I have a bit of a fetish for men who surprise me. And I don’t mean jumping out from behind a door and yelling, “Boo!”
I am a heterosexual cisgender female. I’ve had a LOT of experience with men in my 58 years. I’ve been friends, co-workers, and family with them. I’ve managed their bands, debugged their code, and met them for drinks, dinner, sex, dancing, movies, picnics, and parties. I’ve been sexually harassed, hit, and raped by them. I’ve been loved by them, married to them, and rejected by them.
What I rarely am is surprised by them.
I know that two opposing things can be true at the same time. You can be a burly “manly man” former Marine and cry while watching Disney movies. You can be a cop and support Black Lives Matter. You can be a total jock *and* a complete nerd. We, as humans, are full of contradictions and contrasts. This is not surprising to me.
What surprises me is unique to each man who has done so. There’s no formula to it, other than the delight of discovery at the moment when I do a double-take because suddenly you are not like every other man you are like.
Read that again. It makes sense, I promise.
I’ve likened it to a present. It’s a box with interesting wrapping paper and a pretty bow. You unwrap it, and there’s another box with even more interesting paper and a more intricate bow inside. And so on. All those layers ARE the present. Some presents are just that one box, maybe two. But some just keep going and going and going. Those are the very rare, very pleasant surprises.
And I absolutely live for those.