Tears, frustration, misery… questions. Lots of questions.

Why is this happening?

Where did I go wrong?

What can I do to change things?

I’m sitting on the edge of my bed. Head hung, in the timeless expression of defeated and desperate men.

GiaMay is a nineteen year old free spirit. Communist in a way most other leftist will never be. I challenge her beliefs in communism with a simple question;

“How do you handle the problem of human nature and people being selfish and lazy?”

Her defense is the most honest thing I’ve ever heard from a self proclaimed “Communist.”

“We gather all those people up and kill them. Eventually they all die out or people learn to not behave that way.”

This statement is so straight forward and raw that all I can do is give her props for her honesty and move on from that topic.

10 minutes later my cock is shoved in her mouth with tears rolling down her cheeks. Every time I pull her head away she begs, “Please daddy, deeper!”

I sit at my computer, completely unsure of what to do or where to turn. This had been a small disagreement but for some reason the piling up of things had made this the straw that broke the camels back in my mind. I open up a web browser and start to type:

‘my wife gets offended by people disagreeing’

I honestly can’t even remember the chain of links and pages after searching that phrase over five years ago that led me to TRP… but what ever path I took to get there… it saved my life. The next morning I bought No More Mr. Nice Guy. By the end of the week I was looking for a group of like minded men, and thankfully found one.

I realized that week, that my life would never be the same.

“Slap me!”

“No, in the face.”

“Harder, pleeeeaase hit me harder!”

She was not my first, last, or even an overly memorable girl in the string of women over the last few years. Save for the interesting behavioral stories she would provide me with… I wouldn’t even remember her name. She was just a girl, plain and simple.

The most surprising and memorable thing about her had been her brutal Machiavellian honesty in response to my question on human nature. Things most guys get excited about:

  • Her age: 19 (Almost 20 years my junior)
  • Her slim toned body: Perky tits, tight ass, 5’10” height
  • Her willingness to meet me for a first date in a hotel suite: I booked it just for this date.
  • Her submissiveness in bed: See above

Stuff like this didn’t shock me or stick in my mind anymore. I’d seen it too many times from too many women over the last few years. When I first read AWALT on TRP, I thought to myself, “No way!”

Experience had taught me a much different lesson.

I finished NMMNG very quickly… I knew what I had to do. The past 30+ years of my existence had been a sham. I was playing a character I thought people wanted me to be. Doing things I thought others wanted me to do. Never really asking myself, “What do I WANT to do?”

Those days were behind me now. I was determined that from that point froward I would live my life according to one simple rule: Do what you want to.

The last five years have been a journey of me trying to live that way.

I stood on the edge of cliff five years ago and had a choice… “Jump or Die.”

I wouldn’t have died a physical death, but it would have been a spiritual and mental one, slowly, agonizingly as I wasted away from what I could be into… what? I don’t know, and I’m glad I never found out.

I am who I am because I jumped.

After a few hours of hanging with GiaMay, I’m spent. Physically and mentally…. Have you ever had to sit and listen to nineteen year old talk for a few hours? It’s horrid. Don’t get me wrong, I love the shit out of ‘em but I don’t want them around for long periods of time.

I roll over in bed after looking at my phone and let her know it’s time to go. She’s not surprised, sad or anything. She hops up, a smile gracing her face that would challenge the Cheshire Cat, and gets dressed. She never had any expectations of this other then what is was. God… did I mention how I love nineteen year olds?

As she gets dressed and gathers the few items she brought with her. I think to myself, “Is there more to life than this? There has to be right?”

I don’t have the chance to contemplate the ramifications of that thought before she’s ready to go. As any gentlemen would, I walk her to the door, give her a kiss on the cheek and wish her a good evening before ushering her out into the hall… never to be heard from again.

I go back to the thought I was having… “Yeah, there’s more to life than this. But you’d never have been able to think about it until you could do this.”