Bond, Everyman Bond

Let me put it to you this way: women love confidence in men. And when is a man most confident?

When he's firmly loved/in-love with a woman.

James Bond is desired by every beautiful woman he meets. He's supremely confident, but his confidence has little to do with how a specific woman loves him. Instead, he perceives how he's viewed in every woman's eyes. Bond is a man of the world, so naturally he'd be a man for every woman in the world.

He's also fictional, and most men aren't, who exist in the real world.

So a man in the real world, confident in his desire, emboldened by her desire, will nonetheless reflect a demeanor of confidence. And that is attractive to women. All women.

A man then becomes desirable to most women, at the least. Barring certain details about his physical make-up, or psychological faults, he can draw many women toward him. Because of one woman's love, let's call it, a man becomes a Man. Because one woman trusts him to love her, other women are automatically and intrinsically hardwired to want to trust him too. Trusting, then, becomes sexuality.

I've noticed in recent times, I'm far more able to attract attractive women. While I'm not married, I am bonded to a woman and our mutual high regard. The difference, in the eyes of other women, is that I'm not "safe," like a married man. I have a strong respect for married men; sometimes I long for the stability that comes from a working marriage. The point is, women instinctually long for "trust." Some will fool themselves that trust exists where it doesn't. That isn't the argument.

The secret of women is other women. What one woman trusts, another woman will trust. And another after that. And another. And strangely concurrent. The lonely man is a pariah, untrustworthy. The trusted man, bound by his selection into a single woman's most intimate desires, becomes What Every Woman is Seeking.

There's something to all this. I'm sure I'm not original in the thinking, or even the understanding, of such phenomenon. It is, I daresay, a mystery. Volcanically-oiled, and adrift.