They're All The Same When You Flip Em Upside Down…

[Capslok SpelczechParticipant 108]

Men, what I write to you now, I write as the product of two years’ ball-galding experience, so it is my sincere hope that some of you find this crazy s~~~ entertaining, if nothing else. But if what I’ve learned in that time empowers at least one of you to pitch the blue pill into the tall weeds with a confident overhand lob, it will all have been worth it.

Do you know the scene at the beginning of “Saving Private Ryan” where an American soldier on Omaha Beach hears a DING and realizes his steel helmet has deflected a Nazi bullet? One of his buddies says, “Lucky son of a bitch!” or something like it. In amazement, he takes his helmet off, inspects the dent left by the bullet…and is struck dead by a follow-up shot to his bare melon.

Well…that was me during the last 24 months, except there was no beach and no Nazis. I also heard a resoundingly loud DING, but I am not taking my f~~~ing helmet off. In fact, good platoon sergeant that I am, I’m shouting to the rest of you to keep your f~~~ing steel pots ON. Get the sand out of your weapons. And follow me.

Like most “this is no s~~~” stories, this one starts the same: “There I was.” That was me. Forty-two, married for ten years, suburban home in Nashville, Tennessee, “good” job. It looked like everything I had worked so hard for was all set; all I had to do was protect and maintain it. I was the sort of employee, neighbor, and husband everybody purportedly wants. Self-starter. Dependable. Could set your watch by him. Predictable. Never embarrasses us. Keeps it up there high and tight.

I had also worn myself down into a rut deep enough to hang posters. My unfailingly practical nature compelled me to have a full physical, because I was overweight, felt like compressed s~~~ most of the time, and hypertension runs in my family. Upon learning that I was, and this is a direct quote, “in the pre-stroke zone,” and that if I didn’t get my health under control, I could expect to shave about 15 years off my life, all the bulls~~~ in my life stopped.

I left work on time, I ran and lifted weights daily, I monitored my diet and cut out a ton of sodium and fat. My wife didn’t join me on this journey. She has worked 60-70 hours a week as long as I have known her, and spends her weekends living her birth family’s lives for them, and nothing changed. We hadn’t had quality sex for the bulk of our marriage. I never felt like much more than “occupant” in the husband spot, but that’s how it is, right? Things just settle down? Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em, something like that? So when I went on my diet and exercise kick, I pretty much did it without opposition. Fine, honey, do what you want to. Mwah.

Then something interesting happened.

I started looking good and feeling good. I got abs again. I got pecs and biceps again. S~~~, I had forgotten I had them in the first place.

I wasn’t really unhappy. In fact, I’d say I was pretty content with my life…just really bored, and like most mid-life crises, fearing that “time was running out to be TRULY happy.” Maybe a little self-righteous, too. I thought that because I worked hard, played by the rules, did “the right thing” in all things…hell, paying my taxes, changing my oil, rotating my tires, cutting my grass, taking out the garbage, fixing the vinyl siding, replacing shingles—basically, all the annoying “have-tos” that Alphas won’t, can’t, or don’t do—didn’t I deserve some sugar every now and then? Especially now that I was in really great shape again and had a little money to spend?

I didn’t really want to leave my marriage. I liked my wife, the same way I would like a good male friend. We were the same age and from the same background and did the same kind of work. Same social and political opinions. Same attitude about money—we were liquid as hell and putting 15 percent of our gross toward retirement. She was practical, reliable, and never given to wild, wailing, affective disorder bats~~~tery. She basically let me come and go and do as I pleased. We had no kids, she didn’t want any, neither did I, and were it not for the complimentary set of female genitalia, you’d have thought I was in a LLP, not a marriage. The brutal fact is, I didn’t see my wife as a sexual object anymore.

So, in my naiveté, I thought I had the answer: just cheat. And with somebody who had as much to lose as I did, so it would be another simple partnership.

I went on AshleyMadison.com and set up a profile under a fake Gmail address and, since I had what you’d call a consumer mindset, I said, “S~~~, I’m just gonna shoot for the moon, here. You don’t get what you don’t ask for.” In the ubiquitous, “what are you looking for” section, I laid out my dream girl wish list—every physical characteristic I had ever wanted in a woman but never got, because I always lost out to Alphas, PUAs…it won’t come as any surprise to most of you that unless you are some kind of big shot, you just do NOT get the high-quality, attractive, sexy women by being trustworthy and reliable or a great guy. So I said what I wanted and meant what I said. And I backed it up with pics of myself and those abs I’d worked so hard for.

For those of you not familiar with it, AshleyMadison.com is, stripped of the bulls~~~, a way to make big money off of the raging desire that folks usually acquire after a few years of marriage… to put D’s into P’s, without anyone’s wife or husband finding out about it. And if there were a giant gold trophy for Galling Human Stupidity, it would be standing tall on my desk as I write this, right next to the whiskey, pills, Ouija board, or whatever in the hell it was that led me to the insane conclusion that anyone besides pants-s~~~ting crazy women would ever inhabit a website that arranges affairs.

Now, I tell you all this in retrospect. Time has a habit of correcting the myopia of the present, once you have all the facts. But as you know, there is a reason why we hunt big trophy bucks during the rut, the mating season. Deer get big by being smart, by analyzing the terrain, by never taking a risk they don’t have to take. They keep their eyes wide f~~~ing open. So when do we hunt them? During the rut, when they have pussy on the brain and start taking stupid chances. It’s also about the same time that possums start getting mashed into greasy pink confetti on the road at night, trying to get at the possum snatch on the other side.

The first two responses I got on AshleyMadison.com were from a pillhead who had lost her nursing license for testing positive for cocaine (thank you, discoverable public records) and from a sweet, well-spoken double amputee who “missed kissing.” The ex-nurse deluged me with repeated angry emails (“f~~~er,” “asshole”) when I wished her luck but said I didn’t think we were a good fit. The amputee was actually pretty nice, and not unattractive, but she said her husband was an OTR trucker and I would have to come over to her house if we were going to make this thing happen. The logistical aspects of f~~~ing a woman with missing legs actually did less to discourage me than the possibility of getting beaten to death or shot by a cuckolded trucker whose nerves were already worn to a fine edge by ten hours in I-65/24/40 traffic. So, I passed on the first two candidates. It’s interesting to note how delusional women can be, as neither of them bore even an opaque resemblance to the woman I described as my ideal.

I seemed to have really hit the jackpot on the third response. She was beautiful, almost ten years younger than me, slim, dark, and embodied every characteristic that I listed in my profile. She was chatty, bright, just the right amount of flirtatious without coming off slutty, enthusiastic without appearing desperate. In fact, she wrote, “I have plenty of guys interested in me, but they all know my husband,” so I thought that sounded prudent. She had met her husband at 16 and he had been a successful musician, touring with a famous, big deal hipster rock band that you’d recognize if I named them. She had married at 20, lived the rock and roll wife lifestyle and seen the world, met all kinds of celebrities, even becoming friends with another local big deal rocker’s wife and hanging out with their entourage, being in their videos. But in the course of it all, she said, her husband had become a sloppy drunk, and he craved the limelight more than f~~~ing his pretty wife. She had caught him in affairs.

Parenthetically, I should add that at first, I thought this was typical, “Nashville Name Dropper” bulls~~~. You can’t live in this f~~~ing city without hearing somebody play “Six Degrees of Vince Gill” at least once before lunch every day, and the guy who changes the urinal mints in the s~~~ter at Chipotle is likely to tell you that he’s also the set dresser on the TV show, “Nashville,” or that Keith Urban calls him up for PBR and edamame after work. Suffice it to say that a sober check of the facts (I’m a PI) showed, surprisingly, that she was telling the truth about all of it. Even more intriguing.

So she was neglected, and chose to stay in the marriage for the sake of her kids, but she still needed a man’s touch. After a few days and a few long emails in which we listed our respective bottom lines & qualities up front (i.e., nothing heavy, just two married folks helping each other out), we met for a drink to size each other up in person. I showed up early and watched the hotel bar in which we were to meet from the balcony, just in case the pictures she’d sent weren’t accurate (if I ever did this again, which I won’t, I’d ask women to send me a goddamn picture of themselves holding today’s newspaper).

But she really was beautiful, Mary Anne from “Gilligan’s Island” kind of beautiful. I later learned (which I thought was probably more fabricated bulls~~~, but it turned out to also be true), she had been a child model (saw the old commercials she was in on YouTube). She spoke two languages and her grandmother had been a famous songwriter (true, true).

And once again, I’m going to stop parenthetically to add that, just because something is true, it doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s a good thing.

Over drinks, after listening to her talk about her life and times with these music industry/creative class of people, I was equal parts sickened and equal parts convinced that I was on to JUST the right woman for the purpose I had in mind. When the time came to part, I said something that probably sounded like, “So, do you wanna?” and she said something like, “Sure do!” and we were off. I got us a nice hotel room for three days later and took that day off of work.

So, everybody here’s probably done his share of face-painting & knows how these things usually go, so I’m not going to grind on about what happened when the door clicked behind us, but it was mighty damned nice, I’ll say—in fact, even allowing for the long drought I had endured, it was absolutely, emphatically the greatest sex I have ever had, the kind I had been denied my entire life. She was slim, petite, energetic, and enthusiastic—we had one hell of an afternoon.

And with that, we were off. She worked as an executive for a local IT company (her husband’s drinking had gotten him bounced from his nationally famous gig, so she was the breadwinner for the last few years of their marriage), but she could leave work whenever she wanted. I started flex scheduling my work and before I knew it, I was checking into Nashville hotels with her a couple of times a week, getting f~~~ed dumb by a woman with a cooter hot enough to fry fish in. I was having the time of my life. I went from feeling totally invisible to feeling magnificently alive. And as soon as the initial euphoria started to subside to a tolerably blissful level, I realized I was routinely enjoying my life for the first time in years. We went on trips together, spent some weekends together. Food tasted better, I slept well, I was funny and fun to be around at work. And all that was missing was putting a few D’s in some P’s. I had, I thought, discovered the secret. Life was good.

Until she left her husband.

Guys, you know, almost everything has been found out, but some things have been forgotten. I always knew—I mean, I knew it, the same way I know the sun rises in the east, and a guy named Todd is always going to be an asshole—that women just CAN’T f~~~ a man for very long unless it becomes exclusive, but I FORGOT about this fact, happy as I was with my “E” Ticket access to Pound Town. And when an equation changes from two married people having an affair to a married man having an affair with a soon-to-be divorced woman, she is just NOT going to be happy anymore with knocking one off with him every week, even if it’s in the nicest hotel on the f~~~ing planet.

The plates began to shift beneath my feet with comments from her like:

· “So how long can we ignore the white elephant in the room?”

· “This is how it should be. We both deserve to feel this way.”

· “You deserve this. You deserve me.”

· “I was made for you. You conjured me out of your dreams.”

Okay, now…s~~~, I get it. Taken one at a time, in the cold hard light of day, every one of those comments sounds bugf~~~ crazy, and any man with one eyeball and half a brain should run like hell. But if you can, consider that by this point, I was getting laid within an inch of my life almost daily by a woman who would do anything I asked, who was waxed, coiffed, manicured, and toned to perfection, and was the walking, talking amalgam of every teenaged unrequited crush I’d ever had. Having your dream girl yank your joint on demand will really put the zap on your ability to make clear decisions.

The situation hobbled on like this for about a month, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I was losing my f~~~ing mind—I mean, I wound up going to see a counselor about it, even though I only met with the guy twice. I could see that I wasn’t crazy—I thought I just had a hell of a choice on my hands. I had a sane, stable, predictable life, and a proven, reliable spouse. But I just wasn’t excited by her. My dream woman had walked into my life. Let me underscore that. Imagine a composite of every hot cheerleader, centerfold, and girl next door that you’ve ever watched walking away with an Alpha, and felt that “not for you” despair that we’ve all felt. Ok, got it? NOW, imagine THAT woman f~~~ing you cross-eyed for seven months without letup and swearing it would be that way forever. Meeting you at the door in her schoolgirl skirt & 7 inch heels. Posing nude for you in your own private photo shoot on your birthday. Doing everything you’ve ever thought about doing in bed, whenever you want. All you have to do is leave your wife and come be with her. She started saying things like, “I can’t keep building that wall back up every time I have to say goodbye to you. It hurts too much to have to not love you out in the open.”

Gonna go back to “Saving Private Ryan” for a minute. You know who lived on that beach? The ones who got up and did something—anything, even if they weren’t sure it was right. The guys who stayed still or tried to take cover behind an iron hedgehog just got mowed down by the bushel. I had to move if I was going to survive.

So, at 43 years of age, I got up and did something, anything. I told my mystified wife that I couldn’t stay in the house with her anymore. I felt angry and unhappy and that I was no longer in control of my life. I said I just felt like an occupant in our life together, that I was an interchangeable commodity, like a fuse in a fuse box, something of utility. She said she knew I wasn’t happy and that she didn’t blame me. There were no tears; she is very proud and never wants to be pitied—she is, as I’ve said, kind of like a guy that way. It’s why I picked her in the first place, ironically.

I moved into one of those human filing cabinets that call themselves “luxury apartment communities” near work, but bachelorhood was nothing new. I have been in it now for a year. I had lived on my own as an adult for 15 years prior to marriage, so there was no novelty in cooking my own meals or watching what I wanted on TV. That wasn’t why I moved out. I was hoping—praying, actually—that I would see the clear path, to either stay in my marriage or to risk it on my girlfriend, who, from what I could see, was a centerfold made real, a gift from God.

This, my friends, is when the fog began to clear away.

Boiled down to bullet points, this is what I slowly realized while separated and in a full time relationship with my girlfriend, not necessarily in this order:

· “Affair love” cannot compete with “everyday s~~~ tests.” Affair love is based upon the setting being ideal, in a moment of extremely high emotional excitement.

· Even the most mind-blowing sex starts to lose its power over you after about 2-3 years.

· In the wake of its passing, real life begins to settle back in. This includes: kids that aren’t mine (she has two), all the kids’ problems (one of them is dumb as a turnip, the other is a budding homosexual), alimony (she actually had to pay her ex-husband, because when his career went in the s~~~ter, her income was supporting them all), and her f~~~in’ birth family, who likes to do s~~~ like karaoke.

· For the price of great sex, I’m being asked to further assimilate into her world, her city, and her family. And she wants another child—with me—to legitimize our couplehood. And she wants to be married.

· This was not, as she said when we first met, “her first rodeo.” She told me that she flew to Puerto Rico to have an affair with a man a little older than me when she was 28. She may or may not have had an affair with a guy at her work. Shortly before she met me, she was also considering taking one of her husband’s bandmates up on his proposition that he be her f~~~ buddy. Her kids had play dates with this man’s kids, while his wife was present. She smiled and hugged that woman on a damn near daily basis, all the while knowing that she was considering f~~~ing her husband. Her bottomless capacity for duplicity just made my skin crawl.

· She’s very pretty and she knows it. There’s an unacceptable level of “guy friends” in her life who I know are just orbiters, but she maintains it isn’t so—it’s just my paranoia.

· She normalizes outrageous events from her younger days (e.g. losing virginity at 14, clit piercing at 17, anal sex, lesbian sex, and cocaine use) as, “not that big a deal because probably lots of people have tried those things.”

· She smokes marijuana 3-4 times a week to “help her relax” and it’s nothing for her to down 3 glasses of wine or whiskey along with it. I recall once when she had to fire up the pipe & “relax” because her daughter had a strep throat.

· About a month ago, she called me her ex-husband’s name in bed, and tried to wallpaper it over by saying it was just because she “was not being in the moment” with me.

Anyone still reading at this point is probably screaming at his computer, “Next that worthless bitch!” Well, I did. And I got all the predictable promises from her to change, and the tears, and the threats. You’ll never find anyone better than me, you blew it, etc. etc. etc.

Honestly, I didn’t like the deceptive, compartmentalized person I had become in these two years. I wasn’t happy in my marriage, but regardless of anyone’s personal feelings about it, the right thing for me would have been to end the marriage on its own demerits BEFORE getting involved with my girlfriend.

Here’s the real kicker: it was no one’s responsibility to “make” me happy. I wasn’t really happy in either situation.

Wherever you go, you take yourself with you. If you’re not happy with yourself as you are, right here, you probably won’t be measurably happier over there—wherever that might be. I have been seeking validation from women for nearly 30 years, and when the choice came down to two different women, damn near polar opposites of each other, I realized that I was just trading a less than perfect situation and its attendant responsibilities (my marriage) for a much worse situation and ITS attendant responsibilities (my girlfriend)—a pattern that has been in place for my whole life.

So as I sit here tonight, typing this to you all in my 840 square foot apartment, one day before the new year, and looking ahead to my 45th wipe of the calendar, it is with a consequential amount of ambiguity. I know I made the right choice for me, but I still wobble sometimes. In a situation with two distinct and less-than-perfect paths, I chose neither. I can’t bulls~~~ you; I miss the sex and the companionship from my girlfriend—by Alpha standards, she’s a keeper. But I’d spend the rest of my days watching the orbiters off of her, and constantly checking up on her, and I’d never quite shed the disgust I had with her, and with myself—that we were both capable of frightful compartmentalization, and that we thought an acceptable approach to marital unhappiness was to start an illicit affair rather than to just deal conclusively with our marriages, even if it was only to discern that the marriages were not fixable.

And I miss the practicality and the functional utility of my marriage. But there were never any schoolgirl costumes or stripper heels, just a polite, mutually beneficial financial partnership.

Depending upon how you define it, I love both women. But not for what they really are—mostly just for how they make me feel when I’m with them. Factually, what they each really are…well, it either bores or disgusts me. Which means I’M going to have to do plenty of deprogramming about my own “happy.”

So, goddammit, I just chose neither path. Whatever I do now, it will be because I choose to do it and not because I am shouldering “manly responsibilities” in some kind of halfass, lopsided “trade” for sex OR security.

This, I think, is why women are, as a species, so miserable. Seeking definition from without rather than within is a built-in recipe for lifelong disappointment—because we are all born with a covetous nature. We are always going to see someone that has something better, faster, sexier, or nicer than what we have. I know I did. For decades, I looked longingly at the prettiest women, with the nicest bodies, and the wittiest minds, and I just felt that s~~~ty, “not for me” thing that I wrote about earlier. And I could have that woman now, if I wanted. Is it a gift? Is God trying to tell me to lighten up and forgive her past behavior and accept that if you want a “fast” woman, you gotta have a thicker skin? Doesn’t matter. I don’t respect or trust her, and even as stone-throwy-in-a-glass-house as that sounds, I just don’t want to spend even one more day with the stain of that suspicion on my mind.

So thanks for hanging in there and reading my story. There’s no big payoff at the end of this rather lengthy screed, probably more ambiguity than anything, but I’m still free, wiser for the experience, and upon some things, all of us men may rest validated and assured:

· Your value goes up when you don’t play the game, which is totally defined by HER rules. Opt out—it’s taxation without representation, and we fought a war over that s~~~.

· It is each of our responsibility to define his OWN happiness. We come into this world alone, and nobody is responsible for our happiness but US.

· You can’t MAKE anyone else happy. If she whines and kicks her feet for a ring or a house or a baby to “make her happy,” do NOT give in. Tell her to go get happy first and maybe then you’ll talk.

· You don’t show “what a man you are” by raising some Alpha’s kids after he’s split. You just firewall the woman from the fallout of her own stupidity, thus perpetuating the f~~~ed up cycle for another generation.

· Meet unacceptable behavior in women with the one word she’s likely never heard, since she was a little girl: “No.”

"Higgins: Magnum, feed the lads, would you? There are steaks in the freezer. [Magnum makes an excited face] Very well, you can have one too."

[JohnnyWayneParticipant 70]

Even guys as smart as you are, as rational as you are, as seemingly grounded as you are, need to be re-reminded about how life works from time to time. Even though we know many of these things intellectually we need to remind ourselves, or be reminded by others to keep it fresh and relevant. This keeps us well grounded. This post was exceptionally well written, and I really did need to be reminded of the wisdom here. Thanks! Also from Nashville.

[StargazerParticipant 12505]

Damn, dude… I’d give you two thumbs up for that if I could… just for the work it took to write it out, much less the introspection required to think it through and come to those conclusions.

Good on you for having your dream girl. Most men will never experience that in their lives and that’s something they can never take away from you. I’d say you made the right choice, though… now all you need is some good friends who can give you the camaraderie and enjoyment that your ex did and some hot young girls who can give you some of the excitement that the mistress did… plus the will and ability to keep it all in balance so that you don’t lose yourself in either of them like all of us have done at some point in our lives.

Happy new year and here’s looking forward to another trip around the sun.

[SamMGTOWParticipant 95]

Thank you for taking the time to put your story into words, and welcome. The grass is always greener on the other side friend. The trick is to keep tending to your own grass so much that you aren’t left with the spare time necessary to envy your neighbours grass. You’re absolutely right, nobody can make your happy and it is not your job to make anyone else happy. Anyone that disagrees with you can be sorted out with a very firm NO. Playing the hero by raising some other Alphas kids is exactly what society expects of you. Here is some news you already know: Society could not give a horses s~~~ about your well being. Women like having Alphas to f~~~ and betas to provide for them. Don’t play the game that is rigged against you, and again welcome.

[DazzleParticipant 67]

Wow Cap, that’s the longest intro I’ve ever read ! But one of the most entertaining and intelligent. Welcome to the site my friend…………………….

PS. Would you mind sending me that hot chicks phone number. LOL !

[Capslok SpelczechParticipant 108]

Thanks to everyone who has extended a welcome, and thanks for your insights. For me, the best way to assign order and reason to situations is to write it all down. So, I really appreciate you taking time out to read what was admittedly, but necessarily, one long sonofabitchin’ intro. The more you do it, the easier it becomes to reject the predefined paths in situations and find your own separate path. “No” is like a muscle that can be exercised and strengthened. Sometimes the look of total astonishment on a woman’s face alone is worth it.

"Higgins: Magnum, feed the lads, would you? There are steaks in the freezer. [Magnum makes an excited face] Very well, you can have one too."

[…Spectator 1165]

Capslock! Cool story bro. Thankfully, I never have had to join on online dating site. I’m over 50 and my last girlfriend was young enough to make our relationship socially unacceptable. Goddam, that was some good eating. But I digress….anyway once men  are thinking logically and start to be free of the testosterone pressure, the good ones figure it out which it appears you have done.

I have an ex living in Nashville for the past 20 years who has kept me aware of the scene going on down there. Our relationship is mostly about me helping her to stratagize using her fading looks and vagina to get someone else to pay her bills and so far I have been successful in getting that done. She means well and isn’t very bright, so you can imagine what kind of unbelievably stupid s~~~ she has gotten herself into in that crazy city. Seems to me that you miss both of them in certain ways and for different reasons. Just remember this: happiness is a temporary state. While it was good while it lasted, now you are where you are man. The only way to explore more and do more is to spend more. It’s all about cash in the end my friend.

[rainydaykidParticipant 42]

It is our responsibility to define our own happiness. That one line is really true. After my ex girlfriend and I broke up, I became a hardcore pussy beggar for about a year. I slowly came out of it once I realized this once again, and am happier now for it. I define who I am as a person, no one else.

 

Thanks for the intro, I think I’ve been inspired to write my own.

[GoneGaltParticipant 361]

Capslok Spelczech: A hard tale to read because it was all true. But what you’ve said is exactly what I realized back in 1998, after I dumped my fiance for cheating: the only person responsible for my happiness is me, no one else. Otherwise you’ll be living your life at the whims of others, whose happiness ‘target’ changes whenever they move it, who themselves are unhappy because they don’t understand themselves enough to know what makes them happy. Naturally there are the exceptions like harpies who most fully enjoy their lives by bringing misery to others. And because they don’t know what will make them happy they continue to press you to do different things in an attempt to feel more alive, but nothing ever does.

Hating females is not for me, simply understanding why they do what they do and how to integrate that knowledge into my life has been invaluable, and I’ve literally spent the last 2 days (before the NFL games and some tequila!) doing nothing but reading entire topics and all of the replies trying to see how others have fared and whether my intuitive reaction of simply bowing out of the ‘game’ in 1998 was a good choice. I find that I was wrong – it was a GREAT choice because I dumped a lunatic before she could clean me out (I have no debt, retired in 2003 and own my own home). Once I got over the pain I never looked back in remorse or regret, it was a part of my life but one I just don’t really think about any longer. At my age (57) I would be certifiably insane to get married, knowing about the court system’s relentless treatment of men, knowing she could take away the security of the rest of my life on a whim.

So I’d like to take the time to thank you for writing your story and especially commend you on the great quality of your writing – it was if I’d picked up a novel, it was that well written. I cannot believe it took me so long to figure out what your punny userid referred to: Cap Lock Spell Check! I’m getting senile in my old age! Good luck to you and welcome!

I’ll close with this rather long-winded quote about happiness from Ayn Rands’ “Anthem”:

“And my happiness needs no higher aim to vindicate it. My happiness is not the means to any end. It is the end. It is its own goal. It is its own purpose…

I am a man. this miracle of me is mine to own and keep, and mine to guard, and mine to use, and mine to kneel before!

I do not surrender my treasures, nor do I share them. The fortune of my spirit is not to be blown into coins of brass and flung to the winds as alms for the poor of the spirit. I guard my treasures: my thought, my will, my freedom. And the greatest of these is freedom.

I owe nothing to my brothers, nor do I gather debts from them. I ask none to live for me, nor do I live for any others. I covet no man’s soul, nor is my soul theirs to covet.

I am neither foe nor friend to my brothers, but such as each of them shall deserve of me. And to earn my love, my brothers must do more than to have been born. I do not grand my love without reason, nor to any chance passer-by who may wish to claim it. I honor men with my love. But honor is a thing to be earned.

I shall choose my friends among men, but neither slaves nor masters. And I shall choose only such as please me, and them I shall love and respect, but neither command nor obey. And we shall join our hands when we wish, or walk alone when we so desire. For in the temple of his spirit, each man is alone. Let each man keep his temple untouched and undefiled. Then let him join hands with others if he wishes, but only beyond his holy threshold.”

 

[Deus Ex MachinaParticipant 1068]

Absolutely incredible!

 

You summed up the Emotion, lust, and desire during an Affair in a perfect way!. Some of My buddies have had similar experiences such as yours and it’s funny when they all say the same thing as far as the Sex, and when the Female finally gets a divorce the “Spark” is no longer there as well as reality sets in other factors that come into play that never were an issue before begin to come to fruition.

 

Ultimately I see Her setting up a huge trap, She made sure the Sex was good, made sure everything felt like it was “Right”.

However, You did the right thing by leaving Her. Because a Woman like that, who had a history with Weed, cocaine, “Having a lot of Male friends” is surely someone who won’t be faithful in the next Marriage. In the true words of Keymaster: “if She cheated WITH you, She’ll cheat ON You”. You can take that to the bank any day of the week.

 

Thank you for sharing that amazing story!, and welcome to MGTOW!.

"If You have the Tooth of a Whale, You must have the Whale's Jaw to hold it". (i.e. One Must have the right qualifications for leadership) -Hawaiian Proverb

[KeymasterKeymaster]

@Capslok Spectacular way to make an entrance. You were MGHOW of the Day after you left this for us. Truly epic. Made it sticky. Im often floored by the way other MGTOW read it all and take it in. This makes replies follow later than expected, so for anyone who left a hello to everyone over the holidays, thanks very much, and welcome to MGTOW. ( So behind in greeting everyone! )

Clever handle too.

If you keep doing what you've always done... you're gonna keep getting what you always got.

[Capslok SpelczechParticipant 108]

GoneGalt – Thanks for the powerful Rand quote. I’m a few years younger than you are, so I especially appreciate your experienced point of view. When I met my mistress, I thought to myself, “Hell, yes – my 25-year-old self would be mighty impressed!” But as time passed, I realized that 25-year-old kid is long gone dead & never coming back, so his wants are totally inconsequential to me today. I began to wonder instead, “What will my 75 year old self likely need?” The capacity to distinguish between want and need is what separates the men from the boys, at least in my book. I’m no misogynist, but until the odds are with me, I’m always doubling down. The hell of it is, I really love women – but I refuse, absolutely refuse to live my life by anyone’s agenda but my own, which is what it always devolves into with beautiful women. Occasional access to a vagina does not carry a value even remotely close to the priceless remaining years of my life or my freedom to spend them as I see fit. Thanks again for your kind words of encouragement.

"Higgins: Magnum, feed the lads, would you? There are steaks in the freezer. [Magnum makes an excited face] Very well, you can have one too."

[Author]

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