All systems were “go” when I was in my twenties. I had an exemplary education, a fit body, a well-paying career, a pretty girlfriend, and most importantly, many solid ambitions, which included finding “the one.”
I considered myself to be a regular guy in many ways, and was quite happy to do what humans do, without thinking too much about it. I had always assumed that a soul mate could (and should) be found, and that love was real, and that a mutually beneficial and supportive partnership was the end goal. I had assumed that any lover, girlfriend, fiance, or wife that you risked bringing into you home and life was, in fact, a loyal and devoted ally, or at least strove to be. How wonderful it must be to have a trusted partner in crime—a loving manager in your corner—someone with whom you can actually share your innermost hopes, dreams, fears, and weakness with—someone who has your back no matter what.
My first glimpse that something might be disturbingly amiss with my programming happened on my 30th birthday.
My 30th Birthday
The day before, my beautiful and always-wonderful girlfriend asked me what I wished to do for my big day. We were tight, comfortable souls and always had a great time together no matter what we were doing. I felt like she could read my mind and that she enjoyed my quirks and virtues alike. Life was pretty good, and my request was simple. I told her that all I wanted was for her to come over and have a sweet and relaxing time with me, and that we’d have diner at my place, drink some wine, watch a movie, and cuddle. I added that I really wanted her to give me a back and shoulder massage, because I love receiving back and shoulder massages. And she thought that all sounded wonderful. It was set to be an evening of simple, divine perfection.
But early into the next day (my birthday), we touched base and she informed me of a change in plans. She had run into my neighbor (a fat, disgusting, hairy Afghan woman with whom I have nothing in common and no desire for any kind of association) earlier in the day. And though this woman and my girlfriend were mere acquaintances at best, and though my girlfriend confessed to having no interest in developing a friendship with her, she somehow felt it necessary to oblige her intrusion into my special day. Upon hearing that it was my birthday, my unpleasant neighbor, for whatever reason (possibly as a means to bond with my girlfriend), insisted on having a little party for me at her place, complete with diner, cake, and candles. When this was explained to me, I of course wanted no part of it, and said so.
With a sneer that I just couldn’t hide, I made it known that I didn’t want to go to that party and that it was my birthday and that I should be able to do what I wanted to do. My girlfriend, however, was not pleased by my objections and she argued many irrelevant reasons why I needed to go. In an instant, things turned icy between us, and a minute later I was forced to acquiesce to our new plan, because I still wanted to get laid that night.
So I put on a happy face and we attended the little party, but my girlfriend could sense that my glum heart wasn’t into it, and afterward, we had a fight about it. Needless to say, I did not get my back massage, nor did I get laid.
I steamed silently for a few days after that fiasco, and she never once apologized for how things turned out. The whole situation, though very minor in the grand scheme, seemed deeply wrong to me. I wondered how any trusted ally of mine would so quickly sacrifice my special day for such trivial concerns. It struck me as a form of betrayal. And so for the first time in my life, I witnessed a ripply distortion in the Matrix. Evidence of an alternate reality had appeared and something did not add up.
The First Time I Had Anal Sex
It was a few naive years and similar disappointments later, and I was dating a fiery fit sex-pot with the best ass any of my twenty buddies had ever seen. Whether we had a future or not remained uncertain, but we certainly enjoyed our time together for many months until I blew my back out.
After 10 years of 405-pound deadlifts, a disk spontaneously decided to protrude something fierce and compress my S1 nerve root like a motherfucker. As a result, I was double dosing my prescription Vicodin and chasing each one with vodka. I was still in such pain that I could barely roll over or crawl to the toilet. It was a very bad two days, spent mostly on the floor.
My girlfriend nevertheless wanted to come over even though I vehemently explained to her that I’d be completely useless. But she insisted, and said that we’d have a mellow evening enjoying my booze and opiates, and that she’d give me a back rub. Oh yes! And it was nice enough, before it turned ugly.
It was in the early morning hours and when I was at my weakest that she spontaneously turned on me, and hard. She wanted to have sex but I was simply not in the mood and she ripped me for it. I told her that I was in so much pain that I should probably be checked into the hospital, but she was not having it. She wanted dick and she wanted it now. It was a test. It was too bad though, for both of us, that eight Vicodins, a bottle of Russian Standard, severe pain, and the normal fatigue of the wee-AM hours combined to make me utterly disinterested.
I told her that I all I wanted to do was to go to sleep (no, that I needed to sleep!) and she chastised me hard. I could not believe that she was being so difficult. She proceeded to taunt my strength, my manhood, and my character before demanding that I put my dick into her ass that instant.
Of course I tried, and did, but it was all much less than vigorous or enjoyable. My head was spinning, my cheeks were flush, my dick was half-soft, and my back, buttocks, and pelvis felt like they were filled with loose razor blades during every tentative trust. And as that disaster finally fizzled out most ingloriously, she bitched me out with more venom that I ever thought possible. And then I got angry.
I could not believe that she was pulling this shit. In my single moment of need that decade, she simply could not behave for six hours and support me. She could not take a back seat, in even the smallest way, to my very real needs. What in the hell was wrong with this insane cunt? And then it occurred to me that I had brought a stealth predator into my sanctuary, and when I was most vulnerable to boot. She was not my ally and not my friend, and certainly not when my needs diverged from her most frivolous whims. I felt abandoned and sad, but mostly angry. How dare she pull this shit! But she did dare, and it only made my most miserable night that much worse. I could have strangled her.
As I clenched my teeth and gathered all of my remaining strength to simply sit up in bed to yell at her at 3:30 AM while she was heading out the door, something changed inside of me.
A New Awareness
For the first time, I was able to fully compile a decade’s worth of separate but perplexing distortions in my reality to see that the Matrix existed. I saw the shadows on the wall for the illusions that they were, and as a result, many of my prior romantic aspirations instantly dissolved.
My true epiphany was that all humans are individuals first and foremost, and competitors, and the tool that women most use to compete is deception—they make you believe that they support you. But they never truly do. Their ulterior motives are 100-percent selfish and at any time or place, even your most dire needs can be set aside for little or no reason. So what sense does it make to give them the keys to your innermost sanctum? My foolish optimism was transformed into a healthy mistrust, and I moved forward, a bit heart-broken, yet surprisingly satisfied and even humored by finally knowing the rules of the “real” reality.
Now I laugh about all of this unnecessary strife, and take a certain sick joy in knowing that it’s unwise to ever fully relax in a woman’s presence or expect that she unquestionably has your back. It has liberated me from so many burdensome concerns, and for that I am grateful. You just can never fully trust what women are thinking or might do, and you should plan accordingly. And a bit of unease is always prudent when you know that a vampire is watching you sleep.
Read More: Don’t Look For A Girlfriend