The Fallacy of {D} and the Golden Dick

I used to occasionally look at {D} and say, “Why the hell do women put up with you?” {D} would smile slyly and point to his dick. That was his answer.

I sit and wonder some days what I ever saw in that man. Why I felt so strongly about him—and how many bitches he has at any given moment in time. From what I hear, there were two at work, the lawyer, the girlfriend, and me all at the same time. Which is mind-boggling, because I spent five nights a week at his house. Like, how did this man have time to put his dick in that many women while holding down a full-time job? It is baffling.

So here’s my theory on {D} and the Golden Dick.

Pros to {D}:

1. Psychopaths are superficially charming.
2. He’s got a decent-sized dick (sorry you had to hear that, kid).
3. He is a lawyer. Bitches love lawyers. Because lawyers will always tell you they are lawyers. I have been dating lawyers exclusively for half a decade. This lawsuit is making me hope I got enough law school jizz to make me competent.

Cons to {D}:

1. He is an alcoholic who is occasionally incredibly embarrassing to be around in public. I used to sit on the floor in the bathroom with him and hold him while he puked.
2. {D} is not a romantic. He is not going to shower you with gifts, buy you flowers, write you love poems, or anything of the sort.
3. {D} may have a decent-sized dick, but he only fucks in a few positions. He doesn’t allow the woman to get leverage, so you can’t actually participate. This is a problem because that’s how you can really orgasm together. So he depends entirely on size and not technique, which is meh. There are men who fuck the way they fuck, and there are men who fuck their partner. {D} is the former, and it is kind of sad.
4. He is a psychopath who raped women.
5. He cannot deal with emotion. He doesn’t understand it. He can recognize it, and he does get emotional, but it’s guarded and he fights it.
6. He is a pathological liar who will lie for the sake of lying. He will gaslight you to convince you that you are the problem, not his lies.
7. Did I mention he’s a psychopath who raped women?

So the good does not outweigh the bad with him. The Golden Dick is indeed a fallacy. He is good, but he ain’t that good. Trust me—I have a little more experience than most. I’ve had bigger, I’ve had smaller, and more importantly, I’ve had better.

{D} used to get upset and say that women only wanted him for sex. I would climb on top of him, kiss his little bald head, and tell him I loved him for what was in there. Some women—he might be the best they’ve ever had. But not me. There are better fish in the sea, but some women don’t know better.

So how does he get these women?

A couple of things. They are all teachers or lawyers. They are not stunning—not ugly, but not perfect. They’re a little plain. They all seem to have somewhat blue-collar roots, but are educated. He likes them smart, but not too smart. He has to be smarter. They’re easier to manipulate that way.

See, he isn’t looking for women—he is looking for victims. All of them, from what I understand, have some sort of fucked-up past. There is something not quite right. He prefers women with self-esteem issues. That, again, makes them easier to control.

I was a perfect victim. He picked me after all those years, after I made some trauma disclosures. He knew I could be threatened, I could be intimidated, and I would comply. I was trained into the role. I always said, “You don’t have to hit a dog with a rolled-up newspaper too many times before the dog stops just by you reaching for the paper.”

{D} knew about my ex-husbands. He knew how many broken bones I dealt with. And somehow he still decided that he would threaten me with violence. I pushed back. I’m not afraid to take a punch. I don’t enjoy it, but with a mouth like mine, you know it’s going to happen at some point. He was pissed that I dared say I could fight him.

Now you may have noticed about me—when I’m scared, I blow up like a puffer fish and say, “Bring it, bitch.” That is me scared. I will fucking fight you. Let’s go. It says somewhere in my divorce papers that yes, Brian hit me, but it was okay because I “punch like a man.”

So {D} was physically intimidated by me. See, {D}, I realized—as much as he wants to talk a big game—he beats women because he can’t fight. His wrist is too fucked up. He can’t throw a right. Though, looking at his boxing record, it’s questionable whether he ever could.

{D} was sexually intimidated by me. We would exchange stories of sexual conquests. We were very much alike on that. The funny thing—neither one of us had friends; we just had a collection of people we slept with. He was amazed that the number of men I’d been with was higher than the number of women he had been with. Hell, I might have been with more women than him too.

He did not like that I had fuck buddies. For as many fucking texts as he got—which he lied to me about—I got one once, and he threw a fit.

He started insulting me and then telling me about other women’s bodies and how they were better than mine. I was pissed when he said his ex-wife had a better ass than me. He would never fucking admit to being jealous, though. He sat on the couch and pouted like a fucking three-year-old because I got one text—which, first of all, I didn’t respond to at that moment, and secondly, it was actually a really innocent text. The guy was saying thank you because I had wished him a happy sober birthday earlier that day.

If {D} had asked or admitted it, I would have shown him the text. I handed him my phone more than once and told him the passcode if he wanted to look. He never took me up on it. What he did do was lie and say he stopped sleeping with other women so I would stop sleeping with that guy—who, going back to my previous point, was a way better fuck.

I actually tried to set up a threesome with both of them. They both said the same thing: “I don’t want to know the guy.” Like, seriously? They had both been around the same amount of time. They had both been given ample opportunity to date me. And now they are jealous of each other? What the fuck was that?

As it turns out, I think they were just little boys on the playground fighting over a toy. Someone touched their fuck toy and they got moody. It meant nothing. At least it could have been an enjoyable night for me.

And finally, {D} was intellectually intimidated by me. He knew I was smarter than him. And I could read him. He hated that shit. I figured out his emotional makeup and his feelings, and it freaked him the fuck out. The one thing I have going for me right now is that I know he thinks I am smarter than his attorney. He told me as much, unprovoked.

He really liked that I was smart and quick-witted. I liked the same about him. “Quippy” is how I always described our conversations.

So how does {D} get so many bitches?

Trauma bonding.

He doesn’t know what he is doing in technical terms, but he knows it works. It’s how he behaves. It was not an accident that he told me he loved me that night while I begged.

At the end of the first video, we are yelling at each other. He yells at me, “You’re acting like—” and I yell back, “It hurts like a bitch, dude!”

In video two, I’m still screaming, but we have negotiated—He keeps doing other things, and I am screaming and fighting. He tells me he loves me, and I chill a bit. I remember it caught me off guard. And he did it a few times throughout. That was how he got control of me that night. That.

He did it on purpose. He has done that with other women. Trauma bonding is all about intermittent harm and intermittent soothing. That is how he is every day. One minute you are horrible and crazy and stupid for not believing his lies; the next, he loves you; moments later, he is going to hit you.

I remember saying that to my best friend the next day. I said he hurts you and makes it better. Like he does that shit on purpose because it works for him. He has turned it into a craft. It is textbook. Do I think he knows the technical psychological processes he is creating? No. But he knows to do it. He knows it works.

So that’s how so many seemingly intelligent but slightly flawed women end up following him around like a puppy dog. It’s what he does.

I really can’t believe I didn’t see it before. So ladies, just know—he is fucking with your neurochemistry. Every hot and cold turn was calculated to make sure you remained attached.

He still thinks of all of us as his possessions. That is how he gained ownership. He likes that he has women who are still under his spell after years. He gets off on the ownership and control.

I wish he weren’t here. I just realized I’m giving him what he wants from me still. I don’t know that he gets that I’m over him—I’m not over what he did. This is the ugly side. This is the “I hate him, but I’m still struggling with what happened.”

I recognize that continued engagement with this situation may provide him with attention or a sense of control that I do not intend to give. I am no longer emotionally attached to him as a person; however, I continue to process the impact of his conduct and the harm it caused. This reflects the ongoing effects of that experience, not any continued attachment to him.