Stop Sleeping with Community D*ck He’s Ran Through and For the Streets

There is nothing elite, empowered, or enlightened about tolerating a man who’s been passed around more than a blunt at a frat party. If his body count is in the double digits, you’re not dating a man. You’re dating a walking STD survey. Not “experience.” Corrosion. His dick is spiritually bankrupt, his testosterone is on life support, and his soul smells like Axe body spray and a used condom from 2013.

Promiscuous men are a danger to themselves and society. Every woman they’ve laid with has taken a little more of their dignity, their focus, and their will to bond. It’s not sexual freedom; it’s emotional decay dressed up as experience. You’re expected to think he’s relationship material just because he pays for dinner and says he likes dogs? No. He’s a used car with 220,000 miles, the check engine light flashing, and six previous owners—all of whom left bad reviews.

You wouldn’t buy a car that’s been driven into the ground by reckless drivers and expect it to run like new right? Taking on a man whose emotional transmission is shot and whose loyalty alignment is permanently off makes just as little sense. With divorce rates hovering around 50%, you better make damn sure you’re investing in someone who won’t veer off the road the moment a newer model passes by. You want reliability. You want stability. A vehicle that doesn’t stall every time things get hard or tempting. Better options exist, and you deserve them.

Plenty of newer, fresher, more reliable models are out there. If there’s nothing on the lot locally, take your search overseas. Many low-mileage models come equipped with honor, discipline, and built-in protection systems.

Scandinavian men, for example, are strong, emotionally intelligent, and progressive. Many operate on feminist principles without requiring any prompting. These men know how to provide, co-parent, and hold you through a nervous breakdown without making it about themselves. Do not mistake their hygge candles and stylish knitwear for softness. These men boast some of the highest gun ownership rates in the world. They can cradle a baby and shoot an intruder without flinching. Feminist. Viking. Sniper. Wrap that in a flannel and deliver it please.

Find someone who can do all that and not complain.

While we’re on the topic of setting standards, steer clear of single fathers.

Dating a man with kids is giving full pick-me energy. A high-value woman does not sign up to raise a child she did not create. Sharing his paycheck with his ex and their kids is not romantic; it’s a financial liability. Thirty percent of his income is already spoken for. His time, his loyalty, and his emotional availability are divided. If he had made better decisions with his previous partner, you wouldn’t be in this position to begin with. Do not take on his chaos. You are not a stepmother in waiting. You are a woman with your own womb, your own future, and your own legacy to build.

Additionally, virgin men should not be considered strange or underdeveloped. They are rare, disciplined, and valuable. These men have not spent their formative years outsourcing their self-worth to meaningless sex. They haven’t been spiritually corrupted by spin classes with women they never called back. They are grounded, disciplined, and will make eye contact without picturing you as the Pornhub thumbnail they watched last night. They are not chasing validation from imaginary audiences or measuring success with a spreadsheet of regrets. Preservation is not weakness. It is strength.

Promiscuous men cannot even bond properly. Their focus is fragmented. Their leadership potential has been drained, one hookup at a time. Running on empty, they will try to convince you they’re still a full tank. They are not. You are not his redemption arc. You are not a hospice nurse for his emotional dysfunction. You are a high-value woman with no interest in rescuing what others have wrecked. You crave peace and you do not need to issue stock in emotional charity.

Now, here’s the twist.

This whole essay is bullshit.

This is satire. Laugh if you must, cringe if you have to, but understand the point. This is exactly how incels and misogynists talk about women, but written better.

These are their tired metaphors, purity myths, and scare tactics flipped on their heads. The used car analogies. The virgin obsession. The fearmongering about sex ruining bonding. The passport bro ideology. These strategies aim to humiliate, exert control, and dehumanize women.

Reverse the logic. Watch their eyes widen. Suddenly, it’s offensive. When it’s men being judged by mileage instead of women, the whole room shifts. That’s the point. No one’s worth is measured in how many people they’ve slept with or haven’t. Virginity is a social construct anyway. Real connection begins with character, not a body count.

There are good men out there. I promise. Some are kind. Some are emotionally available. Some even know how to do their own laundry. But if you’re exhausted from trying, if you’re sick of raising man-children who want girlfriends and wives with the emotional labor of a mom, I get it. Truly. I fucking get it.

Women are living incredible lives on their own terms. We don’t need a man. We have community. We have close friendships and support systems. We have family. Some of us have children, and many of us are raising daughters. It’s time we show them that marriage is not the end goal. You don’t have to bear children. You don’t have to chase approval through a wedding band. You can build a brilliant, independent life. You can have joy. Freedom. A fulfilling career. A creative, sensual, meaningful existence.

Just don’t waste years of it on an emotionally stunted man who will never give you what you need or pull his fucking weight. Don’t make the same mistake so many of us did. Don’t trade your peace for proximity to someone who drains you.

The shift is being felt already. The US birth rate is at a historic low. Women are waking up. They’re realizing they don’t have to race to the altar, settle down with someone mediocre, or tolerate the same generational bullshit. They’re opting out of misery. They’re choosing self-respect over social pressure.

Fucking finally.

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