I’ve got something pretty shameful to disclose. And this will come as a big shock to all of you.
But let me give it to you straight — far below my smiling exterior, I hate women.
I’m just starting to realize this from my psycho-therapy and from my attendance at 12-step meetings for sex addiction and those little bits of bother I had yay many years ago in Pico-Robertson’s finest Orthodox shuls, perhaps it wasn’t all their fault?
I never saw my hatred so clearly before.
I’ve long known that many wise people found me toxic. I’ve long tried to dismiss their opinion because sitting with it was way too painful. I couldn’t even face the possibility that they were right. No, I just had to dismiss them.
I remember I had this rabbi-friend four years ago who said he’d take me to a sex addiction meeting. I blew him off. I thought his suggestion was ridiculous. Every healthy man’s a sex addict, right? I’m no different than any other red-blooded all-American male. That was my thinking.
But now I see that I really do hate women.
Now don’t be a simpleton. I don’t only hate women. I also adore women. I love women. I respect women. I fear women. I have the full spectrum of emotions towards women. Many of them are even appropriate!
I have female friends going back more than 30 years. For the last 27 years, for instance, I’ve been far closer with the mother of my best mate in high school than I’ve been with any of my friends from that time.
I’ve always had an approximately equal share of male and female friends. I’ve had many romantic relationships with women, some lasting a year or longer. Heck, I’ve seduced more than 40 women!
It’d be hard to get more loving than that, right, without playing in a rock band or the NBA?
So, hatred is not the only emotion I feel towards women, nor even the strongest. I also feel love and respect and affection, but there is a definite strand of unnecessary hatred towards women that perverts my psyche.
When it comes to my fantasies, they’re all eroticized rage. I don’t fantasize about candlelight dinners, marital relations and long walks on the beach. I fantasize about doing the nasty with some bitch who thinks she’s too good for me.
By confessing my loathsome tendencies, I am not saying that all women as individuals should be exempt from hatred. When a person acts hatefully, it is a good thing to hate what they do, and even at times to appropriately hate them as unnecessarily hateful individuals.
So I see nothing wrong with hating individual women, individual men, individual Jews, individual blacks, individual whites, etc so long as these hateful individuals deserve the hatred because of their hateful behavior.
Hating the wicked can be a mitzva!
My problem is that I’ve been living in reaction to some over-controlling mother figures from my earliest years.
My mom was diagnosed with cancer when I was one and over the next three years, I lived with many different families and had many different mommies.
It’s hard to go back in time and to see these things clearly, but I think I often felt squashed by some of these women and in reaction I’ve harbored a hatred for women, particularly haughty ones.
I must have my revenge even if it is just through viewing some degrading pictures of the fairer sex.
My favorite fantasy is that of the controlling bitch getting her just deserts. I particularly love it when I read about female teachers getting busted for sex with their underage students. That these women jeopardized their careers and their families and their reputations for something so self-destructive, well, that’s just hot to me.
I fear that when I read about actresses in Hollywood who regret all the risque stuff they did early in their careers and then forever complained that nobody would take them seriously, well, that’s self-delusion and self-destruction is just hot to me.
Or, it was. I’m finding through hours of psycho-therapy, 12-step meetings and readings on eroticized rage, that I am starting to reprogram my psyche so that the cruel exploitative fantasies that drove me (I haven’t screwed around for 15 years) are slowly starting to weaken.
At times, I even look at women as human beings.
PS. Here are the traits about women that I hate the most.
Number one and most important, I hate that the really hot women won’t let me attain them. I hate that they turn me down for dates. I hate that they don’t return my calls or my emails. I hate that they don’t accept my Facebook friend requests. I hate it that they don’t like me staring at them. I hate it that they object when I try to chase them around the room and paw them. I hate it that they would find it creepy if I looked in their windows. I hate it that I can’t stalk them.
I just want to hang around hot women all the time and smell them and look at them and read their email and see what they wear and how they choose it. I want to go through diaries. I want to go through their closets. I want to check out their lingerie. I want to read their bank statements and their credit card reports. There’s nothing as fascinating and intoxicating to me as a beautiful woman and I hate how much sway they have over me.
I hate the addictive high I get from female beauty. I hate it how easily affected I am by an attractive woman giving me the time of day.
I hate it that hot women drive nice cars. I sometimes sputter down the road in my old bomb and I look out my window and there are all these hot chicks out there, chicks I’ll never get to touch, and they’re smoking hot and they’re driving nice cars and some of them are probably doctors and lawyers and professors, so they’re probably haughty and yet they may never taste the humiliation I swallow every day with my oatmeal from just wanting so badly what I can’t have.
I feel like if I could just get to talk to some of these chicks, I could heal the pain that spears me. If I could just get to talk to them, if it would only be OK for me to look at them for longer than five seconds at a time, if I could only smell their perfume and skin lotion and conditioner for five minutes, if I could only have seven minutes in heaven with them in the closet, if they’d only let me put the tip in, well, then I’d be the happiest guy in the world and all my anger would melt away, praise be to Jesus!
