Affection

I think it really picked up with those Rules books, when girls decided that giving affection or showing genuine interest is bad game. Successful players have many tools in their toolbox, but girls took “play hard to get” to such an extreme that they became cardboard cutouts, an outline of something that looks human from a distance but doesn’t feel like one up close. The more a girl consumed mainstream entertainment sources where these ideas were prone to be discussed or taught, the more likely she lobotomized the natural feminine instinct that men are naturally drawn into. “I must not let this guy know what I’m thinking or feeling. I must not let him know I care. He will like me then and I will be happy.”

Idiots!

Idiots for digesting and absorbing the absurd musings of Carrie Bradshaw, for incorporating a dysfunctional neurotic character into real life to infect new relationships like toxic mold instead of doing just a little soul searching to find meaning and substance. Idiots for purchasing books and DVDs produced by multinational corporations who care as much about them as a two-year-old cares about green vegetables. And idiots for trying to become careful, in control, and shrewd—for becoming like my dad.

A month ago I was winding down a long night in a club. As I sat down on a chair against the wall, I noticed a guy and cute girl sitting a few feet away from me. Two minutes later she slid a little towards me away from her guy friend. If a girl is going to make it that easy for me then I don’t care if I just vomited all over myself, but opening my mouth and creating speech is reflex.

Ten minutes later my arm is around her and I’m getting ready to go octopus on her. Her short dress and petite frame turned on the sleaze machine inside me.

“I was checking you out all night,” she said.

Whoa. I don’t hear that often enough, and it felt good.

“And I love your hair,” she added.

“Thanks!”

And then she started touching it (my hair!). I’m sitting next to a cute girl who is giving me physical and verbal affection as my hand is on her bare thigh and I’m fantasizing about all the ways I’m going to violate her. I can’t ask for much more than that—I was a happy man. She wouldn’t let me take her home that night but I got her number and moved her to the front of the queue. She motivated me because she showed me that she was motivated. This is how intense, fun relationships start, when you quickly feel comfortable with someone and don’t need to ration out attention like it’s a finite resource buried deep in the ground.

But why is this encounter the exception rather than the rule? Why is it so rare to find girls who put out a natural warmth and openness where you can cut through the manufactured bullshit and start to connect like two normal human beings? It’s because these girls worship celebrity idols who wear ridiculous sunglasses. It’s because they were raised by cable TV instead of their parents. It’s because they don’t trust their natural instinct and it’s because they are a product of an disconnected culture that sees warmth and openness as weakness, where the concept of community is limited to uploading staged photos on the internet for anti-social rejects to masturbate to.

My advice to the American girl: if you are curious about a guy who is curious about you, just be nice. Give him one compliment and make him feel good for talking to you. A grounded, real man will be more than happy to take you seriously, more than just a one-time fuck to blow off some steam. Imagine that.

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