The First

I walked out of my parent’s house and saw her standing there, cute, smiling. She gave me a big hug, missing hug, loving hug. We walked to the end of the driveway, lighting up a smoke. We hadn’t seen each other in three years. We hadn’t gone on something like this in seven. Back then, she was the wild one. Pot, drinking, barely sober, but a lot of fun. I was straight laced. The square. That guy. She loved me though. A decade’s worth of feelings. She had two kids now. A history. A guy she hated. Complications.

My life has stabilized. The Zen, as I call it. The way of keeping it sane. It came across during the night. I was cocky, sexual, aggressive. I made my moves. I pushed. But, as if all my challenges are to come before it gets easy, she resisted. I always loved her eyes. They said so much. I kept my eyes on her all night. We talked a lot. Her about her guy. She asked about my divorce. We talked about love and sex and work and life.

We were in a bar that used to be a strip club, sitting on a couch, the only customers there. My arm around her, she leaning into me. This wasn’t The Dangler. This wasn’t Maria. This wasn’t Seasons. This was my first girlfriend. My first. Those feelings are there. As we were leaving, I pulled her in, using my go-to line, “Come here,”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“I would feel guilty.”

“You said you don’t even consider yourself together with him.”

“Its the kids. I’d look at them and feel guilty. They go through a lot.”

“I understand.”

We had a smoke on the patio afterward. The tension was thick and electric. It was awkward. Her eyes said it all.

Pizza. A walk down to the tourist area. Clifton Hill. We went on the Niagara SkyWheel. She said one of her guys had said there was a stipulation. They had to finish before the ride was over. I laughed, “Its only a condition with me, though eight minutes is too short.”

She leaned into me, showing her neck as we watched the Falls and the city from three hundred feet up. I kissed her cheek and her hair and her neck. I could smell the scents from a decade ago. I would push through it, but I cared.

We drank some more. A bar on the hill. A bar near my parent’s place. I touched her hair, her back. Kino for the win. Before we got in the car, I moved in, straight on, she turned her head. “I just wanted a peck,”

“Sure,” she said.

Soon after I got home, she was on Facebook. We talked. I told her what she missed. The fun. The lack of misery. A moment to remember when things go to shit. She knew. I told her when things get uncomplicated, I’ll have her. She knew.

I laid alone in my old bed. Neutral. Quiet. It was a good night.

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The Dangler

Been pretty busy with going out, failing, driving, visiting, working to find work, etc, but its finally come to a head. Karma or God has found it in themselves to bless me with several hooks in the past few days. All from the internet. OKCupid, AdultFriendFinder and Craiglist. I had sworn off internet as a means to get laid, but then I shut up and listened to my dick. My dick is a wise man.

The Dangler is from Craiglist. On my Twitter I mentioned a chick with a dirty mind but a hamster that ran the Boston Marathon in 1 1/2 hours. That’s her. She’s Asian, like dark skinned islander or Thai or something Asian. We talked on AIM for a couple days. It was full of dirty talk and some normal convo, but mostly sex. When I told her I wasn’t looking for a relationship and went on about how my past screwed me up, she was more interested. I should of saw it before, but I didn’t until we had parted ways last night.

I was in LA to meet some TV people, an old friend and her friend, and talk some shop to try to get me a job. Afterwards, I met an old family friend and we went of for hours about everything. A really cool woman. I thought I’d get stuck in LA and texted The Dangler that I may not make it. But by the time the beer and food ran out with the old friend, it was 7. I had time to rush the hour from Santa Monica to Upland, as long as the I-10 didn’t fuck me over like it usually did.

So I made it a few minutes early. It was a Starbucks in some suburban Upland mall. I grabbed a hot chocolate (I’ve had bad experiences on dates with coffee) and as I was paying, her comes a chubby, but cute girl, looking very dolled up. I know its her, but I don’t react. I put away my credit card and grab my drink.

“Jordan?”

“Yeah?”

“Hi, I’m The Dangler.”

“Oh hey!”

We go outside and talk for a while. She’s asking question after question, trying to get inside my head. I answer. I’m forward about my opinions. She even called me mean once when I was criticizing the horrid dance numbers of Lady Gaga. I know the rule about letting her talk to get comfortable, but she kept shooting off rapid questions about everything. I just went with it. I asked a few back. Then we started to take a walk.

Now, she had talked about parks nearby. Parks where we could mess around. She had told me to keep her in line because I agreed for a date instead of just a hookup (I was pretty drunk when I made this deal) and she seemed like a slutty, but clingy type of girl. I was fine with that. I wanted the slut and I could handle the cling. Not far into the walk we passed by some sprinklers and I got sort of soaked. I asked her if she wanted a wet hug, she starts touching me and my shirt and I go in and get the kiss, which she returns with vigor. But it doesn’t last long. What does last long is our hand holding.

SNAP! Son of a bitch! I should of saw this coming. But no matter. I push forward!

I keep trying to pull her to dark areas of the residential neighborhood. She refuses, but I keep on. Eventually, I realize, we’re back at the Starbucks. I offer to drive us to one of those parks she mentioned, but she laughs and says “Aw, not tonight.” She gives me a few of those really odd, awkward push your face in kisses, then goes to her car. As soon as I get in my car, I say to myself “Goddamit!” and laugh. I played her game and her ASD went up. She sees me as a damaged guy to fix. A future good boyfriend to show off to the family. Well played, woman. Well played.

I won’t see her ’till at least week from now. Visiting family until the 26th. Now that I know her game, I can play around it and get that ASD to fall like the Berlin Wall. This isn’t Maria where I liked her too much and hesitated. This is a mission. And I never, ever fail what I put my mind to.

Submit

The solution has been staring me in the face for a long time. A very long time. I’ve tried charm, I tried nice, but the problem was never those things. The problem was force.

I don’t need to charm.

I don’t need to be nice.

I need to submit women. Every one.

Aggression. Sternness. Control.

I need to channel the anger, the aggression, and be their master. I need to see them on their knees. I need them to want to tattoo my name in their skin. I need them to crave me.

I feel control when I control them. I feel like myself when I look at them as slaves, not women.

The next step: control.

The great spiritual fulfillment.

Master. Me. No one else.

End of line.

Limitless

I sat on ice
Miles of ice
Forever and ever
It never cracked
It never moved
I obeyed
I was cold
Then I warmed
From inside
The ice began to crack
The shards pulled apart
The ocean appeared
Water
Endless water
The ice was gone
I floated above
And I drank
I drank
And I smiled

Purpose

Tonight, for the first two bars, I had no purpose. I walked without a way to the Sire. I drank without a reason. I played pool aimlessly at Lake Alice. I watched and entertainment myself.

As I drove home, I told myself “I must approach.” I pulled back in to the Riverside Plaza, where I had parked just an hour before, and made my way to the Irish pub there. I saw a girl, sitting alone, smoking, talking to some guys a distance away about a sport, probably hockey. I targeted her. Blonde. Cute. Alone.

I go in, get my beer, and come outside. She’s gone. Disappointment. I drink my beer. I got back inside. I see her with a group. A guy and another girl. Should be prime. She looks alone, texting on her phone, but I just leave. I walk away. I was without purpose.

As I drove home, I felt a tinge of self-defeat. Then, I felt the warmth of my self-worth, self-control and self-motivation. I did not accomplish it Monday night, but I will accomplish it every night I go out. I will approach at least once each time. I will approach because it is my purpose. I will approach because I am a sexual being. I am damn good at being sexual. Forward. My problem, like when I drive a manual transmission, is first gear. I can get from second to fifth, no problem, but its first I have trouble with.

I will learn to shift from first to second to third to fourth to fifth.

I will give myself a purpose. The warm feeling. The fire of attracting women.

Purpose: My Anti-Depression.