It’s summer time. After a Saturday afternoon of walking round zone one I’m winding the day up by walking past Buckingham Palace. There’s usually no sets there but it’s nice to get away from the hustle and bustle. I’m about to head back through Green Park when I spot a little hamster walking by with her head down. She has a funky umbrella and a strangle little coat on with repeating fruit patterns on it, as well as weird little velcro trainers. She looks reasonably cute and not fat. My first reaction is that she’s too young: she looks about twenty. I have zero moral issues with this (indicating a moral opinion rather than a lack thereof) but it’s a question of outcome probabilty. ‘Fuck it’ I decide and start the jog.
I open with some mumbled gibberish about her umbrella being interesting. It’s really quite stupid. She’s quite cute I notice. Despite the moronic crap I’m talking her feet haven’t moved. We both relax. She’s in a hurry so I break DAYGAME ALPHA RULES and walk up with her through Green Park. On the way I concentrate on teasing her, being real and dropping in plenty of neo-DHVs about my life, all based on hard non-weird normality.
I love Formula One. I travelled last year to watch it in Dubai.
I got the train to X to see my dad last week.
We get to the little weird drinking fountain and there’s not been any rapture or sparkle. I ask for her number anyway. “I always regret this” she tells me. “I’ve done this before and the guy was so needy”. Point noted.
I wait a day and ping my most non-threatening message. From then on I play the text game slightly cautious: plenty of whimsical humour and no rush. In the end it’s eleven messages and five days later before I set up the date. And this isn’t a particularly drawn out affair.
We meet in Camden. She’s got a feisty air about her and later at various points tries to derail the vibe by saying stupid feminist crap. I ignore this. We start walking to venue one and immediately she strides ahead. I physically pull her back and make her walk slightly behind me, explaining that I am the leader. She’s agog. I helpfully explain how she can use the horizontal pavement lines to ensure she maintains this position.
Venue One and we sit opposite. It’s just comfort. I lead the conversation, of course, and make no moves on her and don’t creep her out. We find out about each others lives. The vibe feels good. From her back story she seems bored with her life in London and to have a low opinion of British men. I excuse myself and go to the toilet.
The Toilet Strategy
I can’t think straight during a date when the girl is beside me. It’s like trying to remember BJJ theory when someone is ontop of you trying to strangle you. I often nip to the toilet and have a quiet minute to ask myself where things stand and think through it calmly.
In the toilet I decide to assume she’s attracted to me. It’d be obvious if she wasn’t. I assume it’s ‘Stealth On’. Time for a gear change: I bounce to Venue Two. En route I refuse to accept her attempts to walk ahead and force her to walk behind, and then link arms. She accepts. It’s on.
In Venue Two we sit and she still won’t drink anything. Fine. It’ll be done sober. I start the Questions Game. It’s that simple. I work through my questions and gradually physically escalate:
- you don’t wear rings? (feel fingers)
- you don’t wear ear rings? (move hair aside)
I start eye-fucking her and asking questions about previous boyfriends, last time she kissed, first time she had sex, etc. It’s Move Time. When it’s my turn for a question I just cheesily say “have you realized yet I’m going to kiss you?” and pull her in. There’s token resistance then we’re kissing. I modulate the energy: at various points I break it off and go back to chatting. At a few points I hug her in for comfort.
I decide to bounce for Venue Three. Can this be a FDL? (First Date Lay). In hindsight it was, for the right guy, but at that point my moves were just not up to it.
We walk up by the canal and kiss a little more. I make her shriek with laughter with Assanova chick-crack:
“You see that couple over there, looking at me and you… you know what they’re thinking?….. [big pause]….
How… the…. fuck… did… SHE get him?”.
We reach Venue Three. In hindsight I’d run Venue Three differently: and do much more comfort. On this date I did comfort but just a little too much eager kissing. Time is passing and I suggest hopping in a cab to go back and drink wine at my place. I just don’t have the conviction, though, and it’s rebuffed. You need total confidence to help a girl break through her ASD. We leave and I brazenly start walking her to the minicab office. She rebuffs again and says she will come round ‘next time’. Mmmm. I leave it.
There’s more jolly texting and then the next weekend we arrange to meet for coffee. I’ve cunningly planned with Krauser to bouce to Camden. He’s with his date and we can tag-team and use the presence of his girl to chill mine out and make her feel it’s all more normal. The plan goes fine and soon we’re all having tea in Camden. It seems natural to all just walk back to our house. On the way Nick slyly whispers to me “that’s totally on… you’ll have no problems there”. I’m relieved. This girl is getting hotter and hotter. Already on this date she’s turned up in skin-tight jeans and I notice her bubble-butt, ripped stomach, beautiful almond skin and enormous tits. On the way back I make a vow: if this girl’s ASD cockblocks me I’ll be damned if those cannons aren’t going in my mouth.
We get back and the couples magically split up. We sit in the garden and eat cheese and drink a little wine. We meander back to my room. We’re in my room kissing on my bed…. it seems on…. but then not so on. She keeps breaking off and saying “it’s too fast” and such things but then re-initiating. Welcome to LMR. I break it off a few times myself and go back to looking at photos and ignoring her. Then we end up making out again. My hand’s in the back of her jeans kneading her bubble-butt but any circumhipigation to the front is immediately blocked. I just can’t get my hand on this girls cunt. I sense that I’m not going to stick it in her. As a last resort I Tom it and just pull my dick out and make her start fondling it. I remember my earlier vow and switch all my energies into freeing her cans from their fabric prison. I get them out. They’re otherworldly. Absolutely huge and perfect, and further enhanced by her washboard-flat stomach. This girl has an amazing body. I suck her tits.
But all access to her cunt is blocked. And eventually I’m tired of breast sucking so I put them back and then it’s all over. I then ladle on as much rich, thick comfort as possible before she leaves.
“I just can’t”… she explains. “Not so quickly… I just can’t believe I’m even here so fast… I mean I really fancy you but it’d be like you winning and getting everything you want. I don’t want you to win. I want to win”.
Quite a tragic attitude really.
I walk her to the bus stop and joke that we’ll have some ‘normal people dates’. The next week we meet for pizza. It’s all fine and then over the pizza I make a joke a nonsensical joke:
Me: So you never had a pet when you were a kid?
Her: No I hate animals… well not hate them but I have no interest
Me: So if I bought you a kitten?
Her: I’d drown it!
Me: Well… you are part Algerian!
She laughs in outrage and acts mock-shocked. Then over the next few minutes something weird happens. Her face settles like stone and her eyes narrow and go slitty. She starts huffing and acting outraged. I realize the dumb bitch is serious. She’s randomly latched onto this and decided to spit the dummy. I ignore her and bounce towards the nearby pub. I simply can’t believe how she’s acting. It’s bizarre. A reminder that women are not adults but glorified children. I let her wander ahead and call Nick: “she’s being a bitch. it’s a shit-test. don’t apologize. if it sours the evening explain to her it’s unacceptable and leave”.
This girl really expects me to start running round like a headless chicken and wondering how to win her back. This may work with the immature wop chodes she’s used to dating but not me. The sheer audacity of it. I ignore her and start mentally preparing the dump truck. She spitefully says she doesn’t want to go to a pub anymore. She looks gleeful to be wallowing in such outrage: she’s clearly feeding on her emotions. I take great delight in talking at great length and detail about exactly how I will put up a shelf that weekend. By the end of it I’m actually genuinely excited about the shelf project.
Then I just can’t be arsed anymore. I circle back to the tube. I tell her “look… sorry if I caused offence”. Then leave it at that. At the tube she hovers near me. I go to pull her in for a little peck, a little ‘I know this is no big deal’ peck. She lets herself be pulled in and then as I go to kiss she gleefully pulls back, eyes shining and says ‘you think you can just kiss me?’. I give her a look of pure ice and her face drops. I drop my hands, turn my back and walk away from her.
I ping a week later, giving her a final chance to realize her loss. I don’t mind doing this: my frame is strong. She’s a living masturbation-tissue and gets zero tolerance for any disagreeable behaviour whatsoever but she can of course win her way back into my esteem and out of brutal pump n’dump territory by good behaviour. No reply. I ping again a few weeks later. No reply. Dead lead. NEXT.
Being a lay off my year goal, and considering her luscious and heavily uddered body I have often thought about what went wrong here.
In hindsight a more hardcore player could have FDL’ed this girl. A better pacing strategy on the venues, far more extensive extraction-seeding and a more convincing extract could have had this girl back on the first date. And I believe this is what she really wanted. Now more of the calibration jigsaw is in place I am sure this girl was DTF that night. But stealth-on.
Analyzing her behaviour on Day Three I have come to the conclusion that this girl had a schizophrenic sexual strategy. She was horny as hell but was most probably on the rag and had a personal rule to never fuck while riding the jam wave. A man would think “then why go back and get half way there?”. Remember, this is a girl and logic and accountability do not apply. The fact she wanted to screw but would not let herself resulted in OVER-COOKING the deal.
Imagine a graph where ‘Time’ is the X axis and ‘Sexual escalation’ is the Y. Each girl has such a personal graph in her head and as PUAs what we learn to do is pull her graph line off course and make the time to sex as short as possible. However, the more aggressively you do so and pull the girl off her own mental timeline the harder the snapback. Girls, not neccessarily without basis, feel they have been played. Now not all overcooking is one-sided. Often, as guys with game and with value we have simply learned to be such cool, alpha specimens that girls themselves start to feel their pudenda parabolas alter. That’s what happened here. And the snapback from the overcooking? This was the Day Three, when she spat the dummy and tried to snatch the frame back. It was redolent of a girl’s hindbrain railing at her loss of control/the frame and it was a tactic to try and regain it. A kamikaze tactic.
What went right..
- A massive-titted 25-year old fancied me. Massively. Which is always nice to know.
- It was all pretty straightforward and for the sake of a bit of jam this would have been a textbook daygame low-effort lay.