The Adventures of a Love Investigator, 527 Naked Men & One Woman Read Online Free PDF Page B

her. When she felt emotionally hungry, he would fetch another child to fill her void.
    After a long pause, he continues. “A woman has a hard time understanding. She wants her man totally engulfed in her. And the guy may be, but he has a hard time demonstrating that. A man comes home and she’s there like a little puppy dog. He can’t respond to her and she feels totally crushed.”
    This is the first interviewee I have wanted to punch. It would feel so good. With no apparent love in his heart for either his wife or his children he burdens her while making himself look like a benefactor. I consider the possibility that I’m cracking up.
    He focuses south of my face again. Is it my imagination?
    The phone bleeps and Ben excuses himself. I spend a minute making eye contact with the picture of his wife. What a crappy deal she cut.
    Ben returns from his phone call with all the verve of a game show M.C. “I’m convinced that most guys create little islands for themselves and get encamped on those islands. Men dig a moat around their island and fill it with water. There they sit. It’s a device designed for self-protection. If they can stay within the safety of those walls they avoid risk taking and getting hurt or exposing themselves.”
    I open a mental image of my second ‘ex’ in his walled-up island. I would ask him how his day went and he would freeze with anger. The water must have been cold.
    Ben shuffles the few papers on his desk and realigns the pens in a straight line like little team players.
    “A wife will do anything to get over her husband’s walls and get down where her man is. The thing is ... he doesn’t want her there.”
    There is no point in asking if he would die for the woman he loved – he’s never loved a woman ... of this I am sure. Two years and four months of interviews have taught me to read men. A man like Ben is incapable of loving anyone but himself. I stand to leave.
    “Give me your cell phone number, just in case I think of anything else,” he asks.
    “Sure.” I jot my number on a piece of paper and hand it back to him.
    Ben continues talking, “I went into marriage thinking I would do what comes naturally. Well if you do what comes naturally, you’re basically going to do the self-centered thing.”
    Nauseous from his presence, I find my way back to the rental car and suck on a mint in a futile effort to kill the bad taste.
    True to his nature, Ben does the self-centered thing. He leaves four messages on my cell phone within twenty-four hours.
    I don’t respond to his calls.
    He sends a small basket of flowers to my hotel. Funny, I don’t remember telling him where I was staying.
    More messages over the course of the next three days. He must talk to me in person. I hesitate. My instincts are raw little pricks. He persists. He says he has a list of men wishing to be interviewed by me. The list is confidential. “It must be delivered in person,” he says.
    This whole episode reminds me of when I was six years old, and I met a strange man in the hallway of our apartment building. He was selling bibles and his penis was hanging out of his zipper. I was sure he had forgotten to put it back in. I should have told him, but I didn’t want to embarrass him. Somehow, I was sure it was my fault he was exposing himself.
    Each time Ben leaves his messages, I feel a strange sense of the familiar. In some way, his pursuit of me has to be my fault, or maybe it is just my overactive imagination. I decide to play out this hand.
    I meet Ben in a public restaurant ... just for coffee. Three people come over to thank him for the great job he is doing with the team. He beams and signs autographs.
    “I’m so glad you came,” he smiles. I can’t get you out of my mind. You must know enough about men to know what I really want. I’d like to get to know you better. My life is so empty.”
    I stand and lean over as close to him as I can stomach. “Your penis is hanging out,” I whisper. By