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Archive for the ‘Girls’ Category

Reader Mitch Cumstein tells thee of his saga, of his days of thigh adventure!

When I was 17, I worked for this magazine as a summer job. They hired this 30-something lady to be the face of the company in its adverts. Striking for her age. HB9. No one at work dared flirt with her, because she was “married”. However, I knew she was game when I realized 1. Her husband reeked of beta and 2. She accepted every invite to hang after work at the bars. She even rallied the troops most of the time, which is a dead giveaway.

Anyway, another coworker was getting married and HB9 RSVPd with no plus one (another sign), her husband was out of town (another) and she invited us all to come over and drink at her house after the wedding (!!!).

I was 17…the office loved me and I could see she was seeing the affection everyone had for me. People sneaking me drinks, etc. It was an “honorable little brother” type love, and she took notice. She tried chiding me at her house. “Those dance moves you had on the dance floor were inappropriate…” Agreed and amplified (“yup”, “were they? i was too caught up in the rhythm to notice”). I remember she asked, “What do all these coworkers see in you anyway?” And I was buzzed enough to say, “I’d show you, but I probably wouldn’t be invited to your husband’s birthday party if I did.” Her tongue was planted firmly in her cheek. Within five minutes, we were making out and I was fingering her.

She clears everyone out of the house. I tell everyone to go on ahead, I’m going back to get my jacket. When I opened the door, she was standing there, ass naked. She walked into her room and I followed. When we got there, I stopped. Most men would’ve gone ahead, but I realized: THIS IS TOO EASY. It was low-hanging fruit. So I kissed her on the head and made my exit.

The next morning, I get a call on my phone from her. Except when I answer, it’s her husband. He tells me to meet him outside a pizzeria a mile from my house. I go and he’s standing there, pretending to be stoic.

Him: You son of a bitch…
Me: Present.
Him: You are scum…
Me: Yup.
Him: Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?
Me: Well…I didn’t fuck your wife…but the next guy will.

That one hit him like a sledge hammer. It was too true to deny. I guess they’d moved around a lot together, which is why they came to our town in the first place. My friends tell me he didn’t kick my ass because I was 17 and he’d be embarrassed to explain it all if he had to, but I disagree. He actually thanked me before taking off. “Thank you for being so honest,” was what he said. He was THAT beta. They were divorced within a year.

The next day at work, I was stocking sodas and the HB9 dropped a gift bag at my feet with a smile. Inside it were my sunglasses. I left them in his bedroom and that’s how he found out. It wasn’t even that she told him out of guilt; the guy found a pair of sunglasses in his room and had her dead to rights.

The takeaway: you grow up thinking married women are hard to snag, but in reality, they’re easier. It’s because most are lonely. Have relations with them or don’t, but if you do…don’t forget your sunglasses.

Bored wives are cheating wives, in heart if not in pussy. And where a woman’s heart goes, her hole is sure to follow.

Women complain that they have to keep up their looks so their husband’s eyes don’t stray, but they fail to recognize the tougher job men must undertake to keep the interest of their wives…. omnipresent charm and sexiness, to be called upon at will and dispensed in precise degrees of need as with a chemist’s skilled titration hand. The legally entangled husband’s job is made tough by the nature of women’s demands, which are psychological outgrowths of the fundamental premise. The job is tougher still in a social environment which has unleashed and sanctioned the most primitive animal instincts of women, and which offers women endless opportunities for financial and emotional exploit through the feminism-directed man-loathing divorce industrial complex.

PS I understand that there will be the usual readers who disbelieve this story. CH is not interested in the after-school job of parsing lines of code in reader-submitted anecdotes for evidence of fantasy, but we can tell you from experience that stories similar to Mitch Cumstein’s are common enough to warrant testimonial status, even if the specific, and probably poorly recalled, dialogue snippets are reconstituted in stilted or hubristic form.

Having stated the above disclaimer, I have to ask Cumstein… why would you agree to meet the husband of your near-hit illicit liaison? Teenage naivete?

PPS If your girlfriend or wife travels without you, the chances she’ll misbehave go way up.

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In the “Picking up married women” post, I commented that an indeterminate number of happily married women will go out of their way to avoid the temptation to infidelity, and will extend this courtesy to their boyfriends and husbands.

Some happily married women (read: married women still sexually aroused by their husbands) avoid the company of sexually appetitive men or of high status men capable of stimulating the sexual appetites of women. Often, this avoidance is achieved simply by not going to places where a lot of single huntsmen congregate. And, married women will try to introduce the temptation-resisting wonders of avoidance to their husbands, by preventing them from being too frequently in the company of young single ladies. Moving to the suburbs helps a lot with this avoidance program.

Commenter Euro Death Knot astutely notes the corollary to the above observation, and illustrates it from personal anecdotes as the “other man” having an affair with a cheating wife:

The converse of this principle is that a married woman traveling alone is a strong indication of potential interest.

I first learned this long ago when I was a college kid who knew nothing and was traveling on my own in Europe. I spent a night in a youth hostel in the Netherlands and approached an attractive German woman (5+ years older than I was) who was taking a vacation bike trip on her own across Holland. While I had taken only one year of German and her English was just a bit better than my German, it was easily less than 2 hours from me saying hi until I was finger fucking her and she was giving me a hand job, all of this in an open-air loft above the hostel’s dining room with some people milling below us.

It was only the next day when we met up to take the same train to Köln (her to go home and me to crash for a few days with a girl I had approached, made out with and address-closed in a park in München who was studying and living in Köln) that I paid attention to the fact that the ring she was wearing was on her ring finger and I realized that she was married. She told me that her husband traveled a lot and she felt that he had been sleeping around.

I can still see in my mind’s eye how affectionately she embraced her husband who was waiting for her at the train station (never mind that she had pulled out my cock again on the train ride). A couple of years ago I Googled her and discovered that decades later she’s still married (with the same name and close to the same address so presumably to the same man) and has three grown children.

If a wife is traveling alone without her husband, there’s often a reason.

Three lessons:

1. A wife or girlfriend who does not make pained efforts to avoid circumstances rife with illicit sexual invitation is by default a woman seeking them out.

2. The average woman is very good at hiding her infidelity from suspicion. Much better, from what I’ve seen, than the concealment the average man is capable of summoning when guilt is ripping at the soul. I conclude that men feel guilt and loyalty more palpably than do women. The exception to this rule is the accomplished cad, whose years of deception and nurtured sociopathy have honed in him a jewel thief’s skill at evading detection.

3. Even with the best intentions, a taken woman is still human, and an abundance of charming men in her social or work environment will test her limits of self-abnegation, much like a convention of 19-year-old lingerie models with daddy issues will test a devoted husband’s and father’s vows. It’s no coincidence that female infidelity rose at the same time as female participation in the workforce, and hence female exposure to alpha male movers and shakers, increased.

My suggestion: If you want a guarantee that your beloved won’t stray, get her off the cock grid. Rural Montana perhaps. Facsimiles of cock grid escape used to be simpler undertakings, but that all changed with [X], [EX], and [XXX].

The next best option? Game.

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Tucked in the CH archives is a seminal (heh) post on the subject of male sexual pleasure and how it relates to women’s hotness. It was titled “Hotter Women, Better Sex” and it scandalized neophyte ears, and provoked knowing nods from romantically experienced players.

I suspect the people who think that men chase hot girls the most feverishly so as to lord it over other men have an agenda. They want to believe that human nature is not immutable; that with the right amount of peer pressure and fist-shaking at the media juggernaut men’s desires can be altered — tamed — to accommodate their conceit. And pride is malleable where thermonuclear blasts of lust are not.

If, on the other hand, men pursue the best-looking women at the behest of hidden compulsions buried deep in the reptilian cores of their brains, then there is nothing can be done to change this fact of manhood and what it means for less attractive girls.

How your body responds to a woman during sex tells the tale. The hotter I find the girl, the better the sex is, all else being equal.

What followed was a jizzbomb chart positively correlating a woman’s attractiveness with the liquid volume and ejection force of a man’s ejaculation.

Not satisfied with field observations, undersexed nerds demanded SCIENCE. It was supplied:

Slimmer Women’s Waist is Associated with Better Erectile Function in Men Independent of Age.

Previous research has indicated that men generally rate slimmer women as more sexually attractive, consistent with the increased morbidity risks associated with even mild abdominal adiposity. To assess the association of women’s waist size with a more tangible measure of perceived sexual attractiveness (as well as reward value for both sexes), we examined the association of women’s age and waist circumference with an index of men’s erectile function (IIEF-5 scores), frequency of penile-vaginal intercourse (PVI), and sexual satisfaction in a representative sample of Czechs (699 men and 715 women) aged 35-65 years. Multivariate analyses indicated that better erectile function scores were independently associated with younger age of self and partner and women’s slimmer waist. PVI frequency was independently associated with women’s younger age and women’s slimmer waist. Sexual satisfaction was independently associated with men’s younger age and slimmer waist for both sexes. Better erectile function, greater PVI frequency, and greater sexual satisfaction were associated with women’s slimmer waist, independently of both sexes’ ages. Possible reasons for the waist effects were discussed, including women’s abdominal body fat decreasing their own desire through neurohormonal mechanisms and decreasing their partner’s desire through evolutionarily-related decreased sexual attractiveness.

The vigor of the splitter is the smack of the fact. An hourglass-shaped, slender young woman is nature’s viagra, yohimbe, and horny goat weed compound, delivered with a hit of Ecstasy.

Interestingly, there’s a female version of the CH “hotter women = better sex” formula. Reader RosieOnMaChest stumbles on it:

Asshole game!

Women really do behave differently in bed with alphas and betas.

Since adopting a more alpha persona, around 5 years ago. Apart from upping the standard of women I let into my life, I’ve found one other very unexpected bonus…. Sex is a whole lot better and a whole lot wilder.

Once a woman assesses you as alpha, there seems to be almost nothing she won’t do to please you in bed. Two of the current plates have started sticking their tongues into my asshole . Kind of shocked me at first but I guess it’s just a sign of the times.

Sign of the hinds.

This is what I call the “More Alpha = Better Sex” formula, and a chart should help clarify exactly what it measures.

First, an explanation of the variables.

“Moan strength” is the loudness of the woman’s sex moans. Obvi.

“Shakes strength” is how much control over her body the woman loses during lovemaking.

“Pliability” is the woman’s willingness to indulge the man’s sexual fantasies, no matter how freakish.

Presenting… the handy dandy alpha maleness-to-female pleasure chart:

status of man      moan strength           shakes strength        pliability
omega dreg         sounds of silence       zen stoicism             she calls the shots
omega                grunt of annoyance    she can multitask     carbonite rigidity
greater omega    disguised wince         stilted pelvic grind    100 “no”s, 1 “yes”
lesser beta          1db college try          did a muscle tense?   it’s your birthday!
pubertal beta     10dbs (cat meow)      0.1 second toe curl   it’s our anniversary!
beta                   20dbs (puppy yap)     brief shiver               pre-coital BJ
striver beta        30dbs (dog bark)        1 back scratch          doggy style
greater beta      50dbs (black woman)  10 back scratches      mirrors
lesser alpha     70dbs (2 black women)  leg tourettes             cameras
alpha                100dbs (corvette)      dog shitting peach pit   chandelier
supraalpha        150dbs (jet engine)     call a sexorcist         “i am your slave”

There are many reasons for a man to learn game and ascend the ladder of alpha maleness, but one goes unmentioned far too often: The better your game, the more pleased your women will be with your sexual healing.

 

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The shapes of female figures have real world consequences, for both men’s capacity to experience pleasure and willingness to commit, and for women’s ability to leverage the sexual market to snag a winner man and fulfill their romantic needs. Given that men, unlike women, are neurally primed to get aroused and motivated solely by stimulating visual cues, it’s difficult to overestimate just how much a good body shape assists women in the promise of a healthy and happy love life.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” is a lie insofar as it presupposes every female body type is equally attractive. They aren’t. Women don’t have equal sexual or marriageable worth. Some body types are better than others. And one body type is so much better than the others that women who possess it can name their price.

The Anti-Gnostic, ruddy and taut from doing a yeoman’s job disinfecting that cistern of stupidity at Cheap Chalupas whenever the subject turns to mass nonwhite immigration, forwards a handy chart illustrating the four five female body types.

He adds for effect,

Female body types: hourglass, pear, banana, apple.

I’d add a body type of “rotund”, given the historically unprecedented numbers of fertile, obese females.

Never bonked an apple or a rotund. Ever. I’ve had some widely variant sexual partners, but if she doesn’t have inflection points that result in a definite waist, the right subinsular is just not going to be firing. No amount of drugs or desperation on earth could get me over that hump.

The recently added Rotund fifth female body type:

Who said America’s inventive spirit is dead? We’ve invented a whole new female body type!

Of the five, rotund is obviously the most disfiguring, and the ugliest female body type. A woman with this non-shape will suffer MASSIVE constraints on her mate choice options. Compared to less celestial women, she will have the least number of men pursuing her, and those who do will be the lowest value men. Her odds of spending many years enduring painful involuntary solitude are very high. Like her male analogue the socially clumsy nerdo, she will likely spend months, perhaps even years, in parched involuntary sexlessness. And any man she does manage to lure into her sticky, bulbous, pitcher plant vagina will be less interested in a longer-term commitment with her than he would with a woman of more human shape.

The Rotund female body type is so bad in contrast with the others that it practically deserves its own graphic. Correction: It needs its own graphic due to screen size limitations. So we boot Violet Blobbybarge into Jupiterian orbit where she belongs, and rank the remaining four female body types in ascending order of attractiveness.

Apple

Not nearly as atrociously repulsive as the Rotund, the Apple nonetheless squats lumply below the other three body types. Top heaviness works for linebackers, not women.

Pear

The Pear is interesting, because much of her sexual appeal or lack thereof depends on the distribution of her fulcrum fat. If her fat sits grotesquely on her hips like a hoop dress, and her ass juts like a National Geographic native, she will turn off more (white) men than the Apple-shaped girl. If she sports an incipient fupa, even worse. The entire deleterious effect is magnified if her narrow-shouldered upper body sways like a swamp reed atop the mountain of fat below.

But if the Pear’s fat isn’t obtrusive, and it rests gracefully and smoothly on child-birthing hips without too much distortion, the Pear can be quite bangable. Unfortunately, most Pears aren’t this lucky.

Banana

I expect this categorization to elicit the most opposition from the penis gallery. Men like curves, and will assume the Pear has more of those boner-inducing curves than the Banana. But that’s not how it always plays out. Bananas have curves that are proportionate to their overall slender body shape. The waist-hip ratio is what counts, not the absolute hip width.

Bananas are your archetypical athletic girls: Tall, slender and built like sex pistons. Bananas are overrepresented among porn starlets, probably because they have the optimal balance of higher testosterone-induced horniness and thin body shapes that arouse male viewers. If the Banana has a narrow waist to complement her lithe hips, and her torso isn’t overdeveloped, she will turn more men’s eyes than the Pear. However if the Banana is tubular, the Pear with pleasing pelvic padding will win more head-swivel contests.

Keep in mind that men with a keen future time orientation who are also seeking relationships will be better at projecting the Banana and the Pear into the future, whereupon they will see with mental clarity what happens to each type of body after ten or twenty years, and the Pear doesn’t come out looking so good under those conditions. The Banana typically holds up better, while the Pear turns into a Weeble.

Hourglass

And here we arrive, at last, to the goddess. My, but she is a tall drink of tumescence. The vast…. VAST… majority of men prefer hourglass-shaped women. Those perfect Playboy measurements — 34/24/34 and mostly unchanged in their boner-popping power since time immemorial — are so desired by men that women with this body type run laps around their sexual market competition.

The Hourglass lady is desired by the most men, pursued by the most high value men, and when pursued is solicited the most frequently by men with offers of long-term commitment. If she is also pretty of face, she has, for all practical purposes, unlimited sexual market options.

***

There it is. Women would do well to understand and accept the visual acumen with which men make their split-second judgment of women’s bodies. Men are frickin electron microscopes in human form when they’re visually assessing women’s figures. A centimeter here, a millimeter there, can mean the difference for women between suffering the awkward sexual interest of a spazzy beta or the passionate love of a smooth alpha. It can mean the difference between waiting for years for an Alex Pareene to propose in cubic zirconia, or weeks for a God of the Rod to gift wrap a bag of Skittles.

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Attention Whore of the Month, Emma Sulkowicz (Asian-Eskimo), once accused a man of rape. She whored for femcunt fame by carrying a mattress around campus as if she was doing the Stations of the Mattress.

Her victim story, predictably, did not hold up, not even in the Columbia University kangaroo court. Her cry of rape is a lie. A fabrication. A delusion. Feminists wept, but soldier on in the belief that there’s a “larger theme” to tell. Just #LikeAGirl.

A Regret Rape is a rape that didn’t happen. Let’s cut to the chase: 99% of false rape accusations are made by plain janes who shot the alpha male boyfriend moon and missed, and were bitter about it.

They didn’t get the relationship and alpha boyfriend status feels they imagined should automatically result from sex, so naturally they respond by marching around with a mattress on their backs and marching into Orwellian university anti-sex league offices to falsely charge innocent men of a vile crime. Dat 60/40 female/male campus sex ratio is really starting to fuck with the heads of marginally bangable girls.

OH WELL. I figure feminist hearts and minds will change once greedy lawyers with brass balls throw a few of these FRA cunts into prison and sue a few Ivies into premature endowment withdrawal.

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Asshole Game Week: Day One is here. Day Two here. Day Three here. Day Four here.

The Chateau has plenty of readers already in relationships and (lucifer help you) marriage. Many of them would like to know how to apply asshole game to the women they love and are afraid to drive into boredom because of legal ramifications.

The rules of the Game don’t change when you decide to keep a woman around for longer than a few nights. All that changes is the frequency and intensity of your tactical assault. Instead of “shock and awe”, it’s more like “surprise and delight”.

On that dulcet note, reader Sentient demonstrates by example,

A few notes on asshole game from the confines of a marriage/LTR. Now while these may not have the the same storytelling value of asking a single girl to hold your drink while fucking another girl in front of her, they do render the desired nuclear effect on a fully pampered princess bride, who has grown accustomed to her beta lackey hubby:

1. She asks you to fill her water glass with a whiney “i’m thirsty… and a wiggle of a raised glass” and you say “No thanks”.

2. She asks you to run downstairs and get her xxxx from yyyy and you say “I think you can manage that, it’s good for your glutes too”.

3. She informs you that her BFF has arranged a play date for the kids and you and her an hour away from home at some place you have zero desire to go to, and she expects you to be the driver, as always and you say “Have a good time, not interested”.

4. You make a move for sex at 10 PM on a Wednesday night, she gives you the cold shoulder and something like “we just had sex [fill in the blank] days ago”, and you say “Ok, have a good night”, kiss her on the head and leave the house “not sleepy, going out for a bit” your departing words… a furious litany of hamsterese lighting up your phone for the next hour, which you ignore.

5. and the coup de grace, when she wants to have a BIG TALK ABOUT THE RELATIONSHIP and she says “I don’t like how you have been acting the last [fill in the blank]…” and you look her square in the eye and shrug “you don’t have to”.

BOOOOM goes the dynamite. Relationship reset activated. #winning #welcomebacktestes #tingles

“Relationship Reset” is a good way of putting it. That’s precisely what you want to do. Reset your girlfriend’s or wife’s impression of you. And there’s no hotter button to push than the one that activates a tingle torrent. A million things about you can anger a woman, but if her anger is accompanied by a stirring in her snatch she’ll rationalize your flaws away as if they were puffs of girlish illusion.

Commenter newlyaloof adds a few more Relationship Reset strategies,

#6 Dress/eat differently (adding variety to your life). When wife notices the switch and comments about it, say, “Yeah, I’ve moved on.”

#7 Mention the young, cute girl at the office whenever possible (commute with her if possible too). Instant wife motivator.

#8 Can’t remember who stated this, but if your wife questions anything that you mention, say “Because the words left my mouth, that’s why.”

#6 is thermonuclear, and the blast radius enlarges the longer you can maintain an air of opacity concerning the meaning of your explanation.

I hope everyone enjoyed Asshole Game Week. If popular demand warrants, I may feature another week devoted to the craft of cleaving clefts by psychological axe.

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The Hag Lag

As men get older, or as their social circles enlarge to include women of various ages, they’ll encounter a particular breed of aging beauty who at once provokes pity, annoyance and fascination. She is the eternal ingenue who has aged out of her most intoxicating years, but hasn’t aged enough to realize it. That window of time when awareness hasn’t yet caught up to reality in the Ingenue’s mind is what I call the Hag Lag.

There isn’t a man who has lived a day in his life who won’t recognize the eternal ingenue, or that moment in time when she is stricken by Hag Lag. At her prettiest and most coltish, she weaves allure like Rumplestiltskin did gold. Flouncy, bouncy and announce-y, she knows how to make an entrance, cast an entrancement, and devise an entrapment. She is usually petite, lithe, and ultrafeminine, so few men can resist skipping the LP on their mental pabulum straight to the triple X track the ingenue wants them to hear. (Naturally, she will deny deny deny ever inciting men in this way… it’s just her being her!)

Her female friends hate to love her. They envy her super female-ness and the ardor with which she expresses it, but they love the side benefits of being around her (more high value men). Her taken friends are especially cautious in her company. They see the laser eyes their boyfriends make in the ingenue’s direction.

It’s high drama until, one day, after something relentlessly wicked has crept up on her, the ingenue’s antics assume the maniachromatic tinge of undignified desperation. She has aged, and the graceful lines of her face, so delicately drawn with the sole intent of arousing men to stupendous idiocy, crater against the onslaught. She has none of the physical fortitude of earthier women to withstand even the first ticks of the tock. Her surrender is quick and merciless.

This age of Wall approach roughly corresponds to the late 20s-early 30s, give or take a few five-mimosa brunches in her past. The ingenue parties hardy, and swoons ecstatically, so you might say she has a fast strife history.

But, mentally, she doesn’t know it, or accept it. The eternal ingenue is nothing if not self-confident. Many years can pass and mock her as she struggles to cope with the loss of her only, definitive, power. This is what makes the Hag Lag a concept in tragicomedy. There she is, still doing her early 20s act, but the body and face betray the ruse. She dances and prances, kicking Klieg lights in her direction, and the wet joyous eyes once framed by delectable plush skin now strain in sad sockets, sunken, dry, and a little deranged.

She will eventually come around to her loss, but not before she has humiliated herself to the delight of romantically settled friends. God save her. She bears this punishment as penance for her short, glorious stint filling the world of men with desire and longing to merge with her larger-than-life feminine soul.

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