I'm not even ready for this. I'm so ready for this. Totally blasted at the end of the day. Burned burned burned. My skin is peeling. I could give no fucks. Freshly showered, and the wind blowing in my hair. I can't even find the place, though it's a huge landmark. Construction, roads diverting.

Her pictures were decently cute, so why not. Already had a date earlier, so my frame is good. Moving slowly. Silent tongues prayer my notgiveafuckness. The mall is huge. It's late, and still, so many people meandering around. Piles of discount books strewn everywhere. Miniature parks. All indoors. Meet her at the donut shop. You can already tell what she's going to have. The sweetest thing. Some hazelnut coffee concoction. I can't do it, too late. Grab our drinks and ease down into some chairs. Laughter, good. Open body language, good. She's talking about her sister. Just had a baby today.

fever, something to return to.Every woman is a puzzle. She will give you the pieces, turn them over, but you still have to assemble it into something coherent. One piece at a time. Baby

Works as a shot girl. She's going to school. "Untuk apa?" "Modelling." She shows me her glamour shots, all kinds of bent and twisted. Wild hairstyles, tits pressed out. Lips pursed.

She told me to bring an extra helmet for her, so signs are good that we'll be riding around later. Hopefully without clothes. We're off to see a movie. Now, this is not logistically superior. Movie seats have: other people, and: armrests. Neither conducive to touching. So we could have gone with the karaoke option -- private room, chance to impress, comfy chairs, but then, we're already at the ticket counter, and she's making the pouty face. First mistake: give in to the pouty face.

Assigned seats. The fuck? And she picks two right next to people, even though there are plenty of secluded ones. Ok. Another piece. Take it and roll.

So throughout the thing, I'm feeling like a fucking junior high kid. Do I put my arm around her? Do I put my hand on her thigh and bring her in? Back when on my first date with a girl ever I pulled out "if you had a parrot, would you put it on this shoulder, or this shoulder" Arm around the side. She smiled, that first girl so long ago, but she knew it was some pussy line. Fucksake, not doing that here. There's just no smooth way to initiate touching in a theater. You really can't do anything. Probably best just to give up. Little dominance plays, fucking irritating. She puts her elbow on top of me. She puts her hand on top of me. All wrong, I should just refuse, and yet, I feel like I have to do some touching here even though she's bitching me. The problem is trying to get anywhere. Just give up and save for later. She covers my mouth when I yawn.

On the way out it's super weird. She's walking a couple meters behind me texting or something. I try not to look. But fuck, walk beside me. This just feels hella strange. Lost in a parking lot. Not talking. Here is another clue: lead. She can follow or not, I need not care. In fact, if I care, I'm fucked. These little power plays, wearing me down. Don't have the energy for a strong frame, and it this point, I want it and she can tell. Ease off lil homie. She doesn't even follow me all the way to the motorbike, but just chills at the entrance hoping I'll pick her up. Fucking a.

So I take her back home, and pop open a couple drinks. This is going nowhere. She gets REALLY interested in my learning indonesian book. Filling out the little word searches. Keep in mind this book is written for 5 year olds. Lesson -- hot girls have short attention spans. Pretend she is five. Subtly feed entertainment. Doesn't like the music, wants to watch tv. Here was just a great string of fuckups. I have this girl in my house, drinking (slowly). Shoes off, on my bed. And yet I'm playing reactive. Looking at her too much. Caring. Wanting her attention. Otherwise I just have my dick in my hand, and she might as well not even be here. She smokes her last cigarette and tells me to go buy more. Fuck no. Finally, an in. I call her a junkie, and we start translating words. Did I mention? I can barely understand what she says when she speaks.

I refuse to do what she wants, and now she starts wanting my attention. It is all about giving less fucks. Fine at the start of the date, then a lull, no we're back in my territory. She giggles about something on the television, I cradle her up and slam her on the bed, kissing her neck. Here is what she needs. Some goddamned dominance. Put the bitch in her place. I'm holding her wrists down, she's laughing uncontrollably, squirming away. Every time I aim for her lips she turns away, squeeling, crying "mommmyyy!" What a fucking turnoff. She is standoffish and bitchy if I let her be, but cute and submissive if I caveman. There we go. Another puzzle piece.

I tell her I'm taking her home. Done with this bitch. Just cranky and tired.

We ride off, she's hungry. "I want KFC. Will you buy for me?" "NO." whiiiiine

I'm so done with the bad attitude. And this is helping. What people want more than anything (mostly women, but men too), is to be called out on their shit. I don't know if it's a sign of caring or compassion. Apathy certainly would not do so. I think this is what it is: this is how our fathers are supposed to act. As someone with a weak dad, the first time I got called on my shit by someone I respected was incredibly liberating. It's a big "Oh!" I WAS wrong. I AM better than that. Why didn't someone tell me before? Better retack. In fact, it feels like a blow in the face precisely because no one ever gave enough of a shit to tell you how to get out. You're holding up the line. You're dragging some weight you don't need to. You're doing it wrong. Here is correct behavior, for YOUR benefit. Why did no one tell me?

Kids get out of line. Women get out of line. Weak men get out of line. Strong men enforce the line. Here are the rules. this is what is expected of you. Either get your head on, or you're done.

This is so powerful because most people cannot chart their own course. Those that do, we call explorers, conquerors, magicians, visionaries. They are mythical, because they are so rare. Most people, let's be honest, would prefer to cede control because it's easier. Doing your own damn thing, when there is not a path laid out, is hard as hell, and so most avoid it. Future projection says: follow those footsteps you see before you towards good outcomes. Not: here's a machete and this jungle. Uncertain outcomes. Scary, inevitable, necessary.

So this is why everyone needs a leader, some kind of guidance. Because that feeling of being utterly fucking lost is so untenably alien, so fiercely terrifying, that we demand to not even experience it. The dark outside the campfire's flicker. But what no one told you: here is where all the treasure lies.

I watch a midnight chess match at the stand where we pick up some food. Black king is in deep shit. Already castled, and staring down the barrel of a queen/knight flank. This is relevant, somehow.

cruise in to the little apartment complex she lives at. I am expecting to open the door and find her mother and six siblings passed out, but no. She lives alone. She wants me to spend the night and drive back tomorrow. 9/10's there. She brings out the food. Pours me a glass of rich juice. Barefoot feet on the soft red mat. Now we can be real. Dim lights, light music. Fried rice. The fan on the wall is blasting. She tells me she sends money back to her mother. Her single mother. Her father died when she was one month old. "I never saw him".

Puzzle completed. This is why she is out of line, badly behaved, whiny, stuck up. It's not her natural state, just a consequence of a missing element. Now I will become that element.

Smoothly, from one stage to the next. She grabs my hands, but she cannot keep me away. I am persistent. Finally she lets herself relax a little. Actually kiss back. Goes to take a quick shower. I am utterly lazy. Late, in this unfamiliar room, off multiple gravel paths, somewhere in the boonies. It is inevitable. She comes back, and my pants are off. Still resisting, but getting less so. Patience, practice. Ease off, speed up.

She is getting excitable. "I want to talk to you!" "We are going to have a very serious conversation..." I am removing her panties. "No!" squeel. Token.

I have her sit on my lap. It's tight, and so damn slick. Dangerous. No condom. I know if I focus on her at all, the sensation, I'm going to nut so fast. Really can't even pump at all. I throw her off. She has to pee. I follow her in the bathroom. She's pissing and I'm jerking myself onto her. She looks up with huge eyes. Scared, expectant.

I bust on her chest, and she's got the sprayer out. Washing herself off. Throwing some soap on the vadge. I couldn't catch if she dabbed a little inside or not. I worry.

We're throwing buckets of water over each other laughing. Cold, in this sweatbox. Feels amazing.

Back to the bed, and still she's unresponsive. Well, I let her down on the fucking. So let's do it. Five minutes later, ready. This time for real.

Second rule of fatherly dominance: doggy style. Women need their face mashed in the pillow while getting pile drived. Shit, monkeys do this. When a male loses a violent dance, he is summarily mock-fucked by the alpha monkey. Same reason teachers used to smack their students with rulers. Bend over, you have lost.

And god, what a difference. Afterwards, she is all sweetness. Kissing my chest, turning me on again, telling me she likes me. Asking when I am free again. This is proper behavior. Just need a few smacks to get there.