Category: Best Of

It’s My World, And You’re All Just In It.

Rob Says1 Comment

“Look inside yourself.

How long have we on this earth, that we should deny ourselves what we most want and desire?

You know you want to be with me. You know that you cannot escape my Desire. I want you.”

I met up with a mutual acquaintance of mine, a younger man who worked for a competitor of the company that I worked for. He invited me to his apartment for a drink and then he and I and several of his friends were going to go to Area 51, a local “goth club.” It was the end of the month, and it was time for the monthly “Goth Ball.”

I showed up at his place dressed from head to toe, in all black. Black shirt, jeans, and black boots. I rang the doorbell and he answered with a shot glass in hand. The festivities had already started. He handed me a shot of something clear. Vodka. My favorite hard alcohol. I downed it and came inside.

There were several people already sitting around having a drink. A couple of guys, a couple of women, and Spyder.

All of these people were much younger than me, I was the “Old Man” going to the party. I was introduced briefly to all of them, including Spyder. That was the name that she chose to go by. Black and dark purple hair. A couple of tattoos peaking out from the shoulders of her black bodice dress. She definitely caught my eye.

I said hello to all of them, nodded at each of them, and then small talk ensued until it was time to go to Area 51.

The drive there was uneventful, and while we were waiting in line to get inside, I realized that I was the most underdressed one there. Most of the people were wearing leather, PVC, some type of lace, or stuff that was truly “gothic.” I was the “old man” in a black T-shirt and black jeans.

We got inside and began to mingle with the other club patrons. The music was loud, the bass line vibrating throughout my body. I could barely hear myself thinking.

I remember walking around, checking out the club, the people, the sights. There were people being flogged and whipped on crosses. People in cages, dancing. There was even people being suspended by chains through piercings in their bodies from the ceiling. It was wild.

I remember walking around, taking it all in, when I ran into her. Spyder.

She smiled briefly in recognition. Other than my nodding and saying hello to her back at the apartment, she and I had not spoken a word to each other.

The song that was playing ended, giving us a moments pause, enough time to say a few brief words.

“Pretty wild huh?”

“It’s alright, I guess.” She said noncommittally.

I could hear the next song starting up. “Want to dance?”

“Sure.”

And so the music kicked in, drowning out any chance for further conversation.

We started moving to the music, to the beat. I stepped towards her, to close the gap, to get closer. And Spyder moved backwards, keeping that gap between us. I stepped towards her again, trying to close that gap, and again, she retreated. This went on a couple more times until I stopped and just danced with her in my own space. I quit advancing.

She stayed in her own space, dancing, but not moving closer and not moving away. And that’s how that song ended. The next song started up and I danced in my own space for a moment and then I did something different. I stepped away from her. I moved back, opening up the gap. I wanted to see what she would do.

And she stepped towards me, into me. Closing that gap.

I stepped away from her again, opening the gap. And she stepped towards me. Closing it again.

I continued doing this dance, this stepping away and she stepping towards me, from the shadows and the more secluded area we had been in, leading her all the way to the main dance floor where everyone else, including my work/competitor acquaintance and all of his friends, were at.

We were now in the middle of the main dance floor, the music even louder than before if that was even possible. The temperature here was much warmer, hot. All the body heat from all of the dancers accumulating.

I step away from Spyder one final time and she again closed the gap.

And then…

I stepped towards her.

She didn’t move.

I stepped towards her again, closing the gap even more, and still she didn’t move.

On my final step towards her I felt her hip touch mine and simultaneously I put my arm around her waist and pulled her into me. And we danced. And I locked my eyes with hers. I swung her around, never taking my eyes from hers until she closed them. And then I breathed against her neck and I could feel her gasp and shudder against me.

She opened her eyes looked into mine and smiled and then I kissed her. Long, slow, passionate. We kissed….

At the end of the evening as we were all leaving the club, Spyder about 10 or 15 paces ahead of me, my acquaintance pulled me aside, astonished and flabbergasted.

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?” I smirked.

Apparently he had been watching my Dance with Spyder.

“You didn’t say anything to her! You just met her! How can you go from a hello to making out with her on the dance floor? How is that even possible?”

“Because that is normal in my world.”

Look inside yourself. How long have we on this earth that we should deny ourselves what we most want and desire? You know that you cannot escape my Desire.

Tall Woman And A Short Man. A Field Report.

Rob Says1 Comment

I have written about some of my “field reports” in the past. And here’s another.

Both of those, you could consider a “win” for me. Now I want to tell you the tragedy of:

Tall Woman and A Short Man.

I was doing my thing yet again with Online Dating. I matched up with a woman, whom I will call, California Girl. Now California Girl is blonde. I like blondes. She likes to ride motorcycles, specifically as a passenger (riding bitch) versus being the actually “rider” or driver. I like chicks who like to “ride bitch.” And hey, not for nothing, (to quote Vince from Masculine Geek) she’s cute. I would definitely bang. Besides the pictures which showed me that she was fuckable, I went through her profile and that’s how I found out about her passion for riding bitch and a bunch of other stuff that is irrelevant to today’s post.

She lives within about a 15 mile radius from me which is good. I’m lazy and I don’t want to drive from hell to breakfast to get laid or have any sort of relationship. She’s definitely of the age of consent, so I don’t need to worry about going to jail, and honestly I don’t remember if she has kids or not, and that’s an irrelevant point too. I did notice that she is also 5 foot 8 inches in height. Which is about how tall my ex-wife was. No matter to me, I don’t care.

So we get to texting and talking and here’s the important screen shots:

Oh noes! She doesn’t go for shorter dudes! What to do?

What to do indeed? What do you guys think I said to her? Did I just leave her “on read?” Did I block her? Did I call her a stupid bitch and say something like she was a “height enabler” or some other equally stupid shit?

No, I didn’t do any of those things. I treated her like a human being.

To which she came back with this:

And like that, it was over. No harm, no foul, no big deal.

Everybody has their “thing.” California Girl’s “thing” happened to be height. She wants a man taller than her. Nothing wrong with that. I personally prefer women shorter than me, but it’s not a deal breaker for me.

I could have let this bother me, but I didn’t. Here’s why:

At the time of writing those texts to California Girl and also at the time that I’m writing this “field report” I’m currently seeing two other women. My belly dancer and Red and Black. Both of them are taller than me. About 5’7 each. And I would climb both of them all day long and twice on Sunday. Neither one of them care that I’m shorter than them. It’s not an issue for me, and it’s not an issue for them.

Your height, or lack of it, or whatever other insecurity you have, is your issue. And when you make something an issue, it will become an issue for her.

This “rejection” is fairly common to me. If it’s not my height, it’s my age. If it’s not my age, it’s that I’m bald. If it’s not my baldness, it’s something else. The point is, I get rejected all the fucking time. It’s par for the course.

I got blown out the other day because I mentioned something along the lines of “swatting her on the ass.” Apparently that went over like a fart in church. Apparently she wasn’t ready for me to start talking about smacking her on the ass. Oh well, her loss. My ass swatting skills can only be rivaled by Vince and maybe BullRush. Rejection comes with the territory.

I don’t want to leave you on a “downer,” so here’s a little fun one that may or may not go anywhere:

I’m going to call this woman, “Meow meow.” The reason for this is because I was scrolling through the dating app, saw her pics, thought she was cute, saw that she was at least of the age of consent, saw that she lived within my driving radius, and her profile headline said something along the lines of, “Nobody Reads These, Do They?” And then when I went into her profile, one of the last things she said was, “Come on meow.” That’s how I got “Meow meow” for her.

I sent her a random message that said, “Nah, nobody reads these things. Meow.” And let it go. Maybe she would respond, most likely not. Either way, I didn’t care.

Oh! What is this? A bite? And so I responded back to her as you can see.

And here is where it gets really interesting:

So for the guys who say they fuck, but don’t actually fuck, and worry about “Do you give your number to her? Or do you ask for her number?” How about you be interesting enough that she gives you her number unsolicited?

So now I have begun texting “Meow meow,” and we’ll see what happens. Perhaps I’ll be writing another field report about how it went nowhere. Then again, I may be writing about Miss Meow Meow as another woman in the rotation.

Like I firmly believe for myself:

If I can get her off the couch, out the door, and in front of me, her ass is mine.

The “Evil’s Of A High Notch Count.”

Rob Says2 Comments
It’s not actually “Satanic.” I just like blondes and pentagrams.

“No one has ever lamented having had too much sex.” – @RuleZeroDAD

It’s true. I’ve never met anyone that has actually complained that they have had too much sex. I get plenty and from a variety of different women and I still want more. That’s how I’m built and how I roll. If you are honest with yourself, wouldn’t you rather being fucking instead of reading this blog post? I know I would.

But here we are. You are reading, and I was writing this at some point, and to be honest, getting a blow job or fucking while writing is incredibly distracting, at least to me.

Why am I writing about this? Well, Chest Rockwell’s (RuleZeroDAD) quote reminded me of something I read a while back. There is another account of Twitter that knows his shit when it comes to how to dress. The guy is a professional when it comes to men’s attire. Hell, he wrote a book on it that I actually own and if you were to ask me for wardrobe advice, I would recommend this guy, hands down.

But…

His religion tends to get in the way when it comes to… Other things.

Like “the evil’s of a high notch count.” I wish I could remember the exact tweet he made a while back, but it was something about having a “high notch count” is somehow bad. Dude, sit down and stay in your own lane.

I have yet to meet a guy who has told me, “Goddammit Rob, I wish I didn’t have such a high notch count.” Or “I wish I didn’t have as much sex as I have had.” If and when the day comes that I actually meet a guy who has a higher notch count than me, or has had way more sex than I have had, and he wants to extol the negative side of this activity, I’ll actually sit down and pay attention. Seriously, if there’s a “downside” to having “too much sex,” I would like to know what it is. I haven’t found it yet. And I have yet to meet a guy who wishes he didn’t get laid as often as he has.

Personally, I think the whole, “evil’s of a high notch count” thing that you hear about occasionally is a cope. It’s a cope from a guy who hasn’t been laid enough and doesn’t have the opportunity to get laid more than he has. It’s the married guy who is tired of fucking the same woman over and over again because she either let herself go, or he craves actual variety, not just a wig and change in costume or makeup, or he just has no options and has gone “sour grapes” about the whole thing. Note that I didn’t say that you can’t enjoy fucking the same woman over and over for years. I’m not talking about that guy. He’s not complaining about the “evil’s of a high notch count,” and he’s not complaining about his sex life in general.

If you see or hear some person, usually a guy, extolling the “virtues” of a low notch count for a man, beware. You’re about to be sold a pitch. Jesus or some other religious figure isn’t too far behind. Realize that not only is Jesus not too far behind, but the guy extolling the “low notch count way of life” probably hasn’t had too many options in his life and won’t have any more options in the near future. Do you really want to be listening to such an individual? I don’t.

I would rather listen to someone who has done better than me. There’s more experience there to learn from. Choose carefully who you decide to read and to listen to. Be careful what you fill your head up with. Is it getting you more of what you actually want? Or is it getting you further away from what you actually want?