I have had unmitigated success with women since learning the harsh truth about women featured here on Return Of Kings. Through the collective wisdom of men on this site, I’ve gamed and bedded women all over the world, and enjoyed some real stunners along my path of debauchery.
However, as my notch count reaches well over the century mark, I am finding that the more I know about women and the more of them I have flings or short term relationships with, the less I like women overall. I am not the first man to feel this way, in fact a highly-rated novel was published by one of the great red pill authors (before the term was even coined) in 1978 about this very phenomenon.
Here are some of my favorite lines from the book, and how they have helped me deal with my dissatisfaction with women. They may be of help to you, too, if you’ve found success with women and are drowning in ass but have come to the realization there are no unicorns. We can start our discussion by letting it be known that even 40 years ago the decline in the quality of American women was being chronicled by one of the great writers of the day:
American women drove hard bargains and the ended up looking the worst for it. The few natural American women left were mostly in Texas and Louisiana.
Today, they drive impossible bargains and are destroying the society. This is common wisdom in these parts of the internet, so let’s move on to the dissatisfaction that ultimately comes when a man has more women than he knows what to do with. Reflecting the real-life circumstances of Charles Bukowski, his novel Women reflects the fictional success of his character Henry Chinaski. Much like the real-life Bukowski, at age 50, Chinaski finally sees his star rising, and right on cue here come women out of the woodwork ready to help him spend his newfound cash and revel in his newfound status and power as an author.
After a lifetime of low-rent living on the bad side of town, Chinaski is finally about to embark on a new chapter in his life as his success means more booze, bitches and lifestyle accoutrements than ever.
Where did all the women come from? The supply was endless. Each one of them was individual, different. Their pussies were different, their kisses were different, their breasts were different, but no man could drink them all, there were too many of them, crossing their legs, driving men mad. What a feast!
Indeed, once a man realizes success or simply learns how to game women, he can find himself going from famine to feast in an instant. He morphs from being totally invisible to having sexy women throw themselves at him. And, it’s like a cascade. The more women a man has, the more women want him. However, the same man may find that he is dissatisfied in some way, sooner or later, with every new woman he encounters. In his experience sleeping with and studying the mentalities of countless women, Chinaski summarizes female psychology with one astute paragraph:
Women: I liked the colors of their clothing; the way they walked; the cruelty in some faces; now and then the almost pure beauty in another face, totally and enchantingly female. They had it over us: they planned much better and were better organized. While men were watching professional football or drinking beer or bowling, they, the women, were thinking about us, concentrating, studying, deciding – whether to accept us, discard us, exchange us, kill us or whether simply to leave us. In the end it hardly mattered; no matter what they did, we ended up lonely and insane.
This realization, once a man has it, leads to dissatisfaction more than any other, as well as the fact most relationships end in disaster. In addition to the secret plotting and planning women do, and record keeping of every actual and perceived slight a man does to her that will be released in an explosive tirade of venom and vitriol when the relationship ends, the following paragraph alludes to the fact women are very good at putting on an act when meeting men.
They will tailor their act according to the man they’re trying to lure (Schopenhauer called this dissimulation). I personally call this the “tuning the radio” phase of the relationship, and it’s fun to make women jump through a few hoops as they try to find which frequency you are on as a man and adapt their act accordingly. Bukowski writes:
Human relationships didn’t work anyhow. Only the first two weeks had any zing, then the participants lost their interest. Masks dropped away and real people began to appear: cranks, imbeciles, the demented, the vengeful, sadists, killers. Modern society had created its own kind and they feasted on each other. It was a duel to the death—in a cesspool.
Once the real woman appears and the sex and fun phase has passed, thus begins the downswing portion of the relationship. I have been here many times, as have many men, I suspect. It’s when you just want to get rid of the bitch but she wants payment for services rendered, be it material things or your very soul. Another great line from the book describes how women will attempt to take everything of value from a man, including his soul. (Usually, before placing him into the discard pile.)
And yet women—good women—frightened me because they eventually wanted your soul, and what was left of mine, I wanted to keep. Basically I craved prostitutes, base women, because they were deadly and hard and made no personal demands. Nothing was lost when they left. Yet at the same time I yearned for a gentle, good woman, despite the overwhelming price.
No Woman To Run To, Nowhere To Hide
Indeed, prostitutes or whores make the goal of fulfilling sexual desire much less bothersome, since a man pays for the interaction one way or the other: by either turning himself into a clown, paying for her McMansion and SUV under the guise that marriage isn’t legalized prostitution (when in fact, it is just that), or just avoiding the sophistry inherent in today’s society and paying her up front for intercourse. “Sophistry,” i.e. the use of fallacious arguments, especially with the intention of deceiving when it comes to our base desires like sexuality and dominance, I feel has become much to big a part of our daily lives. Bukowski touches on this “game-playing” in all areas of our lives in the novel.
I was naturally a loner, content just to live with a woman, eat with her, sleep with her, walk down the street with her. I didn’t want conversation, or to go anywhere except the racetrack or the boxing matches. I didn’t understand T.V. I felt foolish paying money to go into a movie theater and sit with other people to share their emotions. Parties sickened me. I hated the game-playing, the dirty play, the flirting, the amateur drunks, the bores.
Of course, it’s hard for a man not to become disillusioned with women once a man has seen the dark side of the female psyche repeatedly.
Once a woman turns against you, forget it. They can love you, then something turns in them. They can watch you dying in a gutter, run over by a car, and they’ll spit on you…
After a while, and repeated abuse from women, a man just stops giving a fuck. He goes through one woman after the other because he has seen, perhaps, they are all the same and he will never find that unicorn he desires so much.
Then I gave up trying to please her and simply fucked her, ripping viciously. It was like murder. I didn’t care; my cock had gone crazy
As hard as it may be to believe, Bukowski’s character Chinaski touches on a situation many men will find themselves in after a surfeit of tight, young, nubile ass has spread its legs before him. Knowing what women are psychologically and how they view men is enough to take the steam out of the whole interaction when you’ve had more women than you even care to remember.
My cock was hard, but my spirit wasn’t in it.
That’s quite a feeling, when you just don’t care anymore.
Hopefully, these lines have been therapeutic for the man who has pushed through to the other side and had too much pussy and too much female attention. This is usually the point self-medicating with alcohol, tobacco, and narcotics comes into play, when a man that knows too much just wants to forget what he knows and enjoy the moment.
Even great authors have found discontentment in success. Which is why a man must have higher goals for himself than women. They may be fun to screw around with, but never look for contentment from a woman. That’s a lesson I’ve learned, and apparently Bukowski learned it, too.