Never Satisfied: Do Men Know What They Want?

by BAISDEN, MICHAEL

  “I’ll be right back,” she told him.

  “Who in the hell was that anyway?” he asked.

  “My son.”

  “Your son! You didn’t tell me you had a son.”

  “She’s got two daughters too!” I yelled from the hallway.

  “I guess she didn’t tell you that either.”

  My mother came storming out of the bedroom and dragged me to my bedroom. But instead of explaining to me in a calm manner about what had just happened, she had the nerve to bawl me out as if I had done something wrong.

  “Who do you think you are busting into my bedroom like some kind of mad man?”

  “How was I supposed to know you would be in there fucking somebody?” I angrily replied.

  Smack! She slapped me across the face and grabbed me by the shirt.

  “I’m the adult in this damn house, you understand. “I pay the rent, I buy the food, and I put the clothes on your back. So don’t you get smart with me!”

  I was so upset I couldn’t even bring myself to cry. I wanted to pop her up side the head, but that was still mom. So, I got myself under control and calmly began packing up my belongings. Things were getting too deep for me around there, and it was time to leave. Meanwhile, my mother was standing with her hands on her hips, as if she thought I was bluffing. Within fifteen minutes I had stuffed as much as possible into my bags. I pulled the car keys out of my pocket and headed for the door. Everyone in the party stopped what they were doing to watch the show.

  “Where in the hell do you think you’re going?” my mother yelled as she followed me downstairs.

  “To my father’s house!” I shouted. “I’m 18 years old and I can live wherever I choose.”

  “You’re not taking my car.”

  “Here,” I said as I flung the keys violently in her direction. “I’ll walk if I have to.”

  “Calm down, Cedric,” Bertha said as she put her hand on my shoulder.

  “Get your hands off me, you don’t even know me.”

  I gave my mother a mean look, grabbed my bags, and walked out the door. When I made it to the corner, I called my father on my cell phone. He must have run every traffic light because he made a half-hour drive in less than twenty minutes. On the way back to his house, my mind flashed back to all the terrible things my mother had done throughout the years. First, I thought about how disrespectfully she treated my father. Then I remembered the cold-blooded way she dogged poor John. Finally, there were the disturbing memories of all the men she used and had been used by. I promised myself that day, never to allow a woman to get close enough to break my heart or take advantage of me the way she did so many men throughout her life. And to this day, I haven’t. So, for all the women reading this story, ask yourself are you creating your own problems by setting the wrong example as mothers. How many women would date the sons they are raising? Just saying.

  The Hood

  The negative influences of what goes on inside the family are often compounded by what goes on outside in the streets, or in the hood. This is the space through which the gullible young boy must travel to get to and from school, the local store, and the concrete basketball courts. Here is where the hardcore lessons of life are administered, how to walk with an attitude, cock a baseball hat to the side, and how to perceive young girls as bitches and hos. These disrespectful classes are taught on the streets each and every day while the irresponsible adults are off somewhere drinking, partying, or screwing. The peer pressure in The Hood gradually becomes the most powerful force in molding the young man’s mind. Many desperate parents have packed up and moved to the suburbs hoping to shield their sons from these negative influences but those efforts are often in vain because bad examples exist everywhere. The educated businessman with a revolving door of women can be just as negative a role model as the pimp on the street corner. All images are potentially dangerous if left unchecked.

  The Idiot Box

  Television, better known as the idiot box, is also a contributing factor in male infidelity. This electronic entertainer, educator, baby sitter, and brainwasher has a great deal of influence over our everyday lives. It tells us what to buy, who’s hot, and bombards us with images of the rich and famous. But it also alters behavior and distorts reality. Consider this, males between the ages of 13-18 watches an average of 36 hours of television a week. That’s a little more than 5 hours per day. And what are they watching, Family Guy, vampire sitcoms, and reality TV shows. And with the addition of cable, they have access to literally hundreds of degrading or dumbed down programming twenty-four hours a day.

  When I was a kid growing up in the 70s, we were lucky to get 7 channels. And that was only if you had a good VHF and UHF antenna. The examples of promiscuity were limited to the secret agents and street pimp characters. James Bond, In Like Flint, The Mack, and Superfly were among the most popular. But today, it is the Rap artist and reality TV stars that have been promoted to the status of role models. Young boys are drawn to these celebrities like hormonal magnets. With all of the butt slapping, titty grabbing, and dissing of women going on, who’s surprised? Even many adult men are glued to the television like zombies. And while some critics may argue that art simply imitates life, I say it also has the ability to define it. Now I don’t mean to sound like some old fart that opposes the freedom of Rap artists and Reality TV show characters to express themselves, but let’s get real. Some of that stuff is downright disgraceful and degrading, don’t even try justifying it! The bottom line is, parents must stand up and take responsibility for properly raising their sons. Otherwise the television, and the streets will do it for them.

  It’s a Family Affair

  I would be remiss if I concluded this chapter without exposing the adult cheating man who also receives support from his family. Despite the fact that his relatives know full well that he’s married or in a committed relationship, they provide the cheater with an alibi to get away from home. In some cases they actually allow him to invite his mistresses over to their homes to engage in sex. The men of the family, who are often cheaters themselves, sympathize with the horny relative and provide him with a warm bed and clean linen to do his dirty deed. As one 40-year-old uncle said, “We men must stick together in our time of need.” I guess he was referring to sexual needs.

  But what was most surprising was how often the women in the family were adding to this problem. As a matter of fact, more men admitted to having used their mother’s, sister’s, and aunt’s home for sex than any other relatives. This is just another example of women working against one another. While wives and girlfriends all over the country are complaining about the no good cheating man, these shameless female relatives are conspiring with their brothers, sons, and nephews to work out weekly sex schedules to carry out their affairs. Close your mouths; you know who you are. Some of you do it because you don’t know how to tell him no. But often it’s simply a case of, “Why not?” After all, you probably don’t like his wife or girlfriend anyway. And who knows he might even return the favor someday, right? This type of mentality plays right into the hands of the cheating man who needs all of the support he can get to remain irresponsible. With an unsuspecting woman at home and a loving relative to “Watch his back,” he can go on like this forever. The surroundings are comfortable, familiar, and most importantly economical. One woman’s reaction concerning this issue was understandably bitter, “If my brother wants to lie up all day screwing his whores, his cheap ass will have to pay for a motel room.”

  Unfortunately, there are far too may relatives who don’t share her values. They will continue to allow the cheating man to use their residences as a whorehouse as often as he wants. What they fail to realize, however, is that by supporting his sex habit, they are preventing the over-grown little boy from developing into a halfway decent man.

  NO MORE MR. NICE GUY

  “Where are all of the good men?” women cry. The answer to that question is simple; you’ve probably already passed them by. And if
you haven’t, you probably will. According to the so called “Nice Guys” whom I’ve interviewed, “A woman wouldn’t know a good man if he bit her on the ass.” Now, before you denounce this statement as just another angry reaction from a few frustrated unattractive losers, take your own survey. Ask your brothers, uncles, male co-workers and friends. See if they concur with this assessment of today’s woman. Are you surprised that ninety percent of them agree? Well, you shouldn’t be, and I’ll tell you why. It is a commonly held belief amongst men that women are not looking for good men but instead are searching for unrealistic images. The ideal man must look a certain way, be a certain height, earn X amount of dollars, perform acrobatic feats in the bedroom, be God-fearing, have a good relationship with his mother, be active in the community, a good role model for kids, be sensitive, and do whatever it takes to make the woman happy. Oh, and one last thing, he must be all those men and still present a challenge because no woman wants a man whom she can boss around. Whew! It’s enough to make your head spin!

  During the taping of my film, Do Women Know What They Want? I asked a woman if she was being unrealistic about expecting all these qualities in one man? Her response was, “If you think you’re worth it, you can have it all.” Really ladies? Is that all it takes is to believe you’re worth it? What about the nice guys who believe they’re worth it? Can they have it all too, if they just believe? Or is it more a matter of adapting to the game? For those of you who are single, you know the dating game is ruthless and all about posturing and playing games. Even if a man approaches you respectfully like a gentleman, he still must possess charisma, confidence, good looks, and be dressed in the right gear! But guess what, the nice guy isn’t always the smoothest one in the bunch. In fact, he’s usually rather clumsy when he approaches you. It’s not because he lacks confidence, it’s just not that easy to approach women in public, especially if she’s with a gang of women blocking his approach. It’s like walking into a den of lionesses. Not only does he have to worry about being rejected by the woman he likes but all the other haters whom she is surrounded by. And don’t let them be drunk and start clowning him, the walk back to his boys, who are always watching, could be the longest walk of his life.

  You see, ladies, when you’re the nice guy you’re under the impression that all you need is a pleasant personality and respectful mannerism to attract a woman. Of course, this is his attitude before he gets dumped for the ump-teenth time, is stood up twice in one week, and witnesses the bad guys having all of the success. Suddenly, he starts to re-evaluate his position. Late at night while lying in bed alone yet again, the nice guy begins to analyze himself. “What am I doing wrong?” he contemplates. “Maybe it’s time to stop playing the fool and learn how to play the game?”

  Bad Boys Usually Get the Girl!

  What experiences could cause a man to permanently or even temporarily vacate his position of nice guy? Oftentimes it’s just a matter of observation. The nice guys have examined the cheating man’s rate of success. Likewise the cheating man has observed the nice guy’s complete and total failure. Vincent, who is 26 years old says, “Amen” to that. He is sick and tired of being dogged out by women who claim to want a good man. As he put it, “Women don’t appreciate good men anymore. They lie to you and play games just to get into your pocket. Once the money is gone, they’re gone!” This is the attitude he adopted six months ago while at the nightclub in Dallas. What began as an evening out with the fellahs turned into an education about women he would never forget.

  Vince’s Story

  It was 10:00 p.m. when I arrived at the club. My feet were killing me from standing all day at work, so I was hoping to find a seat. Luckily, there were still three unoccupied tables in the back, directly across from the ladies room. I rested my jacket on the back of the chair, flagged down the nearest waitress, and ordered a pitcher of beer and Buffalo wings. But if I had known about the show that was going to take place later that night, I would have ordered a box of popcorn instead. At ten thirty my best friend Nate shows up, late as usual. I could tell by the look on his face that he was pumped and ready to party.

  “What’s up Vince!” he shouted. “I hope you’re ready to throw down tonight.”

  “Sit your wild ass down, Nate.” I laughed. “Pour yourself a beer and chill out.”

  “Good idea partner,” he said while lighting up a cigarette. “Let’s work on getting a nice buzz until more victims arrive.”

  Nate was a real dog but he always had great success at pulling women. And he isn’t exceptionally attractive either. As a matter of fact, I’m much better looking. He is 5’8”, a little on the chubby side, and wears glasses. I’m 6’2”, slim, with 20/20 vision. However, picking up women has little to do with looks and more to do with confidence. Nate demonstrated that to me on a number of occasions. I may have been handsome and a gentleman, but he had the most important characteristic of all, charisma.

  By 11:30 p.m., the club had really started to jump. Nate and I, now full of Coronas and Tequila, grabbed the closest women we could find and shot out onto the dance floor. My sore feet had been magically healed with a shot of Patron. The DJ was really mixing it up with some R&B and house music. My dance partner was deep into the music. She took off her jacket and tried to show me up, but she didn’t know who she was dealing with. Meanwhile, Nate and his partner were standing around like two geriatric patients, swinging their hands from side to side. I don’t know what in the hell they were trying to do. It looked like a bad imitation of an old dance called the Spank. After forty-five minutes of bumping, jumping, and sweating, we took a break. I rushed to the men’s room to freshen up and Nate went back to check on our table. The club had begun to fill up and no seat was safe from hostile takeover.

  After wiping off my face and spraying on a fresh coat of cologne, I headed for the bar. The bartender was a tall good-looking woman with full lips. When she asked me what I was having, I wanted to say, “How about those lips, on the rocks.” But instead, I ordered a screwdriver and kept from having my face slapped. While I sat there sipping on my drink, I glanced around the bar searching for good prospects. That’s when Sharon caught my eye. She was sitting on the far end of the bar with two other women, both of whom were attractive. I must have stared at her for at least twenty minutes trying to work up the courage to introduce myself. Women have no idea how uncomfortable it is for a man to approach them, especially when they’re in a group. It’s not as easy as you think. After checking myself in the bar mirror, I took a deep breath and made my move.

  “Hello, my name is Vince, would you like to dance?” Without saying a single word, she grabbed me by the hand and led me onto the floor.

  “I guess that means yes,” I said jokingly.

  The dance floor was packed with people Stepping, some people call it hand dancing or bopping. We shoved our way through and joined in. It wasn’t long before people were stepping all over my sore feet and scuffing up my shoes. The only benefit was getting a full view of Sharon’s anatomy as she turned and dipped. She was about five-seven, with beautiful brown eyes, and a body like a Kim Kardashian. And the outfit she had on was hot, a gold sequin mini dress with matching pumps. What a sight! It took everything I had not to palm her ass while we were dancing.

  Twenty minutes later the DJ slowed things down. I expected Sharon to rush off, but she surprised me by putting her arms around my waist and leaning against my chest. For the next two slow songs she whispered the lyrics in my ear and grind the shit out of me. I tried to keep my dick from getting hard but it was a losing battle. Half way through the first song I was as hard as petrified wood. When the dance was over, I quickly shoved my hand inside my pocket and escorted her off the dance floor.

  “Thank you for the dance,” I said trying not to look too embarrassed.

  “The pleasure was all mine, “she said with a seductive smile.

  “If you have a minute, I’d like to sit down and get better acquainted.”

  “Sure, but let
me go finish my drink and talk with my girlfriends for a second. Where are you sitting?”

  “Directly across from the ladies room,” I said while pointing.

  “Ok, I’ll meet you over there in a little while.”

  “Wait a minute!” I said. “I didn’t get your name.”

  “My name is Sharon, what’s yours?”

  “Vincent.”

  “Ok, Vincent, I’ll see you later.”

  As she turned to walk away, I took another look at her body in that tight dress. Boy was she filling it out. Her ass was so round you could have sat a drink on it and maybe even an ashtray. I jacked up my slacks and walked towards my table feeling like I had hit the jackpot!