A few years ago, a handful of guys sat around bitching about women and a pattern started to emerge. The more I investigated, the more we thought something needed to be done. At first, it took on the notion of a warning system to alert young guys before it was too late. Then we thought it should take the form of a book, a bible for men, called “The Dogs vs. the Evil Nesters.”
It’s actually a vital research project that could take years of study, but the more I run into guys who have blown up families, ruined their lives, or found themselves trapped, the more determined we became. I’ll try to lay out the basic premise here, so you can throw stones or send me your story.
First, the mission is to help men in lust attempt to make educated decisions regarding women and relationships. Is it possible to save a few before they step off the sensual cliff.
Next the caveat: We are dogs, generally. We want to fuck. We love to fuck, and will do almost anything to fuck. It’s the human opiate, the drug of flesh, and we call it love. It’s interesting that opium is outlawed but love is considered okay, until you kill her boyfriend.
Next, the contention or the question: How long does the drug last? In most cases, we concluded that the infatuation stage doesn’t last more than about three years at the most. You meet this girl, like this babe with the Panhead, fall madly in lust, and you can’t get enough of her. Then you settle in and the sex takes on a pattern, maybe a very creative passionate pattern, but by the end of the third year, shit has changed.
Let’s shift to her, and her nature. She’s hot, bristling with lust and passion when you first meet. She sinks in the hooks, but then come the demands. She wants a home. Remember, she’s the evil nester, the one who generally ends up with the majority of the parenting rolls. She needs a nest. So she starts by wanting to control the relationship, eliminate the competition, build the nest or home, have the kids, secure the income, build security around the home, and shortly you’re locked in. Remember, you just wanted to get laid. It’s similar to the black widow. She wraps you in her sticky web and then sucks the life out of you.
Here’s what Enzo Ferrari said about women back in the ‘60s: Women are more intelligent and dominating than men. Men are creatures of their passions, and this makes them victims of women. Ettore Bugatti, a great driver and caring car builder, and fine gentlemen, once told me, ”The perfect machine does not exist, mechanically speaking. The only perfect machine is a woman.”
–from Go Like Hell by A.J. Baime
Most of the bros agreed that by the fifth year, relationships have lost their lust, and you’re beginning to bang the neighbor lady, your secretary, the barmaid, whoever. Your drive (passion) is still strong; hers only returns with a new deposit in the bank account. The lust is gone, and there had better be other cementing elements for the relationship to last, or the damn thing is toast. Don’t get me wrong. If you have reached the five-year deadline and no longer need a woman to be your sex slave, then you are one of the few.
So, say that she has become your pal, someone you respect and trust more than any human on the planet. Believe me, it is possible. I’ve run across two brothers recently who have been married 25 and 40 years, and both love their wives deeply. They obviously got over all the hurdles, or who knows…
Ah, but then there’s menopause, a suicidal, psychotic phase that can last a decade. Hang on! So, what are your options? You meet a girl who rocks your world. She gets fat, mean, cuts you off, gets pregnant, steals your money, and or leaves you. So, you get to start over. It’s a costly, risky endeavor. So, what’s the conclusion? Simple, be careful for five years. Watch your back, don’t get married, and don’t get her pregnant.
If, at the five-year junction, she survives, and you have built something truly meaningful, buy her a ring, because you are one of the few who found a keeper; if not, show her the door or take it yourself, and move on. Just be careful, goddammit.
–Ming
