Younger Women Are Good For A Man’s Health

It’s a truism that oftentimes the things that feel good to us are also good for us. A recent German study found that men live longer if they marry younger women, and that the longevity benefits accrue with each additional year the woman is younger than the man. (Hat tip: reader Conscientious Observer)

A man’s chances of dying early are cut by a fifth if their bride is between 15 and 17 years their junior.

The risk of premature death is reduced by 11 per cent if they marry a woman seven to nine years younger.

Every man reading this is saying to himself “They needed a study for this?”. Every woman reading this is saying to herself “I cream for my oevrlord!”.

And in a shocking… shocking, I say!… discovery, older women are bad for a man’s health.

The study at Germany’s Max Planck Institute also found that men marrying older women are more likely to die early.

What about the fabled cougars and their false bravado boosterism for the delights of hard-up boy toys?

The results suggest that women do not experience the same benefits of marrying a toy boy or a sugar daddy.

Wives with husbands older or younger by between seven and nine years increase their chances of dying early by 20 per cent.

Hilarious. As for women dying younger when married to an older man, that’s a feature, not a bug. Since he’s older and has a shorter lifespan as a man, she’ll die right around the same time as him. Hollywood romance!

The study’s authors theorize why this might be so.

Scientists say the figures for men may be the result of natural selection – that only the healthiest, most successful older men are able to attract younger mates.

“Another theory is that a younger woman will care for a man better and therefore he will live longer,” said institute spokesman Sven Drefahl.

I have a better theory. When a man is banging a hot chick half his age he wants to stay alive as long as possible! Incentives matter.

Maxim #93: The rare older woman-younger man pairing is like a lab experiment gone wrong. It violates the natural order of things, and leaves its practitioners emotionally twisted and in a constant mental race to hyperrationalize their subpar mate choice.

The younger man in such a bizarro world December-May coupling has no interest in her rusty muff beyond dumping a few fucks in her until someone younger and hotter comes along. The older woman knows she is an expedient hole and will never be loved by her boy toy, nor will she ever truly be able to love him. (Women are wired to experience difficulty falling in love with younger men.) Hers is a loveless future of cats and belly roll lint.

And so what you see are weirdo new-age divorcees and rode hard and tossed away wet single moms bleating most loudly about the glories of the younger man, because in point of fact they cannot attract the sorts of men they most want. They wave away their sad predicament with a bowl of sour grapes and transparent sloganeering. There are certain types of women nearly all men avoid for anything more substantial than a few rolls in the hay. Two types that are always at the top of that no-go list are eccentric, deranged divorcees and bitter, emotionally arid, caustically unfeminine single moms.

Go forth, brothers, and sweep a younger woman off her feet. You now have the stamp of science validating your lechery.

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Overqualifying Yourself To Girls

When you start getting good with women — that is, when you begin noticing their eyes light up when you talk rather than their eyes avert looking for the nearest exit — your biggest obstacle (besides logistics) won’t be your lack of game; it will be too much of your game. It is very easy to overqualify yourself to women because once you see with your own eyes how powerfully game works you will have a natural inclination to press your full court advantage beyond its usefulness. And because we have a human tendency toward too much of a good thing, you will often lose women in set and have no clue why, and thus no handle on how to refine your game. Overqualification is like blood pressure, the hidden disease that slowly kills your success as a player. You hardly recognize when it is happening.

One thing you learn over the years hunting the vast pink veldt for fresh pussy is how much more sensitive than men are women to being underqualified to a prospective mate. In fact, science has shown that couples are happier in relationships in which the man is less attractive than the woman. It makes sense, then, that a man whose game comes on too strong could ping a woman’s “cad” radar and convince her that he is too risky as a long term prospect.

How will you know when you’ve overqualified yourself? It’s a tough call. The signals are so subtle you’ll need lots of experience to know when to dial down your game. A few pointers:

Is she nervously checking out other women while you’re gaming her? She’s worried at the amount of female attention you receive and how well she can keep your attention.

Is she displaying particularly nervous or bashful body language? She thinks your high value is such that her less-than-perfect body can’t measure up to the types of female bodies she assumes you are used to bedding.

Does she suddenly get defensively snippy for no apparent reason? She’s crouched into a face-saving posture and her ego has taken over her emotions. Lawyer cunts are especially prone to this behavior.

Does she half-jokingly say things like “You’re probably like all the other guys. You won’t call.” or “Promise you’ll call?” A girl who believes she’s in your league won’t resort to airing her doubts out loud.

Does she put herself down? She’s fishing for compliments because she wants reassurance that you really think she is cute.

Does she accuse you of being a player or a heartbreaker? This is typically a shit test, but remember, buried in every shit test is a corn kernel of truth. If she says it, she’s thinking it. You’ll need to parry her test without sounding too beta. Best answer: “I used to be something of a player I guess, but those days are behind me now.”

***

Here are some tips for keeping your game in check and avoiding overqualification:

• Psychological routines like the Cube or palm reading are great, but don’t run more than one in a night. Spread out your best material over a few dates. It’s easy to club a woman over the head with routines.
• Tone down the cocky funny. Don’t neg her more than once, and don’t neg a 6.5 or below unless you are an ugly man.
• Don’t get too seductive on the first meet. Save the bedroom eyes when you have her in a private place.
• Don’t make out with her too passionately on the first meet. Exquisitely tempting lip brushes and dances of the tongues are better day 2 tactics, after rapport has been established.
• Don’t hit on another girl immediately after getting her number. Give it room to breathe, soldier.
• Don’t sound too “polished”. Say something stupid or goofy once in a while, so that she can make fun of you.
• Expose a vulnerability. Alpha dominance is best served with a garnish of endearing flaws.
• When you number close, say “I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

If you leave a woman feeling like you may have overqualified yourself, there is a last-ditch maneuver you can do which will lessen the odds that she will withdraw from your pursuit. I have tried this on girls I thought were withdrawing from me because they were afraid I was out of their league. If a girl is making it difficult for you to set up a second date, or she doesn’t respond promptly to your flirty trial texts, and you think it might be because she has pegged you as too alpha for her pay grade, send the following text after a few days of radio silence:

“Please no gameplaying.”

In three little words you have just allayed any fear she may have harbored about the strength of your interest in her, while exposing a delicious vulnerability of the sort that women LOVE to discover in dominant men. If she likes you, she will reply to this text instantly, usually with something like “I hate gameplaying too.” Carry on, my wayward PUA.

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How To Prey On Women’s Insecurities

Women are not special little snowflakes in either the vaginas they possess or the insecurities which burden them. Women mostly share the same self-doubts: “I’m fat”, “I’m past my prime”, “He doesn’t appreciate me for my mind”, “He’s going to use me”, “OMG cankles!”, “My boobs are small/saggy/veiny/covered by an acre of areola”, “I hope guys can see how smart — SMRT smart! — I am”, “I hope he doesn’t think I’m a slut”, “She’s wearing the same shirt as me! Panic at the disco!”, etc etc.

You mission, should you refuse to be weighed down by useless pangs of guilt, is to make a woman’s insecurities your ally in the pursuit of closing the deal. You want to drive a wedge between her and her self-confidence. The reason is elementary: Women wish to date up. So a man can either raise his own status to appeal to the girl he is trying to pick up (see: Game, medical school), or he can lower the girl’s status so his status seems higher in comparison (see: Game, Skittles Man). He can also do both, but this might be overkill on women who are less than an 8. The last time I exercised both options on the same woman, it was with regular reader and bean diddler Sara, and you all can see the results of that in the comments.

Women are the gatekeepers to sex, but what exactly is the gate? It’s her self-perceived status relative to yours. Or, her beauty. Quite simply, if a woman perceives she is more beautiful than the kind of woman you can be expected to snag, she will give you a harder time than she would to a higher value man who looked and acted like the sort of man used to dating women of her beauty caliber. This dynamic also works with status metrics like educational attainment, because women project their desires onto men and assume men will up- or downgrade them on things that are important to women. We know better, of course.

Men have two intrinsic playing field advantages in the sexual marketplace. One, men have a longer window of sexual desirability. A typical 35 year old man has better prospects than a typical 35 year old woman. He won’t need to settle as far down the mate ladder as she will. Two, men can better withstand blows to the ego. We are designed to take a licking and keep on ticking, as we are, barring rare exceptions, the initiators of courtship. If you want to bang hotter women than you are accustomed to, you must leverage both of these advantages to the maximum.

Knowing this, you can easily improve your odds with any woman by subtly exposing her insecurities using the implements of psychological mindfucking. The trick is to avoid direct assault on her soft underbelly. You don’t tell a girl “I like your low rider jeans, but aren’t you worried that it accentuates your muffin top?” No, you need to breach her defense perimeter indirectly, like a Trojan horse:

“I’m sort of an exercise buff, so I appreciate a woman who feels the same way about keeping fit.”

Any woman with fat issues will hear this: “Does he think I’m not into keeping fit? Are my belly rolls undulating??”

More examples of the art of exposing female insecurities:

Use on a girl who looks like she might be self-conscious about her boobs: “Yeah, fake boobs are weird. If only women knew that most men prefer real, firm, round boobs.”

Use on girls pushing up against 30: “I think younger women are overrated. Sure, they have great figures and are spontaneous and always up for fun, but their lack of… maturity… can get tiresome after a while.”

Use on girls who have a slutty past (thanks to me, you’ll be able to tell) and are worried about being pigeonholed as a one night… hole: “Most guys are too judgmental about a woman’s life choices. I don’t believe in that. Only weak people feel a need to live according to other people’s expectations.” (Irony intended.)

Use on girls who are insecure about their smarts: “I just finished reading Joyce, but I’m not going to bother you with that. It’s a little high brow.”

Use on girls who are insecure about being perceived as high maintenance: “You like playing frisbee? Funny, I never would have taken you for the down to earth type.”

Use on girls who have bad fashion sense and worry about it (*every* girl worries about how she dresses): “I think it’s refreshing that you’re secure enough to wear flip-flops without irony. Not every girl cares about keeping up with the latest trends.”

Note for the haters: If my experience is any guide, women of high self esteem will fold like cheap lawn chairs to ego-evisceration game even quicker than putatively low self esteem women. Especially the grad school and lawyer chicks.

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Be A Skittles Man

Reader Fabian linked to a funny entry on the ‘Don’t Date Him Girl’ blog:

He had several “lady friends” who stayed the night at his house and he claimed they were “Just friends”. He frequently forgot important details about me, such as the fact that I had a sister, my birthday and what sorts of hobbies I had. He blew me off constantly, would return calls a week later with the excuse of “I was busy.” I often spoiled him with gifts, rides and sex only to receive a bag of Skittles in return. (I don’t even like skittles!) That was the only gift I ever received from him! I met a new friend and we were bonding over “worst ex-boyfriend stories” and suddenly we realized “boy, a lot of these sound the same… Was his name ____?” IT WAS THE SAME GUY!!!

In an unintentional juxtaposition for the ages, reader joel left a comment in my Pimp Slap post about a wedding he attended:

I just attended a wedding the  bill for which, paid mostly by the parents of the bride but with substantial input from the groom’s parents, would easily pay for the private education of several children. It could have paid for a modest but nice house in a good neighborhood in many parts of the country. Hint: The flowers cost about $15,000.

It is amazing what the matriarchy does. The Darwinian purpose of this, I believe, is to keep the husbands working their asses off, and keep them broke, so they can’t go out and buy a younger woman for their next wife or keep a concubine.

Really. There is no other logical explanation for this excess.

Two men, two vastly different experiences with women. One man gets all the pussy he wants for the bargain basement price of a bag of Skittles, while the other man marries a woman in a wedding ceremony featuring flowers that cost $15,000.

How much you want to bet the first guy’s rotation of girlfriends is hotter than the second guy’s $15,000 flower wife? How much you want to bet the first guy gets all the anal sex and blowjobs he desires while the second guy will be begging for his once-a-month sex as soon as the vows are exchanged? If one of these guys is a herb, who is it more likely to be?

FACT: Odds are good you will enjoy a bounty of pussy and love if you act like Skittles guy. FACT: Odds are good you will spend the rest of your life begging for tepid sex from the same old boring pussy if you act like $15,000 wedding flower guy.

Be a Skittles man. Don’t be a $15,000 wedding flower man.

I’ve been in the company of a lot of women who hailed from all sorts of stations in life. I know the sound of a woman in love, and it usually sounds like the woman in the Skittles story — bitching and moaning about a world class asshole, chasing him from here to kingdom come to cajole him to surrender at least a small measure of his autonomy (which he never does), and always… ALWAYS… going back to him when they have a bad fight. I’ve been that guy.

I’ve also been around the kinds of women from the wedding flower story. They usually sound like they are more in love with the idea of $15,000 wedding flowers than they are with their man. They never chase, and their men are in the permanently disabling position of constantly bending over backwards to satisfy their women’s whims. Women who are princess-ified have power over their men, even over the kinds of men who themselves have power over other men. The women know this and they subconsciously resent it.

Joel is right. The matriarchy in all its silly manifestations — extravagant weddings, diamonds-nookie barter, pop culture propaganda, daddy government disease — is structured to handicap men. To cut them off at the knees. Fitting, really, because a man on his knees is exactly where he’d have to be to agree to $15,000 wedding flowers. The finances aren’t the core issue; it’s the corrosive effect such a wasteful expenditure for a woman will have on her attitude. The matriarchy loathes and fears Skittle Man, the freeloader who nonetheless basks in the love of many women. The matriarchy would rather men be like Wedding Flower Man, slaving dutifully as a nameless, faceless cog in the machine paying his dues for his two pence of pussy. Society’s Little Helper.

And at the end of the day, what for? To thanklessly pump out cannon fodder for the wars of the future? Fuck that sideways. The rulebook was written to constrain free thinkers like you. When you know the score, when you understand that this life is all there is and all there ever will be and your legacy in gold or works or kids means nothing when your consciousness is obliterated to nothing and your deathbed is lined with the garland of regret and pleasures denied and the memory of your decades of pointless sacrifice crawls slowly across the walls like night shadows to suffocate you in your final doom… only then will you look your blushing bride in the eye and inform her that there will be no $15,000 wedding flowers and she can hit the bricks if that’s unacceptable to her.

Better yet, tell her there will be no wedding and no marriage. She can love you without needing the permission of the state.

Some newcomers are aghast when they read my stuff. They think this blog must be a joke or the ravings of a lunatic, a madman driven to the brink by a particularly damaging experience with an ex. No. While I’ve had my joys and sorrows and loves and heartbreaks just like any other man possessing a wealth of experience with women, on the whole most of the women in my life have been and continue to be cherished loves. My lunacy is the clear-eyed vision of Neo after the matrix is revealed to him. Reality makes lunatics of us all, but only those with the eyes to see and the ego to spare ever embrace it unconditionally.

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Girls Who Insisted I Use A Condom

It’s interesting to recall who among the women blessed to have crossed lifepaths with the masculine juggernaut that is moi insisted I use a condom on the first night together. (Note: This is a separate issue from whether I decided to use a condom myself.)

A partial selection (because who can remember every girl they’ve slept with?):

Update: I completely forgot the DC lawyer chicks ———– NO CONDOM.

First love — Insisted on condom.
French au pair — Insisted on condom. Rolled it on with her mouth.
Bikini girl — No condom.
Riotgrrl DJ — Insisted on condom.
Library pickup — No condom.
Chinese girl — Insisted on condom.
Asian girl of indeterminate origin — No condom.
Asian girl of painfully tight hole — Insisted on condom.
Amelie lookalike — Insisted on condom.
Indian girl — Insisted on condom for blowjob (!) but not for sex (!!).
Artsy chick (#17 in a series) — Insisted on condom.
Cokehead — Insisted on condom.
Girl who was beaten by stepdad — Insisted on condom.
Ugliest girl I have ever banged — No condom.
Hard-charging MBA student — No condom.
Best friend of hard-charging MBA student — Insisted on condom.
Married Russian chick — No condom.
Russian au pair — Insisted on condom.
Married Polish chick — No condom.
Blonde with boyfriend — No condom.
Short brunette with boyfriend — No condom.
Bartender 1 — No condom.
Bartender 2 — No condom.
Bartender 3 — No condom.
Stripper — Insisted on condom.
Croatian chick — Insisted on condom.
Girl with smelly pussy — No condom.
Girl with five mangy hamsters for pets — Insisted on condom.
Black girl — No condom.
NIH nurse — Insisted on condom for round one but dropped insistence for round two.
Tomboy — Insisted on condom.
Romanian chick — No condom.
Preacher’s daughter (for real) — Insisted on condom.
Niece of semi-famous politico — Insisted on condom.
Blog groupies (6 of 13) — No condom.
Girl with furry ass — Insisted on condom.
Army girl with smelly ass — No condom.
Bulgarian girl — Insisted on condom.
Finnish girl — No condom.
Turkish girl — No condom.
Argentinian girl — Insisted on condom.
French girl with the most beautiful name in the world — No condom.
Girl who mentioned she was a Mensa member — No condom.
Chic Noir — No condom.

Rubbing my chin in deep pontification, savoring every delicious sexual memory, I detect a correlation between how long I dated a girl and whether she insisted I use a condom on the first night together. Here is a graphical representation:

The time I spent with the girl is the vertical axis. The number of times she insisted I use a condom is the horizontal axis. (Condom insistence was usually frontloaded in the dating cycle.) As we can see, the girls who insisted I use a condom on the first night were more likely to be granted the privilege of being my girlfriend. Dirty little sluts who flung themselves at my unsheathed cock had a higher chance of being a pump and dump or short term fling.

The longer a girl insisted on condom usage, the likelier I would treat her like a precious gemstone. But there are diminishing returns to this general rule. If a girl refused to start taking the pill and made me wear a condom well past the four week mark, I cut her loose. This was probably a wise decision by me. One, condoms suck. Two, she thinks I’m sleeping around on her but doesn’t care (this is a bad foundation for a fledgling relationship, even if true). Three, I wonder who else is she fucking?

For solid girlfriend material, you’ll want to aim for a condom usage insistence number of three sexual encounters. This allows her to maintain the fiction that she isn’t a slut, while not pushing you past the point of grudging acceptance into resentment at having your pleasure circumscribed by some smelly latex.

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Open This Set

Take a look at this photo…

A reader, who obviously remembers the first installment of ‘Open This Set’, sent me the above photo along with the following challenge to my manhood:

Attached is a set. Your target is second from right, against the pillar.
Go.

I accept this mission.

One, I would approach this four set obliquely, by myself, as if I was walking past them on my way to get free drinks from prettier women. I understand the wisdom of entering sets alone and having a wing step in later if necessary. After all, what will a woman deem more courageous and alpha? A solo rebel or a man riding point with moral support from his wolfpack?

Since this is an all-female set I can be flirty and edgy right away. No need to ease in slowly and assure a bunch of guy friends that I am not a threat. I notice a few things in the split second before opening — lots of half-empty drinks and a bottle, dyed hair, phallic toy (bachelorette party?) being held by girl with loudest fashion sense (attention whore), older brunette is the mother hen, two girls on right closer to each other than they are to the other two, girl in purple is the neediest (conspicuous lean-in), all four sitting on couch (possible bottle service? girls’ night out?), and most importantly… the target (second from right) has her hand wedged deep between her legs with her knees pressed together tightly. She is ovulating and horny. Her vulva rubs against the sheer fabric of her black tights. She will respond very well to a neg because ovulating girls are the ones most aroused by dominant men.

There are two options for opening here. Either go simple and straightforward, or go situational. Both are effective. An easy-to-remember generic opener, and one that would work well for men who sometimes experience brain lock on the approach, is a Roosh-style opener. For example:

“You guys look like you’re having the most fun of anyone here.”

The opener I would use for this set would be situational. The situational opener, a little more advanced as it requires thinking on your feet, has to focus on something unique about them and their immediate surroundings. I would stop halfway between, look over my shoulder, and address the girl most likely to cockblock — the American Bitch with the penis toy:

“You’re not holding it right. You want to pull it off? Figures. I feel sorry for your husband.”

Some laughing and shrieking would ensue, American Bitch would insist she doesn’t have a husband (I knew this already because I took note of the lack of a ring), and then I would propel the banter forward by accusing them of being another lame bachelorette party. I would wonder aloud if their fiancees knew what they were up to tonight. This baits them to give me vital information on who is in a serious relationship. Then I would turn my attention to my target and unload a neg:

“You look uncomfortable with that toy so close to you.”

I would then quickly address the two on the left. “Do you guys have to drag her kicking and screaming into having a good time?” Smirking, of course. Consider the smirk the .44 Magnum of the inveterate player. It always hits what it aims for and removes bitch shields like it removes fingerprints.

I’ve just flipped the frame from trying to earn their approval, to having them defend the group dynamic of their unimpressive girl fiefdom. It goes well (it always does because I am James Motherfucking Bond) and I motion for one of my boys to come over so we can either get these girls up off the couch or nudge them apart by sitting down with them. Sitting on the couch while I stand is a power position for them, and stripping them of that power is of the utmost urgency.

Now it’s your turn.

Go.

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Update: The Women Who Love Feminized Western White Males

My source deep in the dainty underbelly of the flourishing dandy/fop subculture sent me pics of the kinds of girls that swoon for feminized Western white males. She wanted to inform me — sarcastically — of the caliber of pussy these guys are scoring.

 

 

From my vantage point (my crotch), these girls are cute. Totally do-able, maybe even date-able. Which just proves that as long as a chick has an attractive facial bone structure and a slender figure and isn’t too old, it won’t matter how badly she tries to hide her assets under hideous clothes, hair styles and nose-picking — guys will still want to bang her. The blonde’s ponytail is the perfect length for using as reins during rough doggy style lovemaking. Whoa whore-sy!

That my female undercover agent thought these girls were low value is telling of the psychosocial differences between men and women. Men discern beauty with the keen eye of an electron microscope. A millimeter here, a geometric disturbance there, can mean the difference between beautiful and so-so. After all, men have been honed by millions of years of evolution to avoid getting duped by women who don’t possess the genuine goods. Bad consignment shop hats and dark eyeliner are minor obstacles in the way of our ability to suss out a genetically hot face worthy of our jizzbombs. (Cue: Kick a Bitch).

Women discern female beauty in context with everything else and through the lens of their own sexual market value. They see horrendous fashion sense and they downgrade the girl’s hotness rank. They see a chick picking her nose and she loses beauty points. Because for a woman, beauty is the sum total of a person. That is why men not blessed with good looks can boost their attractiveness to women by other means. It’s not the distance between his eyes or the shape of his cheekbones but the nebulous interaction between his face, clothes, body language and the words coming out of his mouth.

It is a persistent human failing to project our own psychological profile onto the other sex (and other race). Who among us can truly put themselves in another person’s shoes? Women may be the more empathetic sex, but their blindspots with regard to male attractiveness standards are as glaring as men’s blindspots to the things that turn on women.

UPDATE:

My undercover female source who brought me these pics informed me that she was *not* being sarcastic in pointing up the caliber of pussy that hipster dandies score. In her words:

just reading now…i think they are highly attractive and i envy them (and their careers as artists ie private school girl roots) disgustingly! […] i found the girl picking her nose whilst in pearls…cute, in a subversive kind of way. i dream of such clean dark eyeliner application skills, and the gall to don raccoon ear flaps like you’re tina turner in mad max when it’s actually the annex, toronto. of course i think they’re self-indulgent idiots, but i would be too, given the chance.

So to clear the air, she is not deducting points for nose-picking or hideous fashion. Which makes her quite unique among women as a judge of female beauty. But then, the kind of people in my orbit are unique. That’s how I roll.

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