Man

I have been thinking about this for some time now but I’ve come to the conclusion that I have an inherent need for something.

I need a man.

Not in a gay way you understand, but in a rugged male companion kind of way.

I have been lacking in male company. Sure there are a few of the lads from Uni but they’re young, carefree and untarnished by the rigours of life. What I need is a male figure for bonding, beer, discussions of minor trite and the occasional trip away doing man things. Like frowning, looking gruff and sitting in the sun admiring Mayspheres.

These things are lacking.

Women have it so easy. All they need to do is take up some craft or join the local WI or something then find a local group. Us men…well yeah we could do a sport, but let me tell you something…..not all men like sport. And I fall into that demographic. Besides, groups run by men end up becoming too political or committee led organs that just end up being really annoying. Maybe I’m wrong but in my experience and observation (and I’m pretty good at observation) that is what happens.

Of course being an anathema and not being sporty or owt means that I also find it difficult to discuss things with other men. It’s like sport becomes this fail safe conversational thing and often conversation falls flat.

Him – So yeah did you see the game last night?
stegzy – yes I see it every night, it sits on top of my wardrobe, never played. People don’t seem to want to play Monopoly these days….
Him – Oh…right….is that the time? I must go….I’ve left the outside on……

Ok yeah, there are those that like music, but I find that the males I know who are musicians tend to be a bit too “boisterous” and so I compensate by having more female friends, which itself leads to complications.

Him – So yeah man, I was playing this gig and I ended up with these chicks and they were like all over me and so I shagged them and it was like ace
stegzy – But don’t you find that sort of behaviour is just degrading to women?
Him – Are you gay?
stegzy – No. Honest.

Then there are the nerdy computer geeks who constantly vie for some sort of superiority. Constantly arguing about which operating system is better or how many gigs of RAM they managed to cram into a desktop last week, they’re usually either gay, obsessive or have that strange musty “just wanked” fragrance pervading their CAT5 cable crammed home. Which they share. With their mum. Still. At 40.

Him – So yes I think that Windows 3.1 is far superior to Ubuntu but I managed to put 5 gig back onto my dual partitioned Linux box by removing the kernal and replacing it with one of my own coding.
stegzy – Really? Well….is that the time? I must have left the outside on…….

It really doesn’t get any better. It doesn’t get any easier. As age develops it becomes harder and harder to break into social circles and so there must be bedsits, apartments and houses full of men like me out there. Men like me that have a low idiocy tolerance threshold, a high distrust of sport and it’s homosexual connotations and an urge to just sit in some pub somewhere, talk shite for a couple of hours each week and maybe share some sort of non-sexual male bonding experiences that don’t involve running up and down a field in underpants chasing after a ball.

Men like me, scared of speaking to other men in case they are seen as some sort of weirdo, uncool person or sexual predator. Or worse, some sort of fascist meat head who once involved would do unspeakable things to sisters and other female relatives.

Think I’ll just stay at home.

Who dat man?

Today something happened that made me hate being a man.

Before I begin my tirade, let me stipulate some things:-

  • I am male
  • I am often outside unaccompanied
  • I am tall
  • I am stocky
  • I don’t have children
  • I have an unusual hair style
  • I have never committed rape
  • I have never molested a child

And yet today I was made to feel like I was a male child-molesting rapist. How? Quite simply by walking down my street during school hometime.

Yes I know I’m probably reading things into situations but it is difficult not to. I’m sure many males will agree with me that there has definite shift toward distrust of single childless males, especially in the UK.

This hurts me. The suspicion. The prejudice. The assumption that I have singled out a random stranger’s precious snot ridden children to take to a location, lock up and do unspeakable things to.

Let me illustrate with the incidents (Yes in the plural) that occured today.

I was walking back from my afternoon in the pub. I wasn’t drunk. I can’t drink much these days. 1 pint and I start feeling ill. As I say, walking. Not swaggering or staggering like a wino.  Ahead I observed, walking toward me at varying distances, several mothers walking their children home from the local school.

The first mother had a pram and a young boy of about 6 or 7. The boy was running ahead from the mother as children do. Not vast distances but obviously a learned distance drummed into him by his protective parent. As he saw me approach, he froze and eyed me with the most suspicious look. Kind of the look you might give a man carrying a box marked BOMB. He looked back at his mother who looked at him and then looked at me. At this point I was a little nearer and I smiled a friendly smile at the boy as I was, at the time, remembering fondly how when I was 7, I walked home from school on my own. The look the mother gave me was one of greater suspicion than the child. Like I’d some how asked her if she could nip out and check the length of the nettles while I inspect her purse for fake tenners. A look that said “Don’t you dare smile at my child you dirty single man”

I smiled at her.

She grimaced back.

The second mother was a bit further down the road. Maybe about 200 yards or so. This time she was walking her daughter home. The same thing happened. Child would stop. Eye me with suspicion. Wait the arrival of the parent. Grimace. Carry on walking past me.

By this time I was thinking maybe my fly was down.

If you’re a man you’ll know that gone are the days of checking your fly is zipped up without automatically being labelled some sort of perv by passing people. If you are not a man, the next time you observe a man briefly touching his crotch, he is probably making sure that his fly isn’t down. Or he’s taking his cock out to wave at you.

Anyway, I digress.

The third parent was a grandparent. The children he was with were walking behind him mucking about. As I passed he stopped, turned, checked where his grandchildren were and didn’t continue moving until I was about 20 yards past them.

By this point I was feeling a bit miffed. Why is it automatically assumed that single males walking down the street are somehow going to grab and assault children when their parents are with them? Like you’d wait until the fucking parents were watching Eastenders and creep into the childrens room with some puppies and sweets….wouldn’t you?

Let me make this clear. I have no interest, sexually or otherwise in children what so ever. None.

Why was I being looked at with suspicion? Surely if I stared at them with suspicion I’d get a mouth full of abuse. After all, it is them with the children not me. How do I  know they are the rightful parents or guardians of these snot nosed scruffy brats? I don’t. So I promised myself I would eye the fourth family collective with suspicion and see how they fucking liked it.

As I passed they smiled at me and said hello.

They were definitely up to no good.