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Archive for the ‘Escape’ Category

Le Chateau has highlighted great and gruesome stories of alphas and betas, but what about those beta males who transcend, through sheer force of will, the prison of their supplicating souls? More than a learning tool or a life lesson, these enlightened post-betas are inspirations. The 80% or so of men who qualify as beta males need a role model like them; someone who can show them the way. There is a better life if they would just take it, and the reformed beta is proof that you don’t have to be born an alpha to have the good things in life and experience the flush of power that the alpha male takes for granted.

My prudish husband has left me because I lied about my sex life

When I met my husband 40 years ago I knew he was ‘the one.’ He had firm opinions on sex before marriage (outdated even then) and was a virgin.

As I got to know him, it became clear that he’d never consider marrying somebody with ‘history.’ He thought sex special and wouldn’t want to imagine his wife having it with others.

But, by 22, I’d been having sex for four years. Madly in love and wanting him to marry me, I lied.

He was bound to realise I wasn’t a virgin, so I made up a story that I’d been in a long engagement, giving up my virginity under pressure only a month before my wedding day, then reluctantly had sex twice with my fiancé, who then dumped me, leaving me devastated and ashamed.

He was very understanding and proposed soon after. We married and moved to his home town — a relief, as I’d worried we might bump into a friend who might speak out of turn.

We had two children and a very happy and successful marriage. But a few weeks ago, an old friend contacted me over the internet, and I invited her round.

My husband left us to talk and went off to the garden. Inevitably we talked of the past.

After she left, I found my husband looking devastated. He said he’d gone into the conservatory to read and heard everything.

He said he felt utterly betrayed, as he had a right to expect honesty, but our entire marriage had been based on a fundamental lie.

I said we’d had a wonderful 40 years, so what could it matter what I did before I met him?

He moved in to the spare room and avoided me. A week later he moved to a bedsit and told me he wanted a divorce.

Nothing would change his mind. Our adult children have tried, but he is absolutely fixed.

Men who want to find a woman for a long-term relationship or marriage (a codified LTR) are put off by histories of a slutty past. The woman who has given herself freely to men before him proves that old GBFM aphorism that it makes no sense for a man to pay for the pussy that was handed over no strings attached to other men when it was younger, hotter, tighter. You don’t seriously invest in a rode hard and tossed away wet pussy; instead, you ride it harder and wear it out a little more, then look for fresher pussy that doesn’t need its 60,000 cockas maintenance as soon as you sign the dotted line.

My method may be glib, intended to inflict maximum emotional pain for make benefit of my personal amusement, but the foundation upon which the glibness rests is true. Men have evolved intricate mental algorithms that subconsciously push them to devalue women with extensive sexual histories as long-term partners. The reason for this is obivous: the slut is a bigger infidelity risk, and thus a bigger cuckolding risk, than the chaste woman. Science has proven this, in yet another example of the lab coat crowd catching up with conventional wisdom and common sense observation.

Therefore, when a long-loyal husband finds out his wife rode the cock carousel, even if discovered to have occurred in a prior life of hers, his respect for her drops a notch. His love for her shrinks three sizes. His honed beta ability and predilection to put her on a pedestal and adore her suffers a grievous diminishment. She has, in a word, become a less worthy woman in his eyes. And, likewise, in the eyes of all men, because men, like women, share universal preferences for certain types of mates.

So good for this reformed beta for walking away from his once-whore wife. In the big picture, the sin she committed may be small, but sometimes it takes horrible and swift retribution by a man to violently shake a woman, and women in her sphere of influence, from comfortable delusions and easy expectations regarding the self-imposition of controls on their behavior. All it takes is a relatively few betas to toss a stone cold rock in the world of women and the ripples will eddy and swirl through the masses. The beta male has suddenly become uncontrollable, unpredictable, untamable! This is the stuff of revolution, and it will set women on the path to happiness more powerfully than a million grrlpower tomes, feminist blogs or fat acceptance hugboxes.

The haters are apoplectic. Their splutter is the stuff of delicious slo-mo videos. “But but but,” they will protest, “I can be slutty and still land a man! Any man who leaves me because I’m a slut doesn’t deserve me!”

Deservin’s got nothin’ to do with it, honey. It’s biomechanical turtles all the way down.

But I’ll throw the haters a bone, here. Yes, it’s true that a slut, assuming she is sufficiently physically attractive, can cajole a man into a relationship. Men are, before all else, born slaves to a pretty female face, and it takes effort to break those chains forged of unalloyed pulchritude. Many men do indeed slavishly pursue sluts simply because those sluts are hot with perfect apple bottoms.

But “sufficiently attractive” is the key word. The higher value the man, the more beautiful the slut has to be to ensnare him in a relationship. High value men, aka alphas, have options in the mating market that beta males don’t; these men, when they aren’t just plowing through sluts for fun and penile profit, will generally balk at dating sluts in favor of settling down with more modest, and less sexually experienced, women.

There is, then, a tacit assumption that the sorts of men the feminist sluts are pulling aren’t exactly the top of the alpha male heap. They are likely beta males, maybe some of them greater omegas with cute undulating manboobs and receding chins, who are so desperate for sex and female love that they can readily suppress their distaste for sluts if it means having a girl on their arms.

Maxim #56: The more limited a person’s options in the sexual market, the laxer his or her mate standards.

(For those interested in the science behind this, I believe there is a study floating around internetland which purports to show that very beautiful women with extensive sexual histories don’t suffer too much of a hit to their marriage marketability, because the betas who marry them are quick to forgive their slutty ways. In short, very hot women are so intoxicating that many men will assume the higher risk of getting cuckolded by them for the chance to enjoy a few years of glorious, incomparably pleasurable sex.)

In stark contrast, have you ever seen what an alpha male does to plain-looking sluts? It isn’t pretty. To call it pump and dump would be a euphemism. Think more along the lines of “facelessly screw and scatter to the wind”.

These realities of the sexual market aren’t often instantly apprehensible. You can go a few years only subconsciously picking up cues that your behavior is hurting your mate value. But in the aggregate of many lifetimes, and over each lifetime, the god of biomechanics imposes his relentless, merciless, unavoidable will. And you will bend the knee to him, sooner or later. You have no choice.

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Are happiness and sex antagonistic? A new study reports that couples who waited to have sex were happier in the long run. (Usual caveats about the accuracy of Daily Mail reporting apply.)

A study of hundreds of couples found those who waited to have sex were happier in the long-run.

Women particularly benefited from not leaping into bed at the first opportunity. Marriage also seemed to make them happier than co-habiting.

The researchers said delaying sex gave couples time to get to know each other and work out just how compatible they were.

Without this period of courtship, judgment can be clouded, leading to couples falling into unfulfilling long-term relationships. [...]

Analysis of the data clearly showed the women who had waited to have sex to be happier. And those who waited at least six months scored more highly in every category measured than those who got intimate within the first month. Even their sex lives were better.

The link was weaker for men. However, those who waited to get physically involved had fewer rows.

Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder? Would seem like it. But not so fast.

First, I’m not surprised women who waited — or, more precisely, made their beta boyfriends wait — were more satisfied with their relationships. Women are psychologically, and ultimately biologically, predisposed to prefer holding out for sex, because it allows them more time to judge men’s mate quality and investment potential without risking a pregnancy by a man who might flee the next morning. There are very good evolutionary reasons why a woman would make a suitor wait as a test of his commitment to her. A man who is willing to suffer 182 days of this:

…is a man who is likely to stick around after she pops out a newt.

Second, selection bias. Does waiting to have sex really make couples happier, or are couples who are more likely to wait for sex also more likely to be content and fight less within long-term monogamous relationships? I suspect the latter. The kind of people who empathize easily and go along to get along are also the kind of people who have the patience of a saint. I bet people like this also have lower sex drives. It’s doubtful that sex itself, or refraining from having sex, is the causative factor in their happiness.

Third, some recent studies have shown that men derive their happiness within relationships from their lovers’ happiness. That is, when their women are happy, men are happy. The reverse is not necessarily true. So a woman who has held out for sex to make an “unclouded” judgment — and isn’t it funny that women think more clearly when abstaining from sex, while men think more clearly when sexually fulfilled? — is more likely to be happy with her choice of man, and consequently her happiness will infuse her man’s happiness level. But a man would be just as happy with a sexpot who put out early and often as long as she was happy with him (and faithful).

The biggest problem with this study is definitional. Happiness is not love, and it’s not sexual attraction. Love is passion. Happiness is contentment. Love is volatility. Happiness is calm acceptance, even noble resignation. Love is dizzying crescendos. Happiness is rhythmic tempo. Love is hope. Happiness is the relinquishment of hope. Similar contrasts can be made between happiness and lust. Conflating all these as if they were of equal merit, or equally valued, is misleading.

Most couples do not wait 182 days to have sex with the goal of maximizing their mutual happiness, and so we can conclude that most couples are willing to forego long-term happiness for short-term ecstasy. Our revealed preferences indicate that happiness is not high on our mental checklist of values or emotional states.

It’s an intriguing hypothesis, though, that the happiness women gain from lengthy periods of enforced abstinence they sacrifice in sexual and romantic satisfaction. The committed beta provider that female-compelled (and it’s rarely male-compelled) abstinence selects for comes at the cost of losing the sexy alpha cad that female-compelled abstinence selects against.

Maybe some massively underacknowledged subculture of preternaturally abnegating abstinent Evangelicals exists of which I’m only dimly aware that skews the average time couples spend in sexless purgatory well into the double and triple digit days, but in the world I live in — the one that’s pretty much a given in any community that isn’t orthodox religious — a 60 day wait for sex is nearly unheard of, let alone a 182 day wait. In fact, a wait beyond three weeks is pretty much folly for any man dating your typical SWPL chick; by that time, she will have moved on to fucking some dude who actually turns her on. Even the women who say they want to wait longer than convention would react with disbelief if a man told them he would be willing to wait six months before having sex. It’s that weird.

What good is long-term happiness if you can’t even score the short-term thrill? There’s the rub. As a man, you are really rolling low odds by pursuing, or, more precisely, by abiding the woman’s pursuing, the “wait to elate” strategy. The far-future happiness and relationship stability that a long sexless courtship might offer is greatly outweighed by the high risk that you de facto castrate yourself to the woman you are chastely wooing. You’d be a fool to avoid the bedroom for very long, when there is a good chance some other man will distract your girl’s attention during her prolonged bout of purity. And an even better chance you’ll accidentally say or do something during the dry months of your courtship that extinguishes the spark of her attraction for you.

This severing of happiness from sexual triumph, for both sexes, is one of the great unrecognized repercussions of the past 60 years of our Wild West mating market. And it seems like this is exactly the way most of us want it.

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A reader claims to note a trend in online personals:

[T]his is a trend I’ve noticed online, women who are QUITE comfortable with dating someone a handful of years younger but do NOT want anyone more than a few years older than they. What accounts for this trend? I mean, you could meet a 28 year old fat dude, or a 40 year old paleo-hardened guy who looks young. Why pre-emptively discount age like that? Most women I’ve met prefer someone same age or older.

I don’t know how widespread women’s aping of men’s standards in online ads is, because I don’t do online dating (at least not recently). However, from what I’ve read about the subject, most women’s preferences in online ads is for men older than they are; which makes sense, since age is a status marker for men in a way it isn’t for women. But assuming for the sake of argument that there is a small but growing contingent of cougars explicitly seeking younger men in what amounts to a mirror image of the universal trend for men to seek younger women, I believe I have an explanation.

First, keep in mind that it doesn’t matter what women demand in online ads, because outrageous standards that are far removed from reality are quickly weeded out of contention, leaving such delusional women sad and alone in real life. A lot of loser women who do the online thing subconsciously know they aren’t going to get laid by the man of their dreams, so they throw all reason and sobriety to the wind and just go hog wild laundry listing their fantasy criteria. For these women (admittedly greater in number now than every before in Western history), it’s more about ego catharsis than about actually meeting a man. ASCII therapy with a public audience of like-minded Medusas one-upping each other to the top of the entitlement heap.

Happily punching in a feverish list of ridiculous expectations in an online ad is the emotional equivalent of plopping in front of the TV (all shows cater to women except ‘Mythbusters’ and sports) and wolfing down a tub of ice cream. Feels SOOOOO good, even if it’s SOOOO bad for her health, looks and love life. Kinda makes a tidy little metaphor for civilizational decline.

Second, the few cougars who aren’t ugly, ragged or grossly obese but who left their prime years far behind in a haze of drunken binges and cock hopping, will sometimes recognize, on a primal level, that their odds of getting a good (read: high value, sort of charmingly dickish) man of the type they pined for at age 20 to commit to them in a loving long-term relationship are very low, and that their efforts are best spent putting out for horny younger men who will at least offer a short term thrill in the sack. This phenomenon — of older woman transforming into clitorally turgid quasi-men — is not common, certainly not nearly as common as the media would have you believe. But they do exist, and you can be pretty sure that most of them could cut glass with their jaws and suffocate small dogs with their jungly, frosted pube patches. Do note, as well, that as women age their testosterone levels rise in step with their lowered expectations, making the prospect of loveless one night stands more palatable to their still feminine egos.

Let’s just say that these horncat cougars are not exactly the sorts of women older men with options want at all, and they aren’t the sorts of women younger men with no options want for more than a few no muss no fuss bangs in which to drain their aching teen balls. Because younger men, just like older men, prefer the exquisite intimacies of young women. Cougars probably know this on some deep supraegotistical level, so they respond to their constrained sexual market choices by pretending to prefer the company of younger men when in reality all they’re trying to do is avoid the soul crushing loneliness that would inevitably result if they adhered to the standards of their real desires and had to face the brutal and merciless cruelty of the sexual market head on.

Women never really lose the ability to extrapolate a one night stand into some fantastical dramatic relationship story arc, so a cougar having a couple of perfunctory fucks with an indiscriminately horny college student in a dating slump can sometimes mean the difference for her between having the will to live for another day and resigning herself to gardening and obesity. It’s not an avenue most older single women are willing to take, but for a few desperate specimens with male-like sex drives and bodies that haven’t yet gone completely to shit, it beats suddenly and unceremoniously being dumped into the invisible fringes of forgotten wastelands. At least for a few more years.

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Alex bemoans:

Speaking of uncaring assholery –

I recently made the mistake of, in the split second I had to decide, taking the drink a girl asked me to hold – “hold this”, and she dove towards the dance floor. The same impulse which bade me grab her drink, also bade me drink it (downed it in one shot, then moved on to dance with some other girl).

Does this set of actions come off as the right kind of assholery? Any chance for the pick-up to be resurrected afterwards?

This exact same thing once happened to me. And it’s particularly galling because the “Hold my drink for me” shit test is one of the most blatantly obvious shit tests that chicks with no ethical boundaries employ. She had asked me to hold her cocktail and I didn’t have a second to analyze the transaction before my fingers straightened to receive it. Then she trotted off to grab a scarf off her girl friend’s shoulder. Looking down at her drink in my hand, I felt a wave of disgust with myself. And I responded the same way as Alex: I gulped it down. When she returned and saw the empty glass she said “Hey, you drank it! That’s rude!” I answered Corey Worthington-style, “Oh… sorry I guess”, and walked away.

There will be times when your game acumen lets you down and a chick manages to sneak an artillery shell loaded with toxic vagina gas past your defenses. When that happens, the best you can do is recognize your error of judgment quickly, and rectify your demonstration of lower value as best you can without crossing the line into strident acts of vengeance that will socially ostracize you beyond the confines of one bitchy, manipulative girl. What Alex did in response was perfectly acceptable. In ascending order of face-saving effectiveness:

1. Continue holding her drink until she returns, then greeting her with “here you go!” as you hand her drink back.

So beta it actually hurts my balls a little just to type that out.

2. Hold her drink until she returns, then give it back coupled with a sarcastic riposte like “I should charge you for this”.

Not as beta as number 1, but still supplicating.

3. Leave her drink on the bar and walk off.

Better than acquiescing. But not as satisfying as number 4.

4. Gulp her drink and hand her the empty glass when she returns.

Congratulations, you are an acolyte asshole. Pussy lips will begin parting in five minutes.

5. Spit and burp burrito gas into her drink, then hand it back to her with a big smile.

This is personally satisfying, but you will be robbed of the priceless look of incredulity on her face when she sees an empty glass. Nevertheless, the glowing feeling you get from this private act of revenge will put a bounce in your step and turbocharge your game for the rest of the night.

The best way to reply to a girl who tells you to hold her drink is to pretend to agree and amplify. (Girls will try to pull this off by thrusting the drink into your hand and not waiting for you to reply.)

“Hold my drink. Thanks!”

Leaving your hands by your side: “Would you like your glass slippers polished too?”

Whatever happens, always leave your hands down at your sides. She will attempt to foist the drink on you and will expect you to reach out for it. When you don’t, the drink will crash to the ground. I’ve seen this happen. It is hilarious. The guy who did this told the girl to “go home” and “sleep it off”. That is some transcendental game, right there.

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A reader who wishes to remain anonymous asked:

I met a 8.5 girl online (physically I’m a 6.5).  She’s extremely aloof, ignores half my texts.  Likely never LTR material. We’ve made out, nothing more.  Her interest waxes and wanes.  She planned a trip to Central America without me, leaving very soon, casually invited me.  I’ve never really traveled abroad.  I’m fast-tracking my passport and scuba certification.  I offered a nice hotel, she insisted on hostels to “meet people.”  I don’t want to feel like a novice or tag-along.  How do I prepare fast so that I can lead, demonstrate value, enjoy the trip, and build heat between us?

Short Answer: Don’t go.

This reminds me of a similar story I once heard from a friend. He, too, had sorta, kinda hooked up with a hot chick, except he did it in person while on vacation. They shared a make-out, but nothing more. After returning home to their respective countries, she invited him to visit her in her hometown. He opened his wallet, boarded a plane, took a cab from the airport to her place, crashed on her couch, and came back home two weeks later angry, bitter and pissed about ever having gone. She hadn’t put out at all. He wasted money and vacation time on illusory pussy.

He thought by taking her up on her offer of a two week vacation in her backyard she was basically offering sexy funtime. A sensible conclusion for any man to draw, but unfortunately girls are anything but sensible creatures. Unless you are the Don Juan of game, any “innocent” meeting (in her mind) that hints at a contrived pretext for sex will put a woman on guard. Not to mention, a man totally betas himself by going out of his way to spend money and fly to meet a woman on her turf in the tacit expectation of sex.

For these reasons I suggest you don’t bother going if banging her is your primary goal. She will smell that and make the path to her pussy arduous and labyrinthine indeed. Your trip will be miserable, as a result. If, on the other hand, you can honestly tell yourself that banging her would just be a welcome complement to a trip in which your primary focus is scuba diving and hitting on chicks in hostels, then by all means take her up on her offer as a TRAVEL COMPANION. But beware the danger in assuming she will be anything more than a platonic tour buddy.

Now if you had already had sex with her multiple times, I’d advise the opposite: clearly she was smitten by your bedroom prowess and offered the trip to monopolize more of your lovin’.

As for the travel preparedness details, don’t worry so much about that. Attitude is key. Go with a devil-may-care air of whimsy and enjoy your time in a foreign land with someone who will buy you tropical drinks. If you’re worried about seeming like a tag-along, make sure you have reservations to do some things on your own. Read up on the place, so you aren’t stuck in a situation where she’s telling you about all the good restaurants, clubs and beaches. If you have to leave her behind once in a while to do something you like but she doesn’t, do it. You have to act like this is as much your vacation as it is hers.

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My slim cut extra medium T-shirt felt sloppy on me, sitting across the table from his dark blue suit. A blood red tie slashed his white shirt down the middle, and he caressed the lip of his glass of whiskey with a manicured index finger that hasn’t seen manual labor since high school.

“You sound like you’re ready to call it quits,” he mused.

“Well, now I wouldn’t go that far.”

“How long you been together?”

I stuttered on the number. “Hm… nine months, year. Somewhere around there.”

“That’s love.”

“Yeah, she’s all right.”

He took a slow sip and eyed through the back of his glass a young blonde with an aggressively arched torso sitting at the bar. “Marriage?”

“Ha. Funny. I’m just enjoying it in its pristine condition at the moment. What about you? Any slowing down?”

“I didn’t know this was a race.”

“You know what I mean. How much longer can you play the field?”

“How much longer can you go on breathing? You see the absurdity in your question.” He flicked a mosquito off his arm sleeve. The rooftop was buzzing with liquored career girls and blues music trapped in humidity.

I exhaled words through my lips, “I admit there are times… a lot of times… when I miss the chase.”

“You can still have that.”

“No, not really. Technically, you can. But in reality the feeling is never the same.”

He leaned forward and crinkled his brow. “How so?”

“There’s no freedom in cheating. At least, not the sort of freedom that makes your brain feel like it’s on helium. Cheating is exciting, but no matter how you compartmentalize it, you’ll always have to deal with that tiny pang of guilt.”

“Sure, but it’s worth it when you consider the alternative.” He shivered from an invisible north wind. “Monogamy.”

“There’s more to it than guilt, which was never much of a disincentive for me, anyway. When you know you always have that fallback lover, that girl who will be there at home, waiting for you, the victories taste less sweet. Where’s the challenge? A well executed seduction as a free man is a very different experience than one as a taken man. Failure means more when you’re single, and so success means more as well.”

“Beautiful words. But your virtue won’t last. You’ll be back. I know you.”

He pressed forward over the table once again, and for the first time that night his tie went askew.

I studied my mischievous friend waiting for me to invite him to speak. “What?”

“You remember Adele? That girl you took back to her place from this very bar… twice… for one night stands?”

“Adele. Yeah,” I reflected.

“She had a nice place, didn’t she? Big bay window in her bedroom. You were about to fuck her, condomless, in the deep of the night, and right before penetration you looked down and admired her thatch of honey blonde pubic hair. Shards of streetlamp light shone through the window and illuminated her pubes. Her tuft glittered, you said. You were surprised that her rug was as brightly blonde as her hair.”

“All natural, too. She was a Vikingess.”

“Mmm, hm. The optical geometry of that night is scorched forever on your retinas. In old age, you’ll forget everything but moments like that. You’ll forget your kids’ names but you’ll recall with perfect clarity the night of that dance of streetlight, bed, and pubes. And the others like it.”

“I know where you’re going with this.”

His lip curled. “Do you?”

“She had a boyfriend. Which I found out about later. I met him, briefly. Shook his hand and everything just to make her uncomfortable. She didn’t know if I was crazy enough to mention our tryst. Of course, I didn’t. But I loved that spectacle. It’s not often one gets a chance to smother a woman so thoroughly with her clandestine evil.”

“Yes, there was that, but that’s not what I was going to say.”

“Oh?”

“What does it feel like, knowing that should you follow your goodness to its conclusion, you will never again enjoy the discovery of new pubic canopies? To forever shutter the windows on that bay window of your adventurer’s soul?”

“Poetic. But I love the pubes of the girl I’m with now.”

“One pube color, until you die.” With that, he and his sharp dark suit rose and glided to the bar blonde with the bitchy back. I could overhear their conversation.

You have excellent posture. Very masculine. I don’t think I’ve seen marine sergeants sit as ramrod straight as you.
Thanks. I try not to slouch.
Posture like that could be intimidating to some men. Let me guess, you love the power rush.
Doesn’t seem to be a problem for you.
I’m quaking in my boots.

I finished my drink and watched a cocktail napkin slide from one hand to another. Old-fashioned and personal. That was his style.

At home, a scribbled note greeted me on the coffee table. “I bought you OJ. Feel better!”

I fumbled around my jeans pocket, found what I was looking for, and sent a text.

interesting… meeting you, general sherman. I might call you.

I burned the tattered tissue paper in my hand with a lighter and mixed myself a screwdriver. My thumb hovered over the delete button.

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A reader emailed a heartbreaking story to the Chateau. I reprint it here in the full because there is so much in it that could serve as lessons in life, alphaness and fatherhood. As you read it, prepare to cringe. Do you see a little of yourself in the father? In the son?

******

I really don’t know who else i could write to about this.

Today i was out for lunch with my dad. Sushi, as it was. My father isn’t the most assertive man, I’ve come to realize. but when this half-baked early 20’s asian in skater jeans and ray ban corrective glasses doesn’t bring us our food until we ask about it a half hour later, and still gets it wrong, and then continues to delay most of our food we have to leave before we get to eat the half of it. I was ready to get in the face of the woman at the register, but i thought it was my dad’s place to do so, since he was buying and he is my father. but he bumbled up to the counter,

“um, excuse me, our food was late and we didn’t get to eat it all…” He trailed off. The woman behind the counter looks up with her eyes glazed over, and gives him the bill.

“no, no, i don’t know if i should pay full price…”

she points to the bill which says (10% off -2.59)
BEFORE tax.

so he paid the 30 dollar bill with his two dollars off. i was thoroughly embarrassed. but it was worse. as i’m trying to ignore him, hoping he makes a bigger stand, he touched his hand to my face. it took me a second to realize that this was a playful slap.

“what was that?”
i knew what it was. he had such repressed aggression that he needed to let it out through momentary displays of dominance over his 18-year-old son.

“i just hit you.” he said in a goofy snorting voice, looking at the ground. still in front of the cashier. this was all to win the approval of a 5-foot asian woman in a tank top because he couldn’t stand up to her.

and then there’s my mom, the opposite. imposing, commanding, domineering, unbelievable condescending. she’s a executive director of a research facility. she actually says the only way to get along with her is to say you understand what she’s saying and leave it alone. of course, she can’t see that that’s batshit crazy.

They’re divorced of course.

The issue is, I’m their child. They’re both too deep in their own delusions to even notice that they’re destroying me. and so are my friends. I feel like I’m getting sucked into it. im submitting to my mom, when i used to make her laugh when she was trying to tell me what i’ve done wrong. I finished high school, with no motivation to continue my education. i spend most of my free time in front of a computer. I work a shitty job that I can’t even focus at. I haven’t had sex in months. when i’m at a party i’m more self conscious than i’ve ever been in my life. I can’t hold a conversation like i used to.

my friends suck,
AND I CAN’T STAND THE GIRLS I MEET
I’ve had sex with girls i don’t actually like, and it’s boring as hell.

I’m losing my wit, i’m losing my figure, im losing my ability to be extroverted, i’m losing my will to live.

how do i stay afloat? why should i stay afloat?
A sea of bullshit smells just as bad when you’re on the top of it.

how can i stop this death spiral when there’s nothing i want to hold onto?

I’m hoping for words of wisdom, but putting my long-winded whining in its proper place could be just as helpful.

******

Brutally bare. You’ve just had an insider’s look at the sordid details of a beta father’s life, and the wake of destruction such betaness leaves on the psyches of those around him — his son, his ex-wife and himself, not to mention the automatic disrespect it engenders in strangers. If you are a man and this story doesn’t reach out and punch you in the sternum, you have no life experience and no heart. A better advertisement for learning game to overcome beta weakness I can’t imagine.

Betaness isn’t some grand scheme or bodily disorder. Betaness manifests in the little things, like a father’s inability to square up to a waitress for bad service or his repressed anger played out in subtle dominance moves over his son. When we speak of game being a lethal tool to lift a man up from betaness, we mean it is the little things that game fixes. Forgetting this leads one to easily scoff at game as some kind of magic elixir or cult hypnosis. But focus on the tiny details, fix them one by one, and suddenly a new man appears before you, almost like magic.

If you are a father and you don’t approve of game as a means to pick up women, at least recognize its transformative power to improve your relations with your wife and children, particularly any sons you may have. Your son looks up to you as a leader and a masculine icon, almost despite yourself. When you renege on that implicit promise, he becomes disoriented, even self-loathing. If you are divorced, your son’s time with his cunty domineering single mother will only worsen his state of mind. As the country veers into a dystopia of single momhood and lonely, sackless beta divorcees, expect to see more sons with stories like the one told above. Nothing good can come of it.

Knowing this, learning game is practically a vital imperative. Maybe you can live with yourself as a sniveling little beta shit who can’t chew out — or at least neg — a young asian chick who deserves it because you get all flustered in her presence, but can you live with the pain and embarrassment it causes your son?

Readers generally fall into two camps with regards to the ability of the typical man to understand and apply game. Some believe attractiveness to women is a genetic bestowal, while others believe game, i.e. charisma, can be learned by any man. The answer is somewhere in the gray middle. Yes, some men are born with an incipient natural charm and others are born with the requisite intelligence to parse game concepts, and these men will excel at learning game far beyond what an omega will get from it. Yet there are thousands, maybe millions by this point, of men who have seen improvements in their love lives and their family lives accrue from the blessings of game. These men did not start out with Class A genetic endowments. Their very existence proves that sheer willpower — the will to mold their environments, and themselves, to their advantage — can mean the difference between being the father in this young man’s story and being a better man his son would be proud to call dad.

Stories like the above show that betaness is not solely, or even primarily, a genetic curse. A father’s actions have real repercussions on his son’s trajectory in life. The father in the story acted horribly beta and his son was aware of it. His low status behavior left a lasting imprint on his son’s soul, and as a result the son’s self-conception has been altered, and now careens down a darker path, into deep thickets and waist-high bogs bubbling with doubt and anger. This is one way in which generational betaness is passed on, from father to son.

Imagine a different scenario had played out. A GAME scenario.

Today i was out for lunch with my dad. Sushi, as it was. My father is a serene man with a well of righteous dignity, I’ve come to realize. when this half-baked early 20’s asian in skater jeans and ray ban corrective glasses doesn’t bring us our food until my dad asks if there’s a kitchen fire holding up our order, and still gets it wrong, and then continues to delay most of our food we have to leave before we get to eat the half of it. I was ready to get in the face of the woman at the register, but i thought it was my dad’s place to do so, since he was buying and he is my father. He strode up to the counter, chin high and chest out:

“I won’t be paying this bill today. Our food was late and we didn’t get to eat it. If you have a problem with that perhaps I could let the other patrons here know how incredibly poor your service is.” He motioned to the diners seated neraby. The woman behind the counter looks up with worry in her eyes, and offers to give him a free meal and a 50% reduction on the bill.

“My son might come here to eat another time. I expect him to be served respectfully.”

As i’m beaming with pride for my father, he puts his hand on my shoulder and leads me out of the restaurant.

“I got you the waitress’s number, son. Don’t forget to make fun of her glasses.”

Impossible? One weekend reading this blog and that father could have saved his son’s soul that day. He might even have saved his marriage, but judging by the description of the mother, I’m not sure he’d have wanted to once he figured out that game gave him the ability to date more women. And better women.

The only advice I have for the young man who emailed me is the following:

1. Stop beating up on yourself and acting so goddamned melodramatic. You have much insight for your age. Your intelligence will take you far. Now what you need is calm and wisdom.

2. This too shall pass.

3. The big picture trumps the little picture.

4. Stay away from your mother as much as humanly possible. She is damaged goods for you. Single moms, even your own flesh and blood, are poison for your growth as a man and a ladykiller.

5. For that matter, stay away from your father. Unless he is willing to change, he will only continue to infect you with his beta loser stench. Harsh words, I know, but your well-being trumps all.

6. If you are not ready to give up on either of your parents, then show your father this blog. Tell him to read from day one. Enlightenment is a mouse click away.

7. Show your mother this blog too. Expect hysterics.

8. Stand up to your mother. From what you have written, she sounds like an emotional vampire who demands payment in obeisance and comes to loathe those who give her what she wants. Fuck that noise. Get back to the cocky/funny that you used to be around her.

9. If all the above fail, consider physically moving away from these parasites. Friends, family, everyone. Gather your savings, quit your job, and move to a new city or even a new country.

10. Someday you will die. But that day is not today. Now is the time to live.

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