The Difference Between Promiscuous Men And Promiscuous Women

Promiscuous men can handle their promiscuity better than promiscuous women can handle theirs.

Compare and contrast:

This is how a man looks after twenty lovers:

This is how a woman looks after twenty lovers:

That’s the thousand cock stare. You can’t miss it. It’s derangement that penetrates right to the soul.

Not only are promiscuous men more emotionally stable and contented than promiscuous women, they are also happier spouses.

Women who have several sexual partners before getting married have less happy marriages – but men do no harm by playing the field, a study has found.

According to  new research by the National Marriage Project, more than half of married women who had only ever slept with their future husband felt highly satisfied in their marriage.

But that percentage dropped to 42 per cent once the woman had had pre-marital sex with at least two partners. It dropped to 22 per cent for those with ten or more partners.

But, for men, the number of partners [sic] they [had] appeared to have no bearing on how satisfied they felt within a marriage.

Researchers said the study showed that sex with many different partners ‘may be risky’ if the woman is in search of a high-quality marriage.

If you heed not lies and accept the truth of biological and psychological sex differences, you won’t be surprised to learn that men, the sex with a trillion sperms to please their lovers, are hardwired to spread the seminal wealth without incurring psychotraumatic blowback. Men are geared from the get-go for poosy variety (though not all men will fulfill their directive and not all are geared in fifth) and therefore have the cortical capacity to easily tolerate the comings and goings of numerous lovers without having a breakdown or fretting constantly about how well new lovers match up to old lovers. Men occasionally reminisce about a teenage fling, but they don’t endlessly bemoan that one “alpha female” who got away like women are prone to do with their long-gone alpha male lovers.

This is why a man with a promiscuous past is not necessarily a bad bet as a marriage prospect, and also explains — along with the fact of maternity assurance — why women don’t care as much about men’s sexual histories as men care about women’s sexual histories. A man can sample the slits and furrows of outrageous fortune and survive the whirlwind of passion to mark a day in the future when he contentedly and without pathological second-guessing slips into a stabler, longer term commitment.

Women who have sampled a poo poo platter of penes accumulate emotional scars that never heal; promiscuous women have a mental storage closet filled with five minute montages of alpha male love, and these exciting, prurient memories rob the female id of something important. Call it purity or innocence or self-worth or ability to appreciate romantic idealism, the slut with ass chafing from riding the cock carousel is never the same as she was before she let herself get pummeled by dick. No uxorious beta male she settles down with in nuptial risk will have power over her senses like her past alpha lovers enjoyed. She is damaged goods.

Your Grandmother Was Thinner Than Your Wife

British women (and American women moreso) really have been getting beefier over the past few generations.

[T]he average modern woman would seem like a giant to her great-great-grandmother, because in the past 80 years all measurements of the female body have increased dramatically.Yet it’s nothing to do with genetics – simply a result of the way we live.

Marilyn Monroe was not the “curvy” woman feminists love to hold up as a fat apologist icon. She was thinner and daintier than today’s modern woman in every conceivable way.

So how have diet and lifestyle conspired to have such a rapid effect on evolution?

Environmental shocks.

1920s

AVERAGE STATISTICS: 31-20-32

Despite widespread poverty, the Twenties’ diet was in some ways healthy. Convenience food did not exist and meals, which involved much peeling and chopping of vegetables, were higher in carbohydrates.

A typical breakfast consisted of porridge or bread and butter. Lunch – the main meal of the day – might have been meat pie with cabbage and potatoes, followed by apple pie and custard. Tea would have been lighter – perhaps a pork pie or scrambled eggs – with a snack of bread and cheese at bedtime.

In the Twenties, people burned up their calories with physical activity from dawn to dusk. In streets largely free of traffic, children skipped and played hopscotch and tag. Sports were a highly-valued part of the school curriculum, with compulsory PE for all.

Almost everybody walked or cycled to work, and for the many women who worked in the industrial areas of the North, there was a daily grind of physical labour at the factory.

The housewife did not need a personal trainer to keep the surplus pounds at bay. In a world before vacuum cleaners and washing machines, housework kept her trim. There was coal to be fetched, grates to be blacked, floors to be scrubbed, carpets to be beaten – as well as the Monday wash with washboard and mangle.

Moving onto the next generation:

1940s

AVERAGE STATISTICS: 33-21-33

[…] Again, it was their highly energetic lifestyle that kept Forties women slim. There was no petrol for cars, and people cycled or walked for miles every day. Girls thought little of walking ten miles home after a Saturday night dance.

With their men off fighting, fashion changed. The curvy feminine look to cheer returning heroes became the order of the day, with fitted suits and belted flowery dresses to show off the waist, and the Flapper’s flattening bodice giving way to the circle-stitched bra.

And Lena’s getting laaaaarrger!!

1960s

AVERAGE STATISTICS: 34-24-35

[…] Our lifestyles became less energetic too. Housewives cleaned their homes at the push of a button as washing machines and vacuum cleaners become the norm, while children fell victim to the Left-wing educationists’ decree that competitive sport was ‘divisive’ and state schools saw their playing fields sold off for housing. Before much longer, experts would be talking of the unimaginable – rising rates of obesity in childhood.

The first steps were made on the road towards the classic modern English pear shape, as, for the first time, the bottom of the hourglass figure became bigger than the top.

We’re gonna need a bigger buffet.

1980s

AVERAGE STATISTICS: 35-24-37

By the time the Eighties came along, British woman was well on the way to an irretrievable pear-shape, with her hips measuring two inches more than her bust.

Snacking, eating at one’s desk, in front of the TV and even on public transport became increasingly common, and the habit of three meals a day was jettisoned. The new-style snacks were high in fats and sugars, and even apparently ‘healthy’ foods, such as breakfast cereals and yoghurts, are high in ‘hidden’ calories.

Physical outdoor games for children started to look very uncool in comparison to a video or computer game, and exercise experts reported that Eighties children were dangerously unfit compared to their grandparents.

Nuke the jabba from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.

2001

By the year 2000, the pearshape has become even more marked, with the average waistsize having ballooned four inches in 20 years.

Feminist concern trolls wonder why men are “dropping out” of the marriage market. Well, you don’t need a degree in human physiology to spot a blubbery, boner-killing trend.

Reader Mailbag: Toddler Game Vs EatPraySlut

A proud Chateau acolyte writes,

After reading the Toddler game article I decided to try some little kid game.

One of my plates [ed: “plates” = concurrent lovers or would-be lovers] was going to Africa for a month doing non-ebola humanitarian work so I decided to give her a gift before she left. Using crayons I drew two crude stick figures and wrote “u R cool hAV fuN iN AfriKA” accompanied by “I stayed up past my bed time making this for you.

She started beaming and even teared up a little. She told me that she would nail it to the door of her hut so that she could always see it when she was home.

Total cost to me was less than $1.

If you must mate guard, this is the cool alpha male way to do it. Low investment, high humor, and a physical anchor that will remind her of you every day she’s in that grass hut. If Toddler Game can defeat mandingo-hunting EatPraySlut “””humanitarian work”””, it is powerful game indeed. Its power rests in the attitude it conveys to women: Charming aloofness and happy recklessness. However, reader, I would caution you to consider the worst possibility, and to have an escape route ready should you sense on her return that your woman did what comes naturally to women who spend months overseas with noble savages.

NB: Alpha males rarely spend more than a few bucks on gifts for their girls. If you spend $$$ on jewelry, etc for a girl, you are beta and you fail.

******

Update: A comment from Count Rockula who applied a dollop of CH game to his text convo with a coy girl.

Here’s a classic Heartiste reply that saved me… little background here. I had been banging this 23 year old who I met one night at a party. She took me to another party one night, where I met one of her friends, a hot blonde 8, who I shared eyes with on several occasions. Chatted her up, found out she was moving in a month to another state, but never got her number. Few weeks later, I see her out at a bar. Got her number (“Oh man, I was hoping you would ask me for it!”) and texted her a few days later…
She knew I was banging her friend, and I knew I would at some point in the interaction have to deal with a shit test regarding that. Thanks to the words from an older blog posted here, I passed with flying colors…

After some prelim banter…

Me: So What night we meeting for a drink? Wednesday or Thursday?

Her: Is that allowed ? Aren’t you like dating Sara?

Me: Yeah, Sara and I hang out sometimes, but no, I’m not dating anyone

Me: But hey, if you have a hang up about that it’s cool, I get it

Her: Haha no, I don’t wanna hang out

Me: lol

…..15 minutes later…

Her: I’m out of work at 8 Wednesday. Planned on seeing Kayla

Her: Time is getting slim because my flights Saturday

Her: Meet at (X Venue) Friday night?

This blog and its community are life changers…keep it up everyone.

That was beautiful, man. A master class of text game from beginning to end. There is a time for “lol”, and that was it. Poetry.

Go-Topless Day

There was a “Go-Topless Day” in NY this past Sunday. Two hundred (mostly) women and four hundred boobs marched in protest of those wrong kinds of white people in those horribly backward flyover states who force women to wear burqas over their nipples when out in public.

Hey I am all for women — but only cute women — having the freedom to display their naked bodies in public, as long as those women accept that men have the freedom to leer at their naked bodies and Instagram photos of their titties for Dad back home. But I’m thinking these weirdo cult feminists wouldn’t be down with that part of the individual freedom deal. Equal rights, yo.

Always with these slut parades there are mixed in with the occasional cuties an insane asylum of grotesqueries and/or subversives who provide fodder for normal people to point and jeer. This time it was a couple of men with huge, pendulous manboobs demanding the right to swing their milktits in little Johnny’s face. At least, I think they’re men, but who can tell for sure. Freaks have a knack for looking like they’re stuck in the pupal stage morphing from one species to another.

There’s one manboob, all the way to the right.

Here he is with his buddy, in a clearer shot.

Let your manboobs out, freedom fighter! Why weren’t their nips pixelated? Two dirigibles sporting flapjack mammaries is less offensive to the taste than female boobs? If the goal here is to uphold norms of journalistic conduct, these two gelatinous blobs should’ve been blurred head to toe.

“Slut pride” is synonymous with “civilization perishing”. By the time your culture gets to the point where women are proud for doing something that their grandmothers were proud of NOT doing, you should have your post-collapse plans squared away.

Spot The Beta Male

The four fine gentlemen in this photo are North Carolina State University undergrads who have invented a prototype nail polish that, when dipped in a drink, will change color if it detects the presence of “date rape” drugs.

“Date rape”, of course, is a feminist bogeyman that has no basis in reality. Actual rape is currently riding a 40-year decline. “””Date rape””” is more precisely described as regret rape — the female emotional desire to retroactively reclassify a consensual one night stand with a cool alpha jerk (or a one month stand with a boring beta male) as rape. The female hysteria over it shows no signs of letting up, and hints at a culture of hookups and male escape from the marriage market that is beginning to eat away at women’s sanity.

If anything is close to the truth, it’s the idea that there’s a rape fantasy culture gripping the overheated psyches of American women.

Naturally, given these inarguable realities debunking the myth of a rape culture, in ride the four white knights above on their Prius steeds to save women from stealth armies of caucasian frat bros slipping mickies in their appletinis.

But poz never did give nothing to the manboob
that he didn’t, didn’t already have
and facts never swayed the reason of the white knight
Or the blue balls of Sir Beta Male

The really interesting story, though, is the photo itself. Can you spot the beta male of the bunch?

Trick question. All four qualify.

Whether intentional or subconscious, these four M’lady’s have outed themselves as self-abnegating beta males. That standing posture — with hands clasped in front of their crotches — is the international symbol of beta maleness. It bespeaks a deep shame of their vestigial masculinity. They cover their junk and hide it from the world, in case some ugly State U cunt is triggered by a micro microaggression. Shocked by the impudence of their twitching members, they beat them down and shroud them in hand-woven burqas. Perhaps one or two of these anti-men walk with their butts out a little so any hint of groinal protuberance is pruned, like an unwelcome sapling that has dared to reach for sunlight over an expanse of lawn sod with feminist armpit hair.

It’s a self-emasculating inversion of the alpha male directive to command space as if at the behest of one’s conquering penis king. A repudiation of the sexy and masculine posture wherein one stands with arms and hands at one’s side, vital life-giving fulcrum bawdily pushed forward in supreme dominion, tempting coy minxes with illicit pleasures.

The shame exhibited is so blatant, one wonders if this is a new kind of beta male game — Prostration Game — where the goal is complete submission to the feminist imperative in hopes of eliciting a contemptuous pity fuck. If so, this is a game with a very short shelf life, as even avowed feminists cannot help but be repulsed by sniveling supplicants.

The masculinization of Western women and the de-masculinization of Western men is both initially the impetus, and eventually the destruction, of proud and prosperous white European civilizations. Guess which arc of the cycle America lumply squats on now.

Comment Of The Week: Dread Game Macrocosm

Max from Australia, come on down! This COTW trophy isn’t gonna polish itself.

When women in the west had “dread” back in the 1950s they all had bodies like Jen Selter (without the Darkness). Now with 3 levels of Cradle to Grave Beta Bux from:
1) The Welfare state
2) Divorce rape
3) AFC’s [ed: average frustrated chumps]
They all look like Oprah.

Think about this as a measure of the collapse !!! Your Grandpa was banging a 20 year old virgin with a smoking body (as hot as Jen Selter by today’s standards) and they both spent the best years of their lives devoted to one another. (instead of their IPhones and our “Tinder” lifestyles)

Although this comment has a high glibness rating, it contains more than a kernel of truth. Dread game on a societal scale keeps women in line, always working hard to please men lest they be cast to the icy wastelands with the rest of the anti-feminine rejects. The opposite of Dread Game — Coddle Game — relaxes selective pressures on women to stay feminine and thin and agreeable. And so what you see now in the decadent, coddling West is what we get: Ballbusting fat feminist cunts and careerist androgynes.

The Power Of Dread Game

Reco writes,

OT but just had to share. There is this series on Cable called 90 Day Fiance and basically it is typical “reality” series about guys who go overseas to find a woman to bring back to the US and they have 90 days on their fiance visa to marry them. So its ostensibly about the culture shock of these women marrying these men and moving to another country.

But what they are unknowingly illustrating all of the many concepts of the Red Pill on that are discussed on this site. Obviously you can see what kind of men are doing this. Very beta but nice guys who have no real options in the US. On the other side three of the four girls are very cute. Once looks like a lot like Sophia Vergara and she is from Columbia. And she acts like her also. Another looks a lot like Adriana Lima, and another from Russia is very cute. The last one is rough.

Anyway the Russian chick is dating this nice guy totally beta. And she is basically treating him like shit. Not mean but they have known each other for over a year he has visited her several times she is in the US for a few weeks and she has not fucked him yet. Poor bastard does not know what to do. He asks instead of taking what he wants. She just casually blows him off and gives him more orders on what to do. So one night she is supposed to meet the beta boy out after work. He is outside smoking a cigarette and two chicks come up and bum a cigarette and they see the camera and he starts talking to them. Then his frigid Russian cutie comes up and is instantly in a state of dread. She is shooting daggers at the other two chicks. And beta boy is all “worried” that frigid girl is going to be jealous. Ha, then he says “funny thing it had the opposite effect”. lol She started talking about he is her man etc.

That night she fucks his nauseating needy ass. lol Do you know what the first thing she says as she is initiating sex with him? “Your cute!!!!” This dude is most certainly not cute in any way. Amazing to sit there and watch game principles at work. This series has many potential future Heartiste posts ready to inspire the manosphere.

Dread game is powerful stuff. Use it wisely. It’s easy to overdo.

Mystery’s infamous “jealousy plotlines” are a subclass of dread game, and that’s what was happening to this frigid Russian chick. A woman’s jealousy will supercharge her emotions more than her horniness. Jealousy plotlines can be deliberately invoked, unlike this particular case where it looks like the beta stumbled into a fortuitous ensemble cast of female preselection. The trick is to frame the plotline as if the “other women” — i.e. the pawns — approached you or were accidental afterthoughts in your DHV story.  You don’t want to “force” a jealousy plotline by, say, talking about your “hottie ex who couldn’t get enough of me”, or by approaching a girl you know while leaving your date in the lurch for twenty minutes.

Jealousy plotlines are very dangerous because they can easily backfire, but when they work they work like fuckin hamster TNT.

PS: Girls will often describe a physically unattractive but charismatic man who arouses them as “cute” because they don’t have the verbal tools to describe his mysterious allure in anything but herd-like universal terms of attraction. This is why you shouldn’t bother taking a girl’s words describing what turns her on at face value. “Cute” literally can mean a thousand different things to a girl if she likes a man enough.