Great mommy porn, indie-published book that I half read in 2012 or so that really shows the type of passion women crave.
Been applying stuff like this since. Due for a re-read soon.
(Writing is kind of shit but still better than 50 Shades.)
Great mommy porn, indie-published book that I half read in 2012 or so that really shows the type of passion women crave.
Been applying stuff like this since. Due for a re-read soon.
(Writing is kind of shit but still better than 50 Shades.)
Well, that was unexpected.
(Pics at bottom.)
I’m basically in hibernation right now. I’ve long since zoned out of my hometown, instead dreaming of greener pastures in Europe which will soon be my domain.
My days right now are relaxing, fulfilling, but my schedule is a bit fucked. The two main components of my day are (1) writing, and (2) gym. Writing takes me about two or three hours, and I do it only because I enjoy it. I’ve passed the point long ago where it is needed to pay the bills. I could just cruise for the remainder of my life producing nothing and have a very good passive monthly income. Having nearly 40 books in my portfolio, selling well, does that sort of thing.
Plus I’ve already got a great nest egg built up. The benefit of not having any consumerism tendencies.
The schedule is fucked because I’ve progressively managed to push my sleep time later and later. Last few weeks I’ve been going to sleep around 7 or 8 am. Not very good.
But so long as I wake up before 6pm, I can make it to the coffee shop and finish all my writing — storytelling — before it closes at 9.
So not much impetus to fix things. The 2-3 hours of writing give me a great sense of accomplishment, and, more importantly, every day I’m able to tap into phenomenal flow. Honestly I think that’s the biggest key to having solid inner game. If I don’t write I get antsy, slightly irritable, and annoyed with myself for missing out on flow.
Yesterday on the way to the coffee shop I park my car about a block away and walk the short distance to it. Just looking around, open to the world, but absolutely not concentrating on girls (very few of them wander the streets here anyway).
I turn a corner and spot a brunette walking by herself, toward me. She’s in her own world, headphones on and completely zone out. Something about her tickles the back of my mind — she looks vaguely familiar.
As we pass our eyes meet and recognition flares. She’s the girl two years younger than me who I had a crush on when I was 18, but never did anything about it other than some light flirting in class because, back then, I thought sixteen was too young.
(She was in an advanced Spanish course, which just meant that she was with the twelfth graders when she was in tenth grade.)
Hilarious, of course. Krauser said somewhere in his memoirs or blog that he decided seventeen is the youngest he’d go for. When I read that, I did a bit of thinking, and decided that sixteen is my minimum.
(In countries where it’s legal, obviously.)
Anyway nine years later I run into this girl again. She gives me a small smile as we pass. All the game stuff I’ve been reading bursts to mind, and I decide to run back and open her.
She makes it effortless. She’s all smiles from the beginning, laughing at every inane thing that comes out of my mouth. I dare say this girl still fancies me.
I step in close after maybe a minute of chit chat and look her dead in the eyes. She flushes. Could this be the magical eye mesmer Krauser always talks about?
I probe her logistics and she says she just got off work and is walking to the bus stop to go home. I suggest instead bouncing to the coffee shop I write at. She hems and haws a bit but I can tell she’s keen. After a minute of indecision she agrees.
We walk in and conversation flows. Talking is very easy, too easy, because she remembers back when I got my acceptance letters to the best universities. Only one in the history of my highschool to do so, so back then it was a big deal. Probably still is, I only ever mention it to people I get to know these days to inform them of how absolute shit the Ivy League really is.
So already the mythology is built up in her mind. I have to do absolutely nothing. We settle down on some leather seats and the whole conversation I just lean back and let her invest. I throw a few hooks out and she bites. Too easy, no skill involved.
Maybe forty five minutes, an hour later, I suggest we go to a bar. There’s only one in the area, and it’s about ten blocks away. It’s started to rain so the only choice is to go in my car. I don’t want to do that (provider game, car is nice lol) but I don’t want to miss out on the new date model escalation system in my mind. Plus, the way this girl is eyeing me, it’s painfully obvious that it’s on.
Before, I might not have bothered. But since I have this blog to write, I decided why the hell not.
We get to the car and she goes quiet when she sees it. I act like it’s no big deal (it really fucking isn’t) and she tries to mimic me. The drive takes a few minutes and I think we only say two or three words.
Anyway I park, we get out, go to the bar. It’s dinner time on a Thursday so the place is pretty empty. I get a beer, offer her one, she demures and goes for water. I nod to a distant corner table and we take our seats.
She sits across from me at first. I say “No, no,” and motion her closer. She switches seats and scooches closer.
She takes her jacket off and I notice her arms are trembling ever so slightly. I wouldn’t have made anything of it had I not read one of Krauser’s posts a week ago where he mentions the exact same thing happening on one of his idates. It means the girl is VERY ON.
We babble a little bit and she eases out of her frozen shell. Sipping the water seems to help her nerves. I take her hand and do the classic thing “You’re not wearing any rings.”. She qualifies hard right away, insisting she usually does have rings and bracelets on but takes them off for her work, yadda yadda yadda.
I let her talk for as long as she’s happy to. The whole time I’m fixing her with strong eye contact. My cock twitches. Making good on my weasel with her almost a decade ago has me pretty evicted. And, even if she is a lot older, she still looks pretty good.
I start to sexualize things, asking her about her boyfriends and dating life. I remember back when I had a thing for her she was dating this tiny little manlet from her grade. I saw them kiss once in the hall between classes and found it hilarious. This girl’s short, maybe 5’5″, and he was shorter than her back then.
She reveals to me she’s been strictly monogamous since high school. From one boyfriend to the next. I don’t know how much stock to put in that but it doesn’t really matter. She has incredible breasts, the thing that attracted me most to her when she was sixteen, and they developed damn early.
I tell her she’s distracting me with them.
She giggles and goes ditzy. Brain fry. I do the old mystery method thing of looking from one eye, to the other, then down to her lips.
The moment is ON. She’s close and begging to be kissed. I run a hand through her hair, rest it on the nape of her neck, and say, “I’m going to kiss you now.”
She protests and her eyes dart away but her body remains still. I pull her to me, firmly but gently. Our lips touch.
She resists a few seconds and then opens up. I pull away almost immediately as she does.
“I can’t believe you did that,” she says, looking at me with big huge doe eyes.
By this point I have a raging boner.
I lean back again, giving her a devious smile, acting all cool. Inside my mind is racing. Can I extract her? What do I do next? We’re pretty much the only couple in the pub.
This is where inexperience fucks me over.
This girl is 100℅ into me. I know if I had the knowledge I could fuck her. Every signal from her has been green, green, green.
But just as she had brain fry, now it’s my turn. Heh.
I reach over and run a finger up her leg. I think she trembles. “Come here, let’s do it again,” I tell her, and this time it’s a full make out.
My mind’s gone blank. All I can think about is fucking this girl. A sense of unreality sets in. I’ve never had a SDL before.
Ultimately, I prove too eager. There’s nowhere I can bring her. I’m in my parent’s house, together with my brothers, so I can’t exactly bring her back.
Still, I grab her hand and pull her out. She hops after me. She asks me where we’re going, I say back to the car.
Halfway there I do K’s move. “See that post box? When we pass it, I’m going to kiss you.”
I push her against the wall and we have another passionate make out. It’s dark now and animal spirits are out. I’m still reeling, having no idea how to pull.
We get to the car and get inside. I kiss her again over the console. I put her hand on my cock and she starts to moan.
Holy shit this is actually happening.
We’re on the street in full view of any passerbys. I want to get her naked and see those glorious breasts but I don’t think she’d be game in such an obvious place.
I know there’s an underground parking lot close by. I decide that’s my only option. I turn the car on and tell her we’re going somewhere more private.
Maybe verbalizing it was a mistake. It seems to kill the moment a bit. Could just be me, I don’t know, because thirty seconds later we’re parked underground and (uncomfortably) making out again.
I manage to get her jacket off. My hands are all over her body, finally on her breasts. I pull her shirt up. Bra follows. Breasts spill out. I dip my head and suck on them, rubbing her pussy through her jeans.
Best case scenario in my mind is I’ll get a blowjob. But my calibration is off. She’s made it so easy that I’m only doing pull pull pull, losing myself in the moment. I breathe in her ear and tell her how much I want to fuck her.
Not long after she eases away.
“This is too much,” she says. “I have to get home. Work…”
I know she wants it just as much as I do, but logistics are shit. And I’m swimming in endorphins, high on dopamine, whatever it is, too excited about this happening.
She pulls her shirt up and I know the moment is lost. I offer to drive her half heartedly, but she says she’ll take the bus.
We swap numbers and I say I’ll text her soon. Twenty four hours later I haven’t pinged her and don’t know if I will. Logistics are same as before, and unless I get a hotel room for the night sex won’t happen. I don’t want to go downtown, either — this city is too full of shitlibs and gays and trannies for me to enjoy the crowd.
And today I’ve wasted a day of writing typing up this blog post on my phone. So now it’s two days without flow.
Though yesterday was worth it.
I’m off to the gym.
EDIT: Pics as promised. She’s on the right.
My development was heavily influenced by Mystery Method. Not in terms of game, more so the general lifestyle stuff that they now call “red pill.” I read MM when I was 17 or so, maybe even 16, and it struck a chord somewhere in my subconscious about how things really are. I did recognize it as flawed in the sense it gave a horde of guys who weren’t particularly intelligent the idea that game and attraction is just a bunch of stupid scripted routines coupled with big fluffy hats. Their fault, mostly, but I can see how it’d be easy to take that away.
In short, after exposure to MM, and the subsequent college success with girls (nothing to write home about, quality of the overall pool was abysmal and competition was laughable), I realized that time, freedom and independence were the three things most important to me.
(Independence is a subset of freedom but is important enough for the distinction.)
Time = unlimited time to pursue whatever hobbies and interests spellbind me.
Freedom = location independence and good health to capitalize on it (plus money, obviously, but money for high quality of life, not high expenditure. Basically enough money not to have to ever think about it.)
Independence = no loans, no debt, no mortgage, no big possessions like a huge house or fancy car.
I worked during my early- to mid-twenties to align those things so that the rest of my life was properly set up. As I mentioned in an earlier post, the way I’m living now is exactly how I envision post-game retirement to be. Game, to me, is simply the ultimate sort of challenge, the final confrontation of reality, and the last thing left to master in my life.
So exciting times.
But back to the point of attraction. It never sat well with me that “attraction” was defined as the monkey-dance sort of routines that Mystery popularized. Even now, reading through the available material, I see that view of attraction hasn’t really changed.
The things I see being called “attraction” are simply gambits to get more of a girl’s attention.
Have anyone ever asked a girl what she likes about him, either on a date or after the seduction has been complete, and she answers with “oh that routine you did in the first two minutes you met me.”
No. Come on.
Now I’m not hating on the gambits or spikes or whatever, I just think they’re mischaracterized. Sexual spikes are very different. Not talking about those. Even vibe is different.
I’m talking about all the stuff that falls under the umbrella of “attraction material.” It’s not. It’s “get-the-girl’s-attention material.”
Enter this post.
Beautiful, simple, clean, and finally the missing link in the attraction puzzle for me. Namely:
Women are attracted to you because you have a stronger frame than they do.
There’s nothing else to it.
Attraction is purely a function of the fact that:
Men have naturally strong frames of reality. It’s what makes us men. Women don’t, and so, they value that.
(Don’t get too excited, the paragraphs after the quote up to here were ripped directly from the post.)
But the bold quote up there is probably the most important thing to remember. In every successful relationship I’ve had in the past, it was the frame that won the girl. Height, body, the physical trappings matter yes, but all of it would fall apart without the frame.
It’s something I’ve subconsciously done before, and probably every man that’s had even a taste of success with women has experienced.
I just love the way the poster highlighted it, emphasized it, and simplified it to get away from the crap that masqueraded as attraction before.
Maybe the community’s already moved onto this definition, who knows. I’m only a few months into exploring the online stuff so I could have easily missed it.
Wanted to get it up for future reference, too.
One of the great things about starting daygame in the year 2018, is that so much of the journey to mastery has already been documented.
When I say this I’m speaking specifically of Krauser. I’m nearly done his second memoir, which is word-for-word his best written narration yet. Balls Deep, the first one, had lots of great insights but was bogged down a bit by a non-linear story telling. I read his fourth memoir a few month back, whenever it was released, with basically no prior exposure to the daygame world. The story inside was good, but the writing there was very much hampered by (I suspect) the first draft audio narration he did. Writing quality was nowhere near what he posts on his blog, and it’s no wonder: sitting down and consciously putting pen to paper is a much different process than narrating things out loud. Writing is one skill, speaking another, and when you try converting the latter to the former you end up with something significantly subpar.
(Look at a transcript of a Donald Trump speech. It’s nonsensical. Then go and watch the same speech, and be blown away by how cohesive it is.)
I digress. Today in the mail I received Daygame Infinite. Weighty tome. And exactly the sort of thing I was looking for, despite, admittedly, being a rank beginner when it comes to the technicalities of daygame.
I’ve never been expressly interested in blindly racking up notches. Grotty girls don’t interest me. Sub-7 girls don’t interest me. Even 7’s are really only going to be there at the start for the practice. Not that I think I’m above guys who go for them — we have different goals.
My goal is to reach a level of proficiency in the game that would be objectively called mastery. It would mean sufficient competence in a new system. Excellence appeals to me, and game is the embodiment of that.
Banging whores in Thailand, in contrast, even for free, has zero appeal (did that once last year on Koh Phangan around the time of a Full Moon party).
Success is objective. Right now I’m here standing on the shoulders of men who’ve come before me. My suspicion is that, because the path has been laid out clearly, it’s possible to sidestep a lot of the traps and hiccups of stagnation and progress faster than the original pioneers. Why shouldn’t it be? They were stumbling around in the dark, not knowing where the peak was or if it had already come. When I read something like Infinite, or Nick’s final memoir, it shows me what the peak is.
That’s what I’m striving for. I want to reach the same level of competence, because only at that point will I be able to branch out and advance this field on my own. Any tweaks or modifications or whatnot made before that point would make me feel like an impostor; ie, who the hell am I to try to advance something that men with many years more experience than me have perfected?
There will be lots of trappings on my journey. I’m not looking for any shortcuts. I know it will take years to reach high-level competence. I’m ready for that.
The thing I don’t want is to fall into a comfortable lull at, say, the intermediate level, and never go past that. Yesterday I saw a YT interview with a guy a few years older than me, who’s been doing this nine years.
Nine years, and he honestly comes across as somebody who’s maybe six months in.
So yes you can put in the time. But time without an express purpose becomes time spent running around in circles. If other guys start off this journey with a goal of banging X many chicks, then they can happily slide into relative mediocrity and clack off one or two chicks a month until they get to that number.
Numbers don’t matter to me. Mastery does.
Anyway, I realize this is all highly narcissistic and ego-driven. So be it. One advantage I do have at this point is there aren’t any lingering inner game issues to deal with. The majority of guys coming into game are doing so from a bad place. I’m entering it from a position of strength — the way my life looks right now is exactly as I’d want it to look when I retire from game. It didn’t come overnight. It took years to build.
But the effort was worth it, because it rewarded me with two of the most valuable things in life:
Complete control of my time, and unfettered freedom.
In a way it’s a little bit disappointing that on the journey to mastery there won’t be anything new. All the things I discover have been discovered before, and already documented. That’s why mastery is the goal, right from the start.
It is only from that point that true discovery begins.
(I’m not talking about little things, such as how to properly escalate girl X in situation Y, which, while novel to me, is common practice for guys with years of high-level experience)
One final point. Lots of this post was spent rambling on about things that don’t appeal to me. Well then, what does?
Soul collection. Deep conversion. Being the one man in a girl’s life who she has the strongest connection with, any time in the past and any time in the future. All with high quality women.
(I’ve also done this successfully in the past, so deep conversion is a skill, albeit unconscious, already in my repertoire)
Again, all Nick’s terms. Using them feels almost like plagiarism. But he’s the guy who put in the intellectual effort to deconstruct this stuff. This blog will be my watering hole where I attempt the same thing, because it’s only though introspection and analysis that’s it’s possible to progress to the level I want to be at.
Reading Nick Krauser’s first memoir, it struck me that we are very similar in our distaste for nightgame.
Ironically, the pre-game version of Nick had more night time success than the post-game version of me. Then again, I haven’t been actively practicing game since college. Let me explain.
I read Mystery Method in summer of ’08, right before I left for university. Right away I felt like I had been given a super power — the whole world of male-female dynamics was opened up to me. What that manifested into was a hell of a lot of confidence in the two week orientation period. Over that time I set my own personal best of most notches in a single fortnight (six). Looking back, it wasn’t so much game as it was just brash arrogance coupled with the “new beginnings” sort of euphoria that was in the air.
I wouldn’t even say I ran good game. I was just social, talked to a hell of a lot of girls, felt like all of them were open to me (since everybody was new), and managed to pull the most enthusiastic ones back to the dorm for some quick and grotty lays. I remember getting only two bad reactions the whole time, and I must have chatted up 100+ different girls.
(FYI: the quality of girls at my university was absolute shit, so this is nothing to write home about)
It took me about the same two weeks to realize the school I’d been promised was an absolute illusion, a total sham, and thus all my enthusiasm for game died. Once classes started everybody became reclusive and anti-social. The girls, who had at least a little bit of feminine energy at the onset, became gray and dreary, as did the weather.
I went out a few times to the parties and half-assed some classic MM game, but fuck, I was 18 and out of my depth. Still managed to score a few make outs, but never any pulls.
I left school two years in, never finished my degree, and switched gears to focus on financial stability for the eurojaunt lifestyle I’d already committed to.*
In Nick’s memoir there are two girls who both chose him, at night, when he was in college. He banged both, but they were the ones to initiate and lead him to the end.
That never happened to me at night. The six girls I’d slept with were all met during the day. Running into one of them later at a party and taking her home does not a nightgame make, in my eyes.
But overall, the whole nightlife experience turned me off chasing women there. Ironically, I have the body and height for it — but no desire.
It always felt degrading to compete with other drunken idiots at night, almost like a betrayal of my real value. I just didn’t want to do it, never saw the appeal. I always said I’d rather meet the girl during the day, with no alcohol involved, and win her on my personality and charisma instead of body and looks, which any moron can have.
But! I do realize now, as I sit here in my old childhood bedroom at my parent’s home, chomping at the bit to get the fuck over to Europe and begin this damn adventure that I’ve been working toward my whole life, that I will have to learn nightgame, at some point on this journey.
Enter Balls Deep.
Towards the end of the book Nick gives a story of a Friday night in Latvia where he and his buddy Lee decide to try “rapid escalation” on the whole of a club.
In his words:
“…The idea of rapid escalation is to go in right away with a strong sexual energy and momentum. Escalate everything quickly. No numbers. No facebooks. No dates. Gun for the fast lay with a purity of purpose, no distractions, no temptation to back off and escape with a number.”
Further along, he explains the strategy with a bit more detail:
“My only opener for the whole night was
(i) seductive sexual eye
(ii) playful smirk
(iii) direct walk, and
Pretty much every girl heard, ‘Hi, I’m Nick’ and was then pulled in.”
He goes on to say it was one of his best nights out ever, with almost every girl hooking, and each girl a quality set. He didn’t get laid that night but he did have a lot of fun.
The point here really being that this is probably the only type of nightgame I can tolerate. At least at the start of my journey. I’m jotting it down here so that next time I go out at night, I can refer back to the post and remember rapid escalation.
First time I do it I’ll post it up. Eurojaunt kicks off March 17th this year. In early February I’m leaving Vancouver, and going over to the Mediterranean to set up a home base for me and my family. Somewhere I can return to during winter hibernation to just chill out and relax. In the interim, I’ve got Nick’s Daygame Infinite coming, which is more than enough theory.
So really, we’re just over two months away from getting started. Theory’s coming together, now I’m itching for action.
* Except back then it didn’t have a name attached to it. I was just inspired by: (1) Vicky Christina Barcelona, (2) Cassanova’s first memoir, (3) my spate of success in the first two weeks; and (4) Tim Ferris’s idea of the four hour work week, where my life could be dedicated to reading, traveling, and chasing women. A mortgaged white picket fence with five kids was never for me.