I have just moved out of my parents house. For the sole purpose of getting laid. That's all I am trying to do. Nothing else. I don't care about climbing the property ladder or care about proving I am all grown-up and independent. I am now the tenant of a modest one-bedroomed abode offered to me by Stockton Borough Council. To look at it, you'd think it was a dump. But it's home. My new home. The reason I am absolutely over-joyed to be living here is because it means I now have somewhere to pull a girl to. There is potential.
You see, it's exceptionally difficult, bordering impossible to convince a woman to go home with you if you still live in your parents house. What are you supposed to do? Keep the noise down? Take her to a field or around the back of the nightclub? Maybe book a hotel? The logistical issues are a demon I have been wrestling for years. Many a person doing the Devils work for him have kept me in submission for years, or so they would boast. Let's just say I haven't had that much support. I have been treated badly by many and there is no way to fight back. The absolute wroth I feel could get in the way at some point.
Let me share with you the goal. My goal. I want a girlfriend. A loyal and loving girlfriend is more precious than all of the money and jewels in the world. That is what I intend to gain for myself. To gain a woman to love...there is nothing that makes me feel like more of a man. I will do it.
For someone who took twenty-eight years to move out of his parents house...you'd be surprised. I know what I am doing. I know how to get girls. I can seduce them. I can master them. Yes. The girls love it. However, there are risks. There is always an element of risk surrounding a seduction, and the risk I have to endure is the animosity of envious men. It is impossible to overstate how dangerous this is for me. It only occurs when you know what you are doing. And I do.
But, like I said, she is more precious then all the money and jewels in the world. I know how most people go about finding a lover. Or should I say provider? Whichever word you use, there are certain avenues people use to find their special someone. The main one is finding a person through their social circle. You know what I'm talking about. Your friend introduces you to someone. You make an online dating profile and wait for the inbox messages to come flooding in. If you're a girl. Or you find areas where there are traces of community and a so-called “group” atmosphere.” Think fitness boot-camps, classes and clubs. There is surely a gorgeous Prince or Princess there for you? Yeah? And you can't wait to tell your friends on social media about your new squeeze, can you?
I do it differently. Yeah I know, but I am way more gangster than you in this regard. What I do stipulates that I face evolutionary risks, or I get nothing. But if I do make a bold move to seduce a woman...I could die. Why? Is she a mermaid? An assassin? A woman scorned and full of wroth, waiting for some unsuspecting boy to take it out on? No. It's the men.
You see, in a bar, nightclub or even on a high street, if I spot a woman I like and I feel some attraction, I still have no way of knowing if she is single. I could talk to her, only to discover to my horror that she is the girlfriend of Al Capone or a heavyweight boxing champion. What does that mean for me? During the stone age, in a fifty person human tribe marauding around the wild, talking to the wrong woman meant death for the man. The greyback protects his investment, and hits this would-be suitor over the head with a big rock. Goodnight.
You should see my flat though. I'm standing in it right now. There are no carpets, no appliances, no furniture and the white paint on the walls and ceiling is peeling and yellowing. It boasts a bath, sink, toilet, a few sockets and some cupboards. Nothing else. There is one Ethernet port that was installed by an old cable television company. It's not a cave this place, but it's close. The council granted me one hundred pounds to decorate and furnish. I'll start with a kettle and a teapot.
Let me elaborate further on my circumstances. You know how I'm talking about getting a girlfriend? Of dating, pulling and then ****ing? People instantly think of physical appearance, so I will give an honest appraisal of what I look like.
I'm shorter than average, my hairline is receding, I have hair on my chest, back and arms that is unsightly. I'm fat. I actually qualify for the obese category, according to the NHS. In the club. My most detrimental feature, though, is my teeth. I have been chain-smoking twenty to forty cigarettes per day for four years. I probably drink about five cups of tea per day as well. Smoking kills your energy, and tea has caffeine that brings it back. Talk about chasing your tail around. My teeth are yellowed just like the white paint on the walls, and a smile is the most potent weapon in the arsenal of any seducer. That beam is the difference between closing deals on the sales floor, and walking out of the club with the girl eagerly holding your hand.
Smoking really does kill you. However, despite all of these disadvantages, my ambitions are high. I said that a wife to love was precious, and I don't want just any woman. No. I'm talking women from good families. I'm talking celebrities. The popular crowd. The in crowd. Women who lift weights and read. Women who eat healthy, use long words and women who have a long line of suitors eagerly waiting for their turn to throw themselves at her feet. When I'm in a nightclub, I'm competing with inked muscle boys, the DJs groupies, the barman, the doorman and the man with the purest cocaine. You should know that even a shy and demure girl would cheat on me in the blink-of-an-eye if one of these men makes a move on her. That's if he plays it right.
I will remind you, though, that I have a flat. A place to call my own. My name, at the very least, is on the tenancy agreement. I have a key to a space, so when I bring a girl there, she can be as naked as she wants. And no one can bother us. It will be me and my girl.
Well, I've already described the interior of my cave. But what about the outside? Let me talk about the local community. The residents of my estate. It's all social housing. Unemployed persons claiming housing benefit, and then there is the anti-social younger generation. Back when I was “the younger generation” it was far worse. We didn't have social media or slick mobile phone applications to entertain us. But then, we didn't have a war to fight either. Still, I've ordered a baseball bat from the internet. It's aluminium and I can just say that I play rounders with my friends on summer days. You never know.
I did mention earlier on that it took me twenty-eight years to move out of my parents house. Well, that's not strictly true. I did have a phase several years ago when I enrolled on a university course, got a student loan and lived in halls. I had one room and a kitchen I shared with six other tenants. Did I really want to be an accountant? No. What I envisaged was a pilgrimage. A journey where I hit the clubs in the city and pulled girls back to my flat. The others quickly sussed me out. However, I had a relationship with one of them. She was called Sophie.
She was amazing. She was a gymnast, she was from an affluent family, she was tall, she was tanned, she had that supermodel figure and she had this exotic look, despite being as English as tea with fish and chips. But, that situation was unsustainable. Could I really justify pretending to be a student just so I could move out of my parents house? Even if she was in the equation, I couldn't do this. Not for nine thousand per year especially.
Going forward, I'll tell you what the plan is. The first step. I will tell you everything. I will give you an honest account of everything that happens on this escapade. The first step is to find a crew. A squad. A group of friends. And this group must be all female. Except for me. Once I win that situation, I will put those girls to work. I will probably need to **** one of them, so she actually gives a damn about finding out who I am. I am someone, by the way. You don't know yet. I haven't told you. But I will show you.
Chapter One (Continued)
The condition of my eyes, however, does not bear the brunt of my health concerns. It is my mental health that many would call into question, strangers in night clubs especially. It has happened to me before. Also, one person recently thought of me as deranged thanks to my single-minded pursuit of women. Imagine being approach in public, in a bar or a club, by someone who is a complete whack job? Such would be unnerving, and you would quickly look to be rid of such an intrusion. I read in a book once about "violation theory" and it got me thinking about whenever I might have infringed upon a persons' boundaries.
Allow me to explain what has fueled this particular fire that has been lit up underneath me. I am fully aware of all the phrases and words of comfort that would grant me license to remain a sloth. The right person will come, you will find a woman one day and just be patient for it is not your time yet. All such things are no good to me now. I am twenty-eight years of age, and the average life expectancy of a person is around eighty-one years in the UK. That's the equivalent of twenty nine thousand five hundred and sixty five days. Imagine the grim reaper checking his watch every ten seconds while he watches you.
I crave a romance, sure, but in its most brutal form, this game is about passing on your genes. Imagine if you were too weak, too shy, too lazy, too ugly, too this, too that to have children? Your genes are effectively removed from existence and there will be no one to save you. No one to apologize or ask you for forgiveness. It's not a form of bullying or of trying to make you feel bad about yourself. It just is. When I heard the life expectancy given in days I quickly felt the fear and had to face some things, those important things that can take root and have a person rotting if left untended.
When I discovered this, I figured out what I needed to do. When I say that, it really could mean anything if you think about. What I need to do to inherit the Kingdom of God, what I need to do to find and love a woman, what I need to do to survive, to save myself, to become rich and famous or to build self-esteem. Whatever knowledge, goals or beliefs a person has to assist, I now have a gut instinct concerning what I need to do.
Going back to what I said earlier about mental health. I continuously hear voices from the community I grew up with, long ago. Issues fighting battles with control freaks, narcissists and those who have aggression issues and anti-social personality disorder. These voices, arguments, scars, battles and the collateral damage I witnessed haunt me on a daily basis. As do the issues surrounding my relationship with Sophie. Issues faces growing up is a topic that many people could speak of. It is for this reason that I am a heavy drinker, smoker and user of pornography.
I will elaborate further on pornography and how it's a masturbation tool. I realize that it could be seen as something of a cop out. It is a sexual act and will never result in the conception of a child. I suspect that the firm DUREX and the mainstream use of the internet and all it has to offer might well have made lust and desire a powerful and noxious force that could affect a persons life from health to their relationships with other people. I would say that out of concern, it is not my wish to sit in judgement over anyone. I learned empathy and warfare when I used to play chess against myself.
My own encounter with lust, however, was not strictly my use of pornography. Rather, say, I had an experience was more real. The notion that a sexual relationship could just be sex and nothing else is a notion that has not escaped people as a possibility. I, personally, would want to be certain that I was building something real and wholesome. However, I had a sexual relationship that was not even a relationship, as such. It didn't even include sex. At least, not intercourse. Let me explain...
I was involved with a woman who called herself a financial dominatrix. I had already had the pain from this encounter etched onto my soul by the time I met Sophie. A woman can tell, especially as the love grows. This financial dominatrix called herself Laura. The name Laura was not her real name, so let us call it a stage name. You know what I'm talking about, it was for her own security rather than being a catchy brand. Perhaps that was part of her allure.
I sent this woman thousands of pounds. I am not even joking. There I was, living with my parents and I spent nigh all of my wages on this woman. That's the fetish. To enjoy a woman taking money from me is something I reveled in for months. I have been back to re-visit the fetish several times. But Laura was my first. Anything she wanted, I would provide. Cash tributes, shoes, bags, dresses, DVDs, laptops and lingerie. She would ask for anything that took her fancy. I catered to Laura and her slightest whim.
In return? I got humiliation, abuse, degradation at the hands of Laura herself, her friends and her lover. That's what it's about. That's the aim. So you can probably see why it's called a kink, or fetish. The desire to have such things happen to me is undoubtedly a result of some of the confusion that plagues me growing up. The confusion and the pain makes a person crave an escape from such. In short, I became gradually poorer and poorer whilst Laura became richer and richer. I can't stand losing any kind of fight, so I have to face up to things and sort my life out. There is no other way.
I know of many things that can help me repair and improve myself. Healthy food, lifting weights, cardiovascular exercise, reading, talking to women and meditation. Meditation being another facet of spirituality that is extremely interesting. I'm currently sat in a beer garden outside my local pub. I have a chalice of dutch lager in front of me, and a cigarette is burning away in the ashtray. I am going to do my first approach. By "approach" I mean approach a woman.
This is no small thing, this approaching. Remember what I said about the grey-back caveman with all of his subordinates and how he wants to protect his women? That's a mechanism at work in my mind at the moment. In short, making an approach is terrifying. I'm feeling the anxiety because I know I am about to do it.