Look at my package!

Yes, I mean my package.  The awesome piece of manhood that’s been chilling between my legs since before I was even born.  Look at it, and if you like, tell me it’s great, fantastic, amazing.

So where the fuck did this come from eh?  I was self-analyzing earlier and thinking about how I look at people, especially women.  I’m big on eye contact, I take a measure of somebody’s confidence and a bit of their soul (though admittedly I catch myself looking away when they sustain eye contact sometimes… It’s instinctive, I don’t like it, I’m working on it…)  The eyes only last a moment on most stranger though, and after a quick take of their face, I immediately do was the majority of men (and a fair amount of women) do: go straight to the boobs or the butt.

Ellen understands.

Ellen understands.

I’ve covered this before in that I’m not really particularly a boobs or butt guy, I sort’ve take the whole.. err.. package into consideration.  But what I noticed is that while I am very conscious of being respectful to women, I’m still actively checking them out on a sexual level.  Granted when it’s a stranger passing by, there isn’t much opportunity to look much deeper and I’m certainly a physical / sexual person, but it still made me think about wether or not it was “disrespectful.”

Let’s be clear that I do not cat-call, make any sort of serious / misogynistic comments (nor do I think them…) or even make it obvious that I’m checking anything except their eyes out.  I’m not sure if I’m comfortable labeling myself a “feminist” (because the definition seems to change depending on who you ask…) but I’m sure you’ve gathered by now that I think women are pretty much the best thing ever and are in every way equal (or better…) than men.  But the fact that I’m looking or noticing on a physical/ somewhat sexual level was enough to make me think about it.  Very rarely (if ever) am I actually even considering/envisioning any sort of sex act with them, it’s more like a matter of admiring and moving on.  I suspect a lot of people do it, but I don’t think a lot of them think about it.

I do the same thing to men, but it’s a totally different category.  With them it’s a matter of comparisons.  What do I like about them better than on myself.  Sometimes I get ideas for haircuts, facial hair, or sometimes it helps motivate me to get my ass in the gym.  It’s not a direct competition, but I have to try and make sure I stack up in the crowd right?  It’s all a part of my dissection process.  I do it to everyone, even if I only see them for a few moments.
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I came to the conclusion that what I notice and how is okay as long as it’s not making them uncomfortable and I’m not being overbearing or obnoxious about it.  But then I thought about it further: “If they don’t know I’m doing it, I wonder how many people do it to me…?”  It turns out I was really, really okay with that.  In fact, I wish I knew how often and how I stacked up.  I realize, of course that a lot of it would probably be nasty… but by now you probably know that I can handle that.  So I decided that I hope I’m being checked out.  I’m okay with strangers looking at me sexually and thinking about me in that manner.  Hell, I’m even okay with them fantasizing, it’s flattering and it’s not hurting me.

Now, let’s be clear that this is a touchy subject and I am not encouraging anyone to objectify anyone else.  I might be cool being an object, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay for everyone else.  Part of the point of this writing was to question whether or not I was, in fact, objectifying women with my habit of checking them out sexually.  But I decided that because I already know I don’t see women as objects and I in no way act in a manner that makes them feel objectified, I’m probably safe.  But with that said… look at my package if you want to, I hope you see something that impresses you.  I’ve said before that I’m not huge, but I’m not small either, and even soft, god knows the folks at the gym see something they may or may not want to see when I’m on the crunch ball, incline, or bench pressing.   (Lets not even get into my running shorts…) It can’t be helped really.

Let me clarify further, that this business about what somebody is wearing making somebody do something is garbage.  Sure,

Like photoshop for your brain...

Like photoshop for your brain…

part of the point of this particular blog is the habits and thoughts that come naturally, but the difference between thoughts and actions is also the point.  If you can’t control your actions when you know better, then you’re worse then any animal out there (because they generally don’t.)

So go on, look at it. (No, I’m not posting it here you pervs.)  If you see me on the street and want to think of me in all sorts of sexy, fantastic and crazy ways, I’m cool with that.  Fantasy me is actually your private matter and frankly none of my business.  I’m not saying I won’t have a problem if you try to make it my business, but otherwise get down with your/my bad self inside that sick little head of yours.  But do me a favor and add some really killer abs too (I love my food a bit too much in real life.)

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