Is There Ever A Time Not To Game?

Discount bin answer: Never.

Gamers’ Edition Bonus Pak answer: It depends.

I was at a small-ish film fest party for a guy who directed a couple of short documentaries. Crowd size: ~80-100 peeps, skewed toward women, most of whom were cute artsy scenesters who liked to wear woolen caps and scarves indoors. Because, you know, it might snow.

As I chatted with Zeets (beers held down low, naturally) three girls, all 7s, approached us to ask if we were “part of the creative scene”. Perhaps they were drawn by my jauntily propped newsie hat and Wifey t-shirt.

Clearly, a significant subculture of DC residents is starving for the company of unconventional people who aren’t Hill whores. And so, I give them that. I aim to please.

After a few minutes of light chit chat about my latest blockbuster mega-grossing film, I felt the energy of the set wane. They were slipping away. Girls are born with a self-entitlement region of the brain that causes them to assume all men were put on the earth to continually entertain them. This region is connected to the pussy through a single major nerve called the tingleginaceptor. When the pussy deteriorates through age, so does the entitlement region of the female brain. This is why many older women are so engaging in conversation; they have to be.

A player adept at seducing women knows to flip this entitlement script and demand entertainment from the women in his company. Game is the tool that helps with the script-flipping. But this time I ran no game. Instead, I let the chit chat dissipate, smiled warmly, and told them to enjoy the show.

I could’ve made fun of one of the girl’s scarves (“That scarf is all wrong on you”). I could’ve negged the hottest girl (“You look like the girl in the movie who got dumped by the guy. Are you her? Well, chin up”). I could’ve kinoed, isolated, made out. But I did none of these things. Why?

Because in certain specific contexts, I believe game can backfire. This was one of those times. A small, insular indie scene such as at a film screening, filled with people who likely are friends, or at least acquaintances, with everyone else in the room, and who have certain social codes that they follow and are only understood by themselves (e.g. don’t be a douchebag) are more apt to react suspiciously to game run on them by a relative outsider. (I do hang in the indie scene, but not this particular one.)

My spidey sense was telling me that had I negged one of the girls in the three set, it would have confused her. And not in a good way. Tightknit groups of people tend to want to feel newcomers out, to see if they’re cool, i.e. socially savvy. A neg right out of the gate might have tingled ginas, but it also ran the risk of emphasizing my outsider status. It’s best to demonstrate your in-group cred first before hitting them up with the thermonuclear love bomb of game. With very provincial groups, this getting-to-know-you process can sometimes require attendance at three or more events where you’ll see the same girls and they’ll have an opportunity to become comfortable with you. Blogger happy hours used to work this way.

There is a trade-off to every decision. The girl who interested me may not ever again go to one of these events. Or she may have been sufficiently bored by the non-game “normal” conversation between us to write me off as a future contender. If I had properly gamed her, I had a chance to initiate the short road to intimacy. But gaming her also posed the risk of stamping me persona non grata within the scene, possibly polluting my chances with other girls who knew my primary target peripherally.

Pickup is about experience. After enough time and practice, you’ll get a feel for these kinds of social riddles. But all in all, I prefer this rule of thumb –

Maxim #13: When in doubt, game.

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Getting Rusty

Whether because of laziness, preoccupation with job and hobbies, or falling into a steady, comfortable pattern with a girlfriend, time away from the game will kill your game faster than cumulative rejections, self-limiting beliefs, or hanging with a beta crowd. It’s like high blood pressure, the silent killer. You don’t even realize your game is suffering until it’s too late and a beta embolism seizes you in a death grip.

I used to think that once you learned game it would stay with you for life no matter how much time you spent away from it, like riding a bicycle. Now, I know this isn’t true. Within a month of departure from the field, your game will begin to degrade. First your outer game will deteriorate, then your rock solid inner game — your confidence — will start to show cracks. Finally, if you don’t take active steps to counter the slide to betatude, you will completely revert to your old self. You see this a lot with freshly minted divorced men. They’ve been out of the game so long they have the mannerisms, attitude, and courtship skills of a socially retarded high school A/V club freshman, adrift in a sea of bitch sharks.

The Descent of Alpha follows this trajectory:

—> Master Seducer commits to a girlfriend or, heaven forfend, gets married. He spends most of his free time with her.

One month passes without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Master Seducer is out with his boys and sees a hot chick. Preparing to approach, he hesitates for just a second. Guilt over his GF? Or something much, much more ominous? For a brief instant he struggles to find an opening gambit. This is an odd feeling for him. The opening line used to come second nature. He can’t remember the last time he had to scan his brain for an acceptable conversation starter. Is his GF’s pussy fogging his mind?

Two months pass without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Master Seducer is walking down the sidewalk and notices a chick who is just his type walking toward him. He is sexually satiated from his GF’s loving daily ministrations, but a dying ember within compels him to summon the old swaggering dick-swinging demon. And this girl is just the one to inspire him. He makes his move, but to his astonishment he says something about the tourist season. Their friendly, sexually neutered conversation soon falls apart, as he knew it would. Curses! Casual game! His normally charming asshole game has betrayed him. He wonders why he said what he did.

Three months pass without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Master Seducer, who has by now been demoted to Master Beta Boyfriend, has not hit on a new girl since he met his girlfriend. He wakes in the middle of the night in a cold sweat wondering if he’s still “got it”. Determined to put his growing fears behind him, he takes advantage of a weekend his girlfriend will be out of town to hang with his crew and recapture the old glory. He figures he’s already got regular pussy, so he’ll be free to experiment and be as bold as he wants. In the field surrounded by all the glittering new beauties, a flicker of doubt briefly rattles him, but he forces it aside and strides purposefully into set after set like the King Dong he used to be. Unfortunately, his game is sloppy, scattershot, and misses the mark more than it hits. As set after set fizzles, he grows more timid in his conversations. He forgets fundamentals like hitting on the fat chick first and negging the hot babe early. He forgets to qualify. He even catches himself standing in a defensive posture. He goes home numberless, but consoled that at least he has pussy waiting for him.

Four months pass without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Our Master of Nothing has decided to throw in the towel. He’s got a great GF and maybe his new game-free outlook on life is the natural progression of becoming a well-rounded man. Like yin and yang, the alpha and beta must coexist. Too bad for our anti-hero his girlfriend has myteriously stopped giving him unsolicited blowjobs. She snaps at him for inconsequential infractions. He has stopped flirting with other women when they go out together. His egregious flirting at parties used to piss the hell out of his girlfriend, but the night always ended in floorboard shaking sex. Now, the night ends with a movie and soft, tender lovemaking — at least from him — that leaves her unsatisfied.

Six months pass without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Master of Herbs has done all the right things: He’s stopped catting around, he’s paid more attention to his girlfriend, he’s been a dutiful boyfriend with eyes only for her. So why did she leave him? All he knows is that he’s been thrust into the field, cold and unarmed, and his glorious past BG (Before Girlfriend) where he hardly ever went a week without new pussy is just a distant memory. He flails wildly in set. His confidence is shattered. He spends $5K for a workshop with Lance Mason. We can rebuild him. We have the technology…

***

The first thing to go when you have stopped gaming girls is your asshole game. Asshole game is like the dick in the coalmine. When it goes flaccid, you’ve got big problems on the horizon. Asshole game is probably the surest marker of healthy testosterone levels. It’s also the leading edge of tight game and the most sensitive to any beta backsliding. If you’re concerned about losing your mojo, pay close attention to your inner asshole. Have you stopped referring to girls as “bitches” and “dirty whores”? Have you stopped making fun of them and risking getting blown out? WARNING! You have taken your first steps betawards.

Ask your friends to observe you in set and grade you on your assholery. Third party feedback is invaluable for avoiding the dreaded fates of the Complacent Herb in a Relationship or the Lazy Beta Too Self-Satisfied to Bother. If you can keep your asshole game sharp, the rest of your game will be safe from the predations of the Beta Side.

Maxim #59: The longer you are away from seducing new women, the harder it will be to seduce one when you want.

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“I think BJs are gross”

I gently coaxed her head down toward my boner. Her hand vigorously pumped. Handjobs are lame. Most girls don’t do them right, chafing and tugging like maniacs, as if they’re pulling a weed out by the roots. I wanted the mouth upgrade. She resisted.

“No, I’m not doing that.”

“Oh?”

“I think blowjobs are gross. Eww. I don’t like that in my mouth. It’s not the same as going down on a girl.”

She had experimented with women back in the day. I thought for a second about what she said. More gross going down on cock than pussy? No way. It’s the difference between slurping on a hot dog and smearing your face with pubes and mucousy, unidentifiable juices.

“Wow, that’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

She bristled. “Most women don’t actually like it.”

“That hasn’t been my experience. In fact, I can’t think of a single girl I’ve ever been with who didn’t like giving head.” I was being truthful.

“Well, they aren’t going to tell you that they don’t like it.”

“Hmm. Maybe. But if they weren’t enjoying it, their moans of pleasure sure fooled me.”

“I don’t even like sex that much.”

I squinted at her, growing less aroused with each word she uttered. “Uh, ok.”

“Yeah, it’s not all that much of a turn-on for me. I get off when a guy goes down on me. That’s the best.”

Even though her hand was wrapped tight around my rod, I deflated like a week-old balloon. She spread her legs a little wider and began touching herself. She smiled at me and looked down at her pussy. “Mmm, I love when a guy goes down there. Like he can’t get enough of me.” Her fingers glistened with the proof of her arousal.

I admired her gall in the face of her abject hypocrisy. But there was no way I was eating her out. I have a rule I follow which has held me in good stead for my entire copulatory career: I don’t go down on a girl until she has gone down on me first, assuming she smells OK. Exception to the rule: She’d have to be extraordinarily hot, a 9 or above, for me to be inspired by my uncontrollable horniness to munch away in advance of her putting me in her mouth. And it’d have to be obvious by her writhing enthusiasm that she was geared up for some bigtime raunchy sex and a blowjob in due course.

The reason for this rule is simple. You have to make a girl earn your tongue. That means hummers and fucking first. It may sound calculating, but this is the way girls think. If you give her everything she wants for free, she will have less incentive to bend over backwards (literally) to please you in every way you want to be pleased. Blowjobs will seem like “special treats” in her mind that she blesses you with when you’ve been especially good to her. This is not how you properly train your girlfriend or fuckbuddy. Instead, hold back on the oral sex until she’s proven her worth by meeting your demands.

You always want her in the frame of mind of seeking your approval, pleasing you first, and working overtime to enjoy the breadcrumbs of attention you sprinkle on her. *That*, readers, is the foundation of hot, frequent sex. She *wants* to feel the struggle of earning your prize member, and your pricey love. Give her what she wants by withholding what she wants. As in all things women, the paradox is primary.

There are four reasons why a girl would balk at giving blowjobs.

1. She’s sexually repressed. These types aren’t too common in DC, but they do exist. I give sluts a hard time, but her twisted sister, the Frigid Ice Queen, is just as distressing. At the first signs you have a sex-averse girl on your hands, run, do not walk, to the nearest exit. Odds are not good that you will unplug the Freudian sludge that clogs her pussy pipe. You may, but you probably won’t. And the worst decision a man can make in his life is to marry an Ice Queen. Worse even than marrying a slut with cheating whore issues. You will suffer endless blueball torment as her parched snapper slowly drains the masculinity out of you and drives you to the brink of insanity. Red flag: Her father is a preacher.
2. She really doesn’t like giving blowjobs. If you’re like most men and you love getting head, there’s no point sticking it out with a girl like this, no matter how well she cooks. But don’t worry, this kind is rare. It’s been my experience that any girl who is very attracted to you will love sucking your cock. Most girls won’t need to be asked, or have their head pushed into position.
3. She’s testing you. Some girls will make you wait it out for the goodies, teasing you with a lick on the shaft or a tip in their asshole, until you’ve satsified their need to know you are really into them. These types have been burned by men they loved, and regard your infinite patience and heavy balls as evidence that you love her for more than her body. Avoid her. You don’t want a girl in your life who uses sex as a weapon. You don’t want a girl who views sex as an all-in-one tool for self-validating ego-prop.
4. She’s atoning for her past slutty ways. Of the four types listed here, this type is the most loathsome. She’s a brazen bitch. A selfish headcase. Damaged goods. She’s been on a merry-go-round of cock since puberty and woke up one morning feeling bad about it. Now she sees it as her duty to make amends for her whorish history, and you are her experimental beta guinea pig. “I’m not a slut!” pleads her shattered, spooged id. “And I’m going to prove it with this guy!” So she refrains from gobbling your cock, or makes you wait past the 3rd date for sex, thinking she can silence the screaming of the slut as a born-again prude. This is new ground she’s on, so she’s bound to be clumsy about it. You’ll hear her say incongruous things like “Stop pressuring me!” as she’s splayed out naked on your bed, legs spread wide, pussy leaving juice spots on your sheets. Her transparent act II psychodrama will infuriate you. What drives a man nuttier than knowing he’s being deviously denied that which so many other men have boffed freely? But what this deluded girl doesn’t know is that you have game. You have no trouble scoring. She can push you one, maybe two, dates more than your three date rule for sex, but she will inevitably push too far. And the bigger slut she’s been in her previous life, the harder she will attempt to atone for it by crushing your spirit. In a Battle Royale between a Rules Girl and a Player, always bet on player. You will walk, never looking back, your dignity flush with victory and your sack spared her wicked games. She can practice keeping her legs shut on another sucker. You’re not her sacrificial slut redeemer.

Maxim #71: When a girl signals that she doesn’t enjoy blowjobs or sex, do not spend one second more with her. Your libido is too important to gamble on such a girl.

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How To Tell That Being Called A Slut Matters To Girls

Maxim #77: Women will screech louder the closer your words get to damaging or exposing vulnerabilities in their sexual market value.

Based on the above maxim (and as amply demonstrated by the recent histrionic howling of the jezguzzling automatards shrieking on cue when confronted with my disconcerting words of truth), the top three soulkilling disses, in descending order of female ego destruction:

• Being called ugly
• Being called old
• Being called a slut

Corollary to Maxim #77: Assuming your words aren’t too wide of the mark thus blunting the serrated edge of their slice, the worst insult you can call a woman is “hideously ugly old cougar cumfunneling whore”.*

This has been a public service announcement courtesy of The Hell Matrix From Which You Can Run, But Cannot Escape.

PS The male equivalents are:

• Being called a loser
• Being called a coward
• Being called a fag

*Note that some women, particularly those of the fat, slutty and spinstery variety, will co-opt these words and use them among themselves in a transparently feeble attempt to mute their power to psychologically wound. When you hear women doing this, know that their soft underbellies are turned up for the quick and easy evisceration. “Cunt” is an especially vicious insult that never fails to get under the skin.

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