Krauser PUA | Page 2

Don’t build your own prison and call it a home

November 20, 2013
krauserpua

“Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen [pounds] nineteen [shillings] and six [pence], result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds ought and six, result misery.” Charles Dickens, David Copperfield.

The essence of a bachelor’s life is that he maintains control of his time and his freedom to maneouver. This is how you feel in control of your life and avoid the sense of being harried, put-upon and trapped. We are quite aware that getting married-up (the old “ball & chain”) and having children are the two major ways in which a man can surrender his time and freedom to maneouver. If that’s what you want in life, by all means go for it. This post is written for bachelors who have chosen to remain free of such entanglements for the foreseeable future. The two key principles are:

Get a secure high top-line income, preferably scaleable
Get a low fixed cost base. Convert fixed costs to variable costs.

This is talk from business financial planning so I ought to unpack it a little for non-bankers, beginning with considering a man who has it all wrong per Dickens. Imagine a caricatured cubicle-jockey who works full-time 48 weeks a year on a permanent-employee contract. He owns a suburban three-bedroomed house and both he and his wife have a lease car each, perhaps a couple of years old. They have a sky sports / entertainment subscription, 24-month 4G mobile phone contracts for both adults and both children. The mortgage has ten years paid and fifteen years remaining plus there are a few unsecured loans to cover big ticket expenses like the recent kitchen remodelling. What is the risk profile of this man’s finances?

Income is not scaleable – He is already working at his full capacity of 48 weeks a year of full-time working weeks.
Income is all from one source, his salaried employment.
Expenses are all high, fixed amounts with long duration. There is significant debt which is subject to (probably) floating interest rates.

What this means is the man has a very narrow margin of error. When expenses rise he had few options to absorb the change – does he try to get overtime at work or does he trade-off another expense? If his income drops (his hours are cut, he is fired) he has a huge monthly payment to meet and no means to do so. Not only that but by having equity in his home he has alot to lose in a home repossession. The man has no time and no freedom to maneouver. This is why bachelors should be very wary of owning a home. The things you own end up owning you.

One thing investment managers quickly adopt is the idea of asset classes. Everything is an investment and allocating funds to one asset class (e.g. equity) means less funds for another asset class (e.g. bonds). This is simple opportunity cost. Investment managers will take a strategic view on the likely performance of different asset classes and make their bets accordingly. You should be doing the same.

Property is not an emotion. It’s not a symbol of success. It’s not a part of your identity as a man. It’s just an asset class. Depending on your life situation and the economy it’s wise to be either long or short property. Usually it’s better to be short (i.e. renting not buying), here’s why.

Freedom

Buying a house locks you into one place and a high monthly fixed expense. For no reason other than that it is usually smart for the bachelor to avoid buying a house. When you tell your boss you have a mortgage you are telling him “I can’t walk away from this job so please fuck me over with limitless demands, pressure and shitty projects. I’ll take it all while wearing a shit-eating grin because I know I don’t have the option to walk away”.

A man with a huge income-expense margin can accumulate a large pile of fuck-you money in his savings account. He can take time off work. A man on a six-month rental apartment can very easily trade down to a cheaper place if money is tight, trade up when he’s flush or just go move to another country/city to follow a good job opportunity. As Robert De Niro advises in Heat: “Don’t let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner…. Now, if you’re on me and you gotta move when I move, how do you expect to keep a… a marriage?”

On the lam

Taxation

The golden rule of taxation is that the burden falls heaviest on those least able to avoid it. The poor don’t pay tax because they have little income to tax and little to lose by refusing to work. The rich don’t pay tax because they can restructure their affairs to minimise it. Tax falls disproportionately upon the middle class for three simple reasons:

They earn high enough incomes to make their life significantly more comfortable from working than not working.
They have assets (housing, savings, pensions) that can be plundered and are too large to comfortably walk away from.
They own property. It is fixed in one location and cannot be moved offshore. Nor can they.

Buying a house positions yourself squarely into the cross-hairs of a thieving government whether overtly (property taxes, stamp duty, rates) or covertly (you are locked into place for all the personal taxes)

Asset bubbles

Property is just an asset class. Nobody buys a house outright in cash. Under periods of stable banking families will typically provide a 20% cash deposit and borrow the remaining 80% which any investment manager will tell you is 4x leverage. You have £4 of debt for every £1 of equity but still control (carry risk and rewards of) 100% of the investment. Let’s consider a contrived example to clarify the maths:

Your capital: £20k. Your mortagage: £80k. Your house price £100k.

Scenario 1: House prices rise 10%. Your house is worth £110k. You now have £30k in equity (the debt didn’t increase) This is £10k profit on an investment of £20k = 50% return.

Scenario 2: House prices fall 10%. Your house is worth £90k. You now have £10k in equity. This is £10k loss on an investment of £20k = 50% loss.

The key characteristic of leverage is it magnifies the impact of asset price movements. A change of just 10% in house prices creates a 50% change in your wealth. We are so used to hearing risk-takers extoll the virtues of leverage in rising markets that we can forget leverage also works on the way down. As many a leveraged hedge fund found out to their cost. The main point for the bachelor to process is this:

Buying a house is a highly leveraged bet on the direction of the housing market.

You are not reducing risk by buying a house. You are increasing it. This is before taking into account another factor: housing is a depreciating asset. Houses fall apart and become delapidated without regular maintenance and repairs. This truth is hidden in fast-rising markets because the net amount of house price rise minus maintenance costs will be positive. Thus accepting that buying a house is an investment decision, and in particular a speculative investment decision, we must understand how a house is valued. If your natural thought is “look in the estate agent’s window for similar houses” you are a moron. There are three ways to price a house over the long term – all are ways to determine if the housing market in a given area is over- or under-valued at the time you are considering purchase.

1. Median house price to median salary ratio

It’s an obvious truism that if the average person cannot afford the average home then house prices are going to drop. You can find long-term historical data (for example Case-Schiller) that gives a clear pattern for any region. Generally speaking in the US house prices will cost 3 times the salary of whoever lives in it. Pull up the graphs. Any time prices deviate there is a bubble or crash and eventual reversion to the mean. It’s simple (effective) supply and (effective) demand. What can’t happen won’t and therefore when median house prices outstrip the median earner’s capacity to pay they don’t pay. There’ll be a period of market breakdown as delusional sellers refuse to drop prices (the first sign of a house price crash is sharply reduced transaction volume – buyers and sellers can’t agree a price) but then as the 3Ds come into effect (divorce, death, reDundancy) the forced sales pull the market down.

Find this for your region

2. Median salary to median mortage payment ratio

People have a comfort zone for how much of their monthly income they are willing to allocate to housing. Long term statistics show that to be about 33% of take-home pay. The rest goes on food, entertainment, clothes, car whatever. Banks consider this ratio in making loans because as the % rises the borrower’s wiggle room to deal with external shocks reduces as does their willingness to meet payments in times of duress. When you read stories of young couples paying 60% of take-home pay to meet mortgage payments then its a sure sign the market is overpriced and headed down.

3. Bank optimism

There are long-accepted rules in the banking industry and long-accepted ratios in determining loans. Put simply your banker assesses you on the three Cs

Collateral – How much of a deposit or how valuable is the asset the loan is secured on. This is why they require a cash deposit. If you pay 20% deposit then the house value can drop 20% before the bank takes a loss. Your skin in the game is 20% and thus you are far less likely to walk away from your loan. Reduce that to 5% and the game has changed.
Cover – How many times over can your take home pay cover your mortgage payment? If that number is low you will struggle when interest rates rise or your income takes a knock. You are fragile.
Credit – What is your historical creditworthiness? Do you have a history of repaying your debts or welching on them?

House prices are determined by the availability of credit because it’s the size of the mortgage the bank will give you that determines your effective demand to bid on a house. Thus when lending standards are lax (i.e. banks are optimistic) borrowers can get larger loans and thus bid up prices. When banks are aggressively marketing loans with 5% deposits or ALT-A interest-only repayment schedules, or the central bank is forcing down interest rates it is all pointing in one direction: houses are overpriced. Lax lending leads to high rates of bad debts and an inevitable banking contraction. Lending standards over-correct to the strict side and suddenly borrowers can no longer bid so high. House prices drop.

This is what a banking crisis looks like

There are many additional factors that impact house prices that I won’t go into. For example consider how these sociological changes affect prices:

– Expansion of public sector jobs in a particular region: Wages rise in that region leading to increased ability to bid-up house prices. When government contracts and fires those workers prices come back down.

– Mass immigration: Large numbers of wealth-destroying third world immigrants flood a country. For their housing demand to become “effective demand” (backed by the ability to pay) they must receive government housing benefit. This can only be funded by taxation (national debt is merely deferred taxation) which means the increase in effective demand by the colonists is offset by the decreased effective demand of the wealth-creators (when taxes rise, median salaries and interest cover falls – see above ratios).

– Debasement of the currency: Prolonged periods of quantitative easing artificially suppress interest rates which has the effect of (i) reducing monthly payments for borrowers on floating rates (ii) destroying yield on investments for savers. It’s a direct transfer of wealth from savers to borrowers. Effective demand is transfered from one group to another but not increased overall. When currency is debased house prices have the illusion of increasing because they are measured in a unit that loses it’s real-world value. For example in the UK the pound was devalued 25% in 2008-09 but house prices remained flat. The economic effect is house prices dropped 25%.

These are complex factors but I raise them to solidify the key point: Property is just an asset class and it’s a leveraged investment. It’s not an emotional decision or a rite of passage to becoming an adult. For most bachelors most of the time buying a house is suicide. It takes away your time and freedom to maneouvre. It will also very likely lose you money if you buy now.

* Anyone retarded enough to say “rent is just throwing your money away” will be sent to the spam queue.

Failure stories #4 – The Saudi virgin

November 19, 2013
krauserpua

I’m walking down Oxford Street near Selfridges in the summer of 2012. My approaching has already started to wind down after gorging myself in a month’s tour of Yugoslavia. I’m relying on autopilot to push me along but it’s still pleasant. I see a tall African girl dressed elegantly with a colourful headscarf.

Hmmmm. I believe in going after Unicorns. This means girls who are completely outside of my normal catchment demographic but of such rare and unusual beauty that I really ought to give it a go on general principle. I don’t have any expectations of how they’ll react or how well I can get them. Just push the comfort zone and chase the beauty.

Drop a point

So I open this Muslim telling her I love her stylish fashion. Probably I compare her to a giraffe. I forget. She loves it. Her accent is posh and measured, her dememour very classy…. she’s just adorable. Sharp intelligent eyes, a free easy smile. Yummy. My humour is free-flowing and Im’ feeling good:

Me: I’m Nick

Her: I’m Afaf

Me: Haha… [laughing]

Her: What? Why are you laughing?

Me: That’s not a name. That’s the noise dogs make. Afafafafaf

Later when telling her friends they love it and make dog jokes when she tells them of dates. I keep a general “woof woof” theme of callback humour going throughout the dating. So I take the number and get her out a week later. I thoroughly stumped as to how to proceed. She’s a proper five-prayers-a-day Muslim virgin of Somali background but grew up in Saudi Arabia. Culturally we are from different planets. I’m in my head about it.

Day 2 is a walk around a small park near Russell Square, sitting on a bench and later a coffee in Costa. I’m too freaked out to escalate, the headscarf and virginity giving me a mental block. We finish in a pub but she doesn’t drink alcohol and I overtly tell her I have no idea how to proceed. She’s nice about it but I’m expecting to LJBF myself through incompetence. I’m puzzled why I don’t feel the usual drive to just run the escalation model and push towards sex.

Day 3 is a nearby cinema to watch Judge Dredd. I hold her hand like a nervous teenager and then as we leave the darkened screen I kiss close her. Great, she takes it. She leans up against me in the bus stop and I send her home. From now on things are more like a normal girl but she’s got this massive virginity block.

Tepid Escalation

We go to parks, eat in restaurants, have coffee. She comes round my house several times to watch movies and sit in my bedroom. It’s the closest thing I’ve had to regular dating all year. I even take her to a friend’s birthday party in Notting Hill. I’ve got a girlfriend. I like this. Autumn has come and I really don’t feel like generating new leads through the street grind. I want to hibernate and just close off my remaining leads which at this point are:

– Serb A, Serb B, Serb C
– Russian A, Russian B
– Croat A, Croat B

One of the Russians drift away after a solid Day 3 kiss close while both Croats fall off the radar. It’s a shame because all are solid 8s but what can you do? I’m just happy to knock over four of seven. Autumn passes into winter and I’ve now been dating my Saudi once a week for about two months.

Every escalation is painfully slow. First time I kiss her it’s soft. Second time there’s tongues and a bit of groping. First time I get her home she cuddles up to me on the sofa but won’t come to my bedroom. First time in the bedroom I get her tits out but no touching up downstairs. Later I finger her to orgasm through her jeans. Later again she wanks me off. Later again I get her face exploring around my dick but she won’t put it in her mouth.

Weirdly, I’m not too upset about the slothlike pace of escalation. I like her company. She tells me I’m the first man to ever take her beyond kissing. Yes, at age 26 she has never had a man mash her tits, touch her pussy or wrap her long fingers around his cock. I feel like Captain Kirk exploring a new planet. It doesn’t feel like failure. It’s nice having her adore me.

Then things go suddenly wrong. I’m at the next push for escalation in my bedroom unbuttoning her jeans. She’s so hot and horny I very nearly get her jeans off. She’s on the edge of the cliff, one tiny step from going all the way over the edge into full sex. We both sense it. She shuts down. I have to back off. At the bus stop I give her a nice kiss before she waves goodbye and I shrug my shoulders – only a matter of time now.

She doesn’t reply to any more texts. Complete radio silence. Unadds me from skype. She’s gone without explanation or goodbye. A year later I’m out with Jabba in Selfridges cafe when she walks past with a friend. I see her, she sees me, she knows I know she knows I’m there. She completely blanks me.

I’ve since experienced similar behaviour from other chaste Africans. Their body pushes them to hot horny sex but their mind resists. Eventually they reach a moment where they know one more step will put them over the edge. They cool off back home and realise “if I see him again I’ll end up fucking him”. So they cut contact. They can’t trust themselves not to get roped back in and deflowered. It sucks for me. If I’d figured out the solution to this puzzle I’d have had virgin flags fro Saudi Arabia, Ghana and Equitorial Guinea. Harumph!

Ups and downs

November 17, 2013
krauserpua

This blog represents my ideas as I formulate them. As I continue along my path of self-improvement I encounter new problems and new ideas. Sometimes I’ll look back at an old idea and realise it was really a self-serving justification to feed my ego what it required at that time. We live our lives trapped in webs of self-deceit. Breaking free of those webs is an uncertain process. Sometimes we don’t know where we’re going, just that wherever we are now isn’t the right place.

Summer….

For the past two summers I’ve had long periods of feeling invincible. In 2012 I came back from Yugoslavia having knocked over four girls in four weeks, three of whom were great scores, plus a bunch of dates and makeouts with girls of a calibre to make the typical man whimper. I felt I could do no wrong. Just walking down the street I had my chin up, chest forward and a spring in my step. Then came the inevitible downswing as I lost interest in approaching and relied on closing off existing leads for the rest of the year. 2013 has been a good run too. The highlight would have to be knocking over seven girls in fourteen days with really good quality. My Invincibility Upswing lasted longer this year but the seeds of destruction had been sown. As summer wore on I could feel my motivation flagging, suppressed self-doubts surfacing and my vibe deteriorating.

… autumn

For the past two months I’ve been atrocious. I had a week or two of dismal failure on the streets, dragging myself out through forebrain-willpower and then having a series of flat sets and flaky numbers. A few dates I couldn’t concentrate on and finally I decided to go off the clock entirely for three weeks. Last weekend I gave it another try. 25 sets and no solid leads. My periods of good vibe were short and it seemed inevitable that when I did rattle off five great sets in a row on Saturday evening every single girl had a long term boyfriend. Bah!

Naturally I’ve tried to self-diagnose the problem. Why is it that at my peak this year (April) I dated twenty-one new girls in ten days and kissed almost all of them (and banged six) whereas the same number of opens in the past month netted me just three dates and no lays? It took a while to break through my own layers of self-deceit but I think I figured it out.

I’m not happy. I don’t mean woe-is-me-my-life-sucks unhappy. More that I’m relatively unhappy. Allow me to explain.

I believe our moods naturally follow a wave-pattern of upswings and downswings. Anyone who tells you he’s happy 100% of the time is lying to you whether he be a buddhist claiming nirvana or a player claiming self-actualisation. The human mind is not designed to be happy. It’s designed to strive for more, doling out intermittent happiness as a reward for moving forwards. The precise timing and shape of the waves depends on many factors, such as:

Health
Family
Abundance
Problems

What confused me this year is that on paper I’ve had far and away the best year of my life. I’ve banged 26 new girls with an average quality higher than any previous year. I’ve travelled to Spain, Brazil, Russia, Romania, Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, Czech Republic and Serbia. I’ll only work a total of three months with the other nine devoted to my own pursuits. I’ve written a new book (well 100,000 words of it so far). I’ve stayed in good shape. I see my family plenty and have some good friends. I completed Grand Theft Auto V.

Meh! I’ll let you open her

So on paper all is great. Yet the past two months I’ve been miserable and lacking any desire to do things. My usual hobbies of video games and reading fail to stimulate me. I’ve had little love for daygame and found dates too boring to engage myself. I’ve started tippling whiskey every night. I’m lacking conviction. So what’s the problem?

I’ve become bored with the New Normal. I’m restless.

I achieved the lifestyle I wanted and have been living it for about two years. The human brain responds to relative changes and thus tiny variations in success/failure are spun all out of proportion. It’s in our nature to experience an upswing when achieveing goals and then to level out, take it for granted, and become restless about the next goal. Happiness isn’t about getting what you want, it’s about enjoying what you get. That’s elusive.

So I’ve been meeting girls when my own head isn’t straight. I’ve dragged myself out onto the streets against my hindbrain’s inclination and I must be eminating miserable vibes. Why should I expect a woman to respond well to me when I’m disatisfied with my life? I’m inviting her to enter a reality I don’t enjoy myself so of course she’ll be reticent. Subtle changes in happiness are magnified through your vibe to create their impact on the girl. That’s why when you feel great you catch more IOIs and hook more girls. And when you suck, you suck balls.

Perhaps you’re wondering why I’ve written such a long self-absorbed ramble so here’s the point: everyone has these downswings. Game increases the volatility of your wave pattern with higher highs and lower lows (in emotional terms that is, the objective reality is higher highs and higher lows but it just doesn’t feel that way). Don’t be too hard on yourself when the struggle appears hopeless or just plain boring. So long as you are balancing work on your value (anabolic) with work on the streets (catabolic) you’ll eventually hit the next upswing.

Emotional control is the foundation of Game. Don’t let a downswing hand the reigns to avoidance weasel. Self-diagnose and figure out your action plan. Perhaps you need to push through more sets or perhaps you need to step away from the streets for a while. So long as you are implementing your Plan you can accept the downswing as a necessary purgatory while also not letting your upswings fool you into hubris.

* since writing this a week ago I can feel myself beginning an upswing

The Badass Buddha – Uniting the contradictions of game

November 15, 2013
krauserpua

For regular readers, Tom Torero needs no introduction. So I shan’t give him one. Take it away, fella……

The amount of cognitive dissonance for someone new to Game is seemingly overwhelming. It’s a nightmarish clashing of conflicting ideas from so many sources where you can’t see the wood for the trees.

This confusion does nothing to help a guy who’s getting into the swing of things and doing his first cold approaches trying to get the reference experiences under his belt. He’s probably watched dozens of online infields, browsed hundreds of forum posts and amassed an impressive collection of books, PDFs and products that he hopes will make his journey easier.

And then the mind-fuck begins: should he be doing day or night game? Is indirect or direct better? Should he try pre-prepared material or attempt to be natural? Should he approach as much as possible or wait for the girls he really likes? Is verbal or non-verbal more important? Is it essential to be the bad boy or the good guy? Should he make girls laugh or keep a poker face? Is attraction or comfort more important? Should he go for Same Day / Night Lays or master dating? When should he pull the trigger – quickly or slowly? Is it better to immerse himself in Game for a long period or balance it with other interests? Should he take up kick-boxing or meditation to help him on his quest? Should he buy Krauser’s “Daygame Nitro” or Tom Torero’s “Daygame” book?!

It all comes down to being confused about knowing how to reconcile wanting the girl (the “pull”) with not needing the girl (the “push”). How to walk the fine line between persistence and neediness. This forwards and backwards seductive dance is clumsy to begin with, but over time with massive amounts of repetition and practice, a balance begins to be struck. Conscious incompetency becomes conscious competency. The infield action taken internalises the theory, and out of structure comes freedom. Finally a Flow State is reached (unconscious competency) as the skillset is mastered. The sweet spot between pull (Badass) and push (Buddha) has been found. It’s a razor’s edge between the two that only a few will strike consistently, a narrow road between the traps of either extreme.

This table shows the components of both sides of the Badass Buddha:

BADASS (pull)	BUDDHA (push)
Persistence, pulling the trigger	Backing off, non-neediness
Direct	Indirect
Verbal	Non-verbal
Fast (SDL / SNL)	Slow (Dating model)
Bad boy (seduction) traits	Nice guy (rapport) traits
A sexual threat	Master of comfort
Punishing bad behaviour (maintaining “the hand”)	Non-reactive (losing the battle to win the war)
Cockiness, arrogance, solipsism	Connection, dropping the ego, vulnerability
Logistics, planning, detail	In the moment, letting go
Hedonistic, hitting it hard	Reflective, balanced life
Open everything, don’t be picky	Open the 9s and 10s
Full immersion.	Other pursuits and hobbies

Finding that sweet spot into a Flow State is what musicians call “freedom in the groove.” It’s what mountaineers talk about when they’re climbing on the razor’s edge between life and death. It’s what Ayrton Senna meant when he described his “tunnel vision” in Formula One. Having such a sensitivity to the sweet spot is what is meant by calibration, achieved through thousands of hours of refinement of the skill set through errors and corrections.

The Badass Buddha might sound like some New Age, Self-Help, Life Coaching bullshit but it’s quite the opposite. In fact, my aim with the concept is to ridicule and spotlight such mumbo-jumbo bollocks, internet marketing scams and chakra cleansing nonsense. I’m making the point that it’s ACTION that has to come first to achieve any kind of personal / psychological change. Not just action, but relentless action*. You can’t have the Buddha before the Badass. It’s like trying to put the cart before the horse. Therein lies the spiritualist crap. A fluffy motivational quote you post on Facebook means nothing. Logging off, leaving your house and facing your fears (such as talking to girls through cold approach) is everything.

To a beginner or an intermediate daygamer reading this, I’d therefore stress that you need to go through the Badass stage first, taking on all the alpha-like traits that feel alien right now. Go too far, be massively persistent, be direct, be sexual, escalate fast, pull the trigger hard. Over time you’ll calibrate yourself back towards the Buddha, with abundance in your dating life giving you the freedom from outcome that is so key. You’ll learn the importance of non-verbal game, of slowing down, of mastering dating, of letting go in the wider sense.

Karmic rebalancing, yesterday

Fuck self help. Get help from the girls right in front of you that will show you the way much faster than any Tony Robbins seminar.

Earlier this year I reached 150 lays (144 of them in the last four years). An egotistical “notch count hyena” statistic on one level, but massive deep level personal changes on another level. In the last month alone I’ve had 5 new lays with the top-tier of girls around the world from London, Spain, the Baltics and Russia. 2013 was the year of really leaning into my edge, finding flow and hitting that sweet spot consistently. I know Krauser’s had an outstanding year too, as I’ve had to listen to a lot of his escapades through rattling apartment walls we’ve shared.

With dedication and practice, the cognitive dissonance becomes clarity, the conflicting ideas distill into essences. The narrow road is there, hidden underneath the brambles and weeds of procrastination and confusion. Cut a path for yourself using the razor sharp blade of action, which alone will provide the answers you’re looking for.

* Could those of you planning to take relentless action please not do so anywhere along the route from Primark at Marble Arch, along Oxford Street down Regent Street and ending at Trafalgar Square. Thanks – K.

Failure stories #3 – The African minx

November 13, 2013
krauserpua

I’m walking along sunny Oxford Street in July with Bodi, my mind on video games and specifically whether I should get Dead Space 3 now or wait until I’ve completed Crysis 3 first. It’s a tough choice. One constant in my life is wanting more. I get a buzz from buying a new game and booting it up, familiarising myself to new controls and new eye candy in the visual design. Usually the novelty wears off about three hours in and I get into the zone where the controller merges seamlessly with my hands, the TV screen no longer seperates me from the game world and I’m now fully immersed in the game. This flow state is immensely rewarding. Usually by the 50% complete mark (for a typical AAA game that’s about seven hours in) I get restless. I’m so far in that I’m compelled to complete the game (I hate to leave anything unfinished in life) but the enjoyment is subject to diminishing returns due to overfamiliarity. Thus the constant tension between completing games I’m >50% through (Crysis 3) or buying a new one for the novelty buzz (Dead Space 3). Add in series loyalty from me having completed all previous games in both franchises and then reviews saying Dead Space 3 is a staggering twenty hours long – double normal AAA games – and I’m torn.

Such are the things which torment me.

Real beauty, better than any Russian model

Smarter readers will have distilled from this preamble the tension I have in Game. I want the buzz of new girls but I also enjoy the progressively deeper attachments with girls I like. It’s a constant tension. So while thinking about video games I look behind us and see a hot African girl walking along. She’s a little minx with big wide eyes, great curves, slim and dressed in an unexpected chic 60s Paris style. I double take and open. My vibe is great. She sounds smart and classy so within ten minutes we’ve hit it off well and I take a number. Texting is precise, so on-point from both of us that I use sections for my new book’s Text Game chapter. We meet a few days later.

It’s an excellent date. We have tea then move on to a couple of pubs. She’s delightful company and full of confidence in her femininity. I’ve realised the differences between British black, American black and African black girls are like an abyss. Put crudely:

British black: Insufferable princesses full of false bravado and hollow aggressive sexuality. Hot black women immediately ditch their own race and try to date rich white professional guys.
American black: I have little experience of these. They appear to be thick as shit and talk like drunken sailors. The few I’ve met professionally in the banking industry are basically men with braided hair. Think Condeleeza Rice.
African black: Very nice cultured manner and speech patterns, pretty good education and a traditional vibe. I like them alot.

Does this make me racisss? Don’t care. Perhaps it’s just a self-selected sample because I’m never in the ghetto and I avoid the girls with vulgar street fashion. Who knows, who cares. This girl was nice.

So in the third venue I decide I need to be escalating. All the attraction and rapport has gone well. She’s a graduate student from a nice neighbourhood in Ghana and she’s constantly hammering me with the “I’m a good girl. No sex before marriage” story – which I don’t believe for a moment. African girls always give you that spiel. I move in to kiss. She rebuffs a few times then the barriers are down. I’m still thinking this one will move slowly so at about 10pm we’re leaving the last venue and I’m going to drop her off home (she lives very centrally).

Add 5kg

As we walk along the back alley by Revolution bar in Soho I push her against a wall and make-out. She’s way hornier than I expected and the hindbrain is very excited. She’s gasping, moaning, grabbing me. I put her hand on my dick and she’s rubbing it hard. This girl is gagging for it. So I walk her all the way to her front door and try to get inside. She’s holding me off on the pavement desperately trying to regain forebrain control. I get her into the hallway and there’s more frantic making out. Then we’re upstairs inside her apartment but unfortunately she shares with two flatmates so it’s not a done deal. More making out and the forebrain shutters keep slamming down. She’s genuinely torn between a raging horniness for fucking and a sensible good girl forebrain control. I get a real No and we’re back in the hallway making out again. She’s rubbing my dick so I try to get my hands down her pants for skin-on-skin. I’ll happily fuck her there and then, it’s reasonably private. The moment she feels the skin-on-skin she shuts down. I have to bid her adieur.

Next week is Day 3 and it’s the same again. A civilised date, she asks me to walk her home and the forebrain shuts down again while we’re in her hallway with her hand on my dick. It’s achingly close. The contrast between her good girl vibe and sudden wanton abandon is extreme. By Day 4 I decide I need to try a different tack – probably she needs more comfort – so we just have tea and walk through the park. I don’t escalate beyond light kissing. I’m hopeful and then outside intervention busts it all.

I have a few foreign trips, she has family visiting, and we go three weeks without meeting. I sense distraction in her texts. She’s not engaged to the same level but I get her to meet me near my house and after a couple of drinks we are on my sofa. I still sense reticence on her part but different to earlier. On the first few dates she was free to fuck but decided to slow down, this time I sense she’s conflicted by outside forces. I push anyway. She’s topless with her ample breasts in my mouth, straddling me and grinding on my dick but she’s reticent to touch it with her hands and resists all efforts to unburden her of her jeans. She tells me she’s not comfortable having sex today. Perhaps she’s on the rag.

How bizarre

Another week of indifferent texts follow then she invites me out for a coffee. That’s when I get the Speech. Her ex-boyfriend has asked if they can make it official again with proper monogamous dating. She knows I just want a casual fling so she’ll take the surer bet. I don’t have a counter-offer of monogamy, telling her instead that I like her and if she’s single again to look me up. Next day her whatsapp profile photo is updated to show her with the guy. Typical good-looking professionally-competent African nice guy. They seem a good match.

The Ghana flag must wait. I think I played it as well as I could but the real world conspired against me.

The journey is the destination

November 11, 2013
krauserpua

I recently likened the Player’s Journey to a tiger raised in captivity being released from his cage into the wild. When an animal is raised in a zoo a routine and structure is imposed upon it by the zookeeper which removes risk such as through regular feeding (starvation risk) and controlled lodgings (exposure and predation risk) while also severely constraining the normal development of the animal. The animal’s socialisation is retarded. The tiger doesn’t get to roam the wilds, engage with it’s fellows, absorb the sights, sounds and fauna of it’s natural habitat. It’s a house cat. It reminds me of a quote I heard on a boxing telecast twenty years ago. To paraphrase:

There’s no such thing as a good boxer I don’t know about. To get good you must fight good opposition and if you’re fighting those guys, I’ll have heard about you.

The idea that there’s a talented well-developed fighter hidden Kung-Fu Panda-like deep inside an unknown prodigy is ridiculous. It’s the very process of building a career against diverse progressively stiffer opposition that creates the fighter. Without the process, there is no fighter. The journey can’t be skipped. The zoo-bound tiger is denied that process of growth and then suddenly released into the wild without the seasoning to compete. Freedom combined with skills is liberating. Freedom without skills is terrifying.

The Saturday Sarge

Prisoners and long-term hospital patients can suffer from institutionalisation. Humanity’s greatest evolutionary advantage is our ability to adapt to new environments and modify our behaviours, thoughts and emotions to fit in. This becomes dysfunctional in periods of lifestyle upheaval as we clutch at lifelines of the old routine. The daily grind of an institution, be it prison, an LTR or the office, conditions us with certain expectations, partitions off other potential thoughts and behaviours and puts us into a comfortable well-worn rut. The normal pattern of modern social life functions precisely this way because modern city life is atomising. If you spend your whole live aboard the Blue Pill Express you have no control over the destination. Your life is merely passing each station in turn until the end of the line. Work, relationships, entertainment, socialising…. it’s easy to passively accept the artificially narrow bounds upon which society has mapped out your life and to surrender decision-making.

This is why I call the Player’s Journey an emotional rollercoaster – you break out of the zoo. A chode’s life is constrained by social conventions and office routine. Usually his day is planned quite literally to the minute.

7:00 – Alarm goes off.
7:10 – Put on coffee pot, eat Quakers Porridge with semi-skimmed milk
7:20 – Shower
7:35 – Open closet, pull out shirt, suit, shoes in that order. Hang them on back of door-frame.

I’ll stop there. Most people’s lives are extremely routinised. It’s efficient and psychologically comforting. There’s a spot for the long term girlfriend in that safe routine and by following social conventions we are deluding ourselves we have escaped the rigours of the sexual marketplace. Just because you ignore a risk, doesn’t mean the environment isn’t risky. Routine is a buffer.

Destination: 7 lifetime lays

So you step out of your gilded cage and into the wilds of Game. What happens then?

You realise your whole life is your responsibility. The zoo-keeper isn’t feeding you or temperature-controlling your cage. It’s all on you now. Sex is something you have to go out and get. The nature of the relationship is for you to determine. Pretty quickly you realise girls are only part of the picture. Everything else is yours to determine:

your fashion
your body
your work path
you friends

Your life is a project to be managed not a series of orders to follow. Your happiness is your own responsibility. It’s both liberating and a psychological burden. Like the tiger released into the wild you must catch-up and learn all those coping strategies that you should’ve learned as a cub. You can only learn by doing.

It’s the very process of following the Player’s Journey, with its myriad highs and lows, that builds character. Adversity makes the man.

You must go out and live the life. This is why you can’t hide yourself behind internet forums and manosphere chatter. You can’t just buy some cool clothes and VIP tickets. You can’t just inject TRT/HGH and call it confidence. You can’t just reality-weave yourself to strong inner-game. Unless you’ve actually gone out and done the real work the house is built on sand. Your ego will push you back into the gilded cage. Be ready for it. It’s a natural response to the extreme emotional duress that Game places you under. Common traps include:

Lionise a long term relationship with a “quality woman” and announce your exit from the Game. Fall back into the feminine imperative’s frame and assume all the old chode-risks while telling yourself you have “won”.
Delusional ramblings about having become alpha / self-actualised, above the mere minions around you.
Disappear into “value-building” hobbies that require no compliance from the world but give the illusion of moving forwards.

All three of the above are both buffers to patch up a delusional reality and ease away from the psychological rigours of the Game, and also (in rare cases) potentially pleasant end-states for men who have actually arrived there at the end of the rainbow. You really have to know the man to know which it is. Usually it’s a buffer. The lady doth protest too much.

You’ll become a better man by enduring the hardships, the introspection, the identity change and forming the mindsets and habits to cope in the Wild. It’s tough. You must learn your lessons the hard way. The temptation to return to your gilded cage will be strong.

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

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

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.

Teasing the unique snowflake

November 8, 2013
krauserpua

While on a recent trip I formularised a new little frame/tease to throw into sets. Nothing groundbreaking or conclusive, just nice spiking and framing. Allow me to share. One girl I’m working on long game has bright purple hair. Rid all images of face-pierced shaved-temple tattooed feminists from your mind. This is a delightful slim beautiful young Russian art student who is feminine in every respect….. she just happens to dye her long hair purple for aesthetic reasons. While on a short first coffee date:

Me: You know, I’ve just realised [chuckling to self]…. when you walked in I knew you reminded me of someone famous but I couldn’t remember who. Now I’ve got it!

…. tap tap tap into google image search on my phone….she’s in rapt anticipation…

Her: aaaaahahahahhahahhahaaahahaaaa!

A bit later on she’s telling me about her art college in a different town.

Me: I imagine it’s a very different atmosphere over there having all those art students in one place. Here in Krakow it’s quite traditional. Probably when you walk down the street with that purple hair old grannies tut and little children point. But I’ll bet that in Lodz girls like you are ten-a-penny.

Her: Haha etc

Me: In Lodz you probably feel like when a girl who goes to a party and sees another girl in the same dress. There’ll be all these purple-haired girls walking past and you’re thinking “bitch”. You don’t feel like a special unique snowflake anymore. You’re just common.

Thinking about this gave me an idea that this is a repeatable routine on any girl’s deliberately affected quirks.

Step 1: Identify a quirk. Perhaps it’s her hair, or subculture fashion (punk, metalhead, goth etc), or other affectation.
Step 2: Compliment her that it’s nice
Step 3: Playfully sympathise that it must be hard in tradtionally-minded towns. Use the tutting of grannies and pointing of small children.
Step 4: Contrast it with how utterly common and non-special it is in her imagined chosen environment (town, social group etc).

This tease works because you are bouncing from opposite sides of the spectrum – she’s both a misunderstood rebel and an utterly conformist bore – while giving her a playfully unflattering frame at both sides. You’ve got her bang to rights and women love being called on their shit in a non-angry way. You can generalise the theme further. Imagine you’re chatting to a catwalk model. Obviously it’s important not to be overawed by her job and presumed lifestyle. So run this pattern.

Me: Catwalk, eh? Hmmmmm…. interesting. I suppose it must be quite a contrast in life. Here you are on Oxford Street striding down the street like an angry cat. Very pretty and stylish. You’re the tallest girl here, like Gulliver being in Lilliput. All these other girls seem like oompa loompas and you’re a giant, having to duck when you walk through shop doorways…. and then you go off to a casting and suddenly the whole room is full of giants. You’re just another tall girl in a whole sea of tall girls, all scratching and biting to get the contract. That must be really difficult to get used to, going from being a unique snowflake to just another pretty girl.

You can always find a way to use a girl’s unique high-value attributes as a playfully-framed negative, whether it’s her large breasts, long legs, thick hair, big eyes, great fashion. Creatively invent dual scenarios where the attribute begins as a blessing and ends up as a curse.

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

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

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 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

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

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

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.