A Woman Needs A Man’s Masculinity/ Random Rant

But you don’t understand these things that my soul longs for and needs on the inside. I could pull a million creative ideas out of my head, but I could never pull this sorrow from my heart…

I could write a million poems and novels that tell you of my heart, that tell you of my frustrations and my pain, but it will never cure me…

If you listen to those MRA types they’ll tell you that us women don’t want love and affection, yet we do.

I know what I need within my heart, to depend on a man to care of me. It doesn’t make me some gold-digger. It’s all in the motives. It’s only when I stop relying on him and stopping wanting him to provide for me that he should know something is wrong.

When I want and insist on doing for myself then he should know something is wrong.

When we walk down the street, and I don’t feel the need to hold onto him the way I used to; when my hands stay in my pockets instead of clutching onto his arm, then I’m not bonded to him anymore; I don’t need or want or even feel him anymore.

Providing for a woman doesn’t make a man weak, instead it is just the opposite. For years and years I looked up to my own husband, like he was everything. I never made my own money, I never cared for any life at all outside of my family. The fact that he provided for me meant that I needed him, and also that he held a power over me, which is something I always needed and wanted to feel. Do him wrong? “Divorce Rape?” I’ve never been powerful enough to do that even if I wanted to. And how could I take the kids if I’m depending on him just the same as they are???

I was very tame in my memoir, mostly because those in it are still alive. But I know my mother looked at me like I had some mental disorder because I don’t have some career, my grandmother’s always like “YOU DON’T NEED A MAN LIKE OMG! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”. My stepdad thinks the worst thing a man could do is to try and control a woman and thinks women should be INDEPENDENT and how dare them think a man should take care of them or support them (like, why would I want to support you, bitch?), yet he ends up with gold diggers bitches whores lovely feminine women like my own mother and his ex-wife who would screw him over with divorce rape and child support in a heartbeat, when traditionalist women don’t do those things, mostly because we CAN’T and we don’t believe in those kinds of things anyway. We’re the ones who believe in things like patriarchy and father custody (which is a part of patriarchy, a huge part of it) because we believe our men should be providing for our needs and taking care of us, because we don’t want to be independent women who do for ourselves and fight on the frontlines alongside the men. We want to be taken care of. We’re softer and less take-charge, though I’ve said it a million times, we are NOT DOORMATS.

But I say this- Direct that power in a way that protects me, that honors me, that cherishes me for now and always.

No, I don’t like it if he’s weak. It seems to do something to me inside- it seems to hurt my heart, because a weak man can’t give to a woman what she needs. Not that he can’t be weak at times. I’ve cared for him when he’s been injured, when he’s been down, the same as he has for me. A man can’t go around pretending there’s times when he’s not vulnerable, because that’s not reality, and we can connect the deepest sometimes when we are at our most vulnerable, because you trust that other person with all your heart and soul, with everything that you have and everything that you are.

You know, when I first heard a few years back that only like 20% of women actually orgasm through intercourse alone I thought it was a JOKE, but apparently it’s not. I was like, “Huh? I didn’t know there was any other way..?”

I guess I could tell the world that I could never have it any other way except for the way it’s meant to be naturally (Vibrators? What the hell are those, anyway?), and I can do that because I feel something inside, something feminine. While some women can’t get off once, I’m capable of it multiple times. Oops, yeah, you read that right. Us traditionalist girls do have a naughty side to us, too.

I think part of that is because as a woman I feel something so much more deeper sexually, with that capability to carry life inside of me (even if I don’t want to have more kids, just knowing I have that ability as a female) and to be able to take a man inside of me, gives sex a much more deeper meaning. It’s hard to explain, and I do honestly believe that I can feel and experience much more sexually than what a man ever could, that that is one way in which I, as a female, am superior in some way, but he’s superior in other ways and I love to admire that superiority, just the way that I’m sure that any masculine man who loves women admires those sexual parts of being female in which we are superior, like the ability to bring life into the world- something that men can’t do.

I want a man to be masculine, to be stronger, superior, etc… because something inside of me needs to depend upon him. I feel unhappy and a bit displaced otherwise, like nothing in life suddenly makes sense anymore. It’s kind of depressing, like I could look at him and say, “What’s wrong with you?? Don’t you get it?? Hello???” No, I don’t want you to treat me wrong or do me wrong, but I need you to grab me and tell me what I should be doing, or tell me that everything’s alright, because it’s not. It’s not alright.

Masculinity shouldn’t equate to being a huge jerk who has no honor. As I said, needing to feel a man’s masculinity as a woman means I need to depend on him, and you can’t depend on a huge jerk who you can’t trust who goes around playing women to get them in bed. No woman wants that, not truly. It’s not what she feels deep within her heart.

It’s when I’m trying to do for myself, that he’ll know I’m trying to distance myself from him, but I don’t want it that way. The masculine and the feminine are meant to go together, as one. We were made for each other and the feminists, masculinists MHRM, MRM, MRAs, MGTOWS, and on and on and INSERT RANDOM NAME HERE FOR THE NEXT GROUP OF LOSERS WHO PROBABLY NEVER GET LAID WHO CLAIM TO WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH MODERN WESTERN WOMEN  can’t change the fact that men and women still need each other and actually WANT to be with each other.

Stillwater (New Novel)

“No balanced person writes a novel. You sit down at the desk, shackle your mind to the project, wade into an imaginary swamp with made-up people. For days. Weeks. Sometimes even years. That’s ******* batty.” (source)

In that spirit, allow me to present…


A passionate and romantic mid-century bodice-ripper style historical romance drama, Stillwater is the story of Jessica Delany, who, after finding herself orphaned and alone at the mere age of fourteen, flees her hometown of Mississippi, heading for the hills and mountains of Arkansas, where she works and makes it on her own, accepting the marriage proposal of Joseph Kingsman, whom she loves dearly. But when an unfortunate accident several months later leaves her pregnant and alone, she accepts the marriage proposal of local farmer’s son Tommy Hartshorne, only to find herself trapped in a loveless and passionless marriage, beginning an affair with her ex brother-in-law that culminates in death and betrayal after a judge denies her petition for divorce.

Available Now On Amazon


I Want You Here

…And the other night I dreamed that I lay beside him on the embankment, and we talked and laughed…

He may never let you back around again, but I still want you here
I tried to run away from you, I tried to flee, but it was no use
I’ll never be free of you
Come for me and make me yours, and I’ll give to you the most precious thing I have to give
I’ve hid nothing from this world
I wrote my poems for you, I wrote my novel for you
And to anyone who asks, I’d gladly tell them that I love you more than life itself, because I do
My heart will always war with the love I feel for two men, but I’d let none other touch me, because I’d want to come pure to you
I’m a bit older and wiser now, but these hips are still full, this waist still tiny,  and these breasts are still lush
I’ve fought you for so long now, but I can fight no more
I gave up, I gave in, and I told you how I still loved you
I’ve cried in pain without you here, and there’s nothing anyone can ever do to stop that
If I belonged to you, how much I could love you
I loved you as my family, and I loved you as a man
I thought it was all over, but I’m still falling deeper every day
I don’t want you to be gone anymore, I want you to stay
Because I want you here

“I looked at him then. He looked so good. I loved everything about him. I felt heat course through my body as I sat there with him, talking to him and quietly observing him. I began to get flushed. I felt so much inside how I longed to take all of him in, to receive him for who he was and who he might ever be- to accept and love him… Yes, I thought. Once the leaves fall from the trees, if he can prove himself real to me, then I shall give myself to him.” (Hunter, B.A., Memoirs of a Traditional Woman’s Rights Activist, 2016)

Needing/Wanting a Man

If there’s one thing that really irritates me, it would be people thinking I should “get out of the house” more. It irritates me because 1) I actually DO get out of the house quite frequently and 2) what’s so wrong with being home anyway? I’ve never really bonded much with other women. I don’t really do well having female friends nor do I care to, say, bond with the mother-in-law or anything. I’m kind of a loner and it doesn’t really bother me. I actually prefer it that way.

I was in deep thought about some things the other day. I have often contemplated this life and wondered what the purpose of it all was. I mean, we’re all going to die one day, right? What’s the point? It occurred to me that it must be love that is the point. That’s why when someone we love dies or leaves us even the most basic of human necessities such as eating and sleeping cease to matter. That’s why people would give up everything they have, sacrifice themselves, make complete fools of themselves or go to the ends of the world in the name of something called “love,” because without it, life doesn’t seem much like living anymore. Without that love there is no happiness, no sadness, no good, no bad, no…nothing. It’s like nothing even matters anymore.

I walked into my grandmother’s house earlier this week. Though I love my grandmother, it just wasn’t the same without my grandfather there. There was a warmth and presence that he brought to the house that cannot be replaced. The house is a real nice house with all the physical possessions one could ever want, but it still felt lonely and empty. None of us got a single penny out of his death (except my dad, who insisted before grandpa was even put in the ground on grabbing up all my grandpa’s old tools for himself and insisting he’d probably end up with his truck too), but that didn’t matter because material possessions are just replaceable objects- nothing more. It also occurred to me that, no matter how much we are supposed to be able to bond with the same sex and spend most of our time with members of our own sex, there is simply a deeper bond, both in sexual and non-sexual relationships, with members of the opposite sex that just can’t be replaced.

One can have a group of their girl or guy friends all around them, yet still be and feel “alone” and like something is missing in their lives. Instead of bonding with one another and building our lives together we are also told that we must establish our own identities and independent lives before we go out and try to find someone, even though our deepest connections are formed in our youth, even though the building of our lives together and even creating new life is part of what bonds men and women to one another. I want a man to provide for me mostly because it gives me this sense of closeness to him, this feeling of dependence, trust and love that’s just hard to explain.

Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I’ve just never felt it. I’ve never wanted to go out and so-called “have a life” and I’ve simply never formed deep connections with other women. The only thing that’s ever happened when I get around other women is endless gossip, bickering and petty fighting.

It occurs to me that the male-female bond cannot be replaced. In romantic relationships it intertwines the bodies and beings of two people together and bonds them together and I find it sad how some people don’t want that. They would rather live lives that are focused on material means or eschew relationships with the opposites sex altogether or pursue meaningless relationships with them. A night out with the girls seems like a completely empty and meaningless pursuit unless the night ends with me coming back to the arms of a man I love, nor can I, forgive me (or not doesn’t matter) see how the same bond can be achieved in homosexual relationships as in heterosexual ones. I also can’t see how it can be truly achieved through “equal” relationships either to be honest. It’s just not the same. There is just this deeper intimacy and warmth that occurs between men and women that just can’t be replaced.

We’re always told: “You don’t need a man!” But surely, at the most deepest level, I do. And even if I didn’t “need” a man (if I was providing myself with the necessities of life), there would still be this part of me inside that always longs for one. Part of being feminine is in both needing and wanting to rely on and bond with a strong man, and part of being human is both wanting to love and be loved.

Recommended: The Value and Purpose of Oneitis

Death and Changing Times

On Tuesday night close to midnight my grandpa passed away. Though there have been deaths in the family before, this was the first time it had ever been so close and personal. I remember getting the call Sunday that he might not make it through the night and so I sped up to the hospital. He was in really bad shape and I was sure I was going to witness him dying right before my eyes at any second, but he was trying to hold on until my aunts could make it from out of state. He knew that he was fixing to die and he said he was ready for it. He was 89 years old and I still think it was a miracle that he lived as long as he did. Though his heart was giving out, his mind was still sharp. He was incoherent at times and my grandmother had to tell him a couple of times that they were in the hospital and tell him where they were, but other than those moments he could talk to us and knew who everyone was. He certainly knew who I was.

I eventually had to leave Sunday as I had a long drive home. It was a miracle when the next day I learned that he had not only made it through the night, but he was doing a little better. I came back up to the hospital and there were a lot of other people there too that had been close to him over the years, as we all knew he didn’t have long to live.

He and my grandmother were married for 67 years. My grandmother said a few months back that she married at 18 years old, about the same age as I was when I got married. They were together until he took his last breath. Though I had never discussed politics with my grandmother or anything, she was a housewife as well for a long time until the kids were about in high school. There was no stigma surrounding it.

And my grandpa, he was a good man and did a lot of things in his life. He had been in the service when he was younger, he had been badly injured and burned at work before- all things you see MRA types these days and men in general complaining about. But my grandpa never complained about anything and every time you’d see him he’d be happy and friendly, even at the end of his life when he was in so much pain. In fact, the only time I ever even heard him cuss was there in the hospital when he was about to die. We’d try to make him comfortable because he was in so much pain, and even then he was talking to me and trying to say the things he wished to say about us before he died (all good things). He never complained about how unfair life was or anything of the sort.

Death is a part of life, but I know it still hurts to think I’ll never walk in that house again and hear his voice. He’ll never be sitting in that chair of his talking to us again and he’ll never come walking down that hallway again. He’ll never tell us stories of his childhood again the way he always did throughout the years. And I always loved to hear those stories. I’d listen knowing that one day he wouldn’t be around to tell them anymore. He’d tell me about life during the Depression, going to school while WWII was going on and how they lived and survived during the hard times before there was any welfare.

I was there at the funeral home yesterday. Most of the family was not there as most live out of state. But I was there and we were talking about the pictures and memorabilia for the funeral this weekend. I thought of this one contraption he always used to show us when we were over. My grandpa was pretty good at making things. It’s funny how it’s always the little things in life like that that you remember at the end.

I’m glad he was alive to see one last Thanksgiving, one last Christmas, and one last New Year’s, but I also knew that, no matter how much we might have wished him to be around forever, he was in so much pain and could barely even function anymore and it was simply his time to go. In some ways it seems almost kind of selfish, to want someone to still be around simply because you might miss them, when it’s their time and there is peace that they might find in death. It hurts, but at least I know he doesn’t have to suffer anymore. I hope now he is at least resting in peace, even though I know he’s gone from my life forever.