I’ve been working some tiring hours this week. And with it being cold and rainy outside, I’ve been heading home straight afterwards. Sounds boring, right? Well, yes and no. This has given me the perfect opportunity to hole up and type up the LR of my first ever daygame lay. After all, momentous occasions such as these shouldn’t go unreported. Right, let’s go!
11 May 2018
Rewind back to earlier this year in Spring. Back when the sun was still making appearances and nighttime didn’t fall at 4.30pm. It was Friday evening and I’d just met my buddy outside his office in the City. The days were really lengthening now, and so we leisurely strolled in to central London, shooting the shit and looking to open any girls that took our fancy.
For the first time since I started daygaming I didn’t feel nervous travelling in to central London. After spending two weeks finding my daygame groove, I’d finally found some consistency. I’d done 40 sets in the last seven days–I’d finally caught the bug and was hitting the streets with regularity.
In addition to that, just the night before (on the Thursday) I’d been on a date with a legit 8.5. I’m pretty sure she’s the hottest girl I’ve ever been on a date with, even to this day. How my newbie daygame ability ever got her out, I’ll never know! Even though she didn’t accept the bounce-back to mine after two venues, I was still feeling pretty abundant.
Back to the Friday itself with my wing, and we’ve pretty much reached the end of Carnaby street now, opening one or two sets each up to this point. We’re now outside Pret a Manger. All of a sudden, to my right I spy a studenty-looking girl, wearing a black leather jacket and black skinny jeans, complete with black backpack. She’s a brunette and she’s a few inches shorter than me. I cut-off what I’m saying to my wing, spin around and front-stop her  before she can get away. I deliver my opener, directly and confidently, James Tusk-style (at least in my head it was).
She’s initially overwhelmed, but boy! is she holding eye contact well. Grinning and with eyes lit-up, she looks very in-the-moment and she gives every indication that talking to strangers is normal for her: a daygamer’s dream. She hits me with a sexy Spanish accent, and I vibe off that with some standard stacking and assumption-making. She seems content standing there with me, in the middle of Carnaby Street, with the busy Friday evening crowd passing by.
As I learn more about her, I imagine she would have been the hot alternative girl at college, who didn’t have many girl friends and instead hung out with the skater boys. I become more badass and ramp up the sub-communications. She seems unperturbed by my proximity and sexual undertones. She accepts the minor compliance of me moving in, and she’s holding my lusting eye contact.
Another minute together and she opens up verbally. This includes her becoming quite testy, which makes sense when I discover she’s a student lawyer, studying back in Spain. I also find out she’s only 20; she doesn’t bother asking my age. A promising sign. She goes on to explain that she’s been in London for a few days while on a break from uni. She decided to travel solo and explore London. Right now she’s going to attempt to find a place to eat in Chinatown, but apart from that doesn’t have any plans. Ding ding ding!!
At this point in the set, every man and his dog knows what to do: just stay with her, preferably leading, and then just don’t fuck up! Unfortunately, during the newbie stage of my daygame journey, I had success barriers, and would inexplicably make things hard for myself. So instead of doing the right thing, I take the easy way out: I number-close her and go back to my wing, even describing to him how “on” she seemed, but that “I didn’t want to join her for dinner in Chinatown“. DURRRRRR!!!!  I look back at this error now and hang my head in shame. “But I was just trying to get the sets in! I didn’t want to eat with her” I rationalised to myself afterwards. Damn, I must be gay or something…
Four good-energy sets later, and I find myself sat in Subway at Charing Cross with my wing, trying not to make eye contact with him as he’s chomping away on a footlong. I begin to scroll through my WhatsApp contacts, searching for the two new numbers I’ve collected this evening. Up to this point I’m pretty much settled on making my way home, lying in bed, and reading, possibly with some Pornhub first. Then I locate the Spanish student lawyer in my contacts list. I see a small thumbnail pic and I have to do a double take. Wait…that can’t be… I view it full size. And my eyes nearly pop out.
Well well well… what doooo we have here? There’s an awful lot of flesh showing in her profile pic. I’m taken aback. On one hand I’m immediately very horny, but on the other I’m thinking very logically through the social consequences of having this type of a profile pic: is her father on WhatsApp–can he see this picture? Is her grandma on WhatsApp? I show my wing, who first looks down at the picture, then up, and then back down again. We turn our heads towards each other and lock eyes in silence. My wing rests his eyelids and nods to me. I understand. And so I take my phone, and I begin typing a message. So many green lights from this girl already. I’ve really had the blinders on here. Can I claw my way back from the Island of Ignorance? Well, I have to at least try. And now. No more waiting. I also recall her saying in the set that she was leaving tomorrow. Why are you only realising the significance of this now?? Wake up FFS Jamie!! After pressing Send I sit there stewing, kicking myself for not manning up and idating her, while my wing teases relentlessly. Shit. Opportunities like this don’t come around every day. And this is an opportunity that has surely gone now.
Less than 15 minutes later I see a double message preview in my notifications:
I read it outside of the app on my notifications screen. A smile slowly creeps across my lips. Back in the game…perhaps? I decide to wait a few mins before replying. Not too eager-beaver, now, Jamie. Then, before I get the chance to reply, she sends another:
“Nice to meet you too”
Soon after this one, I reply, attempting to find out where in the city she is on a buzzing Friday night. When she replies “Waterloo Station“, I realise she’s just the other side of the Thames from me, only two Tube stops away. Bingo. My wing prompts me to call her for efficiency. I go for it, but the signal is poor and all I can hear is a muffled voice on the other end.
I realise the window of opportunity has reopened, but it likely won’t remain that way for long. At this point I try to encourage her via WhatsApp to come to me at Charing Cross. There follows a very confused back-and-forth. She’s messaging in a frenzy and soon sucker-punches me with “I have to go to hostel“. At this point I open up the profile picture again. Not only the raw sexuality of her naked flesh, but also the fact that she’s willing to overstep social boundaries and post this picture for the world to see, spurs me on to pursue her and to not give up. I decide to travel to her. And immediately. This is my only chance. My wing wishes me good luck, and I start to move. To make sure I don’t lose Internet/4G connection, I decide to run across the Golden Jubilee footbridge to Waterloo. No Tube for this dashing Romeo, how romantic! 
At Waterloo, she’s waiting for me under the giant clock in the middle, as requested. I’m out of breath and hardly bother hiding it–all that matters to me right now is that I’ve found her. She’s smiling but she seems in a bit of a state. I treat it like a re-approach, reminding myself that these things are never smooth, and I do the lion’s share of the talking.
Soon she’s at ease again, appearing more comfortable. And I’ve caught my breath. But we’re still stood under the clock in the middle of the concourse. And I still haven’t formulated a gameplan. Soon I’m forced to though, as she prompts: “So where are we going?” Her hostel is in Greenwich and I’m staying in a box room in a council estate flat in Shadwell. She’s mentioned about having to go back to her hostel to pack her bag a few times now. The good news is that Shadwell and Greenwich look close to each another on the Tube map. Both are on the DLR line. Given the green flags so far, and that she has to leave early in the morning, I decide on a Hail Mary:
“Since we’re both in South East London, let’s head in that direction for a drink. We can do my area or yours, but let’s do mine since it’s closer and it’s on the way anyway.”
The Waterloo & City line is still open and we first head to Bank, and then change for Shadwell on the DLR. In the train carriage she checks the tube map above my head to make sure I’m taking her to where I said I was. I casually ignore this and allow her to do her investigatory work.
We get off at Shadwell DLR station and, with her appearing compliant and comfortable enough, I decide for the most direct strategy: straight back to mine. The pubs in the area are pretty dodgy, and on top of that I’m wearing a suit, which will make me stand out like a sore thumb. I grab wine from the corner shop, and am sure to be social with the chatty Bangladeshi guy behind the counter (I’ll take any opportunity to social-proof myself).
She’s still calm as we walk from the shop to my flat. My instincts appear to be on point so far: that a calibrated insta-pull can work with her. A few times I get the standard “How far is it?” and similar, but she’s not dragging her feet, and she’s keeping pace with me fine. During the walk back, through the forbidding back streets of East London, I reach for her hand and she accepts. These days I would be unlikely to hold hands en route during the pull, but looking back on the context (the dark, quiet streets in an unfamiliar neighbourhood), it may have actually been the “right move”.
Back at mine, a shared council estate flat in Shadwell, there’s a kitchen but no other communal rooms. In the kitchen I pour out two glasses wine. This turns out to be a pointless exercise as she decides to inform me (only at this point) that she doesn’t drink . We then climb the stairs to my box room. Still no freaking out from her.
Up until this point, minus my initial errors of ejecting from the original set and also not messaging her sooner, it had been relatively smooth-sailing. I had her pegged as DTF and I really couldn’t believe my luck. However, my fortunes were about to change.
In the close quarters of my room, which was barely wide enough to fit the small double bed in, we sit on the bed and she wriggles her bum to the opposite end and sits there cross-legged. I play music on my laptop, which helps the vibe, but unfortunately there’s no mood lighting–the main ceiling light is very bright and sobering. Okay, I can work with this I think. She’s just getting acquainted. Then comes something I can’t work with: she takes her phone out of her bag…and it’s blowing up with notifications.
Her face comes alive with excitement and she giggles away. She’s working through a backlog of 50-minutes-worth of missed messages and notifications. Every now and then she releases a shrill of laughter as something really tickles her. I had forgotten for a moment that she was a hot girl, who of course would have friends and wannabe lovers hitting her up on a Friday night.
She pays me minimal attention as she types messages, sends (and receives) voice notes (in Spanish), and watches her friends’ IG and Snapchat stories. Occasionally she fills me in with some small commentary about who the friend is and what is just so interesting about their conversation.
From what I could gather, I was dealing with three remote cockblocks:
- her best girl friend–who was back in Spain. They were sending voice notes back-and-forth without delay, and my beginner Spanish told me they were discussing the-girl’s-and-my situation, as well as the-friend-and-her-boyfriend’s situation. Both of them found everything hilarious, tittering away in their voice notes.
- an orbiter from Spain who she was messaging. She took great delight in telling me about him and how he had been pining over her.
- a guy staying at her hostel in London who she’d met only that morning. He was messaging and trying to get her out. She told me that he was offering to pay for her taxi and club entrance. Shit! I desperately prayed he was a chode.
For one hour I had been feigning indifference and pretending to be busy on my laptop while engaging with her every now and then. Patience is usually a good Plan A in these situations, and I’d had plenty of experience playing waiting games before. Putting myself in her shoes, I figured she still wasn’t ready to give herself to me just yet–she had so much abundance at that moment and had been reaching astronomical levels of validation. She would surely want to hold on to the hot-girl-high for as possible.
A couple of times I tested the water, by gently sliding over, prodding her leg and teasing, or similar. Not much success with that though. She refused to comply with other minor requests, such as “come here, I want to see that” (*pats bed position for her to move to*). With each failed request my social capital fell. Also working against me was the lack of kino up till this point. She wasn’t a particularly touchy-feely person. She was very comfortable around me, but not so comfortable touching me. I didn’t have much of a launchpad to work off.
To get an alternative viewpoint in these kind of situations, I often ask myself: what would Derek do? I’ve met RSD Derek four times now, and he’s quite simply the frame master. Whatever he says, goes. He wouldn’t let a girl get away with this “disrespectful” behaviour, and she would know it. However, I wasn’t Derek. I was too invested. I could try to go nuclear on her, but I wanted this first daygame lay so badly. And so, perhaps predictably, I discounted the nuclear option!
Just as my patience was truly starting to wear thin (and I was considering throwing her phone out the window), she exclaimed to me that her best friend (the one she’d been sending voice notes to) had just just gone to bed. Hallelujah!! Praise the Lord! She acted mock-sad, and then all at once she diverted her attention back to me.
Eye contact was back. Full spoken sentences were back. And even some kino was back. We were sat closer together on the bed. After a little time I tested for the kiss. Playful tease rejection from her as she turns her head. Should have seen that one coming–too predictable Jamie! At this point I realise that two can play at this game, and with her phone now out of sight (and out of mind) I go into full seduction and tease mode. I move in for the ear. Whisper up close: “I just wanted to tell you a secret“. Nibble earlobe. Kiss the neck softly. Then bite it gently. I “drive-by” the lips and try to encourage her to escalate on me too. She’s definitely interested again and eventually we give up the game and kiss.
Soon after this, and with our time-since-entering-my-flat approaching three hours, the sexual tug-of-war is over, and I’m putting a condom on  before entering her. And at that point I realise that my first daygame lay is in the books. We only have one round–she’s not bothered about cumming and says she needs to get back to her hostel to pack her bag. I’m fine with that and order her an Uber.
As usual after any lay, I’m buzzing and replaying all the steps back in my mind. I write out a skeleton outline of a lay report (which became this post) and smile to myself. I was right to enjoy this one, because for the next month or so I was cursed with LMR!
 Undoubtedly at this stage my front-stop would’ve been jerky and uncalibrated. Even to this day, I haven’t mastered it.
 I really should have been punished for this mis-step. A simple-but-excellent nightgame rule is to just stay in set. However, it took me a while till I was applying it to daygame.
 Or desperate.
 No wonder she turned her nose up at the various alcohol options available at the corner shop.
 This little madam seemed more than happy to do it raw. But probably best to wrap up for this one, I thought.