You know how to touch my hair, pretend like you’re moving it out of the way, but then you grab my head by the base, and pull my hair hard enough for it not to be a misunderstanding. You make it clear, your seexuality and want for me. Lust. It’s clear you’re in control, and in that moment, with my heavy head cradled in your hand, we both know I’m about to give into it. But there’s a catch, ‘cause there’s always a catch. I have to know you mean it. Lust isn’t feigned, it’s not something you read and replicate. It’s raw and makes me thirsty. There’s nothing seexier than a man who can pull my hair and kiss like he means it. Women want to be controlled.
But then you tell me you’re just looking for a little fun. You don’t want anything serious. Friendship. Benefits.
I so don’t think so.
Nothing turns me off more, save for bad breath or weakness. Women want a strong confident man, borderline cokcy, who knows how to take control, throw us down, and mess it all up. Very together women, those of us who have our shite nailed down, we want a man who can throw us down and prove us wrong. And when we wake up, he gets us our fluffy coffee with a smile. Everyone wins, and that is what lasts. Why is it so hard to find?
It’s more than just seex; it’s control. I’m in control all the time, down to my timesheets, vacation schedule, friends, and free time. I do what I want, and I make it happen. And a powerful woman needs a man who’s unafraid. He’ll tell me to go up and change because he doesn’t like what I’m wearing, and if I go up to change (ahem, quite rare) I’ll expect he’ll open all the doors for me. And if I don’t change, I’ll retort, "Don’t like what I’m wearing? Good. You can take it all off when we get home." Then he’ll finger me in the car ride to our event.
He can have plans that don’t involve me. Knock yourself out… have passions, interests, and friends that don’t interest me. But at the end of the day, know how to keep my attention… control me, pull my hair, fight for it, and kiss me like you mean it. Use your hands. I live in New York City. I don’t have closet space; there’s no room for shy. And women know when you’re faking it. We tell our friends the next day. "God, it was the worst. He made the face. You know, the one where he’s trying to be passionate.” I shudder even typing it because it has happened one time too many. Think white man’s overbite, or the one eyebrow raise he has practiced in his mirror.
Want to know the worst part? As a man, you can get all of that right. Everything I just said. Perfect. Yet, if you tell me you’re "having fun," that you aren’t looking for "anything serious," or worse yet, tell me you think "we can be friends…" I won’t just pull my hair from your tight grip. I’ll mean it. And I won’t change my mind when I’m drunk, with your number on my phone. I’ve learned to believe people when they tell me things. It’s a lesson I’ve learned enough times. And no amount of passion is worth sacrificing romance. At the end of the day, I want a guy who can romance me but knows how to pull my hair and handle me.
So for now, I’m on the watch for a man who gets it. Who knows how to handle me, but who is also looking for serious. “Serious passion,” while it might be characteristic of a redhead, only comes with serious intent. I’ve already lived a lifetime of “just having fun.” I have the rest of my life in a serious relationship for fun.