Margarita Reznik
Women are not unicorns

My story seems very prosaic to me and uninteresting in anything, except for the fact that it is interesting to other girls. My cousin said that she likes to read my works where I write about the relationships between men and women.

The world is full of lonely women, and I was once one of them.

It's like a good movie with a happy ending, where the princess marries the prince and then they live happily ever after. Translation: boring and bland. Nobody is interested in the life of a groundhog. You could still watch a film about infidelity, divorce or problems with conception, but nothing more.

And in fact, it’s a sin for me to complain. I love my husband, he loves me, we are faithful to each other and all our aspirations are directed in one direction. We are friends, relatives, lovers, colleagues. Every day is similar to the previous one, with the rare exception of periodic events that we arrange for ourselves.

But women's problems do not end with the wedding.

Here are the options for the most common torment of the weak half of humanity, which also affected me:

–I'm ugly, no one likes me

–masturbation is a sin

–the coolest guy is already taken

–defloration

–lesbian tendencies

–what if I’m on a vow of celibacy (the existence of which, of course, only God knows)

–painful breakup

–treason

–ten guys in a year and no one worth it

–Igor, Alexander and Sofia

–financial insolvency

–HPV, ureaplasmosis

–menarche and “it would be better if I went to the army”

–first depilation, hair removal. Why can't a woman be a yeti?

– fibroadenoma of the mammary gland

–a man twelve years older

–first fart

– goodbye friends

–man with child

–moving, goodbye university

–poverty and luxury

–painful breakup after two years of relationship – flirting

–marriage

–painful breakup after five years of relationship – hysterics

–orgasm and frigidity, search for marital sexuality

– miscarriage, do I even want children?

–existential crisis – I haven’t achieved anything in my life.

In this book, I will try to reveal each of the problems described above, tell my example of ruthlessly dealing with them, and show how they could be solved in a different way from the height of the knowledge that exists now.

Go.

“I’m ugly, no one likes me”

In those days, when I still believed that the thunderstorm was moving away from the ritual “Holy, Holy,” I was worried about the question of why cute boys loved other girls, but did not notice me.

One day my mother and I were sitting in the room on a summer evening, shaking with fear. A thunderstorm was raging outside the window, the light and, in principle, the electricity in the house was turned off, the mirrors were curtained, the only refuge – the sofa sheltered two frightened women, forty-year-old and five-year-old me. We moved our palm near our foreheads and drove away the thunderstorm with the words “Holy, holy.” Now my husband and I are holding our stomachs when I tell this story, but before everything was very serious.

Of course, I believed in supernatural forces, including my own, because the storm was leaving.

But I believed even more that if someone doesn’t love me, sooner or later they will love me.

Back then, I didn’t know that this was just the art of PR.

I grew up as a very serious child. But at the same time, she felt inferior.

I was considered eccentric, and the girl next door fueled this idea in the minds of other guys, so the anti-PR really ruined my life.

Where it all started.

In kindergarten, I liked a boy to whom I wanted to show my coolness by the fact that Jean Claude Van Damme would come and pick me up from the garden, proudly carrying me on his muscular tanned shoulder. And in this way I wanted to solve the problem of my unlikability. Coolness is an alternative to lack of beauty. Well, that's a great idea, isn't it? And now many people think so, making friends with stars in order to raise their ratings instead of changing themselves.

A little later, when nothing worked out, I began to think about real ways to attract his attention.

And I realized that I was in trouble.

I’m five, and I can’t put on makeup and preen myself, because my mother sees me as a baby bug, and not a woman. Yes, mom, because she was my only teacher in those days, she didn’t let me listen to my sister and dad, “they say two boots are a match, if they don’t listen to her, that means they’re bad.”

The other girls were pretty, one had her ears pierced since she was three! And they cut my hair into a bob, supposedly so that my head wouldn’t hurt.

“I can’t be a woman at 5 years old.” – this is the bitter realization of that period.

I have always been an order of magnitude more ridiculous than my most advanced peers.

Slightly worse outfits, shorter hair, full belly, stooped, pale skin, blue bags around the eyes, snub nose, often sick.

No, I wasn't ugly. And I had my own fans, even girls. I just didn't think I was beautiful enough for the people I liked.

Do you know what all this means?

And the fact that all children are the same adults, only locked in small bodies and forced to wait until the body gets stronger in order to do what an adult should.

So, if parents learned to give their children the opportunity to feel like adults, then we would see not infantile schoolchildren and students who, even at twenty-six, are not able to take responsibility for themselves (and even more so for anyone else), but brilliant teenagers , who have graduated from school externally and are already creating new inventions, works of art and other things useful to society.

If my childhood desire to be liked by the best boys had not been suppressed even then, if this issue had been resolved then, I think I would have been able to calmly switch to my favorite writing path, never again worrying about problems with my appearance.

However, the unresolved issue of self-sufficiency hung over me for the next twenty years, until I finally achieved what I wanted.

Parents should instill confidence in their children regarding appearance. They should help to see in themselves who the child considers himself to be. Every child initially considers himself a successful, handsome, smart superhero, and not a chubby little pooping dependent.

There will be no delusions of grandeur if you allow your child to consider himself grown-up and cool. There is no need to convince him that he is better than others; let all children be cool and capable.

There won't be any orgies if you let the girls consider themselves fatal beauties. You can explain the rules of decency and teach self-defense, and not convince her that she is just a funny farting child.

Mom, dear, if you are reading this book, then please do not be offended. It's not about you, I'm sure you were raised the same way. Many other women around the world are raised this way. That's how it is. Either because we are afraid of pedophiles, or because of social security services, we try to deceive our plump dependents for as long as possible that they are children and have no business playing adult games.

Maybe something should be changed? What do you think?

"Masturbation is a sin"

Raise your hand if you've never done this.

Now raise your hand, those who were embarrassed to raise it. Wow, there are a lot of us.

I will not speak out for or against this event, we will just discuss it and tell my example.

Masturbation comes in different forms. Like sex, it happens with and without perversions. Those who advocate letting off steam talk about how useful it is to sometimes have sex with yourself, especially if you don’t have a boyfriend, and in polite society it’s not customary to sleep with the first guy you come across.

Opponents of pornography, especially with borderline almost illegal entertainment in the frame, advocate sublimation, and beg not to engage in masturbation, exorcise the devil, shame or educate about the dangers of such an act.

Malakia, handjob, masturbation – all this is still under a moral prohibition. It is not customary to talk about this even in a very advanced society.

I have never seen a parade for masturbation. LGBT communities constantly organize mass protests in their defense and promotion of tolerance. But I didn’t see women, even feminists, who would picket in defense of masturbation.

When I was three years old, I discovered an amazing feeling in my lower abdomen when I thought about intimacy with a person I liked. I didn’t know anything about the genitals yet, but an impulse arose in my body that demanded an outlet.

The head, heart and lower abdomen are fixated on one image.

Not understanding the situation, I tried an action that was unusual for me – squeezing my thigh muscles and imagining the image of that person.

Yes, you heard correctly, my first masturbation took place at the age of three.

The next one was already at school, I was afraid to repeat what adults could scold me for.

My father had videotapes with erotic and pornographic content in his closet, which I later used for pleasure.

This is an indescribable delight, but it is also pain from the fact that I am doing something indecent and hiding it from others.

I didn’t know then that everyone was doing this.

I did not yet understand that even the most holy person is, in fact, none other than a hypocrite.

He also locks himself in his room and masturbates, driving himself into a frenzy; he simply carefully hides this behavior from his students.

No, I’m not arguing, there are very depressed people who have been so shamed that at the mere mention of “sin” they immediately become indignant and turn red as a tomato. Not only do they not masturbate, but they most likely do not experience orgasm at all.

In my opinion, one should be wary of masturbation not because of the opinions of others, but because it diverts all attention inward, thereby holding back a person from realizing his abilities and talents, from actions and attention outward.

But, if you are alone and have never experienced an orgasm in your life, then you should listen to your body, look for the right points, places, the right impact on them, and bring yourself to bliss.

Once, twice, to find out your capabilities. No perversion, no harm to yourself or anyone else. Just have fun.

It’s a funny situation – they convince us that we should love ourselves, but they make it difficult for us to love our body.

“I love my intellect, but my genitals scare me.”

“I like that guy over there, let him love me, and I will love him” – this is where a painful dependence on men arises. A woman does not love herself, does not excite herself, so the only one who can benefit from her is the one who is aroused by her. This one disappears, happiness disappears.

Ha. Have you seen this in yourself? Who had this?

I have had. If a woman does not see herself as a sexual object, she will depend on the attention of someone who sees this sexual object in her.

Masturbation, of course, does not completely solve this issue. Here we need to work deeper, with soul. It is necessary for a person, a woman in our case, to see in herself the only one she loves, wants, admires, with whom she is not bored, to whom she is ready to give all of herself.

In my opinion, this is self-sufficiency.

Self-sufficiency in itself already attracts the attention of others. People do not like half-hearted and broken, wounded and wretched people. Adequate people run from energy vampires. Nobody likes to be forced to love, we like to consciously give our sympathy to an attractive person.

Therefore, my recommendation to you, dear women, is to love yourself entirely.

Transcript: start seeing in yourself the only person you love, with whom you want to have sex, with whom you admire, with whom you are not bored, to whom you are ready to give all of yourself.

Try it and write me your results.

And we move on to the next chapter.

“The coolest guy is already taken”

You know how it happens, the hero of your novel appears on the horizon, a tall, broad-shouldered brunette with a set of the most worthy qualities, and you’ve already fluffed your feathers, put on lipstick, and then suddenly another one appears next to him.

And not some bush muskrat, but the real Angelina Jolie.

It was a setup. The blue-eyed handsome guy found a match to match. Slender with glossy hair and skin without a single hair, the pastor's daughter instantly took in the man whom I had already planned for my husband. I was twelve and head over heels in unrequited love.

Who has this happened to?

Maybe you were that same Jolie and my situation is not familiar to you, but so far I have only met those who have encountered unrequited love at least once in their lives.

This is true. Ironically, that same pastor’s daughter, after breaking up with the hero of my novel, fell in love with a local rapper completely unrequitedly. My evil side rejoiced. The kind one understood and sincerely sympathized.

The beautiful brunette never became mine, even during the breaks between other women. I lost interest in him only ten years later, having already met many people. By the way, in my book “Sugar…” I wrote the main character from him, and embodied on paper what I couldn’t do in reality. These are miracles, only for this is it worth being a writer. You create new worlds instead of burying your fantasies deep inside your soul. My husband is not jealous, don't worry. There is love in everyone's life, a lot of love, there is no need to be jealous of the past.

And now in more detail what happened to me and how I dealt with it.

Now my stepdaughter is in love with a guy who also has an uneasy relationship with her. Their situation is similar to mine, with the exception that Katerina herself is the “pastor’s daughter”. Let me be clear, my husband is a very influential person, just like me. And we have proven ourselves well, so the employee of the organization where Katerina went to work respects and values us, and this greatly influences his attitude towards the girl.

Yes, the girl is not yet a swan, she is not at all prettier than me in those years when I suffered from unrequited love, but she has an advantage. The same "Jean Claude Van Damme". Do you know what I mean?

PR. If your qualities are lacking, then you take advantage of the protection of another person. If you are the protégé of someone whom your lover values, then your status increases greatly, attention to your person grows, it doesn’t even matter that you are nothing special.

Not only was I nothing of myself, but I was also from a poor family of elderly parents, I was conceived at thirty-six by people already worn out by life, who, moreover, did not love each other. Why they needed this, only God knows, but now they are finally divorced and happy with this fact.

Olya, a tall, blue-eyed brunette with Barbie hair, always combed and thick (as if her mother did nothing but scratch her all her free time), was charming at fourteen years old, not only in appearance, but also in her relationship with an equally handsome and stately Pastor of Holy Gospel Lutheran Parish. Her father was a true leader not only for widows and orphans, he led everyone, smart and capable, men and women, teenagers and old. The hero of my novel spent all his time outside of school with this man. It is not surprising that Olya caught his eye more often than I did, and in the light of the great pastor she looked different than she might have if she were from my family.

Now I understand that she also had complexes, small breasts, high weight (due to her height), and a quiet voice. For some, this is a plus, but apparently that boy rapper did not appreciate Olya, which developed self-doubt in her.

I tried my best. The complexes consumed me so completely that it was impossible to even make a list, there were so many of them. I cried every night, and during the days I turned into a warrior, put on makeup again, dressed up and put on a smile to appear at least a little more attractive than a log.

It's true, don't laugh. Okay, I laugh too. It’s funny now to look at your past from the position of a mature, self-sufficient woman, knowing what could have been done then and changed everything, but then everything seemed so unsolvable, serious and tormenting.

If now a time machine transported me back to when I was twelve years old, I would go in for sports, get braces, it was still free. I would take vitamins, run in the morning, grow my hair, which I also comb. I would force my parents to sell their damp, cold apartment and move to a comfortable one. I would move to another school and take up dancing.

I would take first place in competitions and my PR would become more serious than the PR of a pastor, and even more so his daughter.

Remember, it is much more important to attract attention to yourself with your own merits, and not with someone else’s.

There was one incident that I will never forget as an eternal shame and stigma of stupidity on my self-confidence.

David, that was the name of my hero, went to the same only decent disco in the city that I did. Even then, he was already meeting Olya secretly from the parishioners, but he still could not refuse a fun time with friends at the club. I knew this and believed that either now or later it would be too late. I asked him to walk me home, saying that we are from the same church, as a friend you are obliged.

He reluctantly left his friends and we wandered two blocks through the winter night. He walked and I flew.

I was just fluttering around, I was incredibly happy, which now seems simply ridiculous. Imagine, I believed and hoped that now he would understand everything.

He will see that I am beautiful, smart, cheerful, kind, cool, after all, at the age of fourteen I already went to an adult nightclub, smoked, drank, danced, guys liked me, they invited me to slow dance, and in general I became quite famous as… who?

I can’t even find the words right now. My reputation was twofold. Among my mutual acquaintances with my neighbor, thanks to her gossip, I was considered a strange but brave ugly girl. Among those who saw me for the first time, I was a cute, slightly frivolous wit.

Do you see how much anti-PR can ruin your life? Even then, I needed to deal with my critical villain, but I lacked gunpowder and intelligence.

True, if, as I wrote earlier, from the age of twelve I had taken myself more seriously, cast aside my laziness and begun to invest all my resources in my potential, then by the age of fourteen I would have been a completely different Margarita. By the way, this way I could get rid of my envious, evil neighbor.

So that night, in the light of lanterns and shining snow, I did an irreparable act, which I later had to fight through for years in order to even begin to even look at David directly and communicate.

Oh horror, when I reached my house, I took a step closer. And even then I could understand that it was not worth going further. He didn't respond with a reaction.

Due to his height, I was forced to make a not very easy maneuver. I had to not only pull him towards me by the jacket, but also stand on tiptoe.

All this had to be done in a second, so that the boy, many times stronger than me, would not run away.

I decided to kiss him.

Well, how did you decide? Eighty percent. Twenty percent of my modesty, unfortunately, worsened the reaction, and I froze mid-step.

What it looked like.

Step forward, tiptoes, head and neck stretched forward and upward, lips stretched into a pipe.

“Dudok” – yes, yes. The same one, only without fillers; back then they didn’t know about them in the Russian outback.

And I froze with my eyes closed.

This moment did not last long. David gently pushed me away from him by the shoulders and said, “It would be wrong, I can’t.” And after politely saying goodbye, he left.

“OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Do you want to know what I would do now?

The same. But she would see it through to the end. Before he came to his senses, he had to finish what he started, kiss him and be done with it.

Most likely, he also refused me due to his relationship with Olya, but I would have regained control. I wouldn't be a cowardly and insecure girl. Self-doubting.

It is important for a person to start, change and finish things. Three stages of action – start, change, stop. This makes him feel mentally healthier.

Perhaps even then I could stop loving David.

Well, for example, we all know that women are very important to details. A man is already less beautiful than a woman. Even the most handsome man will be an order of magnitude worse than the most beautiful woman. How? His genitals will spoil the appearance, unlike women's.

Well, it’s true that this Georgian image attracts few people. Dwarf nose, practically. The curly bangs turning into a long drooping nose are like something out of a horror movie.

I'm joking, of course, for many this organ is an object of great adoration. But personally, I know few women who feel admiration at the sight of a naked phallus. The majority groan and look away.

Okay, a couple more things that I noticed in men that irrevocably distracted me from any physical contact. And this is untidiness. Bad breath, bugs, eyeballs, plaque, the smell of sweat, bad body odor in general, comedones, pimples – all this caused and still causes me a gag reflex and disgust.

Remember the movie “What Else Men Talk About?” One of the heroines, imagining betrayal of her husband, says: “Legs. Just imagine. Ugh".

That's what we're talking about, until you love a person completely, with all your soul, until you get used to his farts and farts, all these little things will be in the foreground, they will distract even from romantic feelings in general.

If then, having kissed David, I had smelled an unpleasant odor from my mouth, or from him in general, if I had seen roes, comedones, lumps in the corners of my eyes in such a bright light that night, then I think I would have stopped loving the pleasant image forever and started doing something… then to others.

David, if you are reading these lines now, then perhaps everything was fine with you in those days, and you were perfect, and I would have fallen in love even more. But let it remain a secret. And I prefer to think that all boys are the same. And if there were no women, you would walk around in only underpants, or naked at all, you would not wash for weeks, or even months, you would fart, blow your nose and smoke as much as you wanted.

Men, you are wonderful creatures, and we love you for your spontaneity. If it weren’t for you, we would simply be bored in our ideal world of women.

"Defloration"

Between us girls, this is not a very pleasant event that we want to forget about once and for all. This is a separate topic, for many more unpleasant than masturbation.

You know, lately I have been feeling my loneliness especially acutely because I have realized a wild thirst for female communication. I don’t have friends, and a little later I’ll tell you why, but now I get great pleasure talking with you, mentally imagining that each of you readers is my friend.

Husband, this is wonderful, but he will never become your girlfriend in the full sense of the word, no matter how hard you try. And to find such a man and such girlfriends who will not conflict, and because of whom you will not lose this or that, is difficult, very difficult.

I could not. For now. So, alas, this fate befell you. The fate of dumb friends who can only listen and understand.

A nightmare, of course not. I don't want to give you such a role. I sincerely appreciate and respect you. I will be glad to receive feedback and letters. Since my husband approved the publishing of this book, he is ready to come to terms with the girlfriends in my life. Thank him very much for this.

My dear husband, I want to thank you for this patience and courage to allow me to publish my deepest and most intimate experiences, as well as those subtle and awkward details concerning you, including yourself. Let this book help many women, and maybe married couples, let this sacrifice in some way – our souls wide open with you – will not be in vain.

Girls, don't let me down.

Thank you.

So, defloration.

Almost everyone's deflowering, with rare exceptions about which I know nothing, is carried out in fear.

Even if a girl is getting ready, like my American friend, who got married as a virgin, it’s still scary. According to her, it was so scary, for both of them, although the husband was already an experienced thirty-year-old uncle, that they had to get into a hot bath and relax with a glass of wine in order to even touch each other.

By the way, they were not fans of alcohol.

I also dreamed of saving myself for my betrothed, or at least until my eighteenth birthday.

But one day, my best friend, who promised to protect herself just like me, admitted that she couldn’t keep it.

God. How can you not hold back? I was so angry with her. I was even offended for several days. I didn’t want to fall behind, so I decided to repeat the trick.

I can’t say that hormones interfered with our lives, and that I really really wanted to lose my virginity, but I wanted boyish attention more than ever.

I didn't want sex. This is true. I don’t know about others, but I wanted love. I dreamed of a prince charming, a rich, handsome young man, a man who would pay no attention to my teenage stupidities. I wanted him to hug me, take me to warm countries, take care of me like a small miracle that appeared in life like a ray of light.

Ah, naive soul. Grown-up guys from the south walked around my provincial town, tanned, loving, ready to call you their princess, their only one, pretending to be caring and gentle. They stood out strongly against the background of Russian guys, cold and rude, and almost everyone wanted to sleep with them at least once.

But everyone knew that no love could be achieved from these machos, only window dressing and disappointment.

As a smarter person than my peers, I tried not to get confused with people of Caucasian nationality, although my friend believed every word they said.

She just gave herself to one of them at sixteen.

And so, I, too, have two years left before I come of age, I don’t know how long before marriage, I decide to sleep with the first guy I come across who is more or less attractive to me, to spite my friend.

This was revenge. The game that cost me my health.

Girls, don't repeat my mistakes. Women, take care of yourself if you are still healthy.

Never have sex without a condom or a certificate from your partner, and still only with a condom the first hundred times. Then somehow you can still trust him and consider him your boyfriend. Well, this is a lyrical digression.

I then developed a slight bouquet of sexually transmitted diseases. Of course, I was treated and everything went away, but I was ashamed of myself.

He was twenty-five, handsome, brown-eyed, athletic, supposedly in love, although his flattery and insincerity were hard to miss.

We went to his house for rented accommodation, it looked like it wasn’t his at all, it was cold and without hot water.

He changed the bed in front of me, for which I thank you.

He was gentle and courteous, for which I am also grateful to him. Quickly and without much pain. It’s rather unpleasant and wet between your legs, but your soul is disgusting and so sad.

I didn’t love him, I knew that he had a dozen more like him, but I decided to prove something to someone.

I trudged home alone in the morning, it was already light. The homeless husky tagged along and followed me for half a block, as if she sympathized and understood everything.

At home, I quickly came to my senses, and even in the evening I proudly told my friend the details of what happened. We laughed and shared our impressions, as if we had gone to war and won. Inside we knew that we had won only a frivolous battle; the real fight lay ahead of us. But they tried not to show it and had fun like children. The struggle of life in which we were no longer worthy, self-respecting ladies. We took the path of depravity, which turned us into mediocre girls, with ordinary goals, without ambitions and principles, without big plans. Just frivolous talkers from the provinces.

Fortunately, I felt this very keenly at the time and did not want to agree with such a future.

For three whole years I locked myself in a Christian youth community and never dated anyone else. Only girlfriends, friends and an imaginary god.

I'm not saying there is no God. I just know that mine was not real. Whether it exists or not, what kind it is and whether a person needs it, I still don’t know; it doesn’t stop me from enjoying life.

The stories of my friends about defloration all confirm the fact that there is no orgasm in this dirty business. Just kidding, it's not dirty, but it stains the sheets.

If a woman goes through this and also enjoys it, then she should be given a medal. What do you think?

"Lesbian tendencies."

It’s a nightmare, it’s not a topic, it makes me blush even more. Thank God you don't see this. The spectacle is terrible. I get spots all over, especially my neck. Sometimes listeners of my webinar or seminar are scared that I have angioedema or anaphylactic shock, but I reassure them “you’ll rejoice early.”

In general, it started in kindergarten. I noticed that if we take my sexuality in general, then eighty percent I liked boys, about twenty percent girls.

So, of course, I am a heterosexual person.

But I admit that in past lives I was a man at least once.

Are you laughing? Didn't this happen to you? Have you ever seen yourself as a man in sexual intercourse?

Then you should try it, it's very interesting. Of course, I’m talking about fantasies. After all, it makes no sense to become a man while you have a female body; you shouldn’t live in the past. Well, I was a man, everything is in the past, I need to move on. Now I'm a woman, it's time to take full advantage of all these bells and whistles.

As I write this, I’m just in awe of how funny and cheerful I am.

How did my first homo sensation happen?

It was a beautiful spring day, the kindergarten was showing a Soviet cartoon about a girl lost in time, the whole city had disappeared, and there was no one left. The character was portrayed by a doll with long shiny hair. Apparently, she reminded me of my ex from the sixties. It seems to me that it was in the USA, but that’s not the point.

I remembered the image of this doll and subsequently led an adult lifestyle at home in my cozy children’s bed.

My parents considered me a real angel.

It was funny how my mother protected me from the stove so that I wouldn’t get burned, from needles so that I wouldn’t prick myself, when I had long known the delights of orgasm.

Yes, I learned to sew and put on a kettle later than my peers, by the age of seven, because it seemed to my mother that I was still a mere child (one “c”).

Wow, in real life I only fell in love with boys, guys, men. Never in women. This is true. Surprisingly, I’m really completely hetero.

So girls, if this has happened to you, don’t be afraid, don’t be shy, leave the past in the past. Live a new life. Use your feminine energy to the fullest.

I remember exactly two girls who were lesbians, but then married a man for love.

One of them was a good friend of mine, everyone loved her, an exemplary girl, an excellent student, a Christian, somewhat reminiscent of Hermione Granger. Lily didn't date anyone until she moved to St. Petersburg.

Then we didn’t communicate with her anymore, but I heard rumors that she was living and, let’s call a spade a spade, having sex with a girl.

Social networks have made it much easier to find information about people, and the rumors were confirmed. Later, on the same vkontakte, I discovered that Lily was already married and gave birth to children, and looked happy. Surprisingly, it happens.

My second friend, a former work colleague, received gifts from her fans straight into the office. Flowers, sweets, soft toys, everything as it should be, only from former lovers.

I was surprised:

–How so, you have a boyfriend?

– Apparently, I'm bi. Because I've been married before and am getting married again, but in between I had a wonderful affair with a girl.

Bi is the next fashion trend in the sexual revolution. Previously, of course, it also existed in the Middle Ages and the Old Testament, but as you know, fashion tends to return.

As they say, in every person there is both a feminine and a masculine principle, everyone could potentially be both a man and a woman in a past life, which is why, in my opinion, all this confusion arises.

A bisexual guy once approached me, it was funny, but nothing more. There was also a girl who tried to pick me up, but I ran away as if scalded, politely bowing out.

One day, my ex-boyfriend, a lawyer, taekwondo master, Tatar, told me how as a child he and two friends played in the forest and decided to try it, and what it’s like when your penis is not satisfied with your hand. Are you blushing? Me too. But what should I do? He was also embarrassed when he told me. But they did it (his friends, not him). They didn't like it and decided to forget everything. Of course, he didn’t reveal their names to me; it was their secret.

For some reason, it seems to me that almost every second person, and maybe more often, has had a homosexual experience.

My gynecology teacher Anna Vladimirovna explained the male desire to have a foreign object in the anus by the fact that the prostate is stimulated in this way and this is a separate type of sexual arousal. And if for diagnostic or therapeutic purposes it is necessary to collect sperm, but the man cannot, then the medical worker puts on a glove and massages that very place.

Dear ladies, don’t be surprised if your husband asks you to wear a strap-on, he’s not gay, he just wants to get that same pleasure.

I had a friend who with her boyfriend (almost her husband, they had been dating for so long) had anal sex in his direction. Don't think about it, she didn't look like a stern, masculine aunt who dominates her perverted sexual partner. This is a beautiful long-legged girl with light brown curly hair, facial features like Khodchenkova, dressed in a shawl and midi skirt.

My eyes also widened when she shared such an intimate detail with me in the solarium. I spent the whole day thinking about how easily she discusses such things in public places with a not very close friend.

Apparently this is liberation.

Or some form of perversion.

Or am I simply behind the times, and women should give all men a prostate massage so that he doesn’t go to his lover?

My dear readers, if any of you suddenly judged me for a second for writing so openly, then drop it, don’t read.

But I will continue anyway.

Life is too short to be afraid of being judged.

Once, by the way, I talked to my mother about my nephew’s masturbation, that he didn’t need a girl yet, supposedly it was too early, and he already copes with his hormones with the help of masturbation.

Mom asked: “What is this?”

I answer: “This is masturbation.”

She meaningfully: “Ah.” This is what polite people say to hide their misunderstanding.

I decided not to educate her about this in her seventh decade.

Mom, if you're reading this, know that I didn't come up with this. The Bible, which you love so much, says this. There was an Onan who practiced coitus interruptus; for some reason handjob was named after him.

Back to homosexuality. Here’s another example: two women of about forty, but very beautiful and obviously rich, recently approached me, gave me a lot of compliments and invited me for a cup of coffee.

Women do not meet people like themselves on the streets. No heterosexual woman would make acquaintances so daringly. In a beauty salon, yes. Mutual friends, yes. Friends in misfortune, perhaps in a bar, or at the gym, yes. On the street, no.

This is what men do in order to later get them into bed. It's not bad. It’s just that this way of behavior is characteristic of the stronger sex and lesbians.

I refused, but later I told my husband that I had never received a better compliment in my life.

Between us girls, we love competition. And if a man admires us, it’s nice, and if a woman, then doubly so. After all, if your opponent likes you, it means she recognized your superiority. You win.

Well, maybe we don’t think so directly, but somewhere deep down, I believe, we do.

Well, that’s probably all on the topic of same-sex love, let’s move on to the next chapter of my life.

“What if I’m on a vow of celibacy (the existence of which, of course, only God knows)”

Another story that left a mark on my life.

I really thought that if the mountain does not come to Mohammed, then Mohammed has no reason to try.

They assured me that everything was God’s will. Single and older friends from the youth Christian community constantly said that if God does not give you a husband, then he has a different plan for you.

There was a little happiness on their faces, and I’m sure each secretly wanted to quickly get married in order to prove to everyone that there was no curse on her. Oh, sorry, celibacy.

Well, what is this if not a curse?

You want sex, you want a handsome, smart, kind, sexy, preferably financially secure man next to you. And here it’s “on you”, you need to dress decently, behave decently, be an obedient and exemplary Christian, because there is no place for harlots in heaven.

So you stand in a dilemma: bright makeup is not allowed, God does not want it. You walk around pale as a moth, and pretty boys pay attention only to those whose natural beauty outshines all the other parishioners.

Brad, really?

That is, in the battle for the best guy, the one who doesn’t need makeup a priori wins.

And the dull gray mouse gets exactly the same mediocre guy. And everything would be fine, because there are a lot of couples like that, and they live happily, love each other (I don’t mean it as a reproach, forgive me for God’s sake if I offended anyone), but there are also those who don’t settle for the average, give them the best .

I'm very ambitious. I always wanted to be on top.

I don't think I'm giving up yet.

Every time I increase the upgrade level to reach new heights.

Now I’m thinking about going to Hollywood, I’ll start with small roles, and then we’ll see how it goes. Look, in this life I’ll star in the main one.

Then, at fourteen, I didn’t want to agree with the vow of celibacy. She constantly tried it on herself and threw it aside with contempt.

I prayed that God would not give me such misfortune, that he would bypass me and reward Olya, well, let Christina, Nastya, Valya in extreme cases, but not me.

They are all married now, just like me, but then they were so afraid. They were afraid, but did not show these feelings. They held firm.

I was the weakest of all, the first to start putting on makeup, and so brightly, to be sure. I didn't even give up on getting David.

He was in a relationship, and I asked him to teach me how to play the guitar, suggested we go for a walk, supposedly discuss the Bible, and arranged gatherings with mutual friends at his house. All this was seasoned with a ton of makeup and a deep neckline.

Even after that unfortunate under-kiss, I carried out attacks on the poor couple of guys in love. I think these were attacks on my loneliness. I fought him desperately.

I went to clubs, met with guys in between, until I left for a bigger city, where, as I wrote earlier, I almost locked myself in a monastery for three years.

Do you know what was there? Three years of celibacy. It’s so funny, I fought with him so much and lost. Beaten and defeated, with my tail between my legs, I resigned myself to this fate and stopped trying.

In the dorm, I was a nasty nerd who, at twenty-three, could go into the kitchen and rip someone's stereo cord out of the socket because I wanted to sleep. The whole floor was having fun and listening to this music, it didn’t bother anyone, but they were afraid of me. I complained, after all.

I laugh, but in those years I was stiff and hypocritical, like an old woman.

I masturbated then too. But she hid it from everyone, fearing to spoil her image of decency.

These were strange years in my life. I had a lot of friends, I won’t say that I missed you, but life in fear of God’s punishment is very depressing.

Christian girls, friends of those days of mine, if you are reading this book and are still not burned with shame, then come to your senses.

There is no one in this life who would live it for you. If you are unhappy, then it will get worse, only depression and antidepressants while waiting for a better life in paradise. I have already seen girls like this, dreaming of quickly getting off this rushing train called “life”, instead of picking up speed and winning themselves.

There will be no other source of happiness except yourself. No one, no heavenly powers will make you happy if you have not learned to generate happiness in yourself.

Okay, let's move on. I'll tell you a little later about my episode of apathy.

In the meantime, here are examples of girls who thought they were under a curse, ugh, you misspoke again, a vow of celibacy.

Inessa, a plump thirty-five-year-old girl, married a rich Finn, travels with him around the world.

Sonya, a masculine, stooped, bespectacled daughter of a village priest, married a young pastor from another village.

Another Sonya (the spitting image of John Lennon in a skirt) married a new parishioner.

Masha hurried up and married an alcoholic, but the truth overcame loneliness. Was it worth it? She knows better.

Sveta, she went on exchange from the University to Norway, there she found herself a tall, curly-haired Jew who lives in Israel.

Zhanna married her childhood friend, but I think she’s worried that her betrothed is still wandering around somewhere.

Zoya married a very hardworking guy. Do they have orgasms? I don't know, but they have fun together.

Zhenya is married for the second time.

Edita is on the verge of divorce, but in my opinion she never doubted herself. If he gets divorced, a dozen more people will immediately appear.

I… But about myself a little later (I’m married, I looked for a long time, I found it).

You know, there is such a belief that if a woman is over thirty and has not been married, then she is an old maid.

I think we weren't afraid of celibacy, we were afraid of being labeled an old maid. We were afraid of old age in principle.

And if someone had shown me then an example of a happy old woman’s life: a biker jacket, a biker jacket, no wrinkles, pumped up, wearing makeup, well, maybe a little Botox for the sake of gloss, heels and latex trousers, my life could have been different.

Have you seen Mylene Farmer? Not married, no children, that is, no relationship with some handsome guy, and all this is seasoned with concerts for millions of fans peeing with delight.

These are the kind of women that need to be shown to young girls, so that they don’t realize themselves yet, and don’t even worry about being lonely after thirty.

Now Mr. President will condemn me, but what about the state order for children? Dear sir, I am not against children or marriage, I am for conscious marriage and creating a family.

Girls, girls, women, realize yourself, strive to be happy, the rest will come later.

"Painful breakup."

If we take the chronology, then after unrequited love for the man of my romance, I experienced my first painful breakup. If you look at life in general, then I had at least three of these.

So, let's start with the debut. It’s, as you know, going out into the world for the first time and finding yourself dirty, or naked. As it happens in a dream. you walk like this through the snow in only a sweater, no boots, no socks, and what’s worse is that you don’t even have panties. Such an under-exhibitionist.

Who had this? Yeah, I see hands raised, there are a lot of us.

So, finding yourself in love for the first time after a breakup is cruel.

The second and third time you get more or less used to it.

But the first time you completely lose your head. You try to get him back, call, write, follow him around, ask for forgiveness, have sex just so that he doesn’t do this with anyone else but you, get angry with him, complain to your friends about what a scoundrel he is.

But from the perspective of my current situation, I could just as diligently take up sports, dancing, drawing, going to a theater group, doing what I was called to do.

I don’t argue that I may also have a vocation for the return of runaway guys, but considering that now I have a beloved husband, and they were left behind, then all this was pointless.

So, how do you know if a man is worth the effort, tears and change?

Well, I developed a set of criteria for getting my ex-boyfriends back, and I won't do it again.

First of all, they were offended by me. I pointed out their shortcomings to them more often than I spoke words at all. I’m exaggerating, of course, but something always irritated me about them. Either he called me a fool, then he called me too fat, too unkempt, rude, angry, boorish, unsexy, stupid, greedy, poor, lazy, just not the same.

Therefore, at first I abandoned them myself, trying to get them to return me. Then they agreed with my decision and really broke off the relationship.

Something like that:

– I'm leaving.

– Sorry.

– No, I decided.

A day, two, a month, in different ways. I start to get bored, the hysteria passes, the anger settles. And it seemed like he wasn't that bad. I want everything back. I guess I love him. He is definitely my destiny, it's time to call him.

If I had immediately realized that a feeling of guilt was pushing me to return them, and that this same feeling would later make me weaker in relation to my ambitions, ruin my dreams and my individuality, then I would not have hesitated.

Some men are worth pursuing, but not men.

Secondly, they were in love with me at the beginning of our relationship. They made it clear that they were hooked on me, that I was the one they not only wanted, but loved. This is any kind of romance. You won't miss this. It's hard not to notice. Sings songs when he sees you, beams with happiness. Finds out from your friends everything you think and feel. He constantly wants to be around and makes appointments. Gives flowers, gifts, takes you to the cinema, tries to surprise you even after you have had intimacy.

Openly declares love.

It may not be all together, but only a couple of points that still determine his affection for you.

If I knew that I, in principle, deserved love, I would not think that he was the only one who would love me. There will be others. I wouldn’t worry that if I broke up with the guy who loved me, I’d meet someone better. Someone not only in love, but also in line with my preferences.

The guys will now say: “Well, a priori we don’t have a chance. All of you girls are the same, you have a list of traits of an ideal man, and here we are suffering, trying to look after you. Why try to please you if it’s still unrealistic?”

Guys won't read this book, so I won't answer the imaginary question.

Third. He really wasn't the same.

Dear representatives of the stronger sex, if you still found this reading worthy of your attention, then here is the answer.

You can be perfect and still not suit your sweetheart. It's not about you or us. There's just no light. There was no tension… in the clitoris.

Rough? Yes. But I don’t know a better criterion than to show this to you colorfully, using an example close to your anatomy.

A girl shouldn't just agree to your presence and advances. She must want you at least a little.

You know the joke. How to tell if a girl likes a guy? Let her throw her panties up in the air after the date. Stuck to the ceiling – I liked it.

I have my own parameters: a guy must be self-sufficient, daring, cheerful, witty, then handsome, smelling delicious, rich and generous, be successful with women, and show me at least the slightest signs of attention.

If your girlfriend doesn't want you, then she doesn't love you.

This is all nonsense that: “a woman loves with her ears, the main thing for her is support and protection, the main thing is to respect and be gentle, and sex comes later.” A woman is the same as a man, only the penis is too small. She also wants the man she loves. If he doesn’t want to, then he doesn’t love her anymore.

This doesn't mean he's cheating. We can live perfectly well without men for years. She just doesn’t want this particular husband, which means she doesn’t love him. She lives with him for some benefit. The same self-affirmation, for example.

“What will my friends think if I’m left alone?” “What will I live on if he leaves?” “I’ve never lived alone, I’m afraid of loneliness” and so on.

Therefore, dear men, if the woman you love has a headache, is tired, and has any other excuse to refuse sex, then she no longer wants you, and therefore no longer loves you. Maybe he loves as a loved one, a friend, but not as a husband.

If you leave, then perhaps she will come to her senses, begin to want you and love you again, but if you yourself have not done anything to increase her libido in relation to you, then, alas, everything will happen again.

You should change. You should find out what makes her sexually aroused when she sees you, what makes her clitoris erect. And be strong to hear the truth from her. The truth will be tough.

If this woman is dear to you, then do as she asks. Well, in the end, if you lose a couple of kilograms, tone your gray hair, treat tooth decay, take a comedy or female seduction course, change your job to earn more, then your life will be easier.

If I had known this then, I would not have reacted to any of them at all, I would have simply continued to develop calmly and waited for my husband. If I didn't meet, I wouldn't waste my time.

They say sex is good for health. What nonsense. Orgasm is necessary for health. Not sex. A woman can live and develop well by masturbating periodically, and wait for a man who can please her, and not have sex with someone whom your parents or girlfriends match you with with the words “isn’t it time for you to get married?”, “I want grandchildren,” “you are so You’ll become an old maid.”

There is another side to the issue. There are nymphomaniacs, or girls with low IQ, their libido is usually increased. They party, drink a lot, don't have much success in life, but love to have sex.

Men, if you are still reading my work, then my advice to you is, do not fall for such people. They will cheat on you, their wet panties won't tell you anything. This treacherous underwear will destroy you.

So, girls, I'll get back to you.

My first experience of a painful breakup was with Vasya, a DJ from my town. A year younger than me, but stronger and more mature in appearance. He fell in love so much that for two weeks after I left him he didn’t want to give up. He asked my friend to help, he looked for a meeting with me, called me at home.

I didn't want to meet him then. During one of our meetings, I clung to his words and played offended. Then I asked my mother to tell him that I was not at home. And finally, I persuaded my friend to tell him that I met someone else on the way home that day and fell in love.

He fell behind.

About a month later, I found out that he was already dating someone else, older and more beautiful than me. I saw them together and…

We have gradually arrived at the fourth criterion.

Fourthly. All these guys got another girl after the breakup, which made me jealous. Oh, a wonderful feeling that propels us to incredible accomplishments, clouds our minds and drags us into the abyss of recklessness. It has an effect until you get yours and defeat your opponent.

If I had understood the deplorability of the situation then, I would have given up everything at once.

How absurd it is to fight another girl for your piece of the pie. There are a lot of cakes from famous chefs around, and I was furious over a stale, moldy pie with viburnum.

Where is this guy now? I sometimes look at my exes on social networks; he can’t be called happy. A divorced guy older than his years, who still doesn’t watch his weight well, drinks liters of beer, and flirts with women. Everything is the same as before, before me.

Am I glad that I didn’t manage to get him back then? Undoubtedly.

She suffered a lot. I cried at night. I dragged myself to the club during his shifts with my friends to shine. I agreed to have sex when he was drinking too much and dragging me along. I went to try to enter not only law school, but also medicine, to prove to him that he was not the only one who wanted to become a doctor. He never did. I studied for seven fucking years.

Sorry. I didn’t want to swear, but how we still love to drive ourselves into traps.

It’s good that she left to study in another city, we never saw each other again. Time helped me recover from the fixed idea and reconsider my life guidelines.

I never loved him, it was just a thirst to defeat my rival.

Do you know why I say so confidently?

Right! You learn quickly.

Because I never wanted him. The panties, so to speak, did not stick to the ceiling.

"Treason."

Oh, this is a new chapter and new details. If this has never happened to you, get up and go away.

Kidding. But I don’t believe that there is even one unfortunate person who has never found out about the betrayal. Please note, I’m not saying that she wasn’t cheated on, I’m talking about knowledge.

Everyone has gone through this at least once.

And I guess that I finally caught the adulterer in an unseemly act.

I used to think that everyone always changes. But in reality it turned out that not all, but at least once.

What I mean? I'll explain now. Every person, by the age of thirty, or even twenty-five, has encountered the fact that he was cheated on or that he himself cheated on him at least once.

Life is such a thing that if it is faced with a serious harmful action, it tries not to repeat it again. Rare exceptions cannot cope with this without outside help.

Here I will touch on my sister a little and tell you what influence she had on my life.

From the age of eight, I was something like a recorder for my nineteen-year-old blood friend. I didn’t understand anything of what she was saying, but I wrote everything down. I tried to keep the conversation going because she was giving me money for ice cream.

She woke up after another disco in the morning, on fumes and tipsy, gave me money for tomato juice for herself and sweets for me, and after I returned from the store, she told me about the guys.

I always admired her beauty and charm, she had no end of admirers, but at the same time I didn’t believe them one iota.

– All guys cheat, there is no such thing as love, you just need to use them.

I heard these guidelines, almost like a mantra, from my sister for ten years.

I grew up and we even went to clubs together, but her attitude towards men did not change – an exclusively consumerist approach, no attachments, one hundred percent confidence that as long as she cheats on herself, they will not cheat on her… and therefore will not hurt her.

She doesn’t talk about the part of the phrase after the ellipsis, but it’s a no brainer.

Another interesting observation that I made is media propaganda.

Remember the Argentine TV series "Black Pearl"? There, Perla was constantly disappointed with Thomas, that he was weak in the front.

I was a fan of this series, and of course it left its mark on my worldview.

Next, gossip about relatives and acquaintances played a role: Uncle Sasha cheated on Aunt Sveta, my cousin’s boyfriend cheated on her throughout the relationship, his ex-wife cheated on my father, the parishioner’s husband left for another woman, Uncle Gena cheated on Aunt Lena and eventually left her.

How prosaic everything is, you say. I will confirm your words. It’s trite when people cheat, but we’re still shocked every time: “He seemed like such a good person.”

So yes, I expected something like this all the time.

And finally, when I relaxed in my twenties after three years of seclusion, and began the first serious relationship in my life (it lasted about two months), he left me.

And later he admitted that he had cheated.

This man drank every day, drove drunk, threw hysterics about sex, even proposed marriage to me. And in the end he left with the words: “You were too nagging at me.”

As a religious fanatic, I tried to make a man out of Dima, criticized and nagged him so that he would change, manipulated sex so that he would change.

And in the end she got hit in the back.

Do you know what's terrible? I wasn’t upset that this fallen little man slept with someone else, I sprinkled ashes on my head for my nagging.

I sincerely believed that I should return him and slow down. That since he wanted to get married, then he is the one and I need to change myself, become more loyal to his shortcomings, more patient, forgive and start all over again.

Of course, you already know the sequel. You can guess that I started drinking with him, going to nightclubs, skipping school, and generally becoming more cynical than I was.

Girls, if you tried to imitate your imperfect man only on the assumption that he was the one, then let the world cry, because this is the greatest stupidity of the weak half of humanity.

So what could I do then.

First, do not start a relationship with an alcoholic at all. In Russia, despite the supposed genetic predisposition, there are still men who do not abuse alcohol.

Secondly, I could recognize his psychoticism even in his first hysteria and drive it away.

Thirdly, after he stopped picking up the phone and calling himself, it was worth leaving everything de facto. It was worth completely immersing yourself in studying, and maybe even working part-time, so that there was no time left for stupid thoughts.

Every evening I returned from university to a rented apartment, where my neighbor regularly worked or slept after a night out, and cried in the bathroom.

I hardly ate, I got hooked on “The Sims” (this is a computer game), and if my friend could stay with me for a little while, I occupied her ears and made her depressed.

It was a difficult period, I took Corvalol twice in order to somehow fall asleep. Thank God, I clearly understood the harm of antidepressants and psychiatrists and did not go for “help.”

Zhanna, that same neighbor, had been on antidepressants years earlier because of her boyfriend’s infidelity. What did it cost her? There was barely life… She tried to commit suicide one night while on medication.

Yes, you heard right. Not before or after taking them, but during. Before the intervention of psychotherapists, Zhanna simply suffered and cried, her threats of suicide were just words, which alarmed her parents.

But after a week of taking psychotropic drugs, Zhanna got up at night while the “convoy” was sleeping and went to commit suicide.

Her parents woke up in time and stopped her. This was followed by a difficult period of rehabilitation with withdrawal symptoms, but she coped with it and stopped taking the terrible drugs.

I, taught by her experience, clearly defined my life: “I will never take any drugs to treat mental pain.”

Corvalol was the only weak drug that I wanted to use as therapy.

But in the end it wasn’t he who helped, but you know what?

Comedy club. Yes, yes, the same one with Pavel Volya and Alexander Nezlobin.

The guys pulled me out of my apathy without even knowing it.

Was there a better way than sarcastic TV hosts?

Yes.

If only someone had told me a hundred times that it was not my fault. With love and care he would convey to me that I am not to blame for the guy’s betrayal. If I realized that I was responsible for the breakup, that I was the cause, but responsibility is not the same as guilt, then I would cope.

And in the end, do you know what happened? For about another year I tried to bring Dima back in my usual manner, and I succeeded. True, by that time, cynicism towards men had reached the height of my nature, and I went looking for new adventures.

Then I saw a similar situation in several other women.

Tatyana's acquaintance chose the path of living with an alcoholic who beat her, but “loved” her, instead of self-improvement and a happy life.

Anna, a friend, became a debauchee because of her husband, who drank, cheated and beat her.

The stepdaughter abandoned her studies and began to abuse alcohol because of the guy who proposed to her and, according to rumors, also cheated on her. With her, fortunately, the story quickly corrected itself; the right people were nearby, who quickly grabbed her by the hands and pulled her out of the quagmire, which almost sucked her in. Exactly a month was enough to discover the deplorability of the situation and quickly take drastic measures to restore its causality over life.

What have we done? They did not support her, they condemned her actions (not her in any case). She wrote down her harmful actions towards herself and other people, sorted by time, place, form and event, after which she immediately left her boyfriend, an alcoholic gambling addict, and found herself an evening job in an elite organization together with a new decent young man.

If in my time, then at the age of twenty, I knew such technology, I would have been able to avoid a lot of mistakes.

Do you think that I speak in cliches and in a very veiled manner?

True, because censorship doesn't let some things through. If you are especially interested in how to survive the pain of loss, you can find me on Instagram and write. I will be glad to help individually in your situation.

Back to cheating.

What happens when a person is drawn to flirt (and cheating begins with this) with another person?

Let's take a closer look.

What is a weak front?

In my opinion, this has always been a kind of whim.

Well, that is, we are all polygamous by nature and we would all like to have sex with several sexual partners without feeling remorse.

And since man is a highly organized being and has learned to live in society, he is obliged to fulfill the demands of the majority in order to get along with it.

For example, what are the requirements of the majority?

It has been observed that if two people decide to belong to each other, then the presence of a third upsets one of the couple. Very frustrating. So much so that he can kill the other two. Therefore, it was decided that if a couple agreed to live together, then the expansion of their group should be agreed upon by both members.

Infectious diseases also appeared: syphilis, gonorrhea, HIV in the end. Society, trying to protect itself, noticed that many sexual contacts with different people lead to the spread of infection, epidemic. In their powerlessness against this, contraceptives were invented, but not all and not always, unfortunately, save one hundred percent. Therefore, yes, the most correct and competent way invented by society was a serious relationship between two faithful partners.

Another important part that people paid attention to was the frustration of women due to insufficient financial support for themselves and their children while their husband spends a lot of money on his mistress. Such an angry woman is dangerous to society as a whole. And in order to reduce their numbers, the group again requires fidelity and monogamy.

In my opinion, these are the main things that explain the rationality of life without betrayal.

And therefore, betrayal is simply the inability to keep oneself within the framework of a universal agreement.

This may simply be due to ignorance. Then the solution would be to familiarize children from school with the above arguments in favor of being faithful to a partner.

Or a person deliberately spits from a high bell tower on society, on their demands, because he himself is already in the mood for a gun. This is not necessarily adultery. As a child, he could steal sausage from a store, or money from his grandmother’s wallet.

Do you understand?

How to anticipate betrayal and prevent it.

Explore with your partner all the options for why infidelity is bad. Even if it would seem that the elephant understands it, discuss it and don’t regret the time spent.

Well, agree, preferably in writing, what you will do if this happens. There may be different options: an instant breakup, financial compensation, a large donation to the HIV fund, a trip to the doctor to diagnose and treat complications that have arisen, divorce and finding an ideal partner for the spouse who will allow the offended partner not to suffer alone, not to be interrupted by bread and water after a breakup, do not look for a replacement in fear of never finding one.

You know, even though you smile, that this is possible.

My husband cheated on his girlfriend at the age of fifteen. And like a true gentleman, he introduced his best friend to her, who helped the poor girl survive the pain of loss and restore her self-esteem. They got married and were happy.

Well, have you ever thought that this was possible? Yeah. And this, I tell you, would eliminate a lot of problems with cheating.

Because:

A) such a heme…few people want it. You’ll think three hundred times about whether it’s worth sleeping with another woman, so that you can then fulfill the entire list of promises to your partner.

B) when you imagine that your love will immediately leave you FOREVER, the erection disappears. Here it is important to imagine in the “five Ds” all the colors, the sensations of loss, so that it immediately pinches your chest. The genital organ of both women and men responds well to mental pain and experiences. Otherwise, where do you think frigidity and impotence come from?

After that time they didn’t cheat on me again, in any case, if you don’t get too arrogant, then I don’t know about it.

But with my real husband, we did step A and B to make our marriage cheater-proof.

He cheated on his first wife. I cheated on one of my boyfriends. Therefore, given our experience, it was important for us to agree on loyalty to each other.

If we ever interrupt our agreements, we will definitely divorce and find an acceptable replacement in our place.

We are not saints, and the body sometimes asks for another person. Sometimes you have dreams about having sex with another partner. Sometimes a spark will flash like that. Sometimes a thought comes into your head and doesn’t come out for weeks, you imagine yourself as someone else’s wife, how everything would be. And then he lets go.

This happens to my husband too, he doesn’t tell in detail, he just hints that he had a terrible dream with other people’s boobs, and he laughs.

We came up with a way to prevent betrayal if it happens: don’t flirt.

Well, that is, when hormones are raging, when you are physically attracted to someone, do not take any action. Do not communicate, do not meet, do not meet eyes, do not touch, and especially do not joke with the object of your adoration.

After some time, the hormones release, the mind again takes control of the body, you come to your senses, and again you want only your lover.

Am I writing scary things? Did you think everything was perfect with us? No one is without clouds, don’t believe otherwise. If we didn't have penises or clitorises, and we floated like angels in the sky, then perhaps fidelity could be absolute.

And so, unfortunately, all that remains is to take responsibility and be the cause of your own happiness, to control the genitals, tongue, eyes, arms and legs.

Those who know how to curb their thoughts cause me special admiration. If among you, my readers, there are such people, please respond, just be honest about how it works out for you and how long it lasts. I'm using this as a life hack in my new book.

If you are frigid, then the answer will not count, it’s easier than ever to remain faithful.

“10 guys in a year and no one worth it.”

Are we whores or actively searching? How to figure it out when you are looking for an ideal partner, the hero of your novel, someone with whom you will live a happy life, start a family, and on the way you meet only perverts, mama’s boys, jealous house builders and Don Juan Casanovas.

If we see a handsome, smart, kind guy who is free, then we immediately take a step forward so that he notices us. Then we get to know each other better, go on dates and…

Instead of discerning in it a discrepancy with other parameters, we begin to invent and assign non-existent advantages to it. We meet further, sleep. And one fine day the masks fall off, the veil disappears from our eyes, and voila, what we have in front of us is completely different from the one we mentally pictured.

We get upset, but don’t learn the lesson, but move on and step on the same rake. Once, twice, three times, and now for the tenth time this year, the gentleman turns out to be a complete asshole, for whom you dyed your hair.

Are you laughing?

These are all true stories. They happened not only to me, but also to my friends.

So, everything in order.

First, I'll tell you about my searches.

After I realized that Dima was no longer interesting to me, I decided to expand the parameters and narrow the category.

I wanted to meet a rich, successful, non-drinking man who would be attractive to me.

The perspective shifted towards the financial component, and I literally walked on the line between a mercantile bitch and a decent romantic.

Every single day, I went out as if on a podium and scanned my surroundings for the presence of such a man.

I hoped to meet my fate daily, hourly. My wardrobe has expanded significantly, going out has become regular, and my makeup and hairstyles have become closer to the desired look. Not to say that I became a Yves Saint Laurent model, but I learned to look stylish – that's for sure.

My guide to finding an ideal was the heroine of the American TV series Carrie Bradshaw. I recommend it to every emotionally mature woman to watch. But if you are not stable and want to take revenge on someone, like I did then, then it is better to take the advice of Carrie and her friends as fiction and watch everything to the end. This is the only way morality becomes visible.

Otherwise, you risk applying the wrong tool to the wrong situation.

What did I do, where did I go wrong? Very simply, I decided to take as a model of behavior the numerous acquaintances of the heroines, and not how to correctly identify a person while not being so close to him.

If I could smell a catch a mile away, I wouldn’t even start a relationship. If I, like these girls in the last episodes, could see genuine feelings and a real person, sincere, purposeful, then I would simply sweep away all the chaff and not fuss until I met my husband one day.

But, there is a flip side to such suspicion and distrust – to turn into a “prosecutor” who does not trust anyone, and poor men are so exhausted from courtship that they really begin to act weird.

For example, my friend Sonya, a midwife at the maternity hospital, stern and prim with men and humorous, occasionally touchy with girls.

Don’t put your finger in her mouth, let her mock her sarcastically. She was only twenty-three when I watched her “search” for a life partner. She did absolutely nothing. Ah, I remembered, I cried at night. But nothing.

Initially, her belief that everyone lies, cheats, abandons and betrays gave her some self-confidence. Then it became an obsession; she could not carry on a normal conversation without grinning at any romantic or positive remark.

– He loves me.

– Yeah, like a cat gets a new sneaker. As soon as he pees himself, he will fall in love with a new one.

That's about it. Or like this:

– Look what a wonderful day it is today. It's time to meet some handsome guy.

– And pick up the clap.

Well, everything is like that. So funny during the day and sad at night.

It looks like she knew that the hero of her novel was waiting for her somewhere, and therefore did not scatter her attention and was not scattered on the “unworthy.”

This actually deserves respect among women and men. There was one catch, she wasn't pretty at all. Large facial features, a boxer's stoop, which results in low chest and a small tummy. And she would have waited until she turned gray for her betrothed, if one fine day she had not slowed down. It’s good to be strong if there are actually enemies all around. But fortunately, most people are positive, only a handful ruin everyone's life.

Sonya began to preen herself, loosen her long braid more often, and exchanged her glasses for contact lenses. I finally changed my anger to mercy. Apparently crying at night really tired her out.

How was this expressed? Sonya began to coo to everyone, only occasionally making fun of them.

Since she did not change her clothes (all the same auntie’s blouses), men did not develop the image of a sexy woman. They began to see her as a woman, but not for easy flirting, but for a serious relationship.

Thin? Crazy. I admire her idea. She quickly found herself a husband and has been living with a handsome man for a long time.

I couldn’t apply it to myself then. My sexuality and cooing were turning into something else.

In a society of men, such an image does not arouse the desire to get married.

You can't look your best, attract a ton of attention and not be a bitch. Then you will be considered a woman of easy virtue.

If you are beautiful and sexy, then in order to save yourself for your husband, you must be modest or ulcerous. Modesty is also attractive, and everyone can fall for it.

I remember poor Inna, a classmate who was courted by Ivan in high school. She couldn't turn him off because it would ruin her image. She went on all the dates, politely refused intimacy, which he perceived as modesty accordingly.

All this disgrace lasted about a year, until Inna realized that she was losing the opportunity to date someone cool.

And then the dam burst, as they say.

– Vanya, leave me alone.

– Why?

– I don’t love you! -How?

– I never loved.

– But why didn’t you tell me?

– I was afraid to offend you.

– What a bitch you are!

Do you see? Either way, bitch. It would be better if she immediately told him that he was not her type, she would not have lost a year of her life.

С'est la vie. Alas, in order not to be branded as a priestess of love in male society, it is necessary not to combine sexuality with cooing. Or do it so skillfully that a mosquito won’t hurt your nose. Namely, to remain at a distance, not to allow close physical contact until some promises are fulfilled.

Or learn to refuse and behave directly, if you are a beauty, of course.

If you have problems with your appearance, be sexy in your communication.

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