My second date with the Turk goes pretty well. I’m not planning on seeing her on Friday but when I text a variation of “whassup” in the morning she suggests meeting for coffee after her school so I think why not. We’d already set up Sunday evening so I figure if she’s got a “no sex until third date” rule I wanna get the second out of the way.

Most of the date we’re sat in Caffe Nero. She’s a strangely cerebral sort and wracked with a crisis of meaning in her life – not in a loopy way but she’s a lifelong leftie activist who has recently realised its all bullshit and can feel herself being drawn right wing. All her old friends are still on the barricades with their Obama badges and while their stupidity is disgusting her she feels guilt at becoming one of those evil capitalists.

So cue a long educational sermon from me. It brings out all my alpha positives:

• Strong frame
• Unshakeable sense of being right
• Worldy wise man of knowledge
• Demonstration of high intelligence
• Reality-shaking insight
• Placing her in the student role
• Witty intellectual one-liners

I’m so pleased to find a girl who is ripe for the sort of material I usually reserve for drunken bar arguments with male friends. She’s listening in rapt attention and getting the pussy tingle from my exposition of Ludwig von Mises‘ “Socialism” magnum opus. I think I really have her when I explain the problem of economic calculation.

I’m simultaneously curing a leftie progressive fucktard AND seducing a hot chick. Two beautiful demonstrations of righteous power at the same time. Kinda like synching a triangle choke while catching a boomerang. Or getting a blowjob while playing Xbox360.

Once I determine her old reality is completely destroyed and I am her new lord and master, I sit her on my lap and finger fuck her. In the middle of the cafe, at 3pm. There’s plenty of customers around. She’s looking at me saying “stop it, I’ll just melt” while making no effort to stop me. She has to go to work so I put her on the Underground and go for my next date.

Sunday rolls round and I tell her to meet me at the station by my house. It’s 9pm and we’re both starving. I walk her to Tescos and she’s protesting about not knowing she was going to my house and how she can’t believe my audacity. In the supermarket I hand her the basket and weigh it down with a week’s shopping. She’s giving me more of the “I can’t believe you are getting me to do this” stare but still stumbling around after me. I cook pasta.

Back in my lounge I run the “trolol” youtube routine to raise her state, then the fighting pandas, and go for the swoop. There’s plenty of token resistance. She doesn’t wanna straddle me (fully clothed) but I just insist and she gets into it. Then I stand up and carry her to the door but she’s pushing it closed, refusing to go to the bedroom. I pull back and drink my white russian. She drinks hers. I just stare at her. No touching, no kissing. Just giving her serious rape eyes over my glass. She’s quivering and downs her drink. Without a word or a kiss I put my arm around her waist and walk her to the bedroom. No more LMR.