“It’s cool. Don’t beat yourself up, bro.”
It’s so easy to make a man doubt where he stands with you. You just replace the term of endearment with a strictly platonic and masculinized three letter word.
No homo, or whatever.
I hate to use language like chess pieces but it’s so much better than using them as pieces to a puzzle. The one piece you need is always lost at precisely the moment you need it most.
Truthfully, the hating is just a self-conscious declaration of what others would find distasteful. It’s a way for me to blend in with everyone else. I actually love using words in this way. I can’t imagine a more lucrative mating strategy.
This isn’t like dishonestly saying “I’m fine” in response to “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine” is bullshit. The questioner either digs deeper into the unsaid, or rightfully walks away from the conversation. It’s lazy. It’s tired. But it’s most importantly bullshit.
I’m Olivia Pope on coke with no time for bullshit.
With that three letter word, I am testing my adversary. I dare him to respond. I watch his rehabilitation strategy. His next moves tell me everything I need to know about the sort of man he is.
If he’s a man at all, of course.
Women supposedly decide if they’ll sleep with a man within minutes of meeting him. Not so for me. It’s the result of this game that gives me my signal to take my clothes off.
Call me manipulative if you wish. But after you do it go look at your own face in the mirror as you tell yourself you haven’t played like this before. You’ll need to be convinced.
We all have our games. We only play them honorably if we play them consciously. We need to know the rules, even if they’re made up as we go along.
I guess I have a high standard of behavior.