Blog Dis
Knocking on the door of Mrs. Wolf
2025-05-15
Knock, knock, knock... "Good evening, this is Mr. Wolf and I've come to nibble on your fresh, moist loins," he offers, bearing a smile of piercingly white fangs, and a very long tongue. And she, Mrs. Wolf, the unwitting recipient of this gracious offer, secretly wishes that Mr. Wolf would be more like Wily E. Coyote, Super Genius, because then she wouldn't have to state the obvious — Mrs. Wolf wants to be wined and dined before he plunges his body parts into her quivering pudding.
Somethings never change, like the delicate balance between male and female and the mystery as to how both manage to collide with one another in the first place. If women were all like men, there'd be zero preamble to getting together to swap bodily fluids because men, whose smaller brains are in large part in charge of the bigger brain, would simply dive into the thick of things and hope for the best. This is often blamed on a lack of impulse control, and with some a default setting. Whereas women, from observations and conversations with other women, are inclined to sit back and scrutinize Mr. Wolf like an Olympic judge, as to whether or not he's worthy of becoming 'my' Mr. Wolf. This game is game played with skill by some and others are handicapped with blind spots.
I wish I could tell you that there are no longer any rules and that everyone will find their true love and that the world will be covered with pretty smelling roses by the time winter is over and Spring arrives, year after year. This isn't the case, nor shall it ever be, between the sexes. Granted, there are on occasion some young she-wolves who behave like he-wolves and are ready to accept whomever comes knocking on their door. But we know what happens to these she-wolves; they are deemed as too easy by the he-wolves as quickly as the first date ends. Crazy, right? I know! It's like the impure labeling the impure, and the impure wanting to police the behaviour of the impure with their impure actions and thoughts. The horror!
A male friend of mine once admitted the following to me. "If she sleeps with me right away, I know she's a sl*t and if she doesn't sleep with me right away I know she's frigid." 🫡 (We're damned if we do and damned if we don't).
I am but one female in a pack of wolves who doesn't have a magic book that guides each person along their journey in life. I can only relay to you my thoughts and experiences. And my first-hand experiences have told me that the dead bodies of those who've given of themselves freely now line the roadways of the dating world like roadkill. Not all men are unruly womanizers but even they, at least many, will admit to behaving in precisely this fashion when they were at their peak horniness. This is how it goes: not all women are c*ck-teases but many are and not all men are interested in wetting their end but many are and not all women are interested in protecting their patch of grass like it was the last patch of grass in heaven but many do. It's an illogical scenario woven by society, comprehending the incomprehensible predilections of sex-drives.
Men and women are decidedly different.
Often I look upon gay men and women with envy, at least when it comes to hooking up with one another. It seems to me their brains are better geared for relating to their same sex, unlike the hard-wired differences abundantly apparent in men and women. Personally, I have dated friends and dated friends of friends, until I learned my lesson the hard way, that this behaviour invariably destroys friendship. I've dated softball teammates and colleagues (in the past) and I've allowed myself to be fixed up with friends of friends on blind dates. I've tried Internet dating and telephone dating, speed dating in person, and dance-dating, such as the time I bought a ticket to a single's night at the National Art Gallery where we were taught how to dance in the formal 17th century French court baroque style. Regrettably, and rather than make bona-fide connections, I was too focused on not tripping up over my own feet. All to say, I've tried as many forms of dating as there are out there and I like to believe that I've kept an open mind by way of not denying myself the potential of meeting someone new by getting involved in activities I wouldn't ordinarily do, thinking that I'll meet someone who makes my body flicker and my mind tick. Truth be told, alcohol brings as many people together as it tears them apart though I'm not much of an over-drinker.
Ultimately, I came to the conclusion that I am unruly and difficult, fussy and darn near impossible to live with for any length of time. Not all of us are meant to be paired up with someone else for life. Not all of us crave long-term companionship. I'm in the second half of my life, and have been for over a decade, and what I value most is sleep, wholesome food, clean drinking water, and occasionally a glass of fine wine or a gin and tonic, second only to the company of clever friends whose grasp on reality sometimes reflects my own — cynical and witty, who love to travel, to read, listen to music, discuss movies and the like. So, if Mr. Wolf were to come to my door and dazzle me with his wit, then flash his fangs and explain that he absolutely had to eat my p*ssy to save the world, I confess that I'd be inclined to tear off my clothes to expose my underbelly.
But this is fantasy-land. In the real world, I have to play the dating game like everyone else, which means I have to cope with stages of connection. My only hope is that we connect on a level which excites both of us and leaves us each wanting more of the other. I will not hide the fact that I have a brain and ambitions, at least where writing is concerned. I would be foolish not to expect Mr. Wolf at some point in the night, during our date, to ogle my body architecture, as he whispers sweet nothings, at which point I'll smile and confess to him an unknown fact that breasts are in fact quite able to solve mathematical equations, if only to observe his expression.
In the end, are we not all the sum of our parts? Some of us, too, are happy with being more curvaceous than others, and that our bodies are precisely what Mr. Wolf is seeking. Isn't that right Mr. Wolf?
Somethings never change, like the delicate balance between male and female and the mystery as to how both manage to collide with one another in the first place. If women were all like men, there'd be zero preamble to getting together to swap bodily fluids because men, whose smaller brains are in large part in charge of the bigger brain, would simply dive into the thick of things and hope for the best. This is often blamed on a lack of impulse control, and with some a default setting. Whereas women, from observations and conversations with other women, are inclined to sit back and scrutinize Mr. Wolf like an Olympic judge, as to whether or not he's worthy of becoming 'my' Mr. Wolf. This game is game played with skill by some and others are handicapped with blind spots.
I wish I could tell you that there are no longer any rules and that everyone will find their true love and that the world will be covered with pretty smelling roses by the time winter is over and Spring arrives, year after year. This isn't the case, nor shall it ever be, between the sexes. Granted, there are on occasion some young she-wolves who behave like he-wolves and are ready to accept whomever comes knocking on their door. But we know what happens to these she-wolves; they are deemed as too easy by the he-wolves as quickly as the first date ends. Crazy, right? I know! It's like the impure labeling the impure, and the impure wanting to police the behaviour of the impure with their impure actions and thoughts. The horror!
A male friend of mine once admitted the following to me. "If she sleeps with me right away, I know she's a sl*t and if she doesn't sleep with me right away I know she's frigid." 🫡 (We're damned if we do and damned if we don't).
I am but one female in a pack of wolves who doesn't have a magic book that guides each person along their journey in life. I can only relay to you my thoughts and experiences. And my first-hand experiences have told me that the dead bodies of those who've given of themselves freely now line the roadways of the dating world like roadkill. Not all men are unruly womanizers but even they, at least many, will admit to behaving in precisely this fashion when they were at their peak horniness. This is how it goes: not all women are c*ck-teases but many are and not all men are interested in wetting their end but many are and not all women are interested in protecting their patch of grass like it was the last patch of grass in heaven but many do. It's an illogical scenario woven by society, comprehending the incomprehensible predilections of sex-drives.
Men and women are decidedly different.
Often I look upon gay men and women with envy, at least when it comes to hooking up with one another. It seems to me their brains are better geared for relating to their same sex, unlike the hard-wired differences abundantly apparent in men and women. Personally, I have dated friends and dated friends of friends, until I learned my lesson the hard way, that this behaviour invariably destroys friendship. I've dated softball teammates and colleagues (in the past) and I've allowed myself to be fixed up with friends of friends on blind dates. I've tried Internet dating and telephone dating, speed dating in person, and dance-dating, such as the time I bought a ticket to a single's night at the National Art Gallery where we were taught how to dance in the formal 17th century French court baroque style. Regrettably, and rather than make bona-fide connections, I was too focused on not tripping up over my own feet. All to say, I've tried as many forms of dating as there are out there and I like to believe that I've kept an open mind by way of not denying myself the potential of meeting someone new by getting involved in activities I wouldn't ordinarily do, thinking that I'll meet someone who makes my body flicker and my mind tick. Truth be told, alcohol brings as many people together as it tears them apart though I'm not much of an over-drinker.
Ultimately, I came to the conclusion that I am unruly and difficult, fussy and darn near impossible to live with for any length of time. Not all of us are meant to be paired up with someone else for life. Not all of us crave long-term companionship. I'm in the second half of my life, and have been for over a decade, and what I value most is sleep, wholesome food, clean drinking water, and occasionally a glass of fine wine or a gin and tonic, second only to the company of clever friends whose grasp on reality sometimes reflects my own — cynical and witty, who love to travel, to read, listen to music, discuss movies and the like. So, if Mr. Wolf were to come to my door and dazzle me with his wit, then flash his fangs and explain that he absolutely had to eat my p*ssy to save the world, I confess that I'd be inclined to tear off my clothes to expose my underbelly.
But this is fantasy-land. In the real world, I have to play the dating game like everyone else, which means I have to cope with stages of connection. My only hope is that we connect on a level which excites both of us and leaves us each wanting more of the other. I will not hide the fact that I have a brain and ambitions, at least where writing is concerned. I would be foolish not to expect Mr. Wolf at some point in the night, during our date, to ogle my body architecture, as he whispers sweet nothings, at which point I'll smile and confess to him an unknown fact that breasts are in fact quite able to solve mathematical equations, if only to observe his expression.
In the end, are we not all the sum of our parts? Some of us, too, are happy with being more curvaceous than others, and that our bodies are precisely what Mr. Wolf is seeking. Isn't that right Mr. Wolf?
