The woman philosopher - Introduction
By Chameleon



I have received some very inspiring letters from male readers, but none from
women. Is there a particular reason for this? I would highly appreciate a
female perspective on my stories.

My email address: ThinkTruth@Hotmail.com

All my reflections upon strong women is based on my experience with one
forceful member of the fairer sex, the one that finally tied me up for good;
my wife. I guess I'm writing to cope with my emotions. The pinch of anxiety I
feel every time she's in the same room. The pounding of my heart when she
turns towards me and I don't know what she's up to and the enormous relief I
feel when she holds me in her arms and tell me she will never let anyone hurt
me. I'm never so humiliated as when my head is pressed towards her bosom and I
hear those reassuring words; that shameful feeling of being reduced to a needy
and dependent boy-child. She wants me to be ashamed. She wants to stir up and
control every emotion inside of me, and never will she loosen her grip. This
is the story about how I met her and came to terms with my own lack of will
and right to decide my own fate.

I've never understood women, and probably never will either. Ever since I was
a child, the opposite gender was a mystery to me, despite the fact that I grew
up in a home dominated by females. I've always viewed women as strong,
mentally that is, but I clearly remember the disappointment I felt in my teens
when I was completely rejected by them.

Very young women often crave for an unlimited amount of self-confidence in a
man. It's just that, and this is the concealed truth that finally shall break
free, the seemingly steadfastly and self-assure man is nothing more than a
skilful actor. You see, everything in this world is moving and floating, and
those who claim to be representing something genuinely rigid and trustworthy,
is either unreflected, deceitful, or profound philosophers. But if the latter
is the case, you can be certain that their request for truth is based on
anything but a feeling of inner security. In any way, the father-like man who
offers to take care of the fragile woman, is a lie. He is probably more
fragile than her when all the social layers are pealed off, and as she
discovers this, she will have to participate in the struggle to conceal the
truth. Many women do that, and end up being the perfect male ego-builders.

One strange phenomenon is that some women search particularly for men that are
obvious bluffs. These women can be beautiful and intelligent, and their
attraction towards these men can be a total mystery to others. What I have
recognised, however, is that these women usually have a surplus of strength
big enough to carry another person on her shoulders, and that she seem to look
for a man that really need her to take care of him. He has to radiate some
kind of energy though, even if it's just childish playfulness. Men that are
both insecure and emotionless seem to attract no woman.

An acquaintance of mine, that is one of the most dependent creatures I've ever
met, worked at an oil-platform in the Nordic sea. At one time, the lights went
out in his building, and this poor man, being utterly confused, called his
wife to ask her what to do. That was ok with her, but, obviously, she didn't
have any advice to offer him. Such women are rare, but they still represent an
aspect of womanhood. In all, these women seem happy and content with their
dependent men, although there have to be an element of irritation in them now
and then.

When the caring-instincts in a mentally strong woman is connected to her
sexuality, the vulnerable man in search for a mother can have the experience
he has been longing for all his life. But nowhere in this world will there
ever be found such a thing as a free ride, and although these couples may
appear to others as if the man is the man of the relationship, it is her who
is in charge. He needs her more than she needs him, and if she ever were to be
so cruel as to demonstrate this to her beloved pretender, he would turn into
the shivering and frightened child he really is. But she usually won't.

With a woman who is as physically as she is mentally strong, it seems to be
different. Not always, but even in the woman who at first never thought she
would use her strength against a weaker man, there will be a slow train coming
inside of her, and a curiosity to investigate new ways to stir up emotions and
reactions in a man. There seem to be something most women have in common: The
desire to see her effect on him. It can be to comfort a man to make him feel
safe, or make him stumble and fall apart. To put a man off balance by making
him involuntarily aroused in a context where this makes him embarrassed, can
be a thrill for some women. The stronger the effect, the better, and this
underlying sadism in the woman's nature can easily be spotted when the
physically strong woman unleashes her strength and hold her man tight while
relentlessly tickles him. He would really have to beg hard to make her stop.

I've read the analysis by some very intelligent people who claim that the
underlying gynophobia that you can find in every man's sub-conscience is based
on the fear of rejection. I profoundly disagree. Its deepest roots are to be
found in a man's anxiety for his own attraction towards women, the she-beasts
that threatens to envelop him and eliminate his individuality. This is why men
need to have so much control in sexual life, to hear the fragile woman's
helpless moans under his powerful thrust. And this is why a man turns into a
frightened boy if a woman, half his size, becomes sexually aggressive.

A man are afraid of the deeper and uncontrollable emotions that a woman can
stir up in him, and women like nothing more than to see their impact on the
weaker gender (Yes, your read correctly). I sat on a bus once, and a woman who
was abnormally tall and powerfully built, placed herself in the seat next to
me. My infantile fantasies regarding strong women overtook me completely and
gave me an erection that was highly visible through my pants. It was
impossible to hide, but when she noticed, she didn't get at all offended, just
responded with the hint of a content smile on her lips. (I would like to tell
you that she took me home and seduced me, but it simply didn't happen.)

Just as men's fear of women is sub-conscious, so is women's attraction to it.
Have you ever experienced a strong woman overpowering you and is about to do
something to you that awakes your deepest fear and gives you a heartbeat of
180 per minute? Do you remember her reaction? The smile of satisfaction and
the hungry look she gives you as she either holds you in your arms to comfort
you, or goes through with it anyway while reassuring you that she will do it
gently. Never has she been so happy! As she mounts you, which she surely will
eventually, her gender will be wetter than the Niagara-falls.

After years of observation and analysis, the opposite gender still appears to
me as unpredictable, and it doesn't seem like that will ever change, no matter
how much I continue to philosophy on the subject. That is probably also why I
will never stop.

When I was a student and in the beginning of my twenties, I had learned only
one trick on how to attract women's attention in a party. I've been writing
poetry since I was sixteen, and I would simply place myself in a chair and
start to write. Soon, women started to take notice, and as more and more
peeked in my direction, one of them would finally break the silence and say
something like:

-"I just have to ask. What are you writing?"

-"A poem."

And then the attention was secured. Several women would have their eyes fixed
on me while I started to pass around previously written poems on request. It
was a good experience, and worked every time. My problem, however, was my lack
of understanding of how to exploit the advantage, so I totally had to rely on
that one woman would take the initiative herself.

I had just pulled the trick at Kari's New Year party and was asked to read one
of the poems myself. This is the one I chose:

I bang into a hidden wall

It's way to thick and way to tall

I want to scream my senseless pain

as all my effort seems in vain

I have my will, it's full intact

My forceful strength is not an act

But to survive and learn to cope

I need a little glint of hope

I need a woman's gentle hold

I feel my mind is turning cold

I need her tender voice to say:

"Come with me, I'll show the way"

She takes me kindly to a door

That leads right to a hidden store

She pulls it open, and knows for sure

that climbing gear lies on the floor

She was my eye when I was blind

My fortitude she did rewind

Again I'm on my restless quest

Again there's courage in my chest

The women gave me curious looks, which always are a good sign, but there was
only one of them it had a profound impact on. Her name was Marianne, the woman
that later became my wife.

Marianne is about my height, 5 feet and 10 inches tall and looks like
everything I've dreamt of. -But my few friends and acquaintances don't think
she's at all beautiful, and a couple of them view her as ugly. They wouldn't
say that of course, but I read other peoples facial expressions very well, so
I know. I guess its because her facial skin is unusually rough. That is, it is
smooth to touch, but not to look at.

I hadn't noticed her that evening, which I now find a little strange. Not
before it was close to midnight and the other girls wanted to go outside to
look at gunpowder burn in 400 different colours, did she appear before my
consciousness. I had no interest whatsoever in fireworks and decided to remain
in my chair reflecting over the superficiality of mainstream people. Then I
noticed the woman with the beautiful half-long, blond hair in a ponytail that
sat in the couch on the opposite side of the table with a coffee-cup in her
hand. She was wearing a tight, red pullover together with blue jeans, and it
all revealed an extremely fit body with an excess of female forms.

She and I had been the only one who hadn't tasted a drop of alcohol that
evening, and now she had decided to remain in her seat to keep me company
while the others were on their way out the door.

I didn't know it in that moment, but Marianne was the brightest woman I'd ever
met. She was a 32 years old writer of philosophical essays, and hadn't
bothered to publish anything anywhere. In addition she had a black belt in
taekwondo, a Korean art of self-defence she had been practised for 15 years.

She usually dressed sloppy, but made an exception this one time. In all, her
vanity was as underdeveloped as her regard for mainstream people.

I was 27 at that time and would soon experience the perplexity and confusion
an intelligent person feel when he for the first time meets someone superior
to himself regarding knowledge and insight. To stupid people it is so simple.
They have met people superior to themselves all their life and have long ago
found ways to cope with it.

A stupid man would have said:

-"If she's so smart, why ain't she rich?"

And a stupid woman:

-"She's not getting any prettier with the years."

This is also the explanation of the fundamental problem of shallowness: It is
the stupid peoples defence against their inner sense of inferiority. Just as
social norms are a way to allow people to be accepted without a shred of
honesty, compassion, or anything that comes with a true moral. No matter what
the culture, social norms can always be summed up with the following sentence:
Be polite against those that matter, and you'll be fine.

Bully the vulnerable if you have to be mean, but if you're ever impolite
against someone powerful, hell breaks loose. God, I'm waiting for women to
turn the table. If society ends up being equally disgusting under women's
rule, I'll have to seriously consider suicide.

Already at that point, as she has told me afterwards, did she have a strong
clue about who I was. She spotted my vulnerability as if it had been written
on my forehead, and, although she wasn't a 100% sure, suspected that I might
me a little impressionable to strong women.

-"Aren't you going to look at the fireworks?", I asked.

-"I was an UN-solider in Lebanon. I saw enough of fireworks there."

I laughed at the morbid joke.

-"Yeah, I understand that...", I said and was instantly fascinated. "How long
were you there?"

-"A year"

She took a sip of her coffee. Her confidence that was thoroughly expressed in
her body language and tone of voice, together with her feminine and powerful
physique, started to get a profound impact on me. My mind became more and more
blurred. I wanted to say something, but had no idea what.

-"You look quite strong."; I said as a reflection of my thoughts.

She looked up and her eyes met mine, before she couldn't help herself but
laugh.

-"You like that?"

-"Yeah...", I said and bowed my head as I already had lost control over the
situation. I'm familiar with the art of slipping when trying to relate to
women, but this time it happened exceptionally fast.

-"You don't have to be nervous. I like you too."

I looked up and saw her take another sip before her eyes once more forced my
head down.

-"You know, there are many men who's been intimidated by me, but I usually
have to tell them that I've trained taekwondo for 15 years before I get such
an reaction. Have Kari told you?"

-"No"

I was caught as a deer in a spotlight. My mind repeatedly reported a system
breakdown as all mental shields melted and left me defenceless. She was the
essence of my fantasies, the one and only woman I had always longed for but
never found, and now I wouldn't even manage to walk across the floor without
stumbling. I became passive, afraid of my own extraordinary ability to
eradicate every shred of interest a woman might have had for me initially.

-"I liked your poem."

-"Thanks", I said and lifted my head again.

-"Actually, I would like to take you home with me since you already seem like
you're ready. Or have I misinterpreted you?"

Never had I been approached so directly, and this was my first experience with
Susanne's ability to read me. I have always looked for that; a woman who can
understand me and accept me for whom I am, but it never occurred to me that
there was a prise to pay: The inability to evade an attack as all defence
measures are automatically foreseen. The only thing that works with Susanne is
honesty. That she respects. Bluff leads to humiliation and lies to punishment.

Of course I went with her and she drove us her house, which took us only about
two minutes.

She had inherited a house built in the nineteenth century, on the outskirts of
the city. It was very big, and the cellar, which originally had housed
servants, was turned into a training-studio.

We went inside and as we just had taken of our coats, Susanne said the
unforgettable word:

-"So, are you one of those guys who fantasies about a woman beating you up?"

-"No"

-"Hmm... Are you sure? You see, I think I can sense something...."

I took a little courage and looked at her.

-"No, I don't want to be beaten up, but I have had fantasies about a woman
overpowering me."

-"That's what I meant. I didn't mean that you wanted a woman to pound on you."

She kept her eyes at me and suddenly I saw hunger in her look.

-"I'm not going to wait.", she said, and as we stood in the hallway she came
towards me and something happened.

Yes, something happened, but I don't know what. It unfolded itself in a
fraction of a second, and I simply couldn't recollect it as I lay on my
stomach with my hand in the air being twisted, and her foot on my shoulder.
She didn't hurt me, but I was completely paralysed.

-"Is this your dream?"

-"Partly", I said feeling helpless, sensing that anything but honesty would be
seen through.

-"What's the other part?"

-"Being raped."

-"You're gonna get more than you bargained for.", she said with aggression in
her voice. "I'm gonna make you mine and those pathetically weak hands of yours
will never touch another woman again... Do you understand what I'm saying to
you?!"

-"Yeas", I said in a weak voice.

Then, suddenly, she let go and reached down to help me up. I stood confused in
front of her with a bulge in my pants and looked into a friendly smile.

-"So, how was I?"

I looked as if I was in a state of total confusion.

-"You didn't think I was actually going to rape you?"

I raised my shoulders.

-"And still you got horny? God, you're one fucked up man.", she said and
laughed while slightly touching the side of my neck with the back of her
fingers. "Come, let's move into the living room."

We hadn't sat down yet before she was all over me, and soon it all ended in
the way it was supposed to with me being senseless fucked by the amazon of my
dreams. It was the experience I had always longed for, and as she held her
arms around me after, still lying on top, she whispered softly into my ears:

-"Was it good for you too?"

-"Yes"

-"Good, because you're going to get more of it, no matter if you want it or
not."

And then she held me tighter until I fell asleep in my state of exhaustion and
warmly felt dependence.

The next days were good and bright, and I got to know the most fascinating
woman on this planet.

She knew more than I about practically any topic with the exception of
mathematics. Not that knowledge is what impresses me the most. Insight is, and
when I earlier had met someone who sounded like an encyclopaedia, I soon found
that he had acquired all this knowledge to impress, not as a basis for deeper
analysis. She never said anything without a display of insight. In fact, she
could be tiring to be with because discussions with her demanded so much
concentration from me, and always ended with her on top. She was a magnanimous
victor though, and expressed that my perspective on things inspired her.

Just as everything seemed perfect, came the episode I still can't think about
without feeling my body tremble. I stir up so much anxiety in me that I have
to concentrate on not feeling sick as I write about it. It happened one night
as we lay on the couch cuddling one Saturday evening.

(To be continued)