My #MeToo confession

The #MeToo hashtag has exploded rape hysteria from the cesspool of academia into the entertainment and general populations. A bevy of fulsome feminist men, liberal Hollywood actors like Kevin Spacey, scientists like Neil DeGrasse Tyson, and even President George H.W. Bush have found themselves choking on the bitter effluvia of overwrought harpies for alleged evil doings of decades past.

And I fear the storm is headed my way.

Accordingly, it is time for “me too” to come clean about my own sordid past. The story is not pretty but I take full responsibility for what happened. What follows is my recollection of events as they took place 31 years ago in a small Texas college town..

We were standing and facing each other. Ginny raised her right hand as if to strike me. I grabbed it with my left and with my right I pulled her hips toward me. I could feel her too short ovulation skirt ruffle against my pant legs. Her arm was forced to my shoulder as our eyes locked and I took three steps into her. She backed away but otherwise did not struggle. A sudden side step to the right with a quarter turn and we were at it.

It takes two to tango, they say, and that is how it goes when you are in a ballroom dance class.

Some context will help show the full extent of my crime. A project manager, “Gail Ann”, at my employer – a tech company – taught a ballroom dance class that met on Thursday evenings over an eight week course from mid September to November in 1986. The class was oversubscribed by two people, both women. Ballroom dancing gender roles of that era were very specific, meaning the two extra women needed male partners to take part in the class.

Gail Ann knew from my job interview that I was a lifelong student of dance, so she asked me if I could partner with one of the extra women. At the time I was single; my girlfriend had died in an accident a few months earlier and I was still mourning her passing. I agreed to Gail Ann’s request, thinking I would be paired with some older land whale but at least I would look like a team player to my boss, and it would get me out of the house in a town where there was little else to do culturally.

My partner, Ginny, was more than a pleasant surprise – early 20’s, girl-next-door pretty, and grateful that I was filling in as her partner. How was this charming girl possibly single? It turns out, she wasn’t – she was married but her husband was working overseas in a country where women led highly controlled lives. Ginny was lonely and looking for a diversion. Me.

The chemistry between us was electric and obvious to everyone – Gail Ann, who had set all this up, wondered out loud and on more than one occasion if we were “an item”, the lingo of that era for “hooking up” or just “shipped”.  Other class members expressed the same thought and even invited us out as a couple to other activities.

But we were not having an affair – Ginny was married and I was mourning. My denials just stoked outside interest in us. It did not help matters that Ginny never flaked on a class and wore increasingly daring outfits as the weeks went by. She seemed to find the attention flattering after her time as a lonely wife of an absent husband. I found all this mildly annoying but Ginny was good company and a fair dancer; I knew the dance class course was just 8 weeks and out.

And so it was – Ginny and I never met outside of class and once the class concluded I never saw Ginny again. So what was the nature of my crime?

A sex-positive feminist of that era might well argue that by failing to seek a sexual relationship with the obviously willing Ginny I was displaying misogyny – leading her on cruelly with no intention of servicing a lonely, empowered woman. Every feminist I knew back then was having an affair – and now they are accusing the men of that era with sex crimes.

Of course, had I made even the gentlest of sexual overtures, or had I just let things escalate naturally, a feminist of the current era might well castigate me for “toxic masculinity” as a “sexual predator”.

A blue-pilled man or a pickup artist might shame me for wasting an obvious sexual opportunity.

A fat-positive feminist would certainly rip me for appreciating Ginny’s trim body as well as my helping Ginny perform calorie-burning dance routines. A gender-queer feminist would scream hopelessly at the sky over ballroom dance having clear gender roles.

An intersectional feminist would slam me for dancing with a white woman.

Lists of assorted crimes pushed by feminists can be quite unintentionally hilarious as well as ironic, especially given women’s traditional reluctance to make the first sexual move, a responsibility, like all responsibilities, happily and passive-aggressively ceded by women to men.

But I care about none of that – none of those social justice apostasies was my #MeToo felony.

My crime is that I left myself open to being accused of a crime. By socializing with a woman in a dance class and frustrating Ginny’s sexual presenting, I left myself open to whatever trendy and wild accusation she might scheme up three decades later.

THAT was stupid of me. I should have just left her to her own vibrating devices.

Ginny is perhaps a grandmother now, and I hope she has forgotten me for a happy life of diapers and junior soccer leagues. I hope she never remembers how I failed to validate her as a sexually attractive woman in her youth, especially now that the bloom is off the rose.

Avoid the trap, guys. Let women fester in the bitter prison of their own creation. The dance is not worth the pittance to the piper any more.

Go monk.

 

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76 thoughts on “My #MeToo confession”

  1. Go monk indeed. Women globally are making it impossible for men to have any other option (#metoo spread to other countries too, here in Turkey for example). Stay away from women, let them die with their cats and vibrators.

    1. “Stay away from women….”

      Its hard to agree with you entirely. If I could give you one-half upvote, I would.

      Its a mixed bag, and at best, ambiguous. On one hand, women can bring a lot to the table. Life without interaction with women is scary and boring, them being a part of our species and fun too. OTOH, it is a risk. You are definitely right about that.

      One step further, it is the fault of both sexes: feminist-minded women who cry “hatred” when men do not drop all to obsess over women and their feelings, as well as women who think their feelings are so much the center of the universe that they expect us to automatically agree and believe—instead of reporting these incidences immediately, relying on white knight men to save them, even decades later.

      Its men’s fault when they fall for it, reinforcing this no-due-process circus against themselves and their boys…and it doesn’t matter why.

      Risky or not, I do not want to live my life without some women in it. Unlike feminists and women who apply, I accept responsibility for the danger I put myself in. This is what my MGTOW looks like, one that I own and call all the shots, granting no one—especially the herd—dibs or access.

      Let’s just hope I know how to pick’em, the few times these days I indulge—increasingly more and more rare albeit. One difference however, I am not the type to just let them stream roll me so that I will not fall in disfavor of all the women out there, as if my sense of manhood is at risk over such nonsense. I would use such an opportunity to blast loud and clear unapologetically about a lot of things they really do not want said, trust me. They had better be able to prove it and take the heat when proven wrong.

      I am capable of getting in that mud with them and making them regret what would definitely be lies against me. If other men would act accordingly when accused or witnessing merely-accused men, it would go a long way towards shutting down this kangaroo circus that flies directly in the face of women as interchangeably equal to men, and v/v. Nothing disproves them more than when examples like these prove beyond all shadows of doubt that they can’t be interchangeably equal to men when the slightest bump in the road over natural dynamics and human sexuality drives them to cry so easily–especially when some women do the exact exploitative things to men and expect to get away it—and do.

      Having to walk on eggshells just to be around others is not ideal for most, I agree, but I guess it is better than not getting to walk at all. Sometimes I have said, even here, “It is better to have nothing than have something you don’t want.” I still believe that. But sometimes it is also better to have some interaction than being left to rot by oneself. If men like us could be OK with us getting together more, dealing with our differences, hanging out, replacing most of what is lost from women, then it might help, no? But that is a discussion for another thread.

      Risky? Sure.

  2. great text. And believe me, several women would recognize the situation, been in a similar situation, hate you for it (either because they identify with ginny or the hypothetical land wale) and will pretend it’s about something else.
    DON’T let them lie, I heard them complain about guys like you in their frustration, frustrated enough to forget not to lie and foolish enough to believe my nods were validation, only to discover soon enough some dissenting advice by me and discovering how unfaltering they looked, deciding then to change the narrative as if it would fly.

    I also frustrated plenty women in that way, and they seem to have felt so above me socially that they didn’t even bothered to lie and pretend it was not about being sexually frustrated, and they seem not to need to because by everyone’s account I was an assholish teaser or a clueless loser that didn’t do his job as a man and “forced them” to make the move as blunt as possible in order to get what they wanted and then failed to give them what they wanted.
    And worst of all, frequently giving it to their more honest, blunt and forward friends. Frequently right to their faces, and when it wasn’t, their friends would make sure to sing their “conquest” (why am I putting in quotes, it were conquests), rubbing salt to their wounds.

  3. I have a confession to make, I was a young man once many decades ago, but I give my solemn vow, it will never happen again.

  4. DO NOT SLEEP WITH WOMEN.

    I know some of us think that this shit won’t touch us because a lot of us are working class schmucks. I beg to differ.

    I have obtained a reasonable amount of rep and some success in my chosen field. However, any disgruntled female could destroy my rep and career with a strategically placed accusation. This applies to any male that has achieved a measure of success and a widening circle of clientele.

    Get used to Rosey Hand and her five sisters being your girlfriends for the time being.

  5. “…left to her own vibrating devices.”

    O. M. G. As coolly effervescent a line as I’ve ever encountered. You old smoothie. Vinegar. Piss and vinegar. Piss and vinegar smoothie.

    As yours was a shorty, I’ll trade ya a story in parallel.

    I made the mistake of making the sexual overture quite overt, once upon a time. The match was a perfect one, absent any hypergamy, not impossible but unlikely in that particular individual. She looked real likely. Never met a human being who seemed more shit-together or more likely to be a straight-shooter, with no pedestrian money problems despite being a divorced mother of two. (This was long ago, just barely post-Farrell’s Myth.) Our daughters were best friends, a fact which brought us together, whereupon we discovered the most unlikely, uncommon matching interests. Classical music and jazz, classical poetry, modern literature, and motorcycles — and she owned two substantial bikes — and roughly matching intelligence, rare in my percentile, if I do say so myself. I mean, we had both studied with Chicago Symphony section principals on our respective orchestral instruments. We actually owned a startling number of the same books and could talk about them because we had both read them with interest. Real depth of interest. She was going to take me sailing. I was going to get her on a bicycle, take her camping.

    And as I moved closer — metaphorically speaking, as this sort of thing takes place outside of physics — I encountered no resistance or negative vibe. The apparent boyfriend was a place-holder: his interest, not hers; and her assent was just her niceness, as if I should have known. I was being quite obvious, if very deliberately not explicit, and there was no “no” there, just further enticing amusement in her demeanor. It was all in the refinement, the pure spirit of play. Magnetism. Even as the kids would go play by themselves without a peep, totally engrossed with each other for hours. It was like stepping into an enchanted space.

    I recited to her, from memory, from e e cummings: nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands (She has very small hands. It’s why she couldn’t realistically pursue pianism past a certain point. Hey, I know my shit, and cummings has not been on her menu. It sells well.)

    I wrote her something, but hey, dude, not your typical schoolboy drivel. Cutting edge stuff:
    The smallest spider spins the finest thread.
    That grand piano falling, overhead.

    Her bemusement is intense, but this cucumber just. doesn’t. blush.

    So she’s self-conscious about her own attempts at verse. So she starts an Elizabethan from memory… I finish it. Oh, I’m good! But she picked the piece, and I already knew it! THAT’s how unreal but real this was.

    Unfortunately, if there was no “no” there, there was also no “there” there. She was entirely a mirage. A gas ball o’er a fen, a-glow in the lowering night. It boggles me to this day.

    (lowering: http://www.dictionary.com/browse/lowering?s=t )

    I’m smart, I daresay, and the way I played it, I fairly forced her to make the first physical move by being obvious but nonchalant, and by being so very there with it that she’d have to “break” first. I made no first request, either explicitly or in gesture. I was just there, and smilingly obvious. So, first physical contact, and every step thereafter, was hers. There was never any “no”, and there was never any need for any explicit “yes”. It was a sort of m/f role reversal. And it works. It was delicious, as long as it lasted, which wasn’t very long. Didn’ even las’ th’night, an’ she turns into a crumpled punkin’. Serious!

    So then comes the confession: an entire adult life of non-stop promiscuity. Achey-breakey-heart office romances, runnin’ ’round on ex-hubby whenever she’s out of town on business — often — or whenever “working” late. So I was duly warned off, but our daughters were still best of friends, and she wants to get her shit together, and she seems so contrite, so we still saw each other, and she was runnin’ hot and cold on me one month to the next until the end of the school year. It was real weird. Especially after I realized that I was looking at multiple personalities. (No shit!) After that, I told her I was no longer in pursuit, without telling her why. That’s when the hot-and-cold started runnin’ hard. It was all very hard on this guy.

    THAT realization was chilling, but fascinating, lemme tell ya! And hard to look away. Subtle, but definitely discernible in the switch, they were. I could occasionally note that I’d triggered one of them. The hot-and-cold runnin’ weirdness suddenly clarified, and everything fell into place. There were 4 that I observed. The oddball rare one was a childish affectation. A little girl. Occurred only a couple of times, and only in the clutch, of which there wuz only a couple times, ‘cuz I may be male, but I ain’t stupid, and I’d been warned. Not long after the end of the end, in retrospect, I thought to m’self, Whoa dude, dassum scary shit! What were you THINKING?

    Especially given that I was basically head-over-heels at the time. As well as fascinated. As well as supremely astonished at this— I mean, can’t you just hear my crest falling with a glassy crash?
    Somehow, however, I never lost my head. As you’re about to see.

    The kicker was the day I rode out there on my scooter to return a book I’d borrowed. (As a divorced Dad, I’d been bumped down to an inherited scooter. After my Dad died. Same year my marriage died.) And she decides that we goin’ ridin’ on her bikes. But it was a hot day, and we were both in shorts, so she’s going to get me a pair of her jeans which we already know will fit me, dig? (To mitigate any brainfart scorched foreleg on a hot tailpipe, and you can go slightly hypothermic on a high-speed bike on all but the hottest of days, quite true.) And by the time I get out to the scooter, get the book out of the compartment and replaced on the bookshelf and down the hall to her bedroom at the other end of the house, there she is holding out a pair of her jeans for me, she in the midst of her own change of clothes, in a state of enticing deshabille, standing next to her bed with an air of studied nonchalance.

    She knew. I’d told her. Both that I was head-over-heels, and then that I was off.

    Now, as I see it, any sane human of either sex with half an ounce of understanding of the male o’the species woulda understood that as a invite to a quickie. And under the circumstances, maybe the fact that I was no longer in serious pursuit of a relationship would have made that “okay” with her.

    On the other hand, I never really wanted just a quickie in my life, and certainly not with this one, and I saw no point in torturing myself with further close encounters of the feckless kind, so it wasn’t “okay” with me. But if she surely possessed the horsepower necessary to compute my dilemma in advance, nonetheless, she clearly didn’t have the horsepower necessary to override her compulsions, a state of affairs which I can reconsider with human compassion, but which which I jus’ cain’t be havin’ nuttin’ to do with. Compassion, but only from a distance.

    However, in the moment I was struck mostly by the sheer obliviousness, the blunt insentience, the coldness, of the maneuver…

    Or just maybe, this bird was insane — there was also that in my thoughts in the moment,eh? — and this was an invitation to commit date rape. But we’ll never know. All I could hear in m’head was the soundtrack from the scene in which Norman Bates is approaching the shower curtain with the long, finely honed kitchen utensil. Screaching violins.

    But there was also this — oh, I’m quick — I was NOT going to miss an opportunity to get back on a bike for the first time in several years, and this bird veritably OWED me one, and I WAS going to finesse this situation an’ git my ride. I wasn’t just going to read her the riot act and walk, but I wasn’t going to tolerate either the insult to my acumen that she might impute if I simply ignored her maneuver, or the indignity that might result from an explicit acknowledgement of it without firm response, yay or nay. And if yay, what?— a potential pussy begging situation?— and if nay, then…

    The very idea that it wan’t a maneuver at all was absurd, given the person I’d come to know. I’d gotten hurt in that wreck once before — the neighbor girl I’d grown up with and always liked, meeting years later, after college, all grown up and absent her childhood insecurities and all the more attractive as a result, had thrown her arms around me and invited me to spend a week in NYC at her apartment… and she later admitted that her mother had even warned her that you don’t do that unless you’re startin’ something for real, and she had responded with “Oh Mom, this is 1983!” (Right. Forgot about that. It was 1983. How silly of me. She also proceeded to confess her willingness to entertain interest from any of the established money guys in the bond brokerage where she worked, married or not. Yuck— Monica L.!)

    But this bird was not that bird — oh no, so much the brighter! — and yet that argument, my friends, was essentially the argument with which my erstwhile “friend(s)”, Ms. Randy Biker Chick, Mrs. In-demand Professional, Intellectual, Aesthete, Sensualist, and All-around Suave Sophisticate, My Friend the Anxious Suburban Mom of Two Kids without a Full-Time Dad, and Some Young Girl from Long Ago, responded when I told the four of them, simply and quite coolly, with perfect measure in tone and manner so that I might not offend and lose the ride, that I thought her behavior entirely inappropriate, her discretion sadly lacking, a statement by me which indicated my full understanding of the potentialities of the situation while clearly indicating that I’d made no assumption regarding any intent on her part, and which neatly rendered her plea of innocence feeble. It effectively says, I know you well enough to know that you are smarter than that. And that inference also leaves her looking childish should she to take insult and withdraw the offer. You’ve heard of a backhanded compliment? Maybe this was a backhanded insult but… Bingo.

    “So no, nothing happened,” he stated defiantly before the assembled hordes of presstitutes, “nuthin’ but a way cool ride!”

    And later that day, at home, having been in such finely-tuned fettle earlier, I finally realized that I’d been doing nothing for hours but wandering about the house in a state of distraction. And why. And suddenly, I was livid. Just livid. My tolerance for a whole huge aspect of normal human life was just gone. Totally gone. Not one, but two previous, crazy, mixed up women prior to a third that resulted in a divorce with child, and then THIS crazy-ass attempted insult from a crazy-ass presenting to all the world, and me!— as the most perfect match…

    And I’ve been totally MGTOW ever since. Not that it was easy; I couldn’t have done it without Farrell, God bless. And not that there aren’t fine humans of the female persuasion out there, but they are unfortunately way too few and far between, and in general, this society has a damn long way to go before it catches up to me in the personal ethics department. No butt-hurt, and little lingering indignance. Just the facts, M’am. I assure you, as I hope my little tale adequately demonstrates, that I’m a firm believer in living life to the hilt, but as it stands, this is not a game worth playing. Not even worth a moment’s droll daydreaming. It. just. ain’t.

    1. Addendum: Shortly thereafter, I recounted the tale to several guys and several young women, carefully excluding certain details, such as the perceived insanity, for effect in the event of a final question: What should I have done? To a man, the guys all faulted me for a certain lack of alacrity—

      but every last one o’the galss maintains a faintly pained expression as the final scenario heats up, expressing doubt about her motive at last, as if they immediately smell something that guys, evidently, just don’t. An’ I ain’t even makin’ this shit up.

    2. Huh. Talk about dancing as fast as you can on the edge of a cliff. e.e. cummings? That’ going all out. That’s break dancing on the edge of a cliff. I doubt I’ll need my morning coffee after reading that hair raising tale. Smart and crazy is such a dangerous combination.

  6. Precisely and priceless.

    Any woman at any time can suddenly “find the strength” about something so heinous it has bothered her immensely as she struggled under the weight of his power for decades even, to come forward and especially, coincidentally right at election times.

    1. For the life of me I don’t know why more in the MHRM don’t use black and brown men as an example to hit these fools right between their hypocritical SJW/feminist eyes.

      The Scotboro boys-BLACK MEN falsely accused of rape

      The ‘Strange Fruit’ hanging from trees in the south before civil rights – BLACK MEN falsely accused of rape

      The majority of men freed by the Innocence Project-BLACK MEN falsely accused of rape

      You mean to tell me that some women don’t fabricate bullshit? Watch them sputter and choke after that.

      1. Innocence Project. Yeah, and I did the math on that one myself, just to dbl check what I’d read. Went to the website of the Innocence Project at the Benjamin Cardozo School of Law at Yeshiva U., the old and longest running innocence project. (There’s now at least one in every state and D. C., excepting only a couple that are down for reorganization. And some larger states have 2. Here in IL, one of them is not a legal rep.outfit, but a journalism-based effort out of the Medill School of Journalism at Northwestern U.) Made copies of the lists of exonerations achieved for both rape and sexual assault. Compared them for duplicate names and info. Eliminated about 6 duplicates and divided the remaining total from these two categories by the total number of exonerations in all categories of crime.

        71%. As reported.

        Few people are aware of just how UNreliable eyewitness testimony is. I was “gently” mugged for some pizzas on a college campus by a couple of drunk kids, once, in my pizza delivery days. (Tackled me into some deep snow.) Chased ’em to no avail, as I had on heavy boots. Went to the campus cops. They showed me pictures, but I quickly realized that I had no idea, and gave up.

        So I once saw a crowdfunder in my email from a woman aghast to find that she’d I.D.’d the wrong guy, and he was still in prison years later and she was trying to get him out.

        Well Go’bless, but both the aforementioned incidents were up close and personal, and STILL this happens! Probably a lot.

        But the kicker is this, and re. any alleged incident not involving that kind of violence by an unknown assailant— Any time a woman accuses a guy whom she knows personally is essentially inferring that he’s so stupid that he thinks he’s going to be able to commit a crime viewed as most heinous while leaving his I.D. lying around. As if.

        Any such allegation has be understood in that light. Much higher probability of falsehood.

        71%!? That’s not only more than Kanin (the study) at 40 – 50%, that’s more than McDowell?— was it?— at 60%.

        Not that many guys are that oblivious. And women claim that this works for these guys because they have “the power”?

        Fundamentally, nobody has any power over you that you haven’t granted them. No woman ever had any power over me that I hadn’t granted her. Outside o’me dear ol’ Mum. 🙂 As an adult, I’m talkin’.

  7. Confession time for “me too”.

    I once kissed a girl without her written permission before reliable witnesses. It was at the end of a holiday where we had got on well together, and she was going home to a different country, with virtually zero prospects of us ever meeting again. She seemed to like it, and went away laughing. That was about 45 years ago.

    I once accidentally touched a girl’s breast (in the process of saving her from falling). She accepted my apology and laughed it off, also thanking me for saving her. That was about 35 years ago.

    I once accidentally brushed up against the backside of a woman, in a crowded room when I was trying to get past but misjudged the space available. The contact was very light and made with the side of my leg. She accepted my apology, and smiled it off. That was about 15 years ago.

    That’s about it, as far as I can remember any “dubious” incidents involving contact with the opposite sex. I am mighty glad that I spent my adolescent years having nothing to do with girls, since I was sexually abused by a group of them when I was 9 years old, and subsequently spent eight years at a single sex school. Otherwise my list of crimes would no doubt have been much longer.

    Now, what are my odds of escaping a single, double or triple accusation of being a sex predator?

    PS. I am neither rich nor famous, have no worthwhile connections and am not in any position to further the careers of anyone. Have my odds just improved considerably?

    PPS. Would I ever lay an accusation against the girls who abused me? No. I didn’t know who they were, never saw them again, had no proof of anything because they were too clever to leave any, and in any case even at that young age I knew that as a boy accusing girls, I would only be greeted with either disbelief or ridicule, and probably both. Those girls would have known it too.

    Things don’t change much, do they?

  8. **Very fine line between flirting and rape***. This is the best a man can hope for and this comes from a woman who makes money trying to help men as a dating coach.

    http://www.winggirlmethod.com/podcast/

    “We’ve talked to so many wonderful men who are confused by what is going on and unsure of how to move forward. Like you, they are scared out of their minds to approach or make moves on women because they’re afraid of it being considered sexual harassment. On this weeks episode we do our best to explain that *very fine line* and hope that our direction will help you *see the difference between building attraction with a willing party vs. raping them”

    1. Yeah. First off there is no fine line between flirting and rape.

      Secondly do you notice how she puts it all on the man, and not on the women?

  9. Where is the feminist outrage over romance novels? These are novels based on sexual tension that culminates into sexual assult.
    Women are raised with a constant awareness of relationships with men. They see every interaction as being worth analysis for sexual or romantic intent. The best to know from this and to pass on to all men and boys is: Never be alone with a woman! Being alone with a woman is usually no big deal for a man, particularly at work, but it is a big deal for a woman. Women generally won’t be alone with a man unless they have considered it carefully and the man is always at a disadvantage.

    1. “These are novels based on sexual tension that culminates into sexual assault.”
      The reason these novels sell to the target demographic is because of what you say in the line above. Were those elements absent there would be no sales. The writers know it. The publishers know it. That is why they are written, why they are published. You take your drug to the marketplace. You see who buys it. You see who comes back for more. Then you supply that need in all similar markets, buy a boat and retire early. ¿No?

  10. I don’t know what the laws are regarding illegal wire tapping in other states, but in Texas one can record any two way conversation as long as only one of the party’s has knowledge of it. The only exceptions are one’s of privacy like restrooms and in the home. To my understanding public places and businesses are fair game.

    Check with your state laws. If you can record in a public setting or place of business, have your smart phones recording, especially if you fear any interaction with a female can be turned against you.

    1. That would be every interaction with a female then. Buy a big memory card for your phone, 128 GB ones are out now. 2. point: never ever be alone with a female in a room although I dont know how to document that for a judge.

      1. Well if you are in a “private” setting like a bedroom then you must inform her that you are recording otherwise you are screwed; even if the recording does reveal that she is lying, the judge would throw it out and you could be charged with illegal wire tapping if you didn’t inform her. So yes, do not be alone with a female in a private setting.

        Keep all interactions in public and at work, then you can do a one way recording to your heart’s content; this is as long as your state laws allow it.

    2. In all states illegal wire tapping is illegal. 😉
      No, they are generally either one party states like Texas, or two party states like California.
      I would guess (IANAL) that all states allow businesses to record what happens in their establishments, otherwise security cams would be illegal. You could argue that entering the business constituted consent in two party states.

      1. Oh sure makes sense. I just always throw in the caveat of “check with your state laws” just in case. I don’t know what the laws are regarding recorded conversations in public in every state, or what restrictions they may have.

  11. Watch. There is going to be some genius that is going to try to get a bill going to make approaching women illegal based solely on her whim (basically if she thinks the guy’s a dork and she’s pissed a hunk isn’t hitting on her). This was already tried in a town in the UK.

      1. According to the articles it’s not passed yet. However I have no doubt that all the pussy begging frogs (Frenchmen), will bend over backwards to get it done.

        What’s maddening is that there is already anti-harassment laws. Now these jokers think they have to add shit like wolf calls into the mix, or any other vaguely determined behavior.

  12. Yes. I suppose because of the conservatism comeback and Trump, social engineers are going to exploit the sexual behaviors of society and launch a witch-hunt on men by having these accusations create a sort of movement. They are trying to reduce population (white first and foremost) as well as masculinity by psychological warfare. If your response to feminist ideology is to abandon all women of the human species then you’ve not actually matured into a whole person. Sure you should be able to “go monk” as said in the article, but you shouldn’t be restricted to that role. Being able to will prevent any damage to you by these toxic femininity aspects of society by having monk mode be your center. But beyond that indestructible center you can also add on expansions by having a few campaigns involving women to de-condition them and tip them away from their programming as you interact. Just abandoning all women will give the elite who created feminism exactly what they want: a pigeonholed and divided society against itself. Learn balance.

    1. Bullshit. A whole person does not walk into a buzzsaw – or at least, if he does, he will no longer be whole. Do not be an idiot. Just a few men going monk will destabilize gynocentric society into collapse, and in the collapse men can reassert their rights. Remember, men are the only net producers of goods like food and shelter, and without those, the beast dies. Want to stop the collapse? Then restore our rights.

  13. Great article. In this world, we’re damned if we do and damned even more if we don’t. I’m sick and flipping tired of the non-stop cavalcade of stupid going through the media right now.

    1. Screw ’em. As I’ve said before. I’m a man. I think male thoughts. Have male-oriented desires. Want male-oriented things. I am not ashamed to be a man. And even less so by any hateful harpie finger-wagging shaming bitch who wants me to feel *bad* about being born a *male*.

      Fuck Feminism. Right in its PUCKERED LITTLE ASSHOLE. Feminism is a hate group by an rational standard. Feminists are hateful, sexist people.

  14. When I was fifteen, I was vamped by an older girl at school during an afternoon break while sitting on a bench, daydreaming. When I turned down her offer for me to caress her thigh, she took the initiative by gabbing my hand and forcing the issue. She wanted to play with “the sexy boy with the scrappy beard and the sketch-pad” but when I wouldn’t play ball, she tried, as is their wont, to taunt me into action. It didn’t work. I didn’t enjoy this, but it’s life and I just got on with it. It’s over thirty-six years ago and I wouldn’t dream of whining about it any more now than I did then. I think we have a little more dignity than the opposition appear to have. Of course, she, if she remembers anything about it at all, might go onto #MeToo to tell the world how traumatised she has been ever since 1981 about my terrible behaviour, either in not responding tto her heavy flirting or by my having the absolute gall to have my hand forcefully dragged along her thigh. This is not an isolated incident, far from it, but the world always ignores those giant turds laid by the elephant in the room. What a strange world we inhabit.

    1. “she took the initiative by gabbing my hand and forcing the issue.”

      I fucking HATE when they do that, -or the other version, where they take a hold of your chin and force your head in their direction, when you don’t pay attention to them immediately. They can touch me all they want, no problems, but don’t expect me to counter it, if I’m not in the mood or busy doing something else.

      Hmm, maybe I should just make a list of my “perceived sexual harrassments” over the years….
      I can always pin it on the wall in my man cave, and really get into the *feeeling* of belonging to ‘Da Sisterhood’.

  15. Have you read the recent comments from super mangina comedian lol Louis CK? Never one to pass up the opportunity to jump on the self flaggelating, blame all men pussy begging train, ol’ Louis says ALL men are trash because we have contributed to the climate of sexual assault and rape culture. Going further he trots out the “listen and believe” nonsense of ANY female that comes forward with ANY story no matter how long ago it was; oh and if it felt like sexual assault to her (even if it doesn’t sound anything like sexual assault) then it HAS to be sexual assault. Probably the most hilarious thing is that he says women are “disposable” Bwa Ha Ha ha Ha Haaa!

    When will these idiots learn that licking women’s asses clean is not going to protect them. Gawd I hope this motherfucker is next on the list.

      1. Cuck and predator rolled into one.

        I’ve never heard him and only know one of his jokes — when you see a woman on the street hugging a man it’s because she is trying to keep him from hitting her.

        Source: Some rad fem @ Slate.

          1. I looked it up. His name is Louis Szekely (SEH-kell-ee). That’s a Hungarian name so he is a classic white. He is a little bit Mexican so he wanted to claim to be a Person of Color so he had to cover up his real name. He said his name was too hard to pronounce.

            He is a all-around SJW phony.
            ———————————————–
            Historical note: Janet Rasmussen wanted a political career in Miami. She changed her name to Reno. He reason was that Rasmussen is too hard to pronounce.

    1. Hard Little Machine

      His case is I think different. He invited people to his room and asked them if he could expose himself. They said yes, they agreed to stand there. He did whatever he did, zipped up and then the women he invited to watch him left. He didn’t pressure anyone, force anyone, trap anyone or threaten anyone., It was a transaction. To have them pop up now and complain is worse than self serving. And HIM? He’s always been a preachy jerk.

      1. For sure, but what he said recently is waaaay beyond preachy. That’s the whole point; it would serve him right if these women that are fabricating charges come after his ass…again, or new one’s. My point was that it’s fucking karma if it happens to his ass. Anyone that says the filth that he says with his celebrity, is going to set off a wave of just more male hatred.

        Fuck that piece of shit.

        1. Hard Little Machine

          As a confirmed car carrying leftist – he reflexively cackles on about how all men, all white people and everyone to the right of Emma Goldman is evil.

          1. Yup. Even though I abhor the left v right bullshit that some in the MHRM engage in, I am quite comfortable with the use of leftist as a perjorative term, even though I still identify as a liberal and therefore technically on the left; I recognize the difference. Just like I recognize trad/con and a couple of other terms that can be used as a perjorative for the right.

  16. Personmed Ansikte

    I participated in the “metoo” thing, having been a target of sexual harassment in an otherwise all-female workcenter many years ago. It looked like this: “#Metoo, but nobody believed me or cared because I wasn’t a woman”

    The fact that I had a pile of physical evidence (anti-male emails, etc.) meant nothing and they treated the complaint as a joke–a man who couldn’t handle “what women put up with all the time.” The management’s failure to address the issue when presented only led to more embarrassing behavior by the women until it culminated in the superintendent loudly discussing her subordinates’ masturbating in church–which she did in a crowded train station in front of a senior leader from Air Combat Command.

    So they blamed *me* for causing the problems.

    It’s breathtaking how quickly a conversation on sexual harassment will shut down when women are the harassers and a man is the target.

  17. There is this mangina cuck asshole that hosts a morning radio show in Austin on the local rock station; I usually catch him briefly when I’m flipping through stations looking for some tunes. He can’t stop puffing his chest out and virtue signaling for the females; I’m sure his wife is a fembot and pats him on the head each night for being a good boy. Ever since all these allegations have come out this guy has been non-stop with the patronizing and ass kissing.

    Funny thing is this guy thinks he’s an edgy tough guy lol. He actually fancies himself as a critical thinker to boot. He constantly admonishes callers that are obviously political ideologues or are religious fundies that they aren’t thinking things through, and they are engaging in group think on a particular world view; wow, this is unbelievable because he should be holding up a mirror when he is saying this. Kettle to pot, come in pot.

    Anyways this guy has been on a tear about all these allegations and mangining all over the place with statements like “Hey I’m teaching my son to actually RESPECT women”. Oooohhhh are you now, you patronizing pussy hound slime ball? How edgy of you lol.

    The last straw was when I was carpooling with someone and they had this idiot on the radio. This moron was on his usual tirade of women as victims, men as predators and all the sexual assault allegations blah blah blah, and he says (get this) in response to a guest “Men don’t get objectified” Lol lol lol lol lol then “Men objectify women, that’s what men DO”.

    So I’ve got a father’s rights advocate, and a guy that I work with downtown that helps the homeless guys, and we’re looking for maybe two more people to call in and blitz this morning show mangina one right after the other. I can just see it now, with his eyes bugging out as he’s ready to blow a gasket.

  18. They’re talking of making it an offence to film up skirts or something, which is fair enough as no one should be doing that. But what about historical cases? Hillary Clinton’s old squeeze, Yoko Ono, used to film bare arses and penises and then call it “art”. I think she should be arrested and charged.

  19. Report on Neil deGrasse Tyson.

    In 1984 Tyson was a graduate student. He was so brilliant that he was working as an adjunct professor teaching Astronomy 101. To knock the nonsense out of freshmen that this would be looking at pretty pictures he told them this would be a tough science course by saying, “Nobody gets an A unless they suck my dick.”

    This is all from Staci Alison Hambric who now uses the pseudonym Tchiya Amet. She said she wanted to be a “Galactic Astronomer” and the first black woman astronaut. She is envious of the students who did get As.

    She dropped out of astronomy and got a degree in something. She taught at some college for a bit and got an MRS degree. She had children and divorced her husband. She is into yoga and Egyptian gods and astrology.

    So someone who believes in astrology did not pass deGrasse Tyson’s astronomy class.

    Now, like August above I must confess an incident. It happened early this morning. A mother had gotten me to agree to take her special needs daughter to a clinic in the countryside. I had other things to do as well but I had to live up to my word. I went back to my house to make arrangements and found the girl was waiting at my doorstep. She was about 13, chunky, homely and commonly had her mouth open which is a symptom of Downs Syndrome. She had her suitcase with her. She wore a loose white blouse and a grey skirt. I drove her to the clinic expecting to have a difficult time explaining but people were waiting at the gate for us. The mother had called ahead. I wondered at the time why, if the mother could drive her daughter to my house, why she couldn’t take her to the clinic. The clinic was in the countryside something like 20 to 30 miles out of town. It took me about 30 seconds to drive there. Other questions started to arise. I didn’t know the names of anyone or the clinic.

    Then I woke up. I don’t live in the midwest and I have never had a house. I have a problem that disturbs my sleep repeatedly so I often remember my dreams. Note the transition that the entire time driving is a gap. Now we pass to Hambric’s story.

    She met Tyson in his apartment. He gave her water in a coconut mug. She passed out and woke up briefly. Next thing she knew she was walking down a corridor and Tyson was walking towards her. She never says how she knew she had sex with anyone. Wet panties, missing panties, bruising? What? Does anyone know a drug that can knock someone out cold and they can wake up, dress, go home, go to bed, get up the next morning, shower, dress, go to school, and then regain consciousness? In her own words:

    I only recall being at the astronomy department the next day. I do not know how long I was in his apartment. I have no idea how I got back to my apartment. I do not even remember waking up the next day. All I remember is seeing him in the hallway at the astronomy department at UT
    Austin, and I asked him, “Why did this happen?” He responded, “We are in this alone, and we are in this together”.

    Why did what happen? According to her there she didn’t say anything about sex. His response, assuming she remembers it verbatim, sounds like his philosophizing generalities we all heard in Cosmos.

    But go to the primary source and not more secondaries like mine and read what the Blue Lotus (another of her pseudonyms) herself says:
    https://tchiya.wordpress.com/2014/10/08/end-the-silence-end-the-violence-chapter-6-austin-texas-1983-1984-the-blue-lotus-speaks/

    1. Great insight! I’m glad that you agree with me so much that you copy me down to the last letter.

      Imitation is after all the most sincere form of flattery.

      Well either that or you’re just a fucking putz.

  20. Recording oneself 24/7 and keeping the recordings forever is the only counter to long-term accusations. Even this has weaknesses but might save your ass.

  21. Screw ’em. As I’ve said before. I’m a man. I think male thoughts. Have male-oriented desires. Want male-oriented things. I am not ashamed to be a man. And even less so by any hateful harpie finger-wagging shaming bitch who wants me to feel *bad* about being born a *male*.Fuck Feminism. Right in its PUCKERED LITTLE ASSHOLE

  22. great text. And believe me, several women would recognize the situation, been in a similar situation, hate you for it (either because they identify with ginny or the hypothetical land wale) and will pretend it’s about something else.DON’T let them lie, I heard them complain about guys like you in their frustration, frustrated enough to forget not to lie and foolish enough to believe my nods were validation, only to discover soon enough some dissenting advice by me and discovering how unfaltering they looked, deciding then to change the narrative as if it would fly

    1. No way dude. If you piss her off enough about something like, oh I dunno, breaking up with her…then she might have some physical proof she can use to railroad you.

      Are you familiar with a guy named Marv Albert? He had this BDSM relationship with this woman for 10 fucking years! And when she found out that he was breaking up with her, she set him up one night and got him to bite her on the back while she was giving him head, then she called the cops and had them take pictures of her back. Suffice to say, he pled guilty on the advice of his attorney and cut a deal with the DA.

      You are not safe.

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