Why Beta Males Get Exploited By Women: Because They Let Them

There’s a lot of confusion about the functioning of the sexual market among normally clear-thinking denizens of Realtalkland.

free pizzas will lead to the next wave of MRAs

WOMEN ARE HEARTLESS BITCHES WHO JUST USE ME FOR FREE MEALS, TEACH ME HOW TO PUMP AND DUMP THEM, SENSEI

the thing about beta losers is they have an uncanny knack for finding women who will manipulate them, and they assume this is what all women are like because all the women they get ensnared by do this to them

we’ve all known guys who end up with one crazy or manipulative bitch after another…I always figure this is a mommy issue and when I’ve been able to verify it, it is

All women are capable of exploiting men for emotional and financial provider services. What separates the manipulative woman from the endearing sweetheart is something more than simply differences in innate characteristics: It’s the exploitability of the men they meet and date.

Beta males don’t have an “uncanny knack” for finding manipulative women. What beta male niceguys have is an uncanny lack of astuteness about the nature of women. A niceguy with no game riding a heady romantic idealism into every interaction with women opens himself up to exploitation. The sort of doofus who buys pizza for a chick on Tinder he’s never met in the hopes of sexual favors is… to use a phrase that drives feminist cranks wild with rage… asking for it.

Women love sexy men, and part of being a sexy man is playing the courtship game with enough skill and keenness that you’ll never be mistaken for an anhedonic sucker.

Related: The mainstream media have been reading CH. “Men should play hard to get.” Glad to see the Rude Word of Game is finally penetrating block-like skulls.

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The Body Coil: A Sexual Attraction Giveaway

Reader Donohoe notices that, contrary to popular perception, it’s hard for women to hide their sexual desire.

Does anyone else have exes that they accidentally hurt so much that the ex can’t even talk to them?

Strolling with some chick today and saw this kinda-ex fling thing today with her new boyfriend

Her eyes met mine from across the street and she body visibly coiled up, her face turned to that of bambi’s mother before being shot, the blood draining from her face.

I smirked and walked on.

The Smirk: Leaving her better than you found her, since 1995.

Raw sexual desire is one of the toughest emotions to conceal from view. (Jealousy is perhaps the toughest.) Men are actually better at hiding their sexual desire than are women, despite most people believing otherwise, and it’s easy to see why evolution equipped men with this ability to keep their horniness levels under wraps. In the environment of evolutionary adaptation, a sexually desirous man wantonly displaying his eagerness courts the murderous glares of competitor males. A sexually desirous woman doing the same doesn’t risk her life (although she does risk her reputation and catching a slew of venereal diseases).

For men, as the sex that responds instantly to visual cues for mating opportunities, there is simply a lot more time in the day when the typical man will feel urges to fuck, these urges ranging from mild perturbations of the general body to intense conflagrations of the loins. Women, as the sex for whom attraction to men is less visual and more holistic in nature, feel urges to fuck far less frequently throughout the day.

So it is understandable that women would seem to have more control over manifestations of their sexual desire. Women don’t actually have more control; they just experience fewer moments when their sexual desire is roused from slumber.

Given the near-constant onslaught of limbic-generated horniness men must tame to function in a civilized society, it’s no wonder that as a sex, men are very good at controlling their sexual urges and carrying on as if that secretary with the heaving cleavage wasn’t setting their brains and balls aflame.

All this is to say that when you see a desire distress signal in a woman, (as opposed to the transparently fake come-ons of strippers and golddigging sluts) you know that what she’s feeling in that moment is real and powerful, and therefore not something which she can conceal very well.

The body coil is one of those recognizable signs of a woman’s racing desire thwarted by circumstance. Donohoe describes it well; the whole body tenses and she appears frozen in place. An ex-girlfriend (if she’s the dumpee, not the dumper) is the perfect candidate for a whole body coil, especially if she sees you with another woman.

Men experience the body coil too. Often, it’s the inexperienced beta males who show symptoms of waking rigor mortis when in the company of a beautiful young woman. Alpha men who do well with women and who have accrued years of confidence-boosting successes bedding women sometimes come to miss those days when their bodies betrayed their desire and the aroma of a sexually ripe woman would offer a rush to scrote and soul alike that no other enticement could duplicate.

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How To Exploit The Rise Of The Degenerate Freak Mafia

Recently, I saw a woman from behind who, when she turned in my direction, displayed a full beard. A real beard meticulously trimmed to glamour mag perfection. Not two minutes after that encounter, I saw a thing whose sexuality I could not for the life of me accurately discern. When it turned to face me, I saw that it had the faint countenance of a male face, and humongous swinging manboobs that slapped against its kegerator belly. The worst part? The thing’s nipples were huge. I could see the dark outline of islet areolae and jutting teat tips stretching the fabric of its silky t-shirt.

Now, normally, I don’t like giving these freaks the satisfaction of my gawking attention, but some of them are so outlandish that the eye can’t help but try to make sense of what it’s seeing. Normally, the best way to treat freaks is to look right through them, as if they make no more impression than the air around you. Deny them what they want, which is attention, good or bad.

(Ed: Correction: the best way to treat freaks is to cast them to the icy wastelands, alone with their degeneracy, but that is not an option anymore. Too bad.)

Anyhow, the crooked rise of these shambling mounds has got me to thinking about a potential upside. If you’re a well-groomed, healthy, trim, normal looking man with no obvious psychological or sexual identity issues manifested in any body “art” or strange fashion choices, the world of the Degenerate Freak Mafia is your oyster. Waltz into a job interview or client meeting with your head held high and your chest projecting an invincible aura of confidence, because everyone will breathe a sigh of welcome relief that they’re in the company of a genetically and psychologically superior human. In the land of the disfigured, the abnormally normal man is king.

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The Measure Of A Man’s Alphaness By How Much Crap His Woman Will Tolerate

Although CH prefers the more direct means of measuring a man’s degree of alphatude, there are proxy methods for coming up with a ballpark figure for the Alpha Within. One such proxy is the amount of shit a woman will put up with from her man. The more crap she happily tolerates, the higher her man’s alpha male rating.

As commenter WillBest explains,

Women are far and away more pragmatic about men’s affairs. I know of several couples that have survived a man’s affair and none that have survived a woman’s affair.

You could probably plot your relative alphaness against what your wife will tolerate.

brothel outside country < … < discrete mistress < rumored affair < open mistress < claiming bastards < having your wife assist in selection of your harem (as seen on Marco Polo).

It’s funny ’cause it’s cruel.

A marriage can survive a husband’s infidelity because the real risk, from the wife’s gene’s POV, is the redistribution of his resources (of which love is a proxy indicator) to the other woman. As long as the husband remains primarily devoted to his immediate family’s finances, his oat-sowing won’t much affect the future of his children or the guarantee of the mother’s “maternity assurance”.

But a wife’s infidelity is much more dangerous to her family’s cohesion. She could get pregnant on one of her slutcations, and saddle her husband with another man’s spawn. (And this would’ve been more likely in the contraception-free environment of evolutionary adaptation.) This is the worst thing that can befall a husband from his genes’ POV. And if he finds out, the whole family may be nuked from orbit.

Naturally, a man’s affair isn’t automatically forgivable. Women aren’t totally inhuman; they will feel the sting of romantic rejection. But it’s true that the more alpha the man, the more tractable his woman. Hell hath no fury like a scorned wife… if her husband is a beta male. Heaven hath no angelic forgiveness like a scorned wife of an alpha male.

This post cries out for a handy dandy chart.

There’s a reason for the exponential trajectory. Observe closely, and you’ll notice most married men are betas whose wives won’t even tolerate their wandering eye without stirring up a storm of martyrdom. But once a man begins taking on the penumbras and emanations of alphaness, his woman’s toleration curve skyrockets. Each increment of alphatude results in a drastic expansion of the scope of caddish misbehavior that a wife or girlfriend will tolerate. At the extremes of male alphatude, their women are complicit in helping their men achieve the limits of sexual and romantic pleasure that are particular to the male domain of desire.

I hope this post has been instructive. May it guide you to better days in your own relationships.

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Careerism, Alcoholism, Promiscuity: Good For Men, Bad For Women

Readers sometimes ask, “CH, if you were imprisoned in a cage of domesticity, how would you deal with the cramping of your style? What would do when your old lady is a faint echo of her former pumpworthy glory?” I’ve always half-glibly said, “liquor and hookers”. Now a reader happily affirms the essential ingredients of the CH recipe for the good life. We’ll call it CAP:

Careerism, Alcoholism, Promiscuity.

drunicusrex writes,

Careerism plus functioning alcoholism plus promiscuity is perfectly fine in men, so long as they support their families well, and raise strong, intelligent children.

It’s also very possible as a married man to enjoy a few drinks, keep a mistress discreetly, and be a fine father.

Most every wife will peter out eventually, in either looks or libido (often both) and yet a strong, successful guy is supposed to give up sex after two or three kids pop out?
I think not.

Careerism, alcoholism, and eat pray fuck are disastrous in women. That shit ends marriages PDQ, and certainly trashes any maternal or parental instincts. Fuck that. Women who act like men make truly ghastly moms. (And stay at home Dads getting in touch with their metro side are questionable to say the least.)

Traditional sex roles = happiness.

So now wifey is falling asleep in the couch. Earlier from outside the window I saw some college girls heading out for St Pat’s stroll past our yard, towards the bars and shops around the corner.

Our little resort/college town does, in fact, have nearly as many temptations as any big coastal city.
But I have things to do at work tomorrow ….
perhaps I’ll just go out for one or two….

Executive summary: You reverse the sexual polarities at your peril and great risk to your family.

A self-confident culture on the upswing features a lot of men following the CAP formula for happiness. A few drinks, a young pretty mistress, and a diligently pursued passion (which could be a career or a hobby) is the secret sauce that inspirits men and motivates them to continue providing for their dutiful wives and paternally assured kids.

But, a sickly, self-negating culture on the downswing reverses this formula. Men become women and women become men. All sorts of crap flows outward from that toxic strew.

Careerist men: Strong, attractive, admirable.
Careerist women: Unfeminine, bitchy, untrustworthy.

Imbibing men: Fun, charming, sociable.
Imbibing women: Slutty, crass, poor mothers.

Promiscuous men: Happy, contented, appreciative.
Promiscuous women: Deranged, restless, divorce risks.

You’ve been warned.

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Every Situation Is An Opportunity For Pickup

Some unlearned folk think girls can only be picked up in bars or nightclubs, or that those two venues are the bread and butter of advanced cadding practitioners. They have no comprehension of the ease with which girls can be approached and courted in just about every conceivable situation outside bars and nightclubs. Every real world situation offers the awakened man who is aware of his surroundings an opportunity to say something charming that could spark and expand a conversation with a girl inside his phonic sphere.

Bus stop: “I know this bus driver. Here’s a tip: Flash some leg if you want a free ride. Works for me.”

Waiting in line for roller coaster: “If I throw up on you when we’re upside-down, don’t take it personally. It’s not you, it’s me.”

Doctor’s office: “I’m here for my bloodletting.”

Gym: “Great form!…. for a girl.”

Liquor store: “My AA group is throwing a party. I’m in charge of supplies.”

Car dealership: “I don’t want the rust protection. That’s like getting a prenup. Takes all the romance out of it, doncha think?”

Running to girl on sidewalk: “Holy crap, you walk fast. How am I supposed to woo your back?”

Dollar store, admiring $2 bauble: “It’s the thought that counts, right?”

Bowling alley: “Two strikes in a row! I need groupies. You in?”

Fly-fishing: “I’m trying to catch a mermaid. It’s time to settle down.”

Rock climbing: “Try not to stare at my butt when I’m up there. I’m self-conscious.”

At a scenic overlook: “You come here often?”

Staring side-by-side at a famously nightmarish painting in a museum: “I bet this guy got all the ladies.”

Hospital, checking in: “I have a broken heart.”

April Fool’s Day: [leaning over her cubicle] “I’ve gotta get this off my chest. Been holding it in too long. I am deeply, deeply, deeply in love with you. Always have been.” [wait a beat, point at her calendar, AN SMIRK]

Apple store Genius Bar: “Tim Cook is a fairy who does business with Saudi Arabia, a nation that beheads homosexuals, and employs Chinese child slave labor to snap the backs on iPhones. Gimme your number.”

I will neither confirm nor deny if I have used any of these lines in my own life to hit on cutie patootie pies (aka slender, 17-23 BMI, 0.65-0.75 waist-to-hip ratio, under-30 women).

The point of this post isn’t to memorize these lines. The lesson is this: Be situationally aware and in the moment. Keep your senses sharp, like a hunter surveying the veldt for prey, and exploit every chance that the banalities of life throw at you to capture the curiosity, and hearts, of cute girls gliding in and out of your world. There is much more opportunity for sexual and romantic gratification than you think you know. You’ve just gotta… bustamove.

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Bright Red BPD Flag

If, near the end of a mutually rewarding date, the girl lasciviously invites you back to her place, but once there, despite your best efforts and tightest takeaway game, steadfastly refuses to bang and taunts you with the prospect of night-long cuddling, you have a control freak with Golden Gash issues. Leave immediately, and wish her well during her stay at the spinster-in-training school for the reformed slut.

Insurmountable last minute resistance is unforgivable when the girl has made the blatant overture for a nightcap and opens her own place to you. This is nothing less than a bitch power play. The only way to beat a crazy, cock-creviced chick playing this game is to deny your participation. The last thing you want is to be that beta guy stuck in a situation where hours are spent fruitlessly begging for pussy table scraps like some street cur. If it’s heading in that direction, kick yourself out on a subtly underdramatic note, and head home with your pride intact.

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