Write you a love song...

12 hour workday on 3 hours of sleep.

And my ass is bruised. Not as bad as when I was seeing that cop, or like when SFPlayboy lays into me, or when I was playing in that dungeon and the... yeah. I'll stop that sentence there.

Spending time with GV8 has raised my learning curve. Hypergamy, I thank you.

Had a date on Sunday.

Men, men are a matter of goals and engineering.

Sounds horrible, doesn't it?

But it's a basic flowchart that I think most women go through, albeit subconsciously.

Me, I've been doing it quite consciously for some time.

1. Determine desires
2. Encounter man
3. Put man through a variety of scenarios (AKA: "tests")
4. Calculate results
5. Determine where man falls into your scheme of desires

I've spoken of my love for beast-men, those damaged, wild men that have to ride those inner-demons, that rage and fight.

Unfortunately, as most of you realize, these men... aren't exactly relationship material. And I'm not one to even bother to try to make them so. Which means you have to sort them out, the rare ones you date, the ones you fuck, and the ones you bolt from before they destroy pieces of what you've worked for. You don't date men who aren't willing to fix themselves.

For me, when someone has those demons, it's not exactly a matter of fixing, it's more of a matter of recognizing and controlling your actions. Finding the source, Visceris. Your core. Knowing what birthed those shadows, harnessing them. Using them. Acknowledgement.

Because of how I am, because of the things I've done over the years, it makes it very difficult to truly connect on a base level with most men. Yes, there's a connect with most everyone, and even if there isn't, it's easy to create one with time and shared experiences, but that deep, natural connection of understanding... that's different.

My most satisfying relationships have been with men that have had horrible things happen to them, or have done horrible things, and have taken the time to acknowledge and address how those things have shaped them and have done something about it. Made the most of that damage. Made themselves the best beasts they could be.

There's not a lot of "going back". Being "normal" again. You don't get that. Experiences make you who you are, even if you forget that certain things ever happened, those things shaped choices down the line, behavior patterns and social recognition.

So you move forward.

Recognize patterns. Recognize tendencies. Examine fears, examine the things that make you the most uncomfortable on a gut level, things that seem to have no explanation. Chase those things down your innermost corridors until you reach the end.

If you're really good, you can find my footprints all over the internet. Years of writing, from when I was seventeen, almost eighteen, and realized that I no longer wanted to destroy myself and the only way to stop was to account for what I was doing, note behavior patterns, find their source if I could, and stop them.

It was hard.
It was embarassing.
I still find things about myself, the insecurities and deep-seated fears especially, embarassing. I still find it hard to write about them. I continue to hate admitting weakness... which means it's a problem. Which means it needs to be addressed.

Pursuing my personal nirvana, I suppose.

Back to the topic at hand, though. I'm going to be impressed with myself, one day, when I am able to stay on topic while being constantly interrupted with work.

We take men through these steps to prove worthiness. To allow us to categorize, just like we do with everyone else. Who are we in relation to them? What do we want from them? What negative impact could they have on us? What could they want from us?

Social evaluation.
Sexual evaluation.

We shit-test, at bare minimum.

Going out with me when I engage in this behavior... hoops. Leaping through hoops while juggling poodles that are on fire.

Poodles. On. Fire.

Because I have the experience that allows me to do so, because I so rarely choose to actually date any of my lovers, I am constantly going out and exposing myself to different types of men. It's an enjoyable gathering of intelligence. Finding out what works for me, what behaviors are signs of what issues, what traits I find desirable, and how to provoke the behaviors I desire.

I am excellent at pushing men over the edge. This comes from a love of rough, objectifying sex, and the realization that so many men feel they have to hide these desires from their partners. Spending an evening with a man who has dominant tendencies (or a man that is already happy with and aware of those tendencies) and provoking him, building that need to dominate with teasing and undermining words, with sexual challenge... that's a hobby I've engaged in for years.

In the end, I suppose, it becomes disappointing. It's rare that I meet up with a man who has more experience than I do, it's rare that I meet up with a man who has good, solid game that surpasses mine. It's not that I'm so fanastic, but that I've been doing it for so long.

Having to provoke, while fun, is usually just another manipulation of a man who isn't experienced enough in his own sexuality or able to read my body language effectively. I can't respect that. So it's basically masturbation... and they're my sex toys.

GV8 was the first guy in the last year and some change that lived up to my desires.

The man I went out with on Sunday... he was fun, he was a practice run in trying out some new things I wanted to add to my game, and the sex was full of some of my favorite things, but I had to walk him through some of it. He had game, but not enough. I knew that quickly, assigned him to the "potential regular sex partner" box.

Nothing serious.

Rarely is.

Examining relationship history.

First two boyfriends were before I was seventeen. One was nearly ten years older than me. I was young, incredibly stupid.
Third boyfriend, I was nineteen. Wasn't looking for a relationship. He chased me for six months, I kept shooting him down, but discovered his hands and lips were amazing.
Fourth, I was twenty. Still wasn't looking for a relationship.
Fifth, I was twenty-three. Stupidest rebound ever.

Five boyfriends. Two out of youth, one out of rebound.

If my "number" is in the high sixties, low seventies, and I've been out with significantly more men than I've slept with, and I just am getting more experienced and, therefore, choosier, I have to say, I'm screwed.

...this post seems oddly pointless. I don't know if it's my mood, but... yes. I suppose I'm sorting. Sunday's date, my realization of how much GV8 added to my expectations of men, my learned behaviors from observing him, from miming him... it was enlightening. The change, that is.

Six months makes a lot of difference.

I think I'm about to hit another growth spike.

Going to manage this one carefully. I have a plan in mind, a place I want to be.

Update: Re-reading this, I feel like I'm missing something. Whether it's something I wanted to say and forgot due to distractions, or if it's a thought that's trying to float to the surface, I'm not sure.

There's the insecurity that female game does not matter, that because my goals so often run towards the sexual because the men aren't what I want for more, there's no work required on my part, save the building of mood and tension. Sex, it's all in your head. I do my best to make sure it is what I want it to be. Doesn't always work.

There's the insecurity that the reason I'm not finding the type of men I want is because I'm reaching for more than I'm "worth" at this level, at the shape my body is currently in (not the best, but visibily improving), at the mental stability and confidence I desire, and the income-bracket I want to be at.

There's the knowledge that I'm getting better. That each month that passes is another month where I have pursued some of my goals in some way, pushing myself towards that lofted image in my head. There's the worry that I may be in my 30s or 40s by the time I reach it, which is amusing more than anything.

I know I'm good. But I know my game is not standard. I envy the girls who can pull the normal men, the men you see at clubs. Their ability to be normal, to appeal to the standard demographic. I don't think I'll feel good about myself in this regard until I am able to do the same. I prize adaptability. I want, so badly, to be able to go into a "normal" club and do what the "normal" people do.

I want to not have that image in my brain that "normal" people are so much better. I know that I have a Hollywood image in my brain, but I spend enough time in Hollywood to know that those places are real, those people exist. I don't want to be one of them, but I want to be able to do what they do.

I know I blow things I haven't experienced out of proportion in my head, and as soon as I do them, I realize it was nothing, nothing at all.

Wish I could get over that.

The man on Sunday, he was close to that "normal" image. Put me one on one with a man with any sense of self-awareness and damage, and I'll burrow into his head given the opportunity. Not with any intent of harm, but because I have a love for damage, for history, for understanding, for learning.

I need to accept myself.