I’m very much into Mediterranean girls with their big thick black hair, dark eyes and olive skin. Doesn’t matter if they are Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Greek, whatever – so long as they have the wop blood in them I’ll overlook their lazy hand-waving debt-repudiating cultural handicaps and focus on the dusky beauty.

I like wop girls. Wop men not so much. They are just half-adult mummy’s boys.

However I have trouble actually snagging a hot wop despite the aforementioned economic troubles causing a veritable flood of ’em entering London to work at Caffe Nero. They now seem to outnumber the East Europeans. Getting attraction is easy, getting them away from their social circle-selected boyfriend another matter entirely. A conundrum.

but a low eight

So I’m walking through Leicester Square one sunny Sunday afternoon with Bhodi when I spot a seated Chinese girl I can set him on. That set hooks so I wander off towards Trafalgar Square and soon find just what I’m looking for: tall, slim, pretty, introverted and… woppy. I open telling her she looks Portuguese and it’s a strong hook from the off. All green lights. She’s full of energy and trying just as hard to make conversation as I am. My woptimism grows. After about ten minutes I take the number and suggest a coffee. Text game is easy.

Me: Hey. It was nice to meet you. Are you always so friendly to strangers?

Her: It was nice to talk to you, I’m glad you stopped me for a chat… very brave!

Me: [next day] It’s a lovely day 🙂 I’m off to the park with friends.

Her: Nice! Beautiful day! unfortunately today is house viewing day for me.. can’t enjoy the sun properly! Fingers crossed for tomorrow… Enjoy the park and the lovely sun! 🙂

Me: Thanks hon. Good luck.

Me: [later that evening] How’s the viewing.. you still deciding between a palace and a cardboard box?

Her: Hahaha! I’m more oriented on the cardboard box at the minute! 🙂 how was your day at the park?

Me: Sunny. Just having a beer now. Is tomorrow good? About 5pm

Her: Fine with me! Let’s see the weather and decide where to meet… what do you reckon?

Me: Sure. I’ll let you know tomorrow.

The sun is shining so I take the wopportunity to meet her in the park. It’s just so on, so fast. She’s giving me green lights on everything. We lie on the grass by the lake and within five minutes I pull her down next to me and another five pass before we’re kissing. I’m now left with a dilemma of whether I should try to take her home this date. I resist. Generally speaking if you fuck a Euro-girl on the first date or earlier its a one-off and she won’t be back. That’s not an iron rule but you’ve set the frame of adventure sport sex and she might demur from a repeat. Seeing as my goal is to build a rotation I hold fire and just keep it clean. Comfort, a walk, a drink and then send her home after two hours.

I’d been seeding the next date of her coming round to cook me Italian food. She’s jumping at the chance. At no point did any of this feel like reaching for it. So two days later I meet her in town, walk her through a nice mom’n’pop Italian grocers for supplies, then the bus to my place. I’ve fucked her before we even unpack the shopping bags. Literally just did the house tour ending in my room and she was all over it once her ass hit my bed.

It’s nice when it goes easy.

It’s easy to be playful with this girl too. She’s got a very pleasant chatty demeanour and takes the banter brilliantly. So while she’s cooking she lets slip that she used to work for an NGO. A proper do-gooding lefty. She’s 29 now and mostly grown out of it but I still mercilessly rib her for the next hour with every non-PC comment I can muster. Then I fuck her again and send her home.

There’s not much in the way of learning points here. She was a Yes Girl from the very first moment so I just had to recognise that, restrain myself from overgaming, and shuttle her along the path to sex.

NB – This report is out of sequence. The upcoming Italian report was four days earlier.

It wasn’t so long ago I was lamenting to my fellow daygamers that I have nothing going on in London – no solid leads at all. This is the downside of travelling so much. Taking a week off every month for away games disrupts the flow of your home game. So in mid-May I make a firm decision to hit the London streets until I’ve rebuilt a rotation. I have modest goals:

1. Three girls on a weekly rotation
2. Additional fast sex when the opportunity arises

That’s not too much to ask. My first weekend is unlucky for all the usual reasons – girls have boyfriends or about to catch a flight home and so on. My street patter is ok so I don’t take it personally. Then the next weekend my luck breaks. I do about ten sets, get four numbers and all four hold. First up is a Frenchie idate that doesn’t quite work. Then there’s a black African shopgirl giving me the eye as she walks past on Oxford Street (yes, I actually cop an IOI for a change) so that leads to a date and probably an upcoming blogpost. There’s a nice Chinese girl and then a strong hook from an Italian. I’m pleased.

Every young girl wants adventure

After closing the Italian midweek I take my foot off the pedal. On Saturday I spend the afternoon in my favourite Caffe Nero reading an old Enid Blyton favourite until about 3pm when I shut the book. Decision time. Do I turn right towards my home and Bioshock Infinite or do I turn left towards the underground station and see what is on the streets? I turn left. Coming out of Green Park station I see the sun shining and people picnicking. I’m feeling chill and stateless. No intent but also no pressure. I slowly saunter through the park remembering Jon Matrix‘s old advice of letting all your energy and weight sink down into your legs to relax you. Coming out to Buckingham Palace I see my dream set.

Tall. Brunette. Camera. Tour book. Sensible walking shoes. Tight jeans….. and a rucksack.

I’ll say this again because it needs saying. Learn to cold read girls. Some of its obvious but ruminate on the clothing for a moment. A girl who puts on jeans and trainers has obviously planned to be walking around alot for sightseeing. She’s not expecting to meet anyone. So when you encounter her at 4pm its a strong bet that she’s been walking around for hours with no social contact, her feet hurt, and she’d love to idate.

My opener is the usual stuff about being an obvious tourist and I assumption stack on her being Central European, probably Slovakian. I “disbelieve” her on the “I’m German” because she doesn’t have a square head or lederhosen. Easy hook. Turns out she’s a competitive athlete. That explains the washboard stomach and toned legs. After ten minutes I walk her off through St James Park. As she keeps making conversation I know this is headed somewhere. Nonetheless it surprises me how fast.

Longer legs and drop a point

Venue 1 is the park. I just want her walking with me to build momentum. It then seems really natural to finish the walk in Venue 2 – the cafe inside the National Gallery at Trafalgar. Beforehand I’m framing her about acting like an English lady to drink real English tea. I send her to get seats while I order tea. That’s a nice £4 idate. I’m doing mostly comfort with occasional spikes. She’s sedate but interested so I tell her about Sherlock Holmes and bounce her to Venue 3 – the Sherlock Holmes pub. But its busy and I don’t want to be jostled so we end up in another pub around the corner. I’m playing with her hands and hair now, with no flinching. Amber light, keep moving forwards. She knocks back a pint, saying its easy to drink English “pussy beer”. Keep telling yourself that, love. So long as you drink…..

Venue 4 is a turkish souk in Covent Garden. Although the sun is beaming outside its dark inside and not the usual cloud of shisha smoke. She’s sitting next to me now and I start the questions game. Even at this late a point, two hours in, I’m not sure. You always have to make a move so I kiss her. Great. It’s on. Now the only question is SDL or Day 2. I’m starting to think about the African girl who is texting asking to meet after her work at 8pm. I decide to stall her until I know what’s going on with the German.

Venue 5 is the Hawley Arms in Camden, the pub Amy Winehouse usually passed out in (that’s part of my seeding of it). I want to get her closer to my house and also compliance test moving her. It’s still sunshine so its no surprise she bites. She’s been in London three days and is going to start a summer internship. She wants to look around. We get the underground. Its far less pressure to get a tube to a daytime market than a nighttime taxi home. I just feel her momentum behind me like wind in my sails. The girl has abdicated responsibility for her day. She even tells me she has nothing to do and I have as long as I need with her (big green light).

DHV

We have a pint each in the Hawley, standing against a wall. I can now work little touches and squeezes on her while locking in and making her move around me in a nice oak-tree/squirrel dynamic. I’m closer and closer to pulling the trigger. Its hard to point to any identifiable signals but my intuition is telling me this girl wants her London adventure sex now. I walk her outside and notice a minicab office next door. I tell her “we’re going to the next place” and walk in to order one, imploring the guy “as soon as possible”. Trigger is pulled, now I must brazen it out, hold frame, and lead. When I come back outside she pipes up:

Her: What did you do?

Me: I ordered a taxi

Her: Where to?

Me: The next place

Her: Where is that? (as we are getting into a waiting cab)

Me: My garden

Her: Ok

On the drive back I’m doing the usual bamboozlement to get her talking and not pushing any kino. We get wine in my local shop and then I give her the house tour ending at my room. Shoes off, music on, give her five minutes alone. She texts my address to her friend. The usual. The final escalation is quick. She lets me strip her naked with no fuss before I even have my t-shirt off. And then I’m fucking her.

She’s tense. Halfway through she needs me to roll off so she can gather herself. We chat while I stroke her hair and give physical comfort.

Her: I need to text my friend again. She wants to know I’m ok.

Me: What will you tell her?

Her: She’ll love this story. It’s so typical of me

F

U

C

K

My heart stops. Did I fuck up my calibration so bad? She’s got virginal written all over her and now she drops this bomb. Five minutes later I’ve got my dick in her again and I do the interview.

Me: You haven’t had much sex before, have you? (she has appalling technique, very stiff and clumsy)

Her: No

Me: Can you count how many times?

Her: Twice

Me: Two men?

Her: Yes. One was my friends older brother. The other was a school friend. One time each.

Me: What did you mean when you said your friend will love this story?

Her: I’m quite impulsive and like adventure (I relax)

Me: When did you know I’d be fucking you?

Her: In the souk. Before then I still wasn’t sure what you wanted

So there it is. Meet the girl at 4pm and fucking her by 9pm. A sweet leggy young German. Seeing as she’s hot and I want her on my rotation I fuck her twice that night then meet her the next day for comfort in Hyde Park and another fuck at home. Add to skype before my holiday and there it is. A new girlfriend (of sorts).

The African texts at 9pm to say she’s too tired after work and can we meet another day. A bird in the hand, and all that….

It’s a manosphere truism that women love dominant men and yearn for someone strong enough that they can surrender to him and bask in the pleasant womanly feelings of submission. Girls can read you very quickly and become ruthlessly efficient at screening out the legions of pushover boring beta males. When you street stop her you’ve set yourself apart. When you tease early in the set her ears prick up. When you steamroll through her shit tests she becomes very interested. The girl begins to hope she’s finally found a man worth submitting to. Then you have a strong hook.

This sort of thing

While walking into a cafe in some second-tier Western Russian city I see a cute little gypsy girl ambling along. She’s got a petite dancer’s body, ass-length thick black hair and wild fiery gypsy eyes. My type all over and quite a contrast to the usual greyhounds. I’m immediately cocky and she’s pushing back from the beginning. There’s a strong spark in the air, her showing far more fire than the usual Russian coldness. I take a number and move on for my coffee date with another girl. The texting goes well. I’ll do a full transcript because it’s instructive to see the balance of Russian chode game mixed with defiant cocky game. You can easily see the major phase shifts as the game turns further my way.

Me: It was a pleasure, young lady 😉

Her: Really )

Me: How is your friends’ meeting? Lots of girl chatter, I think….

Her: No, one girl, a lot of stories and sweets ))) [she looks keen]

Me: And probably a glass of wine 🙂

Her: Without, and u

Me: I met my friends in Red Star Cafe. It has a great atmosphere

Me: [next day] Good afternoon my new gypsy-style friend 🙂 How are you?

Her: Hi, working

Me: Let’s get a quick drink after work. 6pm?

Her: I work at the 2nd work ) [She’s not investing and playing a little hard to get]

Me: ok [Shift 1. I signal I’m not going to mess around and chase hard]

Her: Truly, I’m a trainer ) after the main work [she realises I won’t be strung along, girls often need a soft push to give a fear of loss]

Me: When do you finish?

Her: At 9, but then I run to the train – I go to parents )

Me: I knew you were trouble when I saw you! [Shift 2 – reframe her difficulty showing social acuity and playfully changing the tone]

Her: Really ))) I just don’t seat at one place ) [she likes it, attraction is increased so she wants to test my value]

Her: And if I was so trouble, why u came to me [test]

Me: Because you need a strong man to tame you 😀 [lay on the man vibe]

Her: I didn’t ask u, what do I need, I asked, why did u come ) [test]

Me: I already told you. You should pay more attention! [smash it out the park]

Her: I shouldn’t ) [test]

Me: You just earned your first ass-spanking, naughty girl [escalate]

Her: U shouldn’t talk so with me ) [test]

Me: Does that make me a bad man? [reframe]

Her: A veeeery bad man )))) [Shift 3 – passed test, she’s very interested now]

Me: Ha!

Her: Ha?

Me: It’s a bad man laugh 😉

Her: I see

I’ve been averaging a few dates each day so I only give her two hours of my time when we meet the next afternoon. We begin sitting opposite each other on a high table in a cafe, it’s about 6pm. I lean back and roll off a custom DHV and comfort stack. There’s a great photobook of the city on the bookshelf so I take it down and make fun of how backward and commie her country is. This girl wants a master so I know to attack her frame. Every tease moves it further along. She’d later tell me she decided to fuck within the first twenty minutes of the date – “Once I realised how confident you are”.

We go upstairs to the alcohol only section which has dark mood lighting and soft leather sofas. I’d already played with her hands and hair downstairs so once the waitress brings drinks I do the “floppy test” (credit Tom) and then kiss close. We make out alot while I pour in comfort. I take her for a short walk outside, pointing out my apartment in the distance. There’s no time to push for a Day 2 lay (I have an 8pm date lined up) so I just lead her around and reinforce the frame. It’s massively on. A sample from our chat as we walk:

Me: I’ve noticed I attract lots of stares in this city. Even girls holding hands with their boyfriends check me out. [this is true]

Her: It’s easy to understand. It’s obvious you are so much more confident than the other guys here. [massive IOI and she’s betraying how lucky she feels to be here]

After a day of post-date comfort texting, I set up the next one. Note here how it’s possible to agree to have sex without once mentioning it. Girls communicate covertly.

Me: Are you at work?

Her: Yes, I do

Me: I want to meet you tonight. Dress pretty! [forcing the dominance frame]

Her: Hm, why? )))

Me: Because I like my girl to be pretty, of course. Do you have a favourite dress?

Her: Ok, which do you want: short and sexy or elegant?

Me: That’s a tough choice! Short and sexy – just like you 😀

Her: Or something between 2 variants )

Me: Which wine do you prefer, red or white? [This is the covert signal that this is to be a sex date]

Her: Red

Me: Me too. I’ll get a bottle of German. Better than the Russian stuff… [covert statement of intent]

Her: I don’t drink Russian ) [acceptance]

Me: Vodka is the exception 🙂

Her: Did u taste it? )

Me: Of course. I love vodka. But more of a whiskey man

Her: I mean Russian vodka

Me: Russian vodka, Scottish whiskey

Her: ))) not bad mix )

Me: I love to sit in a leather chair with a Cuban cigar and a good whiskey 🙂

Her: Sounds great, who doesn’t love this ))

Me: Meet me outside Double Coffee [Note its outside, I intend to walk her directly to my apartment]

Her: when

Me: 9pm

Her: Ok. Red lips? [covert confirmation of sex date]

Me: Yes! [agreement]

She shows up nicely dolled up so I give her a light kiss, put her on my arm and then walk her to a wine store on the short walk to my apartment. No resistance or questions – she’s come to fuck. Up in my room I do the usual shoes off / music / leave her alone five minutes while I clean my teeth / pour wine. I sense she needs a little more comfort so I let her browse my facebook photos. Then close. Zero LMR.

Funnily I get a big dip in mood right after. She’s pestering me for seconds but I just want rid of her. I don’t realise until the next morning but I was coming down with a ‘flu that would curtail my holiday gaming and render me a shivering sweating mess for a week. Three new girls in six days is too much for an old codger like me. Add in the relentless approaching, multi-date days, and the human body is simply not designed to have so many romantic interactions. I relapsed into a Gamer Shell Shock.

I add her to Facebook and later quiz her about the pickup. If you somehow don’t believe in manosphere wisdom then hearing it explicitly stated by the girl herself ought to help:

My second day of daygame is going pretty well and on one narrow strip outside a shopping mall I take three solid numbers in about fifteen minutes. The pick of the bunch is an extremely leggy brunette with shoulder-length mousey hair and elegant retro fashion. I do a strong stop teasing her for being flamingo-like in her walk and for the whole five minutes she’s cooing and giggling, utterly thrilled to be there. We swap numbers and facebook then she tells me she’ll be on a business trip to St Petersburg for a few days but yes we should have a drink when she returns.

An easy go-to for long-legged girls

That Saturday night we meet up in a whiskey and cigar bar. It’s busy so I take a bar stool which turns out to be a great move. I can face the barman when doing mild takeaways, giving her my shoulder and lazily running my eyes over the whiskey bottles racked against the wall mirror. The position also lets me test kino by touching my leg against hers, putting my foot on her stool footrest and easy upper body touching. So now as a general rule I think I’ll do barstools or standing up in bars on first dates. Everything is easier without the barrier of a table.

For half an hour I run my usual patter dropping in DHVs on travel, lifestyle and funny lame-to-fame stories (mine include two members of the Rolling Stones apologising to me, almost having a fight with the reigning sumo champ in Tokyo, and using the same urinal as the football captain of England – all true). Her eyes are spazzing, she’s fiddling with her drink, hair twirling. It’s all there. This girl really fancies me. Unfortunately she has a cold. A high value man would not risk catching a cold just to kiss a girl. So my escalation flips over into eye contact and verbals only. She’s on my arm as we walk down the street and everyone is staring. She looks just like Julia Roberts. Properly like her. Same endless legs, long arms, huge smile, eyes. She’s tarted up in a green sleeveless cocktail dress and nice jewellry. Stunning, an archetypal greyhound. The only problem is her age – at 31 her skin is losing its vibrance.

But not a whore

At the second bar we are sitting across a table and now enter some strange territory. I can’t physically escalate but I want to make my move so…. what to do? On this trip I’ve really upped the radical honesty and explicitly refering to the subtext of the situation. So for example I’ve frequently said to girls on the street things like “Do you have a boyfriend?” and “I’m talking to you as a man, because as a woman you are pretty” etc. I suggest the questions game to this girl as follows:

Ok, let’s play a question game. We’ll take turns asking questions. You can ask me anything at all. I won’t get angry and I’ll tell you the absolute truth. Make them difficult questions. Think what you want to know about me.

We ping pong for over half an hour. I’m asking how old she was when she first kissed a boy, the most unusual place she had sex, what she looks for in a man, what she likes about me. We get into deeper and deeper rapport and she’s getting turned on. I can see it in her eyes. I strongly recommend this game but you must really be truthful. For example she asked what I want from her so I replied “I’m not looking for anything serious. I find you sexually attractive and you have exactly the mix of height, class and introversion that I most like in a woman.”

Then a switch is flipped. It’s like she goes into a trance and barely speaks. We are just sitting across the table staring into each other’s eyes. There’s so many things going on at different levels and at different times. Sometimes its a shit test to see if I’ll drop eye contact or break the sexual tension with an offhand comment. Other times it’s hypnotic scanning to read my identity. Still other times she’s thinking hard about what she wants. For my part I keep shifting the thoughts I project. Sometimes I eyefuck her and visualise how she’ll look naked on my bed while I fuck her. Other times I soften up and invite her to read me. I also challenge a little by projecting “I can play this game better than you, woman. Every moment you stare you are falling into my trap.”

She loves it. Electricity crackles. Finally she breaks and talks.

I ask her what she reads in me and her response is surprisingly accurate. She says I don’t seem happy so I flesh it out a bit and say I’m happy because I’m living exactly the life I choose but I’m not satisfied because some of the things I want are impossible without trade-offs I refuse to make. She asks if I trust women and I say yes and no. On the one hand they can’t be trusted like men to be true to their word or to follow a code of morality but on the other hand I can trust them like I trust a dog, or a chair – I can trust them to follow their nature so by understanding that and holding them to those expectations I am never disappointed. Radical honesty. It melts her.

She asks what I read in her. I say something to the effect of:

Me: You are fascinated by me. You find me attractive and very interesting, like no man you’ve met before. You’ve realised that we are not compatible in the long term but you are curious how it would be to have sex with me. So right now you are trying to decide whether to come home with me and have sex, or to go home and sleep.

Her: Yes, that’s about right.

After we get the bill she goes home saying she just doesn’t feel well. We agree to meet again when she’s recovered. A bit of texting back and forth establishes that she spent all of Sunday in bed and by Monday feels good. So we meet again in a cafe bar near my apartment. She’s dolled up great again and her heels put her several inches above me. More heads turn. I look at her clothes and manner and it feels on.

This sort of figure

I get a lucky break because the cafe is closing at 10pm (it’s 9:20 when we meet) due to a private event. So we have a drink, I keep fairly solid without too much pull and then towards ten I suggest a wine at my place.

Her: You know I still haven’t decided.

Me: That’s no problem. We’ll just have a drink and listen to music.

So I lead her back and I know its a done deal. Up the stairs, shoes off, music on. Wine poured. Within five minutes she’s lying on my sofa with her tongue down my throat. The escalation is fast. Five minutes later she’s naked on my bed. Zero LMR. It’s an earth-shattering fuck. She’s screaming, climbing the walls, eyes popping out, scratching. I do her in the shower, on the floor and do a one-man DP that has her gasping in shocked ecstasy “what are you doing to me?”. During a break she’s just gazing at me, chin rested on her hands, massive smile that says “I can’t believe how lucky I am. Is it even possible for sex to be this good.” I tell her “Now you know why I’m so confident.”

I send her home with dried cum on her face. A very satisfying notch.

I’ve been corralled onto a short FSU tour by the indefatigable Tom Torero. We’d been chatting over beer in London around the time of our Long Game podcast and I’d lamented how my usual gang have all been indisposed with full-time jobs that inhibit their travel. Well, seems the Welshman was planning his own trip and thus I came on board.

The street stop, actual

My first stop is Vilnius where I catch up with a couple of girls I’ve been seeing on and off for over a year. The streets are reasonably busy and my street stops hit quite well. Outside McDonalds I spot a greyhound and dive in. She hooks strong, giggling and giving me the “just thrilled to be here” giddy look. As I’m taking the number Tom is observing and later tells me she had a dreamy expression like her Prince Charming had arrived. Text game is easy as I play chode game:

Me: Hi. It was a pleasure to meet you 🙂 Are you always so friendly to strangers?

Her: It is a national trait 🙂

Me: I’ve been exploring. Parks and wide public squares. Very Russian!

Me: Good morning 🙂 It’s another great day! How are you?

Her: Morning! I’m fine. I’m going to build exhibition. Have a good day 🙂

Me: Thanks

Me: I walked so much my head is sunburned, like a tomato

Her: I also walked a lot today. But my head looks good 🙂

Me: I like this city. It’s very calm and clean. I’ve already found some good bars

Her: Yes, it’s calm. Your phone will go home with you 🙂 [a callback reference to when I told her I was robbed in Brazil] Which bars do you like?

Me: There’s a secret bar I want to show you. It has a James Bond theme

Her: I am happy to meet with Mr Bond 🙂 Maybe this evening?

Me: Hmmm… Will you dress like a Bond girl?

Her: You mean, evening dress, long hair and sexy lingerie? I have only the third 🙂

Me: Put some clothes over your lingerie, it’s a nice place! 🙂 6pm, outside the town hall

Her: Ok. I’ll be there.

With the benefit of hindsight this set was more on than I realised. That reference to lingerie was her sexualising and her volunteering meeting soon shows keeness. But I knew I had a couple of days left before the next stop so I didn’t push it as hard as I could’ve. Watch for these little tells in a girls texts or conversation, little slips that let you know she’s up for it without much more preamble. Game can be boiled down to one long compliance test where the beginning is “hello” and the end is sex. Game is only required when she’s not complying. For as long as she’s letting you lead her towards the bedroom you needn’t put on your PUA wizard hat and overgame the set.

Tip: Late 20s / early 30s FSU women are the best prospects for fast holiday lays. Being FSU they are still slim, pretty and well-dressed but they are also more sexually open, more decisive, and more accepting that they can’t boyfriend you by holding out. They can already feel themselves losing the competition against their younger rivals so they’ll latch onto your value much much quicker.

She turns up to the date in a union jack t-shirt that can barely contain her breasts. We sit across a table then I run the Date Model. Everything hits. She’s cooperating to move it along fast so that within twenty minutes I just lean across the table and kiss her. Then I tell her to come around my side of the booth and we make out. It’s on. I could’ve pulled the trigger here but didn’t. After an hour mixing the usual rapport and spikes I let her go. We agree to meet the next night at 6pm

Age it to 29

At 6:05 she texts “five minutes!” At 6:15 I leave and go to a nearby bar. At 6:30 she calls asking where I am. I tell her. I’m pissed off. It’s not an act. I really don’t want to fuck her now. She senses this on arrival and for ten minutes I’m frosty and she’s pawing at me desperately, sensing she might not get her lay. Finally I tell her its ok and lets just get a bottle of wine. She agrees.

So we get some wine, walk the five minutes to my apartment. I give her the decency of pouring the wine and putting on some music before I make my move. She’s so hot for it that she’s grabbing at my belt within a minute. No LMR to deal with. I just carry her to the bedroom and have my wicked way. A very easy lay. In her 21yr old prime this girl would’ve turned heads on the street, a low nine. The intervening years dropped a point and robbed her skin of the springy quality that turns men into slavvering animals. But a good lay.

Learning points

• Try to read a girl’s “go” signals. If she’s thrilled on the stop, cooperates strongly on setting up a date, and then rolls out the red carpet on the date then yes, she wants to fuck soon.
• Read the girl’s clothes on the date. Has she obviously taken alot of care in getting ready? Is she showing cleavage and leg? Is she wear an easy-lifted skirt? Does she mention nice underwear?
• Don’t overcomplicate an easy set.

First off I must tip my hat to Bhodi for serving this girl up to me. It took tight game to get this girl into bed (in under three hours from meeting) but this is a story best viewed as the power of simple wing work.

It all begins on Saturday afternoon in central London as we are hitting some daygame. My first set is excellent, a solid number from a beautiful young Bulgarian, but it tumbles downhill afterwards as a combination of cold miserable weather and huge gaps between finding targets all conspires to kill my state. Two hours in we are at Trafalgar Square when my finely-attuned radar spots a pretty Asian wandering alone. A close look suggests she’s American-Asian (I strongly dislike them) so, seeing as my state is shit anyway, I point her out to Bhodi.

Surprisingly she hooks well for him and is very friendly. I see an idate in the offing and shuffle off. Sure enough he texts me as such. They chat a couple of hours and he escalates her pretty well with dirty talk and kissing then she has to head off to meet friends – its a tour group from the US, headed to Paris the next day. By that time I’m up at Daygame.com HQ doing a podcast with Tom and John.

As we finish around 10pm I see Bhodi has been blowing up my phone with missed calls. Turns out this girl (hereafter Girl A) is drunk in her hotel bar with a crowd of chodes and American girls and bailing on meeting him alone, instead doing the “come join us” bullshit. Treacherous ground. We conspire the best move and I advise thus:

• Plan A – Get her to meet in the nearest pub to her hotel, alone.
• Plan B – Go into the bar, shrug off the crowd and pull her out to a nearby pub

Neither plan works. Instead he calls for our address, informing us he might be bringing a few drunk girls. Tom and John agree to run interference if extra bodies are needed. I get the following texts…. its all going pear-shaped but is certainly salvageable.

Him: en route eta 5-10 min one hot young asian high 8 plus my target

Me: cool

Him: mine is the tall one. the other one is an attention whore

Me: 2 girls or 3?

Him: 2

Meeting them downstairs I’m pleased at how the obstacle looks – a short asian hamster with nice curves and glowing skin. It turns out she’s refused to let Girl A leave the hotel alone, seeing her as the lifeline to escape the chodes and have some fun. Then in the taxi over here she had made herself the centre of attention and cockblocked. Typical American-Asian then….

Very very close to this

I decide I must crush her frame.

Right from the off I’m push-pulling, at times dismissive of her witterings yet genial and showing social interest in her. We sit around a table at a nearby English pub. It’s pretty easy to lead the chat and drop intellectual mastery on her – she appears to know nothing that Europeans would call “history” or “geography”. While I’m reeling off an elaborate Yugoslavia DHV story it becomes obvious she doesn’t know where Bosnia is, that Sarajevo was beseiged, that Tito was dictator, that Franz Ferdinand wasn’t just a band and was shot in Sarajevo. Its so easy to get her dangling on the end of my line, reeling her in. She briefly touches my arm as we talk. I know she fancies me.

Nonetheless nothing about this set was simple. The girls only met each other an hour earlier as the tour group aligned on racial grounds and the asians drifted together. Minor hiccups in the vibe and seating stall our momentum and things go stale. Suddenly we seem to be reaching in, leaning too much into them (figuratively). Something needs to change. This girl is a first-class attention whore.  While my initial blitz had caught her off-balance and pushed her into submissiveness, the slight relenting of pressure gives her space to begin recovering her sense of self-importance. I know we are losing the set. No way will she let her new friend have sex unless she is happy herself. Bhodi had already kiss-closed Girl A on the idate but now she’s maintaining a cold distance and won’t kiss again. This is getting awkward. The following texts get pinged between us under the table as the next ten minutes tick away:

Me: Ok. Mine likes me. Potential. You lead for a bit

Me: Work for isolation

Me: Energy sucks. Bad seating. I suggest a bounce to nearby pub to refresh vibe

Him: agree but dont know any places

Me: My read is they don’t know each other but don’t want to appear slutty for rest of holiday. Need to separate them, even if only within same bar.

Me: We walked past one. If we walk to Marble Arch will find one. Tons of pubs in the area and they are bewildered on location.

We bounce. It’s almost midnight so its no surprise the first bar is shutting up. Second place is open. Upon buying my drink I shuttle my girl to a booth where she’ll be next to me and Girl A next to Bhodi. Its fairly easy to have pair of separate conversations. I have to start escalating.

I brush her hair out of her face, call her a chipmunk, play with her bracelet, ask her if her handbag is full of nuts for winter, touch her thigh….. normal push-pull as I escalate kino. She’s accepting it all. I make a joke about looking down her shirt. Finally I’m confident I have my moment. I inquire whether Bhodi has ice in his vodka – “ice” being code word for him to move his girl into isolation. He takes her to the bar.

This is now the moment of truth. If my girl won’t kiss, she’ll cockblock and its game over for us both. I ask her what she thinks of English men, whether we are gentlemen. Then tell her I’m not one, that I’m a bad man – “Like this, for example” and lift her chin up for a kiss. She meets me enthusiastically. Great. I do The Stone and she comments my dick is a perfect size. Ok, in for a penny in for a pound. I pull the trigger:

Me: I should tell you… I’m having rude thoughts right now.

Her: Tell me about them.

Me: Well, mostly they involve my dick *puts her hand on my dick* inside your pussy *put my hand on her pussy*

Her: *laughs* I can’t believe you said that.

Me: I suppose I could poeticise it. Make it romantic. But essentially it all comes down to my dick, deep and hard inside your pussy.

That’s 80% of my wingwork done. I’m confident I can hold her long enough for Bhodi to extract. Almost telepathically he returns with his girl. Clearly she’s relented on the kissing, her face is quite flushed. “Excuse me, young lady” he address Girl B. “Would you mind terribly if I whisk your friend away for a nightcap before returning her to you in an hour or so?”

Zero cockblocking ensues. Bhodi gets his extraction.

Definitely nice having her underneath me

Just as I think I’m on for mine she pipes up with “I need to get back to my hotel now.” I’ll hear this line at least ten more times in the next half-hour. I suggest a nightcap. An important part of the extraction is to find out what time she needs to be back home then promise you’ll have her there then. More kissing and she agrees to the nightcap. Into a taxi we go. The whole way back she’s piping up with the “I need to go back to my hotel now” to which I agree, kiss her, verbally bamboozle, pull her close and then she’ll pipe up again. Rinse, repeat. We half the taxi fare and she comes into my house without a fuss.

It’s still on the knife-edge. She’s one miscalibration away from just leaving. She knows she can. She’s accepting my lead but she’s not at all cowed. I walk her up to my room and leave her alone a few minutes. Then shoes off, music on. She accepts some rum. Everything now is soft and comfortable:

• When handing her rum I say “don’t worry if you can’t finish it”
• When she protests its too strong neat, I water it down for her. I’m not trying to get her drunker, the rum is just for her own self-rationalisation
• She sits on the edge of the bed so I lie down at the other end, giving her lots of space.
• As she gradually edges towards me over the course of five minutes conversation I stay still, lying back non-threateningly.
• When she tells me she isn’t staying long, I offer to call her a cab “soon”
• When she’s comfortable enough to kiss, I pull her onto me so she’s in the more dominant position.

Its time for the final push, inching forward step-by-step. I flip her over so I’m on top, then I’m running my hands all over her body, then feeling her tits, then undoing the bra…. its methodical work and I’m hearing the “I can’t have sex with you” line alot. At the point I’m trying to pull her strides down she comes close to a real “no”. A bit of fingering, her hand on my dick, and then just generally putting my dick near her mouth…. she starts sucking me off, I frig her close to orgasm (careful not to put her over the edge and make her too satisfied) and then its done. Strides off, cock in, notch gained.

It’s an awesome fuck. I brutalise her. She’s screaming, gasping, begging to be fucked harder. Loving it. I give her the memory of a lifetime. My phone buzzes.

Him: Status?

Me: +1. In my room

Him: ha ha u owe me one. Just fucked mine in the hotel toilets! HOLY SHIT! [It’s his first SDL]

Me: Great work. Putting mine in a cab now.

Him: Wait up with a celebratory whiskey.

This set was always one misstep from disaster. I thoroughly neutralised the cockblock and even got my end away from it, but it took some sterling work. There were long periods when it never seemed likely to happen for either of us.

The taste of victory

Learning points

• Girls will spitefully cockblock out of reflex and yet, if handled correctly, will be sweet and up for it.
• You need communication and teamwork with your wing. With me having been through these situations more than Bhodi I could correctly call the key shots.
• Some extractions and closes are more on-edge than others. Be careful.

That’s a figurative use of princess, by the way.

Imagine a leggy former model who has recently ended her relationship with a super-rich bachelor. Over the past five or so years she’s only ever travelled by limousine or private jet. She can’t remember the last time she looked at a price tag or paid cash, prefering to just sign for her luxuries in the high fashion boutiques. On her wrist is a diamond-encrusted Swiss timepiece costing more than many sports cars. More diamonds around her neck. Her dress costs more than the median average salary of her countrymen. But she walked away from it all, feeling trapped (but keeping the wardrobe, of course). Always on the boyfriend’s schedule, her life planned six months in advance. Always careful not to let slip private information about their lives lest a nosey maid or maitre d’ sell it to a scammer. Always a paparazzi trying to get some photos. She tired of the unreality of it all. She’s changed her number to stop her lovesick boyfriend pestering her.

Add five years to the brunette

Her holiday in London is almost over. It’s a breath of fresh air to walk around free and anonymous. She’s had a Starbucks and eavesdropped on the proles lamenting their mundane concerns. Now she’s eating a sandwich in the basement cafe in Top Shop. She checks her watch and decides to browse more high street fashion. As she begins to walk further into the shop, displaying a sultry long-legged strut, a man taps her arm.

“Hi. I have to tell you something. You have a lovely walk. Like an angry cat.”

She blushes, eyes wide open. “Um…. thank you.”

“You look Serbian” he guesses. “It’s the black hair, long legs, and crazy eyes.”

She giggles. “No. I’m Romanian”

He seems crestfallen. “Oh no. My mum warned me about Romanian girls. She said three things. They are all sexy”. He checks her out from head to toe. “Good at cooking. And sex maniacs.”

Yes chaps, it really was that romantic.

Her eyes spazz out immediately, the crackle of DNA-matching fizzing across the air. I know this girl really fancies me. After finding out her crappy logistics I take a number and suggest meeting later the same evening. Surprisingly she tells me the hotel she’s staying at (five star, Kensington) and suggest I call her in a few hours. I do. Perhaps over-emboldened from my recent run of SDLs I think its on for another but….. no. We have a few drinks in her hotel lobby and just kiss. The emotional connection is good. I have no trouble showing the right mix of confidence and vulnerability. Bhodi has his little theory about these types of girls – greyhounds, I think the term is. Girls who have:

• Beautiful proportions mixing long legs, good height but also real curves
• Intelligence and a well-rounded education
• Social and physical grace
• Always an 8 or better

Many vampire jokes were told

He opines that such high quality girls are extremely difficult for the average player to catch but counter-intuitively easier for men like me. As Sherlock Holmes said “Mediocrity cannot recognise anything higher than itself. Talent recognises genius.” These girls just smell the quality on me and want it. My Euro-harem is stocked with them and they all look from the same mould. It goes well and I think I might get the lay but she controls herself and eventually runs off to her room. Bugger. As I take the night bus home alone we fall into a text exchange:

Me: You had difficulty controlling yourself there 😛

Her: Yes. I succeeds 😉

Me: Does that make you a lucky or unlucky girl? Anyway, it was a lovely evening. Sweet dreams.

Her: I’ve never slept with a stranger. I don’t know how I would feel next day. You were very disappointed I think.

Me: You didn’t disappoint me. It’s just bad luck we don’t have time

Her: Yes. But you can visit Romania perhaps

Me: That’s too much too soon, girl. I know some good English pubs.

Her: Nice 🙂 We can talk tomorrow

Me: Between now and then, get some sleep. I expect interesting conversation.

Her: Between now and then I shall masturbate 🙂

Me: Send me a text when you’re done

Her: (half an hour later) I’m done!

Me: I approve. Good girl 🙂

Next evening she comes around to my part of town on a promise of coffee and Italian food. She texts to ask if its a high class place that requires heels. I say wear heels because you’re a feminine woman who likes to look nice. As soon as she shows up in the pub all the heads are turning. She has that imperious air of a woman used to commanding attention and being waited on. One hell of a strut. As she sits down she tells me to order her a glass of wine. “The bar is over there” I reply, not moving. After a pout she orders, fending off two different chodes who can’t help but open her.

I walk her to Pizza Express. Classy. We split the bill. She tells me that’s never happened before. I drink her wine too.

Back at my house we are soon in bed but I’m on the receiving end of hardcore LMR. It turns out she’s on the rag too so I settle for a blowjob in the morning before packing her off in a taxi and a few hours later she’s jetting back to Transylvania. I’m mildly put out that I didn’t close her. She’s a tough nut, having had only two partners in the past ten years, but I did have her in bed overnight so…. meh! Chalk it to the game.

We Skype for a couple of days. It’s snowing outside my window and the weather forecast is for zero degrees the coming week. Spain and Greece at +20C…. my mind turns. I fancy some hot weather and duty-free whiskey. A bit more on Skype and we agree to meet for a couple of nights in the Med. I book a double room. There’s a different wrinkle added to game when you actually travel to close a girl… the frame is very different. There’s alot riding on it. Different pitfalls to avoid.

Her hometown, yesterday

Down in the Med we check in and then explore the town. Some local cuisine and I hit the beer a bit harder than planned. She’s keeping a slow pace. I hit a rich vein of form and I swear this girl has never been gamed before. Every spike hits. Every joke. Every push-pull. She’s eating out of my hand. There’s a multi-millionaire a short private jet ride away pining for her, a guy who showered her with the best life can buy – Ferraris, Canne’s Film Festival VIP rooms, holiday homes in the tropics… and here she is drinking cheap lager in a dive bar with me, cooing and laughing when I call her a gypsy giraffe. Personal charismatic value > Money.

Game works. Never forget that.

Back at the hotel I fuck her senseless. What a cracking figure! Gazelle-like in the smooth long limbs and an expertly installed set of falsies. There’s literally not a single thing I’d change on her body. The sex is rough. I have her telling me she’s my bitch. After, I read her a Little Miss book (you can probably guess which one) which hits beautifully, making her jump me again. While I’m slamming her over the writing desk she gasps “You are hurting my ovaries!”

Lying stretched out in bed with her, both of us glistening with post-fuck sweat:

Me: Put one hand on my cock, and the other on my balls.

Her: Why? Does that turn you on?

Me: No. You’re Romanian and I don’t want to get up to lock my wallet in the safe.

Heh!

Just stop for a moment to think…. how thoroughly I broke her frame. She’s a chaste girl, a monogamist who spent her twenties with only two men. People defer to her constantly. And I douchebag-gamed her into putting out on the third date. Big time. Inevitably there’s blow back.

It begins as I’m trying to sleep. She sobs, tells me it was never in her plan to have sex. She can’t sleep all night. In the morning she gives me shit all the way to lunch. She’s angry, she tells me. I remain unapologetic and unreactive, letting the hamster run itself into exhaustion. It’s a major shit test, trying to reassert her princess frame that I should dance to her tune. I flat out tell her she’s only angry because I fucked her on my timetable not hers. Gradually she softens. Then its business as usual.

The strongest reality always wins.

Have you heard the term “gutter game”?

Well if you haven’t allow me to educate you. While I was mid-way through my daygame apprenticeship my blog had started to pick up steam (I was still putting up alot of infields then, before it became mainstream) and I was attracting attention from other London daygamers. This is a small world, after all. So one day I get an email from “Antony”, a locally based daygamer who’s at my level and going the same route as me. After the obligatory I-like-your-blog stuff he attaches a private youtube link to two of his infields. I’m expecting him to be some useless duffer but no – he’s really good. And….. different. Him and his buddy Tom Torero want to meet up with me.

Bear in mind this is pre-daygame.com Tom Torero. All I knew was his lay reports on the LSS forum and the occasional long-distance street sighting.

So we meet, have a drink, and do some sets. It’s great. I’ve met a pair of guys around my level doing the same thing I do. Even now there’s precious few guys in London who can competently daygame and are fun to hang out with. We spend the next six months meeting up every now and then, doing sets, knocking our heads together to figure out theoretical points. The glory days of London street game, when my RSG gang is also active.

Why the long preamble you no doubt wonder. Antony has kinda dropped out of the community but Tom is a big name now, deservedly so (and yes, that’s me referenced on pages 368 and 372 of his book). Tom was really hitting it hard back in 2011 racking up the sets and lays. He’d really figured out how to do Same Day Lays and I wanted to know his secret. This was back when I’d only had a handful whereas he was well into double figures on them. Surprisingly he said it wasn’t so hard, it was all about the timing and then spotting the signals. He’d coined the term Gutter Game.

Open the one on the left

Gutter Game: Late evening street game, technically similar to normal daygame but with a heavy emphasis on target selection, logistic probing, momentum and ……. balls of steel.

He can explain it better than me but here’s my take on it:

• As the sun begins to set the vibe on the street changes. All the worker drones have gone home, the shops are closing, the street begins to empty out. The sexual vibe creeps upwards. You can feel it in your bones.
• You must make a firm resolution that you are looking for sex. Not numbers, not facebooks. You want to make sweet love. There’s alot of sex out on the street and you want yours.
• This is not the time for two-sets, tall leggy eights, fashionable girls. You are looking for vulnerable isolated girls, especially tourists. Forget quality, types, observational openers etc. Look for girls who seemed bored, lost and horny. Most will be sixes and sevens. Fine. You aren’t marrying them.
• When you open you are looking for the eye sparkle, that crackle of electricity that lets you know its on. This whole shebang has to be done and dusted in a few hours so if the girl’s vibe is flat and can’t be spiked you’ll need to take a number and move on to the next one.

So you go in and open, eye-fuck, throw out some light sexualisation and see what happens. If you’re getting long deep eye contact and feeling the its-on-DTF vibe then you start the ball rolling and then its all about momentum and accelerated comfort. Get her in a pub (not a cafe), ask some simple logistical questions (where does she live, what is she doing tonight, when does she leave town, when does she need to be home) and put your balls on the line.

Generally speaking I’d say you want to spend about ten minutes on the street and one hour in the pub running comfort and flirting before you pull the trigger on the kiss close. Once you have the kiss physical comfort becomes extremely important. Stroke her head, kiss her forehead, play with interlocking fingers. Tell her its so fast, its crazy. Tell her the best thing about London is it’s so anonymous that you can do crazy things and nobody is watching, that its best to take a chance in life and follow your emotion rather than being all serious and regret letting life slip by. Blah blah blah. And then when you’ve kissed a bit (but not over-escalated) suggest “the next place” and hop in a cab. This is real balls-on-the-line stuff. It never feels certain. You’re always stepping off the cliff.

But fuck me, you’d be so surprised how many of them step into that taxi, put their head on your shoulder, and allow themselves to be whisked away to the sex location. Even now when it happens I surprise myself. As Bhodi says, once you get them through your door the odds of sex rise exponentially. So anyway if you get a gutter game SDL and want to send me royalities – don’t. Buy Tom’s book. It’s his concept. So on with this particular lay report……

Add a red hat and drop a point

I’m having a fucking terrible day. There’s something weird about 2013 where most of my sets are weak and yet I’m getting laid at an astonishingly high open-to-lay ratio. Perhaps I’m coming in so strong that the girls are either in or out within the first ten seconds. Fuck knows. So today I do ten sets. Five straight-out harsh blowouts. Ouch. I get an idate with a wop and another long set with another wop. Both have long-term wop boyfriends. Now that London has been invaded by cute slim Italians and Spanish (always with boyfriends) I’m thinking of developing a long-term boyfriend-destroyer wop game. We shall see. But whatever, it’s pushing 9pm, I’ve been out four hours and although my mood is good my vibe is off.

It’s gutter game time. There’s sex out there, I want mine.

Walking past John Lewis on Oxford Street I see a slim Japanese girl dressed like an indie kid with a big woolly red hat and long soft hair. I open and bang! its on. Not please-fuck-me-on but I can see the subtle signals, the easy-going vibe, the questions to fill my silences. This girl is on a ten-day trip to London visiting a friend, leaving tomorrow. That friend is working so my Jap has to occupy the days with wandering. Sweet. I promise an offering to the Gods Of Pickup in thanks.

I probably owe them something

Then I follow the model outlined above. Ten minutes on the street. Light kino-testing on her painted fingernails. Bounce to the Argyll Arms to get alcohol in her and start laying on the man-vibe. She obediently follows me to Bradleys Spanish Bar (seductive close location) for more drinks and I kiss close. Easy. This girl’s hindbrain has already decided to fuck but its not until I bundle her into the taxi that the forebrain gets the memo. It really is easy. Not the slightest quiver or LMR. She doesn’t give me any green lights or help with the escalation – all of it has to be the time-old combination of balls + calibration. I chat to the taxi driver (his wife went to school close to my parent’s house) and get an easy lay. No LMR at all. Not in the slightest. I think that’s a Japanese thing, they have a guilt-free sex culture even though the girls have low-Ns.

I fuck the shit out of her, her eyes opening so wide she looks almost European. During my mid-fuck debrief she tells me I’m the fifth guy to fuck her and first foreigner (and first non-BF). It’s her first nanpa. She even tells me “I don’t know how this happened”. She’s never had it rough so I oblige her with a rousting. Her first facefucking, first vibrator, first anal, first cum-swallowing.

I’ll admit it. I like being the bad guy.

Several times during the evening I keep thinking that almost all of my recent lays follow the same pattern, especially the SDLs……….

Shit day —> Lots of blowouts —> One set of glory —> Get laid

Never give up, guys. When you’re gutter gaming, there’s always a horny tourist around the next corner.

I’ll admit I’ve been having a tough time of it in Brazil. English men my age grew up with images of beautiful women on carnival floats, amazing asses hanging out of thongs on the beach, and the magic of the Socrates-Falco-Zico class of ’82. Brazil is an iconic country for us, one long beach where everyone plays volleyball and sips caipirinhas.

Scored more world cup goals than Plato and Aristotle combined

So I’ve been thoroughly disappointed by the women. Something went wrong between my idealised teenage vision and the actual boots-on-the-floor reality of fat grotty women. Perhaps my tastes have changed cos the hostel chodes here swear there’s lots of hotties. Just this afternoon I bumped into a US pickup coach (I spotted him taking a number of some bird in Starbucks so I said hello afterwards) and he was telling me all the hot girls are on Ipanema beach 9. Ummmmm….. not while I was there. I didn’t see anything worth talking to in two full afternoons of looking. They all had huge asses (in the wrong sense) and big flabby guts.

I’ve been looking, really I have. I spent two hours walking up Ipanema high street today and only opened six girls. That’s without weaseling a single set. Only one of them gave me the DNA-tug. Most other days I’ve seen even less.

About as representative as Austin Powers is of London

So I’m pissing and moaning, blaming the world for my ills. My state is flat. Despite all this I get a stroke of luck. Often you just don’t know which girls will turn out well. As of this afternoon I’d only gotten three good leads in Rio.

Girl 1 – While up at Botafogo shopping mall (don’t bother) I do two sets. One is a super hot dancer who from her facebook appears to be quite famous. We spent twenty minutes chatting, her touching my arm alot and good eye contact but then she doesn’t reply to my texts. Second girl is a young student who is clad in lycra and about to start her daily run. A good set and I meet her the next night for a date where I kiss close. If I’d had better logistics I’d have pulled the trigger but I didn’t (long boring story).

Girl 2 – I’m sitting at a fruit juice stand mid-afternoon with Suave when an 18 year old buxom chick strolls past and gives me a long look. She’s a solid eight. I give chase and do a strong eye-fucking open. She speaks zero English. So I used non-verbals and the Google Translate app on my phone. It’s tortuous but her interest is so strong it works. After taking her number and facebook, I kiss close her on the street. Lots of people are watching. As I walk back to Suave some street performer who has been doing tricks with a mini-football, a middle-aged crusty black dude, comes over and shakes my hand, babbling congratulations in a toothless Portuguese.

Girl 3 – On Saturday night in Lapa I’m pretty drunk. Suave points out a curvy black girl he thinks I’ll like so I give chase. Its an easy stop and she has faltering English. I’m full of ballsy insolence and soon mini-bounce her to the kerb. Ten minutes chat and I take a number and bounce again to a nearby bar then soon kiss close. The party is winding down by 3am, an hour or so later, so I suggest a motel. She says no. I lead her to a cab and try to bundle her in. She runs away.

So which girls seems most solid?

• Girl 1 invites me to a Sunday night full moon party on Ipanema rocks. I show up and she’s lost in the crowd and makes no effort to find me, apologising three hours later by text to say she was meditating and didn’t want to check her phone. Stupid cunt.
• Girl 2 chats to me plenty on Facebook over the following day (using Google Translate) and enthusiastically agrees to a date. Then she doesn’t show. No texts to cancel. Stupid cunt.
• Girl 3 swaps occasional texts over the following few days and seems unenthusiastic. And then tonight she agrees to come out. She tries to cancel claiming no money but I tell her she must have enough for the bus and I’ll get the drinks. She texts back “OK, what is your address?” That’s the extraction handled, then.

As soon as I see her I know its on, token resistance aside. She’s dolled up nice and has tight figure-hugging clothes on. My big issue is logistics – I’m staying in a busy hostel sharing a room for eight. I decide to brass-neck it. I walk her into the lounge area where a chode-party is already in full swing (it’s past 9pm) and I’m scanning for the reception and door guys to see if they disappprove. They don’t seem to notice. Halfway into the first drink I walk her directly upstairs on the thin pretext of checking out my Facebook photos. Two lads are lying on their bunks but know not to interrupt. I’ve got my big towel hanging like a curtain over the bunk so its pretty much private. Everything following is standard escalation until half an hour later I’m fucking her.

Younger, high-6 version, sans manjaw

For lulz I tell her not to make a sound. We can hear people coming in and out of the room. She’s loving the danger of it, possible to get caught at any moment. Good sex. She tells me I’m her first gringo and it was “different” to Brazilians.

So that’s three locals in a bit under three weeks here. Pretty good score considering the scraps I’m working with. I put her as a high six. No shame but I doubt I’ll call her up for seconds.

Learning points

• Even when you are struggling to find targets and leads, things turn up
• Some thought, and balls, can solve shitty logistics
• When you know a girl has come to fuck don’t waste time running a long-winded date model
• Even though I pulled the trigger too fast on the idate, it didn’t wreck the set

I’m still in a small town in Brazil, marking time before hitting Rio. Outside the sun is so oppressive that even the locals are indoors, collapsed on sofas with the fans humming. My buddy Suave suggests we hit a couple of bars towards midnight just as an excuse to get outside. So we roll up. On the way in some girl eyes me up. Standing at the bar another girl eyes me up as she walks past holding her boyfriend’s hand. “Brazil must be the only country in the world where I’ve gotten approach invitations” I tell Suave. Really, I just never get them. Every piece of attraction I get must be earned through game.

but bigger tits

Standing outside an hour later some curvy black chick ambles past and gives me a long solid look. Really solid. I ask Suave if she’s a whore, it seems too strong to be legit. She doesn’t have the tart look and he says no she’s just a normal bird. Ten metres away I can see her still looking at me intensely, like I do when the new Bioshock is released. Hmmmm. Couldn’t rate her higher than a six but she’s got big tits and a Brazilian ass. Also, I don’t fuck enough black girls. I wave her over and she comes obediently.

It’s immediately apparent she doesn’t speak a word of English. She blabs on in some monologue the jist of which is she’s not a whore, she won’t have sex with me, but she’s just had an argument with her husband and stormed out the house and wants to talk to people. What’s that rule in Game?

When a woman tells you unbidden that she won’t have sex with you, it means she’s thinking of having sex with you.

I look at Suave. He shrugs. We know this is there for the taking.

A surreal conversation ensues in which I speak English against her Portuguese and neither of us has any idea what’s going on except the pieces Suave translates. She suggests we go for a drive somewhere. While waiting for Suave to bring his car up next to hers I kiss close. About ten minutes in. Then we follow him home to his buddy’s house I’m staying at. He leaves on the pretext of picking up a girlfriend and then me and the girl just sit in the front seats of her car listening to samba on the radio and sharing a can of Brahma.

and a car

There’s really very little to write about this. I needed no Game beyond recognising she’s up for it and then escalating correctly. I’m a talker but this didn’t even need words, relying upon me saying any old shit in a low seductive tone while eye fucking her. Soon we are on the back seats and she gives perfunctory LMR before I’ve got her riding me. It’s very very good sex. Squalid and dirty, me slamming her hard while I push her face into the seat, little moans of “ai ai” coming out her mouth like a metronome. I’m fucking some girl who picked me up on Valentine’s Day after an argument with her husband.

What did he do wrong? The chocolate wasn’t expensive enough? The reservation at the restaurant too close to the kitchen? Poor guy.

The sheer squalid lunacy of the situation appeals to me. Not one to miss a moment I make sure some of my cum misses her tits and face and hits the windows. Clean that off in the morning, hon. And don’t forget to pick up the condom off the floor before you give the car keys back to hubby.

This is what its like for good-looking guys. A girl goes to a bar DTF and then comes onto a guy she likes the look of. So you isolate, escalate and fuck. There’s no game at all. I will now no longer listen to good looking guys on anything except calibration and escalation. They don’t know what its like to actually win a girl over.

This was child’s play. Its a shame that when I return to Europe, I’ll return to reality.

* No idea of her age, or name, or anything else. Could be anywhere between 25-35. She wasn’t very happy when I pulled up my trousers, said thanks for the ride home, then disappeared inside to sleep.