"Seems folks here want hard rules and a mechanical approach to finding a mate. No such thing exists. I think all women are beautiful in their own way. As a man you have to play her game, but be a strong leader. I can tell you from experience, when the the love bug bites common sense goes out the window. People have been trying to figure this one out since the beginning of time."

-Big Ron

A fine lady, Lili Hun, a fan of masculinity, has asked me to respond to her extensive questions as to how a man judges women he does not know when he enters a new space.

The answer is, it does not matter.

It is not about her, but about him.

Most men naturally scan for the most attractive woman in any new space. We can’t help it. Most of us do not act on this perception.

As a fighting coach, I seek to cultivate focus and detachment in my fighters. Locating the focus of male attention, identifying her and then not acting toward or on her behalf unless there is a crisis, is simply a means to be psychologically coiled and prepared for the worst.

The other night, I was in the presence of 4 women, a hooker, a crack whore, a hoodrat and a tall pretty girl, who earned my focus, not because she was tall and pretty or because I had ideas of making contact with her, but simply because she stared at the horrid decadence of the bus shelter turned crack den as if she peered into hell, where the hoodrat was crassly dismissive. Her innocence made her the focus of my detached masculine presence, and I was careful to keep my distance, as I judged her alert enough to avoid trouble and also to be bothered by my proximity, so let her fend for herself.

Below is a fictional example.

Big Ron and Lili “Aspiring Butch Dyke” Hun (Hugely out of character for Lili, but a role she earned due to her questioning of the Khan) enter The Last Bar on Earth.

Ron, womanizing “swinging dick,” trained in the city hick school of hard knocks, in Cougar Country, distrustful of small-breasted women on the basis of experience, surveys the stable of available fillies and heads to the bar to stand admiringly before the barmaid, a retired stripper.

Lili, her breasts strapped down and her hips painfully confined by a Victorian girdle worn too low, considers the ladies at a glance, deciding on a triage interview method by which she might determine the most compatible lady, in faint hopes, that yes, she might be The One, that rug-munching companion for life—then the front of the bar is ripped away by a Blisterius Simpson’s Van as he swerved to avoid the alien space ship that was even now disgorging reptilian figures wearing barbed wire headdresses. To make matters worse, Blisterius’ load of a dozen vicious pit-fighting dogs spills into the bar.

Jerked violently from her lesbian reverie, Lili begins to assess the situation as Ron looks at the barmaid, says, “I can’t let that go to waste,” slings her over his shoulder and runs out the back door into the alley.

This leaves Lili to wonder, “Why, she’s not even built as good as me—damn, if I hadn’t cut my hair and compressed my figure in this crippling attire, that would have been me getting hauled out of harm’s way by that womanizing brute!”

The author does not have the heart to describe Lili’s abduction by the reptilian warlords from Grungamada.

The End

Fighting Smart: Boxing, Agonistics & Survival