One time, like a stink bomb dropped in the middle of a spring meadow, your girlfriend called you a rude name, and not in jest. The insult itself was nothing that would scandalize polite company. On the scale from “dummy” to “motherfucker” it was closer to the former. It was a rambunctious conversation between just the two of you and the insult popped out of her reflexively. You know she’s a spark plug, so you’re not surprised when she snaps agitatedly on occasion. Usually, though, she directs her insults to invisible third parties. This time, she spit it at you.
As an alpha male, you let it slide. You know that a highly self-possessed man won’t sweat the small stuff. Reacting indignantly to every petty affront is the domain of the less secure greater beta trying to prove the weight of his cohones. You’ve earned enough love cred to give her a pass without risking diminishment of your authority. But, you do take a mental note of her insult.
As you suspected would happen, (and the reason for your prior mental note-taking), a month later she disrespected you again with the same insult. Except this time she did it to you in front of a group of her friends while out at a social venue. The Rubicunt from minor slight to major infraction had been crossed.
It is a truism of the nature of women that once they have tasted even a droplet of beta blood in a prized lover, they thirst for more. In fact, they will not be satisfied until they have either drained all the manhood out of you, or you have figuratively driven a stake through their vampiric soul. Strangely to men who don’t know better, women don’t relish draining a lover’s soul of his manhood. No, they are compelled by ancient feminine forces beyond their influence to do so. Women would much rather you stay their attacks. She yearnsÂ for you to put her in her proper submissive place. She will arch her back, rip her bodice, and present her bitch heart for you to pierce. A man who won’t take up the stake and do as she wishes is in for a world of anguish. (It’s easy to picture a betaboy limply dangling the stake in his flaccid arm, wondering what next to do while mewling for his woman to button up her blouse.)
So there you are, in a mixed group of seven or eight people, most of whom are girl friends of your woman, and in the midst of a chaotic conversation she has just called you that naughty word again. You can discern by her yapping mouth and her animated face that she has hardly recognized the extent of her insolence. No matter. You know what has to be done. You retrieve the mental note you made one month ago, turn to face her directly, firmly wrap your hand around her forearm, and with the steely gaze of a lion targeting a distracted gazelle you inform her in no uncertain terms of your displeasure with her behavior.
“Hey! Don’t use that word on me again, do you understand?”
She looks shocked, and squirms a bit in her seat. The conversation among the group sitting at the table lulls. A wind blows from the West. Sensing escalating danger, or perhaps simply confused, she mutters an inaudible, and notably unapologetic, OK and continues yapping to her friends without missing a beat. You squeeze your grip on her forearm tighter and address her louder than before.
“Hey! I said… don’t use that fucking word with me again…… Got it?”
Now the table has fallen silent. A grim specter has alighted upon the land. Your woman, pressed into a corner by your imposing strength of will, finally succumbs and silences herself.
“Ok, sorry, sorry.”
The next twenty minutes, she is withdrawn, her demeanor chastened and her arms modestly crossed in her lap. You swivel to face the group and smile warmly. Instead of forcing the conversation to return to an artificial crescendo, you remain calm and allow the prior energy level to reformulate on its own. Which it does, almost. Eventually, even your girl has managed to reconstitute herself, although you note with great pride the look of hatred her ugly BFF shoots you.
What do you think happened next?
Let us turn to the lyrics of Alter Ego Neil Diamond for our answer.
Turn on your snatch spigot
let it flow wherever you go
let it make a happy hole
for all the world to see
Turn on your snatch spigot
in the middle of a young boy’s dream
don’t wake me up too soon
gonna take a ride across your poon… you and me
Many men are afraid of confronting their girlfriends or wives for perceived insults. They think, not illogically, that standing up to a lover angrily and putting her in her place means she will despise him more, and her pussy will close up shop. They especially believe this will be the case if they confront and humiliate their women in front of her friends. These men, 80% of the American male population by my estimation, think it’s better to go along to get along. But they are thinking like men, and that is why they fail. Think like a woman and you will quickly apprehend that just the opposite is likely to result — she will respect you more, and her temporary, but much-needed, humiliation that burns her face will soon burn a line of lust straight to her furrow.
This story of course impresses upon the reader whether it is worth dating a woman who periodically requires strong disciplinary action to keep her in love. It’s a fair question, which answer will depend on what kind of man you are. If you are the type of man who enjoys administering punishment and thrills at the prospect of psychologically outwitting your lover, then you may find this kind of woman preferable. If you’re a man who wishes only the company of women so sweetly feminine in their enthrallment to you that they would never even consider challenging your dominance, then you should find a different woman to love. In the final analysis, though, the only relevant point is the wetness of her pussy. Is she tingling for you? Carry on, Christian soldier.