Balls Deep: Chapter Four, Not All Nigerians Scam (3 of 3)

March 23, 2015
krauserpua

I was feeling at that point that things were somewhat surreal. This was an entirely new experience to me. I had been going along for most of my adult life living from one day at the office to the next and going home to my monogamous relationship. Here I was tonight at one of the hottest parties in the city with the coolest group of guys and hanging out with a relatively hot young twenty-six year old. As I watched Mick make the rounds, making out with first one girl and then the next I was filled with a renewed desire to make this work. This is what I wanted and where I wanted to be right now. No more boring office life for me.

As the night laboured into early morning, Betty suggested that we go to another party at CentrePoint, the 27th tallest building in London that was built on the former site of a gallows. Companies such as the William Morris Talent Agency out of the States, Arabian and Chinese oil companies and EA games used some of the offices. Up on the 33rd floor a 360 degree viewing gallery offered spectacular views on London but, more importantly, to us there was a bar in the middle of it. It was a private member’s club at that time, although I believe that has changed in years since. Betty was able to get our names on the guest list that night and the rumour was that Beyoncé, who was on tour in London at the time was going to be hosting an after party. Feeling star-struck, I was having a hard time believing that this was my life. Or, more correctly, it was like peeling back the curtain on what may become my life.

The prior New Year I’d gone up to the roof of my apartment building with a cup of coffee and watched the fireworks with my wife. Then we’d gone back and watched TV. I hadn’t even changed out of my slippers. This was a different life.

As it turned out Jimmy and Betty were so lazy and disorganized that by the time we got to CentrePoint it was 3am. And if Beyoncé ever had been there she certainly wasn’t then. I looked under the tables just in case she was hiding. The party was wrapping up. Staff were stacking chairs and mopping the floor. We had time for one drink and that was it before they kicked us out.

Rakiya was hanging tightly on my arm, giggling at any little thing and as buzzed as I was. She’d not given me any trouble all night, never called her friends, never tried to take me to different bars. The whole time she’d just been pleasant company and let the night unfold. As we made our way down a quiet corridor right outside of the bar we started making out. It got pretty passionate and seedy as I pushed her up against a wall and started grabbing at her tits. My dick was hard and pressing up against her and she reached down and grabbed me through my pants. As things got more heated, a bouncer came along and moved us on.

“Hey kids, none of that here,” the muscled up, nicely dressed doorman told us, putting the brakes on my moves. I had to think fast, it was crunch time. No more bars, no more stalling. Time to pull the trigger.

“But how? How will I get her home now?”

The game plan then called for “extraction.” It simply means getting the girl from the spot of the entertainment to your home so that you can have sex. It was ten years since I’d last done it. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew that it had been a year since I’d had sex and I wanted to fuck this girl that night. I looked at her big ass and imagined slapping it as I rammed my dick into her. I looked at her dark brown skin and wondered how she’d look with my cum splashed all over it. I was so horny I would’ve fucked the Queen Mother.

I knew the Tube ran all night on New Year so I walked her to the station, stopping to make out and feel her up along the way. We got the Northern line south to my place. I was still thinking, “This is really going to happen. I’m going to be fucking this twenty six year old girl in less than an hour.” But then when the train stopped two stations before mine and she started to get off I got that sinking feeling.

I said, “Wait, where are you going? Come back.”

“I have to change trains here to get home,” she said. I was getting anxious again. “What do I do now?”

I simply said, “Just come on to my place and have a drink.”

“No, no, I have to get home,” she said.

I thought back again to what I was taught at the boot camp that I had attended back in July. She was showing me ASD—an anti-slut defence. That’s when the girl wants to have sex, but she feels guilty about it and wants the guy to take the responsibility for moving it forward, so she’ll throw up all kinds of obstacles. The crucial point is she is hoping the man will find a way to brush aside those objections so she can get the sex and still leave when it’s over feeling like things had progressed naturally. Remembering this, I quickly said, “It’s okay, we’ll just have a quick drink and then you can go. We’re not going to have sex.”

That did the trick. She got back on the Tube and I high-fived myself mentally. I was shocked and impressed with myself. It seems silly and trivial in the grand scheme of things, but this was a big thrill for me, being able to see the labours of my education come to fruition. We got off the tube at Kennington and were soon in my place. I was feeling great at that point, the voice in my head telling me that it was a done deal. I was going to get laid.

Once inside the apartment I poured her a drink, as promised. We never really finished it though. We were both kind of drunk and still hot and bothered from our earlier groping session. I started kissing her and, within minutes, dragged her into my bedroom. She wasn’t offering any resistance at this point. She was loving it and as ready to fuck as I was.

It was dark, and I didn’t turn on the lights. I fumbled with my mp3 player for soft jazz and the mood turned seductive as I slipped off her dress and tossed it to the floor and dropped my pants right next to it. She slid down my body while I reclined back on the bed and, as I watched her sucking my dick, I almost still couldn’t believe it was happening. I looked down and could see her dark skin and big eyes looking up at me with her decent fake titties bouncing around as she sucked on my cock and I thought, “Damn! This is really happening. I’m really going to get to fuck her!”

I got to have sex, finally, and it was good. We both enjoyed it but then things got weird afterwards. At this point, I was still messed up and broken inside from my divorce. There were still all kinds of strange personality quirks I hadn’t yet straightened out so, suddenly, I felt this intense need to “qualify”. Qualifying is more pick up jargon. It means trying to demonstrate to someone the reasons why they should like you. The best way to explain this would be to think about how on a first date the man typically looks at the woman as being higher value then himself. She’s the “prize” so to speak, and he needs to convince her that he is deserving. So, he’ll talk about how successful he is or how rich he is, anything to make her believe he is worthy. I was being overwhelmed at this point by the need to do this even though I’d already fucked her. It’s not logical. So I did something so weird and now once I thought back on it, so embarrassing.

I reached under the bed and I pulled out an A2 manila envelope. Within this envelope was my resume, my diplomas from my Bachelor’s and my Master’s programs, certificates and commendations from employers, and references. It was a package that I put together in order to obtain a job, or supply proof to Human Resources for a background check when taking a job offer. I began showing this stuff to her.

She was polite and attentive, but I know that she had to be thinking, “What the hell is wrong with this guy? Why is he showing me these five minutes after we had sex? This is just weird.”

She would have been right. It was bizarre in fact, and I know now that it was because I was in a place where I doubted myself to the point of not seeing my own value. I’ve discovered since that qualifying to a woman puts her in a place where instead of looking up at you she is staring down at you from her position of power. Women don’t want to be on a pedestal—they want to look up to and admire the man who is fucking them. The contrast to this is having the woman qualify to you, and that was a lesson I would learn at a later date.

So poor Rakiya probably started getting an icky feeling that maybe she’d slept with a man lower value than she’d presumed. Well, it’s only sex. I’d gotten my notch and finally broke the duck with Game.

Rakiya spent the rest of the night and left late in the morning. I never saw her again, and I’m not sure to this day if it was due to my peculiar behaviour, or if it was that she never really saw it as being more than a one-night stand. Either way, as I stood in my kitchen and poured my coffee that morning, I was smiling. I had a helacious hangover and my balls were aching from finally being relieved of their “blue-ball” state, but the smile on my face lingered throughout the day. I had finally gotten laid, and I had actually completed the process of meeting a stranger and then having sex with her in one or two days, from beginning to end.

This book serialisation will take a short hiatus. Next installment (Chapter Five, part one) coming soon. Buy the full Balls Deep book in PDF for £10 here, or in paperback for £20 here.

Triumph of the Will – Texting Edition

March 21, 2015
krauserpua

I don’t half bang on about “taking a risk” and “be playfully racist” when dealing with women. The last thing a hot girl who fancies you wants is for you to reveal yourself as a push-over. Imagine pulling a smoking hot chick in a club, getting her home, and then while you are retrieving a condom she undresses and….. she has a dick. I think that’s how girls feel when the “hawt” guy turns out to be a pussy. So, take a risk.

With girls, no topic is truly taboo. If you’re sharp, you can turn anything into seduction. I once spent a day in 2010 opening girls and just talking about coffee beans until they excused themselves. Of course that was just a theoretical exercise – there’s a definite bandwidth within which optimal topics reside and coffee beans should be no more an one minute of it, maximum. Generally I avoid anything gross that could trigger a gag reflex or physical disgust. It’s far safer to stick to moral taboos. So faeces, vomit and filching are out whereas Nazis, incest, paedos and slavery are in. As an example of how nothing is really off limits allow me to present a short snippet of Nazi Genocide Game.

I guess given the topic, that was pretty mild.

Balls Deep: Chapter Four, Not All Nigerians Scam (2 of 3)

March 20, 2015
krauserpua

The next morning I woke up to New Year’s Eve. I was still living in a grotty one-bedroomed flat in Kennington, a rundown area that felt more like Lagos or Kingston than the land of my forefathers. My housing estate had been built in the 1930s and probably never updated since. There were metal security bars welded across all ground floor windows in my block due to the crime problem—any time I read about a fatal stabbing or shooting in the London paper it was a fair bet to be nearby. The only reason normal working people lived there is it’s centrally located and cheap—I could walk to my banking job in just thirty minutes. Never underestimate the squalor of London living conditions. Despite earning near £100k per year the punitive taxation, mass immigration, bureaucratic incompetence and creeping socialism of London life meant I lived in a shithole. And paid £1000 per month for the privilege.

It was usually fun times with the RSG gang

It was usually fun times with the RSG gang

This was far from the best time in my life. Working like a dog fortyeight weeks a year, having seventy percent of my income stolen from me by an assortment of taxes so that I could live in a squalid damp flat and sleep in the bed that I’d shared with my wife less than a year earlier. And I wasn’t getting laid.

I’d think, “Is that all there is?” I’d worked hard at school, graduated University top of my faculty, gone straight into a high-pressure high-achievement professional apprenticeship and then risen up the corporate ladder through dedication, talent, and a little good luck. Yet here I was, almost thirty-five years old, single, and living next door to a workshy immigrant family who had exactly the same apartment as me but paid for it with welfare funded by taxes stolen from me while I paid the full market rate. Just a week earlier the council had replaced the windows of every apartment except those of the people who actually paid their own rents. So the immigrants had new double-glazing and I had draughty single-glazing.

I’d done everything society asked of me and done it well. Yet here I was, living in squalor, alone, with no idea where it had all gone wrong. Dark thoughts filled my mind back then. The only faint light of hope in my life was this secret system of Game. Looking back it sounds silly to be so pessimistic but having your heart broken and then enduring a twelve-month dry spell will do that to a man. That’s where my obsession would come from, the driving energy that would eventually turn my life around.

It was decadent but perhaps not how they meant it to be

It was decadent but perhaps not how they meant it to be

New Year’s celebrations bore me. Being somewhat introverted, the idea of being at a party or a club where it was standing room only was not enchanting to me in the least. Neither were the obnoxious mark-ups on the cover fees and drinks in London bars. But, like I said earlier, I was new to this journey. I had become friends with some of the RSG guys and keen to cement it. They were the “cool guys” and I wanted to continue to broaden my social circle and be a part of their group. The longer I hung out with them, the more I could learn. In those dark days it was a lifeline, what felt like my one shot at happiness. My new friend (and leader of RSG) Jimmy had invited me out for New Year’s Eve with a group of the guys. So I went.

The plan was to meet up at a Shoreditch bar-club called “The Last Days of Decadence.” Shoreditch is renowned for its party scene, frequented by a diverse demographic, mostly hipster twats. Last Days is a throwback to the Roaring 20s prohibition era from the stained glass windows to the cherry wood bars it’s an exercise in old school indulgence, like a bar from Boardwalk Empire. It encourages retro evening formal dress. After a few stiff whiskeys I’d feel transported back in time, the perfect atmosphere for ringing in the New Year.

I sent Rakiya a feeler text to see where I was at with her. Men who are new to Game are usually shocked at the flake rate—the amount of girls who will give a phone number then never reply. Even now when I’m pretty good and know how to solidify a number I still expect at least half of the girls to flake. Back then it was closer to ninety percent so even though the energy and sparkle had been good on the street I wasn’t expecting much. I sent this: “Hey Jimmy. I just met this Nigerian girl. She’s cute and sexy but looks like one of those sex perverts you warned me about. Should I date her?”

She understood the joke and responded almost immediately.

“Hahaha, you should be careful! I recommend you run away from her.”

We pinged a few messages quickly and my spirits rose. So many recent interactions had been a waste of time but this one stuck. She had high interest. I also found out that she lived quite close to me. A few hours passed, and as I was showering, my phone vibrated. Wiping my hands dry on the towel, I reached out from the shower cubicle and checked my messages.

“What are you doing tonight?”

Fucking score! Not only was she fishing for a date invitation (an extremely strong sign of interest for a girl, due to them usually taking a passive role) but she was trying to spend New Year’s Eve with me—one of the few get-drunk-and-damn-the-consequences nights of the year. I was almost shaking in anticipation.

I replied something or other and she called. After some quick chit-chat I told her about the evening plans.

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” she told me.

“I think it will be. Why don’t you join us?”

“I’d love that,” she said. I could tell by the sound of her voice that she was excited.

“Great!” I told her. We arranged to meet up near the Imperial War Museum an hour later, then I scrambled to get ready.

Jimmy lived just a couple of minutes’ walk away from me, also in a squalid little two room flat with his mate Tomasz, also an RSG guy. It was funny to be on the inside and see how these guys really lived. Jimmy and Tomasz spent most of their time sitting around in their boxer shorts and watching DVDs on their laptops. It was as if they turned on a different persona when they walked out the door. We had a can of beer each, then I popped out to collect Rakiya. She was all smiles and warm energy, so I took her to Jimmy’s then we got a cab into town.

Last Days was predictably jam-packed. It was like stepping into the 1920s—if that era had also been popular for trashy tattoos, binge drinking, and obesity. It’s jarring to see a chubby foul-mouthed English woman swilling cocktails while dressed like Marlene Dietrich. That’s how my vibe was in 2009—whereas now I find beauty in everything back then it seemed like British culture was a festering sore rotting through a once-great nation. At least the music was good.

Rakiya was dolled up in a yellow dress and with her dark hair and skin she looked very cute in it. Like a big sexy banana. I’d noticed she was a bit chubby, but her smile and her youthfulness were nice and it was so long since I’d gotten laid I wasn’t being too selective. In addition, I’d never shagged a black girl, unless you count a quickie with a prostitute in Prague five years earlier. Game is great for satisfying sexual curiosity.

We shuffled through the crowds until finding the rest of the team. Jimmy brought along an older woman he’d been banging because she was a famous songwriter and producer in the US. Betty was blonde and slim but pushing forty and pretty haggard from all the booze and cigarettes. Not really a catch, you might say. Jimmy wanted to get his band signed while I got the impression that Betty was using him for the bad boy sex. Jimmy was a decent looking thirty-one year old guy. Imagine Liam Gallagher, the wild and moronic frontman of Oasis, and then turn the volume down a little. Jimmy was astute, talented, but also slothfully lazy and not willing to put out the effort to reach his full potential.

Also with RSG that night was Mick, an Australian raconteur gifted with the ability and wit to tell a story that would have the entire room spell-bound. Mick was always the life of the party. He had held down a wide variety of jobs in his twenty-eight years of life ranging from a croupier on a cruise ship, a ski instructor to faking his resume to land an accounting contract. That gave him fodder for quite a few of his tales. He was definitely an extrovert and very good with the ladies.

Tony was the other guy there. He was the grand old man of RSG despite being my age. We all looked up to him because of his experience and deep knowledge of the crimson arts. He’d been a Salsa performer and railed over three hundred women. Even then he was in great shape and projected a solid masculine presence.

An hour passed and whiskey flowed. A burlesque dancer was cavorting across the small raised stage wiggling her hips and showing skin. By my third whiskey her breasts had been freed from their velvet prison and she was dancing the Charlestone. I was walking Rakiya to the basement bar when Mick came over and grabbed me.

“Nick, do me a favour. I want you to use your pre-selection to help me pick up one of these girls.”

When women see a man out with a pretty girl, they look at him differently than if he was alone or with male friends. Deep in their hindbrain women have short-cuts to assess a man’s sexual market value and one is “since he was able to score this pretty young thing there must be something about him, something that I’m missing out on.” Thus, one great way to make women interested in you is to be seen with a pretty girl on your arm. We call this “pre-selection.”

Mick continued, “I’m going over to talk to those girls”. He nodded his head towards a group of three young girls standing against the bar. “Wait for me to open, then walk past with Rakiya and say to the girls, ‘Be careful of this guy here, he gets laid like a rock star.’”

I agreed, thinking of it as helping out a friend while continuing my learning process. Each time I saw Mick with a girl I went over and gave him this verbal pat on the back. More whiskey blurred my mind. Things were going great—we were swapping stories with the RSG guys, drinking, lots of ribaldry. Mick was copping off with some girl in a dark corner while Rakiya was pressed up against me all night, coming on to me. I’d already kissed her.

There’s a nightclub area in the basement that serves drinks and also has a stage where they do a bigger cabaret show. The toilets are just to the side of the stairs and, as we were coming down, I saw Mick. He was coming out of the women’s bathroom with a giggling girl close behind. She scurried off with a guilty expression, and he stopped when he saw me.

“I can’t believe it! I just got a blowjob in the toilets,” then he grinned broadly and said, “Cheers for the help!”

Next installment (Chapter Four, part three) in three days. Buy the full Balls Deep book in PDF for £10 here or in paperback for £20 here.

Picking up pennies in front of a steamroller

March 18, 2015
krauserpua

There are certain changes a man must make in his daygame journey as he progresses through the learning curve. In the beginning it’s pretty simple: approach. Most noobs are terrified of rejection and tangled in a mess of limiting beliefs about what women want and how to deliver it. So on 90% of boot camps and one-on-one coaching sessions the strategy is simple:

  • Give him some simple lines
  • Psych him up to dive into opening

And that’s pretty much it. There’s only so much a student can learn when simply walking up to a girl and opening your mouth is a death-defying act. We tried to teach theory on beginner’s bootcamps and it just doesn’t work. The student’s adrenalin is inhibiting any ability to absorb complex information. It’s the same in boxing – first few times a guy spars his technique disappears and he’s suddenly chin-up, flat-footed and swiping air like a clumsy bear.

This problem can be fixed over time. Repeated exposure drills the muscle memory and reduces the adrenalin. Eventually the noob can calm down in set and begin to see what’s in front of him.

Five hundred sets later he’s acclimated to daygame and can start plotting his jump up to intermediate. This is when he must move from “social” to “sexual”. He already knows how to begin a conversation with a stranger, and he can spot when a girl gives him a topic and then run with it. So he gets hook point a lot and many flaky numbers. He’s now become the chatty guy.

That’s not daygame. It’s have a nice chat with a stranger. That’s a valuable skill to have and it represents progress but as an guy at this level can tell you it is immensely frustrating. Once in a blue moon he’ll encounter a Yes Girl who just needs to be gently eased downhill towards the bed but it’s rare. Most of the time he’s getting into interminable chats that end with a phone number to nowhere. If he’s able to do this with hot girls, he’ll have a YouTube channel and offer bootcamps because it’s not until you’re intermediate yourself that you can easily see through the smoke and mirrors.

So the strategy for this guy is also simple: go sexual. As a teacher, I’ll tell him:

  • Take some risks
  • Get close to her
  • Throw in sexual spikes

I’ve noticed the main barriers to a man implementing my advice are emotional, not technical. What I ask from him is technically easier than all the social stuff he’s doing. Really, all I’m asking him to do is take one step forwards, and repeat some simple one-liner spikes. A monkey can do that. The fact he’s already hooking and number-closing means he’s no monkey. It’s an emotional barrier.

He’s addicted to picking up pennies in front of the steamroller. Consider this quote from a review of Nassim Nicolas Taleb’s book The Black Swan:

“Another human failing stems from the nature of happiness. In the short run, people’s happiness is often shaped more by how many “positive events” occur in their day than by the arrival of one important piece of good news. Winning $100,000 in the lottery feels almost as good as winning $1 million. We therefore look, consciously or not, for small but repeated successes when we should be shooting for “one large win.” It’s easy to see why: Big payoffs come only rarely, and perhaps late in life; in the meantime, who wants to keep on feeling like a loser?”

There are many sweet hits of validation during a ten minute street stop. The first one is when you overcome your AA and open the girl – you get the thrill of having mastered your fear. Next is when you reach hook point, she has just validated you with the “this guy is interesting enough to chat to” thrill. A bit later you collect a worthless number but in the moment there’s the thrill of the number close. It’s all very validating, and by the time you’re five hundred sets in it’s a pretty regular occurrence. It’s also painting yourself into a corner because insiduously, you’ll be moving away from effective daygame. Instinctively you know the following “play it safe” tricks will maximise the amount of validation hits you get in one session of daygaming:

  • Turn off sexual threat
  • Let the chat meander towards rapport and common ground
  • Hide intent

This period is immensely frustrating because you’re “taking action” and “doing daygame” but any time you get laid it’s basically luck. You’re fooled by randomness. The step to Intermediate means taking control of the process again, instituting a tighter cause-effect relationship between what you do and what results you get. And your results will get worse before they get better. Your “easy win” validation hits will actually reduce. We’re now chasing the $1 million lottery, not the £10 scratch card.

I consider myself an advanced daygamer. I’ll talk a bit more about what this entails later, but in this context it means I deliberately court micro-failure. Anyone watching me on the street sees I get lots of blowouts. I have no patience with ten minute chats-to-nowhere. I’ve walked that road and it’s frustrating. Now, I want to find a girl, put my schtick on her and get a quick Yes/No/Maybe answer so I can either try to fuck her or else next her and find the girl who will fuck me.

So I open aggressively, I immediately step in on her, I lay the eyes on, and I bust her hard in the first minute. She knows exactly what I want and that I don’t expect to wait a long time to get it. She also knows she’s free to leave at any time. These days I often see the wheels of her brain turning as she weighs the pros and cons of adventure sex.

The result is more blowouts and more lays. And if I was to post a day’s filming on YouTube the comments would all be “dude, why can’t you get more numbers?”

Balls Deep: Chapter Four, Not All Nigerians Scam (1 of 3)

March 17, 2015
krauserpua

My feet ached.

The inner lining of my brown biker boots had ripped so a little fold of material was pressing against my ankle and the left heel was asymmetrically worn away from many weeks pounding the streets. The toes of my sock were wet from stepping on a loose paving slab that splashed water as it wobbled underfoot. These are the trivial annoyances of winter daygame—the hobby of prowling busy shopping streets to pick up beautiful women gets tougher when the weather turns. I’d been out four days straight through wind, rain, and snow. It was beginning to wear on me.

Covent Garden was wet and dreary that day. I had an enthusiastic young student in tow. He was a young, nerdy, socially awkward kind of guy with an unkempt shock of black hair combed unconvincingly over a thinning crown. The kind of guy you’d expect gets laid about once a year maximum. He was upbeat and anxious to learn, so I was taking him around for free. I wasn’t really qualified to teach but I’d opened about one thousand girls and was at least getting some dates, so LSS guys even less successful than me wanted to hang out.

I pulled up the collar of my fur-lined flight jacket and pulled my woolly hat down to my eyebrows, then jammed my numbing hands deep into my pockets. It was December 30, 2009. A cold, damp typical wintery London day, New Year just around the corner. Christmas decorations cluttered store windows, long streams of golden tinsel framing displays of snowmen and reindeer. As dusk approached, the fairy lights adorning lampposts and street signs began twinkling in the reddening sky. Everywhere I turned people were milling, jostling, and scurrying for that last sale item. Some rushed purposefully to and from their destinations as others strolled along dreamily, shopping the stores with their eyes, or watching as the street performers put on a show for their pleasure and their tips. Lovers strolled hand-in-hand and looked at the sights. Japanese tourists with comically oversized cameras took pictures of everything.

This seasonal fauna of street life was a blur to me. My attention was on the fold of cotton pressing awkwardly against my ankle, and whether I should find a seat to take my boots off and fix it. Little things loom large when daygaming due to the high pressure of the activity.

Covent Garden in winter

Covent Garden in winter

I was sold on daygame now. I loved that there was an art to meeting a girl in a public place and getting her number, perhaps taking her for a coffee there and then. It’s the first step in getting laid. For most men it’s a strange, intimidating but fantastically liberating experience—just imagine walking around the streets scanning for pretty girls and then, when you see one, you just walk up and make a conversation from nothing. Make her laugh, make her curious, and hopefully fuck her a few days or weeks later. For a guy conditioned that bars, nightclubs, and Internet dating sites are the only places to meet women this is an eye-opening thought.

Any girl. Anywhere. Any time.

I was still somewhat new to the game, having stumbled and mumbled through what was now six months of approaches. I had yet to get laid, but I had gotten some basic competence at drawing girls into conversation and getting numbers. Sometimes the girls would even come on a date. That’s what my student was looking for that day. I was still hurting from my devastating divorce from a woman with whom I’d shared the past nine years. We had dated for six and were married for three before she walked out on me that January. By the time I was trawling these Covent Garden streets at the end of the year she had already remarried.

It was almost a year since the separation, and over six months of Game. I was reflecting on the year, as we are wont to do when New Year approaches. Was I headed in the right direction? I’d initially promised myself a six-month commitment to Game to see if it worked and if I could learn it. So how was it working out?

In the early months of 2009 I allowed myself to wallow in the unfairness of it all. The self-pity that comes from being dumped enveloped me. Outwardly, I was the same guy I had always been, but inside I had been smashed into a million pieces, like a jigsaw box emptied onto the floor. I was glad I’d tried something, lest I allow myself to sink deeper into the pits of despair.

I thought back to the Tony Clink book I’d picked up and then reordered earlier this year. A gaudy red book with cover art of a slick lounge-lizard guy surrounded by beautiful women. It promised the secret system to meet and attract women, sleeping with different girls every week. So, although married and in love at the time, I read it from idle curiosity, and it had stung. It’s like the author knew my whole life. I replayed memories of all the girls I’d dated, laid, or failed with and every single time I could relate it to his system. I believed him. Then I loaned the book to a friend and forgot about it.

In business I was successful, having always been at the top of my class from the time I was four years old right through my Master’s program. Every single year I came top at everything. Soon London beckoned and a career in investment banking. I was so focused on professional advancement that I never noticed the lack of women around me. I’d just stumble into a relationship and gave it little more thought. Wolf of Wall Street it wasn’t. I wasn’t one of those rare guys who had girls throwing themselves at him an university and thus graduated with a First Class degree in Entitlement.

As my student and I strolled along through the busy streets, talking to a girl here and there, I suddenly heard someone singing flutter in the wind behind me. A sweet, feminine, melodic voice seemed to tinkle like water in a mountain stream. It was so sweet and uplifting. I turned to look and behind me walked a pretty young black girl. She was wearing a set of headphones, singing along with the music. I smiled and turned back to my student, and almost at once wondered what I was doing. I couldn’t ignore this opportunity. Today I was the teacher, but I was still in the game myself, and she looked like someone that I’d really like to get acquainted with on a horizontal and naked basis.

Turning back towards the girl I motioned her to take off the headphones. She gave me a wide-eyed inquisitive look, but obediently took the buds out her ears and returned my smile.

“Did you really just start singing in the street?” I said.

She smiled again and giggled a bit. “Yeah, I like this song.”

Her brown eyes were large and her long hair hung in curls to her shoulders. She looked to be in her early to mid-twenties. I would find out later that she was twenty-six. My eyes scanned up and down. Decent height, full breasts, wide hips, quite possibly a good ass. She’d do.

“People may think you’re crazy,” I challenged. “The only people I see singing to themselves are also carrying a can of Special Brew.”

It was easy. She was in a great mood and she liked me. My student stood off quietly to watch me work, absorbing what he could. I teased a little, and she laughed. I could feel a spark of attraction between us like the crackle of electricity. Something undefinable in her eyes and manner telegraphed, “I want this guy.” Back then, I was actually terrible at picking up on such signals but she was throwing them out so strongly I couldn’t miss.

“I have to get back to my friend there,” I told her, “But let me take your number and we can have a drink sometime.”

That is how I met Rakiya, a young medical student of Nigerian descent but born and bred in South London. She’d be the first black girl I’d ever fucked. Her number stored in my phone I bid her goodbye and strolled away, re-joining my student with a smile on my face. Perhaps this curvy minx would be the one to finally end my year-long dry spell, and allow me to complete the whole daygame process from beginning to end.

Next installment (Chapter Four, part two) in three days. Buy the full Balls Deep book in PDF for £10 here or in paperback for £20 here.

Best Daygame Theory – The Overkill Discussion part 1

March 15, 2015
krauserpua

I’ve spent the past week in Prague whiling away my time in a pleasant manner. I spent a couple of days servicing my rotation, then Tom Torero rolled up with a cameraman and we spent two days filming infields. A couple of near misses with local ladies ensued and by the time rain and cold sapped all the fun out of the streets, I’d also hung out with a US guy who’d learned the ropes in stateside and was now on an extended Euro-Jaunt.

Phew! A busy week!

While rambling on to this US guy about daygame I was once again reminded how deep the skillset is. Imagine sitting Gary Kasparov in a bohemian Prague cafe for a few hours and encouraging him to discuss chess – the gambits, the meta-theory, it’s relationship to real life (he actually wrote a book on that topic), and the way personality expresses itself in your game. I think those few hours would quickly spill over into days.

Now, Kasparov is rather better at his chosen skillset than I am at mine but the point is that daygame is deep. I’m sure nightgame is too, but I don’t know so much about it.

You look very.... oh, fuck it. Coffee break!

You look very…. oh, fuck it. Coffee break!

A fortnight ago I solicited a few intermediate daygamers to watch my instructional program / theoretical exposition Daygame Overkill and to use it as a launchpad to relate their own theoretical insight. My instructions were quite broad, words to the effect of – “Here’s a free login. Watch it, relate it to your own infield experience, and pick up some themes to explore. Don’t worry about being positive – in fact, try to make some real criticisms to encourage debate.”

Over the next week or so I will be posting three different daygamer’s thoughts on Overkill. I hope this will stimulate some discussion and I strongly suggest my readers chip in with their own thoughts in the comments (which I’ll respond to). Some of the themes we’ll hit include:

  • Fine tuning your style to fit women’s dual mating strategy
  • Differences between relying on verbal and non-verbal communication
  • Choosing your targets wisely
  • How my personality reflects itself in set, and how yours reflects itself differently to mine

So without further ado, here is the first essay from Tom Juan – A UK-based guy who has been enthusiastically hitting the streets for a year now…….

I managed to watch all 335 minutes of Daygame Overkill within the space of two days (let’s just say I had a flexible two days, and even found the time after one of my now pissed off never to visit again f-buddies left my flat just last night!) and so the timing of this arriving on to my virtual desk was perfect, needless to say… And with one or two other slack, “take it or leave it” f-buddies on my rotation, I watched Daygame Overkill with much anticipation and with much hunger.

The key question: Has this hunger to learn something I’ve never seen expressed in such a “simplified” manner been sated? All will be revealed…

But I PROMISE I have absolutely tried and tried to cut this review down to a bare minimum, which isn’t easy considering I had 3,000 words of notes to work from (I’m a fast typer since I used to be a Direct Response Copywriter)… And notes that require expansion as the theme Krauser raises in a mostly eloquent manner (beside the occasional ball-scratching and pint-swigging), is simply fascinating. This theme centres around a level of masculinity that us as men in the 15% of Western societies where we are overall exclusively monogamous, have forgotten. Or never dared to even explore fully… And in my one year of feeling lost and confused because I simply can’t and don’t want to settle down (been there, done that), with this product, my justification to be a man is concreted more fully.

The Introduction

Upon starting to watch this, I was impressed by the film-worthy motion graphic titles, introduction clips and feature film clip, even though this was a little “over-egged.” Then on to the introductory Welcome video before the main event… How does a noisy bar presentation fit it into these slick motion graphics??? This seemed completely juxtaposed to the incredible film-like introductions.

That aside, since I’m sure there are downsides we can accept considering Krauser isn’t your “bells and whistles” kind of chap, this product seems to potentially go hand-in-hand with his book or virtual book (can you call it an ebook?), Daygame Mastery, which he later explains is a reference book, not a tips and strategy guide. And that Daygame Overkill is a simplified version of this book, so if you need the theory (nope – just download directly into my brain by watching what you do please), then to refer to the book to delve deep into the who, how, what, why etc.

So is his book Daygame Mastery needed to work alongside Daygame Overkill?

I think the overall suggestion is no, but it depends on whether your the kind of guy who needs to have it laid out in complicated jargon, or if like me, you “get this stuff” on a deep level just by seeing it explained on a simplified level to camera– but again, we all have different learning abilities so although he didn’t say this, it might be a good idea to read it if just watching clips and following his reviews of the infield footage isn’t enough of an explanation.

The most groundbreaking thing about this intro video and product in general, in a nutshell, is the “K” selection vs. “R” selection concept, one which in my acute awareness as a learned daygamer (aware of who else is out there), has never been explained and triggered on a deep down “AHA!” moment in me before. And this is the most eye opening thing about the product because it makes you feel okay about wanting to fuck a lot of women… to put it bluntly.

In a nutshell, Krauser is bringing up the comparison between the nice guy boyfriend daygamer to the lover, sex-based daygamer i.e. R-selected.

Lover / Provider discussion in the Welcome introduction

Lover / Provider discussion in the Welcome introduction

The only other time I’ve seen this explained is in one of Tom Torero’s videos where he delved into the lover vs. provider model, but he just said everything overlapped and there was no black and white, whereas Krauser is the living, breathing example of the black yet still being “kind of normal” at the same time, unlike the R-selection comparable RSD hyper-dudes who don’t ever seem to come down from PUA night game-centric, American (mostly) yes girl fucking heaven… Still valid, but not so relatable.

What Krauser is good for, is being relatable as someone you could meet in a pub and have a beer with, even if he filmed his infields with a hangover…. wtf??? And has a pint in hand in the venue of his talk while going through the Q and A section…

Okay for Beginners?

So it begs the question… is this product any good for beginners??? Or does someone need to be out on the streets getting flaky numbers after being that “nice guy” first before realising that this is the holy grail for him, to stop those boring first dates where you don’t even try and kiss her (wtf?) and get either friend zoned or boyfriend zoned (I don’t know which is worse)… Personally I’d say the latter, as a complete newbie probably won’t get the entirety of this. Unless, he has the sex drive of a tiger on heat, and just wants to take a bit of a short cut that might cut out the pain, yet not allow the excitement of knowing how to overcome the obstacles a newbie nice guy daygamer has… and even knowing this stuff, it will take time becoming socially calibrated enough to get away with a lot of the stuff Krauser is showing.

Even I will have to have my results damaged by changing my ways since I will be trying a new method and although my long term success will be better (including SDL’s or first date fucks which I’ve had only one so far), I might find it less congruent in the beginning and therefore this will affect my results. And for a newbie there is still that initial “wtf do I say to a hot girl?”, let alone “how do I do what Krauser does?” bumps to get over…

So as an ideal goal to hit, it’s great for anyone. But for someone to go out and practice this stuff, it really is an intermediate product.

What if you want a girlfriend? And has he done any market research?

Krauser assumes that having a girlfriend is a bad thing – yes I personally 100% agree but what if there are guys out there who would be happy settling for a hotter, tighter and younger gal to fuck every night and get a pad with, and who knows, have kids with (let’s just say I was one of those guys since I’m a father to two beautiful boys), until of course they get married, they both get bored and they probably get a divorce (got the t-shirt). But aside from that, some relationships work, so what if there are guys genuinely gunning for monogamy?

Therefore I think he should explain that even if you want a girlfriend, it’s still better to be that r-selection boyfriend who is the prize, rather than the nice guy daygamer K-selection boyfriend. Put simply, you can “choose” with this approach, rather than “settle.” Krauser also takes the general stance that most men are K-selected daygamers, rather than r-selected. How does he know this as gospel? Personally I think that a lot of daygamers mix the two, and get it right when they throw in a larger percentage of r-selected, which I have done with the girls I’ve closed way more quickly in the past.

So instead of classifying most men as “K” selected, he should take more of a subjective perspective and see it as fluid ie. most guys will be K-selected in 80% of their sets, but the ones where they are r-selected (20%) will be the ones that net them the quick results i.e. not having to go on 3 dates or more before you get to fuck her. And it’s this fluidity that is missing in his explanation, so instead of being black and white, he should see it as it is – a mixture of the two, and suggest that to improve results and get more success, up the r-selection vibe and diminish the K-selection vibe. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t coach and sees the world through his own eyes (fair enough), but a wider perspective here would have been better in my view.

It’s true as Krauser suggests that most guys are non-sexually-threatening and therefore it doesn’t lead to sex, just nice conversations and numbers, because the women are still getting validation and attention, although she will never text you back, but it’s simply within us naturally as men to be r-selected as well so we can’t help but play on that when we are at our best. Therefore it’s simply about being aware of how to bring our r-selected best version of ourselves, rather than learning something that is acquired like school children – my point being, that the r-selection traits are already within us! It’s just about learning how to draw them out… (try not masturbating for as step one!).

Breaking the model down in the Welcome video

Breaking the model down in the Welcome video

So let’s get to the juicy part – the talk and the infields!

Krauser explains that the infields consist of 10 girls in Zagreb, Croatia within the space of 3 days, October 2014 and within a 1 mile square radius of each other. The first question in combination with alarm bells that hit my brain was – why only over 3 days? Why not commit a week to get the cream of the crop absolute best out of this guy and WITHOUT hangovers… (wtf???) Regardless, he ramps up the theory and makes it really clear about being “social savvy,” “secret society” (I fuck hot girls all the time and I know that you know that I know that you know that) and the powerful sub communicator, rather than “wanna fuck!??” approach and style.

He also brings up his average stats as around 1-in-30, which is twice as good as mine so at least I know I’m watching the right guy to help me improve my results two fold… (everything is crossed). In part 2 of the talk, Krauser points out that everything you do should point to the r-selection. You want her to think you’re the bad boy or asshole… because that box is where all the action happens, even if she’s taken since she knows you won’t give up the game when she fucks you on the side etc – ie. you won’t care about her boyfriend and try and steal her away.

He also talks about risk taking, “birdsong,” that mixing up r and K will really hurt your results, the importance of being the guy who can handle being anonymous, covert sexualisation and how he mixes this in with fractionation. And finally, the cold, hard, fact, that if you go down this path, you are a service provider in “adventure sex.”

Nuff’ said…

Then the talk comes to a penultimate moment where you are about to see evidence of Krauser’s recent lays…. then, Nooooo! Why can’t we see proof of these “younger hotter tighter” girls!?? I’m totally deflated by that… on advice of his mum? (as written in text on the video to cover up these obviously explicit images)… Yet this then raises the question… Shouldn’t his “mum” be telling him not to do any of this full stop? Instead of “just” the part where he proves the type of girl he’s laid for the past year? – and a part which you would have thought would solidify Krauser’s reputation even more firmly, rather than piss you off and make you want to think he’s not so great because of the simple frustration at being denied these, and because you want to be inspired by these pictures so you are driven to succeed with the “younger, hotter, tighter” types yourself…

That’s at least how I felt at this point. So I urge Krauser to include these even if it’s a special VIP bonus that you have to pass some kind of test to access.

Part 3 of his talk expands more about vibe and goes on to explain the 4 pillars of daygame alongside more of an elaboration on covert sexualisation, plus an analogy between poker and daygame – “lose small but win big!” And finally, the importance of compliance tests – I can’t wait to start putting this one into practice! (Again, something I’ve done without realising but never consciously knowing – this will allow for escalation). The Q and A section is where Krauser has a pint in his hand and he starts scratching his balls occasionally… classy! Seriously, leave it alone! And he provides a continued explanation of “vibe”, integral to success in daygame (you can’t be a miserable bastard and succeed).

Infield Overview, in Brief…!

It’s clear that these infields were filmed by his mate Bojangles and were not of a professional quality, not that this is always an obstacle but you want to get the best for what you pay for right? The content however is the most important thing but it seems this was an unplanned affair which turned into a product – sometimes the best way to go, but it would have been nice to know that a little more care and planning (especially as three of the infield analysis’ were filmed from the same pub he filmed the introduction from – just a little budget I’m afraid) had gone into this product you are paying good money for…

With the ten infields, I’ll be honest… I was impressed by six of them, and two of them I thought were at the level of MPUA. Four (maybe three because it’s good to show him ploughing with an out-and-out “no” girl) of them simply shouldn’t have been included, for various reasons. I could go deep into each one and pick it apart bit by bit, but it would make this review double the length, and it would also kill the mystery. However his analysis of himself is great – concise, to the point and elaborates on areas where it’s important to do so.

You also see Krauser calibrate differently to different women and environments. The two where he had results were obvious as to why he got those results, and one in particular would have eaten any novice daygamer alive! Yet she seemed to get a taste of him within a few days of the interaction… He only goes into minute detail where he has diagrams ready within the video on one of the sets, and with the other one that I was blown away by, you can’t see her face which is a real shame, but with the way she was talking, she must have been a 9 or a 10. This makes me think – why didn’t Krauser have a pocket camera as well as the “from a distance” camera perspective?

Underground seduction, yesterday

Underground seduction, yesterday

There are certain things Krauser does that you would never notice unless they were explained, especially in the nuances and sub-communication, and for the sets I was impressed by, I would watch those again once or twice just to ensure I’ve fully soaked up what I need to learn to allow me to progress to the next level by implementing the same. As mentioned earlier, why not hit the streets for at least 1 or 2 weeks, not necessarily going out every day but having a good range of infields to choose from instead of having to include four sets that in my opinion shouldn’t have been included.

He is showing us the kind of “no” or “maybe” girl in one of these, but I actually think he could have done better in three of them (one was just your typical “no” girl), for example not getting the hook point before suggesting a coffee/date/number? Come on Krauser… And not seeming to have built rapport on three of them enough for them to be a solid fuck close, as he does date two of the four but it doesn’t really go further other than a make out.

I’m being super critical because of Krausers reputation and obvious results in the past few years, which obviously I wouldn’t apply to just anyone, but if further explanation is required I would be happy to provide it.

Conclusion

My conclusion is that this product is definitely worth buying especially if like me you are intermediate and so far work hard for the number and then have to work hard for the eventual sex… And because this is groundbreaking in that no one else has so far had the balls to elevate this r-selection theme to this level before, in a way that is relatable, it’s probably the only product out there that will cover both the theory and the practical with conciseness and a few laughs (admittedly Krauser is funny), so I would buy it just on that basis.

The in-fields could have been better – two are bloody amazing and four are really good, but four of them disappointed me… So if those four were replaced with good, solid sets where the results speak for themselves, he could make something already ground breaking “even more” groundbreaking.

The six that were awesome-to-good are worth watching more than once so that you really get the nuances, that won’t ever be explained in a YouTube video and leave you even more clueless as to when you started, so you are basically paying for his own analysis which certainly has value.

The one question remains…. What does Krauser do on a date to secure the sex? Maybe a sequel that covers this is soon on its way to your inbox…. Watch this space

Tom J

Thanks Tom. I hope this stimulates some debate in the comments. Daygame Overkill is on sale and available here. Further discussion pieces inbound soon. You can read more about Tom and watch his infield videos at SmartSeduction.com

Balls Deep: Chapter Three, The Daygame Grind (3 of 3)

March 14, 2015
krauserpua

The grind continued all through September. I took a week off work to spend ten straight days daygaming, ten sets a day minimum. There’d been too much half-assing it, so I wanted massive action. Mental pressure was willing me out because deep in my gut was a sickening dread at being blown out by a procession of girls and perhaps peering into the abyss—that I’d never get good at this. Eugenia had inadvertently knocked my confidence. So every day that week I followed the same ritual, trying to impose the illusion of control onto the scenario.

I’d go to a Caffè Nero and sit on the big brown leather sofa watching the Blueprint Decoded instructional videos on my laptop until my sexual desire/desperation overcame my anxiety/avoidance. For example, the first day:

Monday 14th September. My mind was full of big plans and motivational self-talk. No excuses, I was going to turbocharge my stats on approaches. It didn’t matter how I felt, or if my wings were busy, I’d go solo and just plow through. Received wisdom in the community is you are a noob until you’ve completed one thousand sets. I was at about four hundred and very impatient to improve. Having a full-time job restricted my daygame to weekends so the solution seemed obvious— take time off work.

I’d spend the first hour in Caffè Nero reading. It was still not quite lunch time and Covent Garden was deserted so I didn’t feel like I was descending into avoidance. Finally, I stepped outside and straight into a hot Belgian dancer. I opened weakly, but she stopped and chatted. She was in a hurry to get to the Pineapple Studio for a dance class. I knew something about that stuff so I rambled on about dance, contemporary dance, how my dancer-ex had a careless grace in her movements from all the dancing. Blah, blah, blah. She was not interested, and my attempt to take her number led to an awkward refusal.

It only took a few minutes to shrug that off, and I saw a dusky Mediterranean girl walking through the market. She stopped briefly but either didn’t speak English or was seriously unimpressed. She smiled, waved her hand dismissively, and disappeared without a word. Next was an English girl carrying shopping boxes. She didn’t stop, but smiled, thanked me, and said she was late getting back to work. One more open got me a stop but nothing doing.

Damn. My forehead actually felt tight, such was my poor state. It was like the skin was too tight for the size of my skull. I’ve since learned that is how to recognise when I’m pulling the “creepy face” caused by poor state.

I persevered. On Shaftesbury Avenue just past Forbidden Planet an Asian girl came towards me. She was young, and had just started her first day as an intern in a fashion magazine. We chatted a bit. I was too talky and too outcome dependent, but she didn’t seem to care. She checked the text she was writing as I approached, so I told her off for not paying attention. She giggled and twirled her hair. I made a mental note to self–set arbitrary boundaries and playfully tell a girl off for breaching them. She gave me her number but never replied to my texts.

Another instant date to nowhere

Another instant date to nowhere

I got myself blown out a few more times on Oxford Street before a hot English girl gave me her Facebook. It was weird because the whole time I was thinking she was wanting to get away, and I was struggling and just talking into the space, yet it was five minutes or more in conversation and after getting her Facebook I kept her another few minutes talking about her Geography Uni course she was about to start her second year in. It didn’t go anywhere. It’s common for beginners to think the length of the interaction is directly related to how strong the resulting contact details will be. This isn’t correct. Ultimately, you’re trying to create a particular emotional impression upon the girl while also ticking off checkboxes marking particular signals she needs to give you to show she is available and into you. If you accomplish that in two minutes the number will be stronger than if you dither around chatting for twenty minutes but fail to accomplish it. So while advanced day gamers can quickly take solid numbers (or eject when it’s not forthcoming) it’s common to see beginners getting dragged into over-long conversations that go nowhere.

The last approach of the day was a pleasant failure. I opened a hot Lithuanian in Carnaby Street. She was ambling around aimlessly, which I took as a generalised approach invitation. My forehead was really tight, and I was having a tough time. My vibe was horrible, but I was determined to just press on and grind out the sets. She stopped, smiled, hair twirled, and indulged me for ten minutes. I could almost visualise a hologram of a graph between us showing a downward slant as I continued to lose my confidence throughout the whole thing. I tried to take her number and she was very explicit: “I don’t want to exchange details”. Fair enough, on that performance she really shouldn’t have.

I was getting some good reactions but no success

I was getting some good reactions but no success

The first day of my daygame “vacation” resulted in talking to ten girls, taking one number, and one Facebook. Neither of those two girls replied to me. At the end of each day I’d analyse the work and write a blogpost of my learning points. Self-diagnosis is a crucial skill for seducers because no-one else is going to help you. Quoting my blog, this is what I felt I’d learned:

  • I felt crap but took right action anyway. Good work.
  • Even with shit state I still had good enough fundamentals to get one decent number.
  • I didn’t worry too much opening sets. The poor state was once in-set. Only a few months ago I wouldn’t even open five sets when in good state.
  • While in set I knew consciously all the mistakes I was making, even as I couldn’t stop making them. The biggest one was outcome dependence. I really wanted to get numbers and was worried the girls would walk away and leave me feeling shit.

Lesson learned. Back out tomorrow.

It was also this week that I went to an LSS talk at London Bridge on “game for men over 35” organised by a guy called Curran. It seemed perfectly pitched to me, but I was so lacking in entitlement that I worried I’d be refused entry because at the time I was thirty-four. I actually emailed Curran a few days before to ask if it was okay. As if they’d check my passport and throw me out!

The event was unremarkable, held in an upstairs function room of a pub by Tower Bridge. About thirty older gentleman packed the pews while a short ginger guy called London Playboy gave a talk, then Curran and then a lanky Scotsman with the online pseudonym of Skeletor. His real name is Colin and, though neither of us knew it then, he’d become a major figure in my journey. At the time I was very impressed with his presentation about identity and how to change it. I tried to get pally with him afterwards on his smoke-break but there was a ring of eager older gents two-deep around him that I couldn’t penetrate.

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