#nobody dismisses Work Wives with “they care for each other like family don’t make it weird”

[juliandrws]

“I don’t understand why people ship Ava and Janine, they’re like sist—”

[all0nsyidjits]

Guess I'm going to out myself here just a bit. I'm a Lokean. In fact I'm a Godspouse have been since July of 2011. I came to realize who the imaginary friend I had as a kid who never really went away was via pop culture. Before you roll your eyes and dismiss me as a Marvel Loki fangirl let me explain. I didn't fall in love with Tom Hiddleston or his version of Loki. In fact a whole other fandom brought me to Loki. See I'm a fan of the show Supernatural and a favorite character was Gabriel who starts off as the Trickster then it is revealed that he is really the archangel Gabriel who skipped out of heaven and hid his true identity by pretending to be a trickster god, Loki to be exact. I wanted to write a fanfiction about Gabriel's time posing as Loki but I knew shit all about Norse mythology aside from the names of some of the Gods and Godessess. So I started researching and reading the lore and by accident stumbled across a few Lokean blogs. Shortly after Loki showed up and I proceeded to start to question my sanity. I'd gotten into Wicca in my early teens so I had some concept of Pagan deities and all things woo. Still having a god show up and just want to hang out and talk freaked me right the heck out. When he started flirting I was sure I'd completely lost my shit. Slowly he calmed me down and earned my trust. I found others who had been His for a long time and they helped me navigate this new relationship.

Then the Thor movies came out and suddenly everytime I went online there was a new Lokean Godspouse. Loki is not one to waste free PR I guess. I stayed active in the community for awhile but then the cattiness of some in the community made me decide to go solitary. Years passed I rarely missed the community. Loki and I just did our own thing. Sometimes Loki would be gone for some pretty long stretches. Still he was here and things were good.

Then 2020 happened. Look in all honesty I can be a bit of an introvert. I tend to withdraw from people if I sense to much conflict or tension. It's not so much my true nature but more a trauma response to withdraw. My childhood was well complicated. But I'm getting off track here what I mean to say is 2020 was a really shitty year for me and my family. In June I cought Covid 19 I never got all that sick, but the body aches and fatigue never quite went away. Then at the end of July my husband who is diabetic and has neuropathy stepped on a tac and ended up with MRSA. He nearly lost his foot and could have died. He was hospitalized for a month and out of work for three. I worked myself to a frazzle. At one point I had three jobs and was on the clock for 23 hours and 45 minutes one day. I was headed for a breakdown. My husband physically seemed to be on the mend, but his personality was no longer the kind, easygoing affectionate, man I had known for nearly twenty years. Then came the suicide attempt. Like I said it's been a rough since about this time last year.

When my husband made the suicide attempt Loki showed back up worried about both of us. Loki and my mortal husband know about each other. They like each other so please nobody suggest that Loki is trying to get rid of my mortal husband. When we married the priestess who married us was well aware that Loki was part of the ceremony and that I was marrying the both of them. We've been happily married and Loki always felt like I would be okay during his absences because I had someone else that he trusted there with me.

At first Loki tried to be my distraction from all the stress, he's really good at that. Then Loki started to worry I worried about mortal hubby and Loki worried about me. Many pleas to slow down before I had a breakdown too and Loki finally put his foot down I had to learn to say no and I had to take care of me if I was going to take care of anybody else. Finally the tears and the exhaustion came after my husband told a lie that made me look like a very bad person. My mother-in-law went off on me I had been up for three days with only about four hours sleep and those weren't even consecutive hours and I was reduced to a sobbing mess. Like so many times before Loki was there to catch me He let me cry, He let me rage, when the worst had passed I looked at Him.

"So I guess being the God of change you're going to tell me to throw away twenty years of my life and file for divorce." I asked.

"Oh you think you know me so well Little One." Even at a such a solemn moment Loki can't resist using an old nickname from back in my childhood when he was the imaginary friend who took me on wild adventures far away from whatever was going on at home at the time. It had went from term of affection for a child he had chosen to protect to a teasing dig at my 5'3 height compared to well all of Them.

"Well aren't you?" I asked.

"Little one besides being the God of Change what else am I?" I start to rattle off titles and associations.

No let me rephrase that Little One who am I married to who are my Wives his voice somehow conveying the capital W that lets me know it is Sigyn and Angrboda he speaks of.

"Sigyn and Angrboda" I say.

And what Little one is my precious Sigyn the Goddess of?

Fidelity I answer and then it hits me She had stuck by Him through far worse.

So I'm here I'm staying but there are days when I just wish I had someone to talk to. Someone human.

This year has been hard the isolation brought on by Covid 19 precautions is wearing on everyone in one way or another I think. Add to that the fact that I live in a very rural, very Conservative Christian area where I have to hide my witchy ways. Knowing full well just how many people in my life would utterly abandon me if they knew about Loki and my true beliefs. I can't talk about Him to well anyone besides my oldest and there are things about being a godspouse you wouldn't want to discuss with your kid. I used to have my husband but now talking to him about the most mundane things is a cross between walking on eggshells and navigating a mine field. I got lonely, really lonely.

Against my better judgement I decided to dip my toe back into the Lokean Community after walking away from all the groups, blogs, message boards ect in about 2013. So about 7 years as a solitary Lokean witch and I was ready to test the waters again.

I found a Lokean on social media (I don't want to draw any negative attention to this person because they are doing a fantastic job with what they are doing) so much of what they were saying resonated with me and I wanted to talk. Hey maybe I could make a friend. I commented maybe a bit too much. I meant no harm I was just excited to talk to someone after so long keeping it all to myself. Well that went spectacularly wrong and I ended up with someone who I'm pretty sure thinks of me as a rival or an enemy now. Loki being Loki was quick to remind me that my ramblings don't offend everyone. I had commented on a completely unrelated post about Him a few days earlier and within hours of the well I fucked up incident I'm reading a post by someone thanking me for talking about how I experience Loki because it resonated with them an affirmed a few things.

Then Loki was like I want you to start talking about me. I want you to rejoin the community. I was like oh hell to the no. Well you can see who won that argument. So here I am hoping I don't come to regret this.

[imaginepirates]

Colors

For @theokepastos, which took waaaaay too long due to an absolute lack of creativity 🙃 kms. Probably doesn't have as much tension as the first one. Anyway, ever wonder what life was like for Beckett when he was in India? Here you go. The reader introduces him to one of India's native festivals, Holi. If you know anything about it, you can imagine just how much Beckett would like it. (Also, vulnerable Beckett is my jam, so yeah.)

@bonjour-frens @tesserphantom @ilikebritsandbands @viper-official

~3570 words. Yup, it's long.

~~~~~~~

           You watched the docks warily from the East India offices. A ship was supposed to come in, carrying over a hundred new officers and members of the Company. You were expected to meet them when they came in, and you were to be assigned as a translator. The man you'd be working for was some British lord, who likely knew nothing about your culture and cared even less. 

           You hated these Englishmen. They were loud and crass, and had no restraint in the things they said to you. They treated locals as inferiors, and didn't hide their displeasure with your 'heathen' ways. They disliked your gods and your prayers, but helped themselves to your food and your women. 

           What this lord would be like, you could only imagine. He'd stand a head taller than you, just like the rest of them, and would insist on drinking his flavorless tea with sugar. He'd have a demure wife that he'd barely talk to. He would make no attempt to engage in the local customs, and would carelessly flick pennies to the children in the streets. British lords didn't have to count their money, they had so much. 

           It was the beginning of spring. With it came festivities. The Holi celebrations would start on the morrow, and you'd be expected to introduce this lord to the custom. You only hoped you'd be allowed to return home for the evening to pray with your family. 

           Bells rang and shouts echoed across the harbor. A great ship entered port, dwarfing even the largest ships next to it. It flew the sail of the East India Company, flickering in the breeze. From where you stood, looking down into the harbor, all the activity seemed so far away. Soon enough, you'd be a part of it. 

           They had the good graces to allow you to ride in a carriage along with some officers from the Company. You sat squished in beside them, listening to their conversation. They didn't speak to you, instead leaving you to peek out the carriage window. 

           There were multiple carriages at the docks when you arrived. Naval officers were showing their fellows where they'd be staying. Merchants started idle conversation with some of the wealthy British men, their wives hanging loosely to their arms. Somewhere in the mess was the lord you were supposed to be attending to. 

           You wouldn't have found him if you hadn't been directed to him. He was surprisingly small, certainly no larger than you, with fair features and pale skin. He was well dressed, as to be expected, but no woman hung off his arm. Instead of looking directly around him, he was already staring off into the surrounding city. 

           You walked up to him, trying to put on a pleasant face. "Lord Bekett?" You asked, knowing full well who he was.

           He snapped out of his thoughts, looking you over. No doubt he'd already forgotten who you were, or that he was supposed to have a translator at all. That, or they hadn't told him you were a woman. 

           It surprised you when he called you by name. "Miss Y/N," he inclined his head. "I'm told you're to be my translator."

           "I am, my lord." 

           "I trust you know where we're going?"

           "I do." You led him back to the carriage. It was empty. Supposedly, the others had left in different ones, or were still greeting newcomers. 

           Beckett didn't speak on your way back to the Company's offices. Someone else would get him set up in his apartments later, and the coach would take his things there once the two of you were dropped off. He stared out the window and deep into the city. You wondered what he was thinking, if he already didn't like India. The British were quick to make up their minds about that sort of thing, you found. 

           "It looks busy out there," he remarked. 

           "We're preparing for Holi," you explained. "The festival of colors and the welcoming of spring." It was as good a time to tell him as any. You'd be expected to introduce him to the festivities in the coming days. 

           "You dye each other with pigments, yes?"

           "You know about it?" You couldn't hide your surprise. 

           "I've read about it some. I didn't want to come here completely bereft of knowledge. It's bad enough that I can't speak the language for myself." 

           "Oh." No lords had ever done research before. "Would you like to know more about it?" It was a futile hope, you knew, but you asked all the same. 

           He turned to you with bright eyes. "Please."

           The rest of the journey, you described the festival. "Tomorrow night, we will gather and pray that our inner demons leave us. The day after, we paint each other with colors and water. It's a time of forgiveness and friendship." You explained the religious aspects, too, and to your pleasant surprise, Beckett seemed interested. 

           When you arrived at the offices, you showed him to his. It was a spacious room with a small library and doors that swung open to a balcony overlooking the city. A heavy wooden desk sat to one end of the room. Beckett groaned when he saw the paperwork stacked on it. 

           "Can I get you anything while you read?" You asked. 

           "Tea, if you'd be so kind." He leafed through the papers.

           "Something from home?"

           "Something local should suffice. I believe you have something here called chai?"

           "We do." I can't imagine you'd like it. "Have you tried it before, my lord?"

           "No, which is why I'm trying it now."

           "If you like." He wouldn't. Chai was 'too spiced', as the officers liked to put it. 

           You came back with the drink, having let it cool off for a while. You set the teacup on the desk, where Beckett was already rubbing his temples while reading. Absently, he grabbed the tea and sipped, nearly choking in the process. You grimaced. 

           "Not what I expected," he spluttered. 

           "If you want me to get something different… "

           He didn't let you finish. "It took me by surprise was all. I think I'll come to like the flavor."

           "Oh?" You didn't believe it. 

           "I'm a well traveled man. As I'm coming to understand, the rest of the world actually has food with flavor. Britain's cuisine seems a bit bland in comparison, I'm afraid."

           This shocked you. Nobody liked the food you gave them, and certainly not more than their food at home. 

           You spent the next day watching this man, trying to learn more about him. He was apathetic, to be sure. He casually gave orders like he'd been doing it his entire life. He wasn't particularly loud, nor was he tall, but he was more feared than some of the strongest officers present. What he did to instill such fear, you couldn't imagine. People scurried to do his bidding whenever he entered a room. 

           He was meticulous and efficient with his work, which was mostly comprised of reading documents and signing them. He took few breaks, and said little to you. He wouldn't really have need of you; he was surrounded by fellow Brits. Your translating skills were only useful for when he had to talk to local officials and merchants. 

           Evening rolled around, and you anxiously waited to be dismissed. Your family was expecting you, and you didn't want to keep them waiting. You would gather in the main square for the night's festivities of prayer, singing, and dancing.

           As you were preparing to leave, you noticed some of the other translators with their employers. Before you could get the chance to ask what was going on, Beckett appeared at your elbow. 

           "It has been suggested that officers attend the celebration to help them learn about local culture. I've been told I should accompany you tonight."

           Your heart sank. As genuinely interested as he seemed, you wanted to spend the night with your family and friends. You did not, however, have the luxury of declining him.

           "It would be my pleasure."

           He scoffed at that. "I quite doubt that. I'm sorry to say that you have to take me anyway."

           You smiled tightly, pursing your lips together in a manner you knew didn't look pleasant. Beckett didn't complain, instead letting you lead him outside and down the street. 

           The bonfire was already going by the time you reached the square. It was hard to pinpoint your family in the crowd, but you recognized your sister’s bright sari a little ways into the crush of people. You had to change your hold on Beckett, unable to lead him through the throng by the elbow. Instead, you took his hand and walked to your family. 

           Your mother saw you first. She gave you a questioning look, but the one on your face must have said it all. The rest of your family greeted you, and you introduced them to Beckett, explaining the situation. Your family welcomed him to India, but you knew they were uncomfortable with him around. Just as uncomfortable as you were. 

           You watched his eyes go wide as he looked at the effigy on top of the fire. Leaning close to his ear so he could hear you, you explained. “That’s a statue of Holika, a demon. We are celebrating that she was burned by the god Vishnu.”

           Eyes still on the statue sitting atop the fire, Beckett replied. “Your religion is certainly different from mine. Then again, we celebrate a man who was crucified, and we certainly like to depict that.”

           “Things that are different often seem strange. I don’t think I’d like to look upon a crucified man.” 

           Beckett turned to you then, gazing at you as if seeing you for the first time. You suddenly felt that you didn’t want to be the center of his attention; it seemed a bad place to be. His eyes were assessing more than your looks, but what he saw, you’d never know.

           Thankfully, you were interrupted by the start of a prayer. Once it was finished, Beckett asked what it had been about. 

           “Faith.” There was an entire legend behind it, but you decided to tell it another time. “We pray that we have unwavering faith.” 

           “Ah.” He turned away, but you could hear his words under his breath. “I haven’t had faith for a long time.” 

           You frowned at that, but let it be. Music was starting up, and dance to accompany it. It would be rude of you to ignore your guest, no matter how much you wanted to dance with your friends. 

           “Would you care to dance?” You asked. 

           He shook his head. “I’d rather not.” 

           “Were you not sent here to participate?” It may have come out more pointedly than need be, but you wanted to get the ordeal over with. 

           “I prefer to observe.” 

           Again, you were at the center of his attention. You sighed. “Find a place off to the side so you don’t get swept up in the excitement.”

           He narrowed his eyes. He certainly wasn’t used to being talked to like this, but you didn’t particularly care. If he didn’t want to dance, he could watch. And here you’d thought he might be better than the rest…

           You had fun dancing with your friends and family. The moves were familiar and comforting, reminding you of all the festivals in years passed. For a moment, the British didn’t exist. Even if some of the officers were dancing horribly, you could block them out, living in a world made of your people and your culture. 

           Too soon it was over, and you were dragged back to reality. You realized that Beckett had been staring at you through the whole dance. Uncomfortably, you made your way back to him. 

           “You should’ve joined the fun,” you said, though it came out as anything but inviting. 

           “You’ll find that I’m an awful dancer.”

           “Here, nobody is watching. It’s not like your dances in England. Dancing here is fun.”

           He snorted. 

           Suddenly defensive, you reached out a hand. “I can prove it to you.”

           He stared skeptically at your outstretched hand. Carefully, as if touching the fire itself, he laid his palm in yours. You pulled him closer to you, but were careful to maintain a certain distance. Then, step by step, you led him through a dance. He was, to put it plainly, awful. The amount of times he nearly tripped over himself was both amusing and saddening. His coordination simply didn’t exist. 

           Finally, he straightened up. “I cannot believe I’m actually worse at this than I am dancing back home. Somehow, I don’t think you’re surprised.”

           You shook your head. 

           “Fine. Let’s see how you like dancing the English way.” 

           With that, he stepped close to you, too close, and you found his hand on your waist, the other moving one of yours to his shoulder. He led, forcing you to step in time with him, bodies entirely too near. You were glad that you were still dressed as you were for work. In a sari, his hand would be touching exposed skin. The thought made you nervous, but you soon fell into a rhythm. The steps weren’t difficult, but it took some explaining when he tried to spin you under his arm. 

           “Thoughts?” He asked.

           “English dancing is dull.”

           “I’m glad you think so too.” With that, he stepped away from you, letting his hand fall from its place on your waist. 

           Suddenly, you were able to breathe again, but the place where his hand had just been felt cold, reminding you that it had, in fact, just been there. 

           “Perhaps I’ll be more comfortable tomorrow.”

           “Tomorrow?” You asked. Surely he couldn’t be attending Holi with you.

           “I’ve been instructed to go to the festival of colors. Who better to introduce me to the holiday than my translator, with whom I’ve already spent so much time?”

           Your stomach dropped. Unfortunately, this was your job, and you had to do it. “I advise you not to wear anything you care about. You’ll be covered in dye by the end of the day, and I wouldn’t count on it washing out. And don’t wear the wig.”

             His hand absentmindedly drifted to the wig on his head. A ridiculous thing it was, you thought, but that was how the British did things. They, in their white powder, flaunting their power and having no fun. Too unlike India, where all colors existed, used by the rich and the poor alike to unite your people to a common tradition. It was not like the British, unity.

           When the sun rose the next morning, you were already dawning a blue and purple sari. The rest of your family was preparing, too. You put together little dishes with colored powder, and others with water. This way, you could paint your friends’ faces as well as throw powder at strangers. 

           You arrived at the East India offices to find people leaving to attend the Holi festival. You cautiously opened the door to Beckett’s office. He raised his head from his work, a look of faint surprise crossing his face. You must’ve looked much the same. Beckett looked a completely different man. He wore plain, dully colored clothes, and his light, curling hair was a surprise. It was short, unlike the hair of the officers you’d seen. 

           Without a word, you led him away from the offices toward the city square. The plaza was already brightly colored; the celebration had begun. Colors whirled around you, thrown from a thousand different hands. The powder rested on your shoulders and in your hair. The air was thick with clouds of dust. You heard Beckett sneeze from somewhere behind you. You looked over your shoulder to see him trying to fan the air in front of him.

           He looked at you. “Is there somewhere we could go to get out of…this?” He gestured to the powder-clogged air.

           “The point of Holi is to get covered in colors.”

           “I’d rather not.” He looked disdainfully at the people around you, who were already caked in color.

           “Why come here if you’re not going to take part?” You spat.

           “I’m doing this because it’s expected of me. I have plenty of work to do back at the offices, but I need to be here for appearance's sake. Believe me, I’m not fond of how I’m dressed, or my lack of wig, and I’m sorry you have to have me here.”

           “You British are so happy to have our land and our goods, but you take no interest in our culture or our people!”

           He rounded on you. “I am interested,” he hissed. “I’m just better at watching than doing.” Here he shifted, looking uncomfortable. 

           “You’re not comfortable participating in heathen celebrations, you mean.”

           “That’s not what I said.” 

           “What is it, then?” You were getting tired of his attitude. 

           “Firstly, I don’t appreciate being showered in all this powder. I’d like to stay clean, thank you.” He sneezed. “It doesn’t agree with me.”

           “Is there another reason?”

           “I don’t like crowds of people,” he muttered.

           “What do you mean?” You were used to crowds of people; India was densely populated. There was a crowd wherever you went. 

           “They’re…overwhelming.”

           “They scare you?”

           “No.” He glared at you, but you knew he was lying. There was something about the knowledge that he was afraid that made you less angry. He didn’t really hate your traditions, he was just too scared to take part. 

           You sighed and pulled Beckett into a doorway, standing under the frame. From there, you could watch the procession. Long lines of women serving food snaked through the crowd, and people picked snacks from their trays. Everyone was covered in both color and water that soaked through their clothes. You stood away from it; there was a rule about throwing powder at people in doorways: don't. 

           "If you won't participate, let me teach you about the legend of Holi."

           Beckett hummed his assent, but didn't take his eyes off the crowd. 

           You mixed some of your water with the powder you had. It made a paste you could use to paint people with. "When the deity Krishna was a baby, he developed a dark skin color from the milk of the demon Putana."

           With Beckett still watching the crowd, you covered two of your fingers in paste and carefully ran them down the side of his face. 

He flinched back. "What are you doing?" 

           "Painting your face. If you let me do it, I'll complete the legend."

           At first, you thought Beckett might refuse you. Slowly, he relaxed, allowing you to continue, though he was still stiff. 

           "Krishna later despaired that his skin would repulse the fair-skinned Radha, whom he loved. He asked his mother what to do, and she suggested that he let Radha paint his face whatever color she desired."

           Beckett's breath hitched. You could feel it under your fingers. You glanced over at him, and found that he was watching you with wide eyes. They were a pretty blue color you hadn't noticed before, and they stared at you in something that was almost fear. Vulnerability. 

           "Radha did so, and she and Vishnu have been a couple ever since. That's why we celebrate colors," you finished softly. 

           You were still painting his face with gentle fingers. He never took his eyes off you, and you found yourself staring back. You were unsure what to think. You hadn't seen the man so out of his element, and you almost wanted to laugh, but with the two of you so close together, there was a tight nervousness growing in your chest. 

           "It was an expression of love?" Beckett breathed. 

           "Yes." You swallowed, unsure of how he would take your answer. You didn't even know how you wanted him to take it. You were exasperated by him, and a bit angry with him, but the genuine, innocent surprise on his face melted something within you. 

           You finished your work, and let your hand fall to your side, but you didn't step back from him. 

           Slowly, one of his hands came up to cup your face, and he leaned a little closer to you, waiting for you to pull back. When you didn't, he placed a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth, barely touching your lips. It was quick, and he pulled back as if stung. 

           "If this is a day of forgiveness, forgive me," he whispered. 

           “For what?”

           “Don’t be silly. You should be out there, celebrating, but you’re stuck here with me.”

           “It’s not that bad.” You gave him a nervous smile.

           He scoffed. “Please. Get out there and enjoy yourself. I’ll watch from here.”

           “It would be rude of me to leave you.”

           He rolled his eyes. “Go have fun. But take a bath before you even think of stepping foot in my office.” He was smiling, which looked strange on him, but it softened his features. 

           “Would you like me to bathe where you can see me?” You asked cheekily. 

           “Oh, to be sure.”

           You left him then, but you felt his eyes on you as you squeezed into the crowd. You knew he’d be waiting for you when you got back, enjoying the show. You were left thinking that he wasn’t so bad after all. 

[foursprout-blog]

This Is How To Easily Make Your Relationships Awesome: 4 Secrets

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/this-is-how-to-easily-make-your-relationships-awesome-4-secrets/

This Is How To Easily Make Your Relationships Awesome: 4 Secrets

***

Before we commence with the festivities, I wanted to thank everyone for helping my first book become a Wall Street Journal bestseller. To check it out, click here.

***

Relationships are important. Like, more-important-than-Vitamin-C important. Scurvy is no fun but a lack of relationships might kill you faster.

From The Relationship Cure:

A study of people living in Alameda County, California, for example, showed that people who had close friendships and marriages lived longer than those who didn’t. This was true independent of such factors as diet, smoking, and exercise. Another study, of 2,800 men and women over age sixty-five, showed that those with more friends had a lower risk of health problems and recovered faster when they did develop them. In addition, a study of 10,000 seniors at Yale University showed that loners were twice as likely to die from all causes over a five-year period as those who enjoyed close friendships.

But what makes them work? What makes them fail? What’s the essential building block of a relationship? Why do some spark and others fade? You might have a theory or two but I don’t think we know what really keeps love, friendship, and family going.

And that, frankly, is kinda terrifying. Luckily, there is someone who knows…

Dr. John Gottman, professor emeritus of psychology at University of Washington, is the guy when it comes to relationships. He’s that researcher featured in Malcolm Gladwell’s Blink who, after just a few minutes, could predict with uncanny accuracy whether a couple would end up divorced.

His book is The Relationship Cure: A 5 Step Guide to Strengthening Your Marriage, Family, and Friendships.

Gottman discovered the key element that makes relationships fly or die. It’s something you can use to build stronger bonds with all the people you care about — and it’s going to surprise you.

Let’s get to it…

  What Makes Or Breaks Relationships?

At the Gottman Institute they bring couples in and watch them talk to one another. Researchers study the content of the conversations and then track how the relationships fare over time.

So what did the successful couples talk about? Did they discuss happy things? Did they resolve problems? Did they talk about things they had in common? Turns out successful couples discuss…

The same boring crap everyone does. There was nothing special at all about the content of their conversations… So what gives?

But this is what led to a big discovery by Gottman. The content doesn’t matter. What mattered was what they weren’t saying. What was beneath the words. And whether their partner was paying attention, being responsive, and being supportive.

From The Relationship Cure:

But after many months of watching these tapes with my students, it dawned on me. Maybe it’s not the depth of intimacy in conversations that matters. Maybe it doesn’t even matter whether couples agree or disagree. Maybe the important thing is how these people pay attention to each other, no matter what they’re talking about or doing…

What proved to be critical was something Gottman calls “bids” — and how the other person responded to those bids. In fact, Gottman says the bid is “the fundamental unit of emotional communication.” And this was true for all relationships, not just romantic.

From The Relationship Cure:

If you could carefully observe and analyze those encounters—as my research colleagues and I have done—you would see how each one is made up of many smaller exchanges. There’s a bid and a response to that bid. Like cells of the body or bricks of a house, such exchanges are the primary components of emotional communication. Each exchange contains emotional information that can strengthen or weaken connections between people.

I know, I know, I’m getting to it — so what’s a “bid”?

From The Relationship Cure:

A bid can be a question, a gesture, a look, a touch—any single expression that says, “I want to feel connected to you.” A response to a bid is just that—a positive or negative answer to somebody’s request for emotional connection.

When you ask, “How are you?” do you really expect a rundown? Of course not. So how much of what we say is really about the information?

“It’s a beautiful day” doesn’t convey valuable data. They can see what you can see. It probably means “I’m glad I’m here with you. Are you glad to be here with me?”

That article your friend texted you might contain useful information. And their sending it might mean, “I care about you enough to send you stuff that interests you. Do you care about me too?”

A co-worker might say, “We should hang out sometime.” Here in Los Angeles this means, “I’d rather crawl naked across four miles of broken glass than ever see you again” but in civilized parts of the world it often means, “I think you’re cool and want to spend more time with you. Do you want to spend time with me?”

It’s not about the content. It’s about the unspoken emotions underneath. Those bids and how we respond to them are the cornerstone of relationships.

(To learn more about the science of a successful life, check out my bestselling book here.)

Sometimes we kinda know this but more often we forget. We get wrapped up in the literalness of it all. And it turns out the bid underneath the words is what really matters.

So bids are crucial. But how do they work?

  Turn, Turn, Turn

They say, “It’s a beautiful day.” From a bid perspective, there are three types of responses:

You can “turn toward” the bid:  “Wow, it really is.”

You can “turn against” the bid:  “What are you talking about? Looks just like yesterday.”

You can “turn away” from the bid: You don’t reply. Or you say, “We’re going to be late. Let’s get going.”

No surprise; turning toward bids is what builds stable, long-lasting relationships. If you want to nurture a deeper emotional connection with somebody, turn toward that person as often as you can.

Turning toward means agreeing, supporting or at least acknowledging the bid. They all tell the other person, “I hear you. I understand you. I’m interested in what’s going on with you. I’m on your side.” High energy responses, eye contact, and enthusiasm all get you extra credit.

This isn’t just important for romantic relationships — it’s the bedrock of all relationships.

From The Relationship Cure:

Children who habitually turn toward their playmates form friendships more easily. Siblings who turn toward one another early on are more likely to stay close for life. Coworkers find it easier to collaborate on projects. Married couples and other pairs have fewer conflicts. Turning toward leads to fewer conflicts, because the partners in a relationship are having the conversations they need to have—the conversations where they demonstrate their interest and concern for each other.

Turning against a bid is giving a belligerent or argumentative reply. And turning away is ignoring the bid or replying with something unrelated. Repeatedly turning against or turning away, over time, harms relationships. No bueno.

When you find yourself in a heated argument over something ridiculous like not emptying the dishwasher, it’s not about the dishwasher. Often it’s because of the lack of respect or attention conveyed when you rejected or ignored those prior 5 bids.

From The Relationship Cure:

My research shows that habitually turning away can eventually destroy relationships. Even if the bidder doesn’t act hurt or angry at the moment his or her bid is rejected, there seems to be some internal mechanism that keeps score. By watching relationships over time, my colleagues and I have seen that the dismissed bidder typically gets fed up. He or she starts complaining to and criticizing the person who turns away, leading to a pattern of attack and defend. And once this attack/defend pattern becomes ingrained in a relationship, it can start a downward spiral of interaction that eventually ends in the dissolution of that bond.

As the saying goes, “It’s the little things.” And it’s how you respond to the little things.

(To learn the four most common relationship problems and how to fix them, click here.)

So you’re turning toward bids and not turning against or away from them. But that’s not the tricky part. The trouble lies with identifying bids and knowing what the other person needs to hear to feel emotionally connected to you.

So how do we get better at that?

  Decode Bids

They say, “We should hang out sometime.” Are they just being polite and you should vaguely agree — or do they want you to specify a date and you’ll seem dismissive if you don’t?

Bids can be subtle. And they vary based on the person and the context. Yes, this can be annoying. But nobody is going to say, “I hereby formally reaffirm my desire to continue this friendship.”

Bids are subtle for a reason. We’re all afraid to be vulnerable. We want to protect our feelings and our ego — but we all also require emotional validation. And much more frequently than we think. So bids are often deliberately vague with a healthy dose of plausible deniability.

I know what some people are thinking: “Am I expected to be a mind reader? Do I need to enthusiastically overreact to everything to be safe? Does every relationship hang in the balance because I didn’t jump up and down?”

You don’t need to be perfect. Everybody misses bids or responds incorrectly. Even people in good relationships screw up around 20% of the time.

From The Relationship Cure:

We learned, for example, that husbands headed for divorce disregard their wives’ bids for connection 82 percent of the time, while husbands in stable relationships disregard their wives’ bids just 19 percent of the time.

You don’t need to be frighteningly enthusiastic all the time. The goal is to try and learn the common bids from the people who matter most to you and what they want to hear from you to feel supported. And you want to learn more about your own bids and what you can do to make sure others are getting the message about your needs.

You probably already do this to a limited extent. You know that when you’re out of town and your partner texts, “How are things going?” they’re not asking about your day. They need to hear, “I miss you.”

So start paying more attention. And start writing things down. Build yourself a “bid roadmap” for each of the key people in your life:

What form do their bids commonly take? What responses made them happy? And which ones did not? What is it they’re looking to hear outside of a very literal response to their words?

How do you usually bid? Do they usually turn toward, against or away in response? What can you change to get a more fulfilling response?

When do you turn toward, turn away, or turn against bids? What do you think causes the response?

When you really get good at this it’s like a superpower. You’re responding to their feelings instead of just their words, and that’s what really improves relationships. It will also help you be more patient when times are tough and address the real, unspoken issues causing the trouble.

From The Relationship Cure:

That’s how it is once you begin to recognize the many idiosyncratic ways that people can make and respond to bids for connection. If you can see past a person’s anger, sadness, or fear to recognize the hidden need, you open up new possibilities for a relationship. You’re able to see your coworker’s sullen silence as a bid for inclusion in decisions that affect his job, for example. Or you can recognize that your sister’s agitation says she’s feeling alienated from the family.

You don’t need to be a mind reader. But start making note of bids and responses and you can actually become one with the people who matter most.

(To learn the seven-step morning ritual that will make you happy all day, click here.)

Alright, you’re tracking and decoding bids. Now how do you improve conversational style so others turn toward your bids and you can better turn toward theirs?

  Curiosity, Depth, And Feelings

If you want to screw up perfectly good interactions with incredible consistency, make sure your initial bids are negative and critical. Hand grenades are tough to come by these days but don’t you worry — starting a conversation with blame and accusation will do almost as much damage.

Gottman can predict with 96% accuracy how an interaction will go just by listening to the tone of the first three minutes.

From The Relationship Cure:

When bids for connection start on such a negative, blaming, or critical note, it’s fairly easy to predict what will happen next. In fact, my studies of married couples show that 96 percent of the time, you can predict the outcome of a fifteen-minute conversation based on what happens in the first three minutes of that interaction. And if the first three minutes include a lot of negativity, blame, and criticism, the outcome is not going to be very good.

On the other hand, playfulness is golden. It not only improves conversations, it can even lighten arguments and help repair relationships.

From The Relationship Cure:

We also discovered the importance of playfulness in people’s bids. For years I have wondered why some couples are able to make jokes and express affection for each other—even in the midst of an argument. It’s an important question because our research shows that such emotional “repair tools” lead to the development of happier, stronger relationships.

Overall, remember three words when you want to have a conversation that deepens your connection with someone: curiosity, depth and feelings.

Curiosity: Ask them open-ended questions. Or ask for advice. Then shut your giant mouth and listen like they’re about to tell you tomorrow’s lottery numbers.

Depth: When was the last time you asked someone about their dreams and aspirations? Ever ask someone about their childhood? Sure beats “How was your day?”

Feelings: Get away from the facts. Ask how something made them feel. Show a genuine interest in their internal world and their perspective. When was the last time you paid someone a thoughtful, specific and sincere compliment tailored to them?

That’s how you deepen an emotional connection.

(To learn how to make friends as an adult, click here.)

Okay, we’ve learned a lot. Let’s round it all up and find out how to create even bigger moments that take relationships to the next level…

  Sum Up

This is how to easily make your relationships awesome:

It’s all about bids: If you think the conversation is about what the conversation is about, you’re in trouble. The content isn’t what’s critical. Responding properly to their bids is key.

Turn, Turn, Turn: Turn toward. Agree, support or acknowledge bids.

Decode Bids: Build yourself a “bid roadmap” for the important people in your life. “When Eric texts me to see how I’m doing it means he’s insecure about the new blog post and wants to hear it was good.”

Curiosity, Depth, and Feelings: And what would your response be if someone very close to you paid you a thoughtful compliment, asked about your dreams in life, and then focused intently on your response? (I might need some tissues, frankly.)

Give Gottman’s research a shot. With practice you can become a mind reading, emotional Sorcerer Supreme with the ones you love.

Now you can take it to the next level and become what Gottman calls a “collector of emotional moments.”

Someone you’re close to makes a bid. You respond perfectly and hit the bullseye. They open up about their feelings and so do you. This is when you really deepen a connection with someone.

From The Relationship Cure:

The key is to look for and celebrate those moments in which you connect with another person on a feeling level. Such moments usually begin by noticing an emotional expression as a bid for connection. You hear something a person says, or you see a facial expression or gesture, that reveals their happiness, sadness, anger, fear, contempt, or disgust. Once you notice it, you let this person know with your words, expressions, or gestures that you understand how they’re feeling. Your demonstration of understanding provides a bridge for emotional connection and paves the way to a deeper, more meaningful relationship.

To feel truly understood on an emotional level is immensely powerful and it’s one of the greatest gifts you can give someone.

The conversation is rarely about what the conversation is about. We want to be emotionally understood by others. We want to connect with others. That’s why we text. That’s why we call. That’s why we talk.

And that’s why some of us write blog posts…

In my next weekly email I’ll be including a PDF from John Gottman with a test you can take to learn your personal style of bidding and responding to bids. To make sure you get it, join here.

Join over 320,000 readers. Get a free weekly update via email here.

Related posts:

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The post This Is How To Easily Make Your Relationships Awesome: 4 Secrets appeared first on Barking Up The Wrong Tree.

[lorainelaneyblog]

There are some female centers who love the company of other women. Social and sexual are not always in coalescence, Loraine, unlike for you. You thought that it should be perfectly in order, but it is not always true.

‘What about that 11% God, they don’t deviate from men.’

‘They do deviate from men, Loraine, often, they love men, but not all of them are interested in being in a group of seven under a center polygamist like your friend, [ ].’

‘They’re not, Loraine, I have asked them. They like to be ordered by a lesbian. And, in one of these groups, they would be a fifty-fifty, and that’s what they are, but they love men so much sexually that they are not prepared to live without gay men, and that’s it.’

‘Riffing.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you think your ‘sevens’ are more dominant?’

‘I think they might be, Loraine. And I love them for it. I do. I love dominance in men, not twinks, though, as a man, many people see me as twinky.’

‘Why twinky?’ says Her Royal Highness Queen Elizabeth. 

‘Because I’m funny in a feminine way. I am. And I know it. And that’s what makes people laugh. Loraine knows this. As a dyed in the wool fag hag, and she was a good one, hanging around us, and making us laugh about her weirdness with men and women, and she was, 50 Cent, a perfect fag hag, she never judged promiscuity, never.’

‘Oh, really with this. In what sense did you notice it?’

‘I. just. did. 50 Cent. I was a ho and she did. not. care. She. did. not. care. Ever. And I had been friends, and she was one Loraine, who tried to convince me that promiscuity was wrong and that I should find one little gay and get married.’

‘Oh. Oops.’

‘Exactly. She didn’t. care. And she cared so little that we would get to the end of the night and she would realize I was shoving her off, and she didn’t have any designs on promiscuity herself, and she would just go, a little pouty, to be dismissed from a friend.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, and I could tell she had no designs on promiscuity because she didn’t. fucking. care. She just wanted to be with me, and she was a little offended that I didn’t want to be with her. [ ] would berate me for an hour after I would try to shove her off, Loraine, and what did you think about that.’

‘Exactly what you say. I had nothing in mind, myself, though you intrigued me a little with your cruising.’

‘You didn’t want it though.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘So, no.’

‘I had no pangs or suffering other than the rejection of a friend.’

‘Exactly,’ says God. ‘Loraine was never jealous of [ ]’s--’

‘Are you a perfect woman?’ asks the queen.

‘He had other good friends too.’

‘I did. And she was never, never, never jealous either, of [ ]’s serious relationships or of my promiscuous ones, she wanted a baby, so she stopped using condoms, and she paid for that, Loraine, she got several STD’s before she finally, finally, finally, got pregnant. And we thought she was disgusting but she was working within the required parameters, no one was marrying a fag hag, but she got her baby, and her entire life changed, we could hardly get her to get drunk with us again, and only, only, only, if she had a really, really, really, reliable, good, kind, and wonderful babysitter, would she let go and get pissed like she used to.’

‘Good,’ says the queen. ‘Bon,’ she says.

‘What was she like, Loraine, because I trust your judgement.’

‘I wasn’t invited to everything, but it perturbed me that she should be singled out as a drunk for being the drunkest.’

‘I agree.’

‘Loraine, and I regret this, was invited to almost nothing after she had her baby, I was jealous myself of her income with sex work. And that was it.’

The queen laughs. ‘So the queen was jealous in the end, not the hag.’

‘True,’ says [ ]. ‘Let’s move on. Kidding, queenie.’

‘That’s unacceptable.’

‘I am not the man her brother is.’

‘Let’s talk to her brother about the feelings for the monarchy, and I see Loraine is no stranger to this, though I don’t understand it, among the British, let alone the Canadians. I have felt a figurehead for so long, I can hardly even stand it.’

‘What do you think, Loraine?’

‘I suppose I think the upper classes influence the military.’

‘But why?’ says [ ]. ‘Why? Because people don’t feel this way anymore.’

‘I don’t see the upper classes as sexually repressed, let’s take Afghanistan as an example.’

‘Let’s take Afghanistan as an example. What do you think?’

‘I think drugs are an aside. I think the main mission in Afghanistan is, sickening [ ], to liberate women to promiscuity.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the highest men are the most invested in female polygamy.’

‘Not in male polygamy, as they have.’

‘Exactly.’

‘You said before, they are fighting blind.’

‘Yes!’

‘She thinks,’ says God, ‘that the highest men are fighting blind in order to liberate women to a kind of promiscuity which will lead to groups of men on a single woman. That is what she thinks.’

‘What do you think?’ says [ ].

‘God is accurate. That is what I think, but it is a nefarious promiscuity because it is still a cloistered woman they desire.’

‘My wife,’ says [ ], ‘is a center polygamist, isn’t she?’

‘That she is.’

‘And I love her so much, I can’t even stand it. And I am happy, as the lead man, to pimp her to other men, especially if I can get them to accept family responsibility for her, in lieu of strict payment for her as a prostitute, and that is how I feel, and I don’t care if it is in the book, but that is how I feel. Prostitution is a brilliant resolution, Loraine, and 50 Cent, to wives needing men outside the family, but I want a family, and I want them to commit to her, as I have.’

‘I would not be able to do this, [ ], if I didn’t fully understand and commiserate, let’s say, that each man is invested in this woman.’

‘Seriously. I thought I was weird, thinking they would join our family, not just be interlopers.’

‘When your sister came out with this work, despite that I had built, built, [ ], built a mother fucking house which is a testament to the gang bang, the den of iniquity, such as we are, we both are, regardless of numbers--’

‘I realize that.’

‘Your numbers came out recently, in Loraine’s work. You are almost exclusively five to one.’

‘I’m so happy, [ ].’

‘See?’

‘She doesn’t want anymore, but my sister wants endless, endless, endless men, why, Loraine?’

‘Loraine recognizes men’s needs, it is not her own desire, she has talked many times of giving up work.’

‘Oh, I didn’t realize that. Why? Why now?’

‘What do you mean “now”?’

‘Why do you talk of giving up work with 50 Cent, but not before, because I heard, from [ ] [ ], that even if they gave us millions, and it would be millions, Loraine, millions, because both [ ] and [ ] decided not to accept the money, that you would feel obligated to a few men.’

‘One spoke up, but he has since reneged.’

‘Really? Who?’

‘I bought her two phones, and helped her with an extra twenty to forty dollars, wouldn't you say, Loraine?’

‘He is my last client who stayed through the toughest times when I was working for ten or twenty dollars.’

‘Oh, I see. Obligations, not desire.’

‘I have no desire for variety, it never was about variety or numbers.’

‘What, then?’

‘Survival, [ ], and the desire to maintain a semblance of a sex life,’ says 50 Cent.

‘That.’

‘You didn’t want numbers.’

‘My little list ground to a halt around twenty five.’

‘Oh. Silliness.’

‘The suffering overcame the jealousy, is how I describe it.’

‘You had no desire for numbers.’

‘It is not conscious. I knew I did not want to be left alone anymore, for my poly.’

‘Oh, you were tired of paying the price of poly, because that’s why [ ] was crying, she said to her [ ] that she gave up dating for me, and then I wouldn’t commit, and she had no other hopes, but I wouldn’t commit.’

‘Aw.’

‘I was mean to her, I was. And I admit that now, I judged her, and I regret it, but I don’t regret knowing one thing, and that was that she was to slutty for my love.’

‘How did you come to terms with it?’ asks 50 Cent. ‘Because--forget it.’

‘Forget it, exactly. I just realized, finally, and her [ ] helped with this, because she told me that [ ] had been crying a lot, that she loved me so much that she couldn’t even stand it, and so I decided to bequeath her my dick, and it was almost that bad, Loraine. I thought she didn’t deserve my fucking, precious, dick, and--’

‘I felt that way about your own sister, [ ].’

‘Why? She was so, so, so much better than you.’

‘She was but I didn’t believe it, and--’

‘I know. She is better than me, but I didn’t believe it. Go to the bathroom, Loraine, and get another beer, because you are a bit high on speed, and we are going to work for a bit. The queen is here.’

‘Okay.’

‘50 Cent wants to say something.’

‘I have not called your sister for one specific reason.’

‘What in the fuck might that be?’

‘Agreed.’

‘Because I have been calling everyone in Canada to make sure that her [ ] can’t interfere in our relationship, and it is pretty clearly understood by now that I am madly in love with her, and her crazy work for God, but everyone, and I mean everyone, and I mean everyone, Loraine, says the same thing, “if I see her, then I will not let on to her that I have spoken to you, because we, all of us in Ottawa, do not want to see this ugly little thing disappointed, we don’t, 50 Cent. And that is why.’

‘Noble. But what about her? Why do all the leg work without her?’

‘Because she is such an honest idiot, that she will tell her mother, and then we will be done by mental health, and I have it on good authority, that nobody, and that means nobody, including her nefarious, psychiatrist, can stop us from marrying, and moving to Connecticut, and I have it from politicians, [ ], politicians have said “Good luck” to me. And, Loraine, even Charlie Sheen thinks I am out of my mind, and he likes you so much.’

‘I’m speechless.’

‘He does. He is a highest marrying man, and he likes you, even though you’re ugly, and he usually chooses pretty women, yes, her, so much he can hardly even think straight. When he heard that you believed that all women, despite the constraints of language involved in “let,” should have a hands off policy where it regarded the sexuality of their men, he applauded, because he has tried, and he has tried, and he has tried, to run the field with women, and he has, and he has, and he has, and he has lost every time.’

‘Well, men always say they don’t say no anymore.’

‘They do say no anymore, Loraine, I have it on good authority, women are driven by commitment and the almighty dollar, and, yes her, he even tried to see prostitutes as much as she saw men, and even that was impossible.’

‘Oh, man. I have balked at my own suggestion.’

‘You do, Loraine.’

‘Why?’ asks Charlie Sheen.

‘No good, fucking, reason. I want a man with numbers beyond the beyond and beyond that also.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s possible that I have been alone, in a sexual context, with a thousand men.’

‘Oh. You hate it. Why do you balk?’

‘Why do I balk, God?’

‘Women, women, women fear losing their man, and that is what they fear. Loraine is not in touch with jealousy on any level, she just doesn’t feel it, and, in this respect, she is very, very, lucky, and she knows it. She does.’

‘Why not? You have enough numbers?’

‘Even that is like Greek to me.’

‘Even that is like Greek to her. She doesn’t care. She wanted to be ahead and then she realized she was out of her league, and that’s what happened, and that’s it.’

‘At what age? At what numbers?’

‘At about twenty--it was the proverbial onion skin, twenty five, twenty nine.’

‘Why the difference?’

‘I had a boyfriend, the bar prevailed, I had a boyfriend, he changed my self opinion.’

‘What is she talking about?’

‘Loraine is a therapist’s dream, Charlie Sheen, she walks in, she spills the shit, and walks out in fifteen minutes, fear not.’

‘Okay. What is this shit?’

‘I wanted to be ahead of a boyfriend.’

‘How many were you at?’

‘A long kiss, a finger, mutual oral sex, my virginity, a long term boyfriend with oral sex and full sex.’

‘Did you eat come?’

‘With him, yes.’

‘Oh, I see. Not with the others?’

‘No.’

‘Oh. A baby. My wife was a slut, and I thought that’s what I deserved, being one myself, but, as I dealt with “the field” I realized that it would never be fair, and I couldn’t make sense of how it would ever be fair.’

‘If I am pathetic, it is because I can’t believe how unfair it actually is.’

‘Really? What do you want?’

‘I want 50 Cent, because he is so far above me.’

‘Why, though?’

‘There is no security in promiscuity for women.’

‘There are lies.’

‘Is that--’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.

‘And you?’

‘She is a solid ten and has never done anyone, let alone worse than they did her.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘She has cheated a little, tiny, itty bitty, bit, but only when desperate to make a point, and she has never cheated in certain relationships, and, she doesn’t know this, but they were the relationships where the cheating partner was oblivious to the morals of cheating. [ ] was wholly pathetic, Loraine, in every way. She was a rapist, and a cheater, but she had never been satisfied by a man, never. Her fiancé, as she called him, wouldn’t even fuck her.’

‘Oh. Why?’

‘He thought fucking was bad, immoral, and that she should content herself with kisses and oral.’

‘Oh. And his penis was small.’

‘Not small, but too small for her height.’

‘Oh, worse.’

‘Charlie Sheen laughs. You’re funny, little girl, and I know you can’t believe that I’m talking about who I’m talking about, but there are plenty of opportunities in show biz, trust me, and she took advantage of all of them, higher men, lower men, all men, and I was disgusted, and I wanted control, but she would. not. relinquish control. Read, in fact, quote, that part of the book.’

‘”Playing the field may well be the exclusive preserve of men. Married women are, perhaps ironically, less interested in infinite variety than they are in creating close secondary relationships. This may take an odd form, that is to say since men’s right suffering involves competition, just as women control the purse strings of sexuality, men must control the purse strings of competition, and often this will involve pimping their wives to friends and colleagues, rather than giving free reign.”’

‘This is what I want to say about that. When you said, and I read the book myself Loraine, and this is why you have a few twitter followers in Los Angeles, you do, admittedly.’

‘True.’

‘People can’t come to terms, or, at least, they cannot be seen to be coming to terms with your work on children, though, I must admit, your work, as is Sigmund Freud’s, is brilliant.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Do you really think that a three year old is ready for a relationship?’

‘I want to take this,’ says [ ], my [ ]’s daughter. ‘I am [ ], and, when I was three, I saw a man that I loved, I did, Loraine, and it wasn’t with you, as we weren’t together that often, and he was white, and he was high, and I can’t tell you much, but he was the man of my dreams.’

‘I thought I was the man of your dreams,’ says [ ], Loraine’s former coworker.

‘No, [ ]. I love you now, but then, he was it. He was it. He was it. He was it. And I will not say much, and Loraine does not understand this herself, because she liked older boys, and she wasn’t ready till later, but I knew, I knew, Loraine, and it was torture, nobody obvious, so don’t even try.’

‘Was he in a position of authority?’

‘He was. Why?’

‘These men became vilified, and a new law was instituted against people in a position of trust or authority.’

‘What, I have to know, did you say about this?’

‘I derided a law which would show preference for, do you know what Joe Blow means?’

‘No.’

‘An average man.’

‘Oh, I see, he was not an average man.’

‘Joe Blow, over a person in a position of trust or authority over a child.’

‘Why did you say that?’

‘Let’s read the law, [ ], it’s really interesting.’

‘Okay.’

’When an accused is charged with an offence under section 151 or 152, subsection 173(2) or section 271 in respect of a complainant who is 12 years of age or more but under the age of 14 years, it is a defence that the complainant consented to the activity that forms the subject-matter of the charge if the accused

(a) is less than two years older than the complainant; and(b) is not in a position of trust or authority towards the complainant, is not a person with whom the complainant is in a relationship of dependency and is not in a relationship with the complainant that is exploitative of the complainant, is not in a position of trust or authority towards the complainant--’

‘Blah blah etcetera. You are not even on the books, [ ], at age three. This law refers to those between the ages of 12 and 14.’

‘What does it mean?’

‘My interpretation is that it refers to the age of consent, which I discuss in my book as being an appalling concept, based, as it is, on a premise of rape.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘The age of consent indicates that as of fourteen a man is able to use consent as a defense in a rape case.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means that, for example, and I speak of the willingness of children, if a child consents to sex, under the age of fourteen, the accused--’

‘It means you, as an adult, cannot have sex with anyone under the age of fourteen, without being subject to the charge of rape.’

‘What does that mean for me though? Because I wanted him so bad I could hardly think straight, I wanted him, Loraine, and it wasn’t because I was abused, my [ ] was a slut, but she was good to me, and my daddy, as you know, and you’re jealous of him, because I love him so much, was good to me to, but this man, he had that long, soft, belly that you are always describing to others, I wanted him, I wanted him, I wanted him.’

‘Oh, [ ]. I should’ve known you’d always make me cry.’

‘Funny, Loraine, How do I get him? Because I knew, I knew, I knew, that he wanted me too. He was a gym teacher, Loraine, over kids. But not at school, and I won’t say where, but my parents will know, yes, they will, but I don’t want them to arrest him, he did nothing, but I knew, I knew, I knew, he loved me, as I loved him.’

‘What do you say about this, Loraine,’ says 50 Cent. ‘Because Charlie Sheen wants to know. Do you deny her?’

‘You do not deny her.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘I am Sigmund Freud, and Loraine Laney’s work is bullet proof. I did not freak out over incest, and nor did she, but she recognized something important, as did I, and this is reflected in the Oedipus Complex, that a parent has but one obligation, which is to--’

‘Fuck the kid?’ says Charlie Sheen. ‘This isn’t my shit, Loraine. I like women.’

‘This is why no one wants to be allied with me. I have two hundred and sixty followers on twitter.’

‘Bad.’

‘No,’ says Freud. ‘And this is not off topic.’

‘How do you figure?’ we say together.

‘It’s not. Charlie Sheen does not, he does not, he does not, have children, and nor do you, Loraine.’

‘I didn’t know that, Loraine. Why?’

‘Nobody, and I mean nobody wanted me.’

‘She did them hard, Charlie Sheen,’ says God. ‘Nobody fell in love with her.’

‘Nobody hurt.’

‘Nobody.

‘Wow.’

‘And he, he, he, can say that too, Loraine, as can 50 Cent. You are the first little girl to fall hard for 50 Cent. You are. She is a gang bang girl, Charlie Sheen. Unbeknownst to her-- She made an intellectual decision to turn to black men, intellectual.’

‘I get that, why?’

‘Pimping. Pimping. Pimping. When she realized 50 Cent was a pimp, nothing, Loraine, it all happened so fast, but rest assured, Charlie Sheen, Loraine Laney has a small pussy and she was more than happy with white men, more than happy, in fact, there are no, and I mean no, and I mean no, black men in Vancouver, none, and if she happened to see one, she was suspicious, and she was right to be suspicious, because they prefer their own kind, and they are sluts, and, in the war, sluts were leavers.’

‘Oh, I see. She didn’t want to be seen with a black man because she knew he would leave her.’

‘She knew. And she was right.’

‘They do.’

‘She knows that, first hand, bore, Charlie Sheen but she had sex four times or so with a black man in eight years, and paid stipend.’

‘She’s an idiot.’

‘She is.’

‘Oh. She kept it in her pants for a jail bird who was screwing in jail?’

‘She did. Once he said, in a surly tone, “How’s everything at home?’ And she replied with, “How’s everything at jail?’

‘Why is she so funny?’

‘She’s funny. And people laugh, laugh, laugh at her all the time. People are waving at her, on the street, as she has no car, and not even a license.’

‘My woman had a license. She went everywhere.’

‘They go nowhere.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘They go nowhere is how Loraine feels about women.’

‘But why? I go everywhere. I thought we were equal.’

‘The book makes it abundantly clear that women will never be equal. Never. And it speaks of women’s vulnerability, as submissives, to men.’

‘Oh, that. It bugged me how stupid she was.’

‘True. Men know your sexuality better than you know it yourself. And they know men better than you.’

‘Oh, I see. And this is why we have license to control, and we must have freedom to keep up the numbers.’

‘Yeah. You must, and this is why I balk, trust a man to give you what he is getting, though it is not, for women, a numbers game.’

‘Oh, wow.’

‘She’s right, Charlie Sheen,’ says God. ‘Let’s let Loraine rest.’

‘Really? Already?’

‘You worked hard. 50 Cent wants to assure Charlie Sheen that he can trust you, though it’s a moot point for someone like Charlie, who has been done by every bitch in Hollywood, Loraine. When I said, “Your favorite actresses in your favorite shows,” Charlie Sheen picked up the phone and he called me, and he said, “which favorite actresses in which favorite shows?”’

‘Oh my God.’

‘And I said. “Artistic license’. And he laughed, Loraine, and he said, “Are you fuckin’ kidding me, you had me all tied up in knots, I thought it was my girlfriend. I hate you 50 Cent. And I laughed.’

‘What did you think, though, because you don’t care.’

‘I felt sorry for the women.’

‘Oh, I see. Because he’s so great.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why is he so great to you, because so many women think he’s a useless player.’

‘I thought he was so romantic and alone.’

‘But he wanted to be alone.’

‘I did not fall for that.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ll take this. I didn’t want to be alone, Charlie. I didn’t. I just didn’t want to give up rampant promiscuity.’

‘How do you know she won’t try to get even with you?’

‘I’ve asked God. Which brings us back to her brother. Who is always wondering if there will be a limit to his wife’s desires.’

‘I do wonder this. Because if you’re a prostitute, why isn’t she?’

‘There,’ says God, ‘is a number of gang bang girls who would never stray, and there is a number who would, and they are opposites, fear not. If you put this family together, and, God willing, you get the family money, and build a house, your little wifey will never look beyond her five men, never. And I promise you this, 50 Cent is well versed in women, and he is not afraid of your little sister, so again, fear not.’

‘I won’t, God. And that’s it.’