Kiev Stories #2

July 15, 2017

“Do you find game stressful?” a wing recently asked me as we walked by Maidan mall mid-afternoon.

“Not at all” I reply. “The street work is fantastic fun and I thoroughly enjoy it. The only thing I dislike about game is the flaking. It’s the emotional rollercoaster that fucks me off.”

Daygame for me is a hobby – that is, something I do for it’s own sake simply because I enjoy it. I want to bang hot girls and try hard to do so, but even when results aren’t coming through it doesn’t take away from the joy of daygame. The joy of walking around in the sunshine with friends, chatting about life, stopping for coffees or beer, seeing a foreign city, and then popping off to open girls and have good interactions.

But fucking hell, the flakes! Fucking hell, the Kiev flakes. This city is a nightmare for it. Yesterday was one of those “only in daygame” days that reminds me how odd this journey is. Let’s begin at the beginning.

I overslept and didn’t get my arse out of bed until half past one. I set up a two pm lunch with an English former-squaddie who’d introduced himself to me a few days earlier while walking with his girlfriend. He’d seen my London Real interview from 2011 and made some changes in his life regarding work, hobbies, and knobbing foreign girls from daygame. He bought me coffee as a thank you [1]

While sitting outside a cafe a nice blonde girl walks by, dressed in a Sgt Peppers’ style faux-military jacket. She appears to IOI me. I do nothing. As the Brit goes to the bathroom, two other guys walking past recognise me and come say hello – a German and a Swede doing a euro jaunt [2] We chat a little and they go their merry way. The Brit settles the bill [3] and we walk towards my favourite Belgian place for whiskey and so I can make use of their better toilet facilities.


Not far off

On the way I see Sgt Pepper Girl again and she gives me another IOI. I open, it’s on, and I take a number. Half an hour later Brit has to go back to the office and I need to hang up my laundry. I ping the girl and she’s keen to meet right away. So I trundle back to Kreschatyk McDonald’s. While waiting for her to show, the same two euro jaunters walk by and say hello again. Blondie arrives and I take her to Porters Bar.

It turns out she’s only visiting Kiev, for a week. She’s rather keen so within half an hour I’ve made out with her and gotten her tits out in the bar. She seems extremely on so we walk up to a park near my apartment and get coffee, and it’s then she starts to show resistance. We try another bar and she orders juice. The whole time forebrain/hindbrain conflict is writ large over her face. She even verbalises it.

I pull her into my building’s lobby and there’s more sloppy make-outs but she won’t come up. I let her go because it’s 9pm now and I have a Day 2 with a different girl. I drop off Blondie at the 24-hour side of McDonald’s then wait five minutes and meet the Brunette at the main entrance. She’s clearly come to fuck.


Imagine a mediocre version of this

Back to Porters but it’s busy now, Friday night. We go to the other bar near my house and eat. Brunette drinks wine and I’m pawing her. For no particular reason I get my dick out then put it away again. Her phone keeps ringing and by 10pm when I pull her outside, her feet lock to the ground.

“I can’t come into your apartment” she says.
“Why not?” I ask, genuinely mystified as she’s clearly come to fuck.
“I want sex now” she replies. “I want sex with you, but I can’t. Not now. I must go. We can meet tomorrow”

She gives me a passionate make-out, pushing right up into me and moaning. She’s clearly gagging for it. However I am forced to walk her back down to McDonald’s. I message my hanger on friend in Belgium

“I’m pretty sure I was cockblocked by a phone call”

I’m a bit fucked off now. Kiev has been flake hell and then twice in ninety minutes I had a horny young girl gagging for it at my apartment building but unwilling to come up to my room. Must be cursed, I mutter to myself.

While muttering under my breath my spider sense tingles at a dark-haired girl walking past. It’s dark, the streets are almost empty [4] and something about her seems right. She’s wearing tight black trousers made out of sequins. I open saying she looks like a disco ball. There’s an immediate crackle of sexual tension.


Daygame Infinite, yesterday

Have I found her? Have I found the one girl in Kiev who will actually have sex with me quickly?

“I’m a tourist here, from Romania” she says in poor English. “I’m here four days visiting a friend”

It turns out she’s ethnically Ukrainian but from a border town slightly north of Romania and spent a long time living the other side. We walk up to Maidan square and we walk past the Brunette who is with her boyfriend. I guess now I know who’d been calling her. I think she sees me but doesn’t react. I figure Porters might have some empty tables by now. Romanian girl follows me in and orders a coffee.

It’s obviously on so I pull her over to my side, massage her legs, play with her hair and then make out within half an hour. She’s very much into it, pushing into me in that tell-tale way to show horniness. Her friend calls and is going to join us for ten minutes, but then messages to cancel.

“She went with a man” the Romanian says simply. “She not come here now”

I don’t inquire whether it’s a regular guy or a stranger. My phone is dying and because we need Google Translate it seems a perfect pretext to bounce.

“I need to charge my phone. There is a good bar next to my apartment. Let’s go there and I can charge my phone too”

She agrees, we walk up, and never actually go into the bar. Straight up at the apartment she takes off her shoes and jacket, sits on the bed, and ten minutes later I’m boning her. One hour SDL of a 25yr old Romanian. Nice. There’s probably never been a single day in my pre-game life that had such volatility. Three girls making out, gagging for it, at my apartment door and one SDL between 9pm and midnight.

And of course having strangers buying me lunch because I write this tosh on the internet.


High value lifestyle

If you recognise me on the streets of an FSU capital, how about you rush home and buy one of my books. Then we’ll have something to talk about while I rinse you for food and alcohol.

[1] And in true Khreschatyk tradition I rinsed him for some food too at a nice restaurant.
[2] That brings my “recognised in Kiev and stopped by daygamers” tally to seven separate occasions on this trip alone. Bless my luck I wasn’t with any RVF-level girls at the time.
[3] Cheaper than a resi, mate
[4] Really weird for a Friday night at the liveliest street in a capital city, I know, but that’s two weeks in a row that it’s been deadsville.

PUA and Serial Killing #1 – Facial Handedness

July 12, 2017

I’ve just finished reading Christopher Berry-Dee’s latest paperback Talking With Psychopaths And Savages which I picked up at the airport on my way out to Kiev. CBD has made a career out of meeting serial killers in prison and interviewing them for books and TV. For his latest book he’s put aside the grisly details of murder and instead focused entirely on the psychology of the serial killer.

He’s not actually a psychologist, which is a major plus in his favour [1]. He’s also not very red pill [2] Nonetheless the fact that he’s a down-to-earth man of a wolfish bent [3] means he has a lot of insight. He provides all the data to draw parallels between homicidal psychopathy, narcissism (especially covert type) and r/K selection. He actually explicitly draws parallels between the first two in the book.

The book spends eight chapters outlining his theory then nine chapters each devoted to a case study of a murderous psychopath he interviewed. I liked the book and recommend it. However, if you’re in the PUA community be ready for lots of spooky passages where you think “this sounds just like [insert public PUA coach]”

But I get ahead of myself.

The very last chapter of the book is Could You Have Spotted These? in which CBD wraps up his ongoing theory that homicidal psychopaths are impossible to identify until it’s already too late for the victims and that such men construct a glib impressive facade [4] that fools normal people into believing they too are normal. Well, CBD, I probably could have spotted them. Pretty damn sure I would have if I’d ever spoken to them in person.

And to that I must thank Anonymous Conservative and his study of facial handedness. Let’s have a look at it, shall we?

“[there is a] Chinese idea that when people consciously try to generate a facial expression, the facial expression will be handed, with the right side of the face usually presenting a more effective expression of emotion, just as most people exhibit greater dexterity with their right hand. Likewise, this means that deceptive people hiding emotion will generally mask their underlying emotional state more effectively with the right side of their face, meaning the left side will be more of a true face, or the more honest representation of their underlying, true emotional state.”

AC then goes on to devote several posts to mirroring photos of known sociopaths and narcissists to demonstrate facial handedness in action. Remember why this is so important to our subjects:

  1. Homicidal psychopaths must hide their emotions in order to blend into normal society and to lull their victims into dangerous situations.
  2. Narcissists must hide their emotions in order to present a convincing false idealised self that hides the low self-esteem they really suffer.

When you spend a lifetime faking emotions and one side of your face is dominant, you’ll develop an imbalance equivalent to going to the gym and curling heavier dumbbells on one side than the other [5] Thus facial handedness could be expected to become increasingly pronounced as a person ages or as the degree of incongruence between true emotions and faked emotions increases.

I Google Image searched all nine case studies in CBD’s book and found…. well…. why don’t you have a look. Scan each photo once to get a feel for the wonkiness of the face. Then put a paper (or thumb) over the right side, then the left. Consider the difference in which emotion appears to be expressed in each, and try to simulate that expression in front of a mirror to see which emotion it brings up in you.


I’ve inserted two non-killers as a control test

Sorted? This isn’t a foolproof test or anything but it’s pretty blatant once you’re looking for it, no?

I think the above photos actually show one of two situations:

  1. The serial killer is trying to show a plain face, in which case the right side succeeds but the left side shows the killer’s dominant emotion while at rest (usually rage or sorrow)
  2. The serial killer is trying to fake a particular emotion (usually happiness), in which case the right side succeeds but the left side is unconvincing and comes off shallow and vacant.

This is probably one of the many reasons humans have evolved to sense and value facial symmetry and why crazy people almost always strike you as crazy if you clear your mind and listen to your gut. In the next post I’ll draw some parallels between serial killing and the PUA lifestyle.

If you get off on the grisly adventures of sociopathic drifters, you’ll probably masturbate over the rotting corpse of my memoirs Balls Deep, Deplorable Cad and Adventure Sex

[1] The entire criminological psychiatric profession is a case of rabbits working tirelessly to release murderous criminals into the world as super-predators in order to recreate the conditions of r-selection that rabbits need to out-compete wolves. CBD doesn’t know r/K theory so he remains befuddled by this aspect and constantly ascribes the release of obvious serial killers to incompetence or well-meaning errors.
[2] Thus he takes at face value when the wives of all of these obvious sexual sadists claim they really didn’t know what their husband was, and also seems bemused why so many borderline women would seek out the serial killers and get killed by them.
[3] Unlike the bottom-feeders of the True Crime genre, CBD is not writing to get sexual kicks from the squalor and danger of serial killers. He’s actually methodically collecting evidence to keep them locked up and he’d clearly rather just execute them all. Good on him.
[4] Not unlike a PUA YouTube channel
[5] The compulsive masturbator’s asymmetry, I believe it could be called.

Moscow Stories #2

July 10, 2017

Roy and I have only just arrived in Moscow for a one-month jaunt. I’ve never travelled with him before so have no idea if we’ll get on, or if he’ll turn out to be another daygame weirdo [1] However I’d been keen to get back to Russia and hate travelling alone, so when our schedules matched up we agreed. A few beers in Warsaw a fortnight earlier helped. I was informed Ricky Roma would be there a couple weeks too, and Shotgun and Gollum would also fly in.

Great, I love it when a Team Krauser assembles on the fly.

I check in to a grotty hostel up the road from Red Square. I’ve got better places lined up later but there was a lot of drama in getting myself behind the Iron Curtain. After returning from Minsk I had six days in Newcastle within which to get a Russian visa, a flight, and accommodation. It’s no exaggeration to say my visa-enstamped passport arrived with literally the very last post before my flight.

It was nail-biting, like having an eight about to bounce home.

Roy and I meet late afternoon by the tourist district of Arbat and then rattle off some sets in an underpass that gets lots of rush-hour foot traffic. Then the heavens open. Little did I know but it would rain almost non-stop the next two weeks and really diminish our daygaming opportunities. Still, I’d just spent three weeks in Minsk where it had been thunderstorms literally every single day of my trip. Surely it couldn’t get that bad again.

red square

But more rain and no girls

I do a great set with a smoking hot girl who can’t speak English. We are coseying up under her umbrella [2] Then we take a metro to Ohkotni Ryad and walk up to Kamergirsky. Dusk is cutting in now and the rain has stopped. Street musicians play, families walk around, and there’s a few girls. As we climb the bank to Kuznetsky Most station I see a very pretty girl round the corner.


Umbrella bird from Arbat

Thick dark hair, big raccoon eyes, slinky tight figure, and tottering along in high heels and a skimpy dress. I find out later she’s half-Persian.

Roy sees her too. She gives me a big IOI so I jump in ahead of him. I don’t think he likes that, but she certainly does. It’s immediate eye sparkle, close distance, and a long handhold. She’s on her way to a job interview so I just mesmer her a bit and take a number. I apologise to Roy for going in a bit strong on the 50/50 ball but he doesn’t quibble things.

Texting is sparse but keen. She comes out for coffee soon after, around 3pm in Coffee Shop Company on Kamergirsky. The moment she arrives I know it’s on. Careful make-up, figure-hugging tights, and a big smile. We sit upstairs across each other on sofas but she’s smiling so much, leaning into me, and agreeing with everything I say so I soon pull her over to sit with me.

Kissing soon follows. She’s all over it, half an hour in. Her English is good and I genuinely like her manner and character. It’s the kind of date that makes me glow with satisfaction and remember why I’m in the game. Every moment is good and she’s well worth a dip.

We walk around side streets for a while, visit a free sculpture exhibition, and I finally get her to my door but she won’t come in. We walk a bit more then somehow end at my door again. Still won’t come in. Ok, get fucked you stupid bitch! Fuck off! Next! I do the gentlemanly thing and walk her to the metro, kiss her goodbye and more texting ensues.

There’s two more afternoon dates like this, spread over two weeks. She’s always so busy. I’m running out of time now, entering the last weekend. My numbers are finally coming through for me and I’ve gotten a log jam with dates, carefully scheduling four per day and trying to estimate which is most likely to put out and thus earn the coveted final evening slot.

I get this girl out for 2pm and need to meet my regular at 4pm [3] so I figure we’ll have coffee and I’ll just sound her out in case it’s proper on. We sit in a cafe by Kuznetsky Most and it’s great again. Good chat, she looks lovely, and just being there fills me with happiness.

I start fingering her through her tights

She squirms, smiles, lets me do it. Then she sighs, “I’m on my period”. It has the air of “I’d definitely fuck right now otherwise”.

My turn to sigh. With only two days left in Moscow, this notch will have to wait. Unsure what to do I pull a newspaper over, get her to hold it up like we are reading it, then I….

wait for it…



Get my dick out.


The Krauser Flash

Her eyes go wide and she gives a beaming smile. Then she wanks me off. We are sitting on a sofa in the corner of a very busy cafe but the newspaper does it’s job admirably. She just can’t keep her hands off me for ten minutes. Finally we are out of time. She poses a few photos for her Instagram that I take, then arranges the newspaper to be visible in one and adds the caption: “moments! :)”

I take her to the station, see my regular coming, and divert the outgoing girl to the other side of the tunnel and hurriedly kiss her goodbye. We’re still in touch so I’m hopeful she’s still on. Then I take my regular home and bang her. A so-so date follows, then I have a second date that leads to a notch but that’s for another post.


If you enjoyed this story then you can’t fail to enjoy my memoirs: Balls Deep, Deplorable Cad, and Adventure Sex


[1] On reflection, I still don’t know. Maybe he just hides it well.
[2] I fuck her the next afternoon, taking her anal virginity.
[2a] Actually I didn’t. I just wish I had. She flaked.
[3] “Regular” is something of an embellishment. I’d fucked her once on first date previous summer, then she’d freaked out on second date and run off. Irregular texting followed then when I met her early on this trip she’d appeared to be on her period and avoided any talk of coming home. So, this meeting would be only second time I’d fuck her. She was a very hot 19 year old.

Kiev Stories #1

July 8, 2017

It’s Thursday evening on Khreschatyk street and dusk is descending. I’m standing with Eddie and Xants in the square by McDonald’s, subjected to the trashy music the street dancing kids are performing to. A crowd has gathered around them, enjoying the balmy summer evening.

Another crowd is conspicuous by it’s absence – the sleazy fat Turkish sex tourists. There was a full-on turkroach infestation the past week, their slimy rat-faced kind fouling up the whole of the street. They’d wander around in pairs eyeballing every single girl, then tap them on the shoulder and follow them down the street trying to offer an iphone, a slap up meal, or whatever else it is they pay for sex.

Even if you discount my very mild and well-hidden racism, it’s not good for daygamers. All the normal girls had been frightened off and it was a magnet for actual whores, who seemed to be everywhere. Xants almost got scammed by one, but that’s his story to tell not mine.

turk cunt

“Like I give a fuck, we will rule your lands”

Anyway, they’d mostly gone home so now the street could breathe. I’d gotten some sets in collected a bunch of numbers to pour into the daygame slop machine. Unfortunately nothing really stuck.

“Time for gutter game” I announced. “I’m filtering for horniness and vulnerability”

A short time later Eddie is trying to convince me to join him in Chernobyl on Sunday, waxing lyrically about the irradiated soil, the deserted shacks, and of course the glowing yellow Nuclear Power Plant itself.

“My vibe is already radioactive” I complain. “I don’t need more of it”

I briefly consider if radiation works like it did for The Hulk and Spiderman, granting me special powers of eye mesmer and escalation. If it would give my phone numbers a longer half life, I’d take it. Instead I decline Eddie’s offer. I’d just completed Stalker Clear Sky and installed the Complete mod for Stalker Call Of Pripyat. My adventures in The Zone would be limited to the virtual world.

Clear Sky

Criminally under-rated even by Stalker series fans

I see a girl walk past. Dark hair with fringe, wide child-bearing hips, and young. Unfortunately no better than a six but I utter the strongest inner game mantra I know: “she’ll do”

I step right in on her, almost breathing down her face. She lets me in, her eyes spazzing wide. I mumble some nonsense to her about her hairstyle and face. I probably compare her unfavourably to a hamster. She’s giggling. I start pawing at her, my hands on her shoulders or cupping her head as I talk into her ear. I sense her body shudder in excitement. It’s electric.

Just wish she was a seven or better.

Not her

A seven or better

We walk off to the nearby Porters Pub. The fact it’s a white power pub with all kinds of militia and special forces flags hanging from the ceiling has nothing to do with my choice. Nothing, I tell you! It’s cheap and dark.

“Don’t laugh at the quality” I text Eddie.

We nestle into a corner booth near the door and she joins me in ordering unfiltered white beer. A good sign. For the first quarter hour she’s at the perpendicular angle of the L-shape, rather than next to or opposite me. I get her touching my Rings Of Power rings then pull her in to play with her hair. After that she scoots back.

“No. Come back here. I want to touch you” I command and she obeys.

I want to escalate fast so I dive into a questions game and am soon asking about the colour of her underwear, the last time she had sex (six months ago) and if she watches porn. I drop a few ratbag DHVs and it’s going great. She won’t let me kiss her but she does moan when I pull her hair and bite her neck.

Funny how girls who won’t kiss will often let you maul them. There’s a lot about that in my new textbook.

I continue to maul her. I’m running a finger up and down her thighs, playing with her hair, biting her ear. Finally I decide I’m going too slow so I put my hand up inside her t-shirt and start playing with her tits. We are continuing on with the questions game like no escalation is afoot, but I’ve gotten her tits out of her bra and I’m fiddling with her nipples under her shirt.

I finger her through her leggings for a bit and then get my dick out.

That surprised you, didn’t it. No way would I usually get my dick out in a bar (or street). She looks at it, then I put it away. I invite her to my apartment but she declines. Time is ticking so when she says she needs to go meet friends I take her Facebook. Finally, I summon the courage to kiss her outside. She gives it back a bit but not a heavy makeout.

“Ok, we can meet another day” she says and walks off. The bubble bursts. She does in fact strike up conversation the next afternoon.

Moscow Stories #1

July 5, 2017

It’s my last full day in town and I’m purring like a cat in a sunbeam. The hectic weekend has only just passed and was sufficiently eventful that my trip has been upgraded from “decent” to “great”. Now I’m just enjoying the sun, walking with Roy and Shotgun, and wondering if I can eke one more notch out of my phone list on this final evening.

My eyes rest on the middle distance, scanning Kamergirsky Street for female silhouettes in the distance. It’s usually pretty quiet around here mid-afternoon, not picking up till dinner time when the girls come out to restaurants or simply prowl back and forwards. I see a girl.

Tall, tight blue cocktail dress, heels. She has the dark features I like and the undulating walk I filter for. I open. Something about walking like a cat and having a scary face. It doesn’t matter. She stops and her instinctive reaction to me is to smile. Cat-like energy exudes from her. Noting this, my two hangers-on wings continue down the street for an early beer.

chechan girl

A lot like this. Probably even a bit hotter

“I’m Nick” I say, holding out my hand.
“I’m Ela” she replies. “I can’t shake your hand. I’m Muslim”
“A muslim in Moscow?” I query. Surely Putin had put a stop to such nonsense.
“I’m Chechan” she says.

Deep inside, I somersault, high-five, and pat myself on the back. I’ve always wanted that flag. Any time you Google Image search Chechnya you see beautiful dusky girls and big fat Jihadi-bearded troll men. I never imagined I’d meet one of the former without an escort of the latter.

I look around anyway, just be to on the safe side. There are no cries of Allah Akhbar and no explosions. I’m safe for now.


Her dad

We chat a few minutes and she tells me she’s just walking around, enjoying the sun. She’s a violinist at a local academy and seems like a strong K-select. Yet something doesn’t seem to fit. Her walk was sexual, her eyes are smouldering, and there’s a crackle of sexual tension. This might well be a rabbit in wolf’s clothing. I suggest we go for a walk.

The next fifteen minutes are spent walking towards Red Square then past the Bolshoi theatre and back to Kamergirsky. I politely probe her for information about her lifestyle, interests, and character. It turns out she moved here for university a few years ago (she’s twenty) and finds Chechnya cloying and restrictive. She confirms that yes she feels like an outsider, yes she’s a little rebellious, and yes she loves the anonymity of the big city. I calibrate my DHVs accordingly with a focus on freedom, passion, and rebellion.

We are twenty minutes in now and I’m pretty sure she fancies me. I suggest a coffee at a nice outdoor bar at Kuznetsy Most.

“I’ve never drunk alcohol before”
“It’s tasty. It’s worth a try”
“No. It’s ramadan. I won’t even have water”
“Surely you must be so hungry”
“Oh yes! It’s terrible”
“I just had a cheeseburger for lunch. A thick crispy bun and then lashings of sweet mayonnaise dripping over a hot succulent burger. The flavour was like….”
“Stop! It’s killing me!”


Like this, but a point lower

We sit at a rickety wooden table, her across from me. At this point I notice a dozen or more small scars on her left forearm. Trying not to stare, I eventually conclude they are self-harm. This girl is a cutter.

“Should’ve left her for Roy” I think to myself. “More his kind of girl

I order beer and check my watch. Can’t get her drunk tonight and I’m out of time to do second dates. Might as well heat her up, escalate, and shoot for the fences. I begin the questions game. She enthusiastically agrees. Highlights include

  • She’s wearing black lace underwear
  • She’s a virgin and hasn’t kissed a man
  • She thinks about sex all the time, and at least ten times about sex with me since we met
  • On a scale of one to ten in horniness she is, at that precise moment, a twelve

I tell her my SDL with a porno star story from Prague last year. Every word of it is truth and it’s a beauty to drop on ratbags when you’re pulling fast. She loves it. I see her pupils dilate and she shifts position in her chair several times.

“What do you like about me?” I ask
“Your face is handsome. And your shoulders. You have deep eyes, like the ocean. And you are very charismatic”

She probably said a few more things too. Call it an IOI. This girl was boiling in her love juices and just staring at me. I try sounding her out verbally about sex and coming to my apartment. I explain I’m leaving tomorrow. She resists. I try waxing lyrically about the joy of freedom and acting on impulse, about how we only live once and it is important to take our opportunities. She still resists.

“Let’s go for a walk” I suggest then lead her to my apartment at the top of the street. She knows that’s what I’m up to and dumbly follows.

She fancies me, she’s horny, she’s been telling me her sexual fantasies, and now she’s following me to my apartment. Too early to pop the champagne but the One-Hour Twenty-Year Old Hot Chechan Virgin SDL flag is looking about 50/50 now, the closest I’ve ever come. And she really is hot, a solid eight.

As we turn into the courtyard, she wobbles. There are just a few parked cars, and the front door to my apartment block at the end. No people. She doesn’t look frightened, just immobile like her anti-grav boots have locked her to the floor.

“I can’t come in” she states, standing in the middle of the courtyard.
I try hand-waving it and key the code into the door lock. I look back and she’s still rooted to the spot, five metres away. I go back and try to coax her in. She’s not having it.
“Do you trust me?” I say. “Do you trust that you can leave my apartment without getting raped?”
“I trust you” she replies. “I don’t trust myself. If I go in, I’ll have sex.”
“That’s the point”
“No. I can’t”

I unzip my trousers and get my dick out, right there in the courtyard at 4pm. It’s rock hard and I’m hoping no-one is looking out of the hundred or so windows overlooking us. I’m not entirely sure why I did it.

She just stares at my dick. Her jaw goes slack, her eyes lose focus and I’m pretty sure she wobbled a little.

“No! I can’t” she whimpers, then runs away back to the main road.

I follow, take her number, and walk her to the metro. After saying goodbye I get a takeaway coffee and walking back past the metro I see her sat in a corner messaging. Then she walks off back towards where we met, the direction I’m headed. I give her ten metres, not intending to re-open. When we cross a road she literally helps an old lady across the road.

Later that evening, I’m checked into a hotel for one night in order to get my police registration stamped. Around 9pm I ping her – “I saw you help an old lady across the road”.

She strikes up conversation and replies fast. After a dozen exchanges I suggest she come around and watch a movie. She agrees to From Dusk Till Dawn and says she’ll get to my nearby metro station for midnight.

She doesn’t come. She blocks me the next day.


If you enjoyed that vignette, you’ll love my memoirs – Balls Deep, Deplorable Cad and Adventure Sex

Violation of Expectation

April 26, 2017

I got shaken down by police recently. Let me tell the story and draw the inner game / daygame lesson from it.

Those euro jaunters among us are well aware that as you go further East you tend to find hotter and more feminine girls. This initially appears to be pussy paradise but spend enough time in these countries and enough time chasing the girls and you realise there are powerful forces that undermine your faith and bring the Pussy Paradise fantasy back to the real world, frustrations and all. One such problem is the extreme K-selection of the Former Soviet Union. It’s very easy to get interest and attention from the hot girls but most of them switch off when they realise you’re only offering casual sex. The best-looking and best-groomed girls are often lifestyle whores, treating their beauty as a full-time job and expecting a salary paid by the sugar daddy in return. It’s not 100% this way and you can occasionally unearth a genuine hottie who is up for free casual sex, but it’s nowhere near as common as you’d think after the end of your first three-day number farm when you appear to be sitting on a goldmine of hot leads.


Not worth the effort

Another problem is bureaucracy. The FSU is teeming with it. I recently came a cropper of the apartment registration system. It goes like this: For a UK passport holder to get a visa to Russia or Belarus you must get a letter of invitation (which costs a fee paid to a specialist agency) and also have valid travel insurance. After a few days in the country you must register your address with the police (and pay another fee). This is especially a ball ache if you use Airbnb because many hosts will not do the registration for you.

Fortunately, Russian police are not so strict. I registered at one place, allowed the registration to lapse over a week, then re-registered at a hotel on my last night. There were no problems at immigration’s exit control on my way out. I recently found out the Belarussian police are different.

I go to register and they tell my landlady they only accept travel insurance documents in Russian (unlike the embassy which is fine with English). This is a new rule and they find a rulebook in the bottom of a filing cabinet to prove it. So I must buy duplicate insurance from a small office in the next street. I get it for seven days and register thus. Days five, six and seven are public holidays. On day eight the police telephone my landlady saying we are both to be fined for the expiring registration and she knocks me out of bed so we can rush to the police station to see what’s up.

I buy new insurance for the remainder of my stay and pay another registration fee. That should be the end of it but the cops are determined to shake me down. The say I owe a 230 rouble penalty (about £115) and my landlady owes double that. A supervisor comes out and gives her a stern telling off while his two subordinates look a bit guilty at being involved in such a blatant shakedown.

Naturally I argue the toss, via Google Translate. The embassy accepted UK insurance and nowhere on the government websites in English does it say Russian documents needed. I show them the website that says after registration lapses I have five more business days to reregister. I also explain it was not possible to reregister before today because the police station was closed for holidays.

“Doesn’t matter. You should have stayed in a hotel on final day to reset registration clock” they say, in Russian.

At that point I’m happy to face them down and just be deported but the landlady is panicking about getting in bad with cops and whatever fate may befall her apartment business. I back down, because I’m not a bad sort really [1] I pay the penalty and chalk it to the game.


Artist impression

I’m sure you all have your violins out playing a symphony of sympathy for me. So, why is it relevant to daygame?

It’s because I was barely suppressing a furious rage at being shaken down for what was, ultimately, an inconsequential fee. I was typing into Google Translate “this is a robbery, they are acting in bad faith, finding a pretext for a shakedown” and my landlady wisely refused to show that to the cop sitting across the desk. I didn’t lose my head, but it was close. Why?

Anonymous Conservative has the answer with his rich explanation of the amygdala. This part of the brain is at the centre of everything when it comes to state control – which is the cornerstone of Game. The amygdala is the threat detection centre and it lights up (in the modern vernacular, is “triggered”) when it perceives threat. Wolves have a highly trained (and literally larger, when measured in autopsy) amygdala that is highly effective at perceiving long term threats and will thus trigger the wolf to proactively seek out and destroy the threat before it grows more dangerous. Rabbits have an atrophied and undeveloped amygdala that is oblivious to threats until they are right in front of the rabbit’s nose. They seek also to remove the threat but usually at the last moment and by running away from it.

This is why in the migrant crisis wolves want to sink the boats and rabbits hold up Refugees Welcome signs. The wolves can very easily see the looming threat of importing third world savages into Europe and want to nip it in the bud at the minimum loss of life. Rabbits are blind to it, completely conflict averse, and just figure it’s better to prostrate themselves at the feet of the savages and hope they are killed last.

Daygame will provide you with both wolf and rabbit stimuli, and the balance depends how you do the daygame. Grinding it out on the streets, hanging out bantering with high value players, and actively honing a skill set are all K-stimuli, meaning challenging behaviours that introduce you to adversity and thus develop your amygdala. Every time you mumble “first one is the worst one” before diving into your first set of the day, you might as well be saying to yourself “adversity incoming, time to train the amygdala with some pain”.

Unfortunately, rootlessly travelling around foreign countries, living off passive income, breaking friendships when they become inconvenient, and having an abundance of casual sex are all r-stimuli, meaning they are the removal of adversity and lead to amygdala deterioration. For salient examples, look at sportsmen who go off the rails when they reach the big time (e.g. James Toney, Adriano etc). Adversity strengthens them on the way up and then comfort weakens them once at the top.


Pre and Post Adversity  Toney

Anonymous Conservative has a whole typology of ways the amygdala can be triggered and thus overheat and take control away from our rational brains (like me in the police station). The most powerful is what he calls Violation Of Expectation. It’s the equivalent of having the rug pulled from under you, and the subject of the famous book Who Moved My Cheese? It’s pretty simple:

1. You overcome adversity and achieve abundance.
2. The abundance becomes comfortable and your new normal.
3. You amygdala switches off as there is no threat to face.
4. An event suddenly rips away the comfort and confronts you with adversity.
5. Your amygdala lights up very strongly and very quickly, accompanied by disorientation because the adversity was unexpected.
6. You’re triggered. Trigglypuffing ensues. [2]


Me, yesterday

I dare say that stage 6 is very unpleasant and can seem important all out of proportion, such as wanting to dig my heels in and get deported rather than pay a trivial fine. It is such situations that inspire sage quotes about wise men keeping their heads while everyone around is losing theirs.

So what’s the inner game takeway?

Don’t try to remove adversity from your life, no matter how tempting. And when comfort is suddenly ripped away from you, recognise the cause (and repeat to yourself “this is just a Violation of Expectation scenario”) and that your emotional reaction is likely way out of proportion to the size of the problem. [3]

You’ll probably also notice that the coolest men in the world are unruffled. Trainee players are always advised to be more chill and less reactive. This is because reactive behaviour is a sign of an atrophied amygdala and poor threat detection, and thus poor reproductive fitness [4]

[1] Despite Bodi’s two-volume attempt to convince you otherwise.
[2] AnonCon has convincingly argued this is the crux of the North Korean crisis and the increasingly insane behaviour of Kim Il Piggy.
[3] TL:DR is “don’t be a bitch”

[4] But isn’t it also interesting that it’s a sign of rabbitry,  and thus a sign to rabbit girls that you may be suited to them. Perhaps this is why grotty sluts actually like drama and seek it out – they are seeking out men with defective amygdalae because it’s a proxy sign of the rabbit breeding strategy.

If you are disappointed that this post explored some new ideas that are relevant to daygame rather than rehashing tired  bullshit in a bullet point list, you probably won’t like my books.

Narrative Closure

April 22, 2017

This blog first achieved notoriety because I was writing about my inner most thoughts on my Player’s Journey in graphic and extensive detail. I’d frequently post up photos, infield videos, and date audios. I’d post more about failure than success because that was the reality. Evidently that style struck a chord with many and my readership grew. A friend recently told me “the reason you’re popular is your honesty”. I didn’t write like a huckster (PUA old guard) nor as a shameless attempt to create a fake cool guy personality to help me draw narcissistic supply from an audience of gullible fools to stop me topping myself (PUA new guard).

Round about 2015 I decided throwing this stuff up piecemeal for the blog was no longer satisfying for me. My blog posts are always one-and-done efforts where I get an idea, immediately write it, then post with only a cursory spelling and grammar check. Posts tended to max out around a thousands words and are dropped in either when something interesting happened or when I was in the mood to write. That got boring. I decided my adventures and ruminations deserved a longer form treatment.

Enter the memoir series (currently on sale are volumes One, Two and Four)

I wanted to create a narrative arc that made sense, stitching together my experiences and theoretical development so as to create something deeper and more meaningful. It would help me develop my writing skills and make sense of my time in the Game. It would reward readers with a far more polished story as I typically do multiple rewrites and hire professional editors for the books. Those of you who’ve read them seem to agree that the lessons sink in deeper in book form, and it gives space to tell a better story than what can be thrown up as a blogpost.

There’s a place for thrown up “just got laid” posts. They are still fun to read and can cheer you on to your own adventures. See Xant’s recent lay report here for an example.

Something unexpected happened over the course of writing the memoir series. I’ve long believed that humans make sense of the world and their place within it through narrative. There is the Hero’s Journey plot structure that all epic-feeling stories adopt from Star Wars through to Kung Fu Panda. We are also steeped in written and oral folklore, which is mostly conveyed through stories be they short form Aesop’s Fables or long form parables. We absorb legends, morality plays, novels, and campfire ghost stories.

Humans love stories and learn through them.

Jimmy recently told me that writing volume one of his Game memoir (1) made him realise that he always prized a gang of cool mates more than clacking the women. Something about organising your thoughts sufficiently to write them down (2) will also change the very meaning of how you think about the subject of that writing. We are telling and retelling stories in our own minds, inserting our experiences into a self-narrative. As you go through your life you’ll have an assumed narrative of who you are, where you’re going, and how far you’ve come. Here’s what is funny about writing: when you start organising it for publication, you reshape the narrative.

The act of writing about something significantly changes how you think about it. Daygame Mastery was a good example of that for me – I set out to put the London Daygame Model (3) on paper. Six months of rumination and writing meant that by the time I hit “publish” I’d completely transformed my own knowledge of the model. As I wrote, I’d realise there were gaps in my understanding and I had to ruminate further until I dug up the answer from my experience. In some ways the model changed in the course of writing it, for example ideas such as “respect the hustle” and r/K (4) were late additions when I was trying to organise the techniques around an implicit underlying philosophy.

The unexpected outcome of writing my memoir has been I’ve closed the book on my Player’s Journey both literally and figuratively. Each of the stages came into clearer focus, as did my motivations and failings. Volume One was the zero-to-hero stage that covered the first five stages of the Hero’s Journey, taking me from normal life into this strange world of pick up and the trials and tribulations that ensued. Volume Two represented being cognitively captured by the PUA world, outrageous levels of grandiosity, and the complete rebuilding of my personality. Volume Four was when I reached a maturity level, secure in my skills and lifestyle but starting to feel like the job was done and perhaps it’s time to move on. (5)

Writing the memoir, which ends in December 2014, made me feel like the journey was over. All the game I’ve done in the two years since has been about something else. It wasn’t a journey. There was no clear progress towards a deliberate goal. My life wasn’t changing.

It took writing the memoir to make sense of this, to order the experiences and uncover the themes. Up until the end of 2014 I felt like I was going somewhere, my eyes on a prize. I finished the year on a major upswing, a crowning achievement that felt like standing on top of the mountain. In 2015 I found myself using daygame to spike my own emotional state, distracting myself from the fact I didn’t really know what I wanted to do with myself now that the job was done. In 2016 it was more of the same but I had Donald Trump’s campaign to give me a goal for the year, a sense of progress.

So in 2017 my overwhelming feeling has been….. meh! Running around Europe trying to clack lots of hotties was great fun but I’ve done it seven years straight. Each year brings good memories and memorable stories. I could easily write a 600 page memoir about each of 2015 and 2016 – there were enough stories and points of interest (6) But now it just seems rather pointless.

Let’s say I bang another 25 girls this year (7). What will be different in my life? I’ll be a year older and move the notch count forwards but….. is that a wise use of my time? Banging your first 25 girls is a huge deal. Banging your 25th daygame girl is a huge deal. Banging your first euro jaunt eight is a huge deal. But after seven years of that, do any of the numbers matter anymore?

Not to me.

blonde slag who obviously wants it like the dirty whore she is

I dare say this will get me opening again

I don’t have a clear message as to how I intend to work my way through 2017. It’s been three months straight of diabolical weather and I’ve had a period of daygame revulsion that sometimes creeps up on me. That combination tends to sour my mood towards the player’s lifestyle. However, when the sun is shining and girls are ambling around in tight shorts, throwing off IOIs….. you can bet I’ll be on it. But when it’s cold, wet and miserable am I going to be out grinding to try to progress my annual notch count? Definitely not.

I’ve changed how I daygame to reflect this. I’ll be writing more about that.

1) Don’t hold your breath on it ever being finished
(2) If you can’t write your thoughts into paragraphs that readers can understand, then you don’t really understand it either. Anyone who starts blogging finds this out very quickly.
(3) Version 2. Don’t kid yourself that there’s a new version 3. Old wine new bottles. When my next textbook drops you’ll see the actual Version 3.
(4) Yes, both of those were introduced to LDM by me.
(5) Volume Three will fill the gap but I plan on doing the textbook first.
(6) Don’t worry, I don’t plan to actually write them. Four volumes is already testing a reader’s patience.
(7) Or pretend I do, in order to sell PUA products to gullible fools

If you can’t wait for the new London Daygame Model 3.0 then why not make do with the best infield instructional video of version 2.0, which is all anyone is doing anyway.