Don't listen to me I talk shit.

It’s always been a mystery to me why it is that people have for most of my adult life asked my advice about anything and everything. People who do the asking really do think that I have no problems whatsoever, I know this because they have told me at the time of asking for the advice. It seems I sail through life without a care. It’s not that I mind helping, but the responsibility lies heavy if they actually take the advice I offer.

Mostly they don’t, thank heaven, I have found that a request for advice is really a search for confirmation of their own ideas about what it is they should do and if what you say differs from what they think, they will look elsewhere for wise words. Usually its women who ask this old sage for a solution to whatever problem is troubling them, and the problem usually is a man. No surprises there, but a couple of weekends ago it wasn’t a teary eyed beauty whom I could have taken advantage of (Just joking) but a pal of mine who is probably the last person I would have thought would have had woman trouble.

He is tall, good looking, well dressed and a confident type of chap, so it was with some surprise that I opened my front door early Sunday evening to a distressed looking, stooped and thoroughly dejected looking, far from confident gibbering idiot. That it was pissing down didn’t help, he stood there soaked through apologising for bothering me on my day off, and as he spoke his voice wavered and hiccuped in that way young kids do when talking and crying at the same time. I just knew this was gonna be juicy.

I invited him in and gave him a towel to dry his hair; he rubbed vigorously for a minute or so, which left his usually neatly couffered locks stuck out in all directions. So eager was he to reveal his tale of woe to me that he left it uncombed and for the rest of the consultation my eyes kept wondering to the birds nest on his head. However as I didn’t want to interrupt his flow, I kept my mouth shut.

“She is ending it Dave, after two years together she is dumping me” I asked why, he tearfully replied “She said I don’t do it for her, never have. She said all these years she has pretended to be happy with our sex life hoping it would get better, but it hasn’t so she has found someone who does do it for her”.
I asked if she had ever tried to talk about it before now and try to work things out. He screwed his face up and said, “Nope, never, I always thought things were ok in that department. She was always verbally demonstrative when we made love”.

Do you know whom this new guy is I asked? Choking back tears he said “Yes, its some muscle bound bastard from the gym she goes to. I tried to placate him, your not exactly thin and weedy yourself old boy. He looked at me through ever more reddening eyes; “Well he has got far more muscle than he needs and besides, she said he had a bigger widji than me. (His words not mine) “What do I do”.

I looked at his sticky out hair and thought for a moment about offering to lend him mine, widji not hair but mercifully I bit my lip. Humour never helps when it’s a case of widji size; men can be very sensitive about this subject. I asked him what he said after she gave him the devastating news, “Nothing, I just walked out of the house and drove around for a few hours, then I came here”.

I asked him if he wanted the truth or just some kind words that would make him feel better, he opted for the truth. I stood up to deliver my monologue. “As hurt as you feel right now, spare a thought for the fact that she has lied to you for the last two years. She lied by pretending to enjoy your lovemaking, and I know that’s true for a lot of women, if only to spare the feelings of the one whom can’t perform to their satisfaction. But at least at some point most women will say enough is enough and bring it to the table for discussion, usually because they love that person and want to make it better. He wrung his hands.

She has also lied to you in that for her to know that Mr Muscles can perform better than you can, she would have to have tested the water so to speak to gain that knowledge. He winced. By allowing you to continue thinking that everything in the garden was rosy she has been underhanded and cruel, it occurs to me that she could possibly have held back on purpose waiting for someone like Mr Muscles to come along who could offer her what she wanted. I was in full stride now. In fact it’s a distinct possibility that Mr Muscles wasn’t the first time she ate out as it were. He winced again and wrung his hands.

Whichever way you look at it my friend she has thought of herself and not you, do you really want to live with a woman who can deceive you without a second thought for your feelings. She didn’t even spare you the humiliation of her thinking you a bad lover. She could have just said she had met someone else, but no she had to twist the knife. He grimaced as though the knife were being twisted as we spoke.

I paused from my verbal whipping of this cruel, woman and saw the very real pain in his eyes. You really love her don’t you? He sobbed. “Yes, what am I going to do”. I’m a sucker for tears, so I poured him a drink and asked again exactly what he had said when she gave him the news. “Nothing, I was so shocked, I just walked out”. Ok I said, that’s good, no need to backtrack. The house belongs to you doesn’t it. He nodded but said she had asked him to find a Hotel for a week or so until she could make arrangements.

Right, you go back, tell her that you are relived that she broke up with you because you have been trying to find a way to do that for months, but couldn’t come up with anything. Then you tell her, not ask her to leave and find herself a hotel, or move in with Mr Muscles who by rights should be prepared to house her as well as sexually entertain her. If she argues, just tell her that you have already informed your new girlfriend of the break up (The reason for your leaving so quickly) and she is even now packing her things ready to move in when you leave. He looked ashen, “But that will make things worse surely, I’m not sure I can do that”. You can and you will my friend, trust me it will work. After another drink and a great deal of trying to convince him that my strategy was faultless, he left hair still pointing in all directions to pursue his destiny.

At this point I have to admit that I thought it wouldn’t work, I know his girlfriend and she isn’t a pleasant type, without doubt he would be better of without her. So playing God and going against my policy of none interference I urged him to have the bollocks to dare it out and play her at her own game. Surprisingly he did have the bollocks, and surprisingly it did work, her bluff was called and she collapsed, after two nights away, she came back asking for his forgiveness and another chance to try again. My plan backfired.

He phoned last week to tell me the good news and I can only assume that she has gone back to her verbal acting in bed and he spends rather more time than he used to in front of the mirror inspecting his widji. Was I wrong? Well was I?.