Gang Bang Queen - The Final Chapter

I'm almost embarrassed to admit that it took a couple of days to stop smarting over the recent GBQ encounter.  But I'd challenge anyone to not be shocked, taken back, etc. under the same circumstances.  The cherry on the top was, according to trick's review, she displayed more skill at certain things than she had with me.  Either that or he was inexperienced.  Or maybe she only brings her A game when she's getting paid.  I've finally been able to identify what bothered me the most / the actual emotional equivalence.  I think we all have former lovers / partners / etc. who I'll categorize as "not completely eliminated, just bad circumstances"; those who were the stars to realign, we'd entertain seeing again. They live in the back of our minds as potentially unfinished business.  However, there are rare completely disqualifying 'things', that can rip them right out of the category.  When that happens, it almost feels as though that person dies.  That's how it felt when GBQ informed me she was escorting again.  You don't recover from hooking, at least for me.  Regardless, the incident flared the fuck out of my intimacy issues.

For what it's worth, I don't think the move was to intentionally hurt me; more of a completely thoughtless way of saying "hey, look what I'm doing".  It almost felt as though she were proud of returning to sucking dick for a living, which is really quite fucked up.  For the record, I consider sex work to be actual work and I know there are those who enjoy it.  However, to leave a decent paying job to return to sex work is a different ballgame.

In reality, it felt as though she'd reached out because she lacked any real support structure in her life.  However, the more she said, the more it began to feel like a pity party.  She indicated she was done with actual relationships and made comments to the effect that she was where she belonged (I'm not sure if she meant Scotland or on her knees; maybe both.)  She didn't like the US, because of the gun violence and mass shootings.  Because her fiancé blew his brains out five years ago she continues to be triggered by anything gun related.  She said she was working to get past that, when we were dating, so it felt like she was just piling on the pity.  It would be cruel to take the position that she's not allowed to feel traumatized, but she didn't witness him do it and it's clear she's not sought any professional help to get past it.  

She was in full swing about how horrible her life was when I chimed in about her complete absence of  contrition for ghosting me, then a year later, hitting me in the face with her little hooker excursion.  As I previously mentioned, that's when she disengaged.  Fuck, she didn't so much as throw a bit of perfunctory sentiment of being sorry.  Definitely not a hooker with a heart of gold.  If I'm ever that self-absorbed, someone shoot me.

At the end, I just wanted to virtually grab her by the collar and give her the speech.  You're fifty one years old and left a decent paying job to be a fucking hooker.  Beyond sucking dick (which you didn't do that well), you have no transferrable skills that would allow you to stay in Europe and make a living.  It's time to grow the fuck up and face your challenges.  You can either seek help or be a sniveling little bitch, being triggered by everything.  And no, it's not easy being single at this stage in life; it can be traumatizing.  But how many decent men are going to want to be with a woman with a pattern of being a hooker when things get tough?  I sure as hell wouldn't date you again.  Pull your shit together and grow the fuck up.

As a final funny point (as in fucked up, not humorous), I found her online hooker ad, which lists all the services she offers and sure enough, she's available for gang bangs.  Here's the link, if you're so inclined.  (btw, she's about doubled in weight since I last saw her)

Gang Bang Queen for Hire

As of today, she only has one review and her calendar seems to be wide open.  Not much of a whore...

p.s. - I realize my tone is a bit cold on this entry, but I'm out of fucks to give for people who won't grow the fuck up.

A Story For All Times

 While I tend to gravitate toward Top Gun as a timeless story that helps me to understand and address any situation, there's another tale I find particularly useful, from a relationship perspective.  I've decided to share it here.

There was once a man who discovered a tiny baby alligator in his back yard.  Being an animal lover, he was afraid the poor thing would perish, being separated from its mother, so he took it in and raised it as a pet.  This man loved his Ricky unconditionally and lavished it with attention.  He gave Ricky massages and only fed him the best alligator chow.  In order for Ricky to feel like it was in its natural habitat, he had an enclosed lagoon built in his back yard, with a hot tub for when the gator was stressed.  He was positive his love and these gestures got through to the now full grown alligator, suppressing the beast's natural predatory instinct.

One day, he was teaching Ricky how to play fetch, when Ricky decided to fetch him and mauled him to death.  The man awoke at the pearly gates, face to face with Saint Peter.    

"I don't understand how this happened!  I loved Ricky with all my heart and did everything I could to demonstrate my affection."

Saint Peter responded, "What do you expect?  He was an alligator and mauling food is what alligators do, you dumb shit!"

The moral of the story is that regardless of how sincere and earnest your actions, you can't change the nature of another and can lose your head over it.  Literally.   

Love Is a Battlefield

If you think about it, being a part of a loving relationship has a lot of similarities to guerilla warfare.  No, not between the two of you, but with the rest of the world.  Enemies abound, intent on destroying the union with your partner.  They're both internal and external; some may take the guise of a non-threat.  Stressful jobs, illness, financial difficulties, challenges as parents, death of a parent, the hot neighbor doing her best to insert herself.   The list is almost endless of what can attack a relationship.  

In order for that relationship to survive and thrive, it's important both parties work as a two person commando team, defending from multiple enemies, coming from different directions.  They need to neutralize these enemies, or at least reduce their respective threats, and then get to the chopper for exfil.  Without both parties fighting as brave warriors, working together, and covering each other's flank, the team (relationship) will be overrun and killed.  

I think we've all been in relationships where our 'brother in arms' failed to guard our flanks.  Perhaps, we were the ones who failed in our duties.  Then, there are the all too common relationships that neither have the drive to fight.

And what happens when your teammate gets wounded and can no longer fight?  I'd argue that's an even greater test of character than how someone fights.  

My last serious relationship was with someone who it felt as though she was setting off flairs, so the enemy knew where to aim.  And when I got hit, she seemed really sorry, but there was no way she was missing that chopper.

My ex-wife could best be characterized as shooting me in the body armor, during the battle, then lying about it.  Not my finest hour, but I was with someone who fought as a fearless warrior.  When one of us got wounded, the other would throw the other over their shoulder and make damned sure they both made the flight home.  Ultimately, I shot her just after she threw me onto the chopper floor.  Again, not my finest hour.  

How would you characterize your most memorable relationship?

Compersion

The word compersion, which hasn't exactly been recognized as a word, is loosely defined as the opposite of jealousy. Instead of feeling upset or threatened when your partner romantically or sexually interacts with another person, you feel a sense of happiness for them.

That's what I found when I looked up the word, which I obviously did, subsequent to my beautiful significant other soliciting my views on the subject.  (yes, she reads my blog)  Basically, how did I feel about open relationships and could I experience that joy?  The simple answer is I'm not sure I could be in an open relationship, much less feel happiness when my partner slept with someone else.  Because the awesome person who posed the question deserved a bit more than a knee jerk 'ain't no other guy fuckin' my woman' response, I gave the topic serious consideration. 

In a nutshell, I take pride in my skills in the bedroom; it's part of what value I bring to a potential mate.  Feel free to throw things at me, but I like to think of my value proposition (yes, I'm always a marketing guy) is that of a complete package.  As such, I admit my feelings would be hurt if my partner wanted to bed other men.  

Granted, being open to such arrangements could make finding a life partner easier, not having to worry about them meeting your sexual needs, in addition to your emotional ones.  On the flip side, try having the conversation with someone you've just developed a relationship with, where you inform them that it's fine they don't satisfy you in bed, because you'll just sleep with others.  If you do, please invite me and I'll bring popcorn.  

In some cultures, open relationships are the norm versus the exception.  In fact, there are those where sex is viewed as something you do as a social thing.  In others, a man's wife must have sex with her husband's brothers at the same time as her husband.  It then becomes a mystery as to who fathered the resulting child, facilitating it being viewed as a child of the whole family, who all contribute toward raising it.  If you're inclined to learn more about how sex is viewed in other cultures, I recommend reading the book, Sex at Dawn.  As with most books about sex, there are worthwhile nuggets of knowledge interspersed with a few cow patties.  Plus, the author has a real problem with society advancing to specialization (i.e. you're a farmer, she's a doctor) and seems to wish we'd have all stayed as hunter gatherers.  I may or may not have sent said author a note reminding that specialization allows him to pontificate about his views on sex and not force him to forage for seeds.  But I digress.

Specialization has wired our culture has wired us for jealousy.  I envy the lifestyle, income, and hot wife of an ugly yet successful attorney.  He envies a hedge fund manager's lifestyle, income, and hotter wife.  I'm envied by, well, no one really.  Anyway, you get the picture.  Rewiring jealousy out doesn't happen overnight.

Let's not forget fear and its role.  But it's different for men and women.  I read somewhere there's a high correlation between your gender and the type of fear you experience, relative to infidelity from a partner.   Men are afraid of losing their partners' bodies and women fear losing their partners' hearts.  In this instance, I identify more with women than my fellow penis owners.  Every play partner I've had has developed strong feelings for me.  This dynamic was eloquently explained to me by a woman I was chatting with on the subject, who said, 'What kind of dumb shit are you?  You know damned well that a woman's pussy is wired directly to her heart.'  Sage words, indeed.  But a valid reason for concern over losing your female partner in an open relationship.  

The person who asked for my opinion on compersion made a great point.

I’m sure you could also appreciate the idea that I don’t feel an obligation to be everything to everyone is very appealing to me.

Putting pressure on yourself to be everything to someone can be a strain on your relationship.  However, don't be so sure you're not everything to that person, just the way you are.  

As a hopefully relevant example, I always considered being able to cook with my partner to be essential.  However, I found myself in a relationship with someone who, after cooking a few meals for me that were just on this side of edible, was prohibited to be in the kitchen unsupervised.  She felt pressured, from within, to learn how to cook and did her best.  But I came to the realization that having a partner who cooked wasn't a must have.  The true crucial criterion was a partner who appreciated good food, didn't consider Applebees or other chains to be fine dining, and offered the appropriate level of appreciation when I cooked.  Oral sex or gazing at me adoringly were both acceptable.  My point is that she always was everything I ever wanted and should have never felt that pressure, from herself or me, in the first place.  

One final petty argument I'll make, before I yell at you to get off my lawn, is that the deck is so ungodly stacked against men, when it comes to exercising their openness.   If a woman says, 'I'm in an open relationship and am looking for a lover', guys will line up for her.  If a man makes the same claim, he'll hear nothing but crickets and 'you're cheating, aren't you?'

Don't take my comments as a universal condemnation of open relationships.  One of my colleagues / friends has an open marriage and both parties seem very happy.  Then again, he's an ungodly smart, 33 year old studmuffin, and thus, doesn't have the same challenges as us mortal men.  But his wife knew about his sex drive when she married him and seems okay, so long as he occasionally brings one of his girls home for both of them to play with.  I hate him.

Now, get off my lawn while I envy my colleague. 

Submission

 I'm blatantly stealing this from another blogger, who discovered it elsewhere, but it was too on point not to share.  

Fuck Me Harder And...Put in a Happy Little Tree

In trading notes with the remaining ex, who recently resurfaced, she reminded me of one of the most amusing moments we had in bed.

It was a Saturday afternoon and we were relaxing to an episode of Bob Ross.  We apparently began to feel frisky and after pausing Bob, we found ourselves in the heat of passion in my bedroom.  I had a first floor master, so the living room was just outside the master bedroom.  Anyway, as I'm thrusting deep inside her, her nearing her next orgasm, Bob Ross begins to talk about putting in happy little trees.  The DVR I had would only pause for 20 minutes, then resume playing.

I rolled off of her, both of us laughing hysterically about our sexplay being interrupted by Bob Ross.  Needless to say, I went out and properly shut Bob down, before returning to complete my mission.

A Herd of Exes

At some point, over the past few weeks of lock down, I recall seeing something on social media on a trend of people reaching out to reconnect with their exes.  I quickly dismissed it, because it's just not something I would do.  That's not to say I wouldn't like to reconnect.  With the exception of those like the thing that wouldn't leave and borderline ex-wife, I still respect the hell out of most of those I've been intimate with.  Unfortunately, these are also the women who I was unable to give them what they wanted from me.  Trust me, I miss interacting with a few of my previous partners and had tamped impulses to reach out, before the quarantine. But the last thing I want to do is dredge up feelings they've hopefully put in their little boxes.  Causing others pain because of my own selfish motives isn't something I can allow myself to do.  I just wish that someone would tell the ones I miss about the selfish thing.

This evening marks the third woman, who lives on the above list, to reach out.  Two immediately ghosted me, one remains present and in communication. 

How many exes have you reconnected with, during the lockdown?

Marriage Number Four Down in Flames!

For those who've muddled through my previous entries, you're aware of how my ex-wife is the gift that gave and has kept on giving.  From the manipulation, to the throwing of the ham, to the hell she put me through in our divorce, marrying hubby number four, and the piece de resistance, becoming a wedding officiant.  I thought that she was done, hoped she was done because I genuinely hold no ill will toward her and want her to be happy, because she's got more than her fair share of demons to contend with.  But I was optimistic because she and Number Four have been together for ten years, a new record for her.  I thought of her the other day and wondered if she'd finally gotten it together.

Then today, my father called to inform me that Number Four's mother reached out to him.  Apparently, the marriage is on its last leg and circling the drain, and NF wanted to know what divorce attorney I'd used.  I can only speculate that my ex complained about how much of a bastard the guy was, hence his desire to go with the same formula.  My attorney has no love lost for my ex, partially because she was trash talking him to his (unbeknownst to her) daughter at a cocktail party.  Oops...  Maybe he'll offer a discount; she is a repeat defendant after all.

I feel for the guy, because everyone who knows him has nothing but praise for how kind and goodhearted he is.  But as I've noted before, you have to be pretty naive and more than a little dense to sign up to be Number Four in the first place.  Poor guy is about to enter a living hell, when he asks for a divorce and no one deserves that.  I'm hoping to connect with him before he pulls the trigger, so he can at least be a little prepared for the firestorm that's about to engulf him.


All part of life's rich pageant, my friends.  Thankfully, I'm not on the stage as one of the players, this time.

A Tale of Self-Centeredness

Under the heading of shit I've only encountered in Kansas...

Long story short, I had made contact with a woman who, after a year of being celibate, wanted to get laid on NYE.  We agreed to meet beforehand, in order we weren't stuck with someone we didn't like the day of.

So she arrived Christmas evening and the sex was halfway decent.  A Christmas miracle!  She appeared to be dateworthy, so she stayed and additional quality sex was had.  Her selfish tendencies came to light during that sex, however.  Before we met, I made a point of sharing how a previous partner's selfishness in the bedroom doomed our relationship to a platonic one.  I very clearly explained what that hot button was for me.  During the time we were together, she pounded the shit out of that button over and over.  Not a good start.

One of the two nights I was getting ready for bed, when she asked if the phone charger next to the bed was mine.  As if it could belong to someone else?  I responded that it was.  Except she decided it was hers, because when I came into the bedroom, her phone was plugged into it, .

While she was here, most of the conversation was her relating drama about her family, the divorce process, and a few other topics.  She was frequently in tears talking about it.  While I'm not unsympathetic, I'll admit that got a bit old.

The thing that wouldn't leave finally departed late Friday morning because she needed to attend a funeral.  She said she'd text me as soon as she knew whether she could come over or if things had gone long.  When I didn't receive a text by 6:30 p.m., I decided she was on her own for dinner.  When one hadn't arrived at 7:30 p.m., I'd pretty much decided that, sans another death or severe bodily trauma, she was getting the heave ho.  At 7:50 p.m., a text finally arrived, saying she was tired and would text me in the morning.  Yeah, thanks for letting me know early enough so that I could adjust my plans...  In my potentially fantasy world, when you say you're going to text someone with plans, you text someone with plans, whether they're your friend or some dipshit you work with.

At 12:50 Saturday morning, I was awoken by knocking on my door.  It was followed by door bell ringing.  That pattern alternated without pause.  Knock knock knock knock, ring ring ring...  It was fucking constant.  At that point, I didn't know who was at my door, and willing them to shut the fuck up wasn't working.  So, as one does when there's a lunatic at their front door, I grabbed something in a large caliber and went downstairs to investigate.  You already know it was her.  Well, I went off on her in the semi-coherent manner one does when one is awoken from a deep sleep.  However, the message that she needed to stay the fuck away from me was crystal clear.

Fortunately, all indications are she did listen to that bit of direction.

In summary, holy fuck, I've never encountered anyone so self-centered and ultimately bereft of courtesy toward others.  Such a shame, because the sex was about the best I've had in the flatlands.

Thanks For The Laugh

For those who've read a good chunk of my blog, it's understandable that I don't have much reason to be thankful to my borderline ex-wife, beyond being incredibly grateful to have gotten away from her.  However, a friend sent me a link to her latest side venture.  She's become a wedding officiant.  For those who don't know (I didn't), an officiant, according to Wikipedia (yes, I got lazy on this one) is:

Secular officiants include civil celebrants, Humanist Society–appointed officiants, Justices of the Peace, marriage commissioners, notaries, and other persons empowered by law to perform legal marriage ceremonies. 

I'll remind my readers that I was husband number three and that she's gone on to marry number four.

The punchline to this entry can be found in the first sentence of her little bio.

I'll just leave it there.

Blast From Past - My Turkish FWB

This entry is a bit unusual for me, because I'm taking a hard swipe at someone.  Surprisingly, that person was the subject of a previous swipe.  Read into that as you wish.  My style is a bit raw and unrefined in this entry as well.  You could interpret that to mean the topic wasn't important enough for me to edit and polish my writing.  Or not...

When I was back in Richmond a few months ago, I had dinner with the former Turkish FWB I'd written about in The Girl Who Owned Nothing.  I didn't mention the FWB part earlier, but that was a significant portion of our friendship.  Anyway, I thought it would be nice to see her and, yes, perhaps enjoy some dirtiness.  However, the evening wound up being one of the most unpleasant experiences I've had in recent memory.  I'd have written about it sooner, except I'd not bothered to walk through the events, with a critical eye, until now.  I tend to be a trusting sort with those I know, particularly if they've had my cock in their mouth, so I'm not attempting to spot lies.  If someone's a known manipulative fuck, then I'm likely discounting everything that comes from their mouths in the first place.  Speaking of fucks, I didn't have enough to care all that much about that evening. 

I'll hold my conclusion on the matter and let my readers reach their own conclusions about what the hell was going through her mind.

When I'd reached out to FWB and let her know I was coming to town, she was aloof and made it clear a yet to be scheduled date with any other guy would take precedence over dinner with me and we definitely would NOT be having sex.  It's heartwarming to feel welcomed by your friends.

During dinner, she regaled me with tales of having sex with different men and told me that one in particular was amazing.  I asked what made him that way; what did he do to you?  There was nothing specific, she said, just that the passion was so incredibly intense with him.  I asked if any of these men had taken her ass from me or if I was still the only man who'd given her that pleasure.  She told me I was still the only one, but quickly moved on to another topic.  That seemed a bit strange, considering that was what she wanted most, once I introduced her to the act.  If things were so passionate, why not ask for him to take her ass, too? 

The conversation remained on the topic of sex.  On orgasms, she had once told me she'd had more in the first encounter with me than her whole life up until that night.  During dinner, that story changed.  She claimed that I'd misunderstood her, when she'd said she was a virgin when she married her husband.  'We fucked like bunnies even before we were married and he gave me lots of orgasms.' 

Hmmm...I feel a theme in here somewhere.

Oral sex - Our first time together, her blowjob skills were rather lacking; hell, she'd not had much experience.  However, she took direction well, so with plenty of  coaching, and a few videos I sent over, she became one of the best I've ever had.  When the topic came up, during my recent visit, she told me she learned on her own, just by watching videos and that I had nothing to do with it.

Dick Size - One of the men she told me she slept with had a huge penis.  Now, this woman is tiny in every way, so I asked if it hurt, to which she replied it was amazing having something that big in her.  I'm average size, but have zero envy of larger cocks.

Surprisingly, my ego wasn't bruised with the pelting of veiled insults.  However, it did sting a bit how she seemed to intentionally try to hurt me exactly where she thought she could do the most damage.   I work hard to discover all the little things that drive my partner crazy, so I take pride in my skills in the bedroom.  She knew this because she'd once told me 'your dedication to fucking is superior'.  Yes, I wrote it down because I found it humorous.  But she seemed to deliberately attack my ability as a lover.

Then, a few weeks later, I returned to the conversation and began considering the things she said.  Let's just say the bullshit began piling up.  Was the husband who rocked her world the same one she complained had been horrible in the sack, sometimes prematurely ejaculating before he'd gotten undressed?  Did I miss her commenting on how watching blowjob videos and learning on her own improved her skills, when she'd been blowing me?  And that amazing huge dick she loved so much; what about the well-endowed guy she'd slept with after I cut her off?  The one who she said hurt her, because he was so large.  And why again didn't she want that non-specifically passionate guy to not do the thing that made her orgasm the hardest?  The non-specifically passionate guy who began the evening described as the love of her life and ended as just a fuck buddy, who used her for sex, then took another woman to his condo in Miami. 

There were a few other things she said that evening that were in direct contradiction to her previous messaging.  When she read of my imminent departure to KC, she came by my house, literally in tears, to say goodbye.  I remarked that I was surprised she wasn't upset about the blog entry, to which she sniffed and responded 'it was true'.  Except it suddenly became not true during dinner.  I must have heard her wrong.  Damned hearing clearly requires a professional assessment. 

Then the obvious hit me.  She had wanted me for herself the whole time and I rejected her.  The evening full of jabs were her way of getting back at me.  As with the manipulation, while we were involved with one another, it was petty and childish.  But I still felt bad for hurting her.

So, the other night, I sent her a note apologizing for causing her so much pain.  She responded by denying that was the case, of course.  I may have shot a note back wondering why she spent an entire evening lying, in a deliberate attempt to hurt me.  Or not...some things need to be a mystery.

Do You Know Yourself? Really?

The words on the screen stung a bit.  They were from a woman with whom I thought I saw what could be an amazing relationship.  Our third date had been even more fun than the previous two and it was clear our desire would take over on number four and we'd become intimate.  I'd told her I wanted us to be exclusive.  Regular readers know I'm a fan of monogamy, plus I really liked this woman.  But there were the words.

I don't want an exclusive sexual relationship with you.

After a bit of back and forth, I got to the heart of the matter.  She wanted a sexual relationship with me but wanted to explore new possibilities, being fresh out of her marriage (dating separated people...never a good idea).  She wanted to sleep around a bit.

I responded by asking "you know we're talking about you, right?  The woman who, on our second date, wouldn't invite me up to her apartment in order to continue the heavy make out session that had begun in my car because 'I barely know you'.  The same woman, who on our third date, required some serious arm twisting before she finally relented to having me up; for the same reason, I might add.  (and not to have sex) And you think you can casually fuck random guys?"

While we were a couple, we would often joke about that, and she would always finish with 'I could totally be a slut.'  Sure you could, sweetheart.

My point in sharing this story is that her lack of understanding of who she was and what she was capable of could have torpedoed something great between the two of us.  (instead, it was her abysmal self-esteem that served as the projectile, but that's another story)

The experience that spurred this entry though, occurred recently, and was deja vu all over again with a similar encounter a few years ago.  While both women fell into the same demographic, two data points do not make a trend.  But the data points are the same.  The women were full blown submissives, who hadn't been with a man in at least a year.  Having spotted their concealed desires, I brought each 'out of their shell' and was met with a sentiment of 'I want you to take me asap' and called 'master' by both.  Then, to borrow a line from Top Gun, they each realized their sex drive wrote a check their body couldn't cash.  In other words, both flaked.  The first got halfway to the wine bar, at which we were meeting, and realized she couldn't go through with fucking a complete stranger.  She was apologetic, I was supportive.  There was some chemistry, but we never reconnected.  The second one ghosted me before we could meet.  I sent her a note a week or so after, asking why she ghosted me, to which she responded to the effect of 'those things you said to me before we even met were screwed up'.  Oh, you mean the things that you were self-stimulating to as I said them?  As noted, both women couldn't overcome their own inhibitions, even though they clearly thought they could.

The moral of these stories is understanding the person in the mirror is vital, when you're attempting to find a mate or chart your course.  Without knowing yourself, you can never hope to truly know someone else.

Happy dating, readers.

The Hits Just Keep Coming

Well, I seem to have stumbled across another potential loon this past week.

We connected per the normal course of events and seemed to have a connection, so we met last Saturday for dinner, and a good time was had by all.  There wasn't much not to like about B; she was smart, well read, funny, hot as hell, great in the sack, and had the most delicious pair of legs I've seen in some time.  The connection appeared to be pretty great, so we began spending a lot of time together (almost every night).  About mid-week, I became cognizant we were rushing headlong into becoming a couple at rapid pace, which is rarely a good thing.  As a result, my already highly sensitive nut case snooper went on full alert.

At that point, it dawned on me that we didn't have a huge amount in common except our mutual admiration.  Our lack of commonality didn't escape me on the front end, but the new open TIB said to let it slide.  After all, I was enjoying the companionship.

Yesterday, the craziness revealed itself in spades.  I'll spare you the minute details, but here are the high points.  This weekend, we were baking Christmas cookies; next weekend, we'd planned to see the Nutcracker.  I'm the furthest thing from a ballet fan, but she really wanted to see it; happy relationships involve trade offs.  In order to be able to enjoy this weekend together, I skipped the company holiday party yesterday; otherwise I'd have had to work this weekend.  I also asked to skip the Friday night sleepover at her house because all the time we'd been spending together had prevented me from working out and keeping up the house.  Plus, I needed to stock up on the basic building blocks for cookies (i.e. sugar, butter, eggs, etc.) and wasn't going anywhere near a Target or Wally World on a Saturday morning two weeks before Christmas.

Her email to me came before I sent my email saying I needed to skip Friday night.  In her's she asked if we could see the ballet this weekend instead of next; her son was coming into town next weekend.  I responded that I'd been looking forward to a quiet weekend and that the stress / events at work (where I was writing from) had made me hypersensitive to others changing my plans for me, but I knew how important seeing the show was to her, so we'd go this weekend.  That I'm sure we'd have a great time.

And out came the crazy.  In her next email, she shared her disappointment over not seeing me last night, having to skip the ballet (because 'no one should ever be forced to see the ballet against their will'), and one other thing having to do with cookie baking that would take longer to explain than the payoff would be worth.  In reality, I hadn't asked her to sacrifice anything but last night's visit.  She didn't attempt to ameliorate her comments by adding 'but I understand' or 'we'll make it work'.  Just outlining the sacrifices she was making because of me.  Initially, her note frustrated me because she was complaining about having to sacrifice two things she in fact, didn't have to.  I thought she either possessed abysmal reading comprehension skills (not likely, as she's a teacher) or something much worse.  She also made a comments to the effect that I was making it sound like all the work was falling on my shoulders and that I needed to put more effort into transitioning from 'single to not single'.

As a reminder, we'd had our first date the previous Saturday, less than a week ago!  In any case, the more I mulled over her email, the more I began to smell something I hadn't experienced in quite awhile.  The slight hint of the relationship being paramount, combined with the heady notes of 'you're not living up to your end of things', finished with the sweetness of facts taking a back seat to getting a point across.  Wait, I remember that smell from when I was married!  It's called MANIPULATION!!!  Seriously, that email, combined with her response to my metaphorically sending a photo of me running away, slamming me for my lack of commitment (to someone I'd been dating for less than a week!), was incredibly similar to how my borderline ex-wife communicated with me. From manipulating facts to make me feel bad about how I wasn't being a good partner to slamming me for not living up to my commitment (at least my wife could point to a commitment I'd made), her communication had it all.  Each little bit of manipulation crafted to further bind the receiver to the one who created it.  You feel as though you're not 'doing your part' in the relationship, so you work harder, which actually means further supplicating to your nutsville partner's ideas of how a relationship should function.

Not knowing her for even a week, it would be flat out dumb for me to insinuate that B was a borderline (although B is for Borderline).  But she certainly exhibited quite a few borderline traits, many of which I've not even mentioned.  What I can say with absolute certainty is that I dodged a bullet by making like Usain Bolt and sprinting to safety.

And so, it appears this Christmas will be solo, stuck in the hell that is Kansas.  Although, I'm still thinking cookie baking should remain on the weekend's agenda, because cookies.

How do you plan to spend the holidays?

Confessions of a Former Womanizer

Yes, I'm the former womanizer and have just opened myself up to the scorn of my female readers.
If you’ve read my previous posts, I like to remain as close to bulletproof as possible, so why the hell would I expose myself in this way?   I read a blog post, earlier today, written by a woman who had a man romance her, then sleep with her, and then bolt.  She was genuinely confused and hurt over what took place.  I wanted to share one potential reason why men act in this manner, from the perspective of someone who knows exactly what goes on in the jerk’s mind.  To reinforce what many women already know (but still get bruised), which is – When a guy bolts like this, it almost never is the result of shortcomings he sees in you, rather it’s driven by those he sees in himself.

What follows are my own personal experiences and rather raw admissions, as well as some of what I found, when I did some research a few years ago. I’m not a trained mental health professional; this post is not intended to diagnose, treat, blah blah blah.

Also, this post is not meant to excuse the behavior.  I know I hurt a number of women and for that, I’m ashamed.

On with the story - There was a period of time, after I separated from my wife, where I slept with a quite a number of women. It was the same pattern over and over. Seduce them, sleep with them once or maybe twice, and then bail, often leaving them hurt. Yep, that’s what a womanizer does. And you’re probably thinking I was reveling in boosting my body count and feeling like a stud. The truth is it left me ashamed and feeling like a complete loser.  I can’t speak for all men, but if you’re somewhat skilled at luring a woman into your bed, at some point, you don’t care about augmenting your body count.  I know I didn’t.   My goal wasn't to sleep with a bunch of random women, then leave them. What I wanted was to have a genuine loving relationship.  So, what was keeping me bed hopping?

Some background for you, before I go any further. Those who’ve read my other posts know I was married to a woman with borderline personality disorder. If you’re not familiar with the condition, take a moment to look it up or read about my experience. Go ahead; I’ll wait. The short version, in the context of this entry, is that borderlines will manipulate you, lie to you, gaslight you, exploit your vulnerabilities, and generally make you feel worthless. Yeah, it sucked and left me with a completely demolished sense of self-esteem and an unhealthy fear of intimacy.

When I left her and got back into the dating world, it was scary as hell. My marriage taught me that being vulnerable to someone was to be avoided at all costs. Vulnerability=Pain=Bad  Yet, I knew that a genuine, solid relationship requires vulnerability to your partner. The result was this insane tug of war inside my head, which was depressing on a high order. I ultimately became an alligator and one of the whackjobs I harp on.

So, what the fuck was going through my head that would cause me to bolt? There were a few different lines of thought that popped into my head, depending on the situation. But they all centered on a common theme that shouldn’t surprise anyone:  ‘she’s going to figure out how much of a loser I am; I’d better run before she does and hurts me.’

Others were variations on this theme.

‘How am I going to follow this up?’ – It’s easy to capture someone’s attention and entice them toward you. As bad as this sounds, it tends to be a formula. Share this story, flirt this way, show how you’re confident with this anecdote, that you’re warm and caring with another, flirt some more. But, no surprise, you lead with your best material, then panic because you think you don’t have anything left to hold her attention, once you’ve captured it. Of course, that’s bullshit, because women want you to be yourself and not put on a show, once they’ve decided to ‘let you in’. But don’t try to convince your subconscious of that.

The Maverick / ‘No, it’s no good.’ – The movie, Top Gun, is full of valuable life lessons for just about any situation. In this case, if you remember when Maverick got back in the air, after killing Goose, he lost his nerve and would disengage, saying ‘No, it’s no good’. I did the same thing, but my rationale for disengaging was built upon as many reasons I could concoct to convince myself a relationship wouldn’t work with this particular woman.

What I was not thinking was how to sleep with as many women as I could and who cares if I hurt them. Again, I’m not trying to excuse the behavior, but I’d be willing to bet that 99% of the guys who act like jerks aren’t making a conscious decision to do so.

I’ve read that those with similar issues to what I suffered crave the thrill of the chase more than men without issues. Then they lose interest once the challenge has gone away. I don’t know if I buy into that, although research shows the free testosterone a man's body releases when in contact with a lovely woman creates an almost euphoric effect.  I know I've felt it.  Those who suffer with intimacy and/or abandonment issues enjoy a larger number of chases, only because they’re compelled to run away, once the shit gets real. You wind up repeating the cycle more frequently than a well-grounded male. But to say these men enjoy the overall experience more doesn’t ring true. Perhaps, it becomes a sort of soothing factor to them in the same way being in a relationship soothes men who can have one. I’ll let someone with the proper training weigh in on that.

I’m happy to say I’ve broken my own cycle of behavior. Therapy helped, but recognizing I had an issue and being mindful about allowing those toxic thoughts into my head has paid even greater dividends. Since then, I’ve had a few actual relationships.  Most importantly, I’ve not slept with, then bolted on a single woman.

This entry was penned a few years ago, yet never posted.  In the interim, I experienced the turmoil with Sloan, with whom I was vulnerable like a boss and hurt rather badly.  What a strong refresher to my subconscious of how vulnerability leads to anything but pain and disappointment.  I guess we'll see whether I fall off the wagon; I honestly hope I won't.

Love - It's a Verb Dammit

The following is the maiden entry in my now world famous blog 😎.  However, for reasons unbeknownst to me, it had disappeared.  Obviously, this can't stand, so I'm reposting it, with a few edits to tighten it up (or make it worse, depending how you look at it).  The entry is important to me for both the message and circumstances that caused me to write it.  Also, there are a number of other entries in my blog that refer back to this one.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about love.  We all want to love and be loved; anyone who claims they don’t is lying. Those three little words can so intoxicating to hear from someone you think hung the moon.  But, do we really understand what it means to love someone?  To me, it involves so much more than emotion.  To me, love is a verb.

Emotion is the feeling that forms for those we feel very strongly about. It’s sort of the ‘secret sauce’ of a relationship and something that I’m not so arrogant to think I can tackle explaining. You can read one of the myriad of studies on the topic, should you wish to delve deeper into that particular facet.

Blah, blah, blah…tell me something I don’t know.

Okay, how about this? Love cannot be love without commitment, a conscious decision to consider the other person’s happiness and well-being as a priority in your actions.

Alongside commitment, comes sacrifice, because in order to place that priority on the other person’s well-being, it often requires you to give something up. For example, you don’t buy the Porsche so your wife will have the funds for grad school.  You sacrifice willingly and happily for the other person.

The two components of emotional bond and commitment must total up to some value, which I won’t attempt to quantify here, in order for true love to exist. However, both must be present. This basic structure applies to all forms of love; romantic, familial, love of friends, etc. The ratios will fluctuate accordingly, depending upon the type of love.

I’m sure we all know a couple who’s been together forever and their entire lives revolve around each other.  They've become so emotionally bonded, that they'd be lost without the other and their entire lives have been about making each other happy.  What about some other examples? A mother loves her newborn baby more than life itself, but beyond the whole imprinting and chemical stuff, how much emotion could she really feel for a screaming, poop machine that won’t let her sleep?  Yet, she sacrifices sleep, her social life, a healthy chunk of her income, and so on because of an unbreakable commitment to its well-being.  I can't think of a more perfect example of love as a verb.

The genesis of this entry occurred about a month and a half after Sloan and I became a couple, when I told her I loved her for the first time.  She took issue with my doing so, saying I didn't know her well enough to feel that way.  I responded that love was a verb and I'd made a commitment to make her happiness a priority.  I still live that commitment as much as I'm able, under the circumstances, as does she.

On the flip side, we have way too many members of our society who allow their emotions to run amok, fall for every person they sleep with, and call it love. But when loving that person becomes work and requires effort, they’re not quite as in love as they thought. The emotion may have been there, but the commitment was non-existent. And that’s one of the reasons our divorce rate is so damned high.

Fortunately, I’ve only experienced this with one woman I loved. She was all in for the lavish dinners, vacations, gifts, and attention heaped upon her. But, when our relationship required work (in this case, honest communication), she ran for the exit.

I’ve dated enough women to have heard every rationale known to man for their previous marriage ending. I can completely buy infidelity as a valid reason to walk away.  Abuse, a no brainer.  A marriage isn’t much good if one of the partners doesn’t honor their commitment to the other.  But, there have been a few who have told me ‘I fell out of love with him’, to which I always ask how that occurred.  Didn’t you try to work to save the marriage, particularly as it was beginning to falter?  It’s caused a few less than pleasant moments when I’ve followed up with ‘what happens when our fairy tale ends?  Would you fall out of love with me too?  Should I just sign over half of my assets now?’ And, that tends to be my cue to exit.

Ordinarily, I'd continue to proselytize but I think the concept a basic one.  Plus, there has apparently already been much written on the topic (which I looked into after writing my own piece) as well as a John Mayer song (also discovered after writing this).

Love isn't just something you feel, it's something you do, because love is a verb.

So, I end by asking my readers a question. Do you know how to love?

Embracing The Slut

I decided to revisit this entry in order to correct a few what I consider important omissions.    

I’ll preface by stating that the garbage coming from my keyboard is based upon my own experiences and conversations; your mileage may vary as to whether it represents the general population.  

Being a student of human nature, I enjoy discovering the desires of my partners as well as what drives them.  When I was younger and incredibly naive, I had absolutely zero clue what women really wanted.  Growing up in puritanical middle of nowhere PA, I was raised to believe women needed to be convinced to have sex (because they didn't enjoy it) and that no matter what, you always always always treated them like ladies.  Our lives were mostly black and white.  We called women who slept around sluts.  Sluts were bad.  Obviously, over time, I've come to realize how wrong we were about so many things.  

I've since discovered women enjoy sex and want it as much as men, if not more.  Some men still haven't gotten the memo on that, but that's another story.  It took a bit longer to understand how women wanted to be treated in the bedroom.  As recently as my thirties, I recall no having no clue why my now ex-wife wanted me to lay her on the bed and brutally fuck her mouth.  Why she'd ask me to cause her pain during sex.  Honey, you're my wife and I could never mistreat you.  

Call me a late bloomer, but it's only been in the last 7 or 8 years that I've managed to put the pieces together to reach the 'AHA!' moment.  In that moment, I realized that women don't always want to be treated like ladies.  That promiscuity has nothing to do with being a slut and that being in love with a slut can be quite the rewarding experience.  That's the purpose of this entry.  I think it's time we set the record straight and embrace the slut.

(I feel as though there should be some opening music, similar to what's played after a talk show host completes his opening monologue)

What Is a Slut?
Before we dive into sluts themselves, it would be helpful to establish what a slut is and just as importantly, what a slut isn't.  A slut is a woman who enjoys being treated as a possession.  She's in touch with what brings her pleasure and how that pleasure's delivered.  She tends to enjoy pain (some or a lot), feeling like a possession and being reminded of her status as one, feeling as though she's just there for her 'owner's' pleasure (a fucktoy), being treated roughly, being dominated, and in some cases, being taken against her will.  Obviously that last one can be tricky and requires great care, because it's not as though you can ask a woman if she wants to be taken against her will.  In general, a slut will do anything (in the bedroom) the man for whom she's a slut wants her to.  Most sluts are monogamous and only wish to be the fucktoy of one trusted man.

Slut Shaming & What a Slut Isn't
This will be one of the rare times where I'll tell my readers how to think and behave.  Being a slut has absolutely nothing to do with promiscuity.  In fact, I've found that women who tend to sleep around aren't terribly good sluts.  However, that's not why society tends to look down upon these women.  Even today, our society retains the outdated notion that women should have only one partner.  That she's a bad person if she enjoys the company of more than one man, or if she jumps in the sack 'too quickly' between partners.  These behaviors will often label her a slut.  However, society doesn't have an alternate term for a women who behaves in this manner.  Therefore, I've decided to take ownership and create my own term, which shall become the standard.  From this point forward, a woman such as I described shall be known as a 'woman'.  I'll hit the double standard and move on.  Guys who act the same way are called studs or just 'guys'.  With respect to slut shaming, just don't fucking do it.  We know you may be threatened by her openness and lack of subservience to an outdated set of morals, but you'll get over it.  Trust me on this.

Back to the real sluts.  Being a guy, and having multiple experiences, I naturally want to engage in some categorization.  So, that's what I'll do.  While the slut factor is obviously a sliding scale with no absolutes, in my experience, women tend to fall into four different buckets.  A bit of clarification first.  The observations I’ve made were within the context of ‘traditional relationships’ with women who I considered to have long term potential.  All bets are off with one night stands and random hookups, which completely change the dynamics below. 

The Categories 

The first two are the easy ones.  There’s the Uninhibited Slut.  She enjoys being dirty, regardless of the partner(s), setting, or law enforcement present.  Being nasty excites her, the state of which tends to be her payoff.  She doesn’t care who knows she’s a dirty girl and it may even excite her further the more people who do know.

On the other end of the spectrum is the Non-slut.  Regardless of how insatiable she might be, she wants a traditional and vanilla fucking.  Fuck her, go down on her, she might blow you, and that’s it.  Don’t even think of tying her up because she isn’t into that, dirty talk, toys, or much else.  Thankfully, I’ve experienced very few of these women and they tend to vanish in short order.  Was it the midgets?

A step down from the top of the freak scale lives the Closet Slut.  She’s tried it all and knows what she likes.  She loves being slutty, but wants to keep it under cover, until the time is right.  The code word to unlock the fun for her is trust.  She must have absolute confidence there won’t be negative consequences she unzips her partner’s pants in a parking lot or screams like a banshee when she orgasms.  ‘Is he going to freak out when I ask him to tie me up and spank me?’  Once that trust is established, she goes from zero to delicious dirty girl in a heartbeat.  In all honesty, I haven’t run into too many women who fall into this group, but, when I do, I always enjoy the ride.

Most women I’ve encountered fall into the category I refer to as the Slut in Training.  Those who live in this realm have some experience being slutty but they still have plenty of exploring to do.  They would enjoy being sluttier but aren’t always sure how to go about it.  They are a bit more self-conscious about pushing boundaries with their partners and will require the right kind of motivation to expand boundaries.  Trust is even more crucial for the Slut in Training, but once you've earned it, she becomes a willing pupil.  In short, sluts in training love sex and are open to trying most things to enhance the experience, but the road to (greater) depravity for them is more of a boulevard than an autobahn. 

I'll freely admit how much I love hearing ‘I want to be your dirty little slut.’  And that’s the thing, most closet sluts and sluts in training want to be your slut and your slut only.  When they want to push boundaries, they want you to take charge and shove them on their knees to suck you, to spank them and pull their hair while you take them from behind, etc.

What drives women to be sluts?

Women have come a long way in terms of respect in society and the workplace.  They’ve worked their asses off to gain parity with men and have no time or respect for those who blatantly and consistently view women as subservient second class humans.  And they sure as hell won’t date someone that sees them that way.      

These women spend their time having to be hard asses at work in order to be taken seriously and in many instances, begin to doubt their own femininity.  They’re still women and want to feel desirable; they want their man to view them as such.  Inside, there is a part of them that wants to be objectified and controlled; they want their trusted partner to ‘stake their claim’ and take ownership of their bodies.  This is the sentiment I've heard from multiple women.  BTW, that was another new concept for me.  Having been brought up to consider women as equals only to discover they craved to be objectified from time to time.  

Because I'm not content to just enjoy my slut, I frequently query them about their desires.  One woman told me, almost verbatim, ‘I spend all day running my business, maintaining a household, making decisions, being a good mother, and all that other garbage.  So, in bed, I want my guy to take charge, spank my ass, pull my hair, and make me his fuck toy.  I want to feel like a woman.’

Insert applicable commentary on traditional gender roles, if you feel so inclined.

While most of the above isn’t necessarily new, I’ll throw out another observation that may be counter intuitive.  That is self-assured, intelligent women tend to be the absolute best sluts.  I've had multiple women, all having their shit together, say the exact same thing.  'I want to be treated like a dirty whore.'   Why would someone who's worked her way into a position of great respect want to be degraded and objectified?   Someone treasure and and definitely falls into the category of successful, buttoned up professional, recently shared her perspective on why being a slut turns her on so much.  For her, she said, the excitement came from being completely vulnerable.  How can one get more vulnerable than being at the complete mercy of a man, where he could do with his woman as he pleased?  Admittedly, the level of vulnerability could be heightened, were the man a stranger, but there's a difference between vulnerable and dangerous.  Although, such encounters aren't exactly unheard of.  

So, the smarter and more self-assured a woman is, the more her desire to be treated like a possession.  But does the logic hold true at the other end of the spectrum?

In my experience, yes, women who tend to be less secure with themselves are more reticent toward being your slut.  Many have the desire, but are concerned about being perceived as a slut outside of the bedroom.  I've encountered this in cases where a woman has been treated as a slut, period.  Unfortunately, men tend to treat women poorly, in this internet dating world of instant gratification.  If a woman who already has some lingering doubts about their self-worth falls prey to more than one man who said all the right things, just to get her into bed, then disappeared, it's perfectly understandable that she begins to have concerns over being perceived as a slut (misused term in this case). It's a double edged sword for a woman who possesses a strong sex drive.  Something a woman once said to me perfectly illustrates the angst that can be felt.  'I don't want to be classified as a slutty girl.'   In other words, she's afraid of being considered a slut when she only wants to be a slut for the right person.  In her mind, it's difficult to win because even now, it seems she's feels as though she should be ashamed of enjoying sex.  Women with more significant self-esteem issues (where their insecurity encompasses both their personal and professional lives) are almost never interested in being a slut.  When I dated one of these women, I recall her telling me point blank ‘I’m not going to be anyone’s toy.’ 

There does come a point where a woman’s self-esteem drops low enough that she becomes more open to being a slut for you.  That one’s pretty obvious; she'll push any boundaries you want in order to keep you from rejecting her.     

Men are saying to themselves, ‘I’ve been with a few confident women and they weren’t slutty at all; what’s up with that?’  The most common reason I’ve heard from women as to why they aren’t sluttier is because men, as a group, are an insecure lot.  If a woman wants to try a toy or to be watched while she brings herself to orgasm, the first thought from most men is ‘if she can do it herself, why does she need me around?’  Side note of irony as these behaviors are universal turn on’s for guys; until they happen.  One woman told me about having to stroke a previous boyfriend's ego after he discovered her favorite toy was larger than him.  The other factor that brings out men’s insecurity is considering their partner’s ‘dirty past’.  They want their girlfriend / wife to be a dirty whore for them but don’t want to consider they’ve been a slut for anyone else.  If the gf/wife suggests dirty things that turn them on, they risk their partner going into the mode of ‘damn, she must be a real whore to find out that turns her on.’  Followed by ‘someone taught her that thing that I’ve never thought of so why would she want to be with me?’ So many guys still secretly harbor the ‘I want to be the first’ feelings toward women and have serious issues when confronted with evidence to the contrary.  ‘Just how did she learn she liked to be DP’d?  What a whore!’ 

I never really understood being insecure in that manner.  First, I’m happy if a woman knows what gets her off and would happily shake the hand of the guy(s) who helped her discover those things.  Second, it’s rarely the male who comes up with the dirty things.  While I pride myself as someone who pushes the envelope, just as often as not, it’s my partner who brings up a fantasy she wants to live out. 

My ideal partner has to be the slut in training.  This has nothing to do with insecurity and not wanting a woman who’s experienced more than me, but everything to do with how much I enjoy exploration and, if I’m honest, my competitive streak.  Very little gives me as much satisfaction, in the sack, than helping a partner discover something new that completely trips her trigger.  Hearing ‘oh my God, I never thought I’d like that’ is an amazing feeling! 

Probably my favorite experience of helping my partner discover new things was with a woman I dated a few years ago.  I think it was the second time we slept together when this happened.  For some context, she had portrayed herself as a total freak in the bedroom.  Anyway, she had me in her mouth and I asked her if she wanted to touch herself, while she sucked my cock.  She hesitated for a moment, then her hand went between her legs.  She was a complete g-spot girl but she started cumming almost immediately from touching her clit.  After a few moments, she looked up and asked if she should move so I could have a better view.  Uh, yes please!  She just kept cumming over and over, moaning and choking on my cock.  Yeah, it was hot.  What amazed me was how afterward, she gushed (literally and figuratively) over how hot doing that made her.  That she wouldn’t have thought much of it since she only usually had g-spot orgasms.  From that point on, any time she performed oral on me, her fingers went right for her clit.  There were occasions where I had to pull her off of me to move to another activity.  Again, I relished hearing her discovering new ways to enjoy herself, even into her late 30’s.  She told me the new trick turned her on so much that she’d had to pull out her toy every time she thought about it.  I taught her a few more new things but that’s another story.

Obviously, I enjoy the sexual tension that comes with treating a woman like my dirty slut (when she want's that, of course).  However, woman's desire isn't always sufficient motivation for me to properly (mis) treat her.  Even for an alpha male, such as myself, properly making a woman your fuck toy requires more effort than not doing so.  Having vanilla sex with a woman takes very little thought and no effort beyond the physical.  Kiss this, lick that, she sucks that, insert tab A into slot B.  Repeat for some period of time and you're done.  But taking complete control of someone requires thought, effort, and planning, because there's a balance to maintain between harsh and kind.  Not to mention many women have thresholds for pain and maximum humiliation one must be attentive to.  Therefore, for me, a woman must be worth the effort to provide the experience for her.  Because I amuse myself, I always say I have to completely respect a woman in order to treat her like a whore.

Despite all this, I'm certain someone has wandered off the street thinking 'he's just a jerk who gets off on humiliating women.'  While I am a jerk, the rest doesn't ring true.  I'll admit to deriving pleasure from the above activities, but it took time to do so.  Most of the excitement I feel revolves around knowing I'm satisfying my partner and her needs.

Someone else is skeptically that a woman can be a partner and equal, when they're being regularly humiliated.  Of course, that's complete bullshit.  Exhibit A is Scharzmugel, who regular readers remember from my entry on whether it's better to have loved and lost, etc.   You'll remember from that article how much Scharzmugel meant to me, how deeply I loved her, and how much I respected her as an equal.  Yet, she loved being my whore more than any other woman I've been with.  I loved her for being a partner and lusted after her as my slut.  

So men, cherish the slut in your life and provide the support to help her reach her full slut potential.  Women, embrace your inner slut and allow her to bring you the pleasure you deserve.  Let's celebrate the slut!

Whackjob - Earning The Title

My last entry, on love and loss, left me feeling a bit melancholy and sorry for myself, wondering whether I'll ever fall in love again.  However, it also kicked my brain into overdrive.  This will be the first of two or three back to back entries further exploring a recurring topic in my blog; mental illness and dating.  This one will establish a few definitions as well as serve as a platform for a mild rant.  It may be offensive to some; they are welcome to go view cat memes instead.  Worth noting is these entries are not references to the woman I noted in the love and loss.  I wanted to make that clear because I know she'll read them.

Regular readers of my blog know that I’m nothing if not understanding of those with mental health challenges.  That I have had more than my share of exposure to those suffering from various issues and have first hand knowledge of how lives can be turned upside down.   I've always offered my support to those suffering these people and written a great deal on my experiences.

One thing I've taken flak for in the past has been my characterization of certain women (again, no experience with guys) as broken.  That such a term is hurtful, stereotypical, and further stigmatizes mental illness.  I've ignored this criticism and will continue to use the term for a few reasons.  First, it might make be helpful to define broken, in the context of humans.

Broken (adj). - Suffering from a treatable or curable mental health condition whereby said condition significantly impacts or prohibits that person's ability to form or maintain a healthy relationship with others.

I've shared numerous examples of encounters with broken women in this blog.  While most have serious signs of abandonment issues or intimacy issues, I've no doubt there are other conditions I've not been able to identify.  I've noted a few of those in this blog as well.  Regardless, they are all mostly incapable of having a healthy relationship.  And while it's a bit stereotypical to lump them together, it would make entries unreadable were I to be so granular each time the topic came up.

To those who consider the term to stigmatize mental illness, go look at cat memes.  Every time I encounter someone in whom I identify a mental illness (in the context of dating), I am incredibly supportive and urge them to seek treatment.  I've never considered the term to be derogatory when I've used it.  Of course, I'd be happy to never encounter a broken woman again, but that's a bit much to ask (more on that to come).

Not every person who can't build a healthy relationship is broken.  Some merely have their heads up their asses, either with unreasonable expectations, being self-centered, chronically immature, etc.  Others are just pathologically odd, but these people don't suffer with a diagnosable mental illness.   These are the fuckups because, they have no excuse to be well, fucked up.  I think we've all encountered a few of these people in our lives, although since I've jettisoned most quickly, I have no way of knowing whether they're broken as well.

Fuckup (noun) - someone without a diagnosable mental health issue yet causes havoc for those in their life

Having defined broken and fuckup, we'll move on to the title appellation and explore the whackjob.

Whackjob (noun) - A person with a treatable or curable mental health condition whereby said condition repeatedly causes harm to those around them but they never seek treatment despite overwhelming evidence of a condition existing.

Essentially, a whackjob is someone who's broken and despite overwhelming empirical evidence of their abnormal behavior, refuses to admit they're in need of treatment.   The whackjob is where my kindness and understanding leaves the building because not only do they cause harm to others, they repeat the cycle over and over again.  You may think I have an issue with whackjobs because of the harm they've caused to me, but it's much more than that.  It's damage to the truly innocent who can't run away that make me dislike whackjobs so much.  And yep, this term does stigmatize those who fall into it.  That's intentional because if we call them for what they really are, perhaps they'll take responsibility for themselves.  I tend to use this term quite sparingly, reserved only for the truly deserving.

My ex-wife represents an absolute perfect example of a whackjob.  Her borderline personality disorder harmed many many people who I don't think she'd want to inflict that upon.  Bullet points are probably best to document both behavior and impact.

• Promiscuity, resulting in unwanted pregnancy and subsequently putting her child and herself at risk
• Inability to be alone, causing her children to see a parade of sometimes dangerous losers passing through their lives
• Compulsive lying serious enough that all three of her siblings cut contact with her at one point or another as well as destroy numerous friendships and job loss
• Now on her fourth husband, with uncounted engagements (seriously, she had a collection of engagement rings but would never tell me the actual number of fiances she'd had)
• Treatment of her daughter resulting in her suffering from borderline personality disorder as well.  (because borderlines often beget borderlines) 

While she made my life a living hell for almost a decade, it was her family and children who suffered the most.  It's one thing to hurt someone who's a grownup and can extricate themselves from the situation but another to cause grave mental injury to defenseless children.  Regardless of your ability to self-justify, anyone could see such behavior as being abnormal.  She solidified her whackjob status after I sat down with her (after separating) and outlined all of this and more to reach the conclusion she had BPD.  Like most borderlines do, she told me I was out of my mind and tried to get me to drop it.

One doesn't need as severe a condition as BPD to become a whackjob.  I wound up in a one night stand with a woman exhibiting such nasty intimacy issues that she tried her best to disassociate herself from the event and left the house at a run when I tried to hold her after sex.  You and I both know this wasn't a one off; it's a pattern in her life.  But running from various men's homes doesn't seem to have made an impact.  Shame too, because I really liked her.

And I get that the mind has ways of rationalizing your behavior and protecting itself.  Hell, borderlines have been known to unintentionally, subconsciously 'rewrite' memories to where they could pass a lie detector test with their version of events.  But. for most whackjobs, there just has to be a point where the evidence becomes so overwhelming they can’t ignore they’ve got some serious fucking issues. Certainly, those people exist, but they can't really function in society.  When you're lying about your conduct, because you know it's aberrant, there's no way you can convince me you're unaware you're a mess.  And that's one of the things I've asked the potential whackjob.  'Did you tell your friends what you did and why you did it?'

More importantly, how can you be so self-centered as to continue with the same behavior, inflicting pain and suffering on every person who comes to care for you?  Instead of reaching out to an appropriate mental health professional and addressing your issues to take some fucking responsibility for your actions?  When someone sits your ass down and provides pretty compelling evidence of your condition?  When you know damned well it's hurting those you say you love?

(This is not a rant on my ex-wife.  While some of the above applies only to her, the majority is relevant with other whackjobs I've encountered as well.)

I have no time for whackjobs and absolutely hate encountering them because they consider only themselves and not those who love them.

I warned you that kindness had left the building.

Now that I've got all of that off my chest, I have one final term to define.  These are the people who are just odd or screwy.  While they're not screwy in a manner that repeatedly damages them or others who care about them, they are screwy nonetheless.  These are the people we shall refer to as normal, because let's face it, we're all a bit screwed up in some way.  For that reason, you'll never see me refer to anyone as screwy.

Screwy (noun) - Normal

In my next entry, we'll delve into some numbers.

In the meantime, stay healthy, friends...

Living With Borderline Personality Disorder - A Former Spouse's View

In the time between clients, my mind begins to wander, well, all over the damned place. Lately, it’s been drifting toward past relationships and, in particular, my one and only marriage. I’m over the marriage, put it in the past tense, and moved on, blah, blah, blah. But you see my ex-wife has undiagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder. In fact, I’m the only one who truly recognizes her condition, being in the unique position to see her current and past behavior in fine detail.

My Ex Wife

This entry will provide a view of what it's like to live with someone suffering from BPD.

For those who aren’t familiar with borderline personality disorder, you can read more here:

http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/borderline-personality-disorder/index.shtml

The short version is that those with BPD do everything they can to prevent abandonment. This includes manipulating (i.e. lying, gaslighting) their partners in order to keep them from leaving. Their emotional state is in constant turmoil.  Consider BPD to be abandonment issues on steroids and then some.

I’ll preface by saying, despite some parts of the story appearing to be, this is not a ‘woe is me’ story. Consider it as more of a precautionary tale for those who don’t realize that true nut jobs walk among us and can damage you in ways you never believed possible. I certainly didn’t have a clue this was the case, when I met my ex. Hell, I didn’t know what the hell BPD was. I thought mental illness was people wandering the streets, talking to inanimate objects.  Surely, those people would be locked up or labelled or something, right? Aren't they required to wear tags around their necks?  I obviously learned the hard way that's not the case.  They walk among us and can appear very normal.

What sucks about BPD, is that it’s incredibly difficult to diagnose. In fact, I was dating a therapist who had been married to a BPD’er and didn’t figure it out until after the relationship ended, which is what happened with me. She also shared that when a patient at her practice is suspected of having BPD, they are interviewed by multiple therapists because of how adept they are at manipulation.  As a result, most borderlines never receive treatment.

How did I determine my (ex) wife had BPD?  First of all, I knew a great deal of her behavior was abnormal (as you'll see throughout this entry).  In digging around, I found the DSM and considered my ex’s behavior; BPD was the landslide winner. It was solidified by research on the effects of children of Borderlines, which seemed as though they’d just written a description of my step-daughter. I compared notes with the aforementioned therapist I dated and it was as though we’d been living the same lives. The final piece of confirmation fell into place in an almost humorous fashion.   I'd been seeing a therapist, during the dark days of my separation, and kept throwing supporting information at him but he refused to diagnose C as a Borderline. Not seeing her, ethics, blah, blah. Then, in one of my last sessions with him, I shared a recent rather lengthy email conversation with her where everything she wrote screamed ‘I’m a Borderline’. I showed that to my therapist, who after reading through the correspondence, blurted out, ‘Wow, she’s a high functioning Borderline.’ I looked at him and said, ‘gotcha!’

The Courtship
When I met C, she seemed like everything I wanted in a partner. Admittedly, I’d never experienced a true partner in previous relationships so I really had zero clue what I really should be looking for. But C was beautiful, smart, and thought I was the best thing since sliced bread. I was her savior from the other horrible guys she’d dated. And she’d dated a lot of losers, the most extreme example being her second husband who had done time for armed robbery. (Under the heading of ‘some people don’t change’ this would be the same scumbag who I, later, wound up showing the business side of a Glock to convince him he shouldn’t be following ‘our’ kids to their bus stop.) Truly, these should have been warning signs (not almost shooting her ex; that came later) but I defy most men to have a gorgeous woman praise them as their knight in shining armor and think ‘hmm, something ain’t right here’. It’s just not gonna happen! Hell, most guys are somewhat insecure to begin with, so they eat that up like a fat kid wolfs down cake. I know I did.

The relationship progressed incredibly quickly. On her side, the BPD was forcing her timeline. On mine, I was at an age where I decided it was time to settle down and C was amazing. It was almost as though my subconscious said ‘yep, you’ll do nicely’ and that was that.

The Relationship
So, all was right with the world. As time went on, there were little warning signs. I caught her lying to her kids in order to manipulate them. Hmm…she wouldn’t do that to me though, right? Her treatment of me changed over time as well. In the beginning, I could do no wrong but, seemingly overnight, I developed a dizzying array of character flaws. Every misstep was categorized and thrown on the pile. The general message from her to me was ‘I love you regardless of how useless you are’. Pretty effective at making someone feel really lucky they have such an understanding spouse. As time passed, my self-esteem dropped precipitously.

When there were differences of opinion, with respect to our relationship, I would try to be accommodating. There was a part of me that thought ‘she’s been married twice before so she knows better than me’. Hah! Dumb shit!

In general, every disagreement we had was seemingly my fault. When having a disagreement with a partner, my preference is to sit down, as soon as possible (sometimes one or both parties needs to let the steam vent before they can have a productive discussion) and have a frank and respectful discussion. But she wouldn’t discuss differences of opinion between us, ever. And when I would become agitated at her avoiding the discussion, I would somehow find myself apologizing for yelling at her. To be clear, I raised my voice less than half a dozen times, during my marriage, but apologized for yelling no less than fifteen times.

And she was the master at this type of manipulation.

She was also a black belt of the ‘I told you X’ to cover herself. I thought I was the worst husband in the world for not paying attention to my wife (adding to the shame). This was until I wound up taking notes from our conversations (for reasons too lengthy to get into here). Sure enough, her story (in this case, our relocation from PA to RVA) would change almost daily, yet she’d claim that whatever today’s story was had been her position the whole time.

BPD’ers have a great deal of difficulty controlling their emotions, often ‘losing their shit’ on perceived transgressors, many times to the point of becoming physical. C was unusual, for a Borderline, in that she rarely went ballistic and never got physical. But when she did freak out, it was usually in a context one would least expect. 

My favorite example almost invariably blows the minds of everyone who hears it. In fact, even the folks on the BPD support message boards (a community for those living with, or trying to escape, a Borderline) were impressed with this one. It involves cured meats. 

The Ham Incident

We were hosting Easter, and my parents were visiting from out of state, along with my grandmother. The morning of, my mother and I were in the kitchen, both finishing breakfast as well as prepping some sides for Easter dinner. Somewhat out of the blue, C began an argument with me over something I’ve since forgotten. Suffice to say it was something trivial and I defended myself. The argument escalated, with her yelling at me and being generally nasty.

And then, it happened. Out of the blue, she threw the Easter ham at me!!! I was accosted by a projectile of porcine smoky goodness!

Needless to say, things got really ugly after that. After all, you don’t throw smoked pork at me and get away with it! Nothing physical but there was a ton of screaming and yelling from both of us. My parents were mortified and left (they later told me they never liked my wife). 

We later sat down to talk and here’s the best part of the story. I apologized!!! God, she was an artist. The logic went like this: She had (allegedly) told me the previous night, to try to vacate the kitchen early so she could get the ham prepared. It was because of my mother’s and my loitering, in the kitchen, that she had no choice but to go ape shit and throw meat at me. Yeah, I guess it was my fault you had to throw the ham at me. I’m sorry; I don’t deserve you.

Attempting to project blame, to some degree or another, is a common theme in most relationships, so nothing new there. Most people try to deflect blame at some point. But she took projection to new levels of artistry. Here are two quick examples of her amazing projection, both relating to her wrecking her car, which she did regularly.

Once, she slid on ice, during a big snow storm, while approaching a stop light, and hit the guy in front of her who had already stopped for the red light. Whose fault was that? The dude who stopped at the light, of course.  He should have kept going since it was icy.  

The other one, that was quite inventive, was when she backed into a truck. We had moved into our new home a few months earlier and the builder was there to knock out some punch list items. His truck was parked in front of the closed garage door. C had to leave, opened the garage door, and promptly backed into the contractor’s truck. Whose fault was that one? It was mine because she was late and rushing to meet me. If it weren’t for me wanting to treat her to a nice dinner out, she wouldn’t have wrecked the car.

Her refusal to take blame for anything became a source of resentment for me. I wanted her to take ownership for something; anything. I tried to explain that I don’t care if someone makes mistakes; everyone does. But, if you screw the pooch in your marriage, you take ownership, apologize, and work through it together. Didn’t do a bit of good.

Gaslighting

C would often utilize a certain manipulation technique that I later learned was called gaslighting; a common tactic among those with BPD. Gaslighting is a form of manipulation that is considered torture, in some contexts. An excellent description can be found here:

http://counsellingresource.com/features/2011/11/08/gaslighting/

C demonstrated some serious skill at gaslighting. There would be some sort of disagreement between us, followed by her returning (from work or a family ‘meeting’, etc.) with the message that other people with whom she’d discussed the topic with agree with her perspective on the matter. To top it off, invariably, someone she spoke with would allegedly make a disparaging comment about me. Sometimes, there was only a disparaging comment about me; ‘my friends think you’re an asshole’. But the underlying theme was that I was wrong and a piece of shit but C wasn’t the one saying I was a piece of shit. She remained blameless. (I’ll revisit that theme in a later story)

A quick example of her gaslighting: we’d had a non-yelling disagreement over a topic which has been lost to history (which I’m sure I apologized for). The next day, she returned home from work and informed me that she’d spoken with five coworkers about what happened. All five had said they never have arguments with their spouse and one suggested I had an anger management problem. Pretty powerful stuff, if you trust your partner, which I did at the time.

However, as time went on, she got sloppy (desperate) with her gaslighting and made more and more outrageous claims. I used to joke she would claim her colleagues advocated killing puppies, if that’s what her position was. She began to tell me her position was supported by people who she had no way of casually speaking with (i.e. were out of the country, people she had vowed never to speak with again, those she admitted she hadn’t spoken with in years, etc.). In one case, she tried to convince me she’d just discussed ‘whatever’ and gotten support from someone who I knew had passed away a few months earlier. Yep, even those pushing up daisies agreed with her!

To top it off, she was a compulsive (yet talented) liar; a typical trait of those with BPD. I’ve never met someone who had such an aversion for the truth as C. It wasn’t just me she lied to. After we had been married for a few years, each one of her three siblings shared stories of how her compulsive lying had caused a rift between them. Of course, my response was ‘and you couldn’t have told me this before I married her???’ Honestly, I missed most of her lies until later in our relationship or after we separated; she was that good at it.

After we separated, I called her out on the lying, citing various examples where I had concrete evidence. She admitted she had lied to me quite a bit, over the years, but explained ‘I didn’t feel as though I could be honest with you’. She was afraid I’d go bat shit over the truth. Huh? I asked her whether she felt the same way with – and proceeded to rattle off names of her family and a ton of others she constantly lied to.  I don’t recall the fabrication she came up with in response and it doesn’t matter.

I have since come to understand that she was attempting to manipulate me into her own storybook version of the perfect marriage. Instead, the only thing she accomplished was to drive me away. But, to be clear, she was incapable of rational thought in many instances. In most cases, a Borderline truly believes their version of events because their brain can’t process the reality that they may be to blame for something. It’s called dissociative behavior and it creates a new reality of a situation that the borderline mind can accept. There were many occasions where she’d recall a recent situation / conversation / whatever and I’d wonder whether we were discussing the same thing, because I certainly wasn’t part of the event she was describing. 

We tried two go ‘rounds of marriage counseling. However, in both cases, I was in the mode of accepting ‘things aren’t working out because I’m a bad husband’. And she certainly wasn’t going to admit to lying and manipulation.

I’m ashamed to say the lying, manipulation, turned me into a bitter, selfish man. I had an affair at the office (she never found out) with another married woman who gave me what C wouldn’t; the feeling that I was a desirable man. Time went on and I made a couple serious efforts to regroup and be the best husband I could be to C. When I asked for some sort of positive feedback on my efforts, she responded with the message that I’d likely go back to being ‘worthless’ soon. So, I truly became a bastard because why bother trying not to be? 

I absolutely tried to be the best step-father I could. This was very important to me, as their own father wasn’t in the picture and C was incredibly erratic as a parent. On that, I believe I succeeded but that’s another story.

The ultimate tipping point was my taking a job in Richmond. She agreed to the move and was excited about my promotion. But, she wasn’t being honest with me or herself. As her sister later told me, ‘regardless of what she told you, there was no way C was moving down to VA.’ I’ll spare you the blow by blow but suffice to say that dynamic ripped apart what little was left of the fabric of our marriage.

And as the marriage finally disintegrated, I never once heard her tell me she loved me and wanted to save our marriage. Instead, she would berate me about not honoring my commitment; or abandoning her and the kids. 

In all honesty, I didn’t see the lying, manipulation, and emotional abuse for what it was. My motives to end the marriage were purely selfish at the time. I was tired of being told how horrible I was as a husband and tired of being lied to. I wanted out. I had to get out. My self-esteem was shot to hell.  I'll never forget that conversation I had in my head the night I decided to end our marriage.  I thought to myself 'I'm a worthless man and no one will ever want to be with me, but I just can't take this anymore'.  

The next evening, I told her I was done.  I became an enemy in a heartbeat and she wouldn’t allow me into the house. It had nothing to do with fear of me taking things from the marital home; just that she didn’t want me in ‘her’ home, being the traitor I was. She told me, flat out, that she was going to punish me for not living up to my commitment. She was so petty as to change my contact in her phone to ‘Dickhead’. It should go without saying that she dragged out the divorce as long as she could, milking me for spousal support the whole time. She wanted to keep our house, and belongings, and have me walk away with nothing. 

I can’t say I was devastated because I wasn’t. Sure, it hurt like hell that my world was turned on its head overnight. I was in a new city, in a new job, going through a divorce. Stress much? On the flip side, four days after I asked for the divorce, C had signed up on an internet dating site. I found this out later; her daughter was appalled.

Changed the Locks

Funny story about punishing me and how the manipulation continued during our separation.  She and I were working on a day for me to come up to PA and collect some belongings. She had commitments come up on the day I had free. No problem, I said, I have the key and I’ll get what we agreed to. She then told me that the locks had been changed. I asked why; I hadn’t threatened her in any way, had I? No. And I lived four hours away, so it’s not like I could pop by to serve some ulterior motive. She said her brother-in-law (who I got along with very well) did it because he ‘just thought it would be best’. I said it had to be an expensive proposition, considering what we paid for the custom finish on our door hardware. Yes, but he wanted it taken care of.

I was visiting my parents, during this email exchange (she wouldn’t talk on the phone and I was glad for ‘paper’ confirmations of what she’d agreed to) and it hit me. That common theme again!!!  I was being screwed, it was by some other entity, and C was blameless. I said to my parents, ‘the locks weren’t changed, she just doesn’t want me there.’ I tried to get my dad to take a $1k bet that the locks weren’t changed, but he’s a smart guy and passed.

So, the day arrived, and I pulled into my driveway, walked up and rang the doorbell. C opened the door and, after some small talk, I asked about the locks. I told her the finish matched really well to the original equipment. She took the bait and told me all about the process and how she didn’t want to change the locks but her brother in law did it without asking, etc. etc. etc. I let her dig the hole for ten minutes or so, then pulled out my key and said, ‘I guess this is trash and won’t work now.’ I stuck the key in the door, sure enough, it worked. The look on her face was priceless and all she could say was ‘whoops!’ I’ve never seen her so uncollected. She then began berating me about how useless I was and how I betrayed her and the kids. Broken record…

The Escape

One very important thing to remember about Borderlines is that it’s tough to get away from them. Even though I was the enemy, C continued to reach out to me. These little pings took various forms but they all were intended to yank my chain to get a reaction; ‘I’m throwing out you’re X (that I wouldn’t allow you to collect) that you like so much.’ Or, if her new boyfriend went out of town, she’d act like I was her friend again. You see, even though we were divorcing, she was desperately trying to prevent my final abandonment. And that’s the fun gift that keeps on giving with a Borderline. Unless you find a way to make a final break, they’ll keep bouncing back into your life. You must escape, period.

How did I get C to leave me alone? Simple, I shared my assertion she had BPD. The short version is that, once I determined without a doubt, she had BPD, I sent her a letter detailing how her behavior was perfectly in line with someone with BPD. That even her daughter was a textbook example for behavior of a child with a BPD parent. I (stupidly) offered to reconcile in order to get her the help she needed. Thankfully, she refused (it was easier to stay with the poor guy who didn’t realize how fucked up she was) and denied she had BPD (as borderlines do). From that point on, when she’d try to manipulate me, or exhibit other typical BPD behavior, I’d point it out and tell her I understood it was her BPD driving her. She’d attempt to suck me into an argument by insulting me and I’d respond calmly that I’d be happy to discuss my shortcomings with her and her therapist. Ultimately, she stopped communicating. I’m sure there were two factors involved in her backing away. She was freaked about being identified as having BPD. In fact, she was freaked even more when her own therapist pointed out some unrelated corroborating evidence. Plus, she realized I had become impervious to her manipulation so there was no longer a payoff for the behavior. In fact, it became dangerous for her because every little nasty trick she pulled was answered as another behavior typical of borderlines.

During that period of punishment and nasty tricks, my friends would ask me why I wasn't more angry over her treatment of me.  I told them the alligator story and explained she had no control over her actions.  I can still remember the puzzled looks on their faces.

There’s obviously a whole lot more I could share but those are the high (or low) points. Some readers might ask how the hell I could be so naïve not to see all the warning signs. Well, as I mentioned above, I’ll throw a beautiful, smart woman in front of you, have her extoll your amazingness to the world, and see how long you last.  And with a borderline, when things are good, they're amazing.  Once you’re in, it’s tough to break away because you’ve been convinced you’re not worthy of a good woman. It’s a slow, insidious process. Truly, the nut jobs who have their act polished are incredibly seductive. I wound up dating another girl who made the same noises (she didn’t seem to be a Borderline though) and it wasn’t easy to walk away from, even with the knowledge I’ve gained. 

While some may read this and think otherwise, I’m not bitter over what happened. The truth is that C wasn’t in control of her actions and, as a result, I can’t blame her. 

Ultimately, what came out of the whole episode? Well, I learned a lot more about myself. When I looked in the mirror, after we separated, I didn’t like what I saw and made a sincere effort to change the things that bothered me most.  For some time after, I overcompensated for missing what I felt I should have caught by ‘chasing shadows’ in other women. OMG, she likes the same type of apple C does; she’s gotta be nuts! I developed a rockin' case of fear of intimacy.  But, I’ve settled down and moved on to be what I would like to think is an emotionally healthy state.  In the meantime, C has married her fourth husband; the shelf life on her marriages seems to be around seven years, so the clock is ticking.

So, to all of my readers, I wish you happy and healthy dating.  Don't ignore warning signs in a potential partner.  If something seems abnormal, it probably is, regardless of how the other party justifies it.

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