Stand your ground

With Adela, we went to Calico's, like so many dates. There was this guy bumping Adela's seat, and I exchanged seats with her and calmly call it on the guy. What's up, bro, is everything alright? I was ready to take him out. I mean, he had to be very rude to mess with a girl who was with a guy, or else he thought I was a wimp. Either way, I had to make a stance. But the trick about the whole thing was just exchanging seats. He faded away after that. Adela was quite exited that I had stood up to a bully. She had no idea that was my specialty. I had been working out that week, had beaten my punching back silly, woken up at five in the morning to jog/run/pace/sprint from 147th st. between Convent and Amsterdam avenues all the way to 44th st. and Second avenue. He was just a rowdy punk. We were making out. And she said, "Just because you defended me, doesn't mean I'll sleep with you."
"Just because I sleep with you, doesn't mean I care" I said, in a cocky, funny way.

It's Hard To Keep A Good Man Down

I wanted Eli to terminate the pregnancy. I can’t shake feeling guilty for the things I’ve wanted, but I won’t excuse myself for them either. At the time, I felt like bringing a kid into the glorious mess of our relationship was not the sane move; a kid is hard work and I couldn’t afford that luxury. It would have meant relocating a vast portion of my earnings toward an investment. You can’t help but to invest on those who are of importance to you. Whether these things are people, hobbies or a task to be carried out, they demand of you a great deal of commitment. You can’t half-heartedly embrace anything; you can only close your eyes and let the chips fall where they may. And fall they will, and soon, after the dust clears, you’ll see where you stand.
When Eli decided against my better judgment, I felt relieved of my anxiety. Now I had to face the music; I may not have been ready for it. This mad siren sang to me, and I was called up to arms and to the bloody teeth, I felt its urgency and responded. It was a desolate feeling having to deal with a major crisis like knowing that your kid may not fully recover from this. And it was painful to admit to myself that I was scared and did not know what path to take. I made my mind soon; I’m not one to sit idly, unless it is to attain enlightenment.
On the other hand, if I waited around till I was ready to have an offspring, I may never have had the joy of actually having one. Unexpected circumstances in life are not always unwelcome; they can be quite exciting and full of a life of its own. I can say with an open heart that yes it hurts but I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. Luckily, we’re somewhat masochistic. How the hell could we go through life if not without a sense for black humor and a less than perfect picture. Who knows? Maybe I was right not to want this but now that I’m faced with it, I’m less sure of my former position. Nothing of this nature has ever been part of my lengthy list of things to do. Nothing in my list is unconquerable, yet this might be it. And that is fine. All things require patience and effort, and if the investment isn’t always rewarding, then you get to practice patience and put into it your best effort just for the heck of it. It gives you a different perspective. Nothing will be the same, something has been irreparably broken, and it is okay, bring it. I won’t run away. I will not cave in. I will not scare away. I will lay low from time to time, rejoice in misery and let all the bad luck in the world make its residence here. A bad hand is not the end of the world. It is the way life deals the cards. You get a shitty hand from time to time. You just have to work with what you got. Don’t back down; let them see you in the flesh. Don’t be a coward. Show your face and what you’re made of. This is the stuff of legend.
I have a son who suffers from autism, the severe kind, and though I’ve invested in educating myself on the subject, spent a considerable amount of resources and energy on special diet, early education, personal tutors, parent-to-child therapy, plans to rent a hyperbaric chamber, instructive toys and remote-control cars, walk therapy, I didn’t give up on him and I won’t. Eli wants things to progress, but things in and of their own never get any better; you make them better. If it’s a word he utters, or a ritual he breaks out of, it is recorded in both video and paper. Committing to paper his progress, it helps keep the memory sharp and brings those special shared moments truly worthy. You may not get to say anything new, or you may lose patience at times, but you never let despair set its claws, and you always face fear dead on. Stare right back at it, fight inertia, overcome procrastination, design new and bolder schemes, lift a finger, a hand, get in motion. Act now, and rest later; work now, and enjoy later.
The present is our sole possession. We can now decide to plan the good seeds, nurture them and see them grow. Focus on that which is of the utmost importance. Let every single other thing truly slide.
Of course, you’ll miss her. You’ll go crazy. Think about it: how lucky of you. You haven’t been in this spot for so long. It is good to get in touch with our disarray, so that you can collect the scattered pieces of glass and fuse back together this shattered mirror. Piece by piece, put yourself back together. Hum a lullaby, rock back and forth in your chair, sit back and relax. It’s hard to keep a good man down.

The Dirty War Tactics of Love

And so, we’re different people at different times, because the idea is to adapt to the evolving life that surrounds us, elusive and direct engagement, like a bull fighter: stare it in the face with a sword ready to slay it and the courage not to back down and keep moving, not to be a sitting duck for long. A sucker, an idiot, a fall, everyone encounters here and there; we should not dwell for long on things gone array. We should lick our wounds and move on.
Either way, pain is bound to linger, accentuating its presence in the inner voices of our mind. Quiet those voices with plenty sessions of mindfulness, do mingle from time to time and bring to fruition projects long envisioned. It is the only way to survive: reinvent yourself. Wardrobe, mental paradigms, shifting, in and out. Strength is not in never feeling vulnerable; it is in withstanding the passage of time and suffering without fighting it. Don’t resist pain. Let it grow inside you, don’t question it, don’t beat yourself up about it. Breathe in, fully, and feel it: it is yours. It is a gift. It is what life is made of as well. And you might want to get in touch with this healing, this period of recovery. Convalescence is not blown-out sickness. It is a step outside the dark.
Like a real man, I must not deny the pain this represents. It’s not a pleasant feeling to disengage from it all; disentangling ourselves from sources of kindness and tenderness, the intimacy rendered, as a man you know you have lost so much. But you can only gain from this loss and oh so much more still than you wasted. In fact, little, if anything, has been wasted. And pain, we must endure and suffer as quietly as possible. No need to vent out, or go on a stranger-fuck-spree, not just yet. First, mend your broken wings and then soar vigorously. Work out more often, harder and be ten times better the next time around. Instead of venturing out and finding solace in the wild outdoors, remain in the shadows for a while, decompress and regroup. Work out, meditate, write, tutor, nurture and cultivate yourself. Don’t take forever to get on your favorite pair of jeans, buy yourself a power shirt and some stylish brand-new pair of shoes, and go out there fishing. Not hunting, but fishing: patience, relaxation, and things will fall on your laps. At some point, you have to show your claws and grasp what you want out of it. Like I’d go out for just three beers, spend no more than two hours at a crowded bar scene and toss a conversational bone here and there, mindlessly watching the flat-screen T.V. or engaging the bartender casually, not completely committed to it. And then it’d happen, a semi-gorgeous creature will position herself nearby. This is a good sign: proximity. Next stop: eye contact. If you catch her checking you out, teaser her: “It’s not polite to stare.” Don’t just open your mouth; open your eyes and your heart to it. Welcoming gestures, a not-imposing posture, a relaxed demeanor, a full and vibrant tone of voice that commands attention. Own this shit, and feel good in your own skin. For that, there musts: fitness, impeccability and a positive attitude. Nothing repels more than seeking an outcome in every interaction; once you take the sexual agenda off the table, she’s left with nothing too lethal in her arsenal. Don’t antagonize her; make her feel safe, but instill also an element of danger. This may be embodied in the form of tension: she’s about to find out you’re for real. And the way you conquer this ground is by not giving in. Stand your ground. Don’t let her in on it, make her work a little for your attention and always remember that you are the predator. It’s okay for her to remain irresponsive and play hard to get; your job is to “get” her before you actually get to be with her. Don’t fall for her antics. Just give her plenty of space and be always on the retreating offensive. Like guerilla warfare, ambush: move swiftly and be out of your angling position before the strike hits. Be an elusive target and send snipers, not a whole infantry. You don’t win wars by deploying every resource to your first battle; you gain territory gradually, and do so almost as if you were working from the shadows.
As soon as you see that things have peaked, bear in mind they can only come down. And like the perfect drug, there’s no other way around it but to endure the withdrawal effect. Coming off of it, you may feel slightly nauseous, a bit dizzy, somewhat shaken and scathed. Hold on to your guns, just don’t shoot indiscriminately, escape the crime scene before the police of consciousness makes an appearance. Don’t try to rationalize it; reason tends to sing its mad sirens, you’ll think is there as your servant but often plays the moralist and the unrighteous is purged out of. It’s okay to hurt, like it is okay to laugh, and it is okay to play the fool. It’s okay just about anything, just as long as it’s not for long; you should embrace everything and not hold on to anything. Everything is fleeting before our eyes. This very sentence is no longer apt. The time to act is now; live here, join us.

Thanks for the Memories

Michael would voice in his disapproval whenever I backed down from action. We'd walk into nightclubs, pubs, lounges, restaurant/bars, street venues... anywhere where there might be women gathering, and right before going in, say our mantra: "I came; I saw; I conquered!" We'd walk the talk and play the part. But sometimes, I'd just sit back, relax and take it all in without as much as a thought as to how engaging the beauties sitting nearby.
Then Michael would say something to the effect of, "Well, everyone has a bad night" or "Maybe she's too much for you to handle." Or some provocative alternative.
"I've got three different versions" I'd warn him. "First... you doubt me? Second... You doubt me? And third... You doubt me?"
It didn't work all the time, and not in every place, but whenever it did, which was quite often, we had the time of our lives. One of the bets was, for every girl I'd introduce him to, or opened up, he'd buy me a drink. I drank for free all night long and it'd all start with him asking me to tell a particular girl if he could buy her a drink.
"That would never work" I'd warn him. "Why don't I bring them over here and you buy me a drink."
In time, Michael shone on his own, learned a couple of flattering moves, became bolder and more sure of himself. I'd see him tease girls, walk off on them, treat them like little girls, you name it. And suddenly, I felt like I had created a monster.
"Hey, Frankenstein, how about we get the hell out of here?"
But it was like a kid with a brand new toy. He'd stay until closing time, and little by little, we drifted apart.
Haven't seen much of him lately.

The Body Kiss

Body kiss is when you kiss a girl's body entirely, without missing a spot, and that includes anal and every single orifice of her body, every imperfection, using both tongue and breath. In body kiss, you take your time as a skillful lover and make sure that no part of her carnal temple leaves without being caressed by your lips. Take your time; kiss her lips last. Body kiss involves slightly biting certain pleasurable areas, make her moan and come hard before you're even inside her. She doesn't have an end in sight; show her infinity. Kiss her eyebrows, her eyes, her nose, her ears, behind her ears, her neck and cheeks, and then jump to her belly, don't focus on center, leave that. That, along with the lips, which should be the very last thing you kiss, should come right before her mouth. Make sure that when you kiss her in the mouth you taste like her, and kiss her uninhibitedly, openly, sacredly and passionately all at once. Be her man, guide her, and she will silently and sometimes not so silently will thank you for it. If she gets too hot and horny, and doesn't allow you to finish, tell her you'll continue where you left off. And do so later on, always go back for more, and then some. Fuck her for sport, anywhere you find fit.

Be Good at Something you Like

Time spent with Crystal went by flying, I know it’s a poor and overused metaphor, but it depicts it well. She was seeing another guy at the time, some lame relationship where she wasn’t fucking the guy regularly and still owing him fidelity. Most of us are emotionally monogamous, even engaging in affairs is claiming some of our own pleasure in life back into our lives. We ought to enjoy others and reflect only that which is seen, sort of like mirroring people. Maybe they like stories, and you tell them stories, I’m a pretty good narrator. The most open were upfront, knew what they wanted, how to get it even if it meant sacrificing anything noble and boring, didn’t want a relationship, were out to have some fun. And the girl might not even be married or engaged or anything heavy. Maybe she wants to be picky and free. Others call it bad names like infidelity, unfaithfulness, straying away from the norm. What really is, nothing more than sex. Of course, some drama queens feel the need to validate their feminine values, like professing honesty and chastity. You can go along with it. Say, “Let’s go to South Beach in Winter.” Instill in her a sense of adventure, don’t actually deliver. And if she’s good, why not? Humiliate yourself a little, then retreat and laugh. Yeah, keep a smile on that face. It all seems pretty fun. Like the way she smells after sex, the sweat dripping down her dark hair and well, it’s been fun but best to part ways. This is what you do: do not call her for a few days; then all of a sudden pursue her for a couple more; and then ignore completely for a few days, maybe a week or two. It saves face.
Hey, I tried, I can say. Of course, that is a calculated mistake. I’m not needy and I’m not cold; I run the risk of making mistakes and I am proud of my scars. I believe I am in a blissful state: nothing can bring me down for long. Yeah, I get knocked down, rocked or shaken by an opponent’s blow, but is only because I’m pushing forward. Well, there was a single knockout in my life; and it is when I learn of my son’s autism. That is the hardest blow life has dealt me. No, I don’t hide it. It hurts every other day, and rarely for long, just like bursts of sadness that prompt tears to my eyes and then I look for a place to scream out to the top of my lungs. I let pain circulate through me; I don’t fight it. I let its poison flow, I offer my neck. I want to be able to feel pain and take it like a man. Men ought to pursue their women from time to time, but the real gift is in not fucking it up so much that you can’t later be friends. Friendship should be the reward of a semi-sane relationship. Don’t leave too soon; don’t stay long. Always go out and mingle and meet new people every single day on earth. There’s just no other way to live that is more satisfactory. Don’t deny yourself of pleasure, and be willing to endure a little pain in order to get to Nirvana. In a meditative state, sometimes the mind becomes turbulent before it finally succumbs. Calming your wild thoughts, emptying your head of the excess chatter, thinking too much can be as bad as thinking too little. Leave thoughts behind, and follow me through the lands of naked bodies, glorious adventures, in the smallest amount of time and with the greatest benefits. Of course, I limit to one at a time. It makes sense in every sense. The midterm relationship; a little more than just a fling or a one nightstand, and a lot less than a “serious” relationship. What, are there any “funny” relationships? Well, if there aren’t, there ought to be. Of course, “relationship” is such a confusing term. It should be about bonding, something built in trust. If not, then just turn on the jerk a little, and leave without as much as a word. Appear and reappear; don’t kill the possibility of friendship.
Fall in love, just don’t lose your head. Never lose your cool; never supplicate. Just throw things out there; communicate without the drama. Use drama to scare them away. Otherwise be sweet and sour, just not too sweet and not too sour. Guide her as she goes down on you, tell her to go slow, to look you in the eyes, be the man. She’s your girl and you ought to do to her all the nasty things others have ever put her through. Be ever so soft in the early stages. Just kiss a shadow of her hair, smell it, tell her she smells so good. Kiss her eyes; her nose; her insecurities. Kiss her all over and then some more, and only then, maybe, on the lips. Smell her softly, as you go down on her, real men lick it before they kick it. In order to be good at something, first you must like it. So, enjoy the journey. Savor it every step of the way. Don’t just think of satisfying her; forget thinking. It’s just you and her juicy vagina; keep your eyes away from hers. That would be somewhat submissive. Do look her way and make eye contact once in a blue moon. Kiss her thighs with your breath, draw your hands on top of her skin almost touching her. Stop closer and closer, and take your time. Build anticipation. Feel her come alive; read her body signs. Please her like she really likes it: taking your time. Don’t rush to conclusions. Don’t seek no exits. Don’t be happy to be inside her. Make her want for you to be inside her. And then, if you feel like she is ready, just wait a bit longer. Stop altogether and offer her a drink; pour it from your mouth in hers. Lick her ass; finger her ass and vaginal lips at once, provided that you spend half an hour to get there. Don’t time yourself; just breath; relax in her presence. And don’t be sweet with her. Don’t be rough. Don’t anything except one with her. Hug her deeply, feel her heartbeat, kiss her for hours, fuck her again and again as if this was your only chance. Otherwise, it will be.

Why Romance Rarely Lasts

Imagine running a business based on spontaneity and a sense of adventure. How long will you think it will be before you go out of business if sometimes you feel like opening shop and the next staying in? What if, suddenly, a shift of emotion changed your heart and mind?

I Will Not Waste Any Single Moment Alive

Hope you’re doing well, and hope all is working out for you. I am hitting for the fences, published another book, and pulled in eighteen hours of labor before I hit the sack for two hours and then doing it all over again. Luckily, I don’t waste my time trying to fall asleep; I do something that has shaped me and strengthened me, I meditate. At least twice a day, one full hour in the wee hours of dawn at work and the other thirty minutes, sometimes I can put in a few mini sessions. Anytime I get the chance, I meditate. It cleanses my mind, it rids me of the mental barriers, it annihilates this constant chatter. I discovered recently, while using ear plugs for the first time in my life, that there is a ringing, deafening tone that permeates through our consciousness, our internal dialogue. I’ve been hard at work, and plan to keep myself busy, go out and mingle, this is a time to rediscover myself. I ought to give myself some time apart, perhaps part ways. I did it at work, at home; I changed from my comfortable schedule 9-5 Monday through Friday, the only 9-5 with weekends off. I left all that and now I find it harder to keep up, it’s part of the process, I’m taking more responsibility and life isn’t just going to hand me a piece of the cake without me earning it. My mission is transformation and this usually means a great deal of sacrifice. I will still venture out, will cancel my 401K and invest that money myself. I will pick up running; I will pick this room up. I will pick myself up. I will work out like a maniac and buy myself the coolest pair of jeans and shirts like I have in the past, and treat myself right. Once this certificate comes through, I will be earning considerably more than now. And even now, it’s not that bad. But I want more. I will be more.
My purpose is propelling myself to the next level, meet people in the process and never fall in love with madness. Once something cool is over, move on quietly. I withdraw before the fighting and bickering begins, when there is no memory of pain. Up until now, things look kind of ugly, and so I think is best not to be a complete moron and show my face from text to text. It’s okay, no sex required. Take the week off. Let’s see if we can be adults about this. No love can survive the same routine played over and again. We ought to learn new tricks, see new faces. This is our chance to be something far greater than lovers or desirable strangers, it gives us the opportunity of being friends, something we never came around to. I’ve gone out: I screw up so many chances, like a girl next to me saying if I was waiting for her to speak, to forget it. That was hilarious. That girl was so full of life, and what is more important, she was surrounded by beautiful girlfriends. How could I screw that up? I turned my back, watched the game and they left when they mistook going out for a smoke for going home. As I walked in back in the place, they were exiting. They greeted me like they’ve known me for years. I said goodbye. I can do this goodbye gig for as long as the show still is on, and still wish you well. It’s not you and it’s not me, it’s how these things work. In the end, we better have a good relationship with ourselves in order for us to step outside ourselves and reach out for that you find desirable. But sometimes these toys have desires of their own, and friction rises. It’s no longer sexy tension, it’s friction, which can cause havoc, put a dent on your confidence, lower your morale, weaken you.
You’re the person I’ve communicated more things in years. Perhaps I was craving this so much that I forgot the golden rule: always leave them wanting more. It’s not a routine I run; it’s vital, critical, essential. A magician doesn’t reveal his secrets. That would defeat the effort. Also, where’s our freedom, the capacity to withstand the present pressures life hangs upon our shoulders and walk right into the night. It’s dark and scary, and you want to hold on to that which you find most familiar, the common pleasures past. Then you withdraw, like you said once to me in bed: “Don’t withdraw now.” It is something that, somehow, it kind of stuck. I think about it, as I do a thousand other things. Baby-sit my baby boy, take him out for a walk, work long hours, study for the FSD test, cancel my 401K, change the face of the earth in my room, and chop, chop.
When you’re overworked, you’re bound to make mistakes in some realm of life. The realm I most easily rid of is the emotional realm. I stick to my guns: I am a creature of reason. I practice it every chance I get. Best to know when to call it quits, and do so swiftly, and just get it done with.
So, I plan to go out there in the best shape of my life, dressed like a prince from top to bottom, and not spend a fortune while at it. I will work out more, put in more overtime, meditate even more, write more than I have ever in my life. I will not waste a single moment alive.
I want to seduce the finest girls, go home with a different one every other weekend and keep the ones that are most special close. No need for the intimacy; it's not like we never fucked. I plan to be an animal, and make no excuse of it. Take tons of pictures, post them on my social networks, Myspace and Facebook, and I plan to write a poetry book by the end of the year. Things have never looked any brighter.
My hands have healed; I quit smoking; lost nearly ten pounds, all from my belly! Friends are beginning to notice it.
And I know I owe some that newly regained self-steam to you. So, I thank you. Sincerely.

TEN THINGS THAT MAKE WOMEN RUN AWAY

I'm a prolofic writer, I know, such an envy! Well, look, I will come up with ten things off the top of my head that make women run away. I will make it simple and then you can thank or curse me later. And for the ladies out there, no apologies. Women have the upper hand. Men always seem to be so oblivious when it comes to these matters. But I feel women might thank me too after all. I mean well, ladies.
1) HITTING ON THEM
Look, ok, women love the attention. But come on! Do you actually think she's going to stop at your whistling and say, "Hey, that was so original, here's my number." I mean, when you do this sort of thing, you're actually covering up your own insecurities. Deep down inside, you know that has never worked and if it has, the girl is not worth it. Women want to feel special and all of this perverted nonsense makes them smile politely and keep right on their way.
2) LOOKING AT HER BODY PART, NOT HER EYES
Look, I know. You want to look at her body. But don't do so in a way that makes her feel uncomfortable. The way to a woman's heart is her eyes. That is your best bet. So, forget staring at her body parts. Don't be such an animal. Do look at her and admire her anatomy in a subtle way, she won't mind, but most of the time look her in the eye. I can't stress this shit enough.
3) TALKING SHIT ABOUT OTHER WOMEN OR, WORSE YET, YOUR EX
Dah! Well, look, it really is transparent. I mean, what is she going to say to herself? I bet something like this: "If this guy talks like that about that girl, I wonder what shit he's going to say about me!"
4) ARROGANCE
Ok, guilty. I have been arrogant at times. But I don't do so abnoxiously. I do so in a playful manner and sometimes it has backed fire, of course. I just don't give a rat's ass and that, my friend, you can't afford.You're after here, remember, and I'm not. I'm way above that state. If she runs, she better run for her life. Not mine! Ok, I'm not making sense, but I will. Look, the thing is, if you believe your own hype, then you're screwed. Arrogance is like smelling bad. It just doesn't work. I guess I do play the arrogant part but I do so with style and I never do so to intentionally make the girl feel bad. If she's sure of herself, she'll see right through me. And you're not there yet. So behave!!!! Be slightly cocky, just not arrogant.
5) PLEASING HER TOO MUCH
Ouch! I had to give it to you straight. And I said "ouch" because, by now, I know and it has been my experience that my girl friends (I didn't say "girlfriends") are really the ones reading this. In fact, it's appalling how little time men take to understand something they obssess over for their entire lives! Well, look, it's not that there is no benefit in pleasing your women. But do so at your own timing and be original at it. Surprise her. Don't just do what she says. She wants a man. She already has a pussy. Hahahahaha.
6) WAITING FOR HER TO LEAD
Are you the type who asks the girl, "So, honey, where do you want to go?" Etc? Just don't. Don't ask why but when it comes to women best to have a bad idea that was your idea. Of course, accept her suggestions. Just don't follow. Be the leader. There, I said it.
7) DON'T BRAG ABOUT BEING GOOD WITH WOMEN
Ok, I've gone mad with power. But really, I hate it when I see it. Guys everywhere bragging to OTHER guys, spending time with OTHER guys, and talking shit about how many numbers they get, how many women they got or high-fiving each other right in front of girls they got a number from. How horrible. Look, I know I am going on a limb here, but the fact is, I don't think in terms of quantities. Or numbers. It's all about quality.
8) POOR HYGIENE
I don't know what it is about guys that simply look like they've fallen out of bed and dragged themselves out unto the streets without bathing or changing clothes. Be neat, please. Wear some good cologne. Shave. Brush your teeth. Change your socks and underwears daily. And get a haircut while you're at it! I should have probably list this as number one in my list.
9) NOT BEING TRUTHFUL
Ok, don't kill the messanger. But really, the fact is, if you lie, women have superpowerful devices to detect bullshiit and even when you think you're fooling her, you're only fooling your sorry self. So be straightfoward and, for a change, original. Don't go telling her every detail about yourself, of course. Simply answer her like a man who has nothing to hide. She'll love you for it. Honesty is the best policy. And to go even deeper than that, it's not to cater to girls needs... the reason there are so many miserable men in the world is because they think that in order to "get" the girl, they have to lie about who they are and what they want out of a relationship. That is a sure way to find yourself in the wrong boat. Best to wait for a woman who wants you for who you are. It may take longer, but she'll arrive.
10) BEING TOO CLINGY OR INSECURE
Need I articulate? If that's the case, forget I said anything. You're doomed. Women, real women, need space. And just because you're behind her 24/7 doesn't make you more than a bore. Of course, don't be TOO distant. She could easily take her business elsewhere.

The unquestionable Superiority of Men (revised)
Current mood:Adventurous and humorous

To all of the feminists out there: we are still masters of the universe. Let's face reality: there are very few aspects of life in which women are superior to men, and it comes only out of the men's lack of interest in that particular subject. Whether it is sports, literature, math, science, or even the ability to push forward and persevere in the face of adversity, we're the hypothetical God's favored creature. Why, if not so, do most couples want a boy as their first sibling? In some cultures, women are even discarded, causing a dangerous majority of males which can only help these particular societies to experience more violent outbursts. You can observe a similar phenomenon in a bar where the vast majority are males: it often leads to violence, and no, I do not advocate for violence as a superior trait but boy it feels great to stand six built feet tall and menacing enough not to get crossed by most of those who come across your path. Not that I'm a giant either, I'm pretty sure there are plenty of guys who can kick my ass. But I can always put up a mean fight, and though I never start a physical confrontation, I'm always in a good position to end it. Oh, I know, it is considered "primitive", and while I am first and foremost a lover, there's a fighter just a layer of skin underneath. Of course, those who can't love are eager to start fights, and beating up bullies, like a female friend of mine said, makes me sexy. Another guy friend says, "It makes you a hero."
Even when it comes to passion, I suspect that all of the great deeds, the most amazing technology, the most apt minds and inventors did so with a woman in mind. So, after all, women were probably the "muse", the inspirational fuel that kept men up to speed, always pushing farther. (I must confess, by the way, that I enjoy writing such an outrageous theme solely with the idea of imaging the face some of the very intelligent women I know will put when they read it.)
Of course, women are far superior than men in subtle, mysterious and undeniable ways, imperatively speaking hygiene comes to mind. In some, the knack for gossip, drama, and the outstanding ability to unncessarily complicating themselves, perfecting the mechanism of doing good and feeling bad, seems well ingrained.
The fact that women possess some qualities that seem scarce in the average male doesn't make them superior. Here we list the pros and cons, and then come to a plausible conclusion. The natural ability to bear children, should not count; I have yet to find a man who resents not being able to get pregnant. I have heard, however, men talk of "being pregnant" but I am sure they're just being sympathetic to their afflicted spouse or girlfriend.
I speak, of course, in general terms, never individually (I've met some outstanding men in my life but far more interesting females, who I could ally myself with simply because they weren't as combative and insufferably territorial). Worth noting that by "superiority", I solely mean the ability to perform and deliver. And before proceeding, I'll have to say that, proven too, women are not only relatively less intelligent than us but also less stupid. We're not just better than them in all the honorable tasks that we have invented throughout history, we're also far worse. So, there: we're better and worse than they are. In fact, men suffer more from retardation than women, and you may find really dumb guys everywhere but women tend to be somewhat average on that respect, even when it comes to bimbos. Nature seems to love to assign us men with extremes. Take comfort, then, in the fact that if the world is as fucked up as it is, women you can blame it on us.
Women are far better, for instance, at playing mind-games than we are because, well, after willingly getting laid a few times, men lose all desire. Unless, of course, that woman could, somehow, prolong the affair by appealing at the man's insecurities. Maybe get him to do stuff for her, pussify him. In order for that to happen, she must withheld sex. It is her most leathal weapon, her best hand. If women were to give it up easily, she'd have nothing left to bargain with. Word to the wise: the less you crave it, the more it comes your way. It goes both ways.
Friendship, too, or the ability to connect, is explicitly female's domain. I'm not sexist when I say this. Guys, instead of seeking out a "sexual" outcome, try making friends out of them, you'll give up guys for good. Yeah, they pervade our minds, our thoughts, and yet we spend most of our time with friends from the same sex. I am sickened to the stomach with my gender's macho talk about sports, politics, or women. I guess it has something to do with having been raised in a house where I was the only male. Had it been any other way, I'd probably be the average joe. Guys, lacking women's intuition, don't quite see it. But they are so akin mentally and physically, if it weren't for men's sexual drive and the instinct to procreate, they would all be gay. And before you get the wrong idea, I will go ahead and betray my own gender by saying that we have done a wonderful job in repressing women's sexuality because had women in general claim back their sensual realm, had women made any sense of what true power is all about surely they'd be in charge of the world by now. Women are far better than men will ever be when it comes to hedonism. But because they grew in a world dominated by men, they fail to see just how much power their sexuality in the world really exerts. I wish I had the same effect a beautiful woman has in the world on women, you know?, turn the tables around, if just for a day.
For when women assume their sexuality without prejudice, that is a powerful woman anywhere, far more than any man present. (Don't men in power inadvernantly fall prey to this prodigious creature?) Hedonic creatures by nature, they are to play a role all of their own, where they shine without the necessity to take upon exhausting tasks... you could see the effect dominant traits have on women: it accelerates the aging process, it obscures her light, it makes them somewhat like males, primitive and ugly. Beauty, of which nature has abundantly endowed her with, is her subterfuge, her natural state, her only realm. To there, we men must retreat, to gather our strength, to invigorate ourselves, to nurture. We can't have this bad blood between sexes, is time to claim back our identities. Men, be bold, braze the storm; women, be passionate, goddess-like.
Women are so much so hedonic creatures that they are also endowed with a truly envious body part that has no scientific use other than causing pleasure: the clitoris.
Culturally, and by nature as well, women have to appear, if not necessarily be so, difficult. They have been manipulating men's ultra-libido over eons, and in order to get what they want they have to play their cards right. If they were easy, it would be a done deal: as soon as the man would find his satisfaction, once the carnal transaction is over, for the man, everything is over. Since our desire for them is stronger, they know men are bound to end up in another girl's arms, if they let them pass by, and they castrate that impulse to jump up and down by inflicting pain, appealing to our taste for massochism. Look, we all have a knack for things going wrong. It reassures our pessimistic views. We claim wanting to be happy but only engage in behaviors that make us miserable. And we're so good at it.
It's not my intent to promote abuse towards them; I am not a misogynist. That is not what superiority is about.
For instance, we are in charge of our infants, but that doesn't grant us inmunity to cause them harm. However, there's nothing wrong with a healthy dose of pain to make healthy civilians out of us all. A domesticated animal is obedient and it is almost impossible training it to be so without depriving it of its animal-self first, without inflicting some pain. The infant eventually learns that the parents will not oblige to every single one of his or her desires. The lesson is painful but also necessary.
We touch bases with misery through existence. Better remember something causing us pain, otherwise we could very well perish the next time around. Pain makes us focus, it makes us face reality, it represents an opportunity to grow and a window at freedom, if only we dared to endure and suffer the consequences. Perhaps now, it would be a good time to point out that when it comes to the game of seduction, women are the greatest masters of all. Men are consumed by anxiety, highly driven, mechanical and impetous. It could be said that men are vile, vicious creatures by nature, and it is through the social experience that we learn to somewhat inhibit our nature in order to coexist somewhat harmoniously in an ever so chaotic world; but it could also be said that we have been dealing with our animalistic nature for longer as a species and that the social experiment still is a very fragile one. We kill one another, we profess what we can't keep up, we're all talk and little action. We are lazy, yes.
Most species in the animal kingdom are, anyway. After all, we spent hundreds of thousands of years living as animals. Civilization is a relatively new phenomenon in the history of our species. Speaking of which, relatively new, too, is the notion of feminism. I know, it dates back to the sixties to some of you but it may have started as far back as Cleopatra, but in evolutionary terms that took place a split nanosecond ago.
So what does this have to do with superiority and what does superiority offer us? Simply put, society –especially ours –has promoted the idea of equality between sexes. While no one can argue positive aspects to this delusion, the negative portion of it shall be exposed. Along with increasing women's role in the most prosperous lands throughout the world, feminism dealt the final blow to the family structure. Now that women were out earning their own, men no longer felt he need to support a house. Kids being raised by newly desserted women, even with financial help, is a sad spectacle. It is not that I think we had it good back then, but that we are in a period of transition and we must understand in all seriousness that today more than ever men and women are alienated. Out of these broken homes, of which I myself descend, a new kind of effeminite man has emerged. In households where the dominant figure was a woman, what masculinity is left for that boy? You can read, as there is a whole spectrum of theories on the subject, but it seems like being a man nowadays has gone out of fashion. It is my belief that women want real men, and in their search sometimes they may settle for something less than extraordinary. Feminism triumphed because of both great men and women. But with great power comes great responsability, and now is the time to bring the gap closer.
In retrospect, the problem is not new. Where did we get our beliefs and mating rituals? Why do we take a moral stand and crumble easily into temptation? Why do we profess one thing and do the other, especially when it comes to relationships? We have it all backwards, so let's explore the source once and for all...
Throughout history, men in power wanted to secure mating and territorial rights. They've tried force, mostly, and when they finally settled into a more sedentary society, those at the top of the hierarchy passed off laws and fomented ideas in order to make sure that those who enjoyed the benefits of power (usually their closest people) continued to do so indefinitely. It doesn't matter what era or land you may find yourself in, financial resources at your disposition have always guaranteed the proliferation of your kind. Women have always been drawn to men in positions of power, however that power has been crystallized. For that, men have invariably excelled, plotted, murdered, intrigued, metamorphed into greatness or lied throughout history, in order to gain the favors of women. Undeniably, history chronicles the existence of outstanding women –but they represent a minority. For every Maria, Cleopatra, Joan of Arch or Madonna, there're hundreds of male equivalents: Alexander, Napoleon, Churchill, Jesus Christ, Beethoven. For who is the female equivalent of Socrates? Galileo? Da Vince? Voltaire? Einstein? Of course, without a caring mother or a supportive sister in their lives, they all would have surely perished.
It is often argued that the reason women have not excelled to the greats of their sexual counterparts has to do with the lack of erudite formation. In reality, every great human being, be it man or woman, has undergone hardship. No glory has been handed to them for the sake of it. Where upon flashing a smile, a woman may get a door open up for her, a man has to throw the door down in order to make his way in, and then put a humble face, as if he were embarrassed by his power. (You can't be a giant and expect not to step on some ants.)
The German philosopher, Arthur Schopenhauer, in a very organic definition of the fair sex said that they were like a creature between the man and the child. Truly, the world has changed vastly since the age of Schopenhauer: women are graduating at faster rates than ever before and are even rivaling their male competitors. But the truth also lies in that the education system employed favors them in that it is not only less challenging but also strictly feminine: it is more about being a social and harmonious animal than it is about performance and competition. Moreover, females are known to suffer from depression twice as much as males; testostorone has been recognized as the hormone of desire and we possess approximately about twenty times more of it than them.
Not only are we so much better but also far worse: More than ninety percent of violent crimes in any society are committed by men. The inversed stadistic is true of plastic surgeries, as women count for nine out of ten operations carried out. An average male brain has approximately 4% more cells and 100 grams more brain tissue than an average female brain.

What Is Confidence?

What is confidence?

I heard from Deepak Chopra that Carlos Castañeda had once made the connection between self-esteeem and self-pity. Because we want to be ever so confident, it has its roots in a longing to depart from a pity about ourselves. Bees build complex colonies, and don't brag about it. A beautiful line in a song by Red Hot Chilli Peppers is, "A mountain never feels the need to speak." That same song beautifully says, "I could never change what I feel... My face will never show what is not real." And so, often we come across individuals who scream out loud just how sure of themselves they are. Another saying comes to mind: "Tell me what you brag about and I'll tell you what you lack."
A man in a conversation may brag about how much money he makes. What is he saying really? That what he is, what he stands for, isn't enough. It goes to show why so many men who are wealthy, while devoting so much of their inner strength into the acquisition of material possessions, may disregard other aspects of life and simply suck at, say, the way he interacts and connects with other human beings. In order for such a man to gain the respect and love of a desired woman, he may compensate for his lack in this particular respect with his truly resourceful nature: ambition.
We may have heard over and again that money doesn't equate happiness. Rightfully so, but I would not advocate for poverty either. In a nation as rich as this one, financial lack should not be part of our make-up. It is of no excuse, then, for a man to defend his lack of money with the argument that money isn't all. Because I can't remember a single day as an adult in which the subject of money didn't show up, I recognize the importance of money. While money does not equate happiness, lack of it, in a society such as ours, surely garantees misery. Self-esteem, confidence, shouldn't be matters of acquisition but reflections of our character. Confidence isn't more than the expectation of a favorable outcome. Picture this: a desired salary or goal, the manifestation of a reciprocal feeling in the object of our desire. Let's say then that this person, this job, this title, is somehow promised, realized, and that all you had to do was to just seal the deal by simply walking the part. How would that make you feel? Just picture it for a moment. Got the picture?
Now magnify that picture, say, by a hundred and multiply it by a thousand fold. You're now in front of your ideal job, your perfect home, your most nurturing relationship. How would that make you feel? Got it? Okay, now, for your money's worth, hold it like is something of a huggable size, squeeze it, go ahead. How does that feel?
.... It is this feeling a reality? No, you say. Not yet, anyway. But if you can visualize with certainty, not hope, not desire, but absolute conviction, say, a must... then it is something that you already possess. A quality no one can possibly deny you. It really resides in you. Your job may quit you. You can't quit yourself. Your love one may one day dessert you. You will wish him/her well. But you won't dessert yourself. Your life may be over. But until then, it is yours to decide. Be adventurous in this quest, and walk as if in every footprint you leave behind you're opening giant roads for those following closely behind.

Confidence is a choice. We may focus on things going astray, and we may have a knack for things proving us wrong, but if you turn your head you'll see that there is no wrong or right. We all live under different skies. Suppose you're guy and there's a girl I know whom you're dying to meet. You want to know if she likes you. Suppose then that I find out she really does. That she has confided in me such secret. But I warn you: Don't go there overconfidently because then she'll know I told you so. How will you handle the situation? You'll be, I'm willing to bet, far more relaxed, just not obnoxious. Well, confidence is handling that situation exactly like that: acting from the perspective of someone who knows that he's in for a win-win situation. In life, as in love, confidence is just that: taking action, and doing so with certainty.
I never refer to a girl as being conceited, if she shows off such behavior. I say, she's insecure. And men who are drawn to such types, I believe, are insure in turn. Why pursue a mirage? We naturally attract those souls more akin to ours. We attract what we are. If you're into misery, then misery you shall have. And not that you're going to give in easily, nothing easily acquired is worth your while. The way I see it, a woman may be difficult, just not impossible. But the more sure she is of herself, the more she'll move on towards those more rewarding prospects. She knows if she plays too hard to get, she may lose more than she's willing to bargain for. A man of stature, of integrity, doesn't spend too much of his time chasing after miracles. He is a man of action and if there is none to be had, then he moves on.
Look, I know that all of this sounds a bit like bragging. It's not so much that we don't suffer; it's more that we suffer for the right reasons. And if something or someone is worth our time, then the persuit is on. No ego, no selfishness, no gimmicks. Part of what I hate about the whole culture of dating is that it gives the impression that we, as men or women, have to play certain role in order to find a suitable mate. The reality is far from that truth. In essence, it takes a different mindset to deal with money than relationships. We have to depart from the realization that what we need, we already have. Like a muscle, of course, it has to be developed, and in time, you'll harvest the goods. Don't think for a minute is an effortless process. Effortlessness requires putting some hard time into it. Remember the first time you put yourself behind the wheel with the intention of learning how to drive? Now you do so, and is on auto-pilot, something you do without having to think about it. In some subconscious level, you look at the road ahead, watch for the traffic, have in mind a destination, and even are bound to get pissed off at someone cutting you off. But in reality, it is a process that no longer fills you with that initial anxiety. No need to think "I'm driving now" while you're, well, driving.
Just enjoy the ride and remember: there's no destination in life, just the journey.

THREE TYPES OF PERSONALITY

When it comes to confidence, of course, we can't categorize a whole gama of people under three simplistic labels. Human beings are far too complex, and this is just for the purpose of illustration.

The Overconfident Or Arrogant Type

Of course, if the shoe fits, go ahead... wear it. I think that out of the three types, the one more hidden under denial is the one in question. Well, if you'd like me to spell it out for you, I'll describe you. Whenever you engage in any type of abusive behavior, like demeaning those around, talking louder or walking taller than the rest... When you think that the only way to get ahead is by stepping on top of those weaker than you. You know when you're dealing with a "passive aggressive" and therefore you only mess with this type until the aggressive part doesn't come out. You probably had your brush with the assertive type, and perhaps it seem like a step above the weak kind, but still weak. So you mistakenly messed with this assertive type just to see what he or she is really made of. And this this was really assertiveness all in and out, he or she may have put you in your well desserved place. Look, you will never be confident enough because deep down inside you still hold the backwards notion that the world is flat and that the universe revolves around it. Overconfidence doesn't equate cockiness, and when you add a humorous twist then it no longer reeks of arrogance. Sure, be proud of who you are but really, when was the last time you abandoned your ego and stepped down to a human level and see just how much suffering you are causing in this already tortured land we call earth. In men, it is known as bravado or bulliness; in women, as complete bitchiness. Why don't you just drop dead and die!


The Passive Aggressive

I feel for you guys and by guys, I include girls, too. But in girls, a small percentage of passive-aggressiveness is okay, even incredibly sexy, really. No one, especially men, expect you to go and start a fight. Actually, femenism, as I understand it, has some traits of passive aggressiveness. In other words, women are allowed to display passiveness and to show some aggressiveness, if her ground is tested. For guys, however, it is unexcusable. You, as a man, are supposed to stand your ground boy. How do you know you're passive aggressive? Well, someone messes with you and instead of confidently, that is calmly but firmly, calling them on their shit, you get up in arms ready to fight. To you is either fight or let it slide. There's no honor, and that is spineless.


The Asesertive Type

Ah, Alas, at last... My idol, my hero, you've seen it in very few places but instantly you recognize it. The one who stands for something loyal, something noble, something of essence and ethical. And yet, it may be mischevious, slightly machiavelic, even perverse. This man owns the world and keeps it in balance. It encourages the weak and stands up against the evil, fighting it with the same mean cruel tools. It is the good man multiplied by a thousand. It is a creature who is never at ease unless it attains the next level and while it is on a rise constantly, it is yet levelled, centered, within reach if only for a while. Okay, I may poetizicing it a bit, but I agree with Voltaire when two men stood in front of the king to plea for a single boy. One man said, "I'll teach him science, the math and politics, and the meaning of life" and the latter said, "I will teach him what is to be a good man." The latter won the wise king over. Kudos.
Assertive women, of course, aren't rare in this modern age. Rare only if they happen to be young and beautiful, sadly admitting these traits of youth and beauty are just as essential. She's the goddess, she may still have a bitch inside but only as a time-management tool, that is, to keep idiots away.
She is empathetic, ambitious, tremendously kind and purely feminine. Where are you? Why are you hiding from me? You know you can only run...

Is The Biblical God For Real?

Is the biblical God for real?

Adam and Eve were deliberately put in the Garden to sin. What I find more astounding about the whole paradisiacal ordeal is Adam's unmanly display of cowardliness once he's confronted by the hypothetical God and defends himself by claiming: "It was the woman you gave me who made me do it." Eve, in effect, is the one who induces her partner to sin. How unnatural, since if anything, culturally, are men who are the aggressors, and no other way around it. At least, that's the way I see it. And I may be wrong, but though as it may be, I don't see Eve as a complete slut. (I am well aware of the Madonna/Whore Complex). And I'm sure the Sacred Scriptures want to depict her as the one who doomed humanity. Not a whole lot of gender equality can be expected from a doctrine that at the height of its hierarchy, like in the Matrix, a trilogy that begins with The Father, it follows with The Son and, as if things weren't already confusing enough, borders in madness with a final Holy Spirit. Are we to expect then that this Hollow Spirit is a methaporic analogy of the female anatomy?
Eve's role as the perpetrator, her descending from of Adam's ribs, the harshness of the punishment she is to suffer as a consequence of her actions reflect the mysogynistic nature of this most revered text. The Bible stems from the barbaric Bronze Era, and no special treatment towards women may not be all that alarming, after all. The Catholic Church has as its highest representative on earth the Pope, and no woman has ever been considered a prospect for such job. Down the food chain, you find the local priest, whom devoted faithful confess to, and even this most insignificant position has ever been held by a woman in the entire history of this faith. Nonetheless, The Bible chronicles the lives of quite a few outstanding women figures, among which, my favorite, Dalilah, the one who brought about Hercules' downfall. Mary, Jesus' mother, appears as the most significant woman in the New Testament. And just in case you didn't know all of the intricate details, I'll quickly run you through them: Mary receives the news from an angel that she's expecting a child. At least, that's what she tells her furious husband Joseph who doesn't swallow it until, in a dream, he's told of his wife's truthfulness. According to the Old Testament, in case you didn't know, adultery is a crime punishable by death. And so, you see, call me heretic as it may be the case, but it seems to me that she was fooling around.
In principle, Christianity (Jesus was, by the way, born and raised Jewish and he may not have intended to depart from it in the way Christians have, in fact I think he'd be quite appalled as to what has been done by his followers) sprang off from Judaism. Its historical turning point did not occur with Jesus' cruxifiction. It began with the emperor Constantine who introduced christianity as the main religion of the empire after the Christians helped him solidify power of the throne. This emperor, like many crazy others that preceded and followed, was a horrible tyrant who killed his brother, wanted to marry his sister and decided to build churches in the name of his new-found faith when his mother prompted him to do so. If I'm not mistaken, he killed her too. With the introduction of Christianity as the main religion of the empire, what was left of the Roman deities fused with the new theological kid on the block and formed what we come to know as Catholicism. Christian Rome went without a bath for centuries to come, and not that many Europeans today have managed to escape such legacy. Before Christianity, The Roman Empire lived up to its pagan ancestry, it was truly a lust fest, with their idolatry of fertile gods, frugal goddesses, that celebrated life fully. We have inherited both the lustful appetite of Rome before Christianity and the bad stomach that came after it. In the mind and body struggle, we're spiritually bulimic: we enjoy having our cake but are consumed by guilt and remorse after it.
For all I care, humanity had been doomed way before eating from the forbidden fruit. Of course, it is only a metaphor, and a fair one. The Bible is just one more adapted version of many other sacred texts dating back two milleniums before Christ; many passages have been altered, entire chapters taken out... good stuff, like Salomon's Song were extracted. For all its translations and theological interpretations, a book as ancient as the Bible, it surely preserved some of its infamous essence.
Let us now turn back to the Book of Genesis. There is the forbidden fruit, of which Adam and Eve are, under no circumstances, to eat from. That is what made it so good, isn't it? I mean, didn't God know from the get go, in his all omnipotence, that that would be such the case. If He didn't, He couldn't have been the Almighty.
That which is forbidden seems to be so overwhelmingly appealing.
In life, we find that "forbidden fruit" all around. What can we say, then? It would have been far more interesting if Adam tried and failed to convince his female partner to eat from the forbidden tree. And maybe have her ratting him out to God. Maybe have Adam cook the devilish snake, and feed it unknowingly to Eve, just for entertainment purposes. I could have twisted the fable in so many unexpected ways. Except I'm not into fairies. I'm not into drama either, except, of course, for when Cain kills his brother. I can sympathize with that. Killing your competition, now that is a noble cause. How God comes after things have taken place, and applies the required punishment, is a little like when in the movies the cops always show up when everything has already happened. A devoted Christian at work dared ask me: "What are you going to do when you stand in front of God in Judgment Day?"
"I'm gonna whip it out" I told him. Shocked as he seemed, I further articulated: "In fact, I'm going to shake it and say, 'You gave me this, and expect me not to use it?" Of course, it was all for humorous purposes and even this most devoted creature, reading into my body language and tonality, couldn't help but to laugh as I graphically rehearsed the potential scenario.
I bought The God Delusion book, and I was bored to tears, thinking to myself, How can a scientist spend his time trying to convince people of the silliness of religious belief? There ought to be better things to devote such great mind to."
Existentialism poses a valid argument. What if, if only for a moment, we could conceive the notion that this life of ours is all that there really is? What if such was the case? If we only had this life to make meaningful, this and nothing else? Well, better yet: Why bother with another life if we can hardly do with this one? I do believe that the most interesting people are going to hell, if such hypothetical place were to, well, pardon the redundancy, to take place.
Is there such a thing as a God? Well, undoubtedly, we will never know. One of the things I do not agree with the author of The God Delusion is that agnostics are spineless creatures. That we stand for nothing, really. The argument Mr. Dawkins (who you may remember from his far superior classic, The Selfish Gene) makes is, agnostics don't want to take a stance. No, I don't think that's the case. Wholeheartedly, I think agnostics are simply not into making shit up. They simply don't say what is and what isn't. Although I am 100 percent with him in that the Bible is nothing more than gibberish, and, quite honestly, it doesn't even make for a good fable. If there is a "God", with capital G, it has no desire to concern himself with lower beings, like humans, and certainly can't and won't, I mean it seriously now, take personally our actions. It would be the equivalent of us worrying about roaches' mean-spirited nature. Look, some crazy shit has been perpetuated throughout history in the name of this hypothetical God: the Inquisition, the Christian Crusades, to mention just a few. We've fought wars and presently still launch unto much unnecessary drama over theocratic territory. Religion, if you must know, was devised to exert control over the unruly masses. And some good has come from it. That hard-core Christian co-worker is a recovered addict with a criminal past, and nowadays he is one of the most benevolent creatures of creation. I may point out to him that his addictive personality had to swing from one extreme (drugs, crime, etc) to the religious junkie he is nowadays, but I do so in a humble light: "Hey, man, now you're high on Jesus." That is a high anyone can substain. And the man has done missionary work even in South America through his church.

If there were such a thing as a God, in the biblical nonsensical terms, I think that He would be atheist or, at the very least, agnostic. Look at nonreligious nations, like Japan, where crime is close to nonexistent, at least in comparison to God-fearing nations like ours. Prayers have no scientific value, as many useless studies have found. Yet meditation, sprang out of well-thought out ideologies like Buddhism, do have a superb impact on our well-being.
A philosophy that dwells in personal misery, that thrives in penance and guilt, can't be of no good precedence except in the wicked imagination of a feeble mind. One ought to be intellectually blind not to see that.
It is, in other words, considered "cheap labor." Imagine, for the time being, that I am your boss. And I demand of you great service. A week passes by, a month, then a year, and then you come asking me how will I repay your services. And I say to you: "I'll pay you for all of your devoted actions in your next life, when you die, you shall receive the fruits of your labor." What would you say to me? I know: "Go fuck yourself! I want to get paid now!" Then why, I ask, would you subject yourself to such a silly doctrine, if not out of fear. Yes, the mechanism of fear… it's far more complex than you think. Sadly, many people go through life without ever questioning their core beliefs. And then they wonder why is it that life is so "unfair" to them, why is it that they can't "find" happiness. Let me let you in on a little secret: happiness isn't something you stumble upon. It is something you first and most importantly conceive and then you work hard day in and out for. And more likely than not, there is no cozy reception awaiting you in the end. It's just not that way.
In reading Juan Rulfo's exemplary tale, Pedro Paramo, you'll find two corpses engaged in a lively conversation about the afterlife. A woman laments how a priest had told her that she would not see Heaven because of her sinful life. And, in retrospect, she naively complains, "Although I don't think that priest did me a favor in telling me so because if I put up with so much in life is, well, because I thought that in the end I was going to be taken to another place. And to think that I could've done so much more worse, and all of the opportunity now has passed me by."
The argument has been made that the most interesting people are to be found in Hell. There should be variations, degrees of Hell, if you ask me. For one thing is evil as Hitler or Stalin, or Osama Bin Laden for that matter. And a very different breed of evil is, say, nonreligious types the likes of Galileo,Voltaire or, why not?, Mr. Dawkins himself.
Heaven might have something going for, and that, I think, is its under population. Now there's something I'm all arms-and-fists up about.

Threesomes

From experience, I'll say, the most amazing sexual encounters took place between me and a woman. The rest has been out of vanity, and having served my ego plenty, I know that there is nothing quite like being immersed with the one you most desire and satiating the sexual appetite until there is nothing left other than two exhausted, replenished, frugal bodies laying on bed. Not next to one another, as if they weren't partners in crimes but two alienated entities, her legs and arms, breath and heartbeat still lingering and clinging on top of me.The two of us drunk on our own juices, Siamese intertwined beings, the rough perfume of sweat still dripping like a river of steam through the unified temple of our flesh and bones, burning coals drops of sweat simmering down the spines and throats of a single satisfied beast. Like the good lover knows it is not just what happens during sex but what comes before that creates that perfect alchemy of chemistry, the great lover understands that it too is what follows the act, what comes after the two of you have come. Need I say more?
Building tension between you and your woman, leading her like the skilled mature lover you are through the intricate paths of lust will demand a great deal of energy and patience: easing her anxiety, quieting all of her doubts, unleashing the sensual goddess in her, teasing, caressing, pressing, rupturing, possessing her all senses in and out… is an unmatched sensation. Take your time to discover her, to love every orifice, cherish each other's gifts, let her retreat and surrender, bring her back from the brink of ecstacy in order to evelate her higher still and then from the highest mountain top fall... Nothing quite compares to it.
A man attesting to the contrary would be too involved with his own ego and, therefore, not much of a great lover. He may still make his woman come, but it would all have to do with his narcissistic nature. Women enjoy sex more than men because, well, having so many males at their fingertips to dip in, they get the luxury of quality over quantity. And even then, they may choose a poor lover that initially seemed like a good fuck prospect. Looks are deceiving, and even with their enormous intuition (the equivalent of a sixth sense multiplied by a thousand) no woman can escape the sad spectacle of a bad laid. The signals of a mature male lover are, among others, courage (to move forward), strength (to back it up), rapport, eloquence (with a quiet disposition), the nonchalant attitude, a dominant stance, impeccable presence, assertiveness (not blown to the deplorable state of arrogance), generosity and, if lucky, intelligence too is thrown in the mix. And these, just to mention a few. A man needs to be in complete harmony with himself to know exactly what he wants and have the courage (mental strength) to set about finding it. Except he can't make his woman the center of his universe. That is too much a burden for any woman, because, if anything, above all, a woman needs to feel safe and protected by her man. Therefore, she'll crave like a drug his uncompromised independence and guidence.
The thing is, even when all of these traits are present, several things can go awkwardly array.
Men, on the other hand, demand little in return. Shape, youth and beauty, the latter being more imperative. A man would have sex on the spot once the object of his desire looms in the horizon, and not that women lack this ability all together but the fact still remains that she'd rather study her prey closely. Men, bathed by the male hormone testosterone, which is to blame to desire and lusty feelings, are somewhat powerless whenever in presence of one of these idyllic creatures. They seek domination, power, and to them is all about acquisition and getting things done; women, in turn, seek connection and understanding (who can't understand them anyway?).
Reckless as I've been, I won't deny my past failures in the love-making arena. It is a gladiatorial feat; love is the sole property of a courageous breed. No one is born a natural great lover. It takes time, grooming, and the evolution, well... it never stops. I was never a bad lover, but mediocrity is precisely that: not being good enough. It killed me to hear a sincere heart confess, "It was good." No, I didn't want "good", I wanted "mind-blowing, the best laid I ever had" kind of good and anything less would be, quite frankly, beneath me.
And so it seemed that, even when I had something like technique going, there was something else lacking. It is not easy to untangle yourself from your selfish nature, and pleasing a woman takes the courage to seeing her uniqueness, detecting in the signals she exhibits her truest desires. Her needs as a woman are to be scrutinized, and exploring the realms of her sensuality, ramifications of her soul, takes a skilled eye, a watchful and patient process. When you develop the eye to see the horizon unraveling in front of you, there's no need for new terrain to be explored. You will have all the time in the world, or make it, to explore, conquer and deliver the goods. And so, in having pleased a woman, you will see that now you're ready to launch unto the next big bang. The only difference between rape and ravishing her is, well, that the latter is consensual. She's given you herself, willingly wide and open, for you to unleash your creativity and instill some fun.
Moving on now, the difference between pleasuring a woman and having your way with two, or three, why not?, of them, is that is twice the work. You see, the misconception about threesome is that men generally believe that is about pleasing themselves. No, no, no…
When it comes to threesomes, first and foremost, the needs of those involved are your sole property and responsibility. You, as the dominant figure, as the one in charge, have no choice but to see that the rules are established well before the act takes place. Am I making sense? See, there are men who put their needs before others, and luckily these perverted, twisted souls will never ever experience such degree of pleasure. Just like building tension between you and your woman is necessary when attraction is to be ignited, in threesomes the most essential element is comfort building. The more, in questions of the sensual heart, is not necessarily the merrier. The more in this plateau equates high levels of anxiety, it already has plenty of tension involved, and so comfort is of utmost urgency. Of course, even before you get here, you have to realize that not all women have the proclivity to such sense of adventure. No matter how good a communicator you are, chances are that threesomes do not occur spontaneously. And though I don't rule out that possibility, chances, too, are that it is an act, moreover a performance, that has to be thought out and executed with impunity. It is, therefore, not so much fun as it is hard work, really. That is why, a threesome may require sometimes more than one session. And it may sometimes not happen. And that is okay.
How open and willing a woman is solely depends on your communication. That is where your "communicator" kicks in. Best if you're not "romantically" attached to any of the parties involved. It often happens that long-time couples, in the hopes of spicing up their lethargic relationship, inexpertly venture into the threesome scene to atrocious consequences. Far from enjoying this prodigious event, the experience may actually be grounds for dismissal and the relationship comes to an abrupt end. Consider yourself warned.
Proceeding with caution, I'll juxtapose that a strong relationship can only be enhanced by this very experience. In this case, of course, the dynamic shifts: the third party, preferably a female (I've only engaged twice in a two-males one female scenario, and in one of these cases, it wasn't so pleasant for the other guy, since not only it was a friend of mine but the girl was, bragging as I may sound, more into me than him; it wasn't good because the girl only acceded just because of having her way with me and it almost cost me a friendship which I value far more than any sexual encounter. The other time was pure success, and only because the other guy was a highly skilled lover and the girl involved, I can say with impunitty, probably had such good time that I doubt a day has passed by in her life that she doesn't reminisce on the things that took place that glorious afternoon), that is, two-extremely feminine females one-alpha male… well, in this case, the third woman, the invited party, has to be more like an spectator and play the passive witness. She's there more like a backup, a supportive hand. She pushes, she may make out with you, but there's rarely any penetration between you and her. It may be a girl you've only met once, not her best friend (again, your woman will probably want to keep her best girlfriend away, if she values the relationship). Aside from that, I'll say that the times I've engaged in threesomes had me as the one who orchestrated the whole ordeal between me and two women, one of which was undoubtedly closer to me than the other. And since I know you want the very crude details, I won't say much about that. I won't implicate anyone, won't raise a single brow of suspicion, I'll just keep what happened there as I've always have had with any precious encounter of this or any other kind: strictly sealed under layers and layers of discretion, privacy and confidentiality. My reputation for kissing-and-not-telling has been well stablished.
I'll say this much, though: treat them with respect before and after the encounter. Don't rush it. Have candle light, some sexy videos playing mute, great mood music; the atmosphere has to exhale relaxed tones, and you must pay superb attention to detail, don't derail from one party too much, dance with one another, and have more than enough to drink and smoke. Champagne still sitting on a rock of ice, stains of spilled wine, cigars, light aromatic incense. Care for some? No sex required.
Until the next adventure, I'll now throw the curtain down. After all, this is a private sanctuary.

Price For Independence

The Price of Independence

My lover's gone. And she took the kid. Home alone was supposed to be like going back to a place I yearn for, a gift to myself that superposed any narcissistic deed, any unconquered egotistical terrain.
Old lovers are, to use Gabriel García Márquez's words, good to the touch and comfortable like old slippers. What a crude analogy, that old fuck great writer sure is right, though. Except you can't help but to look at other shiner, brand new shoes, staring at you from behind the glass on the store of life. They may not be as comfortable, you may try to see yourself fit in them, walk the morning earth, party and then return them in exchange for your old comfy slippers. That I love her, no doubt. I shall say more, yes... I'm mournful, like someone who loses something sacred, a limb or the false identity a long-term job may offer. It's hard work, of course. Monogamy, that is. Yes, I am faithful to the full extent of word. I value it great.
I'll let you in on a little secret: it wasn't always this way. I learnt the hard way. I already mentioned the hard work part, didn't I? And that's just it. In principle, good things in life generally require some work. To build a great body, to quit smoking cigarettes, to embark on a project, unlike what some self-improvement gurus say, isn't effortless, it demands initially a great deal out of us: to redirect our sense of direction, focus, a shift in our perception. Afterwards, it comes with ease, once the eye to see things in a different light is developed, effortlessness kicks in. Suddenly, and with enormous amazement, you find there really isn't anything that you can't do. First and foremost, it's an act of abandonment. You need to rid yourself of the inner dialogue you're currently engaged in, contemplate the alternate possibility as something feasible, in lack for a better word, even tangible. You can touch it, feel it, smell it... We all possess this quality. It just hasn't been exercised enough, and like a muscle, in time, it can only be strengthened by your diligence. Am I making sense yet?
As a man, I saw only one thing: ass, legs, hair. And not that I escaped this most pittiful state altogether, I still admire form, aesthetics, beauty, in essence. Except, I'm no longer a sucker for it. What I value nowadays is a far more precious flower, like the lotus, a rare breed, something you can't help but marvel at. Not out of neediness, of course, quite the opposite. Men are guilty of one sin: wanting it too much, too often, and like the perfect drug, they can't have enough. Studies have found that the most ancient part of the brain, the one that deals with the utmost essential drives, in the reward mechanism cerebral sphere, a place no bigger than a nut, that pulsates like a maniac tiny heart, where the most astounding chemicals are created... that part which ignites with the promise of a drug and delivers with the use of such drug, that is the same part of the brain desire for women stems from. In evolutionary terms, it makes no sense to have a single sexually faithful male because, well, the possibility of such man reproducing would be greatly diminished, his chances to replicate himself close to nonexistent. In nature, as I have mentioned many times before, there are very few species that are truly monogamous. Nature favors diversity in all its forms, and when I mean nature, I'm referring to females. If we are hypothetically out there, cheating on our partners, just who do you think we are doing so with if not other women? Of course, you may argue, men could be with other men too, but I bet that is not what worries the average female when her man steps out on his own. And this too makes evolutionary sense, since two men can't reproduce, right? Men release in a single ejaculative load enough sperm cells to fertilize half a continent. It is amazing they are not literally out there jumping the bones out of any woman they may come across with. For one, and I'm speaking to myself now, just like desiring them, we feel the urge to defecate. Except we don't do so in our pants as soon as the urge to do so manifests itself. It is the same with desire: we dwell in it, as if it really were a matter of life or death if a woman wanted us back in return. Why, I ask, is it that men, just as soon as they see a cute little thing, they're not only ready to betray their loved one, but also betray anything they may stand for. They see a nice ass, a great pair of boobs (pardon my French), and that is enough for them to go chasing mirages, to ignore more common ground: You may find her ass the most appealing to your animalistic nature, and in order to get it, you sacrifice far more significant traits. Sure, she has a nice ass but how about that "tongue", haven't you taken that into account? I mean, you may get to bang that ass from time to time, and as time passes by, may even get less play in the field, but you have to live with that foul mouth day in and out. No ass is worth that!
Silence. I'm not done yet.
It takes me time, not for nothing I've mastered the art of delaying the orgasm in order to maximize the experience. Good things take effort, time, so patience my pet.
I do wholeheartedly believe that monogamy makes sense in more than one way. It is at the very core of the problem: men simply want so much that they really have a hard time finding themselves and coming to this simple realization: it is about quality. Sure, it is hard not to stray. But when you really think about it, why would you? When you have the best possible partner, that is, it makes total sense. And I'm all about making sense, aren't I? Besides, for such a woman, finding such prospect is, well, extremely difficult, to say the least. Hey, guys, listen closely: women pick up on your shit long before you open your mouth and I can say with impunity that among the things they pick up from a man like me is, this guy is not needy. How dare he not want me, I demand to know! I imagine them subconsciously saying to themselves.
Best, and I'm going on a limb here, to connect with them and be truthful, for a change. What a man wants, he can find around the corner: a beautiful woman comes in a bunch. All you need to do is, stick your head out and you'll find one. However, a man who stands for something, a man of principles in principle, well, that is a rare treat. She knows in her heart of hearts that that is something she can't mess with. And so they come sit next to me in the train, complete strangers have fallen asleep on my shoulders, follow in my footsteps as if I was the last Diet Coke can in the dessert. And, honestly, I'm not. I'm a far cry from it. Yeah, sure, I stand six feet tall, am fairly handsome, intimidating looking, fun as hell, and so self-assured it'd make Superman crap on his pants. But that is no reason, no comparison to what I have experienced. But the truth of the matter is, there are guys out there, taller, smoother, better looking than me. And if you haven't noticed yet, the difference is, no matter how much and for how long you want to debate this, given the written evidence, I'm not as self-centered, ego-based, as you'd like to believe. If you insist on the contrary, you simply haven't come across one the likes of me. And chances are, you won't in a lifetime.Where has the element of sweetness gone? I mean, what happened friendship first? Isn't that the cornerstone of our evil civilization? Well, no. Just like when we were kids, many of us had imaginary friends, as adults we have imaginary enemies. Everyone has their own agenda, we all live under different skies. My exceptional being is no exception either.
The twist is, the woman I speak of is not here. She wasn't here even when my lover was lying next to me. No, I haven't found her. She's not the person I've been with for the last ten years. And I find myself in a very strange and yet wonderful position. This place I'm coming from has me completely abandoned and cheers, I salute this solitude (not loneliness), I embrace it, I feel invigorated by it. Yet, inequivocably, I do miss her and, more than anything or anyone in the world, I miss my kid. It is a sacrifice unlike any I've faced before, but I will not compromise my terms. It has been my choice.
The day that my son babbled, "Da, da", I thought to myself: atheist as I may be, if there is no God, there has to be Something quite like it. And to that God, I pray.
Every sleepless night, I dare dream.

A rare turn Of Events

Sunday, May 25, 2008

I was supposed to be at Suba , and the fact that I'm not should reflect irresponsibility on my behalf. I'm in no mood to explain myself; it is, I believe, a useless task. Instead, I'll tell you the course of events that led me to not being there at Suba right now. When I say something, I usually mean it, and yet it was my choice not to go because, quite honestly, I was simply exhausted from having a wonderful afternoon. Century Twenty One, South Street Sea Port, Lexington and 59th street, Starbucks, tacos, cigarettes, and all the while dragging my soul in those cowboy boots I've been wearing for two days in a row. Actually, it wasn't just a lovely evening, it started the night before. I have slept only four hours in the last two days, and that isn't something as unusual to me anyway. I could have pushed it, in fact, I may get up from this bed and still venture into the night still. And I know it will be fun. Last night wasn't, and so I decided to appear forty-five minutes late to a date with a girl friend of mine. Thought I could have counted on her elusive nature to bail out but this girl called me and demanded to know where was I when I had already decided not to meet her. You were supposed to call me before, that was the idea. Now you wait. I used an austere tone, like a father-figure repremending a child. Up until that point, I had felt sluggish, luckily I had jumped in the shower, shaved, minimum amount of maintance. I didn't work out since I was still sore from the night out. So, I put the same jeans, and left. I had to pick a culprit and so I rushed to 59th and Lexington to meet her. I got there under forty five minutes. And I had in mind to get rid of the blue jeans I had on. I mean, these were the culprit: nothing felt quite as good as to stop, disengage from myself and clearly see that the only thing that wasn't as new and fashionable about me since the night before were those horrible outlived pair of jeans. They had killed my interactions the night before with the most gorgeous girl at this awesome lounge in the Bronx, Montecarlo. The girl was with three other gorgeous friends and I was surrounded by a sea of females in a slow Friday night. The one in question was literally dancing pressed against my back, as I nonchalantly sipped my drink. At one point, I walked up to her, stare into her eyes with a smile on my face and grabbed her hand. "Feel this" I told her, as I placed her hand on my bald scalp. Then I took her curls and said, "What can I do to have hair like you?" She was all smiles and her friends engulfed me. I was in. Suddenly, though, and for no reason, I retreated and abruptly left the scene of the crime. The girl stood there with a dumb fold look in her eyes. It wasn't my intention to cause her unease, and minutes later she and her friends left the club. All along, I had felt that my jeans were brand name, but old. And that they did not compare to my great pair of boots from Aldo, the priciest and most fashionable you can possibly imagine. And my shirt, flawless. All up until the moment I met Adeline on Lexington, I had not become aware of it. She noticed it on the spot. She was a bit unsettled, not saying much, and I couldn't find my ease. Suddenly, it dawned on me: I need to step out of this state of mind. And I found my culprit. The idea was to go to Century, since Adeline had never been there and had asked me to take her there almost a week ago, and then from there part ways. But I had an epiphany: I decided to buy me a good pair of jeans. And to top things off, a cowboy hat. Afterwards, I felt my mood change dramatically. And Adeline picked on it. We went for Starbucks, and sat outside. As we smoked a cigarette, I decided to change jeans right there in the middle of the street, about a block away from the former World Trade Center site. And I did, and Adeline was dying with laughter. "Oh, my God" she said. Sure, I guess you could blame God. But it was really those awful jeans. As soon as I took them off, I felt liberated. Of course, I wasn't naked and moments later, as if I were, Adeline started to show the signals of extreme arousal in a woman: she began to cling on to every word, match every one of my movements, laugh hysterically, touch me, pull me, push me, punch me, trip me, and not let me out of her sight. Her eyes began to burn way too much for a girl whom I considered since sometime a "buddy", and I was blunt, if I remember correctly, after two or three dates, when I told her she still had feelings for her ex-husband. She tried to tag me with the same stain of guilt, but I blew her off: "We men don't have cozy feelings" I told her. In Century, I busted her chaps still some more: "You lied to me! You said we were going to Disney World." People looked around, and laughed, others were somewhat taken aback. Somehow, she started trashing men, in general, as if I was outside the whole spectrum altogether. And so, I notice what I've said before to her, that attraction happens naturally and without having to push it, even among friends, especially among friends. I didn't say a word, and not that I was contemplating one thing and performing another except at the moment I was so caught up in the process that it is until now, as I write this sentence, that I have become aware of what was taking place. See, just because you kiss and hold hands doesn't mean that you have to do the same the next time around. Things have to naturally lead there, or else forcing it is what kills attraction and sets in routine. Lovers should never greet with kisses in the mouth unless that is how they feel about each other from the get-go; that way, the feeling is always as great as the first kiss. It has to lead there, and sometimes, due to stress or other elements weighing in, that is not the case. Of course, among those elements, the most common one is tension which arises from the feeling that two people who have kissed are not following the boring norm of kissing over and over again. We were making fun of such people that we came across. And sure enough, unexpectedly, it happened for us, naturally of course. And so, as we made our way to the subway to go back home, we decided to look for a place to eat. That's how we ended in South Street Sea Port and stayed roaming around, after we ate, sat out unto the starless night staring into the ocean, the city, the anchored ships, the joyous crowds. I had by then thrown out the jeans. Right before I stepped in the wooden territory where South Street begins for me, I placed them in a garbage can and never looked back. In my Myspace invitation (I used the Bulletin Format, I don't you, do you have a better idea?), it read that those who were not coming to the party I was co-throwing were not to be missed. Ironically, I will be the one who won't be missed, as I love to refer to those absent from sight. I'm not playing with words. When you miss someone, I think, you are actually missing moments shared with them when they were present, their being there at a time or another, and the fact that they no longer are. It occurred to me, then, another way of looking at it is, Whenever we are having a blast, whenever we are having fun and rejoicing in the presence of those that matter, we're setting ourselves up for potential misery. In other words, we're actually "missing" people right there. Does that make sense to you? You're out with friends, or having a great Kodak Moment, as I like to refer, with family, and then it strikes you: this moment is irreplaceable, and for the very experience of it you may later on miss people. Isn't that a tragic sentence you're irremediably condemning yourself for? It tells, really, of yet one more way in which we "love" to needlessly submit to personal torture. And so, as a rule of thumb, miss friends only when you're with them. Otherwise, continue to enjoy each superb, irreplaceable instance. It isn't just that moment that is irreplaceable. It is every living moment. And we should never find ourselves in the silly and torturous position of missing others or longing for a time long gone; we should always know that the possibility to create such moments lies within our grasp. Just pick up the phone, stir the waters, send some emails. Don't be passive about life. It isn't there for you to contemplate; it is there for the grabbing. And it's not a contradiction from having said before that I missed my ex and my kid. Not that I'm immune to such bouts of melancholy, but even there and then, in those rare occasions when I step outside the norm, I truly experience myself. In that moment, missing my kid and my ex, are really news to me. And that has already been experienced, and I'm a brand new man. That, experiencing things differently, taking a different route, doing something new, in my book, ranks higher than any sense of responsibility. I am responsibly irresponsible. And so now I'm out to enjoy my night in.

The Girl Next Door

Not long ago, a young cute single girl mother of one moved in next door. Her window looks into my apartment living room, and I had no idea she existed until recently, about a few months back. She'd keep her curtains on, not a shadow to be detected from her ghostly place. And that was fine with me because at least that way I didn't have to deal with anyone blasting the stereo in the wee hours of morning. More than noisy parties and the wild outdoors, I seek silence and harmony, and both reigned supreme once this unknown of girl moved in. Don't get me wrong, I love music, I'm with the mad philosophy Nietzsche when he said that a world without music would have been a terrible mistake. Not a day in my life has passed that I've not played my tunes, as far back as I can remember music has truly been its etymological symbol: a muse. But my idea of enjoying it has nothing, if anything, to do with waking the neighbors up, and if I must indulge in the sporadic temptation of blasting the 1,000 watts off my Panasonic Surround Sound System, it has been at a proper and for a limited spam of time. Case closed.
The thing was, as I once was entering my tiny sanctuary, when I felt eyes burning on my back. It was the girl who had recently moved next door as she made it to her own place. I sort of glanced over my shoulder, just to make sure I stood tall in the face of danger, but there was none to be had since I saw it was a girl, accompanied by a little girl. I kind of saw the little one, since I could on the spot determine the woman behind such prodigious cute little thing. I remember thinking to myself, If things go well, one day my baby boy will enjoy this sight from a more personal space. I laughed at the idea, without even raising my eyes to her mother, whom I imagined to be quite something. I proceeded with my business, not one to stay for long at any given feminine venture, and made my way in the door. Next thing you know, the window curtains were raised, and the girl living by my side opened up. Little by little, I detected her unraveling before my very eyes. She'd wear nothing more than a pair of panties and a shirt two sizes smaller to show off her tatto right up her butt. Typical girl thing, I thought, and didn't give it a second thought. No, wait. First there was that time when I was entering the building and I saw her coming with her cute little daughter. I held the door for her, since she was just a few steps away, and as I held her open, she stared into my eyes. This is a delicate affair, one I am most familiar with. I didn't give her my usual predatory look with enough cool to melt a rock. I gave her my hurry-and-get-the-door-because-I-need-to-be-on-my-way, one I just invented right there. Okay, the look also said: "You're hot. And so what?" Not much a smiler, I've been told, not much emotion involved, you've seen it before in other guys. Except in them it comes off either sketchy or too brazed, mine is unique in the sense that is, well, sincere. It has three elements: serenity, curiosity, and something close to a well-guarded mystery. And if you look long enough, you may detect a trace of teenage rebelion, toppled with evolved masculitiny, and a thing or two about I see you, I really, really see you. And all this took just a fraction of a second, maybe two. She flashed a smile that read: "Hey, it's okay, I know deep down inside you want me like every other man that has come before you has." So, I kept it real: either you grab this door, so I can be on my way, or you're out, it was my look back. And so she did, rushed, still her eyes lingering, and when a girl gives you more than a nanosecond of play into her mirrored soul, it's on. I smiled, as if to say, "Don't take things too literally." As in, "Hey, that was arrogant of me but isn't cool to jerk things around?" Then I kept to myself, as I most usually do, and it was as if the world had turned on her. I didn't rush; I got the mail, and allow her to go up the stairs.
And it was.
She'd be sitting on her computer, just like she is right now, and I'd be sitting giving my back to the window like I am right now on mine. She'd still wear close to little, relaxed, composed, finally here was a man not drooling over the goods and yet, still a man. From her window to mine, my curiosity grew, and I'd just glance over my shoulder the angel standing there. "See, it's okay" I'd feel throughout my body and it'd emanate through the window and make it all the way to her place. Women, I envy this ability you possess very few men know of: the ability to read like an open book any gesture, any sudden shift of movement, the brief slight of hand, and so the alternative is to be completely comfortable with who you are. Isn't that what a man does best or should anyway? See your powers, acknowledge them, and simply move on. And if you're adventurous enough just follow, and let him lead the way. My stepson warned me: she has a boyfriend. That doesn't mean shit, I told him, and I warned him about the Madonna/Whore Complex, of which I will explain at another sitting. Not just a boyfriend, but an ex-husband who usually comes over. Guys, if you want a girl who is not seeing anyone other than you then move to mars on a perfect spaceship which is what I'll do one day with Shari. Of course, Elizabeth picked up on it quick. At one point, my step son's favorite friend, to whom I play mentor and intent to turn around and make invinsible not just with women but life. That's not a metaphor, it's life. Look, apparantly, women are here to stay, they're not going anywhere anytime soon, so you might as well learn to deal with it. The kid had made a mistake, you see. He caught her staring this way, standing on the window, and stupidly pointed out. "Hey, man. There's a woman across from here making gestures." I almost smacked him. Not only he chose the worst possible timing, when Elizabeth was over, but also what business of his was to telegraph his comment with inexperienced boyish charm. I banned him from the apartment for the rest of the afternoon and the girl went into hiding for a few days. Cock-sucker kid, I had to place him in reality and told him the short version: Look, a woman can be jumping up and down on a trampolin that your business is always to simply keep your cool. So, chill, I told him.
To make a long story short, since the night calls for me now, I'll say that a couple of days back her I caught her boy-toy looking over here. The guy is so insecure that instead of looking away, he crept and upped the staring context. I blew smoke and cracked my irresistible seductor smile. He backed down and said something to the girl, whom immediately closed her windows. That is, of course, until he left. And so, I opened mine until he was gone and then when she did open hers, I let the curtain fall. Which is exactly what I'll do right now: give her a little glimpse of me with my brand new cowboy hat, stylish pair of jeans, dreamy boots, spotless pink shirt, and then close it.
Let's leave it at that for now. No need to incriminate her further, in fact I'm cutting out entire passages, like her standing over staring this way, until I caught her eye and then smile before bringing the curtain down long enough to hide her face and well open to see the rest of her body. I got up, like I'm about to do right now, turned off the lights and brought the curtain down.
Until the next adventure, I shall play the part of someone who wants no part in this. Really, I don't. But what choice do I have? When a woman wants you, there is no God, to quote Márquez yet again.