Handholding Daytime Dates

Daytime dates are risky. Besides the sex-killing sobriety, a girl can learn a lot more about you when the sun is up and you’re outside strolling around for hours revealing more of yourself than you would be inclined to at night in a dimly-lit lounge with music to distract her.

An actual Bhutanese man so secure in the size of his member he wears a skirt with legs open:

Dark Corners + Alcohol + Music + Flattering Lighting  + Hidden Groping = Air of Mystery = Sexual Tension = High Chance of Sex.

Bright Sunshine + Outdoors + Downtown Folk Festival + Bhutanese Men in Skirts + Minimal Erogenous Zone Contact = Mystery Revealed = Sexual Tension Relieved = Low Chance of Sex.

Daytime dates are great if you’ve already banged the girl and you want to steer her in the direction of steady girlfriend. Deeper bonds are formed when you’re both sober and can hear each other speak. Plus the daytime allows you to make a more critical assessment of her facial appearance, which matters if you plan to show her to your friends or accidentally ejaculate inside of her.

If you can hold a four hour conversation without it going stale, and still maintain an intriguing demeanor, then by all means take your date out during the day. Just don’t expect it to lead to your bedroom. Best you can do is a cuddle on a park bench and some closed-mouth, publicly-acceptable kissing.

An expert level frumpy white lady listens with rapt attention, bobbing her head up and down, to a Bhutanese man with a woman’s voice sing traditional songs:

Here are whiter people enjoying a traditional Bhutanese dance and lording their enlightened status over the wrong kind of white people (who happened to be in the Texas-themed tent 20 yards away):

FYI: If a girl holds your hand on a daytime date before you’ve sexed her, she sees you as marriage material.

Most girls think that handholding is more intimate than kissing. Many even believe that handholding should not happen until after sex. Girls somehow think palms touching is a bigger deal than genitals slapping.

Are girls in Kansas this way? I doubt it.

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Boyfriend Destroyer?

What do you do if you’re being used… and you know it?

An awkward scenario in which to find yourself embroiled is to be dating a girl you like, who also likes you and has made that known, but who is deep into a multi-year relationship with another guy that she has told you about, and which is currently on shaky ground for reasons she’s given that you’re not sure you believe entirely except for the hard evidence of her sleeping with you.

As guys, we should always strive for two in the kitty. It’s best to keep the embers burning with at least two women so you can swing straight into new pussy when one goes stale. A grinding dry spell will put you in a horrible state of mind for meeting women. Girls can sniff a lonely, unattended penis from 12 parsecs, and it’s not attractive to them. Where men get turned off by another man’s seed contaminating the vagina he would like to fuck, women get turned ON when another woman’s pussy juice, especially a hotter woman, is greasing the pole of the man she likes.

(Of course, women will say otherwise. Don’t bother paying attention. They are kidding themselves.)

The reverse scenario, the one I mentioned above, doesn’t happen for the same reason. Women aren’t afraid of a lengthy bout of celibacy like men are if their relationship should end. They don’t swing from dick branch to dick branch because they can’t go two days without sex. When women allow a second man into their lives for longer than a one-off fuck it’s usually for one of two reasons:

1. To test the mettle of their primary relationship.
2. To seek an excuse to leave their primary relationship.

If you are the “other guy” banging a girl who already has a serious boyfriend, it’s important that you try to determine as best you can which reason applies to her. Knowing where you stand won’t make much difference in how you should act, but it will help you decide whether to exit or dig in your heels. As VK said, the dick sandwich is no fun place to be, but at least knowing about it frees you to remove all investment and relentlessly hit on new girls.

If it’s reason #1, then you are dealing with a girl who still loves her boyfriend, but has doubts. She has either been hurt by him or he spends a lot of time away from her on travel. Her faith in a future with him is not as certain as it once was. She sees you as a litmus test — “Can I survive this charming new guy’s interest in me and still feel love for my fading boyfriend?”

Unless you don’t care about the girl as anything more than a short fling, you don’t want to be put in the position of a litmus test. She is using you. You are a tool. If you know this, then you won’t be surprised when she suddenly stops speaking to you. And you won’t feel guilty about not spending one red cent on her for any dates. Prepare to walk away from her at a moment’s notice.

If it’s reason #2, then she sees you as a real alternative to her main boyfriend whom she no longer loves. If you like her and want more than a sexual tryst, then you have a shot to usurp the boyfriend. Run your game like you would if she were completely single. The worst thing you could do is try to push a conclusion; that will send her flying back into the boyfriend’s arms. Play it cool. If she likes you more than him, she’ll eventually dump him and find her way to you.

There is no guaranteed way to determine which reason is valid. It’s an inexact science of subtle body language and subcommunication. Girls lie as a matter of habit. You could take a high risk gamble and ask her point blank if she loves her boyfriend. If she hesitates or answers “That’s a weird question” then she doesn’t love him. Proceed apace. If she says yes and looks wistfully into the distance, then she probably still loves him. Get your dick wet a couple times with her and take pics for future masturbatory delight.

The big downside to dating a taken girl is the threat of an irate boyfriend coming after you. A girl who wants to push her boyfriend to the edge in order to gauge his commitment to her, or wants to rub salt in his wounds before leaving him, will — *oops!* — casually mention your existence to him. You’d be amazed how many smart, supposedly normal girls, are prone to this sort of “let’s you and him fight” primitive mentality.

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Handicap Principle

A reader sent me this pic of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes and wondered if it showed that Cruise is secretly a nancyboy beta:

signaling the mothership.

The average man could not get away with this obsequious lean-in. If the average man did this with his girlfriend in public men looking on would cringe and women would “AWW” with pity as their vaginas snapped shut. Later that night, the girlfriend of the average man who leaned in would find an excuse to not have sex with him.

Despite the lean-in and the jumping up and down on couches professing his love for Katie, Tom Cruise is a super alpha. He can afford to display the saccharine romantic lovey-dovey behavior of the daydreaming beta because he has extra alpha to spare. It’s why rock stars can sing about the most maudlin treacle, emoting to their hearts’ content about writing love letters for that one special girl who dances in the meadows, without incurring a hit to their sexual market value. In fact, beta signaling by an alpha will actually raise the alpha’s status, helping him avoid the pitfall of being tagged as “arrogant” by potential admirers.

Therefore, if you are a natural super alpha, some acceptable beta things you can do (or are likely already doing) to handicap yourself and paradoxically increase your value are:

• Self-deprecating humor

Natural betas who self-deprecate too much are seen as weak and self-loathing. Natural alphas who self-deprecate are viewed as charming.

• Buying girls drinks

A beta who is generous too soon will seem approval-seeking. An alpha who is generous will seem like an alpha who is generous.

• PDA

Betas should really try hard to curb this urge. Alphas don’t have to worry about slobbering over their girlfriends once in a while, though they rarely do.

• Poetry and mash notes

The closer you are to a natural super alpha, the more you can live your life like a Hollywood movie. This means writing poetry for your girl won’t cost you attractiveness points. If you are a beta, you should never pour your heart out in poems for your girl, unless she has gotten older or fatter. In those cases, she will receive your poem with more gratitude.

• Crying

Dangerous! To be on the safe side, neither alphas nor betas should ever cry in front of their girlfriends, and preferably not in private either (it builds the right habits). But if the circumstances are favorable, and the alpha vibe is particularly strong, and his crying technique is solid, a man may shed a single tear. If all goes well, this act of vulnerability can make a girl’s heart explode with love. NOTE: If your pregnant tear has succeeded in eliciting sexually aroused emotions in your girl, DO NOT get greedy and attempt a second tear. The spell can be broken as quickly as it was cast, and you will go from sensitive strongman to weepy wuss instantly. Wait at least one year before unloading the powerful man tears again.

• Complimenting other men

A beta should refrain from excessive flattery of his betters. In fact, the beta should try not to compliment other men at all, even when the compliment is deserved and the other man’s social cachet is obvious. It’s just too risky. People will presume the complimenting beta is a lickspittle as opposed to assuming the complimenting alpha is someone who is secure enough in himself to offer kind words to other men.

• Lovemaking

Betas – don’t. You should stick to aggressive fucking and kinky sex. An alpha can mix it up with slow lovemaking without risking his status as the one “in charge” in the bedroom.

• Porn

Betas should try and conceal their extensive porn collection from their women, because otherwise they will be pegged as loser pervs. Alphas don’t need to be so secretive about their porn. She’ll probably blame herself for not being enough for him and work twice as hard during sex.

Postscript: Where beta signaling works for alphas, alpha signaling works for betas. Alpha signaling is the heart of game.

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Speed Dating Sucks

I went to a speed dating event here in DC with my date and one of her girlfriends. The idea was that we would have some over-the-top fun with it while practicing our flirting skills on a maximum number of targets in a minimum amount of time in order to keep our game sharp. (Lord knows this is much easier for women to do. Their game amounts to cleavage.) We would pretend not to know each other. A side benefit from surreptitiously watching each other work the magic with other speed daters would be heightened sexual arousal that would resolve itself later in the night in panty-shredding lust. Kink alert in full effect.

We devised the questions we would ask our four minute “dates”. She wanted to see how much she could get away with so these were the questions with which she was going to pepper her speed suitors:

How much do you gross per year?
What kind of car do you drive?
Where do you see yourself in five years?
Can you support me so I don’t have to work?
How many cleaning ladies do you think is reasonable?
What kind of engagement ring would you get me?
How much would you allot to spend on our wedding?
What would you like to name our first born?
What does your stock portfolio look like?
If my mother gets sick, can she come live with us?
How many cats do you think is normal?
Do you mind if I hang a portrait of my cat in the living room?
I’m a scientologist. Would you be willing to convert for me?
What were your SAT scores?
What was your standing as far as getting picked in gym class?

She even wanted to bring a Barbie and Ken, give them to the guy, and say, “now act out how we would resolve an argument.”

I admit I laughed at these. If the victims guys were smart, they’d play along and say things like “I have one whole cent in my stock portfolio!” Most likely, they’d get defensive or answer straight. Speed dating crowds are that kind of people.

Since I wanted to join in the glib fun, I made up a list of questions I would ask my dates to see how far I could push my game past its barriers:

Are you flexible? How many yoga positions can you get in? How long can you keep them?
Are you confident enough to go bra-less?
Do you like sex in public?
Are you comfortable with the idea of having yourself photographed nude?
Can you suck a thick milkshake through a straw?
Are you good a good cook? (actually, i use this one a lot)
You’re not a prude, are you?
How do you feel about housework in the nude? (Seinfeld nixes it.)
Are you cool with threesomes?
Would you consider yourself experimental in the bedroom?
Do you like to travel… to have sex in exotic locales?
Does looking at a cigar turn you on?

Unfortunately, neither of us got the chance to try out our souped-up conversational skills on unwitting speed daters. When we arrived, it was clear this was the saddest crowd of lonely hearts in all of DC. The women were mid-30s to mid-40s and older and looking every bit of it and the men, while older and, from the bits of conversation I overheard, successful professionals, made it worse for themselves by dressing in rumpled shirts like accountants on casual Friday and slumping in their chairs with the familiar drawn faces of those who have been beaten down by life. My date and her friend completely lost interest in sitting through even one second of this four minute dating of the damned, so we left as soon as we got our stick-on nametags. They should call it speed dying.

The impression I got walking by the tables of speed daters was the same I got when I first visited my grandmother at a nursing home — chamber of horrors. The rank miasma of bedraggled desperation, depression, and utter hopelessness was overbearing. It settled around me like a suffocating shroud of despair, sapping all the fun out of being alive.

There is nothing more pathetic and… alien… than a pre-menopausal aging childless woman throwing herself headlong into the chaotic vagaries of dating. When a woman doesn’t have children to nurture and raise by her early 30s she morphs rapidly into a sad and tragic creature — a shell entity of raging cynicism that can do no more than go through the motions — that no one wants to be around. Whatever is left of her innate femininity, beauty and sexiness is destroyed to dust by that point. And the men, despite their well-paying jobs as corporate lawyers, lobbyists, and policy analysts, seemed to have forgotten or never bothered to learn what it takes to attract a woman. Hint: waving a stable job and a fat paycheck ain’t it.

My advice to the guys who run these speed dating and related social events in DC: Stop charging $60 to $300 for your lameass glorified happy hours. I understand you’re all about making a buck, but when you set the price at airline ticket levels you will get those men who have nothing to offer but their money, and those women who want nothing else but those men who offer nothing but their money. End result: Older bitter women desperate for husbands and boring beta males desperate to slide comfortably into sexless soulless predictable suburban ennui. If you want to spice it up and attract a more diverse, fun crowd (read: younger), try a lower price range and more casually creative get togethers. But hey, it looks like you’ve cornered the niche market of schlubs and hags who’ll pay through the nose like clockwork every week seeing the same people over and over and hoping against hope that one more contrived event and another $100 will usher their soulmates through the door.

Tick tock and all that.

Verdict: *Shudder*

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Shaming Girls For Their Bad Choices

These guys were talking to a couple of women at Marvin when an attractive third girl who was a friend of the women showed up. I walked over to occupy chat up the friend and our conversation was good. She was flirty, fun and all smiles. We talked for maybe ten minutes when I felt a meaty hand grip my forearm hard. I looked in the direction of the grip and saw an inebriated man giving me the drunk stink eye.

“Yo dude, take your fucking hand off my arm.”

He removed his hand. I turned back to the girl. Three seconds later his hand was back on my forearm.

“What did I say?” I grabbed his arm and pushed it off. He grunted and was about to put it back on when the girl intervened.

“Stop! Sorry, he gets like this. He’s drunk right now and can get very protective.”

“I see. So this is your boyfriend?” She was slapping his hand away like a mom would an insolent child.

“We’ve been dating a little while. I met him through the internet.” Figuring out why she would divulge that critical detail, I looked over and saw Douchebag Extraordinaire half sliding off his barstool and making another flailing attempt to grab my arm. He was a stocky guy, definitely not a herb, but his drunkenness meant slow reaction times. I was not worried if it came to blows.

I only felt superficial anger toward this guy. He was an insecure tool, but tools are a feature of the universe, like dark matter. They’re all over, and you learn to deal with them like you deal with the weather. My real contempt was for the girl for brazenly flirting with me in front of her date without telling me she was taken, and for dating such a loser. I never allow myself to be the guy that girls get their validation kicks from in plain view of their low self-esteem trigger happy boyfriends.

As I’m watching this go down, she kept repeating “I’m really sorry” but in that perky way that makes you think she’s not FEELING as sorry as she should. I turned back to her with a cold stare, making sure she understood that my problem was with her. “I’m done talking with you.” I pointed at her internet date. “Get this part of your life handled before you think about talking to guys like me again.” I walked off.

Taking a girl instantly from the high of flirty banter to the low of icy scorn lets her know her shit won’t fly with you. Social disapproval in the form of ostracization is a heat-seeking missile that aims straight at the thermal exhaust port of women, and if enough men had the balls to make an attractive girl pay a price for her stupid bar games and her bad choices in dates she might, over time, improve her behavior.

I’m not holding my breath.

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What’s Annoying In This Picture?

Take a look at this “man” (and I use the term loosely):

This twee little turd was photographed at the opening of the new Brooklyn Flea market, written about in this New York Times article. The annoyance level of this picture is a 9 on the Prickter scale. There’s so much hideousness to choose from that you’ll have to decide what’s most annoying. Personally, it’s a toss-up between the billowing flowered scarf and the gloves in April.

If you needed one picture to sum up everything that’s wrong with a once great nation, this will do. From the doughy flaccid face begging for a punch to the exquisitely scuffed boots, he’s a pure distillation of decadent pointlessness. An asexual globule of fey excess. A consumerist wastrel. He’s like the anti-Christ of virile manhood: the anti-man. The nearer you get to him, the more testosterone he sucks out of your soul. Ironically, the closer women get to him the more manly they become, probably out of spite. Women tend to take on the characteristics of men when the men in their lives forfeit the job.

Here’s the catch: If he’s straight, I bet he gets laid more than the average straight American man. Why? Because he’s not average. Stepping out of the mainstream, no matter how preposterous, gets a man noticed by women. Most will hate him, some will be indifferent, and a few will love him like a rock star. This equation adds up to more pussy than the average guy can get, since average men are hated by some women and unnoticed by all the rest. A bland average man never starts off with a small but firm base of aroused women.

It’s for this reason I define alpha males as those who can secure the best pussy in the greatest quantities on the most favorable terms. Bowling 300 is an alpha trait, but skipping the bowling competition to violate a hipsterette’s mouth in the back of a coat check of a dingy club is alpha itself.

ps: men should never go to flea markets. are you a gatherer, or a hunter?

pps: whitepeople love postscripts.

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Dancing Herb Friday

I fulfilled my white person obligation and went to an 80s night. 80s music is catchy and danceable; it practically coaxes the rhythm out of you. The girls were mostly mid 20s to mid 30s and were very approachable. When women reach a certain age they stop sitting in a tight circle with their backs to the crowd like they did when they were younger, and instead sit facing the outside world with open body language that screams “I’m here! Gimme some flirting!” Luckily, the lights were dim, effectively blurring wrinkles and bad skin tone, so flirting with them didn’t feel like a chore. Fantasies are easier to sustain in low light. Remember, these girls were coming of age when Pioneer car stereos were like the iPhones of today.

80s nights in DC don’t seem to appeal to yuppie credentialist status snobs like lawyers so you’ll find a lot of down-to-earth teachers and saleswomen at these parties which is fine by me. As the night wore on and people got drunk they creatively devised ways to grind ass to crotch to the unsuitable 80s beats. I highly recommend 80s nights for younger guys with dance skills looking for an easy score with horny cougar wannabes. After all, they’re not going to these cheesy parties to meet their future husbands. Another plus: The male competition was mostly useless herbs with no game. Their masculine presence was so weak they may as well have been bowls of Jell-O.

Zeets the Throwback Barbarian added the song “Saved By Zero” by the Fixx to the DJ’s playlist. It was never played. No wonder. That’s exactly the kind of 80s song a retro-loving guy would appreciate but not a girl.

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