The Aggression Question

Here's the scene: It is a beautiful Sunday afternoon here in Austin. I am laying in the sun, reading a book on the grass, after taking a dip in the the local spring. Perfect Sunday. It's pretty crowded at the springs, lots of good people watching (including a topless chick with nipple rings and a fucking red star tattooed ON HER FOREHEAD... no, I'm not kidding). As I am finishing a chapter, a fella decides on the spot of grass next to me, spreads out a towel, and heads for the water. I don't pay too much attention; it's a pretty good book. When this fella comes back to his towel, I notice something... he's totally hot. But not hot in that obnoxious I-bang-chicks-for-breakfast sort of way. Instead, he's healthy looking, nice face, excellent proportions, probably early thirties. Hot. As we are both laying there, alone, he gets a phone call. He is incredibly warm to the caller who is another guy (I know because he called him 'bro'). He makes small talk for a minute and then begins to describe where he is. As he is doing this, he looks in my exact direction and says, "Yep, it's looking pretty gorgeous out here today."

First of all, it was gorgeous out that day, and he may well have just been stating the obvious. If I, however, had gotten on the phone and proceeded to look his way and say something like, "Yeah, it's hot as shit out here, I'm all about it," I would completely accept him thinking that I was essentially referring to him. I won't try to say that I was looking "gorgeous," but I was half-naked and all wet (from swimming in the water, perverts) and we were all of two feet apart. I'm not saying he was hitting on me, but I'm not saying he wasn't hitting on me.

I felt I had two options: start talking this guy up and hope for the best, or sit tight and hope he starts talking me up. I continued to lay there, half reading my book, half straining my eyes to check him out, and what kept popping into my head was this question of aggression. I have always had a tendency to be (ahem) somewhat aggressive when it comes to pursuing men. Generally though, I become aggressive when I am sure that the targeted person is also attracted to me. Or when the targeted person is cornered and there is little chance of escape. It's definitely not that I prefer to be the aggressor, I just get tired of wondering, and I find the whole act of being coy rather boring. I am (almost) always flattered when a man approaches me in a not-cheesey way. But it truly doesn't happen too often. Not that I am belly-aching exactly, I am just stating the facts.

Anyway, back to being aggressive. I find that in certain aspects of my day to day life, being aggressive is an asset. I won't back down from an argument because a person is trying to be intimidating; I won't settle for less than I feel I deserve when it comes to work and academics; I initiate changes and activity in my life. Being aggressive helps me negotiate this world in a way that I accept. Being aggressive has also caused me to be labeled a hard-ass, a ball-breaker, and a macho, macho man. I don't know where I get my aggressive tendencies from, neither of my parents are particularly assertive, I never beat kids up on the playground (unless they started it), but it is definitely a quality that I can't be defined without. And it has always been something that (I know this is a generalization) I find unfeminine about myself. I am far, far, far away from ever being cast as dainty, but still, as a woman, I want to be feminine.

Of course, I do believe that the face of femininity is changing. But it is hard to shake the idea of my own face, in a determined effort to dive face first down the pants of the guy laying next to me on the grass, as being considerably unfeminine while in the midst of an aggressive pursuit. Do men like aggressive women? And if they do, do they consider such women to be particularly feminine? Does it even matter?

I continued to lay there, finishing my book, pondering this question of aggression. I am sure that I thought too much about it (when is that never the case?), but I decided against striking the conversation match. The hot fella next to me started for the water again, and convincing myself that I was getting too much sun, I packed my things and left.

In the end, with my femininity in tact, I feel like a fucking jackass. It's been three days since this happened, and I am still thinking about it. What a reward.