Have you heard the term “gutter game”?

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

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

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

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

Open the one on the left

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

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

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

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

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

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

Add a red hat and drop a point

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

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

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

I probably owe them something

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scored more world cup goals than Plato and Aristotle combined

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

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

About as representative as Austin Powers is of London

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

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

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

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

So which girls seems most solid?

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

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

Younger, high-6 version, sans manjaw

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

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

Learning points

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

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

but bigger tits

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

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

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

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

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

and a car

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.