I Once Banged A Girl Who Was Banged By A Rockstar

A girl with whom I was having a sexual fling (squirter) once challenged me, while we were out together, to pick up a woman sitting at the bar by herself. I suppose the thought of me seducing another woman turned her on. I’ve dated quite a few slutty freaks like her. Naturally, I obliged. Seducing women is why Our Lord Below put me on this good green earth. (I wonder how a beta male would have responded to such a request? “Stop being silly, honeybunny, I’m not going to hit on another woman. That’s just WRONG. I’m with *you* now.”)

Donning my war mask (shit-eating grin and eye twinkle) I sidled up to the statuesque blonde sipping her Guinness. She was around 30, and quite attractive. She had a proudly feminine face of Scandinavian origin and wide, child-birthing hips. Even though she was sitting, I could tell she was very tall, perhaps six feet. Inspired by the jealousy I would provoke in my audience (who was standing only 10 feet away with an unobstructed view of my full-scale assault), I ran some of my tightest game. Blonde warrioress had no chance. She withered into a puddle of warm arousal. Occasionally, I would look over at my date to see how she was reacting (mouth agape) and the blonde would catch me doing this and ask if I knew her. “Yes”, I said, “She’s a friend.” Coast cleared.

I number closed the blonde in fifteen minutes and told her I had to get back to my “friend”. When I strolled back, triumphant, my date didn’t look too happy, but I’m sure she was turned on. I was worried she would attempt to sabotage my chances with the blonde by making out with me right there, so I shuffled us both out of there in a hurry. Later, after a rigorous interrogation, I lied to my date that had I erased the blonde’s phone number. If you’re gonna play a high stakes game, don’t expect the rules to be fair.

A couple days later I took the blonde on a date to my favorite dive bar. We hit it off. Drinks, walking around the park, making out, sliding a hand down her pants and diddling her taint. The only thing I remember her saying was that she once had a two year relationship with Anthony Kiedis. She was a teenager (possibly underage) when she met him backstage at one of his shows. He was bigtime and had just crossed the Pussicon into rockstardom; girls were his for the taking, like so many juicy grapes plucked off the vine.

Intrigued by her admission, I pressed for more details. The thought of her having gotten fucked by Anthony Kiedis inexplicably turned me on. “Wow,” I remember thinking at the time, “I’m gonna bang the same hole that Anthony Kiedis’ supermodel-banging cock has been in. That’s one vulva of separation.”

Turns out that her definition of “relationship” was highly fluid, dependent on the desirablility of the man she was “seeing”. For the typical beta male, “relationship” means “ball and chain”; for a guy like Anthony Kiedis, “relationship” means he continues fucking tons of hot young girls but looks more deeply into your eyes than he does into the eyes of all the other women, thus making everything OK. Which is pretty much how it went between her and him. She was dating him, but would sometimes catch him fooling around at his shows. Despite that, she was never worried that he didn’t love her.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because once he saw me he would immediately drop whichever girls he was kissing and come over to tell me he loved me.”

“I see.”

This was a grown woman saying this.

So two years dating a rockstar and finally they drifted apart. She was divorced (she left a rich lawyer) and had dated other men since, but the only fond memories she had were of Mr. Anthony Kiedis, womanizer extraordinaire who made her heart swell with love when he stopped fucking his groupies for one second to kiss her gently on the cheek. Her ex-husband and ex-lovers may as well have never existed except as feeble also-rans throwing in stark contrast the powerful nostalgic glow of her blood, sugar, sex, magik memories.

On our second date, I drove her home to her cavernous suburban mcmansion and fumbled backwards through the dark into her bedroom, stripping off clothes along the way. I stepped on something rubbery and heard a squeak. Since I was fully turgid and throbbing with urgency, I paid it no heed. In the morning, I woke up first and rubbed my eyes. There were children’s toys littered on the floor.

Nordic Princess woke up. “I guess I should tell you that I have kids.”

“Yeah… interesting. So… how many?”

She replied, sheepishly, “Four.”

“Wow, that’s… impressive. Very, um, active.” I was right about her child-birthing hips.

“They’re with my ex. Two of them are already in school.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Are you OK with that? I was worried you might freak when you found out.”

“Perfectly fine. Kids are great,” I lied.

“They spend a lot of time with my ex-husband. He’s a good father. So don’t worry I’m not searching for a replacement father.”

“No worries!”

We ate breakfast and I kissed her goodbye, promising to give her a call. On the drive home I deleted her number from my phone.

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How Good Is Your Social Acumen?

I met her at my usual first date lounge, ten minutes late right on schedule. As I sat at the bar (thin crowd, plenty of elbow room), she pranced up to my side from across the room, waving back at someone. I looked over my shoulder and saw six or seven people, half girls and half guys, sitting on sofas and waving at her in return.

“Are those your chaperones?”

“No, they’re friends of mine.”

“I see. So you brought them here for protection? Probably a good idea. I usually show up to dates with a chainsaw.”

She was starting to catch on. “I swear it’s just a coincidence. I didn’t tell them I would be here.”

I glanced back at her social circle. They were watching us. Fucking great. I’d have to hustle her to a new venue ASAP, no way was she going to loosen up with her friends judging her every move. But first, drinks.

Fifteen minutes into our conversation (going well) the bartender places a couple of shot glasses in front of us.

“Courtesy of the gentleman over there in the white shirt.”

We both look in the direction of the sofa and one of the guys is smiling at us. My date smiles back.

“How sweet. My friend bought us drinks.”

I lifted my shot glass and nodded toward him in recognition. He nodded in recognition of my nod. I returned to my date and resumed our conversation, paying close attention to her body language to see if she attempted any over the shoulder lookbacks at drink-buying dude. She didn’t. Another twenty minutes passed and I was getting itchy to bounce. As I prepared to pull the trigger, her friends walked by us and stopped to say goodbye to her. Many hugs and introductions were exchanged. I watched our benefactor closely, determined to figure out his designs on my date and his role in the group dynamic. Preliminary analysis: Ingratiating beta who wanted to fuck my date.

***

You are a student of human social dynamics. Your experience with and knowledge of these sorts of situations grows with every passing day. When your date tells you her friends are at your venue of choice by sheer coincidence, you assume:

a. she’s lying, and act accordingly; that is, move her to a new spot quickly or end the date prematurely.

b. she’s telling the truth but it’s virtually guaranteed that one of the men in the group has a crush on her and will come over and say something stupid to ruin the mood of your date.

c. she’s telling the truth and they are just friends who will not sabotage your date, so you are OK to stay.

d. she’s telling the truth but you believe it is unwise to linger in that venue as long as they are within line of sight of your date.

When one of the betas buys you and your date a round of shots, you assume:

a. he’s a cool guy buying his friend and her date a drink, and he does this all the time with no ulterior motive, so you toss him a friendly nod.

b. he’s a scheming punk buying his cute friend and her date a drink because he secretly wants to bang her and thinks this is the best way to undermine the vibe between her and you.

c. he’s a superb example of Beta Maximus in the field who thinks by buying his puppy crush and her date drinks she will instantly fall in love with him and forget all about you.

d. he’s just retarded.

Given the assumptions above, decide which is most likely to be true. Then, evaluate which responses you have available to you and the best way to handle this situation.

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Eluding ‘I Have A Boyfriend’

Because the ‘I have a boyfriend’ shit test reflex is commonly encountered when picking up women, many resourceful men have figured out ways around it. As far as I can tell, workarounds fall into the following categories:

• Acknowledge it and plow

An example of this would be replying “Oh, that’s cool. Hey, you can bring him along when we go for drink.” Or: “Every girl has some guy they call a  boyfriend.” Proceed with pickup as before.

• Ignore it and plow

She says “I have a boyfriend”; you say… “Hey, check this out. Which fingers do you wear your rings on?” Proceed with pickup as before. [See: Style’s Ring Finger routine]

• Make a clever retort and plow

For instance, she says “I have a boyfriend” and you reply “That’s cute. So does my girlfriend! We have something in common.” Proceed with pickup as before.

• Preempt it

Before she has a chance to vomit the ‘I have a boyfriend’ line, you say “I’m surprised you would come to a place like this without your boyfriend” or “Does you boyfriend know you’re out here tonight?” and see if she bites. Upside: Saves lots of time avoiding users like the girl in yesterday’s post. Downside: Reminds her of the boyfriend if she really has one.

• Indict the boyfriend and plow

The idea behind this tactic is to plant a seed of doubt in her mind about her boyfriend (or strengthen the doubt already in her mind). So you reply: “Do you need your boyfriend’s permission to talk to a cool guy in a bar?” Or: [look around] “I used to let my girlfriend go out with her friends a lot. It was good because I could do my own thing when she wasn’t around.” [smile mischievously] “Where’s your boyfriend?” Ignore her answer and plow.

• Question her independence and plow

Reply: “You’d better give him a call and tell him you’re not doing anything bad. Some guys worry.” Turbocharged plow!

***

Which one of the above countermoves is most effective? I don’t know. I’ve used all of them with some success. The key is to pay attention to the point in the conversation when she ejaculates the ‘I have a boyfriend’ line. If she says it right away before you’ve gotten two words out of your mouth, it is most likely not a shit test to determine your fuckworthiness. She either doesn’t like the cut of your beta jibe and is letting you down quickly and easily, or she really does have a boyfriend and is being a woman with integrity by letting you know this up front before you have wasted precious minutes futilely gaming her.

On the other hand, if she talks with you for a while before saying it, and she has dropped a few IOIs your way, there is a good chance it is an artificial hurdle. She either has a (rapidly fading) boyfriend and is open to being properly seduced by you, or she doesn’t have a boyfriend and her saying it is just a crude shit test because she’s a woman of low character and social retardation. Either way, you should plow as if her boyfriend objection is meaningless, because it is. The third possibility, and the most dangerous female ploy, is the one I wrote about yesterday: She has a boyfriend she is not going to cheat on, but omits this vital information so she can delight in the ego stroking you give her with your flirty attention. The only way to avoid timesucks like this is to preempt the boyfriend excuse, as explained above. The problem with preemption is that it risks setting an anti-seduction tone. Luckily, I’ve found that it’s a minority of taken women who will deliberately string men along for the attention.

How will you know if she’s open to being seduced away from an imaginary (or not) boyfriend, or if she’s just using you for validation? The answer is in her facial expression. As with the girl I wrote about yesterday, a woman who looks clearly apologetic when she drops the boyfriend bomb and turns rapidly cold after saying it is an attention whore. A user of the good feelings you gave her for twenty minutes. But, if she is still engaged with you after mentioning her boyfriend, and her flirty demeanor hasn’t let up at all, you can safely assume the BF excuse is just that… an excuse. Be sure to verify her continued interest by moving her to a quiet part of the bar. This is critical. A girl in a relationship who has no intention of screwing around on her boyfriend will not follow you to a different location, no matter how good your game or how much she likes you or how few feet away is the new spot. The venue change/location move is a reliable test for smoking out the user whores.

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A Test Of Your Game: The Judging

I purposely chose an example of bad game in yesterday’s post in the interest of seeing how you would salvage a losing situation. And yes, for those who are wondering, the scenario happened in reality exactly as I described it.

I was glad to see so many commenters correctly identify my pickup scenario as an example of bad game and recognize the uselessness of getting an email as a consolation prize. I was also heartened by how many of you recommended “caveman game” as a solution, and your accurate interpretation of her actions as those of a girl who wanted the McLovin sooner rather than later. The lessons here are taking hold.

Here is a selection of answers from the comments:

Chuck (and many other commenters) wrote:

Do nothing. Go find another woman to game.

This cop-out is becoming a little too ubiquitous in the pickup community. Yes, cutting your losses to hit on fresh meat is certainly better than handicapping yourself with the stink of beta by recklessly chasing after a cold target, but are we men of vision or foot soldiers in the long slog through life? Doing nothing is the reflex of a reformed beta — a greater beta. He knows well enough to refrain from humiliating himself. But an alpha is better than that. He will sometimes reach for the brass ring; for him, doing nothing isn’t always the acceptable response. He takes risks; calculated, informed risks, sure, but risks nonetheless.
Grade: B- (for beta steps)

Antonio wrote:

Since you are mis-hearing her email address try making fun of it, loudly

example:

She says:
“tiffanyAmberTheisen@yahoo”

You say:
“tiffanyAfterBacon!?!”

This is an example of Clever Game. I like Clever Game. It’s been good to me. But its application is limited. In a noisy environment with a target on the move (taking steps backwards) a clever riposte is as likely to earn you a puzzled look from the girl as it is her number. Cleverness is the dance of the subtle. In a rapidly fading pickup attempt, you need more oomph. Remember, in her eyes, you passed none of her tests the way she wanted you to pass them.
Grade: C

razorback wrote:

“You can’t walk away from me just like that. I’m (name)..”

There’s good caveman game, and then there’s less good caveman game. The problem with this salvage operation is you have drawn attention to her negative actions. Never remind a girl that she is

a. walking away from you
b. giving you a hard time
c. acting like a bitch
d. ignoring you

It will only reinforce her unflattering impression of you.
Grade: D

DF wrote:

A woman that signals that much raw sensuality is looking to be carried away in the moment. Such coquetishness requires strong masculinity.

Bingo.

Go after her, grab her by the hand, and without breaking eye contact say, “you’re not walking away from me, not like that.” Pause. Wait for her reaction. If she recoils, forget her. If she doesn’t break eye contact, follow it up with, “lets get out of here.”

Drop the first line, stick with the second line. Keep everything focused on the positive.
Grade: B+

manaconda wrote:

Wait until she turns around, then move up from behind and put your hand on her neck. Move it up into her hair, grab her hair, and slowly lean her back while twisting her to face you, and kiss from a position of total control. Then say “let’s go” and move out.

This is the extreme manifestation of caveman game. When it works, your job is done. You may as well begin unwrapping the condom. The problem with any high risk venture are the odds of failure. 99 times out of 100, given the scenario I outlined, the surprise from behind caveman kiss will get you slapped and/or tossed out of the bar.
Grade: A/F

el chief wrote:

massive fail. she ran game on you.

man leaves first. woman asks questions.

you should have been teasing her and making her laugh, to the point where you get the awkward silence where you know to ask for the phone number (or makeout). you should have been the mysterious one, not her.

but, what’s done is done.

maintain face. regain control. “sorry, the judge says I’m not allowed to use a computer for another 90 days. punch your number in my phone. it will be ok.” hand her phone. if she says no, then “aight”, and walk back to your boys.

And el chief ftw. Well done. This is a guy who knows the score. He approaches with firmness of purpose, calls her out on her BS in an accessibly humorous way without drawing undue attention to her shitty behavior, and then leads her to where he wants her to go.
Grade: A+

Cannon’s Canon wrote:

Grab her by the shoulder and spin her around so she’s facing you. Plant the steel toe in her gut so she keels over, then deliver the Stone Cold Stunner. As she writhes on the ground, give her two middle fingers. Make sure your wingman has been cued to break some glass at this point.

Is this the start of a new seduction school of thought? WWE game.
Grade: E for effort

PA wrote:

Why are the new episodes of “Two and a Half Men” having Charlie go lovey-dovey beta over some chick and seeing a ball-busting female feminist shrink and paying her to become more sensitive?

Because our culture overlords sense the gathering storm on the horizon. Like a stuck pig cornered, knowing their time is almost up, they are thrashing out in feral fury. Expect this elite-driven backlash to intensify in the coming years.
Grade: OT (off topic)

Ben wrote:

If you’re looking for strange, forget this one. If she successfully intrigued you, you step forward, take her hand, take off a ring, a bracelet, a necklace and give it to her. Tell her you want it back but only when she’s ready. If she hooks (unlikely) and asks, “Ready for what?” then you just closed mouth smile.

Hollywood called. They’re missing their Judd Apatow movie.
Grade: D-

MarkD wrote:

Call DA and ask for advice?

DA has terabytes of knowledge to drop.
Grade: DA

Ed wrote:

Forget what she says. It is all in the body language. Tell her to forget about the email. Just offer to walk her home with a stupid excuse.

I like the thinking behind this, but offering to walk her home smacks of beta chivalry. And we all know by now how counterproductive chivalry is in 21st century America. A better way to do this might be to say “Hey, I’m taking off too. You can walk with me and keep me entertained, but don’t get any funny ideas.”
Grade: C+

bongojazz wrote:

When she turned away, either she’s seeing if he’s worth a damn or she’s genuinely done. It’s possible it’s a test and she hasn’t made up her mind yet. I figure, hedge bets. Say

“I didn’t catch that.” loud enough so she can hear, and then turn around like you don’t give a damn.

I sort of like this, but in practice it’s only a small step above “do nothing”. Given the unfolding scene, the chance that she will come up to you to repeat herself are nil.
Grade: C-

Rain And wrote:

She’s walking away rudely. Running up to her is weak, so…..

YOU: [loudly] HEY! [if she doesn’t turn her head for this, game over. if she turns her head continue.] GET THE FUCK BACK HERE. [slyly, of course, not pissy. you’re calling her on her shit]

At this point she either ignores you, if she never cared, or comes back if she did care, but just wanted a little ballsy drama instead of boring phone routine.

YOU: I don’t want your email. Email is for work. C’mon… [grab her hand, lead her over somewhere close, perhaps a little more isolated.. no real point, except to dominate the interaction in a mysterious way. more hushed tone, like a secret] Look, there’s somewhere I always go on my birthday. It’s my ritual. I’m not going to tell you what it is, but it’s close. Walking distance. Five or six blocks.

And then you improvise the destination and backstory. Maybe a monument or another bar. Whatever is close. Just a contrived bounce.

This is solid Salvage Game. Beautiful. By amping up the asshole you virtually wipe clean your earlier betaness. Sometimes, when you have gone too far down the beta road, shock therapy is the only thing that will redeem you in the eyes of your target.
Grade: A

tokyobetagrist mewled:

According to the official story, game is all about controlling women and not letting them control you. If that’s the case, the only solution to this test that’s consistent with the philosophy of game is to do nothing. If you’re going to jump through hoops (I mean even more than usual) just to have sex with this one special woman, how are you any different from “betas?” This is the paradox of game, because you’re always jumping through hoops and always being controlled by women, even as you tell yourself that it’s the other way around.

Spoken like a supercilious eunuch who believes that women should fall into men’s laps, and any effort on a man’s part to attract women only sullies his masculinity. TBG, I have some very demoralizing news for you — no man is exempt from the biomechanical forces of sexual selection. Whether you are consciously aware of it or not, you do what it takes to attract the opposite sex, or you sit in your dank basement apartment hovel spitefully masturbating into the tattered sock of your self-satisfied dogma.
Grade: David Alexander wants to bear your lovechild

poonisgod wrote:

Your love declines. You, thinking little lines around my eyes are fallen lashes, try to brush them off.
I do exfoliate.
In this autumn of my being, parts of me fly, like tossed and wintry-blasted leaves.
I don’t regret their passing.
I must work to make a clear and crystal form.
I, alchemist, and I, philosophers stone,
have sacrificed the fat and froth and fur of youth,
to walk through fire, leap in the dark,
swim inward rivers, pray at a wailing wall.
The wrinkles, sags and greying hair are earned.
You mourn like a child with a broken doll.
Only the core of this crone, was ever real.

When I read this poem
I felt it move
First
to the left
Next
to the right
then up!
The throbbing soul of my love
jutted insouciantly from the waistband of my heart
yearning…
pulsing…
dribbling the pre-cum of my will to merge
with the fleeing of your youth
mourn it not
for its memory
will live on
in my digicam
Grade: Gold star on your forehead for the excellent handle

moonrock wrote:

Toss her your cellphone while she’s backing away.

Odds are you’ll interrupt whatever behavioral script is running through her head and she’ll trip over herself trying to catch it.

What if you have an iPhone or a G1? No girl is worth damaging a quality gadget. Plus, girls can’t catch.
Grade: Think this through

Lisa wrote:

Since you aren’t sure you heard her email right the genuine thing to do would be to cup your hand behind your ear to indicate you can’t hear and make a “come back” motion with your other hand. If she doesn’t walk closer to you then then give her a two-handed “what can I say” shrug and turn your back. If she does come back, ignore her telling you her email. Put your finger over your lips if she keeps saying it to signal her to be quiet. I’m a big fan of mirroring so since she’s been smiling all this time some amused indifference would be good to convey. Keep motioning her closer until she’s back next to you and take it from there.

It just seems to me like this is a situation where you demonstrate you’re in charge or you let her go.

This is very good. It doesn’t happen often, but occasionally a female reader gets it right. Points for its nonverbal simplicity and boldness.
Grade: Cooties

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A Test Of Your Game

It’s time for another test of your game.

You’re enjoying the mild night air on the rooftop of a trendy lounge. In the corner you spot a short-haired, vaguely punkish pixie, with eyes like saucer plates. She catches your look and smiles… lasciviously, under heavy lids. Oh yes, this hellsprite has the right stuff.

A minute later she walks by you. Sensing an opportunity, you interrupt her as she passes: “Hey, what’s making you smile so much?” She locks her eyes on yours, smiles mischievously, and walks right past, slowly, saying absolutely nothing, brushing heavily against your chest along the way. You are intrigued.

Ten minutes later she returns and takes up her previous position near the edge of the roofdeck, seemingly in the company of a mixed group but talking to no one. She is facing outward toward the open night. You move closer to her and order another drink at the bar. Grabbing your fresh drink, you 180 and face the same direction as your mystery girl, standing side by side with her. You are about to say something when she breaks the tension first.

“It’s my birthday today.”

“Oh, really? Happy birthday. Get any awesome gifts?”

“Do you like watching people down below?” She is pointing over the roof edge at a couple crossing the street.

“Only the drunk ones.” Is this girl simply strange, or is she running some kind of female game on you? Whatever it is, you are captivated.

“I live in the neighborhood.” She thrusts her arm up and waves to some imaginary figure on a distant apartment roof. “Over there.”

“Yeah, I do too. Hi neighbor.”

You exchange insights with her about the neighborhood you share. It’s better on the weeknights. People treat their dogs like children. The local coffeeshop is a horrible place to meet attractive strangers. This rooftop has the best view of the President’s bedroom. Not more than a few minutes go by.

Suddenly, she turns to face you completely and rests her hand on your forearm. Silently, still smiling from under her pixie eyelids, she makes intense eye contact. She utters not a peep, nor does she have an expectant look on her face like she’s waiting for you to pick up the conversational slack. Her behavior is incomprehensible to you. You wish she is drunk so you can have a tidy explanation. But, no, she’s in control of herself.

“It’s time for me to go.”

You realize there has not been enough interaction to ensure a solid number close. “Ok. Hey, you’re interesting. Let’s chat again sometime. What’s your number?”

“No, I don”t give out my number.” Her obscenely sensual smile hasn’t dropped and her hand hasn’t left your forearm. “You’re attractive, I think.” The longest three seconds pass. Her eyes are burning holes in yours. “You can have my email.” As she’s saying this, her hand finally leaves your forearm and she begins to walk off.

“What is it?” You don’t have a pen.

She recites her email as she’s taking steps backwards from you. You can barely hear her through the crowd noise, so you’re not sure if you got it right, or if you can remember it later. The moment is disintegrating rapidly.

What do you do?

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30 And Still Flaky

The number of women in DC who are in their late 20s to early 30s and still flaking as if they were hot college coeds has reached critical mass. When I call a 29 year old woman’s number to set up a date, the last thing I expect to encounter is flaking or playing hard-to-get. It’s such a massive turn-off that I demote a deluded woman like that immediately. If I get her into bed, I fuck her a few times, hard and angry, just enough to get her addicted to my manloaf, and never call again. Ladies past their peak, here’s some helpful advice from a representative of the Ministry of Stone Cold Truth: If you are a woman over the age of 27, do not fool yourself that you possess the market leverage to:

1. not answer the phone by the third ring or deliberately let a man’s call go to voicemail.
2. not return a phone call within an hour.
3. cancel a date later than five hours before the scheduled meeting time.
4. flake in any manner whatsoever.

Because you don’t have that power anymore over men who matter. Guys like me are less forgiving of gameplaying from women who no longer have the grade A goods to get away with it, so your best bet is sincerity, straightforwardness and good faith. Annoyingly capricious female behavior is the prerogative of girls in their prime. You, over-27 woman, must adjust accordingly. That means either putting aside the notion that you can flake without consequence, or dropping your standards and dating needy betas who will gladly lap up your shit and beg for more.

In my life, I’ve noticed a change for the worse. More women, and older women, are acting flaky. Such a cultural deterioration can only happen for one reason — massive, all-encompassing betatization. The sack-shriveling epoch is at its watershed. So-called “men” have abdicated their duty to punish women for their flaky behavior. The verdict is in: The entitlement complex of American women is out of control. It is time to put an end to it. Because I am a humble humanitarian of stupendously magnanimous good will, I present my five point battleplan for bringing the egos of American women back into line:

1. Be a cad. When a hot girl passes by, casually mention out loud in the company of your date/GF that the girl is beautiful. Do this a couple times and she will wonder “Does he think I’m as cute as her? Will he leave me for someone like her?” Then, step it up a notch. Add unpredictability to your ego-taming strategy. For every hot chick whose beauty you announce, wait for an ugly girl to walk by and mention how hot she is. This will fuck with your girl’s head like nothing else. Now she’ll wonder “Wow, if he thinks that toad is hot, what does that say about me? What *does* he like??”
2. Cancel dates. This is an amazingly effective technique for shifting the balance of power in the man’s favor for the simple reason that so few men do it. What could squash cancerous female ego growth faster, and imbue you with the alluring underworld glow of alpha devilry, than bugging out on a first date? Don’t give a reason. Just say something came up, and you’ll call her later. Leave a heavy air of mystery hanging between you two. Relish the thought of her tossing and turning in bed at night wondering if you found a woman with bigger boobs. After all, what is seduction in essence but the co-opting of a woman’s tools of the trade to use against her? Bonus: Cancelling dates is a huge power rush.
3. Extol the virtues of European women. Be subtle, of course, but be sure your message, true or not, is taken to heart. When talking about your travels, mention how the Europeans “just do things differently over there. Dating is not the chore it so often seems it is here. It’s so refreshing the way European men and women naturally gravitate to one another. No head games at all. To European women, romance is playful and fun.” Then mention how your business takes you to Europe frequently.
4. Assume the flake. When you meet an American Coastal City girl for the first time, and you are about to number close or otherwise set up a date, prevent any future flakiness by shaming her to behave the way you want. Say: “If you’re gonna be one of those flaky girls, tell me now so I can delete your number. Nobody likes those types.” Naturally, your challenge will have done its job and she will defend her honor. You’ve established boundaries of acceptable behavior that she’ll be less inclined to violate.
5. Don’t answer her calls. When you see her number light up on your caller ID, let it go to voicemail. Wait five minutes, then call back. Act nonchalant. She will wonder why you didn’t pick up right away. It’s a small detail that helps reframe the interaction to one where she is chasing you.

Godspeed, you nascent alphas, you smashers of overblown American women egos. The pendulum swings back now.

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Women Who Have Affairs With Married Men

By the Power of Poon I was able to coax a girl into inadvertently revealing her low quality.

Me: [in my best nonjudgemental voice] Sometimes I think people judge us too harshly for the things we do when we are in love. For instance, I’ve had married women fall for me. I didn’t know at the time they were married, but if I knew… who knows, I may not have ended it. It’s hard to walk away from something so right, you know?

Her: I know what you mean.

Me: Have you ever had a torrid taboo fling like that? One that people wouldn’t understand?

Her: I was with this one guy… he was married.

Me: And even though you knew he was married… you knew, right?

Her: Yes, I knew almost from the start.

Me: You fell for him and it was just about you two.

Her: All I could think about was us. It was like he wasn’t even married.

Me: I can relate. It’s about living in the present, and you can’t imagine it not working out. [laying my hand on her forearm] Did his wife know?

Her: No, not at first, but she must have figured it out eventually. I guess, after a while, I felt like it wasn’t going anywhere.

Me: It’s ridiculous, but people think you should feel guilty.

Her: I never felt guilty, just sad that it ended. I left him when it became clear we were stuck in place.

******

When you get involved with a woman who has had affairs with married men, is she:

a. a cheater at heart?

b. a validation whore?

c. someone who will ass rape you in divorce court and spend the lottery alimony on shoes and lingerie to please her new lover?

d. a histrionic drama queen?

e. a good fuck?

f. an Eternal Ingenue?

g. drawn to provider alphas?

h. an entanglement of daddy issues?

i. usually hot?

j. a scheming, conniving cunt?

k. best kept at arm’s length?

l. never satisfied?

m. trainable by dangling carrots and then pulling them away?

n. friendless?

o. a pump and dump candidate?

p. addicted to badboys, challenge, emotional highs and lows, and regular old drugs?

q. more likely to eat bananas lasciviously in public?

r. all of the above?

One thing is for sure, she is a sucker for wedding ring game.

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