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Archive for the ‘Dating’ Category

White man-black woman couples are exceedingly rare. Not as rare as asian man-black woman couples, but close to that level of rarity. In the past year, I can recall seeing maybe five WM/BW couples.

Given the small sample size, it’s difficult to identify patterns and generalize about the traits of WM/BW pairings. But I will try. Here’s what I’ve noticed (take it with a grain of salt-n-pepa).

– The White men drilling for oil are usually big nerdy galoots. They are tall and burly, but walk with an ungainly lope. Nevertheless, they could probably win a few fights if their lives depended on it. (Being big, however nerdy, also helps stay the impulsive beatdown fists of any black men who see the Towering White Nerd with his black girlfriend.)

– If I had to guess based on appearance alone, I’d say the White men with the black gfs make a reasonable living and aren’t likely to stray.

– The black women in WM/BW couples aren’t particularly facially pretty, but they are all thin. And they don’t have steatopygous ghetto glutes. Their figures resemble the bodies of well-muscled, athletic White women.

– The black women dating White men are very dark. Almost purple. This might seem strange, but their dark skin contradicts their facial features, which tend toward less prognathism and more toward a Horn of Africa caucasian-ness. Don’t get me wrong; they will never be mistaken for dark-skinned White women, but their black features are more exotic than urban hood rat.

– I suspect the black women dating White men are African immigrants, or 2nd or 3rd generation removed from immigrant parents, going by their skin darkness, noticeable lack of permanent scowl, and fashion sense (which is understated and in line with the style norms for White women).

– I have never seen a WM/BW couple with a mystery meat kid in tow. The couples’ rarity of occurrence might explain this, or…… the White men jump ship before marriage and kids loom large in their black girlfriends’ minds.

My theory: White men who date outside the race do it for the exotic bedroom pleasure factor, not for the affordable family formation reason. A White male shitlib will never admit this, but when thrust comes to buns the arid subconscious calculation of the inherited traits, positive or negative, of any mixed race child will give him pause. And the typical White male shitlib, for all his virtue signaling, secretly knows the score on race and genetics.

So, one may ask, why don’t White women who burn the coal make the same subconscious calculations before shitting out a mocha chip? First, mudsharks are generally low sexual market value; fat, ugly, dumb, and low class. Without black men to service them, they might never get laid and conceive a child. Second, women can be their own worst enemies when a dominant or charming man raises their horny level. Women don’t get climbing-the-walls horny very often as a rule, which means that once aroused they are capable of making horrible mistakes of judgment.

Cheers!

PS It’s my impression that, despite the rarity, the numbers of WM/BW couples have increased in recent years, keeping in line with US Census Bureau data that mixed race couples have increased by a nontrivial number in the past two decades. The Council on Igloo Affairs cackled with glee.

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Another drearily familiar rapefugee news story contains a portentous subtext.

All over Europe, women are suffering the consequences of the Muslim invasion disguised as a refugee crisis, and one reporter’s encounter was captured on video. A group of Muslim migrants thought she was too attractive, then showed her what happens as a result.

The video is at the link above. There’s nothing NSFW in the video; it’s just the usual enriching perspectives we’re instructed to appreciate from our colorful third world Diversity.

A reader gives his interpretation of this vibrantly multicultural scene, and issues a warning to the White Men of the West.

Here is the reality.

These guys have monumental, stone cold asshole game.

They treat this woman like absolute shit, and she is fascinated by it, she keeps calling them back for more.  She lets the guy take the microphone out of her hand.

In the pussified world of Western European girly-men, these guys stand out as masculine, hard men who say what they want, take what they want.  They walk down the street like they own it.  They don’t smile.  They double down when challenged.  They give sub-zero fucks.

CH readers will see where this is going … .

The dried up miserable vaginas of Europe’s women will be engorged and dripping at the sight, and they will be blushing and squirming in their chairs and playing with their hair even as they say, oh, how awful … .  Then they will do everything they can to get more of these unapologetic bastards into their country, and look for the opportunity to be called a slut, have their hair pulled, their clothes grabbed and pulled off, be slapped, be violated, be dominated, be owned.  As more of these videos circulate, the man-starved women of Europe will become increasingly desperate to spread their legs for a vicious and hateful pummeling by these invaders.

They will forget their own so-called men ever existed.

And to get all “meta”, feminism was a civilization-wide shit test, and the men of Western Europe and the USA failed.  They have been reduced to sniveling beta status ever since.  The poon of the West is desperate for a stern and iron Alpha ramming by anyone, and the first guys who showed up are these Muslim dirtbags.

Looks like it’s their lucky day.

Note that the foregoing is clearly correct for the Germanic countries.  The Muslims will own the place in a generation.  This is not true in Eastern Europe, only the west.  The Poles, Hungarians, Serbs, will absolutely without blinking shoot, hang, stab, run over with trucks, set on fire with gasoline, or club to death every Muslims they can get their hands on before they will turn over their women.

Hyperbolic, but he’s onto something. After watching the video, I wouldn’t go so far to say the female reporter is sexually aroused (she could just be chirpily stringing the rapefugees along to make sure she gets entertaining quotes), but the wider theme explored by the reader is by and large true: when stronger* men invade your public space, your women will eventually, and often in contradiction to their own stated wishes, gravitate into an orbit with the dominant invader male valence and assume the submissive position.

*Stronger in a sexual market context means less appeasing, bolder, and firmer of frame. IOW, an asshole.

The lesson is that when an existential crisis threatens the nation, its women simply can’t be trusted to correct course. Men must steer the ship. And if that means dismissing their women’s opinions while they get to the hard job of making their country great again, then so be it. The dismissiveness will probably reignite their women’s desire for them.

The conclusion one must draw is the utter incompatibility of the White K-selected races with the less-than-White r-selected races. Multiculturalism is a failure. Worse, it’s a deliberate failure; an attack by the ruling classes against their own people.

The saracens are a different breed, possessing a natural ZFG attitude and patriarchal insolence towards women that may not buy them much poon in their homelands but acts like a tingle generating explosive reaction in secular, betatized, domesticated, and effeminated European societies. The shy, shoe-gazing, polite White European beta male – representative of his tribe – is rendered impotent when contrasted against the brutish brown man’s street theater, and the White man’s women notice the contrast, and their hindbrains, despite the best intentions that some may have, map out sexual market hierarchies accordingly.

PS Refreshingly, there are some young women who know the score.

If there is hope among White women, it lies with the virginal cuties. But, as reader Diversity Heretic averred, the White man’s chivalry comes with a necessary cost.

Okay, you want male protection. Male protection comes at the price of female deference. If you want to compete with (and displace) men in the job and education marketplaces, if you want women to be defense ministers, if you want to pursue a career at the expense of being a wife and mother, if you want income and status equality with men, if you want to ride the alpha cock carousel until your early thirties, then expect to find a beta male provider who’ll buy with a ring what you gave away free when you were younger and hotter,

THEN CHICKY BABE, YOU ARE ON YOUR OWN! GUTEN GLUCK UND GUTEN ABEND!

PPS PA writes about white knighting (when it’s appropriate, and when it’s self-toolage.)

PPPS Reader Philomathean adds,

I’m not convinced the majority of White women support the invasion because they long for a mud breach in their vaginal canals. It’s state sponsored, socially approved moral posturing no different in spirit than an Oprah inspired kaffeeklatsch.

I reply: But women lead the moral posturing to open the borders. They are lapping men in their eagerness for more diversity enrichment. There is a deeper psychological compulsion that animates women’s politics, and I contend it begins at the source of female sexuality: their innate desire for strength and dominance in men. Right now, that female desire has been redirected to outsider males, because their own men are hamstrung from reacting in the proper masculine manner to the alien threat (and too many are donning miniskirts as feeble signs of protest).

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We share a hearty chuckle over the avoidable miseries of friendzoned beta males, but there are dead serious implications should the practice ever fall out of favor or get deprived of its seemingly endless source stream of dupes, chodes, and tools.

The fewer beta orbiters willing or available to provide sexless emotional and financial support to dual-mate strategizing (“alpha fux, beta bux”) girls, the more pressure is applied to the alpha male lovers of those girls to assume the “beta bux” relationship responsibilities abjured by the former friendzoned betas.

In theory, this gutting of the friendzone industrial complex should result in three dating market adjustments:

– Girls choosing less conspicuously caddish jerks as lovers. Men who can’t or won’t offer any relationship dependability will have a harder time “locking in” girlfriends for the long haul.

– Girls becoming less disposed to take beta male attention for granted. This will mean that when betas do show romantic interest, they won’t immediately get stuffed into the LJBF hugbox.

– Girls experiencing more difficulty advertising-by-beta orbiter proxy their “no muss no fuss” sexual accessibility to roving alphas. As shartiste explains,

I’m growing more fond of my theory that girls use friend-zoned guys as signals to draw in low-investment alphas. Call it the Conspicuous Cuck Strategy. Look at her, framing him as a prop while she eye-fucks the camera and displays cleavage for any alpha onlooker. Come and get it, I know you’ll fuck and run but the cucks all ready!

I no longer hookup with attached girls, but I did a few times in less discriminating days. The girls ALWAYS talked about their bf/husband in the most beta terms possible, even though reality was probably a bit more shade of grey. They’d talk him down so hard and pitifully, not for any illusion that she’d dump him or I’d whisk her away, but it seemed more to signal just how bad she needed an alpha fuck, and simultaneously assure there’d be no reprisal. This is “flirting” to them. Its kinda disgusting, honestly.

It takes two to tango, and the female exploiting the asexual provisioning of the cuck is just as complicit as the cuck accepting his role and enabling the girl’s dual mate strategy. In this analysis, the girl is more malevolent, but the cuck is more contemptible.

Nevertheless, I don’t think girls are using beta orbiters as dinner bells for fly by night alphas. Not consciously, at least. It’s more reasonable to interpret a woman’s motivation to establish and sustain friendzoned eunuchs as exactly what it is: a status display to other women, and a practical consideration to “cover all her bases”. One can easily imagine a reproductive advantage in the EEA to women who gathered the resources of both sexual and asexual admirers.

Ideally, women want the cad and the dad in the same über alpha male; and women with very high SMV can pull off this coup. But for the majority of women who can’t, acquiring an entourage of harmless castrati isn’t without its twisted appeal. Think about how much the friendzoned beta orbiter offers women:

therapy.
extreme listening skills.
cashmoney.
endless ego-boosting flattery (without demanding reciprocation).
and, perhaps most crucially, a white knight perimeter defense against hopeful betas (and conversely a character-testing gauntlet for aggressive alphas).

So in theory reducing the frequency of friendzoning in the dating market should redound to the benefit of beta males and the detriment of alpha males.

But theory often gets abused trying to make sense of female sexuality. In practice, as the supply of beta male emotional tampons shrinks, what I think likelier to happen is that the alpha cads remain objects of female desire, but girls will have to find alternate outlets to absorb their bitching and moaning about their jerky boyfriends, which could mean girl friends and family. Hearteningly, or maddeningly depending on your degree of cynicism, it could also mean girls “amp up” their sexual coquettishness around beta males to secure the same amount of harmless male attention they used to get for less effort (and for less risk of misconstrual).

On balance, it’s a good thing to reduce the incidence of friendzoning, even if it means more lesser betas wind up alone with their dignity, instead of alone with a cute girl tormenting them with her unattainable nearness. If betas are unwilling to prostrate themselves to self-aggrandizing girls who will never put out for them, there might follow a morale boost and an impetus to learn and acquire the whole panoply of masculine traits that coaxes from girls the kind of hugs that really matter: post-orgasmic leg hugs.

And, not to put too fine a point on it, girls deprived of pushover eunuchs might start to view those betas in a more sex-positive light.

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Even if a girl likes you and shows it by feigning interest, don’t be one of those dudes who ensnares his date in the quagmire of sports talk. As you’re getting excited by your good fortune to find a girl who makes you think she likes going over the finer points of the zone defense, she’s drying up like a Central Valley megadrought.

Just because you’ve found a girl who’s willing to be a good sport about your sports fanaticism, doesn’t mean you should test her resolve. You want to get laid? Drop the sports talk, and start communicating with her in the language of love: her own voice.

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Although rare, one does occasionally encounter the younger grown man-older woman couple. (I specify “grown man”, because there is room in the sexual market for inexperienced teenage and early 20s beta males to pop their cherries in the easy and uncomplicated, if road-worn, guiding folds of older woman orifice.)

The married younger man-older woman is a coupling that seems to defy not just evolutionary theory but also common sense. Why would a man so ludicrously work against his reproductive interests? There is already a built-in preference among women to date and marry older men than themselves, and a woman’s fertility window is much shorter than a man’s. One would have to be either a fetishist who gets his GILF freak on, or a complete loser lacking any confidence in his ability to marry at least a few boner-inspiring years down the poon market.

While fetishists of every stripe exist, they are so rare — much rarer than the noise their advocates make on SJW comment boards where all that matters is parroting the Pantywaist Line — that it’s safe to compartmentalize them into a box full of Darwinian exceptions who don’t violate the general rule governing sex interactions.

More common are the lesser beta and omega male losers who have so little to offer women, or who believe they have so little to offer, that they settle, with a sad resignation they have spent their lives expertly concealing under self-soothing bromides and plastic smiles from public inquisition, for older broads with short shelf lives and lowered standards.

If the numbers of these loser husband-older wife couples are increasing, (anecdotally, there does appear to be a slight uptick in their numbers, mirroring the slight uptick in the numbers of white women-black men couples. I invite the reader to make the relevant connection), we can identify a number of social changes that may be contributing to the odd pairings.

Reader corvinus explains,

CH: and then marry, if he wishes to marry, a younger woman.

This. About 10 years younger.

As to why it’s considered the norm to marry a woman the same age as you, I have a couple of ideas:

1) Social pressure, especially from the women.
2) Online dating, which has a stronger age-homogamy bias than IRL.
3) Lack of game on the men’s part.

Interestingly enough, apparently during the recession, the age at first marriage has gone up faster for men than for women, suggesting that women are more willing to consider marrying somewhat older men than they were before.

During times of economic hardship, women smartly choose established men with more resources (betas). The inverse is also true: during times of female economic self-sufficiency, women vaginally choose charming jerkboys with or without resources.

Corvinus has hit on the big three reasons why younger man-older women marriages continue to exist and offend good taste.

Social pressure is a big deal, because women are the lemming sex and bend to the will of the group more readily than do men. If more older women are getting locked out of the chase for older, resource-rich men, then they will seek succor from their misery by propagandizing the wonderful wonderfulness of fucking younger men in short-term flings. (We here at CH know better. These women hurt badly on the inside.) The lies of feminism can have an impact on how socially comfortable women feel about dating older men.

Online dating does create a sex market skew against the intangibles of courtship. That is, women who try to find a man exclusively online will subconsciously bias the crude, artless markers of a man’s SMV — his listed age and profile pic — at the expense of the complex, refined cues of his seductive prowess (amply explored in the CH archives). Luckily, there are plenty of smooth moves a man can execute to evade this age-homogamy bias of online dating.

Lack of game. This is the big pink tuna. In my travels around the world of women, I’ve come to observe that younger man-older woman relationships are invariably of four kinds:

– The older woman was preternaturally attractive and slender, and competing in a local market filled with chubby younger women and off-the-market married men. In this milieu, an older woman (but not too much older) will capture the interest of younger unmarried men fed up with the feeding schedules of their female peers.

– The younger man was a beta male to the core. This is the explanation for 90% of younger man-older woman marriages. You take a lesser beta with little experience bedding women, add an older, sexually aggressive broad with her talons out for contractually locking down an indentured servant a husband, and you’ve got a combustible situation the beta has no hope of exerting any control over its direction. These couples flout natural law because the beta male has few sexual market options, or believes in his heart he has few options. Scarcity mentality is the soulkiller of masculinity.

– The younger man was black, the older woman a flabby white. For biomechanical reasons I don’t feel like hammering into submission yet again, it is an observable fact that black men are simply more tolerant of SMV hideousness in the women they screw, and this goes double when black men date white women. A black man will spear white land whales or go down on the wrinkled vag flaps of old white women that no white man would touch.

– The older woman was rich. Many of the younger men in these relationships are closeted gays on the psychopathy spectrum.

tl;dr: There’s a reason we feel an emotional swell of harmoniousness when we see older man-younger woman couples, and we feel a jolt of emotional discomfort when we see the opposite.

Update

I forgot to mention sex ratio skew as a potential cause of increased younger man-older woman marriages. In a prime nubility market in which men outnumbered (against the historical average) the available hot young minxes, there would be immense pressure at the younger male margins to tragically settle for older women who are the sexual and/or marital discards of older alpha men in the process of trading up to younger lovers. An ahistorical sex ratio skew can introduce plenty of tumult and “black swans” into the normal functioning of the sexual market.

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The Joy Of Game

I don’t think it gets told often enough here at Le Chateau, but Game, when executed with flair and precision, can be quite a joy to experience, both for the giver of Game and the receiver of Game. Reader Lichtof supplies an anecdote which demonstrates this truism about the crimson arts.

Girl at work – she’s 25..I’m 37..she had a history of not getting her timesheet in on time. This week she did

9.27 Me : Timesheet- boooooooo! Hiss!!
9.29 Her: Are you unhappy that its already done?
9.37 Me: Yes – now I can’t bug you
9.39 Her: LOL – I’ll try to slack off next time
9.42 Me: I can only handle predictability
9.43 Her: Gotta keep you on your toes!
9.45 Me: And there’s no beer left (in staff kitchen)
9.45 Her: I drank it all. Dark times here at (firm’s name)
9.55 Me: Not into dark beer but (bar name) has a grolsch – we will go sometime – wait haven’t I been here before?

Within minutes she was by my desk and 2 hours later asked me to lunch.

I bet you smiled reading this. A skilled seduction has an almost harmonic lilt to the ear. Flirtation is the poetic transmogrification of primitive desires. Notice, too, how a man with tight game energizes a woman, and summons the best of her; namely, her playfulness. A woman who is fortunate to be the lust object of a man with a nimble tongue and mischievous squint is a woman eager to relinquish her resting bitch face to the full flowering of her feminine soul.

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Thumping, throbbing, pulsing… a sinuous dolphinoid stroke through crisscrossing waves of briny, grinding flesh, arrive at destination: a ramshackle tropic-themed auxiliary bar. I wave, regally, in the vicinity of the bartendress, to order a stiff one. To my left, propped lordotically on a stool, a slim blonde in slimmer dress squeezes a lime wedge into her love potion. She thinks (incorrectly) a stray sour squirt hit me; I feign injury.

Blondie: “Oh, I’m sorry about that!”

Left hand up to left eye, I execute a grimace with great gusto. “Aagh! My eye! It burns.”

She gawks for a beat, I spread two fingers slowly apart, revealing the abstractly-afflicted eye, peering at her with my miraculously and expediently cured vision through the finger gap, smiling with same orb a reprieve from a personal injury lawsuit. I leave the scene, pressed in equal measure by physiological necessity and the advantages of calculated absence. Her friend, almost as attractive, says “bye” loudly as I set off.

The right inflection can flip a “bye” into a “why not stay for a longer ‘hi'”?

Re-trace my dolphin migration, arrive at bathroom to discharge the blowhole. Too many pissers. The walls bulge, Matrix-like, with the teem of testosterone. Zipping and careful to avoid slipping in the slosh of urine accumulating on the floor, I contort my return way through the crowd to the bathroom exit, as a crescendo of primate chest beatings alerts my early warning detection system. A stygian mutant standing in the doorway prognathously bellows, “That’s rude, man. That kinda rude can get a man killed”, at a retreating Topper pretending to ignore the taunt. He repeats his threat in staccato bursts of gumfire three or four (thousand) times, a menacing series of war cries intended to evoke the fear of an inevitable eruption of normalcy into sudden, violent, pitched battle. I raise my arms into a preparatory garrison as I snake around the rapidly intensifying black hole of gravitational incivility.

Escape velocity achieved. One hundred paces between chaos and rapture. Back at dryland Bar Tiki, the blonde, still seated, still smoldering, shifts to make room for my adjacent insertion. I accost her.

“You know I’m practically blind in my right eye now.”

“You mean, your left eye?”

“Oh, yeah, my left eye. Blind as a bat. At least your right side looks good. I hope your left side makes the grade.”

Her face energizes for gratifying combat. She sparkles, I toggle. Everything is gonna be alright.

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