Monday, April 27, 2009

Kylie Wanted to be Choked

I hope everyone's not tired of me telling war stories, cause I am having fun doing it.

I met this girl named Kylie. She was Korean-American, East Coast-born, and not a shy nerdy Asian girl at all. She gave off all the signs of being a sexually-available young woman. She died her long, sikly hair blonde repeatedly, liked to curse and be "one of the guys" and when she smiled, she showed her lower teeth every time. Don't let your submissive housewife Asian stereotypes throw you off; this girl was a typical big-city American slut.

I had a regular girl at the time, hopelessly devoted to the point of annoying me, and a couple of other booty irons in the fire, on the side. I tell you that not to brag, but it's important to the story, because when I met Kylie for our first drinks-date, I was feeling especially cocky. I had abundance mentality that needed no faking. I thought she was hot and definitely wanted to fuck her in her little round ass (God made certain filipino girls and korean girls to please men like me, who love both lovely almond asian eyes and nice, bubble butts at the same time). But I really didn't care. Early in the evening I decided I would drop every chauvinistic, dominant bomb in my inventory, just to see where it went.

Ordinarily, while it's a good idea to project a carefree, dominant personality, taking it over the top with the ultra-lib 20-something women in NYC is a bad idea. They are so invested in their worldview that they will walk even while they feel their pussies creaming. You can act like an asshole, but if you are too explicit about your alpha-male worldview, the girl's SWPL liberal defenses kick in full tilt. The cognitive dissonance is too high, and if she's hot her market value is high enough that she can certainly afford to reject a lone asshole to keep her self-image intact. Small doses of asshole go a long way with these women.

But like I said, I was feeling especially playful that night, so I really let Kylie have it. I joked and drank and had fun of course. But I also stared her down so hard she got visibly uncomfortable. I let it slip in the course of telling a story that I was in some other girl's apartment (note: never seem to be bragging when doing this... it must flow easily into the conversation and you must quickly move on).

"So what are you doing here with me, if you already have a girlfriend?" she challenged, shooting me a bratty look.

"Oh, well, I wouldn't exactly call her my girlfriend. But to answer your question, I don't feel the need to limit myself to one woman."

"Oh really?"

"Really... though I certainly hope you aren't seeing anyone else."

"Well, I'm not, but..." She looked astonished, but she couldn't hide a smile. "So wait... you can see other people but I can't?"

"That's right," I said and smiled at her. "Sucks, huh?"

"That's a double standard."

"You know what? You're right!" I smiled and congratulated her for being so smart. "That's the way God made men and women. That's the way it has to be. I don't date women who see other men. I can see other people, but you can't."

She was really incredulous, but I saw a flame of lust flickering in her eye. Flash forward a few drinks and another bar. The bartender was telling us what a cute couple we were. We played my favorite date-enhancing game, Big Buck Hunter. [Side note: I realize I mentioned this one in my last post. It's really a coincidence, but not that surprising. If there's a Big Buck Hunter game in the bar, you should always make your date play it. Get that big gun in her hands, get her fingers squeezing it. Get her laughing. Mercilessly beat her at the game, lightly mock her inability to avoid shooting the cows... "No! That's a girl! Don't hurt the girls! Only the big, bad males." Let her laugh and make excuses; let her try to mess you up by bumping into you while you shoot... this shit was made specifically to get girls into a flirtatious, sexual mindset. You're welcome.] Kylie was snaking her little lithe body into me, big ass rubbing on me as we laughed and played. We made out outside the bar and I sent her on her merry way. The night wasn't right for getting laid just yet, but I was confident I had laid the proper groundwork.

I won't bore you with the details of our second date, but after more drinks and asshole flirting we ended up back at my place. Kylie was a little fucking demon in the sack. The rougher I got, the more she responded. Again, feeling that infinite mastery that comes with not really needing a girl, I cut loose and really started treating her like a little whore. She loved it. I spanked her, pulled her hair. Late at night, taking a breather from our romp, she looked at me very seriously and said she wanted me to be even rougher with her in the future. She wanted me to hit her in the face, call her every horrible name I could come up with, treat her with vile contempt. She said I should choke her while I came in her face. Serious porno stuff. I smiled and said that could be arranged. Choking a bitch is not really my thing, but it has it's appeal.

She also told me something I didn't recall this until a little later in the following day. She told me she had worked as a professional dominatrix. Now she was in the corporate world, but she had spent two years in and out of college dressing up in black leather and kicking mewling corporate titans in the balls and making them pay hundreds of dollars for the privelege. She claimed she never had sex with them, technically, but you get the idea. It was a service she worked for, with safety checks, all very professional and clean. But still... a dominatrix.

Of course I find it funny and not all that surprising that a girl who did that kind of job wanted to be treated like shit, beaten even. Normally that's not my thing, and I never went there all the way with Kylie (maybe that was my mistake, but whatever), though I was certainly rougher with her than I normally am. We hung out and slept together maybe 6 or 7 times over the course of a few weeks. One night, at her apartment, she even dug out some old newspapers and showed me the ads in the back with her picture, all gussied up like some sort of kinky girl-gladiator, with big letters touting the expert services of "Mistress Sapphire."

But piggy-backing on 11minutes' last post, I noticed a change came over Kylie when I hinted (and it was only a hint) that I might trade in my regular girl and make her my regular thing. I've never seen a girl flip so fast. In the space of a week, she turned into the craziest bitch I've ever encountered. She stole my watch, sent me hateful, threatening texts when I tried to get it back, and generally disappeared. I admit I wasn't done hitting that ass, and I was a little disappointed to see her go. I kind of like crazy bitches. I like life to be spicy, and here was a whole fucking bushel of jalapeños wrapped up in one little spicy serving of kimchee.

I don't expect to date that many more ex-dominatrices (especially ones still in their early 20s.... most washed up sex-workers are quite older, or else they wouldn't be "ex" sex-workers but rather still plying their whorish trade). And I can't say I cried over losing such a psycho. But girls like Kylie are a fun challenge. They are so hyper-sexualized, so incredibly horny all the time, so imbalanced, that it's like the ultimate test of your game. I didn't know it at the time, but my initial, carefree willingness to be a complete chauvinist dick was what allowed her to show me her nasty, nasty side. With another girl it might have backfired mightily. But with Kylie it was pure catnip; it was what she really wanted. And the slightest deviation from that asshole script — the slightest hint that I might value her person — was enough to flip her from sex-toy to psychotic bitch. She craved contempt. I'm sure it would have happened eventually no matter what I did, but I made a vow that, next time I found a similar girl, I would see how long I could keep the asshole flag flying. After a girl like Kylie, your typical conflicted, confused American girl seems like a piece of cake. I've been with highly sexual girls since, of course, but no one quite as bat-shit insane as her.

I wish I got my watch back, though. I loved that watch. Crazy bitch.

Friday, April 24, 2009

What I learned

I will join Master Dogen today in laying open a not so glorious detail of my past with women. Also, I will try to explain an important point I made in the last post (and raised again in 691's comment).

I have repeatedly made the claim that the male Madonna/Whore complex (syndrome?) roots in the schismatic nature of female sexuality:

Woman fantasize about being a good girl and a nurturing mother, as well as about being a strong man's dirty whore.

And, as we all know - women tend to solicit and offer the first (loving, nurturing, cuddly-asexual) side of femininity to a certain type of "nice" guy, whereas they will reveal their hyper-sexual, kinky side to a few select men only. To a naive outsider it might thus seem as if women "share a secret"/take part in a conspiracy with a small group of men.


As we all know, Biologist (and Evolutionary Psychologist) believe that this can easily explained by two mating strategies (tactics) that females employ:

Long term mating with low status males (for whom sticking to the female/monitoring her monogamy is the best option),
while
Short term mating with high status males (who can afford not to spend any resources on offspring)


Some have hypothesized (and observed) that in order to join that secret society of highs status males one simply needs to understand and appreciate the fact that "wanting to be treated like a whore" is just another part of female sexuality.

Women are social beings. Women feel that security in life stems from being part of a strong social network. Their greatest fear is social embarrassment and exclusion. Thus, they are constantly worried about their "reputation" ( i.e. screwing up their chances to get the nurturing, loving mother side sated).

Women also are receptive beings. They like to be guided. As a result:

If a man signals he (just) wants a Slut, a woman might become just that for him.
And a man who sends out "settling"/provider signals will get a Madonna in return


This observation is the very basis of female "dating rules":
A woman will test a man's willingness to invest in her by letting him pay for drinks, flowers, dinner, making him wait (i.e. pay even more in terms of time, attention and material resources) before the first sex. She might also test him for his opinions on casual sex (i.e. see if he is "judgmental"), and soon "accidentally" leave behind some of her stuff after a night of fun.

In other words, women "filter out" guys who might be willing to help her build a nest - simply by having them giving out resources. On the flip side, it is easier to have a one night stand with a woman if one refuses to invest anything (in terms of affection, attention - let alone drinks or dinner).


In reality, it is likely that there are few high status ("alpha") guys, who start racking up lays way before their peers. Plus, women will be more aroused and thus more openly sexually with these guys. As a result, alpha males will have more sexual experience and are more familiar with the raunchy side of female sexuality, hence treating women as if they were part of the secret society of rare men who get to see "the good girl's other side".

Now, how does this lead to:

Men tend to believe that there are two types of women: promiscuous "Sluts" and faithful "Madonnas"?

Here is what I think is going on:

1) First of all, one needs to appreciate the fact "alpha" is a relative term. The alpha is the individual with the highest social status of the group. Period.

Even in a group of submissive, socially inept nerds, there will still be some kind of social dynamics going on, resulting in an (unspoken) hierarchy between these guys. Whoever is the most relaxed, gets the most attention, has the final say, is the alpha of that group.
[Of course, any bar (being one of the nation's main meat markets) is likely to be filled with several guys who have gained enormous social status in various peer groups and thereby leave guys who are "lesser alphas" in their own peer groups little chance.]

2) The fact that we are constantly navigating between social groups and settings can give us different social status over time. This gives many beta males the chance to become the alpha of the group once in a while.

3) They will become extraordinarily attractive to women under these circumstances. Under these rare circumstances women might sense alpha status in these guys, not realizing that this is an abnormal state for these men. Women will treat these guys "as if", assuming they are very experienced "secret society" guys who racked up lays and do not need to "settle". The beta, accidentally turned alpha, will get the "full treatment" usually reserved for his more experienced peers.

4) The guy, used to being treated as "boyfriend material", will be shocked by what ensues.

5) The guy's cognitive dissonance will be solved by assuming that his assumption that she was a sweet, little, pure angel was flawed - he failed to see that she had a second nature. Instead he will decide that she simply is a slut (after all she behaves like the ones he has watched doing their thing diverse porn movie clips on the web for years).
In other words, as guys go through this experience, their only way out of a cognitive dilemma is to take on the M/W syndrome:
"What if he was wrong before and all the good girls he had (though of) were actually like this girl? This would mean they either might not see him as the full man or they might have gotten it somewhere else!
No! Those girls were different!."

Note, that I do not imply that any guy will have that experience, nor does this explain how alpha guys end up dividing women into M/W again. All this model explains is how a meme of "two kinds of women" can arise from a population of women that exhibits both properties over time (and with different partners).

My personal history is somewhat similar to what I outlined above.

I will never forget the first series of lays I accumulated in a very short amount of time once I got Game down. Mind you, I was the classic "long term dating kind of guy" before, unable to even hold up a conversation at a bar for more than five minutes. Sex meant vanilla "making love". My girl friends could not stand the idea of me doing anything else.

What I had to learn is that this was not because of them. It was because of me.

By learning routines which acted as quick fixes rather than learning to develop a coherent, attractive personality, I had quick successes - without being ready for the results yet.

Having impostured the biggest asshole in town for hours at a time, girls took me home in the stern belief that they had found the bad boy they were looking for. And they demanded the bad boy treatment once the clothes were off. They asked for things I thought a woman doesn't like. Things that nice guys simply don't do - because they believe that women do not like them.

They also had no inhibitions to show me their bad girl side once the clothes were back on. They talked openly about the things that they had done and how they had cheated on and walked all over the nice guys they were dating.
Nice guys - sheeps - like the one I had been. Sheeps like the one I still was under the wolve's fur.

Then again, I was picking these girls up in establishments where nice guys believe that only girls with questionable morals would go to. Was I just sampling a different female population?

It happened when I started to talk. When I told these girls about my past love life mainly consisting of serial, exclusive monogamous dating for years, the house of cards collapsed.

I remember their eyes. The moment of shock when they realized I was not who they thought I was. The moment they realized I was put in the wrong category, I had received the wrong treatment, seen the wrong side of them.

Then the backpaddeling:

"PUA: "I love to go out and hook up. I hate it when girls try to run my life"..
HB: "Me too.. I hooked up with guys all last year.. My boyfriend tried to control me, but I do what I want.. My girlfriends all do it too."
PUA: "Really? Cause to be honest, I've always felt like I'm a romantic guy.. And girls always cheat on me.. I want to find a girl who won't cheat."
HB: "I would never cheat. Guys are dogs. I'm always loyal."
PUA: "But didn't you say..."
HB: "No, I said nothing."
PUA: "No, you said that you don't let your boyfriend control you and you do what you want."
HB: "No, I didn't mean that. I'm not a slut. I have no idea what you're talking about, I didn't say that.
"

I had involuntarily perfomed a rapid Lover/Provider switch, such as the one above, and the result were incoherent messenges like the one above. It was then that it dawned on me:
There was no difference between the women I SNL'ed and my steady girl friends before. The angels of ignorance fell from my eyes. Everything had been mysterious to me before now made sense.

Given this experience, I would never believe a woman talking about her sexual past if I failed to conquer herwith assholery - and she felt safe in the presence of a non-judgmental promiscuous "secret society" man. Her story simply wouldn't be the same after a couple of dinner dates.

Thus, if you want to screen a woman for her actual dick number (and LTR potential), you need to seduce her with the same rapid escalation and tons of non-judgmentalness as any other women. It is only after she revealed that she is less hyper-promiscuous than the rest of Western women these days that you can turn your M/W scheme back on. If you fail to follow that rule, you might be the one implying an "M" on her - and she will play along accordingly.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Your mom - a slut?

The number one problem a guy faces once he gets good with women is the Madonna/Whore complex.


The reason for that is that the average chump believes that women are neatly categorized into one or the other domain. And his perception will follow his assumption. However, in order for you to have game you need to realize that all women love to be sluts once in a while.

This magic knowledge is what game exploits. After all, you are only sexually interesting to females if you know "how to treat a woman right".

What happens next is one of the following:

A) you either disregard the Madonna side of women and assume that all women are sluts

B) you try to accept and deal with both sides of female sexuality

C) you stay with/return to the full blown M/W of the average chump

If you scan the diverse blogs and remnants of the community of guys on a lifelong quest to become better/superior MEN, you encounter each of the above alternatives with varying frequency.

There are problems with each approach to classifying women:

A) Thinking that all women are nothing but amoral, opportunistic, infidelity-rationalizing, alpha cum craving sluts works well for short term flings/racking up insane numbers of lays. This can also be a helpful mindset for for creating and maintaining mLTRs (aka harems).

The problem is that any high self esteem woman will at some point sense the all encompassing misogyny underlying this view, and/or your absolute refusal for commitment (the probability that she gets to that point increases exponentially the closer she gets to age 30 and above and is still single).

As a result, these women will start to work hard on getting her desire for a Provider sated. Expect heavy beta-ization attempts, and what Franco calls "reactive depression" if they fail. Eventually there will be break-up attempts. Depending on the quality of the woman she might not stop fucking you, but she will try to find someone "serious" or "less frustrating" beside you - a husband eventually.

Conclusion: The "all women are whores" mindset works extremely well for casual sex. It creates deep problems for any for men who want to found a family.


B) The "love both sides of her" strategy is flawed from the outright.

Since M/W arises from a conflicted female need, any attempt at dealing with it as it stands automatically inherits the conflict with logic and reality.

For example, you can work on becoming both, a Provider as well as a Lover for her (either by dropping some of the asshole, or by taking up some asshole game). What happens in actuality, though, is that you become incongruent, supplicate and thereby end up being more of a beta male than keeping alpha status.

To put it more bluntly, if you fully embrace her need for sluttiness by having an "open marriage" or making her join "the lifestyle", you inevitably become a prototypical Provider since you now are "relationship pure" while she happily fucks guys she deems worthy as Lovers (your approval makes little difference to a woman who goes down that route).

There are strategies offered for relationship game that try to deal with the issue by employing strategies such as the Rapid Lover>Provider switch and other "Yin/Yang" attempts such as:
Inside the bedroom (figuratively speaking): forget about her M
Outside the bedroom: forget about her S

However, the ideal Lover/Provider male women crave in their romantic fantasies is impossible by definition (a Lover is the opposite of a Provider).

Conclusion: No matter how hard you try, you will never get perfect at your impersonation of the romantic ideal, since at best you become a mix of both - ending up in the middle rather than close to the Platonic ideal. You might fail in the same way as guys without any game do.


C) If M/W is in the way of seduction, how can you keep it and remain good at game?

What I have observed is that this happens by either:

- picking up tons of "slutty/easy' women while believing that that there are still Madonnas out there (outside the sphere of where you are used to get women easily)

- going along with a woman's Madonna-ization attempts (i.e. waiting for several dates until sex happens etc.)

But, don't we know already that women do these things (such as holding back on first dates, admitting only half of the actual number of previous sex partners) in order to toy with the male M/W complex and weed ou the alphas from the betas?

Are there really any women who can resist silverback alpha game. We know how women behave in bars. Do you really think that she is different just you meet her outside of this context (and her ovulatory period)? And even if you find a woman who has never been to parties and bars - do you really believe she made all her previous lovers wait that long?

This is an interesting discussion as there definitely are differences in the degree of promiscuity among women (note that according to some stats, women seem to be more promiscuous than men in general).


Statistics show a huge discrepancy between mean and median when it comes to the number of lifetime sex partners (keep in mind to double the numbers for women - since lie detector tests reveal that this is closer to the truth).

This is interesting, since the same occurs with men - but for an entirely different reason:
For men the mean is higher than the median because most men are beta and have little sexual success. The few alphas accumulate all the lays.

For women there is no such thing as alpha status girls being more attractive.
Males are visually driven and facial attractiveness is likely to be normal distributed. So differences in attractiveness can also not be explain why some women are so much more promiscuous than others.

So what is it that makes some women fuck around while others remain constraint?

There are prostitutes, of course. However, they probably are too few in relation to the overall population (estimates I could find are 23 in 100.000) to explain the data.

More interestingly, this study further reveals that women who are not that "casual" about casual sex tend to remain that way.

In other words, if you are her number 4 - she might not be much higher in her dick count once you two are married for some years. If you are number 32, well, just look at the statistics.

Conclusion: Categorizing women into "fuck material" versus "marriage material" might be the most reasonable approach for guys seeking a family on their own.

In reality, we probably all are somewhat incoherent with ourselves and carry around a mix of those three exclusive-seeming possibilities of dealing with M/W:
Tripple-digit-lay guys thinking about having children at some point with a "decent" woman.
Guys who decided they will never marry, yet believe that there actually are good girls worthy of better treatment
And so on.

Things are easy as long as one is only out for fun.
Game can be learned quickly.
Realizing that women love to be sluts comes for free.
Congruently dealing with the fact that women are "ni ange ni bête" might be a lot harder.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Cut Your Losses; She's Just Another Bitch




If you want to be with a lot of women, you have to date a lot of women. Many PUA's on the web like to brag about their one-night F-closes. I've been there too, and I wouldn't ever deny that it's very gratifying to meet a girl and fuck her on the same night. It's fucking great, of course. But I'm sure I'm not telling you anything you don't already know when I say that this is pretty rare. Not to mention that it's hard to respect a girl that is that easy. Of girls that I met and fucked in the same night, exactly zero of them have been LTR material. I am willing to accept that there are some exceptions out there, and that some of you out there may have found them, but I haven't personally found them in my journeys, and I'm not going out on much of a limb when I say that girls you can meet and fuck on the same night are generally not high quality.

Here's where we come to some of the unspoken friction of the PUA/game community. Most guys are more tenderhearted than they would like to admit. Most guys want a lot of pussy at the same time as they are hoping to meet a special girl who will distract them from the world of diverse pussy that's out there. Acting tough gets you a long way on the web; talking about your worries, less so.

So I will go out on a limb myself and say that I can't fucking stand meat-market pick-up clubs. Rag on my pretentiousness all you want, but I just can't be bothered to spend multiple nights a week in places that make me feel like a giant douchebag. Part of living your life to the fullest is embracing your own preferences. If your preference happens to be retarded clubs with terrible music, full of spiky-haired dudes and fake-blonde girls, more power to you. But if you're like me, you want to get laid and meet lots of quality girls without having a life that revolves around clubs with names like "Kold" or "Steele."

My personal preference is hot girls with an inner life, who have read a lot, and who have a bit of virtue beneath their pretty smiles. A real man deserves to get what he wants.

Very well then. If you accept the premise that meat markets aren't all that, and you still want to get laid, then you have to get numbers and connections some other way. Meeting girls is pretty easy if you have half a pair of balls (and that's another post for another day). But let's assume that you've got the digits and you've navigated the voicemail/text jungle to get her to meet you some weekday night. Now you're on a date, whether you like it or not, and it's important that you do it right.

This post isn't about how to do it right. I'm going to assume that you have tight game, or at least passable game. You've done your best to qualify the girl, you've kept your body language and your state-control. You're making eye-contact well and gently escalating kino. But what happens when the girl is just not up to your standards.

This is very important. You have to have standards, no matter how hot the girl is. I'll tell you a personal anecdote to make my point.

"Pei" is the daughter of some obscure Asian royal family. She's quite pretty and has the kind of young, big-lip, pert-titty, thick-booty body that makes Master Dogen's junior monk stand up and meditate with all his might. She has an interesting past, and a shitload of money. I really wanted to like Pei. We went to a sexy wine bar in Manhattan and at first the conversation was very good. She has read a good deal (she was reading W. Somerset Maugham at the time, which is more than I can say for myself).

But as the night wore on, I got the nagging sensation she was a cold fish. The date went very well. I was in control, took the conversation where I wanted it to go, and she was touching me from time to time. She was interested in my job (indeed that's how we met), etc. etc. But she seemed a little distant. I pulled her to another location, played some playful Big Buck Hunter with her. Trust me, I've fucked up on dates before, but this wasn't one of them. Maybe with 3 months of effort I could have opened her up. I'm confident it wasn't me, but that Pei had some inner issues that were making her neurotic. Sure enough, when I pulled her in for a kiss, after all that kino, she gave me the weakest, purse-lipped kiss I've ever got. I'd have more respect for a girl who outright rejected me. Or, of course, for a girl who kissed me with great, burning passion and then excused herself to go home. But Pei just seemed to endure it and then worm herself away coldly.

I cut my losses, of course. There's plenty of other fish in the sea. But I must admit that her privileged position, her bright skin, her DSL, her almond eyes, and her exotic heritage (technically, literally an asian princess), made me want it to work even when my every instinct was to cut away.

Well, cut away I did. For a moment, walking down Avenue A, I felt a tinge of regret. Never beat yourself up for feeling that. Even the greatest lovers feel regret for loves they didn't fuck as hard as they could. Never feel bad for loving women. Loving women is what makes you a real man. It's a fucking glorious and generous thing. But you still have to cut your losses.

Think about it: should I really wanted to have taken this cold fish home? Even if I had managed to sarge through her resistance, she's almost certainly going to be a terrible lay if she kisses like that. Sure she's intriguing, but I'm after the very best.

It's very common to rate girls on looks, 1 through 10. And the emphasis on hotness is an important lesson to men who have deluded themselves into thinking their awful, poly-sci degree SWPL girlfriends are hot just because they have two openings at their root instead of one. But a real man needs more than pretty vagina (as wonderful as pretty vagina might be). Maybe we need a 1-10 system for the overall quality of a girl. 80% of it would be based on her looks: her face, body, and hair. But 10% has to be how she moves, how she carries herself. And minimum 10% should be her personality. A "10" with a retarded personality who moves like a battle tank is really an 8. And a solid 8 like Pei who kisses like a flounder is really a 6. I've never cried about the loss of a 6 in the past, and I'm not about to start now.

Cut your losses when shit doesn't go your way. Whether your situation is like mine or completely different, remember: She's just another bitch.

Learning the Truth About Women - Who profits from it and How?

"Men face a situation new to human history. Never before have men wooed women who are, at least theoretically, their equals—socially, professionally, and sexually."

Women and men alike agree with the above statement.

The implications this had on men (and their dating lives) these days are fascinating - and problematic.

"Contrary to the conventional wisdom ... women’s sexual nature, not men’s, is the wilder of the two..., save for ... controls that put the brakes on female sexuality through the consequences of shaming, accidental pregnancy and potential out-of-wedlock destitution."

Freed from the latter (and never learning any emotional control, especially when itc comes to sex, since society still assumes that this is required for males only), women now are not entering pre-arranged or out-of-necessity marriages any more. They now have "free choice" over the men they would like to date. And so they do. Problem is, they all want the same few guys!



The result is that what used to be (more or less) even chances for guys, now is skewed for the few among us who get to enjoy massive femal attraction (which is a classic positive feedback loop):

"Female cultural equality = male dating inequality."

It follows that the main impact of birth control, socioeconomic parity and the liberalization of cultural norms was that most guys are off the mating market while a small collection of "alpha' guys get (even) more women than before in history.

Women, on the other hand, will celebrate a dickfest throughout their twenties, chasing those few men that all the other girls want, too. Women commonly fail to realize that the fact that all the other girls want these guys, too, will leave them without a committed relationship.
It is not until the social pressure and the wear'n'tear of age set in that women start to reflect on their often more than decade long history of "falling for assholes". As a a result, they will now actively seek out the guys that were left in the shadows before in order to "settle".

Interestingly, there was a reaction to this social shift in mating behavior of women.

It is no surprise that it was initiated by guys since a vast majority of them was left puzzled about their complete and utter lack of success in finding and keeping a woman - any woman. To put it in the words of the master:

"Since men are the chosen in the mating dance, they have to be more aware of reality than do women. If men ignore reality, they risk involuntary celibacy. If a woman looks attractive (which is most of them during their prime fertile years), she can ignore reality to her heart’s content as unicorns and rainbows shower her in cellophane raindrops and still have suitors lined up around the block to fuck her."

What followed is a classic example of reverse engineering. The men who were left behind started studying the few guys who somehow managed to get all female attention. They used the internet to accumulate and discuss their insights, and soon it became clear that "classic dating advice" was not only flawed, but fundamentally opposed to what "actually works": Game, aka doing what alpha males do (the good, the bad and the ugly).

Note that the wisdom on how to attract and keep women has been around for a long time. However, it was unspoken, written between lines, barely hinted at, and hidden from the masses (for good reason).

How has the increasingly public knowledge about the true nature of female desire changed the scene? Has it had an impact at all? Will it have an impact on our society in the long run?

This a very interesting topic to muse about.

My guess is the following:

Omega males will remain omegas.
The vast majority of these guys will not profit from game, at all. The reasons for this are manifold:

- Omegas have given up.
Omegas found ways around sexuality. They lead happy lives in celibacy, essentially remaining boys in their peer groups, playing computer games and dreaming up fantasy worlds for the rest of their lives. The psychological strain of celibacy is not enough for omegas. They simply are not interested in women any more, and therefore are not interested in learning how to game.


- Omegas are too far from the ideal. Turning an omega guy into a congruent alpha is an inhumane task. The effort it takes to de-program a brain awash with "don't bite me" attitude, Madonna/Whore syndrome to the extend that "only mom was a worthy woman" and supplication/chivalry or one-itis/love confusions is too much to tackle in most cases. Even if an omega would try, all odds are against him. Plus, he secretly enjoys to fail (again).

- Omegas (might) have not suffered from the societal change of "liberated" women. Omegas have always been on the short end of the stick. If they happend to get a partner/spouse it is because the woman is nerdy, fat, ugly herself or something else has happened to her that disqualifies her from the regular mating market such as being very old an ex-hooker or diseased. The world has not changed around omegas, so they have no inclination to change either.

Beta males will profit the most.
My prediction is that it is most and foremost betas, who use "game" or "PUA tactics" to rectify their disadvantage in the mating game.


- Betas have some alpha qualities already (hence they are not omegas)

- A large fraction of Betas are smart, well educated middle class males who get outdone in the hunt for poon by rowdy, tattoo'ed low class thugs (the middle class women I know have no inhibitions fucking drug dealers and/or guys who went to prison). There simply is a trade off between time spent in the lecture hall and time spent at bars selling drugs when it comes to getting "street smart". It is this intellectual capacity (and knowledge of the internet) that will these beta males to absorb the knowledge that is neccessary to "score".

- High ranking Betas are the ultimate dream of any woman. These men are as close as reality can get to the unachievable unity of Provider/Lover that women dream up in their romance (novels). Any alpha skill will propel a beta into higher desirability, while keeping all lights in her her rational mind on green: this guy wets pussy AND can be introduced to parents! Swooooon...

Alphas will profit little to none
Alpha males are good with women anyway - because they do game naturally.


A human silverback has hundreds of women within a few decades of his life. No need to up that number. As a matter of fact, a "natural" alpha might lose his ability to attract when reading about "game" women by becoming conscious of what he is doing. It's like a pianist starting to wonder what each of his fingers is doing whilst playing Rachmaninoff (There is a guy I know who went down this route, saddly).

(According to credible sources) Lesser alphas still have "some room to grow", and hence can add some (conscious) tricks to their innate or learned ability to make pussy drip.


Conclusion

If and how much guys benefit from learning how to "game" a woman properly will depend on where there status is in the first place. There is a continuum between omega and alpha, and the benefit function follows a bell shaped-distribution, with "benefit-through-game" on the y-axis and "alpha-ness" on the x-axis:


If and how this effect will penetrate the population as a whole is questionable.

Yet, the same is true for feminism and any other (platonic) idea/meme. It often takes only a subset of a society to take on a new meme/norm to change the whole, so there is a chance that the expanding knowledge on female sexuality will have an impact in the long run. It might not be for the better - there are indications that give room to concern.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Esse est Percipi

More than a year ago I went to a really cool scientific conference.

It was located in Las Vegas. Us scientists were supposed to meet some of the most famous magicians working there (it caused quite a bit of press coverage at the time; you can read the New York Times article about the event here).

The basic idea was that each side would be able to learn from the other about how we become aware of things - and more importantly, fail to perceive some of the most salient things happening in front of our eyes.

You can get a flavor of both, how easily we get fooled and fail to recognize some of the most drastic events in our immediate environment as well as how science and magic can benefit from each other by watching the brief video below:



The most impressive part of the show was performed by a guy called Apollo Robbins.

He told us that he was born into a family of pickpockets and thus grew up learning the required skills first hand. He became famous by stealing wallets, watches and more from Secret Service agents. He now works as an entertainer at Caesars Palace in Vegas, and recently became the lead in the US TV Show "The Real Hustle".

While his show truly was spectacular (robbing pop star philosopher Dan Dennett on stage of pretty much everything he had on him), it was off stage that he became the most impressive.

In contrast to most of the other magicians, he seemed to have been thinking about his skills in very scientific terms (he acknowledged some of the books he had read on that topic). Yet, his ideas were far ahead of the field.

He described his main skill as a sixth, "Grift Sense" that allows him to "see" where a person's attention is located at any point in time. He is able to tell at each point in time what parts of the environment have entered a person's awareness in contrast to the many objects and events that our brain filters out in order not to get flooded with too much information. He is also able to consciously direct and transform the radius of attention of the people he interacts with (we all do this to some degree of course). This allows him to take away stuff anything outside this radius of attention.

At this point, Apollo got my full attention (I was rather hung over and sleep deprived, reocvering from a 5min bar-to-bed pull the night before).

His description of a limited circumference of a person's attention reminded me of the ingenious concept of using Awareness Radius during pickup.

The latter originates from a classic post by a guy who uses the handle "Killswitch" not too long a time ago. In its practical form it is an extension of the older PUA concepts of "frame control" as well as of "push-pull" (or "tease'n'please" as some guys here in DC like to call it):
By repeatdely letting a woman enter your awareness radius, and then closing her out again ("attention radius fucking") one can exploit the most paradoxical aspect of female sexuality:

Wanting to be completely desired by someone who is not even fully attracted
.

With these thoughts in mind, I approached Apollo after the event (all the while holding my cell phone and wallet tightly in both hands).

He was surrounded by several colleagues of mine, and amidst the small talk I noticed a (very) attractive woman standing a few feet away from us. She looked at Apollo with a loving smile and deep admiration in her eyes.

I approached.

She introduced herself as his wife.

Whenever I approach a woman that turns out to be married, I ease the tension by smirking "Oh no! How many years am I too late?" She laughed, and told me that she used to be a professional pickpocket herself. One day she joined one of her best friends to a bachelorette party in Las Vegas. The girls did what (US) girls do on these occasions: flirt with guys like there is no tomorrow.

It was then that she saw something remarkable. Having a Grifter Sense herself she could not help but notice that the guy whom the bride-to-be was bantering with had just stolen her engagement ring!

She noticed his skill and was taken by his balls to pull off such symbolic act. She approached the guy, told him what she had seen - and there they are now, married for some years. They combined their skills and do amazing shows together (they went on and demonstrated their work by letting her "guess" from the other side of the room with her eyes covered - 100% correctly - the numbers on a credit card he took from a colleague of mine).

The amazing thing happened when I started talking with Apollo again. When reminding him of the "bachelorette party" story, he laughed: "Yeah, I stole that ring while teaching some guys how to pick up girls."

When I looked astonished, he continued "Well, there is quite a bit of overlap between pickpocket and my pickup skills. It's quite straightforward.

For example, as a pickpocket I would never approach a person upfront (where I would dominate the awareness radius). I approach from the side." He approached me directly, face-to-face while saying this and then again with his eyes hidden from my gaze until he almost hit my shoulder. Then he turned his head. First slowly, then quickly - as if he had just noticed something interesting about me.

It worked. While I first felt threatened and clenched my fist even tighter around my wallet, the second time he approached me his slight touch on my shoulder did not even feel unpleasant.

At this point my wallet was gone, but I had learned a great lesson.

Great minds think alike. And whoever made fun of Mystery's card tricks at bars to impress chicks - magic tricks can be helpful for meeting women indeed.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Know your status

There is one thing and one thing only that makes guys attractive to women: high rank/social status.

Anything that people have come up with before - money, looks, power, "leader of men", social proof, "high value", "masculinity", "confidence", a big dick - it all (correlates with and therefore) boils down to this one thing: where are you in the picking order?

Women are no different in that respect from any other primate, or other even any social mammal for that matter.

Talking to other behavioral scientists I always get the same impression - we need to look at ourselves the same way we look at animals (i.e. other species), and all the "it's complicated" aspects of male-female relationships immediately get crystal clear.

The other day I had lunch with someone who studies sheep. In one of his many studies he gauged which type of male female sheep find the most attractive (interestingly, he is also involved in co-advising match.com on "biological attraction").

Now what is interesting about sheep is that they have a male rank order, and females seem to prefer the top (alpha) males. In contrast to most primates, however, some sheep species can elucidate a male's status by the length of their horns (which ultimately is an indicator of testosterone levels).

At some point during the conversation he said:

"I always wondered how a male sheep determines its own rank.
I mean, there are no mirrors around (and even if they would not be able to interpret their reflection as their own). So, how do they know how big their horns are?

They clearly have a sense of the length of their horns, because if you cut them off all the others ones treat them as lower rank. However, they will still act as if they are of higher rank.
They themselves are not aware as to why their social status has dropped. Of course, after a while they will learn and re-adapt.

It must be through extensive trial-and-error that the males find out where they belong."


This is an interesting observation.

While males might be born with a set of alleles that paves their way to a high testosterone level and ultimately high social rank, there are obviously many other factors interfering with the rank for social status during a man's development.

The idea that we learn to be dominant or aggressive (always keeping genetic biases in mind) is alluring for the following reason:

As Keith Johnston points out: One's social status - in the sense of high/dominant versus low/submissive) - really is just one of two strategies to avoid conflict:

"In daily life, each plays his own preferred Status, that is the Status that gives him the most certainty.

It doesn't matter if one plays a high Status ("Warning, bites") or low Status ("Don't bite, I'm not worth the effort"), one tries to maneuver oneself into the preferred position."

In a sense this is reminiscent of the classic "Dove/Hawk Dilemma" of Game Theory (as in economics, not PUA).

This game is seen as a model of conflict in which each player can either be confrontational (A HAWK) or prefer conciliation (A DOVE). The interesting aspect is that there are several solutions to the game that are "stable" in the sense that if a certain part of the population adopts the HAWK strategy and another percentage will be HAWKS, both sides fare better staying that way than changing their game (no pun intended).

This equilibrium of strategies (named after the "A beautiful mind" guy John Forbes Nash) arises by itself. You just let players start with both options, and over time they will settle with a strategy that "seems to work best for them".

But "what is best for them" depends on the population as a whole!

It just happens that a certain fraction of HAWKS to DOVES is optimal. But whether or not you settle for HAWK or DOVE depends on your trial-and-error.

What that means is that there probably is a stable equilibrium in our society between alpha males and beta males.

Following this idea you basically try to be more dominant or more submissive in the sandbox (certainly biased by your genetic makeup), and slowly learn whichever strategy "suits you best" (with the latter largely depending on your mates). Once you decide for yourself that is is better to "show teeth", or to "show tail", you are gonna stick with it for the rest of your life (or until you pick up a copy of The Game).

Old people who are overly aggressive are similar to sheep with their horns cut off. They fail to realize their actual loss of status and still stick to an aggressive high status strategy.

The impact this has on your sex life is obvious. To state it as a caricature:
As a low status male, your best option to raise your own offspring is to keep a close eye on the woman. You are forced into monogamy in order to make sure the kids are yours (hidden ovulation). You put all your resources into few kids that you raise to succeed. You're the Provider.

As a high status male you get to mate so many women you accept that most of your kids will fail; at least some of them will find cuckold dads that make sure they will succeed in life. You're The Lover.

Again, either strategy can succeed, and there probably is a stable equilibrium between them in society.

Now - what is interesting about this line of thinking is that once certain equilibria are reached they remain stable. Any "intrusion" attempt to bias the percentage one way or another will fail.

So - what does that mean for the current societal changes induced by feminism - and to a lesser degree the seduction community/PUA. Will we see more DOVES/beta males or will we see more HAWKS/alpha males - or will things balance each other out?

Monday, April 13, 2009

What makes a woman good in bed?

[edit: click here for results of the poll]

One of the golden rules of game is: do not talk about sex.

Once you start an open, direct conversation about sex with a woman you have not slept with, you seal your fate. Women are socially savvy, and instinctively avoid awkward situations. Having talked extensively about your or her sexual experiences and - worse preferences - is likely to prohibit any physical escalation since now any actual action will be tainted by uneasy thoughts about the previous conversation.

There are two exceptions to this rule:

1) sub-communication/indirect talk about sex (ambiguous "double talk", innuendos, sexual body language and eye contact): this one is hard for (many) guys to master, but an absolute requirement for same night lays.

2) you are not interested in having sex with that woman

The latter one is worthy of mastering, too. For one, you can always use social proof (pivots). And/or, you can learn massively from a woman that is uninhibited and unbiased. Women tend to open up completely when talking half drunk to strangers at a bar. The "confessions" I heard from women this way have changed my world view forever.

A fun way to start a sexual conversation (that, depending on your delivery, is more likely to have you end up with exception #2) is to ask a woman out of the blue - "On a scale from 1 to 10 - how good are you in bed?".

[If used correctly, this is a classical example of "flipping the script".]

What is more surprising maybe is that the answers are stereotypical. They fall into the following categories:

If the woman is getting the joke, she will answer with something like "11" or "0" (you decide which one is funnier).

If she is not getting the joke and she is not fully attracted to you, she will reply with something lame like "are you serious?' or "7" (which is above average, yet seemingly "modest").

If she is not getting the joke but attracted to you, she will start qualifying by bragging about her skills. And a 100% of the time this will be about blow jobs.

Fellatio skill seems to be the only field of sexual technique in which women think they are competing against each other.

What is your opinion? Let's flip the script of publicly criticizing bedroom skills. What does it take for a woman to blow your mind in the sack?

Sunday, April 12, 2009

"War by Beta-light"

This story is from a book called "War by Betalight"... er, I'm sorry, that's "War by Candlelight," by Daniel Alarcón. I started this story while sitting on the can, and gave up after only two paragraphs! Can you tell why? How many beta tropes can you count here? Let's see...

"A Science for Being Alone"
Every year on Mayra's birthday, since she turned one, I have asked Sonia to marry me.
1. Multiple, yearly marriage proposals. Reminds me of this guy. Incidentally, if you want to sweep a girl off her feet, and proposing marriage over and over again is the best your ball-less self can think of, for Christ sake, don't do it on the same damn day every year. That girl knows it's coming and as the days approach she's probably dreading it with a sinking sensation in her stomach. You think she's going to say yes all of the sudden? Sometimes I think half of all men's problems with girls would go away if they would put themselves in the girl's shoes for a single goddamn second. Idiot.
This year our little girl turned five. Each rejection has its own story, but until recently, before the two of them left, I preferred to think of these moments as one long, unfinished conversation.
2. "I preferred to think of these moments as one long, unfinished conversation." That's funny. I think your baby mama thought the conversation was finished when she said "No," four proposals ago. Of course it is the mark of the beta to think that if he just grovels just a leetle beet more, she's going to come around.

Mayra's fifth fell on a hot, bright day. I had twenty five soles in my pocket, the ring, and a little makeup kit I'd bought for my daughter. I was at the Plaza Manco Capac, waiting for a spot at the lunch counter of a cheap criollo place before heading over to see the women of my life.
3. "...the women of my life." Gag.

Sonia and Mayra lived in a hostel downtown. [...] She got the adventurous, the young and unshaven, the backpackers in their inimitable style, wearing vests with dozens of pockets or pants that unzip to become parachutes or inflatable rafts. Americans and Germans and French. For years Sonia occasionally took one to bed,
4.Embracing the cuckold's horns. "Occasionally took one to bed" Translation: she fucked them all the time, but you only found out about it occasionally, or you knew deep down but are too much of a coward to face the truth.
but I never thought these flings amounted to much. In a way, I was proud of our modern arrangement,
5. I was proud of our modern arrangement... Wait. You propose marriage every year on the same day, while in between she fucks dirty, scraggly German hippies and you are proud? Oh, please fuck you.

which I thought approximated those slippery, ambiguous, but ultimately loving relationships I'd seen on American sitcoms. We had our special anniversaries, our traditions, and Mayra's birthday was one of them. It was the day we pretended we were a family still or that we once had been. It was the day I proposed with subtle fanfare that we become one.
6. "... relationships I'd seen on American sitcoms." Ahh... there we go. Now it's starting to make sense. Anyone who takes manhood tips from characters on American sitcoms is doomed to eternal castration, not to mention weak humor.

I know, I know. This is just a character in a book. I didn't rip on Shakespeare for making Mark Antony a little bitch; I praised him. Well, I guess I am assuming in Shakespeare and Daniel Alarcón differing levels of authorial command and irony. Is that unfair? Why no, I don't believe it is.

Here's Señor Alarcón:


(source: Correo of Peru)

In any case, if Alarcón is actually a manly beast on the prowl in real life (and of course, he's a successful writer so he could probably pull mad artist-girl/lit-crit-grad-school pussy if he has even a smidge of game), and if he's just inhabiting the mind of a beta for the purposes of the story, I guess that's okay, but I really wish he would stop. Who wants to read about these kinds of characters?

Wait, stop, I know the answer already... the people who want to read about these characters are the people who act and feel like them and want to see their pathetic, gray lives limned with a little fancy prose and somehow elevated to tragic poetry. If you want some elevation, may I suggest learning how to fly a helicopter instead?. Mopey narrators who shuffle their way through life and then try to beautify their own shitty behavior... Zarathustra! Verily, I do declare, this is what's wrong with modern fiction.

Incidentally, upon deciding to write a little blog post about this story intro, I forced myself to finish the rest of the story. The narrator tries to give some bananas to a poor prostitute as an act of kindness, and he is baffled when she takes it as an insult (this is the one thing that makes me think Alarcón might actually be wise to his beta narrator rather than in cahoots with him... a man giving a woman a mushy banana instead of a hard cock, do I detect wry symbolism? ... but then he muses philosophico-poetic on what's wrong with the world to make her so hostile, so I really don't think he gets it). Then he sees his daughter and baby-mama. Then he proposes yet again. The end. The last paragraph of the story:
I am a man of traditions, and because I am that man, I bent down on one knee, again, one final time. Sunlight gathered in the room, a breeze circled and blew the curtains apart. Sonia shook her head—no, no—but I kept on. My daughter had clambered back on the bed and sat, her legs underneath her, watching us as if it were theater. And there were no trumpets or violins or sounds at all. Only quiet. I took the ring from the inside of my jacket. "Sonia," I said, and played my last card, and so, regret nothing.
It's that last line that is most contemptible. It's meant to be resonant, like any good last line, but the only thing that resonates here is self-absorption and delusion. Alarcón apparently thinks this narrator's yearly proposals really constitute giving one's all. Last card?? That's the only card he's ever even tried! He never puts himself in her situation, never considers what a woman might desire from her man, that it might not be groveling, predictability and an oh-so-delicate sensibility. Never tries to grow a pair; just goes around giving bananas to hookers and musing about his own feelings. Really, truly, I find this kind of fiction abhorrent. The self-pity it exudes is positively toxic.

Well, enough dwelling on this crap... I'm off to finish my Patrick O'Brian book! Captain Jack Aubrey... now there's a character with a pair of brass ones.

YYEEEAAAAAARRGGGGGHHH!!!!

/rips shirt off and runs out onto the street

Saturday, April 11, 2009

The Saddest Thing a Girl Has Ever Told Me After Sex

"This is the saddest story I have ever heard."
—Ford Madox Ford


Back in my bartending days, I used to be pretty good at gaging which girls I was going eventually to sleep with, which ones would be wasted effort, and which ones I wasn't interested in. I didn't even have to be explicit about it to myself. I just knew; I suppose that's the way it is with most things in life, if you think about it.

This was in a crunchy West Coast city, where there were lots of lesbians and feminists and stinky hippies. I worked crazy Friday and Saturday nights, and it was the kind of bar where people order lots of martinis, not to mention cosmos and lemon drops and shite like that, so you were always barely keeping ahead of the flood for six straight hours. Sometimes glancing up from the well at the sea of people crowding and jostling around the bar, the barback suddenly nowhere to be found, you felt like Priam on the battlements of Troy as waves of bloodthirsty Achaeans are about to crest your walls. But it was fun.

On other nights it was actually quite slow and you could get to know folks. Every Tuesday night, this odd little trio of people would come in. They were a guy and his girlfriend, and their mutual guy friend. The extra guy-friend I can barely remember now; he was such a meek little leftover of a human being. The guy-girl couple were those half-hipster, half-hippie combos you find on the West Coast. The guy, "Ambrose", was more of a skeezer than his girl. He was pale-skinned and thin, with a dirty mop of hair he kept tucked under a little faux Jamaican hat; he always wore oversized zipper-hoodies and such. Despite his contemptible wiener-boy appearance, he always seemed to me like a pretty OK guy, and he was young enough and had a handsome enough face that he was able to pull off the fey emoti-stoner thing better than most.

That's what I told myself, at least, to help understand how he had nailed down such a little hottie for a girlfriend. "Phan," as she annoyingly called herself (an alternative shortening of "Stephanie" that she gave herself; it sounded like "fen"), was a classic beauty wrapped up in a dirty artsy-girl exterior. She had big, expressive blue eyes, beautiful brown hair (that she unfortunately always hid with a hideous knit cap), a smattering of adorable freckles across a roman nose, and a small but luscious mouth. Her frame was slender and a little muscular, like a girl who spent lots of time in the outdoors. She seemed to me like one of those girls who was so pretty as a teenager that she later adopted an unattractive exterior just so people would pay attention to anything about her aside from her beauty (brooding poetesses and steel-cold professionals are sometimes sub-species of this type).

Ambrose and Phan and their nothing friend had been coming into my bar for a long time. I knew their drinks, knew them as friendly and respectful people, we bummed cigarettes from each other. In all that time, I never saw Phan without Ambrose, and while I rarely saw them kiss or look passionate with each other, neither did I ever see them fight or talk badly about one another. They seemed like a happy couple, and even if I really wanted to fuck Phan so hard her freckles fell off, I always kept her in my mental "non-candidate" category. As a bartender I fucked my customers all the time, but I didn't make stupid advances... you can shit where you eat, but you better be careful about it.

Flash forward a couple of years. I wasn't bartending anymore, but still living in the same hood. I had seen Phan around from time to time on the street and we would wave to each other. One night I went to my old bar to visit with my replacement and my old co-workers. When I went out back for a smoke, I found Phan sitting there alone by the candlelight, bent over a glass of gin and a book. I got very close to her before she looked up. When she saw me she immediately smiled.

"Master Dogen! You're back!"

I walked over, "Hey Phan... Where's Ambrose?"

Her face got a nervous, polite smile and she laughed. For a moment I thought maybe it meant they had broken up, but she answered, "He had to go to Chico to see his family. But I thought, what's a Tuesday night without coming to this place? It's weird not to have him here, but at least you are back here! Just like old times." She smiled, and the candlelight was sparkling between her eyelashes.

I joined her for a smoke and a drink. We went back inside and joked around with the new bartender (a super sassy, friendly gay boy — having friends like that is a huge asset in the eyes of a certain breed of modern artsy girls), and I suggested we needed to keep catching up, but that it was starting to weird me out being in my old bar. "I feel like I should get up and go see if the corner table wants another round of gimlets. Come on, let's go somewhere else."

Phan was laughing and having a great time. It wasn't hard to get her to come to a sexy, cave-like wine bar nearer to my house. I noticed all kinds of animation in her body language and her voice. Before, around her boyfriend and his parasite buddy, her eyes had the fire of beauty and youth, but they were sealed inside a calm face and stiff body. She always seemed to be trying to play things oddly restrained and cool. Now she was more like a little girl. We got nice and drunk at the wine bar, and I told her about my latest adventures in Provence and Catalonia.

Over drinks I had been excitedly telling her about some new poet I had been reading. Back out on the street, I told her we were going to my place so I could read her one of his poems. I didn't ask, I just told her, and took her hand, and she followed after me, laughing and stumbling a bit awkwardly in her wooden shoes, tipsy from gin and wine. It wasn't just a line — I really was excited about the poet and I really did want her to hear one of his poems, but of course I had other plans as well. I noticed how vibrant she seemed, and I couldn't help but wonder when the last time a man in her life had showed so much passion (even that small, everyday excitement of wanting to share something with her). Her boyfriend was friendly, but such a weak, pale little poseur milquetoast.

I don't remember how I made the final move, but we were very quickly making out when I got her back to my place. After the first "testing-the-waters" kiss, when I found her responding positively, I grabbed her and squeezed her whole ribcage at once and bent her backwards and kissed her hard on the mouth... all that pent up desire of years of seeing her pretty face at my bar. She seemed to be melting like soap in the sun, soft, falling apart right in front of me. Rarely have a felt a girl feel so ready so quickly. She literally swooned.

In bed she fucked like a wild creature caught in a net, her whole body bucking and clawing at me, biting my neck, moaning, sobbing. It was amazing; though it was all I could do to stay on top of her at times. After a little while I tried to roll over on my back so I could admire her body while she fucked me on top (and, frankly, I needed a rest), but she wrapped her lean legs around me tight and refused to change positions. "Just fuck me," she moaned in my ear. "FUCK ME!" So that's what I did.

When I came and she clawed me so hard it almost pulled me out of my moment of pleasure. She stayed there, gripping me to her and breathing hard and shuddering and sighing for what felt like 10 minutes. The wet spot on my sheets was so big and soaking that for a minute I thought maybe she had peed herself. Finally I pried myself away and rolled over.

After a while, she spoke... "God. I can't tell you how long it's been."

"What?" I asked and lit a smoke, "since you've been with someone new?"

"No. Well, yes..." She hesitated. "I mean, since someone's fucked me like that."

I didn't think I had been doing anything that special; in fact I was kinda drunk. So it took me a while to get it out of her...

It wasn't that I was new. It wasn't that I was an evil god in the sack (though I am). No, the thing that drove her so wild was that I had actually put my penis in her vagina.

She explained that about halfway through their relationship, she and Ambrose had played around with different toys and roles etc. I won't bore you with all the gory details, because the goriest one is enough to make me want to puke to this day. You see he had asked her to fuck him up the ass with a strap-on, and she had obliged. Well, homeboy liked it so much, he started asking for it again and again. By the time of our rendezvous that night, according to her, it had been months since he had actually penetrated her like a man.

"Everything else is great. We laugh, we snuggle, we kiss... hell, I can even feel my pussy getting wet sometimes even though my brain knows nothing's going to happen."

So of course it made sense that she had reacted to me the way she had. All I had done was treat her like a woman. I had been respectful and fun and non-creepy about it, but I had also been sexual with her in a straight-forward and aggressive way. And the way my sheets felt like someone had dumbed a gallon jug of water on them attested to how badly she had needed that.

It still breaks my heart to this day to think about it, even as it fills me with contempt. Part of me wanted to "rescue" her and give her nightly rootings for the next year, to work out all that stored-up pussy juice. But I wasn't seriously interested in her for a long-term thing, and any girl who agreed to do what she was doing with her boyfriend obviously has some deep issues. Still, though she is probably worthy of scorn, all I could muster was sadness and pity. Such a pretty, pretty girl, so full of life. What a tragic and criminal waste of life and love!

No, I save my scorn for the "man." In fact, I almost don't even want to write anything about it because it makes me so angry, and I am in a good mood today and don't want to go around with a tight chest and furrowed brow. But goddammit! Pathetic, weak, awful waste of skin! I have far, far more respect for gay dudes who can at least embrace their own desires. This pathetic little quivering, simpering excuse for a man... he slithered his way through life, avoiding hard work and sunlight. Somehow, because we live in a society severely lacking in real men, he was able to snag a confused, loving, lively young lady and completely scar her, abuse her, ruin her, dry her out, without ever lifting a finger or raising his voice: all through his refusal to be a man.

There's essentially no more perfect being on this planet than a beautiful young woman who has charm and wit and a good heart. The spark of life in her eyes is the spark of everything good and divine. I truly mean this. The capper to this crime of manhood-shunned is that Phan, for all her ridiculous hippie-drippy shit, was a really lively and kind and fun woman. Women like this are a treasure, and her disgusting boyfriend is the worst kind of sniveling scum I can think of. She might have outgrown that absurd nickname at some point, but she's probably never going to have a normal relationship with a man. We have a shortage of feminine women in this country. Every single one we lose to frigidity via mind-fuck quisling bitch-boys, is to be mourned.

I've never written anything about this before, and it is still one of the most astonishing things I have ever encountered. The depths of weakness in the human race can never be fathomed. Looking back I can hardly believe it's true.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Shakespeare Game

Don't Give in to a Woman's Wishes, or She Will Be Your Undoing.



It's a truism and a cliché to say that Shakespeare understood and articulated things about human nature better than any writer before or since. This is a point that can be endlessly debated and never settled, of course, but there is no stronger case than the one to be made for Shakespeare. For students of human nature, he's a huge trove of pure gold.

I studied literature in high school and in college, and I read a great deal for pleasure now that I am all growed up. I've read some chunks of Shakespeare, including the Great Tragedies (you know the usual suspects: "Macbeth," "Hamlet," "King Lear," "Romeo and Juliet," "Othello") a few times each, plus several times each my favorite Comedies and Romances ("The Tempest" is my favorite Shakespeare play, followed closely by "Hamlet"). But there are still several plays, including most of the Histories, that I have not read.

One of these still unknown to me until very recently was "Antony and Cleopatra." I just read it a couple of times last week — another great thing about Shakespeare is, once you get your brain into gear language-wise, you can easily toss back even his most serious plays in a day or two if you want to; they're quite short. As always, I was absolutely astonished at the insights Shakespeare puts into the mouths of his characters.

You don't see "Antony and Cleopatra" performed that often these days. I suspect two reasons: One, it just isn't as great of a play as, say, "King Lear." The dramatic arc is a kind of herky-jerky in the last three acts, versus for example the terrible and irresistible inertia of "Othello." "A&C" in the second tier of the Tragedies, like "Cymbeline." But Shakespeare's lesser works are still greater works than 95% of all literature, and the plays are still produced. Which brings me to the second reason you rarely see this particular one: The themes of this play are profoundly uncomfortable in our modern, post-feminist society.

People who produce plays are used to dealing with the sexist or racist themes in Shakespeare. Usually, these days, they either edit it out, try to wink at it and get the audience to titter along knowingly, or (and this is very popular) try to subvert it by suggesting Shakespeare was in fact mounting a critique of racism and sexism. So then, rather than being anti-Semitic, "The Merchant of Venice," with its character of the scheming and venal Jew, Shylock, becomes a critique of anti-Semitism. Similarly, in "The Tempest" the embarrassingly racist characterization of the slave Caliban is taken as an avant-le-lettre critique of colonialism.

This method of subversion is occasionally stupid, but very often smart and effective. It is precisely because of the incredible depth and complexity of his characters, that Shakespeare is forever open to being reinterpreted. "The Merchant of Venice" is anti-anti-Semitic in a way; Shylock is in many ways a victim. And Caliban is in fact a very sympathetic character. His one real punishable act was trying to advance sexually on Miranda, the only fertile female he had ever seen in his entire life.

But "Antony and Cleopatra" presents much deeper problems for any PC police who want to explain away uncomfortable themes. Because the basic message of the play is: Don't Give in to a Woman's Wishes, or She Will Unman You and Be Your Undoing. It's on nearly every page, in the mouth's of a dozen different characters, and even in some not-so-subtle stage directions. It says: A great man will attract the most desirable women, but to maintain his greatness, he must never fully give in to their entreaties. Subverting this message in the interest of maintaining PC feminist lies would be a tall order (though anyone who could pull it off effectively would deserve some sort of Distinguished Medal for Drama Twisting).

For those of you who have not read it, or for whom it's been a long time, here's a very brief synopsis. (Keep in mind that the play is grossly inaccurate from a historical perspective, as Shakespeare was writing a tragedy, not a history... the actual story of Marcus Antonius, Cleopatra, Julius Caesar, Pompey and Octavian makes for amazing reading too, if you are interested... for now we're just dealing with the text of the play):

Mark Antony was one of the greatest generals in the history of the Roman Republic/Empire. The play takes place in the uncertain era between the death of the Republic and the birth of the Empire as such, a time of civil war and upheaval. Julius Caesar had been his good friend and fellow warrior, and Julius had been lover to Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt. Julius Caesar was of course murdered on the floor of the Senate in Rome, but Antony lived on. The play opens with Antony in Egypt, acting as ruler of the eastern third of the Empire, having fallen desperately in love with the beautiful Cleopatra and taken her as his lover. Back in Rome, Caesar's nephew, Octavian (the man later to be known as Augustus Caesar) and other Romans are dealing with another serious civil war threat from the powerful naval captain, Pompey.

Antony's Roman wife was in open rebellion against Octavian back in Rome, while Antony was busy fucking Cleopatra and having endless feasting and drinking bouts in Egypt. When she dies, he returns to Rome to make good with his old allies. Another war breaks out when Octavian fights Pompey, and Antony leaves again, preferring to return to Egypt and be with his lovely Queen, rather than fight another war in Italy.

Eventually Octavian prevails and then brings the war to the East, intending to re-conquer Antony's portion of the empire. Antony leads his army to fight Octavian's, but he has lost his warrior's demeanor. In their first battle, Cleopatra, who had brought ships to support Antony, flees in fear and Antony flees after her. He immediately forgives her, and himself. In the second battle, Cleopatra betrays Antony and goes over to fight on the side of Octavian. This time Antony is incensed, but when Cleopatra fakes her own death to stir his sympathy, he once again forgives her and tries to kill himself too. He fails, and is wounded instead. In the final scene, Antony dies in Cleopatra's chambers, upon which she clutches a poisonous snake to her breast, killing herself too. They die together and dream of being together forever in the afterlife. Meanwhile, Octavian conquers all and goes on to be unquestioned Emperor of the Known World.



Shakespeare was a sensitive motherfucker. He could write from a woman's perspective more convincingly than most women can. Yes, all his greatest roles go to men, but considering the time in which he was writing, his female characters show an incredible diversity of interior experience. He could write innocent teenagers (Miranda); lustful teenagers (Juliet); insane power hungry harridans (Lady MacBeth); crazy poetic young women (Ophelia); graceful poetic young women (Portia); and devoted, loyal women who were morally better and yet more humble than all the conniving, power-hungry men surrounding them (Cordelia).

And yet for all his sensitivity, it's pretty clear how Shakespeare felt about men who let their women control them. Right from the first page of "Antony and Cleopatra," the great Mark Antony is painted as a fool who has given up his manhood to Cleopatra. The first speech of the first scene goes to Antony's friend, Philo:

"His captain's heart, which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst the buckles on his breast, reneges all temper, and is become the bellows and the fan to cool a gypsy's lust." (I, i, 6-10) Gypsy here means both "Egyptian" and also the pejorative "hussy." Not only has Antony laid down his manly sword in order to drink and carouse with a woman and her eunuchs, but that woman herself, Cleopatra, mocks his valor with her own loose ways. Remember, Cleopatra used to fuck Antony's best friend Julius Caesar before he was murdered.

Right from her first lines, Cleopatra is manipulative and emasculating. Antony professes his love to her, and she demands, "If it be love indeed, tell me how much." Talk about milking compliments! Tell me how much you love me, now!

Of course, Antony is only too happy to oblige, praising her up and down and east to west. In our supposedly ultra-modern world of evo-psych enlightened sexual dynamics and game, we know that tripping over yourself to praise a woman (especially her physical beauty) will only elicit a woman's contempt. She will demand you worship her alone, but if you turn a sucker and fall for this, she will immediately see you as less manly and less desirable. Well, my friends, our man Shakespeare knew this too.

As soon as Antony proclaims his undying love (he says that to find the boundary of his love for her, one would have to create "new heaven, new earth"), Cleopatra turns to mocking his manhood. "... who knows if the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent his powerful mandate to you, 'Do this, or this; take in that kingdom, or enfranchise that. Perform't, or else we damn thee." She's saying, essentially, "Oh yeah? You love me that much? Huh. Too bad that mere boy, Caesar, has you at his beck and call like a little bitch." Reading a line like this, even if you didn't know how the story ends, you can tell from the start that Antony doesn't have a chance in hell. Cleo's got him by the balls and all he does is dance for her.

In fact, a few lines later, Antony asks her to go walking and dancing and drinking that night, and she says she's not in the mood anymore. He whines, confused, saying, "Come my queen, last night you did desire it..." (54-55) He's like a guy who gets laid once and then clings all over his girl the next day like a puppy and ends up confused when she loses interest and pushes him away. Later, he beta-izes himself in the worst way, even apologizing for merely speaking his mind: "I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose." (I, ii, 14). Talk about being a little bitch! It's hard to believe this man was considered basically the toughest motherfucker in all of the ancient Mediterranean.

Cleopatra in this play is a real piece of work, too. I got the idea to write this blog post/essay when I read that first scene, but it was in the next scene that I literally guffawed in shock as I read it (on the F-train, eliciting some curious stares from the Chinese dude sitting across from me). Cleo sends her messenger to find Antony, and her instructions are: "See where he is, who's with him, what he does. I did not send you. If you find him sad, say I am dancing; if in mirth, report that I am sudden sick. Quick and return." (I, ii, 2-5)

Is this not one of the most astonishing lines in the history of literature? In it we can see the sum of Cleopatra's character: manipulative, suspicious, cold, calculating, and selfish. Antony is supposedly her One True Love. And here she is telling her messenger to secretly fuck with his emotions: if he's sad, let him know that I am having a grand old time without him; if he is happy, tell him I am sick so he feels bad for being so happy while I am suffering.

Cleopatra's a bit of a student of game herself, you see, like many smart women. Her aide, Charmian, advises her about Antony thus: "In each thing give him way, cross him in nothing." Cleopatra resonds, "Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him." (I, ii, 9-10) She knows that people want what they can't quite grasp, and that they quickly lose interest in a sure thing. As a chauvinist man, I'm tempted to say Charmian is right and that she should obey Antony in everything; but Cleopatra's probably right. Men and women are alike in this regard: we love the chase, even if we have different ideas about how the chase should go.

Smart cookie though she may be, Cleopatra's not above being catty and jealous. Antony actually goes to Rome to make peace with Caesar, and in so doing agrees to marry Caesar's sister, Octavia, as a marriage of convenience (keep in mind this is ancient Roman times; indeed, even in Shakespeare's day, loveless political marriages were commonplace). Cleopatra is jealous — and in fairness, who can blame her? — so she needles her servants with questions about Octavia's appearance: her hair, her body, her face, her voice even. The humor of the situation comes when the messenger reports that Octavia is so-so looking 6 at best (keep in mind that Cleopatra is assumed to be a 10+, essentially the most desirable woman in all of the Empire — picture Jessica Alba with gold dust on her perfect skin and that sexy black Egyptian eyeliner, and amazing in the sack, not to mention an endless supply of gold that she doesn't mind spending on her man), she decides the messenger is honest merely because he tells her what she wants to here: "He's very knowing, I do perceive't. There's nothing in her yet. The fellow has good judgment." (III, iii, 7-25) This comes up again later; essentially Cleopatra only believes the things she wants to believe. No comment.

Rather than go scene by scene, which would make this too-long essay even longer, I'll just put in a few more quotes to give you the flavor of the play, and to show how deeply Shakespeare has woven the theme of castration and emasculation. The character of Enobarbus, Antony's loyal lieutenant, someone who has seen the glorious best of his captain's war days along with the pathetic worst of his groveling, gets in most of the good lines...

Of Cleopatra, Enobarbus says: "([F]or vildest things become themselves in her, that the holy priests bless her when she is riggish." (II, ii 241-243) Vildest here means "most vile," and riggish means "slutty." Cleopatra is one of those women who is so frickin' hot that she gets away with the most contemptible, vile and whorish behavior. The beta priests (and her beta-ized lover) sing her praises no matter what she does.

Enobarbus again, with some pithy words: "But there is never fair woman has a true face." (II, vi, 101)

When Cleopatra insists on going to war with Antony, who never needed any help back in his glory days, Enobarbus argues with her: "Your presence must needs puzzle Antony; Take from his heart, take from his brain, from's time, what should not then be spared. He is already trasduc'd for levity." (III, vi, 10-13) In other words, pleeeease, you crazy bitch, we only have a chance in this massive battle with the mighty Caesar if our leader is at his most bad-ass, and if you're around we all know that he's going to act like a pussy.

And another lieutenant, Canidius, says: "...so our leader's led, and we are women's men." (III, vii, 69-70)

Caesar himself observes of Antony: "He hath given his empire up to a whore." (III, vi, 68-69)

In battle, Antony sees Cleopatra fleeing and like a coward he flees after her. One of the other generals, barely alive after the calamitous defeat, reports to a friend, "Leaving the fight in height [Antony] flies after: I never saw an action of such shame; Experience, manhood, honor, ne're before did so violate itself." (III, viii, 32-35).

You get the idea. I'll leave it at that except to say that in Act Five, Shakespeare whips out the old sword-penis metaphor for Antony's final indignity. Thinking Cleopatra is dead, he decides to kill himself (remember, this is after he's forgiven her yet again for betraying him to Caesar), but he's too pussy now to even do that, so he has his man Eros do it for him. Eros, surrounded by shame and indignity, instead kills himself, leaving Antony alone to do the deed himself. But when Antony finally tries to "fall on his sword" (as Shakespeare puts it in the stage directions), he only wounds himself and does not immediately die. The symbolism is so obvious it's strained: Dude's dick's so soft and useless he can't even fuck himself, let alone his enemies... or his woman.

Cleopatra fell for Antony because he was such a man's man. Antony fell for Cleopatra because she was so sexy and bewitching. But in falling for her so hard, he gave up the very quality that made him so attractive. And because Cleopatra was such a firecracker, and so manipulative to begin with, when she turned on him she turned with the full gale force of a woman's dark side. It's a story about great emperors, heroes and queens, but it contains a lesson for every modern CPA, bartender and housewife. Don't give up your sword, ever, even and especially for your woman. You need to be strong for your own good, and she needs you to be strong for her own good.

More reading:
Full text of Antony and Cleopatra.
Critical essays on the play.