Author: Rob Says

A man who loves and likes women.

Happy Halloween!

Rob Says1 Comment

It’s Halloween time again. Time for ghosts, ghouls, vampires, spooky shit, and the supernatural. Enjoy, and don’t overthink it.

Heartbreak.

We all go through it if we are all so fortunate enough to experience it. I have experienced heartbreak on more than one occasion, but the last time was the worst time of all.

She decided to plan a trip to Europe for 3 months, hid it from me the entire time that she was planning it, and then “dropped the bomb” on me a few days before she would be getting on her flight to leave the United States.

I was stunned to say the least. All I could think to ask, was “Why?”

Why are you leaving me? You don’t have to go. You can do your trip, you can stay. But no, she was done. I could see it in her eyes. I know what “done” looks like.

And so my heart broke. It was an open wound. Bleeding. My grief and pain was the worst that I had ever experienced in my life. It was even worse than when my Mother died.

I was in a daze, a haze, a fog. Everything was surreal and nothing mattered. Except the pain. The pain mattered. It was all encompassing and ever-present. It was with me in the morning and when I tried to sleep at night. It was in my sleep and dreams. It was everywhere I looked and in every breath I took.

I started drinking steadily.

It was to dull the pain. Yes, I was medicating. I knew that then, and I know that now. Getting drunk dulled the pain. It made life a little bearable for a brief while. But I knew it couldn’t and wouldn’t last.

I talked to friends and family about my pain, my loss. They were empathetic and kind, and it helped to a small degree, but it didn’t end the pain. Drinking still helped but not as much. I just wanted the pain to end, I wanted to not feel the heartache anymore. I was tired of my heart being broken and bleeding.

And then one day it happened.

I had been reading a book on “The Dark Arts.”

Black Magic.

Mystical “Woo Woo.”

New Age bullshit packaged as Ancient Secret Lore.

There was a summoning spell.

The skeptic that I am knew it was bullshit, and with a sneer and a smirk I read the ritual aloud.

I then tossed the book in the trash and went to bed.

The next day, “It” showed up.

I say “It” because one moment it seemed “as a man.” But then it would change its appearance somehow and it then seemed “as a woman.” Whatever “It” was, “It” was beautiful. “It” was attractive. “It” was seductive.

“You called. I came.” It said. “What do you seek?”

The beer I drank must still be fucking with me, I thought, but I decided to play along. What the hell, right? I’m having a great delusion, a grand hallucination, I might as well get the most from it.

Thoughts flashed through my mind. Nothing would stay put for more than the briefest of moments. Except for two things.

I wanted my heartbreak to end. And silly enough, I had been on Twitter the night before, watching guys talk about “Game.” But I wanted more.

“Done.” The entity said. And then it laughed. A most cruel and sinister laugh it was. It sent chills down my spine. And with that, the “thing” disappeared.

I rubbed my eyes and looked around. It was gone. Maybe it had never been there and I had dreamt it, only I was awake. Maybe I had hallucinated it. That’s the most likely answer. Yeah, I hallucinated it. No matter, time to get on with my day.

The first thing I noticed is that my heart no longer hurt. I didn’t think about her and mourn the loss of our relationship. I could still see her in my mind, I could still picture her vividly, but it no longer hurt. It was just “there.” We dated, loved, shared a life to a degree, had some great sex and some good times, but meh. It’s just “there,” is all.

To not feel pain, to not feel the loss of what was and what could have been, it was a relief. A blessing. I guess “time does heal all wounds.” At least that is what I thought at the time.

I went out and lived my life, and it was interesting. Meeting women became easy. Rejections didn’t sting. Not even in the slightest. It was “no big deal.” But I didn’t get many rejections. Women that I considered “out of my league” said yes to my offers. It was thrilling, it was amazing. And the sex..

Oh man, the sex… Nothing was “off the table.” Nothing was taboo. Nothing was denied me.

Except…

The more I fucked, the more sex I had, and the more I “dated,” the more I wanted.

I told a friend about it and he said that I was Chasing the Dragon. Like a junkie chasing the next high from a hit of heroin. At the time I thought he was right. Turns out we were both wrong.

It’s not like being an addict. I’m not chasing the next high.

I HUNGER.

Imagine starving, only for real.

Only the more you eat, the hungrier you get.

I’m not chasing my next high, I’m chasing my next meal. If I don’t eat I will die.

That’s what it feels like.

An empty pit that can never be filled.

The more I eat, the bigger that endless chasm grows. The more I get, the more I want.

And the HUNGER is endless.

My heartache and heartbreak is gone. I can feel, and I do. The intense highs and lows of living a life, my life, nothing has changed there.

When I’m with women, I feel, and I feel intensely.

And I HUNGER.

I don’t just want a woman’s sex, her passion, her desire, and her body. I want her soul.

The women I meet now all say to me, “You are so different! There’s something about you, I can’t put my finger on it, but you aren’t like all the other men I have met.” Oh baby, you have no idea.

I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but I found out:

Incubus:

(noun) A demon; a fiend; a lascivious spirit, supposed to have sexual intercourse with women by night.

Except the dictionaries and the myths and the folklore got it all wrong.

Incubi aren’t “spirits,” per se. They don’t just have sex with women by night, in their sleep. At least I don’t.

This is what has happened to me.

This is what I became oh so long ago when that entity laughed and said, “Done.”

Be careful what you wish for, it might come true.

We walk among you. And we HUNGER. We want your souls, not just your bodies. And our appetites are insatiable.

I remember a friend jokingly making a reference about me as me being a “literal demon.” He had no idea how close to the mark that he had come.

I’ve said things to my friends and to women that show up in my life, things like, “I am the Devil, and I’m here to do the Devil’s Work.” Or, “I am Legion, for my names are many.” Everyone thinks I’m being silly, melodramatic, or exaggerating. I say it all with a wink and a smirk. We all laugh at the joke I’m making, except the joke is on you.

Your women aren’t safe if I happen to turn my gaze towards them. Your girlfriends, daughters, and wives are all fair game. All women are fair game. None can resist my full force and charm should I turn it on them to try and satiate my hunger. I don’t care how “alpha” you think you are.

I used to drink in order to medicate a broken heart. Now I drink because alcohol is the only thing I have found in this world that will “take the edge off” of my hunger. It’s a distraction, really. You should be thanking me that I drink, because most of you have women that I would like to meet. And they want to meet me. I hear their siren-song. I hear their call. I see it and hear it in their off-hand comments. You tell me what they say. You show me the screenshots. They titter and laugh and it’s all deniable and it’s all in good fun, and it’s all bullshit, until it isn’t.

Like a shark smelling blood in the water, I come.

And it’s never enough.

Technology is a wonderful thing, it really is. Now, I can play their heart-strings. I can sing songs of lust, promise, and desire. And they will come to me. Whether by plane, train, or automobile. They come to me. Endless souls in an endless supply. In the “old days,” you had to travel, you had to walk “a thousand miles.” It wasn’t easy and it was expensive. Now no longer, not anymore.

And it’s not enough.

I use technology to my advantage now. If I can’t see and hear them, they will hear and see me. YouTube, Twitter, TikTok, Facebook, a blog, dating apps, texting, you name it.

I set my beacon of desire afire and ablaze and wait.

They will see my visionage. They will hear my voice. They will hear my words of promise, lust, and desire. And they will come.

While you are “alpha-ing” and memeing on the internet, they will come to me. While you are extolling the virtues of being a “good man,” and a “Good Dad,” they will come to me. While you are debating the finer points of some dusty, ancient philosophy, they will come to me. For they will hear it in my song of Desire and see the light of Truth twinkling in my eyes.

My hunger is vast, endless, infinite. And it grows with each soul I collect.

I don’t sleep now. I’m tireless. I’m relentless. Every day and every night there is another woman from whom I will feed upon. I will devour her soul, satiate my hunger for but the briefest of moments, much like an orgasm, and then come for the next one.

Sometimes I wish I hadn’t thrown that book away. Sometimes I wonder if there is a way to “reverse” what I have done to myself. Sometimes.

“Allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of…”

“Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name.”

See you around. 😉

“Trevor” And Single Mom’s

Rob Says2 Comments

I wrote about “Trevor” awhile ago.

Well, he’s “back” and with more updates.

A little backstory though:

“Trevor” turned 29 this year and his blushing bride is 28. They got married on September 15th of this year as you can see in the photo above. She’s a bit on the “chunky” side. Oh and she already has a 3 year old son. And she wants more kids.

“Trevor” went out on route with me today, that’s how I know his and her age, that she was a single mom, that she wants more kids, oh and they are having “financial difficulties” already.

I’m not terribly surprised about the financial stuff. “Trevor” has made a series of mistakes when it comes to his finances and his purchases over the past four years that I have known him. Let’s just say that he’s up to his eyeballs in debt. I can only imagine what her financial situation is.

I do know, from the mouth of “Trevor,” that he makes significantly more than she does, and that they are drowning financially at the moment. They have barely been married a month and are already having disputes and arguments over money. He’s trying to pay the bills, she wants to spend money that they don’t have doing “something fun.”

“Trevor” told me while on route that he and his wife had an argument over money earlier this week and that she’s pissed at him. “I guess we’ll just never do anything fun.” This is what he told me that she said to him. I can only imagine the attitude and tonality that went with it.

“Trevor” has been married barely a month and he’s already starting to regret it. It took me at least a couple of years before I started doubting my marriage, and look what happened there. And yes, it was primarily over money.

“Trevor” isn’t a bad looking guy. Yes, he’s a “thin-skinned man,” like I said in my prior post about him, but I think he means well for the most part. The problem is, he doesn’t see that he has options. Why else would he marry an overweight single mother?

Why would any man marry a single mother unless they don’t think that they have any other options? I’m not attacking or shitting on single mothers, but I can’t think of any real reason why a man who has options would choose that option.

All of the guys that I know personally that chose to marry a single mother couldn’t see that they had any other options. And most of them still don’t see it. Some of them have gone so long that they don’t really have any other options at this point in their lives, and so begins or continues their lives of “quiet desperation.”

When I got married back in 2009, I was one of those guys. I didn’t think or see that I had any other options, and so I “did what everyone did because that’s what you do,” and I married a single mother. It was a slow, silent descent into my own personal hell that I had created for myself. I loved her for “what was on the inside, because looks fade.” “It’s what’s on the inside that counts,” right?

Except, “what about what really, truly mattered to me?” What about my and our financial situation? What about what actually turned me on? What about my life and my own happiness? Those were questions at that time that I had never asked myself, and no one else ever bothered to ask me about them either.

The first couple of years of my marriage were good, and then just okay, and ultimately I wanted out, any way that I could, up to and including, death. So I got divorced instead of taking my own life because I knew that I had more living to do. The slow death of my life, one day at a time, wasn’t fast enough.

“Trevor” is going to go down that same road most likely. I can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. And he just got married a month ago. I guess the honeymoon is already over. Is he done fucking his life up yet? I don’t know, but I doubt it. I imagine that he and his blushing bride will have a child of their own in the near future, and then “Trevor” will be truly fucked, at least for a while.

I don’t have a problem with single moms as I have said on podcasts and livestreams. Some of the best sex of my life came from single moms. And let’s be honest shall we? Let’s look at the positive side of dating and fucking a single mother:

  1. They have fucked in the past and most likely enjoyed it. The proof of their “deed” is one or more bundles of joy that you may or may not have to interact with.
  2. They are busy and their time is limited. That means that they aren’t necessarily calling, texting, or taking up too much of your time as they are busy with raising their children, dealing with work, and have lives of their own.
  3. They seldom flake. At least that has been my experience. Since their time is limited, they tend not to squander it. But then again, your mileage may vary.

That all being said, and yes, it’s a rather short list now that I look at it, I would never marry or cohabitate with a single mother again. I would never commit to monogamy with one again. Been there, done that.

I have seen the “guys shitting on single mom’s” on the internet again. What is old is new. I guess I’m throwing my own two cents in on the matter and adding to the dogpile now. I don’t like the idea that I’m “shitting on them,” because I don’t think that I am.

I’m just being honest. I wouldn’t commit to, cohabitate, and I would definitely never marry a single mother again.

Will the single mother’s “out there” find someone that they can call their own? I’m sure that the great majority of them will. There’s always a man out there who doesn’t see his own worth and value that will happily take up the yoke of provisioning and providing. There’s always a “dutiful beta” waiting in the wings. Rest assured, single mothers’, you’ll be fine.

But I do wonder if he’ll end up being what it is that you are truly looking for? Or will the cycle just keep going for you? (AF/BB) It’s a rhetorical question that I’m asking, of course.

The honest and truthful answer is that the cycle will continue without end, amen.

What am I going to about “Trevor?” Absolutely nothing. He gets to burn. It’s his hole that he has dug for himself and he gets to dig himself out of it if he so desires. I simply told him, “Congratulations on your marriage, I wish you both the best.” And I meant it. I do wish both of them the best. I just don’t see that happening, but then again, stranger things have happened.

And when “Trevor” told me about their already strained disputes, all I could think of to say was, “I’m sorry to hear that man, that sucks.” And I meant that too. It does suck. But it’s not my problem.

Younger, Hotter, Tighter: The Purity Test

Rob Says1 Comment

What happened to “Don’t Care, Got Laid?”

I had to snag this screenshot, because I have seen a lot of the above going on lately.

It’s another “Purity Test.”

“You’re not a REAL Gamer unless you do Cold Approach.”

“You’re not a REAL Pick Up Artist (PUA) unless you…”

The “No True Scotsman” argument has hit the PUA section of the internet. Do you know who this reminds me of? Do you know who this sounds like as a group? TradCons. The only difference that I’m seeing as of right now is while TradCons are looking for their “vestigial virgins,” PUA’s are concerned with her HB (hot body) score. So it’s not about virginity so much, but it’s definitely about “quality.” Quality wahmen, amirite?

Wait, lemme guess bro, you only bang 9’s and 10’s. Like BullRush told me a while ago: “If she gets my dick hard, she’s a 10.”

I guess my “notches” from Online Dating (OLD) don’t count?

She wasn’t always “Younger, Hotter, Tighter,” so it doesn’t count?

So women who were not between the ages of 18 and 23 and showed up at my door, sight unseen, except for pictures, (my pictures, me being unseen by them except for my pictures) and fucked me that same night, doesn’t count? I don’t have Game?

According to the internet lately, in order for a notch to “count,” it must be through Cold Approach. Whether that be Day Game or Night Game, or otherwise it doesn’t count. But to whom?

The guy on the other side of the internet on a keyboard?

Apparently, I’m the Luckiest Man In The World.

Apparently I don’t have Game because I’m not always pulling and banging, “Younger, Hotter, Tighter.” I didn’t meet them on the street, so it doesn’t count. It’s because I met them online, that it doesn’t count.

Apparently I was the “Right Guy at the Right Place, at the Right Time.” On the internet.

Yes, there is a “ceiling” for how young and attractive a woman will be that is doing online dating. I’m fully and sometimes painfully aware of this. But to say that “You don’t have Game if you do OLD,” is disingenuous, and it’s “moving the goalposts.” What happened to “Don’t Care, Got Laid?”

Who cares if she’s not a “9 or a 10” brah?

She got my dick hard, so she’s a 10.

Am I being hyperbolic? Yes. Am I even projecting a bit? I’ll own that.

But to say that a “True PUA does only Cold Approach” is bullshit.

I can, and still, fuck shit up. I have said too much and sometimes didn’t say enough and the woman didn’t come out to meet me, let alone fuck me. It happens.

I remember vaguely back in the early 2000’s when there were forums and guys were talking about The Mystery Method and were actually swapping notes. They were trying things out and seeing what worked and what didn’t. They would get “constructive criticism” about things that didn’t work and suggestions about trying something else.

Those days are all but gone, unfortunately.

Now we have, “Online game” is not “Game” or “Pickup” since the girls guys are getting are not younger and hotter.”

Great.

How is that supposed to help me? How is that supposed to help some young, inexperienced, dumbass when it comes to meeting and fucking women? It doesn’t. It’s a purity test and nothing more.

“You’re not a real PUA unless you meet them on the street and she’s younger and hotter.”

Great. Keep moving the goalposts, boys.

I guess I’ll go back to my post-wall, excited to see and fuck me women that I have met online. I’ll cry in my beer and my Cheerios that I somehow just don’t add up. My lays and my experiences count for nothing in today’s modern PUA world. All because I didn’t meet her in the real world, at the bar, on the street, and because she’s over the age of 25. All because I didn’t measure up in some asshole’s Purity Test. All of that sex and it was all for nothing. Goddammit, and here I was, trying to win the PUA Award of the Decade. But it’s all for naught because she was over 25, I met her online, I’m over 35, under 6’0, and I don’t make 6 figures. I’m cancelling my membership to the Fraternal Order of the Secret Society because I don’t add up. I’m Not Going To Make It. (NGMI) LOL

Remember guys, you aren’t a Real PUA and you don’t have Game if she is over 25 and you didn’t meet her anywhere but in the real world.

Jesus wept.

I’m writing about this, for this reason, and this reason alone:

“Don’t Care, Got Laid.”

Who gives a fuck if she’s “post-wall?” Who gives a fuck if you met her on the street during lunch in broad daylight, or at midnight in a seedy bar, or you met her online on an app?

Did she get your dick hard?

Were you able to get her to meet you anywhere, somewhere, and you fucked her and that’s what you wanted? Then you have “Game.” You were able to have a conversation with her that resulted in you getting your dick wet. She didn’t call the cops, she didn’t blow you off, she didn’t flake on you or “ghost” you. You didn’t get “MeToo’d,” you got laid. Congratulations, you have some type of Game.

Everyone has a different standard as to what is attractive, beautiful, and desirable. This is why I hate the “HB Scale.” (Hot Body) Everybody is different. What’s one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Who gives a fuck?

It’s your life. Decide what you want.

You decide if online dating works for you or not. You decide if Cold Approach works for you or not. You decide what is attractive to you or not. You decide what gets your dick hard or not.

Don’t let random assholes on the internet tell you otherwise.