I bang my first 29 year old Cornish separatist

December 20, 2013
krauserpua

The internet would have you believe English girls possess sophisticated anti-Game powers that make them impervious to charisma. Anyone who has actually daygamed Europe will quickly tell you English girls aren’t harder, they are just unpleasant. The moment you step out of the Anglosphere it’s like stepping out the Fat Room of a carnival Hall of Mirrors and you realise it’s not you, it’s them. Anglosphere society is broken and most women with it.

Wonder Woman, 2013 version

Wonder Woman, 2013 version

Most human traits follow bell-shaped normal distribution yet different demographics can shift the whole curve left or right (see for example IQ by country). 66% of people are within one standard deviation of the mean. For Euro-girls under thirty that mean is a high 6. For FSU-girls it’s a high 7. For Brits, Yanks, Kiwis, Saffers, Aussies and Paddys it’s a low 5. In a nutshell that’s why it behooves every man to ignore native English-speaking girls. Exercise some cultural and geographical arbitrage to up the quality of the women in your life. I avoid English women. Their voice turns my stomach. Their frumpy ill-coordinated fashion hurts my eyes. They can’t follow a man’s lead and have nothing of interest to say. In general.

Pretend you didn't see this

Pretend you didn’t see this

So when I’m out one Saturday afternoon with Bodi near Buckingham Palace the last thing I’m expecting is to initiate an interaction with an English girl that ends with me fucking her a few days later. My vibe is still flat so when I see a Brazilian girl that’s a bit chubby for my taste but otherwise screaming to be opened I let Bodi have her. As he wanders off on an idate I hang around looking for targets. Amongst the trees outside St James Park I see a French-looking girl alone, inspecting a plaque of the local wildlife. Sorted. I open.

Incredibly she’s English. From Cornwall. I rapidly calculate that’s as far from (literally and culturally) London as a Brit can be and it shows in her vibe. She’s chatty, pleasant and (for a Brit) reasonably feminine. The set takes on that weird non-polarity English girls have where it’s chatty and fast-paced but there’s no crackle of man-woman vibe. She likes me. A Yes Girl. Text game progresses easily and I get her out a few days later…..

Me: So this is the chatty Cornish separatist :)
Her: Chatty? I could hardly get a word in!
Me: How memory deceives us….
Me: [next day] I’m sitting in a cafe with hot coffee and enthralling book :) how are you?
Her: Sounds lovely. I’ve just had a very uninspiring Christmas lunch. Think I get to leave work early though, woo hoo!
Me: Works lunch? I get restless at those
Her: Desperate to leave! xxx
Me: Steal the mince pies and sell them to tramps
Her: I’m free! Nice plans this eve?
Me: None at all. Maybe exercise and video games
Me: Hang on… you’re cadging a date invitation aren’t you…. how smooth you move young lady :D
Her: It may sound like that but actually I’m not free. You are very slow with your invites though. Where’s my cup of tea?
Me: Brewing
Her: Very good. I need to work on my patience!
Me: I approve

I’m really not much interested because I thought she’s a mid-6 and didn’t even have make-up on when I opened. She’s new in town and doesn’t know anyone. As 3pm rolls around my eyes wander to the darkening skies and bitter wind. I’m seriously thinking of flaking on her. Don’t care for new notches this year. I’ve had my fill. I want to go home and finish Operation Flashpoint Red River.

But no makeup a,nd unwashed hair

But no makeup and unwashed hair

But I’ve literally just finished drawing my Krauser Daygame Model flowchart for the book. Wouldn’t this be a great chance to run the model exactly as written in the model, step-by-step, with no variations. I could voice record it all and who knows, if I bang her on Day 2 it’s a full uninterrupted audio of the model *. Maybe I’ll meet her afterall. So I’m decided.

6pm in front of Top Shop on Friday evening and I walk her to a nearby tea shop. She’s hotter than I remember – a respectable seven but being English she’s still not wearing makeup and she came straight from uni with a hiking jacket, ill-fitting jeans and unwashed hair. It reminds me of one of my Serbs telling me about a day she visited her grandmother without putting on her makeup first (“How dare you come here looking like that?” Granny says, “Have some self respect, girl”).  Enroute to Venue Zero,  I actually say exactly the same dialogue examples as in my book. Over tea I follow the body language advice exactly. I bring up the same topics. I precisely monitor the energy levels per by model prediction. It’s literally textbook game. She loves it.

Being English she’s already derailing it, talking total gibberish that would quickly kill the vibe if I didn’t haul her back on track. She likes me, she just doesn’t know how to be attractively feminine – being English and all. Venue One passes the test so I walk her on to Venue Two for a bright alcoholic drink. I run the twin escalation ladders (verbal and physical) in precise order and get my amber lights. So I move her to Venue Three at a dark blues bar to run the Questions Game and go for the kiss.

Textbook. She even refused the kiss twice to allow me to do my little Recovery Loop and keep moving forwards.

The questions game starts to break the fourth wall. She’s really loving it and starting to share such as her fantasy to have two men at once, how she just got out of a long long relationship, hasn’t had sex in three months and hasn’t had good sex in over a year. She masturbated last night to the fantasy of an investment banker she’s messaged on Match.com but hasn’t even met. She’s gagging for it. Sexual and Ambient Logistics are perfect.

As we walk out up Regent Street I’m looking to flag a cab. Her next question is:

“What do you think the odds are we have sex tonight?”

Of course my first thought is they just rose dramatically. I reply.

Me: On my side it’s 100%. I’m attracted to you, I like how we got on tonight, so I want to take you home and fuck you. On your side I think it’s 70%. You want sex and you think I’m probably the right man right now but you have a few reservations. Probably you think it’s a bit fast and you are concerned about adding to your Number.

Her: No, I don’t mind the number. I was in a very long relationship. And yes, I’m very horny these days. I fancy you but I think you’re a bit of a wanker

Me: Only a bit? Well, you’re a bit of a hippy. When the revolution comes we’ll be on opposite sides of the barricades

Her: I like that

Me: Yes. Forbidden fruit is the sweetest

A cab arrives and I push her in, saying she hasn’t agreed to anything so I won’t hold her to anything. Just a drink at my place and see how we feel. Back at my place I run the Venue Four bedroom escalation model. It’s still textbook. Five minutes after sitting down she can’t hold back and jumps me, initiating the kiss. Her clothes falls to the floor in seconds and she’s on her knees sucking me off. Her body is a nice surprise – firm, flat stomach, vibrant tight skin – country living and hiking has kept her looking young. I take her next door to get the notch and that’s it.

English girls are not harder. Just different.

* My phone runs out of battery midway through Venue Two.

I bang my first 30 year old Sri Lankan student

November 9, 2013
krauserpua

The player lifestyle is an emotional rollercoaster that throws up all kinds of unusual experiences. The typical chode has a love-life something like this, with some adjustment depending on how high his value is:

  • Grind away with job, fashion, hobbies and gym until some girl chooses you
  • Date girl in her frame until she gives up the sex and secures monogamous commitment from you
  • Change Facebook status to “in a relationship”. Go to Adele concerts together, shopping malls, birthday parties and bore your co-workers with stories that begin with “we” and end with a damp squib of anti-climax.
  • Get dumped. Come off the rails a while. Message some fatties on OkCupid. Stare with terror into the abyss of a long dry spell.
  • Repeat once a year until married.

Perhaps I exaggerate but the chodes I know all have drearily predictable lives. Once you board the emotional rollercoaster that is Game it’s like a tiger raised in capitivity being released into the wild.

Beginners bootcamp, Covent Garden

Beginners bootcamp, Covent Garden

The buffers are gone, the safe societally-sanctioned routine is gone and now you are confronted with the many opportunities and threats of the wildnerness. It’s exciting times. It’s a rollercoaster because you are now putting yourself into position to experience the extremes of success and failure. This is not a flat straight motorway with a car on cruise control. You are constantly forcing yourself into (relatively) high stakes situations where the difference between roaring success and shattering failure is razor thin. Just ask any player who has pulled off an SDL with a young hottie. Hence the old saying “emotional control is the foundation of Game.”

One such unusual experience is sex with girls you don’t like. In ChodeWorld it’s weird to have sex with a girl whose personality grates on him because he (i) believes the Disney romance myth and (ii) is chosen by girls partly on his agreeability to them. Players, however, have relentless notch-count hyena to feed and also far more stringent standards on who they like. It’s just that we’ll still fuck her anyway. Making a habit of enduring unpleasant women’s jibber-jabber just to get into their pants is a soul-destroying foolish errand but once in a while the grotty shamefullness of it is fun. So it was with this girl.

It begins normally enough at 10pm on Regent Street as I’m walking to the bus stop after a drink with friends. The streets have emptied out and from about twenty metres away I see a girl with exactly the silhouette I want – tall, leggy, wide hips, breasts, long hair. As I see the whites of her eyes I see she’s from the sub-continent and walks nice. So I open. My assumption story is dead-on that she’s a student from Sri Lanka. She’s surprised by my accuracy and she’s a fairly smart girl so the banter is good (at first). She’s loving it but a bit guarded and challenging. I take the number and she’s keen in the texts. It goes downhill from there.

Perm the hair a bit

Perm the hair a bit

Every new fact I find out about her is either a red flag or an irritation. Over the course of a short Day 2 (one drink on a Friday night) and a longer Day 3 in a blues bar I discover the following:

  • Her university course is a do-gooder socialist PC money pit.
  • She’s sexually experienced and “knows what she wants”
  • She frequently spouts femthink to belittle and dismiss masculinity (in the abstract – she gets off on my masculinity in the specific)
  • She has a large tattoo on her lower back
  • She thinks she knows alot about politics, geography, history and psychology and yet every single assertion is gibberish.

I figure she’s quite a slut so I shouldn’t have to endure much before I get my notch and smoothly disappear from her life. The Day 3 is just a technical challenge of my ability to run the model and move things along against her resistance while suppressing my desire to dress her down and next her. I can deal with her obstructionism by the usual push-pull and dominance. I can deal with her femthink by holding my frame and not engaging. She’s so set on keeping her frame that it’s tough to break her down. She’s desperately clinging on to the “I’m a girl. I’m the value. I’m choosing” script but I won’t budge an inch and she grudgingly plays along, plotting and scheming ways to snatch back some frame.

It’s quite a chore. I probably shouldn’t bother but I want the Sri Lanka flag.

Day 4 is back at my house but she’s getting off on stringing things out and denying the sex. I get her rather generous breasts out but not much more. She’s gagging for it but the script matters more to her. Day 5 is in my house again and I’m decided that I’ll next her if she doesn’t put out. She doesn’t put out. Next!

She’s chasing hard by text. I give one-word answers, take hours to respond, don’t take her bait to invite her out. I’m just sick of it. I cannot face the idea of rebuilding momentum just to spend another four hours on my sofa of her saying “no”. She seems to get the message. She invites herself over one final time and then I fuck her within the hour. She makes a face-saving show of banter and reluctance but her eyes and mouth are a dead giveaway that she’s come to fuck. It’s actually a great lay. High energy, very physical, noisy. I put her into a taxi and delete her number.

Girls really ought to learn that how they act before the lay determines if they get called back. This one was just so precious, so inane, so poor at banter that I shut myself down and by Day 4 getting interest and affection from me was like blood from a stone. She’s not a bad person, just a case of drinking every bottle of PC/feminist Kool Aid and wrecking her ability to inspire care and affection from a man. Poor girl.

+1. New flag.

Learning points

  • Masculine girls are extremely annoying
  • Obstructionism is not a strong frame. It’s just obstructionism. Don’t be in awe of it.
  • Don’t feel guilty about pumping and dumping a girl who has failed to earn your affections.

I bang my first 28 year old Russian Miss Fitness competitor

November 6, 2013
krauserpua

Back when I was a normal person super-chode my life was a fairly unadventurous affair, something I still see in the dead-eyed shambling of all my coupled-up old friends. Monday to Friday is the corporate cubicle grind then a few drinks after work with other blue-shirted finance/programmer chodes in an All Bar One until each of my friends’ “weekend passes” expired and Her Indoors summoned them home. Saturday and Sunday were mostly recovery from the week with a little shopping and cafe-dwelling mixed in.

A pretty boring life. I escaped that gulag four years ago and the Blue Pill Gestapo will never take me back alive.

Confined to solitary

Confined to solitary

Then an hour in the exercise yard

Then an hour in the exercise yard

So I’ve been living the Euro-jaunt lifestyle. Every month or so I’ll take a week or two’s trip facilitated by budget airlines and airbnb. I’ll number-farm, pick the low-hanging fruit and add the tougher, chaster and prettier girls to Facebook and Skype to work them ready for a return trip. When you’re a fan of the Euro-jaunt lifestyle, Long Game is indispensable. You have to learn your mistakes the hard way and few things are more depressing than working a girl over social media for two months, agreeing to meet in her country and then she doesn’t put out. It’s only happened to me twice and it’s very unpleasant… an “I suck” moment to beat all I suck moments. So I developed a Long Game checklist to be ticked off before booking flights and it’s served me well. It’s in the new book.

I wouldn’t be an aspiring player if I didn’t sometimes push the envelope, take a risk, and put myself into stupid situations. With this girl I decide to fly over to Estonia for a weekend with her when she hasn’t ticked off a single item on the checklist. That’s trouble. But before we get to the end let’s go back to the beginning…..

It’s late July and the sun is beating down on the paved streets around Trafalgar Square. Crowds of slim Euro-tourist girls amble around with cameras, guidebooks and Primark bags while Tom and I run amok. He opens some bint outside the National Gallery and hooks well so I go sit over on a nearby wall. He’s got his girl laughing and tittering so I’m looking around for something to throw myself at….. and I see her. A diminutive little Russian strutting across the square in high heels and tight skirt. Imagine the bitchiest coldest-looking Russian catwalk model and then shrink her six inches and inflate her curves. She’s got the severe makeup, cold eyes, high cheekbones and dark clipped fashion that you’d expect on Victoria Beckham but she’s only 5’2″ tall bless her with hips and calves like a porno actress. Her features are like a blow-up doll. I open.

I genuinely expect to get blown out hard. She seems so severe.

In diminutive low-8 form

In diminutive low-8 form

But no, she hooks easily and before bouncing her into the National Gallery cafe “for an English tea like an English lady” I see Tom glide past with his phone camera sneakily flashing. Later he shows up in the cafe after I text asking him to record a little idate footage.

After tea I walk her along the lakeside at St James Park and we sit on the grass. She deftly avoids being in kiss-close range but she’s verbally IOIing me and there’s no danger of her failing to understand my intent. But this is a Russian: you don’t expect much from the first two dates. She’s only in town a few more days as her three-week English course wraps up but I manage to get her on a Day 2 for a couple of hours. We have a beer in Waxy O’Connors and she rebuffs my kiss-close in a “too soon” kind of manner. I move it to Facebook.

Back in Trotskygrad reality hits her like homebrewed vodka and she’s loving the mysterious Englishman schtick. I run the usual Long Game in comparing her to a hamster and KGB agent. She sends me a two-page bio giving me a fantasy backstory (that’s great investment and mythologising) and it all goes nicely. September rolls around and I’m in Latvia teaching a residential with Tom. I get my usual local lays and squeezed between them is a Sunday afternoon when my Russian buses into Riga for a daytrip. It’s a delightful afternoon sitting in the sunshine by the river, taking photos around the Old Town and I get her semi-naked on my sofa. There’s makin’-out aplenty but she’s got rigid forebrain control to refuse the sex. I try everything. At one point I’m chasing her around the kitchen table and she tries to crawl away through my legs.

Another month of Facebook chat ensues then we agree to meet for a weekend in Tallinn. I know it’s not a done deal not only because the checklist isn’t ticked off but my whole gut feel is telling me it’s a 50/50 bet she’ll play the “I’m not that kind of girl game”. She’s clearly angling for commitment. However I’m on 25 of 26 targeted lays for the year, fancy getting out of London, and haven’t been approaching for over a month so have no London leads. I take a punt.

Predictably she gives me the runaround. On paper it’s a lovely evening – we stroll around the Old Town, take photos, eat in a medieval restaurant, have a few drinks and then roll around on my bed in the apartment but…. it’s just one long ordeal for me. It’s a very straightforward powerplay, conducted covertly.

I want to bang her. She wants to get commitment first.

As I’m walking her back to my place towards 10pm she tells me “I should be going back to my hotel”. She comes inside “for a minute only”. She won’t take her coat or shoes off for the first hour. Every babystep forward is a grind. I try everything over three hours on my bed before finally giving up. She stays the night but never takes her tights off and in the morning I’m able to get a blowjob off her. It’s so obvious she’s gagging for it but her forebrain is truly impressive. There’s a reason Russians like chess (and yes, she plays).

I get rid of her on Saturday afternoon because I need my own time and space. A couple of hours later she returns and the battle recommences. I sense a change this time. I’ve very consciously reminded myself to get back into the Now and make myself present, rather than my previously weird outcome-dependent distant vibe. She’s also a little more broken-down than yesterday, her hindbrain having dissolved a few more layers of resistance. So we eat again and have another drink. The vibe has shifted noticeably. Her eyes are more sparkly, she feels closer, and I’m starting to sense the “fuck me” decision being made behind her eyes. The spider sense is tingling.

I take her home again and the same palaver ensues but in only a quarter of the time. Finally I decide for the big escalation push. I’m pretty brutal with her. Moving her body around, ripping her clothes off, giving her stern looks, holding her down. She resists mightily but everytime I release her she gives a mildly disappointed look. Twice I do the Fire Escape routine of going into the bathroom, closing the door and offering her an escape route should she really wish to leave. Both times I come back to find her still lying on the bed in exactly the state of undress in which I left her. She wants it.

This scene is tame in comparison

This Conan scene is tame in comparison

So she gets it. She’s saying “no, we shouldn’t” right up until the moment I stick it in her and then – BAM! – She loves it. The barriers come tumbling down and she transforms into a hellcat. She’s biting, scratching, moaning, screaming, begging for more. She loves it rough especially the choking. When I turn her over for doggy-style I see a tramp stamp above her ass…. “oh you deceitful dirty bitch” I think, “pretending you’re a good girl wanting commitment while having that tattoo”. So I stick it in her ass and give her a rough one-man DP. Needless to say she loves it.

Afterwards she snuggles up to me and coos “you’re such a monster”.

I’m grinning. “You look much happier now” she says. “Yes, I won” I reply.

I bang my first 23 year old Romanian street racer

October 26, 2013
krauserpua

Girls are designed to derail the train.

It’s common to project our own thoughts and values onto others and to assume they share our outlook. The manosphere is full of much chortling at female rationalisations and solipsism such as how career women think men should value them for their intelligence, status and travel stories simply because that’s what the women value in men. It’s true. We men do have our own projection too though. Men are so completely notch-centric that we don’t fully appreciate how little women care about getting a new lay. They really don’t care if an interaction doesn’t lead to sex. They can walk away at any time. It’s only with tight game that you can get them invested enough to want to see it through.

A girl’s default programming towards sex with a new man is non-neediness. She will happily toss a spanner into the works at most inopportune moments because she simply doesn’t care if it all breaks down. A young hot girl will never run out of suitors. This Romanian girl was a hardcore derailer, worse than a band of WWII Ukranian partisans. She did the full inventory of derailments:

  • Don’t reply to messages
  • Divert conversations into dead ends
  • Leave the country
  • Try to provoke arguments
  • Try to annoy me so much I delete her number
  • Cancel or reschedule dates
WWII-era cockblocks

WWII-era cockblocks

In my new book I go into detail on what I call “playing silly buggers”. It’s not a shit test per se. She’s not testing me for my value. This Romanian girl absolutely adored me and was like a meek little kitten in person, totally under my spell. But once she had the seperation of Whatsapp between us she became a derailment machine. So this was a long battle…. full of emotional highs and lows… and then I won. Go me.

It begins on Oxford Street three months ago when the sun is shining and the streets are rammed with 7s. As I pick my way through a crowd I catch the faintest of IOIs from a slim brunette going the opposite direction. She’s separated from me by about five feet and seven people but I’m alive to it and catch that sideways flicker of her eyes. I open with something accusatory for an easy hook. We chat five minutes and it’s electric. She’s a cat (more categorisation in my book) and lapping up the sexual energy so I bounce for the idate outside a nearby pub. We are propped up against the outside wall in mid-afternoon sunshine so I can easily test kino, build rapport and within an hour I’ve kissed her. It seems so on I’m looking for the SDL. We move to a second bar and I’m seeding the extraction then…. ring ring ring. Her boss calls to demand she attend a client dinner a couple of hours later. Everything fizzles. We swap numbers.

This sort of thing

This sort of thing

As I walk her back to Oxford Circus she begins her silly buggers by crossing the street ahead of me and stomping along the pavement with a haughty expression while I hold my line on my side of the street. I’ve seen this game before. She wants to covertly induce me to following her. Nope, not me. After a few texts I quickly figure out her psychology. She loves to rub up against a guy’s manhood. Intermediates are easily confused by this because it’s pretty rare to find a girl who proactively and consistently does it and thus they mistake it for a shit test.

  • Shit test: Your value is in doubt so she throws you a test and your answer allows her to better place your value.
  • The rub: She enjoys the feeling of masculine dominance so she pushes a button precisely to trigger a slap down, because she loves the thrill of being slapped down.

In dysfunctional form The Rub is why battered women provoke violence from abusive boyfriends. This girl wasn’t that bad, just a naughty minx. As we move to Whatsapp I see her profile picture is walking a rottweiler and she sends me a photo of her on the back of her cousin’s superbike. Yes, her psychology is clear – she likes bad boys. Curiously there’s a twist to her make-up because she’s also very intelligent and has a real job that requires real administrative skill. She lets on she’s read alot of the classics and surprises me a little with her historical and geographical knowledge.

By now I’m rubbing my hands in glee. She can only be attracted to men who have shedloads of bad boy dominance as well as well-rounded intellectual sophistication…. and how often does a girl find both in one man? My prediction turns out right – she can’t stop messaging me and is like a moth drawn to a flame. The whatsapp messages are tremendously entertaining for me with a constant stream of her poking her head up and me slapping it down. Logistics interfere horribly though and her business trip ends before we get a Day 2. She tells me she doesn’t like London and will not return. Bugger. This news comes when I’m in a run of extremely bad luck of sets collapsing due to forces beyond my control. I write her off but the banter is good enough that I’m happy to keep the text messages going.

I get a few semi-naked selfies. She tells me she’s had dirty dreams about me. I want to move things further along into authentic communication and deep rapport but part of her derailment is to hold things in a fizzy banter-ish mode. She’s constantly breaking rapport and avoiding connection. Ok, I’m not going to force it. I’ve basically reached the point where the only reason I’m chatting to her is to test out new material and to pester her for naked photos. And then she gives me the news: “I’m coming to live in London.” Game on.

Of course it was never going to be that easy. She claims her boss is constantly making her work late, and she has trouble house-hunting. Finally I get her out a week after she arrives. It goes great and she’s bubbling with sexual energy. We have a civilised tea and then a pint, make-out but she hits me with another my-boss-needs-me-back-now evasion. Two weeks pass then she tells me she’s leaving London soon. Bugger. It’s such a pain to arrange things but finally we agree on Whatsapp to meet on Friday.

Some of my recent sets

Some of my recent sets

She tries one more derailment by messaging me an hour before the date along the lines of “can we postpone till next week.” I swear I nearly throw my phone at the nearest woman. I take deep breaths, compose myself, then tell her off. No, we won’t postpone and it’s too late to do so. So we meet in Camden.

And predictably, it’s completely on. I walk her around the market a bit, we have some street food then a coffee in the upstairs of a secluded souk. I have her tits in my mouth there and every fibre of her being is screaming “fuck me”. So I walk her to the bus stop. “I’m not going back to your place” she pipes up but gets on the bus anyway. Back in my house it takes about half an hour of battling until finally I fuck her. It’s not fast but it’s definitely furious. A very hot young minx. I’m pleased with this one.

Learning points

  • Spot the difference between a shit test and the rub.
  • Strong leading remains essential when going for the close. Even in the texts before the sex date you may have to push hard with your logistics.
  • UPDATE: A fortnight later when she’s around for sex she tells me I’m the third guy to ever fuck her. Previous two were LTRs.

I bang my first 25 year old Latvian cheerleader

September 17, 2013
krauserpua

Sometimes you’re the good-looking guy.

Most girls most of the time are looking to derail the train. Encoded deep into their DNA is the mating strategy of don’t get fucked. Considering how a young woman’s life consists of non-stop daily offers of dick it makes sense that her default mode is disqualification. Too short, too fat, too old, too flashy, too boring. It doesn’t matter how spurious the pretext, the girl is looking for ways to avoid being fucked by all those men who are trying. Vying with this is the reality that girls love sex and love fucking high value guys. When a girl has gone a long time without sex, her body starts screaming for a man. When she’s ovulating, the screaming becomes deafening. She becomes a Yes Girl. Now all she needs is to find a man good enough. Even better, a man who fits one of her “the kind of guy I’d like to fuck” archetypes. How can you be that guy?

waiting to be knocked over

waiting to be knocked over

Plan A is to choose the right parents so you are born good-looking then every Yes Girl who ambles past is going to flash you an IOI. Learn to spot these and you’ll have a never-ending stream of hot leads. Or go to a nightclub because there’s always a small proportion of them there and your job is to simply filter out the timewasters to get to them.

Plan B is to be a relentless number-farmer. Hit the streets every day for hours on end, flipping over the stones until you turn up a Yes Girl. I don’t recommend this because it’ll burn you out and kill your vibe. I literally only know one such number farmer who still has a good pleasant vibe. The rest are pretty angry men.

Plan C is what I do. Optimise your look, go to places where hot girls walk, do bread-and-butter cold approach game and simply be alive to the occasional Yes Girl when you stumble into her. That’s how I got this girl. Consider the Yes Girl checklist:

  • She IOIs me before the open
  • Immediately strong hook with eye spazz and full attention
  • No obstacles raised at any point. No boyfriend, no time constraint. Just an easy chat she cooperates in building.
  • She’s relieved when I ask for her number
  • She helps to set up the date by telling me the earliest opportunity she is free
  • She immediately responds to my feeler text and puts energy and effort into her replies
  • She turns up to the date dressed up pretty, wearing a dress and showing lots of skin
  • No shit testing
  • She baits me into inviting her home so she can eagerly accept
  • No LMR

When you’re out meeting girls and these ticks just keep appearing on your checklist it’s a wonderful feeling. After so many sets that are blowouts or where you have to be really on or where the numbers flake….. to just have it all go smoothly is a great feeling. So it was with this girl.

I’m in a shopping mall with Tom and our student when I see a shop assistant flapping her gums with a friend. The place is almost empty so they are just gabbing on when the assistant tells a joke and pulls a funny face. At that moment I happen to walk past and catch her eye. She’s totally busted pulling a face and cracks up in embarassed laughter. I keep walking with a smug smile on my face. At the very next shop there’s a girl putting products onto a high shelf. Her RAS triggers and she looks over, flashing a beaming smile. I’ve accidently forced an IOI so I immediately walk into the shop and open, calling out the Elephant In The Room. Strong hook and I walk away five minutes later with a number. She told me she’s busy the next day but free on Monday evening. I send the feeler on Sunday evening:

Me: So this is the cute shop girl… how was the event?

Her: Hi, it was good considering that i didn’t train a long time before this. feeling so tired but proud of myself :)

Me: You must be exhausted. A perfect time to sit in your favourite chair and relax by the fire :)

Her: Too bad i don’t have fire place… How was your day in boring Latvia?

Me: I spent much of it lying in the sun. Great weather :) so tomorrow is good for you?

Her: Yes tomorrow is good. what time?

Me: 8pm, Cafe X?

Her: Great I like Cafe X. See you there.

Me: ;)

Wise men amongst you will notice how simple the text game is. I played it very light, pretty close to deliberately over-choding it to counteract the player vibe. She shows up on the date in a beautiful short dress and heels, at least a point higher than I’d originally thought. She’s a solid greyhound, later telling me she was a cheerleader in high school and university. Game on.

with slightly longer hair

with slightly longer hair

I lean back and rattle off some light DHVs and I notice her vibe is slightly odd from the beginning. I can’t quite figure it out. She looks nervous and twitchy, not quite relaxing into the conversation causing some awkward silences. She takes my verbal IOIs and her hands are soft when I find an excuse to touch her fingers but it’s not quite right. Halfway through I tell her to join me on the sofa and there’s still that distance. Admittedly I’m moving fast because a year of regular lays has made me overly impateint but this isn’t right. Rather than overthink the set I just keep to my date model and open into the questions game. When the free-form analogue conversation isn’t sticking and she’s not opening up it can be helpful to have a more direct structure such as turn-taking questions. Finally she softens and I pull her in for a soft quick kiss. At the next venue, a dark secluded wine bar, I pull her closer and we are soon making out. She doesn’t quite jump me but she’s lightly scratching my forearm and putting her hands softly on my shoulders. Still she seems a bit nervous and finally I figure it out……

She came to fuck, from the very beginning. The nerves are anticipation.

Have you ever held the nuts in poker and see people throwing money at the pot. You start to dream of raking in fat stacks and suddenly your blood is pumping with anticipation. It takes surpreme self-control not to let your leg bounce up and down or your breath to quicken. That’s what this girl was experiencing.

So I just push logistics and seed a drink at my place. She follows, I sit on the bed while she mixes a drink and after a couple of sips I just pull her in and close. A great night of sex. Very pleased with myself. Getting laid is one long compliance test. When she’s complying, you don’t need Game. Just lead.

I bang my first 29 year old Latvian fashion designer

September 12, 2013
krauserpua

As you spend more time in the company of fellow daygamers, taking that long sordid fulfilling journey together, you start to encounter things the PUA marketing materials never prepared you for. All that polyanna-ish double-talk of banging tens every night with your rejection-free game, your rock-star level / instructor-level performance…. blah blah…. bullshit….. life just isn’t like that. I’m reminded when I see painted advertising boards outside steak houses of happy-looking cows. I think… hang on, that cow could only be smiling like that if he doesn’t know he’s about to be carved up and eaten.

The Happy Cow Carvery

The Happy Cow Carvery

I digress.

Game is tough. Really really tough. For most men it’s the toughest thing they’ll ever do, casting aside their protective buffers and facing incredible levels of rejection and ego death. The rewards come in but you’d better prepare yourself for some long dark nights of the soul. So it’s refreshing when I’m going through a rough patch and I hear Steve (or Tom, or Jon or whoever) talk about their own encounters with the darkness. There’s so much PUA happy-talk and internet alpha posturing out there that an aspiring player could be forgiven for thinking he’s the only guy in the community who can’t hack it. Once you’re in with a solid crew you quickly realise that everyone has their demons and everyone has their tough periods. That’s normality.

Let me tell you about my most recent one.

I’m on my third day of number farming in Riga when I stop a dusky dark-haired beauty near the train station. It’s super-on, eye-spazz, close-distance sparkle. We are deeply eye-fucking from the beginning. After ten minutes or so I take the number and we meet late that evening. It’s my first date with a local. She takes me to a hotel rooftop bar where I force a kiss close in the lift on the way down to the second venue. I’m starting to see red flags but she’s got just the look I like, almost Turkish. She’s fighting off the kiss too much even though her hindbrain is well on, she tells me she’s married but separated, and after the second drink I try to extract and she bursts into tears. Oh dear….. a drama queen with volatile emotions. I do sympathise because going through a divorce is tough so I give alot of comfort and decide to steer well clear.

but chubby

but chubby

She adds me to Facebook and starts chasing, and then through text.

It’s one of those weird scenarios where her forebrain is in full “don’t fuck” mode but her hindbrain can’t stop moving her feet closer to me. I’m occupied with other leads and by Saturday I’m suddenly six days into the holiday and haven’t been laid. Tom sets up a double first date with a hot sleazy girl who has a boyfriend but is super horny. As we sit back on Cafe X sofas Tom’s girl turns up with her blonde friend, about 9pm. Both girls are well up for it but it’s weird. They are little madams and don’t even order a drink. After twenty minutes or so of strong eye contact and subtle kino they suddenly put their coats on and leave. We don’t chase. My girl has been texting for the past two hours to bait me into inviting her out so I get her to show up ten minutes later (with a blonde friend). The Cafe X staff are giving us funny looks because we’ve done almost all our dates here and without even getting out of our sofas we’ve just replaced a departing two-set with a new one.

The friend really likes Tom. She’s no oil painting but at the borderline-boiler threshold where you start thinking “if it’s easy, I’ll have it”. Inexplicably her brother shows up too. My girl is immediately on but I’m anticpating hardcore LMR so I decide to continue the pressure-cooker method, namely:

Lull a girl into chasing your hard by keeping your text replies brief and never taking her bait to invite her out. If she really wants you she’ll amp up her investment and make ever more blatant come-ons until she’s inviting herself out. Then when she arrives, make her talk and use subcommunication to heat her up without ever giving her a kiss or a statement that releases the sexual tension. The idea is to build her pressure so high the slightest prick will cause the volcano to erupt (and ideally that overcomes the LMR).

So I’m eye-fucking her and we’re just face-to-face on the sofa doing deep hypnotic scanning. Her face is fully monged with slack jaw, drooping eyes and lip-quivering. I boil her in that for twenty minutes before finally extracting. Tom decides to isolate his girl (it doesn’t work out that way but that’s a story for him to tell). So I walk my girl straight back to the apartment and into the bedroom. She’s gagging for it but there’s still a good fifteen minutes of LMR till I finally fuck her.

The moment I shoot my bolt I regret it. She’s not ugly, far from it. Her face is a solid eight and even though she’s carrying a bit of chub she’s still a respectable notch. The problem is the red flags that I ignored in my sex-goggled haze are now waving in full glory. All those little comments on dates and in texts about latching onto me and building it up like a Hollywood romance. Her clinginess. And then the final straw is when I walk her home. She’s trying to call her friend to cockblock Tom out of malicious spite. Bitches be crazy. Fortunately he’s in a basement nightclub somewhere so there’s no reception and I persuade her to just go home to sleep, thinking that’s the end of it. Oh no.

I’m feeling pretty grotty. I just pushed a vulnerable girl into fast sex and now she’s latching on bigtime even though I never pretended it was anything other than sex. I didn’t much enjoy the experience and now I’m in the post-sex low where my testosterone has dropped and I’m tired, thinking of ways to get rid of her. I figure I’m feeling so grotty I might as well revel in it so I head off to Hessburger and order the most unhealthy happy meal on the menu. As I’m sipping Coke and eating a past-midnight double cheeseburger Tom sends a text:

I'm lovin' it

I’m lovin’ it

“Your girl is cockblocking me. I’m outside the apartment.”

Fuck. I’ve often written about wing rules and now I have to put my money where my mouth is and re-engage a girl I’m trying to shuffle quietly away from. I call her up knowing full-well this is just adding post-sex comfort that will latch her on like a barnacle to the hull of the goodship Krauser. I just need to keep her talking as long as possible to stop her using her phone to cockblock Tom. I spend ten minutes describing in detail my happy meal, getting her to translate the Hessburger nutrional information leaflets. Then another ten minutes trying to NLP her into going to sleep. Twenty minutes is all I can stand before leaving Tom to the vagaries of fate.

Sneaking back into the apartment there’s two pairs of shoes by the door and my bedroom door is shut. Tom had needed to open the window to clear the sex smell (apparently it smelled so bad his girl wouldn’t go in at first) and kick the period-blooded condom under the bed. As I tiptoe into the lounge when her phone rings loud enough to raise the dead and the caller ID says its my girl. I reject the call and power down her device then stretch out on the sofa hidden under a blanket until Tom finishes his dirty deed. Ten minutes later I hear two sets of footsteps and  Tom whispering “that’s Nick. He texted me he’d been drinking, so he’ll be unconscious” while I feign snoring. The girl tiptoes out saying “My friend won’t have had sex with him. She’s still married” and “Don’t tell her what happened between us”.

Tom later tells me his girl had been trying to ruthlessly cockblock me while mine did the same, calling his girl and saying things like “don’t go into the apartment, come and have a tea with me”.

What a squalid episode. I didn’t get into the Game to clack girls like this. Tom and I commiserate each other on our shameful new notches then retire to our respective quarters. For at least an hour I can’t sleep, just wondering what’s driving me to put myself into these situations thousands of kilometres from home. Fortunately the events of the next two days completely restore my faith in humanity and the joy of chasing sweetly feminine girls. I put this down as a temporary wobble.

I bang my first 21 year old Serbian exchange student

September 11, 2013
krauserpua

Daygaming solo in a foreign country is tough. It’s easy to watch travelogues or read field reports where holidays sound like one long party with dozens of fine young fillies tittering and tottering around until a few are bagged and notched. Not so. As I write this I have five mosquito bites on my head and hands, all from last night when even wrapped up under my monster-proof duvet the little buzzing bastards still got at me. It itches like buggery. I’m still tired and worn out, the last effects of a hangover in my system and my stomach churns from unfamiliar food. There are many highlights to travelling but it grinds you down eventually. And then there’s the actual women……

at some point you have to pick one and say hello

at some point you have to pick one and say hello

Knocking over a new local girl within a week (assuming acceptable quality) is not easy. You have to number farm, rush the text game, rush the dates and there’s usually strong LMR to reflect the haste with which you’re trying to poke the poor girl. But that’s all assuming you’re actually opening. After all the anticipation and excitement of the trip there’s that moment when you drop your bags at the apartment on day one and shit has become real. You have to go out there and open. It’s a brave new world. Unsurprisingly, at times I let my avoidance weasel a little run out for a few hours. I just soak in the atmosphere, watch the girls and read a book in a cafe. I know I’m not going to pussy out forever and sometimes it’s helpful to build a little weasel momentum. Let some hot girls walk by unmolested. Let yourself feel bad for wussing out. Before long you’ll be ready to break the seal, and in this case it got me laid.

It begins with my very first set of the holiday is as I’m dragging my feet back to the apartment after a roasting hot afternoon reading in the patio cafes. I just haven’t got my gameface on, haven’t broken the seal. So I’m at a pedestrian crossing waiting for the green man when a cute slim young girl ambles past in tight short shorts. Great body, great legs, long hair. Ok, let’s get off the mark…… It’s a very strong hook. Easy number but she’s just about to leave Belgrade for a week. Light text ensues. It’s pretty obvious she’s into me but logistics put it onto the backburner and over the course of the next five days she slips from my mind. Finally she pings me the “I’m back”. Great. We arrange an evening drink at Hotel Moskova and I suggest Tom sits at a nearby table to talk the student through my date game live.

It’s just so on from the beginning. I rarely get Yes Girls but I’m gradually encountering more.

You still haven't opened?

You still haven’t opened?

She’s dolled up in the Serb girl summer uniform of Converse, tight denium shorts and a tight vest. A lovely slim figure with curves just right to hang onto. Her hair is long and thick. Lovely. She’s really trying hard with conversation, laughing at all my jokes, leaning in…. my only concern is to move it along at the correct speed rather than getting lured into over-escalating. After two drinks I suggest a walk to the park outside my apartment.

She comes to my door but won’t come in. I don’t push and we end up sitting on a park bench. The escalation is smooth and we’re soon making out. What follows is a two hour battle against LMR. I know her hindbrain wants it but the forebrain has it’s rule so despite her straddling me and grinding away I just can’t get her hands in my trousers. By midnight I have to put her on the bus.

The next evening she has a birthday party. While sitting in my boxer shorts in the apartment I hear the doorbell ring. Hmmm…. not expecting visitors. It’s her in a cocktail dress with hair that probably took a salon two hours to fix. Her heart is thumping but not from the one-storey walk up my staircase. She blurts out that her friends are waiting downstairs but she wanted to say hi before going to the party. She kisses me and frollicks away.

Hmmmm… what does that mean?

I guess it’s just a super strong hook. FSU girls often feel guilty for not putting out as early as they think we expect so this was her way of checking she hasn’t blown it. The next night she agrees to a late meeting. This time I walk her directly to my apartment and we sip wine, watch youtube and I progressively get her undressed until she’s naked on my bed with my dick in her mouth and my fingers up her chuff.

And still she won’t allow the sex. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.

But a slightly harder face

But a slightly harder face

I’m not put off though because I know we are aboard The Inevitable Express bound for New Notch City. All I need to do with this girl is run down the clock. She wants to fuck, she’s proceeding in the right direction, but she’s got her little milestones that must be checked off first. Sometimes girls require chronological time, sometimes a set number of dates, and othertimes certain reveals in your character. This girl was about the dates. She doesn’t fuck before third date.

Fortunately I fuck a different new girl that night. The blue balls dissipate.

As expected on my last night she agrees to another date but it might as well be a booty call. I collect her, walk to my apartment and within twenty minutes we’re fucking. No LMR this time. It’s a funny old world.

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