I ran across this post by the ever introspective MMSL forum regular, DaveBowman. It really struck me, and I want to share it with the ladies reading here most of all, but it’s a good lesson for the guys too. My commentary below.
I’ve been mapping a while. Changed my life, changed my marriage. All is well & happy in Bowmanville.
However, something happened. Something difficult to write about and process, and I’m posting here in the hopes that all the Captains and First Officers that read this find some value in my story.
I’ve been in Phase 3 a few months. My wife is beautiful, sexy, kind, considerate, and a great mother. But I fucked up. I mis-timed my approach and started a bit of a firestorm. See, she was PMSing pretty bad, but we were going away to a family event for the weekend and I wanted to get me some lovin’ before we went. I knew it would be a dry spell on the weekend and thought my pure awesomeness would let me push through the clear hard nos that I was hearing from her.
She flipped out (understandably). Said some pretty harsh things about the changes in me, how she doesn’t like having sex all the time, even threw in some comments about “duty” sex not being so stellar. I held frame, kept my cool, showed outcome independence and took it like a man. She asked for me to cool it for a few days so I said “fine.”
But something shifted down deep inside. Something that frankly scared the living shit out of me. In front of me, I no longer saw my beautiful sexy wife that was in killer shape despite 3 kids and pushing 40. I saw the wrinkles, I saw the sagginess, I saw the lumps and bumps. I saw an aging, crazy, bitch of a woman. And I was… just not into her any more.
So I killed the power to the DaveBowman Love Express. Like, right off. Mr Spock cold. And just didn’t give a fuck. For the first few hours she was cool with that. By the next morning she was telling me to give it a rest. By the next night (at her family’s place) she was threatening to withdraw sex if I didn’t warm it up. I just didn’t fucking care. Like, at all. I alpha’d up. Like, way the fuck up. I was the man, I was fucking awesome. The next morning, she’s a little weepy… I’m not proud to say it didn’t bother me in the slightest. We get ready to go to a family event, she puts on a killer dress, makes a show of it for me, I don’t care. Get the kids ready and off we go. We arrive, and I’m king shit of the universe. Tons of IOIs, even from some of her close family in front of me. It’s not like anything’s gonna happen, but I feed off the energy and it drives me, shooting through me, bolstering my pure awesomeness.
After a while, I tire of it, head outside, light up a stogie. The wife hates ‘em, and it pretty much guarantees she won’t come near me. But I don’t care. As I walk around, puffing my cigar, I ponder my situation.
Thinking about my wife… I’ve been there, done that. I’ve had sex with her probably thousands of times. In crazy ways, in boring ways, in nearly every way two people can have each other. I’ve been there, done that. It’s conquered territory. And she’s not getting any younger. I think about her flaws, I think about her bitchiness, I think about what a pain the ass she is to have around. How much she cramps my style, and how much I’m just not into her any more.
I think about all the IOIs I’ve been getting. Some from hot women 10 years younger than her. New, fresh, tight, firm, hotness. Hmm… What exactly were my options here? I saw three futures uncurl in front of me, three possibilities to explore. And I understood myself, I understood the plight of my fellow husbands, and I understood the plight of the unhappy wives.
Option 1: Just give up. I mean, this is the easiest path, right? The path of least resistance. Why work my fucking bag off being hot ‘n ripped and putting so much time and energy into my marriage to an aging, increasingly dumpy wife? Why bother? Why not get a gut, ignore her, and sit my ass down on the couch and watch some more re-runs of mythbusters? Why the fuck not? Isn’t this what like 99% of husbands end up doing? And isn’t this why? I mean, if I’m not into my wife, I’m not going to give a shit if she’s into me. I’m just going to put my time in, try to stay distracted, and just coast through my miserable life. I finally understood why guys do this. Not just because they’re lazy slobs, not just because of low T, but maybe, just maybe, they’re just not into their fat, aging, bitchy wives any more. So fuck it, why bother?
Option 2: Fuck around. Maybe leave. I mean, there’s probably 5 women I know I could score with within days if I wanted. And some of them are pretty fucking hot. At least they would provide the attraction of “the undiscovered country”. I’ve never been tempted to cheat, really. Even in my sexless first marriage. I’ve just never been that guy. But… I could. I really could. And if it was fun enough, maybe I would just leave and be single, living out the last vestiges of my youth banging the shit out of the hottest chicks that would have me. I mean, I have all my hair, I’m in better shape day by day, I make tons of $, even after a divorce I’d be able to wine and dine with the best of them. Why not? What else is there to life, really, at the end of the day than just living in the moment and getting whatever joy I could out of this life?
Option 3: Try to make it work. But why bother? Why have just one woman, one that spends a quarter of her life being half bat-shit crazy and can’t help it? One that I’ve already had thousands of times and I’d be consigning to have thousands of times more… and no-one else? In a relationship that I work so fucking hard to keep going and keep hot… but I’m essentially alone in?
I went back in, undecided. Life weighing heavy on my mind. Declared it was time to go, packed the kids up, and we left. She was very quiet on the way back to crash at her family’s place. She tried to start something up after we got the kids down and we were alone in the place, but then others showed up so she shut it down. I didn’t care. Rolled over, thoughts rolling around in my mind. I think she might have been crying a little by this point… she tried threatening, pleading, anything… to go back to “the old me”. The one that she said she hated the other day. The one that sexted her all the time, had my hands all over her all the time, fucked her all the time. I said nothing, pretended to be asleep. Felt that I should be feeling something… like I should be feeling like I’m being an asshole or something… just didn’t feel a thing. Felt like a stone.
The next day we headed for home. Chatted a bit in the car. We bought some magazines for the trip. She pointed some women out in the magazines and asked me if I thought they were hot, like she often does to test me. Instead of coming up with reasons why they weren’t to make her feel better, I was honest with her. Like real fucking heartbreaking honest. “Man, I love those tits.” “Look at the ass on her.” etc. She didn’t get mad. She didn’t freak. She was honest with me back. About being wrong the other night, about taking it too far. About how the PMS just takes ahold of her and she needs some time off during those times. How I pushed it too far. About how she really likes the new me, and how she gets scared sometimes that it will stop so she tests it. She actually admitted that she shit tests me.
And to please come back to her. And always be honest with her.
I mulled this over while we got home, put the kids to bed. She asked me to have a shower with her. I felt kinda greasy from being in the car for so long, so I said “sure.”
She started things up in the shower. Hardcore. She started doing things to me that we have barely ever done before. Things that she said she never wanted to do. She did, happily, eagerly, lustfully. Told me things like “when I get like that don’t talk to me, just take me upstairs and rip my panties off and fuck me. Fuck me like a man. I promise no matter what I say I will love it.” Etc.
It all came rushing back. All of it, flowing over me like a tidal wave of emotion, lust, and joy. In front of me wasn’t a dumpy aging wife. In front of me was a goddess, radiant, erotic, and shining with energy.
I got my wife back that night, and I made my choice.
I’m writing this in the hopes that some may understand yourselves, your partners, other husbands and wives better. I sure do.
The red pill is indeed bitter. Yes things can get better. But things can also get much, much worse. Is it worth the risk? Of course. But you may discover things about yourself that you never knew were there. For me, it was my ability to be entirely selfish and to take the “wife goggles” off. For me, I understood my fat, lazy buddies who sit on the couch rather than fucking their wives. I understood why some wives that want sex don’t get it. And I understood how dangerous it is for some wives that so desperately want their husbands to take the red pill… and then get a husband that does. You may lose them if you don’t take the red pill, too. You may lose them in so many ways that you may not even see it if you’re not careful. Or they may regress further… and just not care.
Or you might just live the life of your dreams.
I found myself becoming quite emotional halfway through. I’ve mentioned before, I’m not exactly the sweetest little strawberry in the basket. I’m about 10 times better than I used to be, but I still have my moments. I’ve been rather quiet lately because we had a bit of a dust up over Mother’s Day… well, quite a big one, actually. Some words were said to me that stung like hell (totally unintentional on his part, I realize now), so I retreated into my bitch shell. It’s so very hard for me to get over things, I hold onto hurts for longer than I should. The claws came out, and I took several swipes. We withdrew from each other for a week, and I softened a bit over it a bit after a 4 day weekend out of town to see family. We’re good now. These things are happening with less and less frequency.
So now I know what it looks like from his point of view, and I can’t say that I’m not a little disconcerted. (That’s a nice way of saying “That scares the shit out of me.”) My low self esteem fuels this. I see my flaws all too well, and I very much want to believe that the wife goggles are firmly in place on his face. I know he’s passing me quickly in sex rank. I need the goggles.
Dave’s complete outcome independence was the perfect response. Totally a model for husbands to follow in that situation.
And Dave’s wife followed the text book in how to fix a tiff. Be sweet and screw his brains out.
The ending made me so happy. Forgiveness is crucial. Bitchiness is the ultimate ugly.