Her head was on my chest, my arm around her. Her raven hair spread and messy. The TV was on, some singing reality show hosted by failed male Nick Leshay. We had finished, finally, after hours. Both too tired to continue. She had fallen asleep. I smiled.
In the books and movies, in what I had believed, this was a moment where I, as the man, fall in love with the girl I just ravished. I take in our moments. I loosen my heart because she’s found comfort and protection in my embrace. I start to think of a future. I begin to release feelings that will make my life a flowery dream of rose petals and lavender air freshener. I’ve done it before with my first few girls. We fuck, we hold, I fall, I fail. Fuck, wash, repeat.
But, I wasn’t smiling because I was falling in love. I already had decent feelings for this girl, a girl I’d known for over a decade. As a child, I loved her. She was everything. Then we broke up, and I hated her. Then we got back together, and all was right. Cycle. Cycle. Smash. A lost year. Mixed feelings. Odd conversations.
I wasn’t smiling because I followed the book. I was smiling because I hadn’t.
I never had the textbook romantic bullshit moments I was told would come. I ended up with half-truths of female attachments. I never fell asleep wrapping my lover in my arms. I turned over because The Ex insisted having the side of the bed I couldn’t lay on (chronic leg pains). The Roommate would push the arms away, though she had feelings. Even early with the First, the afterglow wasn’t so much of a block of time more than it was the few moments before having to get the fuck out before her mom showed up and took her down to the ground like only a ugly-ass cunt could to their own flesh and blood.
But this time, she was there, sleeping soundly, and I was drifting.
I looked at her and felt. Not because of the angelic looks of a sleeping lady. Not because of the chances this could be a relationship. Just the glow of being a man with a savagely fucked woman passed out on his chest. Her need to be around me. Her need to me on top of me. Her need to make me happy.
Slowly, it comes to all of us who walk the path to true manhood. We hit these moments in the most unexpected ways where the steps we’ve taken, the troubles and the pain of bursting from the depths of the feminist false god, find congruence and give us moments of true clarity. It may be with a single lay, a hated cunt or someone you actually care for. And this allows us to move to the next step of self-improvement through the impeccable art of battling, besting and bedding the women we want.