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.
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