September 28, 2011 7 Comments
September 26, 2011 2 Comments
September 25, 2011 15 Comments
Aside from vampires and gypsies, Romania’s biggest export is girls up for fucking British guys. My first post-game girlfriend was from there, as was my first free blowjob from a whore, and my first foursome. Now this young lady.
It began as a quickie ten-minute street number close as a demo set for students while I was doing one of Andy’s bootcamps. She hooked hard but you just never know so I was pleased when the text game struck home and she was obviously keen to meet. That was a Sunday and the following Friday afternoon we meet for an English tea. The closing bait I’m using these days with foreigners is to ask if they could be an English lady and drink proper tea from proper china cups because I know a great tea shop. She buys into the roleplay.
I’d decided to follow a hybrid Day 2 model using elements of different wings’ models. It went like this….
Location One – Tea Shop
This is all about building comfort. We sat face-to-face and just chatted about usual get to know each other chit chat while I focused on solid body language and tried not to talk too much. She was giving good keen eye contact and investing plenty so it felt on. I didn’t do any kino or verbal escalation. The conversation was focused on how it felt living in England and the differences to her home country. After we’d finished our pot of tea I led her 200m away to a nearby cheap pub
Location Two – Pub with alcohol
Now I wanted to start putting booze down her neck to loosen the vibe and get her sitting next to me to test light kino (mainly just seeing how close she was comfortable positioning her body relative to mine). She’s a highly educated girl so good for Intellectual Mastery. At one point I thought I’d overdone it and killed the vibe but then I started to notice the looks she was giving me and the long pauses as her mind scrambled to unpack what I’d said. That’s when I realised she was doing the “who is this guy?” double-take and my contrast game was hitting. We had one pint and time for more leading. As a side note – we never double-backed on ourselves in the location changes. It was always progressing in one direction.
Location Three – Softer vibe
I take her in to my favourite member’s bar which has dark leather sofas and mellow jazz. It’s a great DHV in and of itself and it was hear I started dropping the big-time DHV stories. In particular I did the “financial and geographical freedom” spiel and flipped all the attraction triggers with stories about my nephews and friends. I’d been hoping to kiss close here but the waiter put us in separate lounge chairs rather than the sofa so it was physically impossible. This necessitated adding in a fourth venue when I’d have rather extracted from the third.
Location Four – Bar with good atmosphere
I went for the kiss as we walked to the next bar, making a bold move on the pavement. She turned her head away but stayed close in. That’s all I needed to know it was on. We went into the basement of a cool Spanish bar for another pint and made out. At this point I still felt like the bedroom close would have to wait for another date but things progressed faster than I expected. I put her into the domincance kino position and she snuggled up nicely and when it was time to move on I did a test with the stone
The Stone: Take a girl’s hand and say “this is how you make me feel”. Then put her hand on your boner
One wing has long told me that when in doubt get your cock out. It can change a no into a yes and when this chick kept her hand on it and started rubbing I thought “ok, that’s the It’s On Moment” and I pulled her outside and bundled her into a waiting taxi.
Her: Where are we going?
I distracted her forebrain for a while and when she asked if we’re headed to my place I said yes. She nodded and accepted the inevitable. Credit to Tom for his bold extraction routine. Once we got back to Chateau RSG half the gang were getting shitfaced on imported vodka in Jambone’s room. Big Toe loaned me the cash for the cab and then as I walked in to say hello they all held up hand-drawn scorecards rating my girl a seven. Accurate.
Rather than risk her cooling down joining the party I put her in my room and told her no shoes on my carpet. Then five minutes letting her mess around on my laptop and I pounced. A great lay. Then we dressed, joined the party and we began the handover to Jambone.
September 18, 2011 8 Comments
Ladies, if you are dating a player and you don’t know where you stand, have a listen to Aretha Franklin. And for the men, just listen to her wonderful voice – this is how a girl can sound powerfully feminine without losing any of her charm.
This song nails it perfectly. I can fake rapport and comfort. I can fake hugs, passionate sex, hypnotic scanning and a whole host of other things. One thing I simply cannot do is fake a kiss. There’s a barrier somewhere that means I can only turn it on for a kiss if I really like the girl – like her physically and romantically.
So ladies, stop stressing about these things:
- He didn’t text me for over two hours
- He’s out with his friends getting drunk
- He’s been acting a bit strange lately
- He has a pin code on his mobile phone
Just give him a passionate kiss and see how he matches it. If he returns it with real enthusiasm dead on the lips and commits fully, he’s into you still. If it’s distant and half-arsed, he’s found a new girl to fuck and she’s both younger and hotter than you.
September 15, 2011 10 Comments
There has been much discussion in Chateau RSG on how to rate girls on the 1-10 scale. We aren’t so full of ourselves that we believe girls shouldn’t be rated, as if we have somehow transcended the most basic male impulse of ranking girls. At the end of the day there is far more pleasure to be had from banging a ten than a four. The current system is thus:
<4 – Totally invisible. Utterly unthinkable
5 – You’d fuck her only if there were extreme extenuating circumstances such as violence, drugs, or a solemn obligation to a third party. Or, in Big Toe’s case, a rare flag
6 – You’d do her if it was easy, you’re horny, and you could smuggle her in and out without your friends seeing. You want her out of your house the moment you bust a nut and like eating a Big Mac meal there is a tawdy shame in the whole episode
7 – Neither shame nor glory. A nice girl who is worth some effort. Perhaps you’d take her on occasional dates and if her personality / vibe is sweet and her style your type, you’d even date her over the medium term
8 – You want to parade her around whoever will watch. You feel genuinely good about dating / fucking this girl. When your friends talk about her, they say things like “you should see his bird, she’s well hot”
9 – Simply appearing in public with her makes your heart swell with pride and random guys hate you. You consider dropping your other girls for her and occasionally calculate whether you’ve finally found the right girl to make a serious go with. She’s the realistic pinnacle of Game.
10 – She’s unrealistically hot, the sort of girl you rarely even see. When she walks into a room she’s like a beacon of value. You have no haters because men simply cannot comprehend that you’d be fucking her, so they assume you are a gay best friend. You cannot imagine any girl anywhere in the world being her superior, only an equal.
Ultimately there is no way to rate a woman on raw objective beauty. A cohesive rating system must be based on how she makes you feel and the social response you get for boning her.
September 14, 2011 9 Comments
I nearly fucked this one up many times and it was hard work. I was out a couple of months ago along Oxford Street and having a so-so day. There’d been a couple of instant dates but nothing really sticking so I decide to take a time-out in Wasabi to eat some cheap tofu curry. As I leave a curvy Polish-looking chick in a tight black figure-hugging t-shirt and skirt rolls past. She’s got the archetypal stripper’s body with curves all over and massive false tits (DD, she tells me later). So I open and she’s really low energy and sultry.
Within two minutes we are talking sexual when I ask her if she’s seen any girls today with a better rack than her. So we stand side by side checking out other girls on the street to see if anyone fits the bill. Once I’m sure of the hook I walk her to the nearest bar. It’s beautifully located and full of homos. We sit down in a corner by the toilets (yes, you guessed my intent). She’s strangely quiet and softly spoken like she’s smouldering with sexual energy. I verbally escalate hard by telling stories of fucking, showing her dirty text message exchanges and soon her hand is on my cock. She tells me she’s married and shows me her ring.
Woah. Hold the phone. What?
Something doesn’t ring true (see what I did there? see what I did?) so I keep going and when she hits sexual state I try to drag her into the toilets. No go. After the second drink she wants to go home and I let her go. We chat on Skype that evening and I keep verbally escalating. Probably a mistake to overdo it but she’s playing along.
A few days later we have the Day 2 and she’s quiet, weirdly reserved but I figure if she came out she must be attracted. Kino is awkward and she says it’s “inappropriate” when I kiss close her in the bar. Day 3 is horrible because she’s got a migraine so we barely exchange words for an hour and I just practice subcommunication to keep myself entertained. More Skype and she sends me pictures of her tits in a new bra. It’s all a bit weird. She’s clearly a low-esteem girl and admits as much. She also comes clean and says the “I’m married” ring thing is just a ploy to stop guys opening her, which she claims happens loads.
Finally I have a head-to-head with one of my wings to figure out what I should do on Day 4. His advice is simple – push push push until I either fuck her or she storms out. I meet her at Baker Street and before she’s even arrived the tour bus chode has opened her and is knuckle-dragging at her heels so I have to dismiss him before I take her to the park. It’s as we walk around the park I get an eye-opening sight: every single guy is checking her out. And I mean every single one. Joggers, cyclists, husbands taking kids for a walk – everyone. It’s no exaggeration to say over 100 guys blatantly wanted to fuck her within half an hour’s walk. This girl must live in a strange reality.
I run lots of comfort, no kino, then an hour in go for another kiss. She literally fights me off, so I hold her down hard and she relents. She tells me it was inappropriate to do that in public. On Skype before Day 2 I’d told her in the pub idate I’d wanted to just grab her hair, drag her to her knees and stuff my cock in her mouth. Her response had been “that’s so hot!”. It was obvious this girl was gonna put up strong token resistence. I take her to a pub and she spends a while telling me I’m not gonna fuck her and she agrees to come back to my house (but she’s not gonna have sex with me). I parade her past the boys to approving nods. Especially those tits. Damn, what a pair! Upstairs we have a little vodka and I pounce.
As expected she’s resisting plenty. So I keep letting go and giving her an out, which she never takes. She never gives me “no” or “stop”. It’s always variations of “this is so inappropriate” or “you shouldn’t be doing this to me” before re-escalating me. Before long I’ve got my cock between her bare tits, which is a bigger win than fucking her in this case. Then I pull her remaining clothes off and fuck her. It’s a mediocre fuck but a joyous sight to look down at the quality of body I’m fucking.
Then she gets all buyers remorsey and wants to leave. She calms down when she realises I’m not trying to pump’n'dump (she’s low esteem, remember) so I keep her around another hour. We are still in contact but it’s proving difficult to get an encore. Strange girl.
- Be very careful about over-escalating early if the SDL isn’t on
- Some girls will tell you they need to be taken roughly, then you can do so
- But when going in hard, always leave her “outs” so she knows she can actually get away if she wants to
- Girls with huge fake tits are usually low esteem. That’s why they get them, and the tits just exacerbate their problems.
- You get strong intent when you go into a date deciding “either I fuck her or burn the set”
September 5, 2011 19 Comments
It’s part of my relationship game that I teach my girlfriends about life, the universe and everything. I want to impart upon them in short order the sort of wisdom it took me a (much longer) lifetime to acquire. There’s so much bullshit and quackery in the world and I want to innoculate the girls against it before I send them back into the wild, outside my umbrella of leadership and protection.
It also gives opportunities for fun. In the case of my Barcelona trip, some tooling of Eurochodes.
I firmly believe that while the universal law of gender parity prevails in the long run, in the short run there can be wildly different mismatches in countries between the men and the women. I’m talking top-10%-of-sexual-market here. Mutants, mongs and munters are invisible in this analysis. For example:
- Britain: cool guys with style and game vs fat entitled masculine women
- Lithuania: dorky computer nerds vs curvy warm feminine sweethearts
- Russia: dorky square-headed aspy kids vs leggy smoking hot ice queens
- Italy: suave good-looking pussy-beggars vs stunning witches
- Spain: spineless pretty boys vs sultry but kinda chubby hotties
A skewed sample perhaps but I swear I only saw one couple in the whole of this holiday where the man wasn’t at least a point more physically attractive than his girl. That couple was Russian. Throughout the streets I see lithe tall good-looking guys being led around like puppies by fairly-hot-but-porky-bellied women. This flouts the first rule of game: You should be banging girls better looking than you are. When the sexes turn up at the evolutionary mating pit, women bring their svelte DNA. They are a nicely-formed oven for you to bake your bun in. The guy brings pretty much everything else except looks. So if you are bringing your looks it’s like the old poker table adage: every table has a sucker. If you don’t know who it is, it’s you.
I’ve been clubbing two nights in a row here with my two Lithuanian girls. One is my official girlfriend, the other is her friend and single. First night I sent my girl onto the dancefloor to sway her hips and wave her arms. Sure enough within a few minutes a chode crystal formed around her and four friends spent half an hour slitting each other’s throats trying to get at her. A horrible display of anti-wing rules and an obvious telegraphing of low value. My girl was disgusted. After giving them half an hour I jumped in with some retard dancing to AMOG and sure enough the chode crystal shattered. Not a fair battle, but a fun game.
Next night was worse. We went to Razmatazz, a “cool” club, shortly after 1pm. As expected it was a sausage factory mixing local Spaniards and assorted other Eurochodes. Soon lots of painted up 6s arrived to attention whore. I didn’t spot an eight or better all night. Me and my girl tried reading the club and were amazed that nobody was having fun. The guy’s all stood awkwardly near the dancefloor value-scanning or else danced awkwardly off time to the music, or did chode-hopping displays. At no point did any guy seem to be dancing for the sheer joy of it. Most of the girls were just positioning themselves into sight lines to shake their arses in little rapo games. As the night progressed things improved a little and people started to chill a little but that’s when the pussy-beggars went into overdrive.
Again I sent my girl out to dance and she was opened about ten times in half an hour. I say “opened” but I think only one guy did it fairly well – it was like a mild version of 60′s rapid escalation. I’d call it Tepid Escalation. He came in full-on and started a challenging conversation but unfortunately telegraphed too much dependence and crumbled when my bird gave him the Russian Minute. Then he just got creepy until dismissed. Some fat omega begged her friend for a photo. Other guys did really half-arsed grinds or walk-by stares. At no point did any guy seriously commit to the open in a manner that put his balls on the line. These pretty boys are terrified of real rejection. It wasn’t really an environment conducive to indirect game. No one was having enough fun to be the warm end of the pool to draw women in unopened.
So me and my bird just did retard dancing all night and had a great time.
I never considered myself good at club game but I’ve realised just how poor most of the competition is. These guys had nothing behind their looks. I saw guys being tooled all night long. Tall, suave male 8s and 9s getting tooled by little fat 6s. Horrible.
September 4, 2011 3 Comments
I’ll admit this girl was below my usual standard. I’ve never been one for bottom-feeding (even pre-game) and after this one I’ve decided I’ll have nothing to do with any girls below a seven, and only drop below eight if it’s easy. This was really easy.
Regular readers will remember my Spanish flag who I passed on to Big Toe. After the fat man closed her I suddenly had an idea, like connecting dots between the elusive and the obvious – I didn’t just do my friend a good turn but I did her one too. She really liked him. So next time she shows up on chat it goes something like this (to paraphrase):
- Me: Big Toe is pretty cool isn’t he
- Her: He is. Much cooler than you
- Me: You realise that you owe me a girl now, don’t you
- Her: Yes
- Me: So start looking. Who is suitable and single?
- Her: I don’t know any. All the single girls I know who want sex are in Spain
- Me: Keep looking
About a week later she suggests her Chinese and Italian flatmates and sends sample photos. Neither is a sight to behold but of the two the eye-tie is kinda my type. Sunday evening rolls around and Spaniard wants to meet Toe. I tell her to bring her friends and I’ll show up. We manage to rouse JJ too. However the plan for a 3-on-3 date is scuppered when I get an unexpected text from Russian Catwalk Model wanting to meet for an afternoon coffee. Hmmmm. I don’t have an Italian flag but RCM is a full 4 points higher on the scale.
After five hours of coffee, beer and food with RCM I roll up late to the 3-on-3 with her on my arm. We’ll call that preselection, shall we? My team falls into wing rules, DHVing me a little before my arrival and then letting me lead the conversation. RCM is shooting daggers at the three hussies while Italian is IOIing plenty. Last orders soon arrives and I go home with RCM, recording this audio before I bang her one last time.
It’s easy to put Italian on facebook the next day and run some light chat before taking her out for a date. It’s freewheeling downhill with no effort – I just lead her with a few pubs, run comfort, and sound her out on sex. Her and Spaniard had already done the private girl-talk about fuck buddies so there wasn’t much for me to do. I could sense Italian really felt out of her depth because she qualified hard and was constantly fishing for reasons why I’d bother talking to her. Then she suddenly puts her drink down and gives me The Speech:
“Ok, I’ll be honest. I want to have sex with you. Not tonight, I can’t for a week or two, but I will. If we both like it then great. If not, that’s ok.”
I nod, take her to Primrose Hill (scene of an earlier special moment) and she sucks my cock till I come in her face. Then we go our separate ways. A week later I meet her for a quick drink while I’m out with Tom – already planning the hand-off – and finally we set up a date for her to come round to my house. I do her rationalisation hamster the polite service of plying drinks down her neck and an hour of conversation before taking her upstairs for a fuck.
She’s a good performer but just not hot enough. After busting a nut it’s a chore to keep her around. She’s pawing at my cock all night and finally I grudgingly sympathy-fuck her in the morning. Haven’t seen her since. Learning points?
- Don’t fuck girls when you know that the moment you bust a nut you want rid of them. It’s bad for the inner game
- Girls are surprisingly logical and premeditated about sex when your value far exceeds theirs
- Even easy girls require a bit of coaxing and conversation if you want to leave them feeling ok afterwards
September 3, 2011 4 Comments
We all age. Your game should mature as you do, like a fine wine.
Something RSD Jeffy said in one of his talks resonated with me. Getting into the community is like going to university. It’s a phase in your life where you reorient yourself, develop your skills, and then….. leave. Get on with your life. The game never goes away but you take the core concepts on board and then move on to your next mission. That’s pretty much how I view it. I don’t want to be doing 20 approaches every Saturday into perpetuity. There’s guys who have been “in the community” for a decade and while their skills are sometimes fantastic I just wonder what is missing from their life that they still identify. It’s almost like those perma-students you see in graduate school – soaking up Daddy’s allowance with perpetual masters degrees. They just need to get a real job.
I envision my future outside the community to be about living a life of financial and geographical freedom. Sitting at a beach bar dive in Jamaica sipping rum with my buddies before taking my young hottie home for the evening. Another month passes and I’m in a Rio BJJ gym rolling with the other guys, then a big steak at a carvery before sitting at home reading a novel. Whatever, wherever, whenever just living life to follow my interests.
As a young man you can get by on looks, testosterone and sexual persistence. That’s how most young guys get most of their sex and female company. As you mature, you… mature. I look around for good role models. Guys who embody the type of man and lifestyle I want ten or twenty years from now. A lifestyle that is intensely attractive to women but not driven by the hunt for fresh pussy. Men of means, wit, and wisdom. I love the three photos I’ve posted here. Every one of them speaks to me even if they are posed to represent an idea rather than to true life of the man posing for it.
September 2, 2011 18 Comments
I’m sitting in a tapas bar in Barcelona as the cool breeze wafts in from the sea. I have piled-up plates of patatas bravas and tortilla on the small upturned barrel in front of me that is used as a table. The waiters have not yet cleared away two empty glasses of Estrella lager. I look down at my arms. Freckles dot my limbs in close order right up to my t-shirt sleeve line. I have as close to a t-shirt tan as a pasty Englishman can muster. Reminiscing I realise I haven’t been this freckled since I was a young boy. Not since then have I spent such long summers outdoors. The intervening time has always seen me couped up in a schoolroom, lecture theatre, or office during the peak daytime hours of summer.
I reflect on how my life has changed.
Last year I quit my job and freed myself from the office grind. It was common for me to work 60-hour weeks, suited and booted. I had a team to look after and a boss to answer to. Deadlines stressed me and there were nights where I’d struggle to sleep as I pondered work issues, unable to let go. Feeling responsible. Feeling guilty for calling in sick unless genuinely bed-ridden lest I let down my co-workers.
I was out with a couple of my old friends last weekend for a post-work drink (their work, not mine). Great guys, great friends but thoroughly plugged into the matrix. I brought my Thai girl with me – an ex girlfriend but now simply a friend, I’m like her big brother now – and we started drinking. Then she went home and my girlfriend joined us. We got smashed. The next day my girl commented that the three guys had been watching us intently, trying to figure out how we were having so much fun, how I was able to open so many other girls for good interactions, and how this young busty chick was just hanging off me all night. I realised that what is normal to me is extraordinary to my friends. Extraordinary to me less than two years ago.
Now I’m sitting in Barcelona with two 21 year old Lithuanian girls who adore me. I’d banged one for an hour last night while her friend pretended to sleep next to us. Yesterday morning while waiting at the gate to board, two different tall hot 20 year old girls texted me to say they’d finished masturbating while thinking of me. A few nights previously I’d had a gin-soaked foursome with a wing and a couple of lovely young girls. The large-breasted Canadian stripper I banged a while ago has started text-stalking me. The beautiful young Italian who added me to facebook by accident (we’d never met) has been telling me how she once had a threesome and fancies another, and by the way can she come around my house to challenge me at video games? I turned down a late-night booty call from a tall teenage black girl because my girlfriend is still in the country.
I like Barcelona. We’ve just been swimming in the sea. I say to the girls I might come and live here for a month next time London gets cold. I’m joking. But I ruminate on the idea and I realise nothing is stopping me. I am so close to financial and geographical independence. So much so that I’m working on my exit to the “community”. No more bootcamps, no more teaching, no more forums and blogs. Just sell my books (two more in the works) and update the blog from any beach with WiFi.
I honestly never dreamed I’d be in this position. At the drop of a hat I can book a flight to any country I please and just live there. Our rat pack means there’s always a couple of guys up for adventure. We have the money and freedom. We have contacts and girls in every port. Just show up, daygame a few hours, hit a bar to meet some cool guys and that’s it. A new base set up within 24 hours.
I love it.
UPDATE: Some dude just linked this in a list of other related posts. They are all great. Check them out here