Posts Tagged ‘eroticism’
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.
Why do white trash women have the best bodies?
Is it the random mating? The fact that many of them have no idea who the fathers are? Or is it the fact that, for so many generations, they’ve had to survive in the wild that they acquired adaptive skills that enabled them to withstand things like the rage virus?
Maybe it’s the fact that sex is considered a normal part of life, rather than something people never talk about.
Maybe it’s the open-mindedness towards opportunism, like feral animals that do what they must to survive without housekeepers.
None of these women seem to have pasts that are traceable without FBI search warrants. And their addresses – if you can actually find one on GPS – are so obscure you’re better off going in with a SWAT escort. And just try tracking their social security numbers — all of them. It’s a ludicrous undertaking unless you like throwing dice just for the hell of it.
But these women are among others at the top of the human food chain, folks…married to the wealthiest and most powerful men on the planet.
And if they aren’t actually married, they’re “cared for” by individuals who crave sex on a primal level with women whose bodies challenge anything modern is yet to replicate.
If you’ll notice, inbred socialites tend to have flat asses and weak backs.
This is because they rely on social connections to attract appropriate mates, rather than tight, round asses and strong backs found in women from ragged enclaves where physical strength and random copulation is the norm.
So let’s look at some practical applications of this evolutionary phenomenon:
A man from an Ivy League family of attorneys marries a Débutante from down the street. Their families know one another and they share the same friends and social acquaintances. These people have been doing the same thing for generations: marrying within their social strata and building in more physical and psychological infirmities than was ever intended by nature.
See, in the old days a man would wander in search of a kill, and along the way, encounter a woman in the woods to rape before and then continue his hunt, ignoring the fact that he just impregnated her. This behavior led to civilizations like the Vikings, who went on to take over the earth before someone figured out a way to kill them.
Clearly, then, random mating leads to physically superior humans.
With this in mind, such women realized that nothing shy of a military coup could stop them from getting into a nobleman’s bedroom, so they learning the art of cultural morphing and bludgeoned their way through, which we see today.
This is where women from wherever mirror the behavior of socialites in order to gain access to places they would otherwise never see.
They slowly begin the process of showcasing their physiques, followed by suggestions of sexuality never before experienced from women who consider blowjobs a criminal offense.
So here you have a multi-millionaire, many times over, in a 20-year sexless marriage to a woman who looks like his mother, and suddenly, this siren appears out of no where leaving him dumbfounded and amazed.
Can this be? he wonders.
Is it ever be possible to have, say, both under the same roof? Culture and sexuality? No. That would be impossible. But we could pretend, since I haven’t had an orgasm in two decades, and I just had one in 5 minutes with a creature I had no idea existed, but who seems to love me for who I am.
Okay, so this is the set-up: getting him to believe she loves him for who he is, as opposed to what he represents to a community of inbred socialites who have hip dysplasia by age 50.
Keep laughing all you want. They’re taking over the planet…again.
No wonder Sandra bullock got dumped. You can see the rawness in Cat Von Dee. Even her name is suggestive of her nature, which she obviously feels more comfortable with than any human connection.
I’ll leave you with this:
Between the bikini contests and topless clubs hail some of the world’s wealthiest New World Socialites.
Now there’s your irony of the day, not that I had to remind you.
Warning: Do not read this is you’re on your period, or suffer low self-esteem, or both at the same time.
As all women know, men are difficult to manage.
One problem is that they’re linear thinkers, which means that only one thing occurs to them at any given moment; usually sex, money, food or sleep. And while there is hearsay to the contrary, it’s never been officially documented.
Okay, here goes:
The first thing a woman must do is prepare herself, psychologically, for unbiased physical appraisal. Think of it as a kind of boot camp for the soul.
It entails, among other things, disrobing [completely], and then standing in front of a full-length mirror under 1000 watts of Halogen.
Now you know what men see when they look at you, no matter how much 18th century poetry they read.
Just ask any stripper.
They work under flattering light, and when it lands them a date outside the club, they make damn sure they’ve endured the aforementioned if they want a second date with the same person.
Don’t ask me how I know this.
One obvious culprit in this laser-guided objectification of women is the Internet. For many men, its replaced Jack Daniels as the escape du jour, so you can understand why they’re so fascinated with it.
It alone is responsible for burning immutable images of flawless women [usually behaving badly], into male brain chemistry. This can now be expected to pass from generation to generation, not unlike psychosis, so get used to it.
It is also part of the “linear thinking” conundrum women complain about in men, but are willing to ignore in the presence of cash.
Anyway, because men can no longer distinguish “virtual” from real, a woman might find herself in either category at any given moment.
To get a better handle on this problem, I suggest to all women that they type “beautiful women” into a Google search engine. When it opens, click “images.” Pick out a few. Print them…and then Scotch tape the 8 ½” x 11” sheets of paper along the sides of the full-length mirror I mentioned for quick reference.
If you aren’t prepared to do this you aren’t ready for this discussion.
Marines train under similar conditions to avoid getting killed, if this analogy helps.
You must remember that beauty is a woman’s greatest asset, except in places where women help out with farm animals – like, maybe Siberia, where it’s hard to distinguish one from the other.
In other place, like big cities, successful men [your target] expect more superficial beauty because they’ve produced more superficial money.
Furthermore, as the world has been reduced to phrases like “I have this one body, this one life” followed by death, and no virgins, people tend to take advantage of things while they still can, especially if they can afford it.
Even in cases where the man is the “submissive” outside of work, he still expects the women to live up to end of the bargain, which many feminists refer to as a “Faustian” compromise.
Of course, “compromise” is a relative term in the context of men and women, if only because there is no compromising at all where wealth and beauty are concerned.
What are you looking at? I’m just an observer here.
In the context of sexuality, most men I know consider Indian snake charmers a reasonable metaphor for sex with female attorneys.
The Cobra, in this case, is a compelling reptile capable of providing hours of entertainment. But it is also capable of striking without warning, and then moving on to someone else when the entertainment stops, which eventually occurs, by default.
This is not to say that all female attorneys are homicidal sociopaths.
But they do have boundaries that demand respect, both in and out of the bedroom, which can be problematic for men who don’t want to feel responsible for acting like a psychopath with handcuffs and 25 feet of nylon rope.
So herein lies the conundrum.
While men value intelligent women, they want them to put it in a corner somewhere outside the bedroom so they can act out, without conscience, and not feel like an idiot in the process.
Let’s go back to the attorney metaphor.
Most female attorneys are innately bright and well educated. They have sensitivity to nuance, and are able to challenge paradigms, including male dominance. Men are keenly aware of this ability, which often threatens the primal urges that drive their sexuality.
Go back to the snake metaphor if this escapes you.
What this means is that intelligent women make men feel responsible for their actions, which in turn, inhibits their behavior. And because acting out usually involves some level of female submission, it’s often a hard sell to women who consider it demeaning.
What all this means is:
1] Any level of intellectual deconstruction should be banned from the bedroom, and…
2] A woman’s hunger for sexuality must exceed her ability to deny it.
This is one reason men like female sex objects and why trailer parks are so popular with kids from private schools.
When women value sexuality over all else, it becomes a formidable weapon against their more cultured and inhibited female adversaries, who’s estates they pillage before moving onto the next town with another set of social security numbers and last name.
These women make ferocious lovers because they free men to be the barbaric mercenaries they are. It worked for their many sets of parents…and often in plain sight, so why not?
In the end, perversion should not be an actual word in the context of human sexuality.
A man should feel just as inclined to bend a criminal defense attorney over a bar stool as he does one of the waitresses who screwed Tiger Woods.
This is one reason Tiger Woods is a man and not the media creation beloved by every woman struggling to keep her marriage afloat for the same reasons.
If one were to remove sex and fantasy from the equation, the only people in bars would be alcoholics and fugitives from mental institutions.
With this in mind, bar owners must accept the fact that people frequent their establishments to interact with complete strangers in the hopes of copulating with them.
No bar owner should ever construe this negatively. It’s about survival in the world they’ve created, and it’s success hinges on efficacy of it’s design.
With this in mind, not everyone goes to a bar to get laid. But you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who doesn’t like endorphins. So while they may enjoy a few drinks and some inane conversation, they’re always preoccupied with other objectives, which is what I mean by “survival” in the context of design.
With this in mind, the first thing any bar owner must do is design an environment that encourages social interaction.
This is an absolute must if making serious money is the objective.
Remember, the quality of the food and drink must be good, but the physical structure – which includes soft, flattering lighting and sound – must always trump it.
If you can make them both good, you’ll make a killing. But if one of them is of lesser value, make damn sure it’s not the design.
Here are two immutable facts of life:
#1: If given the opportunity women will isolate themselves from men, even when it’s contrary to their true objectives.
#2: Bar owners must force social interaction through intelligent design. Women expect this, but will never admit it.
Women should never be afforded the opportunity to insulate, isolate, defend and/or barricade themselves from the rest of the population because if they can, they will.
This is an unmitigated disaster for affluent older men who won’t demean themselves like the ubiquitous packs of young males who run targeted raids on tables of attractive women the way sociopaths conduct raids on their victims before going home to their families.
The idea is to enable people to appraise one another discretely, without any pressure or annoyance.
Here are a few basic guidelines:
1] Never design a bar where patrons’ backs face the entrance, because they will inevitably seek out some vantage point where they can observe the entire room even if it means building a temporary environment of their own [usually in the middle of a walkway.]
2] Circular bars are guaranteed cash cows. In fact, any bar that wants to quadruple its gross, without spending a dime on inventory upgrades, should construct one immediately.
I know of one wine bar in town that did exactly that with unbelievable results, while quadrupling the price of the wine! This notwithstanding, the endorphins won!
Remember and never, ever forget: people are at your establishment to meet new people. They’re chasing fantasies, dreams. Think of yourself as the fucking Wizard of Oz if you want.
3] Always maintain soft, indirect lighting, peppered with table spots so people can read the menu and sign the check without exposing their physical flaws, including veneers and swelling from Botox injections.
See, people over the age of 21 have flaws, and since they can’t get in, do the rest of us a favor. 4] If other seating is part of the mix, it should be in close proximity to the aforementioned circular bar. Soft leather banquets – preferably in blood red – are always a winner. They make it easy for people to connect visually, which is why you’ll notice them occupied night after night. Banquets also afford women the opportunity to showcase their legs and expensive footwear, which is something most people fail to mention in spite of the fact that it’s true.
In fact, most people deliberately avoid the truth because it’s bad business when you’re chasing fantasies, including your own.
“I’m not really showing off my beautiful legs and footwear. I’m just having a conversation with a friend. Any suggestions to the contrary are pure conjecture…”
Yea, whatever. Just keep coming back.
In reality, bar owners should think of themselves as glorified dating services, with additional amenities.
I spend a lot of time in wine bars, specifically, which are not as much about wine as they are about attracting a certain clientele, while repelling another. Slicing and dicing the demographic is the objective, which is fine as long as your good customers have a decent shot at walking away with more than an expensive bottle of Pinot Noir.
Ignore what I just said and you’re dead.
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.
“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.
Cover photo for a new book on Pathological Narcissism.
“I’d like to solicit your help. A friend of mine asked me to write a post about “Trust differences between men and women.” Although I’ve been told many times that *I* think like a man, I’d like to get some input on this from you. Thanks.” Reader
1. What is your definition of “trust?”
When a person’s words and actions match, they eventually earn what’s known as “trust.” But it’s something that happens over time, so if you’re trying to scam someone for sex, for example, you better carry a notepad.
2. Do you trust until proven wrong, or does it have to be earned?
As stated in my first response, it has to be earned…and over time.
3. Do you trust one gender more over the other? If yes, do you know why?
Both genders are equally culpable. It’s not a gender issue.
4. Do you have any issues building relationships with people (male or female) because of your stance on trust?
Yea. If I don’t trust them there is no relationship; friendship or otherwise.
5. Do you believe there are different types of trust, e.g., trust in friendship vs. trust with your significant other?
Trust is trust. You can’t fudge it. What applies to a lover applies to a friend. Otherwise I could arbitrarily change the rules to suit whatever mood I happen to be in and pass it off as whimsy.
6. Do you have trust issues? If so, do you know what they are and/or why?
People who don’t have trust issues are soft targets for abuse. A person must demonstrate that they can be trusted with a person’s feelings, among other things.
7. Do you trust in yourself? If not, do you know why?
Yes, I do. People who don’t trust themselves are either poorly medicated, or simply not committed to the person they’re about to deceive.
Hope this helps!
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.
[The woman in the above photograph is a model and not the actual subject of this discussion]
A close associate of mine, Dr. Anton Zegoyavich, has been kind enough tp share with me the following interview he recently conducted with a woman who claims to be a female fitness model, martial artist and accountant. The interview covers such topics as: the merits of porn star sex, female objectivity and orgasm- on- demand.
Note: It shouldn’t surprise anyone that an unprecedented number of women have begun taking matters into their own hands where sex and everything else is concerned.
If such women happen to be over a “certain age” and can’t find the man they think they deserve; or they’re frustrated with the sexual feeding frenzy that’s become a perennial harvest for men; or angry about the backlash of feminism that’s reduced them to objects many of them help perpetuate; or have sexual addiction problems of their own, and conveniently use their frustration with men as a scapegoat for their behavior, then this begins to make sense.
Dr. Anton Zegoyavich [taken shortly after injecting himself with the female aging gene. He is 63 years old].
Well, April, you look very nice…if that is, in fact, your name.
My name is April. What’s your point?
Is it your first name?
Does it sound like my last name?
Is it your first given name, or did you change it for some reason?
Why would I change my name?
Okay, let’s move on shall we. I already have more insight here than you might imagine. I warn you, I am quite alert.
Look, I have a tanning appointment in 30 minutes, and you owe me two-hundred and fifty for my time, so let’s get this over with.
The funds will be made available to you at the conclusion of our discussion. The tanning appointment is of no surprise to me, I assure you.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Let us begin, shall we? You strike me as quite aggressive, sexually.
I am way ahead of you, I’m afraid. Don’t be alarmed. My mind is quite active, and I will admit to you that it can be quite disconcerting to those who are accustomed to average discourse.
Are you calling me an idiot you miserable little gimp?!? You look like something from outer space. I want my money! This discussion is over.
I believe you are in possession of some hormonal abnormality, or that you have injected your body with testosterone. You have morphed into something quite unusual.
I haven’t injected anything into my body! Maybe you should take a look at what you injected into yours! “Unusual’ would be a nice way of describing it.
My research is of no concern of yours. I believe there is some gender identity conflict here.
You’re like some creature out of a cartoon! I have a problem with what society thinks women should think and act like. That’s why you’re so confused.
Be careful. I can be quite a tiger when I am challenged.
I’m shaking. I think you see what you want to see, Dr. Zegoyavich. And I think that women like me intimidate you, which is why you’re willing to pay for our time. Look at me! I’m a powerful woman. I am physically and emotionally solid. Financially secure. Independent. I have options. Sometimes I choose to exercise them. If I want an anonymous sexual liaison, for example, I have one. And until I’m too old to find lovers I enjoy, I will continue to pursue and manipulate men to get my needs met. They’re no different. They make the same assumptions you do about women. But in my case you’re both wrong. So as long as I don’t take them seriously I can use them at will. It’s only when I expect them to be something they’re not that I get into trouble. So I stay detached. My parents walked out of my life when I was six. I’m told I have a sister somewhere, but that’s all I know. So don’t sit there and suggest I don’t know anything about life, or that I should feel somehow shameful about asserting my independence.
Yes, well, it is obvious to me that you use your unresolved abandonment issue as an excuse to pursue what appears to be an advanced case of sexual addiction, which of course masks your childhood wounds. All men are set up to fail. The slightest deviation from a very exacting set of boundaries you impose on them is an indicator of imminent abandonment. This is your signal to replace them. So by the end of a given year you’ve had hundreds of lovers. This is quite fascinating. You are not unlike a wild animal, I’m afraid, and your tremendous physicality is a clear indication of a creature in defense mode, you see.
Give me my fucking money before I squeeze your head off!
You and others like you are a terrible menace to us all, I assure you! Your funds are on the table next to the front door. Take them and go back into the world and feed. One day men will learn a very sad truth about what society has spawned.
Men already know what society has spawned, which is why women like me exist in the first place. We were told we could have everything without sacrificing anything…and it was bullshit. Men would never dream of sacrificing so much; bearing children, cooking, cleaning, attending to the emotional needs of men as though they were our own adolescent children. Now we eat from the same plate.
You are a sociopath, Ms. April, or whatever your name is. This is what you are all becoming.
What we are all becoming, Dr. Zegoyavich, or whatever your name is…