It would appear I’ve gotten off to a flyer in 2013.

Here in Brazil, samba is in the air. Street parties, sweltering hot sunshine and then me and my pasty high-status skin colour. Who would suffer the cold of February in London when the promised land of Brazilian ass lies just a plane ticket away? I’ve barely touched down home from a romantic weekend in Barcelona with Belorussian before I’m packing my flip-flops and suncream to go visit my old buddy Suave. Ah, life is good!

You look very…..

I don’t speak a word of Portuguese but the local girls seem to find me shiny and exotic. You have to take your good luck when it comes. First night I make out with a tall leggy office girl who would’ve been good to go if her sister didn’t cockblock. Next night I get a super-cute university student but more sisterly cockblocking knocks that on the head. Third night I’m in Suave’s hometown and headed into the centre for a long street party. I’m excited.

Then he twists his ankle stepping off a kerb, hobbling himself. Our mightly plans to work the party evaporate. He hobbles home to ice it. Fuck. I’m left with a couple of his friends I just met who are making a good effort at looking after me but its a vibe-killer for game. Time to mentally reframe myself. Fate has forced me out of my comfort zone. All growth happens outside the comfort zone. OK, get into the Now, chat to these people, just enjoy the carnival like a normal tourist. So for an hour I’m following these people around and maintaining a faltering conversation. I really appreciate them taking the time with me. One is a woman who looks about mid-thirties but has kept herself in great shape, from mid-range she looks really hot in her short-shorts but just doesn’t maintain my boner up close. She clearly fancies me. And thus begins an internal tug-of-war.

This girl is smiling, dancing, making sure I don’t lose her. She’s a nice person having a good time. But my eyes constantly wander over all the hot young uni students also here, the girls Suave and I would’ve been making a crack at. So much supple young skin on show. I don’t see many eights but there’s a sea of young sixes and sevens. I’m at sixes and sevens now, looking at it but unable to touch lest I seem ungrateful to my hosts by ditching them.

And my vibe is flat. I doubt I’d make a good job of it.

Then two things change in rapid succession. I enter that magical beer-zone of just-pissed-enough that my social inhibitions drop. Then that girl makes a stronger play for me and I’m kissing her within a throng of party-goers. Click! I hit state. She goes off to dance leaving me with some dark skinned girl in a short wedding dress / tiara combo who responds splendidly to my reflexive attraction material. She’s touching, pawing, leading me by the hand through the crowd. Instinctively I know she’s a player, I recognise all the little touches to pull me off balance and into her frame so I backturn, talk to others, push away in correct measure. Mentally I have her recorded as a strong lead for an hour down the line. And then I’m just social-opening everyone, stealing girl’s hats, teasing. I spend ten minutes sitting on a kerb with a super cute little uni student dressed as a butterfly with colourful paint all over her. She’s into me but resists the kiss.

I’m buzzing. The new friends I’m with bump into me every now and then with a look of increduility that this is the same guy who was so serious and taciturn less than two hours earlier. My comfort zone has stretched. And then I see something that occupies the very centre of the most comfortable zone I have.

A solo girl walking alongside the carnival throng, in the opposite direction, going somewhere. Wearing a rucksack.

A fucking rucksack. Every London daygamer’s dream signal.

in low-7 form

I cut through the throng like Rickson through a black belt and appear in front of her. Immediately its just on. Her eyes sparkle, she has a huge smile, and my patter is perfect. I kino fast with side hugs, hair-messing and so on. She’s got little Lara Croft shorts and schoolgirl socks pulled up to her knees. Little hamster-y face. My type all over, probably a low-7. She’s not drunk but on her way to pick up some clothes before starting work at 6:30am (it’s about half four now).

I kiss her less than five minutes in then bounce across the road for a sit down. I run comfort, kiss more, and start thinking about a fast street-to-bed. She’s agreed in principle so we start walking. I try to lie her down in the middle of a park but she’s not having it. So I try to drag her into a supermarket carpark. Not having that either. I can feel its on the edge, her desire to fuck exactly equal to the opposite anxiety over not being that kind of girl. We sit down on a bench and I pull her onto my lap. She’s verbalising how she loves sex but it has to be nice, not squalid. The window is closing, I think it won’t happen.

“We should go to a motel,” she says.

Brilliant. Flag down a taxi, jump in, and within half an hour I’ve got her face pushed into the pillow while I plow her from behind. Some seconds in the shower and then she has to get dressed for work. One hour street to bed, maybe faster. I’d like the Game Adjudication Committee to rule on whether this constitutes an SDL or an SNL. Essentially, this was a fast street-stop that happended at night, when I was drunk. On such details rests the fate of nations.

Already I can hear a collective sharp intake of breath throughout the manosphere. Thirty one! I guess this post will be equal parts lay report and mea culpa.

As my long-suffering readership is aware I have been easing my way back into the life of London daygame. Cold, wet, miserable but I feel the nagging pull to get some girls on the go and add a few notches. It’s gone well. The streets are not exactly brimming with flange but if you stay out long enough and look hard enough there’s usually enough girls to make it worth the effort. Land Of The Tens it isn’t. More like Village Of The Sevens. Round about my third day out I spot the usual target walking past the National Portrait Gallery. My assumption stack bombs horribly but that’s the point of the stack… you just transition off her answers no matter how wrong you were.

Me: Hi. I want to tell you something. I just noticed you walking up there and thought you look cute. Very Polish.

Her: I’m Swiss.

Me: Perhaps, but you look Polish. I think its the light skin, wide eyes, and neat clothes. You look like a Polish librarian. A cute one.

Her: Yes. But I’m Swiss.

Me: Then that means…. you like….. mountains…. chocolate…. and collecting Nazi gold.

Her: Haha (etc)…..

Did I ever tell you the reason to assumption stack? In the beginning you both have nothing to talk about so you have to create something out of nothing. The whole point is to get into a conversation – find a subject to talk about. Naturally you’ll talk about her because that’s what you’re interested in. So you make an assumption (I recommend her nationality) and then tell her three reasons why based on three things you can see. Make the last one a light tease to show a little backbone, a little push to perk up her interest.

I’ve never been, but I imagine it’s…

If your assumption gets any traction at all, no matter if you were right or wrong, stick with it. Use that as the topic. Many guys get too excited about their creativity and keep making new assumptions like they’re Derren Brown. No no no. You aren’t trying to impress her, you are trying to get into a conversation with her. Less is more. Once you’ve got her real nationality its easy to then list three things you “heard” about her country… make them borderline racist stereotypes.

• Romanian: In my mind its full of towering mountains, vampires and gypsies
• Russian: I think of Russia being all snow, vodka and KGB
• Brazilian: I imagine Brazil as one long beach where everyone drinks Caprianhas and plays football.

Just stick with the first stereotypes that come into your head. So long as you deliver it with a playful smirk and drag it out slowly then she’ll laugh. If you’re stuck, go to the Emergency Krauser Stack:

My mum told me to be careful of girls from [country]. She said three things. They are all beautiful…. good cooks…. and sex maniacs.

So back to the story. She’s very shy and demure which I like. After ten minutes or so the hook feels good but she seems to lack any real flirting ability. The whole thing feels a bit flat. Nonetheless I bounce her across the road to a pub where we chat for an hour or so. She’s new in town, just here for a couple of weeks to find a university. The spark isn’t there. I just can’t read her interest levels. I seriously think she’s too oblivious to realise what’s going on and I’m on only my second instant date of the year and very rusty. I take a number thinking I may have dropped the ball. Sometimes you just never know. Still waters run deep. This girl is very shy and thoughtful, kinda mousy. She’s into reading, ballet, and gives me classic introvert answers to my probing. She must’ve hooked strong as I discover during the texting. I’ll give an entire transcript so you can see how I’m able to turn it around and get the frame right. I see lots of bad text game in blog comments.

In front of Top Shop, 7pm

Me: So this is my cute new Swiss friend… it was a pleasure [Remember this is a “nice girl” from an idate that had little spark. It’s important to be the same guy in texts as you were in person. I start soft with the aim of gradually ramping it up]

Her: It was a pleasure for me too, thank you. How are you, cheeky Englishman? [Good sign]

Me: Good morning! I’m having coffee while I look at all the snow in my garden. How are you? [A ping text. Give a little window into your life]

Her: Hello! That sounds very relaxed.. I am in the Shakespeare Globe and recovering my slight cold… are you interested in visiting the theatre for a play? [An invitation. I don’t want to go to the theatre, that’s all wrong for a date. Wrong activity and in her frame. I don’t like theatre. I shall have to refuse.]

Me: I’m more of a movie person. Take care of yourself with that cold. I want you looking your prettiest when we meet! [Making it clear that it’ll be a date, not friends.]

Me: Hey crazy. I made a snowman today. [Ping text I sent to four girls the next day]

Her: We will see, how I will fulfill your desire.. I think being healthy is sufficient for our appointment. Are you in the city next week? [Keen]

Me: Young lady, I’m sure we shall have the pleasure of each other’s company this week. What is your eta for a full recovery… Tuesday? [She’s letting me take the frame now]

Her: Good evening, how do you do? London is really exciting. There is sooo much to discover, incredible.. should we meet each other this week once? It would be a pleasure. [Keen]

Me: Hey 🙂 I’m quite busy this week, but Thursday evening is good. 8pm?

Me: I just bought a black biker jacket. I’m now officially a bad boy! [No reply to my invite so I leave it two days and ping with this]

Her: Hi Nick, you scared me a 2nd time! 😉 bad boy, good girl. Did you receive my message?

Me: Hey. I never got a message. What was it?

Her: Really? I asked if you have a time to meet each other once… do you?

Me: I replied. I can meet you Friday [Logistics]

Her: What about Saturday? Would it be also possible?

Me: Hmmm.. Will you wear your prettiest dress and brightest smile? [Restate the frame that its a date and I expect her to play into it]

Her: Almost surely 🙂 I’ve a new haircut! [Frame accepted]

Me: I look forward to messing it up with my hands 😀 Saturday, 7pm, Oxford Circus

Her: I warn you. Cool, Sat 7 at tube station

I then completely forget about the date. I gatecrash one of Tom and Jon’s bootcamps and chatting to them on the walk back to the Daygame HQ when I realise I’m supposed to meet this bird in half an hour. Oops. So I throw out a ping to check its on. I’m not much fussed about it having already got laid two days earlier with the Colombian.

Me: Hey, you good?

Her: Yes, c u at 7

Me: Cool. And no mischief, girl!

Imagine this as a 7, partially obscured with my hairy arse

Once I meet her it goes more or less the same as my last two girls. A drink in a normal pub, walk her to a darker bar. This time she’s hungry so we stop off at a Chinese fusion place. She’s difficult with kino so except for the usual hair-touching I focus on the verbals. Generalised sex talk, laying the man vibe on her etc. Then in the second pub I pull her in to kiss. Finally she loosens up. Her eyes spazz, she becomes touchy-feelly, her knees touch mine constantly… I start to think maybe I can take her home. I remember writing these texts to Bhodi while I was on the date, because he often gets stuck in date escalation so I wanted him to get a window into how I think during a date:

[Just before the date] Me: She’s well into me, very shy, and goes back to Switzerland next week…. Hmmmmm…

Him: Fuck. I wanted to play Black Ops 2

[An hour in] Me: This one s awkward as hell. She wants it and I like her, but she has huge nerd barriers. Haven’t kissed yet.

Him: Just get her back, whatever the excuse, then try it on. Once she’s thru the door the chances of fucking go up astronomically

Me: True. Gonna take the leap regardless

[Two hours in] Me: K close but still tough

Him: Unless its a def second date then just go all out

[Three hours in] Me: I had an Its On Moment and 3 cabs stolen under my nose….

Him: agh

We are walking up Tottenham Court Road while I blab on about finding another pub while keeping my eye out for a cab to hustle her into. None show up. The world is against me. Somehow I persuade her to get the tube back to mine and then a bus up the bank. It’s all about leading and brass-necking my way until she’s in my room with her shoes off.

Then it’s an hour of pretty real LMR and I send Bhodi the +1 text. Really nice tight slim body. She looks good when I’m fucking her. Proof of lay.

I’m afraid I’m uninspired to write this lay report. It was fun and I went to bed afterwards with a smile of satisfaction at a perfectly-executed run through my model but….. it was just workman-like. Nothing special in the circumstance nor the girl. Like Arsenal eking out a 1-0 win away from home in a match that sends the fans to sleep. If you keep going out you’ll rack up many sets like this. Grist to the mill. I’m out with an old buddy SubZero trying to grind my way through some street approaches to build some long term momentum. I feel off the pace, like a footballer trying to get match fit after a long term injury. There’s a niggling approach anxiety, nothing like it used to be a few years ago but enough that there’s still some emotional cost of opening. Once I’m in set everything is calm and relaxed. The old magic is still there but buried undercobwebs.

After a couple of sets I hook a cute petite Colombian girl outside John Lewis. It’s dark now, light streaming from shop windows to give that gutter-game feel. She’s giggling, bantering and its a pretty solid ten minute set. We swap numbers. I continue the banter over a couple of texts then invite her out.

She cancels the first date a few hours in advance because her father has had a stroke. She says she’ll still come out but doesn’t expect to be good company. Naturally I tell her its fine to reschedule. So a couple of days later we meet in front of Top Shop. I don’t get nervous on dates anymore. Its all grist to the mill. She’s a little stand-offish at first which I put down to nerves so I walk her up to The Cock and make idle chit-chat. It’s rammed so we stand at the bar and I begin to lay my vibe on her.

Me: You look like a squirrel. Those big cheeks [I grab her cheek between thumb and forefinger]

Her: No I don’t!

Me: There’s a famous TV character just like you. He’s called Rocky [shows google image on phone]

Her: I do not! [playful hitting]

Ten minutes later while doing some comfort on her background

Me: What’s Bogota like? I’ve never been.

Her: It’s quite a big city, up in the mountains. It’s 2,000 feet above see level

Me: So you do live in the mountains, in a tree. Is that where you store your nuts?

Her: aaaaaaargghh. Stop it!

too easy

This is just routine stuff I lay onto any girl who is a bit short and curvy. Easy meat. Within ten minutes or so she’s in a nice playful vibe and starting to fall into my frame. I’m kino testing early with her hair and hands. Within half an hour I know its on to kiss but I wait till I’ve led her to a darker more seductive bar. I know its in the bag, just a case of how hard I push this meeting.

Conversation comes easy, the kind of things I’ve written about many times here. I mix up comfort with attraction, playfully push her away, frame her as crazy and a sex maniac. Then halfway through the second pint I pull her in to kiss. She tells me she’s going back to Colombia 5am the next morning. I’m faced with the dilemma of every player when the girl is good enough to bang but not really a serious dating contender. She’s a cute little six. Girly, feminine, pretty face but just not enough to bring out my A game.

I decide to push. I need more rapid escalation practicce. I need to bed down the willingness to push for the lay on first date. I’ve had plenty of practice doing the three-date girlfriend route. Time to switch up. So I put more beer in her, put her legs over mine and scratch her temple. The usual. I guess I might as well lay out the specifics for my dear readers.

• King’s throne posture, with the girl pulled into me
• With my arm around her, pull her head onto my shoulder and scratch her temple
• Alternate proper makeouts with soft kisses on the forehead
• Occasionally grab her hair at the back of the neck and hold her tight for a strong kiss
• Peek down the front of her shirt once or twice

I’ve never been a big fan of physical escalation but these days I use it when I’m gunning it full steam ahead to close that night. I stop short of direct sexualisation – no fondling of her breasts or touching between the legs, no overt “I’m going to fuck you” talk. She’s got too many good-girl barriers to pull that stuff out on the first date. I’d rather keep it covert so she just ends up at my place. Halfway through a pint at the third bar I decide its time for the leap of faith. It’s 10pm and she’s thinking of her flight.

There’s always a moment where you step off the cliff. This was it.

Me: Come on, next place. [Puts on coat and waits for her to do the same]

Her: Where are we going?

Me: Next place. Then I shall return you home in an hour.

Her: I need to be up at 5am for my flight

Me: I know, just one more drink. Hurry up [we walk outside, I flag a taxi, open the door and bundle her in]

Her: Where are we going?

Me: Disneyland

In between kissing me and feeling my leg she tells me I’m a bad man and I’m kidnapping her. I agree on both counts. Then its back to my room, shoes off, leave her alone a few minutes to get wine glasses, and time to escalate. It takes two hours of token resistance at each step until I’m fucking her.

Really, sometimes its like these girls are working to exactly the same blueprint. This lay was almost identical to my last SDL. Every step of the way, the timing, her moods, the words. I wonder if it’ll ever get boring….. After the usual bedroom naughtiness I see her onto the nightbus. A new flag, a new notch. I don’t feel the urge to run around my room cheering. Just another workman-like set where the pieces fell into place. The biggest learning point was that every single phase required me to consciously push forwards. At no moment did the lay “just happen”. There was no organic momentum. It was like pushing a boulder up a hill.

Here’s another textbook same day lay. Learning Daygame is as much a habit as it is a skill so having not done any in London since last summer I was getting rusty. Avoidance weasel was getting vocal

It’s winter. Your libido is supposed to be low. Just wait till it warms up

There’s no pretty girls out in cold weather. Just look at that snow!

What’s the rush? You don’t care about notches anyway. Didn’t you write a post on it?

He’s a difficult chap this weasel, always finding reasons not to approach women. So I overrule him. It’s a new year and I’ve quit my job. All the girls on my rotation live in Central Europe so I’ve got nothing going on in London. I no longer daygame in London for “the lifestyle” and the identity. I don’t go out to improve my skills. That phase is long behind me. Now I go out if I’m in a good mood, or in this case if I have an empty bed. I go out to get a new girl.

Marginally warmer than this

Textbook Tip #1 – Go out. You need to make things happen.

I’m shivering under a thick woolly hat, my nose going numb. Piles of slush still lie against the kerb from last night’s snow. Not alot of people on Oxford Street. I force myself to open the first decent girl I see – a cute unassuming French twenty-year old. She likes me, there’s that flicker in the eye contact, but it’s logistically horrible. She’s about to meet the male “friend” she’s visiting and returns to Paris tomorrow. Either he’s fucking her or trying to. Either way I doubt I’d get her away from him so I take a flaky facebook. Next three sets are just unlucky. Nice girls, big smiles, but all in a hurry and not much into me.

I remind myself daygame is about flipping over stones. Just keep doing decent work, keep approaching and eventually I’ll encounter a girl who is available and into me. Then I’m in like Jimmy Saville. However, I’m over an hour into it and getting cold. There’s precious little to shoot at. I drift towards the Caffe Nero in Trafalgar Square to warm up and read my book. It’s awfully comfortable in those soft leather sofas.

Textbook Tip #2 – If your state is dropping, take a break. Regroup.

The sky darkens outside, the winter nights cutting in. I’m a little restless. I came out to find a girl and here I am sitting reading the autobiography of an Italian bank robber. I remind myself of my reference experiences. Daygame isn’t so tough. I’ve done it plenty. All four girls I spoke to today enjoyed the interaction. All were very pretty. Just keep churning it out. The pitbull is straining at the leash again. So I put my coat on and step outside…. into a blast of icy air… brrrrrrrrrr. A bus passes by and stops five metres up the road, like a siren song singing me to the warmth of my home. I resist. “Walk up to Bond Street at least, then get a bus” I tell myself and trudge out. I only need one scrap of good fortune. One girl.

Textbook Tip #3 – Choose your targets wisely, especially if your state is borderline.

I don’t kid myself that I’m shooting for the fences here. If I see a ten I’ll open just on general principle but I’m not in the mood for a challenge. I’m scanning for my favourite type of girl and as I reach Piccadilly Circus she appears in front of me like an apparition. She checks all the boxes:

• Dark features with coffee skin and long black hair
• Soft feminine dress sense with a cute little woolly hat
• Wandering around aimlessly, eyes wandering to all the old buildings
• Sensible shoes, jeans, warm clothes. Urban hiking gear

Over a year ago I once asked Tom from Daygame to write a list of characteristics identifying the best candidates for an SDL. He calls them “vulnerable”. Operationalise it, I asked. So he wrote a list and this girl checked most of the boxes. She’s clearly a tourist who is visiting London alone and spent the past several hours walking around. She’s cold, her legs ache, and she hasn’t had a real conversation all day. Hello, I’m Nick…..

.. and I’m a cute Chilean bird

Textbook Tip #4 – If you can’t organically build momentum, you’ll have to force it

It’s a slow start. She’s from Chile, in London for two days before returning to her friend in Paris to continue a Euro tour. She’s not giving off any IOIs except the most important one – making no effort to leave. Five minutes or so on the street and I feel just about enough of a hook to bounce to the idate, a pub 50m up the road. We settle in the upstairs lounge and she has a half pint of bitter (her first time in an English pub). Conversation is fine but twenty minutes in I realise I’m too logical, not drawing her onto the right topics so I shift gear. Classic forced-rapport questions:

If your friends were to describe you in three words, what would they be? (answer: intelligent, friendly, crazy)

How old were your friends in Chile when they first kissed boys? (answer: 11)

How do boys and girls meet in Santiago? Is it a bar culture? (answer: same as most countries)

She’s soon perked up and we’ve got good rapport. I kino test a few times. Oh, those owl earings are nice, let me see. Oh, take your hat off so I can see your hair (and then I fluff her hair up a bit). Oh, show me that ring. All I’m looking for is to touch her and see if she flinches away. Nope, she likes it. Green light.

I’m in full-on leading mode now and take her to a second bar where we sit side-by-side. More plausibly-deniable touching and I just sense the moment. I kiss her.

Her: You’re crazy!

Me: Yes

Her: This is so unexpected

Me: Yes. It’s fast

Her: You could be a dangerous killer

Me: Yes. I am

She can’t get enough of me now. Verbal rapport gives way to physical rapport as I pull her in, stroke her hair, hold her hand. Everything I can do to accelerate the comfort. I’m still not thinking of the SDL because she just doesn’t seem up for it. She’s too shy, giving too few signals. Avoidance weasel tells me to take a Facebook – as if I’ll ever see her again when she lives and works in Chile. Fuck that. I’m gonna push and push. I seed a bar halfway home. My biggest obstacle is distance because I don’t live in the city centre. It’ll be a long bus journey.

Textbook Tip #5 – There’s usually at least one big leap of faith in the escalation

We walk out to the bus stop on Oxford Street. She’s compliant and raising no fuss. As we buy a ticket and board she doesn’t seem too worried about the destination. In for a penny in for a pound – I decide to stay on the bus all the way home and forget the idea of a third pub. Now I shift into verbal bamboozlement mode to occupy her mind. Twenty minutes into the journey she’s finally a little antsy and realises we aren’t headed to this pub.

Her: [looking out the window] Where are we going?

Me: My place

Her: [long pensive look] Ok

We get wine from the corner shop and proceed directly to my room. I take off my shoes and tell her to do likewise then I disappear for five minutes to find wine glasses. It’s good form to leave a girl alone in your room for a while – her hindbrain calms itself with the knowledge she is free to leave. They never do leave. Halfway through the wine I pull her in and go for it. Ten minutes of half-arsed LMR and I’m banging her. Mid-bang I conduct a short interview:

Me: At what moment did you realise I was going to fuck you?

Her: During the bus journey

Me: At what moment did you look at me and think “yeah, I could fuck this guy”?

Her: In the second pub but it wasn’t conscious

Me: You like it that I just picked you up off the street and now I’m fucking you, don’t you

Her: Yes!

She never does this

Textbook Tip #6 – She’ll usually reconcile herself to the prospect of fucking you quite early on, before you’ve made any big moves

After she’s wiped my muck off her breasts and face she gives that dazed and confused look I’ve seen so many times on SDLs. What just happened? I can’t believe I did that! I never do this! She tells me I’m the eighth guy to fuck her and the first non-boyfriend.

Her: It’s so strange. One month before I came here I met a boy. I think I’m in love with him. So this is very unusual to me.

Me: I get what I want

+1. New flag. Seventh approach of 2013.

This one was tough but oh so satisfying. Those of you working towards increased success with women will be familiar with the anti-game hater, that squalid little gamma who resents every sliver of success as it reminds him what a hopeless loser he is and worse that he won’t take charge of his own love life. A common hater refrain / reframe is “any westerner can fuck East European supermodels just by flashing his passport. Prove your skills by fucking fat vile Anglophone tarts.” Apparently porking an unpleasant slut with a cock-count >30 is more difficult than a chaste EE girl with an N of <5.

Men who are commited to improving their game will also be familiar with quality plateaus. In the beginning you may struggle to have sex with pretty girls. Once that nut is cracked you may find a fairly easy calculus of X approaches leads to Y amount of interest and Z amount of lays. You can sustain yourself indefinately on workrate alone. Good luck to you. Most of us get frustrated that this path doesn’t let you crack the next level of quality. So after some frustration we retool and take another run at the summit.

A metaphor, yesterday

As I lay in bed this afternoon with Serb C nuzzled up against me, her clothes strewn across my apartment floor, I ruminate on how not only is she a chaste girl who just moments ago doubled her lifetime cock-count but also that she is of quite astonishing quality. Not merely hot. Hot and elegant and talented and womanly and intelligent. The type of girl last seen in England circa 1960. The haters can keep their fatties. The pussy hounds can keep their weekly grot-fucks. I shall work my niche of monthly Slavic princesses.

Anyhow, I digress. So to this story….

You’d be like that too

During my August tour of the former Yugoslavia I pulled a quite-uncharacteristic nightclub rapid escalation. Belgrade has flotsam and jetsam of nightclub boats pushed up against the riverside which are perfect in summer. After necking lots of cheap vodka with Bhodi and Robusto I start rapid escalating. One particular girl responds great and I end up in a afterparty with all her friends in a soviet-era tenement block. Heavy makeouts but no sex. We keep up some occasional facebook chat but she is super-flighty. Her traditional parents micro-manage her life, she doesn’t see any real future in our keeping contact, and she’s an all-round neurotic type. Beneath all this is a sweet charming lady. She performs folk songs with the sweetest soft voice and dances gracefully. I recognise quality. I know when I’ve found a genuinely interesting girl. So I perserve.

Next time I’m in Belgrade she doesn’t want to bus in from her town to see me (well, more like a village). The time after that she agrees to the weekend but her parents forbid it and all we manage is a coffee and stroll through the Belgrade fortress grounds. Her hamster is spinning hard verbalising classic forebrain-hindbrain conflict. As you get more calibrated and speak womanese you’ll find the girl telling you how to seduce her. This one was lacking comfort. She desperately wanted me but future-projected her buyer’s remorse and conflict with her family.

I end up in Belgrade again for the fourth time, mostly to visit Serb A who I closed last time. It interests me greatly how different both girls are yet both are my type. I must really intoxicate myself with females now, savouring the taste like a single malt rolled around my palate. I rent a top floor apartment and she agrees to spend three days with me (but not staying over). I’m certain I’ll fuck her.

This sort of thing

Day One – She meets me at the bus station and drops me off at my apartment which she had scouted in advance on her father’s orders. I settle in for a few hours until she finishes her family obligations and we meet for dinner. I’m mythologising this girl, delving deep in our interests, finding connection. I don’t forget the fundamentals of body language, vocal tone etc but that stuff comes reflexively now and attraction isn’t the sticking point with her. I think more along Steve Jabba lines – what place is my behaviour coming from? am I connecting to my authentic emotions for her? It’s easy because I genuinely like this girl. We end up at my apartment making out and her hindbrain is taking over, grinding her crotch into me, breathing heavy. I count my chickens and then……. forebrain overide, she scuttles back and it’s gone. Too much ASD. I let her go home.

Day Two – I’ve set her hindbrain going so I know it’ll eventually overpower her forebrain resistance. I don’t even need to be physically present. Sure enough the next day she’s slightly further down that road. We have coffee in a fantastic basement place. I’m sitting back sipping my drink, chatting, looking around and so tranquil. This is exactly the life I want to live. Civilisation is still intact in Serbia. I see masculine men and feminine women everywhere. Of the ten girls in this cafe, if you took any of the top seven into a London nightclub they’d shine like shooting stars putting all the local trollops to shame. We eat late lunch and break for a few hours so I can be alone. She’s back around for the evening so we eat dinner and head back to my place.

As confident I am of the eventual lay – she’s clearly crossed the bridge of inevitability – I just don’t know if it will happen fast enough to get it done this holiday. I’m a patient man but……

Spotify is on with Robusto’s love-making playlist and we dance playfully until I break out a power move and lift her up in a fireman’s carry, spinning her as she hoots and hollers to be let down. Big time arousal. Then I push hard on the kissing, waiting for her hands to start exploring hungrily. That’s the moment I want so I know to push the final mile. I grab her trousers at the belt and as expected she reaches down and unbuttons her jeans. Now is not the time to play it cool. I undress her.

She’s covering her face, shy. She definitely needs to be pushed. So I push. And….. close.

Afterwards she verbalises all the ASD and buyer’s remorse. She’s like a drunk driver on black ice with two shredded tires, careening this way and that out of control. Poor girl. Deep down I can sense her satisfaction and liberation. From hereon it’s all comfort, stroking her hair and pulling her into me. No more sexual stuff. No more bad boy.

Day Three – She’s back around at lunchtime so I kiss her immediately, gauging her mood. She softens and soon stiffens (in the right way). So I push. More sex, better sex. It’s a done deal. Midway through she covers her face so I playfully chastise her shyness. “I’ve only been with one man before” she says. The rest of the day is spent walking around a park, having coffee, feeding of that wonderful compliment of masculine-feminine energy now all the barriers are down. It’s a sweet feeling.

That’s three Serbs out of the last four closes. Every one of them 170cm+, twenty-three or less, and with one prior sexual partner. Have I found my niche?

Another day, another Serb.

The Lord’s year of 2012 has been an interesting one in my upward ascent towards achieving the success with women that I’d like. Scanning back through my voluminous archives a keen observer could characterise 2009 as my Beginner’s Hell. That’s when I first learned about Game and committed to a program of cold approaching and skills acquisition, self-consciously trying to become a PUA. I didn’t get laid at all in 2009, running around like the kind of clueless dickhead I now make fun of. It was a rough year and by far the longest dry spell of my adult life. I rang in 2010 by knobbing a chubby black chick I’d brought home after a New Years Eve party, my first game-inspired lay. You could characterise this second year as being my transition from chode to pussyhound, hardly an honourable title but the rewards had begun to trickle in. From May that year I began a one-year spree of knocking over at least one new girl every single calendar month, none of them rotters. I was obsessed with chasing women, reshaping my whole life around it, determined to “get this area handled”. 2011 continued the batting streak but with a notable jump in quality and also a jump in the fun I was having. Inner game work was paying off and reference experiences piled up. I no longer felt broken inside. My personal version of game was fine-tuned to get the women I want in the way I want them.

What I want, where I want it

2012 has been my year of maturity…. to the extent that banging a load of women and then posting about it on the internet can be called mature. This year has slightly edged out 2011 in both quantity and quality but with a work rate far far below the previous three years. Pulling a random number out my arse, I’d say I’ve churned out only 30% as many approaches I did in years 2010/11 and about the same fraction of dates. I’ve focused on lifestyle choices (non-girl related) yet somehow managed to score younger-hotter-tighter with only a fraction of the effort. Now this new Serb girl let me close out the year with a bang (so to speak). Hottest girl of the year. Pull up a chair, ease into your favourite slippers, and I’ll recount the tale…..

As an international man of mystery I take great pleasure in wandering the globe, setting up little hubs of familiarity where I can retreat when London life tires me. Lithuania and Croatia top my list but I’m on the lookout for others. While driving around the former-Yugoslavia in April Jimmy and I squeezed in a day in Belgrade. It seemed promising so I went back with Bhodi and Robusto for a week in July, knocking over a local girl and getting some hot leads that justified a return. Return I did, somewhat tramuatising another local girl and it was then, in September, that I met Giraffe.

Add a little puppy fat and that’s her

Giraffe is a sweet young student with long long legs and smooth clean lines. Quite the head turner, my head was turned as she walked down the main shopping street so I gave chase and ran my usual street patter. She’s the kind of girl who is so striking that it’s easy to bail out assuming she’s too hot, but 2012 is the year I came to really feel I am the best offer a girl will ever get. I took a number then had a Day 2 later that evening and spent most of the next afternoon (my last) walking the riverfront. No kiss.

This presents a problem best solved by Long Game. Much of my early Facebook stuff on this blog went nowhere, clumsy attempts to stumble in the dark as I figure out how to use the medium. By the time I get Giraffe online I’m working to a well-practiced system so we are soon sex-chatting. Concurrently, I have another Serb in a holding pattern (also beautiful) so I apply myself to setting up a Belgrade visit for November. It’s a logistic and frame control nightmare to handle the following problems:

• Serb A (Giraffe) has never kissed me and is still doing some push-back on the frame. If I’m going all the way to Belgrade just to see her I might as well toss the frame into the river. I need an additional lure.
• Serb B (Singer) lives in a small town several hours from Belgrade and tells me her traditional parents won’t allow her to see me, so can I come to her town?
• Serb A has only slept with one man. Girls like that are quite a challenge to close quickly
• Serb B is verbalising her hamster spins with an effective push-pull of liking me but not being “that kind of girl”

Things eventually get to a point where Serb B has gotten permission from her parents to visit Belgrade so she will spend Friday and Saturday with me. Serb A will clear her Sunday for me. Because I rate both girls highly (solid 8s, and very pleasant people) I’m not looking for a pump’n’dump. Also, being somewhat chastised by my experience with the previous Serb (Dancer) I really hope things will go well into the medium term. I tell both girls I’ll be meeting other friends in Belgrade and Zagreb hence my narrow window of availability, keeping it vague.

Three days before the trip Serb B bails, saying her parents revoked permission. I’m not impressed and tell her as much. It’s one thing to be easy going and “nothing is ever a big deal” but quite another when you explicitly tell a girl you are coming to visit her specifically, she agrees, you buy a ticket, then she bails. I tell her we shouldn’t talk to each other again. It’s not just a gamey push-away (though it works to that effect), I’m no longer willing to put myself out for this girl. She’s obviously in a spin over the whole situation and ends up confronting her parents and compromising with a daytrip (Saturday)…. but I have a new headache because I’d since told Serb A I have all weekend free…… I fly into Belgrade considering the following as an acceptable holiday-success scenario:

• Eat good food and read a book
• Advance both girls to the point where next time is a guaranteed lay
• Get one promising new lead from street game

I needn’t have worried.

Right from my arrival, Giraffe is well into me. She’s cleared her diary completely so as to spend every minute with me. Early afternoon she meets me at my apartment then we head out for lunch at a lovely old bistro where I’m buzzing with positive energy. She looks great, the vibe is great, and I just love being in downtown Belgrade eating good food and sipping local coffee. I do a little kino testing, playing with her hair and fingers, then we mutually suggest returning to my apartment to sleep off the food. Lying next to her on the bed, fully clothed, listening to Spotify, I’m still acutely aware we haven’t even kissed. How difficult is this woman? You lose nothing as a man by pushing so I pull her in and kiss close. She’s enthusiastic so I keep pushing. There’s a few mutterings of “this is fast” and “we should slow down” but within twenty minutes I’m banging her.

Glory be, praise the Lord! It’s such a fulfilling experience to look down at a beautiful young woman writhing and moaning underneath you, knowing it’s all happened because you saw her in the street and made it happen. Lovely girl, great fuck. We chill out for another hour or two, have a nap, then more of the same. We spend most of the weekend together in cafes, fancy restaurants, and walking by the river. It fits my image exactly of the kind of guy I want to be, living the kind of life I want to live. Dozens of times over the weekend I find myself looking at her nuzzled up in the crook of my arm with a satisfied smile, padding around my apartment in her underwear singing, on my arm in the street as the locals give us inquisitive looks, and think “fuck me, I’m really living this”.

Fuck me, I’m really living this

Saturday lunchtime I send her home for a few hours so I can meet Serb B. As I wait in a cafe off Republic Square I’m wondering where I’m at. Mostly I’m gratified that I didn’t get player ennui with Giraffe. Even in the ten minute window after shooting my muck over her (usually my extreme low point of interest in a girl) I felt satisfied having her around, a feeling I interpret to mean the quality and suitability of the girl is crucial to me and yet another reason not to bang rotters. My thoughts turn to Singer and whether it’ll be the satisfaction or the ennui with her, and how interested canI be in a girl I only saw while drunk one night? Then she glides into the seat next to me and all doubts vanish – she’s lovely. Beautiful, elegant, immaculately dressed… she’s like a Serbian Kate Bush. Far more chatty than Giraffe I get a completely different (and just as pleasant) vibe as we progress to lunch. She won’t come into my apartment and is quite pressed for time so we walk around the old fort. It’s really quite romantic, enough to warm the cold hard rock I have for a heart.

but speaks Cyrillic

I put her in a taxi knowing full well this is proceeding nicely. It’ll have to wait a while, but this girl will be part of my 2013. I see out the remainder of the weekend with Giraffe then jet home on Monday with a rucksack full of fine whiskey and a heart full of song. Life is good.

I’m bored on Saturday evening with nothing better to do than troll OKcupid. Makes a change from running my usual daygame. I send out about thirty messages all exactly the same, to see what happens. About six girls hook and I start a chat with some black American girl. It’s a car crash, she’s just so unfeminine and utterly unable to flirt. What do they teach girls over the Pond? Are they all so vile and unattractive? Everything is a challenge with her so I say no deal and to be frank I don’t think she cares in the slightest. In contrast, this Euro-girl is the very picture of shy femininity. Witness the entire exchange:

That’s classic textbook online game. Really, we wrote an online game book over a year ago and this is precisely the method. Just a shame it’ll never be released. But I digress……Her photos don’t mean much to me one way or the other. There’s a few full-face shots in daylight plus two full body, all with a camera timestamp from within two months. Ok, she’s not bad. Somewhere between 6 and 7 in the way you simply can’t tell online. She’ll do. I’m wavering on whether I can be bothered to go out to meet her but this little text exchange convinces me I’ll enjoy her company:

Her: Hey 8pm its fine i just need to find out where is that station but i will see that when i get home later. You are making me laugh. Are you always like this? “tomorrow. 6pm. Oxford circus.” “give yours”… it seem i am in the army ah ah ah OK ok yes Sir

Me: Good work, soldier

Her: Ah ah ah Miss soldier please

Me: What’s your name?

Her: [weird name] 🙂 yours?

Me: I see. I shall have trouble pronouncing that. I’m Nick

Her: You can call me [less weird name] if you think is more easier for you….

Me: We shall see, young lady. Are you Spanish?

Her: No, I’m from Portugal. And you?

Me: Just so you know, we shall have no talk of Cristiano Ronaldo or cork

Her: Yes Sir. Anything else i should know?

Me: Yes. Dress cute, hair down, and laugh at my jokes. Then I’ll be nice to you

Her: So should I start laughing now? Well i am cute no matter what i have dressed. Have you thought what is cute for me can not be cute for you? I won’t laugh at your jokes if i won’t understand them u have to consider i am not from here and there are a lot of things that i just don’t get it, so i will ask if i don’t get it. Are you willing to explain? Or you just don’t have patience for that? If embarrass you is not sing dance or swear we going to ok because i am too shy to do those things in the first date. Just for you to know so you don’t be disappointed after I don’t use make up or high heels.

Me: Hmmmmm….. Portuguese girls…

Her: ??? Anything wrong with the Portuguese girls?

Me: My mum told me they are all sex maniacs

Her: Ah ah ah but there is any problem in look like a sweet little librarian but in private with you bf, husband, partner whatever being a sex maniac?

Me: I think I’m starting to like you, you cheeky Portuguese minx

Her: I see the things like this, for example i am too shy its difficult for me to look to a guy straight in his eyes (if i don’t know him) and i don’t like to go some place and everyone looks at me i feel embarrassed i like to go unnoticed but when i find someone with who i feel comfortable well that is a different story lol

Me: I should warn you that although my grandmother says I’m a wonderful boy, I can also be a hungry wolf

Her: For our grandmothers and mothers we are always an sweet angel lolololol but there comes a time when a hungry wolf come and change everything but they don’t need to know that 🙂

Me: Grrrrrrrrr….

Her: Ah ah ah easy tiger ah ah ah

Can’t really ask for better than that. She’s coming virtually to my door, at my convenience, and very much pre-framed for casual sex. So I put on my woolly hat and jumper and take a chance. Internet dating always feels like filling out a ticket for Argos… chances are it’s nothing like it looked in the catalogue. Upon meeting my first feeling is relief – she’s not bad at all. High six. Cute face, lovely manner, slightly overweight but not English overweight. Time for the pub.

This sort of thing

Right from the off I know I have her. Sitting at the bar I begin to rev up the usual DHVs plus I’m riding a wave of outcome independence. Within five minutes she’s staring into my eyes with the “I can’t believe I’m so lucky” gaze. I play with her hair a bit, my latest pre-kiss kino gambit. It’s all childs play, more effort for me to recount here than it was to perform on the date itself. An hour in when I finally kiss her it’s like a dam breaking. She can’t stop nuzzling me, running her hands over my face, scratching my beard….

Next pub is just making out and verbally escalating. Because of her age there’s no way I’ll date her properly but she’s getting prettier and prettier as her femininity peaks. I’m dirty talking then accusing her of being a pervert trying to seduce me, then pull her in and tell her to grab my cock. The usual stuff. Then she tells me she’s on the rag. Hmmmmm. I am not a fan of that. I cool her off and little, do some comfort, and by 11pm send her home. She’s very much uninhibited with her texts the next day so we arrange to meet for sex. Pretty blatant stuff until 2 hours before, I get this:

Hey, I’m sorry I can’t do this. You are amazing, physical you have everything I like in one man but this is not what I’m looking for. I tried to tell to myself I could do it, go there have some sex fun whatever and come back home like nothing happen but I can’t.

A firm no, you’d think? A few reframes later and we meet for a drink. I walk her back to my place for the second drink and close the deal. +1, new flag.

I’ve held off writing this report because most of the seduction has been covered in other posts, and because I have some regrets over getting involved with this girl. When I initially got into Game / PUA I had relatively undefined goals. Mixed in with my general desire to make up for lost time (having been in a relationship 9 years and a serial monogamist for most of my adult life) was a more existential desire to bring my love life under my locus o control. In early 2009 I felt powerless and at a loose end, thrust back onto the dating market without any skills to compete. Just go back to my very early posts to get a window into what a low ebb I was at. The Mighty Krauser of today is utterly assured around hot young women and pretty damn confident that a good portion of them will fancy, flirt and fuck him. The Lowly Krauser of 2009 would’ve been happy with 30-year old table scraps. The journey changes who you are and what you feel entitled to.

What I’m entitled to

If you were to roll up my goals and desires in 2009 you’d find a seething tangled toxic mess of desperation, neediness, bitterness and powerlust. Ok, I exaggerate but I had a negative frame and was easy pickings for the siren voices of the Dark Side. My first eye-opening realisation from summer 2009 was that I could start and hold conversations with precisely the pretty young girls that I fancied. That motivated me to keep plugging away through wind, sleet and snow. As summer 2010 arrived I was dating a sweet 22 year old Thai girl that Bhodi probably still fraps off to (if only he had my extensive sex video collection of her 🙂 ). That relationship ran on 8 non-exclusive months while I also had a concurrent relationship with an even sweeter 19 year old French girl. Not only was I getting regular sex with girls who one year ago would’ve seemed forever off-limits, but I had a second eye-opening realisation… these girls were madly in love with me. I’d discovered my natural gift for soul collection deep conversion.

This was a sweet realisation because all my power-hungry fantasies came true. I guess I still had some abandonment issues from my divorce, these issues constantly reinforced in my forebrain by all the MRA websites I was reading at the time. I was seriously mistrustful of women both in the abstract and in person so I built a hard shell around myself as protection and also deliberately screened for young niave girls with limited sexual experience. The Thai had one previous sexual partner four years before meeting me, and the Frenchie one partner a few month earlier. So I developed my Soul Collection theories (and even a six hour presentation on how to do it) and set about a one year reign of terror amongst women’s hearts. It’s well over a year since I last ran amok with these powers and I’ve tried hard to manage girls’ expectations to prevent the kind of destructive heartbreaks I left in my wake. I firmly believe that every time a girl gives herself to a man with love, she gives a bit of her heart. Her capacity to feel niave blissful love for the next guy is permanently diminished by that extent.

It would appear my enduring character traits still steer me towards deep conversion, as my new Yugoslav girl showed.

While touring the former Yugoslavia in July I’d ended up walking down the main promenade with Robusto doing some half-arsed daygame. I pick my girl out a crowd despite her lack of makeup, tightly-pulled ponytail and loose-fitting gym clothes. I just know from her walk, figure and facial structure that she’s my kind of girl. It’s the genuine DNA-tug I discuss in my book. The stop hits well and we idate in a nearby cafe for an hour. She’s hit all my tickboxes:

• introverted
• intelligent
• bookish
• long legged
• exotic look, especially high cheekbones and cat-like eyes
• sexually inexperienced

There’s something bubbling under the surface, a hot spring of sexual energy waiting to be unleashed. We meet again the next night and I get my kiss close and some really good deep rapport. I use her reading of Fifty Shades Of Grey to handle my verbal escalation and sexual naturalisation. She comes to my room but won’t bang just yet. Next evening I finger her in the cafe to give her a Fifty moment. She begs me to stay but I have to go off to another date / lay. Our relationship continues on Skype.

I’m fully expecting to make this girl my new girlfriend. Not exclusively, she overtly confesses she doesn’t expect or require me to stay monogamous although she will, but I’m giving this girl real affection and building an emotional connection I expect to maintain. Quiet whispers from my subconscious are conflicting me but they are so weak as to be easily ignored. I want a girl in Belgrade so I’ll damn well have one. Things progress until we are talking openly about sex, she’s masturbating to text chat, and also she does a video striptease. Things are proceeding swimmingly. We agree for her to come visit me in London for a week (at my expense, she’s a student) so she begins the visa application. She’s thrilled. Not only has she totally fallen for me but she’s never travelled outside Serbia before and London is so so shiny to her. Unexpectedly, a ten day window opens up at work so on a whim I decide to go visit her. My doubts and conduct are discussed here so I’ll not repeat it.

I close her.

A real one, this time

The next evening when I tell her my feelings have died she is mortified. I can read in her eyes, almost see an image of her future crashing down about her. I feel awful but I’ve painted myself into a corner. Her previous (and only) sexual partner treated her like shit, apparently, and dumped her hard. She once told me if I did the same to her she’d break into little pieces so please don’t. I want to let her down gently but that’s like kicking her to death while wearing slippers. There’s only two ways to transition a girl out of a deep conversion:

1. Patiently over several months allow her emotions and forebrain to disengage from you of their own accord. This requires reducing the frequency of contact (much easier when in different countries), refraining from gathering anymore heart strings in your grasp, reframing towards being a big brother rather than a boyfriend (so she still feels cared for and inside your reality but with diminished sexual energy), and logically clearing her to feel attraction for other men without feeling guilt. Doing this requires months of paying attention to the girl and even then it’s not a smooth ride for her. For a few girls I’ve been more than happy to do so because I retained not just a strong affection for them as people but also decent levels of sexual interest.
2. Dump her hard and fast. The important cruel-to-be-kind point is that you crush all hope immediately so she has nothing to cling on to that will inhibit the grieving process. So tell her your feelings have died and they won’t rekindle, cut off contact (meaning don’t keep inquiring to her wellbeing or trying to be friends), and leave well alone. In these cases expect the girl to have a traumatic three-week purging process of tears and pleas for reconciliation. Maintain a stony-faced disengagement. Suddenly her feelings will turn and she’ll be over you.

I had zero interest in my Yugoslav girl after the first lay. I think my mind was made up halfway through, actually. I just felt a revulsion to her. It’s a really weird feeling because logically I could see she was still the very pretty girl I felt uninterrupted strong desire for the preceeding three months. Her behaviour was impeccable. There was literally nothing she could’ve done differently to keep me. It must be so frustrating for her. My mind made up I just had to sack up and tell her. Timing is important. Having sex with a girl triggers a cascade of hormonal and emotional responses in her that are not present prior to sex. Players are well aware of the sudden dramatic shift in power in a relationship after the initial lay. The effect is doubly pronounced once you’ve banged her three times as the oxytocin addicition takes over and her final barriers crumble. An old pre-game maxim of mine is bang a girl three times and you own her.

So if you’re gonna cut a girl off hard, do it as soon as you realise that’s the outcome. I did it after the first time. That doesn’t make it painless but considerably less so than if I’d strung her along the rest of the holiday. As a postscript, I’ve heard nothing back from her at all. I think she’s wise enough to know it wouldn’t help her recovery. I feel chastened. My own progress is less advanced than I’d come to believe if I’m lacking the self-awareness to know when I’m deep converting a girl I don’t wish to keep. Perhaps my hunger for power blinds me to the warnings of my core.

Robusto and I have recently been dating tall Belorussian girls. His was a street stop in Central London a couple of months ago while mine was an old old set from a Lithuanian nightclub two years ago. Lots happened inbetween but suddenly both of us found ourselves bearing down on the finish line neck-and-neck this week. Finally it comes to the wire when we take some mushrooms for an inner game exercise on Saturday night (I might post about that, mushrooms are an inner game accelerant). Robusto gets a strange message from some old dude who tells him his girl is married (to some provider guy) while old dude is her sugar daddy. It spirals out of control and Robusto drops her like the soap in an Aussie prison shower. As he relates this unexpected turn of events, my girl messages me about how she wants to come around the next night. Game on.

Closing this girl was a nightmare. It all began in July 2010 when I show up to a Vilnius nightclub with one girl on my arm then bump into a different girl I’d made out the night before. I’m soon dancing with both of them and preselecting myself to fuck allowing me to catch IOIs off the prettiest girl in the club. I open with a John Travolta point and hip shake. I take a flaky facebook at the end of the night and forget about it. Just one of many sets that go nowhere at a time in my development when I couldn’t close an open window.

I really did open with this

Fast forward a year (and only a handful of Facebook chats) and this Belorussian visits London for a fortnight to study English. I’m the only person she knows but while I ought to be able to work her at my leisure it’s complicated by my dating a different girl who I was far more interested in…… long story short is Belorussian stays over at my house three times and gives hardcore LMR three times until I have to throw her out, my last words being “I’ll never see you again”. She leaves London. We’ll call that Push Away #1.

Fast forward another year and to the following summer. She comes back to London this April, to stay a year. I meet her at the airport and generally plan to look after her a bit but when she bristles when I touch her I get that sinking feeling like I’ve been wasting my time again. Hmmmmm, I’m sick of this hot-cold thing and it blows up a week later when Jimmy and I are out clubbing. We’re drunk as skunks, hooting and hollering when Belorussian shows up past midnight to see me. She starts her sexy dancing in front of me, turning away and shaking her ass. The whole club is looking because she’s far and away the hottest girl there. Not sure what comes over me but I plant my foot in her ass and send her flying across the dancefloor. She turns around in outrage, thunder in her eyes. Jimmy and I crack up laughing and she storms out. Radio silence for two months. I don’t bother contacting her. For the third time I assume its over. We’ll call this Push Away #2.

This in brunette

Freeze outs and strong push-aways work. A couple of weeks ago she breaks radio silence and starts liking some of my Facebook photos then soon begins chatting. I’ve long since decided that I’m not going to invest any emotion or effort into this girl, so tired am I of the coquettry. Several times she tries to entice me into inviting her out and I don’t take the bait until finally she has to invite herself out. We meet for coffee a short walk from my house. It’s alot of fun to make a girl chase when you really don’t give a fuck how things turn out. Last summer this girl was a real head-turner – a solid long-legged eight – but a year of drinking wine has added a few kilos and now she’s simply fairly hot. Let’s say a mid seven. I’m LJBFing her hard which gets her pawing at me and verbally IOIing. So I take her back to my house and let the tension build, never touching or kissing. Steam is coming out of her ears she’s so hot, her eyes spazzing. Finally in my room I think she’s a volcano about to erupt and I go for it.

LMR for the fourth time….

I would’ve kicked her out there and then but she gives me a long passionate monologue about how she wants to have sex but something is holding her back at the last minute. Seeing the wild swings of emotions in her eyes – fear, excitement, confusion, affection – I believe she’s not playing games. I let her stay over.

Then tonight she invites herself back. Within half an hour we are on my bed and this time its just token. Close. Finally. Two years on. She’s a pretty wild fuck too, the crazy ones always are. Plus one, new flag. I’ve now reached my lay target for 2012.

Lessons Learned

• Don’t bother with crazy girls. Even though I closed her and had great sex, it simply wasn’t worth the total investment of my time and emotion
• That said, it’s good to have a few crazy girls as a lesson in games playing and to appreciate the authenticity of non-crazies
• Nothing beats LMR better than high attraction followed by a strong push-away. The key is to really mean it, be outcome independent, and force her to re-initiate
• Once the girl re-initiates, the frame is yours. Keep her in that chasing role.
• You’ll only get one really good chance to make the big LMR-busting move before the frame is at risk again. So time it well. Keep her chasing and heating herself up then take her at the flood

It’s the end of my holiday and everyone is tired. Bhodi has a bad case of weasel flu and Robusto is just dreaming of his oneitis down on the coast who he’ll visit in a few days. I’m worn out after a hard weekend followed by a rickety bus ride from Belgrade to Zagreb. I polish off a bowl of pasta in our favourite lunch spot then Robusto wants to do sets.

My intent is somewhere around zero. It’s late-trip, I’m tired, and I’ve gotten two new notches in seven days, a bunch of makeouts, two new (as yet unfucked) girls in love with me and all I can think about now is getting home to Dark Souls. So I game vicariously through Robusto, picking out sets for him with my superior hawk-like eyesight. He’s having a good day, harvesting numbers from good looking girls.

Dark Souls > Yugoslav Girls

He’s in set with a cute little squirrel when a tall girl walks past and I feel the familiar blood-bubble. I know I can’t weasel this set. She’s 5’9″, beautiful swimsuit model proportions, flowing black hair, and under her thin skirt I can see a perfect ass. I give chase. Sometimes life is just nice to you and within two minutes I know this is a Set of Glory. She’s loving it and everything she says or does confirms she’s my type of girl. I see Robusto hanging out five yards away until I finish but instead I walk her off onto an idate, giving him a stupid grin.

I lean back, sip coffee and run my usual idate game (I’ll probably post more detail on my model soon). She’s leaning into me, filling silences, opening up and gradually falling for me. I’m the shiniest coolest thing she’s seen in years. After a half hour or so I walk her down to Alcatraz bar where I am quickly developing a reputation with the staff (it’s been my kiss close venue for the past five dates). The whole date feels like freewheeling downhill to glory and my SDL sensors are buzzing…. but then logistics intervene and I have to take the number and a promise to meet later that night. Ten minutes after letting her go I send my follow up text.

Me: It was a pleasure to meet you [her name] 🙂

Her: It was pleasure to meet you, Nick. Thanks for kisses, very, very nice… ummm,

Simple nice guy stuff. Later we set up an 11pm and she ditches her friends at a house party to see me. She’s got an early train leaving town the next day so this is saying two things to me :

1. She’s up for it
2. No time to waste

I walk her to a bar and we get some rum down our necks. There’s lots of kissing and we enter that strange vibe where our brains shut down and she’s just leaning in on me, quietly, while I scratch her head and let her absorb my presence. Very little talking. My main enemy is her forebrain. The hindbrain is ready to go but that pesky forebrain critter is telling her it’s too soon, reminding her of the boyfriend, and so on. We try to get another drink but it’s past last orders. I know it’s in the balance and my conduct over the next half hour with be the decider.

Knock off one point, and this is what I had beneath me

We walk to a park next to my apartment then lay on the grass. My whole plan is to let her absorb the masculine energy until her hindbrain overpowers the forebrain. We kiss, lie together, I suck on her tits…. the hindbrain is winning. I can see the fog come over her eyes. She’s like an open book. A beautiful girl, a pleasure to have next to me, and I see the forebrain pack it’s bags and sleep in the spare room.

So I walk her upstairs, texting Robusto and Bhodi to clear out. On the bed, a bit of Fleetwood Mac, and I’m quickly undressing her. Stunning figure and a good lay. Afterwards she’s kneeling wide-eyed next to me muttering “I can’t believe I just did that. I never do this”. Cue comfort, showing her Facebook photos, swapping youtube music videos, then I parade her past the boys (“low eight”) and walk her to the taxi.

I feel invincible. It’s like I couldn’t fuck up a set if I tried. If only life was always like this….