Alcman's Odyssey Into Love

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Thursday

- 4 approaches
- 1 number, with date set up

Quite wonderful session today. Warmed up by feigning I wanted directions from the man next to me on the subway, and asking questions to "a hired gun" at a store (as Chase would have said). The first girl I approached had a big butt in tight black chinos and walked ahead of me in some stairs. She responded well to the approach and introduction. I deep-dived her for quite a while. When I number-closed she was unsure and said she "didn't know", so I hugged her and left.

After that I approached a girl with dyed hair, but she responded coldly to my compliment. The third approach was a 25 year old blonde with great hair and clothing, and she responded well to my compliment and the laid back aura projected through me sipping a take-away coffee I had sat and enjoyed before I had to rush off to get her. She was Romanian and as I deep-dived her she invited me to join her as she went to a women's clothing store. It was great fun, and it was the first time I was flirting with a "girl in girls' retail", as Ergon recently put it in his journal (thanks for the inspiration!). I teased her by suggesting different scanty and/or funny clothing for her, and put a large pink hat on her head. She really enjoyed it, but was unfortunately married. However, she wanted to match me with a girl friend who is moving here from Romania in February, so after some persuasion I agreed and added her on messenger. She promised to send pictures of her friend, so we'll see if its worth it. Luckily, Romania arguably has some of the most beautiful Caucasian women in the world.

With awe-inspiring momentum, I jumped upon a tall Middle Eastern looking lamb with long brown hair. She responded happily surprised to my coiffure compliment and turned out to have a very cute face. Conversational highlights:

- Hi!
- Hii!
- I just had to say you have the most lovely hair.
- Oh, you think so?
- Yes, certainly, very nice, the best I've seen in a long time.
- Thank you!
- I'm Alcman. What's your name?
- Linn.
- Nice to meet you, Linn! [Holds hand]
- What are you shopping for?
- I'm looking for a dress. And you? [She has been walking along, but now stops, steps out of pedestrian traffic and really invests]
- Just checking the sales. And what did you wear for New Years? A nice dress too?
- Yes!
- How was it?
- Great, I was in Berlin.
- Wow, NY in Berlin! etc
[...]
- What are you doing out here all alone? [She challenges me, hinting that I'm out just to pick-up girls]
- Oh, are little boys like me not allowed to be out alone?
- Hihihi, giggle, giggle, blush...
- What are you doing out here all alone?
- I'm meeting a friend for coffee.
- Are you single? [Caught the smooth opportunity, because of the similarity of 'alone' and 'single']
- Yes! [No hesitation]
- What are you studying when you are not in Berlin?
- I'm in high school. I guess I don't look like it... [She thought I thought that she was older, which I didn't. She probably also thought that I would have preferred her to be older, which I wouldn't have either]
- Haha, why not? And what's your program?
- Social sciences, behaviour.
- That's the one I went to. What do you like the most?
- Social science, philosophy...
- Oh, philosophy is what I study.
- Really? We have so much in common!
- You seem like a really fun person to talk to. Would you like to take a coffee some day?
- Oh, but shouldn't we get to know each other a bit first... [Confused]
- ...by having a coffee?
- Haha, yeah, I guess! I just have to ask you, how old are you? [The one question teenagers never fail to ask!]
- Haha, guess!
- Don't lie now! [Challenges me again, but I ignore her]
- Guess.
- 25?
- Good guess.
- 24?
- Yeah, is that an approved age for you to have coffee with? [Sarcastically teases her]
- Haha, as long as you're not over 30... Just kidding! [My frame of age being uninteresting won her over, and she was a bit embarassed]
- Let's switch numbers, then.
- Okay...
- Nobody can get too much coffee, right?
- No!
- Nice meeting you!
- Very nice to meet you!
Our date is already set up for next Wednesday. Right now, I bet that girl is a really happy girl! Tomorrow, there'll be night game as well as the usual day game.

A.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Sunday: Date and Breast Play with Elin

I played Squash with my father in the morning, which helped make me relaxed for the afternoon date.
For the date, see my first report (L--):
https://boards.girlschase.com/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=17852

Looking forward to Wednesday's date with Linn, which I scheduled as a short informational date, quite far from my home, to try something new and go for the fast pull second date.

"Onwards and upwards", or what was it Ricardus used to write?
A.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Winter Break: Summary

For Friday and Saturday I did some three street approaches per day, and today a last one. All in all, I've done more approaches this winter break than in my entire life before, and have broken the barrier of experience to make it permanently easier. The raw results were two dates, both with women more beautiful and way more confident than any I've dated before. The one I had yesterday led to a pull involving the most serious erotic action I've had since summer, which was the first time I went beyond making out. That woman was eight years my senior, breaking my previous meager record of a girl one year my senior, and expanding my total dating reference span to 18 - 32. It is a thrilling (and pretty exciting!) insight to realize how many women there are out there who desire you.

New Year's Resolutions
- At least one (1) solo night game session per week.
- At least one (1) woman cold approached per day, every day of the year.

Seduction Goals for 2018
- Pop my cherry
- Pop someone else's cherry
- Get lots of sexual experience
- Date my first girl younger than 18
- Fuck a frenchwoman

Credits

A big thank you to everyone who made me come this far in 2017. To the friend who inspired me to stop studying at home; the friend who took me out to clubs which gave me my first floor make-out; to the two wonderful girls I dated who busted my balls during the spring semester and made the last neediness leave my body together with the last tears I shed over a girl who's not my girlfriend; to the 18 year old mermaid Grace who let up her salty graces for me on the beach, and introduced me to the taste of mammary glands and the feel of vagina, as well as to the beautiful desire of a dreamy young girl who just realized she's a woman; to the first girl who ever accompanied me home, where she gave me a private lecture on LMR, that first magic week of fall semester; to the drunkard who told me on the floor last weekend that I danced "like a stick", both for the laugh and motivation; to Marcus Aurelius and Joseph Campbell, whose evergreen writings inspire me to accept the call to adventure with equanimity and imperturbability; and last but not least to GC and these forums, especially to kristian and ajay, who made me feel at home and who's support motivated me to complete this final homerun of 2017. "For my part, since I have always admitted that I was the chief cause of all the misfortunes which have befallen me, I have rejoiced in my ability to be my own pupil, and in my duty to love my teacher." (Giacomo Casanova, preface to History of My Life, translation by William Trask)

2017 has been the best year of my life, but the first week of 2018 has already been the best week of my life, and I have not the shadow of a doubt that the coming year will mark an even higher apotheosis.

Ad astra,
A.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Tuesday

Two approaches after my eight hours at school were done. A punky girl who probably didn't match with my more classy outfit, and a cute young girl with hair dyed as red as her tights, who blushed and got so shy from my compliment that she had to walk away, haha! Good thing is she was walking in the opposite direction as me, but I still turned around, catched up and opened. Need to do that more often, as it obviously constitutes half of the opportunities in any people flow.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Wednesday 10/1

Qweeva

As I sat studying in the library I spotted a tearjerkingly fair-tressed redhead, and was instantly and strongly enamored. Sitting one row behind her, I could hardly concentrate on what I was doing, for her long flow of fiery fibers called on my soul like a beacon (even the most superficial reader of my journal knows that I am a "hair man" to 110 %). So I sat there and sighed like a love-sick Charlie Brown. Upon entering the library one time, I believe I caught her checking me out in my peripheral view. The hours passed by, and eventually she and her friends, a girl and a boy, went for lunch. As my library is constructed, there are glass walls permitting a view from the reading to the eating area. I saw them go out and thought it all lost, as groups are instant death in this hyper self-conscious environment.

But lo and behold, through the glass I suddenly saw her breaking out and walking away with inviting gait. I instantly understood that she was going to order lunch! Without further ado, I grabbed my valuables and laptop and exited. Moving up to pour myself some water I saw her ordering falafel. Realizing that my water session was quicker than her ordering, I moved outside for a bit, and checked her through the window. When she was done, and stood all alone waiting for her falafel, I stalked up and opened her:

- Hej, du har fantastiskt hår! [I opened in Swedish, though I was half-sure I had overheard English; always better to sound spontaneous]
- Ohh, ah, you will have to take that in English! [Cute and confused]
- I just had to say you have fantastic hair! Really unusual!
- Thank you! I was born in Ireland so... ;)
- Cool, are you an exchange student?
- No, I've moved here!
- What's your name?
- I'm Caoimhe [pronounced "Qweeva"]!
- [I'm Albin.] Is that, uh, what is that ancient language you have? [Not 100% sure I introduced myself, because her name got my attention]
- Gaelic, yes, hihi! Are you from here?
- Yeah. What are you studying?
- Global relations and Portuguese!
- Haha, why Portuguese and not Spanish?
- I already speak Italian and Spanish, so...
- Wow. And I guess Portugal is actually relatively close to Ireland; you can probably take the boat right over! ;)
- Haha, yeah!
- So you are a language master?
- Haha, though I haven't mastered Swedish yet!
- I think that is a swell combination, all those languages and global politics.
- What are you studying?
- Philosophy. Have you moved here for good, or?
- Yeah, or, well, I'm here for three years.
- Oh, you're taking a Bachelor?
- Yes. Well, I think I'll have to go back to my friends...
- Want to grab a coffee some day?
- Yeah, why not. Will you teach me Swedish? [smiles]
- Sure. Want to grab a "fika" some day?
- Haha, yes!
- Have you learned that word yet, 'fika'?
- Yes, hihi! Let me add you on facebook.
- I don't use facebook.
- You can take my number.
- Sure [I enter it, while she reads it aloud, then calls it]
- It doesn't work! [It takes a while to get through, so she gets nervous]
- There now!
- What was your name, again?
- Albin. Great to meet you, Qweena!
- Great to meet you, bye!
As we talked she dropped stuff she was carrying twice for no apparent reason, which I took as a sign of the nervousness of attraction. As I walked away, I noticed her two friends at a distance looking in disbelief at me, who just picked up their gorgeous friend. I guess she got some questions when she headed back, haha! Just hope she doesn't ditch me straight off the bat because of peer pressure. I took my stuff and changed study place to another library; tarring around after getting the number is never good, and kills the mystery of the moment.

This pick-up was the smoothest I ever did at school, and the unwavering execution took even myself at bed. I have improved as a man! I also pat myself on the back for approaching a girl I fell in love with and glanced at for so long. As a friend recently put it, "any guy can approach a girl in the spur of the moment of seeing her, but they are rare who dare after having waited a minute!"

Date with Linn

I picked up this Palestinian 18-year old a week ago, and met her for coffee close to where I picked her up, scheduling it as an informational date. As she took off her jacket, she unraveled big juicy breasts bursting out of a tight short top, which had been hidden when I picked her up, and I made sure to complement her on it (the top, that is). She works out four times a week (butt, legs and abs) and is trained as a figure skater, so I am looking forward to her booty as well. She started out saying she loves philosophy and that we are going to have a great conversation. Which we had! Incorporated lots of touch, initially of forearm, but I made her comfortable with thigh and knee touch as well, and for a long time kept my leg against hers, which gave me a mad boner, and if Chase is correct about "what feels good to you feels good to her", must have made her wet. It is curious how a conversation just gets immensely much more intimate if you maintain just the slightest physical contact throughout. I always think of the research Chase cites somewhere about people being more willing to keep watch over a dog outside a store while the owner shops, if the question is accompanied by a touch of forearm. After an hour or so, I called it quits. She asked what we were going to do, and we took a brief walk through the galleria before parting ways at the subway station. If she's up for a second date, I'm going to make it close to home and fuck her.

I just feel so good about gaming everywhere. I have noticed that in general, every single day I get two or three opportunities to approach women who are my HB10s. And that's just from moving my daily routines. If I can develop the habit of always grabbing these, my life will come around in a hurry. Looking forward to cold approaching tomorrow, as much as ever. Life is good.

A.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Saturday

Thursday I developed a cold and stayed home all day. The next day I had to go to school anyway, and approached a girl on the way home, my dripping nose notwithstanding. I'm a new man and nothing can stop me. Despite still being kind of sickly and slow, I headed out today to score some afternoon babes, after having met a buddy who gave me private masterclass on the theory of opening bras. And it turned out to be my best "hole-in-one" session ever! As I departed my subway cart at the central station I caught side of a pretty brunette in leather jacket and sexy red pants hugging a friend goodbye and starting down some stairs. I continued walking for a few steps, but then the divine enthusiasm hit me. When I see exceptional beauty and style, I get intense motivation. So I turn around and rush after her. She has quite the lead on me, but eventually I catch up, and in the escalator I walk into her view and compliment her style (escalator game is my specialty!). She reacts well and compliments back. She complains of a bad hang-over and I accompany her to buy water. I buy gum afterwards so that she has to wait for me, balancing investment.

She's a funny girl and we have great rapport and chemistry. I feign a destination so that we end up on the same commuter train, to her delight. It's rather empty, and we sit alone facing each other. I tease her a lot, and bounce her questions. Examples:
- I take it that you think a lot. I think a lot too.
- About what? The latest episode of "Mean Girls"?
- Haha, you're mean!
- I have to press you a bit, so you'll deliver.
- That's ok, press me, I can take it :)
When my station is closing in I look her in the eye and ask her without flinching
- Are you single?
- Yes.
- Do you want to grab a coffee sometime?
- Yeah, sure!
- Then we should switch contact information before I get off.
- Haha, yes!
- I really like that you approached me, in these days of Tinder. That was courageous. I would never have dared to!
- That's why I did it for you. But you just have to take these on anyway, and it's done. Red is a secret signal. [Grabs her sexy red pants]
- Haha, yes, red is kind of sexual, isn't it?
- It certainly is.
At the last moment I call her Jessica, which is apparently not her name. She teases me about it, and I play along and own my memory loss. Since I can't guess and she won't give me her name again, except that it's close, I resolve to call her J., which she likes.

This is not the first girl who has explicitly stated how much she enjoyed being approached. Just think of all the women out there tired of the general Tinder dick pick strategy of the average guy.

Another interesting thing I noticed is that more women checked me out after I got my cold. Something in the way I got more laid-back and taciturn, makes women chase more. This was also so during my chat today. I was dressed tight and warm, and responded unfazed to the whole interaction. I was in the sort of bubble you get into when sick, and it did the interaction good! My game today was perhaps more than anything, natural game. Food for thought.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
January
What a January I've had! This journal has been dormant, as I have instead been reporting in private chats with kristian and ajay, but my game has been burning! The major goal of this journal, this odyssey into love, and my main seduction goal for 2018 has been achieved: I am no longer a virgin!

Seduction Goals for 2018
- Pop my cherry DONE
- Pop someone else's cherry
- Get lots of sexual experience
- Date my first girl younger than 18
- Fuck a frenchwoman

I have also had my first attempt at a threesome, when two Italian girls invited themselves over to drink spirits and discuss dirty Swedish words. I made out with and groped both of them, but no threesome, unfortunately. Nonetheless, that night was the best and most fun of my career.

Sticking point
Lately I've struggled with approach anxiety when it comes to girls who look to be younger than 18. I get these thoughts that they're going to think I'm a perv, which I know from earlier experience is just nonsense. I suffer from this, as mid-teens is my preferred age group. I know the only way out of this is exposure and experience, ditching the ego and being outcome independent. I'll track my progress on this one.

Night game
I'm going out solo every weekend to extend my comfort zone and develop night game for the first time. Engaged a brazilian-italian woman at the bar yesterday. Used lot's of touch, but had to number close as she was stuck with a friend. Fun, though! Looking forward to next weekend, to just enjoy whatever the nights bring. My new sexual experience makes the thought of night pull much less nervous.

A.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
May

Street stopped a blonde long-haired girl outside my building yesterday morning, and set up a date for today at the corner café. It's the first time I set up a day-game date without taking phone number, so it was fun and informative to try something new, and even more fun when she showed up, perfectly on time.

She met me with a radiating happy mien, and parts of the conversation was good, such as when I asked her if I could put a personal question to her, and then inquired what qualities she was attracted to in a man. Remembering to ask such a question, which I'm genuinely curious about and which creates a mischievous atmosphere, shows that I'm improving ever so slightly as a dater and conversationalist. I'm still horrible at pulling, though, and might have missed an escalation window. Anyway, we gradually grew bored and slightly awkward with each other, and so when I suggested we leave, she hurriedly answered that she had to go meet a friend, anticipating and preempting any attempt from my side to invite her home. Thus we parted ways, warmly but dispassionately.

What a lovely girl. Beautiful, intelligent, cute accent from the north of Sweden (Norrland) and a sense of humour that I gleamed at times, such as when I said I was getting my hair cut tomorrow, and asked if she thought I would look good in a green mohawk (tuppkam). She was wearing adorable summery clothes; a translucent white shirt and a short skirt, revealing her long shapely legs. Such a turn on.

I have to start having fun on my dates. This is the last date I'm doing normal boring conversation. Fortune favours the brave. Better banter, joke and ask things I genuinely want to know, rather than get boring tidbits of information that anybody could get from her LinkedIn. And most importantly, I need to start pulling from coffee dates with confidence and rather too early and than too late. Good thing I really know my sticking points, and what to do about them.

Class Game

For the first time in my life, I am having an affair with a female classmate. She's a funny little colleen with an emo-goth style that includes short-hair, fish-nets and chokers. There's been silent electricity all year, and finally we got ourselves the date we both wanted, an admirably cute one, with ice-cream and making out at my place while listening to music. Haven't ever felt so puppy-lovely, and I enjoyed it a bunch. We have a very funny and explicit sexual banter and flirting going on all the time in class and over text. Yesterday she confided that she has had an abusive relationship, which is why she hesitated for sex at our date. We both then confided that we're not looking for relationships, which only seemed to strengthen our connection, and she is pushing for meeting again, which I'm looking forward too.

Postscript

I'm some two-thirds into Zac Perrion's curious book The Alabaster Girl (2013), and I find it a perfect companion to GC. For although GC is great at giving you practical hints and mindsets, the overarching story of love and life is left out. Recommended as a sort of "master class", when you feel you have digested the zest of the GC gospel.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Love of my life, fire of my loins

I never had to muster more strength to write an entry. I haven't been this heart broken in a very long time, and just crawled out of my bed of tears to let off some steam in this journal. Twenty minutes ago the most radiating seventeen year old nymph hastily left my apartment, after I kissed her, telling me it was too good to be true. Oh, how utterly sad when two people who love each other are separated due to attainability problems! She thought I escalated fast because I didn't care for her, when in reality she is the girl I've cared for the most out of all the women I've encountered for the last year.

I approached her on the street Monday, and there was instant attraction. It was one of those lovely reciprocal interactions, where the girl saves you, helps you, and asked for my name when I forgot to introduce myself. To her delight, we set up an ice cream date for today, and this morning she sms:ed me to confirm that it was really happening. I never had a girl this smitten by me.

We had ice cream, and walked back to my apartment. On the way, we talked about the age difference, and I asked her how she felt about that, and apparently she had even told her friends, so she seemed cool with it. She genuinely complimented me more than any other girl, both on my style and on my initial approach, saying how such a thing had never happened to her before. Of course, I showed my delighted appreciation of every part of her and her apparel as well.

At my place we walked around and danced a bit, and I tried to kiss her. She dismissed it, and we slumped on the bed, orthogonal to each other, with crossed legs. I tickled her, played her some guitar and then kissed her neck and cheek, upon which she left, saying that "it was too good to be true" and was "going too fast". I had to catch her in the staircase to get a proper goodbye. She told me she felt bad about leaving me, so I was very sweet with her and told her that I didn't know what she was thinking, but that she shouldn't mind it, and she told me how she thought I was such a good person. She was breathlessly beautiful in the lighting, and I tossed her hair in front of her face and arranged it in the slightly unruly way I like it the most. For awhile we just stood there with locked eyes, dreamy but sad, each admiring the other, knowing that due to the incomprehensible laws of courtship we'll never meet again, feeling exactly like when we first met, closing circle on an apex of desire. We embraced again and she was gone.

Excuse the heresy, but such an experience makes me slightly doubt if the laws of moving fast (first date pull, ten minute kiss) work on the specific demography of mid-teens, which Chase excludes on his blog, due to legal difficulties in parts of medieval USA. My hypothesis (based on what I could read from her, my only real datapoint) is that these girls, in the context of daytime interaction with an older well-put-together man, require a bit more context to be comfortable, than the average nineteen year old, or thirty year old, due to the immense value gap. Of course, the reason I've used these methods, is that they promote action and give very valuable experience. I would still probably be a virgin if it wasn't for the ten minute rule! Nevertheless, I'm wondering if I should sometimes make the courtship a two-date process. Pretty lost about this though.

Anyway, today marks a milestone on Yours Truly's odyssey into love:

Seduction Goals for 2018
- Pop my cherry DONE
- Pop someone else's cherry
- Get lots of sexual experience
- Date my first girl younger than 18 DONE
- Fuck a frenchwoman

This is definitely the second most important of the seduction goals, as it brings me closer to the kind of girls who not only set my loins on fire, but makes my heart ache with the longing that makes life worthwhile. The honest chats I had with her gave me information about the mind of a young girl, that I've long wondered about.

Girl, I'll keep you in my heart and wear the wound with pride and confidence that next time, next time...

"I rise in flames, the Phoenix said."
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Paris: Third Day

Yesterday I spent the whole day with two sweet girls I met at the hostel, one 21-ish Swedish and one vulgar and quite adorable Lolita from Maryland, who must have been 19, but looked and acted younger. So good to just hang out with girls. There's this feeling of contentment, that everything is alright with the world. We had picnic with food and wine, and the girls showed me how to eat cheap and well in Paris. They sang constantly, and after I got the key to the adorable AirBnB I'll be staying in (in Montmartre), we went there and I accompanied them on the guitar. Sadly, they had to leave for a booked Couch-surfing, and flew home today. At least Maryland Lolita kissed me on the cheek when we said goodbye. I'd love to have more female friends; it's a most healthy thing for me.

Today I did my first street cold approaches in French, a language I've only studied for a week! It's confusing to feel so confused again, but truckloads of fun. I prepared a list of my favourite compliments before heading out, like:


  • "Quel beaux cheveux [tu as]!" - What beautiful hair [you have]!
    "Quel belle robe!" - What a beautiful dress!
    "Quel cool style!" (Yes, you can say this in French!)

I said the first one to fair-haired Gela, who I guess was 15 (when she told me her fine name, I quipped that it was almost like Italian 'gelato'). She was very happy and probably thought my attempts at French quite adorable, and I thought she was my favourite type of lady, with a face and voice that made you loose any coherent train of thought. Turned out she was unusually good at English, and we had a fun little conversation. I think it was my most confused approach of the year, since I was kind of out of balance after the initial language acrobatics, so I lost track and forgot to ask if she was single. We parted ways in a friendly way, though. (Feeling slightly patronized by a 15 year old is an experience I don't get very often these days. The naiveté you exude when dabbling with a foreign language is amazing.,)

Close to my home I used the third one on beautiful Natalie, and we had a good conversation, but when I asked "tu es celibataire?" (are you single?), she answered that she was unfortunately not.

It feels good to already have cracked the comfort zone and popped the cherry of French approaching. Come to think about it, it's the first time I ever approach in any other language than Swedish or English. A wonderful side-effect is that when I get back to Stockholm, I'll be able to approach the many cute French tourists and backpackers (and perhaps charm the Francophile natives).

Looking forward with some nervousness to the Weekend's night game. Foreign language night game is firmly outside of my comfort zone...

Au revoir,
A.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Paris: First week

During the weekdays I have made numerous approaches while exploring Paris by foot, trying to get a feeling for which areas are good for a philanderer to frequent. As expected, the famous and touristy areas are as a general rule the worst, with the girls mostly locked in romantic-weekend-in-Paris couples, with a barking herd of pubescent class-mates or with mom, dad, grammy, grampa and seven siblings, even though their eyes sometimes seem to signal me S.O.S. stronger than Melania Trumps.

Thursday or Friday I had two seventeen-year-olds in a row bowing out, but we had fun. The breakthrough came yesterday, Samedi. I had looked up a cool area for clubs popular with students and hip young people (in an area called Austerlitz, after Napoleon's crushing victory over the Russians), and was heading there early, passing through the Latin Quarter, the area around Sorbonne that once resounded with "'-us -a -um". Suddenly a wonderful skirted Mademoiselle appears (deus ex machina!) and hastily walks into a back road. Down the rabbit hole I go again, I think to myself, and run after. Arriving in Wonderland, I compliment her skirt and fashion skills, and she turns out to be the very cute cinematography student Estelle. We stop as she hits upon her door. I seize the closing window of opportunity and ask if she's single. She giggles and gets a bit shy, but says yes, and so I ask her out and we exchange numbers. A minute after parting, my damsel sms:es me "It's Estelle", as only a shy but embryonically enamored foreign darling can. I followed it up today, and she answered that she was tight on time until the 26th (all youths have their final exams in June or early July). I suggested we meet for a quick ice cream soon, and then for longer after the 26th, and she responded ambivalently, though mentioning a good ice cream parlor she knew. We'll see.

Closing in on the hip area, I stand at a red street light checking out a stately dressed Parisienne, when a man besides me follows my gaze and exclaims "pas mal!" I don't get it at first, but he explains that he said "not bad", signaling the woman. I like his style and he mine, so we strike up a conversation. Turns out he, Florient, is heading to the same club area, and invites me to join him and his friend. Amazingly, Florient turns out to be a PUA. One of the first things he says to me as we get to the area is "if you see anything you like (women), just tell me and I'll ask them to drink with us", which he does to two groups of girls within the first five minutes. I struck wing man gold!

His friend Coco (lol) is a handsome guy at the same age (27) as Florient, but of opposite temper, as they eagerly explain. While Florient favours the direct approach and likes bitchy girls for the challenge, Coco is more laid back and likes the shy girls who come on slow. Amusingly, they are also of wildly different political persuasions (guess who's right wing, haha). They give me beer and we sit and talk at the Seine pier for awhile, before deciding to hit this indie rock club called Supersonic.

And holy mole, was it a good choice! Entrance is free, the music is live and the crowd is young, hip and mingling. It's a two-floor edifice, with a useful quiet indoor smoke room on the landing. I discuss the music (a local band called "Red Djinn", featuring a straight soprano sax, some three-stringed African base and drums) with fun Edith, but it turns out she is there with her Lesbian girlfriend (who radiates jealousy whenever Edith flirts with me). Nevertheless, when Florient calls me into a conversation with three teenage girls he just opened (whenever he opened girl groups he'd tell them about me in French before I arrived, as a kind of MC announcing the artist), I have awesome momentum and fast get excellent and fun rapport with all of them. One of them fancies me especially, little Thaïs. She has an endless appetite for my attention and is only content when we have body contact, like a lamp that only shines when plugged in, so I make sure we rock to the concert with some skin touching more or less constantly (mostly her shoulder against my upper arm; that's the height difference...).

In the pause she wants me to follow her to the smoking room even though I say I don't smoke. I'm hard pressed to think of a more serene and joyous feeling than being led (pulled!) by the damp little hand of a beaming woman, every now and then looking back at you with eyes filled of equal measures anxiety, desire and excitement that, yes, this man I like is still there, dangling on my five-fingered hook, and has not slipped back into the night whence all tall dark strangers come and eventually return (at least as it seems to her). We talk and her friends have great fun at making poor Thaïs blush by telling me that she wants me to kiss her, and I have great fun in delighting them all by playing clueless foreigner.

Good friends as they are, they soon leave us alone. We have a conversation sparkling with innuendoes and pregnant pauses, as she hopelessly stares at my lips. Generous as I am, I soon end her sufferings and sate her desires, and we spend a good thirty minutes executing the tastiest French kissing of my life (we're in France, give us a break!) and caressing each other in the most tender way. Summer dresses are God's way of blessing the act of groping, and so my hands can freely feel her bare thighs where the dress ends and through the thin film of cloth clearly make out the landscape of her firm buttocks above them. And drenched as I presently am (third time in this paragraph I start a sentence with this kind of clause, I know) in the phenomenological prose of Sartre, I make sure to live every bit of the experience most deliberately, savouring her like she were a Rochefort (of more pleasant fragrance). "I love your smile", says I during a break, and try to turn her underlip into an instrument with my thumb. "I love your smile too", says she (Gainsborough's "moi non plus" is obviously a fiction), and retaliates by playing my underlip. She mimics everything I do to her face, and so I find myself in front of a sort of mirror, though its denizen is far cuter than the familiar guy in the one at home.

After our time is up, her conscientious friends come calling. Hesitantly she responds, untangling her branches from my stems. She French kisses me goodbye, infinitely sad, but then draws me on down the stairs. Here we bump into Florient and Coco. The former has won the heart of Thaïs' friend, and so as my damsel kisses me goodnight once more, her friend does the same to him.

After the sweethearts leave, and before the next set start, we mingle around and I'm approached by Tartarean Kamila, who offers me to slip away with her to the smoking room (criminals always seem to return to the crime scene!) to drink of a bottle of rosé she has smuggled through security. But first the dread lock babushka insists we share a vodka shot (and though she pays for both with her card, I give her a five euro bill for my half, incidentally the only money I spent during the night, except for the ride home). In the deepest corner of the smoke room, Kamila makes use of my tall frame as cover when pouring the smuggled wine in snatched water glasses, since there is both a gorilla guard outside the room and a surveillance camera inside (whew!). It turns out that she is a physics PhD student, and great conversation commences about fundamental particles, Parmenides and Tartary, though she admits that "I can't seem to think of my work right now, since you're standing so close; I just think of... something else." She asks me for a (smoke-filled) kiss, and I comply.

Eventually we venture back down, where the live music has ended and an indie rock dance floor has taken its place, complete with Oasis singalong ("Don't Look Back in Anger", anno 1995, still going strong). We swing it awhile, and then we leave. She invites me back to her place ("but no sex"; yeah, sure), but I weasel out and I slip into my own Uber (métro stops at 1:30 am in Paris; fortunately I only paid 14€ for the ride home thanks to Uber pool). I'd love to have her as a Parisian friend (my heart is with Thaïs and Estelle), but chances are she's disappointed.

Summa summarum, Saturday 9th of June was the best night out I ever had, filled to the brim with positive experiences and energy, and completely void of negativity. This is how night life was intended to be; free of charge and smooth like the summer breeze through the taxi window on the way home. PS. Thaïs just sms:ed me, saying that she'll get back to me about when we can meet this coming week.

Speaking of next week, Florient wants to meet up for after-work day game (which he engages in every day; "I don't own a TV, I don't have any other hobbies"). Fun times.

Au revoir, mes amis
A.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Paris: Thaïs

Love of my life, fire of my loins, Thaïs wrote a confession to me: she's fifteen. The sms launched me into a stupor, a mix of incredulity, desire and nostalgia.

I remember so vividly my days of being a fifteen-year-old eighth grader, and how the girls suddenly came to full bloom. It could happen so quickly; one day in the corridor I walked past a freckled brunette classmate wearing a tight black top, and her breasts jumped out at me, took my breath away and burned the whole scene into my retina. Ten years on I'm still disconcerted and flushed when I think about it; I remember every part of the mise-en-scène, and her irritably patronizing me with her eyes, seeing that I saw (she had an older boyfriend, and I never saw her show the slightest erotic interest in her coevals). There is also a memorable visit to a public bath complex, when all the girls I coveted and admired showed off their wares in all their surprising new-found glory, and I proudly noticed that, yes, the two girlies I loved were still the best when undressed, and had the shapeliest breasts (proof that my X-ray vision worked!).

Friends, it took me ten years. It took me a decade to realize the dream of my fifteen year old lips to taste theirs, of my hands to grope their quince-ans buttocks. A thought enough to give one vertigo. I'm glad no one told me that at the time, or I would have struggled with motivating my life! I carried myself through the school years by fooling myself that next year, next year it's going to happen, it's got to happen according to the statistics... I didn't discover proactivity until about seven years into the decade.

And so I tenderly answered Thaïs that I cared only about feeling and connection, not externalities like age or height (which is only half true; I do care about age, but in the opposite way to what young girls expect --- unless they possess a precocious insight of their seductive powers, like Lolita! The poor souls don't realize that they have everything their older female peers have and more!), and she responded (verbatim) that she was "relieved to be clear with me <3". She suggested we go out and listen to music Friday.

The thought of accompanying her to a club made me a bit nervous, so I responded that we could just have ice-cream or so. To this she wrote another charming entry, calling me "her secret" and forbidding me to go to her school (which I couldn't be further from having suggested, lol!). What a beautiful thing, to be the secret of a little girl! She started pushing hard for coming to my place last Friday, asking me for my exact address, door code and number of stairs. Obviously the teen girl was anxious to meet me, but even more anxious about being seen with me! Which is, come to think of it, quite curious, given the uninhibited way she behaved with her girlfriends at the club. Nevertheless, I understand if her little mind is filled with confusing, contradictory and novel feelings! Eventually she flaked and sms:ed me she had some family problem, and that we should meet this Friday (tomorrow) instead. I have no expectation of us doing so, but I sure hope it.

Note of Clarification

There is perhaps a need here to note for the bewildered reader that in France, like in Italy, there is no age limit for bars and clubs, although there is a legal age of 18 (since 2009; before then it was 16, like in Italy) for ordering alcohol, though not for purchasing it in stores. Nevertheless, all this is mere formalities, since ID controls are practically unheard of in southern continental Europe, which means that it's all up to the subjective judgment of the individual bartender, usher or bouncer. This all has (to the stuck-up and frozen mind of an uncivilized Scandinavian) the amazing consequence that one can meet girls of any age in clubs, girls whom in Stockholm one would be forced to game off the street. I recall that Thaïs had her friend buy her a drink (a concoction of gin mixed with some fruit, which she magnanimously had me taste), a stratagem probably due to the fact that her friend was (or looked) older. To sum up: here was a cute fifteen year old girl having a drink in a club, flirting with me, and it was nothing out of the ordinary.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Statistics, as of Wednesday, Week 3

During the last two weeks I have averaged around five good approaches per day, which means that I've probably done some 70 approaches in Paris yet. I'm counting the French numbers (they start with +33) on my phone, and they are 19. One or two might be other numbers I've called, but then I also know I've deleted at least one number from a girl who didn't respond. This squares well with the fact that I can't recall a day during which I did not get a single number. It should also be noted that I've gone on one instant (wine) date, with a twenty-eight-year-old Spanish-Sardinian woman who paid for all the drinks, with no number involved. I'd say the majority of attempts without number close are with girls who like me but are not single, célibataire. My favourite response is to ask them, with a wink, if they wouldn't like to have two boyfriends, which always make them gasp, blush and laugh, and makes for a great and light-weight end of our interaction.

From all the phone numbers, I've yet only been on a date with Lou, the art student I met on an exhibition (I've also been on two really boring online-game dates, one from Tinder and one from OKCupid, which is relatively popular in France, before I decided to delete the apps and quit online game again). She's great and I'm going to meet her again, but she's not smoking and I'm not that motivated to sleep with her.

Out of all the seventy approaches, I've had no negative experience, and most of the women I exchanged contact info with kissed me twice on the cheeks, as the French do to friends and family. The bad date harvest is a bother, though, and eventually leaves the whole enterprise insipid. I haven't gotten laid since February, friends, and I'm NoFap too, haha! I have the feeling that some of the girls are scared off by the fact that I'm only in Paris for vacation, fearing that they'd fall in love and be hurt, especially since they invariably ask me for how long I'm staying. This might be a downside to day game, which is in essence more serious and potentially long-term, compared to night game. Of course, before jumping to conclusions, I should post and analyze some examples of my interactions.

A.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Summa Summarum: Paris

A week ago I marked another milestone on Yours Truly's quasi-serious list:

Seduction Goals for 2018
- Pop my cherry DONE
- Pop someone else's cherry
- Get lots of sexual experience
- Date my first girl younger than 18 DONE
- Fuck a frenchwoman DONE

On a more serious note, it was neither the sex nor the nationality of the heroine which made this the most important evening of my adult life. Rather it was the fact that a fifteener coveted me and seduced me to sex, proof that my ultimate goals and gratifications were not just figments of a wild imagination. How far I've come in only a few months' time! I few posts back I wrote that I had a sticking point with approaching younger girls. Well, I pride myself with having overcome that sticking point by raw work and determination, guided by an overarching plan. I gradually started dating younger girls in Stockholm, through conversation and open-mindedness inching my way towards empathy and a first attempt at understanding their situation. Before I hit France I opened my heart to my sixteen-year-old sister, and we had a long talk about young love, sexual harassment and the female online experience. How fortunate I am to have a little ally in the trenches; it's like suddenly being able to ask the wall what sticks with it, before starting to throw random stuff.

In France I did perhaps more than I ever thought I would. I approached almost exclusively youngsters, a great deal of them around fifteen, my magical number, and they adored me. I mended the broken link between adulthood and pubescence, and suddenly that old anxiety turned into an excitement and a natural attraction. ajay visited me during a day when I truly seemed to turn into a magnet for the darling buds, in tune with my desires.

Nevertheless, my Parisian experience was exhausting. More than a hundred solid street approaches left me with only two girls dated. The lay was my first success with night game, and as such very satisfactory and motivating. Perhaps most important of all, the sheer mass of approach experience has changed the way I deal with approaching forever. I am now able to turn on autopilot and steer through my own anxiety, channeling it into excitement. My perceptivity of both which ladies I'd still desire with the clothes off, and which are probably in a good situation to meet has also considerably improved. I'm still sliding on my stomach through the dirt of Beginner Seducer's Hell Inc., but at least I know roughly what direction the escalator to the first terranean level is in.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Roma: Friday (Venerdì)

Mi par ch’oggi il demonio si diverta d’opporsi a’ miei piacevoli progressi; vanno male tutti quanti!
(It seems to me that today the devil is amusing himself with opposing my pleasant advances. How badly everything is going!)
- Don Giovanni
Mark this day as the worst yet. My lovely Roman date from yesterday, sixteen-year-old Stefania, let's me know by sms she doesn't want to meet again ("I just want to be by myself for a few days"...), and that's only the start of the devil's amusements. But let's sweetly digress and dwell in timeless memory.

What an enchanting girl! Always wearing intricately patterned thin summer dresses, she is tall with irises so black her pupils often vanish. Although Stefania is half-Bulgarian, I believe hers was the kind of "deeper gaze" Keats ascribed to the Mediterranean girls as apposed to the English. And she certainly was not afraid of looking me deep in the eye. I met her right here on via flaminia, where I live, having just excited my domes, telling her truthfully that "sei vestito incredibilmente" (you are incredibly dressed!). It turned out she was a good liceo classico student with an excellent English (by any Italian standard!) who was going on an exchange to Texas in the fall. The same evening at 9:30 we met again and had gelato by the Spanish steps. I ask her to speak Italian to me, but she eventually drifts back into English. We talk of wonderful and strange things. She is such a thoughtful girl, she seems constantly on the verge of sliding into reverie. "Do you dream a lot?", I ask her. "I never dream at night", she answers, "perhaps that is why I daydream so much". She tells me a cute story of how her Italian father met her Bulgarian mother, who is an actress (prior to meeting me, S. had been to a setting of Chekhov's "Three sisters" (incidentally S. has precisely two sisters!), directed by her mother and acted by her mother's students). We talk about family, and the value of siblings. I show her a picture of my little sister, and she finds her beautiful, which is cute given that I had just sent a picture of S. to my sister, only to have her respond the same way!

I crack up when S. tells me she has the opposite character to her bigger sister, who is unflatteringly described as a "party animal" (though now twenty-eight, pregnant and forced to change her ways...). Notwithstanding the efforts of her Bulgarian grandmother who tried to give her wine at a young age, S. dislikes the taste of both alcohol and beer ("even the smell"). Her character thus suggests that she might be a virgin, although Mediterranean statistics make it unlikely.

Back to Black Friday. Her sms launched me into a dreadful mood. I did not yet have any amorous alternatives in Rome, so when she cut the cord, I found myself once again driven with the wind and tossed. Going home, I fell into feverish sleep on my bed, and woke up around 10 pm. Dazed and confused, I forced myself out of my lair and hit a famous ex-pat bar aptly called "Scholars' lounge". I stayed by the bar and talked to the handful of girl groups who came to order, but none of them invited me to join them, and my vibe was off. (The greatest downside of my persistent cold is that I can't jump-start my testosterone by working out. That magical solution never fails to bring me up out of the bluest of blue funks.)

Clubs in Rome open late, but at eleven I left headed for a club in the funky rione Testaccio, on the southern left bank of the Tiber. Forty minutes of walking later, I realized that the club did not exist in the summer, though I tried to enlist the geographical help of at least three groups of party-bound ragazzine. The renowned "estate romana", or Roman summer, has yet to impress me with its nightlife. I didn't have a bus ticket, so I grabbed a rental bike and rather furiously pedaled home.

Roma: Saturday (Sabato)

Slept late, but woke up in a good mood. I hit the shopping street and my first approach, Allegra of Taranto, joined me for a cappuccino at a café. I opened and hooked her in Italian, but she turned out to study a bachelor's in Scotland, so her English was flawless. She had been to a modeling gig in Monti this morning, but otherwise spent the summer doing an internship at some company by the piazza della repubblica. She was quite smitten with me, smiling and fidgeting. By calculations based on the fact that she just finished the first year of her baccalaureate, she was twenty. I hope we'll meet again soon. Fuelled by success I later approached yet another Italian principessa in a black dress, but she was en ménage.

---

Why do I write these laborious characterizations of all the ragazzine I meet? These flower buds have yet nothing to their name, so why not let them slip into oblivion, especially since their memories cause my heart pangs of hell? Well, as the eighteenth-century author Cao Xueqin put it (after having been ostracized for impregnating a maid and lapsing into alcoholism),

[h]aving made an utter failure of my life, one day I found myself in the midst of my poverty and wretchedness, thinking about the female companions of my youth. As I went over them in my mind’s eye one by one it suddenly came over me that those slips of girls – which is all they were then – were in every way, both morally and intellectually, superior to the ‘grave and moustachioed signor’ I am now supposed to have become. The realisation brought with it an overpowering sense of shame … And I resolved then, however unsightly my shortcomings might be, I must not, for the sake of keeping them hid, allow those wonderful girls to pass into oblivion without a memorial.
A worthy pursuit indeed! There is a quiet heroism in facing the fact that you, the Adult, though "grave and moustachioed", might in fact be overall morally and intellectually inferior to a child, and one to whom you hold feelings of unrequited love at that. For granting me access but for a moment to their healing light - a beam of puerile sanity - I might at least pay a humble paean.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Lucca: Amor Lucchese? On the Pros and Cons of Rustic Romance

Half an hour from Pisa (you know, the city with the tower which could use some viagra) in mountainous Tuscany (Toscana) is little Lucca, famous for its medieval city center, completely surrounded by a massive wall. Lucca happens to be the place where a family friend has invited me to stay for free at his extra apartment, whereat he only sojourns. So yesterday, off I went from Rome by train to Lucca (after being driven to the train station by taxi driver Luca!).

I realize it is my first shot at country side / smaller town game, and I've already experienced some peculiarities. The first thing I noticed is that young girls are walking alone everywhere, way more often than in Rome, and in that way more reminding of Stockholm. This is perhaps the single most salient perk of a secure city (if you wonder what security means for a city, take everything that Rome is and negate it!). The first girl I met while still carrying my heavy travel suitcase, backpack and guitar hard-case. Lavignia charmingly opened her myself, something that happens way more often on the less trafficked and more personal streets of a small town. The road we were on was blocked, and that's what she commented on to me. She realized I was not an Italian and excused herself, but I gauged interest and simply asked for her name (in Italian), which she gave me and our conversation was on. The smoothness with which a woman who has already decided she wants to meet you hooks, never ceases to amaze and delight me. A native ragazza lucchese, She is studying neuroscience in London, and working at a lab for the summer, and hence was only visiting her home town shortly. At the moment, she was going to visit her grandmother who lived on the same via as I was going to live on. Perfect, thought I, but the poor girl was unable to gratify herself with dating me, since she was leaving on the morrow. Palpably smitten she bid me farewell.

After dropping my bags, I walked around and opened a super sexily dressed Italian, but she didn't respond (no earplugs), even though I followed up my initial complement with a few more and gave her some time, and talked both Italian and English. I have seen this behaviour in Italy several times now, but I can't remember ever seeing it in Sweden. Likely an evolutionary trait due to the relative forwardness of Italian males. In the evening I open what I think is a hot girl in shorts. Turns out she's a somewhat older (mid twenties) woman with a funny expression and whiny voice. I'm hungry for conversation, though, and she turns out to be knowledgeable about music. She insists that I come with her to the local Puccini museum the next morning. I could have easily invited her home, but she did not turn me on the least. Next morning just as I exit the door, still standing on the steps, beautiful Francesca locks me into her gaze and throws away the key.

Ch’è quel ch’io veggo dentro agli occhi belli
della mia donna? Lasso! egli è Amor forse.
Pur l’accecata vista ve lo scòrse,
benché la vinca lo splendor di quelli.
“Amor, perché per me non li favelli?”
Who is this whom I see behind the beautiful eyes
of my lady? Alas! perhaps it is Amor.
Even the blinded vision did see him there,
though the splendor of the sources conquered it.
"Amor, why don't you win her favour for me?"
"I'm only sixteen... How old are you?", she says to a man who recently had sex with a girl of fifteen, though her smile betrays what she'd like to do. "Oh, only a nine year age difference...", she says ironically when I answer. Still she stays with me, as we stand together in silence with eyes locked, and she does not divert her eyes, which express mischief, incredulity and curiosity. I ask her if she wants to hang out. She wants to "think about it", but still stays. "Is this where you live?" she asks, then she excuses herself for being in a hurry (she's on vacation, lol) and leaves. Takeaway is that I should have at least tried to invite her in immediately when she asked about my home, which was just behind my back. No people were around. I'm setting a new goal to start inviting women home more often, instead of going for future dates. Remember Angela who had cappuccino with me on the fly? She blushed and asked if I had roommates on our date, then never answered my sms afterwards. By hindsight, I see clearly she was but horny in the moment. I'm glad to sort this mess out in my head.

---

Beach. Heaven and hell in a curious mix. A cornucopia of temptations; of wet thighs glistening in the sun, tanned nates wobbling with every step, heavenly eyes glistening with desire at the ice cream stand, the arch of a girl tanning her back, showing you the entrance is all its glory, string bikini long since swallowed by steatopygia. See [sea?] but not touch. Small resort town filled to the brim with slim auburn teens in scanty clothing. Few. if any. dare make eye contact. I haven't felt as devastated in quite a while. I'm looking forward to go back to Rome, back to anonymity and the boldness it lends girls. Rustic romance is not worth it. Besides, there's something about an evening in a beautiful Mediterranean resort that makes my loneliness compact like a black hole. These places are designed for cuddling and snuggling, and every second spent not doing so hurts.

It's more than two weeks since I had sex and I've again largely forgotten what it's like, even though the memory of it haunts me once a minute. I'm needy because I need a new experience to calm the raging memory. I have no idea what will happen in the next few days, except that it will be rough for me. Christ. To survive I will have to adhere strictly to workouts, meditation and regular good food. Still, I'm looking forward to it.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Rome Revisited

Che bella notte! È più chiara del giorno: sembra fatta per gir a zonzo a caccia di ragazze. - Don Giovanni
[What a beautiful night! And how bright the dawn: it seems made for taking a stroll catching girls.]
The wheel of fate keeps spinning. Or is it me spinning it? On the way home to Rome, two Russian girls sought my attention at the train station in Pisa, drawn in part by the lure of my guitar case. They number closed me and then went off to Florence. Tomorrow they're bound for Rome. Since Russians are the best at partying (i.e. drinking!). That event was catalytic; in a spell my mood and vibe skyrocketed. It was not so much that it was the most amazing thing that ever happened to me; rather a humble but clear reminder of life's possibilities.

So I hit Trastevere guns a-blazin'. Took a stroll to hunt for girls (girare a zonzo a caccia di ragazze), and found the neighborhood oozing with sweet pubescence. Ah, Lucia, how your striped black-and-white playsuit overloaded my senses with its non-Euclidean curves; how I melted when you turned around and met my pleasant advances with a teenage smile! You were in liceo linguistico and clearly intelligent, and as I've started to expect you showered me with questions and attention after blushingly telling me you're "only fifteen"; you kissed me on the cheeks rather too eagerly before you boarded your bus, and waved to me from the window - I guess at that moment you intently wished you were single, and I wondered if maybe a bit more persistence could have made you forget your boyish beau. You are a runner up for most wonderful creature I ever approached.

Regarding the "age confession", it seems to be a necessary vent for young girls, and serves as both as a gauge of attainability and a shit test - as age questions always are. Empirical testing has revealed to me that the best response is just to nonchalantly acknowledge it and move the conversation on - if it's not a big deal to me, it's not going to be one to her. The best interaction is one in which she forgets about my external attributes and focuses on the connection - as Ebba told me of her experience when I picked her up in Stockholm, "I didn't think of it [me being older] at all".

When I went to have dinner at a local restaurant, I was met by the adoring green eyes of eighteen-year-old waitress Alicia ("or Elise"). The poor girl almost was crying with nervousness when I ordered, hand visibly shaking, fidgeting with the menu. But she bravely held my gaze, and never averted her eyes. How I love this audacity some young women have, this ability to look love in the eye, however intimidating; what conscious effort it took me to develop the same ability that she has naturally! Unfortunately she was not single, which obviously added to her inner turmoil. It was an absolutely unforgettable experience. I was the only customer, and it was school book love at first sight. Such sweet girl and sweet conversation ("You have really beautiful eyes", "You too"). She reminded me of Grace, the girl of the same age I made beach love with last June. Some girls, my favourites by far, are just like open books, wearing their breathtakingly beautiful and sensitive hearts on their sleeves, just like I try to do.

In the evening I went to the square San Cosimato, which Lucia had told me was her favourite local haunt. They showed movies - this night a cheesy Italian horror movie called "L'Uccello dalle piume di cristallo", about a serial killer specializing in killing random sexy young girls with different knives - and as promised the square filled up with a high school crowd as night settled. After the movie I floated through the narrow medieval streets. Suddenly a slim brunette was hurling funny invectives at a building, which I found to be a good opportunity to open. She, Julia, liked me immediately, explained it was her hated high school and invited me to hang out with her gang. We bought some drinks at a bar and brought with us into the night (the perk of plastic glasses). I got a good lesson in group dynamics. It was great fun, with them teaching me dirty Italian, ex.

Julia - "Do you know what 'succhiare il cazzo' [suck dick] means?
Me - [Pretending I don't understand] No, can you show me?
I also realized that getting a girl out of that group of class mates was next to impossible. She tried to shit test me by asking to sip from my Negroni, but I refused to give her any if she wouldn't comply and come sit by me. She persisted with ludicrous reasons like being tired etc., but I didn't budge and she didn't comply. We stayed in the street till after one in the morning. Julia was the only one who hugged me when I left.

Friday

Woke up early, fully healthy at last, went for a jog and worked out at home. This afternoon felt even more made for caccia di ragazze, and I used piazza San Cosimato as home base for numerous approaches, sitting on a bench like an antlion. I forced myself to approach an Asian for the firts time, to build momentum and challenge my prejudices. I wasn't turned on though, so my prejudices were confirmed. though it was fun and the girl hooked hard and gave me her number. Eventually I met Federica who was walking her dog. Her eyes were glimmering wells and once they had seized on me they never let go. At last I found Rome's only single girl, lol! We decided to meet on Monday, and shortly afterwards she sent me a text "Ciao Albin, poi fammi sapere a che ora è dove!" (just let me know the time and place!). A mix of different recollections of some of Chase's date designs, I suggested she meet me at my place, and that we'll then head up to the Gianicolo (Janiculum), a famous hill nearby with a great view, adding that if she brought snacks I'd bring wine (I did this to great effect with the two infamous Italians in January). She just answered "it's perfect! :)". Looking forward to it.

As night crept on, I went home to rest. I have become wise; unlike Sweden it's absolutely no use going out to bars early here. Instead I went home, rested and watched some movie until about eleven, when I heard some distant neighbors copulating and felt the "bella notte" calling me to action. I approached a group of two girls, one Spanish and one English, who were interacting with a Swiss guy. I ended up hanging out with them for some time, exchanging numbers with all of them. Probably I'll go to a club with them tonight. I'm not interested in the girls, but I need them for momentum. I am aware of the fact that I have to practice cutting the cord though; it's dangerously comfortable for a solo night game beginner to stick with the first gang he meets, even though it stalls. I have to admit, I feel intimidated by how much I have yet to learn about night game.

A presto,
A.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
First Nighttime Pull

« Chi vuol esser lieto, sia:
di doman non c'è certezza »
[Whoever wants to live happy, go ahead:
regarding tomorrow there is no certainty]
- Lorenzo de' Medici, Canzona di Bacco,
The peculiarities of Rome are blurring my distinction between day game and night game in a very interesting way. I have been hanging out round the piazza San Cosimato every night, and around nine it never fails to fill up with hoards of cute girls under eighteen. Many of them are nowhere to be found during the day, which I've learned is partly due to them being from the suburbs and partly due to the late sleeping patterns of Rome's young girls on summer vacation (as Silvia would tell me, she sleeps until after two every day). So the other day I started doing what I usually do during the day and looked for girls walking alone, but after dark. To my surprise, the girls were not at all more liable to be freaked out, and I realized I was on to something.

Sunday night I gravitated towards the piazza as usual. At nine they were showing Woody Allen's "Manhattan". I sat at the periphery and chilled, keeping an eye on what women were moving in the square. A slim girl in shorts comes and stands rather close to me, lighting a smoke. After waiting to see if she were joining someone, I realize she's there to watch the movie alone. Something about her tells me she's making herself open for approach. I gather courage and stand up. As I walk over, she suddenly sits down instead. Breaking sprezzatura, I sit down next to her, despite having just stood up. I decide in favour of indirect direct. "Ti piace Woody Allen?", I say, asking if she knows English or only reads the Italian subtitles. She beams at me and immediately invests in the conversation. Her face is strikingly beautiful, drawn in clear and bold lines, highlighting the curious "tired" lines extending diagonally out and down from the inner corners of the eyes, lines which seem to be companions of great beauty. Her brown collarbone-length hair has a slight seductive Italian curl, and she's wearing a white buttoned blouse and tiny khaki shorts, and her long supple legs end in Dr. Martin's-style low black boots. Her whole right underarm is in a white bandage covered with friends' well-wishes, and her left has her friend's phone number written on it, since she just lost her phone. She is called Silvia.

What an amazing experience to sit with her there in the dark, with the Allen film in the background. In a sublime coincidence, Allen's forty-two-year-old cameo character is dating a seventeen-year-old girl, which is Silvia's age. Silvia has seen the movie before and we mostly ignore it, sitting close together on the concrete ground talking in the crepuscular piazza. Already she is responding well to my touch, both incidental and emphatic. After some ten minutes, the movie suffers some technological problem and stops. I take the opportunity to suggest we get out of there, and she agrees. We walk over to nearby Piazza di San Calisto and sit down at a bar table outside with a glass of wine (remember that there is no age limit at Italian bars; I simply couldn't do this in Sweden).

She lights up again. I look at her as we talk, I pierce her with my eyes, alternately focusing on the bridge of her nose, alternately drinking in her features. I point out to her that Silvia (from Latin silva, forest) is a fitting name for her, that I could imagine her as a sylvan nymph, hiding in trees and making men loose their way, and I flick forth her locks in front of her face to illustrate how she would look living in the wild. She thinks my locks would qualify me in the woods too. We sit opposite but close at a small table, and she is inclined towards me. I touch her a lot; her face, her hair, her bare legs, her upper arm, her hands, her feet. She tells me that I really see her, that she's not used to men being truly present, and share's the Italian winged expression "avere prosciutto negli occhi" (to have prosciutto in the eyes) which characterizes precisely people who are not actually seeing and being fully present.

Silvia also gives a lovely description of the merits of intercultural intercourse. How deep diving with a straniero enables one to "get under the skin" of another culture, which lends the perspective needed for genuine self-reflection (in the true sense of perspective, from latin speculum = mirror). The subject makes her passionate, her eyes burn and she emphasizes 'skin' with slapping the skin of my arm, to balance all the touch I'm giving her.

What she then proceeds to tell me adds a darker touch to the conversation. During the last years she has had problems with drinking too much alcohol, but since she broke her arm in a drunken spree, her family and friends have put pressure on her to calm down. She doesn't characterize herself as a party girl, since she was mostly drinking alone when she was sad. She says that alcoholism and drug abuse among young teenagers is common in Rome, and especially Trastevere, which chimes with my experiences of the youth gangs drinking outside every night of the week. "I have tried many times to live healthy", she says, "but it never worked!". She is the quintessential hedonist, the good and the bad, beautiful and raw like youth and summer. "I don't believe in God", she says with an impenetrable air.

I listen to her and our connection is deep and strong like an underground river. When our wine is done, I suggest we pay and go somewhere else, which she agrees to. My place is just a minute away and we keep up the conversation on the way. We talk about music and she says how she would love to go to "a concert that would change my life", which confirms that she is a girl who lives for kicks. She follows me up to the apartment without any fuss, and she sits down on my terrace, with which she is most delighted. I go to the bathroom and she calls to me asking if she can smoke (again). I allow it because it will help her relax, even though I abhor smoke kisses (I cringe inside just writing about them).

I bring a jug of water, which makes the alcoholic girl leer with irony and say she doesn't drink water. I then bring a bottle of sparkling wine which the hostess left for me, which makes her beam with joy. I make her help in opening it, to get her to invest even more in staying, and we have fun trying to open it like a champagne bottle, only to realize that there was no "pop" at all. I have touched her so much before, so that I can do most anything. I bring my chair up to hers and lift her smooth bare legs up in my knee. In this fashion we talk for awhile, but while she talks I am stroking and playing with her legs all the time.

After a few minutes I order her to come sit herself in my knee instead, which she does immediately. I've got a strong erection from having her legs in my lap, and she sits down straight on my cock. I can see that she is excited by it, even though she's trying to look like she didn't notice. I am looking at her with bedroom eyes and stroking her legs, enjoying how she distractedly tries to continue the conversation. She is saying that you sometimes have to take a time-out in life and look at your life from afar. After she's said this her voice just drops away and she looses herself in my eyes. I jokingly give a dry platonic sentence as an answer, to hold of the kiss for a few seconds ("in English we say that 'life makes sense backwards'"). Then we plunge together. What an Italian leopardess! She is biting my lips with her sharp little teeth in a way I've never experienced. I snap of her bra (once you know the trick it's easy) underneath her shirt, pull it down and start suckling her right pap. At first I feel her tensing with resistance, but after a few seconds she gives in to a violent pleasure, moans and grabs my head. At this point, I resolve to move her in to the bed. With hindsight, I should have been more shameless and tried to fuck her out on the terrace.

In one movement I swiftly stand up with her in my arms (why I like the girls whose weight is in the forties...) to carry her the three meters inside to the bed. Problem is she doesn't fit in the door and I have to put her down, and all momentum disappears. I notice immediately that I lost her, and feel the sting of defeat. I do the only thing I know to battle LMR, namely I take a big step backwards, while showing a lot of compassion. I lay down on the bed.

She proceeds to give me a standing sermon on how she has been having so much sex, and trying so many drugs etc, that when she finally broke her arm, she promised herself to change her lifestyle; that she questioned who really cared for her out of all the "stupid" (quote) men who shared her bed. But she then lies down next to me in a weird position, on her back with her knees up to her breast, which given her mini shorts essentially shows off both her full butt cheeks. "And then here I am in your house, in your bed. Of course, I don't know your intentions." (But I know yours!) She talks to me quite freely and I complement her on her honesty.

I get bored of talking so I bring my guitar and sing her Paul McCartney's "Blackbird", which really moves her and transforms her into an adoring fan (I should have become a sixties rock star instead of philosopher...). She really likes and is impressed by my playing, which instantly repairs the value damage of the failed seduction earlier, so I play through most of my repertoire. She sits up next to me on the bed. I'm glad that I'm confident enough to play without looking, so that I can focus on her eyes the entire time. She is amazed at that; "why are you not looking when you play??". I just answer that "you have such beautiful eyes, why should I want to look at a guitar instead?". Her eyes shine and her voice wavers when I'm playing. "I wish I had my pen and paper, I would draw the silhouette of your face", she says and dreamily adores my face.

Whenever I break off, her kiss hits me like a torpedo; she can't restrain herself. After the second kiss I put away my guitar, and ask her sarcastically why she is reclining in such a weird way, while grabbing and spanking her bare butt ("Ouch!"), implying that she is just trying to get me to fuck her. I lie down next to her again to rest and I can feel a torrent of emotion swirling in her. "No, Silvia, get up!" she suddenly exclaims in third person as her Freudian Superego takes command. She laboriously and unenthusiastically gets up and gathers her stuff. "You'll see me on the square. Tomorrow is a new day", she says, "then we can meet and have sex or whatever, but tonight Silvia is going home". Sure, what a load of bull... I just answer that she's a funny girl, and she's off into the night. I really could have loved her. She was such a touching mix of tough and vulnerable. God knows what happens if I do meet her on the square.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
New Day

I have to stop being so sentimental. Of course, some sentimentality is necessary for passion, but too much and it becomes a sticky mucus which stifles growth. I ran into Silvia; no connection anymore, like your average LMR. Knife in the heart, but whatever. New class today at school. Busty bulgarian babe Stefania, straight from a school of design in Milano, checks me out first thing as she enters the classroom, and again when she sits down. Attraction obvious. I give her extra attention, and by chance (for real!) I end up getting paired with her for exercises, and we write a small play together where she is a free rider and I'm the conductor (I know; a classic setting for a porno). Every time she locks eye with me we hold it too long, and I wait for her to break it. When we're discussing in a bigger group she constantly looks to me for validation when she says something. She makes me really horny and I feel the testosterone and adrenaline, and I let it all flow through my gaze and presence. After the lesson I take her aside and ask her out. She's busy today, but I get her number. A male classmate already fucked another chick at school (who is now chasing him and being "clingy" as he called it), so things look pretty good.

I am going to keep practicing night game, just being out, low pressure, and spending consistent time in venues late hours, to get the fear and insecurity away, to build stamina. Street day game hasn't given me shit outside Sweden, so I won't strain myself anymore to do that, and be happy with what I just run into. I'll reengage the hardcore street when I get back to the confident chicks of Stockholm. It's curious how no women have returned my compliments abroad, whereas it's more or less standard for my Swedish girls to compliment me back. Makes me a bit homesick. But the eyes and facial expressivity of women here... I look forward to seeing such a face in orgasm.

A.
 

Alcman

Tool-Bearing Hominid
Tool-Bearing Hominid
Joined
Oct 28, 2017
Messages
114
Location
Stockholm, Sweden.
Philosophical Interlude

The constant struggle of game is to be proactive instead of reactive. Once in awhile I am broken down by external rejection and internal disappointment, and need a time-out. Marcus Aurelius correctly realized that no matter what level of awareness he attains, man needs a constant reminder of his guiding principles, and though he may have memorized them, he needs to regularly experience their truth again, essentially daily:

Say to thyself at daybreak: "I am going to bump into some busybody, someone ungrateful, someone with hubris, someone deceitful, someone jealous and someone asocial and selfish: all these character flaws developed in them out of ignorance of good and bad. But since I myself have seen that the nature of good is beautiful and that the nature of bad is ugly, and that the nature of the man who commits mistakes is kindred to me - not blood or seed from the same source but a participation of the same intelligence and divine allotment - I cannot be hurt by any one of them. For no one can encircle me with what is ugly, nor can I be angry with my kinsman, nor hate him. For we are as made for co-operation [synergy] as feet, as hands, as eyelids, as the rows of the upper and lower teeth. To act against one another then is contrary to nature; and it is acting against one another to be vexed and turn away."
There is a treasury of insights here. Whenever I meet a woman who treats me rudely, I need to keep in mind that this rude state of mind happened to her in some way or another, and that this condition is not her; that her person or soul is not insulting me, that, in fact, a soul cannot do harm to another soul; such trifles are the business of the external conditions. And that just as the upper and lower jaw combine splendidly to chew, any woman is perfectly fitted to work with me towards a common goal, and anything else than such a dance of co-operation is unnatural.

I think the first law of cold approaching should be: it is contrary to nature to be vexed and turn away (of course, whether she acts contrary to nature or not is none of our business; as Epictetus would say, it is outside of our control, and hence not in the domain of good and bad, wherefore we should suspend judgement).

Meditating on principles like the above is all the time-out you ever need. Taking other kinds of breaks - like staying away from women - is childish and stems from a misunderstanding of how the mind works. Marcus realized that a Roman statesman didn't really need a seaside country home away from the bustle of imperial Rome - every thing he needed for a retreat he carried with him at all times. Exactly the same holds for the seducer; what you need to refresh yourself and your vibe doesn't cost a thing and can easily be written down on a small scrap of paper or memorized.
 
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