My 2015 Daygame Stats

January 2, 2016

(similar posts showing my stats in prior years: 2013 and 2014)

If there was a word to summarise my year it would be burnout. Finally, after a little over six years in the game, I have lost my love for it. Or at least, I’ve experienced frequent periods of losing the love to balance out other periods where I was still 100% let-me-at-’em.

It was either one or the other all year

It was either one or the other all year

Let’s have a look at my measurable stats for the year. As usual, only the lays are certain and everything else is an estimate. The opens could be as high as 750, I just wasn’t counting.

  • Opens: 670 (Prague 160, Zagreb 40, Warsaw 150, Riga 50, Belgrade 120, Kiev 150)
  • Numbers: 167
  • Dates: 50
  • Lays: 15*

That’s pretty weak, right? As with most things in social research it all depends how you count it. Stats are not objective facts anymore than the smell of a hotdog or the pattern of clouds in the sky are facts. Any time someone gives you a statistic what they are telling you is: somebody, somewhere, counted something. Let’s look at mine starting with the single biggest driver: the amount of time I spent on the road.

  • 2014: Six months / 26 weeks / 7 trips / 5 cities
  • 2015: Four months / 18 weeks / 8 trips / 8 cities

Let’s also factor in how much time I was in any given city each trip:

  • 2014: Minimum 3 weeks, maximum 6 weeks. Average approx one month.
  • 2015: Minimum 2 days, maximum 3 weeks. Average approx ten days.

So from a position of statistical inference the biggest impact on my game was logisitics. Whereas in 2014 I’d been rolling up to a city and living there for a month, in 2015 I was hitting multiple cities for short bursts and then not returning for several months. This had the combined effect that I had a less total amount of time on the road, and considerably less time per trip to try to close out my leads. As we’ll see that was a decisive influence on both my results and on the style of game I employed.

Keen notch-hunters will probably ask: why did you set up a travel routine that’s obviously going to hobble your results? Well, burnout……    Before getting into the other major stat, let’s break down the results of the girls I did actually bang.

  • SDL: 3
  • SNL: 1
  • First date lay: 4
  • Second date lay: 5
  • Third or later: 1
  • Long game: 1

Unlike prior years I had a clear bias towards moving fast, as you’d expect from my smash’n’grab travel pattern. All of them were in the same country we met and all but two (the long game lay in Belgrade, a second date lay in Prague) were on the same trip we met.

  • Youngest: 17
  • Oldest: 27
  • Average: 22 (an 18 year difference)

While the final notch count was weak, I most definitely made progress on the YHT scale by pushing my average age down a couple of years and also the overall quality was pretty high. The oldest bird I had sex with was thirteen years younger than me, an SDL with a Russian blonde in Prague. For a bunch of them I was older than their own mother.

There were only two 6s and both of those were fast lays that make great stories (the first being a one-hour Tinder lay in Krakow where I spoke exclusively about Dark Souls and Dead Rising before saying “I don’t want to see you again, but if you want to come home to fuck, I’d quite like that” for the extraction, the second being a 30-minute SDL of a Warsaw 18yr old who I rawdogged then did in the ass). There were five teenagers and I’d say seven of the girls would be considered legit 8s by the PUA Adjudication Committee. No 9s, unfortunately. Still, the highlights were very high.

  • Slavic: 8 (Ukranian 4, Russian 2, Latvian 1, Belorussian 1)
  • Balkan: 3 (Serbian 2, Hungarian 1)
  • Central Europe: 4 (Polish 2, Czech 1, Slovak 1)

This is a simple case of where I was travelling and what kind of girl I like. Central European girls are pretty dirty but also not especially hot. As I ventured further East into the FSU it was tougher to score but the quality was much better.

  • Virgin: 0
  • 1 or 2 men before me: 2
  • 3 to 10 men: 4
  • More than 10: 1
  • Didn’t ask / didn’t tell: 8

Now we’ll get to the second major influence upon my overall results. Take a deep breath and prepare yourself for this number……

  • Near misses: 22

Yes. With twenty-two different girls I had a girl hot, horny, up for it and yet just didn’t manage to get my dick into her. The reasons were varied: Two virgins were too tight to squeeze my dick in. Another virgin let me get it halfway in then freaked out (that was a 20yr old almost-SDL thirty minutes after approach). Another virgin was wanking me off in the lobby of my apartment building but refused to come upstairs. Another virgin was on my sofa with her breasts in my mouth when she got LMR (that would’ve been a one-hour SDL of an 18 year old who admitted she hadn’t even kissed a boy before). There was also a 17 year old Ukranian virgin who was grinding me on my bed on the first date but wouldn’t take her jeans off, and then when I went back to Kiev she’d gotten a boyfriend and wouldn’t even kiss on the next date.

Just typing that above paragraph brings tears to my eyes. That’s six near misses just with virgins, the oldest of whom was twenty years old. Imagine getting so close so many times and then nothing.

  • Failure due to LMR at sex location: 19
  • Failure due to unexpected outside forces: 2
  • Failure due to logistical errors: 1

It’s simply unbelievable how many women were in my bed or on my sofa and just wouldn’t fuck. The funny thing is it wasn’t due to me suddenly losing my ability to close, but actually the reverse. I was pulling girls so fast that they were getting to the hand-on-dick-in-sex-location stage much faster than they could handle.

Slow down, take a number, get them on another date you say?

I think at least half of these near misses would’ve been flaky numbers had I just run the street game and walked off with her digits. Instead, I blew up the love bubble, played a momentum game, expertly chose my moments to escalate and lead, and then almost took them at the flood. It was an exercise in creating something out of nothing. Like almost building an atomic bomb from a disposable lighter and a rolled-up newspaper.

But oh my fucking god was it frustrating! Still, we live and learn. I’ve become so used to near misses now that they barely phase me. I’ve had that rollercoaster ride and it’s familiar to the point of boredom.

I’ll do another post going into the psychological reasons why I kept sabotaging my own game in an attempt to amuse myself and retain interest while struggling with periodic burnout. But for now, those are the stats. Make of them what you will.

* There were also 8 repeat girls from prior years, but they don’t count towards the score.

I bang my first 26 year old Ukranian shop girl

December 17, 2015

Girls like to put up defences and reward the man sufficiently determined and strong to smash them into rubble. It’s a game and they know full well what’s going on. I’ve had girls resist like hellcats and then thank me afterwards. Bitches be crazy.

Here’s the great man Dennis Wheatley on the Russian mind:

Back then, "red pill" was called "wisdom"

Back then, “red pill” was called “wisdom”

Now that I’d kissed her, this girl was revved up. She sent me a few goodnight messages intimating that she was hot and horny now. I knew I’d fuck her, the question was just whether it would be this trip or if I’d have to wait till next spring. Hardly ideal, but it’s very little effort to keep pinging a girl on WhatsApp when she’s playing along.

After a comfortable back and forth, time-pressure forced me to put her on the spot and I tell her its my last night in town. She wants to meet but things get a bit clusterfucked as you’ll see. There’s no way I was going into her frame to join her friends. Reading between the lines I don’t think she was trying to tool me or frame-snatch, it was simply a tight schedule and a big step for her. I hold my ground.

Kiev bird 1

While this 9pm chat was progressing I was sitting in Divan bar having a “last night of trip” beer with my travel buddy. We were starving. I ordered some dumplings and soup and – no joking – I was genuinely torn between dating this girl and waiting for my food. It didn’t feel like a dead-cert lay and I was just tired of Kiev and tired of girls. As far as I was concerned, 2015 was done. My mind was consumed by thoughts of Fallout 4 and Metal Gear Solid V.

This zero-fucks-given attitude is both a blessing and a curse. On the downside it leads me to let all but my most compliant leads wither and die, and thus depresses my lay count. On the upside, I don’t want to be a man who begs for pussy so it’s nice to have strong boundaries. As I was sitting in Divan sipping beer, it felt 50/50 that she’d come out and 50/50 if I’d agree to meet her.

Kiev bird 2

A player must always be ready to switch up his gameplan. Girls will give off a vibe and you can learn the difference between “not tonight” and “take your chance, big boy”. When I met this girl outside Divan all of the alarms were buzzing. Take her home! Pull the trigger!

Something in the context of the previous date and messages.
Something in the way she folded and ditched her friends.
Something about meeting at 10pm without an agreed date plan.
Something in her lazy walk and heavy-lidded eyes.
Something in her falling in step beside me and not even asking where we were going.

“Do you like wine?” I asked as we turned the first corner and walked in front of a supermarket.
“Yes, I’d like wine” she says.

I had a bottle of red at home but it was corked. There was no corkscrew.

So I was going to buy a twist-capped bottle and walk her home. The only problem is everywhere was closed. The big supermarket was locked up so I walk her five minutes up to the McDonalds which has a 24/7 store…. which is closed for next thirty minutes while they cash up. The only other off licence I know is outside my apartment and already closed at 10pm.


Decision time. Do I suggest a drink in a bar and risk losing momentum? No. Her vibe is screaming “take me home now”. She doesn’t say so, as her style from the moment I met her was always about me leading her and choosing my moments of escalation wisely. Okay, it was an easy decision.

“I’ve got a bottle of red in my apartment.”

I’ll solve the corkscrew problem somehow, I thought. She came in, I put on some music, and she opened the wine by sticking a spoon in the cork and hammering it down into the bottle. Great. Ten minutes of tension and I make the move.

It was a smooth, easy escalation. No LMR. I had her shirt off while we sat on the sofa, then when she straddled me I picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. Smash, bang.

It was fantastic sex. She’s a gym junkie so her body is tight and hard. She grabbed me with unexpected strength, clawing and biting me. It felt like wrestling John Cena. I smashed her thoroughly, like a refugee neighbour’s windows. Then after showering she fell asleep with her head on my chest.

This girl is a lesson in greyhoundology. They are frequently like this:

  • poised and in control of themselves
  • auditioning you in your totality as a man, rather than just r-selection
  • expect a controlled and skilled seduction
  • usually want The Rub
  • Once you get them to the “okay, he can fuck me” stage, they completely surrender and you wonder how they ever seemed so difficult.

It was a fitting finale to my 2015 Euro season. Smoking hot, smart, and totally into me. I plan to keep her around.

The smell of victory

The smell of victory

Belgrade Diaries – Part Four

August 7, 2015

I got my first lay of the trip a week in, on the Tuesday evening and I was flying home on the Thursday afternoon. As of Tuesday morning I didn’t know the notch was coming, so in my mind I was left with two evenings to try to get a lucky lady into my bed. I was still having trouble with flakes, likely a consequence of the town having been burned for a month straight. My strongest lead had agreed a Wednesday evening date but I didn’t want all my eggs in one basket on the last night [wisely, she cancelled at short notice]. What is the most basic advice for a player who is struggling to get results?

Open more sets.

That solves many problems right there. I wasn’t feeling particularly enthusiastic but my familiar determination to get something had resurfaced so I hit the streets on Tuesday afternoon, shortly after lunch (and before I got the first lay). It was roasting hot, not many girls were out, but the clock was ticking and if I wanted to make things happen I had to just get on with it. To get myself up for it I watched a scene from a Private porno movie on Redtube where they do a fake SDL (Triple X magazine 11, the blonde Swedish bird, I think)

I did a few sets on the walk up towards the Slavia Square roundabout. I was sleepy, worn-out, feeling a bit of sunstroke so rather than force myself into a fake happy vibe I just recognised my state for what it was and matched my game to the same low energy. I was chill and laconic. Finally as I was crossing past Hotel Moskova and coming in to the plaza above Republic Square I got the familiar spider-sense. A leggy brunette was ambling past.

At first sight she seemed a typical Belgrade girl: long legs, dark hair, denium shorts, converse, tight vest. No reason to choose her over any other and no reason to expect a better result than any other, but my spider-sense had tingled. Why? I quickly realised it was her earrings – they were coloured feather like you’d see in a craft market rather than a high street store.

Slightly longer legs and shorter hair

but with slightly longer legs and shorter hair

I’d found her “softener”

Girls of a slightly quirky or offbeat mentality will find a way to signal it. Often it’s a single item of clothing or accessory and it’s saying “I’m not just a standard mainstream girl”. Perhaps she has band patches on her bag, or a little metal badge. Perhaps it’s novelty socks. Perhaps she’s carrying an unusual book. Girls who are fully in the mainstream (and therefore probably trapped in the middle of The Herd) are usually head-to-toe mainstream. When I find a softener I know the girl is more likely to like my daygame, and I’m more likely to enjoy chatting to her.

So I stop this girl. She’s hot. My height, in athletic trim, and a pretty face. Twenty-two years old.

She likes it immediately, purring like a cat, and after a minute says “I’m going this way, to eat, do you want to join me?” I assent and we walk a few hundred metres to a pavement cafe. “I just ate so I’ll only have a drink. Since you’re eating, why don’t you choose” I tell her.

We sit under a canopy at the end of Knez Mihailova and I spread out into my chair and begin the idate game. It’s easy conversation and she’s not giving me any trouble. I find out she’s dating her teacher, a guy my age. That’s not the least bit surprising based on her earrings.

I know I’m under time pressure. I’ve got to either SDL her today, or get a date tomorrow. So I move things fast as we trade intrusive questions. Before she’s finished her food we’ve already gotten a lot done and I’ve told a few funny stories. The SDL evaporates when she says she’s meeting a friend up by Slavia Square in half an hour so we settle the check and I say “I’ll walk with you halfway, until I find an ice-cream kiosk” and away we go.

What to do? I have to gamble.

As I buy an ice lolly I tell her to come sit with me on a metal handrail and she comes over. I can see she’s not really wanting to leave, even though she has a pressing appointment. I decide to just Hail Mary the verbal escalation.

“Tell me the sexual thing you’ve never done, and maybe never will, but you think about it”

“Sex with two men” she replies.

“One at each end like this” I say, using gestures to describe a spit-roast. “Or one dick in your ass and the other in your pussy?”

“The second type” she says. This is less than an hour after we met. My energy is very chill and non-judgemental. I expound a little on sexual openess and then she takes her turn.

“How about you?”

“Well, this one is half-joke and half-real. At the moment it’s just a silly idea but I think I’ll probably do it some time. Next time I suddenly come into some cash, I want to rent the penthouse suite in a hotel, buy lots of cocaine and gin, and hire ten hookers. Then I’ll run amok all night until I have a heart attack and wake up in hospital.”

She likes that. Smiling, looking up and into the sky. There’s more sex talk about being dominated, how I like to fuck etc. I’m treating this as a preview for her, to give her an idea of what she’ll get so it’ll grow in her mind and perhaps make her horny tonight. Plant the seed and hope for the best.

We swap numbers and she wanders off to her friend. I’m strangely confident I’ll see her again, but time is running out. Later that evening I ping her on Whatsapp but she’s offline and doesn’t reply until lunchtime the next day. She says she doesn’t have mobile internet so SMS is better. See below.

Belgrade 1

Belgrade 2

At this point my 9pm second date with the LMR girl hadn’t been cancelled, so I’m trying to squeeze in my two last shots at glory into one evening. By the time I walk up to Republic Square at half six I’m drinking in the last chance saloon. She arrives ten minutes late, dressed nice in vest and short-shorts but not especially sexual. I’m not sure how to calibrate her. So we walk off to the moustache bar again.

It’s a good date. She’s not reciprocating any kino but she’s staying there and she’s fully participating in the conversation. She was to tell me later that she was deliberately holding back compliance to amuse herself with how hard I’d try and to see if I got desperate. Evidently I passed that test.

Walking into that bar I get some good luck. There’s an old carriage mounted on blocks and they’ve turned it into a snug little place to sit, so we climb aboard and sit next to each other. I do all the usual stuff – prodding her thighs, checking her calf muscles with my hands, playing with her hair and so on. She lets it happen but doesn’t reciprocate. We drink two beers each – a good sign.

This actual carriage, but they'd removed the wooden man

This actual carriage, but they’d removed the wooden man

Then I walk her along to Das Boot, a basement bar close to my apartment. I’d never been in before but I’m glad I went. It was empty and split into three linked rooms, so we could sit completely isolated while I drank whiskey and she sipped beer. As interesting as the conversation was, it was an ordeal because I was so focused on having to get it done tonight. About three hours in I start telling wild sex stories – lay reports, basically. Some of them are really squalid and funny, and all are wrapped up into lots of male commaraderie with my friends. She’s loving them. I figure I just have to present the extreme r-selection / travelling nomad vibe because she’s telling me she’s really into her boyfriend.

Finally I reach across the table, grab her chin, and kiss her.

She pretends to resist but I see the flush on her face and spark in her eyes. For the first time since we met I’m starting to think the lay is a very possible outcome. Finally I get her to sit next to me and lean in a bit, but there are still barriers. She’s weighing up the usual forebrain-hindbrain, ASD and value calculations. I can tell she’s loving the date and she says a few times she’s amazed how openly we can talk.

But it was a sofa the night I was there

But it was a sofa the night I was there

It feels precarious but by 11pm I have to pull the trigger. I tell her to drink up and I’ll show her my apartment. She does the usual “only for a minute” stuff and walks in with me. She has a smoke outside and any time I get close enough to kiss she wanders away. She’s thinking hard, trying to decide what to do. The boyfriend is a huge obstacle.

“I want to get some cigarettes and go home. Will you walk with me?” she says and I agree.

During the short walk to the kiosks by Studenski Square I’m getting that sinking feeling of the lay slipping through my fingers. I try hard to maintain an unaffected calm demeanour but inside I’m cursing my luck – two chances to get laid tonight have turned into zero. Time to gamble again.

Standard PUA advice is “don’t change her mind, change her mood”

Well, I’d changed her mood and her mind was still in the way. I decided to logic her into bed. So on the walk up I push the adventure sex frame harder, providing her all manner of rationalisations. She tells me, “meeting you has made me realise I love my boyfriend.”

That’s a tough one. How to respond?

“That’s good, that it’s helped clear your mind. You’ve found the guy you want and you can get married, have children, and have a good life. The thing is, your body is obviously crying out for one last adventure. It’s like trying to hold your breath underwater – you can use training and mental discipline to stay under longer, but biology forces you to come up for air eventually. You will fuck at least one more guy, your body demands it, the question is just who and when. You have unfinished business.

The way I see it, you’ve got a choice. You can wait a while until you can no longer control your urges, and you fuck a local Serbian guy. Probably he’ll try to make you into his girlfriend and when you say no, he might keep calling you, or post on your Facebook wall, or just make trouble for you so people find out. Alternatively, there’s me. I’m leaving the country tomorrow. I’m English, I don’t speak Serbian, and I have zero interest in making you my girlfriend. I’m looking for simple, exciting adventure. Nothing more.”

The whole time we’re slowly walking back towards my apartment while she puffs on her cigarette, her arms folded.

“You’re obviously saying that because you want to fuck me” she retorts. It’s just a test.

“Of course I want to fuck you. I’m just saying you can do it without any effect on the rest of your situation here.”

“I don’t know. It’s not easy for me” she replies and by now I’m turning my door key and we walk back into my apartment.

There’s nothing more I can do. Kissing her, touching her up, dirty talking and so on will just make her feel pressured. More logic will be brow-beating her with the same thing over and over. She’s a smart girl with a strong rebellious streak. I just have to let her make up her own mind.

After puffing through another cigarette in the garden she comes in and sits on the bed, then lies back staring at the ceiling, perplexed. Obvously she wants sex, she’s just bothered at the thought of cheating. I lie next to her but don’t touch. My vibe is light and carefree, smiling. She looks over at me, then at the ceiling, then at me.

“Okay. I’ll do it” she blurts out, “but no anal”

I mentally fist-pump. I kiss her and say “let’s relieve you of all these unnecessary clothes”

It’s great sex. She looks excellent naked and throws herself into it with wild abandon, like it really is her last adventure on earth. I smash her from pillar to post and enjoy every moment of it. I try anal anyway, but she refuses that. Finally after an hour I’m all in. We shower and dress then I walk her to catch the last bus home. Just before boarding I tell her, “I’m not going to hassle you, but we can stay in touch and if you’d like to see me again, just let me know.”

She gives me a big kiss, hops on the bus like a happy schoolgirl, and waves from the window as the bus pulls away. I walk home relieved, once more ruminating on how something as tiny as noticing one girl’s earrings can trigger a chain of events that turn a Euro Jaunt from “frustrating” to “awesome”

Belgrade Diaries 2015 – Part Two

July 27, 2015

During my peak of high vibe on Thursday I’d taken eight numbers and begun filtering them, to see what stuck. The most enthusiastic lead was a short curvy hamster girl who’d told me she was on her way to meet her twin sister. When I asked for her number I got the usual “I have a boyfriend” defense which I just brushed past.

Generally, I try not to rate how strong a lead is during the street interaction. I’ve had too many cases where girls who love it on the street don’t reply, and the flip side of mundane interactions lead to solid texting and sex. Instead, I suspend any judgement until she replies to my first message. Her first response (or lack thereof) is the strongest signal of how likely she is to fuck.

This girl responded great and co-operated in the banter until a date was organised. She wasn’t the hottest girl that day but I like large-chested nineteen year olds even if their face is a little below my normal standards. We met at the big horse statue in Republic Square one evening and she walked her twin sister past me, no doubt to get an assessment.

The date went well but it was an uphill struggle. We start off in a corner bar, sitting outside in balmy summer weather. She’s pretty dominant and keeps trying to lead the conversation. It’s easy to just let her talk and then snatch the reins when I feel the need. She waxes lyrical about her travels and before long we’re getting into deep rapport and she’s giving up lots of her inner thoughts. One drink there and we move on to the “moustache bar” (don’t know the real name, but the walls are covered in paintings and models of moustaches), going inside and upstairs to a loft conversion furnished like a 1940s jazz cafe. The outrageous humidity means no-one else has ventured in and we both seem to make the decision to trade comfort for privacy.

A hamster-like face

A hamster-like face

She’s sitting next to me on the sofa and lets me pull her in. She refuses the kiss. “I’ve been with my boyfriend for a year and I won’t cheat on him. I just decided to come because I enjoy flirting”.

That’s not going to stop me, obviously.

I keep laying it on. Prodding her thighs, playing with her hair, grabbing her breasts, dirty talking. She stays there because in her mind so long as she doesn’t kiss, it’s not cheating. Finally, after two hours, her sister is waiting outside and she’s got to go. So I get my dick out and put her hand on it. After five seconds she suddenly snatches it away. “Don’t! I’ll go crazy!”

She’s already told me she has a high libido and is very wet. The last words of the date are:

Me: I want to fuck you
Her: I want to fuck you too, but I can’t
Me: Ok. Enjoy your evening!
Her: Bye!

It’s strange how different my dates are now to a few years ago. I go back to Republic Square to meet the rest of the gang and turn my attention to other leads. It’s 50/50 that she’ll ever reply to me now, but I ping her and she’s responding. A couple of days later she unexpectedly agrees to another date and when I tell her “7pm by the horse again” she doesn’t reply.

I show up anyway, just in case. She’s there.

I walk her back towards the same bar district and she briefly detours at Studenski Park to give her sister a spare phone she’d forgetton to return. We don’t dally. I decide to take a chance and walk her directly to my apartment. I murmur something about charging my phone and how she can smoke in the garden. She comes in. She’s just accepting my lead.

My main thought is to keep her in the garden until her momentum to go to a bar has died. I put two chairs out and we just sit drinking water as she smokes. We make small talk for about twenty minutes. I don’t push hard. I just want to stabilise the “this date is in my apartment” frame. There’s almost no kino and I don’t try to kiss.

After her cigarette I suggest we go inside, where the only place to sit is on the bed. Then I go to kiss. She fights me off a little until I just grab her neck, throw her back onto the bed, and kiss her. Then she likes it. The next twenty minutes are a technical masterclass in beating LMR. Her body is screaming out for sex but she’s determined not to do it.

Gradually I get her top off and tits out. Damn they are good. Then I’m fingering her. She’s moaning feeble protests and not really making any effort to disengage. Then I get my dick out and put her hand on it. “We’re not going to have sex” she says as she starts giving a handjob. It’s time to get sneaky. I pull my trousers off and finger her while I’m kneeling between her legs. When I judge her to be at maximum arousal I just put my dick in and rawdog her. I don’t want the pause while I put on a condom.

But the body made up for it nicely

But the body made up for it nicely

Her eyes briefly go wide, she whispers “don’t” and then I’m fucking her. Within ten seconds she’s all-in, arms and legs wrapped around my back, pulling me in. It’s dirty, raw, hard sex. Fucking awesome.

Afterwards I interview her. She tells me she really didn’t plan to have sex but once it started she loved it. She also tells me she really enjoyed the process of being skillfully seduced – knowing what I was up to and just appreciating the skill of it. She rated the sex 9/10 so I told her to tell the sister (heh!) but she reckons it’ll be a secret from everyone.

“Next time you’re in Belgrade, message me” she says as we make our farewells.

Womanizer’s Bible Podcast #4 – Overcoming Princess Behaviour

April 29, 2015

Last week’s podcast is a case study when I talk about a recent lay which was very unusual. This 24-year old Serbian girl threw everything at me from the Silly Buggers playbook and a few additional difficulties: poor English, different country, very busy at work, ignoring texts, blowing hot and cold. It was worth it in the end because she’s rather hot. Click below for the podcast and head over to my channel to subscribe and you’ll see Podcast #5 featuring the notorious legendary Tom Torero.

Guest post: My first bathroom pull

February 20, 2015

Here’s a little victory story from a friend of mine who has been dipping his toe into Game waters. By way of context, he’s also a middle-aged professional man. I offer it here without edits:
In a decade as a denizen of the manosphere, this is my first-ever published lay report. It came about because I happened to tell Nick about a recent adventure of mine, and, flatteringly, he said “That’s textbook. Any chance you’d write it up as a guest post?” I decided to rise to the challenge. First of all, I’m not a playa in any typical sense. And even though I live in a big city, for various reasons beyond the scope of this essay, I do most of my approaching, daygaming and general skirt-chasing when I’m travelling. It’s part of the fun of being on the road, which I often am.
Recently, however, I flipped the script on myself, mostly because a “toilet pull” had been on my bucket list for awhile, and I figured home turf might be the best place to attempt it.
Using a popular dating platform one fine Friday night, I struck up some conversations with women here in town, paying particular attention to those visiting on holiday. One of the women I was messaging back and forth with had just arrived to the city, and was going to be here for a week. Her plan was to see a lot of museums. I’ll describe her as early 30s, European-Latina, and a professional scholar of theology (albeit an atheist). Very independent, cool gal in my book. Mentally we hit it off, and once we did, she made it plain that she was was looking for adventure sex. She wasn’t remotely coy, and sent me half-naked pics in our initial online chat.
A somewhat idealised impression

A somewhat idealised impression

During that chat, she also mentioned a museum she wanted to see the next day. I knew the place, and I asked her if she wanted a companion to join her. She said yes. I suggested we meet at a cafe first for a bite to eat. I wanted the museum to be the second venue, as bouncing works miracles, especially during the daytime. She arrived at lunch right on time, and we had a civilised meal. The conversation was purely platonic and unstructured. We’d already had the sex talk online. No need to overdo it. As the old salesman’s advice goes, “Once you’ve made the sale, stop selling.” As the host, I paid the bill. Then we strolled over to the museum.
She knew a lot about the stuff on display, and she enjoyed showing off her knowledge. I found it a turn-on, as her enthusiasm for these esoteric objects amplified her postgraduate expertise about their historic meaning. Really, I wish I had a recording of her fairly skipping ‘round this musty collection, cooing about the artefacts. ’Twas a lovely sight. Then…escalation.
About 20 minutes in, I took her hand. Ten minutes after that, I pulled her into a dark corner and we made out. She was so lustily responsive that my mental wheels immediately began turning. From previous visits, I knew that downstairs there was a hallway of individual toilet stalls, configured perfectly for a bathroom pull. I led her down the stairs and we checked out some galleries on that level. Meanwhile, I kept an eye on the row of WCs. When the coast was clear, I grabbed her arm and made a move to drag her into one of the men’s stalls with me. But my move was too sudden, and her automatic response was to pull back. Luckily, I could sense she was only flustered by my advance, not appalled by it, so I wasn’t overly worried. She scurried into a female stall, and I went by myself into a male one.
I gathered my thoughts.
Gathering thoughts, yesterday

Gathering thoughts, yesterday

I came out of my stall and stood outside the one I’d watched her go into a minute earlier. The museum was crowded with people, but by brilliant good fortune, at the exact moment she came out, there was nobody around to see us. Carpe diem. It was now or never. No hesitation. I pushed her back into the stall she was trying to exit, and went in with her, locking the door behind us. If she hadn’t known what was up before, she knew now. At this point, a wave of exhilaration and calm settled in. I could tell she was into it, and that we both felt safe now, ensconced. No one had seen us enter. No one would bug us.
There was no resistance as I tugged at her shirt and jeans. She was pinned to the wall by my body, and I put her hand on my crotch. We kissed some more. She undid my belt, and slid down to her knees. Shortly, I pulled out a condom, making sure she saw as I tore it open: I did that so that without breaking the trance or impeding the flow, I could double-check we were on the same page; we were. She emitted a gasp of surrender as I bent her over the sink.
The mirrors on all sides were a nice touch.
(Fade to black / statistical interlude: meet-to-lay time, 90 minutes; all told, I’d put in less than three hours, half of it whilst lying on my sofa the night before, all of it enjoyable.)
After finishing, we fell into a giddy, co-conspiratorial mode as we calculated how to get out of there alive. I told her to leave the stall first and that I’d lock the door again behind her, in case someone was waiting for that particular stall. I instructed her to knock when the hallway was empty as my signal to come out. More complicated than it needed to be, really, but I wasn’t thinking straight. Anyway, she did all that, and we strode up the stairs, waltzed nonchalantly through the foyer, and ambled back out into the streets.
We walked at a normal pace. Neither of us made any mention about what’d happened — I think we didn’t know what to say — so we defaulted to the congenial vibe we’d established from the outset and just carried on with our conversation about art history. Meanwhile our pulse rates and breathing patterns gradually returned to normal. A quarter of an hour later, I kissed her goodbye so she could go off to meet a friend. (I did see her again a few days later, somewhere more private.)
Something doesn't quite add up

Something doesn’t quite add up

1) It feels extraordinary to behave like the primates we are. I’d never before had a sexual experience that was so non-verbal. Afterward it made me recollect a vintage seduction tape where the guru asks the men in the audience to imagine themselves as cavemen, out in the forest, who happen upon a naked woman bathing in a waterfall. “Without the power of speech,” he asks, “could you seduce the woman? Would you know the motions to go through?” Well, I now firmly suspect that buried deep within us is precisely this innate knowledge. For me, the bathroom pull experience helped revive it. It sparked some dormant circuits and reconnected me with my animal essence in a way I found deeply satisfying and worthwhile.
2) The bathroom pull is one of those phenomena which seemed nearly mythical and impossible beforehand, and now, after the fact, seems simple and natural. Also, like downhill skiing, the whole thing feels a bit different than it looks. Don’t get me wrong, it’s extremely fun, but the experience had a different tone than I imagined. It was so visceral, so completely bodily. My intellect was absent; thoughts all but ceased. As someone who tends to be “in his head,” this made for a welcome change.
3) The woman has to be significantly complicit, and either consciously up for it or fully under your spell. After all, you might be able to “Oops, how’d we end up on my bed!?” But you can’t really “Oops, how’d we end up in the handicapped restroom!?” If you’re dealing with a woman who owns her sexuality, her forebrain won’t interfere with her hindbrain and sailing will tend to be smooth, as it was for me. But if she’s hesitant or “split brained,” you might need more artfulness in the segues. Sure, I can see that dragging a woman off to the bathroom would be a turn on for her and thereby might increase the likelihood of sex in some instances. But I also see that the bathroom pull is probably best employed in pre-heated moments of passion. Which relates to my next point.
4) “Only place bets you know you’ll win.” This was actually told to me by a dog trainer. He meant: during training, don’t ask a dog to do something unless you’re quite sure the dog will do it; then you ask for a little more each subsequent time, rewarding compliance with a treat. This is broadly analogous to calibrated escalation with women, and looking back on it, I realise I did it here by accident: I did not “make the bet” of isolating my date in the toilet stall until I knew she’d comply with my leadership. (That’s not to say she definitely was going to have sex with me in there, only that I was certain she wouldn’t freak out and make a scene. The worst that would happen in there is she’d giggle and blush, and give me massive tingle-credits which I would cash in later in her hotel room. Therefore, pulling her into the stall was a bet I knew I’d win, one way or another.)
5) Furtive, primal sex appears to be massively bonding for the female of the species. Must be a dominance thing, right? For a woman, I expect the bathroom pull is within the realm of the archetypal “taken by a stranger” fantasy, so it’s an intense experience she may not have had before you came along. In a real sense, you’ve just done her a huge favour by shagging her in the loos. And this memorable, shared adventure has quite possibly given her a rush of ecstatic and seldom-felt emotions, which she’ll anchor to you. (Evidence? Many weeks on, this woman still sends me dirty photos of herself unsolicited and sometimes refers to “that time in the museum.”)
So that’s my tale. Hope it was instructive. Obviously, filter it through your own identity and experience, and live your life your way. Happy hunting.

I bang my first 25 year old Russian hairdresser

April 6, 2014

It’s day four of Team Krauser‘s FSU jaunt and now we are in some second-tier Russian city where endless steppe has been replaced with endless grey foreboding apartment blocks. The kind of style 1960s England used for municipal car parks. At 11pm we take a taxi to a local bar/club.


but on a somewhat lower budget

but on a somewhat lower budget

Literally. On stage behind the semi-circular long bar is a live act ripping through 80s and 90s guitar rock. All around locals are dancing with undisguised joy in that peculiarly non-ironic Russian manner. It’s a great atmosphere. Tom, Bodi and I stand motionless in the throng, scoping it out. Although far from a “high end” club, the quality is off the scale compared to London. There’s alot of painted-up sixes and sevens, a smattering of eights and importantly no fatties or munters at all. A pattern quickly emerges.

The hotter girls are standing in pairs at the bar or in small groups seated along the edge of the small dance floor. They all studiously ignore the throng of enthusiastic chodes dancing in front of them in a childlike manner to get attention. Never have I seen so much “pull” from a group of willing suitors. The girls alternatively blank them or politely indulge them for their efforts. Noticeably there are no “bitch faces”, ever. Guys are getting blown-out like Jihadis caught in the open against an Apache attack chopper but at no point are the girls petty and mean. Such a good atmosphere.

We are already drawing IOIs. Dressed English (and r-selected), having English faces, and not following the dancing-monkey routine means we stand out like a white man in KFC. I’ve decided to play the Jabba Game. Tom is far too impatient for that and immediately begins a circuit to open sets. For the first hour Bodi and I just talk to each other, build some vibe and studiously avoid value-scanning the room. It works because whereas I entered the club in shit state, by midnight I’m getting a buzz and feeling good. I can sense the subtle IOIs around me and they get stronger. Soon girls are walking past giving The Look or bumping into us purely to get noticed. I’m not used to it. In a London club I’d get one IOI per month.

Finally I’ve found a club I can put the Jabba Game to the test. I stalk the club, eyeing up girls and forcing looks before returning to Bodi. The first two times don’t uncover much but by 1am I’ve counted off ten girls who are pinging back with some interest. Unfortunately nothing above a high-seven. I open, putting the claw on two tall girls eyeing us up. Halfway through the girls eye-code and switch up so I am now talking to a six-foot blonde. She’s loving it but I’m off-form, not really in my element in clubs. I try the talking game and she’s playing along, letting me spin her around, check out her heels and so on but then she asks my star sign and on my answer she suddenly backturns and pulls her friend away. How weird.

Another tall brunette is eyeing me so I pull her in, kino a bit, but her English is weak. There’s no sizzle in the chat at all and I have to try a clumsy physical game. She likes me but it’s just not happening. Too clunky. I reopen her an hour later and do more of the same pushing for extraction but she smiles and declines. Tom has disappeared by now, having fortuitously bumped into a girl by the coat check who inexplicably offered to drive him home within a few minutes of conversation. He’s sniffed out a chance and put all his chips on one roll of the dice.

Lots of MILF types are eyeing us up but we don’t really want to forego a chance at the hotter-younger-tighter girls. I’m really getting to experience what Good Looking Guy Game is like. There are now a dozen girls IOIing me and the grottier ones are full-on eye-fucking me on and off for hours on end. I know that if I’m willing to drop down to a six, or thirty-plus girl, I have an easy SNL.

Could've had any number of these

Could’ve had any number of these

While coming out the toilets with Bodi I see a blonde and brunette eye us. As we walk past the blonde gets out of her seat, gets in my way and starts dancing with her back to me. Briefly I wonder if girls always did this and in my chode days I was too blind to see, or if it’s because now I’m cooler so the girls only do it now. I spin her around and immediately she’s put her hand on my shoulder and the other on my arse. She’s super-on. Bodi goes in with her friend. Language is poor but these girls are DTF so I start wondering if I should just take the easy cheeseburger. Then she tries to make me buy a whiskey for her so I walk off.

This kind of thing goes on with girls until past 2am. Once or twice the girls are solid eights but somehow not quite available (chode boyfriends in tow). We see raw naked hypergamy as girls are dancing with K-selected boyfriends while eyeing us up over his shoulder. My buzz is great but I’m impatient.

Finally as I return from the toilet again I make an all-in play. The blonde girl I’d backturned over whiskey is now necking on with the best-looking guy in the club. He looks like Tim Tebow – jacked, brawny, good features. He really does look like an NFL quarterback and his fashion and tattoos give him a player edge. Surprisingly he has no game – she’s a washed-up low six, not even the 25th hottest girl in the club – and he immediately latches onto her when she grabs him. An hour later he’s still with her and is trying to extract. At this moment I walk past and her now-solo brunette friend gives me The Look.

I walk in, grab her, and escalate. Within thirty seconds we’re kissing. The girls are eye-coding and my girl is desperately telling the blonde to leave and fuck the big guy. He’s standing there awkwardly while I do him the massive favour of turning the cockblock into a helper. He gets her away. I choke my girl as I kiss her and she whimpers with pleasure. That’s a test I always do now (hat tip D&P). I tell her

“Iet’s move”

and lead her by the hand to the cloakroom. There’s the usual “where are we going” and “what are we doing” so I tell her we’re having coffee at my apartment and nothing with happen. She stays in text contact with her blonde friend who has been playing silly-buggers in the taxi rank then ditched the guy to roam the club lost and forlorn. The capacity of women to ruin their own chances is incredible – one of the top guys in the club, a full three points better looking than her ageing carcass, was willing to bang her and she screwed it up pulling the same shit like she did with the whiskey on me.

Instead I waited for one of these

Instead I waited for one of these

My girl is only in my apartment five minutes before I’m knobbing her. She’s a biter, screamer and scratcher. Halfway through I hear Tom come in with his bird and he begins a laborious four-hour battle against LMR. After I shoot my muck on my girl’s tits I have to walk through the lounge to get toilet tissue and Tom is giving his girl a shoulder massage and eye-coding me to make myself scarce.
He knobs her a bit later on the sofa. My girl dresses and leaves at 9am, while Bodi is in an afterparty in some squalid Soviet-era apartment with some locals he met in the taxi rank. A good night.

Learning Points

  • Being the shiny guy in a nightclub makes it all incredibly easy. I can’t remember ever getting laid with so little effort and so little game.
  • GLGG isn’t really game. It’s like an adult playing in the Little League. It’s a completely different beast to getting girls more attractive than you are who rarely put out.
  • I felt zero achievement. It was like buying a McDonalds on the way home to satisfy the munchies. A vastly different feeling to closing a daygame squirrel over two dates.
  • All that said, what I did need to do was pick a horse to back and then show conviction. And the sex was fun.

I bang my first 29 year old Cornish separatist

December 20, 2013

The internet would have you believe English girls possess sophisticated anti-Game powers that make them impervious to charisma. Anyone who has actually daygamed Europe will quickly tell you English girls aren’t harder, they are just unpleasant. The moment you step out of the Anglosphere it’s like stepping out the Fat Room of a carnival Hall of Mirrors and you realise it’s not you, it’s them. Anglosphere society is broken and most women with it.

Wonder Woman, 2013 version

Wonder Woman, 2013 version

Most human traits follow bell-shaped normal distribution yet different demographics can shift the whole curve left or right (see for example IQ by country). 66% of people are within one standard deviation of the mean. For Euro-girls under thirty that mean is a high 6. For FSU-girls it’s a high 7. For Brits, Yanks, Kiwis, Saffers, Aussies and Paddys it’s a low 5. In a nutshell that’s why it behooves every man to ignore native English-speaking girls. Exercise some cultural and geographical arbitrage to up the quality of the women in your life. I avoid English women. Their voice turns my stomach. Their frumpy ill-coordinated fashion hurts my eyes. They can’t follow a man’s lead and have nothing of interest to say. In general.

Pretend you didn't see this

Pretend you didn’t see this

So when I’m out one Saturday afternoon with Bodi near Buckingham Palace the last thing I’m expecting is to initiate an interaction with an English girl that ends with me fucking her a few days later. My vibe is still flat so when I see a Brazilian girl that’s a bit chubby for my taste but otherwise screaming to be opened I let Bodi have her. As he wanders off on an idate I hang around looking for targets. Amongst the trees outside St James Park I see a French-looking girl alone, inspecting a plaque of the local wildlife. Sorted. I open.

Incredibly she’s English. From Cornwall. I rapidly calculate that’s as far from (literally and culturally) London as a Brit can be and it shows in her vibe. She’s chatty, pleasant and (for a Brit) reasonably feminine. The set takes on that weird non-polarity English girls have where it’s chatty and fast-paced but there’s no crackle of man-woman vibe. She likes me. A Yes Girl. Text game progresses easily and I get her out a few days later…..

Me: So this is the chatty Cornish separatist 🙂
Her: Chatty? I could hardly get a word in!
Me: How memory deceives us….
Me: [next day] I’m sitting in a cafe with hot coffee and enthralling book 🙂 how are you?
Her: Sounds lovely. I’ve just had a very uninspiring Christmas lunch. Think I get to leave work early though, woo hoo!
Me: Works lunch? I get restless at those
Her: Desperate to leave! xxx
Me: Steal the mince pies and sell them to tramps
Her: I’m free! Nice plans this eve?
Me: None at all. Maybe exercise and video games
Me: Hang on… you’re cadging a date invitation aren’t you…. how smooth you move young lady 😀
Her: It may sound like that but actually I’m not free. You are very slow with your invites though. Where’s my cup of tea?
Me: Brewing
Her: Very good. I need to work on my patience!
Me: I approve

I’m really not much interested because I thought she’s a mid-6 and didn’t even have make-up on when I opened. She’s new in town and doesn’t know anyone. As 3pm rolls around my eyes wander to the darkening skies and bitter wind. I’m seriously thinking of flaking on her. Don’t care for new notches this year. I’ve had my fill. I want to go home and finish Operation Flashpoint Red River.

But no makeup a,nd unwashed hair

But no makeup and unwashed hair

But I’ve literally just finished drawing my Krauser Daygame Model flowchart for the book. Wouldn’t this be a great chance to run the model exactly as written in the model, step-by-step, with no variations. I could voice record it all and who knows, if I bang her on Day 2 it’s a full uninterrupted audio of the model *. Maybe I’ll meet her afterall. So I’m decided.

6pm in front of Top Shop on Friday evening and I walk her to a nearby tea shop. She’s hotter than I remember – a respectable seven but being English she’s still not wearing makeup and she came straight from uni with a hiking jacket, ill-fitting jeans and unwashed hair. It reminds me of one of my Serbs telling me about a day she visited her grandmother without putting on her makeup first (“How dare you come here looking like that?” Granny says, “Have some self respect, girl”).  Enroute to Venue Zero,  I actually say exactly the same dialogue examples as in my book. Over tea I follow the body language advice exactly. I bring up the same topics. I precisely monitor the energy levels per by model prediction. It’s literally textbook game. She loves it.

Being English she’s already derailing it, talking total gibberish that would quickly kill the vibe if I didn’t haul her back on track. She likes me, she just doesn’t know how to be attractively feminine – being English and all. Venue One passes the test so I walk her on to Venue Two for a bright alcoholic drink. I run the twin escalation ladders (verbal and physical) in precise order and get my amber lights. So I move her to Venue Three at a dark blues bar to run the Questions Game and go for the kiss.

Textbook. She even refused the kiss twice to allow me to do my little Recovery Loop and keep moving forwards.

The questions game starts to break the fourth wall. She’s really loving it and starting to share such as her fantasy to have two men at once, how she just got out of a long long relationship, hasn’t had sex in three months and hasn’t had good sex in over a year. She masturbated last night to the fantasy of an investment banker she’s messaged on but hasn’t even met. She’s gagging for it. Sexual and Ambient Logistics are perfect.

As we walk out up Regent Street I’m looking to flag a cab. Her next question is:

“What do you think the odds are we have sex tonight?”

Of course my first thought is they just rose dramatically. I reply.

Me: On my side it’s 100%. I’m attracted to you, I like how we got on tonight, so I want to take you home and fuck you. On your side I think it’s 70%. You want sex and you think I’m probably the right man right now but you have a few reservations. Probably you think it’s a bit fast and you are concerned about adding to your Number.

Her: No, I don’t mind the number. I was in a very long relationship. And yes, I’m very horny these days. I fancy you but I think you’re a bit of a wanker

Me: Only a bit? Well, you’re a bit of a hippy. When the revolution comes we’ll be on opposite sides of the barricades

Her: I like that

Me: Yes. Forbidden fruit is the sweetest

A cab arrives and I push her in, saying she hasn’t agreed to anything so I won’t hold her to anything. Just a drink at my place and see how we feel. Back at my place I run the Venue Four bedroom escalation model. It’s still textbook. Five minutes after sitting down she can’t hold back and jumps me, initiating the kiss. Her clothes falls to the floor in seconds and she’s on her knees sucking me off. Her body is a nice surprise – firm, flat stomach, vibrant tight skin – country living and hiking has kept her looking young. I take her next door to get the notch and that’s it.

English girls are not harder. Just different.

* My phone runs out of battery midway through Venue Two.

I bang my first 30 year old Sri Lankan student

November 9, 2013

The player lifestyle is an emotional rollercoaster that throws up all kinds of unusual experiences. The typical chode has a love-life something like this, with some adjustment depending on how high his value is:

  • Grind away with job, fashion, hobbies and gym until some girl chooses you
  • Date girl in her frame until she gives up the sex and secures monogamous commitment from you
  • Change Facebook status to “in a relationship”. Go to Adele concerts together, shopping malls, birthday parties and bore your co-workers with stories that begin with “we” and end with a damp squib of anti-climax.
  • Get dumped. Come off the rails a while. Message some fatties on OkCupid. Stare with terror into the abyss of a long dry spell.
  • Repeat once a year until married.

Perhaps I exaggerate but the chodes I know all have drearily predictable lives. Once you board the emotional rollercoaster that is Game it’s like a tiger raised in capitivity being released into the wild.

Beginners bootcamp, Covent Garden

Beginners bootcamp, Covent Garden

The buffers are gone, the safe societally-sanctioned routine is gone and now you are confronted with the many opportunities and threats of the wildnerness. It’s exciting times. It’s a rollercoaster because you are now putting yourself into position to experience the extremes of success and failure. This is not a flat straight motorway with a car on cruise control. You are constantly forcing yourself into (relatively) high stakes situations where the difference between roaring success and shattering failure is razor thin. Just ask any player who has pulled off an SDL with a young hottie. Hence the old saying “emotional control is the foundation of Game.”

One such unusual experience is sex with girls you don’t like. In ChodeWorld it’s weird to have sex with a girl whose personality grates on him because he (i) believes the Disney romance myth and (ii) is chosen by girls partly on his agreeability to them. Players, however, have relentless notch-count hyena to feed and also far more stringent standards on who they like. It’s just that we’ll still fuck her anyway. Making a habit of enduring unpleasant women’s jibber-jabber just to get into their pants is a soul-destroying foolish errand but once in a while the grotty shamefullness of it is fun. So it was with this girl.

It begins normally enough at 10pm on Regent Street as I’m walking to the bus stop after a drink with friends. The streets have emptied out and from about twenty metres away I see a girl with exactly the silhouette I want – tall, leggy, wide hips, breasts, long hair. As I see the whites of her eyes I see she’s from the sub-continent and walks nice. So I open. My assumption story is dead-on that she’s a student from Sri Lanka. She’s surprised by my accuracy and she’s a fairly smart girl so the banter is good (at first). She’s loving it but a bit guarded and challenging. I take the number and she’s keen in the texts. It goes downhill from there.

Perm the hair a bit

Perm the hair a bit

Every new fact I find out about her is either a red flag or an irritation. Over the course of a short Day 2 (one drink on a Friday night) and a longer Day 3 in a blues bar I discover the following:

  • Her university course is a do-gooder socialist PC money pit.
  • She’s sexually experienced and “knows what she wants”
  • She frequently spouts femthink to belittle and dismiss masculinity (in the abstract – she gets off on my masculinity in the specific)
  • She has a large tattoo on her lower back
  • She thinks she knows alot about politics, geography, history and psychology and yet every single assertion is gibberish.

I figure she’s quite a slut so I shouldn’t have to endure much before I get my notch and smoothly disappear from her life. The Day 3 is just a technical challenge of my ability to run the model and move things along against her resistance while suppressing my desire to dress her down and next her. I can deal with her obstructionism by the usual push-pull and dominance. I can deal with her femthink by holding my frame and not engaging. She’s so set on keeping her frame that it’s tough to break her down. She’s desperately clinging on to the “I’m a girl. I’m the value. I’m choosing” script but I won’t budge an inch and she grudgingly plays along, plotting and scheming ways to snatch back some frame.

It’s quite a chore. I probably shouldn’t bother but I want the Sri Lanka flag.

Day 4 is back at my house but she’s getting off on stringing things out and denying the sex. I get her rather generous breasts out but not much more. She’s gagging for it but the script matters more to her. Day 5 is in my house again and I’m decided that I’ll next her if she doesn’t put out. She doesn’t put out. Next!

She’s chasing hard by text. I give one-word answers, take hours to respond, don’t take her bait to invite her out. I’m just sick of it. I cannot face the idea of rebuilding momentum just to spend another four hours on my sofa of her saying “no”. She seems to get the message. She invites herself over one final time and then I fuck her within the hour. She makes a face-saving show of banter and reluctance but her eyes and mouth are a dead giveaway that she’s come to fuck. It’s actually a great lay. High energy, very physical, noisy. I put her into a taxi and delete her number.

Girls really ought to learn that how they act before the lay determines if they get called back. This one was just so precious, so inane, so poor at banter that I shut myself down and by Day 4 getting interest and affection from me was like blood from a stone. She’s not a bad person, just a case of drinking every bottle of PC/feminist Kool Aid and wrecking her ability to inspire care and affection from a man. Poor girl.

+1. New flag.

Learning points

  • Masculine girls are extremely annoying
  • Obstructionism is not a strong frame. It’s just obstructionism. Don’t be in awe of it.
  • Don’t feel guilty about pumping and dumping a girl who has failed to earn your affections.

I bang my first 28 year old Russian Miss Fitness competitor

November 6, 2013

Back when I was a normal person super-chode my life was a fairly unadventurous affair, something I still see in the dead-eyed shambling of all my coupled-up old friends. Monday to Friday is the corporate cubicle grind then a few drinks after work with other blue-shirted finance/programmer chodes in an All Bar One until each of my friends’ “weekend passes” expired and Her Indoors summoned them home. Saturday and Sunday were mostly recovery from the week with a little shopping and cafe-dwelling mixed in.

A pretty boring life. I escaped that gulag four years ago and the Blue Pill Gestapo will never take me back alive.

Confined to solitary

Confined to solitary

Then an hour in the exercise yard

Then an hour in the exercise yard

So I’ve been living the Euro-jaunt lifestyle. Every month or so I’ll take a week or two’s trip facilitated by budget airlines and airbnb. I’ll number-farm, pick the low-hanging fruit and add the tougher, chaster and prettier girls to Facebook and Skype to work them ready for a return trip. When you’re a fan of the Euro-jaunt lifestyle, Long Game is indispensable. You have to learn your mistakes the hard way and few things are more depressing than working a girl over social media for two months, agreeing to meet in her country and then she doesn’t put out. It’s only happened to me twice and it’s very unpleasant… an “I suck” moment to beat all I suck moments. So I developed a Long Game checklist to be ticked off before booking flights and it’s served me well. It’s in the new book.

I wouldn’t be an aspiring player if I didn’t sometimes push the envelope, take a risk, and put myself into stupid situations. With this girl I decide to fly over to Estonia for a weekend with her when she hasn’t ticked off a single item on the checklist. That’s trouble. But before we get to the end let’s go back to the beginning…..

It’s late July and the sun is beating down on the paved streets around Trafalgar Square. Crowds of slim Euro-tourist girls amble around with cameras, guidebooks and Primark bags while Tom and I run amok. He opens some bint outside the National Gallery and hooks well so I go sit over on a nearby wall. He’s got his girl laughing and tittering so I’m looking around for something to throw myself at….. and I see her. A diminutive little Russian strutting across the square in high heels and tight skirt. Imagine the bitchiest coldest-looking Russian catwalk model and then shrink her six inches and inflate her curves. She’s got the severe makeup, cold eyes, high cheekbones and dark clipped fashion that you’d expect on Victoria Beckham but she’s only 5’2″ tall bless her with hips and calves like a porno actress. Her features are like a blow-up doll. I open.

I genuinely expect to get blown out hard. She seems so severe.

In diminutive low-8 form

In diminutive low-8 form

But no, she hooks easily and before bouncing her into the National Gallery cafe “for an English tea like an English lady” I see Tom glide past with his phone camera sneakily flashing. Later he shows up in the cafe after I text asking him to record a little idate footage.

After tea I walk her along the lakeside at St James Park and we sit on the grass. She deftly avoids being in kiss-close range but she’s verbally IOIing me and there’s no danger of her failing to understand my intent. But this is a Russian: you don’t expect much from the first two dates. She’s only in town a few more days as her three-week English course wraps up but I manage to get her on a Day 2 for a couple of hours. We have a beer in Waxy O’Connors and she rebuffs my kiss-close in a “too soon” kind of manner. I move it to Facebook.

Back in Trotskygrad reality hits her like homebrewed vodka and she’s loving the mysterious Englishman schtick. I run the usual Long Game in comparing her to a hamster and KGB agent. She sends me a two-page bio giving me a fantasy backstory (that’s great investment and mythologising) and it all goes nicely. September rolls around and I’m in Latvia teaching a residential with Tom. I get my usual local lays and squeezed between them is a Sunday afternoon when my Russian buses into Riga for a daytrip. It’s a delightful afternoon sitting in the sunshine by the river, taking photos around the Old Town and I get her semi-naked on my sofa. There’s makin’-out aplenty but she’s got rigid forebrain control to refuse the sex. I try everything. At one point I’m chasing her around the kitchen table and she tries to crawl away through my legs.

Another month of Facebook chat ensues then we agree to meet for a weekend in Tallinn. I know it’s not a done deal not only because the checklist isn’t ticked off but my whole gut feel is telling me it’s a 50/50 bet she’ll play the “I’m not that kind of girl game”. She’s clearly angling for commitment. However I’m on 25 of 26 targeted lays for the year, fancy getting out of London, and haven’t been approaching for over a month so have no London leads. I take a punt.

Predictably she gives me the runaround. On paper it’s a lovely evening – we stroll around the Old Town, take photos, eat in a medieval restaurant, have a few drinks and then roll around on my bed in the apartment but…. it’s just one long ordeal for me. It’s a very straightforward powerplay, conducted covertly.

I want to bang her. She wants to get commitment first.

As I’m walking her back to my place towards 10pm she tells me “I should be going back to my hotel”. She comes inside “for a minute only”. She won’t take her coat or shoes off for the first hour. Every babystep forward is a grind. I try everything over three hours on my bed before finally giving up. She stays the night but never takes her tights off and in the morning I’m able to get a blowjob off her. It’s so obvious she’s gagging for it but her forebrain is truly impressive. There’s a reason Russians like chess (and yes, she plays).

I get rid of her on Saturday afternoon because I need my own time and space. A couple of hours later she returns and the battle recommences. I sense a change this time. I’ve very consciously reminded myself to get back into the Now and make myself present, rather than my previously weird outcome-dependent distant vibe. She’s also a little more broken-down than yesterday, her hindbrain having dissolved a few more layers of resistance. So we eat again and have another drink. The vibe has shifted noticeably. Her eyes are more sparkly, she feels closer, and I’m starting to sense the “fuck me” decision being made behind her eyes. The spider sense is tingling.

I take her home again and the same palaver ensues but in only a quarter of the time. Finally I decide for the big escalation push. I’m pretty brutal with her. Moving her body around, ripping her clothes off, giving her stern looks, holding her down. She resists mightily but everytime I release her she gives a mildly disappointed look. Twice I do the Fire Escape routine of going into the bathroom, closing the door and offering her an escape route should she really wish to leave. Both times I come back to find her still lying on the bed in exactly the state of undress in which I left her. She wants it.

This scene is tame in comparison

This Conan scene is tame in comparison

So she gets it. She’s saying “no, we shouldn’t” right up until the moment I stick it in her and then – BAM! – She loves it. The barriers come tumbling down and she transforms into a hellcat. She’s biting, scratching, moaning, screaming, begging for more. She loves it rough especially the choking. When I turn her over for doggy-style I see a tramp stamp above her ass…. “oh you deceitful dirty bitch” I think, “pretending you’re a good girl wanting commitment while having that tattoo”. So I stick it in her ass and give her a rough one-man DP. Needless to say she loves it.

Afterwards she snuggles up to me and coos “you’re such a monster”.

I’m grinning. “You look much happier now” she says. “Yes, I won” I reply.