After weeks of exploring masculinity and realizing nobody can agree on what it means to be a “real man”, we’re finally edging closer and closer to the conclusion of The “Real Man” Project. Today, we have the second of three member-submitted contributions, brought to you by Manhunt Daily commenter Zero Moonfeather.
His sweet, personal take on the concept touched our hearts. An accompanying picture of his pubes made us want to touch our asses. All in all? There was a lot of touching. But it was the good kind of touching! Not like this kind of touching.
We’ve got one more submission to follow this, until we announce September’s theme on Tuesday afternoon. Stay tuned in! It’s already shaping up to be a good one.
Click through to find out how Zero Moonfeather defines a “real man”:
A real man? I question what the concept “real” means. And not in that “‘Dude, reality is an illusion! ::inhale stogie, cough:: Whoa, I see colors!” kind of way. Real to me is what I make of it. Not only what I see in front of me, but what can become of the future. Real physical feelings. Real hugs felt across the room. And a man? Only adds to the equation of reality for me. He can be physically near me and 100 miles away and still see my hugs. Or feels my sorrow/horniness in his heart/ass.
A real man for me is someone who gets me. Who argues with me when it’s called for. Don’t look at me like that! We’ve all had those arguments when it was totally called for. And, yes, we try to out-drama each other.
A real man gets jealous of the love I have from my cat, and he comes over and takes his spot in my lap. He makes it uncomfortable when I’m working in a tight space. He stops what he is doing completely and rubs my shoulders for spontaneity. And he likes to be the smart-ass that I need who spell checks the last word of that last sentence.
A real man takes responsibility for his actions. He isn’t afraid to show emotion in public. He asks if he has told me that he loves me today, then proceeds to play the Sleeping Beauty waltz and dance with me.
A real man is someone who, without even asking, looks up the cheat code/strategy online when you’ve been killed by the same boss eighteen times in a video game, who colors the back of my hair when I’m in the process of dyeing it. And messes it up horribly.
He’s the Alice in my Wonderland when I’m the Cheshire Cat. He’s the Twist in my Oliver. The potato to my chip. He’s the one to pick up the spider I see on the wall and set it outside, when I’m off in the corner trying not to scream like a girl.
As I reread this and see how farfetched this is becoming, understand that what I am trying to say is reality should be what we all make of it. And a man only adds to your reality.
A real man isn’t afraid to be himself either, even it if clashes with your personality completely, because he too is thinking that you are a man that adds to his equation of reality, who needs you to be the one for spontaneity in his life; to be jealous of his animals and compete for his attention; to take care of the spider when he is off in the corner trying not to scream like a girl.
All of us are human, whether we like to think so or not… And humans are drastically flawed people who should remember that there is another drastically flawed person out there looking for you.