Saturday, June 19, 2010

No click of the trigger when she's in the crosshairs; is this love?

An excerpt from the life of AE follows. No empirical work is to be found, and it's a bit graphic, so if you're understandably uninterested, disregard this post.


Five-hundred miles over two days in my cloud chariot with my best friend and two nineteen year-old girls to see my favorite band play. This is living. The encore is a letdown, yet we get bartender, nancies, and especially #41. Going in, it would be disingenuous to even call the girls casual fans, but dmb's live performance is legendary for a reason, and we don't stop dancing for nearly three hours.

After the show, we head back to our two-room suite. The pool is right in front of the lobby, so there's no way we're getting in. Wearing the perspiration that hasn't fully evaporated off of our clothes, we let my friend's media player rotate and get lost in a sublime conversation that, usually so elusive, is in such a propitious situation abundant. At 2am, my friend announces he has to get an assignment finished up for tomorrow evening's class (weekly homework in graduate school?). I guess a couple glasses of white zinfandel aids in that process. One of the girls goes to sleep shortly thereafter.

I met Kirsten three years ago, when she was a junior in high school. If she were an adjective, it would be precocity, and at that point she had been sewing wild oats for years. She binged on the weekends, smoked up almost daily and was experimenting with both coke and ecstasy, and had more notches in her belt than I did. She's at the same time stunningly sexy and, strictly by physical perception, adorably innocent. She also has a head on her shoulders, today trilingual and having scored in the 30s on the ACT. I ripped the approving narrative for her lifestyle apart; she taught me about Italian opera. I knew her deepest secrets and darkest fears, and had reduced her to tears on more than one occasion; she probably thought she knew a couple of mine. We were tight as a drum by the time she left for France for the entirety of her senior year. She'd send me facebook messages from her friends revealing their anger over how I knew more about her experiences in France than they did.

Lest you presume I was vainly cultivating some silly platonic intimacy, I knew both from mutual friends and also from not being completely oblivious that Kirsten was crazy for me. Tonight I'd hear about old diary entries that would reconfirm it. If sixteen is not too young biologically (it emphatically is not) or psychologically (it depends on the person), socially it is. A relationship with someone in high school when you're out of college just isn't realistic, and the pump-and-dump is not only an invitation to jail, it would be a vicious thing to do to someone who trusts you so thoroughly.

No, in addition to genuinely caring about Kirsten (by the time she left the country, she'd dropped the hard stuff entirely, smoked rarely, and respected her limits with alcohol), I don't close doors if I'm enjoying the draft. Though we were in regular contact for the year she was gone, when she returned stateside I saw her almost immediately, but then we dried up. Work, sports, and Magic consumed me, I'd say. Truthfully though, the avenue where we'd first met was no longer shared, and firing off facebook messages is less formidable than making and maintaining specific plans for specific times is. Anyway, freshman year of college was upon her. In the last six months, I've only seen her three times. But when she heard about the road trip, she was in full board.

The other two retired behind closed doors, she cuddles up to me on the couch as we talk. She has a "boyfriend" picked up during her time in France who is flying over in a few weeks to stay for a month. Instead of simply ignoring him, I state she surely hasn't been chaste since she last saw him. She has been. Laughing incredulously, I remark that I'm impressed that she's imbibed of Western European morality so deeply. Her face now just inches from mine, she says she's fought with everything she has not to even be a tease since she left Europe.

"Speaking of tease--" I'm interrupted by her lips. Deftly I roll over on my back. We release for a moment. She's sitting erect on my pelvis, hands pressed into my pecks.

"So hard."

"Yeah, no milk from these mammories. I know you're not used to that."

"Hey, I'm a heterosexual." I scoff. "I've just been good to some of my closest friends in the past."

I grab her hips and start grinding with a confidence earned (hard, firm, and rhythmic, that's really what it's about). After a minute or so, she stops to claim I'm trying to seduce her. In feigned disbelief I point out that she has me pinned down and I'm just trying to shake free, grinding hard as I finish the sentence. She yelps and closes her eyes, mouth agape.

Only the citadel remains. For the next three hours, we kiss and sweat, floor creaking, as I get up to the precipice time and time again, pulling back at the last possible instant each time. Hickies on breasts with a suppleness only Nature in her bounty can provide. On top now, I start scooting her into position with the thrust of my torso. The final praetorian emerges. "No. We can't. I can't do this... but I've waited so long. You're so... you're more experienced than I thought [wtf is that supposed to mean?!]."

" 'We'? What's this royal 'we'? That you'd deny yourself what you know you want has nothing to do with me [heh, logic should go out the window when she's making her final stand--let nature's passions carry you through]."

"I've had one-night stands I'll regret forever. [I don't think there's anything histrionic here, but my cynical mind keeps thinking she's spouting lines from Sex and the City or something]."

"You won't regret anything. I don't do regrettable," as I start thrusting again. A loud cross between a yelp and a hiccup. I swear I hear the classical music my friend left on as he went to sleep get louder through the closed door (he'd tell me that morning he turned it up multiple times to drown us out!)

"You're so forceful. I've never had a boy act like this. I've always been in control." God help the West if our boys are really all such castrates.

"I'm happy to introduce you to manhood."

"I'm... worried. This will all be gone. We've only seen each other three times [in the last several months]. Three very short times."

Promise a commitment now, forget tomorrow that you ever made it. That's all it takes at this point.

This is emotional vulnerability at its apex. Staring down into her gorgeous green eyes, I think I might love this girl. I'd scarcely ever given it a second thought, but ideas of our potential relationship dart through my head. Suddenly determined to stop the raging ravine, I sit up and pull her up with me.

"The short-term question means little to me. I care about the long-term."

Eyes brightening under a slightly furrowed brow she asks, "How long is the long-term?"

Awkward. I'm shooting from the hip now. Better just make light of it. "Not old-and-gray long-term," I say in mock irritation. "But more than, uh, a moon. Many, many moons, actually. Obviously!" Giggles. Whew. I continue, "So you have plenty to think about [the French boyfriend and whether or not he gets the virtual boot and that I'm almost eight years older than her, I guess]. Time to go to bed. The birds are chirping outside."

I start to stand up but she clasps me and pulls me back down. I oblige, and we play around for another five minutes or so. "Okay," I say, "that was a brief refresher just in case you weren't clear on something. Go to bed."

"Can I have a cigarette first?" This time I lift her up with me.

On the balcony, she asks if I could deal with her cigarette smoking. "You'll quit."

"You know how many people have tried to make me quit? I will when I'm ready to, but when people try to force anything on me, I get really intransigent."

"Did I say anything about making you quit? You just will. You're better than smoking. You'll see that soon."

After a brief pause, she's looking me over. "You're wet. That wasn't me." Oh shit. There are a few damp spots on my crotch. This could potentially be interpreted as revealing two bad things; 1) My ferocious self-restraint looks like a charade, and 2) I suffer from oligospermia (neither of which are true, I swear!).

"God must've topped me off this morning. There's still a full tank of fuel in this rocket." More giggles. Whew, I think.

"I don't know if you're tender enough."

"What the hell? Are you grading beef now?"

Giggles. "Tender is the wrong word. I don't know if you're gentle enough."

"I'm a gentleman if you've ever met one."

"That's not what I mean."

"You're getting delirious. Smoke's up. Go to bed. I'm going to work out."

In genuine surprise, "Hehe, that wasn't enough of a workout?"

"I'll take it easier, er, tenderer than normal." Yes dear, this guy's a machine. On the drive home later this morning, I'll make sure you stay awake if you need me to.

So, the indellible mark of a beta in alpha's clothing, or a story to recount to my son about his mother (poor kid) when we have the sex talk?



Anonymous said...

I'm inclined to look at the entire "we can't do this/this will all be gone" line of discussion as a shit test that you didn't pass, although I like your frame of mind (she sound like SatC and the quip about castrati).

Take it with a grain of salt, though. I wouldn't call myself alpha, either.

Anonymous said...

Obviously, that "sound" should be "sounds".

agnostic said...

"Is this love?" -- not if the logical part of your brain is in charge.

I don't view the "we shouldn't be doing this" tests from girls and the guys' responses (whatever they are) as tests and proof or disproof of alpha-ness.

They're a test of whether you're calculating or are irrationally stuck on her. If the latter, you'll say, "You're right, we shouldn't... but I just can't help myself (when I'm around you)."

If it's not an involuntary thing, you will give a logical response, no matter if it's for going ahead, pausing, or making a U-turn.

I'll put up a post on my blog soon about why this is the right way to look at it, rather than other ideas like "test of alpha-ness" or "giving herself plausible deniability if later labeled a slut."

The key to the puzzle is to think of other cases where you're about to put yourself in danger, sacrifice something you value, etc., on behalf of a social relationship, and your partners say "No, you shouldn't do that..."

The only plausible answer is that you're honestly signaling your commitment and trustworthiness by risking something you value on behalf of the relationship.

Anonymous said...

Damn, that's a nice looking girl. Your shot test blow-offs are funny. I don't know for sure, but it's possible she thinks you are too lofty for her and might exploit and dump her accordingly. So she's running "Rules" on you...? Wants to see whether you'll bother coming back another time. Hard to know for sure.

Anonymous said...

I have to say this, though - you de-consecrated your experience by publishing it. This pertains not to game-game, but rather to the game of trying to get ahold of something elevated and real before you stinkingly and ingloriously become one with the humus (not hummus). The ambergris of intimacy is 600-fathom secrecy, the padlock on the sound-proofed room, the wax seal on a letter which is addressed so specifically. It would be one thing if you had exploited your experience in order to publish immortal high poetry to stand next to the Song of Songs, but that is not the case.

What I'm saying is not something that's relevant only if your lungs, liver, and marrow are (or possibly will later be) melting and actually granulomatous with undying love and so on, blah blah blah. I wasn't ever "in" love with any of my girlfriends, in that sense (only ever with girls who were too much above my station). But I did love them... I'm not going to tell about it. Even if we were best friends and I did tell you (only you) something about it, because the time and place were right, I would leave out all the best parts.

I don't know. Maybe I am just an over-dramatic art-fag after all. I do believe in that human biodiversity thing. It's true that I don't exactly have the biggest and squarest jaw on the block, if you see what I'm saying. Do I sound like a complete faggot?

Anonymous said...

Are you ever attracted to the good girl innocent type?

Sometimes, I wonder if some basically decent guys who don't want to fall for a girl avoid the really good girls because they might find them too irresistible (ie. fall in love with one) and would not be able to just deflower and take off. Bad girls sort of give a guy the out that hey, she didn't give up anything she hasn't given up plenty of other times.

Roissy claims good girls don't exist, but I know too many of them. They exist, and they marry betas. They want the best beta they can get of course, but they are too cautious to go for an alpha. Risk averse chicks.

Audacious Epigone said...


In the sense that it was feigned resistance I'm supposed to barge through to relieve her of any sense of guilt, you're right.


Not a head-over-heels sort of adolescent love, but love in the sense of so deep a level of caring that I'm seriously discouraged from doing anything that would hurt her emotionally.

Yes, the plausible answer is the genuine one.


I was going to wait three days before calling her to gauge her interest, but she got to me first. If it's a test, she wants to see a passing grade.


I enjoy capturing experiences while they're still close in mind. And commenter feedback on this pseudonymous/anonymous blog is the most objective and useful I'm going to get. I understand you, but I'm probably just not as much of a romantic as you are.


Yes. But at the age range I'm most interested in, true good girls are tough nuts to crack because they are usually unassertive when it comes to signalling interest, and I don't actively pursue without those signals (I'm really not out to boof anything that moves).

OneSTDV said...

Does she know you're a RAAAACCCIST!?!?!

Audacious Epigone said...


No, other than some conversations about Muslim immigration into Europe while she was in France, I've not really touched on HBD as it relates to race at all. That's tricky stuff, though while she's predictably leftist, she's pretty open-minded, too. And both her parents and her older brother are Republicans, so we might get there someday.

Plenty, however, on sex differences which she actually seems to enjoy talking about.

OneSTDV said...

Plenty, however, on sex differences which she actually seems to enjoy talking about.

That's what I tend to focus on as well as it allows for a cathartic discussion of HBD-type stuff, but not the polemical material of race/IQ.

Some girls get very "offended" by it though. A recent encounter occurred when I remarked to a girl, "Well of course you watch Friends, you're a girl" and "oh did they have a girl's wall at the rock climbing place?" Of course, the tone was exceedingly acerbic. She didn't handle those well.

But then I made a similar comment to another girl and she laughed and seemed to agree (something about liking shopping and clothes).

For now, I'd avoid the race stuff, though I think with the current political climate, it wouldn't be the worst thing if it came up accidentally.

Anonymous said...

I don't know what you are feeling for her, but I do know she is not in love with you. Your age and all she thinks it entails piques her interest and she loves to test her attractiveness, loves to find out just how much you and other men either do or don't want her.

Your backing off proved to her (no matter what she might say) that you do want her and she feels victorious. Some women (she's one of them) don't feel so great unless they constantly test their allure to men.

She'll not be the one-man kind for a long, long time, if ever.
She's one of us who yearns for men to want her...she won't make a good catch if fidelity and trust are important to you.

agnostic said...

Well if the goal is not to hurt her emotionally, then you get paralyzed and can't move the relationship forward -- no matter what type of relationship.

When you were little, did you never invite your best friends to do things that might hurt them physically or emotionally, but which would deepen the relationship? Like jumping out of a tree you've always been planning to, even though it might give you both scraped elbows and bloody knees.

You just gotta go with it, both realizing that either or both could get hurt -- that's the risk of trusting someone and letting them close -- and realizing that time heals all wounds (well mostly). Even in the worst case scenario, will she be scarred for life? Probably not, so even the likely scenario is that you're not going to hurt her. She sounds like a pretty tough kid anyway.

Audacious Epigone said...


The reason sex-related HBD is so much easier than race-related HBD is that the former can be talked about with the assumption of social equality throughout, so the Right Thinkers aren't necessarily made uncomfortable by the discussion. Additionally, it takes on a playful me-against-you dynamic (which, relatedly, is why I usually find it easier to talk about racial differences with blacks than with whites, as long as IQ isn't involved).


That could be. I'll find out in the next week or so, I suspect.


Sage advice. Now that she's had a couple days to think about it, I'll get to see how strong my allure really is. I do like challenges, after all. We're going out tomorrow and if the feelings are still strong, it'll end up in my bedroom, without hesitation this time.

Anonymous said...

Wahahahaha! Love the tales of your raucous dry humping! Very classy.

MQ said...

I hate the beta/alpha classification, it's silly. But this is certainly "alpha" in the sense that you get enough pussy that you don't have to put getting the notch above everything else in life. Most internet "alphas" seem to have the attitudes of embittered betas anyway.

In general, you made the move a sexually experienced person would make to enhance their long-term pleasure. On purely utilitarian grounds, a relationship with someone you are truly attracted to is a much bigger "win" than a one-night stand, especially one that breaks up a valued friendship.

Plus you got three hours of heavy making out from it, which is highly pleasurable, so you're not even really out the one-night stand.

Audacious Epigone said...


That is almost exactly how I see it. Thanks.