Period And Ovulation Tracker As Seduction Tool

A while back, Chateau proprietors urged male readers to start tracking their lovers’ menstrual cycles. The reasoning was solid: women are more prone to cheat during their ovulation with an alpha male, and, if they are on the pill, their disrupted cycles will cause them to favor the company of emotionally stunted sensitive beta providers.

Gentlemen, this is powerful stuff that science is giving us. Knowing your lover’s monthly cycle will help you identify if and when she’s likely to cheat, when she is horniest and most likely to put out with no concern for protection, and when she might grant a sexually deprived beta male with a shoulder soaked from the thousand tears of aggrieved asshole-chasing hot girls a shot at her furrow.

The problem with tracking a lover’s monthly cycle — aka fertility awareness — has always been the inconvenience. You need diligence and pluck to uncover when she is on the rag. Are you prepared to search for incriminating evidence? Can you wheedle that information out of her without creeping her out?

And once you have the coordinates for her march of the red army, are you conscientious enough to commit it to memory, and recall it when needed, month in and month out? It’s a difficult task when fertility awareness competes with other information typically stored in a man’s head, like baseball stats and experience points needed to reach the next level.

Luckily, the good nerds who write Apple apps read this blog and have taken the message to heart, devising a clever tool for easy and worry-free tracking of a lover’s cycle, cryptically named ‘I Am a Man.” You just set it, and forget it!

The app allows you to mark the calendar days when your fling, girlfriend or wife is menstruating, PMSing or ovulating. Here is a screen capture:

Think about the ramifications of using this tool. Now, every man can know:

1. when he should go to the pool hall and avoid his lover’s raging PMS

2. when he should contact his FB because his main is in full menses

3. when he should ramp up the asshole alpha treatment because his lover is ovulating and staring harder at strange men

4. when he should bring romcoms home and cook a meal or two because his lover is in the needy, weepy part of her cycle

5. when he should send a private eye to watch where she goes after work because the odds of a cuckolding are higher.

Let’s say you get back from a dinner with your girl. You go to the bathroom and quickly scan your ‘I Am a Man’ app. You see a blue diamond on today’s date. Eureka! You rush out to the bedroom naked, erect member ticking like an upside-down metronome, and she strips off excitedly, anticipating your penetration. You don’t bother with the condom, because you know she won’t put up a fuss about it. Her body wants your seed, now, and reason has jumped out the window.

But wait, you surprise her by pulling out at the last second. Foiled!

Thank you, ‘I Am a Man’ app, for the opportunity to raw dog free of consequence!

You can even use the ‘I Am a Man’ app retroactively to determine if your child is legit or the underworld bastard spawn of an alpha interloper. Was the brat conceived on a day she was ovulating and you weren’t around? Swab the cheek!

Of course, the app loses its predictive power if she’s on the pill. But you should still keep it up-to-date in case she ever goes off again. Women go off the pill for many reasons, not least of which is an empty bank account. If she goes off the pill in the middle of a relationship or marriage… watch out! Her body will scream for alpha seed as soon as that initial rush of ovulatory hormones careens through her veins. But with this app in hand, you’ll be better positioned (heh) to alphafuck the disloyalty right outta her vagina. Then you can breathe easy once the ovulation threat has passed, and go back to tenderly caressing her hair as she watches you iron her panties.

Now all the world’s men need is an app that can analyze women in the field for signals of ovulation. Perhaps a heat-signature device, or something along those lines. PUAs with a bit of muscle can hone in on ovulating targets for same night lays, while PUAs who are stronger in the comfort stage can zero in on women who are at the tail end of their menses and pining for romantic gestures.

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Are Ugly Women Necessary As Stepping Stones?

Alert: Intrapickup squabble!

Is it true that an aspiring womanizer — or even a typical man in a billowy button-down who wants to improve his love life — must pay his dues with ugly women before he can achieve the goal of banging hotter women? The question hints at a significant fault line in current pickup thinking, precisely because it throws into stark relief the ego-shattering human impulse to judge men based on the quality of women they pull.

I’ll paraphrase a reader’s objections, who asked not to be directly quoted:

Roosh’s idea that you have to bang a lot of unattractive women to get hotter women is not persuasive. What helps is getting laid regularly, which doesn’t necessarily require cutting your teeth on ugly chicks. You only need one woman to get laid regularly, so such a strategy obviates the need to fill up your notch post with lots of uglies and plain janes. Ideally, your “regular lay” should be in the 6 to 8 range, but if you’re a newbie you may have to start with 4s and 5s. Picking up large numbers of less attractive women may give you experience with logistics and help with honing your routines, but that is the relatively easy part of game. Getting laid regularly, even if it’s with one woman, is all a man needs to step up to the next higher beauty class.

My opinion on this matter falls somewhere between Roosh’s and the anonymous reader’s takes. Roosh is entirely correct to note that men who use the “I have standards” excuse are, more often than not, men who aren’t living up to their professed high standards. It’s similar in spirit to the internet nerd sour grapes syndrome, in which hot chicks that are unavailable to them are deemed unworthy of their loving nerd attention because of some ridiculously trivial flaw, like pointy elbows.

Roosh is also onto something when he advocates for having flexible standards. If 8s and above are all you will deign to approach, then there are going to be times and places when and where you will endure some long, tough dry spells, and this is especially true if you are an average guy with average game and above average horniness. Unless you have rock solid inner game and unshakeable confidence that enables you to weather extended down times without losing your pickup magic or your aura of charismatic fuckability, those dry spells will hurt your interactions with women. Like dogs can smell fear, women can smell celibacy.

The reader suggests that the ideal route for men to take to avoid sexless purgatory while keeping the ladder-climbing option open is to gun for the decent-looking regular lay. This allows a man to avoid the dispiritment that accompanies fucking too many uglies while also sparing him the stink of celibacy that erodes confidence and spooks hot chicks.

And that’s where I part company with Roosh and favor the life strategy of the anonymous reader. Fucking uglies, in even small quantities and in temporary bouts, risks flirting with depression and slumping into a long-term rut. I don’t come by this view speculatively. I have some real world trials by trolls from which to evangelize. I’ll give you an example I’m thinking of from years ago:

I had spent a few weeks fucking a 5. It was only four bang sessions, but that was enough to alter my self-perception and mood. I had gone through a bad breakup and she (the 5) presented herself, fortuitously, almost immediately after the final severance from my ex. She was friendly and sweet, and open to meeting someone. I gamed her but hardly needed more than my first wave artillery; she melted quickly. She had a good body, so despite her plain face the sex was good. But I couldn’t help notice it was not as good as   sex with hotter women.

Just at the point I was getting the full measure of my single man’s confidence back, the 5 conveniently left town, rescuing me from the awkwardness of a messy dumping I knew had to be done. However, upon leaving, the sexless rut began to reappear. Two weeks went by with no acceptable nibbles on my penile line. A buddy who was a wingman at the time suggested I meet up with a girl he had failed with himself as a sort of friendship offering in difficult times.

“You’ll really like this girl. She’s totally your type. A solid 8. Very hot, blonde.”

“Oh yeah? If she’s so hot, why aren’t you working on her?”

“I did. I got nowhere, but it’s OK, I prefer brunettes. We hang out together. She makes me look good when we go out.”

“So you want me to meet her? Hmm.”

“Yes, you’ll thank me.”

We met, all four of us — me, the “hot blonde 8”, my friend, and his current girlfriend — late at night under cover of a dark lounge. I didn’t know where my friend’s head was, but she was no 8. Yes, she had blonde hair, but that was about where the confirmation of my friend’s powers of observation ended. From what I could glean through the dim club light and my alcoholic haze, she was no better than a 6, and maybe even a 5.

Nevertheless, I was horny, and feeling down. I could use the pickmeup pickherup. We trundled outside, into a cab, and I took her back to my pad. Inside my place, lights at full blast, I was sorely disappointed to realize my friend’s “solid 8” was a weak 4. I had never fucked a 4 before, and never would again.

Too late to reverse course, and bored into conspiracy, I lamely escorted her into my bed, and quickly swung her into the doggy-style position where exposure to her face would be limited. Her body wasn’t half-bad, but not good enough to compensate; my dick went limp inside her vagina. I imagine that has to be a girl’s worst nightmare; up front rejection in the form of a backturn or a wandering eye is bad enough, but getting rejected in the most softeningly obvious way possible when you are literally giving it everything you’ve got, your womanhood deeply committed… well, that’s gotta sting.

I couldn’t be bothered to make excuses. She dressed and left in silence. My blue mood hardened. I cursed my friend’s taste in women. I took a shower to wash off the dirt that had alighted upon my soul.

Two women, one borderline ugly and the other plain as unsyruped pancakes, in a row and I was done with the idea of it. Their company, however genial and accommodating, did nothing to lift my spirits or gird my confidence. Just the opposite, in fact: I fell deeper into self-flagellation.

One week after the limp-out incident, I hit up a local lounge and met an 8.5 whom I would spend the next five months fucking in gloriously hedonistic abandon. I have yet to share my bed since then with a woman lower than a 6.5. I learned my lesson.

I’m as horny a guy as you’ll find, but I have to admit not so horny that I’ll start rummaging through the 3 and 4 kitchen trash if there’s no four star restaurant available. Maybe that’s a problem of getting laid too regularly — you lose that wall-climbing horniness that would compel you to stick it in the most convenient wet hole. Ugly girls as stepping stones to hotter women sounds good in theory, but in reality sex with them too often — and too often can happen a lot faster than most men realize — is not only a time and energy suck, but a depressive drug that corrodes self-confidence.

Perhaps this feeling — this sex dynamic — varies by race, age and baseline dignity. If so, more power to the guys who don’t mind dumping fucks in seacows and butterfaces. I can’t bring myself to do it, even if it’s all the local talent has to offer. My minimum threshold in women’s looks is 6, under which it becomes almost physiologically impossible for me to complete the bang.

My inner game is strong enough now that I can afford to risk a month or two downtime without getting too rusty or too doubtful of my skills. I would only use an ugly girl who fell below my minimum looks threshold as a stepping stone in the most dire of circumstances, such as if my dry spell extends beyond two months, or I’ve taken to, ahem, “mood enhancers” that give me 24 hour wood.

So you might say that the reader’s strategy is the way to go if you are a high risk for lengthy dry spells, and your game and self-possession aren’t strong enough to carry you through a slump slumming it with ugly chicks. Alternatively, Roosh’s strategy — to skip the “regular lay” girlfriends and just focus on getting laid even if the talent available is not up to snuff — is better if you can’t tolerate any kind of dry spell, if your dick is indiscriminate, and if your game is good enough that regular pickup with little downtime is within the realm of possibility.

TL;DR Don’t make a habit of banging ugly chicks. It can be as bad for your self-confidence as involuntary celibacy.

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Feminist Self-Owned On Male Porn Star Theory

Slate, that bastion of feminist mental gymnastics, has an article about some male porn star who appeals to women because he supposedly embodies nonthreatening boyishness.

In the winter issue of Good Magazine, Amanda Hess has a fascinating profile of James Deen, a young, handsome porn star who is becoming famous for actually appealing to women. Due to his boyish, slightly skate-punk aesthetic, naturally toned body, and ability to connect emotionally (or at least appear to) with his female co-stars, Deen has garnered a following of devoted young women in an industry that in most cases ignores them entirely. Hess explains that Deen’s school-boy charm is what makes him approachable—and sexy—to his female fans:

Deen has carved out a niche in the porn industry by looking like the one guy who doesn’t belong there. Scroll through L.A.’s top porn agency sites and you’ll find hundreds of pouty women ready to drop to their knees, but just a few dozen men available to have sex with them. These guys all have a familiar look—neck chains, frosted tips, unreasonable biceps, tribal tattoos. Deen looks like he was plucked from a particularly intellectual frat house.

Hess goes on to discuss why there aren’t more guys like Deen in the male porn-star stable, and her findings tell us just as much about male viewers’ hang-ups as they do about women’s erotic preferences. Part of the problem is that men (who largely control the porn industry) imagine that women want everything big—“Big arms. Big abs. Big dicks,” as Hess puts it—when what they really want is something a little less overwrought. One of Hess’ subjects described her attraction to Deen thusly:  “He was almost like a guy that you would just hang out with at Hebrew school.”

What a robust theory from sex-positive feministland! A hardcore male porn star women love because he’s a caring, emotionally available niceguy. Except it isn’t true.

A number of commenters familiar with the field pointed out the factual problems with Hess’ theory.

You’ve got to be kidding. This guy, while lacking in tribal tattoos, makes up for it in being like every other incredibly raunchy porn star. As a normal heterosexual male, I’ve seen him in tons of porn (as there’s really only like 5 male porn stars, as the article says, and there [sic] in everything), and, past looks, he is in no way some sensual lovemaking hebrew camp dude. He does not stare longingly into their eyes and whispers in their ears. He chokes women, slaps them, does pretty degrading things to them. He fits perfectly into the stereotype of porn as a male-centric, women-as-objects display of power. If women actually watch him, If a women who did not like porn watched one of his, they would in no way find it any different, save the frosted tips, ect. This artice is really silly.

***

Do a google search or xvideos search for “pornstar punishment” with “James Deen” and you can see for yourself how well he “emotionally connects” with the women while he chokes them and slaps them. The article seems kind of funny after seeing that. Poorly researched.

Hilarity. Another crackpot feminist theory bites the dusty muff. It seems the truth is as it always was, particularly of women who love to watch male-oriented porn: chicks dig jerks, especially jerks who choke and slap them during “lovemaking”.

Why do feminists run like rats from a spotlight beam whenever they are confronted with the reality of female sexual nature and women’s preference to surrender to dominant men? What is it about that fact that sends them into paroxysms of nonsensical deconstructivism babble?

Steve Sailer has pithily remarked that the goal of feminist writers is to rearrange the world so that, come the revolution, ugly feminists will be desired by men. I have a corollary to that theory.

Feminists loathe the objectification of women because they know they don’t measure up as objects of desire.

The natural female desire to submit to a powerful man is especially galling to feminists, because it strikes at the heart of their conceit: that women can, and more importantly, *want* to scale the heights of achievement just like men do, and the only thing stopping them is misogyny and the patriarchy. If feminists were forced to acknowledge that most women have no such inclination, that in fact they prefer to support with their love and affection a worthy alpha male, they would have to face the unpleasant truth that they are a minority of masculinized freaks out of touch with the majority of their own sex. Outcasts are always fighting to make the rest of the world seem deluded and tyrannical.

That Slate article has another doozy of a theory about why there aren’t more James Deens in male-centric visual porn.

But the real obstacle to the proliferation of female-friendly male porn stars is, oddly, a rather nasty and subtle strain of homophobia, revealed in the following double-bind:

The straight male performer must be attractive enough to serve as a prop, but not so attractive that he becomes the object of desire.

Hess is spot on. Men need to see a penis in straight porn (presumably to stand in for their own), but not one that is attached to a guy who might be threateningly attractive, not to mention plausibly appealing to the woman involved. Maybe this insistence on a male blank slate (a kind of reverse objectification, when you think about it) makes it easier to project oneself onto the disembodied penis, but it also protects men from the potentially scary experience of being turned on by both partners of a heterosexual encounter—which, yes, does involve another dude. In other words, the bland interchangeability of the “unreasonable” looking men allows them to avoid confronting the terrifying specter of homosexuality.

Yup, homophobia is the reason why there aren’t feminist-approved male role models in porn.

Folks, you can’t make this shit up. Unless you’re a graduate of Columbia University.

Gay fabulosity is most likely biological in origin, so straight men are not going to be turned on by the penises pounding away in porn or the men attached to those penises, no matter how nonthreatening they look. Straight men watch porn because the sight of a hot babe’s body in the throes of sex, and the visual of various female orifices getting penetrated, is arousing. Straight men don’t like to see the faces of the male porn stars because it’s distracting from the action, and BONER KILLING.

The NewYorkBetaTimes, of all organs, even had a story about a study which proved that the sight of penises or men engaged in gay sex has no effect on the penile responses of straight male viewers. But I guess to the gatekeepers of the homophobia grievance flame, such inconvenient truths are mere speed bumps in the road to an ego-ensconcing distortion of reality.

I wonder if people realize that three quarters of mainstream internet websites would disappear overnight if a law mandated that no more than half of their content could be feelgood, made-up shit.

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Women’s Shifting Perceptions Of Male Looks

A critical sex difference is in how men and women perceive the looks of the opposite sex. A woman’s beauty is a powerfully visceral stimulant of men’s desire, and tends to remain so until their beauty begins the fade in earnest by the early-mid 30s. Men’s looks, in contrast, provide a more muted stimulation of women’s desire — less visceral and more aesthetic compared to the hungering stimulation female beauty causes men to feel — and this stimulation of female desire tends to manifest in two ways.

1. Women can be drawn to men’s looks upon first sight, just as men are by women’s looks, but unlike men, women can (and will) nearly instantly lose the thrall they feel in the presence of a good-looking man should his behavior and conversation come across as unattractively beta. Betaness can kill the advantage of good looks dead.

The same is *not* the case when the sexes are reversed; that is, a beautiful, bitchy women will still make men feel horny, even as the bitchy attitude discourages men from treating such women kindly.

Maxim #67: When women are confronted by a man with low status behavior that is incongruent with his high status looks, they will never resolve the incongruity to the benefit of his status; women will always resolve the incongruity to the detriment of his looks.

2. Women will gradually perceive a man’s looks getting better over time if he possesses other attractiveness traits (e.g., charm, fame, social savvy) or if the woman in question has fallen in love with him. “Time”, in this context, can be as long as years or as short as a few minutes. A man running tight game *will* be perceived as better looking by women. A man in a relationship who is loved by his girlfriend or wife will also enjoy the benefit of positively altered female perception of his looks.

Again, the same phenomenon does not exist when the sexes are reversed; an ugly woman, no matter how charming, wealthy, famous, kind or personable, will *not* be perceived as better looking by men. A similar dynamic operates within relationships; in fact, a woman in a long term relationship can actually become *less* attractive to her lover as his desire for variety begins to outcompete his feelings of love and loyalty.

There is one caveat: early in a relationship, when the feelings of love are strongest (3 months to 2 years, depending on his basal oxytocin levels), a man will be so infused with a dopamine high that his woman will seem more beautiful to him than when they started dating fornicating. Although — and this cannot be stressed enough — NEVER will she seem more beautiful than when he FIRST laid eyes on her. That initial blast of lust is impossible to duplicate.

The above observation of the female inclination to perceive a lover’s looks in more favorable terms explains the time-tested wisdom that a woman in love thinks her man better looking than he is. I believe this change in perception is so powerful that it actually reflects a neural rewiring of a woman’s brain circuitry when gazing upon the visage of a man she loves. Similar radical alterations in female perception happen when a woman is pleasantly surprised by a charismatic man who is successfully seducing her despite his unimpressive looks.

Stingray wrote:

I knew a guy in high school who had severe burn scars covering more than half his face.  Dated one of the most popular girls in school for a long time and was liked by all the other girls as well.  Everyone who knew him said that after knowing him for only a short time, the scars were invisible.  They simply became part of who he was and went completely unnoticed.   Attitude is everything.  Looks may slow down those initial reactions, but if you move beyond that and maintain a confident frame, they will not hinder you much.

Scar game.

A man’s physical flaws are like disappearing ink — exposure to a woman’s love, or even her interest, will cause them to fade away.

And here is some real world experimental evidence that manly confidence influences women’s perceptions.

According to a university study, women can still identify a physically  attractive man just by reading his profile.

It found good-looking men were able  to convey their confidence and attractiveness in their written self-description – and that women volunteers were able to recognise their beauty without being shown the lonely heart’s accompanying photograph. […]

‘Our data suggests that attractive individuals wrote texts (profiles) that  conveyed confidence, and it was perhaps this confidence which primarily  signalled quality to the women.’

The associate professor added that ‘such confidence may arise from attractive  people’s general sense of their high mate-value’.

Take home lesson: If you’re an ugly man, you can influence women to perceive you as more physically attractive than you are by projecting the confident demeanor of an attractive man. A low status man can influence female perception by projecting the attitude and body language of a high status man. This is the crux of game.

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A Quantifiable, Objective Standard Of Beauty

A Daily Mail article (usually I’d say take the Mail with a flat of salt, but they did helpfully include sources so you could dig up the original study if you were so inclined) presents new research that female beauty has the same effect on male brains as cocaine.

The study, conducted by Harvard University researchers, found the face of an attractive woman triggers the same reward centres in a man’s brain as [cocaine].

Test subjects were shown images of attractive females, and brain imaging scans revealed that reward circuitry fired off when they looked at comely faces.

A prominent curved forehead, eyes, nose and mouth located relatively low, large eyes, round cheeks and a small chin were among the features men found most attractive.

A reader writes in response to the article :

So, seeing this young lady’s face and body causes a cocaine-like effect on male viewers.

We could show a large sample of men a large sample of images, and determine quantitatively how intense the response was.  This would allow us to prove that beauty is not a social construct but is hardwired, and even to show which females have the goods, objectively.

We could even show that fat females cause no brain squirt of coke-like nice-nice.

There is a lot of science to be done here that will make a lot of pretty lies wither.

Veeery interesting. Yes, the results of such a study would, I’ve no doubt, drive another nail into the ideological coffin of the “cultural conditioning” crowd. You want to gleefully watch covens of feminists cry to the hells below and lash out in spittle-flecked fury? Show them studies that beauty is objective and measurable, and that men pretty much share an attraction for the same slender, beautiful women.

A study that showed the same SPECIFIC reward regions of the brain LIGHTING UP on MRI scans of, say, one hundred brains of men hailing from various globe points when they looked at photos of beautiful women, and then DEACTIVATING when the men were shown pics of ugly or fat girls, would be the sort of inarguable hard science that should, in a rational, sane world, utterly discredit the beliefs of those who say beauty is a subjective, cultural construct. Brain scans would, humorously and in one fell swoop, put the lie not only to platitudinal feminist gum-flapping insisting there are no standards of measurable beauty, but to the feeble entreaties of all those cloying betaboys who suck up to flabby fembots by telling them what they want to hear.

“ew, i don’t want an anorexic. i like a girl with curves, like you dear”

brain scan image formulating… *beep boop beep*… “anorexic” girl pic asplodes brain

“no no, that’s not me, dear. that’s just my culturally conditioned brain talking.”

😆

There are lies, and there are cosmic overlies. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” and “beauty is subjective” are those cosmic overlies that fuel the core reactor which energizes so many lesser lies. Destroying them would cause dominoes of lies to fall in their fiery wake.

ps a little question i like to pose to people who don’t believe universal beauty standards exist is the following: how could photoshop professionals, who spend their days retouching photographs of women to make them more attractive, know which parts of the face to alter if beauty did not have an objective, measurable basis? think about it.

pps i told you i would give you three evolutionary psychology related studies this week sure to fibrillate the hearts of feminists and their apologists, and i came through. now go, my disciples, and spread the game word.

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Hot Vs Sexy

Take a look at the very hot Betty Draper (aka January Jones):

She is a raving beauty with a sexual philtrum.

Now take a look at the very sexy Rachel Menken (also a Mad Men character):

Don’t you just want to bang her on a kitchen counter after playing pattycakes with her ass cheeks using a spatula?

If you averaged the ratings of 100 men, there’s little doubt that Betty would score about a point higher on the looks scale than Rachel, and their scores would roughly converge around a 9 for Betty and an 8 for Rachel. (Please spare the readers your personal preference. Averages are what matter in the sexual market.)

Yet, I predict that a majority of men would find Rachel to be “sexier” than Betty. Why is that? What nebulous traits imbue a woman with the alluring glow of sexiness?

I’m sure a man steeped in aesthetic sensibility would craft an enlightening essay full of power adjectives and stirring metaphor as a paean to what constitutes female sexiness, and boy will it sound good on paper. But it won’t mean a goddamned thing. Empty words to flesh out a reality that doesn’t exist except in the glorifier’s head. Which pretty much sums up the whole of modern art, come to think of it.

No, sexiness has little to do with face shape, or eye sparkle, or energy, or chi, or mouth curl, or the way she holds a cigarette. Instead, what sexiness means in the minds of men is a lot more pedestrian. When men say a woman is sexy, they mostly mean she is ATTAINABLE.

The average man looks at a hot woman, and he lusts for her, but he entertains scant possibility that he will be able to bed her. But when that man looks at a perceived sexy woman, he couples with his appreciation a genuine feeling that, given just the right ecological conditions, he could actually seduce that woman and enjoy her sex.

None of this should suggest that sexy women aren’t also good-looking women. Nerds, intelligent but mousy artist types, white knights and feminist apologists for plain janes love the “sexy” label because they value its utility as a loophole and ego massager against the unrelenting and immutable beauty standards of the sexual marketplace. Show me a man who calls an ugly woman ineffably sexy, and I will bet you that he is himself an SMV loser.

Sexy women are never the unattractive (or even marginally attractive) totems to an imaginary equalist dating market that fembots and washed up cougars wish they were. Quite the opposite. While sexy women are often not as hot as genuinely hot women, they aren’t much more than a point lower on the universal looks scale. What primarily distinguishes the sexy woman from the hot woman is that she possesses just enough in the way of physical flaws that she catapults from dreamy but distant object of beauty to alluring but attainable perfumed girl sharing a drink with you.

In other words, you can more easily envision your dick in Rachel’s vagina than in Betty’s vagina, and that makes all the difference in perception.

There are other, relatively minor distinctions that make a sexy girl stand out from a hot girl. Obvious markers would include sluttiness of dress, throat-raspiness of flirting, expertise in lowering the eyelids to half-mast for long periods of time, and mastery of the good-to-go vibe. But before you ugly and plain chicks start practicing your eyelid lowering technique, know that no amount of sexy mimicry will transform your face into one that men want to spermally defile. You still need the looks, and for that you have only your parents, and to a lesser extent your self-discipline to push away from the table, to credit or blame.

There are those rare ultrafeminine creatures who coalesce both ethereal beauty and feral sexiness in one package (before she crossed the Rubenesqueicon):

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Bewbs

Girls with big boobs (D cup or bigger) love to talk about them. Their girl friends love to talk about their big boobs for them. They think men fall over themselves to nestle in the glory of big boobs. What these girls don’t understand is that big boobs mean nothing out of context. The body to which the boobs are attached is what completes the picture.

Let’s cut to the quick. Big boobs are only — and I mean ONLY — attractive when they are firm and popping out of the chest of a slender woman. (I’m looking at you, Caitlin! ;))

They should point almost straight out, even upturned a bit at the tip, with little to no droop. None of the underboob should be pressed against the chest; there should be no more than a finger’s width crease between the boob ballast and the torso. You may wedge a toothpick in there, but anything larger and the boob has crossed the line from pert to saggy.

A mighty rack on a slender woman is a sight to behold. A woman with this blessing can incite instant wood walking down the street.

Regrettably, most mighty racks are attached to behemoths. Big boobs are the sort of thing fat chicks love to crow about, not realizing that the D cup boob loses all attractiveness if it is a bloated pendulous udder with the consistency of lumpy gravy resting like a flapjack against a bulging stomach.

Since the majority of big boobs are actually fattened teats perched on porcine figures, it’s safe to say the most attractive boobs are the sets belonging to thin chicks, which means they are typically in the B to C cup range.

If this isn’t getting through to the fatties, allow me to elaborate.

An A cup on a hot slender babe is way sexier than a double D on a fat cow. HTH.

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