Sometimes you’re the good-looking guy.

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

waiting to be knocked over

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her: Yes tomorrow is good. what time?

Me: 8pm, Cafe X?

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

Me: 😉

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

with slightly longer hair

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

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

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

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

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

The Happy Cow Carvery

I digress.

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

Let me tell you about my most recent one.

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

but chubby

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m lovin’ it

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

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

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

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

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

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

at some point you have to pick one and say hello

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

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

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

You still haven’t opened?

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

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

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

Hmmmm… what does that mean?

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

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

But a slightly harder face

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

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

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