Tag Archives: gender differences

Realizations

As I sit contemplating suicide it occurs to me that my greatest successes in life were preceded by intense struggle and total uncertainty. Each time when I had got to a point where anyone else would have given up, I made more of an effort and I broke through to the other side known as success. Perhaps I was now at such a point in my life, that now was the time to try one more time, to keep going when there seems no point.

I remember two people’s stories who have inspired me over the years: Abraham Lincoln and U.S. Grant. It’s not their presidencies that impressed me, but more the story of their lives before they were famous. Lincoln had lost every election he stood for before becoming president. Grant was an alcoholic failure who drifted around until he saw his time and opportunity.

Was it a case of their having true grit or just no alternative? I think it’s the latter. Courtesy of my depressed state I can clearly see that they too must have arrived at a point whereby it seems that all is lost, so there is nothing to lose by keeping on trying. If that’s the case, I can do it too!

Thus I resolve to take a deep breath, put the boxes of ibuprofen away and think things through, trying to find clarity that somewhere along the way got lost amidst an unblinking computer screen and copious amounts of sex. I switch off all my dating profiles and stay away from dating sites for days on end until I have things straightened out in my head and, more importantly, in my heart.

Over the course of a week’s focussed, intense contemplation I make a series of realizations.

Firstly, everything I have done in my adult life has been for love. All aspects of my life are layers to a pyramid that has love as its pinnacle. That might not be the best approach to life and I think it’s driven in part by my Avoidant Personality Disorder. However, I am too old to change. There just isn’t time for cognitive behaviour therapy that lasts years. Much better to just proceed as normal and hope for the best, hope for The One.

My second insight is that I’ve been looking for love in the wrong places. The type of women I have met through dating sites is not the typical woman. The typical woman I have encountered is emotionally messed up and not capable of a relationship. Very few of them have love in their hearts. These are lesser women; it’s why they’re on these sites and are there for so long. No man will put up with their craziness, bitchiness and/or selfishness.

I am now thoroughly disenchanted with online dating. It seems to be the domain of deranged, emotionally unhealthy women. It has so negatively affected my view of women that I find myself wondering if any good women exist, instead of all these self-seeking charlatans.

I review and analyze my history of dates on my dating spreadsheet that I primarily created to help me with my writing. It becomes obvious that my best dates came off the national newspaper’s dating site with my Happy Humping Ground site second-best. I realize that Plenty of Fish in particular is where the most undesirable women end up. That and other free sites is where the bulk of my bad dating experiences have come from. It has distorted my view of women.

Thirdly, reflecting on my own behaviour towards women, I feel ashamed. I am used to being better than I have been. However, some lessons have been learned. Only a man who doesn’t respect women and will therefore treat them badly, will be with a woman that he doesn’t respect. A man who respects woman will only be with a woman he respects. I can not attach value to a woman who does not value herself, a woman who cheapens herself by doing anything with any guy. I am worth a lot, I have a lot to offer and only to someone deserving, because otherwise they will only squander what I have to give them.

Fourthly, I have greater insights about women that should better prepare me for the future. I’ve learned that when a woman says that she is “fussy”, it means that she’s not seriously looking for a relationship and more than anything else is on a big ego-trip. All those men running after her and getting them to do things to please her. Wow, that must be wonderful for the ego!

From young women are told that they are the weaker sex and that they’re not as strong as men. That sets off a life-long desire for power over men in many a young mind. It’s inherent in human nature that anything gained easily is not valued. So, any man who easily gives a woman her sense of power, he is quickly discarded. Play hard to get with a woman and she wants you. I’m starting think that for a relationship to work, the woman must want the man more than he wants her.

Some women seem to think that to get a husband all they need to do is open their legs. What they don’t know is that, the sort of man who falls for that, will divorce her if she opens her mouth. To find a prince, a woman needs to kiss a few frogs, but not fuck the whole pond!

In this current younger generation of liberal democracies, girls have been told that they are the same as men and men have been told to be nice to women. So men come across as grovelling weaklings and women despise them for it. There is thus a bigger disconnect between the genders than ever before. Men are confused about their exact identity in society and women are told that they can have it all.

I watched ‘The Counselor’ the other day and Javier Bardem’s character says something profound:

Men are attracted to flawed women too of course, but their illusion is that they can fix them. Women don’t want to fix anything. They just want to be entertained. The truth about women is you can do anything to them except bore them.” ― Cormac McCarthy, The Counselor: A Screenplay

Lastly, from my own shameful experiences, as soon as a man thinks he’s being played, he takes it as permission to become a player. “Take me seriously and treat me respectfully, or I will look for someone who does and I shall treat you like a piece of meat in prison until then” is the resulting attitude. A gender difference related to this I’ve noted is that women have affairs to get back at their men, while men have affairs to get away from their women.

I’m left with a few questions bugging me. First, I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever love someone else again. Second, just how many women’s lives do I want to fuck up? I suppose these questions will only be answered with time.

How am I to be from now on?

I’ve resigned myself to singledom for the foreseeable future. I’ve realized that I’m just not going to fall in love with anyone while I feel so shit about myself. I’ve based this on the understanding that I’m far more primitive than I had previously realized; I am a caveman. I only feel good about myself when my financial position is strong. The more money I have the better I feel about myself. It’s easy to dismiss this outlook as narcissistic, but the reality is far more complex. I can only feel that I am at my best, a real man, if my bank account is a source of pleasure. On the back of that I feel I shall have the confidence to be the best me I can. It’s hard to fall in love with someone else if you’re not in love with yourself first. It’s also hard to do the things in a relationship that require money when you’re worried about making the rent.

I’m so stressed about my financial situation that I have very little interest in sex right now. No desire, no urge, not a nothing. I’ve never been like this before. It’s a strange sensation. Is this what eunuchs or lesser men feel? Despite that, all this random sex with virtual strangers has got to end because it’s doing me no good. It’s been messing with my brain. I’m not going to have sex with another woman until my feelings for her are clear. Yes, the next woman I’m going to sleep with is going to be The One.

That’s it. I’m not running from myself any more. If I lose myself then it’s all been for nothing.

I need to fix my working life, get over my Avoidant Personality Disorder, look for love in the right places, not get sexual so quickly and somehow believe in a better future.

I’ve got nothing to lose, because I’ve pretty much lost everything already.

Naughty Boy – Runnin’ (Lose It All)

So f*cking depressed

I’m thoroughly miserable. Nothing gives me pleasure and I don’t yearn for anything, not even kinky sex with a new lover. I’ve lost my spark, my drive, my interest in everything. I don’t see the point of any of this any more. I’ve not had a history of a life-long battle with depression like some people have. Yes, I had some ups and downs as a teenager, but who didn’t? I’m feeling things that I’ve only ever felt once before.

I was on a 5-star luxury tour of Italy with my ex-wife and we were both between new contracts. On the last day of the tour we got an email from our landlord in which he gave us a month’s notice to vacate our home because he was selling it. The news hit my soul like a fiery sledgehammer and I was lurched into a deep depression that lasted for months. It was the feeling of vulnerability and helplessness that dragged me under. It was a paralysing Novocaine for my soul. Until then her and I had been through a lot of challenges together and we came out smiling every time. This time was different. What snapped me out of it was seeing her collapse to the floor, clutching my jeans at the knees, sobbing her eyes out as she begged me to get a job, any job. We had just finished moving into our new home, a rented one again and it had been an exhausting process for both of us. I did as she asked and things got better from there. Now that feeling was back and with a vengeance.

I think it’s only when we’re depressed that we see things clearly. When nothing and nobody gives us pleasure only then can we see what’s really going on around us. There’s a simplicity and clarity that is lacking at other times, those times when we’re like everyone else. We can see the everyday, mundane things and question their validity and usefulness. We can look at things we’ve repeatedly done and ask why we’ve done this, for the first time thinking about it, really thinking about and seeing the familiar in a new way. It’s not necessarily a better way or just an alternative viewpoint, it’s seeing everything in a different context that makes it all seem illogical to the point of insane.

You see people mindlessly, cheerily going about their lives, doing the same things over and over, hardly ever thinking about it. There is much to be said for blissful ignorance, for it frees you from the burden of true consciousness. Being fully aware of the absurdity of modern life can drive a thinking person crazy.

If you were to think about it, you would realize that there is no point to life. That realization hits us all at some point, but how we react to it is what matters. It can paralyze some people, liberate others and do absolutely nothing either way for some of us.

Life is the biggest joke going because no matter what you do, you die. Nobody survives life. Whether you do or you don’t, it doesn’t really matter because the end result is the same. You dream, you struggle, you sacrifice, you suffer, you hurt and, no matter what, the result is the same for all of us. It’s a difficult phase, that bit between birth and death.

The problem comes when you believe everything is futile, that there’s no point. Nothing gives you pleasure and nothing matters. That’s when a negative spiral kicks in and you get dragged under into a world that feels lonely, cold and overwhelmingly intense.

What has brought this on in me this time?

First, I’m feeling angry towards women. I feel that they’ve been toying with me, using me, wasting my time and money, exploiting me. Some of their bad ways have rubbed off on to me and I’ve hurt two good women: Busty Blonde and Busty Czech. I feel that my dating experiences have degraded me, made me into a worse person than I was before I started out. If I knew that things were going to turn out this way, would I have bothered? Probably not.

This latest episode with the MILF of Xmas is yet another disappointment in what has proven a lengthy procession of disappointments. It feels like the Cunt Carousel has spun me around one more time and thrown me off into a puddle of mud, a puddle made up of dog faeces, pussy juices and urine. It’s the type of puddle that dries in the park, then families come and sit on while I watch them when I’m in the gym. Shit everywhere; it’s all just shit.

Second, my working life is a disaster. It’s been almost a year and a half since I walked out of my job. The duplicitous nature of everyone I worked with has scarred me. I have no faith left in people. Mark Twain said, “The more I learn about people, the more I like my dog”. I agree with him although I don’t have a dog. I have no desire to get back into the so-called “formal” workplace. The thought of sitting in an office surrounded by snakes in suits makes my stomach turn. I’ve half-heartedly applied for dozens of jobs in the past year because I need the money but haven’t been called for an interview once, despite reworking my resume several times. It feels like my industry is done with me, more than I feel done with it.

On the back of that, while the job search was running in the background, I decided it prudent to start building a business of my own. Working for a salary provides a living, but making profits can lead to a fortune. I’ve poured my energy into resurrecting an online business, but that effort didn’t result in a fraction of the money that I am beginning to need. I had an idea for an eBay business that I threw myself into, but that also proved a fruitless waste of time. A sense of desperation started creeping in and I resorted to an old hobby of mine that has proven a financial roller-coaster: day-trading. I may as well have blown that money on Lotto tickets.

Women perceive themselves through all the roles that they fulfil in life and chastise themselves about the one that they are doing worst at. Men are very different. We largely see ourselves through our work. That thing we spend most of our waking time doing is what defines us. If we’re unhappy in our work, then we’re unhappy in our life. I’ve realized that many of the dates that I went on were doomed because I was using dating as a crutch for a frustrated working life.

Third, which is related to my aforementioned second point, is the fact that my finances are running low and I’m starting to panic about it. I’ve been living off my savings as frugally as I can since the day I quit my job because I knew it might be some time before I had money coming in again. That “some time” has proven longer than I can afford. I’ve only got money left to last me for a few months. The pressure of this is starting to rot my brain some days.

Fourth, I’ve had a falling out with my best friend. We’ve been the best of buddies since we were fourteen, or so I thought. Then one day I saw a posting on Facebook about fake friends. You might have seen it, it starts with “friends don’t get jealous…”. That stunned me because it encapsulated his behaviour towards me over the years. He was never to be seen or heard from when I was having a rough time, except the time I left my Exgf and he let me stay for two months. Other than that he was visibly missing when my life was shit. He is also the biggest liar I have ever known, a side to him that has grown over the years and has increasingly bothered me. In recent years the friendship had degenerated into him being an ask-hole in which he would phone me up to debate a problem he was having and then he would do exactly what I suggested should not be done. When his son was kidnapped a year ago by his ex-wife (the boy’s mother) I volunteered to fly at my own expense to snatch the boy back, then drive across two continents to return him home. That was the plan if the various legal routes failed, of which one didn’t. My “friend” would never have even thought of doing that, let alone have the balls and brains to make it happen. The final straw was an incident just before Christmas which showed me his true colours and his attitude towards me. This acidic revelation about his true nature felt as great a betrayal as my ex-wife’s lies. It has rocked my faith in all people. It has shaken my faith in myself because how could I have been so blind for so long?

True friends

True friends are never jealous of each other.

Lastly and perhaps most importantly, I’m now seriously doubting that The One exists. Why should she? Is it all just an illusion, a foolish notion that I’ve allowed to take on life-consuming importance? If I didn’t have this quest, what would I have applied myself to? I honestly don’t know. Trying to find Her gave my life some meaning. It gave me a reason to get out of bed each day. Scouring screens of pretty faces was often the highlight of my day. Now I don’t see the point in all that any more and I’m left feeling empty. My dating life has been a crutch to lean on when what truly ails me was left unattended. All along my life has lacked purpose, I can see that now, but I don’t know what to do about it. It’s hard to find a purpose when nothing gives you pleasure, people are a source of pain and you’re about to run out of money.

I’m tired of living a life predicated on being too dumb to steal and too proud to beg. I’m tired of aspiring to things that are not likely to happen for me. I totally get why some people resort to a life of crime, but that’s not for me. Apparently “hope to a man is like winding is to a clock”. I’ve run out of hope. This clock is broken. There’s no helping hand to put it back to working order. I feel totally and utterly defeated by life and now I hope for nothing.

I’ve hit an all-time low.

Today I bought boxes of ibuprofen after doing a circuit to the supermarkets in my town. Collected into a neat little pile they stand proud on the stool in front of my sofa, the stool that I’ve fucked so many women on. I’ve lost count of how many it was. What does it matter? What does all of this matter? If I do something or I don’t do something, what does it matter? It’s just me, this tottering tree in an unfeeling, deaf forest. Nobody cares. I don’t matter to anyone. If I’m here or not, it doesn’t matter; I don’t matter. I won’t be missed. I don’t think many people will attend my funeral.

I’ll leave my front door unlocked. The smell will eventually become too much for my neighbours. No, that’s not fair to them; they don’t deserve to find me like that. I know, I’ll leave a cryptic message on Facebook after midnight. The next morning somebody will figure it out and come around. Should I be like Benny Hill and surround myself in money or some things equally garish? Unused condoms? Should I be well-dressed? A gentleman should always look his best.

The boxes of pills before me silently shout at me, crying out for attention, imploring to be used in one reckless gush. They seem stronger than me.

Scraggly birds outside in a naked tree start making a noise under the dark sky. An angry magpie is arguing with an indignant pigeon. They must have an IQ of what, three? Collectively? What do they have to look forward to? Why do they bother? It’s near to freezing now and icy drops of rain are spitting on them, but they don’t notice or don’t care. They too seem stronger than me.

The boxes clamour for my attention…

The Wanted – All Time Low

What to do a.k.a. Oh, F*CK!

I feel as guilty as hell for having fucked Krazy Girl while hoping for a relationship with Pretty Teacher, but that feeling only lasts until the evening when I speak to the latter again. I take a deep breath before phoning her; will she ask me about my day and I’ll have to lie? Her attitude on the phone is frosty, aloof and disinterested. I’m not going to demean myself by asking her what the matter is; it might seem like grovelling. The call ends with her promising to phone me on Wednesday by noon with details about our date that night.

After the call I sit there trying to figure out what is going on with her unpleasant attitude towards me. I did phone her the day after we had sex, not doing so is a big issue to a woman, so I got that right. Maybe she was expecting more from me the next time we saw each other? I know! Chocolate. I didn’t bring her chocolate. I’ve heard good things about what that stuff does to women.

If a woman is upset, throw chocolate

If a woman is upset, throw chocolate

No, that’s just silly. If she’s so easily upset by such a trivial omission then she’s not The One for me. Wait, maybe it’s not me. Of course, it could be that time of the month! Why didn’t I think of that sooner? My Exgf become a bitch from hell when she was on her period. Perhaps Pretty Teacher is PMS’ing? I can’t ask her that; that would be bad.

Girlfriend upset because of period, PMS.

Girlfriend upset because of period, PMS.

Somehow I don’t get the feeling that that’s the issue here either. There’s something else going on but I just can’t figure it out. There are so many things that could be causing her behaviour, vexing her that I don’t know where to begin.

Why could my girlfriend be upset?

Why could my girlfriend be upset?

I sometimes think I’ll never know how to keep a woman happy. I wonder if there is a formula for doing so somewhere out there that I’m just not aware of? It would be nice if someone were to be kind enough to clue me in because this women-dating-relationship thing is such hard work.

How to keep a woman happy.

How to keep a woman happy.

Perhaps there’s a book that I need to read? Women seem to put a lot of faith in these self-help, gender differences, relationship guides type of books and magazine articles. I remember my ex-wife being an avid fan of ‘Men are from Mars’ – wow, that book lead to a lot of arguments. There must be one for men to help them understand women?

Understanding women

Understanding women

Or is it simply a case of her showing me her true colours? I think everybody puts on their best behaviour in the early days of dating someone but it’s only so long before the real person comes to the fore. Is she a Misery perhaps? Is this why she’s single?

Woman shows her true colours.

Woman shows her true colours.

Maybe she’s a control freak and into mind games? Is she testing me so as to see how I deal with this situation? That’s a dangerous game to play with me. I don’t like it and I have no problem meeting women. Granted some of them are seriously messed up in their heads and use their personalities as contraceptives. I think the way to beat someone playing mind games…is to not play.

Women and mind games

Women and mind games

Pretty Teacher phones me on Tuesday night and has very little to say for herself. I have to make all the effort to keep conversation going. The only thing that animates her is tomorrow’s get-together with all her friends at her place. She promises again to phone me afterwards and no later than noon. Then the conversation becomes hard work again and I can’t wait to get off the phone. It shouldn’t be this difficult.

It’s now noon on Wednesday and Pretty Teacher hasn’t called. I’m the type of person to always do as I promise and I value that in my significant other. She was so emphatic about calling by noon that I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else going on. What do I do? A sense of bewilderment stirs in me, then followed by frustration that leads to anger. I’m seething by one o’clock as I sit eating my lunch. Finally my phone comes to life.

It’s a text message…

From Krazy Girl…

I’m still so horny. Can you come over?

Holy shit!

I don’t believe this. What do I do? Time is of the essence here; I need to make a decision quickly.

I’d love to have sex with Krazy Girl again, but I want to have a proper relationship and Pretty Teacher has seemed like a good prospect. I can’t go off and fuck one woman then have dinner with another…who might be expecting sex afterwards. Or can I?

Doing that would be so wrong in my book; it reeks of infidelity. How can I start a real relationship with Pretty Teacher while fucking Krazy Girl behind her back? I’d be the most guilt-ridden non-Catholic in existence. That’s not who I am nor what I’m about. I’m a decent man imbued with a sense of decency and honour that I believe has served me well in life. I’ve never done anything like this before and under these circumstances I’m struggling to discern wrong from right here.

In my head I hear the words of my friend, Vicious Vic, who is the most amoral man I know. We’re at polar extremes in morality and thus we entertain each other. His words are, “Who’s going to know? Go’on son, have some fun!”

I can see the case for servicing Krazy Girl and then taking my chances with Pretty Teacher. The latter’s behaviour has been disappointing and there’s no reason to believe things are going to rebound and hit the heights that I hope for. I’m not saying that she deserves to have me philandering, but I also don’t deserve her attitude. At the moment my strongest feeling towards her is one of confusion, closely followed by frustration.

There is also the practical matter of sex. As a younger man I could easily have rampant sex three times a day. I remember my ex-wife complaining once in our early days by saying, “What have I got myself into?” Now I’m in my early forties and just once a day is all I need. If I exhaust myself with Krazy Girl will I be able to satisfy Pretty Teacher mere hours later? I don’t know. With my luck the Dating Gods will decree that both these women be horny on this solemn day.

If I turn down Krazy Girl I’ll probably never hear from her again. However, I wasn’t expecting her appearance today either, so there’s no telling with her, but I know it’ll end abruptly with her no matter what. The situation with Pretty Teacher is out of my control because there’s no guessing what’s going on in her head. She now feels just as unpredictable.

I mull over the pros and cons, analyse the scenarios and come up with the following. It isn’t my highest priority, but good sex with Krazy Girl is a sure thing. I’d like to keep that option open if things with Pretty Teacher peter out. Matters with the latter feel like they’re a 50/50 at the moment, things can go either way. If I don’t shag Krazy Girl she’s gone from the scene for sure, but then I’m left with a big unknown outcome with Pretty Teacher. I could lose both of them within days.

Vicious Vic wins. I decide to put my morals aside, have some fun with a certainty and take my chances with the other uncertainty. I’m going to fuck Krazy Girl and then visit Pretty Teacher, possibly shagging her too. This is new ground for me, dangerous and exciting, wrong by my former standards. I feel like such a cheat, but I’m going to do this anyway.

I text back to Krazy Girl, “I’ll be there in an hour.

How is this going to turn out?

Bryan Adams – Run To You

Wild Child reveals more

I phone Wild Child to arrange another date and she says to me that the following weekend she is house-hunting in London. I offer to accompany her, but she declines so quickly that it felt like a knee-jerk rejection. I leave it open-ended as to when we next see each other. I’m in no hurry because I’ve agreed to meet the blonde Eastern European on Sunday for lunch. It’s early days, just one date so far and what discomfort I might have felt in the past about double-dating is now gone.

On the Thursday night Wild Child phones to tell me that she has taken the Friday off and is wondering if I wanted to get together for lunch. I instantly agree, not just because I want to see her again, but also because there is another matter that I need to take care on a weekday. On Friday morning I call in sick at work, something I haven’t done in over fifteen years.

By 9am I’m outside the local sexual health clinic, along with some prize flotsam and jetsam of society. It’s a deja vu experience from the previous time I was here. [http://www.meanddating.com/2014/02/an-innocent-man-goes-to-a-std-clinic-thursday-6th-september/] The anal sex experience with Krazy Girl has been playing on my mind and enough time has now passed for a test to be valid. [http://www.meanddating.com/2014/07/that-unforgettable-sunday-morning-with-krazy-girl-final-part/] Given how easy she was to bed and how skilled she was in all matters sexual, especially considering her age, who knows where she has been and what she might have…and I now have. I need clarity and peace of mind. I don’t want to have caught anything nor do I want to infect anybody else. I want to have a clean bill of health at all times and especially so when I meet The One.

It was the same nurse as I had seen the previous time I was here and as she was about to plunge that nasty piece of plastic down my urethra, I said to her, “You know, we really must stop meeting like this.” She didn’t bad an eye-lid, probably totally focussed on getting some job satisfaction. I suspect that a significant percentage of women find delight in doing nasty and naughty things to men’s willies.

By noon I’m standing outside a pub in a hamlet next to a motorway. There’s about a dozen houses and two pubs, that’s all there is to this blight on the landscape. The people who live here must have a serious drinking problem to keep these pubs in business. It isn’t lost on me that once again I’m meeting Wild Child in the middle of nowhere. How does she find these places? Is she a serial dater and her dates suggest all sorts of interesting places?

Again I’m standing at the bar waiting to order a drink when Wild Child taps me on my shoulder. I turn around and again I’m startled by her appearance. This time it’s because of what she’s almost wearing. It is a sunny day, but she’s wearing a flimsy, light-blue strapless Summer dress with floral motifs that looks more suitable for the beach. It hugs her contours and leaves nothing to the imagination. The big surprise is how large her breasts are; they’re at least an e-cup. Because of what she was wearing on the Saturday night I hadn’t taken any notice of her breastage.

I definitely want to get her into bed now.

We order drinks, hers a tonic water and we find a table outside in the sunshine. Polite small-talk ensues until I ask, “So how do you know about this place?” I was curious about what she would say.

“This is where I grew up. This little collection of buildings was home until I was eighteen.”

“Ah, that’s why you have itchy feet and like to travel so much,” I chime in.

“Yes, I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here. I haven’t been here in ages. My parents moved shortly after I left home. It feels strange meeting someone here for a date. How about we go for a walk after lunch?”

“Yeah, why not. I guess it won’t take long,” I answer with a cheeky grin. She giggles like a little school-girl. Good, she’s okay with my sense of humour.

“Shall I go get us some menus? I’m starving,” she says and without much ado gets up to go find menus for us.

I watch her walk off, wondering how that dress stays up and what it would look like if it came sliding down. I also enjoy the sight of her bouncing breasts. They are definitely more than a handful and I have big hands. Ah, simple pleasures.

That’s quite a revealing dress to wear on a date, I think to myself. Her first date attire was conservative, but today she’s trying to make an altogether different impression; she’s turned on the sex appeal. You wouldn’t do that if you didn’t fancy the person you were going to see.

Wild Child returns with menus and we make our choice. I decide to be naughty and test her willpower, to see how easily she’s influenced and led astray.

“I’m going to get another drink. Can I tempt you with some fermented grape juice?” I ask.

She thinks about it, purses her lips and says, “Yeah, go on. It’s a beautiful sunny day. It would be wrong to forego a glass of wine on a day like today. I’ll get all this because you paid for everything on Saturday night,” and before I get a chance to say anything, she gets up and heads off into the pub.

I’m still not at ease with letting the woman pay, but my reservations are quickly swallowed as I watch her walk. How does that dress stay up? What are those breasts going to feel like? She’s not petite, so she should be able to accommodate my cock. Then I remember that I haven’t kissed her yet, I haven’t put to the test my new theory about a woman’s mouth being an indicator to what her vagina is like. Patience.

Wild Child returns with our drinks. For a tee-totaller she does like a glass of wine. She’s very chatty by nature, so I let her twitter away as I look at her skin and try to figure out how old she might really be. She’s certainly older than me, her throat and hands tell me so. Does this matter? I can’t make up my mind.

Apparently Sigmund Freud’s last words on his deathbed were: “I never could figure out what women want.” I heard that many years ago and I think I’ve figured it out. Now I could be wrong, but I haven’t come across a better theory or explanation. If I’m right, then I might just have solved an age-old question dealing with the gender divide.

Men want someone to do things FOR them. Women want someone to do things WITH them.

I think it all stems from how we are raised as children, mixed in with a bit of genetic programming. Look at any household that has a boy and a girl. What do you see? More often than not the scene is one of the mother doing something for the boy and the father doing something with the girl. That gets carried forward into adult life, but people don’t understand this or know that it’s even going on. Cross-bonding is normal and necessary. Little girls learn about dealing with men through their fathers. Little boys learn about women through their mothers.

It’s little surprise then to hear of women complain about their men along the lines of, “I’m just a mother to him. I’m always making and doing things for him. Sometimes he’s like a little boy!” Then I hear men complain of their women, “she’s forever wanting me to go to the shops with her, work in the garden with her or do something with her that I’m just not interested in.” Eventually a classic household disagreement sounds like a man saying, “You just don’t do anything for me any more!” The honest response from a woman should be: “Because you don’t do anything with me any more!”

Both points of view are true and correct and my theory explains why this is. It’s all part of Nature’s Grand Conspiracy. Don’t fight it because you will lose. Instead embrace it, take it to heart, understand it and then play your part in making it work for you. So, men, if you want your woman to do more things FOR you, then you better get busy doing more things WITH her.

Now let peace and harmony break out in troubled households all over our beautiful planet.

Why do I bring this up in the midst of a second date? The thing that Wild Child wanted from a man was to have someone to talk with. In fact, it might be to talk at. Good grief, she could talk. She was one of those women who felt an uncontrollable urge to utter every little thought that came into her mind, no matter how random. She obviously didn’t think about anything before she spoke; she wanted to be just as surprised as everyone else about what came out of her mouth.

After lunch we went for our walk around the houses. Wild Child showed me her childhood home, which was a spectacularly ordinary bungalow. We were walking next to a pond that she used to fish in as a little girl when I thought it might be an opportune time and place for our first kiss. However, something in me said not to, that the time wasn’t right yet, so I didn’t.

I walk Wild Child to her car and give her a polite kiss on the cheek. Again there was no indication that she wanted it on the lips. I watch her drive off and realize that I still can’t decide if she’s a Good Girl or a Good Time Girl.

What I do know is that I want to bed her. Her breasts look amazing. They bring to mind lines from a Bob Seger song, ‘Night Moves’ :

She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes
And points all her own sitting way up high
Way up firm and high

Bob Seger – Night Moves