Audacious & Salacious in Stilettos

I drove up to Myrtle Beach with Apollo to meet Emasculated Man (he coined himself this — and you’ll understand why before the end…). Ultimately, the poor man had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Having finally finished the trek there, I let Apollo out of the car to run around while we waited for Emasculated Man to come outside. He was true to his photos: handsome, tan, white teeth.

Up close, though, his face reminded me a little of Richard Nixon, and his smile was slightly reminiscent of Peter Pettigrew.

After the pleasantries, we took a walk around the neighborhood with Apollo, letting him stretch his legs so I could feel better about imminently leaving him at Emasculated Man’s apartment. For some reason, Emasculated Man kept asking me how I felt with regard to him (perhaps mistaking my car ride exhaustion for discontentment?).

The First Kiss

After the walk, while waiting for the elevator, Emasculated Man leaned in and told me to give him a kiss. I raised my chin and kissed his lips softly, then pulled back.

“Really?” I said with a smirk. “That’s how you wanted the first kiss?”

I believe I unsettled him but certainly made him blush. However, I warned him — I’m a ballbuster. Don’t get too sensitive on me.

Plus, come on now.

Dinner: A Study in Contrast

And so we commenced our quest for dinner. With a failed attempt at Thoroughbreds — not of our standards as foodies — we migrated over to the new restaurant, Abundance.

At this point, we were thoroughly enjoying our conversation and getting to know each other better (and by we, I mean he was getting to know me very well due to a refreshing, albeit jarring, waterboarding of my thoughts, opinions, and stories…).

At Abundance, I took the liberty — after asking for his consent — of ordering a delicious selection of Bone Marrow Escargot and an 18 oz. Cowboy Steak with Mushroom Fricassée for us to split, tacking on Crème Brûlée for dessert as an afterthought.

While watching out for my girlish figure, I was already sensing this was going to be my best dessert of the night.

From that point, Emasculated Man was unable to do anything other than witness Alexandra in her full glory.

The term social butterfly is an understatement for me. When happy, I am the light that shines, basking everyone in my rays, making everyone feel special.

Except, apparently, my date — which I learned on the ride home…

The Awkward Ride Home

In the car, Emasculated Man asserted, half in jest but with a truthful undertone:

“You’re a lot. I’m not used to a woman like you. Not that it’s a bad thing, but I’m unfamiliar with being a wallflower watching you interact with everyone as I’m basically a potted plant in the corner. All I needed was a little sunlight from you to stop me from withering and slowly dying.

But fortunately! we were able to learn all the life stories of all of the waitstaff! Including: the busboy, the server, the server assistant, the hostess, the bartender, the owner, and the other owner who — yay! — cut me off when I was telling you how I saved the bartender’s wife’s life from drowning in a car…”

(Sidenote: She drove Emasculated Man and herself into a pond after a night of festivities in which the car was completely submerged, but he opened his door while the car was still in the air and was able to pull her out.)

“…because he wanted to interject that he was from Baltimore and lived in Charleston before this, also having worked at Halls… You completely lost focus on anything I was saying. And then, when you didn’t turn to acknowledge I made a comment at one point, I felt like a Muslim woman without a right to speak or have an opinion.”

Sidenote:

Wait. So much to unpack there.

It was like — out of nowhere — getting slapped with a fish to the face.

(AND YES, I did this in Alaska to someone once, but it was two sockeye salmon — seal clapped! One of my moments of crowning glory…)

I bit my lip contritely and said, “I had no idea you felt that way…”

“I’ve never met a woman who could be more dominant than me… You’re more like a dude. Thank God I’m secure in my manhood. Any other man would crumble. Most men would crumble… I feel like a castrated man — more gender-neutral leaning toward Caitlyn Jenner after that dinner. You not only dominated the conversation (literally, every interaction we had with anyone who approached our vicinity). I see you’re sweet and genuine, and I recognize that you don’t mean to. But when we met, we seemed like Hall and Oates. And then you turned me into Oates.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, taking a moment to restrain my unfiltered nature.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t realize I needed to play host for you… You’re a strong, confident man. Why didn’t you command my attention?”

Icarus, beware of the sun.

Sidenote:

If he wanted my full attention, he should’ve chosen a table. You don’t sit at the bar to be antisocial; you sit there to be entertained.

Men. Merde!

Was I supposed to ignore everyone but him like a demure “Muslim woman without a right to speak or have an opinion”?

Aftermath

Emasculated Man said he could tell I was really enjoying myself. He claimed he wasn’t mad about it and that I didn’t need to apologize, though he was quite happy to keep bringing up each point of dominance I displayed or fancied lack of consideration I had shown him.

Once back at the condo, we drank a glass of wine on the balcony. Internally laughing at the failed shaming of the shrew, I put on a few of the songs that randomly popped into my head — “Runaway (U & I),” “Fever,” “Feelin’ Good,” and “She’s in Love with a Camera” — in high spirits and dancing to my heart’s content.

Not surprisingly, Castrated Man migrated to the bedroom and put on a collection of rock music from the ’90s, apparently not a huge fan of the playlist from my head.

Then, he facetiously stated:

“You seem like you wouldn’t even need a strap-on. Should I be ready for you to enter me with your ‘enormous metaphorical dick?’”

I internally rolled my eyes but kept my mask of sassy playfulness on my face. I found his jibes drôle and the incessant bitching boring — like a child poking his mother again and again, pouting about how he wanted something she wouldn’t let him have.

I can’t and won’t apologize for the woman I am by nature. I am pleased he recognized that though I come in the guise of a petite, feminine daydream, there’s a siren in my soul that will make most men quail — and the heart of a wolf bitch with no need of a male alpha.

I smirked to myself, rolled my eyes, and breathed:

“Welcome down the Rabbit Hole.”

Epilogue

I need a button for: “Well, that was interesting!”

I don’t even have any words of wisdom for this one other than:

Gentlemen, it’s one thing to make a joke at your expense, but it’s completely another to harass a woman for being more dominant than you are, as if it were an aberration.

If you’re feeling unconfident and less manly, don’t act like the woman constantly pointing at everything making you feel that way — damn well fake it until you make it, Princess, and act like the man you want to be.

I mean, damn. He doesn’t know it, but he really did make me wet — just not in the way he hoped.

But unlike the wolf, my mental salivation engendered by eating him alive dried up instantaneously the moment I realized my prey was a runt of the herd.

Some mistake my tone as arrogance, but in reality, it’s exasperation.

I’m bored. I’m incredibly bored with all of the men I meet, where my initial interest and respect fall like a house of cards with my breath of disappointment.

The only one who caught and maintained my interest is Anatole. However, perhaps that was only because he wasn’t ultimately impressed with me.

I was simply another woman on the conveyor belt — the jester bowing before the king — just like all these men who flock to my court to kiss my ring.

I won’t be satisfied until I find my equal, but I fear that might be against nature. Perhaps there really are always reachers and settlers, but that thought terrifies me.

I won’t find my ultimate happiness in either situation because it would be unbearable to be either too good for him or not good enough.