And so, but. June becomes July. I feel like I’ve awakened from a long bad dream, still scrubbing sleep scabs from my eyes, dazey, the worms of lucidity still entwined as they drain from my brain.
Once every few hours a day I’m brought back to the thought of blonde Betty, of Betty & Veronica fame. A flash of my hand pulling hair, or taking a pound of flesh with gasps echoing through the darkness. I don’t usually go for blondes. In fact, that golden straw hair is my least favorite color, doubleso for straight hair, and yet here I am, contemplating the beauty of a blonde doe’s lips.
I think I want this more just so I can say I Conquered Here. I haven’t had a Win in far too long, double-down for this area of my life.
She’s an old acquaintance, met through my dearest friend years ago, in both professional and not-so-professional settings. Most of the images I have are of me, returning to the land of the living, drastically different from the last time she’s seen me (years ago) and I notice that double-take she gives me and my now-visible abdominals. I present an awesome dude through the night, and at some point when the opportunity presents itself, I grab her and drag her outside for “a walk” and exploit her newfound love of cannabis. There’s an enclosed patio at this friend’s place, so isolation would be no problem. Kisses in the rose garden? Sure, why not. At this point, I’ve got my shit together, and I’m out on my own again with my own place, so I can just invite her back to that, and then all the mental masturbation images are of me manhandling this blonde fae nymph on my kingsize bed. I actually have the bed, at least.
Part of me is certainly attracted to her, sure. She’s a young, pretty girl, who is talented and motivated and actually out living her life. The other part of me sees this as a project, though, and that’s troubling. One, because projects like this never turn out as expected (fantasies can’t compete with reality, since ideals are so “perfect”), and two, because I do this a lot with any person I tend to like. In some circles its often called “oneitis”, though this one in particular doesn’t seem on the same wavelength, since, three, I have this aforementioned need to Fucking Conquer. Preferably with my rebar dick, by force. And I think I just want to conquer this one since she’s pretty, she’s easily targetable, and some part of me just wants to show off to my old friends who always saw me crash and burn, crash and burn, hide and pray, crash and burn. No, motherfucker, I’ll take what I want sometimes and I’ll show you what I can take. Watch this. And in twenty minutes, don’t step in the girlpuddle.
This little validation-seeking demon that rears its head in me, it’s often seen as a bad thing. Which it is, validation is most often not a thing to intentionally seek. But, here’s the rub… my little validation-seeking demon has been hiding for so long that I’m actually happy he’s poking his stupid head out. He’s hungry again. I can’t remember the last time I felt hungry, and now I feel like I’ve got such better dominion over it, that it’s now a very sharp weapon waiting to be wielded. Potentially dangerous, yet polite about it. I’m tired of sitting here pretending I’m not fucking dangerous.
How I know I need to conquer is it isn’t just Betty. Betty has a friend, Veronica. Whereas Betty is blonde, Veronica is black of hair and fat of ass, which lines up more into my natural type. The interesting thing I’m seeing in myself here is, I only want to sportfuck Veronica. Usually she’d be the one I’d go after, but if given the choice, I’d game Betty. So this makes me wonder if I’m getting older, or if this is just a factor of Conquer. I’m leaning towards the latter, as my idea of Conquer is the stereotypical male dominance fantasy of both at once.
While I, in most likelihood, won’t ever act on this impulse, I am glad, and relieved, that it has returned to me. To lose the Conquer instinct is almost like losing the essence of being a man. I somehow feel more whole again, in that years ago I lost my entire arm, and now I’ve woken up to not only my arm returned, but muscled and with calloused hands. While I need to make sure not to accidentally crush and hurt and bull-chinashop it, I need to also utilize and exploit this and milk the benefits, into the Win I really, seriously, like totally seriously fucking need.
And maybe find where I packed my old Archie issues.