When Crazy is Wrapped in Beautiful, it’s Hard to Keep on Walking

(inspired by July post, “The Enticing Breed of the Psychopathic Woman”partial excerpts of previous comments by Minka Fieldstone & Karen Catalan)

''You're young, you're crazy, you're in bed and you've got knives.''

Like moths to a flame, we are seduced by that which can kill us. We all want to dance with the devil…or want to fuck the devil…or whatever.

Beauty almost always attracts the beast. The good girls find the bad boys, and the bad girls inevitably win the best and smartest men. It’s fatal attraction and Russian roulette at best. We know that the relationship is self-destructive, we know we’re headed for the danger zone and carnage is expected, yet we hold on to the notion that maybe, just maybe, we can come into this messed-up person’s life and change it for the better.

It’s that need to “fix” or tame the wild beast, although I doubt men want to “fix” the batshit crazy bitch―more likely, they want to semi-tame the wild, beautiful beast, and have the bragging rights. Men love to be heroes. They love to fix things. It makes them feel needed, important and it feeds the ole’ male ego. Who makes a better damsel in distress than a poor defenseless lunatic?  (I highly doubt the crazy wench is defenseless) But in you come, to save her, tame her, condition her…own her ass (keep dreaming) You’re thinking, “Fuck! I did this! I have control of this insanely wild, dangerous sexual dynamo and the rest of you suckers don’t!”

So sadly human, it’s simply the female equivalent of wanting the “bad boy”― a way of trying to experience some naughtiness. All they really want is a small bite of that apple, but sadly, they end up choking when the whole damn thing is shoved down their throat.

And then they get fucked―literally and figuratively, because by then they are imprisoned in a dysfunctional relationship that may have crossed into the danger zone, which more often than not, is what we crave… that element of danger.  After leading an utterly domesticated life of goodness, we’re bored to tears and need an edge, a thrill, a wild one as a partner who will be as challenging and exciting as they are fucking mental…and by then it’s too late. We have this self-destructive urge, we act on it―then figure out it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

Let’s face it. It’s the sex. Primordial-ooze sex dominates our rational minds. It makes us crave a little crazy now and then. We are all totally animals when it comes right down to it. Animals with a surface layer of consciousness that tells us all sorts of shit about what’s right and wrong, logic, and reality verses fantasy―yet despite all that we know to be true, we still don’t seem to be able to heed its wisdom and warnings. We want instant gratification, and when we feel sexually unfulfilled at home, we find our gaze straying towards the “bad boy” (all inclusive of long hair, goatee, tattoos & Harley) and the “bad girl” with her unfettered nipples, plunging neckline and long wraparound legs.

It’s the classic “madonna-whore complex,” a widespread problem plaguing our menfolk. Men want the best of both worlds, a princess on the street and a slut in the bedroom…a tomcat in heat between the sheets. Sure, they’re instantly aroused by the Pamela Andersons of the world, but they know they could never tame…much less trust a “bad girl” like this…

And it’s not all that different for women…

Women want men to rock their world—yes, of course in the bedroom! Women want a challenge, a backbone…someone who will take charge. The “bad boy,” with his rugged, rough around the edges and maybe even tattooed looks, make him appear stronger, less wimpy, and more protective of his woman, and that confidence clearly works in his favor. Showing confidence, occasional arrogance, and not being a doormat are always helpful in keeping us stimulated and on our toes. It’s less about being a “nice guy” or being a “bad boy,” and more about losing inhibitions, throwing caution to the wind, and embracing your wild thing―which by the way, doesn’t mean,”you’re young, you’re crazy, you’re in bed and you’ve got knives.” (Angelina Jolie in an interview explaining her scars)

A sensible guy would be thankful not to be involved with a woman whose toys involve knives and pointy gadgets, but then again, there aren’t a lot of sensible men out there. To most men, crazy equals sexy. Behind the wild-eyed look and uninhibited behavior, men fantasize, must lie a crazy libido. That it could lead to emotional turmoil, bankruptcy, and public spectacles is beside the point. At the time, it seems irresistible. Like a moth to a flame, this stable “nice guy” has momentarily lost his faculties and is smitten.

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