The Story of My History with Women – Part 3 – Being Monogamously Married
This is the third installment of the ebook that I never published, regarding my history with women and the lessons I learned from it. If you haven’t yet, you should read parts one and two before you read the below article, so you can be up to speed on where the story picks up. We left off where I had just stopped seeing Penny; the woman I had lost my virginity to…
Finally, finally, finally, not being a virgin anymore was like discovering superpowers I thought I never had. I was suddenly more confident with women, more confident with kissing women, escalating to sex, and was much less afraid of the really pretty women. After having sex with Penny for about a year, I finally had the balls and the mindset to go start meeting women and actually having sex.
Over the next year or so, I dated around. During this time, I encountered both Athena and Blondie, who I talk about in Blackdragon Podcast #2, so I’ll skip over them to not repeat myself.
One day, in January of 1997, at age 24, I came to a hard decision. I knew I didn’t want to get married and didn’t really want a “girlfriend.” I didn’t want to end up hip-deep in drama or have my balls removed like all the other girlfriend-guys or married guys I knew. I also knew the divorce rate was 50% and had a gut feeling that I would be facing high odds of divorce no matter what I did if I actually got married. I didn’t realize how difficult this situation was though. Oh, if only there had been a Blackdragon blog or manosphere back in the 90s!
The problem was that I really wanted kids. Having just gone full-time with my first business just a few months prior, I would often visualize my goals, and one of the key ones was me driving home after a long day’s work, getting out of my cool black sports car, walking up to my beautiful house, seeing my gorgeous blonde wife in the doorway smiling, and having two little kids, one girl and one boy, run out to meet me.
Little did I know that I would soon have that exact scenario, and little did I know the modern-day dangers of such a scenario. As they say, be careful what you wish for.
“How can one have kids and not be married?” I asked myself. At age 24, with limited experience with women and relationships, no books or websites on this subject, and no role models in this area, I had no answer. (I do now, but back then I was clueless.) So I made the decision that I was emotionally and financially ready to get…ahem…married, and set out to find a wife to bear my children. I even wrote down a list of traits I wanted this future perfect woman to have.
A few months later, I found her (or, more accurately, thought I found her). One day, while working at one of my client’s offices, out of a nearby office walked Lacy; a very cute 31 year-old. Long blonde hair, brown eyes, trim body, huge ass. She was so close to the Christy template that I could barely contain myself. Later that same day she started asking me if I had a girlfriend. Two weeks later, when my business project had completed at her company (since I never have sex with women I work with, even back then), I asked her out.
We hit it off very quickly. NRE raged within both of us. Not understanding any of the concepts or realities I understand today, I threw all logic and self-control to the wind and did everything wrong. I stopped dating other women. I saw her many times a week. I told her I loved her. I stopped using condoms with her and started cumming inside her even when I knew she wasn’t on any birth control. (I figured, “Hey, I want kids, don’t I?”) I betaized myself and assumed a total boyfriend frame. She loved every minute of it, which meant her attraction for me started dropping like a stone.
She had a five year-old son from a prior fling, and soon she was begging, literally begging, to move in with me. I pushed back for a few weeks, but my betaness was no match for my NRE… I said yes.
She moved in, and we became engaged a little later on two conditions I gave her. The first was that we were going to have more kids. She said she would have as many kids with me as I wanted until she turned age 35; after that, no more.
Secondly, that her son become my son, and he would call me dad, no one else, and that there would be no stepfather in the picture at all. I knew from my research that dealing with step kids and step parents is the number two most common cause for divorce, and I didn’t want any “step drama” from baby daddy. She hated her son’s bio-father and had no contact with him so she happily agreed. (This was one of the few things I did right back then.)
By November of that same year we were married… way, WAY too fast. I was stupid. My idiotic, irrational justification for being married as a 25 year-old beta was that I wanted kids badly. I felt I had waited enough and could afford them. And, like many of you, I moronically assumed that “the only way to have kids is to get married.” God, I was so fucking stupid.
For the next nine years, Lacy and I lived in “marital bliss,” such as it was. Her son became my son, and we had a daughter together. I had my two kids, one boy and one girl, just like I had always visualized (visualizations work, folks).
That part of the marriage I liked. I also liked that I could come home to a clean house and a cooked dinner everyday. I enjoyed going out on weekends with my wife and kids as a family.
However, the rest of the arrangement I hated. If I wanted to have sex and she didn’t, which was usually the case, I was a seething volcano of blue balls. As I went through life looking at other hot chicks, I couldn’t stand that I was not allowed to touch them just because I had signed a piece of paper called a marriage contract. Sometimes pretty women would flirt with me and I knew I couldn’t do anything physical about it. It physically hurt to be sexually caged like this, like a defanged, toothless lion in a crate.
And the drama. Oh lord, the drama. We generally got along and she was good at giving me my space, but it was still a marriage. Every move her or I made had to be discussed in committee with the other. Lacy was a good wife and a good mother, but that didn’t change the fact that every major financial decision, household decision, child decision, family decision, or whatever had to be discussed, argued about, concessions made, and compromises agreed upon. God damn, it was a lot of work. It took at least as much work, time, effort, and emotional energy as my full-time day job.
For what… a clean house and a cooked dinner? Couldn’t I just pay a maid to do that and skip all that drama and compromise at a tiny fraction of what a wife cost me? This wife was very expensive during my marriage, as most wives of middle class men are.
At least all the other married guys I knew were going through the exact same thing in their marriages. I found solace in listening to other 3+ years married men bitch about not getting very much sex, arguing with their bitchy wives, having their checking accounts drained with stupid wife expenses, and all the other crap monogamous married guys must suffer through. So I felt like I wasn’t doing anything wrong per se. I was just like everyone else. Regardless, I loved Lacy and I loved my kids. I wanted it to work.
So I gritted my teeth like a good little boy, a good little citizen, and kept going. Every time I saw some hot babe at the grocery store I wasn’t allowed to touch, I gritted my teeth again and smiled. Every time I got home and Lacy yelled at me for some trivial thing, I grit my teeth and pushed through. Every time I wanted to have sex with her and she said she was too tired or whatever and wouldn’t have sex no matter what I tried, I put up with it and took the pain like a man. All of my married buddies were doing the same with their wives.
It was normal. It was marriage.
How sad is it, that when the negative and harmful becomes normal, it becomes encouraged?
I’ll spare you the details of the divorce. To summarize, when Lacy hit her early 40s, she had premature menopause, which can sometimes drive women insane. Lacy was a handful to begin with, but with the menopause, she started crossing lines. The doctors and psychologists prescribed her all kinds of prescription pills which just made it worse. Soon she was throwing things, smashing pots and pans against the wall, and smashing CDs on counters, shattering them. My little daughter would come running into my home office, tears in her eyes. When I asked her what was wrong, she would reply “Mommy’s smashing pans in the kitchen again.”
To make matters worse, I had recently started becoming more Alpha, so my tolerance for bullshit was rapidly declining. The more I “Alphaed-up,” the more conflict we had.
Eventually, Lacy’s violence against objects became violence against me. It was no big deal, but with a psychologist as a father, I was well aware that if someone is violent once, they will be violent again. The good news was that I was much more Alpha at that point and prepared to deal with the problem. I said in my new Alpha-ish tone, “Lacy, I love you. I want to be with you forever. You can do drugs, become an alcoholic, fuck other men, whatever, and I’ll stay with you, but this violence thing, that’s not something we can ‘make work.’ This can never happen again. If there is a second time, there will never be a third time.”
After much fighting, she finally relented and we went to marriage counseling. The counselor was very good, but it didn’t help things. It was simply too late. Things between Lacy and I were too far gone, and my tolerance for drama and BS was declining every day. I was becoming the man I was meant to be: a happy Alpha who doesn’t do drama, rather than a weak but appropriate beta who puts up with all kinds of crap so he can look normal to society.
After about two months of that she crossed the line again. Again, it was no big deal. Didn’t matter. I’m a man of my word. Within 48 hours, my stuff and I were moved out of the house and into an apartment.
Pair-bonding is fine, but don’t get traditionally, monogamously married. It’s a system that used to work decades ago when society was very different, but it’s not a system that works anymore in the 21st century.
After much drama for several weeks during the separation, Lacy and I met for lunch one day and she said, “That’s it. I want a divorce.”
I said, “Are you sure? You know me. You know what I’m going to go do. I’m not going to wait a year or two for lawyers and judges to get their shit together so we can get legally divorced before I go have sex with someone like a normal human being. If you want to get divorced, that’s cool with me, but if that’s what we’re doing, I’m getting laid immediately. Once I do that, I can’t exactly un-do it.”
She responded with a “whatever,” and the decision was made. The next day, I filed papers. The day after that, I texted three women whom I knew in my social / work circle (though none I currently worked with). I told them that I was officially single and ready to mingle, which means fuck. I invited all three to come over to my apartment, hoping that at least one would say yes.
One said no. The other said yes, but her schedule was crazy and wasn’t able to come over any time soon. The third one said yes, and was ready to come over the day after tomorrow.
Her name was Marci. She was a very cute and crazy 35 year-old blonde with huge DD tits whom I used to work with. That Friday night, 48 hours after my conversation with Lacy, Marci and I were having sex in my apartment. It was the first time that I had sex in about six months (the longest I had ever gone without sex since losing my virginity), and the first time that I had sex with any woman other than Lacy in almost 10 years. Thus, my cock didn’t work very well. (I tell the full story of what happened in the open marriage ebook.)
Regardless, we both had a fantastic time. What a relief it was! To finally be a man again! We had sex a few more times, and soon my body “remembered” how to do it and it all started working fine.
Thus, in early 2007, and at age 34, I entered into the greatest, happiest, most exciting, most wonderful, and most important time of my entire life, a time that continues to this very day.
My transition from beta to Alpha, from bondage to freedom, from drama to happiness, from boyhood to masculinity, had officially begun. It was all going to get better from there.
To be continued…