Torero Travels
Tom Torero
To my travelling compadres.
Here’s to licking the lid of life ;)
Copyright Tom Torero, London, 2014
Formatted for Kindle 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied or republished in
print or electronically without the author’s express permission. Contact Tom:
tom@tomtorero.com
Preface:
25 countries, 31 cities, 98 flights, 30 notches, 100s of fuck-ups and a handful
of punch-ups over the course of sixteen months.
From the Italian Alps to a boat down the Nile. A bus across Canada to the
bling of Las Vegas Casinos. The Midsummer of Sweden to the Midwinter of
Moscow. The souks of Istanbul to the party boats of Belgrade. Sydney
Harbour to Prague Castle. Bicycles through Paris and rogue taxis through
Ukraine. The Empire State Building to the canals of Amsterdam. Here’s my
Not-So-Lonely-Planet account of daygame adventures around the world.
This is not a sex tourist guide. Paying for a lay was out of the question. As
was splashing my cash or flashing my passport. Meeting and attracting girls
during the day in cities across the world needs nothing but balls, directness,
cheekiness and the shirt on your back. If I did it, you can do it too.
Unplug from the matrix, sit back and enjoy the on-board entertainment. Cabin
crew, prepare for take-off....
Tom Torero
New York, November 2013
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1: Travel Origins
Chapter 2: Fundamentals
Chapter 3: Common Misconceptions
Chapter 4: How To Get Laid Abroad
Chapter 5: North America
Chapter 6: Australia
Chapter 7: Russia
Chapter 8: Ukraine
Chapter 9: The Baltics (Latvia, Lithuania)
Chapter 10: Serbia
Chapter 11: Czech Republic & Slovakia
Chapter 12: Hungary
Chapter 13: Turkey
Chapter 14: Scandinavia
Chapter 15: Italy
Chapter 16: France
Chapter 17: Spain
Chapter 18: Homeward Bound
Chapter 19: Escaping The Matrix
Bonuses:
Casanova’s Global Lay Guide
Torero's Polyphonic Daygame Model
Glossary
Recommended Reading List
Prologue
“Like clouds cross skies...we cross, criss-cross and recross our old tracks
like figure skaters”David Mitchell
A half empty cinema in a shiny Moscow shopping mall, mid afternoon in subzero November. Lights down and curtain up. I’ve got my arm around the hot
Russian blonde girl next to me. It’s our second “date,” Soviet-era style. 18
years old, a student at university, she’s snuggled into me and smells of
vanilla.
Cue the movie – James Bond and Miss Moneypenny are chasing a mercenary
on motorbikes through the crowded markets of Istanbul. The film has been
edited for Russian audiences to include more fighting and less dialogue.
Adele’s 007 Skyfall theme tune kicks in as Bond falls into the turbulent river
from a speeding train and I lean in to kiss my date.
She’s all over me, making out like a vacuum cleaner and revealing how
sexually inexperienced she is. We’re sitting right at the back in the upper
corner of the cinema. There’s a couple next to us – the guy’s throwing
popcorn at the MI6 agents on the screen and shouting Russian insults. His
girlfriend is talking loudly on her phone.
Nobody notices or cares as I slip my hand down my girl’s top and she puts
her hand on my crotch. I kiss her neck, pull her hair and undo the top buttons
on her shirt to lick her hard nipples. She unzips my jeans and I put a coat
around her as she starts to suck me off.
By now, Bond’s in a bar in Thailand looking battered and bruised. MI6 is
getting blown up in London. I push my hand up my girl’s skirt and into her
tights. She’s soaking wet as I finger her. I try to get her to sit on top of me but
she resists. “Not here!” she says with a shy smile.
Bond has changed places again, now in Macau where he’s miles up in a neon
skyscraper hunting an assassin. The fat guy next to us has fallen asleep while
his girl is watching Youtube clips of a Russian soap opera on her mobile and
laughing erratically.
My girl is back to sucking my dick and I finger her until she cums underneath
the coat on her lap. She shudders as I lick her exposed tits and she gasps in
Russian.
By the time Bond is fighting for his life in the film’s Scottish conclusion, I’m
cumming in her mouth. The Skyfall theme tunes kicks back in as if on cue, and
she swallows.
We walk out of the cinema wrapped around each other, fighting against the
sharp snowflakes of a Russian winter. I put her on the metro nearby and head
back home. Four days previously we’d met when I stopped her in a shopping
centre on the other side of the city and told her I found her attractive. She’d
told me that the 15 year age gap between us turned her on, as did the
directness of the approach. Two days later we’d fuck like rabbits in the
apartment I was renting as heavy snow fell outside, entombing the city. She
told her mum she was at a friend’s, doing her homework.
Over the next year this kind of story was going to happen to me a lot.
Unplugged from the social matrix of a job, mortgage and a steady girlfriend, I
would travel the world in search of fucks and freedom – a wandering nomad
lifting the lid on a lifestyle that didn’t play by the rules.
What Is Daygame?
Meeting, attracting and seducing girls during the day (“daygame”) is now
not only my hobby but my profession. I’ve spent the last 16 months
travelling the world passing on the skill-set by coaching hundreds of clients
from Los Angeles to Sydney.
Daygaming in Prague, Summer 2013
Five years ago I was in a very different place. Loveless and lonely, I’d
come to London from Wales to work as a elementary teacher. At school I’d
been the bullied introverted geek, at university I hid from socialising by
burying my head in books. Overweight, spotty, with thick glasses and
terrible fashion I made Harry Potter look like a stud. I was 21 when I lost
my virginity and by my late twenties I’d only had 3 real girlfriends. Clinical
anxiety and depression compounded the effects of isolation and I was
clueless as to what to do.
In my first book “Daygame” I describe how I stumbled upon Game and how
I immersed myself in learning the art of daygame on the streets of London.
Learning to be social, gaining massive amounts of confidence, changing my
health and fashion, making solid friends, pushing my comfort zone and
discovering who I was were all amazing byproducts of learning to meet
girls during the day.
From 2009 to 2012 I’d slept with over 100 girls and had some outstanding
girlfriends – from magazine and catwalk models to strippers and dancers.
With the skill-set solidified and the company taking off it was time to hit the
road and take daygame around the world.
In Moscow, November 2012, celebrating the publication of my first book.
Chapter 1 – Travel Origins
Travel had always been in my blood. With my older sister and parents I’d go
on holiday as a child twice a year, to the beaches in West Wales or camping
in France. My dad introduced the family to the joys of winter ski holidays in
the Alps, where I felt the grand scale of nature for the first time looking out at
the glistening 4000m peaks.
In my first year of university I undertook my pioneering solo holiday abroad,
backpacking around the Greek Islands after flying into Athens and catching a
ferry from Piraeus. This was years before learning Game so it was about
adventure rather than girls.
I remember a sudden feeling of panic as I entered the airport in London with
only a small rucksack on my back. It was exactly the same feeling as
approaching a hot girl for the first time on the street. The fear of the unknown.
The cutting of the umbilical cord between yourself and society.
The Greek Islands were hypnotic – white sugar-cube houses perched above
an aquamarine sea, happy donkeys and unreal sunsets. I felt somehow lighter,
free from my claustrophobic life at Oxford. For the first time I realised that
travel could work as an immediate treatment for depression by reawakening
the senses.
That summer I worked as a laboratory assistant for an eccentric professor in
the Plant Sciences department at Oxford University. Out of the blue he
offered me the chance to go with him on an expedition to the North West of
China to collect DNA samples. It was like something from Indiana Jones – I
was the bag carrier and photographer for the trip.
Everything was out of my comfort zone – the language, the food, the extreme
weather. I remember feeling afraid of being so far from home and not
allowing myself to relax and enjoy the trip, but I came back a stronger person
based on the fact that I’d got new reference experiences. “Growth is in the
burn.”
After university I moved to the Greek Island of Crete to live with my
girlfriend for a year, where everything went horribly wrong. A cold stormy
winter shattered our dreams of a sun-drenched, olive grove existence and put
strains on our relationship. She went back to the UK to live with her parents,
and I was left stranded.
When I became a primary school teacher I had half-term week long breaks,
as well as a lengthy summer vacation. I began taking short city breaks on my
own; to Rome, to Berlin, to Krakow and beyond. Budget airlines had just
been born so flights were cheaper than a round of drinks at the local pub.
With English girlfriends in the following years I’d also go away on mini
hotel breaks – to Prague with one, to Barcelona with another. Open-top tour
buses, obligatory tourist snapshots, restaurant meals and vanilla sex. A
predictable “couples’ holiday” formula - not exactly liberating.
Once I was single again I decided on some adventure trips. I was tired of
being stuck in my comfort zone. I trained on the peaks of Snowdon and the
Lake District to successfully climb Mont Blanc in the French Alps. I went on
a backpacking trip through the north of India. I took a boat down the Nile in
Egypt. I went trekking in the Western Sahara via Morocco.
Mont Blanc ascent, Summer 2004
My taste for adrenaline and freedom was growing. I decided to teach in a
primary school in Spain for a year, moving to the island of Gran Canaria.
There I bought a sea kayak with another teacher and paddled out among the
blue surf. I also did my first sky-dive with a group of friends and absolutely
loved it.
Moving back to the UK and to London, I still craved more adventure. The
next summer I booked a bungee jump in Switzerland off the world’s highest
fixed bungee site on a dam (as featured in James Bond’s GoldenEye).
Perhaps the scariest thing I’ve ever done, I only jumped because ahead of me
in the queue were a gaggle of Japanese girls who showed no fear in throwing
themselves into the abyss.
I realised that I’d become addicted to adrenaline and facing fears. It was the
first step in breaking free from the old introverted me. Yet I was living in
London and I desperately needed a new way of expanding my comfort zones
and continuing my personal transformation.
As if by magic, it was that very year that I began daygame and discovered
that meeting and attracting girls gave the same buzz from “plunging into the
now” that I’d got from skydiving, bungee jumping and mountain climbing.
It was my new Flow State activity. Two years later I’d begin travelling
again, this time to teach guys the art of daygame around the world, combining
both of my passions on a mission to transcend my comfort zone and escape
the matrix.
Missed Opportunities
Until I discovered the seduction community and the art of daygame, I missed
many opportunities when it came to girls and travel. I would see cute girls in
hostels, on trains, in hotels or on foreign streets and stare at them longingly
like every other guy. And I would pass them by.
Like society tells us, I assumed that either you got access to these girls
through looks, money and status or by competing for them in bars and clubs.
Whilst training to be a teacher I took a mini break to Rome. Checking into my
backpacker room, I found a 20 year old American girl sitting on a bunk bed
opposite mine. I struck up a conversation with her (in Nice Guy mode) about
where she was from, and after a while we decided to go out and grab a drink
as neither of us had anything to do that evening.
We found a shop near the hostel and bought a cheap bottle of wine, getting the
shop keeper to open it for us. I remember thinking how “wild” and “risqué”
it was as we sat by a fountain and drank. I didn’t have the vocabulary back
then to identify my problem with her. Now I realise I was trapped in
“comfort”, not knowing how to take things further with her.
Then a group of Italian boys came around the corner, loud and leery. They
stood around us and unashamedly started hitting on the American girl. She
was loving it and after ten minutes she walked off with them telling me that
she’d be “back soon.”
I returned to the hostel and sat on my bunk bed, unable to comprehend what
had just happened. Two hours or so later she came back and told me about
how they’d been “bad guys” - she’d gone to their house to listen to music
and drink, then she’d fucked one of them and left. I was sick of being Mr
Nice Guy – I wanted a piece of the action that those bad boys got.
Girls crave adventure and drama. It’s written in their DNA, as those key bad
boy traits symbolise alpha male genes which every woman wants a piece of.
Simple biology – breed with the badass guys, marry the provider ones that
aren’t going to run off. Alpha Fucks and Beta Bucks!
I was her new “best friend” as she recounted the tale, especially the part
about what a “crazy boy” the guy who’d fucked her was and how she
“didn’t know how it had happened.”
On my trip down the Nile on a small sailing boat a year or so later, another
opportunity drifted by. On the boat with me were a couple from South Africa
(who were driving from Cairo to Cape Town) and another American
backpacker girl. For three days and three nights we all lived on the boat with
a captain and a cook, sleeping under the stars and sailing during the day.
When we finished our trip at Aswan, the American and I went to the same
hostel to spend two days exploring the Valley Of The Kings. At the reception
desk as we checked in, we realised it was cheaper if we got a double room
instead of two dorm beds.
That evening she lay on her bed, I on mine on the other side of the room. A
fan turned round in the sweltering heat – the only sound breaking the obvious
sexual tension. Yet I was paralysed. I didn’t know how to pull the trigger – to
go from being friendly with her to being seductive. I was clueless how to
escalate and so we fell asleep.
On a trip to Morocco a few months later, I took a bus across the Atlas
mountains and reached the French outpost of Ouarzazate. From here I
enquired about taking a camel trek into the Sahara to sleep in the desert alone
for a night – real Lawrence Of Arabia stuff.
A young Bedouin guide, wrapped in a traditional blue robe, collected me
from by the side of the dusty road and took me on a camel into the dunes to
leave me at an isolated camp for the night and collect me in the morning.
Ah, the silence of the desert. I leaned back as we trekked through the
towering dunes and soaked up the hypnotic heat.
Suddenly, the sound of a Nokia phone ringtone. The young guide picked it up
and spoke in broken English to someone on the other end.
“I reeeallly missing you babee, send me more picture of you babee!”
When he hung up, he explained that it was his “girlfriend” who lived in
England. He showed me a photo of a pretty girl around 20 years old. She’d
come on a desert trek as part of a group a few months back and he’d seduced
her one night under the stars after some wine and dancing. She’d crept out of
her tent and they’d fucked in his.
It smashed the peace of the desert. I admired the balls of this guy, but it struck
me that I’d never be able to do something similar. How could a guy be that
confident? How could things happen so fast between a guy and a girl?
That night I lay alone by my fire under billions of stars. I looked up at them
and wondered why some guys had it and some guys didn’t. Despite
cultivating an adventurous lifestyle and pushing my adrenaline comfort zone,
I was still at Level Zero with girls. Working on my “lifestyle” alone clearly
wasn’t enough.
Even though on paper adventure holidays sound exciting and liberating, they
still leave a guy with the same nagging insecurities when it comes to the rest
of his life, especially regarding girls and dating. No amount of skydiving,
backpacking or cliff-jumping makes up for the thrill of seducing stunning
girls.
I call this the “Gap Year Myth.” An expensive Round-The-World trip
marketed at frustrated 21 year old guys (complete with images of bikini-clad
girls frolicking on beaches) just means that you’ll carry your insecurities and
hangups around the world. Avoiding the problem through forced-hedonism
isn’t enough.
A man must learn the art of cold approach seduction in order to face his fears
and find the satisfaction he craves. This can be done in bars and clubs (night
game) or during the day (daygame). Relying on the limited ecosystem of
social circles and work won’t do.
Chapter 2 – Fundamentals
Escapism or self-exploration?
Like deciding between settling down with one “special” girl or remaining a
player and sleeping with lots of new girls, every human has a dilemma when
it comes to travel.
Is happiness to be found from finding your dream location (whether that’s
New York or a mountain village in Nepal) and putting down roots, or
travelling from place to place for new experiences, adventures and thrills?
It’s the evolutionary conflict between staying put as a farmer or sticking to
the hunter-gatherer nomadic way of life of old. Comfy slippers or itchy feet?
Depending on who you talk to, travel can be seen as either a mind-expanding
self-improvement experience that gets you out of your comfort zone, or a
means of escapism where you put off sorting out the issues you’ve swept
under the carpet back home.
The solo travelling that I’ve done in the last fifteen years has shown me that
it’s not so black and white. It’s just like with girls. At different stages of your
life you want and need different things. At one extreme you have casual
relationships, no-strings sex, backpacking out of a rucksack and penniless
hitch-hiking. At the other you have moving in with a girlfriend, having a
steady job and buying a cat.
It’s all about finding a balance between the two, depending on your situation
and gut instinct. Neither one is “better” than the other, as with monogamy vs
polygamy. As I’ll later discuss, it’s possible to find a middle ground, the
“narrow road” of the Badass Buddha, having the best of both worlds and
refusing to get cornered into either.
Cost, funding and timings
Most people have massively distorted ideas about how expensive travel is. If
you’ve grown up going to the USA and Western Europe on your holidays then
you’ll know how costly the flights, hotels and activities are, from Disneyland
to skiing in the Alps. Party trips to Ibiza or a lads’ holiday beer drinking at
Oktoberfest; your wallet will take a beating.
However, as soon as you take a DIY approach to travel, booking flights and
accommodation yourself, then it all becomes much cheaper. Cutting out the
middle man is the best thing you can do.
Destination choice is critical. A city break in Belgrade rather than Paris. A
skiing holiday in Bulgaria rather than Italy. A beach holiday in Thailand
rather than Spain. Shopping in Bratislava rather than Moscow.
Research the cost of living in the city you want to go to – everything from
shopping to rent and beer. Check out www.numbeo.com or
www.expatistan.com to compare locations with ease.
A typical job in the UK gives you 28 days holiday a year to travel.
Some jobs give much more holiday – teachers get 13 weeks a year for
example.
Taking a gap year or a sabbatical from your existing job is another option, as
is looking into jobs that have a travel element to them (e.g. teaching English
abroad).
But the real solution is to find a job that can be done remotely, preferably
with you as your own boss. This “remote working” can thus lead to “remote
living.”
Tim Ferriss explores this concept in his book “The 4-Hour Work Week.”
Whilst the ethos of the book is good, I don’t recommend guys try to give up
work and live one long holiday. I’ll explore this concept of the importance of
having a project in later chapters.
I earn money when I travel by teaching daygame bootcamps, residentials and
coaching private clients around the world, as well as earning passive income
through my products and books.
The guys that I regularly travel with all work from the comfort of their own
laptops. One is a graphic designer, one runs an online magazine, one manages
his language school remotely, one plays online poker, one trades shares, one
is a performance coach with Skype consultations.
A wi-fi connection, a credit card and a passport. That’s it. The internet has
made everything possible.
Language
No – you don’t need to learn a country’s language to be able to go and
daygame there. That’s supplicating and qualifying to the girl. Much better to
speak slow, clear English and let the local girls qualify to you.
That sounds colonial and patronising, but it’s the best method for daygaming
abroad. Trying to “impress” a girl by speaking to her on the street in a
broken, mistake-riddled version of her native tongue won’t do you any
favours.
I like to learn a few odd, sexual or swear words in that language which I
purposefully pronounce wrongly to make her giggle.
Most girls under 25 years old around the world have a smattering of English
from school, college, university, TV, films and music (local guys often have
poor English compared to their girls). In some countries everyone’s fluent
(Scandinavia), in others it’s a bit hit and miss (Ukraine).
Warning: Don’t suggest that you’ll teach her English as an attempt at a
sneaky “in” with her. It will backfire immediately and put you in the “free
English lessons from a nice guy” Friend Zone.
Do-It-Yourself
Instead of going to a travel agents or booking an organised tour, sit in your
underwear at home and book flights yourself. The best price-comparison
website is www.skyscanner.com where you can compare airlines, dates,
times and deals side by side.
Budget airlines in Europe are not always the cheapest option (by the time you
add on getting to the airports they fly to, add ons etc.) but you can still find
amazing deals if you book in advance. Easyjet, Ryanair and Wizzair will be
your first ports of call.
Rail passes and coach travel can also be very cheap if you don’t mind the
longer journey times and the vertical sleeping. Check out www.megabus.com
and www.interrail.eu to get an idea of options.
If you’re really skint or a penniless student, consider hitching or car pooling.
Accommodation
For accommodation, hostels / backpackers are how most people start out. A
bed in a shared dorm is very cheap, around £15 - £25 a night in Europe. But
expect crowded rooms, strange smells, bangs in the night (of a different kind)
and shared bathrooms.
However, the image of hostels as slices of easy “pussy paradise” pie is a
common misconception. If something’s too good to be true then it usually is.
For logistical reasons it’s much better to get your own place. The cheapest
way is not always the private hostel room. The next step is to look for a
cheap hotel. It’s not the quality of the room that really matters, it’s the
location.
Use www.hostelworld.com to not only find hostel beds but cheap hotels too.
Find a place that’s as central as possible, near the main pedestrian
thoroughfares, squares, bars, cafés, shops and city life.
One problem with hotels is that a girl will be resistant to coming inside with
you as it’s clear what’s going to happen once she does. A second is that door
security might stop you bringing girls in once the sun has gone down.
The best choice when travelling for daygame is to get an apartment in the city
centre. This is not as expensive as it sounds. An amazing website is
www.airbnb.com where people rent out their properties – from one room to
a whole house. Prices per night are often cheaper than hotels and even
hostels, especially if you share with a friend.
An apartment gives you total plausibility for why a girl should come back.
It’s a home-away-from-home, with kitchen, living room, sofa and bedroom.
Snake seduction
Beware of weasel-like schemes to try and hook up with girls, which I term
Snake Seduction. “Couchsurfing” is a good example of this, where lots of
guys contact girls using the website www.couchsurfing.org to pretend
they’re looking for a friendly host to show them around a city. Many girls
contact the site recounting how the guy they host sneaks into their room in
the middle of the night to get it on.
Not only is it desperate and creepy but it’s a big time sink too, like online
dating. You’ll most likely waste whole days with girls who won’t fuck you
regardless.
If you really are penniless, contact other daygamers in cities around the
world using forums, ask to crash at theirs, then hit the streets with them to
pick up girls in an honest fashion.
Accommodation Logistics
Accommodation should be no more than a 10-15 minute walk from
where you’re daygaming or dating. This doesn’t necessarily mean
expensive, as the daygame area might not be the same as where the city
centre attractions are (e.g. Santa Monica as opposed to Hollywood).
Private room in a hostel, hotel or apartment for your “close location”. A
double bed is not essential but isolation is.
Facilities – the girl has to feel comfortable coming back, so a sofa area
and / or a kitchen is ideal.
Bring your laptop preloaded with films and music. Mini portable speaks
help with this too. Don’t rely on internet connections for streaming as
they can be slow / non-existent
Buy beer, a cheap bottle of wine or vodka / juice for the “after party”
before you head out – a plausible reason for the girl / girls to come
back.
Carry condoms and mints with you when you head out each day – you
never know what’s going to happen and where.
Torero’s Travel Tips
Save yourself a lot of time and hassle with these trusty tips from your
surrogate father)
Travel with a carry-on bag only – it saves you time, money and
encourages you to get rid of excess so you travel light. In my bag I
have: 2 or 3 changes of clothes, camera, adaptors, laptop, leads,
liquids (see below), wallet and passport.
Put your liquids (under 100ml) in a small transparent resealable bag:
toothpaste, roll-on deodorant, cologne, shampoo. Have the bag ready
to take out for airport inspection.
Carry the basics: condoms, paracetamol.
Have a small wallet / case for your essentials: passport (+
photocopies), money – cash and credit cards, documents, spare
passport photos etc. Email yourself copies of important documents in
case of loss.
Check out www.cashpassport.com to get yourself a travel money card
you can top up with emergency funds if your regular cards are blocked
/ stolen.
Don’t be a lemming and queue up to board the plane if you’ve got a
designated seat. Let everyone else huff and puff to board, then stroll on
last. A front or back seat means you can get off the plane first too.
Unlock your phone before you go and change to using a SIM of your
destination country. Beware of roaming charges if you keep your home
SIM in. Use Skype phone calls for long distance.
Tell your bank you’re going abroad before you go (otherwise they
might well block your card as fraud prevention). Set up online
banking.
Minimise the number of chargers / adaptors you have. Get a multi
adaptor that can power everything or do it all from your USB laptop
port.
Use free wi-fi from cafés (e.g. McDonalds) to pick up email, check
social media etc. when travelling instead of using paid internet cafés
Choose seats at the back of the plane by the aisle to board last and get
off first.
Be extra charming and nice to the people behind the Check In desk to
blag your way to a free upgrade (being well dressed helps with this
too).
To save time, check in online and print off your boarding pass yourself
(or get the barcode on your phone if the airline offers this).
Hit the ground running. You should have already Googled how to get
from the airport to the centre – bus (cheapest), rail or taxi (most
expensive). Research the price of the taxi online, write it down clearly
in the language of that country, with your destination address too. It
will stop the taxi drivers pulling a fast one. Ask for “fixed price”
instead of meter and agree on it before you get in – if the price is too
high, walk off and ask another driver. They’ll soon get the message
you’re not a mug.
Be prepared for lots of “dead” time at airports, on planes, trains, buses
and borders. Have an mp3 player, Kindle or Nintendo DS ready for
passing the time. I write and edit vlog content as I travel using my
laptop as my office.
What makes a good daygame destination?
Guys will argue ‘till the death about which country has the hottest / easiest
girls. Most of it is based on personal opinion (“Brazilians are hotter than
Swedes because I like big asses”), stereotypes (“Aussie girls are sluts”),
fishermen’s tales (“My friend got laid so much when he went to Thailand”)
or lies (“Yahoo Dating Guide To The Easiest Places To Get Laid”).
The hunt for pussy paradise is as old as time. But just like looking for
Atlantis, it’s fundamentally flawed.
The Grass Is Always Greener – guys will claim their country’s girls are
the hardest and dream of a place where the rules of the sexual market
place don’t apply. It doesn’t exist. High value girls only sleep with high
value guys.
Not daygaming in your own country can be a form of avoidance, often
based on the Spotlight Effect where you believe your own people are
“watching.” Travel gives anonymity and thus temporarily reduces
Approach Anxiety.
Spreading your seed as far from the tree as possible is also a biological
hard-wired reason for wanting to mate with girls outside of your
geographical norm. It’s why black guys like white girls, why Asians
love Europeans etc.
Your personal preference for the type of girl you’re attracted to will be
different from other guys. This will affect where your ideal daygame
location is and where you’ll do best
Places that are good for night game may not be great for daygame
(Helsinki in Finland is a good example)
One man’s opinion (in a book / article /forum post he wrote) is not
objective, usually based on whether he got laid there or not. Beware of
taking my advice as gospel!
People confuse “getting laid abroad” with sex tourism, so many guys are
discussing the best place for tittie bars, cheap hookers, and paid-for
pleasures (Thailand, Cuba, Dominican Republic). This book is about
something entirely different.
Western men have a White Knight fantasy of wanting to save “poor
lonely” girls in far off lands from their “primitive” and “thuggish” men.
They’re projecting stereotypes onto countries like Russia or Serbia that
simply aren’t true, and where the girls don’t need rescuing.
Daygame Destination Checklist
However, none of the above is to say that we can’t draw some conclusions
about where in the world is best for daygame, based on the travel that I’ve
done and the recommendations of other experienced daygamers.
Hot girls aplenty (based on what you like). The “Escalator Test” that I
use is to see how many hot girls come past you on an escalator in the
subway during rush hour compared to what you see in your own
country.
The city has a population bigger than one million (to allow for
hardcore number farming and raising the probability of a greater
number of real hotties). Also helps for making it “anonymous” and the
girls open to adventures without worrying about social-circle
repercussions.
A place that’s neither too shiny (e.g. Hollywood) where the girls are
endlessly distracted, or too poor (e.g. many Russian towns) where the
girls get married young to have stability.
Should have a relaxed café / coffee shop / bar culture with shopping
centres, malls and hubs where young people hang out and mingle
Should have at least one big university to give you a pool of students.
Should be open-minded enough to have a club scene where girls have
been exposed to fast sex, but not too open (e.g. Ibiza).
Public displays of affection should be normal / allowed and not
restricted (e.g. Dubai).
The girls should be hotter than the guys. This is a key one. Look at
couples walking around that city to see the dynamics based on Supply
& Demand. In London, for example, you’ll see guys “dating down”
with less attractive girls. In Kiev you’ll see guys “dating up” with
more attractive girls.
A city where you stand out and get looks from passers by. Learn to
differentiate between girls looking at you inquisitively and girls
flashing you Indicators Of Interest (IOIs).
A climate that’s not too cold (e.g. winter in Russia) or too hot (e.g.
summer in Serbia). Sunshine massively helps with girls being outside
and showing skin, but you can still do daygame inside in malls when
the weather’s colder.
Pedestrian centres – wide shopping streets, main squares, universities,
places that are conducive to high foot traffic. The lack of these is why
American cities are not always ideal for daygame.
Cheap living costs (see the previous section).
Lack of sex tourists / British stag parties. Why you should avoid
budget airline destinations.
A city where religion and society will allow daygame, and where at
least some English is spoken.
The real test for me about whether a place is good for daygame or not is
ultimately based on one thing only. Results. Not hypothesising, guessing,
speculating or trusting another man’s opinion. I’ll go to a place and run a
week of daygame there and look at my data. How many opens did I do? How
many numbers did I get? How many dates did I go on? How many girls did I
sleep with? You’ve got to take action and test cities for yourself, as your
field data will be different from mine.
Remember that you should learn the basic skill-set of daygame in your home
town / location before you head off on a quest to find your pussy paradise.
Travelling should be from a place of strength, not of weakness.
Chapter 3. Common Misconceptions
You’re a sex tourist
Thailand. Cuba. The Dominican Republic. Amsterdam’s Red Light District.
Prague’s strip clubs. Money exchanging hands. Lonely guys being picked up
by girls with serious game. Guys that can’t get laid back home. That’s what
sex tourism boils down to.
You should only consider daygaming abroad if you’ve already got the skillset down at home. Bear in mind that getting laid regularly while travelling is
harder than getting laid on your own turf (see below).
Daygame abroad is done with no exchanges or flashes of cash, no tittie bars,
no presents or provider displays of propped up “value.” The value has to
come from your core worth as a man. You’ll have to be able to display that
value quickly and efficiently through the medium of cold approach, letting the
girls know that you’re neither their potential boyfriend nor provider.
If you still think daygame abroad is sex tourism, consider the results that Stag
Parties get when they travel abroad for a weekend. A group of 10 guys
wearing matching polo shirts chanting English football songs and downing
shots on a pub crawl. Total number of lays over the weekend - zero. Total
amount of money spent on alcohol, strippers and kebabs - thousands.
The term “love tourist” is also misguided as it implies that daygamers go
abroad out of desperation to find some sort of life partner. In reality it should
be the complete opposite – travelling to other countries as a Man Of Mystery
or Wandering Nomad fulfilling girl’s fantasies for a night and then moving on,
creating a worldwide “United Nations” harem of women.
You go to other countries as English / American girls are harder
Girls are girls, and they respond to the same Attraction triggers and value
exchanges. What country a girl comes from doesn’t make her “easier” or
“harder.” In reality it comes down to travelling for hotness.
Here’s the harsh truth. Compared to foreign lands, English / American girls
are just not hot. It’s not their fault that Western culture has made them
masculine, over-weight and fully in control when it comes to dating.
Of course that’s a generalisation, but it’s largely true. There are cute,
feminine English girls but they’re hard to find.
In one hour in Moscow you’ll see more hot girls than in one month in
London. Slim, skirts, heels and gym bodies.
It simply comes down to Supply & Demand. Because hotness is rare in
English / US cities, a girl of beauty is massively pedestalised, showered with
attention and treated like a princess. It’s not her fault that she becomes a
madam based on the amount of guys kissing her arse and promising her the
earth.
In a country where beauty is extremely common (e.g. Poland) then a hot girl
just blends in. She’s not used to guys chasing her hard, so she doesn’t lose
that feminine beauty and essence.
As I’ve said, travel once you’ve nailed the basic skill-set for a year or two
back home. Learn to game the shit out of your own town / city first otherwise
girls in foreign towns will run rings around you. Your home advantage is
gone.
If it really was easier abroad then every man and his dog would be getting
laid on Stag Dos, weekend breaks and business trips. The reason it looks
easier when good daygamers go abroad is that the work rate is higher than at
home, meaning more lay reports come out of a week trip than a week in
London.
Your books imply that daygame is easy. You hide the truth about your
rejections.
Definitely not true.
By it’s very nature, a book of lay reports is going to be full of....lay reports.
What you don’t read about (apart from the odd failure story here and there)
are all the other approaches I made that never hooked, all the other numbers I
collected that flaked, all the other dates I went on that were dead-ends, all
the other girls I kissed who I didn’t fuck.
Daygame is not just a number’s game – there’s a skill-set involved before
you can start just “turning over stones”, but once you’ve got it down then it
becomes a fun game of finding which girls are up for it (“Yes Girls”), which
girls might be (“Maybe Girls”) and which girls are off limits (“No Girls”).
So these stories are mostly my wins with the Yes and Maybe Girls. Sure, they
might even sound repetitive, but most successful lays are: stop girl –> hook > get number –> go on date –> pull to house –> overcome LMR -> fuck.
I’ve never said daygame is easy. I’ve published countless articles and video
blogs about the journey, the struggle, the learning curve and the importance of
seeing failure as feedback.
Don’t underestimate how hard a skill-set it is. Give it a go for a weekend in
your own town or on a city break away and see what I mean. Remember that
in Game, there’s more failure than success. Fuck-ups are normal and
constant. Fucks are the glorious exceptions.
You love the Former Soviet Union because girls will
sleep with you for your money / passport / accent. It’s
basically prostitution.
If you believe this one, you’ve got to go and try it for yourself. Countries like
Russia or the Ukraine have some of the hardest daygame in the world.
The “Myth Of The UK/USA Passport” is commonly spread by chodes with
no Game who can’t get laid at home so they dream of travelling to rescue
damsels in distress. At the heart of it is their White Knight belief that the girls
in these countries are poor and “need saving” from their “sad lives” and
“savage men.”
After travelling a lot you’ll realise that the last thing these girls want or need
is a White Night. They have serious natural game themselves (as the MaleFemale polarity is so strong), many of their men are naturally alpha and
they’re just as likely to own an iPhone and shop at Zara as girls back home.
Girls in FSU countries are difficult to stop. They give you the icy “Russian
Minute” before showing any flickers of hooking, they don’t banter back, they
give one word answers, their texting is terrible. They’re often very busy
trying to better themselves by studying (many have two degrees) and working
at the same time.
Their culture encourages them to have steady long-term boyfriends and get
married young. Casual sex is almost non-existent and a slow, drawn-out
dating process is expected. They’ll blow hot and cold, testing your nonreactivity and masculine polarity to the max.
This is no beachside bar in Phuket. By sticking clear of online dating and
massage parlours, you won’t be filtering for the type of girls that want
something from you other than a seductive adventure.
Moscow is the world’s most expensive city and the one with the most
billionaires. Hot girls there will have been to Miami, Dubai, skiing in
Switzerland. You need serious game to distract their attention from the shiny
objects that provider men offer.
But it’s worth the effort: feminine, hot, loyal, kind, warm girls that will take
your breath away.
If it’s casual fast sex you’re looking for with cute girls then you’d be better
off learning how to pull girls with night game in Vegas or London on a Friday
night. Hyper girls in trashy clubs get drunk and look for fun with a guy that
knows how to pull the trigger.
Sexual Market Place Rules
In reality, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Even in those Vegas clubs
the rules of the Sexual Market Place apply – high value girls sleep with high
value guys. There’s not a country on the planet where this doesn’t apply.
“Pussy Paradise” is thus a myth.
By “value,” we’re not just talking about money, status and looks. We’re
talking about the overall Sexual Market Value (SMV) for a guy made up of
three different elements:
Ascribed Value (Genetic traits: looks, height, race, IQ, age)
External Value (Money, Status within an ecosystem e.g. being a boss,
football team captain, in a band)
Learned Value (Social intelligence, lack of neediness, confidence,
calibration, congruency, charisma, charm, male polarity, through
fashion, grooming and behaviours, leading, escalating, life
experiences)
To display his SMV, a guy tends to use a certain Value Delivery Mechanism
(VDM):
Good Looking Guy Game (based on Ascribed vale)
Provider Game (based on External value)
Ecosystem Game (based on External value)
Night Game (based largely on Learned value, with some Ascribed &
External)
Daygame (based largely on Learned value, with some Ascribed)
Torero’s Ten Value Rules
1. High value girls sleep with high value guys. Discrepancies can always
be explained on inspection
2. Different value components put a man in either the Lover or Provider
role
3. Value is easy to destroy but difficult to build
4. Ascribed value looks fade as you age, meaning the need for other value
sources increases
5. External value vanishes when the components are removed and is thus
the most fragile (unless it was a function of your personality, which is
portable)
6. Learned value lasts the longest and is the most widely applicable /
portable
7. Value Delivery Mechanisms can themselves contribute value (e.g. the
act of cold approaching)
8. Some value is illusionary (especially External) that can be faked /
vanish more easily
9. A man should play to his value strengths and minimise his value
weaknesses
10. A female’s SMV is based largely on her age and looks. Men can learn
how to build value
You trick girls into thinking they’re your girlfriend
and then you vanish
Being in a place for a short time means you don’t want her to put you in the
“boyfriend box.” It’s definitely not in your interests to do so, as it will slow
everything down and feel manipulative.
You want to be her one chance at fulfilling her fleeting Man-Of-Mystery
adventure - the guy who rolls into town, gives her a night of pleasure, and
then leaves her with the memories.
Be honest about only being in town for a week. Don’t promise to come back.
Don’t get put into the provider box by buying her stuff. Don’t brag about your
life back home. I joke that I have no money and ride a broken bicycle.
If I sense that a girl I’m seeing abroad is thinking of me as more than a fling,
I’ll give her “The speech”:
“I really like you and respect you, and wanted to let you know where I’m
at. I’m trying to be as open to new things as possible, exploring,
travelling, stretching myself, and I’m not at the stage in my life where I
want to settle down yet. But when I do, you’re just the kind of girl I’d settle
down with. I like spending time with you – you’re pretty, clever, creative,
funny, and I want to keep in touch with you. What are your feelings about
that?”
You’ll be surprised at how many girls agree that they want the same thing too.
You’re their direct, honest breath of fresh air. Once you’ve given that speech,
there’s no ambiguity about what’s going on.
You don’t literally have to give the speech if the vibe isn’t there – it can be
implied by certain things you drop into conversation, by the way you behave
etc. but being as honest as you can is the way forward.
Hostels are amazing places to get laid easily
Hundreds of young people packed into one hostel with guys and girls sharing
rooms, a late-night bar, pub crawls, beer gardens, all adventurous and
carefree. Sounds like the perfect storm for wild sex, drugs and rock’n’roll...a
daygame paradise with pussy on tap, no?
Like most things in life that are too good to be true, hostel game is largely
one of them. Places of “forced fun” where the advertising is based around
hedonism (and this includes clubs) means that there’s an expectation on
everyone to have a good time.
In reality, this is what you’ll most likely find when you rock up to a hostel
with high hopes of the Sexual Market Rules not applying:
The lounge area full of people glued to their laptops talking on Skype.
Males outnumbering females, most in groups with the pack herd
mentality of a stag-do. Supply & Demand is thus in the woman’s favour.
Poor logistics – bunk-beds and shared rooms are neither smart or sexy
Girls often in pairs or groups (a wing can help with this)
Large tour groups can book the place out
The type of girls travelling alone are often hippy-ish, introverted and in
need of a wash. Top-tier solo girls are rare
That’s not to say that getting laid in hostels with hotties can’t be done. If
you’re a sociable positive guy (who also likes the bar / beer vibe) then
you’ll stand out and do well as most of the other guys in the hostel will be
nerdy, introverted and uncalibrated.
My first lay with a hot girl was in a shared dorm room in a Scottish hostel
(read the full story in my first book). Students on bootcamps have also
brought girls to their hostel to seal the deal, or pulled girls staying there and
closed them somewhere outside nearby.
Logistics is your main concern. You’ve either got to fuck her in your dorm
room on a squeaky bunk-bed while you hope everyone’s sleeping, get a
private room in the hostel or be creative (bathrooms, showers, laundry room
etc.). Beware of CCTV. Even better, use something near the hostel like a
beach or a park.
But as I’ve already said, much better than a hostel or even a hotel is an
apartment of your own where logistics fall fully under your own control once
more.
Budget airline destinations are untapped pussy
paradise
That’s what every man and his dog thinks too, especially the stag-dos.
Like hostel game, they sound so appealing – cheap seats to Eastern Europe
where there’s untouched pussy for you and your mates. Easyjet = Easylays?
In reality, if you’ve thought of the idea then so have several million other
guys who’ve seen the adverts. This is what is known as the “Shoe Shine Boy
Tip” (based on the principle that you know it’s time to sell when the shoe
shine boy on Wall Street gives you stock tips). You’ve missed the boat,
literally.
You’re better off flying cheaply into those cities and then heading out to
another big city nearby (e.g. Bruno instead of Prague) if you want to escape
the herd.
Here are some other things to remember with budget airlines:
Beware of the add-ons. Getting to / from the airports (which are never
central) will cost, as will the check-in, the hold baggage, the food and
the extras.
Where there are budget airline destinations, there are stag-dos, strip
clubs and anti-sex tourism vibes. Local girls will have their guard up.
So even though this book focuses on many of the famous daygame
destinations, there are many smaller cities and towns that I visited and loved
which are not in here.
A bit like the Gold Rush, it’s a passion of good daygamers to find our own
favourite hidden spots which we like to revisit. You will have to do the work
to find your own.
Once again, remember that this book is the map, not the territory. There’s a
whole world out there.
Travelling is dangerous
Approaching a girl you don’t know means you could be “rejected.” Visiting a
foreign city alone means you could have your wallet stolen. Travelling in the
wilds of Canada means you could be eaten by a bear.
Adventure without risk is impossible, but the reality is that most of the
danger stories you read in newspapers or see on TV about places are
stereotyped scaremongering.
Most people around the world are nice if you’re nice to them. Most people
are friendly if you’re friendly to them. If you’re from the UK or the USA,
you’ll be shocked that in many countries, many people can be so positive and
helpful towards you while expecting nothing in return. Travel opens your
eyes to how hospitable people really are.
The warmth of locals in Istanbul or small Russian towns is amazing,
especially if you make the first move towards breaking the ice.
Simply smiling and learning a few phrases in the language of that country
(Hello, Thank you, Please, Good bye, How are you?) is enough. The idea is
not to learn the entire language. The idea is to be sociable.
In places like India or Egypt you won’t even need phrases. Being American
or European, people will be fascinated to interact with you.
Of course, use your common sense. Don’t stick out like a sore thumb and be
any easy target. Do some research before you go - read up on the classic
travel scams. Keep in mind that there’s no such thing as a free lunch.
Hopefully the worst thing that’s going to happen to you is that you get overcharged by a taxi driver, but even that can be avoided.
Chapter 4: How To Get Laid Abroad
“A wise traveller never despises his own country.” Carlo Goldoni
I’ve slept with girls from over 40 countries, some of them while travelling in
those places (what this book’s about) and some of them when they were
visiting London (see my first book Daygame).
My personal “United Nations” flag collection looks like this:
Portugal, Belarus, Columbia, Russia, Turkey, South Korea, Lithuania,
Latvia, Egypt, Spain, Italy, France, Germany, Czech Republic, Slovakia,
Australia, Canada, USA, Austria, Norway, Sweden, Holland, Ukraine,
Bulgaria, India, Switzerland, Macedonia, Hungary, Japan, Brazil, China,
Poland, Romania, Great Britain, Greece, Chile, New Zealand, Mexico, Sri
Lanka, Ireland, South Africa, Iran, Serbia, Philippines
Travelling to far off lands to sweep up dusky beauties by charming them on
the street is painted with idyllic brush strokes. Like Mick Jagger you just roll
into town, open your bedroom door and in they come, night after night, city
after city.
And then you wake up to the truth.
You’re turning up cold in a new place and trying to sleep with the hottest
girls, massively accelerating the usual courtship dance and achieving in a
few days what takes local guys months or years. They’ve been working the
same girls at college, work and through social circles – sometimes for
decades.
Difficulties
The main difficulties of daygame abroad can be summarised as follows:
You’re presenting yourself as the alpha “flying fuck”, not the beta
boyfriend so you’ve got to act hard and fast.
Logistics are against you: you’re on her turf, you don’t know the venues
or the vibe. She’ll sense that she’s got you on the back foot.
You have to manage your state and emotions when you’re in a new place
– it can be lonely, intense and tough, even with a wing.
Time is against you – you’ve got a window in which to get the lay
before moving on.
Your wing’s successes can crash your state, or you can crash his. Team
work is key.
You get overly focused on the outcome – not doing normal tourist things
for the sake of chasing lays
The stresses and strains of travel build up – airports, living out of a
case, erratic eating patterns, the subconscious stresses involved, visa
headaches etc.
Despite these difficulties it’s a massively rewarding thing to be able to land
in a new country or city and within a few days be dating the hottest women
around.
It’s like a mission, an expedition or an Ocean’s 11 heist. The more training
you do back home (approaching & dating) and the more planning you put in
(apartments, hot spots etc.) then the smoother it will go.
The Two-Tier System
Every international player I know uses not one, but two main methods for
getting laid abroad. There’s a two-tier system going on at the same time that
is not immediately apparent.
Smash & Grab – Like fast alpine climbing this is opportunistic
daygame on a trip with the aim of getting a lay before you go home.
You’re essentially looking for Down To Fuck (DTF) Yes Girls and
open-minded, one date Maybe Girls who want the thrill of anonymous
sex with a foreigner. Perhaps the lay will come from a bounceback after
an instant date, or a Same Day De-Lay (where you meet her later the day
you first stopped her).
Long Game Leads – This is what happens to all the contact details you
get and the dates you go on that you run out of time with on that trip.
Perhaps you’ve just added her on Facebook, or you’ve got her back to
the apartment but she won’t put out. More time is needed. When you
return home you ping her regularly over social media to keep the buying
temperature up. The aim is to return to the city and sleep with her.
So, what looks like simple “getting lucky” daygame abroad to an outsider is
actually a calculated combining of the two forms of seduction when
travelling. The reality in life is that you make your own luck – seducing girls
abroad is a highly skilled hustle.
The typical week-long daygame abroad structure looks something like this:
You arrive and number farm hard (“beasting”) for the first few days,
collecting as many contacts as you can by opening whatever takes your fancy,
in any location (including night street game and possibly some bars).
After this period is up you sit back and see what bites. Some girls will flake,
some will text back but not come out, some will date and some will fuck. The
ones that are on but whom you run out of time to fuck, you put onto Long
Game, like air traffic control putting planes onto a holding pattern.
All the while, you’re scanning the streets for SDLs (not STDs) using the
Torero Check-list, in an opportunistic fashion.
I think it’s healthy to top up your daygame with some night stuff – especially
if you’re a beginner or suffering from Nice Guy Syndrome where you’re
having trouble being a sexual threat, escalating fast and pulling the trigger.
Hit a few bars when the sun goes down and then head back onto the streets
for some “Gutter Game” outside the clubs when they empty out after 1 or
2am.
If you’re setting up dates, the aim is to filter hard on them to find out if the lay
is on the cards – preferably by completing the Girlfriend Sequence model in
one evening, two maximum.
You don’t want to be wasting time on “Road To Nowhere” girls that just
want to be friendly, want to practice their English, want you as a provider or
are just curious to mingle with someone foreign. Over time you’ll be able to
suss out pretty fast which category the girl falls into, allowing you to filter
out the time wasters as quickly as possible.
Same Day Lay (SDL) Check-list:
Fast lays in a new country are fun and great for practising escalating and a
masculine vibe. Looking for SDLs is a key part of the travel experience,
especially when you’re new to it and sharpening your skill-set.
However, it’s another myth of the PUA world that any girl can taken from
the street to the bedroom with “enough skill.”
Certain girls are ideal for fast escalation. It doesn’t mean they’re a “slut,” it
means they’re just like you – sexually open minded and adventurous at this
point in their lives, filtering for lovers rather than providers.
Here are some indicators that a girl might be up for a fast sexual adventure
with you:
She has tattoos / piercings/
She’s younger (17-21) or older (28-33+)
She’s open-minded (she’s backpacked, she’s couch surfed, she’s been
to lots of festivals)
Her hair is short / dyed
Her style is alternative – she stands out from everyone else on the
street
She’s travelling alone in that city too
She likes drinking alcohol (and perhaps suggests the idea of drinking
some on the instant date)
She tells you about bad boys she’s dated – DJs, weed sellers, fighters
She likes adrenaline – skydiving, motorbikes, being in the moment
She complies early on (e.g. invites herself on an instant date)
She’s initiating things – hooks easily, suggests a bounce to an instant
date, asks you about your logistics, suggests alcohol before you,
suggests going back to yours etc.
Friends and I also half joke that the lower a girl’s IQ, the faster you can
escalate ;)
Remember that these are just indicators. Some “shy” looking girls (e.g.
Asian girls) can have a wild side, and the thing about a SDL is that they’re
always very random. It’s impossible to know 100% if a girl is up for it or
not. Thus, don’t wait for green lights but lead and escalate on amber lights
and intuition.
Over time you’ll get better at spotting these girls and taking the leaps of
faith. It’s better to try than not. Take the risk and run the train, especially if
time is limited and you or the girl are leaving the next day.
On many bootcamps students have found such SDL girls and run the train
successfully – either straight off an instant date or after a delayed instant
date later. One guy on training recently stopped an air hostess from Asia in
a mall, took her for coffee, then went back to her hotel for a drink and
finally sex.
SDLs are high risk, high reward, as escalating fast amplifies a girl’s ASD
and usually triggers big testing and LMR. If you make a mistake then you’ll
most likely not see her again.
However, when you’re travelling the cost/benefit of SDLs is more
favourable as you don’t want to leave town with regrets. In your home city
it’s worth taking your time by dating the girl if you can sense her reacting
negatively to your pulling.
II
NB: The lay reports and stories in this book have been grouped
geographically into countries rather than chronologically.
Destination Timeline
2012
July : Oslo
August: Toronto, Winnipeg, Banff, Riga
September: Moscow, Istanbul
October: Prague
November: Moscow
December: Paris, Prague, Kiev, Riga
2013
January: Istanbul
February: Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane
March: NYC, LA, Las Vegas
April: Vilnius
May: Desenzano, Slovakia, Hungary
June: Oslo, Prague
July: Prague, Odessa, Stockholm, Prague
August: Prague, Kiev, Belgrade, Istanbul
September: Riga, Lisbon, Kiev, Lviv, Prague
October: Barcelona, Riga, Munich, Helsinki
November 2013: NYC
Countries visited for daygame during this period but not included in the
book: Portugal, Germany, Netherlands, Romania
Chapter 5. - North America
Hollywood Boulevard, March 2013
Bigger, brighter, but better than Europe for daygame? The cinematic quality
of New York, the bling of Vegas, the Baywatch beaches of LA, the mighty
Niagara Falls. The USA and Canada certainly pack some punches but are
they really like what you see in the movies?
Like hostel game or budget airlines, the promise of “easy pussy” based on a
British accent is a common misconception. America may be shiny and smile
at you like Ronald McDonald, but it’s harder than it seems.
On one hand, North America is extremely conservative. The girls are as
masculine as in the UK or Australia and are used to playing the game. They
get showered with attention and have endless distractions.
On the other hand, fast anonymous sex in big cities like New York means that
daygame can work a charm, but your initial street game has to be tight. Your
verbals need to be strong and banter is key. Expect lots of classic “frame
control” as she’s filtering hard for high value in a sea of chodes.
The Supply & Demand dynamics can be brutal, with fewer hot girls being
chased by a greater pool of average guys.
Looking good (not simply being good looking) is key too – either chose a
high end or a low end style. Just avoid the vanilla ground of Middle America
– ill-fitting polo shirts and high waist baggy chinos, finished off with some
white socks, sneakers and a baseball cap.
Most US cities have a distinct lack of a pedestrianised hub, making pavement
daygame difficult. New York is the exception. Canadian cities like Montreal
and Toronto are easier to walk around on foot.
Use of malls and driving to hot spots is therefore the norm. LA’s a good
example of this - without a car you’re screwed.
The US and Canada are not cheap, and apartments in the city centre are way
more pricey than in Europe. Despite the pros of the American Dream (big
beautiful landscapes, ease of living), the high cost of travel there and the
quality of girls available doesn’t draw me back immediately.
However, for bootcamps and travel with mates, it’s been great. New York
never fails to impress or deliver; it really rivals London for urban madness
of the most delicious kind.
I went to visit my aunt who lives near the Big Apple last summer and then
planned to take a bus from there up to Canada via the Niagara Falls. It was
meant to be a holiday away from daygame and seduction but that wasn’t
exactly what happened...
Greyhound Adventures
After the mighty Falls, another bus took me to shiny Toronto. I had ten days
left in North America and was deciding where to go as I opened up my map.
Canada is the second biggest country in the world by area and exactly the
kind of place I love – huge lakes, mountains, forests, animals that can kill you
and cool cities like hipster Montreal and hippy Vancouver.
On the cover of my Lonely Planet was a photo of an azure lake surrounded by
snowy peaks in the Rockies, with a solo kayaker paddling into the blue.
That’s what I want, I thought – to fulfil my wilderness fantasies and travel
across the width of Canada to do it.
In the bus station I booked a Greyhound that would take three days to reach
Banff. Sleeping as we travelled, it would save me getting hostels and allow
me to see the whole country from my seat. I’d stocked up on books - “Wild
Places” by Robert Macfarlane and “Into The Wild” by Jon Krakauer.
I sat back in my seat and relaxed into the rhythm of the journey. Canada is all
about wide skies and horizons, space, vastness and trees. A lot of trees.
I hadn’t realised that Greyhound buses in North America are far from luxury
travel. Not having a car in the States or Canada raises eyebrows and
questions and so travelling by bus or train is synonymous with hobos, downand-outs and folks that look like extras from Thriller.
A few hours into the journey the middle aged woman next to me told me that
a passenger had been decapitated on the same route by an irate guy wielding
a samurai sword. America, land of the free!
The one big bonus about long-distance bus travel is that at every stop you can
get up, stretch your legs and then sit back down next to cute girls that get on.
The pick-up involves a bit of acting and a slower, indirect-direct approach
as you’ve got hours sitting next to her. I initially don’t do anything – reading
my book and ignoring her in true Mystery Method style. After a while I’ll
make a cheeky comment to her about something I notice about her or the
environment. It’s critical to to read her in a calibrated way at this point,
seeing how she responds and how open she is to chatting. With most of the
initial conversation being in rapport, I’ll slowly start to spike out of it into
attraction using teasing, challenging, push-pull and self-amusement. Each
time I’ll see how she takes it.
It’s important to fractionate out of the pick-up by reading your book again or
looking out the window to create a vacuum. Seeing if she re initiates the
conversation is key here.
That’s exactly what I started doing to pass the time on my Greyhound
adventure. It took us one day and night to reach the Great Lakes and Thunder
Bay, by which time I’d clicked with a girl heading west to Dryden to visit her
folks in a summer cabin. I’d run the Comfort Bubbles, Spikes and Intimacy
Bubble of the Girlfriend Sequence but was running out of time.
As the day dwindled and the sun set across Lake Superior like raspberry
ripples she fell asleep on my shoulder. I’d not got the kiss when I went for it
but she was into me. Only logistics were against me. I was running the
sequence too fast and the coach toilet had already broken and was
overflowing, so there was no chance of anything crazy in there.
Soon after she’d departed the next morning, another girl got on and sat
opposite me on a seat by herself. She looked like a real-life Pocahontas with
jet black hair and eyes, plaits and dark skin. The guy behind her leant through
the seats and immediately started trying to hit on her with a barrage of
interview questions. I listened in on the answers. Turns out she was a Native
American Indian girl heading back to her family in Winnipeg.
I waited until she blew him out by putting in her headphones and staring out
the window. At the next pit stop to refuel the bus and stretch our legs I struck
up a conversation with her by giving her an indirect-direct compliment:
“I love how dreamy you are – like you’re solving the mysteries of the
universe, or hung over from debauchery last night ;)”
She giggled and we had a conversation with intense eye contact and lots of
teasing. When I got back on the bus I moved my hand luggage and sat next to
her as she told me about her rock’n’roll life in Winnipeg, getting involved
with bad boys and drugs, and longing to escape.
By this stage in the journey, I was so fatigued from sitting on the bus that I
knew I wasn’t going to last until Vancouver – another two days away – so I’d
made the decision to get off the bus with her at Winnipeg.
We spent the last few hours on the bus going into deep rapport – she was a
shy girl and it was tough to get her to invest - as she looked out of the
window at the prairie country that had opened up around us.
Grain towers, rail roads, farms the size of Wales, it was all very epic. Wide
skies and big horizons, I loved it. It was from here that Al Capone had snuck
prohibited alcohol across the boarder into the USA.
For these kind of girls (the same for strippers or hookers you want to shore)
then deep rapport rather than sexual Spikes work really well, combined with
a strong qualifying / leading frame.
A sexual spark was in the air as our legs touched. I took the chance and held
her hand, covering it was my sweater so that no-one else could see. She
stroked it back – game on – now only logistics were left to deal with.
As we got off at Winnipeg I swear you could see a ball of tumble weed drift
by. There was something eerie about that place – an urban island in a prairie
sea, with very little to do. That’s apparently why the place has such a metal /
rap scene as well as a big drug problem.
It was now late afternoon and she had some stuff to sort back at home. I had
to drop my bags at the hostel I’d booked so we arranged to meet in the centre
later that evening. They had no single rooms so I stupidly agreed to take a
dorm bed.
Sleep deprived and aching from the contortionist bus positions, I staggered
into the hostel, dumped my bags on the bunk-bed and then went to the local
supermarket in search of Red Bull and condoms.
To warm up for the date I hit a local underground bar where a rock band was
playing. With a pint in one hand I chatted to locals and tried to get myself into
some sort of sociable state. Beards, piercings, tattooed necks wider than tree
trunks – it was a million miles away from hipster Montreal.
An hour later and two pints down I met up with Pocahontas in the city centre.
She was late and I was pretty sure she’d flake, but suddenly there she was –
smiling and waving, all dressed up. She told me how nervous she was and
that she hadn’t “been on a date” in a long time. I suggested a bar that I’d
Googled but she took my hand and set off in another direction, saying that
“people would know her” in that part of town.
One of the lessons of daygaming in smaller towns and cities is that discretion
is the name of the game to make sure the girl feels like she’s not going to get
judged. We headed into a dark cocktail bar a few blocks away where
anonymity was ensured.
The mixture of Red Bull, beer and cocktails hit me hard after the weariness
of the journey. Both of us were getting drunk pretty fast and we shifted into
the Intimacy Bubble very quickly. There was no need to spike things up as the
kino was heavy from the off – us sitting on a sofa with her legs over mine.
Playing with her hands, touching her hair, massaging her back, making out
within half an hour.
Having fucked up my own logistics by booking a bunk-bed in a dorm hostel
room, I suggested we go towards hers for another drink. She told me that she
lived with her mum and that it wasn’t possible.
Hand in hand, we came out of the dark bar and fate dealt me an Ace. Next
door was a budget hotel, nothing special but close enough so that the bubble
wouldn’t pop. By now it was around 1am and my bus onwards to the Rockies
was leaving at 10am.
“I want to spend more time with you, let’s get a room here,” I said as I led
her into the reception, barely able to walk straight because of the fatigue and
alcohol. She didn’t give any objections so I knew the lay was on as long as
the hotel had rooms this late.
After checking in and paying, we went upstairs and both of us collapsed on
the bed. The mixture of tiredness, alcohol and Red Bull meant that I couldn’t
get it up, and I panicked. I went into the bathroom and tried to think horny
thoughts, but the anxiety killed any chance of that.
Rather than trying to hide it, I came out and told her the truth. “Let’s sleep for
a while and then try,” I said. She understood and we crashed out faster than
a sleepy sumo wrestler.
The plan worked and in the morning we woke to delicious spooning sex and
then post-fuck coffee - one of my favourite things in the world. She had to get
going and I had to dash to the hostel to pick up my bag.
It all felt very unreal; that a beautiful girl I’d chatted to on a bus the previous
afternoon was now passionately kissing me goodbye outside a hotel in the
middle of nowhere. My faith in daygame whilst travelling had been born.
Anna – The Great Escape
Back on another Greyhound bus going west, I took the last available seat and
made myself comfortable. God had decided this was to be my lucky trip –
next to me was a petite brunette with an amazing look. She was scribbling in
a note book and had her headphones in.
I waited until a natural break in what she was doing to open the conversation
and ask her how long it took to the Rockies. “Two fucking days” she grinned
in an incredibly sexy French accent.
She was called Anna, from Montreal, - a true French Canadian with the
perfect mix of personalities and cultures: the open-mindedness of Canada
with the cultured, arty vibe of France.
One of the cool things about daygame is the moment when you talk to a
stranger and everything clicks - personality, humour, interests, backgrounds
etc. She was reading “Into The Wild” and listening to music by Eddie
Vedder from the film. The journey across Canada she was taking was to
escape the city and record it all with her camera. We liked the same films,
the same music, the same hobbies, the same vibes. And she was very pretty –
almost Spanish looking – just my type. A few hours in I was knocked off my
seducer balance by how similar we were and how strong the vibe was.
Seasoned daygamers will already smell the problem here – my early
excitement and over-investment (neediness) which was to cause the pickup to
spiral out of control and crash. I’ve kept the following story in the book as a
good example of beginner mistakes stemming from rapid-onset ONEitis. It
doesn’t matter how experienced you are, how tight your Game is – you need
to constantly monitor your seductions for it.
At the gas stations we stopped at, we’d get out our cameras and take photos
of the trucks with happy dogs panting out of the windows, or beefy guys
wearing cowboy hats sitting by the road who looked like they were in a
Levi’s commercial. From the off it felt like we were a couple.
Back on the bus, she threw a spanner into the works. She told me about the
boyfriend she was living with and how it was serious, although this trip was
a “breather from each other” to have their own space for a while.
When a girl tells you this it’s very hard not to let it shake your confidence,
but it’s important to remember to listen to a girl’s actions rather than her
words.
After two days we passed through Calgary and finally the Rockies came into
view – a towering dramatic range rising out of nothing from the flat prairies.
My mountaineering mojo kicked as I glimpsed the snowy peaks.
A few hours later we were in Banff, a real mountain resort with log cabins,
outdoor equipment shops and the chilled vibe that only surfers,
snowboarders and skiers know how to cultivate.
We checked into the same hostel but got different rooms as it was split into
single sex dorms. That afternoon we needed to stretch our legs and get out
into the hills, so we chose a trail near the town that took us up to Tunnel
Mountain.
Up and up we climbed, sweating it out, through the coniferous forests and
past signs that warned of sealing waste in bins to stop bears having picnics.
Finally we reached the summit where we collapsed onto a rocky shelf and
took in the view.
Underneath us stretched one of the best sights of my life, like something from
Lord Of The Rings. Snow-capped summits, forests, lakes, a river running
through it, on a scale that was impossible to find in Britain or Europe.
Anna pulled out her mp3 player and we shared her headphones as she hit
play. Patrick Watson’s “Great Escape” flooded our brains like an orgasmic
hit of heroin and we sat there speechless.
Looking back, I should have kissed her there and then but the creeping ONEitis stopped me, telling myself that I had days with her and that I didn’t need
to take a risk. These kind of weasel thoughts are seduction suicide.
That evening we went to a local bar to have a few beers and shoot some
pool. As we sat there chugging beers we socialised with a group of local
guys. One of them took Anna off to play pool in another room and I can
remember how much jealousy that triggered inside me – again, a massive
ONE-itis warning light.
Because I’d spent so much time on the bus with her and gone into such deep
rapport, combined with the experience on the mountain that afternoon, I felt
like we were already together. I must have projected this neediness as, rather
than just chilling and having fun in the bar, using the situation to show social
intelligence, I got reactive and walked out, leaving her with the guys and
going to bed.
In the morning over breakfast there was a frosty atmosphere. She knew that
I’d been jealous and saw my over-reaction to the situation. The complete
opposite of the Freedom From Outcome that a good seducer should have.
Luckily, a new girl arrived that was staying in Anna’s room – a happy, carefree 18 year old from Whistler who was also down in Banff to explore the
hills.
All three of us followed the trail along the river above rapids and falls, into
the forest where we hiked all day. That night we got drunk together but,
again, rather than me just enjoying the moment and going with the flow
(which could have led to some exciting action as the spark was there) I was
clingy with Anna and decided against flirting with the new girl.
In the morning we all hired a car and drove through the National Park on one
of the most spectacular drives ever, past glaciers and peaks, bears, moose
and waterfalls. “Goodbye Guitar Town” sang Steve Earle over the stereo.
We stopped off at Lake Louise to soak in the view that had inspired me to
cross Canada in the first place. The lake was azure as ever, surrounded by a
horseshoe of giant mountains. Behind it we climbed up a pathway to have tea
in a mountain hut. All three of us were free and alive.
After dropping off the new girl at Jasper railway station, Anna and I walked
around the town looking for something to do. We stumbled upon a Rodeo
taking place and went inside – real cowboys riding bulls and horses with the
crowd going wild like it was a hockey match. Many beers later we crashed
out in the car and hugged for warmth as we attempted to sleep. My lack of
escalation up to this point was about to backfire.
My attempts at kissing her didn’t work – the boyfriend objection was too
strong – but at least I’d made my move and shown my cards. I’d let the
crackling sexual tension slide into comfortable rapport and missed the
escalation window days before. I was angry at myself for sliding back into
chode behaviours.
Early the next morning we drove back to Banff with Kings Of Leon blaring
out and boarded the bus west heading to Vancouver. The vibe between us
was awkward as we both knew of the obvious attraction, but we couldn’t do
anything about it because of her commitment.
The next morning we arrived in the Okanagan Valley, rolling wine country
around some glorious lakes near Vancouver. I felt like I was in the Italian
Alps.
This time we got a room in a hostel together – a bunk-bed double room
where I’d decided I was going to try my utmost to escalate that evening. It
was going to be all or nothing.
We headed down to the lake which was near the hostel and sat by the water’s
edge, groggy from a lack of sleep. Simultaneously, we decided to swim
despite not having any swimming gear or towels. We stripped off to our
underwear and swam out together, hugging each other as we trod water. The
chemistry was unreal and she could feel my hard dick through my boxers.
Again she rejected the kiss – it was driving me mad.
We got out of the water and ran back to the hostel, dripping wet. Up in the
room we opened a bottle of red wine that we’d bought on one of the bus pitstops. Half a bottle each later, we were dizzy from the alcohol, the sleepiness
and the swim.
We got into the lower bunk together in just our underwear and hugged. It was
electric. The sexual tension was explosive and heightening all our senses. I
slowly kissed her neck and her back as she gripped me tightly. My dick was
throbbing hard and she could feel it between her legs.
Anna resisted every escalation move after that, despite me trying for hours to
get her to put her hand on my dick or touch between her legs. We fell asleep
in each other’s arms and awoke early the next morning. Again she resisted
anything sexual.
I’d had enough and packed my things – knowing that it would kill me if I
went to Vancouver with her where she was going to hang out with a group of
surfers we’d met in the hostel. The air was confused and frosty between us,
but at last I was breaking rapport and being honest.
I said my goodbyes and got on the first bus back east heading to Toronto. For
the next three days I was unable to talk to any girls I saw, unable to think of
anyone or anything other than Anna. I was full of jealousy when she’d post
pictures of her having fun on Vancouver Island with guys who had perfect
chiselled looks and Greek god bodies. Oneitis had taken me over and
paralysed me from doing anything else in Canada.
It was time to go home.
New York New York
“Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight
of the shore.” Andre Gide
CITY: New York
POPULATION: 8.3 million
Manhattan from Brooklyn, March 2013
The following Spring I was back in the USA, this time to teach bootcamps on
the East and West Coast. First a week in New York to do some filming with
Martin, then a week in Los Angels and Las Vegas.
Martin and I touched down in New York in cold but bright Spring weather. A
snowstorm was predicted for the next few days and locals hurried around
wrapped up against the elements that blew down the avenues.
It was too cold for substantial street game, but it didn’t bother us as we were
there to film indoors to capture some stealth daygame – cafés, stores, malls,
stations.
Andy had got us a small basement apartment north of Manhattan in Harlem,
still a largely black community that was the home of jazz, gospel and soul in
the 1920s and 30s.
New York never fails to dazzle, even if you’re used to the urban delights of
London. Everything’s bigger, taller, shinier, brighter, faster. It’s like walking
around the sets of all the movies you watched when you were a kid.
Everything’s so strangely familiar thanks to the bombardment of imagery –
hot dog sellers, steam rising from grates, the old woman pushing a trolley of
belongings, NYPD cars.
Martin and I were like kids in a sweet store. We spent just as much time
exploring as we did filming – Times Square, the Empire State Building,
Central Park, the Yankees Stadium, a visit to a basketball game, a soul night
at the Harlem Apollo. Every morning we’d find a When Harry Met Sally
style diner to eat our pancakes and drink coffee with light snow falling
outside.
The filming went well – I was in a real flow state because of the great time
we were having and the cool bootcamps. One evening. as the sun was setting
we went up the Empire State Building again to get a number close 86 floors
up on film.
Everything was going well. Martin had hidden the filming equipment in
different pockets to avoid suspicion at the thorough security check. The
wireless microphone that fitted onto the camera was split into different
pieces that were shared out between us.
Once on top of the building, we fitted everything together in the toilets and I
got wired up with the mike. We felt like secret agents about to take part in an
Entrapment-style heist high above the streets of Manhattan.
The view was breathtaking, as was the unexpected silence. Despite there
being hundreds of people up there on the small viewing platform, everybody
moved around as if in a cathedral, perhaps because of the awe-inspiring
views.
In the magical twilight I spotted a Russian-looking girl alone taking photos of
the view. I gave Martin the signal and went over to do my usual daygame
thing. She was indeed from Russia and the interaction went as normal, ending
in a good number close and the promise of meeting soon in Moscow.
As soon as I walked away from the girl, I felt a large hand on my shoulder.
“Come with me sir...” said a deep gruff voice, authoritative and giving me no
option to refuse. Security had spotted us and were not happy.
I was shepherded into a room inside the building behind a glass door. Martin
appeared a minute later with another burly security guard dressed in a Men
In Black style suit. They radioed for their senior, who appeared out of
nowhere seconds later.
“Filming other people without permission is illegal, as is unauthorised
filming in this building,” said the chief. “Tell me exactly what you’re
doing.”
“We’re tourists from England,” I stammered from the nerves and the cold.
“We’re just making a holiday video.”
“Look, I’ll delete the footage...” said Martin as he switched on the camera
and began deleting files in front of them.
When the senior realised we weren’t terrorists or potential jumpers he
relaxed and mumbled to the other guards to let us go.
“Next time we’ll call the police!” barked the first guard as he bundled us out
of the room and back onto the platform.
Back down on the ground I commiserated with Martin about losing the
footage.
“Come off it!” said Martin, “I wouldn’t delete the footage- I switched the
memory cards when they weren’t looking!”
New York Part II
I returned to New York in the Autumn of that year to teach two more
bootcamps and to lock myself away in isolation to finish writing this book.
I was staying in Hotel 17 by Union Square, right in the heart of Manhattan
and the daygame hotspots. The hotel is famously kitsch and odd, having been
used by Woody Allen for his film “Manhattan Murder Mystery” and for
photo shoots for Madonna’s “Sex” book.
The two lays that I got during that week-long trip both followed the same
themes that were fitting for a city like New York: fast, no-nonsense and
quirky like the place I was staying in.
One Open, One Close
I’d landed in JFK after a long flight from Russia via Istanbul. My body clock
was fucked and my brain fried. I dropped my bags off in the hotel and headed
out to Union Square as the cold crisp evening descended. I was like a blearyeyed zombie, trying to wake up and adjust to the time zone by taking a walk
and grabbing some food.
After eating in the upstairs café of WholeFoods I headed back out to the
Square and started walking towards my hotel to crash out.
There in front of me at the crossing was a tall skinny blonde girl in a red coat
wearing a short skirt (no tights) and high-heels. It was the middle of
November and cold, so she stood out because of her scantily-clad attire.
My daygame mojo kicked in before I even had a chance to stop myself
logically. I let her cross and then front stopped her with the usual
compliment. She smiled as I launched in to an accusation assumption about
her bare legs, and how she was like Little Red Riding Hood but
irresponsible because of the flesh on show for a hungry wolf.
My creativity shocked me because of my tiredness and dishevelled state. It
just goes to show that the long-term muscle memory of doing it for years can
still get you in the groove despite feeling crap.
There was a sexual spark from the off. She didn’t say much because she was
shy and young, but my intentions were obvious.
Starting an interaction with a strong Male-Female polarity makes everything
easier, as the tone has been set for the entire interaction. She was the lost girl
in the forest and I was the hungry wolf looking at her legs.
I chatted to her for five minutes and found out she was 19 years old, studying
at New York University, and that she dreamt of being a fashion designer. As I
number closed her I wasn’t sure if it was a solid interaction as she’d not
really asked me much and said she was cold so she had to get going, but the
sub-coms had been great and the eye mesmer was there.
Back in the hotel I sent her the usual first text and crashed out on my single
bed for an epic 15 hour sleep, waking the next morning to see a hooked text
from her.
What follows is the entire text interaction from meeting her to getting her out.
Perhaps my shortest ever. Things in New York happen fast, and it was clear
to me that this girl wanted to be fucked. Soon.
ME: Hey Little Red, random but cool, don’t work too hard and watch out
for the wolves ;)
HER: Sterling advice! What’s your plans later?
ME: Looking for more bare legs haha. Cheeky drink this evening around 8
in Union Sq?
HER: Sounds good :)Where to meet the wolf?
ME: Outside Barnes & Noble at 8, beware ;)
God had given me a Yes girl as the first girl I spoke to in the city on that visit.
It was Saturday so I taught the first day of the bootcamp with my friend Steve
and went for a couple of beers after in a pub by Union Square. I wasn’t
keeping an eye on the clock and suddenly realised it had just gone eight.
Leaving Steve, I dashed from the pub to the bookstore. There she was, Little
Red now dressed up like she was going to the Oscars; hair, heels, dress,
make-up. I looked like I’d been dragged through a hedge.
Like on the street, she was shy and quiet, understandable because of the 15
year age gap between us. I wasn’t sure if she was going to turn out to be a
good girl who was devoted to studying, or if what I’d glimpsed in her eyes
was real. Only one way to find out.
I took her to a cocktail bar off the Square and sat right at the back next to her
by an open fire. It was dimly lit and luckily pretty deserted for a Saturday
night. I was skipping the Comfort Bubbles of the Girlfriend Sequence and
diving straight into Intimacy.
On my mind was a big logistical point. My hotel (5 minutes away) only
allowed guests up until 10pm. The guy on the reception desk had made a
point of reminding me with a stern face as I’d headed out, suggesting that the
hotel had seen its fair share of night liaisons in the past.
She was living in NYU halls of residence with a group of girls, so I knew
that if I was going to bounce her to the hotel then it had to be fast.
I blended in Comfort topics with non-verbal escalation. She slowly opened
up about her family, her passion for creativity and her travel plans. I
switched it up a gear to verbal Statements Of Intent and playing the Questions
Game.
Halfway through the first drink she told me with a smile that she got drunk
easily and that she was already feeling dreamy. Green light. I skipped the rest
of the verbal escalation and put my arm around her to see how floppy she
was. Bingo - she snuggled up to me like a cat.
I told her about my hotel being in a Woody Allen movie and luckily she was
fascinated, being a big Allen fan. It was only 8.45 when we left the bar and I
suggested she could see where it was while I “charged my phone.”
We held hands as we walked the five minutes back to the hotel. I bamboozled
her by discussing Woody Allen movies and she showed no token resistance
as I opened the hotel door and walked through the reception and up the stairs.
It all seemed too good to be true. Was this a 100% Yes girl or had I
completely misread the situation and she was just so naive? I braced myself
for a tonne of LMR as I put the key in the lock.
The LMR never came as I pulled her in. The make-out was strong and heavy.
Without saying a word, she unzipped the back of her dress and kicked off her
shoes. I picked her up and laid her on the bed, pulling off my clothes and
lying next to her.
Make out. Cock out. Lights out. Game over.
She was perhaps the most compliant girl I’d ever daygamed with not one
“shit test” or bit of resistance from open to close. It’s an important point to
remember that “Game” is only needed when a girl’s compliance level drops
and a roadblock is met. In this case there was 100% compliance so it would
have been weird to “pull.”
She told me after the sex that she loved older men, had slept with 5 guys (two
of them businessmen that had given her their cards) and that she had a high
sex drive. She found the young guys at her university “like babies” and said
she loved my directness and “animalism.” An advert for direct daygame if
there ever was one.
Italian Princess
Lift to glory
During the week between the two weekend bootcamps I taught a handful of 1on-1 students. The weather was crisp and cold but with blue skies, so it was
great for hitting the streets.
The golden area for New York daygame is south of Union Square towards
Washington Square Gardens (great for uni students), Soho (for models) and
East Village (for hipsters). The urban concentration is amazing, with rivers
of people hustling and bustling day and night.
With one student we headed to Washington Square Gardens so I could show
him some approaches with stationary girls on benches. As we walked
towards the fountain area in the middle I spotted a stationary blonde girl
carrying lots of shopping, pausing to take a breath.
I opened her with the typical patter, teasing her for all the shopping she was
doing. Her eyes lit up and she hooked easily, telling me she was from LA but
born in Italy. Her family were Italian (cue Godfather jokes) and she spent
her time travelling around America and Europe.
It turn out that she was a massive daddy’s girl, never really having had a job,
chasing her dream of “working in television” whilst going on shopping
sprees in New York, Paris, Hong Kong and London. She’d just come from
Miami and was flying back to LA on the weekend. Easy teasing topics and
banter about LA’s poodles, palm trees and plastic boobs.
The interaction was fizzy and fun, but lacked much comfort. The student was
watching and listening so I was pumping her buying temperature fast so he
could see all the classic attraction signals from her. I number closed her with
the mention of grabbing drinks (“on your father’s credit card”) before she
went, which she agreed to.
Like with Little Red, the texting was short and sweet and she agreed to meet
for cocktails the next evening. I planned the same bar at the same time, with
the same bounce in the back of my mind.
Things started to unravel quickly even before we’d met up again. As I was
walking to the meeting place I got a text saying she’d be “10 minutes late.”
No worries, usual stuff, it was cold so I went into the café of WholeFoods to
sit with a cup of tea and wait.
Another text came through saying she’d be “20 minutes” as her cab was
stuck in traffic. Not her fault so I sipped my tea and chatted on my phone to
friends to keep positive.
“Where are you?” came her text when she arrived.
“Upstairs in the café, come and join me...” I replied.
“No, come down”
The first bit of Princess Behaviour and points lost in my eyes. Rather than
falling into her frame I just didn’t reply and sat there.
Sure enough, she appeared five minutes later, a scowl on her face and
pretending to be distracted by text messages.
We walked from the café to the cocktail bar without really speaking much.
She replied to my Comfort questions with one word answers, still angry
about me making her walk up the stairs.
“Controlling your emotions is the cornerstone of Game” I said to myself in
my mind over and over. “Don’t react, don’t react.”
The person who reacts loses.
As we walked into the cocktail bar and sat in the same seats as I’d been in
with Little Red, the next bit of the Princess Behaviour came out.
She said she’d been to the bar before and didn’t like it. She wanted to go to a
place to eat a burger.
Part of training your Badass Buddha skills is to know when to “punish” a
girl’s Princess Behaviour and when to “keep calm and carry on.” It’s a fine
line to tread and requires calibration from experience.
With a straight face I told her that she should have eaten before she came out,
or at least told me. “Let’s have a cocktail here and then we can grab
something later if you’re still hungry.”
She was shocked. Clearly nobody had spoken to her like this before. The
Princess was not getting her own way.
As is often the case, after the initial few minutes of grumpiness and
challenging she became very passive and feminine, enjoying the fact that a
man had stood up to her. Krauser calls this the “rub” where a girl will
actively provoke a guy to show his teeth - not as a shit test but because she
enjoys the “punishment” of the guy to re-establish the polarity.
I find that the more “powerful” and head-strong the girl, the more she craves
a dominant guy who won’t put up with her Princess Behaviour.
Letting a girl know you have boundaries and standards that you will not
tolerate being crossed is a key part of being a player. I call it “B.O.B” Boundaries On Bullshit.
We drank our cocktails and our spirits raised. She began to drop the Princess
mask and opened up about being an only child, her ambitions, the loneliness
of travelling solo and a difficult relationship with her father.
She was 24 years old and very socially savvy having done the whole sexdrugs-rock’n’roll party thing in her late teens. Miami, Ibiza, Thailand- she’d
crammed more hedonism into five years than most do in a lifetime.
We chatted about guys being indirect with their intentions towards girls, and
she said she was sick of Italian and American guys “hiding their dicks.”
She’d loved the direct approach and told me a story about a guy chatting her
up indirectly in LA. He went on and on, suggesting he could take her on
vacation “to see his boat.” After half an hour she put his drink on the table
and said to him: “enough of the waffle, you don’t need to pretend, drive me
home and fuck me.”
I did an imaginary fist-pump as it seemed the lay was in the bag. I’d found
another Green Light girl. All I had to do now was chill and enjoy the date,
leading at the final step and pull the trigger. With a Princess it’s never that
easy though.
From the bar I began the walk to the hotel, but she was in high spirits saying
she wanted to check out another place with a DJ. Lose the battle to win the
war. No point over-escalating by dragging her back to the hotel prematurely.
Buddha is just as important as the Badass.
Walking past the W Hotel in Union Square we noticed a crowd of people
around the door of the basement nightclub there. It was a charity fund-raising
event but the bouncer said we could join the party if we made a donation.
Downstairs it was all happening. A packed dance floor, a cool bar, great
music and a happy vibe. Princess and I found a booth with a sofa in it and
reclined, me going into Intimacy and looking at her piercings, her tattoos,
playing with her hands and hair.
The alcohol was helping minimise her Princess behaviour and she was
gradually dropping the tests and the challenges. We got up and danced
together, making the kiss easy as I pulled her into me.
First date lay in the bag I thought, 100%, just chill, it’s going to happen.
Enjoy the moment. Stop thinking of the outcome.
We sat back down and had another drink. Matter-of-factly she told me that
“nothing was going to happen tonight” when I suggested we go up to Times
Square where she was staying for “one more drink.”
Being in PUA mode, I took that resistance to be token and decided to bounce
her anyway. Outside the club I stopped a taxi and told her to get in.
“We’re NOT going to my hotel” she said as I told the driver to head towards
Times Square. “Not today, I told you.”
“We’ll go to a nearby bar for one more” I said, assuming it was just the
usual Anti-Slut-Defence resistance. I was missing the cues of her saying she
couldn’t fuck today for whatever reason (unshaven, period, whatever).
Yards away from Times Square we grabbed a drink in a sports bar next to
her hotel and things turned frosty pretty quickly. I was still delivering spikes
and massaging her back and her buying temperature was dropping. She was
giving nothing back and had started flirting with the bar man to make a point.
I was clutching at straws. “Show me the view from your hotel, I’ve had
enough beers.”
“You just don’t get it do you,” she said, “we can meet tomorrow but not
tonight, I’ve told you.”
With that she got off her stool and walked out of the bar. The Princess Had
Spoken.
I was drunk from the night’s shenanigans so decided to push it as far as I
could go and crash the train. I still hadn’t realised that she was suggesting to
meet up another time to fuck.
I followed her into her hotel lobby where her Italian Pre-Madonna side
exploded. “You’re all the fucking same!” she screamed, “you don’t get it,
do you.”
“Calm down, you’re behaving like a child” I said back trying to stop her
getting in the lift but it was too late. The doors shut behind her and I was left
in the lobby with an elderly couple and the night security guard looking at
me.
Walking back through Manhattan to my hotel, drunk and tired, I kicked myself
for over-escalating and “wasting” an evening on a Princess. Lesson learnt,
reference experience gained, but it still stung.
The next day I was surprised to get a text from Princess asking what I was
doing. Half of me felt like ignoring her and deleting the number, but the other
half of me wanted to give it one more go as I’d got so far in the seduction.
Backing the right horse can only be seen retrospectively. Lots of Game is
realising you can’t hedge your bets - you have to commit to a line of action
and hope you made the right choice.
For this seduction I made a good call. Later that day I met Princess in Union
Square once again and straight away the vibe was different. She was
apologetic about the previous evening and it was like her mask had been
dropped. We went to a diner for a burger where we went into the Comfort
stuff that I’d skipped on the first date.
After the food we went for a drink in East Village to a Speakeasy cocktail
bar that hid behind a Chinese restaurant. The vibe was flirty and dirty as we
watched other couples on awkward dates and sat there ourselves making out
heavily, touching each other’s legs and discussing the fake orgasm scene in
When Harry Met Sally at the top of our voices.
As I sipped my bitter cocktail she joked that I should have got something
sweeter like pineapple. At first I didn’t get what she meant, but then it
clicked as she pointed to my crotch and said what a guy ate made a real
difference to taste.
I was sure it was in the bag now. She hadn’t played the Princess card all
evening and she’d come out to get fucked, judging by the way she was
dressed and behaving.
We headed from there in a yellow cab to a bar with a roof terrace that had a
great view of the Empire State. In the cab the heavy make out turned to
grabbing her boobs, putting her hand on my dick over my jeans and then her
pushing my hand up her skirt to finger her. The neon lights of mid Manhattan
flashed past as she gasped, the taxi driver looking in his mirror to see us
trying to hide what was going on.
In the bar the sexual vibe began to die. I was dragging it out too much. By
now it was gone midnight and we’d had four drinks that she’d paid for. She
looked sleepy as we reclined on the sofas; the make-outs had switched to
cuddling and oxytocin. Time for the final extraction.
After a short taxi ride to her hotel, this time I got in the lobby lift with her.
Her hotel was much posher than mine (all paid for on her daddy’s credit
card) and the night porters didn’t care that she was bringing a guest it.
Her room had an amazing view down onto Times Square, lit up, flashing,
mesmerising. She went to the bathroom as I sat on her bed and soaked in the
unreality of it all.
The fuck was a fast, horny one with biting, slapping and scratching. We were
too drunk to carry on for a long time so it ended with us collapsed on the bed
in a sweaty heap.
Around 3am I left her hotel and stumbled back out into a deserted Times
Square, standing in the centre and taking in the gigantic vibe of New York.
After London, the city is the best place on earth for consistent daygame: its
size, pedestrianisation, flow, transience and energy make it perfect for
making fleeting connections amongst the bustle. Everyone’s an alien,
everyone’s from somewhere else, everyone’s craving magic amongst the
mayhem.
California Dreamin’
CITY: Los Angeles
POPULATION: 3,900,000
Touching down in Los Angeles was even more cinematic than New York.
Palm trees, Hockney-esque pools and turquoises, the Hollywood hills and
sign, everything wider and sleeker.
In LA the car is king – to get above the smog layer you have to head for the
hills and look down on the gridlock. A daygame fan offered to drive me
around the city to show me the sights – we drove through Beverley Hills,
along Rodeo drive, trekked up to the Hollywood sign and went for lunch on
the Boulevard.
He was keen for me to number close and do my thing, so I taught him the
basics of the Blueprint and demoed on a few people walking along the starcovered strip. One was a black chick with an amazing ass in tight denim
shorts.
“I know this is forward of me but I love your ass!” I said with an extra
dollop of Britishness. She looked shocked but loved the boldness and lit up.
We bantered and then I got her number – the guy I was with loved seeing how
direct an approach could be.
Daygame in LA is difficult as the city is so spread out and not designed for
pedestrians. You’ve got hotspots like the Hollywood Boulevard (which has a
seedy edge to it), Santa Monica (see below) and malls like The Grove where
we stopped off in the afternoon.
Another demo for my host was on a brunette girl weaving her way through
the mall fountains with a Minnie Mouse style bow in her hair. The front stop
worked a charm and straight away I could hear an English accent on her.
She was a creative girl who’d spent time in London where she’d picked up a
bit of the Blighty accent. My tease about her looking like a Disney character
hit the nail on the head – her obsession was dressing up in kitsch, Japanese
style Disney fusions of bows, pinks, tiaras and heels. She had a lifetime pass
to Disneyland which she visited once a week, and the conversation flowed
easily as there was so much material to tease and challenge her on. We
exchanged numbers and agreed to meet up before I left for Vegas in a couple
of days time.
The best location for daygame in LA has to be Santa Monica along the ocean.
The end of Route 66, Santa Monica beach and pier fulfils all your Baywatch
fantasies. 3rd Street Promenade is a great pedestrianised shopping street
ideal for cold approach. Everyone’s chilled and open. There’s a real yoga,
yuppy, hippy vibe with poodles, roller bladers, joggers and smoothie bars.
The further along the front you get to Venice Beach, the more rough around
the edges it gets. Beach crusties who are still California Dreamin’ sell their
painted driftwood art whilst smoking weed and hustling to the reggae sound
systems. At night they sleep under the palm trees.
I’d got a hotel on the beach front which was a half hour stroll to Santa
Monica Boulevard where I was running the weekend bootcamp. There were
successes all round – the cameraman got laid with a Swedish girl he
daygamed in the hostel and one of the students had some late night loving by
the pier with a girl he’d met the day before.
Girls on the west coast were certainly slimmer than in most other parts of
America. The gym culture of LA was equal to the fashion / model culture of
the east coast, meaning both sides of the continent had hot girls.
In the warming up phase of the bootcamp I always demonstrate the concept of
State Shifting where you get yourself into a sociable mindset. In front of the
students I talk to coffee shop staff, old people, anyone to get the vibe going.
It’s important that the students understand that you should learn to vibe with
everyone in a positive, win-win fashion. “I only talk to hot girls” is a
common student objection which needs to be addressed and overcome.
On the Sunday morning of the bootcamp I warmed up on a guy who was in
front of me at the lights. “Cool style” I said, “They’d love you in
London.....”
“Thanks man!” he said with a grin, “I’ve just come back from there, ace
city bro!”.
“I’m guessing you do something creative...”
“I’m a drummer, percussionist and instrumentalist....I’ve just finished a long
tour with the Beach Boys” he smiled, giving me his card in true American
style. “Give me a call if you want a beer.”
After the bootcamp I went back to the hotel, showered and shaved ready to
meet the Disney girl on the beach front around 10pm. “We’re running late...”
came the text, “See you in 20 minutes.”
“We’re”?? - I smelt a logistical problem, plus she already had a yellow card
for the lateness.
Sure enough, Disney girl turned up in a car outside the hotel with her best
(female) friend driving. “Hey, hop in!” she smiled as they opened the door.
We went to a house party in Downtown Venice Beach very near to where
they film the TV show Californication. I made a point of winning over the
friend and mingling with others at the party to avoid the chode mistake of
leaching attention off the girl I wanted.
The subtle push-away worked wonders and Disney Girl came looking for me
in the crowd, asking me to come and join her and her friend outside on the
patio.
I knew it was a case of sorting logistics, so I sporadically dropped the usual
screening questions of where they both lived, if she was working tomorrow,
etc. It turned out that her friend lived on the same street as she did in the
Hollywood Hills and was determined to drive her home.
All my attempts at isolating Disney girl to “get a drink together” or “go see
the DJ” failed as the friend would come too. Finally when the friend went to
the toilet I had a chance to talk to her.
“The mist that rolls off the ocean is amazing at night, it’s so cool just
sitting on the beach with a beer in the silence” I said with deep eye contact.
“Come check it out with me instead of going home, tell your friend and I’ll
put you in a cab home.”
Fate smiled on me again as the friend returned. She announced that she was
tired as it was too hot and crowded in the party and she had to work
tomorrow. The girls had the obligatory secret-code chat under their breaths
and as if by magic the friend disappeared into the night with a wave. Home
and dry I thought.
Alone now with Disney girl, I walked back through Venice Beach to the
coast, winding down the back streets, occasionally holding hands. She was
pretty erratic and impulsive, like a five year old child, running off to marvel
at a car or a cat in a window. That’s what made her unique and loveable.
“I’ll take you to where they film Californication!” she announced, which I
didn’t like as she kept trying to impose the leading frame. My plan was to get
to the hotel as quickly as possible to work my seduction magic.
Yet, as often occurs in a successful pick-up, you have to lose a battle to win a
war. She was so adamant about seeing Hank Moody’s house that to try and
pull her away towards the hotel would have burst the fun bubble.
Ten minutes later there we were on the street which I’d seen a thousand times
on screen. I picked her up and slapped her ass to spike things up and then she
chased me down the street towards the beach to get her own back.
“Let’s go drink in the hotel...” I said, “it’s only ten minutes away.”
“No, it’s too beautiful a night to be indoors, let’s go to the beach!”
Ok, so a change of logistics. Sex On The Beach.
It was now around 1am as we sat on the sand by the ocean. The fog shrouded
the beach in a Sherlock Holmes-like scene as gulls strutted around. Under the
palm trees in the distance slept the homeless hippies, still like yoga poses.
Kissing and escalating was straightforward, but any kind of big move was
resisted as she’d stand up and cartwheel around or go and paddle in the sea.
As Krauser describes it, girls will do everything to try and derail their own
train when it comes to hooking up fast with a guy – bringing her friend along,
avoiding the hotel, avoiding intimacy. It’s in their DNA to filter for only the
most alpha.
“Let’s take our jeans off and go paddle properly!” I said, leading the way
by removing mine. She followed easily and seconds later we were splashing
around in the foam – her in her panties, me in my boxers.
To dry off we sat on an abandoned sun lounger and I carried on the kissing.
Time for Torero’s verbal bamboozling. She sat facing forwards between my
legs as we looked out to sea.
“Sometimes it’s so good just to feel so small, on this planet spinning
through time and space, and to soak in how mad and improbable it all is.
We’re made of stardust, and to stardust we’ll return....”
I kissed her neck, her shoulders and cupped her boobs with my hands, turning
her over and lying on top of her.
Another great move is to let the girl feel your hard dick between her legs but
do nothing for a few minutes except kiss. When you notice that she’s sighing
or kissing deeply, it’s time for the critical move. Start grinding on her to
simulate sex until you bring her to a point where she’s begging you to go
inside.
“Do you have a rubber?” came the magical words.
The ocean waves crashed and the gulls cried overhead as the deed was done.
Hank Moody would have been proud.
Viva Las Vegas
“Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated,
often risky – forces you to have first-hand encounters with the world. The
world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with
the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to
grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind –
and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change
you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white.” Mark Jenkins
CITY: Las Vegas
POPULATION: 600,000
Ah, the schizophrenic Sin City where everything’s a contrast – risk and
reward, boom and bust, boobs and bruises. Just watch The Hangover or
Oceans 11 to get a taste of what I was expecting.
In reality it’s plastic and dated, as tacky as a Disneyland gift store, full of
pensioners feeding their savings into slots. Yet it’s got an undeniable dirty
buzz which, when either drunk or on a daygame bender, is massively
attractive.
While other people were shuffling down the Strip in their socks, sandals and
refillable plastic beer glasses, I was on a mission, like the true story of the
MIT students who went there to beat the casinos using mathematics and logic.
I’d taken a bus from sketchy Downtown LA that was full of drama before I’d
even arrived in Vega as well as characters that looked like Pulp Fiction
extras. A tall drifter guy was moving up and down the aisle looking for a seat
whilst bumping into everyone’s shoulders. His drug-induced daze meant that
he didn’t notice.
“Do that again and I’ll break your jaw!” growled a huge black guy.
Meanwhile 80’s cop films cycled on the on-board screens, adding to the
tension among the passengers.
Two minutes later the drifter moved to the back of the bus again to use the
bathroom. On his way back he knocked the same guy.
In a flash the black dude jumped up and held him by the neck, screaming in
his face that he was going to kill him there and then. The bus screeched to a
halt at the next gas station and the tiny Mexican driver got up and firmly told
them to get off.
As we pulled away back into the desert dust we could see the two guys
beating the shit out of each other.
The day stretched out and the desert shadows grew longer – the natural
beauty of Arizona was awe-inspiring. Out of nowhere came the neon lights of
Vegas.
I was there for 24 hours to teach a student the delights of “Gutter Game” late night daygame outside of bars and clubs between the hours of 6pm and
6am. The idea was not to take phone numbers but to practice bouncing and
escalating hard.
After dumping my small bag in the hotel room, I went down to the casino
floor to meet the student. He was a cool guy from Colorado who suffered
from the most common sticking point we find with students – being the nice
guy who could have great conversations and win the trust of girls, but who
didn’t get laid.
We hit the main Strip where the weather was still hot out and weaved our
way in and out of casino complexes – The Venetian, Caesar’s Palace,
Mirage, Bellagio, Flamingo - on and on down the neon funnel.
I explained that we were looking for girls who were up for it there and then,
not really the big groups of girls out to hit the clubs as part of a bacherlorette
party (we’d aim for them later as they were coming out of the clubs).
Las Vegas is one of the world’s great Gutter Game destinations because of
the awesome logistics it provides:
Your hotel room is only an elevator ride away from the casino floor
below.
Casinos have bars and cafés scattered throughout them, many 24 hours.
Girls come to Vegas to get laid. There’s an expectation of adventure.
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!
It’s cheap. Hotels and food joints slash prices to lure customers into
the casinos.
It’s a 24/7 place where there are always girls to open.
We were ram-raiding each casino in a hit-and-run style operation, looking for
lost girls, drunk girls, lone girls at the bar, girls on the slots, girls going up to
their rooms.
The one thing you have to be careful of in Vegas is the amount of escorts
littering the casino complexes doing their pick-up on men. They’re very
skilled at it and you have to filter for them if you suspect that a lone girl pickup is too easy. Usually they sit at the bars of the casino and are too friendly
or touchy to be real.
To show the student the higher energy, bantering, physical style of daygame
needed I demoed on a girl who was playing slot machines by herself. She
hooked nicely and it was an easy bounce to the bar nearby. I ran the usual
filtering questions and established she wasn’t a hooker, but rather a cool
chick who’d come over from LA to see her friend.
“Want to come up to my car to smoke some weed?” she grinned.
Lose the battle to win the war, as is often forgotten in daygame. Even though
she was leading, it was a good isolation move and a chance for the student to
see me try to pull the trigger.
Just a short elevator ride away (with the student following discreetly), we
went up to her typically Californian 4x4 and sat there smoking as she opened
up about the argument she’d had with her friend that day.
I put my arm around her and we kissed under the pretext of me trying to blow
smoke into her mouth. It all seemed so easy, so fast, I couldn’t believe I’d
struck gold on my first demo.
The casino I was staying at was a ten minute walk, and I didn’t want to burst
the Intimacy Bubble so I carried on trying to escalate as Bruno Mars’
“Locked Out Of Heaven” played on the stereo. Locked out indeed. She kept
on taking my hand away as I’d touch her boobs or between her legs.
The student pretended to talk on his phone while leaning against a car nearby.
The spy film scenario was playing out nicely.
After half an hour of making out and her resisting, she said she had to get
going back to LA as she was working the next day. We swapped numbers and
then she drove off out of the car park and out of my life.
“You win some, you lose some!” I grinned at the student as we headed back
down to the casino. He was happy to have seen how physical you could be
with a girl soon after meeting her, and how girls were up for crazy
adventures if you gave them permission to do it and led.
We carried on opening every single girl we saw both on the Strip and in each
casino until the student found exactly the right girl – the perfect storm. She
was wobbling through the casino where we were staying, it was around
10pm and she’d lost her friends that she was staying with for an end of
college celebration.
She hooked easily and the student understood my hand signals behind him to
take her to the bar nearby. Two minutes after stopping her, they were sitting at
the bar like long-lost lovers. He was doing all the kino moves that I’d shown
him: comparing hand sizes, seeing how tall she was, looking at her rings and
tattoos, playing with her hair, having an eye-stare competition.
Fifteen minutes later and one beer down, I signalled for him to go upstairs
with her. His face went white but I could see the window of opportunity
closing. He used the line that we’d rehearsed:
“Let’s go and drink a beer looking at the view, come on!” he said to the girl
as he took her hand and walked her to the lift. She gave no signs of
resistance.
I waited at the bar downstairs, texting him to message me if he was stuck or
when he’d sealed the deal.
It had to be one of the fastest student successes I’d ever had, and it now left
me with a few hours to hit it myself.
I headed back out onto the Strip and down past the Belaggio fountains, which
danced as fluidly as strippers. The beer and the weed had given me a kick
and I could feel the vibe bubbling towards flow state.
Outside Bally’s I stopped a dreamy girl who was smiling as she walked past
me. Tattoos, piercings, coloured hair, she ticked all the boxes for an SDL.
We went for a drink to the bar inside the casino and I checked once again
whether she was a hooker.
“Oh no,” she said bluntly, “but I still do some web-cam stuff back in San
Fran to pay the bills.”
She told me how she’d run away from San Francisco and the guy she was
dating there. He wasn’t happy with her wild ways and her bisexual
tendencies.
All my Christmases were coming true. A bi-sexual web cam amateur porn
star. Could Vegas give me anything better?!
Soon we were into Intimacy and spiking it up with comments about the boob
job she wanted, her arse, and the craziest thing she’d ever done (fucked in a
church with the organist).
It all seemed so easy. Too easy. Cinematic. I was blinded by the early
success and began to ignore the basic rules of pick-up about managing
logistics and leading.
“Which hotel are you in?” she asked as we finished our drink at the bar.
“Hara’s,” I replied, “but let’s have another drink first then we’ll go back
there.”
That was the rookie error. In my mind it was a done deal and I didn’t want to
rush it. I’d neglected to check her logistics (who she was here with, when she
had to go) and got caught up in the moment. I envisaged a real Vegas night of
bars, clubs and strippers with her, culminating in sex on some rooftop or in
some pool.
As we moved to find another bar in the Flamingo, she needed the bathroom
and went into one near the casino floor. I went into the gents where an old fat
guy on a mobility scooter happened to crash into the wall and hurt his hand,
narrowly missing me.
Being the USA, security was called and forms filled in to cover liability and
litigation. Casino staff were pretty firm on the old guy verbalising that it was
his fault and not theirs. As an “eye witness” I had to fill out a double-sided
form recalling what had happened in ridiculous detail.
Ten minutes later I came out of the bathroom to find no signs of my girl.
Perhaps she was still in the ladies bathroom doing her make-up? I waited
some more – two minutes, five minutes.
I got a girl who was heading in there to call her name, but she came out and
said that nobody else was in there.
“Although there’s a back exit which looks just the same as this,” she added.
I ran around the casino floor where slot machines blinked and whirred.
Artificial air smelling of candy pumped around the room with bright lights
giving the impression that it was midday. It was all very disorientating.
At the back entrance to the bathroom I asked another couple of girls if they’d
seen someone who looked like the description I gave them.
“Oh hun, she was here for like five minutes standing right there, but then
she walked off.”
Shit. I’d lost one of the easiest lays ever. For the next half an hour I roamed
around the Flamingo complex like a needy chode, checking each bar and
poker table. She was gone.
Back to Hara’s I went after the student texted saying he was done. He
appeared from the elevator door like a victorious gladiator , standing an
extra foot tall. The grin said it all – he’d fucked the girl and then taken her to
find her friends in a nearby restaurant.
“Do you want to carry on gaming?” I asked.
“No, I’m one happy boy” he smiled, “I’m ready for bed!”
It was now almost 2am and I was tired, drunk and horny. I was leaving on a
bus back to LA in less than 8 hours time and I didn’t want to go back empty
handed. I said goodbye to the student and headed out again.
In the casino next door I spotted an almost identical girl to the student’s
earlier – she was all dressed up with nowhere to go, drunk, tottering on her
pink heels and looking perfectly lost. She’d abandoned her friends and was
on her way back to her hotel.
The stop and the bounce to the bar was as easy as before. She told me she
was here with a group, including her parents, and that she was going to a
wedding the next day.
Her folks kept texting to try and track her down, but I was escalating fast - I’d
learnt my lesson from the last girl. Two shots down and we were making out.
“Let’s go to Hara’s next door to gamble,” I said to her, “it’s my lucky
casino and the only one where I’ll bet.”
A classic Vegas extraction line if every there was one. She agreed and just as
we stood up to go I could see two figures walking towards us behind her.
“Alexandra, there you are dear, we lost you after dinner!”
It was her mum and dad coming to rescue her. Fuck. The dad gave me the
angriest stare possible, and I made my excuses and left.
With five hours sleep and hastily packed bags I checked out and headed
down the Strip. To wake me up from the hangover and the fatigue I jumped on
the roller-coaster in the New York New York casino opposite where the bus
was departing from.
I would be back here for sure. I had unfinished business.
Chapter 6. – Australia
“I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should
burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry rot. I would
rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a
sleepy and permanent planet. The function of man is to live, not to exist. I
shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.” Jack
London
Seducing the locals, Brisbane, Spring 2013
Vast and awe-inspiring. On the in-flight map it says the plane is over Perth,
yet we’ve still got four hours to go to Sydney. Looking down, it looks like
we’re flying over Mars. Oranges, yellows, browns, this is a burnt and primal
land.
I’d been invited by a guy living on the Gold Coast to come over and do a 1on-1 coaching session with him. He’d pay the air fare in return for two days
training in Brisbane – sounded good to me.
Like the USA, the stereotype of Barbie-esque blondes opening their legs at
the blow of a didgeridoo simply wasn’t true. Sure, when Aussie girls travel
abroad it’s a different story of drinking and debauchery, but on their home
turf they’re every bit as masculine and hardened as British or American girls.
In all my global travels, I’d be tempted to say that Australian girls were the
“hardest.” I never got such harsh reactions to daygame as I did in Sydney and
Melbourne. Perhaps it was the crippling heat or my jet lag. Perhaps I just had
a run of bad luck during my stay. Perhaps the direct masculine approach was
too much for them.
My first interaction in Melbourne with a secretary coming out of an office
went as follows:
ME: Hey, I’ve just got to say....
HER: Make this quick
ME: You look really nice
HER: What’s that meant to mean?
ME: You’ve got a really French look, like a air-hostess in the 50’s
HER: Go fuck yourself pervert...
Brisbane was the best city I visited there, with an idyllic setting along the
river, green, bicycle and pedestrian friendly, and everyone laid back and
open. The main thoroughfare for daygame is the outdoor Queen Street Mall
right in the centre. Lots of the girls are from Asia which gives it an
international vibe.
The student and I had a great couple of days of number farming and instant
dates. Exotic ibis birds strutted around the street like the equivalent of
English pigeons.
In my time off I checked out a koala and kangaroo park as well as heading
down to Byron Bay to soak in the surf vibes and get nicely sunburnt!
One of my number closes was on a cute Japanese girl who was on an
exchange programme. My time in Brisbane was running out so I set up a date
there and then for that evening. She said she’d bring her friends as they’d “be
happy to meet a real English man.” Game on.
That evening I met her and four other Japanese girls outside an Irish Bar in
the centre. Straight away it was clear that one of her friends was much hotter,
and the other three friends not hot. Time for an upgrade.
This is where having some experience at night game and entourage game
helps, as knowing how to “work a group” is key to ending up with the girl
you want. It’s all classic Mystery Method Stuff – ignoring the “target” while
“befriending the obstacles” through high-energy attraction banter, drawing the
hottie in. It feels like plate spinning, but it’s key that you dominate the entire
group rather than just peeling off early with the one you want.
All my old-skool game came out as the Guinness flowed: Best Friends Test,
Rock Band, Sex & The City, Strawberry Fields. The Japanese girls were
giggling at everything and all sitting to attention, eyes on me, like this was
some kind of ceremony. It wasn’t the attraction material that was working, it
was just the positive fun vibe where I could have been talking about anything.
Both the original girl and the hottie were giving me the puppy dog eyes so it
was time to bounce.
We found a jumping bar a few blocks down that had a live cover band in full
swing and a merry group of revellers necking beers. The girls all went to the
bathroom except the hottie, giving me five minutes to escalate by whispering
in her ear, touching her lower back and telling her I found her attractive. She
didn’t move her face as I came close so I went for the kiss.
At that exact moment the other four girls arrived and pointed, shrieking. The
rabbit was out of the hat, and the look on the original girl’s face was one of
hatred.
My lack of calibration or a wing in the night had meant that I’d popped the
bubble in true amateur style.
The band was playing a rocked-up version of “Gangnam Style” so we all hit
the dance floor and threw our drunken limbs around. It was a funny sight –
one sunburnt British guy and five little Japanese girls all getting the moves
wrong and jumping around in a circle.
Leaning on the bar were two Aussie guys who’d clocked the girls I was with
and were waiting to make their move like sharks around a reef. They came in
and did me a favour by taking the original girl and her shy friend off my
hands, spinning them round, grinding on them, buying them shots.
I liked their caveman approach – physical and escalating from the start.
It gave me a chance to dance with the hottie and get close. I’d keep pulling
her to the bar for a drink or outside “to get some air” where we’d hug and
I’d keep going for the kiss but fail.
“People look, not here” she kept saying, but her English was bad and I was
getting drunker. In retrospect she was telling me that nothing was going to
happen with her friends nearby and others watching. In Japan that’s not how
it’s done.
We went back inside and danced until the early hours. I knew I had to extract
the hottie to my hotel where I was staying, 15 minutes away, but separating
her from the group was the challenge.
I chatted to one of the Aussie guys at the bar who’d been hitting on the other
girls. “No worries brotha, me and Dave will keep ‘em company, say you’re
going for food up the road.”
Brothers In Arms. I loved it.
I grabbed the hottie before her friends could see what was going on and
signalled to them that we were going outside for two minutes.
“Let’s go eat and get water, it’s too hot.”
Reluctantly the hottie followed, but as soon as we were in the nearby shop
she chilled. I told her to text her friends that she was fine and going for a
walk.
We took the food and walked up to Anzac Square where the sun was coming
up. Insects chirped and birds squawked, reminding me I was a long way from
home.
On the balcony overlooking the park we kissed properly after I’d built up to
it by kissing her cheeks, her forehead and her neck. Like with Japanese girls
in London, once she realised that nobody was watching and she wasn’t going
to be judged, she jumped my bones, making out like a vacuum cleaner.
Time to pull the trigger.
“I need to charge my phone quickly, let’s just go back for ten minutes.”
Some guys reading this will think that leading and escalating is all about
lying. However, to anyone who’s ever done a lot of seduction, they’ll know
that women will never take responsibility for getting laid, even though they
want to. It’s hard wired in them to let the guy sort out logistics and make the
move.
Soon we were outside my hotel. The sun was coming up and already it was
hotter than a British summer. We stood on the front porch making out, our
hands all over each other. She wouldn’t come to my room despite my best
efforts for almost an hour. “Next time, next time” she kept saying, but I was
flying on to Melbourne the next day so there could be no next time.
Just as she was coming round to the idea, her phone rang and it was her
friends. Unluckily, they were back near their hostel, just five minutes from
where I was staying.
With a kiss and a hug she was gone and I collapsed on my bed, the overhead
fan whirring round and round.
Sydney Same Day Lay
On the prowl...
CITY: Sydney
POPULATION: 4.6 million
I’d had a tough bootcamp in Melbourne where the vibe was either smalltown aggressive or excessively hipster and too-cool-for-school.
A good test of the ease of a city for daygame is how students do on bootcamp
overall in terms of feedback from the girls and contact details collected. In
Melbourne we got harsh blowouts and only one or two shaky numbers each.
Landing in Sydney a few days later was a massive relief. Back to the big city
vibes in a place with 4.6 million people from all over the world. With
communities from the UK, Vietnam, Lebanon, Italy, Hong Kong, South Korea
and Greece to name but a few, the melting pot is nice and spicy!
The setting is truly spectacular around the harbour – the Opera House, the
Harbour Bridge, the boats chugging around the brilliant blue of the waters.
A trip to the Aquarium gave me the awe-and-wonder boost I needed after the
strange Melbourne vibes. Sharks, sting rays, jellyfish; a great reminder of
how immense nature was here.
I taught a few 1-on-1 students in the daygame hub of Sydney around Pitt
Street Mall. Responses were good and the cocktail of nationalities made
hooking easy for beginners.
On my second day there I woke up to a deep throbbing pain in one of my
upper molar teeth. An expensive emergency trip to a dentist told me I needed
root canal treatment so he gave me some antibiotics and told me to get it
sorted in the UK.
The tablets didn’t seem to do much and I walked around Sydney in a daze of
self-pity and fogginess. It seemed such a waste to come all this way and not
hit the approaching hard myself.
Part of becoming a good daygamer is to recognise and accept this day-to-day
lethargy for approaching and battle through it with the mantra “first one’s the
worst one.” As soon as you’ve got that first approach or two out of the way,
the vibe can start to build.
I opened a couple of girls on the main street and had pretty average chats, but
nothing worth writing home about.
As I headed down Pitt Street to the harbour I bought an iced coffee and
resigned myself to thinking that I’d just do some sight seeing as my vibe was
off and my tooth was throbbing.
Like all the best interactions, what happened next was sudden, spontaneous
and based on See-Do rather than the classic See-Think-Do.
At the intersection I was about to cross was a petite girl with dyed red hair,
spinning round like a dancer with her iPhone map trying to get her bearings.
The situation was perfect.
“Sorry, I had to save you from falling over. You look like a Scotsman about
to throw a hammer in the Highland Games....but a very cute one, I like it.”
From the off I was holding her shoulder to stabilise her. She burst open like a
volcano, giggling and touching my arm back.
She was 23, exotic looking with an amazingly toned body and a sexy face –
half Australian, half South Korean. She’d just had a successful job interview
and the conversation flowed naturally about how we should celebrate with a
drink.
I couldn’t instant date her because she was on her way to have lunch with a
friend, but we set up a nice delayed instant date for later that evening,
choosing a nearby hotel as a meeting point. Her phone was dead and she
didn’t know her own number, so as a last resort I gave her mine on a piece of
paper and crossed my fingers I’d see her later.
Readers of my first book will know that what often gets me laid is attention
to detail when it comes to closing logistics. What happened next is a good
example.
I’d been staying in a shitty backpackers in the dodgy area of Kings Cross,
about half an hour’s walk from the centre. I was in a shared room to save
some money and knew that these logistics were not going to win me the lay.
I scouted the area around the Central Business District and went online to
find a hotel with the cheapest single room. Remember, it’s not the quality of
the hotel that matters, just the location. I was taking a gamble by getting a
room, but when you’re travelling then logistics matters even more. Plus I’d
get a good night’s sleep if nothing else.
The one I found was five minutes from where I was going to meet Redhead
later, and there was a late night cocktail bar inside.
Next I scouted for my two venues that I discuss in Street Hustle – one bar for
Comfort Bubbles and one for Intimacy. I found two that were no more than 15
minutes walk from the hotel.
At 8pm I waited for her at the meeting point but there was no sign of her. I
didn’t have her number to text, and I smelt a flake. Around 8.15 she arrived,
apologising for the delay. She was nicely dressed up in heels, skirt and a
tight top – all good indicators for the lay, and when we hugged she pressed
her boobs against me. Things were looking good.
In the first bar we had a quick drink and she gave me the classic “tests” how old I was, why I wasn’t married, why I didn’t have a girlfriend etc. Like
with all tests, the best response is a cocky Hank Moody smile and nonreactivity.
The cornerstone of Game is emotional control.
She was a feisty girl who swung between giggling and demanding. I called
her “Princess Barbie” to keep the frame and she played into it nicely.
Her flatmates had warned her about English guys and told her to be sensible.
I agreed and amplified, telling her I was “on my period” and that I had to be
“home and tucked up in bed by 10pm to say my prayers ;)”
The second venue was an amazing underground cocktail bar in a 1920s,
Gatsby-style. We watched the jazz trio as we sipped our drinks and the
alcohol brought out more of the wild child in her.
The Questions Game revealed the bad boys she’d fucked, her ex-boyfriends
small dick, how she thought she was so good in bed. I sensed her baiting me
with the sexual chat, so I played dumb and kept turning back to the jazz trio in
order not to seem like a horny teenager.
Playing it cool before the final bounce is a key part of seduction, as is
throwing in any objections before she has the chance to, thus neutralising
them, combined with some cocky sarcasm. It’s all part of the general PushPull theme of the seduction dance.
“I have to get up early in the morning, I need my beauty sleep”
“You can see where I’m staying but you can’t stay long.”
“I’m a traditional type of guy. If you’re in my room we’ll read books.”
“I’m bad in bed, my ex-girlfriends all laughed at me.”
To get to the kiss (and test for real compliance) I told her to tell me
something I’d never guess about her. She said she’d only lost her virginity
when she was 21, and that in the last two years she’d fucked 5 guys.
I asked her how good a kisser she was and before she could answer we made
out.
Using the plausible deniability reason of “looking at photos” we drank up
and headed back to the hotel, me verbally bamboozling her all the way with
neutral chat about her studies and family. The trick here is just to keep on
talking and not leave any silences where cold feet can creep in.
The night porter at the hotel was happily checking his Facebook as we
entered and didn’t even bother looking up as we got into the lift.
There was no resistance; as soon as we got into the room she knew exactly
what to do. She squealed and moaned as I fucked her all over the room.
She told me to get a towel because she squirted when she came – hallelujah –
and that’s exactly what she did all over the sheets. I was the first guy to cum
in her mouth and she loved it. After sex we watched the harbour lights and
the fishing boats chugging in. I was flying home in the morning and happy that
I’d got my lay Down Under.
Chapter 7. – Russia
Russia & Former Soviet Union Overview
Red Square, Moscow, November 2012
Without fail, every stunning girl that I’ve stopped around the world, from
London to Paris to LA, has been from Russia or the surrounding Former
Soviet Union (FSU) countries – Ukraine, Belarus, Estonia, Lativa and
Lithuania.
I’m talking the 9s and 10s, the tall, skinny, high-heeled, long haired, skirt
wearing dime pieces that adorn catwalks, catalogues and nightclub podiums.
Throw in their extreme femininity, loyalty and propensity for fake boobs and
nail salons, and you’ve got my perfect girl. They go to the gym, they don’t eat
fast food and they like to look good for men.
This is changing in the capital cities, especially in the Baltics, encouraged
by the trends from the European Union. But in other cities and smaller
towns, obesity and fast food consumption are minimal.
Sure, if you like loud mouthed, tattooed up party girls or want the bronzed,
big-assed salsa club girls then Russia and the FSU won’t be for you.
These girls move like cats along the cobbled streets from Moscow to Riga.
They’re initially frosty and cold like a Siberian winter. They’re direct and
blunt like a VIP nightclub doorman. If they like you, they love you; if they
don’t like you, they hate you.
Passions and emotions are amplified – not in an extroverted Latin way but
like the sharpness and danger of an icicle. Things of beauty and terror.
This confusion and juxtaposition is what Churchill meant when he said
Russia was “a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.”
I first visited Russia with my father in 1998, not long after the fall of
communism. Things were in a dire way – we stayed in a soulless hotel in
Moscow next to the Kremlin which was formerly run by the KGB. Stern old
women (babushkas) lined the streets selling pickled vegetables, children
begged on the road side selling pencils or shoes. The country’s heart had
been turned to stone thanks to Lenin and Stalin. Bleak, dark and strangulating,
it was sad that the former glories of the Russian Empire were now tarnished
with concrete miseries.
Some positive things from that trip stick in my memory though – my father
photographing pretty girls on a tour of the Kremlin, a stunning woman I
remember in the Hermitage art gallery in St Petersburg dressed in white fur
like the Snow Queen. Golden domes, bells, the warmth of strangers passing
around their alcohol on a train. The sense of family, loyalty and deep history.
Russia and the FSU are a puzzle that is endlessly complex and confusing.
I’ve dated many girls from this part of the world and still I can’t reconcile
the things I love with the things I hate.
On one hand you’ve got the world’s most beautiful women. You’ve got the
strong polarity where men are men and women are women. It’s like going in
a time machine back to the 1950s where girls marry young and serve their
husbands on every level, enjoying relenquishing their power, usually to an
older guy who can protect and support them.
Russian patriotism is strong and unforgiving. Forget a strong feminist
movement, gay rights or racial equality. In Russia and the FSU it’s boxing
without gloves. A spade is called a spade.
This makes the women seem pretty hard on the outside. The way the Russian
language is translated into English also makes them sound abrupt and rude.
Hence the “Russian Minute” on the street when you stop a girl from this
region, where massive amounts of alpha directness and ploughing is needed
to get her to hook.
Traditional family values and a lack of westernisation also means that fast
sex and easy lays are tough. Things are slowly changing in the bigger cities
(or when Russians go abroad on holiday or to live) but expect multiple dates.
It’s the norm for Russian men to court their women with roses, dinners and
presents. Hand holding and sentimentality are the norm, like a 1950s movie.
A Russian girl’s Facebook (or rather her Kontact account – the Russian
equivalent) will be full of pictures of puppies and sunsets.
The quality of the men is poor. Unsophisticated, uneducated, brutish and old
skool, they’re still in the position of choosing girls and hooking up with hot
girlfriends as there are more women in Russia and the FSU than men. As the
standard of women is so high, the Supply & Demand dynamics means that
there are more than enough girls to go round without the men having to fight
for them and thus make an effort. Expect to see mullets, ill-fitting leather
jackets and blacked out Mercedes alongside battered Lada cars.
Their new-found freedom has made them money obsessed, like the Middle
East. The gap between the rich and the poor is extreme – gold bling, poodles
in handbags, tasteless shows of wealth in terms of what cars they drive, what
labels they wear and what restaurants they frequent is the norm in Moscow. It
explains why Provider Game is so big here, and something to avoid.
Anyone who thinks I go to Russia and the FSU for “easy daygame” has a lot
to learn. The price you pay for the hottest girls in the world is the most
challenging daygame and dating, but it’s certainly been worth it.
You have no choice but to be more masculine and assertive. Russian girls
will test your non-reactivity to the max. You’ll have to lead like mad and
escalate on very weak signals. Taking control is a must, from the moment you
stop her to when she’s in your bed and your life.
Russian superstitions and specifics:
Here’s some interesting, quirky facts about Russia and the FSU that could
be key to know when you’re dealing with a feisty girl there:
It’s unlucky to whistle indoors.
They don’t drink cold liquids – they believe it gives you a cold.
If they forget something in their house they have to go back and look in
the mirror otherwise it’s unlucky.
Don’t kiss a girl on forehead – done only to dead people.
Don’t call her a “woman”...that’s for old people. “Girl” always
applies.
Don’t criticise Russia seriously. They are irrationally proud as a
nation.
The girls really believe in astrology, pseudo-psychology and palm
reading. Use this “chick-crack” to your advantage with cold reading on
dates.
Don’t sit a girl down on a corner seat of a table – it’s bad luck
regarding marriage.
Amplify bad-boy qualities. Don’t make “jokes.” Turn normal teases
into sexual teases. Lead relentlessly.
They will blow hot and cold from start to finish; don’t take it
personally. Be non-reactive to their turbulent sea of emotions.
Call out Princess Behaviour by showing your teeth when needed and
doing big push-aways.
From Russia With Love
CITY: Moscow
POPULATION: 11.8 million
My first daygame trip to Moscow was in September 2012 with my good
friend and wing Rami. We went for ten days on a reconnaissance mission,
like mountaineers going to draw up maps and sort logistics for future largescale expeditions.
Within hours of touching down and heading to Red Square and the
surrounding area, our eyes hurt. In the last of the summer sun there were 9s
and 10s everywhere. The clip-clop of heels against the cobbled streets was
music to our ears.
In London you might see a girl that takes your breath away once or twice a
week. In Moscow we were seeing them every few minutes.
As it’s such a big city and so spread out for a pedestrian, we focused our
attention on the malls and main shopping streets of Tverskaya and Arbat.
The women were like moths around a flame when it came to high end stores
like Prada, Burberry or Louis Vuitton. Despite the autumnal sunshine, there
was still a chill in the air so Rame and I spent most of our time in the malls
near the shops to chase these feline-like girls who were dripping with gold,
or certainly dreaming of it.
It was frustrating that half of the girls we opened didn’t speak English, or
were not impressed at all with the fact that we were from London. A common
response was that they’d just landed back in Moscow after a jet-set trip to
Dubai or Miami.
Add to that, Moscow is perhaps the most expensive city in the world, with
the greatest number of billionaires. A coffee in Starbucks will set you back
£7, a pizza £30.
The myth of UK-loving gold digger girls in Moscow certainly wasn’t true.
The younger girls all seemed to be studying at university (taking it deadly
seriously) and working each day as well as studying, so time was precious
for them.
Despite the difficulties, we soon hit our vibe and strengthened our intent by
collecting lots of phone numbers that mostly texted back.
We found that doing less attraction material and teasing over texts was
needed as they simply didn’t get our British irony. “Over choding” is a good
method that works well with girls from Russia and the FSU where you can
basically be overly romantic and chodish on your texts and dates - for
example, wishing them goodnight and “sweet dreams.”
Some highlights from the first trip included going on two or three dates a day,
many with absolute stunners. I kiss closed an 18 year old student after an
instant date in Starbucks, a 9 instant dated me around Red Square and we had
two passionate dates afterwards (but with no lay). I had a near threesome
with two hot MILFS after they invited me out to a hotel rooftop bar to smoke
shisha (I pushed it too hard in the room and the comfort collapsed) and both
Rame and I set up a number of really strong long game prospects with
gorgeous girls.
Going on the date and getting the kiss close wasn’t the problem. It was
getting them to your place in isolation for “cooking and a movie” that led
them to flake, as they didn’t like how fast our dating model was.
We were trying to do in a week what usually took Russian men 6 to 12
months.
Both Rami and I had seen the awesome potential of Moscow but resigned
ourselves to playing the long game on the leads we already had, and coming
back for longer next time.
Day In The Life Of A Travelling Daygamer
8.00am: Wake up, Shit-Shower-Shave. Exercise.
9.00am: Breakfast in Old Town cafe or apartment. Set up evening dates via
text.
10.00am: Writing, blogging, checking emails, shooting videos. Pinging
leads.
12:00pm: Lunch in Old Town cafe
1:00pm: Daygame street session (solo, with wing or teaching student).
Number farming.
5:00pm Stop-off in cafe to text numbers and do maintenance. Confirm
evening dates
6.00pm Home to rest, eat, shower, change.
7.30pm Date #1
9.00pm Date #2 or bounce-back of former date
(Friday & Saturday nights would involve some Gutter Game or hitting a
club from 11pm-3am)
November 2012
Long game via social media had given Rami and I some really strong
Moscow leads with hotties. We knew that we had to go back before winter
set in, and this time for longer.
We booked an apartment for three weeks near to a big shopping mall a 15
metro ride away from the centre. It was in a Soviet-style concrete tower
block with only one real bedroom and one sofa bed.
Outside it was snowing lightly with temperatures around zero. Inside it was
like a sauna where we couldn’t turn off the underfloor heating.
Rami and I got into a nice daily rhythm: getting our laptop work out of the
way from mid morning until mid afternoon and then hitting the malls and
surrounding streets around rush hour. We’d go on multiple dates in one
evening, stacking them in order of lay probability from least probable to most
probable.
Like the first trip, number collecting wasn’t difficult once we’d adjusted to
the initial iciness.
To skip the Comfort sections of the dates and filter out girls who were time
wasters we started getting their Skype details at the time of closing them and
then set up quick Skype chats with them in the evening. This saved us lots of
time finding out which girls were Yes, No or Maybe.
We came up with a list of key questions that we wove into the chats to find
out if they:
just wanted to practice their English
were gold diggers
had time or not for coming out on dates
had ever dated foreign guys before or visited London
were open minded and sexually adventurous
We’d learnt our lesson from the first trip about wasting time on dates with
girls that were a road-to-nowhere, and we weren’t so overwhelmed by their
beauty which meant we could assess the interactions more rationally.
Masha
Walking through Red Square on our first day back, Rami pointed out a “warm
up” set to me – a petite skinny girl in a leather jacket and trainer style high
heels walking fast towards the metro. She was stunning, a real feline girl
with dark hair, dark eyes and strong cheek bones like a Bond girl.
The front stop worked well and she loved the boldness of the approach. It
helped that she was an Anglophile, loving the Rolling Stones, the Beatles,
English literature and the English accent. She was 23, working at a
translation company and on her way home. I teased her about the fact that her
shoes were half trainers, half heels and she hooked strongly. We arranged to
meet the following day in Starbucks and I left her skipping into the metro.
As planned, we met the next day and built a nice strong Comfort Bubble
together with some direct spikes about her good body, her long hair and me
asking her about her relationships (she was newly single and he had been the
only guy she’d slept with).
Our next date was an Adventure Bubble walk from Red Square to Gorky
Park along the Moscva River. We sat and had hot chocolate and cake in a
café and hugged, her resisting the kiss until we said goodbye in the metro.
In my last week of the trip I got her to come around to the apartment, eat food
and watch a movie. She was very nervous and her mum wasn’t happy with
her coming over, but I escalated all the way to her on my bed and us grinding
on each other.
She wouldn’t go further, but we talked through how we were going to meet
up in a few weeks in Kiev in the Ukraine where neither her nor I needed a
visa.
Night Fever
Rami and I had both heard from other seducers that Moscow had the best
clubs in the world filled with the hottest girls on the planet because of
extreme “face control” on the doors.
I wasn’t keen to spend my time or money going out in the night, however
tempting the promise of princesses, but Rami persuaded me to try a couple of
nights.
The first club we rocked up in was called IKON near the river. It was past
midnight and the queue to get in stretched back hundreds of yards. On closer
inspection we could see that it was made up of mostly girls, pretty much all
9s and a few 10s – heels, skirts, hair, boobs. We were like kids at Christmas.
Inside it was madness. Instead of the western phenomenon of a cockfest of
guys grinding on anything with a vagina, here it was tables of rich fat guys
smoking cigars and ignoring the girls while they danced awkwardly like
peacocks attracting mates.
Professional dancers on poles, in cages suspended from the ceiling and in
groups putting on stage shows, is the norm in most Russian and FSU clubs.
Now this was my kind of place.
For the first half an hour we were too intimidated to approach the girls, who
looked like they were casting for Victoria’s Secret models.
After a while though we loosened up and began approaching with the
daygame structure which worked just fine.
What’s great about Russian girls is that if they are in a committed
relationship or are married, they simply don’t talk to you out of loyalty. If
they don’t speak English they walk away immediately too, which actually
saves you a lot of time when finding out which girls are up for anything.
From behind, a girl tapped me on the shoulder. Shit. It was a girl I had
number closed in the mall and dated twice but I had thought it was going
nowhere. She was a busy architect who seemed very moody and liked
playing games.
I’d texted her that evening telling her I couldn’t go on another date with her
as I was “feeling ill.” Mall Girl gave me an angry glare but the effect of
Moscow abundance meant that the drama triggered her to chase me around
the club all night as I opened and closed other girls.
A memorable moment was talking to a stunning blonde girl on the dance floor
who gave me nothing back except an icy look. The alcohol was making me
plough through despite the girls around her telling me: “she’s married, don’t
talk to her.”
In my cocky attraction mode I just carried on, examining her hand for a ring
(note to self – in Russia it’s on the right hand, not the left).
Out of nowhere a fist punched me in the face which knocked me back into
Rami. It was her husband who used the classical Russian male method of
communication. Physical force.
I got the message and retreated to the bar to get some ice.
The more girls I closed, the more the girl from the mall would follow me
around. She described me to Rame as an “asshole” and a “dick” but the
drama fuelled the attraction to the point where I decided to pull her home.
My face was hurting from the punch and my ears were blocked from a cold I
had developed, so Rami and I got our coats and took Mall Girl with us.
We flagged down a “gipsy taxi” - basically any car in Moscow will turn into
your illegal taxi for a fee – and Mall Girl got us a good deal. Soon we were
back in the apartment and Rame helped with the fun vibe and the plausibility
of the “after party.”
After some drinks and lounge malarkey, Rami left us to it and Mall Girl and I
lay on my sofa bed to “watch a dvd” - the shitty Hugh Grant Romantic
Comedy “Music & Lyrics.”
Very quickly the LMR weasels reared their head from her:
“We’re not having sex”
“I’m not that kind of girl”
“You’re a womaniser, I don’t trust you”
“I should go......”
My physical escalation efforts failed, even after we’d “got ready for bed”
by stripping to our underwear and getting under the covers. We’d make out
and I’d put my leg between hers but she was a feisty girl who knew exactly
how the game was played.
After an hour of battling I gave up and we fell asleep. The alcohol and the
nightclub lethargy meant that we were out like a light.
A few hours later I woke up to pee. When I came back from the bathroom I
was hard, and I took her hand and put it on my cock. I kissed her stomach
then went down on her until she was soaking and moaning. I took a condom
from my suitcase and put it on with one hand whilst fingering her with the
other (a key skill for a seducer!).
Going inside her was amazing, as we were so groggy from sleep but so
horny. Outside it was snowing hard as I turned her over and fucked her
deeply from behind, pulling her hair. She loved the dirty talk and when I
asked her what made her cum, she reached around and put my dick by her
arse.
“Fuck me hard!” she screamed as I slid inside her. She buried her face in the
pillow so as not to wake up Rami with her noises.
Post orgasm, we collapsed into a spooning heap and slept as deeply as I’d
gone inside her.
Moscow was turning out to be productive with a bit of patience. The next day
I’d get a blowjob in the cinema with the Skyfall girl, and then fuck her a few
nights later on the same sofa bed. I’d got Masha lined up for meeting in Kiev
and I was dating a handful of similarly hot girls, as was Rami.
Ice Queens can melt with the right conditions and determination. Perhaps
Russia had a warm heart after all.
Chapter 8. – Ukraine
The land that time forgot. Well, up until about 1960. Ukraine is your poor
man’s Russia. Outside of Kiev you’ll see old folk growing vegetables on
scraps of land by the road, horses pulling carts, men missing teeth.
Even in Kiev there’s a village-like mentality in the city, despite it being one
of the oldest settlements in the Slavic world.
Going through security control at the airport, the Barbie-like girl who was
meant to be checking the x-ray monitor was passing her phone round to her
colleagues to show them pictures of her on a beach.
Ukraine is the land of manicures, crazy tall high heels and short skirts, and
seedy looking guys wearing far too much stone-washed denim. I’ve never
seen so much ill-fitting sportswear, so many perms and mullets, so many
Lego-man haircuts. There’s a certain charm about it, but a definite whiff of
sadness mixed with suspiciousness.
In The Bleak Midwinter
CITY: Kiev
POPULATION: 2.8 million
A few weeks after my Moscow adventures with Rame I landed in Kiev after
a mad series of redirected flights from Prague – first to Warsaw and then to
Vienna.
Winter was truly in full swing. A heavy blanket of snow muffled the city.
Only crows and the golden cathedral domes broke the expanse of whiteness.
Outside daytime temperatures were -20°C. It was like being in a Christmas
card.
I was almost a day late meeting Masha, the hottie from Russia. She’d flown
in that morning and was waiting for me at the hotel. We’d been chatting on
Facebook and Skype ever since our Moscow dates, and she’d paid her flights
and half the hotel to make the meet up happen.
Long game with her had been straightforward over social media, with
increased investment levels from her as I ran the usual structure of rapport,
deep rapport, sexualisation, role-play and commitment using pings, photos,
online chats and a few Skype calls.
Knocking on the room door was a tense moment as I realised how little I
actually knew about her. She opened it wearing only a t-shirt and tiny pink
shorts, munching an apple.
That night we got little sleep as I pounded her over and over, snow
continuing to fall outside.
It was too cold to explore much of the hilly city so we shuffled and skidded
around the main sites – St Sophia Square, Independence Square, the Great
Gate. Every half an hour we’d have to nip into a warm café and drink a hot
chocolate to feel our extremities.
The air was crisp and thin with a taste of Siberian wilderness that licked
your insides clean. Give me this any day over the hot humidity of Asia or
South America. The cold makes me feel alive, clear headed and sharp- like a
razor to your throat.
The streets were pretty deserted, except for the odd girl dashing into the
metro clad in furs or a hardcore pensioner selling pickles. Sketchy men in
leather jackets with 80s moustaches stopped us on the main shopping street
of Khreshchatyk thrusting dirty white doves onto our arms for “photo-photovery-nice!”
We spent the two days we had together either fucking or getting drunk in a
cocktail bar near the hotel. I flew back to London with tired limbs but a
warm glow inside. Masha was the perfect Christmas gift – sexy, intelligent,
feminine and cool. She would turn out to become one of the few girls that I
kept around for most of the following year. I’d meet up with her back in Kiev,
as well as short trips we had together to Vilnius, Riga and Istanbul.
Plate Spinning
For most of 2013 I managed to plate-spin three simultaneous open
relationships with girls around the world – Masha in Moscow, a Portuguese
girl in London and a Turkish girl in Istanbul.
Open relationships can be important sources of sustained affection for men
who’ve chosen the player lifestyle. Fast no-strings sex with girls across the
globe sounds massively attractive to most guys but the reality of it can be
lonely.
To keep something going with any one girl over time then there are two
options: either don’t tell her you’re seeing other girls (and hope she doesn’t
ask) or let her know that you don’t want things to be exclusive.
In previous years I tended to do the former but recently I’ve opted for the
latter to avoid a convoluted web of lies and worries. Guys often can’t
comprehend how a woman would agree to an open relationship (as they’re
so plugged in to the Disney Romance matrix) but when you’ve seduced
enough girls then you’ll know that many girls are looking for the same
casual thing. Her age, location and lifestyle all contribute to this.
The benefits of seeing the same girls repeatedly is that you connect on a
deeper level, the sex gets better and more experimental, you can do
relationship-type things together (e.g. seeing a movie, going on a weekend
trip) and feel a sort of continuity.
The negatives of plate spinning are that plates can fall off. Girls can get
tired of the open thing and decide on a monogamous boyfriend, or they
might get jealous of your other girls. You might start developing ONE-itis
feelings for her and get jealous of her other guys. It’s also a logistical feat to
keep all the plates spinning through Long Game maintenance pinging,
especially if you’re travelling.
Summer Loving
The next time I returned to Kiev was in the middle of summer. It was a
different city. Green, smiling and upbeat, with wide tree-lined streets and
panoramas from the hills. People were wearing the white embroidered shirts
of the national costume and the blue and yellow flag was flying from every
balcony.
On my way to have a beach holiday with Masha in Odessa, I stopped off in
the capital for a few days to try out some daygame and number farm for future
trips.
Flight From Hell
The flight from London to Kiev was one of the worst I’d ever experienced.
The evening before I’d gone out for birthday drinks with a wild Portuguese
girl I’d been fucking in London from daygame. She was an ex Bacardi model
and still loved the party lifestyle despite moving to London to “calm down.”
I’d been seeing her in an open-relationship way after stopping her on Oxford
one day in the spring.
I’d taken my travel bag to the party, ready to go straight from there onto an
early morning flight from Heathrow.
Her birthday gathering was small – her, me and two of her Brazilian friends.
We met in Covent Garden and already she was drunk from warm up drinks at
her local pub.
She’d booked a table at Souk Medina restaurant in Seven Dials, the scene of
so many of my dating adventures in the first book.
Before the food arrived she bought round after round of shots and cocktails. I
kept saying that I had to stop drinking as I was flying in a few hours, but the
drinking and laughing flowed so nicely that it was impossible to refuse.
While her two friends went out into the courtyard for a smoke, the Portuguese
girl and I were all over each other in a horny drunken daze.
“I want to fuck you again before I leave.....go to the disabled bathroom and
I’ll follow in a minute....”
I followed her in, pushed her against the hand rail and pulled down her tights,
fucking her hard from behind.
I didn’t last long, pulling out and cumming in her mouth as she knelt on the
floor. She wiped off any traces of naughtiness and we went back into the
restaurant, her two friends looking at us suspiciously.
“She felt sick, I was checking up on her!” I said with a wink.
Three hours later I was aboard my flight to Odessa via Kiev, smashed on
alcohol and longing to sleep or be sick. The nausea came in waves with
every twist and turn of the plane. I longed to just die.
Something was wrong with the air-conditioning on the plane and they
promised they’d try and fix it as the flight progressed. It was as hot and stuffy
as an examination room and people began peeling off layers of clothing and
requesting water.
To add to the madness, my eyes began to itch like a bad case of hay fever.
Looking around I could see everyone scratching at their eyes, red and
watering. It got worse and worse until just before landing when a rush of
cold air poured out of the overhead fans.
We all stumbled off the plane looking like our eyes had been scrammed out
by cats and sweating like sauna junkies. Passport officials in customs gave
me the oddest looks ever.
As the year’s travelling and daygame went on I found it harder and harder to
maintain my energy levels and love for what I was doing, especially after
flights like that. I was only halfway through the year and already cracks were
showing.
Kiev Daygame
Many of the girls had left for the coast to escape the heat of the city, but Kiev
was still bustling. The pavements were full of Victorian-style side shows:
men doing chin-ups to win a prize, girls selling lollies, photo opportunities
with every animal under the sun. It had a faded circus feel about it, tatty
around the edges but sentimentally romantic.
Just like in Moscow the girls were stunning, if a little cheaper looking. The
show of legs and heels was amazing, just like the mismatch in couples you’d
see. A 9 or a 10 walking around with a short, fat, tracksuit wearing guy with
a mullet.
Kiev is known for its gold-digging girls and scammers, largely based on
internet dating where girls have realised their market value to wealthy
middle aged guys from western Europe and the USA. They’ve learnt very
quickly how to game the guys and get all that they can without actually
fucking any of them.
It’s something you have to be aware of when you daygame on the streets of
Kiev. Has the girl never been out of the Ukraine and longs to travel? Does
she ask you quickly what your job is or where exactly you live in London?
Does she mention holidays in Dubai or Sharm El-Sheikh? Has she got a
Facebook account instead of a Russian-style Kontact?
The girls you’re really looking for are the ones untainted by western sex
tourism. You want the university educated girls with jobs who are already
supporting themselves. You don’t want them to be overly impressed when
you say you’re from the UK. You want to be their two day lover, not their
provider.
Like in Moscow, expect an icy few minutes after you’ve stopped them on the
street and a barrage of questions to see if you’re a man or a mouse.
I collected a handful of numbers on the main street and in the stores of the
mall under Independence Square. As in Moscow, the ones that hooked did so
strongly. The ones that flaked were never heard from again.
An approach on a 2-set in the mall and a double Facebook close was to lead
to two consecutive lays (and a near-miss threesome) on my return to the city
after I got back from Odessa.
Odessan Odyssey
“There are no foreign lands. It is the traveller only who is foreign.”Robert
Louis Stevenson
CITY: Odessa
POPULATION: 1 million
Seedy, crumbling, like the Ukrainian version of Blackpool with a bit of
forgotten Mediterranean charm and literary connections.
In the summer it’s the poor man’s escape from the bigger cities to cool down
by dipping in the Black Sea.
Girls from the countryside flock to the seaside clubs of Odessa to strut their
stuff. You can find the same heels and skirts as in Kiev or Moscow, but the
vibe’s more tatty.
Guys have known for a long time about this honey-pot of hot girls during the
summer in Odessa so you get a lot of rich players from Russia and horny
Italians out for same night lays. Validated girls have their guards up as the
sun goes down but there’s still plenty of street action in the small centre.
I was in town to have a week of beach and pool relaxation with Masha the
Russian. She left a day earlier than me to fly home, giving me the opportunity
to try out some daygame with the aim of getting a bounce back that night as it
was my final night in the hotel.
Mid afternoon, I hit the city centre around the Potemkin Steps and the Opera
House. The heat was pretty intense so girls walked in the shade or under
umbrellas. The first handful I spoke to had very bad or no English and I was
starting to get sweaty and tired from the sun.
Next to the Opera I spotted a girl who looked like she was waiting. She was
brunette and typically Slavic – not a cat walk model but cute and up for an
afternoon adventure.
Her English was adequate enough to have some banter and she loved the
compliment about her heels. Quite quickly it became obvious she was an
adventurous girl who said she was living in a hostel after having left her
family in Kiev. She was 24 years old and new to Odessa, spending the day
exploring like me. God provides!
We walked up and down Deribasovskaya Street where people did little else
but promenade and eat ice-creams. She took me back to the famous Potemkin
Steps and pointed out that from a certain angle, the statue of Duc de Richelieu
at the top looked like he was holding his dick.
She was spiking it for me, so I amped up the speed of things by suggesting a
mid day beer to cool down.
We went to a bar with much-needed air-conditioning and chatted about
rapport topics. She didn’t believe in dating but had tried meeting guys from
the internet just to be social. She’d also met foreign guys in the clubs of
Odessa.
Some spike questions revealed that she had a fuck buddy in the city but he
was always away in the Navy. She had tattoos and was unusually open for a
Ukrainian, liking English indie bands and obscure films.
We bounced for food to a sushi and shisha rooftop bar nearby where we sat
next to each other and the kino began. The smoothness of the pick-up was
alarming and I was waiting for her to start throwing spanners in the works.
Right on cue she resisted the back massage and went into logical mode,
telling me she had to go back to the hostel soon to do her kitchen duties
(that’s how she was able to stay there for free). It was now around 4pm and
she told me she started at 5.30, working late into the night.
I’d made the rookie error of not checking timings earlier, and now I was
kicking myself.
When she went to the bathroom I called the waitress over and paid the bill so
we could make a fast exit. By the time she got back I was standing by the
stairs with our possessions.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To let me charge my phone quickly...” I said as we walked out the venue.
She gave the expected LMR about coming back to my hotel which was
luckily only 5 minutes away and said she’d wait outside. It took me a while
to persuade her to come up so she could “see the view” and “get some cold
water.”
“If you’re not comfortable at any point then you can leave of course,” I
buffered the situation with.
She pulled out her old phone and texted somebody the address of the hotel.
In the room we sat on the sofa while she checked her mail and I plugged in
my phone. The heavy awkwardness of the situation hung over the room like
the still heat outside.
I knew I had one shot at pulling the trigger, and it had to be fast.
“Come and look at the view...” I said taking her hand and standing on the
bed so she could see out of the big window to the old city below. In the
distance the Black Sea shimmered like oil in the sticky summer sun.
As she scanned the horizon I stood behind her and kissed her neck. No
resistance. I put my arms around her waist and pressed my hard dick up
against the back of her dress. No resistance.
I turned her around and pulled her in to kiss. No resistance. She kissed me
back with tongue. My hands slid down from her neck to her big boobs in her
summer top. No resistance.
With one hand I unzipped my jeans and got my dick out in true Torero style,
taking her hand and putting it on it. No resistance.
All my Birthdays came at once. I’d found one of the few Yes Girls in the
Ukraine who was alternative and kooky enough to be into fast sex with
strangers.
On the bed we didn’t even take off our clothes as I pulled her panties to the
side and slid inside her. She was slightly embarrassed about not having
shaved her pussy recently, but I didn’t mind as it was all so fast and horny.
“Come on me, come on me!” she moaned after some fast fucking. I pulled
out and shot my load over her stomach as she lifted up her top.
Ten minutes later she was gone, back to her hostel to cook meals for
backpackers. I had a shower and walked back out the evening streets of the
city which had now come alive with children having pony rides, girls selling
flowers, couples strolling through the streets, and the first stars appearing
over the sea as the mosquitoes came out to play.
I felt like a sailor port hopping, in and out, dirty but efficient and happy!
Return To Kiev
One of the strongest leads I’d collected before Odessa was with a girl called
Maria I’d met out with her friend (who was hotter but I’d got more attraction
from Maria when I opened).
She was open and into it, the hot friend distant and aloof. I Facebook closed
them both and told them I’d meet up with them in a few days when I was back
from my trip down to the Black Sea.
Both girls added me but the hottie was far more chatty on Facebook. Below
is the complete Facebook chat I had with her over four days while I was
away. My aim was to ditch her friend and get her out alone, but she was keen
to meet me with Maria (who’d also been messaging me).
HER: Hey :)
ME: Hey hey :)
HER: Nice to meet you :)
HER: How long do you stay in Kiev? ;)
ME: I'm heading to Odessa for a few days but back next week. Will you buy
me flowers and champagne haha?!
HER: Hahahaaaa. If you come just say. I need good company to have a
good time :)
ME: Hmmm, and I need someone to give me a massage and some nice food
haha :)
HER: I think Maria will be around too
ME: Great, it will be nice to meet up, you both had good energy
HER: Yes :D
ME: Who is more adventurous and crazy, you or Maria?!
HER: I don't know :)
ME: Ok. Who is the leader and who is the follower?
HER: I think she is a quiet and polite girl :)
ME: And you are a quiet shy girl too?!
HER: A bit, in my soul. But I am the one who takes Maria out
ME: That's good. Outside you are confident, inside you are thoughtful, I
like it :)
HER: ;) Thanks!
ME: Angel and the devil – good combination!
HER: I feel like an angel :)
ME: I'm an angel too – a very good boy :)
HER: ;) Of course
ME: Like Harry Potter :D
HER: Do you have a gf?
ME: 7 girlfriends – one for each day
HER: Hahahaha!
ME: You have a bf?
HER: No, I don't have any. I'm a lonely girl....
ME: Because you are too wild?!
HER: Hmmm, it is obvious?!
ME: When we met you looked creative and nice
HER: Is this what a man thinks when he sees me?
ME: You looked shy and quiet compared to Maria
HER: No! But creative yes...!
ME: Full of ideas and dreams.....
HER: :D Wow! Am I so obvious? :D
ME: In your eyes I saw secrets :)
HER: ;)
HER: Do you like my photo? [she sends me a photo of her doing the splits
in her garden]
ME: Wait....
ME: It reminds me of this...
HER: Hahahahaha :) How funny! :)
ME: You are a dancer? You have a good body?
HER: No I'm not a good dancer but I like salsa
ME: How does it make you feel?
HER: I free myself then
HER: And I feel like a sex bomb :))))))
ME: Outside a quiet girl, inside a sex volcano ;)
HER: Like the cutest woman in the world
ME: Your modesty is great
HER: I am a passionate soul
ME: Volcanic – ready to erupt!
HER: Yes!! And what else about me?))
ME:
HER: Not everyone knows how to smack :)
ME: Not every man is really a man :)
HER: Let's go out some day to disco :D
ME: If you are my bodyguard, yes! I'll be back in a few days. I'm going for
a swim now, speak later.
HER: Ok, see you :D
HER: ;)
HER: How was your swim?
ME: Wait....I' just finishing dinner with a friend, I'll chat in a while
ME: Swim was hard but good ;)
HER: ;)
HER: I'm going out tonight and it's only Monday. Maria won't come out.
Dancing alone isn't cool
ME: You have to wait for me to take you out on Friday ;)
HER: :D
ME: Watch the film “Dirty Dancing” before ;)
HER: Ok :)
HER: I'm trying to learn to wink in the mirror right now
ME: So you can wink at men in the club tonight?
HER: Hahaha. I'm listening to this song:
[Finley Quaye – Even After All]
ME: Sounds like a sex playlist for making babies haha. I'm listening to
this:
[Swing Republic – Crazy In Love]
HER: Men just want me for sex
ME: For sex? I want you for my new cook
HER: Hahaha. Why? Really?!!!
ME: I need my girl to cook well. Are you looking for a bf or just fun?
HER: I don't know. When I search I don't find. I want both
ME: When you stop searching then you get answers. That's how the
universe works
HER: Yes!!!
ME: Tell me something I'd never guess about you...
HER: I was a secretary and stole money from them
ME: Oh dear, a criminal, minus 10 points
HER: Hahaha. I hitch-hiked across Australia
ME: Plus 6 points, better :D
HER: I like to dance in my room in my underwear
ME: I will dance for you if you pay me (cash or credit card ok)
HER: :D Hahaha
ME: I'm quite expensive though
HER: :0 Oh!
ME: You and Maria can put your money together!
HER: :D Cool! We will buy you drinks!
ME: Nice. And some cleaning of my apartment.
HER: Yay!
ME: Tell me what you're wearing
HER: Today white jeans and pink top
HER: One guy told me I look so cute today
HER: I guess he is right
ME: Maybe he had bad eyes so he couldn't see properly ;)
HER: :D hahaha
HER: No, he gave me sweets some weeks ago
ME: I like girls who wear skirts and dresses, but maybe Kiev is too cold
now
HER: No the weather is still good. And I LOVE dresses. I wear them too
ME: Perfect, when I see you wear a dress for me
HER: Ok, any day! Maria likes dresses too
ME: Does Maria like me as a friend or more....it might get complicated ;)
HER: Well, I don't know ;)
ME: Three is the magic number ;)
HER: I think she likes you
ME: And you?
HER: Yes! I like you a lot :D Are you happy without gf?
ME: No sex, drugs or rock'n'roll for me, just the Bible
HER: You need fun! I need study and hobbies but to be wild too, I need it
all!
ME: You're very demanding
HER: ;)
ME: Like a Barbie
HER: Hahaha
ME: This is what I'm listening to right now:
[SheepyMix “Warm Memories” mix]
HER: I will fall asleep to this I think tonight
ME: Cool, I'm off out with friends so I'll speak tomorrow, happy Tom
dreams ;)
HER: hahaha, good night!
HER: Hello Tom!
HER: I want to send you some pics
ME: Hey :) Nice pictures of flowers and sunsets?!
HER: I have some pics of me and Maria half naked :D hahaha! Just can't
remember where....hmmm
ME: Send me some of Kiev churches instead. I'm a good boy
HER: :D haha
ME: You're distracting me from my work today...
HER: ;) Oh, sorry sir!
[she sends a photo of her in the mirror that day]
ME: Your room is messy!
HER: hahaha!
ME: In your teddy bear pyjamas ready for bed with a book?!
HER: :D hehehe. Not yet but soon :D ;)
ME: Are you alone?
HER: Yes, of course, nobody around, just me at home
ME: Imagine me behind you giving your back and shoulders a massage
HER: Mmmm :) I need it!
ME: My hands under your hair, on your neck, slowly down your back.
Hard.
HER: :)))))
ME: Feels good doesn't it..
HER: Yes! But I want reality :D
ME: You'll have to wait for the real thing. If you're well behaved ;)
HER: :D Yes I am!!
ME: Your new English word to learn today...”sapiosexual”
HER: What it means teacher?))
ME: Someone who finds intelligence sexually attractive))
HER: :D hahah, cool! I like it!
ME: What thoughts turn you on?
HER: I am in a forest. A wolf is chasing me. Would you come with me? Or
are you the wolf?
ME: Definitely the wolf. Dangerous. The good bad boy.
HER: :D What happens now?
ME: I'd pin you down and pick you up by biting your neck
HER: Mmmm
ME: Then ride deep into the forest with you on my back
HER: You are bad bad bad
ME: I'd lick my lips in satisfaction and howl with pleasure
HER: Tom....
HER: I haven't dated anybody in a very long time
ME: I think Maria wants to date me so you'll have to fight over me
HER: :D Yes! ;) That's ok!
ME: :D
HER: Sometimes I feel like a virgin. My last bf was more than a year ago
ME: Ok...
HER: I forgot how is it to feel like woman. I can't fight my nature more
ME: What do you fantasise about?
HER: Sex all over my house, in kitchen
ME: Hard and rough
HER: : D
ME: Send me a photo of you in underwear
HER: What would my friend's think?!
ME: That you are a bad bad girl
HER: [she sends me a photo in her bra]
HER: Just don't say to anyone. This is my secret!
ME: Good. Send me more.
HER: Only if you buy me Victoria's Secret haha
ME: No, I don't buy things for girls I don't know well. If you want a fur
coat, diamonds and luxury underwear we'll find you a rich Arab man!
HER: Omg! And what now?!
ME: You can still be my cook and cleaner....
ME: And I can be your new gay best friend ;)
HER: Nope, I better be a good cook, a private cook
HER: I can be a good cleaner too
ME: I need a place to stay on Friday night...
HER: Hmmm, really? :)
ME: You live with one of your lovers?
HER: No, I live alone with my cat
ME: I prefer dogs
HER: Englishmen like dogs, yes :)
ME: Correct
HER: English rules
ME: Dogs are easier to live with than girls
HER: Are English women satisfied with this?
ME: They love to hate us ;)
HER: Yes, hate and love are similar
ME: Like pleasure and pain
HER: I know them both. But I prefer pure passion
ME: How tall are you?
HER: 162cm? And u?
ME: You are small...
HER: Oh. Maria is shorter
ME: Usually I date tall girls, like giraffes
HER: :) :)
ME: What is your favourite part of your body?
HER: I love my lips, the shape of my neck, my hair...
ME: Imagine me kissing your neck, pulling your hair...
HER: Ooooooo. Bad guy
ME: Bad guys are more fun
HER: Well, maybe
ME: I'm going to have a shower, send me a cute photo before I go...
HER: It is dark. I am in black top and jeans
ME: Go to the bathroom and take one
HER: What would Maria say?
ME: Ask her :)
HER: :) I think she sleeps already, with her bf
ME: I think she has seen your body before
HER: Yes, lots of times :) A few years ago we went to a forest for photos
with a guy where we were half naked. Ah mad old times
ME: You are getting old ;)
HER: Haha, I was the bad influence for her
ME: Ok, I'm going to the bathroom and then bed as I'm up early tomorrow.
Sleep well
HER: Ok, see ya, ;)
HER: :) Hi!!!
ME: Evening)) Did you miss me?!
HER: I am just so glad to know u! ;)
ME: I am so glad to know me too ;)
HER: I was too busy at work to miss you
ME: Denial is the first sign of love haha
HER: Haha true maybe :)
ME: Can I stay at your place on Friday night (I'm well trained)?
HER: I have work early the next day so I must get up :(
ME: I will be your personal alarm clock and kick you out of bed
HER: :))))
ME: I arrive on Friday - I need a limousine and a red carpet at the airport
HER: I will be your security ;)
ME: Last night I watched this film [link to Vicky C B]
HER: I think I know it, remind me what it is
ME: 2 girls, 1 guy. Then 3 girls, 1 guy
HER: :))) Yes, I remember!
ME: Have you ever slept with a girl?
HER: I have kissed but no sex
ME: Perhaps you should try it
HER: Boring!
ME: I agree, knitting is better ;)
HER: I am good at cooking at knitting))
ME: + 4 points
HER: :)
ME: What about a head massage?
HER: I am better at shoulder massage
ME: I want this...
HER: I will try :))
ME: You now have 9 points in total
HER: Ooooow. I want 10!!
HER: I am a good karaoke singer))
ME: Hmmm, what else...?
HER: Dancing!
ME: Actions speak louder than words!
HER: Haha
ME: What are you wearing?
HER: Jeans shorts and small shirt
ME: What else...
HER: Tights skin coloured
ME: What colour underwear?
HER: White lace. I am a good girl
ME: Send me a photo, I'm bored at work
HER: It will disturb your work!
ME: Minus 2 points
HER: Nooooooo!
ME: Bad princess :(
HER: [She sends a photo of her in the mirror]
ME: Got to get back to work. My apartment's sorted for Kiev so all good...
HER: Where is it?
ME: Near St Andrews
HER: Great, near me :) :)
ME: Landed in Kiev :)
HER: I'm still at work :(
ME: I'm having a sleep after Odessa craziness
HER: We can meet in evening :)) Maria is inviting me out.
ME: See you later both later, sleep time....
HER: We are in Buddha Bar now. Come join us :)
ME: I'm having dinner with my friend, I'll message you in a bit
[after two hours]
ME: Ok, I'll meet you 10.30 in the main square outside McDonalds
Around 11 I met up with both girls and we sat in an outdoor bar listening to
the jazz music playing nearby.
At first the vibe was awkward because both girls knew that I’d been
messaging the other. It wasn’t clear if it was going to end in double glory, or
collapse in on itself at any minute.
The jealousy plot line was working nicely and Maria kept putting her friend
down to get my attention. I played them off against each other and the drinks
flowed nicely as we moved from Comfort Bubbles to Spiking and Intimacy.
We found a seedy cocktail bar and I bought a round of shots. The Questions
Game revealed that they’d each kissed another girl but not each other. Sexual
tension was in the air but they wouldn’t kiss.
As Maria went to the bathroom, I pulled the hottie in and made out with her.
When her friend came back and then the hottie went to the bathroom, I did the
same. It was the cockiest I’d felt in ages.
I couldn’t believe that normally sexually shy Ukrainian girls were moving
towards sex so fast, and that a threesome was on the cards if I didn’t fuck up.
I think it was the sexual tension amplified by the friendly jealousy between
them that pushed things along faster than if it had been a standard date.
All of us were now drunk on whiskey, shots, beer and cocktails. Time to pull
the trigger.
We went back to the hottie’s apartment which was on the same street as the
bar. It was a Bohemian idyll of books, candles, wood and stone and her cat
prowling around and purring. She put on some soul music and we raided her
fridge for some suspicious liquor that tasted of petrol.
As we sat on the sofa I knew I had to stay sober enough to orchestrate things.
Threesomes don’t just happen like in porn films – it needs the guy to instigate
it carefully and sensitively.
I gave Maria a back massage while the hottie massaged my back. We
switched places and carried on as the cat got in on the action and jumped
onto our laps.
I kissed the hottie’s back and she went to kiss her friend, but Maria pulled
away and went to get water. It was too much for her, even though the hottie
and I were up for it.
I tried to get back to Comfort with Maria but the whole thing was out of her
reality and I knew that if kept pushing it then the whole thing would collapse.
It was now getting complex with logistics. I just wanted to stay over at the
hottie’s and fuck, but we couldn’t just kick Maria out seeing as though she
was the one I’d stopped in the first place.
She asked where I was staying, and fate would have it that my apartment was
on the same street as hers. I said I’d walk her back, telling the hottie I’d see
her soon with a wink.
A ten minute walk with the original girl took us to outside my apartment
which was above “Linda’s Massage” parlour. What had happened with her
friend an hour before wasn’t discussed – we just kept it to mundane topics to
rebuild some comfort and connection.
“Come in for a snack, just for five minutes, I’ve got some pasta left over
from earlier....” I said, remembering she had mentioned she was hungry
before.
She didn’t give any resistance and followed me upstairs. The apartment was
decked out in proper Soviet style and she kept looking up at the smoke alarm
in the corner, worrying it was a hidden camera.
“This is not some sort of porn thing with the massage parlour downstairs
where you bring girls and film them?”
“I wish it was!”I joked, brushing it off and changing topics. “Come and
watch this clip of a ballerina dancing with knives on her shoes!”I said,
putting on a cool Youtube video that I knew got girl’s adrenaline racing.
We sat on the sofa eating the last of the pasta and watching Youtube videos
and I carried on the massage from earlier. Soon we were lying next to each
other making out heavily, and then clothes were coming off and dick was in
pussy.
An hour later she collected her things together and left to go to her apartment
a few doors down. I sunk into sleep thinking about how I’d missed out on a
threesome, but how fast and fun that lay was.
It proves the point that girls are girls the world over biologically, and that
girls like sex. Just because she’s from the FSU doesn’t mean you can’t
override her social conditioning with some carefully engineered sexual
adventure.
The next evening I met up with hottie as she came out of work. This time
there was no messing around. We grabbed a bottle of wine from a corner
store and headed to her apartment so she could “change out of her work
clothes.”
Within minutes I was pinning her down on her sofa and undressing her. The
cat climbed over and around us as we got naked and I fucked her senseless.
On the floor, over a chair, on her bed, she was a great lover and scratched my
back to pieces.
Lying on her bed, spooning her, drifting into sleep, her cat curled up next to
us, I reflected on how I’d fucked three new girls in the last three days.
Tough Love
Another trip to Kiev at the end of the summer revealed how taxing and tough
Ukrainian girls can be, especially if they’ve been exposed to the validation
circus of internet dating with Western guys flashing cash and praise.
One of the girls I’d stopped on my first trip to the capital hooked over social
media. Alarm bells started ringing when I saw that she had a Facebook as
well as a Kontact account, and that most of her friends on Facebook were
western guys.
In true FSU style she posted an endless amount of pictures of herself leaning
against trees, standing in fields of corn, lying in a meadow, holding cats,
teasing shots of herself in the bathroom or on the beach.
Under each photo was at least 20 likes from male fans with a stream of
Disney needy comments. “Such a princess!” “Gorgeous – so beautiful
baby,” “U r amazing :)” All the guys were living in the USA, the UK or the
Middle East that she’d had contact with online through different dating
websites.
It’s not a girl’s fault that she mines this free validation. Over time however it
gives her a jaded view of western men and how much of a push-over they
are.
She’d subsequently tell me that she’d not actually met any of these guys in
person despite offers from them to fly her out to Texas, to Glasgow or to
Dubai. As a beautiful 23 year old blonde Ukrainian girl, the law of Supply &
Demand meant that she was hot property abroad. The furthest she’d gone
with a few of them was to chat on Skype.
When I met her for our first date in a coffee shop I knew straight away it was
going to be tough. Her cute, feminine essence was wrapped in layer after
layer of hardness. She showed little emotion to anything I said and constantly
challenged me, doing everything she could to break rapport in the subtlest
ways. On top of these she asked me all the classic shit tests, specifically
focussing on the fact she thought I was in Kiev to “go to strip clubs and fuck
prostitutes.”
Like with any strong FSU girl it’s vital to keep the frame through nonreactivity. Throw what tests she gives you back at her through a neutral face,
silence, cocky comedy or parody.
This girl just wouldn’t let go of the frame. It was exhausting but I was
enjoying it as I knew it was a real test of my game, in particular the nonreactivity and emotional control part that I still struggle with.
Half an hour into the date I’d had enough, and just like a good school teacher
I showed her where the line was and told her she’d crossed it. The important
thing here is to do it from a place of tough love rather than rage.
“Stop with the questions and challenges. You’re behaving like a princess
and I find it unattractive. I like you but I don’t like this mentality.”
She went quiet. I finished my coffee and took her hand.
It had worked. We left the coffee shop and I walked her back to the metro
where she hugged me tight and suggested a next date. The power of the push.
For the second date I arranged to meet her under the statue in St Sophia
Square a few evenings later. She texted a few minutes before the date saying
she was going to be half an hour late.
Here we go again I thought, time for Round Two!
Never wait for a late girl in the meeting location. I crossed the road and went
up to the rooftop bar of the InterContinental Hotel overlooking the square,
where I bought a beer and watched the setting sun over the golden domes of
the St Michael’s Monastery nearby.
“Where are you? I’m here” came her text 45 minutes later.
“In the rooftop bar opposite you. Come up, it’s level 6”
“No, you come here. Why must I move. I wait here.”
“I’ve got a nice cold beer and a comfy seat. Come up”
“No, I’m going home”
As I suspected, it was a bluff. Rather than replying or going down and
meeting her, I simply vacuumed with silence. Ten minutes later she appeared
at the roof bar with daggers in her eyes.
Again, I played the non-reactive card to the max. This time I didn’t even
answer her questions, pretending not to hear them and pointing out things
around us.
“You are rude man. You should be gentleman!” she challenged.
“That cathedral’s now a museum,” I said pointing out over the city. Have
you been inside?”
She refused to have a drink at the bar, so I rolled off and bantered positively
with the waitress while slowly finishing my second beer.
It was too early to bounce to the apartment I was renting overlooking St
Andrews, and comfort was missing.
Instead we walked to a nearby park which was buzzing with evening activity.
A jazz trio was playing to a sea of young people lounging on the grassy bank
and soaking in the last of the day’s heat. Below, the Dniper River wound
around the city like a shimmering snake.
She held my hand as we promenaded through the park and found an outdoor
bar to drink cocktails.
I could feel her iciness melting. Inside her bitchy exterior was a lonely,
emotional girl who’d lost her mother when she was young. She opened up to
me about her previous relationships (two guys) and her difficult relationship
with her father.
We went to watch the last of the jazz as darkness descended on the magical
park. We hugged and kissed, wrapped around each other against the sudden
cold and the mosquitoes.
Time to bounce back. “Let’s have one more drink and I’ll put you in a taxi
home...” I said, knowing that she didn’t live in the centre but about half an
hour out.
A two minute walk took us back to my apartment. We drank tea in the kitchen
and sat on my bed so that she could show me some photos. We kissed some
more and lay down together, hands wandering and a bit of dry humping.
The expected resistance kicked in. She’d suddenly roll off and stand up,
telling me she had to go but then going to stand on the balcony. It was classic
self-sabotage and derailing – nothing I hadn’t seen before but still tiring.
I knew that I had to let her get it out of her system so she could justify the sex.
I’d pull her back onto the bed for more laptop and physical action, then she’d
get up again to dance around the apartment.
One of the funniest moments was making out on the bed as the 80’s hit “I’m
All Out Of Love” by Air Supply kicked in on my playlist. We both burst out
laughing as the clichéd sickly sweet romance ruined the moment.
“Let’s sleep,” she said after another hour of making out and foreplay.
Bingo. I liked this move as it saved me trying to take her clothes off and
meant that she was going to be in my bed for the night.
We got ready for bed by stripping to our underwear and brushing our teeth,
turning out the lights to spoon. We were both pretty tired from the push-pull
dance so we slept for a few hours.
She woke me up by grinding on me and touching my dick. Game on. I got my
cock out and began to finger her. She moaned and wriggled as I kissed her
amazingly toned body and small boobs.
Just as I reached over for a condom she got up suddenly, rushed to put on her
clothes and said she was going to get a taxi. It was the most extreme JekyllAnd-Hyde moment I’d come across from turned on to turned off.
The tiredness and confusion made me snap. “What the fuck!” I shouted,
sitting on the edge of the bed watching her gather her things. “I’m tired of
these games. I want some sleep. Just go, just fucking go, you’re crazy,
you’re wasting my time!”
Without saying anything she slammed the door and went outside into the dark.
I sat there with my head in my hands, thinking what a lot of effort for no
result, what a lot of sexual tension wasted. I’d pushed too hard.
The remains of the Nice Guy in me broke all the rules and five minutes later I
called her mobile to check she was okay. It was 3 am and I knew she was an
easy target outside. She picked up and I could hear her crying.
“I just want to go home,” she said, “but there are no taxis...”
I threw on some clothes and shoes and went outside to find her. She was a
block down standing on the side of the road with smudged mascara.
Without saying a word I took her hand and walked her back to the apartment.
I made her some tea and then we got undressed and back into bed.
Minutes later we were fucking like it was the end of the world. Passionate,
raw, unfiltered, hard. She was wild, wanting me to totally dominate her and
fuck her hard.
After that we slept like we were hibernating, having groggy sex the next
morning and then a sunny boat trip together along the river before saying
goodbye.
A good seducer realises there’s a fine line between being non-reactive and
laying down Boundaries On Bullshit (B.O.B). The more tired I got over the
course of the year from travelling and daygame meant the less patience I had
with Game-playing girls. In this situation I was more reactive and pushed
away harder than normal which worked for this girl, but it was motivated by
authenticity in that I really had stopped caring.
This explains the importance of real abundance, and where the “treat her
mean to keep her keen” phrase comes from. Bad boy tantrums can only work
if they’re coming from a place of strength, not of neediness. With Princess
Girls you meet on your travels then amplify this character trait, laying down
your B.O.B with full force.
Lviv Magic
CITY: Lviv
POPULATION: 725,000
Like many a good daygame story, this adventure began with a sausage roll
lunch in London accompanied by Krauser. We’d been catching up between
trips over the summer and encouraged each other to hit the London streets
again.
We followed the tried-and-tested route of our London daygame as we chatted
to each other about upcoming trips and new ideas. Every few minutes one of
us would peel off and approach. It was all very relaxed.
For my “warm up” set of the day I spotted a stunning brunette with big eyes
and heels walking past Selfridge’s on Oxford Street. She flashed me a look
(IOI) as she passed me, so it was too good not to go in.
The stop was a solid one, with deep eye contact and a cheeky smile. She told
me she was from Lviv in the Ukraine, but her mum and dad lived in London
and that she was visiting them for the summer. She was a shoe designer by
trade and very creative, making her own clothes and painting. My kind of
girl.
A few days later I met up with her and dived straight into an Adventure
Bubble date with a classic Torero boat trip down the Thames. I built comfort
as we whizzed past The London Eye, St Pauls, Tate Modern and down to
Greenwich. She carried on back to her parents at the O2 Arena while I got
off. We arranged to meet at the Rolling Stones gig in Hyde Park later where
her rich dad had got her and her cousin a ticket but the hipster cousin wasn’t
a fan so the ticket was mine.
It was one of the hottest days of the year with blue skies all around. 100,000
people squeezed into the constructed arena park of the park. Shoe Designer
girl and I pushed our way into the middle of the masses who were already
well on the way to being steaming drunk and soaking up the warm up bands.
Dehydration was being dealt with by drinking pint after pint of cold beer
from the bar tents around the edge of the jiggling crowd.
By the time Jagger and his band hit the stage, everyone was plastered and
sunburnt. The warm evening air was glorious, raising everyone’s spirits to
fever pitch as the band rocked their way through their back catalogue.
I stood behind Shoe Designer girl so she had a better view. A few times I’d
get her on my shoulders as she wasn’t that tall. As the gig went on I put my
arms around her waist and sang along with her to the tunes.
“I know, it’s only rock’n’roll but I like it, like it, yes I do!” belted Jagger in
his leather trousers and hip-shaking swagger. He was doing the escalation for
me, whipping the crowd into a sexually charged vibe. I pulled Lviv girl’s
hair into a pony tail and massaged her shoulders.
Pulling her head back to face me, we made out as Jagger pumped out “Girl I
Miss You!” and the summer loving was complete.
We kissed passionately with tongues and our hands wandered as the darkness
descended and the sky exploded in a firework spectacle to round off the gig.
She’d told me much earlier that she had to be back home by midnight as her
dad was waiting for her and she was flying home the next day. It was now
gone 11pm and so I wasn’t going to pull the trigger, as I knew I’d be in Lviv
in a month so I could put her on Long Game.
In the dark we walked back to the metro and kissed goodbye.
Fast forward four weeks and there I was in one of the most beautiful places
I’d been to on my travels.
A hidden gem of a city, they call Lviv the “Paris Of The East.” Untouched
by western stag-parties or budget airlines, I flew in on a tiny plane from Kiev
and marvelled at how old and romantic it was.
Cobbled streets and narrow lanes, spires and squares, like a land in sepia.
Lviv has a very old European feel to it like Krakow or Prague, very different
from the other FSU places I’d visited.
The first signs of Autumn were in the air as the green of the trees was set
afire, into yellows and oranges. Evenings had a chill to them but the days
were still blue and shining.
Lviv is a small city with not much to go by in terms of good hotels or
apartments. I hastily booked a hotel at the last minute near the centre of the
Old Town, which happened to be the only Soviet-style building around.
Grumpy staff, peeling wall paper and fake gold ornaments ensured the
memory of Communism lived on.
I met my Shoe Designer girl outside the hotel the second evening – she
looked stunning in a tight black dress and black heels, clearly making an
effort. She showed me around the cobbled Old Town and took me to a
magical secret restaurant where we had to knock on one door, show her
Ukrainian identity card, then get escorted into an old man’s tiny flat where he
made us sit on a sofa and have a shot of vodka. After ten minutes he opened
up a bookcase door into the candlelit restaurant where we sat and had an
incredible meal of steak and red wine. A jazz pianist played in the corner. It
was all so surreal and spellbinding.
I didn’t try to bounce her to the hotel that night as there was no need to rush
the seduction as I was in Lviv for the next few days. She had to get up early
the next day anyway to catch her weekday 6am bus to her work. We kissed
goodbye outside the hotel once more and arranged the next meeting.
On Friday evening we met up again outside the hotel. It was a warm night
and this time she was dressed in just denim shorts and a light jumper. She’d
bought a bottle of red wine for us and promised to take me to a local beauty
spot where there was a great view down onto the city.
I enjoyed her coming up with these little plans and adventures as it was the
opposite of her trying to take control. She had the sweetest, most feminine
personality and took delight in looking after me as a guest in her city.
All her plans and attention to detail were simply investment, so I relaxed and
enjoyed her company.
We walked for half an hour up and up to the edge of the city, where it became
forest. The sun was going down as we walked through the trees to a small
path leading up to a rocky outcrop. It was the perfect secluded seduction
spot.
The view was amazing, down onto the twinkling lights of this magical city.
We sat on the grass and drank the wine from the bottle, hugging, kissing and
watching the stars come out. It was one of the highlights of my whole year’s
adventures.
Her energy was so calm, so positive, so feminine and loving. Not once did
she throw in any tests or try any kind of power struggle. She certainly wasn’t
a gold digger – proud of her Ukrainian background and with no desire to
move to the UK like her parents.
We finished the wine and stumbled down the path through the woods back to
the main road and the city. Soon we were back outside the hotel and I
suggested she come in for another drink and to listen to music (drum & bass
was a passion of hers, like mine).
“No possible. No visitors now. 11 o’clock finish,” grumbled a greasy haired
fat guy in a leather jacket who was the token security guard on the door.
“She’s just coming up for ten minutes,” I replied looking at my watch. It
was 10.50pm.
“No possible. Please go.”
“I should go home,” my girl said, heading back out of the reception area.
“Wait, come here for one minute, I’ve got an idea...” I said taking her over
to the reception desk behind which sat a stern looking woman with glasses on
and blue hair.
“Paying for one more guest in Room 311,” I said, giving her my bank card.
Being the Ukraine, it was going to cost me about £15. I had no choice but to
pull the trigger that night as the next day I was flying back to Kiev.
The security guard wasn’t happy that I was going to trump him and he came
over and started shouting at the receptionist in Ukrainian.
My girl translated the gist of it to me.
“He says I’m a prostitute and must show my papers!”
“Do you have them with you?”
“No, but I have my student identification,” she said, handing the
receptionist her card from her purse.
After some arguing back and forth between the guard and the lady behind the
desk, she put my transaction through and gave me another key.
It hadn’t killed the vibe as I’d already built up a lot of trust, comfort and
connection with her from London, Long Game and our previous dates. This
wasn’t a knife-edge SDL situation where the bubble could pop at any time.
Hand in hand, I took my girl to the elevator, wishing the steaming security
guard goodnight as I walked past.
Upstairs, on went the laptop with some liquid drum and bass and out came
more wine. We sat on the sofa kissing deeply and holding each other close –
it was one of the best connections I’d felt with a girl for a long time.
Taking her hand I led her to the bedroom without saying anything.
“I’m sorry Tom, it’s my woman’s day, we can’t have sex”
Woman’s day? She meant her period.
“I don’t mind, really, we’ll just put towels down and take it slow.”
In bed she turned from a rather shy, softly spoken shoe-making girl into a sexcharged tiger, clawing at my back and screaming as I fucked her for over an
hour. The sheets looked like someone had been murdered.
I wanted her to sleep over but she had to get back to her apartment so that her
female flatmate wouldn’t worry. I walked her back in light Autumnal rain
through the melancholic streets of Lviv and kissed goodbye, promising we’d
meet each other at Christmas when she came back to London.
A nomadic seducer with no ties needs these periods of bliss and connection.
As well as the random adventures, grotty stories and flying fucks, it’s
important to remember what the bigger picture is. Shoe Designer girl
reaffirmed the magic of daygame for me and the beauty of these delicious
moments in idyllic settings.
Chapter 9. – The Baltics (Latvia, Lithuania)
“To my mind, the greatest reward and luxury of travel is to be able to
experience everyday things as if for the first time, to be in a position in
which almost nothing is so familiar it is taken for granted.” Bill Bryson
Take the best bits of Scandinavia, the best bits of Russia and put them
together. What do you get? The Baltics.
Cute blondes with blue eyes and catwalk brunettes strutting their heels. Fresh
sunny summers and chilly winters. Wooden houses and cobbled Old Town
centres.
What’s the downside? Well the size of the cities to start...both Riga and
Vilnius are under 700,000, compared to the likes of Moscow’s 11.5 million
or Kiev’s 2.8 million, so expect to see a lot less foot traffic.
The lingering bitter taste of the FSU mentality still exists, especially amongst
the older generation, meaning stern faces and concrete apartment blocks
outside of the gentrified centres.
Prices are not as cheap as you’d expect, and the arrival of budget airlines has
cursed the Baltics with the tarnished brush of British, German and
Scandinavian stag-parties.
As in Prague or Amsterdam, you’ll see armies of fat drunk guys wearing
matching t-shirts or superhero costumes stumbling and smashing their way
through the Old Town or riding Segways with a pint in hand.
They explain the large numbers of strip clubs, Irish pubs and rip-off bars.
The locals milk them for all they’ve got, playing them (and beating them) at
their own game. Hot girls are employed in pairs to roam the streets at night
and hit on foreign guys. After a hook point they suggest to the guys to show
them a “cool bar nearby” and bounce them to a pre-prepared venue where
they get the guys to buy them drinks. When the bill comes at the end of the
night for thousands of pounds, the girls vanish and local guys step in to make
sure the bill is paid. Perfect daygame.
So a typical foreign guys spending time in the Baltics will quickly be
labelled as “sex tourists” by the local girls. It takes a lot of convincing to
show them that you’re not part of the stag world if you hit the bars in the Old
Town.
As they’re now in the European Union, most of the girls you’ll meet in the
Baltics will have been to London or have family / friends living abroad. It’s
certainly not beginners’ daygame.
East Meets West
CITY: Riga
POPULATION: 703,000
With a girl on Jurmula Beach, February 2013
Riga holds a special place in my daygame heart as I’ve been on trips there
with most of my comrades.
I like it because it’s so compact and a welcome relief from the madness of
London. The largest city in the Baltics and home to one third of Latvia’s
population (half of which are Russian), it’s a beautiful place both in the
summer and winter, despite the daygame not being easy.
It has the highest concentration of Art Nouveau buildings in the world which
along with the 19th Century wooden architecture gives the city a magical feel
similar to Prague.
On my first trip there with Antony we did a reconnaissance of the place,
feeling out the vibe which is almost as tough as Moscow for the icy first few
minutes of each daygame interaction. We nearly got tricked by the two-set
player girls trying to get us into a bar (we bolted just before the entrance),
got drunk on the cheap alcohol and number farmed like mad.
Like most adventures with Antony, nights either ended with some sort of
pulling the trigger or a fight. One evening we decided to “chill” in an Irish
bar in the centre and “take a break” from approaching. On the next table to
us was a group of large, loud drunk American girls who were about to move
to another bar. Antony was “getting the fury,” as he calls it, longing to
approach anything like a dog pulling on a lead to go and chase rabbits.
“Let’s do this for fun!” he grinned at me.
“No mate, night off remember,” I replied, the voice of reason.
“I’ll do some shitty old skool NLP rubbish on that one, they’re American,
they’ll lap it up...” he laughed, pointing to the best of the bunch – a brunette
with a pretty face but a big belly. She was surrounded by the three other
fatties – cock-block bodyguards as we called them, preventing the cuter one
from getting laid that night.
Antony made eye-contact with the one he wanted to talk to and called her
over with a beckoning finger. “I’ll give her back in one minute!” he
mouthed to the cock-block friends. Cocky bar game was Antony’s speciality
and he was in his element.
Antony and his girl, who we later named “Titanic”, stood close to each other
while he drilled her with his eyes and smile.
“Let me tell you something interesting about yourself...” he said to her in
his best low, slow, parody-hypnotist voice.
She nodded like a drunk dog.
“You make very vivid images in your mind. True, isn’t it?!”
“Yeah, for sure...” she grinned, lost in his eyes and her drunken haze.
“You could be talking to someone....but you could be a million miles
away....in your favourite fantasy destination location, I’m right aren’t I?!”
“Oh yes!” she squealed, getting turned on by how much of a bubble they
were in. I couldn’t believe this shit was working, laughing into my hand and
having to look away.
Antony took a step closer to her so he was inches from her face, and held on
to both her hands.
“Feels good, doesn’t it, when you just let go and let it go deep inside you.
Again and again. I’m spot on, aren’t I?”
“Ahhhhh! Oh my God!” she screamed, “Britney, I love this guy!” she
shouted to her friend.
Right on cue, the other of the cock-blocks appeared swiftly like one of the
president’s bodyguards and tried to drag her away telling her it was time to
go to another bar.
“Leave me Amanda!” she shouted, “I can take care of myself, I’m staying
with this guy, I’ll see you later!”
By now my laughter was uncontrollable. Watching Antony work his magic on
fat girls was priceless.
Titanic’s friend’s stormed off leaving her with us. Antony went to the bar to
get a round of shots, leaving me to occupy her. I did some cheesy old skool
kino moves of spinning her around, mock-dancing with her and giving her the
Trust Test of rubbing noses with me but not kissing.
We downed the shots and Antony proposed more drinking at our place,
throwing Titanic her coat and telling her we had to get out of the bar as he’d
“just seen a mouse.” I was in hysterics.
Ten minutes later we were back with her in our hotel room – Titanic sinking
into a drunken stupor fast. We raided the mini bar and collapsed onto the bed,
both Antony and I making out with her. She danced for us and then ran to the
bathroom to be sick.
I’d had enough, my head was hurting and I went to my room next door and
slept like a log.
In the morning I knocked on Antony’s door for breakfast and he called for me
to come in. There he was snuggled up to naked Titanic, resting on her
enormous breasts like a suckling child. It was one of the funniest things I’d
seen. I slammed the door closed and went downstairs to breakfast, scratching
my head at how bizarre things always got with me and Antony. I wasn’t going
to let him forget that one.
One For The Road
On that same trip we tried some club game, once again getting drunk in the
process and ending up at some out-of-town seedy club at 5am making out
with girls that you wouldn’t even look at on the street. We left them to get a
cab back to the hotel, stopping at a pizza place to refuel. As we came out I
spotted a lone girl in heels tottering along the cobbled streets, petite and cute.
“One for the road!” I grinned at Antony and did my drunkest daygame set
ever.
She magically hooked, and after five minutes of blurry banter I pulled the
trigger, inviting her back to our hotel for a drink. Surprisingly she agreed,
having had a “shitty night” herself and in need of a night cap. She was a
Latvian girl who worked as a tattoo artist, herself covered in as much body
art as Amy Winehouse.
This time it was Antony laughing at me as I bundled her past the night staff on
reception and up the steep stairs to our floor. He made his excuses and went
into his room, collapsing drunk on his bed.
I took the girl into my room and skipped any kind of rapport talking, sitting on
the bed with her, necking miniature bottles of whiskey from the mini bar and
making out like horny teenagers.
The sex was terrible, drunk and fast – I remember falling over trying to take
off my jeans. We sank into sleep in a naked heap and when I woke in the
morning with a pounding head, she was gone.
Had I imagined the whole thing? On the floor was the used condom and
whiskey bottles scattered like soldiers. Remind me never to do drunk
daygame again with Antony.
In The Dalai Lama’s Bed
My next trip to Riga was with Rami, my good friend who I learnt daygame
with and who accompanied me to Moscow.
We were staying in a small hotel in the centre of the Old Town, which had a
tea garden in the middle - perfect for instant dates and bouncebacks. The
receptionist proudly told us that we were staying in the same room as the
Dalai Lama had used when he visited a few years before. I was sleeping in
the double bed where he’d laid his head every night. Time for the Badass
Buddha to become a reality!
The number farming was going well, and both Rami and I managed bouncebacks to the room. A highlight for Rami was a hot Russian who was a virgin.
For me it was an 18 year old girl I’d chatted up outside McDonalds who I
called “Sailor Girl” as she was wearing a stripy blue dress. I bounced her to
the tea garden and then pulled the trigger in the middle of the afternoon,
fucking on the Dalai Lama’s bed after going through the Girlfriend Sequence
bubbles outside.
We got a lot more strong leads that we dated and put on the back burner for
Long Game, knowing we’d be back to close the loops.
Hustlin’ In The Rain, Riga, August 2012
Residential With Krauser
At the end of the summer I arranged to teach another week-long residential
with the legendary Krauser in Riga. We’d live with the student in a big Old
Town apartment near Dome Square and share the teaching load every day.
I was coming to the end of my mammoth world tour and feeling the fatigue.
The thought of number farming every day for hours on end exhausted me, let
alone actually doing it. This tiredness is part of the process of the “cycles of
immersion” for mastering any skill-set, so I wasn’t worried about it.
I was experiencing burn out after a year of hitting it hard, and was quite
happy just doing my share of the teaching and watching the student get his fill.
Krauser had the same positive energy and focused work ethic that I’d seen in
Belgrade and on other trips, and he was in his element number farming and
dating.
I sent out a mass copy-and-paste Facebook message to all the old leads I’d
got from my previous trips with Antony and Rame and sat back to see what
would come through.
Sure enough, out of around 15 girls that I pinged (all with the same message),
8 got back to me and I ended up going on a date with three of them, sleeping
with 2. As I always say, don’t under-estimate the power of Facebook and
long game!
Psycho Beach
One of the former Facebook leads was a cute brunette 20 year old university
music student who I’d stopped on the trip with Rame. She agreed to come for
an afternoon coffee in the park and Krauser and the student sat nearby to
listen in and watch my escalation moves, like we’d done in Serbia with the
student.
It all went suspiciously smoothly to begin with, as most dramatic adventures
do. Her energy was sparky and fun – she’d just come back from a hitchhiking trip around Europe where she’d “experimented” with Italian, Spanish
and German guys. She was loving her new-found freedom and had celebrated
by getting two tattoos. Ticking the boxes nicely!
I did the usual Comfort Bubble stuff but kept it short as she was so playful,
instead upping the Spikes and getting the kino in early – checking out her
rings, looking at her tattoos, fractionating in and out of her space, giving her
some strong eye contact. Krauser and the student watched it all from the next
table, sipping their drinks and smiling.
It was mid-afternoon and she told me she had a Spanish class in two hours,
but that she was free until then. Time to run the train. “Bouncing home” I
texted Krauser so he could keep the apartment clear.
“Let’s head to the river...” I suggested as we strolled through the Old Town.
“Ok, but let’s get some wine!” she said, beating me on the leading and giving
me what I thought was a blatant green light.
We stopped off at a supermarket and got a bottle of cheap red wine, then it
was a short walk to where our apartment was.
“Come up for some music...” I smiled, “we can’t stay long as my friends
are coming back.”
No resistance as we climbed the stairs in the old building, past huddled cats
and a babushka heaving up her multiple shopping bags.
Inside, I poured the wine as she smoked out of the window and put on some
tunes.
Sitting on the sofa it was easy to kiss her fast, and she jumped at it, tongues
and all. A straightforward lay I thought. Our hands wandered over each other
but she wouldn’t let me touch her boobs or her arse. “I need another
cigarette” she said.
“We shouldn’t smoke in here as my friends don’t like it, come and smoke
out of this window...” I said, leading her to the bedroom and opening the
window. She sat on the window ledge while I brought in the laptop and got
the reliable SheepyMix on.
I’d kiss her neck and she’d bite me back. I’d play with her hair and she’d
grab my throat. I’d make out with her and she’d bite my lip. Hard. I wrapped
her legs around mine and carried her to the bed. She’d play fight me to get on
top. I’d touch her boobs and she’d grab my cock hard. I undid her jeans and
she pulled off her belt to spank my arse. I touched her pussy and she playfully
slapped my face. This was a girl who liked the chase, and she liked dominant
men- great example of Krauser’s “Rub” principle.
I took off my belt and got my cock out but she picked up my own belt and
started slapping my back with it, hard.
“Enough!” I said sternly, taking the belt off her. It had turned from funny
foreplay into her being a psycho. I liked a bit of play fighting but her
dominance was turning me off.
We lay on the bed spooning for a while, calming down and making out but
she was sulking about me ending the drama and wouldn’t escalate any further.
“Shit, my Spanish class!” she gasped, pulling on her top and jacket, knocking
over the bottle of wine in the process. “I’ll see you tomorrow, come and see
me in Jurmula, my mum will be at work so I’m home alone!”
What a weird afternoon it had been. I was in two minds if I should see her
again for Part Two, as her psychotic behaviour was draining. I’ve said
before that dating girls aged 18 – 21 can be like driving a Formula One car in
the rain; the slightest movement of the wheel can send the car spinning
erratically out of control.
Throughout the evening she sent me enough invested text messages filled with
sexual spikes for me to gamble on taking the 20 minute train ride the next day
to the seaside spa town of Jurmula on the Baltic Sea.
Jurmula Beach is a glorious place, a bit like the Isle Of Skye in Scotland
with miles and miles of deserted beach, a freshness and a clarity from the
Arctic air. Old people from the spa hotels along the sea dipped in the icy
waves while the last of the summer party tents were dismantled.
I met Psycho girl at the entrance to the main beach, expecting to go straight to
her house for more escalating and an epic LMR battle (I’d not worn my belt
this time!).
Straight away she told me that we couldn’t go to hers as her mum was coming
home early, and that we should just take a walk along the beach. This pissed
me off immediately. Mentally I changed plans and decided to escalate with
her somewhere secluded on the beach further up. The sun was shining and it
wasn’t too breezy, so it was a possibility.
“I want to show you something cool!” she grinned, leading me down a side
track and along an overgrown path.
A few minutes later we came to an abandoned hotel built in the 1970s and
now crumbling with smashed windows, a layer of graffiti and wire around
the perimeter. The Psycho analogy was about to get a lot more real!
“They film music videos in here and there’s always massive parties, it’s so
cool!” she beamed, finding a hole in the wire and climbing through first.
The smell of piss was overwhelming, like a post office on pension day.
Inside it was dark and dank. Sleeping bags lay on the floor amongst glass,
beer cans and needles.
But the interior was cool, in a retro fashion shoot kind of way. We checked
out the abandoned dining room, the empty bedrooms and then climbed up the
stairs towards the roof.
A black hole of an empty lift shaft loomed next to the crumbling stairs.
“A young dude fell down there drunk one night during a party and
died...nobody found his body for weeks,” she said, amplifying the
creepiness of the whole thing.
Up, up we went until we reached the roof terrace of the hotel with
spectacular views out over the beach to the Baltic Sea. This was where most
of the parties happened judging by the amount of bottles, cans, pipes and CDs
strewn on the floor.
It was mid afternoon and the sun was shining in the blue sky. We lay on a flat
metallic roof and basked like cats, hugging and chilling like nothing else
mattered.
This time I took the escalation slow. We made out, I kissed her neck and
around her ears, then down her chest, pulling aside her t-shirt and lifting up
her bra to kiss her boobs. We pressed up against each other and I put my leg
between hers, pressing on her pussy through her yoga pants.
I carried on down, kissing her stomach and then between her legs as I knelt
on the floor and she lay on the roof. She arched her back and started moaning.
“You’re making my leggings wet..” she said, sliding them off herself with
her flip flops and revealing her red thong.
I spread open her legs and pulled aside the thong, licking her out good and
proper, spelling out the alphabet on her clit with my tongue while sticking my
fingers in her and pressing up on her g-spot.
“You’re good!” she moaned, “don’t stop!”
I didn’t want to make her cum until I had my dick inside her so while I
carried on licking softer I pulled down my jeans, got my dick out and put on a
condom. I slid inside her soaking pussy and fucked her hard, turning her over
and bending her over the roof to finish off doggie style, looking out to sea and
breathing in the Baltic air while she happily screamed.
HitchCock indeed ;)
Dance Me To The End Of Love
During that same residential trip with Krauser another old Facebook lead
from Riga sprung into life again as a response to the same message I sent out
to the other girls.
She was someone I’d met on my first trip with Antony and I really couldn’t
remember where I’d stopped her, what had happened or any details about
her.
I clicked through her Facebook pictures and my jaw dropped.
“Come and have a look at this!” I called over to Krauser and the student
who were chilling around the apartment dining table.
21 years old, almost six feet tall, a super model look with brown hair,
chiselled features and the world’s most perfect ass. The pictures showed that
as well as being an IT student at the local university (nerdy glasses and all
when she studied) she was a Go-Go dancer at one of the biggest clubs in the
city, shaking her thing dressed in nothing but a bra, thong and heels every
weekend to get the guys’ tongues hanging out and spending more cash.
Our eyes widened as we looked at pictures of her dressed as a Playboy
bunny, a naughty school girl, a Bond girl, a nurse. The club had theme nights
and she was clearly in her element dressing up.
I showed Krauser and the students the Facebook conversation we’d been
having:
ME: Hey trouble, I’ll be back in Riga next week if you’re still alive and
want some caffeine adventures with me ;)
HER: Hey! Yes we must :) It would be nice to meet you :)
ME: Landed today....wondering why everyone’s out carrying flowers, is it a
special day because I’m here?!
HER: Yes yes! It is because you arrived :D It’s first day of school so
presents for teachers
ME: I’m a teacher so I demand you bring me some. Tomorrow or
Wednesday’s good for me to meet...
HER: Better Wednesday, it will be fine :)
ME: Are you a beer or a wine girl?
HER: If it’s not weekend then I’m more a wine person!
ME: Cool, 8pm by Liberty Statue, remember the flowers ;)
HER: Hey sorry but I can’t make it, I have to stay at university longer, do
you have free time tomorrow?
ME: My secretary is not happy haha. Tomorrow I’m free after 6pm...
HER: Nice, then the same place?
ME: Outside Cuba Café next to Riga Dome, ok?
HER: Ok :)
I chatted to Krauser over dinner in a café near the apartment about how I still
had a self-imposed Glass Ceiling about the really smoking 10/10 hot girls. I
didn’t have much experience dating and bedding them as I often didn’t
approach them – either they’re hard to find (if you’re in London) or my
limiting beliefs surface about me “not being enough.”
I told him that on the date with Go-Go dancer later I’d have to really monitor
my behaviour to make sure I wasn’t supplicating, being to nice or playing it
safe. We went over a battle plan for the date as we waited for our food to
arrive.
Suddenly my phone beeped with a text:
“I’m here, where are you?” she messaged.
Shit. It was 6.10pm. In my head I thought I’d said 8pm to her.
I told Krauser to give my food to the student and dashed from the café to
Dome Square nearby. The fact that I was late was an unintentionally good
move to set the frame of me not caring too much about the date.
There she was, looking stunning. As tall as me in her heels, dressed down
with some skinny jeans and a summer top, but still standing out like a Barbie
Doll.
I took a deep breath and went inside the cool Cuban bar with her, nice and
dimly lit with sofas and chill music playing. I was going to keep the Comfort
Bubbles short and see if I could get the Intimacy going as quickly as possible,
assuming that because she was a young party girl then she’d not want much of
the chit-chat. This was an error.
Go-Go dancer was relaxed and positive but didn’t say much. I couldn’t work
out if it was Princess Behaviour, nerves or just the fact that she was
introverted.
I ran the usual Comfort Bubbles and Spikes, finding out that she was indeed
pretty nerdy – studying computers in a class full of boys, playing Grand Theft
Auto in her free time, working as a secretary as well as dancing at the club to
pay the bills. She was quite a Tom-boy with a cool sarcastic wit and a strong
character.
Through my questions and the rapport she told me about being crazy when
she was a teenager, having a girlfriend for a while when she went through a
bi-curious stage at 17. She’d tried most drugs and had 3somes and 4somes.
Her ex-boyfriends were predictably of the bad boy type with motorbikes or
muscles. Her last boyfriend was the millionaire son of the owner of one of
the world’s biggest online poker companies. She’d dumped him because she
said he treated her like an object, throwing money at her but nothing else. She
wanted to earn her own money and didn’t want the jet-set lifestyle.
I went to the bathroom and took a few more deep breaths. “All girls respond
in the same way,” “I am enough,” “Beauty is common,” “She’s just a
girl,” I said to myself in the mirror.
We finished our drinks after some more rapport and then I knew I had to
bounce to another location to get the Intimacy going. “Let’s have one
more....I’ve found a cool cocktail place just around the corner....”
I tried to ignore the stream of text messages that kept buzzing her phone into
life and remember that the fact she’d come on the date meant that there was
attraction.
A good trick for the really hot girls is to find an “imperfection” you don’t
like and focus on that, or imagine her doing non-princess-like things such as
taking a shit or being sick. It helped as we walked to the next venue and sat
down.
The place was great – dark, jazz music, with sofas. Krauser and the student
came in for a few minutes and sat at the bar, checking out my date and the
fear factor on my face.
I tried the usual Intimacy Bubble structure of some flirty questions, topics
about her ideal guys, more crazy things that she’d done, but I could see she
wasn’t happy with it. Her answers got more and more closed.
It’s what I’d seen with other “party” girls, strippers or model-types I’d dated.
The more glamorous and gorgeous a girl looks, the more she craves being the
little girl again. She’s tired of men pedestalling her and longs to be treated
normally.
I switched back to teasing; she enjoyed the role play about us getting married
and running away to Vegas, she loved me calling out her nerdiness and
slapping her hand playfully.
I did a lot of hand kino, but leaning in to try and kiss her was another mistake.
The lack of an intimate vibe meant it was forced and uncalibrated.
We finished our drinks and I walked her back to her bus stop, giving her
kisses on the cheek and a light one on the lips. “Thanks for a nice evening,”
she smiled and walked off flicking her long hair behind her.
Normally I’m pretty good at reading a girl’s investment levels and signals,
but as I de-constructed the date with Krauser and the student back in the
apartment I was confused. Was she a girl who needed a lot of the badboy?
Should I have run the train and pushed it? Was she now looking for a more
sensitive guy in something long-term? Had I been too nice?
It’s easy to be a Monday Morning Quarterback but when you’re in the
seduction trying to separate signal from noise and make vital decisions it’s
tough. The emotional roller-coaster is an inherent part of the Game.
“Time will tell...” the student said wisely, repeating our advice back to me:
“listen to her actions, not her words.”
I wouldn’t see Go-Go dancer again on that trip, but I did a month later in
Barcelona when things would get very interesting....
Top Gun Wingmanship
The second lay of that trip with Krauser was a comedy one. I’d asked him to
come and wing on a double date with me one evening and we headed down
to Cuba Bar again.
In came the girl that I’d number closed in a mall the day before, tall and cute,
with her equally hot friend. They sat with us and it all seemed on – strong eye
contact from both with some flirty banter.
Without warning, the girls rolled cigarettes and said they were off as it was
“White Nights” evening all over town with lots of free shows and music.
“Nice to meet you!” waved her friend and off they went.
Krauser and I sat in the bar confused. It all seemed so on, and then so
suddenly off. Ah well, time for another double date. Krauser had been texting
a girl he’d dated earlier in the week (who’d almost come in for a lay but
given LMR at the door) and she said she was nearby with her friend.
“Can’t promise you the friend is hot but you up for it?” he asked.
“Why not? I owe you one...”
Five minutes later his girl and her friend arrived and sat down in the same
seats as the girls that had just left. The bar staff and DJ gave us a funny look.
This was efficient game!
Krauser’s girl was a cute feline-looking girl, artistic and mysterious with a
touch of the Spanish about her. Her friend was a blonde Latvian who wasn’t
fat but wasn’t skinny – she reminded me of Norwegian girls who have a tire
around their middle to guard against the cold. Her face wasn’t too bad, and
she had big boobs so I winked at Krauser. Taking one for the team.
Things were on immediately between Krauser an his girl, with lots of intense
eye-contact and kino. She was trying to kiss him, but he was using the tactic
of not quite letting her, meaning that she was bottling up her sexual energy
which would hopefully explode in isolation back at the apartment.
Her friend liked me straight away, giving me the big eyes and sitting close
next to me. The drinks flowed nicely and it was all going to plan.
Suddenly a tall muscular guy approached the table and sat down next to my
girl. She introduced him as her brother – he’d just finished work and had his
first free evening ahead of him in a long time.
What he lacked in brain cells he made up for in muscles and warmth. “We
get shit face drunk, yes? Good idea yes?!” he grinned in terrible English.
Krauser had gone to the bathroom to text me his logistics:
“Bouncing her straight home, it’s on now,” he wrote.
Two minutes later he was leading his girl out of the bar and telling her friend
that they’d be “back soon,” and that they were “going for a walk.”
I was left with my girl and her brother, who was downing beers like the
world was about to end. Everything I said he laughed at and slapped me on
the back. “Funny Thomas, funny man you!” he boomed.
When he went outside to smoke I talked logistics with my girl. “Your brother
has friends to go out with?”
“No, they all work tonight, he wants to come out to a club with us?”
“I want to go for a walk with you, we can meet him in a while...”
“No, he wants to stay with us, he likes you!”
This was going to be interesting. We went from there to another small bar
where her brother bought us all a round of shots, and then we hit an
underground bar after being turned away from a club as my girl didn’t have
her ID.
The cellar bar was dark and cavernous, packed with hipster types lounging
on sofas and mismatched chairs.
We went up to the bar to order our drinks. Sitting next to us was a group of
locals; two girls and a guy who looked gay. One of the girls was a stunner –
blonde with big boobs and a tiny waist. She was giving me the puppy dog
eyes and I was working out how to ditch the girl and her brother to hit on this
one.
As I started teasing her about her shoes, the brother started chatting with her
hard in Latvian and it was magically going well. He was hammered, she was
hammered, and his ogre-like frame and lack of social skills was perfect for a
caveman style of pickup.
After a bit more chat and some buying of drinks, he took the hottie outside for
a smoke. Textbook isolation. Her friend and the gay guy vanished into
another room, leaving me and the original girl at the bar.
I leant in and kissed her. She was all over it. The time was way past midnight
and I knew it was now or never for the extraction while her brother was
occupied.
“Get your coat, let’s go for a quick walk, tell your brother we’ll come back
for him soon...”
“Ok,” she said, “but only if he agrees...”
Upstairs the gods were on my side. Her brother was happily hammered with
the hottie, sitting with her on a wall and chain smoking their hearts out. My
girl chatted to him briefly in Latvian and he smiled, shaking my hand.
“Good boy Thomas, good, yes, I see you here soon, I happy!” he drunkenly
smiled.
Perfect. Time to pull the trigger. My girl and I walked through the small
cobbled back streets of the Old Town towards my apartment.
LMR kicked in with every step she was taking, her walking slowly and trying
over and over to phone the girl that Krauser was with to meet up.
“Don’t worry about them, they’re probably having some fun!” I winked,
“he’s a good guy, don’t worry.”
“No, she wouldn’t do that, she’s married....a good girl!” my girl said,
texting as she walked.
Little did she know that Krauser had spent the last hour getting his girl onto
the bed back at the apartment and fucking her senseless before kicking her
out. He texted me to say he’d got the notch and that she’d gone.
“My friend is home, she texted me, she wants us to go for tea now,” my girl
said to me. “Nothing happened with Nick,” she added, “my friend said they
just talked.”
I knew I needed Krauser’s help in terms of occupying. Rapidly I texted him:
“Your girl is cock-blocking mine trying to get her to go to hers!”
Krauser’s genius kicked in. He was out in some fast food joint and rang the
girl he’d just fucked, keeping her on the phone for as long as he possibly
could, talking gibberish and resorting to reading her the menu when he ran
out of topics.
This meant that my girl couldn’t get through to her friend every time she tried
ringing, giving me enough time to bounce my girl inside, up the stairs and into
the apartment.
“We can’t make a noise in here,” I said as we passed through the living
room, “my friend is sleeping in there,” I added, pointing to the student’s
room.
I got her to take her shoes off and then lead her into the same bedroom that
Krauser had fucked his girl in. It stank of sex, and there was a used condom
on the floor. I kicked it under the bed and rapidly opened the windows,
straightening out the duvet and telling her to sit down.
Luckily she’d left her coat and phone on the sofa in the living room. Krauser
came back a few minutes later, realised I was in the bedroom with my girl,
and cunningly got her phone and turned it to silence so she wouldn’t hear the
calls and texts coming through from the other girl who Krauser had fucked.
It’s incredible the lengths girls will go to to stop their female friends getting
laid. The cock-blocking is extreme and hard-wired, based on genetics and
selfish gene theory. The married girl that Krauser had fucked (who was going
through her divorce so it wasn’t anything immoral) had lied to her friend that
nothing had happened, and now she was stopping her friend from having sex
with me.
I sat on the bed talking for a while with my girl, then resumed the making out.
“We should go and find my brother, then go for tea with my friend.”
It was a predictable case of LMR and her ASD trying to derail her own lay
train.
“We will, in ten minutes, don’t worry, let’s just cuddle...”
The cuddling soon turned to heavy making out, then the clothes came off and
we were fucking hard. As is often the case with bigger girls, they certainly
know how to screw and are not afraid of their sexuality. Her tits were
immense.
I was drunk and tired, and definitely not up for seeing this girl again, so I shot
my load quickly and then we both got dressed.
Back in the living room, Krauser was doing a great bit of Hollywood acting,
pretending to be asleep on the single bed in the corner, covering himself with
a duvet.
“Shhhh, Nick’s asleep,” I whispered as we crept in, getting her coat, bag and
shoes. “We mustn’t wake him.”
I walked her down the stairs and back into the square, then turned around and
headed back to the apartment alone.
Krauser and I shook hands and laughed our heads off. He’d felt cheapened by
the quick-and-dirty sex he’d had, adding to the filth by heading to that fast
food place for some food which he never normally ate. Talking to his girl on
the phone to keep her occupied had been his piece de resistance, and I
thanked him heartily for it.
We sat in the living room telling each other the adventures we’d had and
reflecting on what a bizarre life we were living. We’d enjoyed the thrill of
the chase and solving the logistical Rubik’s Cube more than the actual lays.
Both of us thrived on challenge, on pushing the limit, on the technical details.
We loved the art and science juxtaposition of the game, and the male
camaraderie involved.
Time Travel Dentistry
One last memorable snippet from Riga came earlier in the year when I was
visiting for a couple of days on vacation with my girl from Moscow. She was
changing planes there and we met up for two days of hotel fucking before I
went to New York.
I’d flown back from Australia with a throbbing tooth, the root canal problem
that had begun in Sydney now getting nasty as the antibiotics weren’t
working, and the change in pressure from the flying making it excruciating.
I dosed myself up on strong pain killers and tried to enjoy my time with the
Russian, wandering around the Old Town and visiting a snow-covered
Jurmula beach. But I couldn’t eat as my gum was massively inflamed, and
drinking alcohol was out of the question.
“I think I need to get this sorted before the USA,” I said to the Russian,
“let’s find an emergency dentist in Riga.”
We searched around on Google for the addresses of a few clinics and went to
find them, but they all turned us away with long waiting lists and stern
responses.
A taxi driver helped us out, telling us he’d take us to an emergency clinic at
the dental hospital on the other side of the city. Sounded good.
He dropped us off in an area which looked like Chernobyl – towering
soulless concrete apartment blocks and an abandoned children’s playground
in the middle. It was getting dark and a slushy blanket of grey snow covered
the ground. Not so good.
This wasn’t a white, shiny western dental clinic. Inside one of the tower
blocks was what looked like a waiting room from the First Word War –
drunk men with bandages around their heads, old women asleep on broken
chairs. I was having massive second thoughts but my Russian girl was
assuring me that it would be better inside.
Two old ladies in grubby white coats approached us and started talking with
my girl in Russian. I assumed they were cleaners. They gestured for me to
follow and my girl came too to translate.
We went into a small room that had an old-fashioned dentist chair in the
middle with stern Soviet posters all around warning children to brush their
teeth or else. This didn’t look my dentists sparkling consulting room back
home. This was more like a place for factory workers to smoke.
The two old ladies in coats turned out to be not cleaners but the dentists. My
Russian girl sat on a chair in the corner and translated what they were saying
as they looked inside my mouth and chose drill bits and tools from a dusty
drawer.
I’d got an infected root canal under a filling and they were going to drain it to
release the pus and pressure.
I wanted to run out of the room and jump on the first flight back to the UK but
it was too late. As they gave me a shot of local anaesthetic and started
drilling out the filling with loud rumbling outdated drills, I didn’t know if it
was the infection or the old ladies that were causing the pain. Tears gathered
around my eyes. My Russian girl chatted happily to the ladies about this and
that while I bit my tongue not to scream.
Once they’d made a hole in the tooth, they prodded around with small files to
drain the pus, which flowed out and made a bloody mess which they mopped
up with tissues from one of their pockets. The pain relief was almost
instantaneous but the amount of blood was alarming.
Half an hour later we stumbled out of the clinic into the dark. I felt like I’d
been hit by Tyson. Never again will I complain about the National Health
Service in Britain!
Lithuania
CITY: Vilnius
POPULATION: 539,000
Trakai Castle near Vilnius
Lithuania is another country trapped between its Soviet past and its Western
dreams. 20,000 of them have moved to London to bask in their new found
freedom and back in the capital, Vilnius, they’re rebelling against any
remaining Russian ties with a big hipster movement.
Expect to see skaters, coffee shops and graffiti amongst the cobbled Old
Town which, like Riga, is like a smaller version of Prague or Vienna.
Napoleon called it the “Jerusalem of the North” when he rode through in
1812, but now it’s more like “Shoreditch of the East.”
The pros of the city are that it’s small and pedestrian, with enough Russian
genetics there to produce ample hotties to make a stay productive. Their
Western cravings mean the girls are more open minded and adventurous than
Russia or even Latvia, making the lays faster and easier.
The downside of the place is that the open door to the West has let in
McDonalds, KFC, Facebook and Twitter, meaning quite a lot of the girls are
getting bigger and bitchier. Each time I go back I encounter more and more
attitudes that remind me of the UK or the USA, where average looking girls
act like they’re princesses.
Spring 2013 trip with Krauser and Steve
I was spending a few weeks in Vilnius on the way to and from Russia with
my friend Steve. Krauser was coming to join us for a week or so to catch up
with some girls he’d already closed and number farm some new leads.
I’d also got two girls in the city that I’d closed before (as I talk about in my
first book) and a number of long game leads that were live.
We’d got a big apartment in the centre of the Old Town and the weather was
being good to us – the snow melting and Spring sunshine bursting through.
Torero Does Night Game
Before Krauser arrived, Steve and I had decided to test out the night game in
Vilnius one Friday night with two girls that I’d number closed back in
London on New Year’s Eve with Sam.
Doing some game in bars and clubs every so often is a good idea for a
daygamer for the following reasons:
It improves your sexual intent and physicality, encouraging you to
escalate and pull the trigger faster.
It takes you out of your comfort zone (lights, loud music, other alpha
males, girls with strong shields etc.)
It gives you practice gaming without relying on conversational
structures used during the day – higher energy, more playful and bigger
sets.
It can eliminate dating if you’re going for Same Night Lays (SNLs).
It’s fun if you do it with your friends, as you can have a few beers and
get out of your head. Chatting to girls is not meant to be serious!
We had some pre-drinks in the apartment with the girls, who we were
already sensing were playing games by using us for social proof (and what
they thought were lots of free drinks) just as much as we were using them to
get into the club.
For the FSU it was an expensive “VIP” club which charged more on the door
than a London venue. Drinks were expensive too and even though the girls
were hot inside, it had a gold-digger vibe to it where groups of foreign guys
flashed their cash at local girls leaning against the bar.
Straight away I wanted to leave, but I forced myself to stay put and embrace
the discomfort. I longed for my familiar territory of the street, but I knew I
had to get approaching fast before I froze up and lost any kind of positive
vibe. Steve agreed that we should leave the girls to go dance and hit up some
girls ourselves to warm up.
“No talking or buying beers until we’ve done 5 each, any girl, come on,
let’s get the whirlwind going....”
I knuckled down and walked straight up to a girl who was standing by herself
at the bar (not an uncommon sight in the FSU). I abandoned my usual street
structure and just went with anything.
“Hey, you look like you speak English. Are you the gate-keeper to the
bar?!”
“Ha, no, my English not so good, please speak slow....”
We vibed back and forth for five minutes – she was a student at the
university, not a fan of clubs and only there to see her friend who was one of
the Go-go dancer troupe on at midnight. I grabbed her number, not wanting to
get stuck with her all night as there were plenty of other girls around waiting
to be opened.
Steve and I bounced between our base set of the two girls we’d come in with
who were bopping near the dance floor, and number collecting around the
club. There was much less bitchiness or competition than in a UK club as the
local guys simply weren’t approaching.
Back at the bar I bumped into the student I’d first approached and I dragged
her onto the dance floor. Our base set came and joined us and soon we had a
nice ring of girls with us dancing to the cheesy house music pumping out
across the floor.
After a few hours of dancing, drinking and watching the show, Steve and I
made the call to try and bounce our two original girls out of the club
somewhere else as we were running out of other girls to approach.
The girls didn’t want to leave, happy getting lots of attention and free drinks
(that we’d refused to buy them) from other guys so we left without them.
There was a slim chance they’d booty call us later but we weren’t banking on
it.
A few days later after some ping texting back and forth, I managed to get the
student girl from the club out on a date. We went to a coffee shop which
served cocktails after her studies and had a couple of drinks.
I started off sitting opposite her to do the Comfort Bubble sections, then
switched to sitting next to her for the Spikes and Intimacy (use the excuse “I
can’t hear what you’re saying, it’s noisy, hang on, let me come over there,”
to switch sides or do it after going to the bathroom)
She was a quiet girl who wasn’t giving me much verbally, but I was listening
to her body language more. She let me touch her hands and seemed happy
when I brushed against her or touched her legs as I made a point, so I
continued to escalate with the shoulder massage leading up to a kiss.
“Not here, people are looking!” she said, pulling away.
“Don’t worry, we can hide behind this!” I said picking up the cocktail menu
and shielding us, going for the heavy make-out.
Back at her bus stop I arranged to see her in a few days time to watch a film
at mine, then said goodnight to her with another kiss.
All seemed plain sailing. She came over that Friday night and we watched
the start of a film (Vicky Cristina Barcelona again!) after some Torero pasta.
There was no resistance to me escalating on the bed until she said the words:
“woman’s day now, not possible,” as I went to put my hand under her jeans.
“It’s ok, I don’t mind, we can put a towel on the bed....” I replied, which is
a sentence that’s worked many times in the past if you say it like it’s no big
deal.
But for this Lithuanian it was a no-go. “Sunday ok,” she said, cuddling up to
me and watching the rest of the film. I didn’t need to push it as I thought it
was in the bag.
I popped her a text on Saturday to work out timings for Sunday but no reply.
Nothing by Sunday lunchtime either. I was guessing I’d over-escalated.
I sent her the test-flake text of old:
“Hey, mad day of little jobs, can we push tonight back by an hour until
8pm?”
She replied immediately:
“I’m not sure Tom, I’m tired, I have headache, maybe we meet next time
when you come to Vilnius after I’m back from Italy...”
She’d told me she was going on vacation with her classmates the following
day so it was now or never. I didn’t have the energy to add her to my long
game list over Facebook or Skype.
“I’ll meet you at the bus stop at 8, we won’t make it long, bring me some of
that cake you mentioned :)”
Using leading language and ignoring her niggles, as well as getting her to
invest further by bringing something, worked.
“Ok. See u there”
We went into the apartment and chatted to Steve and the newly-arrived
Krauser, then headed for my room to watch another film.
“I want to play you some Lithuanian music,” she said, taking control of the
laptop and putting on some bizarre Eurovision-style synth keyboard pop. She
was in her element.
We ate the cakes that she’d bought and I gave her a massage to “de-stress
after the long day at uni.” Conveniently I asked her to take off her jumper
and undo her bra so I could do it properly as she lay on her front.
“Are you trained in massage?” she asked innocently.
“No, I’m just making it up as I go along....it’s just an excuse to take your
clothes off!” I grinned, calling out the Elephant In The Room with a smile.
She laughed.
It wasn’t long before her tights came off and we were dry humping with our
underwear on, then fucking, all the while the weird 80’s pop music playing in
the background. Happy times.
Hitting Flow With Krauser
Steve was busy working on his online business while Krauser and I spent a
few hours each day street trawling, instant dating and number closing. In the
evening we’d schedule dates and then compare war stories after.
It was one of those periods where everything just clicked. Both Krauser and I
were on top form, immersed in a Flow State of daygame vibe. We were
inspired by the hotness of the girls we were finding, and spurring each other
on through healthy competition.
We’d stroll in the sun, stopping for coffee and chatting about Game
intricacies and theories, peeling off every few minutes to open a girl while
the other one waited nearby, texting numbers he’d already got. Life was
good.
When you truly hit flow, day after day, then magic starts to happen. The
balance of Intent and Freedom From Outcome is struck perfectly and you
begin to ooze natural attraction. Girls start flashing you big IOIs as you walk
down the street. You run in front of a girl and don’t have to say anything as
the sub-communication is so strong. Even if she doesn’t speak English, the
interaction is solid and you get her out on a date.
For about a week were getting 10 numbers a day and going on multiple dates
each evening. Eventually we’d both burn out emotionally and physically from
pushing things to the limit – I state crashed first and lost my mojo for
approaching, Krauser hit the wall second coming down with a nasty flu and
having to stay in bed until he flew home.
But not before we struck gold. In the few weeks I was there I slept with 8
new girls, a travelling record for me. Krauser was there for half the time but
still slept with 3 girls, returning a month or so later to close another 3.
MTV Girl
On the main street for daygame (Gediminas Avenue) Krauser spotted an
Audrey Hepburn-esque girl tottering down the road in heels, tight skinny
floral jeans, big sunglasses and visible tattoos on her arms. He prodded me
as he knew I liked that look.
We’d been daygaming all day so my vibe was very strong. The front stop did
most of the work, and she beamed as I got her to remove her sunglassses
before giving her the compliment.
The assumption stories were easy based on her loud look – Pop Art,
Hollywood sunglasses, drunk tattoo accusations. Her English was above
average and she loved it, bantering back hard and radiating with energy as
we vibed. She felt it and I felt it.
She told me she had been a model and now worked as a producer for MTV.
We bantered for five minutes but she couldn’t come for a coffee there and
then as she was heading back to work. Numbers were swapped and plans
made for the following day.
The following afternoon I arranged to meet her for an coffee in the middle of
the Old Town. Mine and Krauser’s evenings were now full of arranged dates
– d2s, d3s, girls at different stages of the sequence, and we were running out
of free evenings.
She turned up late to the café with an unexpected male model friend who was
carrying all her bags and piles of fashion magazines. He was immaculately
dressed, like a Hollister model and spent the first five minutes trying to
belittle me by questioning my job, why I was in Vilnius and how he hated
London.
I breathed it all in (the one expending the most energy is the one losing the
frame) and built some social proof by bantering hard with hipster guys and
girls around us who had heard our discussion about London. I flirted with the
waitress as I went to order another coffee and then sat back down with MTV
Girl and her friend, complimenting them on how they made a good couple
and would have beautiful babies.
“Oh no, David is an old friend, it would be like marrying my brother!”
laughed MTV Girl.
Inside I fist pumped. The guy had blown himself out and now she was
shovelling earth on top of his self-made Friend Zone coffin.
I made my excuses and left as I wanted to carry on street combing with
Krauser, leaving the café on a high when my value was strongest. The one
who says they have to go first controls the frame. We arranged to go for
“evening cocktails soon,” and then I split.
A few nights later I took her out around the Old Town for a Torero bar crawl
and some shisha. We got drunk like teenagers and I was loving her creative,
I-don’t-give-a-shit energy, it was like being back at school. She was
emotional, dramatic, unusual and quirky, role-playing silly voices and telling
bizarre stories of crazy things she’d done when she was a party girl in her
modelling days. It was all very effortless and I was enjoying her relaxed vibe
after the more serious FSU vibe of some of the Russian girls I’d been dating
there.
We’d make out and I’d spike it wildly by slapping her arse or comparing the
size of each of her tits, but she resisted coming back to the apartment
strongly. I managed to get her in a taxi by midnight but she wouldn’t get out at
mine, asking the driver to take her home. We kissed and she sped off into the
night.
I’d pretty much given up on getting her out or seeing her again as she became
so flakey on texts and constantly busy. We were coming to the end of the trip
and getting ready to leave for Russia. Steve’s friend Sean had joined us from
London to do a bit of night game and I was happy just chilling back at the
apartment after a week of fucking 4 girls.
Suddenly my phone beeped. It was MTV Girl saying she was nearby and she
wanted to meet.
“Come to Pilies Street where the apartment is and I’ll meet you
downstairs. Drinks here.”
“Ok,” she replied, “10 minutes.”
I hurriedly made the bed and borrowed Steve’s portable speakers to plug into
my laptop for the nth time that week. I’d been watching the film “Vicky
Cristina Barcelona” with every single girl and putting on the same sex
playlist of SheepMix’s “Forgotten Dreams.” Condoms were in the drawer,
alcohol was ready in the kitchen. It was a tried-and-tested action plan.
MTV Girl came over without a hitch and I introduced her to Steve and Sean.
I took her into my room and I said we’d leave them to cook.
Onto the bed with a bottle of wine. On went the film. On went the cuddling
and kissing. She’d break every few minutes to smoke a cigarette out of the
window and tell me another crazy story. This girl had bucketfuls of energy.
Back on the bed our hands wandered. I put her hand on my hard dick and she
let me finger her under her red tights. All systems go.
Ring ring. It was her phone. She plucked it from her bag and took the call.
Her friend was nearby and needed to collect some keys off her.
“No problem,” I said, cursing under my breath as I did up my belt and put on
my shirt. “Tell her the address here and you can pass them on.”
Minutes later her less than attractive friend arrived at the door and invited
herself in. She sat in the kitchen and helped herself to some wine as we all
bantered together. Steve and Sean were doing a great job of teasing her to
knock her off her pedestal, but the girls were ganging up and making plans to
go out.
“Let’s go to a bar down the road, it does amazing cocktails,” said my MTV
girl, her friend shrieking in agreement.
I wasn’t going to take her out on the town again and be her evening’s dancing
monkey entertainment.
I pulled Sean into my room and asked him if he’d mind taking the friend off
my hands for an hour or so. He kindly agreed to try and bounce her out of the
apartment alone with him for a drink.
“You’re a legend, I owe you one bro,” I said.
Sean worked his magic on the cock-block friend, telling her he wanted to
dance some salsa with her and would take her to that bar first.
“We’ll meet you there in a while,” I added, grabbing MTV girl’s hand, “let’s
finish that film as I want to see what happens....”
The plan worked and Sean disappeared with the friend out of the door.
Back in the bedroom the wine flowed and the clothes came off. It was a wild
fuck, she liked it on the floor, against the wardrobe and from behind as she
leant out of the window smoking. Classy.
I picked up the box full of lose currency notes that we’d accumulated on our
travels and threw it all over her as we fucked, it was like something from a
cheap porn film.
The fuck felt deserved and deeply satisfying.
Health, Diet & Discipline When Travelling
“Seek freedom and become captive of your desires. Seek discipline and
find your liberty” Frank Herbert
One of the dangers of constant travel is letting your eating habits and health
slide. Waiting in airports, crossing time zones, regularly eating out and
having a jumbled routine can easily pile on the pounds.
When you’re in one place it’s much easier to form good habits: gym, a
balanced diet, getting enough sleep. Travelling and hitting the daygame hard
can really throw you off balance and encourage the bad habits to grow.
In the first six months of my travels I gained almost half a stone from junk
food and laziness. Even though I was teaching a lot as I travelled, I was
doing less daygame for myself than I would do back in London, meaning I
wasn’t exercising as much. More cafe breaks, more beers, lots of sitting on
planes and trains – it was a slippery slope to sluggishness.
Unplugging from the matrix of the imposed discipline of commuting and a 95 job means that you need to be self-disciplined. Get some sort of daily
routine in place even when travelling, balancing daygame with projects
(which for me was writing) and exercise.
Chapter 10 – Serbia
CITY Belgrade
POPULATION: 1.2 million
After my rather chilly adventures in the northern FSU countries I thought it
would be a good idea to get some summer sunshine in while teaching a
student on a residential programme somewhere in southern Europe with
Krauser.
I’d heard his positive reports about Croatia and Serbia, but we chose the
latter because of the direct flight connections from Istanbul.
It was the middle of August when I landed on a morning flight into Belgrade
and the outside temperature was already 34’C.
Heat pounded the streets making the tarmac soft and mailable. A heavy haze
hung over the city, still. It felt like stepping into an oven every time I went
outside.
Krauser had arrived a few days before me and had chosen a great apartment
only 10 minutes walk into the centre of town. It was decorated in true 1980s
style and came with its own bar. It was the type of flat you see in amateur
porn films.
A problem with the accommodation was that there was only one airconditioning unit in one of the bedrooms, leaving all the other rooms to
become hotter than outside. The few fans simply blew hot air around the
place, doing nothing to alleviate the suppression.
I tried one night in the room designated for me to sleep in, but I’d wake up
every hour or so stuck to the sheets and dripping with sweat, so for the
remainder of the trip I slept on a sofa bed in Krauser’s room underneath the
sacred air conditioning.
Belgrade is still a scruffy city with bombed out buildings and a faded feel,
although that’s part of its charm. Stretched out along the River Sava, it’s like
something from a gangster film which has been gentrified into a city famous
for parties on the boat clubs and romantic strolls by the castle.
With the student, we had to modify our daygame hours because of the intense
heat. For most of the day the streets were deserted as people hid indoors or
escaped to the nearby Ada Lake.
Krauser or I would teach the student in the morning for a few hours,
focussing on the main street and the shops, then come back out after 6pm
when the streets started filling up with promenading youth.
We looked like pasty white Brits abroad in our shorts and t-shirts compared
to the tall bronzed Adonises of the local men. Serbia is one of those rare
countries where the men equal the women in looks, so it’s rare to see
mismatched couples.
The men and women look like tennis players. Tanned, broad and slim. The
male-female polarity is nicely intact as a result of the FSU dynamics, making
the girls delightfully high-heeled and feminine.
One word describes the girls in the Belgrade summer – legs! Everywhere,
long tanned legs squeezed into tight denim shorts and tiny crop tops with a
pair of white Converse. Krauser and I were in heaven.
The daygame there is just as hard as in Moscow, as the girls have a tough
shell and are not impressed with the Englishman Abroad card. They’ve got
lots of choice when it comes to alpha men and so are immediately filtering
for strength. Their English is not always good so it’s a great destination to
practice intense sub-communication and body language.
Locals huddled around air conditioning in cafés or spray fans outside.
Children soaked themselves in the city’s fountains. On top of the extreme
heat, I was coming down with a fever from my recent Scandinavian and
Turkish travels, my body starting to fall apart from the heavily nomadic
lifestyle.
Apart from demos when I was teaching, I wasn’t in the mood for opening
because of my illness and lethargy. In the whole week there I only collected
about 10 numbers, two of which would however turn into lays.
Krauser was much more on form, and the girls just his “greyhound” type. He
would also finish the trip with two lays.
My first success came in the main square in the centre where Krauser, the
student and I were doing some lazy “fishing” daygame from a café. The idea
is to plonk yourself on outdoor seats of a café and sip a cold coffee, only
getting up to open when something walks past. It can be a very efficient style
of game and if nothing else, it entertains the other customers and waiters.
A blonde girl wearing what looked like last night’s party gear walked past –
heels, skirt, make-up. I jumped up and opened her in Republic Square as she
was about to get her bus home. Indeed, she’d been on an all night party boat
and was now heading home after spending the day sleeping at her “friends.”
I teased her about the “walk of shame” and she didn’t try to deny it. The
lizard tattoos on her arm and her bellybutton piercing told me that this was a
girl who’d “previously made bad decisions and could therefore afford to
make one more!” as my friend Antony would say.
I suggested she come and join us for a cold coffee to wake her up, but she
said her mum was angry with her and she had to get going. We swapped
numbers and I rejoined Krauser and the student.
The following evening while Krauser was out teaching and I was lying on my
bed under the air-conditioning, still drenched in sweat from the fever despite
endless cold showers and paracetamol, my mobile beeped.
“U in the centre?” Party Girl asked.
Half of me wanted to just close my eyes and sleep. Compared to the girls I’d
recently been with in Istanbul, Stockholm and Prague, she wasn’t anything
special. Her whole hedonistic party vibe also stopped me feeling much for
her as I knew that if I went out it wasn’t going to be for a quiet date.
The other half of me was in PUA mode, with my dick telling me to get
dressed, splash on some cologne and get my arse down to the centre to meet
her.
One of my strengths and perhaps one of the secrets to my success is endless
horniness. The “Notch Count Hyena” (as Krauser calls it) refuses to stop
pacing up and down in my brain and trousers. Perhaps I’m “hyper sexual” or
just see sex as one of my life’s true pleasures.
Half an hour later I met Party Girl outside McDonalds not far from the
apartment. She was dressed in her clubbing gear once again even though it
was Tuesday. Short dress, neon nails and shoes, glitter all over her skin. I
looked like Mr Bean On Holiday in my t-shirt and shorts. As we crossed the
street I could see the odd looks we were getting from taxi drivers and bad
boy racers – it was an unlikely couple indeed.
We sat outside Hotel Moskva where there were sofas under fans and sipped
whiskey. I didn’t have the energy to run any kind of Girlfriend Sequence
model and I ended up investing nothing out of sheer fatigue. She didn’t seem
to mind, showing me her party photos on her mobile from Croatia, Greece
and Moscow.
I asked her why she didn’t have a boyfriend and she described how she’d
been with the same guy from the age of 17 to 23. She was now 25 and happy
with licking the lid of life as a single girl. I mirrored her answer and told her
about travelling a lot, my job being too hectic and enjoying singledom for the
adventures it brings.
I hadn’t planned to bounce her home on the first date and so hadn’t tidied the
apartment, but all the green lights were there. She wanted to sit and smoke
somewhere, and luckily the café told her it was prohibited to smoke by the
fans.
“Let’s go and smoke on my balcony by the park, it’s a great view and I’ve
got some beers.”
No objections. We walked back up the hill to the apartment and drank cold
beers while she puffed on cheap cigarettes. Up until this point I’d not really
spiked it hard or been physical.
The alcohol and the awkwardness of pulling the trigger was affecting me
more than her. I was dripping with sweat and the medication mixed with the
booze was making me even more out of it.
Party Girl was in her element, putting on Armin van Buuren’s In And Out Of
Love and emptying our fridge of booze, shaking her thing on the balcony
while she smoked.
I’d still not made any kind of move. It was an interesting experiment in seeing
how little I could do until she made a move or got pissed off.
With the beers gone and the early evening sun burning our faces, we retreated
into the apartment.
Luckily it was hotter in the living room than anywhere else, with the only
source of cool being that one air-conditioner in the bedroom.
“Come in here, I’m dying in this heat!” I said, taking her hand into the
bedroom.
“Brrrrr, it’s too cold, turn off the machine...” she complained.
I pretended to turn it down while opening my laptop and getting her to show
me her Facebook pictures. The wi-fi was being a bastard and kept turning
off, so we just put on some tunes instead and sank back onto the bed.
It was the clumsiest escalation I’d done since I was at university. I just rolled
on top of her and made out, taking her hand and putting it over my shorts. She
was surprised but didn’t object.
I got her to go inside my shorts while I pulled her panties aside and fingered
her.
“Slow down....” she said, standing up. I thought I’d triggered her LMR but
she was actually just getting up to turn off the lights and unplug the air
conditioning.
In the sweaty dark we stripped down to our underwear and she sucked me off
as I fingered her. Like in Canada, the alcohol and the fatigue meant that I
couldn’t get that hard.
Once you panic about such things, it makes it even worse. I went to the
bathroom and tried to get hard but the more I worried, the less that happened.
I came back out and carried on fingering her until she got tight and moaned.
This turned me on enough to put a condom on and go inside her.
She was clearly used to dominating guys and she kept trying to get on top of
me to ride me, pushing down my arms. This move really turns me off anyway,
and combined with the heat and our soaking bodies, I just lost any kind of
ability to perform.
After fucking over 150 girls I need to feel attraction to a girl in bed in order
to fuck her with soul. With this girl I just felt nothing, it was weird, as many
guys would give their right arms to date a cute girl like her.
I pulled out and went to get a towel.
“I’ve got to go and meet my friends....” I said sheepishly, pulling on my
clothes and picking up her underwear for her. She didn’t seem to care,
lighting up a cigarette as she slid on her dress and leant out of the window.
I walked her back down to McDonalds where she headed down to the river
whilst I went to meet Krauser and the student who were eating in the centre.
They wanted to hear all the details but I simply didn’t have the energy to
even pretend it had been enjoyable.
The rest of the week was better because I now felt total freedom from
outcome. Once the first lay of the daygame trip is out of the way then the
pressure is off. My fever was dying down and I was starting to love the
dreamy heat of the city as it slowed everything down.
Krauser and I spent the day either eating in nice cool restaurants or lying on
the sofas in the apartment writing for our blogs or just solving the world’s
problems between us.
Krauser is unique in the seduction community as he has both an unbelievable
grasp on Game theory as well as walking the walk infield. On every trip I
did with him he’d match my results, as well as coming up with new
theoretical pieces of the Daygame Model.
We worked well together when we were abroad as we had the same strict
work ethic when it came to number farming, contact maintenance and
dedication to date logistics. We both loved daygame as an art and a science
with a passion.
He was on top form during our Serbia trip, number closing hotties left, right
and centre, with a lot more energy than me. One afternoon he stopped two 17
year olds with his typical cerebral teasing and banter, wrapping them around
his finger with deep eye contact and directness. I came into the set after the
hook and chatted to the friend of the one Krauser liked, keeping an eye out for
when he was ready to close.
Both girls had been very attractive and into the pickup, agreeing to meet over
text a few days later in an outdoor café by Republic Square.
Krauser and I discussed logistics before the double date: he’d lead it as it
was his set, and we’d go for a direct bounce home after one drink at the café.
I’d let him get the initial attraction flowing again when we sat down, then I’d
add in the comfort and keep the friend happy.
Our plan worked and after a drink at the café and some deliberating between
the girls, they came back to the apartment and we took them into the bedroom
to the sofa under the air conditioning.
We let them show us some Serbian music they liked on Youtube and the
drinks flowed nicely. Krauser sat on one end of the sofa, me on the other,
with the girls in between.
Behind the girls’ backs, Krauser and I signalled to each other what to do. It
was time to spike out of comfort.
He kicked off with the Questions Game, changing the rules slightly so that
they had to answer questions about each other, and Krauser and I would do
the same.
We started gentle with “What is her passion?” and then racked it up to
“What kind of guys does she like?,” “When did she first have sex?” and
“Has she ever kissed a girl?”
They told us they’d made out with each other in the past, and that they were
comfortable physically with each other. The sexual tension in the room was
obvious.
Krauser and I had come up with the code word “ice” to say to each other
when it was time for “isolation”...i.e. Krauser would take his girl into one
bedroom, I’d stay with mine in the other bedroom. The plan was to fuck them
separately, then bring them together for a foursome, like we’d already done
with girls in London.
“Do you want to go and get the ice?” I said to Krauser as the sexual tension
became too much.
Krauser took his girl into the living room and onto the balcony while I stayed
with mine on the sofa. Simultaneously we tried to kiss them, but they both
resisted saying they had boyfriends. We tried again a few times, but they still
refused, so we brought them back together in the living room and they left
soon after.
It had been very close. The girls knew exactly what was going on and we’d
created the right environment for something to happen. At the last minute
they’d derailed both their trains, but it was still a cool learning experience
for how to run a two set bounce to near perfection.
This is why I respected Krauser. He was as methodical as I was,
understanding every little nuance of the game in greater detail than me. He
didn’t get reactive and could be relied on 100% to not over or under play a
set. His credentials were impressive to say the least, being one of the few
Game bloggers out there who actually got laid consistently and with a high
quality of girls through skill.
We shrugged our shoulders and headed out to eat some delicious steak in a
nice restaurant, discussing how we lived a better quality of life than most
royalty, or an Emperor 2000 years ago. Travelling all over the world,
sleeping with beautiful women, eating great meals, drinking great whiskey,
smoking fine cigars, working when we wanted to work. We certainly didn’t
take it for granted. This was the reward for all the hardships we’d gone
through learning Game in London.
Silent Seduction
My second lay of the trip was much more memorable and with a much cooler
girl.
Later on in the week Krauser and I left the apartment early evening to do
some street game before meeting the student. As we got to the end of our road
a blonde girl that looked like a younger Britney Spears walked past in a
summer dress and heels, smiling to herself. I looked at Krauser and mouthed
“warm up” to him as I jogged off and front stopped her.
Immediately she smiled as I got in front of her, but she didn’t understand any
of what I was saying. She kept trying to speak German, but we held eye
contact and just smiled at each other.
I pointed at her dress and figure, giving her the thumbs up. With hand gestures
I let her know I was here for 1 week and that I had 3 days left.
There was lots of silence as neither of us was able to communicate much, but
she wasn’t walking off and all the hook indications (crossed legs, playing
with her hair, going red) were there.
I loved it as it proved the point that it’s not the language that gets girls
attracted. Intent is largely sub-communicated with eyes, voice, posture, tone
and physicality. Language has only been around for 100,000 years. Before
that men and women were getting it on just fine. When you open with strong
polarity, then biology takes over and does the rest for you.
I gestured that I was hot and needed a drink, but that I only had 10 minutes.
She agreed and we walked down the street together to the outdoor section by
Hotel Moskva where we got a cold coffee each.
I got out my phone and showed her some travelling pictures and photos from
London. She showed me pictures of her family and friends.
I logged onto the free wi-fi and opened up Google translate. Slowly we
communicated back and forth, each typing a question and an answer, going
though the basic Comfort Bubble topics. I spiked it up by touching her knee
and holding her hand for a few seconds.
We arranged to meet the following evening in Republic Square for a cocktail,
as I had to get going to meet back up with Krauser and the student. We
swapped numbers and split.
The next evening Krauser and I arranged with the student that he could listen
in on the whole date I was going to have with Britney Girl. We found a bar
with air-conditioning just off the square and Krauser and the student took
their seats on a table nearby within listening distance.
Britney Girl turned up in a tight short summer dress and heels – a good sign –
and touching her waist when I went in to give her a welcome hug revealed
she was wearing a g-string, another good sign. When a girl comes dressed
for sex, then it makes everything easier.
Like on the instant date, the date revolved around Google translate. I’d lean
back as she’d lean in, with me slowly putting my arm around her lower back
as I showed her my phone. The student got an idea of how kino escalation
progresses, from light touches here and there to comparing hands, playing
with her hair and giving her a back massage.
After one cocktail we stepped back outside together into the heat of the
evening and I decided to pull the trigger without a venue change. Her
floppiness in the first bar and the way she didn’t resist any kino told me that
she was good to go.
As we came to the junction to turn to our apartment, she asked where we
were going.
“Cold drink, cold air, nice..!” I replied as I mimed it all out.
She seemed worried that someone else would be in the apartment, but as
soon as she saw that nobody else was in she relaxed.
I took her into bedroom with the air-con and she got up to lock the door,
another good sign. We cracked open a couple of beers and sat on the sofa
listening to SheepyMix and chilling. I was still sweating my arse off and she
teased me about that.
Escalating to sex was remarkably easy, with no LMR and no breaks needed.
She’d come on the date knowing exactly what was going to happen, and was
a very intimate girl who was great in bed, loving it from behind and loving it
hard, screaming in Serbian as I shot my load on her back.
She wanted to sleep over but Krauser was waiting for the All Clear text from
me so he could come back, shower and go on his date, so I had to tell her to
go.
The next day was even hotter, in the high 30s, and we decided to get out of
the city to Ada where there was an artificial lake and beach, taking the
student with us.
A taxi driver who also owned a MMA gym and was a seasoned fighter drove
us to the beach, past bombed out buildings and a parched landscape. It was a
brutal country with female beauty as the only respite.
We didn’t have much luck at the beach – it was mostly families and old
people. Seems we’d come to Serbia at the wrong time of the year, as all the
students and young people had escaped to the coast of Croatia for parties and
pools.
But still it was a great glimpse into how profitable Belgrade could be as a
daygame city. It certainly wasn’t easy, but for someone with experience gems
could be found. By the end of the trip Krauser had fucked two very attractive
girls and got a bunch of new leads, making the whole trip worthwhile.
The Art Of Blagging
On the last day in Serbia my Visa card got blocked by my own bank as a
security measure. Krauser loaned me money to get to the airport, and when I
landed back in Istanbul on my stop-over to Prague I still couldn’t resolve
the problem. I’d have to wait until I met Jon in Prague to get more money to
tide me over.
I had ten hours to kill in the Transit section of Istanbul airport with no
money. Jealously, I watched as people queued up in Starbucks or got a meal
in a restaurant.
I could see a steady stream of suited businessmen and staff going in and out
of the Turkish Airlines Gold Card holder area where there were
complimentary showers, a buffet, newspapers and comfy seats. They were
all swiping a card at the barriers by the door, so I wasn’t going to be able to
get in there.
Across the terminal was another VIP lounge, this time for HSBC Platinum
customers (my own bank that had blocked my card!). For this lounge there
was only a reception desk to get past with two girls behind it. They didn’t
seem to be checking everyone as they went in and out, so I decided it was
time for some blagging.
As I describe in my first book, I’m a big fan of real-life hustle stories such
as Catch Me If You Can. A British equivalent is the autobiography Other
People’s Money – the true story of the UK’s biggest credit card fraudster
Elliot Castro and the fantasy double life he lived.
Just like in daygame, conviction in a hustle is what convinces. Having
strong intent, a VIP walk and an air of entitlement is everything.
I smartened myself up, got my laptop out and pretended I was on the phone
as I walked straight past the front desk and sat on a sofa, looking like I was
waiting for a colleague.
2 minutes. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. Nobody said anything.
I got up and helped myself to the giant breakfast buffet and fresh coffee. I
read the newspapers, used the free wi-fi and then took a shower.
The same principles that worked in daygame also worked in blagging – if
you don’t try, you don’t get. “Luck” is self-made in that you step towards
opportunities with preparation and a cheeky grin.
Chapter 11. – Czech Republic & Slovakia
“Mávlast!” (Czech for “My Homeland!”)
With my father coming from the former Czechoslovakia (born in Bratislava,
grew up in Prague) I feel a strong bond with both the Czech Republic and
Slovakia, from the language and food to the mentality and girls.
My father studied Medicine in Prague before escaping the Russians in 1969
by moving to the UK, where he remains. The stories he tells me (out of
earshot of my mum) about his seduction days in the capital are legendary.
He’d come from a day at the hospital and change from a white doctor’s
surgical coat into a dinner jacket, heading into the centre to play jazz piano in
cafés and bars. He was a well-known socialite amongst his peers and the
female population, wooing them with his musical talent and his charm.
Like me he found the most beautiful girls to be Russian, hypnotised by their
height, their legs, their cheek bones and their femininity. I remember visiting
St Petersburg with him as a child and seeing him take photos of stunning
women on the street rather than the architecture. “For memories!” he smiled.
When he’d take me to Prague after the Velvet Revolution of 1989 he’d give
me a tour of all the bars and beer cellars he used to frequent. There was a
different story about a different girl for each of the venues.
CITY: Prague
POPULATION: 1,260,000
Prague daygame, summer 2013
Prague is a magical place. I’ve never met someone who’s visited there and
not commented on how fairytale-like it is (perhaps too cleaned up now, like a
Disney version of its former crumbling self).
Gothic spires and Renaissance domes, medieval stone bridges and Baroque
lanes, it’s a textbook of architectural revelations, its waxing and waning
fortunes over 600 years imprinted in every stone and square, with the Vltava
river flowing through the middle.
They call Prague the “Dark City” as it’s got a flip-side about it when the sun
goes down: strip clubs, dealers on the street, an open-mindedness that is a
refreshing change from its neighbouring countries. The puppets of devils and
sprites you’ll see in all the tourist shops sum up this underbelly well, as does
the writing of Franz Kafka.
The only criticism you could really make about Prague would be that it’s
now too popular – in the summer months especially. Stag parties, pub crawls,
lemming tour parties and hippy back packers weave their way through the
Old Town to Charles Bridge like robots on a conveyor belt, failing to turn off
the well-trodden rat run and discover the real magic of the city for
themselves.
But this madness of 4.1 million international visitors a year is what makes
daygame so good in the city, combined with the hotness of the girls who are
blessed with the feline Slavic genetics, similar to Ukrainians and Russians.
Many Russians, Kazaks and Ukrainians come to live and study in Prague
(often enrolling on English courses) as it’s cheaper and easier in terms of
visas than going to the UK or the USA. Russian is still spoken and
understood in much of the city, making it easy for them.
In the last year I’ve made many trips to Prague to teach bootcamps and
clients, have daygame holidays with friends and close girls that I’ve longgamed. It’s always a pleasure to go back – cheap beer, great goulash, and
friendly hot girls aplenty.
I kicked off my world tour there in the winter, alone, with snow on the ground
and sub-zero temperatures. It was nice to have the glistening city pretty much
to myself other than the Christmas Market tourists in the Old Town Square,
but it was my Winter of Discontent.
I’d lost my seduction mojo after splitting up with the French girl in Paris, and
quitting my 9-5 teaching job was hitting me hard as I hadn’t yet taught myself
how to cope with being my own boss and finding my flow in self-motivated
projects.
I was there to teach a 1-on-1 student, but I avoided much daygame on my own
and found myself sitting in the hotel room wondering what I was doing away
from my home, my friends and still missing the French girl. Solo daygame
abroad can be extremely tough if you’ve not got the vibe.
Fast forward six months and I was back, a new man from my seduction
adventures around the world, wiser about how to live a life outside of the
matrix.
This time I was with Sam and the sun was shining, so it was a completely
different mood and feeling. Hot girls were everywhere, strutting around with
their legs out and boobs on show. We were there to teach a bootcamp and do
some filming, and fun times were had by all.
Sam and I had an apartment right on Wenceslas Square, seconds away from
all the good daygame action. It was one of Sam’s first expeditions away so
he was full of excitement and happy vibes, which did wonders to relight my
mojo spark.
On the first evening there, before the bootcamp the next day we did a night of
gutter game. Despite the pavement hookers and club promoters, the streets
still had a good vibe and the girls were responding well, but nothing was
going anywhere.
On the main shopping street we passed two 18 year old girls sitting on a
bench drinking cheap cider from a plastic bottle. It was past 11pm and they
were in high spirits, but too young to go into any clubs. Perfect.
Sam opened with great warm energy and they hooked immediately. Within
five minutes we were walking them to “go for a drink,” and then stopped
outside the door to our apartment building.
One of them was up for it, her friend was not. They’d make out with us
against the wall of the building but refused to come inside. I fingered mine
under over her skirt and she was grabbing my cock over my jeans, but each
time we tried to get them in they’d move away. We were pulling the trigger
hard and they were having none of it, so we let them go.
In the Old Town Square around midnight I spotted a 2-set about to go into a
bar – both Czech, one really hot one and a very fat friend. Sam agreed to
wing so I could number close the hottie.
The girls hooked well initially, but the fattie began her cock-blocking as soon
as she smelt the attraction of her friend towards me. I literally had to pick-up
the hot girl and carry her away from the fattie, who was trying to pull her
away despite Sam doing his best.
As I moved mine towards the middle of the square and started making out
with her, Sam’s girl ran over and pulled mine away. I went back in and got
my phone out, getting the hottie’s number. Even then the fattie was trying to
snatch my phone out of her hand to stop the process. Sam was laughing his
head off. An amazing example of aggressive cock-blocking.
We stayed out for another couple of hours but had no luck bouncing girls
home. We number closed in bars and on the streets but it wasn’t our lucky
night and we had to teach the next day so we headed back to the apartment.
Same Day Lay
After a successful bootcamp on Saturday, Sam and I rested with a nap and
then got ready for another night of gutter game. We were determined to “get
laid or die trying!”
Around 9pm we headed out onto Wenceslas Square with the plan to have a
bit of food and warm up. As we walked out of the apartment and down the
street a tall, fast-walking hottie walked past us, flashing me a very brief
glance.
“Just a warm up....first one’s the worst one!” I grinned at Sam, jogging off
to stop her.
It was one of the strongest stops I’d done all year. Sexual chemistry from the
off with her big eyes and the closeness of our bodies. She loved the
compliment about her long legs and strut, and her eyes were spazzing out
almost straight away. I’d struck gold. I love it when you get that strong malefemale polarity from the start with the crackle of sexuality from the off.
She told me she’d just come from a friend’s art show and was heading home
with nothing to do. I teased her about being young and staying in on a
Saturday night.
A few minutes later she agreed on coming for a drink then and there. I felt
bad abandoning Sam as we’d not even eaten or started our gutter game
crusade, but God had given me a Yes Girl and it was too good to turn down.
We walked up the street to Lucerna – an Art Nouveau icon of a building
containing a concert hall, a café and a bar upstairs.
There we sat sipping our beers as I ran the Comfort Bubbles and Spikes. She
stared at me throughout with her big cat eyes, the sexual tension not
dissipating and her being comfortable with the light kino I was giving her.
“Pull the trigger, pull the trigger!,” my instincts were screaming at me,
“This is your window she’s giving you!”
I skipped any more rapport and dived into Intimacy, asking her about her
relationships and ideal guys. She said she was 23, single after a long
relationship with a Polish guy, and that she didn’t like Czech guys.
“I prefer Russians, or Georgians,” she added. “They’re real men....when a
girl says ‘maybe’ to them they take that as a ‘yes’!”
She described Czechs and western men as “weak,” because they were never
direct with their emotions and pretended to be women, causing the women to
have to become men.
It was like listening to a Red Pill lecture by a legendary gamer. This girl saw
the matrix, and wanted to be fucked. Tonight.
We walked out of Lucerna with her arm resting on mine. I’d already decided
to get out of there as quickly as possible and go straight to the apartment. I’d
assumed she was DTF right now.
At the apartment door the ASD LMR barriers came down as fast as she’d
hooked on the approach.
“I don’t know you,” “We’ve only just met,” “This is too fast,” “I’m not
that kind of girl,” “Nothing’s going to happen,” “You could kill me!” It’s
amazing how predictable and identical girl’s objections are to derail their
trains at critical moments in a pickup.
She wasn’t having any of it and none of my strategies for getting her in
worked. Plan B was to now get back on the Girlfriend Sequence structure
and take her for a walk as an Adventure Bubble, throwing in some more
rapport and finding another bar to do more Intimacy in and get a kiss. It was
only 10pm so I had time.
We strolled dreamily through the Old Town, past all the bars my father had
seduced in and down towards the river. It was a warm summer’s night and
Prague was alive with courting couples dining, party people heading out and
hippies strumming tunes.
On Charles Bridge, one of the most beautiful places on earth, we stopped to
look at the stalls and performers, taking pictures together with Prague Castle
shining in the background. I told her to stand on a step as then we’d be the
same height, and I took her hands and kissed her lightly on the lips. The
Adventure Bubble was spinning her head and working nicely.
From there we headed down to Kampa – a small island in the river with a
park, cafés, a water mill and hidden bars amongst the winding lanes and old
buildings.
Right on cue it started to drizzle softly with the onset of a short summer storm
to release the atmospheric pressure that had been building. It was a great
chance to get her into another bar and sit in a fairy-light lit beer garden
covered with an awning at the back. Everything was very cinematic and
dreamy, like a movie.
Daygame never ceases to amaze me with how magical it can be. Stop a hot
girl who you don’t know on the street and a short while later you’re sitting
with her, your arm around her back, getting intimate in a cosy bar. The fact
that most men would say this is impossible is its secret. Only a few guys will
ever try it, let alone master it.
I knew I had to get logistics sorted, so I wove into the conversation all the
key leading questions – where did she live? Who did she live with? Did she
have to get up early tomorrow?
She told me she lived behind Petrin Hill near the castle, and that she had her
own small apartment. “Just books, paintings and my cat” she smiled. My
kind of girl.
It was quicker to try and get to hers rather than get her back to mine, and I
knew I could use the castle as an excuse to head in her direction.
“Let’s go and sit by the castle...” I said, checking the rain had stopped. “It’s
my favourite view out onto Prague...”
We walked hand in hand up through the orchards of Petrin Hill, and then
along the top to the castle. It was now around midnight and the place was
deserted like an abandoned movie set, aside from a lonely guitarist
strumming drunk Czech folk songs on the steps by the castle wall.
We sat there, her resting between my legs, looking out onto the twinkling city.
It was all so unreal. I pulled her hair back and leant in to kiss her
passionately.
“I need to pee!” I said (honestly!) after soaking in the view for a while,
“can I use your bathroom and get some coffee to wake me up, the beer’s
made me sleepy!”
At first she wasn’t keen on letting me come back with her, but with a bit of
bamboozling and me starting to walk in the direction of her place, she
followed and agreed.
“I can only stay ten minutes then I have to go,” I added, “I’m working
tomorrow, doing a seminar.”
Outside her apartment building we kissed some more and then she restarted
the ASD LMR.
“We can meet when you’re next in Prague....” she said. “It’s a shame you
don’t live here.”
Many girls don’t like the fact that you’re just passing through their city, as
they know that by having sex with you they’ll feel a greater sense of loss as
you’re “unobtainable.” Fear of loss is one of the key persuasion principles
documented by Robert Cialdini.
Influence – The Psychology Of Persuasion, Cialdini, R. 1984.
“I’ll be back a lot this year,” I comforted her, “I don’t believe in seeing
people only once. Happiness is to be found in connection, not in fleeting
pleasures...”
She understood what my speech meant. This wasn’t going to be a pump-anddump. We’d have sex more than once and I’d stay in touch. I meant every
word, and I certainly did meet up with this girl again when I was next in
Prague for a bootcamp a month later.
“Ok, just for the bathroom, I’ve not got coffee...” she smiled, opening the
door and greeting her cat.
Inside it was straightforward – the big LMR that I was expecting never
happened. We drank tea, looked at her books, listened to her salsa music
collection and sat on her bed.
“Have you seen ‘Vicky Cristina Barcelona?’” I asked.
“No, but I love the soundtrack, let’s see if we can watch it online....” she
said, searching for it to stream on her laptop.
The cat slept on the window ledge as we snuggled up to watch the film.
Lights out. Dick out. Sex and more sex. Fade to black.
Prague gave me many more adventures, with Jon, Dave and Krauser joining
me on different occasions for some street storming. Highlights included a
Czech hair model and a stunning blonde that I closed in Prague, dated back in
London where she “had a second house” and then sealed the deal with in
Stockholm where she lived with her “husband” (read “provider”).
It’s a great city for desensitising yourself to hot girls if you’ve been earning
your badges in London or New York. The girls are friendlier, hotter and play
less games over text. Many local guys are now doing daygame in the city and
it’s a refreshing change from the stag-do, bar crawl, strip-club attempts of
other guys to get laid there. Viva la revolution!
Slovakia
“Travelling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight
of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off
balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams,
the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we
imagine of it.” Cesare Pavese
Slovakia has a different heart and soul to the Czech Republic. It’s more
traditional, more warm, more loving, more rural. Being further east, nearer
the Ukraine, the girls (in my opinion) are even hotter and more feminine.
In the summer I flew into the capital, Bratislava, to try some daygame on my
way to visiting one of my girls in her home town in the Tatra mountains near
Poprad. From there I’d take a train down to Budapest in Hungary to test the
daygame, and then a flight to Oslo to join Jon for a bootcamp.
CITY: Bratislava
POPULATION: 463,000
Bratislava is both beautiful and ugly, a cobbled Old Town and an FSU scar.
The city centre is small, too small for heavy daygame, and my two days of
approaching didn’t generate much. Perhaps my vibe was off after the
travelling fatigue or maybe it was because it was the middle of summer and
the local girls and students were away. My two memorable stories came
from hostel game and Facebook long game.
I was crashing in a cheap backpackers as I was only in town for two nights.
In my room were two German girls and a guy from the UK. As I dropped my
bags on the dorm bed around 9pm the British guy was in full rapport Nice
Guy mode with the girls, helping them with their camera and showing them
his guide book of things to do in the city. White Knighting is one of my pet
hates and it was time to step in.
“Oh dear, my mum warned me about German girls..!” I grinned, flashing the
hotter of the two girls some cheeky eyes.
“Really?! About what?!” added her friend.
“Well, she said they look sweet and innocent, but when they travel –
always in twos – they fill their rucksacks with alcohol and bratwursts!”
The girls laughed. The Nice Guy looked stunned. I’d just smashed all his
rapport building. Hostels are full of guys like this who try their snake
seduction.
“Haha, look.....” said the hotter girl, “my bag is full of clothes, but we did
bring some Jägermeister!” pulling out a bottle wrapped in t-shirts.
“My kind of girls!” I smiled, “sensible on the outside, wild on the inside.”
The British guy tried to chime in, saying how he heard the local beer was
good and recommending some brewers, but the frame was lost. In any group
situation, the first guy to go direct and establish male-female polarity
naturally becomes the alpha male.
“Let’s go for one drink in the Old Town,” I suggested, “it’s a shame to just
stay in here....”
The girls agreed, and we had to invite the British guy along to be polite. He
was on a EuroRail trip, hiking in the mountains and photographing wildlife,
so he clearly wasn’t a threat to the pickup. If anything, he was useful as he
could occupy the friend of the hot girl.
We hit a bar in the centre and drank some beers while chatting about the
stereotypes of Germany and the UK. I poured out all my attraction material,
comparing and contrasting the girls, accusing them, role playing, spiking it up
with innuendos about leather Lederhosen and the German’s fascination for
porn. I was getting too carried away and over-playing the attraction stuff as I
was enjoying it too much. The British guy was pretty much silent.
The girls said they were sleepy after their train journey and wanted to head
back to the hostel. “We can open the Jägermeister,” the cute one said,
smiling at me.
Back in the hostel room I was faced with a massive logistical problem. The
hot one had her friend with her, and the British guy hung around like a fly on
shit. To get anywhere with the hot one I’d have to isolate her.
“Let’s go and get glasses from the kitchen...” I suggested to the hot one. It
was the only thing I could think of and she agreed.
We walked down the corridor and I knew I had to do something fast, I just
couldn’t work out how to escalate smoothly as there had been little comfort
and sexual tension.
We picked up four glasses from the kitchen and then on the way back to the
room I suggested we see if there was a roof terrace for a view. We climbed
up three flights of stairs and found the door to the roof was locked.
I bit the bullet and went for it, putting down the glasses and trying to kiss her.
She was nervous and turned her face away, but I tried a couple more times
and got a soft peck on the lips.
“My friend will be wondering where we are....” she said, shy about the
escalating.
“Ok, let’s head back...” I said.
The rest of the evening was awkwardly spent drinking on our beds and the
hottie and I looking at each other, but unable to do anything because of her
friend and the British chump. We slept in our separate beds and in the
morning the girls left early for their train onwards. Such is the inherent nature
of Game – lots of near misses and roads-to-nowhere which suck your time
but not your dick.
For my second evening I got a cheap hotel in the Old Town as an old
Facebook lead that I’d collected in London from a cute Slovak girl had come
to life.
I’d met her six months previously in Covent Garden when she’d been visiting
London for a week with her family. She was 22 years old, a florist from
Bratislava, blonde and small with big boobs. I’d added her to Facebook and
forgotten all about her – no pings, no maintenance, nothing.
Before hitting Slovakia I’d sent out the same template message to a handful of
girls and she’d finally replied, saying she’d show me around.
“Get the red carpet, security and champagne ready for me ;)” I replied.
“I don’t drink alcohol, we have tea, 18:00 by St Elizabeth’s Church” she
texted back.
Hmm. Not looking good – a 22 year old girl who doesn’t drink raises alarm
bells. Was she going to take me on a tour of the churches?
That evening I met up with her and we walked through the main square. She
was prettier than I remembered, her blonde hair whitened from the summer
sun and her skin tanned. She was wearing a short dress and small heels,
giving her a strut when she walked.
The vibe was okay but rapport was difficult as her English was limited. We
sat drinking tea in a café near the square and she seemed distant. I couldn’t
work out whether she was shy, innocent, bored or just boring.
She told me about working as a florist with her mum, about her travels, and
the fact that she’d had an English boyfriend before. My ears pricked up.
She’d tried online dating for a year and met this guy on a dating site. He was
in his early forties and he would buy her tickets to see him where he lived in
Bristol or they’d meet in Paris once a month. Bingo. This girl was far more
open and adventurous than she’d made out.
I asked her what happened and she described how she’d got bored of him
just wanting to meet for sex, and that she now was looking for a real
boyfriend in Slovakia. Girls often give this “I’m over casual sex” speech as
their ASD and again it’s a good reminder to listen to her actions rather than
her words.
The vibe was still muddy, as she was relaxing and opening up, giving me
bigger and bigger eyes but verbally criticising girls that only wanted sex and
didn’t believe in love. In every girl’s eyes, she is the Madonna while all
other women are the Whores.
After the tea we walked around the Old Town and then I asked if she’d like
another drink. We were 2 minutes from my hotel.
“No, I’ve got to get my bus back home as I don’t live in the centre. It’s a 40
minute journey....”
End of the road, I thought, pulling her in to kiss her on the cheek goodbye. In
for a penny, in for a pound, I put my hands around her head and went for the
kiss. Boom. She jumped on me like a lion, making out like an industrial
carpet cleaner.
“Come for some tea and I’ll put you in a taxi home, it will be much quicker
than the bus,” I suggested.
To my surprise she immediately agreed, taking my arm and walking with me
towards my hotel. No resistance coming in, nothing said by the lady on
reception, and no resistance coming into the room.
In the small budget room we drank tea and I put on some music. She wasn’t
up for talking, she just wanted to make out. The transformation from
lukewarm to boiling was incredible.
I was taking things slow, expecting the usual LMR and implementing my
trusty escalation routine but she was pulling at my shirt and undoing my belt.
It was the easiest lay of the whole year. From the start of the date to sex was
under an hour.
“When did you last have sex?” I asked her as we lay in bed.
“With the British guy, three months ago,” she replied, “I needed very
much!”
This lay proved to me that you never really know what’s going to happen,
even with weak amber lights from the girl. Best to go for the escalation
anyway and see what happens. Some girls are just DTF and are not building
rapport with you as they just want the sex, not the connection.
Chapter 12. - Hungary
“A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other
journeys. It has personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness. A
journey is a person in itself; no two are alike and all plans, safeguards,
policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we
do not take a trip; a trip takes us.” John Steinbeck
CITY: Budapest
POPULATION: 1.73 million
The four hour train journey from Poprad in Slovakia to Budapest in Hungary
was easy and relaxing.
I arrived for three days in the capital and wanted to see how good the
daygame was.
It was a reconnaissance trip so I’d booked another cheap room in a hostel on
the left (Buda) side of the River Danube. Summer was in full swing and it
was hot, still, blue sky weather.
In the 4-bed room I was staying in were two Canadian girls and I. One of the
Canadians was very cute – a rock chick with braided hair, tattoos and a
sparky personality. Her friend was an elephant who spent the whole time
moaning about the heat and the food.
On the first evening there I had a beer with them in the garden outside of the
hostel and assumed it was going to be straightforward to fuck the cute one as
she was giving me early signals...laughing at my jokes, understanding my
spikes, qualifying herself.
They were on a Euro tour, starting in Prague the week before and now
heading to Croatia, Greece and beyond.
I joked about them sleeping with a guy in every city. The fat one grinned.
“Sarah started well in Prague,” she said, trying to shame the cute one
through jealousy. “She fucked the guy who worked in the hostel on the first
night!”
Sarah told me about how she had a square boyfriend back home in Calgary
who she’d been dating since college. “That was the first time I’ve cheated
on him and....it felt ok.....because we were having kind of a time apart
anyway, and it was in a different country, but I won’t do it again, as it’s
made me realise that he’s right for me.”
I loved her logic, but she was turning out to be more sensible than I had
estimated. I kept trying that evening to get some sexual tension going with her,
but she was well aware of what I was doing and prevented it from happening
by always getting the fattie involved.
The beer was doing wonders to fattie’s positivity. She’d gone from a sulking
heap to a giggling flirt, giving me the big eyes and sitting close to me as she
told me about being single and not being able to meet the “right guy.”
The cute one was chipping in, blatantly trying to pass fattie onto me to give
her her first road trip fuck. I couldn’t do it, I had standards, and I wasn’t
going to fuck a 5.
The next day I explored the city, walking between the main sights of
Parliament, St Stephen’s and the Chain Bridge, getting burned by the hot
summer sun.
The main shopping / tourist street I tried was Vaci, parallel to the river. In
front of St Istvan is a big grassy square where locals hang out, lounging on
the lawn drinking wine and watching the skate boarders as the afternoon
becomes evening.
I was struggling to number close that much – perhaps because of the heat or
the fact again that locals had fled the city because of the summer holidays.
The local girls I did see were stunning – tall, bronzed, like the girls in
Belgrade.
I’d number closed a Russian girl on holiday away from her fiancé in the army
on the main street and that evening taken her for a date in the café of a hotel
by the river.
Once you know how Russian girls tick then it’s a tried-and-tested model of
dating that can be used. Within half an hour I had her eating out of my hand
and her eyes dilating despite the verbal objections she was giving me about
meeting up again because of her fiancé.
She had to go and meet her mum in the hotel so I walked her back to where
she was staying and kissed her passionately outside.
Later that night I went to a few bars with my Canadian room mates, using
them as social proof. We ended up in a cool place that was very surreal –
stuffed animals hung from the walls and ceiling with a big tree growing in the
middle of the bar. Fattie was chasing me around every time I went to try and
talk to other girls, and the cutie was avoiding my advances again.
Going up to order my drink I sat next to a stunning girl who looked like
Angelina Jolie. 30 years old and a single mum of two kids. It was lust at first
sight.
We chatted about her life and her job as a secretary (I got her to show me her
glasses) and she was keen to hear all about London. Her age meant that she
wasn’t as frosty as a teenage girl on the street. Older women are tired of the
game playing and are actually more horny than younger girls (there’s a welldocumented oestrogen spike in women when they’re in their early 30s to give
them a last kick in the arse to make babies).
Everything about her screamed “not had sex in a long time and in desperate
need of it!” The only problem was that every time things would get flirty,
fattie would appear with the cute Canadian and interrupt the flow, trying to
get me to come and dance or bounce to another bar.
“Your friends miss you,” the MILF said, “go with them...”
I didn’t want to seem clingy or needy with her so I took her number and
arranged to meet her for a drink the following night, kissing her lightly on the
lips goodbye. Game on.
The next evening we met in an underground cocktail bar and she’d made a
real effort to doll herself up for me. Tight dress, heels and make-up. The
conversation flowed well but she seemed a bit sensible, not having done
anything too adventurous in her life and never having travelled or dated a lot.
She didn’t like clubs and was only in the bar the night before for her boss’s
birthday.
Luck was on my side – her children were staying with their granny for a
week as it was the school holidays. She was still working in the day but had
the evenings to herself, living in an apartment a 20 minute ride away on the
metro.
I pushed for it and suggested we go back there to watch a movie, but she
understood the subtext and said no, mentioning she would cook for me the
following evening.
We parted at the tram stop as I kissed her goodbye with a heavy make out and
a hug. Green lights to the close.
On my last night in Budapest I turned up at her apartment with wine and a
movie. It was still hot outside and her apartment was boiling.
She looked amazing – a short skirt, a blouse and small heels – dressed to
fuck. Later I’d find out that she’d had the full works done that day just for me
– tanning, waxed her legs and pussy, got her nails done. That’s why she
didn’t fuck me on the previous evening.
It’s a real concern to many (if not most) girls about whether or not they’ve
shaved, waxed, maintained etc., so sometimes when a girl declines the
bounce home then it might not be because of ASD LMR. An advanced
seducer will be able to sense the difference.
We didn’t even bother with the food or the movie. We’d barely sat on her
sofa when we were all over each other. I licked her out by lifting up her skirt
and pulling her panties aside. We fucked everywhere – on the sofa, on her
bed, against the wall, over the chair – she wanted it real hard and over and
over.
She turned out to be one of the horniest girls I’d been with all year, telling me
about the toys that she had at home and asking me to fuck her in the ass,
which I happily obliged with.
Chapter 13 – Turkey
CITY: Istanbul
POPULATION: 13.9 million
Some cities just grab you on the first encounter and never let you go. For me,
Istanbul in Turkey is one of the places – the second largest city in the world
(by population within city limits) it’s a transcontinental treasure trove
straddling the Bosphorus, where West truly meets East.
On one hand you’ve got pretty traditional Islamic values, on the other you’ve
got a craving for all things western. You’ll see girls in the hijab wearing
heels, burka-clad women sipping Frappuccinos in Starbucks.
It’s a Silk Road melting pot of complexity, with enough of the Arabian nights
history and charm to still make it feel exotic.
On my first trip there, pre daygame, I visited all the famous sites – the Grand
Bazar, Agia Sophia and the Blue Mosque in Sultanahmet, Topkapi Palace,
Galata Tower and the magical side streets around Taksim.
My favourite activity in the whole city (and perhaps any city in the world) is
taking the cheap passenger ferry from the European side to the Asian side at
Kadikoy and Uskudar. There’s no better way of seeing the stunning city
skyline and maritime panorama for less than £1 each way. The trail of
seagulls following the boats for the bread scraps that people toss at them
would agree.
Once I’d got into daygame I found an excuse for visiting the city again. One
of the hottest girls from my London adventures was an engineer for Turkish
Airlines who lived by the airport. She’d returned to Turkey after her studies
in London and I visited her every few months for some winter sunshine and
rekindled passion.
Early in 2013 to escape the cold grey skies of Britain I took my mum and her
friend Judy on a city break trip to Istanbul for three days. I hadn’t been on
holiday with my mum for over 15 years so it was a nice chance to spend
some time together. Her friend was a seasoned traveller as well and a great
character who could tell endless funny stories.
On the plane from London to Istanbul I sat with my mum while Judy got a seat
further back. Turkish Airlines is one of my favourites in the world for
customer service and comfort, and I was about to get more than I’d expected!
The cabin crew girls pushed the trolley up and down the aisle when it was
time for service, giving everyone drinks and snacks. As they came to our
row, one of the girls gave me deep sustained eye contact and a warm smile.
She gave me and my mum the coffee then carried on her job.
My mum shook her head. “I thought you said this was a non work holiday!”
she said, having noticed the IOI from the girl.
Ten minutes later the girl came back to collect the empty cups. She made a
point of standing next to our row for longer than normal, once again smiling
at me as I gave her my waste.
“Did you enjoy that?” she said
“No, it was terrible. I demand to speak to the manager. Do you have any
champagne and chocolates instead?!” I teased with a grin.
“Of course, and a red carpet when you arrive!” she joked back.
I introduced my mum to her and we had a brief chat about how we were
going for a short trip to Istanbul to escape the cold winter. She recommended
a few things that we should do and then carried on down the aisle collecting
the waste.
“You’re terrible!” my mum said, “using me as ammunition!”
I waited for another half hour until service was fully over and everyone was
relaxed into the flight, watching films or submerged in sudoku. This is the
point when the flight attendants sit at the back of the plane reading people’s
left over Hello magazines from the previous flight, painting their nails and
stealing food from the trolley.
I headed to the back of the plane with the excuse of going to the toilet. As I
reached the back the girl that I’d been flirting with saw me coming and stood
up with a smile.
“Can I get you anything else?” she said.
“Just love and connection!” I replied.
She laughed. We stood there for about ten minutes, holding strong eye contact
for the most part and building comfort about her thoughts on the UK (she
visits for a stop-over every couple of weeks) and the places she’d flown to.
To spike out of comfort, I told her that she had nice eyes and that she should
be careful about who she used them on. She giggled and replied:
“Do you always flirt with cabin crew?”
“Flirting! Slow down!” I replied, “you’re getting ahead of yourself – I’m
just a friendly innocent British guy you’re trying to take advantage of!”
We bantered for a bit more and then an angry American woman came and
complained her seat wouldn’t go all the way back, bursting the bubble we
had.
“Write down your number and I’ll text you from Istanbul...” I gestured,
getting her to scribble down her details on a napkin before she went off to
help the distraught fat American.
With that I returned to my seat and showed my mum the napkin number.
“You should teach men how to do that!” she said with a sarcastic chuckle.
When we landed I began a back-and-forth text chat with her which ended up
with her inviting me out that evening with her and her cabin crew friends.
They were going on a mini bar crawl in Taxim.
That evening as my mum and Judy relaxed in the hotel restaurant and got an
early night’s sleep, I took a taxi to Galata Tower and walked my way up
through the winding narrow streets to Taxim.
Colourful in the day with markets, musicians, stray cats and shisha bars, the
area really explodes at night. I couldn’t believe how many people were
crammed into the little lanes off the main street drinking and mingling. My
stereotypical image of young Turks being private about their socialising and
partying was very wrong.
I met up with my girl and she took me to meet a gaggle of 5 other female
friends, 3 of whom were cabin crew for Turkish Airlines too. Luckily my girl
was the hottest out of the group so I didn’t feel any temptation to upgrade.
We went to a small rock bar where a band was hammering out some thrash
metal Turkish classics. The Efes beers flowed as we sat around a big table. I
made a point of talking to everyone, not just my girl, but sitting next to her so
I could keep coming back to her in conversation.
She was proud of the the fact that I was her “English Affair” as her friends
kept joking. It turned out that she was engaged to be married to a Turkish guy,
but the marriage was a formality and a way of keeping her family happy and
getting a house to live in.
She admitted to me that she liked her cabin crew job as she could escape
Turkey – every week to new cities – and she’d met other guys in different
parts of the world.
The bar was raucous and jumping, with the locals letting go more than a
crowd in a London bar. Soon we were all up dancing to the band and toasting
the night with more beers.
A while later two of her friends had to get going, leaving a smaller group of
us to find the next venue where we did shots and stood outside drinking in a
huddle because the inside of the bar was too full.
The whole area was like a festival, pulsating with life and laughs. This was a
side of Istanbul that I’d never seen before.
By midnight we were all quite drunk and I knew that logistics were slipping
away. I hadn’t even kissed my girl and I knew I had to pull the trigger and
bounce her back to the hotel alone.
While her friends chatted amongst themselves outside the bar, I suggested she
came back to my hotel in Sulthanamet for one more drink. She said she lived
on the Asian side with her brother and that it was in the wrong direction.
“You can stay over, there are two single beds in the room” I said, raising
the stakes and risking burning the whole thing by revealing my complete
hand.
“Let me text my brother...” she said. What followed was a back-and-forth
flow of texts where she convinced him that she was staying at a friend’s
house and that she’d be home early to get her uniform and suitcase for her
flight.
It seemed like a done deal, until one of the girls in the group decided she
wanted food and we all had to follow her to a nearby kebab shop. The other
girls started speaking logistics to my girl in Turkish, persuading her to come
home with them.
It’s amazing watching a girl’s loyalty split between her cock-block friends
and the guy she wants to go home with. The logical and emotional brain are
fighting for victory.
Their discussion became heated as the other girls suddenly turned on me and
started screaming at my girl. We began walking back towards the main street
with all of the girls squabbling with each other.
I opened a taxi door and told my girl to get in. There was a terrible suspense
for 30 seconds as she carried on arguing with her girls, then she got in and I
went to get in behind her.
Slap! One of the other girls hit me across the face with her hand and slammed
the door behind us.
I laughed it off and calmed my girl down by getting her to point out things in
the city as we whizzed along the shore of the Bosphorus and up to where I
was staying.
Back in the hotel we had one more drink in the bar downstairs, where the
waiter watched my escalation with interest. We sat next to each other, this
time with no thumping music or distractions, and moved into the Intimacy
Bubble.
Some vacuuming and the floppy test gave me all the right signals to escalate.
A back, shoulder and neck massage lead to the kiss, which she went for with
full force.
I thanked the waiter for the drinks with a cheeky smile and we headed up to
my room.
There was an awkward ten minutes as I got changed for bed and then she
used the bathroom. I was unsure if LMR was about to rear its ugly head or if
this was going to be smooth sailing as she already knew the deal by agreeing
to sleep over.
Out she came from the bathroom in a dressing gown. I pushed the two single
beds together “so we could hug” and got in under the duvet. She peeled off
her dressing gown to reveal black underwear beneath.
We talked in low slow whispers hugging each other for a few minutes, then
pressed our bodies tight against each other as we made out heavily.
The sex was great, she was just as professional as in her cabin crew duties.
We fucked well into the early hours, then again in the morning before she got
a taxi outside back to hers and onwards to work.
I met up with my mum and Judy outside Agia Sophia where they’d already
kicked off their sightseeing.
“How was your evening?” my mum said with a smile.
“Cultural!” I replied with a laugh. “Let’s get going with our city walk,
come on.”
Chapter 14. – Scandinavia
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you
didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away
from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream.
Discover.” Mark Twain
The wild north. Norway, Sweden and Finland. Well, officially Finland is not
part of “Scandinavia” so we should say the “Nordic Countries.” But
geographically, sociologically and daygame-wise, they’re all pretty similar.
The land of forests, lakes, fjords, the Arctic Circle, Northern Lights, glacial
memories and fresh air. Wide skies and happy horizons.
Most of the clichés about Scandinavia are true. Very clean, very familyorientated, very expensive, very hipster-ish and the land of equal rights for
men and women.
Sadly the equality has encouraged potent feminism, with the women quite
clearly ruling the roost. Despite the men being some of the most attractive in
the world, it’s the girls that run the show and are therefore the masculine
ones. The guys are often heavily metrosexual – in Sweden especially, where
the men look like they’ve stepped out of Zara catalogues.
The cliché (largely from ABBA) that all the girls are tall blondes with blue
eyes is false. In general, Scandinavian girls are much shorter than their
towering boyfriends. Too many cinnamon rolls and fast food temptations
makes them bigger than girls from the FSU. The blonde thing is just a
stereotype too – there’s just as many brunettes and mousey-grey girls.
The hottest girls I saw were in Sweden, especially those from the far north
where their eyes were a translucent colour and their hair almost white. But
sadly they were also the rudest – the girls in Oslo and Helsinki were a bit
more chill. It’s true that when Swedish girls leave Sweden then it’s one big
“Party Svenska,” but on their home turf they’re quite guarded.
The small size of the cities (and perhaps their harsh winters) means that
social groups rule. That’s how they meet up and hook up. Scandinavians are
quite a conservative bunch, a bit like Brits or Germans, and seem to only
mingle in their defined social circle. Hipster, socialite, goth, fashionista.
But when they hit the alcohol, all hell breaks lose. They go from 0 to 100 in
two pints, getting loud, leery and up for fun! I’ve never seen so many
bouncers just for a regular pub in the middle of Oslo.
The men go particularly nuts, with a disposition for letting off all their pent
up frustrations by smashing the shit out of things and being sick in kebab
shops, much like their British cousins.
The girls go from sweet-looking closed specimens to fucking you in parks
outside the club.
Norway
CITY: Oslo
POPULATION: 593,000
In my first book Daygame I mention the adventures that Jon, Sam and I had in
Oslo over two previous summers. My fastest street-to-fuck, sleeping in a
sauna and having sex with a girl in a park dressed in a banana costume.
Oslo in the summer was our first out-of-London love affair for daygame.
Dreamy, fresh, full of Swedish girls coming to work for the holiday, such a
different vibe to the madness of London streets.
It’s small, and the girls are not into dating outside of their tight social circles,
so the best bet for getting laid is bouncebacks (via an instant date) or night
gutter game when you can use the Scandinavian concept of the “after party”
to great effect.
Fast Food
Jon and I left the apartment around 10pm after a sleep and some food for a
Friday night session of gutter game around Oslo’s clubs on Karl Johannes,
the main street.
We were a well-oiled machine. We’d only open two sets (two girls) who
were coming out of venues or looking like they were wandering. Both had to
be hot. Jon would front stop them and give the compliment, then I’d come in
and wing him, allowing us to split the conversation and game both of them.
Jon or I would then bring up the topic of “After Party” and lead the bounce,
either to a bar on the way home, or straight back to our apartment which was
a 15 minute walk away.
We’d opened a handful of two sets which had been attracted but logistics got
in the way. They were meeting friends, they were going to another club or
their boyfriends were nearby.
It was getting cold and we weren’t finding as many hot girls as we’d hoped.
The novelty of bouncebacks was wearing off for both Jon and I after doing
them for a couple of years, and we sat in the park by Parliament debating
whether to just go home and get some sleep.
Out of a 7-11 convenience store on the corner of Karl Johannes came two
drunk girls who were shovelling food into their mouths. They’d finished a
night of drinking with some refuelling on carbs before going home. Both
were pretty and young, typical Scandinavian students. One was wilder than
the other (or just more drunk!), loud and confident.
Jon’s stop worked a treat, and a minute later we were sitting on a bench with
them chatting while they ate their food. They were giggling and in high
spirits, so we capitalised on the good energy by immediately suggesting the
bounce home for an After Party.
The louder one of the two who was the leader agreed, and Jon flagged down
a taxi. It had taken less than five minutes from stopping them to bouncing
them, and Jon and I were grinning at each other as the taxi sped up the hill
towards our apartment with the girls still giggling and loving the adventure.
Back inside the apartment, we all sat in the lounge and poured some vodka
we’d bought as our After Party. The fun attraction vibe started to crash as the
momentum was lost and both Jon and I delayed making the final move of
separating the girls. After ten minutes of Comfort conversation, I texted Jon
to pull his to his room. I was staying on a mattress in the corner of the living
room, so I’d escalate there.
Right on cue, Jon took his girl by the hand and led her into his bedroom. On
went the playlist, off went the lights. Five minutes later we could hear her
screaming with pleasure as Jon nailed her hard.
My girl was more shy and frosty. I sat on the sofa with her and put my arm
around her, but she wouldn’t kiss, telling me she had a boyfriend. Yet she
wasn’t resisting the kino, so I massaged her back and put her legs over mine.
She lent into me and cuddled.
I took her by the hand to the mattress in the corner and lay down with her.
“No kissing!” she repeated as I went for it again. “I told you I have a
boyfriend...”
My hands wandered over her arse and boobs as we hugged, and she pulled in
closer.
Despite not letting me kiss her (which in her mind was cheating) she left her
hand on my cock over my jeans when I put it there and let me undo her jeans
so I could get my hand inside.
Being Scandinavian, she was wearing the “uniform” of skinny jeans and
Converse trainers. My hand was going numb from how tight it was to finger
her in the jeans.
I bit her neck and licked around her ears as I pulled her jeans down around
her ankles and fingered her hard.
Grabbing a condom, I went inside her by pulling her panties to the side and
then fucking her hard. We both came quickly; it was a sudden, rushed, horny
lay.
She pulled up her jeans and texted her boyfriend that she was on her way
home, then went outside the lounge to see if her friend was done.
We could hear Jon slapping her friend’s arse and her screaming some more,
so we left them to it and I walked her outside to get a taxi.
Back in the apartment a while later, Jon said goodbye to his girl and we highfived each other on the efficiency of a job well done!
Sweden
CITY: Stockholm
POPULATION: 790,000
We took our first trip to Stockholm to teach a bootcamp in the middle of the
summer, with White Nights and warm breezes.
Jon, Sam and I had an apartment right in the middle of the city. It seemed
much bigger than Oslo, with a chic vibe and expensive clubs and bars.
Sam’s first daygame approach to test the vibe of the place hooked nicely, and
five minutes later he wandered off to a cafe with her leaving me to explore
the city. Later he’d tell me how he took her from the coffee shop back to the
apartment where he escalated hard by getting his dick out. She gave him a
handjob and then fled. Things were looking good.
That evening, we had a sleep to bolster our energy and then hit the streets
with Jon from around 10pm. It was still far too early for Scandinavian night
life. Like in Norway, people drank at home with their friends as pre-parties
to save money on the extortionately priced bar drinks. We were told that
people came out around 12am and the clubs kicked off around 2am.
There was a trickle of girls in groups down the main street of Stureplan, a
very wealthy area like London’s Chelsea. Heavily groomed men out-strutted
the girls who dressed in a more muted way.
Jon was having problems with the new pair of boots that he’d bought. They
were rubbing against his ankles and he was suffering.
Sam spotted two hot brunettes ahead outside the Royal Theatre next to the
harbour. Jon was lagging behind trying to solve his boot issue so Sam and I
took the set, with Sam opening.
“My friend said he’s got a nice arse!” said the more confident of the two
girls, pointing at her friend to Sam as soon as he ran in. Her equally cute
friend giggled. The girls had hooked just from the front stop with no words
spoken.
“Excuse me!” grinned Sam, “We actually wanted to come and say to you
that you both look really nice!”
“But clearly not Swedish...” I chimed in, coming to stand next to Sam.
“What are two Spanish girls doing in a cold place like Sweden?!”
“We’re not Spanish, we’re Brazilian!” said the leader to me, her eyes
widening and flashing. “But we’ve lived here for many years so we’re
almost Swedish!”
“Which part of you is still Brazilian? Your legs, your arse or your soul?” I
grinned, pumping the set with more energy.
Sam had opened the two most perfect girls. Two hot young Brazilians who
were just walking around on Friday looking for fun. They didn’t have a plan
of going to a club and were brimming with positive vibes.
The quieter one that was into Sam spoke hardly any English so her leader
friend did all the translating.
Jon had seen the hook and decided to go home to get some sleep as the
journey had knackered him out.
We bounced them to a cocktail bar two minutes down the street and made
sure we sat next to the girls we liked. The problem was that Sam couldn’t get
into any real comfort with his girl, as she understood nothing he said. Mine
would keep breaking out of the comfort bubble I was trying to build by
turning to her friend and translating what Sam had said.
They kept their good spirits, giggling and shrieking in Brazilian so we
weren’t too bothered about things going stale; they were spiking themselves
out of Comfort.
We just weren’t sure if they too high-spirited for this to be a real seduction.
Red lights can sometimes look green through a cloud of fun and emotions. I
texted Sam under the table whether he thought it was on, or if they were time
wasters. We didn’t want to go for another drink with them and waste the
evening on a road-to-nowhere set.
“Bounce home ;)” Sam agreed via text.
“Come and have vodka back at our place, it’s only five minutes away, the
drinks are too expensive here....”
As usual the girls whispered between themselves, the leader seeming keener
than her friend. Thumbs up, they decided they’d come.
Back at the apartment we told them to keep the shrieking down as Jon was
asleep in the only big bedroom. Sam had his duvet on the sofa while I was
kipping in a tiny child-size bedroom with single bed.
We put on Youtube and let them show us some Brazilian music videos,
mostly of arses shaking in carnival gear which the girls screamed happily at
and sang along with. Again, they were spiking things sexually themselves and
so Sam and I leaned back on the sofa and let them whip themselves into a
frenzy. Was this too good to be true?
The leader got up to smoke out of the window while her friend went to the
bathroom. Sam and I had a team talk in hushed voices, agreeing to sit next to
our girls, get physical and then isolate them by me pulling mine into my small
room.
When the girls came back we made sure that we separated them on the sofa.
Sam sat with his arm around his, and I called mine over to the opposite end
to cuddle up to me, her legs over mine, as we watched more music videos.
I could see Sam doing the same escalation sequence as me:
playing with her hands
playing with her hair
putting her legs over his
giving her a back massage
giving her small kisses every so often on her cheeks
pulling her in for the kiss
I was like a proud father watching how he executed things flawlessly,
physically and verbally fractionating in and out of each step perfectly so as to
make it as smooth as a Brazilian ass.
At the same time, I was doing the same kind of thing with my girl. As soon as
I saw Sam kissing his, I took mine by the hand to my room telling her: “I
want to show you something quickly.....”
We sat on the tiny bed and closed the door. She knew what was up. With
wonderful Brazilian directness she turned to me and said:
“I will stay with you, no problem, but my friend has to go....”
Turns out that her friend had a boyfriend waiting for her back home, and that
she liked Sam but had to get going. We kissed for a bit and then went back out
to the living room.
My girl chatted to her friend and then her friend gathered her things to go. I
explained to Sam what mine had said, and felt bad that we’d taken too long to
escalate. We’d not bitten the bullet sooner and just gone for it as we got them
back to the apartment. An hour or more had been spent on the sofa looking at
videos.
Sam was obviously disappointed, having come so close to a lay – two
bouncebacks in a row both ending with blue balls.
I took mine back into my room where we got ready for bed and squeezed
onto the tiny mattress. She lived up to all the South American stereotypes of
being sexually open minded, giving me an awesome blowjob and fucking like
a trooper. In the morning I fucked her again and then she left, promising to see
me again before the end of our trip.
The next night Jon went out with Sam to hit the streets for some gutter game
again, this time much later. I stayed in and slept after a long bootcamp day
and the happy satisfaction of the hot Brazilian still glowing inside.
Within an hour Jon was back with a girl. He’d only opened a handful of girls
until he found a cute Swede who was up for coming home. “We’re not going
to have sex!” she said to him as they sat on his bed. Half an hour later they
were fucking like rabbits as I shut my eyes and drifted off into a deep
Scandinavian sleep.
It was awesome how efficient daygame could be. Spend four hours in a loud
club buying drinks and spinning plates to try and pull a girl, or just nip out for
a few street approaches and bounce a hottie back. The proof was in the
pudding!
Finland
CITY: Helsinki
POPULATION: 605,000
Helsinki’s the most enigmatic in character of all the Scandinavian cities,
trapped between it’s Nordic neighbours and mighty Russia.
The girls largely have mousey grey hair rather than blonde. The vibe is a lot
more alternative, with a heavy goth/rock feel. It’s as if they’ve adopted the
high quality of living of Sweden with the dark, stern tone of Russia.
This time around I was there to stay with a girl I’d closed in Budapest almost
a year before and gamed over Facebook. We’d had some flirty banter over a
few months and I was keen to check out the city anyway. When she agreed
that I could crash at her place, it was the green light I needed to book my
ticket.
It all seemed to be going to plan. She’d made up a bed on a sofa next to her
bed in her one room city centre apartment. She met me from the airport bus
and took me for a meal of moose meat before giving me the keys to her place
and told me she’d see me later for a night out of Cuban-Finnish salsa.
This is why I also loved daygame beyond just the sex. Someone that I’d met
for 10 minutes in another city a year ago was now hosting me in her city,
showing me around and introducing me to her friends.
Back in her apartment alone I made myself a cup of tea and browsed the
books on her bookshelf.
“Gay Guide To Scandinavia”
“Lesbian Love Manual”
Had I missed the blindingly obvious? Perhaps she was just bi. I rushed to my
laptop and checked out her Facebook profile again. On a closer look I could
see how the club party pictures were all of girls. The holiday shots were
with the same girl (who I guess I’d assumed was her best friend).
I looked back over our Facebook chats. The sexual spikes were always in
reference to boobs and bums, but I could see how she was agreeing with me
rather than establishing a male-female polarity.
That night when she came home from work I cooked her food and weaved
into the conversation the logistical questions I’d neglected to ask over online
chat.
How long was her longest relationship? What did she find attractive in
someone else?
“Well, all my girlfriends have had green eyes,” she smiled, “but that could
be a coincidence.”
I came clean and told her how I’d seen the books on her bookshelf, and that I
hadn’t put two-and-two together. We laughed about it, and she said she
thought I’d known that from her Facebook. She’d never had sex with a guy
and felt no desire to try.
“Don’t worry, tonight lots of my female friends are straight,” she laughed,
“they’ll love you, and the salsa will be an easy way to touch them up!” she
grinned.
I liked this girl’s game. And she was now my wing woman for the night.
In a nearby bar that evening we enjoyed a cool live band from Helsinki
playing spot-on Cuban salsa, while couples shuffled around the small space
in front of the band.
I chatted to her friends and built up my vibe which was initially sleepy. Just
getting the brain lubricated and the tongue moving is crucial, especially when
I’m out of my comfort zone of the street and in a loud venue.
Her guy and girl friends were lovely, and so it was easy to banter hard and
enjoy the night. None of the girls were that hot unfortunately but I was still
having a fun time meeting new people.
At the bar as I ordered another local beer was a tall slim Russian looking
girl with a stern face but amazing eyes.
“I want to see you dancing, no sitting allowed ;)” I teased her as I paid for
my drink.
“You are English?” she smiled. “I think English people are terrible
dancers!”
I liked this girl, she had spirit and banter from the off. It turns out that she
was half Finnish, half Russian, and a lawyer.
Moscow and Kiev had prepared me for this style of pickup. Strong malefemale polarity from the off, with the girl giving you “The Rub” to enjoy you
pushing back and showing your claws.
I had a couple of drinks with her and then she had to get going as she said she
was tired. I introduced her to the people that I was with for some social
proof and plausibility, then took her number and said goodnight to her.
The next afternoon I met up with her for an after-work drink in a bar in the
centre by the main square. She complained of a long day and being tired. The
fun banter vibe from the night before had gone and so I shifted into some
Deep Rapport stuff to get her to open up again.
She told me about how tough her job was in that she always had to make
decisions and take control. She didn’t have time to socialise or enjoy her city
and craved her carefree student days again.
Her last boyfriend had been over a year ago. She’d tried internet dating but
found it to be full of desperate men who “became stalkers as soon as I
replied once,” she said.
At the metro outside we kissed briefly as she vanished underground. After
that she became flakey over texts and my time was running out as the girl I
was staying with could only host me for another night before her sister was
arriving.
I took a gamble and got a budget apartment for another few days. I was going
to daygame hard anyway and it was a good chance to see if the city was
productive enough to hold a bootcamp there later in the year.
I’d set up a second date with Lawyer Girl but then she’d cancel saying she
was stuck at work. It looked like a road to nowhere.
On my last night in Helsinki she agreed to come over and have me cook a
meal. I told her to bring wine. I did my usual trick of buying fresh filled pasta
that only needed briefly warming up, plus a jar of pesto. The whole
preparation took less than five minutes but always tasted good.
The only place to sit down in the small one-room apartment was on the bed,
so we finished eating and got the laptop out to watch Vicky Cristina
Barcelona.
The escalation was classic two-steps-forward-one-step-back as she was fine
with kissing and stroking, but as soon as I’d touch between her legs she’d
move away.
I knew I had the length of the film to seal the deal so I didn’t pounce on her.
I’d press my knee between her legs as we hugged, and brush my hand over
her boobs as I held her.
The kissing became heavier and I made sure she could feel my hard dick
through my jeans as I pushed against her.
She let me touch her over her tights – first her thighs, then her pussy. I
fingered her over her clothes until her eyes spazzed out and she clawed at the
duvet.
With my other hand I got my dick out and got her to hold it.
In one swift move I put my hands down her tights and panties and went inside
her. She was soaking.
I must have fingered her for over an hour until she lifted up her hips, arching
her back (the “Golden Arch”) and sliding off her tights herself. Jeans off,
condom on and hard fucking while the film played in the background. Her
juices went all over the bed and it looked as though an ice-rink had melted.
Chapter 15. - Italy
I’d taken a break from daygame to go a reunion trip with some of the guys I’d
trained as a teacher with. One of them (a cheeky lad from Ireland) had a
family house in the Italian countryside and four of us went over to chill out
there and travel around.
It was the typical story of a boys-on-holiday trip. Lots of bravado, lots of
drinking, lots of stupidity and lots of banter. In between all that we hired a
car and took trips to Parma, Verona and up to Lake Garda.
Driving north was glorious – the start of the mountains, wide open lakes and
beautiful views. We were staying for one night in the small town of
Desenzano on the shore of the lake.
The four of us checked into the hotel and then went for the usual meal and
beers in a bar nearby. It was the start of the season and not many people were
about except for pensioners on a coach trip from England. Not the pussy
paradise that the Irish guy had told us about. Ah well, another night of getting
drunk together.
After dinner and our fourth round of drinks we swayed around the town. We
could hear shrieks of girls laughter mixed with some beats pumping out of
speakers. This was more promising.
The sound was coming from a small bar lit up with fairy lights, full of black
girls and guys having a good time. The Irish guy and I were up for checking it
out but the other two guys retreated back to the hotel, unsure of the vibe.
Inside the bar there seemed to be someone’s birthday party going on, but we
were welcomed with open arms. The beers flowed as we mingled with the
crowd. We were the only white guys there but they didn’t care. Someone
passed us over a plate of food from the birthday spread and I remember
dancing to some reggae in my drunken state.
The Irish guy, whilst not that successful with girls, had natural banter and
charm, always cracking jokes and making sexual teases. He just wasn’t
experienced in cold approach or pulling the trigger, but in a social setting
like this he could hold his own. I know it’s an Irish stereotype, but so many of
my Irish friends have this gift-of-the-gab.
We danced to the music with old ladies, grinning guys smoking weed and a
handful of girls who’d noticed us and were asking us where we were from.
One of the girls who we were dancing with suggested we go back to hers for
a “little party.” She was in her early twenties, pretty with a great figure,
Afro-Caribbean and very confident. We were too drunk to see what was gong
on and that she was suggesting we pay her for sex.
We thought we’d struck gold. An hour drinking and mingling in the little bar
and now a girl was taking us back to hers. Result!
We walked for about ten minutes through back streets to where the house was
– a nice modern place in a good street, nothing to be alarmed about. She
certainly wasn’t your regular hooker who was in dire need of bettering
herself.
Once inside she locked the door with a bunch of keys and we took off our
shoes. It was a nice apartment, decked out in a modern style with lots of
creature comforts. We all sat on the sofa and the girl went to get us some
drinks while we flicked through her CD rack.
When she returned we danced around her living room and sipped the rum
she’d poured us. It was a drunken mess. I remember making out with her first,
then getting my friend to do the same.
She went into a bedroom off the living room and beckoned us in. We all
collapsed on a king size bed and I remember taking my clothes off and getting
my friend to do the same. An easy spit-roast I thought.
The Irish guy was more drunk than I was, struggling to get his jeans off and
then stripping down but forgetting to take his white socks off. The black girl
and I were laughing at him.
She sucked us both off and then I put on a condom and fucked her, my friend
pretty much passed out on the bed next to us and not able to perform.
A few minutes into the sex, the girl pulled me out and snatched her phone
from the side of the bed, making a call.
She was talking in French to someone on the other end who sounded angry.
She was shouting back.
I nudged my Irish friend to stand up and put his clothes on. We never got
dressed so fast, but I remember struggling to get my laces undone and my
shoes on.
Back in the living room we moved towards the front door and tried to open
it, all the while the black girl getting more and more angry on the phone.
“Wait, relax, my friend come to meet you...” she said, breaking off her
shouting match, gesturing for us to stay.
My Irish friend went from sleepy drunk to angry drunk.
“Give me the fucking keys!” he growled, rattling the locked door.
“You pay money, you pay money!” she screamed back.
I snatched the bunch of keys from the dining table and tried the different keys
in the front door lock. By a miracle, the first one I used worked and the door
swung open to freedom.
The Irish guy and I bolted with the black girl standing in the door screeching
at us, half in French, half in bad English.
We ran and ran, not caring in which direction. Eventually we came to the lake
and followed it round until we got back to the centre of town and onwards to
our hotel.
Breathlessly we banged on our friends’ room door and recounted what had
happened. The next day we drove out of the town back to Parma, never to go
back.
Daygame Compadres & Camaraderie
Trying to do a daygame jaunt to a far off land on your own is the biggest test
of your state control and inner reserves. This year I did it in the Ukraine,
Finland, Latvia, the USA, Australia, France, Hungary, Czech Republic,
Slovakia and Hungary. Nothing tests your daygame skills more.
In some ways I like being the lone wolf, the nomad, the hermit, as it
sharpens my senses and forces me to face my demons. I also get a lot of
work done when I’m not daygaming if there’s no one else on the trip to go
out to cafes and bars with. It’s the introvert in me that enjoys this narcissism
and masochism.
In other ways it’s much better to have friends and wings to travel and game
with. They keep the demons from your door, the anxiety is less and the
motivation is more straightforward. They can kick your arse into action,
help you find your flow and give you that essential playfulness and freedom
from outcome. When you’re not daygaming you can hit the sights or the bars
and enjoy
I’ve been very lucky this year to be able to cherry pick some of the best
daygamers on the planet to travel and sarge with. These are wings that
won’t crash your state through jealous mind games. We pat each other on the
back rather than cock-block when someone’s doing well. Choose your
wings wisely.
Chapter 16. – France
CITY: Paris
POPULATION: 2.2 million
Paris for me has many mixed memories, most of them about the cute French
girl that I had a relationship with there as described in my first book.
I’d met her and slept with her in London at the start of my daygame
adventures in 2010, then by chance I ran into her again on a trip to the capital
with a Hungarian catwalk model I was dating in early 2012. Despite the
model having the glamorous looks, I realised how much I connected with the
French girl’s vibe and energy. The Hungarian went back to London while I
stayed on in Paris with her for a few days.
The open relationship with her changed everything. We’d spent the next six
months dating in a casual but intense way – me going to Paris, her coming to
London, and I’d taken time off from meeting or sleeping with new girls.
We’d explore our cities together – drinking wine by the Seine and dancing
until the sunrise in the jazz clubs of St Germain.
At the beginning of the summer last year we got two bicycles and took a train
ride to the Rambouillet forest 45km from Paris. On our backs we carried a
tent and basic provisions.
We cycled through idyllic French countryside of poppy fields, stopping in
small market villages to buy wine, cheese and fruits.
For a couple of nights we set up our tent in a forest by a lake. As soon as
we’d pitched the tent we crawled in and fucked energetically. That night
there was a huge storm and we woke up to rain lashing against the tent and
the sound of thunder. I held the French girl in my arms and felt a pure sense of
bliss.
I’d fallen for her in a huge way. She knew it and my ONEitis was slowly
pushing her away. Real masculine energy is free, is expanding, doesn’t want
to be tamed. I was giving off the opposite – wanting to make our open
relationship closed, wanting to have her to myself, wanting to lock her down.
It doesn’t matter how experienced you are, how many girls you’ve slept with
or how tight your Game is...when your body triggers the emotional rollercoaster of “falling in love” it’s almost impossible to stop. My jealousy about
the other guys I knew she was seeing was fuelling the fires of longing.
We chatted about it on the train back to Paris. It was ironic that for the past
two years I’d been the one pushing girls away in terms of relationships,
explaining to them that I wanted to be free. Now my French girl was giving
me the same speech.
She wanted to keep dating me in an open way, but she liked the freedom of
doing her own thing, seeing who she wanted to see and keeping it alive. Life
for her was to be lived in the moment and she saw a relationship as a
constriction.
I tried not to show how affected by it I was, but on returning to the UK I knew
I had to end contact with her. Like healing a stab wound, it’s best to pull out
what’s penetrated you, clean the cut and stitch it up, letting time heal what’s
happened. If you keep opening up the cut or playing with the stitches then it
will make recovery longer and leave a scar.
The next few months were really hard. I had very little motivation to open
new girls through daygame, even when I was teaching. I’d compare every
girl I met and dated to the French girl, still feeling the ugly monster of
jealousy rearing its head every time I saw a status update from her online
with guys liking her posts.
I wouldn’t return to Paris until the winter of that year when I was asked to go
and do some private coaching there. It was a strange feeling arriving at Gare
du Nord again and breathing in the city that held so many emotions for me.
The weather was cold and damp, and my hotel in Montmartre stuffy and
dated. I was regretting coming back as I could feel feelings for the French
girl surfacing. I was resisting every bone in my body urging to message her
and meet up.
At the end of the 1-on-1 session I stopped a girl in a shop on Rue de Rivoli
with the student listening. She was a tall, pretty Australian girl who turned
out to be a primary school teacher, and she opened up like a flower.
That evening she was flying to Moscow for an interview with a rich family
about a nanny position, but she’d be back in Paris the next evening and was
up for meeting after she landed, as she was going back to Australia the
following day.
Sounded like a casual sex proposition to me. I number closed her and wished
her good luck with her interview.
The next day I tried some more daygame around Montmartre and Rue de
Rivoli but my heart wasn’t in it. The city still had a grip on me and my
compliments were not coming across as spontaneous or genuine.
That’s the thing with choosing to do direct daygame – it’s got to come from
the heart, you’ve got to “open with love,” as I tell students. Women are
amazing at detecting congruency, especially during the day with no alcohol or
lights. When she looks into your eyes she can see any “dark secrets” you
might be carrying.
I got a text off the Australian as she boarded her flight from Moscow, telling
me she’d got the job and that she’d be landing in Paris in just over three
hours. I headed back to the hotel for a power nap.
Without realising it, I plugged my phone in to charge with the wrong cable,
meaning that nothing was happening. The right lead was back in London.
I awoke a few hours later, jumped in the shower and headed for a walk
around Montmartre. Still no text from the Australian.
Just as I was putting it down to a flake, my phone beeped and it was her,
saying she’d landed was in a taxi back to her hostel where we could meet.
I glanced at a map on my phone and started walking towards where I thought
it was when my phone died. I’d not been able to confirm our meeting and I
wasn’t sure where I was going.
It started to rain as I walked in the direction I guessed she’d be. Suddenly, as
if by magic, there she was, walking towards me and waving. By chance I’d
stumbled upon the right street.
Straight away it was obvious she’d been drinking. A lot. The family in
Moscow had indulged her in champagne when she got the job and on the
flight back they’d got her a First Class ticket with free alcohol. She’d been
drinking wine, whiskey, beer and rum on the three hour flight and was now a
mixture of wobbly, giggly and sleepy. You can take a girl out of Australia, but
you can’t take Australia out of a girl!
Half way between her hostel and my hotel we found an urban bar and ducked
inside out of the rain. The place was jumping with hipsters, grungers and
artistic types, all very Parisian, with a too-cool-for-skool vibe.
I ordered two beers and the bar man gave us free shots of sickly sweet liquor
– the last thing we needed – but we drank them in appreciation.
I sat next to the Australian on a sofa, squeezed between lots of other people,
and it was on from the beginning. Her legs were over mine, she was leaning
on me and stroking my arm as she recounted her Moscow adventure.
Amazingly, the guy next to us decided to try and cock-block, constantly
interrupting us with his tales of debauchery in Australia and complementing
the Australian on her legs. I’ve got to give it to the guy – he had balls and
wasn’t giving up easily. Rather than getting angry or reactive, I befriended
him and got him talking about Aussie rules rugby.
I could see my girl was getting more and more intoxicated and it was time to
get out of there before she knocked over something. I pulled her in close to
tell her we were going and she jumped for the kiss, making out heavily and
grabbing my knee. Game over?
The walk back to my hotel took twice as long as it should have as she kept
wanting to sit on benches and tell me drunken stories. When I finally got her
into the hotel she could barely climb the stairs up to my room.
Inside the room she sat on the bed while I got her some water. We lay down,
making out and me putting her hand on my dick over my jeans, but she was
still very drunk and I didn’t want to escalate further when she was in that
condition.
“Let’s sleep,” I said, planning to fuck her in the morning when she’d sobered
up. I helped her take off her jeans and jumper, then spooned next to her. Just
as we were drifting off she made retching noises and I jumped up and
grabbed the bin from under the desk.
She was heavily sick. Again and again. For the next half an hour. The tiny
room stank of vomit. It took her another hour to calm down, clean herself up
and get back into bed. By now it was gone 3am and we collapsed into sleep.
I awoke to find the sun streaming through the open windows and a note on the
half of the bed where she’d slept:
“Sorry for last night, really! So embarrassed!! Running for my flight home,
shit! Add me on Facebook! Beth xxx”
A few hours later I was on the Eurostar home to London, looking out of the
window at the landscape speeding past in a blur, wondering why I put myself
through these adventures and what it all meant.
Random lays with random girls in random hotels in random cities. Escapism
or self-improvement? I really didn’t know any more.
Chapter 17 – Spain
Spain is in my blood. One of my earliest travelling memories is being on a
coach with my family, chugging up the steep passes of the Sierra Nevada
mountain range near Granada. Out of the window I was hypnotised by the
dusty landscape of rocks, summits, burning sun and blue sky.
There were family holidays on the Costa Brava, a trip with one of my first
girlfriends to Barcelona. I backpacked around Seville and Granada on my
way down to Morocco. I climbed the summits of the Sierra on a
mountaineering trip. Each time I was in awe of the hot-bloodedness of the
nation, the emotional openness of the people.
Flamenco sums up this volcanic spirit for me. Both alive but dark, it’s a
fusion of passion and drama. Lorca defines this Spanish quality symbolised
in flamenco as “duende”:
“A power, not a work. It is a struggle, not a thought. I have heard an old
maestro of the guitar say, ‘The duene is not in the throat; the duende
climbs up inside you, from the soles of the feet.’ Meaning this: it is not a
question of ability, but of truth, living style, of blood, of the most ancient
culture, of spontaneous creation...everything that has black sounds in it,
has duende.”
I moved to the Spanish island of Gran Canaria in late 2007 to work in a
British-style primary school. It was there that I began my first primitive
indirect daygame approaches on the main shopping street’s of Las Palmas
and in the El Corte Ingles, not having a clue what I was doing.
I’d read “The Game” and I was making early efforts to be more social and
talk to anyone. I started keeping a diary of my first approaches as a locked
online blog, choosing the name “Torero” for the UR which means
“bullfighter” in Spanish. Whilst not condoning the sport, I admired the
theatrics and ancient art-form involved. Ernest Hemingway was spot on
when he said:
“There are only three sports: bullfighting, motor racing, and
mountaineering; all the rest are merely games.”
The bullfight is a ritualised dance, like seduction, with a forwards-andbackwards flowing dynamic. It is highly structured, divided into three parts
(tercios). In Part One (Tercio de Varas) the Torero observes how the bull
moves as capes and lances are introduced. The bull is seduced into attacking
and at the same time weakened. In Part Two (Tercio de Banderillas) the bull
is exhausted through a push-pull of charges and challenges, while in Part
Three (Tercio de Muerte) the Torero kills the bull as quickly and cleanly as
possible.
I liked the parallels between the Torero and the Pick Up Artist, leading a girl
through the three stages of Attraction, Comfort and Seduction towards the lay
through a constant push-pull dance of hot and cold. To me it wasn’t
manipulative, cold or calculating – it was a highly skilled art form of extreme
beauty.
A year later I was back in the UK and working in London. The nickname
“Torero” stuck and my real daygame adventures began. In early Autumn of
2013 I’d return to Spain – this time not backpacking, with my family or a
steady pre-Game girlfriend but with my first absolute stunner; the Go Go
dancer from Riga.
The Glass Ceiling
There’s a well-documented (but often covered up) phenomenon in Game
which I term the seducer’s “Glass Ceiling” when it comes to the quality of
girls they’re getting.
The usual pattern is that when you learn the basic skill-set and start sleeping
with girls, they’ll be 6s and some 7s.
A year or so in, you might be getting mainly 7s with the odd 8 here or there
from a lucky set.
This is where guys often plateau, forever remaining in the “7s and 8s” zone
as it’s what you get used to and, more importantly, what you believe deep
down you’re entitled to.
You glance at the 9s and 10s as they rush past you on the street and you turn
the other way, immediately blowing yourself out of even approaching by the
following kinds of avoidance weasels popping up in your head:
I’m not worthy of a girl like that
I’m not good looking enough to date her
She’ll be really bitchy
She’s already taken
She must get approached loads
These are the girls on the front cover of Playboy, the promo girls at motor
races, the catwalk models, the club dancers, the cheerleaders, the girls who
get looked at by guys and girls when they strut down the street.
Of course, a “9” or a “10” is based on personal preference, and rating girls
is only based on looks rather than personality and character. The discussion
is important not because rating women is a good thing, but because of what
this “hunt for beauty” represents to us as men.
It’s why mountaineers climb mountains, it’s why boxers fight. We try our best
to seduce the hottest girls possible as, essentially, we’re learning to seduce
ourselves. The climber is really climbing a “mountain of the mind,” the boxer
is trying to beat himself.
I’m not saying that a “9” or a “10” is actually a more interesting, more
engaging, more loyal or more feminine girl who you’d want to get into a
serious relationship with, I’m just making the point that, as guys, we go after
them so much because of what they represent.
High value guys sleep with high value girls.
Remember, by “high value guys” I’m not just talking about looks, money or
status (luckily for me!), I’m also talking about those learned mindsets,
behavioural patterns and actions.
I knew I had the Glass Ceiling, even three years into my daygame rampage
when I’d had a catwalk model girlfriend, an FHM model, a stripper and a
handful of stunning girls.
These limited references weren’t enough, and they weren’t consistent. I was
still not leaning into my edge often enough when it came to the 9s and 10s,
not getting enough face-to-face time with them to practice on and get
desensitised to. This was largely to do with not even approaching them!
Russia with Rame and my travels in the FSU was a great way of starting to
smash this Glass Ceiling, as there were simply more hot girls to practice on.
In one hour in Moscow you’ll be able to street stop more 9s than in a week in
London. In one night in an average Kiev nightclub you’ll be able to talk to
more 10s than in a month in a posh part of New York.
Over this year in the FSU I went on more dates with super hot girls than I’d
gone on in the three previous years. Remember that these were my top-tier
girls: tall, slim, great legs, feline faces, toned, great ass, feminine, catwalk-
like. Perhaps you’re into the curvy brunette girls of South America or the bigboobed Barbie girls of Miami. It’s irrelevant what your “10” is – the point is
that you’re approaching them and getting reference experiences with them to
smash your own ceilings.
Momentum, positive reference experiences and the snowball effect are
powerful things. In London I was sleeping with a former Bacardi model from
Portugal. Another stunner I slept with was an Iranian architect girl, also in
London, with the most amazing doll face and piercing eyes. Other hot girls
throughout my trip added to this snowball – even if I only number closed
them or dated them, they all reinforced the belief that “I was enough.”
Go-Go Dancer
The highlight of the year in terms of quality and the seduction involved was
sleeping with the 21 year old Go-go dancer from Riga in Latvia, a real
stunner of a girl, 6 feet tall with a legs and ass that were out of this world.
As described in Chapter 9, I’d number closed her on my first trip there and
then got her out for one date when I was back in the city with Krauser. It had
ended with a light kiss close and ambiguity about whether it was going to go
anywhere.
As I was online one evening a month later booking flights to Munich for a
bootcamp with Sam, she popped up in a chat window and we bantered back
and forth. She had a quick, dry sense of humour which was great for teasing
with and role-playing.
I remembered what I’d learnt from my date with her about not making it
overtly sexual and not focussing on her looks. This girl needed deep rapport
and trust, so I made sure I got her to open up about things on her mind. Done
as a calculated move, this kind of deep rapport is very different to the Gay
Best Friend Zone problem that guys fall into when they don’t show intent
through fear, as opposed to social intelligence.
She asked me about my travels and told me about a trip she’d booked with
her sister to Barcelona for two days in the coming weeks. I role played that
she’d sneak away and come and find me dressed as one of those silversprayed human statues taking tourist’s money on Las Ramblas.
The role play turned into reality as she said we should meet after her sister
went home, and that we could stay for a few more days in the city to enjoy
the sun. I’d not been to Barcelona for a few years and was up for going back,
even though it was a game risk.
By going there, I was gambling on whether the hook up would happen or not.
A shared hotel room (that she’d agreed on when I gave her options of where
we could stay) implied sex, but with these situations you never know. I’d had
one date with her, kissed her briefly and flirted with her over Facebook but
that was it.
Before booking my budget air flights and the hotel, I tested the waters online
to see whether she fitted any of the gold digging criteria that Rame and I had
learned to filter for in Moscow. With her own job, her own flights and
agreeing to pay for half the hotel, it was coast clear and game on.
I took an early morning flight from grey rainy London to sunny warm
Barcelona and checked into the hotel near Placa Catalunya. The room had a
big double bed – no singles or sofas to possibly screw up plans – and I
dropped my stuff off and headed out to meet her.
There she was at the bus station, having just said goodbye to her sister,
looking stunning. Short skirt, a small summer top and sandals. We hugged and
walked back to the hotel to check her in. Her legs were getting more attention
from locals and tourists than the sights of the city. Guys and girls turned their
heads to check her out, it was unreal.
“Does that happen a lot?” I asked.
“Not in Latvia, as there’s lots of girls like me, but here guys call out,
whistle and follow me, it’s weird.”
I teased her about the fact that it happened to me too, and that she was my
human traffic light as cars would stop to let us cross when she was with me.
The moment of truth in a seduction like this is seeing what happens when
you’re back in the hotel room. We got her a room key then I took her up in the
lift to drop off her bags. She opened the door and smiled; she liked the room
and was more concerned with the bathroom nuances than discussing the
sleeping arrangements.
I picked her up, spun her round and kissed her, dropping her onto the bed and
hugging close. I had three days to pull the trigger so there was no rush.
“Let’s explore the city!” I said, “stop trying to get my clothes off..!”
“Haha, in your dreams, let’s go see some Gaudi!”
We spent the day in high spirits, loving the sunshine, eating ice-cream and
walking between the main Gaudi sites up to Park Guell.
In the evening we went back to the hotel and got changed to hit the town. She
was wearing tight black leggings, black heels and a tight black top, like cat
woman, with her blonde hair flowing down her back and red lipstick adding
to the sexiness. I was hard before even leaving the hotel.
As we walked down Las Ramblas into the Gothic Quarter I’ve never seen
such a reaction from people. She put her hand in mine and we walked down
the street with guys whistling and howling as we past.
For the first time I saw what a really hot girl faces when she dresses up and
hits the town. It’s like walking into a tsunami of validation.
We sipped cocktails in a bar off Placa Reial, one of the most beautiful
squares in the world, and then hopped from bar to bar around the narrow
back streets until we were happily tipsy.
Guys would stare at her, then stare at me, unable to comprehend how I’d be
dating a girl like that.
Around midnight we hit a club called Jamboree and went downstairs to join
the happy throng of revellers. I was worried about going to a club with her
and feeling out of my depth because of my dancing abilities and the fact that it
was her home environment, but the alcohol and the high I was feeling put a
stop to the fears.
I leant against the bar with a bottle of beer while she danced for me – a
circle of guys and girls watching her moves. It was one of the best moments
in my seduction story. Like having a stripper in your front room shake her
thing while you sit on your sofa and don’t pay a penny.
We danced and drank into the night, me pulling her in to kiss her on the dance
floor. It was around 3am when we stumbled up Las Ramblas back to the hotel
and got into bed.
All the right signals were there to pull the trigger. She was in just panties and
a crop top, I was in my boxers. We made out heavily and I licked her tits
while putting her hand on my dick.
When I went to finger her over her panties she stopped me and said “it’s my
period....nearly over, but not yet!”
I was gutted. Was this just an excuse to not have sex? Was I just her holiday
companion after all?
I let her know that I didn’t mind period sex, and that we could just put towels
down, but she wouldn’t agree, saying she didn’t like it. Resigned, I got my
dick out and she gave me a hand job before I came on her stomach and we
fell asleep.
The next day we took a train 2 hours away to the coast of the Costa Brava
where we’d paid to do a skydive. Both of us were fans of adrenaline and
extreme sports, and we’d got the idea for the jump when we walked past a
shop in the Gothic Quarter the previous day.
Once we’d each paid the deposit, the low level anxiety about jumping 12,500
feet at 200 km per hour turned from something abstract into something real.
Run towards fear, I tell students, as we all know that the flip-side of fear is
freedom. The bigger the fear we face, the bigger the personal freedom we
achieve. Fear is our greatest teacher, as it shines a light on the areas of our
life that we need to lean towards.
My girl was less nervous than I was. It was a part of her character that I
loved – she embraced fear, she loved adventure, she lived life fully and
dived into the Now.
The jump was amazing – free falling for 60 seconds over the Mediterranean
and the adrenaline turning into endorphins as the parachute opened and we
floated down onto the landing strip. It’s magical alchemy; how fear becomes
freedom.
We were left feeling wonderfully blissful and calm – an effect of the
subsiding adrenaline in our bloodstreams and the happy chemicals washing
over us. On the train back to Barcelona we hugged as we slept.
“I feel so safe with you, so relaxed, I don’t normally feel like this,” she
said as it was time to get off the train.
In the afternoon she went to the beach while I caught up on some work. That
evening we went to the hotel spa and used the pool, sauna and jacuzzi. It all
added to the dreamy state of our minds and bodies after the jump, which was
amplified by a bottle of gorgeous Rioja red wine drunk on the roof terrace
bar.
“I don’t want to go home!” she said, leaning on my shoulder and melting
into the moment. “I’ve never felt so free.”
The vibe was just perfect. There’s something seductive about Spain that’s
effortless, and the day’s experiences had just amplified it.
We went back to the hotel room around midnight and once more got ready for
bed. This time she was in a red thong and lacy bra. The sex just happened,
first slowly and romantically and then hard and animalistic.
She squealed as she came, really wild and deep, loving me pulling her hair
hard and fucking her from behind. I shot my load and then went down on her,
licking out her 21 year old perfect pussy for more than an hour, making her
cum again and again.
I fucked her once more before we slept and remember looking down on her
unreal ass as I went inside her from behind and realising that the Glass
Ceiling was now smashed. If I could get this girl then I could get any girl.
Our final day was spent relaxing in the Gothic Quarter, eating ice-cream,
buying souvenirs and saving our energy for having a big night out in some
clubs by the port. They didn’t open until gone midnight so we slept a little
after dinner and then fucked again.
It was so rough that the condom split and I came inside her. She panicked as
she wasn’t on the pill so I assured her we could go and find a pharmacy to
get her the Morning After tablet.
On the way to the club we got the taxi driver to take us to the city’s only 24
hour Pharmacy which was a stone’s throw from the La Sagrada Familia
cathedral (“The Holy Family” - what an appropriate name!).
We waited on the street in front of the pharmacy. It had its shutters pulled
down, except for a small window where a girl with no English doled out the
pill to waiting couples.
The taxi driver smiled as we got back in. “No baby, si?!” he grinned.
The club we’d decided to go to was a mistake. A friend had told me about it
being one of the coolest clubs in Barcelona with a dapper crowd. Instead it
turned out to be a pretentious “VIP” club for the wanna-be jet-set crowd who
had Gatsby dreams.
It was pretty empty except for the VIP tables at the side where guys splashed
cash on gaggles of girls sipping their champagne. We would have left if not
for the fact that we’d paid to get in and already gotten a drink from the
upstairs bar.
My girl was still in a mood from the condom breaking incident, and we
danced on the edge of the dance floor as she watched the club dancers and
criticised their moves.
All the reasons why I generally hate clubs came flooding back - the R&B
tracks I didn’t like, the fact you couldn’t talk, the way people tried so hard to
be cool, the fact that you basically paid for the privilege of standing in
someone’s basement and pay to drink their drinks while they made you feel
inadequate about it.
Frame control doesn’t just go on between girls and guys. A venue can frame
control you into making you feel like you don’t belong, like you should be
thankful for being there, forcing people to qualify themselves to the club and
thus backwards rationalise that it therefore must be special.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was from a guy leaning over the red rope of the
VIP area. He was a young, tanned guy from the Middle East who’d pimped
himself up with the crisp shirt, the quiff, the big watch and the white teeth.
“Want a free drink?” he said, gesturing to all the bottles he’d bought to
become boss of a table there. Behind him were a group of equally groomed
guys and girls trying hard to look like they were having a good time.
“It’s cool, thanks,” I said, turning him down, very aware that he was looking
at my girl more than me.
We carried on dancing and sipping our drinks. Two minutes later another tap
on the shoulder from the same guy.
“Where are you from?” he asked, trying to get my attention as a means of
talking to my girl.
“From heaven” I said cockily, back turning him and acting like it was no big
deal.
“Is that your girlfriend?” he shouted from behind.
“No, it’s my sister, but we have sex once in a while..” I replied, getting
annoyed with him. The sarcasm seemed to have done the trick as he sat back
down with his table entourage and left my girl and I to dance. In retrospect, I
had been reactive.
Suddenly a petite Spanish girl appeared on the dance floor from nowhere and
ran up to my girl, hugging her and whispering in her ear. As quick as a flash
she dragged her off towards the VIP area, my girl getting pulled along and
gesturing me to follow.
No big deal, I said to myself, don’t be needy, don’t react, let her have fun,
she’ll come back.
I looked over and saw the same greasy guy smiling at me as he sat my girl
down and poured her a drink on his table. Something inside me snapped. I
wasn’t going to let her be gamed by this fucker. I wasn’t worried about her
doing something intentionally, I was worried about them getting her drunk
and pulling the trigger.
As I walked up to the VIP rope, the guardian big bouncer asked to see my
stamp.
“I don’t have one, I’m with those guys...that’s the girl I’m with,” I said
pointing to my girl and the table she was on.
For a few minutes he wouldn’t let me in, until he realised that I wasn’t going
to give up lightly. With a shrug he opened the gate.
Looking back on the situation, I should have just left her to have her fun and
go and game some other girls to chill the fuck out. But the incident with the
condom, the subsequent mood with my girl and then the guy using another girl
to snatch her up had really pissed me off.
I’d broken the Number One cornerstone of Game – emotional control. The
one who reacts more loses, in any situation. Reacting is investing, and
investing is losing the frame, but now I had to show my claws.
I strode up to the table and shook the sleazy guy’s hand, a big ironic grin on
my face.
I gave the petite Spanish girl a patronising kiss on the forehead. “Nice
work,” I grinned.
I mingled with the others who were around the table – a group of girls from
Norway and some guys also from the Middle East who were trying to hit on
them.
Out of the corner of my eye I watched as I saw a wing friend of the boss lead
my girl away by the hand to the private bar of the VIP area to get shots.
It was my chance to talk to sleazy guy. Intentionally I bamboozled him with
complex convoluted English spoken quickly. He didn’t understand a word.
“I’m the head of Audi for Spain,” he gloated, “We’ve got a showcase of
new engines tomorrow...”
“Cars are rather superfluous in London, the tube’s a delight and it’s an
extremely pedestrian city.”
“What car do you drive?” he quizzed me.
“I don’t have a car, I have a bicycle...” I smiled, patting him on the shoulder
and turning away.
I took a deep breath and tried to dissipate the reactivity. I could see that I
was provoking him and it was making him more determined to game my girl
to the max.
I sat with the Norwegian girls and bantered about Oslo and Norwegian
nightlife. They loved my terrible attempts to swear in Norwegian and one in
particular began giving me the puppy dog eyes.
Right on cue my girl came back, more tipsy than when she’d left, and the
table boss began dancing with her next to the podium.
I just leant back and chilled with the Norwegian girls. The one who liked me
had come to sit next to me and was leaning in to play the Questions Game.
Good old social proof and a jealousy plotline. You can always rely on the
Mystery Method. My girl noticed what was going on and came and sat down
on the other side of me.
I was going to let the wanker boss burn himself out. He brought over a tray of
drinks and gave one to my girl and to the Norwegian girls, purposefully
missing me out.
I picked up the bottle of vodka on the table and drank directly from that
instead.
“Your friend said it’s your Birthday!” my girl said to him, toasting him.
The Norwegian girls giggled. “He says that to girls every week!” they
laughed. The boss walked off.
As the night went on my girl was getting drunker and drunker, and I could see
the boss and his friend trying to pull her to the outside terrace to smoke.
Luckily she wasn’t a smoker so she wouldn’t go. They tried getting the petite
Spanish girl to take her to the bathroom, but by now my girl was holding onto
me and leaning on my shoulder.
Time to go. We stood up, I got her coat and bag, then said bye to the people
around the table. As we walked out of the VIP area and towards the stairs I
went back to the rope, leant across and flicked the middle finger at the boss.
“Go fuck yourself!” I grinned, then walked out of the club.
Non-reactive, no, but satisfying, yes!
After a short night back at the hotel of drunken fucks and snatched sleep, she
headed off in a taxi to the airport while I had one more day to roam the city
and shake off my hangover with strong coffee and Catalan sunshine.
I felt like a mountaineer who’d summited Everest without oxygen. Dizzy and
drained from the week’s events but utterly satisfied with the achievement. I
lay in Park Guell and looked up into the brilliant blue sky. The glass ceiling
felt gone.
Chapter 18 – Homeward Bound
“We must not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will
be to arrive where we began and to know the place for the first time.” T. S.
Eliot
It had been one massive adventure. 25 countries, 31 cities, 98 flights, 30
lays, hundreds more stories.
Winter was approaching and I didn’t feel like staying in the FSU or middle
Europe to experience the snow again. I was burnt out physically and mentally
from the travel and it was time to go home. Travelling had been liberating
and inspiring, but I was lacking the stability of being with my friends and
seeing my family.
For most of us the “grass is always greener” and it’s very easy to be
blinkered from all the positive things that our own cities have to offer.
Massive travel had put things into perspective and shown me that I was lucky
to live in an amazing city for seduction, lifestyle and opportunities.
If you’re starting out in daygame and looking to have a lot of anonymous sex
with pretty girls then there’s nowhere like London. Most of my first 100 lays
happened in the city and I still regard it as the best place in the world to
daygame consistently.
Why London’s The King Of Daygame
New York might be shinier, the girls in Moscow hotter, Oslo might be
friendlier, but there’s many reasons why the Daygame Model evolved in
London and I still regard it as the best daytime seduction city in the world.
8 million people in the centre, 10 million in greater London
40% of Londoners are not from the UK
Integration and diversity
25 million tourists a year
Language students, nannies, weekend shoppers, summer schools
Transient and anonymous
The lost, the exhibitionists, the escapists all dwell here
Stable climate – the weather’s never extreme so it’s year-round
daygame
The daygame area is very concentrated and can be walked on foot in
under an hour
Pedestrianised
Not too friendly initially, meaning your skills are sharpened as you
learn
It’s safe compared to other major cities
Hub of the world: airports, trains, buses.
It was good to sleep in my bed, enjoy some home comforts and meet up with
my friends; a coffee with Rami, beers with Antony, dinner with Jon,
swapping war stories and successes with Sam and Dave.
No more check-ins, no more changing accommodation every few days, no
more heavy number farming or scrambles to run the train.
Back in London I had time, I had logistics, I had breathing space.
Closing The Loop
Krauser called me up and we hit the streets to catch up and swap stories
while darting off occasionally to open girls that took our fancy. A bit like a
round of golf between business partners, daygame for Krauser and I was
often just the catalyst to have a stroll around London and throw ideas around.
We wound our way down the Yellow Brick Road of Oxford Street, Regent
Street, Piccadilly Circus, Leicester Square and onto Trafalgar Square. It felt
like the familiarity of worn in shoes and good to be back on home turf. Like a
black cab driver, we knew every paving stone, every side street, every
shortcut.
Nick opens a pretty Russian girl outside the National Gallery in Trafalgar
Square and takes her into the cafe there for an idate tea.
I cross the road by St Martin-In-The-Fields and catch the eye of a dark haired
pretty girl who’s ovulating – eyes are shining, hips are swaying, she’s
dressed skimpily and flashes me a brief IOI.
I run back, stop her and the sub-text with non-verbals does all the work. It’s
very charged as I accuse her of smiling at strangers and distracting me. She’s
from Spain but has lived in London for five years.
A delayed instant date is arranged for later in Clapham where she lives, as
she’s off to meet her friends now. I love her sparky energy and the flirtatious
vibe of the set.
It’s a warm Autumnal evening when I meet her by the Common and take her
to a funky bar nearby that’s spinning beats.
I speed through the Comfort Bubble and dive straight into Intimacy, her sitting
next to me and our hands intertwining. The kiss comes quickly. As I play with
her hair and she rubs her leg against me, Adele’s Skyfall flows out from the
speakers. I chuckle to myself and she asks me what I’m laughing at.
“That song’s been following me all year,” I say with a grin.
I walk her back to her house near the tube and there’s the expected token
LMR because the seduction train’s chugging at quite a speed towards a Same
Day Lay. She says she has to sleep, she says I can’t come in. Five minutes of
making out and grinding outside her front door and we’re inside in her
kitchen, then inside her bedroom, then I’m inside her.
Home sweet home. In our end is our beginning.
Chapter 19 – Escaping The Matrix
“I mused for a few moments on the question of which was worse, to lead a
life so boring that you are easily enchanted, or a life so full of stimulus
that you are easily bored” Bill Bryson
Why do men obsess about money and work so hard to get it? For the girls?
For their security? Not really. Look closer.
We dream of the cruise when we retire at 65, the road trip across America in
our motor home, the days of leisure we’ll have by the pool after half a
century of work. We count down the days to our holidays each year, or the
days to the weekend each week. We think that the sports car and the
promotion will get us the freedom we long for with girls, but really it’s all
one big avoidance mechanism to grasping life by the balls right now.
We’re like prisoners looking out of the bars of our self-made cells and
dreaming of the yard time we’ll have and our eventual release. What we
crave for is freedom. Irvine Welsh’s famous Trainspotting quote sums it up
well:
“Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a
fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc
players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol
and dental insurance. Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments. Choose
a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching
luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking
fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning.
Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game
shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at
the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than
an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to
replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life.”
Yet it doesn’t have to be like this. The door of the prison cell is locked from
the inside. With today’s internet technology, transport possibilities and Game
knowledge it’s very possible to “escape the Matrix,” and bypass the usual
structure imposed by society to find that freedom way before you reach 65.
It’s an earth-shattering realisation that you don’t need the money, the power,
the yacht, the bling, the luxury leather sofas or the wife-and-two-kids to be
happy. As all world religions and philosophers point to, happiness and
personal freedom is within. Self-acceptance and an embracing of the present
moment is what matters.
Movies like “Fight Club,” “American Beauty” and “The Matrix” lift the lid
on this fundamental paradigm shift. Men the world over are slowly starting to
swallow the red pill and unplug themselves from the matrix society has
imposed on them.
Darwin killed doctrinal religion and Game killed current cultural dogma.
There is no higher “meaning of life,” - it’s up to you to come up with a
meaning yourself and put your focus there. As long as you’re not living your
life at the expense of another human being and causing suffering, nobody else
ultimately cares what path you take. You alone are in charge of the weather in
your head. Rather than being depressing, knowing this is massively
liberating. The control is in your hands, not with “God,” your boss or your
henpecking wife.
10 Ways To Escape The Matrix
Learning, mastering and teaching daygame, plus my nomadic travels this
year, have shown me how remarkably straightforward it is to begin to
unplug yourself from the cultural norms imposed on you. These are my Top
10 conclusions to get you started.
Learn Game. Understand how men and women really interact. Take
action rather than just mental masturbation. Become the chooser rather
than the chosen.
Work remotely and be your own boss. Escape the myth of the 9-5
office.
Travel. What you’re spending right now on your rent / mortgage and
lifestyle could fund you living like royalty in another location.
Earn a passive income. Write a book, collect rent, sell and online
product, get others working for you.
Stop watching the news. If the world is going to end you’ll hear about
it. Avoid negativity.
Make your off-line life richer than your online life. Beware of social
media killing face-to-face interactions and real-world experiences.
Get rid of excess and live simply. You really don’t need “things” to be
happy.
Be a leader, not a follower. Trail blaze and stop following the herd.
Make sure others are not holding you back, even if they mean well like
family or friends.
Realise that nothing really matters. Nobody knows what life means.
Look up into the night sky and revel in the mystery.
Stepping out of the matrix can be deeply unnerving. You’ll start to look at
people going to work on the metro, dressed in their suits and ties, as mad.
You’ll glimpse people in their offices as you walk past windows and shake
your head. You’ll listen to old friends moaning about their life and counting
down until Christmas and inside you’ll feel sick.
After I quit my Monday – Friday, 9-5 teaching job to work full time as a
daygame instructor I was left with a feeling of a void, like standing on the
edge of the Grand Canyon. The new freedom was awesome but unnerving. I
felt like a slave released from the plantations, standing outside the gates of
his former prison and now not knowing where to go.
If I didn’t want to get out of bed I didn’t have to. I didn’t have to shave, I
wasn’t accountable to anyone, I could eat what I liked, I could travel where
ever I wanted.
You need to become your own boss, your own motivator, your own “other
half.” It’s no easy feat at the beginning, and for the first six months I found it
deeply unnerving.
Travel is certainly a good place to start to look for a meaning, as is learning
to seduce hot girls. Both are massive motivations of mine and keep me
focussed. Looking back, I can see now that a desire to escape the matrix was
always in me. I always loved travel, I always got passionate about girls. I
never wanted to wear the tie and collect a monthly pay cheque.
As a teenager I loved reading about men that had left the matrix to do
amazing things. Books about mountaineering , books about lone travel and
wilderness adventures gave me glimpses of what it’d be like. The
Recommended Reading list at the back of the book will point you in the right
direction.
I always sensed that what was considered culturally “normal” or “expected”
wasn’t what was imprinted in our DNA. The good grades, the university
course, the well paid job, the wife, kids, car and mortgage...who said that I
had to take this path, however well trodden it was?
Shut up in our heated houses with the TV on and food in our bellies, we catch
ourselves glimpsing the moon through the curtains or hear a fox crying up into
the night sky and feel that core connection once more.
Occasionally in our lives, we glimpse fleeting reminders that the present
moment is all that matters. We happen upon a Flow State where the past and
the future don’t exist. Perhaps we’re absorbed in music, we’re standing at the
top of a mountain we’ve climbed, we’ve gone through a near-death
experience, we’re gazing at a thing of beauty.
These moments of connecting with the wild and with the present don’t have
to be fleeting and unpredictable. They’re actually what we’re born for. If we
leave behind the comfort bubble of the matrix dream and the hamster wheel
of predictability, then we can train ourselves to exist in greater Flow States
for longer periods.
Men, especially, need to find Flow States through projects and mastering
skills. Doing nothing is dangerous, as many studies of retired professionals
show. Just like in Fight Club, men need disciplined focus. Winning the
lottery won’t do (studies have shown how winners return to their pre-money
mental states a year after the win). Drugs too can get you into Flow for a
time, but once they wear off then you’re back to square one. No-strings sex or
endless travelling can satisfy you for a while but then you become
desensitised to their effects and you’re left craving something more.
Am I therefore moralising about the “shallowness of hedonism” and
suggesting you should take up yoga, drink green tea and head for the hills?
Not at all. It’s by doing the Badass that you experience the Buddha. The
central fallacy of the Self-Help industry is that it suggests you can do it the
other way around, putting the cart before the horse. In reality, Flow can only
come from direct real-world experiences.
“One of the most profound concepts in psychology is the fact that when
you do something (actions), your emotions follow along behind. If you wait
around to feel good or non-anxious, you’ll be waiting forever. You need to
start doing, and then you will become.” Sean Cooper
The sweet taste of the sublime thus comes after the struggle, after the pain,
after the fight, after the climb, after the adventure. “Life is a journey,”
observed Emerson, “not a destination.”
Casanova’s Global Lay Guide
1725 – 1798
Mention the word “Casanova” and people will reel off a list of cliches and
preconceptions - “womaniser,” “trickster,” “hopeless romantic.”
Since childhood I’ve been fascinated by the man behind the myth – the real
Casanova – and this year while I’ve been travelling I’ve read his full
autobigraphy (Histoire De Ma Vie – Story Of My Life). Despite being 12
volumes long, I’d encourage you to do the same if you’re interested in
seduction abroad and unplugging from the matrix.
Born in 1725 in Venice, Italy, Giacomo Casanova lead an incredibly
colourful life both as a man of adventure and seduction.
He studied theology and trained for the priesthood, was imprisoned and
escaped, ran gambling schemes, participated in secret societies, became a
lawyer, a military officer, a businessman, a pimp, a dancer, a diplomat, a spy,
a politician, a writer, a mathematician and a philosopher among others.
He was a true polymath, but his one central passion and motivation was the
same as mine. Seducing beautiful women.
“Cultivating whatever gave pleasure to my sense was always the chief
business of my life; I never found any occupation more important. Feeling
that I was born for the sex opposite of mine, I have always loved it and
done all that I could to make myself loved by it.”
Casanova travelled across Europe from end to end in search of fortune,
seeking out the most prominent people of his time to help his cause and sleep
with the most beautiful (and high-status) women he could find.
He used advanced entourage / social-proof skills mixed with charm and
charisma to travel and seduce, meeting European royalty, popes, cardinals
and “celebrities” of his day like Voltaire, Goethe and Mozart. He was an
expert in social engineering, hundreds of years before The Mystery Method
was published.
Without planes, trains and automobiles he racked up a staggering list of
destinations in his lay guide:
Venice, Padua Rome, Corfu, Istanbul, Parma, Paris, Lyon, Dresden,
Prague, Vienna, Cologne, Switzerland, Marseille, Genoa, Florence,
Naples, Turin, London, Belgium, Moscow, Warsaw, Barcelona.
His method for seduction was different from the cold-approach daygame
model I used when travelling. He mastered engineering warm approaches
with complicated plots where he was the hero juxtaposed against a villain.
Casanova’s model was often as follows:
Find a woman in trouble with a brutish / jealous lover
Help her in some form
She would show gratitude, he’d seduce her as the lover, then strike up
an affair
He’d get bored, so marry her off with a provider man and exit
Despite this different system for meeting and attracting women, the core
principles of what he did are identical to what a good seducer would use
today. He was the alpha man of mystery, the lover not the provider.
Casanova truly unplugged from the cultural matrix of his day, transcending
social norms and geographical borders to become one of the greatest
seducers and polymaths in history.
He died aged 73 in a castle in Duchov (now in the Czech Republic), working
as a librarian and having written up his astonishing life.
The biographer William Bolitho describes how Casanova gave women: “all
that he had, all that he was, with the dazzling attraction of the lump sum
over what is more regularly doled out in a lifetime of installments”
Torero’s Polyphonic Daygame Model
It was Mystery who first championed the idea of the classic three-step PUA
model made up of Attraction, Comfort and Seduction. Presenting what
happens from open to close in this linear fashion is helpful to beginners
getting to grips with the different elements of a pick-up, but anyone that’s
done lots of cold approaching knows that something more subtle is going on
under the bonnet.
The reality is that every girl and pick-up situation is different. What’s really
happening is that the three composite elements of Attraction, Comfort &
Seduction are intertwining like three lines of melody in a polyphonic piece of
music. Their different amplitudes at any one time create different chords and
tones.
A good seducer will know when to bring the different elements in and out of
the pick-up, creating a rich tapestry of full-bodied sounds. Think of him like
a pianist being able to improvise on a central theme.
Some pick-ups will begin with heavy Attraction (perhaps she flashed you an
IOI), some might start in Comfort (an indirect set) or Seduction (you make
out with her in a club). Some girls will need more Attraction than others,
sometimes you can skip much Comfort. For some pick-ups Seduction comes
quickly, for others it takes time.
This is what true calibration means: knowing which chords to play for the
song that the girl is singing. Seducing her is an art, not a science; always
remember that.
For a complete guide to my daygame, texting, dating and relationship models,
tools and techniques, check out my book “Street Hustle” from my website.
Glossary
Avoidance Weasels –The excuses that pop into your head before you
approach a girl
Bamboozling – Spinning a girl’s mind, body and emotions by taking her for
an Adventure Bubble, talking to her with rich colourful language or venue
bouncing quickly
B.O.B – Acronym for Boundaries On Bullshit. Not putting up with a girl’s
Princess Behaviour by calling it out and punishing it
DTF – Abbreviation of Down To Fuck, when a girl’s horny window is open
for sex
Eye Spazz – A girls’ Anime-like eyes when she’s massively attracted and
often DTF. Can be triggered by a seducer’s Mesmer
Fishing– A form of daygame where you sit in an outdoor cafe or bar and stop
girls going past. Best done sipping a coffee or a beer
FSU – Abbreviation of Former Soviet Union
Glass Ceiling – The self-imposed limits a seducer will feel about sarging the
most beautiful of girls (9s & 10s)
Gutter Game – Night street game when the sun’s gone down. Done outside
pubs, bars and clubs with higher energy and faster escalation. Also called
“Twilight Daygame”
IOI – Abbreviation of Indicator Of Interest, where a girl gives off a signal
that she’s attracted to you
Long Game – Gaming a girl over social media / email over weeks or
months in separate countries
Maintenance – Keeping Long Game numbers or ongoing seductions alive by
pinging
Mesmer – A seducer’s deep eye contact to the girl, projected with sexual
intent for a matter of seconds (Krauser)
Number Farming – Intensive collecting of contact details through daygaming
Over-Choding– Purposefully turning down Game and doing things that seem
chode-like to the girl to counteract a player vibe
Pinging – Bantering back-and-forth with a girl you’re gaming over texts,
emails or social media. Messages or photos can be used
Polyphonic Model – My reinterpretation of the typical 3-stage seduction
model where Attraction, Comfort and Seduction are interwoven into
“chords”
Run The Train – Escalate towards a full close (sex). The same as “pulling
the trigger”
SDL – Abbreviation for Same Day Lay where you have sex with a girl after
meeting her that day, either without a break from the initial interaction or
with a short gap (a Same Day DeLay)
Recommended Reading List
The Story Of My Life – Giacomo Casanova
Mountains Of The Mind – Robert Macfarlane
The Wild Places – Robert Macfarlane
Travels With Charley – John Steinbeck
Into The Wild – Jon Krakaeur
Around The World In 80 Days – Michael Palin
Other People’s Money – Elliot Castro
The Call Of The Wild – Jack London
Jupiter’s Travels – Ted Simon
Sailing Alone Around The World – Joshua Slocum
The 4-Hour Workweek – Timothy Ferriss
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tom Torero is the world’s most travelled daygamer and instructor, having
taught 1000s of guys the art and craft of daytime seduction. “Grab life by the
horns” is his mantra. Go to www.tomtorero.com to check out his material and
email tom@tomtorero.com for coaching (live or via Skype).