was no femme fatale. From the context I gathered the meaning of the phrase . But, for some reason unbeknownst to me the phrase crossed my mind yesterday, and curiosity got the better of me so I googled it (I love the internet). There was a pretty detailed history on Femme Fatale and a short bit on L'Homme Fatale. Having read the information on Femme Fatale, it occurred to me that I've encountered my fair share. Not in the most literal and thank the north wind, not the most mortal meaning of Femme Fatale, but I have come across a few of those "ladies".
I've over the years allowed myself to fall victim to the guile of some of these vixens wrapped in women's skin; and with each experience I lose a bit of myself, my perception becomes a bit more altered, I become more bitter, resentful, untrusting, callous. Yes I allowed it - distracted by the euphoric sentiments at the time; and I chose my reaction to the ill-effects of these vixens - my spirit ravaged by the deception of the hallucinogenic state induced by my willing submission to the wiles of these femme fatales. It's safer to be numb or at least semi-numb. Recently I was told by a girl on the cusp of womanhood that men don't hurt or love like women. That notion, like the notion of love at first sight, is fucking ridiculous.
Men make a conscious decision to react differently to guard themselves and more often than not the indifference is nothing more than a facade. It's from years of personal and vicarious experience. We love just as deeply, we hurt, we bleed, we're not sub-human (don't believe the shit you've been fed).
My encounters with these femme fatales over my life time (albeit short) has brought much heart ache and many tears - mine and others. I have shed a few (or not so few) tears over the years. On the
first such occasion I broke down in her presence, and as I cried (snotty nose and all) over the wounds she had inflicted she held me in her arms while the cold wind blew off the ocean and pretended to comfort me. That was over ten years ago. Since then I have had my tearful moments in the solitude of my room, my car or my office. Weeping for the notion of love lost, or pain caused in the pursuit of the mirage of happiness.
first such occasion I broke down in her presence, and as I cried (snotty nose and all) over the wounds she had inflicted she held me in her arms while the cold wind blew off the ocean and pretended to comfort me. That was over ten years ago. Since then I have had my tearful moments in the solitude of my room, my car or my office. Weeping for the notion of love lost, or pain caused in the pursuit of the mirage of happiness.There is plenty scar tissue around this heart of mine, it still functions (barely), but it is not as naive; it's not impenetrable or impervious to harm (I'm not superman, I could only wish; but then again what would a life without pain be); but many emotions have been evicted. I am not certain what has replaced them.
I am sure before I have faithfully departed this life I will encounter many other femme fatales and I am sure I won't possess all the anti-venom required to survive unscathed, but like the times before I will see another dawn; maybe not as strong or even recognisable, but survive I must.My past while it may torment my present, I won't allow it to paralyze my future; my almost happily ever after. Yes my almost happily ever after, mine, because I am not responsible for anyone else's.
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