I was the head of a boutique clothing company. I started the company in my early 20's and built it into one of the leading fashion wear brands over the last 20 years.
The greater strides I made in business the more focused my time and mind came on my business. The men I dealt with in business were fake and I hated the idea that a compliment should make a woman putty in their hands. Why could they not be honest about their feelings? In fact I found myself being more contemptuous towards men and their chivalrous attitude. I was a strong independent woman and I wanted to be admired as such.
It had been almost 10 years since my last date with a man and with that sex with a man. I knew my body better than anyone and I preferred masturbation to sex. I no longer wanted to play the courtship game with a man who wanted to impress with his car or his wallet and his fake words.
It was late as I walked over to the kitchen and tried to scavenge some food. For a moment I thought a domesticated man that would cook for me and clean my house may not be such a bad idea. There was nothing to be found and I tapped a takeaway app on my phone and ordered a pizza.
I was lounging on the sofa in my silk pyjamas as I waited for the pizza delivery. The shirt was buttoned up and it felt comfortable but also looked elegant. I looked to go without a bra when I was in my loungewear. I treasured comfort overlooking 'sexy'.
I was scrolling through the news when a headline grabbed my attention, "Incels: The Greatest Threat to Women".
I had never heard this term before, 'Incel'. The dramatic tone of the headline caught my attention and I clicked on the story. It was then that the story explained that an 'Incel' was someone who was Involuntary Celibate. I had a little smile to myself as I would probably be classed as Voluntary Celibate but there was an intrigue around why these men were considered a danger.
The more I read the more I was becoming fascinated with this concept of an incel. The anger and hatred they seemed to have for women was shocking. I imagined these pathetic nerdy horny men so desperate to fuck a woman but so ugly and unapproachable that no woman would fuck them.
These men full of hot angry cum and no one to fuck so they hate women. They litter the internet with their vitriol and hateful comments against women.
My mind developed an image of these hard horny men and I found my breathing becoming shallow. Was my rage at these men causing this?
I was absorbed in the article reading about these horny desperate men that were sat in their parents' bedroom spewing hate at women. All of a sudden I heard a knock at the door and it brought me out of my reverie. To my shock my free hand had been manipulating my clit under my pyjamas. I felt a moistness on my fingers and I could not believe what came over me. Was I turned on by these pathetic men?
I shook my head at the thought and went to collect my pizza. The pizza delivery man was short and fat and I wondered to myself, "Was he one of these incels?" Or was the fact that he had a job proof that he was not living in his parent's basement and was able to socialise.
I found myself staring at him and he gave me a bemused look which brought me back to reality.
***
It had been another busy day at the office. I found myself working longer hours now than I did in my early years. The daily grind was relentless and I always found myself pushing myself to improve the company.
It was getting late into the evening but luckily I had some left over pizza from the night before. As I thought back to the pizza the incel story came back to my mind. The article mentioned a website popular amongst these incels and I felt this urge to experience how these men behaved.
I entered the link from the article and began reading the various articles. The articles struck me as targeting men and framing women as sluts for their gratification. It was nothing that I did not expect but then I saw the message board's page. I was not braced for the display of vitriolic masculine toxicity. Women were either 'whores', 'cunts', 'sluts' or 'bitches'. It was almost like an alternative universe and I felt this strong urge to slap these Incel morons down to size. I read more of the messages and threads. I was become absorbed by this website.
I found myself sucking on the end of my pen as I read more of the disgusting messages. I was beginning to feel hot and opened a couple of buttons of my blouse as I read comments on leading feminists such as "the Cunt would complain less if she had a cock down her throat" or "the Whore needs a good fuck."
They were the worst kind of people but I could feel the moistness between my legs and the sweat on my body. I began to flap my shirt as I was feeling hotter and hotter. Inexplicably and without conscious thought I began to clutch my breast and gently manipulate it.
I had been on for hours and it was only when I heard the cleaners coming in for the midnight shift that I realised the time. I quickly closed the page almost embarrassed at being on such a website. I would actually prefer them to think I was watching porn.
I was in bed trying to sleep but the conflict within me was preventing me from sleeping. Why were thoughts of these men causing such arousal within me?
I had been off men for the longest time, I found the dating ritual out dated, the idea that a man needs to hold doors open or pay for a meal or pretend to be in love or provide false compliments. Despite these shows of 'chivalry' I always found them a disappointment in the bedroom. I was proud that I dedicated myself to my company rather than wasting it on a man. I liked to be in control and I was not willing to give up the control to a man.
I was working on the spring lounge collection and I had an important meeting with a buyer from Europe. It was an important that I was trying to enter. My mind had to be focused.
It was one of our 'sexier' collections as we tried to strike a balance between sexy and relaxed wear for women. I wanted a design for women's comfort and not around what men wanted to see. It was too often that women's clothing was designed on what men found desirable but I wanted a line for women.
The next few days were spent finalising the designs before the presentation. They had to be altered for the European market.
As the meeting approached I was becoming slightly nervous. It was a big venture and it was crazy to think that one man had so much control over my business.
He was late for the meeting and that slightly annoyed me. He had a smooth and sophisticated way about him. He was dressed in a sharp designer suit and his hair was immaculate.
He inspected the clothing line and nodded his approval. He turned to me ever so slightly and asked, "Is there a model to show these clothes?"
"No unfortunately not," I had not thought of the need for a model as the clothes spoke for themselves, "but the clothes were modelled at our recent show and I am happy to show the pictures."
"You are a perfect shape to be the model," I was left open mouthed by his unprofessional manner. I knew my face had gone red as it often did when I was embarrassed and I had an urge to slap him but I swallowed my pride and politely refused, "The CEO at this company does not model. No matter how perfect her shape is. So can we talk business?"
We ended up negotiating an agreement but the whole exchange reminded me of my reasons for distancing myself from men. I did not like men objectifying women in the workplace but as a CEO I had to prioritise the company over any feelings of feminism.
I still had a sense of resentment at the exchange a few days later and my anger was slowly bubbling. I was bewildered by men and this idea that women were only to be judged on their bodies and not the content in their mind. It reminded of the pathetic incels and their view of women as 'Cunts' as though that was the only body part that defined us.
