mood music

you’ve got her back at your place.  light dimmer pre-adjusted before you left for the night to

loooooooooooooow.  (you’re a good boy scout.  always prepared.)

bowl of chocolate covered strawberries on the coffee table.  you hand her some matches and ask her to help you light the candles.

(good job, son!  you know doing little things together increases her investment in you.  now she’s less likely to put up last minute resistance.)

you tell her to make herself comfortable.  you slip in a CD.  keep that volume at lubrication level, cowboy!  right around 3 is perfect.

it’s your go-to album for these extra special moments.  the first melodic frequencies reach out from the speakers and slowly unbotton her jeans.  oh yeah, nothing sets the sexy mood quite like this:

Fake Tits

I kept pulling up her shirt.  She resisted.  I pulled on her pants and panties.  They came off without much fuss.  Back to the shirt.  More resistance.  She’s tugging down on her shirt while her lower half is completely naked and grinding into my crotch.  Weird.  Are the boobs really that much more precious to a woman than the pussy?  Then I discovered the answer.

Fake tits.  Super fake.  Like the kind that bumped up an A to a C.  The kind where you could see the outline of the bag along the perimeter of the boob.  Unnaturally pert.  Egregiously firm.

But the worst?  The feel.  Under clothes, fake tits look great.  Superb, even.  Parade them around the National Cathedral and be the envy of your friends and neighbors.  But naked?  Disturbing visual.  And they felt like rocks stuffed under a nipple.

Rocks.

No soft supple malleable sponginess.  Just rocks.

Such a pretty girl.

So pretty.

So flawed.

As soon as my cupped hands encountered the immoveable objects that were her breasts, I knew she would never be girlfriend worthy.

What goes through a guy’s head when he’s got a hot chick halfway home to sex and he caresses silicone under a taut drum head of flesh?

I’ll tell you what.

Don’t give too much of yourself to this girl.  Keep it superficial, just like her tits.

This is a chick who lives and dies by her beauty.  A trophy wife in training.  A girl who doesn’t mind being an accessory on the arm of a powerful man who is fucking ten other women.  A strategist.  A status whore.  A decepticon.  A cipher.

A girl who reapplies her makeup every fifteen minutes.

And I was right.

There’s room in the world for those types of women.  Just not my world.

So I offer some advice to small-boobed women.

Don’t butcher yourselves.

You look great under a sweater with augmentation.

But I’m not fucking a sweater.

And that’s what really matters.

Isn’t it?

No, it isn’t?

Goodbye.

Warning:  I wrote this drunk and post-coital at 5am.  Reconsiderations pending.  Reader beware.

How to Own a Room

Unreconstructed barbarian Zeets called to give me a recap on his date with a girl he took to a popular local lounge.

Zeets:  It was all going well until I felt an explosion of gases in my intestines.  A deep rumbling.  I couldn’t do anything while she was there next to me.
Me:  Why not go to the bathroom?
Zeets:  Cream puffs excuse themselves to the bathroom to pass gas.  Real men wait for a clearing in the room and let it rip.  BRRRAAAPPP!  Anyhow, we were sitting down.  I don’t like to be rousted from a comfortable position.
Me:  Then you dropped a patented Zeets cluster bomb.  I remember those unfondly.
Zeets:  Oh yes!  Not right away.  I held it in for as long as I could, the pressure building, until we were ready to leave.  I hustled her ahead of me and stayed a few steps behind.
Me:  So she was out of smell shot.  How chivalrous.
Zeets:  There was a group of young luscious chicks on the dance floor… oh man, one of them was wearing black skintight leather pants… [pause to make inhaling through teeth sound… “oh yeeeeeeahhh”]… laughing and having a good time, probably students new to the city… exploring their world and their womanhood.  I got up and blasted them, one of my best yet.  Right in the middle of their tea time.
Me:  No fear.
Zeets:  Nope!  The music was loud so they didn’t hear it.
Me:  It wasn’t a smelly one?
Zeets:  Oh no, my friend, it was a smelly one.  As I walked out the door I heard the girls shrieking and yelling “PEW!”.  ha!  Perfect!  I left with a smile on my face.
Me:  And no one suspected anything.
Zeets:  Not a thing.  I bet they spent the rest of the night looking at each other and pointing fingers.
Me:  Besides the bodily functions the lounge worked its magic on your date?
Zeets:  Like an aphrodisiac.  It’s never let me down.
Me:  You like this chick?
Zeets:  Yeah, she’s fun.  Pretty.  We had a good, solid makeout.  With tongue.
Me:   That’s good.  What does she do for a living?
Zeets:  I don’t remember… some non-profit, save Darfur crap or something like that.

Attention to detail.  We have it ladies.  It’s just selective.

Defining the Alpha Male

I knew a guy who was alpha by most people’s definitions — an Army soldier and lawyer by trade, built like granite, he was a fearsome warrior with a taste for fighting who could knock a man out with a punch that landed like a piledriver.  He walked with purpose everywhere and immediately cowed men into deferring to him when in social situations.  He had a taste for cruising his apartment butt naked, company or no company present. He was, according to my traumatized metrosexual roommate, hung like a Clydesdale.  Despite his strong manly presence he misspent his alpha capital picking up a parade of bar skanks and fatties in nightclubs — I never saw him with any girl better than a 5 — and pining for a lost ex-girlfriend (and by pining I mean seeking out the new boyfriend of his ex to deliver a flurry of violent blows.)

I had another friend, a good-looking successful businessman with a sharp wit and effortless charisma, who was always the center of attention in that very alpha way of not trying hard to be the center of attention.  The girls in our social group we used to hang out with all told me how much they wanted to date him.  And yet, in the couple years I knew this guy I don’t think he slept with more than three girls and never had a girlfriend.  Some flaw in his character hobbled him from reaching his full potential.  He eventually married a hot blonde, but for many years in his prime he completely squandered his alpha capital in the only way that really matters.

I mention these guys because they illustrate the confusion that arises when people attempt to categorize alpha and beta males.  These two guys weren’t perfectly alpha on paper — one had a beat up face and a half-empty wallet, the other was emotionally vacant — but they had enough of the important alpha qualities that they could have done a lot better with women than they did.  And yet, to an outside observer who didn’t know about their troubles with women, they would be considered archetypical alpha males.

Many want to believe that getting girls is ancillary to being a true alpha male; that the real measure of an alpha lies in his ability to dominate other men, or his command of his environment, or his thirst for swashbuckling adventure.  While these are admirable alpha traits, they are nothing but a means to an end.  Make no mistake, at the most fundamental level the CRUX of a man’s worth is measured by his desirability to women, whether he chooses to play the game or not.  Pussy is the holy grail.  That is why the obese, socially maladroit nerdboy who manages to unlock the gate to the secret garden and bang a 10 regularly is an alpha male.  And that is also why the rich, charming entrepreneur who because of an emotional deficiency or mental sickness lives mired in parched celibacy is not an alpha male.

Due to this enduring confusion about what makes an alpha, I submit the following system, in the form of a handy chart, to help clear the air.  It hits on the three major factors influencing male rank — how hot are the women he can attract, how strong is that attraction for him, and how many of those women find him attractive.

Keep in mind that there is no line in the sand that separates betas from alphas — the distribution of men by their attractiveness to women follows an uneven continuum where at the extremes a small percentage of alphas monopolize an immense number of quality women and a much larger blob of omegas struggle to rut with warpigs.

Male Rank        Hotness(F)    Strength of Attraction     # of Women
Dregs (lost souls)     N/A          Actively repulsed                Grinding celibacy
Lesser Omega          0,1          Will never feel love;              Dry spells >5 years
can’t keep a girl longer
than 3 days
Greater Omega       1,2,3       She loves houseplant more;  Dry spells 1-5 years
gets dumped for cat
Lesser Beta              3,4          She’s somewhere else          Gets lucky twice;
during sex                               marries hog
Beta                        4,5,6       Romance died after               6 month dry spells;
second date;                  marries dumpy hausfrau
relationships last forever
because no other choice
Greater Beta         6,7          Can do it with lights on;      5-15 lifetime partners
once got a BJ in an alley;
girlfriend cries after he
proposes
Lesser Alpha         7,8         Consecutive long term         15-100 lifetime partners;
relationships >1 year;              2 affairs
enjoys occasional fling;
girlfriend faints after
he proposes
Alpha                     8,9         Concurrent multiple           100-500 lifetime partners;
long term relationships;              10-20 affairs;
love at first sight;                         2 threesomes
videotapes homemade porn;
girlfriend scared to
pressure him into marriage
Super Alpha         9,10       Multiple long and short                     Limitless
term relationships, flings,
and one night stands; orgies;
crazed stalker love; women
willing to do anal at hello;
maintains de facto harem;
never cheated on, never dumped;
hires contraceptive assistant to
make sure his condoms don’t
have holes punched in them

The Sexual Frame

One of the traits of the beta is that he is uncomfortable with animal sexuality — his own and especially that of the women he craves.  He is loathe to initiate contact, late to respond to flirtatious signals, and leery of acknowledging the raw sexual nature of women.  His unease with himself and with women’s equally ravenous sexual appetites compels him to constantly elevate women onto pedestals and to befriend them platonically before making his intentions known, if ever.  He thinks that expressing his sexual nature too soon or too boldly will diminish them both.  He simply cannot conceive a scenario where a sexy girl will make love to him on the first day they meet.  This straightjacket of limiting beliefs is why he fails.

A way to avoid these emotionally arid pitfalls is to adopt a frame of mind that is infused with sexuality.  Everything begins in the mind.  When I see an attractive girl across the room and start walking toward her I immediately picture her naked and writhing under my sheets, sweating in ecstasy.  When I am talking with her and it is clear that we click, I imagine what it would feel like to touch her bare skin.  I am kissing her before our lips have committed to the kiss.  As we delve deeper into conversation, a part of me visualizes peeling off her clothes and imagining transactions… scenarios… a dirty smutty world of possibilities.

This is how every man should approach his interactions with women he is turned on by — unapologetically, sensually, instinctually.  Civilized norms should hold no sway over your untamed thoughts or the id that fuels them.  They are yours to do with as you please and to set the tone of whatever follows.  The advantage to having this carnal mindset at all times lies in the power it gives you to draw women into your reality.  When a woman is into you she will sense your sexual energy and mirror it.  Your thoughts will become her thoughts.  Your desire hers.  Later after sex when she is lying in your arms and talking about what led to this point you will discover that she knew it was going to happen when you knew.

Lead as a man in making no excuses for your libertine nature, and she will follow.

‘Bang’ Review

I feel like I am coming from a somewhat different perspective than the average reader of this book on pickup by Roosh V.  I have put in a lot of effort gaining as much knowledge as I could from seduction oriented books, DVDs, and websites, to advance my game in the field with women.  A couple years ago I even met Mystery of VH1’s Pickup Artist when he was in DC to see what he had to say in person.

So when I read Bang I already understood not only the concepts of pickup from meet to bedroom, but many of the specific openers, qualification tactics, and conversational routines, and have spent many nights out applying those lessons and improving my skills.  But after reading it, I was surprised to find that Roosh has brought a welcome dimension to the study of game — elegant simplicity and clear-headedness, as well as some new tactics I was previously unaware of.  This slim but powerfully condensed book lays out the foundations of game — from female psychology to the winning male attitude to the sequence of pickup from approach to sex — in a concise, detailed, and readily-accessible manner that can get any guy on the ground and running right away without spending weeks of time and thousands of dollars on a vast library of pickup material.  The occasional flashes of droll humor also make it an entertaining read.

Bang offers both useful reasoning and highly specific techniques and lines.  There is rock solid advice like this:

By now you’ve probably noticed I like asking questions or bringing up topics that stir up a little insecurity or doubt.  This is because I want her to focus on her flaws and problems instead of my own.  She’s on stage being evaluated, not me, increasing the likelihood she will do things to impress me.

And plenty of specific lines, routines, and conversation starters to ask a girl, like this:

So I’m going to grow a mustache, and I know it’s going to be popular once I start the trend again, but I’m wondering what kind of mustache I should grow.  Should it curl up or down?

For the beginner or casual player, I would recommend this book because it is short and sweet and avoids the pitfalls of overwhelming with excessive theorizing.  It is too easy to fall prey to paralysis by analysis as your head swims with new information, yet Bang does an admirable job of keeping its message focused and practical.  If you are an advanced student of seduction, Bang serves as a convenient refresher book to reference as needed.

You can order a copy of Bang here.

Girlfriend or Fling?

It’s been a while since the last scientifically sound assessment.

I like analyzing groups because the interplay between everyone helps me decide which girl would be open for a same night lay and which one would be worth toughing out a few dates with before sexing.

The far left girl is clearly a fling.  Everything about her says “pain in the ass who bangs like a guy”.  The holes in the jeans, large hoop ho-rings, and bright red nail polish are enough to tip me off.  Throw in her solo shot drinking and it’s case closed.  Maverick drinking is a red flag for sluttiness.

The girl with the flower shirt standing next to her has girlfriend potential despite her tantalizingly exposed belly.  She has both her hands on her boozehound friend which means she is loyal and dependable.

The girl in the middle squeezing her way into the picture would make an excellent girlfriend (assuming she met your minimum looks threshold).  She is the girl who has always been in the background of life, ceding all the attention to her wilder friends.  She yearns for a brief moment in the spotlight, even the tiny spotlight of a club photographer’s flash.  These are the signs of a love-starved girl.  Expect her to enthusiastically answer your calls on the first ring and to save all your text messages.

The black dress girl in the foreground is a golddigger who will not give it up until the 15th date as evidenced by her severe hairstyle, and then only after you’ve blown ten girls’ worth of dating money on her.  She craves meeting a man who will bring the fling out of her.  She is leaning backwards in a block maneuver because she secretly can’t stand her needy friend behind her.  Or they’re a couple.

Blue shirt girl is a dirty little fling.  Don’t let her easy smile and girl scout bangs fool you.  She is leaning to the side so the camera doesn’t miss the full glory of her (fake) cleavage.  She is also the only girl in the picture in physical contact with a male body.  She’s that comfortable with her sexuality.

If you swing that way, funboy on the right would make an excellent girlfriend.  He is dressed too conservatively for anything but tender moments holding uncalloused hands by the reflecting pool.