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GHETTOHEAT® HOTNESS: TONY COLLINS

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Guest HICKSON

GHETTOHEAT® HOTNESS: TONY COLLINS

STUPID CUPID!

Okay, okay, I will cop, but can you please stop strutting back-and-forth in those sexy, six-inch stiletto heels, waving all of those thick, long-stem red roses in my face! I promise to share my Valentine’s Day story with you.

Yes, V-Day, that wonderful day when we give chocolates, champagne and beautiful flowers to that special someone, because we’re celebrating Cupid doing that romantic drive-by: unloading a full clip of deep, caring, emotional, romantic feelings, straight into the center our hearts, making us fall for that significant other we’re spending time with. A no-brainer.

However, I’ll always remember this one particular Valentine’s Day when, in the wee hours of the night, I got a phone call from one of my closest friends who was…well, it went down a little something like this: BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! It was that loud, annoying ringer from my cell phone, coming from to left side of my bedroom in the darkness, as I laid naked on my king-sized bed. I was seriously trying to sleep off the after effects of a wicked, twisted mix: intense good loving, and w-a-y too much Moet!

Half awake, despite the bothersome sound that bum rushed its way into my sleep, I’d become instantly aware of two things. One, my girlfriend had winged her way back to the left coast on the red eye, in order to start her new, high-powered job in the movie industry, after flying in so we could spend a fantastic Valentine’s Day together. Two, honey had left her red, silky, crotch-less Fredrick’s of Hollywood panties upon my chest: a sexy reminder of the 12-hour marathon of Karma Sutra moves she’d blessed me with. Lord, have mercy! That woman was something else….

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! I’d heard that damn sound again! “What the,” I lowly mumbled to myself and swung my left arm out into the direction the noise had come from. Heat-seeking the source of the noise with my left hand, fumbling on the nightstand next to my bed, I then brought my right hand up to my chest, balled up my girlfriend’s seductive souvenir and tossed it gently into the blackness. Left hand still shuffling, I’d navigated through empty mini Moet bottles on the nightstand, knocking over one unto the oak wood floor; bottle not breaking but making a loud thud sound.

Finally, I’d grabbed the thief in the night that stole my sweet sleep away from me, brought the culprit to my blurry eyes, squinted, and read the number displayed on my cell phone’s screen, as it continued to ring loudly. Recognizing the digits, I flicked it open and quickly placed the cell to my ear: “Mike, this better be real good. Do you know what time it is?”

“TONY, I’M GOING JUMP OFF THIS BALCONY! I’M NOT PLAYING! I’M GOING TO JUMP!”

Nothing sobers you up faster from hot lovemaking and cold champagne than a 3 AM call from a close friend, telling you that he’s about to swan-dive face first, twenty stories down onto New York City’s black concrete. Instantly, I’d sat up straighter than the Pope—trust and believe, he had my full attention!

“Mike, I need you to talk to me, alright? What’s going on? What’s happening here?”

Okay, freeze frame…I’d already had a good idea of where he was and what this call was about. My questions were a set of tactics to stall my friend and to bog him down in explanations, in order for him to not act out on his plan while I conjured up one.

“Talk to me, Mike.”

Between all the tears and sobbing, he cried, “Lisa’s gone! She’s really gone, Tony, and I know she’s never coming back! It hurts so—you just don’t know. I swear I’m going to jump!”

So that’s the background story on my friend’s situation, told in scrambled egg fashion. But in connect-the-dots mode, as manic Mike, a notorious player of women, told me that he’d spoken to Lisa, his girlfriend of three years, earlier that morning; Lisa phoning Mike at 5 AM on Valentine’s Day. Giving it to Mike straight, the stunning beauty: a well-known female player and money-getter, broke up with him over the phone, stating that they were no longer emotionally and financially compatible, and were growing in two different directions. Lisa also informed Mike that she “just couldn’t do ‘this’ anymore.”

CLICK!

Instantly, it was over…and the outcome came as a real surprise to Mike, who at the time was deeply into Lisa. Yet, when Mike and I had spoken earlier that day about their conversation, he’d seemed fine. Although my friend felt that a breakup was possible, Mike had hoped to patch things up with his girlfriend and sweeten whatever was going sour between them. Hours later though, the pain of Mike’s loss had set in and raw-dog emotions bit him in the butt. To the point where I had to rescue him over the phone, as Mike was like a drunken ballerina: teetering on the edge of his balcony, and about to pirouette into the darkness of the night.

So, these turn of events and others like this, brings us to the reason why I seriously let my fingers run wild over the QWERTY keys of my notebook, and ended up writing my relationship issues book, Games Women Play. I’ve lived long enough to see, understand and experience that, playing games in relationships can dangerously hurt, crush, or sometimes, totally destroy a person in the relationship. I’ve seen these sad outcomes happen to both male and female, friends, family members, acquaintances, and most surprising of all: even to the biggest game players themselves.

Lisa and Mike—these folks were not a bunch of innocent babes in the relationship woods. They were fully aware that game was being run on them. Despite knowing this fact, and conscious of the possible outcome of these events, nevertheless, the two thought that they could deal with game being played on them, turn this funky situation around, and ultimately outsmart, con, and trip each other while running game.

Game recognizes game.

However, unfortunately, sometimes people completely misjudge their own skill and cunning, and in the long run, many ending up emotionally smashed and crashed, after being run over on the relationship highway. On the other hand, some individuals are absolutely unaware of game being played on them. Truly, they’re open, honest, and innocent relationship civilians who’ve entered into their situation in good faith, and with a pure heart. Despite the fact that these folks are almost dripping in angelic innocence, and regardless of them being great people, these facts are no shield from the relationship wolves.

Due to lack of relationship savvy, they’re probably blind to the emotional viciousness game players are willing to put them through. Also, the innocent are unaware of the cutthroat rules game players play by, and the destructive consequences of these rules. Because of this lack of knowledge, these naïve individual are negatively and mercilessly used, and sometimes abused by the people running game on them. Sadly, what great relationship citizens don’t get is that, innocence of the game’s rules is no excuse and no protection from its very harsh and brutal consequences, on those people who are unknowingly, sucked into these negative situations.

Games Women Play was written for all women and men out here in the relationship wilderness of life, who are sick and tired of all the game playing going on in relationships, or the many games being brought into them, and especially the destructive, and self-destructive behaviorism that goes along with game playing. These women and men want to learn how to immediately spot game, game players, as well as how to quickly put an end to game playing, and get far away from the unnecessary, negative madness that game playing brings and causes in relationships.

With all of these beliefs, desires, and wishes in mind, I created Games Women Play, and if the words in my self-help book helps just one person widen her or his relationship scopes, and this expanded awareness helps people in avoiding becoming trapped in game players’ webs of destructive, nightmarish negativity, saving women and men from the smallest amount of unnecessary pain, then perhaps I can sleep better at night.

Along with that, if Games Women Play also helps you identify that special person who has your best interest at hand, and solely wants you for you, then I’ve reached my ultimate goal for writing the book—everyone deserves happiness within their relationships, free of games.

So today, and thereafter, always remember that when relationships become a game, all parties lose. Game time is over, starting now! Or is it? Games Men Play coming soon….

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!

TONY COLLINS is author of the controversy relationship issues book, GAMES WOMEN PLAY. A native New Yorker, one having an extraordinary past dating experience, quickly prompted him to craft this in-depth self-help book. Contact TONY COLLINS at COLLINS@GHETTOHEAT.COM

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