At Thanksgiving this year I got roasted… hot young Ms. Slav was the main topic of conversation… even though she wasn’t there and I’ve not seen her in a while, and none of the participants were present for her presence at Thanksgiving two years ago. Word gets around, and a jealous relative brought her up early by saying, “Whatever happened to your girlfriend Ms. Slav anyway?” From there, others took up the theme, and I think extensive snide commentary and questions about her were an attack on my current arrangement, and haters love revenge.
If you f**k with the social order of things, the social order of things will f**k with you back. Women hate seeing older guys with hot young chicks, not just because the older guy is unavailable but because seeing an older guy with a hot young chick will give other guys ideas, which is far worse than the one weird outlier guy who gets the girl every other guy wants. Guys hate seeing older guys with hot young chicks because the other guy is envious. Not all guys… some guys are past bullshit envy and will be genuinely happy for another guy getting one over on society and knobbing a tight young girl… but the majority want to be the hammer pounding the nail that sticks out.
For most guys I think Thanksgiving, yesterday, would’ve been uncomfortable… for me it was a bit annoying to see the social order fighting back, with the representatives of the social order behaving like zombies, not even realizing who or what is pulling their strings… but it is what it is, and I knew that I was pulling a social retard move by bringing Ms. Slav into that part of my life. I should’ve “accidentally” put some pics of me f**king her on my phone and then “accidentally” had them on the screen, when I was supposed to be showing cute dog or apartment pics. If you want to be a player, some bad things will come from it, and it seems to me that most guys who’ve truly been players and written about it don’t emphasize the bad parts. It can be lonely, and it can be alienating, and it can cause intense envy and jealousy. Older women are jealous they’re not young and hot any more; guys are jealous that you’re going to take home a hot slut and they’re going to take home no one, or their heavy wife who doesn’t like them any more anyway. Few women love men more than sugar. Few women love men more than sloth.
Most people, once they exit their teens and mid-20s, rarely or never encounter a hot chick. They move to the suburbs… shack up… drive everywhere, getting fat as they do, cause they’re too dumb and lazy to ride a bike… their main experience of raw beauty comes through the TV. Guys who are, or want to be, players… move downtown, or next to the college, and practice cold approach. They do things that’ll put them in proximity to hot chicks. Dancing, volunteering, whatever it is hot chicks do, wherever it is hot chicks go. Our world, the player world, is very different from average, in ways that can be forgotten. Amateur wannabe players think about lines to say to chicks, and actual players think about logistics… where’s the right place to live, where the hot chicks gather to get f**ked, and how do I move her from the main dating venues back to my place… the logistics in most suburbs are worthless, which means that even guys who want to be players there mostly can’t. If a guy can’t be a player, he might as well shack up with the hottest acceptable chick he can find… let himself go a little… maybe he does some desultory sets in the gym, forgetting who he was… he leans back, gets into whatever hobbies fat guys in the suburbs get into… those hobbies never include bike mechanics… he lets go… that’ll probably be me one day… not yet though. Not quite yet.
I bet some of the couples who met Ms. Slav two years ago and saw her with me went home fired up, and f**ked that night better and hotter than they had in months, or years. The guy imagined he was f**king Ms. Slav… and Ms. Slav was wearing more clothing than was typical of her… she is a disruptor of the social order… the woman imagined guys still getting excited for her… wishing she’d been more adventurous in college, wishing she’d said yes to more of the charming players who wanted to slip their fingers into her underwear… instead of her thinking so much about what her b***hy friends thought… they weren’t the ones who were going to get off… she was… and now she is invisible to the high caliber men… at least she has her children… she better guard her daughter… lest her daughter end up like Ms. Slav, and satisfied… the social order must be preserved…
The right way to respond to the sniping, needless to say, is amused mastery and agree & amplify. The comments don’t bother you. You admit the other person is right. “Yes, you’re right, I probably am very bad.” “Yes, you’re right, she probably can’t make her own decisions.” Shrug and smile. “Sometimes you like who you like, you know?” Never let them under your skin. “You sure seem very interested in this… why is that?” “You seem pretty obsessed.” “You do things your way, I do things my way.” Let the hostility play out in the subtext, never the text. They’re the haters with the problems. You don’t see the problems. You smile. What’s their problem? You don’t quite see it.
Yesterday, the people whose lives have nothing of real interest in them saw a glimmer of interest and tried to multiply that glimmer into something real. It’s possible to love family and not agree with family. Boredom is the modern human condition and if someone escapes from it, particularly in a way that others cannot follow, he must be dragged back into the condition of boredom. I admire even the old ladies at the sex clubs, despite them not appealing to me or most men, because they’ve not yet let boredom win. What’s there to talk about, if not how someone violated the rules? Then you’d have to have something to say, apart from how much you like that new TV show, the one where you don’t know if the hot leads will do it, or won’t. The tension keeps you on the edge of your seat. Isn’t it exciting to watch other people’s erotic drama? Wasn’t it nice, you don’t mean to be implying, when you had some of your own?
Jealousy is a kind of magic, at times. Read enough cheating stories, or hear them after a few drinks, and you’ll find that jealousy can generate the intense feeling that generates hot sex. Esther Perel’s books touch this. Inject a little jealousy into the average, erotically dead life, and good things may happen… but the people to whom the good things happen, will hate you for it. Jesus had to die.
He had to die for the story to work.
He dies at age 33: a time when the top players haven’t reached their sexual zenith, but when the average guy is done.
A man who makes things different, who is different, needs to be attacked, and ideally needs to die, because the social order always wins, in the short term.
Ms. Slav wasn’t at Thanksgiving… but her ghost may be at Thanksgiving from here, out.