The first time I witness the competing for the masculine role was working in an office in London.
When I worked as a Steeplejack in Nottingham swearing was part of the way we communicated.
We had our own argot, specialised idiom, not so much a secrete language certain words meaning a particular thing and a little more sophisticated than just another word for breasts.
Whenever a female, no matter what age or who she was, entered the room we would instinctively stop swearing and sexual innuendo was off the table. The same as if we were at home with our mothers or wives.
Years later I left the industry for the world of construction, specifically construction management working my way up from site manager to construction manager and various supervisory roles in between, finding myself often working with females in an office. The first week I felt strange and uncomfortable in a coed situation not because I had to watch my Ps and Qs and the random release of gas or the fact that a woman, who wouldn't look out of place on the front page of some glossy magazine, was talking to me about concrete slump factors. It was the level of sexual innuendo, objectification, buttock slapping, crotch scratching and foul language all coming from the females it was a shock and they didn't ask about your personal status if they fancied you they went after you full on. What was you going to do file a sexual harassment case? You was barely holding on to you masculinity as you watched the death of our inner-caveman.
Working with other blokes in an office one may comment you are getting a bit fat - lard ass, whilst he scratched his own gut hanging over his belt content in his self-denial, but when a women comments you would be really shagable if you lost that gut ruins the after work pint you usually have with the lads, especially when the said man-jawed female is stood there in the group probing you, soon you start saying I'll have a diet coke is ice fattening?
You find yourself walking past females in the office sucking in your gut behind the new suit you couldn't afford conscious of every female in the office, judging you objectifying and thinking shame on you for letting yourself go only a six pack will do and let's not get onto the subject of the male organ if he isn't packing some girth why bother.
Regardless, if you can breathe through your ears and go fifty shades on her. Sex is like a cage fight where she is making the rules, which are written in invisible ink ready to be rewritten because females reserve the right to change their mind. How unfair is it that women have the audacity to demanding a real man when they themselves have fake tits, fake lashes, fake lips, fake hair, and fake nails.