This post is about a personal experience I’ve encountered this past Summer. However, various aspects, incidents and names will be hidden and altered.
In my adult life, I’ve only caught feelings for two women (one was a long-distance relationship). Olivia was the most recent woman I caught feelings for. As far as I’m concerned – though a small percentage was my fault – she fucked up. She gave me even more reason to stick to my guns and even after upgrading myself, she can never step to me again.
Sometime during the summer, I’ve oddly decided to spend more time on Tagged – a website I only visited once or twice a month. This is where I met Olivia, who I instantly suspected was an intricate bitch. All I have to say about my suspicions about her was that they weren’t accurate enough. She turned out to be worse. It only took me 5 weeks to sort her out.
Olivia was cold, manipulative and fastidious. In addition, she was fat with a beautiful face, whose prime would have gave out in about 5 years or less at the rate she was going.
Olivia (in her late 30s) was fat, but frequently deluded herself as “thick” – thanks to a small pool of impatiently horny bastards who gave her ass time of day years ago when she was in the spring of her prime – including an ex who literally died because of her. Olivia was not only sarcastic, full of pride and fun to be around (or at least, she was perceived this was at first), but she bragged about her playing all the men in her life and how she wasn’t submissive to anyone, except her ex on rare occasion.
Long story short, her ex of eight years attacked her one day, which caused her to leave him. When I asked why he did it, she changed the subject. Her logic, he was to blame. While in the LTR with him, she fucked several other guys, who all worked at the same city job her and the ex had and maintains he was clueless. (as they say, the darkness usually comes to light) Even to me, she threw him under the bus by criticizing his sexual efforts. Five months after the breakup, he became increasingly depressed, sad and distraught. Then one day, she found him dead after being absent from work for nearly a week. Like Henry in Iceberg Slim’s book, Pimp: The Story of My Life, the poor sap died without one trigger being pulled.
This wretched woman had an insatiable desire for something primal, and wasn’t easy to please. Upon telling her that I had no preference for fat women up front, I’ve been accused of being “too picky” for my own good. I disregarded my preferences for her ungrateful ass. She, however, didn’t like men who were below 6’3” and who were incapable of playing her stupid mind games just to score her pussy. After weeks of texting, conversing, virtual flirting and offering her emotional support amid her grieving, we finally met in person. Although we both concluded that all was well, she tried to friendzone me. I wasn’t having it.
According to her, I had no “sexual chemistry”, but I was great in every other aspect. Yet and still, I kept providing emotional support when her other “booty calls” did not (she barely mentioned them by their names, mainly referring to them as “Thing”). She bragged about how insidious she could be to any man who fell for her. She has one of her “Things” laboring into a delusion that he’s the only one to stroke his ego (he’s clueless about the other “Things” in her life, yet she wants to be his main squeeze). Another “Thing” is young, stupid and married to an emasculating virago – even though Olivia felt attracted to him, most of the sex she gave him was pity pussy.
Truth is, she didn’t respect shit. Not even her own fucking son, whom she admitted to vent against on social media on occasion, but didn’t even want him to know how she really felt about her own son, who has epilepsy, mind you. Yes, that’s just how fucking vainglorious she was.
Three days after our second in-person date (which was devoid of physical sex), I took charge as usual and initiated a third. She passed, all because she still felt no sexual chemistry with me. After another futile attempt to friendzone me, I stuck to my guns – telling her I wanted to build something with her and fuck her bad. After struggling with her emotions, she goes AWOL on me the next day. Two weeks pass and after using multiple methods to reach out to her, I texted her and told her that she needed to drop her bitch shield and realize she would never find another man like me and that I am the grand prize.
I knew Olivia was fickle, fraudulent, fucked up and full of shit. I knew that she was a ruthless alpha bitch and that two alphas will never match – sexually, emotionally or otherwise. I also knew that she slowly reduced her ex of a near-decade from a strong, able-bodied man to a decomposing corpse. She bragged on occasion about how she underhandedly controlled men with her pussy, like well-trained dogs. She didn’t have too much best years left, thanks to her obsessions with food, mind-fucks and bouts of extremely sadistic sex (which mainly included razor blades, bitemarks and ugly fat white women). In addition, her femininity and heritage was corrupted by the scam of white feminism (she was a Latina who was a pathetic imitation white woman, regurgitating feminist memes).
…but for some reason, I still wanted her in my life.
I spent three weeks trying to rid her out of my system and I did. But not before asking myself if I should have taken her offer of being a great friend. Though I know being a “dick in a jar” is the furthest thing from having self-respect and being a man.
I started to go harder in the gym, focus on myself, traveling – Oh, and I started seeing Brandy again, along with building a slew of more elegant, exquisite, less attitudinal and high quality women of various ethnicities who lacked the conceited, venomous diva bitch complex Olivia had.
Olivia was and will be the very last woman I catch feelings for. I might have fucked it up, but simultaneously, I know I couldn’t have that dangerous cunt in my life. The other “Things”? They have yet to understand this woman’s scam. If there’s anyone I feel bad for, it’s the guy who died… from a broken heart.
– As for me? I dodged the bullet.