“Carmen told me he had kissed her only four times since he returned from military service, in the spring. She added, with irritation, "Maybe he's not a man."
I didn't know anything about the dark depths that men could have, none of us did, and so for any confusing manifestation we had recourse to that formula.
Some wanted us in ways that were aggressive, subordinate, heedless, attentive - but that they wanted us there was no doubt. Others had - according to equally diverse attitudes - an aloof self-possession, as if between us and them there were a wall and the work of scaling it were our job.”
―
Elena Ferrante,
The Story of a New Name