I experienced two unfolding events in one day recently that imo are microcosms of the American sexual market.
A car was pulling out of a parking garage and for a second the driver didn’t notice a woman pedestrian walking in front of his car until his bumper was almost at her knees. He braked about a foot short of grazing her. She whirled around and, flush-faced, yelled at him to watch what he was doing. He gave the universal non-verbal cue of culpability for a driver misstep — shoulder shrug, head dip, and hands up palms facing outward — but this wasn’t enough penitence for her, and she slapped the hood of his car while yelling ‘fuck you’.
This was an outburst too far. The driver, a pudgeball-faced White dude, rolled his window down a little to yell back ‘hey don’t hit my car you crazy bitch’. The woman, a White, manjawed 30-something who if looks are anything to go by was not ((())), had stomped ten feet away from the car, cursing like a drunk sailor the whole time as families with little kids strolled near. The driver’s impudence reignited her rage, and she whisked around once more to launch into him, a fusillade of “fucking dick”s flying from her piehole.
Then, amazingly, she PUT UP HER DUKES and challenged the man to fight her. AN ADULT MAN. “Why don’t you get out of that car and say that to my face, fucking ASSHOLE”, or words to that effect. Her bony cheeks had deepened to a burgundy hue and she was rocking back and forth on her post-workout sneakers, ready to Amazon Prime drone those hands. She looked every bit the crazy bitch the driver called her. Much screaming and breast-thumping later, coupled with the growing risk she would try to kick out his car’s headlamps, the driver rolled up his window, flipped her the bird, and zoomed off, a final victorious BITCH carrying on his exhaust fumes.
She seethed and as I walked farther away from the scene of the gine I could hear her F bombs reverberating down the street. I remember thinking, ‘that bitch has more testosterone than half the men I know’.
Not more than a few blocks from aggrocunthighTgirl, I had an opportunity to uncrinkle the lingering disgust etched on my face from bearing witness to a manjawed psychoplath chimping out like a ghetto thug. Turning a corner, I found myself walking behind a vision in a powder blue felt sundress that stopped just below the cutaneous crease demarcating ass from leg, the kind of dress that clings softly to the skin, dipping into valleys where erogenous splits in womanly flesh funnel to downy furrows. The bottom of the dress imitated a lily-lipped bell, which amplified its impact on my horny level, and my thoughts drifted to a stiff breeze catching the parabolic fabric in an upward draft, revealing the snapper clapper inside.
From her tiny, thin waist bobbled a magnificently round ass, and her tits must have been spectacular because I caught a corona of side boob from the back. I tried not to look directly at it, using a mirror instead. She was tall and shapely, a hot rod of pure hourglass humdingery, wavy flaxen hair running riot over her entire back, framed by bare arms of the most delectable peaches and cream hue. I walked closer, thinking this was a va va vooman I had to impose my will upon, or at least had to see if her face was as inspiring as her body.
I wouldn’t have to bother. She heard a voice calling her name and turned toward the direction of its origination, which came from behind me, thus giving me a full view of her otherworldly visage…..
which, by my calculation, was the face of a 14 year old girl.
The discovery did nothing to thwart my emerging boner, but it did give me a bit of a queasy feeling somewhere nestled in the higher cognition modules of my brain.
The voice belonged to her cow mother, who shambled to her daughter’s side and took her arm, French-style, and they walked quickly away in another direction. I saw no father with them.
Two vagnettes, in my mind, so emblematic of our liberated sexual market. A pugilist city spinster with a man-hating chip on her Crossfit-carved shoulder, and a sexpot teenager whose mother had probably paid for the sexy clothes that would make her daughter look like a much older sophisticated slut.
Woman living vicariously through man, mother living vicariously through daughter. I living vicariously through myself. Pepe strokes his green chin knowingly.
Attachment Styles of Women-Younger Partners in Age-Gap Relationships.
Women have evolved to seek an older mate, however, research has shown negative opinions toward these relationships if the age-gap is significant. The most popular opinion is that women who date men that are 10 years or more their senior have an unhealthy relationship with their father. We investigated women-younger partners in age-gapped heterosexual romantic relationships to see if they differ in attachment styles when compared with women in similar-age relationships. We predicted that women in age-gap relationships will be predominantly securely attached, because it is evolutionary beneficial for women to seek older mates, and that there will be no significant difference in attachment styles between women in age-gap versus similar-age relationships. The common belief that the women who choose much older partners because of having “daddy issues” was unfounded in this study. There was no significant difference in attachment styles between the 2 groups, and 74% of the women in age-gap relationships were securely attached. Results are consistent with the limited literature on age-gap relationships regarding attachment style and relationship satisfaction. This study adds to the growing body of literature on attachment style and offers insight into the less-explored age-gap relationship dynamic.
There’s nothing psychologically unhealthy about an older man seeking a much younger woman or a younger woman loving a much older man. “Daddy issues” is just the butthurt bleat of envious beta males and bitterbitch aging females desperately trying to pathologize a natural expression of love and passion-inducing sexual polarity.
This is yet more laboratory proof from the whitecoats affirming the field observations of the common man; in this case, that women place less emphasis on men’s physical attributes than men do on women’s physical attributes, and more emphasis on other attractive male traits like personality, social status, resources, dominance, self-possession, confidence, and maturity.
So men, go ahead and fall in love with that barely legal beauty. You have less to worry about her motivations than you do about the jealousy and resentment you’ll provoke in everyone else who can’t stand to see you happy.
When mom and dad are out walking about with their teenage-early 20s daughter, something I’ve noticed a lot is the way the daughter will ostentatiously flirt with me (not a teenager), even to the edge of vulgar leering, right under the noses of her parents. Some of the sloppiest, most provocative eye fucking I’ve received has been from barely legal babes wedged in between parents while out for a stroll.
(This is a good time to head off at the pass the usual cunterie of disingenuous, slanderous feminist fugs and their white knight manlet lapdogs: “barely legal” refers to teenage or very young-looking early 20s women who have assumed the full suite of secondary sexual characteristics and who possess a womanly form of narrow waist, pert tits, and firm ass that would excite any psychologically healthy man with a functioning libido.)
Why this is I can only guess. Maybe teen girls in the brightest bloom of their ripening womanhood feel a devilish compulsion to test the boundaries of their feminine power over older men when that power is at its zenith but still, ostensibly, under the authority of their parents. Freud was a crackpot but some of his insights have merit, and a Freudian take on this would say that the teenage nymphet subconsciously desires to exert the same power over high status men that she perceives her mother exerts over her father. She is “feeling her oats”.
Anyhow, as a matter of course, if the girleen is stunning enough to suit my tastes, I won’t hesitate to volley back a daringly lascivious smirk, maybe to unsettle her from her perch of power paid for by her parents’ presence, and then, as an orbed forewarning, meet her dad’s eye with a balefully shaming squint. It is required.
Days of Broken Arrows provides a short history of Charles Manson, convicted murderer, cult leader, psychopath, and alpha male with a knack for harem building and marrying much younger women while in prison for life.
Son of a prostitute.
Spent most of his youth in detention centers.
When he was finally released as an adult, he begged to stay inside, worrying he could not handle life on the outside.
With a few years he had harems of women.
Orgies were so great that Beach Boy Dennis Wilson invited them to move in.
Dennis Wilson was a major Alpha Male rock star of the ’60s.
Manson then order his women to kill.
They were so devoted that they did.
His women were not ugly losers — some were former cheerleaders.
Say what you will about the guy, but he had an innate Alpha quality. Shame it was put to such bad use. Guys who whine they can’t get women should think about his life and how he managed to not only get women to sleep with him but basically make them servants to his will. He had some serious charisma.
I’m not surprised at the wife who is a fraction of his age. I’d be surprised if he didn’t have groupies.
He was even a talented songwriter. He placed a song on a Beach Boys album and penned this, which was later covered by Guns N’ Roses.
Yes, chicks dig jerks.
Some dig them a little
some dig them a lot.
Some chicks dig them
in the parking lot.
Some dig them white
some dig them black.
And some chicks even dig them
when they go on the attack.
Yes, chicks dig jerks
this much is true.
They dig jerks more
when they’re black and blue.
Chicks dig jerks
of all sizes and hues.
They dig charmers and badboys
and prisoners too!
Some chicks dig jerks
of the jerkiest sort.
They marry crazy killers
60 years older, and short.
Nice men and kind men
need not apply.
It’s dangerous folk
who catch a chick’s eye.
So when you see a puddle
and lay down your coat
just remember the chicks
backstage at death row.
Ol’ Charlie Manson
got himself married.
While you sit at home
and whack your tally.
On a related topic, F. Roger Devlin pondered the reason for the observable preference of women for jerks, in an article titled “The Question of Female Masochism“. A CH read of the week. The take-home punch:
I would suggest that female sadism might be expected to emerge in a society where men refuse to or are prevented from displaying dominance. A society-wide failure of men to take charge of women is likely to produce a great deal of conscious or unconscious sexual frustration in women which may express itself as sadism. […]
I do not know if frustrated masochistic instincts cause sadism in women—it is just my hunch. What I do feel confident in stating is that female masochism is a critically important subject which neither feminist denial nor the sanctimonious gallantry of Christian traditionalists should dissuade us from investigating.
You only had to listen… to yer loveable Heartiste.
There is no male equivalent to the female “five minutes of alpha” heart trap. Men simply don’t experience the same intense urge as women to constantly compare and contrast present lovers to past or potential future lovers. The hypergamous instinct, while technically a property of both sexes, is most pronounced in women. To reiterate why: Women have 400 viable eggs, men have billions of sperm.
However, wistful remembrance of old lovers, less an exercise in regret than in appreciation, does lay claim to frontier outposts of men’s hearts. The swell of erotic nostalgia will vary from man to man, and reach crest heights directly proportional to a man’s breadth of bedroom experience. The more women a man has lain and loved (and labored under), the greater his predilection to cynically scour his past for discarded perfection.
But it’s not the prettiest women in his past that such a man might fondly recall. Instead, it’s those “first movers” who move his memory. There is something lustfully osmotic about the late teenaged man’s brain that when permeated by the heartsmoke of that first or second lover seals the memory hard in neural carbonite. The ethereal aura surrounding one’s first love only vibrates stronger with passing years and passing lovers, until the enfeebling effect of old age finally defeats its crepuscular magnetism.
On that subject, reader Trainspotter eulogizes,
No matter how many girls you date/bang, when all is said and done, only a few will matter. Maybe only one. Everyone else is background noise. In time, you’ll literally forget almost all of them, as they are utterly irrelevant to anything you care about in life. But there will be a few Great Ones (yes, I’m stealing that from A Bronx Tale). You never forget them. Those are the ones you miss. Those are the ones that haunt!
Talk to a guy who’s banged two hundred girls, and ask him which ones were really important to him. He’ll probably give three names. Maybe a couple more, maybe a couple less. I could give five names that matter to me, but two stand out the most. Everything else is mere clutter. What the hell was her name? Who cares!
And here’s the bad news: chronologically, his top names will probably be mostly concentrated in the first ten percent, maybe twenty percent, of those conquests.
Something to think about. We often make the most intense connections when we are too immature to appreciate them, and most cavalier at throwing them aside. There is a paradox in there, somewhere, and also, I think, a lesson.
The searing chemical reaction of first loves requires two reagents: The unformed mind, and youth. Familiarity with the opposite sex may breed facility with them, but it also breeds ennui if one is not careful to exercise refinement of taste with the accumulating lessons. From the teens to mid 20s, men’s minds are ripe for imprinting, and the imprinting will be especially powerful in men with little prior romantic experience.
The other reagent, and the one Trainspotter hinted at, is sheer feminine youth. As teenagers, we men don’t appreciate the unearthly beauty of our female cohorts. Truly, a woman will never be as breathtakingly captivating as she is between the ages of 15 and 25 (and this range is skewed toward the younger age). A woman can still be beautiful well into her 30s, but as exquisitely beautiful as she was at 17? No. (The only exception to this rule with any practical significance is the obese teenage woman who loses the weight and transforms into the slender 28 year old yoga queen.)
The male appreciation for precious female youth doesn’t pick up steam until later in life, when younger women become more distant and older women more his dating partner norm. We as a species are cursed to value the good things in life with the clearest mind only in hindsight and when bedeviled by the less good things.
Imprinting + female youth = transcendent memories of first loves.
But there are other women who stir men’s longings, and who could properly rate alongside that first love. These are the women a man has just left behind, the nearest ghostly competitors to the woman he is now dating. Recent conquests linger in men’s thoughts because of their freshness, and if they were (at times) true loves, there will invariably follow flashes of padded regard. Men must wrestle with divinely received compulsions for sexual variety, and given that acquiring new variety is harder than tumescing on the laurels of past variety, men tend to accommodate their compulsion with the easy insertion of nearly corporeal memories.
The first ten percent, and the final ten percent. And somewhere between those two may hover aloft an outstanding lover or two who, through fateful circumstance, diverged from your shared path. Every other woman is, at best, recalled to dendritic apparition with strenuous mental exertion and, at worst, utterly forgotten. And as the years pile higher, the forgotten loves grow in number, though you’ll know this only in the abstract. Pain yourself to hold onto your anthology of women — and they will always be your women so long as you once took them completely — against the rust of time.
I call these once and present lovers the ephemeral few. With you when you want them, gone when you don’t, never existing when you have left them for good.
Charles Manson, perhaps the most infamous convicted killer of all time, is 79 years old and still locked up in California’s Corcoran State Prison, where he walks with a cane and sports chipped prison dentures. Star is a 25-year-old brunette who’s been loyally visiting Manson in jail since she was 19 years old and maintains several websites devoted to defending Manson and his pro-Earth environmental causes.
For those two of you who don’t know, Manson is one of America’s most infamous killers and cult leaders. When you combine fame with that sexy psycho vibe, pussy juice erupts all over the fruited plains.
And Star [ed: girls with one name are same night lay guarantees] says she can prove Manson is more devoted to her than any other girl: “I’ll tell you straight up, Charlie and I are going to get married,” she tells us. “When that will be, we don’t know. But I take it very seriously. Charlie is my husband. Charlie told me to tell you this. We haven’t told anybody about that.”
Star says there won’t be any conjugal visits because “California lifers no longer get them.” If they were an option, “we’d be married by now.”
Manson, however, seems less convinced the impending nuptials are a reality, “Oh that,” he says. “That’s a bunch of garbage. You know that, man. That’s trash. We’re just playing that for public consumption.”
Young hottie falls deeply in love with imprisoned killer 54 years her senior (and looking kind of badass for a geezer if you ask me). Young hottie wants to marry her old killer. Killer brushes aside her nuptial dreams as a PR ploy.
Reader Hair Slicked Back With Swag So Fresh (great handle) wrote to ask if CH could revive the posts that asked readers to rank female beauty in photos. The goal in those posts — achievement realized — was to demonstrate how men pretty much share the same taste in women.
You may think it obvious that men share the same gut reaction of what constitutes female beauty and female ugliness, and therefore not a subject worth bludgeoning to death, but the world is full of — and filling up more by the day with — defectives, misfits and losers who tirelessly propagandize pretty lies like “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” and “there’s a good man for every woman” and “sexual attraction is a matter of personal taste” and “grow old along with me the best is yet to be” and “BBWs have no trouble attracting men”. A few soul-shivving CH posts puncturing the bubble of platitudes that ensconces the degenerate freak mafia is but a ripple in the tidal wave of RAWMUSCLEDELUSION that is the hallmark of current Western intellectual discourse.
Hello CH, I’d like to commission a blog entry regarding these photos [ed: see pics below].
First of all, what do you see in these pictures?
Next, which of the two is hotter?
Finally, why did you pick one over the other?
Swag is getting at an interesting point about female beauty and men’s universal sexual preferences in his choice of these two particular women as ranking subjects. Although the rankings of homely women (4s and lower) and very attractive women (8s and higher) are largely agreed upon by the vast fantastic majority of men from all cultural and racial backgrounds, this near universal shared clear male preference gets more muddied in the fat part of the female beauty bell curve. Right there in the populous (YOUNG, SLENDER*) middle — where female 5s, 6s and 7s dominate the sea of snatch — the marginal differences in objective physical beauty that distinguish one girl from another in such a large population tend to exaggerate underlying idiosyncratic male tastes.
While general universal female attractiveness rules still mean that a randomly chosen typical 6 will not have as many, or as high quality, sexual marketplace options as a randomly chosen typical 7, there can be individual exceptions to this rule resulting from men’s particular preferences along minor, mostly cosmetic, beauty metrics. For example, a blonde 6 might get a man that both she and a brunette 7 want, simply because the man has a particularly strong preference for blondes. But that blonde 6 will likely lose out to a brunette 8 because the difference in facial beauty and how that appeals to universal primal male desire is great enough to overcome the individual man’s relatively weaker idiosyncratic preference for blondes.
*A few important points need to be made here.
First, obesity is skewing the female sexual market. Most American women are now chubby or worse. So the middle part of the female beauty curve in 2013 is now shifted to the left of where that same curve would have been in, say, 1960. The fat (heh) part of the female beauty curve is now shifted to where the dregs of womanhood — the 1s, 2s and 3s — Jabbanate. It’s no longer a bell curve but a pear curve. The 4s, 5s, 6s and 7s are still representative of the average of female beauty, but their total share in the female population has been sadly, tragically, whittled down to endangered species status.
Second, whenever we talk of female beauty rankings we are implicitly talking about women under the age of 30. Yeah, yeah there are some attractive 40-year-olds out there… for their age. Save it. Those attractive 40-year-olds were even hotter when they were 20-years-old. The wall spares no one, not even Monica Belucci. At best, the wall only hits some women harder and earlier than other women. This is a universal law about as predictable and unavoidable as the law of gravity. Sure, there are a few rare exceptions of women who miraculously got better looking into their late 20s or early 30s, but these biological rarities only serve to throw into stark relief the dictatorial governance of the primary SMP rule.**
**Many of these female late-bloomer exceptions are of former fatties who lost a ton of weight. A slender 35-year-old will be better looking to most men than a fatty 20-year-old version of herself.
Finally, we must note that there is one other group of rarified women whose ethereal beauty provokes a “narcissism of small differences” reaction in men: the hard 10s. 5s, 6s and 7s may cause some minor disagreement among men by dint of their numerical advantage in the female population, but hard 10s provoke the most heated disagreement. One man’s 10 is another man’s 9.5, and GODDAMNIT he is going to let you know that 0.5 points makes all the difference in the world. Male personal whim tends to get exaggerated to outsized importance when contemplating the beauty of truly exquisite creatures.
Anyway, onto the beauty ranking. Two girls are featured, in two different photos. They represent the slightly right-of-middle part of the female beauty curve. The objective here is not an absolute ranking of the two girls, but a relative one.
You, the readers, will decide which of these two girls, both of whom are fairly close together in looks and both of whom are representative of the majority of young, thin women, is the better looking of the two. Will the voting show significant disagreement? Or are men better at distinguishing, say, 6s from 7s than we give them credit for?
Here’s a close-up shot:
After you have voted in the above poll, write in the comments what distinguishing features of either girl swayed your judgment. What details about these two girls pushed you to vote one or the other as more attractive? Be as specific as possible. (Note to women voters: “specific” does not mean “she has a sexy chi”.)
Give that some thought, and then vote in this poll:
Results and analysis will be posted later.
Early return poll results are in and the winner, by an overwhelming margin of victory, is…
The girl on the left! And that’s a good thing for a lot of you guys because the girl on the right…
IS A MAN, BABY!
Reader Swag follows up:
Not everything is what it seems. You’ve been duped! The pictures do not contain two women, but rather, a man and a woman! The woman is the one in the white top and the man is the one in the black top. The man underwent hormone replacement therapy to turn into a tranny, and has been living as a woman for the past 8 months. The tranny’s actually wearing a wig until his real hair grows out long enough to look like a woman’s hair. They’re siblings, and the black top brother is only a few years older than the white top sister. Nice contrast, I know.
Let’s see what some readers had to say.
“the one on the right’s eyes seem to show an IOI but the one on the left is more deadpan.”
“And rightie is a 6 based on having a tight body in a world where 98 out of 100 women are fat or obese.”
😆😆😆😆😆 Tranny hotter than fat chicks. What more needs to be said about fat chick prospects?
“People saying the one on the right is a 5? Really? Nobody’s standards are that delusionally high. 99% of the dudes here would gladly fuck either of them and be thankful for it.”
I don’t know that feel, bro.
“Girl in the white top is a quick fuck I’d maybe LTR the girl in black but cheat on her a lot.”
…wait a sec…. ok…
“The one on the right’s nose and general facial structure makes me think she’s a former man, to be honest. At first she looks quite good but if you look for a few seconds it just doesn’t feel quite right.”
Commenter Loc wins the thread and spares his masculine essence horrible indignity.
This being CH, an April Fool’s joke is not just a joke. There’s an underlying message. And that message is this:
Universal male attraction standards are vindicated again.
You may wonder how this is so, considering that men were arguing over the “beauty” of a tranny, and a few benighted souls even voted in favor of the tranny. Well, note how overwhelming is the victory for the real girl. Then notice how many men in the comments said that “something just wasn’t right” about the girl on the right. This person is probably the best looking, or rather the most realistic looking, tranny you will ever see, and STILL he couldn’t quite pull it off. Most men can pick up on the subtlest facial cues that differentiate plain from pretty women and, yes, uncannily fake women from real women.
Look, too, at the poll results for the features that readers said most informed their ranking judgments. Body, jawline, chin, eyes and noses were the big (heh) overriding facial characteristics that pinged men’s (and women’s) mate (or competitor) attractiveness triggers. As Swag writes,
What you should have noticed about the girl wearing the gray/white top:
– All-natural 32Ds (Titty-fuck, anyone? :P)
– Smaller facial features (softer jawline, pointed chin, modest cheekbones, etc.)
– Large and warm eyes that sparkle in the light
– Fuller and wetter bottom lip
– Congruent hairline parted close to the middle
– Tasteful fake nails on long, slender female fingers
– Sexy, hourglass figure within the ideal BMI range
– Feminine display of ownership by cradling the waist of the girl in the black top
What you should have noticed from girl wearing the black top:
– Flat, pancake tits undeserving of a cup size mention
– Wider, more angular facial features (manjaw, uppercut-ready chin, prominent cheekbones, etc.)
– Smaller, darker eyes devoid of that bright spark
– Flat and chapped bottom lip
– Incongruent hairline which doesn’t sit right
– Unpolished nails on short, stubby man hands
– Straight, column-like hips with the sex appeal of a balance beam
– Masculine display of ownership by draping the arm around the shoulders of girl in gray/white top
Female beauty is not subjective, except in the metaphysical sense that an individual’s neurons have to operate to perceive the beauty. A transsexual can only be perceived as womanly if he alters his body and face to such a radical degree that he begins to conform with innate biologically grounded standards already in place in the brains of men. The very fact that transsexual men have to conceal or otherwise surgically reconstruct their male features to more resemble female features in order to “pass” with straight men is hard real world evidence that female beauty is objective and male sexual attraction preferences are universal. And even then… the ruse is exceedingly difficult to pull off.