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When To Move In For The Kiss On A First Date

Sep 27th, 2010 by

Shaft writes:

I’d like your thoughts on a recent date I had.

We were introduced through family. [Ed: Never a good idea if you play the short game.] We went on one date and it went well. Started 10 PM and didn’t end until 530AM.

Conversation was free and easy and I escalated slowly throughout the evening, although I didn’t push hard enough. When I needed to demonstrate value I did.  When I told her to follow she obeyed. I dropped some good negs.  I had problems with my ATM card but she had no problem paying until I straightened them out (we visited 4-5 venues) without a fuss. We said our goodbyes.

The second date is the one I’d like you to comment on.  It was the next day and I called her and invited her out for drinks.  She told me she’d call me after dinner and kept her word.  She sounded surprised to hear from me so soon but didn’t hem or haw and we met within a half hour.  This time we found a pool hall and I displayed my superiority while gently negging her.

HER: Am I really the worst pool player you’ve ever seen?

ME: It’s kind of tough to call.  I knew this blind guy who liked to play…

She liked that one.

We moved to a lounge which had couches and single chairs. I guided her to a loveseat and she didn’t protest.

I spread out alpha style and put my arm up on the back, almost around her.  We chatted for a while, light touching, teasing.  She went to the bathroom and this is when the shit test started. I hadn’t had a real one so far that night or on the first date.

I noticed that after she returned from the bathroom another button on her shirt was undone and her hair was a little more tousled than before.  She began by complementing my overall physique, but she then started to ask why I wore my clothes a little more loosely than usual. I told her it was for comfort. She told me she couldn’t tell whether or not I was in shape.  As I was wearing a polo and an undershirt she said she could better judge if I removed the polo.

Let me say that a year ago I might have complied to a request like this without hesitating, but after some game research and restoring my manly dignity, I do not perform for women, nor do I give something for nothing. Nor would I be embarassed about what she would see. I don’t have a six pack but I’m tall, lean, with wide shoulders and v-shaped back.

I decided to see if she would put her money where her mouth was and told her if she wanted it she would have to kiss me. She said no. Right then I knew it was about control. If she had wanted an excuse to escalate she had it. I reframed by teasing her she didn’t impress me with her sales skills (she’s in sales). That bought me time to pay
and walk her out of the bar and home. It was about a forty minute walk. We had a good convo pretending to bargain over the price to see me without the outershirt.

Halfway to her place I asked her if she could do me a favor. I took off my jacket and tossed it to her. “Can you hold this for me? I’m warm.” The smile on her face was priceless. She thought she was about to get what she wanted. A few minutes later when handing me back the jacket, she made an attempt to lift up my shirt. I gently stopped her hands and feigned disappointment that she would resort to trickery.  The rest of the walk home I kept about half a step ahead.

As we reached her door I slowed but didn’t stop and said my goodbyes as I turned to continue home.  She looked stunned that I didn’t hug her or peck her on the cheek. It was cordial but minimal with no contact.

As I walked away I was proud of myself for not selling out to desperation. My gut told me following an order for her would have spelled doom, but I know I missed an opportunity somewhere. Would she say yes to another date?

Appreciated,
Shaft

Even though this question from the reader is about his second date, the title of the post is about moving in for the kiss on the first date, since it is the first date when you should get physical with a girl. The majority of kiss-less first dates lead nowhere. It is also a bad idea to schedule a second date the very next day following the first date. This reader was one of the fortunate few to dodge some self-inflicted seduction-killing obstacles. The rest of his game — such as the handling of her shit tests — was good, and probably accounted for her continued interest.

Her are some basic rules about kissing on the first date:

  1. Do not kiss her when you meet her at the start of the first date. You are not as debonair or as European as you think you are, and neither is she. A kiss upon meeting is going to feel awkward for her and for you. This goes even in those first date cases where you previously had a sloppy make-out with her in the bar on the night when you scored her digits. Actually, it goes doubly for those instances. (Previous sloppy bar make-outs reveal your hand, so your job should be to temporarily disqualify yourself so she doesn’t think you are too easy.)
  2. Do not kiss her at the end of the first date unless there was significant physical contact during the date. Multiply the awkwardness of the initial meeting kiss by ten and you will know the feeling of planting a night-ending wet one on a girl at the end of a date that was woefully free of any physical connection.
  3. Do not attempt to force a nonexistent rapport by kissing the girl. This rule applies for any date, but its disregard is most evident on the first date. Many men will try to light a fuse in their dates by moving in for the kiss sans any physical groundwork, incorrectly thinking that their shared sterling, intellectual conversation was proof enough that she was ready for kissing. They are then flummoxed when she delivers the cheek turn, the “whoa, not so fast” rejoinder, or, worse, the “what do you think you’re doing?” lawyerspeak shut-down. Instead of the smooth move these men imagined in their heads it would be, they end up lurching clumsily from chit chat at a four foot distance to a lips-probing kiss flying in at the speed of light. Kissing is an emergent property of successfully executed game; it is not a standalone game maneuver that you can run in any context. If you haven’t escalated physical touching with a girl during a date, don’t think that a kiss after three hours of arms-crossed shop talk will advance the seduction.
  4. Do not go for the first date kiss in a crowded room. Venue bounce, drink, venue bounce again, settle into a sofa at a lounge, make out. Most girls lie to themselves that they are “not that kind of girl”; why give a girl an excuse to test her self-delusions by moving in for the kiss where a huge crowd can analyze the depravity of her sluttiness?
  5. The ideal first date kiss should happen sometime in the middle of the date. Kino escalation, growing intimacy, then kissing, followed by a cooling off push-away, more light banter, reinitiated kino, etc… if you can physically peak in the middle to last third of the date, you will leave her wanting more while simultaneously avoiding the dreaded last minute kiss of desperation that poisons so many dates. Mid-date physical peaking also prevents ASD (anti-slut defense).

So to sum up, don’t kiss at the very beginning or the desperate end of a first date, don’t force a kiss if she isn’t giving indicators of interest, escalate physical contact until you ideally begin kissing her in the middle to last third of a date, and wait to kiss her when you’re settled into an intimate location (this includes a back alley if the weather is warm).

Caveat: If you are going for a bust-or-bail first date same night lay, kiss her whenever the fuck you feel like it. An end-of-official-date kiss is simply a prelude to a beginning-of-unofficial-date night of fornication.

The ideal kiss window should open effortlessly if your game is tight. Girls who are being seduced properly *want* to be kissed. Always check for dilating pupils, hair twisting, leg opening, lip licking, heel dangling, head cocking, bar stool swiveling, drink swilling, incidental thigh touching, and hand on chin head propping.

To the reader: it’s hard to know if she’ll agree to a third date based on how you described the second date ending. It looks like you fell into the trap of overgaming to compensate for some fuck-ups you may have done on the first date, and to reestablish hand after she denied you the kiss when you playfully challenged her to one. In your zeal to demonstrate non-neediness, you forgot that you have to make a physical move on a girl to get the ball rolling toward sex. There is a fine line between slyly camouflaging your intentions and showing no intention at all. Two dates have now gone by without any kissing or intimate touching, from what you have written. This is a recipe for a seduction about to fizzle.

What you did by nonchalantly walking off was probably better than ending the date on an awkward goodnight cheek kiss where she held all the cards, but you shouldn’t have put yourself in that situation to begin with. Had you prepped the courtship by kissing her earlier in the evening (let’s say during drinks at the lounge), the date-ending goodbye would not have been a test of wills pitting your aloofness against her coyness. Sure, by unexpectedly denying her the long-awaited goodbye kiss of prostration you may have won the battle, but you lost the war well before your tepid final flanking maneuver.

In the future, push for kissing by the middle of the first date, but don’t overdo it. Making out with a girl for too long and too hard on the first date — again, unless you are gunning for a SNL — will gradually lower your value and, hence, raise her buyer’s remorse, leading to flaking on subsequent dates. The perfect seduction moves two steps forward, one step back. No kissing = celibate LJBF. Too much kissing = flaking. Ideal kissing = mid-date, in measured doses. You want to break the lip barrier without making a spectacle of your horniness.

Always remember that the alpha male demonstrates by his actions complete mastery over his sexual desire, and knows when and how to parcel it. A man with simmering, feral arousal that he can control is intoxicating to women. This is why make-outs followed abruptly by takeaways or teasing push-offs is so attractive to women — they love that they can’t figure out how much you really want to fuck them.

When you kiss on the first date, stop before she does, lean back to talk some more, and chastise her lightly for moving too fast. Repeat a couple times during the night, then hold her hand as you walk her home. Kiss her *before* you get to her door, then drop her off about twenty feet from her place (to reduce the impression of formality that surrounds a door-step departure), giving her a hug if you wish. Then tell her you had a great time AND LEAVE. Do not tell her you’ll call her, or try to set up a second date. Just leave, and she’ll thank you later, in the best way women know, for blessing her happily restless sleep that night with the inscrutability of your actions.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Dating, Game, Rules of Manhood | Comments Off

Another Cougar Bites The Dust

Sep 27th, 2010 by

Nearly two years ago, the original Chateau host predicted that Ashton Kutcher was cheating on his cougar love, Demi:

instead of sleeping their way to the top, men commit their way to the top.

anyhow, give it time. most of these older female celebrity-younger male B lister couples are inherently unstable. i bet within five years ashton has fully severed himself from demi and hooks up with a young hottie. as opposed to hooking up with young mistresses on the sly as he is doing now.
heh heh.

It was also predicted by this very blog’s überhost that once Ashton’s cheating was discovered, Demi would put up with it in humiliating fashion because her rapidly declining sexual market value severely limited her options to get an equally high status man.

Right on cue, a chorus of cougars growled that yer humble host was wrong; that Ashton LURVED LURVED LURVED Demi and would never betray her. And just look how hot Demi is! Ashton could hardly do better. The virtual Ashton harem of aging broads reveled in bringing him up on this blog as some sort of retarded feminist proof that the older woman-younger man couple was the exception that broke the rule.

Well, the celebrity rags are reporting that Ashton Kutcher has been stepping out on Demi with a very cute and very young blonde mistress. (She’s only twenty-ooooooone….) And muckrakers are reporting that Ashton and Demi are putting up a “united front”.

HA HAAAAWW!

You have meddled with the primal forces of nature, Miss Moore, and YOU… WILL… ATONE.

You can practically hear the nation’s leading cougar pundits expire in the cold, snowy mountain crags. Maureen Dowd was found with her yellowed claws embedded in a fallen tree that resembled a Bill Clinton dildo.

If the prediction was off, it was only in overestimating the number of years it would take for Ashton to stray. Ashton couldn’t hang on for more than a couple years before his cock homed in on young, fresh, tight inelastic pussy like a divining rod.

Here is a new prediction: Demi Moore’s next lover will be lower status than Ashton Kutcher. And she will begin tweeting nude photos of herself in a desperate bid for sexual relevancy. Bruce Willis will continue banging hot young babes.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Current Events, Hitting The Wall, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

HBD And PUA

Sep 24th, 2010 by

AHE comments:

it is ironic the HBD movement is so closely associated with the Game o sphere.

on the one hand u have people arguing genes dont lie. on the other, people argue it isnt too hard to lie about your genes.

HBD (for those readers who aren’t yet familiar with the term) stands for “human biodiversity” and is a school of thought that acknowledges that humans differ genetically in character traits on the population group level as well as the individual level. It shares an underlying doctrine with PUA (pickup artistry) — namely, that evolutionary science can explain a lot about modern human behavior, whether ethnic, racial, or sexual. Thus, HBD and PUA are cross-linked on a foundational level. Perhaps the most notable difference is that practitioners in PUA, through the use of game, are candid about seeking to exploit the knowledge of generalizable human behavioral differences for personal fun and profit. HBD believers (which, in actuality, includes most of humanity, regardless of their claims to believing it or not) hide their true intentions behind an obfuscatory cloud of squid ink and evasion even as they rush to move to undiverse neighborhoods when their kids are old enough to go to school.

The difference between a PUA and the typical HBD follower: the PUA has the integrity to stand by his actions and not insult your intelligence.

But the web has released an unabashed HBD Kraken from its underwater lair, and this beast is not afraid to confront harsh realities without the whitewash of politesse and codewords. Unfortunately, in its zeal to smash pretty lies by the boatload, the movement tends to succumb to infatuation with its opposition theories. The faint whiff of immutable determinism swirls snugly like a straitjacket on the follower fringe. An impetus to categorize human interactions based on easily perceived objective traits hints at the nerd-lke systematizing mind trying to grasp the significance of the new and dangerous knowledge.

AHE’s comment is a perfect example of this, and similar to a lot of other anti-game comments floating around the HBD-sphere. His (her?) assertion that HBD is all about “genes don’t lie” betrays a newbie’s understanding of the science, or a liar’s facility with disingenuousness. No evolutionary scientist worth his salt would argue that genes are wholly deterministic, or that the environment plays no role in shaping who we are. What the HBD movement *does* argue is that, since the second half of the 20th century, the genetic explanation for human differences has gotten short shrift, while the environmental explanation — or “blank slate” paradigm — has been untouchable. HBD thus brings balance to the force by revealing the ugly truth that genes account for a lot more of who we are than is currently acknowledged by our ruling class cognoscenti. That this makes a lot of lying shitsacks uncomfortable is a doubleplusgood perk.

So AHE’s specious association between HBD and PUA beliefs is false. Game is not about lying about your genes, just as HBD is not about genes determining the totality of who you are.

AHE, and some others with HBD-themed blogs, claim that belief in game is like a belief in the blank slate — you can’t make an alpha out of an inborn beta. Genes über alles. What an out of tune pitch to make by some of our web’s best and brightest! Can no one improve his lot? Is a 90 IQ person incapable of learning anything? Should that dummy just hang it up as soon as he’s born and suckle through a feeding and drugging tube provided by his 120+ IQ elite caretakers?

Or, to put it in simpler terms, imagine two 90 IQ kids. One is dumped in an empty trailer park to fend for himself, separate from civilization, and the other is raised the normal way, up through high school where he earns a solid C average. Can anyone realistically say the former is going to possess the same knowledge base and the same power of reasoning as the latter? Yes, the average 90 IQ kid is not likely to achieve what the average 110 IQ kid will, but he can, through effort, maximize what he’s got.

In the same way, a natural born beta can work to maximize his attractiveness to women by learning and applying game. And we have the proof that it works, in the testimony of literally tens of thousands of men who have seen their success with women skyrocket after becoming acquainted with the principles and tactics of game. True, the beta with game may never reach the exalted heights of the natural born alpha, but he can improve his lay rate and the quality of women he dates.

Which brings us to a quirky observation of the HBD community: a number of HBD writers and commenters exhibit a curiously child-like lack of understanding of female nature, and what motivates women to make the decisions they do in the dating market. It’s a strange blindspot they have that is probably best explained by their nerdiness and their concomitant need to quantify male attractiveness based on readily observable traits and markers of a traditionalist coloration. Doubters like AHE can only see male worth in easily measurable metrics like looks, money, and material possessions. To them, no man who doesn’t have status along these metrics will see any success with “alpha mimicking” game.

But game alone is enough to attract women, regardless of the objectively measurable quantity of those other male attractiveness traits. As has been argued here before, GAME IS ITS OWN STATUS. Women are turned on by men with tight game as much as, or maybe more than, they are turned on by a man with good looks or a high powered job. Certainly the conventional measures are helpful to a man’s success with women, but they aren’t the whole story. Game itself is a turn-on for women, because game is a true, authentic manifestation of manly power. During the learning stage, some portions of game may be a “mimicking” of alpha traits, but once game is internalized it becomes as much a part of a man’s suite of powerful coolness as any other marker of male attractiveness. After all, a man gunning through law school to get a high paying job that is attractive to women is “mimicking” alpha traits — faking it till he makes it — just as much as the guy attending the university of game. That one route happens to be more efficient than the other for acquiring the love and sexual surrender of many women is no argument against its authenticity.

Furthermore, there is the matter of game being a positive indicator of desirable male traits in and of itself. The men who excel at game are signaling a high ability to learn and apply new concepts, and a fortitude to see a self-improvement project through to success. These characteristics — fortitude, open-mindedness, discipline, ambition — are attractive to women. Now some will say these traits are all genetically influenced, and that may be true, but if so it does not argue against game as an authentic signal of male fuckability.

So HBD nerds need to get over the obvious “money/looks/fame” box within which they argue and constrict themselves, and begin to see that, like human differences in general, there is room to remake ourselves into better versions of who we are. To deny this is to deny there is any reason to put forth effort into anything of note after birth. There is more than one way to pierce a pussy. Women love game-spitting charming assholes as much as they love resource-providing stoic captains of industry. There is no contradiction in this observation.

On a side note, betas having more kids than alphas is not necessarily evidence that they are better with women. Instead, all it could mean is that the betas are finally getting their shot at aging pussy after the alphas have had their fill of that same pussy when it was younger, hotter, tighter and uninterested in baby-making. Number of kids is a poor measure of alphaness in this hedonistic day and age.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Self-aggrandizement, The Pleasure Principle | Comments Off

A Woman Explains Why Chicks Dig Jerks

Sep 23rd, 2010 by

Why hear it from an evil player when you can read a normal, everyday woman tell you how much chicks love assholes? This girl confirms the Chateau maxim that Do Almost Nothing Game is an important component of any man’s arsenal of ardor.

Curiously familiar hypothetical situation: You’re at a bar with your friends when you spot a guy you recently hooked up with. You’re feeling indifferent about him, but you wouldn’t be opposed to giving it another go. You think, “Ehh, no need to say ‘Hi’ right away.” Twenty minutes later, he still hasn’t approached you. You wonder, “Why hasn’t he said anything to me? Does my hair look bad?” But granted you’re not criminally insane, you brush it off and look for someone else to schmooze. Thirty minutes later, still nothing. Well, he did wink at you from across the bar (or was there just something stuck in his eye?), but then he started talking to some girl wearing a tube dress. Your confusion escalates. “Oh god, she’s way hotter than me. I knew I should’ve worn heels.” Suddenly, your neurosis reaches “Girl, Interrupted” levels and you wonder how you got so nuts. To avoid further humiliation, you turn to a friend and ask if she wants to leave and get nachos.

Yes, the Asshole U Luv knows when and how to parcel his attentions. He knows that ignoring you to flirt with another woman in your line of sight makes you horny and desirous of him.

Fact: Girls love guys who are, for lack of a better description, total assholes.

Any man who’s lived a day in his life knows this is true. Deniers are true blue brainwashed believers in gender equalism, whores who have gotten stiffed by assholes one too may times and purify their damaged psyches within an imaginary reality, or… well… pretty much all women for whom any fact about female nature is discomfiting.

We’ve seen it time and time (and time?) again, but nonetheless, it’s an issue that riddles our minds with confusion, stress and a shitton of excitement. So, what’s a girl to do about this bleak reality?

Sit back and enjoy my beef jerky intrusion. After all, you may as well ask what’s a man to do about his lust for hot, young, slender babes with pert tits and firm asses.

The authoress goes on to list reasons why she thinks women swoon for assholes.

Most girls are turned off by a guy who showers her with attention. It bores us, it seems desperate and it can be a predictor for a slew of undesirable behaviors lurking beneath the surface. Instead, we gravitate toward guys who give us just enough attention to keep us on our toes. Here’s what I mean:

Socially-unaware-nice-guy: Hi Rachel! I saw you from across the bar. You look pretty. Can I buy you a drink? You look like a G&T gal. So, what are your career aspirations? I love kids. You look pretty.

Asshole: Hey.

She is one of the few self-aware chicks who gets it. I’m sure it’s soul-ripping for my detractors to see my Do Almost Nothing Game and One Word Game confirmed by female experience.

Think about it. Have you ever seen a guy you’ve recently hooked up with and waited an hour for him to start flirting with you? And worse, did you feel great when he finally approached you and probably said a total of four syllables that somehow made you feel on top of the world?

Forget the wordy, clever openers. Keep it succinct, stupid.

Don’t be embarrassed if that’s a yes. We’re aroused by the unpredictability of waiting for a guy to strike up a conversation with us, and the longer it takes, the more rewarded we feel when it actually happens.

Value of scarcity. Why do women love men who make their availability scarce? I submit this universal female preference has its roots in preselection — women get turned on by these types of men because in the fevered downtime the women muse that his unavailability is caused by other women occupying his time.

You know what? It’s a cop-out to say only weak girls go for assholes. Self-esteem aside, many girls crave the thrill of keeping up with a jerky guy, or better yet, putting him in his place.

This admission was like a stake through the haters’ hearts. The “low self-esteem girls fall for jerks” rationale is the go-to lie of nerdy internet femtards everywhere.

While they might not always be better at flirting per se, assholes have a certain knack for conversation that confident girls can’t wait to provoke.

Yes, it’s called passing shit tests with ease.

When you’re not looking for anything serious, few things are sexier than a well-spoken, quick-talking guy whose comebacks somehow indicate that he’ll be amazing in bed.

She’s admitting that women put up bitch shields to test men for their alpha worthiness, and that men who pass their shit tests are automatically deemed more viscerally attractive. I’m coming to the conclusion that 80% of early game, when attraction is being built, is basically passing a woman’s shit tests.

Entertaining as his drunken tales are, [Tucker Max] has spawned a new breed of wannabe assholes who masquerade as genuinely awesome guys by mimicking traits like confidence, charm and humor in the forms of aggression, sleaze and flirtatious insults. It’s difficult for our drunken brains to distinguish between worthwhile guys and those who embody that second set of qualities — and for most casual flings, we don’t care to evaluate the difference. In fact, getting attention from an identified asshole can seem weirdly special.

A clarification is in order: it’s difficult for drunken *and* sober women alike to resist the charms of the asshole seducer.

And why is it weirdly special to receive an asshole’s attention? Because women imagine, rightly so in most cases, that the asshole is the apple of many other women’s eyes. And so to be the recipient of his bastard charms is to know that his quality seed is hers for the moment.

Example: If a guy won’t give other people the time of day, but he’s taking a moment of his time to be semi-decent toward you, you might think to yourself “Wow, this guy’s being nice to me. He’s usually such a douche! I must be different.” False.

Women also get turned on by the thought that they are defeating other women for the prize studs.

In the end, there’s no clear way to stay away from guys who play these games. It seems the best we can do is hold our heads high, stay on our toes and sleep with one eye open.

For me to spooge in!

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Girls, The Id Monster, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

Alpha Male Of The Month: Chris Christie

Sep 23rd, 2010 by

The big man throws his weight around.

Look at this guy. He’s the anti-affectation politician. Which means he’s 180 degrees from Obama. Where the Prez preens and postures, the Gov rumbles and wrestles.

Yes, superficially this is an egregious example of white knighting, but Christie manages the trick without losing alpha cred. Let’s look at what he has done here. First, he stepped in front of Meg Whitman to handle a situation she seemed to be handling on her own. His action essentially telegraphs “I can shut this guy down better than she can”. Second, notice the finger jabbing into the heckler’s face. Major alpha gesticulation. Finally, after receiving Christie’s verbal castration, the heckler quietly nods his head up and down in agreement with Christie’s rebuke of him. This is a very common beta tell; you will often see betas adopt a posture of submission to a more powerful male rival, and head nodding in agreement is a major show of prostration. In essence, Christie shook some branches, beat his chest and bared teeth, and the lower ranking ape assumed the position of servility.

Chris is a different sort of alpha male than Silvio, but there is no denying both men are alphas in station and in behavior. If Christie has some game and a lack of scruples, I’m sure he could clean up with the ladies despite his girth.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Alpha, Current Events, Videos | Comments Off

How To Attract Girls By Doing Almost Nothing

Sep 22nd, 2010 by

Not absolutely nothing. (That would be silly advice for most men except famous dudes who can seduce simply by showing up.) But almost nothing. In the game of seduction, less is more.

Meeting for the first time

YOU: Hey.

HER: Hi.

YOU: Can I get your opinion on something? Won’t take a sec.

HER: Sure.

YOU: [look at her for a minute, then turn back to your drink]

HER: Are you going to ask?

YOU: Maybe later.

Texting

HER: I had a great time last night!

[three days later]

YOU: Ya me too.

[five minutes later]

HER: My phone was out for the past three days in case you were trying to call me.

YOU: Nope.

[She immediately calls.]

Calling and leaving a message on her voicemail

YOU: Hey. [click]

When she flakes

YOU: See you at 7.

HER: I forgot it was my sister’s birthday. I can’t make it. Another time!

YOU: gay.

When she plays hard to get

YOU: I’ve got Wednesday free.

HER: Ooh, I can’t do wednesday.

YOU: How about next Monday?

HER: That’s gonna be tough.

YOU: Too bad. [click]

The second date

HER: You know, I don’t do this on the second date. I’m not that type.

YOU: Cool.

HER: Cool? Ok, then… good.

YOU: [opening the front door]

HER: Where are you going? You don’t have to leave, you know.

YOU: Got to. Getting drinks with some girl who’s been bugging me lately.

HER: A girlfriend?

YOU: Pfft… who knows?

HER: [frantic] Ooookay… next time then? Promise you’ll–

YOU: [slam!]

Going out on a big date

HER: I’m ready to goooo!!!

[She steps out in a slinky black cocktail dress, waiting expectantly for a stream of flattery.]

YOU: Hold on… you got a hair out of place. There.

HER: Thanks?

YOU: You look alright.

Postcoital bliss

HER: God, that was great!

YOU: …

HER: I mean really good.

YOU: …

HER: Snuggle with me.

YOU: …

HER: I think I’m falling for you.

YOU: Sweet.

Birthdays

HER: Aww… um… a bag of Skittles.

YOU: There’s a note, too.

HER: [reading the post-it note stuck to the Skittles bag] ‘roses are red, violets are blue, don’t eat the green ones! you’re a great screw’.

YOU: [smiling with pride]

…Two days later, talking with her girl friend.

HER: He gave me a bag of Skittles for my birthday! What is that?! Does he love me?? What am I doing wrong? Is he seeing other women? Does he want more blowjobs? I practically got lockjaw last week!

Meeting her friends

HER: And this is my boyfriend, Jack… Jack? Where’d he go? Oh, he’s around here somewhere.

Farting in bed

YOU: BWAAAAP!

HER: Wow. Is the romance dead already?

YOU: BWAAAAP!

After a fight

HER: I can’t believe you were flirting with that girl at the party! Did you think I wouldn’t notice?

YOU: …

HER: Do you have anything to say for yourself?

YOU: Did you flood my toilet?

The 1AM booty call

YOU: Come over.

HER: omg are you serious?

[half hour later]

HER: U still up?

[another half hour later]

HER: Helllooo? U there?

YOU: Bring the movies.

The results of Do Almost Nothing Game look like this:

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Game, Psy Ops | Comments Off

Curing Oneitis

Sep 21st, 2010 by

A reader emails:

I rarely ask for help for anything, but I have been reading your blog for around two years. I have no problem attracting women, I generally bed a new girl every two weeks or so if I feel like it. My problem is one-itis. As repugnant of a feeling it is, and something I must admit, I need to help from the most powerful and knowledgeable source to handle this problem.

I pushed all in on my first girlfriend in terms of hard earned mental, emotional, and physical resources and she is a viper that is legend in circles around me now. She extorted more then half my money, conspired to put me into jail, almost gave me aids, and fucked all of my best friends at the time. If I was kidding, I wouldn’t be writing you this.

For the last SEVEN YEARS I have not been able to get her out of my head. I think of this person every day. I have dated seriously 20+ women in that span of time, and all of those relationships suffered because of this. This woman was the devil, and by and large the best fuck I have ever had. I would cum six times a day with her.

I have had threesomes (girl girl me of course), I have fucked a pornstar and a lingerie model. I am just a 25 year old pasty white hacker, but my conversations are empowering and I leave girls better then I found them. This girl though, has taken my soul.

I want it back.

Tell me lords of poon, commanders of cunt, sycophants of the “sleeve of wizard”…How do I move past this? Every girl I fuck only makes this insatiable hunger to have that kind of attraction in my life again worse. It’s starting to effect [sic] me.

Yes, the Chateau is aware this may be a fake email. But it doesn’t matter. The email provides a good excuse to riff on a new topic.

Oneitis is a disease of the amygdala that presents as a total incapacitation of the man’s logic, reason and interest in hobbies, hygiene and restful sleep. Oneitis exists in two forms, a precoital and postcoital expression of the virus. The precoital, or “#1 crush”, form occurs when two conditions are met: A girl possesses a precise beauty of the face that closely matches the beauty template the man carries in his head for the perfect woman, and this girl is within the man’s visual and aural field. The postcoital, or “no girl will ever be as good as her”, form occurs when the same conditions are met, with the additional factor that the man has boffed the girl and is now not boffing her.

More simply:

Beauty + proximity = acute oneitis

Beauty + former proximity + memories = malignant oneitis

Malignant oneitis is much more damaging to a man’s health and self-esteem because it tends to be resistant to therapeutic intervention. Acute oneitis is often solved rather simply by administering an alpha-pak of anti-obsessives, which are slutty women almost as good looking as the infectious agent but more enzymatically compatible. Side effects include drowsiness after finally busting a nut in a flesh and blood sex partner.

Once the oneitis is triggered, it assumes a life of its own, burdening the victim with crippling flights of fancy and obsessive-complusive daydreaming when the object of lust is not around. Oneitis can also blind the victim to alternative sexual opportunities in his midst, and this will later present as extreme, possibly suicidal, regret in forty years.

The reader/patient is diagnosed with a case of malignant oneitis, a particularly aggressive seven year strain. Testing revealed a subcutaneous betaness in an advanced stage of metastasization. The patient was admitted to mindfucking surgery immediately in an effort to excise the betaness and help him “move past it”. Treatment included a review of his intervening girlfriends and flings and an accurate, third party reviewed self-assessment, followed by a slap upside the head. Contraindications include memory- and photo-assisted masturbation and drinking alone. Conclusions follow.

The patient says his first girlfriend — they have been broken up for seven years — was his greatest emotional investment. If his description of her is to be believed, she is a high ranking member of the League of Extraordinary Cunts. Yet we are left to wonder why such a low down dirty blast force bitch would earn so much of his efforts? Our team of medical specialists decided she must have been one hot little minx with a golden vagina.

The patient arrived distressed, and was quick to claim he has no problem attracting women, and that he has dated 20+ women since the breakup. Each subsequent relationship ended in a flameout, because his oneitis had ruined his ability to build and maintain an emotional connection with them. (Somewhere, a lonely beta gently caresses his flaccid member, crying on the inside for a fuckbuddy with whom he can fail to emotionally connect.)

The patient also claims to have left the runner-up girls better than he found them. (Please, it is to laugh. If you are an alpha, no girl is going to feel better when you leave her. If she does, you’re doing it wrong.)

Most tellingly, the patient admitted that each new fucktoy only served to remind him of what he no longer has.

Let’s cut to the chase. There are two primary causes for malignant oneitis.

1. Investment raises the value of a girl.

You are naturally going to value that which you spent much effort winning over. We value what we think is worth more, and what is worth more is what we worked hardest to get and keep. You poured your blood and guts into a chick who stole your money, nearly gave you AIDS, got you in trouble with the law, and, most damning of all, fucked your best friends. In the end, she dumped you. In your mind’s value abacus, you rationalize your needy behavior, and her careless behavior, by assigning a much higher value to her than to yourself.

2. The girls who came after the oneitis were not as good looking.

Yeah, I know you say you have no trouble getting girls, but in every case I have examined up close, including my own, the supposed “hot” girls that couldn’t make the man forget about his oneitis ex were in actuality not as hot as the ex. Every man claims it’s “something else” about the oneitis which captivates him, and that it’s not about looks, but that is just ego assuaging bullshit. Nearly every time, the runners up are exactly that — runners up to your ex’s hotness.

I remember this six-month oneitis I was nursing. In the interim, I had gone on a tear through an assortment of women, only to discover that none could do what I wanted them to do, which was to erase her memory completely, or at least detoxify the memories by pushing them into smaller and smaller neural crevices. I wanted my oneitis reduced from a maudlin reminiscence to a harmless nostalgia. Finally, at month six, I met a girl who had a better body, and a hotter face, than my oneitis. I’ll spare you the details of what happened next, because there aren’t any details — my oneitis was instantly cured. Presto whammo. Just like that. I had a new sparkly object in which to discharge my demon seed.

So the rule of thumb is not GFTOW, it’s GFTOHW (go fuck ten other hotter women). No oneitis can withstand such an assault on its mind warping parasitism. Of course, by fucking ten other hotter women, you risk ten-itis, which is a perpetual ringing in the ear caused by all the sex screams of your exes.

The corollary to the above rules is that if you are carelessly and indifferently drowning your sorrows in uglier pussy, your oneitis will GET WORSE. Fucking less attractive chicks, (which will become ridiculously easy if you have game, since your game + oneitis-fueled aloof attitude is a very potent blend of chick crack), will throw your past success into stark relief. You are probably better off wanking it than bedding unsatisfactory girls.

There are two cures for malignant oneitis, and each depends on the man’s libido. Men who can go a few weeks or months without sex should avoid banging lesser girls in favor of putting in the work to find a girl with equal or better looks than the oneitis.

Men with high libidos would do well to fuck around indiscriminantly for a while until they settle on a girl who is the equal or better of their oneitis. A very horny man in the grip of oneitis will sulk unproductively if he doesn’t have a play pussy to occupy his attention. Such men can emotionally handle fucking lesser chicks without it messing with their self-conception.

Another important point to make is that men who have tight game will never recapture the glory of their first sexual experiences when the raw emotions flooded them with abandon. Game is like coke: The highs are always great, but each snort numbs your brain a little more. When you can attract an acceptable number of good looking girls at will, the sex is going to become less momentous. It’s an occupational hazard. In comparison to your current game-fueled bounty, an ex from long ago will seem of outsized importance in your mind simply because your emotions then were more uncontrollable and etched a stronger impression on your memory. In reality, that first love may not be as objectively good as the girls you are currently fucking, but your mind has played a trick on you and you can no longer make an unbiased judgement.

The patient is therefore released from Le Clinique Chateau with these instructions:

– Take a month off from actively skirt chasing.

– Don’t burn your ex’s photos, but do store them in a lockbox in the attic where it would be a pain for you to conveniently access. Burning photos and other memorabilia is a powerfully symbolic act that ironically reinforces her importance in your life. Better to nonchalantly store that shit like it was any other old knickknack you no longer have use for.

– When you return to the field, focus on gaming girls hotter than what you are used to. This is like weightlifting: you need to incrementally go up in difficulty to see any progress. The challenge will help you concentrate on the present instead of the past.

– When you meet a girl you really like, invest in her. Don’t go for the bang right away. You want to increase her value in your mind, and the way to do that is, one, to make sure she’s hot, and two, to take your time winning her over. Sluts are not gonna cure your oneitis, but hard-to-get girls will.

– Finally, if none of the above works, scour the earth for a woman who is as beautifully evil as your ex was, and fall in love with her before you’ve said “hi”. The ensuing passionate fling and humiliating breakup should replace your old oneitis with a new oneitis, which, if nothing else, is at least a change of scenery.

A graphical representation of the patient’s progress:

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Girls, Rules of Manhood | Comments Off

Beta Fights Back

Sep 20th, 2010 by

what a mistake i have made
to reputedly conceive
with a woman whose face
could strip bark from a tree

You want to feel sorry for this poor bastard, but then you are left asking “WTF was he thinking?” Marriage and cuckolding is beta enough, but for a good-looking, high status man to hitch his wagon to such an ugly broad? It defies natural law.

A filmaker is suing his ex-wife for allegedly duping him into believing for 17 years that a child was his daughter.

Andrew Douglas, who directed the 2005 remake of The Amityville Horror, is demanding back hundreds of thousands of pounds in child support.

He says Ameena Meer asked him to marry her after claiming she was having his baby. But the real father, according to the lawsuit, was another Briton she had been cheating on him with.

Mandatory paternity testing is coming, and it is going to put an end to these vile shenanigans by women. In the meantime, men can act to protect themselves by following one simple rule:

Don’t screw hatched-faced man-women.

The more eerily a woman resembles a man, the likelier it is she will cheat, cuckold and cover it up for 17 years. Just look at the markers of high prenatal and serum testosterone etched into this whore’s face. Is her nose a Ginsu knife?

Once pregnant, Miss Meer said she didn’t want a baby born out of wedlock because ‘it would cause great shame and disgrace to her parents, who were practising Muslims’.

Ah, a little of the ol’ religion guilt-trip coercion. If I were him, I’d have told her to have fun with her stoning.

The writer moved to London and married Mr Douglas in August 1992. But the couple split months after Sasha Douglas was born and Miss Meer took their daughter back to her New York home.

It never ceases to amaze how incredibly ignorant some men can be about marriage and women. Like the dumb broad dressed in a tramp’s miniskirt walking at 2AM through a well-known bad neighborhood, the man who willfully blinds himself to the nature of women deserves some of the fault for creating his shitworld.

In the court documents, Mr Douglas says he had little contact with Sasha until her tenth birthday and felt depressed about failing as a father.

How can you tell a man is a beta at heart? He will always blame himself first.

Miss Meer, who has had two more daughters with her second husband, allegedly told the director that ‘a price tag was attached’ if he wanted to play any part in the girl’s life.

In a legal climate that was fair toward men, a stone cold lying bitch like Meer would be thrown in jail for extortion. But, no, the femtards will applaud her moxy and shift blame to the man for “walking out after being a part of this child’s life for so long”. As I always tell the femtards when they play this lame “unextractable part of life” card: if the cheating bitch was worried about the child not having a biological father in its life, she should have thought of that before she whored around.

He said he paid nearly £450,000 in child support and tuition fees, gave Miss Meer £17,000 when she fell behind with her rent and handed out a further £6,500 for a new bathroom.

This guy Douglas is a case study demonstrating how a conventionally high status man can be a beta in his soul. That examples like Douglas exist is why this definition of the alpha male is the right and proper one.

Tests showed [Douglas’ DNA] was incompatible with the 17-year-old’s. Miss Meer allegedly brushed off his concerns, telling him in a telephone call last September:

‘If you’re not Sasha’s father, it must be immaculate conception.’ A DNA test taken later that month revealed that it was virtually impossible for Mr Douglas to have been the father.

Cuckoldry is a valuable reproductive strategy for women. Women will tell the most blatant whoppers to protect this “choice”. I doubt there is a single woman in the world who, when exposure threatens the gravy train of child support, will confess to the dirty deed. This is why MPT is needed; there is no way any man can fully trust a woman in the matter of paternity, no matter how much she loves him. MPT will protect men from the female version of rape. It will save them years of emotional and financial servitude. A fully functioning MPT regime would have two primary results:

It would curb female infidelity.

It would lower marriage rates, as women become more careful about which men they marry. This, consequently, would increase single mom-hood and abortion rates.

A woman who knows the technology is virtually failsafe and the law is gender-neutral will think twice before stepping out on her husband sans contraceptive. Because of this modern day restriction on a very ancient secret female prerogative, the fembots will fight tooth and nail to prevent MPT with concomitant changes in the law that further bastardize the meaning of family and the connection between genetic progeny and paternal responsibility. This is why absurd laws are cropping up lately redefining cohabitation as marriage (with all the servile duties and legal impositions that implies) and holding the non-father boyfriends financially responsible for the bastard spawn of the single moms they are fucking. (This is another good reason to avoid using single moms as anything other than pump and dump receptacles for your withheld sperm.)

The court file says the biological parent is ‘a British man who, unbeknownst to plaintiff at the time, was involved in a sexual relationship’ with Miss Meer.

Stuff like this is rarely “unbeknownst” to alpha males.

The real father refused to marry her and so ‘knowingly and with malice’ she told Mr Douglas the baby was his.

Real father = alpha. Deadbeat dad fucks her and bolts, while the well-off, responsible beta with a heart of gold foots the bill for the rancid cunt’s cock-hopping and her little bundle of dystopia. Where have we heard this story before?

The legal papers say Mr Douglas still loves the girl he believed to be his daughter, but wants his former wife to pay back the child support and pay compensation for emotional damages.

If Douglas wins, this could be the start of something beautiful. The feminists and their diaper-loading enablers have run roughshod long enough over our venerable institutions. A serious rectification of the West’s corrupted legal system is in order.

A friend of the filmmaker told the New York Post that Mr Douglas was ‘a stand-up guy’ who ‘took Ameena at her word 17 years ago’.

Maxim #19: Never take a woman’s word; a woman’s actions are the best interpreters of her thought.

Betas never seem to learn this lesson, and it is a lesson they pay for dearly, over and over, because women smell beta from twelve parsecs, and it stirs a contemptuous, malicious compulsion in them. Alphas can be victimized, too, but they rarely are, for the alpha male by his character and his game exerts a calming, domesticating influence over the nastier primitive spirits animating a woman’s will. Often, and incredulously to those of a constitutional gullibility, a devious evil woman for whom no second is too soon to stick the shiv in a betaboy’s back will act against her own interests to spare the dignity of an alpha male who has happily shamed her.

He said Miss Meer has now banned Mr Douglas from seeing Sasha.

So much for the importance of the child being a part of the father’s life.

Miss Meer told the newspaper that she had never knowingly lied to her ex-husband.

Women know. She knew she was fucking around, and thus she knew there was a chance the kid was another man’s, unless she is a functional retard. This slippery sophistry shouldn’t convince anyone.

‘Of course I didn’t lie. I obviously didn’t think that he wasn’t her father,’ she said. ‘If he wants to be her father, he should provide for her. Isn’t that what’s fair?’

Let me tell you what’s fair, MIZZ Meerkat — a full remittance of all child custody monies plus interest and punitive damages paid forthwith to your ex-husband, jail time that is the equivalent of whatever sentence a man would receive for raping a woman and burdening her with the cursed spawn that was the result of such an unholy union, and your motherhood card revoked in a public shaming spectacle so outrageous you spend the rest of your life a mere husk of a woman devising macabre ways to off yourself and end the unremitting emotional pain that forever tortures your every waking moment.

THAT is what’s fair, you filthy festering cunt.

She said the lawsuit was ‘a terrible thing for him to do to his daughter’.

And that’s how to know it was the right thing. A terrible justice invoked. Evil trembled, desperately searching for allies, but none were to be found.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Beta, Globalization, Marriage Is For Chumps, Misandry, Self-aggrandizement, The Id Monster | Comments Off

Comment Of The Week

Sep 18th, 2010 by

Throbbing Gristle describes what he’d do to Jessica Valenti, Slut Apologist:

Can I be the first to admit I would give quite a lot to grudge-fuck Valenti. She’s crying out to be ballgagged, trussed and put to the mighty Frothomir. Again and again and again. Then booted out on the street with but a tattered rag to cover her shame.

Consensually, of course.

Doubleplusvenality if her husband sits in a corner watching the debauchment and quietly sobbing as he pokes glumly at his limp noodle with a crabbed finger.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in The Id Monster | Comments Off

Bristles

Sep 18th, 2010 by

“Wow, I can’t believe I neglected to do this. Can I come inside and use your bathroom real quick? Yeah, I know, I should have gone at the bar.”

She cocked her head and a wisp of sandy blonde hair tumbled across her left cheek. She smiled.

“Of course, you can use my bathroom.”

“Just the bathroom, that’s all. I’m gonna hold you to that.”

She giggled. “Ok.”

Her place was smartly decorated. A geometric mobile acted as a partition between her bed and the room. She pointed to the bathroom and I closed the door. Lifting the toilet seat, I let my gaze relax on her patterned wallpaper. This pissing felt particularly pleasurable. I flushed and exited, walking to her studio apartment window.

“You have a good view of the students across the street. Are you an exhibitionist?”

“I don’t think so. Are you a voyeur?”

“Yes.” I walked into her personal space. She held her ground. “Who isn’t a voyeur?”

“Well, I’m not a pervert, but if that’s your thing, I won’t stop you.”

“If I want to be stopped, I’ll let you know.”

She parted her mouth as if about to formulate a reply, but fell short. I noticed her palms had opened and were facing my thighs.

“I really… like your place…” I leaned in and softly brushed my lips sideways across hers.

Her tongue escaped with a fury, pushing for the dark recesses of my mouth. I withdrew, pulled back, and examined her pupils. She became shy.

“Oh god, that makes me nervous.”

“What does?”

“You doing that. Looking at me and not saying anything.”

“Good. It’s hot when you’re nervous.”

Kissing resumed. I could taste a little of the artisanal beer on her tongue. She pressed into my face, and a whimper echoed in her throat. Something scratched my upper lip. I pulled back, then returned to her mouth. Still more scratching. Pulling back once more, I spot checked her upper lip. All clear. A visual inspection revealed nothing but soft skin. More kissing. More irritating scratching. Like a Brillo pad scrubbing my philtrum. Five minutes and a semi-chub later, I disengaged to allow my upper lip a moment of relief from the interminable stinging.

She opened her mouth for more, eyes half-lidded. I paused. Her eyes widened quizzically. Reluctantly, I rejoined the oral battle with her tongue, lips, and whatever phantom torment occupied the tender region between her upper lip and nose. The pain resumed, and I could no longer deny it; she had a hedgerow of invisible bristles above her mouth — scratching, scraping, scrubbing the epidermis from my face. I could not even fool myself these were soft female hairs; I was kissing 5 o’clock stubble. Once more, I stepped back and microscopically perused her face and mouth. I could see nothing. But the bristles were there, invisible and abrasive.

“You know, it sounds cliched, but I’m not that kind of girl.” Her red face and swaying hips belied her words.

“Hey, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. I’m a different guy from the old me. I’m a gentleman now.”

“Oh… Ok.”

“I’ll give you a call.” One more kiss, this time with my mouth pursed defensively, and my fingers already deleting her number.

Outside, I passed a group of undergrad girls reveling in the 1AM street lamp glow. All tits and ass, bursting into existence. Their philtrums glistened, danced and swayed, and I wondered which of them held no secrets.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Girls, The Big City Life | Comments Off

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