HOW TO WRITE A PERSONALS PROFILE

HOW TO WRITE A PERSONALS PROFILE

I was complaining to Girl 51, my female friend with the male brain, about my failures on Match Dot Com.  She laughed and said she had suggestions for me, from her “boy-slut surfing” expert knowledge of male profiles.  Lay it on me, I said.

Well, for one thing, your profile is all over the place.  Women aren’t following your thread.  You’re trying to say you’re intensely romantic and sexual, yet kind and sweet and funny, all in a gorgeous, stunning, breathtaking package.

Hold on, I interrupted.  You think I’m that good looking?  Well, yeah, she says.  So, I say, why did you break up with me?  She chokes from laughing.  “You ass!” she screams.  “YOU broke up with ME!”  Oh.  I forgot.

Go on, I urged.  She says no one is following your message.  You’re hiding behind poetry.

No way, I said.  I write, analyze and negotiate for a living.  You’re telling me I have a profile that doesn’t communicate, that I haven’t correctly analyzed females, and that my negotiation for a woman is inadequate?  That my poetic style of self-description is confusing women?  That’s about the size of it, she says.

I’d come to Girl 51 for a damned good reason.  This is a woman who is as sexual as they come.  She loves sex in all fashions as long as it’s one-on-one with a single guy, but then, at the time that wasn’t wild enough for me.  She thinks like a guy, and goes on Match, flirts with a guy, and gets him helplessly horny with emails that say, “so, what kind of sex do you like?” and “tell me your naughtiest sexual fantasy” and “would you mind if I blow you in your car in a parking lot?”  She wants a long term relationship with one guy, but she’s tired of sexually mediocre men.  In other words, she’s the female version of me.

Previously I’d gone for advice to a different woman, whose opinion I respected.  The result was awful, the “kinder-gentler-gayish” profile she wrote for me.

Yikes, the women who showed up for that one were cadavers.  “Pulse zero, breathing stopped, we’ve lost blood pressure!”  BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!  “Time of death, eight o’clock.”  Sex?  Yes, they would say, I’ve heard of that.  But I don’t think it’s for me.  Who’s Jenna Jameson anyway?

So with the help of Girl 51, I rewrote my profile.  It read:

I’m tall, Italian, green-eyed, confident, sexy, handsome, sweet and adventurous in and out of the bedroom. I’m looking for someone to share the intimate side of my life with. I’m a published bestselling author* and a partner in a construction management firm. I’m a divorced full-time dad with my 16-year old son living with me in our bachelor pad townhouse, and a part-time father to my younger children. I hope for balance in all things. I work out a lot, I love running and weights, but I’m not afraid of a pot of coffee in the morning or a scotch at night, or beer and pizza for that matter. I’m getting back into scuba diving and sailing after a hiatus. I’m very sexual and sensual and I like women who are the same. I am open minded and would love to meet someone who can teach me even more.

 

Yeesh.  That sucks.  But the next day I signed onto Match.  “You have 300 messages.”  They were all gorgeous.

Go figure.  I always thought women just looked at the pictures.  Turns out they read the words.  We’re up against superior firepower, boys.

Postscript:  One woman wrote me this note about the profile above:

 

He certainly looked good enough at first glance, but rarely do I look at all of the pictures before reading someone’s write-up.  Certain things make me run for the hills but author boy had none of them:  “looking for a lady” or “someone who reminds me of my mom”, “loves to watch TV.” (I mean, I like TV too, but it’s a red flag when someone doesn’t know not brag about it), “conservative” (usually means a Christian church with lots of “it is bad to…..”), visible absence of the word “open-minded” (usually means doggy style is for anniversaries only), and any antonyms for the word passion.  His cocky profile pissed me off so much that I didn’t even look at the rest of the pictures.  Well, not the first time anyway.

 

His profile was up and down more than my panties were during the summer I spent in Europe after undergrad.  He changed his call name several times, attributing it to stalker-chicks who either had too much or not enough of his dick.  I sensed there might be more to it, but was enamored with the brass cajones it took for anyone, especially a male, to put up an arrogant, hyper-sexual profile like that.  He talked about sex toys and paddles, being adventurous in the bedroom and wanted a woman who could keep up with him.  He mentioned not one word about learning new things from someone else. Also absent was any reference to preferred personality characters. This guy couldn’t be for real-he had to be fucking kidding!  How the hell did he expect to attract women with this write up? This write up was different all right-This guy was OFF THE FUCKING HOOK!   He was either really dense, joking, pathological, or engaged in an experiment.  In the end I was able to eliminate some, but not all of the possibilities.

 

But, I was outright dumbfounded when this guy contacted me the second time.  What could possibly make him think I’d have any interest in him?  Did I look like a cheap slut?  I’d intentionally put up pictures that were nondescript in terms of the good girl/bad girl image.  In my life, I had changed from business suits to come fuck me boots on a regular basis. But I was looking for a husband,  and thesuit, rather than the boots would be my bait.   Besides, I was 40 now and damned if I wasn’t going to show how higher education had toned me down-especially after the prison gig.    So,what was it that made him contact me?  Maybe I looked SOOO Pollyanna that he thought I’d be easy prey.

HOW TO DEAL WITH A MALE STALKER

HOW TO DEAL WITH A MALE STALKER

 

If you read the story of Banker Sweat Girl, you’d be interested to know that she threw some sex at the kind of guy who is really devoutly religious and probably secretly thought it was wrong and dirty outside marriage.  She must have thrown some very juicy moves at him because he became absolutely hooked.  After they broke up (on my advice) he texted her every day at least 20 times, and on weekends up to 100 times.  I told her to not read them.  She couldn't.  I told her to get a new cell phone or a restraining order.  This is part of the danger of being alluring and not hesitating to throw yourself into great sexual relationships, then moving on.  Here's how it has to be done.

 

Break up with a solid, "This relationship is over, honey."

 

Then distance yourself from all communications for 15 days.  Text, voice mail, email, calls, smoke signals, and in-person stalking (in which case, remember the number for 911 -- write it on your palm if you have to so you don't forget!).  That is about 3 half-lives of sexual mourning for men.  A woman who is our nostrils on day zero, by day fifteen she's usually a distant memory.  If she's in our hearts, it could be 15 months, but in 15 days we're at least functioning rationally.  The heartbroken seize on all communications and do not listen or understand the words, just the sound of the voice and that communication happened.  A mind in grief is a strange thing, it misinterprets all over the place.

 

No matter how tempted you are to rebut accusations that you're an ass, don't do it.  Just be silent.  Take the slaps on the cheek if you deserve them.

 

After 15 days, if you still get communication, send a message like this:

 

“STOP IT.  If you continue to harass me I will be requesting a restraining order be placed on you pursuant to New Jersey State Law's Prevention of Domestic Violence Act.”

 

 

By the way, the links for some of this info: http://www.womenslaw.org/NJ/NJ_how_to.htm#The%20New%20Jersey%20legal%20system;%20a%20quick%20overview

 

http://www.state.nj.us/dca/womdvcrt.htm

 

http://www.njcbw.org/legalreliefs.htm

 

 

HOW TO BUILD A RELATIONSHIP

HOW TO CONSTRUCT A RELATIONSHIP or HOW FUCKING A GIRL CAN CAUSE HER TO HATE ME

 

I looked over the rim of my rocks glass at my tanned, toned female friend.  Let’s call her Bikini Girl for her love of skimpy bathing wear.  I was puzzled.  With a body like hers and that gorgeous face, men should be knocking her door down.

 

“So what’s the trouble,” I asked.

 

“It’s that guy I was seeing.”

 

Finance boy was her current obsession.  She’d seen him for a few months, fucked him a few times, and then he bugged out.  Flaked.  Disappeared from the face of the earth.  When I asked what she knew about that, she revealed the stunning truth.

 

“I got upset because I did sleep with him...I was disappointed in myself. Anyway I told him I didn't want to see him any more. We still talked afterwards and we did see each other a couple times. I said I was sorry for the mixed signals for lack of a better word.  It never was the same. He doesn't call, when he did I asked him if we were still going to see each other, he said of course. But he hasn't called like he was.  I was disappointed then at myself but now I feel awful.”

 

“Let me get this straight,” I said.  “You were disgusted at yourself for fucking him.  How do you think that made him feel?”

 

“But you don’t understand,” she said.  “I really did enjoy him, his company, everything.  My bible is the book HE’S NOT THAT INTO YOU.”

 

I rolled my eyes.  The goddamned female bible, replacing the duplicitous THE RULES, but it is hardly any better.

 

“I’m wondering if what happened was thathe just wasn't that into me.”

 

“No, honey,” I said.  “What happened was you disrespected the boy.  Fucking him?  And then acting like you’d been spoiled, or made unclean?  That’s terrible.  You should apologize.”

 

“Well,” she said, unconvinced.  “I know I am better off because if we can't even get through something this small – “

 

“Jesus!  You consider this small???”

 

“Listen,” she continued, not listening, “If we couldn’t get through something like this, it would have been rough when something large came along.”

 

I shook my head again.  “Honey, men take it hard when women see anything at all negative about having sex with them.  Girls can be horrified about sex with another guy, but anything less than delight and being thrilled when it comes to fucking us causes us pain like you would not believe.  The other side of the story is that men don't think like you think we think.  Sometimes our clocks are just slower.  You wait for a call at sex-plus-eight hours, and we're still on cloud 9, dreaming about you and fantasizing about you and knowing that to call you might be to screw it all up, because we're better with our hands and penises than we are with words and brain.  So here we are thinking the best of you, and there you are thinking dark thoughts about us.  Result, why is it that fucking someone can cause them to hate us?  I'd have done worse, I'd never have spoken to you again.  Life is wonderful in that there are a lot of people in it, which allows us to reinvent ourselves a hundred times if we want, just with someone new.  The next guy, if you have sex with him, have it gladly and pour yourself into it.  If you're going to act like you did something disgusting, don't have sex.  But to have sex and then to act disgusted is to insult the man.  Then be real and don't click a damned stopwatch to see how soon he calls.  Sometimes a man needs more time to process what happened.  Underneath it we're shy little boys, not evil demons.”

 

She didn’t get it.  She started whining. “I don't want to reinvent, I want to turn the clock back and have kept my big mouth shut.  I want him to feel like he can call me like he was.  I want to know how to undo what I did.  I think you are wrong about one thing. There are very few men out there that attract me enough that I want to fuck them.”

 

“Oh please,” I said.  “Sorry, honey, you can't un-ring a bell. The only sins are to (a) fail to go to the next human being armed with superior knowledge and (b) fail to learn from experience.  The whole thing is that when you want a guy enough to want to fuck him, it is significant!  People mess up in that they try to build relationships wrong -- they make them with people with whom they lack blood-boiling chemistry.  Instead, you should build a relationship like you build an affair.”

 

She didn’t get it, and she never will.  Logic is lost on a large fraction of the female population.  They think with their feelings, not with rational thought. 

 

Anyway, you want to build a relationship?  Here’s the recipe:

 

RECIPE FOR ANAFFAIR

 

Start with lust, the kind of sexual chemistry that makes you lose all control.  If you look at him and can't take it anymore, you feel like the only decision in front of you is whether to take his clothes off or your own first, then he's a candidate. 

 

Explore it.  Let him touch you.  If you thrill to it, if it makes you sweat behind your knees, he's a candidate.

 

Then look for friendship.  Friendship should develop in that post-coital "cigarette" period when you've just had a mattress-breaking orgasm, and so has he, and you are both lying there in that incredible glow, and you say, "do you think President Bush is an ass?" and he says something, then you say something, and the next time you look at the clock ten hours have passed.

 

If friendship is working and the lust remains, look for and hope for romantic chemistry.  This goes to visual factors.  Is he cute enough?  Would you want to introduce him to people?

 

Then look for fatal flaws.  He's married.  He's unemployed.  He's fucking other women and won't leave them behind.  He's a liar.

 

Absent fatal flaws, keep going.

 

Avoid relationship-killers.  Negativity.  Nagging.  Having an agenda.  Pushing the relationship faster than it naturally wants to go.

 

Then serve it hot.

 

Not that Bikini Girl will ever understand this.  It’s like taking a kindergartner to graduate school.

HOW TO BREAK UP WITH A GIRL

HOW TO BREAK UP WITH A GIRL

 

It seems like I work around the clock, so on that rare occasion when I’ll put my feet up on the deck, smoke a cigar and drink a Corona Light, it is an event.

 

My son rolled the glass door open and plopped down.  I looked at him through a cloud of mellow smoke.

 

“Yes, my son?”

 

“Dad,” he said, looking at the ground.  “How do you break up with a girl?”

 

I smiled.  Did he ever come to the right place.  Two marriages and two failed engagements into my forty-something life, I realized the one skill I’d lacked was breaking up.

 

I also knew he was on his first girlfriend.  At fifteen, he’d been in taekwondo practicing when this hot little blonde number asked him out, and had been dominating him ever since.  The boy’s mom, ex #1, had complained of seeing hickeys below his beltline.  The last talk I’d had with him about her I’d given him condoms.

 

No, actually that was two talks ago.  I’d noticed that the blonde had given him a reading list.  And a movie list.  Like a good student, he was reading the Anne Rice books she loved, the books of poetry she required him to be conversant in, and the movies she loved, so that he would be a better boyfriend.

 

“You know, son, you have a list of favorite books and beloved movies.  Why don’t you write down a list and give it to her?  That way, she can be an expert in what you like, just as you are with what she likes.”

 

The first lesson in mutuality.  It went as expected.  He delivered the list to her, and she sneered at it.  Dad’s lesson got learned the hard way.  She’s just not that into you, son.  He’d returned from that mission a wiser, if sadder, young man.

 

“Let me ask you something.  Why do you want to break up with her?” I asked.  I thought I knew what he would say, but he surprised me.

 

“Dad, she just wants to change me too much.”

 

Beer spurted out my nose onto the patio table.

 

“Oh my God, son,” I said, choking from laughing.  “You may as well keep her, they ALL do that!”

 

After a moment, I looked him in the eye.  “Seriously, boy, you need to be direct.  Do it in person.  Look her in the eye.  Say, ‘Listen, for reasons I’ll go into later, this relationship is over.’  Then run like hell!”

 

Look at me.  Everything’s fuckin’ funny.  I sensed his pain.

 

“Okay, look, if you go into the reasons for the breakup, human nature is to negotiate.  You know, ‘please don’t break up with me.’  You can’t get into it, because you’ll lose, and then you’re in a vampire, zombie relationship, the walking dead, and it’s harder to do the second time.  It’s like killing a king.  Shoot to kill, not to wound.  If she wants reasons, four days or four weeks later you can give her a post mortem.  Not in person, on the phone.  If you ever get in the same room with someone you’ve broken up with, you can be a target of sexual manipulation.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“That’s a later lesson, son.  For now, remember, breaking up comes in two parts.  First, the notification.  This relationship is over.  I’m breaking up with you.  Then leave.  Or if you have to do it on the phone, hang up.  Session two is the reasons.  It has to happen after a week or a month, so the dismissed party has time to go over things in her head.  If she’s smart, she’ll already know the reasons.  If she’s a bully, that discussion will be to browbeat you into coming back to her.  No matter what, never go back to a girl you’ve broken up with.”

 

Wow, I thought.  If I’d followed these rules, this boy wouldn’t exist at all.

 

He did it on the phone, the two-part breakup.  It worked.

 

He’s sixteen now, and there have been no other girls.  I hope the experience didn’t sour him.  But in male-female relationships, it is better to be alone than dominated by a female who doesn’t love you, but merely uses you.

DEAR PLAYBOY AUTHOR BOY

Dear Playboy Author Boy,

 

 

My wife complains and nags that I don't clean enough or do enough housework,  but I cut the grass and do all the outside work,  cook all the meals,  fix all the shit that breaks down around the house,  shop for all the groceries,  and take out the trash and haul it to the dump.  Plus,  I give her 1/2 hour body massages with lotion weekly.  Why does she insist that I don’t do enough around the house?

 

Thanks,

Blue Balls Mark

 

 

Dear Blue Balls,

 

In female eyes, Tarzan never does enough.  Jane is never satisfied.  It is part of the female chromosome to bitch, whine, moan, groan and complain.  And withhold sex.  Even though that screws her out of the pleasure of it as well.

 

The only thing that keeps Jane honest is competition.  Being married is like bidding a sole source job.  The work is overpriced and the service is unsatisfactory.  But with competition, good price, good work.  Same with romance.  Jane behaves if Tarzan has OPTIONS.  In my case, once I was single, Jane was sweetness and nice, until the four month point of the relationship, particularly if I talked about marriage.  Then the dissatisfaction sets into the female brain.  Solution simple.  Jane, this relationship is over.  Sorry, you are no longer needed.  Next.

 

The next Jane is sweet as pie until the moment that commitment is mentioned.  The instant that happens, Jane controls Tarzan, and no woman loves a man she controls.  And no woman has fun in the bedroom with a man she controls, it is worse than masturbation.  But a wild man whom Jane can only hope to lasso?  That’s a guy Jane thrills to in bed. 

 

My advice?  Remain single, be independent free spirits, enjoy your relationships, and always politely evade feminine control.  Jane will thank you for it.  In so many ways.

 

And if she doesn’t?  The next Jane certainly will.  Meanwhile, only do the housework you feel like doing, no matter what Jane says.

 

Even better, just keep your own place and let Jane stay in hers.  There, she has no one to blame but herself for the messy condition of the house, and you can run a tight ship with no one nagging you.

 

Trust me, guys, I’ve been there.  I know.

 

Playboy Author Boy

GIRLFRIEND SPECIFICATION

Specification for a Girlfriend

 

I seek someone whom I can love and who will love me enough that we can have a stable, long term relationship that is emotionally, sexually and spiritually satisfying for both partners.

 

Having successfully found what I wanted in a woman, twice, I know exactly what I want.  Unfortunately, having that knowledge is a damned mixed blessing.  You start sifting the world into two piles, the suitable and the unsuitable, and the thing about it is that people are all shades of the spectrum.  Selecting someone on objective criteria – a specification – sounds somewhat mad, but it is fit-for-purpose.

 

Example.  If blondes ring my bell, I would be wise to steer clear of auburn-haired girls.

 

Sounds obvious.  But let’s move to other things.

 

What are the dimensions of a woman, the things that work with me and turn me on?

 

Kids:  I love a mom, but is her schedule too hectic?  I love a woman who can love my children as her own, and help me be a better father (hard to imagine that, but even I could improve).  A woman without children is fine, as long as she is “generative” enough to love kids and genuinely be a future potential step-mother.  Evil step-mothers need not apply.  Does she adore children, and as important, do they adore her?  If so, she’s my girl.

 

Sex:  This category looms large, and is the subject of a separate document.  In summary, I need a woman who is a nymphomaniac, a total whore, a completely degenerate kinky slut, but who can be absolutely faithful and pour all her sexual spirit into the man she loves, (that would be me).  The woman needs to initiate sex as often as she is approached for it, love the unconventional, have had a past that is more wild than mild, and enjoy the kinds of sex that are portrayed in great porno.  She must delight in dressing for success in the bedroom, and know the difference between sexual creativity and sexual availability.  This is a rare woman, but they do exist.  When I find her, she’s my girl.

 

Intelligence:  it would be nice if she knew how to spell the word.  It would better if she could wrestle me to the ground in an argument.  I don’t need Einstein, but we need to be able to talk about quantum mechanics and its application to pseudo light waves that travel in the negative time direction.  If she can do that, or at least roll her eyes authoritatively, she’s my girl.

 

Spirituality:  Very closely connected to all the above.  Does the woman believe in life after – and before death?  Or does she see it ending?  Is there meaning in the simple act of giving a blowjob?  Or is it just mouthwork?  What colors does she see when she comes?  Does sex bring her close to God?  Does she walk beside a Higher Power?  Does she believe God speaks to us through the mouths of other people?  Does she feel things greater than what can be seen?  If so, she’s my girl.

 

Friends/Family:  Can I take her to a black tie without worrying about her insulting my boss?  Will my parents like her?  Note, odds are, if my mother likes her, she’s disqualified, but my dad is always dead on.

 

Occupation:  Does she have an occupation that is fulfilling rather than frustrating?  Does she complain constantly about work?  Can she engineer a job that fulfills her in the long term?  Has she built a life in which her occupation is the fulfillment of her spirit, or is it just there to make the mortgage payment?

 

Resources:  Does she have a house on the water, or live in a tent?  A BMW Z3 or an 83 Dodge Aries?  Does it matter?  Sometimes this area reflects on a person’s character, showing whether they love themselves.

 

Psychology:  Does she know herself?  If so, does she love herself?  Those who don’t love themselves need not apply.  Not even God can fix that in one lifetime.

 

Looks:  There’s no formula.  I like blondes, but brunettes have been known to make me beg.  I like copper auburn hair, but carrot top red doesn’t move me.  I like straight hair, but again, wavy-haired girls have made me knock on the gates of heaven.  I like blue eyes, but have been more in love with a brown-eyed girl than with my next breath.  I love slender girls, but I’ve been desperately in love with curvy, voluptuous, overweight women.  I love thick lips, but have died for the thin-lipped girl.  As to looks, it comes down to – do all the above things shine out in your physical appearance?

 

Astrological sign:  Never believed this shit before, but the books say two Aries should not hook up, and that you can bank on.  I’ve loved a Leo, who was an A+ on every category above.  When it ended and I was seeking advice, the Leo girl commented on the Scorpio girl thus, “oh, you’re in luck, Scorpio’ll fuck your brains out.”  The Scorpio did.  It was horrible.  Still searching.  Bad luck with Libra, by the way.

 

Interest/Chemistry:  Is she interested in her guy?  Truly interested in him?  Madly in love with him?  Want to fuck him every time she sees him?  Really, really fuck the shit out of him?  Introduce him to her girlfriends, parents, people on the street?  Does she want to watch every crappy movie on his list of favorites?  Hear every sea story he has?  Hold his forehead when he’s vomiting?

 

Devotion:  So now the guy has a terminal illness.  Is the girl still with him, loving him, longing for him, or is he a burden?

 

Availability:  A woman needs to spend time with a relationship partner.  This corner can’t be cut.  Two people can make tremendous strides with electronics.  Email, voice mail,  telephone conversations, instant messaging and cell phone text messages can progress a relationship much faster than just a decade ago, but there is no substitute for time spent breathing the same air.  And that time can happen in a restaurant, a smoky bar, a rain-swept cobblestone street, but that is only part of it.  A significant factor to developing a working relationship is “naked time” – this is how we learn if we’re compatible and it is how we will connect on a hundredlevels.  This is so obvious that this category was omitted and a woman who was absolutely perfect in all other categories was let go because she had too busy a life.  A woman should not put herself on the market if she does not have time to pursue true love.

 

There’s probably twenty more categories.  I’m focused on the sex part, since I’ve had a few relationships that were an A+ in the other areas and crashed to earth on the sex.  That doesn’t mean I think with the little head, although I believe it has the higher IQ, and in this case, it will be the little head who “nominates” the girl.  Brain and heart will vote, but penis will do the initial screen.  Hope my future woman is happy with that arrangement.  If she’s not, we both dodged a bullet.

 

 

GHOST WATER

Spine is shivering right now.  How much do you believe in the unseen?  I'm in bed last night with a visitor.  She's cute, slender, friendly, laughs a lot, has an Edith Bunker accent, not great in bed -- frankly, pretty stingy, sexually speaking, and therefore failed the audition -- but we're just kind of talking, holding each other, when suddenly the sound of a bucket of water pouring, spilling onto the carpeting, is loud in the room.  At first I thought one of the candles leaked its wax.  That sound is unmistakable, like someone peeing right on the carpeting.  It makes you vault out of bed to find out what it was.  So I do, all naked and silly looking.  Turn on the lights.  Nothing out of place.  No leaking candles.  No water.  It was, apparently, an audible apparition.  A sound hallucination.  I look at Kendall Jackson Girl.  She's stunned -- she heard it too.  What the hell was that?

 

So tonight I'm on the phone with Legally Blonde Attorney Girl.  Sort of an ex-girlfriend.  We were great friends, loved each other, but couldn't get sex to work.  Tab A just didn't fit into Slot B.  Never could explain it.  We fell apart about the time she was talking to me on the phone late one night and her lamp started flashing.  Her ex-boyfriend, a guy she was deeply in love with, was on his way to her house two years ago.  There's a circle, a rotary, off the Parkway near her town.  She gets a call from the State Police.  "Do you know James Whateverhisnameis?"  She says yes.  She goes to the hospital but he's dead on arrival.  Killed from an accident in the circle.  Be careful, she'd say to me, in the circle when you're on your way here.  So her lamp used to flash in her bedroom.  "James, is that you?" she'd ask.  The lamp would flash off, then back on.  But this had never happened to her in her office, just the bedroom, but there she is talking to me and the lamp goes off, then on again.  "Hold on, honey," she says to me.  "James, is that you?"  Lamp goes off, then on.  "Is this something about Michael?"  No answer. 

 

I took it as a warning.  Why would he speak to her with me on the phone if it were encouragement?  No reason.  But warning?  That, he'd do.

 

So tonight, I'm on the phone with her.  She hears pouring water, then splashing onto her carpet.  She turns on all the lights, gets everyone up there.  What spilled?  What leaked?  What happened?  Nothing.  Just ghost water.  I'd told her about my incident, but she wasn't listening, she was doing something else.

SEX ADDICTS ANONYMOUS MEETING

I Attended a Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous Meeting

 

On the urging of a platonic female lesbian pal, I went to my first meeting of Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous.  It's a 12 step program with the same sharing, etc., as AA.  Although they kept talking about sobriety.  I'm not sure what that means in a sex addiction context.

 

Most of the guys were poor married souls in their 50s there for a supposed addiction to internet porn.

 

As I recall marriage, it consisted of the woman getting more controlling, more bitchy, more dried up, more virginal.  Who could blame these guys for checking out some hot babe on the internet taking it up the ass or sucking it till it blows all over her face?  They just want to feel, even if a shadow of the feeling, of the excitement they had with their wives when the relationship was young, back when Jane respected Tarzan and regularly sucked his cock and put her feet behind her ears.  Now there's a hundred more pounds of Jane and those feet couldn't get in the same time zone as her ears, and at the same time she got less sexual, she got more religious and now says things like, "We need Jesus in bed with us when we contemplate making love."

 

Look, these people didn't "contemplate making love" in the beginning.  They fucked.  So what happened to that dirty little whore who was so wild twenty or thirty years before?  She's talking to Jesus about G-spots?  No, she's watching Oprah and spying on her husband's internet history.

 

At least these guys weren't out with a fifty dollar girl with her head below the steering wheel.  Yet they were wracked with guilt for their misdeeds.

 

As for me, I'm the love junky.  The next female who shows up at the candlelit table will be girl #116.  At least three relationships to the winds, each one more drama-filled than the next.  How could I screw up a love affair with a 5'10" Gwenyth Paltrow lookalike with a tiny waist, curves like a racing yacht, mile long legs, platinum blonde hair, bewitching green eyes and D-cup fake boobs?  This woman worshipped me.  There was nothing she wouldn't gladly do for me.  Five minutes didn't pass without her telling me she loved me, and the last time we fought before the big breakup, she raped me to get me out of my mood (and it was so goddamned good).  Why would I let that go?  Idiot that I was, I couldn't commit.  I wanted to go on to that next sexual thrill, find that perfect romance.

 

I was the love junky.  The other people with their porn and their guilt, what the hell did they know about love addiction?

 

I'm going back, though.  Why not?  Maybe the next time Sandra Bullock or Claudia Schiffer glide into my life, I'll be at peace and I can love a woman fully and completely.

 

Until then (ahem!), how YOU doin'?

 

Playboy Author Boy

FEMALE PLAYERS

HOW TO TELL THAT A WOMAN IS A PLAYER

 

With very few exceptions, female players are markedly different from the male version.

 

To understand this, let’s look at the typical male player.  He is characterized by charm, getting rapidly into a girl’s life, and thence into her thong.  The sex is early in the dating, and often very hot, but then something happens.  Our playboy gets suddenly less enthusiastic.  Old players don’t die, they just…fade away.  The reason for this behavior?  Good old-fashioned heterosexual sex drive, the love of the female body and what it does to the male body – and brain chemistry – and a true desire for female companionship.  This is also coupled with a particular male goal – the avoidance of commitment.  The male doesn’t want a relationship like a woman does, because it feels stifling.  To the male, in this phase, a relationship may just be defined as sex and friendship.  A loose alliance of equals where friendship and lust are the common meeting ground.  Usually, the male player is in motion – he is detoxing from a bad marriage.  Or he’s initially afraid of the approach to intimacy.  Or both.  But with each encounter, the woman changes him.  Eventually, the meaningless sex with female friends gets emptier.  The lust boils off faster.  Our playboy friend wants something more permanent.  He’s willing to allow for delayed gratification for a woman who is more real to him, a woman he actually comes to trust.  Finally, the playboy isn’t a player anymore, he’s a relationship-seeker.

 

Now, the female.  Girls usually don’t hunt guys down, then fuck them and move on.  Let’s look at the playgirl’s motives and goals first.  The playgirl wants to avoid commitment, just as the playboy does.  Perhaps for the same reasons.  Toxic marriage, poisonous divorce, horrifying last relationship.  Or parental abuse, realized at age 30 or 40.  Being overwhelmed by kid duty.  Or money woes.  Or she’s still in love with the last guy who dumped her.  Or all at once.  But as with the playboy, the playgirl desires some form of communion with the opposite sex.  As long as it won’t lead to a real relationship.  So our female player forms alliances with unavailable men – married men, or male players, or men who live 500 miles away.  Anything to insulate her from the possibility of a real relationship.  The woman is usually successful, but unlike the male player, female playing usually involves self-deception, a particularly toxic form of dishonesty because it damages the soul of the woman herself in addition to all she touches.  The female actually COMPLAINS about her unavailable boyfriend, or her married cheating partner, or her over-the-horizon love.  Unlike men, who only complain about REAL problems, females bitch about problems that are not real and which do not need solving.  If someone were able to wave a magic wand and bring the female player’s boyfriend out of his marriage, the “relationship” would collapse.  Soon, the playgirl would find another married man to fall in love with.  The female player is only attracted to the unavailable.

 

When the playgirl eventually moves to a place where she can commit her heart, the unavailable men become as unattractive as they deserve to be.  Suddenly, perfectly available male relationship-seekers are everywhere, and they are interested in her.  At that point, falling in love with male marriage material is as easy as falling off a log.

 

So the next time your female friend bitches about how all the good men are taken, shake your head.  She’s not ready.  She’s a player.

 

One playgirl in a thousand plays like men play, and winks at men and immediately asks them if she can blow them in a parking lot.  Men respond to that, but the result is either a very short term fling or a relationship built on sand.  At the first sign of stress, it blows away (no pun intended).

 

So the next time Sally Bee-stung Lips winks at me from Chicago, don’t be surprised when I correctly label her a playgirl.

EXCLUSIVITY

EXCLUSIVITY

 

From RELATIONSHIPS FOR DUMMIES by Dr. Kate M. Wachs, Matchmaker-Psychologist:  (from the chapter “When (And Why) to Talk Exclusivity”): 

 

“Really Loving, Not Just Lusting:  If you haven’t seen your partner in person three to four times per week for three to four months, the powerfully intense feeling you’re experiencing may be lust or infatuation, not love.  Before you make a commitment to your partner, make sure you’re really feeling love for him or her.  Make sure you’ve known one another long enough and seen one another often enough that the feeling is reliable and stable – that you can count on it to be there today and for the foreseeable future…Avoiding The Serial Monogamy Trap:  I sometimes get letters from people who practice serial monogamy – that is, they date one person at a time until the relationship ends, and then they start over with another person.  If they date more than one person at a time, they feel like they’re cheating.  If you start with that idea, though, how can you ever figure out who to be with?  Dating is the process by which you compare the way you think and feel around one person to how you think and feel around someone else.  Only by comparing and noticing the differences can you figure out who is more compatible with you.  When you only date one person at a time and try to take that relationship as far as it can go, it’s easy to doubt the relationship in the future.  How do you know if he or she is the most compatible person for you – or even one of the most?  You may seem compatible, especially during the first three months of infatuation.  However, once you begin to find out your partner’s liabilities – and believe me, everyone has some – you may begin to wonder whether you should continue your exclusive relationship.  If you think you’ve made a mistake and want to stop being exclusive and start dating around, your mate will probably feel rejected and hurt about his or her change in status.  In fact, the two of you will probably break up shortly afterward.  Expecting someone to become exclusive with you without first dating you for a considerable period of time is also illogical.  When someone is willing to do that, look for the possible reasons.  Is he on the rebound?  Is there some financial reward?  Is she trying to escape something that she doesn’t want to deal with?  If you haven’t had time to become special to your partner, why does he or she need to see you as special?  How long as it been since she’s had a good relationship?  Is that neediness getting in the way of his judgment?  Instead of going too fast and then trying to back step, try to move the relationship along in a slower, steadier, more forward-moving direction.  Even if you think someone will turn out to be very compatible, it’s usually best to keep dating others until you’ve dated your partner long enough and often enough to know that the two of you really are compatible and in love.  Table 8-1 summarizes when and when not to consider commitment and exclusivity in your relationship…(from Table 8-1, When to Consider Commitment and Exclusivity:)  When to consider…When you’ve seen your partner in person at least 3 to 4 times a week for at least 3 to 4 months, and you both continue to experience intense pleasurable feelings for each other, when you and your partner are emotionally mature, when you’ve dated enough to know that this person is pretty compatible with you, after you’ve casually dated a number of people and are ready to commit to a longer-term relationship, when you and your partner are in life and relationship stages where commitment is a good idea, when you and your partner share a similar relationship goal, and committing to one another is a step toward that goal, and when you want to have sex only with each other.” 

 

Note – the book acknowledges that people who are dating will appropriately have sex with each other, and it goes on to talk about the timing, sequence and reasons to have sex (as if we need that explained). 

 

The conclusion that I drew is that while it would seem natural to be exclusive in dating, or serially monogamous, the experts caution against it!  This blew my mind, as did the timeline for going exclusive.  I’m used to being pressured on date 2 to go exclusive, but the bible on the subject mandates 3 to 4 months of dating, through the highs and lows, until both parties are absolutely sure. 

 

The amazing thing about all this is that it would tend to make us believe that we are supposed to be “slutting around” and dating and fucking/sucking multiple people.  Life as adults is hectic.  We don’t have a lot of time to colonize new relationships.  The energy it requires to find someone you lust for and can have decent sex with (or perhaps even better, indecent sex with) is tremendous, and there are other demands on our energy.  The serial monogamy concept seems ingrained in the female of the species.  To try to do otherwise would seem to doom a blooming relationship.  Imagine saying, “I’m falling in love with you, can I see you Saturday, because Friday I’m going out with Olivia?”  “Well,” the girl asks, “are you…fucking Olivia???”  “Um,” the guy says, “well, yeah.”  “Out,” the girl screams, “get the fuck out!”

 

What’s on my mind is, could this “extended non-exclusivity policy” be the missing link in our understanding of relationships?  I’ve never focused on a significant woman while maintaining dating with others.  I’ve never wanted to – I’ve always blasted right in, fallen in love, and pursued the girl.  Is that why my relationships fucked up?  I don’t know.  The above prescription would appear to ensure a relationship never gets off the ground, but since I’ve never tried it, I don’t know!

 

But under the assumption there was something to this other than an excuse to be a playboy (not an international one, mind you, just of Mercer County!) the concept made me come up with the idea of “FAO” to replace “girlfriend.”  FAO means first among others.  Sometimes an FAO is so far ahead of the pack that it is not really much of a horserace any more.  But the AO of FAO would appear to so upset a woman that the guy would have no more dates with her.  So the guy has the following options:

 

1.      Maintain nonexclusivity and tell the truth about that.  Result, the FAO candidate, i.e. girlfriend candidate, bolts.  At least in almost every case she does.

2.      Maintain nonexclusivity and lie about it.  Result, a fooled FAO candidate can be romanced without trouble, at least until she finds another woman’s panties in the guy’s bed.  Then the choice is either to confess OR to say he’s a cross-dresser.  I believe that many cross-dressers aren’t really into women’s clothing at all, they’re just trying to maintain that initial lie!

3.      Give up on the idea of seeing multiple girls and give in to the demand for exclusivity.  Some guys like this.  Others feel like they are enslaved.

 

I’ve been thinking of something my ex said to me – she read a book called MOTHERLESS DAUGHTERS and found that children of missing or nonfunctional mothers will have problems in their future relationships because they will tend to establish what is called “instant intimacy,” an all-too-easy closeness between two people that builds a faulty foundation for a relationship.  My ex thought that she fit that description, but then realized that since she lost her mom when she was 27, she didn’t meet the definition, but I did!  My relationship with my mother was always severely troubled.  Patti blamed me for our problems by saying I established this instant intimacy with her and went too fast progressing the relationship and that doomed us.  She watched my breakup with Alexis and commented that the instant intimacy did me in again.  Then Bonnie crashed and burned.  Then Lavinia.  I can almost hear Patti’s voice saying, “is the girl you’re dating now the next victim of your instant intimacy?”

 

A word about heartache -- no one seeks heartache, but it is inseparable from true love.  Don’t believe it?  Then you’re simply wrong, because the best case on this earth is that the heartache is caused by the death of one of the members of the couple.  You don’t get something for nothing.  You want a romance that is worthy of a movie script?  Then you’d better bet – and risk – your very heart and soul. 

 

Does that mean heartache is inevitable?  I believe it is.  Even when love is strong up front and the relationship slowly dies, as it did in my second marriage, the heartbreak was nearly unbearable.  Can true love and heartache ever not inhabit the same reality?  I believe love and heartbreak are made of the same thing, they are different surfaces of the same reality.

 

Does that mean we should avoid true love to keep from having our hearts broken?  Only if you are okay with living an empty life.  Eventually that emptiness will haunt you and will cause you as much heartbreak as if you had been more brave and risked heartbreak.

 

Which means all we can do is invest our hearts as wisely as we can.  Life is not for pussies, it is not for the faint of heart