The Expectations of ‘Mean’ vs the Realities of ‘Nice’

I met her in a bar, though it turned out we were in geography together. I don’t remember the open or the close, I just knew that it was appropriate to sit down next to her the next time I actually showed up to class. Since I was feeling randy, I’m sure it was the first class meeting following the Friday on which we’d met. Though not a model student, I did actually take paper and a writing utensil with me and mostly pay attention to the professor. I gave the impression of being a serious student, when I was there, so the decision to study together at my apartment wasn’t totally illusory.

It was quickly decided that the hour was late and she should most definitely spend the night. The sun was down, her car was parked feet from the front door of my apartment, and her sorority house was almost a whole mile away, after all. I was a nice guy to boot. Only nice guys offer their beds to sorority girls on a weeknight.

I don’t think we ever actually feigned studying, we just started making out. At one point she started sucking my thumb provocatively. I suggested it was time to hit the hay and she agreed. Once in my bed, the whole, “I don’t want to move too fast because I really like you” routine came out. I told her I understood and then complimented her thumb sucking technique. I don’t remember if I then looked at my crotch or if I made an attempt at clever suggestion. I know that whatever I did, it wasn’t the pinnacle of smoothness. It did get the point across. More important, she was amenable to the suggestion, which isn’t shocking since she’s the one who surreptitiously suggested it it in the first place. A ponytail holder appeared, the hair was fastened back, and I was made aware that not everything was considered too fast.

But, you say, what about my claims of being a nice guy? I was nice. I gave her what she wanted. I didn’t beat around the bush, I didn’t go passive aggressive, I didn’t supplicate myself and pretend to be wimpy in order to seduce her. Granted, my technique was flawed, but it got the job done. I’d be more proud of that story if I’d said something ultra direct like, “Your sucking technique is impressive. Look, a cock!” Live and learn.

I ended up breaking that girl’s heart. She still refuses to acknowledge she knows me when we find ourselves in the same location. I catch her looking, but when I attempt eye contact or a friendly smile, she quickly looks away.

How did I get from provocative thumb sucking to furtive glances? I stopped being a nice guy. I started being mean. I stopped telling the truth and started trying to protect her feelings. I tried to buffer aloof and self-focused game with a facade of beta caring, even going so far as to try to maintain this facade once my interest had vanished. It was the noble thing to do. It was the mature thing to do.

It was the wrong thing to do.

Pick up artists often talk about game or about themselves in less than glowing terms. They acknowledge that game works because it appeals to women’s baser motives. What they don’t often acknowledge is that the honesty inherent in game, in being direct and decisive, hits the girls, instinctively if not logically, as nice, even if society says that behavior is dishonest, mean, manipulative, etc. So even though gamers can talk about tactics in less than glowing terms, the behavior itself, by force of sheer honesty, is nicer than the behavior of the ‘nice guys.’

‘Nice guys’ create an expectation of nice behavior. The ulterior motives and passive aggression they employ in pursuit of those motives inflict more hostility upon the girls in their lives. The hamster wheels spin furiously in an abortive attempt to understand the mixed signals coming forth from these nice guys. In short, their behavior produces an opposite result of that expected. They’re the bad guys in the dichotomy, not the cads.

The cads, on the other hand, with their directness and clear motives, with the focus on the truth, are the true nice guys of the world. Their goals are never obfuscated. Their self-interest is obvious. They offer a clear choice. They do not try to protect feelings or construct an artificial persona around themselves.

That’s where I went wrong. I’d lost interest in the girl. Instead of just telling her that, I tried to let her down gently, to gradually wean her from my glorious manhood. I constructed a long term persona and found myself unable to maintain. I refused to bluntly tell her the truth. I tried to drive her away. I acted like a pussy. I became the beta nice guy I had pretended to be. I was totally focused on myself, but I was trying to serve that focus by stealthily avoiding her instead of just removing her from the equation.

‘Nice guys’ do finish last. They finish last because they’re afraid to cross the finish line. They have to be dragged, kicking, screaming, and attempting to convince the finish line to move to a more easily reached location. The guys who finish first? They may not be nice, but the ladies certainly perceive their affections that way. Which path will you take? Me, I’m sticking with the honest one, the one with integrity, the one that doesn’t tiptoe around the desire for a good knob polishing. It’s oh so nice.