A very banterous conversation. I remember her being a very active verbal participant who was trying hard to be funny–a big green flag
She was on the way to work in a health food café. After 3 mins, I took the number and let her go so she wouldn’t miss her shift
However… I was slightly put off by a mole just to the left of her nose, which at the time appeared to be a dodgy colour. Possibly for this reason, I didn’t follow up. *Hangs head in shame*
Valentine’s Day: Message Out of the Blue
One month later, on Valentine’s Day itself, I received an SMS from an unknown number out of the blue
Huge IOI obv
I racked my brain to remember who she was, eventually roughly remembered
From then on: slow but consistent frequency of messaging, all positive
I gradually came around to the idea that a small mole can be overlooked for a girl this keen–plus if I approached her that means she must be attractive enough, mole-aside 😉
The Day 2
I got her to come to Angel tube one Monday night
Due to her time restrictions, she arrived at 9.30pm
Took her to standard bar/pub on the High Street
Immediately it became apparent she was an extravert who had lots of guy friends
It would be easy to read lots of false positives into such a girl rabbiting on, with lots of beta bait tests
She told me she has a skateboard and is a tomboy
But very socially savvy–I bet she often has to out-manoeuvres beta guys creeping on her
Apparently her sister is the introverted one with her head always in a book; whereas she’s the rough-and-tumble one. They’re polar opposites. At some points facing the barrage of words coming from her mouth, I wish I was with the sister 😉
Good promiscuity signs: She told me of a small tattoo on her back; she also drank wine fast and wasn’t afraid to order a round
I stayed alert enough in conversation to interject and frame control when needed. I challenged her a lot, otherwise could’ve easily been run over
However, given she was Little Miss Chatterbox, I didn’t have enough time to “work my magic”, or really let enough sexual tension build
I let her escape to get the last tube. This didn’t seem negotiable with tomorrow’s plans.
Status at this point was: (1) early kino checked off, (2) no kiss attempt, (3) vague pull intentions hinted at… (4) but no pull attempt executed
Texting after Day 2–Do I Fancy a Kickabout?
Continued messaging most days after the Day 2
She suggested a “kickabout” in the park on Sunday morning before she headed to work. Wow, there’s a first. Tomboy confirmed
I laughed to myself and thought “actually, why not?“; it was different from the norm, it could be good practise for filler dates, plus it’s an excuse to get physical
Unfortunately on the Sunday morning she flaked–she said she was hungover. No football date after all, waaahh
Instead we set up a proper Day 3 the following Friday
The Day 3
Following the flake, she suggested meeting in Angel on the Friday for a comedy night at a local pub–a big green light to go for the pull that night since she’s arranging the date in my neighbourhood
I obviously wasn’t enthused about the comedy but, according to the website, the comedy started at 8pm, so I figured we could be done with it early
We arrived at the pub at 7.45pm; unfortunately tickets were only left for the later 9.15pm showing
She was intent on still watching the 9.15pm showing, even after my objections. So I compromised and said we’d sneak out after the first act or if we weren’t laughing enough
We grabbed a drink in the pub in the meantime
I found out she had to wake up at 6am the next morning, to work the breakfast shift at the café. Because of this, she hinted at needing to get the last tube later on
At this point I told myself to step it up a gear, escalating much quicker, and leading conversation way more. Time to switch to closer mode, Jamie!
From this point forth I was uber-aware that the window of opportunity was closing, and I’d have to hurry things along more than I’d normally like to
I figured if we stayed and watched the full comedy, the pull would be very unlikely. The last tube seemed like a condition I’d have to work with, rather than an objection I could sidestep
At 9.15pm she didn’t forget about the comedy (I wasn’t going to mention it; I hoped she’d forget!). So we went upstairs to find our seats
In the small auditorium I made sure we sat at the end of an aisle near the door!
At 10pm I pulled her out of the comedy in the dark. We ducked our heads and squeezed out past people standing behind
I led her to a different pub near mine: final venue
I decided to go for the kiss to make clear my intentions with this girl. She probably has lots of guys pussyfooting around
Success! We kissed here, although it wasn’t the smoothest–when I decided to go for it, we didn’t start off with our faces very close to each other. However, it worked well enough and no objection from her
Shortly after this, I pulled her back to mine. It was now before 11pm. I still had the last tube in the back of my mind
No LMR in the bedroom, but as she was casually taking her clothes off she did mention we had to be quick, with the last tube looming. Ha, this made me laugh! I also thanked God I’d hurried things along and executed
So apparently sex is no big deal to her if she likes the dude and he doesn’t friend-zone himself. Bet a lot of guys in her social circle are stuck in the friend-zone
She had a great little body, albeit not a naturally curvy one–turns out she studied sports science and nutrition at uni and is even qualified as a personal trainer
Post sex interview: she said she was only aware that sex was actually gonna happen at the final venue (when I made explicit about going back to mine).
During sex she enjoyed playing with my gooch A LOT. When I enquired as to why she was so fixated on it, she said that her gay flatmate gave her tips that guys like this. Good studying Natalie, have an “A” for effort!
After the deed was done, good vibes and joking
And then, within an hour of getting back to mine, she soon got dressed and hurried off to make her way home. Great girl!
So far this year I’ve been having a love/hate relationship with game. Not at all wanting to go out and do daygame beforehand, but then–once in a set–totally absorbed and feeling right back at home. On Saturday it was more a case of loving daygame, as I enjoyed a full seven-hour set…
At around 2pm on Saturday I met up my wing “David” outside King’s Cross tube station to do a session. We started wandering through the station towards the canal and I watched David open the first couple of girls while I weaseled refused a few sets. After more dawdling about while I delayed my first open of the day, I clocked a girl wearing a red coat and red lipstick walking past. About five-feet-four, dark hair, and walking along leisurely. No IOI but she landed right on my radar. “Two secs” I said to David. “Is she with that couple? The girl in red. She looks really flirty and sexual“.
My question was soon answered as she peeled away from the couple: she was solo and not with them. I did an about-turn and caught up. “Excuse me, hey. You look really relaxed but in a badass way…[blah de blah]” It was a walk-with, side-on approach and she soon brought her unhurried pace to a halt.
I received a warm reception: wide-eyed and all smiles. She seemed to be responding quite emotionally, with nervous energy affecting her speech. Why can’t every open be like this! After I stacked some more I learned that Marta was a 22-year-old Mexican girl here in London for a few weeks to improve her English. To her credit her English was already excellent and I didn’t really have to dumb it down at all.
She told me that she’d never left her country before. And although she works as an air hostess back in Mexico, it’s a domestic airline so she only flies within her country. Back at home, she lives in Mexico City with family and had decided to travel here alone on a whim. She’d arrived in London last weekend and was staying with a family who host language students. Today she was out exploring London with no real plan. So far, so good I thought. Ding ding ding!
But then came something I definitely didn’t plan for. A few minutes into the set I felt a slow and controlled tap on my shoulder from behind. It felt familiar and knowing. “Who could this be?” I thought. Chances are that it’s my wing, I assumed, but that would have to mean it was something urgent. I pivoted around and instead came face-to-face with two ex-colleagues, who also happen to be good mates. I’ve even been on lads weekends away with them, picking up girls in Eastern European bars together while I’ve used some under-the-radar game.
I did some vague introductions and tried to involve everyone in some light conversation. Fortunately it all ended up being normal and smooth. This was probably because (1) Marta has already hooked, and (2) my mates were savvy enough to have suspected it was the early stages of some romantic interaction. So I got some always-welcome social proof from my mates, before they realised that they’d do well to leave us one-on-one. Good “winging” from them, thanks guys!
After this I strolled with Marta inside and through the station, where I showed her Platform nine-and-three-quarters. Because she was reacting so positively and because I live only one tube station away, I was already planning our adventure with the end in mind. I told her I’d take her for a drink and from the station I walked her in the general direction of my place–not intending for the insta-pull, but attempting to set things up nicely. At one lull in the conversation she asked “So where is this pub?” At this point, I casually took her to the nearest one: the Big Chill pub. Had she not asked where we were going, I would have walked her to a closer pub to mine.
At the bar, I ordered two G&Ts and we sat next to each other on a sofa . She was sitting very erect (heh) and “proper”. This made sense when I found out she was from a good family and knowing that it’s part of her job with the airline to look good. Nothing too special from me at this point: mainly more comfort, gaining some minor compliance, and the beginning of some light kino. At this stage she hadn’t really tested me at all: good girl! Soon before we leave the pub, I noticed she was beginning to relax her posture too–probably a good sign at this stage.
After the pub my plan was to experiment with a classic Anthony Hustle bike ride, taking her on a scenic route to a pub in Angel. However, this plan was scuppered when the Santander bike machine took my money before then telling me it was out of service. “No problem!” I said, as I hopped us on a bus heading up Pentonville Road towards Angel. She was fine with the idea of the “small adventure”.
At Angel I took her to a different pub to where I would normally go–the Camden Head–purely to mix it up for me. Here the only stumbling block was getting a table. Once seated we had more deep conversation. I found more evidence she’s a lovely girl, but one who is conveniently also in touch with her sexual side. She opened up and jokingly let me know that she can be very emotional: sometimes unable to control or hide her overwhelming inner thoughts, and often crying during impactful movies and TV shows. I tell her that I will be dangerous for her.
Because it was still early and neither of us had anywhere else to be, I decided to slow-play and build some solid foundations before any bounce-home attempt. If played correctly, this was a set that should be straightforward and low risk. Plus, at the risk of sounding gay, unlike some dates I go on where the connection is mainly physical, I was actually quite enjoying her company and personality . She was intelligent, giggling at all the right things, and rapport was natural. The subcommunications and underlying attraction were also strong from the word go. During conversation, I seeded my place a few times, as well as more ambiguous adventure. But before that I decided to take her to one more venue.
At the final pub on the way to mine, the conversation took a more sexual turn and for once I actually remembered to adopt the “we” frame. I was also getting more physical than on recent dates: she seemed happy with me stroking her leg and back . And the conversation was getting more and more sexual. Things were heating up and a running joke was that we were dangerous for each other. I resisted the urge to jump the gun and lead straight home–it was still early, and I didn’t feel like I needed to risk anything. At one point, whether good game or not, I even thought to myself: “What would a normal, high-value guy who gets laid often do at this point on a date?” and then opted to get us another drink. It wasn’t late, we were actually still quite sober, plus we were in a pub after all. Soon after this she accepted the kiss and everything was looking good for the bounce-back.
When I did finally go for the bounce-back, I suddenly thought I might have fucked up. Up to this point, she’d seemed fine and happy with the tenuous and implied idea of going back to mine. But just as I made it explicit, at a high point in the interaction, she pulled out phone and fiddled away on the screen. I assumed she was messaging someone. Then she hit me with: “That’s it, you’ve lost me“. There was an air of finality to her words. I assumed this meant that she had to go and that I’d “lost” her presence. My heart skipped a beat and I tried to remain unreactive. Inside I was thinking: “Fuck, Jamie! You’ve delayed so long now that she’s made other plans. Idiot!” Then she showed me her phone with Google Maps on the screen. This didn’t calm my fears. But soon everything was fine again when she told me she was happy to come back to mine and had just been checking where in London she currently was–i.e. that she was geographically “lost”. She was checking for later on for when she would eventually have to return home. I let out a sigh of relief as I realised everything was still on track. She gathered her bag and scarf, we put on our coats, and headed for the door.
Back at mine, another minor hiccup: the Internet was down. Which meant I had no music. I briefly attempted to remedy the situation, but had no immediate success. Apparently it made no difference to her, and she seemed calmer than I was about the deafening silence hanging behind our words. Anyway, I slow-played the escalation in the bedroom (as seems to be the pattern for me at the moment). And, as also seems to be a recent pattern for me, I was using lines straight form my favourite taboo porn –mainly because I enjoy the tease so much; I’m not sure how effective they actually are!
Even at this point it wasn’t totally straightforward. It turned out she was on the last day of her period and throughout she seemed a bit shy about it. I tried to put her fears at rest and then slowly continued ramping things up. After about 20 minutes of measured, teasing foreplay, she pulled me inside of her and the notch was in the books. No sign of any period blood, the sex was great, and sure enough I was loving daygame again.
Thanks for reading.
 Note to self: try face-to-face in venue one next time, à la Thomas Crown.
 Ok, that definitely sounds gay.
 I’ve tried but I don’t think I can make this sound non-creepy.
 Step-bro/ step-sis porn. It’s probably a good thing I don’t have a step-sister, given how much I’m into this…
Some girls just seem to get it. And it’s your job to not fuck it up. Their self-esteem is high enough, and they’re social savvy enough, to not really need to shit-test. If you demonstrate you’re intrinsically high value enough, and you stick the course, they’ll be up for it. If you’re not, it’s no problem: a smile and a goodbye. They can spot chinks in the armour a mile off, without having to probe and rattle. Anything too obvious or gamey, and you’ll betray your social ineptness. I’ve made these mistakes in the past with these girls, where I’ve often failed from overgaming and doing too much.
Anyway, the Saturday before last, I met a girl who fitted this exact archetype.
Opening outside of central
I was out with my wing “David” and we’d started around 2pm. We both wanted to get some January approaching done, but didn’t fancy central London. So we met to do a session around Angel, King’s Cross, and Shoreditch. Turns out there’s some decent female foot traffic in these areas too.
David was taking a bunch of action as always, jumping into difficult sets, and approaching the hottest girls without a second’s delay. This included opening a hot, high-status English girl in the queue at Starbucks with onlookers around him. A naturally awkward social situation. Which reminds me, I must listen to his audio of that one (he was recording with his dictaphone at the time).
I didn’t want to get left behind, but that wasn’t going to happen. I was feeling motivated, and had no qualms about saying hello to members of the fairer sex. Walking back down from Upper Street towards Angel, and turning into Angel Central , I spotted a young, Mediterranean-looking, dressed-down brunette with long hair and olive skin. She didn’t exude sex appeal in a pornstar way, but she did stir something inside me in a girl-next-door way. She was hot, slim, and smiled warmly as I opened.
Francesca turned out to be an easy-going, but shrewd, Catalan girl, who was easy to vibe with. However, she was independent and decisive–she wasn’t going to be walkover. She seemed very socially savvy for her age, yet didn’t question being approached during the day. She was very feminine and conversation was light and carefree. I mostly maintained regular conversation while looking deep into her soul and subcommunicating my true intentions. She told me she was an au pair, and was on a gap year before uni. Surface level dialogue with underlying sexual energy. A few minutes after opening, she had to go, but not before I took her number.
Francesca was warm over WhatsApp the next couple of days and seemed interested. She suggested a Sunday afternoon beer the upcoming weekend, and I suggested we do it near mine (I’d already seeded in set that I live nearby). Everything going smoothly so far. Signs were pointing towards a good opportunity for a first new notch of 2019.
The Day 2: Sunday just gone
Up until Sunday afternoon I’d been having a very lazy weekend. I was burnt out from a brutal week at work, and on Friday night had let my hair down till the early hours doing my first nightgame session in over a year. Over the course of Saturday and Sunday, I’d been mostly sleeping in my blacked-out room, reading Dilbert comic books (my guilty pleasure), and nipping out the house for chocolate and other comfort food runs. However I did manage two approaches whilst out and about, although they were both insta-blow outs.
But a big challenge of game is to be able to turn it on when it’s game time, and so walking across to the date, I NLP-ed myself into a sexual and sociable mood, and did a few vocal warm-up exercises en route.
When we met she seemed a bit more abrupt than before, and we kissed on the cheek perfunctorily, neither investing too much. It was bloody freezing though. She wore a coat and scarf, but even with that on, I can discern a youthful and slim body beneath. It’s cold and I usher her to venue one.
In the first bar, she agrees to my drink choice and suggestion of a G&T (good sign). We sit side by side on a bench at a table. She drops her handbag between us, and keeps a fair amount of distance.
It’s only 5pm and I learn that I have a while with her. Perfect. No rush, I say to myself. So far, she seems just my type, so no need to push this one too hard. Enter comfort talk and chit-chat.
I learn a bit more about her background. She’s only 18, yet she’s very independent. Her family are back in Barcelona, and while she’s hoping to go to a top Arts University in the autumn, she’s now working as an au pair and part-time Spanish teacher in London.
Nothing more too noteworthy at venue one, apart from the fact that she smokes socially, and at one stage she nips outside to have one. At her request, I join her. Later on in the date, I choose not to.
Across the street in venue two, we switch it up and order beers. I decide to subtly give her the option to pay and, as I appear distracted, waiting…waiting…waiting… as the waitress tells us how much we owe. With no movement from her, I eventually cave and nonchalantly look up from my stupor and pay the bill. I really should have been more ballsy with this. Either way, I acted convincingly enough that she doesn’t realise I was attempting a sneaky move.
When getting round two in with some girls in the past, I’ve said in my most off-hand and relaxed way possible: “you’re ok to get this one, yeah?” and attempted to act very blasé. Perhaps surprisingly, it’s worked both times I’ve done it, and with no fuss. Michael Sartain, who hangs out with, and dates, some of the most objectively hot girls on the planet, even talks about how important getting investment from a girl is. Although logic and common sense suggest otherwise, he says that even with the supermodels, her investment (not necessarily monetary) is one of the biggest things that will help you. I guess getting investment from her can be explained by the Ben Franklin effect, the sunk cost fallacy, and commitment and consistency (from Cialdini)–where she’ll likely rationalise why she invested in something.
What did appear to work out well was when, ten minutes after sitting down with our beers, she suggested getting nachos and I said “yeah if you wanna grab some I can help you with those“. So I let her order, and then made my way through most of them. They were relatively expensive for an au pair who earns nada, and they also turned out to be really shitty nachos .
At this stage we also learned a bit more about each other. I liked Francesca. She wasn’t born with a silver spoon and she was a nice hot girl. Francesca seemed to have social gears, where she could be very socially switched-on and “proper” around some people (growing up with older brothers and sisters probably helped this), but I could also tell there was a promiscuous girl who would come out to play, when with others. Although she seemed studious, liked to hike in the countryside, and wasn’t yet addicted to Instgram , she did have her belly button pierced and alluded to a few sexual escapades when prompted. The eye contact was also very on.
I told her about me, with the aide of a few stories. I tapped into previous experiences with Spanish girls, and talked about ex-girlfriends who were Spanish and where they lived, as well as where I’ve travelled in Spain. Throughout the date I also sprinkled in a few Spanish phrases (that 99% of Brits wouldn’t know).
For some reason, I hadn’t yet ramped up the explicit sexuality (verbal or physical) of the interaction. Or used the “we” frame (I keep neglecting this, bah!). Not even via the unofficial questions game we were loosely running throughout, either. She also seemed to fit more of the European blueprint rather than American/UK blueprint , as expected given her geography I guess! So for her, the big attraction spikes didn’t seem necessary, and felt like they would’ve been incongruent. However, I was realising that this would likely have to be a three-venue date if it was going to be a smooth pull. We could have done more drinks there at venue two, but I wanted to baby-step the journey back to mine, covering half the distance now.
So after one hour or so at venue two, we made our way to venue three. I was sure to seed that we were going to my local pub, that it was “on the way to mine“, and that I was tempted to take her “on a little adventure” later, but that “I’m still not sure“.
Venue three has good lighting and is usually more conducive to seduction. However, this Sunday evening in January it was deserted and so it felt like we were the focus of the bargirl’s attention. We were hardly an anonymous couple on a secret rendezvous. Anyway, we got our drinks and sat together on a bench behind a table looking out across the empty room. Actually there was one other couple there, also on a first date. But the guy didn’t seem to know game, and she definitely “wasn’t my cup of tea”, so I soon became disinterested and stopped eavesdropping.
With my focus on Francesca, I realised there was still work to do. I started to sexualise more verbally, and we were soon sharing naughty stories with each other. I was gently encouraging her to open up, and she seemed fine discussing sexual topics. Turns out she’s had quite the sexual history so far, being with as many as ten boys (I’m extrapolating here, but it has to be around that number), as well as having a long-term boyfriend up until October. The sex life of a hot 18 year old…
In terms of her viewing you as a potential sexual partner, I think that with some girls you can just imply you’ve been with a lot of girls and that sex is a normal thing that cool guys and cool girls (like you and her) do. And rather than judge, they will realise you’re “part of the in-group”. Nothing obvious and explicit, or try-hard, though–it can be a very fine line. And then the sex can just happen. However, with some more chaste girls this will not work–e.g. the superficial Made in Chelsea-type girl who recently walked out on a date with me soon after I broached the subject of sex (her loss 😉 )
Although the topic of conversational was favourable, and the subcomms were strong throughout, she didn’t seem totally relaxed with the kino: when I took her hand in mine, she seemed awkward and overly conscious of it. So I made sure to drop it soon the couple of times I tried. I also left it unmentioned and soon said something unrelated to get her mind off of it. If I don’t address the misstep, then the misstep didn’t happen. She was also still sitting some distance away.
However, at this crucial point in the date, rather than risk losing any social capital with a failed kiss attempt (or anything similar), I decided to trust I’d done enough work and after 50 minutes at venue three I suggested the bounce back–with disqualification (I said something about her not staying long because I had to wake up early). She didn’t immediately jump at the idea, but, after a similar disqualifier of her own, she was on board. She rolled a cigarette and we left.
At mine I grab us a beer each from the fridge and after a few minutes of chat in the kitchen, we move to my room. She hasn’t yet removed her shoes. But neither have I. With slighter bigger-than-normal exaggerated motions, I conspicuously remove my shoes in front of her and she realises and then follows suit with hers. Great. She nips to the loo. I’m at my standing desk, picking music to play on YouTube. I stand waiting there as she returns from the loo. She joins me, standing next to me only centimetres away (there are no seats in the room). After a while I just turn my head from the screen, we hold eye contact, and we kiss. Boom. Praise the Lord! If I’m feeling the tension after this lonnnnnng a wait, then surely she is too.
From there I still slow-play, and disengage, chat, and then go back in for a kiss a few times. Since she doesn’t seem completely horny, and she’s not moaning or anything just yet, I don’t want to trigger any unwanted inhibitions of hers.
I’ve been experimenting with my anti-LMR tactics lately. Still a small sample size, but results are looking good so far. I haven’t been doing my old trick of transferring my own horniness onto her with heavy-handed escalation. As it happens, I’ve been doing the opposite: taking it very slowly and trying to get her to lead and initiate some steps. Even with some added commentary too, which I pinched from the step-sister porn I’ve been watching for the last year or so ! So it’s been very slow-going, almost like how I imagine it would be for two curious-yet-“straight” girls fooling around for the first time  (actually I’ve watched bisexual girls in isolation on a date before and can confirm that they escalate verrrrry slowly, but then every step is all-the-more intimate to them).
Anyway, wow–what a body. The tight waist I’d already guessed by the low BMI. But the ass and the breasts are curvier and fuller than her winter layers suggested. The sex is great and afterwards we spoon and comfort-talk . Then I send her on her way. She takes it all in her stride, goes off with a smile on her face, and doesn’t even want walking to the station–it’s no big deal to her.
So with this one I played it very patiently and got basically no resistance at all. Possibly this was because I took it so slowly… but it could just have been because she was DTF anyway. I’ll never know for sure. What I’d love to do is run another simulation of this date in a parallel Universe where I pull her back right away–and see whether that strategy works out or not. Maybe there was more than one way to skin this cat.
As always, thanks for reading.
 The smallest shopping mall known to man. There’s only ever capacity for one hot girl at any one time.
 They appeared to be a packet of Doritos emptied into a cereal bowl, with some grated cheese thrown on top. That’ll £10 please, young lady!
 Todd V does a great job of highlighting the general differences between European and American/UK girls here.
 Knew it would come in handy one day. As things are really heating up, I’ve been saying things like “This is so naughty, we shouldn’t be doing this… But then again… it feels sogooood” :DDD
 I should point out here that I’m not a lesbian.
 And arrange to go to Harmony at her suggestion to buy sex toys.
Friday 21 Dec: I’d been on a high all day following the +1 with the South African au pair the night before. I’d had the best part of three hours sleep before a demanding day at work. But come the afternoon I was still full of energy and craving more adventure. Which was good, because I had a Day 2 planned that evening. So I got out of work, shot back home for a quick shower, and then headed out for the date. I was due to meet an arty Italian girl who I’d opened six days earlier…
The open: back to the previous Saturday
On the Saturday before, I’d been sitting in a small seminar room all day, attending the Tom Torero Dirty Tricks seminar . It was a fun day, and Tom had been on good form. Of the other attendees, I already knew Mr S, “David”, and “Matthew”. I also had the chance to connect with some of the other guys, including GringoDaygame and olderguydaygame. On breaks and during lunch we were all exchanging stories and sharing our journeys. There was good camaraderie.
After the seminar, I travelled across to King’s Cross Train station with David, who I hadn’t winged with before. It was raining outside and my aim was to get a few sets in to “tick the approach box”, before grabbing a pizza and heading home for an early night. I was aiming for about five sets, to keep the momentum going.
I liked winging with David immediately: he was taking action, he wasn’t making excuses, and he seemed serious about the learning process. He was keeping me on my toes. For his third approach, I saw David jump into a difficult and socially awkward set on the upper level of the station overlooking the concourse. He’d seen a tall, hot blonde sitting in a restaurant’s seating area and had pounced. No faffing or waiting around. I watched for a minute and was inspired.
At moments like this, I always feel the need to step up my own game. I was looking around feverishly for opportunities to open. Being Saturday evening there was a lot of foot traffic and I didn’t have to wait long. Walking towards me I saw a five-feet-six brunette, who was unrushed and looking relaxed. She had an arty appearance and was and well put together, wearing a jumper with a girly skirt and tights. I opened her immediately head-on before I had chance to think or weasel. She received me well and appeared stoic and enigmatic. Our eyes held, held, held. A good sign.
Angela was an Italian living in South London, who was on her way to a birthday party. I found out she’s 24, works in marketing, and was obviously well-educated. She wasn’t as fiery as other Italians I’d met in the past, and explained that she was from Milan originally but has been living in London for a long time. Very metropolitan. It was a decent-enough set with a normal amount of teasing and flirting. Towards the 5 minute mark, I did my job and took the number.
The Day 2: Friday Evening, six days later
Texting had been straightforward, and she’d agreed to meet me at my Tube station after work. I’ve previously mentioned that I’m hopeless at recognising new faces. Well, I’m even more hopeless when it’s dark. So, come the Day 2 meet, I was walking towards the station to meet her just after 8pm, and even had her on the phone. Locating her should be simple from here, you’d think. I start to walk directly towards a girl who at a distance fits her appearance, has a phone to her ear, and is standing near to the landmark she’s describing. Is that her? Wait, her hair wasn’t that dark, was it?? Shit! It’s a different girl!! Fuck!! Fortunately, before it’s obvious I was walking up to the wrong girl, Angela intercepts me from the right, and taps me on the arm. I react quickly and she doesn’t seem to notice my error, phew. She looks good but she’s dressed up with lots of layers on. Hopefully just because of the outside temperature.
I walk her to Venue One, a “pubby” bar on Angel high street. No serious or risky conversation en route (or generally when travelling between venues). She’s receptive to the light vibing.
At the bar, the older barmaid gives me a knowing smile. I must have brought nearly ten dates here now. However, it’s a different, Mediterranean barmaid who actually serves me. This girl must be new because she thinks I say two “green teas” when I have of course ordered two “G&Ts”. I find this hilarious and it’s a good opportunity to crack a few jokes and get everyone involved. “Hey everyone, look at me! I’m social and fun to be around!” –I may as well be broadcasting. We pay and look for seats. It’s Friday night and the place is full, so the only option is two stools at a tall table.
After sitting, I find out that her mother has flown in from Italy today to visit her…and she’s staying with her in South London! Of course I immediately interpret this to be a bad thing, and wonder about the repercussions for our date. I enquire casually, trying to determine how long I have with Angela, and whether she has to get back to her mother later. She implies she can stay out late-ish. Not a very concrete or useful answer, and I’m still unsure how long I have. So it’s in the back of my mind throughout that I should probably move things forward a little faster today.
When seats open up on a bench, I move us there. She starts to take the seat facing the bench, so I instruct her to move over to the bench, and then I follow in next to her. She shuffles across to keep her distance a bit, but no problem I tell myself. Just give it time.
From here, it’s all very routine for the first venue. Questions game. Eye contact. Story-telling and frame building. However, there’s far less kino (almost nil, in fact) than I’d prefer, but she doesn’t seem fully ready for it yet.
She’s eager to buy a round in return, so I suggest we switch to another pub. I describe the place I have in mind in a very positive light, as well as slipping in that it’s “my second-nearest local pub“. No surprises tonight, I’m thinking. Let’s seed everything way in advance.
At the second venue, the conversation takes a more sexual tone, and kino is improving, although it’s only intermittent hand-holding. We’re sat at right angles to each other, where two benches meet. It’s busy and we’re close to the nearest table, who are able to hear most of our conversation. Not ideal, but workable of course.
We’re telling each other tales with sexual themes, and she’s at ease with this. Although we still haven’t fully penetrated (heh) the “we” frame, the underlying interaction is still man-to-woman. The subcommunications, along with the indirect sexual references, are propping this pillar up. She’s told me she doesn’t like PDAs , and it’s evident that a kiss or excessive physical escalation would hurt me right now. Nevertheless, looking back now, there still wasn’t enough “togetherness” at this stage of our interaction.
With more kino out of the window, I could’ve (and should’ve) been escalating on the “we”/”us” verbal channel–to increase our narrative and make it all about the two of us. With that being said, in the past I have still pulled and converted in similar situations. But at this stage in the date, the potential lay still felt up in the air and subject to more chance than I’d prefer. I hadn’t properly laid the foundations.
It’s 10.30pm, two-and-a-half hours after we met. In the back of my mind I’m thinking about the mother waiting back at Angela’s flat in South London. I worry that the window of opportunity might close soon. Just before we finish the second drink at the venue, she rejects my vague idea to bounce back to mine, though I’ve worded it rather ambiguously. What makes me laugh is the reason she gives: an explicit reference to not coming to mine to hook up tonight. That’s one good thing; she knew the connotations of going back with me. I’ve obviously heard similar objections many times, with varied outcomes. This time it sounds like it falls in the “it’s-not-just-a-shit-test” category. Maybe it’s down to the lack of solid prep work I’ve done on the “togetherness” frame.
At this point, instead of taking a step back, I for whatever reason decide to go on the front foot. I lightheartedly sidestep the “we’re not hooking up” objection, and then begin to run my mouth, sales style. I ramble on, scramble her RAS, sneak one past the goalie (Karisma King and Todd V terms, respectively), and generally try to bamboozle her. I somehow end up persuading her to come back to mine anyway, under the primary reason that “I want to educate you on some actual good books to read” (she’s really into poetry and reading). Soon we’re grabbing our coats and heading out into the light rain, making the two minute walk back to mine. Quite how I’ve got her to change her mind, I don’t know.
In hindsight, and with the benefit of knowing that she wasn’t super-comfortable at mine after, I’m now certain I misplayed this part. I should have sat back, ordered us another drink, built some stronger foundations, then heated her up before attempting again. She wasn’t fully ready and I was lucky she gave me another chance right away. Time in set should be my ally, and unless she was explicitly telling me she had to go back to her mother, I should’ve just chilled, warmed her up, and waited for a more favourable moment.
Back at mine, and after grabbing wine from the kitchen, we’re in my room and she’s appearing very awkward. I always prefer for the girl to remove her coat and shoes of her own volition. However, Angela’s still got them on and hasn’t picked up on my subtle hints to remove them. She’s also on her feet shuffling about self-consciously. I say to her: “feel free to tread your wet shoes all over my nice wooden floor, why don’t you!” in a teasing way, and she apologises before slipping off the shoes. At this point I decide to grab a coathanger and guide her towards removing the coat too. Job done with the shoes and coat.
There follows a slightly uncomfortable two minutes where she’s visibly umming and ahing about whether or not to have sex with me and I’m trying to distract her forebrain. It later turns out in the post-sex interview that she’s usually less sober in these situations. Again, I think more time spent in the pub, with perhaps more booze too, would’ve smoothed the process. However, the ride is never completely smooth and I’m doing my part by attempting to pattern-interrupt any worrying thoughts she has. I’m casually showing her my books, talking about music, and trying to sidetrack her “I’m a sluuuuuut” forebrain. But nothing too “jerky” from me, though–still playing it cool.
Eventually I hit upon something more sticky (heh). She spots a Hemingway book and seems to relax when asking me about it. She then spots Lolita and tells me it’s one of her favourites. We do a deep dive on Nabokov’s intentions with the novel. I make sure to challenge her views, and she loves it.
I find it amusing that Angela seems more at ease following our conversation about a middle-aged man and his love affair with his 12-year-old stepdaughter. Deep rapport and familiarity/unity over any topic can be strong. As we’re sat closer on the bed, I’m stroking her back. She now seems to logically accept that sex is going to happen, even verbalising things like “I’m totally sober. This is a new experience for me“. We kiss a bit, we don’t rush things, and soon after we’re fumbling around on the bed undressing each other. It’s one-way traffic from this point and my second new lay in two days is in the books.
Post sex interview:
she’d never had a sober ONS before . Some girls just need booze to override their forebrain and to give them permission.
she mentioned that, before coming to the date, she didn’t know exactly what to expect. She seemed to draw a distinction between this date, where she’d met the guy during the day, and an online Tinder date, which she saw as an organised hook-up. Perhaps that’s just her, or perhaps I just didn’t make it clear enough where this one was headed earlier in the interaction. Either way, this is just one data point. Other girls have known exactly where it’s heading.
she told me she’s been with around 15 guys in her life. And that they have been a mix of guys at gigs and pubs, friends from her social circle, and online dates. Pretty standard.
This lay capped off a great couple of days for me. I’d managed to squeeze in two sexcessful dates with two very different girls, and just before the Christmas break too. It also rounded off a great first year of approaching girls during the daytime.
As always, thanks for reading. Hopefully lots more to come!
 An outer game workshop that TT was filming in the back of the Hippodrome Casino. It’s my understanding that Tom will be releasing it as a product sometime. Some good outer game techniques and lines for a player’s toolkit.
 Public Displays of Affection. I generally avoid them anyway though, and prefer for a continued and lengthened build-up of sexual tension.
 We’d only had three drinks, and they were only spirit-and-mixers, two of which were singles.
At the end of Part II, I’d just finished a quick-and-unexpected Day 2 with the 19-yo South African au pair. Quick rundown of events up to that point:
I had originally opened her on the Strand at the beginning of December. She was testy, and judged me for being a player.
I had since forgotten all about her, and had mistaken her for a different girl when she messaged out of the blue.
I was surprised to meet her on the Day 2, expecting the different girl.
The Day 2 was only 90-mins long, after which she left for a pre-planned Christmas Carol concert.
After that I said that I expected her to be “a pain in the arse over many dates. Or maybe she’s seen enough of me anyway, and is ready to move on herself.”
So it was fair to say that expectations weren’t super high for this one.
So then why–on Thursday evening, four days later–was I rushing out of work on time and darting to catch a train from Waterloo to take me to a train station in Zone 6 that I’d never heard of before, just to meet her??
Well it was all to do with a phone call I received from her out of the blue at 23:58 on the Monday earlier in the week (the day after our Day 2).
On Monday evening, I had been doing some tax admin stuff at home. It was getting late. Earlier I’d been messaging with her back-and-forth a couple of times. Closing in on midnight, my phone lit up. I was surprised to see the incoming call symbol alongside her name. Lately I’d been experimenting with sending voice notes, and had been listening to old RSD Todd pre-date phone calls, so I was confident enough with my phone game to answer the call and see where this went.
Me, picking up: “Hey you“
Her: “Heyyyyy Jamie hehehe“
Me: “You sound so [ comment about the sound of her voice ] over the phone.”
Her: “Hehe. Yeah, some people say that I [ blah blah blah–I can’t remember exact details]”
She sounds very warm. To begin with we vibe, chatting away while I tease her. I briefly tell her about my day, I ask her a couple of light-hearted questions, and I generally keep up a flirty conversation–frequently returning to the theme of “us”. I aim for us to behave like two flirty teenagers  at school, who fancy each other and are up all night talking on the phone, while their parents sleep. She sounds like a completely different girl to who I originally met on the Strand three weeks earlier.
A few times she drops information into conversation which strikes me odd, being inconsistent with the general flow. She says that she wants to go ice-skating at Hampton Court, which is very close to her host family’s house. Soon after this, she just happens to drop into conversation that her host family are out of town from Wednesday evening and that she’ll be in a free house all alone, then hinting at me going over. She could be playing games, but from my frame so far, she knows I’m not going to follow her every request like a chode. She also doesn’t have many friends in London, so will likely actually be all alone. Lastly to note: she’s going back to South Africa in one month, and so I assume she won’t be looking for a boyfriend in her remaining time here. There’s also something in her general tone which is more mischievous from the player-judging girl I’d opened three weeks prior. My spidey senses were tingling.
In terms of jumping at the vague invitation, I don’t take the bait. Instead I say that, although it might be cool to visit her there for a bit, I do have a busy week and that it’s kind of far away. Plus I say I still don’t know her that well. Disqualification overdrive. At this point she doesn’t withdraw her half-offer, or deny that she was inviting me. She still seems to want for it to happen, and isn’t rescinding the offer. I give her some glimmer of hope: “But there’s a chance that Thursday miiiiiight work. How about this though: we don’t set anything in stone yet but we speak tomorrow, see how our weeks are looking, and then we make a call then.” I love the game.
The next day, the Tuesday, I forget to follow up , and she messages me at 10pm:
“Be spontaneous and find a way to meet me at Hampton Court at 5 on Thursday” *Shrug emoji*
Me: “Challenge accepted if we make it 7“
So, I broke the player’s rule and let her control the logistics. However, I was still standing and hadn’t been struck down by a lightning bolt sent from the Daygame Gods. With 95% of girls I see, I’d never let this situation happen, even going so far in the past to cancel dates when logistics weren’t obviously in my favour. However, some weird intuition in the back of my mind told me, that given this precise context, going along with her plan was the correct course of action here. Sometimes the girl will tell you how to sleep with her , and we gamers are often too set in our rigid ways to realise when this is the case. I desperately hoped that this was one of those occasions.
On arriving at her station at 7pm, we first walk the five minutes back to her host family’s house, where she pours us both a wine. It’s a fancy detached house on an quiet and expensive street, and the entire grounds sprawl over an acre or two. Inside, the rooms are vast and it looks like a lot of money has been dropped on interior design.
As for her, she’s visibly nervous and excited. We’re stood in the kitchen, leaning against opposing countertops. I allow silences to sit, which ramps up the tension. She feels obliged to be a good host and breaks the tension each time. She shows me that she’s pre-booked the ice-skating tickets and has also reserved a table for dinner in a local pub too. It doesn’t appear to be an everyday thing for her. She’s printed out all the tickets already too. Great investment on her part I think. (Although the host father is paying for it, she’s had to arrange it all). I make sure the gesture doesn’t go unrecognised and call out the effort she must have gone to beforehand. She fights the frame saying that if I couldn’t make it she would have gone with someone else anyway. Cute!
With this rendezvous, I’ve now visited three different London au pairs when their host families have been away. This time, I felt like Philip Jennings (the undercover Russian spy) from The Americans when he entered the house of one of the heads of the CIA late at night, having befriended and seduced the teenage daughter, Kimmy. However, back in reality in South West London, the host parents here were not members of an intelligence agency, but had high-flying city jobs.
At 7.40pm we leave for ice-skating. We arrive, change into skates, and drop her bag in the cloak room. I charm the young guy working at the counter and persuade him to put her bag away for free (just because). There was a time when I shied away from external social interactions/interruptions when in-set. Now I actively seek them (in potentially favourable situations, anyway) and use these opportunities to showcase any hard-earned social skills I may have picked up during my game career 😉 Passive attraction can be powerful.
Ice-skating was a great choice. Whereas she’s only just competent enough to stand up on the ice and gingerly inch her way across, I’m gliding around effortlessly and taking the teacher/expert role. (I used to ice-skate week-in, week-out when I was 11 to 14, and then roller-blade from 16 to 17; thankfully I still remember a trick or two). We do some laps, I prank around, and we stop and chat. Rinse and repeat. Throughout this we hold hands a little, but I make sure to disengage before it’s too lovey-dovey, or too predictable. We pick up the questions game from the Day 2, but I kick it up a gear in intimacy. We’re soon settling into the usual question game topics–kissing, masturbation, losing virginity, public sex, and so on. It turns out that she’s had only two sexual partners so far in life, but has had sex an estimated 150 times. Those sound like good numbers to me.
45 minutes later and the skating session has finished. When unlacing the boots, she attempts a jealousy plotline: to flirt with a similar-aged (to her, that is!) boy sat next to her on the bench. He has no social skills and is visibly petrified, probably because he’s a horny teenager and she’s hot. Even though she perseveres, it backfires. He ends up blanking her and turning away, and I give her a knowing nod and a chuckle.
After skating we arrive at the gastropub she’s booked for dinner. Compared to my usual dates at the local dive bar/pub, this is now getting quite excessive! It’s quite fancy, and although the other patrons are old, I continue to play around and tease. I don’t like dining with a girl, but since she was fairly naïve and new to dating, and also prepared to invest by arranging the booking, I was fine making an exception. I felt like this was all a new, exciting experience for her. The implications of dining with a 26 year old city girl would have been very different. We split the bill and head back to the house.
Back at the house she changes into pyjama bottoms in front of me. I ignore. We’re in the kitchen and she says she doesn’t want to drink any more (she only had half a glass of wine at dinner), which I take to be a bad sign.
We’re standing in the kitchen once again, and when the conversation goes sexual I turn up the physicality dial. She’s no angel and is actively engaging. We’re allowing our lips to come oh-so-close to one-another’s without actually touching, and I’m doing the usual heaving breathing and light neck kissing/biting. However, after two minutes of this, I’m the first one to commit to an actual kiss attempt, which unfortunately gives her the opportunity to reject me. She pulls her head away with a knowing smile. Fuck!! I was patient but not patient enough! I should’ve had her begging for it first.
She takes a step back and says “I’m sorry“. She smiles with a small look of delight and takes a breath in. It looks like she’s about to continue talking. Fuck! The pity talk is about to begin! Abort!! Abort!! The pity talk is every seducer’s kryptonite. It explicitly puts her in the position of power: it implies you’re a weak predictable man, and that her SMV is leagues higher than yours. Never listen to, acknowledge, or let her finish the pity talk. I try the pattern-interrupt:
“Woah woah I just wanted to tell you a secret. I can’t believe I let you use your feminine wily charms there. Stop seducing me“
She re-starts, whilst smiling with what appears to be validation and enjoyment: “Look, I’ve recently come out of a relationship and whilst you’re really good at what you do–I haven’t ever felt goosebumps all over my body like that before–I just don’t think I can right now.”
I try the pattern interrupt again, but it’s fruitless. Now she’s moved and sat down the other side of the kitchen table too, introducing a physical gulf between us. I continue standing, and don’t close in, to avoid appearing needy or chasing.
She’s smiling throughout, and whilst not being the biggest tease I’ve ever encountered, she is definitely enjoying her moment. Whilst smiling a big grin she starts to say “But we can be friends if you want” She starts to say “I’m sorry” again with the look of mock-pity, whilst smiling. I have to take action. I jump in:
“Look, I’m the one who should be sorry. You’re a cool girl and all and I really like the connection we’ve had so far. But you know I have options, right? And yet at the same time I’m very selective. I don’t just go for any girl–as I hope is the case for you with boys. Obviously for me there has to be physical attraction. And on top of that there also have to be other things like good humour, intelligence, original thinking, etc. But that’s kind of a given if I’ve got this far with a girl. With every girl I see again and again, we’ve had to have that deep connection, where we don’t hold back for anything or anyone in the world. And at the moment I just can’t see you being that girl for me. I’ll wish you well and of course say hi if I bump into you on the street, but it would be a waste of my time to see you when I have other girls around who are actually on the same wavelength as me, and who give themselves to me fully. So with you I just don’t think I would see you again after you put the brakes on. Plus I have lots of friends already. I’d obviously wish you well though, we just wouldn’t ever see each other again.”
She looks up at me, down and then starts to look at her phone, casually typing something. She doesn’t appear upset or perturbed. I go to sit at the table, but choose the chair rather than the bench and slide it further away from her, like hot girls have sometimes done to me by default. “Why are you sitting so far away?” she says. “Oh am I? Didn’t realise” I say. I’m still cool, calm and collected. Today my emotional control is better than it has ever been before in this situation . I’ve definitely given away my true results-dependent feelings at crunch points like this before.
Then she looks at the phone. I look up at the clock. It’s around 11.30pm–the time of the last train from her stop.
Her: “How would you get back though? It says here it will take one-and-a-half hours.”
Me: “Oh shit, it’s that late?? Well I’d rather not travel for one-and-a-half hours now if I can. Or spend £50 getting an Uber… So–and this is only if you’re cool with it because if you want me to go I can–I could stay here and jump on the easier train into work in the morning.”
Smile from her. Then, chirpily: “Yeah that’s fine. And you can share my bed. Or if you’d prefer you can sleep in [kid’s name’s] room? And do you have something to wear other than jeans, because I don’t want jeans in my bed“
Wow! Talk about a change in apparent fortunes. It’s gone from game over to back-in-the-game just like that. I’m confused but I’m assuming that it’s all good again and that I just have to go along with the flow. There’s a look in her eyes that says she’s still feeling sexual. Also, the wry grins that had accompanied her objections so far are definitely a good sign. So many emotional back-and-forths from her. Female caprices, pfft! Or maybe it was all a calculated game on her part. Maybe she’s playing me at a whole other level. Maybe she’s the master seducer…
We go upstairs, separately brush our teeth, and pee. Before I remove my jeans, I get her to verbally and logically realise that the contours of my crotch will be very visible, and are you ok with that? She’s fine, she says. I’ve been getting more logical decisions and acknowledgements from girls recently. Working your way up a compliance ladder (to bigger requests) is aided by both emotional- and logical- buy-in.
She suggests watching a movie on the iPad in bed. As she’s in the bathroom removing her make-up, I’m lying in bed searching furiously through Netflix films on the tablet. I’m attempting to find a movie that frames sex as being fun, exciting and quotidian. But unfortunately, because I want to appear decisive, I hurriedly select the only hooking-up rom-com where one woman gets accidentally pregnant. Hopefully she’ll overlook that pregnancy part…
She comes back and we begin the movie. Under the bedcovers we’re laying on our sides and she’s reversing her ass into my crutch and wriggling. Pyjamas are still on though. We’re initially awake under the pretext of watching the movie, but soon we’re just talking over it anyway and continuing the questions game. The questions get more sexual and she can also feel me pressing up against her. When she answers a question about porn, I discover she’s really into taboo porn. And that she also likes the step-sister/step-brother porn. I make a note and two minutes later I’m loosely using this in my final seduction.
After more neck-biting from me, and grinding from her, I roll her over and position myself over her with my thigh rubbing between her legs. We’re finally kissing too, and she’s really letting go now. I’m breathing heavily into her ear. And whispering. I’m saying things to her like: “as friends, we really shouldn’t do this. But it does feel kinda good, doesn’t it“. Her: “Mm-hmm.”
Soon my fingers are inside her. I’ve reached around from behind, under her yoga-pant pyjama bottoms, and discovered that she’s dripping wet. She acknowledges just how turned on and wet she’s been as I slowly slip two fingers inside her pussy.
From there, the clothes fully come off and it’s never in doubt. I enter her, and we settle into a slow, sensual rhythm. I’m so turned on by her hot, nubile, young body that I have to practise some Mantak Chia-style breathing exercises and self-restraint, in order not to explode early on. Her waist-to-hip ratio is perfect and her pussy is just the right amount of tight. Her breasts are slightly undersized in proportion to her curvaceous ass, but I’m still adoring this fine specimen of a female. After the early near-explosion scare, I’m back out of the red-zone and we’re having some amazing sex.
Lays like this I’ll remember all my life. The girl was in her sexual prime. There were surprises from the start. And mistakes made from the start! There were multiple dates, spread over multiple locations. There were junctures where I went “off-piste” and didn’t follow what is written in the PUA handbook. There was a strong narrative in both our heads. And it seemed the final result wasn’t decided until the very end. It sure was a fun one.
Thanks for reading.
Bonus: Info gleaned from post-sex interview and other misc details:
she’d had 2 lays before me, including one LTR
the parents of the host family sleep in separate bedrooms and the relationship is very stale: they rarely talk to one another, let alone are intimate together. The mother is a finance director in the city; the father runs his own international business. They have three kids.
the father often sits with the girl late at night at the kitchen table, chatting away with her for two hours plus. She must drive him crazy, and leave him very sexually-frustrated. She says that the host mother is very cold towards her–I’m not surprised!
 Actually, one of us is a teenager.
 A bad memory can be a great tool for appearing abundant and aloof. That, or it might just lose you the girl!
 But not in so many words.
 Maybe because of my recent abundance I did actually mean most of what I was saying here, and so I didn’t need to worry about a mask slipping off, which would normally reveal butthurt emotions.
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.
8 Dec, 7pm: It was Saturday evening. And up until that point I hadn’t had the most proactive, or uplifting, week of daygame:
I’d been nursing a cold since Tuesday, which involved heading straight home after work each day and lying low, eating vegetables and fruit
I’d been questioning life, the Universe, and everything. Or, more specifically, the player lifestyle I’d chosen. When I haven’t approached for a while I go into “chode-mode”. So I’d been reminding myself about the benefits of monogamy to society, and contemplating how Tinder- and hookup-culture was tarnishing the world that my grandparents had created. I had more questions than answers
…On top of that I was feeling very sorry for myself having just broken my 95-day no-fap streak  the day before
But it was a Saturday evening, I had no plans, and the rain had stopped. And screw my doubts: I’d gone this far down the rabbit hole, no turning back now. I’d long since chosen to “turn pro” . Time to put myself out there and give myself a chance of getting laid! I thought to myself. Or at least: time to find a cheeky girl for an insta-date.
As is always the case when I leave my flat, my room is prepped and ready for the possibility of a pull. They say to begin with the end in mind, and as usual I’ve made sure to make my bed look presentable, with no visible bodily fluid stains in sight. I’ve also put a condom under my pillow, I’ve set up my music playlist, and I’ve hidden anything incriminating (!).
Soon after getting to Tottenham Court Road, I have two very short sets where each girl is obviously not digging me (re-framed “warm-up sets” of course). Even this minimal human interaction puts me into a more social vibe and open to the possibility of spending an extended period of time with a girl. I try to cultivate the Tony Hustle mindset of finding a target for an idate. I listen to the most feel-good and the most rakish songs I can think of , and try to NLP-myself into a sexual vibe.
I walk down Charing Cross Road and arrive at Leicester Square at 8pm. It’s heaving with people–as expected for a Saturday evening. I turn past the Hippodrome Casino and onto the Square itself. Almost straightaway there appears a rarity for a Saturday evening. Through the crowds of families and street performers, a long-legged redhead is walking along by herself, and smiling. She’s slim, she has red hair, and she’s bopping her head up and down listening to something on her headphones. She’s generally looking pretty damn happy with her deal in life.
She passes walking in the opposite direction to me, across the crowd. I do an about-turn and catch up.
She spins around enthusiastically, and roots her soles to the ground. She beams a wide smile. Very warm reception.
I continue: “Hey. You look like…[blah de blah; observational assumption stack]”.
I keep it light, mostly indirect, and try not to give much power away. She’s excitable and straight away shoots off on a conversational tangent. She’s rambling away in a jolly Irish accent, using any word as a pivot to associate off.
I slow down her chattering and figure out what her situation is. Turns out she’s just been out for a drink with some old girl friends in Soho, and was heading to catch the Tube home for an early night.
Then after some light vibing and banter, I qualify:
“You seem kinda fun. You’re not a serial killer are you?”
Her: “Hehe, no.” Then: “Umm…I’ve never done this before, but… do you wanna go for a drink?”
I pretend to weigh up my options for a bit. Then, casually: “We could grab a drink I guess. As long as you promise you’re not going to murder me”
Her: “C’mon let’s go!”
Me: “Ok, fuck it. Let’s do it.”
We go to The Garrick Arms, which she immediately and inexplicably suggests as a venue. I think wow, she’s got good game: she’s got logistics sorted, she’s problem solving, and she’s pretty much doing the leading. In fact, a running theme throughout this encounter is that she is sharing a lot of the workload with me. What a girl!
We banter at the bar, we get drinks, and we hover around waiting for a table to vacate. She’s very easy to vibe with: she’s Irish, chatty, and even a bit ditzy. She’s confident but also a typical sciencey over-thinker who focuses too much on her inner monologue and doesn’t yet fully realise her SMV value. Also importantly: she hasn’t yet been spoiled by London–she’s a recent pharmacology graduate who is relatively new to the city.
We sit in a corner when a space frees up, and we naturally settle into the questions game. She seems very open-minded, she’s qualifying on being an independent-thinker, and she’s not afraid of sexual topics. To guide her on what I’m looking for in a girl, I tell stories-with-a-purpose, which is something I’ve really improved on in the past two months. I used to be terrible and uncertain in my delivery but now I’m giving three-minute-long monologues that paint me in a good light and also convey my frame. Todd says that storytelling is one of the best ways to simultaneously build both attraction and comfort. From what I’ve field-tested, I’d have to agree.
One problem I do have throughout the evening is I just can’t stop farting!!! I’ve been eating so many vegetables and fibre lately that I can barely control my arse! When she goes to the bar to get the second round of drinks I use it as an excuse to let rip. For the first time in 40 mins, I’m able to unclench my arse cheeks and relax into the seat. The people on neighbouring tables are deep into their alcohol-fuelled nights and don’t seem to notice my anti-social odours.
As round two of drinks is closing, things are moving smoothly. She’s been compliant with the few light kino moves I’ve made, which, alongside the sexual conversational flow means I don’t need to take any big risks. At one point she even remarks “let’s pretend to be husband and wife for one night hehe!” I can’t believe my luck with this girl and suppress a laugh. She’s really taking the reins!
We’ve got a few sips of our drinks left and I deliver my recently-developed bounce-back monologue. This is where I rationalise why we should leave this place and slowly list out our options for where to go next, whilst gauging from her reactions whether any of the options are red flags. When I hit upon “I guess I could show you my favourite pub in Angel since it’s awesome and you haven’t been to that neighbourhood before”, she doesn’t object. And so we’re soon sliding our chairs back, assembling our belongings, and leaving for the Tube.
One interesting point of note is that en route to the Tube she seems to have the final inner battle with herself right there–of whether or not she’ll sleep with me. I’ve seen before this a few times at this early stage with a girl. In her case she was visibly excited and nervous, before finally deciding to cross the Rubicon: “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I don’t normally do this sort of thing at all!” She was already emotionally invested, and now it seemed she had logically decided too. This reaction, and the forward-planning from her forebrain, seemed excessive otherwise, given that all we’d really agreed to is a round of drinks in a different pub, but at Angel.
We jump on the Tube at Leicester Square, and head up the Charing Cross branch of the Northern Line, before changing for the Bank branch Southbound to Angel. It’s a carefree and light-hearted Tube journey and I feel relaxed. Even if I don’t get laid, I’m heading in the direction of home!
We arrive in Angel at 10.30pm and I decide to dot my i’s and cross my t’s by taking her to the pub in Angel anyway, even though I don’t think she would object over going straight back to mine. It’s 10.30pm and my first-choice pub has closed for the night. The backup pub is literally right across the road from mine. It’s not ideal: it has very sobering lighting and is an “old man” pub (this is in fact my bogie pub–I had three consecutive LMRs/bounce-back-fails from here this year). But I decide we’ll go in anyway. We take a quick drink and then, as the pub is closing, we head back to mine under the premise of “another drink at mine”.
I don’t rush things back at mine or do anything out of the blue. In fact, she is the one to suggest removing her shoes and she is the one to ask for lower lighting in the bedroom (great! I always feel it’s too cliché and obvious when I dim the lights).
Apparently she loves my music and recently saw the artist at a gig. Serendipity overdrive. I can’t do any wrong in her eyes and there’s no LMR as we naturally recline onto the bed. The sex is kinda average , but boom! a +1 and an Irish flag. The downside is that it’s the land of the nod for her soon after she’s satisfied, and for once I decide to let the girl stay over. Which means no sleep for me and a grumpy following-day.
But definitely a lay worth heading out for on an otherwise stale Saturday night.
 This streak had been no small feat for me–by far the longest stretch I’d gone since I first started fapping in my early teenage years.
 A reference to The War on Art–a great book, which Krauser reviewed in a recent post.
 These include Boney M – Rasputin and other songs with sexually-deviant-esque lyrics.
 She didn’t really let go physically, and she seemed to have one of those intense-but-not-physcially-trembling orgasms, where it’s more mental and then afterwards she’s spent. Well, either that or she was faking it!