powerful passion what do displays of jealousies really say about you. "Get your hands off my man!" Lindsey snapped as she grabbed Meg's waist and pulled her off me. For good measure Lindsey gave Meg a hard shove, adding, "And stay off!" Lindsey was a petite, pretty blond I had been seeing for maybe two weeks during one college summer. Meg was a sexy brunette who probably had no real interest in me but, for some reason, had been clinging to me at a party on someone's backyard. What Lindsey's approach may have lacked in finesse, it more than made up for in effectiveness. Meg and I never got near each other again for the rest of the summer. Frankly, Lindsey's no-holds-barred approach was flattering. I also developed a new respect for her because she didn't blame me for Meg's flirtation, treating it instead as an affront to our mutual sensibilities which, of course, it hadn't been at the time but became in retrospect. In terms of sheer effectiveness, I can remember only one other jealous response to Lindsey's. I was in my mid-20s. During an interruption in my relationship with Sharon, a chic, passionate Asian woman, I went to a disco with another woman whose name or face I no longer recall. It just so happened that Sharon was at the same disco with a girlfriend. As I danced, I felt her eyeing me darkly from her table which, of course, encouraged me to display more interest in my date than I may have otherwise. After leaving the disco, I took my date back to the apartment for drinks. "Get that bitch out of there in ten minutes," hissed Sharon, "because I'm on my way."

I did as I was told, partly because I feared having my apartment become the scene of a Saturday-night love-homicide with me either as a victim or the key witness, partly because there was something in Sharon's voice tht told me I wouldn't be sorry. I had barely gotten my date out the door when Sharon's red import squealed into the apartment building's underground parking lot. I heard the slamming of her door and the clacking of impatient heels as I quietly pressed my apartment door closed. Sharon didn't bother with the doorbell that night. The first thing she did when I opened the door was to slap me hard across the face. The second thing she did, even before I had closed the door, kept me suspended, for what seemed like an eternity, between ecstasy and terror of her many small, sharp teeth. She made me very very glad I had obeyed her. Unfortunately, most of my experiences with feminine jealousy have been far less pleasurable. Public screaming fits, violence, destruction of personal and even real property, calls in the wee hours, tearful letters -- you get the picture. I don't plead innocent to every accusation leveled by jealous women, but I was innocent enough in enough instances to feel a certain justification in taking a superior attitude toward the more pedestrian expressions of jealousy which, after all, are pretty boring and tedious. I mean, how many times can you get locked out without pants before it gets to be old hat? How many times can you have drinks thrown in your face in nice restaurants before yuo start worrying more about your dry-cleaning bill than the relationship? I have been able to decipher no racial patterns in expressions of jealousy. Some Asian women were cool and controlled while others were downright violent. Some White women were in my face while others were diabolically subtle. Some Asian women redoubled their efforts to hold on to me while others went out of their way to get even, The same goes for White women. The one thing I have learned is that acts of jealousy seldom have their intended effect. Where a woman tried to cause pain, I felt pity instead. Where a woman tried to humiliate, I became convinced of my superiority. Where a woman tried to make me regret my supposed attraction, I felt provoked to even stronger interest. Where a woman tried to prove how much she suffered because of my thoughtlessness, I felt nauseated. The only time a jealous woman succeeded in making me feel more attracted toward her was when she showed me directly and honestly that she wanted me regardless of what anyone else did or wanted. That takes a kind of courage that is as flattering to both sexes as it is rare. I will always feel warmed by the few memories I have of women who wanted me and weren't afraid to show it.