Rian Stone tweeted something recently that hit home for me. Check out the screenshot.

Now, I have waxed poetic about morality and amorality in the past. I personally prefer to keep morality out of the conversation when it comes to the “Red Pill.” Why? Because I prefer to keep my own morality to myself. You can keep yours to yourself. That way, we’ll get along better in the long run, because your morality and mine are probably not going to intertwine.

And here we are. When Rian was talking about a guy “sorting out his problem,” he was specifically mentioning something about a guy who decided to cheat on his wife. All three of Rian’s “Rules” are legit if you decide to go down this path. 1. Be discreet. 2. Don’t rub your wife’s nose in it. And 3. Don’t offload your guilt with a confession, that’s selfish.

Again, for the moment, Dear Reader, leave your morality at the door.

IF you decide to “solve your problem” (your lack of sex in the bedroom) with another woman, be discreet. Be fucking quiet about it.

IF you go there, don’t rub your wife’s or your girlfriend’s nose in it. Don’t tell her about it. Don’t wave it in front of her. Honestly? She probably already knows or has a good idea of what you are up to. She’s not stupid.

And IF you do go there, DO NOT offload your guilt about it to her as a confession. It IS selfish of you.

Here’s a story about this last part…

I told you all a while back about a friend from college, Brett.

Back in the 90’s, Brett had a girlfriend that he was crazy about. So crazy that he ended up moving in with her. She was a flight attendant for a major airline, and she had fantastic breasts. She also made a ton of money. She was over the moon for Brett.

I figured that the two of them would end up getting married and having a bunch of babies and doing all the TradCon shit that you all love and know about. But…

That didn’t happen.

Brett went out one night, slipped and fell, and ended up with his dick in another woman.

How do I know this? Because he showed up at my door the next day and looked like a man who just received a death sentence.

He was wracked with guilt. He was full of remorse. He was beside himself.

I asked him what he did and he told me.

I asked him if he had told his flight attendant girlfriend. He hadn’t. Yet.

I asked him what did he think would happen if he told her. He said that it would break her heart and that she would kick him out and leave him.

I asked him if that was what he wanted. He said no, it wasn’t.

I then told him, “Then you say nothing. You live with your guilt and shame. You bury it and you never do it again. If you tell her, it’ll only hurt her, and it will only be because you want to assuage your guilt. If you love her, you’ll never mention it to her, and you’ll never do it again. That is the price for what you did.”

A few days later he showed up again, looking worse than before.

“You told her didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What did she do?”

“She broke up with me and kicked me out of her house. She said she never wants to see me again.”

“Do you feel better now that you confessed?”

“No.”

“Let that be a lesson.”

Brett and the flight attendant never spoke again. Not to this day.

I’m not advocating that you cheat.

But if you do, be discreet, don’t rub her nose in it, and don’t offload your guilt as a confession. It’s just selfish of you. If you feel guilty, that is your “cross to bear.” Don’t throw it on her to “lighten your load.” You did it, now you get to live with it. You. You get to live with it.

Maybe that’s my morality coming into play, I’m not exactly sure. But I’ve always believed that “you have made your bed, now you get to sleep in it.”

So either go there, or don’t. But if you do, you get to sleep in it as far as I’m concerned.

It’s been a minute since I have wrote to all of you. There’s been a lot that has been going on since I last gave you my thoughts. I’m still missing my cat. One thing I have learned about the death of someone or something that is very close to you, that is very near to you, is that you never “get over it,” you just “get through it.” I’m still getting through it. It’s not as bad as losing a parent, a mate, a child, or a sibling, but it’s still “up there.”

I have also been getting more and more into fire performance. I remember BullRush saying something to the effect a while back that “you’ve (me) gone from chasing the Dragon to literally becoming the Dragon.” I like that.

Fire performance is a lot of fun, but it has its own inherent dangers of course. It’s hard to film yourself and put it on social media while you are doing it. The odds of setting yourself on fire and burning yourself alive go up dramatically when you are trying to multitask and do things for likes. You guys can check out the video of me doing this shit if you would like:

I have also been hanging out with the Belly Dancer and with other fire performers and entertainers. Over Labor Day weekend, we attended a party for a mutual friend of ours who was turning 50.

It was a pirate themed event. There was a LOT of rum and other sorts of booze to drink there. The party was great, but it is also why I decided to write to you today.

The party itself was on Sunday the 3rd of September. I drank a lot, she drank a lot. We both drank a lot. There was a lot of beautiful people, and by beautiful people, I mean there were a lot of beautiful women there. Almost all of these people, the men too, were in excellent shape. It’s summer still, it’s hot, there’s a pool, and so most of the people, including the women, decided to swim at one point or another. So there’s bikinis going on.

I’m noticing them in their bikinis and the Belly Dancer notices them too and makes a comment and I make a comment back. No harm, no foul right? The rest of the day goes on, the drinking continues, and by the end of the night, I’m the one driving us home because the Belly Dancer had too much to drink, threw up a few times, and couldn’t drive. I get her to her house, get her inside, put her to bed, and then I go home and go to bed myself.

I wake up the next morning with a slight hangover and she comes down to spend the day with me. That was the plan all along.

Except when she got to my house and came in, she said, “I need to talk to you.”

I said, “Here we go.”

And away she went.

I’m not going to bore you with the details. It would take several blog posts to cover it all.

Suffice it to say, we both went to the same exact party, hung out with the same exact people, and we both experienced two different realities.

My reality: I had never felt closer to her in my life. We joked, we laughed, we were together and yet we weren’t “joined at the hip.” She would go and talk to people, I would go and talk to people. It was a fantastic day.

Her reality: She felt neglected and “invisible.” I put quotes around that word because she used that word when she said that she needed to talk to me.

I let her talk without saying a word, I just listened. I was also shocked. This conversation truly came out of left field for me. I thought everything was fine.

By the end of the conversation, she felt much better. I didn’t. I was already mulling everything over that she had told me. I had interpreted what she had said as basically, “Rob, I felt bad and that’s because of you and what you said to me, and you need to change.” I’m not saying that was what was actually said, I’m saying, that’s what I heard.

For the next three days, I “put myself on trial.” It’s what I do. I go over things and I try to see them from the other parties point of view and also my own. I could see her points. I had been drinking. I ran my mouth about a woman in a bikini. I made a joke that she didn’t get and didn’t think was funny.

I also saw things from my own point of view. I like to drink and I run my mouth. I don’t set out to “step on people’s toes,” but I often do. I don’t do it intentionally or with malice, but it happens. I have always been that way since I was a kid. And you know what? I’m okay with that. Why am I okay with that? Because it’s part of who I am, and I happen to like me.

I mentioned all of this to some people that I know and respect, all guys. They agreed that I hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. But the “conventional wisdom” was to “let it go.” But that’s not me. Especially when it comes down to something that is literally who I am. It’s a huge part of why I’m writing this today.

On Friday the 8th of September, the Belly Dancer and I went to a play.

Before we even left to go to the play, she knew something was off. “Are you okay?” I brushed it aside and said that I was exhausted. Which was true. It had been a long week at work because making up for a holiday is hell, and I had also been pondering everything she had said to me on Monday for almost four days straight. I was exhausted. She took that picture of me while we were waiting for the show to start. I was pondering the future of our relationship at the time. I was wondering what it would be like to have my “shield’s up.” To be guarded. To watch what I said and did around her. I was wondering what it would be like to handle her with “kid gloves” and to “walk on eggshells” around her. This was me giving that potential future a “trial run.”

The next day, Saturday, she came to my house. I started off guarded and careful. It was tense and it sucked. She knew something was off and I knew something was off. That’s because “conventional wisdom” said to “let it go.” But I couldn’t. That’s not me.

She was talking about something or another, but there was an opening for me to ask her a very important question, which I did: “Hey, I know you love me. I know you are attracted to me, but I need to know, do you like me? As a person?”

She immediately answered me, “Yes I like you as a person! Why are you asking me that?”

To which I replied, “That’s good, because I like me too. But if you like me as I am, as a person, why do you want me to change? I have been the exact same guy since the day that we met. Nothing has changed for me. I drink, sometimes to excess, I run my mouth and say stupid shit sometimes, I always have. I have always been this way with you, so what changed and why? I don’t want to change who I am, I did that once, years ago in my marriage, to “get along and not rock the boat,” and I hated myself for it because of who I became, and I resented her (my ex-wife) for it as well. I can’t do that again, I won’t do that again.”

“Conventional wisdom” suggests “letting it go” because otherwise you may “open Pandora’s box.” Basically, you could make things worse for yourself, and generally, I would agree with that. But not in this case. I know me, and I know her enough. I know the context in this situation. I also know that if I did “open Pandora’s box,” I was okay with that. If that meant the demise of what we had, our relationship, I would rather get it over sooner than later.

Long story short: She didn’t and doesn’t want me to change. She likes who I am as a person. She knows that I like to drink and that I run my mouth. Believe it or not, it’s something she likes about me, it’s part of her attraction to me, because I have the confidence to say what’s on my mind, damn the consequences.

I said what I needed to say, she listened, and then she said what she needed to say to clarify her point of view, which I understand.

I finished up my part by telling her, “You might want to develop thicker skin and wear steel toed boots around me. I can’t and won’t police my words and thoughts around you to spare your feelings, I never have, and I never will. Just remember that if I step on your toes, it wasn’t intentional, I didn’t mean to hurt you, and it’s because I’m standing right next to you.”

Will this come back and “bite me on the ass?” Maybe. But do you know what? I don’t care. If that’s where it goes, that’s where it goes. Worst case, we end what we have, and I’ll move on and find another woman. It’ll hurt and I’ll get through it, just like I always have. But I’m not going to do “Death by 1000 Concessions.” It’s not me. I like who I am.

But for now, things are good between us as far as I can tell. They’re good until they aren’t.

“Male loneliness is rooted in a lack of intimacy, not lack of friendship.” – Chest Rockwell

I saw this tweet right before I started writing this post. In fact, this tweet is why I’m writing this post, so thanks, Chesty.

A while back, I wrote a post called, “Why Can’t We Be Friends?” and even did a video on it. It’s an age-old debate among men and women. Can men and women be friends? Go read the post and/or watch the video for my answer to what I think about that particular question. But Chesty’s comment is the why to that question.

Men and women both will tell you that you will “die alone as a lonely old man.” I hate to break it to you, but we all die alone. Even if you happen to die at the same time, in the same circumstances like a vehicle accident, you’ll still actually die alone. The dying process is a solitary one. Each and every one of us will go through it eventually, some sooner than others. We all owe the world a death. It’s inevitable.

But you don’t have to live alone.

I’m not specifically saying that you need to “turn that ho into a housewife,” or that you need to play house with some woman, but at the end of the day, male loneliness is a lack of intimacy, not friendship.

I have very few and very select friends. I can count them on both hands. Some of them I have known for over 30+ years and some of them are more recent, like in the last couple of years. Some of them I talk to on a fairly regular basis, others I only talk to them once or twice a year if I’m lucky enough to do that. For a few of them, I haven’t talked to them in at least five years, but when we do talk and get together, it’s like there is no gap in time. We pick up right where we left off.

After I got divorced and especially after my ex-girlfriend left back at the end of 2018, I spent a lot of time being alone. The loneliness would only show up when there was a lack of intimacy. One of the loneliest periods of my life was when I was married with my wife in the bed next to me. I sleep alone nowadays for the most part and I’m never lonely when I do it. I may be alone, but I’m not lonely. Sometimes I even prefer to sleep alone, that way I get the rest I need and I can sprawl in my bed any way that I want. I don’t have to share that space if I don’t want to.

Nermal died a week ago for those of you who don’t follow along. While I grieved at the time, and his absence is still felt and will be felt for some time to come, I’m not lonely because he’s gone. He was my cat and I was his human, and in a very weird way, he was a “friend” to me. In some ways he was more of a friend than most people could ever be. But I’m not lonely because he’s gone.

Friends are great, fantastic even. They can be a lifeline when you are staring into the abyss and they can help pull you back from the brink of self-destruction. But they can’t “cure” loneliness. Nor is it their job to try to do it, that’s on you.

Male loneliness is rooted in a lack of intimacy and I’m not just talking about fucking. I’m talking about actual intimacy. While I don’t recommend that you blubber and cry on a woman’s shoulder, it doesn’t mean that you can’t express some of your hopes and dreams to her. Moments of silliness and goofiness can be intimate. I know the belly dancer has seen parts of me that very few women have. She keeps being able to unravel the enigma that is me, and that’s because I don’t put it all out there from the start. Even if she was to see this blog and this blog post in particular, it would be yet another thread into “who I am” to her.

If you are lonely, getting a dog or another type of pet isn’t going to be the answer to solve that particular equation. Sure, you can call a friend and go out, shoot the shit, and have a beer, and that will probably “take the edge off” for a moment, but it won’t last for long. It’s your lack of intimacy that you need to address and do something about.

I have talked to guys who have paid visits to brothels and have paid prostitutes for sex. I personally don’t have a stand on this particular activity. I figure there’s nothing inherently wrong with it, it’s been around for ages, and obviously there’s a demand for it. So if that’s what you want to do, by all means, go out and do that. If you don’t want to do that, then don’t. Plain and simple. What I have found out though from talking to these guys who have paid a prostitute for sex is that while she is “hot,” and the sex itself at the time, was “good,” it was ultimately wasn’t what they were actually looking for. That’s because the guy may have been horny, but he was also lonely. Why is it that guys will pay exorbitant amounts of money just to spend a little time with a woman, let alone fuck her? Because he is lonely. He’s looking for intimacy, not just sex and release. It’s called the “Girlfriend Experience” for a reason. He’s paying for intimacy. He’s paying to alleviate his loneliness.

The guys who advocate “WealthMaxxing” are intentionally or inadvertently sending you down the same road. If money can solve your loneliness, which it can for a short period of time, well then you had better get to hustling and grinding. But realize like these guys that I have talked to have told me, it was a short dopamine hit and the loneliness came right back, sometimes before the prostitute had even left the room.

Getting new friends or more friends or getting a pet isn’t going to solve your loneliness problem. Making money or more money won’t solve it either. Don’t get me wrong, it’s better to have money than to not have money, but it isn’t going to cure your loneliness.

There is an answer though. I have talked about it on this blog over and over. I have hinted at it, alluded to it, and in a few cases, even spelled it out. I have done the exact same thing on my YouTube channel. It’s even what Nick, Bull, and I have talked about for the last three years. If you can’t figure it out, or don’t know what I’m talking about, then I can’t help you.