Losing a Beta Friend (no pun, it reads beta)

We will call him Loser – he is. At 36, all he has accomplished is to have finished his college degree (last year) and has the ability to work out for four hours a day, even though his body doesn’t show. Living with his parents, he never had to work to buy any of the many cars he has had. When he told his mum he wanted to start riding a bike, she promptly offered to pay for his insurance (which is very expensive in Brazil), should something happen to his BMW motorcycle.

He is a whiny leftist too, who ‘fights’ for the minorities.

We became friends through a mutual girl-friend at a house party, in 2012. Upon deciding to hit a local nightclub later that night, I showed him how to approach a group of girls and he got obsessed with me, and wanted to be my friend at any cost.

I never actually saw him picking any girls up, but he’d always tell me he did. About two years ago he texted me and some other friends saying that he was in a serious relationship and had to delete his Facebook, Whatsapp, etc. Loser simply disappeared… until recently.

Loser reactivated his Facebook account and got in touch, inviting me for a beer, which he insisted to buy. There, he told me how he’d broken up with his girlfriend because she was a mental girl who wanted to control and force him to stay away from all his friends, that she would slap and scratch him if he didn’t comply to her wishes. He also told me he started taking Jiu Jitsu. This was in January 2016. Since then, he’d often invite me out for a beer and would insist on paying – almost as a bribe for his dull companionship.

Around October, I met a girl at a nightclub and brought her back home. After F-Bombing her in all forms you can possibly imagine (like a whore), I suggested we had a threesome with another girl. On the very next day she had a friend lined up, which we took to a bar and to a Motel after. What a resourceful girl this Nightclub Pick Up turned out to be. I decided to let her come visit sometimes; we’d drink, fuck and then she’d take a Uber back home. Even though she was short and cute, I didn’t like her spending the night because she was a nester, besides being a little bit mental. Still, she was the giver of the best (maybe second best) blowjob I’ve ever had.

One night she texted me asking if she could come over; I told her I wouldn’t want to see her anymore because I was going out with some other girl. Nightclub Pick Up then took a Uber to my doorstep, rang the bell and asked if we could talk. Even though I found that weird, I still talked to her, outside, and politely told her to fuck off. Because of her attitude of knocking on my door, I blocked her from all social medias.

It was two months ago that Loser and I had just stepped into a bar when it all happened. Nightclub Pick Up was standing in a corner near the entrance, surrounded by her girlfriends. She was looking at our direction in awe; I pointed a finger at her, with a smile on my face, as if saying ‘I see you,’ but continued walking towards the inside of the bar; Nightclub Pick Up, still with a shocked look on her face, waved back in response; Loser, who was right behind me, asked, ‘let’s go to another bar? My ex girlfriend is here.’ 

So we turned around and left.

Outside, I received a message saying ‘I never imagined you’d run from me,‘ from an unsaved number. I looked at Loser and he too was reading a message he’d just received. I was laughing inside, trying to control it, thinking of the shocking look she had on her face when she saw both of us walking in together.

The dilemma then was whether I should tell him, and I opted to do so, because I figured it’d be worse if he found out later through some cunning tactics Mental Nightclub Pick Up could apply.

Since there is no easy way of doing this, I told him plainly, when we were driving towards some other bar.

Look, I’ve been out with this girl a few times, but I would never have imagined she was your ex.’

Then I showed him the messages she had just sent, and how she was not even saved in my contact list. He asked me when it happened and then he said, that he wanted to go home.

I don’t like fucking ex-girlfriends,’ He stated in a crying voice.

Alright,’ I replied, ‘I’ll drop you off. I understand you are upset, but this was non-intentional and you can’t blame me for it.

If the same had happened to me, I would have said something like, ‘she gives good head, doesn’t she?’ and forget about it all. Or maybe even send her a photo of us both, asking ‘which one did you like better?’ or even ‘whose dick is bigger?’ But Loser was almost crying over a crazy ex, while riding in my car.

I dropped him off.

On the next day, I messaged him to ask how he was doing; he had already blocked me from Facebook and Whatsapp. He told our mutual friend that the problem is with him (obviously) but he feels like punching me. I’d like to have him try. Although he is bigger and stronger, he’d be very slow. Him having taken only BJJ wouldn’t be enough to take on me. I’d lower my base and try to connect an upper cut, if he went for my legs. If he managed to take me down, I’d try to tire him before attempting a sweep or submission. I am comfortable fighting from my back.

We met again, by chance. I was upstairs at a bar on a first date when he walked up to use the toilet. He must have heard my voice because he turned to look at my direction. I was laughing at a joke I had just made when I saw him, fist clenched staring at me. As we locked eyes, I nodded at him, a nod that said both ‘hey there’ and ‘bring it on’. Loser looked away and waited for his turn to use the toilet. I was wondering if he’d have the courage to charge at me when he walked out.

After he finished using the toilet, he walked down, carefully looking at his shoes.

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Approach Gone Horrible – When The AMOG Is Your Best Friend

In a turn of events…

We are out at a posh(ish) bar at my home town, my ‘nigga,’ his girlfriend/wife, some of her friends and I. At some point a girl from another table caches my eyes but I never approach her at the bar. However, when we are leaving the place, she is leaving at the same time as me, randomly. I approach her outside, in front of her other girlfriend and her 75% faggot friend – who in my eyes was interested in fucking my target too.

It was bad timing, a bad approach and it was in front of her friends and some bar staff. We’ve all gone through that. We just sleep it off, thinking about the other 150+ that went right. No big deal. As I was walking back towards my best friend in Brazil and his girlfriend, the faggot and the other girl continued to make fun of me, how my approach was horrible, etc. The half fag was still talking while he was entering the target’s car – in the backseat, may I state. In return, and as a reflex, I called the guy a faggot and said the name of a right-wing politician whom the LGBT hate, similar to Donald Trump. My Nigga was at the toilet at that time, but his girlfriend was right next to me, who in turn started to apologize for my attitude.

Have you ever had a girl apologizing for your actions [lately]? If yes, you are not entitled to stand while you piss any longer. Please use the women’s toilet from now on.

My Nigga comes back from the toilet, his girl sitting down, refusing to leave; problem is, his car is parked at my place, therefore both of them need a ride. I start to walk towards my car – I’m not waiting for no girl. As soon as I enter my car and start the engine (without looking back) they are there too. The moody girl enters my car, followed by my Nigga. He asks ‘what the hell just happened,’ to which she replies, ‘ask Suave.’

Up to this moment I’m just laughing and giggling, so I ask her to tel her version, mainly because I want to understand it. Her depraved version  was that I had embarrassed her.

Let’s talk about embarrassment: We men go through a lot of shit to be able to approach a girl, anywhere. For those who’ve got 100+ notches have gone at least through 1000+ approaches. We are used to being denied, it’s not a big deal. We’ve all been humiliated by strangers before, but it’s all worth it when we get the next lay. We brush it off. But being humiliated by someone within your peer is way too much!

I lost it, so i stopped the car, apologized to my Nigga and laid it off to his Muddy Girlfriend: ‘I was ”humiliated” by those people in front of everyone; you don’t even know them,’ I said. In response, she slammed my car door opened; I told her to be careful with my car doors, to which she slammed it back close and walked off!

Let me tell you about my car: I’m not too attached to it; it’s just a car, but it’s mine.

I sold my last car, which was virtually paid off, to get the money to buy my own business (as a down payment), and I financed 100% my current car. I’m going to be paying it for the next three years. A girl, who isn’t mine’ can’t just slam my car door.

My Nigga opened his passenger’s door to go after her and then looked at me asking what to do. I told him it’d be okey if he went after her. Instead he said ‘let’s have a fag.’ I needed one. We had four or five cigs and a couple of beers before she called him. Thing is, he understood that she was (badly) wrong, and I never forced him towards that, in fact whatever decision he makes (tomorrow) I’ll be standing by him – as I’ve told him too.

As a man, I’ve once again put my balls on the line in order to get that one extra notch. Being turned down was never a problem, but being sold by my friend’s girlfriend is a bit hard to swallow. I was very respectful towards the girl who turned me down, but taking shit from her ‘gay’ friend and [on top of that ] my Nigga’s girlfriend is a bit too much.

Being A Former PUA (Part 2.2)

A Former PUA Part 1

A Former PUA Part 2

Having spent 11 years living abroad, I got used to being the tanned-South-American-looking guy among my peers, usually the one person with a foreigner accent.

In 2011 I decided it was time to move back to Brazil. Having learnt PUA, I was now much more confident and ready to embrace any challenges my ‘new’ country would have to offer. I never expected it to be so difficult.

I was simply one Brazilian among 200 million of other Brazilians. I no longer had an accent, I looked like everyone else, but had less knowledge of this new world. I didn’t know the musics, what was cool, where to take girls on dates, not even where to go to meet girls.

One of the first sets I opened, while I was out with some new friends, was at a nightclub in Campinas, SP: a cute ginger in her early 20s. I was soon telling her one of my DVH stories about this time when I was living in London…

So what you lived in London?’ She said interrupting me. ‘I too have been to London and I don’t need to go on bragging about it. It’s unnecessary!’ 

I calmly put both my hands on her shoulders, span her 180 degrees and gently pushed her away. She looked at me in disbelief while I said ‘Go back to your friends. You’re a pain-in-the-ass. 

She never even looked at me again and I couldn’t care less.

That stuck-up girl didn’t understand that all my stories, and my adult life for that matter, were about London, Europe or the USA. I had no identity in Brazil, and although I spoke the language, my vocabulary was far from refined and articulated.

It was a longish journey to get to where I am: Being able to pick among the best girls and fuck them.

It’s a completely different ball game now. Having studied Languages and Literature at a university since I’ve been back, I became a good speaker of my own language, and I’ve managed to further improve my English. Additionally, I’ve had quite a few tight adventures in locations most Brazilians will never set foot on, like in The Amazon Forest, for example.

Not only do I have a Brazilian identity now, I’ve got hundreds of stories and experiences to share. Maybe I am still a little bit naive for many things, consequently sometimes I will end up in a hospital because of some hallucinogenic drugs, other times I will get robbed by some metre-and-a-half teenagers in front of five girls, and for me those things work.

Even though I no longer need to go out and put myself into situations just to have a great story to tell, things keep on happening to me. I don’t plan to get robbed in front of five girls, nor to get so high I’ll end up in a hospital. (I don’t normally take drugs. Kids, say no to drugs. They are bad for you. I was in a spiritual rite that went wrong.).

At the same time I’m quite experienced about many other things in life and manage to get out of difficult situations (hopefully) unscathed.

When I tell my stories, I am able to entertain and even seduce people. Maybe it’s my suave voice added to the fact I’m very passionate about my own life (some may call it selfishness – I call it loving who I am), therefore I am passionate about my stories too. I am not some great story teller such as Jimmy Jambone or an outstanding writer such as Bodi or Krauser – instead I’ve got my own things going on. My PUA Persona is long gone. I am now a centred, well-lived Bastard with a rock-solid confidence and the will to take on whichever challenges in life. Those are things PUA won’t teach you; You’ve got to learn them yourself. PUA is more like a make up you put on – it’s important at first, but wears out with time.

There are still tons to improve, but boy, did I have a head-start…

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Me wearing Make Up. It’s a great picture, though. 

Next Post: Number of girls I’ve closed while living on The Sex Island.