The Jan Rejection

I never heard from Jan again. Though Jan was the second woman I really loved to prove the truth of the RedPill and turn tail and run as soon as my internal self made its appearance, my reaction to the situation was in stark contrast to the conclusion of my tryst with Monica. At this point in my journey, I had grown cold. When Monica proved to be a Dark Triad woman with no remorse, I had become a wreck. I was in tears. I drank and smoked my sorrows away while cursing all femininity and begging my Creator to help me understand what was wrong with me. Why was I incapable of love? Why did the women I want in my life never want me in theirs? Was I ugly? Stupid? Weak? What was wrong with my core being that made me so unattractive and so incapable of the love that I knew I wanted? The RedPill had killed that thought process.

With Jan, my reaction was much less internal and much less weak. I knew who I was. I knew I was a smart, attractive, capable man. I loved my life. I loved me. I knew that I was the prize. Yet, I was still devastated at her rejections. Not because they reflected my insecurities or made me feel insignificant, but instead, because I had desired for her to be a part of my life, and now she wouldn't be. I wasn't angry at her either. I knew that it was in her nature, as a woman, to respond to the situation the way she did. Instead, I was left to analyze the situation and reason with what had happened. I was still very much in the mindset that the RedPill was only the partial truth. Surely, LTR with women where possible, and in fact, preferable. So, what had been my downfall? Why didn't this work out?

I came to the belief that not all women were like Jan and Monica. At this time, there was massive advocacy on this forum and the manosphere in general, to move away from women with "masculine" traits, and instead, engage with submissive, nonsexual, traditional, conservative virgin types. I fell into that bait hook, line, and sinker. Jan and Monica had been very demanding, extroverted, charismatic, charming women. They exuded confidence and comfort in their skin, and that had tended to be a recurring element of my "type" of women: it also led to heartbreak in every circumstance. It was at this point that I decided if I wanted an LTR, if I wanted someone to call mine, I needed to slow things down and seek a traditional conservative. At the time, it made perfect sense.

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The Final Girl

After my experiences in the South, the military took me to another beach town further West. As a distraction from my difficulties with securing a woman as a long term mating prospect, I began to focus my attention to my career once again. I spent most days working out or studying on the beach. I was still getting laid, and in many ways, this new duty station would make my melancholy worse. In this town, the civilian citizens were mostly married couples. There where singles, but 90% of the women where single moms in their mid twenties, and that just was not something that I was interested in. Now, the largest employer was oil. Most of the men spent a month away from their wives and returned for only a week before leaving again. I think you know where this is going.

My plates and ONS where all single moms and married women. While the sex was fulfilling and fantastic, this really continued to deepen my emptiness. I remember one woman in particular who texted me after an afternoon fuck session in my hot tub. She said that leaving my nut in her ass turned her on because she could fill it dripping down her leg when she went to dinner with her husband. You hear enough things like that, and you really become numb to the possibility of love. Or, as in my case, the cognitive dissonance increases and you double down.

I was really lonely. The emotionally empty relationships and casual sex would not fill the emptiness that penetrated my soul. I had no one to share my life with. I loved my life, and it wasn't out of desire of validation that I wanted a companion, but out of desire to have someone to be intimate with. I never really lost that need, throughout my entire journey, to have one person with whom I could laugh and enjoy the world with. I was at the top on the hierarchy of needs, but I had skipped the step in the middle, and I was hurting. Some plates wanted to lock me down, but I was never going to be a step-daddy.

After six months of banging married women and moms, I met a girl. We met in the Country Bar I sooooo detested, but that seemed to be the only location to run bar game in this new town. She was a Tinder match of my roommate, but her interest shifted from my roommate to his friends, me among that group. This girl, lets call her Michelle, was exactly what I was looking for. She was the girl next door type. Clean cut, little makeup, fit as hell, shy, and sincerely charming. Her blue eyes and red hair sucked me in almost immediately. Looking back, I think that my initial pull of Michelle was probably the best game I ever ran in my life, hands down. Initially. I wasn't over invested, I passed shit-tests left and right. We started chatting and went on a few dates. After the third date, we got naked together. She turned down sex, as she was a very religious girl and "didn't do that kind of thing" (trust me, I know its bullshit now and I knew, deep down, it was bullshit then, but I was really desperate for a girlfriend.)

We took things slow. We became exclusive after casually dating for a few months with no sex, and we dated for three months before she put out. This was the first time I experienced this in my life. At the time, it seemed like a good thing. This was a church girl. This was a tried and true, gun loving, God fearing, conservative woman. She was good. All I had ever dated where bad girls. Yea, the sex with them was fantastic, but maybe in order to have a trustworthy girl worthy of an LTR, I needed someone a little more shy and less sexual. Throughout the course of our entire relationship, that spanned eight months, Michelle and I slept together maybe ten times. The sex was good, but mostly because I was good at sex. She went down on me only once, and the two times the sex was fantastic was when we where both drunk.

I spent a lot of time trying to figure out why we didn't have sex more often. This was something I was not experienced with. When I attracted women, we fucked, and we fucked like pornstars. Yet, with Michelle, this wasn't the case. I bargained that she was just religious, or too shy, or embarrassed, or too conservative, or sexually inexperienced (she told me she only had two partners prior to me). I knew at the time that everything she was telling me was a red flag, but I didn't care. She was fun. We went on dates, we laughed, we enjoyed each others company. She often told me about her ex. He was her college boyfriend. I never personally met him. I assume, though she never indicated, that their sex life was more active than ours. He cheated on her with his ex and with another individual. Her only other sexual partner had been a revenge fuck with his friend. I know, people. I know these are clear indicators that she was alpha-widowed, and I just wasn't doing it for her. I knew that then. But I didn't care. I loved her, not passionately as I had with Jan and Monica, but I respected her more, certainly. She cared about my spiritual growth, she involved me with her family. She was in the process of getting a job in Law Enforcement, so we had plenty of time to spend together (I know, she was using me for my cash flow.)

You have to understand that deep down, I knew all of these things where bad. But I didn't care. I still held frame and passed her shit tests, but the biggest shit test of all, refusal for physical intimacy, I refused to pass. To pass that test was to walk away forever, and that wasn't something I was ready to do. I knew I could get a lay somewhere else, but that wasn't what I was looking for. I was looking for a sweet, innocent companion that I trusted to not cheat or leave, and I convinced myself that in order to have that, I had to deal with someone like her. It was around this time that I faced injury at work. This was devastating, and eye opening.

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The World Comes Crashing Down

I was in a relationship with a woman that didn't really open herself up to physical intimacy, and I convinced myself that I was okay with that. I was headed down the path of a loving husband. I was contemplating proposing. It seemed like the right thing to do. Transactional relationships where not for me, and while I loved sex, I wanted a lover more. Then injury ended my military career. I was not at all afraid of leaving, and in fact, was a bit relieved. While I loved my job in the service, I also knew it wasn't a great fit for me and I immediately began applying for Grad School in the program I had always wanted to attend, but had never had the balls to pull the trigger. I was internally a very different person. The military had made me confident and capable, and I knew that I would succeed in my career no matter what.

I knew where I was going and what I was doing, and I decided that a proposal was too soon (we where taking it slow), so instead, I decided I would ask Michelle to move with me for Grad School. Initially, she said yes enthusiastically. This changed rapidly and led to the only fight we ever had. I didn't understand why she didn't want to move. We had an "adult" relationship where we talked about our futures, kids, and each other. It wasn't just the passionate fuck shows that I was accustomed too. Wasn't the next step with her to move in? Her excuse was that she was about to start a new job and needed a few months of experience before she left. This then turned into six months experience. Then a year. Then two.

I moved after I got out of the military, and I broke it off with Michelle. I was nowhere near happy about it, and I knew that I just had to face the music. She wasn't that into me. She later confessed, while she was depressed when she discovered that her ex was getting married, that she was never really over him. I know. I knew. I just didn't care. I wanted to make it fit, and I was willing to overlook all of those flaws. Until life reminded me that it is unpredictable, and made me see the truth. I had forced things with Michelle, and that was why it didn't work. AWALT was true. The RedPill was true. I experienced it, and not moatter how often I tested the tennants, it always proved to be the truth. Deep down, I was really, really empty. The RedPill had opened me to a world that was of no rules. Prior to my RedPill awakening, I had been a tradition Catholic boy that loved God and women. Over the course of the years I had become hardened. I was Zarathustra. There where no rules. You see enough sad couples and married women licking your ass-hole and you become numb to love. You get away with the kind of shit I did at work, and get a long better than the rule followers, and you start to understand just how meaningless it all is.

The monk mode I experienced after Michelle was VERY different than the monk mode I experienced after Monica. I drank. I drank a lot. I stopped lifting. I didn't need to stay in shape. I wasn't interested in the casual sex anymore. I had plenty. I just went through the motions when I was banging. It was just masturbation with another person. It lost its appeal. Fast food, books, blunts, and whisky seemed better. Anything to fill the void in my soul. I deferred Grad School for a year. I needed to drink. Happy hour was my friend. During the course of this period in my life, I fucked two of my best friend's wives, I T-Boned a driver while stoned and convinced the cops that she was at fault, I got hired for a work-from-home job that I worked maybe 15 hours a week and continued to get full time pay, and even got promoted over the dude that works 70 hours a week.

I was doing what ever the fuck I wanted to do. I was fucking miserable. What was the point? All of life was meaningless. With the right attitude and with little effort, I could convince anyone of anything. I could lie and get away with it. I had been doing it for years. I could live double lives and no one would know. When you really understand that there is no God, or that he at least doesn't give a fuck about anyone, and you realize that there is nothing holding you back but your own mortality, you can do anything. And when you can do anything, what really is the point? Love wasn't real. Nothing was real. It was all an illusion. The smart and capable people fuck over the dumb and the idealistic. All that was real was Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks and the bottom of the bottle of Maker's. I would need a hundred pages to accurately describe my mind at this point, but I will try to limit it to three sentences.

I had always believed Socrates and Jesus, and hated Nietzsche, the evil nihilist fuck. Now I (thought) I understood why Nietzsche wrote the following: "All superior men who were irresistibly drawn to throw off the yoke of any kind of morality and to frame new laws had, if they were not actually mad, no alternative but to make themselves..." Now I understood why Rick Sanchez drinks himself to death.

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For the conclusion of the story and a breakdown, stay tuned for Part 5, The Final Chapter.

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