my father won’t let me. (He was, it seems, not yet eighteen then)
— I'll agree. I pay for everything too.
— Then, of course, yes. “The guy’s eyes shone, and I felt like an old slut, even though I was only twenty-five.
Would it be cheating if we slept together then? No, because they abandoned me.
But that would be an act of pedophilia, and I didn’t want to go to prison at all.
The boy, you know, was already hardened, dating a married woman and various others. Sex had become firmly established in his life by that time. But I knew myself. Firstly, I didn’t want to break the law. Secondly, if it later turned out that Vladislav finally changed his mind about leaving, then how would I carry such a burden on myself.
The mom of exactly the same guy ruined everything in the same way. His parents had been arguing for a long time and everything was heading towards a breakup. They even voiced this intention to each other. And a fifty-year-old woman, a mother of four children, took on a lover.
Later, when everything became clear, she and her husband divorced, but her husband kept saying that if it weren’t for the betrayal, there was still a chance for recovery.
I remember his words perfectly. That's why I never even decided to kiss Mark.
We had a great game of billiards, drank whiskey, had a heart-to-heart chat, and then took a taxi home drunk.
I felt good, I forgot, not a single tear fell the whole evening. Perhaps I even made it up, and the guy just wanted to be a friend. But I know one hundred percent that if I had given free rein to my hormones, sex would have happened.
A woman usually doesn’t have to spend much time persuading a man who is interested in her.
David, remember, first love, was not interested in me, and it was obvious. Here they looked at me with admiration, their mouths slightly open.
The next day I decided to avoid him. Since then, we have become very distant, which Mark obviously didn’t like, but he didn’t have the courage to admit. Although there was a case when he deliberately, knowing that I was the first of the neighbors to return from work, sat at home naked at the table. He pretended to be surprised and went to put on his pants. However, I forever understood that there was still flirting. It ended with this incident, but it definitely happened.
“How to marry a millionaire”, “Ten ways to get married”, “Three sure tips for marriage” and so on.
Now the shelves in bookstores are full of such “works.” Some people write robots. You know, programs are simply compiled from different books, and then the author adds a little soul to it so that it looks realistic and there is no plagiarism.
The same applies to any motivating books. So don’t be too fooled if you bought one of these and it didn’t work for you.
But, I will make a reservation, this is better than doing nothing at all towards the goal. You can at least lie in her direction.
You know, after lighting a cigarette, take a pumping book and read it from cover to cover. And then go out into the street, grab the first millionaire you come across by the breasts and marry yourself with various tricks.
Until you marry yourself, everything else is just theater, girls.
If you haven’t put yourself in the shoes of your ideal man and looked at yourself through his eyes, then everything else is a circus.
— I don’t want to change for anyone.
— In terms of?
— Well, I'm not going to change for the sake of some guy.
— Do you want to marry a peasant woman, or an ideal representative of the opposite sex?
— Second option.
— OK. Then another question: for whom would you change?
— For my own sake.
— Deluxe. We mathematically deduce that if you were a man yourself, would you change for your own sake? For someone so capricious, with a potbelly, cellulite, sometimes lazy, who doesn’t know how to cook, who feels great in a mess and lack of money, who is demanding of others, but not of herself? List further? Have you already imagined such a husband?
Now you laugh, but I was like that, and I also saw about a hundred such free and independent women who allowed themselves to be mediocre, but wanted an ideal husband, so that he would also love him as he is.
My colleague was like this. Two meters tall, “suffering” from excess weight. Why in quotes? Because she didn’t suffer, didn’t make any real efforts to lose weight, she just tried and then gave up.
She wanted a man taller than herself, athletic, smart, kind, and a non-drinker.
She only came across idiots who matched the description, but who ran away as soon as her heart sank. Yes, by the age of thirty-five she had already earned herself a bad heart.
Would she want to marry a doughy, sick man who doesn’t want to reduce the amount of food and sugar he eats, who justifies his fatness with all sorts of reasons, who is so sick that if he dies one day during sex, then problems with the police can’t be avoided?
No. One hundred percent.
Look at yourself now if you are not yet married. And describe your ideal man. Enter the mind of this image and look at yourself through its eyes. If you are satisfied with everything about yourself, ok, read motivational books and go ahead to “conquer Everest.”
If at least something bothers you, for example, that you behave indecently in society, swear like a cobbler, drink to excess, dress vulgarly and tastelessly, then remember the movie “Pretty Woman”.
Richard Gere's character
