If you ask me what the cover image is all about, juxtaposed with the title and in particular, the general subject: male-female physical attraction—"chemistry," as it were—I couldn't tell you. The truth is that I scrolled past the image last evening on National Geographic's Telegram Channel and when I just had to share it on my own channel feed, I prefaced it with "Now that's a Bad Ass church. Where can I join?"

So the answer is: hell if I know. It was a visceral attraction and perhaps when I went looking for stock cover photos for this post, this one came to mind and I just went with it, with no added thought in the matter.

...And who knows, really, why anyone is attracted to anyone, or anything, else? Why can one person's dream be another's nightmare? Can you even account for your own attractions and repulsions, fully? I can't. It's even worse than that, for, the older I get, the less I seem to know about it in any concrete fashion. Why do I really just simply like what I like, love what I love, and hate what I hate?

That's why, for instance, when I had the personal experiences that resulted in a video on the subject and a doozie, 3,000-word post with tons of images (The Secret For a Man: How To Get That Initial Positive Visceral Reaction From a Woman) I was deer-in-headlights mystified that such a thing existed and was easily managed. But it sure as hell does...and it kicks the shit out of anything else we're told that puts our ducks in a row and best foot forward for those initial encounters with the fairer sex.

Guys, put that first thing into practice and see for your own damn selves. I'm continuing to strive towards even bigger and better; and it's not disappointing.

I shouldn't even mention this next story because for sure it will utterly disgust some—which just eggs me on—but I've been casually meeting up with a young college student of 20, recently. She's halfway through her degree in economics, but doing an internship at a nearby Swiss owned & operated care home for older expats who want to live out their last years here, but require some assistance.

And before the disgusted and triggered ones wonder—but then presume anyway—how in the hell that happened—me and a 20-yr-old meeting up under auspices of "dating"—it was near total serendipity...and the rest is on her.

She'd already initiated by swiping-right on my profile in a phone app, when one late evening, her motorbike wouldn't start outside of a convenience store near my place. (I happened to require a few things at 23.30 so happened upon the trouble.

"Can I help you?"

I got the motorbike started lickedy split, 2nd kick. (Her battery was dead and she's not "full figured" enough to effectively kick the manual start).

...And while I did not fail to notice her sexy adorableness (my God!), I stopped short of doing anything beyond simply helping out the damsel in distress; going then on my merry way, good deed accomplished.

Minutes later, back at home, my phone went 'ding.'

There was a message via that phone app. Guess who? I scantly recalled that we'd had a brief text exchange a week or so earlier, after the right-swipe and "match." I didn't pursue it because at that hyper-young age, I figured she was probably a bar girl or freelancer. Nothing against that and I'm a fan sometimes, but it's not what I use the app for. I use it to meet young women who don't work in bars or freelance. If I'm in the mood for that, I'll just go to one of any number of girl-bars only minutes away.

So, in the broke-down motorcycle encounter, she had recognized me but I'd not recognized her.

She asked if I was that guy who just rescued her from certain demise (I embellish) and that if I am, she thanks me profusely. Not embellishing, but a direct quote:

"I have just finished work. You're like a god who really saved my life."

So, of course, we're now on a different terrain and you'd better believe I was going to explore that. I still didn't know her background of college, the internship, etc., but that was promptly forthcoming in subsequent texts.

The fist meetup was a few days later when she invited me to join her up at the windmill lookout at Nai Harn for sunset. She arrived first. There's a grass field sloping off downward toward the cliffs with a perfect aspect for sitting whilst watching the sun set. The difficulty was in there being quite a few people that evening, all facing out and I was behind, looking down the green field.

Rather than dweebishly text "I'm here, where are you?" destroying the serenity, I decided to think it through.

What sort of young woman—who's not that kind of working girl—would initiate and pursue a liaison with a man 41 years her senior?

'...It's gotta be that one right over there. A woman sitting on the grass alone...the one in the casual long dress and cute black boots...the only person amongst dozens sitting alone. Likely, a woman who thinks for herself.'

And Bingo!

She was perfectly demure and delightful from the first second and has continued to be. It wasn't five minutes and she was casually touching my forearm...which is always great when you like her too...terribly annoying when you don't, in that way.

There've been a couple of casual meetings since, and in fact, she just finished at the care home a bit early, 23.10, here. So this is a good time for a break. The arm caresses have persisted and damn do I love them.

...Oh, I almost forgot. She's pretty critical of the the whole Church & State thing—even dropping a couple of f-bombs when discussing it. Go figure. And, smart enough for college courses in economics rather than social studies...? Yea! She's doing the internship because she's considering a shift into medicine.

Finally, I have no illusions about any of this. Nor am I trying to come off as some Don Juan seduction expert. I'm merely writing and creating videos about experiences from a different land and culture where, in my view at least, they suffer from substantially less hang-ups than are prevalent, epidemic, and stifling—especially for men—in the West.

And i'm increasingly mindful of this:

And what's in it for her? Damned if I know, though there are clues. She's absolutely not clingy, needy, pestering, demanding, entitled, or scolding. ...Oh, wait... One little rebuke last Saturday night when she invited me to come join her and her sister at the same place, Vibes, where I have the 99 baht breakfast. A live band was playing so it was difficult to talk. I was using Google Translate on the phone, so as to not be shouting. She told me to put it down and just get close to her ear. And when I did, there she was grasping my forearm again as I would speak, as if to draw me closer.

...I'm now back to drafting after a short meet up with her, and then a much needed sleep for me. And so what happens but that I wake up and begin rethinking including this in the post. I could do without it, actually. I could save it for another post. While I know some will like and enjoy it—even chicks—so very many seem locked in their paradigms of what's "acceptable" behavior, and there's never any self-evaluation towards attempting an understanding of why they find completely consensual interactions such as this so abhorrent.

Why do they "cringe." What is the source of that? What values are they in pursuit of...taking actions for. Why do they use dismissive, unthoughtful words like "cringe" in place of actual integrations and arguments?

Why? Why? Oh why?

It's my observation that nearly the whole world—9 out of ten-ish—rely on authorities external to themselves rather than engaging in the process of discipline, thought, and self control required to assess and judge things on their own context, merits, and demerits.

Rather, I see a lot of "The [insert appropriate external authority] told me what to think and what to say." (god, book, law, priest, guru, government, president, king, judge, PhD, expert, and the list goes on...)

Florida lawyer and blogger extraordinaire, Jeff Childers, included a section in yesterday's Coffee & Covid apropos to this human failing to use one's own mind...beyond its more common usage of taking all efforts to assess what others think and say, such that one knows himself what to think and say.

I was attending some CLE yesterday and came across a perfect example of what I’ve been talking about since the beginning of the pandemic. File this story under “The Death of Expertise.”

So, I was watching a live continuing education program yesterday afternoon, a pretty good one actually, and the presenter — a 40+ year veteran trial lawyer — was going through his powerpoint on a particular type of civil rights litigation, when he got to his general pointers about jury selection.

Here’s one of the three main bullet points the presenter offered, after his long and successful trial career, about how to pick good jurors:

I bet the experts didn’t see THAT coming. Explaining his rationale, the presenter said something like, “I have nothing against people who think they are experts, but they tend to believe that just because they know a lot about ONE area, that means they should be able to tell everybody else what to think about everything. I much prefer common sense over expertise, when it matters.”

Indeed. When it’s life or death, or is about serious money issues, you’re better off with REGULAR FOLKS — not experts — on the jury. Even people with expertise in whatever the case is about! It’s not a knock against professionals. I know that a lot of our C&C army are professionals, and I bet they’d agree. I’m even in that group.

The points, neatly made in a single Powerpoint bullet, is that you can’t rely on experts to use common sense, and other people defer TOO MUCH to experts. We need to stop deferring to experts. They are valuable for giving us an informed opinion to consider, that’s all. You should feel free to reject expert advice if it doesn’t make sense to you.

...And with that, it's time to move into the meat of the subject. And that involves yet another story about a woman, but of a decidedly different nature and outcome. It's below the fold. It's a write up and an embedded video.

CHAPTERS

1. 00:00 Introduction
2. 00:32 The Thing Is...
3. 00:50 The Pretty Lady
4. 01:25 The Move
5. 02:10 Oopsie; Where'd She Go?
6. 03:46 Good For Me; For Her?
7. 03:57 The Real Reason...
8. 04:46 My Potty Mouth
9. 05:02 What's The Question?
10. 07:51 The Big Clue
11. 09:13 The Video Chat
12. 10:02 Saving Face
13. 11:06 Financial Setback What To Do
14. 12:02 Do I Fault Her?
15. 12:18 But Wait... A Great Story
16. 14:47 Not A Young Kid Anymore

A final note is that some-something absolutely made this all possible and I covered it—primarily for the guys—in the previous post. As I said or implied, it's a ridiculous advantage and any guy should be able to do it and see for themselves: The Secret For a Man: How To Get That Initial Positive Visceral Reaction From a Woman.

Do you really want to miss out on the substantially more important rest of the story? The foregoing introduction is 2,962 words. What follows is another 3,000 and it's kinda odd and strange, as I remark in the closing.