Darling, I'm down and lonely...

The walking wounded, she surrounds herself with submissive males.

Last night, the three of us laid in her bed.

I on my stomach, left shoulder against the wall, chin leaning sideways on my left forearm, my right hand moving up and down her arm and shoulder.
He is behind her, sitting up, one foot on the bed, one on the floor, thigh pressed against her back, hand roaming her waist and hips.

She lies on her side, facing me, face framed by her arms, dark, dark eyes wide without her glasses.

She hates weakness, possibly more than I do.

The weakness of those around her, the frustrations of disagreeing plans of action, she lashes out with brute force of tongue, biting words.

The weakness in others reminds her of the weakness in herself.

But she dates feminine men, submissive men, beta men. Men that are her playthings, men who do not know the art of home repair, who cannot change a tire, cannot change oil, who drive like women. They are emotional and fragile, they cling and look to her for guidance.

And she becomes strong through their eyes, through the contrast supplied by their weakness.

But then they stumble. It goes too far and some can only take her aggression, playing dress-up, teaching them how to live in the way she thinks they should, how to cut their hair, how to drive, how to carry, how to perform simple actions, for so long.

I watched her lecture one on how to grab paper so as not to afford himself a papercut.

He's inept anyhow.

How long can she do this?

The lack of self-examination, the lack of acknowledgement of what she used to desire and how those things scarred her, how her family scarred her, how her father scarred her, how long will she continue to seek out the lesser men, how long will she play the dominant, strong one in the relationships she creates, hurt and irritated that she can never be weak, can never be soft or feminine.

Because she is always taking care of them.

Of their lives.
Of their emotions.
As much as she can.

Small bouts of raging, her words filling my right ear as I cruise the highways of Southern California. She never has someone taking care of her, not in the way she wishes.

But she cannot, cannot get over that fear of the dominant.
The fear that she might not be as strong as her partner.
As strong as she should be.

And that, one day, she might not be able to fend for herself.
And on that day, maybe, she will realize that her great strength is not as strong as she thought, because comparing yourself to something so weak only breeds self-illusion.