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Incentives Matter

Sep 12th, 2012 by

There’s a great thread going on over at Libertardian Central you might want to read before Cheap Chalupas™ gets the ethnic hives and decides to mass delete impertinent commenters who tweak his mood affiliation.

btw, [david] brooks is wrong. as john stated, men *are* adapting to the new reality. when women start becoming economically self-sufficient and thus price out larger swaths of lower or equal earning men, men respond by competing for their attention by emphasizing different traits where they still can exert a higher value signal that appeals to women’s hypergamy. charisma, for example, is one such alternative trait that women are drawn to in men.

also, the female obesity epidemic is doubtless skewing the mating market against men’s interests (and ultimately against women’s interests). more fat undesirable (but i repeat myself) women means more men turning away from providing for women in favor of pump and dumps and porn. ya know, incentives matters. and men aren’t very incentivized to provide, materially or emotionally, for unattractive, self-sufficient women.

it would also be remiss of me to forget to mention that mass migration of tens of millions of lower iq lower skilled peasants to gut the wages and the spirit of working class american men has not exactly assisted their ability to attract women the traditional, civilization-building way. but hey, to the libertardian, that’s just collateral damage in the great free labor dream of eradicating national borders.

Hanna Rosin and David Brooks are tag-teaming in their claims that women are more adaptable than men, or are better at adapting to the modern economy and culture.

To that, I say magnificent bullshit. Men are adapting. They’re just not adapting in the way that women, and NYBetaTimes pundits, would like them to adapt. The means to acquire a good wage, and the incentive to leverage a good wage to attract women, have both diminished to the point that caddishness and porn have become better alternatives for many men. If feminists and lefties and rinos and tradcons like BIll Bennett don’t like this turn of events, well… they have only themselves to blame. You should have turned back form the brink when you had a chance.

I’ll say it again: Never before in modern American history has there been a time when game was as effective, or as necessary, as right now. Game is no longer just a matter of getting your weekend jollies at the clubs; now it’s a lifestyle. For some, it’s survival of the soul.

Posted in Culture, The Id Monster, Ugly Truths | 144 Comments »

The 4-Date Misrule

Sep 11th, 2012 by

A commenter on a blog I occasionally read mentioned an article about women dating beta men, in which the author advised women to pursue a “4-date rule” to screen out players who closely adhere to the well-known 3-date rule.

(For those in the dark, the 3-date rule means pushing for sex by the third date, and if sex is not forthcoming by then, to jettison the girl and cut your losses, because odds are good that a girl who can wait longer than three dates to put out can wait much longer than that. Plus, a girl who will make you wait an inordinate amount of time is likely a girl who isn’t that taken by you. You will find it very difficult to achieve the all-important hand with such a girl.)

A mass movement 4-date rule, i.e., a temporary boycott of sex Lysistrata-style to weed out cads, will never come to pass. The reason why is simple: Women don’t actually want to weed out the cads.

In one of those mating market paradoxes that drives genuine niceguys insane with unrequited hatelust for the opposite sex, women are less attracted to the sort of man who is willing to abide women’s stated preference for delayed sexual gratification. In other words, if you sincerely agree, tacitly or openly, with the woman you are dating to her arbitrary timetable for sex — “Sure, we can wait, I respect you” — you will have decreased the chance she will ever have sex with you. In the primeval mind of a woman, the man who is willing to patiently endure her chasteness, without complaint, is a man who doesn’t have too many other options in women, and thus signals his low mate value. And the longer he is willing to suffer her clamped legs, the less attraction she will feel for him.

Yep, “I like that you respect my wishes” really means, when translated from the womanese, “You’re a boring loser for not disrespecting my wishes.”

Dr. ϕ writes:

[P]erhaps I’ve grown overly cynical from the blogs I read, but my fear is that the message — watch out for players and PUAs — isn’t worth much by the time it gets through female mental filters.

Looks like a cool drink of water but
he’s candy coated misery
He’s the devil in disguise
A snake with blue eyes
And he only comes out at night
He gives you feelings that you dont want to fight . . . .

But PUAs are good at what they do precisely because of their ability to fly under just this type of radar. The guys that get shot down are the same no-game beta providers that have an uphill climb anyway.

So what happens is that when you tell girls, “There are some bad, bad players out there, so be careful,” they impute the “bad, bad player” quality to the guys they already weren’t enthusiastic about. It becomes a justification for being cold and bitchy to people who really didn’t deserve it. Meanwhile, PUAs do their thing unimpeded.

My explanation for why a cultural or motherly message to avoid players gets nibbled down to a nub and pissed on by female rationalization hamsters is a little different than Phi’s: when girls hear that a man is a “bad, bad player”, he becomes more, not less, interesting to them. Girls then flock to this man, and justify their attraction for his cosmic badassness by utilizing an impressive suite of self-serving spin that would be the envy of the most amoral political campaign operative.

Women love interesting men, even the ugly ones. Women loathe dull men, even the handsome ones. The man who flouts societal convention and disregards women’s claimed preferences is an interesting man. The devil in disguise is more desirable to women than the unmasked angel.

In contrast, the man who abides women’s rules soon finds himself ruled out.

Dr. Phi is right about something, though. Those boring beta niceguys who dutifully wait date after date for a meager morsel from that vagina plate are assigned the unflattering judgment by women that women claim the rule-breaking badboys deserve. But you see, deserving’s got nothin’ to do with it. Not when tingles do the talking.

Now as with most sexual market phenomena, a rule does not mean contrary exceptions don’t exist, or that its parameters aren’t a bit flexible. I have waited more than three dates with a few girls in my lifetime. I went a whole five dates with one girl who was particularly beautiful. Of course, it helped my perseverance that I was dating a couple other girls at the time.

If, on the rare occasion, you find yourself dealing with a woman who is bent on making you wait longer than three dates, you need to ask yourself a couple of questions.

1. Does she behave as if she is struggling to contain an irresistible lust for you?

2. Do you see this girl as long-term potential?

If number one is true, you can safely wait longer than three dates without jeopardizing the alpha cred you have with her. A woman who desperately wants to fuck but also wants to wait a bit so you don’t mistake her for a slut is a prized filly. She is worth humoring, because she likes you enough, and respects your masculine desire, to work hard at projecting an image of chastity and future fidelity that you will value. Don’t worry about being able to tell if she is this type of girl; you’ll know by her flushed face as she’s breathlessly uttering the words “not tonight”, and feebly pushing off from you, that she’s really into you, and that the calculated waiting period is one of mutual respect and deep interest, not one borne of flagging attraction.

If number two is true, it would be in *your* interest to allow her the luxury of a perfunctory waiting period. You will perceive a woman who has made you wait as a high value woman more worthy of your long-term investment and resources than a slutty same night lay would be. This perception operates at the subconscious level; you have little control over it.

If neither of those prerequisites are true, get the bang sooner rather than later, or cut your losses after the third date. (Some would say the second date should be your limit; I have no quarrel with that.) The danger in adhering to women’s waiting periods is that you 1. drain power by the date, resulting in lost hand, and 2. diminish the woman’s attraction for you.

The fact of the matter is that the strongest, most intensely romantic relationships often start the most passionately, punctuated by sexual immediacy. The great advantage to *not* waiting for sex on a woman’s prerogative is that you are in the driver’s seat; you can choose to pump and dump or to pursue a relationship after you have sated yourself. You are in no position to think clearly as long as your balls remain filled with brain-blocking sperm. At least if you have banged a girl on the first date, you know for certain she’s into you, and nothing bonds a woman to a man better than sex.

A curious trick you can try on women who seem like the types to follow a “wait to mate” strategy is to preempt their objections by insisting on waiting yourself. As she’s kissing you, say, “Oh, hey, I’m not like most men. I don’t want to have sex until later, maybe much later. I have to get to know you first before I go there.” It”s a bit cheesy, but when it works, it really works. She will wonder why you aren’t all over her like so many other men, and this challenge to her broad but shallow princess ego will spur her to sexual aggressiveness, until she is satisfied she has defeated your principles. Then you may allow yourself a victorious chortle.

Posted in Game, Girls, Guy Rules | 276 Comments »

Game And HBD: BFFs

Sep 10th, 2012 by

Haha. I bet you read the title and thought this post would be a lengthy treatise on the shared philosophical underpinnings of game and human biodiversity (HBD). Psyche!

A reader emails:

Hello. I’d like to add the entry of Game to the HBD Dictionary:

As a rough draft entry, I have:

Game:  Using insights from evolutionary psychology and human biodiversity, game teaches men, especially beta males, how to simulate the attitudes and characteristics of alpha males so as to be more attractive to females.

Again, a rough draft.  Feel free to re-write.

Also, if you can think of any other terms that need to be added or revisions to current terms, please let me know.

I don’t have a major problem with the crux of this reader’s definition of game. I see what he’s getting at. I might rephrase it to: “Using insights from evolutionary psychology and real world experience bedding women…”, but then the peer review panel would get the hives. However, I don’t think a definition should be nested (if that’s the right word); that is, a good definition won’t require the reader to have to look up the definitions of fuzzy words within the main definition (e.g., “beta males” or “alpha males”).

How about this definition instead (and one that avoids using the word game within the definition)?:

Game, noun

A systematized blueprint of male behavior for attracting, courting and seducing women in an efficient and powerful manner based on the practical application of theories of human, and particularly female, sexuality derived from the insights of evolutionary psychology, biology and real world experimentation.

Any alternate suggestions from the peanut gallery?

PS I do think game and HBD greatly overlap, despite the commonly held misconceptions that HBD is a synonym for genetic determinism or that game is a synonym for boundless behavioral plasticity.

Posted in Hope and Change, Ugly Truths, Vanity | 99 Comments »

IQ, Executions And Voting

Sep 8th, 2012 by

GLP links to a La Griffe du Lion piece that confirms what I stated about retardation — namely, that the correlation between clinical, biological retardation and IQ varies by race. The subject came up over a discussion about Texas’ execution of a man with an IQ of 61 from a test taken later in his life. (His first IQ test put him at 73.)

In the comments over there, PA astutely notes:

IQ-alone limits on execution do carry implications with regards to other aspects of citizenship.

Liberals who trumpet IQ-based restrictions on the death penalty should be wary of where their invented morality logically leads. (As well as wary of their hypocrisy being exposed over the IQ issue, a metric which liberals claim not to believe in unless and until belief in it suits their agenda.) To wit: if low IQ is sufficient to exempt a murderer from the death penalty because of presumed cognitive impairment of his moral judgment, then low IQ is sufficient to exempt dumb citizens from the voting rolls because of cognitive impairment of their political judgment, which is just a proxy for moral judgment.

I really don’t see a legitimate (i.e., sensible, rational, non-shrieking) argument against this simple logic. If liberals and the various hodge-podge of flaming equalists are going to go down this road, they have to accept the logical conclusions that their beliefs take them in regards to issues they congenitally find personally distasteful. If they don’t, they discredit themselves.

Posted in Culture, Ugly Truths | 352 Comments »

Asstenuating Circumstances

Sep 7th, 2012 by

Readers have asked, “What was your most memorable pickup?” I can think of a few successful pickups that were very challenging and provided me with much spiritual fulfillment upon completion. But if we’re talking about picking up against all odds and natural law, under adverse conditions that would cause lesser men to wilt in defeat, one in particular stands out.

***

I unrolled the mat and tamped down the curled end. Observing my surroundings from the back row of the yoga class, a swarm of svelte hourglass figures tucked salaciously into lycra presented for my eye rape. Ponytails swatted the air and taut bodies stretched and leaned and jutted to fill every frame of my viewing field. I dropped to my mat, extended my legs, and began reaching out to touch my knees. Pre-stretch.

“First time here?,” I asked the brunette sitting cross-legged to my right.

She hesitated before answering, “Nope. I’ve been going for years.”

“I bet you’ve memorized all the moves, then. I need a crib sheet.”

She half-smiled. “It’s pretty relaxed here.” Glancing at the instructor setting up her work station, “She goes slow.”

“If I don’t know a move, I just drop into that fetal position where you’re looking at the floor like you’re about to throw up.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”

I liked this girl.

Class started. Upward, outward, inward, splayed, sternum to the sky. Supple, peach cleft, disembodied asses bobbed in figure eights in front of me like that bouncing ball traveling across the lyric captions to some Saturday morning children’s show. Sheer, high tech material emphasized every vulval ridge. It stirred.

Halfway through the class, in the middle of executing a straight-backed bend at the waist, and with no warning flare from my viscera, a loud, staccato racket erupted from my exit.

BWWAAAAAPP

My face burned to match the rectal tear I thought I had suffered. More than half the class pretended not to notice. But it was foolish to feign ignorance. This newborn’s cries echoed off the walls. No ear was spared.

A few girls and the one herbly man (the only one besides myself in attendance) in the class turned in the direction of the prurient sound, not quite sure who emanated the offense but able to narrow it down to two or three suspects, their faces twisted in yeoman efforts to hide disgust or laughter. The man nodded his head at me (he knew) and was the only one to notably chuckle. The instructor, obviously practiced in the art of managing student effluvium, segued hastily into the next pose by raising her voice a few decibels to distract the rumble of cackling that was about to unleash.

But before she could announce the next pose and move us all forward from mass embarrassment, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Was that a duck?”

Laughter rippled through the crowd. The brunette swiveled and grinned at me, having reconsidered the merit of talking to me earlier. I had verbalized the unthinkable, and in so doing perhaps saved her from being misattributed as the ass criminal. By now my blush had receded, and I smiled at her and shrugged my shoulders, as if to say “hey, gas happens”.

Supreme self-confidence, I thought. A man who owns his bodily functions is a hot commodity.

I wanted to keep the moment going with further jokes about the incident, thinking the running gag is a good way to loosen a girl up. But better sense prevailed and I kept my mouth shut while flexing triumphantly through the remaining poses. At the end of the class, incense candles were lit to guide us through the meditative cool-down. I think they were lit for another reason.

I stood up and rolled my mat, grabbing her attention.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“I think we should clear the air on what happened here, over drinks sometime. Like, how about tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Your form is barely adequate. I could give you some tips.”

“Tips? Over drinks? I don’t think your tips would be very helpful.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist. Hope and change.”

“So… you’re asking me out?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you do this to all the girls at yoga classes?”

“Embarrass them? Yes.”

“Haha.” She stared at me for an interminable three seconds. “Well, ok. But… don’t bring your duck.”

I raised my eyebrows in faux indignation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, riiiight.”

We exchanged numbers after most of the class had disembarked. I said I would call her.

I’m certain she had a blast retelling this moment to her girl friends. And I’m glad I was the source of her glee.

***

So that, gentlemen and gentlewomen readers, was my most memorable pickup. Nothing smooth or suave about it. Just a lot of gumption and chutzpah. Accompanied by a galvanizing symphony of war drums.

Posted in Funny/Lolblogs, Inner Beauty, Self-aggrandizement | 60 Comments »

Your Girlfriend Is Flirting With Your Best Friend. What Now?

Sep 6th, 2012 by

Joe Mama writes:

Wanted to get your thoughts on: getting vibes that your gf and best buddy have sexual tension between them.

It’s almost as if they’d be a better fit for each other, it’s fucking with my mojo.

My working philosophy in matters of suspicions of cheating, or suspicions of potential cheating, is to go with your gut. If you feel a chest-tightening discomfort that a sexual vibe may be happening between your GF and your best friend, odds are pretty good it is happening.

There’s a reason many societies attempt to limit the exposure of wives to too many single men. Women’s hypergamy and sexuality don’t just turn off the moment a marital contract is signed, or a meaningful eye-gaze discussing dating exclusivity is shared. If your male friends are very alpha, very charming, and/or very flirtatious, especially relative to your own talents, then you are staring into the maw of an excited vagina aroused by the scent of cock in the water.

Alpha male friends (AMF) can be more fearsome sexual market competitors than alpha male strangers (AMOG). The comfort of acquaintance pacifies the female urge to caution, and an alpha male friend whose bond of loyalty is weak will pose a bigger threat than some random guy hitting on your girlfriend. A simulacrum of familiarity coupled with a constant state of self-enforced denial is rocket fuel for female fantasy.

Plus, think back to the ancestral environment, and realize that the norm for much of human history has been small tribes interacting only occasionally with outside tribes. In this environment, the men that women would most likely cheat with would know on some personal level the male partners of such women.

The wickedness of double disloyalty — from both your girlfriend and your best friend — can rend a man’s soul. I don’t have hard numbers at hand on the frequency of female cheating with males unknown to her primary partner versus males known to her primary partner, but I’d bet the latter happens just as often as the former.

Women, because they are just as duplicitous as men in their desire to cover their cheating tracks, will hesitate to get involved in any affair that has a high risk of exposing them. Ironically, affairs with male buddies can sometimes have a lower exposure risk than affairs with outside males, or at least be perceived as lower risk, because the male buddy has just as much incentive as the woman to keep a lid on things. A woman knows her boyfriend’s male friends better than she will know a dude she met on the train, and she understands that where incentives align, the particulars of affairs are more manageable.

Working against this exposure limiting incentive is the male friend who secretly loves your girlfriend, and will blow things up if he thinks an affair with her signals something deeper. For that reason, women are wary of trysts with male friends who don’t honor, as revealed through his professed feelings of love and yearning, the woman’s relationship with her boyfriend or husband.

Most times, women will resist the temptation of the alpha male friend. A woman who has invested much in a relationship will think twice before assuming a high risk cuckold maneuver that might destroy her investment. But it only takes one time, one magical night of heedless tingle, for years of virtue to dry up and blow away like tumbleweed. And for good reason: that one night could mean eighteen years of indentured servitude to a genetic impostor.

If there is a hint of sexual tension between your girlfriend and your best friend, you have to make a clear-eyed reappraisal of your relationship. Asking a few questions to yourself is a start.

1. Is her flirting harmless?

You can usually tell when a woman’s flirting is the playful self-boosting variety rather than the charged erotic variety. Women, and particularly good-looking women (one of life’s paradoxes), like to be reminded of their desirability, and flirting with other men is one way they fulfill that need. If it’s just an itch being scratched by a party girl poser, you’ll know by how lazily she flirts in front of you and by how quickly she rescinds her offer of flesh to rush back into your arms. If it’s genuine attraction, and the two of them are in your company, her contorted face will tell of her burgeoning guilt. A woman will not try to hide something of no consequence.

2. Is her flirting a jealousy ploy?

If it’s obvious she’s trying to make you jealous, that’s generally a good thing. It means she still loves you, but isn’t getting what she considers enough signs of commitment from you. I actually love it when girlfriends lamely and transparently flirt with other men in front of me, because it provides such a convenient way to lord my peen-cred over them by ambushing them with their own ham-fisted efforts.

3. Is she touching your friend, or herself, a lot?

It’s hard for a woman to consciously control her touch instinct in the presence of a man she desires. If you catch your GF placing her hand on your best friend’s forearm or shoulder more than once, you should be concerned. Same goes if she’s stroking her hair or caressing her face with her hands when talking with him.

4. Is she asking a few too many questions about your best friend?

This is a major tell. Doubly so if she tries to form her questions so that they sound like innocuous, spontaneous inquiries. “Hey, remember when you were telling me about Svengard’s trip to Italy? When’s he coming back? I bet he’d love to tell you all about it.”

5. Is she always offering to arrange co-ed events or nights out with your friends?

She wants to see him, but needs the cover of mixed company.

6. Are you having problems in your relationship?

Any sort of beta backsliding, or drifting apart, will push a girlfriend or wife into serious contemplation of competing market options. Luckily, you have an early warning sign at your disposal: the frequency and timing of sex. Be very wary if she stops fucking you during the ovulation part of her cycle.

If, after a careful answering of the above questions, you determine that the sexual chemistry you perceive between your girlfriend and your best friend is real, you have a number of choices.

– Call her out on it.

“I notice you flirt a lot with Tertullian. You think I don’t notice it? If we’re having problems, maybe we should part ways.”

– Tease her in front of him.

“Jesus, you’re blatant. You’re making Tiberius uncomfortable. I thought I was dating a nun, not a stripper.”

– AMOG your best friend.

“Hey, man, I think she’s into a threesome with you and me. I figure your pretty comfortable with a little accidental sword fighting.”

– Fuck with her head.

“Honey, I think Anfernee wants to sleep with you. It’s so obvious. I’m… sure you’ve noticed it.”

– Agree and amplify.

“Babe, the next time you flirt with Brantworth, try leaning in more, and licking your lips. I don’t think he’s getting the message.”

– Ignore it.

An aloof attitude won’t save your hide every time. You might successfully bluff her and she’ll run back to you to re-earn your love, or your inaction might seal your cuckolded fate. Much depends on the reactiveness of the chemistry your GF has with your best bud.

– Dump her.

Sexual chemistry is a powerful force. If you sense her infidelity is inevitable, get the jump on it and spare yourself the humiliation. If you’re married, make sure to collect evidence of her cheating before pulling the plug. You’ll need all the leverage you can get in divorce court.

Generally speaking, women will not cheat with your best friends unless one or both of the following criteria are met:

Your friend is significantly higher value than you are.

Sadly, female hypergamy can only be chained so long as it doesn’t grow too strong in the presence of a much higher value male. Your beloved will jump the bones of a Hollywood celebrity if given a real chance for it, no matter how much she sincerely loves you. And I suspect a lot of you tradcon loyal hubbies with visions of beatific virtue dancing in your heads would jam the hammer in Emma Stone’s toolbox if she backed up into you and breathlessly whispered her longing for your Biblical cock.

You have lost value within your relationship.

Relationships, barring compensatory game, tend to betafy even the rock hardest men. Time and familiarity and fairly predictable sex enervate the virile masculine essence.

Maxim #67: A man who has stopped seducing new women is a man who is becoming less seductive to his main woman.

When you become more beta, you are, in practice, raising the value of every other man your girlfriend or wife meets. Your best buddy Lil’ Petey starts to seem more like Peter the Great to your GF. Once you have turned to the beta side, even the most loyal, loving woman will begin to experience a reckless disregard for your feelings and a concomitant lessening of guilt when the prospect of sex with a more alpha man presents itself. Women are nothing if not masters at rationalizing away their malevolence when communion with alpha cock is on the altar of their womb cathedrals.

Preventative measures, then, are simple.

One, try as best you can to limit the amount of time that your girlfriend spends in the company of men higher status than yourself. You are playing with fire if your woman goes to work every day under an alpha boss. Now, obviously, certain realities prevent you from imposing the draconian limitations you would like and that would make a powerful dent in her ability and desire to cheat. But you can do little things. For instance, gently persuade your lover into work that is female-heavy, or run by women, or staffed with a lot of mediocre beta males. Or, get her knocked up fast, so she isn’t shunted into a lifestyle of peonage to an alpha male captain of industry. Or refuse to include her in your male buddy circle if you think some of your friends represent real sexual threats.

I can hear the baters now: “Waaah, you don’t think women have the willpower to say no to alpha males?!?”

Sure, I do. But willpower is conditional. The more her options increase, and the value of her options increases, the more malleable and fragile her willpower becomes. It’s a matter of removing excessive temptations from her life that might challenge her willpower. (Wives would be wise to keep to the same philosophy as concerns their husbands’ fidelity. It’s no wonder new wives move quickly to the suburbs, where atomistic single family homes and long commutes restrict the availability of young, nubile babes who would tempt their husbands.)

Two, avoid the betafying degeneration of long-term relationships. This means, in practice, keeping your flirting skills up to snuff by occasionally hitting on women other than your GF or wife. Game is not only useful for pickup, it’s useful for revitalizing the fading love brought on by predictability and familiarity.

If your girlfriend nags you a lot, and she’s hot enough to attract men of the caliber of famous actors, you may as well take her extrapair flirting as a message that she’s already serviced cocks other than your own. Don’t be surprised if that headache she has at the most inopportune times becomes a chronic condition.

Posted in Alpha, Biomechanics is God, Girls, Guy Rules | 135 Comments »

A Virgin Mormon’s Journey To Game

Sep 5th, 2012 by

A reader who shall remain unidentified sent this story about his first time in a girl’s pussy. Names, venues and locations were changed by the reader to protect the privacy of those involved. I can’t vouch for the truthfulness of this tale. As is usual in these circumstances where anonymity is necessary, the policy is “what you read is what you get”. You may choose to believe or disbelieve.

******
Dear CH, this is my story. It is all true and has been edited to ensure real names, venue names and locations are not revealed. I’m not asking for feedback because there is much to read and much to learn from CH, and I simply have a lot of reading and learning to do.

I gift this story to you. I thought of you mid-pump. I could feel your god-like presence looking down on me with a look of patronistic-pride. [ed: no homo!]

Feel free to post any of this on CH, in fact it would be an honour, but I’m satisfied with the hope that you’ll read this and hopefully smile like a father watching his son ride a bike without training wheels for the first time. [ed: i know that feel, bro.]

The following interaction occurred in a country like England or Australia or The United States or New Zealand or Canada. I am 24 years old and recently made a big change in my life; I divorced my affiliation from the Church of Latter Day Saints (Mormons), my ultra-conservative Mormon family and 95% of my Mormon friends. I’m more or less on my own and the ‘moral’ floodgates are open; everything is fair game. This isn’t my excuse for not getting my fuck on earlier though. Had the hot and heavy opportunity landed in my lap (heh), I probably would have seized it. So I’m no saint as I have more than my lion’s share of really big fuck ups, but the few rules I tried to follow were related to drinking, drugs and pre-marital sex, etc. The ones your parents generally care about.

This is a true story with names changed or censored.
This is how I parted ways with my virginity.
You really can’t make this shit up.

(Note: All my life I’ve been a beta/nice-guy/just-friend, I’d never kissed a girl or anything beyond that… I’ve read the beginning of The Game by Neil Strauss up until the part where the NLP guy is doing shit with the sauce bottles. Prior to these events, I had frequented the Chateau less than a dozen times and felt like none of it could work for me… Looking back, I applied maybe 1% of things I had read and what my friends had advised me to do with girls, etc… In the last 3 months I’ve spooned with 3 different girls, the last one of whom I fingered and sucked on her tits (lol, yes, they were all awake and sober at the time also). Ha, the girl I fingered however… Man oh man did I suffer a terrible case of the blue-balls because of it… I could hardly walk or sit down, for the rest of the day. Fuck you 8th grade sex-ed teacher for saying blue-balls is just a myth. Up until the events as detailed below, I was a ‘classical’ virgin to all purposes and extents.

My dear friend Adam said to me after I retold these sordid events to him, “You did what you did as a beta. Imagine what you could achieve if you worked on your inner game and became a lesser alpha…”

Imagine it. Done.

—

The Dawn of my non-Virgin Self, by “m”.

23 August 2012

It was a Thursday evening and the weather wasn’t great. It had been raining for most of the day, grey skies and general gloom. Fuck it, I’m going out if anyone else is. By the time the night rolled around the weather had changed a little for the better. It was still bitterly cold which is very much par for the course in this city.

At 5:28 pm I texted Jane Stevenson: hey Janey, let’s go out tonight. celebrations are in order

I went and had a shower in anticipation for the night ahead. No plans were in the making other than the hope that Jane (Janey) would reply to my text and meet me in the city for drinks. At around 10:20 pm with no reply, I called Janey hoping she’d finished her basketball game (she plays basketball on Thursday nights) to see what she was doing. My call rang through to her voicemail and I hung up.

At 10:23 pm Jane Stevenson texted me: Hey! Sorry, I meant to text you. I’m at a 21st at Titanium, so we’re already out. What’re your plans? And what are we celebrating!?

At 10:24 pm I texted Jane Stevenson: haha, don’t bail, i’ll tell you what we’re celebrating when i get there

I promptly got dressed and fixed up my hair before heading out to the city. I parked in the “Horsing Around” car park and walked to Titanium Bar. Janey and her friend Hannah were standing next to a wall opposite the far end of the bar. I approached them and she noticed me and as we made contact, she put her arms around me, hello, blah, etc. She asked me what we were celebrating and I told her it was somewhat bittersweet… I told her that a job opportunity had come up in the capital city and that I not only got the job, but I was the preferred candidate for the role, “I’m moving away”. Janey and I have only met a handful of times but there has been obvious chemistry each time we met. I should have escalated things with her prior to tonight, but hindsight can go fuck itself in this particular instance. She said something to the effect of, “well I’m sure I’ll see you when you come to visit and I’ll try and come up to see you too”. This I liked. She introduced me to some of her friends and the 21st birthday boy, “[redacted]“.

Being the inexperienced drinker that I am (because of my prior “Mormonism”), I ordered a Tequila on the rocks (Jose Cuervo Especial) and it tasted of unwashed Mexican feet. It also cost me $9. Janey and a couple of her girlfriends were playfully giggling at me because of my drinking inexperience and the faces of pained disgust I was exaggerating. It was all cute, really. I went back to the bar and ordered a Red Bull to clean the flavour out of my mouth and thought I’d mix the two to see if it got any better. It did get a little better, but not by much. The Red Bull cost me $7. Janey advised me to stick with vodka and that I won’t regret it. These fucking prices also, goddamn.

It was decided that we would all leave Titanium Bar and go to McFadden’s Pub. When we finally got there (it’s about 4 blocks away) we were told by some members of the group who had left earlier that it was dead inside and the music was shit (they play the top 40, what were you expecting?), and we proceeded to return to the main nightclub strip. All the while we were walking to McFadden’s Pub and now back again, I was walking beside Janey, talking shit and applying a little kino when crossing the street. I was going to jaywalk in front of oncoming traffic (I would have made it across without issue) and Janey grabbed me by the torso and pulled me back into her, to save my life perhaps (lol). I put my arms around her and said, somewhat mockingly, “what, you care that much for me?” to which she replied, “I don’t like to see people get hurt.” I smirked at her and she smiled. We got to the front of Minq and waited for the birthday boy who had apparently gone off with a girl to get some food, however after having stood in the cold for 5 minutes his friends started calling him to see what was going on. Apparently he’d gone home (I don’t know if the girl went home with him or not) because he’d had a big enough night. Mind you, it couldn’t have been later than midnight at this point. “Some 21st”.

24 August 2012

When we got inside Minq we went to the dance floor and proceeded to dance in the fashion that SWPL youth dance. After about 15-20 minutes we left the dance floor and went to the bar overlooking the dance floor. I ordered a Vodka Red Bull (Red Bull Silver Edition: Lime). It cost me $10. After I finished my drink, Janey grabbed my arm and told me she and some of her friends were going downstairs for a cigarette break. I joined them so as not to be left alone in the club. During this cigarette break, some acquaintances of Janey’s joined us (apparently they were Canadian and [White] South Africans studying at a private school). Though I cannot recall his name, perhaps for lack of caring to, one of the South Africans I will refer to as WK had a keen interest in Janey. To my dismay (beta feelings), she seemed to reciprocate his advances and they kissed openly in the street. He was clearly the AMOG and applied kino aggressively and effectively. He also ‘seemed’ to be quite drunk. When I was introduced to him I simply told him to call me “m” as I ‘own that alphabet’ (and there are instances where I don’t want certain people to know my name). This stuck. Good.

It was then decided that we all go to the upstairs level of Horsing Around. There was more dancing and trips to the bar and more of WK and Janey making out. I tried my best to project an aura of idungivafuq but on the inside I was dying. Being a sports bar, Horsing Around had a promotional ‘snowboarding’ competition where competitors had to ride a mechanical snowboard for as long as they could to win some kind of prize. The mechanical snowboard works in a similar way to a mechanical bull. I got in line as I fancied my chances and managed to steal most of the group to come and watch me. I thought this would be a good chance to demonstrate some alpha athleticism so in my mind, I had a lot to lose if I failed… Behind me in line, I noticed an accent that seemed far from its native home. I turned to see a girl wearing a grey dress, black skin-tight lycra-esque-pants(?) and grey suede heels. She seemed to be 5-6 inches taller than myself (heels included). I said hi to her and enquired as to her place of origin. She told me she was a New Zealander and we started chatting; she was travelling the world and was currently based here working as an Au Pair full-time and as a barmaid part-time. We discussed our chances on the mechanical snowboard and she revealed to me that she has been snowboarding somewhat regularly, “at least a dozen times” back home (this was later evident in her performance). She asked me about my boarding experience and I told her it was minimal at best, but having been long boarding for a few months now, I have a general level of control on a board.

One of the men in charge of operating the mechanical snowboard approached us with a clipboard to sign the indemnity form in the event we should hurt ourselves whilst on their equipment; I think it was also to go in the running for some kind of bar tab prize. Riding the board had a no shoes, no socks policy and after a successful ‘practice run’ I motioned to the operator to let loose. In 15 seconds or less it went from cruisey, curvy sways to actual bucks as if you were going over a mound-field. The third one got me and I fell into the air-filled jumping-castle-like surrounds. I put my shoes and socks back on as the New Zealander girl was getting ready to have her go. She stayed on for over a minute. After she got her shoes back on I congratulated her on her superior snowboarding skills and asked her for her name. She told me her name was Samantha. I said to her, “hey listen, since I might not see you again tonight, give me your number cause you seem like a pretty cool chick”, to which she replied, “but I have a boyfriend”, to which I replied, “well maybe I just wanna be friends…” and shrugged with a look of nonchalance on my face. It did the trick. Perhaps it also had something to do with the fact that she was leaving the club to go somewhere else with her friends and there was a sense of urgency about it all… She didn’t know what her number was by heart but had it saved in her phone. She found her own contact and I typed it into my phone and saved the contact as Samantha Newport (Kiwi Chick). She left and my friends and I carried on for about an hour (drinking, dancing, smoking, etc.) and when we were satisfied that we had had enough, we went to Macdonald’s.

The group walked in and sat at a table, I stayed outside and spoke with a street musician as I’d met him on a previous night out and had heard his life story through song. I feel like we’re more than strangers in an odd sort of way. After some chit-chat, Janey came outside to join me and have a smoke (I don’t smoke by the way) and I introduced her to my Liberian street musician friend. He told her she was very beautiful and that I was very ‘lucky’ to have a girlfriend like her, which made her blush. Neither of us corrected him. I tossed some money into his guitar case and asked him to play a Bob Marley song. Going from the best to the worst wingman ever, he played Redemption Song instead of Is This Love. WK came outside and AMOG’d me by being all handsey and kissyface and whisked Janey away back inside. After he was done playing his song I shook his hand and told him to have a good night. I went inside the Macdonald’s restaurant and everyone was eating a burger or whatever. WK had ordered a side of Janey and was yet again busy eating her face. The awkward thing for me throughout the whole night was that Janey was the only person I knew beforehand. After 10-15 minutes everyone was feeling tired enough to go home. I think it was around 2:30 am. Janey was about to get into a taxi with WK and I called out to her. She came to me and hugged me good night. I told her, “I don’t want you going home with him…”, but she gave me a pained expression and got into his taxi anyway. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that interaction.  I’m not going to assume anything happened or didn’t happen, I simply truly do not care for had this not happened, The following would not have occurred:

Feeling defeated, I did a very beta thing…
At 2:42 am I texted Jane Stevenson: </3
There was no (immediate) reply.

I felt like a loser because I was. I lost the girl I wanted for the night to someone younger than myself, younger than Janey, and I felt ashamed. I decided I’d solo the rest of the night and see how things turn out. I went back to Minq and just as I got up the stairs and walked in, I noticed Samantha the New Zealander girl walking towards me, but she didn’t recognise me (or maybe didn’t want to) so I called out to her and she turned around. I asked where she was going and she said something to the effect of, “I’m trying to find my friends, I think they’re outside or something”, to which I replied, “well text them to come here and stay here and party with me”. She had a look on her face that said “but I need to find my friends, some shit’s going down” and she said bye and left.

At 2:58 am I texted Samantha Newport (Kiwi Chick): come back to the club, i’d love for you to chill with me for a bit

No reply. I felt defeated again. I stayed in the club and watched some well booty-endowed African girls dancing while I sipped my Red Bull. I finished my drink, left the can on a table and walked out into the lonely cold.

DESPAIR

Despair was starting to break me so I went to ground level Horsing Around, a nightclub renowned for being home of the easy pump and dump. It’s not actually that bad and I’d say the whole pump and dump label was applied because of a particular patronage that I haven’t seen there in years, but labels stick.

I wasn’t feeling like dancing or drinking anymore, I’d had 2 (count’em, 2!) drinks and wanting to be safe, I wanted to just chill for a bit to get the alcohol out of my system before taking the road home. I sat at one end of a corner table that some 30 something year olds were sitting at and I watched some drunks playing pool. It was entertaining enough. Directly ahead of me I could see the dance floor and there were still some nice looking girls dancing and whatever. I have to mention this because I witnessed first-hand a truly disgusting thing. A fairly decent looking 40 something year old Asiatic man with a good build and friendly face approached a white girl probably in her early to mid-20′s with thighs as thick as… fuck… my waist? 32 inches? She was by no measure (heh) a small girl. He approached her with a jig in his step which was appropriate for the music that was playing at the time and tried to lean in to talk to her and no doubt invite her to dance with him or join him for a drink. Sitting with her hotter looking friends, she refused him with a look of polite disgust so as not to elicit violence but to also get her message across. This was no child though, being the man he was, he turned around, devil-may-care, and continued his dance walk away from her and back towards the dance floor. As he passed where I was sitting, I called him over and said to him, “What a crazy place we live where girls like that shoot down handsome men like you *wink* (no-homo)”, he laughed and shook my hand and went about his way.

Another 5-10 minutes passed and as luck would have it, I saw Samantha on the dance floor dancing with some guy. She and some guy danced literally towards me and I just sat there, trying to look cool and aloof (dead eyes, left thumb hooked in pocket, right arm stretched out across the top of the seats, etc). I’m not sure where the guy fucked off to, but he left and I poked Samantha in her right ass cheek with my left index finger. She turned around and saw me, realised she’d run into me again and started chit chatting about stuff I can’t remember. Not sure if I can call him an AMOG gorilla or whatever, but this African guy came out of nowhere and started dancing with her all up close and personal and intimate and shit, and I just sat there, cool look of detachment on my face as she stared back at me. After a minute or so, it started to look painfully obvious that his advances and adventurous hands were no longer appreciated, so I motioned with my right index finger a ‘come hither’ to Samantha much the same way you would to a kitten. She came and sat next to me and I put my right hand around her waist (DTF lol). African guy had this hilarious look of ‘what the fuck?’ on his face and though he didn’t say anything, he tried to dance her back into his arms as weird as that sounds, much the same way a peacock would probably try to display it’s feathers more alluringly to a pea-hen that’s been taken away from it. She sat next to me and I didn’t say anything to her or look at her, and she finally said, “I feel so threatened sitting here with you”, to which I replied, “ha, and why’s that?”, and she moved away a bit and said “because you’re being so distant. I moved in closer than before (remember, this is a night club with loud music, conversation is mouth-to-ear with centimetres in it) and said, “I’m distant because you’re cold”. Something in her changed and she moved in and rested her head on my shoulder and told me she was tired. I took her hand and drew circles in her palm with my index finger and when she asked me what I was doing, I told her this is how I get to know the girls that I like. She laughed and I asked her where she lives, she told me and I told her “I can drive you home if you like, you’re on my way”, and this seemed quite agreeable to her.

We went to the dance floor, she said bye to her friend who was dancing with some other guy and we stepped outside. I took my jacket off and wrapped her in it (she had her arms crossed) and she protested, “no it’s okay, blah blah blah”, and I told her to shut up and accept chivalry when it’s given. No further argument. I’ll skip some of the detail here because I don’t want this to be on par with Lord of the Rings. We got to my car, drove to her place, I pulled into her driveway. I said to her, with the engine of my car still running, “I don’t want this to be goodnight”, to which she replied, “what do you want?” … She leaned in close to my ear, her breath heavy on my neck and I said after a slight pause, “I want to spend the night in you”. She started kissing me and was quite bitey which I found quite funny, that is to say, she was biting my lips and not particularly lightly either, and it should be noted that this was my first kiss. We made out for about 30 seconds and I knew I had to escalate shit fast. I gently pulled away from her and my lips finally left the vice-like grip of her teeth and I switched my car engine off. I got out of my car walked around to her side. She’d already opened her door and I gave her my hand to help her out, she got out, started making out with me in the street and I pulled away again to lock my car. She led me to an intercom panel to gain entry to her complex where the key to her house was biometric security based; her right index finger to be precise. She walked me through the gate and told me to stick to the wall as I walked as there are security cameras and she’s not allowed to have company in her house.

Everything at this point felt surreal. Here I was, having just had my first kiss(es) with a pretty good looking girl and she was leading me into her bedroom. I knew I was going to get my fuck on tonight, I could just never have anticipated things would have been like this. We got inside, went up the stairs and into her bedroom. She started profusely apologising for the mess in her house (she later said she’s OCD about tidiness and even a few things here and there drive her crazy) and I told her it didn’t matter. We sat on the edge of her bed and started making out again, but having read my friends’ sisters’ girly magazine with him when I was 12 or 13, I knew about girls having this erogenous zone or something that goes from the lips to the neck to the shoulder, kind of like a triangle. I started working that area with my lips while I had a hand on the small of her back and another between her legs on her upper inner thigh. She started moaning so I assumed I was doing it right. Haha, women’s magazines actually serving a purpose for once.

She asked me how many girls I had been with and I told her not to freak out or panic, and I made a zero with my thumb and index finger. She didn’t believe me and I told her this isn’t the kind of thing I’d lie about, especially in this particular setting… She got upset and said she didn’t want to ruin me, that it wouldn’t be love or real, that I deserve to be in love with the person I want to share my first time with… I deflected all of her concerns telling her she couldn’t ruin me because I have a strong heart, that it didn’t get more real than this and what we were about to embark on was love itself, etc. Pretty much anything to get around her negative emotions and get her back in the mood, and never mind her boyfriend whom she loved, his name didn’t come up once. Retrospectively, I find it quite funny how beta I acted as the crescendo of the night was in progress, statements like, “omg ur so bewtiful” and “i’m so lucky 2 b here wit u”… The heat of the moment I guess. Now, this was an unplanned adventure so it was raw. Later it got rough, but it was all certainly raw. And had there been a condom in sight, I still probably wouldn’t have used one, but having learned mid fuck that this girl was into EVERYTHING, I wish I had had a condom to explore her rectum with my hardware.

We undressed each other and these motions of pre-programmed human-ness took over. I don’t want this to sound clinical or overly nerdy, but it felt like two machines were interfacing with each other to perpetuate the operation of a greater task, it was awesome. We started at around 4 am and I felt like I was in a porno, we did everything; missionary, her on top/grinding down hard, cowgirl, doggy, sideways, lotus… My mission objective once shit was starting was to get her to cum which was on a psychological level very important for me. A few months ago I watched a how to video on youtube and the girl advised the digital insertion the index and middle fingers with a “come-hither” motion. I think I felt her g-spot and I focused on massaging her insides with that lump as the base of operations. Again, through observation of my subject, I can only conclude I was successful in my endeavours; she kept rolling her eyes into the back of her head, she was biting the skin on her upper arms, her torso and legs were convulsing… Shit was cash. Between her uncontrolled movements and bodily shudders, she looked up at me as perplexed as a betrayed friend and said, “how the fuck is this your first time?” I didn’t bother answering but I can only say it had something to do with watching lots of porn, reading parts of e-books that deal with this subject and actually caring for her sexual needs instead of getting hasty and just sticking it in. I did want it to be a little special after all.

I ate her out and she tasted of lemons and limes (she said it was because of her diet), she sucked my dick and I realised I am extremely ticklish around my upper leg area, she left scratches on my back that led to some high-fives in a steam room at my local pool when the question was raised. After I missionary’d her for a while, she took out her dildo (not sure if I was being inexperienced with her goods or if she wanted double penetration, but I watched her operate on herself which was quite a visual experience. At one point when I was giving it to her from behind I spanked her and she managed to say, “*moaning* ooohhhhhh, oh, oh, oh… oh baby, c’mon, you can hit harder than that, C’MON! *moaning*”. When I had her on top grinding down on me, she put her hands around my throat and started to choke me, and then she realised what she was doing and apologised. I would have laughed but I was too in awe of the hilarity of the moment. At another point I told her I wanted to try a porno move on her (throat-fuck) so she lay on the bed with her head hanging off the side and I docked my shuttle with the international space station. The best part was when I pulled out and that throaty mucus was dripping off my dick. Towards the end of our romp, I still hadn’t cum, not from lack of trying mind you. I have this dangerous desire to fuck a woman in the hopes of getting her pregnant and never seeing her ever again, only to be confronted with my bastard years and years later in an angry, violent confrontation. First world problems I guess. Anyway, I would have blasted inside of her with even greater recklessness as I had discovered a foreign object inside her which she told me was a Mirena, an IUD that provides 99.91% protection from conception. She also told me not to fuck around with it because it cost her $7,000 to buy and have it inserted. Back to me, I’m done with her and I was jacking myself as furiously as possible because I really really really (obviously) wanted to at least cum on her on in her mouth or pussy… I had actually tired myself out. At this point in the morning with the first rays of the sun lighting up the sky, we were both dry; inside and out, tired and sleepy. She tried sucking and jacking me off, and I would get close to climax, but it was like trying to start a car with engine problems. My legs were shuddering in a way that doctors would probably describe as exhaustion due to extreme physical exertion. My kingdom for temporary pre-mature ejaculation… Anyway, we cleaned up, got dressed kissed goodbye and she walked me to my car. Just as I got outside the gate, I turned towards her, placed my left hand on the small of her back and right hand down the front of her jeans with my fingers back inside of her. I took my fingers out after a few pokes that made her roll her eyes back (again), put my fingers in her mouth and she sucked them clean. I kissed her goodbye.

A phone call some hours later and she told me she had been too tired to go to work and had got in trouble from her boss AND that she felt extremely guilty for what had happened because she loves her boyfriend.

Although I didn’t get to deploy my weapon’s payload, it felt like a complete victory for a first time combatant (kind of like the snipers from the movie ‘Jarhead’).

As I got in my car to drive home, I checked my phone…
At 6:25 am Jane Stevenson texted me: Ahhh! I was one of those awful drunk friends…sorry! We’ll have to catch up again when I’m not being retarded
“Catch up” indeed.

Post-script

Having read the recent CH article ‘Hot Girl Crazy’, I can confidently say that Samantha lives in this bubble others have constructed for her. She says this about herself, “I’m a confident girl and I was so sure of my self I felt I had to step out of my comfort zone to find some insecurity to secure”. She lives a very good and easy life (the top 0.00001 percentile in my opinion); she resides in one of the most executive suburbs in my city, drives an expensive European SUV, has her apartment serviced daily (cleaning lady, refrigerator is restocked, etc) and this is all paid for by her employer. She is the most glorified nanny I can think of. Fran Drescher’s ‘Nanny’ character doesn’t even come close.

******

“M”‘s story sounds plausible. A man’s first time is never as smooth as he imagines it will be. Halting beta missteps peppered with brilliant flashes of accidental alpha attitude typically characterize the virgin’s introduction to the world of vagina. There were some truly cringeworthy beta moments in his recollection, but on the whole his strategy was sound: he kept up the physical and emotional escalation while deftly handling the logistics. And he never let the AMOG blowout of his oneitis suck the life out of him like it does for so many recovering betas in similar scenarios; his mood remained engaged and his attitude positive.

I do think this young ex-Mormon, having now tasted the fruit of the tree of knowledge of poon and pickup, will awaken to a world of wonders, and will probably get married a lot later in life than his religious brethren who stayed in the fold. And he will never look back.

Posted in Game, Hope and Change, Vanity | 181 Comments »

How To Do Anniversaries The Alpha Way

Sep 4th, 2012 by

V. writes:

Yesterday it was my 7th month anniversary with my girl. She has been nagging about never celebrating it, so I wrote her name on the street with piss right in front of her and took a picture for the memory.

Anniversaries. The word conjures images of beta males frantically buying gifts at the last second for wives or girlfriends to honor nearly forgotten calendar dates the poor saps believe will earn them major romance cred. But anniversaries are not inherently beta.

If your girl imparts great significance to off-year anniversaries, or to any anniversary having to do with dating milestones rather than the much more onerous (and drably expected) marriage milestones, you are likely an alpha male. A girlfriend who wants to celebrate a seven month anniversary with you is thankful for each and every second of your company. To her, the months are as magical as decades would be to the woman married to a dutiful beta provider.

The weirder the reason for, and the timing of, the anniversary, the more alpha you are. So if she wants to celebrate the one month anniversary of the time you took her out on a real date, you are probably an alpha male. If she starts saying stuff like, “It’s 8:35, Wednesday evening. Remember this time? It was the first time you kissed me. And it was raining outside, just like tonight…,” you are probably an alpha male.

If you are a man who surprises your girlfriend with trivial anniversaries she had no idea existed nor even the remotest interest in celebrating, please lop off your balls. They are obviously doing you no good.

PS You don’t have to spend a lot of money on anniversary gifts. You don’t have to spend any money, for that matter. A woman will, over the years, recall more fondly her name pissed on the street or in the snow than she will the tennis bracelet wrapped by department store staffers.

Posted in Alpha, Dating, Funny/Lolblogs | 102 Comments »

Street Kiss Close Analysis

Aug 31st, 2012 by

Krauser passed along a video of his buddy doing a street pickup which culminated in a kiss close, and asked if I’d like to review it. Certainly.

I’ll do a view-by analysis, and highlight what I think are parts which demonstrate important game tactics and/or principles. As regular readers may know, Krauser is a proponent and practitioner of direct game, and particularly direct day game, so this video may surprise some of you who aren’t used to seeing bold approaches in action.

Krauser step-by-step analyzed this video as well on his own blog, but I decided to do my analysis before reading his breakdown. I was curious if our judgments would synchronize.

PS Yad’s documented street kiss close, which garnered some amount of fame, was reviewed here. Anyhow, onto the video:

0:00 – He approaches from the side, slightly in front of her, and has to backstep a bit. I think this is the best approach angle, because it looks like he just noticed her, and acted on impulse, as opposed to looking like he was stalking her.

0:10 – First deliberate kino. He lightly touches her on the forearm. Kino should occur early in the interaction, and be subtle. The kino also serves to slow her to a stop and drag her into his space.

0:15 – Audio is bad in this part of the video, but I think he asks her what nationality she is, or where she’s from. Direct game often uses brief, “stage setting” indirect openers. There is a lot of overlap between direct and indirect.

0:16 – He shakes her hand and positions himself so that she has to face him and stop walking. Smooth move. He does not let his hand linger long in hers. That’s an example of “pulling away” before her guard is up.

0:30 – I can’t translate, but it looks like he’s asking her a qualification question, and rewarding her with a short shoulder hug which he quickly disengages.

0:38 – “Can I be your friend?” This is the “official” direct opener, but recall that the actual initial opener was more indirect. Also, note his facial expression. There is no neediness being telegraphed.

1:03 – This sequence is extremely direct. “Do you have a BF?” “I would like to get to know you.” etc. But wait. At (1:11), he executes a combo pullback/neg when he tells her he just had a drink of wine and couldn’t remember her name. This is an “indirect-direct” game technique, designed to project both intent and value.

1:18 – He gets her name before he offers his. This isn’t a huge deal, but in general it’s a good idea to “reward” women with your name after they have given theirs. Just throwing your name out there first tends to smack of betatude and desperation.

1:28 – “I guess it would be a bit weird…” Preemptively verbalizing social tension or interest can alleviate it, and helps a girl get comfortable with you. Fleshing out her own thoughts is a way to connect with her.

1:36 – “I don’t know, what can we do?” Assume the sale.

1:46 – First real compliment, but notice he says it after she has agreed to see him again. Reward. Also, describing her eyes as “genuine” is more interesting than saying they’re pretty, or something similar like that. It’s less about physical features, and more about tapping into the contours of her soul.

1:52 – She is a bit nervous and throws out a minor objection (some may call it a shit test, but it’s not. it’s more like a female reflex to discharge the building sexual tension): “You’re so fuuuunny.” Notice he doesn’t apologize for his impertinence or back track in any way. He simply announces to her: “I just say what I feel.”

2:15 – I would like to point out his excellent alpha body langauge. He stands tall, rarely leans into her, and smiles cockily, all while maintaining easy eye contact.

2:38 – “I’m very forward, aren’t I?” Again he verbalizes the sexual tension, which helps condition her to his forwardness.

2:44 – He lays his hands on her shoulders, and strokes her hair a couple of times. Major kino escalation. Do you see her shrieking for the cops like an enraged feminist who thinks she just got raped? Nope. Looks to me like she’s smiling and very happy.

3:06 onward – There’s nothing wrong with capitalizing on your inherent strengths. Notice the face to boob contact. The touching has increased exponentially.

3:15 – “Well, I like you.” Goes for kiss. Rejected! But look closely… she closes her eyes and puckers her lips in anticipation just before her anti-slut defense kicks in. This girl is interested but ancient evolved mental algorithms are screaming through her neurons and pulling her back to the “chased” role.

3:20 – “You give me a kiss then.” Does he get flustered? No. His expression hardly changes from moments before the rejection to moments after. By pointing at his cheek, he deftly pushes her back into the “chaser” role, and the dynamic again reverts in his favor.

3:30 onwards – “Is it too soon to kiss each other?” “I’m very persistent aren’t I?” His strategy rests largely on airing the awkwardness that is naturally occurring in any direct street pickup.

3:42 – I like how he transitioned from “Let me take your number”. It was used as a springboard to molest her mouth. But he’s getting lots of IOIs… extended hand holding, hair grooming, dilated pupils (I can’t see that, but I bet they are.)

4:11 – Nice cherry-shaped ass. American women, take note.

4:28 – “I’m really bad with names, you know?” Her hamster hears: “This guy does this s a lot. He’s preselected. Engage Bartholin’s glands!”

4:40 – “Remember we kissed and had a nice moment together.” Anti-flaking tactic.

***

A couple of final thoughts. He’s fairly good-looking and she’s foreign. This will alter the pickup dynamics a little, but not as much as you would think. Street kiss closes are just as hard for good-looking guys with no game as they are for ugly guys with no game. Unless you are famous, most hot babes aren’t going to give up their lips to a stranger they just met, if he has no game. Yad, for instance, scores kiss closes on the street, and he’s no looker by any stretch. Nevertheless, this type of strong, bold, direct game will come naturally easier to men who aren’t so homely that women immediately throw up bitch shields or turtle and walk faster upon approach. Direct game of this nature is probably more suitable for either 1. good-looking guys or 2. guys who have rock solid inner game and belief in their worth to good-looking women. Men less gifted in the physical department and with inner game issues would likely see more success with indirect game, in which they can use time and gab to talk away their poor looks.

Also, I get a lot of emails from older men asking if this sort of direct street game will work for them. I don’t know Krauser’s age, but my guess is that it will be tougher if the age difference is significant (10+ years), and the man acts and dresses like his age. Steve, the guy in this video, looks to be in his late 20s or 30s, older than the girl, but not so much older that he triggers an instant blowout. If Krauser is reading this, I’d be curious if he knows any older PUAs who are successful with this type of game.

I just read Krauser’s commentary, and for the most part we don’t contradict each other on any major points. He makes a good observation about indirect body language working in concert with direct verbal intention, and vice versa. For instance, Steve’s strong eye contact directly communicates intent while his verbal statement is indirect. He also says that most of the attraction is built nonverbally, within the first 10 or 20 seconds of the interaction, by Steve’s masculine body language and forthrightness, and that most of the communication is taking place in her hindbrain. That first impression is absolutely critical, and it’s why you must master the right alpha male body language before tackling the verbal part of game.

Krauser notes as well that Steve never verbally DHV’ed (i.e., intimated his high value). He relied on his value expressing itself through his directness.

Check out Krauser’s game blog. It’s pretty good.

Posted in Game, Videos | 285 Comments »

Whole Lotta Link

Aug 31st, 2012 by

Over at GLPiggy’s, a ripping good discussion about feminists’ loathing of fathers and fatherhood ensues.

and one more thing that seriously gets short shrift in these discussions of “men dropping out”: it’s a lot easier to say “fuck it all” to the mother of your children when she’s bloated up into a disgusting fat sow. men quickly lose their desire to support women (and their kids) who are physically repellent to behold.

I find it funny how few pundits in any media capacity address the female obesity problem and its role in destabilizing the mating market. (Bill Bennett wept.) Women might get offended — correction, fat chicks and feminists and their lapdog manboobs and tradcons might get offended — by my assertion that looking like a diseased dirigible will lessen the willingness of men to “man up” and support, financially or emotionally, such ghastly beasts, but those who balk at these impertinent suggestions would do well to think of this apropos analogy:

As unemployed, shiftless men are to women’s desire to be loyal and committed wives, so too are gross fat women to men’s desire to be supportive fathers and husbands.

***

Another mischief maker pretends to be a celebrity, and women mist their muffs.

Fake celebrity game. Who says your status has to be backed up by real accomplishments? Chicks dig the illusion.

***

Robin Hanson has a follow-up post to his review (sloppy love kiss?) of Sex at Dawn. He quotes from a new book titled Sex at Dusk (hey, where have I heard that before?), which is critical of Sex at Dawn‘s premises, and consequently adjusts his view on the frequency and nature of prehistoric hunter-gatherer/forager promiscuity.

Even so, [author Saxon] does successfully undercut many Sex At Dawn arguments. In humans, sexual jealousy is a universal, females are picky about sex partners, penises aren’t over-sized, testes are small, sperm production slow, and the evidence doesn’t suggest a great deal of sperm competition. Female chimps have little extra-group sex, bonobos don’t usually mate face-to-face, and many Sex At Dawn quotes are misleading, given their context. […]

A key question, to me, is what percentage of our forager ancestor kids were fathered outside pair-bonds. That is, what fraction of kids were born to mothers without a main male partner, or had a father different from that partner. This number says a lot about the adaptive pressures our ancestors experienced related to various promiscuous and polyamorous arrangements today. And hence says a lot about how “natural” are such things.

As one of the commenters noted over there, no evolutionary psychologist ever denied that female promiscuity was a part of human sexuality. We’re only arguing over the degree of female sluttiness, not its existence. And on that count, the free love authors of Sex at Dawn shoot wide of the mark.

I argued similarly to Sex at Dusk (royalties, please?) that the existence of male jealousy, possibly the most powerful emotion in the known universe after the feeling of bliss that accompanies a strong bowel movement, is alone enough to disprove the polyamorists’ contention that humans are wired for wild group sex, constant cheating, and happy ascent to infidelity and polyamory. Any cursory brush with reality will tell you that we’re not; paternity reassurance, female virginity and faithfulness, and other signs of long-term commitment and disposition for loyalty argue convincingly that the norm, at least until relatively recently, has been evolving toward a more monogamous system. Interestingly, we may be evolving *away* again from monogamy and back to our slutty forager roots, thanks to the pathologically altruistic largesse of the mighty West encouraging women to favor the alpha seed capture strategy over the beta provider capture strategy.

PS Robin goes into lengthy and somewhat labyrinthine explanation about how women’s cries during sex are evidence for a promiscuous past. (Read it there, I’m too lazy to summarize. Basically, he says it’s about bragging.) But I have a simpler asnwer: women moan and gasp and shriek to induce orgasm in themselves, and in their lovers. Female orgasm has been scientifically shown to aid fertilization. This is why a woman will scream with pleasure even when you’re screwing her in the middle of the woods and no one is within twenty miles to hear her.

Just sayin’.

***

Some equalist utopian claims that “desire modification” will be the next big tech innovation. Hmm… desire modification…. now what kinds of people were the sorts who believed human desire could be reengineered… let me think…

Human desire will never be modified. You can only modify the symptoms of desire, not the foundations of desire itself. But I’m sure plenty of fat chicks would love it if one day men were reformulated to desire rolls of buttery lard, like they were living in some Brave New Shallow Hal World.

I predict in the distant future congenital equalists are going to try to biogenetically reengineer away human differences, to equalize the playing field with respect to IQ and other assorted beneficial personality traits, and then once the deed is done claim victory over the forces of bigotry and prejudice and stereotypes and white privilege and dildos that don’t adequately tickle their prostates.

You heard it here first.

***

Not only do chicks dig jerks, but the hottest chicks dig the biggest jerks the most.

So who’s the daddy?

The former “Girls Next Door” star, 32, says that it’s her boyfriend of just nine months, party promoter Pasquale Rotella. “Holly and I are so excited to announce that we are going to be parents,” he tells People. “We’re in love and counting down the days until we meet our beautiful baby. I can hardly believe how lucky I am.”

Having a baby is certainly a bright spot for the CEO of Insomniac Events, who is currently out on $1.2 million bail after a grand jury indictment handed down 29 counts against him and three of his business partners after it was discovered they had bribed an official at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum with $2 million to allow them to throw the Electric Daisy Carnival and other dance parties at the venue, as well as at its sister location, the L.A. Sports Arena. The charges — which Rotella denies — came about after an investigation into the 2010 death of a 15-year-old girl at the EDC party after overdosing on ecstasy.

Breathe deep the cynical gloom,
Watch idealism fade from view.
Beta male dupes look back and lament,
Another day’s useless romantic gesture spent.
Impassioned criminal wrestles her cunt,
Law-abiding man cries for love and has none.
New mother picks up her bastard spawn son,
Beta is on the hook and wishes to get some.
Cold hearted gene that rules the night,
Removes the divine from our sight.
Black is great and white is RACISSSSSSSSS.
But we decide which is truth.
And which is a useful lie?

Posted in Love, Videos | 62 Comments »

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