Winge-fest

Here I am again, still doing this. Maybe this project will last longer than a couple of days? This is a specifically targeted post, about a specific issue in my life, a commentary on an important aspect of the societies that I have experienced (little experience that I have). This is about women.

I have mixed feelings about women. I believe that I have grown up in a very repressed society, and yet I believe that most women in this society are promiscuous. A strange contradiction perhaps.

This is the ‘little talk’ my dad gave me when I was maybe six or seven (note that I did not start thinking about girls until I was nine), he got out a text book that had a line drawing; a shape like a very pointy skinny American football going up and down with three circles in it, one small, then two medium sized. He points to one of the larger circles;
“This is where you go into a woman when you have sex, and where babies come out of.” He points to another circle; “and this is where they wee from.”
Inquisitive as I am I point to the little circle at the top and ask “what’s that?”
“That is a little thing that sticks out and makes it feel good for a man when he is inside a woman.”
End of discussion.

You can imagine how much nonsense was inside my head for the next ten years.

Fast forward to seventeen and my first encounter.
She is thirty seven, we are both into magic, metaphysics, ancient civilisations, flying saucers, aliens, Tesla technology, biorhythms, astrology, etc., etc. She is damned beautiful and dead sexy. She is also my neighbour. Blue eyes, fake blonde hair (natural redhead), well endowed.
I haven’t the faintest idea what to do with a woman, I didn’t even know how to kiss properly, but she was patient, at this point she had been topless for an hour or so, now she took off the rest, then she took my hand and put it between her legs. I know even less what to do now! She takes hand, pushes down further, pushes my fingers inside her.
It was like cobwebs being swept aside in my mind. All of these misconceptions blown away. This was what a woman was like!

As an aside, and in my limited experience, I kind of group the women I have known (in the biblical sense) into two types; sexual and frigid, in that some had lots of orgasms, orgasmed easily, and had no inhibitions about expressing themselves when coming; and some had few (often only one) orgasms, it took nearly an hour of foreplay or lovemaking to get there, and it was hard to know that they had come. Also, incidentally, the passionate women I have know wanted no foreplay and no time wasted on their clitoris, whereas the others wanted lots of foreplay and a heavy focus on their clits. This experience is limited to Australian women and English women living in Australia, of roughly my age or older.

Also, as an interesting comment on Australian society, all of the passionate women had been raped more than a few times and none of the ‘less passionate’ women ever told my about any sexual violence in their lives.

I kind of think that many Australian men of my generation and older have great difficulty with the concept of a woman actually enjoying sex or of being sexual. I remember my father once saying to a friend of his that women had cycles and whilst they weren’t exactly “out sniffing bicycle seats” (his words) that they at least didn’t mind it so much then. Also remember an older friend of mine, about fifteen to twenty years older, once showing me a very technical looking diagram and saying “Look Kai, there really is a g-spot and this is where it is!” and me thinking I discovered this the very first time a woman stuck my hand between her legs twenty eight years before. Honestly, I don’t understand the men of their generation! Didn’t they experiment? Didn’t they ever ask a woman what she liked? What she wanted?

So, back to my first encounter, the actual sex took place the next day. An entire night of foreplay. We would stay up in front of an open fireplace until four in the morning talking. Then this moved on to the night when it got more physical, but the sex didn’t happen until the afternoon of the next day. I won’t go into detail, suffice to say that I think it lasted all of three minutes. But I learnt, lots of practice, five times a day, every day, lots of practice. Except when she was off her nut with the incredibly bad PMS that she had, then only three times a day.

Really, really bad PMS!
Once she tore off her clothes (in front of her four and seven year old children) and stabbed herself in the chest repeatedly. I once watched her overdose in front of me as she went on some self-destructive bender, she spent the next week in hospital. There would be one week of normality, then one week of moodiness and accusing me of having affairs with every other women on the planet (strange when she said she didn’t mind if I had sex with other girls and that she had nothing against me having several girlfriends), then a week of incredible violence, then a week of intense passion and incredible sex and lots of “we have sorted it all out and it will never happen again and now everything is perfect”. Then a week of ‘normality’, then…

No wonder that I had a nervous breakdown when I was nineteen.

My ex was not quite so passionate, but generally a lot more emotionally stable. She also said that she didn’t mind me having one or two other girls in the relationship. In fact every woman that I have ever had sex with has said that, and a few that I didn’t have sex with but had a very close non-sexual relationship with. Much talk, but none of them ever delivered on it.

That relationship lasted fourteen years. The ending is somehow eerily familiar. My ex was twelve years older than me, she had children from her previous marriage and didn’t want more, so I had to kind of give up on the idea of ever having children. But there was a point when she entered her mid-fifties and menopause came along. This was kind of like PMS, but instead of the cycle being monthly there were three or four cycles in a year. This meant that the moody, doubting, accusative part lasted a month, not a week. And then the violent tempers lasted a month, not a week. And then there wasn’t an incredibly passionate sex part for a month. I had dedicated my life to being with this person, so I kind of kept my head down and waited for her to work her way through it all. It was hard when you could get a two hour screaming fit because I had put the pepper shaker “on the wrong side” of the salt shaker and she had just put pepper on her sandwich when she wanted salt. But I suffered it all because at some point it had to end.

And end it did.
I came home one day to find a letter ending it.
She wanted to leave and spend some time focussing on herself.

So there was I; forty two and alone again.
It took me eighteen months before I even thought about women again, but when I popped my head up and started to look around me I was in for a very nasty shock.

The world had changed, I was older and no longer ‘marketable’. All of the women in my circle of acquaintances were married or divorced with kids and none of them wanted children (which I started to feel was something that my life wasn’t complete without). Basically I was totally in the wrong place at the wrong time. So, as per friends advice, I tried the internet. The first try was locally, trying to find an Australian woman, but either she was thirty five or older and either married and only looking for an affair (in my view read as; seeking to betray her husband, not something that I would be a party to), or had children and didn’t want any more. Or else she was younger and not interested in ‘old guys’.

At this point most of my friends were trying to sell me on Asian girls, but I had some romantic notion about having blue-eyed children. So my next stop was Eastern Europe; read that mostly as Russian, be they in Russia, Ukraine, Estonia, etc. From registering with only a couple of websites I get between ten and twelve new letters a day. Maybe half are from women over thirty five, even over forty five. But an incredible number are from girls eighteen to mid twenties, and women to mid thirties. Over two years can you imagine how many women that is? It so totally strokes your ego, it also totally deludes you to reality. So many letters, even quite a number of phone calls, girls giving me their private mobile numbers or email addresses. I even went to Ukraine to visit several girls, one in particular that I had been corresponding with for over a year and talking to for months. Went nowhere when put to the test. I met a girl there that was a total dream come true, but two months later she was saying goodbye.

At some point you feel like just giving up on white women in totality.

And I think that I am there.

Today is the day that I am going to close those accounts.

Look; I have arrived at the end point without having gone into how Anglo women are so totally up themselves and so high maintenance / low return, and blah, blah, blah.