The Typist finds Grace.
“The Typist finds Grace”.
He found it.
The Typist did not lose Grace, he never had it.
He has had an awakening, an Epiphany.
He was created by Mercury, by Hermes. This is what was initially revealed.
Oh, Gawd, it seems…..
No, I found out.
Aphrodite had her soft hands and her feminine mind in his creation also.
And only now, this disturbing news, has been revealed to me.
I, being the intellectual, ah, the would be, erstwhile philosopher.
I, being SunCMars.
The Typist has shifted gears. He sees his ‘present’ folly, his now presenting folly. Him focusing his energies on women. He sees the futility of this. He is starting to see the worth of SunCMars. And surprisingly, the views of The Martian. Black and white thinking in a grey world. It is much tidier, makes eminent sense.
Women need to struggle on-off-on their own. Without the interference, without the additional, flavor-adding effect of men. It is not The Typists mortal, nor moral purpose in life to solve their problems, ameliorate their perceived misery.
By divorcing women in general, their silk purses specifically, he becomes whole.
It was a long difficult process, this awakening.
Good tidings, by doing so he will become a complete man, not a half man, not a half woman, not a gay man.
As his former self he was split. A weak example of both.
Few, likely no man will ever measure up to any women’s expectations. It cannot be.
To do so would require them to be a hybrid. A man losing his intrinsic male qualities, adopting, adapting to feminine ways…. some of which cannot be assuaged to an acceptable working compromise. His mind cannot shift from one to the other…fast enough, convincing enough to please his lady lover.
Plus, once he starts this to-and-fro, this see-saw personality; a moving state, between manliness and kind feminine empathy he must maintain it ‘perfectly’ or be seen as a failure. Or, at minimum, as a disappointment to his mate.
This to-and-fro works admirably, privately, eminently well in bed.
The trusted thrusting works oh, so well between the sheets. Rubbing the sides of her vagina, tickling the man in the boat. She screams for more.
Away from the bed? My God, It is bedlam. It is grief, chaos.
You cannot give a standing, working in the house, wife, who, while in the kitchen, doing her wifely duties an orgasm of anyhoo fulfilling happiness. There is no G-Spot between her ears.
In her ears? Maybe. A singing crooner has made many a women ‘near’ orgasmic. If she assists with her digits.
Friction between the sheets is necessary. Necessary to please her.
Residual friction follows the couple into their daily life. It rubs raw her patience, giving her an ‘oh crap’ headache.
She will find discontent anyway.
His, The Typist, or The Hybrid, acting out purposeful personality, male/female “waffling” accelerates the process.
The Typist has washed his hands of this. He now thinks, not feels…..this to-and-fro is not worth it. Knowing it to be the cause, the reason for another’s, could be a wife’s, a GF’s discontent.
Him being the agency of some woman’s misery. Him being the oft, the ‘Cause Celebre’ for a ladies unhappiness.
He now says….let her flounder without him/you as the cause.
I mentioned to him this, “Ah, too late. You will own that title. You will be the EX who ruined her. Ruined her forever. The root worm that crawls under her thin skin. She can never be happy. Thanks to you, you jerk!”
This....This is the nub of the stick that pokes me in the eye when the light of day energizes my optic nerve....SunCMars.... The Allegory of the Cave--> On this, I did a '180' and stepped out. The Lion in Winter. Invictus..By Will, Shall.
With The Host, RD back will there be any interest in telling Tales? Red Dog longs for his master?