Here begins a tale of getting no tail: I’m turning 40 later this year and I’ve never experienced a romantic interaction of any kind. Not even a basic kiss in my playground days. Nada. A rare specimen in nature (outside of Japan), I’m a total sexual neophyte in the final act of young adulthood (or, less charitably, the first act of adult oldhood).



According to a reliable source that is totally not me, I’m not ugly, socially retarded, or mentally ill. But like Sir Isaac Newton and the other Great Virgins of History I’ve spent my life so completely lost in the Life Of The Mind that I forgot to chase coochie. Fuck! I have a dozen close relationships, so I’ve never really felt lonely, but I’ve rarely met new people as an adult, much less attractive women. My adult prime has also coincided with an unprecedented, mind-warping technology—the infinite virtual harem—that has facilitated a great deal of poon procrastination. Of course I’m on the tail end of Gen-X, so I at least had a chance (no streaming Internet video during adolescence). The dopamine circuits of younger cats have been almost fully ravaged by the Matrix. Trust me, there are a lot more 40-year-old ‘me’s coming just around the corner, and they are even more scrambled.





“Gee, Mavis, your house is across the street…”

It’s dumb, but the 2016 election cycle, and the Dragon Energy of Trump and his shitposting foot soldiers kind of enlivened me and shook me out of the digital lotus eating a little. I started babystepping some approaches over the last two years. Maybe a dozen. I’ve gotten politely rejected a few times, and some flakey co-ed numbers, and dates with several pretty 20-somethings that didn’t get me anywhere, but nevertheless suggested some powerful untapped tapping potential. There’s a lot I need to work on, but I don’t think I’m inherently terrible with women… more like I’m just some kind of super late bloomer. So I’ma try on the Roosh 100 approaches noobshit for a slightly more disciplined and accelerated initiation into basic adulthood, and describe that experience here. Grab the popcorn. Virtually no man starts the game so completely inexperienced this late in life, much less in front of an audience, so you can treat me like a comical science experiment. Let me know if there are any unique things you want me to track. Test your pet theories. Place your bets (… remember it’s good karma to root for the underdog). Also ask me anything.





“Yo, the Chinese translation is a midlife OPPORTUNITY.”

Let me preface by saying that I have no self-pity and I am certainly not fishing for yours. Maybe this mindset is an advantage of age, since this wasn’t true 20, and maybe even 10 years ago. The fact of the matter is that I am PRIVILEGED in many obvious ways. We each must overcome our own unique limitations in life, and many of these barriers are self-imposed, which means we all have a lot of potential to grow and improve regardless of what we think we’ve been denied. And if you’re reading this post then you were probably given more than 99% of people that ever lived. Everyone here got dealt most of the best cards right from birth; it’s helpful to keep this mentality in general.

To tell you the truth I’m not even here looking for that much advice. I don’t feel helpless or clueless or desperate or unlovable. I can walk up to people I don’t know and say words. Sometimes they like me, sometimes they don’t. I wish I could be the delightfully nebbish nitwit for y’all that the juicy premise suggests, but I’ll probably just be fucking up and striking out in totally generic ways that are similar for most men. What I want more than learning how to succeed with women is learning how to “fail.” In my weaker moments I know I’m going to view this as a punishment or a chore, but really chasing skirt is supposed to be a timeless male pastime. Like O.G. man fun. It’s called “game” for a reason... it’s all just play. Ain’t nobody gettin hurt coz an old nigga tryna fuck!

What I’m really here for, I think, is simple camaraderie. Just to share my unremarkable clumsy old creeper seduction attempts with you online and imagine your invisible E-bro good vibes coming back at me through the screen, giving me some extra confidence and incentive to move forward in my sleazy red-blooded birthright. And maybe my posts will likewise goodvibe other underdog dudes to step into the ring.

Peace.

1/100 Megan

I had my first approach at the gym today. I was coveting a late-20-something 7.5 on one of the treadmills. Eventually and without warning she migrated to the weight machines right next to me and my approach anxiety flared up like a hemorrhoid (plz note my analogy choice validates my claimed age). I finish up my workout and see her resting between sets. The stars have aligned, so it’s now or never. As I approach from behind she fixes her ponytail and I see she has a weird piercing on the back of her neck. “I’ve never seen a piercing like that before,” I say as I step in beside her. She gives a tiny startled hop, looks up and pulls out an earbud. Dammit, I scared her! According to Mark Manson’s Models that means this interaction now has a 0% chance of success.

We have a brief chat about piercings and such, I shake her hand and introduce myself, and then she tells me her name and ejects:

“Sorry, gotta get back to my workout; gotta get home and put a roast in the oven.”

A roast? This one on some wifey shit. No spark here, stale banter, but a minor bit of pride for introducing myself to the best looking girl at the gym and having a friendly, semi-normal interaction.

Status: still a 40-year-old virgin.

(I’m very much influenced and inspired by Giovanny, btw. If it’s not obvious yet, I know it will be eventually.)

Keep it up

me too I shall do my 100 approaches, when I move in a big city next month.

Good luck! Well done on your first approach.
Keep it up, there will be many more to come.


shakra - start now

My proposed strategy for someone in your position would be to concern yourself less with the HB factor of your approaches and to get on with it. Otherwise you will be limiting yourself with the number of opportunities you have.

Approach everyone. You need to gather the experience.

You need to be talking to women, getting contact details, meeting up with them, getting comfortable touching them, etc

Hey OP, if you want to learn how to "fail" check out the book "Go for No". It's a sales book, but really re-frames the concept of failure and success. There's a video on youtube from the authors that pretty much explains the entire thing if you don't want to buy the book.

Quote: (06-09-2018 10:50 PM)captain_shane Wrote:  

Hey OP, if you want to learn how to "fail" check out the book "Go for No". It's a sales book, but really re-frames the concept of failure and success. There's a video on youtube from the authors that pretty much explains the entire thing if you don't want to buy the book.

Thanks for the rec, captain_shane. Watching the youtube summary right now.

I'm really enjoying video channels like Angry Picnic and That Was Epic where the typical approach 'failure' is almost indistinguishable from the typical success: just looks like a fun guy, out enjoying the sun and flirting with PYTs, keeping things light and making girls smile. The rejections are usually just cute laughs... that's actually a reward!






I think the frame is strong because the girls are just interchangeable props for my own amusement. It signals lack of neediness, I'm sweeping them into my world, not begging for entry into theirs. It also keeps me entertained and in a good mood, so I can avoid burn-out and get in more approaches. (In theory! But the small number of approaches I've made get reactions a lot like this video, even though I'm a lot older than—and not as good looking as—this guy. I've gone on three dates out of like a dozen approaches.)

2/100 Ashley

It’s a beautiful and sunny day. I put in my contacts so I can game in a high traffic area, but end up spending the whole afternoon third-wheeling with my longtime homie Kate (age 48) and her new boytoy Tim (age 33). We go to a thrift store and I see a 6.5 twenty-something with an armful of clothes. I move in automatically, and Kate eavesdrops with amusement nearby:

“Hey, do you work here?”

“No.”

“O sorry, I saw all those clothes and the apron and thought you were an employee… although now that I think about it why would a thrift shop worker wear an apron??”

“Ha. Yeah, I just got off of work and haven’t taken it off yet… I’m a barista. It’s one of my three jobs.

“Three jobs! WTF. Do you have a kid or something?”

“No!”

“Then you must like to spend a lot, or you’re just bad with money.”

“Hey… I mean I’m shopping at a thrift store...”

She seems amused. I reach out and shake her free hand “I’m Cuspid.”

“I’m Ashley. It’s nice to meet u Cuspid, I’ma go try on these clothes now.”

I pace around near my friends hoping to re-open her with some silly shit when she comes out of the dressing room, but she took in a billion clothes and doesn’t come out. I end up shoplifting a pair of shoes in egregious plain sight of the staff and making a speedy beeline to Kate’s getaway car before Ashley ever re-emerges.

This theft over approach choice in stores, btw, is a tension reliever that is regrettably solidifying as my preferred lesser-of-two-fears, and makes me wonder if I’m going to get arrested for jacking a car or something before I ever get a blowjob! If I lose my virginity in prison does that count?






…Also I never shoplifted as a teen, or at any point before I started trying to game. This must really be some sort of rare psychological re-adolescence. I think I’m going through a second puberty because the first one didn’t fully take. I guess that’s fine… maybe my dick will get another growth spurt.

3/100 Sophie

Kate tells me her fat, obnoxious Arab-American friend is coming over to her new house tonight to make some weird Saudi dinner, and that I should come (her wording might have been different). The sun is now going down and I regret not going out to daygame. Perhaps I should go try to find a night location (I’m clueless here), or more likely head back home for some comforting old-school digital solitude (ahhh, my default choice in life).

But when we get back to Kate’s house, it turns out Arab girl has brought her friend from work, and she’s a slim, early 30s 7. Guess I’m staying after all!

I hit newgirl with thirsty attention all night, which is probably beta, but I’m an omega so fuck you, that’s an improvement. She’s a basic, crass bore like Arab girl, but I’m just out to bone in life now, so maybe that’s good. I’m dressed like some sort of hipster stripper (classic me!) and the Arab paws at my body and flirts, and *sigh* I allow it and flirt right back as to not alienate the target. You see whenever the Arab gropes my muscles her friend eagerly whores in on the action. Sure the club ho ritual is for sororal lulz, but there are also tells that she’s genuinely kind of into me.

About seven people are over now. I am in the zone and blatantly into this target girl, Sophie, but not supplicating or boring. She has brought her “pit-bull” creature to the gathering, and I am playfully contemptuous of the dog all night even though she treats it like her child: “Your maternal instincts are out of control. This breed is a public menace.” I really believe this, but I frequently pet the dog, which makes me feel kind of pathetic. I hope I don’t get my face mauled off by this trash animal trying to score a stupid goddam lay.

Later on I need to know something while I chat with Arab, and I order Sophie over from across the way. I get the info and then tell her she is dismissed and give a little shoo motion. Arab dresses me down in front of Sophie, who thankfully doesn’t stick around for much of the diatribe:

“Ummm, no, you don’t “dismiss” grown women! Very rude. That girl has a masters degree! Show some respect. No wonder you never get laid!”

I smirk at her, shrug my shoulders, and turn to talk to somebody else. Inwardly, of course, she’s hit a nerve. No one knows I’m a virgin, but everybody knows that I’ve never gotten play for as long for as they’ve known me… and that’s been a long fucking time. Arab will almost certainly tell her friend all about this later, which prolly fucks any future chances.

… masters degree.

J U S T

Later in the evening Sophie is sitting in a circle with others in the yard out back. I barge in without warning, lift her up from around the waist, and bend her over my shoulder: “We’re going on an adventure!” She submits to my power. (I’ve done this caveman move on two dates since 2016. One was amused, one got upset.) I carry her over to my open convertible in front of the house and set her down inside: “All fine bitches get a free convertible ride. We won’t be gone long.”

(I often buy cheap, fun summer cars off of craigslist and sell them for the same price during fall. But I have to say, this is the sexiest little car I’ve ever owned.)

I cruise slowly around the neighborhood. The night air is warm.

“Actually you’ve been kidnapped… I can take you anywhere for as long as I want.”

Her: “mmm… we should go to California.”

I rest my arm behind her seat.

Me: “Is that where you’re living in 5 years?

Her: “Maybe. I want to live somewhere on the ocean… you?

Me: “Not sure about 5, but I know exactly where I’ll be in 15:” [slowly improvising details] “I’m living on an isolated tropical island with my slim wife and our 10 beautiful children (7 boys, 3 girls). Her loyal army of pit-bull servants will bring us pineapples, coconuts, and scorpion meat while we lay naked on the beach and soak in the warm ocean air and the carefree beauty of life.”

She flashes me doe eyes and stretches both of her arms up into the gentle breeze: “This feels amazing, btw.” She bends her arms behind her head and grabs my hand; we start caressing each other’s fingers for the rest of the trip.

She starts opening up to me about the more private details of her life and childhood until we arrive back at the house. I shut off the car and return to the gathering. For the rest of the night her demeanor shifts lukewarm. Later, I sit by her when she is alone on the couch, and she keeps her body rigidly turned away.

Around 1am I tell the crowd I’m leaving. Everyone is sitting down except for Sophie who is standing next to me and has plunged her hand into my open shirt and is casually squeezing my pec. I deliver a custom flattering farewell speech to each individual present, telling everyone why I love them. When I get to Sophie I grab the wrist of her groping arm with one hand and push her hand flat onto my chest with the other. “Swell to meet you, pit-mom. Please tell Arab to give me your number later… I will call. You are a legit fox and I want to give you more rides in my convertible, and other kinds of rides as well… Good night, everybody!”

She turns her face completely away from me while I am talking to her, so that I’m looking at the back of her head (but does not pull away her hand), and does not look at me again or even say goodbye. The strangeness of this doesn’t really register at the time for some reason, but it confuses me (and even pisses me off a little) after I leave. I should have turned her face toward me while I was addressing her, but both hands were active (“Look at me when I talk to you… I’ve got a fucking bachelors degree!!”). I guess she could have been crying or blushing or something sweet, but I assume she was just being a bitch.

Yep, suck it, I’m going full Cat Person here! I guess the “best” theory for those post-convertible blahs is that she was expecting a more congruent initiative on my part (after a barbarian abduction) when I had her isolated in my car, and, yes, that’s actually on me. Unfortunately, my aggressive, free-spirited packaging doesn’t annul the timid virgin reality. (And the outcome here certainly wasn’t because I failed to show proper neoliberal deference to her ghetto assault dog or her striver credential.) I’m skeptical that this lay can ever be salvaged. I botched the (play)bunny slope.

Regardless, she fondled my bare chest, my arms, my hands, and my legs, and no woman has touched me like that in my entire life. (The closest example: a late 20s 7 came over to my house for dinner last year and we held hands and cuddled on my porch for about an hour before she abruptly ran off and ghosted me forever.) The virgin adrenaline is pumping through my veins till morning. My throat feels tight, my stomach is knotted up and I am tense and restless in bed. I don’t sleep at all.

Status: Tired 40-year-old virgin with blue balls.

Good thread, lots of detail.

You need to escalate. You obviously know this especially with Sophie. That caveman carry off when done well is an immediate panty puddler. The reason her buying temperature fluctuated [besides her being a woman] was your lack of escalation and most likely incongruent body language and action. Remember man, women that are going to grab your dick and escalate themselves are going to be rare at your age and the younger girls are turned on by your perceived experience which means they probably aren't going to escalate either

You need to lead and escalate, you clearly have some game. Figure out why you aren't and conquer it. All the game in the world isn't going to help you if you're unwilling to close.

I was out of the game a few days to catch back up on sleep. The encounter also put me on edge a little, and rode my emotions.

Today I called up the Arab and asked for her friend Sophie’s number: “I mean, no, that’s not cool, but maybe I’ll ask her if it’s ok to give it to you. But really, you’re a grown ass man; that was your job, why are you making this my problem”?

Sigh. Yep. Hezbollah is a bitch but she’s right here. And it feels like shit: “Never mind, you got a point. Don’t ask her. Please don’t say anything. I’ll hit her up if I see her again.”

Her: “Ok, but don’t get your hopes up, sweetie.”

Pretty humiliating.

Quote:Quote:

I really believe this, but I frequently pet the dog, which makes me feel kind of pathetic. I hope I don’t get my face mauled off by this trash animal trying to score a stupid goddam lay. Sad

This was hilarious. Good on you OP for going out and trying. Keep posting as and when you can, try to keep your stories as real as you can and I'm sure RVF will help you improve your interactions with women.

Thank you Wahawahwah and Eugenics.

I was the only child of a single mom, so RVF members can be like my invisible big brother here. Even though 80% y'all bitches are probably younger than me.

I can sense some social maladjustment from your posts. I think it's great that you have spurts of courage but your timing is off in your interactions.

"Please tell Arab to give me your number later… I will call."

That just makes you sound arrogant. Why would Sophie make the effort to do that if you didn't even make a proper move in the car after all that bravado? That was a clear case of overcompensating because you knew that you didn't take action in the car. Holding hands is cute but that girl was opening up to you and you had the chance to kiss her easily. You didn't and she got lukewarm. No surprise there. The phone number comment was probably a subconscious attempt to make you feel more valuable than the girl after you sensed her interest waned. That was two weak moves in a row. I doubt Sophie would be impressed.

Dismissing the arab woman was another example and it's no wonder she didn't feel like helping you with the phone number afterwards. If you want to dismiss a woman you have to have your frame established. This interaction happened with a person you don't know well, at her place, where you're invited. In such circumstances I build frame through being courteous and fun.

On another note, don't assume muslim or arab women take shit from men. I lived in Egypt for over a year and I can tell you they are the biggest shit-testers I've ever encountered and they're not afraid to be loud and confrontational.

Shoplifting. Another clue regarding your social maladjustment. If you're 40 years old and still pulling that kind of shit you seriously need to examine what you're trying to prove to yourself.

All in all I think it's great that you're trying to remedy your issues, but through the little you've written here, they seem to run very deep and they appear to be mostly with yourself rather than with women. I'd recommend a good dose of humble pie to start with. You can't be alpha posturing without being able to back it up.

Take things easier.

Good luck!

Good stuff for cold approaching, you have more balls for that alone than many men. But my advise tone it way down, from what you have written something seems off. Girls are big on relationships and social interactions, it doesn't matter how smart you are, you have to show them you are cool and you 'get it' first.

4/100 Amy

Wednesday morning is all rain and cold winds, but I heed the call to daygame. I mean I better learn to make my own opportunities if I’m going to be too retarded to even cash in on low hanging social circle poon like the average beta.

I am also energized by the package I got in the mail: it’s my gold tooth, nigggggaaa!!! I am white. Although this might officially tip me into wigger territory. I’m not sure.

I snap it into place—very snug; custom fit—and grin into the bathroom mirror like one of those racist old cartoons that they can’t show on TV anymore.



Man, I am one sexy piece of trash!

I can think of the perfect place for a man of such fine caliber to daygame: Walmart!



“National Geographic determined what the average American male will look like in 2050 and it’s beautiful”

The weather is starting to clear up, so I fold down the convertible top and head for the Shrine to Western Decline. I don’t want to loiter too long, but the talent here is surprisingly not so bad. Not as many fatties and genetic defects as I would have expected. A mom and her three daughters in the check out lane all look like blonde Amazons. Another shapely blonde, towing submissively behind her dumb-looking boyfriend, is a solid 8. I see a few plausible targets in the checkout lanes so I wait for one or more of them near the downstairs exit. I try a few approaches and get no meaningful responses. One girl looks puzzled why I am even talking to her. A 6 holding a baby and her 5 friend trade a few lines of jokey banter with me but do not stick around to talk. I give up and leave the store with a stolen gallon of aloe vera as my consolation prize. Some old bitches out front are talking in a foreign language that I don’t recognize, and I approach them and try several guesses, but apparently they don’t even speak enough English to give me the correct answer. One finally turns her head and gives me a sassy go away hand. So I guess I’m getting rejected by like 60-year-olds now!

Fuck you too! Go back to, uh… wherever. Seriously, tho, what language was that??

I was actually just going to Walmart for the aloe vera. My real destination is the college campus… the epicenter of local talent. But on the way I make a ritual stop at the Goodwill, which usually has at least one or two passable targets. All I see though is a Morticia Addams looking 6 bish I recognize from another thrift shop across town. Not into her, but might as well approach.

“Hey don’t u work at the St. Andrews on Baker St?”

“Yep!”

“Man u must really like thrift shops. I assume you buy stuff here and sell it for more at your store. That’s pretty crafty.”

This one, at least, turns into an actual conversation, so by my reckoning is the first “real” approach of the day. We talk for maybe 15 minutes in the middle of the store, and she shares a lot about her self, and perhaps even suggests that she appreciates my chat because she has social anxiety. I enthusiastically recommend the supplement that I am taking that helps with that, and describe how it is also giving me good sleep and strangely vivid dreams. One of several nearby eavesdroppers then tries to invade the conversation, hitting me with big questions like I’m Dr. Oz or some shit.

This is annoying, and I take it as a cue to trade names with the girl, shake hands, and say goodbye. I just approached for the practice. I don’t want some aging goth’s phone number, although she probably would have provided it. I really should have asked for it anyway though, because obviously I need to practice getting the fucking number.

*not bitter*

5/100 Georgetta

On the way to campus I make another stop at an outdoor mall. I drop by the computer store and get some intel on an intel, and on my way out I see a young 6 on a bench reading a book. She is cute, but short and androgynous (think Juno). I’m guessing about 18-20 years old. I forgot my opener, but we had a decent rapport for probably a half hour. Definitely a nerd and an introvert; a gamer that works in the computer store. Then I accidently called her ‘Amy’ (the name of the last girl), even though we had literally just had a whole conversation thread about her weird old-timey name. (I’m losing focus, and my head is leaving the conversation, I can’t even pay attention to a movie for more than 30 minutes.) This obviously upset her and I decide to bail with a Nail Mary number close. She expresses reluctance, and then possibly gives me fake digits. I shot her a pro forma ‘nice meeting u’ text later on and never got a reply.

Another reminder that a long friendly discussion doesn’t indicate sexual interest, and that I really need to add more flirting to gauge and direct these encounters. Also that I need to keep my head in the game. Also that I need to practice number closing.


6/100 Maddy

On the way downtown I make yet another stop at a strip mall to take a piss at my gym and get some books from the library. I park in front of a nail salon and see some sort of Latina 6 say something to a 50-something Asian lady on her smoking break. I stand up in my car and say “Are you mother and daughter? You’re twins.” (Yes, the line between my daygame and Tourette’s Syndrome seems awfully thin.) The Latina ignores me and goes inside, but the Asian lady (who it turns out owns the salon) is impressed with my car and is eager to chat. She keeps hitting me with questions on my life story… I think she’s gaming me! I eventually escape to the loo. On my way out of the library a 10-year-old girl in the vestibule opens the door for me and I smile and say “what a little gentleman.” and she and her friends all scowl at me in unison. (I dunno, I said it to a college girl once and it made her smile!)

They say one of the traits of a psychopath is “glib charm”, so I guess I am not a psychopath, because my glib is repellent to females ages 5 to 85.

I finally park downtown, near a student center and see a very tall, hunched 6 walking with a big backpack. I leap over my car door like a Duke boy and start walking along side her: “What’s with the backpack, I thought the school year was over?” She tells me she just graduated with a degree in genetics, and I start eagerly rambling about a popular science book I just read while she mostly seems uncomfortable with the whole encounter. I mean she’s the one who yoked her life to this dumb shit, yet I swear I can hear the tumbleweed blow out of her muff while I sperg out over “ancient European genomes.” We get to her house, trade a bit more banter in front, and I bid the slouched giantess adieu.

7/100 Heather

The student center, like the campus in general, is mostly empty now. Lots of foreign Asian leftovers. I approach a blonde 6 on her laptop with some of that trademark Cuspid anti-charm and she is obviously unimpressed. Outside I approach two women sitting on some benches with a joke that doesn’t really make sense. They look at me like I’m an idiot.

I open a pretty blonde 7 at a crosswalk with basically the same “schools over, go home” jab that annoyed Maddy and laptop chick, but this girl laughs and is happy to talk. I ask a question about library hours, and then we trade info about ourselves as we walk together. Eventually she stops in front of a building and we talk a little more before I realize that this is the library, and that she is waiting for me to go inside, since this is where I told her I was headed! I reluctantly say goodbye, and feel sad since this was easily my favorite encounter of the day so far. But it probably didn’t last long enough to merit another ham-fisted number grab.


8/100 Stephanie

A dark-haired 7 is sitting on a concrete planter in front of the library with a taped Amazon package. I manspread towards her on an adjacent planter, lock eyes, and tap my finger on the object: “So tell me what’s in this box...” It’s the fifth serious approach of the day and my ramble is growing strong: I seem to capture her with a playful stream of bullshit. She’s participating and asking questions. This is a good interaction, but her Uber rolls up and she exits abruptly and with little fanfare.

There was one more approach, but I’ll talk about it tomorrow…

9/100 Hailey

While I was talking to Stephanie another girl sat down on a nearby bench and started smoking. I approach her immediately after Stephanie leaves: “Hey, do you know what time this library closes?”

This is an interesting test case because I actually remember approaching this same girl while she was sitting in this same spot in 2016. (Yes, I have made so few approaches that I remember every one, and still reflect on them.) I remember how promisingly open she seemed, and how all I could offer up were a few awkward questions and some bad body language. The interaction quickly fizzled into nothing, and I scurried off.

I’m not even certain if I have improved since then. In 2016 sometimes I could come up with things to say, and sometimes I couldn’t. In 2018 it’s the same. But perhaps my “gamer’s block” moments are in decline, and my second attempt with this same girl seems to show this.

My Stephanie conversational momentum sort of automatically transfers over to Hailey. I don’t ask her many questions off of the opener, because I am on my own tangents: observations and anecdotes. I lean on a metal railing, at a short distance in front of her bench, just like last time. But then—more confidently breaching her space—I hop over the bar and cozy up beside her while I rant.

Hailey is my new favorite girl of the day. She’s a feisty 22 year-old 7 in a sundress and fuck-me pumps. She is more engaged by my presence and more playful than the other girls. Looking back I think she was (light-heartedly, if not flirtatiously) shit-testing me constantly, and I was probably failing every time. I am just not a very dominant male (Cf. the incredibly late virginity). Hailey on the other hand, is way more dominant than average. She just graduated with a business degree and boasted about how much money she is about to make. But I was still directing the interaction and she seemed to never lose interest (in the general, if not the romantic, sense). We talk for about 40 minutes, which is pretty close to my limit, so I eventually just wish her well and say I have to bounce… scurrying off more or less just as awkwardly as I did during our 2016 encounter.

Hailey is leaving town in one week, but I stupidly did not feel around for a way we could interact in that time or even go for her digits. The reason for this is sad but obvious: I had a similar long, high rapport conversation earlier in the day and basically got rejected on the number close by a less attractive girl. I couldn’t take that again. Not with this one. This time around I felt grateful enough just to sit close to a prime-age babe who (seemingly) enjoyed my company for the better part of an hour. The possibility that she was into me was more valuable to me than the knowledge that she was or wasn’t. In short I am still a little bitch. Nothing else.

I leave the library with a dry throat and no more physical or emotional ability to game another girl. I have clearly developed a crush on Hailey and can’t stop thinking about her. I drive home and lose a few hours sleep that night. It’s a less intense version of how Sophie messed my shit up just several days earlier.

The next afternoon I cancel some plans with a friend. I sit in the hot sun in front of the library, hoping that Hailey will eventually come back to the same bench. Hoping for a second chance. Christ… a third chance!

I sit there three hours, and do not approach any other girls.

Hailey never comes back.


Status: Sun burnt 40-year-old virgin with acute oneitis.

The next day it’s back to the same place for the same masochistic ritual. It’s early evening on a Friday and the summer sun is still going strong. I mentally rehearse the things I should say to Hailey as she sits on her Hailey bench. The macho shit I can spit to get her out to a bar or a pizzeria or into my car to go wherever.

But in real life there is no “Hailey bench.” In her place sits a fat 4, henpecking on a laptop with her stubby nubs. So I simply circle around campus like a zombie for two hours with a dim will to hunt. Nothing materializes. I make basic comments to girls and get basic responses:

What flavor of ice cream is that?

Blueberry.

Ok, bye.

This is not game. Then a slim 7 with a sportsball cap comes out of a student quiet area. I neg the shit out of her for being in a study building on a beautiful sunny day when school isn’t even in session. She starts giggling after every verbal punch, and I feel my blood start to boil a little—I love this shit.

I wish this could continue but she escapes into a sandwich shop and waves bye with a pretty smile. I circle by the library two or three more times looking for My Girl but it’s always the same fatty.

I drive home and eventually return to the downtown meat market at 1:30 AM where I pretend to be a Real Normal Human on a Friday night when the bars are closing. I don’t drink and I don’t have any nightlife experience, so I’m basically clueless. I just wander around alone where all the people are, looking thirsty, confused and pathetic. (… more or less what I do all around town during the day.) Maybe some drunken bless-ed soul will throw the mangy stray a table scrap of snatch.

When I go places I generally stand out and get reactions because I look different. Always have. I am muscular (not huge), have low body fat, and dress in various flashy and/or slutty ways (This isn’t some pua tactic, it’s just how I’ve always been). Some women get excited. I legit get catcalls. I semi-frequently get approached (mostly by 5s). I’ve seen men look intimidated. Some people compliment or comment (I get a lot of random celebrity comparisons). And of course others laugh or insult.

Tonight I’m walking through an area of predominately black bars, when I hear two girls getting riled up behind me. I know that they are talking about me.

Girl 1: OOOoooooo… look at that white dude! Look how he walkin’!

Girl 2: Damn, he strong.

Girl 1: He look like he about to kill a nigga.

*giggle giggle whisper whisper* They are following me through the crowd. Then they run up to me in their pumps. They are both slim and curvy 7s wearing tight little dresses. They flirt and paw and compliment, and I flirt and paw and compliment. One locks arms with me as we walk together. I twist her around me by the waist so that I can be in the middle, and now I’ve got one girl on each arm. KANG! After several blocks we enter a restaurant so that one can pee, and I am officially a tagalong. Goddamn it! Threesome porn is like cocaine, but I have no advanced player strategy or social savvy to turn this situation any more toward my favor. I paw at and flirt with Girl 1 while Girl 2 is in the can, but my game is basic; she is sweet and flattered but I sense no genuine lust. I can’t pull her on my lap. She gives me the ‘we’re lesbians’ dodge. I suspect that my buff white nerd novelty is wearing off, so when the other girl gets back I say I gotta go meet someone.

They express a parting appreciation for my various articles of bling and of course these ghetto bitches are all about my gold toof. What an investment!






There are no more ego-inflating interactions this night. I ask a young white 8 if a club is still open and she aggressively pretends that I am not there. A black man taunts me for walking around alone: “Yo man where your bitch?” (Earlier in the day a well-groomed Aryan lad with a matching blonde gf more or less AMOGed me in the same way. Walking While Gymcel is an underappreciated hazard.)

My fitbit is off the charts today. I probably burned 4000 calories. And I definitely have a few more I need to burn off before I can sleep tonight…

Status: 40-year-old Virgin furiously clicking on those 'interracial,' 'black,' and 'ffm' tags before bed.

*99% of search results still just black dudes with white bitches*

Maybe you should try the "I'm a virgin" line next time... since you're putting yourself out there like you are. You have nothing to lose at this point.

I wake up at 8:00 PM to the sound of Maria’s voice in the next room. She is talking to Amir.

Let’s talk about Amir. He owns and occupies a nice suburban house in a medium-sized college town. I’ve rented a cheap little room in this house for nearly 10 years. We click. Not a lot of conflict. Based on the sheer amount of time we’ve spent together, Amir has probably been the best friend of my adult life, even though I feel much closer emotionally to my childhood friends that I am grateful to still see a few times every year.

Amir is a penny ante weed dealer, and otherwise does not work much outside of occasional odd jobs. He makes some money off me, but I also don’t work very much. I take odd “jobs” as well: internet scams, craigslist gigs, blood donation. Shit like that. I’m also on the dole. A real class act. I get by.

Amir is an “alpha” – a natural. I’m not into most of the girls I’ve seen him sleep with, but for almost two years he has been fucking a 20-year-old 7… he is 56-years-old. Respek! His notch count, if I’m remembering this correctly, is about ~250. Flirts with every goddam chick he comes in contact with. If any random person is in his vicinity, he will be talking at you non-stop (and very passionately) about music from the 60s-80s. Has incredibly strong frame; believes everyone else is wrong about everything. If you meet him, hot woman or not, he’ll let you know very quickly how you are not living up to his expectations. His bedroom is his “office”… A+ logistics. Smoke, Boomer rock, and lady laughter always leaking out from behind that office door.

My best friend from high school flew in to visit me last year – Jimmy. Jimmy was impressed with Amir; called him a 10 out of 10 in charisma, even though Amir just rambled about Star Trek and shit! (Charisma is funny like that, huh?)

Jimmy is also an “alpha” – a natural. Jimmy is also operating at full charisma. In high school Jimmy and his girlfriend were voted prom king and queen. We hung out with the best-looking chicks in the school, even though we were both angry, sketchy-looking metalheads. They flocked to Jimmy. When we were 15 he shamed me into weightlifting, and I’ve never changed. He usually acted like he owned the room, and that’s usually why he did: he freely used vulgar language around anybody—teachers, friend’s parents—because he knew he could get away with it. He touched everyone like he owned them. He would grab random classmates (and sometimes teachers!) by the nuts or smack them on the ass and laugh. Not really to “bully”, mind you (he loves nerds, and is a nerd), but secure that he was strong and likable enough to get away with his cheeky dominance maneuvers. Jimmy makes a whole lot of money now and has a classic all-American family: 2.5 kids and a white picket fence.

Even though there have been no tangible payoffs from this advantage, I’ve had almost daily contact with solid gold role models for most of my life. There is no obvious disconnect between me and my alpha buds: we interact like normal friends. I have never complained to them (or anyone else I know) that “I can’t get laid,” and they don’t view me as socially handicapped with women or otherwise. I haven’t lied to them about my non-experience with women, but neither one has ever acknowledged it as any sort of real thing. At most they’re bemused by the opportunities they’ve seen me ignore.

(Side note: My best friend in jr. high was also class alpha… I genuinely don’t understand this life pattern! Bitch magnets bond with me. Some heretofore unrecognized cosmic Alpha-Omega chemistry? I’ve never seen a discussion of alfa friendship preferences.)

Where was I? Oh yeah…

I wake up at 8:00 PM to the sound of Maria’s voice in the next room. She is talking to Amir.

Maria: “Amir, do you have a brother name, Sal?

Amir: “No, I have a brother named…, and a brother named…”

Maria: “Oh because I met this dude, Sal, and he looks and talks exactly like you!”

Amir: “Damn, I used to think I was one in a million. I guess I’m two in a million.”

(Amir delivers killer bon mots. Has a quick, creative mind.)

Maria is 19. Some sort of latina. Maybe a 7.5; nice hips, flat tummy, jailbait braces. She’s one of Noah’s best friends. Noah is a black, gay 19-year-old. He is my other roommate. He rents the room in the basement, which usually turns over every one or two years. Noah is also good friends with that young bitch Amir has been banging, which is how we know him. I lobbied for Noah to get that room right after he graduated from high school because—without exception—he brings over nubiles like Maria all the time (he is also pretty cool. I get along with him better than most third roommates, which isn’t saying much because I’ve barely bonded with any of them). One time I successfully negged his beautiful 8.5 cousin, Sara. She snorted like a bashful dork and it gave me a small (and surprisingly motivating) taste of True Male Power. But she moved far away, so can’t bang now . (As a bonus here’s Amir’s blue ribbon Sara flirt: Her: “I broke up with my boyfriend. I just want to focus more on me now”. Him: “Yes, we’re all going to be focusing more on you now.”)

I take my “morning” 8 PM dump and peer through the window. I see Noah and Maria out in the backyard; they got a bonfire blazing. Looks like fun. I bring back some snax. All I have on is a small pair of gym shorts. Noah is dressed the same. Maria is wearing the female equivalent. Everyone in my house is in top shape (including Amir… thanx to my influence), so clothes don’t get worn much during the summer. I haven’t seen Maria in many months:

Me: *whistle* “Looking fit, Maria! Why not just embrace the freshman 15? It’s your American destiny.”

Her: “Don’t curse me! I ackshually gain more weight when I’m living at home.”

We all gab, make smores, do somersaults, shit like that around the fire. Maria and I race each other up a tree. I point to my convertible:

Me: “There it is!”

Her: “Awesome. Is that a two seater?”

Me: “Yap. If you be extra good I’ll give you a ride some day.”

Her: “Sweet.”

Noah’s gay boyfriend comes over and brings his spinning fire things (poi?), which are dope as hell. Maria and I sit together in the grass and watch as he tries to teach Noah some spin technique. Eventually Noah gotta go to work and we all disband.

10/100 Kayla

Noah works as a doorman at a bar/dance club. He tells me I should stop by tonight and he’ll get me in. Bars scare and confuse me, but I want to learn how to nightgame, so I tell him I’ll be there.

At about 1am I park my car downtown and immediately approach a golden-skinned Asian-American 7 in a hippie skirt. She’s playing with some sort of floating stick on a string doohickey while she walks around alone in the middle of the night like a bozo. I ask her about her weird toy and get her to put on a little show.

“Hey do you know where World Club is? My GPS said it was close, so I figured I’d just walk the last few blocks and meet cute pedestrians.”

“Yeah I just passed it. Two streets that way.”

“To be honest, you look bored and lonely. My friend said he’d let me in for free. Let’s go, I’ll get you in too.”

“I can’t get in, I’m under 21!”

I start walking with her and yammering about whatever. It turns out she’s high on mushrooms. We have a bit of rapport but it’s late, I’m a scary dude, and I’m following her home; she’s starting to look a bit nervous so I peace out.

By the time I get back to the club, Noah is taking a shit or something, and his stand-in won’t let me in free. So I wander over to another club several streets over that doesn’t have a door charge.

I feel self-conscious and anxious in this environment, like I don’t know what I should be doing. It is too loud for real conversation, and everybody is standing or dancing in their own groups. I also don’t see any women that I find attractive, and I don’t want to drink or dance to wack-ass hip hop. So I just leave and go home. I don’t like the nightlife… I don’t like to boogie.

But bars and clubs are one of the primary ways hue-mans meet new people and get laid, so I really do need to tough it out eventually.