Quality Vs Quantity Pussy

The best way to explain the tradeoff between chasing lots of pussy and pursuing the best pussy is in graphical form. First we’ll look at quality.

The pleasure axis measures the stimulation you feel from banging her and just generally looking at her naked. As you can see, the pleasure curve for quality pussy is exponential. Jumping from a 7 to an 8 adds more units of stimulating pleasure to the experience than jumping from a 6 to a 7 would add. Any girls 4 and lower and you’ll hardly notice the difference in pleasure — it’ll all just be wet holes and darkness and stopwatches and running out while she’s in the bathroom. The penis icons drive the point home even better. At a girl rating of 5, you’re chubbing out in anticipation of sex. Anticipating sex with a 7.5 gives you a full hard-on. When there’s a 10 in your bed, your dick is so hard it’s sprouted Wolverine claws. Perfect for female lawyers!

Now we’ll take a look at quantity.

 

The pleasure curve for quantity is different than the quality pleasure curve because there are diminishing returns to pleasure past a certain number of notches. Variety is its own reward until the effort expended exceeds the rewards gained. The effort required to bed 10,000 women is so immense, assuming you’re not a Wilt Chamberlain caliber alpha male, that any marginal increase in stimulation barely registers. You’re spending all your manly energy on the chase instead of the fucking. Your dick won’t be able to distinguish and enjoy the subtleties of individual women after about 5,000 — you’re lost in a sea of vagina at that point, and dehydrating fast.

There is a sweet spot, though. The curve really begins an upward trajectory of rising pleasure around 50 women and takes off until the penis is happiest in the 200 to 500 range, depending on your tightness of game and multitasking ability. You’ll want to shoot for a number somewhere in that range in order to maximize your joy on earth and minimize your regrets in old age.

Where does this leave the battle of quantity versus quality? In a perfect universe, we wouldn’t have to choose — the ultimate pleasure for men is 10,000 10s. But since only the tiniest fraction of super alphas can pull off that feat, we have to be realistic and take effort into account. If you were to superimpose the two graphs you’d see that the quantity curve near the point of diminishing marginal pleasure bisects the quality curve at around the 8.5 rating. This means that, if the effort required were the same, the pleasure received from bedding 100 average girls for one night apiece is equivalent to the pleasure of steady sex from one 8.5.

Of course, the effort required is not the same. Putting in overtime for 20 ugly chicks is gonna feel like shit compared to working half as much for one 7 or 8. But putting in equal effort for 20 8s will be worth more than sex with one 9.

The goal for the discriminating hedonist man whose time and energy is valuable should be 200-500 notches over his lifetime in the 5-8 range (allowing for the occasional dumpster dive), and steady girlfriends on the upper end of the rating scale.

Any guy who claims to have game but picks up hundreds of circus freaks a year will be a laughingstock. And the boastful guy with few notches who claims to know everything about women because he’s been dating his cute high school sweetheart his whole life will similarly be mocked.

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Sex Makes Me Sick

Or, at least, I suspect it compromises my immune system and makes me more vulnerable to germs than I normally would be. The problem is that it’s hard to tease out the primary causes — it could be the drinking, which often goes hand in hand with the sex, especially if you’re getting action on the prowl. Relationship sex is mostly sober unless your relationship is dysfunctional. It could be the mingling of fluids and exhaled breath. Or maybe it’s a general weakening that happens when precious sperm leaves its home.

I know someone who fucks for hours at a time but refrains from ejaculating, pausing when the moment of imminence arrives, and starting up again when it’s passed. (I can do this. The trick is to squeeze hard at the base of the shaft when you’re about to cum. It shuts the hydraulics off. Timing is everything.) He does this for one or two week cycles, at the end of each cycle I assume he unloads with a blast that could drill a hole in drywall. He swears this gives him more energy and a feeling of invincibility from all the testosterone that builds up, and is supposed to slow the aging process.

Vitamins and anti-oxidants like grape seed extract have been ineffectual.

My choice:

Swear off sex for six months to recalibrate my immune system and return to the field desperate and horny, but healthy.

Or

Continue fucking as my lifeforce drains out of me and I die prematurely from the common cold.

PSA: Viagra is weak. I recommend ordering yohimbe from India where they manufacture a more potent form of this natural “male enhancer”. It will make your shaft feel like adamantine and the tip extra-sensitive.

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My First Experience With A 10

One time in South Beach I wandered into one of the art deco hotels and found myself surrounded by models. It was 1AM and I was drunk so it seemed like a good idea to roam the halls of a random hotel and crash any parties in progress. Every other room door was open and filled with beautiful people smoking pot, lounging on bean bags, and languidly caressing each other. There were hippie beaded doors and silk see-through fabrics substituting for real doors from which billowing clouds of pot smoke would emanate. The whole place gave the impression of walking through an interactive diorama of set pieces featuring the genetically perfect in their native habitat doing what they do best — snorting hedonism like an eight ball.

Passing by one of the rooms a girl shouted out at me to come in and join them. “Hey you, whatever your name is, don’t be shy!” I was barely out of college and had no game for this type of situation so all I could do was nod at the group and feel my pupils dilate to maximum aperture to take in the breathtakingly beautiful women. An occasional 9 or 10 walking down the street is a rare treat and can knock a guy right out of his daily humdrum stupor, but a roomful of 9s and 10s in seductive half-naked poses, doing that thing where you’re high and laughing without any noise coming out of your mouth, and gesturing for you to come closer where you take in their natural aromas, will make you catatonic. I tried hard to ignore the male models scuffling around the room in their underwear and felt relieved that the purity of my heterosexuality was not challenged by their six sigma good looks.

I sat on the purple shag rug next to one of the girls, a waifish brunette with olive skin and Mila Kunis lips. Her body and face couldn’t have been crafted any better by a master sculptor. I admired her flat stomach under her half-shirt dangling like an awning off her boobs.

“Where are you from?”
“Nowhere.” (I was very angsty back then.)
“Well, Mr. Nowhere, spark it up! You look tense.”
She handed me a spliff. I coughed on my first drag.
“I should warn you, it’s strong leaf.”
Suddenly, she leaned over and planted her lips on mine. The sensations overwhelmed me. I felt like I was having an out of body experience. We kissed for a few seconds. She pulled back and laughed as she slapped the back of her hand against her forehead.
“Hey dude, beer’s on the balcony.” One of the male models was talking to me.
I looked over and saw that my new love had her hand on his knee and he was chuckling. I stood up and went to the balcony. There was no beer in the cooler. Looking around, I saw that no one was paying me attention anymore. I left to find my friend.

That night was a glimpse into another world, a secret society of blessed people who are above 99.999999% of humanity, flouting every known convention and not giving a fuck. I fondly remember my first kiss with a 10 better than I do my actual first kiss. Enjoying the pleasure of a truly stunning woman is an experience like no other on this earth. Mediocre women — even attractive 8s — don’t provide the same profound depth of stimulation. I don’t know how so many men can get it up for ugly women.

In the age old question of quantity versus quality a balance must be struck. The super alphas will cycle through a rotation of the hottest women. Everyone else must compromise in some way. Variety in itself is a turn-on, but steady sex from one exceptionally beautiful woman is more rewarding than new sex with a plethora of plain janes.

Beautiful women are worth holding out for. By “holding out” I mean “saving your commitment”. One night of sex with a 10 is equal to ten years of sex with fifty 6s.

Tomorrow I will discuss the quantity vs quality pussy issue in more detail.

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State Of Nature

I don’t think people realize just how much condoms and the pill have altered human sexual behavior. To prove this, let’s examine the sexual history of the average alpha male with a healthy sex drive:

10 partners per year.
approximately 1.5 copulations per day for ~545 copulations per year.
about 55 copulations per partner.

Now of course none of this matters in the era of contraception since the odds of him getting any of these girls accidentally pregnant is near zero, assuming he is strict in his adherence to protecting himself from baby blackmail and the girl is not lying about being on the pill. Most guys, especially alphas who have high risk temperaments, aren’t that self-disciplined and get sloppy once in a while and blast inside, so the chance of fertilization is a little higher than zero. It’s probably more like an elevated risk of conception for 1% of the yearly 545 copulations, or 6 copulations randomly distributed have a better than zero chance of turning into 18 years of living hell. Extrapolating outward 10 years, the average alpha male would wind up with one unwanted child. Abortion being the cure for what ails ya, even that unlikely scenario wouldn’t come to fruition.

What are the consequences in a pre-contraceptive world? Using the copulation numbers above and assuming the same high risk and sloppy behavior of the average alpha, a girl who didn’t have access to the pill or abortion and a guy who didn’t have regular access to a reliable condom (which was the case for most of human history) would run a much higher risk of accidental pregnancy. Let’s say he pulls out successfully 80% of the time and the remaining 20% of copulations he isn’t fast enough and a little of his juice spills inside her. Of that high risk 20% (109 copulatory events) 5% result in conception. That’s 5 unwanted pregnancies per year, folks, spread out over five different partners.

If you don’t think that massively transformed risk-reward structure would have any effect on human behavior you are living in a fantasyland. Pre-contraception, women were probably more chaste and permitted internal blasts primarily with provider betas they could be sure wouldn’t leave them in case of pregnancy. Men, for their part, were less likely to pump and dump in favor of winning over these chaste girls with displays of resources. Alpha males still scored better than average amounts of pussy, but the sexual playing field was more level. With abortion, the pill, and ribbed condoms women exercised their liberation from reproductive consequence by rewarding the caddish alpha males with more sex than they knew what to do with.

The pill has been the beta’s worst enemy.

I made a rough calculation in my head how many kids I would have if contraceptives didn’t exist. The number is sobering. At least 125 mini-mes would be roaming the plains of America, and France, today. Luckily, I only have to spend a few hours each year visiting my nieces and nephews, which is a level of commitment that suits me well.

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Are European Girls Better Lays?

I usually dismiss arguments like this out of hand because I believe that it’s not the girl that makes the lay but the strength of attraction between the girl and the guy. The more you like each other, the more explosive the sex will be, regardless of country of origin.

But now I wonder if there isn’t some truth to this theory besides anti-American posturing. Thinking back on every sexual interaction I ever had (my memory is sharp in this area) and comparing the experiences with the foreign girls to my compatriots, I arrive at the inescapable conclusion that the foreigners (mostly European, including Russian) were better lays.

Evidence based on general trends:

European – Naturally lubricated. Initial thrust executed without needing to pry apart the labia with my fingers first.

American – Bottle or tube of lube always within reach.

European – Expert at being on top. I felt confident she would not break my dick bone with a false move.

American – Girl on top always had an element of fear. I had to expend wasteful energy grabbing her hips firmly and preventing her from rising up too far off my dick and disengaging, or shifting awkwardly to the side or backwards.

European – Requested anal.

American – Frightened of it. Needed multiple reassurances.

European – Understood that tongue pressure was as important as saliva and making an O shape out of her mouth for enjoyable blowjobs. Often pressed it against the inside of her cheek contributing to visual as well as tactile stimulation.

American – Where did her tongue go? And why is her hand doing most of the work?

European – Met my thrusts with equal fervor, like colliding asteroids of flesh.

American – Received my thrusts passively. Brief moments of minor hip grinding.

European – Threw the sheets off when having sex.

American – Pulled the sheets over us when having sex.

European – Banged as often during the daytime as at night.

American – Day sex was infrequent. At night, didn’t even like a light on in another room.

European – Peed in front of me on the first night together.

American – 3 month waiting period before being allowed to see her sitting on the bowl.

European – Liked to smoke after morning sex.

American – Liked to talk about what we’re “going to do today” after morning sex. (this one’s a wash)

European – Public sex is a rite of passage. Parks, woods, movie theaters, my Mom’s couch.

American – Public sex is doing it with the TV on in the background.

Game, set, match: Euro babes.

European women seem more open and experimental than American women. They are less neurotic and don’t sweat the small stuff. Most importantly, they live in the moment. American women are constantly worried how they look in the wrong lighting, and how the ambiance has to be just right for them to feel comfortable getting naked. When a European girl is post-coital you know her mind is clear and she is giving herself over to the pleasure. An American girl is going through her appointments in her head, wondering if she has enough time in her busy schedule to squeeze in a spa treatment.

***

On a completely unrelated note, I am planning a future extended trip to Poland, Estonia, and possibly Hungary. I expect to meet the barely legal girl of my dreams there. If anyone has advice how to make the most of my time in that part of the world feel free to email me or leave a comment.

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Prostitutes Are Not Victims

Wow, this is the story that keeps on giving. A common refrain I heard a lot, mostly from women but some uptight men as well, was that Ashley the hot young whore was a victim of her circumstances. It was the fault of the patriarchy, or sex-obsessed men, or drugs, or divorce, or running away from home. She was never to blame for her choices. But now her life is being revealed for what it really was:

Ashley Alexandra Dupré, an alleged call girl known as “Kristen,” who helped bring down New York’s governor, writes of a past checkered with poverty and even homelessness.

It’s a tough image to reconcile with the wealthy surroundings of a childhood spent with her mother, older brother and stepfather, an oral surgeon.

The white brick home in an upscale development near the Jersey Shore, is bordered with manicured shrubs and a wide, curved driveway. Large brass letters spell “PEACE” above the polished, auburn wood door. A similar house next door, where one of Dupré’s close childhood friends still lives, is on the market for more than $1.5 million, according to its owner.

Yeah, sounds like “the street” destroyed her and caused her to turn to a life of whoring. So what pushed her over the edge?

She also mentioned being abused while growing up, saying it forced her to run away – a claim one family friend called ridiculous.

“She crashed up [her stepdad’s] Porsche and wanted another one, and he wouldn’t give it to her, so she left,” said the friend, who asked her name not be printed.

She should move to DC, she’d fit right in here with her well-developed entitlement attitude.

In the meantime, Spitzer’s 50 year old wife can’t believe her husband would bang a girl almost the same age as his daughter:

Silda Wall Spitzer was deeply shaken that her disgraced hubby repeatedly slept with a hooker only a few years older than their eldest daughter, a family friend told The Post.

“It was the age” of 22-year-old Jersey girl Ashley Alexandra Dupre that really got to Silda, the friend said.

This is evidence that even (especially?) the smartest women are in complete denial about men’s sexual desire. Or they are utterly ignorant of it. I blame this on our gender bender culture filling women’s heads with the wrong ideas about male-female psychological differences.

The truth about Ashley’s upbringing should embarrass the anti-prostitute crusaders who like to whip out the “every whore is a victim” sympathy card. The infantilizing of women by feminists was always a spurious debate tactic. Women like Ashley know exactly what they are doing. They are hot, young, entitled and slutty so getting paid huge sums of money for banging rich middle-aged guys doesn’t seem like such a bad deal to them. If I had a hot daughter I would impart my wisdom and tell her to make a killing as a stripper for a few years, invest her money, and then take it easy husband-shopping and starting a business selling handcrafted jewelry.

Prostitution should be legalized so I don’t have to waste time and money flying to Nevada when I want an acceptable piece of ass in my old age. Legal prostitution would also reduce the incidence of rape.

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Beautiful Women Past To Present

A reader sent me a link to this eye-popping morphing video montage of the beautiful faces of Hollywood leading ladies over the years. There is a vague, eerie similarity among all the faces.

Beautiful women aren’t clones of each other but neither do they deviate too far from the primary beauty script. For instance, no one would mistake Nicole Kidman for Halle Berry but they both share those essential features that capture men’s hearts — large eyes, prominent cheekbones, small chins and noses, facial symmetry, succulent lips, and clear smooth skin.

Note the zero difference hair styles make to the women’s beauty.

Who’s your favorite? Mine’s a toss-up between Audrey Hepburn and Vivian Leigh. I’m curious if there is a pattern in what my female and male readers choose as their favorites.

(Jodie Foster is proof that there is something identifiably strange going on with lesbians’ upper row of teeth.)

PS: Does anyone know what classical tune is playing in the video? It seems like the perfectly suited soundtrack for self-pleasuring to admiring beautiful female faces.

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