I was reflecting on my punting life and the terrifying statistic that male suicide is the biggest killer of men 29 - 45. Of the many reasons cited for this was a study where close to 1,000 male suicides were linked to sense of despair owing to denial or lack of access to sex or intimacy owing to socio economic or situational/cultural reasons compared to just over 200 female suicides.
Now, I was the guy who was not going to get the girl, no matter what I did. Further, I realise that I was partially emasculated by the women's movement of the late 80s/90s with 'No means No' and 'Pornography is violence', later realising that this was in fact a narrative designed by women seeking leverage through restricting access to sex and to 'shame' women into denying sex as pleasure (as part of the tyranny of male patriarchy...). The bitter truth, is that women I knew in this space, ended up partnering with men who were totally bastards but could materially support them comfortably or some pathetic man child. The point it was either a totally surrender of principles or a need for a power dynamic in their favour.
So, I am faced with a reality where, no matter what I did, I was not going to get laid, and as this persisted, the more desperate you get and that adds to your undesirability...
... ... ...
Only if you let it, tester101.
I was born shortly after WW 2 ended with a congenital disability which, if my parents and I had let it, would have had me thinking like you describe above.
I saw myself as the "little crippled boy" - to use the language of the time - who no sensible-thinking girl would ever fancy. So I kind-of reconciled myself to the fact that I'd probably die a virgin and developed a wide range of interests. And made a point of always trying to appear cheerful, no matter what I was feeling inside.
Long story short: I lived in a multi-storey block of flats as did a number of other singletons in our late 20s/early30s in white-collar jobs. One evening, I got in the lift with a letter I was taking to the town centre postbox with the late collection time. One floor later, a woman, 2 or 3 years older than me - quite fanciable, but nothing special - who taught at the local Technical College got in the lift on a similar errand. By the ground floor, we'd agreed that we'd go to the sorting office in her car and then go for a drink afterwards.
A couple of drinks later, she drove us home and persuaded me to stop off for a coffee in her flat, where for the first and only time I saw the inside of her bedroom! I went to work the next morning, knowing that I'd never have to wonder about doing the deed again
Fasit forward 9 or 10 years and I met the woman who I made the mistake of asking to marry me. When that collapsed after 3 or 4 years of her conducting a fairly open affair, she moved away with the bloke she'd been seeing [not quite] behind my back. Just over 18 months after that, I took my first steps into a Massage Parlour, since when I've never looked back.
The point I'm trying to make here - perhaps not very well! - is that lots of women are attracted to what they see as self-confidence. They're often looking for something different - security - than we blokes are - sex! If you can project a confident self-image - no matter what you're feeling inside - you'll have a much better chance of getting your end away!
