Women are not unicorns [Маргарита Резник] (fb2) читать онлайн

Margarita Reznik Women are not unicorns

My story seems very prosaic to me and uninteresting in anything, except for the fact that it is interesting to other girls. My cousin said that she likes to read my works where I write about the relationships between men and women.

The world is full of lonely women, and I was once one of them.

It's like a good movie with a happy ending, where the princess marries the prince and then they live happily ever after. Translation: boring and bland. Nobody is interested in the life of a groundhog. You could still watch a film about infidelity, divorce or problems with conception, but nothing more.

And in fact, it’s a sin for me to complain. I love my husband, he loves me, we are faithful to each other and all our aspirations are directed in one direction. We are friends, relatives, lovers, colleagues. Every day is similar to the previous one, with the rare exception of periodic events that we arrange for ourselves.

But women's problems do not end with the wedding.

Here are the options for the most common torment of the weak half of humanity, which also affected me:

— I'm ugly, no one likes me

— masturbation is a sin

— the coolest guy is already taken

— defloration

— lesbian tendencies

— what if I’m on a vow of celibacy (the existence of which, of course, only God knows)

— painful breakup

— treason

— ten guys in a year and no one worth it

— Igor, Alexander and Sofia

— financial insolvency

— HPV, ureaplasmosis

— menarche and “it would be better if I went to the army”

— first depilation, hair removal. Why can't a woman be a yeti?

— fibroadenoma of the mammary gland

— a man twelve years older

— first fart

— goodbye friends

— man with child

— moving, goodbye university

— poverty and luxury

— painful breakup after two years of relationship — flirting

— marriage

— painful breakup after five years of relationship — hysterics

— orgasm and frigidity, search for marital sexuality

— miscarriage, do I even want children?

— existential crisis — I haven’t achieved anything in my life.

In this book, I will try to reveal each of the problems described above, tell my example of ruthlessly dealing with them, and show how they could be solved in a different way from the height of the knowledge that exists now.

Go.

“I’m ugly, no one likes me”

In those days, when I still believed that the thunderstorm was moving away from the ritual “Holy, Holy,” I was worried about the question of why cute boys loved other girls, but did not notice me.

One day my mother and I were sitting in the room on a summer evening, shaking with fear. A thunderstorm was raging outside the window, the light and, in principle, the electricity in the house was turned off, the mirrors were curtained, the only refuge — the sofa sheltered two frightened women, forty-year-old and five-year-old me. We moved our palm near our foreheads and drove away the thunderstorm with the words “Holy, holy.” Now my husband and I are holding our stomachs when I tell this story, but before everything was very serious.

Of course, I believed in supernatural forces, including my own, because the storm was leaving.

But I believed even more that if someone doesn’t love me, sooner or later they will love me.

Back then, I didn’t know that this was just the art of PR.

I grew up as a very serious child. But at the same time, she felt inferior.

I was considered eccentric, and the girl next door fueled this idea in the minds of other guys, so the anti-PR really ruined my life.

Where it all started.

In kindergarten, I liked a boy to whom I wanted to show my coolness by the fact that Jean Claude Van Damme would come and pick me up from the garden, proudly carrying me on his muscular tanned shoulder. And in this way I wanted to solve the problem of my unlikability. Coolness is an alternative to lack of beauty. Well, that's a great idea, isn't it? And now many people think so, making friends with stars in order to raise their ratings instead of changing themselves.

A little later, when nothing worked out, I began to think about real ways to attract his attention.

And I realized that I was in trouble.

I’m five, and I can’t put on makeup and preen myself, because my mother sees me as a baby bug, and not a woman. Yes, mom, because she was my only teacher in those days, she didn’t let me listen to my sister and dad, “they say two boots are a match, if they don’t listen to her, that means they’re bad.”

The other girls were pretty, one had her ears pierced since she was three! And they cut my hair into a bob, supposedly so that my head wouldn’t hurt.

“I can’t be a woman at 5 years old.” — this is the bitter realization of that period.

I have always been an order of magnitude more ridiculous than my most advanced peers.

Slightly worse outfits, shorter hair, full belly, stooped, pale skin, blue bags around the eyes, snub nose, often sick.

No, I wasn't ugly. And I had my own fans, even girls. I just didn't think I was beautiful enough for the people I liked.

Do you know what all this means?

And the fact that all children are the same adults, only locked in small bodies and forced to wait until the body gets stronger in order to do what an adult should.

So, if parents learned to give their children the opportunity to feel like adults, then we would see not infantile schoolchildren and students who, even at twenty-six, are not able to take responsibility for themselves (and even more so for anyone else), but brilliant teenagers, who have graduated from school externally and are already creating new inventions, works of art and other things useful to society.

If my childhood desire to be liked by the best boys had not been suppressed even then, if this issue had been resolved then, I think I would have been able to calmly switch to my favorite writing path, never again worrying about problems with my appearance.

However, the unresolved issue of self-sufficiency hung over me for the next twenty years, until I finally achieved what I wanted.

Parents should instill confidence in their children regarding appearance. They should help to see in themselves who the child considers himself to be. Every child initially considers himself a successful, handsome, smart superhero, and not a chubby little pooping dependent.

There will be no delusions of grandeur if you allow your child to consider himself grown-up and cool. There is no need to convince him that he is better than others; let all children be cool and capable.

There won't be any orgies if you let the girls consider themselves fatal beauties. You can explain the rules of decency and teach self-defense, and not convince her that she is just a funny farting child.

Mom, dear, if you are reading this book, then please do not be offended. It's not about you, I'm sure you were raised the same way. Many other women around the world are raised this way. That's how it is. Either because we are afraid of pedophiles, or because of social security services, we try to deceive our plump dependents for as long as possible that they are children and have no business playing adult games.

Maybe something should be changed? What do you think?

"Masturbation is a sin"

Raise your hand if you've never done this.

Now raise your hand, those who were embarrassed to raise it. Wow, there are a lot of us.

I will not speak out for or against this event, we will just discuss it and tell my example.

Masturbation comes in different forms. Like sex, it happens with and without perversions. Those who advocate letting off steam talk about how useful it is to sometimes have sex with yourself, especially if you don’t have a boyfriend, and in polite society it’s not customary to sleep with the first guy you come across.

Opponents of pornography, especially with borderline almost illegal entertainment in the frame, advocate sublimation, and beg not to engage in masturbation, exorcise the devil, shame or educate about the dangers of such an act.

Malakia, handjob, masturbation — all this is still under a moral prohibition. It is not customary to talk about this even in a very advanced society.

I have never seen a parade for masturbation. LGBT communities constantly organize mass protests in their defense and promotion of tolerance. But I didn’t see women, even feminists, who would picket in defense of masturbation.

When I was three years old, I discovered an amazing feeling in my lower abdomen when I thought about intimacy with a person I liked. I didn’t know anything about the genitals yet, but an impulse arose in my body that demanded an outlet.

The head, heart and lower abdomen are fixated on one image.

Not understanding the situation, I tried an action that was unusual for me — squeezing my thigh muscles and imagining the image of that person.

Yes, you heard correctly, my first masturbation took place at the age of three.

The next one was already at school, I was afraid to repeat what adults could scold me for.

My father had videotapes with erotic and pornographic content in his closet, which I later used for pleasure.

This is an indescribable delight, but it is also pain from the fact that I am doing something indecent and hiding it from others.

I didn’t know then that everyone was doing this.

I did not yet understand that even the most holy person is, in fact, none other than a hypocrite.

He also locks himself in his room and masturbates, driving himself into a frenzy; he simply carefully hides this behavior from his students.

No, I’m not arguing, there are very depressed people who have been so shamed that at the mere mention of “sin” they immediately become indignant and turn red as a tomato. Not only do they not masturbate, but they most likely do not experience orgasm at all.

In my opinion, one should be wary of masturbation not because of the opinions of others, but because it diverts all attention inward, thereby holding back a person from realizing his abilities and talents, from actions and attention outward.

But, if you are alone and have never experienced an orgasm in your life, then you should listen to your body, look for the right points, places, the right impact on them, and bring yourself to bliss.

Once, twice, to find out your capabilities. No perversion, no harm to yourself or anyone else. Just have fun.

It’s a funny situation — they convince us that we should love ourselves, but they make it difficult for us to love our body.

“I love my intellect, but my genitals scare me.”

“I like that guy over there, let him love me, and I will love him” — this is where a painful dependence on men arises. A woman does not love herself, does not excite herself, so the only one who can benefit from her is the one who is aroused by her. This one disappears, happiness disappears.

Ha. Have you seen this in yourself? Who had this?

I have had. If a woman does not see herself as a sexual object, she will depend on the attention of someone who sees this sexual object in her.

Masturbation, of course, does not completely solve this issue. Here we need to work deeper, with soul. It is necessary for a person, a woman in our case, to see in herself the only one she loves, wants, admires, with whom she is not bored, to whom she is ready to give all of herself.

In my opinion, this is self-sufficiency.

Self-sufficiency in itself already attracts the attention of others. People do not like half-hearted and broken, wounded and wretched people. Adequate people run from energy vampires. Nobody likes to be forced to love, we like to consciously give our sympathy to an attractive person.

Therefore, my recommendation to you, dear women, is to love yourself entirely.

Transcript: start seeing in yourself the only person you love, with whom you want to have sex, with whom you admire, with whom you are not bored, to whom you are ready to give all of yourself.

Try it and write me your results.

And we move on to the next chapter.

“The coolest guy is already taken”

You know how it happens, the hero of your novel appears on the horizon, a tall, broad-shouldered brunette with a set of the most worthy qualities, and you’ve already fluffed your feathers, put on lipstick, and then suddenly another one appears next to him.

And not some bush muskrat, but the real Angelina Jolie.

It was a setup. The blue-eyed handsome guy found a match to match. Slender with glossy hair and skin without a single hair, the pastor's daughter instantly took in the man whom I had already planned for my husband. I was twelve and head over heels in unrequited love.

Who has this happened to?

Maybe you were that same Jolie and my situation is not familiar to you, but so far I have only met those who have encountered unrequited love at least once in their lives.

This is true. Ironically, that same pastor’s daughter, after breaking up with the hero of my novel, fell in love with a local rapper completely unrequitedly. My evil side rejoiced. The kind one understood and sincerely sympathized.

The beautiful brunette never became mine, even during the breaks between other women. I lost interest in him only ten years later, having already met many people. By the way, in my book “Sugar…” I wrote the main character from him, and embodied on paper what I couldn’t do in reality. These are miracles, only for this is it worth being a writer. You create new worlds instead of burying your fantasies deep inside your soul. My husband is not jealous, don't worry. There is love in everyone's life, a lot of love, there is no need to be jealous of the past.

And now in more detail what happened to me and how I dealt with it.

Now my stepdaughter is in love with a guy who also has an uneasy relationship with her. Their situation is similar to mine, with the exception that Katerina herself is the “pastor’s daughter”. Let me be clear, my husband is a very influential person, just like me. And we have proven ourselves well, so the employee of the organization where Katerina went to work respects and values us, and this greatly influences his attitude towards the girl.

Yes, the girl is not yet a swan, she is not at all prettier than me in those years when I suffered from unrequited love, but she has an advantage. The same "Jean Claude Van Damme". Do you know what I mean?

PR. If your qualities are lacking, then you take advantage of the protection of another person. If you are the protégé of someone whom your lover values, then your status increases greatly, attention to your person grows, it doesn’t even matter that you are nothing special.

Not only was I nothing of myself, but I was also from a poor family of elderly parents, I was conceived at thirty-six by people already worn out by life, who, moreover, did not love each other. Why they needed this, only God knows, but now they are finally divorced and happy with this fact.

Olya, a tall, blue-eyed brunette with Barbie hair, always combed and thick (as if her mother did nothing but scratch her all her free time), was charming at fourteen years old, not only in appearance, but also in her relationship with an equally handsome and stately Pastor of Holy Gospel Lutheran Parish. Her father was a true leader not only for widows and orphans, he led everyone, smart and capable, men and women, teenagers and old. The hero of my novel spent all his time outside of school with this man. It is not surprising that Olya caught his eye more often than I did, and in the light of the great pastor she looked different than she might have if she were from my family.

Now I understand that she also had complexes, small breasts, high weight (due to her height), and a quiet voice. For some, this is a plus, but apparently that boy rapper did not appreciate Olya, which developed self-doubt in her.

I tried my best. The complexes consumed me so completely that it was impossible to even make a list, there were so many of them. I cried every night, and during the days I turned into a warrior, put on makeup again, dressed up and put on a smile to appear at least a little more attractive than a log.

It's true, don't laugh. Okay, I laugh too. It’s funny now to look at your past from the position of a mature, self-sufficient woman, knowing what could have been done then and changed everything, but then everything seemed so unsolvable, serious and tormenting.

If now a time machine transported me back to when I was twelve years old, I would go in for sports, get braces, it was still free. I would take vitamins, run in the morning, grow my hair, which I also comb. I would force my parents to sell their damp, cold apartment and move to a comfortable one. I would move to another school and take up dancing.

I would take first place in competitions and my PR would become more serious than the PR of a pastor, and even more so his daughter.

Remember, it is much more important to attract attention to yourself with your own merits, and not with someone else’s.

There was one incident that I will never forget as an eternal shame and stigma of stupidity on my self-confidence.

David, that was the name of my hero, went to the same only decent disco in the city that I did. Even then, he was already meeting Olya secretly from the parishioners, but he still could not refuse a fun time with friends at the club. I knew this and believed that either now or later it would be too late. I asked him to walk me home, saying that we are from the same church, as a friend you are obliged.

He reluctantly left his friends and we wandered two blocks through the winter night. He walked and I flew.

I was just fluttering around, I was incredibly happy, which now seems simply ridiculous. Imagine, I believed and hoped that now he would understand everything.

He will see that I am beautiful, smart, cheerful, kind, cool, after all, at the age of fourteen I already went to an adult nightclub, smoked, drank, danced, guys liked me, they invited me to slow dance, and in general I became quite famous as… who?

I can’t even find the words right now. My reputation was twofold. Among my mutual acquaintances with my neighbor, thanks to her gossip, I was considered a strange but brave ugly girl. Among those who saw me for the first time, I was a cute, slightly frivolous wit.

Do you see how much anti-PR can ruin your life? Even then, I needed to deal with my critical villain, but I lacked gunpowder and intelligence.

True, if, as I wrote earlier, from the age of twelve I had taken myself more seriously, cast aside my laziness and begun to invest all my resources in my potential, then by the age of fourteen I would have been a completely different Margarita. By the way, this way I could get rid of my envious, evil neighbor.

So that night, in the light of lanterns and shining snow, I did an irreparable act, which I later had to fight through for years in order to even begin to even look at David directly and communicate.

Oh horror, when I reached my house, I took a step closer. And even then I could understand that it was not worth going further. He didn't respond with a reaction.

Due to his height, I was forced to make a not very easy maneuver. I had to not only pull him towards me by the jacket, but also stand on tiptoe.

All this had to be done in a second, so that the boy, many times stronger than me, would not run away.

I decided to kiss him.

Well, how did you decide? Eighty percent. Twenty percent of my modesty, unfortunately, worsened the reaction, and I froze mid-step.

What it looked like.

Step forward, tiptoes, head and neck stretched forward and upward, lips stretched into a pipe.

“Dudok” — yes, yes. The same one, only without fillers; back then they didn’t know about them in the Russian outback.

And I froze with my eyes closed.

This moment did not last long. David gently pushed me away from him by the shoulders and said, “It would be wrong, I can’t.” And after politely saying goodbye, he left.

“OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Do you want to know what I would do now?

The same. But she would see it through to the end. Before he came to his senses, he had to finish what he started, kiss him and be done with it.

Most likely, he also refused me due to his relationship with Olya, but I would have regained control. I wouldn't be a cowardly and insecure girl. Self-doubting.

It is important for a person to start, change and finish things. Three stages of action — start, change, stop. This makes him feel mentally healthier.

Perhaps even then I could stop loving David.

Well, for example, we all know that women are very important to details. A man is already less beautiful than a woman. Even the most handsome man will be an order of magnitude worse than the most beautiful woman. How? His genitals will spoil the appearance, unlike women's.

Well, it’s true that this Georgian image attracts few people. Dwarf nose, practically. The curly bangs turning into a long drooping nose are like something out of a horror movie.

I'm joking, of course, for many this organ is an object of great adoration. But personally, I know few women who feel admiration at the sight of a naked phallus. The majority groan and look away.

Okay, a couple more things that I noticed in men that irrevocably distracted me from any physical contact. And this is untidiness. Bad breath, bugs, eyeballs, plaque, the smell of sweat, bad body odor in general, comedones, pimples — all this caused and still causes me a gag reflex and disgust.

Remember the movie “What Else Men Talk About?” One of the heroines, imagining betrayal of her husband, says: “Legs. Just imagine. Ugh".

That's what we're talking about, until you love a person completely, with all your soul, until you get used to his farts and farts, all these little things will be in the foreground, they will distract even from romantic feelings in general.

If then, having kissed David, I had smelled an unpleasant odor from my mouth, or from him in general, if I had seen roes, comedones, lumps in the corners of my eyes in such a bright light that night, then I think I would have stopped loving the pleasant image forever and started doing something… then to others.

David, if you are reading these lines now, then perhaps everything was fine with you in those days, and you were perfect, and I would have fallen in love even more. But let it remain a secret. And I prefer to think that all boys are the same. And if there were no women, you would walk around in only underpants, or naked at all, you would not wash for weeks, or even months, you would fart, blow your nose and smoke as much as you wanted.

Men, you are wonderful creatures, and we love you for your spontaneity. If it weren’t for you, we would simply be bored in our ideal world of women.

"Defloration"

Between us girls, this is not a very pleasant event that we want to forget about once and for all. This is a separate topic, for many more unpleasant than masturbation.

You know, lately I have been feeling my loneliness especially acutely because I have realized a wild thirst for female communication. I don’t have friends, and a little later I’ll tell you why, but now I get great pleasure talking with you, mentally imagining that each of you readers is my friend.

Husband, this is wonderful, but he will never become your girlfriend in the full sense of the word, no matter how hard you try. And to find such a man and such girlfriends who will not conflict, and because of whom you will not lose this or that, is difficult, very difficult.

I could not. For now. So, alas, this fate befell you. The fate of dumb friends who can only listen and understand.

A nightmare, of course not. I don't want to give you such a role. I sincerely appreciate and respect you. I will be glad to receive feedback and letters. Since my husband approved the publishing of this book, he is ready to come to terms with the girlfriends in my life. Thank him very much for this.

My dear husband, I want to thank you for this patience and courage to allow me to publish my deepest and most intimate experiences, as well as those subtle and awkward details concerning you, including yourself. Let this book help many women, and maybe married couples, let this sacrifice in some way — our souls wide open with you — will not be in vain.

Girls, don't let me down.

Thank you.

So, defloration.

Almost everyone's deflowering, with rare exceptions about which I know nothing, is carried out in fear.

Even if a girl is getting ready, like my American friend, who got married as a virgin, it’s still scary. According to her, it was so scary, for both of them, although the husband was already an experienced thirty-year-old uncle, that they had to get into a hot bath and relax with a glass of wine in order to even touch each other.

By the way, they were not fans of alcohol.

I also dreamed of saving myself for my betrothed, or at least until my eighteenth birthday.

But one day, my best friend, who promised to protect herself just like me, admitted that she couldn’t keep it.

God. How can you not hold back? I was so angry with her. I was even offended for several days. I didn’t want to fall behind, so I decided to repeat the trick.

I can’t say that hormones interfered with our lives, and that I really really wanted to lose my virginity, but I wanted boyish attention more than ever.

I didn't want sex. This is true. I don’t know about others, but I wanted love. I dreamed of a prince charming, a rich, handsome young man, a man who would pay no attention to my teenage stupidities. I wanted him to hug me, take me to warm countries, take care of me like a small miracle that appeared in life like a ray of light.

Ah, naive soul. Grown-up guys from the south walked around my provincial town, tanned, loving, ready to call you their princess, their only one, pretending to be caring and gentle. They stood out strongly against the background of Russian guys, cold and rude, and almost everyone wanted to sleep with them at least once.

But everyone knew that no love could be achieved from these machos, only window dressing and disappointment.

As a smarter person than my peers, I tried not to get confused with people of Caucasian nationality, although my friend believed every word they said.

She just gave herself to one of them at sixteen.

And so, I, too, have two years left before I come of age, I don’t know how long before marriage, I decide to sleep with the first guy I come across who is more or less attractive to me, to spite my friend.

This was revenge. The game that cost me my health.

Girls, don't repeat my mistakes. Women, take care of yourself if you are still healthy.

Never have sex without a condom or a certificate from your partner, and still only with a condom the first hundred times. Then somehow you can still trust him and consider him your boyfriend. Well, this is a lyrical digression.

I then developed a slight bouquet of sexually transmitted diseases. Of course, I was treated and everything went away, but I was ashamed of myself.

He was twenty-five, handsome, brown-eyed, athletic, supposedly in love, although his flattery and insincerity were hard to miss.

We went to his house for rented accommodation, it looked like it wasn’t his at all, it was cold and without hot water.

He changed the bed in front of me, for which I thank you.

He was gentle and courteous, for which I am also grateful to him. Quickly and without much pain. It’s rather unpleasant and wet between your legs, but your soul is disgusting and so sad.

I didn’t love him, I knew that he had a dozen more like him, but I decided to prove something to someone.

I trudged home alone in the morning, it was already light. The homeless husky tagged along and followed me for half a block, as if she sympathized and understood everything.

At home, I quickly came to my senses, and even in the evening I proudly told my friend the details of what happened. We laughed and shared our impressions, as if we had gone to war and won. Inside we knew that we had won only a frivolous battle; the real fight lay ahead of us. But they tried not to show it and had fun like children. The struggle of life in which we were no longer worthy, self-respecting ladies. We took the path of depravity, which turned us into mediocre girls, with ordinary goals, without ambitions and principles, without big plans. Just frivolous talkers from the provinces.

Fortunately, I felt this very keenly at the time and did not want to agree with such a future.

For three whole years I locked myself in a Christian youth community and never dated anyone else. Only girlfriends, friends and an imaginary god.

I'm not saying there is no God. I just know that mine was not real. Whether it exists or not, what kind it is and whether a person needs it, I still don’t know; it doesn’t stop me from enjoying life.

The stories of my friends about defloration all confirm the fact that there is no orgasm in this dirty business. Just kidding, it's not dirty, but it stains the sheets.

If a woman goes through this and also enjoys it, then she should be given a medal. What do you think?

"Lesbian tendencies."

It’s a nightmare, it’s not a topic, it makes me blush even more. Thank God you don't see this. The spectacle is terrible. I get spots all over, especially my neck. Sometimes listeners of my webinar or seminar are scared that I have angioedema or anaphylactic shock, but I reassure them “you’ll rejoice early.”

In general, it started in kindergarten. I noticed that if we take my sexuality in general, then eighty percent I liked boys, about twenty percent girls.

So, of course, I am a heterosexual person.

But I admit that in past lives I was a man at least once.

Are you laughing? Didn't this happen to you? Have you ever seen yourself as a man in sexual intercourse?

Then you should try it, it's very interesting. Of course, I’m talking about fantasies. After all, it makes no sense to become a man while you have a female body; you shouldn’t live in the past. Well, I was a man, everything is in the past, I need to move on. Now I'm a woman, it's time to take full advantage of all these bells and whistles.

As I write this, I’m just in awe of how funny and cheerful I am.

How did my first homo sensation happen?

It was a beautiful spring day, the kindergarten was showing a Soviet cartoon about a girl lost in time, the whole city had disappeared, and there was no one left. The character was portrayed by a doll with long shiny hair. Apparently, she reminded me of my ex from the sixties. It seems to me that it was in the USA, but that’s not the point.

I remembered the image of this doll and subsequently led an adult lifestyle at home in my cozy children’s bed.

My parents considered me a real angel.

It was funny how my mother protected me from the stove so that I wouldn’t get burned, from needles so that I wouldn’t prick myself, when I had long known the delights of orgasm.

Yes, I learned to sew and put on a kettle later than my peers, by the age of seven, because it seemed to my mother that I was still a mere child (one “c”).

Wow, in real life I only fell in love with boys, guys, men. Never in women. This is true. Surprisingly, I’m really completely hetero.

So girls, if this has happened to you, don’t be afraid, don’t be shy, leave the past in the past. Live a new life. Use your feminine energy to the fullest.

I remember exactly two girls who were lesbians, but then married a man for love.

One of them was a good friend of mine, everyone loved her, an exemplary girl, an excellent student, a Christian, somewhat reminiscent of Hermione Granger. Lily didn't date anyone until she moved to St. Petersburg.

Then we didn’t communicate with her anymore, but I heard rumors that she was living and, let’s call a spade a spade, having sex with a girl.

Social networks have made it much easier to find information about people, and the rumors were confirmed. Later, on the same vkontakte, I discovered that Lily was already married and gave birth to children, and looked happy. Surprisingly, it happens.

My second friend, a former work colleague, received gifts from her fans straight into the office. Flowers, sweets, soft toys, everything as it should be, only from former lovers.

I was surprised:

— How so, you have a boyfriend?

— Apparently, I'm bi. Because I've been married before and am getting married again, but in between I had a wonderful affair with a girl.

Bi is the next fashion trend in the sexual revolution. Previously, of course, it also existed in the Middle Ages and the Old Testament, but as you know, fashion tends to return.

As they say, in every person there is both a feminine and a masculine principle, everyone could potentially be both a man and a woman in a past life, which is why, in my opinion, all this confusion arises.

A bisexual guy once approached me, it was funny, but nothing more. There was also a girl who tried to pick me up, but I ran away as if scalded, politely bowing out.

One day, my ex-boyfriend, a lawyer, taekwondo master, Tatar, told me how as a child he and two friends played in the forest and decided to try it, and what it’s like when your penis is not satisfied with your hand. Are you blushing? Me too. But what should I do? He was also embarrassed when he told me. But they did it (his friends, not him). They didn't like it and decided to forget everything. Of course, he didn’t reveal their names to me; it was their secret.

For some reason, it seems to me that almost every second person, and maybe more often, has had a homosexual experience.

My gynecology teacher Anna Vladimirovna explained the male desire to have a foreign object in the anus by the fact that the prostate is stimulated in this way and this is a separate type of sexual arousal. And if for diagnostic or therapeutic purposes it is necessary to collect sperm, but the man cannot, then the medical worker puts on a glove and massages that very place.

Dear ladies, don’t be surprised if your husband asks you to wear a strap-on, he’s not gay, he just wants to get that same pleasure.

I had a friend who with her boyfriend (almost her husband, they had been dating for so long) had anal sex in his direction. Don't think about it, she didn't look like a stern, masculine aunt who dominates her perverted sexual partner. This is a beautiful long-legged girl with light brown curly hair, facial features like Khodchenkova, dressed in a shawl and midi skirt.

My eyes also widened when she shared such an intimate detail with me in the solarium. I spent the whole day thinking about how easily she discusses such things in public places with a not very close friend.

Apparently this is liberation.

Or some form of perversion.

Or am I simply behind the times, and women should give all men a prostate massage so that he doesn’t go to his lover?

My dear readers, if any of you suddenly judged me for a second for writing so openly, then drop it, don’t read.

But I will continue anyway.

Life is too short to be afraid of being judged.

Once, by the way, I talked to my mother about my nephew’s masturbation, that he didn’t need a girl yet, supposedly it was too early, and he already copes with his hormones with the help of masturbation.

Mom asked: “What is this?”

I answer: “This is masturbation.”

She meaningfully: “Ah.” This is what polite people say to hide their misunderstanding.

I decided not to educate her about this in her seventh decade.

Mom, if you're reading this, know that I didn't come up with this. The Bible, which you love so much, says this. There was an Onan who practiced coitus interruptus; for some reason handjob was named after him.

Back to homosexuality. Here’s another example: two women of about forty, but very beautiful and obviously rich, recently approached me, gave me a lot of compliments and invited me for a cup of coffee.

Women do not meet people like themselves on the streets. No heterosexual woman would make acquaintances so daringly. In a beauty salon, yes. Mutual friends, yes. Friends in misfortune, perhaps in a bar, or at the gym, yes. On the street, no.

This is what men do in order to later get them into bed. It's not bad. It’s just that this way of behavior is characteristic of the stronger sex and lesbians.

I refused, but later I told my husband that I had never received a better compliment in my life.

Between us girls, we love competition. And if a man admires us, it’s nice, and if a woman, then doubly so. After all, if your opponent likes you, it means she recognized your superiority. You win.

Well, maybe we don’t think so directly, but somewhere deep down, I believe, we do.

Well, that’s probably all on the topic of same-sex love, let’s move on to the next chapter of my life.

“What if I’m on a vow of celibacy (the existence of which, of course, only God knows)”

Another story that left a mark on my life.

I really thought that if the mountain does not come to Mohammed, then Mohammed has no reason to try.

They assured me that everything was God’s will. Single and older friends from the youth Christian community constantly said that if God does not give you a husband, then he has a different plan for you.

There was a little happiness on their faces, and I’m sure each secretly wanted to quickly get married in order to prove to everyone that there was no curse on her. Oh, sorry, celibacy.

Well, what is this if not a curse?

You want sex, you want a handsome, smart, kind, sexy, preferably financially secure man next to you. And here it’s “on you”, you need to dress decently, behave decently, be an obedient and exemplary Christian, because there is no place for harlots in heaven.

So you stand in a dilemma: bright makeup is not allowed, God does not want it. You walk around pale as a moth, and pretty boys pay attention only to those whose natural beauty outshines all the other parishioners.

Brad, really?

That is, in the battle for the best guy, the one who doesn’t need makeup a priori wins.

And the dull gray mouse gets exactly the same mediocre guy. And everything would be fine, because there are a lot of couples like that, and they live happily, love each other (I don’t mean it as a reproach, forgive me for God’s sake if I offended anyone), but there are also those who don’t settle for the average, give them the best.

I'm very ambitious. I always wanted to be on top.

I don't think I'm giving up yet.

Every time I increase the upgrade level to reach new heights.

Now I’m thinking about going to Hollywood, I’ll start with small roles, and then we’ll see how it goes. Look, in this life I’ll star in the main one.

Then, at fourteen, I didn’t want to agree with the vow of celibacy. She constantly tried it on herself and threw it aside with contempt.

I prayed that God would not give me such misfortune, that he would bypass me and reward Olya, well, let Christina, Nastya, Valya in extreme cases, but not me.

They are all married now, just like me, but then they were so afraid. They were afraid, but did not show these feelings. They held firm.

I was the weakest of all, the first to start putting on makeup, and so brightly, to be sure. I didn't even give up on getting David.

He was in a relationship, and I asked him to teach me how to play the guitar, suggested we go for a walk, supposedly discuss the Bible, and arranged gatherings with mutual friends at his house. All this was seasoned with a ton of makeup and a deep neckline.

Even after that unfortunate under-kiss, I carried out attacks on the poor couple of guys in love. I think these were attacks on my loneliness. I fought him desperately.

I went to clubs, met with guys in between, until I left for a bigger city, where, as I wrote earlier, I almost locked myself in a monastery for three years.

Do you know what was there? Three years of celibacy. It’s so funny, I fought with him so much and lost. Beaten and defeated, with my tail between my legs, I resigned myself to this fate and stopped trying.

In the dorm, I was a nasty nerd who, at twenty-three, could go into the kitchen and rip someone's stereo cord out of the socket because I wanted to sleep. The whole floor was having fun and listening to this music, it didn’t bother anyone, but they were afraid of me. I complained, after all.

I laugh, but in those years I was stiff and hypocritical, like an old woman.

I masturbated then too. But she hid it from everyone, fearing to spoil her image of decency.

These were strange years in my life. I had a lot of friends, I won’t say that I missed you, but life in fear of God’s punishment is very depressing.

Christian girls, friends of those days of mine, if you are reading this book and are still not burned with shame, then come to your senses.

There is no one in this life who would live it for you. If you are unhappy, then it will get worse, only depression and antidepressants while waiting for a better life in paradise. I have already seen girls like this, dreaming of quickly getting off this rushing train called “life”, instead of picking up speed and winning themselves.

There will be no other source of happiness except yourself. No one, no heavenly powers will make you happy if you have not learned to generate happiness in yourself.

Okay, let's move on. I'll tell you a little later about my episode of apathy.

In the meantime, here are examples of girls who thought they were under a curse, ugh, you misspoke again, a vow of celibacy.

Inessa, a plump thirty-five-year-old girl, married a rich Finn, travels with him around the world.

Sonya, a masculine, stooped, bespectacled daughter of a village priest, married a young pastor from another village.

Another Sonya (the spitting image of John Lennon in a skirt) married a new parishioner.

Masha hurried up and married an alcoholic, but the truth overcame loneliness. Was it worth it? She knows better.

Sveta, she went on exchange from the University to Norway, there she found herself a tall, curly-haired Jew who lives in Israel.

Zhanna married her childhood friend, but I think she’s worried that her betrothed is still wandering around somewhere.

Zoya married a very hardworking guy. Do they have orgasms? I don't know, but they have fun together.

Zhenya is married for the second time.

Edita is on the verge of divorce, but in my opinion she never doubted herself. If he gets divorced, a dozen more people will immediately appear.

I… But about myself a little later (I’m married, I looked for a long time, I found it).

You know, there is such a belief that if a woman is over thirty and has not been married, then she is an old maid.

I think we weren't afraid of celibacy, we were afraid of being labeled an old maid. We were afraid of old age in principle.

And if someone had shown me then an example of a happy old woman’s life: a biker jacket, a biker jacket, no wrinkles, pumped up, wearing makeup, well, maybe a little Botox for the sake of gloss, heels and latex trousers, my life could have been different.

Have you seen Mylene Farmer? Not married, no children, that is, no relationship with some handsome guy, and all this is seasoned with concerts for millions of fans peeing with delight.

These are the kind of women that need to be shown to young girls, so that they don’t realize themselves yet, and don’t even worry about being lonely after thirty.

Now Mr. President will condemn me, but what about the state order for children? Dear sir, I am not against children or marriage, I am for conscious marriage and creating a family.

Girls, girls, women, realize yourself, strive to be happy, the rest will come later.

"Painful breakup."

If we take the chronology, then after unrequited love for the man of my romance, I experienced my first painful breakup. If you look at life in general, then I had at least three of these.

So, let's start with the debut. It’s, as you know, going out into the world for the first time and finding yourself dirty, or naked. As it happens in a dream. you walk like this through the snow in only a sweater, no boots, no socks, and what’s worse is that you don’t even have panties. Such an under-exhibitionist.

Who had this? Yeah, I see hands raised, there are a lot of us.

So, finding yourself in love for the first time after a breakup is cruel.

The second and third time you get more or less used to it.

But the first time you completely lose your head. You try to get him back, call, write, follow him around, ask for forgiveness, have sex just so that he doesn’t do this with anyone else but you, get angry with him, complain to your friends about what a scoundrel he is.

But from the perspective of my current situation, I could just as diligently take up sports, dancing, drawing, going to a theater group, doing what I was called to do.

I don’t argue that I may also have a vocation for the return of runaway guys, but considering that now I have a beloved husband, and they were left behind, then all this was pointless.

So, how do you know if a man is worth the effort, tears and change?

Well, I developed a set of criteria for getting my ex-boyfriends back, and I won't do it again.

First of all, they were offended by me. I pointed out their shortcomings to them more often than I spoke words at all. I’m exaggerating, of course, but something always irritated me about them. Either he called me a fool, then he called me too fat, too unkempt, rude, angry, boorish, unsexy, stupid, greedy, poor, lazy, just not the same.

Therefore, at first I abandoned them myself, trying to get them to return me. Then they agreed with my decision and really broke off the relationship.

Something like that:

— I'm leaving.

— Sorry.

— No, I decided.

A day, two, a month, in different ways. I start to get bored, the hysteria passes, the anger settles. And it seemed like he wasn't that bad. I want everything back. I guess I love him. He is definitely my destiny, it's time to call him.

If I had immediately realized that a feeling of guilt was pushing me to return them, and that this same feeling would later make me weaker in relation to my ambitions, ruin my dreams and my individuality, then I would not have hesitated.

Some men are worth pursuing, but not men.

Secondly, they were in love with me at the beginning of our relationship. They made it clear that they were hooked on me, that I was the one they not only wanted, but loved. This is any kind of romance. You won't miss this. It's hard not to notice. Sings songs when he sees you, beams with happiness. Finds out from your friends everything you think and feel. He constantly wants to be around and makes appointments. Gives flowers, gifts, takes you to the cinema, tries to surprise you even after you have had intimacy.

Openly declares love.

It may not be all together, but only a couple of points that still determine his affection for you.

If I knew that I, in principle, deserved love, I would not think that he was the only one who would love me. There will be others. I wouldn’t worry that if I broke up with the guy who loved me, I’d meet someone better. Someone not only in love, but also in line with my preferences.

The guys will now say: “Well, a priori we don’t have a chance. All of you girls are the same, you have a list of traits of an ideal man, and here we are suffering, trying to look after you. Why try to please you if it’s still unrealistic?”

Guys won't read this book, so I won't answer the imaginary question.

Third. He really wasn't the same.

Dear representatives of the stronger sex, if you still found this reading worthy of your attention, then here is the answer.

You can be perfect and still not suit your sweetheart. It's not about you or us. There's just no light. There was no tension… in the clitoris.

Rough? Yes. But I don’t know a better criterion than to show this to you colorfully, using an example close to your anatomy.

A girl shouldn't just agree to your presence and advances. She must want you at least a little.

You know the joke. How to tell if a girl likes a guy? Let her throw her panties up in the air after the date. Stuck to the ceiling — I liked it.

I have my own parameters: a guy must be self-sufficient, daring, cheerful, witty, then handsome, smelling delicious, rich and generous, be successful with women, and show me at least the slightest signs of attention.

If your girlfriend doesn't want you, then she doesn't love you.

This is all nonsense that: “a woman loves with her ears, the main thing for her is support and protection, the main thing is to respect and be gentle, and sex comes later.” A woman is the same as a man, only the penis is too small. She also wants the man she loves. If he doesn’t want to, then he doesn’t love her anymore.

This doesn't mean he's cheating. We can live perfectly well without men for years. She just doesn’t want this particular husband, which means she doesn’t love him. She lives with him for some benefit. The same self-affirmation, for example.

“What will my friends think if I’m left alone?” “What will I live on if he leaves?” “I’ve never lived alone, I’m afraid of loneliness” and so on.

Therefore, dear men, if the woman you love has a headache, is tired, and has any other excuse to refuse sex, then she no longer wants you, and therefore no longer loves you. Maybe he loves as a loved one, a friend, but not as a husband.

If you leave, then perhaps she will come to her senses, begin to want you and love you again, but if you yourself have not done anything to increase her libido in relation to you, then, alas, everything will happen again.

You should change. You should find out what makes her sexually aroused when she sees you, what makes her clitoris erect. And be strong to hear the truth from her. The truth will be tough.

If this woman is dear to you, then do as she asks. Well, in the end, if you lose a couple of kilograms, tone your gray hair, treat tooth decay, take a comedy or female seduction course, change your job to earn more, then your life will be easier.

If I had known this then, I would not have reacted to any of them at all, I would have simply continued to develop calmly and waited for my husband. If I didn't meet, I wouldn't waste my time.

They say sex is good for health. What nonsense. Orgasm is necessary for health. Not sex. A woman can live and develop well by masturbating periodically, and wait for a man who can please her, and not have sex with someone whom your parents or girlfriends match you with with the words “isn’t it time for you to get married?”, “I want grandchildren,” “you are so You’ll become an old maid.”

There is another side to the issue. There are nymphomaniacs, or girls with low IQ, their libido is usually increased. They party, drink a lot, don't have much success in life, but love to have sex.

Men, if you are still reading my work, then my advice to you is, do not fall for such people. They will cheat on you, their wet panties won't tell you anything. This treacherous underwear will destroy you.

So, girls, I'll get back to you.

My first experience of a painful breakup was with Vasya, a DJ from my town. A year younger than me, but stronger and more mature in appearance. He fell in love so much that for two weeks after I left him he didn’t want to give up. He asked my friend to help, he looked for a meeting with me, called me at home.

I didn't want to meet him then. During one of our meetings, I clung to his words and played offended. Then I asked my mother to tell him that I was not at home. And finally, I persuaded my friend to tell him that I met someone else on the way home that day and fell in love.

He fell behind.

About a month later, I found out that he was already dating someone else, older and more beautiful than me. I saw them together and…

We have gradually arrived at the fourth criterion.

Fourthly. All these guys got another girl after the breakup, which made me jealous. Oh, a wonderful feeling that propels us to incredible accomplishments, clouds our minds and drags us into the abyss of recklessness. It has an effect until you get yours and defeat your opponent.

If I had understood the deplorability of the situation then, I would have given up everything at once.

How absurd it is to fight another girl for your piece of the pie. There are a lot of cakes from famous chefs around, and I was furious over a stale, moldy pie with viburnum.

Where is this guy now? I sometimes look at my exes on social networks; he can’t be called happy. A divorced guy older than his years, who still doesn’t watch his weight well, drinks liters of beer, and flirts with women. Everything is the same as before, before me.

Am I glad that I didn’t manage to get him back then? Undoubtedly.

She suffered a lot. I cried at night. I dragged myself to the club during his shifts with my friends to shine. I agreed to have sex when he was drinking too much and dragging me along. I went to try to enter not only law school, but also medicine, to prove to him that he was not the only one who wanted to become a doctor. He never did. I studied for seven fucking years.

Sorry. I didn’t want to swear, but how we still love to drive ourselves into traps.

It’s good that she left to study in another city, we never saw each other again. Time helped me recover from the fixed idea and reconsider my life guidelines.

I never loved him, it was just a thirst to defeat my rival.

Do you know why I say so confidently?

Right! You learn quickly.

Because I never wanted him. The panties, so to speak, did not stick to the ceiling.

"Treason."

Oh, this is a new chapter and new details. If this has never happened to you, get up and go away.

Kidding. But I don’t believe that there is even one unfortunate person who has never found out about the betrayal. Please note, I’m not saying that she wasn’t cheated on, I’m talking about knowledge.

Everyone has gone through this at least once.

And I guess that I finally caught the adulterer in an unseemly act.

I used to think that everyone always changes. But in reality it turned out that not all, but at least once.

What I mean? I'll explain now. Every person, by the age of thirty, or even twenty-five, has encountered the fact that he was cheated on or that he himself cheated on him at least once.

Life is such a thing that if it is faced with a serious harmful action, it tries not to repeat it again. Rare exceptions cannot cope with this without outside help.

Here I will touch on my sister a little and tell you what influence she had on my life.

From the age of eight, I was something like a recorder for my nineteen-year-old blood friend. I didn’t understand anything of what she was saying, but I wrote everything down. I tried to keep the conversation going because she was giving me money for ice cream.

She woke up after another disco in the morning, on fumes and tipsy, gave me money for tomato juice for herself and sweets for me, and after I returned from the store, she told me about the guys.

I always admired her beauty and charm, she had no end of admirers, but at the same time I didn’t believe them one iota.

— All guys cheat, there is no such thing as love, you just need to use them.

I heard these guidelines, almost like a mantra, from my sister for ten years.

I grew up and we even went to clubs together, but her attitude towards men did not change — an exclusively consumerist approach, no attachments, one hundred percent confidence that as long as she cheats on herself, they will not cheat on her… and therefore will not hurt her.

She doesn’t talk about the part of the phrase after the ellipsis, but it’s a no brainer.

Another interesting observation that I made is media propaganda.

Remember the Argentine TV series "Black Pearl"? There, Perla was constantly disappointed with Thomas, that he was weak in the front.

I was a fan of this series, and of course it left its mark on my worldview.

Next, gossip about relatives and acquaintances played a role: Uncle Sasha cheated on Aunt Sveta, my cousin’s boyfriend cheated on her throughout the relationship, his ex-wife cheated on my father, the parishioner’s husband left for another woman, Uncle Gena cheated on Aunt Lena and eventually left her.

How prosaic everything is, you say. I will confirm your words. It’s trite when people cheat, but we’re still shocked every time: “He seemed like such a good person.”

So yes, I expected something like this all the time.

And finally, when I relaxed in my twenties after three years of seclusion, and began the first serious relationship in my life (it lasted about two months), he left me.

And later he admitted that he had cheated.

This man drank every day, drove drunk, threw hysterics about sex, even proposed marriage to me. And in the end he left with the words: “You were too nagging at me.”

As a religious fanatic, I tried to make a man out of Dima, criticized and nagged him so that he would change, manipulated sex so that he would change.

And in the end she got hit in the back.

Do you know what's terrible? I wasn’t upset that this fallen little man slept with someone else, I sprinkled ashes on my head for my nagging.

I sincerely believed that I should return him and slow down. That since he wanted to get married, then he is the one and I need to change myself, become more loyal to his shortcomings, more patient, forgive and start all over again.

Of course, you already know the sequel. You can guess that I started drinking with him, going to nightclubs, skipping school, and generally becoming more cynical than I was.

Girls, if you tried to imitate your imperfect man only on the assumption that he was the one, then let the world cry, because this is the greatest stupidity of the weak half of humanity.

So what could I do then.

First, do not start a relationship with an alcoholic at all. In Russia, despite the supposed genetic predisposition, there are still men who do not abuse alcohol.

Secondly, I could recognize his psychoticism even in his first hysteria and drive it away.

Thirdly, after he stopped picking up the phone and calling himself, it was worth leaving everything de facto. It was worth completely immersing yourself in studying, and maybe even working part-time, so that there was no time left for stupid thoughts.

Every evening I returned from university to a rented apartment, where my neighbor regularly worked or slept after a night out, and cried in the bathroom.

I hardly ate, I got hooked on “The Sims” (this is a computer game), and if my friend could stay with me for a little while, I occupied her ears and made her depressed.

It was a difficult period, I took Corvalol twice in order to somehow fall asleep. Thank God, I clearly understood the harm of antidepressants and psychiatrists and did not go for “help.”

Zhanna, that same neighbor, had been on antidepressants years earlier because of her boyfriend’s infidelity. What did it cost her? There was barely life… She tried to commit suicide one night while on medication.

Yes, you heard right. Not before or after taking them, but during. Before the intervention of psychotherapists, Zhanna simply suffered and cried, her threats of suicide were just words, which alarmed her parents.

But after a week of taking psychotropic drugs, Zhanna got up at night while the “convoy” was sleeping and went to commit suicide.

Her parents woke up in time and stopped her. This was followed by a difficult period of rehabilitation with withdrawal symptoms, but she coped with it and stopped taking the terrible drugs.

I, taught by her experience, clearly defined my life: “I will never take any drugs to treat mental pain.”

Corvalol was the only weak drug that I wanted to use as therapy.

But in the end it wasn’t he who helped, but you know what?

Comedy club. Yes, yes, the same one with Pavel Volya and Alexander Nezlobin.

The guys pulled me out of my apathy without even knowing it.

Was there a better way than sarcastic TV hosts?

Yes.

If only someone had told me a hundred times that it was not my fault. With love and care he would convey to me that I am not to blame for the guy’s betrayal. If I realized that I was responsible for the breakup, that I was the cause, but responsibility is not the same as guilt, then I would cope.

And in the end, do you know what happened? For about another year I tried to bring Dima back in my usual manner, and I succeeded. True, by that time, cynicism towards men had reached the height of my nature, and I went looking for new adventures.

Then I saw a similar situation in several other women.

Tatyana's acquaintance chose the path of living with an alcoholic who beat her, but “loved” her, instead of self-improvement and a happy life.

Anna, a friend, became a debauchee because of her husband, who drank, cheated and beat her.

The stepdaughter abandoned her studies and began to abuse alcohol because of the guy who proposed to her and, according to rumors, also cheated on her. With her, fortunately, the story quickly corrected itself; the right people were nearby, who quickly grabbed her by the hands and pulled her out of the quagmire, which almost sucked her in. Exactly a month was enough to discover the deplorability of the situation and quickly take drastic measures to restore its causality over life.

What have we done? They did not support her, they condemned her actions (not her in any case). She wrote down her harmful actions towards herself and other people, sorted by time, place, form and event, after which she immediately left her boyfriend, an alcoholic gambling addict, and found herself an evening job in an elite organization together with a new decent young man.

If in my time, then at the age of twenty, I knew such technology, I would have been able to avoid a lot of mistakes.

Do you think that I speak in cliches and in a very veiled manner?

True, because censorship doesn't let some things through. If you are especially interested in how to survive the pain of loss, you can find me on Instagram and write. I will be glad to help individually in your situation.

Back to cheating.

What happens when a person is drawn to flirt (and cheating begins with this) with another person?

Let's take a closer look.

What is a weak front?

In my opinion, this has always been a kind of whim.

Well, that is, we are all polygamous by nature and we would all like to have sex with several sexual partners without feeling remorse.

And since man is a highly organized being and has learned to live in society, he is obliged to fulfill the demands of the majority in order to get along with it.

For example, what are the requirements of the majority?

It has been observed that if two people decide to belong to each other, then the presence of a third upsets one of the couple. Very frustrating. So much so that he can kill the other two. Therefore, it was decided that if a couple agreed to live together, then the expansion of their group should be agreed upon by both members.

Infectious diseases also appeared: syphilis, gonorrhea, HIV in the end. Society, trying to protect itself, noticed that many sexual contacts with different people lead to the spread of infection, epidemic. In their powerlessness against this, contraceptives were invented, but not all and not always, unfortunately, save one hundred percent. Therefore, yes, the most correct and competent way invented by society was a serious relationship between two faithful partners.

Another important part that people paid attention to was the frustration of women due to insufficient financial support for themselves and their children while their husband spends a lot of money on his mistress. Such an angry woman is dangerous to society as a whole. And in order to reduce their numbers, the group again requires fidelity and monogamy.

In my opinion, these are the main things that explain the rationality of life without betrayal.

And therefore, betrayal is simply the inability to keep oneself within the framework of a universal agreement.

This may simply be due to ignorance. Then the solution would be to familiarize children from school with the above arguments in favor of being faithful to a partner.

Or a person deliberately spits from a high bell tower on society, on their demands, because he himself is already in the mood for a gun. This is not necessarily adultery. As a child, he could steal sausage from a store, or money from his grandmother’s wallet.

Do you understand?

How to anticipate betrayal and prevent it.

Explore with your partner all the options for why infidelity is bad. Even if it would seem that the elephant understands it, discuss it and don’t regret the time spent.

Well, agree, preferably in writing, what you will do if this happens. There may be different options: an instant breakup, financial compensation, a large donation to the HIV fund, a trip to the doctor to diagnose and treat complications that have arisen, divorce and finding an ideal partner for the spouse who will allow the offended partner not to suffer alone, not to be interrupted by bread and water after a breakup, do not look for a replacement in fear of never finding one.

You know, even though you smile, that this is possible.

My husband cheated on his girlfriend at the age of fifteen. And like a true gentleman, he introduced his best friend to her, who helped the poor girl survive the pain of loss and restore her self-esteem. They got married and were happy.

Well, have you ever thought that this was possible? Yeah. And this, I tell you, would eliminate a lot of problems with cheating.

Because:

A) such a heme…few people want it. You’ll think three hundred times about whether it’s worth sleeping with another woman, so that you can then fulfill the entire list of promises to your partner.

B) when you imagine that your love will immediately leave you FOREVER, the erection disappears. Here it is important to imagine in the “five Ds” all the colors, the sensations of loss, so that it immediately pinches your chest. The genital organ of both women and men responds well to mental pain and experiences. Otherwise, where do you think frigidity and impotence come from?

After that time they didn’t cheat on me again, in any case, if you don’t get too arrogant, then I don’t know about it.

But with my real husband, we did step A and B to make our marriage cheater-proof.

He cheated on his first wife. I cheated on one of my boyfriends. Therefore, given our experience, it was important for us to agree on loyalty to each other.

If we ever interrupt our agreements, we will definitely divorce and find an acceptable replacement in our place.

We are not saints, and the body sometimes asks for another person. Sometimes you have dreams about having sex with another partner. Sometimes a spark will flash like that. Sometimes a thought comes into your head and doesn’t come out for weeks, you imagine yourself as someone else’s wife, how everything would be. And then he lets go.

This happens to my husband too, he doesn’t tell in detail, he just hints that he had a terrible dream with other people’s boobs, and he laughs.

We came up with a way to prevent betrayal if it happens: don’t flirt.

Well, that is, when hormones are raging, when you are physically attracted to someone, do not take any action. Do not communicate, do not meet, do not meet eyes, do not touch, and especially do not joke with the object of your adoration.

After some time, the hormones release, the mind again takes control of the body, you come to your senses, and again you want only your lover.

Am I writing scary things? Did you think everything was perfect with us? No one is without clouds, don’t believe otherwise. If we didn't have penises or clitorises, and we floated like angels in the sky, then perhaps fidelity could be absolute.

And so, unfortunately, all that remains is to take responsibility and be the cause of your own happiness, to control the genitals, tongue, eyes, arms and legs.

Those who know how to curb their thoughts cause me special admiration. If among you, my readers, there are such people, please respond, just be honest about how it works out for you and how long it lasts. I'm using this as a life hack in my new book.

If you are frigid, then the answer will not count, it’s easier than ever to remain faithful.

“10 guys in a year and no one worth it.”

Are we whores or actively searching? How to figure it out when you are looking for an ideal partner, the hero of your novel, someone with whom you will live a happy life, start a family, and on the way you meet only perverts, mama’s boys, jealous house builders and Don Juan Casanovas.

If we see a handsome, smart, kind guy who is free, then we immediately take a step forward so that he notices us. Then we get to know each other better, go on dates and…

Instead of discerning in it a discrepancy with other parameters, we begin to invent and assign non-existent advantages to it. We meet further, sleep. And one fine day the masks fall off, the veil disappears from our eyes, and voila, what we have in front of us is completely different from the one we mentally pictured.

We get upset, but don’t learn the lesson, but move on and step on the same rake. Once, twice, three times, and now for the tenth time this year, the gentleman turns out to be a complete asshole, for whom you dyed your hair.

Are you laughing?

These are all true stories. They happened not only to me, but also to my friends.

So, everything in order.

First, I'll tell you about my searches.

After I realized that Dima was no longer interesting to me, I decided to expand the parameters and narrow the category.

I wanted to meet a rich, successful, non-drinking man who would be attractive to me.

The perspective shifted towards the financial component, and I literally walked on the line between a mercantile bitch and a decent romantic.

Every single day, I went out as if on a podium and scanned my surroundings for the presence of such a man.

I hoped to meet my fate daily, hourly. My wardrobe has expanded significantly, going out has become regular, and my makeup and hairstyles have become closer to the desired look. Not to say that I became a Yves Saint Laurent model, but I learned to look stylish — that's for sure.

My guide to finding an ideal was the heroine of the American TV series Carrie Bradshaw. I recommend it to every emotionally mature woman to watch. But if you are not stable and want to take revenge on someone, like I did then, then it is better to take the advice of Carrie and her friends as fiction and watch everything to the end. This is the only way morality becomes visible.

Otherwise, you risk applying the wrong tool to the wrong situation.

What did I do, where did I go wrong? Very simply, I decided to take as a model of behavior the numerous acquaintances of the heroines, and not how to correctly identify a person while not being so close to him.

If I could smell a catch a mile away, I wouldn’t even start a relationship. If I, like these girls in the last episodes, could see genuine feelings and a real person, sincere, purposeful, then I would simplysweep away all the chaff and not fuss until I met my husband one day.

But, there is a flip side to such suspicion and distrust — to turn into a “prosecutor” who does not trust anyone, and poor men are so exhausted from courtship that they really begin to act weird.

For example, my friend Sonya, a midwife at the maternity hospital, stern and prim with men and humorous, occasionally touchy with girls.

Don’t put your finger in her mouth, let her mock her sarcastically. She was only twenty-three when I watched her “search” for a life partner. She did absolutely nothing. Ah, I remembered, I cried at night. But nothing.

Initially, her belief that everyone lies, cheats, abandons and betrays gave her some self-confidence. Then it became an obsession; she could not carry on a normal conversation without grinning at any romantic or positive remark.

— He loves me.

— Yeah, like a cat gets a new sneaker. As soon as he pees himself, he will fall in love with a new one.

That's about it. Or like this:

— Look what a wonderful day it is today. It's time to meet some handsome guy.

— And pick up the clap.

Well, everything is like that. So funny during the day and sad at night.

It looks like she knew that the hero of her novel was waiting for her somewhere, and therefore did not scatter her attention and was not scattered on the “unworthy.”

This actually deserves respect among women and men. There was one catch, she wasn't pretty at all. Large facial features, a boxer's stoop, which results in low chest and a small tummy. And she would have waited until she turned gray for her betrothed, if one fine day she had not slowed down. It’s good to be strong if there are actually enemies all around. But fortunately, most people are positive, only a handful ruin everyone's life.

Sonya began to preen herself, loosen her long braid more often, and exchanged her glasses for contact lenses. I finally changed my anger to mercy. Apparently crying at night really tired her out.

How was this expressed? Sonya began to coo to everyone, only occasionally making fun of them.

Since she did not change her clothes (all the same auntie’s blouses), men did not develop the image of a sexy woman. They began to see her as a woman, but not for easy flirting, but for a serious relationship.

Thin? Crazy. I admire her idea. She quickly found herself a husband and has been living with a handsome man for a long time.

I couldn’t apply it to myself then. My sexuality and cooing were turning into something else.

In a society of men, such an image does not arouse the desire to get married.

You can't look your best, attract a ton of attention and not be a bitch. Then you will be considered a woman of easy virtue.

If you are beautiful and sexy, then in order to save yourself for your husband, you must be modest or ulcerous. Modesty is also attractive, and everyone can fall for it.

I remember poor Inna, a classmate who was courted by Ivan in high school. She couldn't turn him off because it would ruin her image. She went on all the dates, politely refused intimacy, which he perceived as modesty accordingly.

All this disgrace lasted about a year, until Inna realized that she was losing the opportunity to date someone cool.

And then the dam burst, as they say.

— Vanya, leave me alone.

— Why?

— I don’t love you! — How?

— I never loved.

— But why didn’t you tell me?

— I was afraid to offend you.

— What a bitch you are!

Do you see? Either way, bitch. It would be better if she immediately told him that he was not her type, she would not have lost a year of her life.

С'est la vie. Alas, in order not to be branded as a priestess of love in male society, it is necessary not to combine sexuality with cooing. Or do it so skillfully that a mosquito won’t hurt your nose. Namely, to remain at a distance, not to allow close physical contact until some promises are fulfilled.

Or learn to refuse and behave directly, if you are a beauty, of course.

If you have problems with your appearance, be sexy in your communication.

My mistake was accepting the idea that I was not beautiful enough. I underestimated my appearance and behaved very freely with men, flirting and flirting.

But it was worth being sarcastic and bitchy with those whom I didn’t want to see as a husband.

As a result, there were a lot of wrong people, and there was absolutely no energy or time left for the right one.

They took me to the cinema, restaurants, gave me flowers and sweets, but I was not in love.

Why then everything? For what? Self-affirmation? Resentment towards the entire male family for previous failures? What nonsense.

I understand this now, but then I really asserted myself. How many of you still do the same? Girls, I’ll tell you straight, you can spend your time much more usefully by learning a foreign language, or extreme driving, for example.

I will address each one separately. Stand in front of the mirror and look at yourself as if you were the main character of a historical movie.

Imagine that you were chosen to play the role of the queen or empress, or maybe someone else, the one about whom the story will be told, whom the audience will sympathize with, whom they will love.

With pimples on your face, gray hair in your twenties, cellulite, a large nose, thin lips and everything that you don’t like about yourself so much. Imagine that millions of viewers are in love with all this. They see a person, his story and the whole image becomes captivating for them, they want to be like him.

Are you immersed in this idea? Great.

Stay in it, savor it thoroughly.

And now, with your chin raised proudly, move forward in life without expecting others to confirm your uniqueness. Don’t depend on other people’s opinions about you, just enjoy yourself as you are.

Be happy with yourself. And then you won’t have to assert yourself at the expense of someone else.

You may realize that you don't want to get married right now. Perhaps you will become a pilot or astronaut, as you have wanted since childhood. And then you will meet the same one. Even at forty years old. Doesn't matter. Only you and your happiness are important.

Do you understand?

“Igor, Alexander, Sofia.”

Three important people in my life that I can't help but tell you about.

Have you ever had the feeling that the people you meet on your life’s path didn’t end up here by accident, but were sent by someone to teach you?

Looks like this happened to me. Only the highest power turned out to be me from the future, and not the gods. If I were asked now, “When rewriting the book of your youth, who would you keep and who would you remove from it?”, I would confidently answer about these three people.

The people who influenced me the most. They believed in me and tried to help.

All the initiatives that I had at that time were supported by these three people. Yes, not everything I tried was perfect, and not everything was moral, but I was not afraid to experiment.

These three admired me, but unfortunately, I could not discern such care in them.

So, if you are reading these lines now, DEAR SOFIA FROM MURMANSK, IGOR IS A LAWYER AND ALEXANDER A FOREST BUSINESSMAN, then know that I am sincerely grateful to you for your attempts to help and admiration.

This chapter will not be detailed. She is very sad, so I will still stop, albeit superficially. Maybe someday in another book I will share it with you, but not now.

I will only say that according to the latest information, they all gave up, the world broke them. Antidepressants, drugs and a lot of alcohol. And if they turned to me now for the same help and faith in them that they themselves gave, then I would not turn away.

You can ask me what you are thinking now.

— Didn’t you break them, Margarita? How did the vampire suck all the faith in people out of them?

— Maybe. And I sincerely regret this.

The only thing I can say in my defense is that every person is responsible for himself first of all. And it is he who brings himself to the state where he finds himself. The environment can influence, but not more than the person himself.

If you have seriously offended someone in your life, or did not allow them to help you, then it’s time to realize this and not blame, but simply correct yourself.

My friend, a former drug addict, offended his mother with demands to give him money, stole and refused help from teachers and social workers.

When he got into an extremely deplorable state, he blamed himself for the sins of the world, considering himself a nonentity, he was sitting on a needle, the guys from Narconon came to the rescue in time.

They assured him that he shouldn’t blame himself, they believed in him, they put in the intention and made him responsible for at least paying for his own treatment.

Imagine my surprise when he actually recovered, and even without psychotropic drugs, and has not used drugs for ten years.

He works for the good of society, helping guys like him to free themselves.

I believe help is possible. Now I know this one hundred percent. And then Alexander, Igor and Sofia only gave birth to this faith in me.

That's what I'm grateful to the guys for.

Help is possible.

I hope my book will help many women realize their nature and live in harmony with it, without shame or exaggeration.

Do you know, by the way, how a woman can overdo it with her self-expression?

Pretense. A very unpleasant sight. Sometimes funny, nothing more.

I had a friend who tried to look sexy where it was inappropriate. It's not necessary.

How? Well, for example, one day she showed up at the opening of a children's Christian camp in a denim miniskirt, a top with a deep neckline and stiletto heels. She let her fluffy long hair down and flirted with all the male counselors in the camp.

Poor kids.

What is it, poor guys! As you know, it is difficult to punish for this, especially in an advanced Christian community, so they simply endured it and, blushing, shyly ran away to the baby.

He has an erection, and he is forced to talk about non-adultery. Can you imagine how unlucky guys are that all their privates are visible when they are excited?

You can’t tell from a woman whether her clitoris is erect, and external behavior is not necessarily truthful. There are a lot of hypocritical ladies who put on an aura of sex for the sake of money and some other benefits.

If we talk about physiology, then you will not see any high spirits through a skirt or pants.

It's funny, isn't it?

Men are so simple as in the palm of your hand.

That’s why women are perceived as cunning creatures; you can’t tell from them what’s going on in your head.

I know a lot of examples of how men made mistakes when considering their passion. Some particularly lazy ones insisted that all the women before me had orgasms with him.

— How? Missionary?

— Well, yes.

— How did you understand it?

— Well, she had pink cheeks, she moaned, squirmed, was wet there and eventually announced that she had come.

— Hmm — I laugh. — It's clear.

I’ll talk about frigidity and orgasm a little later. I see you are already intrigued.

In the meantime, I’m finishing the chapter about my friend and two guys who influenced me deep down.

"Financial insolvency."

Enough about sex, we are also smart. Let's talk about money. In polite society it is not customary to talk about sex, the toilet and money. We talk about everything, but only among ourselves in a narrow circle of women.

There is a bit of a problem with money. The fact is that the bulk of consumers on this planet are women. We know each other better than others. Hence the conclusion that the best salesperson should be a woman.

Is it so. How many women now run large corporations, companies, firms?

Not as many as men. They study marketing, sales funnel, lead generation, business models and so on. For many of us this is an empty phrase.

We all complain about how unfair it is to be a woman. I imagined. If I were a man, then in order to convey my idea to someone, I would have to overcome women’s tears, hysterics and insults, as well as men’s fists.

A woman only needs to be capricious and offended. But she doesn’t do that either when it comes to making money.

Do you know what the average woman does? She pouts her lips and stomps her heels so that her husband, daddy, or someone else buys her what she wants.

I'm ashamed of us girls.

Of course, not everyone is like that. There are wonderful businesswomen who run car parts companies, and clueless men who cut wood or paint walls just for the sake of daily needs.

But think about it. If we take two people of different genders with the same level of income and ask them to build a garden in a city where everyone is against it, who will give up faster?

Man.

Why?

He will need to endure the refusals of his own kind, and most likely with his fists. And also fight the second force of resistance — women's tears and grievances.

The woman will hold out a little longer and perhaps win. How? The same tears will help her pity men, and possibly women. And the bitchiness and envy of women from the administration or the people may create obstacles, but only until a compromise is found.

Nightmare?

Yeah.

This is not a fair game, I would say if I didn’t know the second characteristic of women — we don’t know how to take risks. As long as no one sets global goals for us, we are not eager to fight. Again, I don’t want to speak in templates and for the whole mass. There are different women and men.

I'm talking more about the mathematical majority. Not even fifty-one percent.

You know, like in surveys. If thirty-one percent of the target audience has headaches, twenty-nine have a runny nose, twenty have diabetes, and another twenty have grown a tail, then the majority here is thirty-one.

Do you understand?

If you never use a pout to get what you want, then congratulations — you are not in the conditional thirty-one.

I got. I noticed how I won the discussion, assuring my opponent that she was right with tears in her eyes. Without hysterics, of course, I never really practiced them. Just a stingy tear, I would even say moisture on the lower eyelids.

Lately I’ve been holding back, generally pulling myself together every time a lump comes to my throat in an argument.

A stupid, treacherous offense makes the voice tremble and the eyes become wet about once every six months in especially serious ideological duels.

If I just need to do it the way I want, then this is what I do.

(You may ask, why does she teach us to debate?

See you later.)

I outline an idea in my head of what I want to achieve, consider all the pros and cons. I realize for myself which side of the scale outweighs, and I decide whether to prove that I’m right. If my goal is worthwhile, then I mentally imagine how I envelop my counterpart in the care.

True true. I try to imagine all the best qualities of my opponent, recreate them in my mind (and not invent them, by the way), remind myself how smart he is, and that if I convey everything correctly, he will not be able to refuse.

Next, I think through the arguments. The same ones that were in the pros, and I am also looking for an answer to the cons. That is, an argument for each point around the idea.

Now (attention, let's move on to the topic of finance) I do the same with money issues. Any: buy cheaper — sell more expensive, have — not have, do it or quit.

This is what the lecture about female manipulation was all about.

By the way, in such matters, tears rather hindered me than helped me. I came across quite smart counterparts who could see the sympathy game from a mile away and could not stand whims. This is good: there is no control worse than manipulation. Yes, this is not control at all: blackmail, threats, tears, screaming, accusations — all this is not control, and therefore not success.

I had a young man of middle age. We did not love each other, so we mutually fulfilled the agreements. This was not a manipulative approach. He wanted energy in life, I wanted fashionability.

We drove the latest model Hummer through St. Petersburg traffic jams, ate in expensive restaurants and clubs, dressed to the nines and laughed at the vicissitudes of fate.

This is not a period of life that I would like to be proud of, but I weaned myself off the help of my parents, who earned very little, and, so to speak, I provided for myself.

Let's call a spade a spade, I had a sugar daddy. I paid for the rented room, dressed and ate entirely at his expense. But no excesses, no millions in the bank, Swiss accounts or other luxuries. I knew for sure that I was not a swindler.

Then a sudden, intelligent thought came to me: “Why am I worse than him? Why can't I earn the same amount? He is a businessman, not a thief, and he has earned the money he spends.

This means I can earn a lot to buy myself the things I want.”

We broke up. I got a job this weekend as a massage therapist in a cedar barrel salon. This is an important note so you don't think anything indecent.

"Cedar barrel? Oh, well, I see, that means the aunties mostly came.”

Yes, that's right. My life has become more interesting, somewhere I turned out to be useful while I'm studying for damn medical school. Oh God, sorry doctors and professors all over the world, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just think this is… a damn place. Yes. I didn't make a mistake. I think that this is not how doctors should be taught.

Well, okay, not about that now.

Every weekend I was literally inspired. The administrator Ilona worked with me, an incredibly smart girl, she was interested in business, she had even studied something. It was thanks to her that I realized: “What, it’s possible anyway?!” Well, that is, for the first time I saw a girl who is not yet a businesswoman (she is an ordinary graduate of medical college, she didn’t even go on to become a doctor) who doesn’t earn much, but wants a lot. She had ambitions, dreams, she wanted to create her own business, but in the meantime she was learning to negotiate.

She earned more than her salary, which was absolutely nothing for me at that time.

— How is this more salary?

— Well, am I selling more?

— In terms of? Are you late at work? Are you recycling?

— Well, no. I sell teas, massage creams, herbal bags. The more I sell, the more the director will pay me as a percentage.

— Wow. Is that allowed?

— Well, yes. True, my replacement doesn’t do that. And I approached the director and asked how I could earn more. She liked my question and offered me such a scheme.

Well, you understand. Ilona turned out to be purposeful and smart, unlike the zombie of the second administrator, who sat at her minimum and tried to fit into it in terms of costs, instead of trying to get out of the kennel and want to spend more. When you want to spend more, it is impossible not to come to the conclusion that you need to earn more.

Of course, you can start to skimp on food or toilet paper, eat Rollton and wipe yourself with pages of unnecessary books, but sooner or later the books will run out.

I'm kidding, of course. You yourself understand that the right approach would be to start doing one of two things: work hard, or work and learn to earn more.

My friend and her husband, for example, have never studied marketing, sales, business planning, and are not even going to get their hands dirty about it. They just work like draft horses, for days on end, for several shifts, without really seeing the children, tormenting themselves and the grandmother who sits with them. But they bought an apartment, a dacha and a car. What else do you need for happiness? Yes, they dress in consumer goods or even second-hand clothes. Yes, they eat without any frills, but they are head and shoulders above their lazy friends and relatives living in poverty.

The level of “learning how to make more money and spend less time working” is still alien to them. In fact, I don’t know if they will ever reach it. But at least this way, they take their money with time. Hardworking guys.

I moved on. I met a man who knows everything about this level and will teach me. I didn’t choose my husband based on the underwear that stuck to the ceiling, although that also came a little later.

But still, I rather chose a guru, a mentor, a mentor. He knew everything about business, financial independence and at the same time had the gift of teaching.

My teacher turned out to be very handsome and charming. Women literally clung to him. Therefore, there was also some sporting interest on my part. But now it’s not about him.

I tried, and still do, to live in such a way that my thoughts are not occupied by questions: what to eat and where to sleep.

I want all my material needs to be solved forever.

While they would tell me “Your help is needed in Africa, people are dying there,” I would get a couple of million, buy tickets, book a hotel, purchase the necessary medicine in the required volume and fly.

Tell the average inhabitant of the earth this now?

Firstly, he will expect that some philanthropist will, of course, pay for his travel, accommodation, food, and insurance. Plus, of course, he will give you all the medications.

Secondly, having learned that the responsibility lies solely with him, he will begin to be indignant that how is it that he is not sponsored, and where the state is looking.

Thirdly, he won’t even hesitate to find these couple of millions and vouch for them, to repay this debt in the future.

Do you see why it is worth striving for financial independence?

To at least raise my head.

To completely forget about the issues of food and housing.

I don’t know who, but someone definitely benefits from people not interfering in the important affairs of the Earth. They need the people to live so poorly that all their thoughts are enough for are thoughts on how to survive, how to provide themselves and their family with their daily bread.

It is not in their interest for you to take the time to reason, learn, or help others on a massive scale.

You may not believe me, but read my example with Africa again. What would you do?

If you are inspired by my idea and dream of financial independence, I congratulate you.

There is nothing wrong with earning millions with your mind and then spending them however you want. New dresses, islands, cayenne. All this can easily turn into helping people if you want. The fact is that you will already have this, and you will be able to snap your fingers so that the money raised from the sale of your next Maybach goes to the construction of a training center for children, for example.

Strive for freedom. Raise your heads. Inhale the rarefied air.

Financial insolvency, the musty air that a bowed head breathes — this is the lot of the majority, and it doesn’t matter whether you are a man or a woman.

Did I touch on a difficult topic?

Well, relax already. I don't want to burden anyone. We saw ourselves, realized something, it’s already great.

Let's move on.

“HPV. Ureaplasmosis."

Oh, I can already see how you’ve shrunk. I don’t like this topic myself. The corners of the lips straight up towards the neck from hostility. Disgust for such things is normal, why doesn’t it arise at the moment of coitus?

Have you ever thought about it?

How often have you asked your sexual partners: “do you have a certificate that you are healthy?”

Oh, this is certainly very exciting. I can see it straight away. You are both so wound up, and suddenly: “What if he has ureaplasma?”

Ewww. I throw up my brushes.

Nobody wants to ruin such a moment. We all think that a condom will save us.

Latex, I tell you, sometimes breaks.

And even more so, a candle, cap or coil will not protect against STDs.

Hormones don't do this either.

Can you imagine how much we would have saved on health, nerves and money on treatment if we had asked in time: “Do you have a certificate?” And not just any, but the freshest.

HPV, by the way, is not HIV, in case anyone is scared. Although be afraid of him too. HPV is such a nasty thing that causes condylomas, papillomas to grow on your genitals and, worse, causes cervical cancer.

Girls, I studied at medical college and university for seven damn years, and forgive me for my French, I call a spade a spade, without worrying about your lovely ears and eyes.

But since you are reading this book, you should stop gagging and gain strength to finish reading this chapter. She's not the nicest.

Ureaplasmosis is an infectious disease that may not manifest itself for years until a woman discovers that she cannot become pregnant. Like any infection, it causes low-grade inflammation in the vagina and genitals in general, which interferes with the normal course of pregnancy.

Luckily, I discovered everything earlier. At the medical college we were sent to take tests, or rather they were strongly recommended.

They did this correctly, doctors are the same students, which means promiscuity, alcohol and drugs. Just kidding, it’s just that doctors are more vigilant in this regard and should set an example for the rest of the population. More enlightened, I would even say.

So, at the dermatovenerological dispensary, and it was there that they accepted me under an insurance policy, I learned several different things.

The first thing is that a male gynecologist is no worse than a female gynecologist is also unpleasant.

The second thing is to find out that your defloration turned out to be even worse than you thought. Not only that, the yard dog followed you half the way instead of the guy who was supposed to accompany you. There are also two infectious diseases.

I put my palm to my face with annoyance.

At twenty years old, I learned about the consequences of an event four years ago, and I was surprised.

You know he wasn't dirty. What’s more, you couldn’t tell from his appearance whether he was sick with something. He was an ordinary guy, like everyone else.

Moreover, as I later learned in college, the frequency of ureaplasmosis and human papillomatosis virus is so high that no matter where you poke it, you will end up with an infected person.

But I was treated, I recovered, my tests turned out to be clean. That is, healthy people exist, which means I could present the certificate to my boyfriend if he asked.

Then I began to be more suspicious of coitus with a stranger. “Are you really healthy? And if not, are you ready to undergo treatment?”

No, of course I didn't ask that. It was worth it though. I monitored the integrity of the condom and did not allow contact without it.

Now from the position of a woman who has been married for ten years, I understand that it was necessary to rip everyone in the tail and mane, damn it, no certificate — no sex.

It was necessary to demand a certificate at convenient and inconvenient moments.

“Show me! No? Then, hello, amigo!”

And I don’t care what he thinks bad about you. Let him at least consider her a frigid bitch. There was no need to even worry about this topic. Now yes, you become wiser, you understand everything from the position of a queen sitting on a soft pillow. And then I ran around the city with an awl in my ass in search of love. And God forbid that everything is ruined by a stupid question about a certificate.

Girls, girls, I really hope that you make an appointment today and get tested as soon as possible.

If you have a regular partner, he should also get tested and undergo treatment if something is found.

And certainly, if there is no permanent one, then under no pretext do not agree to coitus without one hundred percent certainty that it is pure. Let you lose this irresponsible dirty fellow, then you will suffer with your health, or even worse, this irresponsible little man will live with you.

You know, HPV and ureaplasmosis are not all diseases transmitted by the oral route. Oh, sorry, sexual. I completely forgot about censorship.

Well, so you understand that they are most often spread through contact with the genitals.

STDs include gonorrhea, syphilis, HIV, trichomoniasis, candidiasis, chlamydia, genital herpes and so on. Wikipedia will tell you about them very delicately. If you just go online and search, you will be inundated with beautiful pictures of our favorite buds and peppers, ulcerated and leaking pus.

— Horror, and metaphors. — someone will say

— Well, these beautiful organs can have diseases. — I will answer.

I remember my cousin asked me to buy her suppositories for thrush at the pharmacy; she was in the hospital and was itching.

I remember well that day when she couldn’t really communicate with me, she was so scared.

I, who didn’t know what candidiasis was, asked:

— How is it? Describe it. What do you feel? What does it look like?

— It's itchy! It's itchy! Aching in the lower abdomen! I want to climb the wall because of the burning sensation, which I also have to endure. You won't scratch it like a pimple.

Thank God, I had no symptoms of infections, they were all sluggish. If the doctor hadn't taken tests, I wouldn't have known.

So many who have good immunity are only carriers. And this is even more dangerous. That's why you need a certificate.

A person may be offended, thinking that since you didn’t see his shiny pink, clean charms, you obviously want to insult him.

But this is not so. Not everyone, like their cousin, has hell going on in thongs. Well, it’s not like hell, of course, it can be much worse. But what I can say with confidence is that there was definitely no health there. As a physician, I will enlighten you that with thrush, the skin and mucous membranes are redder than normal.

So, perhaps your partner is a carrier, and don’t be offended by the assumption that he is ill.

If your immunity is weaker than his, you will become infected. Therefore, whether he is sick or just suffering, it doesn’t matter, let him get tested and treated.

Even if now you love this person, you take risks to sleep with him, then in the future everything can change, just allow this possibility.

There are dramas. Your hero goes to war, you need to create a precedent for him to return.

Or a little more romantic, the reveler-husband leaves to forgive… (sorry, censorship again) to the secretary, and you don’t want to lose such a noble male and decide to sleep with him in order to get pregnant.

Well, everyone knows that a woman has the right not to give a divorce until the child is one and a half years old. And if you add in the months of pregnancy, then the game was worth the candle. Then you can get treatment.

Get treatment?

This is where the epiphany comes.

Who wants to take antibiotics for five to ten days, take smears, douche and do baths?

This is just the tip of the iceberg; there are also incurable diseases. Here there will be no drama, but tragedy.

But who cares? Pfft, the main thing is that your beloved husband does not leave. Or the boy returned from the army.

I saw the boys. They hang out like hell in taverns, sleep every night with a new friend, and in the morning they forget everything that happened.

An easy and carefree life. Then the military registration and enlistment office comes to them, and immediately the guys are so simple, pure at heart, all the mothers, nannies, aunties, dads rush around with them, worrying.

And I understand why they care about the “prostitutes” with whom their beloved son slept.

See, when you are the mother of a son, he can do no wrong.

When you sleep with this "son", you are a prostitute.

Oh women!!!! Therefore, when the question is about your security, no one will do this except you, no one needs you. If you don’t take care of the certificate and a condom yourself, no one will.

To be honest, your mom won't be happy with your promiscuity either, so don't expect her to give you much intimate advice.

Only very advanced mothers in the entire history of their child’s growing up do not find any STD in their daughter’s medical record.

Do you know why? Because the majority have suffered from this themselves, and do not know how to tell a man: “provide a certificate.”

I've seen some cool moms who are so friendly with the woman born in their womb that everyone would envy them.

It seems there is nothing to complain about?

But in practice, medical cards are full of ureaplasma and genital herpes.

I will now share a story without a name. This is my good friend, but the person to whom I was forbidden to tell the truth, they say my husband will tell everything himself.

Irina from Krasnodar… Oh, I still mentioned the name. Kirill, I’m sorry, if you haven’t told her yet, then seven years have passed, it’s time to confess.

So Irina, a wonderful mother of a beautiful daughter, a faithful friend and wife to her husband, found herself in a situation where she firmly believes in a world without betrayal and STDs.

Her husband is a fan of having sex in saunas for money. (Get sex, not give, what are you thinking? Vulgar). He explained to his friends that Irina does not satisfy all his needs, and he is such a male that he “finishes his food” on the side.

Of course, they told me that he came to his senses, changed and blah blah blah, but something tells me that Irina did not ask him for a certificate, and she does not teach her daughter the same.

Since I found out (my husband told me, he swore that “he would never do anything”), I stopped communicating with their family.

What is the conclusion of this story? “Don’t trust anyone, take it and check it.”

Let this poem remind you every time to ask for a certificate from a new guy before the first sex, and to check with a regular partner once every six months. Good luck.

Menarche and “it would be better if I went to the army”

Lord, don't you know this abstruse medical term?

Well, it's not scary. Great loss. Well, they told themselves: “first period” and that’s it.

So, my menarche came at twelve years old. I was terrified. No, I was a boy.

Well, more precisely, at that moment I tried to convince myself that if I convinced everyone that I was a boy, then menstruation would stop.

This disgusting bloody mucous discharge from the gap between my legs caused such discomfort and shame that I even began to slouch so that my breasts, which had not bothered me much before, would now simply hide inside.

Imagine, like a fugitive criminal, I began to hide from my parents, peers, and people in general, in case they figured me out.

Who am I now?

I was a tomboyish girl, but who is now? Woman?

What kind of creature is this? What does this word mean, that now I can have sex, give birth, older men can justifiably pester me?

And here's more details. There was a pedophile living in the next yard. Yes! Can you imagine?! But I didn’t know that this was illegal, and I was silent like a fool, I didn’t tell my parents how the old horseradish caught me in the entrance and tried to hug me.

No, don’t think about it, there was no groping, no eroticism, just a hug. But! Drunk. And with servility.

I understood everything then. And she ran away. We never saw each other again; fortunately, I retained my honor. But if my father had hit him a couple of times, I wouldn’t have minded.

I was afraid to tell my dad, but now I understand it was in vain. Never tolerate this, girls, if you hold this book.

If you already have a lot more, then share with your friends or parents, if they are alive, in general, with someone who will understand you, even if it’s late, it will make you feel better. Vendetta may be unnecessary, but an understanding heart is definitely needed. Girls, girls, women, if you have ever been clamped against your will, or God forbid, raped, then I will become that understanding listener for you.

"I understand you! Thank you for sharing this story!”

I hug you tightly.

My period came at a time when I was not ready for it. I knew just enough about them that only my cousin’s words sounded in my head: “It’s like pissing, only a little bit and all the time.”

Mom gave me a pad. Do you know how I stuck it on?

Well, there are only two options, and I chose… of course… the wrong one.

This was my first hair removal experience.

Yes, my husband almost lost consciousness from laughter when I dared to tell this.

Just imagine, a couple of hours after successfully fighting the bleeding, I decide to go pee-pee.

I go to the toilet and oh, horror, my vagina was captured (by that time the hormones had already grown something on my pink body), and it hurt, let me tell you. It hurt so much that I thought I might as well be patient.

Wee-wee be patient, I mean.

Well, are you already rolling under the table? Get out, I'll try to be more serious.

In general, if you are a friend or mother of a girl, then take the trouble, when giving her a pad, to tell her how to use it, even if she self-confidently shouts at you: “Yes, I know!!!”

My poor mother didn't dare. How could she have imagined that her smart, excellent student, artist, writer daughter would be at odds with logic?

Well, as I reasoned: when you run, your underpants move… Ah! I realized it was all about the large size of underwear!

Ugh, I was scratching my head.

Well, I think you can’t trust such impractical underwear; if you glue a “mattress” to it, it won’t save you. It’s much safer to stick it on the “trouble” itself. Everything is logical, don’t you think?

Oh, that's it. They came off.

We wipe away our tears and move on.

All that week I was extremely jealous of men.

— Why do girls have periods and give birth, but boys nothing?

— They got the army. In general, they can die.

“I’d rather join the army, maybe I’ll survive.”

My sister had no arguments for this.

— Well, no way, you are a woman, congratulations.

Girls, write me your stories by return letter, anonymously, of course, not everyone will dare to sculpt such a thing openly. I’m very interested in how many of us there are, who experienced menarche like an atomic war (the world collapsed, but no one benefited).

Okay, correction, there is still a benefit, unlike a disaster. A woman is entering fertile age and will have the opportunity to give birth in the future. And for many this is a lifelong desire. Thanks to regular periods, we see that every month the body prepares for conception.

There are serious problems in this area and not all girls suffered as much as I did. Some people, on the contrary, were happy.

Don't believe me?

Well listen. Remember my friend who lost her honor before me?

So, partly she did this to speed up the onset of her period.

Doctors promised her infertility if she did not reach menarche by seventeen.

She, of course, wasn’t too worried, because girls at fifteen don’t really dream of having a baby (remember yourself). What kind of children are we talking about when you barely learned how to glue sanitary pads?

But Edita was not very lucky. Her aunt-guardian turned out to be susceptible to public opinion and began to explain the importance of childbearing from the position of an authoritative doctor, which she was.

And my friend began to transform into a frightened girl who suddenly wanted to become a mother. Not immediately, of course, but in the next ten years she dreamed of giving birth.

I looked at all this with suspicion, Edita was replaced. But I decided not to pay attention, but in vain. She was so scared that she decided to push her hormonal levels with defloration.

A month later, full menstruation began.

You know, she was happy. I still held back to wait until I cooled down because of the insult, but I quietly rejoiced.

This is an exceptional situation when delicate girls, who have obvious delays in puberty at all levels, are threatened with childlessness. Then, afraid of becoming an old maid, the still young children themselves solve the problem in such a stupid way.

I guess I can understand my friend. She went through a lot afterwards. Miscarriages, frozen pregnancies, but still gave birth to two strong sons. Her goal was realized. Whether this goal was a dream, I don’t know. Not a single woman admits this.

— Are you glad you gave birth?

— Yes, my children are the best in the world, I can’t imagine my life without them.

— What about the dream?

— DREAMS ARE ALL EGOISM. I AM SO HAPPY. (she smiled, and her eyes became treacherously covered with a veil).

Okay, we'll talk about children in another chapter.

By the way, do you know that “you can’t have sex during your period?” Well why?

The cervix is slightly open (just a fraction of a millimeter) to expel the endometrium, which is not attached to the fertilized egg, and the blood that comes out of small vessels during rejection.

And if you push your partner’s penis there like a piston, there is a risk that microbes will get onto the wound surface and into the uterus.

Therefore, there should be no penis in the vagina during menstruation, as well as no hands or vibrator. Even tampons must be extremely clean.

But you can have sex. Just different. What's stopping you from plugging your vagina and giving your husband the clitoris? You can reciprocate his feelings — the sixty-nine pose is called. This is also sex, only safe.

During defloration, those vessels that break on the hymen are also very susceptible to infection, so when choosing your first partner, make sure not only the certificate, but also how clean he is: washed, lathered, polished.

No, no, my dears, no need for sanding. Just to make it shine.

Well, I can say that from the height of flight, being thirty years old, I am proud of my body.

After all, at twelve years old, menstruation is a good indicator. Throughout my life, interruptions were extremely rare, there was almost no pain. If you have problems with women's health, consult a gynecologist. But if, regardless of whether he finds something or not, he offers you, like Charlotte from the movie “Sex and the City,” antidepressants for the vagina, then don’t drink for anything.

Change doctor.

“First depilation, epilation. Why can't a woman be a yeti?

You know, after that funny thing during menarche, it didn’t take long for me to lose my hair locally. In only eight years.

Do you know the difference between epi and depi? Epi is to tear off or remove by the roots, depi is a superficial disposal — shave, we call it.

To tear off, that's right, I wasn't being humorous. It's no laughing matter at all. I would say, only tears and nothing more.

At about twenty-six, I had the only epilation of the bikini area in my area using sugaring. My mother is a woman. It's like getting high to withstand such hell.

Are you ashamed to lie with your furry vulva up in front of another woman, so that she plucks you like a chicken? Noooo. By the second minute or so you think you're over the Vietnam War. And I don’t care how the master looks at you.

Lord, what lengths do we go to for the sake of men? Are they men?

Do you know when I first realized that genital hair is a little unnecessary?

When my friend, late with puberty, washed herself in my bathhouse. I noticed that we are very different. “Her” and “mine” were like a child and an aunt, given that Edita is six months older than me.

Pride, of course, was hurt. Self-esteem is damaged. I couldn’t imagine that without clothes I looked worse than the other girl.

But it turned out that way. She did not express a single assessment; this is solely my sense of aesthetic perception.

As long as I thought that everyone had vegetation there, there were no problems. As soon as, at the age of sixteen, I discovered someone my age with a more well-groomed vulva, I was shocked. I took up the machine.

Oh no, I decided to go completely bald only four years later.

That time I adjusted my hips and pubis, leaving a thin strip just out of fear that I would get hurt.

At twenty, I got the hang of doing my job cleanly, to a fault.

Do you know why? The same guy who cheated on me subtly shamed me for being furry.

If I had already been sexually educated then, I would not have allowed myself to endure such an insult. As it turns out, my husband loves me with any hairstyle.

This guy, having achieved his goal, still turned out to be an asshole and left me, but since then I have become addicted to the machine.

You know, it's like riding a bicycle, once you ride it, you never forget how. I'm thirty-two and still rolling.

There are various ways to look sleek, but is it worth it?

Sometimes it doesn't hurt anyone to experiment, just for your own sake, for the sake of new sensations, for the sake of a loved one, for the sake of fashion, to become the most beautiful of all, for any reason you want — after all, it's just hair.

God, don't take this seriously.

You should also do the same with hairstyles on your head. True, choose a good master, and that’s it. In this matter, conservatism is completely unnecessary. Hair tends to grow back.

As for arms and legs, the question is sometimes the opposite. Is it worth depilating/epilating light invisible hairs on your arms, or even legs, if they later become hard, dark and thick? Maybe not for everyone, but there is a risk.

I would recommend thinking and deciding whether you are ready to deal with body hair for the rest of your life?

If yes, then go ahead.

I'm in a good position with my genetics; I only have to shave my lower legs.

However, my school friend in the eighth grade, having shaved off the sparse brown hairs from her arms, forever condemned herself to wax stripes. She is sure that she is better off without fur.

Do you know if a woman was like a yeti, she would be loved?

Who will answer?

Yes, the girl in the knitted sweater, please stand up. I'm sorry, what? Close the microphone please, we can't hear you.

“I don’t shave at all…” he boldly declares, blushing.

— And how do you live?

— My husband dotes on me. Every day requires sex. I'm happy.

— We are happy for you. Thank you. Sit down.

You see. This little scene is here to show you that it's up to you to decide how you look and whether you like to feel that way.

I also have an opposite story from my life. A good friend of mine, fifty-five, lived for twenty years in a marriage with a military doctor younger than herself. She has psoriasis and has difficulty depilating/epilating. She herself is a dark-skinned and woolly girl, like a teddy bear, but at the same time very charming.

For her husband this was not a problem, but for her it was.

After twenty years of family life, she was tired of her husband’s jealousy and aggressive sex, packed her things and for three years now lived as she liked, namely without psoriasis and hair.

A friend of mine found a way to reduce the manifestations of the disease (crusts on the body) and finally learned how to remove hair, at least from her legs.

You know, it turns out that she needed it, not her husband. A man doesn't care if he's in love and wants to possess you. How do you feel?

Like this. We women can be like yeti, with the condition that we are happy at the same time.

A curtain.

"Breast fibroadenoma."

My breasts once scared me so much that I couldn’t think about anything else.

I sat in line to see the mammologist at the oncology clinic, and with my thoughts I chose the path that I wanted to take for the rest of my days.

Yes its true! Nothing worried me more. Not the ex, not the studies, not the money. I was preparing to shoot for the last time, so that the fountains would sing serenades. I wanted to live the rest of my days so brightly that they would write about me in the newspapers.

Well, let's start from the very beginning. Around December two thousand and seven, I woke up on my bright red bed linen with my hand on my chest (yes, I loved this set then, it somehow reflected my inner state well). By that time, I already hated the ex who left me and longed to live.

So, as I remember now, I’m lying on my right side, my hand on my left chest: “Give me — I think — I’ll remember.”

I’m also curious, does this happen? I think it happens, I think that the body sometimes communicates with us.

Using my fingers, I carefully felt a small oval-shaped lump of one and a half centimeters, soft and slightly painful.

My heart sank with horror.

You know, even sweat appeared from panic. I ran to the shower to look in the mirror, everything was smooth, there was no discharge.

I palpated both glands in sectors, as I was taught in college.

Everything is clean, only this thing, there are no others. She exhaled a little. Then she tensed up again: “How long have I had this? Didn't it grow overnight? Is it all due to stress? Is it Dima’s fault?”

I ran to the surgeon. They made a puncture.

For about a week, while waiting for the result, my legs could barely carry me. It’s good that I studied in medical school; my classmates instilled confidence that nothing bad could happen to me in their society. Whether I was a philologist or an accountant, it’s unlikely that anyone there would calm me down as much as they did here. Nadezhda’s friend assured: “You will be cured, one hundred percent. Even if it's cancer, we'll figure something out. There are a lot of professors here who know a lot.”

Now I understand that it was about Nadezhda. A smart girl with the right words.

In general, the results were good, but the doctor insisted on surgery.

— If it already hurts, you have to do it. It's better not to take risks. It can become malignant at any time.

— Fine.

The operation was performed under local anesthesia. In the cold preoperative room, they only injected me with painkillers, and trembling, they wheeled me on a gurney into the room where there were other patients. In total, there were three awake people on the operating tables in this room, on whom the surgeons were working.

They fenced me off from my chest with a screen so that I couldn’t see the scalpels and scissors. They asked to communicate, joked.

The doctor announced the progress of the operation at my request. Otherwise, I would have gone crazy, as it seemed then. Scary, but not painful. I felt tension, crunching, some kind of swarming on the ribs, but no pain.

As a result, I was given a two-centimeter suture and released immediately.

In the hostel I rethought my life.

Dima, this young psychopath, depressed alcoholic, adulterist and overall loser made me doubt myself and become so emotional that my hormones grew a glandular tumor in my chest in a short time.

Then I swore off worrying about men. Since then, I have never suffered so much in my life. Even when my husband left me, I held on.

Girls, breasts are our pride. Health is a tool for achieving goals. Of course, there are also sick people, like Stephen Hopkins, who have learned to control the world without a body, through strength of character and mind. However, if he were physically active, the world would know much more of his creations than it does now.

So, female hormones must be kept in balance. Try to achieve harmony in any time, difficult or easy. Then there will be no tumors.

Right now I will be donating blood for female hormones in accordance with the day of my cycle. On the second to fifth day and then on the twenty-third. And I’ll tell you everything in other chapters.

I’m thirty-two, but slight fluctuations in my health made me take care to find time and get examined.

Ultrasound of the mammary glands, genitals and thyroid gland is all clear, echocardiography and daily monitoring are also there. I gave a hundred dollars to find out that I am healthy. Plus I'll give you another two hundred dollars to be one hundred percent sure.

But I will enter a new phase of life confident that my body is not preparing a surprise.

You know, when you're about to reach the next level, where there's more stress, problems, money, happiness, love, work hours, movement in general, you prepare like an astronaut.

The body has to withstand such stress, I can’t afford to go gray or bald just because I spend fourteen hours a day on the set.

Yes, I’m really going to Hollywood this or next year, and the job of an actor is not to look at flowers. This is a colossal amount of work, you get exhausted, work hard for months, and then enjoy the premiere for a week.

And again into battle.

This life is for me, I want it. I like to work hard where I realize myself, but my exhausted body can say at any moment, “Adies, amigo. I went to bed." So, in order not to torment anyone, it is necessary:

— take vitamins and minerals daily.

— eat right

— sleep 7–8 hours

— keep drinking regime

— play sports, or at least run, do gymnastics

— check periodically with a gynecologist. But you don't have to do everything he asks. Only based on your logic.

For example. I was prescribed SERIOUS hormonal treatment for a minor malfunction in the body. I'm asking:

— What other options are there?

— Well, you can still do this and that.

— OK, what else?

— Well, you can also take this and that.

— Okay, write it down.

And so on. The doctor is obliged to tell you all treatment options, all alternatives, all risks, complications, contraindications, side effects.

The decision is yours. I always choose the best solution for myself, not for the doctor.

If surgery and a strong drug clear his conscience, but ruin me in the future, then this option will be the first to be rejected.

Do you understand?

At twenty-nine years old, I discovered another fibroadenoma around the same place, a little higher. It was three times smaller and painless.

I was already seasoned and was not afraid. Well… maybe a little. When the ultrasound specialist explained what it was, and the mammologist offered to observe, I agreed.

He added:

— We need to do a puncture.

— But there have been cases where the puncture itself caused malignancy. Don't touch it while it's quiet.

— This is true. But it's up to you.

— I am against puncture. We wait.

And she began to observe herself, palpating herself weekly, listening to see if there was any pain.

Although the main part of my attention was simply directed to work, my husband and other things, which, against the background of a terrible lump of meat, looked brighter, more colorful, lighter, and I even fell in love with work.

My colleague advised me to switch to water.

Do you know what this is?

This is when you replace all drinks with water, absolutely. Well, except for the soup. Juices, tea, coffee, lemonades. I still drank fresh juices in small quantities and without sugar. And so yes, I started drinking exclusively ash-two-o.

This caused lymphodynamics and cleansing of the body from toxins. My tumor has shrunk. Is it true.

The process started so well that when I gave up everything to hell three months later and returned to coffee, it continued to decrease.

Now I’m thirty-two, and ultrasound shows no fibroadenoma. No, and upon palpation, I am sure that this disgusting thing has disappeared.

So remember that the doctor is a very erudite person, but the decision is always yours.

You can use the doctor wisely, namely, ask him to enlighten you to the maximum, or change the doctor if he is silent like a partisan.

Where did the second small tumor come from? — you ask — After all, you swore not to suffer anymore because of guys?

You're right. It's because of a man, a husband. This will be discussed later in the following chapters. We were on the verge of divorce.

But the truth remained the truth. It has never been so powerful that taking Corvalol has never happened again. You see, the tumor turned out to be three times smaller.

Identical triangles: big stress — big tumor, little stress — small tumor.

I smile and shrug my shoulders.

You know, let's do a test. “How to assess whether you are stressed or not”

First: Do you fall asleep easily? If it’s difficult, then it’s a big one. If you don't fall asleep, it's gigantic.

Secondly: How many times a day do you cry or want to cry? Several times — big, constantly — huge.

Thirdly: Do you take any substances: smoke, alcohol, Corvalol, antidepressants, other drugs. I just lit a cigarette — a lot of stress. Yes (some or all of this) — stop urgently, because even if you don’t care now, you won’t care later.

Well, that’s it, actually. These are my criteria for the two cases I told you about.

Now I sometimes laugh at the problems of those times. I am one hundred percent sure that I am happy on my own, and not because there is someone next to me. You know, I wish everyone independent happiness.

This is when you love a person two hundred percent, but you understand that if he leaves, or you, if something happens to your relationship, then you will be alive and capable of happiness to no less extent than now.

Yes, you will cry, but maybe once, well, twice, and that’s it. You will even remain friends and help each other in the future. That would be the height of greatness.

Have I seen such a separation? Yeah. My good friends, a young couple, divorced after ten years of marriage, but remained business partners, he came to her in the evenings for dinner, she shared her most intimate things, as with a friend.

— What, really without sex?

— Yes, that’s why we broke up. They no longer wanted each other, did not want to have children, they just became very close. They helped each other grow. We started with a shuttle business in our tiny apartment, keeping bags of provisions right at home. And now they have a company with a factory. There are leather chairs in the office and they have worked hard on their own goals, growing as individuals within the marriage.

Did I assume that there would be betrayal? You know, a woman wouldn’t be a woman if she weren’t tempted to find out how everything really is. But at the very moment when they were getting divorced, my relationship with my husband was collapsing, so I was not interested. This is rather an exception to the rule.

Although I am sure that there was no betrayal. The guys could already confess everything to each other, which means they simply have nothing to do with it.

So, a lesson about fibroadenoma. Take care of yourself. Don't sweat the small stuff. Do not take antidepressants or other harsh substances if the situation is severe. And may you have a friend who will listen and understand.

Don't forget, you can write to me.

Well, let's move on.

"The man is twelve years older"

A new chapter of my book, this is a new chapter of my life. And it’s harder to view it from the same ironic angle as youth. But still, may my husband forgive me, I will try to speak as it is, without tinsel and unicorns.

Let me start with the fact that in my fourth year I was on the verge of expulsion. Is it true. At the end of the third, I failed Pathophysiology, and in response to my tears, I was allowed to retake the exam in September.

In the fall, I came to my senses, passed the test and then moved into battle as a good student. There were no absenteeism, no grades, no grades, no failures. I got a job and stopped looking for a boyfriend.

Girls, I finally stopped. She lost weight, pumped up, tanned, glowed both externally and internally.

There were still rare breaks, but they were so well-mannered that I would call it petty stupidity rather than a break.

One day there was a guy lying next to me that I really liked, but he just listened to how I worried about life, admired the beauty and let me fall asleep instead of taking advantage of the situation. When I woke up later, my friend had already seen the guys off and admired my progress in curbing male egoism.

— You didn’t have anything?

— We didn't even take off our clothes.

— Have you even kissed?

— No. He was lying nearby. And his only touch was a gentle lifting of a curl from his face behind his ear. — I smile slyly.

— Wow. You're making progress. I didn't succeed.

By the New Year I was already a different person. Confident, purposeful, shoulders back, chin to the sky, the gait of a brave man.

No guys, no alcohol, no cigarettes, no junk food and no soul-searching.

One day, returning from school, I wanted something unusual. I went on a social network to look for advertisements for small earnings. And I came across a photo shoot for the cover of a business magazine. No payment was offered, but the feeling of one’s own unsurpassability was comforting. I immediately called and went to the “casting”

The art director of this event, of course, cheated in order to force the girls to try and not pay for the work. But I didn’t mind, I wanted non-standard entertainment and a little self-affirmation.

In the then popular club "Territory", empty of visitors, there were only twenty blonde girls, the same art director and cover star — a gray-haired unpleasant man.

I, along with four other models, were placed next to him, the rest were placed on the edges. I looked at this man with the thought: “It’s so important to be likeable when you work in the business world. And how important it is to have a pleasant appearance if you are in show business.”

I considered myself part of the show, because what was it at that moment, if not window dressing. An elderly plump man among young blondes in swimsuits and stiletto heels.

The girls and I chatted happily in the locker room, when it was all over, we were given a contact where we could contact and receive our magazine as a souvenir. I left happy and a little smarter than when I arrived.

After some time, the same art director came to the massage parlor (where I worked), I recognized her. Not the nicest girl, but at least I received my magazine before the others.

Unfortunately, she liked the way I lathered… oh, sorry, lathered her neck: she sent her boss (part-time husband) to me.

Can you imagine my bewilderment and awkwardness when, under my arms on the massage table, lay that same gray-haired, large man with all his folds who wanted to be massaged.

My fragile little hands tried their best. I almost jumped next to her to apply enough effort. That's why Thai girls sit on top of you, they're just trying not to jump.

Do you think I talk so much about this man because he is the one? Am I hinting to you that I took a man away from the family with my attempts that vaguely resemble a massage?

Oh no. Fortunately, no. This sexually mature (or rather elderly) bear turned out to be just a point on the way to meeting my husband. An important point. So fat and sharp.

He left, to put it mildly, dissatisfied. Silently, without thanks and fireworks.

Confused, I was left wondering why on this day it wasn’t Zhanna, our mastodon specialist with hands born to knead the dough of large men.

So what happened next?

On January 3rd, two thousand and eleven, I went to a nightclub alone because I really wanted to, but my friends refused at the very last moment and generally bothered me. This doesn't usually happen. You are right, for me it was a non-standard situation. I am the life of the party. The outrage knew no bounds. However, that didn't stop me from going to the club. At that time I knew a lot of partygoers, DJs in the end, and hoped to find some friendly company right there.

And yes, it was the first time that I was so independent of my friends, of the situation, confident in myself, to go alone to a night event in a city of three hundred thousand on New Year’s holidays.

The very fact of this already indicated that I had changed a lot. I think this is an important moment in a woman's life if she wants to achieve her goals. My goal was to find a real man, strong, smart, handsome, generous, successful, faithful, self-sufficient.

Until now I have not met such people.

And that night I finally found my… destiny? No, I don't believe in divine decree. I met my goal, what I was striving for and for which I grew above myself.

In another popular establishment in those days under the name “Contact”, consonant with the fashionable social network, I, as expected, met my acquaintances. We drank, danced, and then I saw a very bright man in the crowd.

The wine-colored shirt with the button undone on the chest told me this was a hot man. And his relaxed movements on the dance floor convinced him that he was definitely brave and much more confident in himself than everyone else present here.

This means that either he has lost his head, or he is rich and can afford to play around as he wants.

I took the kind expression on his face as a safe sign, the guy is not hiding anything.

And then I saw with him, you know who? That same art director. Without hesitation, my legs carried me to her.

— Hello. Do you remember me?

— Yes. — after a pause, my rather drunk “friend” answered.

— Happy New Year! Glad to see you there!

— Me too! Happy New Year! — the drunken girl was sincerely delighted at my presence — This is my brother Vladislav.

— Nice to meet you.

I went to see my friends, but a minute later Agnes caught up.

— Stop, come to the next photo shoot, there will be a cooler magazine and a small fee. In general, let's go to my table, I'll treat you.

Girls, of course I agreed. There was no doubt about it. My thoughts were purely predatory. It was impossible to miss the moment and not pick up this guy.

— You know, just don’t fall for Vladislav. “He’s a womanizer,” Agnes whispered.

Shock. Pause. Rounded eyes. And again the imperturbable look.

— Don't worry, I'm a grown girl.

Do you know what it was? Manipulation. As I found out later, they are not related at all, and Agnes was looking for a good girl for him. Did I sense a catch then? Undoubtedly. Women feel this way. It is men who do not know how to distinguish women’s cunning, unless they are taught by experience. And women know the full power of the deceit of their fellow tribesmen.

But I didn’t care, it became even more interesting. And I went to dance a slow dance with him. Everything is very easy and without hints of sex. I tried to move at ease, didn’t lead in any way, I’m a girl, I let him completely control the dance, and I won.

As I found out later, it was my obedience that won him over. This is a woman’s trick, to give a man what he wants, power.

I didn’t lose my power and self-sufficiency at all, I just hid it away for a while until he fell in love.

That's why we needed a meeting with Agnes on the set, then a second one in the salon. By gaining the necessary connections and acquaintances, you find what you want.

Would I then be able to conquer Vladislav without chatting with his girlfriend that evening? Unlikely. At the club there was my good friend Nina, a petite blonde half-dancer, whom, as my husband later told me, he was going to pick up.

You see how important initiative and the ability to present oneself are in such matters.

That night I was still scared, how would such an uninhibited thirty-year-old man with a ponytail like a simple, poor student? For the first time in a long time, I climbed deep inside myself and asked: “What will happen if he doesn’t call? Or will he leave you after some time?”

“Then I’ll just forget about him now and let him decide for himself.”

We returned home with a friend, her husband and her husband’s friend. Our yards were two hundred meters from each other. Coming out of the taxi, without recognizing myself, I kissed a guy to whom I had not even given any hints. He was taken aback, but did not resist. The friend and her husband stood in no less shock. And I just cheerfully waved my hand at them and ran home.

Why was this necessary? To stop panicking. The desire to maintain independence.

The next day Vladislav called and invited me to dinner. We talked for hours, he found out in detail my worldview, goals, thoughts. This is how men who want a serious relationship behave, and not just sex for one night.

Now I’ll tell you another funny situation.

On the morning of the fourth, I trudged to work in a terrible state without makeup and with a headache.

And suddenly he calls at lunch and says that he will pick me up after work.

— I can't

— Why.

— I'm not ready to go out. I'm without makeup, you won't recognize me.

— It's not a problem.

— I feel sick, I drank too much yesterday, after work I’ll go home to sleep.

— You just need to go eat hot soup to reduce intoxication.

— (…pause)

— All. I decided. I'll pick you up at six.

He hung up, and I was in horror going through pictures in my head of how I could look at least passable by six.

In due time, having overcome embarrassment, I decided “it’s hit or miss” and proudly got into the taxi.

And you know, there were basically no ratings or comments. My gentleman turned out to be a gentleman. He fed me soup with asparagus, told me some cosmic ideas at that time about his dreams, tasks, goals, business, family. I even forgot for a moment that this was a first date. It seemed like we had known each other forever. And this was just the effect of Vladislav’s use of Alex Leslie’s pickup techniques.

I naively assumed that we were close, and he was simply actively creating the illusion of this.

But I am grateful at least for the fact that there was nothing between us that day. And the next morning he announced that he was flying away.

— How? Where?

— To Krasnodar, my daughter lives there.

— You are married?

— We are divorced, but my parents, daughter and I are generally from there.

— Wow. Are you planning to return?

— Yes, in ten days, probably.

— Maybe?

— Okay, don't make a scene. Better give me a massage.

He came as a client, paid for himself and I silently did everything like a professional. No intimate hints, complete medical relaxation.

— Well, are you offended?

— No, everything is okay. — we girls sometimes speak in such a way as not to offend our opponent, but we ourselves cannot feel comfortable, because we really were offended.

— OK. As soon as I arrive, I will inform you about my decision, whether and when I will return. Fine?

He kissed me and left.

What was all this? How is this possible? Why the hell did I get caught?

I wanted to scream, get angry, rage, hate him, but I couldn’t. There was too good a man in my life to just give up.

On this, my dears, I will interrupt my romance. Let's take a break. Drink tea, eat something delicious.

In the meantime, I'll ask a few questions:

— Are you happy?

— Have you found yourself yet? What is your core that will keep you going in a difficult situation regardless of others?

— What is your goal/dream?

I will refrain from judging. You know everything yourself. There is only one solution, make the answers to the questions positive. Just don’t do itheadlong, otherwise coaches and motivational trainers will get rich very quickly. The task: to find yourself, not them.

I smile from ear to ear. Do you know how much money I gave to all sorts of guys to pump up their fighting spirit?

A couple of million rubles, for sure. Fortunately, ninety percent of them turned out to be the right decision. But at ten I was ambushed.

Therefore, first find your guru, test it, then trust.

Well, let's move on.

A day later, when I was approaching work (as I remember now, it was a sunny, frosty morning), I was filled with resentment from within. “Well, call, write, let me know about your decision.”

"Hello. How are you. I will return to Petrozavodsk."

"Oh, thank God." This SMS then made me the happiest in the world. “He will come back and we can become a couple. A real serious relationship."

It’s so exciting, everything is for the first time, everything is new, fresh and at your fingertips. Remember your first real feeling that ended well. What kind of emotions were these?

Why don't you ask about panties? Forgot the first chapters? Okay, okay, I forgive you. It was I who led you into romance.

Yes, I don't remember anything like that. Not because this didn’t happen, but because then we had a platonic relationship. Sheer romance. Not the naive one, like Romeo and Juliet, but an adult, stern, but romantic. We were drawn to each other with thoughts, ideas, hearts, and not genitals.

Later, this criterion of falling in love was also added. At least, later I realized it and remembered it. And in the first couple of weeks there were only love letters, calls, everything was very decorous and well-mannered. He was thirty-four, I was twenty-three. Love began twelve years apart.

I thought about my man constantly: at breakfast, in conversations with friends, at work with colleagues, with classmates, with my sister and mother, with myself.

It was an obsession.

But I still checked something in myself. Doubting whether I could be a good match for Vladislav, I agreed to a date with a handsome young guy from a social network in a black jeep.

We went to a cafe, tried to find common topics, kissed goodbye, and I finally realized that this was not my thing. I can’t think about anyone else except my Krasnodar boyfriend. I don't need anyone else. That's when I stopped searching. Nine years have passed since then, and this was really the last kiss with another man besides Vladislav.

Each of you who has been married and faithful for a long time can remember such a moment. Interesting, isn't it? Unless, of course, your husband is not the first man in your life.

I don't want to kiss any of my exes again. Moreover, I hate to even imagine it. Remember “legs…, ugh!” from What Men Talk About?

It's about the same. We women are very picky for the most part.

There are exceptions, but they are fewer.

My classmate Rimma confidently stated that she likes the smell of male sweat, so strong that.

Or, now I’ll tell you an unpleasant thing, my friend liked the smell of men’s pussy, you know, that tart, bitter hormonal scent. I understand that some people gag. Be patient.

I had a friend, married, she liked (Lord, how can I say this, okay, I’ll say it straight) to swallow. Well, she loved her husband for the taste. I told her: “Hold your horses, you might end up with protein poisoning,” and at least give her a damn.

No one has yet clearly defined the term “perversion.” For some, the frames are as narrow as the eye of a needle, but for others, an entire display case is not enough to fit it into the frame.

"First fart."

Well, how can I avoid this topic when each of us has gone through it. We are not fairies and have no different intestines from men.

Although I didn’t think so before and was very worried. One day, after a hearty dinner at my ex-boyfriend’s place, I asked to go home while watching a movie. I was worried that as soon as the session ended, there would be silence and my musical stomach would play Mozart.

— Stay, it will be fun. I also have a good French comedy.

“There will be a good comedy when my butt puts on a concert,” I quipped in my mind.

— I can’t, I’m sorry, my cat… was poisoned by something and has diarrhea. We need help. — “Lord, what am I talking about?” But, I must admit, the associations are appropriate at such a moment.

As a result, I carefully hid from each guy that I was a man. And who am I? Fairy, no less. Girls can't fart, poop, or stink. Girls should smell like lilies of the valley.

But as luck would have it, the epiphany came with just the man I wanted to marry.

We went to my place after another light dinner to meet our friends.

In my apartment, the four of us sat comfortably on the sofa, smoked through the window, drank wine and discussed philosophical topics. Everything was going as well as possible when suddenly something interrupted the conversation.

I looked incredibly beautiful that evening, perfect makeup, new dress, correct speech, no reason to discover that I was a farm guy.

You know the sound like your pants bursting? Crackling sound throughout the room.

And suddenly there was silence. Everyone fell silent. I am surprised by the resilience of my friends and men. Nobody even blinked an eye. Not a single muscle moved on their faces. After a couple of seconds, they continued to enthusiastically talk about female and male disagreements, something from the category of everyday philosophy of the sexes.

But I knew that I couldn’t help but confess. She ran to the toilet in horror. A minute later, my gentleman was already standing near the door and asked to talk to him. I opened.

— Everything is fine? How are you

— What a shame, what a shame. God, I must have eaten something wrong.

(he didn’t yet know that over the next nine years I ate something wrong many times, poor fellow).

— Come on, stop it, it happens to everyone.

— Well, how so, not in society…

— Come on, they all did it. And I. Girls are not unicorns who eat flowers and poop rainbows. You are people just like boys. We are all cut from the same cloth. Relax.

In general, he calmed me down then. I returned to the room, blushing, and no one neighed like a horse; my friends steadfastly supported me, exhaling tobacco smoke through the window.

Since then, there has not been a moment when I didn’t remember this incident without laughing wildly. Even now I burst into tears before typing.

You know, I am writing this story to the whole world and I understand that someone needs to relax the girls. My dears, I tell you with complete confidence that if a man loves you, then he doesn’t care that you are not perfect.

Maybe you shouldn’t spoil the air at the first opportunity, but you won’t be able to pretend to be a princess all your life. Sooner or later, a moment of epiphany will come: either he will get scared and run away, or you will realize that he loves you as you are, with flaws.

Here's another story from my mom. My parents divorced, as you remember, but even in their thirtieth year of marriage they were still strangers.

I remember how the three of us sat in front of the TV and sometimes exchanged remarks about what we saw, when suddenly a crackling sound escaped my mother.

I looked into her eyes in surprise. She panicked, pretending to be a princess, and put her finger to her lips, saying, don’t say anything, don’t let your father know. I turned my gaze to him, there really was indifference, he was absorbed in the colored box.

I look at my mother again, asking “why.” And then she burst out, she began to shake with laughter, squeezing it inside herself as hard as possible, which only made the laughter intensify. I couldn’t look at it indifferently and went into another room to laugh heartily. Can you imagine the level of constriction among Soviet women? By the age of fifty or sixty, one still convinces oneself that she is not a person, but a unicorn.

That is, a woman with a woman can be frank, herself. And only with a close woman. But with the man they are complete strangers.

I can imagine what was going on in their bedroom. I'm not surprised that dad started having problems. They both didn't want to acknowledge their bodies. It is not permissible to do things that are so natural for a person in fear, so the situation looks absurd.

Well, I once heard a wise man say:

— Do you know how to understand whether one loves the other?

— No.

— If he does not feel disgust when his beloved has earthly manifestations. Here is a girl vomiting, and a guy gives her water. The guy has diarrhea, and his madam is cleaning the toilet after him.

— Wow. Strongly.

— I saw how in a restaurant on the eve of the wedding the bride had doubts and conducted this test for herself. She watched her beloved all evening, and everything was fine until the pasta hung on his chin.

They never got married. She didn't love him.

— Wow.

I was then impressed by this story and used it in my life.

My neighbor and friend Valery didn’t like to wash his T-shirts, and he constantly smelled of sweat, his eyes could get streaky, and his breath smelled like onions.

And do you know how I realized that the girl he started living with loved him? I made sure that she had no problems with smell and vision.

Yes. Exactly. Anna perfectly felt all the smells of her boyfriend, saw the untidiness, but she was not disgusted by it. She remained gentle and caring. This is Love. I was truly happy when they got married.

When my man got off the train after that breakup at the beginning of our relationship, he also smelled like two days of mild unwashed hair, but I wasn’t disgusted. This all comes into the background when you love.

Of course, a girl teaches a guy to take care of himself; with us, men become a tasty morsel. That’s why other girls hang themselves on them, because we have ennobled our beloved ones.

If you have met an ideal man, it means he has already been ennobled by some woman and, most often, not his mother.

It's rare that a mother can make her son attractive. Only if she is not a model or an actress, or another woman of art.

A smart, loving woman makes a truly delicious-smelling, clean, ironed, combed, and confident man.

Yes, the stronger sex will forgive me, I really think so. You change us by exactly the same amount. We become smarter and present ourselves more confidently in society if we are energized by our wise man.

If there is a lion next to you, then you are a lioness. Do you understand? A couple becomes many times (and not in total) more powerful if the people in it admire each other and guide each other.

As soon as everyone is on their own (or worse, criticism begins), that's it, the end of love and everything is lost.

Since then, we have farted in front of each other many times, broken down, blushed, but never stopped loving.

So, the chapter is sad

"Goodbye, friends"

Oh girls. It was not for nothing that I started this book. I miss you, my lifelong friends. I've watched the series and both Sex and the City movies eleven or so times, and every time I imagine I'm their fifth friend.

Yes, since my man and I got together, I no longer had close friends, women with whom I could share everything, until now. I finally broke through. I decided to speak out, pour out all my experiences, knowledge, and experience onto you.

Well, I hope to become for you the very one that you don’t have, a friend due to the misfortune of not having girlfriends. It's a pun, but it's the honest truth.

After those gatherings in my apartment, I spent more and more time with my boyfriend. He instructed me on how to negotiate with professors at university to ensure I received a pass or a good grade. I studied. He took me to the movies and restaurants. I gave him massages and listened to grandiose ideas at night.

When he left for his daughter, he left me money so that I wouldn’t die of hunger, and I spent all my free time studying and working. Sofia, my neighbor, then stopped understanding my joy. And we've run out of common topics to talk about.

About a week later, one of the friends made up a story. Listen, this is generally a movie and the Germans.

She saw somewhere a man, wildly similar to mine, with another woman. Then she found out from her friend of a family friend (a friend of a family friend — that’s what I call acquaintances through the fifth generation, well, someone very close, but for some reason authoritative for use in dubious stories) that it turns out that this is a womanizer. In addition, he is allegedly married to a Karelian woman and cannot be from the south. Well, or he simply deceives even his wife, which is even worse, because then I am simply a victim of deception, and maybe fraud.

“Just what should you charge me?” — I thought then.

— Margarita, be careful. Such a handsome and smart man cannot be alone. Find out what he really needs from you.

— Okay, dear, thank you very much.

And I plunged into thought, what kind of manipulations was my man carrying out, what was it about me that I needed to pull off a whole scam?

I remain silent, I don’t call him all day, I don’t respond to messages. I'm angry and nervous. “What a bastard. Deceiver. Womanizer. Little bastard! Why the penny-pincher? Yes, because there is nothing to take from me. A couple of clothes, used furniture and my parents’ old TV.” I had nothing then. Besides, why did he need to give me food when he was leaving?

These questions brought me into conscious reality. I wasn’t anything special in terms of material values; I couldn’t even get a ransom for me if he stole me into his harem. The parents barely survived on their own in order to raise money for their daughter, who was now time to get married. I think they would even buy a pie and celebrate over a cup of tea that finally their second daughter was useful to someone. (Well, they just stopped hoping for the first one).

You laugh, but it's true. I have charm, charisma, intelligence, a little beauty, but I’m definitely not a Rockefeller, and then I was an ordinary poor student. If he wanted, as they say, to fuck him up and quit, then you know, I didn’t have any special skills in bed. There were a lot of predators in the city for men like Vladislav, and they were clearly more skilled than me.

So, realizing the absurdity of the situation, I brushed it aside and invited my beloved to visit. We spent the entire evening discussing the topic of girlfriends. At first they laughed, of course, then they seriously considered the influence of the female environment on the female, who found herself a worthy male.

— What if he cheats?

— Married.

— Maniac

— Gay.

— Lesbian. (well, okay, that doesn’t happen).

— Polygamist

— Special services officer, spy

— Criminal, hiding

And so on, as far as your imagination goes, no one can compete with the girls here.

Imagine, this is just one friend, and I have already fallen under the influence and almost lost my future husband.

What would have happened if they had started to advise me against a relationship with him.

You know, fortunately, this never happened again. But something else appeared.

I noticed that when I told my friends about my boyfriend, about the relationship, I did two things.

First: she praised him and admired him so much that she looked biased, and the conversation came to a dead end. The girls simply didn’t comment on anything. It turned out that I was deprived of interlocutors.

Second: I still told them some details that raised questions or strange thoughts in me. Then they entered into a lively conversation. But it turned out that I myself provoked them to dislike my man. As a result, I was all screwed up, and my relationship with him deteriorated again.

It turns out there was no way I could be friends with women anymore.

And then who should I tell everything to, with whom should I share intimate details, sores, constipation, excuse me, dreams, worries, what makes me angry and what makes me happy?

But it turns out that WITH HIM!

Yes, and at this moment it is precisely to check how mature the love between you and your boyfriend is. Is he ready to become your friend, and not just your lover? Is he ready to replace your friends and become, in some way, that same friend?

Yes, my man, he did. Not in everything, but for nine years I forgot about girls. We still keep in touch on social media, but we no longer see each other or communicate truly openly.

I have had women throughout my marriage with whom I shared frank things, but it was rather their job to listen to me and guide me in the right direction. Perhaps you know who I mean. “Counselor”, “mentor” and the like. But I couldn’t help them in the opposite direction, that’s not how it’s supposed to be. Anyway, thanks to them for such work, there were times when I needed them, and my husband could not help in any way.

There were those with whom I wanted to be friends, and my husband didn’t mind, he respected these women, and even recommended them himself, but nothing worked out.

Do you know why?

Every time you complain to your friend about your husband, she falls into a trap. If he supports him, he will lose you. Will support you, the marriage will upset you.

And when my potential girlfriends found themselves in these awkward situations, they immediately washed their hands. I don't blame them. Many married women have this problem. Even when a married woman is friends with the same others, this is a very dangerous path, the risks are absolutely the same. And either you are being disingenuous to each other and not answering honestly the question directly posed, or you risk worsening your understanding with your husband if you are more frank with someone else than with him.

— Does your husband have times when it’s not worth it?

— Well, yes, it happens to everyone.

— Mine doesn’t.

— Damn, I guess I have a problem.

That's it, you got it. This amounts to betrayal. Yes, honestly. Do not laugh. Men will perceive this exactly the same as if you slept with his best friend.

Well, maybe not like that, but something like that.

Or another option:

— Does your husband have times when it’s not worth it?

— No, what are you talking about?

— Damn, I guess I have a problem.

And then you look at how your friend is suffering, looking for a solution, proving that he has early impotence, begging to go to the doctor, quarreling with him, crying that he left her.

Somehow like this.

No, of course you can still have casual small talk. You can communicate superficially about the weather, the pandemic, English courses, and so on. You can communicate deeply on personal topics without touching men, but not for long, it usually ends quickly.

And yet, it is a huge mistake when the targets are not husbands, because experience has taught them “impotence-doctor-divorce,” but children.

Lord, poor children. Here:

— Mine went to the sports section today.

— Wonderful! And mine learned to draw.

— Great, mine doesn’t draw at all, just scribbles.

— Nothing. He will learn. But mine is so plump that I’m also thinking about taking her to sports.

And so on. You know, blah blah blah. If children were as independent as their fathers, they would have long ago given the country coal for constantly washing their bones.

So here it is. I really appreciate women. But we cannot communicate lively and openly only on the topic of health, husband and children.

If hormones control the female consciousness and this is the only fate destined for us, then I wash my hands of it.

That's it, the book is finished, thank you all.

But, we are intellectual beings. We are smart, responsible, purposeful. We are well versed in many areas. I especially noticed that a woman can compete with men in marketing, PR, sales, management, finance and medicine. Maybe we are worse as engineers and astronauts, but that’s also debatable.

So it turns out that there are still topics for a lively conversation? Or do we do all this in order not to think about men, sex and children?

I smile.

Yes, the motive is different.

Do you understand?

Men do this for the sake of self-affirmation, financial independence, and freedom.

Women, so as not to think and chat with friends about men, children and sex.

What if the most carefree among us, who does not want to give birth, get married, or have sex, simply builds a career and finally accumulates enough money in the bank to fly on a passenger flight into earth orbit, and maybe into space?

What topics do you think she will talk about with her friends?

Not at all. She will be friends with men. Dot.

This is my theory. You may not agree with her, but no matter how insignificant it may sound, I still work and study for many hours a day to quench the thirst for having friends and chatting with them. I have enough husband to communicate about business and our common plans, sometimes health and that’s it.

My theory is also confirmed by the fact that even now I am writing for you, restoring the line of communication with women of the world, looking for friendship and support, chatting over a cup of aromatic tea on the topic of sex, health, children and men.

And this is interesting to you. And me too. This is fine. There is no need to be ashamed of this.

And if we want to go into space, then we’ll start making friends with men (this is not forbidden for a while).

Do you understand?

Hope so. I truly love, appreciate and respect you. This is our nature. It's not bad.

Now I will tell you another case about a friend, it is a little different from the others. This is a story of selfishness, so I will introduce it into this book just to make you aware that this also happens.

The same childhood friend who encouraged me to deflower early was already living with a guy by the time I started my first serious relationship.

Every weekend, while going to work (and I deliberately walked across the city for forty minutes to keep my muscles toned), I listened to her stories about unhappy relationships. Either they fight, then they make up, then her ex confesses his love to her, and she is confused about what to do. I, as a faithful friend, helped to figure it out, listened, gave advice, and tried to support.

One fine day I was telling her about my man and in response I heard a couple of neutral remarks, and then again an epic story about how the guy was allegedly cheating on her.

This alarmed me greatly, but I forgave.

The next time it happened again.

"Strange. She's the one who doesn't believe in me. He doesn’t believe that since I didn’t have a single worthwhile novel until I was twenty-three, this one won’t work out either. He thinks that I’m flighty, and there’s no point in wasting energy listening to my relationships, because it’s all in vain?”

Instead of asking her this question, I waited a little longer.

Then she stopped communicating.

That same year I moved to Krasnodar, and my boyfriend made me happy every day, we lived happily and we managed to be a couple so much that mutual friends called me husband and wife.

And my friend called me again with a story about the latest problems. And as always, I listened.

At night I had a nightmare, something connected with a friend and her problems, I woke up in a cold sweat, sobbing and shaking from the experience.

Then my husband said:

— Drop her. This is not a friend, but some kind of vampire.

— But I can’t, she’s a FRIEND.

— Look at you. Are you sure? — and I looked in the mirror. The reflection screamed “either you or you.” And I realized that my childhood friend had changed a lot, and perhaps she had always been like this. Selfish and hysterical.

— Fine. I'll quit.

That same day we performed a “ritual of exorcism.” I wrote to her that I didn’t want to hear about her problems anymore. She composed a whole canvas, where she painted in all colors her resentment, how selfish I am (please note). Such people usually blame others for what they themselves do to the fullest. She wrote that I couldn’t leave her, that she needed me and that it was all my boyfriend’s fault for quarreling between us.

He copied Edita's message and sent it back to her.

It was cool. I didn't have to invent anything. We simply turned her own words around to her, like a mirror.

Since then, I really cut her out of my life. Unfortunately, many of our mutual friends remained on her side. She put me in front of them in a bad light, and I didn’t fight back. Anyway, even then I decided that for some time I would give up such a thing as close female friendship.

I gave you these two examples so you can see the difference.

Edita turned out to be so selfish that I would have broken up with her in any case, even if I remained single.

And I broke up with other friends because of myself. I would not be able to maintain the warmth of communication without dooming them to the trap described above. Just like any of us. If you are friends, then you clearly understand the risks. The influence of non-marriage is inevitable. Is your partner ready for this?

Mine is ready now. Our marriage is mature and the relationship is strong, so that I plunge into friendship with the entire female world.

But, to be honest, I will never let people in who wish me harm and who are not interested in me. I won’t let you come within cannon shot range.

The rest are very happy.

"Man with child."

What is not a chapter is an oddity.

Well, everyone’s children are like children. There are children with men with whom you get along. Calm, understanding. I came across a fiend from hell. Is it true. Fire on a stick. I wanted to say something different, but there was censorship. This monster (from the word miracle, only big) threw hysterics out of nowhere, cried, swore, fought in anger and shouted “nobody loves me, give birth to me back.”

Yes its true. Now she is God's dandelion. Coiffed, smart, beautiful. And I had to go through all the crap (sorry, it came out) of the world to get the candy.

— Buy me a skateboard.

— No.

— Buy it.

— No. You don’t make your bed, you don’t wash the dishes, you don’t do your homework, I won’t buy anything.

I went to put the T-shirt in the closet. The day passes.

— Buy me a skateboard, you promised.

— When?

— Aaaaaaah. You promised. You do not love me. — and so on.

But for all nine years she wanted not only this board. She constantly demanded something.

And you know, we did, but she learned to wash dishes, cook, do laundry, clean the house, including general cleaning, and got a job even before she graduated from school.

This is how we dealt with children's psychos. It was hard, but we managed.

Well, now, with less pathos and narcissism, I’ll tell you how it was.

Imagine a child whose parents spent every day sorting things out throughout his childhood, and then his father simply left. Mother's tears, periodic hysterics. The father gave free rein, the mother forbade. The child did not understand what model of behavior to take for himself.

Then a girl appeared who took all of her father’s attention, and I had to install a whole mountain of behavior patterns for different people and situations. Tears worked best, especially for grandmothers, because they influenced their parents.

“One was unyielding — Margot. Tears did not stop her. She was just communicating. Strange.

And everything would be fine if her father did not take her side in disagreements. I want to go to the water park, she says “no”, my father says “no”. I want a Coca-Cola, she refuses, and so does my father.

And everything is explained logically, but that’s what I want. Margot says, vacuum the apartment, but I don’t want to, my father is right there. My father doesn't love me, and Margot is a strange creature. Why is she in our lives?

This is roughly what the child thought, and from this position I had to influence and raise someone else’s child.

What happened.

First I found out about his first love. This is a slightly different story, but fits well into this story.

While still in Petrozavodsk, when we first plunged into intimate chaos, lighting a cigarette after this embarrassment, we touched on a very deep topic.

— I have to confess something to you.

— Yes.

— Don't be so tense. I just don't want to keep anything secret from you.

— Fine.

— I saw my former love in Krasnodar. Drank. And once again he confessed his love to her. But she's married. And I lost her a long time ago, even before marriage. But this time we sat on a bench near the house and discussed everything once and for all. We have a happy ending with her. There will be nothing more. No tears, snotty speeches, torment or memories. We ended everything on a happy note. It's a great ending when she's married and I found a good girl. Our paths diverge completely and irrevocably.

— You don't love her anymore?

— No. We have a happy ending. I decided.

Like a stone from the soul. Then he told me how throughout his married life with the mother of his child, he loved his school friend. They even saw each other, and every time he got drunk, the marriage was falling apart at the seams precisely because of this girl.

Why is this story here? Here's why.

Many stepmothers have conflicts with poor children of previous marriages because they are reminded of their husband’s past. About how he loved the mother of this child. There, jealousy of the child himself is not far away.

I found out a piquant detail for myself, which I clung to like a life preserver, because before I was very jealous, skillfully hid it, but inside I was all shrinking into a hedgehog.

No matter how much Katerina reminded me of my lover’s ex-wife, I did not feel the least bit of jealousy. Of course, there was something between them, and perhaps it was called love, but you cannot envy this woman, because his heart did not belong to her completely. I wouldn't want to be in such a situation.

His ex-wife has now become an integral part of our life together, she constantly inquires about our daughter, previously asked to influence her daughter, pay for the club, help with medications, pick her up for the summer, and so on. But knowing that she poses no threat to our marriage still warms my soul.

Snezhana, his school love, is so decent and is so far away that she almost ceased to exist for me. She doesn’t call, doesn’t write, doesn’t catch my eye, doesn’t remind me of herself in any way, so I’m calm like a boat in a quiet harbor.

You know, at first I couldn’t understand what to do: do I want to give birth to my own child in order to completely put an end to our love, to confirm it and show everyone: “Look, I am full-fledged.” Or I still wanted to live for myself, in case he also leaves me with the child.

And he could, we even discussed it.

— If you behave the same way, then I will leave you too. And the child is not a hindrance.

— But what about debt, because the child is common.

— I am not a victim to endure a vixen wife just for the sake of some duty. Money — yes, help — yes, but physically nearby — no.

And it sobered me up. Children should not be used as a way to keep a man. Give birth, so much for yourself. But I didn’t want it for myself.

My beloved also shared his secret dream — “to show the child an example of healthy relationships.” It was about the relationship with me and Katerina. I was offended that they wanted to use me to make another person happy, even a child.

I didn’t want to make anyone happy, to show someone an example of a happy relationship and love.

I wanted to be happy myself.

Who understands me? Hands up. Higher so I can see. Thank you, my dears. I'm so touched. Thank you. Lower it, sit down. Low bow to you.

Okay, let's be honest, we're all fucking selfish. We don't care about others if we ourselves have cats scratching our souls. Right?

Or are we able to give love to the whole world by sacrificing ourselves?

Anyway. Then I really felt bad. I had to break myself so as not to show my bitchy essence. I was in a strange city, far from my family, there were no friends, the new ones were all through Vladislav, that is, on his side. They looked at me under a magnifying glass, examining every facial detail, trying to understand whether there was a monster hiding behind that modest smile.

I kept myself under control for a very long time, only occasionally revealing pearls, such as a very quiet domestic quarrel.

I only became a little more confident in myself when we moved to St. Petersburg.

In Krasnodar, I was a girl living in the support of an adult man, raising a capricious girl who came occasionally. Can you imagine?

Damn your leg!

I was under the magnifying glass of his parents and relatives, of him, his colleagues and friends. Damn, I was watched like a wolf in a herd of sheep. Like, when will she show her true colors. When she loses her temper with the child, has a row with Vladislav, leaves and never returns.

It seems to me that they not only expected it, but even wanted it.

But it was not there. I'm a tough nut to crack. (wink juicy)

Now I even remember how I was so carried away that we looked with arrogance at other couples, where the wife shuts up her husband, interrupts in general company, shows character, chats incessantly, and the husband sits in the corner smiling and thinks one of two things:

“Well, well, you are the queen here, you humiliate me here, and then I will go to Nastya (here you can put any other name of your mistress), so she will love and respect me, listen and support me.”

Or.

“She’s right, I’m so cheerful and lively, but I just don’t know how to communicate with people, I don’t like all this noise. Besides, I say all sorts of nonsense, I can’t carry on a conversation.”

Can you imagine?

How often have you seen such a pitiful creature as in the second example? Well, we saw it, okay, but not often.

More often the first option, we just think that we don’t know his thoughts. And they are like that, I’ll tell you. If a woman does not allow a man to speak out, whether in private or in society, then this is the end. No sane person would tolerate such a partner. For what?

I don't condone cheating. It makes more sense to stop her in such a situation. Directly, courageously, honestly, tell your lady that she has gone too far, and that if this happens again, he will leave.

And then keep your promise.

Oh, this is very sobering for a woman. I've been through it. I'll tell you later.

But at that moment, I supported my husband one hundred percent: he spoke, I agreed, sat quietly, laughed at his jokes loudly, sometimes through force (well, he didn’t always joke funny). But she sincerely loved, so everything worked out naturally.

The other couples amused us for a long time, and we saw them as a huge problem. We have become kind of snobs about family happiness. Nobody could figure us out. The husband is the head, the wife is the wise assistant. He is a teacher, she is always on hand, studying and completing tasks and assignments.

“Rude!” — you say.

Naturally. But every woman needs this experience. If a woman never meets a strong man in her entire life who will be frank with her, then she risks remaining a narcissistic idiot, with only mama’s boys hovering around her.

Girls, every time I speak rudely about us, don’t think, this is not for the sake of a nice word, I really think we are like that. Did you think there would be another apology? (Smile).

Okay, we are all beautiful and we have something to prove to men. But what forces us to prove something to them is our lack of self-confidence. If we were more self-sufficient, we wouldn’t have to constantly fight. We could become wiser and play in a common sandbox.

Imagine you are five years old and you go out into the yard to play. Only boys are sitting on the site, they have already built an incredible structure there, an entire city, a railway, they are playing, enthusiastically intercepting enemy forces with partisan detachments. They are having fun.

And here you are? What you are doing?

You may think: “If I don’t go, they’ll drive me away.”

You can also approach them and destroy everything and start building your own doll house. Then you'll probably get beaten if mom isn't around.

You can also sit nearby and admire. Say out loud how much you like what they did. Oh, boys love it just like girls. A minute or two and you will be called to play. They will teach you, tell you what, where. You will become their friend, and then the most interesting interlocutor, friend.

Do you see? If it were a group of girls, would you also choose from three options? Would one hundred percent have acted as in the third? Is not a fact. This is just a society, male or female, it doesn’t matter. And you may think that men are very different from women, they are not.

Yes, there will always be an allowance for sexual desire. If you come to an engineering company in a dress with a low neckline, tight or tight, then perhaps they will give you a helmet without your praises, but they will not allow you to destroy the building. They will fight to the last, as if everyone were of the same sex.

People try to manipulate their sexuality in order to win where a callous cracker would be refused, but I don’t like to do that. There is a great alternative — communication, admiration, understanding. It is this that is often perceived as charm and is what people like so much.

So I survived a whole year in a foreign city in the first serious relationship of my life. I have set and continue to set an example for Ksyusha as a good wife. And in recent months I have been setting an example of a good woman. She is changing, not quite like me (after all, there are others to look up to), but she has grown into a good girl.

Do you know why I separate these concepts?

Oh well, then I won’t stop.

What? I can not hear. Explain?

A good wife and a good woman are not always the same thing.

And the definition of goodness is very vague. In general, if we focus on the two sides of the golden rule, known in every corner of the world in different philosophies, then goodness is not doing to others what you would not want to do to yourself, and doing to others what you would like to do to yourself. I didn't say that. This is great human wisdom.

So a woman is a person, just like a man. And as a person, she desires success, attention, love, recognition of her merits, movement forward, communication, happiness.

The wife wants the same thing, but to a different degree or something different altogether. Love, care, communication, happiness, attention. Achieving victories, recognizing her merits, moving forward is often relegated to the background so that the spouse can achieve this.

Otherwise, the couple breaks up. Only very strong guys can survive this fight.

Lately, every time I consolidate my status as a good wife, I am learning and becoming a good woman.

Do you understand? I want to achieve my personal goals. Star in a wonderful Hollywood movie, fly into space, publish a book that will help millions of women.

"Farewell University"

So, who dropped out of school at least once in their life? Thank you. And who because of the man? Thank you. Put your hand down before strong women throw tomatoes at you.

Look, I don't think this is a mistake. This decision was conscious.

Does anyone regret those who did this?

I think that you, like me, have already justified this action three hundred times.

One day my handsome and smart man told me:

— Come with me to live in Krasnodar

And I told him:

— I can not. I have school, work, friends, and family nearby.

— I can't live here. My home is there. There's nothing keeping me here anymore.

— And I?

— So I want to take you there.

— But I'm not a thing.

— Of course, you are not a thing. Let's mutually decide. If you look at all the pros and cons, pushing the personal aside. It's warm, sunny, and fruit grows there. It's cold, gray and damp here. There is a big city there, opportunities and the same university. You don’t need to work anymore, I will support us. Let's find common friends.

I thought about it. Well, he’s telling the truth.

— OK. But first I need to talk to the dean, my parents, my friends.

— This is all secondary. Your decision first.

— What if it is negative?

— Then we will part.

— Hard.

— How else. I have already decided where I want to live. I even decided who I wanted to live with there. But you have the right to refuse, the choice is yours.

Bastard. No, my love, if you are reading these lines, I’m sorry. But still a bastard. Of course, I made a choice in favor of Krasnodar, and I don’t regret it, but a better solution could have been found.

No, I’m sad not because of my studies, but because now we still live in St. Petersburg, and we could have moved here right away. But that stage was necessary, because Vladislav was wildly homesick for his daughter. And a whole year of regular communication got him drunk for several years to come.

I told my sister first, hoping to gain support from my mother. It's either this way or not at all. If you warn her earlier, then when mom starts to panic, the sister is already ready with an artillery of arguments.

I remember this conversation.

— What? Is this really love?

— Yes. I love him very much.

— OK.

I don’t even remember the conversation with my mother. Apparently everything went smoothly. She was worried, of course, but I didn’t give up studying yet.

But my dad is a businessman, he came from afar.

— Isn’t there a war there in the Caucasus? There were hot spots there. Krasnodar is close to Chechnya. Isn't that where you got it from?

It was so funny but cute. Vladislav and I laughed later when I found out that he was born in Alma-Ata, and his parents were from Sakhalin.

I packed my things, gave the furniture to a friend, and went.

My classmates didn’t want to let me go and were immediately offended, especially Gleb. But then I still believed that I would be transferred to Krasnodar.

Since no one cares about desperate lovers, the dean of the new university refused to accept me for the same course:

— So what, did you move after your husband? The mark sheet is good, yes. But there are no places. Either you pay for your course, or on a budget, but again for the fourth.

— I can't pay. I'm on a budget. (Here, of course, I was cunning, Vladislav offered help, I did not want to accept). Take me to the fifth year.

— I can not. Not my whim. There are no seats.

This stubborn sheep, may he hear my words, did not agree, even though I knocked on the threshold of the institute every day for a month.

And then I gave up, changed my mind and quit.

In addition, I then read an incredible book that illuminated my mind, clouded by medicine, and decided not to be a doctor quite consciously.

This is not Vladislav's decision, girls. It was I who drove myself into circumstances that, like a syringe, pushed me to new horizons.

Not once in all these years have I regretted not having a medical degree, just as I don’t regret seven years of education. This knowledge helps me in life, but does not keep me within limits, which is great.

If the situation had been the same with the Faculty of Law or Economics, the solution would have been the same; I found my way in a different way.

Now I am already an experienced leader, online coach, writer, actress, and I have only those areas of activity ahead of me that I want to do.

Do you know how I got into medicine in the first place? Coin. Yes, that's right, a coin.

I dreamed of enrolling in theater, but the eleventh grade was only in my seventeenth year, so my parents said that they would not let me go to St. Petersburg until I came of age. I was indignant, but agreed.

I wanted to go somewhere where I could while away a couple of years and not waste my time. You know, serve your sentence with benefit.

After a lot of research, I eliminated almost everything except training to become a midwife and a lawyer. Both here and there for three years, it was never less. For a long time, I hoped to get a minimum education, appease my elderly parents, and then conquer the world.

That year, testing was just introduced, thanks to which it was possible not to take entrance exams. And voila, thanks to my school scores, I passed, was admitted, and were ready to be accepted into both educational institutions.

Well, at that time I did not yet understand the value and importance of the knowledge that I would receive, so I did not seriously approach the issue of choice.

The coin decided for me.

“Oh, medical. Great. So, I’ll study here.”

How did the medical help (as I realized later) help me. Knowledge of the anatomy of the genital organs. Knowing where the clitoris is and what it can do. Complete knowledge of the entire reproductive system of women and men. Menstrual cycle. Which hormones affect what? Diseases of the genitourinary system, what are the symptoms, how to treat, diagnose and how to prevent.

Pelvic floor muscles: what they can strengthen and how. Why are there painful periods? Why is sex painful? How to examine your genitals for size and prolapse. How to assess muscle tone.

How to check your breasts for tumors. What affects its elasticity?

How to cope with PMS.

Contraception and everything about it. And so on.

Three years of training to become a midwife were some of the coolest, I learned about myself as a woman. Then I clearly decided that I was in no hurry to get pregnant and give birth, although before that I had already thought about having children, for example, at twenty-five.

There in college, for the first time in the light of day, I examined and touched the penis, although it was a dummy, which needed a catheter, but I had to go through a lot of embarrassment.

He's such a nasty little guy with no erection. How do you insert a tube into an erect penis? No way. Therefore, anatomists decided to make a dummy closer to reality. Well, at least they would have made it a bigger size to please the students. They also added these stupid hairs to make it look more natural.

The second time I had to come into contact with the penis (that’s the correct way to say it in medical terms) was in an emergency hospital. We were taken through the wards and forced to do a full examination of the patients in all hard-to-reach places, including. I put on gloves, and my partner and I began to study the homeless man.

Yes, an alcoholic from the street. Washed, but still with the most terrible aroma, because no one will cure his teeth under insurance. We handled him delicately. And we had almost finished studying the spots on the skin when the professor came in:

— What are you talking about here?

— We're done.

— Not true. Undress him. And examine all PARTS of his body.

He emphasized the word “parts” in such a way as not to confuse us even more by pronouncing “penis” to the entire men’s ward.

The patient took off his family books and I once again looked pitifully at the elderly teacher.

— Forward! — he commanded.

I carefully took its wrinkled pod and lifted it up. And there… On his scrotum…

There was nothing. I took another look. Then my partner took a closer look. Nothing.

We looked questioningly at the professor. And he just threw up his hands?

— We haven’t found it now, but next time you will.

Of course, later he explained what discovery he was talking about, because my classmates found a tick right there. And only at that moment my shame passed.

And before that, I thought I was filming a porn nightmare, “Games with a Bum.”

Or no, better “Find the treasure in the scrotum of a homeless man.”

Great years. Unforgettable. I’m still silent about completely “non-sexual” activities: for example, an autopsy after a stroke, or surgery for hemorrhoids.

Wonderful time.

Okay, just kidding. Seventy percent of the years are wasted. I consider thirty percent of the squeeze useful, as I already said, but it could have taken two years in total, and not seven damn (I’m repeating myself, sorry) years.

I never entered the theater school. Do I regret it? Yes. Do I blame my parents? No. I'm correcting mistakes. I'm studying now. I'm heading for a blockbuster.

So ladies. In this chapter I intend to enlighten you. Well, it’s not for nothing that I absorbed this wisdom so much. Let me share with you the most intimate secrets of the human body.

Pour some tea, it will be exciting.

Now I will immerse you in the world of your vagina:

Vagina is the Latin name for the vagina. It is often confused with the vulva — the external genitalia of a woman. Apparently, because both words are feminine, have three syllables, and begin with “B.”

But let's figure it out. You can remember this: “where the soft sign is, there is the clitoris,” you won’t be confused anymore.

Of course, I had a case when a sexual partner put his pepper in the wrong place for his wife, but he didn’t get it wrong, it was petting. He came from behind and penetrated between the labia, rested on the clitoris, and with her hand she created the illusion of a canal.

In her words, an incredible feeling.

Well, we've sorted out the concepts. Now let's look at what is in the vagina and not in the vulva, and vice versa.

The female reproductive apparatus is not very different from the male. Just one more organ.

Well look:

Penis — clitoris (part of the vulva)

Scrotum — labia (part of the vulva)

Prostate — Uterus.

Testicles — ovaries

I spread my hands — Vagina.

The vagina is needed for childbirth, just like the uterus, right. Through it, the sperm enters the uterus, and a new person comes out.

Then how does a woman have an orgasm? It's simple. Just like a man — with his penis.

Yes, our clitoris is small on the outside, but inside its legs reach the entrance to the vagina, which is why many people think that they have a vaginal orgasm.

Okay, now everything has fallen into place, it’s very clear and even easier to live. However…

More than eighty percent of women do not orgasm during sex, or at all. More on this later, in another chapter.

Let's consider our vagina.

This is a hollow, but with closed walls, tube that opens only during penetration of the penis, speculum, child, or dildo. To prevent bacteria from penetrating into the internal environment of the body through the cervix, it is kept closed.

If you want to examine it, wash your hands thoroughly, trim your nails, or wear a sterile glove. This is the right thing to do, you need to get to know yourself, but don’t forget about hygiene.

Many of you are now wincing or experiencing internal disgust. “A finger in a place where everything is so smooth, slippery, in folds? God forbid I get hurt."

Think correctly, but don’t confuse your feelings.

The fear of injury can be easily removed with the help of a thin latex glove. Dislike for your genitals is another thing. Realize that the body you have is yours. It cannot be replaced with someone else’s, it cannot be exchanged with someone. What you have now cannot be changed, start loving your possessions.

Wanted a penis, but got a vagina? Well, I'll tell you, no one gave you anything. They took it themselves. Therefore, please be happy with your choice.

I'm not talking about God or my parents. I mean that everything in our lives, including metaphysical processes that concern us, are solely the result of our decision. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a conscious decision or one that we have forgotten about and deny, it’s still our decision. Proven.

OK. So you put on a sterile glove and carefully, without sudden movements, begin to examine yourself. You should not think that discomfort caused by shyness and pain are equivalent things. Only stop testing if there is real pain. If there is no pain, lie in bed, turn on music that relaxes you, and slowly become friends with a part of your body. She's yours. You are her mistress.

The clitoris is another organ that also belongs to you. This is the part of the vulva, the stimulation of which causes mind-blowing pleasure. Do you think that since he is a source of pleasure, he controls you?

No, you definitely think so.

Not out loud, but it seems to you that he is in command. Like a man's penis.

You know, such a small dude, a rudiment of a penis, a kind of masculinity in us.

They say we didn’t want it, but they gave it to us.

So a woman should only receive seminal fluid with the help of a hollow tube on the way to the uterus, then bear an heir to her husband, and finally give birth. And then suddenly it turns out that she also has a penis. And that she can cum no worse than a man.

Well, no, what are you talking about, these are all the machinations of the devil. Certainly Eve and the early women of the Bible did not have such a thing. It was then that someone’s labia mutated and their skin grew on top of the opening of the urethra.

Just an evolutionary error, a satanic creation, a genetic mutation of alien forces.

Brad, really?

A woman is not a reproductive robot. This is a man. The human body of both sexes experiences orgasm.

The clitoris is not a rudiment of the penis; in my opinion, it is a real penis that does not need to be inserted into anyone, and looks more aesthetically pleasing than a man’s.

There is no need to be ashamed of him. Take a mirror and take a good look at this beauty. This thing is yours. It was not slipped to you by accident. You chose it yourself.

Do you know how it could be?

You are so sexless, wandering around somewhere in space, I don’t know, in the clouds, in the hardware market.

— Here are some. Brown, pink, white, curved, S, M, L, XL

— Oh! What's so cute about this?

— And this is the clitoris, small, but the effect is the same.

— How much it costs?

— Just a vagina, a uterus and painful childbirth to boot.

— Hm. Is it possible without them?

— Only if you choose those “Georgians.”

— I don’t want “Georgians”, they are funny. Let's make it more expensive.

That's about it. Well, I'm lost here. Someone could have had such a conversation.

— …Only if you choose those “Georgians”.

— Come on, they're cheaper. I will tell everyone that this is the latest fashion, this thing is the coolest.

Men, sorry, this is a book for women, your insults will not be accepted.

Girls, stop considering yourself a scum of evolution or a devilish creature. Your penis is no worse than a man's. He is just as sensitive, he can erect and cum no less often than a man.

And don't look at the fact that there is no sperm, it is needed as part of the process of childbirth, just like your uterus.

For pleasure you need two penises and their stimulation, that’s all.

Ideally, when inserting the penis, the clitoris is excited by the friction of its legs at the entrance to the vagina.

But this doesn’t happen for everyone, and you have to stimulate the hood itself with your fingers and tongue so that both partners get what they want.

Therefore, perceive your clitoris as a dignity no worse and no less than that of the stronger half of humanity. I guarantee you, your self-confidence will increase exponentially.

Menstrual cycle and hormones.

This is another part that you and I don't fully understand.

Let's go in order.

A cycle is something closed, going in a circle.

In the dictionary, this is a set of any phenomena, processes, or works that complete a complete circle of development over a period of time. (Greek kyklos, lit. wheel)

That is, between bleeding there is something else that happens in the body and we do not see it. Otherwise, our periods could be called recurring bleeding.

But inside the body preparations for conception are taking place. And every month it is the same.

The uterus has opened and is sitting there waiting, folding its arms and looking down the tube.

The ovaries are as follows:

— I’m on duty this month, and you take a rest.

— Agreed. (and started snoring)

He sits sculpting the egg, growing it in the follicle, like a teacher over a schoolboy during an exam. He knows that the bell is about to ring, and the student will run away headlong towards adventure.

This is all the first phase of the cycle. Follicular. It has its own set of hormones.

Then comes the second — ovulation. This is the moment when the uterus is already impatient, fidgets in the chair, bites its nails, and cheers for its own.

He looks towards the pipe with his palms up.

Ovary, saddened: his best student has just run away from class. Well, at least I passed the exam with an A. A healthy egg came out of the follicle.

The sperm did not come. Like a pimply teenager, she went home crying. Or maybe like a beauty imprisoned by a dragon, if the pipes are sealed.

Or maybe the guys came, but were too weak to charm the girl. Or worse, she has allergies.

During ovulation, the body is controlled by other hormones. Their composition is the same, the leadership is different.

The third phase begins — Luteal.

Ovary has covered the desk of the runaway student with a yellow bow and won’t let anyone in there anymore. Therefore, there are no more eggs. Our teacher is simply losing students and, strangely enough, is not recruiting new students.

Let us also remember that the uterus was upset: a cookie, and not a fertilized egg, fell into her palms.

She sobs bloody tears all week until she cleanses herself and again raises her gaze towards the ovary.

In this phase, the kings of the evening, hormones are aimed at cleansing the body.

However. If the boys turned out to be daring, and our graduate was friendly, then fertilization will take place. And the uterus will finally receive the long-awaited gift. She will spend nine months nurturing her beloved sun until she gives the world a child.

Then the menstrual cycle is interrupted and begins only after childbirth. During pregnancy, hormones are controlled by completely different forces.

Well, how do you like the allegory? Did you explain it clearly?

I have never felt sorry for my “upset” uterus. Because this is just a fairy tale to better understand the difficult to understand menstrual cycle.

The organs do not have any emotions. We give it to them ourselves.

Recently, for example, I began to imagine how, during menstruation, my uterus tap dances in joy that nothing fell on her head.

And what? This is also possible.

"Poverty and luxury."

Let's digress a little from the topic of sex and talk about…

Well, it's still about sex. There is no way to get away from it, because your state of mind affects sexual arousal. And poverty and wealth greatly change our mood.

You know, I just attacked my acting teacher and wrote him a whole tirade. Do you think I would have allowed myself this if I weren’t wealthy? Unlikely. If only she were a hysterical person, which, of course, I am not.

Here, in fact, is the letter.

"Alexei. I held on. But I am forced to speak out.

I came not for a stick, but for a result. I want to learn, not be beaten. I want my teacher to motivate me, and not completely shave off my efforts. I spent two days poring over this dialogue. I gave it my all.

Now my hands have given up.

I'm not going to change my goal, I'm going to move towards Hollywood. I had a dream and I won’t give it up at the first difficulty.

But I won’t let myself be devalued.

Capricious? No. Purposeful and persistent, yes. I also write books (you said that you write). Yes, I haven’t published it in print yet, but it’s on the Internet — if you just enter my first and last name, I’ll be in the top 30 on 25 points. And I’m on my way to writing what will be published. I also manage a network of medical centers, I am a personal brand coach for doctors, I have a high CI, and good erudition. And I wouldn’t have achieved what I have in life now if I hadn’t been so persistent.

I want to give you confirmation that you are talented and you have so much experience.

And I heard your point about why people react to ratings. It has its place. I have my own point of view on this.

No matter how people react to evaluations, it is necessary to reward the right actions and discourage the wrong ones. Otherwise the person gets confused.

I can live with any sensation, I am trained in life.

No. I don’t want the teacher I choose, no matter how great he is, to withhold encouragement.

Don't abstain. I’m not arrogant, and I won’t feel crowned if you give confirmation of what was actually done well.

Then the disadvantages will not be perceived so harshly, and you will want to correct them.

I hope I got my point across. Thank you."

We women must be able to stand up for ourselves. And I understand that the results of my activities give me self-confidence.

I see the luxurious life that I have managed to earn over the past three years, and I understand that I did it. I! “Who's great? I’m great (quote).”

You see, there is no reason to consider yourself a loser if you don’t have money yet.

But how else do you measure your ability to change the world? Right. Only by changes in this world.

If a person is honest and did not steal money, but earned it, then most likely he can make some changes in the world. If people are also grateful to him for this, then he did a very good job. If they paid him a lot, then this means that he is great.

For me, the luxury that my husband and I have achieved helps a lot in life. Solve, for example, such questions in an acting course.

It also helps in family life and sex.

When I'm broke, all I think about is where to get money, what to buy food for.

And when my main problems are solved, my basic needs are satisfied, I can think about high things.

True, about the lofty. I don't consider sex a basic need.

And you?

If it is necessary for your head to be empty of pressing problems, then apparently this means something.

Sex is admiration for your partner, I read from wise people. So how can this then be a need at the level of eating? No, of course, “Eat Me” may have quite an erotic connotation. But in general, we don’t eat our partner.

It turns out that in order to turn off thoughts during coitus (I will sometimes call it that), you need to solve everything that can attract attention to itself.

Well then you can go to the monastery. Honestly. You can't solve all the problems in the world.

Do you really think about all the problems in sex? And how to save children in Ethiopia, and will Elon Musk be able to fly everyone to the moon?

No, for the most part, we think about the mundane, about what is happening right now.

You say:

— Well, it's not always a question of money.

— True, however, money could solve this problem.

“I just don’t have anyone to leave my child at home with tomorrow.”

— Yeah. If you had money, you would hire the best nanny.

— My husband’s passport has expired, but he needs to fly to another country.

— For work?

— Yes.

— Change the ticket.

— I can not. A delegation is waiting there for major negotiations.

— If you have money, then: A) you will skip these negotiations without much damage to yourself, B) you will agree that a colleague will do this for you, send him there at your own expense, C) you will find an agency that will legally do it for you passport in a short time.

— It turns out that money decides everything?

— Almost all.

I'm not talking about difficult times now, such as serious illness or loss. At such moments, you should not have sex, otherwise you will generally feel disgusted with it in the future.

Is this commercialism? Maybe I'm too focused on finances, and with my dear paradise and in the hut?

Or maybe the option is to live in a tent or hut in Bali and constantly meditate?

Well, you first need to buy a ticket to Bali, and also live there for something.

Can a person without money and without a fixed place of residence experience admiration in sex and orgasms?

Probably if he has already descended to the level of the animal and completely turned off the motzk. Well, that is, he never thinks about anything at all, except “where to drink.” Then, most likely, he will lose his excitement. It's hard to come during withdrawal, I guess.

The extreme option is a midas man who is so greedy that he always doesn’t have enough money. He doesn't treat them as a means to solve problems, he loves them themselves. More, more, more, just to be there, you know?

There are extremes, and between them there is a scale. And it’s optimal to be so well off that you’re active and have enough to cover the necessary expenses so you don’t have to worry about it during sex.

Let's play. You will tell me problems, I will tell you how they can be solved with money.

— I caught a cold, but if I take sick leave, I’ll be fired. Small children, no husband, no parents either. Friends are working.

— Take sick leave at your own expense, and at this time look for another job through the network. Invite a nanny and a housekeeper to look after you, feed you, and go to the pharmacy.

— The country house burned down, there was no insurance.

— Hire a good lawyer and investigator to find out the cause of the fire, find the person responsible and get money from him for the house.

— I parked in the wrong place, the car was taken away by a tow truck.

— Pick it up, pay and don’t put it anywhere else.

— They fired me from their feeding position, now there will be no such income.

— Well, you are lying. If you worked there efficiently and well, then your reputation would allow you to quickly find a good place. If you worked poorly, then urgently buy yourself courses with the saved-up money, so that you don’t make such mistakes again and continue to work well. You have to pay for mistakes, and therefore you need accumulated funds. Once you learn, you will no longer wonder about work. You will find the same cool one again, or return this one.

More? OK then. Did you like it. Write me letters about how you managed to solve a household problem with the help of money.

— A nephew or son is on the verge of expulsion from the University.

— Pay the dean. (No, I’m kidding of course, it’s immoral, and I never do that). Find out what's wrong with the child. If he is a drug addict, send him to Narconon, it is expensive, but effective and no psychiatrists. If he wants to change his activity, and here he does not realize himself in any way, transfer him to a place where he will realize himself. If he wants to study here, then send him to a two-day “Learn to Learn” course, after which you can show the dean that the boy has changed, understood the principle of learning, and return to the course.

— What if they don’t take it anyway?

— Here I would recommend that you and your son take another course, “Communication is Joy.” And then you both can convince the dean.

At twenty-three, I still didn’t know about such a course (in case you want to remind me of my failure).

You know, I understand each of you. I see your problems as my own. By the way, I actually visited many of them.

Therefore, do not throw me out of the clan as a boastful snob. I'm the same.

For example, one day my husband and I separated because of money.

We borrowed two and a half million rubles and found ourselves in a situation where we didn’t get what we wanted, but we couldn’t give it back either, because we’d spent it all and didn’t earn any new ones.

We then had sex mechanically, rarely, and constantly fought in between.

— It's all because of you.

— What are you talking about? And who begged me to take out loans?

“You’re an adult, you wouldn’t want to,” he refused.

— Yes? You are so smart now. Does this mean I have to take the rap? And you say you’re not in business. How to borrow debts from people, you're good. How should I be responsible for them? Should I immediately?

— Fuck you! — She went there herself and for a long time.

Oh, that was great! We were hot and brave then. Unbridled and passionate.

Is this how they usually show foreplay before wild sex in novels?

This is all untrue. At such moments, you are not passionate, but offended, angry, with a sour expression and emptiness inside.

You've probably seen how after this in films people throw themselves at each other and they have real passion.

So, as an option, the heroes managed to forgive each other and realize love in a split second. But ninety-nine percent of the time it's just staged. This is the idea of the director, screenwriter, and that’s it.

I've seen couples like this together. At first they forgave each other after a quarrel before coitus, and then they stopped doing this, as a result, love disappeared, sex disappeared, they got divorced.

My husband and I did not survive this moment then. Still, they broke up. It was two thousand and twelve. I clearly understood that if it weren’t for the issue of money, we would have managed it.

There is one more nuance. This is such a thing as possession. Well, that is, how much can you generally afford to have.

Looking now at my internal capabilities and abilities, I understand that if I had borrowed another five million back then, we would have achieved the goal, realized it, realized ourselves, earned money, increased the figure and repaid the debt. And most importantly, they wouldn’t quarrel and break up.

Does it sound scary?

Few people think like that.

I didn’t have enough gunpowder and self-confidence then, although later I saw a lot of examples of people not giving up and winning.

Do you know why I was hysterical, why I panicked?

My cousin was killed in St. Petersburg the year before. He was only forty, an entrepreneur, husband and father of a small son, he fell under someone’s hand, and I don’t even know what happened there.

My mother constantly reminded me of Vita. For her, my move to the City of Broken Lanterns turned out to be a huge stress. And we both succumbed to the influence.

Every time we talked on the phone, she told me: “Be careful.”

And she is a mother, you can understand her, but it is completely unimportant to synchronize with her emotionally.

If I hadn’t tried to prove to her then that Peter was safe, I would have looked at things more soberly.

I would buy an expensive suit, a car, and visit investors looking for investments in my incredible talent, IQ, and acumen.

Well, like many others, I gave up. Do you recognize yourself? Which one of you here has balls of steel? And who, like me, is a coward and lives according to the practice for years, afraid to stick his nose out?

Do not be afraid. I managed it anyway and went for the second approach.

I then returned Vladislav after about a month. We talked a lot, and I apologized. Girls, at such a moment, you need to realize that a man will not hear you until you apologize athousand times. Even if you are right a hundred times, if it is actually mutual fault, do not even try to explain it to him.

Useless.

First we apologize, openly, honestly, eye to eye, then we listen to all the shortcomings, disadvantages and what infuriates him. And finally we fix it. No need to argue. That's all later. Then, when he loves you again, trusts you, when he starts to hear you again, maybe after six months or a year, you will begin to express your point of view on the events that happened, gently and reasonably, gradually, not at once.

This trick will only work for you if you really love your man and want to be with him. You should completely forget about your grievances. For a while, of course. You can write them down in your diary so that you can return to this conversation in a year, and until then forget it.

Are you laughing? Me too. But, it worked for me twice.

We all agreed on the same debts. It was necessary to somehow resolve the issue in order to live peacefully further, and only then have sex.

We listed all our debts, highlighted those that need to be paid monthly and those that we can handle. With the rest, of course, not creditors, we agreed that we would return it no earlier than in a year or two.

And they started working. My husband found a profitable business and I joined. After two years, we actually paid off all our debts and bought a car. They also started investing in charity again.

Relationships were restored, love became stronger, life got a little better.

"Flirting."

Flirting is a special type of betrayal that you should pay attention to as a trigger. This, of course, is not yet betrayal itself, but it is already close.

Who has never flirted in your life while being paired with another partner, stand up, I will give you a medal. We will all applaud and add you to the Red Book.

And we, earthly sinners, will continue to discuss bad deeds.

Kidding.

Flirting is a special way for a woman to feel attractive and sexy. When her libido is off the charts, it would be better for her husband to notice this and start flirting with her. Not openly, of course, he declared: “let’s go to bed,” but he was flirting.

We don't like monotony. The same man with the same approaches: “baby, you’re so sexy today, let’s go to bed” is bland, just like we are boring for them, probably when we don’t try to prettify ourselves and play different roles a little.

So, if a woman’s panties are stuck to the ceiling from another man, good luck, this is a bell. Not because we have a free-spirited nature, but because some other male representative turned out to be more charismatic than ours.

In the rented apartment where my husband and I lived in the poor twelfth year, a neighbor lived permanently. A tall eighteen-year-old guy with wild narcissism and good looks.

It seemed to me that he fell in love with me and every now and then he stopped himself from making any hints about the relationship between us, because I was busy.

I allowed myself to see him as a man, not a child, and flirt a little. What did all this lead to?

One evening, when my husband was on a business trip, I couldn’t get through on the phone.

And finally, at the other end of the phone, I hear the voice of a drunken Vladislav:

— I most likely won’t come again. I'm fine. Be happy. Bye.

I suddenly wanted to take a rock (not a rolling pin) and scratch his head. I was so angry. Did he really not have the courage to say everything to my face, to leave me sober? Finally, listen.

I lit a cigarette and cursed out loud. Mark saw me on the balcony upset and so defenseless that his instinct to take care of the poor woman took over.

We hugged, I shared a cigarette with him:

— Let's go to the bar.

— But my father won’t let me. (He was, it seems, not yet eighteen then)

— I'll agree. I pay for everything too.

— Then, of course, yes. “The guy’s eyes shone, and I felt like an old slut, even though I was only twenty-five.

Would it be cheating if we slept together then? No, because they abandoned me.

But that would be an act of pedophilia, and I didn’t want to go to prison at all.

The boy, you know, was already hardened, dating a married woman and various others. Sex had become firmly established in his life by that time. But I knew myself. Firstly, I didn’t want to break the law. Secondly, if it later turned out that Vladislav finally changed his mind about leaving, then how would I carry such a burden on myself.

The mom of exactly the same guy ruined everything in the same way. His parents had been arguing for a long time and everything was heading towards a breakup. They even voiced this intention to each other. And a fifty-year-old woman, a mother of four children, took on a lover.

Later, when everything became clear, she and her husband divorced, but her husband kept saying that if it weren’t for the betrayal, there was still a chance for recovery.

I remember his words perfectly. That's why I never even decided to kiss Mark.

We had a great game of billiards, drank whiskey, had a heart-to-heart chat, and then took a taxi home drunk.

I felt good, I forgot, not a single tear fell the whole evening. Perhaps I even made it up, and the guy just wanted to be a friend. But I know one hundred percent that if I had given free rein to my hormones, sex would have happened.

A woman usually doesn’t have to spend much time persuading a man who is interested in her.

David, remember, first love, was not interested in me, and it was obvious. Here they looked at me with admiration, their mouths slightly open.

The next day I decided to avoid him. Since then, we have become very distant, which Mark obviously didn’t like, but he didn’t have the courage to admit. Although there was a case when he deliberately, knowing that I was the first of the neighbors to return from work, sat at home naked at the table. He pretended to be surprised and went to put on his pants. However, I forever understood that there was still flirting. It ended with this incident, but it definitely happened.

"Marriage."

“How to marry a millionaire”, “Ten ways to get married”, “Three sure tips for marriage” and so on.

Now the shelves in bookstores are full of such “works.” Some people write robots. You know, programs are simply compiled from different books, and then the author adds a little soul to it so that it looks realistic and there is no plagiarism.

The same applies to any motivating books. So don’t be too fooled if you bought one of these and it didn’t work for you.

But, I will make a reservation, this is better than doing nothing at all towards the goal. You can at least lie in her direction.

You know, after lighting a cigarette, take a pumping book and read it from cover to cover. And then go out into the street, grab the first millionaire you come across by the breasts and marry yourself with various tricks.

Until you marry yourself, everything else is just theater, girls.

If you haven’t put yourself in the shoes of your ideal man and looked at yourself through his eyes, then everything else is a circus.

— I don’t want to change for anyone.

— In terms of?

— Well, I'm not going to change for the sake of some guy.

— Do you want to marry a peasant woman, or an ideal representative of the opposite sex?

— Second option.

— OK. Then another question: for whom would you change?

— For my own sake.

— Deluxe. We mathematically deduce that if you were a man yourself, would you change for your own sake? For someone so capricious, with a potbelly, cellulite, sometimes lazy, who doesn’t know how to cook, who feels great in a mess and lack of money, who is demanding of others, but not of herself? List further? Have you already imagined such a husband?

Now you laugh, but I was like that, and I also saw about a hundred such free and independent women who allowed themselves to be mediocre, but wanted an ideal husband, so that he would also love him as he is.

My colleague was like this. Two meters tall, “suffering” from excess weight. Why in quotes? Because she didn’t suffer, didn’t make any real efforts to lose weight, she just tried and then gave up.

She wanted a man taller than herself, athletic, smart, kind, and a non-drinker.

She only came across idiots who matched the description, but who ran away as soon as her heart sank. Yes, by the age of thirty-five she had already earned herself a bad heart.

Would she want to marry a doughy, sick man who doesn’t want to reduce the amount of food and sugar he eats, who justifies his fatness with all sorts of reasons, who is so sick that if he dies one day during sex, then problems with the police can’t be avoided?

No. One hundred percent.

Look at yourself now if you are not yet married. And describe your ideal man. Enter the mind of this image and look at yourself through its eyes. If you are satisfied with everything about yourself, ok, read motivational books and go ahead to “conquer Everest.”

If at least something bothers you, for example, that you behave indecently in society, swear like a cobbler, drink to excess, dress vulgarly and tastelessly, then remember the movie “Pretty Woman”.

Richard Gere's character would not have dated such a woman, and his infatuation and passion would not have turned into love if he had not seen that this woman was capable of changing. That she is capable of being a lady when circumstances require it. That she's getting better.

In addition, the heroine of Julia Roberts turned out to be quite modest and honest, open and kind at heart, which is rarely seen among real moths. Therefore, if anger lives in you and men are just a bag of money for you, then it’s worth doing my trick. Enter the mind of your ideal man and find something in yourself that is worth changing. And then mentally marry yourself.

You can even play out a toy wedding and have fun at home with your friends. Look at yourself through the eyes of the groom.

How did I marry my boyfriend? I'll tell you now.

Even though we were already known as a married couple among our friends, I still felt insecure.

How was this expressed?

He was still my teacher. I remained in the role of a little guy next to the master. I had already stopped greedily looking into his mouth, catching every word like diamonds, I had reached a level where I could do something myself, I learned to bring income to our common company at four million rubles a month, but I still received lyulei, like an obstinate subordinate, constantly demanding something.

Then, in two thousand and sixteen, it seemed to me that for my merits at work, I could demand to register our marriage.

Where is the logic? There is no logic. It's funny, but at the time everything seemed very reasonable. I was like a fighter. I worked twenty-four to seven, trying to curry favor with the boss, instead of devoting time to relationships, loving him, understanding him, communicating and leading him to the decision to get married.

He is one of those who, having been burned once, does not want a second time. You know, like Mr. Big from the movie Sex and the City. My man didn’t want his second wife to go crazy after the wedding, so that she would go crazy with happiness that she had finally saddled the zealous stallion.

With tears in my eyes, I assured that I would not become like that. Do you know what my mistake was? I didn’t marry myself then.

I couldn’t imagine that I have a young wife who works hard for my subordinates, then returns home tired and angry, doesn’t want to have sex, or does it without a soul. Doesn't cum. Forgive me for my directness, but it seems to me that we have already become close friends here and have thrown away all boundaries of decency. Such a wife is constantly tense, rarely and poorly cooks due to lack of time, does not play sports and has neglected herself a little, dresses robotically, without excitement or zest, constantly growls at her employees like a Cerberus, and then complains to me about everyone. Sometimes he throws hysterics and asks for understanding.

You know, Vladislav then proposed to me and married me. But after three months we separated. He forced himself to reward the employee, not his woman. The roles are mixed up. After all, it was wise to give a bonus to a subordinate and leave. And calm the wife down, smooth her, revive her femininity and wait until she loves herself. And then propose to your wife.

Then the breakup would not have happened. Because we were both on edge. Perhaps it would take years of rest to consciously decide on marriage. We forced events and forcibly signed.

And in our case, this still played into my hands (later I’ll tell you what I’m talking about), but it brought harm to many others in the same situation; they separated in the first three years of marriage.

People should become better for their sweethearts, meaning that they are doing it for themselves.

And in the end, look at this: if you have become better, others will begin to look at you, not just your man, they will begin to envy him, many would like such a wife.

And if, after ten years of marriage, nurturing yourself, improving, you suddenly find yourself alone, divorced or widowed, then other men will stand in line and you will choose the best of them.

You definitely won't be left alone.

It’s even better if the divorced husband remains a friend and praises you to his friends.

Then Brad Pitt himself may choose you as his wife, or the one you have dreamed of since childhood, thinking it was unrealistic.

When I hire a new employee, I always find out from his former employers what kind of results this guy brought to them. And I take it only if there is a confirmed significant result.

Likewise, people should choose their spouses.

If he throws mud at his ex, he will most likely do the same after you break up.

If he praises her, but is no longer in love, then firstly, the same will happen in your attitude. Secondly, apparently she was a good woman.

— How did she influence you?

— Well, I was just a builder. And she believed in me. And now I have a construction company.

— Excellent result.

If he had told this on her social network (although someone would say “this is ridiculous”), then the poor girl would no longer be like that, she immediately began to be in demand, and being selective about this issue, she married the director at least, and maybe a major investor, young and sexy, faithful and doting on her.

Married girls, now ask your boyfriend a question: “How did I help you?” If you know the answer, but he is silent, then something is wrong. Either you crossed out all your achievements with constant criticism and reminding him of your merits, or you really didn’t do anything.

It's time to change, ladies, that's what I tell myself. It is advisable to marry yourself every day to remind yourself to become a better person.

Here, by the way, it is important not to overdo it, otherwise especially impressionable people will begin to reproach themselves for imperfection.

It’s not worth it, I’m not a tyrant to drive you into complexes. I'm on your side. I also have cellulite. I come from a poor family and have achieved everything in this life through my own labor, and not through the money of my parents or husband.

By the way, we were both broke when we started living together in Krasnodar. He was in a financial crisis then, I just believed in him and that’s all.

So, if any of you now snorted, saying that she allows herself to force us to be something for the sake of someone who may be cheating on me, or will betray me in marriage, who is not ideal himself, then let’s do it again I’ll write figuratively.

Here you have an image of an ideal. He is unconditionally loyal to you, decency itself and there is nothing to complain about (by your standards). Of course you're fine with the fact that he farts occasionally (oh, my favorite word in this book, the editor will say), but he doesn't have any flaws that annoy you personally.

Now you see a real man. You check. Almost there. But how it really is, life will show. You imagined a drawn image, placed it like a mask on your beloved, and moved in there.

Where?

In the mask.

Look at yourself from the mask. Is it good? Or are these lumps in the eyes a little embarrassing? Ok, I’ll take care of myself and carry a mirror in my purse. Does he cry often? It is unpleasant. Then I’ll take courses to become more resilient to other people’s words and insults. I'll stop crying over trifles. And so on.

Then you live together. You are so cool, but cool for whom? For that mask that was pulled on the guy. And he, seeing such a princess next to him, will start what? Pull yourself up to the ideal that you have attached to it. This is also called, believing in a person, seeing his potential, giving beingness.

And when such a person still could not stand it due to some base impulses and betrayed you, then you boldly take this mask from him and put it on someone else. And this man will lose the treasure. And moreover, they will speak well of you.

Do not confuse this with a situation where the wife is hysterical and proves that she is a superwife. I'm talking about real princesshood.

Such an adulterer will even leave his apartment to you after marriage, so that his beloved, whom he upset so much, will not be left homeless. He will try to be on your level and act like a gentleman.

The girls, once again, are not to be confused with a person who did nothing but look down on her husband, reproach him and behave like a queen with her servants.

Such a woman idolized her husband, realizing that he was earthly and imperfect. And even after betrayal, she knows her worth, does not humiliate him, helps him get out of the situation, forgives him, and calmly divorces him with friends. She receives his financial support, decent treatment and admiration in conversations with others.

Well, you say, I turned it down. There are no such things.

It happens, I saw it myself. At least three of these women are very happy in their new marriages and maintain relationships with their exes. They are carried in their arms, doors are opened for them, their hands are kissed and they are extolled in conversation with friends.

They are cheerful, glowing with happiness, idolizing their husbands.

And what about me? Yes, I strive to become better, I’m not a hundred percent princess yet, because sometimes a man wakes up in me anyway, who wants to burp or walk around unshaven, make fun of my husband or be offended like a teenager.

But all this is forgiven when the desire and how I change is visible.

So, I see you are tired of lecturing and moralizing.

OK. Let's play. Now you take your phone and set the camera to your height. Turn towards yourself.

And that’s it, start making faces, being yourself, to the fullest, dancing, singing. You won't show this to anyone. Burp, blow your nose, fart, scratch yourself, laugh as hard as you love, cry, get angry, swear like a cobbler, spit.

The task is to break away.

And send it all to me.

No, don't, I'm kidding.

Now just watch the video, admire yourself, and you can delete it.

Good game?

Did you like it?

If you didn't like some things, then do them differently. Learn to be more delicate, more mannered, or completely stop doing something in public, only in private.

If everything suits you, then probably the ideal you picture for yourself will be a biker or some kind of anarchist, maybe a hardcore lover. Then don’t forget to give your betrothed such characteristics.

I know one decent lady who sold diamond grinders and was very attractive, except for the moment when, during a quarrel with suppliers, she could throw out a couple of juicy swear words. So in the description (and she actually wrote two sheets of wishes for her future man), she took into account the fact that he would like this behavior of hers, and he would even admire her.

You know, when she found herself a tall, handsome, rich Australian, he had everything on the list, and in addition, when he first heard her tone, how she scolded into the phone at a careless worker, he was not embarrassed, but said:

— Wow, what pressure, what character! This is my woman!

She no longer wanted to do this in his presence, although she was certainly flattered by the attitude.

By the way, if you want to know the names of these three women and learn from them, write, I will give you the contact of at least one for sure.

In general, with much effort, persuasion and arguments, I persuaded my man to marry me.

The conversation went like this:

— Marry me.

— For what?

— Because I want to.

— But I do not want.

— What should we do?

— I don’t know, prove to me why you want this.

— Because this way we will become real husband and wife.

— Who decides this?

— We.

— Then why do we need a state decision?

— Okay, well, this way I will be protected in case you want to leave.

— Are you already thinking about leaving? Maybe you want to break up?

— No, what are you talking about?

— Then there is not a single important reason to get married.

— Well, what if we accidentally get pregnant, and I don’t want the child to be illegitimate.

— How will this help him? Katerina was born in marriage, and still I left her mother. And I don’t pay any child support.

— Because you are decent, and you yourself give even more than is required.

— That's it. It would be the same with any child.

— OK.

And I usually calmed down when we went through the tenth circle. But this time, in January two thousand and sixteen, I continued:

— You and I will get married someday anyway. So what difference does it make when? We won’t invite guests or relatives, we’ll get married quietly, just the two of us, get married and go and relax for a couple of days.

— I am not sure, let see what will happen.

And then something clicked in me. I realized that I had broken through the ice. It was urgent to finish it off. And I persuaded a colleague from work, who had recently been proposed to, to take advantage of the situation, being on friendly terms with him, and explain the importance of marriage.

As a result, their conversation took place, and I knew that on Valentine's Day he would propose to me. It was supposed to be romantic. Expensive restaurant, the atmosphere contributed to the situation. But do you know what I was thinking?

“I will refuse. I will refuse, let it be as unpleasant for him as it was for me all these five years of waiting, and the last couple of years of refusals. I will take revenge."

Can you imagine? The level of accumulated anger went so high that I wanted to act so cruelly.

Exhale. I pulled myself together.

He timidly took out a small box from his pocket and quietly asked:

— Take a knee?

— No, what are you talking about? Relax, that's enough.

“No, what are you talking about? Is your brain completely drained? Like a real slob, I just swam when I saw how my strong man gave up.” He looked at me so timidly, so uncertainly that I was unable to carry out my insidious plan.

— Will you marry me?

— Yes, sure.

And, mind you, she reached out to kiss him. He cried a little, and I had to play. It was a difficult decision for him, and I felt like a bitch.

Can you imagine, girls, as soon as a man sheds a tear, we melt like ice cream in the heat.

This mess. When we cry, they mock, laugh and call us hysterical.

Oh, I'm so angry at myself that I didn't gloat back then.

Although no. Still, there must be greatness in a woman. I would have ruined everything, he would never have proposed marriage to anyone else.

Just for fun, of course, it was worth it. But suddenly my humor wouldn’t come out, and the box would slam shut forever.

I got cold feet and gave in.

Okay, it was worth it. I don't regret it at all. The shame of the refusals of recent years has been forgotten, the hatchet of war is buried deep, there is no need to stir up the old.

And how well you got angry with me just now, you felt it, you really wanted to kill all the men. Well, no need, we still need them. They can be cool kids. I know for sure.

In the next six months, I still hid the “vendetta”. Literally a week after our marriage, we began to quarrel more and more often. By July this was happening every day, and by August, I had already said “goodbye” to him six times and threw the ring on the table.

Of course, we put up with this, he confessed his love to me, and then we fought as if we had hated each other for a hundred years. How do you like this? Was it with someone?

Oh, I know for sure that many have. When people have accumulated a bunch of small sins against each other, which they justify in every possible way, then this does not become a virtue, harm is harm: did not finish cooking the meat, hid the expense, faked an orgasm, did not give money for education, lying that it was not, and in the end this the mountain comes between them, understanding collapses, only accusations remain.

I'm getting ahead of myself. More about divorce later.

How can you marry an obstinate guy to yourself? Just like me, communicate for several years, and then finish off with a mutual friend.

Honestly? No. How will you feel afterwards? Disgusting.

But if this was the goal, then all means are good.

My dear, I’m sorry, if you are reading this book, don’t take it to heart, this is all women’s talk. I love you so much. Nobody manipulated you, you decided for yourself. Everything was in your hands. You weighed and analyzed everything, the conclusion was only yours.

I wink at you girls.

Let's continue.

How my friends got married.

Zhanna, a classmate returned from the army and was the first to take the beauty before anyone else came to their senses. She dreamed of someone else, but now she dotes on him.

Ksenia danced a “gypsy girl” with a witness at a wedding and grabbed this military doctor with a death grip. They corresponded for a long time and finally he called her to his place.

After the first divorce, Tatyana searched for six years, found her one and immediately married her after a couple of months of dating.

Elizabeth got married in the same year that she got divorced. She was such a good young wife to her middle-aged husband that the young active boy immediately captured her in his love captivity, this is what she dreamed of.

The list goes on and on, my story is very different.

The first two cases are about the fact that either settle for mediocrity, or fight for your ideal. The last two are about a state of mind when your demand for the right men is simply at its peak.

I was very ambitious when I started a relationship with Vladislav, and I wanted not just someone, but a whole lot of someone, although I didn’t imagine anything special!

I had not yet grown up to the third and fourth cases, when I myself was such a valuable specimen that the one I wanted asked me to marry.

So yes, if you are in my shoes right now, then take the bull by the horns. Are you afraid? Go forward. Wait for years, gradually lead him to the right decision, and then, if it hits you, then endure it, survive and do the right thing. And perhaps you, like me, will be able to turn failure into the most beautiful family relationship you have ever seen. They will envy you and ask you to share your secret, just like me. It’s not for nothing that I’m writing this book. She is at your request.

Well, I won't torment you for long. I'll tell you about the divorce.

"Divorce."

To begin with, I have to give you statistics. How many divorced women are there in the world? The same number as married people. Can you imagine?

Depending on the country, the percentage of divorces varies, somewhere around eighty, somewhere around ten, but the average is fifty.

I don’t know about you, but news like this used to make my hair stand on end.

Now I’m already calmer about this, no one has to be chained to an oath or a promise before God with a spouse who has gone crazy, or you suddenly realized that your roof has come into place. Divorces give you freedom and help you breathe deeper.

But at the same time, it seems to me, they discourage already irresponsible young people. Women and men who have just graduated from university get married, give birth to children, and only then realize that this is not the life they actually dreamed of.

Why irresponsible and not stupid? Because such a large number (let me remind you, half) cannot be stupid, but it’s easy to be irresponsible.

They give up at the slightest difficulty and fail to cope with barriers.

Now, if I were in their place, I would also easily get married without hesitation. Then you can always get a divorce. Yes, perhaps with a doll, but it’s possible.

The point here is different, to what extent I answer to myself that I will get out, survive, cope physically, morally, financially with the divorce. Will I be able to raise my children alone without child support? Will I earn enough to not depend on my parents or the state, have everything I need and achieve self-realization?

Will I be able not to cry and not be depressed because of the loss of love, will I not be lost as a person?

Do you see? If you are sure of this, if you yourself are full-fledged, then divorce is not scary. Moreover, there will most likely not be a divorce.

So this is what happened to me. Of course, I’m no better than any of you, I’m one hundred percent the same.

Do you want hysterics? On those please.

Nag your husband? Get it.

Manipulate sex: “Oh, I’m tired, dear” (and the connection is obvious, because there was a quarrel today)? How many you want.

And you know, like this.

Let yourself go, look at home as if I live alone. As a feminist, so one hundred percent. If they were watching me (there would be such a small camera in the house in a pot of flowers, which I never had until the last couple of years), then someone on the other end would die of laughter at the eccentric face of an indeterminate gender in a robe, gloomy, stooped, always chewing something, sniffing his armpits, itching, it’s even indecent to say where. And all this in the presence of a very specific man, who only occasionally shows his Australopithecus nature.

And this whole ensemble accompanied the music of the funeral march for our marriage.

I was at the peak of my individuality, I wanted to be “as I am,” they say, “love me like a natural phenomenon.”

And my beloved endured and endured until his patience boiled over.

Our scandals were especially wonderful. They could be savored for hours, with breaks for tea.

— I need money for training.

— Where? Did you earn a lot last week?

— Why only me? You earn money too!

— Yes. In the same company. I manage your work, and just like you, I didn’t receive any money.

— It’s not true, you and your partners have dividends. You're not paying me. I say wife, I’ll get over it.

— Become a partner. I even said “how,” but you still don’t want to listen to me.

— I can't find twenty representatives. It's difficult! — I start screaming. Him too.

— So it means that you just haven’t grown up to be a partner.

— You're always like that. Why devalue me? You don’t value my books either. You consider me mediocrity. Another husband would have supported and helped promote it a long time ago.

— What to promote? I'm not interested in your books.

— Here you see! I'm basically not interesting to you.

— But why? I'm just not your target audience.

— But you might admire them in principle as a reader. You didn’t write that either.

— I am! Because he's busy with more important things, in case you haven't noticed! — he screams, I start to cry. Just a little bit, but your eyes get wet. “And there’s no need to arouse my pity now.” This is unfair. Stop whining.

— I'm not whining. — I gather my will into a fist. “I just needed our common money, by the way.”

— Oh, general? There are no common ones. Take yours.

— Mine are over.

— I won’t give you mine.

Here you might think that my husband is a tyrant, stingy and generally cruel person. But never judge until you have all the information.

— Their? Their? You earn three times more than me! I have to beg you constantly.

— You went nuts! I give you everything. Look. Wake up. Look around — I give everything to you. Count how much money we have spent on you over the past months and years. By giving. Open your notebook and do the math.

— I won't.

— Why?

— Because it’s still not fair that you earn more than me. I'm no worse, I'm just as smart and capable.

— Is it true? And you studied as much as I did? Do you have the same experience under your belt? You can't even read the book I gave you! — pokes me with a sales book.

— I don’t want to read it, I make high sales even without it. Yes, not this week, but I did it! It’s me who gives you and me income. Thanks to me you earn money.

— Who taught you this? Whose company do you work for?

— You're just a brute! — Go to hell!

That's all. Here my arguments end, I give up. It was true that he started a business that I didn’t really believe in. He is right. But, as always happens in quarrels, the weaker side never admits its guilt, so it throws a grenade as an insult. In response, a larger projectile arrives with a decision to stop the conversation and further communication in general.

We went to different rooms, fortunately, there were two of them and a kitchen, we went to the office separately, sat there in different offices, trying not to provoke ourselves into quarrels.

When we saw each other, we talked about neutral things, but did not apologize.

By August, three months after our wedding, we no longer loved each other. I dreamed of living alone; it would be best to go to Moscow. He made it happen.

One day, at the end of summer, the following conversation ensued between us:

— You know, I need money. (I was really in despair then, I really wanted to learn and couldn’t imagine life without this training. It seemed to me that it would solve all my problems once and for all).

— Understand. I do not have them. (I still didn’t understand the situation the company was in; it was drowning in debt, and my husband didn’t talk about it. He didn’t want to admit it to himself).

— Then I’ll go to work for Nikolai. We will go on tours with him together and earn only our own expenses, without the costs of a large group.

— You know that I consider Nikolai an enemy? — Vladislav narrowed his eyes and this suspicion coupled with hatred alerted me. Apparently I said something wrong.

— Um. You just said that you would separate peacefully, that you would give him Riga and a couple of other cities, perhaps so that he too could survive. Why all this concern if he is the enemy?

— Cities, yes, but a wife?

— I’m not going to go to him as a man. This is work. I need income to pay for the courses.

— It's clear. And I’m no longer important to you, that means.

— Important. But it's just work.

— It's not just a job.

He left, slamming the door. Much later, I found out that that day he almost drove into the oncoming lane, he was in so much pain.

And I, in complete naivety, did not understand the whole drama of his soul. I didn’t feel the same way as he did the betrayal of his partner. I didn’t see Nikolai as an enemy. At most, an extremely unpleasant personality, but on the whole tolerable to work with.

In the evening, my husband returned to get his things and said he would go to a friend in Moscow for a couple of days.

No signs of trouble. I lived my life, only occasionally thinking about the fact that he rarely writes, does not call, and suspiciously disappeared from the radar.

And so it happened, he disappeared. In Moscow, he decided to leave me.

On the thirtieth of August, around midnight, he returned to say:

— I'm leaving.

— Not at all?

— For a while, but perhaps forever.

I start crying, holding myself back, because he doesn’t like it.

— Let's talk.

— Don't want. A lot has already been said. And they came to nothing. I decided. This is one hundred percent. I begin to rush around the kitchen, slowly but surely, like a German soldier. I'm covered in red spots, I breathe deeply so as not to panic. He softens a little and tries to calm me down, although he stays away — I’m not going anywhere, I’m not dying, I’m not moving to another planet. I'm still right there. It's just that as a couple we can't be together anymore. We torture each other.

And he was right, but then I was greatly annoyed. I was wildly offended that it was not me who decided, but he. Do you understand? This is women's grief. We cry not because our loved one has left, but because we were abandoned, not us.

It is only later, in order not to admit this to ourselves, that we begin to look for excuses and come to the conclusion that, in fact, our beloved was a wonderful person, and there is no one better than him, and we should try to get him back.

No, to just spit and go your own way. No, this is exactly what we need. Even then I thought: “What if he takes all the money, the car, the company. And such a “beautiful” one will quickly find himself some clever girl, with whom the two of them will chirp over the fool Margarita, the greedy witch, who rightly was left alone and with nothing. And now she will be a lonely, harmful lady for a long time, because we will give her a reputation as a bad wife.”

— Stay at home for the night, we’ll discuss everything in the morning.

— No. I pack my things and leave.

— But you still love me.

— No more.

At this point I completely gave up. “Let him go,” I said to myself, but not to him (in case I killed the last chance for a reunion).

I didn't sleep a wink that night. I drank hot tea to warm myself from the inside, the lump didn’t get into my throat, just drinking. I didn’t need alcohol, nor did I need cigarettes.

I turned on the wonderful, uplifting film “Elizabethtown” and watched it with breaks to cry all night. I also did this interesting thing.

Girls, remember, just in case. When your soul hurts and you think that there is no way out, then take clean sheets of paper and a pen.

And start writing out all your secret misdeeds and mistakes, sins, whatever you want to call them.

Write what kind of offense it is. And then specifically WHEN? WHERE? WHAT HAPPENED? HOW EXACTLY? And don’t even allow the possibility of justifying it. Neither on paper nor in your thoughts do you allow yourself to transfer at least part of the responsibility to someone else in this incident and remove it from yourself.

Write the whole truth and only from the position of what harm you have caused.

At first it will seem to you that you are saints. This will pass.

You'll think, “Hmm. Yes, I threw the waist into that guy’s soup, but it’s his own fault. Even if he later went bald, he no longer cheats on his wife.” Do you understand?

Or “I had to spank that brat, otherwise he would have ruined my garden.”

Do you see?

This way you will never alleviate your condition. Only by returning responsibility to yourself, by becoming the cause, will you regain control and power, and with them your fighting spirit.

I regained my fighting spirit. By morning I was already at the parade.

I hardly cried in those first two weeks. Yes, I still didn’t sleep well at night, but every day I called my husband with an offer to talk. She was refused and lived again as usual.

I already clearly understood what I was doing wrong and where I needed to remain silent. I have become smarter and more cunning. I stopped thinking that I should live alone, because Vladislav, in general, is the same one behind whose back I am like behind a stone wall.

Money for education came into the background, because in fact, life itself taught me a lesson. The training took place at an expensive price, but not in the place where I thought.

The only problem was the apartment, which became unaffordable for me, so I moved in with friends and rented a bed from them for a couple of months.

Of course, then I lit a cigarette and reduced the amount of food I ate three times, it did me good, my waist became aspen, and I had enough energy to start writing new books.

That's what was painful. Yes, dear, I’ll remind you of something now, but don’t worry about it. All in the past.

My husband, girls, forgot for a while that he is a gentleman, and for some reason decided to pin the move on me. A large two-room rented apartment filled with our things remained with me. There were our common belongings: dishes, clothes, shoes, office supplies, decorative items.

And one fine day I gathered my strength and went there all alone. Just me and the empty haven of two broken hearts.

I could turn on sad music, touch every thing and cry over it, but I didn’t want to artificially force myself to suffer. I felt pretty good and bravely endured all the training. Four hours later, about twenty boxes were already waiting for the movers in the hallway. I drank my last tea in this apartment and sighed sadly and said to myself. “Yes, it was a great time, it was a terrible time.”

And then I smiled, because I didn’t like this apartment, the entrance, the area. Despite the pretentiousness of the decoration, the neighbor's cockroaches scurried around here a couple of times (apparently they got lost), and my neighbor, a drug addict, gave me a persistent feeling of disgust for this area as a whole.

In a way, the goal was achieved, the poor housing was abandoned, I achieved my goal.

“Was it worth it? Wait and see".

By the way, we now have a wonderful, bright, spacious apartment in a new building.

Well, okay, I took all this to the office, hoping not to meet the boss (part-time husband) and not solve the problem that had arisen. However, luck turned away from me and Vladislav decided to stay late at work.

— What are you doing here?

— Translating our things. I have nowhere else to put them except in your office.

— It’s all over, then? Did you refuse the apartment? — There was annoyance in his voice, but I didn’t understand why. It's very strange, as if he was hoping to return.

— Why should I take it off? I don't earn that much.

— OK. Just let the movers put everything in a corner so that the boxes don’t get in the way.

You know, he didn’t even help carry the boxes, and I carried, admittedly, light things, but I wore them so as not to overpay for the guys’ hours of work. I paid for it myself, of course.

My husband corrected this point a long time ago, now he is a true gentleman (I love this word, editor), I feel like a real lady next to me. But then! Then I tried to close my eyes to my anger, otherwise I would not have had the persistence for the next month and a half to achieve his return.

There was one more thing that I recommend using as another way to combat mental suffering. Perhaps this will also be useful to you if you find yourself in a similar situation.

Fanfare, light, ta-dam!

I flew to London for a major event.

It's my birthday at the beginning of October and the annual event in Sussex is happening at the perfect time. All patrons and voluntary contributors of money or time to charity gather there. All the really educational programs in third world countries, fighting drug trafficking, helping with illnesses and injuries during natural disasters and many other really important things are done by these people. Some people invest maximum money, others give their whole lives to this for free.

And of course, they need a large team, so they invite newcomers there for a purely symbolic sum, those who, like me, for example, have invested a little, about ten thousand dollars in total. At such an event, people are encouraged, given confirmation, helped not to give up, not to leave the path of help, and new arrivals are instilled with self-confidence and told how they can personally help.

I bought plane tickets, an entrance ticket, paid for a hotel and a visa for only sixty thousand rubles. These are mere pennies, just two average deferred salaries, and you are already in a completely different world. I'm not talking about geography, I'm talking about the level of thinking and environment.

On the fifth, with great enthusiasm, I rented a ballgown from a friend and rushed to the airport. Did I grieve for my husband then? Not for a second. Okay, just a little bit. Only occasionally did I allow myself to become sad, thinking about the inevitability of divorce.

The rest of the time I dreamed of meeting Tom Cruise, who, by the way, had previously appeared at such holidays.

Girls, you might laugh at my ambition, but I even thought that since he is not married, we might have an affair.

God! May my husband forgive me. By the way, I told him about this. But the dreams of a naive girl are not the same thing as reality. Although they never harmed me. Don't listen to people who tell you not to dream. “You are flying in the clouds, it’s time to come down to earth” — this is just the envy of a desperate person who no longer knows how to use his imagination, which means he has closed his own borders to new horizons.

My imagination has never let me down. It may have disappointed me from time to time, but it never let me down. I wouldn’t have what I have now if I weren’t so easy-going, and maybe even frivolous in some ways.

Read “Alice in Wonderland” again, but from the perspective of an adult, and you will see a lot of useful things there.

So, I flew to the UK. At the airport I met my friends who were heading there. We had fun, we laughed all the way. Yes, these were men, two Andreys, but incredibly cheerful and kind. They supported me very well then. The three of us went to all the daytime meetings before the main ball. I felt supported, as if we had been friends for a hundred years.

By the way, from the travel section, I would like to note that in October it is very warm in England. I wore a dress without a cape, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, the green grass smelled fresh, and even the occasional light rain did not cool the air temperature. Marvelous. I fell in love with this place. It was just after that trip, by the way, that I wrote “Alone. The story of a man who fell in love with a witch." England inspired me to write about it.

The ball itself was great. The waiters are of the highest level, everything is clear, all commands are on the radio. Non-alcoholic wine that can easily be confused with the usual one. The dessert — a broken chocolate pot with biscuit moss — surprised me, who was not yet experienced in such things. On stage they congratulated outstanding personalities in charity, and in the end everyone danced near the stage to contemporary performers of the same crowd.

Sober, happy, no madness, everything is laconic and moderately restrained in the British way. It’s just cozy and warm surrounded by strangers, but such kind people.

I was returning to the hotel with a friend who lived in the same place as me. We exchanged a few words. She was also on the verge of divorce, but on her initiative. The girl is very light and seems to be unencumbered by anything. And so it turned out. By a lucky chance, she inherited three apartments in St. Petersburg, and there was no shortage of money.

That's when I started thinking. What if I were also financially independent, would I try so hard to get my husband back? Or she blessed him with a new wife, and she moved on to realize her dreams. Would you think about the reputation of a bad wife, and the absence of a new partner for a long time, or not?

I probably wouldn't care. If not for one thing, I still loved my husband.

Then the obsession with saving the marriage in any way left me. I calmed down. Like a breath of fresh air, I realized self-love. I just needed to borrow money from somewhere and reach a new level of income in order to repay the debt and fully provide for my existence, without relying on anyone.

The next day we flew home.

By the way, we also had time to walk around London before departure. The impressions were only positive: Buckingham Palace and Big Ben made me fall in love with London, and these are not all of its attractions, which, unfortunately, we did not have time to visit.

Returning to Russia, I began to write a lot. Work and write again.

The fact that I made a list of all the pros and cons of reuniting with my husband also added to my self-confidence. For the first time in this time, I approached the situation logically.

Having seen eighteen minuses and twenty pluses, the choice became obvious.

The strategy turned out to be simple. “Men love with their eyes” and “Men hate hysterics.” That is, it was necessary to do two things: buy moderately sexy, but elegant clothes and start communicating with Vladislav quite boldly, without a drop of offense, and also not react to a single remark, criticism or insult on his part.

Like a real soldier, a well-trained fighter, I began to make pilgrimages to his office.

Three times a day, in the morning before the meeting, at lunch and in the evening after work, we smoked through his window and talked.

I was incredibly pretty, modest and pliable.

He could tell me things like: “I don’t love you anymore and I’m unlikely to ever love you again,” “I intend to get a divorce, you should give me a divorce,” “it’s all your fault, it’s you who brought me to this decision.” “,” “you are frigid,” “you allowed yourself to be unkempt at home,” “you constantly reminded me of ex-men, which hurt my male pride,” “you betrayed me by choosing to work with Nikolai,” “you are greedy, mercantile, corrupt.” young woman". You know, he doesn't think that way anymore. And not only because I changed, but because I wasn’t like that before, and he was simply wildly offended.

And it’s good that I understood this and didn’t take a single word seriously.

Another great advantage was his calmness and willingness to communicate. All October I was engaged in a strategic and systematic capture of his heart. In fact, I fell in love with myself all over again. Since I had no competitors, I was the only one who flashed before his eyes, so beautiful and sexy. Even if he wanted to find a replacement for me, it wasn’t easy, because he didn’t go anywhere except work, and there were only girls he didn’t know online. He understood that upon closer examination (communication) with these girls, in five years the same picture could begin, the same hysterics and bed problems. At forty years old, he was tired of this, and was not particularly eager to look for someone right now.

Although there was one woman, his partner, ten years older, attractive, divorced and terribly interested in Vladislav.

She probably wanted to take my place, but her dignity and some decency kept her from doing anything until we divorced. I saw her readiness, like a greyhound at the start of a fox hunt, but it was only an intention, not an attempt, for which I am grateful to her.

You know, I even once sent him a photo of our future children, taken in a special application, you know, for stupid women who suffer from nonsense. To which he only complained that I was really suffering from nonsense.

Then she invited me to go horseback riding, such a romantic walk outside the city. He said that he doesn’t like horses, they stink (this is not true, he had horses as a child, he just wanted to ruin my mood).

But I didn't give up.

I invited him to have lunch at a cafe, confessed my love, and said that I was ready to correct everything he said that would be required for the reunion.

He was silent.

I finished off:

— In the end, let's break it off completely. And we won’t get back together, we’ll just start again. Like completely different people. It's like we just met. Let's not continue, but finish and begin.

— It won’t work, it’s still too fresh in my memory.

"Oh my God!" — I thought — “What's fresh? Treason? So she wasn't there? Well, I didn’t want to work with you, and that’s it, the end of the world. You’re so vulnerable, it couldn’t be funnier.” — But she said it out loud.-

— Sorry. Forgive me please. How many more times do I have to apologize for you to forgive? I know myself, this will not happen again. I assure you, we can handle it, we can do it. Moreover, I know that you love me too. Just don't resist.

— I do not like.

— Okay, but you will love me, otherwise you wouldn’t allow me to make all these attempts.

“Make raids,” I would say. I literally attacked him, did not let him breathe in the wrong direction.

But I remembered one more trick.

I've been wondering all these weeks. A useful thing by the way, I tell you. I selected a number of objects in the environment and asked a question like “will we be together,” then I counted the windows on the house. An even number meant “no,” an odd number meant “yes.” Nine. Yeah. We will. This gave me confidence. But sometimes there were mistakes, and an even number came across; I did not accept a negative answer. Therefore, I reformulated the question and asked again until I received a positive answer.

This is wildly funny. You don't seem to believe in it, but you do it because it works.

And it’s not scary if it doesn’t work, because you yourself came up with this fortune telling and you can change the rules. So you keep guessing again until the universe itself agrees with you. And the closer time went to the end of October, the more positive responses I received. I think my eye learned before me to determine compositions of things or symbols with an odd number and gave them to me for fortune telling. And I perceived these as signs of fate.

Very funny and ridiculous, but it worked for me.

And finally, on the eve of Halloween, I asked my friend and part-time colleague if I should ask for sex with Vladislav, in case it would reunite us.

— Never. He will just get his and you will even lose what you have, you will stop communicating for a while. Now he allows you to be around so much because he wants to. And then there will be no hormones that contribute to this.

— And what to do?

— Wait. If he offers, refuse. Until you get back together, until he confesses his love again, do not allow intimacy. I tell you as a man, his hormones are now on your side. Use it.

— Fine. — I answered gloomily, but I didn’t like the answer.

What to expect? He will never give birth, it seems. And it can drop hormones into the palm of your hand. Oh, sorry, I haven’t expressed myself so rudely in a long time. What is it, am I wrong?

It was necessary to come up with a way to make him want me, and not masturbation, and as early as possible in order to achieve a positive resolution.

I went to his office. And as she was leaving, as if by chance, she said:

— I dream about the day when we will go to intimate boutiques and choose a negligee for me.

He grinned.

Do you know what happened in the evening?

He called. Myself. Yeah. Can you imagine?

— Come to me today.

— And what will we do?

— Let's see.

— I can't just have sex with you. It wouldn't be fair to me. I am not ready to enter into an intimate relationship without emotional intimacy.

— Okay, I understand. I will think.

It was about six in the evening. I almost jumped with happiness right in the middle of the street. But I stopped short, because it’s too early to drink Borjomi, or something like that.

A couple of hours later he called back.

— Fine. Let's get together. But with a condition.

— Which one.

— If nothing works out for us and we quarrel again, everything will repeat itself as before, then we will separate amicably, as friends, you will calmly give me a divorce and will not hold me back, there will be no tears and accusations.

— Yes, sure.

I easily agreed to this, because after writing out all my misdeeds, looking at them directly, I was sure that this would not happen again.

Are you really interested in my sins? That's it. This is personal, although in my opinion I have already laid everything out in front of you. I have nothing to be ashamed of. Yes, I masturbated in front of my husband, hiding it from him. I faked an orgasm during sex. I didn’t finish cooking the meat almost thirty percent of the time, and I didn’t put my soul into cooking (which is why the food, let me tell you, turned out like stew in a prison). She criticized, gossiped, and was greedy. She sawed and devalued. I was lazy at work and didn’t achieve results when they were counting on me. All these things seem normal until they destroy you and your marriage.

Show me that family where all this is there and they are happy together, I will put on pince-nez and investigate their life so meticulously that I will definitely find skeletons in the closet, even if they are not the same as mine.

Do you know, for example, that a woman is responsible for fertility? That is, if a couple does not want children, but the woman still gets pregnant, and he seems to be happy, then this still places a burden on the woman’s soul.

My friend gave birth to five children, and her husband drinks like hell. They don’t even have enough money for themselves, and even more so for their children. They didn’t plan to give birth right away, they wanted to live for themselves, but he forgot about contraception, and she didn’t take the responsibility that it was she who would bear this burden later. And so it happened, she is unhappy, she has to beg, and people think her husband is bad. She protects him with all her might. And rightly so. He could have been smarter by having sex without a condom, but she should have stopped him and “dressed him up” at the right moment.

She should have made sure that conception was a mutual decision. I don’t blame her and I don’t recommend it to you. She understands everything so much. Therefore, if you see a broken marriage, where everything was sacred and no one oversalted the potatoes, then look at the area of children.

Abortion or unplanned pregnancy, which was later disagreed with. It is enough to consider it as it is, recognize it as a mistake, and everything will dissipate.

I know a family where a couple repented to each other of a manipulative pregnancy, where the husband wanted children, but the wife did not. She honestly performed her function and took proper precautions. And one day my husband pierced the condom.

She was against abortion and gave birth. Everyone was happy, the child was an incredibly smart and kind boy. He is loved by both parents. And all this crime is buried under a happy family life. However, they began to communicate less, love disappeared somewhere and thoughts of divorce appeared.

After attending marital counseling, the husband admitted to what he had done and his wife forgave him. They cried for more than an hour, as if unloading into each other. And finally they left enlightened. Their child began to receive even more love, and to see the love of the parents between themselves, and this, instead of seeing a divorce and becoming a little less happy.

Do you see? It is important to discover your mistakes and admit them. Look at them and recognize them without excuses.

Even if after this your spouse turns away and leaves, you will stop reproaching yourself, your conscience will be clear.

My husband then demanded that I confess everything to him. That was not easy. Ugh.

I blushed and turned pale while I read all this.

But he didn't send me away. He was still waiting for me to admit to cheating. “That didn’t happen, my friend. Never.

And you?"

By the way, this question worried me and worries me the least. It seems that when you are clean, you cannot be hurt.

Yes.

I have imagined his adultery several times, but I am neither cold nor hot. Well, maybe a little offensive, that’s all. Lately my love is so mature that I wish him happiness in any circumstances.

That evening (almost night) of October thirtieth, he picked me up and took me to his rented one-room apartment. I told the guys from whom I rented a place that I was going to a witch’s Sabbath so that they wouldn’t ask questions. They just laughed (it looked absurd)..

There in the apartment he was more sincere than ever. He asked me not to force things and to be careful at first. He promised to care and love as much as he could, so that I would not demand more than he could give now.

I agreed to everything.

There was sex. Slow and sad. I tried not to show that everything was very sad.

Later, of course, the sex got better and better until we started having fun, but more on that later.

That evening that was enough for me.

We slept together for the first time in two months. I rejoiced, as a child can do in a toy store, where he is allowed to do everything.

Of course, he immediately asked (he gave me an exact ultimatum) not to smoke, start eating right (otherwise I was exhausted) and cook delicious food.

Everything was done strictly.

So we got back together. I won. My persistence took over. Life taught me, and I learned this lesson like a diligent student. She didn’t give up, didn’t give up, didn’t become a victim. I won.

And what’s best is that I didn’t do it with whims, tears and manipulation like “now I’ll hang around with my friends left and right, drink, go for walks, find a new guy, he’ll get jealous, I’ll wait for him to crawl to me himself.” I wouldn't crawl. Not my man. Yes, and I'm not like that.

Therefore, my dear girls, no matter how “House Two” and other mind-bending shows teach you, never stoop to pathetic manipulations. Beautiful strategic cunning moves are permissible if you are confident in yourself and your love. Otherwise, I don’t even recommend them until you check yourself for the sincerity of your feelings for your partner. Remember, you can harm both him and yourself.

When I told this story to my sisters, they asked me to write a book for women.

I myself understand that there are few examples like mine, for the most part people just get divorced. However, there is, it’s just not all shared with the larger masses. I decided to open up to you, I hope I helped someone.

"Orgasm and frigidity, the search for marital sexuality"

So, next chapter. No less voluminous. Get ready for some revelations.

Sex is such a strange area that, in addition to gays and lesbians, there is frigidity and impotence. And there is everything together.

I could have an orgasm with self-stimulation, but not in the presence of a man.

After the reunion, my husband decided to get his way; he really wanted to see my orgasm. And I promised that I wouldn’t give up until he succeeded. I pushed the shame and discomfort further away to allow us to walk the path to my g-spot together.

There are a lot of courses on intimate gymnastics, on studying your genitals, erogenous zones, contracting and relaxing the necessary muscles, correct stimulation and the correct influence of your partner.

I took one of them three years ago. Not bad, but incomplete.

And we began to integrate my masturbation into our intimate life. And voila, after a couple of months everything worked out.

It turns out that if you give a man the right instructions and stop being nervous about his every mistake, then everything works out. Definitely no hands or nails in the vagina.

I'm talking about oral sex.

Well, judge for yourself, which parts of the body do not contain bones and other solid structures?

Penis — yes.

Language — too, yes.

You see how they differ from fingers, and even with nails.

When working with the clitoris in jewelry, a healthy sized penis will not cope, but our friend from the oral cavity will perfectly match our clitoris.

It is also very important what is happening in your head at this time. What are the thoughts about, and do they exist?

There shouldn’t be any problems at this moment, you only think about your partner. You admire everything his body is made of. Hair, skin, smells, those from a clean body, of course. The natural odor of sweat or other glands in its pure form is not disgusting, as if you add unwashed clothes to it.

Drive yourself crazy with sexy pictures of him, imagine how he would look in a movie in a sex scene, how other women would get excited seeing him so attractive.

You see. Get yourself going.

And then use it as you want. When a man desires a female orgasm, he is not against completely wild primitive things.

If your man doesn't care about your orgasm, then ask him if he would like to. Suddenly it turns out that he likes this idea. Then be bold and don't miss the chance. There is something to fight for, I assure you.

And if he already feels good, then try a couple more times and change your partner.

What? Do you also feel good without the endorphin rush?

It's true, I understand. I had this happen. Try to start a healthy lifestyle.

Uh-oh, you say you orgasm alone? Then you don’t care about sex with your husband, you don’t need him in principle, and soon the genitals, head, something else will begin to hurt, sex will become less frequent, and he will begin to experience impotence named Lola (or another name of his mistress).

Don't deprive yourself of pleasure. You are not incubators for the birth and education of new people, you have the same right to orgasm as men.

And if you don’t want to, then take care of your health so that you want to.

It happens:

— And if my gynecologist sends me to a psychologist, he says you have “vaginismus”? (for those who do not know, this is a pathological spasm of the vagina, in which a man cannot insert the penis for coitus).

— Then the answer is this: take a course in intimate gymnastics, remove the spasm from the vagina. In the meantime, learn: relax and have fun in the sixty-nine position with your partner. You don't need a psychologist, you don't need marijuana or sedatives.

You are healthy.

Rape, someone's dirty fingers and untrimmed nails in youth or sex under alcohol led to this spasm. There is no point in continuing to give them causality. You are the owner of your vagina, the cells there have already been renewed many times, this is your property. It is healthy and clean. Love it.

Now let's start talking about my attempts to get an orgasm. For the first time in a long time, or whatever, in my entire life, I began to worry about myself in sex. We no longer cared about his penis, everything worked out somehow on its own, every action became open and aimed at my arousal. He was relegated to the background, and this very fact led to an even greater erection.

Thirty to forty minutes became the norm to satisfy both. We orgasmed once every three or four days on a regular basis for three years in a row.

Of course, there were mistakes, in addition there were colds and business trips, but overall it was very smooth and stable.

The question of my frigidity or imitation was closed once and for all.

In addition, I no longer allowed myself to look bad in front of my husband, except for illness (and then, girls, I comb my hair and try to look like a lady even at such moments).

Now I have a cold, an epidemic is raging outside the doors, I have been sitting at home for five days with an unwashed hair, a red nose and no makeup.

But!

I took care of such moments in advance.

I have permanent makeup done on my eyebrows and lips, my frontal muscles are paralyzed with Botox, so my whole face looks very pretty even against the backdrop of coughing and blowing my nose.

I'm in clean, fitted pajamas, my hair is in a braid and I walk with a straight back, so as not to forget that I am a goddess.

About the goddess — this is a new trick, by the way. When I want to slouch, I say to myself “goddess” and immediately my shoulders straighten. It's funny. Right now I’m sitting writing a book, and my shoulders are already stretching to straighten as I type the word “goddess” on the keyboard.

I used to think that I was the only one who didn’t experience pleasure with men. Because my friends were embarrassed by this conversation and took the topic aside, as if not wanting to continue.

I insisted, but found out things that were unpleasant for myself. It turned out that I was really the only one who was somehow different, which is why I developed a special behavior. To be different from other women, I faked an orgasm. I didn't want to be worse than others. Now I know that many of us do not get a thrill from sex with a partner. And before I lived in the illusion of the dishonesty of my friends.

One said:

— I always reach the end if I'm on top.

Second:

— And it happens to me rarely, but in any position.

Third:

— I will not say. But I'm happy with everything. — and smiles slyly. What does it mean? Are you generally ashamed to talk about this topic, or are you really succeeding at something?

The fourth says that she experiences it, but cannot describe it. And she says it so unconvincingly.

In general, when asked how this is happening for you, they all responded with silence.

Not a single one said that it was fireworks, a fountain of feelings, the clitoris or the area next to it contracted and then pleasure spread throughout the body.

Nobody said that it was as if you wanted to pee, but in the end you get a high in a completely different place, far from the urethra.

They were not inspired when telling and describing their impressions.

There was no passionate conversation around it. What does it mean?

I personally know that my orgasm is always fireworks, a fountain, sometimes not like on US Independence Day, but still a boom. Even a dull little orgasm is a huge surge of emotions. This causes a rush of blood in my face, slight shortness of breath, and such a pleasant muscle weakness.

A seditious thought creeps in that not a single friend of mine has experienced this, otherwise it turns out that they are much shyer than me, which I strongly doubt, although anything is possible.

Am I really that frank? Ladies, tell me?

Or the whole point is that most of us have problems with sex.

If we stop hiding it and start talking openly, we might be able to get one simple message across to men: You guys need to work a little harder.

Yes. You should sweat and endure some awkwardness because the mere presence of you with a beautiful big thing does not satisfy us. And you shouldn't learn from porn films, because they're all directed by the director and aimed at men.

A woman can get aroused by another woman in a porn film, but rarely by a man.

So these are not the same courses.

Your woman will tell you how she would like it. If she is shy, take a course from the guys who have already eaten a dog at this, they are on the Internet, they are popular intimate masters, their lessons are recorded on video, and there is no pornography, a very sincere approach, designed to reveal femininity and its orgasmicity.

I have always been fascinated and at the same time confused by the heroine of Sex and the City, Samantha Jones. According to the director's idea, she regularly gets orgasms in completely standard positions, loves to experiment and has no problems.

I can assume that until she was forty years old, which is how old she was in the series, the heroine also learned about her sexuality, and not everything was smooth there.

So, there are no ideals, I guess. But I can say for sure if we all confess.

You cannot put a smile on your face or imitate the joy of sexual intercourse with your husband if there is none.

Let him workhard. If he doesn’t succeed, then let him try harder. If it doesn’t work out, then look for other ways, or change your partner.

You know, all these marriage-motivating books talk about how to be the best in bed. How to make him love you with a blowjob and so on.

This is all great, but will he give something in return?

So you met a Hollywood star, a handsome man and a world-class sex symbol, he is rich and around him there are a lot of beautiful models, actresses, smart and equally rich. I’m exaggerating, of course, but everyone had such a guy in their neighborhood, surrounded by them.

By some miracle, you managed to draw his attention to yourself, attract him with your individuality and originality, and become his girlfriend.

And then it starts, what? A race with rivals so that he doesn’t even look the other way.

You have sex with him every day, surprise him with your tricks and calluse your hands to satisfy your prince like no one else before you.

What's next? When will you demand the same from him?

— Well, how? I can't. He might leave me. Suddenly he leaves for a less demanding woman.

See what makes us imitate? He will go to someone easier, to someone with whom you don’t have to fuss, experience inconvenience and internal discomfort, see yourself as a failed lover, a loser. After all, it will be easier for him to recognize you as frigid than to persistently move towards the goal until “Everest” is conquered.

Moreover, you are right, most likely it will be so.

I know a thing or two about men.

They love this race. This is a sporting interest for them. They were not your first in sex, but they will be your first in orgasm.

It turns them on. At this moment you become the most interesting to them. Day and night, whether at work or on vacation, they think about what else they can do to excite you and bring you to the boiling point.

When this peak is conquered, of course he will relax, rest on his laurels, covered in trophies and repeat successful actions over and over again, but if in a year or two you have problems again, he will be ready, look for a solution and help you. After all, the female orgasm itself, her very pleasure turns a man on more than any oral, manual or anal caresses.

Oh, sorry, I'm in the wrong place again. Well, since we are talking about this, then yes, you should learn how to do all manual, oral and anal caresses to your partner, but demand complete dedication in return. If you do everything described above, then only full return, not an ounce less.

Previously, I did not allow my husband to help me in any way with sex.

By the way, this is another female problem of an intimate nature.

If we have low libido, or we are so masturbated that sex with our husband is just a ritual of fulfilling marital duty, then yes, the longer it lasts, the worse.

Why do we need another forty minutes of pleasuring our vulva when we can do it in twenty minutes of pleasuring just the penis?

Is there any logic? Yes. I did this all the time until our second separation. Well, if you’re working, you’re tired, you’re lazy, you want to read or watch a movie, then why should you prolong an activity in which you get only mild pleasure.

This is certainly pleasant, a warm strong body, hot hugs, delicious kisses, pleasant rhythmic movements, neck and back massage, everything around the bush and nothing specific.

Twenty minutes, half an hour — yes. But forty minutes to an hour is too much. I was tired. And you?

My wise husband already offered help then; there was no need to beg him, on the contrary, he himself wanted and constantly tried to please me.

I didn’t let it in, it seemed to me that it was disgusting and slimy, like an oyster on an oyster. I laughed, I was ticklish, just disgusted, I squeezed, in the end I still pulled his lips towards me, kissed him and made him forget about my secret place.

After we got together, I let him mess around there. I thought: “I’ll be patient.” Let him use his entire arsenal of skills, and I’ll relax and let everything take its course.

For about ten minutes I was at a loss as to what was more disgusting or pleasant to me.

Well, if the choice is not up to the body, but to me, then maybe it’s worth taking a risk?

Let me use my willpower to choose “pleasant” and use my imagination.

Girls, what did I experience? No fingers, no penetration, just oyster to oyster, the same one that until recently seemed something awkward and shameful, only it brought to orgasm. My man has a knack for handling this thing.

“You could tell by the kisses,” someone mutters.

It was impossible, because such movements are not made when kissing. At the very least it would be strange. You know those, frequent ones that almost vibrate from bottom to top (by the way, remember, I’m almost giving a lesson).

After the first time I wanted a second and a third, and I became addicted. You know, something like a club of “not” anonymous sexaholics: “Hi, I’m Margarita, I’m addicted to cunnilingus.” — “Hello, Margarita.”

Just kidding, of course, you have to get addicted to these things, otherwise a woman’s life becomes completely sad.

How did we even live without orgasm with my husband?

You understand me, those who already yes, but were no. Masturbation is already half the battle, of course, but I would say that it’s like sitting on fast soup all your life, you seem to be full, unlike the hungry, but it’s not a holiday table, definitely not a holiday table.

We started experimenting and moved on. It turned out that you can get pleasure at the same time if you use the sixty-nine position, only the woman is below. In addition, the foreplay time has been significantly reduced, which is suitable for working women or tired mothers.

We haven’t made any progress in vaginal orgasm (clitoral legs orgasm), but there are exercises for the intimate muscles and I’m just learning how to do this.

I'll tell you how I master these techniques.

"Miscarriage. Do I even want children?”

Yes, my dears, I went through this too. We planned our pregnancy for a whole year and a half. I even started keeping a diary for the expectant mother.

You know, in September 17th, I actually started writing the book “Memoirs of a Mother,” a very entertaining work with a lot of useful tips on health and preparing for conception, but overall in the spirit of notes from a hypochondriac, I would say.

That's why it never saw the light of day. I laughed at myself so much when I flipped through all fifty pages, there are tests, tests, business, treatment, tests, treatment, business. Boring, in a word.

All this preparation can be written on one page. Here are the important points from what I did.

— Stopped drinking coffee, strong tea, sugar.

— Took a complex of vitamins for pregnant women.

— Passed all tests for hidden infections, clinical biochemical, smears, urine, ultrasound of the thyroid gland, mammary glands, ovaries, uterus, abdominal organs.

— Was treated for ureaplasmosis and herpes.

— I found out from the proctologist that my hemorrhoidal nodule is not terrible and surgery is not needed.

— paid a tax for individual entrepreneurs to the Social Insurance Fund in order to receive the required benefits from the state.

— I started building a house: I bought land and persuaded my husband to hire a crew. By the way, the house is almost completed at the moment.

— I had sex exclusively with orgasm, so that the uterus was more receptive to sperm with a Y chromosome.

— They did this twice a week consistently, or even more often, without skipping (always without protection, of course).

— We walked a lot in the fresh air, moved in general. I went to the gym during the preparation stage, and as soon as we stopped using protection, I stopped. All that's left is daily walks.

This is how I, as a person trained in medicine, walked towards my goal. And finally, after a year and a half, the test showed two stripes.

I was in the fifth week. It was both a holiday and not. The fact is that my stomach was constantly pulling, there was some chills and body aches. An incomprehensible feeling, as if my period was getting ready to come, but couldn’t, it lasted two weeks before the test, and I was pretty tired by that time.

My husband and I tried to be happy, but at the same time, we both didn’t want to spend nine months in agony.

Pregnancy was not my goal in itself. I didn't want to just get pregnant. I literally wanted to “conceive a boy, carry her without problems for my health, without toxicosis, complications, give birth myself easily and without pathologies to a healthy, strong, handsome, happy boy who will live a long and happy life and make this world a better place.”

Yes, I really screwed it up. But here I am writing all this to you, being in quarantine and thinking “thank God that I don’t have a month-old baby in my arms right now.”

May the millions of mothers who have it now forgive me. This is your happiness and the sun, take care of it. I'm happy being away.

So, we tried not to be too happy, because the pathology was obvious. Although, of course, I already told everyone and accepted congratulations from my mom, dad, and friend.

The gynecologist forbade us from having sex and prescribed Duphaston.

I refused both of her recommendations.

Firstly, I won’t be able to not have sex with my husband for the entire pregnancy, and if the child already needs us to abstain, then what will happen later, forgive me.

Secondly, I am against hormonal drugs, I am for stimulating the production of my own, but against the introduction of artificial ones. They have a lot of side effects, not very harmful, but compared to the threat of interruption, I chose personal health.

You can throw anything at me, I love myself, and I will never stop.

When the choice is between ruining the lives of already established people in order to save who knows who, or allowing a fertilized egg to fall out if it turns out to be non-viable (while preserving the health and happiness of the mother and father), then for me it is obvious.

After a couple of weeks, the temperature rose to thirty-seven, the stomach and lower back began to feel stronger, my husband and I went to the doctor. It was Sunday six o'clock in the evening. In the toilet of the medical center, I noticed blood on the pad, just a little, but it became clear that a miscarriage had begun.

The ultrasound showed no fertilized egg, the doctor was worried that it was ectopic and sent me by ambulance to the hospital.

I burst into tears. My husband followed the ambulance, trying to support me at such a difficult moment. I cried not from the loss of the baby, but from the horror of the operation. I have never had general anesthesia in my life. I have never broken my arms or legs, or been injured enough to end up on the surgeon’s table. And then suddenly it was ectopic. I knew perfectly well what the dangers were, and that in such cases there was only one way out, an emergency operation, so that there would be no rupture of the pipe and death from massive internal bleeding.

I don’t like anesthesia because I don’t like the altered state of consciousness, who knows how it will end. There are many cases of psychosis after operations.

My mental state worried me no less than my physical one.

Fortunately, the ectopic was not confirmed. But gynecologists do not give up so easily. They began to suspect a potential incomplete release of the ovum and prepare me for surgery in the morning.

— But I do not want.

— We do everything.

— I know, but if it comes out on its own, there will be no need for surgery.

— If something remains in the uterus, infection and sepsis may begin, we will no longer save you.

— Same thing from surgery. You will create a huge wound surface on me, tear off the entire endometrium, the risk of infection is no lower.

— That's the protocol.

— Okay, but can I decide for myself?

— Yes. Before leaving, sign a waiver of claims.

— Okay, now I'm just waiting for it to come out, right?

— Yes. We will give you papaverine and antibiotics. In the meantime, get tested.

By that time, hCG had dropped significantly, which confirmed the onset of a miscarriage and the absence of a tubal pregnancy.

They didn’t inject me with anything, I said goodbye to my worried husband and went to the ward.

My neighbor, a seventy-year-old woman, was lying after surgery and hardly looked at me, we exchanged a few words, but she was lethargic and I didn’t want to take over her mood. I tried to control myself, hoping for the best, and even laughed while watching my favorite TV series. By twelve o'clock at night I wanted to go to the toilet (sorry for the details, to empty my bowels). I think you should know if you encounter something like this.

In high spirits, I pushed. And suddenly I was thrown into a fever from a sharp dull pain in the lower abdomen. I started to sweat and my vision went dark. I didn't feel like defecating anymore. Having barely pulled on my panties, I crawled along the walls to the post. She didn’t scream, the patients slept in the wards, it was night. There was no nurse at the post. And I crawled along the wall to the staff room at the other end of the long corridor.

She burst into the office and collapsed on the table.

— Help. — moaned.

They only looked at me slightly fearfully. They questioned me, understood something, and took me back to the treatment room.

No, can you imagine? Take them! They didn’t take me in a chair, and they also took me along the walls. Fiends. There were strollers, I saw them.

They looked at me on the chair. They confirmed that the pain is cervical, the fertilized egg is expelled. To reduce the pain, I was finally injected with papaverine, which was supposed to dilate the cervix and an antibiotic.

They could have injected me earlier, but no, they forgot, they waited until I howled in pain.

And I really howled, I sat on the cold floor next to the chair and couldn’t even move to a chair. The nurse tried to persuade me to return to the room.

— Am I going to howl there? People sleep there. I'll wait for the medicine to take effect here.

— No. We need to go to the ward.

— Am I bothering you? Am I not letting you sleep? Stay here for those same vaunted seven minutes, during which you say, the antispasmodic will work. Don't drive away.

vFine.

She tried to put socks and a robe on me, I took them off, it was hot and painful, I kept howling. The pain did not subside.

— Inject papaverine into my vein.

— Fine.

The tired nurse was apparently ready to do anything just to get back to the sofa. She complied with the request and after a minute I felt better. I returned to bed. It's not heroin, guys, it didn't let me go. I only reduced the pain by a hundredth part, which was now at least bearable.

Apparently the cervix had dilated.

I woke up a couple of hours later with the sensation of a foreign body on the pad. The thing is that I don’t wear them during my period, the tampon does everything, so it’s so easy to feel them when the dryness in my panties disappears.

In the toilet, in the light, I saw him. The very thing that caused so many problems.

“Thank God you came out. God, I avoided the surgery and the cleanup. Consider half the job done, now hCG won’t let you down.”

The pink-gray two by three centimeter formation was mercilessly flushed down the toilet, and I fell asleep until the morning.

On Monday, my tests showed a sharp drop in pregnancy hormones and I was discharged on my own responsibility. I had to fly to Kazakhstan on business and I couldn’t miss the trip, there was no one to replace me, and besides, I wanted to prove to myself and the world that I was not giving up, no circumstances would break me. My neighbor was very surprised (considering that she was generally incapable of any emotion other than apathy) that I did not give a damn about the doctors’ recommendations to stay for cleaning and rest, and discharged myself. I took antibiotics and antiprotozoal drugs for a week and donated blood. After the business trip, the tests showed nothing. I was completely cleansed. My body coped thanks to the will of the owner who controls it.

A plus that I noted after pregnancy. My breasts have softened and they no longer have pronounced lumps, this is great, the doctors noted that the mastopathy has decreased.

The downside is a slight feeling of disappointment. I firmly believed that I would be able to carry the baby, my body would not reject the pregnancy. I was so self-confident that I even pissed off those around me. The miscarriage knocked my arrogance down. I landed a little, settled down, and became more attentive to people.

No, the minus is not that I have become more sensitive, but that my confidence has been shaken.

I cried, it’s true, I cried for a total of two hours during the entire two weeks after the incident, sparingly, not out loud, without attracting attention from the outside. I didn’t even allow my husband to sympathize with me much, but rather comforted him myself. This is why he appreciates me. For perseverance and courage.

However, this minus can be turned into a plus. Broken arrogance, a sense of self-superiority, turned into love and understanding of women.

I'm just like you. Nothing better.

My friend lost her child after giving birth, what a tragedy. For nine months she and her husband waited for their princess. A beautiful young couple, a perfect pregnancy, a strong-willed girl, a neat tummy.

Love even dived into an ice hole at Epiphany while she was in her sixth month. She looked like something from the cover, tall, without stretch marks, without excess volume, healthy and happy. Her husband doted on her, he made a crib, furnished an apartment for the arrival of a new family member, literally fluttered with happiness, there was so much love and admiration in his stories that we all wished them the best.

Three months later, we were shocked by the news that the girl died on the second day after birth. Some kind of vice, not related to diving into an ice hole, toxoplasmosis from the cat with whom Lyubov lived throughout her pregnancy, not related to any obvious reason.

That's what the doctors said.

This was a real tragedy. This, and not my frozen pregnancy. Yes, that's what the doctors called her before the self-abortion happened.

I didn't suffer.

The guys were grieving. But let me tell you, they are tough nuts to crack too. They can't be broken.

I saw them a month after the tragedy and didn’t recognize them. They joked and laughed, hugged and supported each other. Drugs, antidepressants, psychologist, alcohol, hypnosis, mutual madness? Nothing out of this. The guys suffered their due and moved on, hand in hand, only forward, not knowing fear and sadness.

This is how I see the right attitude towards life. Don't be a victim. Cry it all out and move on with your life.

Are there worse situations?

Oh yeah.

I delivered a baby (when I was in medical practice) from a woman who knew that the baby was dead.

She was informed that due to toxoplasmosis (an infection transmitted mainly from cats), the baby died in her womb right before giving birth.

She was persuaded not to stitch the uterus by Caesarean Section, but to give birth herself.

Give birth to a corpse yourself!

Can you imagine?

This is some kind of trash.

For three days they induced her, dilated her cervix, and prepared her for spontaneous childbirth.

She was experiencing contractions, quite normal labor, but she knew that there would be no gift after permission.

Did this woman cry when we delivered the fetus? No. Not anymore. She felt worse. Mental pain tore her apart from the inside. She was also ashamed in front of the staff. She considered herself an impostor, wasting the resources of public health care, because she was not giving anyone to the world. We tried to encourage her that this is our job, life does not end here, she will still give birth to a healthy baby.

I don’t know what happened to this woman later. Apparently she recovered. I hope, I want to believe in it. If you are reading my book, dear patient of the Petrozavodsk perinatal center, then know that I sincerely regret your loss, and you can also write to me — now I know more ways to cope with mental suffering than before. Then, alas, I could not help you.

Working together with a neurologist, I saw different children: cerebral palsy, autism, microcephaly, and so on. These diagnoses are tied to mother and child for life, and only they know what it really feels like.

I can only give confirmation of your courage. And wish you never stop loving your children, caring for them and protecting them.

I once decided for myself that it would be better to never experience the joy of motherhood than to give birth to a sick child. Forgive me for my words, but I openly declare this, without hiding anything from you, without hiding anything, because we must be honest with each other.

Therefore, finishing this chapter, I am revealed to you, you can judge me. But this is the final decision for now. Sorry, Mr. President, but I will not fulfill the government order if I think that I have a risk of giving birth to an unhealthy child.

So far, my plans do not even include testing this hypothesis. I already wrote above that I want to realize myself first. I plan to achieve my big goals before I become a mother.

And if this drags on for years, and my fertility comes to an end, then alas, then there will be no children in this life, just me and you, and my love for you.

Besides, I'm lying a little. I already have a “child”. My nephew. When, at the age of thirteen, I found out that my sister was pregnant, it seemed to me that this was the greatest happiness in the world. We lived together then, she gave birth without a husband, and I fell in love with this baby. After school, I ran home to my pregnant sister, we walked for hours, I sewed hats, rompers and knitted booties. It seems to me that I already decided that this was my child and I still think so. I've invested a lot in this guy. He is nineteen, he is handsome, smart, kind, incredibly talented, but he just doesn’t know it yet. So yes, I already have a child that I didn’t give birth to, but we are very close. By the way, I was named his godmother, so dear Sir, I already shot, just in case.

“Existential crisis — I haven’t achieved anything in my life.”

On the third of October last year I met an attractive man. Blogger, handsome and incredibly charismatic guy.

No, you misunderstood, no flirting, only admiration as a person.

He told an interesting story about his life, he is thirty-three and a couple of years ago his life changed dramatically. He was an advanced photographer, even a bigwig in the modeling business, and everything was going pretty well, the money was flowing like a river, until one day he and his partner were pinned against the wall by guys with pistols, and it was all over.

The guys went in different directions and sat quietly until everything calmed down. Money, influence, a beautiful life instantly turned into a reclusive life at parental expense.

— Did you like your life?

— Despite all the luxury, no.

— Why?

— I have not self-actualized.

— What about photography? You were creative, weren't you?

— I wanted to benefit people. But there was something borderline there that did not inspire me.

I understand him. There are things in which you see yourself as the wrong piece of a puzzle. It seems that everything is fine and you are doing great, but you are not in the right place. It's like cracking nuts with a digital microscope, the result is incomparable, but the device is not used for its intended purpose.

We then sat together mentally. It was my birthday, and by chance on this day a popular blogger arranged a meeting with fans in a cafe. My husband and I decided that this would be the best gift for my holiday.

Daniel talked about how, living in his home for several months, he thought about life, searched for himself, shot and edited videos, tried to post them on YouTube, but lacked confidence.

And one day his wise mother said: “My dear son, the time has come for you to stop, stop doing what you need and look at what you want. There is no need to chase ideals and stereotypes. There is no need to work for food and shelter. I'll give you as much of it as you need. You are incredibly talented and I will support you throughout your journey of self-discovery. Please find the meaning of life. And be happy."

“And I started looking. Now I was confident in what I was doing. YouTube video? Please, only the best, necessary, useful, following all algorithms for maximum coverage. And away we go"

These are his words, not exact, but that's the idea.

There was someone in his life who solved the basic problems of existence, what to eat and where to sleep. And the guy, instead of playing computer games, turned himself into a star (I’m not afraid of this word). Within two years he became popular and supported himself again.

And do you know what the difference is from the previous state? Self-realization.

This is what I want to talk about today.

“You talk about this the whole book. Change the record?"

Oh no, no. I won't bother you with my tediousness. Just ask yourself: Are you a digital microscope that cracks nuts?

One day I discovered that I was so handsome. A shiny metal device with several lenses, advanced digital optics inside, perfectly accurate readings of the sizes of all ciliates and atoms, which someone holds in his hands and hits the hard shell with all his might.

Who's holding me?

I myself, mother, change my mind. (This expression is difficult to translate into other languages).

Me and no one else! Oh my God! Is there really no puppet master, system or nasty conspiracy theory masons who are manipulating me and preventing me from fulfilling my dreams?

Yeah. (I nod with my eyes wide open and a tight smile).

Ladies, there is no one but the fictitious villains in our heads. Tyrant husband, authoritarian mother, totalitarian government? They are scary only when we allow them to command our minds.

Have you seen the film “Escape from Pretoria” about the overthrow of apartheid? Highly recommend. Even though it is about men, we are all human and we are all equal.

So, cast aside your fears. And admit it:

A woman is a person, not a rib.

A woman is a person, not a unicorn.

A woman is a person, not the weaker sex.

On that day, the day of my thirty-second birthday, I realized my existential crisis. Everything was fine with me, I had already achieved the life that I had been striving for all my adult life. It's time to make your childhood dreams come true.

What did you want to be as a child? About two years?

You weren’t thinking about your husband, children, house, car back then. Have you thought about your vocation? About the role you will be happy in when you grow up. I’m not talking about a later age, when it’s already been explained to you what’s what.

I'm talking about two years, the first days of your speech and expression of thoughts into intelligible words.

Do you know who I wanted to be? Astronaut.

Then also an actress and writer.

See! Everything is very prosaic. Who among you hasn't wanted to be an astronaut, raise your hand!

Yeah, gotcha? Why should we all fly to the moon now?

Why not?

Nowadays, space flights have become a reality for ordinary citizens. Yes, the prices are fabulous and there are few volunteers, but it is possible.

Actress? Ugh, that's a piece of cake. You just have to work hard on yourself, endure criticism and break through.

Writer? Already.

What Wikipedia says about existential crisis.

An existential crisis is a state of anxiety, a feeling of deep psychological discomfort when questioning the meaning of existence. Most common in cultures where basic needs for survival have already been met.

Well, that is, you know, they got FUCKED. I can just hear the sarcasm of stand-up comedians on this topic. Like, why are you tired, children in Africa have nothing to eat? What meaning in life are you looking for when the air in India is dirtier than smoke?

These are wonderful words, especially from the lips of people who have realized themselves. They tell us folk morality from the stage, but are they sages?

Look, I'm not a promoter of psychological diagnoses, on the contrary, existential crisis be damned. Simply, if you are bored with the routine, if you are sad from constancy, if nothing else makes you happy and you are tired of living like this, then try my method.

Let me remind you, ask yourself what you wanted to be at two years old.

“President,” said my husband. “But I don’t want to now, God forbid.”

But they didn’t ask the boys, I’ll answer, picking my nose and trampling the sand under my sandal.

It’s easier for men; you have a little more chance and willpower to realize your desires.

Girls, women, girls, my dears, the only and main message that I convey throughout this book is -

“It’s being yourself. Be brave and move towards your dreams."

I’m now just on the way to them, I already have some experience behind me, but I’m still searching. And I'm moving towards my goals. I care, my life is clay from which will be what I mold.

Your clay is in your hands.

Create what seems ideal for you. Even if at first you decide that all this is nonsense, and there is no point in flying in the clouds. Just keep going.

Come with me. And a reward called “happiness” will definitely follow.

With love, Your Margarita.

PS: Due to the fact that I did not ask the majority for permission to publish their personal lives, all names in this book have been replaced. Sorry.

Оглавление

“I’m ugly, no one likes me”

"Masturbation is a sin"

“The coolest guy is already taken”

"Defloration"

"Lesbian tendencies."

“What if I’m on a vow of celibacy (the existence of which, of course, only God knows)”

"Painful breakup."

"Treason."

“10 guys in a year and no one worth it.”

“Igor, Alexander, Sofia.”

"Financial insolvency."

“HPV. Ureaplasmosis."

Menarche and “it would be better if I went to the army”

“First depilation, epilation. Why can't a woman be a yeti?

"Breast fibroadenoma."

"The man is twelve years older"

"First fart."

"Goodbye, friends"

"Man with child."

"Farewell University"

"Poverty and luxury."

"Flirting."

"Marriage."

"Divorce."

"Orgasm and frigidity, the search for marital sexuality"

"Miscarriage. Do I even want children?”

“Existential crisis — I haven’t achieved anything in my life.”