by Symbol

I’m 6’6”.

I’m 6’6” and on average somewhere around 275lbs. I routinely get compared to Vikings, characters from medieval fiction, and the occasional professional wrestler. The average height of the women I usually end up in relationships with? About 5’2”. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been involved with someone taller than 5’7”. That’s not from lack of trying. I just don’t seem to be able to find, or perhaps attract, taller women.

I went on a few dates with a woman who clocked in at 5’10” this summer and it was wonderfully strange –– I’m so used to having to bend to kiss. The level of height disparity I normally deal with renders paired dancing completely out of the question, and there’s a variety of other things that can’t be done when you’re more than twice the size of your partner.

I’ve dated a lot of women in my life, and they all seem to share the same dominant characteristics, they’re tiny women who know they want and go after it –– me, in this case. I remember having a conversation with one of my exes, Heather, about why she was attracted to me (and to large guys in general), her response was something I completely wasn’t expecting. I’d known that she’d been sexually assaulted in the past and basically, for her, the safety she felt with a guy my size was second-to-none.

This got me to thinking a little and, in an unintentional homage to High Fidelity (one of my top 5 favorite movies of all time), I dug around a bit and got in contact with some exes, at least the ones I’m still on speaking terms with (read: the ones that didn’t cheat on me) to find out what their respective stories were.

There wasn’t a common trait really, and I feel a little foolish for thinking there might have been. In almost every case it was a combination of things: sense of humor, appearance, conversation. Safety was a big one though. It resonated with more than a dozen of my exes, but it still wasn’t unanimous.

However, what I did discover during these inquiries, which started out innocently enough, was more disturbing. I found out that less than ten percent of the women I’ve been involved with had not been sexually assaulted prior to getting involved with me. Now, if you’ve read my other posts (the White Knight one in particular) you might not be surprised by that, but I was. With very few exceptions, I had no idea that any of these women had this particularly history during the time we were together, so it wasn’t my subconscious trying to find women who “needed” protecting.

This got me thinking more about the “safety” quality that had been brought up, which in turn got me thinking more about former living conditions and such. I have distinct recollections of the majority of my ex-girlfriends sharing a couple of qualities that, in retrospect, make a lot more sense:

1. More than half of them hated being home alone.
2. Almost all of them hated sleeping alone and/or going to bed alone.

I didn’t pry into the specifics of the sexual assault stories my ex-girlfriends had newly revealed, though several of them felt the need to explain in more detail. In almost every case, it was either a relative that went too far, or someone who had taken them out on a date and didn’t take no for an answer.

After I got over that grim revelation and reigned in my sudden need to run out into the streets and dispense vigilante justice, I started thinking about all the women I know and the ones I’ve been interested in. The fact is, I simply don’t know a lot of tall women. And by “a lot” what I mean to say, really, is any. I think I’ve known two tall girls in my whole life; one I wasn’t remotely attracted to and the other hasn’t been single a day in her life.

I suppose it stands to reason that if being tall is a trait that women find attractive, it’s a trait that men find attractive too. But here’s where that theory falls down: I’m obviously attracted to women regardless of height, or else I’m a terrible masochist that has spent the better part of twenty plus years “settling” for short women (and that’s totally not the case, honest!).

I’m really not sure what I’d do if I was presented with a tall, available woman. To be clear, by tall I mean 5’9” and above. I seem to keep coming across women on dating sites that list their height as 6’. I’ve even seen one that was 6’1”. They’re never people I’m interested in for one reason or another. (One was a smoker, another openly mocked vegetarians in her profile – both deal breakers for me.) Since there seems to be an entire world of women 5’11” and above out there, who are these women dating?! And what part of the world are they living in?

“Scandinavia” seems to be the response people usually throw back when I (jokingly) ask that question aloud. But surely I don’t have to travel to the other side of the world just to find women that are eye level?

On the other hand, when I think about it, I see tall women all the time –– but the tall women I see are always holding hands, have linked arms, or are emitting some other obvious body language that is designed to communicate “I am taken.” I take signals like that pretty clearly and so they just usually don’t register.

Sure, I’m guilty of seeing a really long pair of legs and following them up, but the moment those legs become part of someone who is clearly unavailable they just sort of ghost off of my radar (sadly). I’ll let you in on a little secret though, whenever I see a tall woman the first thing I do is check her feet. An old acquaintance of mine, herself a tall girl, got me into this habit. She’d always check other tall girl’s feet to see if they were really tall, or if they were cheating and using lifts, platforms or heels. Nothing pissed her off more, as a tall woman, than seeing another women cheating her height (so she said).

For me, I think a partner in the 5’7” to 5’11” range would be ideal. I have one friend who, for whatever reason, I always think is shorter than she is. Every time I see her I find myself pleasantly surprised by how tall she is. I can’t explain why –– she’s just taller in real life than in the memory I have of her. It’s strange, I know.

Again, I want to be clear: I have no problem with shorter women. I love women of all heights, sincerely. It’s just sort of become something of my own personal “white whale.” …And now I find I’m immediately regretting using the term whale in conjunction with any kind of search for women.

Surely Laurelin can’t be the only tall women out there that’s looking?

Related Posts
A Guy’s Perspective: The Legacy Of A Violent Upbringing – The White Knight Syndrome
A Guy’s Perspective: Good Friends Are Hard To Come By (Especially After 30)
A Guy’s Perspective: Falling in Love (And Other Deadly Sins)

by Laurelin

I hung his picture last week. I hung it in the kitchen above the stove, the space was perfect and as I pounded the nail into the wall I wondered if this was the right thing to do. It had been shoved in the back of my closet for one year and two months and today I hung it up, finally ready to not vomit when I looked at it. It’s a nice picture. It’s not a photograph: the kid fucking painted it. It’s hands down, the best gift I have ever received in my whole life, and for one year and two months after my 29th birthday the only creature that saw it was my cat when she tried to climb the vertical plastic shoe rack from Target in the back of my closet.

So, last week I hung the picture. I hung it, and when I walked in to the kitchen today to make tacos there it was above the stove as I sautéed the onions. I made tacos. I ate the tacos at the black and silver high top 50s diner style table in my kitchen and they were delicious. The painting watched, and when I was done I smiled and I knew that I had finally done the right thing. That chapter of my life was in plain sight and finally over.

It’s weird not having anything to harp on. Not having that nagging feeling of heartbreak, not having that sinking feeling as I lock the house and head to work or to the bar I hang out at. This feeling of freedom, to see these men and actually be happy to see them, to no longer have to fake it till I make it. My smile is genuine, my invites to events aren’t because I want to win them over but because once we were all friends and finally I am not a fucking idiot, and I can take this for what it always should have been: friends, co-workers, anything but what it was.

It’s like a veil has been lifted from my eyes and I can finally see, and I pray that I can constructively move forward. What did I learn from that last relationship? What did I learn from the last bartenders who broke my heart and what did I learn from the bartenders whose hearts I know I broke? As much as we think we can’t, we always put the pieces back together. We are able to one day not make the same mistakes over again, finally able to look at the bigger picture. And one day, hopefully, we can take that picture out of the closet and hang it in the perfect spot in the kitchen, right above the stove.

[..]

by SG’s Team Agony feat. Salome

Let us answer life’s questions – because great advice is even better when it comes from SuicideGirls.

Q:I have been married for almost three years, and I do love my wife very much. I have multiple fantasies where I’m having threesomes or four-ways with groups of men and women or both. I have tried numerous times to explain this to my wife but she wants NO part of it. 
I want more not only for myself sexually but more for our relationship. 
How can I get my point across to her? Should I leave her and explore my options on my own? Or should I just forget about these fantasies?
Sexually Confused in the South

A:Dear Sexually Confused in the South,

You say you love your wife very much and want more for your relationship, but I am skeptical. You are asking for advice on how to press your wife into something that, right now, she has made it clear she does not want to do.

I hear a lot about you and what you want in your question, but nothing about what your wife wants. If you are approaching this as “Honey, this is what I want, give me permission and let me drag you along,” then of course she’s going to be resistant. Sex is something you share with your partner and anything new you try should be something you explore together as equals.

Try initiating a conversation with her about what SHE wants. Don’t use it as a jumping off point to try talking her into your desires again; just ask questions and then listen to the answers. Ask her what she likes in your sex life now, and what she’d like more of, or less of. Ask her if there’s anything she’d ever wanted to try or wondered about doing, but hasn’t brought up to you. If you do this respectfully and honestly, she may surprise you. You may get some of the variety you need in your sex life, she gets to explore her own fantasies, and hopefully you will make her feel safe and secure in the idea of exploring new sexual territory with you.

However, this doesn’t mean you should jump right to “we did what you wanted, now I get an orgy.” Introducing additional partners into a relationship can be an incredible experience, but it can be extremely complicated to pull off. The relationship dynamics have to be right, there has to be total trust, honest and constant communication, pre-established ground rules, and a way for either partner to end the encounter or situation quickly and without fear of judgment or bad feelings. Group sex, swinging, polyamory, open relationships, or any other shade of non-monogamy are not for everyone. It would be unfair of you to demand this of your wife if it is truly not for her, or if she might be up for it but you are unwilling to put the effort into building a strong, loving and trusting relationship that will not be damaged by opening it up.

Before you can think about taking a step as huge as having sex with other people, you need to make sure your relationship is as strong as you can make it – and even then non-monogamy may not be the right choice for the two of you. Only at that point is your choice actually between subsuming your fantasies out of love for your wife or pursuing your fantasies in a life without her.

Salome

Got Problems? Let SuicideGirls’ team of Agony Aunts provide solutions. Email questions to: gotproblems@suicidegirls.com

by SG’s Team Agony feat. Dexter

Let us answer life’s questions – because great advice is even better when it comes from SuicideGirls.

Q: I was dating this girl that I had met at a friend’s event. We started dating/seeing each other for about 2-3 months, against my friend’s wishes (we share the same mutual friend). I traveled to her, about a hour away, and slept over her place and vise versa. We really only saw each other from Saturday night into Sunday afternoon because she works 6 days a week. I know I didn’t do well with texting her, I only really texted her Thursday, Friday, and Saturday to plan out if we were going to hang out and what we should do.

I also asked her why she didn’t text me during the times that I didn’t text her and why she assumed what she assumed and just ended everything. I just hate being lied to and eventually she told me she was seeing another guy. But I don’t understand why she acted like a child and ignored me, lied, and assumed all this about me and our relationship. I liked the girl and want to try to be friends but I just can’t get over how she went about things. I guess I would like your opinion on this whole situation, the girl, and what maybe I should do…

A: First of all, let’s start with this; you mentioned that dating this girl was done against your mutual friend’s wishes. Maybe that friend was trying to save you a whole lot of grief! This girl sounds shady, plain and simple. I can guarantee that she didn’t have much of a problem with the weekend hang out/booty call with minimal strings. She obviously enjoyed it since it went on for a few months.

It seems likely to me that she met someone new, someone local probably. Having someone new is exciting, and it’s pretty damn convenient if that someone new lives only ten minutes away. This gave her an excuse to start using the “lack” of text messages and the distance as an easy way out. Using excuses is much easier than admitting you fucked up. It’s also much easier than telling the truth.

It’s not because she didn’t think YOU could handle it; it’s because SHE couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t handle telling the truth, or being the bad guy in the relationship, so she made up excuses.

If you can accept that she’s a shady kinda girl, then it should make it easy to be just friends with her with no romantic interest. But do you really want shady friends in your circle?

Best Wishes! 


Dexter
xoxo

Got Problems? Let SuicideGirls’ team of Agony Aunts provide solutions. Email questions to: gotproblems@suicidegirls.com

by Laurelin

I sit here in bed, the television muted, my iTunes silenced. I sit here in bed with my cell phone on vibrate; my hands ready to receive at any moment. All night, my hands, waiting. Waiting for him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. I almost welcome that familiar twinge, that feeling that leaves me so full of emptiness. I remember I heard once that you’re never more alive than when your heart is breaking. Mine is already broken, and apparently I like nothing more than to make the same mistakes twice.

I almost don’t even know who “he” is. At this point there are so many people who could fill that void that I feel stupid, because while there are so many, there are in fact, so few.

My ex, who I haven’t spoken to in months, says he’s on his way to the bar. I miss him, but I don’t really, and when he doesn’t show tonight I feel better for not having put the picture he painted me for my birthday back on the wall. I keep thinking, “One day I can hang it,” but it’s been one year and it’s still stuffed in the back of my closet next to the framed photo of the ex that used to hit me and the clothing I wore when I would wrestle bachelors for money at the strip club in hot oil and whipped cream. I don’t know why I even think I can stand to look at it, and for one fleeting moment it’s clear as day and I don’t know why I haven’t burned it.

I find myself sitting here, wishing for anything. The last guy I liked had my friends in absolute giggles; comparing the new guy to the old one, leaving me a little bewildered because this new one was honest and sweet… at least in the beginning. So he wasn’t as muscular or tall. And then, just like all the rest, he was suddenly gone, and I was left with nothing. In the beginning we had laughed over how cold we both seemed (we weren’t really). In the beginning I had thought, “He’s not cold at all,” but in the end I thought, “He was right,” though I never cried.

I never cried. There are some guys who make you think; some who make who question your very essence. There are some guys who make you feel like nothing will ever be the same. The ones who break you, day after day, month after month, year after year. There are those guys that no matter how many times you tell yourself they’re going to stay buried they always seem to surface just when you’re at your most vulnerable. There are the guys that never call; and those are the ones who are made for nothing more than heart breaking and other lies.

[..]

by Symbol

I want to preface this by saying I’m not a psychologist. I’m just a guy with a reasonable amount of life experience, who took a few psychology courses in university, and who talks to a lot of people about their problems and their stories. If you have some sort of psychological condition you should absolutely seek professional help, not just look for advice in an online article.

I read somewhere once that children who grow up in households full of domestic violence are often, themselves, prone to being violent as adults. I suppose it varies from person to person, and I’m guessing there has to be a great deal of the nature/nurture argument at play there too (would you have been violent anyway?).

I grew up in a house full of violence; you couldn’t ask for a better poster boy for how untrue the violence begets violence theory is.

Well, At least in my case.

My mother had what you might call a “casual drug problem” to the point where she did so many drugs I’d often be neglected – that was the happiest of scenarios. Her chosen lifestyle meant she had equally bad taste in men, the kind who’d hit her if she did something to upset them, or me if I was in reach. I can count the number of cigarette burn scars that dot my skin like way-point markers, each one a debt I owe to her one boyfriend — let’s call him “Paul.”

Paul was one of the most unintelligent people I’ve ever encountered (and that says a lot); when my mother finally ended things with him the driveling note he sent her was child-like, terribly written and embarrassing enough to make a 4 year old turn their nose up at the spelling and grammar.

I’m sure, somewhere, I have an equal number of tiny scars from BB injuries – shooting at me (or our dog) with his air pistol was one of his favorite pastimes. In retrospect I know now that he was just using her for sex, drugs and money, but I’ll never understand why my mother couldn’t see that too…

All things considered I was a pretty happy-go-lucky child. Shit just seemed to flock to me, like some sort of bad mojo magnet. I had a beautiful black and white tom cat for as long as I can remember. His name was Rasputin, and I loved him as much as I knew how. Unfortunately he lived up to his name sake; I’ll never forget the day my mother came home and told me he was dead. He’d been kicked to death, for fun, by skinheads – and when the owner of the local Chinese restaurant came running out to stop them (he was a family friend) they hospitalized him too.

The next pet we got was a long-haired King Sheppard. The dog had been police trained, but had been thrown out of the police service for being too docile – when they’d give it the attack command he would bark, knock the person down then lay on top of them and clean their face. Not very good for catching criminals, but the bond I had with that animal was out of this world. This dog was so large that I’d ride it around the house – up the stairs, down the stairs; I’d fall asleep straddling his back in front of the TV, and he’d carry me to bed.

We’d named him “Chuck” because he’d been chucked out of the police force –Chuck was incredibly loyal to me. The abuse at Paul’s hands let up once Chuck arrived on the scene, mostly because he’d freak out if the son of a bitch tried to hit me. But when he was really angry he’d just take the dog outside and chain it up in the yard, then he could dispense beatings at his leisure.

I’m pretty sure this would have gone on indefinitely except one day (as socio-paths will do) he went too far. A combination of events made it impossible for him to hide his depravity from the other watchful people in my life. He started the day off with a bang, literally – pushing my mother, backwards, down two flights of stairs. She survived, but 32 years later she still has lasting knee, back and neck injuries. Ironically the only thing that saved her was that she was probably stoned.

Needless to say the sight of seeing your mother thrown down forty-odd stairs is distressing to a six year old, and like any small child would do, I cried. I’m guessing he was in a particularly bad mood that day because his reaction to my crying was particularly excessive, even for him.

My mother had been heating up her hair curlers in the living room; she had the old plug in kind that sat on metal rods and one by one you’d pull them off and put them into your hair. I’d been left sitting on the couch, and when I started to cry he stormed into the room, kicked over the curlers (spilling them all onto the floor) and with a strong hand shoved me off the couch.

I landed, back first, on the exposed heated rods.

Burns of that severity, combined with a mother who is so injured she can’t go to work, are bound to get attention – and for him, it got the worst kind. My grandmother came by the house to find out why my mother hadn’t been at work and to pick me up (by this point she was, thankfully, my primary care giver) the scene she encountered made her go through the roof.

Now my grandmother wasn’t anything like my mother…If anything, she’s the singular role model in my family that made me the person I am today. My grandmother served as an officer of the courts in the UK and was a polar opposite to my mother – she took me from that place and I don’t remember ever going back. The last I heard of that place, he was still living there but he’d had my dog put down (the dog had attacked him when he hurt me). I guess he was lashing out the only way he knew how.

This wasn’t the last abusive man that my mother would bring into our house; I suppose I should be thankful that they were only ever physically violent. When I got old enough I’d antagonize them specifically, redirecting their anger to me instead of at my mum. I’d do this any time I thought she was about to get hit. When you’re 9 or 10 years old “being mouthy” seems to come naturally, and it wasn’t a difficult task to get these full grown “men” to unhinge in my directly instead of hers. This is the start of what would ultimately be the long-term White Knight complex I struggled with for many years. To this day, there is no single easier way to make me angry or violent than to raise your hand against women or children (or animals).

With all that in consideration, I’m one of the gentlest people I know. The aversion I have to violence comes in all forms, much to the lament of a few lovers I’ve had in the past. I’ve dated women who have expressed interest in being choked, strangled or who wanted to engage in “role play” that involved violent scenarios. I’m incredibly not cool with that, it actually makes me physically sick – bringing up all sorts of buried memories that I don’t want to explore (things like the smell of my own flesh burning).

It also leads to me having a strong intolerance for “mainstream” pornographic films, the kind that are nothing but degradation and objectification personified. I’m especially put off by “torture porn”, and what most people would call “fetplay”. I have no desire to see someone tied up, choking, bound or otherwise hurt. There’s nothing sexy or tantalizing about that to me. If that’s your bag, well that’s entirely up to you – but I’m really upfront about that, and I think that’s the only respectful way to handle it.

Perhaps not surprisingly, I have a strong intolerance (hatred, in fact) towards drugs (including cigarettes) – they’ve been a constant negative aspect in my life; not only leading to my own physical abuse, but the death of Scott, my surrogate older brother: Scott was killed when, during a mountain climbing trip in Western Canada, his group’s guide decided it was okay to get high and then proceeded to lead his group onto a trail that was frozen over – the entire group fell to their deaths, except for the stoned guide who survived.

An ex of mine kept a LiveJournal profile in which she would chronicle, in great detail, the ways in which she’d been sexually exploited and/or tortured. She was addicted to heroin, and would let people use and abuse her in exchange for the drug she so badly craved. I pushed her to the point where she had to make a choice between the drug or me, and she chose the drug.

She was absolutely driven to that lifestyle, but reading her journal (which was a huge mistake) made me physically ill and I was never able to look at her the same way again. I ran into her a couple of years ago and we’re both very different people now (she’s got a kid and is on her second marriage) but in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but remember all the “terrible” things she’d solicited, or let, other people to do to her.

The “White Knight” syndrome, like any other psychological classification, is something that some people live with their entire lives without really knowing it. Many people, myself included, mistakenly believe that their upbringing was just “proper” and that they don’t have any issues they need to deal with in this regard. This simply isn’t the case, it’s a damaging cycle and it’s something that, if it goes unchecked, can lead to a life of problems and self-destruction.

If you perpetually find yourself attracted to people you perceive as needing to be “helped,” “fixed” or “saved,” this is a warning sign. Aside from being incredibly insulting to many people, it’s also a sign that you have just as much as problem as the person you perceive having the issues. People don’t need saving, and if they do – they need to learn to ask you for themselves. Projecting your need to “rescue” or “heal” other people is a dangerous path to start down, and once you do it can become a major aspect of your life.

It’s not a reasonable mental state to find yourself in, really… having this deep-seated need to right all the wrongs and injustices towards women across the world – I mean I’ve reigned it back in significantly over the years, but it’s resulted in me ending up in relationships with heroin users and alcoholics, in some vain attempt to “help” them. I guess the most important lessons I’ve learned, at least for me, are:

1. You can’t help people who don’t want to be helped; and it’s insulting to assume otherwise.

2. Never, ever, ask your partner about their exes; unless you can categorically accept whatever they tell you – and deal with it. They’re exes for a reason.

If you, or someone you know, suffer from a similar psychological predisposition, they might find this book helpful (or you might) in trying to figure out what makes them act the way they do: The White Knight Syndrome: Rescuing Yourself from Your Need to Rescue Others.

Related Posts
A Guy’s Perspective: Good Friends Are Hard To Come By (Especially After 30)
A Guy’s Perspective: Falling in Love (And Other Deadly Sins)

by SG’s Team Agony feat. Jaeci

Let us answer life’s questions – because great advice is even better when it comes from SuicideGirls.

Q: I have fallen in love with my best guy friend. When it started, I didn’t even realize it since I was with my ex-boyfriend. I broke up with the ex five months ago after being with him for over two years because he made me feel bad about myself and guilty for all the things that went wrong in our relationship. He didn’t even take care of me when I started to get drunk on my 21st birthday! Instead, my best friend did, while the ex got drunk and more upset that he didn’t step up. It only took me the weekend to get over him because I fell out of love with him six months before.

Thank you for your time. I love you girls!

A: The short answer: You are going to bring your own sleeping bag or blankets and you are not going to insist on spooning him. It shouldn’t matter that the friends you are going with are a couple –– there are two of you, platonic or romantic, so no one is a third wheel. You’ll have a great time. If something happens, so be it. If not –– c’est la vie.

The long answer: When he apologized for trying to be with you then cutting it short for friendship’s sake, did he say he was sorry because he didn’t want to be with you in the first place/led you on, or did he say he was sorry because he was too concerned about the preservation of your friendship to stay with you? Did he give you any indication of his motivation?

Sometimes, best friends precisely the people you can’t date, even if they seem like exactly who you wish you could. One of my best gals tried dating her bff. They had a magical connection at first because of how intense their relationship had always been, how close they feel, how much they have been through, how he knows her inside and out. The sex was apparently awesome. But, despite everything, she too was friend-zoned. They ultimately parted ways, albeit after much more of a lengthy and heart-wrenching game.

Reality bites, eh.

When someone says, “You’re in my friend zone” for them it generally means, uh, “You’re in my friend zone.” It usually doesn’t mean, “I’m secretly in love with you –– no, really!” Strong feelings of any kind are easy to get lost in. Everything seems more intense when you love someone –– even if you aren’t in love with them. You can definitely mistake platonic love and a surprising, but probably fleeting, physical attraction for “OH MY GOD WEDDING BELLLLSSSS!” Maybe he felt a little spark, you showed you wanted him, it seemed like a great idea until it was totally not a great idea. Also, not everyone associates sex with love and the physical connection you may have had in that month you were together does not necessarily have anything to do with romantic affection.

Please be careful not to project your feelings onto him. It’s easy to see only what you want to see. To me, it sounds a lot like he cares, and not so much like he wants to be with you. Don’t get crushed by deciding you ought to be together when it isn’t what both people want.

If there’s no click this weekend – and don’t spend the whole camping trip waiting for it, wanting it, expecting it, or asking for it – set your sights elsewhere and put him back in the friend zone he has for so long inhabited. Don’t set yourself up for heartbreak. There are plenty of people out there who would love you to be in their girlfriend zone and he can, hopefully, go back to being the best buddy that he was before.

Xx

Auntie Jaeci

Got Problems? Let SuicideGirls’ team of Agony Aunts provide solutions. Email questions to: gotproblems@suicidegirls.com