Of Manjaws And Furry Forearms

Have a cuckold fetish for relationships with sluts who are likely to cheat? Want to get into relationships with sluts who are likely to put out quickly, and to fuck like the energizer bunny? Date women with big chins!

If you have not already chosen your new love, researchers suggest you stay away from those with big chins as they have a tendency to cheat. Researchers from four universities across the US and Canada prodded into the sexual habits of chinny and relatively chin-less females to determine these results.

Kidding? No, they’ve published in the journal Personality And Individual Differences, so it must be true. Larger chins, especially on adult females, are associated with the male growth hormone testosterone and too much of that bad boy can lead to messing around. It seems on an unconscientious level men sense this trend and are biased against a more masculine chin. […]

“The findings are important in demonstrating that perceptions of women as desirable and trustworthy long-term mates can be reliably gleaned by men from viewing only the women’s facial features.

“Results suggest that information about women’s sexual unrestrictedness, which is related to their risk of infidelity, can potentially be conveyed by the masculinity of women’s faces.”

Hogwash you say? Perhaps you are already hooked up with said chin-cheater? Well, they may cheat, but you may also have found a sexual goldmine. Women (and perhaps men) with larger chins are also more sexually assertive and perhaps better in bed.

Yet again the science proves me right. Always ahead of the curve, I am. Over three years ago I wrote in this post about generalizing the sexual habits of women based on physical or behavioral traits:

Does she have lots of dark forearm hair?

Girls with this have more circulating testosterone.  They will be more likely to sleep with you by date 3.  Although forearm hair on a girl is unattractive, rejoice when you see it, because it means the moment of sexual congress is nigh.

Big chins, manjaws and dark forearm hair on women are all signs of exposure to high levels of testosterone. And women who have been thusly exposed like to fuck — hard, often, and usually with lots of different men. If you are doing a girl doggy style, and a thatch of thick ass crack hair is staring back at you, you can bet she’s exceeded the national female median of three lifetime sex partners. Have your fun, but don’t make the dumb mistake of marrying her. Or, really, spending any money on her, since she won’t require much male resource display before she’s willing to spread.

Thanks to the additional scientific evidence buttressing my personal observations, we can now add big chins and manjaws to the list of slut tells I outlined in my infamous post describing how easy it is to identify a slut. If you are an inexperienced younger man who wants to know if your girlfriend is marriage material, this blog will arm you with the knowledge you need.

To summarize:

Manjaws are more likely to:

• fuck on the first date
• fuck for hours in every room of the house
• cheat
• need a psychologically dominant boyfriend to keep her faithful.

Personally, as a normal man with normal tastes in women, I prefer feminine girls with dainty jaws and chins and soft flat bellies that aren’t ripped six packs. So Leno-chinned women of the world are not much concern to me, except insofar as their numbers in the general female population seem to be increasing of late, and thus causing the aggregate beauty in the world to shrink. As a lover of beauty, I consider this environmental destruction. Luckily, manjaws are less prevalent in younger women, so I will do my part to help the environment by casting out older women to the wastelands of solitary cougardom where their jutting mandibles can do no harm to anyone except 18 year old boys desperate to lose their virginity.

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‘I Have A Boyfriend’ Responses

Since the question of how to respond to the ubiquitous “I have a boyfriend” female shit test comes up a lot here, I’ve decided to put together what I think are the best answers a man can give in return. These answers were gleaned from commenters, from pickup forums, and from my own posts on the subject.

• “I don’t care.”

One of my favorites. Best used on ultrafem girls who yearn to submit to a very psychologically dominant man. See: Asians, sorostitutes, blogger chicks.

• “That’s OK, I’m not the jealous type.”

Replies to “IHAB” fall into two major categories — qualifying and disqualifying. A disqualifying reply is one where you shame the girl for even bringing the subject up, since she has no chance with you anyhow. A disqualifier is ideally used on superflirts and other varieties of cockteasers, because it fucks with their expectations.

A qualifying reply is one where you brush off the boyfriend objection, but do so in a humorous way that implies she has met your conditions for being bang-worthy and that you would sleep with her given the chance. The line above is an example of a qualifying reply — you would have sex with her and she needn’t worry that you would judge her for that. A qualifier is ideally used on girls who are attracted to you and want to sleep with you, but either have a boyfriend for real they want to step out on, or don’t have a boyfriend but say so anyhow because they are feeling slutty or anxious that sex might actually happen. Sometimes girls just blurt IHABs without even thinking, like they often do with any kind of shit test.

Note: If the girl drops an IHAB from the moment you start talking to her, it is likely she is rejecting you. IHAB is very context and time dependent; don’t bother with any of these lines if she hits you with an IHAB soon after you introduce yourself. These IHAB killers are meant for girls who are receptive to your gaming or are otherwise actively flirting with you.

• Girl: “I have a boyfriend…..”
  Man: “Wow….amazing…seriously, that’s amazing!”
  Girl: “What? That I have a boyfriend?”
  Man: “No, that I’ve barely known you for 5 minutes and you’re already telling me your problems.”
  Girl: “lmao!”

The above line was cribbed from a commenter over at Roosh’s pickup forum. It’s a type of disqualifier; one I would happily use on attention whores who love men bowing and scraping before their almighty bloated egos.

• “Whoa, not so fast. We’re just talking here, ok? Don’t get the wrong idea.”

Another strong disqualifier. Flips the script. This is the line I should have used on Superflirt when she hit me with her repeated IHABs.

• “You really thought I was hitting on you?”

An even stronger disqualifier. The hotter the chick, the stronger her expectation that you are trying to bed her. Very powerful disqualifiers will often scare away or piss off lesser girls, but the hot babes lap it up like hungry kittens. Use with caution.

• “No worries. You’re not my type.”

Tamer version of above. Opens the door for further conversation.

• “So does my girlfriend.”

Short, sweet and funny. Categorized as a qualifying reply — you’re not dismissing her as a sex prospect. Hints at preselection. Use on girls who want to sleep with you already but have to rationalize their way to it. Don’t use on drunk girls; it’ll take them too long to get it. I tried this on Superflirt and she just tilted her head and stared blankly at me for a few seconds. Don’t use on evangelical church girls, either; they might take it at face value.

• Girl: “I have a boyfriend.”
  Man: “Hey, my dog can juggle.”
  Girl: “What?”
  Man: “I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about shit that didn’t matter.”

This is a qualifying IHAB killer. You are implying you have designs to bang her, and are mocking her IHAB for the adorable little whiny objection it is. (The hidden subtext is “Let’s get back to seducing each other.”) A bit too clever by half for my taste; could work well on hard-charging lawyer cunts with high Wordsum scores.

• “Annnnd… so?”

Same type as above, but shorter and easier to remember.

• “Good job!”

A variant of “I don’t care.” Some guys prefer to plow through an IHAB by either ignoring it or contemptuously dismissing it.

• “Your parents must be proud.”

Same as above.

• “Oh man, I’m so embarrassed. I thought you were a lesbian.”

HUGE disqualifying neg. Use on histrionic club sluts. Don’t expect this to work more than 20% of the time; just enjoy the smile it puts on your face.

• “Are you allowed to talk to other men without his permission?”

Puts the girl on the defensive. This is a risky line. Some girls may react poorly to it, while others immediately qualify themselves to you.

• Ignore the IHAB

Plow, baby, plow! Caveman game. She’s so cute when she’s disingenuously objecting to you conking her over the head and dragging her into the brush for a rogering.

You’ll notice a pattern here; I prefer short answers to IHAB rather than long-winded, witty replies. A rule of thumb: wordiness is beta, succinctness is alpha. This is a broad generalization with plenty of exceptions, so don’t get too hung up on it. Just try and keep your texts, phone messages, and parts of your early and end game on the laconic side. Rapport and DHVing obviously will require the use of more than a few pithy quips.

You’ll also notice which IHAB replies are conspicuously missing from the list. I don’t like classic PUA IHAB destroyers such as

“Hey, no problem, you can bring him along on our date.”

or

“Cool, he can buy the first round.”

I’ve never liked these. They make the man sound like he’s forcing the issue. And they’re cheesy.

Perhaps a better way to handle the IHAB is to avoid it altogether. Preempt it by not giving the girl any reason to bring it up in the first place. An example of a preemptive IHAB blaster is “Are you single?” Upside: very effective neutralizing and filtering tactic. Downside: she might not have been planning to mention a boyfriend at all.

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Alpha Assessment: Ain’t No Thing Edition

David writes:

So on my way to achieving my maximum alpha-dom, I’ve discovered more and more that R is 110% right on everything. I’m sorta-kinda involved with a really nice 7/10 girl, but she has an 8 friend. So I start this conversation with her friend and she says:

“she likes you. shes my bestfriend. she has never & wouldnt ever do it to me. i can’t do it to her.”

I respond

“1 – we aint a thing
2 – what happens in vegas…”

After going through a pretty repetitive circle (I was slightly buzzed when I typed this and still am), she agreed to come over before work tomorrow and ‘test my seduction skills against her resistance skills,’ which is whore for ‘you fuck me senseless and I’ll pretend like it wasn’t supposed to go down like that.’ Point is, I got this after the rapport circle:

“None of this gets back to [name of 7].”

Sure thing? I think so.

“we ain’t a thing” — Major disqualification. Chicks dig the moving target.

“what happens in vegas” — Breaching her anti-slut defense. Assurance of privacy granted.

The 7 friend — Preselection. Getting hotter women is easier when you can pivot off slightly less hot women. Pivot off a 7 to get an 8, off an 8 to get a 9. Doesn’t work if the pivot is much uglier than the target, so don’t think you can date cigstache and trampoline off her enormous tobacco-stained gut into the sexy bosom of a 10.

Challenge level: 1 (on a 0 to 5 scale, zero being a cokehead offering a hummer for your dimebag and five being the supermodel newlywed of a famous actor.)

Alpha level: 3 (on a 0 to 5 scale, zero being an example of the bare minimum to cross the threshold from beta to alpha and five being an example of the kind of alpha game a man merged with the DNA of Jack Nicholson, Tommy Lee and Silvio Berlusconi would run.)

Summary judgment: A well-executed alpha attack on a chick who was looking to fuck. But this is end game stuff when the fornication line is in sight.

******

walawala writes:

Here’s my exchange with HB8 I met at our Latin dance night 2 weeks ago. We hit it off, lots of kino, IOI’s rapport, she qualified herself.

We met up a few days later on consecutive days spent the entire class hanging out, dancing. I purposely never number closed that time to see whether there was interest. I didn’t see her for two weeks so sent her an email on Facebook:

ME: NICKNAME I CREATED. Caiprinhas, we’re on…you’re buying the first round. LEAVE PHONE NUMBER.

Day and a half later, I get this response:

HER: NICKNAME SHE CREATED! hahaha how did you find me? i know i have been absent from the dance scene these couple of weeks. i just started a summer internship plus the world cup has been keeping my nights occupied 😛 how are things with you?

ME: NICKNAME…life is good, …World Cup, yah…except when North Korea plays Ivory Coast…nail-biter. Slovenia, is that really a country? Isn’t it just Croatia Junior?

Well NICKNAME one more chance to redeem yourself: Next Monday let’s meet up for class, followed of course by drinks, you can help me celebrate Fourth of July.

Haven’t received a response, but her friendly but figured her rather lukewarm reply to my initial outreach was worth one more shot. She never did leave her contact number. I haven’t yet received a reply but….Alpha enough and on the right track with this approach to asking out?

You’ve got self-awareness, but you sound like you’re trying too hard. First, hunting her down on Facebook is always going to seem stalkerish, no matter your intentions, and even if she gave you her full name. That was your first mistake; you are now the chaser. It would have been better to number close her the first night you danced together, while the iron — or in this case, the gina — was hot.

Always Be Escalating.

Don’t hesitate “to see whether there was interest”. That’s the sort of thing betas and brooding poets do.

Your emails then were doomed to sound like a guy trying to recapture an alpha frame that never really was. You needed to be less wordy, even curt to the point of assholery, to put her on her heels in the defensive crouch. For example:

YOU: [forget the cutesy nicknames. she is not yet worth your labored creativity] what are you doing on facebook? I thought you were different.

HER: NICKNAME SHE CREATED! hahaha how did you find me? i know i have been absent from the dance scene these couple of weeks. i just started a summer internship plus the world cup has been keeping my nights occupied 😛 how are things with you?

YOU: [screw the nicknames] stupendous. gotta go.  i’ll see you at the next dance class. wear something twirly.

This exchange is ambiguous enough that she’s not sure if you’re interested or not, so it robs her of the satisfying ego glow she would get from knowing she is being chased by a suitor during the week between the emails and the next class. This way, she shows up to the class just a little bit nervous, instead of overconfident in her sexual power. Now you have regained hand, and hand is the foreplay of the mind.

Challenge level: 3 (she’s basically a cold lead.)

Alpha level: 0 (the alpha force is weak in you, son.)

Summary judgment: You’d better hit on other girls in full view of her during the next dance class if you want to spark her attraction again. Practice your One Word Game.

******

Matt writes:

So Friday night I met this girl who just moved back to my country and when we let we both laughed because we had heard about each other (I don’t know what she has heard about me).
We hung out for the rest of the night. She and I would flirt a bit and I would neg her and she would punch me on the arm or give me little IoI’s.
Then at the most random time during us talking she just says

Her: Oh by the way I’m not going to fuck you.
Me: (confused look) Well you’re not really my time anyway.

And the conversation continues but she said it like three times that night.
She also gave me her business card.
I ended up sleeping over at her house with everyone from our group. But not with her.

The next day my Wing tells me every guy pretty much loves her. Great i’m just another AFC.

Today I see her in the park and chat with her for a few minutes nothing special really.

I’ve added her on facebook and now I’m wondering how do I get together with her if I can only message or email her? (Her phone number on her card isn’t from my country)
Do I even still have a chance with her?

A girl punching your arm is the metaphorical subconscious blurt of a clit flick. She wants it. You have only to refrain from sabotaging yourself at that point. But also note that there is a risk you are dealing with a superflirt. I don’t have enough context from your description to gauge whether she is nothing but a cockteasing attention whore.

When a girl wants it badly, her anti-slut defense will kick in autonomically, often at the most inopportune or random times. The “I’m not going to fuck you” line is a classic slut tell. The mere verbalization of the thought is evidence she most certainly is thinking about fucking you.

There are probably a number of ways to handle the preemptive fuck denial (PFD), but one that almost never fails is stone cold disqualification.

HER: oh by the way, i’m not going to fuck you.

YOU: [no confused look] phew! that’s a relief.

If she repeats herself again the same night, you can up the psychological ante.

HER: no , really, i’m not going to fuck you.

YOU: my girlfriend will be relieved you aren’t going to jump my bones.

Finally, you can call her bluff.

HER: i’m not going to fuck you tonight.

YOU: you know, if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you were dying to fuck me. try not to make it so obvious.

Or, if you think her buying temp is high, you could try this:

HER: i’m not going to fuck you tonight.

YOU: no, but you will kiss me. [lean in and go for it]

Despite the above suggestions, I think if you are getting a lot of PFDs from a chick, it is either evidence that she is an incorrigible and crude flirt, or she has the emotional development of a Twilight obsessed teen girl who can’t handle the arousal inflaming her labia. You’ll have to judge the difference, because dealing with a superflirt is radically different than dealing with a girl who actually wants to fuck you.

Challenge level: 2 (brass ring. so close.)

Alpha level: 3 (you nearly connected with your alpha chakra, but let transcendence slip through your grasp in the park.)

Summary judgment: Since your quarry was either a taunting superflirt or a wet and wild emotionally stunted slut, you had your hands full trying to navigate this female landscape. Props for the meager effort.

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Is It Time To Rethink Democracy?

An article over at Zero Hedge argues that democracy is self-cannibalizing, and that an attack on first principles is needed to stop it from consuming itself.

The Editor-in-Chief of the otherwise quiet and non-descript Global Custodian magazine has written what can pass for an extremely controversial if not outright revolutionary essay on the topic of democracy, and specifically how our current regime has cannibalized itself, and is in dire need of a “revolution.” Dominic Hobson says: “In a market, the cumulative expenditure of the modestly endowed easily trumps the expenditure of the rich. And even the rich are ultimately answerable to the market: They became rich by satisfying customers, and will remain rich only so long as they (or their investments) continue to satisfy consumers. Consumer sovereignty is far more powerful a constraint on the rich than political sovereignty. Indeed, even the erosion of the rich by democracy is ultimately self-defeating, for it eliminates that class of men and women in public life who are under no financial pressure to remain at their posts, pursuing policies in which they no longer believe. It is no coincidence that the democratization of politics has been accompanied by a decline in resignations on points of principle or of honor. The vast majority of modern politicians simply needs the money. But even the restoration of a rentier political class would not be enough to restore the blessings of good government. As long as politicians must compete for votes, they cannot govern honestly, or even disinterestedly. They cannot reverse decisions or policies that have proved unworkable. They must persist, even in intellectual error, and cannot escape a certain narrowness of vision. To release politicians from this predicament, a revolution is required. That revolution must be one not of blood, but of constitutional and political ideas. It must put an end to democracy without limits, before the prosperity of the species is destroyed and liberty extinguished…The only lasting solution to the plague of unlimited democracy is to attack democracy at its moral foundation: the political equality of the citizen.” Well, the Greeks seem to have been wrong about a whole lot of other things. Is it so alien to ponder whether they also screwed up the most taken for granted concept of modern society as well?

The dishonesty of politicians competing for votes in an unlimited democratic system is exacerbated by an ethnically and racially diverse populace. This is because diversity is the crucible of hate; it breeds short-sightedness and antagonism, as human groups unequal in status demand of their representatives policies that continue and strengthen parasitic relationships even when the long term consequence of such vengeful and envious voting behavior is national diminution.

Does the Declaration of Independence rest on a falsehood? The rapidly rising flood of computational genetic research is providing evidence for everything from innate differences in intelligence to criminal inclination to altruistic impulse. The conclusion slowly being forged by (re)familiarity with reality is that all men are not created equal. Born equal under the law? Perhaps, yes. Though that too might change with a broader understanding of human brain architecture and the associated debasement of free will. But created equal? No. Some men are worth more than others, and maybe from the moment of birth. The ugliest truth of all. We all know this deep down in the pit of our souls; it is why jockeying for position in the sexual market — and ultimately for progeny with a genetic leg up over the competition — is fought with such a vicious and primitive compulsion. Fear of failure in the one market to rule them all is the inspiration of nightmares.

As I have said before, for big picture realists to win the last battle against the sickeningly malevolent forces of equalism and utopianism, they must attack and defeat the first principles of the enemy. Playing by the enemy’s rules won’t work. That is the road to a superficial stalemate shifting inexorably away from truth and deeper into lies. The realists can attack in a number of ways, perhaps by triangulating with bold and sadistic truthbomb throwers like your humble narrator, thereby affording themselves an immunity to instant transmutation by the borg collective of our ruling class. The equalists know that if their cherished Original Meme is exposed and discredited they lose their power to shameswarm infidels into silence. Thus, this is why they act as if their assumptions are infallible, inarguable, and why they ferociously fight along distant borderlands, well away from central command.

Look what democracy has gotten us to date: mounds of debt, ponzi scheme entitlements, blood spilt in wars for ingrates, injustices committed in service of outcome-based equality, nation-abnegating open borders, historical whitewashing, loss of national pride, and a relentless fusillade of lies to prop it all up. The system is rotten to the core.

Solutions:

• Restrict voting to net taxpayers. Net tax recipients wail forlornly on the sidelines. Downsides: Impractical. How would we measure who is a net taxpayer before each election? Fosters revolt among the parasites. Every so often the productive will have to put down rebellions by the disenfranchised. Risk that the productive will direct all government largesse to themselves. Highly eugenic in practice. Parasites die in the streets once largesse spigot is turned off. Can the productive tolerate the tooth and claw nature of true progress? Upside: Encourages return to traditional notion of nation-state as territory for a relatively homogeneous population.
• Repeal the 17th Amendment. Return to state legislatures appointing Senators, as the Founders intended. Decentralization helps reduce corruption; state legislators are more beholden to the voice of their constituents than are 100 Senators in DC.
• Repeal the 26th Amendment. As lifespans and, consequently, educational years, adolescence, and time spent on parents’ dole, increase, it makes less sense for 18 year olds to have the right to vote their callow consciences into law.
• Institute a national referendum for big decisions involving war, taxation, and immigration. The ruling class hates this idea because they know it will mean an end to their beloved utopian transnationalism. Anti-American open borders traitors would get the comeuppance they so richly deserve.
• Benign monarchy. Could it be any worse than what we have now?
• Secession. A breakup of the USA into manageable territories of people with similar morals, outlooks, tastes, abilities and temperaments.

The era of “huddled masses yearning to breathe free” and sentimental equalist ideology is about to meet an ignominious end. The era of vigilant realism dawns. May the light of the truth guide our way. Ah-fucking-men.

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The Ruling Class Vs The American Class

Important article in the American Spectator. I’d advise all to read it. Excerpt:

Similarly, Obama “apologized” to Europeans because some Americans — not him and his friends — had shown “arrogance and been dismissive” toward them, and to the world because President Truman had used the atom bomb to end World War II. So President Clinton apologized to Africans because some Americans held African slaves until 1865 and others were mean to Negroes thereafter — not himself and his friends, of course. So assistant secretary of state Michael Posner apologized to Chinese diplomats for Arizona’s law that directs police to check immigration status. Republicans engage in that sort of thing as well: former Soviet dictator Mikhail Gorbachev tells us that in 1987 then vice president George H. W. Bush distanced himself from his own administration by telling him, “Reagan is a conservative, an extreme conservative. All the dummies and blockheads are with him…” This is all about a class of Americans distinguishing itself from its inferiors. It recalls the Pharisee in the Temple: “Lord, I thank thee that I am not like other men…”

In sum, our ruling class does not like the rest of America. Most of all does it dislike that so many Americans think America is substantially different from the rest of the world and like it that way. For our ruling class, however, America is a work in progress, just like the rest the world, and they are the engineers.

What is the animating force of our rapidly aggregating elite? Power. What is the conscious motivation of our elite? Religious utopianism. What are the tools of our elite? Feminism, equalism, transnationalism. What are the battle tactics of our elite? Shaming, hypocrisy, lies.

A perturbation in the souls of common men gathers strength. The stirrings of a revolution shimmer faintly on the horizon. A new, yet old, paradigm bubbles in the cauldron of collective thought. One way or another, a clash of classes is coming. The only question is whether we will be lucky enough that the coming civil war is a bloodless one. All bets are off.

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Why You Should Leave After Sex

Because it will signal your high male mate status:

Chapter 5, “Green-Eyed Desire: From Guarding a Mate to Trading Up,” deals with other economic constraints relating to the human mating market. Women appear to use sex to help guard male mates by keeping them satisfied, reminding men what they stand to lose should they defect—or as many women in the study put it, “keep[ing] his mind off other women.” Women also seem to be motivated to sometimes have sex with other men as a way of gaining information about their mate value or to obtain a better partner—i.e., to “trade-up” in the mating market. Attracting a high-quality mate can allow a woman to enhance and evaluate her mate value, and many women cited this as a reason to have sex. The authors refer to research showing that women do this more often around ovulation.

So what does this have to do with leaving a woman’s company soon after sex? Much can be inferred from the study results in the quote above. For instance, if women use sex to keep a mate satisfied and his mind off chasing other women, then a hasty post-coitus skedaddle undermines her mate guarding efforts; she will be compelled to try even harder in the sack next time. And as I’ve noted before, a solid, healthy relationship rests on a foundation of the woman chasing the man. The day your woman succeeds at guarding you is the day you begin the slide into betahood, infrequent sex, cuckoldry, and eventual breakup.

More importantly, since women sometimes use sex with new men to enhance and evaluate their own mate value, a calculated quick departure after sex will disrupt her self-evaluative process, leading her to conclude that she isn’t as hot as she thought (which is exactly what you want her to think). While landing a charming SOB like yourself for sex will boost a girl’s ego, persuading you to linger afterward to cuddle will send her ego straight into the stratosphere. Since American women’s egos are already in the stratosphere, theirs will get propelled into distant galaxies. It’s critical that you keep a woman’s ego in check if you want to enjoy years of blissful love and sexual release.

This study, and its implications, confirms my everyday experiences. I have noticed that when I leave a chick right after sex — either directly by walking out or indirectly by nudging her out — she will text or call like a woman in love the very next day, or even later that night. The post-coitus premature exit (PCPE) is especially powerful when executed at two in the morning.

If you are at her place, many times a girl will invite you to stay for the night. She’ll couch it in plausibly deniable terms, such as “You’re welcome to stay if it’s too late for you to grab a taxi now.” If you need an excuse to drop a PCPE, just tell her you have to get up early for a business trip. If you and her are at your place instead, assume the PCPE by announcing soon after sex that you’ll be happy to walk her to her car or her home, and that she must be looking forward to sleeping in her own bed.

Whatever you do, avoid the post-coitus cuddle with a new girl who is above the average quality of girls you normally get. If you’ve had the good fortune, or expertise, to bag yourself the female equivalent of a 12 point buck, you don’t want to ruin your established high mate value and budding relationship momentum by snuggling and squeezing her tight as if she were your childhood security blanket. Post-sex cuddling is like a chemical reaction which drains your testosterone by the minute. Intimate cuddling will convince a girl to give herself high marks on her self-evaluation, and once she’s done this the odds she will see you as a worthy mate for the long haul — sexual or otherwise – drop precipitously. It’s all done on the subconscious level of course, but that’s the level that is most dangerous, since it operates by flying under the radar of our conscious perimeter defenses.

Looking at all my flings, one night stands, and relationships, the ones where I rolled over after sex and gave the girl my back, or where I got out of bed and put on my clothes to go home, were the ones I was in complete command of the direction of the romance. I never had to initiate texts or phone calls, or come up with date ideas, with those girls; they did all the legwork.

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She’s A Superflirt

“Yo man, let’s go next door.”

“Why? It’s good here. And the bathroom is only ten feet away. Very convenient.”

“There’s a new club next door. It caters to the international crowd. Last time I was there it was filled with Russian women. And I know how you are about Russians.”

“How is it I haven’t heard of this magical land before?”

“You’re out of the loop. Time to pack up and move to the burbs.”

We left to check out club eurotrash. It was as advertised; hot foreign-looking women everywhere. I heard three different languages spoken as soon as I walked in the door, two vaguely Slavic and one Spanish. My buddy and I sat at a two seater table near the bar. The bartenders were women. The only men working here were the DJ and doorman.

We had barely settled in when a pretty blonde flitted up to us, smiling broadly. She had a delicate feminine jaw and chin, and high cheekbones. Very slender with nice sized tits. She was a hard 8.5. Later I would discover she was American, but spoke with a funny generic euro accent that she said she picked up from all her foreign friends.

She put her hand on my knee. “You’re cute. Where you guys from?”

Before I could answer she continued. She craned her head slightly upward as she spoke.

“Let’s dance! Come on, get up! It’s my birthday this week.” (Are girls now celebrating week-long birthdays? Isn’t there enough female entitlement?) She had grabbed both my hands and was guiding me up off my seat, her hips in a perpetual wriggle.

I knew this type well. The superflirt. Not drunk, but buzzed. Exraverted. Superficially confident. Used to getting her way with men. Weaponized femininity. A classic eternal ingenue. Likely had a boyfriend somewhere else and a couple of mother hens in attendance to supervise her.

The superflirt’s frame is all-powerful. Few men can resist getting sucked into it. But resist you must. I had three choices before me.

1. Brush her off.
2. Refuse to dance but attempt to get her to join us in conversation.
3. Dance with her.

Number one is fine if you want her to leave. But don’t expect to pull a superflirt out of her euphoric frame with aloofness and indifference. She’ll just waltz to the next guy willing to entertain her machinations.

Number two is a battle of the frames. Can you convince a hyper happy chick to focus on you for more than a second? All her energy is pulling her onto the dance floor, into the embrace of an envious or horny audience. You have no value to her other than your looks, and that’s weak sauce to a cute girl. She has approached you, thus stripping you of the momentum and careful planning of a male-initiated approach, and she has thrown out a hoop for you to jump through which is rigged to ensure failure. You jump, you lower your value. You refuse to jump, you look like a stick in the mud.

Number three is jumping through the hoop, but with an eye on the long game. That’s what I did.

I got up and we all danced languidly around the bar, her leading the way. (I had tried to maneuver myself in front but obstacles prevented a smooth transition.) She introduced me and my buddy to her two friends, a sausage-shaped older, short Latina and a tall, big-boobed, meaty girl. The mother hens. I tried to preemptively neutralize any future mother hennery by asking the tall girl if she was responsible for babysitting Superflirt while she had all the fun.

“No way. She can take care of herself.”

Bullseye.

I danced with Superflirt on and off for fifteen minutes. Every few seconds she would saunter away to harass the DJ, dance on the bar, or drink a free shot, courtesy of the gawking older men gathering around us. She would return and put her hands on my stomach, exclaiming with delight how hard it was, or she would tickle me. A few times she leaned in and rested her cheek on my cheek, whispering in my ear. She smelled like concentrated estrogen. Then she would recoil in mock indignation, and, without my prompting, announce she had a boyfriend.

“I have a boyfriend, just to let you know. No, really, I have a boyfriend.”

I’ll admit I was enjoying the spectacle, regardless if it led anywhere or not. Of course, I would do my best to lead it somewhere, but the superflirt is normally quarry best left to shot-buying chumps who can convince themselves they’re going home happy having danced with a cute chick for a minute.

“That’s great. So does my girlfriend.”

She cocked her head and stared at me quizzically, then giggled. “I reeeeeeeally have a boyfriend. I’m supposed to go to his place later.”

I ignored her. She hopped up on the bar again. I figured at this point she was teetering close to the edge of outright drunkenness, so if I was to make a bold move, I had to execute quickly.

There are two ways to handle a superflirt. One, nuclear negs followed by a bold sexual move that shocks her out of her attention whore programming. Two, jealousy plotlines that flip the script so she is chasing you. I wanted to do the first option, but she had stopped clambering into my lap in between dance moves. All I could accomplish was a few negs.

“Hey, stop tickling me. Do I look like a piece of meat?”

“Yes!”

“Sexual harassment! Is this how you hit on men? It’s not working.”

She twirled. I tried to keep her focused.

“How would you like it if I did that to you?” I tickled her middle and she shrieked joyously like a little girl so loudly I though my ears would bleed.

This was going nowhere. She was in full-on attention whore mode. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a leggy woman of exquisite beauty wearing a miniskirt that climbed past mid-thigh. Her makeup was expertly applied, and she didn’t smile. An expression of disdain swept across her purse-lipped face.

Had to be Russian.

I sidled closer to her table where she was standing with a couple girls and some men, and listened in; yep, Russians. She glanced in my direction. I realized why. Preselection. She had front row seats to me getting pawed by Superflirt. A man can go up as much as five points simply by being seen in the company of a hot babe.

This was one last opportunity to break Superflirt’s frame. If I could be seen by her chatting up the Russian, she might reengage and be open to a proper seduction. All her earlier boyfriend chatter suggested to me she was subconsciously looking for an excuse to step out with a new man. And nothing works like jealousy on an eternal ingenue. She has to feel a competitive threat from equally pretty women.

Unfortunately, this story does not have a good ending. I opened the Russian, asking her why she wasn’t embarrassing herself like the other girls by dancing on the bar, because it’s what all American women do. As we talked I would steal a glance at Superflirt to see if she was watching us, but she had fallen on her ass next to a bar stool, drunk as sin, and one shot away from puking. Three men rushed in to help her up. I didn’t budge. When I turned back to continue my conversation with the Russian, the doorman was saying something to her and she clopped in three inch high heels toward the door to make a phone call outside.

It was near closing time. Superflirt stumbled past me on the way to the door. She stopped to drape her arms over my shoulders, and I told her to give me her number. It was a last ditch effort that I knew had a low chance of succeeding. She was barely cognizant. But she stuck to her boyfriend script.

“Can’t. No I really can’t. I’m going to my boyfriend’s place right now! He lives nearby.”

Admiring her tight ass and perfect 0.7 waist-hip ratio as she wobbled out into the street, I figured her boyfriend either had very strong pimp hand to feel comfortable letting her get drunk by herself in his own hood, or they were heading for a dramatic breakup within the month. What a fucking headache it is dating a superflirt. Best way to keep them in line is to date two or more of them at the same time.

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