Posts Tagged ‘unsung romantic’

Written By: The Unsung Romantic

Her Codename: Mini-Carrie Bradshaw

Category: Fairy Tales

I know what you might be thinking. Any time that a girl uses the word “big” and associates it with a man, the first thought is that she must truly be referring to the size of our penis. What else could it be? On the other hand, there is the dreaded “big teddy bear,” which in lies the problem that you are nothing more than a cuddly, wuddly safe friend who in our male psyche we do not always grasp and still believe that even a teddy bear can get laid. The truth is that when this mujer stated the words to me, “You’re so like my big …”, she was referring to the television bible for women of the last decade – Sex and the City (SATC).Ā 

My reactionary internal monologue – “%^&$! that god damn whore of a show and the incurable STD it gave this city.”

Yes, I know who Mr.Ā  BigĀ  is in that dreaded show.Ā  Just like all good soldiers I was dutiful and watched this crap over the course of its never ending run through the scores of SATC influenced girls I dated. Not only was I dutiful, but three steps ahead of the game on female counter intelligence operations. I usually save this for the end, but here is a quick piece of advice: Watch the show, plus the two movies. On top of that, make sure every time you are at the doctor’s office or at any location where females are the primary customer, read Cosmo. Do you think I am crazy? I am not fucking joking around with this. Cosmo, was the old SATC and in a strange universe, they’reĀ  both one in the same. The array of misinformed, subjective and irrational advice given in that monthly rag, coupled with a decade of Carrie Bradshaw and her inconceivable escapades have transformed the landscape of rational (if there ever was such a thing) expectations women (girls) expect of men (not boys).

Look, we can get into a whole debate about how that show empowered women across the country (especially carpetbagging transients who moved here from middle-America in search for the glamorous city life,), but this kind of crazy manifestation of a new breed of women has nothing to do with the show being a top-notch production. It was, I tip my cap to that. It’s about the drowning effect it had on millions of women who are between the ages of 25-40 in present day. It created a false sense of reality. It made all of us fellas into living, breathing embodiments of all the male characters in that show. It made us men to be fictional beings. And for an unknown percentage of the women who watched the show, it turned them back into little girls in search of the great knight on his white horse. I’ve dated a lot of these women retarded into girls, but it was this one particular Big incident that made me realize I had two choices: 1) Either be her “Big” and let her ride out the fantasy, or 2) Convince her I am not “Big”, but I’m better than him and I’m real.

So yes, I know very well who Big is, but I stillĀ  have no idea what that fucking means to this day. Do you? Maybe you can help out on this one. Here are my quickĀ  theories on what the incarnations of real world “Bigs” are:

Big 1: I’m a perpetual commitment-phobe. When the kitchen gets to hot, I toss her a fire extinguisher and dash for the nearest fire escape. I’m never around when she needs him. I’m sensitive to her cries at night, but only from a phone call or text away – never in person. I just don’t want anyone controlling my life. I am not cheater, but I need eternal autonomy and distance when I please.

Big 2: Charming. Dashing. Loving. Shares all my adventures with her. Make her feel as if she is the only girl in the world. Tell her she’s the most perfect thing he has ever met in my life, but … I won’t ever get married.

Big 3: I’m in love with women. Not one, but many. She wants me to be just in love with her, but she cannot change me. She knows I am this way, but will refuse to leave me. She hates me and she loves me equally. I can only show love for her, but she cannot understand how I can love so many. I must just hate her.

Big 4: I love her. I want marriage, but not now. I want children, but not now. I want to divert my energy from my career to my future wife, but it’s not time yet. I don’t want, think or flirt with the idea of another, but she tells me that can’t be because I am a man. I believe we live slow, beautiful lives, but we are moving too fast now for that to be. I love her and will marry her, but just not now, therefore I don’t really love her enough.

The truth is all of those versions of “Big” have a lot of truth in how these girls, maybe even women, see us. It’s their projections of how they want us to be so their insecurities, fears and emotions remain unhinged by the reality of a real guy in the world. You see, the television show ended with Carrie quietly winning over Big over the course of many years, therefore never having to doubt that he may still have been one of those guys mentioned above that will do nothing more than break her heart. It’s that fairy tail many girls want to live.

It’s the tail that beauty can control the beast, with one major difference in the stories. Beauty never changed who the Beast was, she just unveiled the real him. Carrie did end up changing Big, which only will lead to one thing … the return of the real Big.

I said above that I had two choices: 1) Either be her “Big” and let her ride out the fantasy, or 2) Convince her I am not “Big”, but I’m better than him and I’m real. I chose number 2 and that eventually led to the end, but she still does contact me. Why? Because this “Kind of Crazy” is the fairy tale kind who will forever see her life as the greatest drama ever told in story. Your choice is whether you can handle the crazy of a fictional tale for the sake of love or show her that non-fiction is a much better story because it hasn’t been written yet.

Background Check: Mini-Carrie Bradshaw also ended up being a fan of another great work of art, Grey’s Anatomy. Drama knows drama.

Do you have a “That’s Kind of Crazy” you want to share? Spill it and we’ll tell it.

Cheers,

The Unsung Romantic

He’s right, every dude should study up on Sex and the City to know what kind of bullshit they’re feeding women these days

Written By: The Unsung Romantic (Continued from Episode 1)

Her Codename: Kinky Double-Lover

Category: Polyamorous (See Polymory)

Maybe this is the kind of crazy you want? A girl who is admittedly convinced that it is possible to be in love with more than one guy at a time – or more. Before we summarize the story of Kinky Double-Lover (KDL), let’s always remember our task at hand with each episode: To find out what kind of crazy is just the right amount to make you want to lose your mind for her, forever. I’m not quite there yet.

So I met KDL online under the masquerade that is Match.com. I’ll be honest, online dating is a shitload of fun, if only for the sole reason that the majority of women and men patrolling the menu pages of specimens already have severe issues dating in a traditional, conventional way. I also have an underlying theory that many of the people on Match.com have severe sexual fantasies, repressions and primal needs they mask with the task of meeting your perfect match to live happily forever after with … It is possible.

The thing with a polymorous individual is that there is a constant need for attention (sexual and emotional). Most of the time, if the male grants her with both of these stimulus packages she is unable to handle what she states she wants. So, for you as the guy, you either have to be the one to fuck her or not-to-fuck her. Unless you can find the ability to role play every couple of months into both male figures.

How did it play out with Kinky Double-Lover? Within the span of a year, we met online, went on our first date and decided it be prudent to go on a second date where the inevitable happened – We had sex. Not just any sex, but the kind of sex that automatically brands this new relationship as we are only here to fuck. Then the ultimate-inevitable thing happened – she said after texting away furiously on her phone by our fourth date, “So I just broke up with my ex-boyfriend … ” “What do you think?” This is where I first thought as the alpha-male that I was so damn good I made this girl break up with her boyfriend, which was instantly followed by me saying, “What boyfriend?” and “So, what do you want me to do now?” What I learned was that apparently she loved the way we fuck and the taste of my dick so much more than anyone before (a line she had rehearsed very well, with very many).

But here is the real truth as we fast forward one year into the future …

Over the span of twelve months, KDL broke up with me twice, said she loved me twice, got back together with me twice and at the 10th month anniversary, broke up with me a third time after an impromptu trip to Italy just after Christmas all because she was now madly in love with my Italian counterpart who had a similar name, similar job, similar age, was an ex-boyfriend and best of all – had a similar fucking-style. So similar that in a surprise email via Facebook from my arch nemesis, I found out that she had professed her love for him and me in a very convoluted double-life she was living by telling us exactly word for word these beautifully recited lines, “No one fucks my ass like you. No one. God, I love you. I could marry you.” Here is the best thing we found out after joining forces in a cooperative investigation – When KDL was saying I love you to him, she was asking me to throw her against the wall and (fill in the blank). When that got old, she would swap our roles and we’d be the fun-loving just hang out, cuddle team who would speak of a future together while she was sex-skyping Mr. Italy.

When either one of us reminded her that we could fulfill her need to be loved and be fucked like a loveless creature at the same time (gasp), she exploded into a violent storm of denial telling the other that we did not fulfill one of those elements. So in the end, she broke up with him and then, I broke up with her, leaving her to create another paradox relationship of two guys and a girl in a galaxy far-far-away.

The thing is, KDL is the polyamorous fantasy of a girl every guy sometimes dreams of. The one that wants to just be cuddly and leave you to fucking others one month, while the next she is begging for you to fuck her until she bleeds (literally) and no one else. And the best thing is, she never, ever asked me, nor him if we had other affairs going on.

The question for you is this:Ā  Do you have what it takes to tell your ego that cuddle-fucker is most likely now and forever in search of filling continuous separate voids of sex and love? And that no matter how good you are in bed, or how much love you profess, it will never be enough for her. She will always somehow and somewhere have another kinky double-lover hidden under the sheets. If that’s your crazy, my advice is to check your emotions at the door as hard as it may be and keep your #2, #3 and more on speed-text up until the ripe age of death.

Background Check: After further investigation, it was also revealed that polyamorous KDL is a Korean-Adoptee.Ā  We will cover the particulars of adoptees, Korean girls and Asian girls as a whole in future stories.

Do you have a story about what your “That Kind of Crazy” is? Spill it, brother.

Cheers,

The Unsung Romantic

 

 

 






Written By: The Unsung Romantic

I think my father said it best to me, as well as a few unsuspecting buddies of mine while packed into the ’86 Plymouth Tourismo Duster I inherited a little after this short lived sermon took place. “Look man,” he said (Try to envision a middle-aged suave Cuban man, with white hair, a mustache and a thick accent when hearing him). “You guys have to get this really simple with all the bullshit you keep talking about Paul’s (my good friend at the time) crazy girlfriend …” “What’s that? She’s fucking crazy,” I said! So he goes with the voice of a man who’swisdom of biblical proportions was only beginning to release itself that day after baseball practice, “That’s right, guy. She’s fucking crazy. They all are, but that isn’t what matters. It is the farthest thing from the solution to understanding women because that’s the constant of the female universe.” “The real problem is you, Paul. If you want to be happy, then you have to understand that it is you that is the problem in the formula, not her.”

Immediately after this, like a bunch of virgin assholes who think the old man has been married to my mother for so long he’s lost all sense of his manhood, has been emasculated, recircumsized and can’t remember what a pussy looks like my idiot friend goes, “But Mr. X, girls are fucking nuts now and pussies are much better now than they used to be. They’re like cleaner and so girls think they are the shit. Like they can do whatever they want.”

Dad pulls the car over into a church parking lot just a few lots down from our house …

“Do you know what a pussy is, Steve? (idiot friend). What does it look like? Describe it. Do you like the way it tastes? What about when ‘jur little cock is pretending to fuck it?”

“Whoa! Mr. X. You are fucking crazy!” (immediate teenage boy blushes occur) because we have no fucking idea what a pussy really is.

“A pussy is the Alpha and the Omega my friends. It is the big bang theory. The instant the universe was created so was the pussy to make sure that man will always understand his purpose as number two in life, behind number one, the pussy. The woman. The girlfriend. The wife.” “Entiendes, mariconsitos (lil’ fags)? So stop fucking around.”

It was at this point in time where we still had no fucking idea what dad was talking about, until I put his next and final sentence of that car ride together many years and many, many women down the road.

“There are women you fuck … And there are women you marry … But guys, they’re all kind of crazy.” He pops the car in drive, pulls a few lots up into the driveway, turns to us and says with a commanding wink that’s usually given before James Bond wins the girl, the card game and kills you in the process, “But if you fucking tell your mother what I said, I’ll kill you and you will never know what a pussy is.”

So my mom was “that kind of crazy” that made my dad want to marry her, make me and live the rest of their lives together in a happiness that was created in a big bang the second the two of them were born.

So what’s my fucking point? The point is my friends, that the following series of many short stories will encompass every type of crazy (woman) known to man (at least through my vaginascope). And along the way I hope we can all share a few more undiscovered kinds of crazy that have done everything from make us cry (yes, I said it), to make us feel like we were born to be porn stars and even those who still make us us wonder if she was ever a man before you met her …

In the end, we’re going to figure out what it is that we really want in a woman. Whether it be your voyeuristic anal whore, or ultra orthodox religious virgin with a penchant for foot fetishes, or the girl next door who is also a doctor (while you are a kindergarten teacher) – we are going to find our “That Kind of Crazy” that makes us never look back.

I promise! Even if it makes us crazy, like a woman.

Cheers,
The Unsung Romantic

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Please welcome our second male contributor, The Unsung Romantic, who will be alternating posts with Dick Lambert.Ā  The Unsung Romantic is what many would call a Euromerican. He is a lover, a hunter and a fighter all rolled into one overly complicated contradiction of a modern day American playboy. He’s dated mother-daughter combinations, Thai nannies, has almost been married, has fathered unborn children and has more fetishes than noted on your favorite porn site. All this aside, he loves the essence of woman for every perfect imperfection they have, believes there really is one woman (at least) out there that makes a man lose all sense of consciousness and understands men are from Mars and women are from another completely uncharted parallel universe.