Well, that escalated quickly.
So, I was feeling well enough to actually sit up and poke around on these infernal nets a little bit. And I stumbled across this question (on another site).
22M here, trying to get clarity.
I already asked this on Reddit subs, but the posts were deleted by mods. Also, I dug around a little bit, and it seems no matter how many time women (not men) keep encouraging men to approach them (in a right and respectful manner) women are creeped out by men on a daily basis (most of the times, rightfully so). But sometimes, even our existence seems to bother women.
On the flip side, men are advised to keep interactions with women completely platonic and on-point. Some parts of the world, it’s downright illegal to approach a woman on the streets. A site-super of a construction crew at a uni told me that they were told by the uni-admin to not even make eye contact with women on campus.
Don’t get me wrong. I love to have a good time with a woman, romantic or platonic. But I don’t want to offend or scare anyone, and I certainly don’t want to get into trouble for that.
All of this is pretty confusing to me. Judge me however you want, but I’d like some clarity on this. [B][I]Should I keep my hopes up about meeting a lovely lady on the streets and hitting off with her, or is that only for Lit stories? [/I][/B]I’d like everyone’s opinions on this.
tl-dr: it feels weird asking this 40-year-old-virgin question on a thread where folks ask about sex positions, and other grown up stuff, but this is the last place I can think of getting an answer. I have nowhere else to find out about this.
Thanks in advance. For reading and/or answering.
To your health.
Ok. So, me being the helpful old soul, I smacked my gums and settled back in my rocking chair to tell about the old days when we had dirt and were glad of it to help this whippersnapper out.
Why?
No, seriously. Why would you want to walk up on some random stranger that you know absolutely nothing about beyond their physical appearance and strike up a conversation?
I will grant that it's been a few decades since I was your age, but I've never understood this one.
I made a friend in college. (Hard as that might be for some to believe.) He dragged me out a couple of times to hit up the dance clubs so he could meet chicks. And I just never understood. So, I'm supposed to spot some random stranger across a crowded bar and on the basis of nothing beyond her physical appearance I'm supposed to fight my way across to join the throng of hopeful hounds baying at her barstool with a watered-down drink that cost three times as much as if I'd hit a liquor store instead in the hopes of being able to shout something over what qualifies as "music" thrumming hard enough to make the walls vibrate? No thanks. None for me.
(The only one time that ever worked for me was the one incident where she got off her throne amidst her throng of admirers and joined me on the dance floor [mostly to get away from the fins circling]. Kate and I dated for about two months before she decided I was too much distraction from med school.)
Nor did I ever see the point in stopping every ten feet as I trekked across campus just because some girl that happened to be pretty happened to be walking past if I didn't know a damn thing else about her. Let some other catfish take the bait.
Oh, I might look my fill. And depending on my mood, might nod. Maybe even smile if she was lucky. Actual verbal greetings? No. Maybe... just maybe... the fifth or sixth time I happened to pass them. (If I even noticed them enough to recognize them.) The first time? Whatever for? They weren't dressing to impress me, but themselves. I was a bit more difficult to impress.
Now, if she stopped me, and I had time, I tried to be congenial. Or, if I didn't have time right then, I would explain that and offer to meet her at another time and place. If she showed, fine. If she didn't, that was fine too.
I was [I]busy[/I]. I was taking double a full-time course load, working two paying jobs and one internship. What little free time I had was taken up with my hobbies, practices and tournaments, or hanging out with a crew of six lesbians (three couples) that four of them looked like they had stepped out of a glossy magazine. And absolutely [I]hated [/I]when guys would stroll up and strike up a conversation as if they didn't have anything better to do than entertain some random stranger just because they happened to be pretty.
(Hell, it took months before misanthropic Holly accepted me as part of the gang, and that only after we shut down a dance club (and our college football team's bowl hopes) when seven fuckers couldn't accept "no" or even "fuck off.")
Ostensibly, I was living with my mother and little sister while I went to college. And I might have actually seen them for thirty minutes every third day. I had neither the time, energy, nor inclination to waste on some gal that only had superficial appearance ticked off the list.
Well, actually, technically I wasn't quite your age yet at that point, now I think about it.
At your precise age, I had graduated and moved off into the sticks so deep they had to pipe in sunlight. The gals who were actually attractive were either married to their high school sweethearts (usually their older brother's best friend), looking for someone to help raise the whelps from their first marriage, or had gotten the hell out of Dodge the day after graduation so they could be around guys they hadn't grown up with.
I did my thing. Picked up a second job. Picked up my hobbies again with new groups (I'd had to move six hours away). Added a few more hobbies that I'd been interested in, but hadn't had time for.
What I didn't do was sit around at home and wishing some gal would come to the door, bringing a pizza and begging for more than just the tip.
It worked well enough to suit me. In addition to friends, girlfriends, and lovers I never bothered to count, I had four that have gotten serious enough to merit engagements, and my late wife out of the deal. All as competent as they are beautiful, and beautiful in their soul as they are in face and form.
I have absolutely no idea how this... covfefe? corona? coved? What are we calling it this week? Any road, I have no idea how this crap with bunkering in place and everything being shut down is going to affect things. But, it doesn't really matter. Back in those days, the infernal nets were just a pipe dream of the basement boffins.
These days you can join any number of chats on any number of subjects that might interest you. With people. And at the end of the day, that hottie that gave you whiplash is first and foremost a person. (Yes, even the redheads.)
And if you end up getting along, then you've made a friend. Which is one more than you had. If they aren't in on the chats that interest you, it probably wasn't gonna ever be anything anyway.
Intimacy... sex even... Have some pride in yourself. Don't use a scattershot trying to find a decent cut at the meat market to give yourself to. Make 'em work for it. Make 'em prove they are beautiful inside or all they get is a polite smile, maybe a nod, and they can watch you drift right over their horizon in favor of someone that has more going for them than a pretty smile and nice tits.
In the meantime, figure out who you are in your balls and bone without some random person underfoot. Then pursue who and what you love about yourself. The ones you meet as you do will be much more worth your attention than some random street walker.
I thought I'd done a good thing here. Makes perfect sense to me anyway. Stop looking for Da One and just focus on living your life and making yourself happy as you become the best you rather than bending yourself into pretzels trying to be something you aren't. Right? With a heavy mix of examples to demonstrate what everyone means with that old adage "just be yourself."
And I got lambasted by a follow up commenter for being grumpy and crotchety. "I would say they were lucky if you didn't smile."
Well, I am Grumps. My eldest grandson named me so. And I get almost as big a kick out my handle as I did Love being dubbed "Granny Fish" for the eleven various sized aquariums we had. Almost. But, I just didn't see how that could be anything about what I said to this kid.
And my girl happened to call while I was puzzling over it. So, I read her the question and then read what I said. Twice since she kept falling asleep. Finally, she had to log on and read it for herself since I've got her too well trained and she will be zonked after only a paragraph or two of my voice. (We're NEVER going to catch up on Dresden at this rate!)
And the little imp agreed with the poster that I had come across as an asshole!
What the fuck, over?
Well, we discussed it, and argued it, and debated it.
It's not that I mind being called an asshole, really. I long ago came to understand that I am one, accepted it and moved on. I just didn't see how what I had told this kid, out of the kindness of my heart mind you, to help straighten him out was assholey.
And she pointed out that she knew me and knew that unlike what I'd posted, I was one of the kindest, gentlest people she knew with a ready smile and a kind word for most anyone I meet, not quite universally loved by animals and small children but close enough.
Which didn't help just a whole lot.
Geez, she made me sound like a fuckin' marshmallow.
So, when she finally settled down and stopped laughing at my outrage, I made her pull out one of the Hitachi wands I've given her. (I can't remember if we are on our third or fourth this year since we keep wearing them out.) She settled back and got into position.
And I switched to "baby talk."
"Is mean old Daddy making babygirl's puddy all squishy and wet?"
"It's because I'm an ass-s-s-hole isn't it? That makes your littly kitty all buzzy and squishy."
And on and on.
Meanwhile, my sweet little servant, my spicy little submissive, my beautiful babygirl is rolling all over the place laughing and can't keep the wand on her little clitty. I kept having to remind her (in my normal voice) to put it back.
And about the time she would start catching her breath, I would say something else in that smarmy "babytalk" voice and send her off into another paroxysm.
She finally had to safeword because it was "just too confusing, getting worked up and then you talking in that ridiculous voice that is just so wrong coming from you on so many levels! My kitty was saying 'yes' while my brain was going 'oh, no. No no nonono.'"
She started it! Telling me that first what I said to help the kid change his perspective sounded like an asshole (which I could accept, but just didn't understand how that came across) and then calling me a doormat!
Yeah, she doesn't know it yet, but I've got something truly diabolical planned for later. As Filch would say, "there is going to be punishment!"
Eight sided die to pick the size dildo. Coin toss to see which hole. Twenty sided die to see how many minutes holding the clit annihilator (fuck the wand! Wands are for pussies!) while she uses the dildo she rolled for me.
If she safewords out of that, I'm going to have to mark a swing on one of the floggers or paddles hanging on the closet wall for her next visit.
Or maybe the six-foot braided leather bullwhip I use to maintain social distancing between her visits...
On second thought, I think I need to go onto Amazon and pick up a pair of rubber chickens to flog her with. Maybe a set of hulk hands (with sound effect).
"LDR privileges" are not a thing!
