I’ve always thought that game is something you do well when you’re travelling or living away from your hometown. I used to do alright in London, even though my concepts were still being molded; it was when I began having a breakdown and decided to come back to Brazil. My DHVs weren’t congruent. I used to work as a carpet fitter, but would go to nightclubs in Mayfair, or fancy bars like Milk & Honey. It was a big deal for me, at that time. In order to hide my profession, I’d tell people that I was a life-coach, which is one of the lamest thing a person can claim to be. You need someone to coach you how to live…? I now have great pride in telling people I worked installing carpet, a skilled job that requires ability and expertise. I would make people’s homes look better and more comfortable, by the work of my hands.
Getting a coach for game is a different matter, and if it weren’t for the help I got from my RSG friends, I would never have gotten the success I’ve achieved, having F-Bombed dancers who are on national television (more than one), teachers, students, strippers, virgins, librarians, etc.
Back in Brazil, the breakdown happened because I was no longer the foreigner with a cool accent. I was merely a Brazilian person among 189.999.999 other Brazilians. Nobody would ask me where I was from. My DHVs about playing football on the streets would have no effects here. Of course I could talk about my 11 year experience living abroad, but the first few times I tried, it would feel like bragging, especially if brought up early in the conversation.
Game teaches you how to show the opposite sex you are a high-value person.
When I went to the Sex Island, I was once again the different guy; bald, tall and less tanned, bringing a sexy, different Sao Paulo accent, my stocks were very high. Everyone’s got a friend who’s travelled many places, is confident, has a successful career, can defend himself, protects his family and friends, but cannot translate that into getting skirts. We see celebrities marrying women (not girls) whom many would score as high 7s. I saw Rodrigo Minotauro’s former girlfriend when he was at his peak. She was just plain. (Now he’s dating a hot model.) The same goes to Ronaldinho’s girlfriend.
Game teaches you how to show the opposite sex you are a high-value person. At first, we fake it. That was me in London and in my first two years in Brazil. Changing your core takes time and people often stop halfway through it; some even settle for a slightly hotter girlfriend before the upgrade is completed. Others get addicted to bootcamps.
Although Game itself is better played away, in your hometown you can build a tight social circle that you can use in your favour. I take my dates to three bars where staff know me and will greet me with a smile. Sometimes I take a hotter girl to where I play poker – a mansion with swimming pool, a nice outdoor areas and a bar. Players and dealers will come talk to me, respectfully. It emulates the restaurant scene in Goodfellas, where Ray Liotta leads the girl through the kitchen.
Whereas on the Sex Island I’d feel comfortable going out to a club on my own, and would often pick up a girl and bring her home, in my city I pick up less, but the effect on the girls is much deeper. They are often in awe with my lifestyle and want a long-term relationship.
In this post I will talk about: how I picked up one of the sexiest girl I’ve ever been with; Escalation Game.
I nicknamed her Dorothy, from the Wizard of Oz. She is 24 years old, about 1,50 tall (according to her – I think she’s 1,48 max), weighs no more than 45 kg [I’ve found out, she weighs 37kg]. Her sking is slightly tanned, like Eva Longoria, she is short with straight hair, small, perky breasts and a tiny ass to die for. She is 10/10 my type of girl. I like other types too, but similar to her, I have been with two others in my whole life – both became long-term girls, one before game, one post-game.
It’s a compatibility difficult to fathom. I am 1,82, weighing 84 kg and it seems like I would break her in two, literally, during sex, and would be able to stick half of my penis into them. But no, those types are built for sex. They get their pleasure from their wombs being pushed-in hard. They bear the pain and get off from it. It’s like the perfect gene-match, that’s why the attraction is electrifying, almost tangible.
This year I’ve been focusing less on Game and more both on my business and on playing poker, especially in the first three months.
I went through a dry-spell, mostly because I would cancel dates to go play a tournament on the weekends. One day I even took a girl out and talked about poker for most of it. I still got the lay.
Therefore I decided to set up a much better Tinder profile and I found out that the description is key to not only match with the 8s and 9s, but have them to message me first. (More on that soon).
Since my strongest asset is end-game, this internet thing works well for me.
I was in a city, one hour away from where I live, at my aunt’s house, where she cooked feijoada and I was making caipirinhas when Dorothy super-liked me and soon after sent me the first message. She looks gorgeous. While my text-game isn’t as good as Nick’s, Jimmy’s or Burto’s, it is still way better than average, enough to keep the conversation light and the girl engaged once they are hooked. We talked about various things on Tinder, for the first two days, and then we exchange numbers. I was always teasing her and she would respond really well, always following my leads.
I tried to get her to Campinas, but she said she wouldn’t be comfortable coming. It was Saturday afternoon when she asked me ‘why can’t you come to me instead?‘ so I set to find an excuse to be at her city.
‘Well, I do have a family event in your city tomorrow, so maybe I could go tonight and just stay till tomorrow.’
She responded by sending me a list of bars we could go to, and very deferring, she asked what kind of places I enjoyed going.
I pick her up 23:00 and took her to a live-music bar, where we sat at a table outside. It was mildly cold, but bearable without any jackets. Lots of people were judgmentally staring at me. When I pointed that out to Dorothy, she said it was because she is so tiny, they think she’s 15. Since we were both drinking, smoking and flirting, people probably thought of me as a nonse who would give cigs and booze to a minor. Maybe not concerned, maybe they were jealous. Good thing I wasn’t driving a van.
I arranged my self to sit at a 45 degree. I sat back with my legs pointing away from her, legs crossed, so my head would have to be slightly turned to face Dorothy. She sat facing me, her legs pointing at me. She was leaning towards me. Later, when I returned from the toilet, I noticed she had moved her chair slightly closer to mine.
Dorothy likes speed, guns and danger, so my stories were about: a car accident I had in Florida and how everyone came out unscathed – it involved a party, a friend and two girls; about martial arts and how much that helps me make decisions in life; about my trips to the Amazon Forest; about living in London and organizing fashion parties.
Whilst she wasn’t giving many obvious IOIs, I noticed one, specifically, that said she wanted to fuck me. She was wearing a sleeveless blouse, and she would often raise one of her arms to flinch her hair We all know that armpit display is a strong sign the girl is attracted. She raised both of her arms, but she didn’t touch her hair. Instead, they were just raised in display while she was looking away. She looked so fresh!
We all have our peculiarities. Me, I won’t date a girl if her armpits are dark, creased or for some particular reason don’t look good to me. Hers were gorgeous and it made her that much more attractive.
My escalation is simple, lean and efficient – natural. I wait for a point in the conversation where we are both conspiring, smiling or laughing at the same thing, I then grab one of the girl’s hand and hold it, playing with it or interlocking fingers, resting on the table or on one of her legs. It’s a level achievement. Once you got this, you can grab or release at will.
Held-hand-escalation is way better than asking the girl to pull your finger so you can spin her while she bites you ankle, allowing you to twist her arm to get a kiss.
Sometimes girls will need their hand back and will be shy to grab yours again. If it’s resting on the table, you don’t want to leave them there, begging for her hand back. Make sure you keep your hand busy too, by grabbing your glass, for example. I will often break contact before she does, if I need to.
While it looks very simple, there are important points to be considered.
I always keep my hand under hers, so girls know they can pull back – normally they won’t;
I never want to hold the back of her hand, like grannies do – unless fingers are interlocked to emulate spooning;
I don’t change my BL to hold her hand – it’d be like coming out of my way. I continue sitting back, relaxed;
My grip will be looser than hers for most of the time, but I will squeeze her hand and wrist every so often to show dominance.
You gain so much rapport from it. It’s what couples (boyfriend & girlfriend) do. They don’t make out all the time; they hold hands. It reinforces your bubble – or creates it.
From there, I grabbed hold of both Dorothy’s hands, teased her so she would give me a reaction, pulled her in, Eskimo-kiss-closed her then pulled back. The kiss was on. Another level achieved. I could kiss her anytime now. I liked to wait.
Extraction was simple. Once we were in my car, I asked her if she’d like to continue drinking, to which she replied she wanted to eat. I suggested going to a love-motel where there were drinks and food and we could rest some. Before she could say ‘OK,’ I turned the engine on…
We had teased so much prior to the motel that it took me more than 30 minutes to get seduction on. She was so hyper, turning on the Jacuzzi (fully clothed), exploring the room and choosing the music. But once we started escalating, there were sparks all over. Clothes were off, I lied her down while I kissed her body. When I got to her nipples, she moaned with pleasure. Hands everywhere – what a body! She came as soon as I penetrated her. I thought she wouldn’t be able to take the whole thing, but she did.
“You hurt me a bit“, she said in a complementary tone. I pounded her harder. I would pick her up, spin her around, slap her tiny little ass, because I wanted to hear her moan from a different angle. She was biting the pillow and scratching my arms.
It was like she was possessed by the devil.
If there were any soul connection at all, it was overshadowed by the physical connection. We were two sluts seeking pleasure from one another.
While Casinos are banned in Brazil, Poker is not, since our government don’t consider it to be gambling (and I agree), therefore there are Poker Houses in the main big centres, many holding one tournament a day (mostly in the evening) and some ring games.
The game is Texas Hold’em, 60 reais Buy-In for the tournament, 4K Pay-Out guaranteed. Re-entries are allowed until the 8th level of blinds.
Blinds are around 1K – 2K with ante of 100. In essence, the game is mildly tight. There are 37 players left, out of 64 (with 130+ re-entries). Only the best ten playing get paid.
I am the Big Blind, one aggressive bully opens with 4K, guy to his left call, everyone folds it to me and I also call with Q2, because of the odds. The Flop comes:
T (10) 4 2 rainbow:
I flop the small pair. I check, Bully checks, other guy checks. I figure nobody has the T, and they wouldn’t open pre-flop with a 4 or a 2. (Bully and I are chip leaders with a little less than 100K each).
The Turn comes another blank: a 6.
Bully bets 8K, guy to his left folds and I call. It’s two-handed now.
The river comes another T.
I’m first to say, so I check. The pot has about 30K. The bully reaches his chips and bets 18K.
All I am thinking is he doesn’t have the T, or else he would have C-Bet on the flop. What could he possibly have? I am thinking a bluff. He could also have a pair like 33 to 77, but why would he not C-Bet the Flop to see where he was at? He then over-bets the Turn and similarly the River.
As I was playing back the whole hand in my mind, up to that moment, I looked down to my chips and, as I reached them, I quickly turned my head and looked at the Bully. His face changed only so slightly. While I played with the 17K in my hand, I proceeded to staring at him, and then called.
He presented A 7 of Spades. My paired 2 was good.
Praises came from all sides while I organized my chips.
I went on to eliminate this very same player at the final table. He fell in 5th place. When there were three players left (after nine hours of playing), a deal was made and we split the pot equally among us three.
Each of us three got more than twice as much as the 4th place, three times more than the 5th and well over twenty times our investment.
She could score as an eight, but for her ideologies. On her Social Network page, her description says ‘Feminist, Black and Actress.‘ She is also a ballerina. I take she is mix-race, because her skin colour is quite light.
I had second thoughts before and during the date. I once turned down socialist/feminists because, after I’d said ‘I’m exactly what you’re fighting against. I’m a businessman,’ she replied:
‘You explore people then.’
‘I employ people, and pay them a salary both sides agree upon. I provide opportunities so they can get their bills paid and improve their lives.’
She said I was different, in a good way, and offered me her number. I never contacted her.
This Ballerina was different. Besides being hotter, I thought she could challenge me some.
She took the bus from a neighbouring city and walked to our rendezvous, at 18:30 hours. A local bar. I brought in Americano with me, who just introduced himself and left, and then both Ballerina and I changed tables, after my suggestion to sit outside. I was right away leading. Because of a good-mood I was in, conversation was light and we seemed to hit it off quite well, though I knew that given Brazil current situation, people are more politicized and at some point, we would have to touch the subject. If you assumed she is a leftist (why would you?), you then are correct.
Up to this stage, she knew me only to be a teacher, never a business-owner.
We took stabs at each other all night long. I’ve won most (if not all – fourth is arbitrary).
Upon hearing I am into watching MMA, she said ‘well, that’s a sport that shouldn’t exist altogether. What’s the point of creating an event in which the sole purpose is to inflictpainontoone another?’
As in any other date, you don’t want to create conflicts. On the other hand, you have to show conviction of who you are and what you like and believe in. I quickly dismissed her – to the pleasure of a guy sitting next table who was clearly eavesdropping on us (who I got the impression was rooting for me) – by saying ‘it’s a situation in which two adults agree to fighting each other and are well prepared to defend themselves.’
I thought it’d be unnecessary to mention a Russian organization that promotes fights among kids. Nevertheless, I don’t watch kids fights.
She didn’t quite agree with me, and we swerved the conversation to her telling me about how she was into dancing and acting since she was little.
After coming back from the toilet, Ballerina told me that, if anyone asks us, I’m her boyfriend. She was fed up with this waiter who was hitting on her while she was queuing.
‘Worst of all, I’m not proud to say it’s NOT the first time it happened,’ she said with a discussing face. ‘You are so lucky this doesn’t happen to guys much.’
I welcomed this opportunity real bad and said matching her discussing voice:
‘Oh but it does, and it’s horrible. A cousin of mine, who is a former footballer and now works as a model, gets hit on all the time. He is married too, but has never cheated. When I lived on The Island, women would sound their horn at me. At a bar, I would always grow very uncomfortable when I just wanted to hang out withmyfriends. Some girls would just try to escalate try to kiss me. Don’t you just hate it whenthishappens? I mean, people are so invasive. Americano has women throwing themselves at him left to right. And he too isfaithfulto his wife. People are socluelesssometimes…’
This did it. I told her story-after-story and she didn’t know how to react. I made it almost look like I was another girl complaining to her friend, so effortlessly. She seemed to be confused to find out this was not a Gender Issue, and it was beautiful.
This one was less dramatic. She criticized some automaker companies for having the most fiscal benefits. Randomly, I had read an interview in which Brazil GM’s CEO was asking for better conditions to get a more competitive market, instead of the benefits, so it can be viable to export, instead of only selling it locally. The cost of production in Brazil is nearly twice as much as both Mexico and Argentina, and it takes longer to produce it here.
I almost felt bad for this one. Almost.
I had the felling this date was not going too well, and decided to invest a little bit more, so I threw in some DHV related to both teaching and travelling to the Amazon, the two subjects that would spark her interest, then I got her talking about her passion for acting. I learned that she comes from an upper-middle class family and has probably never wanted for nothing. At the same time, she is a hard-working person who seeks her independence, which is rather an attractive quality to me.
She had tried to touch my arms a couple of time and I took that as IOIs.
She told me her last bus would leave at around 22:30, so we went to another bar nearer her stop at around 21:00 hours. We split the bill and walked.
There were some other IOIs on how she looked at me, turning her chin over her shoulder in a very feminine manner.
The first kino happened when I made fun of her over something and she showed me the middle finger – culturally it’s okay to do this to a friend as a form to bond, in Brazil – so I grabbed her hand and ordered her to behave. We instantly interlocked finger and she told me that she is always well behaved.
She was leaning against me when I showed her a note I carry in my wallet, written by my little adopted sister, who was seven when she wrote:
Suave, may God go with you and please don’t talk to strangers.’
‘Be careful, I might be a little bit strange sometimes, said Ballerina.
‘I’m sure you are,’ I replied pulling her in for the kiss.
Her soft, thin lips are a real turn-on and she is a good kisser. As I grabbed her hard, sometimes yanking her hair down, she got very aroused. Twenty minutes before her bus is due, I ask her to stay until whenever, and I would drive her home after. She says she doesn’t want to be a bother, to which I reply:
‘We are both having a good time, why cut the night short, when we can enjoy each-other’s company for longer?’
At this stage, we truly were having a great time. When we kissed some more, she again got aroused and stealthily placed her forearm on my cock.
‘Let’s stop somewhere, get some beer and head back to my apartment?’ I wanted this moment to be bold.
Girls have funny ways of saying ‘yes,’ to that question, and I was curious to find out hers.
‘Are there any places near your house that sell beer?’
‘Oh, there are plenty.’
When we were waiting in line to pay for the beer at a supermarket near my place, she leaned against me, put her hand between her back and started to lightly stroke my cock over my trousers. To be honest, anyone could notice what was going on and we both knew it.
Extraction and Fourth Stab
I was fingering her in less than five minutes after walking into the apartment. I deliberately went a bit fast, and then she showed some mild resistance. We both knew what was going to happen.
I took a step back and played some music. After escalating again, I carried her into my bedroom, threw her onto my bed, and removed her dress then the rest of my clothes. Again, we were going a bit too fast – I didn’t care much – and she decided to do a take away on me.
‘I want to turn you on and make you wait. This is me taking a stab at you.’
I guess this was her way of re-framing, for she knew she was going to get F-Bombed and probably felt she had to get the upper hand and hold on to it as long as she could.
There was no need to panic since I know how to play the take-away game. We just lay on the bed as if we had just fucked, me completely naked and her on her panties only. She would make fun of me and say I looked upset. I never did, but there was no point in telling her. I guess she wanted me to be upset so bad that she would see me as if I were. I brushed it off and started talking about something else, but she would bring it back, as if she were making fun of me, again.
This was so easy to deal with and in about ten minutes, she was escalating me, this time to never go back. She was laying on her belly when I removed her nickers, grabbed a condom and took her from behind, as animals do.
The stabbing at each other ended.
It was during and after sex that her true self came out and I could see that behind her concepts were this kind and slightly insecure little girl. She was often asking whether I was enjoying the sex and asked me to tell her what I wanted her to do. Then she said something a little bit weird:
‘You brought me here to perform an act. If I don’t perform well, you might be put off a bit.’
My philosophy says that sex is act to be performed with another person and that both parts must be comfortable with what you are doing. I will only do what I like. I expect pleasure and I give pleasure. For me it’s a turn on to see a girl moaning and cumming. I like to watch them shaking after a session, so I told her that for me, having an orgasm is the end of sex. I like the during phase; the noise, the bed rocking, the touch and feeling of her skin, the many passionate kissing and more…
We fucked many times, and she asked the same question again. She needed reassuring. I didn’t reassure her the second time, but she had proven to be a sweet person who liked to cuddle and kiss. I like her lips and kisses.
A funny incident happened in the middle of the night. After waking up for another go, she came on my hand. Then she started stroking me hard while giving me head. I wanted to cum, so I came into her mouth. After she headed to the toilet to spit it out, I told her I had some Listerine if she wanted to wash her mouth. She told me she was going to brush her teeth. On her way to grab her necessaire, she said to me in a mildly distraught voice:
‘I’d rather you told me next time you plan on coming in my mouth.’
Now, if a girl is stroking your hard with her mouth in your cock, you will assume she is OK with what comes after.
‘Are you serious you got upset?’ I asked
She hurried back to where I was, sat on my lap, very apologetically saying she was not upset and that she was going to brush her teeth either ways. Maybe her complaining was an automatic reaction to something she actually likes, but probably in some women-discussion group, it was said that men should ask them if they are okay with it. I think she does what she is told, not what she wants to, but, again, her personality comes out and she is this caring, warm-hearted girl.
I would definitely want to see her again. We had this amazing sexual energy, which is not easy to find, and I need some new challenge in my life. In addition, I like her as a person, even though we both fight against what the other believes in.
And here I am, writing from an airport terminal again and it’s the same one where I wrote or revised texts before. Since flights are famously expensive in South America, it’s difficult to get around and any short trip must be well planned. On average, flights costs Brazil’s monthly minimum salary. Or more.
I managed to convince a girl-friend who works for an airliner to book me a ticket to the Sex Island, where I came to spend the weekend. It’s difficult to manage a harem from afar. Bitches were all over the place. Curly converted to church and is dating a boy who hasn’t grown his pubics yet; Netflix & Chill answered my messages very non-committedly; some girls had a strange vibe, others I never got round to messaging. In the end, I came onto the island targeting three girls, two with whom I’d been with before: one from Rio (Copacabana), whom I never wrote about, Lucy Liu (my main target) and the new girl is Church Choir Singer. Spending three nights, I should have enough time to be with each of them.
I set foot on the island Thursday to Friday at around 2AM and had Copacabana meet me at a bar near my hostel. I booked a private room as to not worry about logistics. Of course, sex was on a plate and she was all over me. We ended up going to her place instead, where I had my way with her. She is 23.
Nice! I managed to get the first one out of the way after a few hours, and I then had enough time to plot for Lucy Liu and Singer.
I learned that Lucy Liu had her phone stolen one week before I came to the Sex Island. She is a University Student and has no money to buy another until next month. We chat over Facebook. I also learned that after I left the island, she broke up with her 60+ year old boyfriend, whom she lived with. She is 21. I also realised he is not all that alpha and he is very much jealous of her. It’s a funny story. Although they are not together, she is still living at his house. She told me she had left, but didn’t have many options in terms of housing, so she kind of works as his helper, but she can now do whatever she wants to, like have a life.
Lucy Liu sincerely tells me she doesn’t like her ex anymore, when I ask whether she gets jealous of him. I couldn’t care less.
Thirteen months ago, when I was living on the island, I went on a date with a girl who, for some reason, brought along her friend Brenda. That has happened before, and in most cases, it works to my advantage. But something was off that night and my charms did not work too well, so I decided to cut it short for various reasons. One of them being that, when we were entering my car to change venues, the girls were fighting to sit on the back seat !
After I duly dropped them off, I thanked the saints I would never have to meet them again. A few days after, I receive a Facebook friend request from Lucy Liu, having Date Girl as a common friend.
After a few exchanges, she fires:
LL: ‘Do you and Date Girl chat very often?’ Followed by, ‘Can I ask you a very personal question?’
Me: ‘Sure, I know what you will ask, but go ahead.’
LL: ‘I bet you don’t. How large is your penis?
Me: ‘0.0 I got it wrong.’
LL: ‘LOL. It’s just that this came up today, after class.’
All three girls, Lucy Liu, Date Girl and her friend Brenda are classmates, so I assumed she’d had this vital discussion with them.
Me: ‘You were discussing my dick…?’
LL: ‘Yes, we were. So… what’s the answer…?’
Let’s talk about penis for a second. Whether we lie or tell the truth, she has only one way of finding out. I, for one, never have a measuring tape ready by my bed.
I am not proud to confess I have measured it before. I am very proud to say that it rates well above average. It is not particularly big but it ain’t never gonna be small. But you’re damn right I would add another inch to it if I could.
Anyways, I answer her straight and soon receive a rather polite compliment, as if it was an accomplishment, like getting that promotion. Thanks, I guess. Then she throws some cold water, which shrinks my penis to half; her boyfriend’s, she says, is an inch larger than mine. What a cunt! He is 60+, fucks a 21 year old and is strapped.
LL: ‘Btw, what did you think I was going to ask?’
Me: ‘Whether I’d been with your friend, Date Girl.’
LL: ‘I see. She is no longer my friend. We don’t talk.’
That’s new information. It’d be like a piss-off-my-former-friend-fuck.
We then exchange pictures (not nudes), talk about sexual fantasies, she asks about my travels and we try to arrange a date, which we both forget about after.
The next day I open her with a mild tease, to which she replies the following:
LL: ‘I’ve been told about this bald guy who is quite good looking, but when he is on the catwalk, he thinks too much of himself.’
Date Girl and Brenda certainly noticed that I walk slightly funny, but catwalk?! My tendons are shorter, so it looks as if I have springs under my feet. It’s not a disability and it’s easy to fix, but it doesn’t bother me. It did when I was a teenager. Add to the fact that, besides being tall, I hold my head high, keep a good posture and dress a bit different, I do come across as arrogant. I probably am too.
Me: ‘Those groupies…’
*** some many other subjects ***
Me, after many exchanges: ‘I’ve been called snobbish by your friends.’
LL: ‘Well, you seem to be, but I don’t know you. Maybe you aren’t.’
Me: ‘Did you discuss my dick with Brenda today?’
LL: ‘Why, did she say anything to you?’
Me: ‘That didn’t answer my question.’
LL: ‘I don’t remember talking about your dick with her. So… nothing happened between you guys?’ She’s investigating.
Me: ‘Nah. I dropped them off then went on to help a girl-friend who’d had too much to drink and couldn’t drive.’
This was a way to DHV myself after a date gone wrong. It is almost to say I had a booty-call. I also explained that neither of her two friends had caught my attention and that Date Girl actually is a bit fun, more so than Brenda is.
Me: ‘Don’t tell them, though.’
LL: ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’
A few hours after, Date Girl messages me the following:
DG: ‘Groupies? Come on now?!’ she snaps. ‘Unfortunately your name was mentioned today.’
Me: ‘Hahaha, you gossip girls.’
DG: ‘And then you say you’re not snobbish. Oh, rest assure that the size of your penis was never a matter to no one… especially Brenda. She was really embarrassed by this. It’s is nonsense.’
I print-screened it and forwarded it to Lucy Liu. Boy, was I enjoying myself!
She replies after two hours, first with an audio saying she showed Brenda the print of our first penis- conversation. ‘That was it,’ she sworn, followed by an apology.
In the second voice message she said the only reason she showed Brenda the messages was to not cross her, in case we had hooked up. Then she laughed at the likability of Date Girl being much more enraged with this all, given the fact Date Girl changed her Facebook status to some angry emoticons gnashing their teeth.
LL: ‘I am very embarrassed.’
At this point she didn’t know whether I was upset. My intention was to see her reaction and get her to explain herself.
Me: ‘You girls are so funny, I’m cracking up. You will probably get some fulminating stares from Date Girl on Monday.’
LL: ‘Oh, she gives me hateful looks all the time now. Can’t wait till Monday,’ she replied, giggling.
Me: ‘And the reason for your falling out…? Did you borrow any of her Barbie dolls without permission or something?’
Nope. It was not as exciting as that. It was just a silly misunderstanding that neither of them had the ability to set straight. Although they hated each other, they continued being friends on Facebook – because unfriending would probably mean an all-out war.
Of course, LL made sure DG found out about our eventual crazy afternoon fuck, which happened to be on my last day on the Island, before moving back to Sao Paulo.
Thirteen months have passed and there I am on my way to meeting Lucy Liu. And Date Girl is coming along. They are BFF now. I wonder if they ever talk about my dick.
When we meet, it’s a bit awkward and difficult to engage in conversation with them both. No one mention the elephant in the room, so we talk about being robbed. After a while I take them to a cosy little bar, in which we order inside and drink outside, standing on the sidewalk where there is reggae music and some ten to fifteen local people gathered into small groups.
After a while, we are all more relaxed, then I start kinoing Lucy Liu. She happily complies. I poke fun of her not knowing how do dance and pull her closer to me. We are now snuggling.
Date Girl tries to look relaxed, but she doesn’t know what to do with herself.
Lucy Liu and I start making out and she is instantly turned on, rubbing her body against mine.
Meanwhile DG slow-dances alone next to us.
Lucy Liu had been anticipating this encounter for 13 months now. We make out very passionately and everyone is looking at us;
Everyone but DG, whose glass of beer on her hand is now the centre of her universe, even though it’s nearly empty. She sips at it every five seconds.
When I try to stop the kissing, Lucy Liu draws herself closer and kisses even more passionately. She is on her toes. She groans of pleasure when I yank her hair; my hands are all over her back, bum and legs, passed her short flowery dress.
I almost feel embarrassed for Date Girl, who makes an effort to not look at us. She is starring at a very interesting lamppost across the street.
I think Date Girl had such a wearing day prior to meeting us, even though she doesn’t work nor studies at the moment. She suddenly felt very tired and wanted to go home. We insisted that she stayed, but she needed to rest, she argued.
‘Want us to walk you to the bus terminal?,’ I politely offered, good soul that I am.
‘It’s fine. You guys stay. It’s just round the corner.’
A mean-minded person would say she wanted to get away from us, but not me. I know she’s just tired. She waves us goodbye from distance while she rushes off. Poor little lamb. I guess watching lamppost can drain you off after all.
Lucy Liu and I headed back to the hostel where I fucked her extra-hard. This had nothing to do with the missing inch. I swear.
I took Singer out to a bar Saturday afternoon, along with a common guy friend. The three of us had a few beers, Singer and I mildly flirted and she was kinoing me. It was going to be on. Our friend then had to leave, which would provide for a natural isolation, but then we all decided to go and meet again in the evening.
I was getting ready to meet Singer and some others friends when Lucy called saying she was ready to meet me. Because she had no phone, she was using her friend’s. Her ex-boyfriend had hidden the computer, so she could not even access her Facebook. I then had two choices:
Take Lucy ou;
Take Singer out;
After pausing for a second to think what would be the chivalrous thing to do, I then scoffed at this and chose the one with the finest ass.
Following the weekend, I do have a threesome story to write about, but it won’t be today. The outcome of the menage-a-trois was another let down (as it normally is). I will write about it after.
Another story has been on my mind this week and it always amuses me to no end to tell it. This was before I learned Pick Up, but the events of this night were crucial to my finding out about Game.
When I first came to London I moved in with a Scot/Trinny girl and we lived together for six months – she was really hot. After we broke up, I moved to a shared-house in Roehampton, south London. Besides me, there were six others:
Cabron, a talkative Spaniard with a heavy accent;
Muchacho, a quiet Spaniard who would became talkative whenever he was drunk;
Grandpa, a short Brazilian with an amazing personality;
Artist, he is Grandpa’s brother, kind of short too. He is the person who first told me about the PUA world years after this event.
Brit, who had massive tits (we all remember her for that – or those). She also had a stuck up boyfriend.
Monka, a Polish girl who had just moved in.
A Plastic Doll – Lola: She was a very cheap sex doll who lived in our lounge and everyone just loved taking pics with her. No one knows who’d brought her to the house.
Everyone would always kind of flirting with each other. Like when Artist made a move on Monka one afternoon, only to be turned down. Or when one day I met Cabron in the kitchen, leaving for work, and he updated me about his shenanigans saying ‘last night I made fuck with Brit.‘ He told me her tits were amazing. I believe him.
Brit would often bring some of her girlfriends over, probably to meet us boys, but they were hardly good looking.
This one Saturday night we all decided to stay in, there was always plenty of drinks and everyone seemed to have gotten drunk. One of Brit’s girlfriend was there and I started flirting with her while Artist was trying on with Monka, again, this time in front of everyone. (Normally when flirting occurred, we’d try to be discreet). The others were all around us all, probably hoping we’d make a fool of ourselves.
Much to my disappointment (at that time), Brit’s friend had one drink too many and had to be carried to bed – not by me. So I turn round and there is Monka, locking eye contact with me, Artist’s sitting right next to her. I can’t exactly recall how, but within seconds we were dancing in the middle of the kitchen, while everyone watched us. There was instant kino and our lips were inches apart.
At this point, Artist throws in the towel and he chooses to sit on the table, hugging Lola and starring at us. I can’t explain his look, but it wasn’t hate. Maybe it was loneliness at that time. I guess it was after this night that he went on to seek help and found out about the PUA community. Not long after he started showing up with some very tall Russians.
Mind you, this is around 3 AM and I can’t be bothered to gaming her, so I make a very careless invitation to my bedroom. She hesitates. I turn my back to her and walk off. When I’m the top of the stairs I turn my head and find her at the foot of the staircase, looking up like a lost puppy. I wave her to follow, and she promptly complies.
I can’t remember much of the sex, but it was probably far from great.
I don’t know the etiquette for housemate sex, but it probably says that you leave their bedroom and go sleep in yours. I guess she didn’t read the rules, so she spent the night on my bed, looming around, waiting for an opportunity to cuddle.
After I couldn’t stand it anymore, I got up, early in the morning, and walked downstairs only to meet drunk Muchacho lying on the sofa. As stated before, Muchacho liked to chat when he was drunk so he got up and we started talking.
This was fine, since I could do with some company, but for one important detail: some Spanish guys like to talk very close to your face, sometimes even wrapping their arms round your head. It’s their way to show they like or trust you. And here I have drunk Muchacho trying to speak on my face with a morning, stinking breath while psycho Monka sleeps in my room. I decide Muchacho’s company and his stinking breath is more pleasant. He opens a beer and starts to drink again.
I admire the human mind and how creative we can be at times. Since I will have to endure not being able to go to sleep for a while, I get up and start walking casually round the kitchen table while Muchacho is talking, as to avoid his toxic breath. It’s funny because he is following me. Whenever he needs to stress a point, he then changes direction so he can meet me halfway the other side. Since I know all he wants is to clinch me, I too change directions and pretend I want to walk the other way just now. Eventually he catches on to that and asks whether I’m avoiding him. ‘It’s just that I’m full of energy and want to walk round the table a bit,’ says I.
Liar. I just want my bed without Monka on it. It wasn’t until noon that she left to go to her bedroom.
This girl was chasing me. Around 5PM on the same day she knocked to invite me to a BBQ’s at her friend’s. When I didn’t answer the door, she tried to open it. Good thing it was locked and I just pretended I was sleeping. On that same night I was sitting in the lounge, talking to sober Muchacho, when she sat cuddling next to me, as girls’d do to someone they’ve been dating. I managed to find some excuses to get her off of me. After weeks she eventually realized I was avoiding her like the plague, then she started hating me.
One night I brought over another Polish girl I picked up at a party, Monka then invites a guy friend of hers over, just to get even with me. Then the four of us sat in the lounge, socializing like four best friends. The boy slept in her bedroom, but Artist told me the morning after that he overheard the guy trying to escalate her while she’d say ‘that is your side of bed and this is mine. You stay your side I stay mine.‘
After a few months Muchacho went back to Spain and was replaced by Sergio, who rented the bedroom next to mine. Sergio had a hoarse voice. Monica and Sergio started dating and through the thing walls I could hear them fucking. There were some hard slaps, but coming from her. I could hear him pleading her to stop slapping him, with his heavy Spanish accent. And then I heard another slap.
Most of us from that house still keep in touch to this day, except for Monka, Sergio and Muchacho.
One morning Lola woke up dead and is no longer with us.