Krauser PUA

Signal and Noise

September 14, 2013
krauserpua

Here’s a short video I did on my last day in Riga talking about an analogy I used with our student between Game and your favourite sport. Imagine a guy first developing an interest in boxing. He doesn’t really know what he’s watching aside from the really obvious stuff like a knockdown. He’s only capable of recognising the biggest most obvious signals. As he watches more fights (and even better, trains in a gym) he’ll start to pick up on all kinds of weaker but crucial signals such as:

One fighter is throwing lots of fast flashy punches everytime his opponent comes near but he’s not setting his feet. This betrays his fear and lack of confidence in his power.
The more aggressive fighter takes a hard counter right hand. His legs don’t wobble and his face never changes expression but he suddenly stops coming forward. That one hurt.

As you intelligently learn your chosen sport you begin to see what others can’t. For example, I’m told that Aussie Rules football is a deep technical game whereas to me it looks like one big fight with a football thrown into the middle. Guys who know the sport can see those subtle ebbs and flow that determine the game. So it is with The Game. The longer you spend in set, the more face-time you have with women, the more chances you take to provoke feedback…. the more you utilise your brain’s inate pattern recognition system.

So to summarise the video, there are likely three reasons why you can’ read the signal:

Entitlement: You don’t believe a girl like that would be attracted to and have sex with you, so you can’t process her signals telling you that’s precisely her intention. You look for over-confirmation.
Calibration: You are too logical and too clueless, or perhaps too drunk. You simply don’t know what you are looking for and how to distinguish the signal from the noise.
Model: You haven’t been properly taught the technical progression of an effective seduction model. Perhaps you’ve been sidetracked with charlatan YouTube videos or the blind-leading-the-blind of internet forums. You don’t have an expectation of what signals are thrown out by the girl and when so you aren’t receptive to them.

I bang my first 29 year old Latvian fashion designer

September 12, 2013
krauserpua

As you spend more time in the company of fellow daygamers, taking that long ~~sordid~~ fulfilling journey together, you start to encounter things the PUA marketing materials never prepared you for. All that polyanna-ish double-talk of banging tens every night with your rejection-free game, your rock-star level / instructor-level performance…. blah blah…. bullshit….. life just isn’t like that. I’m reminded when I see painted advertising boards outside steak houses of happy-looking cows. I think… hang on, that cow could only be smiling like that if he doesn’t know he’s about to be carved up and eaten.

The Happy Cow Carvery

I digress.

Game is tough. Really really tough. For most men it’s the toughest thing they’ll ever do, casting aside their protective buffers and facing incredible levels of rejection and ego death. The rewards come in but you’d better prepare yourself for some long dark nights of the soul. So it’s refreshing when I’m going through a rough patch and I hear Steve (or Tom, or Jon or whoever) talk about their own encounters with the darkness. There’s so much PUA happy-talk and internet alpha posturing out there that an aspiring player could be forgiven for thinking he’s the only guy in the community who can’t hack it. Once you’re in with a solid crew you quickly realise that everyone has their demons and everyone has their tough periods. That’s normality.

Let me tell you about my most recent one.

I’m on my third day of number farming in Riga when I stop a dusky dark-haired beauty near the train station. It’s super-on, eye-spazz, close-distance sparkle. We are deeply eye-fucking from the beginning. After ten minutes or so I take the number and we meet late that evening. It’s my first date with a local. She takes me to a hotel rooftop bar where I force a kiss close in the lift on the way down to the second venue. I’m starting to see red flags but she’s got just the look I like, almost Turkish. She’s fighting off the kiss too much even though her hindbrain is well on, she tells me she’s married but separated, and after the second drink I try to extract and she bursts into tears. Oh dear….. a drama queen with volatile emotions. I do sympathise because going through a divorce is tough so I give alot of comfort and decide to steer well clear.

but chubby

She adds me to Facebook and starts chasing, and then through text.

It’s one of those weird scenarios where her forebrain is in full “don’t fuck” mode but her hindbrain can’t stop moving her feet closer to me. I’m occupied with other leads and by Saturday I’m suddenly six days into the holiday and haven’t been laid. Tom sets up a double first date with a hot sleazy girl who has a boyfriend but is super horny. As we sit back on Cafe X sofas Tom’s girl turns up with her blonde friend, about 9pm. Both girls are well up for it but it’s weird. They are little madams and don’t even order a drink. After twenty minutes or so of strong eye contact and subtle kino they suddenly put their coats on and leave. We don’t chase. My girl has been texting for the past two hours to bait me into inviting her out so I get her to show up ten minutes later (with a blonde friend). The Cafe X staff are giving us funny looks because we’ve done almost all our dates here and without even getting out of our sofas we’ve just replaced a departing two-set with a new one.

The friend really likes Tom. She’s no oil painting but at the borderline-boiler threshold where you start thinking “if it’s easy, I’ll have it”. Inexplicably her brother shows up too. My girl is immediately on but I’m anticpating hardcore LMR so I decide to continue the pressure-cooker method, namely:

Lull a girl into chasing your hard by keeping your text replies brief and never taking her bait to invite her out. If she really wants you she’ll amp up her investment and make ever more blatant come-ons until she’s inviting herself out. Then when she arrives, make her talk and use subcommunication to heat her up without ever giving her a kiss or a statement that releases the sexual tension. The idea is to build her pressure so high the slightest prick will cause the volcano to erupt (and ideally that overcomes the LMR).

So I’m eye-fucking her and we’re just face-to-face on the sofa doing deep hypnotic scanning. Her face is fully monged with slack jaw, drooping eyes and lip-quivering. I boil her in that for twenty minutes before finally extracting. Tom decides to isolate his girl (it doesn’t work out that way but that’s a story for him to tell). So I walk my girl straight back to the apartment and into the bedroom. She’s gagging for it but there’s still a good fifteen minutes of LMR till I finally fuck her.

The moment I shoot my bolt I regret it. She’s not ugly, far from it. Her face is a solid eight and even though she’s carrying a bit of chub she’s still a respectable notch. The problem is the red flags that I ignored in my sex-goggled haze are now waving in full glory. All those little comments on dates and in texts about latching onto me and building it up like a Hollywood romance. Her clinginess. And then the final straw is when I walk her home. She’s trying to call her friend to cockblock Tom out of malicious spite. Bitches be crazy. Fortunately he’s in a basement nightclub somewhere so there’s no reception and I persuade her to just go home to sleep, thinking that’s the end of it. Oh no.

I’m feeling pretty grotty. I just pushed a vulnerable girl into fast sex and now she’s latching on bigtime even though I never pretended it was anything other than sex. I didn’t much enjoy the experience and now I’m in the post-sex low where my testosterone has dropped and I’m tired, thinking of ways to get rid of her. I figure I’m feeling so grotty I might as well revel in it so I head off to Hessburger and order the most unhealthy happy meal on the menu. As I’m sipping Coke and eating a past-midnight double cheeseburger Tom sends a text:

I’m lovin’ it

“Your girl is cockblocking me. I’m outside the apartment.”

Fuck. I’ve often written about wing rules and now I have to put my money where my mouth is and re-engage a girl I’m trying to shuffle quietly away from. I call her up knowing full-well this is just adding post-sex comfort that will latch her on like a barnacle to the hull of the goodship Krauser. I just need to keep her talking as long as possible to stop her using her phone to cockblock Tom. I spend ten minutes describing in detail my happy meal, getting her to translate the Hessburger nutrional information leaflets. Then another ten minutes trying to NLP her into going to sleep. Twenty minutes is all I can stand before leaving Tom to the vagaries of fate.

Sneaking back into the apartment there’s two pairs of shoes by the door and my bedroom door is shut. Tom had needed to open the window to clear the sex smell (apparently it smelled so bad his girl wouldn’t go in at first) and kick the period-blooded condom under the bed. As I tiptoe into the lounge when her phone rings loud enough to raise the dead and the caller ID says its my girl. I reject the call and power down her device then stretch out on the sofa hidden under a blanket until Tom finishes his dirty deed. Ten minutes later I hear two sets of footsteps and Tom whispering “that’s Nick. He texted me he’d been drinking, so he’ll be unconscious” while I feign snoring. The girl tiptoes out saying “My friend won’t have had sex with him. She’s still married” and “Don’t tell her what happened between us”.

Tom later tells me his girl had been trying to ruthlessly cockblock me while mine did the same, calling his girl and saying things like “don’t go into the apartment, come and have a tea with me”.

What a squalid episode. I didn’t get into the Game to clack girls like this. Tom and I commiserate each other on our shameful new notches then retire to our respective quarters. For at least an hour I can’t sleep, just wondering what’s driving me to put myself into these situations thousands of kilometres from home. Fortunately the events of the next two days completely restore my faith in humanity and the joy of chasing sweetly feminine girls. I put this down as a temporary wobble.

I bang my first 21 year old Serbian exchange student

September 11, 2013
krauserpua

Daygaming solo in a foreign country is tough. It’s easy to watch travelogues or read field reports where holidays sound like one long party with dozens of fine young fillies tittering and tottering around until a few are bagged and notched. Not so. As I write this I have five mosquito bites on my head and hands, all from last night when even wrapped up under my monster-proof duvet the little buzzing bastards still got at me. It itches like buggery. I’m still tired and worn out, the last effects of a hangover in my system and my stomach churns from unfamiliar food. There are many highlights to travelling but it grinds you down eventually. And then there’s the actual women……

at some point you have to pick one and say hello

Knocking over a new local girl within a week (assuming acceptable quality) is not easy. You have to number farm, rush the text game, rush the dates and there’s usually strong LMR to reflect the haste with which you’re trying to poke the poor girl. But that’s all assuming you’re actually opening. After all the anticipation and excitement of the trip there’s that moment when you drop your bags at the apartment on day one and shit has become real. You have to go out there and open. It’s a brave new world. Unsurprisingly, at times I let my avoidance weasel a little run out for a few hours. I just soak in the atmosphere, watch the girls and read a book in a cafe. I know I’m not going to pussy out forever and sometimes it’s helpful to build a little weasel momentum. Let some hot girls walk by unmolested. Let yourself feel bad for wussing out. Before long you’ll be ready to break the seal, and in this case it got me laid.

It begins with my very first set of the holiday is as I’m dragging my feet back to the apartment after a roasting hot afternoon reading in the patio cafes. I just haven’t got my gameface on, haven’t broken the seal. So I’m at a pedestrian crossing waiting for the green man when a cute slim young girl ambles past in tight short shorts. Great body, great legs, long hair. Ok, let’s get off the mark…… It’s a very strong hook. Easy number but she’s just about to leave Belgrade for a week. Light text ensues. It’s pretty obvious she’s into me but logistics put it onto the backburner and over the course of the next five days she slips from my mind. Finally she pings me the “I’m back”. Great. We arrange an evening drink at Hotel Moskova and I suggest Tom sits at a nearby table to talk the student through my date game live.

It’s just so on from the beginning. I rarely get Yes Girls but I’m gradually encountering more.

You still haven’t opened?

She’s dolled up in the Serb girl summer uniform of Converse, tight denium shorts and a tight vest. A lovely slim figure with curves just right to hang onto. Her hair is long and thick. Lovely. She’s really trying hard with conversation, laughing at all my jokes, leaning in…. my only concern is to move it along at the correct speed rather than getting lured into over-escalating. After two drinks I suggest a walk to the park outside my apartment.

She comes to my door but won’t come in. I don’t push and we end up sitting on a park bench. The escalation is smooth and we’re soon making out. What follows is a two hour battle against LMR. I know her hindbrain wants it but the forebrain has it’s rule so despite her straddling me and grinding away I just can’t get her hands in my trousers. By midnight I have to put her on the bus.

The next evening she has a birthday party. While sitting in my boxer shorts in the apartment I hear the doorbell ring. Hmmm…. not expecting visitors. It’s her in a cocktail dress with hair that probably took a salon two hours to fix. Her heart is thumping but not from the one-storey walk up my staircase. She blurts out that her friends are waiting downstairs but she wanted to say hi before going to the party. She kisses me and frollicks away.

Hmmmm… what does that mean?

I guess it’s just a super strong hook. FSU girls often feel guilty for not putting out as early as they think we expect so this was her way of checking she hasn’t blown it. The next night she agrees to a late meeting. This time I walk her directly to my apartment and we sip wine, watch youtube and I progressively get her undressed until she’s naked on my bed with my dick in her mouth and my fingers up her chuff.

And still she won’t allow the sex. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.

But a slightly harder face

I’m not put off though because I know we are aboard The Inevitable Express bound for New Notch City. All I need to do with this girl is run down the clock. She wants to fuck, she’s proceeding in the right direction, but she’s got her little milestones that must be checked off first. Sometimes girls require chronological time, sometimes a set number of dates, and othertimes certain reveals in your character. This girl was about the dates. She doesn’t fuck before third date.

Fortunately I fuck a different new girl that night. The blue balls dissipate.

As expected on my last night she agrees to another date but it might as well be a booty call. I collect her, walk to my apartment and within twenty minutes we’re fucking. No LMR this time. It’s a funny old world.

Riga Stories

September 10, 2013
krauserpua

My oh my isn’t Riga a misunderstood place. Roosh had some bad experiences here with stories of getting tooled by predatory two-sets who lure marks to clip joints. I certainly saw some of that going on but that’s an exclusively nightgame phenomenon. At no point did any such tarts try it on with us. I’ve heard others wax lyrical about how easy it is here…. until you read between the lines and see how much flaking went on. My thoughts?

Riga gets a 7/10 for daygame. It’s too small, not enough foot traffic and the girls not hot enough to justify their flake rates. And yet it’s easy to collect numbers and once you do date the path to sex is fairly fast. I dated four local girls this week. I fucked two, got friend-zoned by one and then the fourth girl is coming out for a second date tonight so let’s see what happens.

Probably the highlight of the week was on Sunday when a top Russian target took the train from St Petersburg to see me. I’d met this girl in Trafalgar Square during summer for an idate and a day two but she’d refused the kiss. This is entirely normal behaviour for a Russian girl – lots of nothing and then suddenly 0-100mph in seconds. So the facebook Long Game began and then she comes to me in Riga. I kiss closed her after an hour and almost fucked her after four but she’s holding out to boyfriend me. Nonetheless it was a lovely day in the sun and reaffirmed my faith in feminine women (after having fucked a grotty drama queen the night before that left me feeling disgusted with myself).

I’ve got some leads to work. Two international catwalk models on Facebook, a couple of other dark beauties plus a few so-so girls. I won’t know until I shake the Long Game tree and see what falls out.

Lean In

September 7, 2013
krauserpua

I’ve been writing my book of late, trying to pull all my little ideas out of my mind and get them onto paper. There’s two principles I’ve been following. Everything I write must have a monkey-see-monkey-do application, and it must be what I actually do myself. So it’s been an education. You don’t really know something until you can teach it and many ideas that seem fully-formed in your mind simply aren’t once you try and write them down. Writing definitely refines my Game.

So I recently finished the section on Attention. How to use body language to manage the attention you give to a girl so as to make her chase and keep the tension on the fishing line in the sweet spot as you reel her in. Seeing as I’m with Tom on holiday right now we’ve been talking about stuff, trying stuff out and he needs to churn out vlogs for his website.

So he roped me in and here’s some of that chapter.

Bottom Feeding

September 3, 2013
krauserpua

Just as Game is not one strategy for one type of hunter getting one type of prey, the PUA industry is not one type of business selling one type of product to one type of customer. It’s a complex ecosystem.

So you’ve got some good products advising normal men how to get fairly hot girls. You’ve got Good-Looking-Guy game where the instructors are all tall, young, handsome guys who would get laid even without game. Then there’s the dark dank depths of the bottom-feeders…. the Mehow’s, the VinceKelvins, the RossJeffries of this world who empty the wallets of the lonely and the desperate.

I recently encountered a forthcoming infield daygame product* aimed at precisely this market and I kind of see the point. The type of Game I do will not let a short Indian chode bang tall prime Russians. That simply will never happen. It’s so far removed from my reality that it never crossed my mind to actually spell it out…. but then I was watching the marketing guff for this product and realised that probably the biggest market to serve is precisely those at the bottom of the SMP pile. These are the guys who most need the help.

Consider Richie and Eddie from Bottom. There’s a beautiful soliliqui two minutes into this clip on how desperate this life is.

They look at me (or Steve or Tom) travelling the world and clacking pretty respectable women and…. that’s simply unattainable for a £15k per annum low level Java programmer in Milton Keynes or a guy who stacks shelves in Tesco on the night shift in some small Scottish town. It’s easy to take for granted that I live near Central London and can jet off to Central Europe any time I please.

So a guy who looks like them, is almost as uncalibrated as them, getting the occasional girlfriend is actually a powerful motivation. That girl may be a porky 5 and she may demand exclusivity but for a guy who hasn’t even knobbed a landwhale for two years…. that’s still a massive improvement in his life. That porky five will give him attention, affection and if he squints his eyes and turns down the light she isn’t too unpleasant to fuck. That’s okay. Tell the truth, promise what you can deliver.

What does annoy me is PUA scammers who promise these guys non-stop sex with tens. Scammers selling the magic pill and impossible dreams. Guys doing just enough with the sales funnel to get the credit card details and then email a shitty v-log recorded on their iphone. If you want to market to the bottom of the SMP, solve the puzzle. Figure out what they need and how to deliver it.

* not The Girlfriend Sequence.

Walter White is not an alpha male

August 29, 2013
krauserpua

Ok, I’ll bite.

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

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

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

Why so serious?

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

How about the leader of men theory?

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

How about the empire building business?

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

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

Chode, yesterday

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Great Gatsby

August 21, 2013
krauserpua

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

Everybody needs good neighbours

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

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

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

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

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

Blue pill, 1922

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

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

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

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

A DHV story, yesterday

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

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

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

The upper social tier, yesterday

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

It’s all bullshit.

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

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

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

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

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

Internal value.

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

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

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

I bang my first 22 year old Serbian dancer

August 15, 2013
krauserpua

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

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

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

and my height in flats

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

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

Better than 007

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

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

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

Me 23:05 – A good birthday party then 🙂

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her 23:35 – Wana meet me 2night?

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

Her 23:37 – Hahaha. Where?

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

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

Me 23:52 – Ok. See you outside.

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

You’ll do

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

What follows are high speed nuclear shit tests, including:

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

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

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

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

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

Red pill bitterness – A guest post from Tom Torero

August 13, 2013
krauserpua

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

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

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

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

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

Roissy, circa-2009

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

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

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

The Gamma Manifesto, balling it with dimes

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

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