I am insecure about by masculinity

Source.

Recently I was in a club, talking to a woman who was hot.
 

She didn’t seem to have any particular aversion to me. In fact, based on her body language, I think she might have been enjoying my company. She touched my arm a lot and laughed at things I said. She held eye contact to let me know she was interested. She was tall.

Eventually the conversation started to stagnate. We ran out of things to say to each other. That happens. Not a big deal. I left her for a while because YouTube videos I have watched on the topic of getting women to like me have said that this is a good idea. Instead of dragging out a point in conversation where things become less interesting, you leave her with a positive impression of yourself that stays on her mind for the rest of the night. And she will wait for you to come back. If you’re some sort of super stud, you can try this out on multiple women and by the end of the night have a whole collection of them longing for your dry wit and masculine musk.

In the meantime one of my friends provided me with a concise list of reasons for which 9/11 was orchestrated by the US government. I tried to keep up and occasionally interjected with my own made up conspiracy theories. Another one of my friends asked me for my opinion of his hair. It had great volume, I told him. And we agreed that modern-day club music is a shit cycle of thirty seconds of a song people recognise followed by a drop followed by a couple of minutes of generic beats for people who lack the confidence to soberly interact with one another.

Autism Milf

Source.

Between the ages of 5 and 8 there was a girl in my class who was autistic.

There was a divide amongst the boys and girls in my school. Created more by teachers than anything. They’d make the boys sit with girls because that seemed like a good way of keeping them from talking. It didn’t work at all but they did succeed in creating an unhealthy perception for us from a young age that boys and girls are behaviourly different and that girls are responsible and well behaved while boys are bad and annoying.

It was kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy. The boys would be loud and obnoxious because they were expected to be. Including me sometimes. But I don’t think it was something I was very comfortable with and I quickly grew out of it.

The other girls collectively treated the autistic girl like a baby, which was necessary. But the boys tormented her. Entirely because it was expected of them.

I don’t know if it was because of me being the only boy that didn’t make fun of her or what, but she eventually developed what she thought was a crush on me. Given that we were both between the ages of 6 and 7 when this started it’s likely that her feelings were some sort of psychological construct based on something she saw on tv.

She used to randomly apologise to me for things. Dramatic outbursts pleading for forgiveness. I don’t think she ever told me what she was apologising for. The girls in the class would angrily ask me what was going on and what I’d said to her that made her upset and I had no idea so I’d just get in trouble for no reason.

I hate to perpetuate stereotypes, but in Ireland a lot of kids are forced into Irish dancing by their mothers. I was one of those unfortunate kids but probably solely because my aunt was the teacher. I can’t remember exactly how many boys there were apart from me, but I do remember that one week the autistic girl from my class came.

We were learning a new dance and for this we required a partner. I was allocated the autistic girl. I was apprehensive because of all the trouble she got me into in school and I had no idea how she was going to react to me but I didn’t really show this. She complimented my shirt. It was navy and had a bear on it. It was my favourite.

After the first few runs through the dance I noticed all the adults in the room laughing at me. I wasn’t embarrassed because I was 7. It took me a few seconds but I realised that autistic girl was trying to kiss me. She didn’t succeed before she was pulled away from me.

I can’t remember who exactly pulled her away from me but I think it was her mother.

Her mother was such a milf. I didn’t know that then. But I vividly remember now how she looked. 

The reason I bring this whole story up is because recently that girl who had the crush (I just referred to her as that because "autistic girl" seems harsher than I intended) added me on Facebook. I’m not sure how she found me. But I think it might be because I looked her up recently and searched through her profile for pictures of her mother.

And that’s the moral of the story. Be careful who you stalk online because the algorithms used to draw people together on social networking sites might just give the game away. The more you stalk somebody the greater the potential for you being recommended as a friend. If somebody you hardly know keeps getting recommended to you they’re probably regularly reading your posts and you should feel flattered, but you probably won’t unless they are hot.

She's Gone

 

Source.

That day marked a significant shift in our relations.

Exactly a week later, things seemed like they were no different. I continued not to speak to her. I worked on problems independently. She worked with my ultimate Chinese wingman-turned-cock block. He figured everything out for her in thirty minutes and left her by herself.

I couldn’t concentrate while she sat there, looking at her phone. Probably reading profound Facebook messages from her hot German boyfriend, that she probably had. He had a strong jawline and vascular forearms, in my imagination. Shouldn’t have convinced myself that guy from her picture was her brother. Fuck.

I finished ten minutes before the end. I noticed her begin to put her things away. She had her coat on and remained beside her desk waiting as I eventually rose to my feet. She looked at me and I gazed back and tried not to look away.

She was waiting for me.

We had another conversation as we walked together. She didn’t go the wrong way but probably would have if she hadn’t before. I could tell by how she looked at me. Like I wasn’t going to attack her. Or like she didn’t think I was only making conversation with her so I could manipulate her into a position where I could take advantage of her. The best way a woman can look at a man.

We talked about our cultural differences, which neither of us gave a shit about, as we tried to get close enough to discuss something meaningful. She and I stood in front of that building for nearly an hour.

Cancer, baby

Source.

I was showering and caressing my crotch when I noticed a lump.

Shit I have cancer, I thought.

I don’t have cancer though. It’s cool.

My grandmother does. Which is not cool.

It’s inoperable. She’ll probably die within the next few weeks.

It’s been coming for a while. She got bowel cancer a couple of years ago and it initiated a series of tragic events in my life including a childhood friend’s death, a neighbour’s death and my grandfather who wasn’t in a relationship with this grandmother’s death. My Playstation broke as well, which really hurt. She made it though. They cut parts of her out and she’s been kind of alive since. Her health has been deteriorating. Patching her up like they did enabled her to live only for visitors that came sometimes. I didn’t visit often enough, because she was kind of a bitch. But I feel sort of guilty anyway.

I Hate Myself and Want to Die

Incredible article where this photo was taken from.

I think somebody dislikes me.

Which is weird because I do genuinely go out of my way not to be a dick. And I thought that would be enough to prevent anybody disliking me for any particular reason. But it’s not.

The person in question is that tall woman who likes art that I used to sob to thoughts of never being with, even though we did casually hook up a couple of times. The reason I think she hates me is that she seems physically incapable of maintaining close proximity with me. When we interact in public (the only place we ever interact) she uses an excuse to get the hell away from me.

Usually the excuses are incredibly believable and arouse no suspicion from me at all. Like something along the lines of “I’d love to chat but… I have to get back to my dog”. Or “Sorry, I can't stay and talk. I have a doctor's appointment. I have much reason to believe I have an STD."

The saddest thing about it all is how long it took me to realise that she wants me to die and never go anywhere near her again. It all came together on New Year's Eve.