Objectified

https://youtu.be/ccY25Cb3im0

I read an article, in the Elite Daily, "Why It's Completely Okay to Objectify Men, ... No Really, It Is.' by:  Alexia LaFata.  I highly recommend it.  In my opinion, it's well written and this accomplished snippet of truth spoke volumes to me...     it really got me thinking - how could I write to demonstrate objectifying a man?  I had to dig deep, I'm not very good at it. 

It had been a long time, since she felt this way.  She had managed to successfully stave off these kinds of thoughts.  He had not been himself last time and she didn't like to think about it.  It was going to be a great evening with friends and a secret part of her hoped he might go.  Being vulnerable was not fashionable for her, yet it's how she inexplicably felt around him.  Let him go. (she whispers softly, needing reassurance).  When passion washed over her, it was intense and she was always the hottest part of the flame.  Few men had ever had that affect on her.  She was picky.  She had always taken great care to cast her net beyond the shallowness of just beauty.  He embodied so many qualities she admired in a man, with one fatal flaw.  He was beautiful.  Never-mind that his command could pull the attention of a room full of people, whilst telling exciting stories and funny jokes, discussing politics and world events.  He was articulate and charming, covering topics so compelling, it would stir her deeply.  It was easy to swim in his eyes and trace the corners of his mouth as he smiled - she would lick her lips, fondly remembering.  It made her squirm at how embarrassingly easy, she would have given herself to him.  While others longed for her, thoughts of him would devastate her.  To taste him, to feel his hands and mouth all over her, the weight of his body on top of hers and between her thighs and underneath her.

When he walked in the door, she could sense his presence, immediately excitement and weakness wash over her.  And finally when he makes his way to where she is, he looks at her - she feels her cheeks pleasantly burn and flush feverishly, he draws her in to hug her and as he pulls her close to him, she lets out a sigh, she feels disturbingly secure in his masculine arms.  She was always composed and cool, but he had the ability to make her forget herself.  Did he know he did this to her?  Was it obvious?   Realizing she was blushing, only made her blush more.  She wasn't shy, she was quite confident and well spoken - she could hold her own.  She had her moments, but when he was nearby she struggled and that was off-putting. 

Why him?  Why did such a magnetic attraction have to be with him?  She didn't want or like this feeling and she sure as hell didn't want to feel this way about anyone.  She felt imprisoned by her thoughts.   She'd paused to remind herself of the hundreds of reasons, for the how and why it would never happen.  She had managed to convince herself it was imagined chemistry.  Was it even possible to have such fervor for someone that didn't reciprocate on some level?  Over and over she'd talk herself down from the ledge.  Was he looking at her the way she looked at him?  She was pretty - no diva - but she was familiar enough to know when a man was really looking at her and not just passing his eyes over her.  She knew she could still walk in a room and eyes would still fall on her.  Was she filling her own head with the absolute absurdity, by entertaining this?  She knew she was being crazy, manic even.  But she also knew exactly what she wanted.

Why couldn't he want her, like the other boys did?  She couldn't even gauge his interest?  Maybe he had no interest at all.  Maybe he just enjoyed watching her flounder foolishly about, as it stroked his ego?  That notion really irked her.  Or maybe he too, was bewitched by her - but too shy.  Did it even matter?  Those silly thoughts kept resurfacing and it's what she wanted to believe.  She knew better.  He was sharp and focused, possibly one of the most disciplined people she knew.  She had lost hours wondering if he was haunted by her, if he was pleased with what he saw, when his gaze fell on her?  Did he wonder how delicate and soft her skin was or how sweet she smelled? 

It was driving her mad.  On occasion, she would start to say something when they had a stolen  moment alone.  She knew if ever there was the slightest chance, she would have to initiate everything.  It wasn't for a lack of courage, she had that in spades.  Something about the way he looked at her, made her strangely comfortable and somehow insecure.  It was like he could see right through her.  She had forgotten how it felt to see someone so completely.  He was a gentleman.  He gave off a white heat that drew her in, and when she smelled him it reminded her of sex.  His pheromones seem to be screaming at her.  Her eyes would linger too long on the outline of his torso in his t-shirt.  She couldn't look away and her gaze took in all of him.   In her head she would envision him naked.  She knew she was objectifying him, she didn't care.  Her eyes followed the length of his body to his butt, how exquisitely his jeans fit.  Not tight and not too loose, his jeans sitting nicely just below his waist, she couldn't see it, but she knew his inguinal muscle crease was leading pointing drawing her attention down.  Stop looking at him like that. (she whispered to herself)  He moved with amazing fluidity and he stretched hard, as if he knew she was watching and he enjoyed seeing the hunger in her eyes.

She knew it wasn't healthy.  Still, she couldn't stop thinking about him, she couldn't throw a switch and shut it down, like she could with others infatuations.  She had to walk away, she went to join friends and kick back a shot, followed directly by another and talked to other people.  She can't stand there any longer in a trance-like state, staring at him. The fantasy is probably better than the real thing, anyway (she tells herself).  Few could live up to a fantasy and that was the truth.  There was a darkness in her, and when she embraced it she set it free - and it was dirty and nasty and delicious and unforgettable.  It was everything naughty and everything innocent, it was all that was bad and all that was good and everything in between.

The darkness dwelled within and consumed completely.  She wanted him to want her - to crave her, to beg for her, to want to taste her, she wanted his wild eyes to gaze lustily upon her and the image of her to be burned forever in his mind.  She wanted thoughts of her to linger in his head and torture him the way he unknowingly tormented her.  It was sadistic and ravenous, voracious and greedy.  She wanted him to ache so badly.  She wanted him to feel actual physical pain reminding him of just how alive she made him feel.  It was what she wanted.  (its what we all want - for someone to yearn endlessly for only us, an unquenchable thirst).

At times, she was an insatiable flame burning; bright blue, orange and red, devouring everything.  And sometimes she was a constant flickering flame, casting a warm amber glow of love and light.  She wanted to set everything on fire, to light the darkness.  Sometimes that kind of flame scared people and she knew it often left her lonely.  She was fire and fire consumes and devours, she was built to destroy and that's exactly what she did.  Maybe it was why she would never give herself completely over to the darkness.  She knew she was wrong to desire him so much, giving no regard as to how it might make him feel.  She knew every time she would see him, these feelings would bubble back to the surface.  And for as bad as that was for her, it would be far worse to not be around him.  For if nothing else, she never felt more alive than when he was around.

Once he left, she'd find her footing again and begin her journey back from her fitful and lustful abyss.  Next time, she'll make endless passes at him and grope him, maybe then he will appreciate the magnitude of her fervor.  Would that even make a man feel cheap?  Is objectification so different between the sexes?  How do men really feel when they objectify a woman?  Is it the same?  Are women just as bad in the art of objectification?

I don't know - I think I could do a whole lot better objectifying a man, but I'll save the adult version for him...  someday.