If a woman were to ask me advice on men, I’d say there are two ways to a man’s heart; either really, really good sex or occupying an intellectual, weird or arty space that is predominantly occupied by men. In both cases, a woman has to have acquired a modicum of attractiveness, but even if she’s overweight or has some other physical flaw, she’ll still be pined after by at least a handful of men within her attractiveness range.
In the case of snagging a guy through good sex, a woman has to be so good at sex, perform sex acts so satisfyingly that, after all is said and done, the two bodies lying on the fluid covered sheets look less like a couple in post-coital glee, and more like two soldiers dying on a battlefield (albeit naked and sweaty); before being ready to go again an hour or so later. This will inevitably guarantee that a man comes back to the same woman; that he’s not just going back to get some because she put out, but because of HOW she put out. Soon she’ll have him thinking and obsessing about her, ignoring all those other flaws, like her advanced age, reckless behavior or propensity for getting the men around her into fights (more on that later).
In the case of women occupying a weird, arty or predominantly male oriented space, all women have to do is occupy a weird, arty or predominantly male oriented space. Whether it’s taking an interest in music that women typically don’t listen to, like Captain Beefheart or Magma, or just becoming funny; I mean FUNNY, not re-telling an anecdote that “you had to be there” to find funny, but funny. Or in the words of my former manager at the retail store I worked at before I rudely quit without warning her, “I became funny and developed a personality before I realized I was pretty.”
In either case, the effects on the male psyche can be absolutely devastating and will leave a man in a state of despair that won’t have him coming out of his house for days, as he drinks and hopes that his crush will reciprocate. It’s embarrassing, sad and a place we’ve all been before.
Like, for instance, what happened to me a few years ago…
About four years ago, I went to Grand Rapids to see Mastodon with openers Ghost and Opeth at a venue called the Intersection. Since the gig was over at midnight, and Grand Rapids is a 2 o’clock town, the guy I went with and I went to local bar to close out the night. At the bar, a female friend of mine kept signalling over to me as I was buying my first drink. When I walked over to her, she said, “jeez, looks like you care more about alcohol, than pussy!” I gave her a double take, thinking she was just being cute, but she was actually telling me that her friend wanted to fuck me that night. Jeez louise, holy self confidence (in spite the fact that her friend was seven years older than me, and as I learned that night, her age was beginning to show)! At that point, she introduced me to her friend and we chatted it up, and, being a bit drunk, kept saying things like, “put your arm around her!”, to which I said, “okay, okay, I got your point.” I made sure to scan her friend’s body and saw that her thin, yet somewhat curvy form filled out her slutty dress just fine and thought, “excellent!”
I parted from my buddy, and went with this bordering middle aged woman to a hotel. If you want to read the jizz-filled details of our encounter, you can do so here. I’m not going to mention who it is, but you can probably guess from the context clues. Ah, what a glorious passing of the night, a wonderful liaison that would soon be destroyed by the rising of the sun. In the eyes of many, this was nothing more than a cheap encounter, a series of satisfying fucks followed by lots of snuggling in our sweat, semen and vaginal juice covered sheets, but to me?
When we put our clothes on, I thought it was so adorable that she was in her gothy schwag, and I was in my black denim and motorcycle jacket, that I had us hold hands when we walked out, after which we had lunch, and then parted ways discussing meeting again. I even got her number and called during the week just to talk. Yeah, this is how much her fucking me had fucked with my brain.
To my luck she’d be traveling the two hours to MY neck of the woods THE VERY NEXT WEEKEND!!! She and her gay faggot goth friends, who I hate, were going to go to the Leland City Club in Detroit, to dance to “oonce-oonce” goth sounds among trench coats, Hitler haircuts, goth braids and robot platform boots. That same weekend there was a punk gig at my friend Alexis’ house. Oh, how I wish I had gone to the punk gig rather than stepping out of my comfort zone.
That Saturday, we talked about meeting, and she even said, “man, my friends are going to be pissed if I leave them, but whatever.” Ha cha! Life was sooo good! I was going to get fucked again by a nearing middle aged goth skank, whose somewhat droopy frame indicates she was once curvy and tone, and we’re going to lay around on a fluid soaked mattress again!
Except that is not what happened. Her friends sabotaged me every step of the way; making up lies, telling her I suck, making it absolutely clear to her that, “bitch, you will be leaving that loser, and I don’t care if you slept with him because you’ll find another.” When the end of the night approached, like a true female sociopath, she gave me no hints that things had gone awry, allowing me to drink myself into a drunken, happy stupor. Then, as their shuttle to the hotel where they were staying arrived, without so much as a word, she left me.
With the mix of alcohol, high anticipation, disappointment, feelings of disrespect and embarrassment, it’s a wonder I even ended up home that night. If a woman wonders what drives a man to do reckless and stupid things, there it is.
Of course, after bitching to mutual friends, who couldn’t care less that this cunt had screwed me over, I got over it, forgot about it, and moved the fuck on. The story SHOULD have ended there, but it didn’t…
Two year later – not to two days, not to weeks, not two months – she apologized to me in a private message, which explained what happened, how she was influenced by her stupid friends, how she fucked up and how she no longer associates with that group of people. At first I thought, “why are you telling me this now, and why should I care?” Then it struck me! She LIKES me! CLEARLY this is why she messaged me. I mean, why would she otherwise? I live two fucking hours away from her, so CLEARLY she was messaging me because, not only was she wrong for what she did, but now, she realizes the greatness that is me, and wants to put things right. I know what you’re thinking, so don’t even say it. To make the story even more embarrassing, I played this jam and this jam right after I got the message.
That week, I anticipated every interaction with this person, who, mind you is now two years older, has a kid I had no idea about at the time and, to be honest, is kind of a shallow minded nitwit. So, that Saturday, I said, “SURE, I’d LOVE to drive two hours to Grand Rapids to go out on a date with you!” When the day actually approached, she told me that, because her post office job had her work until the wee, late hours of 7PM, she would be too tired to do anything. AW NAH, son… the pressure cooker burst, and I let her have it. I’m not going to tell you what I said to her, but you can infer that I used a word that rhymed with “runt” at least once.
WHAT THE FUCK was wrong with me? This is what I’ve been reduced to? Pining after a 37 year old broad, with an okayish middle aged woman body, who listens to Marilyn Manson and needs to cake on a pound of makeup to hide the wrinkles she’s developed through copious amounts of boozing? I’m 30 years old; there are guys older than me who are dating cute, young chicks, and I’ve been reduced to THIS?!
All of this happened two years ago; after I spent a day moping and bitching, I read a few Roosh V articles, specifically the article called “Are You the Player or Are you Getting Played”, and, like an alcoholic who gives up cold turkey, I immediately went to the OKCupid and began messaging girls like I was sending out resumes. Within a month, I was going on dates, sleeping with girls and made dating into a casual affair that could potentially lead to a relationship; the feelings I had for that woman, who, if my recently seeing her at a bar in Grand Rapids is any indication, is now 39, still single and covers her wrinkles with EVEN MORE makeup, are effectively dead.
Okay, there’s one more part to this story that’s kind of funny and deserves to be told. After my freak out on her, she contacted me a third time to see if I was going to see Pentagram in Grand Rapids. This time, the reason I drove out was strictly to see Pentagram (with Bang, Radio Moscow and another band I forget at the moment). I didn’t even know she messaged me until after I arrived in Grand Rapids, so her being there was neither here nor there. In fact, I had went with a different friend, also a woman, but purely platonic.
When I ran into this person, she was extra-cordial. I thought, “oh no, what’s going on? Not this again.” Halfway through the night, however, she decided to turn cold on me. I think it has to do with what another woman told her about me, and, since this person has zero agency over her own actions, she decided that, in spite inviting me out, she would turn into a cold bitch – truly a sociopath. As it turned out, she was talking to this guy, who also happened to be on the sex offender’s registry (do girls get turned on by that type of thing?), and, for no reason whatsoever, he started giving me shit, saying things like, “nobody wants you around here.”
Considering this guy is only a head taller than me, but about my same build, I pushed him and goaded him. Then, outside the venue, we got into it. He got me on the ground and was pounding on my head before a cop pulled him off of me. Naturally, this girl, who has no soul, rather than saying, “what are you doing? Stop!”, just stood there and watched. Being that I was the one getting hit and that my face was covered with scratches and bruises, obviously the cops were going to side with me. So, when the officer asked me, “how do you all know each other”, considering that a. she practically got me into this fight, b. she was ignoring me when I talked to her after I got beat up and c. she’s all around a worthless human being, whose only value is that of a semen collector, I responded with, “we had sex in a hotel room.”
Her response was priceless, “what?! Why did you just say that? How could you?” Heh, heh… you cheap, dirty whore.
Oh, and I DID press charges, because, fuck that guy.