Beast

I love powerful men, their edgy energy, whip-smart intelligence, and endless range of interests, drives, and desires.  But I especially love the ones who let me see the vulnerable, emotional, little- boy-sides they hide from the world. Early on, I learned that unless a man "lets me in," I get bored and walk away. But a man who juxtaposes his masculine prowess with his little boy needs is my favorite aphrodisiac.


It took awhile for me to understand the underlying nature of a powerful man's interest in me until a lover explained that he found my curiousity intoxicating, strong-will comparable to his, and gut-feeling for how and when he needed nurturing very sexy. He was right about my nature and desire for a strong man to see and appreciate it! In the past, I loved a man who was CEO of a multi-million dollar company, UN diplomat, "closer" for the oil industry's large-scale deals, pilot, and secretary of defense for a military branch in his country. And even though these relationships were short or long-term, and eventually ended, I was left with their fond memories.


Recently, I realized that besides my first husband, who was American, my other relationships had been with Europeans I met mostly in my travels abroad, so I was excited when I moved to the northeast and decided to post an online profile in a NYC dating site. I quickly learned, though, that the NYC power type was in an category all his own.


The first man I communicated with was a 52-year-old who owned a brokerage firm in Manhattan.  In our first telephone conversation he asked how many dinners before I slept with him. The second man, a 45-year-old producer, shared sexual history, including his proclivity towards three-ways in his first email. The third, a 40-year-old banker, asked how "long" I liked it.   Shocked and baffled by these men's inappropriateness and disrespect, I was always left speechless.  This was no coincidence. Man after man wanted to shout his sexual needs and demand I express mine, all in the first message.  One time, I asked one of them if there were any prostitutes-for-hire left in the city.


Obviously, these men's rise to the top had cost them dearly, sacrificing their sense of charm, humor and ability to sense the tensions and wonder of seduction's game of sex and love. To compensate for such lack and to mask fears of the opposite sex, they took on bravado tones intended to make me believe they were "the prize" and were dismissive when I didn't respond to their sexual or testing questions, like the 35-year-old broker I had drinks with at the Whiskey Bar on Lexington Ave. He left in a huff after I didn't answer his question about what state Providence was in quickly enough.



I wondered what kind of women accepted these men's behaviors. Maybe, it was the type from the "New York City Housewives" reality show with personalities of lawnmowers and innate sadistic streaks. Or the woman I met in Copenhagen, a 52-year-old, Ivy-league, educated doctor, who ran a prestigious hospital in New York. Any time I had a drinks with her in the hotel bar she bemoaned never being married or having a relationship. When I told it was never too late, she said her degree was not in relationships, so she didn't bother with them. Maybe such a woman would feel desperate enough to allow this NYC type to do with her as he pleased.  Or maybe it was a woman like my sister's co-worker, a lawyer who works alongside her in a prestigious law firm, who confessed that her boyfriend demands she weigh herself on the scale he keeps outside his bedroom door before they become intimate. Obviously, these types of power men were having relationships and were tuned into their environment's dating needs, so whether they were selling themselves on status or wealth, women were biting - but at what cost?


After eight disastrous months of being on the site, I removed my profile, and all I learned was that the male, New York City powerbroker - at least the ones I came in contact with  - was a beast, both in his professional and personal life