This one was tough but oh so satisfying. Those of you working towards increased success with women will be familiar with the anti-game hater, that squalid little gamma who resents every sliver of success as it reminds him what a hopeless loser he is and worse that he won’t take charge of his own love life. A common hater refrain / reframe is “any westerner can fuck East European supermodels just by flashing his passport. Prove your skills by fucking fat vile Anglophone tarts.” Apparently porking an unpleasant slut with a cock-count >30 is more difficult than a chaste EE girl with an N of <5.
Men who are commited to improving their game will also be familiar with quality plateaus. In the beginning you may struggle to have sex with pretty girls. Once that nut is cracked you may find a fairly easy calculus of X approaches leads to Y amount of interest and Z amount of lays. You can sustain yourself indefinately on workrate alone. Good luck to you. Most of us get frustrated that this path doesn’t let you crack the next level of quality. So after some frustration we retool and take another run at the summit.
As I lay in bed this afternoon with Serb C nuzzled up against me, her clothes strewn across my apartment floor, I ruminate on how not only is she a chaste girl who just moments ago doubled her lifetime cock-count but also that she is of quite astonishing quality. Not merely hot. Hot and elegant and talented and womanly and intelligent. The type of girl last seen in England circa 1960. The haters can keep their fatties. The pussy hounds can keep their weekly grot-fucks. I shall work my niche of monthly Slavic princesses.
Anyhow, I digress. So to this story….
During my August tour of the former Yugoslavia I pulled a quite-uncharacteristic nightclub rapid escalation. Belgrade has flotsam and jetsam of nightclub boats pushed up against the riverside which are perfect in summer. After necking lots of cheap vodka with Bhodi and Robusto I start rapid escalating. One particular girl responds great and I end up in a afterparty with all her friends in a soviet-era tenement block. Heavy makeouts but no sex. We keep up some occasional facebook chat but she is super-flighty. Her traditional parents micro-manage her life, she doesn’t see any real future in our keeping contact, and she’s an all-round neurotic type. Beneath all this is a sweet charming lady. She performs folk songs with the sweetest soft voice and dances gracefully. I recognise quality. I know when I’ve found a genuinely interesting girl. So I perserve.
Next time I’m in Belgrade she doesn’t want to bus in from her town to see me (well, more like a village). The time after that she agrees to the weekend but her parents forbid it and all we manage is a coffee and stroll through the Belgrade fortress grounds. Her hamster is spinning hard verbalising classic forebrain-hindbrain conflict. As you get more calibrated and speak womanese you’ll find the girl telling you how to seduce her. This one was lacking comfort. She desperately wanted me but future-projected her buyer’s remorse and conflict with her family.
I end up in Belgrade again for the fourth time, mostly to visit Serb A who I closed last time. It interests me greatly how different both girls are yet both are my type. I must really intoxicate myself with females now, savouring the taste like a single malt rolled around my palate. I rent a top floor apartment and she agrees to spend three days with me (but not staying over). I’m certain I’ll fuck her.
Day One – She meets me at the bus station and drops me off at my apartment which she had scouted in advance on her father’s orders. I settle in for a few hours until she finishes her family obligations and we meet for dinner. I’m mythologising this girl, delving deep in our interests, finding connection. I don’t forget the fundamentals of body language, vocal tone etc but that stuff comes reflexively now and attraction isn’t the sticking point with her. I think more along Steve Jabba lines – what place is my behaviour coming from? am I connecting to my authentic emotions for her? It’s easy because I genuinely like this girl. We end up at my apartment making out and her hindbrain is taking over, grinding her crotch into me, breathing heavy. I count my chickens and then……. forebrain overide, she scuttles back and it’s gone. Too much ASD. I let her go home.
Day Two – I’ve set her hindbrain going so I know it’ll eventually overpower her forebrain resistance. I don’t even need to be physically present. Sure enough the next day she’s slightly further down that road. We have coffee in a fantastic basement place. I’m sitting back sipping my drink, chatting, looking around and so tranquil. This is exactly the life I want to live. Civilisation is still intact in Serbia. I see masculine men and feminine women everywhere. Of the ten girls in this cafe, if you took any of the top seven into a London nightclub they’d shine like shooting stars putting all the local trollops to shame. We eat late lunch and break for a few hours so I can be alone. She’s back around for the evening so we eat dinner and head back to my place.
As confident I am of the eventual lay – she’s clearly crossed the bridge of inevitability – I just don’t know if it will happen fast enough to get it done this holiday. I’m a patient man but……
Spotify is on with Robusto’s love-making playlist and we dance playfully until I break out a power move and lift her up in a fireman’s carry, spinning her as she hoots and hollers to be let down. Big time arousal. Then I push hard on the kissing, waiting for her hands to start exploring hungrily. That’s the moment I want so I know to push the final mile. I grab her trousers at the belt and as expected she reaches down and unbuttons her jeans. Now is not the time to play it cool. I undress her.
She’s covering her face, shy. She definitely needs to be pushed. So I push. And….. close.
Afterwards she verbalises all the ASD and buyer’s remorse. She’s like a drunk driver on black ice with two shredded tires, careening this way and that out of control. Poor girl. Deep down I can sense her satisfaction and liberation. From hereon it’s all comfort, stroking her hair and pulling her into me. No more sexual stuff. No more bad boy.
Day Three – She’s back around at lunchtime so I kiss her immediately, gauging her mood. She softens and soon stiffens (in the right way). So I push. More sex, better sex. It’s a done deal. Midway through she covers her face so I playfully chastise her shyness. “I’ve only been with one man before” she says. The rest of the day is spent walking around a park, having coffee, feeding of that wonderful compliment of masculine-feminine energy now all the barriers are down. It’s a sweet feeling.
That’s three Serbs out of the last four closes. Every one of them 170cm+, twenty-three or less, and with one prior sexual partner. Have I found my niche?