Posts Tagged ‘CHEATING’
People have many identities; including job titles, marital status and reputation.
But there are often many more we don’t know about, including job titles, marital status and reputation.
We are so tangled up.
You meet someone and the first thing you do is run a background check.
Then you check logins and usernames and whatever fragments of Internet data you can skim off the top just to get through the first layer of revelation.
So what kind of world is this?
It’s a hit and run kind of world where people are very loosely connected by everything except DNA, which still surprises me.
Your Match date could be a federal agent running surveillance on a neighbor; or a scam artist after your social security numbers and banking information under the pretense of a hook-up turned set-up.
Months and years can pass without so much as an inkling of anything amiss. And then, BANG! It blindsides you.
A shocking revelation.
Something completely unforeseen.
Of course, we’re all guilty of some form of “treason,” even if it’s withholding information other people don’t need to know, like the fact that you’re not a federal agent on assignment, or fresh out of prison because you just broke out of one.
With the explosion of keyboard access to potential deception, blind inhibition – and sooner or later – delusion [particularly for you narcissists with an affinity for Adobe Photoshop], our world has skewed even the most endangered among us – the “normal, well-adjusted” demographic.
No wonder I don’t know any.
I’m not sure things were much different when I was a kid, because therapy wasn’t as common as grapefruit juice, and we didn’t walk around with Iphones recording every square inch of a world that today is nothing more than a handful of undocumented memories and scattered photographs we should really do something with.
So hell if I know what it was really like.
These days, people know exactly what’s happening everywhere at any given moment, including blow-by-blows on why it’s happening, but are we any closer to the truth?
In 50 years, when all is said and done, will we really know anymore about the world – or the people in it – then we did back when Led Zeppelin released its 3rd album?
By the way, I have no still or video proof that I actually saw Led Zeppelin perform.
So did I see them perform?
I mean if you can’t validate my past through Internet searches, then maybe I’m the federal agent…or just another ex-con living under an alias.
So we’re back to square one, as usual.
Okay. Let’s get something straight here:
All affluent athletes, celebrities, artists, and middle age guys in finance of all races, creeds and psycho-pathologies are targets of exploitation. This doesn’t preclude women, but I’m a man…sorry.
Tiger Woods, for example, fits the above criteria, and thus, must live an insular existence.
He can’t traffic in the flotsam and jetsam with the rest of us because it’s too dangerous no matter what he’s capable of with a golf club in his hands [something he should keep handy when he does venture out alone].
He needs to be protected in the same way I need to be institutionalized, but whatever.
Having said this, he’s also a man who obviously wants a life beyond golf courses, television interviews and Gatorade endorsements.
So on occasion he explores the real world [or, Serengeti], and is immediately targeted. Not by guys who want to kick his ass for having more money than they do — or having a better-looking wife, which he does [or did].
On the contrary, they’d probably like a free pass to some Jack Nicholas designed golf course in Florida.
It’s the women I’m talking about; the ones who focus on him like hatchet men for the mob.
Some refer to them as vultures, but I prefer to use the term, “businesswomen.”
They don’t give a shit about golf passes. They may like to own the real estate the course sits on, but that’s the extent of it.
So let’s just say they have a different set of objectives.
In order to meet Tiger, the first thing a businesswoman must do is set up a phony scenario.
In her mind:
“Here’s a guy who sees an impossibly gorgeous woman [ME] who, he will assume, finds him attractive as a man, rather than a sports icon and gazillionaire. If I’m successful solidifying this impression, he’s toast. It’ll be his first fatal mistake and my first opportunity.”
In rudimentary terms:
1] he’s in the bar for some relaxation.
2] she’s on the clock.
The same thing happens in all upscale venues, so don’t look surprised.
If you’ve ever seen the Predator series, you’ll note that the creature has the ability to scan its prey utilizing a complex array of technology, which projects crucial data onto a hologram inside a rubber helmet.
These businesswomen have similar technology, but it doesn’t do the holographic thing.
So Tiger Woods is deconstructed like a rat in the cross-hairs of another life form that’s much larger and stronger, but not necessarily the former in spite of what it eventually feels like.
After she figures out how to meet him, she immediately starts unloading her container of fantasies to loosen an already soft target.
“I’m at Wesleyan studying art history. How about you?”
She knows his life is insulated, so she can pretty much get away with anything. She knows he isn’t as sharp as he should be when out in open waters. And like any adept predator, recognizing vulnerability becomes a sixth sense.
Okay, I know a lot are you are thinking that I’m laying all the blame on some predatory sociopath, but this isn’t the case.
While many of these women fit this clinical profile, Tiger Woods suffers narcissistic delusion, which transforms him from famous athlete to helpless prey.
On some level, of course, he knew what he was getting himself into, but on a deeper, darker – and far more difficult to control – level he didn’t care, because he narcissistic delusion also comes loaded with entitlement.
This tends to make life a lot tougher than it first appears.
For everything you have there’s something you don’t. And the farther away you are from the norm, the farther away you are from the couch, which is where you should be whenever you’re not in lock down at home – or in his case – a golf course that somebody named “Elizabeth” [aka “Mercedes Delilah”] now owns.
While divorce statistics offer a snapshot of truth, what lies beneath is what you really want to know.
Okay, I live in a very big city.
In the context of marriage, this is problem #1.
With this in mind, Mike and Julie have been happily married for 17 years and live in a suburban home next to a baseball diamond. They have two kids in middle school, a Ford 150 pick-up truck and a late model John Deere lawn tractor. They don’t give a damn about popular culture, art or literature. They don’t aspire to become movie stars or famous talk-show hosts. They don’t dream the same dreams or live the same fantasies you do because their expectations are lower.
They feel less entitled, less narcissistic – and as a result – less preoccupied with emotional emptiness, invisibility – and of course – perfection; something the rest of us know a little too much about, but never quite achieve, in spite of the fact that we never stop trying.
They’re the ones you never see because you’re too busy looking right through them, usually while they’re standing in line somewhere, or in a long line of cars during rush hour.
They exist to annoy you.
They wear bad clothing.
Their homes are an aesthetic abomination.
They are an assault to the senses:
Overweight, scarred like the hides of Blue Whales, and resigned to living out their lives through the Disney Channel, Pentecostal gatherings and monthly interest payments to The Home Depot.
They also wouldn’t hesitate to dial 911 if you brought any of this up in front of them, or their children, so don’t even think about it.
There are exceptions to this profile, of course, but they are rare. Some people are well adjusted for some reason, which escapes people like me — and probably most of you, which is why you read this blog.
Anyway, if you want to be like Mike and Julie, I would suggest that you gain weight: preferably, a lot of weight. This will render you less appealing, thus a lower risk of things like philandering.
It’s also helpful to be physically disproportionate. Proportionate people think they deserve more because they do, which is the point. The same applies to facial features, which is why pretty women are often in the company of rich older men, whether they’re married or not. When you have neither, people tend to leave you alone, which is something you learn to live with over time – with or without network programming.
If you happen to grow up in a narcissistic household, you’re in big trouble because you think you’re entitled to everything just because you exist. This makes it difficult to perform even basic tasks that don’t involve walking on stage before thousands of adoring fans or being mistaken for God at cocktail parties. Needless to say, the mate of a narcissist must be reflective of him at all times, which does not permit aging or having opinions of their own.
Another critical issue is libido. It is imperative that both partners’ sex drive be kept in check. This can be accomplished through elevated cholesterol levels, a sedentary lifestyle, smoking, and sometimes, bad teeth.
Concurrent with – and supported by this – is the maintenance of low expectations. Any local pastor can help out with this in exchange for a donation.
Avoid contemporary literature, particularly anything in the “self-help” or “psych” sections. These books are designed to affirm things you already suspected, but never wanted affirmed.
On a related note, fantasy is a bad thing.
Moving right along, never visit a psychiatrist unless you’re ready to divorce or start a regimen of Benzodiazepines.
Limit your exposure to urban environments, excluding sporting events where there are lots of people around to distract you from the big buildings and peculiar ideas that surround you.
And finally, never watch Showtime or HBO after 10pm.
In the end, maybe it’s time we redefine “happily married” and be done with it.
At this point, of course, we would be done with it.
I guess I should probably have included thinking in the aforementioned list, but I didn’t want to appear cynical.
Imagine for a moment that I’m addressing a team of psychiatrists from inside a woman’s body.
The following is a running dialog of what it feels like:
This is really fucking weird.
I’ve been in this woman’s body for less than a minute and already my nerves feel unusually raw and exposed, even for me. Now I understand what women mean when they rattle off terms like vulnerability, intimacy, and sometimes, astrology.
Tiers of exotic apparel line the walls of this closet. I sift through everything with incredible velocity, processing how my appearance will resonate in this, or that.
Needless to say, I can’t just grab the closest pair of jeans and be done with it. This is a process of complexity unimaginable to most men.
I also seem to have a keener sense of smell, by the way. And everything I touch triggers an emotional response, as though I’m connected to everything like an unmedicated psychotic.
Did I mention the residual dust I’m noticing in some corners and shelves, obviously overlooked by a preoccupied housekeeper? Does she not respect me?
How I’m able to process all of this without landing in a straight jacket is beyond me.
My brain is a labyrinth of crowded six-lane highways all moving in different directions. I approach life from the perspective of feelings, rather than concrete ideas. Or maybe thoughts laced with more emotion than I’m used to. I don’t really know. Whatever it is I’m sure I couldn’t survive a day like this as a man.
It’s more like:
There is a hippo by the lake. Go and kill the hippo by the lake without getting killed in the process, because you also have to figure out how to drag it home. Period.
I had a fantasy that I would be a very different woman. That I would feel a lot like I did when I was back in my male body. I imagined running out to the nearest tattoo parlor and getting a tramp stamp with a 20-gauge needle. Then I thought I might buy some matching latex, and 6-inch stilettos. I thought I’d feel hypersexual, like a man who’s been granted unfettered access to sex-on-demand, something only women can command, but rarely practice outside of mental hospitals and maximum security prisons for some reason.
The truth is I’m kind of irritated because I can’t figure out what to wear because I’m not sure whether or not the other women at the benefit I’m attending tonight will remember what I wore last week. Wearing the same thing would constitute a major problem. Men are the least of my concerns since they don’t remember anything that doesn’t involve sex or money.
And speaking of men, I’m sick of being hit on by guys who just want to have sex with me! They’ll say or do anything just to get laid! It’s insulting! What the fuck is wrong with them? Forget it! I’m not having sex with any of them no matter what the hell they look like! Be a gentleman…and maybe. Woo me for God’s sake!! Get on your god-damned knees for a change! I need a reason beyond sex to sleep with you.
Did I just say that?
Yes, I did.
See, I realize men are as narrow-minded as they are pig-headed. They require constant stroking, not unlike my Bull Terrier, Todd.
Isn’t that right, Todd?
Okay, enough! I’m done here! I don’t want to see any more!
While the ability to think and feel on multiple levels sounds great, it isn’t — especially where the hippo is concerned.
Now I understand why women outlive men:
It’s because men are narrow-minded and pig-headed.
“They sent me a snake! I assure you! Do not be fooled by appearances!”
PLEASE NOTE: Within the past few days my blogging has been stymied due to certain unforeseen events. This has led to psychiatric reactions that should be within my control, but still aren’t, which is why remain in therapy. Posting will resume tomorrow — after my electro-convulsive therapy and Haldol injections.
UPDATE: It’s the next day and I have decided, instead, to give my cats the Haldol and skip the ECT altogether.
So Anton and I chat…
They sent me a snake!
Anton, please calm down. What exactly happened?
The thing came to me in the night, like something that hunts in the cover of darkness. Oh, yes, beautiful. But, beware my friend, beware. This is no ordinary creature. Not at all. No sir. Not ordinary in the least.
What could possibly be so horrible about a beautiful married woman they sent you? I mean they didn’t even send a hooker, for Christ sake! You paid a basic membership fee!
Ah ha! You immediately called it woman. How do you know what it was? How can you be sure?
The website targets married people who want to have affairs. They don’t do anything other than provide the website. The rest is up to you. They had nothing to do with your hook-up.
What is ‘hook-up?” You think for a minute I would waste my vast array of skills on foolishness? This is the ploy they use, but it is useless with me, you see.
Anton, they didn’t do anything. You did. You obviously contacted some desperate married woman, sent her a fake photograph and lured her out here into the desert. My guess is that you intended to inject her and she ran, but probably the moment she met you. Is this the photo you used?
[jpeg of 22-year old college athlete sits on his desktop next to his schematic of The Atomic Table of Elements.]
Do not dare to insult me, I warn you! The snake came at me like a wild animals and attempted to strike!
You lied to her, and then attempted to assault her with your completely illegal experiments! The last woman is still on morphine!
Did you try to stick her?
I don’t use such crude terminology. I will not even acknowledge it!
I had to bail you out of jail for sticking that hooker with python cells, which almost killed her, by the way. And if the authorities could find you, you’d be behind bars for the rest of your life.
I have already expressed to you my feelings about these feeble beings. I have no interest in them.
Well they have a great deal of interest in you.
The woman should be proud of her sacrifice. Enough about this! Let us move on.
Let’s talk about Ashleymadison.com. You have demanded a refund on your initiation fee, but you paid with a stolen credit card and used a phony mailing address.
I called a hooker from there. A true thing of interest, I assure you. I told her to come here right away to pursue matters of mutual interest.
Who’s mutual interest? She though she was coming out here to meet a handsome young athlete for sex.
How dare you! Be careful, I warn you. I know what you are saying!
Where’s the black eye come from? The woman probably punched you and then ran for her life.
I am completely and finished with this discussion in its current form. I will have absolutely no more of it.
Why would you contact a service like Ashley Madison in the first place?
I found myself somewhat fascinated. That is all.
Anton, were you trying to get laid?
Don’t dare say that! I am warning you for the last time!
You were trying to connect with a woman in a sexual way, weren’t you?
Stop that! My research comes first and foremost! Why I must repeat this time after time is unbelievable to me.
I dunno…23, flawless ass, sexy, unfulfilled…it just kind of begs the question.
Believe what you will! The fact that I remain quite virile, I assure you, and astounding to many women, is of no significance here.
Anton, women like guys with money no matter how good looking they are, or aren’t…just to put things in proper context.
This would include women from AshleyMadison.com who aren’t looking as much for affairs – which they can find at any neighborhood grocery store – as much as they are looking for better living arrangements.
All this leads me to question your real motives. Is this about research or is it a desire to connect?
I have no idea what you are saying. Our conversation is at an end, I am afraid.
It’s funny how the things we don’t say are the very things that define who we are.
[To be continued…]
“Look, if you want to torture me, spank me, lick me, do it. But if this poetry shit continues just shoot me now please.” — Lori Petty
“I like feeling that something is at risk. That the woman might have an affair or a fleeting liaison because she can’t control her urges. And by urges I’m talking about the same urges that drive men to sex. A hunger hunger they can’t ignore because it won’t let them.” — Anonymous
“They have a beautiful, intimate, loving relationship [they communicate]; and , according to this view, that should form the basis for sustained desire. But it doesn’t. And if it’s any consolation to them, it doesn’t work this way for a lot of people.” – Esther Perel
Just for the hell of it, let’s assume the sexes are different. I know this is a stretch, but indulge me. At the very least, it could spare you a manslaughter conviction.
With this in mind, we all know egalitarianism is an illusion.
If anything, it’s re-packaged nihilism.
I do run into some resistance with this theory, but I stay the course, because I know it’s true no matter how much the women in my immediate vicinity have had to drink.
So on one side of the ring we have a woman armed to the teeth with intimacy, a weapon that bears down on its victims like a Gatling gun.
On the other side of the ring, a man sits with both hands on his cock.
They both want the same thing, but differ on how to achieve it.
This is the fundamental distinction between the sexes, and why equality – in the context of Western feminism – is just a pipe dream.
For men, too much verbal intimacy is dangerously overwhelming. Men cannot absorb love without some absence of conscience, which this level of deconstruction renders moot. I’m not saying that men operate best when they’re clinical sociopaths, but their emotions must flow freely and raw.
For women, this brand of freedom smacks of life unhinged, of men being emotionally reckless, irresponsible and opportunistic.
In fact, the opposite is true, but it’s hard to make the case without at least 5 milligrams of Xanax.
This notwithstanding, men know this feeling well. It paves the way for love. It enables them to move forward in their relationships. It frees them to surrender, without hurting themselves or their lovers, because they can’t love when they’re also trying to preserve.
Is this making sense?
A man must conquer, without regret or indecision, and this is how he does it. He simply can’t stand in the ring with intimacy in his arms. He stands with what he knows, not with what he has to decipher.
And when he can risk falling without worrying about where or how he lands, he is ready.
Mating in Captivity covers these points somewhat differently, given the fact that it’s coming from a female psychologist. But if I had to lay odds on the outcome, I’d say she and the man have a future.
Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one. Albert Einstein
“The Girlfriend Experience” is a film being about the denial of self in exchange for cash.
From another perspective, it’s about how long a prostitute without a clinical diagnosis can stay in character before the neighborhood cats start disappearing.
This brings up one of life’s most complicated conundrums:
Can men merge Madonna and Whore into one super-being without risking emasculation?
Perhaps both genders must embrace some degree of denial in exchange for love, which usually involves cash.
This is always a good therapy topic, by the way.
Another day. Same conundrum.
No. It’s not ass-backwards. It is what psychiatrists generally insist upon. It is what most textbooks suggest. And prevailing wisdom seems to be that waiting is better than not.
But who’s foisting this crap?
Men are opportunistic. And this includes their relationships. If they happen to sleep with a woman within the first hour of meeting her, and there’s a genuine connection, he’s not going anywhere.
Definition of “connection” [from the perspective of a man]: “a woman he still loves to look at after he orgasms, and then wants to take out in public in spite of the fact that it’s 2 o’clock in the morning.”
Men want to know what sex will be like before they invest a lot of time and money in someone. They’re practical in this regard. They want to know, for example, if their bodies fit well together? How passionate they are as a couple, not as individuals? How open-minded she is in spite of the fact that she’s Catholic? Does she release the thing inside of him that he doesn’t want to talk about but needs in order to get the fix I mentioned? If the answers are yes, he will not only call her back, but he’ll also do everything else she wants him to do and more, including cuddle with her after intercourse…even if it does mean doing so with CSI Miami running in the background.
Anyway, there’s a limited window of opportunity here.
So men won’t wait indefinitely for the sex, mostly because they can’t. They just can’t. They’ll burn out before they get started if this window exceeds their thresholds. And don’t suggest that he has intimacy issues or that he isn’t good for the long haul, because you don’t even know that about yourself.
The last thing a woman needs is for him to start treating her like a coworker, instead of the lover he’s supposed to be. The guy will eventually walk out using some emotional issue as a pretense. The flame died. That’s what happened. The glue never solidified because it was never released in the first place. You have to light the god-damned fire first and then jump off the cliff. If you don’t, he’s out the door before you ever know what you had.
Men are not interested in being your friend. They are interested in being your lover, then your friend…but with exceptions. If you become too chummy, he’ll stop thinking of you as a girlfriend. One manifestation of this is that he’ll stop staring at your ass, not because you don’t have a nice ass, but because it now reminds him of his sister and he doesn’t want to sleep with her no matter what she looks like. Believe me when I tell you, you do not want your man to fall into this vortex, because getting him out of it can be a perilous undertaking.
Remember, men are quite simple. They want to be fucked, fed and respected. They also have a pathological aversion to being hassled, by the way. So if you can get past this you have a shot at a sustainable relationship. Understand that, eventually, men become just as vulnerable [if not more so], so be patient.
I realize this answer isn’t elaborate, or in some minds, sufficient. But men are very simple, and generally ruled by primitive instincts that are too complicated to fathom in spite of their simplicity.
This isn’t a cop out. It’s the truth, even if it is a cop out.
Men are basically little boys who require nurturing they don’t get anywhere else. So in this sense they need a mother who doesn’t remind them of one.
They like to objectify the women they’re with. This keeps her a safe distance from the incest thing. She’s just an object and then a girlfriend, and not the other way around. He may not admit this, but it’s true.
In a sense they’re fulfilling a primitive role. Women cannot withhold this instinct from them for more than a short period of time or they’ll risk becoming something other than what they want to be.
There are two different paths to the same objective. Women want the emotional connection but they have to be willing to allow a man to get there in his own way. The fact that she’s afraid that he’ll leave her after he’s slept with her is a chance she must take. It’s the way of things. The longer she withholds, the less interested he becomes. Men like the idea of communicating with a woman on an intellectual level, but crossing the line into the realm of friendship can have an adverse effect on the stability of the template that he needs in order to build a healthy relationship. If he doesn’t feel like the man from the start, she can’t construct that person down the line.
Some women empower men to be men. Others stifle it by trying to control them. Some women make better lovers than friends. Sometimes it’s the other way around. Therapists are always trying to get their patients to merge Madonna and Whore into one super-being, but I’m not sure it’s possible. If women understood this they would allow men unfettered access and then counterattack when they’re more vulnerable.
You didn’t hear this from me, by the way.
So if you want to win, you have to allow a man to objectify you. It would be preferable if you appreciated his perception of things, because eventually you’ll get busted for your obfuscation. So be on board with who he is and don’t even think about being passive-aggressive with him when he misbehaves. This who he is, and if you don’t like it, find a girlfriend and a dog.
Okay, so first he’s in love with your ass or your legs or the way you smile at him. This is where it all begins for a man, in some rainforest without boundaries. You’re just the other animal in a mating dance. You’re shadow-boxing in the dark. Feeling one another out. Not intellectualizing. Feeling. Groping in most cases. But it’s about the emotional, the sensual and the primal. This is life on the loose. Where two people blindly walk through the door for the dopamine mines that transform what they once were into something entirely different. What happens next is anyone’s guess, but that isn’t the point. The point is to get through the fucking door.
See, when you sleep with a man he wants to believe you’re doing it because you can’t not do it. Of course, some men also like hookers who do what they’re told, knowing that they couldn’t care less, but this essay isn’t about sociopaths or teenagers.
It’s about men like myself who want some connection to a woman beyond penetration. So let me repeat: The woman must first embrace his primitive instincts, and then accept the fact that he is not a woman, not her best friend [the way her girlfriends are best friends], and not interested in comingling vulnerability with what happens in the bedroom, unless it involves some form of bondage wherein he’s just as disconnected.
In summation, Whore and Madonna are two separate beings. If they do happen to merge, his concept of Madonna better look a hell of a lot more like the one that makes records than the archetype.
“Leaving sex to the feminists is like letting your dog vacation at the taxidermist.”
The following is a transcript between a, anonymous patient and psychiatrist, Catherine Vaginetti, on the subject of male sexuality. The physician encouraged the patient to free-associate, and this is the result:
When a relationship involves emotional risk, there’s always a struggle to understand what’s at stake. I guess it’s really a struggle for validation. It’s like starting life all over again and having to individuate like an adolescent. In my case, like a marginal psychotic with some narcissistic delusion thrown in.
For men it’s a struggle for dominance, because it’s more empowering to look down at the other person than up at someone who seems to go on and on forever. Like a mountain you can’t climb without oxygen, which you don’t have enough of, so you can never get to the top.
Some women surrender by default, because there’s a disparity in asset allocation. I can’t believe I just said that, but reality is that hard. When the man is brighter, more successful, better educated…whatever…he holds the cards and she becomes a kind of indentured servant.
If you were to compare the way relative equals treat one another, I think the metaphor holds. But it’s a price she’s willing to pay and one that costs him very little because he’s not invested. But neither is she. So I guess it’s a wash.
Anyway, I think that most women know their strengths and weaknesses. And the ones who have more demand more. They know what they bring to the table and leverage it accordingly.
And all this plays out in the bedroom, believe me.
Hookers do the same thing, only they demand a down-payment for their physical beauty and willingness to morph into whatever empowers the client. This is where the bedroom thing comes in.
“Surreal” girlfriends also fall into this category. They just suspend the behavior over longer periods of time – like they’re in real relationships – in exchange for a specific lifestyle. They repeat mantras like “I love you” and “you’re special,” because in that context, you are…which of course keeps the whole charade going. The man hears what he wants to hear and she’s paid for saying it. So they both win. It’s great for people who can slice and dice reality that way.
So what you’re essentially saying is that relationships are like shopping for automobiles.
I’ll take the red one with the leather interior, but no roof-rack.
And the women have to perform according to a set of specifications found in the glove compartment. If they don’t the relationship fails because he’s working with narrow behavioral margins that empowers him to be a man in the bedroom and presumably everywhere else. Is this correct?
I think that men need to feel in control enough to assert their sexuality with confidence.
So what you’re referring to is the Madonna-Whore complex, where men split women into two distinct categories: one for procreation, and the other for pure, unadulterated lust.
The Madonna either spends the rest of her life playing a game that no one with any self-respect will play, or the man turns to the Whore; someone who may have self-respect, but is willing to sell it at fair market value.
It’s not that black and white, but it’s not far off. The BDSM [bondage, discipline, sado-masochism] community sex calls it power exchange. Members role-play in order to empower one another in different ways. However you approach it the objective is the same.
People who are equals should rethink the whole relationship thing and pursue friendship instead. Then they can talk about what fucking idiots their lovers are as they fantasize about what they’re going to do to them when they get home.
So you believe that intimacy and sex are mutually exclusive, or that the two can only merge when there is a disparity of assets, as you put it.
Pretty much. A woman is sexually desirable to a man when she objectifies herself the way he objectifies her. She knows what empowers him and she plays the role. She may also be that person. Either way, she must keep the roles separate or place the foundation of her relationship in jeopardy.
If the man feels in any way threatened by the person he’s sleeping with, he will stop sleeping with her altogether.
There are a couple of exceptions:
One is men who feel empowered by dominant women. Perhaps they grew up in matriarchal households where the roles were switched.
The other involves men who aren’t particularly driven and enjoy the power of a woman capable of demolishing them.
So couples can sometimes be too close for comfort, and strong intellectual and emotional connections can destabilize a relationship primarily because the man in question feels too much emotional liability, and as a result, a decrease in perceived power?
Yea. It’s why macho guys run for cover when confronted by a bright woman with sexual expectations. Now he has to perform for someone who won’t play the game.
So the woman must be perceived to be inferior, or she must pretend to be, which is unsustainable.
Well the only exception I can think of would be a woman with a Ph.D. who spends some of her time in a mental institution…as a patient. This is where insanity can be a good thing; particularly in the bedroom.
Right, because now she’s perceived to be damaged in some way, which mitigates her Ph.D.
I have always said that insanity is underrated in relationships and that people with fluid boundaries are key to a good relationship.
Which, by the way, is why you’re still on the couch and I’m still in the chair.
If it’s not already obvious, the underlying theme of jayrusovichlive.com is the struggle for relevance.
Writers seem particularly afflicted with this malady because they spend so much time thinking about who they are, which inevitably leads to some existential crap that I’m sure Nietzsche would have preferred to avoid if he could do it all over again.
Others who are distracted by wives, children, career, affairs, divorce settlements and blackmail should count their blessings.
Anyway, this is why many aging dictators are such assholes. They don’t want to feel invisible so they drop atomic bombs and/or threaten imminent annihilation to force people to think about them. That creature in North Korea is a good example. You can count on him to eventually act out if America spends too much time talking about the budget deficit rather than him.
“Am I dead or alive?” he wonders, because he’s never really sure until we acknowledge him.
Only then does he go back to cross-dressing.
Anyway, I’m working on an upcoming book, “Urban Dystrophy,” which is why I haven’t posted as often – though I do post every week; something I can’t say for most writers who just cut and paste photographs of porn stars and hope the distraction buys them some time.
In view of this, I’m sure most of you are wondering how the title of this article relates to what you’ve just read.
On first blush, it doesn’t.
But if you spend enough time thinking about it, one will appear…which is the point.