I have a theory about girls who have “tight like that” best gay boyfriends. These types of girls are very girly (read: flaky and feminine) but their libidos lean towards the masculine. It’s really the perfect combo: A girly girl who unleashes in the bedroom (and the park and the library and the deep end of the pool…). I’m not sure why this is. Maybe the girly in them loves the BGBF attention and the sexpot in them identifies with the robust and promiscuous gay lifestyle. The downside for a straight guy dating a BGBF-loving girl is the higher risk of cheating and drama. These are the girls who will dance on bars as random guys stroke their stockinged inner thighs. To handle a relationship with this girl, you have to be in a “party all the time” mental space.
Interestingly, there is no reverse scenario. There’s no such thing as a lesbian girlfriend for straight men. It would be great to be able to call up a best lesbian girlfriend for a quickie round of golf or Wii bowling, and commiserating over bitches. Even better if she’s a lipstick lesbian and looks good. Unfortunately, lesbians get along with no one but other lesbians.
I would love to have a gay boyfriend — minus the intimacy part — to take along shopping so that I don’t have to waste time figuring out what looks best on me. He would know right away. And I would enjoy my platonic gay boyfriend’s constant flattery boosting my ego major — maybe even two full rating points (10++) so that I would hit the clubs later on cloud nine rejecting women all night for being out of their league.
Some things I’ve learned from a girl I know who has a BGBF:
Gay boyfriends are fiercely protective of their girlfriends. They have been known to knock out brawny straight guys for disrespecting their “girl”.
Black gays are the most flaming, followed by whites, then asians who are the hardest to peg as gay from a mere glance. Supposedly, this is because it is a big deal for gay blacks to come out so when they do it’s pedal to the metal.
There is such a thing as a “gay face”. Hard to describe, but you know it when you see it. Think big bright feminine eyes, full lips, and an all-around glow.
All gay men are “ass men”. There’s no such thing as a gay “bitch tit man”.
I am much hipper and, yes, a little gayer, for knowing this culturally valuable information.
Postscript:
Do gay men get off looking at their own penises? Do they have to battle a hardon every time they grab hold to take a wizz? Mysteries of the universe…
Toss another three cliches in the trash. This article talks about studies showing that ugly people commit more crime:
“We find that unattractive individuals commit more crime in comparison to average-looking ones, and very attractive individuals commit less crime in comparison to those who are average-looking,” claim Naci Mocan of the University of Colorado and Erdal Tekin of Georgia State University.
Mocan and Tekin analyzed data from a federally sponsored survey of 15,000 high-schoolers who were interviewed in 1994 and again in 1996 and 2002. One question asked interviewers to rate the physical appearance of the student on a five-point scale ranging from “very attractive” to “very unattractive.”
How rude of people to agree on what’s ugly and what isn’t!
These economists found that the long-term consequences of being young and ugly were small but consistent. Cute guys were uniformly less likely than averages would indicate to have committed seven crimes including burglary and selling drugs, while the unhandsome were consistently more likely to have broken the law.
Very attractive high school girls were less likely to commit six of the seven crimes, while those rated unattractive were more likely to have done six of seven, controlling for personal and family characteristics known to be associated with criminal behavior.
It’s practically a biblical injunction that thou shalt not make presumptions about the character of people based on their physical attributes. Yet here is proof that yes, we can make useful generalizations about people with the bad luck to be born with unappealing faces. Whether the ugly face itself causes criminal tendencies or the social disadvantages steer an ugly person into crime is irrelevant to the wisdom of judgment. If an ugly person is more likely to do A, people around him will respond by doing B.
Some other things you can assume about ugly people and be right more often than not:
Bitter. (wouldn’t you be if your condition was the last acceptable form of public contempt?)
Less intelligent. (smart guys and hot chicks mate assortatively)
Crappy social skills. (socially adept guys tend to have children with hot chicks)
Below the median income. (no promotions for you!)
Depressed. (imagine a life of constant, gnawing pain)
Lonely. (no one likes to be around suicidally depressed people)
Hard up. (girls and guys, though the ugly threshold for hard up-ness is lower for men)
Smells bad. (when a shower isn’t going to help your cause, why bother?)
Introverted. (naturally extroverted ugly people learn the hard way that no one wants to party with them. they eventually hide in their apartments all the time)
Belligerent. (an ugly person who doesn’t retreat to solitude and braves public scorn starts to expect the worst from people and defaults to hatemode)
There’s a reason we associate certain personality traits with physical ugliness. Grendel and Gollum ask you to understand.
Over at Alias Clio, a blog I occasionally read, I posted the following comment on a thread about niceguys and their eternal torment trapped in the LJBF zone:
…no man wants to be a cute girl’s emotional tampon. fulfilling her emotional needs while having his physical needs denied is a one way street to bitterness. women with real sympathy for men’s sexual needs would not put a lovelorn niceguy through the anguishing ringer of platonic friendship. but most women (and men) don’t possess that kind of empathy and selflessness for the opposite sex. women simply get too much benefit from having what pickup artists call “orbiters” feeding their egos by doting on them and listening to them drone about their badboy BFs without having to put out.
male-female friendships only work when neither are physically attracted to the other, and they *partially* work when 1) the woman is attracted to the man but he isn’t attracted to her or 2) he is attracted to her but getting lots of action from other women.
in fact, the best course to follow for the man who wants his choice in women is to cultivate lots of hot female friends who can act as “pivots” and “social proof” for picking up other women. this will be difficult to manage if he’s in the midst of a dry spell because his unquenched lust will envelop him like a repellent shroud and make the normal to-and-fro of friendship building an excruciating ordeal, mostly for him but in time for her, too. it is much easier to be friends with attractive women when the man is in a perpetual state of sexual satiation.
I’ve thought about this and I believe what I wrote is an accurate description of reality. Men and women simply cannot be friends unless certain conditions are met.
Mutual lack of attraction
This is easy. When there’s no loin burning to get in the way a girl buddy is like a guy buddy, except you can dump on her about your dating troubles and give your opinion of in-season colors without getting laughed at. Just remember you’re not going to talk about the same things with a girl buddy. She won’t tolerate hours of analysis about AMD vs Intel or your fantasy baseball team, and in return she’ll curb her urge to discuss shoes with you ad nauseum. An honest and trustworthy girl buddy makes an excellent fashion consultant and, if she’s not hideous looking, a valuable addition to your game as a pivot (a girl who will make you look good in clubs and help you meet other women).
Unfortunately, very few women that you would want to be seen with in public qualify as true 100% friend material. You’re limited to fat chicks, ugly chicks (4s and below), and older women who are crashing headlong into the wall. All other women, even the plain ones, will at some point be seen by guys as sex objects, because our straydar for sex opportunities is always active. Probably the best the average man can hope for is a 95% friendship with a 5 or 6 rating girl where he occasionally risks the friendship 5% of the time drunkenly announcing his intention to make sweet love to her cleavage.
One way attraction, girl to guy
Girls find it easier to keep their sex drives in check, which is why they can retain their sanity while remaining friends with uninterested guys they are attracted to far longer than the reverse scenario. Men who are attracted to their girl buddies cannot stay friends for long without either making a sloppy move and killing the friendship or sacrificing their last ounce of dignity as they go insane from blue balls toxic shock. But for women in this position, it’s a house of cards. With enough time, this type of friendship will eventually dissolve in drama, as happened to me once when a female roommate left our apartment overnight because I didn’t feel the same way about her. (FYI: girls turn bathrooms into pigsties.)
One way attraction, player to girl
There is only one way a single man can be friends with a woman he wants to bang and that’s when his balls are so drained from fucking other women that he feels no testicular pressure to act on his desire. You’ll notice that a typical sexually satisfied alpha has lots of hot girl acquaintances he doesn’t bother gaming because the effort required is not worth the very small marginal increase in pleasure or risk of losing the girls as social proof and as friends. This is really the ideal short-term situation to be in for a man — swimming in pussy and therefore able to tolerate and even enjoy the friendship of unavailable hot girls without being overwhelmed by lust to corrupt their friendship status with intimate jackhammering. But in the long-term, the underlying male animal lust for a hot girl buddy must resolve itself, and even the most well-fed man will devour a filet mignon if it’s put on a plate in front of him every day. My advice: It’s best to take hot girl buddies in small doses. Like for two hours on a Friday night in a bar where you can leverage their hot friendship to build your harem with new recruits.
The man is married or in a relationship
If you’re looking to be a cool friend to hot chicks without falling victim to the temptation to hit on them, you can acquire this noble virtue on the cheap by shackling your vice within the artificial prison of marriage or exclusive relationships. (Note: The opposite doesn’t work — most men will sleep with a hot married woman given the chance and in spite of the risk.) This is the foolproof method for betas to be relaxed and emotionally stable friends with attractive girls they’d love to bang. They simply tell themselves that they already have a girl waiting for them at home who they love very much or, if they don’t love her, who would be really pissed if they cheated on her, and so the pressure is off. They can therefore rationalize their asexual acquiescence to LJBFdom as a pose of moral rectitude. This self-hypnosis is a convenient veneer for washed-up betas out of the game, for if a genuine opportunity arose with one of their hot friends they’d suddenly feel the psychic strain of battling real temptation, and all that happy clappy harmless niceguy friend posturing would buckle under the heaving mass of their juiced up lust. This is why the beta who stays faithful to his wife is less virtuous than the alpha who does the same.
She’s on the internet and you can’t see her in person
Pretty simple trick to be platonic with a chick when she’s a flick on your monitor and a thousand miles away.
***
Final Thoughts
The beta niceguy who has a girl buddy he secretly wants to screw is not really a friend to her at all, and vice versa. To the exploitative girl, he is merely a tool to massage her ego, abetting her puling therapeutic self-absorbed shit that no alpha male friend would ever tolerate. To the beta, her friendship is just a complicated schematic for finding some backchannel weasely way into her pants as substitute for his lack of courage to bust a move and dignity to walk away when his feelings aren’t reciprocated.
And that’s the core problem for betas. They are so afraid they’ll never find a girl who will love them that they’d rather degrade themselves clinging endlessly to unsympathetic girl buddies under the pretense that maybe one day she’ll see the lion inside and finally succumb to his charms. The LJBF racket has had a monopoly on weak men for a long time, possibly since the first caveman consoled a cavegirl bitching about her tribal leader boyfriend by letting her nuzzle into his shoulder as he said “there, there” and struggled against a mighty boner under his furs.
My advice to LJBF’ed betas would be to drop the whole idea of being friends with attractive women until they have gotten some actual experience fucking women, rather than experience holding excruciatingly sterile platonic conversations with them about the minutiae of their lives.
A reader wrote me asking for advice about a delicate situation. He asked me in private but since I think this is an important issue that all guys should know about (and that the email was probably a joke), I’ve posted it here and removed all identifying information.
ive been reading your blog for a while and its helped me tighten up my game a lot since i got out of an X yr relationship. some of your tips actually helped me land a solid 8 that ive been dating for a while now, and things are getting pretty serious. sex is awesome, and shes always up for it. id say in general im pretty happy with the girl and shes definitely long-term material.
…[so] we have a great time banging, she stays over, whatever. in the morning she goes home and when im getting up to get dressed, etc, i turn the light on and on my white sheets i see a (admittedly super small) shitstain on the bed – where her hole would be when i was drilling away at her. this is gross of course, but look, everyone has a bad day down there once in a while (though in my opinion a girl never, ever should). im willing to forgive that and just put it very quickly out of my mind, especially cuz its so small, etc.
Once a girl left a small brown spot on my bedsheet which I didn’t notice until a few days later. (I sleep on my couch a lot.) I was so incredulous that I had to verify it was what it looked like, so I poked my nose in it and sniffed. It’s amazing how long a shit odor can last in 20 thread count fabric.
so big deal right? unfortunately, [after that incident], i met up with her after work for dinner/drinks. b/c of this, she of course didnt shower, which bothers me cuz im like that, but whatever. anyway, we bang a bunch of times that night and i sorta forgot about that one time and she goes home in the morning. i wake up later and pull back my white sheets (forgot to mention they are white), and AGAIN, though much fainter ill say, there were a FEW different stains, and clearly brown in nature.
If there’s no odor, I would suggest investing in chocolate brown sheets. Out of sight, out of mind.
as i said, im pretty into this girl, and i dont want to just kick her to the curb. so im just curious what you think about the situation. is there some way i can get her to check her hygiene? get that shit in line? i know cuz youre such a tough guy “alpha” you might immediately default to not talking to her again, but again, i like her, and right now im enjoying the sex, etc etc. plus im not a huge fan of constantly going out and trying to pick up chicks, cuz im over that shit these days.
First, be sure it’s a shit stain. If you bang a girl toward the end of her period (or during it. My needs don’t take five day holidays) any leftover unejected blood will mix with her vaginal lubrication and leave an ugly reddish-brown discharge on your shaft when you pull out. Vigorous thrusting means a little will dribble out past her taint and onto the bed, leaving stains that look like shit droplets. DO NOT under any circumstances smell this period blood/vaj mucous mix because the odor is horrendous. Try to contain your morbid curiosity. I’ve already done the smelling for you, so the public interest is served by my poor impulse control.
Anyhow, post-coital period froth is a natural bodily phenomenon and nothing to be alarmed over. If, on the other hand, you are sure it’s shit stains she’s tracking on your bed like a dog with worms, then I have to ask — is your girlfriend 90 years old? That might explain the incontinence. If she’s a healthy young woman then either you are pounding her too hard with an oversized member and shaking loose some dingleberries, or she’s a lazy wiper.
Poor hygiene can be a deal breaker. No matter how hot a girl is, if her breath causes me to retch I won’t ever want to kiss her. I’m certainly not going to give a rimjob to a girl with ring around the rectum. The old “tough guy alpha” would tell you to move on, girls are interchangeable and you don’t need to settle for a lazy wiper. But the new Compassionate Me of Transcendent Love recommends you leave a roll of 4-ply toilet paper on her pillow with a little note saying “thought you might like to try this. it’s so soft!”
Oh yeah, if it turns out she has colon cancer, dump her.
Hope this helps!
***
On a related note, this reader’s question reminded me of a story from my past. I was banging this marginal chick when I turned her over for doggy action. I like to spread the cheeks apart while doing a girl from behind and when I did I was immediately assaulted by a strong whiff of asshole. It was like a shitcloud hitting me in the face. Every time I spread her cheeks a new blast of stink would fly up my nose. I pressed her ass cheeks together to contain the smell. I turned my head to the side and my eyes began to tear up. I pressed tighter. Between the bad odor and not being able to watch the action because I was looking away from her ass with tears in my eyes, I started to deflate in her vagina. Even though I’m sure she could tell I was losing my wood inside her, she still moaned, kind of like how a teenager will act drunk when he’s been drinking non-alcoholic beer all night. I pulled out before I went completely flaccid, ran to the bathroom, and disposed of the unspoiled condom in the toilet, but not before I pondered the possibility of re-using it in the future on a cleaner girl. Condoms aren’t cheap.
I’ve been reading a lot of Stephane Hemon’s stuff lately and what he talks about is similar to what I’ve been mulling over in my head and heart lately. I believe the circle is my next step in life. To do this, I’ll have to become totally comfortable with the idea of loss, because to reach this level you can’t be hobbled by risk aversion or ego protection.
Here’s a video of him with his three girls. His “primary” girlfriend is on the far right.
I could do without his focus on chakras and metaphysics, as that offends my rational mind, but his core understanding of women and their natures is solid. The psychobabble stuff is just prettified words for biological processes. You can’t argue with results, and maintaining a loving harem of cute girls is proof his skills are unassailable.
Here are a couple of points he makes in his writings which I feel are packed with wisdom:
“[You want to stay in your zone. A good metaphor would be] your circle of girls are playing under the oak tree.”
“If you are single, dating casually, or in a long-term relationship, keep on reading because every single interaction that you have with an attractive woman is, in fact, A RELATIONSHIP. You guys are relat-ing with each other, it’s just a matter of degree.”
That last point is critical. No longer will I draw such bright lines between friendships, dating, flings, and relationships. My new way of thinking is that every inspiring girl I meet is already in a relationship with me — we are already relating sexually and emotionally — and my male energy won’t be held in check by socially approved categories. This is love consciousness.
But of course there is still biological reality and it wouldn’t be very special of me to neglect to point out that Stephane’s main girlfriend (the one he met and fell in love with first) is the cutest of the three. Perhaps the Ego of Jealousy is not so easily transcended.
At the EU Embassy tour in DC last weekend me and another aficionado of European girls culture picked up these very squeezable red balls at the Austrian embassy. give it a good freudian squeeze ladies.
Despite getting much grief from parties who shall remain anonymous who believe that carrying around touristy crap is a very white people thing to do, I held and caressed my ball all day and never let it out of my sight. I also had a mini flag in my back pocket, and an official looking EU post-it notepad. I felt worldly and it showed in my international-style strut.
Later on, we were at the Reef roof deck enjoying mussels and fries (three random black guys had ordered the same meal. I had no idea mussels were the new hip food) when Roosh put his red ball on the bar. A girl leaned into our group and asked him about the ball.
“Why do you have a ball?”
“Because it’s mine.”
“Can I hold your ball?”
“No, it’s my ball.”
She looked at him with that slack-jawed half-grin that girls get when they’re a little bit offended but they like it. A few more words were exchanged and she left our group. One minute later she leaned back in, reached her arm across the bar, and grabbed his ball. She held it up triumphantly.
“I got it!”
“Give me back my ball. You’re not allowed to touch it.”
She relinquished the ball with a look of sexual attraction on her face. Her male friend apologized for her. Beta.
This got me thinking about props to bring to bars that would help spark flirtatious conversation. Random items that make no sense whatsoever in a bar context and are made of a material that tempts girls to stroke and squeeze them would work best. For instance, I have an Adidas runners pullover with thumbholes in the sleeves that I wear out to clubs which is not the most stylish looking yet I get girls coming up to me to feel the silky Rayon material all the time. Texture can be just as effective as the look of what you wear because girls perceive the world with all their senses equally while guys mostly use their eyes and penis.
Along these lines, I thought of the following knickknacks to carry with me and place on bars while I drink my beer:
pink teddy bear
cotton balls
nerf football
silly putty
bubble-pack
stuffed bunny rabbit
chia pet
silicone implant
pad and pen (not squeezable, but this works!)
silk scarf
play-doh
giant dustball
a rubber hot dog
Any girl who squeezes or strokes right away is likely to be sexually uninhibited, cutting my workload in half.
One of the telltale signs of the escalating emasculation of mainstream American culture has been the trend of wives keeping their maiden names, either in whole or in ridiculous hyphenation. And then selfishly passing on this matronymic abomination to their children. Men relinquish so much autonomy and prerogative to pursue their natural male desires when they get married that it’s the ultimate insult to their dignity to have to throw back the one measly bone of their wives taking their family name. The maiden married name racket is like the ultimate shit test — accede to your wife’s feminist posturing and you will be tarred with the beta brush every day of your life you are married to her.
The irony is that the maiden name is the wife’s father’s name. When a woman keeps her last name in marriage, she’s keeping another man’s name, just not her husband’s. Even women with three generations worth of hyphenated last names are hauling around the history of the male ancestors in their families. The patriarchy that these “enlightened” women are supposedly fighting against lives on.
Which brings us to the first ever Beta Of The Year Award.
All Michael Buday wanted to do was take the last name of his wife, Diana Bijon, when they married.
But it took two years, a lawsuit alleging sex discrimination and a change in California law before he picked up his new drivers license in the name of Michael Bijon on Monday.
“It was personal. I feel much closer to (Diana’s) father than I do mine. She asked me to take her name and I thought it would be very simple. I never imagined the state would make it so difficult,” Michael Bijon, 31, told reporters.
This guy wins the coveted BOTY trophy (the trophy is a man tucking his junk between his legs). What a bravura performance! Take a curtsy, King Of All Betas.
Look how proud he is of his self-castration:
she fucks him with her clit.
And what does this champion of women’s lib do for a living?
After months of frustration, the Los Angeles computer programmer and his ER nurse wife Diana, 29, took their problem to the American Civil Liberties Union of Southern California.
He may look alpha but it’s the inside nerd that counts. He must feel so grateful for getting laid. I wonder how many other conditions he had to abide before she consented to marry him?
“Women have fought for so long for equal rights and it feels like this is part of that fight,” said Diana Bijon.
Blah blah fucking blah. Could you imagine being shackled for life to this shrike? Last thing any man wants in a wife is an ideological axe grinder.
“I am really, really proud of him. Not many men would do this,” she said.
That’s true. Not many men would do that. Good thing you married a quisling bitchboy. Prep the divorce papers.
“This disposes of the rule in California that the male surname is the marital name to the same trash bin where dowries were once tossed out,” said Mark Rosenbaum, legal director of the Southern California chapter of the ACLU.
When future generations of dysfunctional feral kids in a post-apocalyptic third-worldicized USA ask why men stopped getting married and the institution fell into utter disrepute you can point them to quotes like this. Something these self-appointed commissars of culture never seem to grasp:
Maxim #27: You have to make marriage an attractive alternative for MEN — not women — if you want the institution to thrive.
Here’s the deal: If your wife truly loves you as the rock solid man you are, and not the beaten down betaboy she imagines she wants, she’ll be happy to take your name because she’ll understand and appreciate how much you sacrifice as a man when getting married. If she’s not on board with the name change, then like a ballcutting canary in the coal mine warning you of danger you can bet you’ll be begging for sex once a month.
In a second interview soon to be published, King Of All Betas had this to say:
– he will pee sitting so that he can identify with the urinary oppression of women. – his dog will be named “Cat”. – he will wear pink ribbons and march in every women’s rights parade in the country and donate thousands of dollars to every women’s cause under the sun. Then he will be diagnosed with prostate cancer. – he will give any future sons girl’s names and his daughters boy’s names. He will force his son to play with Barbies and teach his five year old daughter safe sex. – he will wear an empathy belly when his wife is pregnant. Shit, he’ll wear it when she’s constipated. – he will ask permission to cum. He will then say “Are you sure?” each time permission is granted. He will say “Sorry” when he gets a little on the bedsheet. He will beg forgiveness if it hits her in the face. – his wife likes golden showers. He is the mouth toilet. – he will apologize for walking in on his wife fucking me. – I will tell him to shut up and make me a sammich. – when she inevitably divorces his beta ass he’ll cry so hard that he hyperventilates himself to death.
The only reason this guy isn’t demoted to omega status is because he managed to get married, and to a decently attractive woman. But he’s a great example of how you can’t judge male betaness primarily by looks like you can judge female betaness. If you showed me pictures of two random men and asked me to guess which of the two was the beta and all I knew about them was that one was ugly and the other was a good-looking computer programmer who took his wife’s name in marriage, I’d choose the programmer as the more likely candidate for betaness.
Theseguys were talking to a couple of women at Marvin when an attractive third girl who was a friend of the women showed up. I walked over to occupy chat up the friend and our conversation was good. She was flirty, fun and all smiles. We talked for maybe ten minutes when I felt a meaty hand grip my forearm hard. I looked in the direction of the grip and saw an inebriated man giving me the drunk stink eye.
“Yo dude, take your fucking hand off my arm.”
He removed his hand. I turned back to the girl. Three seconds later his hand was back on my forearm.
“What did I say?” I grabbed his arm and pushed it off. He grunted and was about to put it back on when the girl intervened.
“Stop! Sorry, he gets like this. He’s drunk right now and can get very protective.”
“I see. So this is your boyfriend?” She was slapping his hand away like a mom would an insolent child.
“We’ve been dating a little while. I met him through the internet.” Figuring out why she would divulge that critical detail, I looked over and saw Douchebag Extraordinaire half sliding off his barstool and making another flailing attempt to grab my arm. He was a stocky guy, definitely not a herb, but his drunkenness meant slow reaction times. I was not worried if it came to blows.
I only felt superficial anger toward this guy. He was an insecure tool, but tools are a feature of the universe, like dark matter. They’re all over, and you learn to deal with them like you deal with the weather. My real contempt was for the girl for brazenly flirting with me in front of her date without telling me she was taken, and for dating such a loser. I never allow myself to be the guy that girls get their validation kicks from in plain view of their low self-esteem trigger happy boyfriends.
As I’m watching this go down, she kept repeating “I’m really sorry” but in that perky way that makes you think she’s not FEELING as sorry as she should. I turned back to her with a cold stare, making sure she understood that my problem was with her. “I’m done talking with you.” I pointed at her internet date. “Get this part of your life handled before you think about talking to guys like me again.” I walked off.
Taking a girl instantly from the high of flirty banter to the low of icy scorn lets her know her shit won’t fly with you. Social disapproval in the form of ostracization is a heat-seeking missile that aims straight at the thermal exhaust port of women, and if enough men had the balls to make an attractive girl pay a price for her stupid bar games and her bad choices in dates she might, over time, improve her behavior.
Philosophically I’m very anti-PDA even though because of my higher than average sexual energy it’s hard for me to keep my paws off a girl I like, no matter how public or family-oriented the venue. I like to squeeze, knead, and fondle, and sometimes I don’t have the patience to wait until we get home.
If you observe alphas with their dates or girlfriends you’ll notice they almost never do PDA. Usually they’re the ones leaning back, keeping their hands to themselves, looking around their environment, while their women are always darting in for a kiss or putting an arm around a waist. An alpha gives the impression of tolerating his woman’s public affections like a shark tolerates a remora fish cleaning it off. And their women secretly like it this way.
The guys who are all over their girlfriends in public — and I mean all over in the nuzzling, cuddling, pucker mouth kisses way, not the slap-her-ass-hard way — are nearly always betas who are happy to have a girl in their lives and can’t help but express their gratitude. When you hardly ever eat, you feast like a pig at the trough and gorge yourself not knowing when your next meal is coming. This, of course, is self-defeating because it kills the girl’s attraction.
I had a friend who would bury his head in his girlfriend’s lap and stick his ass up in the air like a cat having its back stroked. Beta to the core.
For the first time in my life, I got kicked out of a venue for excessive PDA. The management of this place disapproved of my romantic tonguedowns and ass cuppings. My sexual aura radiates powerfully and must be kept hidden from public exposure where it can do no harm.
The best way to explain the tradeoff between chasing lots of pussy and pursuing the best pussy is in graphical form. First we’ll look at quality.
The pleasure axis measures the stimulation you feel from banging her and just generally looking at her naked. As you can see, the pleasure curve for quality pussy is exponential. Jumping from a 7 to an 8 adds more units of stimulating pleasure to the experience than jumping from a 6 to a 7 would add. Any girls 4 and lower and you’ll hardly notice the difference in pleasure — it’ll all just be wet holes and darkness and stopwatches and running out while she’s in the bathroom. The penis icons drive the point home even better. At a girl rating of 5, you’re chubbing out in anticipation of sex. Anticipating sex with a 7.5 gives you a full hard-on. When there’s a 10 in your bed, your dick is so hard it’s sprouted Wolverine claws. Perfect for female lawyers!
Now we’ll take a look at quantity.
The pleasure curve for quantity is different than the quality pleasure curve because there are diminishing returns to pleasure past a certain number of notches. Variety is its own reward until the effort expended exceeds the rewards gained. The effort required to bed 10,000 women is so immense, assuming you’re not a Wilt Chamberlain caliber alpha male, that any marginal increase in stimulation barely registers. You’re spending all your manly energy on the chase instead of the fucking. Your dick won’t be able to distinguish and enjoy the subtleties of individual women after about 5,000 — you’re lost in a sea of vagina at that point, and dehydrating fast.
There is a sweet spot, though. The curve really begins an upward trajectory of rising pleasure around 50 women and takes off until the penis is happiest in the 200 to 500 range, depending on your tightness of game and multitasking ability. You’ll want to shoot for a number somewhere in that range in order to maximize your joy on earth and minimize your regrets in old age.
Where does this leave the battle of quantity versus quality? In a perfect universe, we wouldn’t have to choose — the ultimate pleasure for men is 10,000 10s. But since only the tiniest fraction of super alphas can pull off that feat, we have to be realistic and take effort into account. If you were to superimpose the two graphs you’d see that the quantity curve near the point of diminishing marginal pleasure bisects the quality curve at around the 8.5 rating. This means that, if the effort required were the same, the pleasure received from bedding 100 average girls for one night apiece is equivalent to the pleasure of steady sex from one 8.5.
Of course, the effort required is not the same. Putting in overtime for 20 ugly chicks is gonna feel like shit compared to working half as much for one 7 or 8. But putting in equal effort for 20 8s will be worth more than sex with one 9.
The goal for the discriminating hedonist man whose time and energy is valuable should be 200-500 notches over his lifetime in the 5-8 range (allowing for the occasional dumpster dive), and steady girlfriends on the upper end of the rating scale.
Any guy who claims to have game but picks up hundreds of circus freaks a year will be a laughingstock. And the boastful guy with few notches who claims to know everything about women because he’s been dating his cute high school sweetheart his whole life will similarly be mocked.
