1588 word count as of 07/23/21

Some men have a mean streak that bears no relation to how they will treat their mate. They are not just mistaken for incels, but can be confused with players, those going through a midlife crisis, many of the older types on this list. The key is to watch for if their actions match their words. When their words are incredibly cruel, but their actions are unfailingly kind, you wind up with a mate whose devotion should never be questioned...but you will have to fight with them to keep them "civil".

"God damn it all, your sister surrounds herself with dumbasses!" I nearly threw my keyboard against the wall.

My computer was actually a hacked gaming console, jammed in with more bits and pieces than could actually fit the parts, so I had to ditch the original PS4's shell and remount the whole damn thing. Then I rigged it to the ceiling because some of the bits were from my old projector. The machined case kept Frankenstein's monster from being an eyesore. But what this means is I have an old school keyboard and a wall for a computer screen. The only part I could damage is the keyboard--of which I have hundreds because I inherited the pack's IT position.

"What now, hon?"

"She thinks Lee is an Incel."

"Well, he is socially awkward. I can see that."

"No, woman!" I growled this out--not like she cared. Her growl was far more scary. "She's identified him as an unworthy mate yet still intends to conditionally accept him in a manipulative manner. She's setting them both up for failure--that and it's a freaking bet that her and her friends are winding up 3 seperate men doing this shit." (I read the backlog after I logged out.)

"Don't get between mates, sweetie." She wasn't even looking at me, using the little vanity desk I bought her this year.

I had to sigh. It's this same old argument. These damn were and their stupid hormones, not being able to think with anything more substantial than their genitals. I hate working with them in so many ways. I'd tell them that to their faces, too. This damn pack is like a monarchy, and as long as I'm their IT guy and kiss the Alpha's ass, they all had reasons to play nice.

As I'm just a human with a normal were mate, I had reasons to play nice too...but I helped gather all the stats for this stupid look at male human mates, and I'm from category asshole.

They, of course, refused to call it that, being a touch too politically correct.

Since I'm involved in this project, I'm the one all the other dickwads are compared against, so I don't know how the idea that we want to resurrect Susie Homemaker came to life. I want to resurrect Lemmuel's freaking wife.

And between all this Christian or Jewish hatred by the general public (and each other) and, well, the obscure but obsessed religion(s) of the shifter community, they really have no fucking clue who I'm talking about.

I'm talking Book of Proverbs, oldest homage to the wisdom of women (chapter 31). It goes on about how women, yes, work from home, just like Susie Homemaker, but the 1950s model of keeping it clean and cooking for her man is not what it's talking about.

Lemmuel's wife was supposed to be chosen from a woman who HEADS her own household. She'd be the equivalent of a female Alpha of a pack. Basically, she runs a household so well, her husband can go sit at the gates of the town to be a judge for court cases because household affairs are left in far more capable hands than his. It isn't her hands alone that prepares the food her husband eats, but she directs those meals.

And you wonder why so many church women work with MLMs. It's like the difference between a hot pocket and a hand tossed gourmet pizza, though.

My mate really didn't live up to this ideal, but then, I wouldn't want to sit at the gate of this pack and judge their cases. I'd be telling a people who automatically get in each other's heads to back off each other. I can't be them. But I do want her work to trend towards home--and it does, as one of the pack's preschool teachers. That and since the pack has official cooks, she doesn't have as much need to prepare for me or herself.

But what if she wasn't a close-to-home worker?

Well, we wouldn't suit each other as well, so there would be a conflict to work out in our relationship. Not all mates make it. One of us would have to change, if not both.

Of course, the mantra of modern women is "don't change for no man", and the biggest demand of the majority of were relationships with humans winds up being a life of change. There is a trick to it: things that are core to your identity cannot change for shallow reasons, and everything that is superficial to you must be negotiable.

And sure as shit the moment I piss off some female--who is not mine!--I'm supposed to change. Think, there's already been quite a few who have read up to here that are arguing with me. Go bite yourself, I'm not even being that mean.

Anyway, these long rants are what gets guys like me confused with the Incels. I'm not bitter that you don't want me. Shit, the only thing Incels and us types have in common is we get called Incels all damn day.

~~~

I was called in to deal with the computers and wiring in the preschool on the packlands the day I met my mate--a year ago.

I had just ended a relationship with my last girlfriend because she wanted to stay at home and do not a damn thing but dictate to me how I had to change for her to be happy, and any time I balked it, I was lectured about Toxic Masculinity. The day it happened, I just simply asked, "What about toxic hos who only think the bulk of change and work is a man's job and is so poor a lay because she lays there and does nothing no matter what the dammed activity is? Huh Lanie?"

That came after 3 months of my house falling apart even if I worked for hours cleaning up at the end of the day. This girl was messy. This "toxic" she thought I was the cause of actually was the result of months of not being heard or understood. It was all about her.

Now, I'm not going to say every woman who claims to be a feminist is like that. People are individuals...but I'm going to be looking for signs that a self-proclaimed feminist is anything like her, and plain ignoring their opinions. Been in an altercation with 3 of them loonies in were form this morning. I didn't even start it with them. Just told them to go about it reasonably. They'll learn, hopefully...or they will pay.

Anyway, I walk in to a couple of women being run ragged by 3 dozen children packed full of sugar--or that was my impression of young weres, the first time I saw them. The babies are rediculously physical. Both women were hot. The last girlfriend cleaned up nice, but decided that growing her mustache against the patriarchy was more important than competing with women who looked like this.

She said men were dogs, knew men were dogs, and was unwilling to appeal to the dog. I had nightmares of our facial hair getting tangled together in the night.

And I was sitting there, dwelling on my ex when these hotties wrangled their herd of cats.

There's two types of men, and apparently I wasn't as much the dog as my ex thought, as I was in there doing my job instead of giving in to the urge to follow the auburn haired woman around.

Around 5 in the afternoon, the parents began picking up the kids, and I was finishing up the manual wiring. Booting up the software was better left for when the kids weren't there, so I decided to work late into the day--just in case they met on Fridays. I figured one of the women would check on me before going, and then much later, the guy who hired me would show up to see how it went.

But I was left alone for a good hour after everyone left before someone deigned show back up to check on me. (I was being watched--that I didn't know, because I didn't know a shifter's abilities.)

The redhead came back, carrying two clamshells--food from the kitchens. I'd not had a home-cooked meal wrought beyond my meager skills in about 5 years. Chicken-fried steaks, potatoes and gravy, smothered green beans, candied yams, cheesy garlic toast. I was famished--the energy bar I snacked on while the brats flung their food just wasn't enough to fuel me for the rest of the day. I don't think anything took more than 5 minutes to eat save the steak.

"Man, the only problem with a great meal is I want to sleep so bad for about an hour." I couldn't help the burp that escaped. "Excuse me."