I've always said that there are good places to find women, and bad places to find women, and then there's extremely bad places to find women. For example, you might find a good woman at the local Little League game, the supermarket, or laundromat, but you'll almost never find a good one in a topless bar. Not if you goal is some kind of fulfilling and happy relationship. Of course, if you don't want that sort of thing, then this axiom can be reversed, and you sure as hell WILL find a good woman in the jiggle joint, at least for the purposes of making the Beast With Two Backs (and maybe catching chlamydia) without emotional consequence or commitment.
The absolute worst place to find women (other than in Church).... is in Group Therapy. You never, ever, want to get involved with someone you know is absolutely bonkers, and of whose insanity you have first-hand experience. You also don't want to get involved with a chick who just might kill you in your sleep, or just decide to stop taking her meds one day and push you out of a window...if you're lucky. When you're "in recovery" the last thing you want to do is to add someone else's problems to your own.
The reason I say these things is because I've been attending some group therapy sessions recently, trying to straighten out the last of my issues. There's a certain woman in these sessions (there's actually another I have a similar problem with, but I think I can dodge her); she's a recovering alcoholic with four kids by nine fathers or some crap, and her knees are so far apart they each have their own Zip Code. I think it's safe to say that's she's probably been down on everything but the Titanic. She's batshit-crazy. She's not that attractive -- and when I say that, I mean that's she's got all the proper bumps and the right curves, and in the right places, too -- but she spends half her days throwing-up-I-must-have-fucked-someone-because-my-pants-are-missing drunk. She's not very smart, and eventually every conversation always returns to the subject of How Men Suck And They Always Leave. She's convinced, like democrats who still cling to Socialism despite the evidence it doesn't work, that she just needs to find The Right Degenerate for Her (her life story is a laundry list of scumbags), and then the pieces of her life will all fall into place.
Desperation hangs about her like a cloud. It flows from her pores in place of sweat. It follows her like a bad smell. She's been done so wrong that she obviously believes that all she has to offer is sex, and so that's how she tries to get friendly with you. She's free with her hands, but not in an obvious way that's all too-obvious. In a way, it's heartbreaking, and you feel bad for her because she's trying so hard. If she could ever straighten her problems out, she'd probably make someone a good wife, maybe...she has a heart of gold, and just Too Much Past. The more you try to ignore her obvious overtures, the sitting close, the familiar touching, the harder she tries to get your attention. You can almost feel her eyes following you about the room. It starts to get real creepy.
If you're extremely unlucky, she just might manage to pigeonhole you in the hallway. She'll strike up a pretence of having a question to ask... and then try to kiss you just as soon as she's sure no one is looking. Extremely bad news -- she's unattractive, she's a lunatic with deeper-seated issues than mine, and because I have that sort of luck... she's in a therapy session run by a Church group. She meets all the criteria on the "Save your Ass" checklist.
I already have enough trouble with crazy women in my life: my mother, my sister, pretty much every woman I've ever dated, and a certain one who has emotionally tortured me for the last 15 years with indecision. I know enough to give this one a very wide berth, indeed. Had I been a younger man, with a younger man's mindset, I mightn't have cared; she was offering, it's low hanging fruit. I'd like to think I've stopped thinking with my dick by now. But I still have this thing about not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings -- unless it's absolutely necessary.
So... I lied through my teeth.
"You know, Jane", (Not her real name), "under different circumstances, I'd be mighty tempted to be your boyfriend, but don't you think maybe it's a bad idea, seeing as how we met in therapy, and all? I mean, that's just asking for trouble, right? Not that I wouldn't, it's just that it's not the right thing to do..."
A little exercise in reverse psychology.
Yeah, like that worked. Now not only am I "cute", but she "really cares for me and what I'm going through" (Gee, thanks! A drunken whore has sympathy for me! How pathetic is that?), but now I'm also a "really nice guy, who was worried about her feelings." She finds this "sweet" and "considerate", and "nobody ever did that for her before". She then assured me that she was willing to wait "until we're done here... and then it won't be so weird, maybe?". When you hear stuff like that, delivered in that spooky, far-away voice that all women who could conceivably attack your private parts with a circular saw might use, your thought processes go in two directions simultaneously; The Pig in you realizes she might have offered you a blowjob just for holding the door open for her. Or because it's Tuesday. She's probably that easy.... and that sick. That thought lingers perhaps longer than it should, but hell, you're male and can't help it.
The Rational Man in you, however, takes over, and has reason to believe that if you showed weakness just once, eventually this woman would arrive on your doorstep with a shotgun, threatening to blow her brains out all over your front yard because you missed your 11:21 a.m. check-in call.
You know that will happen, because it's nearly happened before. They say that insanity is repeating the same actions and expecting different results. Well, you know the almost-inevitable result of this sort of action, and your goal is to avoid insanity, and so you stop that thought process before it goes any further. Why, just realizing that I put that formulation to good use this evening shows that I've made tremendous strides!
Then the other thought creeps back into your head: I can't fucking win!
This is one aspect of my personal hell; the crazier-than-a-jihadi woman that I wouldn't fuck with a stolen dick finds me irresistible, but the ones who are probably worth an effort usually find some reason to bail on me before anything gets too serious. If I could get an answer to this dilemma in this group therapy thing, I think I'd be 50% cured. Instead I get sexually assaulted by Vodka-flavored-Sperm-burping Barbie, and the therapist insists on saying "God Bless You" on my way out the door. Oh yeah, I feel mightily blessed this evening!
If The Almighty was really interested in bestowing Her favor upon me, she'd give me Olympic-sprinter-speed so I could get the hell out of there. If I stood still for as much as a nanosecond, "Jane" would probably have been naked... and offering to call a girlfriend or two. I get douchechills just thinking about it. I can't think of anything more disturbing. There are some men out there who may be reading this who probably think I'm crazy for thinking this way...well, yeah, I wouldn't be in therapy if I weren't crazy!...but in this case, there's no amount of free sex that's worth what comes out of this kind of association. Trust me; been there, done that.
I'm determined to see this therapy thing through. I have to do it. I've put it off for far too long, preferring to believe I was a martyr to some noble cause (just what cause I never did quite figure out), rather than a human being who has needs and aspirations that he wasn't willing to recognize, and it's cost me a lot in life. I'm not letting that happen again, so I have to finish the course. This means I have to find some way of keeping the Amorous Inebriate at arm's-length until the sessions are over, and do so in a way that's easy on her ego. I have absolutely no doubt that this chick might be loony enough to hurt herself if she's rejected. I'd talk to the therapist about it, but I get the impression she's more concerned with saving our souls than she is our psyches. I think the whole purpose of this "support group" is less about giving aid to people who need it, and more about finding converts, so I'm not certain finking the woman out would achieve anything positive, but I just might have to if this goes on much longer and I can't let her down easy.
I can only imagine what the other Lunatic-With-Tits is thinking. She has a habit of making sure that wherever I'm sitting, she has a reason to squeeze through to get to something, even if there's plenty of space to go around me. Now, I don't mind moving my seat when that's necessary to let her by, but the breasts rubbing the top and back of my head as she sneaks through the space between chair and wall keeps messing my hair up. By the way, that one has already had TWO stints in an institution.
Aren't you glad you don't have MY life?
Gentlemen, let this be a cautionary tale....
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