If I am to believe the hype, I am powerless against the lust and rage within me waiting to ravage the seductive prowess of any woman’s body. The hype tells me that I must be helped by the covering of the female body. I am unable to hold back this Hyde inside. I am weak and finite in my ability to control my raging dick.

The most dangerous thing in my world is side boob, form fitting attire, and low cut shirts. Those that don these things are challenging the monster I am. Civil society and proper decorum call for women everywhere to walk upon eggshells as to not disturb this fragile arrangement I have with over half the world’s population. I am helping them help me not rape and pillage their fearfully and wonderfully made creation. Their flowers intact as daddies dance with daughters in hope of them being strong enough to stem the heathen tide of my animalistic flesh hungry ways.

While dads take sons to ballgames and chest bump and cheer, as scantily clad women tempt us from afar. In whispered tones when mommy is around, objectification and calls of, “I’d hit that” sound…I cannot help that I am an animal. High five with pride as she kicks her boots in to the sky.

Protect yourself from me! The sign, “I did not eat the apple first!” hangs from my neck like a millstone waiting to be cast in to the sea. But I am not sick. It is you that must learn to not tempt me. You are the one with the burden of proof. Begging, pleading you bring my monster out. Like Amnon your flesh brings out the worst in me. But let me make an honest woman outta you. It is not my fault that God made you so beautiful.

If I am to believe the hype, it is all on you that I have acquired this taste for flesh.

The problem is that the hype is not right. It absolves me from the responsibility I have to see the humanity of you instead of staring at your breasts. Objectifying you is not an invitation but my sin. When will man accept that sexuality and sin are not mutually inclusive and a woman’s body is not his playground?

If I am to believe the hype I can do nothing wrong and that’s not true. This is the kind of truth sustained by guilt and shame. Women are not insidious creatures, hand in the cookie jar with an obligation to bend to our ills. That problem with hype is that it is not living, breathing or even real. Hype is a machine conducting an orchestra of hate and woe that tells us all where we should go. It lies, cheats, and steals with no way to appeal. The only way to stop the hype is to see the God in you and the woman in me.

Don’t believe the hype.

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