Somehow, though friends all throughout life preached the gospel of “playing” these women, I didn’t (and still don’t) get it.

“Be a player, bro,” they’d say. Right… if I stick to playing Video Games, they won’t eventually need Child Support checks.

“PIMP these bitches, bro,” they’d tell me. This has been a line since elementary school. Thought it was lame then & I think it’s LAME now.

The few chances I’ve really taken with women have been honest, heartfelt attempts. I’ve never approached a woman with any variety of ill-will, dishonest intent or harsh approach. I’m not a violent man. I’m not dishonest or deceptive, despite that I’ve experienced such things from others. Though there’s a YouTube video out there of me winning a fight 20+ years ago, in it, you’ll notice… that’s not a woman opposing me in that ring. It was a much bigger man. So then, naturally, I never would’ve expected to end up in the situation I did leaving Nevada.

David Hojak faced a sudden health crisis. My vehicle was wrecked. My soon-to-be ex-wife had recently “kicked rocks” (and by that, I mean “left”). All of this at once had me verging on a blend of defeated neuroticism and overwhelming worry. I let instinct guide me, and became more “social” for a little while. As a result, I began talking to a girl from high school again… one I’d paid attention to back then, but differently.

This one always gave me that look. She had those eyes that had a guy wondering how she behaved behind closed bedroom doors… by way of a simple eye-contacting glance. Others in our social circle back then would offer commentary on her looks. They’d urge me on enthusiastically, advising that I needed to “hit that already.” I didn’t quite expect it to happen like it did, but twenty years later, here we were… and it was just us.

(… if you don’t count her kids.)

Still, it’d be “just us” past their bedtime. And for about 90 days straight, that’s exactly what it was. Granted, a couple of “things” did happen during my stay with her. Based on those specific happenings… I’ve wondered just how quickly she’s headed to hell upon departure from our plain. And that’s putting it as cordially as I can.

(FYI… those “things” involved my health, nothing more.)

I arrived, and within less than a day, we were going at each other as “playfully” as possible. It was as though the high school crush finally had a chance to flourish. We were adults now, and if anything, she was the parent in that house. I was grateful to be a guest there. I showed her my gratitude by erotically unleashing every performance fantasy I’d had as a youth about her. All at once… over the course of weeks, we rapidly exchanged the acts of pleasing each other, to the best of my capabilities. Details shall be spared for the sake of children in attendance… but by the time I finally “had to go,” I’d spent nearly three months doing my best to satisfy her… whether inside that bed, or out of it.

I can’t get specific about our three months spent catching up, or any of the “bedroom-time” we spent together… at least, not yet. At the very least, I don’t want to here. Over several coming months together, we’d see plenty of “playtime.” In the months that followed our first physical reunion, I fell right into having a place in her home. I honestly felt like this attractive young lady was doing me the favors here, and not vice versa. I soon realized she just wanted someone to talk to, someone to watch movies with & someone to satisfy her. Love seemed to be of no relevance… which helped me to understand how she so happily & singularly raised her kids. It wasn’t that she was emotionally “unavailable” or “disconnected”… simply put, I came to find that she didn’t need to “love you” to “give it up.” Somewhat disappointingly, she had become “one of those,” and though it offset me, it didn’t surprise me… by all means, back in high school, no one of hers was craving educational attention or requiring food.

While there, I took in what “attention” was available to me. I also suddenly got “robbed” one day, after I’d put my belongings in her storage unit. She claimed her storage unit got “broken into”… where after, I realized that the last of what my parents had left me posthumously was stolen from within there. My guess is it didn’t take long for her to realize I couldn’t pursue legal action against her… mainly due to my own struggles. Though the last of my deceased parents’ belongings were stolen because of her, she wasn’t done.

After that, she waited for me to have a medical emergency, which was inevitable. Once it happened, she called the cops claiming I’d “threatened her,” and left me to die in her apartment. Eventually, they came to make sure I’d left… and I hadn’t yet. I had only been walking around safely for a day and a half by that point, without fear of falling. Meanwhile, she’d been “gone from her apartment” for three days. At that point, they didn’t give a f°°k about details. In that apartment, alone, in the condition I was in… by myself, after such an incident… I could’ve seriously hurt myself. Though, on her behalf, they weren’t there to check on me. They only wanted me gone.

As I do my best to pass this message along, I couldn’t more urgently implore… even as you lay at your lowest, trust few. As you’re surveyed at your most vulnerable, they’re calculating how to further dehumanize you… to the tune of their own convenience. Genuine, heartfelt authenticity in this era is more rare than glow-in-the-dark diamonds. Actively seeking honesty of any sort, these days, is like trying to shoot down stars with a rubber-band gun. Justified dishonesty has become the more frequent approach. No one’s sincerity advances their position. It’s no longer about who’s most honest… it’s about who’s most impressive.

And of course, in this case, they’ll hear her end of it & “believe her“… mainly because her breasts are decent.



“You’ll remember me, I know… ’cause I have moved to another coast, with a new love to call my own.”

~Chris Cornell