December 14, 2009
I am very heterosexual. I love women. I am attracted to women of all shapes and sizes, colours and creeds. As I mature, see and experience more, the spectrum of women that I find attractive continues to broaden. Whereas when I was 21 I might have found 30% of women attractive, at this point in my life that figure is probably closer to 70 or 80%. What I’m trying to tell you ladies is that regardless of what you look like, regardless of whether or not you fit some societal standard, Sam Sharpe aka the F’in Man will likely find you attractive.
Furthermore, as a young man, the idea that beauty was only skin deep and the thought that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, were concepts I viewed with more than a dollop of scepticism. I often used to say to my friends “I’ve never wanted to pinch a girl in her personality”. But let me tell you, my views have changed.
In this case, change was named Christine. Much like Simone, who I described in Overzealous Nympho or Pseudo-Stalker?, Christine had the kind of body that I had worshipped as far back as I can remember. Lips warm and thick like molasses? Yessirree. Athletic legs? Affirmative. A booty that would make a grown man cry? My eyes are watering right now. And to cap it off, Christine had what I like to call the perfect imperfection*—a slight gap in between her two front teeth.
*Perfect imperfections are those little “flaws” we all have that add just a little character to our faces or bodies. That could be a birth mark, slightly knocked knees or a mole above your lip. Perfect imperfections are the physical equivalent of Sly Stone’s or Al Green’s singing voice: raw, inimitable, quirky and in their own way just absolutely perfect.
I met Christine at my cousin Lisa’s annual Christmas party (hmmm, I also met Simone through Lisa. Maybe I need to re-evaluate how I meet women?). Christine asked Lisa for my number, called me the next day and because I couldn’t forget how sweet her body was, we made plans for drinks that same evening. Drinks turned into dinner, which in turn transitioned into a nightcap at my place.
A week later, Christine rang me up and asked if she could come over. With memories of kissing those lips still on my mind I said yes. We sat down on my couch and began talking. It was at that moment I noticed it. Her voice. How did I not notice it before? It was annoying. It was an unholy mix of valley girl meets hood rat with a little trailer park thrown in for spice spite. Ignore the voice, just focus on her too sweet body.
The problem? She kept talking. Try as I might to ignore it, the sound of her voice was killing any attraction I had for her – like straight stomping my desire in the school yard folks. Worse still, I started to realize that she neither had anything of consequence to say, nor any real opinions. To slow down the assault on my eardrums I asked her,
‘Christine, is there anything you’re really passionate about?’
Her response (after 0.3 seconds of thinking about it I might add): “I dunno…nothing”. Then she punctuated her uninspiring declaration with a high pitched giggle.
I decided to try again, because at least quizzing her was somewhat entertaining. “What did you dream about doing when you were a kid?”
To her credit she actually took more than 10 seconds to think about that one. But her response was basically more of the same: “I dunno…nothing really. Have kids maybe”, again punctuated with a giggle.
I conceded defeat, thinking that if I transitioned things to the bedroom I’d forget about how vacuous she seemed to be. She kissed me passionately as I began to remove items of her clothing. I stepped back as I removed the turtleneck she was wearing and was startled by her body as she stood naked in my room—it didn’t look like I remembered it. For some reason, her body just didn’t attract me anymore. She didn’t attract me anymore. Christine continued kissing me but I didn’t really kiss back. She didn’t seem to notice that my lips were stationery. Instead her tongue and lips ran across my mouth and face as if trying to lick the last bit of food from a bowl. I was so turned off.
We made our way to the bed and started to do what we came together to do, but I just wasn’t into it. I had no enthusiasm for the job at hand. I could barely look at her. Plus, there was something about her face that disturbed me. Her eyebrows were thick and arched. Almost menacing. Then it struck me. Christine reminded me of The Grinch, as in the book How the Grinch Stole Christmas (and as a child that animated special scared the shit out of me).
While in the middle of the action with Christine, the wisdom and truth behind the axioms beauty is only skin deep and beauty is in the eye of the beholder, finally hit home for me. It was like both of these incredibly cliché adages were now brand new information. No matter how attractive Christine was the intangibles that she brought to the table, or more accurately didn’t bring to the table, combined with the fact that she reminded me of a cartoon character that gave me terrors as a child was just too much to overcome. Through no real fault of her own (it’s not like they sell personality at H&M) Christine just turned me off.
When it was all said and done, I made up some story about having to meet friends or something and got her out of my place as soon as possible. Another week passed before Christine contacted me again. I knew I didn’t want to see her, but I really didn’t want to hurt her feelings so I lied and told her that we couldn’t “hang out” anymore because I started seeing an ex-girlfriend again and wanted to give the relationship a proper try. But it all got me thinking about the nature of attraction and more specifically the nature of my attraction to women. I now fully understand that though I may not be able to pinch or touch a personality, that same personality (or lack thereof) can pinch me.