What Do Women Want? A Master

A reader asked if there were any books I could recommend that explored the psychology of women. I suggested “Story of O” and “9 1/2 Weeks”. (The latter was originally a book which is much better than the movie version.)

There is a maxim among the pick-up community that if you want to know what women want it’s better to watch what they do than listen to what they say. Very true. However, if you are going to listen to what a woman says for clues about her innermost desires, or read what she writes, you would do well to pay attention to what a woman says TURNS HER ON. Not what she says she wants in a hypothetical husband or boyfriend but what she specifically describes that got her horny and hungry for loving penetration. Any editorial commentary about the ideal man can be safely ignored.

The two books above, both written by women and featuring very beautiful female protagonists, are wide-open windows to the id of women’s sexual natures. What we find there is shocking to most, dispiriting to some, and unsurprising to a few. Women reading these books will, despite themselves, become uncomfortably aroused. Men will discover ancient stirrings within themselves they may have thought civilization and a PC academic indoctrination stamped out.

The beatings and brandings the women in the books suffer, provoke, and then eagerly anticipate in turn are distractions from the main message, which is that the self-confidence and exquisitely suffocating domination of the male characters caused the women to fall so helplessly in love with them that the men could do anything, make any demand, and the women would happily go along just to keep their love. Some men can handle this awesome power, some can’t. The man in 9 1/2 Weeks was consumed by his power as much as his lover, and it got the better of him.

These books, taken together with the real world observations of men who actually live lives like those of the men in the books, tell us what women want.

They want a man who takes charge.

A master.

Adopt the attitude of the master, and women will revert to their naturally submissive essence faster and more profoundly than you can scarcely imagine, and no amount of feminist propaganda, insulating credentials, or careerist ladder climbing will stand in the way of their joyous, even relieving, surrender to your intoxicating dominance and confidence.

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Why Nurses Make The Quickest Lays

There’s a good article in the Washington BetaPost written by a hospital internist who laments the growing disconnect between the reality of death and people living in atomized, urban enclaves whose affluence allows them to warehouse their elderly parents into chambers of horrors death’s waiting rooms.

Mass urbanization hasn’t been the only thing to alienate us from the circle of life. Rising affluence has allowed us to isolate senescence. Before nursing homes, assisted-living centers and in-home nurses, grandparents, their children and their grandchildren were often living under the same roof, where everyone’s struggles were plain to see. In 1850, 70 percent of white elderly adults lived with their children. By 1950, 21 percent of the overall population lived in multigenerational homes, and today that figure is only 16 percent. Sequestering our elderly keeps most of us from knowing what it’s like to grow old.

This physical and emotional distance becomes obvious as we make decisions that accompany life’s end. Suffering is like a fire: Those who sit closest feel the most heat; a picture of a fire gives off no warmth. That’s why it’s typically the son or daughter who has been physically closest to an elderly parent’s pain who is the most willing to let go. Sometimes an estranged family member is “flying in next week to get all this straightened out.” This is usually the person who knows the least about her struggling parent’s health; she’ll have problems bringing her white horse as carry-on luggage. This person may think she is being driven by compassion, but a good deal of what got her on the plane was the guilt and regret of living far away and having not done any of the heavy lifting in caring for her parent.

With unrealistic expectations of our ability to prolong life, with death as an unfamiliar and unnatural event, and without a realistic, tactile sense of how much a worn-out elderly patient is suffering, it’s easy for patients and families to keep insisting on more tests, more medications, more procedures.

The human impulse to detach from the specter of death is strong, so it’s understandable people would want to get away from it as much as possible. I have vivid memories of being escorted through an ICU ward, so heavy with the stink and sight of dying, mechanically assisted bodies contorted in pulleys and displayed in giant plastic bubbles, their lesions and bloat and sickly droop mocking the thread of life they cling to, that I nearly choke on the most fleeting recollection and search for an expedient distraction.

So I have to wonder how people who are surrounded by death all day, every day, manage the burden — families whose old, dying parents live with them, doctors who treat the husks of humans lingering in the limbo between living and the illimitable void. Most condition themselves to it, having honed a preternatural ability to sever their emotions from the constant reminders of mortality that accompany every dying person like a gloomy chaperone.

So what does this have to do with nurses and game, you ask? I have this running compendium in my hed of my lifetime lays, because of all my memories, it’s the ones spent intimately with lovers I strive the hardest to keep well-formed and prevent from dissipating into the murky mists. This is my tribute to their love. Some of these sex memories are technicolor brilliant, some are romantically hazy, some curiously abstract.

Two lays in particular stick out, both with girls who were nurses. And not GP nurses. One was ER, the other worked in a children’s cancer ward. They saw death, the worst kinds of death, on a daily basis. Sex with them was exuberant, unhinged even. There was little foreplay; they couldn’t wait to get their clothes off and my dick inside them. One would impatiently hike her skirt up and drop her panties as soon as I walked through the door, then back up into my daggering manhood, heaving a satisfied sigh upon penetration, like a junkie who just depressed the syringe.

While it was not, qualitatively speaking, the *best* sex I’ve ever had, it was certainly the most frantic, and the fastest from “hi” to “slide it in”. Both of these girls banged on the first dates. They were not ones for drawn-out seduction dramas in the bedroom of the LMR variety; kisses always followed couplings.

This is what those in proximity to death do — they embrace life more fully, and part of that embracing is total sexual abandon. For what besides sex, the generation pool of life, is a bigger middle finger in the face of death? Skydiving while having sex, maybe.

One of these nurses, it should be noted, had a father who was considerably older than her mother. Almost her whole life the looming of her father’s end must have surely weighed on her. Coyness was not part of her vocabulary. Hungry copulation was.

A familiarity with death might put a stop to escalating medical costs as more enlightened people choose to let their old relatives pass into the ether as part of a natural, unimpeded progression. It might reverse demographic decline seen in the form of childlessness, a condition caused in part by insulation from death’s omnipresence among the privileged class which obscures revelation of their finiteness. Familiarity has other benefits: it inculcates a powerful will to live for experience, to grasp that the doorstep of death misses no one, to apprehend that the luxuries of boredom and ennui are the province of the derelict who has fooled himself to believe forever is now.

But my favorite death-accepance benefit: quick lays!

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It’s Time For Women To Woman Up

There’s been a lot of talk lately in the mainstream (read: leftist) media organs about the rising numbers of single moms and their bastard spawn in America, a dystopian trend to which hosts at Le Chateau were generous enough to alert the reading audience on and off over the past four years. The hand-wringing, the excusing and the rationalizing have reached a fever pitch as sob stories of tragicomic proportions litter the pages of esteemed broadsheets like the Beta Times. It’s a crescendo of heartwarming, anti-male anecdotes about poor, put-upon single moms with snot machines in tow bitterly complaining about the lack of good, reliable men.

Reading this gruesome tripe, something occurs to me. Not once, not anywhere, is the point of view of the typical man in these benighted communities across America examined. Nowhere did I find a mention, even the slightest acknowledgement, of the responsibility that women bear to attract a decent man for marriage and future fatherhood. It’s just assumed that men alone are the sex abdicating their societal duty, that all women need to do is show up, no matter how broken, bedraggled and burdened with bastards, and men will feel an overwhelming urge to marry these unfeminine, spiteful ogresses and provide for them. Yeah right!

Peruse any feminist or beta male columnist pontificating on the single mom + illegitimate hellion phenomenon, and the message condenses to a screech against male desire, tantamount to a lede saying “Men drop out, women and children suffering, men need to man up”. Someone should acquaint this crowd with the saying “it takes two to tango”.

If you want to know why men are running away from marriage, children and beta provisioning, one major reason is that the women available to these working class men are flat out disgusting. Take a look for yourself. What man of normal mental health and active libido wants to romantically woo and date, let alone marry, a beastly, waddling tatted mountain of pustulence with the issue of three other men barking and nipping at her cankles?

If you were a man with diminishing job prospects and stagnant wages thanks to mass low-skill immigration and automation, would you “man up” and “do your duty” for the sake of societal health and elite approval if the only women in your milieu are snorting megafauna hiding week-old salami in their stomach folds and eager to have you babysit their fatherless womb filth? Or would you say “fuck it”, hit the XBox and apply a dollop of asshole game to score a succession of flings and one night stands with the few remaining slender babes in your neighborhood?

And let’s not forget that economically empowered and government-assisted women, slaves to their hypergamous impulse for higher status mates than themselves, can’t help but winnow the pool of men deemed acceptable marriage material. When women say “there are no good men left”, what the astute observer hears is “there are no good men left thanks to a combination of my increased expectations and decreased attractiveness.”

So instead of facing the sexual market head on and grappling with its workings, you get “family values” white knighting numbskulls like BIll Bennett, lost for anything insightful to say, berating men for abandoning those incorruptible angels known as women, and feminists like Katie Roiphe, doing what feminists divorced from reality do best, recasting single momhood and bastard spawn into a valid alternative lifestyle that we should all show more tolerance toward, and redefining standards of civilized family functioning to avoid the omnipresent gaze of the evil eye of judginess.

And there you have the crassest self-deception of the traditionalist and feminist mindset laid bare: the former refusing to understand that standards of sexual behavior are a two-way street, the latter refusing to accept that standards of sexual behavior can’t be waved away to turn losers into winners.

If single momhood and bastard spawn are the blights on civilized Western society that all the data and real world observations indicate they are, then this blog’s simple program to save the institution of marriage is required reading for the “experts”. I’d add the following suggestions you won’t see in the mainstream media to encourage marriage and the formation of two-parent households among the non-elite classes:

Women —

Lose weight. Stop being so goddamned fat. Men are more willing to provide for women who are young and slender.

Learn to use contraception. Do not get pregnant outside of marriage. Men really don’t like taking on the responsibility of children not their own.

Try not to fuck around so much. Men are not enthusiastic about marrying women whose vaginas have played host to numerous cocks before them.

Government — 

Stop paying women for pumping out broods of bastards. You get more of what you pay for. Let the infants die of exposure if necessary. There’s nothing like the starvation death of a newborn child to clarify the mind.

Stop offering incentives to women to attend college and training classes. End all affirmative action for women. Governmental incentives like this effectively price working class men out of marriage contention.

Stop making laws that mandate companies have to accommodate pregnant women and mothers. Substituting big daddy government for beta provider men means fewer beta provider men.

“Experts” —

Relearn the valuable lesson that shame is a great motivator of human behavior. Stop normalizing the abnormal. Call a spade a spade, a bastard spawn a bastard spawn. This is the kind of hammer blow to the head that the lower classes need so that they know which life choices are good for them and which life choices are bad for them.

Do not be afraid to be judgmental. Judgment is alpha.

Self-esteem is not a virtue, it is a symptom. Get the causality straight.

Feminists —

Shoot yourselves. Seriously. You do no one but your own tender egos any good. Your semantic wordplay does nothing to thwart the inevitable reckoning.

Lords of Lies —

Start thinking about what kind of society your lies will create in the long term. That is, if you care at all.

Men —

Read this blog. If the rules won’t play by you, then learn to play by your own rules.

And finally, to the factory-farmed ivory tower sociologists studying marriage trends and turning out paper after paper of half-assed hogwash: there’s a whole other world out there. It’s the world of men, and in that world, men’s desires matter. You should think about incorporating that ugly reality into your theories.

In short, men will man up when women woman up. Because women, as the gatekeepers of sex, get the men they deserve. And, more often than not, what they deserve is what they want.

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Occupy Bitter Spinsters

There’s nothing funnier than lonely, unloved feminists stewing in their angostura bitters. They bring out the sadist in me.

Down with couple-talism!

A reader forwarded a link to a website called Occupy Valentine’s Day, created by an ur-feminist who is the executive editor of Feministing.

[V Day] puts pressure on couples to be a certain way, it privileges one type of love (think heteronormativity!) and it makes single people feel incomplete.

Like most outcasts nursing grudges, she has a thing against normal people behaving in normal ways.

we can use Valentine’s Day to raise awareness about the limited ways we think about romance.

In the past, petulant sophists like this would be ignored and allowed to fade into obscurity. Today, they get a platform and a sympathetic media treatment.
When the degenerate is elevated to a voice of wisdom
and the customary and ordinary subverted
confusion arrests the strongest hearts
until weakness is to excellence inverted.

The goal of the OVD website, near as a sane person can tell, is a hodgepodge advocacy of the usual rainbow coalition and femcunt agenda crap, plus a general lashing out at love and anything that smacks of romantic gestures shared between a man and a woman (romantic gestures between man and man, woman and woman, and spinster and cat are perfectly fine, though).

Blog about how traditional ideas of romance perpetuate gender inequalities and hurt people of all genders

If taking my girl out to a romantic nighttime spot for heavy petting under the silver moon manages to perpetuate gender inequalities and make life miserable for the rejects who post on Occupy Valentine’s Day, I consider that a successful two-fer.

Have a sexy conversation by candlelight with your partner about structural inequity

You think this is a parody, but then you remember that feminists have no sense of humor. All real, all retarded.

Commit to never settling for anyone who is not good enough for you just because you are afraid to spend another Valentine’s Day alone

Ever notice how women with the fewest reasons to feel entitled are often the ones who most loudly proclaim their refusal to settle?

These are just a few ways we can use Valentine’s Day to raise awareness about the limited ways we think about romance.

Maxim #210: If you are using a romantic holiday as a pretext to raise awareness instead of raise erections, you are probably a fat loser.

Celebrating love is wonderful and romance can be great too. But we don’t need corporations to dictate how we should do it, a mainstream media chastising us for not doing it right or traditional ideas touted over and over by our friends and family.

Hey, I’ve got not problem with skipping out on the corporatized aspect of V-Day. I’ll be the first guy to tell men they don’t need cards and chocolate to inspire girls to feel love. Nothing kills romance faster than dreary obligation. The difference between me and this feminist loser is that I don’t make a capital case out of traditional romantic gestures as being somehow symbolic of hatred for weirdos, dweebs, fatties and fuglies who can’t get a date.

That shit is oppressive and hurts us more than helps.

You can pinpoint the exact moment in history when the West began its decline as the moment when we started caring what spiteful losers think. A little oppression and hurtfulness is a healthy society’s cleansing mechanism. Time to reoccupy the icy wastelands with society’s waste product.

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Female Hypergamy Getting Acknowledged By The Mainstream

How influential is this blog? Well, four years ago, Le Chateau Heartiste was writing about the overlooked social and sexual phenomenon of female hypergamy, and how this innate biological female predisposition has ramifications for a society’s structure and well-being. A term was coined by yer humble narrators for the changes being wrought in America and the West by the advancement of feminism, equalism and corporate globalism: the Four Sirens of the Sexual Apocalypse.

A recurring theme here, and one that has gone wholly underappreciated by our elites on the Left and the Right, is how insidiously the culture and the sexual market have changed since the advent of the Four Sirens of the Sexual Apocalypse. As a helpful reminder, here are the four sirens I’m talking about:

1. Effective and widely available contraceptives (the Pill, condom, and the de facto contraceptive abortion).
2. Easy peasy no-fault divorce.
3. Women’s economic independence (hurtling towards women’s economic advantage if the college enrollment ratio is any indication).
4. Rigged feminist-inspired laws that have caused a disincentivizing of marriage for men and an incentivizing of divorce for women.

As I have written, these changes are slowly, but powerfully, tectonically shifting the courtship playing field. The big winners are alpha males and the big losers are beta males.

Recently, thanks in part to the release of Charles Murray’s new book “Coming Apart“, there’s been a flurry of acknowledgement from the 1% bloggers that female hypergamy is real and its unleashed version may indeed be having tremendous effects on the shitty direction American society is currently heading. Ol’ Cheap Chalupas himself has been getting in on the action with a series of posts examining the issue. The comments are illuminative, particularly the ones from some rascally rogue going by the handle “CH”.

you know, it’s not like we don’t have historical precedent for this sort of sociosexual and cultural dystopia leading to civilizational collapse. the fact that female hypergamy — or other very unPC taboo subjects such as those concerning group population differences in civilizationally advantageous traits — wasn’t even on the smartypants pundit radar until, oh, right about now, should tell us how vigorously the elites in control of our discourse need to be pummeled over the head with the facts on the ground. It’s gonna be funny when, on the night before the long day of the rope, our leading light intellectuals confront the past 60 years of their cherished beliefs and realize it was all a pack of lies and wrongheadedness.

And when they do, they can look back at this blog — when no one’s watching them, of course — and tell themselves “Well, it’s not like we weren’t ridiculed warned.”

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Not All Bodies Are Good Bodies!

A delusional feminist (but I repeat myself) who started a Facebook group called “Pinup Girl Clothing” (don’t ask, it’s stupid), has uploaded a photo of five women with less than ideal bodies and a helpful caption explaining her reason for doing so:

There’s another one of those “this is sexier than this” photos going viral right now, so we’d like to offer an alternative. ALL women are “real” and there is no wrong way to have a body. ♥ Vanessa

The two things feminists hate most: standards, and men who make no apology for their sexual desire.

Let’s have a look at that photo demonstrating the equivalence in attractiveness between women of… unconventional body shapes:

What we have here, from left to right:

1. dumpy, hipless plain jane tatted up to distract from her prepubescent boy’s body
2. morbidly obese cow
3. thin chick whose torso is stretched too long in proportion to her legs
4. obese behemoth
5. masculinized cougar

What immediately jumps out is that the photographer chose a spindly, weirdly contoured chick to stand in for the conventional hourglass-shaped slender babe that nearly all men love and desire. Had a normally proportioned thin girl like this one…

…been chosen instead, then the other four girls would look so much worse in comparison, and we can’t have that reality upsetting the narrative. Nonetheless, even with her body flaws, the thin, pretty blonde in the middle is the most bangable. Tatboy would barely inspire a half-mast chub, the Jabba twins are right out, and most men don’t want to caress rippling triceps and six pack abs on a woman. Especially a woman cresting the hill and in sight of the wall.

Women who can’t compete with the most desired women, or who fall tantalizingly short of competing, or who once competed by now no longer do, must get some kind of deep, ego-sparing emotional satisfaction by telling themselves blatant lies about the reality of female attractiveness and male attraction standards. If women didn’t have an IQ-lowering herd mentality and an obesity epidemic disfiguring the majority of them that prompted them to sing amens in unison every time a femborg shrieked out another reality-denying whopper, we’d hear far less of this crap blaring from all our media channels. Loser chicks would go back to licking their ego wounds the old-fashioned way — by taking up poetry and staring pensively out a bedroom window.

So, for the short bus regulars (this includes you, ♥Vanessa)…

Beauty is objectively measurable. Slender women are more attractive than fat women to the overwhelming majority of men. There was never a time when men liked fat women. A 0.7 waist-to-hip ratio is the most attractive body shape for a woman. A BMI of 20.85 is the most attractive weight for a woman. A young, healthy woman with clear skin is more attractive than an old, unhealthy woman with blotchy skin. Yes, ♥Vanessa, there is a sexual marketplace, women are just as much a commodity to be bartered in this marketplace as men are, there is no alternative to this reality, and there IS a wrong way to have a body.

Hope this hurts.

But at least some women get it.

Brianna Montana: the girl in the middle is not too skinny by far… Shes just in the middle of 2 fat bitches so it makes her look exxxtra tiny.

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Direct Game Essentials

A reader wants to know if high octane direct game will get a guy laid consistently.

I stumbled onto this post during my normal stroll through the pick up artist forums.

He claims to basically be completely direct with his game. I’ve never heard of people being THAT direct. Telling a girl she’s sexy like that, seems a bit awkward and douchey.

I’m mailing you because I’m curious what do you think? Could being so direct get great results?

I won’t get into a long-winded discussion of the eternal question of direct vs. indirect game here. I’ll save that for future posts. But I will tell you that there are a handful of prerequisites — essentials — that you should abide if you want to see any sort of repeatable success with direct game.

1. Don’t be shitfaced.

Yes, the guy in the field report linked by the reader was intoxicated, and he managed a groping make-out and a number close. But most men, most of the time, are going to get blown out if they approach chicks sloppy drunk while sputtering how “sexxxxxyyy” they are. It’s simply too easy for a girl to brush off a man’s direct come-on if he’s reeking of liquor and slurring his words. Exception: if she’s equally drunk. (Not to say a little liquid courage won’t help. Just don’t drink past the point of self-awareness.)

2. Don’t target the obnoxious attention whores.

These kinds of girls are *expecting* direct solicitations, just so they can relish the shoot down. Counterintuitively, it’s often the more reserved, conservatively dressed girls who are showing a little more skin than they usually do who will crumble like feta cheese under the onslaught of a sexual direct approach. It is a myth that only skanks are DTF. Good girls will jump into the sack just as fast with the right guy spitting the right game.

3. Look for signs of ovulation in your targets.

You should pay more attention to body language than to what she’s saying. Ovulating girls are the ripest picks for one night stands, and you’ll notice by how flushed she is when talking to you, how many times she crosses her legs or shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and how often she licks her lips or tugs at her hair whether her egg has embarked on its journey. Science has shown that ovulating girls tend to show more cleavage and thigh, so keep an eye out for miniskirts and low cut tops.

4. Start direct, then switch to indirect, then back to direct.

Read the linked field report. You’ll notice the guy opens with “You’re sexy as fuck” (which, btw, is NOT an invitation to fuck a la the apocalypse opener), then downshifts to nonsexual rapport and teases her about her dancing skill, and then upshifts to a direct sexual solicitation when body contact between the two of them is at its maximum. This direct-indirect-direct system sustains the direct sexual approach by introducing the variables of male unpredictability and outcome independence, two things which all girls love in men.

5. It’s obvious, but bears repeating: overconfidence is king in direct game.

Any hint — I mean ANY CRUMB of a hint — that your sexually aggressive come-on is a farce, or was pursued with less than full sincerity, and she will blow you out. You have to be doubtless in your desirability, fearless in your attack, and dauntless in your commitment to victory. She smells the faintest whiff of self-doubt, hesitancy or smarmy backpedaling, and you will be pissily rejected.

6. Avoid romantic flattery.

“You’re sexy as fuck” sounds like a cocky compliment from a guy who just wants to jackhammer your pussy. “I have to say you’re really beautiful” sounds like a sycophantic plea from a beta who already dreams about long walks on the beach with you. Which guy do you think a girl is more likely to want to fuck one hour after meeting? You can pull off the latter with alpha body language, but you’re better served maximizing congruency between what you say and how much command you say it with.

7. Be prepared to lead, every second.

A guy who leads a girl everywhere and all the time prevents her from rethinking her desire to sleep with him. A body in motion tends to stay sexually available unless acted upon by a fat cockblock. Never ask. Tell her what you two are doing, and don’t wait for a decision-making caucus to develop. Bar, dance floor, another bar, another bar, alleyway, doorstep. No rest for the horny.

8. Don’t overgame.

Direct game pares down the seduction process to its bare bones. If you start flying off on tangents like “the cube” or storytelling, the raw sexual energy of the direct pickup will dissipate. A girl relinquishing herself to a sexually aggressive man expects it to feel like a power has taken hold over her conscious faculties and she has no defense to his wiles. This is an accelerated zone of seduction where the normal rules get truncated.

***

The relevant question to everyone reading here is, of course: Will I have more success on a more consistent basis with direct game, or with indirect game?

Unfortunately, I can’t answer this reasonable question with conviction one way or the other. My own personal style is indirect, though I have dabbled with direct game, to mixed results. Most of the seduction community practices indirect game, so if popularity is a measure of a game strategy’s effectiveness, then you’d have to give the nod to indirect game. (Direct gamers would counter that indirect is popular with most men because it takes more balls to pull off direct game. They have a point.)

There are other variables that need addressing before we can settle this matter one way or the other.

– Are very good-looking or muscular men better off running direct or indirect game? The answer to this is not obvious.

– What about significantly older men or uglier men or shorter men? Indirect game may limit the number of blowouts experienced by these men. Conversely, direct game may offer them a channel in which to rapidly demonstrate their overconfidence, thus bypassing the reflexive blowout. Again, the answer is not obvious.

– Are there contexts in which direct and indirect game have inherent advantages? My experience is that girls respond better to indirect during the day and direct at night in clubs, but I don’t have a wealth of direct day game data to test this hypothesis.

– Do some kinds of girls respond better to direct? Indirect? Unsurprisingly, a man I once knew who specializes in cougars (it’s not a difficult specialization) says that older women melt for his direct game. Ovulating coke whores with low digit ratios probably swoon for direct game, as well.

Finally, this dichotomy of direct versus indirect may have outlived its usefulness. Thinking on my pickups, it occurs to me that many of them were mash-ups of direct and indirect game. I use the best of both. Then there’s the definitional issue: direct game comes in many forms. “You’re sexy as fuck” is certainly direct, but it’s not an invitation to fuck. There’s plausible deniability of intention in that exclamation. “I want to take you home and fuck you”… now, that’s a direct come-on which leaves no room for hamster-fueling misinterpretation.

And this gets to the heart of the direct-indirect debate: namely, INTENTION. Direct game is the art of communicating your intention to fuck, sooner and stronger rather than later and weaker. Indirect game is the art of transparently concealing your intention to fuck in a cloak of plausible, yet tissue-thin, deniability. Either way, with direct or indirect, a girl whose social IQ is above room temperature and below genius-level autism is going to know you are talking to her because you eventually want to ravage her naked body. Your job, should you choose to accept it, is to determine who among the pretty constellation of hot babes wants their seduction straight up smashmouth style, and who among them wants to experience the sublime thrill of fraught flirtation.

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