Did Obama Have Game?

The fate of the world may hinge on whether Obama was once a lady slayer. Commenter Sp5 writes:

Based on this article about the judgment of his ex-girlfriends, Obama did have game, at least in his early years:

“In one diary entry from February 1984, Ms Cook – a girlfriend for more than a year – noted that in their relationship “the sexual warmth is definitely there – but the rest of it has sharp edges”.

She recalled “feeling anger” at Mr Obama, whose “warmth can be deceptive”. Foreshadowing a criticism often levelled at the President today, she said: “Though he speaks sweet words there is also that coolness”.

. . . . In another entry, she wrote that there was “so much going on beneath the surface, out of reach,” adding that Mr Obama was “guarded, controlled.””

If this woman’s recollection is true, it’s definitely evidence in favor of Obama having once had game. (I say “having once had”, because the First Linebacker seems to have beaten it out of him.) The description of Obama’s attitude — c.f. his state control — shares similarities with that of alpha males and charismatic men. Many womanizers are affectionate and sexual, but keep a psychological arm’s length between themselves and their quarry, which of course motivates the women to chase the men for more commitment and love. If you were wondering, this is a good position to be in as a man, because it allows you to call the shots.

Naturals and alpha males, in fact, are more apt than are niceguys and beta males to objectify and compartmentalize women. Yet, to listen to feminist complaints, you’d think the exact opposite was the reality. But that’s just because feminists in particular, and women in general, are constitutionally incapable of admitting the truth about the contours of their sexual desire.

My personal theory about our hope and changer is that the burdens of his intrinsic duality and loneliness that all racial halfies must bear, and the especially painful bitterness that abandoned sons of deadbeat fathers and emotionally distant mothers nurse their whole lives, eventually won the battle with his easygoing cool side, subsuming his game charms under a thin veneer of barely concealed seething resentment and racial solidarity mongering (it’s human nature to want to feel part of a distinct group, and this is doubly so if your group membership cred is questionable). Nevertheless, hints of Obama’s game survive to this day, mostly in the way he has mastered the art of mirroring — pretending to listen to people and regurgitate their thoughts even when he thinks differently. Obama is a cipher, and ciphers are often some of the most devastatingly charming ladykillers.

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The Problem With Single Women Having The Vote

When you don’t have an alpha male in your personal life to admire and rely on for support (partly because you make your own money and don’t feel a pressing need to have a middle class compliment&cuddle herb around for security), you turn to the next facsimile — the substitute alpha male who promises limitless resources for you and your future sprogling. This substitute alpha male is The State, and its shaman emissary is Obama.

Don’t believe me? Check the polls.

If President Barack Obama wins a second term, he may have to thank all the single ladies: A new poll out Wednesday shows Obama crushing Mitt Romney among unmarried women by a lopsided 60%-31% margin. […]

The Quinnipiac survey found Romney up 54%-35% among married men and 49%-42% among married women. Obama led 47%-38% among single men and  60%-31% among single women.

Single women are bankrupting this country. And they don’t give a shit, as long as they get theirs, which includes tingles.

Marriage does seem to be at least a partial cure, but with overall marriage rates falling, and age of first marriage delayed, it’s likely the Gimmedat Party will soon demographically overwhelm national elections and put the “opposition” into permanent minority status. Couple this trend with the Mexodus where 2/3rds of all Amerindian migrants — and that’s a lot of them now — will vote for Gimmedats no matter what, and you are looking at a recipe for stark, self-interested regionalism and possible secession, coming soon to a deteriorating bread and circus pledge drive near you.

But, cheers, at least you got the latest comparatively advantaged, slave-labor iPhone and some cheap chalupas!

Related, Whiskey left a pretty good comment over at Sailer’s:

I wish immigration WAS a deciding factor for how Whites vote, but it just isn’t. White women don’t get harmed by it, there’s all those immigrant kids to teach, NGO-mind, and status monger over. Who taught me that?

STEVE SAILER.

The marginal vote gained by emphasizing immigration loses two (female) votes; Romney is a numbers guy, its why he emphasized it but not much on the GOP trail, and not at all tonight.

Does anyone think the undecided are going to vote for a guy who wants to deport illegals? Really? When those voters are overwhelmingly White and female? And single?

As Steve pointed out, the declining White share of the vote makes bigger White proportions mandatory for winning. If Romney wants to win, he has to get more than McCain’s 60% of the White vote. That means WOMEN. Since Obama took White single women by over 70%, and has an edge over abortion, contraception, paying for it, female preferences, culture wars, and the like. Romney can’t win them but he can cut say that percentage down by 10%.

And in office he can without fanfare on the margins increase deportations, fines for employing illegals (hit Chipotle hard), and the like. Marginal changes are all we have got, because Whites are smaller percentages of voters.

Do any of you know any actual women? They despise to a woman social conservatism, and anti-immigration measures like deportation as “cruel” and reactionary. Pandering to them is necessary. I’d rather have less bad than awful.

Whiskey is onto something. I swim among single women — mostly white, mostly educated and/or intelligent, in their 20s and 30s — and I can assure you they have a rock hard clit boner for Obama and leftie policies in general. Romney may as well be the anti-Christ when he’s not some buffoon at whom they happily lob insipid snark bombs. I can count on three fingers the number of unmarried girls I know who aren’t reflexively pro-O-face. And even among those women who might have some sympathies for anti-Gimmedat viewpoints, any hint that you were against eternally welcoming open borders to the third world would send them spinning into point and sputter orbit.

This is the reality we live in. It’s status whoring and self-righteous hypocritical white girl preening all the way down. The people have suckled on the Big Daddy Government teat for too long, and they ain’t giving it up. Single women are the worst teat sucklers because it is in the nature of women, before they have had their estrogenic rocket fuel burned out of them by marriage and children, to extract as many resources from the tribe’s public pot as they can manage, and to dispense as much of the public till to sympathetic groups in a showy self-annihilation of pathological altruism.

And men, the majority of them generally being weak-willed betas all too happy to dance to young babes’ tunes, have neither the balls nor the heart to call them out for their vapid politics. Many white men are so manboobed they actually yearn for their dispossession, both demographically and politically, like some cuckold fetishist lubing his palm with his salty tears and pulling forlornly at his purple pud in the corner as he gets psychologically ass-rammed by his gleeful tormentors.

As the day must yield to night, so did suffrage yield to anarcho-tyranny.

So, there is nothing really that Romney can do, that heeds the media’s constraints on his party for acceptable discourse, to win over this group. He has three choices that stand a chance:

1. Become Gimmedat Lite and hope to peel off a sliver of the single mom contingent, and then rule differently once in office (fat chance), sacrificing a second term for the greater good.

2. Maximize his gains among single white men. If he can get that group to vote for him 80-20, then the 70-30 advantage O-face has among single white women is nullified.

3. Hope that the polls are lying because people are saying what they think the pollsters want to hear.

Right now, number one is what’s happening, and even then I don’t think Romney pulls this off. Why settle for a poor imitation of the real thing?

In a future post, I will discuss how crime thinkers such as yourself can successfully navigate the sexual market of leftie SWPL chicks without scaring them off or suffering undue mental distress. Hint: Be a sly motherfucker.

Addendum:

Will white chicks flock to the alpha male, regardless of his politics? That’s a good question. The alpha allure may have met its match against the promises of the sexless, bottomless beta provider of the nanny state government. Romney out-alpha’ed Obama in the debate…

YOU GOT ALPHA’ED!

…but Obama still holds the trump card of being the guy who represents the dream of every girl to have a harem of eunuch beta male orbiters showering her with emotional support and money while demanding nothing in return. It’ll be interesting to see if the polls budge among women in favor of Romney because he looked like a boss disciplining a lackadaisical employee during the debate. Obama’s head nodding while Romney dressed him down was a huge beta tell, and women pick up on that subtle body language stuff. If they are sufficiently turned off, this election could be up for grabs.

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Game And HBD: BFFs

Haha. I bet you read the title and thought this post would be a lengthy treatise on the shared philosophical underpinnings of game and human biodiversity (HBD). Psyche!

A reader emails:

Hello. I’d like to add the entry of Game to the HBD Dictionary:

As a rough draft entry, I have:

Game:  Using insights from evolutionary psychology and human biodiversity, game teaches men, especially beta males, how to simulate the attitudes and characteristics of alpha males so as to be more attractive to females.

Again, a rough draft.  Feel free to re-write.

Also, if you can think of any other terms that need to be added or revisions to current terms, please let me know.

I don’t have a major problem with the crux of this reader’s definition of game. I see what he’s getting at. I might rephrase it to: “Using insights from evolutionary psychology and real world experience bedding women…”, but then the peer review panel would get the hives. However, I don’t think a definition should be nested (if that’s the right word); that is, a good definition won’t require the reader to have to look up the definitions of fuzzy words within the main definition (e.g., “beta males” or “alpha males”).

How about this definition instead (and one that avoids using the word game within the definition)?:

Game, noun

A systematized blueprint of male behavior for attracting, courting and seducing women in an efficient and powerful manner based on the practical application of theories of human, and particularly female, sexuality derived from the insights of evolutionary psychology, biology and real world experimentation.

Any alternate suggestions from the peanut gallery?

PS I do think game and HBD greatly overlap, despite the commonly held misconceptions that HBD is a synonym for genetic determinism or that game is a synonym for boundless behavioral plasticity.

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A Virgin Mormon’s Journey To Game

A reader who shall remain unidentified sent this story about his first time in a girl’s pussy. Names, venues and locations were changed by the reader to protect the privacy of those involved. I can’t vouch for the truthfulness of this tale. As is usual in these circumstances where anonymity is necessary, the policy is “what you read is what you get”. You may choose to believe or disbelieve.

******
Dear CH, this is my story. It is all true and has been edited to ensure real names, venue names and locations are not revealed. I’m not asking for feedback because there is much to read and much to learn from CH, and I simply have a lot of reading and learning to do.

I gift this story to you. I thought of you mid-pump. I could feel your god-like presence looking down on me with a look of patronistic-pride. [ed: no homo!]

Feel free to post any of this on CH, in fact it would be an honour, but I’m satisfied with the hope that you’ll read this and hopefully smile like a father watching his son ride a bike without training wheels for the first time. [ed: i know that feel, bro.]

The following interaction occurred in a country like England or Australia or The United States or New Zealand or Canada. I am 24 years old and recently made a big change in my life; I divorced my affiliation from the Church of Latter Day Saints (Mormons), my ultra-conservative Mormon family and 95% of my Mormon friends. I’m more or less on my own and the ‘moral’ floodgates are open; everything is fair game. This isn’t my excuse for not getting my fuck on earlier though. Had the hot and heavy opportunity landed in my lap (heh), I probably would have seized it. So I’m no saint as I have more than my lion’s share of really big fuck ups, but the few rules I tried to follow were related to drinking, drugs and pre-marital sex, etc. The ones your parents generally care about.

This is a true story with names changed or censored.
This is how I parted ways with my virginity.
You really can’t make this shit up.

(Note: All my life I’ve been a beta/nice-guy/just-friend, I’d never kissed a girl or anything beyond that… I’ve read the beginning of The Game by Neil Strauss up until the part where the NLP guy is doing shit with the sauce bottles. Prior to these events, I had frequented the Chateau less than a dozen times and felt like none of it could work for me… Looking back, I applied maybe 1% of things I had read and what my friends had advised me to do with girls, etc… In the last 3 months I’ve spooned with 3 different girls, the last one of whom I fingered and sucked on her tits (lol, yes, they were all awake and sober at the time also). Ha, the girl I fingered however… Man oh man did I suffer a terrible case of the blue-balls because of it… I could hardly walk or sit down, for the rest of the day. Fuck you 8th grade sex-ed teacher for saying blue-balls is just a myth. Up until the events as detailed below, I was a ‘classical’ virgin to all purposes and extents.

My dear friend Adam said to me after I retold these sordid events to him, “You did what you did as a beta. Imagine what you could achieve if you worked on your inner game and became a lesser alpha…”

Imagine it. Done.

—

The Dawn of my non-Virgin Self, by “m”.

23 August 2012

It was a Thursday evening and the weather wasn’t great. It had been raining for most of the day, grey skies and general gloom. Fuck it, I’m going out if anyone else is. By the time the night rolled around the weather had changed a little for the better. It was still bitterly cold which is very much par for the course in this city.

At 5:28 pm I texted Jane Stevenson: hey Janey, let’s go out tonight. celebrations are in order 🙂

I went and had a shower in anticipation for the night ahead. No plans were in the making other than the hope that Jane (Janey) would reply to my text and meet me in the city for drinks. At around 10:20 pm with no reply, I called Janey hoping she’d finished her basketball game (she plays basketball on Thursday nights) to see what she was doing. My call rang through to her voicemail and I hung up.

At 10:23 pm Jane Stevenson texted me: Hey! Sorry, I meant to text you. I’m at a 21st at Titanium, so we’re already out. What’re your plans? And what are we celebrating!?

At 10:24 pm I texted Jane Stevenson: haha, don’t bail, i’ll tell you what we’re celebrating when i get there 🙂

I promptly got dressed and fixed up my hair before heading out to the city. I parked in the “Horsing Around” car park and walked to Titanium Bar. Janey and her friend Hannah were standing next to a wall opposite the far end of the bar. I approached them and she noticed me and as we made contact, she put her arms around me, hello, blah, etc. She asked me what we were celebrating and I told her it was somewhat bittersweet… I told her that a job opportunity had come up in the capital city and that I not only got the job, but I was the preferred candidate for the role, “I’m moving away”. Janey and I have only met a handful of times but there has been obvious chemistry each time we met. I should have escalated things with her prior to tonight, but hindsight can go fuck itself in this particular instance. She said something to the effect of, “well I’m sure I’ll see you when you come to visit and I’ll try and come up to see you too”. This I liked. She introduced me to some of her friends and the 21st birthday boy, “[redacted]”.

Being the inexperienced drinker that I am (because of my prior “Mormonism”), I ordered a Tequila on the rocks (Jose Cuervo Especial) and it tasted of unwashed Mexican feet. It also cost me $9. Janey and a couple of her girlfriends were playfully giggling at me because of my drinking inexperience and the faces of pained disgust I was exaggerating. It was all cute, really. I went back to the bar and ordered a Red Bull to clean the flavour out of my mouth and thought I’d mix the two to see if it got any better. It did get a little better, but not by much. The Red Bull cost me $7. Janey advised me to stick with vodka and that I won’t regret it. These fucking prices also, goddamn.

It was decided that we would all leave Titanium Bar and go to McFadden’s Pub. When we finally got there (it’s about 4 blocks away) we were told by some members of the group who had left earlier that it was dead inside and the music was shit (they play the top 40, what were you expecting?), and we proceeded to return to the main nightclub strip. All the while we were walking to McFadden’s Pub and now back again, I was walking beside Janey, talking shit and applying a little kino when crossing the street. I was going to jaywalk in front of oncoming traffic (I would have made it across without issue) and Janey grabbed me by the torso and pulled me back into her, to save my life perhaps (lol). I put my arms around her and said, somewhat mockingly, “what, you care that much for me?” to which she replied, “I don’t like to see people get hurt.” I smirked at her and she smiled. We got to the front of Minq and waited for the birthday boy who had apparently gone off with a girl to get some food, however after having stood in the cold for 5 minutes his friends started calling him to see what was going on. Apparently he’d gone home (I don’t know if the girl went home with him or not) because he’d had a big enough night. Mind you, it couldn’t have been later than midnight at this point. “Some 21st”.

24 August 2012

When we got inside Minq we went to the dance floor and proceeded to dance in the fashion that SWPL youth dance. After about 15-20 minutes we left the dance floor and went to the bar overlooking the dance floor. I ordered a Vodka Red Bull (Red Bull Silver Edition: Lime). It cost me $10. After I finished my drink, Janey grabbed my arm and told me she and some of her friends were going downstairs for a cigarette break. I joined them so as not to be left alone in the club. During this cigarette break, some acquaintances of Janey’s joined us (apparently they were Canadian and [White] South Africans studying at a private school). Though I cannot recall his name, perhaps for lack of caring to, one of the South Africans I will refer to as WK had a keen interest in Janey. To my dismay (beta feelings), she seemed to reciprocate his advances and they kissed openly in the street. He was clearly the AMOG and applied kino aggressively and effectively. He also ‘seemed’ to be quite drunk. When I was introduced to him I simply told him to call me “m” as I ‘own that alphabet’ (and there are instances where I don’t want certain people to know my name). This stuck. Good.

It was then decided that we all go to the upstairs level of Horsing Around. There was more dancing and trips to the bar and more of WK and Janey making out. I tried my best to project an aura of idungivafuq but on the inside I was dying. Being a sports bar, Horsing Around had a promotional ‘snowboarding’ competition where competitors had to ride a mechanical snowboard for as long as they could to win some kind of prize. The mechanical snowboard works in a similar way to a mechanical bull. I got in line as I fancied my chances and managed to steal most of the group to come and watch me. I thought this would be a good chance to demonstrate some alpha athleticism so in my mind, I had a lot to lose if I failed… Behind me in line, I noticed an accent that seemed far from its native home. I turned to see a girl wearing a grey dress, black skin-tight lycra-esque-pants(?) and grey suede heels. She seemed to be 5-6 inches taller than myself (heels included). I said hi to her and enquired as to her place of origin. She told me she was a New Zealander and we started chatting; she was travelling the world and was currently based here working as an Au Pair full-time and as a barmaid part-time. We discussed our chances on the mechanical snowboard and she revealed to me that she has been snowboarding somewhat regularly, “at least a dozen times” back home (this was later evident in her performance). She asked me about my boarding experience and I told her it was minimal at best, but having been long boarding for a few months now, I have a general level of control on a board.

One of the men in charge of operating the mechanical snowboard approached us with a clipboard to sign the indemnity form in the event we should hurt ourselves whilst on their equipment; I think it was also to go in the running for some kind of bar tab prize. Riding the board had a no shoes, no socks policy and after a successful ‘practice run’ I motioned to the operator to let loose. In 15 seconds or less it went from cruisey, curvy sways to actual bucks as if you were going over a mound-field. The third one got me and I fell into the air-filled jumping-castle-like surrounds. I put my shoes and socks back on as the New Zealander girl was getting ready to have her go. She stayed on for over a minute. After she got her shoes back on I congratulated her on her superior snowboarding skills and asked her for her name. She told me her name was Samantha. I said to her, “hey listen, since I might not see you again tonight, give me your number cause you seem like a pretty cool chick”, to which she replied, “but I have a boyfriend”, to which I replied, “well maybe I just wanna be friends…” and shrugged with a look of nonchalance on my face. It did the trick. Perhaps it also had something to do with the fact that she was leaving the club to go somewhere else with her friends and there was a sense of urgency about it all… She didn’t know what her number was by heart but had it saved in her phone. She found her own contact and I typed it into my phone and saved the contact as Samantha Newport (Kiwi Chick). She left and my friends and I carried on for about an hour (drinking, dancing, smoking, etc.) and when we were satisfied that we had had enough, we went to Macdonald’s.

The group walked in and sat at a table, I stayed outside and spoke with a street musician as I’d met him on a previous night out and had heard his life story through song. I feel like we’re more than strangers in an odd sort of way. After some chit-chat, Janey came outside to join me and have a smoke (I don’t smoke by the way) and I introduced her to my Liberian street musician friend. He told her she was very beautiful and that I was very ‘lucky’ to have a girlfriend like her, which made her blush. Neither of us corrected him. I tossed some money into his guitar case and asked him to play a Bob Marley song. Going from the best to the worst wingman ever, he played Redemption Song instead of Is This Love. WK came outside and AMOG’d me by being all handsey and kissyface and whisked Janey away back inside. After he was done playing his song I shook his hand and told him to have a good night. I went inside the Macdonald’s restaurant and everyone was eating a burger or whatever. WK had ordered a side of Janey and was yet again busy eating her face. The awkward thing for me throughout the whole night was that Janey was the only person I knew beforehand. After 10-15 minutes everyone was feeling tired enough to go home. I think it was around 2:30 am. Janey was about to get into a taxi with WK and I called out to her. She came to me and hugged me good night. I told her, “I don’t want you going home with him…”, but she gave me a pained expression and got into his taxi anyway. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that interaction.  I’m not going to assume anything happened or didn’t happen, I simply truly do not care for had this not happened, The following would not have occurred:

Feeling defeated, I did a very beta thing…
At 2:42 am I texted Jane Stevenson: </3
There was no (immediate) reply.

I felt like a loser because I was. I lost the girl I wanted for the night to someone younger than myself, younger than Janey, and I felt ashamed. I decided I’d solo the rest of the night and see how things turn out. I went back to Minq and just as I got up the stairs and walked in, I noticed Samantha the New Zealander girl walking towards me, but she didn’t recognise me (or maybe didn’t want to) so I called out to her and she turned around. I asked where she was going and she said something to the effect of, “I’m trying to find my friends, I think they’re outside or something”, to which I replied, “well text them to come here and stay here and party with me”. She had a look on her face that said “but I need to find my friends, some shit’s going down” and she said bye and left.

At 2:58 am I texted Samantha Newport (Kiwi Chick): come back to the club, i’d love for you to chill with me for a bit

No reply. I felt defeated again. I stayed in the club and watched some well booty-endowed African girls dancing while I sipped my Red Bull. I finished my drink, left the can on a table and walked out into the lonely cold.

DESPAIR

Despair was starting to break me so I went to ground level Horsing Around, a nightclub renowned for being home of the easy pump and dump. It’s not actually that bad and I’d say the whole pump and dump label was applied because of a particular patronage that I haven’t seen there in years, but labels stick.

I wasn’t feeling like dancing or drinking anymore, I’d had 2 (count’em, 2!) drinks and wanting to be safe, I wanted to just chill for a bit to get the alcohol out of my system before taking the road home. I sat at one end of a corner table that some 30 something year olds were sitting at and I watched some drunks playing pool. It was entertaining enough. Directly ahead of me I could see the dance floor and there were still some nice looking girls dancing and whatever. I have to mention this because I witnessed first-hand a truly disgusting thing. A fairly decent looking 40 something year old Asiatic man with a good build and friendly face approached a white girl probably in her early to mid-20’s with thighs as thick as… fuck… my waist? 32 inches? She was by no measure (heh) a small girl. He approached her with a jig in his step which was appropriate for the music that was playing at the time and tried to lean in to talk to her and no doubt invite her to dance with him or join him for a drink. Sitting with her hotter looking friends, she refused him with a look of polite disgust so as not to elicit violence but to also get her message across. This was no child though, being the man he was, he turned around, devil-may-care, and continued his dance walk away from her and back towards the dance floor. As he passed where I was sitting, I called him over and said to him, “What a crazy place we live where girls like that shoot down handsome men like you *wink* (no-homo)”, he laughed and shook my hand and went about his way.

Another 5-10 minutes passed and as luck would have it, I saw Samantha on the dance floor dancing with some guy. She and some guy danced literally towards me and I just sat there, trying to look cool and aloof (dead eyes, left thumb hooked in pocket, right arm stretched out across the top of the seats, etc). I’m not sure where the guy fucked off to, but he left and I poked Samantha in her right ass cheek with my left index finger. She turned around and saw me, realised she’d run into me again and started chit chatting about stuff I can’t remember. Not sure if I can call him an AMOG gorilla or whatever, but this African guy came out of nowhere and started dancing with her all up close and personal and intimate and shit, and I just sat there, cool look of detachment on my face as she stared back at me. After a minute or so, it started to look painfully obvious that his advances and adventurous hands were no longer appreciated, so I motioned with my right index finger a ‘come hither’ to Samantha much the same way you would to a kitten. She came and sat next to me and I put my right hand around her waist (DTF lol). African guy had this hilarious look of ‘what the fuck?’ on his face and though he didn’t say anything, he tried to dance her back into his arms as weird as that sounds, much the same way a peacock would probably try to display it’s feathers more alluringly to a pea-hen that’s been taken away from it. She sat next to me and I didn’t say anything to her or look at her, and she finally said, “I feel so threatened sitting here with you”, to which I replied, “ha, and why’s that?”, and she moved away a bit and said “because you’re being so distant. I moved in closer than before (remember, this is a night club with loud music, conversation is mouth-to-ear with centimetres in it) and said, “I’m distant because you’re cold”. Something in her changed and she moved in and rested her head on my shoulder and told me she was tired. I took her hand and drew circles in her palm with my index finger and when she asked me what I was doing, I told her this is how I get to know the girls that I like. She laughed and I asked her where she lives, she told me and I told her “I can drive you home if you like, you’re on my way”, and this seemed quite agreeable to her.

We went to the dance floor, she said bye to her friend who was dancing with some other guy and we stepped outside. I took my jacket off and wrapped her in it (she had her arms crossed) and she protested, “no it’s okay, blah blah blah”, and I told her to shut up and accept chivalry when it’s given. No further argument. I’ll skip some of the detail here because I don’t want this to be on par with Lord of the Rings. We got to my car, drove to her place, I pulled into her driveway. I said to her, with the engine of my car still running, “I don’t want this to be goodnight”, to which she replied, “what do you want?” … She leaned in close to my ear, her breath heavy on my neck and I said after a slight pause, “I want to spend the night in you”. She started kissing me and was quite bitey which I found quite funny, that is to say, she was biting my lips and not particularly lightly either, and it should be noted that this was my first kiss. We made out for about 30 seconds and I knew I had to escalate shit fast. I gently pulled away from her and my lips finally left the vice-like grip of her teeth and I switched my car engine off. I got out of my car walked around to her side. She’d already opened her door and I gave her my hand to help her out, she got out, started making out with me in the street and I pulled away again to lock my car. She led me to an intercom panel to gain entry to her complex where the key to her house was biometric security based; her right index finger to be precise. She walked me through the gate and told me to stick to the wall as I walked as there are security cameras and she’s not allowed to have company in her house.

Everything at this point felt surreal. Here I was, having just had my first kiss(es) with a pretty good looking girl and she was leading me into her bedroom. I knew I was going to get my fuck on tonight, I could just never have anticipated things would have been like this. We got inside, went up the stairs and into her bedroom. She started profusely apologising for the mess in her house (she later said she’s OCD about tidiness and even a few things here and there drive her crazy) and I told her it didn’t matter. We sat on the edge of her bed and started making out again, but having read my friends’ sisters’ girly magazine with him when I was 12 or 13, I knew about girls having this erogenous zone or something that goes from the lips to the neck to the shoulder, kind of like a triangle. I started working that area with my lips while I had a hand on the small of her back and another between her legs on her upper inner thigh. She started moaning so I assumed I was doing it right. Haha, women’s magazines actually serving a purpose for once.

She asked me how many girls I had been with and I told her not to freak out or panic, and I made a zero with my thumb and index finger. She didn’t believe me and I told her this isn’t the kind of thing I’d lie about, especially in this particular setting… She got upset and said she didn’t want to ruin me, that it wouldn’t be love or real, that I deserve to be in love with the person I want to share my first time with… I deflected all of her concerns telling her she couldn’t ruin me because I have a strong heart, that it didn’t get more real than this and what we were about to embark on was love itself, etc. Pretty much anything to get around her negative emotions and get her back in the mood, and never mind her boyfriend whom she loved, his name didn’t come up once. Retrospectively, I find it quite funny how beta I acted as the crescendo of the night was in progress, statements like, “omg ur so bewtiful” and “i’m so lucky 2 b here wit u”… The heat of the moment I guess. Now, this was an unplanned adventure so it was raw. Later it got rough, but it was all certainly raw. And had there been a condom in sight, I still probably wouldn’t have used one, but having learned mid fuck that this girl was into EVERYTHING, I wish I had had a condom to explore her rectum with my hardware.

We undressed each other and these motions of pre-programmed human-ness took over. I don’t want this to sound clinical or overly nerdy, but it felt like two machines were interfacing with each other to perpetuate the operation of a greater task, it was awesome. We started at around 4 am and I felt like I was in a porno, we did everything; missionary, her on top/grinding down hard, cowgirl, doggy, sideways, lotus… My mission objective once shit was starting was to get her to cum which was on a psychological level very important for me. A few months ago I watched a how to video on youtube and the girl advised the digital insertion the index and middle fingers with a “come-hither” motion. I think I felt her g-spot and I focused on massaging her insides with that lump as the base of operations. Again, through observation of my subject, I can only conclude I was successful in my endeavours; she kept rolling her eyes into the back of her head, she was biting the skin on her upper arms, her torso and legs were convulsing… Shit was cash. Between her uncontrolled movements and bodily shudders, she looked up at me as perplexed as a betrayed friend and said, “how the fuck is this your first time?” I didn’t bother answering but I can only say it had something to do with watching lots of porn, reading parts of e-books that deal with this subject and actually caring for her sexual needs instead of getting hasty and just sticking it in. I did want it to be a little special after all.

I ate her out and she tasted of lemons and limes (she said it was because of her diet), she sucked my dick and I realised I am extremely ticklish around my upper leg area, she left scratches on my back that led to some high-fives in a steam room at my local pool when the question was raised. After I missionary’d her for a while, she took out her dildo (not sure if I was being inexperienced with her goods or if she wanted double penetration, but I watched her operate on herself which was quite a visual experience. At one point when I was giving it to her from behind I spanked her and she managed to say, “*moaning* ooohhhhhh, oh, oh, oh… oh baby, c’mon, you can hit harder than that, C’MON! *moaning*”. When I had her on top grinding down on me, she put her hands around my throat and started to choke me, and then she realised what she was doing and apologised. I would have laughed but I was too in awe of the hilarity of the moment. At another point I told her I wanted to try a porno move on her (throat-fuck) so she lay on the bed with her head hanging off the side and I docked my shuttle with the international space station. The best part was when I pulled out and that throaty mucus was dripping off my dick. Towards the end of our romp, I still hadn’t cum, not from lack of trying mind you. I have this dangerous desire to fuck a woman in the hopes of getting her pregnant and never seeing her ever again, only to be confronted with my bastard years and years later in an angry, violent confrontation. First world problems I guess. Anyway, I would have blasted inside of her with even greater recklessness as I had discovered a foreign object inside her which she told me was a Mirena, an IUD that provides 99.91% protection from conception. She also told me not to fuck around with it because it cost her $7,000 to buy and have it inserted. Back to me, I’m done with her and I was jacking myself as furiously as possible because I really really really (obviously) wanted to at least cum on her on in her mouth or pussy… I had actually tired myself out. At this point in the morning with the first rays of the sun lighting up the sky, we were both dry; inside and out, tired and sleepy. She tried sucking and jacking me off, and I would get close to climax, but it was like trying to start a car with engine problems. My legs were shuddering in a way that doctors would probably describe as exhaustion due to extreme physical exertion. My kingdom for temporary pre-mature ejaculation… Anyway, we cleaned up, got dressed kissed goodbye and she walked me to my car. Just as I got outside the gate, I turned towards her, placed my left hand on the small of her back and right hand down the front of her jeans with my fingers back inside of her. I took my fingers out after a few pokes that made her roll her eyes back (again), put my fingers in her mouth and she sucked them clean. I kissed her goodbye.

A phone call some hours later and she told me she had been too tired to go to work and had got in trouble from her boss AND that she felt extremely guilty for what had happened because she loves her boyfriend.

Although I didn’t get to deploy my weapon’s payload, it felt like a complete victory for a first time combatant (kind of like the snipers from the movie ‘Jarhead’).

As I got in my car to drive home, I checked my phone…
At 6:25 am Jane Stevenson texted me: Ahhh! I was one of those awful drunk friends…sorry! We’ll have to catch up again when I’m not being retarded 🙂
“Catch up” indeed.

Post-script

Having read the recent CH article ‘Hot Girl Crazy’, I can confidently say that Samantha lives in this bubble others have constructed for her. She says this about herself, “I’m a confident girl and I was so sure of my self I felt I had to step out of my comfort zone to find some insecurity to secure”. She lives a very good and easy life (the top 0.00001 percentile in my opinion); she resides in one of the most executive suburbs in my city, drives an expensive European SUV, has her apartment serviced daily (cleaning lady, refrigerator is restocked, etc) and this is all paid for by her employer. She is the most glorified nanny I can think of. Fran Drescher’s ‘Nanny’ character doesn’t even come close.

******

“M”‘s story sounds plausible. A man’s first time is never as smooth as he imagines it will be. Halting beta missteps peppered with brilliant flashes of accidental alpha attitude typically characterize the virgin’s introduction to the world of vagina. There were some truly cringeworthy beta moments in his recollection, but on the whole his strategy was sound: he kept up the physical and emotional escalation while deftly handling the logistics. And he never let the AMOG blowout of his oneitis suck the life out of him like it does for so many recovering betas in similar scenarios; his mood remained engaged and his attitude positive.

I do think this young ex-Mormon, having now tasted the fruit of the tree of knowledge of poon and pickup, will awaken to a world of wonders, and will probably get married a lot later in life than his religious brethren who stayed in the fold. And he will never look back.

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Defying Your Body Type Temperament

A number of readers asked if the association between body type and temperament could be altered by losing or gaining weight. For example, can a skinny ectomorph assume some of the personality traits of a mesomorph by lifting weights and putting on muscle? Or can a fat endomorph do the same by losing fat and toning up? Likewise, can a mesomorph become less insensitive by getting fatter or skinnier? Being able to do so would seem to discredit the idea that body type and personality are biologically linked.

My answer to them is a qualified yes, based on nothing more than drawing conclusions from real world test cases mixed with a bit of educated speculation and adjustment of premises.

First, body type is not based on your weight. Or, it’s not supposed to be. It’s based on your skeletal frame, which is unalterable (except in small degrees by intensive weightlifting or PED use). A mesomorph may gain fat or lose muscle, but his generally larger, broader frame will stay the same. Similarly, an ectomorph can beef up in the gym, but his wrists and ankles will never be naturally thick around like a classic endomorph’s or mesomorph’s wrists and ankles.

Therefore, the premise itself is shaky. Weight may change, but bone structure remains the same. And if the bone structure is the same, then the link with one’s personality is the same as well.

Second, a large gain of muscle (or a loss of fat) can psychologically influence a man’s self-perception and boost his confidence, leading to a concomitant temperament change. This can occur despite there being no alteration of the biological link between his frame size and his temperament. We are adaptation maximizing animals, after all.

Those objections aside, I answer the readers with a qualified yes, because I do think the underlying biological connection between body type and personality can be fundamentally altered. The simple explanation is testosterone. Fat is a known T suppressor/estrogen increaser, so an endomorph who sheds fat cells will experience the effects of a hormonal boost of T. An ectomorph who puts on muscle will feel better and more confident from the increase in his T. These are deep, biological changes, not ephemeral psychological alterations, that will lead to personality changes.

Caveat: the changes aren’t going to be large. You can’t change the intrinsic contours of your personality wholesale by raising your T, because we are gradually learning that a lot (50% or more) of our personality is genetically conditioned, stamped in our cortical rivulets as permanent etchings from conception. But you can make changes around the edges, pushing yourself in one direction or another. Testosterone isn’t the only way to do this. Changes in status have also been shown to alter personality. If you are looking to improve your success with women, even a small, say 10%, change in your personality to one that is more outgoing or confident will bring huge pussy benefits relative to what you were accustomed to enjoying.

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A Little Pain Warms The Female Heart

As the Kristen Stewart affair (re)confirms, women, particularly young, slender women with high mate values, possess a seeming masochistic tendency to seek out relationship drama and wallow in it. All women have this urge, although the degree to which the urge expresses itself varies in its intensity among women. A very rough estimate by yours truly puts it at 1/3 women crave sadistic assholes (who may even beat them), 1/3 of women are drawn to men who provide non-thuggish but nonetheless insecurity-amplifying drama, and another 1/3 are put off by thuggishness and prolonged drama-inducement but who do enjoy some minimal amount of relationship tension, whether manufactured by the man or organically arising from his higher value relative to hers.

Furthermore, this craving for asshole men diminishes slowly with age, and with declining beauty. The elicited excitement and allure of the jerk tends to be strongest in very pretty, slender women aged 16-25, and weakest in ugly women over age 35. The reasons for this dynamic are obvious: very attractive and maximally fertile women — that is, those women with the most options in the sexual market — are best able to capture the attention of an asshole, and extract commitment from him. Older, uglier, fatter women are not even on assholes’ radars; their options are limited and their ability to extract commitment from men is kneecapped, so they tend to de-emphasize their longing for badboys and emphasize their appreciation for the secure reliability of lower value niceguys.

A few feminists are only now beginning to grapple with these hypergamous truths of female nature, not least in part because of the efforts of alternative blogs belched up from the bowels of hell, like this one, but they have yet to fully imbibe the meaning behind the evidence that confronts them. Many of them will attempt to scaffold their tattered ideology and hide the beast from their sights by making feeble assertions to the contrary, with no evidence in hand, that for instance, to pick a classic example of the genre, men “like drama-inducing bitches just as much as women like drama-inducing jerks”.

Well, ain’t that an ego salver! Too bad it isn’t true. There is very little real world evidence, either in the scientific literature or in anecdotal observation, that men crave relationship drama and the bitches who can give it nearly as much as women crave the badboys who can give them drama. Dark triad traits? Benefit men’s desirability; do nothing for women’s desirability, or even hurt it. Female groupies for male prisoners? So well-known that there are even websites devoted to letting women air their grievances with the prison system and detail their efforts to get conjugal visits with their killer lovers. And then of course, there are the women who, despite plenty of resources and peer pressure to guide them to better choices, freely opt to love and love again abusive men who turned their faces into mashed pulp.

Men do not share with women this masochistic compulsion for relationship drama. Men who are stuck with abusive women are often losers who know they couldn’t find another woman to save their lives. Men who have options will leave bitchy women without a second’s thought. Men, in fact, are the total opposite of women in this regard: the typical man will usually RUN AWAY FROM bitchy women in favor of sweet, feminine women, given equal looks. Even given unequal looks, most men will choose, for example, a sweet, caring 7 over a bitchy, sadistic 9, at least for long-term consideration. (For a one night stand or short term fling, men will put up with some shit in exchange for the pleasure of defiling exquisite beauty.)

So it is with this sex difference in drama-seeking in mind that the theme of this post emerges.

Maxim #19: Making a woman feel a little emotional pain will reward you a thousandfold in returned physical pleasure.

You don’t have to be fists-of-fury Chris Brown to pick up a Rihanna and make her fall in deep, profound love with you, but don’t let the lesson of their relationship be lost on you. If you are a beta male — and odds are you are — you can superglue your relationship bond by instilling in your woman a calculated level of discomfort and insecurity. You won’t feel bad about this, because you will know that the discomfort you create is subconsciously DESIRED by your girl. Despite her outward appearance of frustration and timorous appeasement, you will know that inside, she is lit up like a vagina tree, with a squirting orgasm shooting out of the star on top.

The more beta you are, and the hotter your girlfriend or wife, the more necessary will be the application of drama inducement game (DIG).

Reader David Collard comments:

I have written a poem about virginity and defloration, mainly to annoy skanky feminists:

http://davidcollard.wordpress.com/2012/04/16/first-draft/

As I have said before, deflowering my wife was unpleasant, and painful for her, but I am glad I got to do it, not some man before me. […]

I have seen a serious scientific (evol psych) argument that the pain of childbirth gets a woman to bond to her child, and the pain of defloration gets her to bond to a man. On the other hand, my wife says my deflowering her put her off sex for quite some time. She had a very tough hymen.

It is an intriguing theory that women are, in some primal sense, attracted to the freeing chains of pain. The pain — physical or emotional — seems to release in woman animal lusts, which then stampede beyond her control. This loss of control is something women secretly yearn to experience, and the alpha males who so delight them are the men most adept at stripping women of their superficial veneer of control.

David writes that childbirth and defloration are both major masochist milestones in a woman’s life that also represent pinnacles of pain. In the crucible of this pain (physical in these two instances), a bond so powerful, so unbreakable, is formed, that the woman will be forever merged in psyche, soul and snatch with the child and the man, respectively, who visited this pain upon her. I believe this is the best argument there is for beta males to actively seek out and deflower virgins, for the resultant bond will be so strong that they can then coast in their betaness for many years afterward without threat of cuckolding.

“Anonymous” writes:

Quoting Kristen Stewart: “I feel boring. I feel like, Why is everything so easy for me? I can’t wait for something crazy to fucking happen to me. Just life. I want someone to fuck me over! Do you know what I mean?”

So, she wants to play some Russian Roulette? Why are women so masochistic? You have a tenuous alpha/beta analysis when it isn’t even 100% clear that Alpha’s are better for survival or fitness then beta (why are there so many betas if alpha is the better gene)? I won’t quibble over this because your pop science has a much more serious problem. The central problem with female fitness in modernity has nothing to do with alpha/beta but is delayed pregnancy. What are the psychological consequences of going 15-20-35 years after menstruation and failing to get preggers? Ancient women were ALWAYS pregnant, like in stone age societies. Women are designed to be constantly knocked up and hauling 5 kids. How can their psychology pull the 180 to barren femcunt lawyer slut? Or barren and bored slut actress? You don’t think this makes them masochistic freaks? They are built for pain (pregnancy and hauling kids). Your Alpha/Beta analysis works, but the bigger issue is masochism and other psych problems from being chronically barren.

I understand anonymous’ wrenching repugnance at women’s callow and seemingly self-annihilating unimpeded sexual behavior, but that is a confusion remedied by a widening of perspective and a depth of experience. This odd drive by women for the powerful, charming, dominant men, even when it threatens a solid and secure relationship, must have served some benefit to our distant female ancestors, including the mothers of the infinite mothers of your mothers.

But then, as anonymous rightly states, there has always been, until relatively recently, a natural curb — an auto-pilot emergency brake — on this female hypergamous impulse, that would engage when the impulse became destructive. This natural curb was PREGNANCY. Ancestral women used to get knocked up quickly, at very young ages, and then be burdened with child after child until the wall removed from them the last hope of fulfilling a latent hypergamous urge. A Kristen Stewart, shorn of the props and rebar and condoms and abortifacents and Pills of modern society, would not, in the ancient times, have had the luxury of chasing down and fucking multiple alpha males to satisfy her id-shaped itch. In times bygone, her downlow would have meant the abandonment and eventual death of her child by her beta provider (Robert Pattinson) and the ostracization by her tribe’s women. Her alpha lover (the director) would not have agreed to help much in the raising of the children she had borne from previous men. There would not have been a media-savvy slut-excusing PR machine, aided and abetted by feminists and manboobed robots, to carry her through the ordeal to a safe landing ensconced in the lap of a replacement alpha male.

Instead, a modern Western Kristen Stewart gets to skip all that pain that would have been hers in prior eras, and indulge her hypergamy nearly free of consequence. Perhaps anonymous has a point; the mitigation to almost total irrelevance of this primal pain that was once the birthright of women has rendered their sex so psychologically scarred, so emotionally gutted, that they deliberately seek destructiveness in their relationships to feel anything at all. This destructiveness, once harnessed, feeds on itself, and there is no cure save sexual obsolescence, which must come, as it does for all women, sooner than they think.

The barren woman. The spinster. The pathetic partying cougar. The slutty alpha female. The delayed marriage and childbirth. The 0.5 child SWPL mother. Is it all coming together in a vortex of unhappiness and self-despoilment? Is the answer a reconnection with the animal spirits — and the animal dangers — that used to animate our free choices?

Kristen Stewart and millions of women in similar circumstances as hers will realize their fates too late. Worse for them, the Robert Pattinsons of the world are beginning to wake up and realize their fates as well. The interesting times are just beginning.

This post sealed with a kiss for Billyboy Bennett.

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I Was Right: Study Shows Conservatives And Liberals Have A Look

This post, where I speculated, based on nothing more than my personal, clear-eyed observations, that conservatives and liberals have a “look” which I, and most people, can identify with a quick glance, spurred plenty of discussion, most of it taking me to the shed for lack of scientific rigor. Liberals seemed greatly displeased that I insinuated the male of their kind seems always on the verge of bursting into tears. (Note I also said that liberals look smarter than conservatives. But the implication of their weakness hit home a little harder than the flattery of their intelligence.)

As if on cue, here’s a study that basically proves my contention, jot and tittle.

Here we found that individuals’ political affiliations could be accurately discerned from their faces. In Study 1, perceivers were able to accurately distinguish whether U.S. Senate candidates were either Democrats or Republicans based on photos of their faces. Study 2 showed that these effects extended to Democrat and Republican college students, based on their senior yearbook photos. Study 3 then showed that these judgments were related to differences in perceived traits among the Democrat and Republican faces. Republicans were perceived as more powerful than Democrats. Moreover, as individual targets were perceived to be more powerful, they were more likely to be perceived as Republicans by others. Similarly, as individual targets were perceived to be warmer, they were more likely to be perceived as Democrats.

Game. Set. Snatch.

Some of you may ask, “What is it like, oh Lord and Savior of Powerful Malehood, to be burdened so heavily with objective rightness?”

I tell you now, it is a burden I would not place on my worst enemy, for the sweet thrust of psychologically impaling my haters is one I want to savor all to myself. Thou shalt not interrupt the Master when He is mid-Holy Skullfuck.

The coda to the study higlights an often overlooked (understandably, if you are a blank slater) aspect of human nature.

These data suggest that perceivers’ beliefs about who is a Democrat and Republican may be based on perceptions of traits stereotypically associated with the two political parties and that, indeed, the guidance of these stereotypes may lead to categorizations of others’ political affiliations at rates significantly more accurate than chance guessing.

In other words, pattern recognition is a valuable aid to anyone navigating the chaos of the real world, their denials they engage in such nefarious human-like activity to the contrary notwithstanding.

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