The Wee Heartiste

From an emailer,

ok. so i’m hanging out with my 4 year old son and my girlfriend – a blonde, 5’9″ smokeshow. my kid’s riding lookout on my shoulders as we make our way through an idle, sun-soaked afternoon. after a natural ebb in the conversation, my woman looks up at my boy and says, “so, if you had to choose between being a fish or a bird for the rest of your life, which would it be?”

silence, for the length of a drawn breath.

then, my son: “i’d like to kiss YOU for the rest of my life.”

i may never stop smiling.

Haha. Non Sequitur Game meets Apocalypse Game. The boy’s technique is a little rough around the edges, but he’s got the right mindset that will guarantee him a bright future in the poon procurement business. He’s only four years old, so there’s plenty of time for honing his seduction skill. To the boy’s credit, the inner alpha attitude is more important to achieve than the Game techniques which advertise it, and the earlier in life it’s achieved, the better for the growing boy’s romantic prospects. It’s usually a tougher path to go from Technique –> Attitude (essentially, fake it till you make it) than it is to go from Attitude –> Technique (mine it then refine it).

Related, I’ve noticed fathers glow with pride when recounting or observing their sons’ romantic exploits. Nothing makes papas proud quite as much as watching their sons charm the ladies. Only a son’s victory in sport or accomplishment in business or academia have a similar ego swelling effect on fathers, and for the same reason: success in those things translates to success in the one thing that matters most in the final analysis — winning the love of hsmv women. Our emailer’s 4-yr-old budding Casanova is revealing, for now unwittingly, the glories of his future reproductive fitness.

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Finger Guns Game

I had just left the outdoor bar where I was daydrinking with friends. The early evening sun was glowing and there was a pep in my step. I wasn’t drunk, but I had happyhead. It’s that space between sober and drunk, where I still had my wits but I was feeling more upbeat and garrulous than usual.

On my walk home, I finger gunned every cute girl I passed. Theatrically, with an audible tchh and a wink. There were a lot of cute girls walking about, so my finger guns were chewing through rounds. As best I can recall through my happy fog, every girl smiled, and a few commented sassily. One girl, a petite fatale heading in the direction of the barrel of my finger gun, grinned and sassed, “Do I look like target practice to you?”

I waited until we had merged into a delirious close quarters friction on the sidewalk, before back-sassing, “Do you want to be?” while blowing out the smoke curling from the ends of my finger guns and holstering them with Old West pizzazz.

She laughed and said she would but she’s a “taken cowgirl”, and we parted for our respective sunsets. No worries, my happyhead was still airborne. A girl’s “rejection” is much easier to absorb when she delivers it with a warm smile and sparkle eyes, letting you know with her expressionist regret that under a separate timeline the odds would have been ever in your favor.

Recollecting that day, and the innumerable sex positive reactions I received from girls at the business end of my finger guns, I wondered why I didn’t unholster those bad boys more often. It clearly worked to put the ladies in an approachable mood. And I’ve done it once or twice, unthinkingly, while on walks of triumph. Finger Guns Game has enormous potential as an opener gambit.

Maybe I’ve avoided it because it’s silly. It feels silly. It looks silly. But, chicks dig the silly. The man of stoic resolve who can indulge silliness demonstrates that he isn’t harmed by the indulgence. He has stoic resolution to spare, and that’s what chicks subconsciously notice, to their everlasting tingles.

Unaltered photos. lostcausemonaut quips,

tfw girth and rigidity

Grandma got something on her mind! First pic…a gentle fingertip caress of the frenulum. Second pic…the grip of uncompromising resolve, ushering la petite mort.

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The Visionary

Womanizers never die, they just slay away.

A wise, old player of my former acquaintance — a man whose opinion I would only come to value after he left for adventures beyond and my experiences had endorsed the truth of his words — once told me a story about a quim slayer he had known and from whom he had learned so much about the ways of womanizing. His story was perhaps apocryphal, but the lesson it put forth was true.

He said his friend (we’ll call him The Visionary) suffered from a congenital affliction that was slowly robbing him of his sight. When he had met him, the friend was already on the cusp of declaring himself legally blind. He could still get around without a walking stick, and he could discern individuals and detect enough anatomical difference to know who was a pretty girl and who was the cockblock, but fine facial details were lost to him. He would describe the sensation as a shimmering blurriness, as if a piece of luminescent gauze was draped over the world which he would peer through trying to find peculiarities in each face to help him identify friends from strangers at an indoor distance.

Again, he had no trouble spotting pretty girls. My wise, old player friend confirmed the Visionary’s exquisite taste in women. What was different for him was the one obstacle he didn’t have to overcome which bedeviled fully sighted men: beauty catatonia. Up close, pretty girls didn’t cause him to stumble over his words or to physically stiffen with discomfort brought on by raging horniness. The sharpness of focus that causes an adrenaline rush in men when near a pretty girl was missing in him; he could see “this here is a pretty girl” but past that her features were smoothed out, flattened, blurred, and therefore deprived of the power that renders men tongue-tied and self-conscious.

Into this power vacuum he strode, preternaturally confident for a man with a disability, carrying with him, always, a hamster-nuking inborn disqualification neg to every HB he met: no hottie rattled him, and every hottie wondered why. He never let on he was vision-impaired, or if he did he downplayed its severity. Women could likely figure it out in time, but to their hamsters that didn’t matter.

Smoothasfuck and brimming with a ZFG calm that impresses men and drenches women, The Visionary would cold approach so many hsmv women that there were moments his friend would simply watch, awe-struck, as the crippled master of muff worked his stuff, and digits would exchange faster than the NYSE on the quants’ coke delivery day. Rejection was nothing to him; if he couldn’t feel the sear of their beauty he wouldn’t feel the burn of their loss.

His secret can be yours. Poon Commandment X:

X. Ignore her beauty

The man who trains his mind to subdue the reward centers of his brain when reflecting upon a beautiful female face will magically transform his interactions with women. His apprehension and self-consciousness will melt away, paving the path for more honest and self-possessed interactions with the objects of his desire. This is one reason why the greatest lotharios drown in more love than they can handle — through positive experiences with so many beautiful women they lose their awe of beauty and, in turn, their powerlessness under its spell. It will help you acquire the right frame of mind to stop using the words hot, cute, gorgeous, or beautiful to describe girls who turn you on. Instead, say to yourself “she’s interesting” or “she might be worth getting to know”. Never compliment a girl on her looks, especially not a girl you aren’t fucking. Turn off that part of your brain that wants to put them on pedestals. Further advanced training to reach this state of unawed Zen transcendence is to sleep with many MANY attractive women (try to avoid sleeping with a lot of ugly women if you don’t want to regress). Soon, a Jedi lover you will be.

You don’t have to wear vision-blurring novelty glasses to achieve the state control of the highest smv alpha males, although it might help. Alternately, you can train your mind to demystify women’s beauty by exploiting game principles that deceptively prioritize the display and proof of a woman’s character and personality, thereby deleveraging the capital advantage of her number one asset.

The Visionary played the game as if each pickup was his last, because he would go completely blind in a few short years and the blurred beauty of women would be gone from his world for good.

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The Accidental Jerkboy

A surprising number of beta males will pull cute women totally by accident, usually because they temporarily forgot to filter their thoughts before speaking them aloud, or while in a fog of liquor and xanax they executed Dread Game or Disengaged Asshole Game without realizing they were doing that.

Which goes to prove one of my main contentions that ALPHA is a state of mind more than it is a jut of jawline, and that beta males CAN LEARN to be the more charismatic men that women desire.

It’s just so friggin tragic that these “accidental jerkboys” RARELY take the lesson of their fortuitous faux pas to heart, preferring instead to ignore the HARD EVIDENCE OF A BINDING CONNECTION BETWEEN JERKITUDE AND MUFF MOISTENING in front of their eyes for the comfort of keeping their lips latched to the milk-less teat of the pussy pedestal in their heads.

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Reader Mailbag: Dating In The Era Of MAGA Edition

Welcome to this edition of Reader Mailbag, wherein your gracious Chateau hosts answer your sex and relationship questions in as untimely a manner as possible so that the girl you were chasing is long gone from the picture and the wisdom you imbibe here can be used to torture yourself with “what could have been” mumbling chants. Programming note: Emailer names are never identified in reader mailbag posts, but if for some reason you *want* your name (real or a handle) publicly aired, please explicitly request it in your email. Otherwise, amusing nicknames will be given to emailers.

Email #1: Sadness Market Value wonders about the depths of depravity that some men are willing to plumb.

Which is sadder, a woman getting so shitfaced in public that her husband must drag her home, or the fact that her girth is so immense (far greater than hubby’s) that her soyboy geldling collapses under her heft?

In ascending order of pathetic sadness:

• hot mistress getting blitzed and effortlessly carried home by cheating hubby
• hot oneitis getting tanked and carried home in straining noodle arms by her friendzoned beta orbiter
• fat chick getting sloppy drunk and dragged home by an acquiescing betaboy who is trying to impress her hot friend
• fat, drunk, and stupid wife crushing her soyhubby under the load of her bulbosity in full view of bar patrons

I hope that clears things up.

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Email #2: No Mate Guarding asks if there’s an alpha way to mate guard a flirty girlfriend.

Just been catching up on the blog & reading the posts on BMMG got me wondering about less beta / more alpha ways of mate guarding in public – not everyone’s a Heartiste yet after all.

Even a Heartiste occasionally falls short of Heartistian expectations. Yet I carry on.

Ex: whilst on your way to buy a drink etc, give her a playful smack on her posterior & say something lighthearted along the lines of ‘teasing them again… someone’s going to get such a spanking when we get home’, then carry on to the bar / washroom / whatever.

I’m thinking something like this shows you’re not really that worried about her (not quite ZFG alpha territory, but few fucks given – FFG, if you will), but also assumes the sale etc.

I’d leave out the “someone’s getting a spanking” part; it sounds cheesy in a mate guarding context. A playful ass smack and a light-hearted warning (to both your gf and the other guy) along the lines you suggested — “Watch out for this one, she’s a tease. She’ll break your heart” — is good enough to get your point across. That point being, you still own her, and he’s the sort of beta to get his heart broken a lot. So this accomplishes two goals: it puts her on notice and lowers his SMV.

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Email #3: Preen Enabler praises with faint damns.

Just donated.

Since I started practicing techniques I learned on Heartiste, my marriage has improved dramatically. My wife now says “You’re a bad man. You’re a very bad man.” With a gleam in her eye and a moistness in her vaj.

I would have been a failure as a marriage counselor. Saving all those marriages with too much winning advice would mean fewer follow-up sessions. Now you know how the therapist racket works: keep the marks coming in for more temporary hits of feelgood pabulum that does nothing to actually help them become better, happier people.

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Email #4: Bumble Rumble is an accelerationist.

Some men just want to watch the world burn.

WWYD. I matched with this girl on bumble and we’ve been talking through the day. She plays that dumb 2 truths and a lie game. I try to figure out the answer by plugging in her pics to google reverse image search and I find her instagam. Turns out shes married and has a million posts with her husband and other bullshit posts about how god is good lol. Shes also going under a fake name on bumble. I hint to her that I know her real name and she immediately deletes me from the app. Now, I don’t know these people at all but I really want to tell the guy shes on bumble. Should I blow up her spot?

I make it policy to stay away from married broads, unless the circumstances of a potential hookup are so favorable to me that indulgence is possible without much blowback. In practice, this means I almost never have flings with women I know to be cheating on their husbands. The few married chicks I’ve been with kept that a secret from me until after we were in the Boff Zone, and then I ended it shortly after the revelation.

This chick was using a fake name because she just wanted to get her fuck on and it’s a good one of that I’m sure. If you wanted the same, I don’t know why you’d blow her cover. If you didn’t want sex, but want to save a mortal beta hubby’s soul…DON’T. At least, don’t do it unless you can guarantee your anonymity. No matter how saintly your intentions, getting involved in a domestic dispute never ends well, for any party to the chaos. Most likely scenario: he blames you for casting aspersions on his loyal wife, and now you have two people, ho and hubby, who’d like to fuck your shit up. The cuckold will have to find his way to salvation on his own.

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Email #5: Legally Bound Beta’s Lament has a question for the ages.

How do I get my middle aged wife to lose weight?

That was the short version. If you need background, here is some:

Met around age 30 my n was about 9 and hers was 1.

She was about a 6.5 and I was maybe a low 7. She has always been in the passenger seat and I have always had hand in the relationship. Occassional dread game, eyeing other women, comments on looks etc have been deployed. Comments about her weigh, big butt are not even offensive to her because I do it in a playful way. She knows she has to lose weight for herself and to keep my interest. She is about 190 lbs at age 42 and was 140 on our wedding day 11 years ago.

Depreciation is a bitch.

she is 5’7″. She has borne me 4 beautiful white children and I get baby weight happens, but nothing is slowing this down. I will say she always had a little extra ass, but now its getting to be a turn off to see her gut. I have had dream ( last night ) of being in a new relationship with a younger, slimmer, 7 or 8 girl next door. My wife is a great wife and mother. Does all the tradcon wife stuff, in the kitchen and the bed. Not one complaint. She knows she has to lose weight, but can’t seem to commit herself, and has excuses all the time. Donation headed your way for the years of great wisdom emparted if youd help save my marriage by telling me/the CH community how to motivate our goodwife to be less of a fatwife.

Maybe I should have made this a separate post titled “Fatwife To Goodwife: The Reclamation” because the topic is so damned important to so many American men.

Fatwives: If you love your husbands, you’ll lose weight. If you want to be loved by your husbands, you’ll lose weight.

If you refuse to lose weight, the obvious conclusion is that you neither love your husband nor care about receiving his love. So why should he stay with you? Better question: Why should the law demand under penalty of financial ruin that he stay with you?

CH Maxim #120lbs: There’s no such thing as unconditional love.

LBBL, here’s my advice: continue kicking yourself into shape, amp up your dread game, and encourage your wife every time she loses even an ounce of flab. The carrot and the stick, acting together as a force multiplier, will turn your fatwife into a fapwife. When you’re swole and confident, other women will notice, and your wife will notice other women noticing. When you’re pretending to be scandalized by other women flirting with you, your wife will notice. When you step off the scale, tell her “I warmed it up for you” (she’ll get the hint). When you make innocuous asides calculated to unnerve your wife, about the peculiarity of her single female friends with the “amazing” bodies who can’t find a man, she’ll notice.

If, after a six month protocol of this psychological version of chinese water torture, your fatwife is still fat and still your wife, you have permission to lower the boom.

“IF YOU DON’T SLIM DOWN, I’M LEAVING YOU”

Because you’ve left her already, in your heart, as long as she stays fat, there’s no downside to a hail mary ultimatum to save your marriage: she either complies, or you formalize what you feel about her. Good luck. In this anti-male, gynarcho-tyranny we live in that slanders male virtue and glorifies all female vice, you’ll need it.

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Email #6: Disturbed By Cucking writes,

My biggest personal hurdle towards unplugging is as follows. I’m deeply disturbed by the thought that girls which I’m currently dating are sleeping concurrently with other guys.

Rule 1: More girls than most are willing to believe will cock hop while dating non-exclusively.

Rule 2: If you suspect your girl is fucking around, she probably is. Ignore gut instinct at your peril.

The more beautiful the girl, the more these irrational thoughts unsettle me, to the point that I dreamed that one of the girls I’m seeing gave me a video call and she was laying almost naked in bed with another guy, looking sweaty and rosy in the cheeks — as if they had just finished having sex.

Fear and loathing of cuckoldry is normal in men; those feelings protect you from resource exploitation and reproductive annihilation by cheating women. If you are constantly having nightmares about cuckoldry, that could indicate deeper psychological issues stemming either from the pain of victimization by a past infidelity or even from a taboo fantasy.

I should add that this chick is the hottest I was able to pull so far, a HB9, 6y younger than me (I’m 28 btw). Now there are a few red flags about this girl, the latest being that she posed as a nude model in her drawing class. That ruffled me a bit, though I didn’t let it show. Should I just NEXT her?

Damn son, why would you NEXT an art class nude model? That’s not a red flag, that’s a BED FLAG. I bet she’d be a great romp. Set up an easel in your bedroom and tell her you’re gonna draw a picture of her with your dick.

Seriously, though, if you just want to date and get your rocks off, stop worrying about the possibility this chick is engaged in extracliticular activities. Sure, being a nude model is a tell of promiscuity and unfaithfulness, but that should only be a concern if you’re committing to her with the intention of marrying her. In the meantime, exercise your god-given prerogative as a MAN and have your no-strings-attached fun with her.

Back to my self-inspired dread… How do I get past this stupid Beta fears?

Date more the one woman. The calmest you will ever be around women is when women are always around you.

How do I stop caring?

You can’t. You can only pacify it.

Should I even stop caring?

No. Let the caring pass through you.

I understand that these fears are probably rooted in my insecurity, perhaps they even make sense as a protection mechanism of sorts (like mate guarding) against cuckolding. Another issue is that I cannot bring myself to go down on any girl, petrified by the idea of other dicks having been in there, maybe just the night before.

Dirty little secret is that most men don’t like going down on women, because most women aren’t scorching hot babes with perfectly manicured pube thatches and disease-free snatches that smell of lavender. If you find yourself heading south by a hidden force beyond your control, chances are good you’re with a chick who really turns you on.

I don’t know of any friend of mine who has this issue (in fact, a friend told me he’s turned on by the thought of his LTR banging another guy… wtf).

Low T soyboy. Avoid him like the plague, lest his disease rub off on you.

This site changed my life.

It is required.

PS A trick I use to stop thinking the worst thoughts about women is to accept a priori the worst about women, knowing that many women will surprise me and beat my expectations. Then….LOVE. :heart:

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Email #7: The Ebony Mole requests the company of yours humbly.

I’m a young black man who is a reactionary and I would love to be friends with you anyway I hope you accept my token of friendship and if you want to call me my phone number is [redacted]

You sound totally legit and trustworthy. Let’s get together and chat over 40s. You can find me at MPC under the handle That One Guy.

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Email #8: MAGAdating may have the most current year question of the day.

I’m asking for advice on a Trump shit test/social experiment. I’m going to a speed dating event in a shitlib city and I expect some girls to ask, “Are you a Trump supporter?” (because they do it on Tinder).

I don’t want to cuck. At the same time I don’t want to argue politics or give them the smug satisfaction of dismissing me by saying “Yes.” I want an aloof shitlord response that reframes and keeps them guessing. Or maybe agree and amplify: “How could you tell? Maybe it’s my new cologne called WINNING.”

Any ideas? If you blog on this I’ll try various responses and report back. Maybe even secretly record interactions and post for all to hear.

Thanks. Keep up the good work.

Great question (I’ve had to deal with similar interrogations from women, so my advice on this topic is guaranteed fresh).

No, you don’t want to cuck. Unless you’re a weapons-grade liar who can and will say anything with utmost believability simply to get the bang with a rooted cosmopolitan libsloot, you’ll feel bad about betraying your god emperor thrice before the cock plows.

Your “WINNING” cologne line is pretty good, so you could go with that.

Here are my additional suggestions, to both keep your dignity and to seal the deal with maga zeal:

Agree&Amplify

“Are you a Trump supporter?”

“Worse. I’m an Ivanka supporter.”

Substitute “Hitler Youth”, “Roy Moore”, or “Pinochet” to your personal liking.

Qualify

“Are you a Trump supporter?”

“Are we really gonna do politics on a speed date? I thought you were better than that.”

Pre-emption

You: “Are you a Hillary supporter?”

NEXT as required.

Reductio ad absurdum

“Are you a Trump supporter?”

“As if! I’m a Hillary supporter all the way! A proud male feminist. I have a favorite pussyhat. In fact, I’m menstruating right now.”

Nuclear Disqualification

“Are you a Trump supporter?”

*shaking your head sadly* “Damn. Another one.” *get up and walk away*

Script Flipping

“Are you a Trump supporter?”

“Of course. I’m not gay.”

Assume the Sale

“Are you a Trump supporter?”

“Of course. Isn’t everybody?”

“I’m not!”

“Sorry to hear that. You should see a doctor about that.”

Bane Game

“Are you a Trump supporter?”

“For you.”

Ok, that’s enough for now. MAGAdating, we here at CH would love if you’d field test these and secretly record your interactions. I will definitely dedicate a post to whatever responses you get from these shitlib sheilas.

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When The Jumbotron Test Is Crushed

The Jumbotron Test is essentially a visualization of Poon Commandments V and VI.

Jumbotron Test:

Every text or email or recordable instance of conversation you have with a girl must follow this simple rule:

If it were given a public airing, let’s say on a blog or a sports stadium jumbotron, you should feel comfortable with what you have written for the world to see. You should not feel an urge to wince, because it will be clear to everyone reading it how alpha you are. If the thought of someone other than you and your girl reading your permanently archived romantic exchanges makes you cringe with embarrassment, then you are doing something wrong that will eventually lead to your girl dumping you.

Poon Commandment V:

V. Adhere to the golden ratio

Give your woman 2/3 of everything she gives you. For every three calls or texts, give her two back. Three declarations of love earn two in return. Three gifts; two nights out. Give her two displays of affection and stop until she has answered with three more. When she speaks, you reply with fewer words. When she emotes, you emote less. The idea behind the golden ratio is twofold — it establishes your greater value by making her chase you, and it demonstrates that you have the self-restraint to avoid getting swept up in her personal dramas. Refraining from reciprocating everything she does for you in equal measure instills in her the proper attitude of belief in your higher status. In her deepest loins it is what she truly wants.

Poon Commandment VI:

VI. Keep her guessing

True to their inscrutable natures, women ask questions they don’t really want direct answers to. Woe be the man who plays it straight — his fate is the suffering of the beta. Evade, tease, obfuscate. She thrives when she has to imagine what you’re thinking about her, and withers when she knows exactly how you feel. A woman may want financial and family security, but she does not want passion security. In the same manner, when she has displeased you, punish swiftly, but when she has done you right, reward slowly. Reward her good behavior intermittently and unpredictably and she will never tire of working hard to please you.

I’ve seen, heard of, and executed some impressive text game that could publicly air to accolades from discerning viewers, but I’ve rarely seen the Jumbotron Test (or should I call it, the Jumbrotron Test) crushed so thoroughly as it was in this exchange:

Skittles Man has met his match: 2$ Big Towels Bro.

Ok ok I know what you’re all thinking…”Look at the chick, CH. It’s easy to give zero fucks when the fuck is a zero.”

No argument there. State control doesn’t operate in a vacuum; the amplitude of the disturbance matters. Still, many omegas and betas fail the Jumbotron Test under extremely favorable conditions. So give this bro some love, he spun that broad’s hamster wheel into orbit and gave the public a good laugh.

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Psychopath Game, Reader Edition

CH has explored the darkest nooks where psychos reveal their seduction secrets. Add one more to the Psychopath Game genre, this time from a reader:

This is an addition to your jerky testimonies. I have at least two of the three dark tetrad traits; psychopathy and machiavellianism.

The thing with psychopathy is that society has so shamed it that even a psychopath has the cognitive dissonance to never admit to themselves that they are a psychopath.

For the life of me, I can’t figure out why civilized society would shame psychopaths?

But after a while, enough people tell you that you are a psychopath that you accept it.

I’ve heard it said, “a true psychopath would never know he was a psycho.” I don’t buy that. A true psychopath would know exquisitely that he was a psycho…and wouldn’t care.

My court mandated therapist hasn’t “diagnosed” me with psychopathy but he told me i have an extremely low sensitivity to stimuli. He said I need to have a job or hobby which stimulates me; like a mountain climbing guide or white water rafting instructor. Although, he never came out and said I’m a psychopath.

A lot of human personality traits reside on a spectrum of disposition. There may be a hard and fast line between non-psycho and clinical psycho, but clustering near that line — the marginal cases — people will exhibit some if not all behaviors associated with psychopathy. So the true rate of “psychopathy leaners” could be significantly higher than the 2% of the population identified as clinically psychopathic.

I have multiple friends who are ex military and they tell me I have the 1,000 yard stare. I’ve never been in the military.

I’ve had a couple stints in the clink. No prison time, just a couple days at a time.

I’ve figured out that during peace time societies and governments lock people like me up; during war time they actively seek us. They don’t put up a sign saying “psychopaths wanted” but their recruitment screen for psychopaths.

This is as good a reason as any to explain why psychopaths, if they’re so antagonistic to civil society, still exist in the human gene pool: they’re Darwinian insurance bets against existential crisis, able and willing to do what it takes to protect their tribe. (The other theory I’ve read is that the % of psychos in a population is relatively stable because at low numbers they can successfully exploit the empathically cooperative societies in which they live, but when their numbers get too high they are ruthlessly culled back to a manageable level by a “law and order” reaction to their predations.)

Side note, i’ve also figured out that police officers know exactly how to lie to get a conviction.

Psychos are often extremely canny observers of human nature (the “business card aesthetic”).

Anyway, enough background; here’s some anecdotes.

I’ve dated PhD’s, strippers, wealthy foreigners (non Americans), I’ve had ONS threesomes offered to me. I was meeting a newly single “friend” out for cocktails. I arrived earlier than her and I chatted up another woman. My “friend” showed up; a hb8 amazon; taller than me with huge tits… alpha female. the girl i chatted up earlier came and told me she wanted to have a threesome with me and my amazon “friend”. The amazon asked me what that was about, i told her that girl wants to have a threesome with us. The amazon was pensive for a minute. I wasn’t propositioning her. after a minute she said, “sure” as if it were a proposition. I told her, “let’s just wait a while” but soon both girls were grabbing my dick.

I was at the gym doing legs. I was at a squat rack. There are five other squat racks at my gym. Jacked dudes at every rack; more jacked than me. A yoga chick came up to me and told me she needed someone to teach her how to do squats. I said, “Ya, you need to.” She gave me that bright eyed surprised, “you’re an asshole!” look. then said I was really busy. But she can give me her email and i’ll send her some links. she shook my hand and intro’d herself. then she shit tested me by saying, “wow, that was a really weak hand shake.” I pulled out (heh) one of your lines and said, “I try not to hurt girls, unless it’s the right kind of hurt.”

She displayed faux indignation and gave a wow just wow reaction and chastised me for being lame.

I emailed her a couple days later with some links and told her to give me her number and we can talk about it more in person. we met for coveffee a few days later strategically near my house. we venue changed and we got a drink. you can use this line. I told her we can go to my place but I don’t think we should have sex. She’s like, “what!? why would you think we would have sex!?”

My living room is strategically arranged to be uncomfortable for guests. I have a desk and a chair and that’s about it. so wimmins have to go to my bedroom for movies/netflix. I started rubbing her pussy. She said, “I thought you said we weren’t going to have sex?” I said, “I changed my mind”

boomshockalocka

don’t use my name

If you noticed Psychopath Game and regular Game are similar in execution, you wouldn’t be far off.

Psychos have so much Outcome Independence, that it can get them in trouble…and in a lot of pussy.

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