Krauser PUA | Page 4

Walter White is not an alpha male

August 29, 2013
krauserpua

Ok, I’ll bite.

The manosphere has rapidly degenerated into a gaggle of fools gossiping like women about things they don’t understand. It’s lost. Dead. I shall bury myself in a cave until the apes have overrun us and civilisation reboots. Until then, I wish to knock this Breaking Bad rubbish on the head. Yes, it’s a great show. So great in fact that the writers really get the socio-sexual hierarchy and Walter White is as pure a gamma as ever puffed himself up on false pretentions. Let’s first dispense the alpha myth and where better to go than the first great popularizer of alpha game… Roissy. Let’s go to his enduring definition which is as accurate as you can get in so few words. A man’s alphaness is judged on three criteria.

“how hot are the women he can attract, how strong is that attraction for him, and how many of those women find him attractive.”

In five seasons Walter has sex with one used up old troll who treats him like shit until she becomes scared of him and then she merely exercises thinly-veiled contempt. And she cheats on him with an uber-chode. Look at her. A minger.

Why so serious?

No other women express any interest in him whatsoever. Even Lydia just finds him a provider chode and she’s as broken and externally-referenced as despicable man-jaw femcunts can be. WW is an omega by Roissy standards.

How about the leader of men theory?

How many beta males look up to and respect Walt? How many high value men want to hang out with him as peers? How many men seek him out for the pleasure of his company? It’s a big fat zero. People are repelled by his anti-charisma. Several men come into his orbit on the lure of using his chemistry genius to get rich (Saul, Gus, Tucco) and several are there because they are under orders (Mike, Victor) but all of them immediately find his character repellent and seek to distance themselves. The only two men who don’t use him as a provider chump are a gay fanboy nerd (Gail) and a little boy lost (Jesse). At least Scarface had bros and hos.

How about the empire building business?

Walt fails at everything he touches. His chemistry genius and gamma wiles get him out of near death situations several times but almost every sticky moment is of his own making because while a genius at chemistry he is a bumbling amateur at life. Selling out his shareholding in a soon-to-be billion dollar tech firm, destablising his cushy job cooking for Gus, bringing Hank back onto his trail just after he’d given up….. these are all Mensa member levels of total incompetence at life. Note how it takes him four seasons to break even on costs and when he does get money he can’t launder it.

At no point does he change his life for the better. He is careening from crisis to crisis and dragging everything down with him. This is the beauty of the show because it shows how toxic Walter really is. At no point does it occur to him that he’s incompetent. He wildly overstates his own ability to get things done.

Chode, yesterday

So no, Walter White is not an alpha male. The only way you could possibly think he is alpha is if you misunderstand the whole point of the socio-sexual hierarchy. I’m not trying to diss him on morality here. Sure he’s a reprehensible character but that’s neither here nor there. He has none of the alpha outcomes.

Girls don’t fancy him. Men don’t follow him. He doesn’t have his shit together. He’s deeply unhappy.

Go read Vox’s outline of the gamma male traits. Then check them against Mr Heisenberg

High intelligence that he overvalues the importance of
God complex in his belief in his own omnipotence and failure to recognise his errors
Relentless bullying of those further down the hierarchy
Burning toxic rage against the world for failing to recognise his genius.
Prickly pride that constantly causes him to sabotage otherwise smoothly functioning systems
Creepily over-investing in the one woman who gives him interest

I pity new manosphere guys who are being fed such tosh.

[Edit: About half the comments here show why the manosphere is just a knitting circle for whiny bitches.]

The Great Gatsby

August 21, 2013
krauserpua

As you wander the streets of your hometown have a look around at the normal men and ask yourself “do they understand the concept of Value?” Generally, the answer will be no. They’ll have ill-fitting dad jeans, white trainers, those strange shapeless box shirts with garish checked patterns and a haircut like Des from Neighbours.

Everybody needs good neighbours

At some point in their teen years their dad should’ve sat them down and said “son, this is what makes you a high value man….”. Their dad failed. Likely his dad had never sat him down for the value chat either. So we have a legion of chodes whose every signal screams low value and unsurprisingly the women ignore them. Perhaps that was you. If you’re reading this then likely you never really fitted into the blue pill world. You never quite dressed the same as the chodes, you probably had a problem with authority, and you probably tended to go do your own thing and fuck the world. So much latent alpha/sigma energy trapped inside without any guidance on which direction to release it. Then you discovered Game and it was like the value chat your dad never gave you.

Aloofness. Boundaries. Charisma. Leading. Teasing. Challenging. The Mission.

I sometimes trawl the manosphere curious to read other player’s journey blogs. The quality varies widely but most share common themes of which a man discovering the concept of value and how to unlock / build his own is central to all. It’s a bumbling stumbling journey at first. Concepts never fix the first time you encounter them. Like a newly-speaking child grasping irregular verbs you tend to overapply and misapply the rules before figuring it out. One of the hardest rules of value to grasp is the distinction between internal and external value. Once grasped intellectually it’s even harder to believe in emotionally.

I’m often asked, usually by angry gammas, “what value are you offering the girls? you are barely employed, not good-looking, you don’t marry them.”

This question only makes sense to a chode. Once you grasp internal value, what I call Personal Charismatic Value, the question answers itself. It’s at the core of the Lover / Provider dichotomy and The Great Gatsby is a great example of value done wrong.

Blue pill, 1922

Gatsby is an ambitious delusional man from humble beginnings, his childhood spent aggressively reality-weaving his own mythology while living in a dingy shack. At the first opportunity he leaves home seeking…. something. The man is completely obsessed with external markers of value such as status, money, power and acceptance into exclusive social clubs. These are the things he was excluded from as a boy so from the outside looking in they seem to him like the real source of happiness. In local vernacular we’d call it a chip on his shoulder born of a nagging sense of not being good enough. “If I can only become that, I’ll be happy.”

This deep insecurity and self-loathing causes him to set up a false idealised self. If only he can become the Big Man people will accept him and then he can accept himself. He must swim through a sea of external validation in order to feed his false self – a grandiosity shark. He wants it too much so this causes tremendous cognitive dissonance between his repressed self-loathing / current position and his targeted future self. Just as with physical pain when men experience severe mental pain their moral code bends. He latches onto an eccentric millionaire during a chance meeting and then he’s off and away.

Five years later he’s Jay Gatsby, the richest and most connected man in New York. His life is one massive DHV. Exclusive parties, hobnobbing with senators and mayors, custom sports cars. beautiful girls….. and he never misses a chance to tell people he’s arrived. His history is rewritten into a personal mythology of greatness. He is living the dream. The high value lifestyle.

But of course he’s a deeply unhappy man and his life is a charade. A Potemkin Village.

A DHV story, yesterday

He has acquired all the external trappings of value without once digging deep to root out and destroy his inner demons. He has poor boundaries, fake rapport, low self-esteem and a barely suppressed rage against the world. Leonardo Di Caprio plays it beautifully to bring out the fundamental creepiness of his sham life. As an audience we are whisked into his (fake) reality via the audience identification character / empty vessel Toby Maguire. Gatsby is qualifying hard. “Look at me, look how I live! My life is so amazing!” Barely a minute goes by without dropping a grotesque DHV.

Unsurprisingly he has oneitis for some used-up tart. She represents the acceptance he can never give himself. If he can make Daisy love him again he will feel loveable. If she can deny her love for Tom then it will prove Gatsby is special. His whole reality and self-image is determined by Daisy’s evaluation. He breaks the central rule of inner game: Be more invested in yourself and your opinion of yourself than of other’s opinions of you. Most manosphere writers have brought out the movie’s lessons on female nature and oneitis. What interests me is the parallels with an intermediate player.

Gatsby worships external markers of value. He is externally referenced. He is the ultimate expression of acheiving the high value lifestyle but he’s still a chode who gets tooled by a girl.

The upper social tier, yesterday

When I read some player’s journey blogs I see the same thing. When I read my own archives I see the same thing. After a lifetime of failing to understand value you read Mystery Method and discover the DHV. Aha!….. if I can learn to tell a DHV story about driving a ferrari with Colin Farrell around the Playboy mansion before taking a VIP table in a top nightclub….

It’s all bullshit.

It took me a long time to figure it out. Little pieces dropped into place over the course of two years. At the risk of becoming a parody of the Grandiosity Shark I just outlined, let me recall some of the key moments that let me shift from the External Value frame to the Internal Value frame:

My first catwalk model dated a successful businessman / politician for nine years. He was handsome, well-dressed, connected and flew her around the world first class for over a year before she let him fuck her. After I dumped her she dated a new millionaire former spetznas commander (now businessman) and I stole her back again to be my fuck buddy while he was proposing marriage and still hadn’t even kissed her.
One of my Russian girls had a serious long term wants-to-marry-her higher beta boyfriend and also a Moscow sugar daddy that paid her £25k pa for the privilege of fucking her for a couple of hours every few months. I was the Lover. These two chumps the Providers.
A random Kazhak girl I dated but didn’t fuck told me about our initial street meeting. “You had such powerful eyes. It’s obvious you have a strong character.”
A girl I met in Top Shop had a lifestyle (provided by her ex-BF of five years) that would make Victoria Beckham blush. Several carribbean holiday homes on paradise islands. Private jets everywhere. She told me she preferred sitting in Starbucks with me. When I went to visit her for a few days she actually got a private doctor to give her injections of vitamin C to try to make her skin look better so as not to disappoint me (with hilarious after effects…)

And then the single most important piece was slotted into place last summer when I had a one-week holiday visiting my ex-GF who was the most trophy-like of trophy girls. She’s a famous actress (always sex-siren roles) who was courted by a prince of Dubai and prior to me was dating the most eligible leading man in her country’s movie industry. She is hounded by paparazzi, on TV talk shows and magazine front pages. One of her orbiters is a billionaire industrialist who throws ridiculous parties on his giant yacht. Think Megan Fox or Jessica Alba in her homeland. One day while we are eating breakfast on her balcony (yes, she cooked for me all week) she looks thoughtfully into the garden and says :

“Nick, you have the richest life of anyone I know. You are so free, so happy. You can do anything you want. I wish I had that.”

As my haters correctly point out I am barely-employed, bald, average-looking and all my worldy possessions fit into the one tiny room I live in. I have few external markers of value. Yet I get SMV-prime hotly-contested women. Not everytime but enough times to know it’s a real phenomenon. Why?

Internal value.

The very fact that I’m a man with testosterone in my system and a dick in my trousers means I have value to a woman. Then you add self-acceptance. I like who I am and how I live. Build on top of that the cornerstone characteristics of masculinity. Lastly, add the technical competence of Game in how to talk to women. That’s all the value you’ll ever need and it’s massively more value than external props can ever give you.

Good is the enemy of great. Beware the intermediate player trap. I read guys banging on about how they are trying to build up an eco-system to meet women (fashion photography, nightclub host, DJ etc) and think “sure, it’ll get you laid a little but at tremendous cost”. It still won’t help you crack the top tier because there always comes the moment when the girl looks deep into your eyes and reads your soul. Without internal value, she’s gone. Well, the top tier girls are gone. I read guys banging on about how they’ve cracked into higher social circles and I think “chip on your shoulder, externally referenced”. There are no higher social circles. I’ve spent a little time in them and once you strip away the fame, the money and the yachts they are just people. Often unhappy social climbers clinging to the greasy pole. They are no happier or cooler than people you can find sitting in Hyde Park eating cheese sandwiches from Greggs. Believing that this is a higher form of living is just strengthening your ego investment in external trappings as value and that’s a road to nowhere.

Real value is not found in VIP rooms and party invitations any more than it’s found in having 74 likes on your Facebook status. Trying to be the guy on the cover of Neil Strauss’s book is a fool’s errand. The Great Gatsby does a great job in teasing out this lesson. For as long as you focus on external value you’ll remain Provider Chump. For as long as you are climbing the greasy pole of social elevation you’ll have a chip on your shoulder. When you have internal value, Personal Charismatic Value, you need nothing more than the shirt on your back. YOU are the value. To the people in your life that is real value.

I bang my first 22 year old Serbian dancer

August 15, 2013
krauserpua

Serbia has been giving me serious blue balls of late. I roll up solo on a Friday evening dragging a suitcase and bad attitude. I love the country but I’m worn out. It’s not until Tom Torero flies in from Istanbul the next day that I rouse myself to do some sets. Over the next three days we are restricted to 7pm-11pm because of weather and footfall but we can still number farm the scorching-hot streets per the Short Foreign Gaming Holiday textbook. I collect something like 15 good numbers and the filtering process begins.

One tall girl goes past and I have the familiar DNA-pull but I think “no way, she’s too hot”. Yes readers I still get that feeling. It’s not She’s-so-hot-I’m-not-worthy jitters but more like She’s-so-hot-it’ll-be-tough. I go in, she hooks, I bounce her for a coffee. I lean back and rattle off some light DHVs while letting my eyes drift away and probing her with rapport questions. It goes well. She’s a dancer and student, typical greyhound high esteem and +100 IQ. For half an hour I’m thinking it’ll be surprisingly plain sailing and then abruptly she gets up, makes apologies and leaves. Strange.

Looking back I think she recognised someone and feared social pressure. Whatever. Text game doesn’t really hit and I don’t see her again.

and my height in flats

Tom gets laid on his 2nd and 3rd nights here. I’ll leave the stories for him to tell but from my end I can just feel the competitive urges bubbling away. A week passes and now it’s the next Thursday. My phone is full of good numbers, good text exchanges and I’ve been on a few dates with very attractive women…. but no sex and only two non-commital makeouts. I’m getting jitters. I’ve literally never failed to get laid in Serbia in my previous four trips. The quality is outrageous mixing the best of Slavic long legs / high cheekbones with the best of Turk black hair and fiery eyes. It doesn’t seem right that I’ve got so many hot girls into me and zero sex.

Thursday night is the worst. At 7pm I get a cute little blonde on a second date. I’ve got a side-project to fuck lookalikes of all my favourite mid-90s porn actresses from Private magazine (that’s what I grew up on as a late teenager). I’ve already had Tania Russof, Aliza, Joy, Tabatha Cash, Myrka and Julia Channel. This blonde is a near-double of Gabriella Bond. Tom had sat our student on the next table on the first date and given him a commentary on my date game and the same thing happens this time. Then I bounce her to a park bench and as it gets dark we make out. She’s straddling me grinding my dick and letting me finger her but no sex. Harrumph!

Better than 007

At 10pm I have a first date with a cute skinny brunette. I bounce her to the same park bench and the same grinding, fingering and wanking off ensues with the same lack of sex. It’s now midnight and I walk home alone with blue balls so bad it literally hurts. Tom is sleeping the “I already got laid twice” sleep. Bastard.

Tom heads off on Friday and I’m starting to move towards thinking I should just farm a few more high quality numbers and try to lock them down with a coffee date. Saturday night comes with a second date of the brunette. This time she’s naked on my bed but still won’t fuck. I walk her to the bus stop at midnight then home. Defeated. I will not be getting laid in Serbia.

So I review my phone. Are there any leads? Aha, that tall dancer bird I idated is at a birthday party today. She’s back in contact with me:

Me 23:05 – A good birthday party then 🙂

Her 23:06 – Party is over we are now haveing the afterparty 🙂

Me 23:25 – I think you’ll be sleeping all through Sunday

Her 23:29 – I’m working tomorrow 🙂 what are u doing

Me 23:30 – Last day so just relaxing. When do you finish?

This is where a misunderstanding really helps. Sometimes you get lucky. I’m asking her when she finishes tomorrow so I can set up a coffee date. Wires are crossed and she thinks I’m asking her about tonight.

Her 23:31 – I don’t know, about an hour, two

Me 23:34 – If you’re still in party mood afterwards, let me know 🙂

Her 23:35 – Wana meet me 2night?

Me 23:36 – Sure. I’m staying up late and I have some alcohol!

Her 23:37 – Hahaha. Where?

Me 23:39 – Hotel Moskova and we can go to the park nearby. What time can you get there?

Her 23:50 – [from a different phone] in 5 min. My mobile doesn’t work

Me 23:52 – Ok. See you outside.

I got lucky, no doubt about it. She obviously fancied me from the idate but as I later found out she’d had a couple of dates with a local guy in the interim but disqualified him on “lack of chemistry”. Now she’s been drinking with her girls at a party, talking about boys, and getting horny. She hadn’t been laid in six months. Astute readers will have noticed my 23:34 is a covert booty call and her 23:35 is the acceptance of sex. It was now mine to fuck up.

You’ll do

I hurriedly dress and run down to the Hotel Moskova. She rolls up in high heels and impeccable dress. I double take at how hot she is. Decision time…. do I sit her down for a coffee or do I bounce immediately. I figure the walking momentum is already there so I just walk her to my apartment five minutes away. She naturally refuses to come up so I just pop in to get beers then sit her down on the same park bench as my previous two blue balls episodes.

What follows are high speed nuclear shit tests, including:

“Those countries you told me you visited. Czech, Serbia, Russia. They are full of easy women. That’s why you go isn’t it?” (I call this the “Latvanian Whore” test – every girl thinks every other girl in her region is a raging slut)
“I didn’t like your texts. Always talking about eating beef steak. I thought you are a moron.”

I can’t remember them all but it’s a fast barrage. I just stay unreactive and let her burn out. It’s obvious she’s just having a final brain-spazz to derail the train. To seal the deal I drop some intellectual mastery on her because she’s seen Game Of Thrones and Lord Of The Rings so I can pull out my old Cervantes routine. That shuts her the fuck up and I can see the final light turn green. It really is that obvious. She’s now realised I’m both tingly bad boy and TMIMITW. She softly rebuffs two kiss close attempts and then goes for it. I break both kisses first and lean back so she’ll chase me.

Half an hour into the date she’s softly stroking my shoulders. That’s the fuck me signal.

“Let’s get another beer from my house. Or would you prefer wine?”

She says wine and I walk her up into my lounge. From there I just chill, chat for five minutes then let her jump me. The sex is phenomenal as she unleashes six months of horniness onto me. I’m lying on my back watching her rodeo my dick thinking it shouldn’t be so easy to get such a top tier girl. She’s easily one of my five hottest lifetime lays. All I had to do was catch her at the right time and let her talk herself into fucking me. For my part I empty a week’s worth of blue balls onto her face.

Red pill bitterness – A guest post from Tom Torero

August 13, 2013
krauserpua

The manosphere has locked itself way in an isolated wood cabin deep in the forest, introspecting deeply. Roosh recently declared it lost. Danger & Play is taking out the trash. Vox is tired of the attention whoring. I suspect there will be a purge and reboot that takes the manosphere back to the male-only space it was a couple of years ago. For my own part I have no tolerance at all for women speaking out of turn nor whiny bitch men and internet alphas. I keep my blog on-message and that means improving your life and making a dedicated effort to bang more fine young fillies. With this in mind I’ve sought guest posts from two guys who actually fuck hot women. Surprise surprise you don’t see these men menstruating all over the internet about how women are bitches. Steve’s post is here. Now let’s turn to another 150+notch self-made man to offer an outsider’s view of the manosphere….. These are words from a man who banged three new girls in the past seven days (I was next door for two of them)… Take it away Tom….

All-time great defender. All-time great striker.

There’s a good reason why top sports commentators are ex-pro sportsmen themselves. Years on the field, in the ring or inside the scrum have made them masters at their sport through ridiculous amounts of repetition, muscle memory, direct feedback and internalised technique. They’ve won their trophies, they have replaced skill with art, they’ve slaved at the coal face long enough to deserve their diamonds. Success tastes sweet precisely because of the hardships endured and lessons learned to get there.

Now take a look at the Manosphere. Blog after blog, comment after comment, by guys who’ve swallowed the red pill but complain that it tastes bitter. A painful divorce, a difficult run of relationships, one cunning girl who exploited provider tendencies – any of these things and more can trigger men to grab the medicine bottle and shove the red pill down their throats. What they didn’t do was read the health warning on the side of the red pill box:

WARNING: for this pill to work, it must be swallowed with a plentiful supply of action. Failure to take action will lead to the following side effects: bitterness, anger, keyboard jockeying and hate.

Roissy, circa-2009

Action means having to be “in it to win it.” To learn how to play tennis, you could read every book on technique out there, follow every tennis match on tv and learn past statistics for every tennis match ever played. But until you, yourself, pick up a racquet and face an opponent on a court, you won’t be able to play. A serve hitting you in the face is going to hurt. To be good at a skillset you need to fail. Lots. Again and again. It is this direct feedback that produces the muscle memory. A true understanding of Game can only come from “on the field” – it’s an experiential subject, much like a sport or a technical skill. That means thousands of hours of face-to-face interactions with women, usually over the period of one or two years. Not blog-to-blog hypothesising and debating with other bitter men online.

I’m not bragging when I say that I didn’t know what the Manosphere was until after my 80th daygame lay. Krauser’s blog introduced me to the concept and I was intrigued, although alarmed at how much online negativity and hate was involved. Same thing for the online PUA forums where keyboard jocks not only failed at taking real-world action, but amplified their woes through flame wars and bickering. An academic understanding and interest in Game is a comfort blanket, a shelter, which however leads to a sense of frustration about not playing it. Disappearing up your own arse in hypotheses and online debates is just another form of avoidance to taking action (which usually comes down to approach anxiety).

Log off. Close your laptop. Disconnect from your online life and hit the streets and bars to learn how to be social. The girl in front of you is a mirror to how you’re doing – her reactions are feedback that is worth a million times that of a commentator on your blog. Actions speak louder than words. Right now as you’re scrolling through post after post, there’s guys dragging hot girls into parks and toilets. The litmus test to whether you’re Sigma or Gamma is simply: do you spend more “Game” time offline or online?

The Gamma Manifesto, balling it with dimes

But Krauser has a blog? You write for a website? Isn’t that hypocritical? Remember the 90-10 Rule. 90% action (interactions with women) and 10% theory (blogging, commenting etc.). Any question you leave on a blog should have already been field tested by you at least five times. The reason Krauser and I don’t blog more is that we’re always outside, refining and tweaking our skillset on the streets. That’s not blowing our own trumpets. That’s a kick up the arse to get you doing the same.

When swallowed with action, the red pill becomes delicious and life-affirming. Its magical effects are beyond my wildest geek boy academic dreams. Read my journey from Oxford nerd to street seducer in my book Daygame. 100 lay reports, 464 pages, paperback.

Scaling the heights – A guest post from Steve Jabba

August 9, 2013
krauserpua

During my early twenties I followed boxing. Like all things I do I threw myself into it both in the training (action) and in watching and reading about it (theory). I’d buy the major monthly magazines such as Ring and KO, read the weekly Boxing News, and tape trade to get the latest fights.

Barkely, before enjoying his decline

One thing that always fascinated me was reading about the champions who derail their own lives and careers. Guys like Iran Barkley who was still functioning as a human punchbag into his early forties, unable to step away from the familiar sounds and smells of the gym and the glare of the ring lights. Guys like James Toney who could dazzle in winning a title and then need a gift decision to hand onto it against a journeyman with only a fraction of his talent. As Toney’s old trainer once said:

“Once James became champion he forgot everything that got him there.”

What is the psychological quirk in some high achievers that causes them to abandon a lifetime of struggle and dedicated work once they reach their goal? What does it feel like to dedicate twenty years to an Olympic dream and then finally stand on the podium to be awarded gold….. and mostly importantly, how does it feel the next morning when you shuffle into your bathroom in your boxer shorts to clean your teeth and see the gold medal lying on your table?

What happens when we achieve the goals we dedicated our lives to? We are standing on the top of Everest looking down. There are no higher summits left to scale. We’ve done it. What then?

Let me tell you about notch #176

Having dredged the PUA swamp for Vince Kelvin I thought we’d go to the other end of the spectrum and look at a man who has achieved every wannabe player’s dream. He’s accumulated the notch count. He’s reached the upper tier of quality. What happens then? So let’s turn it over to Steve Jabba……

Nick asked me to write this post, so here we are.

Scaling the heights : traversing the upper levels of PUA DOM. For the numbers oriented amongst you this means stuff like:

Meeting and shagging girls within 40 minutes on a train (well it could be 43 minutes or less depending on the prevailing track conditions, wind speed etc). That ticks the box for speed seduction.
Shagging 5 girls in a week from cold approach (multiple times) – low approaches/ result ratio
Shagging 3 girls from one night out within a week, having met them all in the same venue – low approaches / results – nightgame
Shagging 2 girls from 1.5 hour of daygame, 6 approaches, both hot girls, low approach / result ratio from daygame (publically available and peer reviewed evidence was posted on the LSS about 4 years ago for the REAL sticklers / doubting Thomas’s (yes I have seen your comments on Nicks blog) It doesn’t exist anymore so don’t bother looking
Shagging very very hot girls indeed – the elusive 8-10’s that everyone talks about but virtually none can deliver – High quality

The 5:15 from Milton Keynes

So how does it feel to be in this situation? What’s changed?

When I first found out about this stuff, I was something of a legend in my own mind. HA. A few close friends from my home town knew me as a guy who DID get results but also worked hard for it. From my own recollection I was plagued with social anxiety, depression and generally feeling like a square peg in a round hole.

Now, 8 years later, here I am:

No social anxiety and a strategy for cutting depression off at the knees before it is allowed to develop. No real depressive interludes for 5 years now. I attribute this to persistence and hard work, but “game” was the unrelenting magnifying glass that FORCED me to figure this out. It’s hard to pull AND sustain a relationship if you are insecure and depressed, like I used to be.
Complete absence of jealousy / worry about where I am on the totem pole vis a vis… Everything. It started off about 4 years ago that I had core confidence – i.e. unshakable belief in my abilities with women. Now I am pleased to say this feeling has spread to other areas of my life.In other words, I am very biased towards feeling internally validated. Happy in my own skin, not needing approval off others, no nasty doubting myself internal dialogue. This wasn’t always the case.
I feel a little sorry for the headless chickens who don’t have this bias i.e. they are playing someone else’s game. Worrying about their peers, where they fit in, what car they drive, worry what their friends think, etc. They are playing by someone else’s rules. What rubbish! Judge yourself by your own yardstick. Generally feeling content in my life – just liking myself. High self esteem.
I have a little compartment of my mind called “women” and that part is marked “FIXED”. I’m more interested in other areas now – making money and general personal growth and managing getting older. I am WELL aware that I am nearing 38 years of age and physical decline will come. It hasn’t started – yet – but I know it is inevitable..I believe I have the right mindset in place to cope with this. The last thing I want to become is a sad reflection of my former self, reliving old glories.I want to age with dignity and still preserve what I have, as much as possible.
Increased ability to sustain a monogamous relationship. 6-7 years ago I just couldn’t do it – I had a genuine fear of commitment. Recognise this? I’m closer now than ever to being able to “hang up my boots” and say – right, I will give this relationship a go…Closer, but not totally there. Either way, it’s big progress for me ( I use the word progress advisedly).

Re women: I am much less active than I used to be. It takes really high quality girls to make me even be arsed to do anything. I approach maybe 1 or 2 a month, right now. Often nothing. I am still at my peak, I just don’t use it anymore and have far less inclination / motivation to do so.

Let me expand on this a little more…I still have love for this stuff. Beauty still moves me. When I get the chance, and I’m in a roomful of beautiful women I “switch on” …Nothing makes me feel more alive than doing my thing in these kind of situations. Now I have the maturity to be able to pull out my “best game” around the very hottest of women…It’s a motivator, rather than making me nervous / tongue tied, whatever.

Quality, yesterday

The high standards were always there but what’s changed is probably 2 things:

I feel I have nothing to prove to anyone, so the racking up the numbers drive is completely absent now
I feel like I have put in my time. On some level I feel tired of having to spend time in having to go out, cold approach.

It’s time for something new, so right now I am actually strategising towards building a different kind of game – less reliant on cold approach. I’m aiming to build an ecosystem whereby very beautiful women come into my life by using

My inherent value as a man which i’ve built up over all my time on earth. Note this isNo1. Without this, nothing fucking works. It’s the BASIS of everything else. Entourage game / social circle game junkies looking for a hack – take note!!
Intelligent deployment of resources to make it easier and more convenient to access these kind of women. ( I have to get the resources first, of course. Attempting to build a passive income stream to facilitate this)
A well chosen location to live. London is not ideal, by the way. And no, I am not going to tell you where this is. I put my time in travelling as Nick has done. You must do the same!

The only remaining personality “issue” that I have is a very strong sense of entitlement. When I drink alcohol this comes to the fore and I can be quite unpleasant to be around…But it is this strong sense of entitlement that has driven me to where I want to be with women, and is now responsible for propelling me towards making a lot of money, so I am not sure that I do want to tone it down. (Incidentally, I was advised to do this by a CBT therapist and tried..But failed.)

Over the years I’ve leaned more towards a white knight mindset. I do recognise that I have perhaps gone a little too far..I take on too much responsibility for looking out for girls, worrying about hurting them, to my own detriment and health…It never used to be this way. I’ve actually found recently that there are signs that girls now look up to me – almost like a father figure.

Let me expand on this…I think I see girls in a more “pure” way now….I still desire and love them, of course..Always have done. But I recognise how fragile they are too. The “power” that they supposedly have doesn’t intimidate me, and I actually cheer for them when I see them revelling in it. A little wry smile appears. Girls are supposed to be coquettes sometimes, and tease boys…So I don’t get resentful and think” bitches”….I think this is the natural order of things. It’s their feminine essence.

Recognising this, I am also able to screen far more effectively and quicker than before. On the rare occasions that I see it, I now know when a girl is being a cunt. I can recognise a genuine cunt from a girl who is just reacting based on insecurity, feminine pride, etc. It’s not my job to help the cunts, all I can do is remove myself and screen them out. It works beautifully well.

This has the knock on effect where I become somewhat enraged when I see misogyny in action – in real life and in the so called “manosphere”. It should be renamed “littleboyosphere” in my view. I think that if you have these kind of views, you’re not doing well with women, period. (Though I must confess I hardly ever bother reading or watching anyone else’s stuff. Zero interest).

Those are the internal qualities. I’m writing this post stream of consciousness so you may find it interesting that I’ve always thought this way : i.e. how does this relate to ME. Solipsism in action.

So there we go. If you do well with women you become a smug, self satisfied, arrogantmonster who thinks everyone else is a muppet! What could be more compelling than that – get cracking!

Vince Kelvin – (not) getting laid in NYC

August 7, 2013
krauserpua

Those of you in the UK may have read The Daily Mash. For yanks, it’s like The Onion. Sometimes vignettes of other people’s lives make you feel like you’ve landed in Bizarro World where up is down and black is white. So it is with Vince Kelvin mPUA.

What a fucking clown.

While sitting in a Belgrade apartment overlooking parliament square Tom and I are talking about the realities of the pick-up community. There are some real businesses that produce good products from talented practictioners and then market them. That’s what CocaCola and Apple do in their field. Real businesses. There’s others who are pure internet scammers who have no real product but instead produce a masterful “long form sales” letters to funnel the lonely and the desperate into inputing credit card details to order a product they don’t even watch.

And then there’s low-IQ deluded chode wranglers who are so insanely lacking feedback from reality that they have become the PUA Spinal Tap. Reigning supreme amongst them is Vince Kelvin, the PUA oompa loompa. I had the honour of watching this video today. Imagine the worst dregs of spirtualism, NLP, Neil Strauss weirdo game, attempted rock star posturing all dumped into one swill bucket that’s left in the mid-day sun.

0:04 – This the only compliance he gets from a girl in the entire twenty minutes. And later we’ll see him fuck it up.

0:17 – This is the major smoke and mirrors trick he uses. Go up to girls, shower them with softly-sexualised attention and then do visual compliance tests for the camera. Note he never breaks social politeness so the girls will give soft compliance rather than be the social violators by refusing. Crucially, they don’t move. He has to orbit them to keep the set going.

0:49 – Let’s talk about calibration…… understanding the woman’s position and what she will think of your approach…..

1:38 – Spiritual mumbo jumbo. As the video progresses you’ll note a constant part of his reality-weave is to tell the chodes what they are seeing. A normal person may think “creepy guy hollering at uninterested girls” so they must be framed to see it as connection and outgoing behaviour.

3:01 – All the chodes have jobs to position Vince as the rock star pack leader. It’s highly unlikely they are paying for this “boot camp”. Really it’s not a boot camp to teach the guys, it’s a chode wrangle to patch up Vince’s false idealised self…. disguised as a bootcamp.

3:19 – That’s what fear looks like. Deep down his hindbrain isn’t fooled but enough smoke has been blown up his arse that he can’t trust his instinct and what his eyes are telling him about this grotesque parody he is living.

3:43 – This entire video, just like the “bootcamp”, is the Vince-aggrandizing show. It’s all about drawing narcisstic supply from the viewers and his chode hangers-on.

4:50 – The rock star arrives at the hotel…….. a two star hotel without any fans waiting…..

5:45 – This is why you should be sensitive to IODs in an ambush set. Look at how creeped-out she is.

6:55 – You may throw up into your mouth here. They all look so… uncomfortable. There’s massive cognitive dissonance in the chodes’ brains between the bullshit Vince has poured into their forebrain and the instinctive hindbrain reaction.

8:38 – If he talks enough about what will happen and reframes what is happening perhaps they won’t realise there are no women around.

9:17 – The gap between myth and reality is astonishing. Look at the epic size of those dumbells.

10:09 – That’s what creeped-out looks like

11:24 – More aggressive reality-weaving. So far it’s a rock tour without the music or fans. It’s literally 11 minutes of men talking to each other in cars, elevators, gym and hotel rooms about what’s gonna happen (and doesn’t actually happen). And occasionally creeping out a girl who gives no compliance.

12:21 – It’s all pull. No push, no tease, no challenging.

12:58 – Have you seen the slightest look of interest or attraction on any of the girls’ faces? They always have the look like they are thinking “Ok, just be polite, don’t add anything, and hopefully he’ll fuck off without causing a scene”

13:37 – We now enter the only section of the video where he has a girl attracted to him. Watch the girl in white carefully. She begins with good interest levels and is quite horny. Watch the eyes and subtle body language.

13:51 – That’s interest. She’s turned towards him, constantly looking at him, moves in close to look at texts. He’s successfully pawned off all his chodes to make himself King Chode. So naturally the girl responds to this parasite game. Remember the chodes are there for the sole purpose of enabling Vince’s delusional lifestyle.

14:07 – She’s mesmerised. She wants to fuck. It’s his to lose now.

14:21 – That’s the fuck me look. She needs comfort, isolation and a close. This would be a great time to walk her to another part of the hotel on a thin pretext. But of course he can’t do that because he’s addicted to the validation hits of attraction material and he needs to perform for the chodes.

14:41 – Stop playing to the camera and close the girl.

14:52 – So far it’s working. Now watch how he completely destroys the vibe by acting like a little kid who’s just won a gold star. Each successive kiss has less compliance and more desperation from him. She senses he’s fake as shit and doesn’t usually get makeouts with young girls and thus he’s far too proud of what’s happening. Her alarm bells trigger and she disengages.

15:33 – Notice he’s always leaning into her, going towards her, when he should be having her come to him. It’s to cover the lack of compliance.

15:49 – He has to make an entrance, like a rock star.

15:53 – Note the aggressive framing and postioning. Most of the *ahem* mPUAs are really gaming men not women. It’s chode wrangling. Little different to Hollywood moguls filling a silly girl’s head full of dreams and bright lights to get a grot fuck in a parking lot. Sell the dream and empty the pockets. Even better, recruit the chodes as fuel for your delusions.

16:08 – Looking around the room my main advice to these bottom-feeders would be “don’t bother”. Really. Most guys are not cut out for Game. Most of these men just need a makeover, a workout plan and then very simple social skills. They’ll find a chubby 6 who has hit 30 and needs a provider. They can marry her and have a reasonably happy life with some love and affection. Knocking over Hungarian teenagers in a coffee shop toilets will never be in their reality so stop selling them an impossible dream. It sounds harsh to mock Vince and his chode army but the simple fact is he is ruining these guys by filling their heads with unrealistic expectations and then stringing them along until they implode. It’s not healthy.

16:18 – Note his head chodes are at the front table. Feed them minor status increments over the drone chodes.

16:29 – Do you think there’s anyone on the other end of that call?

16:57 – …. ahem….. WTF? A chicken dance?

17:15 – And ironically some of his material is actually on the money. I agree with the basic thrust of this segment.

18:49 – Watch for some serious smoke and mirrors here. The editing and sequencing is designed to lead you into thinking this is an extraction and close… which it clearly isn’t. Of course if he had closed he’d find a way to prove it… such as by calling into his bedroom to get her to reply for the audio evidence there really is a girl in that room.

I bang my first 26 year old Suriname intern

August 3, 2013
krauserpua

What begins with T, ends with T, and is full of T?

You were going to say “teapot” weren’t you? *

Last Saturday I’m walking through town with Bhodi doing my usual thing. It’s hot and the upcoming rainstorms haven’t hit. After wading through the usual clusters of PUAs I find myself walking along the grand boulevard leading to Buckhingham Palace. It’s not actually a good daygame venue because its too isolated, too quiet, and single girls are very few and far between. But I wanted a break from the crowds so there we are. I spot a lone girl on the opposite side of the road and chase her down.

This look, but less hot

There’s not much of note happening in the ten minutes we talk. She’s a mousey cute girl with wop hair and nice-girl clothes that don’t show any skin despite the hot sunny weather. I notice two large mounds under her sweater that betray some serious breast size. She lived a long time in Holland. I ask if she has a boyfriend:

Her: No but there’s someone I like

Me: Someone you’re seeing or trying to date?

Her: We know each other but it’s more like I’m trying

We exchange numbers and a plan to meet for tea early in the week. I play the text game quite low key because it wasn’t a teasing set nor a strong hook:

Me: Hey. It was nice to meet you 🙂

Her: It was nice meeting you as well!

Me: [late next evening] Just finished a BBQ. Five burgers 🙂 I love summer in London! How are you?

Her: [early morning] Hi, didn’t see your message until late last night. I’m well. Sounds like you overdosed on meat! Best, [name]

Me: I’m on a beef and eggs diet… and whisky 🙂 you hard at work?

Me: Probably making cheese in your windmill

Her: Sounds like alot of protein. My activities right now are not quite as romantic as preparing food in idyllic surroundings unfortunately: I’m at the laundrette, does count as work though. You?

Me: Stealing clothes from the dryer and selling them in Camden market? I’m shocked and appalled.

Me: But mostly shocked :O

Me: I’m writing and sipping coffee 🙂 relaxing day

Her: Well, that’s just Monday. On Tuesdays I usually hang around Victoria station, trying to run off with other people’s luggage. What are you writing?

Me: Just some ideas on psychology. I forget, are you a tea or coffee girl?

Her: Tea, preferably green or herbal. With biscuits. Very important.

Me: Yes. Very important. How about tomorrow, 6pm?

Her: Ok, where?

it begins….

So that’s all plain sailing and we meet in Trafalgar then so straight to the cafe inside the National Gallery for tea. She’s dressed nice but still covering all her skin. She’s definitely not planning first date sex because her makeup, hair and clothes just don’t give off any sexual vibe. She’s…. nice. We spend a pot of tea sitting opposite on some rickety wooden chairs while I run the usual rapport, keeping it light with just mild spikes about her nice hair and fingernails. Then I walk her across the road to an English pub so we sit on some high stools against a wall. Second venue is time to amp it up so I’m doing incidental kino and turning the conversation to be more intrusive and mildly sexual. She goes with all of it. She’s quite a smart girl so the intellectual mastery just rolls off the tongue. There’s a key moment where I see her look and body language change – she’s definitely into me, sexually. Now we are almost two hours in but it doesn’t seem right to kiss.

How I imagine Suriname

I walk her another five minutes to a dark lounge bar in Covent Garden that has lots of dark booths in the back. She orders a full glass of wine again so I’m heartened by her intention to get buzzed. We’re sitting side by side and it’s all amber lights. The question game goes on for over an hour during which I learn she’s had sex with three men and hasn’t had a dick in her for two years. I go for the kiss and suddenly the vibe screeches like fingernails drawn down a blackboard.

Her: No, I don’t feel it

Me: What do you mean?

Her: I don’t feel like I want to kiss you.

Me: Ok. No rush.

Her: And what if I never feel like it? [spoken like a precious princess]

Me: Then that’s also ok. But I’m not going to be your friend. I’m on this date because I’m attracted to you as a woman.

The air thickens with discomfort so I just punish her covertly. I don’t talk, I let my gaze wander to the other patrons, and I slowly sip my pint. I don’t want to call her out and be all reactive but I also want to show her I’m comfortable with awkwardness and I have boundaries. After five minutes she makes some tentative attempts to restart the conversation which I accept. I’m expecting her to make her excuses and leave as she finishes her wine but instead she gets up and says “do you want a pint of the same?” and gets a round in.

Ok, that was a major moment. She tried a reflexive LJBF and got smashed. Now it’s on.

As the next drink goes down things get dirtier and steamier. She’s talking about 50 Shades of Grey, I’m constantly telling her I’m looking at her breasts, and of course we kiss. She really throws herself into it so I break my usual rule and mash her breasts a bit. It’s very on but she’s unravelling under the pressure of it. It’s like two years of celibacy and she can no longer control her hindbrain. I start seeding the extraction telling her we should get a nightcap at my place for tequila. She’s become very timid now. At about midnight it seems as on as it ever will be. We finish our drinks and I pretty much tell her we are getting a nightcap. She goes to the bathroom while I flag a cab.

Five minutes pass. She doesn’t show

Ten minutes pass. I’m apologising to the taxi driver for making him wait so long but I know that if he leaves and it takes more than thirty seconds to flag the next one, then the lay is gone.

Finally she emerges with teary eyes. She tells me she’s been crying. I push her into the taxi.

For a while it’s going fine as she’s completely cowed by my presence but as we get to Goodge Street she’s piping up that she’s uncomfortable and wants to get out. I ignore the first two squeaks but she’s insistent so I tell the cab to stop. We get out at Great Portland Street and spend just five minutes standing and hugging. It’s so weird. She really wants to have sex but is just overwhelmed by it all, especially being so fast. So I ease off and don’t sexualise for the next half hour as we sit on some stone steps outside the station. I know what she wants I just have to calm her down until she’s ready.

Before long she’s relaxed and we are talking normally. For reasons I don’t quite know I just reach into her top and start feeling her breasts. She doesn’t mind but just sits there unreactive. Then we are chatting again. Finally about an hour after we sat down she just breaks the conversation and says: “I think I’d like that tequila now”

Taxi!

Back in my house it’s easy. She pours herself a few shots for courage and then takes it like a trooper. +1, new flag and the pride of creating something from nothing. Then when its all over we go downstairs and share a cup of tea in the garden until her taxi arrives.

It ends…..

Learning points

Forebrain/hindbrain conflict is real. This girl really wanted sex but put herself under enormous pressure by making such a big deal of it.
You have to surf her emotions at times, knowing when to ease off and when to push.
Good girls still want to fuck. The longer its been since they did, the more amenable they are to you.

*or a TRT shot, I guess….

Texts from last night

July 31, 2013
krauserpua

Here’s the complete text chat with Bhodi as we had unrelated first dates in different parts of town with girls we’d number-closed on the weekend.

15:35 Him: First selfie from [recent close].… I’m on with the yank for tonight, no mention of a double date. got butterflies

18:36 Him: what was that brooklyn joke again [his date is from there – I retell the joke over a quick call]

18:55 Him: hows it going with Secret Tits? this bitch just sprung a double date on me 10 mins b4 meet up. v. angry

19:17 Me: My date has at least one more drink. Just keep me up to date

20:07 Me: Attraction done. Intellectual mastery done. Frame controlled. Now I shall lean back, make her chase then cement it with a kiss.

20:22 Him: mine talks a lot

21:00 Me: A bit of trouble now from mine. Prolly shit test. The second bird showed up?

21:07 Me: She refused kiss and said what if I never feel like it. I punished her with bad vibe. Now she’s buying me a drink when I expected her to make excuses and leave. Bitches be crazy.

21:12 Him: could be a meta shit test.

21:13 Him: i got kc at venue 2… heading to hawley arms for 1 then will try xtrct

21:14 Him: asking if her friend can come “for one” to hawley. im going to just forbid it.

21:26 Me: Don’t lose your nerve

22:57 Him: extracting.

23:02 Me: Brass neck it. No fear. No apologies

00:00 Me: Going for shaky extraction. Expect refusal.

00:38 Me: Grrrrr. Had to stop taxi. Sitting outside Great Portland Street eating beef monster munch.

01:50 Me: Extracted….

02:04 Him: BOOM! +1, L-town

03:24 Me: Me too. +1. Good work

14:04 Him: notching american girls is like shooting fish in a barrel.

14:08 Me: but Game doesn’t work on native speakers…..

18:41 Me: knobbed my German in the Charing Cross Hotel toilets. Decent 24 hours.

18:42 Him: lol. i’m exhausted but it’s glorious

Do you want to be taken seriously?

July 30, 2013
krauserpua

It’s commonly known that when surveying people about their sexual habits and history women will understate and men will overstate. File that in the drawer marked Obvious. Add internet anonymity and suddenly every man is ten feet tall, pulls in mad stacks, and is balling it with dimes.

Mad stacks and dimes, yesterday

Well in America, anyway. To paraphrase Robert E Howard*, “I’ve never met an American who wasn’t fronting.” Usually I don’t mind such bullshitters because I mentally subtract three points from the girls they claim to be banging and long before I learned Game I never accepted the Argument From Authority. If you want to convince me of an argument I expect to see true premises (supported by evidence) woven into a conclusion with valid argument. I don’t care who is presenting that argument.

I know within thirty seconds of meeting a man if he’s doing well with women. I’ve met a bunch of name coaches, under-the-radar players, and bloggers of repute. Of those I know who has it and who doesn’t. I can’t say the same for commentors. So let me offer a little deal.

If you want to pull the argument from authority and be taken seriously on the basis of that alone, you must prove yourself to be an authority. That means you must send me (krauser@rocksolidgame.co.uk):

A photo of you that is representative of your SMV
Photos of the last three girls you fucked (for free), with a note of when you banged them
Your lifetime laycount and also over last twelve calendar months.

This information will be accepted on an honour basis, so I’ll take you at your word. I figure liars and weasels will easily trap themselves in later comments. I promise to keep the specifics you provide private unless you give me express permission to publically mention it. I won’t share the photos (even if we have a subsequent heated disagreement) and if I refer to your laycount it will be vague. I’ll simply make occasional mention that I saw your evidence and where I rate you.

This is the only way I will take you seriously. Any other attempts to position yourself as a player will be met with derision.

This is entirely optional. Feel free to decline the offer. You are still welcome to comment. You will still be judged on the quality of your comments. Just don’t expect anyone to accept “trust me, I bang hotties” type positioning. Top that, motherfuckers.

* “I’ve never met a wrestler who wasn’t champion of something” from a classic Sailor Steve Costigan story.

“Everyone is getting laid but me”

July 28, 2013
krauserpua

After a run of approaches that go nowhere I sometimes tell myself “All I need is one girl and a tiny piece of luck”. If I find a Yes Girl I will fuck her. No question. All I need to get laid now is a girl who fancies me, is available, and no logistical barriers.

Throw me a little luck, please

But being a bald 38 year old man with unremarkable looks….. those conditions aren’t satisified anywhere near as often as they are for a tall, young good-looking guy. Nonetheless it’s the hand I’m dealt so that’s the hand I play and I do okay. Since my last new girl three weeks have passed without knobbing another. This is how close I’ve come:

Romanian 23 yr old flashes me a barely perceptible IOI on Oxford Street. I jump on it. Very sexually charged from the beginning. Bounce her to a pub where I kiss close one hour in. Next pub she’s all over me. I’m one hour from pulling the trigger for an almost dead-cert SDL when her boss rings and harrangues her into joining a client dinner. Now she’s back in Romania.
Swiss 24 yr old is ambling down the stairs in front of the National Gallery. I bounce her to the Sherlock Holmes pub then on to the Coal Hole where I kiss close. She’s sitting in my lap, making out, hand rubbing my dick. But she’s visiting a cousin who finishes work one hour later and they have plans. Now she’s back in Switzerland.
Ghanian 25 yr old walking behind me on Oxford Street smiles when I turn around and notice her. Ten minute street stop and then on the first date she gives me the “I’m a good girl, I don’t kiss treatment”. Three hours later I’m in the hallway of her flatshare with her hands down my trousers. Then big time LMR. We’re still in touch. Might happen.
Guinean 24 yr old flashes me IOI on Oxford Street so I open and we have a few dates. She’s massively into me. I get her on my bed and her open mouth is one inch from my dick before she suddenly changes her mind and there’s LMR. Over Whatsapp she sends me photos of her new haircut. I tell her she looks like Snoop Dogg. She refuses to talk to me again.
Russian 23 yr old walks past me on Piccadilly at 9pm and gives the mother of all eye sparkles when I open. She’s lightly kinoing me. Super on. I’m already five minutes late for a date with a solid prospect so I put the Russian off until 11pm. We have a drink in an Irish Bar and I kiss close within ten minutes. She tells me she’s married. I reply “I don’t care”. She says “Neither do I”. Back in her hotel one drink later. Pushing her up against the wall, her tits out, her hands in my pants…. then she says she’s sharing a room with work collegues and won’t fuck in the toilets. She leaves to Russia 6am the next morning.
Kazak 24 yr old stunner stops for me in the Prague streets. She fancies me but she got married two months ago and is still in love. I break the fourth wall and start the “If you’d told me you were single, what I’d have done is…..” and a minute in she starts blushing, giggling and eye sparkling. I idate her. Towards the end of it I make a big move with a covert proposition of sex behind an overt offer to get a drink this evening. She looks hard into my eyes for ten seconds, thinking, considering. Finally she says “No. I’m married”. So so close.
Australian 22 yr old in Prague lets me feel her tits and arse on the street stop, comes to idate and is all over it. But then a hotter Kazak calls me to say she’s arrived for our Day 2 so I must choose a horse to back. I choose the Kazak because she’s a point hotter and I don’t ever break my word. Wrong move.

There’s a couple of others. My point is this: If I’d had slightly better luck, or slightly better game I’d have fucked four or five girls in the last two weeks. Instead I fucked zero. It used to be extremely frustrating to get girls right to the edge of the cliff, one step away from tumbling all the way to the bottom, and then they pull back.

Me, many times recently

Emotional control is the most important part of the Game.

You have to get used to doing the work, pushing hard and then have things just fall apart in front of your disbelieving eyes. Charge it to the game. After a while it gets amusing. I used to get angry when a lay was snatched from my grasp. Now it’s a good story.