Love is her pretense, conquest is her intent.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
Thursday, December 25, 2025
TheXYGhost III 360
Character Test #2
Tell her you want to pay for a vacation for her and her best friend. If she gets excited, let her go.
TheXYGhost
Tell her you want to pay for a vacation for her and her best friend. If she gets excited, let her go.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost II 360
We need to re-implement the dowry system. Women need to offer a dowry for a man to marry her.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
I Can't Believe What Fabio Told Me
A number of years ago I was sitting at a bar in Caffe Roma in Beverly Hills, California (http://www.cafferomabeverlyhills.com/) waiting for my friends to arrive. They were late, again. After a while of sitting there nursing my drink, a well-dressed man with long blonde hair stood next to me. As it turned out, this gentleman was Fabio, Fabio Lanzoni (http://tinyurl.com/zvbsj5b). You know, the Italian model who graced the covers of countless Harlequin Romance Novels (http://tinyurl.com/j3gq8jw) and starred in the famous I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter ads (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xszIaNpYILY). Yes, that Fabio, the icon of female desire.
We began talking. It was surreal. After a while, I asked him if he was married. A very serious look came over his face, and with a tone I will never forget, he replied,
“Do I look stupid to you?”
Then he added, “Women are crazy.”
Here I was, sitting and talking with a man who could attract any woman he wanted purely by his looks and popularity, yet he kept women at arm’s length and nothing more.
As you can see from his Wikipedia page (http://tinyurl.com/zayz5hm), he has never been married. If a man like him won’t get married, why should you?
By the way, congratulations to Fabio on becoming a U.S. citizen as of March 16, 2016. Welcome to our country, we’re proud to have you.
We began talking. It was surreal. After a while, I asked him if he was married. A very serious look came over his face, and with a tone I will never forget, he replied,
“Do I look stupid to you?”
Then he added, “Women are crazy.”
Here I was, sitting and talking with a man who could attract any woman he wanted purely by his looks and popularity, yet he kept women at arm’s length and nothing more.
As you can see from his Wikipedia page (http://tinyurl.com/zayz5hm), he has never been married. If a man like him won’t get married, why should you?
By the way, congratulations to Fabio on becoming a U.S. citizen as of March 16, 2016. Welcome to our country, we’re proud to have you.
Wednesday, December 24, 2025
TheXYGhost III 359
Character Test #1
Casually ask her what she thinks about an open relationship.
TheXYGhost
Casually ask her what she thinks about an open relationship.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost II 359
When she finds your weakest point and exploits it, she will call you abusive.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
Former Feminists Are Still Dictating
There are women out there now calling themselves antifeminists, proudly claiming they were once hardcore feminists before they “saw the light.” They parade themselves as repentant insiders, as if that gives them moral authority to speak against the beast they helped create. Do not be fooled. These are the same women who once thrived on attention, poisoning the culture with their vile demands, pushing the war on men further every year. Now they have simply switched lanes, jumping from the feminist highway to the antifeminist bandwagon, still chasing the same drug, attention.
They loudly denounce their feminist past, the last 60 years of their own ideology, yet they reject any return to proven traditional roles that worked for centuries. They are not looking for stability or balance. They are looking for a new way to control the direction of society without admitting that they were the architects of its destruction. In the past, women like them wanted the world to bend to their demands. Now that their demands have rotted the foundation, they want the world to try a new experiment, undefined, untested, and still under their control.
They will never accept the truth that the most functional society is one where people are left alone to live as they choose, without ideological engineering. That is not good enough for them because it means surrendering their grip on power.
So I ask, where do you want to go? Do you want to take a road planned by someone who has already led you into a ditch and trust them to choose the next route? Do you want to waste decades walking blind into another failed social experiment? As for me, I will not follow them, I will not walk the path of those who destroyed what worked, and I will not dictate where another man should go. I am going my own way, and I will burn every bridge they try to build to pull me back under their control.
They loudly denounce their feminist past, the last 60 years of their own ideology, yet they reject any return to proven traditional roles that worked for centuries. They are not looking for stability or balance. They are looking for a new way to control the direction of society without admitting that they were the architects of its destruction. In the past, women like them wanted the world to bend to their demands. Now that their demands have rotted the foundation, they want the world to try a new experiment, undefined, untested, and still under their control.
They will never accept the truth that the most functional society is one where people are left alone to live as they choose, without ideological engineering. That is not good enough for them because it means surrendering their grip on power.
So I ask, where do you want to go? Do you want to take a road planned by someone who has already led you into a ditch and trust them to choose the next route? Do you want to waste decades walking blind into another failed social experiment? As for me, I will not follow them, I will not walk the path of those who destroyed what worked, and I will not dictate where another man should go. I am going my own way, and I will burn every bridge they try to build to pull me back under their control.
TheXYGhost 062
Unconditional love means that she will love you under the condition that you provide for her every want, need and desire, until she finds someone better.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
Tuesday, December 23, 2025
TheXYGhost III 358
She wants men to approach her now in her 30’s, even though back in her 20s, she used to laugh at them and turn them down just to humiliate them.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
You Can't Compromise With Greedy and Selfish Women
Feminism is the art of taking a gift and turning it into a ransom note. A man freely offers an inch out of kindness, and she demands ten miles, or she takes everything outright. If you give in, you are a sucker. If you refuse, you are cheap and stingy. Meanwhile, the weak men around you tell you to compromise, to meet her in the middle, as if there is a middle ground with a parasite.
Never, under any circumstances, offer anything to an ungrateful woman. She will never respect it, she will never appreciate it, and she will always demand more. Gratitude is foreign to her. Entitlement is her native language.
Never, under any circumstances, offer anything to an ungrateful woman. She will never respect it, she will never appreciate it, and she will always demand more. Gratitude is foreign to her. Entitlement is her native language.
TheXYGhost 061
Ask a feminist if she wants to date a man that is her equal and watch her head explode.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
Monday, December 22, 2025
TheXYGhost III 357
She hates competing for a man nobody wants. Social proof is the way she thinks.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost II 357
Her : Don’t you want a companion?
TheXYGhost : I want women to be free and independent.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost : I want women to be free and independent.
TheXYGhost
A Married Woman and My Brother
It was Halloween night at my dad’s place when the doorbell rang. I figured it was just Trick or Treaters, so I grabbed a bowl of candy and opened the door. Instead of kids in costumes, there stood a woman in her late twenties or early thirties, holding an envelope. No smile, no costume, just standing there like she had a mission.
She said she lived down the road and had a “peace offering” for my son. I told her I had no son, only brothers. Then she admitted she was dating my brother and that their relationship had ended badly. She claimed she wanted to make peace before leaving the country that night. She handed me the envelope, her so-called offering, and asked me to give it to him. I told her I would.
After she left, I texted my brother. I told him some woman had stopped by dad’s place to leave him a card, said she was leaving town, and thought I was his father. He replied, “It is a married woman who is obsessed with me. But thanks man.”
That told me everything. Another married woman chasing excitement outside her vows, another walking disaster ready to drag a man’s life into the gutter. I am thirty two years older than my younger brother, and no one in my family knows about my MGTOW convictions or my alias, AKA John Stone. But it is obvious, he is facing the same type of poison I had to deal with decades ago. Different woman, same game, same script. They never change, only the faces change.
A man does not need to study MGTOW to feel the burn of betrayal or the chaos of a woman who treats loyalty like a temporary arrangement. He only needs to live long enough to see it happen to himself or to someone close to him. And when it does, he understands why a man must go his own way.
She said she lived down the road and had a “peace offering” for my son. I told her I had no son, only brothers. Then she admitted she was dating my brother and that their relationship had ended badly. She claimed she wanted to make peace before leaving the country that night. She handed me the envelope, her so-called offering, and asked me to give it to him. I told her I would.
After she left, I texted my brother. I told him some woman had stopped by dad’s place to leave him a card, said she was leaving town, and thought I was his father. He replied, “It is a married woman who is obsessed with me. But thanks man.”
That told me everything. Another married woman chasing excitement outside her vows, another walking disaster ready to drag a man’s life into the gutter. I am thirty two years older than my younger brother, and no one in my family knows about my MGTOW convictions or my alias, AKA John Stone. But it is obvious, he is facing the same type of poison I had to deal with decades ago. Different woman, same game, same script. They never change, only the faces change.
A man does not need to study MGTOW to feel the burn of betrayal or the chaos of a woman who treats loyalty like a temporary arrangement. He only needs to live long enough to see it happen to himself or to someone close to him. And when it does, he understands why a man must go his own way.
Sunday, December 21, 2025
TheXYGhost III 356
She deliberately and publicly emasculates any man that comes into her life but wonders why they never return.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
That Girl Likes You
After my divorce was finalized and several months had passed, I decided to try something different. I thought maybe going to church for the first time might improve my odds of finding a decent woman to share my life with. I picked a church far from my neighborhood, somewhere no one I knew would attend, and I sat quietly through the services without drawing attention to myself.
Before long, a few men approached me and welcomed me warmly. They offered me genuine support and solid, logical advice without trying to preach at me. They invited me to Wednesday night Bible studies, before-and-after sermon discussions, church events, and even welcomed me into their homes for private study sessions. These men opened their hearts to me, and I will always appreciate that.
Then the test came. One Sunday, while I was setting up snacks for an after-sermon lecture, an older woman approached and asked my name. She introduced me to two of her elderly friends, then pulled me aside to quietly ask what kind of work I did. My guard was down. I had no idea she was sizing me up like a cattle buyer at an auction. I told her my occupation. Her eyes lit up and she nearly exploded with excitement, saying, “Oh! Oh! Oh! You’re rich! This girl, Wilma, likes you.”
I told her politely that I was not there for that. Still, the name Wilma stuck in my head. I had never spoken to a Wilma or been introduced to one, and with a name like that I knew I would remember it. All I could think of was Fred Flintstone’s wife from the old cartoon.
A few weeks later, the second woman out of that trio cornered me and asked the same questions. When she finally got to “What do you do for a living?” I told her, already suspicious. Just like the first one, she squealed, “Ooooh! You’re rich! Did you know that Wilma likes you?” It felt like I had stepped into the Twilight Zone. I told her again that I was not there to be set up with anyone and that I was perfectly fine as I was.
The following week, the first woman told me I should pray during the sermon for GOD to introduce me to someone after the service, and that my prayer would be answered. I told her I was not interested. She insisted that I should pray anyway so God’s will could be “revealed” to me.
I will admit, the mystery of who Wilma was kept nagging at me. Over the following weeks I looked for her without asking. I attended different groups, lingered in the hallways, scanning the crowd. Then one day, I saw her. Wilma. A tall, elegant, very attractive black woman.
I walked over and stood near her, waiting for her to say something. After all, two women had told me she liked me. Why would they lie? But she said nothing. She did not even seem to know who I was.
Later, while preparing for a children’s event, the third old woman approached me in front of others and asked what I did for a living. I thought, here we go again. I told her my occupation, and right on cue she said, “Ooooh, you’re rich…” I cut her off before she could continue, saying, “If I had ten times the money of Bill Gates, I would still not be as rich as Jesus Christ.” The three old women exchanged puzzled looks. I was done with their nonsense.
The next Sunday, I sat on the opposite side of the church. At the end of the service, the announcements included the engagement of Wilma and Jacob. I turned to look at the three women. Their faces were sour. My suspicion was clear: they did not approve of Wilma being engaged to a white man. They had been trying to maneuver me into the picture as some sort of “acceptable” match in their eyes. Maybe I was wrong, maybe not. Either way, they never mentioned Wilma again.
This is the lesson. Even in a church, the politics of attraction, money, and social approval are alive and well. They will size you up, assign you value, and try to place you where they think you belong. If you are not careful, you will find yourself playing a part in a script you never agreed to.
In retrospect, I guess I should’ve initially asked them to introduce her.
Before long, a few men approached me and welcomed me warmly. They offered me genuine support and solid, logical advice without trying to preach at me. They invited me to Wednesday night Bible studies, before-and-after sermon discussions, church events, and even welcomed me into their homes for private study sessions. These men opened their hearts to me, and I will always appreciate that.
Then the test came. One Sunday, while I was setting up snacks for an after-sermon lecture, an older woman approached and asked my name. She introduced me to two of her elderly friends, then pulled me aside to quietly ask what kind of work I did. My guard was down. I had no idea she was sizing me up like a cattle buyer at an auction. I told her my occupation. Her eyes lit up and she nearly exploded with excitement, saying, “Oh! Oh! Oh! You’re rich! This girl, Wilma, likes you.”
I told her politely that I was not there for that. Still, the name Wilma stuck in my head. I had never spoken to a Wilma or been introduced to one, and with a name like that I knew I would remember it. All I could think of was Fred Flintstone’s wife from the old cartoon.
A few weeks later, the second woman out of that trio cornered me and asked the same questions. When she finally got to “What do you do for a living?” I told her, already suspicious. Just like the first one, she squealed, “Ooooh! You’re rich! Did you know that Wilma likes you?” It felt like I had stepped into the Twilight Zone. I told her again that I was not there to be set up with anyone and that I was perfectly fine as I was.
The following week, the first woman told me I should pray during the sermon for GOD to introduce me to someone after the service, and that my prayer would be answered. I told her I was not interested. She insisted that I should pray anyway so God’s will could be “revealed” to me.
I will admit, the mystery of who Wilma was kept nagging at me. Over the following weeks I looked for her without asking. I attended different groups, lingered in the hallways, scanning the crowd. Then one day, I saw her. Wilma. A tall, elegant, very attractive black woman.
I walked over and stood near her, waiting for her to say something. After all, two women had told me she liked me. Why would they lie? But she said nothing. She did not even seem to know who I was.
Later, while preparing for a children’s event, the third old woman approached me in front of others and asked what I did for a living. I thought, here we go again. I told her my occupation, and right on cue she said, “Ooooh, you’re rich…” I cut her off before she could continue, saying, “If I had ten times the money of Bill Gates, I would still not be as rich as Jesus Christ.” The three old women exchanged puzzled looks. I was done with their nonsense.
The next Sunday, I sat on the opposite side of the church. At the end of the service, the announcements included the engagement of Wilma and Jacob. I turned to look at the three women. Their faces were sour. My suspicion was clear: they did not approve of Wilma being engaged to a white man. They had been trying to maneuver me into the picture as some sort of “acceptable” match in their eyes. Maybe I was wrong, maybe not. Either way, they never mentioned Wilma again.
This is the lesson. Even in a church, the politics of attraction, money, and social approval are alive and well. They will size you up, assign you value, and try to place you where they think you belong. If you are not careful, you will find yourself playing a part in a script you never agreed to.
In retrospect, I guess I should’ve initially asked them to introduce her.
TheXYGhost 059
You want a $150K ring to prove that I love you?
Where is your proof to me that you love me?
TheXYGhost
Where is your proof to me that you love me?
TheXYGhost
Saturday, December 20, 2025
TheXYGhost III 355
She wasted all her good years on men she used and never liked, yet she finds a way to blame men for her choices.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
Women and Tipping
I have spoken with waiters, waitresses, and cab drivers. They all say the same thing, men tip better than women. In the hospitality industry, the overwhelming majority of tips come from men. I know many New York City cab drivers who will pass over a female passenger and choose a male instead for one simple reason, men pay better and they know it.
The only time I have ever seen a woman tip well is if she has worked as a waitress herself. That is the rare exception. Most of the time, the money leaves her hand like it is a piece of her soul being torn away.
So which sex is greedy, stingy, and selfish? Keep that in mind the next time a woman calls you cheap because you refused to buy her the most expensive meal and wine on the first date. Remember it when she expects you to pick up every tab, cover every outing, and fund her evening without a word of thanks. The truth is, the ones shouting “cheap” the loudest are often the ones who tip the least and give the least.
The only time I have ever seen a woman tip well is if she has worked as a waitress herself. That is the rare exception. Most of the time, the money leaves her hand like it is a piece of her soul being torn away.
So which sex is greedy, stingy, and selfish? Keep that in mind the next time a woman calls you cheap because you refused to buy her the most expensive meal and wine on the first date. Remember it when she expects you to pick up every tab, cover every outing, and fund her evening without a word of thanks. The truth is, the ones shouting “cheap” the loudest are often the ones who tip the least and give the least.
Friday, December 19, 2025
TheXYGhost II 354
The men of old used to make their women respect them with the same belt they correct their kids.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
Women in Prisons
Over my lifetime I have spoken to many corrections officers, both men and women, from New York City, New York State, New Jersey, New Hampshire, Arizona, and California. One truth stands out without question. The men in prison are violent and dangerous, and the worst of them end up featured on television shows about maximum security nightmares. But the women, according to every officer I have spoken with, are a different breed entirely, nasty, filthy, manipulative, and disgusting in ways that make violence look almost straightforward by comparison.
Every officer I have spoken to has told me they would rather work in a men’s prison than a women’s. In a men’s facility you know what you are dealing with. Violence is open, visible, and predictable. But in a women’s prison the filth is not just physical, it is mental. It is constant scheming, constant drama, constant attempts to weaponize lies and manipulation. The danger is not just in fists and blades, it is in the games they play to ruin anyone they can reach.
When seasoned officers, hardened by years inside the walls, tell you they prefer the company of male inmates over female ones, it should tell you everything you need to know about the reality of female behavior when the masks come off.
Every officer I have spoken to has told me they would rather work in a men’s prison than a women’s. In a men’s facility you know what you are dealing with. Violence is open, visible, and predictable. But in a women’s prison the filth is not just physical, it is mental. It is constant scheming, constant drama, constant attempts to weaponize lies and manipulation. The danger is not just in fists and blades, it is in the games they play to ruin anyone they can reach.
When seasoned officers, hardened by years inside the walls, tell you they prefer the company of male inmates over female ones, it should tell you everything you need to know about the reality of female behavior when the masks come off.
TheXYGhost 057
If a woman's prerogative is to change her mind, why ask her opinion in the first place?
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
Thursday, December 18, 2025
TheXYGhost III 353
If a woman is divorced or is a single mom, she has proven to the world that she does not value men or family.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
The Divorce Equation
There is absolutely a formula for predicting when a woman will separate from her man. It is not based on feelings, romance, or fate, it is a timeline driven by cold calculation and self interest.
• If there are no children between them, she will leave within three years. That is the limit of her patience when there is nothing binding her to him.
• If there are children, she will wait until the youngest is four or five years old before ending it. This is when the dependency stage is over and her need for the man as a provider begins to feel optional.
• If the relationship survives beyond that point, you may have one of the rare ones who values commitment, but understand that rarity is not the rule.
• If a woman divorces her husband after seven or eight years, you can almost guarantee there are at least two children involved. The timeline matches the stage where she has secured the family she wanted and now feels free to leave.
I have never seen this pattern written anywhere, yet I have seen it play out again and again for decades. The variables change, the excuses vary, but the equation remains the same. It is not an accident, it is not random, and it is not love. It is strategy.
• If there are no children between them, she will leave within three years. That is the limit of her patience when there is nothing binding her to him.
• If there are children, she will wait until the youngest is four or five years old before ending it. This is when the dependency stage is over and her need for the man as a provider begins to feel optional.
• If the relationship survives beyond that point, you may have one of the rare ones who values commitment, but understand that rarity is not the rule.
• If a woman divorces her husband after seven or eight years, you can almost guarantee there are at least two children involved. The timeline matches the stage where she has secured the family she wanted and now feels free to leave.
I have never seen this pattern written anywhere, yet I have seen it play out again and again for decades. The variables change, the excuses vary, but the equation remains the same. It is not an accident, it is not random, and it is not love. It is strategy.
TheXYGhost 056
MGTOW is about men choosing their freedom over being a servant "provider".
Why do women hate that?
TheXYGhost
Why do women hate that?
TheXYGhost
Wednesday, December 17, 2025
TheXYGhost II 352
After she divorced her husband for cheating, she was the side piece for 5 married men.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost 055
Her : Buy me a ring or I'm leaving you.
TheXYGhost : Retract that demand or I'll leave you.
TheXYGhost : Retract that demand or I'll leave you.
Tuesday, December 16, 2025
TheXYGhost IV 351
The problem is not that men pick the wrong women, it is that women become the wrong women.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost III 351
She is more focused on how you feel about her and not how she feels about you.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost II 351
She feels that if you love her, she expects you to do as she orders. But she wants a man that’s a leader.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
Women Love Abusive Men
Several times in my life I have met women who claimed they were in abusive relationships. Some were married, others were simply living together. Every time I told them they should leave, they had the same answer, “I can’t.”
When I asked why, the response was always the same, word for word, “You just don’t understand.” And some of them would go further, saying, “But I love him.”
What they were really saying was that they loved the chaos more than they loved peace. They loved the emotional highs and lows more than stability. They were addicted to the drama and the validation they could extract from being the victim while still staying in the very situation they complained about.
You cannot save a woman from a man she does not want to be saved from. And you cannot reason with someone who calls abuse unacceptable yet chooses to stay in its presence. They will tell you they are trapped, but the truth is they are invested. They are not prisoners of the man, they are prisoners of their own choices.
When I asked why, the response was always the same, word for word, “You just don’t understand.” And some of them would go further, saying, “But I love him.”
What they were really saying was that they loved the chaos more than they loved peace. They loved the emotional highs and lows more than stability. They were addicted to the drama and the validation they could extract from being the victim while still staying in the very situation they complained about.
You cannot save a woman from a man she does not want to be saved from. And you cannot reason with someone who calls abuse unacceptable yet chooses to stay in its presence. They will tell you they are trapped, but the truth is they are invested. They are not prisoners of the man, they are prisoners of their own choices.
TheXYGhost 054
5 kids, 21 DNA tests, 10 years and you still can't find all your kid's fathers. You blame men for this, right?
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
Monday, December 15, 2025
TheXYGhost III 350
She does not want to love a man. She wants a a man to love her. Isn’t that the the textbook definition of narcissism?
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
My Father Dealing With Me Being Single
Today I argued with my eighty one year old father.
My father and mother separated when I was four. I lived with my unstable mother until the age of ten, then moved to Europe to live with my retired grandparents until I was fourteen. When I returned to America, I was told my father had been found. My mother had hidden us from him, poisoning my mind with hatred toward him, and I believed her.
Years later, my mother’s behavior became unbearable. I moved in with my father, but the hate I had been taught still lived in me, through no fault of his own. I graduated high school, left for college, quit, and got my own apartment while working for my father. I still carried the same resentment.
Eventually my father remarried and had two sons. No one pushed me aside, but I felt like an outsider in his new family. So I left and never looked back.
Sixteen years later, I reconnected with my brothers on Facebook, leading to a tearful reunion. By that time I was divorced, and I understood my father better. The hate had disappeared, somewhere after my mother’s death.
Over the years I visited my father, stepmother, and brothers regularly. But every visit came with the same questions from him:
“How’s your love life?”
“Any new romances?”
“Anyone new in your life?”
“Met anyone at work?”
“I married at forty six, there’s still hope for you.”
“Your grandfather married at fifty three, there’s still hope for you.”
“My tenant thinks you’re good looking.”
Every single visit was one of those same lines. It wore me down. Eventually my older half brother joined in with his own lectures. I shrugged it off for years until one day, walking through a mall, my father asked again. I snapped.
“What’s with the questions? Do you think I’m gay? What’s wrong with me? What do you want me to do to make you happy?” I shouted, making it clear that I was single and staying that way.
The very next day, he asked again. It was like he hadn’t heard a word I said.
When I got home, I sent him several of my articles and followed with a text:
“Maybe one day you and Billy will stop calling me gay.”
He told me not to be ridiculous. I told him straight, the lectures and hints hurt me. I did not care what his tenant thought of me. I was done being poked at. You cannot keep pushing a tiger and not expect it to bite.
I reminded him that I had already been with enough psychotic girlfriends who saw me only as a provider. I was not going back to that insanity. Yes, I know the tired line, “Not all women are like that”, followed by the accusation that it is my fault for picking them. My answer is simple. I will not pick them anymore.
I cut out people who nag me about being single. I do not want to have to cut out my father. I have been with too many women. I only wanted one. I am not jumping back into the fire. Women with multiple children from multiple men, with histories of abortions and STDs, are not for me. Entitled women who expect the world from me have no place in my life. I was not put here to be a woman’s meal ticket.
He said he would not mention it again. I told him please, keep that promise.
Later I apologized for blowing up, explaining that it is a sensitive subject for me. He accepted my apology. I told him I value the time we have together and do not want it to end. He told me it ends when he passes on, and that I will still have my siblings and his wife. I told him there will be time.
My father and mother separated when I was four. I lived with my unstable mother until the age of ten, then moved to Europe to live with my retired grandparents until I was fourteen. When I returned to America, I was told my father had been found. My mother had hidden us from him, poisoning my mind with hatred toward him, and I believed her.
Years later, my mother’s behavior became unbearable. I moved in with my father, but the hate I had been taught still lived in me, through no fault of his own. I graduated high school, left for college, quit, and got my own apartment while working for my father. I still carried the same resentment.
Eventually my father remarried and had two sons. No one pushed me aside, but I felt like an outsider in his new family. So I left and never looked back.
Sixteen years later, I reconnected with my brothers on Facebook, leading to a tearful reunion. By that time I was divorced, and I understood my father better. The hate had disappeared, somewhere after my mother’s death.
Over the years I visited my father, stepmother, and brothers regularly. But every visit came with the same questions from him:
“How’s your love life?”
“Any new romances?”
“Anyone new in your life?”
“Met anyone at work?”
“I married at forty six, there’s still hope for you.”
“Your grandfather married at fifty three, there’s still hope for you.”
“My tenant thinks you’re good looking.”
Every single visit was one of those same lines. It wore me down. Eventually my older half brother joined in with his own lectures. I shrugged it off for years until one day, walking through a mall, my father asked again. I snapped.
“What’s with the questions? Do you think I’m gay? What’s wrong with me? What do you want me to do to make you happy?” I shouted, making it clear that I was single and staying that way.
The very next day, he asked again. It was like he hadn’t heard a word I said.
When I got home, I sent him several of my articles and followed with a text:
“Maybe one day you and Billy will stop calling me gay.”
He told me not to be ridiculous. I told him straight, the lectures and hints hurt me. I did not care what his tenant thought of me. I was done being poked at. You cannot keep pushing a tiger and not expect it to bite.
I reminded him that I had already been with enough psychotic girlfriends who saw me only as a provider. I was not going back to that insanity. Yes, I know the tired line, “Not all women are like that”, followed by the accusation that it is my fault for picking them. My answer is simple. I will not pick them anymore.
I cut out people who nag me about being single. I do not want to have to cut out my father. I have been with too many women. I only wanted one. I am not jumping back into the fire. Women with multiple children from multiple men, with histories of abortions and STDs, are not for me. Entitled women who expect the world from me have no place in my life. I was not put here to be a woman’s meal ticket.
He said he would not mention it again. I told him please, keep that promise.
Later I apologized for blowing up, explaining that it is a sensitive subject for me. He accepted my apology. I told him I value the time we have together and do not want it to end. He told me it ends when he passes on, and that I will still have my siblings and his wife. I told him there will be time.
TheXYGhost 053
Her : I want a $25,000 ring because I'm worth it.
TheXYGhost : Is that the price of your love for me?
TheXYGhost : Is that the price of your love for me?
Sunday, December 14, 2025
How My Father Sees Me as a Single Man
Today I argued with my eighty one year old father.
My father and mother separated when I was four. I lived with my unstable mother until the age of ten, then moved to Europe to live with my retired grandparents until I was fourteen. When I returned to America, I was told my father had been found. My mother had hidden us from him, poisoning my mind with hatred toward him, and I believed her.
Years later, my mother's behavior became unbearable. I moved in with my father, but the hate I had been taught still lived in me, through no fault of his own. I graduated high school, left for college, quit, and got my own apartment while working for my father. I still carried the same resentment.
Eventually my father remarried and had two sons. No one pushed me aside, but I felt like an outsider in his new family. So I left and never looked back.
Sixteen years later, I reconnected with my brothers on Facebook, leading to a tearful reunion. By that time I was divorced, and I understood my father better. The hate had disappeared, somewhere after my mother's death.
Over the years I visited my father, stepmother, and brothers regularly. But every visit came with the same questions from him:
"How's your love life?"
"Any new romances?"
"Anyone new in your life?"
"Met anyone at work?"
"I married at forty six, there's still hope for you."
"Your grandfather married at fifty three, there's still hope for you."
"My tenant thinks you're good looking."
Every single visit was one of those same lines. It wore me down. Eventually my older half brother joined in with his own lectures. I shrugged it off for years until one day, walking through a mall, my father asked again. I snapped.
"What's with the questions? Do you think I'm gay? What's wrong with me? What do you want me to do to make you happy?" I shouted, making it clear that I was single and staying that way.
The very next day, he asked again. It was like he had not heard a word I said.
When I got home, I sent him several of my articles and followed with a text:
Maybe one day you and Billy will stop calling me gay."
He told me not to be ridiculous. I told him straight, the lectures and hints hurt me. I did not care what his tenant thought of me. I was done being poked at. You cannot keep pushing a tiger and not expect it to bite.
I reminded him that I had already been with enough psychotic girlfriends who saw me only as a provider. I was not going back to that insanity. Yes, I know the tired line, "Not all women are like that," followed by the accusation that it is my fault for picking them. My answer is simple. I will not pick them anymore.
I cut out people who nag me about being single. I do not want to have to cut out my father. I have been with too many women. I only wanted one. I am not jumping back into the fire. Women with multiple children from multiple men, with histories of abortions and STDs, are not for me. Entitled women who expect the world from me have no place in my life. I was not put here to be a woman's meal ticket.
He said he would not mention it again. I told him please, keep that promise.
Later I apologized for blowing up, explaining that it is a sensitive subject for me. He accepted my apology. I told him I value the time we have together and do not want it to end. He told me it ends when he passes on, and that I will still have my siblings and his wife. I told him there will be time.
My father and mother separated when I was four. I lived with my unstable mother until the age of ten, then moved to Europe to live with my retired grandparents until I was fourteen. When I returned to America, I was told my father had been found. My mother had hidden us from him, poisoning my mind with hatred toward him, and I believed her.
Years later, my mother's behavior became unbearable. I moved in with my father, but the hate I had been taught still lived in me, through no fault of his own. I graduated high school, left for college, quit, and got my own apartment while working for my father. I still carried the same resentment.
Eventually my father remarried and had two sons. No one pushed me aside, but I felt like an outsider in his new family. So I left and never looked back.
Sixteen years later, I reconnected with my brothers on Facebook, leading to a tearful reunion. By that time I was divorced, and I understood my father better. The hate had disappeared, somewhere after my mother's death.
Over the years I visited my father, stepmother, and brothers regularly. But every visit came with the same questions from him:
"How's your love life?"
"Any new romances?"
"Anyone new in your life?"
"Met anyone at work?"
"I married at forty six, there's still hope for you."
"Your grandfather married at fifty three, there's still hope for you."
"My tenant thinks you're good looking."
Every single visit was one of those same lines. It wore me down. Eventually my older half brother joined in with his own lectures. I shrugged it off for years until one day, walking through a mall, my father asked again. I snapped.
"What's with the questions? Do you think I'm gay? What's wrong with me? What do you want me to do to make you happy?" I shouted, making it clear that I was single and staying that way.
The very next day, he asked again. It was like he had not heard a word I said.
When I got home, I sent him several of my articles and followed with a text:
Maybe one day you and Billy will stop calling me gay."
He told me not to be ridiculous. I told him straight, the lectures and hints hurt me. I did not care what his tenant thought of me. I was done being poked at. You cannot keep pushing a tiger and not expect it to bite.
I reminded him that I had already been with enough psychotic girlfriends who saw me only as a provider. I was not going back to that insanity. Yes, I know the tired line, "Not all women are like that," followed by the accusation that it is my fault for picking them. My answer is simple. I will not pick them anymore.
I cut out people who nag me about being single. I do not want to have to cut out my father. I have been with too many women. I only wanted one. I am not jumping back into the fire. Women with multiple children from multiple men, with histories of abortions and STDs, are not for me. Entitled women who expect the world from me have no place in my life. I was not put here to be a woman's meal ticket.
He said he would not mention it again. I told him please, keep that promise.
Later I apologized for blowing up, explaining that it is a sensitive subject for me. He accepted my apology. I told him I value the time we have together and do not want it to end. He told me it ends when he passes on, and that I will still have my siblings and his wife. I told him there will be time.
TheXYGhost 052
Her: My boyfriend does not know how to make me happy.
TheXYGhost : Next time date Bozo the Clown.
TheXYGhost : Next time date Bozo the Clown.
Saturday, December 13, 2025
TheXYGhost III 348
Broke men dress rich to impress women. Rich men act poor to test women.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost II 348
If you are strong enough for her liking, you will evade her attacks she plots against you.
TheXYGhost
TheXYGhost
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)