Java Beach Café, on the edge of the sand dunes, San Francisco. 8 AM. To my left sits a round table with four men huddled together (football huddle revisited). Age best guess is around 60, maybe older. Hot topic of discussion: women and dating. My ears are huge and they have no idea that I am blogging about them. So far, I’ve heard: “I put 35 down on Match [match.com].” Reality check: 60 minus 35 = 25 years younger. “I had a 19 yr old looking at me, but I told her I could be her father.” Reality check: you could be the father of the 35 year old, too. “She showed up and she really lied about her age. An old ugly dog, that one.” Reality check: peek in any mirror. “Yeah, she was really stacked, and I told her I liked them, right away. Women like that. I’d say she checked in about 50, but you’d never know it” What planet are you on, big guy? Stacked? Speaking of checking in around 50!
Then, after all the braggadocio, somebody is saying. “I want a woman who will really listen, and not cut me off.” Another: “Me, too, I want her to laugh with me” The third: “Oh c’mon guys, let’s be honest. We want young, beautiful, big tits [he did say that!], you know. [He demonstrates desired breast projection. They all nod and chuckle.] But we want her to be there at the end of the day. Nobody age 35 is going to do that, c’mon.” Someone interrupts. “Oh yes they will. They really like old guys like us. Seriously. We’re stable.” Ya think?
Years ago, I taught a weekend retreat for teens around 15 years old. Boys and girls attended together. We asked them what they wanted in a girlfriend/boyfriend. The girls mentioned a few physical things: nice 6-pack (tight stomach muscles), broad shoulders. Never did they mention the size of any other body parts. Mostly, they talked about the relationship, as girls do.
Then, it was the boys turn. The list was long and painfully physical. Big boobs. Pretty face. Nice butt. Long legs. Not afraid of sex. Goes down on me. Snicker. Snicker. Then, my co-facilitator and I would just wait. After all the elbowing, back slapping, and crude comments, some brave young man would inevitably say: “I want a girl who will listen to me”. That opened the floodgates: “I want her to hold my hand.” “I want her to be proud to be with me”. “I want her to be honest”. “I just want her to think I’m special, and be there for me at the end of the day.”
I think the pressure on men to perform is enormous, even at midlife and beyond. To admit vulnerability is so scary. Here at the Java Beach Café, we have the graduate football team, 42 years later, still talking “locker room”, and giving us the physical list. OK. Most men are hardwired for that. The lone voice was there, however, and I heard it … he wants a relationship he can trust.
I want men to know that one of the joys of aging, is that the pressure can finally come off. We women still want that relationship. We don’t want you to perform. We really just want you to be there for us at the end of the day.
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