Providers are Givers; want to change the future.
Man quote: “I want to do everything I can do, so that she can be what I could never be.” (Wow!)
Demanding what we feel we deserve or can justify doesn't work.
Two possible responses to a Demand: Resist or Submit.
Both create resentment and distance.
Men don't already know what we need; they'll give us what they think we need unless we inform them differently.
Tell them, using the “Need” word and specifying what it will “Provide.”
Hmm, she thought, that's two of the Hero Language words. Wonder what the other three are?
Reviewing her notes brought Karen back to what she was avoiding. To keep busy, she formulated another flip chart page.
Men have 3 types of needs:
1. Survival needs; eventually die without.
2. Quality of Life needs; allow them to BE the person/qualities they want to be.
3. Needs they've given up on getting:
• Cost: passion, dedication, generosity, connection, loyalty.
• May eventually go looking for them.
Her notes, sandwich and coffee finished, she resolved to face her fears. Gathering up her things, she kept wondering, What does Mike need that he's given up on getting? As she started her car, it dawned on her, What have I given up on getting?
The answer was immediate: My heart's desires.
JACK was more nervous than he wanted to admit. He didn't have the nickname “Mr. Cool” for nothing. He never panicked — a useful talent dealing with financial markets — and he rarely showed discomfort.
Kimberlee rattled him like no woman he'd ever met. It must be the combination of her body and her being?? Something about her confidence, authenticity or vulnerability? It frustrated him that he couldn't identify the precise word.
Her physical shape was his type, causing a titillating imbalance of delight and desire. Her natural, short-haired beauty fit his sense of order and economy. Except, he reminded himself, those brilliant blue eyes are a wonderful extravagance. And, he thought with a smile, her curves are another.
Unlike other beauties he'd known, her physical attractiveness was upstaged by her mystery. A straightforward woman is more intriguing than any attempt to enthrall, he concluded.
Jack had always been drawn to strong, successful women. But he'd never succeeded at making them happy. Kimberlee's reactions to him lately made him think that might be possible at last.
He found a parking place down the street from her condominium complex. As he found her code and pushed the buzzer to enter, he felt relieved that she lived in a secure building. Why am I protective of her? he asked himself, then noted, That's another first.
Kimberlee opened the door with a sweater on her arm and her purse in hand. He was mildly disappointed because he wanted to see her place; for the obvious reason of finding out if he felt at home there. You're getting ahead of yourself, pal.
He noticed her clothing and smiled. “I was hoping to see you in that dress again,” he said candidly.
Her mouth and eyes smiled with equal honesty, “I thought you might.” She pointed to her sweater, “I wasn't sure if I needed this.”
He took it from her and draped it over his arm. “It depends on if you want to eat inside or outside. Let's take it with us in case.”
When they got to the sidewalk, he was compelled to walk between her and the street and again noticed how protective he felt. Arriving at his BMW sedan, he opened her door, shifted her sweater to the other arm, and guided her in by the small of her back. The momentary touch felt intimate and natural.
Depositing her sweater in the back, he settled in and resisted the urge to check her seat belt. Kimberlee commented lightly, “I wondered if you'd bring your famous Porsche.”
He didn't detect a note of derision. He relaxed and offered, “Most people are more comfortable in this car.”
“I can see why. I like BMWs too,” she answered. “But I'd like a ride in the other someday. Raul has gone on and on about it. And,” she paused, “I like fast.”
He laughed, Delightful. “Do you mean you want to go for a ride? Or drive it?”
She gave the question more thought than it seemed to deserve, finally saying, “It would probably be more polite to ask for a ride. It being such an expensive car and all. But, truthfully, I'd like to do both.”
While her answer intrigued him, he had to focus on getting through Saturday evening traffic. “Raul said you're into fresh food. I have a place in mind. Do you like Italian?”
Her face lit up. “Fresh makes me feel healthy. And French and Italian are my favorites,” she replied.
“Good, then we're all set. Unless you want to eat outside; then I'll have to make a call.”
She pursed her lips in a way that made him suddenly want to touch them. But he had to keep his eyes on the road. After a moment, she answered, “Inside, I think. Is the place you're planning on quiet enough to hear each other?”
He nodded; gratified that he'd chosen an intimate restaurant. “Yes. And I reserved a booth.”
“I love booths,” she responded happily.
Three points, he thought. Fresh, Italian, booth. Hope she likes the ocean.
KIMBERLEE was surprised by how relaxed she felt. Jack's deep-voiced, barrel-chested masculinity, which used to intimidate her, now made her feel safe and protected. She liked that he walked on the street-side and when he lightly touched her back to help her into his car, a tingle had run up her spine. But it wasn't scary; it was nice.
Claudia said bringing out the best in women starts with making them feel safe. What will Jack bring out in me?
She was glad she'd worn the teal dress. His unconcealed pleasure made her feel pretty. And while the dress fit her waist and flowed around the fullness of her hips, the boat necked bodice modestly concealed her breasts. She felt feminine but not sexy. A good compromise for her.
They were sitting almost perpendicular in the half-moon booth facing the ocean. She sighed in contentment. She was glad they were here instead of at a table by the window. Neither across from each other, nor directly beside felt good. Friendly but not too close.
In the past, she would have planned how to control the conversation; to avoid uncomfortable topics and to determine if her date was a real candidate. Having already concluded Jack was too much older for a long-term relationship, she had been simply enjoying his company and the flow of their interaction.
However, she was surprised by the first question he asked after they ordered dinner. “Does anyone call you ‘Kim’? Or is it always Kimberlee?”
“Umm. Uh ….” She had to think about that. “My mother always calls me Kimberlee and insists on no nicknames. And my grandparents usually honor that, except occasionally my grandmother calls me ‘Kimster.’ It's endearing.” She smiled, “I call her ‘Gram-Cracker’ in return.” She paused, considering, “My best friend from childhood calls me Kimmee or plain K.”
She noticed that she'd said “from childhood.” She'd never felt the need to qualify her description of Melissa as her best friend before. Is this distance permanent? But she was too intrigued by Jack's question to follow that train of thought any further. “I have a new friend who calls me Kim and it's fine. I'm not sure about you though. Say it again, please.”
“Kim,” Jack said, then continued in different tones, “Kim Kim. Hi Kim. Yo Kim. Wha'ssup, Kim?”
She laughed, enjoying his playfulness and feeling the name resonate in her chest. Or is it the warmth he adds? she wondered. The nickname felt light and fun and affectionate.
“I like it when you say it,” she responded truthfully. “But I'm curious — why would you want to?”
With his shirtsleeves rolled up, and arms resting on the table, she noticed how thickly muscled his forearms were. Jack replied earnestly, “I'm guessing from what you said about ‘no sissy-girls,’ that your mother wanted to give you a serious handle to throw around in an
intimidating world. And that was probably a good call. Obviously, some names put people at an immediate disadvantage. But you have enough stature as a person that your name doesn't have to work that hard anymore.”
He continued, “I was thinking about who you've become lately …”
Is he starting to blush?
“… and I wanted to call you something that reflected more who you are to me now.”
She felt touched by his sensitivity — and surprised. She responded slowly, “I have grossly misjudged you. I'm sorry.”
He smiled kindly and cocked his head to the side, eyes playful. “Let me guess. You thought I was a lecherous jerk — no, pardon the language, asshole — without a care in the world. A rich man who objectifies and uses women for his own selfish pleasures.”
Now it was her turn to blush. And grimace. “Was it that obvious?”
“Yes, it was.” His bushy eyebrows rose in punctuation.
“But,” he added with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “It was not totally undeserved. After the first time you blew me off, I took some pleasure in baiting you, I admit.”
He smiled and continued, “And, for most of my life, I have been a jerk — an asshole — who objectified women and sought to meet my needs without much concern for them or their feelings.”
Kimberlee was taken aback at this confession. “But, then, what changed?”
Jack's eyes were serious now. “You changed me.”
Kimberlee could only sit back and let it in. Searching his face, she noted the rugged handsomeness of his strong, slightly crooked nose, the cleft chin, the wide mouth. Finally she asked, “How?”
He straightened his silverware and water glass. After several long moments, he looked at her and said, “As you made the poor guy promise, Raul told me about ‘Frog Farming’ and your retirement from what he calls ‘the Castration Club.’”
She nodded, smiling at the term, and glad to hear Raul had provided that explanation for her.
“I can imagine that giving up that female-honored tradition means you discovered the consequences.” He paused for agreement and she nodded again.
“I've had my fair share of being emasculated. Besides the usual ways, as a wealthy man I get treated like a bank account much of the time.” He paused and his eyebrows checked in with her again.
She nodded her understanding, thinking, That must be awful.
“I don't know if you talked about this in your grandmother's class, but there's a result of emasculating men that's the worst thing you can do to a man.” He looked down at the back of his hands, his face suddenly sad.
She sensed he wanted her to ask. Gently, she ventured, “What's that?”
Still looking at his hands, he replied with an edge to his deep voice, “Make him not care.”
“Wow,” came out before she could stop it.
His head still tilted down, he looked up at her from under his dark bushy eyebrows. The intensity of his grey-green eyes startled her. “So that's what changed. You, Kim, made me care again.”
He held her gaze as she gulped.
JACK watched her take in his last statement. His confession. His bare-all. He felt naked and free.
I thought freedom lay in being unattached. Perhaps I was wrong.
Kimberlee's eyes had teared up and she was carefully dabbing them with a tissue. She doesn't have enough make up on to mess it up. He took in her pale skin, glad she hadn't concealed its radiance under some stupid so-called flawless crap. Why do women wear that shit? Men don't care about perfection. We care about real.
He liked the smattering of freckles on her nose. He wondered about the thin faint scars next to her left eye. They alluded to some childhood misadventure and made him smile, thinking what she must have been like as a girl. His quiet admiration was interrupted when Kimberlee looked at him like she was struggling with what to say.
“I'm sorry if I said too much,” he offered.
She shook her head with a small smile; her eyes steady even though her mouth trembled slightly. “I'm finding I enjoy honesty lately. Since Claudia — my grandmother — helped me start telling the truth to myself, I want it from others.”
He was curious, and though he didn't normally pry, she looked like she wanted help.
“Is there anything you want to tell me about that?” he asked gently.
Her eyes looked startled for a moment. Then she looked down and took a deep breath. And another. What could be so nerve-wracking? He wondered. He saw her small shoulders set. What decision has she made? He didn't have long to wait but he could never have predicted what she said next. Nor his reaction.
She gazed at him eyes wide and said, “I've been wondering if you would be my lover.” She added in a rush, “And help me learn how to enjoy sex.”
He was thrown back in his seat and his vision blurred, What the Hell?
At any other point in his life, from any other woman, it would have been a dream offer. Sexual fulfillment without obligation. But not from her. No, not her. He wanted more. He wanted to give more. And he thought she'd finally seen he could provide more.
He felt hurt. Insulted. All his newborn plans blown to bits.
Then his vision cleared and he looked more closely at her. Her beautiful eyes were open, vulnerable, soft, inquiring. Shocked at his reaction but still reaching out for help. This is risky for her, he thought. Not trite.
Then it dawned on him; why she had reacted to his desire so negatively. I used to frighten her, he realized with a sick feeling.
Why would a woman be afraid of a man's desire?
His mind filled with images repulsive, abhorrent, and abominable. And intuitively he knew the truth. He wanted to kill whoever had harmed this precious creature. He was suddenly overcome with compassion for her and a compelling urge to help — in whatever way she would let him.
This is a compliment, he thought. She feels safe enough to explore with me. Amazing. Beautiful. He silently committed, I will show her a new world.
He breathed deeply and slid his hand across the table, palm up. He waited and, after a moment, she put her small, soft girl-hand in his and he held it there with his thumb. He searched her eyes for any hint of manipulation or strategy; his conclusions were validated when he found none.
Gently, he said, “I would be honored, Kim.”
A sparkle came to her eyes as she smiled shyly. Talk about firsts! Who is this miraculous woman?
MIKE wondered why Karen was nervous. She asked, “Will you try it with me?”
“Sure. Why not? What do we do?”
Holding her notes, she said, “First, we acknowledge that we both have valid needs; important needs. In this case, your need for good, home-cooked meals. And my need for less to do at home during my crazy school weeks.”
“Oh, definitely. By the end of the week, you're a walking zombie. You shouldn't have to do anything else,” he responded and saw a look of surprise.
“What?” Mike asked.
She shrugged, “I'm shocked. You've never acknowledged that before.”
He thought about that. She was right. How come I can say that now? Oh. “I couldn't. I was too busy defending my need for unprocessed food.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “What?” he prompted again.
Karen smiled. “Claudia said as much. When a man has to defend his needs, he can't focus on anything else. Like solving the problem for both of us.”
This is getting interesting. “I love solving problems. Especially for you. Do you want me to figure this out?”
She nodded but held up her hand to slow him down. “Yes, I do want you to solve it. But let's try making a deal the way I was taught today.”
“Okay. What's next?”
“We take turns saying, ‘If I had it all my way …’ and describing that scenario ….”
“That sounds like fun, but a bit unrealistic,” Mike interjected.
“It's not supposed to be realistic. It's supposed to help us express our ‘heart's desire.’ T
o insure we make a deal about what matters most.”
He smiled and touched her knee. “Good. That's what I care about — what matters most to you.”
She looked encouraged. “When it's our turn to say our way, we're supposed to add what having it that way would provide.”
“Okay. Do you want to go first or second?”
“Claudia said that the person who is the most upset should go first.”
“Are you upset about this?” he asked, worried.
She looked uncomfortable, “Yeah. It's upset me for a long time.”
Bummer, he thought. How did I miss that? ’Cause I was too busy eating her great food and wondering why she was so tired. What a butthead.
“I'm sorry, Honey,” he said, contrite. “I get so focused on what I need, I sometimes overlook what it takes out of you.”
To his surprise, Karen smiled. “Then you must be a man,” she said cheerfully.
“Huh?”
“Claudia taught us today that men have an ‘immediate’ relationship to their needs. Not getting them met is a real threat.”
Mike replied, “Of course. How else could it be?”
“Women, when they're not in a masculine mode, relate to needs differently. The opposite. For us, we postpone our needs until the last possible moment.” She shook her head. “That's why I've never had a serious conversation about this. I've always invalidated my need for more sleep and rest and put them off until after those crazy weeks were over.”
“What's different now, then?”
“I've learned too much about what going without my needs costs. What it costs me. And you,” she explained. “I don't want to be cranky and tired and nasty and risk emasculating you. I gave that up.”
He was touched. She wanted to resolve this, ultimately, for him. “Let's get to it then. If you had it all your way ….”
He waited while she looked through her notes. “I wrote it down so I wouldn't chicken out,” she said.
He chuckled and patted her leg again, “I don't want you to chicken out. Lay it on me.” He grinned. “Pun intended.”
The Queen’s Code Page 25