The Male Experience

Look at her face — so beautiful. Look at her thighs, talking to me in devilish tones. How do I prove I’m not just another one? Not like the others?

I’ll take her to dinner. I’ll look her straight in the eyes and tell her I can love her. I’ll put my heart on the table and hope she can digest it — hope it becomes her main course.

She smiles. And in that moment, I commit to that smile. I’ll do everything in my power to keep it alive. I feed her my passion. I tell her my intentions: that I want us to build a better existence than the last place she lived.

Then everything goes silent — nothing but forks and spoons clacking against everyone’s teeth. She looks across the table in fear, right when I thought I’d said something that would bring her joy. I guess she’s been disappointed so many times that commitment now sounds like a prison. She thinks I’m just another man trying to steal her freedom.

But I thought freedom was exactly what I was offering. A chance to build something we could hope for daily and make real every moment.

She smiles again. This one is different. It’s like she noticed I was serious and didn’t want to dim my light.

Is this love? Sparing the truth of our hearts to protect the honesty of the moment? I grin back, letting her see I can connect. And that’s where the lies begin. No words were spoken — but our bodies started speaking a language against our souls.

The subject changes. The bell rings. Time to walk to the next class.

The check lands on the table. We look at each other. She looks at the check, then at me, then back at the check. My wallet leaves my back pocket, covering our bellies and everything left unsaid. She smiles yet again — and this time I see the approval in the wrinkles around her eyes. She knew I wanted more, and she was making me pay for it.

We walk out of the restaurant. “Can we walk this food off?” I ask, hope caught in my throat. She looks me in the face and says it’s getting late. I already know: separate cabs are the next step.

My hand goes out to catch her a taxi — and I realize I started speaking her language the exact moment I stopped being vulnerable and started guessing.

That’s when it hit me. This is the male experience.

The LoveSnobs