If I were the same 15-year-old virgin I was about nine years ago, I would worship at the altar of Steve Harvey. I was Steve Harvey–minus the six-button suits.

As a man sexually attracted to women, it is beyond frustrating when the women whom you would like to be involved with–romantically and sexually–looks at you with disinterest, pity, and at times disgust. It can turn you bitter, angry, reclusive, and vengeful. With access to pen and paper, constant rejection and sexual frustration can turn you into Steve Harvey.

In response to my growing contempt for all the women who wouldn’t look my way, I started writing down–in the five paragraph essay form, I was so well taught–all of the things that women were doing wrong when it came to relationships. I went on and on about how they always pick the wrong men; they go after the thugs and bad boys, passing over the nice guys, who would treat them right; about how they never appreciate good men when they have them; about how they’re constantly complaining about the guys they deal with but won’t give a quiet, smart, slightly shorter, cute, funny, nice guy a shot. Basically, they wouldn’t sleep with me. And I was pissed about it.

I wrote pages on pages and distributed them to my friends; they would read them and laugh. Then they’d give them to their friends, and they would read them and laugh. And they would all come back to me, male and female alike, and tell me just how right I was.

I was still a virgin though.

That was the ultimate goal after all. I wasn’t writing these things to help women realize something about themselves or in the hopes that they would stop settling for less in relationships and assert themselves, demanding to be treated according to their own feelings of self worth. No! I was trying to get laid. I was hoping that they’d read my thoughts and think I was some all-knowing relationship-God; they had wasted all this time chasing after men who were nothing like me, and they were miserable because of it. I wanted them all to drop their boyfriends and come running to my arms, rewarding me for caring about their well-being and not just trying to get in their pants.

I was running game. It failed. Miserably.

I was truly bewildered. I couldn’t figure out why my scheme–to shame women into sleeping with me–hadn’t worked. But, I wasn’t thinking about it in those terms. I truly believed in myself as the alternative; if I could only convince women of this obvious fact, they would be excited about the prospects of jumping my bones. It doesn’t quite work like that. It doesn’t work like that at all.

Any self-actualized woman with even an ounce of self-esteem is not going to be responsive to someone telling them that every decision they make is wrong. Not only is this game ineffective, it’s steeped in misogyny and sexism. It’s disrespectful to continue suggesting that it’s always and only women who make poor decisions when it comes to relationships. But the attention won’t ever turn toward the male side of the equation because the men offering the “advice” aren’t interested in sleeping with men.

When I see Steve Harvey or his dozens of imitators writing columns, blogs, and tweets about all the things women are doing wrong in relationships, and why they can’t “find and keep a man,” I can’t help but to reminisce on my days as a 15-year-old virgin and laugh. I imagine the women reading those author’s books are laughing, nodding, and saying “that’s true” or “whatever”–continuing to live their lives the way they choose, just as they did when I was a teenager. On the other side, I imagine those men being fully convinced that after they type that last period, their inboxes will be inundated with virtual panties. Then I can’t help but laugh even harder.

It’s entertainment. No one is getting laid like that in real life.

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