Younger Women Are Good For A Man’s Health

It’s a truism that oftentimes the things that feel good to us are also good for us. A recent German study found that men live longer if they marry younger women, and that the longevity benefits accrue with each additional year the woman is younger than the man. (Hat tip: reader Conscientious Observer)

A man’s chances of dying early are cut by a fifth if their bride is between 15 and 17 years their junior.

The risk of premature death is reduced by 11 per cent if they marry a woman seven to nine years younger.

Every man reading this is saying to himself “They needed a study for this?”. Every woman reading this is saying to herself “I cream for my oevrlord!”.

And in a shocking… shocking, I say!… discovery, older women are bad for a man’s health.

The study at Germany’s Max Planck Institute also found that men marrying older women are more likely to die early.

What about the fabled cougars and their false bravado boosterism for the delights of hard-up boy toys?

The results suggest that women do not experience the same benefits of marrying a toy boy or a sugar daddy.

Wives with husbands older or younger by between seven and nine years increase their chances of dying early by 20 per cent.

Hilarious. As for women dying younger when married to an older man, that’s a feature, not a bug. Since he’s older and has a shorter lifespan as a man, she’ll die right around the same time as him. Hollywood romance!

The study’s authors theorize why this might be so.

Scientists say the figures for men may be the result of natural selection – that only the healthiest, most successful older men are able to attract younger mates.

“Another theory is that a younger woman will care for a man better and therefore he will live longer,” said institute spokesman Sven Drefahl.

I have a better theory. When a man is banging a hot chick half his age he wants to stay alive as long as possible! Incentives matter.

Maxim #93: The rare older woman-younger man pairing is like a lab experiment gone wrong. It violates the natural order of things, and leaves its practitioners emotionally twisted and in a constant mental race to hyperrationalize their subpar mate choice.

The younger man in such a bizarro world December-May coupling has no interest in her rusty muff beyond dumping a few fucks in her until someone younger and hotter comes along. The older woman knows she is an expedient hole and will never be loved by her boy toy, nor will she ever truly be able to love him. (Women are wired to experience difficulty falling in love with younger men.) Hers is a loveless future of cats and belly roll lint.

And so what you see are weirdo new-age divorcees and rode hard and tossed away wet single moms bleating most loudly about the glories of the younger man, because in point of fact they cannot attract the sorts of men they most want. They wave away their sad predicament with a bowl of sour grapes and transparent sloganeering. There are certain types of women nearly all men avoid for anything more substantial than a few rolls in the hay. Two types that are always at the top of that no-go list are eccentric, deranged divorcees and bitter, emotionally arid, caustically unfeminine single moms.

Go forth, brothers, and sweep a younger woman off her feet. You now have the stamp of science validating your lechery.

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Sexual Dystopia: A Glimpse At The Future

A recurring theme here, and one that has gone wholly underappreciated by our elites on the Left and the Right, is how insidiously the culture and the sexual market have changed since the advent of the Four Sirens of the Sexual Apocalypse. As a helpful reminder, here are the four sirens I’m talking about:

1. Effective and widely available contraceptives (the Pill, condom, and the de facto contraceptive abortion).
2. Easy peasy no-fault divorce.
3. Women’s economic independence (hurtling towards women’s economic advantage if the college enrollment ratio is any indication).
4. Rigged feminist-inspired laws that have caused a disincentivizing of marriage for men and an incentivizing of divorce for women.

As I have written, these changes are slowly, but powerfully, tectonically shifting the courtship playing field. The big winners are alpha males and the big losers are beta males. Alpha females continue to do well because their beauty is so rare that they can successfully leverage their mating capital even when market conditions turn unfavorable. Beta females lose their long term advantage under the new dispensation at the gain of an ephemeral, deceptively alluring short term advantage. The modern PUA, an amalgam of the wisdom of old-fashioned rakes and the science of new-fangled evolutionary psychology, is one outgrowth of this massive and heretofore misapprehended trend.

We’ve had 40 years of this informally polygamous system killing us softly, and the results can be seen directly in delayed age of first marriage, rising divorce rates, decreasing fertility, and harem volunteerism, and indirectly through the coarsening and bastardization of American sensibility and governmental policy (e.g., Title IX, multicult suicide pact, AA, open borders, the ascendence of the therapy culture, and just about every assinine court decision since).

Maxim #66: The worst thing to happen to America was women’s suffrage.

Naturally, changes on this scale don’t happen overnight. There was a store of good will and optimistic future time orientation bequeathed us by our beta male forebears — the men of the 19th and 20th centuries who built America into the hyperpower that made France shit its knickers — that will take generations to dissolve into the watery gruel of transnationalist solipsistic hedonism. We may even witness brief moments of cultural comeback, but the overall trend is unmistakeable. We are going the way of Rome.

A few months ago I had an email exchange with Randall Parker who writes two blogs I enjoy – Parapundit and Futurepundit. I wondered aloud what Greg Cochran — co-author of a PC shibboleth-smashing book about how human evolution has sped up in the last 10,000 years (and judging by his online persona a royal prick (my kind of guy) held in high esteem by his fellow genomic scientists) — anticipated the future shape of human evolution would take given the sexual marketplace changes I’ve written about on my blog. Specifically, I wanted to know if the Four Sirens would speed up human evolution even faster than the dawn of agriculture. This was Parker’s and Cochran’s reply (via R. Parker):

Contraception is a selective pressure for the desire to make babies and for less planning. Women who want to make babies won’t use the pill. Women who can’t plan for dinner won’t plan for getting a doctor’s appointment for a contraceptive prescription. I’ve written posts about this on FuturePundit. An Australian twins study found that Catholicism and fewer years of education are both positively correlated with fertility (no surprise on either score).

I asked Greg and Henry about this. Greg says in theory one can calculate the speed at which higher fertility will be selected for. But Henry says there’s not good data on the heritability of fertility.

As for other selective pressures: Greg has speculated that people will become more loyal to family. So the world will become more like the Middle East. Not good.

Greg also sees a biological eugenic arms race on the horizon.
http://www.isteve.com/Thatcher-Speech-Text.htm

Unencumbered by post-Christian ethics, the Chinese government recently passed a pre-1945-style eugenics law calling for the sterilization of “morons.” The ruthlessness of this law portends that if China implements genetic enhancements while the multiculturalist West either bans them or pursues a politically correct reengineering of human nature, the inevitable result within a few generations would be Chinese economic, and thus military, global hegemony. As the weapons scientist and evolutionary theorist Gregory Cochran pointed out, “We cannot opt out of this biological arms race any more than we could opt out of the nuclear arms race.” Therefore, those serious about either preventing or decreeing genetic engineering should start planning a preemptive nuclear strike on China, and soon.

Time to speculate about the future. In sum, we will have more people with lower future time orientation (i.e., the temperament to save for a rainy day and delay gratification for greater future gain), more impulsiveness (great for knocking up broads, not so great for building and sustaining first world levels of civilization), and more distrust of societal institutions in favor of tighter familial bonds (great for aspiring warlords and corrupt kleptocrats, not so great for maintaining a loyal national military or respect for the law or a basic sense of fairness).

In possibly what will turn out to be the juiciest irony in all of human history, feminism and its co-ideologies of deceit may usher in an America that looks more like a patriarchal Middle Eastern caliphate of their worst nightmares. The realization of the matricentric utopia that feminism has been clamoring for these last few generations will undo the very foundation upon which the rancid ideology was able to prop itself.

Human nature does not offer us a bottomless chest of treasure. Few are exempt from trade-offs, and no society can have everything its heart desires. To restore American greatness and comity of its people, feminism and its cousin -isms will have to be rolled back. This will mean women will sacrifice their earning power and some career freedom. The alternative is what we have now — economically independent women, freed from shame and the restrictions of their biology by the pill and abortion, following their vaginas straight into soft polygamy, state-supported single motherhood, and grossly unjust payday divorce settlements.

Now I will tell you how to save America from this fate. The answer will surprise some of you:

More PUAs.

America is beyond saving in the traditional ways. The rot has metastasized. There will be no glorious beta male uprising. Like one of the commenters from yesterday’s post pointed out, the first cute girl to bat her eyelashes at one of these revolutionary Che Betas will have him betraying the brotherhood faster than you can say “just the tip”. Nor will there be a repeal of the 19th Amendment, though there should be (and, no, I am really not kidding about that. Exhibit A: Cuntrag).

No, the solution is to give the New Girl Order *exactly* what it wants: Game, and an army of cads that practice it. Force feed the beast until it is choking on its own gluttony. The emissaries of the Great Lie must have the consequences of their ignorance and treachery shoved down their throats. In time, the unabashed pursuit of hedonism and the embrace of Darwinistic nihilism (two potent forces which, coincidentally, happen to have truth and pleasure on their side. Exhibit B: God is dead) will raze the neoliberal monolith to the ground, and from the ashes the eternal human cycle will begin anew, strengthened and revitalized. A complete reconciliation with our tragic destiny gives us the only chance to avoid it.

More neg hits, more qualifying, more takeaways.

Faster, please.

ps: don’t bother recruiting me. i’ll be poolside.

pps: conservatives need to get their heads out of their asses about the nature of women.

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Self-Defeating “Romantic” Lines You Should Never Say

There are times when we men can’t help but gush our feelings of love for our woman. It’s Ok. Passionately pouring out your heart is not inherently un-alpha. But there is a right way and a wrong way to do it. For instance, right ways:

“I love you more than you will ever know.”

“I thought about your smile today.”

“I want to kiss you all over and make love to you all night.”

“My gargantuan member throbs for your squeezebox.”

Notice a pattern? Alpha passion is proactive, assertive, conspicuously noncommital, temporally ambiguous, and decidedly non-goopy. Here are the wrong (beta) ways to express your love:

“I’m so lucky to have you.”

Way to demonstrate lower value, champ.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Just what a girl wants to hear — she’s with an unworthy man. This is David Alexander’s go-to line.

“Our hearts beat like one.”

Homo say what?

“I love you SOOOOOOOO much.”

Are you a 15 year old girl?

“You are my everything.”

Poon Commandment III: You shall make your mission, not your woman, your priority. (Chicks dig guys drawing up blueprints for world domination.)

“I couldn’t go on without you.”

What she hears: “If you dump me I’ll kill myself.”

“Say you’ll never leave me.”

What she hears: “I’m a loser who can’t get another woman.”

“I will always love you.”

Great. You just gave her carte blanche to act like a high maintenance prom queen.

“You pooped in my toilet, and I haven’t flushed it in a week.”

This could work as humor if you say it deadpan. But if your eyes well up with tears and you clutch your chest in anguish while saying it, the effect will be ruined.

See the difference? Beta passion is needy, desperate, cloying, self-effacing. Some might argue that the whole idea of passion is to drop pretense and embrace the freedom of vulnerability, but I disagree. A woman’s alpha radar never stops monitoring for beta blips on her emotional space, so the next time she complains that you don’t show your soft side enough, you can take that to mean you’re doing your job, Skittles Man. Anyhow, it’s better to be romantic through actions rather than words.

If you do slip up and catch yourself uttering one of the above sappy beta romantic lines, you can save face by immediately following up with “… for me to poop on!”. Yes, even for the last one.

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Be A Skittles Man

Reader Fabian linked to a funny entry on the ‘Don’t Date Him Girl’ blog:

He had several “lady friends” who stayed the night at his house and he claimed they were “Just friends”. He frequently forgot important details about me, such as the fact that I had a sister, my birthday and what sorts of hobbies I had. He blew me off constantly, would return calls a week later with the excuse of “I was busy.” I often spoiled him with gifts, rides and sex only to receive a bag of Skittles in return. (I don’t even like skittles!) That was the only gift I ever received from him! I met a new friend and we were bonding over “worst ex-boyfriend stories” and suddenly we realized “boy, a lot of these sound the same… Was his name ____?” IT WAS THE SAME GUY!!!

In an unintentional juxtaposition for the ages, reader joel left a comment in my Pimp Slap post about a wedding he attended:

I just attended a wedding the  bill for which, paid mostly by the parents of the bride but with substantial input from the groom’s parents, would easily pay for the private education of several children. It could have paid for a modest but nice house in a good neighborhood in many parts of the country. Hint: The flowers cost about $15,000.

It is amazing what the matriarchy does. The Darwinian purpose of this, I believe, is to keep the husbands working their asses off, and keep them broke, so they can’t go out and buy a younger woman for their next wife or keep a concubine.

Really. There is no other logical explanation for this excess.

Two men, two vastly different experiences with women. One man gets all the pussy he wants for the bargain basement price of a bag of Skittles, while the other man marries a woman in a wedding ceremony featuring flowers that cost $15,000.

How much you want to bet the first guy’s rotation of girlfriends is hotter than the second guy’s $15,000 flower wife? How much you want to bet the first guy gets all the anal sex and blowjobs he desires while the second guy will be begging for his once-a-month sex as soon as the vows are exchanged? If one of these guys is a herb, who is it more likely to be?

FACT: Odds are good you will enjoy a bounty of pussy and love if you act like Skittles guy. FACT: Odds are good you will spend the rest of your life begging for tepid sex from the same old boring pussy if you act like $15,000 wedding flower guy.

Be a Skittles man. Don’t be a $15,000 wedding flower man.

I’ve been in the company of a lot of women who hailed from all sorts of stations in life. I know the sound of a woman in love, and it usually sounds like the woman in the Skittles story — bitching and moaning about a world class asshole, chasing him from here to kingdom come to cajole him to surrender at least a small measure of his autonomy (which he never does), and always… ALWAYS… going back to him when they have a bad fight. I’ve been that guy.

I’ve also been around the kinds of women from the wedding flower story. They usually sound like they are more in love with the idea of $15,000 wedding flowers than they are with their man. They never chase, and their men are in the permanently disabling position of constantly bending over backwards to satisfy their women’s whims. Women who are princess-ified have power over their men, even over the kinds of men who themselves have power over other men. The women know this and they subconsciously resent it.

Joel is right. The matriarchy in all its silly manifestations — extravagant weddings, diamonds-nookie barter, pop culture propaganda, daddy government disease — is structured to handicap men. To cut them off at the knees. Fitting, really, because a man on his knees is exactly where he’d have to be to agree to $15,000 wedding flowers. The finances aren’t the core issue; it’s the corrosive effect such a wasteful expenditure for a woman will have on her attitude. The matriarchy loathes and fears Skittle Man, the freeloader who nonetheless basks in the love of many women. The matriarchy would rather men be like Wedding Flower Man, slaving dutifully as a nameless, faceless cog in the machine paying his dues for his two pence of pussy. Society’s Little Helper.

And at the end of the day, what for? To thanklessly pump out cannon fodder for the wars of the future? Fuck that sideways. The rulebook was written to constrain free thinkers like you. When you know the score, when you understand that this life is all there is and all there ever will be and your legacy in gold or works or kids means nothing when your consciousness is obliterated to nothing and your deathbed is lined with the garland of regret and pleasures denied and the memory of your decades of pointless sacrifice crawls slowly across the walls like night shadows to suffocate you in your final doom… only then will you look your blushing bride in the eye and inform her that there will be no $15,000 wedding flowers and she can hit the bricks if that’s unacceptable to her.

Better yet, tell her there will be no wedding and no marriage. She can love you without needing the permission of the state.

Some newcomers are aghast when they read my stuff. They think this blog must be a joke or the ravings of a lunatic, a madman driven to the brink by a particularly damaging experience with an ex. No. While I’ve had my joys and sorrows and loves and heartbreaks just like any other man possessing a wealth of experience with women, on the whole most of the women in my life have been and continue to be cherished loves. My lunacy is the clear-eyed vision of Neo after the matrix is revealed to him. Reality makes lunatics of us all, but only those with the eyes to see and the ego to spare ever embrace it unconditionally.

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Girls Who Insisted I Use A Condom

It’s interesting to recall who among the women blessed to have crossed lifepaths with the masculine juggernaut that is moi insisted I use a condom on the first night together. (Note: This is a separate issue from whether I decided to use a condom myself.)

A partial selection (because who can remember every girl they’ve slept with?):

Update: I completely forgot the DC lawyer chicks ———– NO CONDOM.

First love — Insisted on condom.
French au pair — Insisted on condom. Rolled it on with her mouth.
Bikini girl — No condom.
Riotgrrl DJ — Insisted on condom.
Library pickup — No condom.
Chinese girl — Insisted on condom.
Asian girl of indeterminate origin — No condom.
Asian girl of painfully tight hole — Insisted on condom.
Amelie lookalike — Insisted on condom.
Indian girl — Insisted on condom for blowjob (!) but not for sex (!!).
Artsy chick (#17 in a series) — Insisted on condom.
Cokehead — Insisted on condom.
Girl who was beaten by stepdad — Insisted on condom.
Ugliest girl I have ever banged — No condom.
Hard-charging MBA student — No condom.
Best friend of hard-charging MBA student — Insisted on condom.
Married Russian chick — No condom.
Russian au pair — Insisted on condom.
Married Polish chick — No condom.
Blonde with boyfriend — No condom.
Short brunette with boyfriend — No condom.
Bartender 1 — No condom.
Bartender 2 — No condom.
Bartender 3 — No condom.
Stripper — Insisted on condom.
Croatian chick — Insisted on condom.
Girl with smelly pussy — No condom.
Girl with five mangy hamsters for pets — Insisted on condom.
Black girl — No condom.
NIH nurse — Insisted on condom for round one but dropped insistence for round two.
Tomboy — Insisted on condom.
Romanian chick — No condom.
Preacher’s daughter (for real) — Insisted on condom.
Niece of semi-famous politico — Insisted on condom.
Blog groupies (6 of 13) — No condom.
Girl with furry ass — Insisted on condom.
Army girl with smelly ass — No condom.
Bulgarian girl — Insisted on condom.
Finnish girl — No condom.
Turkish girl — No condom.
Argentinian girl — Insisted on condom.
French girl with the most beautiful name in the world — No condom.
Girl who mentioned she was a Mensa member — No condom.
Chic Noir — No condom.

Rubbing my chin in deep pontification, savoring every delicious sexual memory, I detect a correlation between how long I dated a girl and whether she insisted I use a condom on the first night together. Here is a graphical representation:

The time I spent with the girl is the vertical axis. The number of times she insisted I use a condom is the horizontal axis. (Condom insistence was usually frontloaded in the dating cycle.) As we can see, the girls who insisted I use a condom on the first night were more likely to be granted the privilege of being my girlfriend. Dirty little sluts who flung themselves at my unsheathed cock had a higher chance of being a pump and dump or short term fling.

The longer a girl insisted on condom usage, the likelier I would treat her like a precious gemstone. But there are diminishing returns to this general rule. If a girl refused to start taking the pill and made me wear a condom well past the four week mark, I cut her loose. This was probably a wise decision by me. One, condoms suck. Two, she thinks I’m sleeping around on her but doesn’t care (this is a bad foundation for a fledgling relationship, even if true). Three, I wonder who else is she fucking?

For solid girlfriend material, you’ll want to aim for a condom usage insistence number of three sexual encounters. This allows her to maintain the fiction that she isn’t a slut, while not pushing you past the point of grudging acceptance into resentment at having your pleasure circumscribed by some smelly latex.

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Slut Strikes Back

Occasionally I get linked by the kind of blog which makes my heart swell with pride. This happened recently when the self-professed polyamorous slut over at The Errant Wife linked to my post about identifying sluts and set a new land speed record for projectile menstruating an uncontrollable tizzy. Let’s see what she really thinks of yer ‘umble paladin of slutty truths:

How to tell if you are a premature ejaculating, insecure, mother-fucking cock/asshat/wannabe/loser:

1. You criticize a woman who “talks about sex first” or “ask for kinky stuff.”
What, your “masculinity” can’t handle being asked for something she likes? You don’t like a woman to be interested in sex? This seems odd, given that you like to ‘tap ass’ as you so eloquently put it. Hmmm, maybe you don’t like to be asked ’cause you don’t know how to give it to me? Just putting it out there.

[…]

5. You have a small cock.
Hate to break it to you, darling, but all that ‘cavernous cunt’ stuff you are spouting – not so much a problem with the ladies…

[…]

6. You talk about all the ass you tap, but want wife/mother material with under 3 partners.
You know, I can’t stand a man who can’t handle a girl who knows what she wants. Not to put to fine a point on it – put if you have been with THAT many women to be able to identify THAT many different kind of sluts then we have a bit of a pot/kettle situation here, motherfuckers. And really, I am going to limit myself to three or under sexual partners so I can wear your cheap ring and bear your shallow end of the gene pool dim children? Yeah, I think I’ll pass.

[…]

Let me tell you something: real women, interesting women, women with brains and women that are going places – even if these women have had the three or less sexual partners you require – they are not going to be interested in the likes of you. They want a man who sees them, who appreciates life and people and who is looking for a person and a relationship that is fulfilling for both parties, not someone who is in the market for a misogynist idea and the pretty girl that matches it.

For the record, I a woman of mind and beauty and body, a woman of education and spirit and soul – a woman who has had more than three sexual partners and has enjoyed and adored every one of them – and you are completely unworthy of a woman of my calibre.

I am utterly out of your league.

I admire her spunk (note: not a barely concealed reference to any vaginal toxic sludge). What she lacks in original thinking she makes up for with energetic verve. I bet she piston-fucks like a man.

How much do you want to bet that the guy who wrote the article would respond to that last statement with: whatever, I am sooo not interested? Like that would be an insult.

Although Miss Proudly Polyamorous Cumfunneler wisely blocked out her face, judging by the half-naked pics of herself on her blog, she looks potentially attractive. Late 30s? Body is decent. Given the evidence at hand, I’d respond: “I’d keep the conversation to a sanity-preserving minimum and fuck you all night long into the morning, then eat your leftover chinese food and leave.”

The commenters were unanimous in their love:

Some time ago I wrote something in our blog about what I called the “whiny male bitchassness” women have to put up with when they aspire to and own their sluthood, and that fucktard who wrote the post you responded to is a good example of what I was talking about.

A woman aspiring to sluthood is like a nerd aspiring to social ineptitude. Frame that accomplishment and hang it on the wall, grrl! And what does “own your sluthood” mean? Is it anything like “own your facial”? Femspeak: War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Sluttiness is courage.

On behalf of the majority of men out there I apologize for this scumbag’s post. We all do not think this way and it really does point out his insecurities.

Beta.

i guess this is probably a bad time to tell you that i’ve never wanted you more than i do right now, eh?

Supremo beta.

I read his blog for awhile and while he definitely is prone to humor and satire, actually some pretty good stuff too, the blogger in question does have an overall theme of thinking a good woman is the traditional woman myth. That their man should be their center of their universe and gives them purpose and all other good things. He suffers from a lot of ignorance.

Overall my impression was a talented writer who was a total narcissist who truly does think he knows everything from quick observations into his life where his thoughts of himself and beliefs seem to always magically get validated.

This was from a commenter named Crystal, a woman who is drawn, despite her better judgment, to my awesome vortex of masculine power and devilish charm. Crystal, did you know that narcissism is one of the “dark triad” male traits which compels women to shimmy out of their panties? You do now, sexxxysuga.

OMG I love your rant, so incredibly well said. The guy is a complete ‘fucktard’ & is obviously as intimidated as hell by women who are sexually confident and secure.

Ego-bruised female armchair psychological diagnosis #349 in a series.

I’m not sure what makes my head spin more, this fucktard or all of the comments who appear to agree with him.

Please believe me, all men are NOT like that guy!

Do betas get laid with this lame white knighting suckassery or do they get a platonic hug buddy and blue balls? Rhetorical.

And my favorite comment of all (from a man, no less):

words can’t even express how well — how perfectly — this diatribe responds to the caliber of idiot that is me. “the 16 commandments of poon” — really? “the dating market value test,” segregated arbitrarily into two versions for the two genders society perceives.

i’ve met a lot of amazing womyn in my four years of college but it’s so rare to find a powerful gem like you so far from a place like a university or community center. i could hug you!

“… the two genders society perceives.”

😆

What do you say about a man who seriously uses the word “womyn”? David Alexander’s non-date girlfriend laughs at you. “… it’s so rare to find a powerful gem like you so far from a place like a university”. Oh, my sides! The rot in academia has reached the core. Nuke the cult from orbit and start over.

A lot of the commenters shared the peculiar habit of thanking the host “for the rant”. This is something I’ve noticed is very common on femtard blogs — a shrieking chorus of yes-women and raisin-sacked beta suckups exhaling loudly with deep guttural gratitude for the host’s reaffirmation of their dearly guarded prejudices and prerogatives. It’s as if without the nourishment of a constant cliched drumbeat of “you go girl” in-group agitprop their fragile egos would pack up and leave them a shuddering mess of self-doubt and suicidal tendencies.

I was curious about the Errant Slut, so I read a few of her archived posts.

I am not sure how I am going to blatantly proposition hot class guy if he never comes to class. Seriously, I know the year is almost over – but get your butt in the chair, dude, so I can tell you to put that butt in my bed.

I actually wore mascara today in an effort to better bat my eyelashes alluringly. Pearl earrings to encourage him to give me a pearl necklace. My lucky high boots that say I will fuck you hard, bitch. This is my top game people and no one was there to appreciate it!

Motherfucker. Well, at least I hope he is…

Cross your fingers, won’t you, that I will be able to open my legs.

Slut pride is often a +5 Mask of Empowerment for the insecurities that spring from fear of aging and becoming invisible to men. Many of these sluts are true to their word and sleep around in vain hope of silencing the dread knock at the door by Father Time, but then there are those sluts whose stories are more bragaddocio than truth in advertising. If you’re looking for a no muss no fuss no wedding ring quickie, you’ll want to steer clear of the braggart sluts. By their brazen lewdness you shall know them as cockteases.

Oh sweet baby slut, I found some posts about her husband. Surprise, surprise, the whore cheats on him and gleefully recounts her sexploits in public for guys like me to wield as instruments of psychological torture.

So, where to begin? The background, as is always the case, is huge and undramatic.
Normal and profoundly unsatisfying life. Three beautiful children and a husband who pays the bills and ignores everything and anything I say to him. 10 years of marriage during which I guarantee my opinion has never mattered – I try and try to tell him what I need from the relationship, he agrees and sees my side of EVERYTHING, and yet, there are no changes.
I am talking to the wall.

Rude translation: My attraction for my sexless beta husband is gone. He never challenges me. I now have all the reason I need to rationalize sitting on a carousel of random cock.

I did not go home with him that night but instead commenced a IMing relationship with him. Dirty talk. Friendly talk. Utter Escapism. And then we met. In his apartment.
For an evening of the kind of sex that you remember. The kind of sex where you each have a sheen of sweat. Fantastic. (Fucktastic?) He tastes good. He is good in bed. AND I have no guilt. None. I have realized that I have the one life and I refuse to limit it within other people’s moral structures and I refuse also to be unhappy anymore. If my life as it stands does not make me happy then I will do what it takes to create happiness for myself.

“Not my fault. You didn’t give me what I want.” What we learn:

Women are amoral and will act according to the ethereal justification of their emotions. If she’s unhappy, it matters not how virtuous, devoted, dependable and loving the husband is to her.
All women are cheap whores by nature.
Children will not alter her calculation.
In a woman’s eyes, to be a beta male is worse than anything else. Even serial killer.
Sluts are more likely to cheat. Monogamously inclined men should beware. Players should delight.
Don’t get married!

More from the pit of woman’s soul:

Friends always says “oh, your husband is so nice” – but the reality is that nice will only take you so far.

Niceguys finish cuckolded.

I spent a lot of time in high school having sex I did not really want to have.

I had sex to create something – a feeling, a relationship, an image of myself, an attitude, a perception, an emotional space. Now when my husband wants to have sex with me – and he constantly badgers me – I feel liberated to say no. Liberated to say no in a way that I did not when I was younger.

I would get into situations where I felt bad saying no, where it was easier to say yes, where it would just seem like I might as well. But now I don’t want to have sex that I don’t want to have – and I am sorry if my husband is not happy with that – truly I am – but I am not going to force myself. Forcing myself: closing my eyes and thinking of England, spreading to keep him happy, makes me feel like a prostitute. It makes me feel dirty. Fucking my adorable younger boyfriend does not make me feel guilty, or dirty or anything other than free.

[…]

In an unsettling turn of events, I think the husband may be on to me. Mr Ashley Madison # 3 is sending me emails that are eerily familiar. It is cheesy like the husband, it has appalling spelling like the husband, and there is just something there. When I read them and the things he is saying and the questions he is asking – it is exactly what the husband would say to draw me out. I checked the profile and he also identifies as the same height and weight – although the age is different. I wonder if I am being snaked?

Stare into the abyss and breathe deeply the dank stench emanating from its womb.

The Revolution is beginning to spread to the most blighted corners of humanity, but some are incapable of salvation. They are not to be reasoned with. They are not to be cajoled. They are to be steamrolled with extreme prejudice and sadistic humor. And unlubed anal sex.

And so it begins…

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Time To Put Aside Childish Things

Some of you may have noticed a decrease in posts lately about game. There’s a reason for that. I haven’t been motivated to write about picking up women because I’ve found The One. I’ve fallen hard for this girl and… I might as well announce it here: We’re engaged to be married.

She’s absolutely perfect in every way. I adore her. She’s a few years older than me, which I have come to appreciate because of the maturity and depth of wisdom she brings to our relationship. Our conversations are long and always fascinating. She has so much to say about the world owing to the wealth of experience she has accumulated over the years. You will never go back to younger women once you have enjoyed the subtle pleasures of deep, meaningful conversation with an older woman, holding hands as you both discuss the finer shades of Naomi Wolf’s oeuvre. And I hate to boast, but it takes a strong man secure in his masculinity to handle an older woman who knows who she is and what she wants out of life.

On our first date, she told me she was a women’s studies major in college. I’m ashamed now to admit I cringed when I heard that, but she has broken through my carefully constructed defenses and opened my eyes to what it’s like being a woman in modern society. Try putting yourself in another person’s shoes just for a minute; it’s good for your soul. She told me about her struggles after college to make ends meet, but that she had no regrets about the low paying work she chose to do. I’m proud of the work she has done making abortion, contraceptives, and sex toys more accessible and affordable for third world women. This can only mean more sex for everyone and thus, fewer bitter men and less warfare.

Speaking of sex, it is amazing with my woman. A grown-up woman knows how to please a man in bed and, more importantly, she knows what gets herself off, so we don’t fumble around spastically or behave like selfish lovers. Her blowjob technique is expert level. I have no idea how she got so good. Some women are just born with the talent, I guess. She is also a die-hard romantic because she always loves sex with the lights off. I love going down on her and licking her supple labia.

I don’t want to sully my love for her, but since you all are probably wondering, yes she’s a solid 8 for her age. Much older men are constantly checking her out. I can tell you that when you fall in love with a woman you stop noticing the hints of crows’ feet in harsh light and start noticing other things, like her character. She loves me even more for seeing the real her and making her feel special. And she is special. No other woman could replace her.

I met her in a Scrabble club, which was a nice change of pace from the parade of skanks I was meeting everywhere else. I did run game on her when we started dating, although I didn’t have to lay it on thick because she’s not a flaky  22 year old girl playing the field. She won’t admit it, but she loved it when I negged her and teased her and read her palm. Because I saw her as LTR potential, I took her to a four star Asian/Mexican/Anti-American fusion restaurant on our second date. The tab for that night wound up costing me $120 but it was worth it as this was the only way she could be assured I was serious about her as more than a fly by night fling. I did some light qualifying and listened attentively to her stories about dating a DJ when she was in college and her time abroad in Rome experiencing the local flavor.

I broke my three date rule with her. We didn’t have sex until the 6th date, which was fine by me because I would have valued her less had she spread her legs sooner. She played me, and I thank her for that.

We dated for a few months and the love was strong. Although I have repeatedly written about the engagement ring as the status symbol of the incorrigible whore, I realized that being in love with a woman will inspire a man to forego his self-interest, make sacrifices, and betray his principles for a higher cause — to witness the happiness and flush of victory on his beloved’s face.

Yeah, I know what a lot of you are thinking. “Hypocrite! All this time he’s been telling us to avoid marriage, and he goes and gets married.” You forget that I’ve also said rules were made to be broken.

Did I shit all over the mission statement of this blog by admitting to all of the above? Some would say yes. I prefer to frame it as the actions of a man who was willing to be vulnerable and magnanimous when real love was on the line. Once a woman loves you for who you are, there’s no reason to continue seeing her as the woman you had to game into bed. My woman loves me and this is all I need to know that she will never hurt me. That’s why there will be no pre-nup.

When she found out about the blog (I couldn’t hide it from her in good conscience) she was understandably upset, but also intrigued. I reassured her that the man she sees on the blog is not the man she knows in real life. Then I bought her a Burberry scarf.

My new life begins now with the woman I love, and the tone of this blog will reflect that. I expect my readership to go through the roof as they follow me on my new adventure.

Next post: The limitless joy of children.

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