The Types Of Women You Date In Your 30’s

W1

(c) Jeremy Entwistle

The 30’s are a man’s glory years. The tides of the sexual market place are beginning to shift in his favor. The hard lessons earned through his 20’s are paying dividends. With his new found maturity, he is presented with opportunities that used to be merely erotic fantasies and wet dreams. If he has been able to keep himself from getting sucked into the clutches of marriage and kids, and developed his skills with women, by his 30’s he would have dated an impressive selection of ladies.

The Boss Bitch

A Type-A female working her mighty fine ass off to make it to the top of her chosen field. She’s hardworking, competitive, and well versed in using her bitch face in order to be taken seriously. For all her success, it’s tough for her to find a suitable match. Men are either intimidated that she makes more money than them, or try to take advantage of that fact. Too many men are effeminate these days and she doesn’t care for wimpy men.

Luckily for her, you’re a fellow A-type that can toss her around like a rag doll while you ravage her. You find her success and dedication to her vocation sexy. She’s very picky of the type of men she’s with and if she’s with you, you must be on top of your shit. If you show the slightest bit of weakness in the initial stages of courtship, she’ll eat you alive. 50% of women think they’re a Boss Bitch, only 5% are.

The Slacker

She hasn’t really done much other than be a manager at a retail store or a waitress. A job that pays the bills, but leaves her feeling meh. She will occasionally talk about going back to school for nursing or some shit, but will procrastinate on signing up for classes until its too late. Maybe next semester when life is less hectic.

She’s a pretty chill chick though. You genuinely enjoy the time spent together binge watching Netflix while smoking weed and whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. It’s a pretty low key set up without much drama, though your combined monetary funds tend to be limited. You’ll probably get her pregnant. Luckily, she’s pro-choice.

The Single Mom and Proud Of It

“My kids are my life and I won’t put up with any man who thinks my kids are baggage, not a bonus!” This type of bold, but delusional, woman declares on her dating profile. Her baby daddy is usually an asshole, but she blames her lack of insight into the matter on being young, in love, and naive when they were together. Now she has two adolescent children, is back in the dating game, and thinks her sexual market value is equal to that of a woman whose body has not had some serious wear and tear.

She will at times exclaim a bitter attitude towards guys who won’t date her, because she has children, as douchebags who are unwilling to man the fuck up. “Keep hitting the bong loser because I represent reality,” she’ll affirm to herself as she rolls her eyes. She just wants to find a handsome, smart, tall, athletic, financially independent man with no kids who will put her and her two children above himself. In her heart of hearts, she believes this is a reasonable request.

The Single Mom and On The Down Low About It

Yeah, she’s a single mom, but so what? She had her kids when she was young and now they’re old enough to take care of themselves. She’s done her time in the housekeeping and after school activities trenches. She’s fucking sick of talking about her honor roll student and now wants to focus on herself. She doesn’t need a daddy for her kids, she needs a man to make her feel like a woman.

Having endured a drought of adult conversation and situations for the better part of a decade, she’s appreciative of the little things you do that you’ve done with dozens of other chicks in the past, because it makes her feel unique and special. Usually a serial monogamist, you’re the first lover she had in a few months other than that one night stand she felt really dirty about. She grows attached to you quicker than she should, but fuck it, you enjoy being with a chick who isn’t too lazy to cook and you ride it out to see where it goes.

The Young Chick

W5

(c) John Rohan

Age: 18 – 23.

She’s stupid, unappreciative, selfish, mean, a liar, flakey, and lacking the ability to NOT take a selfie every ten minutes; but makes up for these severe short comings because she’s pretty fucking hot and has a newly minted (legal) pussy ripe for the smashing.

Your conversations with her will be no deeper than the faith you still hold in humanity. She’ll throw a tantrum because you didn’t like her latest Instagram picture. Her text messages will be splattered with emojis and lols despite the fact that nothing funny has been said.

When she sucks your cock, you derive as much pleasure from the fact that she’s NOT talking as from her lips around your manhood. On occasion, she’ll have a stroke of brilliance and say something of value. Since she’s so young, she’s also malleable. If you possess the skill, you can sculpt her to your will. If you’re able to tie one of these down in her zenith, your prospects of living a happy life exponentially increase.

The Ticking Biological Clock

Age: 29 – 39

“Okay Becky,” she’ll affirm to herself as she looks into her bathroom mirror that has BAMF written on it with red lipstick, “You are done slutting around. You’ve got the hang of this adulting thing. Now its time to find Mr. Right.” As she finishes getting dressed for her date, she holds a staunch determination to not waste her time with fuck boys anymore. Her clock is ticking and she needs to find a man to breed and start a happy family with. If you ain’t about that, you best get the fuck out her face. *finger snap*

The Ticking Biological Clock can be a great bargain if you already have your life in order and are ready to begin the process of building a family. You may be able to snatch up a top-tier chick who would normally be out of your league, just because she’s highly aware that her child bearing years are numbered and her beauty is waning. If you ain’t there yet, be ready to be dumped promptly because she’s done waiting on men who are still doing their lost boy crap. Maybe if your game is on par, you can persuade her to slut it up with you few more times before finding “Mr. Right.”

The Cougar

W4

(c) Khrisna Susanto

Age: 40 – 59

Aged like a fine wine, these prowling she-beasts are sick of the boring men of their generation who are set in their ways. She’s a youthful soul who doesn’t recognize the person who is staring back at her in the mirror. Rocking a hard body supplemented by a high quality boob job, she’s genuinely hotter than 80% of young chicks. She is a bit bitter about men in general, but has also lost most of her inhibitions in the sack.

Her personality has been forged in the fires of life. Her awareness of the pretty lies and ugly truth of society make her an enlightening conversationalist. She has to remind you to not check your phone every fifteen minutes. Young bitches give her hate-filled stares when they see her with a stud like you. Your age difference will become more and more apparent as you date her, but fuck it; it’s nice to be appreciated, pampered, and feel like you’re the prize.

The Ethical Slut

Catering to the age ol’ tradition of polygamy with the modern twist of the relationship being open to both sexes. The Ethical Slut has read deeply into human sexual evolutionary theory and has come to the conclusion that humans are not made to be monogamous creatures. In fact, she argues, it’s more healthy to have a few lovers to fulfill all your needs instead of limiting yourself to one.

This works out for you because you are totally chill having someone to fuck around with to keep you from appearing too thirsty while playing the game. Plus, their insights into sex are rather intriguing. It’s a common misconception that Ethical Sluts are indiscriminate of who they fuck. In fact, they can be more tedious and demanding to get into the sack than your conventional slut.

The Conventional Slut

W3

While the Ethical Slut has a well thought out philosophy behind her promiscuous behavior, the Conventional Slut just loves cock and has very little self control. She’s a pretty fun chick to be around and the life of the party. She’s a favorite of womanizers and players because the minimal amount of fiscal and temporal investment required.

On your date, you hold open some doors, let her enjoy a drink as you tell some whimsical stories about your life, add a dash of humblebragging about your accomplishments, make a bold move at the bar, and she’ll be spread eagled on your mattress in no time.

One day, post-fucking, she’ll ask you why you don’t want to make her your girlfriend. Instead of being a man of honor and giving her the harsh truth, “I don’t take sluts seriously because I don’t want a chick who has had dozens upon dozens of other dudes dicks inside of her as a girlfriend.” You lie and say, “I’m not ready for a relationship.” She’ll feign contentment and you’ll continue to fuck her as she slowly fades away from your life.

The Prude

She doesn’t drink. She doesn’t smoke. She doesn’t curse. She doesn’t stay out late on weeknights. She works as a secretary for an insurance company and has a collection of stuffed animals littered all over her bed. She dresses like Diane from Cheers and insists on knowing all about your past relationships and if you still talk to any of your ex’s. She counts one night stands as relationships.

If you drink more than one beer on a date she’ll immediately be concerned about your ability to drive home and ask if you’re an alcoholic. She’ll insist you can have fun without drinking. She’s never tried weed and thinks those who do are low-life losers. She has a rigid idea of how dating, relationships, and her ideal man are supposed to be. You have failed to live up to her expectations. You tolerate her self-righteous criticism because you have the gut feeling that she’s into some kinky shit.

The Feminazi

“Feminist. Socialist. Vegan. Fuck Trump. Woke.” She proudly declares on her dating profile.

Sophomorically, you failed to pick up on these subtle cues that this chick is the antithesis of a good time. You’re too much of a horn dog to let political ideologies get in the way of seeing whether her carpet matches her blue drapes.

As you listen to her spew idiotic rhetoric after idiotic rhetoric, you feel yourself shaking in order to contain your anger. Only to finally explode when she says, “The world would be a better place if we were all communists.”

To which you retort, “Every single fucking communist regime in human history has murdered hundreds of thousands, if not millions of its own people.”

“Just like we murdered the Native Americans, elected Trump, and oppress women. I’m so embarrassed to be American,” she’ll smugly say.

You chug your beer, pay the tab, say, “Good night” and never talk to her again. Stupid is fuckable, treasonous beliefs are not.

The Bipolar Chick

W2

(c) Dr. Case

Practically useless in every way except for the fact that she’s pretty cute, intelligent, and understands you better than anybody ever has when she isn’t lost in a deep state of depression, which leaves her bedridden for days on end while ignoring your texts, yet being able to update her Instagram with posts about being a strong woman and appreciating the man in your life.

Her long journeys into the nether regions of the human psyche gives her the uncanny ability to manipulate you. When she’s manic, her aloofness disappears and she showers you with the attention and affection you deeply desire. Only to have her mood go haywire when you make a remark that triggers her. Over the course of this so called relationship, she’ll suck and feast on your emotional marrow until you are left a hollow shell of your former self. She was a pretty good fuck though.

The Dream Girl

W6

(c) Tomasz Pro

After all the bull shit you’ve been through, rifling through different types of chicks, you may have actually found the elusive dream girl. You have a 96% match on OK Cupid and your message exchange flowed effortlessly.

Upon meeting her for a drink, you’re pleased to discover that she looks way better in real life than in her pictures. Your browbeaten heart flutters like it hasn’t in a long time as witty banter ensues over drinks. She’s smart, sexy, sincere, ambitious, and has your same wicked sense of humor.

She may be it. The chick who finally gets you to give up the game. Who makes you want to be a good man. You can totally imagine yourself building a life with this prime example of womanhood. After a sweet good night kiss, you walk away smitten. You text her the next day in order to set something up, but don’t get a response. You try again a few days later. No response. Fucking bitch.

~Raul Felix

Read: It’s So Hard To Say “No” To An Easy Lay
Read: 4 Things Women Can Do To Be More Attractive (From A Non-Beta Bitch Male Perspective)
Read: Why Young Men Should Become Cougar Slayers

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog
Follow me on Instagram.
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20 Random Observations On Women’s Dating Profiles (From An Asshole’s Perspective)

OKC

Online dating has become an invaluable tool for both men and women to meet the love of their life (or night). It gives you the ability to come into contact with people you would have never formed a connection with otherwise. It has started many good relationships and no-strings-attached hook-ups. But patterns emerge just like with any other form of social interaction, and being the over-observant asshole that I am, I notice and call them out.

1. When chicks post pictures of their kid(s) on their profile, I just think: “Thanks for making my fantasy of me skull-fucking your mouth awkward, bitch.”

2. Despite what SJWs would like you to believe, white people aren’t the most racist people in the world. That title belongs to Asians. Asians hate and spit on other Asians for not being the right type of Asian, especially if they’re one of the lower-class dark-skinned ones. If an Asian woman were to bring home the wrong type of man, she would bring great shame upon her family. Unless you’re also Asian, 90% of them will never respond to you. Most of the remaining ones will only date you if you are white because you’re the least offensive to their kin.

3. When you find a dime piece with expertly applied makeup, huge fake breasts, an amazing ass, and whose written summary seems to have everything you want, it’s probably a transsexual. Total fucking boner-killer. The hot tranny prove that men are better than women at everything, including being women.

4. An overabundance of chicks have “taco” in their screen name, meaning they either love Mexican food or are trying to give you a not-so-subtle sexual innuendo about her vagina. If that’s the case, she wants you to send her a highly sexual message about giving her a few squirts of your man-sauce to add some flavor and texture to her taco. Or she’s bisexual (fuck yeah!) or lesbian (fuck!).

5. It’s very disheartening to start a conversation with a chick you totally click with and who has everything you want and desire in a woman, then finding out she has a two-year-old kid. Fuck that shit. No pussy is worth the monetary, emotional, and temporal cost of dealing with someone else’s brood. Peace out! Wish you the best, though =).

6. “My babies and I are a package deal.” Nope! *Tosses package off the side of the freeway*.

7. You can always tell a chick is fat and trying to hide it if all her pictures are taken from an extreme angle.

8. I never cared for Trump and didn’t vote for him. Yet whenever a chick puts on her dating profile “If you voted for Trump, don’t message me,” I want to build a time machine, go back in time, commit voter fraud, and vote for him 100 times out of spite.

9. Putting “I’m a feminist” on a dating profile is the chick equivalent of a dude posting a shirtless bathroom selfie. Thanks for the fair warning that you’re a huge fucking douchebag, though.

10. I don’t give a fuck about your Myers-Briggs personality type. No, I’m not going to look up what ENFJ means. No, I’m not going to take that stupid test. No, I’m not curious about what it says about me.

11. It sucks wasting one your free “likes” on Tinder on an ugly/fat chick.

12. If it’s a group picture, she’s probably the fat chick.

13. If all her pictures are professional pictures, she’s a bot.

14. “I have a degree in *insert minority group* studies” means “I have a shit ton of student loans and little to no means of paying them off. In addition, you will have to walk on eggshells around me about any racial subject whatsoever lest I give you a lecture about #checkingyourprivilege.”

15. Most overused phrase: “If you’ll be my Clyde, I’ll be your Bonnie.”

16. If my Bumble experience has taught me anything, it’s that most chicks suck at starting conversations. I don’t know how many times I’ve read on profiles on other sites to say something more interesting than “Hi,” or “What’s up,” yet nearly every single one of them has started a conversation with me that way.

17. “I’m not here for a hook-up” translates to “I’m totally here for a hook-up but I don’t want to look like a hoe.”

18. On OKCupid, some chicks think it’s an endearing quality to write an entire novel pertaining to their life story. They write out every single fucking detail in such a fashion that it leaves no way a reasonable stranger could ask anything without feeling redundant. Save that shit for your whack-ass Tumblr.

19. Second most overused phrase: “I probably only liked you for your dog.”

20. Even if you meet all the criteria in their little listicle of what they want in a man, there’s a 75% chance she’ll still won’t respond.

~Raul Felix

Read: I’d Pee in Her Butt
Read: Why Young Men Should Become Cougar Slayers
Read: Where Are My Whores?

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog
Follow me on Instagram.
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Two Bros Smoke Weed And Compare Notes About Women

When you spent enough time working alongside someone, you tend to develop a good understanding of them. Sometimes you like them, sometimes you hate them. Usually, it’s a healthy mix of both. Yet when that former coworker who became your friend comes to visit you for a couple of weeks, you can’t help but get back to the old shit-talking routine. When my crabby and grumpy security contractor buddy, “Grumps”, came to visit, that’s exactly what ensued.

Grumps: “That chick from last night won’t text me back, fucking cunt.”

Raul: “That’s because she’s getting a train run on her by a bunch of black dudes.”

Grumps: “No, she’s my little white angel. We had such a deep connection. I’m fucking serious, Raul; I would have married that bitch.”

Raul: “You only talked to her for thirty minutes.”

Grumps: “So? I felt it, man. We were made to be together. Why is she being such a bitch and ignoring my texts?”

Raul: “Because she’s currently getting triple-rodded by Tyron and his buddies.”

Grumps: “Fuck, you’re probably right.”

Raul: “It doesn’t matter. You probably would’ve taken her out on a nice, fancy date and only gotten a peck on the lips as you dropped her off. What was her name again?”

Grumps: “Sammy.”

Raul: “Then Tyron would’ve called her up and been like, ‘Yo Sammy, I’m comin’ over. I’m bringing my boys, too. You better have some good weed this time, not that weak bullshit of full seeds and stems like last time. ’”

Grumps: “That white boy feed you good? You gonna need dat energy.”

Raul: “Speaking of weed, roll us another fucking blunt.”

Grumps: “Goddamn it, hold on.”

Grumps rolls us a nice blunt.

Raul: “These are fucking good days we’re living, Grumps.”

Grumps blows smoke into the air.

Grumps: “Mmmmmhmmmm. Dude, I’m having so much fun. Listening to music, smoking green, drinking, and hanging with my boy Raul.”

Raul: “Yep. You see how many hot bitches there are out today?”

Grumps: “Yeah, man. It’s like as soon as I stop checking out the ass of one, another fine bitch passes by. Too bad they’re all a bunch of libtards.”

Raul: “Hey, man, liberals ain’t that bad. Sure, they’re annoying as fuck, but they’re pretty cool and nice if you avoid political conversation with them.”

Grumps: “Oh man, don’t fucking get me started on these fucking liberals, you know what the fuck I saw on Fox News…”

Raul: “No, no, no. We’re not getting into your simpleminded Midwest rhetoric. All you do is fucking get on Facebook and hate-read whatever the conservative propaganda machine wants you to be pissed off about that day.”

Grumps: “All right, fine. Oh man, did I tell you about that fight I saw earlier?”

Raul: “No, what happened?”

Grumps: “Oh, fuck, man. It was hilarious. These two fat bitches start yelling at each other in the middle of the street. One of them was pushing a baby stroller, too. Then one of them starts screaming some shit about the other being a gossipy, shit-talking slut. Then they start slapping one another until a few dudes broke them up.”

Raul: “Holy fuck. I wish I would’ve seen that. Did you get it on video?”

Grumps: “No, it happened way too fast for me to record it.”

Raul: “What time did it happen?”

Grumps: “About three or so.”

Raul: “Oh yeah, that’s when all that welfare trash starts walking around town after going to their appointments or picking up their kids or whatever the fuck people on welfare do.”

Grumps: “They did look ratchet as fuck.”

Smoke fills the room as Grumps swipes through his Tinder.

Grumps: “Oh Raul, so many bitches want my cock.”

Raul: “No, they don’t.”

Grumps: “Yes, they do. I got all these hoes I’m working all over the place. I take them on a date to get some good food, then I let in my fucking rags-to-riches life story and their mouth drops.”

Raul: “Bitches only want you for your money, Grumps.”

Grumps: “They ain’t going to get shit. Making them sign a prenup.”

Raul: “That’s good that you think you got some game. Remember, I ain’t no broke piece of shit either, motherfucker. Sure, I ain’t contractor-rich like you, but I do decent.”

Grumps: “Fine, you’re a mini-baller.”

Raul: “Damn straight. Plus, you need money to get bitches. You’re not a fucking artist like me, Grumps, where you can just work a low-paying gig while waiting for genius to surface.”

Grumps: “Raul, your writing sucks. I could write better shit than that without trying.”

Raul: “Like I really respect your opinion regarding literature. What the fuck is the last book you read?”

Grumps: “Hell if I know.”

Raul: “See Grumps, I play the long game. Using my words, stories, and shit to show chicks I’m a deep, thoughtful soul and not just a Latin stud.”

Grumps: “Well, I got a Mercedes SLR and my own house paid for. Bitches’ panties get drenched for that shit. Maybe one day you’ll be rich like me. I hope that for you.”

Raul: “Awwww…you’re sweet. Whatever happened with that one college chick you took out on a date the other night?’

Grumps: “I took her to the mall and bought her some lingerie. Had her little tight twenty-one-year-old ass model it for me. Then I tore that puss up and filled it full of freedom!”

Raul: “Smash that puss! You know she is going to be wearing that lingerie for one of her college boys, right?”

Grumps: “Pfff, I don’t give a fuck. She was just a random piece of pussy to me.”

Silence fills the room for a few minutes as we relax.

Raul: “These are good days we’re living, Grumps.”

Grumps: “Mmmmmhmmmm.”

~Raul Felix

Read: Four Things Only Mexican-Americans Will Understand
Read: Guy Talk: Hot Tranny
Read: 3 Winning PR Strategies For Muslim Extremists

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog
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Why Young Men Should Become Cougar Slayers

(c) Sergey Furtaev

(c) Sergey Furtaev

For all their youthful vigor, beauty, and perfectly angled selfies that show off their best assets, most young chicks are a real pain in the ass to deal with. Most of them think that the average young guy is incapable of fulfilling them and haven’t been humbled by reality enough to know what characteristics to truly look for in a man. Also, they’ll elevate a minor problem into full-blown drama and then yap about how they’ve been through a lot (of dick). Regardless, many boys and men will compete for their attention because nothing screams Alpha Male like having a hot 21-year-old with an hourglass figure hanging off your arm. Instead of directly going toe-to-toe with other dudes who have airtight game or higher social value than you in such a fiercely competitive atmosphere, why not change the field you operate in and become a cougar-slayer?

For those of you slow on the uptake, cougars are older, mature women usually 40+ who still look pretty damn good because they’ve taken care of themselves throughout the years. They are not to be confused with spinsters and fat-acceptance twats whose bitterness and sloth has left them with a body that only devouring hundreds of gallons of ice cream while watching romantic comedies compounded over many years can produce.

I learned about the unique prowess of these wonderful creatures by pure luck. When I was in the Army, my unit was constructing a bunch of new barracks and ran out of the room to house all the single soldiers. So they decided to give a bunch of us single dudes who had been there for a while an extra allowance for housing so we could get our own places off-post. The apartment I got for myself was near a bar that catered to a more mature clientele because they often hosted cover bands that played classic rock.

As I began to frequent that bar, something occurred that rarely happened to me: Good-looking women with amazing fake breasts and wild 80s-style glam-rock hair began to flirt with me. At the time, my MO was to hit up the bars, hit on chicks who were in my age range, and get promptly rejected. This would lead to me drinking alcohol in frustration and making another sloppy attempt at convincing a chick to let met touch her lady parts, which led to more severe rejections. Frustration drinking would morph into rage drinking, which would have me falling toward a downward spiral of angst and loneliness that ended with me jerking off to nude pictures of my ex-girlfriend.

A new world opened for me. Instead of constantly having my ego destroyed by 6s or 7s who wanted nothing to do with my goofy Mexican self, I was exchanging witty banter, dancing, making out, and more with cougars who were 8s and 9s in their prime and still looked like total foxes. They loved that I was an eager, muscular, clean-cut Latin 22-year-old with an outgoing personality and quirky smile. I loved their feminine physique, no-bullshit attitude, and ability to hold real conversations. It was the beginning of an infatuation that has maintained my interest until this day.

Why should young men experiment with dating cougars? Because they have an insane amount of knowledge to bequeath upon you to expedite the process of growing into a real man. A lot of these women have been hardened by the real world. They have been married, divorced, have full-fledged careers, and may have a few kids to boot. They don’t have time for the petty games that late-teen and early-twenty-something chicks love to play on the male psyche. When they decide to spend time with you, they mean business. They’re able to stimulate you physically and mentally.

Through your interactions with them, you’ll learn about the mistakes both men and women tend to make as they grow older—from having children before they were truly ready to allowing the romance in the relationship to wane. You’ll be exposed to their lifestyle and see how life can look like for you if you make the right or wrong moves. You’ll learn to interact more intelligently and have deeper conversations with the opposite sex. You’ll have a ton of hands-on experience on pleasing your woman in the sack because most cougars are more than willing to coach you into being a good lover.

You shouldn’t exclusively date cougars, but add them to your repertoire of women you consider dating material. Depending on how successful she is, you’ll be able to catch a taste of the high-class life. You know all those pretty young chicks going to all sorts of fancy, exclusive parties and places on social media? Most of them didn’t pay the bill for that. They got there by dating older men who have already established themselves. It’s tough to compete with that as a young man who is barely starting off in the world.

Don’t think just because you’re with an older woman that you can be a lazy sack of shit. If you’re a broke, sloppy mouth-breather with poor personal hygiene and the inability to hold a conversation, these bitches will shut you down quickly. You’re the young stud—play the part. Have enough money to take her out for drinks, be in good shape, dress nice, and have something of value to say. They are still women, after all. You must spark their interest and gain their trust. If you’re able to do those things, you’ll have more than you fill of cougar love, as opposed to trying to scrounge for a bit of attention from a mediocre chick with an overinflated self-worth because she has 2,000 Instagram followers who bombard her with likes every time she posts a cleavage shot.

~Raul Felix

Read: She Had The Body Of A Greek Goddess
Read: Army Rangers Talk About The Times Their Words Have Shocked Civilians
Read: 4 Things Women Can Do To Be More Attractive (From A Non-Beta Bitch Male Perspective)

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog
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I Miss Those Saturday Nights

I miss those Saturday nights,
Where we would lie in bed,
Laziness consuming us.
Yet, we had planned an exciting night out.

“We’ll start getting ready in five minutes,” I say.
“OK,” you respond as you press your nose into my chest.

Fifteen minutes pass.
We’re still wrapped up in each other’s arms.
“Alright, we’re getting up now,” I declare.
A few seconds pass… then I sit up.
You follow.

You get up from the bed and slowly put on a skirt.
Then I reach for your arm and pull you on top of me.
“I thought we were getting ready,” you say.
“We are…,” I say as I feel up your body.

We would be back where we were before,
In each other’s embrace.
Maybe next Saturday night.

~Raul Felix

Read: Empty Chair
Read: For This One Day, She Made Me Forget
Read: Becoming A Beast May Help You Win The Beauty

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog
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What Basic Bitches And Bros Think About Dating Profile Pics

Online dating—whether it be Tinder, Plenty of Fish, or OKCupid—appears to be stacked in favor of women because all they have to do is not be ugly, and hordes of men will send them a message consisting of either:

A. An uninspiring “Hey” that showcases his laziness and inability to begin a stimulating conversation.

B. A longwinded first message that has been perfectly crafted to show sincerity, wit, and/or humor to pique her interest. (He has also been carpet-bombing every chick who’s crossed his path with the same message.)

C. Unwarranted, unoriginal, highly sexualized messages referring to BDSM and hyper-aggressive male dominance, because chicks totally dig that Fifty Shades of Grey shit from random guys who have a shirtless bathroom #selfie that shows the toilet in the bottom-right-hand corner.

D. Dick pic ambush!

There are certain types of pictures that highlight a woman’s fine qualities and make a man hope that she’ll take a risk on true lust by swiping right. Others will make him reconsider her a bit, but then he will decide she has a nice rack and swipe right anyway. Here are five types of such pictures:

1. Sticking Her Tongue Out

Basic Bitch Thinks: “This will show that I am a silly person and I don’t take myself too seriously. Look at how much of a goofball and dork I am. LOL!”

Basic Bro Thinks: “That bitch’s mouth looks like it sure know its way around a dick, and I know she’s eager to get sloppy all over mine. She is presenting that sweet tongue as an approved target for ejaculation. I’m going to send her a dick pic.”

2. A Group Picture With Her Besties

Basic Bitch Thinks: “We all looked so hot at Becky’s bachelorette party. A guy will totally notice how sexy and classy I looked in that black dress. I just love how my bangs looked. My boobs look a bit bigger, too. Oh no! I’m holding a lollipop that’s shaped like a penis. I’ll just crop that out. Sorry I have to cut you out, Lindsay #notsorry. Caption: BFFFFFFFFFFFFs<3.”

Basic Bro Thinks: “What the fuck is up with bitches making a group picture their default picture? Now I have to check the rest of her pics to figure out who she is. Oh, fucking great! The next pic is of her and thirteen of closest BFFs. Oh please fucking God, don’t let it be the fat chick I’ve seen in both pictures.”

3. Picture Of Her In A Bathing Suit

Basic Bitch Thinks: “I so love the beach, biaaaatch. All that working out has paid off. Even so, I hope boys will like me for my brains and not just how good I look.”

Basic Bro Thinks: “I want to skull-fuck her until her brains spill out of her ears.”

4. Picture With Her Holding An N64 Controller

Basic Bitch Thinks: “I’m such a nerddddddd!”

Basic Bro Thinks: “Who the fuck still plays N64?”

5. Picture From An Extremely High Angle While Pressing Her Boobs Together To Make Them Look Bigger While Concealing Her Protruding Gut

Basic Bitch Thinks: “I really have let myself go. Goddamn lack of exercise since college and Netflix marathons where I eat all the ice cream. Ben and Jerry’s solves all wounds—even broken hearts. I’ll just show off my huge breasts and no guy will ever notice.”

Basic Bro Thinks: “While I want to use those boobs as pillows, I know she is hiding a gut underneath them because chicks are shady like that. More than likely, I’m going to take her out and be horribly disappointed, but since I’m already committed to the date I’ll let it go on. Then I’ll drink until I don’t really care about the gut anymore and fuck her without a condom because condoms fucking suck. Then the next day I realize I made a mistake and buy her a Plan B because there is no way I’m going to fucking let this fat fuck produce dream-crushing offspring with my DNA. Goddamn it, that shit costs $50! Fuck. I’m going to send her a dick pic to make sure she’s DTF. Bitches love unsolicited dick pics.”

~Raul Felix

Read: The Pick-Up Follies: Taqueria Hottie
Read: Guy Talk: Animal Love

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The Lights of Los Angeles Loom

My seventy-five Camaro is speeding along at eighty-five on the one o’ one.
I keep my eyes on the freeway, occasionally looking toward the passenger seat.
My left hand on the steering wheel,
My right hand rubbing the pussy of a bald headed, beautifully tattooed, big breasted vixen.
I look to my right,
The lights of Los Angeles loom.

I hear her purr as I’m working her up,
She begins to thrash a bit, causing me to slip out my lane by a foot.
Her purr becomes a moan.
She pulls my hand, sticks my fingers in her mouth, tasting herself.
I look to my right,
The lights of Los Angeles loom.

It’s as if I am a dashing hero in a movie,
This would be where I would narrate my thoughts,
Music from an elite orchestra filling the air,
A warm California breeze tossing my glorious hair about.
Maybe an epiphany of some sorts will hit me,
As I feel her warm, wet femininity with my fingers.
Maybe this is just another night in my life,
With no revelations or grand lessons,
Just enjoying the touch of a gorgeous woman,
As the lights of Los Angeles loom.

~Raul Felix

Read: She Was Travelling Through My Country
Read: Keep Moving, Young Man

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Teaching Men How To Mate: An Interview With Tucker Max

The name Tucker Max inspires either approving smirks or rolling eyes. Tucker is (in)famous for his hilariously written stories of drunken debauchery and philandering, graphically depicting both his epic failures and towering successes. He has amused many a man and woman who possess a raunchy sense of humor. Feminazis scorn him because of his supposed misogyny.

Whether you love or hate him, Tucker—along with Maddox—pioneered the literary genre of “fratire.” After having his three books— I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell, Assholes Finish First, and Hilarity Ensues—simultaneously on The New York Times bestsellers list, he retired from fratire.

He is one of my influences as a writer. In his retirement essay, he said something that got the juices in my mind flowing:

I’m the Dr. Dre of fratire. Which means that the Eminem and the Biggie and the Tupac and Jay-Z are all still out there, and I’m just as excited as anyone to read their stuff when they come along.

I read that and was like, “Fuck yeah.”

Tucker Max has moved on from the entertainment realm to the self-help genre. In conjunction with the academic expertise of Dr. Geoff Miller, an Evolutionary Psychology Professor at the University of New Mexico and author of The Mating Mind, Tucker has written Mate: Become The Man Women Want. He says he hopes to teach men through science and empirical data—as opposed to biased religious, cultural, and political agendas—what traits women find attractive.

Raul Felix: Tucker, your new book started off from a conversation over dinner with Dr. Geoff Miller after you learned his nephews saw your books as some sort of manifesto with how to get women to sleep with them, then began mimicking your asshole behavior with probably lackluster results. I personally remember reading your books when I was nineteen and thinking that I needed to act like a dickhead in order to slay bitches also. Regardless, you still got laid. What things did young Tucker Max do right and what things did young Tucker Max do wrong that align with some of the things you teach in Mate?

Tucker Max: What young guys never understand is that my books were only a small slice of my life. I only put in the funny and ridiculous stuff, without a whole lot of other context, because that was the stuff that was entertaining to read. They were NEVER intended as instructions or even a guide at all. That’s absurd.

The reason young guys took them that way is because our culture does a terrible job honestly teaching young men how to effectively attract women, so in the void of instruction, they just use the only honest thing they see working—which was my writing. But they missed all the context.

First off, I failed at getting women A LOT. Go actually read the books. I fail far more often than I succeed, and in most cases, I fail spectacularly. They never really thought about that, because it takes experience to understand that. They only focused on the successes.

But make no mistake, I was successful with a certain type of woman. The problem was that young guys didn’t even understand why. They thought it was BECAUSE I was a drunken asshole. That’s ridiculous. If anything, I succeeded IN SPITE of being a drunken asshole. No guy has ever been successful with women by JUST being a drunken asshole.

They were missing all the other things I was doing well, because they didn’t know what to look for, and I didn’t talk about them in the book—things like my humor, my extraversion, my quick wit, my body language, my social intelligence, my singular focus on certain types of women looking for the same things as me (short-term relationships)—these things are invisible to inexperienced young guys, because no one explained them.

That’s what Mate is about: making invisible into the visible so that guys can understand what works and what doesn’t, and then focus on doing the things that work for them. It’s not about acting like I did in my books. No way. It’s about understanding the core fundamentals of attraction, and then improving them so you can have the success you want with women.

Raul Felix: Yeah, I remember you saying in an interview that no one wants to hear about a time you saved a puppy because that isn’t funny. You said time and again that your books are for entertainment. A consistently recurring theme in Mate is the need to be physically fit as a display of masculinity, health, willpower, etc. As a man who has been consistently in shape my entire life, I can attest that women love how strong I am. Yet there is a point of diminishing returns with how in-shape you have to be, like bodybuilder status. Why do you believe that stereotypically, being buff equals brainless meathead and being book-smart is correlated with being fragile and weak?

Tucker Max: Yes, definitely. We say this in the book: You need to be in shape, but you do NOT need to be an elite athlete. In fact, being too in shape—think of a bodybuilder, for example—can often be a negative sign to women and hurt you. Most women look at guys who focus an extreme amount of time on appearance as being narcissistic and self-involved. This is very unattractive. The best bet is being in good shape—think of the body of a swimmer, or a CrossFitter, or decathlete.

The question you ask about perceptions of men is a complicated one. The idea that strong = dumb, and smart = weak is very modern. If you look at ancient Greeks and Romans, or Mongolians, or almost any preindustrial culture, strength and intelligence were not seen as conflicting. In fact, they were seen as helping each other.

I think this split happened in the higher social classes in the industrial age. Essentially, if you were rich, you could afford to not do manual labor and [to not] be brawny. For a while, it was seen as a marker of high status. This is an old idea and has shifted, though. There are very, very few women under 50 who like scrawny men.

Raul Felix: One of the most enlightening things I read in the book was the need to see it from a woman’s perspective. I honestly never thought of that before. Some huge guy trying to get into her panties that could easily overpower and have her way with her if he wanted. The fact that she’s been dealing with creepers, losers, stalkers, and potential rapists ever since she took on real feminine features. How can a man show he is not a threat, but still sexually attracted to a woman without give off those negative vibes she’s used to getting from window-licking mouth-breathers?

Tucker Max: A lot of guys have said this—that they never thought about looking at dating from a woman’s perspective. Think about how absurd that is! I was the same way too for a long time. It just goes to show how broken our dating notions are—we don’t even think about the most important thing to think about—the perspective of the other person!

The most important thing a guy needs to understand is that women see men as a threat, because they are. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person; it means that she’s had to deal with awful men her whole life, and until she knows you aren’t one of those guys, she doesn’t know. This does not mean you should be an apologetic coward. It means you need to be respectful and not aggressive at first, and not do things that set off her danger alarms. We go into this in-depth in the book; it’s actually very simple. In short, it boils down to, “Approach her like a human and not a sex object.”

Raul Felix: A big limiting factor for men is their Mating Market. I saw this a lot while I was in the Army. The local community would have an overabundance of young, in-shape men with a steady paycheck—more than there were women of equal quality. Many a Joe will get have to settle for sloppy seconds on subpar women because that’s all there really was. In my hometown of Huntington Beach, CA, it was tough to stand out even as in-shape guy because people take having a beach body very seriously and Latinos are everywhere. Now that I live in Central New York, where both my buffness and my ethnicity is way more rare, I have more options than I’ve ever had in my life. What are some of the key things a young man needs to know about Mating Markets and what are some of the best places to be a single man in the US?

Tucker Max: This is possibly the MOST important thing in mating, and very few people have any idea about it. This is a stark fact we hope to drill into the head of every man: If you don’t live in a place where there are a lot of single women, you are drastically hurting your chances of dating success. This is very simple math that economists and biologists have understood for years, yet no one gets it when applied to dating.

Think of it this way: There are two bars next door to each other, each with 100 people in them. Bar #1 has 60 women (and thus 40 men), and Bar 2 has 40 women in it (and thus 60 men). Which do you go in? OF COURSE you go in Bar #1, because your odds are way better.

Well, you should apply this logic to EVERYTHING in life. How you pick your school, your job, what city you live in, where you live in that city, what activities you do, and where you spend your time. But very few guys do this.

Raul Felix: Thanks, Tucker. Any last bit of random advice for your typical male who really hasn’t accomplished much but wants to get started?

Tucker Max: The big thing is to not see this as a big hard thing. Start with what you want, then figure out what you have to offer, then work through how to show that what you want is what you have to offer. We walk our readers through this process and break it down into simple and actionable steps. You can do this. Every guy can find at least some success with women if he works the process.

~Raul Felix

Read: Influences: Maddox, Tucker Max, APB, TC Luoma
Read: An Army Ranger Interviews A Navy SEAL On Resilience.
Read: Why Men Look Up To Tony Montana

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For This One Day, She Made Me Forget

She met me at an English pub in Toronto.
It had been almost two years since I’d laid my eyes on her.
She walked through the door, saw me, hugged me, and sat at the bar.
She was as pretty as I remembered.
Pale skin, petite frame, curly hair, freckles about her face.
My ex-girlfriend.

We talked awkwardly at first,
My legs were shaking, my hands flailing in conversation,
I was stuttering and mumbling.
It was tough to resist the urge to kiss her right away.
I deeply wanted her.

We slowly grew comfortable with each other again.
Talked, teased, and flirted like we used to.
I went in for a gentle kiss,
I looked into her eyes,
Then I pulled her close for another.
Her lips had a calming effect on me.
We ate dinner and though she was hesitant,
She agreed to go back to my place.

The next morning I awoke to her by my side.
She was wearing my T-shirt, work-out shorts,
Her hair a mess, reading glasses, and no makeup.
Beautiful.
She was watching a TV show on her laptop,
I scooted closer and lost myself in her.

It’s as if the past two years never happened.
I was back in her room in Jerusalem.
Where the winter cold would cause her to seek my body for warmth.
Where the summer heat would have us waking up in sweat.
Where her cat would attack my feet in the middle of the night.
Where we would take long walks exploring the streets, bars, restaurants, sites, and parks.
Where she grew to understand me more deeply than any woman has.
Where Orthodox Jews, Muslims, soldiers, tourists, pilgrims, merchants, and stray cats appeared on all corners.
Where she was mine.

We got ready and headed out for the day.
I felt it in my chest,
A dam of repressed emotions,
Finally allowed to be free,
I would win her back.
We will have new memories, new inside jokes,
New adventures, new fights, a new life.
She’ll be mine again, and I’ll never let go.

It hurt her to say,
That she no longer felt the same way.
It hurt her to say,
That she could no longer see herself with me.
It hurt her to say,
That she was sorry but needed to make the best choice for herself.
It hurt her to say,
That she didn’t love me anymore.

I walked her to the subway station,
Held her close, kissing her forehead.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
She nodded.
“I really do love you,” I said.
She looked up at me.
“You don’t have to say it back,” I told her.

She boarded the subway,
I saw her through the window,
Never taking my eyes off her,
I waved at her and she waved back,
As the cart left
I blew her a kiss.

As I walked, tears I’d held back started rolling down my face.
For this one day,
I possessed the happiness I once had,
For this one day,
Life seemed full of possibilities,
For this one day,
I had felt whole again,
For this one day,
I had forgotten I was alone.

~Raul Felix

You can read more of my work at Thought Catalog.

I Was Hot For Teacher But Late For Class

I loved staring at her small, maroon-colored lips as she read aloud to the class from The Catcher in the Rye. Her brown eyes would shift from line to line in the those squared glasses. Light freckles were sprinkled on her cheeks. Her long black hair would drop past her shoulders all the way to the small of her back. At times, she would wear it in a bun or pigtails.

She would step out from behind the podium exposing her outfit for the day. Her style was neither trendy nor outdated. It was professional and nerdy while maintaining her artistic flair. I’d occasionally catch a glimpse of her neck tattoo. No matter how conservative, no outfit could conceal the shape of those huge breasts. I would imagine squeezing them, sucking them, and using them as pillows. She’d give me a boner at the most inopportune time—right before the bell rang so I would have to put my hand in my pocket to hold it down and hide it as I walked out of class. Later on at night, my mind would fill with thoughts of Ms. Salazar as I masturbated.

On Valentine’s Day, her desk was piled up with roses and flowers that other male students brought for her. The single rose I bought, pathetic in comparison, was lost among them.

My friends and I would speculate about her.

“You think she has those nice little nipples or those ugly pancake types?”

“No fucking way, man; she for sure has little, half-dollar-sized pink ones.”

“I’m sure she has a little landing strip on her pussy. I like that.”

“You’re a fucking virgin; you don’t know what you like.”

“So are you. I’ve seen plenty of porn, and I know what gives me a boner.”

“How are you going to fuck her?”

“Doggy style and then cum all over her mouth.”

“Ha-ha, no you’re not. You don’t even know how to talk to girls. You’re only going to fuck her after I fuck her. You can enjoy my sloppy seconds.”

“Fuck you! She’s mine!”

She was only there for a semester. She was a student teacher working on her credentials. On her last day she gave a sweet goodbye speech and thanked us. After class, I went up, said I’d miss her, and gave her a hug. I wouldn’t see her again for ten years.

“Hey, man,” I said to my best friend Sleazy-E, “remember I told you about the teacher named Ms. Salazar I wanted to fuck in high school?”

“Yeah?”

“She’s in my summer chemistry class.”

“What’s she doing there?”

“I guess she wants to be a nurse or some shit now.”

“Does she remember you?”

“Yeah, I reminded her she was my junior-year English teacher, and she said she thought I looked familiar.”

“Are you developing a scheme to fuck her?”

“Of course.”

The plan of action was to play the long game. It would be a multi-stage operation. I’d acquire her as a lab partner and then a study partner. When time permitted, I’d work in bite-size pieces of humblebrag—but not so much that I’d stir any suspicion into my ulterior motives. With these little kernels of Felix propaganda, she would be impressed by my unique set of life experiences since we last met, how well traveled I was, and that I have lived in foreign lands. She was an English teacher who loved to read books, so she would also see I have the deep creative soul of a writer. I got this covered. Just need to play it cool and not fuck it up.

I am one hour late to meeting her at Starbucks for our study session. She was already there with another fellow student. We are two weeks into the class, and I was already fucked. I just failed our first exam. I was going over some of the rudimentary stuff we had learned during Week One trying to catch up. We take a little study break.

“So you have a boyfriend now or what?” I ask.

“Yeah, we’ve been together for four years,” she says.

“Oh, shit—long haul, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“What does he do?”

“Well, not much of anything. He’s kind of in a weird spot in his life. He’s really smart. But he is slacking on completing his master’s degree. He only needs a few units, yet he keeps making excuses.”

“He doesn’t have a job?”

“No. He’s also never lived on his own.”

“How old is he?”

“Thirty-five.”

She continues to give me more details about him. I make the educated conclusion that I’m not going find out whether she has half-dollar-sized or pancake-sized nipples or whether or not she has a landing strip in the foreseeable future.

A text message awakes me at 10:37AM.

“Why aren’t you in class?” asks Ms. Salazar.

“I’m too far behind. I dropped it.”

“:(”

One Friday night a few months later, I’m working as a bouncer at one of the bars on Main Street in Huntington Beach. I’m performing my job with the utmost professionalism while scrutinizing every female specimen that enters the establishment to borderline-creepy degree. Amid the crowd in the dim lights of the bar appears that petite little body that I spent many an English class ravaging in elaborate daydreams instead of paying attention to the class discussion. I walk up to her.

“Heather!”

“Raul!” she says as she gives me a hug. “You work here now? You still in school?”

“Yeah, just a few classes, but I’m focusing more on my writing now. I even had one article go viral.”

“Ah, good for you! I remember you told me about that. I never got around to reading it.”

Then a guber appears from the shadows, hosting a drink for Ms. Salazar.

She introduces him: “Raul, this is my boyfriend.”

“How you doing, bro?” I shake his hand.

“Good,” he says.

I talk to her a bit more and walk back to my post. I never expected her boyfriend to look like such a dirtbag. His demeanor reeks of fecklessness. His dirty blond hair spills sloppily from the brim of his sweat-stained baseball cap that he wears backwards. His slight belly protrudes over an ill-fitting shirt. An unearned sense of self-worth is plastered on his shit-eating smirk. I continue comparing and contrasting us visually; I am superior to him in every way.

“I need a man, not a boy,” she had said to me during the study session. “Someone who has his act together.”

I recall all the things I’ve done to be a self-sufficient man since I was 18. I’m superior to him in that regard also.

I had admired Ms. Salazar as a woman of high intelligence, good taste, and sound decision-making skills. But this healthy dose of reality smashed those delusions. She was as flawed as any other chick I’ve encountered. She was just another woman: driven by emotions and love, even if it involves a man who’s a piece of shit. I may have been superior to her man in all aspects, yet he had me beat at the most important one: He got to her and won her heart first. Sometimes, that’s the only quality a man needs to have.

~Raul Felix

You can read more of my work at Thought Catalog.