Wanted to get your thoughts on: getting vibes that your gf and best buddy have sexual tension between them.
It’s almost as if they’d be a better fit for each other, it’s fucking with my mojo.
My working philosophy in matters of suspicions of cheating, or suspicions of potential cheating, is to go with your gut. If you feel a chest-tightening discomfort that a sexual vibe may be happening between your GF and your best friend, odds are pretty good it is happening.
There’s a reason many societies attempt to limit the exposure of wives to too many single men. Women’s hypergamy and sexuality don’t just turn off the moment a marital contract is signed, or a meaningful eye-gaze discussing dating exclusivity is shared. If your male friends are very alpha, very charming, and/or very flirtatious, especially relative to your own talents, then you are staring into the maw of an excited vagina aroused by the scent of cock in the water.
Alpha male friends (AMF) can be more fearsome sexual market competitors than alpha male strangers (AMOG). The comfort of acquaintance pacifies the female urge to caution, and an alpha male friend whose bond of loyalty is weak will pose a bigger threat than some random guy hitting on your girlfriend. A simulacrum of familiarity coupled with a constant state of self-enforced denial is rocket fuel for female fantasy.
Plus, think back to the ancestral environment, and realize that the norm for much of human history has been small tribes interacting only occasionally with outside tribes. In this environment, the men that women would most likely cheat with would know on some personal level the male partners of such women.
The wickedness of double disloyalty — from both your girlfriend and your best friend — can rend a man’s soul. I don’t have hard numbers at hand on the frequency of female cheating with males unknown to her primary partner versus males known to her primary partner, but I’d bet the latter happens just as often as the former.
Women, because they are just as duplicitous as men in their desire to cover their cheating tracks, will hesitate to get involved in any affair that has a high risk of exposing them. Ironically, affairs with male buddies can sometimes have a lower exposure risk than affairs with outside males, or at least be perceived as lower risk, because the male buddy has just as much incentive as the woman to keep a lid on things. A woman knows her boyfriend’s male friends better than she will know a dude she met on the train, and she understands that where incentives align, the particulars of affairs are more manageable.
Working against this exposure limiting incentive is the male friend who secretly loves your girlfriend, and will blow things up if he thinks an affair with her signals something deeper. For that reason, women are wary of trysts with male friends who don’t honor, as revealed through his professed feelings of love and yearning, the woman’s relationship with her boyfriend or husband.
Most times, women will resist the temptation of the alpha male friend. A woman who has invested much in a relationship will think twice before assuming a high risk cuckold maneuver that might destroy her investment. But it only takes one time, one magical night of heedless tingle, for years of virtue to dry up and blow away like tumbleweed. And for good reason: that one night could mean eighteen years of indentured servitude to a genetic impostor.
If there is a hint of sexual tension between your girlfriend and your best friend, you have to make a clear-eyed reappraisal of your relationship. Asking a few questions to yourself is a start.
1. Is her flirting harmless?
You can usually tell when a woman’s flirting is the playful self-boosting variety rather than the charged erotic variety. Women, and particularly good-looking women (one of life’s paradoxes), like to be reminded of their desirability, and flirting with other men is one way they fulfill that need. If it’s just an itch being scratched by a party girl poser, you’ll know by how lazily she flirts in front of you and by how quickly she rescinds her offer of flesh to rush back into your arms. If it’s genuine attraction, and the two of them are in your company, her contorted face will tell of her burgeoning guilt. A woman will not try to hide something of no consequence.
2. Is her flirting a jealousy ploy?
If it’s obvious she’s trying to make you jealous, that’s generally a good thing. It means she still loves you, but isn’t getting what she considers enough signs of commitment from you. I actually love it when girlfriends lamely and transparently flirt with other men in front of me, because it provides such a convenient way to lord my peen-cred over them by ambushing them with their own ham-fisted efforts.
3. Is she touching your friend, or herself, a lot?
It’s hard for a woman to consciously control her touch instinct in the presence of a man she desires. If you catch your GF placing her hand on your best friend’s forearm or shoulder more than once, you should be concerned. Same goes if she’s stroking her hair or caressing her face with her hands when talking with him.
4. Is she asking a few too many questions about your best friend?
This is a major tell. Doubly so if she tries to form her questions so that they sound like innocuous, spontaneous inquiries. “Hey, remember when you were telling me about Svengard’s trip to Italy? When’s he coming back? I bet he’d love to tell you all about it.”
5. Is she always offering to arrange co-ed events or nights out with your friends?
She wants to see him, but needs the cover of mixed company.
6. Are you having problems in your relationship?
Any sort of beta backsliding, or drifting apart, will push a girlfriend or wife into serious contemplation of competing market options. Luckily, you have an early warning sign at your disposal: the frequency and timing of sex. Be very wary if she stops fucking you during the ovulation part of her cycle.
If, after a careful answering of the above questions, you determine that the sexual chemistry you perceive between your girlfriend and your best friend is real, you have a number of choices.
– Call her out on it.
“I notice you flirt a lot with Tertullian. You think I don’t notice it? If we’re having problems, maybe we should part ways.”
– Tease her in front of him.
“Jesus, you’re blatant. You’re making Tiberius uncomfortable. I thought I was dating a nun, not a stripper.”
– AMOG your best friend.
“Hey, man, I think she’s into a threesome with you and me. I figure your pretty comfortable with a little accidental sword fighting.”
– Fuck with her head.
“Honey, I think Anfernee wants to sleep with you. It’s so obvious. I’m… sure you’ve noticed it.”
– Agree and amplify.
“Babe, the next time you flirt with Brantworth, try leaning in more, and licking your lips. I don’t think he’s getting the message.”
– Ignore it.
An aloof attitude won’t save your hide every time. You might successfully bluff her and she’ll run back to you to re-earn your love, or your inaction might seal your cuckolded fate. Much depends on the reactiveness of the chemistry your GF has with your best bud.
– Dump her.
Sexual chemistry is a powerful force. If you sense her infidelity is inevitable, get the jump on it and spare yourself the humiliation. If you’re married, make sure to collect evidence of her cheating before pulling the plug. You’ll need all the leverage you can get in divorce court.
Generally speaking, women will not cheat with your best friends unless one or both of the following criteria are met:
Your friend is significantly higher value than you are.
Sadly, female hypergamy can only be chained so long as it doesn’t grow too strong in the presence of a much higher value male. Your beloved will jump the bones of a Hollywood celebrity if given a real chance for it, no matter how much she sincerely loves you. And I suspect a lot of you tradcon loyal hubbies with visions of beatific virtue dancing in your heads would jam the hammer in Emma Stone’s toolbox if she backed up into you and breathlessly whispered her longing for your Biblical cock.
You have lost value within your relationship.
Relationships, barring compensatory game, tend to betafy even the rock hardest men. Time and familiarity and fairly predictable sex enervate the virile masculine essence.
Maxim #67: A man who has stopped seducing new women is a man who is becoming less seductive to his main woman.
When you become more beta, you are, in practice, raising the value of every other man your girlfriend or wife meets. Your best buddy Lil’ Petey starts to seem more like Peter the Great to your GF. Once you have turned to the beta side, even the most loyal, loving woman will begin to experience a reckless disregard for your feelings and a concomitant lessening of guilt when the prospect of sex with a more alpha man presents itself. Women are nothing if not masters at rationalizing away their malevolence when communion with alpha cock is on the altar of their womb cathedrals.
Preventative measures, then, are simple.
One, try as best you can to limit the amount of time that your girlfriend spends in the company of men higher status than yourself. You are playing with fire if your woman goes to work every day under an alpha boss. Now, obviously, certain realities prevent you from imposing the draconian limitations you would like and that would make a powerful dent in her ability and desire to cheat. But you can do little things. For instance, gently persuade your lover into work that is female-heavy, or run by women, or staffed with a lot of mediocre beta males. Or, get her knocked up fast, so she isn’t shunted into a lifestyle of peonage to an alpha male captain of industry. Or refuse to include her in your male buddy circle if you think some of your friends represent real sexual threats.
I can hear the baters now: “Waaah, you don’t think women have the willpower to say no to alpha males?!?”
Sure, I do. But willpower is conditional. The more her options increase, and the value of her options increases, the more malleable and fragile her willpower becomes. It’s a matter of removing excessive temptations from her life that might challenge her willpower. (Wives would be wise to keep to the same philosophy as concerns their husbands’ fidelity. It’s no wonder new wives move quickly to the suburbs, where atomistic single family homes and long commutes restrict the availability of young, nubile babes who would tempt their husbands.)
Two, avoid the betafying degeneration of long-term relationships. This means, in practice, keeping your flirting skills up to snuff by occasionally hitting on women other than your GF or wife. Game is not only useful for pickup, it’s useful for revitalizing the fading love brought on by predictability and familiarity.
If your girlfriend nags you a lot, and she’s hot enough to attract men of the caliber of famous actors, you may as well take her extrapair flirting as a message that she’s already serviced cocks other than your own. Don’t be surprised if that headache she has at the most inopportune times becomes a chronic condition.
A reader who shall remain unidentified sent this story about his first time in a girl’s pussy. Names, venues and locations were changed by the reader to protect the privacy of those involved. I can’t vouch for the truthfulness of this tale. As is usual in these circumstances where anonymity is necessary, the policy is “what you read is what you get”. You may choose to believe or disbelieve.
******
Dear CH, this is my story. It is all true and has been edited to ensure real names, venue names and locations are not revealed. I’m not asking for feedback because there is much to read and much to learn from CH, and I simply have a lot of reading and learning to do.
I gift this story to you. I thought of you mid-pump. I could feel your god-like presence looking down on me with a look of patronistic-pride. [ed: no homo!]
Feel free to post any of this on CH, in fact it would be an honour, but I’m satisfied with the hope that you’ll read this and hopefully smile like a father watching his son ride a bike without training wheels for the first time. [ed: i know that feel, bro.]
The following interaction occurred in a country like England or Australia or The United States or New Zealand or Canada. I am 24 years old and recently made a big change in my life; I divorced my affiliation from the Church of Latter Day Saints (Mormons), my ultra-conservative Mormon family and 95% of my Mormon friends. I’m more or less on my own and the ‘moral’ floodgates are open; everything is fair game. This isn’t my excuse for not getting my fuck on earlier though. Had the hot and heavy opportunity landed in my lap (heh), I probably would have seized it. So I’m no saint as I have more than my lion’s share of really big fuck ups, but the few rules I tried to follow were related to drinking, drugs and pre-marital sex, etc. The ones your parents generally care about.
This is a true story with names changed or censored.
This is how I parted ways with my virginity.
You really can’t make this shit up.
(Note: All my life I’ve been a beta/nice-guy/just-friend, I’d never kissed a girl or anything beyond that… I’ve read the beginning of The Game by Neil Strauss up until the part where the NLP guy is doing shit with the sauce bottles. Prior to these events, I had frequented the Chateau less than a dozen times and felt like none of it could work for me… Looking back, I applied maybe 1% of things I had read and what my friends had advised me to do with girls, etc… In the last 3 months I’ve spooned with 3 different girls, the last one of whom I fingered and sucked on her tits (lol, yes, they were all awake and sober at the time also). Ha, the girl I fingered however… Man oh man did I suffer a terrible case of the blue-balls because of it… I could hardly walk or sit down, for the rest of the day. Fuck you 8th grade sex-ed teacher for saying blue-balls is just a myth. Up until the events as detailed below, I was a ‘classical’ virgin to all purposes and extents.
My dear friend Adam said to me after I retold these sordid events to him, “You did what you did as a beta. Imagine what you could achieve if you worked on your inner game and became a lesser alpha…”
Imagine it. Done.
—
The Dawn of my non-Virgin Self, by “m”.
23 August 2012
It was a Thursday evening and the weather wasn’t great. It had been raining for most of the day, grey skies and general gloom. Fuck it, I’m going out if anyone else is. By the time the night rolled around the weather had changed a little for the better. It was still bitterly cold which is very much par for the course in this city.
At 5:28 pm I texted Jane Stevenson: hey Janey, let’s go out tonight. celebrations are in order
I went and had a shower in anticipation for the night ahead. No plans were in the making other than the hope that Jane (Janey) would reply to my text and meet me in the city for drinks. At around 10:20 pm with no reply, I called Janey hoping she’d finished her basketball game (she plays basketball on Thursday nights) to see what she was doing. My call rang through to her voicemail and I hung up.
At 10:23 pm Jane Stevenson texted me: Hey! Sorry, I meant to text you. I’m at a 21st at Titanium, so we’re already out. What’re your plans? And what are we celebrating!?
At 10:24 pm I texted Jane Stevenson: haha, don’t bail, i’ll tell you what we’re celebrating when i get there
I promptly got dressed and fixed up my hair before heading out to the city. I parked in the “Horsing Around” car park and walked to Titanium Bar. Janey and her friend Hannah were standing next to a wall opposite the far end of the bar. I approached them and she noticed me and as we made contact, she put her arms around me, hello, blah, etc. She asked me what we were celebrating and I told her it was somewhat bittersweet… I told her that a job opportunity had come up in the capital city and that I not only got the job, but I was the preferred candidate for the role, “I’m moving away”. Janey and I have only met a handful of times but there has been obvious chemistry each time we met. I should have escalated things with her prior to tonight, but hindsight can go fuck itself in this particular instance. She said something to the effect of, “well I’m sure I’ll see you when you come to visit and I’ll try and come up to see you too”. This I liked. She introduced me to some of her friends and the 21st birthday boy, “[redacted]“.
Being the inexperienced drinker that I am (because of my prior “Mormonism”), I ordered a Tequila on the rocks (Jose Cuervo Especial) and it tasted of unwashed Mexican feet. It also cost me $9. Janey and a couple of her girlfriends were playfully giggling at me because of my drinking inexperience and the faces of pained disgust I was exaggerating. It was all cute, really. I went back to the bar and ordered a Red Bull to clean the flavour out of my mouth and thought I’d mix the two to see if it got any better. It did get a little better, but not by much. The Red Bull cost me $7. Janey advised me to stick with vodka and that I won’t regret it. These fucking prices also, goddamn.
It was decided that we would all leave Titanium Bar and go to McFadden’s Pub. When we finally got there (it’s about 4 blocks away) we were told by some members of the group who had left earlier that it was dead inside and the music was shit (they play the top 40, what were you expecting?), and we proceeded to return to the main nightclub strip. All the while we were walking to McFadden’s Pub and now back again, I was walking beside Janey, talking shit and applying a little kino when crossing the street. I was going to jaywalk in front of oncoming traffic (I would have made it across without issue) and Janey grabbed me by the torso and pulled me back into her, to save my life perhaps (lol). I put my arms around her and said, somewhat mockingly, “what, you care that much for me?” to which she replied, “I don’t like to see people get hurt.” I smirked at her and she smiled. We got to the front of Minq and waited for the birthday boy who had apparently gone off with a girl to get some food, however after having stood in the cold for 5 minutes his friends started calling him to see what was going on. Apparently he’d gone home (I don’t know if the girl went home with him or not) because he’d had a big enough night. Mind you, it couldn’t have been later than midnight at this point. “Some 21st”.
24 August 2012
When we got inside Minq we went to the dance floor and proceeded to dance in the fashion that SWPL youth dance. After about 15-20 minutes we left the dance floor and went to the bar overlooking the dance floor. I ordered a Vodka Red Bull (Red Bull Silver Edition: Lime). It cost me $10. After I finished my drink, Janey grabbed my arm and told me she and some of her friends were going downstairs for a cigarette break. I joined them so as not to be left alone in the club. During this cigarette break, some acquaintances of Janey’s joined us (apparently they were Canadian and [White] South Africans studying at a private school). Though I cannot recall his name, perhaps for lack of caring to, one of the South Africans I will refer to as WK had a keen interest in Janey. To my dismay (beta feelings), she seemed to reciprocate his advances and they kissed openly in the street. He was clearly the AMOG and applied kino aggressively and effectively. He also ‘seemed’ to be quite drunk. When I was introduced to him I simply told him to call me “m” as I ‘own that alphabet’ (and there are instances where I don’t want certain people to know my name). This stuck. Good.
It was then decided that we all go to the upstairs level of Horsing Around. There was more dancing and trips to the bar and more of WK and Janey making out. I tried my best to project an aura of idungivafuq but on the inside I was dying. Being a sports bar, Horsing Around had a promotional ‘snowboarding’ competition where competitors had to ride a mechanical snowboard for as long as they could to win some kind of prize. The mechanical snowboard works in a similar way to a mechanical bull. I got in line as I fancied my chances and managed to steal most of the group to come and watch me. I thought this would be a good chance to demonstrate some alpha athleticism so in my mind, I had a lot to lose if I failed… Behind me in line, I noticed an accent that seemed far from its native home. I turned to see a girl wearing a grey dress, black skin-tight lycra-esque-pants(?) and grey suede heels. She seemed to be 5-6 inches taller than myself (heels included). I said hi to her and enquired as to her place of origin. She told me she was a New Zealander and we started chatting; she was travelling the world and was currently based here working as an Au Pair full-time and as a barmaid part-time. We discussed our chances on the mechanical snowboard and she revealed to me that she has been snowboarding somewhat regularly, “at least a dozen times” back home (this was later evident in her performance). She asked me about my boarding experience and I told her it was minimal at best, but having been long boarding for a few months now, I have a general level of control on a board.
One of the men in charge of operating the mechanical snowboard approached us with a clipboard to sign the indemnity form in the event we should hurt ourselves whilst on their equipment; I think it was also to go in the running for some kind of bar tab prize. Riding the board had a no shoes, no socks policy and after a successful ‘practice run’ I motioned to the operator to let loose. In 15 seconds or less it went from cruisey, curvy sways to actual bucks as if you were going over a mound-field. The third one got me and I fell into the air-filled jumping-castle-like surrounds. I put my shoes and socks back on as the New Zealander girl was getting ready to have her go. She stayed on for over a minute. After she got her shoes back on I congratulated her on her superior snowboarding skills and asked her for her name. She told me her name was Samantha. I said to her, “hey listen, since I might not see you again tonight, give me your number cause you seem like a pretty cool chick”, to which she replied, “but I have a boyfriend”, to which I replied, “well maybe I just wanna be friends…” and shrugged with a look of nonchalance on my face. It did the trick. Perhaps it also had something to do with the fact that she was leaving the club to go somewhere else with her friends and there was a sense of urgency about it all… She didn’t know what her number was by heart but had it saved in her phone. She found her own contact and I typed it into my phone and saved the contact as Samantha Newport (Kiwi Chick). She left and my friends and I carried on for about an hour (drinking, dancing, smoking, etc.) and when we were satisfied that we had had enough, we went to Macdonald’s.
The group walked in and sat at a table, I stayed outside and spoke with a street musician as I’d met him on a previous night out and had heard his life story through song. I feel like we’re more than strangers in an odd sort of way. After some chit-chat, Janey came outside to join me and have a smoke (I don’t smoke by the way) and I introduced her to my Liberian street musician friend. He told her she was very beautiful and that I was very ‘lucky’ to have a girlfriend like her, which made her blush. Neither of us corrected him. I tossed some money into his guitar case and asked him to play a Bob Marley song. Going from the best to the worst wingman ever, he played Redemption Song instead of Is This Love. WK came outside and AMOG’d me by being all handsey and kissyface and whisked Janey away back inside. After he was done playing his song I shook his hand and told him to have a good night. I went inside the Macdonald’s restaurant and everyone was eating a burger or whatever. WK had ordered a side of Janey and was yet again busy eating her face. The awkward thing for me throughout the whole night was that Janey was the only person I knew beforehand. After 10-15 minutes everyone was feeling tired enough to go home. I think it was around 2:30 am. Janey was about to get into a taxi with WK and I called out to her. She came to me and hugged me good night. I told her, “I don’t want you going home with him…”, but she gave me a pained expression and got into his taxi anyway. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that interaction. I’m not going to assume anything happened or didn’t happen, I simply truly do not care for had this not happened, The following would not have occurred:
Feeling defeated, I did a very beta thing…
At 2:42 am I texted Jane Stevenson: </3
There was no (immediate) reply.
I felt like a loser because I was. I lost the girl I wanted for the night to someone younger than myself, younger than Janey, and I felt ashamed. I decided I’d solo the rest of the night and see how things turn out. I went back to Minq and just as I got up the stairs and walked in, I noticed Samantha the New Zealander girl walking towards me, but she didn’t recognise me (or maybe didn’t want to) so I called out to her and she turned around. I asked where she was going and she said something to the effect of, “I’m trying to find my friends, I think they’re outside or something”, to which I replied, “well text them to come here and stay here and party with me”. She had a look on her face that said “but I need to find my friends, some shit’s going down” and she said bye and left.
At 2:58 am I texted Samantha Newport (Kiwi Chick): come back to the club, i’d love for you to chill with me for a bit
No reply. I felt defeated again. I stayed in the club and watched some well booty-endowed African girls dancing while I sipped my Red Bull. I finished my drink, left the can on a table and walked out into the lonely cold.
DESPAIR
Despair was starting to break me so I went to ground level Horsing Around, a nightclub renowned for being home of the easy pump and dump. It’s not actually that bad and I’d say the whole pump and dump label was applied because of a particular patronage that I haven’t seen there in years, but labels stick.
I wasn’t feeling like dancing or drinking anymore, I’d had 2 (count’em, 2!) drinks and wanting to be safe, I wanted to just chill for a bit to get the alcohol out of my system before taking the road home. I sat at one end of a corner table that some 30 something year olds were sitting at and I watched some drunks playing pool. It was entertaining enough. Directly ahead of me I could see the dance floor and there were still some nice looking girls dancing and whatever. I have to mention this because I witnessed first-hand a truly disgusting thing. A fairly decent looking 40 something year old Asiatic man with a good build and friendly face approached a white girl probably in her early to mid-20′s with thighs as thick as… fuck… my waist? 32 inches? She was by no measure (heh) a small girl. He approached her with a jig in his step which was appropriate for the music that was playing at the time and tried to lean in to talk to her and no doubt invite her to dance with him or join him for a drink. Sitting with her hotter looking friends, she refused him with a look of polite disgust so as not to elicit violence but to also get her message across. This was no child though, being the man he was, he turned around, devil-may-care, and continued his dance walk away from her and back towards the dance floor. As he passed where I was sitting, I called him over and said to him, “What a crazy place we live where girls like that shoot down handsome men like you *wink* (no-homo)”, he laughed and shook my hand and went about his way.
Another 5-10 minutes passed and as luck would have it, I saw Samantha on the dance floor dancing with some guy. She and some guy danced literally towards me and I just sat there, trying to look cool and aloof (dead eyes, left thumb hooked in pocket, right arm stretched out across the top of the seats, etc). I’m not sure where the guy fucked off to, but he left and I poked Samantha in her right ass cheek with my left index finger. She turned around and saw me, realised she’d run into me again and started chit chatting about stuff I can’t remember. Not sure if I can call him an AMOG gorilla or whatever, but this African guy came out of nowhere and started dancing with her all up close and personal and intimate and shit, and I just sat there, cool look of detachment on my face as she stared back at me. After a minute or so, it started to look painfully obvious that his advances and adventurous hands were no longer appreciated, so I motioned with my right index finger a ‘come hither’ to Samantha much the same way you would to a kitten. She came and sat next to me and I put my right hand around her waist (DTF lol). African guy had this hilarious look of ‘what the fuck?’ on his face and though he didn’t say anything, he tried to dance her back into his arms as weird as that sounds, much the same way a peacock would probably try to display it’s feathers more alluringly to a pea-hen that’s been taken away from it. She sat next to me and I didn’t say anything to her or look at her, and she finally said, “I feel so threatened sitting here with you”, to which I replied, “ha, and why’s that?”, and she moved away a bit and said “because you’re being so distant. I moved in closer than before (remember, this is a night club with loud music, conversation is mouth-to-ear with centimetres in it) and said, “I’m distant because you’re cold”. Something in her changed and she moved in and rested her head on my shoulder and told me she was tired. I took her hand and drew circles in her palm with my index finger and when she asked me what I was doing, I told her this is how I get to know the girls that I like. She laughed and I asked her where she lives, she told me and I told her “I can drive you home if you like, you’re on my way”, and this seemed quite agreeable to her.
We went to the dance floor, she said bye to her friend who was dancing with some other guy and we stepped outside. I took my jacket off and wrapped her in it (she had her arms crossed) and she protested, “no it’s okay, blah blah blah”, and I told her to shut up and accept chivalry when it’s given. No further argument. I’ll skip some of the detail here because I don’t want this to be on par with Lord of the Rings. We got to my car, drove to her place, I pulled into her driveway. I said to her, with the engine of my car still running, “I don’t want this to be goodnight”, to which she replied, “what do you want?” … She leaned in close to my ear, her breath heavy on my neck and I said after a slight pause, “I want to spend the night in you”. She started kissing me and was quite bitey which I found quite funny, that is to say, she was biting my lips and not particularly lightly either, and it should be noted that this was my first kiss. We made out for about 30 seconds and I knew I had to escalate shit fast. I gently pulled away from her and my lips finally left the vice-like grip of her teeth and I switched my car engine off. I got out of my car walked around to her side. She’d already opened her door and I gave her my hand to help her out, she got out, started making out with me in the street and I pulled away again to lock my car. She led me to an intercom panel to gain entry to her complex where the key to her house was biometric security based; her right index finger to be precise. She walked me through the gate and told me to stick to the wall as I walked as there are security cameras and she’s not allowed to have company in her house.
Everything at this point felt surreal. Here I was, having just had my first kiss(es) with a pretty good looking girl and she was leading me into her bedroom. I knew I was going to get my fuck on tonight, I could just never have anticipated things would have been like this. We got inside, went up the stairs and into her bedroom. She started profusely apologising for the mess in her house (she later said she’s OCD about tidiness and even a few things here and there drive her crazy) and I told her it didn’t matter. We sat on the edge of her bed and started making out again, but having read my friends’ sisters’ girly magazine with him when I was 12 or 13, I knew about girls having this erogenous zone or something that goes from the lips to the neck to the shoulder, kind of like a triangle. I started working that area with my lips while I had a hand on the small of her back and another between her legs on her upper inner thigh. She started moaning so I assumed I was doing it right. Haha, women’s magazines actually serving a purpose for once.
She asked me how many girls I had been with and I told her not to freak out or panic, and I made a zero with my thumb and index finger. She didn’t believe me and I told her this isn’t the kind of thing I’d lie about, especially in this particular setting… She got upset and said she didn’t want to ruin me, that it wouldn’t be love or real, that I deserve to be in love with the person I want to share my first time with… I deflected all of her concerns telling her she couldn’t ruin me because I have a strong heart, that it didn’t get more real than this and what we were about to embark on was love itself, etc. Pretty much anything to get around her negative emotions and get her back in the mood, and never mind her boyfriend whom she loved, his name didn’t come up once. Retrospectively, I find it quite funny how beta I acted as the crescendo of the night was in progress, statements like, “omg ur so bewtiful” and “i’m so lucky 2 b here wit u”… The heat of the moment I guess. Now, this was an unplanned adventure so it was raw. Later it got rough, but it was all certainly raw. And had there been a condom in sight, I still probably wouldn’t have used one, but having learned mid fuck that this girl was into EVERYTHING, I wish I had had a condom to explore her rectum with my hardware.
We undressed each other and these motions of pre-programmed human-ness took over. I don’t want this to sound clinical or overly nerdy, but it felt like two machines were interfacing with each other to perpetuate the operation of a greater task, it was awesome. We started at around 4 am and I felt like I was in a porno, we did everything; missionary, her on top/grinding down hard, cowgirl, doggy, sideways, lotus… My mission objective once shit was starting was to get her to cum which was on a psychological level very important for me. A few months ago I watched a how to video on youtube and the girl advised the digital insertion the index and middle fingers with a “come-hither” motion. I think I felt her g-spot and I focused on massaging her insides with that lump as the base of operations. Again, through observation of my subject, I can only conclude I was successful in my endeavours; she kept rolling her eyes into the back of her head, she was biting the skin on her upper arms, her torso and legs were convulsing… Shit was cash. Between her uncontrolled movements and bodily shudders, she looked up at me as perplexed as a betrayed friend and said, “how the fuck is this your first time?” I didn’t bother answering but I can only say it had something to do with watching lots of porn, reading parts of e-books that deal with this subject and actually caring for her sexual needs instead of getting hasty and just sticking it in. I did want it to be a little special after all.
I ate her out and she tasted of lemons and limes (she said it was because of her diet), she sucked my dick and I realised I am extremely ticklish around my upper leg area, she left scratches on my back that led to some high-fives in a steam room at my local pool when the question was raised. After I missionary’d her for a while, she took out her dildo (not sure if I was being inexperienced with her goods or if she wanted double penetration, but I watched her operate on herself which was quite a visual experience. At one point when I was giving it to her from behind I spanked her and she managed to say, “*moaning* ooohhhhhh, oh, oh, oh… oh baby, c’mon, you can hit harder than that, C’MON! *moaning*”. When I had her on top grinding down on me, she put her hands around my throat and started to choke me, and then she realised what she was doing and apologised. I would have laughed but I was too in awe of the hilarity of the moment. At another point I told her I wanted to try a porno move on her (throat-fuck) so she lay on the bed with her head hanging off the side and I docked my shuttle with the international space station. The best part was when I pulled out and that throaty mucus was dripping off my dick. Towards the end of our romp, I still hadn’t cum, not from lack of trying mind you. I have this dangerous desire to fuck a woman in the hopes of getting her pregnant and never seeing her ever again, only to be confronted with my bastard years and years later in an angry, violent confrontation. First world problems I guess. Anyway, I would have blasted inside of her with even greater recklessness as I had discovered a foreign object inside her which she told me was a Mirena, an IUD that provides 99.91% protection from conception. She also told me not to fuck around with it because it cost her $7,000 to buy and have it inserted. Back to me, I’m done with her and I was jacking myself as furiously as possible because I really really really (obviously) wanted to at least cum on her on in her mouth or pussy… I had actually tired myself out. At this point in the morning with the first rays of the sun lighting up the sky, we were both dry; inside and out, tired and sleepy. She tried sucking and jacking me off, and I would get close to climax, but it was like trying to start a car with engine problems. My legs were shuddering in a way that doctors would probably describe as exhaustion due to extreme physical exertion. My kingdom for temporary pre-mature ejaculation… Anyway, we cleaned up, got dressed kissed goodbye and she walked me to my car. Just as I got outside the gate, I turned towards her, placed my left hand on the small of her back and right hand down the front of her jeans with my fingers back inside of her. I took my fingers out after a few pokes that made her roll her eyes back (again), put my fingers in her mouth and she sucked them clean. I kissed her goodbye.
A phone call some hours later and she told me she had been too tired to go to work and had got in trouble from her boss AND that she felt extremely guilty for what had happened because she loves her boyfriend.
Although I didn’t get to deploy my weapon’s payload, it felt like a complete victory for a first time combatant (kind of like the snipers from the movie ‘Jarhead’).
As I got in my car to drive home, I checked my phone…
At 6:25 am Jane Stevenson texted me: Ahhh! I was one of those awful drunk friends…sorry! We’ll have to catch up again when I’m not being retarded
“Catch up” indeed.
Post-script
Having read the recent CH article ‘Hot Girl Crazy’, I can confidently say that Samantha lives in this bubble others have constructed for her. She says this about herself, “I’m a confident girl and I was so sure of my self I felt I had to step out of my comfort zone to find some insecurity to secure”. She lives a very good and easy life (the top 0.00001 percentile in my opinion); she resides in one of the most executive suburbs in my city, drives an expensive European SUV, has her apartment serviced daily (cleaning lady, refrigerator is restocked, etc) and this is all paid for by her employer. She is the most glorified nanny I can think of. Fran Drescher’s ‘Nanny’ character doesn’t even come close.
******
“M”‘s story sounds plausible. A man’s first time is never as smooth as he imagines it will be. Halting beta missteps peppered with brilliant flashes of accidental alpha attitude typically characterize the virgin’s introduction to the world of vagina. There were some truly cringeworthy beta moments in his recollection, but on the whole his strategy was sound: he kept up the physical and emotional escalation while deftly handling the logistics. And he never let the AMOG blowout of his oneitis suck the life out of him like it does for so many recovering betas in similar scenarios; his mood remained engaged and his attitude positive.
I do think this young ex-Mormon, having now tasted the fruit of the tree of knowledge of poon and pickup, will awaken to a world of wonders, and will probably get married a lot later in life than his religious brethren who stayed in the fold. And he will never look back.
Yesterday it was my 7th month anniversary with my girl. She has been nagging about never celebrating it, so I wrote her name on the street with piss right in front of her and took a picture for the memory.
Anniversaries. The word conjures images of beta males frantically buying gifts at the last second for wives or girlfriends to honor nearly forgotten calendar dates the poor saps believe will earn them major romance cred. But anniversaries are not inherently beta.
If your girl imparts great significance to off-year anniversaries, or to any anniversary having to do with dating milestones rather than the much more onerous (and drably expected) marriage milestones, you are likely an alpha male. A girlfriend who wants to celebrate a seven month anniversary with you is thankful for each and every second of your company. To her, the months are as magical as decades would be to the woman married to a dutiful beta provider.
The weirder the reason for, and the timing of, the anniversary, the more alpha you are. So if she wants to celebrate the one month anniversary of the time you took her out on a real date, you are probably an alpha male. If she starts saying stuff like, “It’s 8:35, Wednesday evening. Remember this time? It was the first time you kissed me. And it was raining outside, just like tonight…,” you are probably an alpha male.
If you are a man who surprises your girlfriend with trivial anniversaries she had no idea existed nor even the remotest interest in celebrating, please lop off your balls. They are obviously doing you no good.
PS You don’t have to spend a lot of money on anniversary gifts. You don’t have to spend any money, for that matter. A woman will, over the years, recall more fondly her name pissed on the street or in the snow than she will the tennis bracelet wrapped by department store staffers.
Over at GLPiggy’s, a ripping good discussion about feminists’ loathing of fathers and fatherhood ensues.
and one more thing that seriously gets short shrift in these discussions of “men dropping out”: it’s a lot easier to say “fuck it all” to the mother of your children when she’s bloated up into a disgusting fat sow. men quickly lose their desire to support women (and their kids) who are physically repellent to behold.
I find it funny how few pundits in any media capacity address the female obesity problem and its role in destabilizing the mating market. (Bill Bennett wept.) Women might get offended — correction, fat chicks and feminists and their lapdog manboobs and tradcons might get offended — by my assertion that looking like a diseased dirigible will lessen the willingness of men to “man up” and support, financially or emotionally, such ghastly beasts, but those who balk at these impertinent suggestions would do well to think of this apropos analogy:
As unemployed, shiftless men are to women’s desire to be loyal and committed wives, so too are gross fat women to men’s desire to be supportive fathers and husbands.
Fake celebrity game. Who says your status has to be backed up by real accomplishments? Chicks dig the illusion.
***
Robin Hanson has a follow-up post to his review (sloppy love kiss?) of Sex at Dawn. He quotes from a new book titled Sex at Dusk (hey, where have I heard that before?), which is critical of Sex at Dawn‘s premises, and consequently adjusts his view on the frequency and nature of prehistoric hunter-gatherer/forager promiscuity.
Even so, [author Saxon] does successfully undercut many Sex At Dawn arguments. In humans, sexual jealousy is a universal, females are picky about sex partners, penises aren’t over-sized, testes are small, sperm production slow, and the evidence doesn’t suggest a great deal of sperm competition. Female chimps have little extra-group sex, bonobos don’t usually mate face-to-face, and many Sex At Dawn quotes are misleading, given their context. […]
A key question, to me, is what percentage of our forager ancestor kids were fathered outside pair-bonds. That is, what fraction of kids were born to mothers without a main male partner, or had a father different from that partner. This number says a lot about the adaptive pressures our ancestors experienced related to various promiscuous and polyamorous arrangements today. And hence says a lot about how “natural” are such things.
As one of the commenters noted over there, no evolutionary psychologist ever denied that female promiscuity was a part of human sexuality. We’re only arguing over the degree of female sluttiness, not its existence. And on that count, the free love authors of Sex at Dawn shoot wide of the mark.
I argued similarly to Sex at Dusk (royalties, please?) that the existence of male jealousy, possibly the most powerful emotion in the known universe after the feeling of bliss that accompanies a strong bowel movement, is alone enough to disprove the polyamorists’ contention that humans are wired for wild group sex, constant cheating, and happy ascent to infidelity and polyamory. Any cursory brush with reality will tell you that we’re not; paternity reassurance, female virginity and faithfulness, and other signs of long-term commitment and disposition for loyalty argue convincingly that the norm, at least until relatively recently, has been evolving toward a more monogamous system. Interestingly, we may be evolving *away* again from monogamy and back to our slutty forager roots, thanks to the pathologically altruistic largesse of the mighty West encouraging women to favor the alpha seed capture strategy over the beta provider capture strategy.
PS Robin goes into lengthy and somewhat labyrinthine explanation about how women’s cries during sex are evidence for a promiscuous past. (Read it there, I’m too lazy to summarize. Basically, he says it’s about bragging.) But I have a simpler asnwer: women moan and gasp and shriek to induce orgasm in themselves, and in their lovers. Female orgasm has been scientifically shown to aid fertilization. This is why a woman will scream with pleasure even when you’re screwing her in the middle of the woods and no one is within twenty miles to hear her.
Just sayin’.
***
Some equalist utopian claims that “desire modification” will be the next big tech innovation. Hmm… desire modification…. now what kinds of people were the sorts who believed human desire could be reengineered… let me think…
Human desire will never be modified. You can only modify the symptoms of desire, not the foundations of desire itself. But I’m sure plenty of fat chicks would love it if one day men were reformulated to desire rolls of buttery lard, like they were living in some Brave New Shallow Hal World.
I predict in the distant future congenital equalists are going to try to biogenetically reengineer away human differences, to equalize the playing field with respect to IQ and other assorted beneficial personality traits, and then once the deed is done claim victory over the forces of bigotry and prejudice and stereotypes and white privilege and dildos that don’t adequately tickle their prostates.
The former “Girls Next Door” star, 32, says that it’s her boyfriend of just nine months, party promoter Pasquale Rotella. “Holly and I are so excited to announce that we are going to be parents,” he tells People. “We’re in love and counting down the days until we meet our beautiful baby. I can hardly believe how lucky I am.”
Having a baby is certainly a bright spot for the CEO of Insomniac Events, who is currently out on $1.2 million bail after a grand jury indictment handed down 29 counts against him and three of his business partners after it was discovered they had bribed an official at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum with $2 million to allow them to throw the Electric Daisy Carnival and other dance parties at the venue, as well as at its sister location, the L.A. Sports Arena. The charges — which Rotella denies — came about after an investigation into the 2010 death of a 15-year-old girl at the EDC party after overdosing on ecstasy.
Breathe deep the cynical gloom,
Watch idealism fade from view.
Beta male dupes look back and lament,
Another day’s useless romantic gesture spent.
Impassioned criminal wrestles her cunt,
Law-abiding man cries for love and has none.
New mother picks up her bastard spawn son,
Beta is on the hook and wishes to get some.
Cold hearted gene that rules the night,
Removes the divine from our sight.
Black is great and white is RACISSSSSSSSS.
But we decide which is truth.
And which is a useful lie?
Krauser passed along a video of his buddy doing a street pickup which culminated in a kiss close, and asked if I’d like to review it. Certainly.
I’ll do a view-by analysis, and highlight what I think are parts which demonstrate important game tactics and/or principles. As regular readers may know, Krauser is a proponent and practitioner of direct game, and particularly direct day game, so this video may surprise some of you who aren’t used to seeing bold approaches in action.
Krauser step-by-step analyzed this video as well on his own blog, but I decided to do my analysis before reading his breakdown. I was curious if our judgments would synchronize.
PS Yad’s documented street kiss close, which garnered some amount of fame, was reviewed here. Anyhow, onto the video:
0:00 – He approaches from the side, slightly in front of her, and has to backstep a bit. I think this is the best approach angle, because it looks like he just noticed her, and acted on impulse, as opposed to looking like he was stalking her.
0:10 – First deliberate kino. He lightly touches her on the forearm. Kino should occur early in the interaction, and be subtle. The kino also serves to slow her to a stop and drag her into his space.
0:15 – Audio is bad in this part of the video, but I think he asks her what nationality she is, or where she’s from. Direct game often uses brief, “stage setting” indirect openers. There is a lot of overlap between direct and indirect.
0:16 – He shakes her hand and positions himself so that she has to face him and stop walking. Smooth move. He does not let his hand linger long in hers. That’s an example of “pulling away” before her guard is up.
0:30 – I can’t translate, but it looks like he’s asking her a qualification question, and rewarding her with a short shoulder hug which he quickly disengages.
0:38 – “Can I be your friend?” This is the “official” direct opener, but recall that the actual initial opener was more indirect. Also, note his facial expression. There is no neediness being telegraphed.
1:03 – This sequence is extremely direct. “Do you have a BF?” “I would like to get to know you.” etc. But wait. At (1:11), he executes a combo pullback/neg when he tells her he just had a drink of wine and couldn’t remember her name. This is an “indirect-direct” game technique, designed to project both intent and value.
1:18 – He gets her name before he offers his. This isn’t a huge deal, but in general it’s a good idea to “reward” women with your name after they have given theirs. Just throwing your name out there first tends to smack of betatude and desperation.
1:28 – “I guess it would be a bit weird…” Preemptively verbalizing social tension or interest can alleviate it, and helps a girl get comfortable with you. Fleshing out her own thoughts is a way to connect with her.
1:36 – “I don’t know, what can we do?” Assume the sale.
1:46 – First real compliment, but notice he says it after she has agreed to see him again. Reward. Also, describing her eyes as “genuine” is more interesting than saying they’re pretty, or something similar like that. It’s less about physical features, and more about tapping into the contours of her soul.
1:52 – She is a bit nervous and throws out a minor objection (some may call it a shit test, but it’s not. it’s more like a female reflex to discharge the building sexual tension): “You’re so fuuuunny.” Notice he doesn’t apologize for his impertinence or back track in any way. He simply announces to her: “I just say what I feel.”
2:15 – I would like to point out his excellent alpha body langauge. He stands tall, rarely leans into her, and smiles cockily, all while maintaining easy eye contact.
2:38 – “I’m very forward, aren’t I?” Again he verbalizes the sexual tension, which helps condition her to his forwardness.
2:44 – He lays his hands on her shoulders, and strokes her hair a couple of times. Major kino escalation. Do you see her shrieking for the cops like an enraged feminist who thinks she just got raped? Nope. Looks to me like she’s smiling and very happy.
3:06 onward – There’s nothing wrong with capitalizing on your inherent strengths. Notice the face to boob contact. The touching has increased exponentially.
3:15 – “Well, I like you.” Goes for kiss. Rejected! But look closely… she closes her eyes and puckers her lips in anticipation just before her anti-slut defense kicks in. This girl is interested but ancient evolved mental algorithms are screaming through her neurons and pulling her back to the “chased” role.
3:20 – “You give me a kiss then.” Does he get flustered? No. His expression hardly changes from moments before the rejection to moments after. By pointing at his cheek, he deftly pushes her back into the “chaser” role, and the dynamic again reverts in his favor.
3:30 onwards – “Is it too soon to kiss each other?” “I’m very persistent aren’t I?” His strategy rests largely on airing the awkwardness that is naturally occurring in any direct street pickup.
3:42 – I like how he transitioned from “Let me take your number”. It was used as a springboard to molest her mouth. But he’s getting lots of IOIs… extended hand holding, hair grooming, dilated pupils (I can’t see that, but I bet they are.)
4:11 – Nice cherry-shaped ass. American women, take note.
4:28 – “I’m really bad with names, you know?” Her hamster hears: “This guy does this s a lot. He’s preselected. Engage Bartholin’s glands!”
4:40 – “Remember we kissed and had a nice moment together.” Anti-flaking tactic.
***
A couple of final thoughts. He’s fairly good-looking and she’s foreign. This will alter the pickup dynamics a little, but not as much as you would think. Street kiss closes are just as hard for good-looking guys with no game as they are for ugly guys with no game. Unless you are famous, most hot babes aren’t going to give up their lips to a stranger they just met, if he has no game. Yad, for instance, scores kiss closes on the street, and he’s no looker by any stretch. Nevertheless, this type of strong, bold, direct game will come naturally easier to men who aren’t so homely that women immediately throw up bitch shields or turtle and walk faster upon approach. Direct game of this nature is probably more suitable for either 1. good-looking guys or 2. guys who have rock solid inner game and belief in their worth to good-looking women. Men less gifted in the physical department and with inner game issues would likely see more success with indirect game, in which they can use time and gab to talk away their poor looks.
Also, I get a lot of emails from older men asking if this sort of direct street game will work for them. I don’t know Krauser’s age, but my guess is that it will be tougher if the age difference is significant (10+ years), and the man acts and dresses like his age. Steve, the guy in this video, looks to be in his late 20s or 30s, older than the girl, but not so much older that he triggers an instant blowout. If Krauser is reading this, I’d be curious if he knows any older PUAs who are successful with this type of game.
I just read Krauser’s commentary, and for the most part we don’t contradict each other on any major points. He makes a good observation about indirect body language working in concert with direct verbal intention, and vice versa. For instance, Steve’s strong eye contact directly communicates intent while his verbal statement is indirect. He also says that most of the attraction is built nonverbally, within the first 10 or 20 seconds of the interaction, by Steve’s masculine body language and forthrightness, and that most of the communication is taking place in her hindbrain. That first impression is absolutely critical, and it’s why you must master the right alpha male body language before tackling the verbal part of game.
Krauser notes as well that Steve never verbally DHV’ed (i.e., intimated his high value). He relied on his value expressing itself through his directness.
File under: Meta game. A possible growing trend of women calling out men for using game, or for thinking about using game, may be infiltrating mating nooks and crannies. Days of Broken Arrows sounds the alarm:
I was window shopping and came across an OKCupid profile where a woman said, at the end, something like “And don’t try that Neil Strauss shit on me. It won’t work.”
She’s in the 8-9 category, so I thought this might merit an email to you. What do you do when a woman is onto game. I’ll send you info if you’re interested.
The war between the sexes never ends, it just evolves new weaponry. If more men employ the advantages of game, more women will find new shit tests to filter out the players from the poseurs. There will never be a time in human history when girls will offer the average man access to their pussies without at least putting up a figurative fight.
A simple, and effective, response to a girl with defense shields at maximum power against players using game is this: agree and amplify. For example:
Woman who was burned by players in the past: “And don’t try that Neil Strauss shit on me. It won’t work.”
Despicable You: “Too late. It’s working right now. Aaaaaand….. you’re hypnotized.”
Or:
“So negs are out, then? Good. I like to cut to the chase. How about we just drunkenly bump and grind.”
Or:
“Hold on, I think this is the part where I’m supposed to neg you.”
Or:
“Phew, that’s a relief. I was hoping you were the kind of girl who’d rather take long walks on the beach and let guys buy her flowers and shit.”
Or:
“Listen, this stuff came with a money-back guarantee. Don’t make me waste it on a nice girl.”
Or, more edgily for the truly stuck-up, asshole-loving cunts:
“It worked on your mom. I figure the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Basically, you’re reframing what could be a negative (“You’re a creep using mind tricks. Now apologize for it.”) to a positive (“Ha, ha, this guy is in on it. He gets it. Very smooth. And why am I so horny all of a sudden?”).
There are other ways to handle getting called out for using game (or getting shit tested for thinking about using game), but agree and amplify is probably the easiest countermeasure to recall instantly under social pressure, and to formulate cleverly with minimal mental effort. Other commenters have offered similar advice. YaReally suggests:
lol E-Mail her “hey, I can only stay for a minute and then I have to get back to my friends, but I need a female opinion: who do you think lies more, men or women?
Did it work? Are you dying to jump my bones? Wait, let me try page 38, there’s a really good one about how I’m supposed to make fun of your hair…”
Send it and let us know if she responds. I figure if she reads it she’ll have to respond because it’s purposely poking her buttons. I would just make fun of the whole thing if she responds and lead it into stuff like “well shit, I guess I’ll just have to try having a normal conversation with you and do that whole “get to know you and actually take an interest in you” thing…god, dating is so much work these days! I’m pretty sure the pickup book would tell me to just invite you to my sex dungeon, but how about we try a cup of coffee sometime instead lol”
And then do her in the bum.
If she’s a feminist, she deserves nothing less than unlubed bum stuffing.
There is a good chance, unfortunately, that a girl who is obnoxiously anti-game is a raging ideological feminist. If you really want to bone her because she happens to be the rare attractive feminist, don’t be dissuaded by her faux outrage. Most feminists secretly wish for a strong man to confidently charm and dominate them into mewing submission. Since feminists are surrounded on an hourly basis by manboobed, asskissing sycophants who dream their crotch thimbles will someday receive a pity tug from one of them, your unapologetic, reckless alphaness will be a breath of fresh air reinvigorating their forlorn furrows.
Sometimes it’s better to show a picture of a man executing a perfect alpha male pose, than to describe the mechanical particulars in arid detail.
If you can adopt this posture in your dealings with women, you will alter their perception of you in the direction of presuming your sexy alphaness.
Already I can hear the lamentations of the baters (beta haters). “But Prince Harry is a PRINCE! Of course girls will fall for royalty. Duh!”
You obstinate feebs. You miss the point. Harry’s elegant alpha pose — so sure of himself, so intriguingly aloof to the babe on his arm — is the physical manifestation of his self-conception. Naturally, his self-confidence is, in part, a function of his birth status. But it is not the paper upon which proclaims his birthright that women love. It is the man. And the man is the sum of his movements, his gaze, his posture, his words, his character, his ATTITUDE.
Harry’s station infuses his attitude and body language, but by adopting for yourself his mannerisms you can elicit similar rapid heartbeats in women. You won’t elicit the kind of mass pussy wettage that a prince will, but you will see, in your local milieu — your own private prydaho — a noticeable change in the women around you. Their eyes will blaze a little brighter than usual. Their legs will cross and uncross a little more frequently. Their love will burn a little hotter.
Alpha male body language won’t turn you into a prince, but it will make you sexier at the margins. And in the shark-infested waters of the zero sum sexual market, a marginal advantage can mean the difference between sullen loneliness and exuberant romance.
It’s funny when sex differences in perception are graphically illustrated by esteemed government agencies.
Via CDC. Girls think the guys they fuck are steady boyfriends. Some of those “steady boyfriends” think the girls they fuck are casual hook-ups. Many of these misty-eyed girls are in for a rude surprise.
Also, lol at the last category. Granted, it’s a small number, but how do 1% of cohabiting, engaged, or married men not know they’re cohabiting, engaged, or married? Or maybe the girls are anticipating rings on their fingers, and just calling it a win for themselves before the polls are closed.
Do the pinheads at the CDC realize how their colorful graphs give gender neutral feminists heart attacks? Their tears of anguish salt my feasts of cruelty.
It’s SO boring to be a hot girl. People are designed to evolve by struggling against the greater forces of survival. When everything is just handed to you with no effort, you lose your sense of purpose. You become dissolute and reckless. You start abusing your sexual power in petty ways, just to see how far you can push it. When you find someone who finally pushes back, it elicits an intense (albeit temporary) thrill.
Childbirth makes it all settle, and gives the hot girl a greater sense of purpose. That’s why most hot girls, if they stay single and don’t have kids as they get older, slowly go insane.
What Spiralina has described is hot girl crazy. Hot girls, by dint of their immense, immediate, and unearned power over men (and over women, to a lesser extent) start out life being less grounded than plainer girls (pretty girls as young as four know they are more attractive than other girls), become sadistically crazy in their primes (15-25 years old), and then pitifully deranged by their late 20s and 30s if they have not leveraged their hotness for an alpha male and little alphalets by then.
Hot girls live in the closest approximation to a fantasy world that exists in the state of nature for human beings, and in no time in history is that fantasy more fully fleshed out and intertwined with the threads of ugly reality than right now for the modern Western looker. This is why hot girls are some of the most illogical, deluded, and naively optimistic people alive: You don’t need a firm grasp of reality when a line of suitors and suckups stretches around the corner to wait on you hand and foot.
The “struggle against greater forces of survival” has been the norm for most people, most of the time, and evolution, as Spiralina has noted, has equipped us, more or less generously, with the flexibility and fortitude to bear this struggle without turning batshit crazy. There is actually a scientific term for this psychological — and, reduced to its essence, biological — phenomenon: hormesis. Or: that which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.
The hot girl in her prime, though, has rarely had to struggle. Or, if she thinks she has struggled, she has no idea what real struggle is like, particularly for ugly girls who foetally slouch through waves of human eyeballs invisible and ignored. The hot girl’s problems are other girls’ wish lists.
Freedom from struggle, as with all quasi-realized utopian ideals, lets slip unintended consequences, many of them worse than the struggle the utopian was trying to eradicate. Hot girls begin to despise their catered lives, and attempt to fill them with drama. This is why the expert seducer will quickly ascertain that it is the hottest girls who insufferably crave the most manufactured drama. He learns from this, and knows to give it to them on an intermittent schedule, like a scientist in a lab might drop a heroin-laced pellet to a rat to condition its responses.
And what kind of drama do hot girls crave the most? Dread. The hot girl wants what she doesn’t have: struggle. She wants to feel again, and the asshole lover who cavalierly tosses aside her feelings, who exhibits scarce consideration for her, fires her up like no lapdog or lackey ever could. Spiralina says this thrill is temporary, but here I disagree with her. I have been the beneficiary of, at the risk of crass first-person immodesty, the love of very attractive girls, and as long as the drama flows, the thrill remains the same. This thrill can go on for years, sometimes lingering after the breakup in her memories in the form of unexpected late night calls months past sell-date.
For as long as supplicating beta males exist, the selfish bastard boyfriend is king.
As stated, one cure for hot girl crazy is kids. Not just any kids. She has to push them out of her own wet incubator. Nothing grounds a mentally imbalanced woman quicker than childbirth, and the heavy responsibility that follows. Unfortunately, Western Civ is in a tailspin of single moms, dysgenia, endemic zero marginality, pathological Stockholm Syndrome, and soft concubinage. The womb issue within the confines of sanctioned pairings that would have sedated the self-destructiveness of attractive women in the past is now put off until a woman’s 30s, giving over her entire teens and 20s to marinate in the crazy. Poor beta males are then stuck holding her bag of bonkers when she’s nigh wall splat and resentfully settling for Mr. Subpar.
Another cure is the alpha male. Hot girls can be tamed into reasonableness with an unfaltering belief in one’s own entitlement (the hot girl LOVES LOVES LOVES the self-entitled man, perhaps because she enjoys the mirroring of her soul), a refusal to suffer crazy gladly, and subtle reminders to her of the inevitable price paid by the passage of time. The man of unshakeable self-confidence — better yet, overconfidence — is so rare among the men who have wormed their way into the hot girl’s world, that she is enamored of him instantly, and in moments of lucidity will tally the value of her catch and shudder what her impetuousness might risk throwing away.
It behooves the attentive alpha male to know when his hot girl lover is beginning to show symptoms of renewed crazy. Awareness is half the battle, and a girl crazy left unattended can rapidly escalate to incorrigibleness and even cheating. Of what signs should you, the aspiring womanizer, be cognizant?
Crib sheet of girl crazy
– She has begun accusing you of things you clearly have not done.
– She play acts at keeping secrets, real or imagined, to incite your jealousy. (“Oh, just some guy I know… don’t be so nosy!”)
– She has begun to take her birthday and assorted holidays and ceremonies way too seriously.
– She’s contemplating more than one cat.
– She has taken to calling you from public places, especially those of ill repute.
– The ratio of call-to-called has flipped, and she now calls you less frequently than you call her.
– She gets snappy with you for no particular reason.
– She puts words in your mouth for the sole purpose of inventing fights.
– She begins to favor fucking over lovemaking. (The usual BF/GF ratio is 2-to-1, lovemaking over fucking.)
– She’s gossiping more about her friends’ love lives, and with an air of envy.
– She’s started having those moments when she doesn’t want you to touch her.
– She cries inappropriately when she sees cute things, or during maudlin, anti-climactic rom-com scenes.
– Many of her conversations start with the words “Did you hear…?” or “I just want to get away for a while…”.
– Her spending sprees have become more frequent, and less cost-conscious.
– She’s begun commenting on feminist blogs.
– She’s staying late at work. (99% of hot girls do nothing vitally productive for the maintenance of the economy, so late hours in the office are a major red flag that she is boffing the boss.)
– She’s started hitting you, and not playfully.
– She’s started making demands of you in the bedroom. (“You can put it here, but not here.”)
– She’s become obsessive about fishing for flattery. (Appease her, and you will pay a dear price.)
– She’s gotten annoying about insisting you don’t photograph her from bad angles.
– She begins mouthing equalist and feminist shibboleths with sincere urgency.
– She has begun striking provocative poses at inappropriate venues and events.
– She’s become compulsive about rearranging your home’s furniture and repainting the rooms.
– She has started comparing you and her to other couples. (“Why don’t we hold hands as often as John and Geri do?”)
– She begins believing your hobbies are personal slights directed against her.
– She overanalyzes the most trivial and innocuous inconsistencies.
– She has a sudden onset of strange sexual appetites. (“I got us a purple saguaro. Looks like fun!”)
– She wants to moonlight as an art class model.
– She erects monuments to your presumed unfaithfulness, and wallows immoderately in the oddly exciting notion (to her) that you may be cheating on her.
– She begins challenging you. Over EVERYTHING.
– She thinks the world is against her, and you’re not helping.
– She pushes and pushes and pushes. Rock solid stoicism doesn’t seem to be working on her like it used to.
– She confesses to fantasies of you fighting another man for her hand. Then she actually tries this maneuver by instigating trouble in a bar.
– Her wardrobe has recently acquired a lot of red hues.
– She’s started asking you for money, instead of tokens of romance.
– Her “I love you”s have become chants of self-reassurance, often deployed immediately after she has flirted with another man.
– She needs to “do things” with you, because chilling out just doesn’t cut it for her anymore.
– She can’t believe you don’t agree with her on everything.
– Your playful teasing has become inadequate. She needs more edge, and more of it.
– The sine wave of her hot-cold routine has begun oscillating at a higher amplitude.
– She’s begun fighting you for control of trivial decisions.
– She acts “fake offended” when she catches you eyeing another girl.
– And the craziest sign of all? She tells you to “stop smothering me!” and you’re half a state away, balls deep in another woman.
As soon as you observe any or all of these girl crazy signs, run, do not walk, to your nearest alpha male reinvigoration chamber and fuel up, so that you can demonstrate once again in no uncertain terms that your company is not to be trifled with by the likes of her. A hot girl falling victim to her crazy from a growing perception of ease and entitlement needs another dose of struggleporn. Give it to her, good, long and ♥♥♥♥♥.
PS For those wondering, there is an alpha male version of dissolute entitlement. Men who have had the road cleared for them from birth, and their way with women unobstructed, tend to drama of the sort that appeals to men — multiple lovers, risky infidelity, public sex, emotional distance (the opposite ploy engaged in by women on the cusp of crazy), sadism and cruelty. Men of this sort are never fully tamed, except by a severe reversal of status. The women who are best at corralling the self-satisfied man are usually very feminine, sweet and nurturing, and operate by evoking the alpha man’s natural predilection to protect frail lovers who have assuaged him of their natural preference for faithfulness. Careerist empty vessels and ambitious, tankgrrl feminist sluts should imbibe the lesson that they are living and behaving exactly the wrong way to inspire the love of men who have their choice in lovers.
Feminists are gonna blow an ovary reading this study. Perfect.
Although most researchers acknowledge the speculative nature of evolutionary arguments in this area, social aggression among reproductively viable females is usually interpreted as a form of mate competition. Hess and Hagen, for example, suggest that the sex differences uncovered in their study would likely have been even more pronounced in a younger group of participants. Evolutionarily, historically, and cross-culturally, they point out, girls in the fifteen- to nineteen-year-old range would be most actively competing for mates. Thus, anything that would sabotage another female’s image as a desirable reproductive partner, such as commenting on her promiscuity, physical appearance, or some other aberrant or quirky traits, tends to be the stuff of virile gossip.
So now science has come along to (re)prove what we all knew anecdotally: women, particularly younger women who are most desirable to men, gossip viciously as a means of tearing down the female competition for high quality men. So gossip is analogous to a woman stitching a verbal scarlet S (or F or H) onto the blouses of other women who would compete for the men she likes.
Stay classy, ladies.
You’ll notice as well that the sort of stuff women primarily gossip about — sluttiness, infidelity and fatness — to cut down their female competition, are exactly the character flaws and vices that feminists claim should be free from judginess, and accepted by everyone, especially men. Why do feminists focus on these things? Because they know they matter. Men really are less likely to commit to sluts, whores and fat chicks. And for good evolutionary reasons. (Not to mention good aesthetic and tactile reasons.)
An interesting question is why, if gossip is, presumably, evolutionarily adaptive as a means of reducing the mate value of sexual competitors, men don’t do the same thing? Where are all the male yentas tearing down the competition?
First, men have their own version of gossip; it’s called winning. Men kneecap male competitors by fighting and defeating them, physically, mentally or socially. Second, women are more intuitive than men are about reading subtext in gossip. A man who gossips about another man’s sexual prowess, or social savviness, or whatever, in the hopes of reducing his mate value is likely to be perceived by women as a second tier beta clumsily trying to undermine better men than himself. And gossip just doesn’t sit right on men; women are liable to think you’re gay if you prattle on about other men a lot.
Personally, I think a lot of female gossip is much less effective than believed by women. Men mostly judge women by how they look, so a guy is not going to stop boning out for a hot chick just because some mother hen gossiped about her disloyalty. But gossip is universal and still with us, so it must offer some mating advantage to women. My guess is that gossip which distills to slut smears (“she’s got crabs!”) is probably the most effective at handicapping a woman’s ability to snag a high value man into a long-term relationship. This is why women who aren’t broken losers are so mortified at the thought of being labeled a slut.
Like feminists who claim otherwise, they know it matters.
