Category: Best Of

Failing? Or Failure?

Rob Says1 Comment

I saw this tweet/poll the other day and of course, I answered it. I remember more the girls I have slept with than the girls that I have failed to sleep with. In more recent times, there’s only been one woman that I “failed” to sleep with that sticks out in my mind, and that was Sheila. The only reason that she sticks out to me is because she hit all of my physical buttons. She was short, petite, in shape, and didn’t have any children. However, her red flags were more than I could deal with, especially when all I wanted to do was bang. I’m reasonably certain that I could have banged her if I had put more time and energy into pursuing her, but the ROI wasn’t worth it to me.

Did I “fail?” If by failing you mean, I didn’t get what I wanted which was to have sex with her, then yes, I failed. But does that make me a failure? No.

This may come as a surprise to some of you out there, but I fail at something, sometimes many somethings, several times a day. I fuck shit up constantly, I don’t always get whatever it was that I was after, I fail and I get up, dust myself off and I go at it again. I learn from my failings and I learn to improvise, adapt, and overcome. Sometimes I learn that whatever it was that I was after wasn’t worth the price of admission. Sometimes I’m lazy and I just can’t be bothered because I don’t really want it that bad. Sometimes things are totally out of my control and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it but admit defeat and do a tactical withdrawal and either go at it from a different direction or just let it go entirely.

Every woman that I have had any form of relationship with, I have learned something. Every woman that I didn’t have a relationship in one form or another, I learned something. I’m always failing and I’m always learning. But I’m not a failure.

It’s okay to fail. It’s okay to try something and fuck it up. It’s okay to not get what you were going after. It happens. It’s not okay to just give up and consider that somehow it’s you that is completely the problem. Giving up is failure. Failure is when you assume it’s something about you and you can do nothing about it. It becomes omnipresent, static, and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s not about you, it is you.

Guys bitching that they can’t get laid because they are short are failures. They are making something that is completely out of their control their issue. Might as well just give up. If only you were taller, that would fix everything. Except it doesn’t. And women in general don’t give a fuck about your height. Not nearly as much as you do.

I’m not throwing shade at this guy for his comment to that poll. The truth is, I happen to really like this guy as far as being internet acquaintances goes. I’m also not going to try to read his mind. Why he focuses on his losses is anyone’s guess but his. He’s the only one that truly knows why he chooses to focus on the ones that got away versus the ones that he succeeded with. Does he think he is a failure? Hard to say for sure, but it appears that way to me. His last line “But I can still see the faces of all the attractive girls I’ve approached that I ultimately wasn’t good enough for,” tells me enough. I don’t know his situation, I don’t know the context, the nuance, and the details of his situation. In short, I don’t know enough about him to come to a solid decision as to what is going on here. It’s mostly a wild guess on my part but his tweet stood out to me. I like his honesty and personally, regardless of what he thinks or doesn’t think of himself, I don’t consider him a failure. Whatever he’s doing isn’t working is all. Maybe it’s time for him to try something different. Whether that be approaching women differently in different venues, or even moving to another town, city, state, or country. He has options whether he can see them or not. And if he doesn’t have options, it’s on him to create options for himself. I’m sure he’ll do just fine in the long run.

How does he know “he wasn’t good enough for them?” Because he didn’t have sex with them? Maybe it wasn’t about him. Maybe she (or they) had boyfriends, were married, in a relationship that they were happy with, on their periods, just broke up with somebody, were lesbians, or just weren’t interested at the time. God knows what and why women do what they do. They don’t know and we definitely don’t know, so who cares? Maybe they like guys from another race. I’ve had that happen to me. Met a gal years ago that I found hot and wanted to bang. Turns out she liked guys from another race. If I had been of that race I would have been in. Instead I wasn’t and that was that. It wasn’t personal and it wasn’t about me. She liked what she liked. It’s funny, but women have preferences and have “types,” just like we do.

The truth is, one woman, when it comes to the physical mechanics of sex, feels pretty much like the next one. There’s no such thing as bad pussy, just some better than others. This is why I didn’t put a lot of energy, time, or effort into pursuing Sheila. I know that she would feel pretty much like the next one or the one before her when I would have been up inside her. It was the price I would have had to pay in order to get to that sex that turned me away. Don’t get me wrong, if she would have been DTF the night I went out with her, I would have had sex with her, she was that hot to me. All of the logistical bullshit that I would have had to deal with in order to get her there on date #2 or more was more than I wanted to deal with though. So I simply reached out to her, got a sort of non-committal text from her, told her “Ah, okay,” and then left it in her court to see where it would go. Turns out it went nowhere, and that’s okay by me because there’s always another woman right around the corner.

Would I bang her today if she reached out to me? Probably not. Not unless she was willing to do most, if not all of the heavy lifting to make it happen. I have other options so there’s no sense in crying over spilled milk or a missed opportunity.

You ultimately have to decide if you have failed or if you are a failure. One is a lesson and it’s really the only way that we learn and sometimes we learn quick from it. The other one is a state of being where you have little to no control over it and it is usually a static state and part of your personality or your identity. Failing is okay and you’re going to fail, with whatever you do, especially in the beginning. The other is an identity complex and has more to do with your ego than anything else. One you can learn from, the other allows you to be a victim. The choice is yours. Choose wisely.

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Desire

Rob Says6 Comments

Desire.

It’s one of my most favorite words in the dictionary. The word evokes so many things for me. From breasts dripping with sweat, the smell of sex, hot breath on your neck, nails scratching blood trails down your back, to eyes rolling in the back of your head orgasms, to her pussy grinding against my hand, my face, my crotch.

Desire is a dive bar that serves cheap booze and the smell of stale cigarettes is in the air. It’s the smell of sweat and the heat of bodies packed together, grinding, grazing, pushing and pulling towards one another. Desire is a beer bottle sliding on a guitar neck as the band plays the blues. Desire is the devil tempting me.

To quote Ronnie James Dio on Heaven and Hell: “There’s a big black shape looking up at me. He says I know where you ought to be! Come with me and I’ll give you, Desire. But first, you’ve got to burn, burn, burn, burn in fire!”

Desire is when she will drive two hours each way to come and fuck you. When she will get out of her car, throw herself against you, put her tongue in your mouth and you can taste the coffee and her need for you, and when she wraps her arms tightly around you and throws a leg around yours for good measure.

Desire is her walking through your door, climbing the stairs while stripping out of her shirt, dropping it on the staircase, unclasping her bra, and asking you, “Where’s your bedroom?” All while she hasn’t missed a step or a stride. Desire is the sweat in her hair as you pull it and the sweat on her breasts as you lick them.

Desire is her putting her arms around you while you are cooking bacon at the stove and she unbuttons your pants and sticks her hands down inside and grabs your cock and starts stroking you.

Desire is when you turn around and she drops to her knees in front of you, pulls your cock out of your pants and begins to suck. Desire is seeing her drooling while she is sucking your cock at the stove. Desire is when she pulls you from the stove and you absently turn it off so you don’t burn the house down and she is stripping, walking backwards to the bedroom as you pull your shirt off.

Desire is when you pull her pants and her panties down in one smooth fluid motion and she grinds her ass against your crotch and the juice from her pussy drips down onto the floor because she is so wet.

Desire is when she is breathless and can only whisper, “Fuck me. Fuck me now.”

Desire is when you are straddling her and she is gripping your cock and guiding you inside of her and she doesn’t care that you aren’t wearing a condom and she doesn’t care if you come inside her. That’s how bad she wants you.

Desire is when you come inside her and she screams and groans as you come and she comes too.

Desire is forbidden, taboo. Desire is carnal and naughty and earthly and smelly and messy and sweaty. Desire is salivating and salty and silly and funny sometimes too.

Desire is hot and exciting and wordless and breathless and sometimes it can be wrong but it feels so right and you do it and you want to keep doing it and when you’re done you want to do it again. Desire can move mountains and destroy civilizations. Desire is all that is holy and all that is sacrilege. Desire is heaven and hell.

Desire is biting and choking and bloody and sweet and tender sometimes.

Desire is about feeling and emotions. Desire is what is always tickling at the back of your mind.

Desire is a connection.

Desire is not a thesis. Desire is not an essay. Desire isn’t a set of variables that can be controlled for, not really. Desire isn’t an algorithm. Desire isn’t a computer simulation or a program. Desire isn’t a course on gumroad.

Desire isn’t logical or about logic. Desire isn’t contrived in a vacuum or in a laboratory setting. Desire isn’t rational. Desire isn’t about investment.

Desire just IS.

Desire is a fire. A burning. A need. A longing. A hunger.

Desire isn’t an equation to be solved for.

You can whisper desire. You can beg with desire. Desire will make you shudder and bring you to your knees.

You can write poetry about it. You can write and sing songs about it. You can play an instrument to it and harness it.

You can’t bottle it and put stock and credit into it.

Desire is the devil on your shoulder whispering to you to do all the things you want to do.

Desire is delicious.

Desire cannot be held in your hand and quantified and labeled and put in a jar on your shelf.

Desire cannot be negotiated. Desire cannot be “worked on.”

Desire cannot be controlled for and owned.

Desire is evocative. Desire isn’t sanitized and boring.

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When You Want For Nothing…

Rob Says2 Comments

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It’s damn near impossible to sell something to you.

I made a tweet a couple of days ago, saying “If by saving the west, you mean: semen retention, sunning your asshole, ‘don’t lean in bro!’ and what is or isn’t alfa, I’d rather let the fucker burn.” I got the reply above.

“What if saving the West just involves being a good man, husband, and father?”

That’s great if that is what you want, but why should I be on board with that?

What is in it for me?

I’ll be the first one to admit: I’m not a “team player.” Actually, I take that back. I am a team player, I play for team ME.

Monogamy and children and being a husband aren’t for me, so what else do you have? Your religion, whatever flavor it is, doesn’t interest me, so again I ask, what do you have?

What do you have that would be of interest to me?

As a side note: notice the use of the words, “good man.” Being a “good man” is a moralistic definition. I guarantee you that your definition of being a “good man” is going to be different from mine. So who is “right?” You are, of course. At least to you. But not to me. For me, I am right.

To quote Jack Donovan:

There’s being a good man, and there’s being good at being a man.

One is defined by morality and the other is defined by action and capability. If you don’t have capability and the ability to take action, being a good man becomes a moot point. A man that is capable and is willing to use violence may not be a “good man,” but he’s good at being a man. I’ll take him as an ally over a good man any day of the week.

Which brings me back to where I started:

What’s in it for me? You have your cause, you have your beliefs, you have whatever it is that you want me to sign up for, to buy, to get on board with. But what is in it for me? If you can figure that one out, you’ll have an interested buyer and possibly a great ally in me. Until you figure that one out though, go pound sand.

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“Your duty as a man…” Dude, go fuck off.

You don’t get to decide what my “duty” is. Go fuck yourself. My “duty” is to me and mine and that is it. Period. Full stop. Struggle, pain, honor. Nice container words that are absolute nonsense and bullshit. What’s in it for me to consider anything that you are flapping your gums about? What do I get out of it?

Struggle? Pain? Fucking “honor?” Coming out the “other side as a better man?” Like I’ve said before: Nobody gives a shit about your struggles. Nobody gives a shit about your pain. And what is a “better man?” I’m sure you have your own convenient definition that will have absolutely nothing to do with my own definition of what is “better.”

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Here’s the truth about your “honor”:

“Stand in the ASHES of a TRILLION dead SOULS and ASK the ghosts if HONOR MATTERS. Their SILENCE is your ANSWER.”

Brilliant. Brilliant because it is true. Nobody gives a shit about “honor” but you. The only time “honor” matters is when it gets you what you want.

None of my ancestors, deceased friends or family have come back from the grave to talk to me about honor, virtue, or anything for that matter. They haven’t come back because they are dead. The dead don’t care about the affairs of the living. The dead don’t care about anything and that’s because they are dead. Sell your shame and after-life fantasies to someone else, I’m not interested in them.

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How about thinking for yourselves for once in your life? Instead of asking what to think, how about figuring out how to think? One thing I’ve noticed over time is that guys with the least amount of experience in whatever topic it is, are the one’s that are most likely going to tell you what to think about it. Instead of encouraging you to learn how to think for yourselves, they are going to teach you what to think instead. Of course, what they are going to teach you to think benefits them.

But what’s in it for me? How does them telling me what to think benefit me?

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Here’s a hard lesson to swallow:

Most guys don’t want to think for themselves, they don’t want to think at all. They want to be told what to think and be told what to do. Like a good little follower. Like good little sheep. Like cannon fodder. Most guys aren’t looking to lead, they are looking to be lead. Like Rian says in the above tweet, “You want a shepherd, not a family.”

Most guys are looking for their mother’s in their girlfriends and in their wives. Most guys are looking for their father’s in either some random asshole on the internet, or in the idea of some higher being known as “god.” You are the only “god” that exists. Figure out your own rules and live by them.

Figure out how to think instead of looking for someone else to tell you what to think. When you figure this one out, you’ll see that most everything else, especially on social media is set against you. It’s geared to get you to not think. It’s geared to get you emotional and to get you to buy. Or to get you on board with whatever the latest “cause” is.

Think about that the next time some outfit selling razors shits on men. Think about that the next time some outrage over children dancing seductively on camera comes up. Think about that with anything that deals in politics. It’s all designed to get you to not think. It’s designed to get you to what to think, instead of how to think.

As for me, I want for nothing. I’m happy with my life. I’m good where I am and with what I’m doing. I’m good with the state of affairs when it comes to men and women. I don’t have a problem with dating and having sex. It’s easier now for me than when I was in my 20’s. I don’t have a problem with longer term relationships either, they are easier now for me than when I was in my 20’s and 30’s.

My struggles are minimal and nobody except me, cares about them anyway. Why would I possibly want to change any of it? What’s in it for me?

I know the things that I do want, and for you reading this, I’m not going to hand them to you on a silver platter. Figure it out. Do the work. You’ll get a loyal friend, ally, lover, buyer, customer, whatever it is that you want, if you do.

Until then, what’s in it for me? You don’t know what that is? Go pound sand. I’m not interested.

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