Prologue: The Loser I was

The Autobiography of a Modern Male

By TGR White

I slumped back in my computer chair, dick in my hand as the legacy of another night of porn dripped down my bare leg. The blessedness of orgasm passes away and all that remains is the hollowness within my chest. A longing for human contact…wanting to curl up next to a woman, to hold her in my arms.

Through the thin wall I could hear the ecstatic moans as the girl of my dreams is fucked by another man. His grunts mingled with her heated cries of passion.

I was 21 and I had never had sex, never kissed a girl, never so much as held hands. In the animal kingdom I was the loser of the pack; the outcast; doomed to die alone.

I cleaned myself up; a nightly ritual. Shame and disgust shoved away the emptiness in my chest as I looked at the last movie clip still playing on my screen, searing its way into my subconscious. A middle aged woman, comely but not attractive, her face twisted in agony as her ass was mercilessly flogged by a fat dominatrix.

Next door my love screamed in orgasm as her latest bad boy pounded away. It should have been me in there. How did it come to this?

My obsession, nay addiction, with porn began in high school. When I was fourteen my parents bought our family’s first computer. My parents were not very computer literate and I had no trouble getting around their net filter. It began with photos of hot, naked women back when kilobytes were a big deal. By the time I was sixteen I had stumbled onto bondage photos. It was edgier, novel, degrading; alluring.

Every spare moment I had without anyone else in the house I would be on the computer, dick in hand, straining for sounds of a vehicle coming up the drive. My grades did not suffer but my social life did. I did not bother trying to chase girls with the zeal of my classmates. While other guys were losing their virginity I was beating off the kinky and the twisted. While others thought about prom I thought about tit torture. I had never been a social person and I became a complete loner and loser.

In college I rented the room of a house and spent my time alone, jerking it to porn. By now I was onto movies.

The worst of it was that I thought this made me part of the bondage community. I thought I knew the bondage models; thought that I belonged. I was not some vanilla; I was part of the scene. I was hardcore.

Porn does not kiss you, cuddle you or whisper secrets in your ear; porn doesn’t make you feel human; not yet anyway…

That is how, at the age of nineteen, I found myself a porn addicted anti social asexual loser. As far as life went, I sucked at it.

At the time I thought I loved her. In truth it was a childish infatuation. Her name was Sophie. She was nothing but the woman whom I elevated to the place of goddess and upon whom I placed all my desires, insecurities and neurotic hang ups. I believed that through her I could find Salvation; escape myself. How typical is that of the modern male? So uneasy within himself that he desires to lose himself in a woman? The first time I saw her I thought she was beautiful because she looked so sad, so broken, so in need of saving.

Sophie came into my life just when the agony of porn induced loneliness was making me think of changing my life. She was naturally vibrant and gregarious; as stark contrast to me. I decided she was the One. The special girl I would lose my virginity. I had no idea how to approach a girl, how to ask her out. A million ridiculous, pathetic and absolutely cringe-worthy ideas ran through my head. I still believed that magic just spontaneously happens, that somehow our first kiss would be accompanied by fireworks to a background Disney track.

I was a twenty year old guy and I still believed in fairytales.

Instead of making a move I hesitated. If I ever had any chance I wasted it away due to my fear. Fear of being rejected, of being laughed at. If I was not already there I crashed head first into the friend zone. She needed a new housemate and I jumped at the idea. I imagined domestic bliss and sex.

 There was not domestic bliss. There was sex. The first weekend after I moved in she bought some big guy back from the club. He could probably not spell his own name. It didn’t matter. He got to fuck her, to taste the sweat on her breast, to stare into her eyes at the moment of climax; I jacked off in my room. I was nearly twenty one.

There was no great moment of inspiration, no heart warming music, no great speeches or defining event; this is real life and life changing moments are seldom recognized at the time. Often they are only recognizable so far in the future that when you look back your memory is clouded. It was one too many nights of loneliness. Maybe my loneliness finally outweighed my fears. Maybe I was sick of hearing some other guy fucking the woman who should have been mine.

 All I can remember is that my life changed the night I found the pick up forum. Losers like me who discussed the best ways to get laid; who practised and practised until they found themselves swimming in a sea of pussy.

It hurt. For the first time I had to look at myself honestly and it hurt. I did not realize what a loser I was. I honestly don’t remember how I found the forum; all I know is that once I found it I couldn’t stop reading. The same stories over and over again from the same sort of guys. My story over and over again.

I was a loser in high school…I’ve never had sex…never had girlfriend….how do I get her to fall in love with me…want sex…want a girlfriend…scared to talk to girls…

And the advice came. I saved pages of tales, tips and tricks from aspiring and novice pick up artists. Make eye contact. Be cocky and funny. Neg to lower her Bitch Shield. Don’t be like every other Average Frustrated Chump. Use a canned opener to begin with. If you can, use a situational opener. Comment on something about her. Agree and Amplify. Get her in a sexual state. Mirror Her Body Language. Improve yourself. Workout. Dress Better. Get a Haircut. Walk like you have a pair.

The sun was rising when I finally stopped reading. I didn’t want to change who I was. I liked who I was. The hollow feeling in my chest said otherwise. Tomorrow I would begin. Tomorrow I begin my journey to becoming an alpha male pick up artist.

“The Autobiography of a Modern Male” copyright (c) 2013 by TGR White. All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced for any commercial use without prior written approval from the author.

The Future is Here

I called it! In a comment here at Vox Popoli I claimed that it may be possible would be used to print guns. Yesterday Bill posted a video showing that it has already happened. When I made that comment on VP I didn’t expect to see 3D printed guns for at least a few years. The world is changing so fast that what seems like science fiction is increasingly becoming mundane.

The full implications of 3D printing have yet to be realized. This is a disruptive technology on par with the original printing press, fire, guns and the factory. Printing guns is only the start. Whilst current 3D printing technology may be beyond the capacity for understanding for most people (myself included) what we have today will be, from a historical perspective, the equivalent of the first revolver.

3D printing will change life and economics permanently. With the ability to manufacture crap much easier (and eventually cheaper) than some third world slave it will undermine many countries whose economy is based on manufacturing cheap shit for America’s uncontrollable consumption. Nothing says that China does not already have an army of 3D printers flooding the market with cheap crap (or building firearms already). The Chinese may not be great innovators but they are second to none at reverse engineering

The idea and mindset behind 3D printing will cause us to look at others way of approaching problems at an everyday level. Imagine a 3D printer for cooking. Add all the ingredients and the thing spits out a cake or a meal. All you have to do is keep the various dispensers topped up. Hell, some innovative basement dwelling Japanese herbivore is probably building a 3D printer capable of manufacturing sex bots.

Whilst you think sexbots the government will probably be thinking more along the lines of this:

As with any game changing technology it promises freedom. Freedom frightens totalitarians. Expect governments to try to control the distribution of 3D printing (will fail) and then they will force manufacturers to start installing reporting technology in all printers they sell, so the gov can see what you are printing. At the other end the government will be monitoring everything that is downloaded and printed off. Since all your internet history is already recorded its unavoidable.

The next great battle for freedom will be evading the eyes of and tendrils of big brother. Hackers who can get around the printer limitations and monitoring will be the freedom fighters of the future. By the way, government infiltrates hacker groups, so be leery of who you ask for advice. Anonymous is run by government shills, hence its toothlessness.

The other ramification will be the change in jobs. With less need for manufacturing more people will be forced into the service sector. With less laboring positions we should have less need for illegals. Hank who used to work in manufacturing can now mow lawns and Jose isn’t really needed but don’t expect anyone in government to point that out soon.

Obvious displays of wealth will be less used since wealth will be cheaper and more easily obtained. Instead, expect people to focus on showing off their status through thrill seeking, gathering experiences, travelling, and consuming non renewable resources such as food, alcohol etc.

Non renewable resources and raw materials will see a huge boost in their relative value, at least at first. Eventually recycling used materials for 3D printing will be a huge industry. In the distant future (which, given the unforeseeable advance of technology means it could actually be very soon) 3D printers may themselves be able to break down components and recycle them into new things. To us that sounds like science fiction but then again how many years ago would 3D printing itself have seemed like distant science fiction.

To continue on the theme of fiction, Vox once made a comment that modern sci-fi writers suck because they cannot understand modern technology. A prescient comment and one that will become increasingly obvious as technology continues to become more and more intricate and closer to magic from the perspective of the layman. True Science fiction will slowly die, given way to fantasy set in space (assuming it is not already dead).

Finally to throw in some “emotional pornography”, aka conspiracy theories, aka speculation: The government knew that 3D printing would soon give way to manufacturing firearms so DHS bought up all that ammo to make those guns useless since 3D printers can’t do ammo, yet.

And wait until 3D printers can print 3D printers…


Always back up your files! Recently my laptop was stolen. I was of the mind that I could always back up my files tomorrow. Tomorrow turned into three months and a lot of lost work. It always helps to remember that what matters most is how hard of a hit you can take and still go on.

This was a big hit. Thankfully not all my work was lost. 

I would like to claim that this is a disaster that rivals Hemmingway’s lost suitcase of manuscripts and that the great, defining novel of the early twenty first century, the Age of Hedonism, was lost but I think that is over reaching. 

I have the spent the past few months working on several novels (and letting the blog languish by the wayside) and some of these were partly lost. 

One of the novels I was working on was to be the journey of a modern male from the an omega loser through to an alpha. It was to be in part my story, but also the story of many others; the story of modern manhood.

Most of the first draft of this novel still remains in printed form peppered with corrections and coffee stains. It is, thankfully, short because I hate retyping something. Typing up the second draft was a slow hell. 

Frankly, I was bored of the project anyway. It sprang out of this post and I kept with it for the sake of finishing what I started. Now I have no intention of spending my time retyping upwards of sixty thousand words when I have other projects I want to work on. 

Instead I am going to put the novel up here, for free, chapter by torturous chapter. Between now and next week I will put up the prologue. I should put up a chapter a week without it getting in the way of my other projects. 

I put this up here with three requests of decreasing importance:

1. Feel free to spread the prologue and first chapter far and wide across the web . The more I am read the better. Being read matters more to me than anything else. You must provide a link back to the original piece and acknowldgment of my authorship.

2. Give me honest feedback. Be cruel or be kind but above all be honest.

3. Pay me what you think it is worth, if you think it is worth anything.
If you cannot afford to do that then pay me what you can. Hopes and dreams don’t pay the bills. If I make even a dollar off this I will consider it a success.

Do Something

Always default to action. Doing the wrong thing is better than nothing; doing nothing is itself a choice with consequences; those consequences are rarely good. Doing nothing means you don’t change, you stagnate, while the world around you moves forward; you are left behind.

Action does not have to be great. A small step leads to its own reward; reinforcement. Internal validation; that sense of accomplishment however small.

Take whatever action you can, even if it seems wrong. If it is wrong then you have gained experience from it. You have learned how not to act in the future.

Next time the action will not seem so daunting because you’ve tried it once.

The best motivation is, of course, success. It does not have to be great success. One more rep than last time means you have become stronger.

Blowing out after you get her number rather than failing at the approach means you are making progress.

Publishing a work, however rough, means you have stayed with something long enough to finish it.

Making a single dollar of your dreams helps you realize that what you want is, however hard, at least possible.

I let this blog linger too long in silence while I majored in the minors, caught up in every day drama, illness, burn out and other excuses.

Consider this post as a small action to get me back on the path.

Tomorrow I shall have an announcement


It Is Never The Right Time


Waiting for the right time is a trap. It is a way of justifying your cowardice. Days of ‘it not being the right time now’ easily turn into years of lost opportunity. If you see a girl who takes your breath away but are afraid to approach her because your life is not in order then you are a coward. Your life will never be in order. You will always find some little problem to hide behind.

Perfection is another word we all hide behind. Waiting for the perfect moment. There is no perfect moment; the perfect moment is one we make. Guys hide out in the gym, waiting for just another half inch on the bicep before they go for girls. Years later they are still waiting for that magic half inch that will solve all their problems.

There is a simple way to know if it is the right time to do something; if you want it and don’t have it then its the right time to try and get it. Lonely and want a girlfriend then today is the best day to get one. When you finally have the made crib, with the large bank roll that will be sure to get the bitches you also have many more lonely nights under your belt, each adding their own stamp of bitterness on your heart.

Realizing its never the right time is nowhere more important than when it comes to chasing your dreams. I have learned this the painful way and I have eight years worth of lost time and regret; eight years of waiting for the perfect moment that never came. I have always wanted to be a writer and now I near the end of my first novel (with others in progress); my life is not in order, I do not have the perfect writer’s set up, a waiting audience, a nice little back up fund to cover my expenses…all I have is the pain that you feel when you finally take action you have been putting off and realize how many years you squandered waiting for the right time. The more you put something off the bigger that eventual regret will be and when you finally get to it and find how easy it is, all those wasted years will haunt you.

So what are you putting off for the right time that you could today? Be honest and I’ll think you’ll find there is nothing holding you back except your own fear.

Short Story: For the Greater Good

I put this up here with three requests of decreasing importance:

1. Spread this far and wide across the web. The more I am read the better. Being read matters more to me than anything else.

2. Give me honest feedback. This is the first piece of fiction I have ever published. Be cruel, be kind but above all be honest.

3. Pay me what you think it is worth, if you think it is worth anything.
If you cannot afford to do that then pay me what you can.


The knock was forceful, insistent. The occupant of the house scurried down the hall, slipping his coat on in an effort to afford himself the carefully cultivated dignity he prided himself on. He swung the stained glass door open to find the serious, somber face of his friend, the recently promoted Minister of Health Care.

“Good morning,” the occupant said, “this is rather early.”

“Good morning. I am here on official business.” The minister replied heavily.

“Of course. Now that the Euthanasia bill has passed and the new ministry has been established I imagine you must have a lot of paperwork to sort out.”

“Definitely.” The minister agreed, “You see how it is. You campaigned so hard for Euthanasia. You convinced enough of the public that it was in the greater good to reserve expensive and essential health care for those who contributed the most to society. The greatest good for the greatest number and all those fancy philosophical arguments you used.”

The occupant laughed, “Utilitarianism is the word you’re looking for.”

The Minister smiled, “Yes, utilitarianism. What I admire about you is that you hold controversial and, some would say, outright psychopathic views because you truly believe in them, not because it makes you seem edgy.”

“Thank you.” The man replied, “I take it you’ve come for my help?”

“In a way.” The Minister replied, “Let me just say again how grateful we are for your strenuous efforts in convincing enough people that this is right thing to do.”

“How can it not be? There is not enough health care and services, not to mention money, to support these people wasting a disproportionate amount, especially since they are never going to add back into society the amount currently being used to keep them alive.”

“I’m glad I can count on your continued support.” The minister said.

“So what do you need my help with? Do you want me on the review committee?”

“Not necessary. We have the actuaries all over it. They have been comparing health costs to projected tax revenues all week. Already they have identified six thousand units that need removal.”

“Of course.” The man agreed, “I am not big with numbers. So what is it you do need me for?”

The Minister reached into the pocket of his coat and removed a simple, white envelope. “My friend, what we need from you is help with public relations?”

“Always ready to be of assistance to the government.” The man replied,

“That’s what we like to hear.” The Minister replied, “Otherwise it would have made this very hard.”

“Would have made what hard?” The man replied, his face innocently reflected in the glass coffee table.

“I regret to inform you that the Department of HealthCare, Euthanasia and Aging Review Panel for the Continuous healthcare expenditure has found that your need for a transplant is not sustained, and further that the costs of continuing your health care far outweigh the benefits to the public utility of keeping you alive.”

The man slumped back forward in his seat, color seeped from his face into the coffee table. He grabbed desperately at the Minister’s coat.

“But I was the one who convinced people that Euthanasia was right.” He cried, sliding from his chair onto his knees

“I know. That was your past contribution and we’re very grateful. Your name will go down in history. However, there is nothing more you can contribute to society. You are not a tradesman, or a laborer, or a scientist, or a cook. We have advertising and marketing experts who can help us spice the message up for the public. You are not qualified for any position within government.” The Minister’s face softened, “I am truly sorry, I am. But you must understand it’s for the greater good.”

“But I make people think. I challenge their preconceptions.”

The Minister sighed, “And the types of people who urge others to question authority are just the sort of people that are not valued by any government. You convinced others that society ought to come before the individual and in your case I am afraid society is asking you to do what’s best for the rest of us. It’s nothing personal you understand? And like I said, there is still the final matter of publicity I need you to help us out with?”

The man’s eyes glimmered with hope. “Anything,” he begged.

“We want you to be first person to voluntarily undertake euthanasia out of utilitarian necessity. And look happy about it. We need you to show others how good it is. How you’re doing your duty for the common good. How it isn’t really murder, but it’s about doing what’s best for society. Isn’t that right?”

(c) 2013: The author retains copyright and permits reproduction so long as due
acknowledgment of T.G.R White’s authorship is granted and a link back to
the original material is included within the reproduction. No permission for commercial
use is granted without prior written consent.

It ain’t about how hard you hit…

My thanks to M3 for referencing one of my posts and giving me the spur I needed to resume posting.

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” – Teddy Roosevelt.

This blog has been silent since November 22nd. That week I took an insane risk. I bet my time, ambition and fortune on bold action; to risk all on one toss of fate’s dice…and I lost. I moved halfway across the country to grasp at a new opportunity, to shake my foundations, to test myself; and I failed. I almost hit rock bottom and I lost all my savings.

I spent nights sleeping in my car. I was literally counting the days until my money ran out. Cause and effect being incestuous, I can’t say whether my fear of looming destitution added to my ill health or I my ill health increased my fear…all I know is that life gave me a beating.

The moment I needed all my strength and determination I ended up with a raging infection. Life really likes to boot a man when he’s down. No money, no job and at one point I had barely the energy to walk downstairs. When I began to hit the depths of self pity I knew I was circling the drain.

Just as success compounds so does failure. As one part of your life falls away so does the rest. Finally I am making a comeback. I am still recovering health wise and financially I am in bad shape, and will be for a while. I am back in the fight though.

I realized that my failures are my own doing, subconsciously. I never really wanted to succeed. I was chasing someone else’s dream. Maybe it was the dream of my old self. It was not my dream; I did not desire it enough to put in the required effort.

Yet I am now focused more clearly than ever on what I do want. In fact, I was purposefully distracting myself from what I really wanted because I fear it. I fear finding out I am not good enough. I fear being judged. I fear being vulnerable. To see a man’s dream is to see into his soul.

My dream is to be a writer. One day a great writer. Today I will settle for accomplished mediocrity. With that in mind I intend to post a short story here next week. I also intend to update regularly again. Being extensively quoted by a blog as widely read as 3rd Millenium Men, and feeling awe at my own words viewed afresh, is a taste of my dream realised; nothing is as sweet or as encouraging.