I'm a Man
1/1
I'm a man. In the morning I shave my beard because it grows an inch overnight. I have a hairy chest that reminds my wife of a rugged lumberjack. I have large feet that reflect my size, and I wear manly clothes. Suits for the work day and jeans for relaxing. Because I'm a man, when I don't have to work, I watch sports. Football, basketball, baseball, they all please me. When I watch my sports, I enjoy a glass of beer that remains bottomless because of my wife, appearing several times at my side to refill it.
My wife is a prize. She has long red hair, full lips, large, firm breasts, a thin waist, and legs to her chin. She pleases me because I am a man. She fulfills my manly needs in and outside of the bedroom. When we make love, it is never for less than an hour, because I am a man, and I get the job done like a man should.
I have two boys, both blue eyed and attached to a constant grin. I remind them constantly what it's like to be a man. I tell them the story of how I won their mother, and how one day, they will do the same with the perfect girl to show off to all their friends. I tell them how a man is always in charge, like how I am to leader of our household. I tell them that men are not pansies who dance, sing, or pick flowers. Men are strong, and they only engage in manly activities such as hunting, watching sports, and bringing home the bacon.
I'm a man. I go to the gym every Saturday to improve my biceps and my pecks. I bench over one hundred and fifty, and I can do past fifty pull-ups. A man has to stay in shape. A man cannot be scrawny or lanky. A man cannot be chubby or fat. A man has visible muscles. I have visible muscles, and by seeing this, people know that I am a real man.
A man associates himself with other men, not sad excuses. Men can relate to the others ruggedness. This is why men earn the right to go out when they want to the bar to have a few drinks and talk about things men should talk about. Wives, sports, work, what ever we feel.
Feelings. One thing a real man such as myself will never understand as much as a woman. Not real men. Maybe pansies, but not real men. We know what a man is supposed to do and we do not stray from the path. Women believe that the heart can steer you in different directions, but real men stay towards being a real man. A strong, rugged man.
"Looks like everyone left." On the habitual outing with my fellow men, Paul and I find ourselves alone as it gets late.
Paul is a real man. He has a man's five o clock shadow, big hands and feet, a hairy chest, and a lovely prize named Charlene.
"Looks that way. I may be ready to leave too, just not ready to go home," I say, setting down my empty pint of beer.
As a man, I drink no less than a pint. Beer is a man's drink.
"Why don't you come by? Charlene and the kids went to see her mother. You know I didn't go, seeing as I can't stand the bitch," Paul says, laughing.
Paul has a hearty laugh. Not a high, pansy laugh, but a real, deep, coarse, man's laugh.
"I don't see why not. I'm not tired, and everyone at the house is asleep by now." Paul grins and stands, leaving a tip for the bartender. I do so as well, then follow him out to his car.
When we arrive at his house, I admire the trophies on the mantel in his living room.
"All from high school," Paul says, following my gaze. "The glory days."
Another mark of a real man. An athlete. No average athlete, but a champion.
"I got some more beer downstairs if you want one," he says. I could always use another beer, so I nod.
I take a seat on the couch and loosen my tie, waiting for him to return. It feels nice to relax after a long day of working to keep a family together.
Paul returns with a can of beer and sets it on coffee table before taking a seat next to me. It's dark in the room, nothing but the moon shining through the window and glimmering off of the golden trophies to keep us company.
Men sometimes have staring contests to see who has more stamina. This is what Paul and I did for the time being.
I could see the moon in his eyes; for the first time I realized they were blue.
Some things are a blur to a man.
When the staring contest turns into the touching of his lips to mine.
When no one pulls away.
When hands begin to travel bodies.
When clothes are stripped and cast to the floor.
When making love with a real man feels like the first time being alive.
When driven home in silence, walking inside and crawling into bed with my wife.
I wake up the next day and shave, put on my manly clothes and see Paul at work. I wave and smile, because to the manly mind, the night before is thrown away into the rear of the brain.
I am in charge of my household, and I work to bring home the bacon. I love my wife's breasts and I teach my sons how to live. My beard grows an inch over night, and I go to the gym to perfect my manly body. I watch sports and drink my bottomless beer, refilled by my wife.
I am a man.
My wife is a prize. She has long red hair, full lips, large, firm breasts, a thin waist, and legs to her chin. She pleases me because I am a man. She fulfills my manly needs in and outside of the bedroom. When we make love, it is never for less than an hour, because I am a man, and I get the job done like a man should.
I have two boys, both blue eyed and attached to a constant grin. I remind them constantly what it's like to be a man. I tell them the story of how I won their mother, and how one day, they will do the same with the perfect girl to show off to all their friends. I tell them how a man is always in charge, like how I am to leader of our household. I tell them that men are not pansies who dance, sing, or pick flowers. Men are strong, and they only engage in manly activities such as hunting, watching sports, and bringing home the bacon.
I'm a man. I go to the gym every Saturday to improve my biceps and my pecks. I bench over one hundred and fifty, and I can do past fifty pull-ups. A man has to stay in shape. A man cannot be scrawny or lanky. A man cannot be chubby or fat. A man has visible muscles. I have visible muscles, and by seeing this, people know that I am a real man.
A man associates himself with other men, not sad excuses. Men can relate to the others ruggedness. This is why men earn the right to go out when they want to the bar to have a few drinks and talk about things men should talk about. Wives, sports, work, what ever we feel.
Feelings. One thing a real man such as myself will never understand as much as a woman. Not real men. Maybe pansies, but not real men. We know what a man is supposed to do and we do not stray from the path. Women believe that the heart can steer you in different directions, but real men stay towards being a real man. A strong, rugged man.
"Looks like everyone left." On the habitual outing with my fellow men, Paul and I find ourselves alone as it gets late.
Paul is a real man. He has a man's five o clock shadow, big hands and feet, a hairy chest, and a lovely prize named Charlene.
"Looks that way. I may be ready to leave too, just not ready to go home," I say, setting down my empty pint of beer.
As a man, I drink no less than a pint. Beer is a man's drink.
"Why don't you come by? Charlene and the kids went to see her mother. You know I didn't go, seeing as I can't stand the bitch," Paul says, laughing.
Paul has a hearty laugh. Not a high, pansy laugh, but a real, deep, coarse, man's laugh.
"I don't see why not. I'm not tired, and everyone at the house is asleep by now." Paul grins and stands, leaving a tip for the bartender. I do so as well, then follow him out to his car.
When we arrive at his house, I admire the trophies on the mantel in his living room.
"All from high school," Paul says, following my gaze. "The glory days."
Another mark of a real man. An athlete. No average athlete, but a champion.
"I got some more beer downstairs if you want one," he says. I could always use another beer, so I nod.
I take a seat on the couch and loosen my tie, waiting for him to return. It feels nice to relax after a long day of working to keep a family together.
Paul returns with a can of beer and sets it on coffee table before taking a seat next to me. It's dark in the room, nothing but the moon shining through the window and glimmering off of the golden trophies to keep us company.
Men sometimes have staring contests to see who has more stamina. This is what Paul and I did for the time being.
I could see the moon in his eyes; for the first time I realized they were blue.
Some things are a blur to a man.
When the staring contest turns into the touching of his lips to mine.
When no one pulls away.
When hands begin to travel bodies.
When clothes are stripped and cast to the floor.
When making love with a real man feels like the first time being alive.
When driven home in silence, walking inside and crawling into bed with my wife.
I wake up the next day and shave, put on my manly clothes and see Paul at work. I wave and smile, because to the manly mind, the night before is thrown away into the rear of the brain.
I am in charge of my household, and I work to bring home the bacon. I love my wife's breasts and I teach my sons how to live. My beard grows an inch over night, and I go to the gym to perfect my manly body. I watch sports and drink my bottomless beer, refilled by my wife.
I am a man.