He’s not as sex-obsessed as he makes himself out to be in his blog posts. In his mind, he might be making love to his latest female commenter, but in reality he mostly wants to talk about life, love, and make silly jokes with her. OK, maybe with some feeling her up as they talk, just for fun.Â He likes breasts a lot.Â But, truth be told, he is probably more emotional and sentimental, and fearful, about intimacy than most women. He worries that he talks too much. He worries that talking too much is too girl-like.
He finds Sophia hot. He thinks she likes him, too. It’s too bad they drive each other crazy. It is a strange marriage. Sophia is much sexier than he is. Sophia understands make-up sex. He doesn’t understand make-up sex. After an argument, he pouts for days with his arms crossed. His relationship with Sophia is complex. It is frustrating — in many ways.
Twice in his life, before he was married, he had a naked woman who he hardly knew come into his bed uninvited, one drunk, one a roommate’s ex — and both times, despite their advances, he just talked with them. He is more comfortable talking. Or writing.
Is that why none of you see him as dark, mysterious, and dangerous, despite his clear intentions to portray himself as that? He’d like to be thought of as dark, mysterious, and dangerous, the type of man who has passionate trysts in dark alleys, the woman pressed against the wall, her legs tightly wrapped his waist. But he would probably worry too much about the garbage in the alley. Or rats. He likes comfortable beds with nice sheets. Maybe it is a Jewish thing.
Sophia is still asleep in bed. He likes to watch her when she sleeps.
Wendy, one of his favorite blogging-friends, is coming to town this week and they are seeing “Wicked” together — alone, sans spouses. He is excited to meet her, but also a little disappointed. One day, he’d like a blogger to be too afraid of meeting him, thinking him too dark, mysterious, and dangerous. That’s how he feels when he meets YOU.
He likes to use the word f**k on his blog. One day, he will be able to write the word without astericks. Or make love in some exotic locale, like an airplane or the roof of a Manhattan apartment building, or a dark alley, like they do in the movies.
Despite the humor of it all, his talking Penis is important to him. Without his talkng Penis prodding him, tormenting him, he would spend his life just writing and talking. Let me change that. He would have NOTHING to write or talk about. Or he would be so polite and agreeable, you would want to vomit.
This is all off the record, of course. Please go back to thinking him as a Hebrew Don Juan.