A Love Letter…

It’s funny…

How I always love you…but sometimes…most times…I don’t really like you.  I’m not sure if it’s what you do to me or what you make me see in myself.  Maybe I just don’t like me…

That’s funny…

After reading what I’ve written above, most people…people gifted with the power of logic would ask, “Why are you with her?  Why don’t you leave??”  Because it’s not that simple.  She reminds me that I’m not shit.  And in the same instance reminds me of what I could be.  And it makes me feel…

Funny…

In a moment she makes me feel like I own this place, right before she reminds me that I don’t belong in it.  She’s addictive.  In actuality she drains my bank account but tells me that my potential is worth it.  Yeah…right…  Potential litters the street corners here.  She smiles at me.  She thinks that’s…

Funny…

But I don’t.  So I pack my things.  Maybe I’ll opt for the simple life down south…or see if that noise in New York is my heart calling me there. And she doesn’t stop me.  In fact she show’s me to the door.  And I think, “New York is a noisy place…it may not be calling me…”  And the simple life is……..well……it’s mighty simple.  I sit my bags down.  Having second, third and forth thoughts….while she thinks that’s…

Funny…

She grabs me.  And then does everything I want her to.  I’m exhausted.  That’s when she dares me to try again.

Damn Hollywood!!!!  I only moved out here to write!!!!

–Preston

Thank you for taking today’s flight inside the mind of Preston Swagger.  Please return you seatbacks and tray tables to their upright and locked position…

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The Bet & Ask A Guy

So the writers on this site are the last of the free men. In college there were 8 of us. Since then, 4 have fallen. Toby and I came up with the bet for the last of us. It goes as follows:

All of us chip in and buy a giant gold belt.  One like the champion in the WWE wears.

The last single person is presented with the belt sometime DURING the second to last guys WEDDING.  It can be during the ceremony.  It can be at the reception before the best man toast.  Hell, it can be during the father daughter dance.  But the losers must present the winner with his belt and acknowledge him as the champion.  Plain and simple….and hilarious

Yes…I’m laughing right now.

So the question was asked: Do guys wager on everything?

The Answer: Real guys do.

I’m just kidding.  But yes, a lot of us do.  One of the most common traits found in men is competitiveness.  Whether it’s at work, against his boys, playing sports, lifting weights, video games etc.  You name it.  My friends and I are HYPER COMPETITIVE — and that’s putting it mildly.  We’re the guys who — when one of us balls up a piece of paper and shoots it into the trashcan — the next one of us moves the trash can 6 inches back and tries the same shot.

The essence of being competitive comes from belief.  Belief that you ARE or WILL BE the best at something (Note: Ladies, don’t you want a guy like that?  Plus that competitive spirit is EASILY transferable into other things.  Do with that information whatever you’d like.  I’m just sayin…).  So when someone comes along and tells you that you’re wrong about your belief…it’s pretty powerful.  NO ONE whoever won ANYTHING didn’t start by BELIEVING he could…..even if it was just a little bit.

So you think you’re the best.  Their belief conflicts with yours.  So you have to settle this.  And you have to settle it in such a way that the loser feels it. In a way that it stings…

Typically, this result is achieved by taking his money.  Usually when something costs you…it stings.

(That’s why you ladies key and or bust the windows out of our car, isn’t it?  That’s what Jazmine Sullivan told me anyway…)

I’d argue that guys wagering isn’t childish, rather it’s just a bi-product of their over competitiveness.  The determining factor for whether or not it’s childish is WHAT we wager on.  Which begs the question:

Preston, isn’t the bet you and Toby came up with childish?

Possibly.

But I don’t see it that way.  We’re really just upping the stakes on our love lives.  I want to win the bet.  But what all of us want more than that is the woman who makes us not give a damn about it…

–Preston

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Ladies Poll - How do you like the hair down there?

Guys are never shy about letting women know how they like things south of the border.  Well now it’s the ladies turn.  When the belt comes off and the pants come down, what should the manscape look like?  As always if there are poll choice you feel we’ve omitted or if you’d like to elaborate or share a horror story.  Please do.  Happy Friday!!  Let’s get into it.

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Confessions of a Man-Ho (Part 2)

This was the beginning of the end people. I had just learned one of Vicki’s little secrets…exactly how to get in them mo-fo’s! The next 2 years was a blur of bras, backseats and bouncing box springs. And then I graduated high school!

If high school was where the monster was created, college is where he terrorized…

Let’s get back into it:

One of the few things in life that I will say that I’m good at is reading body language.  I actually like to say I’m fluent in it.  So, I watched.  I watched the eyes to see who was skull fucking me.

You were first…

I watched the crowd to see who seemed to draw away and be a little shy.  Perhaps the girl who was at the edge of the dance floor grooving just a little by herself, but not drawing any attention to herself either.

88% closet freak success rate on those.

I watched the body and saw who seemed to lean towards me during conversation.  You like to be in and take control.  Take away some of that control and you go crazy.  Since you required a little more work, you were third in line.  Then there were times when I didn’t feel like talking at all.  That’s when I would go for what we affectionately referred to as “stragglers”, the chicks who were just around at the end of the night.  That was just at social events boys and girls.  Not to mention class, the gym, the library, the caf, or any other place I would observe women.

Once again, I did have standards.  I tried to keep it 7 or better and I like to say I succeeded.  Now having said that; I did own my own pair of beer goggles back then.  So you do the math.  I also, never went for the popular girl unless she came to me and wanted a title shot.  Even then sometimes I had to pull a Don King and block the fight.  Bad boys move in silence, Big said.  So, I avoided the limelight as much as possible.  College is when I was introduced to one night stands, booty calls and the infamous double and triple headers.  And I hadn’t even started listening yet.

After college, I set out to hone my listening skills.  This, frankly, is easier than most guys realize.  Women will tell you everything you need to know, if you just listen.  I used all insecurities, secrets, and dreams to my advantage.  If you told me you thought you were too thin, I told you I didn’t really dig skinny girls.  You’ve got ass, then I was a cleavage fan.  This automatically ignited a competitive fire that I stoked or dampened as necessary.  If you tell me you like fashion, I’m telling you that whatever you’re wearing was a wise purchase…and asking for a little spin!  To keep you placated later on, I would plan events in the future to give you the idea that we were working towards something, only to start an argument out of nowhere as the time got closer resulting in the plans being canceled.  I was at was at my best and worst at the same time.

Of course during this time of hot debauchery, the thought of settling down never crossed my mind.  I didn’t look for any redeeming qualities in women and I don’t know if I would have recognized it back then anyway.  Some women really reveal themselves in a casual relationship and some play it close to the chest.  Either way, after bedding women so easily then listening to most of them complain about another guy they were dealing with, I didn’t think the mythical “good girl” existed.  Now I also realize that there are some women out there who are solely out to get their rocks off as well, so I know I wasn’t the only one playing games.  However, as I continued in life the game got less appealing to me, yet sex never lost its appeal.  And there was the rub… Me wanting my rub but tired of all the bull.  Then it happened:

I met what all men have in their past; the one that got away.

At age 26, believe it or not, I was in my first serious relationship and suddenly believed that good women existed.  Then I did what all men do when they have their first good relationship.  I fucked it up.

I didn’t cheat on her.  I need to put that out there before some of you start making voodoo dolls.

I just didn’t know how to be in a relationship.  Even though we fit together like cheese and grits, I had no idea how to make a woman feel loved and secure.  I just knew how to attract them and keep them guessing.  You can’t stay mysterious and aloof forever, eventually you have to open up and truly show her you love her.  I never made her feel appreciated and R. Kelly told you what happens when a woman’s fed up.  It was over for that and I was back on the prowl having experienced love for the first time.  But love had kinda smacked me in the face.

From relationship time until now, it’s been about five years since I’ve done any rampant fuckery.  Not for lack of options but for lack of optimism.  I’m going to let a cat out of the bag here real quick.  The fellas and I are a part of a larger group of friends that became close in college.  Upon departure we all made a bet to see who would be the last to get married..  It’s now down to 4 of us out of 8.  And that would be the four guys who write on this site:

1, Toby Hustle — Holla!!

2. Preston Swagger — What’s good?!?!

3. I.M. Haight – Go to hell!!

4. And me….

After reading his article, the smart money would be on Toby. (Editor’s Note from Swagg: “Get the fuck outta here!!”)

I’m putting my money on me even though I actually want to get married now.  Do I actually think it will happen?  Absolutely not.

I’ve been with enough women now to know exactly what I want.  You can immediately cross easy and boring females off the list.  Which frankly, right now, is a good chunk of chicks.  It takes a unique combination of a humble confidence, mixed with a voracious, quirky sense of humor, sprinkled with some dammit sexiness that’s going to keep me interested.  The problem is that right now I’m tired of buying scratch off tickets, trying to hit the jackpot.  I cant regress because what I used to do was just plain fucked up.  I can’t progress because those choices have soured me on the dating ritual.  I’ve actually changed my approach to be genuine, honest, and gentlemanly.  And I’ve already spoken about where that gets you.  So, am I more wrong for cutting some women off early because I can tell it won’t work or telling the other women I have enough friends?  Or do I keep crossing my fingers and buying scratch off tickets?

To say I did some things I’m not proud of is an understatement.  Saying I had fun is also an understatement.  To say it was all a learning experience doesn’t do it justice.  My choices might have just ruined me for life though.  Let me say right now before any minds wander…I’m clean!  But I’m jaded…bitter even.  I’m a man ho that doesn’t want his mo-jo.  I loves me some women but I’m tired of trying to find one.   So what to do?

“Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.” –Robert Frost

“Son, a woman is like a beer. They smell good, they look good, you’d step over your own mother just to get one! But you can’t stop at one. You wanna drink another woman!” –Homer Simpson

S. Monet

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Confessions of a Man-Ho (Part 1)

In the first installment of the legendary post “How To Talk to Pretty Women”, I mentioned how being labeled as the nice guy is close to leprosy and that I would be explaining later. Well later is now. Later has been this…well…late because I know this is going to be a sensitive issue. Mainly because I will be dealing with a seemingly illogical subject; the fact that women just don’t like nice guys. Personally it will be a tad touchy because I am taking a cue from my cohorts Haight and Hustle and getting a bit personal here. I have been wrestling with how to approach this for maximum effectiveness and I concluded that anecdotal evidence is the quick dissolving strip to solve this situation. So here it goes:

Hello. My name is Seymour Monet and I am a man ho.

I’m recovering actually but I know how it goes. Once a man ho, always a man ho. Now this isn’t going to be some Karrine Steffans-esque name drop fest. And please don’t get it twisted and think I’m some Eric Benet, “To Catch a Predator” type dude. Never have been. But I will admit that I have done quite a few things that I’m not proud of to get that (insert favorite nickname for vagina here…I’m lazy today). I did have standards though. I wasn’t the crack whore of man ho’s. I didn’t tell chicks I loved them just to get it nor did I have a bunch of “girlfriends.” I let women know that I wasn’t looking for a relationship so I figured I wasn’t really that bad. What I did do was lie, coerce, and manipulate to get what I wanted…

…safe passage to the land of milk and honey! I kid.

See, the reason I can talk about this so candidly is because I am a nice guy at heart. I also want women to have some insight into what can lead a man to ho-dom and what can happen after it. You need to know that we all aren’t that bad and that a good portion of the assholes that you’ve already run into were really nice guys in disguise.

Stop cussing at the screen…I said a good portion, not all! So, here’s my story.

I, like many African-American men of my generation, was raised by women. Namely my mother and later my grandmother taught me to be respectful at all times and especially to women. I still flinch now if I forget a “ma’am”, remembering all the pimp slaps I caught from granny. If you remember from the same legendary posting I explained that pretty much all the women in my family are lookers. So, I figured one and one equaled two and if I was nice to chicks (especially the pretty ones) I would get me one. If only I knew. I proceeded to be gentlemanly and an all around nice guy to the girls that caught my eye. I ended up with more “friends” than a Matt LeBlanc greatest hits marathon.

Then more and more I noticed that all the assholes I knew were putting in much less work with a way higher success rate. It just didn’t make sense to me. It went against everything I heard from women and everything I was raised to believe. “Treat women right son”, is all I would hear. But I’ll be damned if I wasn’t being treated like somebody’s little brother. I would constantly hear, “You’re so nice, but…”, “Oh, Mo you’re such a sweet guy, but….” Little did I know that a scarlet N was being slapped on my chest. But everything changed on one fateful road trip.

I had a cousin who lived in another small town maybe 20 minutes away. So, I’m doing the family visit thing and her best friend happens by. This is also where I began to think that all pretty women traveled in packs.

(I was a genius I tell ya!)

Now of course since my cousin is my cousin and since we are the same age we give each other a hard time. It’s just natural. What wasn’t natural to me was the crossover of jokes to her friend. I’m busting jokes on them, ignoring them some, generally NOT doing anything that would make the friend think I was trying to get at her. And what do you know?

She was all over me!

There was the tell tale over-giggle and touch. My male cousins were throwing the football around and she decides to play tackle…with me.

Suddenly jokes turned into, “why don’t you come by my house sometime after school Seymour?”

Hell fuck yeah, is what I was thinking.

“We’ll see what I can do”, is what I said.

Then it happened.

“Please?”

This was the beginning of the end people. I had just learned one of Vicki’s little secrets…exactly how to get in them mo-fo’s! The next 2 years was a blur of bras, backseats and bouncing box springs. And then I graduated high school!

If high school was where the monster was created, college is where he terrorized…

S. Monet…(Part 2 tomorrow)

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It’s all I can stands…and I can’t stands no more!

Happy Friday Monday and all that good stuff. Welcome back to our regularly scheduled slightly adjusted programming . Ladies it’s time to jump on the poll again. So, let’s just get right to it.

The male/female double standard when it comes to sex is an age old argument. But let’s save that for another day. Today let’s just deal with numbers. And yes, I know. We’ve heard it all before:

“Don’t ask questions you don’t really want to know the answer to.”

“It shouldn’t matter who I was with before you.”

“Subtract 10 from any number a guy gives you.”

“Add 5 to any number a girl gives you.”

Forget all that.

I want to know how much you are willing to tolerate. If every guy came with a SexFax report that showed the number of partners he’s had. Where would you draw the line? What number would make you question being with him? Or would you care at all?

For arguments sake, we’ll say you have to look at the report. And for scientific integrity, we’ll say the guy is 28. As always please feel free to expound or suggest any additions to the poll responses.

Side note: Ladies don’t forget to shoot some questions to the Ask a Guy mailbox. We protect the identities of the innocent unless you would like credit for your question. — S. Monet

***RESULTS FROM LAST WEEKS POLL — LADIES, ARE YOU WATCHING PORN WITH US***

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