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I was married for 20 some odd years and helped raise two children with whom I am still close. I have a number of old friends, men I grew up with, all of whom are still married. I've remained single for more than thirty years, not because I didn't have opportunities, more because I've enjoyed an independent life. This is all background to the following.
Recently a dear friend's wife passed away quite suddenly. I was taken back when one of our mutual friends asked, "I wonder what they'll do with John?"
A little non-plussed, I asked, "What do you mean?"
"Well, who'll take care of him? Who'll cook his meals? Do you think one of his daughters and her family will have to move in?"
This train of thought bewildered me. "John's a grown successful man. Why would you think he needs someone to take care of him?"
But as the weekend went along, I discovered many of my male friends shared this view: that men need "Mommie" figures to take care of them. For the first time, I was enlightened why, as the years have passed, I relate more to the independence of women than I do to the neediness of men. I'm a new member of this group. I pre-suppose that atheism makes men more self sufficient and wonder how men in this group feel about this.

eyeman100 3 Mar 28
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I had a relationship a year or two ago, with a woman in a strong social and economic position. She had a large impressive home near the ocean. I m an artist and on my first visit, she brought me into a large, beautifully finished out-building on the property and told me, "This will be your studio." She talked of how my grown daughter and her family would come out for weekends. It happened she was an art critic and many of her friends were artists and gallerists and inferred on what this might mean for my languishing career. It was wonderful. Rather than me carrying all; the expenses, we split dinner bills and gifted each other with theater tickets.I was living at a wonderful level, fae beyond anything I could imagine. I bought it all at first. She made lovely breakfasts or yogurt festooned with fresh berries and offered her second car for me to tool around in. Gradually, she began to comment on my poor eating habits or how poorly my blue jeans fit. Eventually I recognized I was trading my identity for the one she would provide and I called an end to it. I am not sorry, but what do you think of it all?

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