Yesterday I had a date with a nice lady. This was the kind of date that was once common in ages past, and becomes increasingly more common as one ages. Megan and I met at her house so that I could walk her to the corner store a half mile off, so that she might enjoy the walk and not have to run the gauntlet of teen age boys who normally challenge this 50-something woman to fist fight, or threaten rape openly on the street, or simply call her a ‘white bitch’ as they flex, pose, and grab their genitals in chimpanzee conquest rituals.

Megan is a ‘liberated’ ‘semi-feminist’ child of the 70s who believes that men and women are mentally and morally equal but that males are so physically superior it is ridiculous for a woman to expect to be able to defend herself, and she must thereby seek the protection of a man.

As we walked by white alcoholics arguing on the street, black youths skulking on street corners and in alley mouths eyeing me with smoldering reticence for denying them their prey, and no less than three huge houses—former mansions—that have been converted to half way houses for the derelict white drug addicts and sex offenders crowding the wrap around porches, she was able to enjoy the autumn breeze, even as the autumn of the civil world she was born into gives way to a predatory winter.

As she reveled in her freedom via escort I chaffed, becoming increasingly prone to a violent outburst should we be approached. Here was the rub that is even now still bothering me.

Megan is a modern Western Woman who does not believe in walking behind a man. Her impulse—certainly enhanced by my full set of teeth and lack of body odor—to want to walk beside me, was as much caused by her desire to enjoy a conversation as it was by her feminist indoctrination, but was at odds with my purpose, protecting her.

We may think that men walking ahead of women in ‘less civilized nations’ is an act of diminishment, a means of dehumanizing the woman. Only a decadent culture of extreme plenty and cozy coup blinders could think this.

The entire time I walked with Megan and she sought to walk by my side I continually worried about her being in harm’s way either from traffic on the right, or an alley or doorway assault from the left, in which she could be used as a hostage against me. What was even worse was her obstruction of one hand or the other. If she is on my right her impulse to get close if we are assaulted could impede my weapon draw. If she is on my left she is only good for a human shield and I am supposed to be her shield.

By the time we got to the store I was so irritated over this that I was either going to scold her, which would have ruined her day, and my chances at that plate of lasagna that had brought me hither, or act out aggressively toward any approaching males. If the woman is not cooperating with me during a walk by staying behind and in line with me within two paces, then I opt for preemptive strikes against any suspicious males, which is legally perilous.

Fortunately no one stepped up to me so her walk was as joyful as she had hoped. If this would have been in a worse area or at night, I would have stopped and insisted she walk behind right off the bat. This episode points out the dilemma of walking in a predatory world with the curiously counterintuitive creature that is Western Woman accompanying you in her domestic state of bliss engendered by her status as a woman of the greatest empire the world has ever known, as she walks witlessly down into the criminal wasteland blooming from its rotting heart.

Before I’m dead I will not be surprised if I have occasion to scold a female companion in ancient Robert E. Howard fashion as I walk through the ruins of this once great medieval city, “Wench, if you grab my sword arm again you shall know the back of my hand! Now behind me and be mindful of the shadows.”

Be a man. It is all the more enjoyable for being a sin.