Thailand monogami

For this reason, logging is completely banned in Thailand. 6. One-tenth of the entire population of Thailand lives in Bangkok. It is the capital of this great nation, and, of course, the largest city. Bangkok is the largest city in Thailand. Photo by Evo Flash. 7. Thailand loves its King, and shows great respect for the monarchy. Kemudian di awal abad ke-20, ada seruan untuk menghapuskan poligami dengan monogami. Perdebatan ini berlangsung selama beberapa dekade. Raja Vajiravudh (Rama VI) yang menjabat sejak 1910-1925, telah menulis catatan panjang tentang hal ini pada 1913. Gelaran itu sudah satu abad tidak digunakan setelah raja Thailand yang baru menerima monogami. Dia adalah Gundik Diraja kedua dalam sejarah Thailand. Pelantikannya dibuat selepas Raja Thailand itu berkahwin dengan seorang bekas atendan dan juga timbalan ketua pasukan pengawal peribadi Raja Thailand iaitu Puan Suthida Tidjai, 41, dan turut ... Lupakan Poligami, Pria Asal Thailand Ini Punya 120 Istri di Seluruh Penjuru Negeri!.Indonesia belakangan ini sedang sering meributkan perkara kasus-kasus poligami dan dampaknya pada kehidupan rumah tangga maupun bermasyarakat. Pasalnya, meski poligami merupakan sesuatu yang legal di Indonesia, namun di masyarakat, poligami masih menjadi sebuah momok. – Undang-undang Thailand, sumber dari Samuiforsale. Yang menariknya, dalam adat Thailand ni, ... Ia disebabkan banyak perbahasan yang nak menggantikan poligami dengan monogami berikutan kekeliruan status anak daripada isteri yang berlainan. Dan perkahwinan takkan diiktiraf kalau ianya tak didaftarkan. Raja Thailand Maha Vajiralongkorn (kiri) bersama Jenderal Sineenat Wongvajirapakdi. Foto: REUTERS. ... Kemudian di awal abad ke-20, ada seruan untuk menghapuskan poligami dengan monogami. Perdebatan ini berlangsung selama beberapa dekade. Raja Vajiravudh (Rama VI) yang menjabat sejak 1910-1925, telah menulis catatan panjang tentang hal ini pada ... There were calls from within Thailand to replace polygamy with monogamy and the debates lasted for decades. King Vajiravudh wrote a long memo on the subject in 1913. Curiously, the key issue being debated was the status of men’s children from different wives as there were those who proposed that the children of any of the three categories of ... Indeed, Thailand is known as being the Land of Smiles! Smiles don’t always show happiness, though, and are sometimes used as a mask. That’s not to detract from the fact that many Thai people are, in fact, kind, welcoming, hospitable, and lovely, but to show that a smile may not be quite what you think it is. Jika menengok negara Asia Tenggara lainnya, Thailand berada di posisi pertama dengan jumlah kasus perselingkuhan sebanyak 50 persen. Kasus di Singapore dan Taiwan berjumlah 30 persen, dan Malaysia mendapat jumlah terkecil, yakni 20 persen. Seorang teman bercerita kepadaku. Temannya lagi, perempuan cantik yang telah berumur, selalul bertanya 'mengapa manusia harus menikah?' Yang lebih jauh lagi, mengapa pula harus monogami? Menurutnya, monogami adalah sebuah pengingkaran manusia terhadap dirinya sendiri.Alkisah ada seorang sepasang suami isteri yang telah menikah puluhan tahun.Selama itu pula mereka dianggap sebagai pasangan yang ...

I am 100% sure I am polyamorous

2020.06.23 01:46 explorereason2 I am 100% sure I am polyamorous

Let me explain.
I (25M) have had a few opportunities to develop a serious relationship with single women but the monogamous relationship that was offered to me doesn't sit well with me.
I never feel comfortable with just closing myself off to affection with someone new nor do I feel comfortable closing off another woman's need for affection in whatever capacity it comes.
I am not afraid of commitment. I am afraid of turning down a connection because of the ascribed idea of monogamy.
I personally think it's unhealthy to be exclusive because it forces you to pretend to not be attracted to someone else and feel ashamed of it.
When I was in a relationship with a woman in Jamaica, we never spoke of being exclusive but we were really happy and are still friends to this day.
When a friend of mine in Thailand told me she wanted to be exclusive, I told her I wanted us to be open which she didn't want except solely on her terms.
It was then, in my honesty with this woman in front of me who wanted exclusivity, I realised a mature open relationship is healthy for me and the people around me.
I don't see polyamory as just sex with multiple partners. I see it as a unique connection with multiple people.
I don't believe a single woman or man can give you everything you need in a single body. I think it's unfair to ask your partner or your partner to ask you to be a great listener, a phenomenal sexual deviant, a great communicator, adventurous, a party-goer, and super chill all at the same time.
I think it's more healthy to embrace how one person enriches your life while embracing how another person enriches your life without seeking perfection.
I see myself in a polyamorous relationship where my partner and I communicate with one another about the people we are attracted to, discuss how to integrate a person into our relationship and if we want to engage in sexual relations with someone we find attractive, talk about it so we are mutually happy, accepting and supportive of one another.
That way, we grow physically, spiritually, and mentally without any shame.
TLDR: I am definitely sure I am polyamorous because I feel liberated and free which allows me and my future partner to not be shackled and instead, form deeper connections with other people.
submitted by explorereason2 to nonmonogamy [link] [comments]


2020.06.23 01:37 explorereason2 I am 100% sure I am polyamorous

Let me explain.
I (25M) have had a few opportunities to develop a serious relationship with single women but the monogamous relationship that was offered to me doesn't sit well with me.
I never feel comfortable with just closing myself off to affection with someone new nor do I feel comfortable closing off another woman's need for affection in whatever capacity it comes.
I am not afraid of commitment. I am afraid of turning down a connection because of the ascribed idea of monogamy.
I personally think it's unhealthy to be exclusive because it forces you to pretend to not be attracted to someone else and feel ashamed of it.
When I was in a relationship with a woman in Jamaica, we never spoke of being exclusive but we were really happy and are still friends to this day.
When a friend of mine in Thailand told me she wanted to be exclusive, I told her I wanted us to be open which she didn't want except solely on her terms.
It was then, in my honesty with this woman in front of me who wanted exclusivity, I realised a mature open relationship is healthy for me and the people around me.
I don't see polyamory as just sex with multiple partners which is what it can look like from the outside but instead, I see it as a unique connection with multiple people.
I don't believe a single woman or man can give you everything you need in a single body. I think it's unfair to ask your partner or your partner to ask you to be a great listener, a phenomenal sexual deviant, a great communicator, adventurous, a party-goer, and super chill all at the same time.
I think it's more healthy to embrace how one person enriches your life while embracing how another person enriches your life without seeking perfection.
I see myself in a polyamorous relationship where my partner and I communicate with one another about the people we are attracted to, discuss how to integrate a person into our relationship and if we want to engage in sexual relations with someone we find attractive, talk about it so we are mutually happy, accepting and supportive of one another.
That way, we grow physically, spiritually, and mentally without any shame.
TLDR: I am definitely sure I am polyamorous because I feel liberated and free which allows me and my future partner to not be shackled and instead, form deeper connections with other people.
submitted by explorereason2 to polyamory [link] [comments]


2020.05.18 06:48 Nest_Pas_Un_Probleme I'm still on friendly terms with the ex girlfriend who psychologically fucked me up.

A few years ago, I dated my one-time roommate at the time who, for a brief moment, I thought was the woman of my dreams. Everything was typically perfect for the first couple of months; we had a strong connection, the sex was fantastic (except for the fact that she always cried after sex, but then again she said it was from the rush of emotions, plus she cried at the drop of a hat), and our goals in life were perfectly matched. I trusted her enough to be vulnerable with some extremely fucked up shit I've lived through, but then she slowly started getting distant afterwards. From what I understood, she was afraid of commitment, and frankly from my experience with dating, so was I. But I was willing to overcome my fear of commitment instead of pulling the plug, I fell for the sunk cost fallacy (honestly I was just madly in love with her already), and decided to work my ass off to give that relationship a chance. For a while, it paid off; she agreed that she wanted to be with me and give the relationship a chance, she was supportive, and she tolerated my (many) flaws. She told me she loved me, and I told her I loved her. Then everything went downhill from there.
First was when she decided to go on hormonal birth control. I supported the idea, but I tried to warn her about hormonal birth control and its potential side effects, and recommend getting an IUD instead. I obviously don't have a firsthand experience with birth control, but I've read enough about other people's experiences, and I've heard from many close friends (including my mother) about how much it emotionally fucked them, how it changed the way they were sexually attracted to their SO while on it, the physical side effects, etc., but she told me I should keep my unsolicited opinion, and that it was her body, her choice. I felt offended that my concern was seen as an "unsolicited opinion", but I respect everyone's autonomy and understand that I can be patronizing more often than not (plus the fact that I was intimidated by the idea that my girlfriend would stop finding me attractive), so I admitted that she was right, it was none of my business, and backed off.
Shortly afterwards my grandmother, who was more of a surrogate mother and raised me like her own, passed away after Christmas, and I couldn't go home to her funeral. My ex was visiting her hometown for the holidays, and I was alone by myself for Christmas (I'm not from the U.S., and flying back to my home country was extremely expensive for me, let alone on such short notice) when I heard the news. I broke down. I had nobody to talk to, amplified by the fact that I have a hard time making any meaningful friendships around here. At first, she talked to me very briefly, saying that she's sorry for my loss but that she had to go, as her friends were waiting to go out with her. I needed someone to speak to. I needed to be consoled. I needed to feel loved. I texted her that I was really upset, and that I needed to talk to her, but she responded that she's in a noisy place and couldn't get away. I bit the bullet, after all, the world doesn't revolve around me. I cried quietly for hours by myself, while she posted snapchat stories about the great time she was having. Then, finally, she called me when she got home- and she kept crying about how much she felt like she was a bad girlfriend, that she wasn't conciliatory enough while I was in pain. I told her that I understand, that she couldn't break away from other people, that she shouldn't blame herself and that I loved her just the same. When we hung up, I realized that I was the one consoling her the entire call, but I pushed it to the back of my mind. I told myself that I sometimes I lose my cool and realize afterwards that I'm wrong, and this must be one of those times. Besides, I can't tell her that it's okay, then explode at her minutes later for the same thing I just said wasn't a big deal.
The first thing she said to me when she came back home a week later was that she felt disconnected. At this point, I was so emotionally vulnerable and starved for affection, but the birth control was coming back to bite me in the ass. Everything I predicted ended up happening; she was an emotional roller coaster, she became suicidal, her period never stopped for two months, sex effectively died, and every conversation was about her for the longest time. I have a tendency to be blunt, but I couldn't possibly say "I tried to warn you", so I decided to do the right thing and support her unconditionally, and my problems can wait until she's in a stable enough place. I tried to talk her into switching birth control for two months, which she finally agreed to, and almost immediately the side effects went away, but nothing else changed; everything effectively became about her for the rest of our relationship.
Later that year, she came to visit my home country for my cousin's wedding. This was the first time I was back home since my grandmother passed, so I was pretty messed up emotionally, but I wanted to make sure she had a pleasant experience, that the trip went smoothly, that she was safe, and so on. For the most part, it was wonderful, but for a couple of incidences; first she cut our trip to the coast short because she didn't feel like it, which royally pissed off my brother, but he knew how much she meant to me and didn't object. Then, when I wanted to make sure she got to our airbnb safely before spending the night with my brother and cousins (who I've hardly seen since I moved to the U.S.), she told me she felt like baggage that needed to be dropped off, and I felt guilty enough to cancel the night out and just stay in with her instead. Ironically, a few months later, we briefly broke up because she felt like she was obligated to leave her family (who lived half an hour away) and spend time with me on our date night.
The worst part was when she decided she wanted to go on a study abroad. She was (wrongly) afraid that she wouldn't qualify for it (she was overqualified), and almost dropped the idea completely a couple of times. I spent months supporting her, encouraging her to do it, telling her how much of a life-changing experience it would be until she got accepted, and that's when all the red flags became too much to ignore. She grew more and more distant, and whenever I'd ask her something was wrong, she'd say she was just stressed from work or school. Her tastes in movies and TV became a little more risqué, which I didn't object to (who the fuck would be opposed to watching porn with his girlfriend?), but the real, big, glaring, seven-kilometer-wide soviet flag showed itself when she started playing documentaries about how much of an archaic system monogamy was, everything was about people in open relationships, etc.. I should note that a girl I dated years ago had cheated on me, and my gut instinct was telling me that something similar was either happening, or about to happen. Lo and behold, just a month before she was set to travel to her study abroad, she asked if I wanted to have a threesome- and I told her I wasn't. She was the only person for me, but I wasn't opposed to the idea- our sex life, however, hadn't recovered by that point, and I was losing trust in her. When I told her that I didn't want to be in a threesome, she instead suggested an open relationship, and that's when I realized I was a fool. A few days before her flight, she said that she had needs she felt I couldn't satisfy, and it's best if we just be friends again.
I was fucking devastated. For two years, I was putting my own needs aside to support her while she figured her shit out. Now I was being dumped because she had needs, and I couldn't satisfy them? Two years of making me feeling ashamed for wanting to have sex with my girlfriend. Two years of listening to her vent while my own problems took the back seat. Two years of maintaining what I now see was a one-sided relationship under the belef that she's going through a rough couple of years, just to be told "sorry, not good enough! womp womp". That's not to say that I was a perfect partner; I sure as shit had my flaws, but what the fuck. I agreed that it's best if we just be friends, but goddamn was I in fucking shock. I couldn't speak for almost a week afterwards, and I kept trying to process it for months- hell, I'm still trying to process it today. I wasn't a very outwardly emotional person, but it was so obvious that something was wrong with me, one of my friends straight up asked me if I was on heroin or something. I still kept in touch with her, and we still hang out every once in a while, but for the life of me, I don't know why I do it. Every time I speak to her, my insides are screaming "you're a real piece of shit" while I smiled and tried to keep my composure. I became passive-aggressive. I stopped going out with my friends, but it didn't matter anyway- ever since we started dating, I lost touch with many of them. For the past two years since we broke up, I've felt so emotionally drained, I haven't even tried to flirt with someone else. Hell, if it wasn't for my best friend, who pushed me to get a dirt cheap ticket to Thailand and go backpacking with him, encouraged me to exercise and hang out with him, I'd still be stuck in my apartment, in my underwear, doing nothing but smoke weed and jerk off.
I'm not trying to say that she's a terrible person; this is only a small part of my version of things, and she certainly would have her own point of view. But, for the life of me, I can't let her go. I can't cut her off. She was there for me once upon a time, and I keep going back to that thought- but I know that I shouldn't. If you met her, you'd say she's the sweetest person on earth, and I can't disagree; even while she was twisting a knife in my gut, she never said a hurtful word.
submitted by Nest_Pas_Un_Probleme to TrueOffMyChest [link] [comments]


2020.03.31 02:56 MitaAltair Love In the Time of the CoronaVirus

Saw this article and thought it would be helpful and provide some perspective
#StaytheFuckHome & read Dr. Susan Block's missive from edge of the Coronapocalypse, including Mother Nature's perspective, fighting a war without bombs (the Bonobo Way), SEX in isolation (let's all cheer for masturbation) and LoVE in the Time of Coronavirus:
Click Link for Full article with pics => https://www.counterpunch.org/2020/03/27/coronavirus-spring/
by Dr. Susan Block.
It’s Spring, and nature is blooming. Coronavirus has done (temporarily, at least) what no Paris Agreement, Green New Deal, man, woman or even that scrappy teen, Greta Thunberg (who may have also contracted COVID-19), could do. It has shut down a huge amount of the industrial, transportation and pollution-belching business activity that is destroying life on earth.
Tragically and terrifyingly, this comes at the expense of thousands of human lives (so far), the health of millions and the mental health of billions.
Ironically, it comes—like an ecogasm—to the benefit of the rest of world.
With so many Anthropocene operations shut down, the air is noticeably cleaner in many areas. We can see the difference—at least in waves. As the disease overtook China and the government ordered the shutdown of factories and other businesses, the smog lifted, nitrogen dioxide and greenhouse gas emissions lowered, and the skies brightened so much you could see the difference in satellite images.
Now that the Chinese seem to be getting a handle on the virus, people are back at work and pollution is resurfacing. But at the moment, almost every other country is struggling to contain the viral varmint with quarantines, handwashing tutorials and shelter-in-place virtual sing-a-longs, trying to heed the medical experts’ advice to (despite our Trumpublican representatives pushing us to get back to “normal” and #DiefortheDow) scrap all nonessential activity and #StaytheFuckHome.
So, throughout the planet—notably in Europe—the skies, streets and waterways are clearing up from human-generated debris. In Thailand and Japan, gangs of monkeys and deer roam streets now devoid of tourists. Dolphins and small fish are swimming in the Venice Canal (or just some canal near Venice, but it’s still impressive). It’s Mother Nature’s own Homemade Green New Deal.
It’s a Coronavirus Spring (with apologies to Rachel Carson).
Sounds almost lovely. However, unless you just hate human beings, it’s not lovely at all.
A War Without Bombs
As the virus spreads throughout humanity, it is waging a vicious World War that, despite all our bombs and Pentagons, we are not at all prepared to fight.
Yet fight we must—for our individual lives, and for our neighbors whose lives are deeply intertwined with ours.
They always have been, of course. Humans, like bonobos and common chimpanzees, are an intensely social, interdependent species. But thanks to the power of capitalism that enhances our feelings of competition, greed, desperation and jealousy, we’re not usually very cognizant of our inherent communal connection. Now that truth is laid out—or sprayed out—in “droplets,” statistics, “community spread,” sickness and death.
This despite the misleading, self-adoring, stock market-fellating, “I don’t take responsibility at all” putrid blather the Trumpus pulls out of his Rumpus (where’s that toilet paper when we need it?) at these unsafe press conferences he tries, in vain, to turn into rallies. Though he does fancy himself to be a Wartime President.
Of course, we started this war. And I don’t mean Mr. Tomato Head’s trumped up wars with China and whoever disagrees with him; I mean humanity’s war on the rest of nature.
Over the past few thousand years, especially the last century, we have made the Earth and its atmosphere sick as a COVID-19 patient, feverish with global warming, hurricane sneezes, fiery coughing fits, the damaged lungs of the rainforests and atmospheric shortness of breath. In short, human civilization has been a plague upon the Earth. Now, in a science fiction-like way, the Earth appears to be fighting back against its human plague by dropping this horrible modern plague, Coronavirus. Like a bomb. On us.
The Coronapocalypse is a war of wars, yet everything we *know* about war does not apply. Wars are typically fought with guns, grenades and guided missiles; the war against COVID-19 is fought with swab tests, ventilators, face masks and hand sanitizer. In traditional wars, the old send the young to fight and die for their corporate investments. In the Coronavirus War, the old are most likely to die, as the young alternate between fighting valiantly on the hospital frontlines and spreading the virus willy-nilly. This is almost always inadvertent; many are contagious for days before symptoms appear. But sometimes it’s deliberate with active “Boomer Removers” spitting on fruit in your local Ralph’s. Ironically, as the virus spreads, more young people are getting sick and dying in this war too. That Mother Nature is such a trickster.
In other American wars in the past 80 years, except for the occasional “terrorist,” the U.S. military has been doing the killing and dying in some faraway place, while here at home, we continue life as usual, barely aware of the havoc America wreaks on other nations. Now we know what it’s like to shut ourselves into our homes, crazed with fear and boredom, waiting for the bombs to drop.
Another difference between this war and others is the folks in uniform. I have never felt like thanking our troops for fighting, killing and helping to perpetuate our Perma-Wars; they don’t “protect” us from anything except the good will of other peoples. But I get down on my proverbial knees to thank our doctors, nurses and medical technicians who are facing this “enemy” with as much courage as the most decorated soldiers have ever faced combat, and with a lot more integrity, life-saving value and genuine service.
Wouldn’t it be great, smart and very bonoboesque to take 95% of the ridiculously bloated U.S. military budget and spend it on COVID-19 tests, ventilators, respirators, masks, gowns and other necessities? While we’re at it, let’s bring most of those troops home to help the first responders and medical teams fight this real-life enemy of the people.

Short of that, American billionaires ought to stop worrying about Wall Street and start buying supplies. Some are doing that, but their contributions are far from enough. It’s one thing to hoard toilet paper; it’s quite another to hoard billions of dollars when, due to a lack of basic medical necessities, your fellow citizens are dying in such high numbers that stacks of bodies are being hauled away in freezer trucks.
Love in the Time of Coronavirus
What about sex?
Sadly, the coronavirus is, in a way, a sexually transmitted disease (STD), a plague of human physical intimacy, as are all viruses. Not that we need to have sex to *catch* these colds, flus and viruses; all that’s required is that we be close to each other, inhale each other’s breath, somehow ingest each other’s germs or even just pick up each other’s phones.
How can we have sex without being close? How can we connect as we self-isolate? How can we make love in the time of Coronavirus (with apologies to Gabriel Garcia Marquez)?
As a sex therapist who counsels others to explore and enjoy the pleasures and healing benefits of consensual touch, it feels odd to advise people, including myself, to do the opposite in order to save their lives. Talk about an about-face! But here we are.
Not that you can’t have any sex, but I, a proud bonoboesque pansexualist, must agree with the New York City Department of Health (NYCDOH) COVID-19 guidelines that say it’s better to just “love the one you’re self-isolating with,” at least when it comes to in-person sex.
That means just one or, as the NYCDOH liberally suggests, “a small circle” of sex partners that you can really trust (how you know whom you can “really trust” is another story). Monogamy may be unnatural for humans, but it has never been so sensible. Having in-person casual sex is playing Russian Roulette… at least until they make a special sex-friendly hazmat suit, which is coming, I’m sure. But not soon enough.
Fun Fact: COVID-19, though swimming in saliva, has not been found in semen or vaginal fluid. Unfortunately for the analinguists out there, it has been found in fecal matter. Therefore, NYCDOH guidelines warn: “No rimming” (don’t you just love that kinky specificity in a metropolitan health office?). It’s great that the NYCDOH is hip to rimming. But does that mean other kinds of oral sex are okay?
And how do we even get to that point if we’re staying six feet apart? Nobody’s that well-hung.
What do we do if we’re single and dating? It sounds cumbersome, but maybe the exhibitionists among us could set up plastic booths and perform peep shows for our dates.
There are other ways to handle the six-foot rule. Personally, I think it’s a good time to eat raw garlic because 1) it’s good for your immune system and 2) it keeps people from getting close to you.
Of course, when we say “close,” we mean physically close. We simply can’t (or shouldn’t) get physically close to someone we’re not self-isolating with. A tale of two cities during the H1N1 influenza pandemic of 1918 demonstrates how important it is to play “keep away”: After a few cases of the deadly virus floated into Philadelphia and St. Louis, Philly held a big, crowded, military parade while St. Louis shut everything down.
Within days, the City of Brotherly Love was overwhelmed by the “Spanish Flu” (which was really the “Kansas Flu,” as that’s where it started, but the WWI-neutral Spaniards were the first to report on it, so got stuck with the name), killing more than 12,000 Philadelphians in six weeks, while St. Louis “flattened the curve” and kept their death toll under 700. My father was one of the thousands of Philadelphia children who caught the influenza of 1918. Obviously, he survived and lived a full life, but he contracted Parkinson’s Disease towards the end; it is said by some that H1N1 may have led to Parkinson’s, so this hits me close to home.
I wonder what scars might be carried by those who “recover” from COVID-19.
“Kissing through the Waves of the Web”
So, here we are playing physical “keep away” on a grand scale. Really, “social-distancing” is a misnomer. It makes it sound like we have to stop socializing, communicating or caring about one another. That’s not very bonobo, or very human. It also sounds rather anti-socialism (even Democratic Socialism).
I prefer the term “physical distancing,” which is bad enough, but not as bad. To “flatten the curve,” we need to “physically distance” ourselves from each other, but we can maintain, expand and deepen our social relationships through our otherwise demonic devices to our social-lite/influencer hearts’ content.
Yes, our devices can be vices—bad habits, stupefying sources of alienation, depression, misinformation and a host of other ills. But in our war against COVID-19, they may prove to be lifesavers, a vital means of communication, a loneliness balm, a means to let off steam, and a way to stay in touch without touching.
Alas, we don’t all have balconies from which we can sing our solidarity, like the Italian flash mobs… though as balcony scenes go, the New York couple getting married on the sidewalk under the minister’s fourth floor apartment window is a good one.
Not that we all should be singing through the pandemic, as evidenced by the cringe-worthy ruination of John Lennon’s “Imagine” in the voices of Gal Gadot and her clueless celebrity cohorts. Celebrities in general tend to be tone deaf on these global concerns, but exceptions to the rule include Fran Drescher Nanny-spanking “capitalism” and the surprisingly socialist pop princess-turned-MILF Britney Spears exhorting us to “write virtual love letters… learn to kiss and hold each other through the waves of the web. We will feed each other, re-distribute wealth, strike.. Communion moves beyond walls” (italics mine).
Amen and Awomen, Comrade Britney! And thanks for the three rose emojis, a Springy symbol of the Democratic Socialists of America.
Still, it’s so sad we can’t kiss. Kissing could be one culprit, besides intergenerational housing (another lovely Old World tradition), in the deadly COVID-19 spreads of Italy, France and Spain, countries where everybody kisses everybody else, at least once on each cheek, sometimes twice. Those gentle pecks on the cheek are so delightful, and now… fatal.
Bonobos love to kiss, showing us how basic to our Great Ape heritage is the desire to lock lips and swap saliva. But with COVID-19, a simple smooch can be the kiss of death.
So, we must try to “kiss… through the waves of the web,” express solidarity through social media, convey compassion, organize efforts, send money and wave to each other from our Microsoft Windows. We can communicate harmony and disharmony, share poetry, ideas, frustrations, kinship. We can cry with each other on the phone. We can make each other laugh online. Laughter is a mental orgasm, and almost as important to human health as consensual touch. Deprived of the latter, we’re going to need plenty of the former.
The interesting thing about “sensory deprivation” is that it makes our un-deprived senses even more acute. When you can’t see, your ability to hear is heightened. Without touch, our other senses might rise to the occasion, helping us to make love, or a kind of love (there are many kinds), through the sticky juicy interwebs, the Erotic Theater of the Mind. We can have phone sex, webcam, or sext each other. It’s not for everyone (though after a few more weeks of isolation, maybe it will be), but it’s possible to have a very “close,” intimate yet “virtual” conversation—even a long-term relationship—over our vice-filled devices.
And yet… physical touch is so vital to mammalian—especially primate—life. Most primates don’t have as much sex as bonobos, but almost all thrive on grooming, petting, hugging, playing with and touching each other. Infant monkeys deprived of touch won’t eat, get sick and die. The human primate is not much different.
Tragically, COVID-19 is not only a human virus, but also deadly to great apes, including bonobos. A shred of good news is that China is closing its wild animal markets, and other countries are following suit, but poachers in the Congolese Rainforest are still murdering bonobos and other endangered species as “bushmeat,” even though it’s illegal. It pains me to say it, but if bonobos catch Coronavirus, they will almost inevitably give it to each other, as touch is integral to their lives.
Consensual touch is pretty integral to human life too, but we can force ourselves to forego it, with willpower and, let’s call it what it is, tremendous self-repression.
This is a big sacrifice—much bigger than the Dow plummeting—that we as humans all must make.
So… don’t touch your friends, strangers, neighbors, anybody except your significant other(s). And scrub those hands raw before and after you do. And whatever you do, don’t touch your face! Though everyone does, even Dr. Fauci.
But you can touch yourself. And in this case, below the belt is better than above the neck.
Isolation Sex
Back to the NYCDOH which is downright effusive in its unequivocal support of masturbation: “You are your own safest sex partner.”
I’ve been extolling the virtues of masturbation for decades, as has my mentor, the Godmother of Masturbation, Dr. Betty Dodson, and other sexperts, often to sniggers, hypocritical outrage and Puritanical censorship. When Surgeon General Dr. Joycelyn Elders suggested that masturbation be considered a safer sex alternative in school sexuality classes, President Bill Clinton fired her (he, of all people, should have taken her advice). No, Dr. J didn’t mean the gym teacher conducts a circle jerk; she meant that school sex education programs list solo sex, along with condoms, dry-humping and abstinence, as a way to avoid STDs.
I guess it took a lethal pandemic to turn the authorities around to our point of view, but here we are. The NYCDOH is officially begging you to masturbate. Hallelujah.
You may think of sex as “dirty,” but as was always the case, even before the pandemic, wash your hands before you start choking the chicken or polishing the pearl. As my mom used to say, “Your hands are dirty and it’s clean down there!”
Everybody’s self-pleasuring now, even Trumpublicans. This is a good thing, except maybe when former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee tweets out that he really likes shoving corn cobs up his ass:
“Those of us from rural south know how to handle toilet paper shortage. Eat more corn on the cob! The corn isn’t important, but the cobs are free and work great! (Just don’t flush them!) You’re welcome!”
Corn cobs: Mother Nature’s own dildos. Though I prefer cucumbers.
But don’t you still need that human connection? While maintaining scrupulous “physical distancing,” you can put the old AT&T jingle into practice: Reach out and touch someone (virtually)… while you touch yourself. Phone sex is a lot sexier than abstinence, safer than a hazmat suit and very stimulating in a sapiosexual way. It’s aural sex. I adore the romantic mystery of the phone, but if you’re visual, bump uglies on webcam. If you’re self-isolating in the family room with your parents or kids, get into sexting. On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t be masturbating in the family room…
Nobody said this would be easy. But, to quote an oft-used cliché right now: We will get through this!
Actually, only some of us will. The cold, breathless truth is that cases and fatalities are mounting every day, and any one of us could be next.
Hopefully, those of us who do “get through this” will have learned something about love, ecology, caring, sharing, communication, masturbation and our entire society’s need for universal healthcare (thanks Bernie!). Hopefully, the survivors of the Coronavirus Spring (and Summer?) will have learned how and why it’s important to get back into Mother Earth’s good graces.
Now that you’ve read this dirty article, wash your hands and get busy!
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2019.12.02 19:04 stormbourne5 Broke up during LDR because of an Open r/s, now potentially back together and unsure if it's the right thing

Sorry for the long post 🙏
I (29m) met my ex (28f) in Japan in two years ago and she moved in after two weeks of dating (yes that escalated fast). After a few months of dating I got a job back home in Malaysia and she moved with me. We lived together for 8 months until she got repatriated at the airport for one too many visa runs (she's American) and was refused entry back into Malaysia, so she got a ticket back to SF and we did LDR for about 6 months while I worked hard to be able to find a job in the US.
She's always been carefree and the artist type of character so she's never had a stable job beyond English teaching, and while we were in Malaysia I paid for rent, utilities and expenses, and when she was forced to go back to SF she decided to pursue acting, and I moved back in with my parents but continued sending her USD2.5k for her rent every month so that she could pursue her new passion without financial stress.
She also has a high libido (higher than mine) and mid way through our LDR she floated the suggestion of being open (I suspect she hooked up at this point already and was retroactively asking for permission, but can't prove it). Eventually I said yes knowing her high libido, but after 3 months of being open (she hooked up, I never did) I started feeling insecure and told her that if she wanted to continue being open I wouldn't pay her rent, as I didn't want to pay for a place she could bring guys home to bang, all the while I'm working hard in my office job to support her and basically remaining monogamous. She decided to break it off with me when I asked her to choose between monogamy+financial support or polygamy and no support. And so after we split I spent 9 months just healing and doing my own things, getting used to being single again and focusing on my work. In between we kept in touch but only occasionally.
3 weeks ago I was in Thailand and bumped into her. We hooked up, and I also mentioned that I got a job in the US. After I came back home we still texted and she now says she wants to get back together, and that she's ready to commit and be monogamous. We had a talk and I was honest about feeling betrayed at her decision to breakup when I didn't want to pay rent while she was hooking up with other guys, and that our LDR was both financially and emotionally draining for me. She apologized and said she was in a bad place after being denied entry into Malaysia and was in 'survival' mode when she decided to breakup. She reiterated that she is ready for monogamy and wants us to live together in SF. We're already back into our old grind before the breakup, calling each other everyday and she's starting to look at apartments and even planning for a holiday trip.
The problem is I feel like we're maybe moving too fast and I see hints of old patterns where she is still pursuing interests like writing and healing and not being able to pull her financial weight (which would be 100% fine if I hadn't been stung by her first breakup decision over funding being pulled). On the other hand I don't want to judge her for not being as financially stable as I am, we all have our approach to life and a desk job isn't for everyone. I'd also pretty much gotten over her and had made up my mind to move to the US and start afresh, focus on work, make new friends and maybe start dating again.
At the same time it's nice having her back in my life and we have fun talking. It's like no time as passed and now we're planning to live together in the US (which was our original plan pre-breakup). I'm confused as to how best to move forward in a way that's fair to both of us, and where I can avoid the mistakes of the past plus protect my finances from taking a hit again.
Tldr; Ex who broke up with me after I refused to pay rent for her when she decided to pursue an open relationship, wants to get back together just as I am moving to the US for a new job. Feels like we're ignoring what happened and moving too fast, but at the same time it's been nice being together again, and I'm not sure if I should give us another chance.
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2019.11.05 13:21 dewa251202 I wrote this last year

A lot of you really need to take a Biology class, a Psychology class, and a Sociology class.
Today is the last day of 2018 so here is a list of 18 things I think everyone should know about Human Sexuality as we enter 2019.
- Sex chromosomes are not binary. Besides XX and XY, there can also be X, which is known as Turner Syndrome and XXY, which is known as Klinefelter Syndrome (Rathus et al., 2015, P. 129). Although there are many more, Turner syndrome and Klinefelter syndrome are the two most well-known examples of sex chromosomes besides XX and XY.
- The prevalence for Klinefelter syndrome is 1 in 500 and Turner Syndrome is 1 in 2500 (Rathus, et al., 2015, P. 129).
- Intersex people do exist, they are valid, and they should be given the same rights as everyone else. Two of the most common conditions are Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia (CAH) in females in which they have internal female reproductive sex organs, but their external sex organs are ambiguous or resemble a penis and Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome (AIS) in males where the internal sex organs are male but the external sex organs are ambiguous or appear to resemble a vulva (Rathus et al., 2015, P. 130-131).
- The prevalence for intersex people is around 1 in 5000 (Intersex society of North America, 2012).
- There are even cases where biological males can have XX chromosomes and biological females can have XY chromosomes (https://psmag.com/soci.../our-bones-reveal-sex-is-not-binary).
- Gender ≠ Sex. The World Health Organization (2019) states that Sex refers to characteristics that are biologically determined. Gender refers to the socially constructed characteristics of women and men – such as norms, roles, and relationships of and between groups of women and men. It varies from society to society and can be changed. While most people are born either male or female, they are taught appropriate norms and behaviors – including how they should interact with others of the same or opposite sex within households, communities, and workplaces. When individuals or groups do not “fit” established gender norms they often face stigma, discriminatory practices or social exclusion – all of which adversely affect health. It is important to be sensitive to different identities that do not necessarily fit into binary male or female sex categories. Gender norms, roles, and relations influence people’s susceptibility to different health conditions and diseases and affect their enjoyment of good mental, physical health, and wellbeing. They also have a bearing on people’s access to and uptake of health services and on the health outcomes they experience throughout the life-course.
- Porn isn't inherently bad for you nor is porn or sex addictive because neither meets the criteria for addiction. When someone says they’re addicted, there’s something else going on such as shame, guilt, fear, sex negativity, etc. (see the various research studies on porn here: https://www.realyourbrainonporn.com/research).
- Sexual behavior doesn’t always match one’s sexual orientation (Copen et al., 2016; Ybarra et al., 2016).
- Per the APA, you don’t need gender dysphoria to be trans. In fact, trans people aren’t mentally ill according to the APA, AMA, and WHO as many trans people do not consider their gender to be distressing. They’re happy identifying as who they are; what hurts them is lack of social acceptance, harassment, bullying, etc (https://www.apa.org/topics/lgbt/transgender).
- There’s research to suggest a biological basis for trans individuals, although it’s still early and the sample sizes were relatively small, so more research will need to go into this area. However, the results are still incredibly fascinating. In these studies, those who identify as trans have brains similar to what gender they experience, not what gender they were assigned. For example, the female-to-male subjects in the study had relatively thin subcortical areas (these areas tend to be thinner in men than in women). Male-to-female subjects tended to have thinner cortical regions in the right hemisphere, which is characteristic of a female brain (Guillamon et al., 2013). Furthermore, a comparison of the distribution of gray matter in 55 female-to-male and 38 male-to-female transgender adolescents with cisgender controls in the same age group found broad similarities in the hypothalami and the cerebellums of the transgender subjects and cisgender participants of the same natal sex (Hoekzema et al, 2015). Finally, an analysis of around 160 participants showed that biological males who identified as female had a brain structure and neurological patterns similar to biological females, and vice versa (Bakker et al., 2018).
- Gender is not binary, it is on a continuum as gender varies culture to culture. Some examples of other genders include the two-spirit individuals (Indigenous North Americans), Fa'afafine (Samoa), Hijras (Asia), Il Femminiello (Naples, Bugis (Sulawesi), Kocek (Ottoman Empire), Muxes (Mexico), Kathoeys (Thailand), Warias (Indonesia), Mahus (Hawaii), Sworn Virgins (Albania) and the Elagabalus (Rome) (Rathus et al., 2015, P. 132-136; https://listverse.com/.../10-examples-of-nonbinary.../)
- Sexual orientations outside of heterosexuality are normal and valid.
- Relationships outside of monogamy are normal and valid.
- Most paraphilias are harmless and are not mental illnesses (Rathus et al., 2015, P. 406). In fact, BDSM, for example, can have psychological benefits for some people (Aaron et al., 2016; Wismeijer et al., 2013) and can strengthen the bond between partners (Sagarin et al., 2009).
- The prevalence of false reporting is between 2-10% so when a woman says she was sexually assaulted or worse, believe her (Lisak et al., 2010; Lonsway et al., 2008; Spohn et al., 2014).
- Sex doesn’t have to be orgasm focused.
- Kids should learn about consent and bodily autonomy.
- Sex work is real work and those who do it should be respected just like any other worker.
- Abstinence-only education doesn’t work at all. If anything, these programs are counterproductive. Besides misleading medical information, ignoring LGBTQ+ individuals, censoring textbooks and teachers, promoting sexist and racist stereotypes and excluding potentially life-saving information about sexual risk reduction (Santelli et al., 2006; Santelli, Speizer, & Edelstein, 2013), research has also found that the U.S. states with the most abstinence-only programs actually have the highest rates of teen pregnancy (Stanger-Hall, Hall, 2011). What does work when it comes to sex education is a comprehensive approach—one that gives teenagers the information they truly need to know, which will enable them to establish safer and healthier sexual relationships. Research also reveals that comprehensive sex education is not only linked to lower rates of teen pregnancy (Kohler, Manhart, & Lafferty, 2008), but also to lower rates of STI-risk behavior (Stanger-Hall, Hall, 2011).
- Comprehensive Sex ed is the best Sex ed.
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2019.11.02 17:06 Kratz177 Adjusting your expectations of women depending on the society you live in(Bisexual Girlfriends who will do threesomes)

Don't forget to follow us at the Crimsonpill and message me ASAP(limited availability) to add you to our facebook mastermind group a safe and private place for you to express yourself.
Introduction:
Hey guys, I feel this topic MUST be written about. However, almost no guru has written about this. Just like Max gives you guys vague advice, "Go to the Gym."Instead of giving you the exact training regiment to follow, split training. Other gurus have told you, "Get a bisexual GF" or "Don't get oneities" but no one has sat down and try to analyze, "Why" this is NECESSARY.
I borrow from the Structures of Scientific Revolutions(I've written tons of essays on this book", "Theories based on different paradigms are, Kuhn says, “incommensurable”: they share no common measure." This quote means that we have to completely different societies and therefore, we need to adjust our expectations of women anchored on the REALITIES of the society we live in.
Before we go further, many of you might be wondering, "We'll what if I don't like the society I was born in and I don't want to change my values? The solution is simple: Move! You have free will, you can take a plane ride and never look back. It seems that a lot of guys from the manosphere who came before us were unhappy with the society they had to live in, eventually, this pushed them to move to cultures that aligned better with their values(Poland, Ukraine, Japan or Thailand). In their way, they found the answers they were seeking.
However, this constant negativity from their end has left this community in a state of confusion. Well, what should I do or value if I live in a liberal society? I hope this thread will provide you with the right course of action.
TYPES OF SOCIETY:
Conservative Society
-Monogamy
-Soulmates
-Marriage
Liberal Western Society
-Polygamy
-Fuck buddies
-Open Relationships
Expectations:
The above is the bird's eye's view. But as you see we have two radically different models. Now going back to the questions: What should I do if I live in a liberal society? Let's do a concrete example, say you are a guy called Matt since you were 19 to 28 you only had 4-5 girlfriends at most and you didn't have that many sexual experiences. Meanwhile, you have Cindy who has had at least 100 guys from the age of 18-28. She slept with the sugar daddy who paid her to have sex, with the Club Promoter who got her and her girlfriends the table, the male model on tinder who she messaged to meet up, the actor who was going to get her a job, the Airbnb host who let her and her girlfriends stay at his house in the big city, the photographer who did a photoshoot with her. Now she is ready to settle down and is looking for you to do so. You have a stable job, but lack an accurate assessment of the situation and have no idea how to respond.
You're response:
BluePill
'Girls just want to have fun' you accept her lifestyle. Even though deep inside you might not agree. You feel that this is your chance to have more sex. Your marriage might end in divorce but you take the risk anyway. Ironically, you are soon to be wife does not do any of the things you want her to do since in her mind if she likes someone she won't do threesomes cause that's not "true commitment."
You take the Redpill, MGTOW Pill, Roosh V forums Pill
You become bitter about her lifestyle and how your expectations(Monogamy, Soulmates, Marriage) have been crushed. Your leaders encourage you to do a 'Cold Approach' pick up(which has a low return on investment), you mass approach during the day and night with no strategy whatsoever and most of them turn you down. This leads you to more anger and eventually, you do the right thing for yourself and you move to a conservative or third-world society where your status helps your approach become more effective. Meanwhile, you write articles about the 'degeneration of society' and how the world is coming to an end.
Crimson Pill
'You get to see and experience' the other side. In a society of losers and WINNERS. There have to be successful people, otherwise, no one would live there and most people would riot. I vividly remember when I went to see my first girlfriend she was from North Carolina. Her roommate was in the living room, she was holding my hand leading me to her room. Meanwhile, her roommate was eating Cheetos and playing pes on ps4. He looked at me, shocked. Here was a guy who had befriended her for months, he was extra nice to her and somebody else was doing the banging. I didn't feel bad for him at all since I've learned only to identify with successful people(Be the bull, not the cuck). Once he starts taking action on improving his strategy his life will improve.
But as you guys see the whole experience Cindy lives can be replicated. You can be on the other side, instead of being her sugar daddy you can be her salt daddy, instead of being her promoter you can do faux promoter game. Instead, of being a male model you can optimize your tinder profile with photoshop and follow a simple sequence. Instead of being a 'gutter punk' asking for housing you can be the guy who is offering the housing to her and her girlfriends. Instead of being a photographer you can constantly be throwing photoshoots and using them to get laid. For every negative, there's a positive which you can use to YOUR advantage.
Girlfriends Expectations(In a liberal society)
You need to take full advantage of what your society has given you(Wolf Mindset).If your society has blessed you with girls who want to sleep around then you need to take full advantage of this. At least my requirements are a girl who is bisexual, who will have threesomes with other girls, who won't get jealous if you are with other girls. I already had three girlfriends who were like this, so its not that difficult. We never had a fight over cheating, over what she was doing, over what I was doing..etc. We mostly meet to have sex.
I know many of you are wondering, "Kratz, what about the girls who are jealous, who don't want to do threesomes?" I don't date them, simple as that. Just like when you guys ask me, "What about your roommates, what if they don't want you bringing girls over." And I answer, "I don't have roommates." Or when you guys ask me, "What about your co-workers, won't they want to shame you for having multiple girls?" And I answer, 'I don't have co-workers." What you guys need to see is that is not only about living life in your own terms but about surrounding yourself with people who will follow your terms. If the girls who you surround yourself is hot but she doesn't want threesomes, then cut her off. You need to find a girl who is both hot and willing to do threesomes, be in open relationships.
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2019.08.01 13:31 beatdream Almost 3 decades of PMO

I'm 43. From outside, I look very successful. I have a PhD, a good job, few hundred thousand dollars in my savings account, an apartment that is half paid, quite fit (I run, do yoga, lift weights), ... But when it comes to my love/dating life, except few brief durations here and there, I have never been happy/successful. To such an extent that some rumors have spread that I am gay and hiding behind the closet, otherwise how come such a funny, successful, charming guy is never dating anyone?
What most don't know is that I have been an on-off porn addict since my early teens. I started using porn to hide from the painful emotions of being sexually and physically abused. The link between bad emotions and porn is so strong in my mind, every little discomfort makes run to porn or to escorts. The really bad days of addiction are behind me (like the 6 hrs per day binges I used to do during summer breaks in college or the spontaneous trips all the way to Thailand just to buy as much sex as possible within a week), and I have had some considerable time off porn recently (e.g. no porn between June 2018 and March 2019). However, I still fall deep into it once in a while. A week or two of sobriety followed by few days of binging.
I am really tired of this. I am tired of the loneliness. I am tired of the emptiness. I am tired of being an observer. I am tired of pretending to be the happy single guy while I crave for intimacy. Even though I don't believe in traditional monogamy and marriage, I want something real in my life.
Living almost 30yrs in fantasy land is enough. I deserve more than this!!
And I must say I feel really happy to see all you young guys on this journey. You are doing the right thing. I am proud of you. Your journey will be easier than mine as you have not damaged your brain as much as I have.
Love O.
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2019.05.09 10:55 nenieco Magnus Hirschfeld and LGBT

Alright, so the origins of all these sexual movements can be traced back to one marxist jew in germany who was doing his thing at the exact same time that the frankfurt school was doing their thing.
Magnus Hirschfeld. He was basically the grandfather of this trans stuff and he is the one who even coined the term trans. He's the reason LGBT includes trans people even though most gay people aren't really comfortable being associated with mentally ill trans folks. His 1938 book "Racism" (published after his death) also contributed to making the word into what it is today, but that's a different story.
To start with we have to go to Hirschfelds influence
Karl Heinrich Ulrichs (1825-1895). He was a gay man that put forth the theories that made up the backbone of everything Hirschfeld believed. * (more info on him at the bottom)
Hirschfeld got started in this with his book Sappo and Socrates in 1896. It was on homosexual love.
In 1897 he founded the Scientific Humanitarian Committee. Don't let the name fool you, it wasn't scientific. It was basically a way for him and a bunch of rich marxist jews like Max Sphor, Euard Oberg, and Franz Joseph von Bülo to push this marxist sexual agenda politically.
The group "aimed to undertake research to defend the rights of homosexuals".
In reality it was just like what jew Franz Boas did with anthropology. They put out highly biased misleading research to try and muddy the waters between gay and straight, normal and trans by acting like everyone was a little bit gay on a spectrum and that people weren't necessarily one gender or the other, and that men weren't actually masculine but had feminine qualities and started off as women. SHC was connected back to the Frankfurt group, and this all was going on when the Frankfurt school was doing their thing creating cultural marxism.
It was degenerate cultural marxism from a different direction.
Hirschfel and the SHC led the charge in 1897 to repeal the German law code paragraph 175 which criminalized homosexuality. They didn't argue it to politicians to try and say those people were a-okay, they argued that the law encouraged blackmail of politicians by making it where any man could be character assassinated in the media by being accused of being gay wink wink nudge nudge (the tactic of portraying people that are critical of the gay agenda as secretly gay themselves is something that continues on to this day. In reality most anti gay people aren't gay, but the media portrays it in a different way. At most 5% of people are gay, it's probably closer to 1-2%). They gathered signatures from 5000 "prominent Germans" in order to get the bill to repeal the paragraph before the Reichstag. Here are a few of the signees. See if you can see a pattern of these "germans"
Albert Einstein, Hermann Hesse, Käthe Kollwitz, Thomas Mann, Heinrich Mann, Rainer Maria Rilke, August Bebel, Max Brod, Karl Kautsky, Stefan Zweig, Gerhart Hauptmann, Martin Buber, Richard von Krafft-Ebing and Eduard Bernstein.
The bill was brought before the Reichstag in 1898, but was supported only by a minority from the Social Democratic Party of Germany. Hirschfeld developed what would, in a later era, be described as "outing": forcing out of the closet some of the prominent and secretly "homosexual" lawmakers who had remained silent on the bill. He arranged for the bill to be reintroduced and in the 1920s it began to make some progress, before the takeover of the Nazi Party ended hopes for such reform.
During the Weimar republic when degeneracy was rampant jews like Hirschfeld produced tons of degenerate pornography under the guise of "science" in order to skirt the laws. Other jews would run hotels where German women and young boys prostituted themselves in order to survive. There were 13 different types of prostitutes in weimar Germany, ranging from mother daughter packages to young schoolboys and school girls who would sell themselves to grown men.
The media pushed this stuff to try and normalize it. The German people didn't necessarily like it. Written about Weimar girls
"To be a virgin by the age of eighteen was a humiliating thing"
Morals went out the door. Berlin was considered the sex capital of Europe. Rich men would come from all over the world to use the jewish owned German sex motels to fuck these prostitutes. The German people were extremely poor so they had to do it. Think of it like what goes on in Thailand now with children selling themselves to foreigners in order to feed their families. Suicides were very high. People were lost, confused, and depressed. It wasn't unlike what we are dealing with now.
Hirschfeld set up the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft (Institute of Sexual Research). He formed it in july 1919. This was after the failed jewish communist Sparticist uprising. A whole bunch of "science" was created at the Institute by a bunch of prominent Jewish intellectuals. Psychologists, gynecologists, sexologists. They also pushed out a bunch of pornography under the guise of scientific research, but the NSDAP saw right through that when they took power.
The institute had a "museum of sex". It was degenerate as fuck. School children were taken there to go through it in field trips and get their brains pumped full of gender bending psychological sexual nonsense. It's not unlike what they do nowadays when they try to push all this sex stuff onto kids younger and younger in order to erode morals and normalize sexual promiscuity and fuck with young people psychologically.
The institute was very marxist. Very marxist. That was their underlying agenda to erode traditional morals and values via cultural marxism in weimar Germany. Hirschfeld even housed prominent German marxists at the institute. The leader of the German communist party stayed at the Institute on and off for years because for a time it wasn't safe for him to be out in the open after the failed sparticist uprising. Ernst Thälmann. Under Thälmann the communist party abandoned the movement to start a revolution in germany now and instead focused in more subversive cultural goals in order to gain support. Marxist philosopher Ernst Bloch was a visitor that stayed there, the german communist party press secretary Willi Münzenberg was also a visitor
Hirschfeld believed gay men were all effeminate and partially transgender. It actually caused a schism in the SHC because of that. Some of the intellectuals broke off and formed their own committee for masculine gay men but it didn't have the same rich jewish backers so it eventually died.The institute was where the first ever sexual reassignment surgery took place. Afterwards many gender reassignment surgeries were conducted there. It's why "doctors" go straight for chopping it off instead of treating it like the mental illness it is. Don't believe the lie that the surgery came about because nothing else worked. If enough honest research is done to help actual trans people we could probably find a way to treat them that doesn't end up with a mutilated hole in between their legs and eventually a self inflicted gunshot hole between their eyes. Mutilation doesn't help, many regret it but they know they can't go back so they become even more depressed.
Any degenerate sexual movement you can think of had it's origins in the Institute.
This is why LGBT is a thing that includes trans people. If you actually talk to some gay men, a lot of them are uncomfortable with being lumped in with trans people and they feel it'd be easier to push their political agenda if they didn't have to support clearly mentally ill trans people too. Media didn't care. The media was completely controlled. Just like our media they were really hoping to normalize this stuff and push it on the average person to make them feel like they were bad people for thinking that maybe all this degenerate sexual stuff was a bit much.
People came from all over Europe to the Institute to "gain a clearer understanding of their sexuality" which is just a way to say a bunch of cultural marxists came to learn how to indoctrinate the youth in their own countries. A whole bunch of artists who would go in to become the origin of many new age artistic movements. People like German novelist and playwright Gerhart Hauptmann, German artist Christian Schad, French writers René Crevel and André Gide, Russian director Sergei Eisenstein, and American poet Elsa Gidlow.
In 1921 Hirschfeld organized the World League for Sexual Reform. This is the big thing that helped spread this stuff out to the rest of the western world instead of just keeping it contained in Berlin and Frankfurt.
Hirschfeld presided over the WLSR and gave a speech praising British "scientists" for their work on eugenics.
Congresses were held in Copenhagen (1928), London (1929), Vienna (1930), and Brno (1932). Congress speakers included : Magnus Hirschfeld, Norman Haire, Vera Brittain, Dora Russell, Charles Vickery Drysdale (from the Malthusian League), Stella Browne. Ernst Gräfenberg, Marie Stopes, M D Eder (a pioneer psychiatrist), Laurence Housman, George Ives, Eden Paul, Felix Abraham (who with Dr Levy-Lenz performed the world’s first sex-change operation in 1931 at Hirschfeld’s Institut für Sexualwissenschaft in Berlin), Bernard Shaw, Bertrand Russell, Ethel Mannin, Harry Benjamin, Peter Schmidt, William J Robinson (an American contraception crusader) and Jack Flügel (a Freudian psychologist who assisted Norman Haire and Dora Russell to organize the Congress and also led the Men's Dress Reform Party Although not a speaker), Albert Einstein was in contact with the Congress. Naomi Mitchison (whose paper was 'Some Comment on the Use of Contraceptives by Intelligent Persons'. Cant have those intelligent whites breeding out of control. Be responsible and smart goy :) ), Dora Russell ('Marriage and Freedom'), Janet Chance, an abortion law reform pioneer ('A Marriage Education Centre in London'), Vera Brittain, a writer and pacifist ('The Failure of Monogamy') and Stella Browne ('The Right to Abortion')
This post is about Hirschfeld, but just looking into any of those names or groups and you'll find a hornets nest of the origins of the current sexual cultural marxism we see in todays society. Everything from feminism to no fault divorce ruining marriages to polyamory to abortion to gays to trans people.
In May 1933 the NSDAP raided the Institute and shut them down. They burned all the pornography and degenerate "science". The jewish owned international media cried their normal cry about how those evil old nazis were burning books and destroying science (ignoring that the allies burned 10x as many books when they took over Germany, including ever history school book, and that Germans at the time saw it as destroying degenerate pornography and sexually immoral material).
The NSDAP took over and reinstituted morals. Socially, psychologically, and morally the Germans quickly latched onto it. Getting rid of that corruption was hugely popular in germany and was seen as getting their society back on the right track after the dark days of Weimar Germany. The international jewish media and "historians" portrayed it as the worst thing ever. The German government had no tolerance for that bullshit and wouldn't be threatened with blackmail of being accused of being secretly gay like Hirschfeld and his cronies tried to do with the Social Democratic party.
Hirschfeld fled Germany for Paris and died in 1935.
His students continued his work though. Just like how the Frankfurt school went and infected Columbia university after they were kicked out of Germany, Hirschfelds sexual Marxists infected American academia and the media and slowly trickled in with their degeneracy.
The "sexual revolution" in the 60s is a direct result of the WLSR, and it led to a lot of problems.
Studies show that women now are more depressed than ever before. Thanks feminism.
Women are supposed to be the sexual limiting factor, because men have a mucj higher sexual libido and will fuck any halfway attractive thing that might be willing.
Women are also way more affected by having tons of partners.
This chart shows some of the problems
https://i.sli.mg/knNjKR.png
The family unit comes from what is known as sexual pair bonding. Sex is a way you bond with your partner. Psychologically it's supposed to be something special done between the two of you. It's not purely just sliding skin against skin, and ignoring the psychological aspect of it ignores much of what made us what we are today. It developed as a way to create family units in human tribes so men would want to stick around and help protect the woman and child, which allowed humans to develop bigger brains at the expense of being pretty much defenseless and useless for the first decade of life. The family was an important part of humanity. The more partners a woman has the less she is able to pair bond. This leads to more single mothers, more anxiety, more depression, and the destruction of the family unit. Sorry, but men might be willing to fuck many women but they, for the most part, don't want to pair bond and marry a promiscuous partner. It's psychological.
If you study cultural marxism you probably already know how the destruction of the family unit plays into pushing the agenda.
Men are feminized. Young men are told they're all partially gay. People known as transtrenders are coming up, because now it's popular to say you're trans even though you don't actually have gender dismorphic disorder. They try to muddy the waters of what is a man and what is a woman. Truth is gender absolutely positively is binary. Exceptions are extremely rare. It's about the most binary thing when it comes to humans since mutations and defects exist for a bunch of things when it comes to humanity. 99.8% of humans conform to the binary, but these people try to portray it otherwise. It's not about helping trans people, if they cared about that they'd actually be trying to find a way to treat the mental illness. They usually come with a plethora of other illnesses, and end up killing themselves. That's not because they're oppressed, that's just an excuse. It's because they're mentally ill.
Brainwashed parents abuse their children because the media says it's okay. Little kids who don't know any better say they want to wear a dress one day and next thing you know their "progressive" parents are bragging about how they're trans. Then comes the medications to prevent the child from going through puberty. They have it fed into their heads that they're trans when in reality they're just confused. The media portrays this as "heroic", like little boys like Jazz Jennings are facing oppression just to live their lives. In reality he has abusive parents who convinced him he was a girl. He was pumped full of female hormones and then paraded in front of the media.
If you call out their bullshit and try to bring them back down to reality, you're the oppressive transophobic bigot.
99.8% of people are just normal, man or a woman. If a young man or woman thinks they're trans they shouldn't be encouraged. They'll probably grow out of it once they go through puberty. The absolute worst thing to do is pump them full of drugs to prevent puberty then pump them full of drugs to give them the hormones of the opposite sex. That's the "treatment" nowadays though. It might suck for the 0.2%, but you've got to focus on the 99.8%. It's WAY more likely they're just going through a phase. Heck, Jennings admits he's very depressed about how he is. Instead of getting them help they parade them around as heroic right up until the day they deepthroat a shotgun.
It's all very sad. It's like the world has gone mad and all the origins are from that marxist jewish bastard Magnus Hirschfeld.
Weimar Germany can be seen as a dry run for cultural marxism. They realized they tried to do too much too quickly and it backfired on them hard. People don't actually like this stuff. It takes a huge psychological toll. Marxists have to operate slowly over the course of decades in order to corrupt the youth and muddy the waters so much that no one is able to come to a logical conclusion. If you oppose this agenda (like Putin) you're portrayed as an evil bigoted tyrant. If you want to stick by your religion, and just live your life that isn't good enough. Even refusing to bake a cake for gays can get your livelihood destroyed. Heaven forbid you actually want to follow Christian morals in this day and age. The first part of the first amendment is about religious freedom, and it's very clear in the bible that that's a sin and supporting a sin is a sin itself so by forcing them to violate their religion you're persecuting them but the government doesn't care that that's textbook religious persecution.
Most people were okay with it as long as it wasn't pushed in their faces. That wasn't good enough though, they pushed it in everyones faces. They didn't want tolerance, they wanted forced acceptance. When you look at who is funding these things, who is pushing these things, and who came up with these ideas in the first place the agenda becomes clear.
The media pushes things and tries to normalize this stuff. Just ten years ago you would've been laughed out of the building for trying to say trans people aren't mentally ill. Now the government is trying to take away funding for states that simply want businesses to have the right to conduct their business in a way that they see appropriate. Just think about that for a second, how does that help anyone. Cutting funding for schools and states because you have the nerve to say a man is a man and a woman is a woman. Only 0.2% of the population is actually trans, you're hurting the 99.8% in order to force the agenda of the 0.2%. Opinion polling shows upwards of 70% of Americans are in favor of the trans bathroom bans, it's the government acting against the public will. Maybe you don't want to have to worry about letting your young daughter go to the bathroom and a mentally ill male gynophiliac coming in after her. The media actively seeks these types of people out in order to push them on us, they don't represent reality. You have to try to find a real trans person to plaster them on TV. If you oppose it you're portrayed as a bigot. It's madness directed right at the younger generation.
Check the Vines Common Filth collects
https://youtube.com/watch?list=PL09gIBBK82tHQ1pkPyQ4pdbc8UXw_RKC9&v=nTHbY9mVYAM
It's getting kind of bad. You older people might not realize how fucked up younger generations are becoming.
When you destroy gender you destroy traditional gender roles. The happiest marriages are those where the couple conforms to traditional gender roles.
The American Sociology Review conducted a study at The University of Washington. Unsurprisingly, married couples that conform to traditional gender roles have way more sex. Up to 20x as much sex yearly
http://joshchristophersen.com/married-couples-with-traditional-gender-roles-have-more-sex/
Less sex = lower fertility and less pair bonding = fewer kids and an unhappier marriage
Instead you see families, pair bonding, and white fertility rates all dropping off the deep end.
This stuff doesn't happen by accident.
It's about destroying the family unit, destroying family morals and values, and confusing people making them accept a narrative that is completely contradictory to reality in order to keep them under your thumb. The vast majority of normal people know it's bullshit but they don't speak out because they fear being labeled a bigot.
Liberalism is a mental illness. If you read the book "Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism" you realize progressives operate as a cult.
These things all have a common origin and all have a psychologically destructive basis behind them. They're still being funded by these marxist jews. Look at Soros funded Femen. Those women that go around topless in Europe. They're very anti Christian and attack traditional values. It's all very trashy, but Soros doesn't care. They preach feminism but put ads in papers for attractive women to pay to protest for them because they know attractive topless women get more attention. Seems hypocritical. Where are the topless fat ugly women that make up 95% of feminists at when Femen protests.
So that's how jewish "intellectuals" and jewish media owners created this whole sexual and gender monster we are currently dealing with today. It doesn't represent reality.
If you are following the stuff Hirschfeld taught as a guidebook be ready for these two to be pushed next once trans stuff is forced down our throats
1) incest (actual incest between immediate family, not cousins or farther. First cousin marriages, which according to geneticist alan brittles make up 20% of marriages worldwide, are a completely different story. Only recently in the west has it become socially stigmatized. Throughout human history it wasn't. That's a different story for a different day that has to do with the distribution of wealth, and how elites keep their wealth from being spread out while the plebs can't keep wealth for more than a few generations due to spreading out among larger families and the death tax making it impossible for families to hold onto what they created. The Rothschild patriarch ordered the family to marry cousins to preserve the fortune for example)
2) pedophilia. Specifically adult male, young boy. Many gays will never admit it publicly but they are into it. Not all gays are pedarasts, don't get me wrong. But, look at pedarast Harvey Milk. He fucked underage boys and he's portrayed as a hero, the US government recently named a navy warship after him.
Watch this
https://youtu.be/gXGlawiibK8
On hidden camera the story is a lot different than they portray it in the media.
Those two are the next frontier.
It's not a slippery slope, it's an agenda that has been slowly brewing for decades.
*Om Ulrichs: If, as some people assert, the word "gay" should be reserved for people who are self-conscious, open members of the homosexual community, then Ulrichs was the first gay man of modern times. Certainly he was the first gay activist. Driven by a stubborn streak that was the leading feature of his personality, Ulrichs argued tirelessly for the rights of homosexuals. In 1867 he made a speech before the Congress of German Jurists in Munich, in which he appealed for the abolition of the sodomy statute. He also corresponded widely with gay men, and published numerous pamphlets and monographs on homosexuality.
Ulrichs had a sense of himself as being considerably more feminine than the average man. He recalled that as a young child he wore girls' clothes, preferred playing with girls, and in fact expressed a desire to be a girl. As an adult, he was sexually attracted to virile young men, especially to soldiers in uniform. As far as we know, however, he did not cross-dress as an adult; in fact, he was perceived by his contemporaries as a rather conventionally gendered man.
Ulrichs put forward two important ideas about homosexuality.
1) he declared that homosexuals were a distinct class of individuals, innately different from heterosexual people. At that time there was no word to describe this class of people, aside from the pejorative, behavior-based term "sodomite." (The word "homosexual" was introduced later by the Hungarian Karl Maria Kertbeny.) Ulrichs therefore coined the word "urning," meaning follower or descendant of Uranus. The name is a reference to a passage in Plato's Symposium, in which Pausanias calls same-sex love the offspring of the "heavenly Aphrodite," daughter of Uranus. Ulrichs later added the feminine form "urningin" to define women we now refer to as lesbians. Heterosexuals, in Ulrichs's parlance, became "dionings"--descendants of the "common Aphrodite," daughter of Zeus by the mortal woman Dione.
2) Ulrichs put forward a theory to account for the development of sexual orientation. In his earliest conception of this theory, propounded in 1864, the human embryo was viewed as having the potential for bodily and mental development in either the female or the male direction. In most people the sexual development of the body and the mind was concordant: either both were male or both were female. In fetuses destined to become urnings, however, the sex of bodily development was male, while the sex of mental development was female. These individuals, being neither totally male nor totally female, constituted a"third sex." He later put forward a similar explanation for the origin of urningins: in them, the sex of bodily development was female, while that of mental development was male
I'm sure many of you have heard before we all started out as female. It's complete bullshit. A female has estrogen, ovaries, and a vagina. We start off from the same two genital structures in development. The mothers body releases hormones and when males develop they lose one of those structures. When females develop they lose the other structure. WE DO NOT START OFF AS FEMALES.
These embryonic structures are the Wolffian and Müllerian ducts, also known as mesonephric and paramesonephric ducts, respectively. The Wolffian duct remains as the duct in males, and the Müllerian as that of the female.
submitted by nenieco to researches [link] [comments]


2019.05.02 03:22 JustaBirdii Conflicted feelings for previous Master

8.5 years ago i met Him. It fairly quickly turned into a relationship with a D/S dynamic. But he was incredibly flakey and just so bad at communication when we were physically right next to each other. We ended up breaking up a few months later because just ~ghosted~ me. We ended up having a sexual re connection a few months later a few times, but then he moved to Australia. We stayed in touch and actually became better friends with the distance, and we started playing long distance (video chats, texts, calls, pictures, etc). This was on and off for about 5 years while the both of us were traveling, or dating other people. When i broke up with my partner a year and a half ago i actually decided monogamy wasnt for me, and ventured into polyamory. I reached out to J, because at this time he was only about 6 hours away from me. He told me that he was recently broken up with his girlfriend, and pretty soon we were full swing back into our dynamic. Over the course of a few months it quickly turned much more serious, and i was driving to see him every month, and he became my Master. It was wonderful and fulfilling that period a year ago was the best time of my life. I had other partners as well, but not at the D/S dynamic he and I had.
I had been planning to move to Thailand, which he knew, and i repeatedly told him that i was scared about not seeing him and him disappearing like he had done in the past. He promised that wasn't going to happen. Well after i moved here he basically stopped texting me after a month. I ended up telling him that his behavior was telling me that he had stopped caring and that i knew this was going to happen.
We had spoken on and off since then, but theres been this never ending ache in my chest without him in my life. Ive never loved someone so deeply and completely before. But his behavior has made me so angry.
A few weeks ago i was in Bali with another partner, and i ended up texting him (it had been about 4 months since we had spoken last) because he had lived in Bali right before we met. We got to talking and he told me he wanted to try to make it work, and make time to figure us out. I told him that i wanted that but that i was nervous because he has a history of vanishing and i wont be in the states for another year. He told me he understand and he has a lot of explaining to do but he will figure out his thoughts on it and get back to me.

That was two weeks ago, and ive texted him three times and he hasnt responded and i feel like im going crazy. Theres still this part of me that just wants to serve him, and love him, and be his sub- because thats when i feel im being most authentic, but i dont know what to do. I dont know why hes doing this, why did he say those things and then stop responding. What the hell is happening *queue mental spiral*
submitted by JustaBirdii to BDSMAdvice [link] [comments]


2019.04.16 17:22 allemagn Platonic intimate friends?

So, here is a bit of my story.
My partner is asexual, but he has a fetish which makes him sexually attracted to women if they wear a certain thing. Outside of this, he feels no sexual attraction. He is sex-positive, and when we use his fetish, we can have sex. However, the only time he comes is if he masturbates while watching women wearing that thing.
I had a hard time to accept and explore all that, and I am still exploring. It's especially hard for me to not being able to "make him" come. Even if I played with his fetish super hard, he wouldn't. He never did, with anyone.
Now, my present issue. There is that woman. My partner met her uncle about two years ago. Her uncle told my partner that he had a niece who died to come live in our community (we live in a remote area in a community of less than 10000 people surrounded by nature) and who would be a very good match with him.
Well, that woman moved to our community last Fall. He didn't tell me about it before the night before he went on something that looks a lot like a date to me (although on a Wednesday night, at least). They went to a local restaurant/pub and chatted over dinner. I was very uncomfortable with that meeting. I have a tendency to be jealous, but also, I could tell she was exactly his type, much more than I can be. Everything he tells me I am lacking, I know she has from what he told me about it.
I had a really hard time accepting that they met. Also, not long after that, he was comparing his exes and me to animals or things. Well, he said that I felt like a "comfortable blanket". Which made me feel so lame. And then, he included this new woman (comparing her to an animal, really not as lame as a blanket) whom he only had met twice then.
Let's say that jealousy in my life was hardly there for no reason. I have a good instinct and I know that he is very attracted to her personality. I was cheated on so many times. Or just knew something was developing between guys I was seeing and other women thanks to my sixth sense. Broken-hearted enough times to know that my instinct is very sharp for these things. One of these times, it got really bad. My boyfriend sleept with his ex one night before we left to take a three week secluded training where he started hitting on someone else who was also taking the training. It made my intestines block and I had an emergency surgery to cut 50 cm off my intestines. Well, two days after the surgery, he came to visit me at the hospital and brought the woman he was connecting with so fully through their mutual energies and whom he was hoping to fuck. I was so mad. I politely told him he was very disrespectful, and his stare was so innocent. He didn't understand what he was doing wrong, since he was following his heart (hippie bullshit - which before I knew what it was thought was so attractive). Anyways, now I (hopefully) know better than to stay in something that is dangerous for me physically.
I am a quiet introverted person. I am usually careful when I give my opinion not to be too strong because I believe everything is relative. I have low levels of energy (I have multiple physical illnesses to deal with). I have changed jobs a lot in the past few years. She is in the beginning of a big career, she is very sparkly, she says "this is so interesting" any time he opens his mouth, she is in better physical shape than I. The only thing I know I have over her is that I finished paying off my student debts and she has a looot in debt.
Anyways, he stopped seeing her for a while. He was worried that he would again "pay emotionally" for it (which I find in part funny, because with our housemates, I always have to do sooooo much emotional work for him, because he gets upset any time something is changed in the order he likes around him, which happens a lot, and it's super tiring for me - but of course, this emotional labour is not important compared to the one he has to do because that one is about dirty jealousy and insecurity). However, their paths crossed a few weeks ago again (it's a very small community). They told each other they should do something together.
Then, about ten days ago, she texted him while I was on a date with him and finished with "I was thinking of you". Seeing that, I was pretty uncomfortable. Anyways, I insisted on him inviting me to an activity with them, so I can meet her and see if my fears were founded or not. It turns out it is very close to what I was afraid of. She was describing her type of guy (exactly him), she was emphasizing she was looking for a partner and friends, and they were feeding of each other's energies (reminding me so much of that ex who would become so excited at meeting new people who had high level of energies that he couldn't help but sleep with them, five times plus many unsuccessful other attempts, also painful). You know when you meet someone and you're very happy to see them, it makes you want to smile just from being around them? They talk, and you find them so exciting and interesting? It's that type of relationship between my partner and his new friend.
And it's not that I am not exciting. I lived in Thailand, Japan, Madagascar, Central America, etc, and had lots of adventures. When I tell people, they are usually fascinated by my life. But he has this way of not caring at all about these things and making me feel so boring. He often stops me any time I start talking about my past travels. If I don't have that to make his eyes bright and for us to connect at a higher energy level, I have nothing. Well, I am good at listening to people and their emotions. I am not afraid of someone crying in front of me, and I can welcome them in their most vulnerable selves. I am not afraid of their darkness, and it's usually not going to carry me down (well, one could argue that my level of happiness is slightly lower than that of most people anyways - so maybe I cannot get lower? ;) ). I am good at following someone who has high energy and having higher energy fun, if I trust them very much (I was bullied a lot when I was young, and it's hard for me to trust and let go, especially in groups). I have lots of new ideas of projects that could take place, lots of ideas to make things better. My mind is always on the go, in good or bad directions.
It threw me into a "fight, flight or freeze" mode since she contacted him again, with some days easier than the others. One thing is, he tells me to trust him on one hand, but on the other, he admits that he finds her more attractive than me, but that it's not important because he wants to be with me (out of the comfort of our relationship, which is important to him). For him, sexual monogamy is the only type of monogamy that has importance (while in all honesty, I am far from satisfied on that area of life right now). While I am not sure I am ok about the fact that my partner is more romantically attracted to another woman while we have been together not even a full year yet.
Sex is not really important to him, it's just a nice to have. So basically, what he is having and feeling for her is pretty much the same as dating casually. It's the best situation for him. He has comfort with me and stimulation/attraction with her. And like, no nuances on this part when we think about it. He doesn't say "at the first glance I am more attracted to her, but I don't know her at all, so I can imagine her in any way I like, whether she is that way or not.". He doesn't say "more attracted is very relative. I feel easier to feed off her energy and I feel lifted, which is nice, but that's not all she is and it's only on that aspect that I feel more attracted". Or "She has a light energy, so it's easy for me to let go around her because I am so sensitive to outside stress otherwise, but there are so many more things I like about you than her". Or, "I admire her life trajectory, but yours is a much deeper path and you have overcome more challenges, and I am amazed at you for that". He only emphasizes he feels comfortable with me. I had to force him to tell me things he likes about me which have nothing to do with how comfortable he is with me.
I am wondering now what I want in all this. It has never been my goal to have a relationship just for comfort. I actually see it a little as a lame reason for having a relationship. And in all honesty, if I compare my levels of happiness from being single and being with him, they are pretty much equal. The stability of it all is not making me happier (he is extremely stable, super organized, plans his trip months in advance, while I am more of a last minute person). It's making me more stable, yes, and not hindering my happiness. But I feel less confident around him, and I am starting to feel it's heavy, very heavy.
Obviously, I haven't shared much positive here, because I am still in fight, flight or freeze mode. I do appreciate our walks on the land together. I do appreciate making plans with him. Cuddling feels great. He has something adorable to his very organized and nerdy side. He has good values of equality and betterment of the world. He cooks well and makes it look good. He is not afraid of commitment. He is good at creating and building things. He loves learning new things. He sees the world and questions it. He is good at keeping himself safe. He can be generous (unless he judges a person is taking advantage of him, whether it's true or not). He cultivates his own happiness.
Other info about us: there was a woman (35 years older than him) he saw every Friday night for dinner in a bar for most of the time we were together so far. I was not the happiest about it, but I knew he did not consider her personality as "superior" to mine, so I didn't have crisis like this.
On another hand, he offered to have lunch with that sparkly woman (the one from earlier in my story) and tell her over lunch that he couldn't see her anymore because of my incomfort - which is funny, because then of course she knows it's not because he doesn't like her, so in a way she is kept not too far away if things end up not working between us and also funny because usually he couldn't care less about not answering people's text messages and doesn't miss sleep over it - but obviously, how she feels is already pretty important for him even though they met only three times. I am not super fond of this idea because he's going to resent me obviously and also anyways he said it will happen A LOT in our lives that he will find other women more attractive than me and will want to develop friendships with them (it's the way he has friendships - people need to be attracted to him for him to be interested. Also true of men, his only guys friends are gay and at least a little into him). Maybe he unknowingly lacks self-confidence and doesn't believe a friendship is worth it with him unless people have a slight hope of getting in his pants (not knowing that anyways, he is not that much into that)?
Now, from all I just wrote, from your external point of view, what do you see? I am afraid we just don't have the same type of monogamy/same vision of what we want in a relationship, and if that's the case, we'll just make one or the other miserable. I don't really see a way for this to work without him making big sacrifices on his needs/acting like he's more attracted to me than he actually is or me having to continuously swallow a knife and smile. I mean, is this what relationships are? Are you guys more attracted to other people than your partners within six months of the beginning of your relationship? Isn't that a recipe for high unhappiness in the long run - or to become some sort of best-friends-without-benefits? I cannot wrap my head around this. If the advantage of a relationship is only stability and comfort (and on top not even sex for me), is that enough to want one? I am pretty happy on my own, even though I usually then long for affection and sexuality.
What if his need for keeping flirty friendships alive in his life is the equivalent of me having a need for sexual relationships without romantic feelings? Would then that be fair? Maybe if when he goes to meet with his special friends to satisfy his needs I could go meet my own special friends to satisfy mine? At least I would feel desired by people (which is what he also gets from his flirty friendships) and could satisfy that very human need of feeling like the most attractive person for another person, at least in this short exchange. And I would have less head space for worrying if I am busy taking care of my own needs when he takes care of his.
I am a little lost on what is best for me and what my boundaries are/what I am willing to negotiate/compromise on.
submitted by allemagn to asexuality [link] [comments]


2019.01.28 00:15 themindiseverything0 Every Path Leads to Unhappiness [why live in a world without genuine care?!)

I’m a bit suicidal. I have no plan but my thoughts always come back to this. Doing meth in Thailand. It’s pathetic. I won’t ever give in but the constant thoughts about doing it are torturing me. I was the naïve kid who believed Bollywood was real, and then Hollywood. I long for that innocence again. The fucking blue pill. Its pathetic. Neo would not be proud I went from naïve to jaded. Then came the red pill, I needed it to understand past trauma but I’ve been in the angedepressed phase for about 3 months now. I just feel hopeless. No soul mates. Everyone is corrupt. And what is the point of living when my goal have always been to be with my 10. I know that sounds pathetic too but it’s what I have always strived for. I don’t care about anything else. My 10 has always inspired me to be more but I can no longer trust in that dream.
I don’t like that this is coming off as complaining/whining/being a chode, etc. I just really don’t know what to do. How to negotiate the red pill with my life and organize some order from the chaos I would appreciate clarity so much. Thank you for your advice.
I don’t hate women or blame them. Deep down I am easily corruptible as well. I just need a fucking path and need to get behind it with confidence. I’m tired of being a leaf in the wind.
I feel like every path, for me, leads to Huge Unhappiness and Emptiness. I want to commit to something but am not sure what. Every lifestyle strategy has good points. I view PUA as a source of my personal evolution as a man. I view women, not as soul mates, but as a source for my sexual pleasure/inspiration and conduit for that path.
From my POV, for my personal life, living in North America:
I’m not a full MGTOW because I know humans are a social animal and I don’t see myself being happy totally leaving women behind. Then again, I don’t necessarily see happiness in the following options either.
Marriage = Not interested because I don’t want kids, to be trapped by corrupt legal laws, and because I simply don’t see myself trusting any 1 woman (or myself) or even wanting to be with any 1 woman for the rest of life. It makes me claustrophobic and I don’t want that responsibility. i.e. investing too much in one basket, in a world where the basket industry has been corrupted…when I know that I don’t want my investment to be stuck in that one basket forever anyway. One Night Stands = empty sex, no intimacy, and not worth the disproportionate effort. i.e. constant hunting for food. Escorts = zero intimacy, many don’t kiss (which I like a lot), very expensive, only 1 round Short Term Relationships (SRT) = e.g. 1 year girlfriends. It really hurts to keep building relationships only to end them later. It will usually end in pain (i.e. light switch, hamstering, re-writing history, etc.) AND even if it doesn’t, the entire relationships feels like I am lying to her (i.e. that I am open to marriage). I’ve had a break up because of this. I told her I was unsure about marriage and she said so she saw thing going nowhere. She didn’t want to turn into the girl nagging her guy for marriage or pressuring him for marriage, which even if it did succeed, was against the guy’s grain. This may cause resentment later and means less of a chance of a successful marriage anyway. I definitely understand here. Basically short term romances mean a roller coaster of feels between 2 people that ultimately go nowhere and either end badly/or is based on on a lie.
but then again, I’ve had erectile dysfunction for the last 9 years and it’s something I am working on for sure. I am not giving up. However, for the short term romance, this means I would likely to have to lie to women that I am open to marriage, which makes me feel guilty and bases our relationship on a lie. And then are the other problems I mention.
Social Circle Abundance = This is something I need to learn more about. From what I understand, the idea is to build an empire/harem where I make no promises to anyone and can have intimate relationships without deep feelings. I don’t mind the hard work but I wonder if this is even worth it. I hate clubs/bars, drinking alcohol, and feel that even to be friends with sexy women, it means me buying them a ton of shit. That makes me feel used.
^ BUT due to my erectile dysfunction, acting like a ‘fuck boy’ would be incongruent to this design and so perhaps I have no choice but to focus on the STR
I understand now thanks to TRP that love is a myth and monogamy unlikely. So I’m hoping for intimacy but even that seems impossible.
It took me so long to write this. I REALLLY appreciate your advice.
submitted by themindiseverything0 to asktrp [link] [comments]


2018.10.28 08:32 Westernhats Just another rant

Good day everyone,
This is a post regarding my current predicament/issues and I thought I might share and get some input. Apologies for the long post and errors.
About a 2 years ago I decided to accept my sexuality and interests in men, hence I decided I would set up an account on Silver Daddies (SD). Now just a little bit of a background, I was never really the local’s type and the opportunities were always limited as being gay in my country isn’t exactly the best of things and people weren’t open. Mind you I am in the closet myself. Every male in Singapore had to go through a 2-year national service. It could be the Military, Police force etc. The Majority would get drafted into the military like myself.
So fast forward a couple of months, I finished my basic training and was on the verge of joining my new vocation. Because I had more time during that period I decided to go on SD after a long time just to have a look around. As usual I went to the traveler's section and noticed a interesting profile. He was 63, a tad on the heavy side but his profile was well written and had a nice photo. So, I thought to myself why not and gave a response. I was half expecting not to get a reply as that’s usually the case. To my surprise I did get a response. Let’s call this person Joe. I requested to have a skype call with Joe to get to know him better. The reason why I do this is because, to me trust is very important. If I can feel comfortable, I can be myself much easier. Having a hook up is not an issue to me, however I take an extra effort to get to the person I am with so the whole experience was an enjoyable one. I didn’t approach Joe just for a hook up. Judging by his profile I thought there could be more to it than just a random night. During our first skype, Joe revealed that he was partnered. At that time, I had nothing against it. If couples have an open relationship or have come to an agreement of any sort away from monogamy that’s fine by me. I always rolled with the motto of I shouldn’t be the reason for any relationship to break down. Right of the bat I felt Joe was a very interesting person and his knowledge and passion on Hollywood, Broadway shows was very interesting to see. As I eased in to my vocation I had more free times on hand. Hence, I was able to skype with Joe more frequently. It became a norm. Eventually I was also able to see and have a chat with his partner. It felt simple back then. Joe had many admirable qualities and I was excited to for his arrival.
As time went by, I would get in extra calls with Joe. Things started to get a tad more serious as we shared our experiences in life and the struggles we faced. I started to get more attached to Joe and Joe realized this. He later admitted he felt the same. Fast forward a couple of months and Joe finally arrived in Singapore. His stay here was short. I wouldn’t advice anyone to spend more than 3 days in Singapore as you can cover its key attractions quickly. We had a such great time. It meant a lot for me. We have been chatting for a long time and finally meeting face to face was a whole other experience. It was sad when Joe left. But life must move on eh?
Joe and I continued to stay in contact, having our regular Sunday morning chats. Eventually we both addressed the fact that we had feelings for each other. I still couldn’t fathom the fact of falling in love with a person who is already partnered. His partner was cool about this and he liked me a lot too. They always joked about us 3 being a family. I liked that idea if I were to be honest. Joe was planning another trip to Thailand and he wanted to pass by Singapore again. Obviously, I was happy and was eager to see this come to fruition. We both planned it out well and I was able to take some leave days from being in the barracks. On the final night of his stay Joe asked me something that would change my life forever. He wanted me to come to states for a visit, so he and his partner could show me around.
Initially I was very hesitant. The media has always portrayed a controversial image of it. At least that how I was ‘indoctrinated’ to have a bad impression. So, I said it didn’t really feel like my cup of tea. Joe said it mean a lot to him if I came to the states after I finished my national service. He was also aware that I was going to pursue an engineering degree in Australia (my initial plan was to study and eventually move there. Many reasons to why but I am not going to state it). Hence, he knew planning a trip while I was in school was extremely difficult. Furthermore, I knew how costly it would be. Nonetheless I used up all my savings to purchase a return ticket to the states. Joe agreed to cover the other costs which I was extremely grateful but at the same time guilty. I just hated the idea that I had to rely on someone to pay for bills. Joe managed to talk me into it and I agreed. I still struggled with my conscience knowing Joe was paying fortune just to have me and see his country. He was very determined to change my impressions. Thus 30-day trip in the united states seeing various places with Joe and his partner was planned. If only I knew better.
The trip was spectacular. Joe resided in California near LA. We went to places like Cambria (Hearst castle), Hollywood before making our grand road trip to Salt Lake City, Utah, Wyoming (Yellowstone, Jackson hole), Nevada (Vegas). It was certainly an eye-opening trip for me. The nature side of the US is severely underrated. Over the period of the 30 days. Joe and his partner and me got close. It felt as if we were meant to be together. There were no awkward moments. I was conscious to when I showed affection to Joe as I didn’t want to be rude to his partner. His partner always thought that was funny and he didn’t really care.
The trip eventually came to an end and it was extremely difficult to say goodbye. My dreams completely shifted then. I wanted to move to the states after my studies. I still couldn’t believe how quickly it changed and shifted. It feels like I am running out of time and it gives me anxiety that I still have 3.5 years left to finish my degree and Joe will be 69 by then. Joe and I want to make it a reality whereby the three of us are living near. I have always felt I am very rational person, but I have no idea why I led myself to this position. I still feel there is so much more to learn from them and their experiences. No idea why I made this rant. Just felt that this sub was a very supportive one.
Thank you for the read and apologies for errors.
submitted by Westernhats to gayyoungold [link] [comments]


2017.12.09 22:14 sharkslayerreturns My Experience and Tips on Polygamy

Hey guys,
I feel there is too much focus on short term lays in this community but not enough emphasis on actually getting what many of us REALLY want. A HAREM of MULTIPLE HOT LOYAL WOMEN!
I'm not talking about lying and cheating to accomplish this.
Men who lie and don't have integrity aren't men.
I'm talking about a situation where all the women know whats up and are very close with eachother.
In many parts of the world and in many cultures it is very common for men to marry multiple women. Throughout history polygamy was a symbol of being a high status man.
I've been gaming for about 7 years, and over the past year I've been experimenting and studying the men in US/non US who have been able to have polygamous relationships.
These guys are doing things DIFFERENT than everyone else.
5 things I've seen all polygamorous relationships share in common; -.Pre-selection (the women knows the man can get other women), - Honesty and Open communication (no need to lie that monogamy fully satisfies you sexually, then do what many guys do and cheat behind your girlfriend's back) - Fairness (This avoids jealousy, I've seen some men keep a journal for what days each girl gets a date night, etc.) - They proactively pursued it and believe it was possible -The men are financially able to provide basics for their women (many times the women work still)
I believe many men could do polygamy, but they don't even think its possible. You can have multiple committed women in your life that all know about eachother, most men are stuck in groupthink, are liars, or are miserable.
Finding a women in the US who is down for polygamy is more difficult but can definitly be done. Those women just need some convincing, love, a guy with good game, and some demonstrations of status.
I think have a polygamous relationship is even harder when you hear from PUA coaches to move to cities like LA (extreme high status competition), Vegas (tourists and not long term), etc.
For American men, there are many women in Thailand/ the Philippines who would be open to a poly relationship.
Even if your a lower income American,you can go to a third world country and pretty easily find women.
Or you could go extreme and move to Utah and join a Mormon Church. (only small amount of Mormons still practice Polygamy)
Ideally, you probably don't want to keep running around nightclubs and only getting quick one night stands for years and years.
Dealing with the STD's, wasted time not spent on your career, short sightedness, shallowness, and lack of emotional attachments that comes with being a player forever in my opinion sucks.
Also I feel most men don't really want a monogamously committed relationship to one women either. I've felt like I wanted a relationship when I had no woman, but after I got a woman slowly after a couple months time, I lost much of my interest in that women and started looking elsewhere. This happened so many times, even with women I was in love with. (share your experiences) Even when you find the complete "perfect" woman for you, almost every time society pressures men to settle and then later have a feeling like something might be missing. This leads many to lie and cheat, find someone new, repeat the cycle, or have a unfulfilled sex life their entire life.
Women will constantly ask me "What about an open relationship or what about if the roles were reversed and she dated multiple men?" I've been in an open relationship, I’ve been with women who are with more than one guy. I don’t judge that. I’ve shared women with my brother. I don’t mind that, but I’m more of a man. To me, those guys that are with girls that have multiple men, they’re like pussy.
Have YOU ever pulled off dating multiple women who all know eachother? If so, please share how you did it and what the average guy needs to know to achieve it. Thanks
submitted by sharkslayerreturns to seduction [link] [comments]


2017.08.29 22:36 changingtimes32 I feel myself (22 F) developing feeling for him (25 M) despite him not being ready, and I don't know how to proceed. Help!

Okay guys, I know you've heard this a million times before, and I know the general consensus would be to run. I hope you'll take the time to hear me out anyway and let me know of any other options I may have. I apologize in advance for the wall of text, I just have a lot of feelings 😕
Some Background: I recently became single after a 3 year long stint of "serial monogamy". I jumped from relationship to rebound to relationship, and I've finally reached a point that I'm actually on my own. I was extremely excited for this new chapter of my life, and booked myself a month long trip to Thailand to celebrate. I'll be leaving the country in 6 days and won't be back until October.
I met P* through a friend at work one night when he came into eat with a friend (I'm a server). He ended up coming over after I got off and we had a great time and exchanged numbers in the morning. That was a few weeks ago, and we've been hanging out and having sleepovers 2-3 times a week since then. It would be a perfect casual arrangement had I not, like an idiot, started to develop feelings.
P* is great. Like seriously one of the coolest people I've ever met. He rock climbs, plays guitar, plays piano, travels, cuts hair, skateboards, does martial arts. I don't think there is anything this guy doesn't do, and he excels at everything he tries. It's pretty ridiculous actually. He recently began teaching me some stuff on guitar, and has also been teaching me some climbing basics which I've really enjoyed. He's been an awesome activity partner so far and is always up to doing spontaneous road trips and other fun stuff. I really value him as a friend, someone who makes life more fun and interesting and inspires me to try new things etc.
Now here's where things get complicated. I'm finding it impossible not to fall for him. We had a conversation early on about how neither of us wanted a relationship. Between both of us having baggage from our previous relationships and also dealing with people we had casually dated falling way to quick, it was nice for both of us I think to find someone on the same page. But I am no longer on that page. I really can't help myself.
Every time we have a sleepover, we end up staying up all night together playing guitar, singing, watching Rick and Morty, cuddling, and having some of the best sex I've ever had. He cooks for me sometimes and says he enjoys doing nice things for me because I'm so sweet to him. When we hang out during the day, we have awesome outdoor adventures and the conversation flows so easily. I enjoy spending time with him more than I do with anyone else, and I know he really enjoys our time together too.
Last week, I admitted to him that I liked him, but assured him it didn't mean I wanted to jump into anything. He once again reiterated that he just couldn't do a relationship right now because he's still so screwed up from his ex cheating on him, and was really scared he'd end up hurting me if I wanted something serious later on and he couldn't reciprocate, since he thinks of me as such a sweet person and I'm so good to him.
I know this seems so cut and dry guys, but I don't know what to do or think. We've made plans to go camping together when I get back from Thailand, and he wants to take me snowboarding this winter. We talk about doing things together, in the future, all the time. Sometimes he looks at me as if he's smitten, and makes comments all the time about how adorable he thinks I am, or sexy depending on the situation. He has opened up to me about some really personal things, and each time we hang out it feels like were closer.
Should I just try to be patient and see where things go naturally? I feel like taking that course of action would be ideal, but I know my feelings for him will continue growing and I'd be crushed if after months of waiting he still wasn't ready, or worse, found someone else he was ready for. But on the other hand, I really don't want to risk screwing up the awesome friendship we've begun to build. I'm learning and doing so many new things because of him, and I'd hate to lose my activity partner and really cool friend because I can't control my emotions. What do you guys think I should do? Am I just blinded by my own feelings here or is there a glimmer of hope that something may develop if I give him enough time?
TL;DR: I'm falling for my FWB and don't know how to proceed. I sense a mutual interest, but he's made it clear he isn't ready for a relationship. Do I wait it out or let it go?
submitted by changingtimes32 to relationships [link] [comments]


2016.10.22 06:59 FullStackz 65 days on hardmode and I'm feeling great!

I first found out about No Fap in may of 2016 and I've had a few slip ups but am now on day 65 in this streak.
I had been traveling around the world, mostly in the Philippines and Thailand, sleeping with girls I would meet on tinder (this is 100x easier there, girls chase you, all the normal social dynamics are reversed because you are the prize). However, every time after I slept with someone I would feel empty and go get on my computer and have a good fap. I thought this sexual freedom would make me happy, but I was miserable. Depressed, suicidal even. I was on 3 different antidepressants simultaneously and had been for 15 years (I'm 32 now). I was at one of the lowests points of my life and I realized I needed to change.
Then it started. I found nofap and decided to give it a try. The results were dramatic. I went from sleeping with whoever would come my way with the least effort to actually giving a fuck and finding higher quality women. But after a few weeks I realized that even the tinder game was a sort of addiction. I gave up porn and several weeks later I gave up tinder.
The energy that came my way was tremendous. I didn't know what to do with it and at times there was a lot of anxiety. I used to crave the calm and tranquility that came after a good fap and the craving for it was intense. I started working out again, and made a commitment to work out at least 30 minutes every day. I previously had considered that I would need to take antidepressants the rest of my life, but I have been able to stop two of them and reduce the dose on the remaining one by 70%. I'm planning on getting off completely.
I've also spent the last 5 years working for myself, after finding my previous career to be too stressful. But with this newfound confidence I've managed to get myself back into my field and I have a job coming up with a great salary starting in January (which is a big step up after having worked for myself online the last few years earning 1/10th of that). I had tried getting back into my field before, but I think I had a sort of defeated energy about me. With nofap comes determination and I believe that people sensed this. There are long hours and I'm a bit unsure if I can cope with the stress, but if I can pull this off and stick with nofap and my exercise routine I think I can handle it.
As far as dating goes, rather than chasing after anyone who shows a hint of wanting to sleep with me, I'm saving up my energy instead. Nofap has made me realize how important my sexual energy is. I don't want to go out and share this with a stranger (although I do have these urges, but I know they do not lead to happiness). I still get messages on Viber from girls I've hooked up with or was previously trying to hookup with and I'm not sure what to do with them. I do miss sharing this energy, but when I look at the type of women I used to sleep with I don't feel like they would be worth it. I'm putting energy into finding quality friendships rather than using all of my time to find women to sleep with. Sex now is more about connecting, and I have yet to find someone who is up to my new standards (I'm not sure what my new standards should be, to be honest, and I haven't decided if I will settle on monogamy, but I do know that I'm going to be very picky about who I have sex with).
None of this would have been possible without nofap. Its literally turned my life around. I've never known such a community of determined, self aware and inspiring people.
submitted by FullStackz to NoFap [link] [comments]


2016.08.01 15:44 Wynterfel My Story.

Hi!
I've been browsing these fantastic forums over the past couple of months and they've been a lifesaver in terms of a coping mechansim. It’s been a little godsend since I think it’s fair to say I’ve gone through the worst period of time in my life. However, I’m getting there – reading, empathising, enjoying everything the safe haven I never knew existed has to offer.
Now, I must apologise for the lengthy nature of this post. I feel it necessary to outlay all elements of my situation and to use as a base to hopefully allow the posters in the subreddit to provide some clarity. This is my first reddit post so I'm not familiar with reddit ettiquite however I do believe it only fair to post a TL;DR, which I have now done. However, I assure you that it would be worth taking time to read. Feel free to put the jug on, make yourself a cuppa. You might be here for a while.
So a little about me...
21-year-old guy with a genuine interest in older men. They're the only demographic I seem to find attractive. This attraction has been evident ever since puberty. I remember crushing on certain teachers back in high school who were late 40s to late 50s and fantasising about them for weeks. Over the years my celebrity crushes have also been of or about this stage in a persons life - think Kevin Spacey, Alec Baldwin and Liam Neeson. There is something so alluring about that particular age - It’s the silver hair, laughter lines, the mischievous twinkle in their eyes… It’s the body hair - a light brushing with a hint of salt and pepper… It’s the charm, the wit and the smile… It’s the presence when they walk in the room… It’s the knowledge and power they have obtained through a life filled to the brim full of exciting, wondrous experiences…
I had never acknowledged my homosexuality, thinking it being an unspeakable act and something unnatural. I'm not of religious faith, it was just a conclusion I had reached over the course of my short life. It wasn't an attitude towards other gay people, it was solely directed towards me - "how could I actually be gay!?". I would always try to suppress it and decided that if I don't act upon the desires they'll disappear eventually.
I was wrong.
A side note: I talk in terms of 'days' when outlining my story. It is in reference to the amount of days since I acted upon my sexual desires.
I'll do my best to condense the backstory. Three months ago I downloaded Grindr while on a holiday with friends in Thailand. I got chatting to this stunning man straight away, whom I had an instantaneous connection with. 59, drop dead handsome, witty, great smile, laughter-lines, the lot. He was, however, 8000kms away - don't ask me how Grindr expanded out that large, I'm clueless to this day. I still remember feeling faint throughout those first few days - was I dreaming? We were in constant contact all throughout the holiday. Phone call around day 4. L bomb dropped on day 10. Because he had promoted that his wish in relationships was to remain monogamous, I even promised to stay celibate for him all throughout Thailand so that he could be my first on day 11. Yep. I fell very hard. Because I was spending up a storm, he transferred some money to me to book a flight. Flight booked (for once I returned home) around day 15. Whisper sweet nothings for hours over the course of the next week. It was magical.
Ended up falling out with my travelling companions around day 19. This man helped me through it, but in retrospect I think it was because I was spending so much time conversing with him that tore us apart. Anyway, went to my first gay bar on day 20 (night before home flight) and had an absolute ball - took a lot of willpower to say no to some incredibly handsome men! End the holiday, friends and I go our separate ways. Everything still great with my man. Skype call around day 25. Pay him back for my flights around day 28. At his suggestion, I came out to several close friends around day 33, followed with my family on day 35. They were fine with the gay thing, but when I mentioned my flight to the other country they got very spooked. I hadn't even let on about the age gap too... Uhh ohh.
Mum pressures me into telling me his age ("So this man, he's in his 20s..? 30s....? 40s......? silence") and it gets out to the rest of the family. Came home from work on day 37 to a "family intervention" which, in retrospect, was the beginning of the end. It literally breaks me. I thought I was strong, but I was not able to withstand the barrage of verbal abuse these people who I love tremendously are throwing at me for an hour and a half. I stick around because I wanted to do my best to reassure them. They are horrified that I am into older men and am willing to fly to another country to be with one - one that I haven't even met too! I tried to keep in mind that it was only out of love but couldn't cope with it, in the end. I ran away to a nearby beach. Sister finds me and takes me to her place. Take 2 days + weekend off work. See several councillors, a doctor and a psychologist. Could not contact my man as my family confiscates my laptop and phone, even though they are legally my possessions. I am an adult, albeit one still living under my parents roof. It felt like I was in a detention centre. I was unable to contact my man till day 42.
However, when we finally had the chance to call it doesn't feel right. My elder brother had contacted him via Facebook and sent him a nasty message telling him, in essence, to leave me alone (with a large number of expletives and threats involved as well - I found out he later lied about the content of the message so as to add weight to his argument). He had been in conversation with several of his friends and they suggested he drop it. With the flight due to take off on day 45 he suggests I cancel it and wait for things to settle down. So I did.
Still in contact with my man, but things are now different. Our budding relationship feels strained. We gradually start to drift. I do my best to reignite it with several gifts and booking a flight for a months time. It works short term and conversation gets easier. He suggests I redownload Grindr to see if there are other gay young guys in my town that I can chat and become friends with, so as to show my family that I'm not the 'only gay in the village'. He flies out for a trip to Bali around day 55 with a couple of friends. I don't think anything of it. I have trust and faith.
I gave in to temptation - I narrow my Grindr search to my include my specific eclectic tastes and spot an old high school teacher of mine. Begin conversation. I make him aware of my situation and he indicates his concerns, as most who I divulge tend to do. He tells me he'll be in the same city I will be flying to to meet this man, at the exact same time and timeframe. We agree to meet up while we're there so he can check in with me and make sure everything is okay. I delete Grindr again because I start to recognise how it's addictive qualities and want to make sure my attention was diverted where it should be - towards my man.
Study is heating up and I'm pulling 40 hours+ at work. To this day I am not sure how I managed to juggle everything - my emotions especially. Things are terse at home. Dad and brothers are ignoring me, and it ripples out to the rest of the family. Another fight breaks out around day 60, and I go stay at my sisters again. My libido takes a dive because of all the various stressors. And at the heart of it, I can feel myself losing sight of my man.
It gets to about day 75, flight day, and I drive to the airport. I walk to the check in counter and hand over my passport and ticket. Then I receive the worst possible news. I can't fly - my passport is too damaged. I nearly break down then and there - to get so close and then denied was the biggest kick in the teeth I had had to date. I call my man. Tell him the news and ask him if he was willing to wait, yet again. He says he is willing, and reassures me that another period of time would not be enough to hinder any feelings he still harboured for me. I contact my family to tell them the initial news but spin it as if I've made the decision to not get on the flight. Felt horrible to lie after all this time but to see their reaction made my heart swell. As a show of faith to my man I book a return ticket for in another 7 weeks then and there. 3rd time lucky?
To drum up the sexual desire between us again, I purchase a dildo around day 78 with the hope that it will breathe life into our dying flame. I'm thinking that if I can show my man (who has told me he is a top) that I am willing to 'practice' for him so that it will be easier for when I finally get over there. Again, in retrospect I am sick to the core to think that I had to go to such lengths as to create some sexual desire between us, however at the current time it made sense because we had talked every sexual fantasy we have had to death and this was actually 'acting' on these fantasies, making them a reality. I also purchase a new passport so as to replace the damaged one.
It worked for a time, but things slowly started to petter off again by day 83. Things are very distant between my man and I by about day 85. We only speak on the phone every few days now and our conversations grow more and more dull. The spark I have for him has dwindled so low it strikes me that I might be fighting for a bit of a pipe dream. I try one last ditch effort to get him involved in my life, creating a regime that he could dictate what punishments and rewards would apply should I fail to stick to it. Drastic huh. I brought this up with the intent of using it as a bit of fun, but he hardly paid attention except to tell me that I should 'go to bed' because it was past my 'bedtime'. That hurt. I am not a son he can dictate to. I even discussed the idea of getting a '6 pack in 6 weeks' - hopefully thinking that'll draw him back into finding me sexually gratifying.
I visit the ex-teacher of mine on day 88 - a plan that had been in the making for a week or so. Thoroughly enjoyable night. He gives me my first kiss with a guy but I don't wish to go further. I had a made a promise I was intent on keeping - I wanted to wait for my man. Talked the night away and ended up sleeping in his bed. I think, looking back, I just craved some intimacy. We spooned and it was lovely.
Day 89, the night after spending time with my ex-teacher, brings the biggest fight to date. It gets physical this time. My brother and father begin laying into me, and I do my best to fight back. I am wrestled to the ground. Dad aims a kick at my head, but misses because Mum pushes him off-balance. Dad turns around and smacks Mum fair across the head. I had never seen that before but I am helpless as I had my younger (bigger) brother on top of me. The whole night is a blur, except that one memory. Thankfully the same sister who has sheltered me during this period was on the scene quickly and, with the help of her partner, calmed the situation down. I spent the next week at their house.
I redownload Grindr on day 91. I was craving some gratification and attention because I felt like I wasn't getting it from my man. He was flighty and distant and I struggled to pin him down to even converse with him about the physical fight on day 89. Begin chatting to men left right and centre. Really connect with several of them and end up actually meeting one in the flesh for brekkie and a coffee on day 94. He actually pays for me too - stark contrast to what I've had so far.
I stumble upon my mans profile again 2000kms away in his home country and to my disappointment it still indicates he's still single. I was aware he had remained on Grindr the whole time we were 'together', and his word was good enough to stymie any concerns I might have had at the time, however this caught me off guard. In the two stints I had on Grindr I had always made sure to indicate that I was exclusive, and always staved off general attempts at making passes. My mans bio has remained the same from when I first messaged him but his picture was different. I still don't question this.
My man flies out to Bali again on day 95. He's taking his ex-boyfriend of 11 years for his birthday. I begin keeping an eye on his Grindr profile, and he's active an awful lot. Seeds of doubt start to enter my mind. I have really fallen back to earth and can start to view the whole situation objectively as opposed to subjectively.
I don't sleep day 100 or day 101 because these thoughts are eating away at me. We converse over the phone for 10 minutes or so before he 'has to go'. I ask him to text me when he's free again, and he said he would in about 3 hours. 9 hours pass and nothing. No contact. I text him and ask him why we were drifting apart. No contact. I text him 3 hours later to tell him that I'm going to bed, and that I had hoped to talk to him tonight. Sleep. Wake up, nothing. Enough was enough, I decide. I had to tell him my feelings. I construct a large message outlaying my concerns. He replies after a period saying that he doesn't have time to reply to my message indepth as he is going for breakfast with his friends. I accept this, then refute with the fact that most would want to sort it out straight away given our situation. I don't hear from him for several hours, then receive a message saying that he's on holiday, that I need to relax, and that he will message me when he is back in his home country.
Now, I feel incredibly stupid. The signs have been there from the get go, yet I've ignored every single red flag that has been waved my way. The subtle manipulation. The indirect influence. He's indicated he has money (owns half a dozen properties) and is willing enough to splash out for two flights to Bali... One would think that if he cared enough he would get on a flight and come here, to my country, half the cost of a flight to Bali. I've spent nearly a grand on airfares and gifts, which for a part time student is a decent amount of money. Regardless of that, and most importantly, I have torn my family to shreds for this man, who can't even give me the time of day to respond to my concerns. Both my parents health has declined because of this whole debacle. My family and friends don't care that I'm gay. The age gap could even be overlooked, albeit still having been a wound that will take some healing. However, the simple fact that I was stepping out of my 'safe zone' to go spend some time with someone I do not actually know, at his house, in his city, under his influence, was the real issue. It never struck me at the time, but it really begs the question of power imbalance thorughout the entire 'relationship', if you were to call it one. He hasn't lifted a finger to show he loves me. I've put my life on hold for him. I could be growing as a person, however I've been grappling with this.
I've had enough.
And then again, part of me questions my whole reaction. Was it, in fact, an overreaction? Given the fact that we have never in fact met, was it unfair of me to apply the mutually exclusive tag to whatever it was that we had? I mean, he had preached monogamy from the very start, and I was willing to remain faithful, put looking back now that should've been cut as soon as the first flight didn't eventuate. Do I really just need to relax?
I am waiting for his correspondence when he gets back from Bali. I'm very unsure about what it will detail, however, I believe he will cull it altogether, and if he doesn't, I will, regardless of the flight to his country. I refuse to be treated with disrespect. I honestly believe I am better than this. At the end of the day (and I really don't mean to come off as as brash), I am a healthy, fit, intelligent, honest, kind young man. I hate inequality, and do not want nor would ever expect monetry favours (gifts yes, only if it was appropriate). Through it all I've realised that there are lovely men out there who will appreciate all that I offer. I have done all within my power to make my man and I eventuate and I'm just gutted that my first love had to be so disastrous. Because for me it definitely was first love.
I think I tried to make this work too hard. I attribute this to him being my first love and just desperately clinging to the hope that it would happen.
I don't view the situation as a negative. I recognise one only grows through conflict and. It's how we learn. I've learned a lot about trust and love and as painful as this has all been there is always a silver lining, somewhere. I do my best to keep this in mind. As well as that I was able to be honest with the people I love and care about the most, and with myself.
However, of course, I'm struggling to get my head around one other issue.
I had, before my man cut ties, originally planned to spend some time with the man I met for breakfast and coffee on day 94, on day 102 (yesterday) just as friends. I visit him and it is fantastic - he's an attractive man with a heart of gold which really shows through. We have a lovely evening sharing stories and talking about our various issues in regards to my whole situation.
We make it to the couch and enjoy discourse for the next half hour. Boldly, I ask if I can kiss him. He says he wants nothing more, but he doesn't want to confuse and influence my situation. I accept this, and my respect for him grows (among other things). He's made it blatantly clear he holds inherant attraction, however is more concerned for my well-being than his desires. We end up getting closer and closer, until his legs are on top of my thighs. I'm hard and I could see he was too. I couldn't help myself, and lean over to kiss him. One thing leads to another and we end up on the floor making out. We start to get our kit off, and end up in bed. We begin some hot sex, and I'm enjoying it, but did not feel any desire to blow. We engage orally with each and kiss each other for an hour or so, and he climaxes, but I can't seem to get there. Not even when I masterbate myself. It was so strange because I had not in fact pleasured myself for a week and a half. I just hadn't felt the desire. And yet here I am telling him we should try again in the morning.
In the end we fall asleep in each others arms and it's blissful, however when we begin again in the morning the same thing happens. And then again in the shower. He finishes a second time and it's so hot, but again I can't seem to get there too.
What confuses me was that I couldn't muster enough to get my rocks off.
Now, I'm sitting here wondering what the actual f*ck is wrong with me. I've wanted this all my adult life, have fantasised for years, and when the situation presented itself, I could've even manage to enjoy myself to the fullest and show this attractive man how much I was loving the moment. I would've thought I wouldn't have lasted more than five minutes due to being in sheer ecstacy? I am concerned that the whole palava with my original man, coupled with the tarnished ideals of the act of gay love by intergenerational couples at the hands of my family, has almost 'turned me away' from enjoying these desires. I believe performance anxiety was the cherry on top - I was unsure whether or not I'm doing a good 'job' at the time. I'm meeting this other man in a couple of days and I can't wait, but I'm still very concerned with what might happen. As I said, my libido has taken a hit, which I attribute to stress. Could this be the answer?
Basically, I just wanted to share my story with you all, and hear any advice as to what I should do next. I feel as if it is necessary to address these feelings for the original man overseas before I start anything off again, especially so soon. I feel like that stymied my pleasure last night. I am going to have a chat to my doctor soon too, see if there might be a chemical imbalance or something. Has anyone else been in a similar situation too in regards to online and it falling apart? All comments are appreciated.
Again if you read the entire post, you deserve a bloody medal. Thank you for taking the time to absorb my post.
I also just wanted to introduce myself to this great subreddit!
Take care.
TL;DR
First time acknowledging homosexuality while on holiday. Found a man in another country. Instant connection. Fell in love. Promised to remain celibate. Booked a flight to his country. Got home. Came out to friends. Came out to family. Told them about flight and reasoning behind it. Let slip age gap. Family intervention. Lose control. Book another flight for four weeks. Start to drift with man. Redownload Grindr. Realise there are suitable men in my home country. More fights with family. Stress mounting because of work + study. Start losing sex drive and desire. Get to flight day. Denied at check-in counter because of damaged passport. Book one last flight to show I am still willing to wait for him. Drift even more from man. Another big fight with family. Redownload Grindr to gain some gratification. Meet some lovely men. Extend Grindr search. Stumble across my man and he's 'single' while on a holiday overseas. Raise my concerns. He doesn't want a bar of it. Visit a friend and have sex for the first time. I can't finish even though I'm thoroughly enjoying myself. Confused and wondering what is wrong with me.
TL;DR 2.0
Basically turned my life upside down to be with a man who did not eventuate online. Hurt, confused, and wanting to vent. Also concerned about lack of sexual drive and desire and the inability to finish with a hot man.
submitted by Wynterfel to gayyoungold [link] [comments]


2015.07.01 09:14 Subject-Entropy (X-post r/Divorce) Tragic Hipster Romance: “It Was the Best of Times, It Was the Worst of Times” (Seeking some catharsis through writing.)

The problem with this world is that all of its philosophies, ultimately, are designed to deal with the unfortunate pull of two very specific poles. Murphy rules one, and Maxwell’s demon, like Lucifer, led a failed rebellion against the teleological pull of the other: everything that can happen, given an infinite period of time, will; the state of entropy of the entire universe, as an isolated system, will always increase over time. So what does that leave us with as the improbable, epiphenomenal accident of an infinite period of possibilities? Just the promise that our definitively finite lives are ruled by one constant: everything degrades and falls apart. If there is a God, that is his plan. We are left only with the prayer that our life’s entropic disillusion will come before the things we love most rot in front of our eyes. The question that ought to plague existence isn’t, “what is the point?”, but “will we be lucky enough to die first?”. In the case of my marriage, I was not.
In late March or early April of 2012, I found myself sitting in a bar I once managed. Mould stained the bar. The Tex-Mex themed location smelled of cheap tequila. A friend invited me there to keep him company. He was there for someone’s birthday. Despite being a fairly good looking, tall, Caucasian man, I was lonely. I hid my loneliness well, masking it behind a fun-loving devil-may-care attitude, beautiful tattoos, a light spattering of facial piercings (earrings and a nose ring), and a lopsided mischievous grin. I had come to terms with the belief that I would probably never find someone to share my life with. I had recently started an English Literature PhD, so time was in short supply. Even worse, two failed, long-term relationships left me with something of a cynic’s outlook on love and a phobia of monogamy. Unfortunately, my passion for literature left me with a romantic’s sensibility.
My server was beautiful: an athlete’s toned body; slightly upturned brown eyes that appealed to my child-like wonder of the world in the same way a slightly muddy pool of rain-water appeals to a six-year old boy; the light scent of a perfume I was never able to place but which came to signify a collage of four letter words; straight hair of the same color as her eyes framed a complexion as sweet as tiramisu. I did what I do: flirt. I have always been good at flirting. One tequila shot followed another. It seems that love-in-idleness is a cactus flower. Somehow, I convinced her to meet me at a late-night speakeasy after work. It might have been the way I casually lilted on about Shakespeare. She was taking a Shakespeare course in university that year. I was teaching a tutorial for a very similar course in a different university.
When my lips touched hers for the first time, my brain started to produce a drug far more potent than the half-gram of cocaine in my pocket or the many shots of liquor that the cocaine was keeping at bay. We drank and snorted our way back into my bed. Clothing became just so much wrapping paper on an epicurean experience that made everyone else I had been with pale in comparison. The syntax of the world came apart like a LANGUAGE poem leaving me with only a raw, unformatted sense of pure pleasure. I didn’t want her to go to work the next day. I didn’t want the night to end. She appeased my desires with plans for a date, all the while laughing at my “white-boy” exuberance. What was supposed to be a one night stand started to bleed into the rest of a life I had planned to live alone. If only I knew how deep the wound that blood pumped from would turn out to be.
Our first date lasted over 12 hours. We started at a Korean—Sushi fusion restaurant. Our date rose in the east but set in the west, passing through three bars along the way, rockabilly, indie, and alt-rock serenading the experience with a soundtrack. We avoided getting quite as drunk the second time around. This time, it was not just raw desire that drove our frenzy. We talked about our dreams. We talked about our families. We talked about our beliefs. We talked about how we were both pleasantly surprised to still feel the magnetic attraction we had that first day. We talked about how much I preferred her natural curls to the straightened cut she sported when I first laid eyes on her. We talked about our values. Family values were of paramount importance to her, she said. (It turns out that the word paramount was something of a malapropism. The word she was looking for was penultimate.) We palimpsestically rewrote our first LANGUAGE poem in her bed. We woke up the next morning and went for breakfast at a nearby restaurant that served crepes. We shared our meal, maximizing our flavour intake—a habit we continued to practice for the next three years.
In the weeks that followed, I contacted her father and asked for permission to date his daughter. It wasn’t exactly traditional, considering the activities we had already started to perform, but I wanted to try and appeal to her values. In the months that followed a new set of neural trees started eating away at my brain like mad-cow disease, prion chains casually growing and attaching themselves to pre-existing pathways. My brain succumbed to an electromagnetic breed of multicellular hyphae that clung to my neural tissue with the same potency as the breed that clung to the underside of the bar over which we met. Soon, in a moment of drunken ecstasy, a phrase slipped from between my lips: I love you. I was drunk when I said it. We were both drunk far too often in those days. She laughed and told me to repeat the statement when I was sober, when we were not doing our best to fold ourselves into an origami creature made up of two different sheets of paper. Those three words formed my first breath the following morning.
We traveled to Paris together. That is a story in its own right, penned out elsewhere. In short, that narrative opines and reflects on the way Parisian architecture is semiotically read: the Eiffel tower is an empty sign in which meaning is poured. The meaning I poured into the Eiffel tower was a cliché born of one too many films. I should have remembered what Baudelaire wrote under the auspice of Paris. I should have remembered what Rilke wrote after walking Parisian streets. Paris is a city of love: the love of a vampire’s corpse; the love of a woman missing a face; a city to die in. Paris was an arrangement of one la petite mort after another, but I failed to note the implications of life and death transmogrified.
On September, 23rd, 2012, I proposed marriage. I asked her mother and father first. I spent a heady sum on an antique style white-gold ring with a diamond worth far more than an English Literature grad student can afford. In the morning, we went out for gourmet coffee. We spent the day together, ostensibly for my Birthday, though we were a day early. I cooked a romantic dinner. Later, I also took her to one of her favorite restaurants. We ate a charcuterie platter of home-cured meats. When she started to get too drunk, I insisted that we had to head home as fast as humanly possible. When we got home I stripped her naked, blindfolded her, and led her by hand to a bath I had drawn for her. The lights were off. Candles grew from the edges of the bathtub like the mountains that cast their shadow over my ancestors, but instead of casting a white shadow, light flickered over the soft brown mounds of her breasts and the bubbles that surrounded them. I told her to open her eyes. A little green box on the side of the tub showcased my purchase. She said yes.
From that moment followed the happiest years of my life and the greatest pain I have ever experienced: “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” One night I found God in the Heisenberg principle. She had always framed God as the perpetually unknowable aspect of our universe, and in Heisenberg I found an argument to justify a concept I never believed in with the intent of putting a smile on her face. We read books in the park together. We reveled in each other, but only for a short time.
All was not perfect. We had agreed on an open swinger’s relationship. In the past, neither of us had experienced great success with the practice of monogamy. Setting monogamy as a boundary to our relationship seemed like a recipe for disaster. I, however, insisted on certain rules designed to ensure mutual respect and monogamous love no matter what physical extracurricular activities we practiced. One rule stipulated that we would never sleep with the same person twice unless we were both involved in the act. I found that, despite my theoretical desire for sexual freedom, I didn’t need anyone else. That wasn’t true of her. Twice she came home to me after sleeping with someone at a party. I was not, however, hurt. Her sexual appetite titillated me; until, of course, I learned that she had in fact slept with the same person at both parties. I forgave her. My understanding of love was unconditional. We had another rule as well: we would never sleep at another person’s home or stay out all night without calling each other. It wasn’t fair to make the other person worry. One night she came home at 7am. She had spent the night doing cocaine with strangers. She did not call. She did not pick up when I called. I forgave her. My understanding of love was unconditional.
I wasn’t perfect either. The two of us had planned to meet another couple for a night of sinful adventure after the wedding of her friend. At the wedding she got way too drunk. I should have reacted with understanding, finding some way to cancel the extracurricular fantasy. I should have focused on getting her into bed safely. Instead, I reacted poorly. Her drinking, her inability to control herself that night irritated me. Small events, all of which I had brushed off as so much inconsequential nonsense, finally accumulated and gained a mass larger than the sum of their parts: coming drunk to our second date; sleeping with other people without me, but not putting effort into meeting my desires; coming home too drunk to stand while I was trying to study; vomiting on my shoes during a cab-ride home; getting so drunk that she pissed our bed. That night, a brief flowering of acrimonious weeds nearly swallowed the engagement ring I bought her. The next morning, we found the ring. The next morning, we agreed to never fight again. We agreed to forgive each other. For the most part, we succeeded. That was the lie I told myself until well after our separation.
In the months preceding my proposal, she received a rejection to the law-school of her choice, her only choice; it was the single egg she carried in the basket of her imagination. She had scored unbelievably well on her LSATs, but her undergraduate grades were less than stellar. I consoled her. I already knew that the application process to any graduate curriculum was arcane, and that one rejection did not amount to a permanent state. I had been through that process twice: I had applied for my Masters Degree; I had applied for my PhD. As our engagement progressed, I sat with her and rewrote her application. My hope was that my formal eloquence used to convey her ideas would convince the school, in combination with her LSAT scores, to see the same potential I saw. Sure enough, they offered her an interview, and they were won over as whole-heartedly as I was.
On September, 1, 2013, we were married. My throat constricted when her father walked her down the aisle. I unceremoniously wrapped him in a hug. I ceremoniously, eyes tearing, recited:
“I vow to be with you during life’s tragedies and comedies, and even its poststructural revisions.”
“I vow to walk beside you as we wade into a maelstrom of mounting student debt, and I vow to still be by your side once we manage to pay off our loans.”
“In sickness and in health, I love and cherish you, and I vow that I always will, whether you agree to give me pro-bono legal representation or not.”
“I vow that I will start every debate by telling you I love you, and finish every argument by telling you the same.”
“I vow that while I will try and make these vows short and sweet, I will reify them for a baroque eternity.”
“I vow to be your husband, and to love you more with every passing day.”
The fact that I no longer remember her vows foreshadows the direction of this narrative. Nevertheless, she swore a set of vows that, at the time, I wholeheartedly believed. Belief is the illusion we cast up into an indifferent night to protect us from the vast darkness of an apathetic universe. When it can be empirically tested, belief is made to be broken.
A few days before our marriage, I wrote my first comprehensive qualification exam. A few days after our marriage, I performed the oral component of that same exam. A few days before our marriage, she began her orientation week. A few days after our marriage, she attended her first day of class. We were a professional couple, both of us driven towards our respective goals, and there is no rest for the wicked. I remember accompanying her to a conference upon her acceptance to law-school, a few months before our wedding: “say goodbye to your significant other,” said the speaker, “as almost no relationship survives law-school.” I was sure that we would be the couple to break that pattern.
We had a lot of fun during the 18 months that commenced. This story is not about how much fun we had. This is a story about the way she would come home tired from school, complaining about how exhausted she was, complaining about how hard she worked. I tried to sympathize with her. I was working hard too. I knew that feeling. Somehow, the cells of my sympathy mutated with the poisonous cancer of competition and comparison. She was sure she worked harder than me. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
This is a story about the way, during her first year of law-school, she would regularly ask me to edit her work. In fact, I edited one of her final (take-home) exams. I even helped her write a paper, writing most of it for her, though my philosophically process-inflected mind was not always the best fit for a program that desires pragmatic product-inflected results. She, however, grew irritated when I asked her to edit my work. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
This is a story about the way time passed, and 10 months into our marriage she complained about my values. We met over a compilation of Hunter S. Thompson’s gonzo search for the American dream. She had started to dream of a world devoid of our journalistic pursuits. My drug use had to stop. I said ok. In the months that followed, however, she kept writing essays that left our bed drenched in her urine. Once, she got so drunk she defecated in her sleep. I begged her to see a doctor about what alcohol was doing to her, but she ignored my pleas. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
This is a story about the way law-school took up more and more of her time, and I, having a pretty bad self destructive streak when I am upset about something, followed Mr. Thompson down the twin-barrels of a shotgun; twice in the 8 months following her complaint, I fucked up and used a small amount of cocaine. The first time, she had failed to attend an event that she had originally planned to attend alongside me: some casual get together amongst friends. I was feeling lonely. I missed her touch. I sought solace in The Neuroimaging of Love, patching my pain with a crystalline tropane alkaloid called benzoylmethylecgonine: cocaine for short. I apologized to her. She accepted my apology. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
The second time, she went on a law-school organized “ski trip” to a local mountain. We were supposed to go together. Murphy struck, and she organized our tickets in a manner that precluded me from traveling alongside her. We were going to spend the night before her trip together instead. That night, she went out with a friend and came home too drunk and contrary to spend any time with me. I refused to allow her behavior to metamorph into a fight. I ignored the invective she poured on me. Any handmaiden will tell you, ignoring isn’t the same thing as ignorance; you have to work at it. This wasn’t the first time she had come home drunk and tried to start a fight. I refused to see the forest for the trees.
I carried her to bed when she started to pass out. I tucked her under our covers. I kissed her goodnight. The next morning, as we had not spent any time together before the trip, and she had gotten drunk enough to embarrass herself in multiple ways, I begged her to watch her alcohol intake on the trip and to avoid fucking anyone else. On the trip she got drunk, made out with another man, and ended up putting herself in a hospital with alcohol poisoning. She came home to my embrace, my forgiveness, and a home-cooked meal. Serenity now—insanity later: I patched up my inner pain with benzoylmethylecgonine once again. She was with me the night I did so. Like a fool, at first, I tried to hide it from her. Of course, she caught on fairly quickly. I am a terrible liar. I apologized to her. She accepted my apology. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
This is a story about the way swinging, despite a few wonderful experiences, failed us when combined with alcohol. The first failure is eaten up by the entropy of a blackout. Both of us were heavily inebriated. We mutually initiated a threesome with a friend of ours (with whom we had enjoyed a threesome on more than one occasion). My wife passed out during the process. Apparently, I wanted to have a threesome anyway, or so I was told. Our friend, who was of a clearer mind, noted that it would be a bad idea. We called it a night. All of this was recounted to both my wife and me after the fact. Neither of us remembered the night. I was mortified. I apologized to my wife profusely at the time. She shrugged the event away noting that we were both very intoxicated. The statement seemed logical to me. Last I could remember, she was trying to initiate the evening! We agreed not to swing while drinking like that again. After the discussion and resolution, I thought nothing of it. I should have.
The second failure occurred on our final Valentine’s Day. Our tradition was to visit the restaurant I took her to when I proposed. Once again, we ate a charcuterie platter of home-cured meats. That final year, we also discussed going to a swingers club. She expressed excitement at the idea. I made sure to stick to our resolution. She, however, decided to seek Mr. Thompson’s company. I begged her to stop. For a time, she did. Then, she plied her burgeoning trade and pled her case: she claimed to be fine; she claimed to be able to handle a few more drinks. I believed her. We empirically tested my belief. My belief was broken when, upon heading to the bathroom, she didn’t return to the room where I was waiting for her.
I found her attempting to join some other couple in a threesome. She was calling the male member of this other couple by my name. I led her away. I tried to convince her we should head home. With an angry cry, she yelled, “I want to get fucked! You got to fuck someone. Let me have fun too!” She seemed to believe that she had stumbled into another woman and me engaging in a Venusian escapade without her. I tried to calm her, but she hit me. This wasn’t the first time she got drunk and hit me. I didn’t want to cause a scene. I was in no real physical danger. I agreed to let her fuck someone else. While he was fucking her, she passed out. I immediately called the night to a close. I got her dressed. I carried her out the club. While doing so, she woke up again. She started hitting me again. I ignored her behavior. I put her in a cab. I took her home. I tucked her in. I forgave her. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
This is a story about the next day when my wife and I traveled to my in-laws. I loved my in-laws. I loved spending as much time with them as possible. I loved being part of their family. The day after Valentine’s Day my in-laws were hosting an extended family get-together. My wife and I each made a different course for the event. That was the sort of effort and time I felt ought to be put into the family of your significant other. A few months before that event, my wife, on the other hand, couldn’t find the time to visit my mother and wish her condolences after my grandmother died. Law-school, dear reader, takes up a lot of time. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
This is a story about an event that happened just after that get-together, an event that shattered the tedious pattern I have been rebuilding with so many sentences and paragraphs. Kissing my wife’s neck, I suggested that we spend some time practicing origami. My wife claimed that we couldn’t, as her brother was already on his way over. When her brother finally arrived, it was clear, based on timing, that he didn’t leave until well after she claimed he had. I was confused. I broached the subject with her. She snapped: “At least I didn’t try to use cocaine and lie about it!” Why was she angry with me? I was not being accusatory. I was just curious! Why was she yelling? I told her I wanted to talk about it. She agreed, after I gave her a few days to calm down.
Our conversation was a process of translation. Our swinging had become an issue for her. I was happy to switch to a monogamous relationship, at least in theory. Valentine’s Day wasn’t what I would term a pleasurable experience. She had not forgiven me for using cocaine those two times. What, I wondered, about her drinking? In the last few months, I engaged in far fewer bacchanalian failures than she had! This, of course, was not about truth and lying in the moral, or at least fair, sense. I just wasn’t working hard enough. As a PhD graduate student? The grudges she had kept tucked between her breasts were translated into the following phrase: “we are just not compatible.” Really? Shouldn’t we seek counselling and put some effort into our marriage before coming to a decision of that magnitude? We went to one session of marriage counselling and agreed to try and work on it. That lasted for a week.
In that week, we both used a lot of platitudes. After she fell asleep, I would write her love-letters and leave them by her side before retiring to sleep on the couch. I wanted her to wake up to the words, “I love you.” She swore that we would work our way through our problems. We wouldn’t fail, she told me, from a lack of her efforts. I tried to keep a smile on my face. I tried to stay positive. I tried to address any of the concrete issues she wanted me to address with action. I, for example, picked up extracurricular activities so that she would feel like I was working harder. Her body language, however, stayed frozen. Most of her kindness came in the form of e-mails she would send me after the tundra I weathered in person. Somewhere from deep within the forest of (neural) trees hidden behind my tear-stained eyes an evanescent electrochemical charge started calling up a cascade of need.
We were supposed to have a date night. I wanted to spend Saturday with her. She told me she had to work all day Saturday, so we ended up moving our date night into a very inconvenient Friday time slot. Sure enough, due to the time slot, it was a pretty piss-poor date night. I was going to go out with a friend, to a bar, for emotional support on Saturday. My wife informed me that she was going out at 6pm on Saturday to hang out with friends and go drinking with them. That’s work, if you are in law-school, I guess. I tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal. She was going out with friends on Saturday instead of putting effort into our marriage. Why would that hurt? Needless to say, my self-destructive tendencies kicked in. I got way too drunk. I flirted with a girl at the bar. I bought cocaine. I went home with the girl. I didn’t use the cocaine. I didn’t have sex with the girl. It didn’t matter. My estranged wife couldn’t forgive me. I gave her the excuse she needed to free herself from white-gold and diamond shackles.
We started navigating the trenches of separation. Without my knowledge or consent, my sister informed my in-laws about much of the above. My now estranged wife believed that I had convinced my sister to do so in order to hurt her. She wanted to keep our swinging a secret. For about a week, she treated me as an enemy combatant. Her words exploded like fragmentary grenades. I kept my calm. I avoided saying anything designed to hurt. I simply asked to meet with her so that we could discuss the bureaucratic and financial details of our separation. During a period of time when, it turns out, she was already unhappy and considering divorce, she convinced me to sign my name to a 50,000 dollar line of credit we put aside to invest in her law-career. She had already used 29,725 dollars and 63 cents of that credit by the time we separated. My sister suggested I remove the remaining credit out of the line as leverage, to protect myself. I, being a romantic fool, wanted to move through the separation with grace and kindness. I was worried that, if I tried to force her to close out the line of credit with me immediately, I would end up derailing her law-career. I still loved her. I didn’t want to hurt her. Denial is a stage of marriage and grief. I already knew that I was willing to let her use the remaining 20,274 dollars and 37 cents, if she agreed to pay it back herself, and if we discussed it first.
Before our conversation, my estranged wife bled the 20,274 dollars from my heart’s already aching wound. She blamed her choice on my sister’s actions. She thought I had encouraged my sister to hurt her. I assured her that I had not. I forgave her. She cried. I cried. We embraced. We kissed for the last time. That kiss is etched into my neural wiring. We agreed to proceed as friends. “A tragic hipster romance,” she called it. I ought to turn the whole thing into a short story, I said. She smiled sadly in agreement. We should go to marriage counselling in order to learn how to operate as friends, I suggested. It would be hard to overcome our situation. She agreed. A date was set. I began to pack.
It would be nice if the story ended there. That is the ending I would have liked to give this series of events. Without a wife to fight for, however, I sought out old friends. Mr. Thompson and I sang drinking songs over tables glassy with tears and horizontal, powdered mirrors. For the first half of the month during which I was moving, I went about pickling my heart with whisky and patching my wounds with white, powdery, synthetic romance. There just didn’t seem to be much to live for. In the second half of the month, I started to clean up my act; I started to see a therapist; I was trying to suture my will to survive back together. The result bore a resemblance to Frankenstein’s monster, but I was doing the best I could.
Then, like the namesake we planned to bestow on our first unborn male child, my estranged wife dreamed of dry bones: “Is the move going alright? I had a nightmare about us fighting over contentious possessions.” She prophesied the rebirth of our conflict. I thought nothing of it—I just wanted to separate as friends; so did she, she claimed—I should have. She had bought a pair of tickets to Thailand as a Christmas gift for me. I took those tickets. I wasn’t reclaiming any of the gifts I gave her. This particular gift might have been expensive, but I was tying myself to a few years worth of debt, debt that I already knew would have a negative impact on my future. When she found out, war resumed. Her words shelled my position. I dove for cover. I tried getting her to calm down. I tried getting her to talk to me instead of shouting invective at me. I was willing to return the gift. I was just hurt by her choice. I kept my calm. Then, a shard of shrapnel from one of her exploding sentences severed a right pulmonary artery. I still kept my calm, but I knew that, at least for a time, our friendship was over. I could no longer forgive her.
I suppose I did such a good job of staying civil that she felt the need to reinitiate contact. A few days later, she left her trench under the auspices of a white flag. Her apologies, however, only covered my perceptions, not her actions. That was her undoing. It was the severed artery she should have apologized for. She didn’t know, however, how deeply I was hurt by her words. She finished her e-mail by saying:
“I hope that you can understand my reasoning and see that I am not being cruel, despite what your sister might say. Please try not to get caught up in the vitriol that she has poisoned your life with. However, if you do, please feel free to take whatever gift you want from my life to show you that I did not act maliciously and am willing to give up material goods in order to bleed the poison from your opinion of me.”
I didn’t want to take back any of the gifts I gave her. Instead, I replied:
“I feel no vitriol towards you. I am saddened by what we are going through. I wish there was some way to fix all this. I will, in some capacity or other, love you forever. I don't want to take anything back. I want you to be happy. I have nothing else to say right now. We can talk Wednesday.”
I already knew she wouldn’t like Wednesday’s feedback. It is said that World War II birthed advances in cryptography and cybernetic design. It is possible that marriage should have earned that credit first. She didn’t notice the unstated tragedy; just because I wish her well, and will love her forever, that doesn’t mean we can still be friends. I suppose she believed that my response indicated that everything would work itself out in her favour.
“I am also saddened,” she wrote back. “I do love you, if not in the way you want. I also want you to be happy. That has always been the case and will never change. Seeing you hurt will never make me feel anything but unhappiness.”
“I’ll see you Wednesday.”
That Wednesday, sitting in marriage counselling, I prepared a document. I read out my summary of every way in which she had hurt me, betrayed me, shredded my soul until it resembled some parody of T.S. Eliot’s Hollow Men. I told her that she had many great qualities and many great traits, that I would love her forever, but I still concluded that there was one habit that had turned out to be far more destructive to me than either cocaine or alcohol: loving her and trying to be her friend. I asked her to leave me alone for a time. I needed time and space. She was not happy with my decision.
We spoke once more after that. A few days later, we had one last fight. She called me, angry that I had, in speaking to a friend of mine, portrayed her actions in a negative light. This time, I lost my composure. This time, I let loose the words of war: “You want to do something constructive? Why don’t you buy a pistol, load it, put it in your mouth, and pull the trigger. You will instantly have constructed a better world.” Ashamed of my cruelty, I called back and apologized. I hadn’t meant what I said. I didn’t want any harm to come to her. I certainly didn’t want her to commit suicide! Like a wounded animal, I was losing control of my own faculties. I think she finally understood just how much I needed time and space to heal. She agreed to give me 6 months. I have no idea if I will ever hear from her again. I have no idea if I want to. In all honesty, I don’t think I do.
So here I am, fingers scrawling out this tale of guilt, hopeless love, failure, desire, and loss. I find myself wandering in the rage of a dying light, crying in silence when nobody is looking, laughing as loudly as I can when the eyes of a public are upon me, just a hummingbird in search of nectar from wilting flowers in a city of synthetic forms and the dusty scent of broken concrete…
submitted by Subject-Entropy to offmychest [link] [comments]


2015.06.28 08:24 Subject-Entropy Tragic Hipster Romance: “It Was the Best of Times; It Was the Worst of Times” (Seeking some catharsis through writing.)

The problem with this world is that all of its philosophies, ultimately, are designed to deal with the unfortunate pull of two very specific poles. Murphy rules one, and Maxwell’s demon, like Lucifer, led a failed rebellion against the teleological pull of the other: everything that can happen, given an infinite period of time, will; the state of entropy of the entire universe, as an isolated system, will always increase over time. So what does that leave us with as the improbable, epiphenomenal accident of an infinite period of possibilities? Just the promise that our definitively finite lives are ruled by one constant: everything degrades and falls apart. If there is a God, that is his plan. We are left only with the prayer that our life’s entropic disillusion will come before the things we love most rot in front of our eyes. The question that ought to plague existence isn’t, “what is the point?”, but “will we be lucky enough to die first?”. In the case of my marriage, I was not.
In late March or early April of 2012, I found myself sitting in a bar I once managed. Mould stained the bar. The Tex-Mex themed location smelled of cheap tequila. A friend invited me there to keep him company. He was there for someone’s birthday. Despite being a fairly good looking, tall, Caucasian man, I was lonely. I hid my loneliness well, masking it behind a fun-loving devil-may-care attitude, beautiful tattoos, a light spattering of facial piercings (earrings and a nose ring), and a lopsided mischievous grin. I had come to terms with the belief that I would probably never find someone to share my life with. I had recently started an English Literature PhD, so time was in short supply. Even worse, two failed, long-term relationships left me with something of a cynic’s outlook on love and a phobia of monogamy. Unfortunately, my passion for literature left me with a romantic’s sensibility.
My server was beautiful: an athlete’s toned body; slightly upturned brown eyes that appealed to my child-like wonder of the world in the same way a slightly muddy pool of rain-water appeals to a six-year old boy; the light scent of a perfume I was never able to place but which came to signify a collage of four letter words; straight hair of the same color as her eyes framed a complexion as sweet as tiramisu. I did what I do: flirt. I have always been good at flirting. One tequila shot followed another. It seems that love-in-idleness is a cactus flower. Somehow, I convinced her to meet me at a late-night speakeasy after work. It might have been the way I casually lilted on about Shakespeare. She was taking a Shakespeare course in university that year. I was teaching a tutorial for a very similar course in a different university.
When my lips touched hers for the first time, my brain started to produce a drug far more potent than the half-gram of cocaine in my pocket or the many shots of liquor that the cocaine was keeping at bay. We drank and snorted our way back into my bed. Clothing became just so much wrapping paper on an epicurean experience that made everyone else I had been with pale in comparison. The syntax of the world came apart like a LANGUAGE poem leaving me with only a raw, unformatted sense of pure pleasure. I didn’t want her to go to work the next day. I didn’t want the night to end. She appeased my desires with plans for a date, all the while laughing at my “white-boy” exuberance. What was supposed to be a one night stand started to bleed into the rest of a life I had planned to live alone. If only I knew how deep the wound that blood pumped from would turn out to be.
Our first date lasted over 12 hours. We started at a Korean—Sushi fusion restaurant. Our date rose in the east but set in the west, passing through three bars along the way, rockabilly, indie, and alt-rock serenading the experience with a soundtrack. We avoided getting quite as drunk the second time around. This time, it was not just raw desire that drove our frenzy. We talked about our dreams. We talked about our families. We talked about our beliefs. We talked about how we were both pleasantly surprised to still feel the magnetic attraction we had that first day. We talked about how much I preferred her natural curls to the straightened cut she sported when I first laid eyes on her. We talked about our values. Family values were of paramount importance to her, she said. (It turns out that the word paramount was something of a malapropism. The word she was looking for was penultimate.) We palimpsestically rewrote our first LANGUAGE poem in her bed. We woke up the next morning and went for breakfast at a nearby restaurant that served crepes. We shared our meal, maximizing our flavour intake—a habit we continued to practice for the next three years.
In the weeks that followed, I contacted her father and asked for permission to date his daughter. It wasn’t exactly traditional, considering the activities we had already started to perform, but I wanted to try and appeal to her values. In the months that followed a new set of neural trees started eating away at my brain like mad-cow disease, prion chains casually growing and attaching themselves to pre-existing pathways. My brain succumbed to an electromagnetic breed of multicellular hyphae that clung to my neural tissue with the same potency as the breed that clung to the underside of the bar over which we met. Soon, in a moment of drunken ecstasy, a phrase slipped from between my lips: I love you. I was drunk when I said it. We were both drunk far too often in those days. She laughed and told me to repeat the statement when I was sober, when we were not doing our best to fold ourselves into an origami creature made up of two different sheets of paper. Those three words formed my first breath the following morning.
We traveled to Paris together. That is a story in its own right, penned out elsewhere. In short, that narrative opines and reflects on the way Parisian architecture is semiotically read: the Eiffel tower is an empty sign in which meaning is poured. The meaning I poured into the Eiffel tower was a cliché born of one too many films. I should have remembered what Baudelaire wrote under the auspice of Paris. I should have remembered what Rilke wrote after walking Parisian streets. Paris is a city of love: the love of a vampire’s corpse; the love of a woman missing a face; a city to die in. Paris was an arrangement of one la petite mort after another, but I failed to note the implications of life and death transmogrified.
On September, 23rd, 2012, I proposed marriage. I asked her mother and father first. I spent a heady sum on an antique style white-gold ring with a diamond worth far more than an English Literature grad student can afford. In the morning, we went out for gourmet coffee. We spent the day together, ostensibly for my Birthday, though we were a day early. I cooked a romantic dinner. Later, I also took her to one of her favorite restaurants. We ate a charcuterie platter of home-cured meats. When she started to get too drunk, I insisted that we had to head home as fast as humanly possible. When we got home I stripped her naked, blindfolded her, and led her by hand to a bath I had drawn for her. The lights were off. Candles grew from the edges of the bathtub like the mountains that cast their shadow over my ancestors, but instead of casting a white shadow, light flickered over the soft brown mounds of her breasts and the bubbles that surrounded them. I told her to open her eyes. A little green box on the side of the tub showcased my purchase. She said yes.
From that moment followed the happiest years of my life and the greatest pain I have ever experienced: “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” One night I found God in the Heisenberg principle. She had always framed God as the perpetually unknowable aspect of our universe, and in Heisenberg I found an argument to justify a concept I never believed in with the intent of putting a smile on her face. We read books in the park together. We reveled in each other, but only for a short time.
All was not perfect. We had agreed on an open swinger’s relationship. In the past, neither of us had experienced great success with the practice of monogamy. Setting monogamy as a boundary to our relationship seemed like a recipe for disaster. I, however, insisted on certain rules designed to ensure mutual respect and monogamous love no matter what physical extracurricular activities we practiced. One rule stipulated that we would never sleep with the same person twice unless we were both involved in the act. I found that, despite my theoretical desire for sexual freedom, I didn’t need anyone else. That wasn’t true of her. Twice she came home to me after sleeping with someone at a party. I was not, however, hurt. Her sexual appetite titillated me; until, of course, I learned that she had in fact slept with the same person at both parties. I forgave her. My understanding of love was unconditional. We had another rule as well: we would never sleep at another person’s home or stay out all night without calling each other. It wasn’t fair to make the other person worry. One night she came home at 7am. She had spent the night doing cocaine with strangers. She did not call. She did not pick up when I called. I forgave her. My understanding of love was unconditional.
I wasn’t perfect either. The two of us had planned to meet another couple for a night of sinful adventure after the wedding of her friend. At the wedding she got way too drunk. I should have reacted with understanding, finding some way to cancel the extracurricular fantasy. I should have focused on getting her into bed safely. Instead, I reacted poorly. Her drinking, her inability to control herself that night irritated me. Small events, all of which I had brushed off as so much inconsequential nonsense, finally accumulated and gained a mass larger than the sum of their parts: coming drunk to our second date; sleeping with other people without me, but not putting effort into meeting my desires; coming home too drunk to stand while I was trying to study; vomiting on my shoes during a cab-ride home; getting so drunk that she pissed our bed. That night, a brief flowering of acrimonious weeds nearly swallowed the engagement ring I bought her. The next morning, we found the ring. The next morning, we agreed to never fight again. We agreed to forgive each other. For the most part, we succeeded. That was the lie I told myself until well after our separation.
In the months preceding my proposal, she received a rejection to the law-school of her choice, her only choice; it was the single egg she carried in the basket of her imagination. She had scored unbelievably well on her LSATs, but her undergraduate grades were less than stellar. I consoled her. I already knew that the application process to any graduate curriculum was arcane, and that one rejection did not amount to a permanent state. I had been through that process twice: I had applied for my Masters Degree; I had applied for my PhD. As our engagement progressed, I sat with her and rewrote her application. My hope was that my formal eloquence used to convey her ideas would convince the school, in combination with her LSAT scores, to see the same potential I saw. Sure enough, they offered her an interview, and they were won over as whole-heartedly as I was.
On September, 1, 2013, we were married. My throat constricted when her father walked her down the aisle. I unceremoniously wrapped him in a hug. I ceremoniously, eyes tearing, recited:
“I vow to be with you during life’s tragedies and comedies, and even its poststructural revisions.”
“I vow to walk beside you as we wade into a maelstrom of mounting student debt, and I vow to still be by your side once we manage to pay off our loans.”
“In sickness and in health, I love and cherish you, and I vow that I always will, whether you agree to give me pro-bono legal representation or not.”
“I vow that I will start every debate by telling you I love you, and finish every argument by telling you the same.”
“I vow that while I will try and make these vows short and sweet, I will reify them for a baroque eternity.”
“I vow to be your husband, and to love you more with every passing day.”
The fact that I no longer remember her vows foreshadows the direction of this narrative. Nevertheless, she swore a set of vows that, at the time, I wholeheartedly believed. Belief is the illusion we cast up into an indifferent night to protect us from the vast darkness of an apathetic universe. When it can be empirically tested, belief is made to be broken.
A few days before our marriage, I wrote my first comprehensive qualification exam. A few days after our marriage, I performed the oral component of that same exam. A few days before our marriage, she began her orientation week. A few days after our marriage, she attended her first day of class. We were a professional couple, both of us driven towards our respective goals, and there is no rest for the wicked. I remember accompanying her to a conference upon her acceptance to law-school, a few months before our wedding: “say goodbye to your significant other,” said the speaker, “as almost no relationship survives law-school.” I was sure that we would be the couple to break that pattern.
We had a lot of fun during the 18 months that commenced. This story is not about how much fun we had. This is a story about the way she would come home tired from school, complaining about how exhausted she was, complaining about how hard she worked. I tried to sympathize with her. I was working hard too. I knew that feeling. Somehow, the cells of my sympathy mutated with the poisonous cancer of competition and comparison. She was sure she worked harder than me. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
This is a story about the way, during her first year of law-school, she would regularly ask me to edit her work. In fact, I edited one of her final (take-home) exams. I even helped her write a paper, writing most of it for her, though my philosophically process-inflected mind was not always the best fit for a program that desires pragmatic product-inflected results. She, however, grew irritated when I asked her to edit my work. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
This is a story about the way time passed, and 10 months into our marriage she complained about my values. We met over a compilation of Hunter S. Thompson’s gonzo search for the American dream. She had started to dream of a world devoid of our journalistic pursuits. My drug use had to stop. I said ok. In the months that followed, however, she kept writing essays that left our bed drenched in her urine. Once, she got so drunk she defecated in her sleep. I begged her to see a doctor about what alcohol was doing to her, but she ignored my pleas. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
This is a story about the way law-school took up more and more of her time, and I, having a pretty bad self destructive streak when I am upset about something, followed Mr. Thompson down the twin-barrels of a shotgun; twice in the 8 months following her complaint, I fucked up and used a small amount of cocaine. The first time, she had failed to attend an event that she had originally planned to attend alongside me: some casual get together amongst friends. I was feeling lonely. I missed her touch. I sought solace in The Neuroimaging of Love, patching my pain with a crystalline tropane alkaloid called benzoylmethylecgonine: cocaine for short. I apologized to her. She accepted my apology. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
The second time, she went on a law-school organized “ski trip” to a local mountain. We were supposed to go together. Murphy struck, and she organized our tickets in a manner that precluded me from traveling alongside her. We were going to spend the night before her trip together instead. That night, she went out with a friend and came home too drunk and contrary to spend any time with me. I refused to allow her behavior to metamorph into a fight. I ignored the invective she poured on me. Any handmaiden will tell you, ignoring isn’t the same thing as ignorance; you have to work at it. This wasn’t the first time she had come home drunk and tried to start a fight. I refused to see the forest for the trees.
I carried her to bed when she started to pass out. I tucked her under our covers. I kissed her goodnight. The next morning, as we had not spent any time together before the trip, and she had gotten drunk enough to embarrass herself in multiple ways, I begged her to watch her alcohol intake on the trip and to avoid fucking anyone else. On the trip she got drunk, made out with another man, and ended up putting herself in a hospital with alcohol poisoning. She came home to my embrace, my forgiveness, and a home-cooked meal. Serenity now—insanity later: I patched up my inner pain with benzoylmethylecgonine once again. She was with me the night I did so. Like a fool, at first, I tried to hide it from her. Of course, she caught on fairly quickly. I am a terrible liar. I apologized to her. She accepted my apology. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
This is a story about the way swinging, despite a few wonderful experiences, failed us when combined with alcohol. The first failure is eaten up by the entropy of a blackout. Both of us were heavily inebriated. We mutually initiated a threesome with a friend of ours (with whom we had enjoyed a threesome on more than one occasion). My wife passed out during the process. Apparently, I wanted to have a threesome anyway, or so I was told. Our friend, who was of a clearer mind, noted that it would be a bad idea. We called it a night. All of this was recounted to both my wife and me after the fact. Neither of us remembered the night. I was mortified. I apologized to my wife profusely at the time. She shrugged the event away noting that we were both very intoxicated. The statement seemed logical to me. Last I could remember, she was trying to initiate the evening! We agreed not to swing while drinking like that again. After the discussion and resolution, I thought nothing of it. I should have.
The second failure occurred on our final Valentine’s Day. Our tradition was to visit the restaurant I took her to when I proposed. Once again, we ate a charcuterie platter of home-cured meats. That final year, we also discussed going to a swingers club. She expressed excitement at the idea. I made sure to stick to our resolution. She, however, decided to seek Mr. Thompson’s company. I begged her to stop. For a time, she did. Then, she plied her burgeoning trade and pled her case: she claimed to be fine; she claimed to be able to handle a few more drinks. I believed her. We empirically tested my belief. My belief was broken when, upon heading to the bathroom, she didn’t return to the room where I was waiting for her.
I found her attempting to join some other couple in a threesome. She was calling the male member of this other couple by my name. I led her away. I tried to convince her we should head home. With an angry cry, she yelled, “I want to get fucked! You got to fuck someone. Let me have fun too!” She seemed to believe that she had stumbled into another woman and me engaging in a Venusian escapade without her. I tried to calm her, but she hit me. This wasn’t the first time she got drunk and hit me. I didn’t want to cause a scene. I was in no real physical danger. I agreed to let her fuck someone else. While he was fucking her, she passed out. I immediately called the night to a close. I got her dressed. I carried her out the club. While doing so, she woke up again. She started hitting me again. I ignored her behavior. I put her in a cab. I took her home. I tucked her in. I forgave her. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
This is a story about the next day when my wife and I traveled to my in-laws. I loved my in-laws. I loved spending as much time with them as possible. I loved being part of their family. The day after Valentine’s Day my in-laws were hosting an extended family get-together. My wife and I each made a different course for the event. That was the sort of effort and time I felt ought to be put into the family of your significant other. A few months before that event, my wife, on the other hand, couldn’t find the time to visit my mother and wish her condolences after my grandmother died. Law-school, dear reader, takes up a lot of time. I thought nothing of it. I should have.
This is a story about an event that happened just after that get-together, an event that shattered the tedious pattern I have been rebuilding with so many sentences and paragraphs. Kissing my wife’s neck, I suggested that we spend some time practicing origami. My wife claimed that we couldn’t, as her brother was already on his way over. When her brother finally arrived, it was clear, based on timing, that he didn’t leave until well after she claimed he had. I was confused. I broached the subject with her. She snapped: “At least I didn’t try to use cocaine and lie about it!” Why was she angry with me? I was not being accusatory. I was just curious! Why was she yelling? I told her I wanted to talk about it. She agreed, after I gave her a few days to calm down.
Our conversation was a process of translation. Our swinging had become an issue for her. I was happy to switch to a monogamous relationship, at least in theory. Valentine’s Day wasn’t what I would term a pleasurable experience. She had not forgiven me for using cocaine those two times. What, I wondered, about her drinking? In the last few months, I engaged in far fewer bacchanalian failures than she had! This, of course, was not about truth and lying in the moral, or at least fair, sense. I just wasn’t working hard enough. As a PhD graduate student? The grudges she had kept tucked between her breasts were translated into the following phrase: “we are just not compatible.” Really? Shouldn’t we seek counselling and put some effort into our marriage before coming to a decision of that magnitude? We went to one session of marriage counselling and agreed to try and work on it. That lasted for a week.
In that week, we both used a lot of platitudes and told each other that we loved each other quite a bit. I would write her love-letters and leave them by her side as I slept on the couch. I wanted her to wake up to the words, “I love you.” She swore that we would work our way through our problems. We wouldn’t fail, she told me, from a lack of her efforts. I tried to keep a smile on my face. I tried to stay positive. I tried to address any of the concrete issues she wanted me to address with action. I, for example, picked up extracurricular activities so that she would feel like I was working harder. Her body language, however, stayed frozen. Most of her kindness came in the form of e-mails she would send me after the tundra I weathered in person. Somewhere from deep within the forest of (neural) trees hidden behind my tear-stained eyes an evanescent electrochemical charge started calling up a cascade of need.
We were supposed to have a date night. I wanted to spend Saturday with her. She told me she had to work all day Saturday, so we ended up moving our date night into a very inconvenient Friday time slot. Sure enough, due to the time slot, it was a pretty piss-poor date night. I was going to go out with a friend, to a bar, for emotional support on Saturday. My wife informed me that she was going out at 6pm on Saturday to hang out with friends and go drinking with them. That’s work, if you are in law-school, I guess. I tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal. She was going out with friends on Saturday instead of putting effort into our marriage. Why would that hurt? Needless to say, my self-destructive tendencies kicked in. I got way too drunk. I flirted with a girl at the bar. I bought cocaine. I went home with the girl. I didn’t use the cocaine. I didn’t have sex with the girl. It didn’t matter. My estranged wife couldn’t forgive me. I gave her the excuse she needed to free herself from white-gold and diamond shackles.
We started navigating the trenches of separation. Without my knowledge or consent, my sister informed my in-laws about much of the above. My now estranged wife believed that I had convinced my sister to do so in order to hurt her. She wanted to keep our swinging a secret. For about a week, she treated me as an enemy combatant. Her words exploded like fragmentary grenades. I kept my calm. I avoided saying anything designed to hurt. I simply asked to meet with her so that we could discuss the bureaucratic and financial details of our separation. During a period of time when, it turns out, she was already unhappy and considering divorce, she convinced me to sign my name to a 50,000 dollar line of credit we put aside to invest in her law-career. She had already used 29,725 dollars and 63 cents of that credit by the time we separated. My sister suggested I remove the remaining credit out of the line as leverage, to protect myself. I, being a romantic fool, wanted to move through the separation with grace and kindness. I was worried that, if I tried to force her to close out the line of credit with me immediately, I would end up derailing her law-career. I still loved her. I didn’t want to hurt her. Denial is a stage of marriage and grief. I already knew that I was willing to let her use the remaining 20,274 dollars and 37 cents, if she agreed to pay it back herself, and if we discussed it first.
Before our conversation, my estranged wife bled the 20,274 dollars from my heart’s already aching wound. She blamed her choice on my sister’s actions. She thought I had encouraged my sister to hurt her. I assured her that I had not. I forgave her. She cried. I cried. We embraced. We kissed for the last time. That kiss is etched into my neural wiring. We agreed to proceed as friends. “A tragic hipster romance,” she called it. I ought to turn the whole thing into a short story, I said. She smiled sadly in agreement. We should go to marriage counselling in order to learn how to operate as friends, I suggested. It would be hard to overcome our situation. She agreed. A date was set. I began to pack.
It would be nice if the story ended there. That is the ending I would have liked to give this series of events. Without a wife to fight for, however, I sought out old friends. Mr. Thompson and I sang drinking songs over tables glassy with tears and horizontal, powdered mirrors. For the first half of the month during which I was moving, I went about pickling my heart with whisky and patching my wounds with white, powdery, synthetic romance. There just didn’t seem to be much to live for. In the second half of the month, I sutured my will to survive, to clean up my act, back together. The result bore a resemblance to Frankenstein’s monster, but I was doing the best I could.
Then, like the namesake we planned to bestow on our first unborn male child, my estranged wife dreamed of dry bones: “Is the move going alright? I had a nightmare about us fighting over contentious possessions.” She prophesied the rebirth of our conflict. I thought nothing of it—I just wanted to separate as friends; so did she, she claimed—I should have. She had bought a pair of tickets to Thailand as a Christmas gift for me. I took those tickets. I wasn’t reclaiming any of the gifts I gave her. This particular gift might have been expensive, but I was tying myself to a few years worth of debt, debt that I already knew would have a negative impact on my future. When she found out, war resumed. Her words shelled my position. I dove for cover. I tried getting her to calm down. I tried getting her to talk to me instead of shouting invective at me. I was willing to return the gift. I was just hurt by her choice. I kept my calm. Then, a shard of shrapnel from one of her exploding sentences severed a right pulmonary artery. I still kept my calm, but I knew that, at least for a time, our friendship was over. I could no longer forgive her.
I suppose I did such a good job of staying civil that she felt the need to reinitiate civil contact. A few days later, she left her trench under the auspices of a white flag. Her apologies only covered my perceptions, not her actions. That was her undoing. It was the severed artery she should have apologized for. She didn’t know, however, how deeply I was hurt by her words. She finished her e-mail by saying:
“I hope that you can understand my reasoning and see that I am not being cruel, despite what your sister might say. Please try not to get caught up in the vitriol that she has poisoned your life with. However, if you do, please feel free to take whatever gift you want from my life to show you that I did not act maliciously and am willing to give up material goods in order to bleed the poison from your opinion of me.”
I, however, didn’t want to take back any of the gifts I gave her. So, I replied:
“I feel no vitriol towards you. I am saddened by what we are going through. I wish there was some way to fix all this. I will, in some capacity or other, love you forever. I don't want to take anything back. I want you to be happy. I have nothing else to say right now. We can talk Wednesday.”
I already knew she wouldn’t like Wednesday’s feedback. It is said that World War II birthed advances in cryptography and cybernetic design. It is possible that marriage should have earned that credit first. She didn’t notice the unstated tragedy; just because I wish her well, and will love her forever, that doesn’t mean we can still be friends. I suppose she believed that my response indicated that everything would work itself out in her favour.
“I am also saddened,” she wrote back. “I do love you, if not in the way you want. I also want you to be happy. That has always been the case and will never change. Seeing you hurt will never make me feel anything but unhappiness.”
“I’ll see you Wednesday.”
That Wednesday, sitting in marriage counselling, I prepared a document. I read out my summary of every way in which she had hurt me, betrayed me, shredded my soul until it resembled some parody of T.S. Eliot’s Hollow Men. I told her that she had many great qualities and many great traits, that I would love her forever, but I still concluded that there was one habit that had turned out to be far more destructive to me than either cocaine or alcohol: loving her and trying to be her friend. I asked her to leave me alone for a time. I needed time and space. She was not happy with my decision.
We spoke once more after that. A few days later, we had one last fight. She called me, angry that I had, in speaking to a friend of mine, portrayed her actions in a negative light. This time, I lost my composure. This time, I let loose the words of war: “You want to do something constructive? Why don’t you buy a pistol, load it, put it in your mouth, and pull the trigger. You will instantly have constructed a better world.” Ashamed of my cruelty, I called back and apologized. I hadn’t meant what I said. I didn’t want any harm to come to her. I certainly didn’t want her to commit suicide! Like a wounded animal, I was losing control of my own faculties. I think she finally understood just how much I needed time and space to heal. She agreed to give me 6 months. I have no idea if I will ever hear from her again. I have no idea if I want to. In all honesty, I don’t think I do.
So here I am, fingers scrawling out this tale of guilt, hopeless love, failure, desire, and loss. I find myself wandering in the rage of a dying light, crying in silence when nobody is looking, laughing as loudly as I can when the eyes of a public are upon me, just a hummingbird in search of nectar from wilting flowers in a city of synthetic forms and the dusty scent of broken concrete…
submitted by Subject-Entropy to Divorce [link] [comments]


2015.03.18 07:08 Alcuev Last weekend I got tipsy and wrote my mono girlfriend a letter about my interest in polyamory. Context and aftermath inside

Context:
My girlfriend and I have been in a mono relationship for 3.5 years. I've since identified as poly and while I love my girlfriend, being in a mono relationship is sometimes straining for me. I've talked to her about my poly tendencies before but she never fully understood where I was coming from. Last weekend I had a few beers and was in a write-y mood so I wrote this letter to her at 4 am. I think I expressed my ideas clearly and eloquently, so I figured I'd share in the hopes that some of you (maybe in a similar situation?) get something out of this.
Disclaimer: I wrote this after a few beers so yeah just be aware of that
We've talked about polyamory a few times before, and in the interest of not wasting time rehashing stuff we've already discussed, I'll take some time to talk about a different subject first. I'm going to talk about travel.
I think both of us have it as a goal in life to travel. When you showed me that thing from reddit where you can choose from the 4 different paths, you chose the one where you have the power to live forever [The Road Eternal] and just go from place to place and meet new people and experience new cultures and such. Because it's hard for the human brain to comprehend infinity (and thus infinite life), I think this desire stems from our innate sense of mortality, and thus scarcity of time. Since our time is limited, we intuitively understand that there is more in the world to see than we ever realistically can. This is one of my greatest fears, and probably yours too; that you will die having not explored as much of the world as possible. And if you don't travel, you'll never see all of the amazing places that the world had to offer. There is such diversity out there to experience that you would rather be an endless nomad, travelling from place to place and never really settling down anywhere permanently, than have even the greatest possible control over a mortal life. Why have power and control when all you would ultimately USE that power for is to adventure, to discover, to expose yourself to the vast diversity of experience that our earth / universe / multiverse (per the superpower from that reddit thing) could offer to us.
It would be a shame if you lived out your whole life merely working and getting by, maybe climbing the corporate ladder, only to stay in the same house, in the same city, until you inevitably retire and waste away. You've had a taste of Europe, of South America, of New Zealand, but there is still so much more to see even of the places you've already been to, much less places like Thailand, Rwanda, Iceland, etc. that have entirely different culture, history, food, nature, and people than you've even been exposed to thus far. Why limit yourself to just the bay area, as awesome as it may be, when there is so much more out there, and there's nothing stopping you from exploring it except your own internal fears and external pressures pushing you to settle down, buy a house, invest, commit. Just be happy with where you are and keep working to earn it. Travelling is selfish. Travelling is wasteful. Why don't you just appreciate where you live and make the most of it, you live in such a great area, why do you take that for granted? It's unrealistic and irresponsible to make travel a significant part of your life. This is the message we get constantly from parents, from society, our closest friends, and most importantly, ourselves. But you can see other people out there travelling and sure, maybe they spend a lot of money and maybe it's not "fair" that they can do that while other people are stuck being sedentary, but it's their life, it's your life, and they/you should be able to do what you want with it and go where you want to go. Experience what you want to experience. And maybe if more people did that, they would have a greater appreciation for the immense diversity of human experience that's out there. Or they would be able to positively contribute to the communities and environments they travel to. Or they would be able to empathize better with foreign perspectives and situations because they've not simply heard about them from third and fourth sources, they've actually had an intimate firsthand experience with the places they've been and they can truly say that they know the place and not just that they've seen it before or heard about it.
I sincerely believe you can empathize with these sorts of feelings. In simplest terms, it is the feeling of wanting to maximize our diversity of experiences during the time allotted to us.
To me, to my mind and my heart, the above expression is almost exactly how I feel about my human relationships. The phrases "finding the one", "till death do us part", "spend the rest of my life with", "my one true love", etc I find confining, trapping, terrifying. Whereas to others they might be romantic or highly desirable in some way. Maybe those phrases will be appealing to me one day, too. But right now I have met so many beautiful people (in physical attractiveness, sure, but primarily in personality) whom I feel strong desire to be more intimate with, that the idea of closing those doors forever and attempting to choose only one, the "best" one, and committing to them forever, is ridiculous. On the subject of such feelings, I'm constantly reminded that they are some combination of impulsive, foolish, selfish, unrealistic, hurtful, dishonest, unhealthy, suboptimal (nooo!), sinful, weird. Rarely is the desire to experience emotional or physical intimacy with more than one individual simultaneously ever considered positive. This is one of the most universally rejected and disdained ideas in traditional society. I would bet that polyamory is less socially acceptable than even veganism or transexuality. Luckily I know a lot of young, liberal, and intelligent people, so I probably wouldn't be totally ostracized by publicly being polyamorous, but I've still received far more doubt and judgment than support and understanding from people I've "come out" to with this desire. And these are the people whom I'd expect to be least judgmental and most supportive. I can't even imagine how my parents would feel about it.
I'm going to be very forthright and repetitive now, because I think the concrete facts are important to emphasize when talking about something so abstract. Throughout the years we've been together, I've felt strong sexual desire and desire for emotional intimacy with several other women (occasionally even men), and by several I mean at least a dozen. I've felt these feelings, for example:
  • When I'm alone
  • When I'm hanging out with the people in question
  • When I'm around you
  • When I'm at school
  • When I'm at work
  • When I'm asleep
  • When I'm browsing the internet
  • When I'm masturbating
  • When I'm meditating
  • When I'm philosophizing
  • When I'm reading
  • When I'm exercising
  • When I'm happy
  • When I'm sad
  • When I'm anxious
  • When I'm afraid
My point isn't that thoughts of other women are happening literally all the time, because they don't, but rather they happen under a variety of different settings, circumstances, and emotional / intellectual / physical states, so that I have good reason to believe such thoughts are not mere intrusions into consciousness (EG the occasional catchy tune or unwelcome urge to veer off the road), nor are they side effects of a particular state of being (EG physical proximity to an attractive female), but rather a deeply intrinsic character trait. Intimate connections with people (again, both emotionally and physically) define much of my life experiences and my identity. It's painful to deny these feelings, and to experience shame or guilt on behalf of them. This is especially painful when I consider the pain that even the idea of my very real and (in my opinion) valid desires might cause you should you be aware of them, you being one of the most important people to me and whose emotional well-being I am most strongly invested in. To many, my polyamorous tendencies would seem unfaithful, or seem to diminish my relationship with you in some way, whereas to me they mean nothing more than being open and honest about my deepest sense of identity rather than systematically suppressing it. I cannot imagine a version of me that doesn't want to experience intimate bonds with many of the people I care most about or am most attracted towards, regardless of whether or not my behavior reflects this.
The fact that I've experienced what I describe above does not, in my mind, say anything negative about my relationship with you. In the same way that my desire to go to Thailand doesn't say that I don't enjoy living in the bay area. I simply crave a diversity of experience. However, the fact that I feel unable to act upon or even express these desires while I'm with you does hold back our relationship because I feel like I can't ever be fully open with you or with myself. And if I can't be whole by myself I won't be able to contribute as meaningfully to our relationship as I believe I could otherwise. I tend to hold you accountable for my own inability to achieve the diversity of experience that I crave, when really it stems from my choices of how I express myself and how I structure my relationship with you and others.
This is a crazy subject that I could probably talk about for a while, and I kind of want to right now, but I've already expressed a lot and I'm probably in rambling mode. So I'm going to let you read and digest this and see what you have to say. This entry is not meant to be an ultimatum nor an expression of my dissatisfaction of our relationship - it can't be taken out of context. The context is that I want to be fully open with you about what I feel and who I am, and why I believe I feel the way I do. Maybe I don't even know myself very well, and maybe if I actually pursued a polyamorous lifestyle I would be confused and dissatisfied and decide that serial monogamy is best for me. This would defy all of my intuitions about myself and my past experiences, but since I've never truly explored these feelings before I have little evidence with which to refine these intuitions. And of course my thoughts and feelings in this area are not 100% well-structured because they often change and are hard to receive meaningful feedback on, plus they rarely result in useful discussion among those who don't share similar feelings. And of course, since most of society seems to disagree with me on this and I don't even have much personal experience to work off of, maybe I am ultimately delusional and have a deeply flawed perception of either real world phenomena or the inner workings of my own mind. That's a tale for another time.
This has been tipsy philosophical reflections by [my name] volume 183,974
Aftermath: My girlfriend read this the next day and we talked about it. I was worried that she would be angry or upset, but she actually reacted very positively. She said that she thinks she understands my thoughts and feelings about polyamory for the first time (the travel analogy helped a lot for her) after reading. The future of our relationship is a bit uncertain, but I am certain that putting into words exactly how I feel and why I identify as poly definitely helped both of us.
I'm not looking for relationship advice or anything, I just wanted to share my letter and possibly put into words what others are feeling or inspire others to share their own feelings.
submitted by Alcuev to polyamory [link] [comments]


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