“I was raped.”
If you’ve been navigating your way across the American dating landscape for any period of time, chances are pretty solid that you’ve heard this at least once in your lifetime. These words can be chilling, especially if they’re coming from a woman that you hold in high esteem, or possibly love.
The most common emotions for the majority of men would be vexation and despair. “I would kill that mother fucker if I had the chance,” one man might say.
“Don’t worry sweetheart, you’re with me now, and I’ll never let anyone ever hurt you again,” is another possible line spoken by a sympathetic man.
No one can blame a guy for these responses, they are completely normal and noble reactions.I would say out of the many women I’ve dated in the past, I’ve heard this claim from roughly 30 percent of them—an incredibly high number. That’s quite disconcerting, considering I make it a point not to date women that come from the bars or clubs where alcohol and drug use run rampant. However, many of these women had lived or were living the college life, and were actively engaged in the typical trappings associated with that environment. On the flip-side, however, I’ve never met a college educated man (or any man for that matter) that has been an abuser or a rapist—neither accused nor convicted. Something doesn’t add up with this equation.
Due to my experiences with the opposite sex, and seeing the lengths women will go to for attention, I can’t help but be somewhat skeptical of these claims. A man has an obligation to unearth the truth at all costs. It’s in his best interests to do so—nobody will ever care about a man’s best interests more than himself. But it’s not enough to simply acquire the truth. The reasons for being faced with subterfuge in the first place must be examined as well. Why do I encounter so many women that claim to have been raped?
I speculate it’s because I’m not a very sensitive person. When women are with a man who starves them of sympathy for things the majority of guys coddle them over—things like an asshole boss, a backstabbing friend, or a financial predicament—women have a propensity to look for bigger and bigger trigger points to tug at the man’s heart strings. That’s when they start throwing out the “Hail Mary”s in an attempt to get the attention they so desperately crave.
They don’t just do it with rape or abuse, either. I’ve seen it a lot with hypochondria as well. Women will greatly exaggerate the extent of their medical problems. A mild headache that can easily be treated with a couple of Tylenol becomes, “I think I need to see a neuro-oncologist due to several malignant cerebellar astrocytomas destroying my motor skills,” or a sore back from a sedentary work environment becomes, “I think I need spinal fusion surgery due to spondylolisthesis, it’s really painful and it’s affecting my mobility.” I’m exaggerating for effect here… but not by much.
Real Eyes Realize Real Lies
Due to this constant stream of attention pandering from women, coupled with my somewhat incredulous nature, I have a go-to question that I immediately throw back at women whenever they start talking about being raped:
“The guy that did it is rotting away in prison, right?”
Not a single woman has ever answered “yes” to that question. Out of a very healthy sample size of women—not one fucking “yes.”
That’s alarming, to put it mildly. None of these women even pressed charges against their so-called attackers, either. After a little more interrogating, it was usually revealed that a previous boyfriend pressured them for sex, or they got drunk off their asses and didn’t remember what happened. One girl in particular said she was raped by an ex-boyfriend at a party, and that her new boyfriend at the time broke up with her as a result. If I’m supposed to be compassionate towards a woman who was dumped because she got black-out drunk at a party with her ex-boyfriend and then ended up with him alone, in a bedroom, and in a sexual situation… Well, lets just say the compassion train won’t be pulling into that fucking station anytime soon.
This same woman later told me that she called the cops on her neighbors for making too much noise one night. Interesting, isn’t it? She wouldn’t report being forced to have sex against her will, but if her neighbors started getting a little loud and rowdy at 1:00 AM on a Tuesday? Call in the fucking S.W.A.T. team. I’m sure that I’m not alone in thinking that behavior is a bit dubious.
Women are tattletales. That’s just what they do—they’re fucking narcs. They’re like this from the time they’re little girls. Almost every detention I ever received in school—and there were plenty—was due to some girl ratting me out for something. If a woman was truly the victim of a savage attack, she’s not going to just let it roll off her back like nothing happened. When shit gets real, women always go for help.
Getting Down To Business
If Return Of Kings conducted a poll asking its readership about their most disappointing sexual experiences, what would the most common answer likely be? Aside from maybe a toothy blowjob here or a pussy that looked like the Predator without its mask on there, I assume the vast majority of us would say, “She just laid there.” The proverbial dead fish: a woman that doesn’t fuck back.
Men despise it when they’re sexually engaged with a woman and she isn’t responsive—we can’t stand it. We want a woman that thoroughly enjoys being intimate with us. Very few dudes get off on the idea of fucking a sedated capsized turtle. We have a natural biological aversion to sticking our cocks in what is essentially one step above a dead body. Dead bodies don’t make babies, therefore, they don’t turn us on and we don’t fuck them. In short: sloppy passed-out drunk broads don’t get our dicks hard. Couple this with the fact that getting sloppy drunk as a man usually means “whiskey dick,” and you’ve pretty much arrived at a situation that is not only unstimulating and undesirable, but also unfeasible.
Several years ago I also conducted an experiment with my ex, whom I was with for five years. I’m a big dude, well over 6′ and 200+ pounds. She was about 5’4 and 110 pounds. Bear in mind, this was a mutual endeavor—a test to see how well she could protect herself against an attacker.The goal was to get her jeans and underwear off. Basically, a simulated rape attack. She could do whatever she wanted to defend herself within reason—as in don’t punch me in the face, gouge my eyes, kick me in the dick, etc.
After about four minutes of wrestling with her, I was able to get her jeans unbuttoned and her zipper down—that’s it. That’s all I could do in four minutes. To get this woman naked, somehow acquire and sustain an erection throughout all of the chaos, and then manage to penetrate her would have been fucking impossible. The only way it could have been done would have been to either beat the shit out of her, or threaten her with a weapon. There was no other way. If this was a real world situation, she would’ve screamed her head off while scratching, biting, kicking and clawing at anything she could. Help would’ve arrived within a couple of minutes—at most—if this was happening at a college party.
This brings us to another fact about men: we like beautiful healthy looking women. We don’t want to have sex with a woman that has a beat-up face and bruising all over her body. And we certainly don’t want to be the cause of any of that bodily harm, either. No man looks at the recent pictures of Christy Mack and says, “Damn, look at that fractured orbital bone, I gotta get me some of that shit.” The men that are actually into that sort of stuff are a very extreme minority.
What’s A Man To Do?
All of this has made me adopt a very tough stance on women and their rape claims. The simple fact of the matter is whenever I hear the word “rape” come from a woman’s mouth—especially if she didn’t file a police report—it’s over. If a rape did or did not occur is of no concern to me—I’m bailing out whether it’s true or not. That probably seems stone-cold to some readers, but what’s the alternative?
Some might say, “If the rape was real, then how can you judge someone for something that was out of their control you victim blaming piece of shit!?”
Simple, I’m not judging them for what happened in their past—I’m judging them for who they will be for the rest of their lives. If a rape truly happened—that’s unfortunate and good luck with everything. If a woman was involved in a car wreck that wasn’t her fault and found herself paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair, I wouldn’t date her either. Why? Because I don’t date women in wheelchairs. It’s not their fault, and doesn’t make them bad people. They just have an affliction that extends beyond my comfort zone. Cards get shuffled and then they get dealt, not everyone will draw an ace.
As a man you have to assess how your life will be as a result of being with someone that experienced something as traumatic as rape—real or perceived. When someone goes through something exceedingly distressing, that person will never be the same again. These women tend to have triggers that keep them from being truly intimate with a man. No touching certain areas, don’t do this, don’t do that—it’s a lot of burden to shoulder for a guy that’s just trying to make his way through life with minimal complications.
“But but you need to be patient and understanding!”
No, I don’t.
There’s no shortage of men out there willing to grab their capes and play the role of a hero, I won’t be one of them. I’m not a therapist and I’m not running a human being overhaul facility. It’s out of the scope of my talents and capabilities to heal or fix a rape victim—I don’t even see the need to try. If you’re a man that values your sanity and well-being, I suggest you let one of the heros come along and attempt to save the day. If you’re involved with a woman and she has a questionable rape story—stop dealing with her. You don’t know if her next rape fable could contain you as the antagonist—you’d better fucking run, seriously.
It strikes a nerve when you realize that many women have no qualms with throwing a man under the bus if it means a modicum of attention can be obtained as a result. When I was listening to these women make their sketchy rape claims, I would often think of the men they were accusing. I would think of how incensed they would be to know that women they were once intimate with (or possibly not) are now desecrating their characters in an attempt to procure a morsel of pity that they don’t deserve—all at his expense.
Chances are, if these same men were sitting there having a conversation with them instead of me, being told the same things I was hearing about them being raped in the past, they would probably say, “I would kill that mother fucker if I had the chance!” Almost no men are rapists, but almost all women will play Faust at the crossroads and sell off their dick-stained 10-cent souls in exchange for attention.
Women can no longer take a firm stand on the moral high ground because they don’t own any fucking property there. Their lies and cries for attention have eroded their credibility to the point that good people—and true victims—must suffer as a consequence of their actions. Men have their hands tied. They can’t say or do anything lest they be accused of victim blaming, misogyny, or whatever other string of bullshit buzzwords one can conjure up. And as for women? They refuse to police their own because at the end of the day the only thing that matters is that “Team Women” comes out on top. The shattered lives and reputations of innocent men left in their wakes are irrelevant.
As a man, the bottom line is that you must judge the people you allow into your world with inexorable and unwavering ferocity. This means both your close friendships with men and all of your relationships with women, but it’s especially true for your dealings with women. It is your responsibility to be completely ruthless in gauging the character of a woman that is angling to become even a diminutive part of your life—only the best players are allowed to join your team. Everyone else? They can go fuck themselves. And as for women that cry rape for attention? Well, as far as people that can go fuck themselves are concerned, they don’t have very much competition at the top of the list.
People are like dirt. They can either nourish you and help you grow as a person or they can stunt your growth and make you wilt and die. – Plato