[Note: A nicely prolific commenter, DC Phil, has described a real-life scenario where he requests some righteous Manosphere input. His email is below. He cordially asks for your wisdom.]
I met a woman, whom I’ll name just C., in late August of last year. Blonde, 38, professional (worked for the EPA), relatively unassuming, intelligent, owned her own home, and very good-looking for her age (svelte with a tight ass and, age-adjusted, a solid 7 in my books). C. and I met through OKC and, after the requisite “getting to know you” emails, we met at the one park near my place in DC for a chat. No cost and at a place she had never been to.
From there, we met for a second date. I took C. to one of my favorite jazz clubs and, though she wasn’t much of a jazz fan, liked the atmosphere. From there, we walked to a park area to talk some more and I went in for the kiss, reading her signals correctly. C. was a bit shy because, as she said, this was a bit “too public,” so we relocated to somewhere more secluded and began a heavy make-out session. That was all for that date. (Clear signals that she was DTF.) Third date, her place and her bedroom. This happened all in the space of two weeks.
From mid-September to early October, I was heading to Romania for three weeks for a much-anticipated vacation. (The first time I was in Europe since late 2009.) I had a great time over there, seeing many interesting things, spending quality time with lots of comely young Romanian ladies and managing to bag one of them (about 24 or 25) in Bucharest. During this time, I emailed C. a couple of times, giving her brief updates and telling her that I’d be coming home with travel stories and renewed vim and vigor. She was looking forward to both.
When I returned and was at her place, I made sure to bang her vigorously to reestablish my presence, and then we talked about my time in Romania. I told her that I found the country to be very interested and a bit of a refresher from the same-ol’, same-ol’ in Western Europe. I also told her how I was amazed to see how many Romanians are still thin and look very well, especially the women. (Typical Eastern European women who take better care of themselves than North American women. I had seen it for myself!). I also told her that I had about 12 hours to kill in Amsterdam on my way back and tried to amuse myself in the city — unsuccessfully, as most everything was closed — for three hours. Finally, I got so bored that I returned to the airport and slept until it was time to board my flight. I mentioned how dead the Centrum was and how the reports were true: i.e., the red-light district is but a shell of what it once was.
Now, fast-forward to early November. C. begins to pull away from me, but is still a bit cordial. Sexy time had ceased and this was the lead-up to the eventual heave-ho, which I got the week before Thanksgiving. She invited me to her house for some pizza and Scrabble, then broke the news, after we finished the pizza, that she didn’t want to see me again. I didn’t ask why and left after I finished my drink. She drove me home and gave me a hug. That was that. I gave her kudos for sending me packing in a dignified and respectful manner. The other woman I had been seeing earlier in the year did it via email.
Though I’ll never know the real reasons why things fell apart, I have my guesses:
1. I mentioned the girls in Romania. Mind you, I never said anything about how hot I thought they looked, nor anything about the 25 yr old I bagged. I’m too smart for that. But, maybe just mentioning how thin everyone looked over there set off some insecurities in C.
2. I mentioned the red-light district in Amsterdam. Probably a big no-no.
3. All during the time we were seeing each other, we spoke on the phone only once, and barely texted. Mostly email. C. didn’t seem all that communicative other than when we were in each other’s presence. She also never initiated communication. I was the one who always send the first text or email, or made the phone call.
4. Though C. owned her own home, she spoke as if she had bitten off more than she could chew. Though she made good money, she had wound up sinking $30,000 in a 1935-era house that required a lot of work. In my mind, a bad investment. She talked about her house and the money she spent, but I showed little sympathy. Maybe she was miffed that I wasn’t rationalizing, for her, a bad investment decision. (Better that she had bought a newer condo.)
Just my thoughts. I’m over C. now. She was one of the best and the sex with her was very good. Just a learning experience. Oh, yes . . . I should also mention that she lived all alone in her 3-bedroom and 2-bathroom house with two cats and fed the local strays.