This happens to my husband too, he doesn’t tell in detail, he just hints that he had a terrible dream with other people’s boobs, and he laughs.
We came up with a way to prevent betrayal if it happens: don’t flirt.
Well, that is, when hormones are raging, when you are physically attracted to someone, do not take any action. Do not communicate, do not meet, do not meet eyes, do not touch, and especially do not joke with the object of your adoration.
After some time, the hormones release, the mind again takes control of the body, you come to your senses, and again you want only your lover.
Am I writing scary things? Did you think everything was perfect with us? No one is without clouds, don’t believe otherwise. If we didn't have penises or clitorises, and we floated like angels in the sky, then perhaps fidelity could be absolute.
And so, unfortunately, all that remains is to take responsibility and be the cause of your own happiness, to control the genitals, tongue, eyes, arms and legs.
Those who know how to curb their thoughts cause me special admiration. If among you, my readers, there are such people, please respond, just be honest about how it works out for you and how long it lasts. I'm using this as a life hack in my new book.
If you are frigid, then the answer will not count, it’s easier than ever to remain faithful.
“10 guys in a year and no one worth it.”
Are we whores or actively searching? How to figure it out when you are looking for an ideal partner, the hero of your novel, someone with whom you will live a happy life, start a family, and on the way you meet only perverts, mama’s boys, jealous house builders and Don Juan Casanovas.
If we see a handsome, smart, kind guy who is free, then we immediately take a step forward so that he notices us. Then we get to know each other better, go on dates and…
Instead of discerning in it a discrepancy with other parameters, we begin to invent and assign non-existent advantages to it. We meet further, sleep. And one fine day the masks fall off, the veil disappears from our eyes, and voila, what we have in front of us is completely different from the one we mentally pictured.
We get upset, but don’t learn the lesson, but move on and step on the same rake. Once, twice, three times, and now for the tenth time this year, the gentleman turns out to be a complete asshole, for whom you dyed your hair.
Are you laughing?
These are all true stories. They happened not only to me, but also to my friends.
So, everything in order.
First, I'll tell you about my searches.
After I realized that Dima was no longer interesting to me, I decided to expand the parameters and narrow the category.
I wanted to meet a rich, successful, non-drinking man who would be attractive to me.
The perspective shifted towards the financial component, and I literally walked on the line between a mercantile bitch and a decent romantic.
Every single day, I went out as if on a podium and scanned my surroundings for the presence of such a man.
I hoped to meet my fate daily, hourly. My wardrobe has expanded significantly, going out has become regular, and my makeup and hairstyles have become closer to the desired look. Not to say that I became a Yves Saint Laurent model, but I learned to look stylish – that's for sure.
My guide to finding an ideal was the heroine of the American TV series Carrie Bradshaw. I recommend it to every emotionally mature woman to watch. But if you are not stable and want to take revenge on someone, like I did then, then it is better to take the advice of Carrie and her friends as fiction and watch everything to the end. This is the only way morality becomes visible.
