How Male Authors Describe Women vs. How Those Women Describe the Same Situation to Their Girl Friends
Male Author:
Her body presented itself coyly, sidling away to create a pulsating space of thick, buzzing anticipation between us. Her breasts swelled with heat and want, calling to me. I reached forward with steadfast hands, massaging her chest deeply- invigorating the firm yet soft mounds which would one day hold life's nectar.
Actual Woman:
"I was PMS'ing so badly and my boobs were killing me. All I wanted was a little space and this mother fucker reaches over and starts twisting my tits like ballon animals."
*
Male Author:
It was meant to be a typical trek on the train. An ordinary voyage to an ordinary job. The train car was busy that day- a steel atom filled to the brim with corporate molecules. I took a seat at the front, where two benches faced each other; an awkward vestibule where strangers are forced to become each others' view. No sooner had I settled in than a fellow weary traveller took her spot opposite me. She appeared plain at first glance- it wasn't until you began to study her that her features began to burst forth, each more beautiful than the last. She situated herself and pulled a book from her bag. The international symbol of not wanting to be bothered. As her eyes flitted from word to word, page to page, they began to water. The waves of her ocean eyes started to swell forth, creating watery tide pools along the coasts of her irises. She glanced up and fluttered her gossamer lashes in my direction as a single tear began the long, painful journey down her cheekbone. I gasped inwardly at the realization that this ethereal stranger had chosen me to share the emotion that the world within her book had enveloped her with.
Actual Woman:
"I had an eyelash stuck in my eye on the train this morning, and it would not stop watering. I looked up and the dude sitting across from me was just staring with this dopey look on his face. It was gross."
*
Male Author:
The coffee was strong that day. Surely a novice barista was still finding his footing among the caffeinated fields. The din of espresso machines and cash registers and patrons discussing their daily ads created an energetic static electricity that bounced from wall to wall. As I sipped my dark brown potion, I noticed two women in the corner; a small reprieve of silence among the chaotic whirlwind of the cafe. Legs crossed towards each other, the two females leaned in close like sleek alabaster magnets. As one whispered into the other's ear, I could almost feel her soft breath rustling through the delicate, silk-spun hairs of her companion. Perhaps a profession of adoration, a tantalizing suggestion, or a declaration of yearning- their whispers would forever lie entangled in a web of secrecy.
Actual Woman:
"Do you have a tampon?"
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