An American Beta Male Story
Everything seems to go smooth in the beginning of most new relationships. Almost even too smooth. You wanted a girl that you desired, and you obtained that desire. It made your confidence rise much higher than normal. The relationship flowed the way it wanted to, until one of you decided to put the water into a canteen. I mean, she cooks for you, licks things the other girls wouldn’t, and surprisingly this one “isn’t” really into that drama stuff.
Fast forward 6 months
As time goes on, you start becoming a little complacent. Your car gets dirty, your hair becomes more greasy, and you smell like Hot Pockets. You pretty much text your girlfriend the same shit each morning. When you get off work, you go to her house, watch Netflix together, and then have sex. This is your new life, but it only sounds bad on paper.
You guys were having sex almost everyday for the first 6 months. Now It’s dropped down to about 3-4. You say to yourself, “Damn, I thought this girl was chill.” Maybe the “infatuation stage” is starting to fade. Whatever, Naomi Russell would never do you wrong.
That month you guys get in your first argument. You’re both laying on her crooked mattress. You try to follow a specific blade on the ceiling fan while it spins, because your life is boring.
She randomly asks, “Why did you favorite Samantha’s tweet?! You know she’s a slut!” You say, “Baby, I only liked it because I thought it was funny. I’m sorry!”
She glares and then rolls over.
“Baby, I’m sorry. Why’re you mad at me? I won’t do it again…”
You try to kiss her. She pushes you off, but you keep persisting.
She says, “Okay, Okay! It’s fine, just go to bed.”
She forces herself to give you a quick kiss, and then you both go to bed.
Fast forward 2 years
Everything seems to be going good for you. You guys have had your ups and downs, but it’s all worth it because you love this girl. She might even be your “soul mate.” No girl has ever made you feel the way that she makes you feel.
Whenever a girl flirts with you in public (while you’re with your girlfriend), you overtly reject the girl in an exaggerated manner to prove to your girlfriend that you’re loyal. Most of your paycheck is spent on opulent restaurants and miscellaneous gifts for her. Her happiness is your happiness. You’re always the one to initiate sex. A lot of times she’s stressed out from work, and would just rather sleep, but she agrees to it 38% of the time. You rationalize that “It’s almost a good thing that we don’t have sex as often. The wait makes it much more enjoyable.” The thought of marriage and kids with this girl makes you smile with tears of joy. You’re the luckiest guy in the world.
Fast forward another 6 months
You went into the relationship feeling like a king, but now your confidence has started to become a bit shaky. How did this happen? It’s probably just all in your head.
You’re laying on that same crooked bed. She’s in the shower while you’ve refreshed your Facebook page for the umpteenth time. New notification?! Nah, just a rave junkie who sent you another invite to his glow in the dark basement party. As you scroll past all the pictures of the pregnant Hispanic teens, you eventually come across a picture of some douchey guy who went to your school. He’s showing off his four pack abs and his new garage tattoo that he just got on his chest. It says, “Shane” in cursive. That’s his first name.
You look at the comments on it, and notice your girlfriend posted a heart emoji on the picture. Shane responded, “u sexy girl.” Your girlfriend “liked” it and said, “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Shane ” Your cortisol levels rise, your face turns red, you’re about to go ape shit.
Your girlfriend opens the door to her room. She’s wearing two towels. One on her body, and one on her head wrapped up like a turban. In an insecure tone you say, “Why did you post a heart on this Shane guys photo?!” She becomes defensive and says, “Do you remember in October when you favorited that slutty girls tweet? Now you know how I feel.”
You: “That’s fucking different. You’re actually flirting with this guy. Do you think he’s cute, or something?”
Girlfriend: “No way! He’s ugly. I honestly just liked his tattoo.”
You: “It’s his first name on his chest. Are you kidding me?!”
Girlfriend: “What, you don’t trust me?”
You: “Of course I trust you, sometimes I just feel like you do stupid things.”
Girlfriend: “Well it doesn’t seem like you trust me. All you ever do is bitch and complain. It almost feels like you’re not even trying in this relationship anymore.”
You: “Baby, I love you more than anything in this world. I would die for you, I would sacrifice anything for you! Please, it just makes me upset when you do those things. Promise me you won’t do it anymore.”
Girlfriend: “Fine, I didn’t know it would upset you. I won’t do it again.”
You heard the mainstream advice that It’s good to communicate in relationships. The more you communicate, the more everything will work itself out is what you tell yourself. Your baby would never intentionally want to hurt you. If you have an issue, or if something makes you feel uneasy, you will address it with her and talk it out. This makes your future with her feel even more promising. You’re still the luckiest guy in the world.
Fast forward 3 weeks
Everything’s going good. The sex is still as frequent (38% of the time you ask for it), and strangely she has had an unusual pep in her step. You don’t really think much of it. You whisper to yourself, “I love my baby so much.”
Fast forward 2 days
It’s 5 p.m, Friday evening. You haven’t seen your baby in two days. It felt like a month. You put on your favorite shirt, some slacks, sprayed on your favorite Usher Raymond cologne, and went over to her house to take her on a dinner date. You pulled up in the driveway, and noticed her car wasn’t there. You texted her, “Where are you?” No response, so you call her. Still no answer, so you call her again. Forty minutes later you get a text from her, “On my way sorry!” Fifteen minutes later she pulls up. She hops in your car, smiles, and then kisses you.
You: “Where were you? You were supposed to be ready by 5:30.”
Her: “I was with Suzy, she wanted me to do her nails. I’m sorry I made you wait, baby.”
You: “Oh, It’s no worries. How’s she doing anyways? Play some music on your phone, let’s roll.”
Her: “Sounds good.”
She plugged her iPhone into the auxiliary chord, and asked what song you wanted. You said, “I don’t know, you choose.” She sighed and then put on The Weeknd’s new album. You wondered if she was just pretending to like it to seem cool. She probably was, the album wasn’t that good. You can’t help but stare at her while you’re driving. “You look absolutely breathtaking tonight. You never cease to amaze me, baby.” She smiles and says, “Thanks, baby.”
Her phone vibrated extra loud from the pennies in the console. You look down and see a message that reads, “Shane: here’s da vid ”
Your heart sinks. You forget that you’re driving, and almost swerve into oncoming traffic. You grab the phone quicker than she does, she tries to fight you for it. This bitch might kill you. In the midst of the cat fight, you accidentally play the message from Shane. You can’t see anything, because she’s still trying to grab her phone. But the audio played through the speakers. It was your girlfriend’s voice, moaning louder than usual. The voice in the speaker said, “Oh my god, Shane. It’s too deep.” It almost made you puke.
She freaked out on you. It was “your” fault for never “trusting” her in the first place. It was “your” fault for not being “emotionally supportive” enough through the hard times. You wept, and apologized. It started to make sense, maybe it really was all “your” fault. You were willing to continue the relationship, because she was your world. It was too much for her though, so she broke up with you that night.
You laid there in your bed. Thinking of what you just lost—how your whole world just dissolved into nothingness. You tell yourself, “This all could have been resolved if I was more nice to her. If I communicated with her more, and just loved her better. I’m such an idiot.”
The night felt cold, even with the heater on. You lamented with tears into your pillow and popped a Tylenol PM so you could sink into oblivion. The next day, you googled “How to get my girlfriend back.” After twelve hours of straining your eyes, and a thousand shitty Yahoo answers later, you finally came across a site that introduced you to the red pill. It looks like you may be the luckiest guy in the world after all.
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