Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 97951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“It’s not his fault if he forces himself upon her, men all around this world proclaim. Men of so-called faith. Her ass shouldn’t have been outside, or, she shouldn’t have worn that dress, or shown her hair due to male temptation. As men, we express our shame, fears and sadness through anger, and are propelled by our sex drives. We want more of what we enjoy, all the time, regardless of the expense to others. This is why my focus is typically on male improvement and regulation. We don’t understand ourselves, Nadia, and we don’t acknowledge our problems if we are the root cause of them.
“We blame, versus looking within. Looking within would denote failure, and men struggle with admission of failure, because it ties right into our perceived masculinity. Women, characteristically, are much more self-aware. Without acceptance of the truth, there will never be acknowledgement. Without acknowledgement, there will never be improvement as a male, or a community. Excuse me, sweetheart. Hold on a second, please.”
“Sure.” Damn. Shit was just getting good. I could listen to him speak all day!
Saint shifted in his seat, leaned forward and picked up his phone. “Hey, baby, can you bring a glass of wine to my study, please? … Yeah, that’s fine… No, I’m in a counseling session with someone right now, but let him know that I’ll call him back later… okay, baby, I love you… Yes, and thank you.” He hung up the phone. “Sorry about that. I’ll add an extra five minutes to your session to cover it.”
“It’s all good.”
“Now, back to what I was saying. I am a man. I know how we think, the good, the bad and the ugly. Men will listen to me, before they listen to a woman telling him the exact same thing. It’s just a sad truth. So, that’s where I put the bulk of my energy. Just wanted to shed a bit more light onto that.”
She nodded in understanding.
“Thank you again for that consideration. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course. Now, please understand that my delivery is often blunt and not sugar-coated. I don’t care who the fuck you are. If I believe you need to hear it, I am going to say it.” She was silenced by his dark, angry expression. “That withstanding, my job is to help, not hurt, but sometimes when you’re trying to fix a broken leg, you have to snap it back into place before putting a cast around it, and that snap of reality, if you will, causes a lot of pain.”
“I understand. I’m not overly sensitive, so it’s fine.”
“Fantastic, but I’ve heard that before. I am letting you know in no uncertain terms that there is going to be nothin’ pretty, enjoyable, or comfortable about this therapy session. If it becomes too much, you are always free to end the meeting. Just know that if you become a chicken shit and bail, I’m not refunding a damn dime. It’s in writing.”
“I know.” She smirked, getting a kick out of this guy. “I saw it.”
“Besides, I live in Manhattan, in one of the most expensive properties in the city.” He ran his thumb over his hand, massaging it as he glared at her, his expression somewhat twisted, condescending, as if he knew something she didn’t. “I am bougie about the shoes I wear, the cigars I smoke, and fussy as fuck about the foods I consume. I have two sons who eat everything in this house that isn’t tied down. One of them is hooked on war video games, and wants everything that comes out on day one. The other one somehow believes he should receive brand new cars fresh off the lot even though he drives like a demon out of hell and has the speeding and parking tickets to prove it.
“I have a daughter who thinks that only expensive name brand clothing that somehow manages to look used up and second hand should be in her closet, and a wife who collects high priced perfumes and those damn Fabergé eggs.” Nadia placed her hand over her mouth to squelch her amusement. The man was going clean off. “Xenia, that’s my wife, makes annual week-long trips to Paris and London, and she is charitable as fuck, so there’s that. I myself am not excluded from the fuckery.” He placed his hand over his heart as if about to pledge allegiance to something. “I collect vintage pornographic materials, and you wouldn’t believe the going rate for the original copies of interracial dirty movies from the 1920s and 1930s. It’s highway robbery, but I have to have them. There’s nothin’ like a bunch of unshaved, wild hairy pussies on adorable Black queens being pummeled to death by White men wearing Charlie Chaplin Derby hats and suspenders while fucking women right out of their thick ass stockings and pantaloons to the sounds of Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin, in the back of a motherfuckin’ Ford Model T.”