Okay, this text has been around on the German-speaking internet for quite some years now. The thing is: I don't know whether someone has already translated that piece into English, or, even worse, I just created a reverse-translation because it wasn't originally German in the first place. But since I've never seen any version of it, I took the chance since I'd rather blew 2 hours for nothing than facing the possibility that you'll never read it. Have fun! (Because of the sheer length of the text, some versions cut off in the middle to minimize TL;DR-reactions. It's possible to stop there, it'll still make sense on some level.)

Raise your hand, how many desperate men are out there who consider themselves nice, understanding and affectionate? Men who nevertheless are couching on sunday evenings and are watching their idol Hugh Jackman on TV (an apparently nice and understanding guy who also is popular with the ladies), and ask themselves the question of their lives: "Why does no woman ever want me?"

Before I answer this question, let's define the usual characteristics of the Nice Guy (TM), if only for those men to recognize themselves who shave each morning in unlimited self-denial with a poster of Victor Webster on their bathroom mirror.

In your social circle are loads of pretty, smart women, and you've desired every single one of them at some point. And every single one of them answered your confession - brought forward in some fancy Italian restaurant, in your hand a bunch of 1,000 roses (minimum!) - with the following words: "You're a really nice guy, and I really like you... but only as a friend."

And because you're such a really nice guy... you ceded to her plea that "you should please remain friends", instead of telling the slut that she could at the very least spread her legs for the expensive dinner she just had.

For example like she does for her monthly changing asshole boyfriend, who beats her up at least twice a week and cheats on her with her best friend. Why you know that? Because you're her Samaritan telephone service, and she has your number on quick-dial. Of course as "nana" or "Sally", because those jocks she's hanging out with at the moment are all of the terribly jealous type. Usually she calls at 3 a.m. with a recently aquired black eye, regardless of the fact that she had make-up sex with him 5 minutes before. With astonishing regularity, her words "Oh, if he was just a little more like you", she drives the rusted knife deeper into your heart, while she smudges your shirt with waterproof mascara.

A little more like you? Girl, here are 100%, why don't you get this in your bleached airhead? Nevertheless you patiently wait, because you're really sure, that she'll break up with the muscled featherbrain and she'll notice that YOU are the real deal. And yes, time proves you right: One day she's waiting at your door crying her eyes out. He's gone, ran off with some bimbo, a wanker who only thinks with his dick and you were sooo right and anything. And you, ready to take over (for years now), roll up your sleeves, and suddenly she asks "well, your friend, Steven... is he still single?" And at that moment you want the witch burnings back.

But because you're a really nice guy...

...you're her best man, when she marries Steven next week.

Your ex-girlfriends who found their ways into your live out of pity (and because relief efforts were hip at the time) without an exception only tell the best things about you. How affectionate and understanding and a good listener you are, and how you've always been there for them when they needed you most. And of course that you're the best partner any woman could wish for. You've heard the statement "you're my best pal and the only one who really understands me" so often that you probably have it copyrighted by now. Asked why they left they usually answer that they don't really know either and they'll probably regret it at some point... and now everybody thinks you're a failure in bed, and you regret that out of consideration you didn't act out your BDSM fantasies in your relationship.

But because you're a really nice guy... even after your separation you're still affectionate, understanding and a good listener and always there for her (even though in your subconscious you're well aware that they didn't really lose anything and you're just a complete tool).

In the disco you usually have long and deep conversations with women. You bought them a drink after they've danced and complimented them on their looks and their earrings. Everyone of them is impressed by your intelligence, your depth, your humor and your tactfulness. They relish your interest in her and her thoughts. Because all other guys who approach her have only one thing in mind. A few minutes later she leaves the disco with some shady dude who interrupted your conversation with the words "howdy, nice ass, wanna come with me?"

But because you're a really nice guy... you follow her with your car and wait in front of a dark and foreboding alleyway in a hood where you wouldn't even trust an 80 year old nun, until she resurfaces. At dawn she leaves the the building in panic, with eyes puffy from crying and torn clothes. You drive the picture of misery home and she gratefully promises to call you. 10 miles on your way back you remember that you didn't change numbers.

You've recognized yourself? You've been sitting on your screen shouting "YES! But WHY?!!" for 10 minutes?

Reason 1) Someone who is ready to listen to a woman all day and night like you are is rare. And that's your death sentence because, in the words of a bulimic, "I never eat where I puke". For you, this means that she will gladly spill her guts to you, but her fun she'll get elsewhere and not from you (her psyche's waste dump).

Reason 2) Nice guys are boring. They don't emit the tingling promise of an exciting Marlboro-Man-with-5-o'clock-shade-adventure. Women are by nature horse whisperes, they want to tame wild stallions instead of riding the merry-go-round-pony.

Reason 3) Women don't know what they want and are grateful if someone else makes the decision for them. Men like you, who leave all avenues open to them, send the signal "it will end exactly how you want, I will do what you tell me to, and I will be there when you're asking", but sadly you'll also ask at one point "uuuh... where are you going" when the love interest one leaves with the dude who tells her "admit it, you want sex!"

Reason 4) Probably the most important factor is that it's written somewhere in the great book of the history of man, that nice guys don't end up with nice girls. Apparently it's a physical and psychic polarity issue, like with a magnet - (+) and (+) reject one another. What does this mean for you? Take your chance and become an inconsiderate jerk who doesn't give a shit about a woman's feelings.

But since you're a really nice guy... you stay true to yourself and hope that someday the laws of physics will change.

A friend recently told me that he had a date with a wonderful woman. Max, that's his name, expected a wonderful evening. With a woman he was after for a looong time. Whose dog he walked out, and he even had painted her apartment last spring. A woman, who so far never had accepted more than a greeting hug and for whom my advice "hands off, she'll make you unhappy" was a perfect fit.

The day after the date Max told me all details. A nice restaurant, theater and the disco, and afterwards he drove her home and she invited him upstairs for a drink. And it happened as it always does. They talked all night, and finally he had drunk so much that it would have been irresponsible to get into the car. So it happened that he spent the night at her place. "It was almost perfect" he was gushing. Only one little detail lacked: They didn't sleep with each other. He didn't even sleep in her bed. What had happened? I already gave that answer: Nothing! Instead of a night making passionate love the poor sap got the worst insult that could possibly come from a woman. It consists of four words: You - are - really - nice. The next sentence usually begins with a "but", followed by a eulogy on the just rejected man.

A man who hears the nice-statement can totally forget any sexual fantasies he harbored with that woman, not to mention any prospect of a long term relationship. Even worse: He got demoted to a second class male, a so-called "good friend". This resembles sort of an exile, because every man knows after these words that he will never attain the coveted status of a sex- and life partner for her.

But where does this calamity start?

Previously to the "you're nice"-statement man and woman get to know each other. He likes being around her, she's the same. Man thinks "wow, a great woman". Woman thinks "hey, he's really nice." Attention! Up until that point "nice" is still positive. An unspoken "nice" in the head of a woman isn't the same as the dooming "nice" that's uttered in the presence of the aforementioned man. There's still a possibility that she changes her mind and that the "nice" will be replaced by butterflies - but as soon as said word lost its half-value time, the guy blew it.

As you see, it's important not just to look at the last 24 hours of a non-relationship in order to retrace a man's failure. But more important are the attributes of the rejected man. And it very soon becomes clear that it's usally the same kind of man who is confronted with his "niceness".

Who are those poor sods?

Max for example is dark-haired, over 6' tall and weighs roughly 170 lbs. Meaning: it can't be his physical presence, so the reason has to be something different. A little survey in my female entourage brought the following to light:

The softy (they like calling him that) belongs into the life of each and every woman. Not one of them likes do without her own personal softy, because one can never know when she needs someone to carry her tab water or refurbish her apartment. Yes, that's a quality of the softies: They're helpful! Of course everyone of us is more or less helpful towards the fairer sex, but one shouldn't overdo it. Because there's a small difference helping a woman with her coat and carrying her three boxes of tab water to the fourth floor. And the difference isn't just 54 steps and a load of 54 lbs of liquid.

This kind of unconditional helpfulness probably has its roots in childhood. I can well imagine how Max' mother reminded her son time and again to offer his seat in the bus to elderly women. Since then, apparently the look of a woman is tied to the association of a helpless being in Max' eyes. Except he forgot that he would never consider sleeping with the elderly woman from the bus. Well, obviously poor Max doesn't have sex, neither with the elderly woman from the bus nor with his love interest. Instead he plays her lapdog. And his sweetheart enjoys it. Because such a lapdog is very pleasant and beneficial. For example when her ego has some bruises: Who doesn't like being admired? Reciprocity is not to be expected however. And sex is totally out of the question. Because bestiality is forbidden in these parts of the world.

Yet the softy is definitely not a fugly. Certainly someone representable, someone a woman can be seen with. The other men like him because he is no competition. The women like him because he is so understanding and because they can talk his ear off for hours. About their relationships with other men. Or because he's so funny. Or, worst case, both. Perhaps they see him as an asexual for this reason. Who would want to sleep with a shrink? Or have sex with a guy like Rowan Atkinson?

The most important trait of the softy is that, from a femine pespective, he isn't manly, at that's what makes him boring. And "boring" is in femspeak synonymous for "nice".

Another guy I know, Kay, is the polar opposite of Max. With him girls always wanted to share a bed. Actually, I can't remember a time where Kay had to sleep alone. Totally incomprehensible for me, since I can't say that he's very likeable. Of course he can be charming and funny, but only for picking up girls. And boy, he's lazy! His exes have arms like Vin Diesel because not only do they have to carry their tab water to the fourth floor, but his beer cans as well.

And good old Max? Basically, there's nothing left for him except to work on himself. Read: Done being softy. Now it isn't easy to change, but if the only options are metamorphosis or celibacy, the decision shouldn't be hard. And since womankind seems to equate "irresistible" with "manly" and digs the tough guys - let them have 'em!

Two things are really important here: First: Never let your love interest know that she's the only woman. For this reason the smart man always surrounds himself with other women, of course as hot as possible, to seemingly be really desired on the relationship marketplace.

And second the following maxim must be internalized: "Absence makes the heart go fonder." In a really impressing way this can be used by making out a date and cancelling on short notice for some flimsy reason. It would be fatal if the woman flaked before the man could. And even if one is sitting the entire even on the couch, watching the 1000th rerun of Star Trek TNG, and always having to think of her: Stay tough! Once the phone rings and it's her on the line, you've won.

So, never forget. Never again deep and thoughtful conversations for hours. Never again offering to help moving or refurbishing the apartment.

And a special advice for "Max": After the next date, don't drive her dome, but drop her at the next bus stop. And above anything else: Never call her again!