anyway.
I walked straight towards her and said, “Co-worker, hug me!” And just like that she nuzzled straight into my neck. Does game even matter? It’s like once again, all a girl needs is to know that someone else knows me, or that I know someone they know. It’s so stupid.
We made irrelevant small talk about how much working sucks, and our hips met each other. My cock was awake. After all, my cock is the ultimate judge of a woman’s attractiveness. Me and him, we have a relationship like Master and Blaster from Mad Max. He’s the Master, I’m Blaster. He chooses—I act. It’s not a healthy relationship, but we get the job done.
“I always thought you were hot,” she said, grinding her butt into my crotch.
“Yeah? I thought you were, alright.”
She punched me in the arm. “Asshole! Be nice.”
“Nice guys die alone.”
“Maybe you want to be alone Sebastian?”
“Do you?”
“No.”
Her name was Lara. I leaned in to kiss her, and had to squeeze through her breasts to do so. We sucked tongues on the dance floor surrounded by ecstasy riddled hipsters, and the lair guys were still watching me, which I enjoyed for some reason; like an egotistical rock star with his fans. Their passive strategy failed while my active one worked.
Guys that don’t get laid much always say I care too much about getting laid. But every time I pick up a girl that I went out of my way to approach, it proves my philosophy. It’s too bad regular guys have to approach a hundred girls just to find a cute one willing to give them a shot. I wonder how many men die having never been with a beautiful girl, forever resentful, with raw cocks from too much Internet porn. That’s why I’ve never wanted to be a regular guy. I’m no fucking Muggle … I’m a dick wizard, and when I have sick game, and I’m famous, I’ll have my pick of the greatest women on the planet.
I hoped I’d bang her so I could write about it on the seduction forums, and get some street cred . Am I an asshole for thinking this? I dismissed this thought and replaced it with, “In the name of science”, and, “for personal growth.”
Self-delusion is a wonderful tool. As smooth as I may have appeared to the lair guys, I was still a scared ex-nerd pretending to be a player. It’s a lot of work to get a hot girl—far too much work. I’d already decided she was too fat, and though I’d sleep with her, I’d do better in the future. It’s human nature to reach beyond your station. Even though I was in no position to be picky, I was already looking for something better.
Standards and delusions of grandeur.
“Where do you live?” I asked her.
“Just over on St. Laurent . Why?”
“Oh, we should go. Chill out.”
“ Hmmmm , well, ok.”
I refrained from yelling “Hell yes! Hallelujah!” And instead said, “ Hmmmm , Yeah it’s not too late. Sure. For a bit, I suppose.”
As we exited the bar I stopped and said farewell to Jeff and the tall guy. “It was nice seeing you dudes. Talk to you later.”
“Yeah man, have fun,” Jeff said. “I was getting horny just watching you. Bang her good.”
“I will.”
I noticed that little voice from deep inside my head telling me how cool I was, and how lame they were, and I agreed with him. I didn’t know that Jeff would eventually become a good friend. But then, my ego was chirping like a tiny Emperor Palpatine grinding his bony fingers and saying, Yes! Yes! You are better than them my young PUA. Muuuahahahaha !!!
We caught a cab back to her apartment. She was twenty-seven, loved yoga, drawing, and traveling. She hated her job like most people do, and liked her roommate because she was awesome, and wasn’t going to have sex with me tonight… or so she said. I agreed completely because sex is, “ Ewww , gross.”
I’ve read that when a woman says you aren’t having sex it means she’s thinking about having sex and that means you’re definitely having sex. She wants to bang, but it’s
I walked straight towards her and said, “Co-worker, hug me!” And just like that she nuzzled straight into my neck. Does game even matter? It’s like once again, all a girl needs is to know that someone else knows me, or that I know someone they know. It’s so stupid.
We made irrelevant small talk about how much working sucks, and our hips met each other. My cock was awake. After all, my cock is the ultimate judge of a woman’s attractiveness. Me and him, we have a relationship like Master and Blaster from Mad Max. He’s the Master, I’m Blaster. He chooses—I act. It’s not a healthy relationship, but we get the job done.
“I always thought you were hot,” she said, grinding her butt into my crotch.
“Yeah? I thought you were, alright.”
She punched me in the arm. “Asshole! Be nice.”
“Nice guys die alone.”
“Maybe you want to be alone Sebastian?”
“Do you?”
“No.”
Her name was Lara. I leaned in to kiss her, and had to squeeze through her breasts to do so. We sucked tongues on the dance floor surrounded by ecstasy riddled hipsters, and the lair guys were still watching me, which I enjoyed for some reason; like an egotistical rock star with his fans. Their passive strategy failed while my active one worked.
Guys that don’t get laid much always say I care too much about getting laid. But every time I pick up a girl that I went out of my way to approach, it proves my philosophy. It’s too bad regular guys have to approach a hundred girls just to find a cute one willing to give them a shot. I wonder how many men die having never been with a beautiful girl, forever resentful, with raw cocks from too much Internet porn. That’s why I’ve never wanted to be a regular guy. I’m no fucking Muggle … I’m a dick wizard, and when I have sick game, and I’m famous, I’ll have my pick of the greatest women on the planet.
I hoped I’d bang her so I could write about it on the seduction forums, and get some street cred . Am I an asshole for thinking this? I dismissed this thought and replaced it with, “In the name of science”, and, “for personal growth.”
Self-delusion is a wonderful tool. As smooth as I may have appeared to the lair guys, I was still a scared ex-nerd pretending to be a player. It’s a lot of work to get a hot girl—far too much work. I’d already decided she was too fat, and though I’d sleep with her, I’d do better in the future. It’s human nature to reach beyond your station. Even though I was in no position to be picky, I was already looking for something better.
Standards and delusions of grandeur.
“Where do you live?” I asked her.
“Just over on St. Laurent . Why?”
“Oh, we should go. Chill out.”
“ Hmmmm , well, ok.”
I refrained from yelling “Hell yes! Hallelujah!” And instead said, “ Hmmmm , Yeah it’s not too late. Sure. For a bit, I suppose.”
As we exited the bar I stopped and said farewell to Jeff and the tall guy. “It was nice seeing you dudes. Talk to you later.”
“Yeah man, have fun,” Jeff said. “I was getting horny just watching you. Bang her good.”
“I will.”
I noticed that little voice from deep inside my head telling me how cool I was, and how lame they were, and I agreed with him. I didn’t know that Jeff would eventually become a good friend. But then, my ego was chirping like a tiny Emperor Palpatine grinding his bony fingers and saying, Yes! Yes! You are better than them my young PUA. Muuuahahahaha !!!
We caught a cab back to her apartment. She was twenty-seven, loved yoga, drawing, and traveling. She hated her job like most people do, and liked her roommate because she was awesome, and wasn’t going to have sex with me tonight… or so she said. I agreed completely because sex is, “ Ewww , gross.”
I’ve read that when a woman says you aren’t having sex it means she’s thinking about having sex and that means you’re definitely having sex. She wants to bang, but it’s
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