Though I didn’t recognize it under the influence of dim lights and an open bar, my first time spotlighted many of the key, universal elements that draw nice women to naughty men. Said Bad Boy knew how to tease with humor, tempt with imperfections, and feed curiosity with questionable drinks and unexpected company. He sealed the deal with a kiss and phone number swap, all at a fast and furious pace. By the time I crawled into bed that night, my cell phone rang and the voice on the other end wanted to know if I’d gotten home safely -- and if we could have dinner the next evening. Though my mind was thinking, "What the hell just happened? Don’t go -- this boy is trouble . . . " my mouth couldn’t say the words "I’d love to!" quickly enough.
We lasted four bumpy months before I learned in an utterly dramatic way (Friends barged in on our date! Drinks were thrown in faces! Tears were shed in the bathroom!) that when he wasn’t spending marathon weekends with me, he clocked weekdays with the rodent from our first encounter. The whole thing’s such a predictable yawn in retrospect that I don’t even expect you to gasp. Yet the push, the pull, the cinematic pace of it all--the process broke my heart, but managed to rope me in for more, more, more! Not with this dolt, of course; but with variations on his theme. Call me an extremist, but before this first Bad Boy stumbled into my line of vision, I dated a very nice, very safe publishing executive who studied art history and quoted 'The New Yorker.' If we didn’t pass Sunday afternoons antiquing, we spent nights drinking expensive bottles of wine in Central Park--properly concealed in a container from the Museum of Modern Art (for legal and aesthetic purposes, you see).
Our three years together were lovely. Love-ly! But when our relationship came to a very ho-hum end, I couldn’t wait to wrap my arms and legs around the unexpected deviant. No wonder my first fling with a Bad Boy was so irresistible. In art and in love, contrast alone can be a very powerful force.
Naughty Boys Need Love Too?Those who’ve done time with Bad Boys know just how easy it is to find their hearts, minds, and bodies at the mercy of an unruly personality. We tell ourselves that Bad Boys can be tamed by the right woman; that their conflicted souls require special forgiveness; that we really are the only woman for whom they shout their feelings from fire escapes at midnight. And we convince ourselves of these unwavering truths, no matter how much a little voice in our heads (not to mention, pretty loud ones from friends) insists we’re kidding ourselves.
Here’s what you secretly know but hate to hear: Bad Boys wield their power because we allow them to--partially, because we keep coming back for more. Bad Boys are like special French panties that come apart in the wash: No matter how carefully we fold them into a lingerie sack to avoid snagging or buy gentle detergent to massage their fragile fabric, it takes only one loose thread for the whole mess to unravel. Does this stop us from replacing our lacy lovelies with a new pair, exactly like the old? Of course not. We simply tell ourselves that it was our fault they fell apart, or that they had a unique defect, or that the next pair will be different . . . when the plain truth is: Sometimes overpriced underwear isn’t what it’s cut out to be.
The primary link between disappointing undies and disappointing men is the perception--by them and by us--that they’re somehow so damn special. To yield a little insight into the Bad Boy brain, I have a friend named Bennett who’s quite a rascal. His mantra for every dalliance and emotional misstep is--and I quote--"special rules for special people." Unless we’re talking about my Uncle Carl and his scoot-about, I personally find this a hard sell in any play-nice-with-others department. But Bennett is tall and angular, with Mediterranean good looks. In a word, he’s edible. He boasts a sculpted nose and olive-toned skin, while his eyes remind me of Benicio Del Toro’s. They’re piercing, with a devilish glint and unexpectedly attractive bags that whisper "experience" rather than "old man, get a tuck." On lonely nights I’ve imagined rolling myself up in the folds of skin under his baby blues, and pulling them tight to my chin as one would a security blanket.
And that’s part of a Bad Boy’s charm, too: Bennett and his cohorts are acutely aware of just how and when to give women what they need. If you crave quiet and solace, as I often did after a long day, a Bad Boy will create a soothing environment (steak au poivre at a dimly lit bistro). If you need to escape, check your mailbox for tickets to Miami (and the promise of a king size bed). A Bad Boy will read you, take you, and lick fudge off your belly until the sun rises and sets on your naked bodies. In a Bad Boy’s mind, there are no victims--just volunteers. And to an extent, he’s right. When a Bad Boy trades responsible behavior for your pleasure, it’s easy to become a believer--in your personal value and his selflessness and perceived devotion.
The interesting thing is, Bennett didn’t always treat his dates as arm-dazzling throwaways. He used to be a Committed Man, who didn’t believe that one chap could have the power to take advantage of so many women’s vulnerabilities for his own benefit. Bennett’s priorities changed, though, when an opportunistic roommate told him it was possible--and Bennett’s personal experiences supported the theory. As Bad Boy legend has it, Bennett was a college freshman angling to break up with his old girlfriend before moving onto the next. That’s when said roommate assured him he could realistically juggle both. The plan? He’d work one woman into his schedule for family holidays and a weekly dinner, and book the other for steamy nights on the town. Bennett questioned whether he could pull off the Casanova act, but he quickly found success and a brand new identity. The two women in his life let Bennett coast like a bike without breaks for one whole year. That’s a lot of face-sucking in boy time.
Ever since, Bennett’s diligently perfected an MO that makes every girl on his social calendar feel like she’s The One. Why? Because 1) he’s attractive; 2) he thinks he’s special; and 3) women let him. It’s really that simple. And just to confirm Bennett’s credibility, dear readers: He usually rotates four women at once, while holding down a steady girlfriend--you know, on average.
Now before you lose all hope in dating humanity, remember that Bennett is no different than the lace panties we spoke of earlier: beautiful and damaged, yes. But he’s also easily replaceable. In the next few chapters, you’ll learn how to shop for a new type of man who doesn’t require a special cycle to keep your romance intact--and yet feels all too perfect against your bare skin.
From 'Addickted,' Copyright © 2006, Kristina Grish. Used by permission of Adams Media. All rights reserved.
