Something's Different in this update, Including My Sins
My Dream Girl May be an Old Woman
I like the idea of God's ownership over me because it comes with protection. But I greatly value ownership because it's a choice that God makes. I find it special that God would chose to own me. I'm just one of many of the owned, but the fact remains, when he takes a person, he takes responsibility over the affairs. I don't think he owns me like one would own a toy, throw me away if my wheels didn't spin fast enough. There is something to be said for so-called, "once saved, always saved," for when God decides to own us, it comes with fidelity. "You are mine," he says. He loves it when we appreciate Him. That's what he wants. And that's what men and women want too.
Most of us know what infidelity feels like. How does God feel to be ignored by most the human race? Does anyone feel for this? Are we able to get into his shoes to feel his pain? He's not too big to feel pain, but by now he's learned to deal with it. I imagine that he's become cold toward his enemies, and that he appreciates the very few who come to him. For them, he turns on warmth and love. His protection is not dry rote, but comes with love.
Do we have any synergism with God? How can we define it? Is it a partnership that God has with Jesus? I don't think that being one with God is a partnership, no. Ownership has to do with becoming one; a partnership means remaining two (or more) people working together i.e. synergism. Synergism, they told me in counseling class, is when a bird lands on the rump of a rhino and eats its fleas. The partnership is there because the rhino allows the bird to do this, ahh, it's all good. But the bird could care less about the rhino's fate. The partner cares most about self, and maintains partnership for what he/she can get from the benefits of the other(s). I'm speaking generally, because it's reality in many cases that business / marital partners do care for one another, but, the point is, the ultimate concern gravitates toward self. The option of leaving the partnership is always there, and divorce is legal now.
A "marriage contract." I reject that phrase. It's a creation of the government. Marriage should not be a contract, but a oneness in fidelity. People don't get married on the day they sign the marriage contract. People are married when they make the choice to remain together in fidelity. It should be an ownership thing, neither one fearing the losing of the other. But with legal divorce, and a Godless people hot-to-trot, that fear can be there for the innocent "partner." It affects the extent of heart that people put toward a relationship. My generation became fearful of getting "burnt", because it's going on everywhere. And it does hurt badly to be dumped for another. It teaches us the willingness of people to betray and abandon for their own purposes.
It's possible for a marriage to last on paper, until death do us part, because neither of the partners takes the other to divorce court. In the meantime, oneness may have dwindled to the point of complete disappearance. I don't know the many ways in which this can happen, but I've got imagination to guess at a few.
Pleasure is experienced when there is lack met by satisfaction. If you're hungry, it feels great to eat, but if you go on eating, it doesn't feel good anymore. Rest feels good when you're tired, but you can't enjoy sleep when you're over-rested. Warmth feels good only when lacking it beforehand. Warmth no longer feels good when you have it continually. The feeling of oneness is much appreciated when you've been lacking it. This should not be called "infatuation," defined now as some sort of cheap thing as compared to "real love." Infatuation is good, but they are defining it as a short-term love or lust. Infatuation means you like something a great deal, and just because the pleasure of being part of it doesn't last doesn't make infatuation a bad thing. No pleasure can last. When the feeling disappears, it doesn't mean you don't love anymore the one you were infatuated with.
Infatuation should be the precursor to settling down in a nest together. But if we teach young women to leave the young man when they no longer feel infatuated, I fully expect such things from the people who educate us, whom have lost their senses by rejecting God. The thinking pattern of a world like this is expected to mutate into some unsightly things. There is such a thing as infatuation with one aspect of a person, and then finding that other parts of them are not so terrific. If you are attracted to a woman because she has a wonderful belly button, then, yes, this could be "cheap." On the other hand, you could call it a bonus if the rest of her (inners included) is to your liking, and you become one with her. Not only do you get to have her, but her great belly button too. But you can only enjoy the best belly button ever for so long. It's clear that the best marriages are based on other things.
If you are infatuated with a man's singing voice, it shouldn't be viewed as a cheap and temporary turn on, but a thing to be appreciated. But let's not downplay the belly button, which is the center field of sex. While you can only enjoy the belly button for so long at any one sitting, it can be enjoyed over and over again. Sex was meant to be an avenue to closeness, an expression of love. The longer you live life in a cold world without warmth, the better it feels to re-have closeness. You don't kiss a belly button just because you like it. You kiss it to make the other person feel warm and wanted. And you don't continue to kiss the belly button for ten minutes as though you had an obsession with it.
Young people are, well, young. They get hooked up when they are not experienced in relationships. Attraction between couples is not an accident. It's the way God made it, obviously. Sometimes I look at it as God's trick to get people married. One can study the different species to witness how God fooled them into pairing up. No one seems to mind being tricked in this way, however. A female peacock, seduced by the flashy tail, all's good. But talk about cheap and easy. If only every forsaken man could do the same with a flashy tie. The peacock syndrome exists with humans.
The stuff of a Christian is not to the liking of some. It's a very twisted situation. Why would people not want what's tried, tested and true? Christianity puts all factors of life on the table, and decides the best way to approach them. Homosexuality is not to be congratulated. Devout prostitutes are not to be tolerated. The killing of a living body in the womb is murder. Liberal sex without commitment to one another is pornication (my word), adding nothing to human character or potential, and distracting from the calling of life. Liberals ruin one another with pornication lifestyles, and, sometimes, Christians bump into these liberals unaware, when they pose as moralists / Christians. There is a vast grey area between black and white with the greatest entanglements. That's a bad word, unless you like to be covered in burrs reaching through your clothes and into your skin. You are much better off choosing the white from the start. Ask me, who didn't.
God wants humans to be one, but the black and white abiding together has made it impossible. It's the way we operate on a daily level that can form the causes of a failing oneness. Certainly, the black has rejected oneness with God in return for doing as they please, and they seem to like it that way. They are prepared to view themselves as the white, and seem eager to put on a moralistic face. Prostitution is moralized as the "oldest profession," justified for rendering a "service" to men in need. Homosexuals are now just as white as anyone else, and can even love one another. Like I said, twisted, and this faked morality spills over to every area of life. The devil's vices are given the classification of "human rights." It's the same as faked "human white." That's where the world went starting when I was a young teen. When my grandparents were young teens, the Rothschilds were generally at the helm of Europe, and infesting the United States. Illuminatism turned the human race into a "race" of apes in the 20th century. In this race, competition between individuals was the holy cow. Victor takes all. I can't see oneness in a competitive, dog-eat-dog race. Yet the globalists are throwing around their own oneness philosophy. What could that be? Are they thinking to abandon their old, Darwinian philosophy for a oneness spirit? Are we now under an equalization program directed from the big hubs of the world? Are we to become equally the spokes within their wheel? Not me.
And whose wheel will the big hubs abide by? Which of the many wheels will become the big wheel for the world to pattern itself after? Won't the wheels all be in conflict due to competition? Won't they rub one another? What sorts of accidents take place when wheels rub? Will the spokes of one wheel do battle with the spokes of another? What while happen to the hubs when spokes are knocked out by other spokes? It doesn't look like a winning situation. War cannot be avoided. Man is incapable of creating oneness for longer than it takes a man to grab a club.
Where is Miss Rae and Miss Bauer today? In their 50s. Where are they going? Where will they be in 2050? My heart goes out to them today. I remember them, so young and fresh, so spirited. Death now confronts them. The end of their visit to eternity is near. Eternity will go on, but they must leave it. Probably, they will leave it consciously. The Bible calls death a sting, and it doesn't need to tell us how harsh this sting is. We all have a proper understanding of death, unless the liberal world has redefined it for you. Everything liberals do is a twist from the truth. They have their way with words, stressing the bones but ignoring the flesh, or stressing the flesh and ignoring the bones. They never make a full picture; otherwise their arguments don't stand. It's only when flesh is attached to the bones that the argument can stand. A homosexual can love, and do things like all the rest, but this is just the bones about it. The flesh part is that it's wrong to insert your body part into an anus, and, vice versa, it's wrong to receive. For Christians, the mere thought is disgusting, but, for liberals whom have soaked their feet in the cesspools of sexual liberation, it's all quite fine.
There came a time when I heard women saying that they didn't want to be owned by men. Perhaps they were having bad experiences with domineering men. The question would then be, why did they get involved with such men? Or, where did such men come from? Was society going bad at the time so that these men arose?
The best way to change such men is to leave them before marriage. If you let them go as far as marriage, they will have the marriage contract as facilitation for practicing more domination. I think women are depriving themselves of the best relationships when they view ownership as the problem. Being owned by a "gentle" man is the best you could ever have. Such a man doesn't practice domination. Yet, as early as high-school, I saw ladies that I esteemed choosing anything but gentlemen, but rather choosing amongst the arrogant / ruffians. How did that happen? Did the ruffians have irresistible belly buttons? They never wore ties. Or did some of the ladies like them because they were dominant over their male peers? I suppose they were hoping to have the dominant types while being treated as an exception, without domination. But, they say, "you get what you pay for."
Suddenly, all men became brutes and pigs until proven innocent. Men feared they had to walk on egg shells or suffer sexual starvation, and God help us if ever we cracked a gender joke, or reminded women that men are stronger, more capable in certain areas. We are no longer to think that we are better than women in certain ways, even if God made us better. Does this mean we can't try as hard as we once did to do our best? Are we to become more wimpish to make women feel better about themselves? Are we to develop a more-feminine personality while they develop a more-male personality? I don't think I like this. I feel betrayed. Is the woman to abandon the things she excels in, as God made her?
The feminist is no longer holding me up as a man, but trying to cut me down to size. Is this the best way to the future? Will they not be content until I admit I'm a jerk? Sleeveless shirts for men became "wife-beater" shirts. Only women could wear sleeveless shirts, and any man caught wearing one was viewed as "sleazy." I love sleeveless shirts in summer. I love to feel the summer breeze on my shoulders and for several inches under my arms. Why am I being deprived? On the other hand, it's now okay for men to wear short, ankle-high socks with their running shoes, the type of socks women have worn for a long time. Is this is a good sign to the feminists, that men are becoming more like women? Are we to think we have shapely legs now? What next? The razor blade on our legs? Is this some sort of admission that women are more evolved than us toward evolutionary perfection? Should we start to discuss what fingernail colors look best on a man?
Human oneness doesn't mean we need all to be the same, nor equal, nor even compatible in a marriage. Oneness is teamwork, all having the same Coach, the same rules on the playing field of life, the same outlook and destinations. You could add a few more things to that. But with everything being turned upside down by many, the weeds are beginning to choke out the wheat. With weeds between the wheat stalks, how does the wheat achieve oneness arm-in-arm? When society has been stolen by the weeds, what Christian outlook will remain? The rules on the field are no longer those of God. We can no longer be one in the real world; we can be one only at church, and the liberals congratulate themselves for winning this war to this point. They have access to our children five days a week in the schools re-written with their rules, and they invade your children with satanic garbage in all the media too. I'm sure that God is saying to Self, "let's see how far the weeds are willing to go in pestering My people, for I have this cup of wrath here that isn't quite full. No sense pouring it out only half full."
If you're a male, be a male. Do it as best you can; never mind practicing your feminine side. Don't even listen to the chimes of women concerning your feminine side. If there is such a thing from your mother, fine, but don't practice it. Stay a male. There are things that women can do better than men, let's face it, like twirling a hula-hoop around their hips. Well, okay, I just cracked a gender joke, God help me. I'm sure there is something else that woman can do better than us. Let me think for a few hours. Know when I'm joking.
A gender war? You don't want to fight with a wayward woman anymore than you want a mad cat to rip your face open with all fours. There is only one solution. Be a man in all your splendor, even if it means getting rid of that pot-belly, and treat your woman like gold, as if she were your very own, prized possession. Just don't tell her that word, because modern woman freak when they hear it. Men all know how woman can twist the words of a man; no less that four-letter word, "possession."
The true man at his best is weak, so weak he needed a helper. And that was way before the feminist movement. What's he going to do now that his helper has become more the knife in the back? The only reason that God made woman weaker is so she couldn't beat him into the wall when he gets ugly. It was for human-survival purposes. He can't run a half mile without getting tired, letting out some stomach gas all the while, yet he wants to rule the universe. He's a conundrum. He's a god with stomach gas and bad breath. You should see him when he wakes up in the morning, not exactly radiating a beam of glory. Yet, give him a bathroom sink, some hair gel, and a coffee machine, and he thinks he's ready to change society for the better. Unless man repents and acknowledges God, even women will become the pricks under his feet. A war between the sexes is predictable for a wayward mankind. It's not going to be merely brother versus brother.
Christians, be careful, for if you take kindly / agreeably to the feminist movement, you can be lumped in with it when it comes to condemnation. Prefer a world where God is personally involved in making changes for the better. In order to have this become the reality, the government needs to urge the peoples to accept and appreciate God. Christians sent that message to the governments, and to all the peoples too, but they refused it. Liberals will assure that the feminist movement prevails. The only thing to check the movement is the innate need of woman for men. Deals are being struck for the sake of having relationships, but for me, I don't want deals. I don't like a marriage that is a deal between partners. I don't even want a partner; I want a possession. I want someone to possess me. Try saying it; it doesn't hurt.
Let's define a possession: 1) something you pay for and get to use for your pleasure any way you wish; you can throw it away at any time. Is that what God had in mind? We all know that's not true. Let's try another one: 2) someone you come to an agreement with under contractual obligations, with resulting ownership so long as the stipulations are met by both sides. It sounds fair enough, but it also sounds like doomed failure, because man is apt to loath a life based on written laws. Life loses the 3rd dimension, and gropes along on a flat game board when life is a set of rules. You can only play a board game for so long. Here's the one I like: 3) possession is concluded when someone willingly gives their person to another, trusting in his/her goodness, no preconditions or rules involved, but also when the receiving "party" gladly takes possession while reciprocating. Two bodies have melted into one another, hearts and all.
The last option works a lot better where society shuns feminists, and meanwhile promotes goodness in all of society, which means it needs to get rid of almost everything in Hollywood, jail Internet pornographers, send queers to mental wards until they admit they have a problem, and jeer men who see women as sex objects. People can't become good until they admit what's bad. So long as evil is left rampant in a "free world," people can't trust one another, even in marriage, and that means more marriages bound to fail. Evil works into the whole batch of dough, and rubs itself off on the good, making otherwise solid relationships more prone to cracks.
It's hard to disturb scoffers with talk on eternal punishment. The only people who benefit from Jesus' warnings are those who don't scoff anymore. The ungodly cannot operate liberally if they believe in punishment for ungodliness. That's why they reject God's existence. No God, no punishment, they come to believe. And without God in the picture, things we say are wrong become debatable.
A woman was made secondarily, wherefore it pleases God if she willingly takes a secondary role in this life, leaving the primary roles to men. It doesn't mean that women are sub-class or incapable. The woman doesn't need to take a negative view of this, as though she got the back-seat role. She got the front seat with the man. She doesn't need to prove that she can do things as well as men can. She doesn't need to impress men. She needs only to be mindful of her role as a helper, which includes giving advice to men. It is no small thing to be called as a helper, for even Christian men are called to be such. The greatest in the kingdom of God are the greatest helpers here on earth. Women can strive for that sort of greatness, and, in my opinion, she is man's equal, more or less, especially when this history is over, when there is no longer male and female. A feminist, on the other hand, is missing this boat.
The good woman with a bad man will torment her. She can't serve him fully because she'll be serving his evil. How does she become one with evil?
A man needs to control his family. It's the Biblical thing to do. But feminists accuse men of being controlling, and while some men are in negative ways, the accusation can give men the jitters about being controlling in any way. When we drive cars, we control them, or else. At times, wives need to be corrected and, yes, controlled. But women don't like to be controlled anymore. If a man tries it, women feel justified in repulsing it. The feminist effect is to make men no longer the drivers of the car. Don't be subjected to this feminist trick. Be the leader, and if your wife can't stomach it, let her leave you. It's better to be alone than to be with a contentious wife. A woman that demeans a housewife as "barefoot and pregnant" is a silly thing not yet humanized. She's regressing toward animalism. God will crown the happy housewife, and her home will actually be a home, a thing the feminist knows nothing about. A feminist who abhors being a housewife lives in a house, not a home.
But the definition of a leader needs to be properly understood. It needs to be understood from a Biblical / righteous perspective. It can get dangerous to have ungodly leaders. The feminist should not see men as the problems, but, rather, ungodly men. The ungodly man is the one who strikes his wife with his fist. The ungodly man is the one who drinks to drunkenness and demands to be obeyed. The ungodly man plays a god but without the power of God, and plants towers doomed to fall. The feminist, in being rejected by good men, is more prone to getting the evil man. The prediction is that the single feminist will act like something she's not, in an effort to bag a good man. Later, she materializes in mid-marriage.
As compared to trees, rocks and animals, men and women are, more or less, equal. But none of us is truly equal. The trapeze artist, a woman, is far superior to me in that regard. There are things some women can do superior to my abilities, even if I tried. I would want my woman to be as best she can be. If I tried to crash her esteem, cut her down to size with words to keep her from being better than me, I would be a pig. I would also lose out on having a better woman for the fear of losing her. Such fear may not be imaginary. The woman with capability sometimes seeks one worthy of herself. If that sounds arrogant on her part, it probably is. In the oneness God intended, the woman becomes an extension of the man. They are equal so long as the woman remains one with him, for what she has is his, and what he has is hers. They are individually not equal, but when meshed, they are the sum of their products and thus equals. They can use their abilities toward the same agenda, but God did not intend this to be a strict 50-50 partnership. In His wisdom, he chose a leader to minimize the natural contention that arises in a 50-50 deal. Some one has to have the final say in disagreements. The woman can always say, "I told you so," if the man chooses the wrong. Life will go on.
In a normal situation, the husband has his woman at heart. He's not supposed to set his agenda for all his wants and needs while forsaking her. The apostle Paul counseled men not to marry, but he had nothing bad to say about women. He thought it was better for a man to give to God undivided time. He said that a married man concerns himself on how to please his wife. Yes, believe it or not. A normal man doesn't lead making his wife his slave for his wants. Men are to be mature enough to share. As a leader, he doesn't merely sit on his throne calling the shots.
While doing some work in the home of an elderly Italian man, I actually witnessed him ordering his wife around for his own things. It's quite shocking. He's like the king, and she the servant. This is not the way to do things. A woman can be the spice of a marriage, but if you reduce her to a servant, you shoot yourself in the foot. You rob yourself. I counseled him in helping out with dinner (he was retired so what's the problem?) by telling how enjoyable it is, and he even ran a restaurant. I said that food tastes better when you make it yourself. Personally, I would never marry a woman just to have a helper. Companionship, that's better. Some people now-a-days are using "soul-mate." But turning on the love, now you're talking. Everyone loves love. Well, almost.
The table holds everything up, but no-one calls a table a control freak. The man is the table, and the woman adorns it. Perfect. The husband becomes a thing to which the woman contributes. Excellent concept, way to go, God. And he rubs off on her. But the man should never ask a woman to be his helper. This is a personal thing, between she and God. If she gives it, lucky for him; if she doesn't, he shouldn't demand it. If you want to ruin a marriage, demand from your wife that she serve you. Or better yet, tell her you'll be expecting this before you get married, and watch how fast she disappears. At one time, a woman would raise a daughter to be a housewife, and no one thought evil of this. There is nothing wrong with asking your girlfriend whether she would like to be a housewife. There is nothing wrong in discussing it. If she doesn't like the idea, you may have a problem later. You won't know how bad until you get there.
To adorn a husband is to add things to him, not to rob or detract from his potential. He's flesh and bones and therefore needs help. If the woman is out working too, then she needs help too. It doesn't sound like the best option to me, to have both spouses working. What happens to the man's helper in this picture?
Women are taking advantage, and growing table legs. That is where the foreseeable future is. Men will be seen pushing baby carriage's, changing diapers, and bottle feeding, more and more. In the meantime, the wife will grow into a table top. And the "wonderful" government will force everyone else to pay for her child-care expenses and baby-sitting services so that she can be back in the workplace as soon as possible after giving birth. The emphasis of these times is the working woman. This is the chief concern of womens' issues.
Which is better: 1) the average starter home costing $150,000 with one spouse working a job, or; 2) the average home costing $300,000 with both spouses needed in the workplace to pay the mortgage? So long as woman don't gripe about being forced to work, house prices will not be coming back down. How could women be so dull as not to realize that their working lives are a complete waste? They are working merely to pay for the higher price of things which working woman have caused. If only one person were working, prices would be forced back down. The woman would then have all day, everyday, to put her energies to something else, and meanwhile not to burden the man with taking care of half the housework. Part of the blame is on the husbands that want their wives to work, thinking that the extra income will be good. In the not-so-long-run, the extra income just causes inflation, cutting off any advantages. The only good news is that there is not a third spouse for to triple house prices.
I don't want to pass this part of the discussion without emphasizing the evil of the working woman. I put the blame for much of this on working women for not speaking out against it. Instead, they are vying to become shakers in the corporate world. This is your liberal troll, and even the liberal man is too confoundedly boneheaded to speak out. Why should this world force his wife to work in order for them to purchase a home? It's a complete waste of her time and energy for decades long. If the liberal man truly loves his wife, doesn't he want to see her spared of this? First of all, he's too stupid to realize that his wife is being taken advantage of, and secondly he's tonque-tied by the feminists in his own camp. Liberals think they have the monopoly on wisdom, and feminism is wisdom in their opinion.
Why doesn't the government explain to the people that if the majority of women work, the prices of their homes, food, entertainment, etc., etc., etc., etc., will nearly double, making them no better off than when only one spouse was at work? Because, the government makes more money when retail prices are higher, and when more people make income. It's a win-win for government and corporations to have women in the workforce. Therefore, women in the workforce, you are being sorely used. Your labor benefits your husband nothing; it benefits your household nothing; it increases the cost of housing and food for your children, whether they are married or not, and makes a lot of extra money for manufacturers, retailers, and governments all around. How will you now fix this disaster? On top of those things, you have put the housewife into deeper poverty. She needs to make-do with one income only. You won't find a lot of housewives in the larger homes in town. You'll find one-income families owning the smallest, if they managed to purchase a home at all.
The landlord business thrives on single-income families and divorce. Paying rent is throwing your money away. You will have nothing but more rent throughout the retirement. That is scary. I fault the governments for allowing house prices to go as high as they have. Shame. Great shame. And local governments love it that way because they charge property taxes based on the cost of houses. How can anyone believe that federal governments are there to help the people when they allow this situation in which a man's beloved wife is forced to be the slave of outsiders? Enter daft feminists, teaching women that working a job is far better than being a housewife. Screw your husband, and become a tool of the state instead. In the meantime, gladly make your children tools of the state. The state will decide how the world goes round. And the state is controlled by the fattest of fat cats. It's those stupids again, we never get away from them. They call the shots, and they usually go counter to God.
It is fair ball, in a democracy, for someone else to tell you who you should vote for. And that's what big media do, if you can believe it. I realize that it sounds like a conspiracy theory, but it's a fact that big media plays the largest role at election time. And they know they need to couch their election strategy as pure news, showing no favoritism. But there are ways to convey favoritism in efforts to have you abide by their wishes. And, moreover, to make democracy more of a sham yet, fat cats forward fat cats so that you have no choice but to vote for the interests of one fat-cat group or the other. No one in media or amongst the fat cats are trying to make leaders for the benefit of you, the common person or family. The media has got the masses so doped in stupidity that the peoples are starting to believe that high oil prices are good for a nation. At least, that's the message of the big media everywhere. I feel sorry for you, world. But I'm also shocked. Throw your televisions away, because those behind it have two purposes only, to make money while bombarding you with ads every seven minutes, and/or to control the societal mind. In the meantime, you waste away your nights, and a good part of weekends, in front of this "idiot box," hoping to find some satisfaction from it. Well, the world has changed. People are now going online to find the satisfaction / entertainment that television once served. At least the ads don't blare throughout your house, and the moving pictures can be blocked out. But everyone is recognizing this as an addiction. Is there any way to structure the evening without it?
Christians have been meeting mid-week in Bible studies. It's really a great thing. Everyone gets to talk and share ideas in a social setting. Nothing's perfect, but this is a sample of how people can enjoy evenings rather than receiving Internet or television garbage. Personally, aside from checking weather (I often need to for my solar-power system) and the world news, I surf practically nothing. The Internet has become a lot of garbage with little quality. It figures. Every once in a while, they stick a beautiful woman's picture in your face, and, frankly, a money machine like the Internet needs to concern itself on how best to make you addicted. Do they really love us if their job is to make us addicted? For whom are we being conditioned to participate on the Internet? What is the overall vision? Who decides it? Probably the devil.
Why can't there be a business Internet, and an information Internet? Why is it all meshed together? They could easily separate the two, if they really loved us. If they really valued your family, they would make porn illegal everywhere. Instead, the fat cats talk the courts into adopting porn. The excuse used is that no one is permitted to obstruct another person's freedom to produce and sell porn. So, the bored husband spends much of his time masturbating to porn, and less time with his wife. His children do the same, and I imagine some wives harboring that addiction too. The Western government doesn't seem to mind nations like this, arm-in-arm, and they want to make other nations to be just like them, operating on "freedom," when in reality everything is geared to making addictions and habits (lifestyles) that profit their organizations. How much do governments really love the people? Aren't we just their "consumers" for to make their world go round? I welcome the return of Jesus to overturn, to eradicate, to punish. It seems long overdue. One now needs to guess at how bad the circumstances must become before He calls it the end. Don't I have a right to despise the way things are? Don't I have a right to share my beliefs and urge others to do the same?
Freedom shall not be the god of the courts. The god of the courts shall be the health of society and its members. The best for a society takes precedence over the desires of a goon to run an porn business. But the highest judges of the land are too apish to hand a ruling down that puts the goon in his place. Whom are the judges aping? Whose will are they catering to? Certainly, we know that the highest judges do not choose cases on their own thinking, but rather cater to the will of others. Isn't there something drastically wrong with whom they cater to when they legalize abortion, pot, same-sex marriage, and all of the things known to be of the devil?
So, America leads in catering to the devil, how about that. The Iranians are correct. The Chinese communists, whom do not believe in God, are more righteous than America this past one generation. And this is the truth even though America is filled with churches on main intersections of every city and town. The rulers of America and its Illuminatist friends abroad have insidiously put the devil's wares in place over the entire West. But don't get overly depressed about this. Keep clear of it all, be a voice in speaking out against it, and just wait for its cruel end. If the Muslims had Jesus as their Prophet, they would know better than to fight this thing with human weapons. It's too big for that kind of fight. Expect America to be tricked by its foreign enemies, especially Russia, with God helping it along as His tool of "freedom of expression." Hurrah! And the best news is that the communists won't rule over us even after they have burned the West.
Try to imagine a Western leader, steeped in current Western philosophy, reading the paragraph above. How will he react to people speaking out in this way? If too many of us did, we would ruin their thing. They actually believe that the future world, to which they are now laying down the pavement, is the best the world ever had. Someone is going to start some persecution against us. And God is waiting for His people to speak out before he comes. God doesn't want to enter this stage with a Church abiding happily in a society dripping the putrid guts of the devil. How far gone does the Western world need to be before the pastors get together and apply a massive revolt in honor of their God? Are we afraid that God won't take up our case if we do? Make God's day, start a revolt.
But wait. Won't Christian persecution damage and threaten our wives, our children, our elderly? Yes, of course. We need to decide how God would have us tackle this situation. Anyone have any ideas on how he'd like it done? We already know that suicide bombers are not part of his options. The world can rest assured that, generally speaking, a church-led revolt won't use guns. All we have is words, therefore. And words need to be spoken where they will be heard. Words need to be planted in just the right soils so that God grows them into his backlashes. When we passionately speak out, God passionately gets involved. He is the one with the lethal weaponry against your enemies. Do you like the sound of this? Or would you rather lie down and allow the devil's tools to walk over your back, coward? The correct soil for to plant our words is in the hearing of the leaders. There may be coming a time when they do you great harm, but, until then, God will confound them. And you can win some glory for yourself.
Just a warning, that if you speak out on a regular basis, there is risk. Your decision should not be between you and my words, but between you and God. America's NSA spy tool is still seeking to have access to everyone emails and phone records. NSA is not going away. Here is my message to NSA: watch your back. Someone is spying on you. Tit for tat. You are as good as ruined. The only thing between now and your destruction is time. You have no right to my emails. You are a stench and a fiend, and everyone knows it. Right is right. You have no right to my emails.
Chances are, the terror attacks of late have been for the purpose of justifying the NSA's of the Western world. Note that the terror acts are always conducted by loners? Why should that be so? We were made to think that abounding sleeper cells are at work, and we expect sleeper cells to be in touch with one another, working together. Yet, none of these phantom cells has ever been caught, even with the NSA having access to emails and phone calls. If the faked terror events were to be blamed on the sleeper cell, the authorities would then need to produce some information about them, and, as this gets risky and complicated, the fakers are prone to creating a story in which someone acts alone. Don't be gullible.
Never mind fighting for the glory of your nation, America; your reward will be zilch even if you die for it. Can you imagine the wrath of the American military if churches across America started speaking like this? Is it not apparent that the military now is a tool of the Western future? The military is only what its leaders are, appointed by globalist presidents. Obama has had eight years to change the military leadership as he sees fit. How can that be a good thing? Will Hillary make it better? Hasn't she proven to be corrupt? What about the Trump lunatic? No one knows what he's really all about. He speaks only as he thinks will best get him elected. He pretends to have answers for everything, but, as president, he will be as human as all the rest. If per chance there is a Republican dictatorship in the next four-year term, the military situation in the Middle East could change. There are some reasons to expect a Trump partnership with Putin.
The honest presidential candidate, when asked what he would do for America, would respond by saying something like: "it depends on what the House allows me to do. Here's what I would like to see, and here are the reasons." On immigration, the good man would say something like this: "I feel for the poverty of Mexicans, and I understand why they would like to be American citizens. But the workers of this country are citizens with rights to the workforce that Mexican illegals do not possess. There is a right way and a wrong way to enter the workforce of this country. There are issues as concerns what sort of peoples want in. They need to be screened, and there is in place a legal mechanism for making Mexican citizens of this country. If they have been operating illegally, and have had children here with Americans, and if we allow them to become legal on that basis, Mexicans by the millions will be encouraged to enter illegally, and they will become predators seeking spouses, wanting the same treatment. If we force illegals back to Mexico, it will be hard on them, but, for the sake of controlling the border and minimizing future pain, the best option is to direct pain on those who entered illegally in the first place. Besides, granting citizenship to illegals is desired by Democrats only for to get their votes, and this is corruption at the highest levels of this country that must not be permitted."
You would get the votes of Independants with an attitude like this. You are reasonable, human, lawful, and compassionate all at once. By "human," the candidate conveys that the problem is a difficult one, not something that can be solved fast-and-easy with a magic Trump wand. Or the Trump wall. It will take years to successfully send the message that illegals are aggressively being sent back to Mexico...with a warning of jail time if they come back.
Imagine the lack of shame that Democrats have to argue on behalf of legalizing illegals just to get their votes. And the illegals, shame, would vote for them just to get more illegals into the country. This outrage is at the leadership level of the "democratic" party that now operates the White House. They thus expose the sham of their own democracy by being willing to take Mexican votes that counter / offset American votes, and this from people whom committed the crime of entering illegally. Democrats never do anything good because they are rotten to the bone. With Republicans, there is at least some chance of goodness / normality, but this has been proving illusive.
Here is an article that looks to me like the Australians and Americans together creating a faked scenario:
An Australian citizen believed to be a top recruiter for the Islamic State has been killed in a U.S. airstrike in Iraq, disrupting the militant group's ability to lure new fighters, the Australian government said on Thursday.
Attorney-General George Brandis said the United States had advised him that Prakash, who was linked to several Australia-based attack plans and calls for lone-wolf attacks against the United States, was killed in an airstrike in Mosul on April 29.
This is incredible. Why should we believe that such a person exists? Just because the U.S. military says so? And look at how it appears that the United States is trying to justify lone-wolf attacks inside its country, by claiming that their phantom ISIS recruiter called for such. Where are all those sleeper cells, America? Why would a lone wolf remain a lone wolf if the entire country is crawling with terrorist wanna-bees? I charge the United States with faking terror acts, and murdering people in the name of creating an ISIS demon that is, more or less, impotent. The article says: "Prakash, who is believed to have relocated to Syria in 2014, joined two other Australian Islamic State fighters on the United Nations sanctions list, Mohamed Elomar and Khaled Sharrouf, who appeared in images last year holding the severed heads of Syrian soldiers." Pictures like that are exactly what I expect of faked Western wizardry. Anyone can fake such a photo these days, and it's in the interests of the American spies to do this. There is a rotten smell to all of this. There has been, ever since Bush, more involved than intrusions into the Middle East. They are trying to justify the wholesale collection of all correspondence over telephone lines. Their desperation to do this signals that something insidious upon the American peoples is afoot.
I don't mind admitting some of the lousy sins of my life. Miss Simson was a bad miscalculation on my part. It was out of character for me to be with another man's girl. I gave her VD after contacting another woman shortly before. I did the right thing by notifying Miss Simson, but she then needed to tell her boyfriend. Miss Simson slept over at the place where I became a Christian. Miss Thomson did the same, for one night only, at the same place. This is incredible; it was roughly five years after dating them both at school. I was a new Christian when Thomson slept over, but we didn't engage in intercourse.
I'm going to tell you something disgusting. It was shortly before God performed the miracle at Mr. Quinn's apartment (see "Farrah Faucet" in the last update for that story). He was newly married. He took this other woman into the spare bedroom, and abused her, with his wife and the rest of the people outside the door. He came out, got a hold of me, took me into the room, and instructed me to take the blame for what he had done, and left. Her pants were down, her top was above her breasts, and she was passed out drunk. This was a shocking, satanic situation. An insatiable beast had been in that room.
I had cozied up to her at one of Quinn's parties in Gormville. Later, after the Quinn beast nailed her in that room, I happened to get involved with her, and moved into her apartment. I don't even recall her name. It was pure sin, but, thankfully, I had a lot more class than the Quinn beast. She is the one from whom I got the VD. I wonder whether it was his. I became a Christian immediately after this lowly point in my life, and it took some time for me to change, but the Word of God did it. I read it and read it and read it. And I wept for my sinfulness, and for forsaking Him all those years. And I was glad to be accepted by Him, my new Father. There is probably such a thing as being forgiven while needing to take punishment for sin, whatever it may be.
The more that young people grew with drugs around them, the more satanic the events that took place. The dope scene attracted "easy" (or willing) women. Or, better yet, the dope scene CREATED easy women from respectable ones, because the men and the spirits that surrounded them made them that way. Let me be clear: I was not deeply fornicating. I was, however, healthy with testosterone, and moving in that direction, affected in steps by all around me. My high-school life, and up to age 22, was one lady after the other (I haven't mentioned half of them in recent updates). I got the nickname, Casanova, from some peers. None of the interested ladies said I had a nice face; it was always my "beautiful eyes." My neighbor, a female teen, when I was about nine years old, said, "I wish I had your eyes." That's the first I learned of it. Later, the knowing of my extra-long eyelashes caused me to hate their commenting on my "beautiful eyes." Isn't there anything else you like about me??? What man wants eyes like a woman with fake eyelashes? But when I became a Christian, my landlady said to me, "You have scary eyes; you look like one of the apostles." ???
Okay, the point was, I was a lady's gentleman hanging out with lusty dragons. Why? Why did I subject myself to devolving in this way toward cruder things? Because, satanic spirits got hold of me. With God over-looking my life, yet the demons were getting in their clips. Life is a real battleground between these forces. The devils aren't happy standing on a shoulder whispering in your ear; they want inside of you, where the cockpit exists with all the buttons for flying your life. They want to abide there secretly, without you realizing. They will give you fantasies to chase. Jesus is the Cockpit Cleaner, and replaces fantasies with a chasing after truth. He shows the way toward receiving rewards from God so that you might be honored and honorable in the end, with no secret thing to be ashamed of. But throughout it all, the darkness will try to get in its clips from your flesh.
The only friend I can recall that was at Miss VD's apartment with me was Barry, who would soon receive a punch in the mouth (from "Farrah Faucet") for supporting my new-found faith. He had been part of a rock band as a teen. He said to me one night, in front of the gang, "You look like a rock star." He was meaning, "boy if you could just sing."
At my conversion, or days before it, I found myself in a most-depressing room, sharing a furnished small basement with two others, sharing kitchen and bath with them. I had sole turf only in this little room, and it had a mirror sitting on the edge of the desk. Whenever I sat there, I had to look at myself. So one day, I drew a portrait of myself and hung it on the wall. I was unhappy with my looks. One night, while not on drugs, I started to see the faces of other people superimposed upon my self-made portrait. I was never hallucinatory, but this was like an hallucination. After six or seven faces, which I don't recall the features of, there was me, just my head, in profile. I had nice, longish hair, and my face was whiter, cleaner, healthier, and I said, "that's who I want to be." And I looked like a singer. That's the impression I was given. After this face passed, and for about five seconds (too long for a true hallucination), there was Jesus looking me in the eye. I couldn't believe it. I gave my head a shake, and he was still there, inside my own portrait. He had a robe, but it wasn't bright white; it was earthly. He had long hair, and a thinnish face (not real skinny), with pure eyes.
I don't necessarily think that this was the real Jesus, or the way he truly looked on earth. I can understand that God, in giving us a vision, will make it intelligible to us. If it was the real Jesus, I may not have recognized that it was him. But if the vision portrayed him in the standard ways that we know him to look like, then we know what the vision concerns Jesus. There was a multi-poled message in this vision: 1) hello, I'm real; 2) hello, remember me? I'm still here in your life; 3) you're going to change, and you're going to sing. The vision took place probably mere weeks after I tried to purchase a hooker.
About five months after my conversion, I met Kelly. We saw each other for a month or two. Her father was a song writer. They would let me sleep the night with her in their own home, but, believe it or not, there was no intercourse between us, ever. I was changing. One day, I took the Bible in my hands, while at her place, and I said to God, if you want me to be a singer, I'm going to open this Bible up, and put my finger wherever it lands, and you can tell me yes or no (those were not my very words, because I didn't speak anything out loud). My finger landed on a phrase, "You shall have a song." I remember those words, I will never forget. But do you know what's funny? I had never checked the Bible to see where the phrase was located. I did it just now, for the first time, and it's in Isaiah 30:29, those very words: "You shall have a song as in the night when a holy feast is kept, and gladness of heart, as when one sets out to the sound of the flute to go to the mountain of the Lord..." You see, I remembered those over almost 40 years. The rest of the verse doesn't need to apply. What matters here, and it brings me to tears, is that God did give me that vision with me looking like a singer. He didn't say I was going to be in a musical group, however.
I couldn't sing worth beans. In church, I made sure the person beside me couldn't hear. This went on for years, into my marriage. But around 1992, I started to sing in my car like one determined to fulfill that vision. And I scared all the angels away trying to hit the notes loudly. It was awful, truly. But as I progressed, my vocal chords started to hold notes...and I taught myself to sing. About ten years later, I recorded a CD of ten random songs, and while I wasn't very happy with it, there were some promising spots. I was singing normally in church, not worried about being heard. And at my son's wedding, I let out a verse, without instruments, during my speech. I never would have believed to attempt singing, all by myself, in a crowded hall, with a mic and speaker system. But I did it with gusto. There are times when I can sing just as well, or even better sometimes, than the professionals that I sing along with. My voice is not of the type to become popular, but, the point is, the vision came true.
I didn't make a habit of finger-pointing into the Bible. You can try it, but it won't work often. God can't make that happen, or everyone would be doing it daily.
Soon before my conversion, in the tiny, depressing room, one of my fellow tenants brought me to a bar in a large, famous/infamous hotel downtown in the city, and gave me my first hit of cocaine. It was light. While high, I saw a beautiful woman standing near the main stairs, and I thought she was a hooker, for this hotel was expected to have a few. I had never before purchased a hooker, but she was so irresistible. I can't recall what I said, but she turned me down. A little later, while going to the washroom, I crossed her path in that area, and asked her, to the effect, "why not"? And I remember her words: "It's your personality." Huh? These words kept bouncing off the walls of my brain, reverberating. Looking back, the refusal can be comical for two reasons: 1) because a hooker was rejecting me due solely to my personality; 2) because she probably wasn't a hooker.
I was high on a drug. What proof did I have that she was a hooker? There are lovely ladies, but this one rose to the level of stunning. I must have approached a beautiful woman, accustomed to being treated very handsomely by other men, and I asked her for sex as the first words out of my mouth. Someone slap me out, but this was comical.
Are you shocked at what I was like? It wasn't half as bad as others. I was normal, for a worldly young man. I had testosterone, God's gift to women, and was driven to them if I saw what I liked. For young men, testosterone is probably more of a curse than a gift. It's what God had to give us in order that we might want to be with the other half of humanity. After a man is satisfied, his desire vanishes. If the woman were to ask him five minutes afterward to do it again, he'd need to fake it. He'd be far more interested in sleeping. Number one, the ejaculation takes a lot of energy from him. Number two, he feels bliss (if the woman makes it such) and wants to be motionless in a sleepy-blissful state. At least I do, and I think this is normal. If your man wants to sleep in bliss, chalk it up to yourself. You did a good job. If he wants to do it again soon after, he probably wasn't satisfied the first time.
If the woman says, please do it again, after he's been more than satisfied, he might think something like, what for? Why would he want to enter someone's body. Yuck. Why would he want to kiss her breasts? That's for babies, isn't it? They're just breasts, hips and necks, come on, get over it. And there's nothing at her lips but spit and germs. But give him time for the testosterone to start acting up again, and suddenly he goes mad to be with a woman, and he crushes his lips on hers, and does things he would not normally do. Like I said, God's gift to women, don't knock it.
The world needs proper sex education. Number one, this was not the devil's invention. Number two, God is no prude; he would have made sex even better if he knew men would not rape women for it, as it is, and as it's always been. He decided on some balance, very rewarding and useful for couples, verses not too great of an experience so that men would not normally kill one another over a woman.
Pornography is agonizing for young men with overflowing testosterone. And pornographers, who should be shot and deprived of life, know it. Men masturbate when viewing porn. But between those times of satisfying themselves, an addiction forms, and he'll want to have a woman far more than would be the case if there were no porn. In normal life of generations past, men would rarely see woman's body parts seductively postured, and for that reason, men did not have one-track minds. Actually, it has nothing to do with minds; he comes to need his fix. Porn causes fantasies. The Greeks had porn in their many statues and nude art, but never was porn offered as it is so disgustingly today. Pornographers should be shot. I'm dead serious. I'm not saying that you should shoot one today; I'm saying that the government should execute them legally. Or, let them cease from providing it.
The secret for a woman's happy sex life is to make the man feel wanted, appreciated, valued, and esteemed. Perhaps women instinctively know this. Perhaps it was the natural, God-given feminine trait to respect her man. A man performs far better when the woman communicates that she loves him, desires him, wants him. And this is where feminists, whose task it is to devalue men, even their own men, are robbing themselves. Good for you, you deserve it. A woman that makes her man feel like a man is the "lucky" one. And this works both ways. But how do men try to make women feel like women if women are out to be more like men?
God made woman to be angelica. It would serve His interests if the woman would facilitate some good values in the man. But if woman herself becomes corrupt, so much for angelica. And women will reap men devolving into beasts instead, because women are missing their calling. Which would you rather be before a man, flint-faced, or melted in love?
Today, women are hot to trot. They are everywhere, making by far more male victims then men ever made of women. Women can pick up men far more easily than vice versa because more than half the women don't want to be picked up for a one-night stand. On the other hand, more than half the men will go for it at the crack of even a small or potential hint. Never mind wasting your money on nail polish; it does nothing to interest a man. But God gave woman the lethal weapon, the feminine smile (providing she has teeth, that is). A woman out for sex knows to make the man feel like he's on top of the world. She'll make him believe she loves him instantly, because she knows she'll get passionate sex that way. When she's ready to move on, the poor sap, dumped like the trash. Suddenly, he's a nobody. This the new woman. The feminists who complained about rotten men have become just like them. And that's because they could only get the rotten men, and they learned their wares.
One night, I said to Barry, let's go to a certain city, six hours away, and we left on the spot. It was near night. My car didn't make it. It ran out of water, and seized the engine. We were near the destination, and so we towed it in. We went to a bar, and I was surprised to get two single ladies to sit with us almost as soon as we got in there. Barry probably thought it was a miracle because one of them was very lovely. Barry and I were now competitors. Keep in mind that this was near my conversion. First, did God blow my car? This was an expensive evening for me, but the car problem could wait until the next day. Tonight, a lovely lady was sitting with us. She was probably in her mid-20s, I was 21, and Barry about 25. It's possible that she had her eye on Barry from the start.
Well we took the ladies back to our hotel room, but can remember only two things while there. I can't remember anything at the bar except walking over, asking them to sit with us, and I also remember that we started talking. I don't remember whether I received signals from her that she wanted me over Barry, or vice versa. I don't know which of us asked them to come back to our room. The first thing I remember, she was in the shower with curtain drawn, and I was fully dressed in the bathroom pulling the shower curtain open a little, having a full scenic view of the lovely mountains and valleys. She didn't seem to mind, but I couldn't judge her body language. Her hands went up a little, in surprise, but she maintained a smile. There was no horror or distinct displeasure. I don't know how I got into the bathroom in the first place. I can't imagine just storming in uninvited. Unfortunately, she didn't ask me to come in. I needed a green light I could be sure of. I wasn't a pig. I respect the woman's will. I don't remember anything after seeing her in there. I don't remember leaving or drawing the curtain back. This was me a few months, or even weeks, before the conversion.
The next thing I remember was being in one of the two beds with the other lady, and not wanting to touch her while she tried to coax me. She was unattractive for me. The next thing I recall was related, that while we were in this bed, there was enough light in the dark to make out where Barry and Miss Lovely were at. Barry was "humping" her, if you'll forgive the street language, very accurate as it is. Neither of them were making sounds. I think she was disappointed. I don't recall what we all did in the morning; I don't remember Barry telling her goodbye. I do remember getting the car, a tow truck, and the dismal trip home.
The point is, the things I remember underscore how I was "burnt" to a crisp that night. Play with fire, and, if God loves you, you will be sorely burnt. And guess what? I never asked Barry again to go to a city far-off with me.
When it comes to women in these situations, your best friend is no longer. But I didn't hold it against him. It was my idea to go to this city, it was my car that blew, at my expense; it was my gas; it was me who got the ladies in the first place, therefore Barry was obliged to give me the attractive one, right? Yes, but, uh, er, not in this game.
There is an opportunity here to learn something. What did Barry gain that night? No one knows more than I, because I saw her full form, and it was very very nice. For the moment, Barry found pleasure, and there may have been ten minutes of foreplay, I wouldn't know. But what was there the morning after? Nothing. Just the memory. And the memory only worked to make poor Barry (single man) want it again, over and over again, like an addiction.
More than a year later, Barry's mother asked me to paint her place, and do some patio work. I recall lamenting the loss of Diane (third girlfriend after my conversion, immediately after Kelly) while doing this paint job. I was sore with my Father when losing her. She wasn't a believer, but why couldn't he make her one? I had to learn that God can't be making decisions for people, or life wouldn't be life. If she decided to leave me, God can't just change her mind, can he? Not always, or life wouldn't be life. But wait. Soon after she left me, with the new engine in the car (67 Firebird, Corvette blue), she climbed in. She had called to say that she wanted to see me. And she was dolled up, ready for a relationship. And what did I do? Aside from rejecting her, I can't remember. I probably drove her home, and said goodbye. I'll finish this part of the story later, but here's a clue: we didn't have any intercourse over the two months that we were together, because I had become a Christian. See the change? It's not because I didn't want sex. She was lovely. This story is not about revealing my sex life, or the details thereof. It's about my battle against the "old man". There were both victories and losses.
Shortly after, the Barry gang rented some cottages at a large beach. And as we walked along the beach, I saw this lady sitting alone on the sand, Catching site of her loveliness, I asked if she would like to join us. She got up, unbelievably enough, and came along with five or six guys. Later, when we got back to the cottages, she said she wasn't feeling well, or maybe she was acting. I escorted her in to lie down because I felt I had priority with her over the other guys. And they remained outside the closed door. I was sitting on the side of the bed, talking with her. She didn't look sick as she lay there. I don't recall what happened after that, but do remember making no move on her. I don't remember when she got up to leave, or where we all went afterward; it was daylight out at the time. The only thing I can recall is that she left with another guy that night, and that I felt burnt to a crisp again. The only things I can remember are the things in relation to how I got burnt. Play with fire, and, if God loves you, you will feel the toasting experience.
The reason that nothing happened in that room is that I was changing. We were not compatible because I wasn't fully on her turf anymore. I was not my old self fully. I wasn't pulling the shower curtain anymore. I was now seeking serious relationships. Perhaps she was insulted when I made no move on her. After all, she did come in, and did lie down on my bed, without showing hesitation. I think, for the world's sake, if nothing else, I had become a better person.
Diane's father was opposed to me, and he tried to force her to leave me. They had someone else chosen for her. One day, she said she couldn't talk with me anymore because her father didn't want it. So I stomped up her front stairs (I'm exaggerating), and wrapped hard on her door (no exaggeration). Her father was home and came to the door. But she was home too, and my sternness with angry undertones let her know how much I wanted her. Soon after, she decided to leave home, and came home with me. I was living at my parents at the time (it helped me to get the new engine), meaning she couldn't stay. But, the fact is, she went as far as forsaking her parents to be with me. And in appreciation, we started to make love that night, and being in contact for penetration, she was completely ready. I barely started to enter, but then pulled out. Just think of her.
I probably insulted her. On the other hand, I was hoping that God appreciated it. She probably started to look for someone else after that. God was "killing" me, wasn't he? I could feel her drifting away, and it ended. If I had allowed us to share some solid love-making, probably, it would have brought her closer. But if I truly wanted her to be closer, that night I would have completed what we started. Why the hesitation? Probably for the same reason that I rejected her, after I was over her, when she came back.
Somewhere between losing Diane and her coming back to me, Miss Peare offered herself to me...after Kepke refused to marry her. Miss Peare never was my girlfriend / date for more than about two weeks, years earlier. On this surprising occasion, we went back to her apartment, and she slipped a photo to me of herself in a two-piece bathing suit, and she was lovely. I don't know what comes to your mind with "lovely," as this is in the eye of the beholder, they say. She was 17 or so when we were first together, with a perfect figure, but by 21, she was voluptuous. How can I explain this without sounding boastful? Let's put it this way: 38, 24, 36, appropriate centerfold material, no facial unsightliness, beautiful green eyes, attractive all around, great legs, great dresser, sexy and foxy, fun to be with, a dancer, and probably the faithful type.
I don't remember how we got together when I was a Christian. I don't remember thinking of her, and wanting to be with her again; it was in my past, and so I think she called me. Midway in her relationship with Kepke, while we were alone in the elevator, she threw herself at me, suddenly, without warning, and blurted, "it was you I really wanted." She was hoping that I was hoping to have her someday. Instead, in this regard, I was harboring some resentment. But it was harbored, not active. It may or may not have shown on my surface. I turned her offer down in silence, without explanation. And we got out of the elevator.
During the time when we were dating for a couple of weeks, before Kepke had her, we were in my room, hugging and kissing. Things were getting good. A jealous Kepke yelled from the living room, while sitting with Louise, "He doesn't love her; he just wants to use her." Those were at least nearly his words. So there she was in my arms, and she asked me whether this was true. I recall her saying, "Prove it." Prove that you love me. This was just seconds after Kepke made the accusation, which wasn't true; he was making this up, and breaking the unwritten rules of competition for a woman. He was lying about my motives. That's dirty, and he was doing this in my hearing. He was acting the child.
And here she was, challenging me to prove that I loved her, after only two weeks roughly of going out with her. I was a little dumb-struck. And she didn't give me any time to respond, because, after two seconds (or less) of not proving it, she decided to leave the room for the living room. I walked out, slammed the front window shut, breaking the glass, and let it rest at that. Larry should have been very happy that I let it rest. There was reason: her attitude. She was showing that she had feelings for Kepke, and so I allowed her to decide which of us she wanted. He laid her in my bed soon after, and probably broke her virginity. Like I said, your best friend is no longer, when it comes to a woman.
So, years later, I as a Christian was at her apartment, and, probably, if she didn't show me the photo of herself in a bathing suit, I might have been willing to engage her more seriously. This was cheap, in my opinion, and it didn't look good on her. But it sent me the clear green light, and I think it's what she intended. That night, I was Superman with super-human strength...making the sacrifice of my life, sleeping alone on her couch. This I did for God. I knew he wanted this. And I wanted her so bad. The next morning, she attended church for me, and didn't show resentment for not sleeping with her.
I didn't want a woman pretending to be a Christian for me. A little later, we were in a bar together, where I used to go when she was with Kepke. It must have been her idea to go there. And as we sat, with old memories coming back, a male friend of hers, whom I knew, came to sit beside her, and asked her to dance. We had been there only five minutes or so. She was irresistible and free now, but this guy didn't even blush breaking in on me like that. And he looked her intently into the eyes. She should have said, "no thanks." While she was dancing, I decided to leave through the door. She came running after me, however, and got into the car. I drove her home, and never saw her again. Goodbye, dear Chris, I hope you had a good life. I'm sorry for what Kepke did to you. I hope I didn't hurt you too.
Did I make a mistake? It was just a dance, wasn't it? So what if she previously had something going with this other guy? It was me she came running after, leaving him alone on the dance floor. But this was the problem, the bar, and I wasn't willing to be with another woman wondering whether she would take to my Christian commitment. Yet, that's exactly what I did again, soon after.
A couple of months later, there was this young lady, Mamie. She had slow-danced with me at her summer party, afterwhich (same night) I dropped into my girlfriend's house, the Jehovah's Witness. I liked her much, but was lamenting that she was a JW; it was a real problem for me. She was gorgeous. I had never seen anyone with such beautiful feet, yet I can't remember her name, probably because her religion kept me from getting too close too fast. She was the best first-kiss ever. This kiss "sent me." From head to toe, this angel was magnificent. We never had sex, not because I didn't want to. Like the others, she represented a test for me, whether or not I would abandon God for her. This is why I'm telling you how attractive she was. When you become a Christian, you don't wait for testing to arrive; all of life becomes instantly a test.
I was not Mr. To-Die-For, that's for sure, but my first-impression finesse (maybe the wrong word) was working for me. Good-looking ladies become perplexed because most guys are afraid to approach them. I would classify myself as "not bad," and confident / spontaneous if I saw what I liked. A certain kind of woman turned my rudders, changing my attitude into something that worked for interesting them. The higher the interest they see in a guy, the more they like it. However, once out of school, the world at large has some barriers to contend with. I didn't have a steady line of work at the time, just floating from job to job, which is a factor in how deeply some women will become committed. I could interest them, but the long-haul picture required more. Back in school, I wore all the going styles, and kept up-to-date. As a Christian, this didn't matter.
I recall Miss JW sitting on the grass one evening, not very happy to be with me. It made me unhappy. It was indicative. She didn't discuss the reason. It could have been because I wasn't a JW. It could have been someone else. If I wanted to brag about her, I wouldn't have told you I couldn't recall her name, or that she was on the verge of leaving me. I wouldn't have called her a babe if she had been close to me. Did God save us? Did he intend on changing her for me? It would have been my choice. She had white pants on when she was sitting on the grass.
Miss JW was the fifth steady girlfriend in my Christian life of little more than two years. The fourth was for six months, but God indicated with an "earthquake," that only I could feel, that something was very wrong. Number four was met in a Christian group. I had lived the winter in her parents' place. Her parents were not Christians. Near the end of winter, she had gone out with her brother's friends to a bar, and it bothered me because I could see the axe rising for to come back down on my neck. So I arrived to the bar on my own, concerned that she would go without me in the first place, and while entering, and looking into it, this tremor of the bar took place, for a few seconds. It was not happening to the bar. It was a shaking that God was creating somehow in my being that made the bar look like it was shaking. It was an act of God. I found her there, and sat with her, and she had her top open wide as advertisement. Later in the night, I took out a room in the hotel above the bar, and we slept together, with her brother in the bed next to us. It didn't stop her from doing what she did, even though he was four feet away. He was facing us with eyes closed, probably pretending to sleep. She was very hot and in need. I hadn't been delivering enough of it. It ended soon after, all wrong, and I think the shaking was His indication that He was not proud of me over this. We did have sex a few times, but I was hesitant / unwilling to marry her, I'm not sure which. She wasn't a Christian, but was willing to play along as one. I sinned. Period.
After a period of some deep pain that God seemingly prepared for me, I got some bounce. I felt this pain without remedy always at the front of my conscience, for what seemed like months. I'm sure that God was dealing with me over my bad performance with number four. And that's probably why I stayed away from sex with Mamie and Miss JW. You see, God loved me, and he dealt with me.
Here are the first words spoken to Miss JW. As I turned the corner walking along the sidewalk, there she was walking toward me. I had not seen her before. As she walked by, I felt comfortable saying, "I'm going to marry you." I didn't care if she thought I was crazy, I enjoyed the moment. And she continued walking on, and I continued walking on. On another day, while riding my bicycle around the same area, there she was standing at the bus stop. Riding over, I asked her out, and she agreed. I really didn't think she'd stay with me for long, because she was "hot." As it turned out, she was a church goer.
God was probably running out of ways to burn me by now, for repeated insistence on hustling off the town babes. I'm joking, don't get me wrong, he had more ways. On the night when dancing with Mamie, Miss JW had been entertaining her friend, which is why I went to the party instead, with the Barry gang. There was no dance floor set apart; we just danced in the living room without anyone else dancing, and with everyone standing or sitting around, which made it a bit of special thing as compared to a dance-floor situation. But I had to leave, get over to Miss JW's place. If I didn't care about her, I would have stayed with Mamie. So I sacrificed Mamie for Miss JW. I did the right thing. Didn't I?
When getting there, JW was gone, but her friend was there. She said that JW was out for a walk with her husband. When they returned, she was with white pants, with a big grass stain on one side of her butt. Well, you know, you don't get a grass stain on one side of one butt by simply sitting on grass. And you don't put on a pair of white pants while entertaining guests, if it has a big grass strain on the butt. You need to rub the pants on grass. So, I pointed at her pants, and said, aha! It was a quick end to our relationship. I had made the "mistake" of accusing her in front of her friends, but was it really a mistake? Did I want to marry an adulteress? Goodbye beautiful feet.
Did I do the right thing? If all I wanted was sex, I would have ignored her grass stain, and created or waited for my own opportunities. I did the right thing, but in the days to follow, I called her, seeking forgiveness. It was not to be, yet you can see my weakness in this. I needed someone. I wanted someone.
Soon after (same summer), the Barry gang went camping. They asked me to go along, but by this time I thought it was best to break off with non-Christian friends. But Barry said that Mamie was going, and that she wanted me to come along. It worked. I went. However, when arriving, there was Barry in the back of a truck's cab, with Mamie beside him. But at the campfire that evening, she started leaning against me before proceeding to sitting on my lap. She made me king of the gang. I now had the girl five minutes away, and Barry had (in the past) the girl six hours away, and he even partook in giving me this girl. And Mamie's mountains and valleys were just as good. There was nothing unsightly about her; she had a nice face, and just a great-looking girl almost 20.
That night, I slept in her sleeping bag. Yes, with her. I wanted to hold her, but she wouldn't let me. She jerked every time I tried. I was trying to get a nice cozy position, but had to make do with an arm over her waist, with her back toward me, and that's how we went to sleep. You had to be respectful with her. The next morning, we waded in the lake more than waste deep, and hugging, doing a little slow dance in the water, you've seen this before. That evening at her place, she's in her bathing suit again, but I had not caught glimpse of her thighs until now. I had never seen more beautiful thighs. If I was the type, she would have been laid that night. She apparently wanted it.
Well, I soon gave her a Bible. It's not very conducive to exploiting her body. I don't know too many hustlers that operate this way. I even brought her to a church event. And guess what. Mamie didn't leave me as soon as I got religious on her. But she went out west for some engagement, and upon getting back, she said she left the Bible there, under the bed. This apparent excuse was a bad sign. Did she really fall out of heaven for me, into my lap? Should I have jumped into the toaster and just fried myself before God's next visitation found me with her?
I didn't bring her to intercourse. She had asked me what sort of sex a Christian is allowed to have, worried that the missionary position would be all she got, if we were to get married. I don't recall how or why we parted, but I have a feeling it's because I wasn't making love to her. God didn't need to do anything to split us up, I was doing a fine job myself.
In the following several months, I was very alone. I needed somebody. I recall inviting a lady to my apartment. I never would have married her. She just sat on the bed and waited. And I just couldn't do it. I just didn't want to sin. It wasn't worth it. You see the sexual tug of war, and you know all about it, single Christian.
Since it's confession time, and as this is about my spiritual battle, I'm going to add something I had decided to skip, because it was my lowest time, and, there may have been a Sign involved that Miss JW was chosen as my wife, but that due to my choices in life, God took her away from me. I believe that things like that do happen. I had been involved sexually but briefly, in pre-Christian days, with a woman in the country, and in the meantime, her female friend was with my male friend. Just days or weeks after the relationship with Mamie was over, this old girlfriend invited my male friend and his wife to come visit her, and somehow I became invited. My Firebird, which God may have toasted in earlier days due to other sin, had gone to the scrap yard by this time, which is why we took a bus. It also explains why I was riding a bicycle when first asking JW out. It had been on my birthday, I kid you not, when riding up to her, and this was the girl to whom I blurted, "I'm going to marry you." And so I began to think that God was gifting me with this lovely angel.
The bus ride was into the city to a bus stop, where a hundred people could have been at any one time, where the subways began. As we three stepped off the bus, there was JW looking me straight in the eye, in front of me, the first person in line to enter the bus. I couldn't believe it. I was about to open my mouth to say something, but she was still angry. Her eyes showed it. It happened so fast, and I walked by saying nothing...and slept the night at the woman's house where I was headed. I had never been so low, in my Christian experience, as at that time. When I remember it, I cringe. It was pure sex, and I never saw her again.
We need to pay for our sins. It's never going to be worthwhile. But did God really take JW away from me with a heavy hand for my sins? Could there be another explanation for the stain on her pants? We seemed right for each other, if only she would leave her church for me. If she had personal faith, that would have been great. I don't know why there is a mental block of her name. She wasn't meaningless to me. She was a serious relationship on my part, with one major reservation. It was this one thing that made us more like crossing paths than laying down some fertile soil for ourselves. Perhaps we both knew that our religions were irreconcilable.
I don't know whether she knew it was me as she walked by, coming from my backside, some three years later. This took place after I met my future wife. It bothered me to see JW walking with child. I was jealous for the moment. Was there a Message in seeing her like this just before my destined-to-fail marriage to someone else?
In the following year, Mamie and I happened to meet again in ordinary life. I had to treat this delicately. So we stayed friends for a while, but old times started to come back, and things started looking up. I took her to a nice little evening with music in a stylish cafe, and even got dressed up. That night, she came home with me, and we had intercourse for the first time. And she said to me, "that was awful."
I'm not sure what she meant. We were on the couch struggling, and it was awful. But aside from the unusual couch, it was still awful. I admit it, and I'll explain later why it was terrible.
My humanity, my weaknesses, my inability to stay continuously pure before God. I am not made of steel. If I continued to lay waste my heart any further with non-Christians, God was going to find ways to hold me up to shame or something, and so this youth chapter of my life had to come to an end, to be replaced by something new. There was very little choice in church for wives, and so I became alone. I had already chosen my trade in life, in home improvements, and had that to work toward. My worldliness was passing away, and the world was becoming satanic, literally. I didn't want to fit in anymore. Church family became more important, but Church family was not real family for me. I didn't have the background to fit in, yet become, for the most part, accepted by church people. I liked them. They were decent, far better than what I was accustomed to. I didn't know their secret sins, but then it was obvious that they were trying not to be worldly, just like me.
I assumed that God did not want me with Mamie any longer, and she never called me. After she and the dismal one-night stand, I wrote a Christian tract, and had 10,000 copies printed, delivering them to every house in town. I was thinking that the world needed to hear repeatedly about Jesus, in opposition to the dark side seeking to steer people from him. The dark side didn't want a society ordered by Christianity, and Christians didn't want a society ordered by liberals. I took offense to this. This became my warfare. I knew all about what my generation was up to. I was in the secret rooms with them. I heard everything. I had four circles of friends, if the Barry circle is included, over a period of years, per circle. I watched young boys develop demonic attitudes as they grew into young men. I was affected a great deal by these influences, and the demons weren't going to let me go without a fight.
To be worldly, you improve yourself in every department that becomes attractive to the fleshy woman. The fleshy woman therefore gets the adulterer seeking adulteresses. Here's a good example of an adulteress. Kepke decided to play strip poker one night between he, me and his brother's wife. I played along as the third wheel, and lost. By lost, I mean I had to remove my underwear. Yes, there I was, down to my underwear in front of this woman with bare breasts by that point. And the reason that I refused is, first of all, it was too embarrassing. Secondly, it wasn't me who wanted her. So, Kepke kept on playing and worked out the rules so that they ended up going downstairs together for a span of time. He laid his own brother's wife, we may assume. Kepke was the perfect example of the modern worldly man. It was easy for him to pick up the worldly woman, just as I did in that city six hours away. They exist. They will jump into the shower in a hotel room even though they don't know your name. And they can look like angels. These woman are making men go crazy, married ones, and Christian-married ones too.
After a year or so with Peare, he was engaged to her, and was complaining that she was the jealous type. No wonder. He then left Peare and courted his brother's wife's sister, and we can imagine Peare's utter pain at this time. The wedding plans were set with Miss Walsh, but at the last minute, he called the wedding off and went back to Miss Peare. And Kepke was bragging to me, and another friend, on how he f-ed both women on the same day, "it was great," he said. When I heard this, all respect for this goon, whatever was left, was lost (keeping in mind that he's not necessarily the same man today). This was the time I started hanging around with the Barry circle of friends. He would have nice get-togethers at his place, and was a much better man than Kepke. Barry was muscular, but a sweet kind of a guy, and mild.
The worldly versus the true-to-God. The true-to-God needs to learn self-control. It has the effect of killing your flesh, but not really. It's always there. That's why it's called self-control. It is not good for a man to live alone with his tool, because it's not programmed to sit still. It doesn't know the meaning of "play dead." I asked Him at times, in the first years of my Christianity, to remove my sexual desires. That would be a much better fix than my taking a knife to it. He didn't answer. Self-control, that's what he wants to see. The first rule, stay away from porn. Don't give your tool that kind of life.
I didn't have any problem in the adultery department. I didn't seek a married women, and respected the ownership between a man and a wife. This is good. This is the way mankind needs to be, otherwise, if life is a playground for cheating, not only is society a rotting piece of dung, but God becomes sorry that he made mankind. I understand that we need to exercise self control. If men can go about having sex with as many single women as possible before marriage, then all of the woman, by the time it comes to marriage, will be "used." The way God made this is to reserve a woman for her husband. It's important, and God knows why. I trust that he knows what he's doing. That's why I did not penetrate Diane, because I felt that intercourse was the contract between a man and a woman. I felt that I was required to marry her if I joined her sexually. But she was not yet a Christian. While I succeeded with her, I failed with others. It doesn't make me a hypocrite, necessarily.
There is a teaching in the Old Testament that, if a man starts out good and then turns out rotten, none of his good deeds will be remembered by God. The crux of this teaching is vice versa. If we start out rotten, none of it will be remembered, if we become good in the end. It's the same concept as New-Testament forgiveness, dependant upon repentance.
Sex Education for Mummies
Finding myself on this topic, I decided to go all-the-way (almost) in explaining good and proper sex. I hope it won't alarm you or make you think less of me. I have not included graphic pictures where I could pass on them. The purpose is to show how it should be done as a gift of God in contrast to how porn addicts go about it.
If all that God wanted was an avenue for making babies, why didn't he just put a button on a woman somewhere, and out comes the baby-making formula, no pleasure involved at all? She needs only to mix it with some water and drink it. She could make babies alone. I'm just kidding of course, he could help her by holding the cup. Perfect. Why does making babies involve an incredible release of strong pleasure? Well, to keep a man and a woman close, and to give them some free pleasure / peace in the midst of a life filled with toil and requirements. It's a sedative when done, and something to look forward to in-between. If you're needing sex daily, I think you have a sex-addiction problem that needs to be tamed. As a single man, I've been able to tame my needs to once weekly. I don't always make it, but that's been my goal. My system calls for it, and there's nothing I can do about it. I've tried to make it reach two weeks, but it's nearly impossible for me. I've asked God to remove it, but he won't.
It feels better if the man waits six days rather then three. And when it's better for the man, it's better for the wife. It's far better when it's stretched out a couple of days longer than when you need it. Pleasure is the result of starving. There is no such thing as continual pleasure. But with the male (I don't know about females, but it's possibly the same), the longer he waits, the more beautiful / precious it becomes for a reason beyond the longer span of going without. To find out what I mean, double the length of time you usually use for your particular cycle.
In my marital experience, the time comes when you know that, tonight, it's going to feel good, I'm ready. Don't be a wimp. Let it go a couple more days. Let it go one day after you say, if I don't do it now, I'll go crazy. Your wife will wonder how you became superman this week. Sex can be very precious / fantastic / powerful, if you wait. If you're married, what's the rush?
If you do it too often, it's more like dirty. It might not be worth the goo for her. Why bother? If she's got to do this for you, a sex addict needing it almost daily, I can understand why she'll have lots of resistance. My advice is, don't do it ever, unless it rises to excellence. You can both get a feeling of peace / contentment afterward. All is well. If she was upset with you for some little thing, it'll be forgotten (we hope).
There are the idiots, liberals, with their sex toys, masochism, and utterly stupid ideas that miss the boat. If you want good sex, stop doing it so much, and do it with the one you love. You instinctively know that your fleshy side wants the pleasure, but that your wife is a human being of God's making. You need to address both, making them work together. You need to make your wife enjoy the pleasure of it too. There are two basic ways to perform. One; you fill her for your own pleasure. Two, you fill her for her pleasure. If you want someone who just lies there for you, get yourself a sex doll. Or use a watermelon or something, but don't degrade your wife. If you are mindful of her pleasure, she won't just lie there. She will reciprocate. It should be a natural habit for you to fill her just the way she likes it. When you are on top, you are the captain, looking for ways to make her appreciate you enough that she gets on top.
You need to find how she likes it, but never repeat the same motion, continuously. You don't want to be boring, and that's what you can be if it's too early for either you or her. I'm not going to get highly graphic in explaining the different ways to move; it's your playing field, anyway. When it comes to technique, there's a limit. Every man and woman has only so many ways to move, and, soon enough, both get to know them. But if you've waited until sensuality is incredible, you won't be thinking about how to move; it will just come naturally, and it doesn't matter how you move, it all feels great because you are heightened. But if you need to work at feeling good, or at bringing on completion, it could be that you are there too early, looking only for your own gratification. She has become your sex bag. The less-enjoyable motions, and even some stillness, are what make the best the very best. Don't perform according to the book. Invent it yourselves. Be entrepreneurs. Life's ups and downs, various situations, and the changing emotions / attitudes of both spouses is what colors sex.
Instead of asking her what she likes best, make sounds to indicate your pleasure level, she will (hopefully) do the same; it should become obvious what she likes, although some of the best moments have no sound. You don't want to be a continual sound thinking that more sound is better. Too much sound, and faked sounds, are probably spoilers. Don't be deceived by porn, where actors are paid to make faked / exaggerated sounds. There's no reason that your sounds can't be words at times. If she is taking you to the irreversible moment but stops doing what brought you there, and if she stops because you're not communicating what's happening inside you, it can be spoiled. Every person must know the feeling.
I fancy the idea of rising to a plateau and having a conversation while sensation is strong, begging for fulfillment. Just maintain that level for a while. Isn't that much better than rushing to the goal line? Won't it feel much better at the goal line if there isn't a goal line in the first place? Let her bring the goal line to you. Your job is to bring the goal line to her.
You want to hear him say, "I love the way you move." I don't see why a woman in motion is unchristian. She shouldn't be moving apologetically; but with deliberation, assertiveness, like she's the pilot. She needs to get over shyness. No husband wants a shy wife. Don't be afraid to let the glory of your breasts hang before him. In his view, they are not what you may think they are. They are not "jugs," or "boobs," or anything so trivial or derogatory. Breasts are tantalizing for him, with no explanation but that God made him this way, for your benefit. Don't try to keep your weapons out of sight. Don't always do it in the pitch darkness. It's alright to tantalize him until he goes nuts for satisfaction. Don't give him all your goods right away. Fly the plane to the left, then to the right, do some loops, some fast rises, some swooping. There are different ways to fly. And don't crash by giving him an early end with too-wild flying. Take it easy on him. Let him go sweetly nuts for an extended time. If he has painful begging on his face, too bad. Do it with a smile on your face. Give him the fast surprise when he's not expecting it. It's exactly how you like it, and exactly how you should do it for her.
Sex can be very potent, but at times, at the last minute, the full potentiality can be ruined. For me, there is an unavoidable trigger; I assume other men are the same. If the woman in motion sets this trigger off, then stops doing what had set it off, he's going to have half the explosiveness or less, or even a dud. His trigger is important. He should be avoiding it until the woman insists that it's time. You need to work this out. You have an entire lifetime. I don't fully like the word, tool, but I dislike "penis / shaft" even more. I don't know what other word to use.
Probably, the most-potent times are when couples are in sync, in tune, from start to finish. This is not likely to be the case on honeymoon night between two virgins (what's that?). We need to learn being in sync. It doesn't necessarily take long. If it's not there at first, it's not necessarily to be taken as incompatibility. It's not necessarily true that if it isn't fantastic to start with, it never will be. Sex should not be the most-important factor in a marriage; if it is, I predict that the joys of sex will diminish.
Don't under-estimate the woman opening her legs for you; it is to your honor, the reception of your personhood; don't mistreat it. Honor it. Be a person, not an animal, not a hunter whose got a catch. You are there to reward her for opening up shop to you. Start off tender in thankfulness, not a savage burning down the forest. It's not just the tool she wants, it's the whole man. Fill her with your whole man. Sensation can linger through successive escalations, and these can be enjoyed "slowly," not at all meaning that some "fast action" can't be some part of it. Taking it slow, there is time to appreciate.
It's important to make the woman feel wanted, and sex has that as its underlying purpose. You should not be taking her pouch; she should be giving it to you because you deserve it. You worked at making her feel loved, and now she's giving you her pouch. At that point, you don't take for yourself and pull your own trigger. You deny yourself and give her more.
And the pleasure is definitely not all in the tool, if one is doing this right. It should be in the whole man. It should result in affectionate hugging / squeezing. He should desire to kiss her, to speak a loving word(s). He should want to melt his breast into hers. It's what women want. You don't tell her you love her every time at the same time, or it will lose its value. If you're truly loving her, it will come across. A woman should be very happy to give you different positions on her own choice, if you are a team. Erotica is not necessarily a sin. It can be if erotica is the only thing that matters.
Lust is defined wrongly in church circles. I would define lust as an addiction to sex, but sex is not necessarily lust. Lust for anything is obsessive preoccupation with it. Like Jimmy Swaggart visiting prostitutes. Hopefully, he has got his ways much better by now. Eroticism got hold of him, and he wandered. Eroticism is a powerful influence. There is a way that a wife offers herself that provides eroticism. If she's offering it willingly, I don't see it as sinful. It's erotic when she offers it, it's destructive to demand it. Earn it.
Tasteful porn provides women posing in agreeable eroticism but not demonically so. They are paid to look like they are welcoming it from you. This drives a man crazy when she's also perfect in body. You need to stay away from this. You may as well accept that you won't have this level of pleasure in real life for the rest of your life, if your wife is 185 pounds, passed her prime, or otherwise unsightly. There are other things in life to enjoy. But if you keep to porn for satisfaction, you will be burnt while tormented with an unnatural need, with a greater risk of your becoming a rapist, adulterer or pervert.
There is a reason that the woman has her pouch in the same area as the man's tool, so that they can be cheek to cheek, mouth to mouth, mouth to ear, mind to mind. It's a pretty good design by the Wonderful Creator, wouldn't you say? Imagine what making love would be like if the man's longevity grew out the tip of his elbow. Hello, when was the last time you thanked God for the creation of sex? There is something right about sex, isn't there? Yet, you have human animals making it what it was never intended to be. If you don't enjoy being head to head with your mate, don't get married. The "missionary position" is by far the best one. It needs a new name, such as, speak-sweet-things-in-my-ear position. Or, I-love-it-when-you-kiss-me-on-the-neck position. To the porn addict, this is meaningless. The porn addict has become the hard-core idiot. He loses his ability to love. He is purely lustful. Producers of porn are family wreckers and should be executed. Yet our liberal society is finding porn useful. There are morons in our midst.
The thing is, when we are intimate, it isn't just about our orgasms. Yes, those are nice to receive and joyful to give to one another, but that is far from being all that it is about. It is about embracing each other in total love, totally open to each other, totally giving of ourselves to each other, clothes off, and - this is really important - eye to eye with each other. There is something really great that makes us feel that we are really super close and connected to each other when we maintain eye contact throughout, all the way to watching each other with joy as we give each other an orgasm.
My problem with oral sex, as well as with any sexual position that is not face-to-face, is that we lose that eye contact. The focus shifts to being just about the pleasuring of the genitals. That may be nice, but I'm afraid that we would be missing out on a deep interpersonal connection that is at the heart of what marital intimacy is all about.
Well said, from an online comment from a Christian page on how to perform oral sex for a husband. I think oral sex is great for all of us when freely given, but if the entire focus is on the erotic while missing what's described above, something is likely to go wrong. I say give it a mix, never de-basing the "missionary position." It is a great position that pornographers wish to minimize because the devil wants to minimize it too. It's not all about the ejaculation, stupid. If it is, you may find your wife uninterested in sex altogether. She'll never be uninterested if you are doing it for her. You can't hide it if you are doing it for her. (Yes, men, I deliberately didn't add the URL to the page on oral sex. It's gets a little disgusting for some women, anyway.)
They say that a man is aroused by sight of a woman. Not completely true. He'll be just as aroused in the dark. There are two kinds of attraction, physical, and appreciation of the person. Physical may not be of any considerable value if you don't like the person. You can imagine a gorgeous body, but if she's a hooker, and she talks filthy, lying beside you using derogatory words, her body may as well be that of a pig. It's the woman within that counts. It's the decent woman within that will give you the right stuff...unless she's taught that it's dirty. If anyone thinks it's dirty, take a shower.
The touch. The hand sends signals or messages. So do lips. If you used the tip of your elbow as seductive touch on parts of her, the only message getting through it that you're crazy. You instinctively know that touching with fingers isn't enough. You gravitate to kissing her. You don't want to stay at your favorite spot for an hour as though obsessed with it, because you are mindful that this is for her too, not just for your picnic. Well, she really does want to be treated as dinner, but she would like to be a part of your desires. She doesn't mind it if her body turns you on, because that's what it's about, but she's turned on when she knows she's not just a body.
Your tool is attached to the fingers, lips and cheeks, because there is a living man between them. She doesn't want only your lips; she wants the living man. When you enter her, it's got to be the living man, not just a piece of flesh. Imagine having sex with a hot apple pie; it just doesn't work. There needs to be the whole woman there. You don't want to have sex with her pouch only. When the man kisses the women, no matter where, it's a message sent to the woman, in contrast to a goon simply having his dinner. What should you be communicating? For starters, there is the thank-you kiss. You are feeling good, and she is the reason. Say thank you with your kisses. How thankful are you for what's yet to come? Tell her with all your faculties.
When a man enters and moves within her, he's communicating with her as opposed to the fiend using her well for his own gusher. What's he communicating there? He's telling her how much he appreciates her for this. But if really cares for her, it's an enjoyable task to try and make her go crazy. I hope your wife goes there due to you. I hope that when you try, you don't get almost zero reaction. To make her go crazy, she needs to receive the message that you are doing it for her, which gets her involved, the ingredient to getting her to escalate, and want more. It's up to you how high you take her. It's okay to stop temporarily on a plateau, she'll wait. Re-energize, and bring her to the next level.
There are active people, and then there are boring ones. If you want your mate to lose interest, don't exercise your body, and don't move around. Clearly, God did not intend for sex to start and finish in the same position. Get up off your back, woman, and push him down. Time to escalate his senses, make him go crazy, which isn't very hard. Intermittently, make contact where you both like to be touched the most, giving some satisfaction while not complete. It takes quickly to higher levels. Stay off of these hot spots for a time before coming back.
You don't touch exactly the same way on every occasion. People change from time to time, along with their environments and particular situations. The emotional roller-coaster is a real thing. Touch needs to address the current conditions. If she's tired and concerned about things, a different sort of touch is called for. The great thing about her not wanting to tonight is that you will be more ready tomorrow night. In fact, she may instinctively know that you perform better the longer you go without, and may be "uninterested" until you get to a worthwhile point. Good for her.
This is the way I've learned to understand it. If you repeat sex too fast, you're using a wee-wee, so to speak. It'll get large, but it's still a wee-wee. You are not yet arrived to the major leagues. But as more time is allowed to pass, something happens, not just to the tool, but to your whole body. It becomes completely conducive to giving affection. If you repeat sex too fast, this affection mechanism is not fully there. When it's fully there, higher sensuality in the tool is completely conducive to giving affection, because you recognize that satisfaction is more precious. It can titillate her to the max. It's exactly how we would expect this to work if a good and brilliant God created it.
The best thing of all for sex: your level of appreciation for each other between sex. Can you grasp it?
When I was young, I couldn't last a minute before the trigger took me to a sweet but too-fast end. I felt sorry for the ladies. Depending on the level of heat in so-called foreplay (no one when young is really playing), it could happen as soon four or five seconds after entry, or even during entry. Once the trigger goes off, there is no return for a man. He can either try to stop it unsuccessfully, or start humping to get and give the most out of it. If he does the latter, the lady might think it selfish of him. It's a lose-lose situation.
On the other hand, I've wondered whether this fast trigger is set off by the woman having her orgasm, or simply the tightness / firmness of the young woman's pouch. And by the way, I hate these scientific terms, orgasm, vagina. Couples have got to find better terms. Don't use "orgasm" unless you like having a test-tube and a scientist in bed with you. It's far more than an orgasm, anyway. How you view the end is important. It should be a melting into one. You are missing the better part of it if all you are looking for is orgasmic sensation. When she can't help telling you how good it was, you have entered the major leagues.
If she doesn't make any sounds, she's either not participating or enjoying it enough, or you have a basement tenant directly under the bedroom. You need to stop, let it relax, take it from the top and allow her to come up to your speed, get in sync with you. You will never have a problem if you've waited long enough for the affection juices to flow in your veins. She will keep right up to speed with you like her life depends on it. It doesn't matter which way you turn, she'll be right there blaring the sirens.
Marriage has the task of mastering this trigger. You have an entire lifetime. When you feel it coming on, you stop moving. No one needs to teach you this. But if you don't stop moving, you are indeed selfish. You have spoiled it for the woman. I probably spoiled it in the worst way for Mamie by going motionless, hoping in vain to stop the trigger process. It is indeed completely awful, a sorry disappointment for both, when this takes place early. Age is a cure, when male sensitivity dwindles. The more sensitive your tool, the longer it takes to master it, and the more of a performer you will be, once mastered. It's both like a curse and a blessing to be highly sensitive. However, I'm not sure whether a fast trigger is fully / directly related to sensitivity. Excitement can be a part of it too.
The longer a man waits before sex, the faster the trigger is bound to be. The internal mechanism is aching to release, and this is all the harder to avoid when the woman is aching to receive. But doing battle against the trigger is all the fun. Learning how to avoid it involves bringing it close to the edge in successive stages. Escalation of excitement takes place. You are taking this up a cliff face, facing danger. Once you know how to get it close without going over the cliff, ahh, your wife will have a long time to get her fill. When she sees that you're fighting to keep the big-O at bay, and succeeding, you have arrived to the major leagues. She will gracefully receive you when it's time, and so-much all the better if she loves you. Translation: you are not screwing her legs off like a madman; your are making this as beautiful for her as you can, because that's how it's going to be really nice for you too. You can't always have a blast. Sometimes, you need to settle for "really nice," the perfect time to appreciate one another.
When was the last time you thanked God for this form of satisfaction, pleasure and intimacy all at once? Do we thank Him only for our food? Sex can last longer than a meal. There are meals and then feasts. Give your wife a one hour feast once in a while. I've read that the tendency for a lot of married men is to fix her up fast, get the big-O (or small-O), and go to sleep. Bad. Really bad. It's understandable, I suppose, when a man is tired from a hard day, yet feels he needs his "fix." But you can't let this become your habit. If she's giving excuses not to satisfy you, that's probably why.
When you are on, you will find that you are filling her approximately once per second. That is a very nice speed, but why keep the same speed throughout? You don't need me to tell you graphically on the different ways to fill her. I'm referring to the forward thrust, as they call it, but I don't like that word either. You are not a rocket ship; you are a tender lover. The woman has a natural desire to be filled with tenderness. It will make her gush. The forward part is the fulfillment, the backward draw is the suspense. You don't want to play the same tune every time you make love. Give it a mix. There are different levels of fill, and she should never know what's coming next. The element of surprise, it will make her gush, because you are trying hard. It's meaningful / emotional for her when you are trying hard. It's what women want. Your entire being wants the final end, but if she sees that you are bringing it near to several ends beforehand, that has got to be her ultimate turn-on. Play with it. It's all play, and gets better when play turns to suffering due to temporary denials. Besides, it's just got to be true with any woman that, the more you deny yourself the final end, the better it will be when it arrives.
It's not the size, it's how you use it. "Tool" is very appropriate in such a discussion. But you will find it feeling larger (or harder) the longer the time that you have waited between sex. There is not much difference in size between waiting three days versus seven or eight, but in the latter case, there is a certain maximum that the woman can sense, and for her, this is a wow. It's not the physical size that makes a wow, it's the achievement of this little extra magnitude. It tells her that this is maximum performance, a man fully pressurized. When the dam breaks, it's going to have a more-explosive release. Make sure the basements tenants aren't home.
At one fill per second, that's a whopping 300 in five minutes, but who's counting. The minor leaguer won't reach 300. He's got a one-tracked mind to fulfill himself earlier. The real man concerns himself with the woman for the first set. The lovelier or more willing the woman, the harder it may be to reach 300, but this is your challenge, minor leaguer, to get there anyway. You are taking it slow because the object is to love her simultaneously. There is no practical use going through with this if you don't come out more in love afterward. The greater your pleasure, the greater hers. It's shared electricity. The greater you both enjoy it, the sooner it can come to an end, which is why you need to control yourself as she starts to really want it. Suffering converts to gratification, and so let her suffer without gratification. When you feel a surge bringing you close to the edge, keep it slow or even motionless. It could be her sensations entering you that could be bringing you to the edge, but you've got to make this last longer. You've got to find ways to put off completion, and make gratification the best that it can be.
If you're making it last, she could be having multiple orgasms without your knowing it. Everytime you bring yourself to your edge, she can be feeling it there too, and she could be going over it at any time. What do you do when she does? Make it last longer, bring it to another edge. On the other hand, you don't want to do this same trick every time. There is something to be said for each of you coming to the first orgasm at the same powerful time without trying to drag it out long.
If you are man enough, you will exit her after the first 300 (but who's counting?), and you can nibble on half her mountains and valleys, then dive back in and make sure she has the best part of your affections for a few more minutes. Then get back out and taste the other half over her strain of wanting you back in. The idea here is to sacrifice comfort for a few minutes so that re-engaging becomes rewarding. She doesn't know how long you're going to be "away," and what you do while away is to your invention. Try spreading on some fragrant oil. There is no rule saying that the woman is required to merely lie there; at any time, she can get up and take over. You never had it so good as when she feels compelled to give it to you, but that's what you should get when you bring her to great heights in steps. Let the excitement dwindle a little before the next level up. Stay at the same level for a while, and have a loving picnic there.
The final dive. You have earned the right to finish up with all the manliness you can muster. But at least once in a while, be mouth to mouth as the big gusher arrives because you are loving the person at the same time. You are not concentrating only on your gusher. There is a time for that, and she will give it to you in as many as three or four different ways. You want to communicate how great you feel as the end develops, and mouth to mouth is a great way to do this. Make sure you've flossed / cleansed your mouth (brushing the back of your tongue and gums won't hurt), because you'll breathe heavily on her mouth the better this grand finale develops.
Exercise beforehand, highly recommended. You should have a set of bar bells at home that you've been picking up, on average, three times weekly. When you are accomplished after years of this, five or ten minutes with bar bells (30 pounds or be a wimp), and a couple of rounds of 30 push-ups, is sufficient to make your upper muscles and chest firm and pumped up. As little as a five-minute jog / run will make your lower half a better performer. You'll reap what you sow. If you exercised your upper body before the run, you will feel your chest and shoulder muscles expanding during the run. You are getting ready to deliver for her, but why not invite her into the shower with you? Now you're talking. Don't always let her finish you off there, even if she's tempted. You soap her, and she soaps you; it can get tempting to finish things off right there.
Why jump into bed immediately after the shower? Why not put on some music and dance naked in some low light? Does your wife exercise and jog too? Lucky, lucky you. This can last hours, if you wish. Throughout that period, your sex machine is feeling it, wanting it more and more. Let it "suffer." Relax your urges, and let them rise back up repeatedly. You will want to hold her like precious "oh babe" during the dance as escalation (sensuality) comes over you. Do not rush, but there is probably such a thing as taking too long. The body may not be able to do a roller-coaster continuously (I've never tried it for too long).
There may be times when you are not fully ready while your wife indicates that she wants it like right-now. What to do? Your choice. A shower with her gives you more time, as well as the right stuff, to get more potent. When she's turned on, she'll know how to get you there too. This is a good time to give oral to your wife. Tease and move off to neighboring territory. The warm plains on either side are to your joy, and you should be enjoying this. She needs to be clean and fresh for it. It's her special place, and you just gave it a soapy wash in the shower. Perfect.
Sex addiction can involve the sense that you need it badly, but when you get there, you find it more a dud experience because insufficient time has passed for the system to work as Intended. Tell your wife that going longer without is not because you have a problem with her. You don't want the complications that porn addiction will definitely cause. You absolutely do not want to be a married man addicted to porn.
Does making love need to be in a bed? Making love on a beach in the moonlight? Are you at the point where sex has become, "been there, done that"? Get out of bed. You can re-discover each other like new if your setting changes.
A word for single people. If you are addicted to porn, and you're masturbating regularly, it predicts that you will keep yourself satisfied so that, when out and about, you don't have great impulse to approach the opposite sex. Sex drive is Intended to get you to hook up with someone. But if you are satisfied on a virtual daily basis, you spoil the game of life for yourself. Lay off your organ, let it alone at least for days, and only then approach the woman you had your eye on. She will probably be able to sense that you are more enjoyable at that time as opposed to approaching her the same day that you masturbated. You get it.
My message is that extremely-heightened sex is not the property of sinners, but of married people, and that God has no problem with your finding pleasure in utilizing this part of human life. Sexual immorality is adultery, incest, fornication, prostitution, and the child porn that governments are now allowing. Don't kid yourself, governments are allowing it, pretending to be against it. There is no way that this thing could explode online if the governments were against it. Enjoyable sex is not to be defined as sexual immorality.
With more woman in the workforce, it's not a wonder that adultery has exploded. The feminist was complaining about the man's unfaithfulness at the workplace, but then she not only joined the workforce to become just like the man in that regard, but elevated the number of male adulterers in the meantime. So, what are we to say, that women should be kept at home to keep marriages more faithful? Not a bad idea. It was probably God's wise decision to have it that way.
And what's wrong with a woman at home? Why should the feminist view this as a woman in her cage while the man is out in the "playing field"? The woman at home is in a much better position to commit adultery because she has the bed right there. The reality is that the liberal man at work, who generally sees the same people everyday, without the liberty of going out to hunt for anyone, is to worry more for his liberal wife at home than she to worry about him.
Where's My Dream Woman?
I had a dream about a month after I became a Christian. Don't forget, this was after the vision in which I saw Jesus, and after the miracle he performed with Miss Quinn. I had every reason to believe that this dream was from God. Let me tell this to you, because it can still come true. I've told this dream to many people, but never has God indicated to me that he will fulfill it. It was on my mind throughout my pre-marriage relationships.
Most of my dreams are short, and I don't usually remember them. This dream was long and vivid, like a message. I was standing beside a kidney-shaped swimming pool, with a nasty shark in the water that was more cartoon-like than something you'd see on National Geographic. Out from behind me came a fat, short British bulldog, jumping into the pool, only to find itself head-first in the mouth of the shark. It had a ring of nasty teeth around the dog's mid section, with half of it outside the mouth, and half in. I jumped into the water to save the dog, but that part of the dream ended before I knew the outcome. The dream then changed scenes.
I was now walking out of a pleasant, clear body of blue water with my pants on, but no shirt. As I walked along the sand on this sunny summer's day, I saw a woman in the distance, all alone on the beach, in front of the only car parked on the beach's sand. There was no lust in this dream. For a split second, there was a close-up of this woman's face, and I remarked, "She's beautiful. She looks like an actress." So I approached, but the woman was concerned as if to want to get away from me. I arrived, standing outside the car, and she was inside hovering over the seats. The car was a refurbished 1950's vehicle; I can't recall the color for certain, nor did I know the model or year. The woman had stress on her face, some issue causing her some unhappiness. And I was made to hear her thoughts: "He's out and about, maybe after other women." So I assumed that the owner of the car was him, a playboy type, and that he was not making her very happy. I was given a glimpse of this man, hefty, with short dark hair. That's when I heard a voice, which I assumed to be God, saying, in effect, "What are you waiting for, it's you she loves, go wake her up." I thought to give her a kiss on the cheek, and I saw my hand contacting her knee as I leaned over. As soon as I touched her, she leapt up, into my arms, and we rose arm-in-arm together into the sky i.e. as if into the blessings of God.
This woman was blonde, more bright than dirty-blonde. My first lady, Miss Pascal, after this dream was dirty blonde. She didn't pan out. Kelly was next, another blonde, brighter hair this time. It didn't pan out. Diane had a very-nice bright-blonde shag, and somewhat of an actress look, but there was no beach, and it was in winter. By this time, I started to doubt the dream.
I was perplexed about the British bulldog and the shark. Try to take a guess at what that part could mean. It's an impossible riddle. It seems that, unless there were a bulldog in the life of one of the ladies, this dream could not come to pass. But what about the shark? What was that? Am I to expect a shark in the picture just before meeting my God-given woman???
What about bright-blonde Miss JW, in summer time. She qualified the most thus far. And, remember, I said to her, "I'm going to marry you," before we even knew each other. Was I making a dream-related prediction? It was not to be with her. Next, brunette Mamie. Next, my blonde wife. No bulldog. No beach. No car. The dream was forgotten.
One year before the separation with my wife, we went to Texas to find a winter retreat. We purchased a forested tract in a sunny area. We had a part-time business decorating lawns for special occasions, mainly 40th and 50th birthdays. We had an assortment of different critters: pink flamingos, skunks, penguins, cats, squirrels, and even dinosaurs. We had employees in about ten cities installing these things at about 5 am, to surprise the birthday "victims." One night, my wife showed me a picture of this huge British bulldog, three dimensional, made of solid fiberglass, about six feet tall, and seven feet in the other two directions. Hanging from its neck was a sign reading, "Happy Birthday, You Old Dog." And so I drove a couple of hours away to the one selling these things, and one was purchased. It was an outstanding piece of work that had been created decades earlier for the Olympics. Someone was reproducing them, and selling them.
I kid you not, this dog purchase was either in the year we first left for Texas, or as soon as we returned from our first stay in Texas. I kid you not, that the dream above was so far removed from me, by this time, that it had not come to mind while installing these bulldogs on people's front lawns. There were 15-20 installations per month immediately.
When things were going sour between my wife and I, I went to my closet to get some clothes because I was going to move out for a while into the basement of our other house. And after opening the closet door, like a rush of wind coming from the ceiling, there came the realization: the bulldog, in the garage! My wife must be the shark, and I'm to be-remarried to the woman on the beach.
I was convinced by this that I was to be re-married by God's blessing. While living in the basement, my wife had her lawyer try to seize the lawn business from me, because the phone line happened to be in my name. But the bulldog was in her garage, and I asked for it, because I was intent of feeding my kids. It was a great money maker at $90 per installation. As people saw it, new orders would come in. But she refused to hand over the dog. I tried three ways to get that dog from her, but, you see, with her half deep in her shark throat, and my half sticking outside the mouth, there was this ring of teeth that would not allow me to pull it out. That was the outcome of that part of the dream, wasn't it?
Next, after I moved up from the basement to the main level, a blonde came knocking at door as per the ad to rent the place, and she rented it. We met in winter. She had an issue with my Christianity. When she met Steve and left me, he drove over, I kid you not, with a 1960s Mustang convertible (about a 1965), all painted nice, a collector's item. It was nearing summer. It really got me to thinking that she might be the one some day soon. Nope. Didn't happen.
Here I am, more than 20 years later, and still no fulfillment of the woman in the dream. By the looks of her, she was in her 20s or 30s. There appears to be some very fat chance that this dream has yet to materialize while I'm nearing 60. Yet, I can pass for my mid 30s. It's very strange to be in this position. I did entertain a blonde woman in Texas, who did look like an actress (at 45-50). She is my age exactly. Last I saw her, about ten years ago, she was still beautiful. I'm not exaggerating. I didn't write her until about five years ago. And I called her, but she wouldn't return the calls. Finally, her husband answered, and, apologizing, I said, "don't worry about it," and hung up. I thought he had passed away.
It's a terribly long story, and I don't feel like telling it all. In fact, I'm not sure why I'm telling it at all. I find that the purchase of a British bulldog is one cosmic coincidence if the dream was simply my own, not a prophecy. In fact, the one in the dream had black markings, not spots, like the markings on a Holstein cow. Such markings are kidney-shaped, exactly the type of markings, in dark brown, that our bulldog came with. In both dream and purchase, the dog was white aside from the markings.
This Texas lady beyond 50 rivals / surpasses Miss JW at 20. Her husband was 30 years older than she. We attended the same church. There was no relationship between she and I, nothing even approaching adultery. We talked several times, and certain things happened. I studied these things closely, because I had been wondering whether I was to marry her one day as a widow. I wasn't happy about that at all, but it was a theory. The time came when I was to sell the Texas property. M real-estate agent, who happened to have married her aunt, informed me that she too had her home up for sale. She and her husband had moved to their place, near mine, about one year before I purchased my place in late 1994, and here we were moving away at the same time.
I'm leaving a large story out of this because I don't have confidence that this dream will ever be fulfilled. It was amazing to me, the things that happened between us, both good and bad. We had both attended a certain church when I was first down there, but I changed churches one year upon going back, only to find that they had changed to the same church. It was a couple of weeks later when the pastor asked everyone to the front to pray, and as we stood around, I didn't see her beside me. And when the pastor asked us to hold hands, she took my right hand. I was completely overtaken by this, because the theory that it was she was already formed as far back as 1996 (about six years earlier).
I therefore had the inclination of getting close to her to inspect the possibilities. How does one do this while the woman is married? By a man who would never take another man's wife. I could be utterly trusted in this regard. And so she and I became friendly. Never did she indicate a willingness to commit adultery (with me, anyway) on her "old man."
The year of 1996 was the year that the bulldog match to the dream occurred. I was already asking who the beach-blonde might be. It caused me to reflect back on a gorgeous blonde in a Texas church on Christmas day, 1994. I was married, and I was there with my wife, not knowing that we would be separated in about a year. Although I'm saying now that she was lovely, I wasn't viewing her that way at the time. A few weeks later, my wife was taking care of the nursery, and with me sitting alone in church, this woman came and sat in front of me. At the end of it, she turned around and gave me a friendly smile. That's what I remembered in 1996. I was asking whether God set that up to indicate who the woman would be. But that theory changed when the basement blonde entered my life.
Well, I was trapped at home until the end of 1999. It was immediately after losing the basement blonde to Steve that I left back for Texas for the first time in years. And the first thing I did, to my shame, was to ask a brunette out. I don't know what's wrong with me. I always get myself into women problems. This time, she wanted to marry me, and I almost did. But let's back up to the first weeks in which we were going out. She happened to attend the same church as where the blonde had attended. When Miss Brunette and I got to church, no blonde appeared there after a few Sundays had gone by. And we sat directly behind an elderly man who always took that seat. Miss Brunette said to me one day, "His blonde wife is beautiful, with big Texas hair." Those words are at least close to what she actually said. She mentioned both blonde and beautiful. What was I to think? Oh no, the dream woman is married, and I've got to wait until he passes away. That's exactly what came to mind.
Miss Brunette said that Mrs. Big Texas Hair was not coming out to church due to some prison ministry that she was involved with, but I took this to mean that she wasn't getting along with hubby. I never did see her at this church. The following year, I stood up in middle of the service to rebuke a visiting pastor for confusing the rapist / killer Catholics for the saints of God. And I never went back because the pastor / elders didn't call to sympathize. The preacher asked the people in church to be ashamed for the sins of Catholic killers and rapists of the Middle Ages (Crusaders, I assume), and he did this four times in the span of minutes. He was lumping them together as one. On the fourth occasion, I had had enough, and stood up to cut him off in mid-stream: "Make a distinction between murderers and rapists and the saints of God." I walked out of the church that minute. It wasn't a very good day for him. I later discovered that he was more a new-ager than a Christian.
The following year, I was no longer with the brunette, and therefore decided on another church. The blonde and her husband were then seen attending this church. Coincidence? A few weeks later, her hand was in mine, as described above. It elevated my senses because it was feeling like a prophecy come true.
When I was told that she had big Texas hair, I imagined a super-bun on her head or something. Instead, her hair was long and terrific. It was "big" only because it was thick. She wore red lipstick, but no eye make up. She had sky-blue eyes, was tall, and had a seductive look with a great figure. It may not have been her fault that she looked seductive. Her husband shares Parkinson's Disease with my father. I had been asking myself the obvious on whether she was keeping a secret man (or two). I felt sorry for her, having an old man while she was vibrant. Her dresses were many, but usually modest, and never open at the front. By "seductive," I mean that she's just that type, with an actress / model look to her. She was with her husband at roughly 20 years of age when he was 52. She had been a doped-up stripper, according to reports from her own testimony around town. Her father was a Pentecostal pastor.
One day, when she was crying in church, again, near me, I leaned closer to show concern. She never cried again. She talked with me as we left, she beside her husband. She knew I was getting close, and she probably thought I was sizing her up for adultery. A woman like this will get approached a lot. She's seen it before. So I was very careful in how I walked down the isle with them. And she was gracious and friendly.
I wasn't prepared to wait for her husband to pass away. I started Christian online dating. After some months, it was a flunk. The ultimate result was to steer my thoughts on Mrs. Candidate (as I'll call her), as much as I didn't want this. But what now? What could I do? The only thing was to become friendly with her, to see if I could spot, somehow, any hint possible, that this will one day be my wife. If not, then I would simply pass on this theory. It was necessary that, when I got friendly, she should show some unusual interest. That was my test. I could be trusted, as much as the distance between the earth and moon, never to take her while her husband was alive. This I knew.
One day, she sang a solo in church. I had said to her beforehand, in jest, "don't choke." She didn't, and I liked the song. After church, I called her at home, I kid you not, a very stupid thing to do. I was going to use the excuse of thanking her for the song. I was completely aware that I was a single man of her own age. Her daughter answered, and put the phone to her saying, "it's John." And I could hear her asking someone there to go out and buy some bread, which I took to mean that she wanted privacy with me. Well, we got talking, and she talked, and talked, and talked, for four hours. Twice, I had said to her, "I better get going," but she talked some more, like she didn't hear me. I wasn't very impressed with her. Near the end, she asked if I was going to church in the evening, and I said, "No, I wasn't planning on it." And she said that her daughter was singing tonight. Well, in respect of her daughter, I said, "In that case, I'll go." And I asked her to bring a CD of her own music.
I wasn't anywhere near as forward with her as she was with me. And, to top it off, her daughter was not singing in church at all. The mother had lied to me to get me to church, apparently. I was, but I wasn't, very happy about this, but things got worse very fast.
I was sitting in church when she arrived. She sat in front of me and handed me her CD (produced in a studio). It wasn't a minute later when a man, about my age, came to sit beside her. And he sat right next to her, so close that it was obvious they were having a relationship. I saw her close to this man three more times in the coming months, and on the third occasion, I approached her to ask, "Is that your buddy"? She knew what I meant, and she wasn't happy about the accusation. She said, "He's just a friend." And there were thick lines on her forehead.
Days later, on the fourth occasion at a local high-school football game where her son was playing, I called her after the game, because I feared he was sleeping the night with her while her husband was back in Houston. This was dismal. I really needed to ask whether God was trying to torment me with this. When she picked up the phone, she hung up on me, insulting me, "I know your type."
I called her back in the morning after a hard sleep. What did she mean by, "I know your type"? Her daughter answered, but the mother would not speak to me. I realize that I was way over my boundary lines to be calling both that morning and the night before, but this was like red-alert for me. And when an additional problem arose, I went to the pastor and called a meeting between us three. The meeting happened, and she accused me of being jealous of this other man, because I wanted to commit adultery with her instead. I left Texas that very night mesmerized.
I didn't return for almost three years. During that period, I was speaking with Miss Brunette, who told me that the man above had made a move on her. Miss Brunette knew nothing about this man being with Mrs. Candidate. This was actually a good sign, suggesting that Mrs. Candidate had discarded him, and that he was looking for someone else. If this is correct, I would credit that meeting in the pastor's office for this turn of events.
I should also mention that my amateur-singing hobby was drastically boosted by her singing abilities.
When returning to Texas, I brought dress clothes with me, to be ready for her, in case her husband had passed away. Her husband had heard about my "attempt" on his wife, but this attempt never happened. It was her false accusation against me. He had met me in the pastor's office and looked me in the eye with his evil eye, because he was told by his wife that I made a proposition. Upon returning, I was surprised to find him coming to me in church, to give me a hug, something he had never done before. And as he hugged me, I looked over his shoulder to his wife, and she was looking at this.
She had never seen me in dress clothes before. The first time I walked into church that year, she saw me sitting down in a blazer, new shirt, new shoes. She was in the choir at the time. She looked at me intently, apparently impressed. I've got to say, she had never looked so beautiful. I don't think she was impressed so much by the new look as what she was probably thinking, that I was doing this for her. She seemed to radiate that idea in the way she was looking at me. But when I saw her husband, admittedly my heart fell, not because I wanted him dead, but because I had gambled that Mrs. Candidate was the one in the dream, and was thinking that, in the three-year interim, he may have passed away. I had been hoping that she was not in an adulterous affair with this other man, but that it was only progressing toward it when God and I stopped it dead in its tracks.
At that time, the pastor asked the church to find someone to pray over. So there was Mrs. Candidate, in the center aisle near me, looking for someone to pray over. As she looked my way, she motioned with body language, "oh what the heck," and came over to grab both my hands. And we stood there, together, as she prayed for me. I didn't hear a word she said, caught up in this unexpected / impossible moment. We were mortal enemies three years earlier. I think I was more interested in smelling her hair at one point. And as it was time for her to go, she being the last person still praying, and as she was letting go of my hands, I said, "I'll pray for you too," but I was interpreting these words in a second way. The whole church probably heard this. For any of them who had heard of our previous war, this must have been quite the sight. They recalled us standing together at the park three years earlier. What do you think was her angle in coming to me on this morning?
It had been decades since I saw a woman do a curtsey, but that's exactly what she did, when I said, "I'll pray for you too." It wasn't a full curtsey, but the start of one, done very fast and spontaneously. She did this in the isle before the entire church, and her husband too. How should I have interpreted this event? What did it mean? Why was she expressing agreeability toward me? Was it fondness? Was she thanking me for something? Was it just showing respect? All I did was take her hands, raise them a little higher in respect, and she must have felt the electricity running through me. She was not holding my hands only, but myself. She had about two minutes there to try to figure out who I really was. If she was slated to be my wife as per the choosing of God, it's predictable that she had some acute attraction toward me for the very reasons that God chose us to be together in the first place. I was holding her hands like something precious to me.
Back up to the meeting in the pastor's office. I had been in that office the night before asking for this meeting. At that time, I told the pastor that she was like a "future investment" according to a dream I once had, but asked him not to tell anyone about it, yet hoping, on the other hand, that he would tell his wife, and she then tell her. I wanted both the pastor and she to know that I was not after adultery.
Let's back-up to roughly two weeks after my first phone call to her. Our church was putting on a musical event in the local park, in memory of 9-11, and I went. This was just after the other man came to sit beside her in church. As I tell this story, ask whether my decision of this night was set up by God to split her up with the other man. I had very-consciously advised myself not to sit near her at this park event. I was sitting alone before her arrival, and she came walking down the center isle, carrying a video recorder with stand, and sat down. What did I do? Walking promptly to her, I asked if she needed anyone to set up the recorder. It was like a highschool boy asking the girl to carry her books. She didn't say no. After setting it up, while back at her isle seat, there was a single spot empty beside her. I found myself asking whether anyone was sitting there. She said that her daughter might come sit there but that I could "scoot over" if she arrived. She didn't look very happy with my request, but then neither did she say that I couldn't sit there (her husband was not there).
I was incredibly happy to find myself sitting there, and did not feel uncomfortable / nervous in the least. She let out what sounded like a breath of relief. I'm not sure what it meant. It made me comfortable. She didn't show qualms whatsoever about my being there; I must have been radiating the right stuff. One might view this as miraculous, or something else. As no one can ever understand how a woman's mind works, it will need to remain a little mystery. I'm just kidding, it will need to remain a cosmic-sized mystery.
She sang a song, and we both had a good time when she returned. I later left the seat for a while to speak to the pastor (I asked him to get her to sing a second song, and he did, and she did), and upon returning, I realized that it would look bad for me to sit down beside her with all the people looking on. So, I sat across the isle and a little to her back side. And guess who came along to fill my spot? Not her daughter. And he didn't have qualms about sitting with her. He had a flag in his hand, on a pole, and his job was to go stand with it at the front, near the end of the program. Yet, he took this momentary opportunity to go sit with her. When he was gone up, I went to her, leaned down to her ear, and asked, "Is that your buddy"? It was the evening killer, probably badly needed to keep us from becoming more friendly at that time.
Never mind whether I was tormented by this, things were to get mesmerizing in short order. The next Sunday, I walked into church, and she gave me a cheery hug, during which time I wasn't able to keep the "sweetheart" word from coming out my lips at her ear. She motioned that it was an "achem" moment for her, but she remained graceful. She invited me out to the Sunday-evening band that the church had contracted for the youth. I hadn't known about it. But after church on that morning, being tormented by the fact that she was married, I left early, not speaking with her, and she was at the front porch watching me drive away.
I did appear that evening. I was standing in the darkened church with this awful-sounding band on stage. I turned around at one point, seeing her standing directly behind me. I was very struck by that fact alone, never mind that she looked great. I instinctively asked her to come stand with me, but she said that we needed to "watch appearances." This was a heavy-duty moment, and on my mind was the theory that she was trying to set me up for to make a move on her, to report me to the elders. She then went to take a seat far from me, and looked back. I refused to speak with her later, because she started to send me bad vibrations. I left early.
"Appearances"? Isn't that what you say to your lover, after you've been in bed. We never were, not even close to kissing. She couldn't be trusted from that evening on. It was bothering me, but I kept on a happy face.
A week or two later, the church had brought in a food stand (intended as an evangelical event) at the local football field's bonfire, but I decided not to go. On the drive home, however, something made me turn back to see whether I could go speak with Mrs. Candidate. I had never seen her in jeans before; she had a way of dressing tastefully, even in jeans. So, when the opportunity presented itself, I approached. I had told her that I was concerned with the way she was feeling at the band event, and asked whether I could call her up the next day to talk about it. She didn't blast me, or tell me to get lost, but said I could call on Friday. She had many opportunities to give me a bright, red light, but, time after time, a green light. If only you could be in my shoes, undergoing this process. No thanks, you say? Good for you.
At this bonfire event, she took this opportunity to defend herself against my buddy accusation. It was bothering her. And she ended up an inch from my face, speaking sternly, "Look at me, I am not having an affair." And she told me that she does not believe in divorce, indicating that she knew I was willing to receive her for myself.
On this night, Buddy happened to be in the food stand with the pastor, and we walked together that way to sit down there. I think she brought me over to indicate that her message to me, on this man's behalf, had been delivered. I did not believe her statement. I knew she was having an affair, or at least proceeding to one. After she made her claim an inch from my face, I told her, "I can see only darkness," which, for me, meant that I thought she was setting me up for major damage. And Buddy watched her getting into her vehicle to leave; he put on a big smile her way. There was malice in the air that night, and amber lights flashing. I was planning on leaving Texas within days.
Two nights later, on Friday, there was a football game. I had not called her that day. I did not go to the football game to see her. I was sitting with a man's wife whom had been a friend of Miss Brunette. We went as a couple to their place on multiple occasions. The woman's husband was above us. Mrs. Candidate came up the stairs, then walking across past us, looking suddenly distressed as she saw me with this attractive woman. But there are two possible reasons for her looking as though she wasn't happy to see me there.
Mrs. Candidate was again alone, without her husband, dressed in what struck me as a dinner dress. She had walked up the stairs on one side, then to the other end of the seating area, at the top of the other stairs. Up popped Buddy, momentarily, to stand with her. This was not good for her, only two nights after her look-me-in-the-eye statement. Did they plan to meet at those stairs? Did she walk clear across the seating area alone to fake not coming to the event with him? I assume that she asked Buddy not to sit with her in the minute or two that they were standing beside one another. And she left him, walking back past me, continuing on toward the hot-dog stand, and she was eyeing my way for at least part of that time. Coincidences do occur, but this was the fourth time that he and she were seen together in roughly one month by the same person, me. How many other times had they been together when not in my view? She came back to take her seat, and he took a seat a distance from her, but as soon as the game was over, he bee-lined it toward her, and she seemed to received him. I felt sick.
Well, I still had the permission from her to call on Friday, which is exactly what I did when getting home. When she picked up the phone, she had only these words, "Don't call me at home. I know your type." Click.
I didn't sleep well. Her words felt like cold metal in my head. I called back in the morning to get this off of my chest before leaving the state, but her daughter (adopted) started to accuse me of some drastic things. She said something to the effect of, "I see the way you look at me." This was laughable. She was 13 years old, and not an ounce under 250 pounds. I often engage in open / playful chat that can be confused with flirtation. I do this with both good and not-so-good looking women, and men too. The piece of cold metal in my head was now like a stake through me heart. I was led to believe that her mother had put ideas into her head about "my type."
It's possible that Mrs. Candidate used "my type" because she saw me with a married woman the night before. And so she assumed I was after both she and herself, and probably everything else that had legs and a marriage ring. This was extremely bad, and I didn't want her daughter going about telling all the other young people in Church that I was something like a child molester. This is why I went to the pastor to ask for a meeting with her in his office. I was not intending to tell the pastor about Buddy.
When the meeting started, my attitude was not to fight. But somehow (much memory fails me at the moment), Buddy came up as a topic, and this could very-well have been the will of God to stop the relationship. I wouldn't have brought him up except that she was trying to make me look like an adulterer. And when I mentioned how I couldn't sleep that Friday night over her "your type" accusation, she said, "I didn't sleep either." I didn't see this as her having a troubled mind; I saw her in bed with Buddy, and her enjoying the moment (in the office) by bringing it up couched in these words. So, it looks like there really could have been a sting operation being worked on me, all the better for me to have spoken about it with the pastor.
This could be a decent movie. I know what the reader is thinking: play with fire, get burnt. And that's why yours truly -- fool -- went home, spent $3,000 for a new wardrobe that I thought she'd like, and went back to Texas (2.5 years later) for to get this predicted wife of mine.
Why would she lie to her husband about me? Because, they got the call from the pastor to come to a meeting. Instead of she herself appearing that morning, he came in alone to blast me. But I insisted that there be another meeting that evening with her. She was trying to change the issue, to me. She might not have, had there been no spottings of her with Buddy. It was clear that she was trying to throttle me for all the times that I was getting close with her, yet, at times, she seemed to be part of the "problem." I had told the pastor about the child-molestation accusation of her daughter, and this needed to be cleared up. The pastor agreed and gave me a second meeting.
Below is a photo of the adopted daughter from her own public site, sitting on her uncle in 2005, four years after her accusation. She's not exactly sexually tempting (not intended to minimize her as a person, but this needs to be shown to clear up any doubts you may have):
Did her mother try to talk her out of that accusation? Not so far as I know of.
At the end of these matters over a period of about one and a half power-packed months, I was left in a confused state as per her status as the woman in the dream. I could no longer be sure whether she had earlier possessed feelings toward me appropriate for fulfilling that role. Everything that I may have taken as valued may instead have been purely to catch me in her sting operation. Even if she was willing to flirt with me in sincerity, it was clear that Buddy meant more to her by far than me. But wait, that may not be true. On the night of seeing them together, when she handed me her CD, I was sitting in the lunch room after church, and Buddy was there too. She came and sat directly across from me. That was the time that I got up as soon as she came, and got frigid with her (walked away, leaving her shocked), because I felt her getting too close too liberally. It was the day she spent four hours with me on the phone. Was this day really part of her sting operation? As I got up to leave that spot, she indicated that I had insulted her, clear as day. This is what may have caused her to gravitate more toward Buddy. For me, God was the other player between us, and I didn't want to upset her married life at that moment by becoming too close.
As part of the continuing story, when getting back to Texas a few years later, her husband hugged me (it was not the style whatsoever in this church for men to hug men). There are two possible explanations for this. One is that the pastor told my dream to his wife, and the wife to Mrs. Candidate. Possibly, this cleared the air on my motives, and he, gracious, was not opposed to the idea that I might soon take his wife in his absence. Or is this a "dream-on" statement?
If she knew about the dream too, it can explain her receiving me rather than showing animosity. It can explain her curtsey, and her coming to me to take my hands. It wasn't necessary for them to believe that the dream was a true prophecy; it would have been enough had they heard that, for me, she was a future investment i.e. after he passed away. However, I did not show any interest in her after her curtsey, and did not call her, or speak with her at church. So long as he was alive, this was the way to proceed.
The time came to abandon this silly quest. I put my Texas place up for sale. I called a real-estate agent from church to take the deal. I didn't know that he was married to Mrs. Candidate's aunt until he came over. He said that he had been a friend of the husband for a long time. And he also said that he had been contracted to sell their place at that very time. I never did say good-bye to her. I assumed that the husband decided to sell, leave the area, start fresh somewhere else.
In the years to come, at the peak of my life and abilities (mid 50s), I was alone and learning to like it. I had the heraldry project as my full-time job. No blonde on a beach appeared, no 1950s model car. As I said, about five years after selling, I found that her phone was listed in the white pages without her husband's name. I decided to send her a package by mail, explaining the dream, with my motives in previous contacts with her. There was cold silence. I mustered the courage to call by phone. The answering machine took my message. On the third attempt, an elderly man answered, "Hello?"
My heart dropped. "Are you [Mr. K]"?
"Yes. Who's this?" He didn't sound angry/concerned, but I assumed they had my name come up on their phone. He sounded more like toying with me.
Ah, er, "Don't worry about it [Mr. K], have a nice day," and I hung up. Play with fire, you know.
This was unexpected, for him to be still with us, yet his name was not part of the white-page listing. Perhaps she arranged it that way. Perhaps she didn't live there; they had the money for more than one house; perhaps there were problems due to her seeking someone else. If she got the message, and she's reading this, let me tell you, I'm going to have a few words with you in the next life. This is rude or even cruel, for you not to at least call to say, not interested.
There is another uncertainty that makes this story compelling on the one hand, and more ironic if it too is a coincidence. Two years after the meeting in the office, a young woman of 15 emailed me from the post-trib book. I have no idea why she told me her age, but for some reason, and I don't recall why, I thought that this was Mrs. Candidate's daughter seeking to trap me into child sex. I'm not crazy so that, if I took it even partially serious that it was the daughter, there must have been a reason. She was the exact age for being the daughter. She wrote back a few times, then disappeared.
Years later, when seeking her mother's address to send the package, I found her listed with family members, one of them being the daughter showing her Daddy surname prior to the adoption by Mrs. Candidate. In the email, this 15-year old called herself, Taddy (or Taddie). Startling, isn't it? She may not have been writing for any malicious purpose, but I didn't know it. I had slipped Mrs. Candidate a cantaloupe from my garden one day when giving others at church some extra water melons and cantaloupes. At that time, I gave her the address of my website. She never mentioned it, and was therefore probably pre-trib. That's how her daughter may have been able to email me from that website.
Rewind back to my first phone call with Mrs. Candidate. Her daughter first picked up the phone, then handed it to her mother. The latter then said to someone standing there, "DADDY, would you go out and get some bread." It was clear because her mouth was near the phone.
I thought it a little strange that she would call her husband, Daddy, but then there are explanations for it. It was harder to explain that she would send her husband away like that as soon as she took the phone with a man her age...calling for the first time without any justifiable business. That is, I doubted very much that he would allow her to manipulate him like that. But if she had said "Taddy" instead of "Daddy," it makes much more sense. So, why was this daughter emailing me?
Place your bets on whether you think this woman is my future wife. You'll be hearing from me, if it happens. That's why I'm telling this story, right here.
Eleven years later, Taddy wrote back to say, remember me? It was last year. She said that she was now 26 and still single. Suspense. What next?
After telling the story to this point, I thought to get online to check whether there was an obituary on her husband. There is. He passed away mere months ago. Please don't think that I'm going, "Yippie!". Taddy's latest email was probably before the date. The reason for his passing is not mentioned. The obituary says that his first wife passed away about a year before marrying Mrs. Candidate at 21. I don't think either she or he were Christians at the time. It doesn't matter to me what they were in those days.
I can barely believe it. I have found a photo of Mrs. Candidate's husband and two sons in a Texas newspaper of the late 1980's. She is herself in at least one of the five photo's on this page. I cannot see any person well because the page demands that I sign up for a subscription before one can enlarge it. It's not necessary to enlarge it because the page has much in print, with their full names shown. In the photo with he and his sons, I kid you not, a large black-and-white dog!!! Zowie. The dog is large, though not as wide as the bulldog I once owned. The dog stands six feet tall, though it looks like a person is under it, wearing a large dog mask (head about six-to-eight times the volume of a human's). But it's white with large black/dark spots, just like the spots of a Holstein cow! It doesn't look like a bulldog, but may be of a similar, short species.
I can't share the article above because their names / identity appear. The city where this trophy event took place is on the Texas coast i.e. she lived at the ocean. She lived at the ocean until roughly the one-year period before I purchased land in Texas.
My sending the letter to her was necessary, in my opinion, but, frankly, telling her of this dream was not going to have much effect on her unless accompanied by other things to prove that this dream was of God and pertaining to her. She may even have thought that I was fabricating this dream in a desperate attempt to get her. Here we now have her husband with a dog of similar stature, but I don't think that she will be very impressed with this alone. Coincidences do occur. For me, this newspaper-dog photo is a virtual clincher already. How many dogs that size have you seen? It is having the effect of re-invigorating my quest for her. It has me praying over it all over again. I'm watching for signals from God for what should happen next?
Problem. She could think that I added the bulldog to the dream because I had found this newspaper photo many years ago. That's not true. It was not found until just now. Besides, if I added the bulldog to the dream, I wouldn't be talking about the dream right now as an expectation. There is nothing about the dream to convince of Godly origin aside from its match with my own bulldog. I can easily prove ownership of my dog due to the many pictures that my children could get.
Here's from the 2nd update in February, 2010:
In 1979, just weeks after my conversion to Jesus, I had what I considered to be one of the only God-given dreams I'd ever had, about my re-marriage (I was single at the time and didn't know it was about a RE-marriage). My future wife was depicted as a mean shark mangling the family (I didn't know it until our separation that the shark would be my first wife). A feature of the dream, a British bulldog (with Holstein-type spotting) ran past me, fell into a kidney-shaped swimming pool...
...The last time I saw her husband (Patrick bloodline), he was at least 80 years of age. The last time I communicated with his wife (more than 30 years younger than he), I mailed her a letter telling her a bit about the dream, and giving her the address to this book so that she might contact me when he passes away. I've never heard from her since, unless she has emailed me under another name. I figure that she thinks I'm crazy, and maybe I am.
Here is from the 3rd update in July of 2011: "I was led to purchase property some 10 miles from this woman and her husband. There were cowboys all over the area. Some still wear the big buckle down there, though she was not like that. She dresses a lady because she is a lady. I wrote her in June because I think her husband has passed away." In other words, I wrote her twice, telling a "bit" about the dream before February of 2010 (I had forgotten about this instance), and then sending her a larger package in June of 2011. Apparently, in July, I was still entertaining the possibility that the elderly man answering my phone call was his brother, or some other elderly man pretending to be him just to get rid of me.
One thing is FOR SURE. I didn't think I would ever be contacting her again on my initiative, as the next step between us. This newspaper photo suggests, unless I Hear otherwise, that I've got to contact her again as the next step. It's almost summer. I am scared to death of calling her; I'd rather act the wimp and write her.
It looks like my cue has arrived, just in time for our first wrinkles, but it's still great to KNOW. It was depressing to think that this dream was coincidental, or that God would let me down concerning it. But wait, nothing has happened yet. Right now, there is a big, fat zero on the table, and it's about to roll over and do something. When does a zero become anything? When you push it over and make it move. Who's going to push it over? Yours truly. I'm going to start my letter to her right now, even though I feel I have a 1 in 100 chance for getting her ear.
Just think of it. Of all the events in her husband's life, his local-city paper has him in only one photo available online, and he's with a big dog. What am I to think of this after already entertaining his wife as the one to filfill my dream with a similar dog? Incredible. This comes after the odds were great alone that I would ever own a living British bulldog, let alone a giant fibergalss one. And the newspaper-dog picture was found minutes after finding, for the first time, that the husband was passed away. It starts to read like a cosmic joke being played on me if this woman is not the one.
Update: I've written the letter. Not good. After mentioning some niceties, I started to feel that I did not want this. The niceties were deleted, and I said to the effect that I personally am not happy with her. I would rather it be someone else in different circumstances. I'm adding this here so that she knows it's the honest-God truth. Bluntly, a miracle needs to take place to put me together with her, or a drastic change in both my heart and hers. At this point, I need evidence from God that this woman is good for me. I found myself writing cold words. I haven't yet sent the letter.
I then reflected on this one more time, and thought to forget about how I feel. I thought to put on a forgiving spirit, and to imagine her having a change of heart toward me. That was much better. I think I could live with this. If she were to approach me with an attitude like that, I could be interested. But what about how I feel about her peculiarities? Doesn't that matter? Should I just lay all that aside, and accept her with open arms just because she decides she wants me?
What is there to forgive? I sense animosity between us manufactured by her misrepresentation of me. But this is easily forgiven. The reason that I sent her an explanation of the dream was to explain why I had gotten close to her in the first place, to try to wipe my slate clean with her, to prove I wasn't after adultery with her. Besides, under the circumstances, the dream needed to be told, otherwise I could see no way, ever, for us to get together in the future. I realize that it's bound to be futile to send a woman a message that, well, you have just got to become my wife because the dream says so. But I'm of the opinion that God is overseeing this, and so this long-shot is not without that important element.
When I look at the dream, with the woman floating in the car, with distress on her face, and this taking place after she sees me coming toward her, what does it mean to be floating or hovering in that way? Indecision on an important matter, right? My letter of five years ago was one starter for my coming to her. She rejected me. And this letter is my coming again, possibly accompanied with indecision this time.
The good news for my protection is, I don't need to accept her even if she decides to be with me, unless there is the fulfillment of the car. While my bulldog caused me to believe that this dream will come to pass, I also need evidence on who the right woman is. The newspaper-dog photo is working strong to convince me that it's this woman, and yet, when I look at my heart, it's not very happy with her. I have doubts concerning her true nature, not certain that she is the wonderful lady I imagined her to be. I have perfect freedom living on my own now, the last thing I want is to be a slave of the wrong woman over her oldest years. I can trust that God can put me with a woman who won't make me experience any such thing as deep regret.
Mark this: there was nothing in the dream for me to identify her in real life with certainty aside from the car. There are many model-like blonde's in relation to oceans and beaches. Those things prove little. But the car is the thing that will convince her that she's the one, and she must be able to convince me that this car was in her life. If she even tries to do this, it's only because she wants me.
This is exciting for me for the faith it can add to many readers. Foremost on my mind is my son, the only child not yet a Christian. He has deep reservations. But he has known of this dream for some 15 years. All my children know it, and they know I have mentioned Mrs. Candidate as the one I expect. Imagine if, out of what now looks like a hopeless situation, this dream comes to pass. It's like my entering the Promised Land after 15 years in slavery. I'm just kidding, it's more like 15 years of torment.
There is logic in God choosing for me a married women, so that I could be forced to be single, even though we had been together in situations (in that power-packed six-week period) that, under other circumstances, would have paired us up immediately. I was required to be single to finish this heraldic project. It started roughly in my last Texas year.
It dawns on me now that this dream, if it becomes fulfilled, was not for my benefit at all, but for readers. It explains why I could not understand its occurrence at all. Surely, if it was only about me and my future wife, I could have been paired with her aside from the dream, minus all the concerns that it caused. If this dream is to corroborate the recent updates and my claims therein, I can understand why God gave it to me (or us) at my significant expense. It makes sense that, when this project is done, she should be granted, not necessarily as a reward, but because the job's finished, or almost so. I won't define her as "my reward." She would be more like, the promise.
I changed the letter. It has straight-talk only, no sharing of feelings. Thank you for reading this far.
As of June 26th, I've decided not to send the letter. If this is to be, let God do it.
Especially for new or confused readers
MYTH CODES 101
shows where I'm coming from.
For serious investigators:
How to Work with Bloodline Topics
Here's what I did when I had spare time on my hands:
Ladon Gog and the Hebrew Rose
If you have received emails supposedly from me, and they look like advertisements
or anything unflattering and unexpected from me,
they were not from me but by someone using my email box to send it.
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