Lay Report: Saturday SDL

The red lips were maybe even brighter than these.

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.

Unknowns and unplanneds can be a fun challenge. I miss that side of nightgame.

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 [1]. 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 [2]. 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 [3]. 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 [4]–mainly because I enjoy the tease so much; I’m not sure how effective they actually are!

Turns out she was really good at the jumping dinosaur game.

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.


[1] Note to self: try face-to-face in venue one next time, à la Thomas Crown.

[2] Ok, that definitely sounds gay.

[3] I’ve tried but I don’t think I can make this sound non-creepy.

[4] 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…

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LR: Rewind: My First Daygame Lay

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 [1] before she can get away. I deliver my opener, directly and confidently, James Tusk-style (at least in my head it was).

Just add a daygamer, and tourist-with-backpack

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!!!! [2] 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.

It seems the corny black ninja line can work!

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:

“Im like”

“Super lost”

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! [3]

I was frantically running across Golden Jubilee Bridge typing some of this

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 [4]. 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.

Not your typical Venue One. My box room in Shadwell

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.

One high-risk solution

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 [5] 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. 

Uber driver’s game: “You’re beautiful”

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!


[1] Undoubtedly at this stage my front-stop would’ve been jerky and uncalibrated. Even to this day, I haven’t mastered it.

[2] 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.

[3] Or desperate.

[4] No wonder she turned her nose up at the various alcohol options available at the corner shop.

[5] This little madam seemed more than happy to do it raw. But probably best to wrap up for this one, I thought.

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LR: Redhead Takes The Reins

Like this but dorkier–she didn’t know she was hot

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 [1] 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” [2]. 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 [3], and try to NLP-myself into a sexual vibe.

Imagine having Derren Brown to help put you into the right state

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.

’Scuse me

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”.

There’s such a thing as too good logistics; at least it seems that way for me. But this time I was looking to chalk up a rare victory for my bogey pub

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 [4], 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.


[1] 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.

[2] A reference to The War on Art–a great book, which Krauser reviewed in a recent post.

[3] These include Boney M – Rasputin and other songs with sexually-deviant-esque lyrics.

[4] 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!

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