On Infidelity: Michelle


Back when ya boy Boxer was just a young cad, he met a dark haired chickie at a Los Angeles night club, who happened to be considerably older than he was. Boxer was then twenty-three, and Michelle (of course it’s not her real name) was, on that very occasion, celebrating her thirty-first birthday. She was surrounded by her friends (mostly other women), at the other end of the club, and I was surrounded by my friends, and somehow we ended up dancing together.

No, scratch that. It wasn’t “somehow we ended up”. She moved in. The brilliance of the married ho’ is that she sees a young brother as prey, and treats him accordingly. With catlike stealth and womanly cunning, she arranges her entrance as a mystery.

Michelle was incredibly attractive, despite being a full decade older than the women I usually hunted. In fact, I don’t think I had ever gone out with any woman who was even a day older than I was, before I met her. She also seemed out of my league, with a diamond tennis bracelet and a designer outfit. In any event, nothing happened that evening except an exchange of phone numbers. I had a new phone, with a (coveted) 213 area code. Her phone number seemed to come from the San Jose area, hundreds of miles north.

Michelle left me a voice-mail message the very next day, telling me that meeting me had been the highlight of her birthday, and telling me that while she would love to see me again, she would “leave it up to me” as to whether that happened.

Young brothers ought to pay attention to this little tidbit, because I find it disturbingly common with married hoez. They are like vampires. You have to invite them in. I suppose this is an effort at ego-defense, so that when caught, she can excuse her crap behavior to her husband with the idea that you took the initiative. The married ho’ will always, always, always paint herself as the poor victim of her own moral mistakes.

Naturally, I didn’t waste too much time. I got back with her the day after her voice mail, and she invited me over.

I arrived at her house, knocked on the door, not having no idea of what the night had in store… like a dog in heat…

Her apartment was both cute and immaculate. It consisted of a house in a “trendy” part of town, that was split up into a number of different units. It was perfectly furnished, smelled good, and had a number of interesting upgrades. I had been working construction jobs to put myself through my undergraduate studies, so I was complimentary. We started on the couch, moved to the floor of the hallway, and finally ended up in the back bedroom. I fucked her in every conceivable position, without a condom, and we finally fell asleep together. All of this was incredibly unusual for me. I usually hit it and ran. As we were getting ready to head out the next day, we made plans to see each other again, a few days hence.

I had an African-American friend (call him Harvey) at the time, who was at the nightclub with me, on the night I met Michelle. The very day after my first tryst, he saw me again, and while I never breathed a word, he seemed to have an almost supernatural ability to smell her on me. He tried to give me some good advice.

I bet that you even ate the pussy, huh? Why you gots to be so damned dumb? She gots you under her control, nigga! You gots to get away from that bitch.

Naturally, all of this sound counsel went unheeded; and the rest of our peers simultaneously congratulated and mocked my aged conquest, and we went out and got drunk.

I was, at the time, fucking a couple of other women, in the 21-22 range. Their post-teenage antics and petty drama suddenly seemed trite and ridiculous. I gradually saw them less and less, as Michelle and I saw each other increasingly more often. I was blissfully unaware of the real nature of our relationship, and everything seemed perfect, as Michelle was on her very best behavior at all times during our meetings.

After a few rendezvous, a few things began to dawn on me.

  • Michelle’s apartment seemed curiously untouched between my visits. If I left one of my CDs in the tray of her old player, it’d still be there, days later, when I came by for the next romp
  • Michelle’s bathroom was conspicuously empty of even the most basic supplies. How many bitches you know don’t have tampons or aspirin in the bathroom?
  • Michelle never really mentioned any of her family members. She was “from Montana” … which was one of the reasons we first started talking. I was “from Alberta,” which is the equivalent to people in California talking about their childhoods in Louisiana and Mississippi. But, where? Montana is an awfully big place. Billings? Helena? Missoula? Bozeman? Butte? No info. She didn’t tell me, and didn’t want to.
  • Michelle told me two different stories about what she did. In the beginning, she was the live-in manager for the apartment house. This was true. Later, she told me she telecommuted for Apple Computer. When I asked what she did for Steve Jobs, she was incredibly vague. What I did know was that in the spare bedroom/office, there was an expensive Apple workstation set up, so it seemed plausible. Even so, she had tons of very expensive jewelry, and she drove a new model sports car. It just didn’t make sense that she’d be living where she was living.
  • Michelle had two different phone landlines installed in her apartment. Ostensibly, one was for the modem that went to the computer/fax. I was only ever allowed to have one number. The second line was not for human use. Even so, there was a nondescript phone that would theoretically ring when the second line got an incoming call.
  • Michelle politely declined all offers to spend any time at my apartment. To this day, I don’t believe she ever even knew where I lived.
  • Michelle never wanted to spend more than two consecutive nights together. She was busy, and so was I, but I found it strange that she never wanted to go on a weekend trip, or to venture out very far. Our relationship mainly consisted of meeting for sex, and leaving, with plans for another meeting.

I’m unclear on exactly when it happened, but I remember the situation well enough. It happened two or three months into our fling. I’m lounging around in bed, when Michelle gets a call on her second line. At the first ring, she jumped up from the bed and ran, naked, into the office.

“You have to leave, now!” she told me, with a panicked expression on her face; as she ran back in and began to move around the bedroom.

“Why? What’s up?” I asked.

“There’s no time! You have to go!” she insisted, as she was throwing my pants and socks at me. “Get up! Get dressed! Hurry up!”

And now, dear readers, you are getting a glimpse into the simple, dull mind of a youthful Boxer. That’s right. I never figured it out until three months in. Michelle was married. Her husband, who lived in Cupertino, was the Apple Computer bigshot. He had phoned from the Burbank airport, and was moments away from “surprising” her for dinner and a night out.

I did leave, just in the nick of time. I probably passed husband’s cab, on the way down the street. I went across town, to visit Rachel (not her real name). Naturally I didn’t tell her that I had just fucked Michelle, raw and without a condom. Rachel got a condom. Rachel was 22, sorta dumb, and cute but not pretty. She was, as I remember, currently working her way through an associates degree at community college. I fucked the hell out of her, at the same time Michelle was likely getting fucked by her husband, and only an hour after Michelle and I had been fucking and sucking each other with abandon.

Rachel is still my friend. As of today, Rachel has been faithfully married to a very nice guy (and a good earner), for many, many years; and she has several kids by him. She was no virgin when she married (and I wasn’t the guy that originally turned her out) but she seems very happy living an honorable and monogamous lifestyle. She is the type of example of what can happen when one decides to take life seriously and embrace discipline.

Michelle is now divorced.

But here I’m getting ahead of myself.

Fast forward, two or three weeks after my great escape, and subsequent radio silence from Michelle, I get a voicemail from her. She wanted to see me again, and told me that she’d explain everything if I’d meet her at her apartment.

Her first story was that her husband was her high-school boyfriend, and that she was married to him before he “discovered” that he was a flaming homosexual. She told me that her marriage was a sham, that she was actually in love with me, because I “made her feel alive for the first time” or some such nonsense.

I told her, flatly, that I didn’t believe that. If he was a fag, why would he have objected to me being in her apartment? I left, unimpressed, with her looking all weepy in the doorway as I walked to my car and pulled away. I hit up Stephanie (not her real name) five minutes later. Stephanie lived in Boyle Heights, with her father, who drove the city buses around L.A.. We went out to dinner that evening, and I contemplated the consequences of having had condomless sex with what someone who claimed to be married to a San Francisco faggot for the past four months. I didn’t tell Stephanie about my current predicament, but I also didn’t have sex with her that night, either. I was just glad to be in the company, for a while, of a decent girl who seemed to like me, and who had never lied to me about shit that was so outrageous it defied description.

The next day, ya boy Boxer went down to the Los Angeles AIDS Foundation clinic and had himself tested. The results took a week to return. It was one of the longest weeks of my life. When the results came back neg, I felt like I had won life’s lottery.

I won’t lie. I saw Michelle a few times after that. Always in public places, and never at her apartment. She tried to get me to buy her dinner at some cheeseball lowbrow place (The Olive Garden?), and I declined. She had some shirts of mine and some music CDs. I tried and failed to get them back. In the interim, here are a couple of other things she revealed.

  • She had been, off and on, under the care of a psychiatrist. She was suicidal, and had previously received electroshock therapy.
  • On at least two occasions, when I had wanted aspirin/tylenol/ibuprofen, she had given me Valium instead. She explained that she loved the fact that she could fuck me, while I was half-conscious, and insisted that my erections were better. (I didn’t bother to ask after the details of this odd claim.)
  • While she was with me, she had found out about Stephanie, and had made a frivolous complaint to the Los Angeles Metro Transit Authority about Stephanie’s father, in an attempt to get him fired. I suppose she thought that if he lost his job, Stephanie would be less attractive to me, or something. To the best of my knowledge, all that meddling came to nothing.
  • She insisted that her husband was indeed a homosexual, but admitted that he had sex with her also. She boasted that I had “tasted him” on multiple occasions. (That makes me want to vomit, all these years later.)
  • Her absences were due to her going back to her primary home, in Northern California. She made weekly excuses to “check on the rental property” in Los Angeles to justify her trips to see me. (I’m sure her husband was only too happy to be rid of this headcase, and was glad to see her go, every time).
  • At one point, early on, she had me practice signing different names in different handwriting. I didn’t know what she was getting at, and thought it was ridiculous, but I did it anyhow. Months after it was all over, she insisted that, during this early game, I had actually forged her husband’s signature on an application for credit. She claimed the credit card arrived at the Los Angeles house a few weeks later. She attempted to blackmail me with this idea, threatening to report me for credit fraud if I didn’t come back to her house for sex, there and then. I assumed she was bluffing and laughed at her, but, who knows? That was the last conversation I ended up having with this nutjob. I never heard anything about this after-the-fact, so I assume it was just another lie.

One of the people who I ended up telling all this nonsense to was Harvey. He had the predictable response.

Nigga I told you that bitch was crazy! Didn’t I tell you? Next time use your brain!


I left Los Angeles less than a year after seeing Michelle for the final time. I was, and am, glad to have escaped that maelstrom unscathed. It could have been much, much worse.


Go read…

Σ Frame

This post investigates the sources of variance in men’s estimations of women’s attractiveness ratings on OKCupid, as reported in the following post.

The OKCupid Blog: The Mathematics of Beauty (January 10, 2011)

This particular data report from OKCupid is, like all the others, very engrossing. A man could spend all day browsing the Dataclysm posts with intrigue.

The Data

Apparently, there were three sets of data collected on thousands of users.

  1. Men’s ratings of a woman’s overall attractiveness on a 1-5 scale.
  2. Men’s personal opinions of whether he finds a particular woman attractive.
  3. The message count of the women studied as an indicator of interest.

Data crunching came up with the following correlations.

  1. Most all men had a near agreement, on a 1-5 scale, of the overall attractiveness of all women.
  2. Concerning the second data set, the women fell into two different categories: (2a) those for which the men’s personal opinions…

View original post 1,529 more words

Trust Speaks on Infidelity

Written by Trust

01I wouldn’t have considered myself a PUA. Being faithful had never been a problem for me, having the same girlfriend from my senior year in high school until my senior year in college. During the five years between that ex and meeting my wife, I was athletic and good looking. I never set out to pick up women, I just accepted a few offers that I didn’t know the background on.

A woman, we’ll call her Sheri, came on to me at a fourth of July house party when I was I 22 or 23. She was visiting from out of town. During the fireworks, when everyone else was outside, Sheri, who was visiting from out of town, followed me when I sent inside to get a beer and kissed me. She pulled me to another room, and after making out a couple minutes, she kissed down my body, undid my pants, and blew me. Later, she came back to my apartment and we had sex.

A few months later, I met a women named Melissa at a dance club. She was in town for work and out with coworkers, and we started off dancing after her coworkers left. She asked for me email for when she was in town again. Claimed she was divorced, been a while, horny, etc. We had sex several times over the coming months, when she was in town for work. EVERY time she saw me she blew me. She’d blow me, I’d return the favor, we’d have sex, then we’d do it again in the morning in her hotel before leaving for work.

An email from Melissa’s husband is how I found out she was still married. After I confronted her about it, she admitted one of her coworkers who i previously slept with complimented my foreplay skills, so she initiated the dancing with me and went from there. Turns out, her dad is a minister, her husband is a bit older and very successful, so she had put on this good church girl image. That’s how I know she did things for me she didn’t do for her husband. To be blunt, she was incredibly good at giving blow jobs, so I was not the first guy she cheated with after over 10 years of marriage.

A few months later, a friend told me Sheri got divorced. I asked when she got married, and her friend said “she was married when you nailed her.” This was just a case of “girls talk.” She also told me Sheri wasn’t one to put out in her marriage. I found out about Sheri’s marriage last, but I slept with her first.

At 22-24, I was too naive and inexperienced to see the signs. Both were from out of town (didn’t risk running in to me with their husbands). No phone numbers exchanged, or suggestions to spend time together outside of bed. Neither showed interest beyond sex, which is unusual since single women typically use sex to pursue relationships or entice men to spend money on them. The fact that I just had to show up and do nothing but have sex meant they were getting money/support/etc. from elswhere.

In any case, I hope this helps. I have never intentionally been with a married woman, and I’ve never cheated on a girlfriend or my wife. 20 years ago, I just had the horniness of an in-shape 22 year old, and was naive enough to think attractive women 10 years older really did want sex and nothing more. So, I wouldn’t call myself a player. I never really had any game, in fact my loyalty was often a turnoff to women sexually once they got to know me.

It was over 20 years ago and I’m a better man now. These are just lessons learned. I will admit, I cannot know for sure what they did or did not do for their husbands, but I do believe based on what I learned after the fact that they were more generous to me than with these men they had married. Especially in the case of the one maintaining the good “church girl” image.

Like I said, I am not proud of this, which is why I appreciate the personal anonymity. It is important for others to be told what red flags I was oblivious to. The lies we are taught about women’s sexuality are very destructive.

The Consequences of Chivalry

Brother Honeycomb has found a link to a story which is just too funny to pass up.

A group of low-class squabblers contains a male-female couple, who suddenly take center stage with a lovers quarrel. What’s a white-knighting faggot to do? Why, butt in, of course…

Screen Shot 2017-12-13 at 10.25.14

Credit to Associated Press and Yahoo News. Read more (here).

When you ask a woman, who is presently involved in a squabble with her man: “Are you OK?” you are directly challenging her man to combat. Any sensible person knows this instinctively, but white-knights never learn. They’re consumed by a sublimated desire to sniff at the crotch of whatever skank-ho is currently being “abused,” they throw caution to the wind, and too often they reap some unpleasant consequences.

Oh, and in case you were wondering what this prize catch of a wimminz looks like, here she is, on far right, courtesy of the Derby Connecticut Police Department…


Would you go into a street battle to win a trophy like that? Yeah, me neither. The whole crew looks the type of unsavory trash that any normal man, with healthy instincts, would steer clear of; but, the white-knight mentality overrides good sense, decorum, and discretion, and it does so far too often.

In this case, it appears the hero survived his 45 foot fall, and managed to swim to shore. He’s not getting much sympathy in the comments section.Screen Shot 2017-12-13 at 10.36.21

Thanks again to Honeycomb for this priceless example of one of the most common manosphere generalizations. Truly, some people can not be helped.

Pardon This Brief Intermission

We’ve been having a good time discussing the brutal realities of gaming and banging married hoez for a couple of days, and it’s become both productive and deep. I hope any younger brothers who stumble across this information (much of which has been provided, pro bono, by a qualified attorney) will take it seriously.

As a fun little diversion, before we get back to the heavy stuff, let’s take a moment to meet a powerful feminist who calls herself “Ms. Sex In The Valley” (not a super-original pseudonym, I must say).

Not everyone is entirely supportive of this moxie-filled, empowered single ho’. This makes her go boo hoo hoo…

Such a bunch of meanies!

Screen Shot 2017-12-11 at 10.15.45

You can follow our fearsome feminist heroine on Youtube, or you can head over to her blog, by parsing “dirty and thirty dot com” into a url. At the time of this writing, she’s having a detailed discussion about “bathroom sex”. Sounds enticing, no?

She’s also on twitter under her real name. Please feel free to look her up and thank her for this affirmative illustration of every possible manosphere generalization.

Deti Speaks on Gaming Married Women

[Note: This is an article by Brother Deti, who describes himself as a member of the legal profession. I believe he has been admitted to the bar in some American State, and he knows what he’s talking about. It’s reproduced from some of his comments, minimally edited by me.]

If you are the “other man” and you bang married women, you can be assured of a few things.

1) You are being used to validate her. Sure, she’s a hole for you to masturbate into. But make no mistake about it – she’s using you too, for any number of reasons – to make her feel “young again”, to prove to herself she’s “still got it” and can attract a man she wants to have sex with, for some form of human connection, to get back at her husband for real or imagined slights, whatever.

2) It will end at some point. She might be looking to branchswing, sure. But would you be her new branch? Of course you wouldn’t. Because if she’ll cheat with you, she’ll cheat on you. Or, she’ll start feeling guilty. Or she’ll know she can’t have a real relationship with you because husband/kids/job/life. And that’s not even counting the real possibility that she will get caught.

3) You’re both living out a fantasy. You, with no strings attached sex where you don’t have to pay for anything or live with her or support her or care about her or listen to her 24/7. You never have to watch her belch and fart and take dumps and pick her nose. She, with a man who is LARPing “caring” about her, and giving her a little bit of sex that she can’t get/won’t accept at home from a man she’s not attracted to, and getting a brief respite from her unhappiness and lack of satisfaction. It’s not sustainable, and it will end at some point.

4) One or both of you will catch feelz. And then it will REALLY hurt when it ends (not if, WHEN).

I do take issue at least a little bit with the availability of court testimony. You can’t always look up trial testimony in a routine humdrum divorce on the internet, in fact most of the time you can’t do it. You would have to know one of the lawyers involved and get a copy of the trial transcript, or get it from the court by physically walking to the courthouse and getting the hard file out. Or if online, you have to subscribe to a service. And even then the testimony isn’t always transcribed, even if it is audio recorded or a court reporter takes it down.

That said, anyone who really wants to find your sworn testimony will be able to find it.

And… yes, you had better tell the truth. Because if you are the “other man” in a divorce, and you get a subpoena, there’s no point in lying. The lawyers already know the wife cheated on her soon to be ex husband with you. And they know that because she told her husband who told her lawyer. Or her husband found the text messages and dick pics. Or someone saw the two of you together and told her husband.

If things go south, if you piss her off, if you end things with her and she becomes a woman scorned, or if she gets caught….

She could falsely accuse you of rape, so as to deflect attention from her conduct and project blame for the affair onto you. And it won’t matter that it was all enthusiastically consensual or that all the meetings were at hotels or at your place, where she had to come to you. All she has to do is say that you went just a bit too far, that you did something she didn’t consent to and forced the issue, that you had anal sex once when she didn’t really want to. And then you are not only the “other man” in a divorce case; you’re also the target of a felony investigation.

It doesn’t matter that the allegations are not all that credible. They will still be investigated. You will still get jammed up. You will have to lawyer up. You will have to give DNA samples. You might be advised to give an official statement to the police in which you have no choice but to describe, in graphic detail, in writing or on video, the sexual encounters you had with her. And you have no choice because you have to portray the sex as completely consensual. If you have photos or saved text messages (and you should, for this very reason), you will need to give them to the cops – again, because you have to portray this as a consensual relationship in which nothing nonconsensual ever took place.

You will have to take time off work. You will have to pay the lawyers. You will have to explain your absences to your employer and friends. You will undergo the stress of the uncertainty, your life on tenterhooks, your life on hold, until you’re cleared. Or if you’re not cleared, then you’ll be indicted, arrested, booked, arraigned, and bound over for trial. In which case you’ll have to decide whether to plead it down if you can, or stand trial and take your chances.

Not fun. Not fun at all.

Answering Deti and Opus

Down below, Deti writes…

I’d be honored to be one of your scumbag friends in the legal profession.

As a scumbag academic, I think we’re both at about the same level of respectability. I’d bet you make a bit more money than I do, though my job is probably easier. Both of us are several strata beneath the average used-car salesman in terms of respectability. I can accept this, and it appears you can too; which is good, because I don’t want to give undue offense.

This is my cue to say that I am not qualified to give legal advice, do not have a law degree of any sort, have never been admitted to practice. Of course, I don’t know Deti personally, but I believe that he is a part of the profession (why would he lie about that?).

My personal interest began when I was a member of a forum called Happy Bachelors, and a casual reader of The Spearhead. I had never been married (though I came close once), and wanted to know just how bad things were. The guys who wrote articles on these sites told such terrible stories, and they seemed to mirror my father’s story. At the time, I was still working my way through a graduate program, at a bank. My hours were long, and my days off were valuable. At one point, around 2010, I bit the bullet. I made the excuse of a dentist’s appointment, wandered on down to the big courthouse downtown, rode the elevator up to the third floor, and sat through a few hours of the so-called “family courts.”

What I ended up seeing was so much worse than anything I had expected, that I left completely nonplussed. Not only could I not write about the things I had seen transpire, I couldn’t even speak or think too deeply about them.

I do take issue at least a little bit with the availability of court testimony. You can’t always look up trial testimony in a routine humdrum divorce on the internet, in fact most of the time you can’t do it. You would have to know one of the lawyers involved and get a copy of the trial transcript, or get it from the court by physically walking to the courthouse and getting the hard file out. Or if online, you have to subscribe to a service. And even then the testimony isn’t always transcribed, even if it is audio recorded or a court reporter takes it down.

Screen Shot 2017-12-08 at 14.34.26

Here is the name of a poor fellow who was added to the abstract of a divorce proceeding. I know he wasn’t a police officer or an attorney, because at the end of his name you’d see (LEO) or (ATY) if he were. I have no idea why he was a witness in a divorce trial, and this is a random trial I looked up and found in about ten minutes. To get the screenshot, I went back to the same county that gave me such a wonderful education (mentioned above) in 2010. I don’t live there any longer, but during that time I got fairly familiar with the court viewer. I don’t have any reason to disbelieve Deti if he tells me this is not the norm, but I ain’t lying about it being a possibility. I would be able to read this guy’s testimony if I mailed a letter, with the court case number on it, to the county in question. It would cost me very little (they suggest sending a blank check, inscribed with “not more than twenty dollars” to pay the copy fees).

I guess my point is that banging a married chick carries the potential for a lot of long-term consequences.

Then Brother Opus writes:

I thought Boxer, that no-fault, no-questions-asked divorce was now universal throughout the American states.

My understanding (I hope Deti will correct me if I’m wrong) is that the divorce will be granted regardless of what happens. However (and this is the detail which houses the devil) the amount of easy money that skank-ho princess will receive in the settlement is partly at the judge’s discretion. This makes divorce attorneys a lot of money, as they like to get the couple to air all the dirty laundry they possibly can in the process (while racking up billable hours). In theory, an innocent woman who had to deal with an unstable, violent, drunk of a husband will come out financially much better off, than a skank-ho wimminz, who put a nice man through hell. Of course, the paramour who had a good time with said wimminz will be called by both parties and their counsel, as he will be presented as instigator and witness to her depravity, in turn.