For the past few years I've actively avoided love like it gave me a sexually transmitted disease at a party once, so when I say that I've been burned by love I mean it literally as well as figuratively. See, when you are in your twenties getting your heart shattered into a million pieces is a virtual rite of passage - I'm sure if every man was forced to write their memoirs in the winter of their life, the chapter representing their 20's would be titled "I can't believe she's fucking him now!!" Suffice it to say that I'm battle-tested in matters of the heart, I've had women cheat on me with friends of mine, a chick once left me for a homeless guy, one came out of the closet and converted to lesbianism after I picked some stray hairs out of her teeth during breakfast - not to mention the plethora of men I've assaulted, solely because they were the new tenants at a property my girlfriend owned called Hotel Vagina. I'm so battle-tested that I figured that by the time I reached my 30's I'd enter relationships on some General Douglas MacArthur shit, going on dates wearing all my medals from the love wars I've been a part of - even during sex uttering sweet nothings in my lover's ear like "In war, there is no substitute for victory." and "Old soldiers never die; they just fade away." But now at the grizzled age of 33 what I realize is that what I've been through is irrelevant, even the most decorated soldier can be taken out by the most novice of snipers - that's why I've avoided love at all costs, because a 33 year old man weeping while playing George Michael's "Careless Whisper" just isn't sexy.
When I was 23 and a woman decided to rip my beating heart out of my chest I'd handle it like any other red-blooded American man would, I'd sigh continuously while watching Audrey Hepburn flicks in the dark under the covers. But now I feel that I'd handle the exact same situation by either going on a motherfucking killing spree, walking around in public with my cock tucked while barking like a cocker spaniel- or I might even go ahead and dedicate my blog to her and title it "You Dirty fucking Harlot!" So now you see why I haven't let a female within a square mile of my heart, and why most of my sexual encounters over the past 6 years have included the question - "Yo, do you have change for a 20?"
I'm not going to lie though, there have been a handful of women over the past few years that actually started to fall for me - a small part of me that is.(No, I'm not talking about my penis, asshole) See, they fell for a part of my personality that only represents a small percentage of who I am as a person - and since maintaining that facade was as emotionally draining as reviewing a Lil Wayne record, I had to let them go. Here are a few examples.
The Emotional guy: I was briefly dating a woman who for some reason thought that I was a man truly in touch with his feelings, and I have no idea what gave her that impression? I mean, sure I started to shed a couple tears while the both of us were watching "Coolie High" together, the part where Cochise meets his untimely demise - but I thought that all black men did that? No big deal. OK, and there was that other time when we both had a little too much to drink at her house - and I started sobbing like an actress on a Spanish Soap opera while discussing my deceased father, so what! Anyway, after those two utterly embarrassing situations she took it upon herself to act as my therapist - romantic dates turned into impromptu therapy sessions where she asked me shit like "How did you feel about that exactly?" after everything I said. Jesus Christ, a guy sheds a few tears and all of a sudden she turns into Barbara Walters - those few fleeting moments of emotional vulnerability hardly define me as a person. So after I took a piss off of her balcony, punched one of her co-wokers in the face, and wiped my genitals on her curtains after sex - I proceeded to ask her, "How did you feel about that exactly?"
The Complete Savage: It has been my experience that most women absolutely loathe violence, I can't tell you how many relationships have been castrated after the words "You're ass is going to get me killed" were uttered. But this one woman named Rosa loved my penchant for handing out random beat-downs, an addiction that arose after I defended her honor by administering a throat-chop to some assholes Adam's apple. Granted, I like violence - but she got off on my physical altercations so much that she would reward me with porn-star style sex afterwards. After a while I felt like Jet-Li's character in "Unleashed", attacking random jackasses for the most asinine reasons - the collar around my neck that she unbuckled was the invitation for some rather deviant forms of sex later that night. Fighting douche-bags who deserve it is one thing, but attacking innocent parties is another - so that brief relationship ended when I "accidentally" beat up her brother at a nightclub we were at.
The Vegan: I'm probably one of the only people who enjoys their weight fluctuation, sure its unhealthy - but when I'm heavier I tell chicks "Come on baby, it'll be like fucking one of your childhood Teddy Bears!" and when I'm smaller I'll nakedly proclaim "Look, you get so much more dick when I'm this size!!" So during one of my more slimmer moments, when I was watching my weight like a fork-life operator - I swore off all meats for the sake of my own health and being able to completely see my own penis. An earthy chick that I was dating at the time noticed this and slowly tried to lure me into her world - a world that I was slowly being sucked into, akin to a girl seeking Hollywood stardom who eventually finds herself getting triple penetrated on film. First she had me learn about all the products that had animal products in them, showed me the correct way to read ingredients, and introduced me to a cook-book worth of healthy alternatives to meat. Looking back I was actually getting into it, not because it was good for me - but for the sex, she was so natural and healthy that at the time her vagina smelled as pleasant as a playful stroll through the woods.(No bullshit) But as soon as she tried to introduce me to organic toothpaste and deodorant I was out of there, that was the hypnotist's "wake up" word that reminded me that this lifestyle wasn't me. I clearly remember her breaking up with me after an innocent kiss, one in which she smelled cooked flesh accompanied with cheese, onions, and thousand island salad dressing.