Chicks Dig Jerks: A Series Without End

The ‘Chicks Dig Jerks’ series is a running theme here at the Chateau. Let’s face it, the material is practically limitless. Thank you ladies, for continuing to uphold the most virtuous traditions of your open-minded gender.

In our latest go-round, 19 year old model Jourdan Dunn gives birth to a bastard child by a convicted coke dealer:

Jourdan Dunn’s Longtime Boyfriend, Father of Her Son, Arrested for Cocaine Possession — Jourdan Dunn, who gave birth to a son in December, made a return to the catwalk at Aquascutum just five days ago, but news today may affect her schedule for the rest of the season.  Jordan Cummings, 20, the father of her son and her longtime boyfriend (they’ve reportedly been together about five years), was arrested last night and sentenced to 3.5 years jail time for possession of 2 ounces of cocaine with intent to supply. Dunn, who lives with her mom and younger brothers, made no comment, but it’s suspected that Cummings’s long sentence was due to similar previous convictions.

A third-party quote in another article on this story is unintentionally hilarious:

One source said last night: “The police kicked down his front door when they arrested him.

“He’s well-known on the streets as a dealer. He’s been dealing since he was a teenager, and makes about £1,000 a week. He and Jourdan are always out and have been together about five years – though I’ve never heard marriage mentioned.”

Jourdan, who lives with mum Dee and two younger brothers in Greenford, West London, refused to comment. But a pal said: “She is devastated. She is committed to raising her son and focusing on her career.”

“Devastated”. Chick dates dude for five years and is devastated by his arrest? She didn’t know what he did for a living all that time? Yeah, I bet she was devastated. Devastated that he got caught.

Reader N.W. who sent me this article, had this to say:

Jourdan Dunn is a pretty, high-flying Afro-British model and she’s back after maternity leave. I’m of the opinion really good looking black girls are harder to score than really good looking white girls since their beauty is exotic and they are very scarce.

So, enquiring minds want to know the identity of the father, or in other words, who’s game is so tight he can:

1. date a model
2. have sex with a legit top model
3. impregnate a top model
4. have her keep the kid thereby imperiling her looks.

We have the answer!

I don’t know if he is a nice guy or not, but possession with intent to supply places him on the Chris Brown side of the ledger.

Yes, this guy has world beating game. Namely, asshole game. As I’ve written before:

Maxim #71: In their sexual primes women’s attraction for assholes is at its strongest. You can catch a lot of hungry flies with honey, but shit attracts the most well-fed flies.

You don’t need to be an asshole to pick up hot girls, but there’s no denying that asshole game is an extremely potent attractant of the hottest babes (i.e. the ones who matter most). For those of you with zero ethical compunctions, I say raise your asshole flag and let it fly. Marching under its banner will cause your enemies to tremble with desire and surrender themselves willingly, laying down a crimson path of engorged vulvae to herald your arrival.

Asshole game, ironically, might most benefit those men who are farthest from embodying the asshole ideal. If you’re a hopeless case who suffers long dry spells, and who has tried to learn game but can’t seem to make it work no matter what you do, you need to drop a MOAB (Mother Of Asshole Bombs) on your targets. When all else fails, become an Avatar of Assholery. It’s the backup, last ditch option that almost always works.

This post dedicated to Anoukange.

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Just How Amoral Are Women?

I was sitting with a girlfriend in a small group of people that included one cute girl who had a history of mild flirting with me that never amounted to anything more. But this night, her flirtations were stronger. Much stronger. Seeing me in the company of another attractive woman revved her engine, as preselection does with any woman. It’s as if a switch turned on powering up a new, hungrier, hornier woman who would stop at nothing to get a bite of the juicy, prized meat just barely out of her reach.

Occasionally, when the gf was in the bathroom or otherwise distracted, we would have moments alone when she spoke freely, consumptively.

“I give GREAT blowjobs.”

“I see.”

“I’m really good at using my tongue.”

“Nice.”

*Hungry stare*

“Ok, then.”

Did the fact that I was with female company dissuade her? Ha, it is to laugh! Just the opposite. She threw all moral consideration to the wind and would have followed her feelings straight into Sodom if I had allowed it.

Later:

SUCCUBUS: “Promise time.”

“Ok.”

“If you’re not married next time we meet, we’re having sex.”

“Cool.”

What are the most powerful game techniques? Social proof/preselection has got to be at or near the top.

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Patronizing Women Turns Them On

Reader Camron emailed:

I’ve dated lots of women and one common thread I’ve noticed is around the 1st or 2nd date, about 3/4 into the date, if you haven’t said anything for a minute the woman will ask “What are you thinking?”

Obviously I’m thinking about how awesome it would be to take her home and have sex with her, but my usually response is “Oh nothing,” and I changed the subject.

I usually end up sleeping with said woman, but I kinda feel like I’m slipping up at this moment. What should I say to that question? Should I tell her the truth? Should I move in closer at that moment and kiss her?

I get a lot of similar emails asking for advice along the lines of “What should I say when Girl says X?”, where X usually describes some innocuous question the girl asked or some kind of wholly typical shit test she’s tossing out. The answer I give is almost always the same: stop taking her so seriously.

If men could only learn and apply one rule of game it would be this: Don’t take her seriously. So much suffering of the heart could be avoided by following this one simple rule.

When a woman asks “What are you thinking?” your first, knee-jerk instinct should be to respond with something funny, silly, or evasive.

“What are you thinking?”

“If it’d be better to be reborn as a cat or a dog.”

Stop worrying about answering women’s questions directly. Playfully annoy them instead. Annoyance is great foreplay.

Better still, don’t answer with words at all. Let your kisses and gropes do the talking.

As for this reader’s specific scenario, the supersexed Don Juan strategy can work if the context is favorable. Have you gamed her to the point where she is throwing out lots of IOIs? Do her eyes sparkle with sex? Then, yes, lean into her ear and whisper that you’re thinking of ripping her clothes off so angrily that the buttons pop, and throwing her over the back of the sofa to fuck her like a wild animal in heat. But if you’re on the first date and kino has been mild, you may want to wait until you’ve at least kissed her before unleashing your inner crotch tyrant.

Truth is, most of the time the context will not allow you to run sex animal direct game. Save the raunch-talk for the bedroom if you’re in doubt about the suitability of the moment. Kissing a girl in response to an apparently banal question can be a good tactic if the mood is right.

There is a fine line of distinction between telling a girl your intentions and acting with intention. Sure, it’s a bold move to walk up to girls and, within five minutes of meeting, announce with great gusto that you want to fuck them, but that is the sort of boldness that’ll sooner get you shot than bring you battlefield victory. Your very low but time and energy efficient success rate will hardly compensate for the number of strikeouts you’ll have to endure. In contrast, *acting* with intention is very attractive to women. Your nonverbal communication (a big part of game) should be speaking what your tongue will hold. So while the reader might think that verbally expressing his honest desire is the winning move, more often than not it’s better to play a game of ambiguity and innuendo, and carry yourself with the swagger of a man who is thinking exactly what she thinks he’s thinking.

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It May Be Better To Game In Small Groups

Randall Parker forwarded me a link to a study about abundance of mate choice affecting the quality of the choice.

Quantity may determine quality when choosing romantic partners

The context in which humans meet potential mates has a hidden influence on who they decide to pursue. In particular, when people have a large number of potential dating partners to select among, they respond by paying attention to different types of characteristics – discarding attributes such as education, smoking status, and occupation in favor of physical characteristics such as height and weight.

A number of studies in recent years have looked at what happens to humans when faced with extensive choice – too many kinds of chocolate, or too many detergents to choose from at the grocery store. Under such circumstances, consumer psychologists believe that the brain may become “overwhelmed,” potentially leading to poorer quality choice or choice deferral. Psychological scientist Alison Lenton, of the University of Edinburgh, and economist Marco Francesconi, of the University of Essex, wanted to know if the same was true of mate choice, given that humans have been practicing this particular choice for millennia. “Is having too many mate options really like having too many jams?” they ask. The study is published in Psychological Science, a journal of the Association for Psychological Science.

To find out how people respond to relatively limited versus extensive mate choice, Lenton and Francesconi analyzed data from 84 speed dating events, which is where people meet with a series of potential dates for three minutes each. Afterward, the men and women report their choices (a “yes” or “no” for each person). It should surprise no one that choosers generally preferred people who were taller, younger, and well-educated. Women also preferred partners who weren’t too skinny, and men preferred women who weren’t overweight. Beyond that, though, the attributes that speed daters paid attention to depended on how many opposite-sex speed daters attended the event.

At bigger speed dating events, with 24 or more dates, both male and female choosers were more likely to decide based on attributes that could be judged quickly, such as their dates’ height, and whether they were underweight, normal weight, or overweight. At smaller events, choosers were more likely to make decisions based on attributes that take longer to identify and evaluate, such as their dates’ level of education, their type of job, and whether or not the person smokes.

“Obviously, I think we look for different attributes in partners than what we look for in a chocolate, a jam or a 401(k) plan,” says Lenton. “But one of the points we’re trying to make in this article is it’s the same brain we’re carrying around. There are constraints on what our brains can do – they’re quite powerful, but they can’t pay attention to everything at once.” And if the brain is faced with abundant choice, even about who to go out with, it may make decisions based on what it can evaluate most quickly. As a result, this previously invisible aspect of the choice environment has the potential to determine one’s romantic fate.

The consumerists’ quandary. I’m surprised this phenomenon hasn’t been discussed more by game instructors. It would seem logical that the number of girls as well as the number of men in a pickup environment would have an effect on how we choose mates and how we ourselves are perceived as mates. How many times have you stood in front of a huge aisle displaying 62 varieties of vitamins and just said “fuck it” and grabbed the cheapest, or the nearest, brand? If “choice deferral” or choice constriction happens with vitamin brands, then it could conceivably happen with girl brands.

So what are the take-home points from this study? What should we men, always on the lookout for a quicker route to getting laid and loved, learn from the study’s conclusions?

1. In groups that have a lot of men, (for example, clubs and bars on busy nights), women will evaluate your mate potential on “superficial” (i.e. readily discernible) qualities like height and looks.
2. A corollary to number 1 is that in venues where there is a lot of male competition for the women to choose among, and you are average or below in superficial traits, you will not get many chances to run game on the girls.
3. In groups of few people, (for example, book clubs or painting classes), women will evaluate your potential as a partner on more “meaningful” qualities that can only be discovered during the course of lengthier conversations.
4. A corollary to number 3 is that women will be more likely to grant an average looking man an audition at an event that has few other men from which the women can choose. She will also want to know more about each man she joins in conversation.

If you imagine each woman has a tingle-o-meter that oscillates with varying strength to the proportion of male attractiveness traits present in a man she is talking with, and that also oscillates according to the number of other men in her visual field, then you can visualize how a typical woman will react to you in different environments. If you are great looking and tall, you will get a lot of insta-play from women where large numbers of other men are present. She will be choosing you almost entirely based on your easily perceived high value traits, and will likely be more forgiving of any shortfalls you may have in the less visually oriented suite of male attractiveness traits. So if you’re a broke, uneducated, Johnny Depp lookalike, you’ll want to make nightclubs your venue of choice, and you’ll want to close the deal sooner rather than later, before she has an inclination to dig deeper into your value as a man.

If you are not great looking or tall, then you’ll want to steer clear of venues where there will be a lot of men. You will do best in smaller groups with few men, let’s say bars on a weeknight, where the women will be open to learning more about you, and also likelier to overlook any physical shortcomings you may have. She will be choosing you based on a mixed package of easily perceived physical traits and less obvious high value male traits such as dominance, physical assuredness, humor, and charm/game. So if you have tight game but lack the looks to easily acquire auditions to demonstrate your game, you’ll want to focus on environments with few other men around, like day game or really any venue on a night besides Friday or Saturday night.

Since by definition most men are not in the top 10% of looks and height, it stands to reason that pickup instructors should not be teaching game to newbies in high energy environments like nightclubs. The best place to practice game is any place where a bunch of superficially high value men will not show up to distract the girl.

Some other conclusions we can draw from the study:

• This “choice abundance mentality” by women can be artificially triggered. If you have a lot of guy friends who are worse looking than you, then bring your posse to the local club. Faced with all those men to choose from, the women will naturally gravitate to you as the most superficially appealing man of the group.
• Addendum to the above: your friends can’t be *too* dorky, because then the women will tar you with the same dork brush.
• Also, if one of your less good looking friends has better game than you, and the environment you are in is sufficiently low key that he can run his game undistracted, then he may steal the girls’ attention from you. Good looks on a man are great, but good game is even better.
• If you are very good looking but a so-so conversationalist, you will want to stay away from things like book clubs, where the homelier men with sharp wits will absolutely crush you. I’ve seen it happen. Score one for the smooth talking Voltaires.
• If you are very good looking but have no game, suit up and hit da clubs on a busy night where women can instantly compare your looks to a ton of other men. Physical presence game is all you’ll need. Try to get used to one night stands.
• Homelier men should focus on gaming one or two girls in a night. They need more time to allow their heart light to shine. Theirs is a big stage with lots of props and a multitude of scenes to tell the story. Homelier men must be better at building connections with women, because a strong emotional connection will handily compensate for a weak physical magnetism.
• Good looking men should maximize the number of girls they hit on in a night. They don’t need a lot of time to attract attention. Theirs is a small stage featuring a one-act play and a very large audience all vying to get his autograph after the show. By maximizing the number of targets and compressing time spent with each target into a few minutes, they maximize their chance for a same night lay.
• If you have a sucky job and few ostentatious credentials to wave around, but your game is tight, you’ll want to hit on girls in large venues. The girls will be less likely to grill you on your educational and career background, and more likely to enjoy the spontaneous feelings you evoke in them. In other words, choice abundance means that girls are going to be too distracted to bother figuring out your life story. A confused girl is an easily gamed girl.
• If you have a great job, money, and conventional cred, but your game is weak, you’ll want to hit on girls on slow nights in smaller venues, or day game and insta-date them. Maximize your strengths and minimize your weaknesses. A calm, focused girl is a future time oriented girl who will judge on substance more than flash. (Note: sluts excluded.)
• Where there are a lot of men, you can create the illusion of male scarcity (and thus increase your odds of successfully gaming a girl) by walking away from girls early in a conversation. Always end conversations first, seem needlessly distracted, and make it seem like you are a man who has options, even if technically in a bar with more men than women, you don’t.
• If you are looking for a wife or girlfriend, you may want to shift your base of operations to smaller venues or events where you will be less tempted by choice abundance to invest time gaming the flashiest chicks whose key attribute is how good to go they are.

Apropos the study, only go to speed dating events where the women rotate. You will seem in higher demand than you really are.

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Attack Of The Manjaws!

Something is afoot in the land. An ossified pall hardens like cement over our Western women. Armies of bony, chiseled, jutting mandibles of maxillofacial transsexuality following in formation behind blitzkrieging boffo chins are mowing down reserves of beauty and femininity.

The horror!

Run for your lives!

It shoots friggin’ laser beams from its chin!

Her jaw is a geometric proof.

Overdeveloped blowjob muscles?

What is happening to our ladies? Their collective femininity is disappearing before our eyes. First come the manjaws, then come the newlywed chicks who sign up for internet cuckold-making services offering endless discreet trysts and humps in the alley behind Wawa. The traditional domain of women — their softness and erotic vulnerability — is yielding to a Grrl Brigade who look like they chew nails for fun. I half expect AskMen’s next Top 100 Babes to sport stubble.

The manjaw plague didn’t happen overnight, though it seems that way. It’s been in the works for a couple of generations now. Reasons abound.

• One word: Plastics. Are endocrine disrupting chemicals in that cherished SWPL standby, the plastic water bottle, masculinizing our women?
• Parabens. Or is it the stuff put into cosmetics? Could women be slavering testosterone boosters onto their cheeks each time the get ready for a night out on the town?
• The Pill. Let’s face it, the pill has been a huge society-wide experiment on women (and men, indirectly), which… interesting…  ramifications are only now coming to light.
• Soft polygamy. What happens when you give women the run of the place? Well, besides voting for socialist diaper changers, you get a bunch of chicks chasing lantern-jawed alpha males and having illegitimate children by them, leading inexorably to future generations of more masculine daughters being raised by ever more feminine beta hubbies.
• A combination of all the above.

On my occasional forays into the ghetto, I recurrently note just how beastly the local girls look. Huge jaws and brows that could sprout Wolverine claws when roused to anger. Maybe this is the end result of a mating market where generations of women have spread for the most violent, thuggish men in the hood. If so, is there a trickle up effect to the rest of society? Are redneck girls getting manlier also? Will the upper classes figuratively and literally barricade themselves from the manjaw invasion, creating not only a cognitive elite but a neotenous elite? I can imagine the pendulum swinging back in time, as legions of red-blooded American men become so turned off by the Lara Croftian trannies in their midst that a price premium is placed on the pixies, nymphs and sprites. Perhaps all this masculinization of our women will render their wombs barren, restricting their ability to contribute to the next generation. Demographic shift happens.

We must return to the old ways before beauty and sublime femininity all but disappear from the land. We must find a way to bring back the dainty, feminine jawline. I’ll do my part by banging only flaky, neurotic waifs who don’t have an ambitious delicate bone in their bodies.

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The Wig

9pm on a weekday night. I leaned like a pillar of masculine detachment against the edge of the bar, blessing the peasantry with my royal aloofness. I sipped a gin and tonic, surprised with myself for agreeing with a buddy to go out on a slow night for some drinks. I doubly surprised myself for being an hour early. My buddy called. He would meet me later at a different bar. I now had an hour to kill at the chic lounge filled with young women and few men. A weekday night miracle!

I surveyed the room for potential sex partners. To my right were two girls, both mid 20s, both bouncing conversationally off each other with an effortlessness that revealed their BFFness. One of the girls was extremely tall (almost my height), foreign looking, and unattractive in the face, though her body was stimulating. The other girl was shorter, olive skinned, and very attractive. She had big Bette Davis eyes, huge tits, and moist, full lips, but her outstanding feature, the one that caught my gaze and held it, was her long thick mane of raven colored hair, highlighted with iridescent streaks of indigo. She talked animatedly with her tall friend, swinging her head around and lashing nearby patrons with streamers of her midnight hair. I wanted to glide my hand through her thatch and yank hard.

Indigo Girl glanced over in that way that showed she was trying to hide that she was glancing over. I had my opening.

“You guys are making everyone else feel uncomfortable for not having as much fun. Have some consideration.” I knitted my brow in faux disapproval.

“What are *you* doing out tonight, Mr. Cool Guy too cool to have fun?” Indigo Girl smiled to flaunt an impressive rack of pearly white teeth, then stood up on tippy toes and did a ballerina twirl for me. I felt movement in my pants.

“I’m waiting for a friend, but plans changed. Now I’m here to support local business.”

Tall Girl laughed. “That’s very noble of you.” She spoke with an exotic Eastern European accent, and I could tell from her first words that she was smarter than the average chick. It is something in the cadence, the articulation. She took a step toward me, presumably to ask me a question.

Indigo Girl dodged in front of her advancing friend and looked up adorably at my alpha nostrils. “We just got back from a show.”

The more I looked at her the more it dawned on me how sexy she was. “The way you’re dressed I’d guess you saw a show at [X].”

“Good guess! Do you hang out there? I’ve never seen you before. But take that as a good thing. I get bored of that clique-y scene over there.” Though she was a little tipsier than Tall Girl, Indigo Girl also spoke with the electric snap of someone sporting a big brain.

“I’m a clique of one. Very exclusive.”

The girls laughed. Well, technically Indigo Girl laughed, openly and without affect. Tall girl, clearly the level-headed one of the two, grinned demurely and circled the rim of her cocktail glass with a long spidery finger. We talked amongst ourselves for twenty minutes. In that time I was able to piece together the scenario unfolding before me, and to then use my new knowledge to properly game these two chicks.

Best friends. Indigo Girl is the classic Eternal Ingenue. She is accustomed to getting her way with men, and she fumes when she doesn’t. She will shamelessly clamblock her girl friends if she notices them enjoying male attention. She is whip smart and Machiavellian, given to breaking hearts and wallowing like a happy sexy sow in the ups and downs of her own heart. Tall Girl is the Amazonian Alpha (literally as well as figuratively). She is used to surrendering the spotlight to her more attractive friends, but this constant indignity doesn’t stop her from being a fiercely loyal friend. She would be a world class maneater if she were prettier. I think she knows this.

It would be very easy for me to play these two girls off each other into a jealousy triangle of the ages. And I did.

We bounced to a two floor social venue a block down the street. It was crowded. The girls bought me a drink and we chatted for a while. I made sure to divide my chat time equally between the two, addressing one and then the other in turn. Suddenly, like a butterfly with ADD, Indigo Girl rushed to greet one of the bartenders, a handsome hipster she knew from her social circle. The greet became a long-ish conversation. Stepping up to Tall Girl, I moved my body so that she was forced to reposition herself with her back to Indigo Girl and Hipster Bartender. I knew Indigo Girl would look over at us if she saw me talking intimately with her friend, and I wanted her to see my hand on her friend’s back and my mouth whispering in her friend’s ear.

It worked. Indigo girl hopped over after only five minutes of watching me talk with Tall Girl. Shit test passed. But I knew that with a girl like her the shit tests were only beginning. Tall Girl, for her part, suspected that my desire was focused on her friend, but my calculated conversation sharing probably nursed a belief in her that she could rob me from Indigo Girl.

It is a great thrill to have two women vie for your attention, but it is an exquisite pleasure to puppeteer two *smart* girls.

I will spare some of the details of the actual gaming. Suffice to say, it was my usual schtick, except smartened up in deference to the targets. By smartened up, I mean palm reading with an occasional three syllable word thrown in.

Two hours later, we walked to Tall Girl’s apartment. I had called my buddy earlier to tell him I would cut the night short to pursue a worthier goal than drinking with him. He understood and informed me he would call in the morning for details. Bro code, you see. At Tall Girl’s place, we all collapsed on her sofa and flipped through her collection of artsy posters. Indigo Girl got up and flounced to the bathroom. I had to be careful. The two of them had surely been signaling the whole night to decide who would be the one to tame this magnificent beast with a chest full of peach vellus. My worst move would be to accidentally insinuate that Tall Girl was the one I wanted to bang. I looked at Tall Girl sitting next to me on the couch, her eyelids sensuously hoisted at half mast. Uh oh. I sprang up from the couch and pretended to read some books on the mantle.

When I turned around, still musing facetiously about the book I was holding, I saw that Tall Girl was sliding languorously down the couch, her dress hiked up mid-thigh and her legs splayed open. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. My eyes locked in on her shorn cunt, unable to tear away from the sight of labia and mons. It took an exceedingly strong dose of willpower to look away and up toward her homely face to remind myself that she wasn’t the one I wanted to bed. When I did, I saw that she was staring at me with sex in her eyes. Her mouth hung partly open. If she had been hotter, it would have counted as one of the sexiest motherfucking vignettes of my life.

As expected, her homely face jolted me back to reality. I put the prop book down and walked to the bathroom. Indigo Girl was rummaging through a box of ornamental scarves on Tall Girl’s bed. She was barking requests at Tall Girl from the bedroom. “I need a scarf that says professional, yet dangerous. What do you have, [Tall Girl]?”

I peered backward into the living room. Though my line of sight was partially obstructed, it looked to me that Tall Girl was stroking her pussy underneath her dress with her left hand. She arched her neck and gazed up at the ceiling.

I addressed Indigo Girl. “Hey, I’m gonna head out.”

Pause.

I continued. “Let’s go.”

It was a risky move. I had to get out of there before Tall Girl lunged at me and claimed me for herself. But I didn’t want to leave heavy-balled. There is always a point in the seduction when a bold move is required; when intentions must be demonstrated clearly and unambiguously. This time was no different.

Indigo Girl’s eyes glittered for a split second as she processed my words. Then she grabbed my hand and we headed out into the mild night.

We talked the whole time on the half hour walk to her place. Words flowed effortlessly. My boner never relaxed, not even when she did what I’m about to tell you.

“Hey, sexy boy I just met tonight, I’ve got something to show you.”

I thought please show me your incredible tits.

She reached a hand up to her head and pulled off her hair. Her beautiful, thick, lusciously long, raven colored hair, indigo highlights and all. Underneath was a head of matted, thin, mousy brown hair, cut short to just beyond the ears.

What the hell was this? Wig game? Was this her last ditch ultimate shit test to screen men just before she surrenders her body to them?

I managed the most poker-y face I could muster. “Wow, you had me fooled. Good thing you’re still sexy with short hair.”

I wasn’t lying. She was still sexy. Well, maybe not quite as sexy, but the drop in sexiness was only a half point. Nothing the god of gonadal stimulation wouldn’t let us into nirvana for.

“Yeah, I like to roleplay. Tonight was wig night. Wheee wigs!” She spun and jumped into my arms, wrapping her legs around my torso. My crotch bulged angrily. This was a girl going to NYU Stern for her MBA.

We made love… no, scratch that… we fucked four times through the night. Her tits were as stupendously squeezeable as I imagined. Her style of fucking was not out of character; creatively flexible, liberally lubed, risk-taking, and impassioned. Also a little slutty. Like purple saguaro girl, she had toys. Lots of them. And not some dimestore, brown paper over the windows low class shit. Her toys were the highest grade. She was a Type A++ personality and leapt out of bed at 8am for a spin class. I showed myself out the door, briefly greeting her gay roommate on the way out.

We dated… no, scratch that… we fucked for three months. The week before she left town, she called at 1am and invited me to her place. I walked over in the still night air instead of cabbing it. I wanted to enjoy the anticipation. Inside, she was stooped over on the bare concrete floor now stripped of furniture, snorting a line of coke with her gay roommate. She motioned for me to join them. The coke line laid out for me on the cold floor was mixed with dust and debris. I watched her be alive, though I was beset with a heaviness I knew would soon be alleviated.

Afterward, we laid on the floor like flower petals. She took my hand, held it, then let it go.

In the morning, on my way out, I noticed her wig was poking out of the kitchen trashcan. I walked silently over and gave it a quick stroke.

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The Number One Dead Giveaway That Your Wife Is About To Cheat

The wicked knowledge is disseminating to the masses that women are natural born cheaters at heart; perhaps not as indiscriminately promiscuous as men, but neither as angelic as the Victorian and Christian ideal. Husbands all over the world are slowly becoming aware that their wives are compelled by ancient biological forces to cheat during the fertile time of her monthly cycle, and given the right incentives will act upon that urge to infidelity, usually with a higher status man, in order to acquire the beneficial genes in hopes of having a superior child which she can then foist upon her duped husband to help raise.

The princess pedestal has had three of its legs knocked out from under it, and the last leg wobbles precariously. Dark robed shadowy denizens of the Chateau welcome newcomers to its velvet-curtained corridors, where the last semblance of naivete will be stripped from you.

What to do with this knowledge?, some men will ask. Apply it!

First, you will need to know the details of your woman’s monthly cycle. You will need to acquaint yourself with “fertility awareness“.

Find out when your woman has her period. The monthly cycle begins from the first day she bleeds. Women ovulate about midway through their cycle (days 12-14), and sperm can survive inside a woman’s hoo-ha for 2-5 days. So from the middle of the second week to the beginning of the third week (days 10-16) is when your girlfriend or wife will be at her most fertile, i.e. most receptive to getting impregnated by whichever sperm happens to wander in during that time frame.

This fertile window (days 10-16 of her monthly cycle) can accurately be renamed “the cheating window”, because it is then that a woman will feel the strongest horniness for the seed of an alpha male. If she’s going to cheat, she is most likely to do it on these days. If you are a beta provider husband or boyfriend, you are in danger of being cuckolded on days 10-16. If you are an alpha husband or boyfriend the danger of betrayal is still there, because there is incentive for a woman to acquire the seed of multiple competing alpha males. However, alpha males have less to worry about than beta males, as women with alphas tend to be happier, both psychologically and sexually, and thus less prone to satisfy a gina tingle through infidelity. Even when women aren’t happy with their alpha mates, and seek the sexual embrace of Mr. Sensitivo for the emotional connection alpha hubby won’t or can’t give her, she is more likely to cheat with the soft-hearted betaboy fling during the infertile phase of her monthly cycle. Thus, the alpha husband/BF has less to worry about than the beta husband/BF should his woman wander.

Since a woman contemplating cheating during her fertile window subconsciously wants to ensure that any fertilization is done by an alpha male’s seed, and only an alpha male’s seed, she won’t want her vagina polluted with your tepid beta spooge. She will do everything in her power, in fact, to prevent you from penetrating her while she is ovulating.

Armed with this knowledge, we now know the number one dead giveaway that your wife or girlfriend is about to cheat on you:

Is she withdrawing sex during days 10-16 of her monthly cycle? Then you, my friend, are about to be betrayed.

If you hear from your woman “I have a headache” any time during her peak fertility, she has either cheated on you, is thinking about cheating on you, or is getting sufficiently turned off by your burgeoning betaness that cheating will soon become an option in the calculation of her moral universe.

Once fertile window sex withdrawal (FWSW) happens, particularly if you notice a trend of this happening over two or more monthly cycles, then you had better be ready to respond appropriately. By “respond appropriately”, I mean “get the upper hand”. Here are your choices:

1. Preemptively dump her. (Husbands are shit out of luck on this option.)
2. Game her. (As LTRs inevitably soften men, you will have to shake the rust off and return to pre-LTR form.)
3. Take a mysterious leave of absence during her fertile window. (Counterintuitively, a sexually inquisitive wife or girlfriend will be less likely to act on her cheating impulse if her beta mate isn’t around to remind her why she loathes him so.)
4. Preemptively cheat. (If you’re banging ass on the side, you won’t feel the sting of her sex withdrawal and possible betrayal as much.)

There is one caveat. The pill potentially fucks up the FWSW-cheating nexus by screwing with women’s hormones. If it’s true that women on the pill prefer less masculine men at whichever time of the monthly cycle, then it’s less predictable that her cheating with a more alpha lover will occur during ovulation. Betas take note. Your best bet for avoiding a rape-equivalent cuckolding is to date only women on the pill. Of course, this will mean she won’t have any kids with you, either, but childlessness beats unknowingly raising another man’s child any day of the month.

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