The Perfect Girl Is Not Perfect Because They Will Cheat On You And Crush Your Heart

I don’t know why I write this story. I should be out there chasing girls. But thinking about it helped, and maybe putting it on paper (or an iPad’s keyboard, in this instance) helps more. Maybe it way the story I read on this site yesterday. The story about the slit turning good, the story about realizing how you end to go thru some terrible things to reach happiness. I hope it’s true. I hope there is something to go forward for.

Yesterday evening, I was sitting alone in my plush hotel room in downtown Bangkok, trying very hard not to break down in tears. I sobbed as I was coming to the reality that my proposed sex trip to the capital of sex might not come as I hoped, and that the solution to my problems might not be a lot of paid easy fucks away.

Two years ago, I was on the top of the world. I was the happiest in my life. I was under 30, and years of hard work came to fruit. I built the biggest and most successful company in my field in the whole country, in fact, one of the best on the continent. It was a blazing success both as an engineer and as a businessman. I bought a cabriolet, and enjoyed life. Better yet, I found the love of my life.

I knew she was perfect on the first date – the date she was trying to downplay, claiming she was not ready for a relationship and tried to dress down to discourage me. I couldn’t even hold her hand. It took me another month to get her, but we fell in love. Hard. She was perfect, the most beautiful girl I have ever seen – the perfect mix of the angelic, innocent face, the voice of a singer, the ringing laugh that brought complete dining rooms to silence, the perfect body of any boy’s wet dream, honed by years of dancing and martial arts, and the aura of feminine seduction blended with girly touches, coupled with smarts and the social sensitivity I never had. She could literally stop traffic (and did frequently), and if we met in a restaurant I always sat with my back to the door so I can tell she arrived from the looks of the waiters or the hush that come to the room. I couldn’t believe a girl like this would love me, kiss me, or even talk to me. Months after we became public, I still had guys call me to the side and demand if what they heard was a joke. I was in seventh heaven.

And it was not only me. She confessed she would never thought she would like a guy like me, but that she now know she never loved before. She had a string of failed relationships with guys with perfect bodies, and she never assumed somebody without great abs would be so perfect for her. Her mother told me she thank God every night that she found me. My dad told me to marry her right away. I just couldn’t get enough of the look of pure love in her eyes.

And the vision she showed me pushed me forward on things I had never thought I’d achieve. With her quiet support, I made important changes in my company that kick started it into a new era – changes I know I needed but was afraid to do before. Her beauty made me dress better, take better care of myself, change bad habits, and build my confidence to levels unimaginable before. The company was booming, and I was leading our lives to joy. When 10 month after the first kiss we moved to our first flat, a rooftop place with a view to the city, I thought I had my whole life settled. A month before I secured my biggest deal, working alongside with one of the worlds best. I was emotionally, professionally, on the top.

Of course we were not perfect, but I didn’t care one bit. She was struggling to start her career and had I tried everything I can to help. I wanted her dreams to come true, too. She was my princess and I did everything to make her happy. I wanted to give her the world. When failing to get the dream jobs, she wanted to take up waitressing to cover her part of the rent, I flatly turned the offer down, telling her to focus on her career instead and I cover the bills. I didn’t mind one bit, the joy of her waiting for me in my home every night with dinner on the table and nothing but lace on her was the best a man can have. About a little more than a year after we met, I found myself in the same restaurant as on our first date, with her hands in mine. I fought myself really hard not to propose her right there as I wanted her to put emphasis on her career. I still wonder sometimes what would have happened. It was the first time in my life I teared up in public, and those were tears of joy. Never before. I was always the tough guy. I told her I love her so much. She was smiling lovingly back at me.

So it came as almost a complete surprise, that only about two months after Christmas, a Christmas we spent together for the first time, and where she decorated ‘our first tree of many’ with tears of joy in her eyes, she broke up with me. I understood that she lost her way, that while I thought I was helping her I actually held her back from making resolutions of finding a job, that by living on my money slowly took away her confidence first in her talents, then in her body. I let her go willingly, knowing she might come back after she found her way. It was not a problem inside our relationship, right? We are fantastic.

A few weeks later I found out she was cheating on me. Those letters will be forever etched in my retina. The messages of her planning to get away with another perfect-bodied, empty-minded guy, sent from my sofa, on my computer, while we were supposedly cuddling. It broke me down completely. For the next two weeks, I was in complete self-destruction, drinking myself into oblivion every night, only to wake up an hour later with seething rage I tried to lose in the the gym next door. Only a near miss with a heart attack, after not eating for four days, consuming another bottle of whiskey a day, stopped me literally on the running pad. I left the gym, walked in a drugstore and asked for over-the-counter medication. It was the first time I slept more than an hour per night in weeks.

I threw myself into work. I got another, even bigger job, with a world-known top star in my profession, my hardest job so far. I did six others on the sideline. I made more than ever and I had no intention of enjoying it. The company was still climbing but I was not interested a bit, not even answering phone calls. I was on the pills or alcohol, sometimes both. I went to whorehouses and massage parlors to ease the pain, only to leave rejected and disgusted. I had one night stands where I would break down in the middle or dream of her for days afterwards. I couldn’t bring myself to dating. The only two women I dated, one was a psycho and the other turned out to be (unknowing to her) working in the same store she ended up working to support herself. I ran away immediately. Daytime, I was doing my job perfectly, getting praised for my hard work. Nighttime, I went to doped up parties where I’d leave sobbing or just trashed around at home. I couldn’t sleep without pills, sometimes even with them. I went to church and cried all the way during service. I travelled several hundred kilometers to a sacred point in a mountain to try to end my grief. I spent most of the plane ride writing about her and trying to hide my tears. I took my family to vacation to remember i still have them but couldn’t talk to them. I went out with friends and strangers. I went to therapy, where my shrink told me this is the best thing ever happened to me. I got used by all kinds of girls, from getting drinks only to find they ran away, to old crushes who only agreed to have a drink to enjoy telling the perfect relationship they have, and to being friendzoned by old girlfriends who wouldn’t fuck me because they knew the condition I was in.

Slowly I realized we were not perfect. That there were a thousand little things that needed to be solved. That they might not be as easy as I thought. I stopped whining to my friends in fear of driving them away and tried to come to terms.

But when she started messaging me, ten months after the breakup, telling me I was right in so many things, I couldn’t bring myself to start it all over again. I still had no distance. We met, she was so cold, and I broke down and left her there, telling her I could not risk it all again, and leaving her, looking sad but so fucking beautiful, while I cried loudly all the way walking across the mall. I had no idea why I rejected her as I wanted her more than anything in my life. I just knew we couldn’t do that at that point and it would only destroy the little I built up in myself.

After finally accepting it’s over, I decided to start renewed. One of my plans were to organize a tour in the Far East, a sex vacation across countries, to bring back my balance. It started out surprisingly well. On my first night in Hong Kong, I walked in the first club totally jet-lagged, expecting a bunch of bored local couples. What I found instead was the monthly get-together of the best of the modeling industry in HK, with about a hundred utterly beautiful drunken girls. I had a great night, even though I was not expecting anything. I know models, and I knew I was not up to getting one of those on the first try. But I was having huge fun, and it didn’t stop there. In the next few days, I had dates with pretty local girls, and even got the confidence to stop a group of sexy Ukrainian blondes on the sidewalk. On the plane to the next city, I asked out the stewardess for a drink, chatted up another girl in the lounge, and met a girl from my country for a few drinks one night. Life was getting better as I was tripping around countries with lots of white sand beaches. I decided i don’t really want to pay for sex, the world is full of nice girls and I should just try to pick up someone and enjoy.

The last stop of that trip was Bangkok. I wanted to make an adventure of a lifetime. On the first night, I went to the best club available, firmly telling myself I should just have fun and not hunt girls. I wouldn’t do either.

I allowed myself to forget what kind of people go to the ‘best’ clubs. and this was not the Big Apple or London, where the rich and famous have a party. This is where rich white guys come to show off their local whores. And that in itself wouldn’t be a problem, but it pretty much defines the girls too. These were not the pretty girls in too short skirts that try to make eye contact – the girls you know you can bring home if you wanted to, so it makes you feel some sort of macho power even if you decide to go home alone. These were the snotty bitches, the best of the best, who were already paid for the night (and for the week, probably) more than a monthly wage of the average worker, so they can get drunk for free and vent their own (very much true, I might add) frustrations by turning on to guys who were not with another flashy girl, while their ‘dates’ sat on the couch behind them, drinking champagne and high-giving each other. I fell apart when a particularly pretty girl, at the ripe age of nineteen, showed me the finger and shouted fuck off when I smiled at her, while her companions roared around in laughter. Here I was, in designer clothes as a watch costing more than her whole salary, getting ridiculed by a girl ten years younger than me.

I bought some cocaine from a group of guys and spent most of the night deciding next day I would go out and buy some feminine flesh, show the world how this works and just plain don’t care for feelings.

I went out with this plan yesterday afternoon, only to return completely beaten a little later when I realized I was so down and angry from previous night I was afraid to say hi to two pretty smiling girls waiting in the bus stop. I also realized I was looking for woman who would see me as a man and I’d never get that from a prostitute. I spent the night in my room, alone and scared to being completely fucked up again. I felt like shit, and had had no idea where to go.

Today I woke up and decided to change my life. I realized I have enough of Bangkok, and did something completely alien to me – threw away all the plans. In an hour I got on a bus to the first beach city, with nobody on the vehicle understanding a word I said. I left all my stuff in the room, bringing only a pair of swimming trunks and a change of shirts, and got into the first hotel I found. I am now sitting in the sand on the beach and enjoying the sunshine. The world might still be a pretty place. Twenty seconds after I sat down, a very pretty blonde girl in front of me stood up, smiled, and spent the next fifteen minutes standing three feet in front of me looking at the ocean in what I can barely call a thong.

Okay, she doesn’t speak a word of English and her boyfriend just arrived, it’s still a nice sight into what I hope is a brighter future.