.

Sex with friendly acquaintances? Oh, by all means! A good way to get nicely tussled, with the distinct possibility of falling in infatuation, or lust, or both. A fine summer diversion or, a nice capper to the holiday season when letdown is likely to bring one down. What better antidote to the blues, than a healthy toss in the hay? So good for the complexion too.

So, she thought of the men that had crossed the threshold, sometimes thinking with a distinctly jaundiced attitude. For example, why did so many men name their penises? And why such inane names? If you're going to tag the thing, do it with style! But no...they'd stand there wagging it coyly at her, saying something like, "look Junior, there's a nice_____ (fill in the blank) for you", or words to that effect. (OR worse. There are no limits to cutesy in the human race. Unfortunately.)

"Junior". And the perfect retort. If this is "Junior", does that make you "Mister Dickhead" then?