Worshipping goddesses

 Browsing some chat sites, I came across some men talking about their favorite female pop singers, old guys, it seemed, talking about young women, and being really into them, the songs they sang, the way they emoted lyrics, how they dressed, their "look," talking about worshiping them, referring to them as goddesses without tongue in cheek or cynicism.  They meant it.

I didn't think the discussion was creepy or weird.  I thought it was rather sweet.  It reminded me of when, before I was married, I got that attention from guys even if I wasn't a pop singer, and, believe you me, I liked it.  It was fun.  I loved the attention.  Who wouldn't?

You know, the thing is, men need women in some very deep, profound way.  Maybe it goes back to motherhood and the womb and the awareness, maybe a subconscious awareness, that they were created, owe their existence, to a woman.   Sure, sexual desire is a part of it.  But I think that is superficial.  Nobody worships a sneeze between the knees.  

Well, I don't know.  I've heard that strippers are baffled by the way that if they squat in front of a patron and open their legs so he can see their pussy up close, he will gaze at it as if he were seeing God, eternity, the meaning of life.  I don't get it.  I for sure don't want to look at another woman's hoo-hah.  I don't even want to have to see mine and only do so for necessary purposes. I certainly wouldn't consider it access to the godhead.  Give me a break. And I sure don't want to see some guy's junk, let alone see it up close and personal -- get that thing out of my face!

Doesn't look much like
me but I was flattered.

I think a lot of the hostility of men toward women might actually be a resistance to this attraction.  The necessary escape of the boy from his mother's world into the world of men.  There is nothing worse than a mamma's boy and I think the fear of being one may be behind, at least in part, much of the misogyny a number of men exhibit. They feel compelled to assert their disassociation from the female.

 So are they cases of arrested development, locked in an adolescent mind set?  Could be.  Perhaps neurotic in some way.  I wouldn't be surprised.  Maybe something happened between themselves and their mothers that cut them deeply, that they can't get over.  So they project that experience on to all women.  I've read that something like that is behind the actions of serial killers of women.  

But not, it seems, the actions of incel spree killers.  Their resentment seems to be that they can't get laid. Or at least laid by the hot babes they lust after.  Especially when they see other guys, men who are nothing special as far as they can tell, getting dates with women who don't even notice their existence, or, if they do, just consider them creepers. 

Y'all wanna escape this?
If it's your mom, yeah,
you should. Otherwise...

This fear of female influence on their masculinity may also be what motivates the hostility to women "invading" what are seen to be traditional men's activities.  Again, at least in part. Not entirely. But I have had experience with that.  Ain't no goddesses in that environment, just some pushy broads, as they are perceived.

So men want to embrace women, worship them, adore them, treat them as ethereal goddesses, but at the same time, or alongside that, they want to escape the world of women, fear very much becoming feminized by the power of the female. At least, the power of the female over the male child, the little boy to whom mommy is everything.  If the boy is to become a man, he has to break away from that. And the mother has to understand that and not only allow it but help him do it.  She only has him as her little boy until about the age of seven.  After that, she has to let him slip away from her and, step-by-step, make his way into the world of men, leaving her behind.  That's very hard for both to accept, but that's the way it has to be. As a mother, you want to keep your little baby boy forever.  But you must not. And you also must accept that one day a young woman will take his love and affection, leaving you in the background of his life.

I think in accomplishing this in a natural, emotionally non-traumatic way, a good father who has a good relationship with his wife, the boy's mother, is very important.  The boy learns he can become a man, his own person, and still maintain fond relations with not only his mother but all women.  If he likes his dad and his mom and knows that his dad is considerate of his mother and also sexually attracted to her, that they enjoy having sex with each other, he can become that way, too.  Find his own woman and in turn repeat the role his parents had. 

So then, what's with the goddess worship of young women by men who should know better, especially having lived long enough in this world to know your average dame ain't no goddess?  Ya got me.  Maybe it's just something they enjoy indulging in. A happy fantasy.  Nothing wrong with that.

How about me? Do I want to be the object of male worship, a goddess?  Nah.  It was fun back in the day, but it was just some goofy frivolity, nothing important.  But being a good wife and mother, now that is important.  Really important.  And it takes all I've got to try to achieve it.  

You guys!

 

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PS: If guys like you, gals will not.  I once overheard some women discussing me and one said that I had a "come fuck me face" and the others agreed. It was not meant as a compliment. The only thing I could think of as to why they said that is that I enjoyed bantering with guys and flirting. Shame on me. (I just asked my husband if I had a come fuck me face and he started to laugh.  I take that as a no.)

I was also once sent this Sylvia Plath quote by a female classmate:

 She personifies the word cute. She's svelte and luscious. You notice her short "thumpable" nose, her long lashes, her blue eyes, her long hair, her tiny waist. She is Cinderella and Wendy and Snow White. Her face is cute. She talks cute with white teeth under a bright lipsticked mouth. Her smile is cute, and she is perfectly coordinated.
You are always aware of her insolent breasts which pout at you very cutely from their position as high and close to her shoulders as possible. They are versatile breasts, always clamoring for attention. Perhaps they are angry at her face which does not notice them, but smiled lashily and innocently above them.
They are gay breasts, pushing out delightfully plump curves in her weak-willed sweaters. They are proud breasts, lifting their pointed nipples haughtily under the black, gold-buttoned taffeta or the shiny green satin. She is a breasty girl, and those two centers of emotion and nerve endings are shields, proud standards to lift to life and to the human race.

Not meant as praise.  Women police women far harsher than any priggish man. You just better believe that.