Tag Archives: life

No Seed, All Sizzle: My Secret Weapon in Modern Dating

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I’ve learned there are a few phrases in a man’s conversational toolkit that can stop time, reset the vibe, and spark a flash of unexpected interest. “I cook a tasty risotto” is decent. “I volunteer at the local animal shelter” gets a respectful nod. Yet nothing, and I mean nothing, hits quite like “I’ve had a vasectomy.”

Boom. Eyes widen. Shoulders relax. Somewhere in the distance, you can almost hear a jazz saxophone kick in. Suddenly, I’m no longer just another charming guy with good shoes and half-decent banter – I’m the unicorn of casual dating. The Responsible One. The Guy Who Took the Hit So Nobody Else Has To.

Make no mistake, this is not about pity. I don’t limp into rooms or tell tragic tales of what was bravely left behind in a clinic that smelled faintly of antiseptic and regret. Quite the opposite. I say it with a wink and a little smile, because I know exactly what it means to them. No babies. No pills. No oopsies.

In that moment, it’s as if the entire weight of reproductive labour, historically dropped squarely on women’s shoulders, suddenly lifts. No tracking cycles. No last-minute pharmacy dashes. No quiet dread over a missed period, and a malfunctioning condom. I’m walking, talking sexual freedom, with a surgical receipt.

Now, not every woman reacts the same way. Some go wide-eyed and whisper “thank you” like I’ve just rescued a puppy from a burning building. Others get curious, like I’ve admitted I can tie knots with my tongue or moonlight as a tantra instructor. Either way, it’s a green light wrapped in satin and signed “with gratitude.”

The snip, you see, is the ultimate adult move. It doesn’t just say I’m not planning on having more (or any) kids. It says I’ve thought about consequences. I’ve taken action. I’ve made a permanent decision not to play Russian roulette with someone else’s uterus. That’s hot.

Sex becomes lighter. Freer. No post-coital math, no awkward “you on the pill?” conversations, no side-eye toward the bedside drawer and its expired latex. Just grown-up fun, with a safety net sewn in by a professional.

And let’s not ignore the sheer boldness of it. There’s something undeniably sexy about a man who says, “Yeah, I let someone down there with a scalpel, and I did it for the team.” That’s confidence. That’s swagger. That’s a whole new level of big dick energy (ironic, considering the location of the procedure).

So, yes, when I mention I’ve had a vasectomy, women’s eyes light up. Not just because of what it says about the plumbing, but because of what it says about the person attached to it. Consider it a plot twist, a punchline, and a promise: no surprises, just pleasure.

I may have had the tubes tied, but trust me, the vibes? Completely unleashed.

A Gentleman’s Guide to Fostering Love

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At this point in my life, I’ve figured out who I am, and what I bring to the table. I’m not here for grand romantic illusions, nor am I fumbling through awkward first dates trying to impress anyone. No, what I do is far more refined – I teach, I mentor, I foster.

I provide a comfortable, well-appointed sanctuary for remarkable women in their 30s and 40s who are figuring out their next steps. They come into my life, full of ambition, wit, and occasionally a deep frustration with men who still haven’t mastered basic emotional intelligence. They stay for a while, we share some incredible experiences, and eventually, they find their forever home; sometimes with another partner, sometimes in a new adventure, and sometimes still with me, just in a different way.

Now, before you assume I’m some kind of wandering sage, let me be clear; I’m not a lonely old monk dispensing wisdom and jazz records. I’ve got a full, dynamic love life of my own. My partner in her 60s keeps me on my toes, challenging me in ways only someone who’s been around long enough to take no nonsense can. She’s my equal, my match, and my co-conspirator in navigating a life filled with love, humor, and a shared appreciation for craft ale, especially stouts. And then there are my younger partners, fiercely independent, brilliantly talented, and unwilling to settle for anything less than what they deserve.

I’m not collecting people; I’m building connections. And fostering isn’t about temporary fixes or waiting for someone to move on. It’s about appreciating the time we have together, without needing to force it into a predefined shape. Some partners stay in my orbit for years, others drift in and out, and it all works because honesty, respect, and a shared love of good conversation make everything smoother.

People often assume polyamory is chaotic, but that’s only if you’re doing it wrong. For me, it’s about balance. It’s about offering and receiving care without ownership. It’s about knowing that love isn’t a finite resource, and that just because someone moves on to another stage of their life doesn’t mean what we had wasn’t real.

And while I’ve fostered many wonderful women through various chapters of their journeys, let’s not forget, I’m a bit of a rescue myself. My partners challenge me, push me to grow, and occasionally force me to retire my outdated pop culture references. They bring new energy, new perspectives, and new reasons to keep up with life’s ever-changing rhythms.

So no, I don’t date in the traditional sense. I create space for extraordinary women to thrive, sometimes with me, sometimes elsewhere. And if that means I get to spend my years surrounded by sharp minds, quick wit, and an ever-expanding appreciation for different ways of loving? Well, I’d say that’s a pretty great forever home of my own.

A Pigeonhole for Every Personality

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Have you noticed how obsessed western society is with pigeonholing people into neat little personality categories? From zodiac signs to Myers-Briggs types, it seems we can’t rest until we’ve crammed ourselves, and everyone else, into a box labeled with letters, numbers, or vague, semi-mystical descriptors. Aries male? Oh, you must be stubborn and impulsive. ENFP? Wow, you’re totally creative and scatterbrained. Big Five score leaning high in agreeableness? People-pleaser alert!

And yet, here I stand, a man who simply cannot be boxed. Yes, yes! We all think that! Whenever I take the Myers-Briggs test, my Introvert/Extrovert (I/E) score hovers awkwardly in the middle, waffling like a hungover short-order cook. “You’re not answering honestly,” the test experts claim. Well, excuse me for periodically liking a quiet evening at home and the occasional raucous dinner party. I’m sorry my human complexity doesn’t fit neatly into your binary little grid.

So, after decades of this existential crisis, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. I’ve created a new label for myself: ANTJ. It stands for “Ambivert (Neither This nor That Junkie),” and it’s a perfect match for my 60-plus years of observational data. An ANTJ thrives on ambiguity, refuses to commit to being either an introvert or extrovert, and gleefully resists every attempt to pigeonhole them.

The world’s addiction to personality tests doesn’t stop at Myers-Briggs. The Enneagram insists we’re all one of nine archetypes, like “The Helper” or “The Achiever,” while the DISC assessment asks whether we’re more “dominant” or “conscientious.” Gallup’s StrengthsFinder suggests that some of us are “Woo” types (which, hilariously, stands for Winning Others Over—basically extroverts on steroids). Even HEXACO dives deep into whether we score high on “honesty-humility.”

But here’s the kicker: these labels are treated like gospel. Once you’ve slapped on your type, whether you’re a “Type 7 Enthusiast” or an “Analytical Green”, you’re expected to live your life accordingly. Changing? Growing? Evolving? Don’t you dare! You’re an Aries male, so start yelling at someone, whilst buying a motorcycle already.

Frankly, I refuse to play along. I’m an ANTJ, a free agent in the world of personality classification. Want me to be outgoing? Sure, I’ll host a dinner party with great wine and bad karaoke. Want me to be introspective? Absolutely, and I’ll write you a heartfelt essay about it afterward.

So, to my fellow fence-sitters, I say this: embrace the waffle. Be an ANTJ, a proud dweller of the in-between. Just don’t let anyone box you in, or worse, force you to buy a subscription to yet another fucking personality test.

He Said, She Said: The Perks of Dating Across Generations

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He Says: Dating an independent younger mother is like finding a partner with superhero qualities. She’s resilient, focused, and masterful at managing her time; better than most CEOs. She doesn’t need rescuing; she’s already fought her battles and won. What she values is a partner who brings wisdom, stability, and a calm presence in her whirlwind of responsibilities. For an older guy like me, it’s refreshing. There’s no pretense, no unnecessary drama, just an authentic, meaningful connection, built on mutual respect.

And let’s talk about her energy! It’s magnetic, a constant reminder that life is vibrant and full of possibilities. She keeps me engaged, challenges me to stay present, and proves that growing older doesn’t mean slowing down. More than that, she’s aligned with my thinking about the beauty of balance; how to be both independent and deeply connected.

She Says: Dating an older gentleman is like stepping into an oasis of calm after the daily chaos of parenting. He’s emotionally grounded, self-assured, and, best of all, done with playing games. My time is my most valuable asset, and I need someone who respects my schedule, understands my priorities, and supports me without trying to control or fix things. Older men get that.

What I love about him is his ability to listen, his steady presence. I’ve spent so much time managing crises and doing everything myself that it’s a relief to be with someone who can just be there without adding pressure. He doesn’t expect perfection, he values honesty and effort, and there’s something deeply reassuring about being with someone who knows who they are, what they want, and how to be a real partner.

He Says: Stability? Sure, but let’s talk about the fact that I’m learning just as much from her. Her independence is inspiring, it pushes me to be more adaptable, more open to change. And that vitality? It’s contagious. I may have a few gray hairs, but that doesn’t mean I’m set in my ways. If anything, her passion and determination remind me that life is about movement, growth, and embracing new experiences.

What makes this work is that we’re not trying to force anything. We don’t have to be everything to each other, but we show up when it counts. When life throws us curveballs, we face them together; no drama, no games. It’s a partnership built on respect, not expectations.

She Says: And let’s not forget patience. Older men have a way of slowing things down in the best possible way. In a world that’s constantly demanding more, that kind of presence is priceless. I used to worry about how a relationship might affect my kids, but with him, it’s just… easy. He’s patient with them, but he also knows when to step back and give me space to handle things. He respects the boundaries I’ve set as a parent, but he’s always there when I need him.

And the way he makes time for me, just us, no distractions, reminds me of how important it is to nurture the connection we’ve built. There’s an ease to being with him that I didn’t know I was looking for, and now that I’ve found it, I can’t imagine going back to anything less.

He Says: And that’s what makes it work, isn’t it? We’re not playing by anyone else’s rules. We’re just two people figuring it out together, supporting each other, growing together, and sharing a real connection. Her kids, her responsibilities, they’re part of the package, but they’re never a barrier. I’m not here to replace anyone or change anything; I’m here to be part of her life, to add something positive. And honestly, it’s one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done.