I have a real problem, and I dont think there ...
I know lots of men have this problem, but I've got it really bad, and I'm going out of my mind. Every day is total heartache. Short of killing myself or moving to the mountains, what can I do?
?Peter
Okay, Peter?read carefully?that stirring in your groin that pops up when you realize your boss isn't wearing a bra? That ain't love. Nor is love that sharp queasy pain in your gut you feel when some 22-year-old art student bends over in front of you on the L train. Sadly for you, I just excised someone quite similar to you from my life. I say "sadly", because this has put me in a very foul mood, and I'm afraid someone must pay. And, sadly, that someone is you.
Peter, your problem isn't that you fall in love too easily; your problem is that you're a pseudo-sensitive, selfish halfwit who needs to grow the fuck up. You're not tortured; you're a narcissist who wouldn't know love if it jammed its finger in your eye. I'm guessing you write poetry.
Narcissists look at other people as reflections or extensions of themselves?not as actual human beings with feelings, because one of the many things a narcissist lacks is any sense of empathy. As narcissists inevitably hate themselves, you end up treating the dames dumb enough to dig you with contempt. You go through life using people, keeping them at a distance, all in an attempt to make you feel better about you. No wonder you're tortured.
What of these five or more girlfriends that aren't enough to fulfill such a deeply emotional and intellectual guy such as your bad self? Do they know about each other? I'm guessing not. I'd be interested?but not that interested?to hear your definition of love. I'm betting it involves a great ass and the ability to get you on the list for the Fischerspooner after-party.
Even though I'm quite grouchy at the moment and you really got on my tits with your ridiculous query, I'd never condone suicide. Instead of razor blades or mountaintop retreats, I'd suggest you find yourself a good therapist and an effective course of pharmaceutical helpers. Meanwhile, do the beleaguered single women of New York City a favor and keep it in your pants.
My girlfriend and I have lived together for six years. We have a pretty happy domestic and sex life, except that last year while I was out of town, she had a brief affair with a coworker.
I found out about it and confronted her. Despite the tears, shouts and recriminations, I found myself very turned on by the thought of her with another man. I have begged her to tell me the intimate details of her encounters and even suggested that she continue to be unfaithful to me (if she would tell me about it when we were together). Needless to say, she is reluctant. She thinks that I want to break up with her (which I don't) or have sex with other women (which I don't want either). She does know how excited the mere thought of her wantonness gets me and clearly she has a desire for sexual variety. But how can I get her to share her sexual recreation with me? Any advice?
?Roland
The reason your girlfriend isn't giving up the goods is because she's smarter than you. She and I both know that once you hear a little, you're going to want to hear a lot. And once you hear a lot?you're going to be seriously bummed. I doubt the details will continue to give you a stiffy once you hear she let him eat her ass or that during her little fling she figured out she can come from penetration alone after all (who knew!?!). She's saving you from a world of pain, my friend.
The idea that she should start sleeping with other people and reporting back to you is just retarded. Are you high on the drugs? Why don't you just ask her to make up stories for you? That'd be much easier (and saner) for everybody.
Let me leave you with a little Dategirl parable: I once had a boyfriend who got it into his head that he had the biggest wiener I'd ever seen. Instead of just imagining this to be so, he kept nagging me for confirmation. After the ten-millionth time he badgered me about it, I gave in and told him the truth; his penis barely hit the medium marker (and I was being kind), and his testicles were freakishly small (significantly less kind, but more true). He learned a valuable lesson that day: Honesty is rarely the best policy.
Are you the questioning type? Write [dategirl@earthlink.net ](mailto:dategirl@earthlink.com)or Dategirl, c/o New York Press, 333 7th Ave., 14th fl., NY, NY 10001.