I wonder how many women know how to be a man's peace. I know of only one.

He who writes is the martyr, seen through the eyes of the unassuming doll.

Balancing the rigors life itself, being true to my wife, and the biggest example of a man to our sons is not a challenge for me. It is my sanity.

It's not the sex that gives you pleasure, it's the lover. For the remainder of my life, I plan to give this woman as much as she can handle, and then some. Often. Repeatedly.

When a man finds the right woman, there will appear a black hole to remove any and everything negative in his life. Once this task is complete and he's in her presence for the very first time thereafter, there will form in him a natural inclination to scream FUCK THE WORLD. And it is not just because she's near him. Her proximity to him gives him proof that she herself is alive and well in the universe itself.

Son, we are all products of operant conditioning. By daring to think outside the box, you'll be judged. Stay the course. Heightened cognizance is meaningful only when freely sought out and discovered. Not when it is incrementally spoon-fed to you throughout your lifetime.

Gentlemen, the secret to achieving the gift of an ultimate climax for whomever you happen to love is locked away in an impenetrable vault within her mind. If you love her, you'll fight like hell through Venuses maze. You'll find the elusive vault. And, for her sake, you'll release the motherfucking valve. This is what she wants.

I'm sitting naked on the edge of the bed with my legs ajar, caressing soft parts; marveling at the pulchritude of her navel. I look up to admire the magnificent curvature of her perky breasts and her endearing smile. I was never in love with her desire to undergo cosmetic surgery. I was then, and have fervently remained, in love with her happiness.

I have something to say to the men who know, have known, or will ever know this woman. Lord KNOWS I got this.