Arnie

Lex was a ruggedly handsome man, mid-40s, and in shape from near daily yoga and martial arts classes. He was fidgety and frenetically hyperverbal and rarely came up for breath once he got rolling on a story drawn from his illustrious past and present lifestyle. And what stories! He ran a business in the recreation industry which put him in contact with a steady stream of young European girls. This contact often led to intimacy. Many patrons of his business would regale you with tales of witnessing Lex whisk some new 22 year old Polish hottie back to his quarters for a night of debauchery, only to do it again the next night with a new girl.

The four of us sat around the restaurant table swapping war stories from the field. Lex’s tomcat career was long and fruitful, but an undercurrent of melancholic nostalgia buttressed the impression that he had let one or two “quality girls” get away. He seemed, in a way, a traitor to his contentment — a victim of chance and his compulsions. Lex made a passing comment, barely noticed in the cavalcade of sex stories if you weren’t paying attention, that “it was getting harder out there” and he needed to adjust accordingly.

Zeets admired the unapologetically masculine lifestyle Lex chose for himself. Marriage, kids, social approval, clock punching and clock ticking? Fuck that noise. Lex lived on his own terms, in hock to no one but himself. Zeets playfully encouraged Lex’s telling of his numerous conquests and the game he runs on women in the big city. Lex was especially fond of “fruit stand game” where he would casually sidle up to a girl (Lex banged chicks of all ages, as long as they were younger than him) and guess what meal she was going to cook judging by the veggies she had in her basket. Since Lex was a competent cook, this banter would often segue into him inviting her over for dinner.

Trent, the fourth and youngest man at the table, also approved of Lex’s playboy adventures, but his approval carried more weight. Trent was a one woman kind of guy, always strapped into a long term relationship that lasted for years and eager to get back into one on the rare occasions he was single. Trent was no herb; he had the tools and the skill to seduce many women if he wanted, so his relatively monogamous existence was all the more intriguing.

Outside of the restaurant we parted, and Lex declined our offer to go to the bar for drinks and carousing. He was on his way back home to make a thousand calls. Lex could hardly focus on anything for long — his ADHD was legendary — and he barely stopped moving as we bro-slapped hands goodbye.

Around 1AM back at Trent’s apartment, as we were about to step inside, an older man, late 40s or early 50s, with a paunch and one shirttail of his light blue button down poking out of his jeans, greeted us with a weary but friendly expression. He introduced himself as Arnie and said he had been Trent’s neighbor for five years. Trent nodded his head knowingly as if he recognized Arnie, but later told us in private he had never seen the guy. He probably had, but it didn’t register.

Arnie was an affable bloke, and we stood outside in the mild air leaning against stair railings under the diffuse glow of the city lights for fifteen minutes talking guy stuff. We learned Arnie was never married, lived alone, and worked in a blue collar hands-on job, and that it was clear to me that he possessed the basic intelligence to work white collar if he so chose. He had lived in the city his whole life and his apartment was rent controlled. There was no chance he would leave, despite the landlord working hard to force out his tenants by passively ignoring repairs that needed to be done.

Arnie relished our company, that much I could tell. He asked us if we were planning to go out somewhere again that night. Trent mentioned the bar where he bartended and Arnie made a frown, explaining that that bar was too “hoity-toity” for him; he preferred down to earth establishments hanging “with the boys”. We laughed, because Trent’s bar is not really snobby, especially not for this city. We began turning our heads and shoulders toward the door and told Arnie we were going to call it a night. Arnie looked disappointed. “Well, another time, then.” He nodded at Trent. “Maybe I’ll meet you over at your bar sometime.” There was a hint of overeagerness in his gravelly voice.

As we stepped inside to leave Arnie behind in the streetlight-misted night, the door swung behind us with a slow creak. When it thumped closed, it echoed heavily in my ears.

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Time To Put Aside Childish Things

Some of you may have noticed a decrease in posts lately about game. There’s a reason for that. I haven’t been motivated to write about picking up women because I’ve found The One. I’ve fallen hard for this girl and… I might as well announce it here: We’re engaged to be married.

She’s absolutely perfect in every way. I adore her. She’s a few years older than me, which I have come to appreciate because of the maturity and depth of wisdom she brings to our relationship. Our conversations are long and always fascinating. She has so much to say about the world owing to the wealth of experience she has accumulated over the years. You will never go back to younger women once you have enjoyed the subtle pleasures of deep, meaningful conversation with an older woman, holding hands as you both discuss the finer shades of Naomi Wolf’s oeuvre. And I hate to boast, but it takes a strong man secure in his masculinity to handle an older woman who knows who she is and what she wants out of life.

On our first date, she told me she was a women’s studies major in college. I’m ashamed now to admit I cringed when I heard that, but she has broken through my carefully constructed defenses and opened my eyes to what it’s like being a woman in modern society. Try putting yourself in another person’s shoes just for a minute; it’s good for your soul. She told me about her struggles after college to make ends meet, but that she had no regrets about the low paying work she chose to do. I’m proud of the work she has done making abortion, contraceptives, and sex toys more accessible and affordable for third world women. This can only mean more sex for everyone and thus, fewer bitter men and less warfare.

Speaking of sex, it is amazing with my woman. A grown-up woman knows how to please a man in bed and, more importantly, she knows what gets herself off, so we don’t fumble around spastically or behave like selfish lovers. Her blowjob technique is expert level. I have no idea how she got so good. Some women are just born with the talent, I guess. She is also a die-hard romantic because she always loves sex with the lights off. I love going down on her and licking her supple labia.

I don’t want to sully my love for her, but since you all are probably wondering, yes she’s a solid 8 for her age. Much older men are constantly checking her out. I can tell you that when you fall in love with a woman you stop noticing the hints of crows’ feet in harsh light and start noticing other things, like her character. She loves me even more for seeing the real her and making her feel special. And she is special. No other woman could replace her.

I met her in a Scrabble club, which was a nice change of pace from the parade of skanks I was meeting everywhere else. I did run game on her when we started dating, although I didn’t have to lay it on thick because she’s not a flaky  22 year old girl playing the field. She won’t admit it, but she loved it when I negged her and teased her and read her palm. Because I saw her as LTR potential, I took her to a four star Asian/Mexican/Anti-American fusion restaurant on our second date. The tab for that night wound up costing me $120 but it was worth it as this was the only way she could be assured I was serious about her as more than a fly by night fling. I did some light qualifying and listened attentively to her stories about dating a DJ when she was in college and her time abroad in Rome experiencing the local flavor.

I broke my three date rule with her. We didn’t have sex until the 6th date, which was fine by me because I would have valued her less had she spread her legs sooner. She played me, and I thank her for that.

We dated for a few months and the love was strong. Although I have repeatedly written about the engagement ring as the status symbol of the incorrigible whore, I realized that being in love with a woman will inspire a man to forego his self-interest, make sacrifices, and betray his principles for a higher cause — to witness the happiness and flush of victory on his beloved’s face.

Yeah, I know what a lot of you are thinking. “Hypocrite! All this time he’s been telling us to avoid marriage, and he goes and gets married.” You forget that I’ve also said rules were made to be broken.

Did I shit all over the mission statement of this blog by admitting to all of the above? Some would say yes. I prefer to frame it as the actions of a man who was willing to be vulnerable and magnanimous when real love was on the line. Once a woman loves you for who you are, there’s no reason to continue seeing her as the woman you had to game into bed. My woman loves me and this is all I need to know that she will never hurt me. That’s why there will be no pre-nup.

When she found out about the blog (I couldn’t hide it from her in good conscience) she was understandably upset, but also intrigued. I reassured her that the man she sees on the blog is not the man she knows in real life. Then I bought her a Burberry scarf.

My new life begins now with the woman I love, and the tone of this blog will reflect that. I expect my readership to go through the roof as they follow me on my new adventure.

Next post: The limitless joy of children.

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Hormonal Surge

Conventional wisdom is that human females don’t go into heat — that is, their ovulation is hidden from male discernment — but I believe this is only partially true. The bars and clubs during the last couple weeks have been drenched in intoxicating estrogen. I notice this each year when spring begins, right around the end of March and beginning of April. The women are on the prowl, and the men are slabs of beef dangling from meathooks for inspection.

What does a roomful of sexually excited women look like? ADHD liplicking gigglebombs with perpetual pelvic grind syndrome.

The women jump from one man to the next, heaving their bosoms and smiling with glossed lips, expressing the full sensuality of their bodies in arched backs, thighs rubbing together, fingertips lightly grazing every available surface. They want the men to suffocate on their womanly bouquet, to lose control. Attention whoring is at DefCon “I’m on PornoHub” level. It’s been a hassle lately to keep one woman’s attention for long because their raging hormones are driving them to sample every man within sight, until the best cock they can afford presses its chub against her belly. That’s been the downside. The upside is that there’s a new woman eager to talk to you everywhere you turn.

Unfortunately, this nirvana won’t last long. By mid-April, the estrogen surge will have depleted itself, and most of these horny chicks will have either gotten themselves boyfriends or regressed back to their usual bitchy, arms crossed selves. Your window to act is short. Smart men know that this is the time of year to go out every night of the week to fatten up on the bounty. Be like the crocodiles gorging on the stampede of wildebeest crossing the treacherous river during their annual migration.

Men don’t understand the compulsion of the springtime female hormonal surge because our hormones surge year round. We might have a downtick in our libido now and then, like after brain surgery or a death in the family (immediate relations only), but mostly we’re good to go regardless of the season. I’m especially immune to hormone surges because my libido is at a constantly elevated state. If it goes any higher the tip could explode.

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“My Girlfriend Is On A Billboard”

I strolled along the crowded streets of the city with Damian and his brother. Girls were everywhere. New York City is day game Mecca; you can acquire one target, talk to her, maybe get her number, and immediately seize upon a new target as soon as you have parted ways. Don’t expect privacy, though. If you can’t approach and chat up a girl on the sidewalk in the company of hundreds of pedestrians, don’t bother gaming in NYC. New York really is like a giant outdoor improv class, with audience, backdrop, and scores of cute female protagonists.

It’s also a city of contrasts. You will see the most beautiful and the ugliest women here. Both capture your gawk-worthy attention. When they stand side by side at intersections waiting for lights to change, the chasm separating their genetic luck of the draw becomes unbridgeably wide. I made a mental note to hate anyone who would oppose preimplantation embryonic screening.

The other thing I noticed: Even on the older women (25+) the asses were firm and round. My eyes didn’t suffer too many flat or droopy asses. Clearly, women are working harder on their glutes, elevating this body part to centerpiece status. We rechristened New York the “City of Ass”. The city so nice two cheeks suffice. All this glute toning is not consequence free — their boobs were less than stellar. Cleavage was nowhere to be found, and in fact many of the hottest chicks sported anthills for tits.

D’s brother is dating a model. She told us captivating stories about her model friends. Well, her stories were captivating once I let my imagination fill in the details. One of her girlfriends is on a billboard. This prompted a deep, philosophical manly discussion.

ME: Does it get any better than “My girlfriend is on a billboard?”

D: It’s a show stopper.

ME: You go to a party and people ask you about your girlfriend. “Oh, she’s a lawyer.” Boring. “She’s a doctor.” Impressive, but not feeling it. “She’s on a billboard.” Oh yeah, now we’re cooking with gas. Every guy who hears that is going to imagine the hottest girl and get jealous.

D: It’s right up there with “My angel is a centerfold”.

D launched into an impromptu street dance.

D’s BRO: Pay attention, you’re missing it.

My peripheral vision caught a fleeting glimpse of a drop dead gorgeous raven-haired beauty. It’s amazing how eagle-eyed I get when a hot babe is in the vicinity. I’m sure my eyesight bumps up to 20/15.

A cabbie almost ran over our feet. D lumbered after it, exchanging colorful insults with the Indian driver who was sticking two middle fingers out the window, leaving the steering wheel unattended. It’s pointless, of course, but I suppose the yelling helps relieve the tension of nearly getting run over. D’s brother’s cellphone rang — the ringtone was the drum intro to “When the Levee Breaks”.

D’s BRO: John Bonham was a better drummer than Neil Peart. He could play any style. Peart [he antagonistically pronounced it Peeeeee-eeeeaaart] couldn’t play jazz or blues. His time signatures were limited.

D: [aroused with indignation] What are you talking about? Peart was FAR superior to Bonham. Bonham played cheesy 4/4 rock riffs. What talent does that take?

D’s BRO: Dude, Peart couldn’t hang with Buddy Rich. Remember that? He was on stage with these great drummers and he fucked up the rhythm. He has no feel. Bonham has demonstrated he can play outside his range.

D: You don’t know what you’re talking about. Peart was technically better. He played a bigger kit and made the most of it. Electronic drums and the blocks and double bass. He has to spin around! Bonham played that stupid kindergarten kit, two toms and a snare. What is that garbage? One bass drum is child’s play.

D’s BRO: Way to kill your own point, doucheass! Bonham punched out solid rhythms on a limited kit. He didn’t have the crutch of hundreds of drums and cowbells to make up for the lack of skills. You can’t get around that Peart sucks outside his comfort zone.

Punctuating his argument, D’s brother began air drumming “When the Levee Breaks”, pointing his imaginary drumstick in D’s face on the downbeat. D answered the taunt by airdrumming the solo from “Tom Sawyer”. No one on the street bothered to notice.

We stopped by a corner eatery. D ordered the $10 chocolate cake. It was the size of a miniature hockey puck. D growled when he saw the tiny dessert and the waitress looked embarrassed. “I love New York and I hate New York.” Nods of agreement.

D’s brother is an actor and a bartender. Later that night we went to his bar on the Upper East Side while he worked his shift. After a day on the streets, and a night in a bar watching the girls parade in, we concluded that New York’s girls blow SF’s girls out of the water. This was based on a scientific survey.

D’s brother mentioned a Polish girl might come in and flirt with him. She had been in his bar before and conveyed interest in him. He told us this because he suggested we hit on any girlfriends she might drag in with her. We weren’t there more than a half hour when an absolute babe of magnificent proportions and stunning natural beauty walked in the door with five other girls. She was cornsilk blonde and around 22 years old — at the peak of ripeness. She sidled right up to the bar and talked with D’s brother, dripping with a heavy Polish accent. He was indifferent, even to the point of ignoring her and walking in the opposite direction when she was in the middle of telling him something. He wasn’t doing this on purpose; he was pretty happy with his girlfriend. Naturally, his supreme aloofness only drove the Polish girl crazy with lust. Her flirting became aggressive, desperate. I vowed to get a part time job bartending.

Meanwhile, D and I took the full measure of which targets were within striking distance. To his right were two girls, one cute and one chunky. The cute one began stripping off her coat and suit jacket like a cabaret dancer. She pulled at her blouse, making “phew” noises. When a girl wants you to open her she makes it obvious by her proximity and her histrionics.

I glanced over my shoulder. “You practicing your stripper moves?”

“What makes you say that!!?” Ugh, grating New York accent. Their one blemish.

“Well, maybe it was the way you threw your coat into your friend’s face.” I looked over at the fat friend and smiled. The cute one laughed and grabbed D by the arm.

“Your buddy just called me a stripper!”

D chuckled. “I’m up for that.”

Cute chick: “You know what else will get you *up*? Tiger balm!” She looked over at fattie and they giggled.

D furrowed his brow. “Tiger balm? What? What the fuck is that?”

Cute chick: “You don’t know what Tiger balm is??!!! Oh, you’re missing out!”

Fattie: “It’s like Ben-gay. Except for… you know.”

I couldn’t believe these chicks weren’t drunk. What was their excuse? “D, it’s a lotion you can put on your junk and her junk and it heats up. It makes the banging hotter.” The girls giggled louder.

“Right, got it.” D looked disgusted. He has a thing against girls who speak crudely. His theory is that girls who talk like sailors have banged a lot of cock and are burned out from all the pump and dumping. The crudity is like a self-defense mechanism to reclaim some control over men.

D paired off with the cute chick. She seemed into him, and my eyes were resting elsewhere. Like a professional wingman, I occupied the fattie. The four of us had been talking for ten minutes when I felt the urge to break off from the group. I can only humor a fat chick for so long before my patience wears thin. The fattie was exceedingly pleasant (aren’t they all?) but if there’s no physical attraction it just feels like minutes of my precious life are draining away, better spent on slender women.

I shifted 180 degrees and opened two women sitting at the bar. They were flirting with D’s brother as he poured them appletinis. I re-vowed my previous vow to take up a job bartending. The girl nearest me was clearly drunk. Not buzzed; drunk. I hate this. Buzzed girls are great to game, drunk girls are less than useless. They can’t follow a sentence halfway through, all they know how to do is shit test, and they inspire the protective instincts of whatever sober girlfriends they happen to have brought with them. Some of them even piss themselves. They’re dead weight. If you manage to get one home and fuck her, she might pass out in the middle of sex. The only thing they are good for is injecting excitement and a fun vibe into a stalled out conversation. Use them strategically.

“Lemme guess. You guys are sisters.” They did look alike.

Drunk girl addressed me first. “OH MY GOD, how did you know that!!! Yes, we aaaarrree!” A shockwave of rancid breath hit me in the face. She smelled like she had vomited earlier in the night. “Guess our age, now!”

I don’t like when women who look old enough (late 20s) to be easily offended if you guess in the wrong direction by more than a year ask me to guess their age. It’s a landmine. So I never make a serious attempt.

“Lesseee… you’re 52?”

“Whaaaat?? Nooo!!!”

“Ok, one more try… 21!”

“Aww, you’re so cute! Does my sister look older or younger than me?”

Christ, an entire family psychodrama was about to play out. I realized if I didn’t lead the convo I could wind up being the catalyst for whatever issues these two wanted to work out.

“You know what, I’m horrible at this. But I can tell you that your sister looks like the responsible one.” I smiled at the sober sister. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“You’re the chaperone?”

Drunk girl interrupted with another blast of puke breath. “She’s younger than me! I have to look out for her.” She went to high-five her sister and missed, her open palm jabbing the air ineffectually. “Why don’t you entertain us?” She was touching her chest.

“You’re enough entertainment for all of us.” I turned my back. I had lost all interest in pursuing the set any further. With D tied up and D’s bro busy working the bar, I had nobody to act as a wedge between the sisters. The sober sister was already looking concerned for her drunk sister. Tactically, it was hopeless. If they had both been sober, I could have done something with that.

At closing time (4AM), there were eight women and me and D. Does this ever happen in SF bars? I can’t recall. If you have the energy to go out five nights a week, I can guarantee that no matter how bad your game, after six months in NYC you WILL get laid. There are just too many women in too small an area for you to fail at that goal. You’d have to be a hermit or a leper to remain involuntarily celibate in New York for more than a year.

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The Lifestyle

Oh, how I do love to be on the move, winging away to new people and new places and leaving the old ones far behind! Nothing in the world exhilarates me more than that. And how I despise the average citizen, who settles himself down upon one tiny spot of land with one asinine woman, to breed and stew and rot in that condition unto his life’s end. And always with the same woman! I cannot believe that any man in his senses would put up with just one female day after day and year after year. Some of them, of course, don’t. But millions pretend they do. I myself have never, absolutely never permitted an intimate relationship to last for more than twelve hours. That is the farthest limit. Even eight hours is stretching it a bit, to my mind.
– Oswald Hendryks Cornelius, The Visitor

The envious and scandalized often write in the comments here what an unhappy life the inveterate womanizer must lead, jumping from one conquest to another, refusing to embrace the putative alphaness of forgetting to put on the condom and fathering children, as if that’s a great and noble challenge. Good little doggies who play by the rules, trundling their way through arid, dull lives, boost their flagging spirits by imagining that their betters are unhappy, despite the evidence to the contrary.

You see, the rule followers despise the rule breakers because they know what it means — if you have something to offer you can get away with breaking the rules. And they follow the rules because… they have nothing else to offer. People will negotiate with the winners on their terms; not so with the losers. They must bend to the whim of the majority.

Misconceptions about the hedonist lifestyle abound. Some are like Oswald; confirmed relationship-phobes (but not commitment-phobes. oswald was very committed to his travels and collection of spiders and walking sticks. and his love of seduction.) These types of men, incorrigible love ’em and leave ’em lotharios, while they do exist, are few in number.

Most men who are good with women enjoy falling in love and spending time with their lovers. Oftentimes, the only difference between a grand seducer’s relationship and the typical beta’s relationship is the freedom with which the former entered it. When you freely choose your partner you are more apt to cherish her.

The ideal lifestyle for the successful hedonist is a loving long term relationship, or multiple simultaneous long term relationships, spiced with the occasional fun fling or one night stand. This arrangement satisfies a man’s desires for love and variety. Naturally, within the constraints of the sexual market, compromises will be made. Most men, mediocrities in every way, will have to sacrifice the thrill of the hunt for the sake of their relationships. Or they will have to offer up their freedom and chain themselves within the corrupt institution of marriage in exchange for the love and sexual favors of their girlfriends. And it is a truism that the more power a man has — the more leverage he brings to the market — the less he has to compromise.

If you get what you want without compromising, you are an alpha. Congratulations. It is you who inherit the earth. The meek inherit your sloppy seconds.

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Better Than

Alpha male > alpha female > beta female > beta male

30 year old bartender > 60 year old CEO > 30 year old computer nerd

Puppy > magic trick > palm reading > trendy shirt > showing up

Quality girl > slut > frigid ice queen

Sex with Bar Refaeli > sex with Bar Refaeli sexbot > sex with a 7 > sex with a 7 sexbot > sex with a 6 > masturbation > sex with the rest

Red wine > white wine

Barely Legal > Youporn > cumpilations > SI swimsuit issue > tubgirl

Charismatic alpha > asshole > gentleman > niceguy > morbidly obese loner

Sports star with no game > pickup artist > average guy with game > average guy with no game

Sex addict meeting > house party > bar > street > club > work > NAAFA mixer

Cheating man > cheating woman

Abortion > ward of the state

Voluntary formal eugenics > informal eugenics as currently practiced

For men: Fame > game > wealth > sense of humor > looks

For women: Looks >>> everything else

Thursdays > Saturdays

Multiple long term relationships > single relationship spiced with flings > monogamous relationship with quality girl > serial flings > one night stands > monogamous relationship with girl you don’t love > death > celibacy > marriage to a warpig

Not lying for sex > lying for sex > lying for relationship > lying for no sex > not lying for no sex

Indirect game >= direct game

Raw dog > blowjob > condom > blowjob with condom > couch crease > warpig crease

Big real tits > small real tits > fake big tits > no tits

Whore > golddigger > ex-wife

Maxims > blind faith

Me + perfect woman > perfect woman

Sex with love > sex with no love > no love with no sex > love with no sex

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Reader Mailbag

I often get emails from readers asking me for advice on game, dating, or relationships (along with sexual proposals from female readers). I’m less than conscientious keeping up with these email requests so instead I’ll answer some of them on the blog.

Email #1

Hey! I’ve been reading the posts on your blog, very good advice especially on the “How to win back an ex-girlfriend“.

Well me and my girlfriend of 1 and a half years broke up a little over a week ago. It’s been killing me inside cause I didn’t see it coming – but now I realise that we got boring together and I’ve learnt what I need to do in the future to make it work.Now right after it happened I did all the wrong things for a day or two – called her, texted her, rocked up to her house with flowers – but once I did that I realised she just needs space so I left her alone from then. I told her on msn that I know she needs space and I shouldn’t have rocked up to her house, and that she can take all the space she needs.

About 5 days later (a week after we broke up), she texted me asking how I was going. I wrote back really positive, she replied saying “good for you, I’m feeling pretty shit, been going out late nights over the weekend, haven’t been getting much sleep”. I wrote back positive again, joking around that she usually sleeps like 20 hours a night, I asked her if she was working much these days. She wrote back “I haven’t worked at all which has made it go so much slower :(, I was out till 3am on thurs, 5am on fri, 3am on sat, just trying to keep myself busy cause I feel like shit”. I wrote back joking around saying that we both haven’t had the flu all winter and we’ll prolly get sick from these late nights, and that I’ve got my hair cut pretty short the other day, and at the end I asked if she would like to go for coffee some time.

It was probably too soon, I didn’t get a response from her, but she called me about 30 mins later. We spoke for about 15 mins (probably too long, iknow). She was telling me who she’d been out with the last few nights etc etc. I kinda kept what I was doing to myself. At the end of the call she had to go cause someone came in to the store, so she said she would call me back. Called me again about 1hr later, we talked for a little again, then someone came into the store, same thing. She called again an hour later and said she’d just gone impulse buying perfume and stuff etc. Then one of her friends came in to the store so she said she would call again.

She didn’t call again.

It’s been 2 days since then and I haven’t contacted her in over a week. Should I give it another 2 weeks before I initiate conversation?

I’m going out with the boys again this weekend, trying to get her off my mind, its really hard though. We used to talk like 4/5 times a day, saw eachother probably every day (it was too much at times, I’ve realised this now, but she was the one that wanted to see/talk all the time so it must be killing her inside too).

What should I do from here?

I eagerly await your response!
J.

Whenever a guy tells me he “didn’t see it coming” I know that means his girlfriend saw it coming six months before he did. She’s been doubting and scheming while you still thought the love was in full bloom. That’s why you’ve got to look for the warning signs earlier and make the necessary adjustments.

It’s good that you recognized your slavish neediness (rocking up to her house with flowers? oy vey), but you continued to do the wrong things even after backing off her. For instance, never tell a girlfriend who is growing cold that you know she needs space; simply give her the space and say nothing. Verbalizing her negative feelings towards you only reinforces them in her mind and sets you up as lower status. Your thinking should always be “She is lucky to be with me” and that way when she starts to drift you do the only sensible thing a higher status man would do: You stop giving her your time and go find other women who will give you the attention you deserve.

Staying positive in your text interactions was good, but you’d have been better not answering her texts at all, or at least answering a small fraction of her texts a day or two later. You responding right away to every text she sent with long-winded and pointless conversation tells her that she is still on your mind and you’ve got nothing else going on. Also, the “I feel like shit” line is a classic female pity ploy to see if she could still wrap you around her little finger, and you obliged. Next time, ignore those female head games or call her out for trying to pull that crap on you.

“It was probably too soon”. Yes, it was. Wait at least three weeks before attempting contact of any sort.

“We spoke for about 15 mins.” You’re giving her way too much of your time. Beta. When she calls after an ostensbile breakup intiated by her your conversation should go along these lines: “Hey nice to hear from you. Listen, I’m in a rush so we’ll have to catch up some other time.” End of phone call.

“She called again an hour later and said she’d just gone impulse buying perfume and stuff etc.” She’s telling you this and you’re patiently listening like you care. An alpha male doesn’t give a shit about the shopping habits of a girl who has stopped sexing him. Cut the convo short and hang the fuck up, your time is too valuable for the babblings of a manipulative ex-girlfriend who probably banged a dude five minutes after you called her.

“She didn’t call again.” No surprise here. She dumped you, and your post-dump actions simply confirmed her emotional decision.

“Should I give it another 2 weeks before I initiate conversation?” I’m afraid you shouldn’t give it any weeks. This one is a lost cause. You’ve dug the hole too deep for calculated absence to make any difference.

“it must be killing her inside too.” No, it’s not. Projection won’t make it all better.

“What should I do from here?” You have two choices as I see it. You can either drink yourself into oblivion and pass out in the fetal position on the floor of your bathroom barely summoning the strength to flick your tongue out to catch your salty tears for nourishment, or you can go out every night, with or without your boys, and strike up a conversation with any attractive women who interest you. The outcome of either decision will resolve itself.

“I eagerly await your response!” Eagerness is what cost you this girl. Now go, and sin no more, my son.

Email #2

SO its like this:I met this girl We got to talking likeing each other
it seemed and she was asking good questions that i
figured were important to her and i did likewise.
There were elements of interest that we were both
looking into a dare i say it relationship. well she
often accuses me of flirting which i think would have
been a good point of lettin her know my interest in
subtle ways i think. anyway, finally went to chill
with her, we were supposed to go out but i got there
and she was just casual. after a while chilling
talking laughing she is alluding she might not be into
relationship just seeing what happens. well i got
comfy with her and i saw gestures of let “get dirty”
which i didnt do. in long term serious relationships,
sex is not much what i want to get into right off the
back. anyway, went to see her again and she was all
closed up. folded arms and crossed legs. are my
chances ruined here? how can i respark. i need to get
her back to the point where she was comfortable and
thought she had something over me, how else woulkd she
want to get dirty. i mean my hand was over her crothc
but i didnt do much with it.

N.

Mistake number one: Talking about looking for a relationship. Listen, it doesn’t matter how much you and her agree on wanting a relationship, talking about it, especially on the first few dates, will assuredly kill the seductive vibe that is a necessary prerequisite for a relationship to happen in the first place. Girls want to EARN your love; they don’t want you throwing it out there and depriving them of the uncertainty that moistens their womanhood.

Maxim #21: Never talk about getting into a relationship even if the girl says that’s what she’s looking for.

If she’s accusing you of flirting, what she’s really saying is “I love when you flirt with me”. So take that as a good sign, and don’t get defensive or backpedal. Just nod and say with a smirk “I can tell you like it.”

“after a while chilling talking laughing she is alluding she might not be into relationship just seeing what happens.” She’s sensing your neediness which was probably triggered by your earlier confession of wanting a relationship. When a girl pulls back, you pull back twice as far.

“well i got comfy with her and i saw gestures of let “get dirty” which i didnt do.” She wanted to get physical and you either missed the signals or refused to give her what she wanted. She now thinks she is unattractive to you.

“in long term serious relationships, sex is not much what i want to get into right off the back.” This is a common misperception about sexual dynamics. Holding back will not ensure the development of a relationship, and getting physical early will not kill the chances of a relationship happening. In fact, just the opposite. Early, passionate sex is often the prelude to amazing long term relationships. How could it be otherwise when the two of you are highly attracted to each other?

“anyway, went to see her again and she was all closed up. folded arms and crossed legs.” You weren’t physical and you talked about a romantic relationship with her before you fucked her. What did you expect when you play the part of the girl? Your job as a man is to get into her panties, sooner rather than later. Leave the relationship hyperventilating to the girls.

“are my chances ruined here?” Yes. “how can i respark.” Re-woman.

“i mean my hand was over her crotch but i didnt do much with it.” What, were you using her crotch as an armrest? If she’s letting you do that, your next step should have been the bedroom. Epic fail.

***

I hope my Dr. Phil impersonation has been helpful. Reader Mailbag will be a regular feature here at Le Chateau.

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