In the past family doctors were treated with a strange reverence as though nearer to the divine than the rest of us. When our doctor came to the house a shrouded quiet would fall and my mother would scurry around tidying what was already oppressively tidy. I don’t believe in God but our doctor might have been a little above most people since he was the only person who recognised that I am different. I knew, I always knew, and the beauty of being different is that I am at liberty to reinvent myself as I like. I am a temperature taker and I dress accordingly, not in seasonal clothes but persona.
I once dated a teacher who rejoiced when she had coaxed a child with Asperger’s to play a board game. She said it was a step towards him socialising successfully. But his every other behaviour said clearly that he neither needed or wanted to socialise. So who was she trying to please here? This is the trouble with women. They are mired in the need to connect. Mired in it. Men need it too but they express their need much more simply. Football allegiances, Golf Clubs, Classic Car societies. Women are not content to confine their need for connection to discrete groups, they seek layers of intimacy with a chaotic scattering of many, and they depend ridiculously on their connection with their partner. All is measured in its context. They regard falling in love as the motherlode, whereas men see it more like a small lottery win, very pleasing but much less likely to pull the rug from under.
The teacher I dated told me that her Asperger’s pupil had no ‘empathic response’.
‘So, what?’ I ask.
I suggest that empathy is the assumption of emotional telepathy that is, at best, a guess and probably an arrogant one. Empathy is a concept that humans have created to soften the distress of facing life as chaos, sometimes terrible chaos. Women are spectacularly poor at facing this.
I don’t empathise with anyone. I don’t try to. But the women who adore me think that I do. I keep a stable of four at a time. I only choose intelligent women. Currently I have a Head teacher, a Vet, a woman who works in forensics and a Psychiatric nurse. They each hope that I will be their future.
My formula is simple. I pick up on three items in their mail so that they feel attended to. I express three emotions, ensuring to seem stirred or confused by something to engage their need to help. I flirt but lightly until I am 3 months in, then go up a gear. I ensure passion is both vulnerable and dominant in turn.
I am fair. I give every woman a chance to withdraw. I go silent for 10 days after 8 weeks. And I do not respond to the first two enquiries about my whereabouts. But if a woman contacts me after that then she gets what she deserves.
I take their temperature from time to time and dress accordingly. Don’t ask why I do this – I do it because I can.