I want to start this post off with how I view seduction. I view it as a Dance. I offer her my hand, I am the Invitation. She can either accept my invitation or not. Here is a screenshot of a text that I sent “Amanda” on a dating app when I very first met her:

Now there are guys out there who will argue that getting a number from a woman first is better, or that giving her your number first is good, bad or otherwise. Honestly, I don’t care. Sometimes I ask women for their numbers, sometimes they give me their number without provocation, sometimes I give them mine and then I’ll wait and see what happens. Sometimes things happen, sometimes they don’t. This post isn’t about which is better, getting or giving a number, it’s about the Dance.

“Amanda” took my number and texted me back. She took a chance and took my hand and let me lead her into the Dance. It wasn’t an easy dance. Occasionally she would try and take the lead, sometimes she was dancing to her own tune instead of dancing with me. A lot of the time she stepped on my toes and it was funny, awkward, and a little painful. But we would start again.

Initially I started wondering, “Does this woman even know how to Dance? Has she ever Danced before?” As time went on I realized that she did indeed know how to Dance. She was just out of practice, “rusty.” It had been a long time since she Danced. I’m a very patient man, a very forgiving man. I get frustrated just like anyone else, I’m not perfect by any means. There comes a time where decisions have to be made though. Do you continue to dance with the person in front of you? Or is it time to thank them for their time, kiss their hand, say goodbye, and end the Dance.

My Dance with “Amanda” is done. She’s a willing enough partner and honestly she’s just a bit rusty is all. But there are other things that showed up recently that gave me the final piece of a puzzle that I didn’t even know I was looking for. It answered a question that I hadn’t asked or even thought of.

“Amanda” and I were talking the other day and out of the blue she said, “Talked to my new neighbor. Told her about my PTSD. I felt bad and started crying. Wasn’t seeking special attention.” Bullshit lady, that’s exactly what you were doing. In that moment, everything fell into place for me. She’s “that” person. I have no idea what her PTSD is about and nor do I really care. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure it’s something and my heart goes out to her. But it’s her problem to deal with, not go and talk to the neighbor and tell them basically, “Hey I have PTSD and so I need you and your 13 year old son, who are just moving in, to keep the noise down.”

This entire time that I have been Dancing with “Amanda,” things have been off and I created a fantasy about her. That’s my fault. I wanted her to not only be the “lonely, bitter Jew” but I wanted her to be the “lonely, bitter Jew who under the surface was a sensual, sexual woman, who was just waiting to be released.” I won’t be so egotistical as to say that I am the guy for that job, but I sure as hell wanted to try. I realize now that this was my fantasy, my projection. She’s not sensual or sexual seeking release, she’s just a “lonely, bitter Jew.” She was telling me the truth right out of the starting gate.

When she mentioned the conversation with the neighbor about her PTSD, it all fell into place. I knew what was going on now. I have been here before. She’s a victim. My ex-wife did the same thing. Everything was everybody else’s fault. It was never her fault and everybody better handle her with kid gloves and walk around on eggshells when dealing with her. Instead of dealing with her issues, it was the world that was crazy and messed up, not her. Her way of dealing with her issues was to blame others and avoid the issue as much as possible. “Amanda” does pretty much the same thing. She just has a better looking body than my ex-wife.

Thank you for the Dance, “Amanda,” but it has come to an end for me. I don’t want to Dance with you anymore. You want to waltz and do the foxtrot, which are fine dances and I did them both with you for a spell. I like to salsa though and sadly that’s not your speed or style, and that’s okay. I wonder if one day you’ll look into the mirror and see the common denominator about your world. If everyone else is the problem, if the entire world is insane and messed up, maybe you need to look closer to home. Maybe it’s you.

I can’t imagine why some guy hasn’t scooped you up and either LTR’d you or “wifed” you up. /sarcasm

I like women in general, but I really love women that know and love how to Dance. I like flirty banter and innuendo. I like plausible deniability. I like the “wink and the smile.” I like the tease. I like it when it’s “on.” I like it when she takes my hand, follows my lead and “leans into it.” It’s okay if she steps on my toes occasionally. She’s not perfect and neither am I. I’m not the World’s Greatest Dancer. I just like to Dance.

It might come true. Long live the King of Mercy. – Wasp

What was originally going to be a one shot post has turned into a 3 part series, and this is part 3. Part 2 is here.

I mentioned doing “Asshole Game” but dialed up to 11 in part 2. It’s this particular “thing” I want to discuss today. I mentioned in the title, “Be careful what you wish for…It might come true,” and here we are. Running “Asshole Game” isn’t hard for me. Asshole Game is being somewhat indifferent to the outcome when it comes to what happens with women and being somewhat a jerk, standoffish, etc. For me, “dialing it up to 11” is getting acidic and downright mean.

The problem for me with my “lonely bitter Jew” is that while she responds, and is still responding beautifully to my “Asshole Game,” I legitimately do not care. Somewhere the “switch” of caring for me, got flipped into the “off” position. I have gone from caring to one degree or another, to being completely indifferent.

I say and do shit with her simply to see what the outcome will be. I’m checking off boxes on my list of questions. It’s the “inner scientist” in me. I’m simply seeing what will happen but I’m completely indifferent to what happens. I don’t care.

And I don’t like looking in the mirror and seeing what I see.

This is the “Dark Side” of running this type of Game. This is what can happen if you want to be a “machine.” Guys, be careful what you wish for, it might come true. This girl, I’ll call her “Amanda,” wants an Asshole. It’s what she responds to. She’s getting it. This asshole doesn’t care. And I don’t like not caring. I feel like I’m losing a little piece of my humanity. Add my “inner sadist” into the equation and it’s complex. But that’s another story for another time possibly.

I have had my “switch” flipped a few times in my life. One of the more recent times was when the switch got flipped and I got divorced. I loved my ex-wife until I didn’t. One of the last women that I was with, it was the same way. Same now with “Amanda.” I wanted so much to care, to invest to a certain degree even, now? Nothing. The “switch” has been flipped to “off.” And I’m finding that I’m far more capable of cruelty than I thought I was. I don’t like it. I don’t like what I’m seeing and what I could possibly become.

Say what you will, but I don’t want to be a machine. I don’t want to think about what the depths of my cruelty and depravity can be. I’m waxing poetic about my own angst, fucking sue me.

Plot twist:

I had some of this discussion with BullRush after the latest Let ‘Em Burn. I was waxing poetically about my angst of possibly becoming a monster. He was the one that reminded me of what I had forgotten, and it was written by me, nonetheless. “Find one or two things about her that you find attractive.” The student has become the teacher.

Even I forget. Even I get lost. Even I can lose touch. Thank you BullRush. I was staring into an abyss of cruelty for the sake of cruelty and results. You pulled me back, by throwing my own words at me nonetheless. Thank you.

My biggest “angst” was the fact that the “switch” had been flipped to “off,” and I didn’t want it to be in that position. I would rather have it “on.” I want to enjoy the interaction, I want to enjoy her company. I want to enjoy it all. I’m not just looking for results. I don’t want to be a scientist watching a rat running a maze. I want to immerse myself in the moment, in the interaction. So I found one or two things about “Amanda” that I find attractive and “just like that,” the switch got thrown back into the “on” position. I see her humanity again. I see her.

I’m still running “Asshole Game” on her, make no mistake. It’s what she wants and what she ultimately responds to, but I care now about what I’m saying and doing. I’m “invested” to a certain degree and I can dial it back and still be able to look at myself in the mirror in the morning when I wake up.

Long live the King of Mercy.

The other day I mentioned a woman that I have been talking to briefly, the lonely bitter Jew.

Now while she has drank all of the Kool-Aid of outrage, something happened to me that I would like to share with you.

I almost blocked her on the app that I met her on and I almost blocked her from texting me, but I didn’t. Hear me out…

While the odds that she and I are ever going to get together and fuck is remote at the absolute best, hear me out.

I stopped investing anything in our interactions and just started saying and doing things to see what would happen. Whether she knows it or not, she has become an experiment with me.

Let me start from where I’m at and what I like and like to do with women.

I like to praise the women I’m with. While I don’t wait on them hand and foot and I definitely don’t pedestalize them, I definitely like to compliment them, praise them, and show them how much they mean to me and how I much I care about them. That’s because that is what I want them to do for me. I don’t want a woman to hover over me, I definitely don’t want them to “mother” me, but I want them to adore me. I want them to show me how much they care for me. I want them to shave my head and neck for me in the shower. I want them to look into my eyes adoringly. I want them to brag about me to their friends and family. I want them to say out-loud, how much they admire me and respect me. I’m not saying that I always get these things, but it’s what I want.

I have realized, yet again, that what I want isn’t necessarily what they want.

My “lonely bitter Jew” doesn’t want adoration and compliments. She wants acid.

She doesn’t want respect, not really, no sir. She wants something caustic.

What I’m talking about here is Asshole Game but dialed way up. I’m not just an asshole with her, I’m damn near downright mean. And she responds to it. There are certain things I will not say or do, just because I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror if I did. I would hate myself if I said or did certain things. Other things though, that’s fair game and open season.

Here’s a recent conversation I had with her, just to give you an idea. Now, I’m sure there are plenty of you out there that would have gone way further or way harsher, but for me, this was an experiment. Remember that this chick has drank all of the Kool-Aid when it comes to outrage and that she is, in fact paranoid:

And that was the extent of the evenings conversation.

The next day though, she was sending me pics of herself, being sweet, asking how my day was going, saying that I looked “yummy,” etc. In short, she was doing all of the things that I want a woman to do for me. The more caustic and callous I got, the sweeter she became.

I have realized for a long time now, but apparently I forgot, that the majority of people walking around in the world, are in fact, masochists. They want to feel the twist of the knife. They want to feel that pain burning through their stomach. They want to feel the prick of the Thorn. They want to suffer. This woman in particular does for sure. This doesn’t make them “bad,” or “broken,” it just makes them who they are. Fortunately for them and for me, I’m a bit of a sadist. I like to turn the thumbscrews. I like to watch them wriggle on the line. I like to see them suffer. At least to some degree.

The more I don’t give a fuck, the more they do. The more I don’t care how things work out, the more they want them to work out. It’s twisted, but it is what it is.

So are the “bitter and lonely Jew” and Rob going to meet up? Who knows? Probably not. I don’t care either way if we do or not. But it’s been fun doing little “experiments” and seeing what happens. I’m not going to lie, it’s been fun turning the knife.