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I’m going to tell you something about so-called “open relationships” that you probably already suspected. I’m using the term of art “open relationship” to mean any longish-term relationship in which both partners have agreed in principle to the freedom to pursue trysts or concurrent relationships without punishment, and are fully aware in the abstract if not of the sordid details of each other’s extracurricular lovers.

Without giving away TMI and triangulated coordinates of secretive Chateau vaults, I have peripherally known a couple of honest-to-goodness swingers. They had a club and a meeting place where bacchanalia would attend under the tacit permission of local authorities. Spouse swapping was on the menu, along with sundry sexually experimental arrangements. The two men of my brief acquaintance were proud participants in the open relationship lifestyle.

Weirdly proud.

One was a giant goony ambassador for the pleasures of polyamory. “It’s not for everyone,” he would snobbishly intone in a preface to a twenty minute discussion about free love I had chanced into one evening. Decked in a soul patch, a three piece suit, and fondling a cane topped with a dragon’s head (“from Bangkok”, naturally), his “primary” — the woman with whom he lived — was a dumpy, squat, mid-30s Janeane Garofalo mimic. She was one of those bountiful fertility goddesses with steatopygia in the front and back, a strange trick on a white girl. She was with him, so I got to see up close the goth eye shadow and ghost rouge concealing her moonscape pores. After the dapper gargantugoon felt sufficiently pleased with my and my company’s feigned curiosity and he had regally delivered a layman’s guide to his sex at dawn, I was presented photos of his third wheel — strangely not referred to as his secondary — dressed in a slutty vampiress costume and biting his neck, and not to put too fine a point on it, she was butt ugly. Younger — maybe mid 20s — but ugly like Chinese crested dog ugly.

He crowed about sending her off on her own in seedy nightclubs to gather concubines into his whoreticultural goonhouse.

Months later, I met, through unusual coincidence, the second of the two self-professed polyamorists. Omega to the max. Besides his gangly physical asymmetry and receding chin, he had no discernible personality. Weathertalk filler would’ve added charm to his crashingly dull conversational skillset. Which surprised me, because one figures a man embracing a radically alternative sex life would have to be interesting along other dimensions.

This second meeting was far more disturbing than the first. I learned, diffusely through him and later more pointedly through his female companion, that he was his girl’s main man, meaning he lived with her, helped her keep up the home and hearth, and shared her pussy with another man (of whom he was aware) and possibly with innumerable men beyond his ken and his care. My morbid interest piqued, I tried my best to extract the juicy raunch from the moldy rind of their polyamorous polygon. Best I could piece together was that this outstanding specimen of malehood had three jobs: Paying the rent, attending auctions with his girlfriend, and eating her out.

Apparently, penis in vagina sex was off the table. Or uninteresting to him. Because the pride that welled up in them both was evident in their florid descriptions of his oral facility at parting her dandered waves of mange. And, more distressing to yer humble serrator, she clearly evinced delight explaining how this sexual selflessness would turn her boyfriend on so much he would stroke himself during the act to sterile inner calf-splattered completion.

As for her, while not entirely repulsive to the eye, her looks were not the sort of showstopper one would expect capable of enslaving even a wretched omega male into perpetual financial and cunnilingual servitude. Tall, bony, breastless, pockmarked with various tattoos and piercings, she had at least the saving grace of residual youth and thinness and a recognizably human female face. A solid HB5 in good lighting.

The worst of it was the emotionless cadence that infected his voice when he proceeded to explain how a polyamorous agreement meant monogamy didn’t “coerce” either of them to stay in an unfulfilling relationship. Both were free to love on the side, although, “at the moment”, only she had the pleasure of another lover (and the timely dart of her eyes suggested other lovers). He was, he noted, at present “not that excited about meeting more women”.

Of course. I thought at the time, and still do, a man can’t go lower. The incel homeless bum and his penis encrusted with twenty years of smegma has more dignity than the willing cuckold with the tongue glazed by the skankhole deposited sperm of better men.

Two anecdotes, to be sure. But adding my brush with polyamorists to the collected literature, a focused picture of the reality of open relationships emerges.

Open relationships are almost never two-way.

One party to the “creatively ambiguous” polyamory agreement is getting the metaphorical shaft, and the other the actual shaft. The shafted is typically, but not always, the male (no need to sully the word “man”), whose role is as the eminently mockable “beta bux” (or beta hugs) available for service during those three weeks of the month when the female’s libido goes into hibernation. That he may live with his openly open-legged girlfriend doesn’t mean he’s getting the lion’s share of her vagina. But he is getting the lion’s share of her feelings and tantrums and moodiness.

Even males who manage to fulfill their implied rewards from an open relationship are rarely sole owners of the sexual excess. The first polyamorous couple described in this post survived on the male’s willingness to whore out his “primary” to fellow travelers at their favorite swinger spot. And as CH readers should know by now, the sexual profligacy of women is a far more serious infraction in biological (and hence, psychological) terms than is the sexual profligacy of men.

Genuine, egalitarian, open polyamory for all practical purposes doesn’t exist among white Westerners. There’s always one or another party out in the asexual or anhedonic cold, nursing feelings of rejection and traumatic self-doubt. And if that party is a willing participant to his or her sexual/romantic exclusion, it’s a good bet he/she is psychologically broken, mentally unstable, physically repulsive, or suffering from clinically low sex drive. In other words, human trash.

Open relationship participants are almost always hideously ugly.

Polyamory is a mating ground for human rejects. Whatever else it offers, the open relationship ruse assists the comically low value sector of humanity to live amongst each other and experience pleasures of the diseased flesh.

True open relationships are predominantly polyandrous.

The general complexion of contractual open relationships — where all participants are voluntary and aware of proceedings — is one ugly to mediocre-looking woman on the pre-Wall fast track lavishing in the flaccid attention of two or more omega males. Invariably, the more masculine (and it’s all relative, so maybe it’s better to say “the less androgynous”) of the males would be the one who is actually porking her.

For a visual of this reality, see here.

Illicit open relationships are predominantly polygynous.

“Open” relationships that form organically from the unspoken (and initially unacknowledged) impulses and romantic decisions of one or another partner nearly always manifest into polygynous arrangements: That is, illicit open relationships are distinguished by one high value alpha male discreetly juggling multiple concurrent female lovers. Pickup artists call the illicit open relationship the MLTR: Multiple Long-Term Relationship. Genghis Khan called it Tuesday.

The MLTR exists in the gray area of the female mind where she senses a disturbance in the romantic force but can’t summon her courage, or dismiss her love, to disentangle herself from the web of lives. Illicit open relationships — soft harems in popular nomenclature — can have surprising endurance, because women’s love for an alpha male is stronger than their pride. For quite some time, a woman in love with a sexy alpha will sacrifice her pride and prejudice with a swiftness complete. This is true whether the alpha player informs all his lovers of their complicity in his pleasuredome, or if he keeps his dalliances on the down low. In the latter case, I have only ever seen girls promptly eject upon discovery of participation in alpha male soft harems if those girls were very beautiful, or getting on in years. Very beautiful women have perpetually groomed coteries of alpha male suitors to tap in times of crises. Older women have ticking egg counters and desperation that help their escape.

Illicit open relationships — polygyny circles — are far commoner than forthright open relationships that typically assume the polyandrous or rarer volatile and highly unstable polyamorous forms. Sex differences practically guarantee that this would be the reality we see, rather than the reality homely polyamory proponents would want the benighted to believe.

In the real world, the openly polyamorous nirvana of ‘sex at dawn’ is really the circus sideshow abattoir of ‘sex before personal hygiene’.

[crypto-donation-box]

Women, especially pretty young things, possess a natural entitlement that is the psychological effluvium of being the sex with more reproductive value. Men who step in line with this natural female entitlement (I’m looking at you white knights) are usually rewarded with NOSEX. But men who assume the mantle of female entitlement for themselves are irresistible by their rarity. Flipping the biological script is outrageous and novel; the entitled man demands a woman’s rapt appraisal.

Reservoir Tip writes,

One shit test keeps coming my way, mainly on tinder, and I’m curious how you guys would handle it.

I’ll be getting a girl to come over, and at the last minute she’ll throw out,

“How do I know you’re worth it?”

This is a classic Female Entitlement Syndrome Shit Test (FESST). It’s more common among marginally attractive girls, lower class girls, and stridently unfeminine lawyercunts who feel a need to convince themselves of their own desirability. Very pretty women will rarely rear up on you with claws so starkly bared, because they are content with an inner confidence that comes from knowing they have nothing to prove. The residual reproductive value of a 19 year old HB10 is conspicuous from its beginnings as a speck on the horizon; the same cannot be said of a vigorously twerking, clear and present 33 year old Bindi HB5.

Stealing a woman’s natural entitlement is easier than it may first seem.

GIRL: How do I know you’re worth it?

GÖTTERDÄMMERHUNG: I’m talking to you, right.

The above is a subtle steal. The neophyte beta male, feeling the weight of his newborn bristly balls, might reply “You’re talking to me, right?”, thinking that this was a clever retort to her challenge. But the alpha male knows better; any acquiescence to a woman’s frame is failure, no matter how cleverly garbed. Her frame must be destroyed, utterly. “I’m talking to you, right” (note the jettisoned question mark) assumes the sale. It’s a bit of wordplay that connotes the man’s higher value by tacitly reminding the girl she’s the one invested in keeping this conversation going.

(True or not, it doesn’t matter. What matters is massaged perception.)

Here’s another example of stealing a woman’s natural entitlement and muddling the pulp out of her frame.

GIRL: How do I know you’re worth it?

RAGNARCOCK: Charm school wasn’t my thing either.

Watch for the follow-up defensive crouch where pussy waterfalls are sprayed in fine mists over jungle canopies. The wording is crucial. You don’t want to mow her down tongue-guns a-blazing. It’s better to leave a little room for her to laugh it off with face-saving denials. Setting yourself up as an ally in oafishness creates that elusive “connection” that pickup artists know is the longest and most fruitful side quest on the road to sex.

[crypto-donation-box]

GIF Game

Withering dismissal is antagonistic and thus arousing to cantankerous women. Now that we have at our disposal forms of courtship communication that were unavailable to our forefathers, the seductive power at our fingertips, and for so little investment, is astonishing. Nonverbal GIF game might be the apotheosis of this modern condensed badinage.

A reader writes,

The perfect text response to a woman who is really trying to give you her best bitch act. Just the image, nothing else. It works.

If you’re the kind of man who overthinks how to reply to a bitchy (aka flirty) woman, then have a few of these GIFs in your arsenal to deploy when your brain starts whirring too white and nerdy. A woman who may be your future sex partner doesn’t want an exegesis on your compatibility; she wants fun. That’s just what girls want.

[crypto-donation-box]

Eric Barker, a guy CH has linked to several times over the years because of his outstanding work compiling data-rich studies into the workings of the sexual market, has a new article in The Week titled ‘The Science of Sex: 4 Harsh Truths About Dating and Mating’.

The four harsh truths he lists and thoroughly corroborates with links to scientific studies will be very familiar to regular CH readers, as they all vindicate a number of Heartistian field observations of the flesh and blood dating world where men and women collide in hopeful union.

1) Those things we say we hate actually make us more attracted to people.

When someone plays hot-cold, keeps you guessing, makes you constantly uncertain?

Yeah, that makes you even more attracted:

Participants in the uncertain condition were most attracted to the men — even more attracted than were participants who were told that the men liked them a lot. Uncertain participants reported thinking about the men the most, and this increased their attraction toward the men.

Never listen to what a woman says; watch what she does. You ever wonder why women complain about equivocal men, when you yourself and every man you know are niceguys who never lead women on or play head games with women? Wonder no more. Women complain about these kinds of men because these are the men women choose to date and screw. They’re like children who complain about the sugar rush from eating lots of candy.

2) Yes, guys are pretty shallow.

The stereotypes are true: men want sex more than women and, yeah, guys are more likely to hit on girls with big boobs.

Men dig beauty.
Chicks dig power.
The rest is hamster nibbles.

3) Women can be quite dastardly too.

The science of sex tells us that the romantic comedies lie. Sex is an area where nice guys do finish last:

In one survey of men, Trapnell and Meston (1996) found that nice guys who were modest, agreeable, and unselfish were disadvantaged in sexual relationships. Men who were manipulative, arrogant, calculating, and sly were more sexually active and had a greater variety of sexual experiences and a greater number of sex partners. [Journal of Sex and Marital Therapy]

Women are very often attracted to bad boys like James Bond. In fact, research shows young women sometimes prefer out-and-out jerks:

In the end, young women may continue to claim that they find certain qualities in a “good guy” nice guy as highly desirable and that they want to be in a committed relationship with one man as their ultimate goal, but, at the same time, they seem content to spend “the meantime and in-between-time” going out with fun/sexy guys who may or may not turn into “jerks.”

For every Ray Rice who knocks a loving wife out, there’s a loving wife who chose to be with a Ray Rice. It takes two to tango. Someone tell that to Rod Dreher and Ross Douthat.

4) Little of the above will be changing anytime soon.

This is the science of sex, not the culture of it. Most, if not all, of these things are true around the world.

In a study of over 1000 participants in three dozen cultures it was consistently found that men are focused on looks and women on status:

Several standard sex differences replicated across cultures, including women’s greater valuation of social status and men’s greater valuation of physical attractiveness. [Personality and Individual Differences]

But we grow out of it, right? Nope.

Our tastes do not mature as we get older:

Findings suggest that although emerging adults believe that their peers’ mating desires change systematically over time, emerging adults’ self-reported mating desires vary little with age.

Unlike most other human attributes, the sexual preferences of men and women are remarkably uniform across the earth. Which makes sense. The sexual market is the one market to rule them all.

And we pretty much want the same thing throughout our lives, which must cause an amazing amount of pain for aging feminist beauties who are no longer able to cash in their prize assets for their hearts’ desire.

To recap:

Women say one thing but do another.

Male ambiguity, coyness, overconfidence and entitlement are sexy.

Men value female looks far above all other considerations.

Women value male social status above male looks.

Niceguys finish last.

Sexual desire is immutable.

[crypto-donation-box]

A graphic produced by some dumb feminist associated with the dumb feminist Twitter hashtag campaign #WhyIStayed is amusingly, if unsurprisingly, self-contradicting pabulum that works well if read with the opposite meaning intended.

Duluth, Minnesota. Fuckin’ ground zero for empty-headed shrill feminist white girls.

If you didn’t know, #WhyIStayed was a de-clawed internet cat swarm that defensively erupted after video of Ray Rice knocking out his adoring now-wife in an elevator emerged. The #WhyIStayed message, if one could call it that, was “Don’t blame women for anything, ever, that goes wrong in their lives.” Really, how else do you interpret thousands of women offering thousands of lame excuses for why they stayed with their sexily abusive alpha male lovers?

There must be an equivalent hashtag called #WhyIHadNoTroubleLeavingMyBoringBetaMaleBoyfriend. There’s not? Oh too bad.

Anyhow, if you sift through this dung pile of feminist ego assuaging butthurt you find a few curious nuggets of anti-feminist truth about relationships and how to keep them going.

“not take her concerns seriously” — women love love love when a man charmingly patronizes them.

“say she caused it” — it may be unethical, but then why does it work so well?

“use jealousy to justify actions” — chicks do dig occasional flashes of jealousy, as long as it’s obvious the man is expressing them with complete control over his emotions.

“make her feel bad and guilty” — reframing.

“play mind games” — that’s one way to provoke a vaginal gusher.

“smash things” — occasional bursts of anger, when justified, are cues of sexy male dominance and they do turn on women.

“make her do illegal things” — the ghost of Bonnie chortled.

“threaten to leave her” — dread game.

“make her ask for money” — because throwing money at women really makes them fall more in love. /sarcasm

“give her an allowance” — if women have no agency in abusive relationships, shouldn’t they be treated like children for their own protection?

“not let her know about or have access to family money” — chicks dig mysterious men. by the way, this PSA is starting to read like an action plan for fleecing wealthy beta males.

“take her money” — aka make a woman feel like she’s invested in you. she’ll try harder to make it work.

“be the one to define men’s and women’s roles” — chicks dig a leader. and they also dig benevolently sexist men!

“make all the big decisions” — because letting women make big decisions works out real well when they’re trying to decide whether to leave an abusive alpha male.

“treat her like a servant” — 50 Shades of Gray has sold millions of copies. To women.

“act like the master of the castle” — this has got to be a feminist secret wish list.

Another day, another drubbing. Thank you feminists, for revealing the holes in your hearts your beboobed beta male lackeys cannot fill!

[crypto-donation-box]

Pulled from the briskly invigorating comments to this insightful Mangan post on the paradox of nationalism. The discussion had moved into explanations for the apparently self-immolating pathologically altruistic universalism that characterizes people of NW European descent. A commenter digs up a Darwin quote that suggests the wise man understood the dynamics of outbreeding and reinforcing cultural feedbacks (feelbacks?) to create a universalistic morality among the populace.

in other words, there’s been something of a runaway universalism

Just as Darwin predicted in his ‘Descent of Man’.

“As man advances in civilisation, and small tribes are united into larger communities, the simplest reason would tell each individual that he ought to extend his social instincts and sympathies to all the members of the same nation, though personally unknown to him. This point being once reached, there is only an artificial barrier to prevent his sympathies extending to the men of all nations and races. If, indeed, such men are separated from him by great differences in appearance or habits, experience unfortunately shews us how long it is, before we look at them as our fellow-creatures.

Sympathy beyond the confines of man, that is, humanity to the lower animals, seems to be one of the latest moral acquisitions. It is apparently unfelt by savages, except towards their pets. How little the old Romans knew of it is shewn by their abhorrent gladiatorial exhibitions. The very idea of humanity, as far as I could observe, was new to most of the Gauchos of the Pampas. This virtue, one of the noblest with which man is endowed, seems to arise incidentally from our sympathies becoming more tender and more widely diffused, until they are extended to all sentient beings. As soon as this virtue is honoured and practised by some few men, it spreads through instruction and example to the young, and eventually becomes incorporated in public opinion.”

More memetic than genetic.

More? Could be both equally. I do think proponents of out- and inbreeding genetic theories of universalism tend to give short shrift to the role that culture-gene feedback loops play in amplifying nascent changes in a people’s character and moral sense. Cf, the recent surge in obesity.

Darwin considered the evolution of wide-ranging and unprejudiced empathy toward others the “noblest” of human virtues. But, he also understood that there were races of man, past and present, who would not or could not return the favor. In reconciling this inherent contradiction bedeviling those who wished to believe in a one-world humanity of equal moral disposition, Darwin glimpsed the outline of a tyrannical self-monitoring masochism and the development of cultural institutions to codify that tyranny of the mind.

More of the perceptive man’s thoughts:

Darwin goes on to touch upon what today is called political correctness…

“The highest possible stage in moral culture is when we recognise that we ought to control our thoughts, and “not even in inmost thought to think again the sins that made the past so pleasant to us.”* Whatever makes any bad action familiar to the mind, renders its performance by so much the easier. As Marcus Aurelius long ago said, “Such as are thy habitual thoughts, such also will be the character of thy mind; for the soul is dyed by the thoughts.”*(2)

* Tennyson, Idylls of the King, p. 244.
*(2) Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Bk. V, sect. 16.”

Darwin, as well as great minds from long before his time, foresaw our modern PC, anti-white male witch burning death culture. The point of anti-white propaganda and ritualistic shaming of those who dare to question the reigning equalist narrative is humiliation of wrongthinkers. Humiliate those who entertain even wispy tendrils of wrongthought and you spare the universalist religion and its glassy-eyed Hivemind followers from suffering stains of dispiriting truth upon its soul.

[crypto-donation-box]

Self-Acknowledgement Game

Self-Acknowledgement Game — the art of verbalizing the technique and timeline of your seduction to a woman as it’s happening — has a storied pedigree here at the Chateau. A skilled practitioner can perform miracles with Self-Acknowledgement Game, because it’s at once flirty, edgy, jerkish, charming, and all while maintaining just enough running narrative emotional distance to avoid triggering a girl’s anti-slut defense or bitch shield.

Commenter Thoroughbred writes,

In the category of taking social risks, I’ve been using an opener for awhile now that works like dynamite because it’s so straightforward: “Hi… Wanna flirt and talk about sex?” At a minimum it gets a laugh just about every time, and most of the time it gets an enthusiastic “Sure!”.

The reason “Hi. Wanna flirt and talk about sex?” is so potent an opener is not because it’s direct, but rather because, despite the apparent directness of the message, it’s obviously humorous and therefore ambiguous in intent. And you know how chicks dig that tantalizing ambiguity.

I will say, though, that self-acknowledgement game probably works best if you’ve first gotten some minimal signal from a woman to approach. Otherwise, cold approaching inattentive girls with this line will come across more like an apocalypse opener.

And I wouldn’t try it on mixed groups. SAG is better for weeknight, one-on-one situations.

Thoroughbred continues with another anecdote that is more representative of cocky, preemptive disqualification game.

Tried another one recently that was pushing the limit and I was amazed at how well it worked. I had a good buzz on with just a bit of psilocybin in my system which always brings out the caveman in me for some reason. Don’t know if I would have tried this stone cold sober, but I’ll be damned if it didn’t work.

Sitting talking to a friend at the bar and a drunk 8 sits down next to me. We’re minding our own business, she’s loud and obnoxious. I’m taking up maximum space at the bar (actually have my feet up on the bar and leaning back on the bar stool) and giving her no attention. Catch her eye and she says “You’re a typical douchebag player aren’t you?”

Me: “That’s Mr. Douchebag to you.”

Her: “That’s what I thought. You don’t even deny it.”

Me (with a smirk): “Nope… And you obviously have no manners. I know your type. Rich little daddy’s girl who always got everything she ever wanted. You need to be disciplined.”

Her (Contemptuously): “Oh really… Who’s going to discipline me? You?

Me (Leaning in and whispering in her ear): “I’m out of your league sweetheart, but if you’d really like, I’d be happy to bend you over my knee and spank that pale little ass of yours until it leaves big red hand prints.” Her mouth drops open.

I turn around and start talking to my friend again and feel a tap on my shoulder. Turn back to her and she says “Will you dance with me?”

I couldn’t believe it.

The progression of male incredulity about female sexual nature:

Stage 1: “I don’t believe it.”

Stage 2: “I couldn’t believe it!”

Stage 3: “I’m beginning to believe it.”

Stage Player: “Wasn’t it always obvious?”

[crypto-donation-box]

The number one killer of your game is a function of time, but it’s not time. Time — a merciless decay directive that commissions the end of everyone — is too crude and imprecise an agent of character change to rely on for guidance. We need to measure a new reality closer to the heart.

Around age 11 or 12, preteens experience a significant reorganization of their brains. New neural connections are made while gray matter is “pruned”. This process continues throughout adolescence, and doesn’t fully end until the mid-20s, when the brain reaches its final resting phase. The adult you is, in a mental sense, forever 25.

The biggest brain change in the early teen years is the shift away from prefrontal development and the shift toward emphasis on the amygdala, the brain’s emotional center. We become limbic creatures, more feral and impulsive, once we hit our teenage stride, because our decision-making ability, especially under conditions of stress, is then relegated to the control of the amygdala.

There is a sound evolutionary reason for this brain change. If teenagers were overly risk-averse and worried about the consequences of their actions, they would never take those first vital steps to establish their identity by trying new things. Instinctive bravery, or stupidity, is what pushes baby birds out of the nest to fly. Without that neural window of risk-attachment encouraging teens to bust out of their comfort zones, they would never leave home, rightly calculating that life is perfect under the auspices of their hearth managers.

After those heady teenage years, there’s a slow loss in the mental capacity for satiating curiosity and for risk-attachment. This, too, likely has evolutionary origins. Adults who remain wild and thrill-seeking like teenagers do their own children no good, because what those little shits need more than anything is a stable family environment. We are as hard-wired to step into the comfort zone as adults as we are to step out of it as preteens.

There’s another word for the risk-attachment that defines the teenage/early 20s experience: Passion.

Game is all about taking social risks and withstanding blows to the ego. It’s about reckless experimentation. It’s about an inner energy that drives a man to seek new or better lovers and romantic experiences. It’s about denying the soothing siren song of comfort zones with a force ten tenacity. Game is, in its essence, the exalting of passion over passiveness.

Unfortunately, game has a mortal enemy, and it is the brain itself. The loss of risk-attachment — the pure energy of passion — for the gain of risk-aversion — the serene submission to contentment — will kill a man’s game more completely and with greater finality than physical shortcomings, than financial ruin, than even marriage and its punitive bindings.

The number one killer of your game is the same inexorable biomechanical algorithm that killed your passion and replaced it with placidity: Your changing brain.

If you are a man of keen mind, you may even feel this loss of passion. You’ll sense the changes partly in your day to day behavior and partly by way of the nostalgia fuel your living memory provides. Ironically, although the tragedy when viewed from an unbiased distance is immense, you won’t feel the pain of passion loss as much as you should because you won’t have the passion left to mourn it. Kind of like how I imagine a very old man gazes wistfully at a young beautiful woman while his cock remains undisturbed by the commotion.

Regrettably, there’s nothing on offer that could guarantee you avoid this date with dispassionate destiny. But there are weapons that may help you beat back the gathering storm of brain-reconfigured apathy and keep you seducing women in top form for decades to come.

1. Willpower.

If you can sense it, you can slow it. The first step begins with self-awareness. Instead of bleakly shuffling into that fading light like a gelded automaton, turn your mental howitzers against inevitability and embrace the fight. Go into battle knowing full well your defeat is assured but that you’ll have a blast blowing holes in as many passion-killing droids as you can center in your crosshairs.

2. Understand that experience can make up for some loss of passion.

You will get better with women as you get older. This is a natural result of mastering the dating market learning curve and accepting the psychosexual foreignness of the female mind. Improvements in your knowledge and self-control will mitigate some decline in your baseline passion level. To put it more succinctly, you won’t need as much animating passion to seduce new women at 30 as you did at 15.

3. Weightlifting/Testosterone replacement therapy.

Testosterone is the fark matter of the pooniverse. It’s soul juice. It’s the git ‘er done drug. It’s the molecular chakra that unites man’s head, heart and hogzilla. Weightlifting has been proven to raise T levels both temporarily and permanently, and this is true for most men who follow the Law of Iron. So does eschewing the modern high-sugar, high-carb fattyfest. Refusing to allow your T to sink into oblivion is a clarion call for more intrinsically summoned passion. (Recent evidence finds that estrogen inhibitors may work better than testosterone boosters. I leave it to the reader to research the issue.)

4. Spermatogenesis.

WARNING: Experimental territory. Enter at your own risk.

Read this comment. It’s anecdotal, but the associations he draws have some founding in the scientific literature, not to mention similarities with the conventional wisdom. Boost your sperm production and that wonderful I’M ALIVE blue ball feeling through the interventions of no-fap, HCG, and something called LJ100. Scrotum pressure is a pathway to scoundrel passion.

5. Set an expiration date on all your long-term relationships.

If you make it a principle to escape LTRs before the two year mark, you’ll evade comfort zone entrapment and artificially reignite that dreamy teen passion for new experiences and thrills, and screw the consequences. Your brain will rewire itself to accommodate the new stresses you put on it. Call it, whoremesis. Of course, as great as this is for your love life, it’s as bad for the continuation of the species and a prosperous society. Maybe you’ll figure you can contribute in a godly way to society later in life, after you’ve had your fill of the best kind of pleasures and passions, in which case you’ll want to save some of that archaic energy for your sequels.

A killer is coming for you. Heed the immortal yearning of Roy Batty — I want more life, fucker — and follow him into that rain to die kneeling as you were meant to… but not before proving to yourself and the world you’ll damn your destiny on your feet.

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Touch — aka “kino” in the pickup artist lingo — is a powerful courtship tactic that increases women’s compliance to men’s requests.

Previous research has shown that light tactile contact increases compliance to a wide variety of requests. However, the effect of touch on compliance to a courtship request has never been studied. In this paper, three experiments were conducted in a courtship context. In the first experiment, a young male confederate in a nightclub asked young women to dance with him during the period when slow songs were played. When formulating his request, the confederate touched (or not) the young woman on her forearm for 1 or 2 seconds. In the second experiment, a 20-year-old confederate approached a young woman in the street and asked her for her phone number. The request was again accompanied by a light touch (or not) on the young woman’s forearm. In both experiments, it was found that touch increased compliance to the man’s request. A replication of the second experiment accompanied with a survey administered to the female showed that high score of dominance was associated with tactile contact. The link between touch and the dominant position of the male was used to explain these results theoretically.

Touching a woman early and often during the attraction phase of a pickup, and escalating the erogenous intent of the touching as familiarity deepens, is one element of what I call the core precepts of game. (Qualifying, teasing, body language, and outcome independence are other core precepts.) Womanizers and love maestros have long extolled the virtues of touching, and now science has added its stamp of approval.

Most interestingly, touch appears to work its magic on women by signaling greater male dominance. Women have a feedback loop that registers male touch as dominant behavior; behavior which arouses women because evolution honed in them a subtle appreciation for men who can protect them from danger and provide them hard-gained social and material resources. A sexually, romantically, and tactilely entitled man is attractive to women for the same reason a beautiful, hourglass-shaped, young woman is attractive to men: They both signal possession of deeper traits that would maximize an opposite sex mate’s reproductive advantage.

If you spend any amount of time in the field, one of the first things you’ll notice is how men who stubbornly refuse to touch women, often from fear of rejection or of “crossing lines”, fail to close the deal. I could pick out the handful of alpha males in a bar with no information to go on except which men touch girls the most often and effortlessly.

***

The second study (from 1987, but given the feminist-polluted condition of current sociology departments, that is perhaps a good thing) is a diamond shiv straight through the black heart of sex difference denialists. Dominance behavior increases male attractiveness but not female attractiveness.

Four experiments examined the relation between behavioral expressions of dominance and the heterosexual attractiveness of males and females. Predictions concerning the relation between dominance and heterosexual attraction were derived from a consideration of sex role norms and from the comparative biological literature. All four experiments indicated an interaction between dominance and sex of target. Dominance behavior increased the attractiveness of males, but had no effect on the attractiveness of females. The third study indicated that the effect did not depend on the sex of the rater or on the sex of those with whom the dominant target interacted. The fourth study showed that the effect was specific to dominance as an independent variable and did not occur for related constructs (aggressive or domineering). This study also found that manipulated dominance enhanced only a male’s sexual attractiveness and not his general likability. The results were discussed in terms of potential biological and cultural causal mechanisms.

Dominance alone, as apposed to sheer aggression or domineering control freakery, made the male subjects seem more sexually attractive to women. The effect was not seen when the sexes were reversed.

Color me shocked. Women prefer virile, dominant men and men prefer feminine, deferential women. Thank you, ❤science❤!

(I bolded the second part as a reminder that, although it may appear at a glance that general likability is a prerequisite to female arousal, it is not. Players intuitively know this, and most men would, given the choice, choose passionate sex over “being liked” by women.)

Naturally, this will come as “news” to those creepy recluse losers and bitterboy sex difference denialists who haven’t come within ten yards of catching a cute woman’s intoxicating estrofabulous vibe. And just as naturally, these motley twerps will project the pain of their miserable anhedonic loveless lives with their internet provider or frump wives onto ruthless, charming motherfuckers like yours truly for daring to point out the bleeding obvious.

And it won’t end, it can’t end. The dance of sadistic cruelty with deluded losers, like the dance of love with youthful beauties, is a pleasure incomparable.

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In your travels across the landscape of women, you will encounter a few ice queens who play the soulkill game as well as any sociopathic man. The first exquisite experience with such a woman leaves one breathless with awe; the second experience invites reciprocal devilry.

I’m not saying e-eeevil women will carve you up with as much dramatic poise as Nicole Kidman does in this scene from Eyes Wide Shut, but I am saying these kinds of women exist and the flair they possess for digging deep to the male id and serrating it (usually after fellating it) is a power that would reduce most beta males (and some alpha males) to whimpering self-doubt or reckless vengeful rage.

Pop quiz for those aspiring to Amused Mastery Level of Alpha Maleness:

Given a similar situation, how would you respond to a lover pulling the “Check out my merciless female hypergamy” shiv on you? I know what I’d do. Let her finish her monologue, wait a beat for the moment to grow flush with threatening potential, grin, sit back in bed, and say “Cool story babe”. Better yet, if I were drunk and hadn’t the mental storage space for cutting quips, I’d get up midway through her speech and leave unceremoniously, as if the noise of her voice was giving me a headache.

To respond with fury or hurt would be perceived as her victory; calm dismissal is a tried and true shiv parry that enervates even the most sadistically charged thrusts.

UPDATE

Via reader PA. This scene from Witches of Eastwick is a case study in how an alpha male steals the frame and totally deflates a bitchy woman’s stream of emasculating insults. Be Jack’s amused mastery, and then, when your antagonistic lover has had the wind knocked out of her shivvy sails, go on the offense until her former snarling attack posture is reduced to a quivering crouch of passivity.

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