So last night I was chilling at home with the usual bottled vodka shots and the 18oz steel reserve chaser. Another typical Friday night. No plans. Don’t want to “go out” and pretend to be “that guy.”

Then this chick liked one of my pictures on Match. Above average looking gal, 32 years old, 5’7, roughly 125lbs, pretty. So I nonchalantly email her and immediately transition the connection away from cyberspace. I do that because internet dating by nature is a toxic environment. People typically feel lonely after a relationship and just want to be desired again. Easy dopamine fix when somebody swipes right or shows any interest. That foundation right there coupled with the disproportionate ratio of men to women on those sites is a breeding ground for desperation. Sometimes I get desperate, true, but I’d like to keep all potential dating avenues open. You just never fucking know if that special ladyfish decides to pass through the mangroves of my heart LOL.

The frank reality is that I fell off the dating wagon, so to speak, and cracked my head wide open. However, I’m old enough to understand that you can’t just ruminate the nature of the rut; you need to wake the fuck up lest you perpetuate that very rut. Last thing you want to do is stop and think about the nature of your downfall. It’s done. Take notes. Move the fuck on. Same applies to rejection.

The other night I was reminiscing my old sex tapes from 6-10 years ago. Although I was under the influence of 15 various prescription drugs back then, I had something special churning inside me. I did not give a fuck about anything. I had this resolve and freedom with who and what I was. I manhandled women. Had that magic touch. Calm as a dolphin. Said what I wanted. Absolutely no fear. Even when I said the most inappropriate, wrong things, within milliseconds made note of the lesson then moved the fuck on. All that shit your bruised ego does, causing you to dwell on what you did wrong, is nothing more than an inhibitor against taking action. I learned something from myself by revisiting those tapes: how to create real man-made confidence. Lol back then though I was in a state of blind confidence (3 times as much body fat. Ugly glasses. Hairy, smegma-lava-sticky balls because I thought it funny).

There’s no such thing as “false” confidence, because if it were inherently false the confidence wouldn’t be able to coexist. During sex tape era, I simply was who I said I was; simply did what I said I was going to do. I made things happen. I repeatedly took initiative. I summoned the muthafuckin’ hunter within.

… so last night I talked to that decent looking chick from Match on the phone. She wouldn’t let me let her go. We ended up in a 2 hour conversation. She opened up to me like I was a licensed therapist. Her story is that she works for regions bank about 35 minutes away. Married some douchebag from Uzbekistan and just got divorced last April after six years. She was used for citizenship, plain and simple. Then she told me she felt stupid for a year while the divorce was pending because she mindlessly agreed to it; not for her own sake, but to appease his disapproving Muslim parents. By giving him a divorce and doing exactly what he wanted, they were only going to build a stronger, approving relationship LOL. Some people just get terribly sucked in and can’t turn back. You know the conclusion to her story? Dude took a new bride from Uzbekistan handpicked by his parents, and is now in the process of moving his entire family to the United States via that new, deceptively-attained citizenship. Then to top it off, earlier this year she gave her sick sister one of her kidneys and now the sister won’t even talk to her. Sad story, bro. Somebody being used to that extent.

Let’s not forget the underlying point here: that she bonded with me on the phone because I projected trustworthiness. She opened up to me in a timely manner, which is considered a win in my book.

I dare not even attempt to write a detailed story of what went down last night. The blind, confident me 10, even 15 years ago, would be able to break it down to you in such a classic, gone-viral thread, but I’m not going to even pretend I’m on that level anymore.

So long story short- I didn’t want to go out because it was already late and I felt bad having her drive here when she has to wake up early for work the next day. However, she insisted and told me she was already on her way. So I said fuck it, especially if she’s willing to put forth that effort. 35 minutes later she picked me up at my house. Definitely top-shelf pussy. Had the blonde highlights. Pretty. Not a 9 or a 10, because she has a big nose, but a solid 8.

Went downtown. I was the only one drinking. Sexy girl. Rich, curvaceous ass. Strong personality. An upbeat realist/conversationalist. Just an overall person of value. We got home to my parking lot at midnight. Sat in her car for ten minutes making out. She struggled wondering if I really liked her because I kept bringing up the time. I simply felt guilty that she had to work the next morning as if I were depleting her next day’s energybank. I kept calling her bluff. I got to the point of Fuck It Then. You won’t say you have to go home, yet you keep mentioning you gotta get up at 6. It’s 2am now and we’re cuddling on the couch. I’m definitely getting mixed signals about fucking. Mixed signals about going to work soon. Then 180 clearcut signals of “what ever you want me to do. I can go home because you don’t want me here or I can stay it’s up to you,” with an implied still gotta go to work in a few hours.

So straightup I bring her to my bed. I’m just a shell of my former situationally-aware, high IQ self. I never understood. Never caught what was going on with her. Psychologically she really wanted to fuck me, but she’s only ever been with two dudes, both super long-term relationships. Once the bulb lit, I told her we’re not doing this tonight. She almost cried. Then jumped my bones, lustfully gnawing my neck. I woke up an hour later in her arms. She’s telling me to go to sleep; that she’s going to work. She’s been texting me all day. I’m tired as fuck, honestly. She clearly had that surge of hormones and extra energy where sleep doesn’t matter, that limerence- thus a win in my book. The next week she could thank me for her elevated NGF levels. Maybe we’ll go to the moon. Don’t think she’s ever been. I know a good bar there.

Plan to give her a real shot and actually date her a few weeks before pulling away LOL

See where it goes from there