By Clifford. Cliff_switzer@hotmail.com
Date: 27 June 2000
Her Tarzan, Me Jane
"I’d love to go out with you. How about next week sometime?"
"Sounds good," I said, e-mailing my friend back. "I have Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday night off. I can stop by and pick you up. Or if you like, we can meet somewhere…."
And so I waited.
It’s an unknown prediction always when women tell me this. I should have spotted it earlier. Questions that went unanswered in earlier e-mail correspondence. Conversations we supposedly had that I knew nothing about. It’s e-mail, right? What did I know?
"What love poem?" I asked. She’d thanked me for a poem I didn’t send.
"The one you never sent two months ago, jerk," she said. But she didn’t say it that way. Nope. That’s a fact. She answered in a way that not only ignored my foolish question, but let me know I had not been forgiven. Had I had a brain.
"Oh," she wrote, "and by the way. Congratulations on your web page."
I had asked her a month earlier if she could help build a web page. I never heard back, and in a subsequent correspondence learned she been busy with school. I didn’t have a web page. The publication I worked for had one, and I had wanted her to help improve it. She was working on a degree in web design, but her excuse sounded logical, and she seemed like a nice person. Just busy. We’d even been together once, and while we’d had a good time, she seemed distant. She wore the kind of glasses that turn dark in the sun. They turned shades of blue and black in the restaurant where we met, and I’d somehow had gotten the impression she’d enjoy watching people squirm when they’d do anything for a smile. She wanted to go out with me. I waited two months before I asked.
"How about a study break?" I said finally.
"I have a test Thursday," she e-mailed me back. "I’d love to go out with you. How about next week sometime?"
Yep. That’s the way it happened. We never went out, and you might think I am better off for it. But I never seem to have any real dates. Except with aggressive women. Women who find me attractive, and come onto me with the thought of yes and only yes. They are seldom disappointed. Even if I am not attracted to her, it doesn’t matter. She plays Tarzan, and we become an item. It’s not that I like playing Jane. I don’t. I know I’m missing the best part of it. I want to be Tarzan. Unfortunately, when I try to play Tarzan nothing happens. For years I didn’t even date. I reject the Jane mentality. But it doesn’t go away.
Something is wrong. Unfortunately, to find the woman of a dream you have to club her, and I’m always afraid she’ll get hurt. Heck, I’ve even ask the Lord. And I once thought I’d found her. Unfortunately, she was just a kid starting college. She didn’t need me. We fell in love, but unfortunately we missed each other by a few dozen years.
No. There’s no escaping it. The gal needs to swing from a tree.
Some men like it, but many never know what is happening. The women do, of course. One even went out of her way to talk to her boyfriend’s mother. She called her all the time. And even though they’d never met, they hit it off just fine. Sandy was an Army brat. She and Bill met at a dorm party. He was sitting on a chair and she jumped in his lap. She was short and ugly. She had bad teeth, but they had pretty good sex, once he was able to get it up. The last time they were together he was rock hard all day and all night. He begged her to help him orgasm. She did, but he never saw her again.
That’s the thing about Tarzan. She gets her pleasure from weakness. Can’t get it up? No problem. Try playing Tarzan once and see what happens. There are some women who enjoy giving pleasure no matter what, and there are some women who enjoy giving pleasure only if it matches a particular profile.
Am being too harsh? You tell me.
Back to the Heart-on-Sleeve Corner