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.
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.
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.
- 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.