Wrong Place, Wrong Time

The problem with dating men on The Right, and this is new to me, I admit, is that they tend to have more rigid paradigms in terms of behavior expected from women. Thus far, I have failed to make much in the way of inroads given that my behavior, thoughts, and beliefs are not what they expect.

It is too late to attempt to shelter me from any form of reality, and I’m neither accustomed to nor comfortable with much in the way of chivalry beyond, say, picking up the check. However, such an action is not an invitation to ridicule me, or the waitstaff, in my opinion. Rather it is a matter of compensating me for my rapidly diminishing sexual market value, time, and consideration, while I decide whether it would be in my interest to a) continue the relationship; b) intensify it; c) convert it to something else like friends, with-or-without benefits; or d) discard it outright. Contributing to my comfort in any way at least makes that process pleasurable. However, if it is counteracted by contributing to my discomfort except for what is hopefully an escalating erotic tension I would just assume pay for my own drinks and meals, thanks, and amuse myself.

As for any equalists who may have inadvertently stumbled on my blog, I’ll include the advisement that I have already picked up the check, housing, wardrobe, and even startup business expenses in more than my share of romantic relationships already and am currently all tapped out. Neither can I, say, produce any fruit of my loins for purposes of exploitation. I like to think I possess some skills of entertainment such as to make a relationship with me worthwhile, with such skills including life enhancement skills of one sort and another to escalate commensurate with the pace of the relationship.

I even, for the moment that is, have a suitable place to entertain.

I understand that my deep and extensive knowledge of nutrition is not generally appreciated given that conservative men nowadays generally either heed their doctor’s advice or get their nutritional philosophy from professionals. I understand that my knowledge of feminism, and all of the pathology it both stems from and creates is not particularly erotic or romantic fodder. My past relationships are about the only topic most people are interested in anyway, whether credulously or incredulously; however, surely they are more than a little intimidating.

The question I cannot answer however is just how these two men managed to persuade me to surrender my will so completely, particularly given the evident strength of said will.

A man has either got it or doesn’t. I suppose I could train but that wouldn’t likely end up benefiting yours truly. Surely, I cannot be expected to just give away a lifetime of knowledge for the price of a drink, or even for free in a Skype session. A short attention span on his part means that all exchanges are doomed. However, such is what our smartphone culture has made an essential characteristic. Without the ability to filter, how does one navigate the constant assault on one’s attentiveness? For some, it would appear to be by the act of holding forth on his particular field of knowledge as if I am an eager student.

Do I truly look that sheltered or innocent? Apparently so. That’s my youth dew. It’s a mixed blessing.

Once the extent of my damage becomes apparent then it is going to take a lot of persuading to show that I am neither a danger to him or myself or that my “triggers” are not commonplace. Therefore, there is no need to be overly solicitous, just please, there’s no reason to constantly challenge me, as if I were a man or a feminist.

Honestly, I would love to be able to just head right to the sex part, if there’s chemistry, but surely my reticence to just dive in is understandable. Right? Again, I am not a man nor am I a feminist. That doesn’t mean that I’m a prude. We can even talk about sex if he can handle the pressure. Perhaps I can help with that.

Or perhaps the game ought to be who ends up begging for it first. Hint: It had better be me.


One thought on “Wrong Place, Wrong Time

  1. Pingback: Wrong Place, Wrong Time – Manosphere.com

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