spinaroonie
Senior Don Juan
- Joined
- Jan 12, 2009
- Messages
- 318
- Reaction score
- 27
(Mods, please keep this in the MM forum.)
I’m 24, about a week away from my 25th birthday, and I’ve never had a girlfriend.
That’s not to say I’ve never had sex. I did, with 4 different girls – all this year, all one-night stands. The confidence and validation I’ve gained from this has been huge – I know that I’m not so repulsive.
I grew up in a conservative immigrant household with old world values. As a teen my mom once threatened to cut off my tongue if I’d ever told her I was in love with a girl. This admittedly scarred my interactions with the opposite sex; in fact I probably went through all of high school without ever initiating a real conversation with a girl. Not that it mattered, I was a skinny little runt, girls didn’t pay much attention to me, and I was so focused on being the top of my class that I paid no attention to them.
Going away to university wasn’t much better. I majored in math and befriended some guys who were equally hapless with women. Birds of a feather do flock together. Drunken misadventures and some good memories for sure, but 4+ years on campus without so much as a kiss.
It was in my last year of university that I stumbled upon PUA. Fascinated by the stories of once-hapless guys who’d transformed themselves into suave ladies men, I devoured this material with a vengeance, to the point where I’d internalized the knowledge and pretty much taught myself how to be alpha. It was only at 23 that I had my very first kiss, with a girl I’d met on an online dating site. This year I moved back to my college town for a new job and moved out into my own apartment. I had my very first lay in April – at 24. And have had 3 more lays since. All one-nighters (though one came back for a second romp).
I know now that I’m not so repulsive towards women. No longer am I wracked by the insecurity of carrying the virgin stigma. And yes, to some extent I should be proud. A lot of guys don’t go through life having slept with four women.
I like to think I have everything else in life handled. At 24, I have a degree, a professional career in finance. I have my own place, my own car. I published a magazine for a community organization at which I volunteer, to much accolade. My finances are in decent order. Yet I can’t help but feel there’s something big missing in my life. There’s a certain all-pervasive emptiness, a void. When I come home from white-collar drudgery and retreat to my humble abode, and as I lie splayed out on my queen-sized bed, I can’t help but feel alone and empty, especially in these cold, dark winter months.
The pangs of loneliness hit hard. Even going to the mall or the movies and seeing all the happy young couples hurts. Or when logging on to Facebook, and seeing uglier, less accomplished guys with pretty young things. It fills me with self-loathing and resentment. I can’t help but wonder W-T-F is wrong with me? These are my prime poon years, and here I am sitting alone, pontificating on internet forums.
I feel that I’ve finally grown into my own. I know who I am, I know what I’m capable of, I like to think I carry myself with a quiet grace and confidence – undoubtedly abetted by my recent success. I see women and men checking me out, giving me extended eye contact. I work out. I know I’m a pretty good-looking guy. And when I’m not so paralyzed by neurosis, I can be witty and charming. I rarely get turned down for a number in a club.
But I still have all this baggage. To this day I still harbour some resentment to my parents – to my mother for being so overbearing and not understanding of the cultural mores of this society, to my dad for being weak and ineffectual. I hate having been born into a culture so incompatible, to parents that just don’t understand. I hate having to keep a big part of my life hidden. I sometimes think of the person I could have been if I didn’t have these influences holding me back all these years, or had been raised in a different environment. I hate that so much of my youth was spent alone when I had the potential to be so much better so much earlier in life. I regret having missed out on so much.
I’m still trying to let go. I'm just sick of going through life all alone. I guess ultimately what I want is an antidote for this loneliness. That special someone who’ll care for me, care about me, dote on me, ask me how my day want. Someone with whom I can reciprocate in kind. Someone who I can share life with. The steady poon is only a fringe benefit.
I think there’s a primal human desire to feel love and be loved. But sometimes I question whether I’ll every truly love again. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that heart-fluttering guppy love/crush of my early teens, knowing what I know now about the raw nature of what drives female attraction. Even with my four lays this year, I don’t think I ever truly harboured any affection towards any of them, and I can’t help but feel that there’s a big part of me that’s missing. Perhaps not having been loved or been in love for 24 years has made me cold, indifferent, aloof. And having missed out on the glory of innocent love in my youth, and having now internalized all this knowledge about the base nature of women and used it to effect, it all seems so mechanical and trite to me. This is not how it should be.
Will I ever find true love or am I scarred for life?
I’m 24, about a week away from my 25th birthday, and I’ve never had a girlfriend.
That’s not to say I’ve never had sex. I did, with 4 different girls – all this year, all one-night stands. The confidence and validation I’ve gained from this has been huge – I know that I’m not so repulsive.
I grew up in a conservative immigrant household with old world values. As a teen my mom once threatened to cut off my tongue if I’d ever told her I was in love with a girl. This admittedly scarred my interactions with the opposite sex; in fact I probably went through all of high school without ever initiating a real conversation with a girl. Not that it mattered, I was a skinny little runt, girls didn’t pay much attention to me, and I was so focused on being the top of my class that I paid no attention to them.
Going away to university wasn’t much better. I majored in math and befriended some guys who were equally hapless with women. Birds of a feather do flock together. Drunken misadventures and some good memories for sure, but 4+ years on campus without so much as a kiss.
It was in my last year of university that I stumbled upon PUA. Fascinated by the stories of once-hapless guys who’d transformed themselves into suave ladies men, I devoured this material with a vengeance, to the point where I’d internalized the knowledge and pretty much taught myself how to be alpha. It was only at 23 that I had my very first kiss, with a girl I’d met on an online dating site. This year I moved back to my college town for a new job and moved out into my own apartment. I had my very first lay in April – at 24. And have had 3 more lays since. All one-nighters (though one came back for a second romp).
I know now that I’m not so repulsive towards women. No longer am I wracked by the insecurity of carrying the virgin stigma. And yes, to some extent I should be proud. A lot of guys don’t go through life having slept with four women.
I like to think I have everything else in life handled. At 24, I have a degree, a professional career in finance. I have my own place, my own car. I published a magazine for a community organization at which I volunteer, to much accolade. My finances are in decent order. Yet I can’t help but feel there’s something big missing in my life. There’s a certain all-pervasive emptiness, a void. When I come home from white-collar drudgery and retreat to my humble abode, and as I lie splayed out on my queen-sized bed, I can’t help but feel alone and empty, especially in these cold, dark winter months.
The pangs of loneliness hit hard. Even going to the mall or the movies and seeing all the happy young couples hurts. Or when logging on to Facebook, and seeing uglier, less accomplished guys with pretty young things. It fills me with self-loathing and resentment. I can’t help but wonder W-T-F is wrong with me? These are my prime poon years, and here I am sitting alone, pontificating on internet forums.
I feel that I’ve finally grown into my own. I know who I am, I know what I’m capable of, I like to think I carry myself with a quiet grace and confidence – undoubtedly abetted by my recent success. I see women and men checking me out, giving me extended eye contact. I work out. I know I’m a pretty good-looking guy. And when I’m not so paralyzed by neurosis, I can be witty and charming. I rarely get turned down for a number in a club.
But I still have all this baggage. To this day I still harbour some resentment to my parents – to my mother for being so overbearing and not understanding of the cultural mores of this society, to my dad for being weak and ineffectual. I hate having been born into a culture so incompatible, to parents that just don’t understand. I hate having to keep a big part of my life hidden. I sometimes think of the person I could have been if I didn’t have these influences holding me back all these years, or had been raised in a different environment. I hate that so much of my youth was spent alone when I had the potential to be so much better so much earlier in life. I regret having missed out on so much.
I’m still trying to let go. I'm just sick of going through life all alone. I guess ultimately what I want is an antidote for this loneliness. That special someone who’ll care for me, care about me, dote on me, ask me how my day want. Someone with whom I can reciprocate in kind. Someone who I can share life with. The steady poon is only a fringe benefit.
I think there’s a primal human desire to feel love and be loved. But sometimes I question whether I’ll every truly love again. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that heart-fluttering guppy love/crush of my early teens, knowing what I know now about the raw nature of what drives female attraction. Even with my four lays this year, I don’t think I ever truly harboured any affection towards any of them, and I can’t help but feel that there’s a big part of me that’s missing. Perhaps not having been loved or been in love for 24 years has made me cold, indifferent, aloof. And having missed out on the glory of innocent love in my youth, and having now internalized all this knowledge about the base nature of women and used it to effect, it all seems so mechanical and trite to me. This is not how it should be.
Will I ever find true love or am I scarred for life?