I slept with more than a few dozen women before I was 30, right about when I got religion. Now I’m 44 and I’ve only had one sexual relationship since then — and that was very intermittent.
What I found was back in the day I had the social skills to “score”. I can talk a woman’s pants off — it’s really a question of making her feel listened to, important, secure, comfortable — and then throw her a curve somehow to get her horny.
Some classic ways: You treat a lady like a whore and a whore like a lady. The woman’s got big breasts — ignore them. Small ones — treasure them. A beautiful woman — barely touch her on the date, act like you’re interested in her ideas. A bright nerdy girl — bend her over the sofa.
And always appear confident without appearing like you’re trying to cover up your lack of confidence (although some women find a little bluster endearing). Whatever you do, don’t get put in the “nice guy” category in the woman’s mind. Then you’re screwed. Also, watch out for women who have a little too much experience — they’re used to hitting all the curves, and before you know it, they’re inside your decision loop.
So what’s been my life result of bedding all these woman. Well, let’s just say I wouldn’t want the ghost of Christmas present to come visit me one night and show me what they’re all up to. According to some google-stalking, they are for the most part successful professionals and moms. A few examples: One is a major TV-network correspondent, there’s a couple of doctors, a couple of lawyers, teachers and engineers, a non-profit executive, a personal trainer. One is a state senator.
And ooh, boy! I managed to get them into bed. Bully for me. Sounds like I missed all the good stuff, all the important stuff, all the stuff that really matters in life.
So, in the end, it was all vanity, and I’m a friggin’ idiot. I’m just glad I stopped behaving that way.
To our middle-aged virgin friends — sex is part of a relationship, but only part of it. The real important things in life are who you love and what you learn — who you stick your dick into doesn’t matter, and neither does a bunch of numbers on a bedpost.
And it shouldn’t have taken me until age 30 to learn this.
