It Makes Her Feel Sexy

I have had the unbelievable chance of giving my hopelessly pathetic heart—meaning I truly gave all of myself by baring even my minutest weakness—to two amazingly incredible women. I remember once asking one of them, “What is your favorite part of being a woman?” Taking a few innocent moments to phrase her words carefully, she said, “Being able to feel sexy; knowing every guy in the room is looking at just me.” Then, like she always did, she posed the same question back, “What is your favorite part of being a man?” Taking no time to formulate my reply, I said, “Being able to make you feel sexy; knowing that you know that my blue eyes are on you and you alone.”

That said: men are swine. We, as men, cause useless, immature, and intolerable degrees of pain for our partners. We, being somewhat blind to the mental attraction and emotional understanding of women, cause this pain, based in selfish endeavors, to a level, which is unneeded, unwanted, and majority of the time unjust. Why do we do this?

Of course, women are not the frail angelic creatures conjured up in the mind of an overly romanticized society. However, women do not need to be heartbroken and ill-treated because of our primal need to protect face, when felt threaten. Most men in our culture are told to be confident but are taught only how to be cocky. Why do we do this?

Walking with your chin up, with your back straight, with knowledge in your speech, and with strength in your eyes; that is confidence, not yelling out adolescent lines, which you got from some teen movie that borders on sexual harassment in the real world, from a campus bench with your buddies cheering you on and laughing, when the girl passes by without paying attention. Remember, most women need someone to tell them that they have worth, and those cheesy middle school phrases hold no ground and substance, when the door closes at night and all that both of you have is each other.

From my experiences women possess a deep longing for a gentle touch and a soft whisper, more times than not; it shows that we, as men, consider their bodies and minds as a cherished temple at which we offer up our egos, sacrifice our social stereotypes, shed our so-called rough manly exteriors. These moments of baring it all occur from time to time and they are gone like the sun that fades behind a cloud and that cloud seems to stretch forth out of sight of thy naked eye, yet you yearn for more and more seems to never arrive, but you yearn still.

Each man should let the woman that he holds know of her individual worth and also that he yearns for her more. That should be our primary duty as men at the beginning of everyday.

Do not be a cocky fool with a juvenile mentality; that is, be a confident man with steadfast integrity. Be respectful, honest, and communicative—treat a woman right. Moreover, keep your eyes only on your girl; it makes her feel sexy.


This is my first column for the campus paper (The Parthenon). I’m sitting here looking over it and thinking I could clean it up a little more, but the paper has this copy, so this is the copy being published. My journalism professor has been after me to get one submitted. So here it is. I hope to be allowed to do more in the future.

Ode to ?

Where can I begin in my description of the fresh, heavenly creature that accompanied me to the cinema the other night? I have met a young girl, whose angelic face has phantasmagorically been at the forefront of my thoughts, and that girl has left me verbally speechless and emotionally vulnerable. I find myself in fear of coming off as a cocky fool or a shy coward, which neither I am. Furthermore, I am petrified that she will see through the manly exterior, which I try relentlessly to uphold, into the actual, non-socially accepted me--the one that is not funny nor cool nor hip nor any of those other happening terms of our present day youth culture. She is a West Virginia girl of strong character and immaculate beauty one that I am doubtful of impressing, even to the slightest of degrees. There is a sense about her that radiates elation and compassion, honesty and integrity to all whom crosses her delighted path. I have never been so concerned about how one individual may view my random, unexplanatory actions or my off-the-wall, confusing tangencies, until I encounter this humanly perfection. Since I was raised in the understanding that strength comes after the baring of one’s weaknesses, I am torn beneath my fearfulness and my hopefulness.


If you read the above piece, it is, then, obvious that I met a girl. Well, “met” is the right word in this case, since it is past tense. This girl, here on the Marshall campus, is extremely friendly, tremendously hysterical, and civilly spoken, but nothing transpired between her heart and mine. Do not get me wrong: we talk--when we randomly cross paths; we wave--when we spot the other person in the distance; we eat together--when we are both alone in the cafeteria. However, nothing has happened and I am okay with it: she is happy and I as well.