I thought I would share a little anecdote from a few weeks ago. Nothing special nothing groundbreaking… Just a string of events with a few lessons learnt.
The story starts with Rush, the lone survivor of an inner city concert commuting home on the late train. It’s 12:00am; I’m texting anyone and everyone. The night is over but I’m ready to game. The train is a battlefield. A sea of drunken 20 somethings and a man who is fast approaching 30.
12:01 strikes. 30 seconds until a fresh crop of Tinder swipes. I’m a little drunk and short on patience. I swipe right… 12 matches. Only Christmas Hams. I sink back into my seat and accept that the night is over.Last stop. My stop. I walk to the doors as the train pulls into the station. As the doors open I spot two girls to my left. A gift from God. A six and a solid eight.
My game isn’t tight. In fact it’s probably poor but I'm persistent. He who hesitates masturbates. Thanks Dad. I’m following the Roosh V no FAP so porn is off the table. I smile. They whisper. What’s your name? What’s your story? They’re 25. Both Canadian. Working Visas. Haven’t partied in months and want to dance. I look to the sky and say thank you.
The doors open and they ask me where is good. It’s Sydney. No where’s good. I say I’ll be their guide for the night. We go to a Kings Cross nightclub. It’s the usual suspects. I’m not drunk enough to miss the cellulite… The guys are still impressive. Idle chitchat. I’m too old for this shit. Luckily lighting strikes twice. The promoter just so happens to be an old school friend. We skip the line and get in free. The music is terrible. A melodic drone of one-syllable words.
The hot girl goes to the bar to buy our drinks. I’m left with the six. She goes straight for the hook-up. I pull back. I don’t want to blow the eight.
More conversation and an endless stream of men approaching the hot one. Hi babe do you come here often? Each time swatted away with a wink.
Thirty minutes deep and I reposition. I’m with the eight now. Things start to escalate when disaster strikes. The Greek God of Olympus appears... Taller, more tan, more muscular, better style. Rush 2.0. Rush 6.0…
It’s been a long night. My energy is low. My attitude sinks. It shouldn’t but it does. I pray for the 15th variation of 'can I buy you a drink' but instead he says… Can I borrow a light. They hand one over. He takes a seat. I feel like I’m the oldest one here he says. No way they say. Finally I can have a mature conversation. The girls swoon. Well done my friend…
Suddenly the plot twist…
He kisses the six. I double take. It’s happening. He who hesitates masturbates. I take the eight. We start to kiss. The club is closing… The Greek God of Olympus attempts to take the six home. Unacceptable says the eight. The mother hen has spoken. I think she really wants to go I say… Trust me, she doesn’t says the 8.
The God is racked jacked. Denied. He walks home with his tail between his legs. Once he leaves the eight stops kissing. She wanted him all along. The tale of the underachiever. He could have had the best pussy in the club but he lost by under cutting his value.
I could have had some pussy but I lost by shooting higher. I can deal with that, but it’s a fickle game. I grabbed the first cab I could find. A tinder match had spoken... A five… That's generous. Crooked teeth. Decent body. The driver asked me where I’m going. I said I’ll let you know.
The story starts with Rush, the lone survivor of an inner city concert commuting home on the late train. It’s 12:00am; I’m texting anyone and everyone. The night is over but I’m ready to game. The train is a battlefield. A sea of drunken 20 somethings and a man who is fast approaching 30.
12:01 strikes. 30 seconds until a fresh crop of Tinder swipes. I’m a little drunk and short on patience. I swipe right… 12 matches. Only Christmas Hams. I sink back into my seat and accept that the night is over.Last stop. My stop. I walk to the doors as the train pulls into the station. As the doors open I spot two girls to my left. A gift from God. A six and a solid eight.
My game isn’t tight. In fact it’s probably poor but I'm persistent. He who hesitates masturbates. Thanks Dad. I’m following the Roosh V no FAP so porn is off the table. I smile. They whisper. What’s your name? What’s your story? They’re 25. Both Canadian. Working Visas. Haven’t partied in months and want to dance. I look to the sky and say thank you.
The doors open and they ask me where is good. It’s Sydney. No where’s good. I say I’ll be their guide for the night. We go to a Kings Cross nightclub. It’s the usual suspects. I’m not drunk enough to miss the cellulite… The guys are still impressive. Idle chitchat. I’m too old for this shit. Luckily lighting strikes twice. The promoter just so happens to be an old school friend. We skip the line and get in free. The music is terrible. A melodic drone of one-syllable words.
The hot girl goes to the bar to buy our drinks. I’m left with the six. She goes straight for the hook-up. I pull back. I don’t want to blow the eight.
More conversation and an endless stream of men approaching the hot one. Hi babe do you come here often? Each time swatted away with a wink.
Thirty minutes deep and I reposition. I’m with the eight now. Things start to escalate when disaster strikes. The Greek God of Olympus appears... Taller, more tan, more muscular, better style. Rush 2.0. Rush 6.0…
It’s been a long night. My energy is low. My attitude sinks. It shouldn’t but it does. I pray for the 15th variation of 'can I buy you a drink' but instead he says… Can I borrow a light. They hand one over. He takes a seat. I feel like I’m the oldest one here he says. No way they say. Finally I can have a mature conversation. The girls swoon. Well done my friend…
Suddenly the plot twist…
He kisses the six. I double take. It’s happening. He who hesitates masturbates. I take the eight. We start to kiss. The club is closing… The Greek God of Olympus attempts to take the six home. Unacceptable says the eight. The mother hen has spoken. I think she really wants to go I say… Trust me, she doesn’t says the 8.
The God is racked jacked. Denied. He walks home with his tail between his legs. Once he leaves the eight stops kissing. She wanted him all along. The tale of the underachiever. He could have had the best pussy in the club but he lost by under cutting his value.
I could have had some pussy but I lost by shooting higher. I can deal with that, but it’s a fickle game. I grabbed the first cab I could find. A tinder match had spoken... A five… That's generous. Crooked teeth. Decent body. The driver asked me where I’m going. I said I’ll let you know.