It’s been two months now since I left Singapore, but yesterday I found myself on a date with yet another Singaporean girl, this time in my new city, London. Her name was Erica .
I met her on a warm summer’s day in Covent Garden. She was sceptical during the street stop, but we still spoke for a while before I ended up taking her number. I thought I wouldn’t get her out on a date since her responses gradually got shorter and shorter. After vacuuming (not writing her) for about a day I re-engaged with my trademarked Baguette Ping. She responded, and we got into a back-and-forth text conversation. Even though her responses were still short, the vibe of the conversation was unmistakably sexual. I felt my inner animal awaken and my entitlement rising. I stopped relying on my default date-request texts and made something new up that fitted the situation, and she agreed to meet up that same night. What a great surprise!
The time for the date came around and I found myself alone by Covent Garden station, waiting for her to show up. My last two scheduled dates with other girls had ended up with them simply not showing up. Now five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. Not again, I thought to myself, half relieved because of the pressure of the date being taken off me, and half worried that there might be a fundamental flaw in my game that I’m not aware of. I walked into Marks and Spencers across the road to buy some candy, figuring it’s better for my inner game to not wait for her like a dog. I bought my candy, and then had another look at the station entrance just in case she’d showed up. I didn’t think she would at this point. Her texts have been too short, she isn’t invested enough. I was about to accept the setback and go home, eat my candy and recharge for yet another day of grinding it out on the streets. But there she was, stood just outside the station, texting me an apology for being late. I walked up to her. She looked much better than I’d thought when I saw her the first time. She had a light dress on, and a nice, curvy figure along with the expected Asian skinniness that I like. Her hair was cut in a shoulder length bob, which made her look cute and a bit mature. We chatted on the way to the first venue, a classic-style English pub, and I felt the usual awkwardness of the first minutes of the date. I focussed on relaxing and creating a comfortable vibe, instead of going overboard with rapport-destroying badassness like I’ve done in the past. If a girl comes out on a date with you it is because she’s sexually interested in you , so trying to seem cool in order to generate sexual interest is unnecessary and even counter productive. I chatted a bit about her and her day, and tried to really listen to what she was saying and staying on the conversational topic.
We came to the pub, and I did the Tom Torero routine off telling her to find us two great seats while I get the first round. She clearly liked the dominance, her face lighting up with a smile and her eyes widening. I sent her on her way and went to order two IPAs. I went upstairs to find her, and saw that the entire floor was empty except for three tables, one being ours. It felt a bit odd, and Erica thought so, too, but I reminded her that it was Tuesday. She put up a slight challenge in the beginning of the date, asking me many questions and trying to qualify me. I alternated between answering her questions truthfully  and giving her ridiculous answers. Also, I would switch the focus back to her a lot. It’s possible that her asking many questions was a way for her to manage her own nervousness, so I didn’t go out of my way to battle her. I did some hand-kino by comparing hand sizes. She knew what I was up to and played along, but still pulled back slightly, not giving me full compliance. I did the routine of telling her three things I like in a woman, one of them being good-smelling hair, and then grabbed her hair to smell it. Since it was cut in a bob, it required both of us to lean forward quite a lot for my nose to reach it. It wasn’t very smooth, and she resisted it, saying that it was “creepy”. This didn’t shake me. I knew she was just putting up a front of being a good girl. She knew what was up.
I rolled off the physicality for a while, and we started to build rapport. I told her stories from my time in Singapore, and she seemed to enjoy them. I’ve noticed that many girls’ eyes light up when I go into a story with one hundred percent conviction. Hers did, too, and I made sure to make the stories as dramatic as possible. We talked about her as well, and I asked her about what she studies and what she wants to do in the future. I started feeling warm towards her, and when we both leaned forward over the table there was a pleasant, electric tension between us. I started to understand what a date should feel like. A date is about seduction, and seduction is different from attraction. We finished our beers and went to the second venue. The second venue is a dark and much sexier one. The music is trippy trance music, the lights are placed on top of naked mannequins, as well as many other quirky details. And of course, in this venue, there are sofas where me and the girl can sit next to each other. We sat down on one of these sofas, with some space between us at first. I didn’t go to her, instead leaning back and spreading my arms out. We chilled for a bit, and looked at the bar menu, trying to decide what to order. At one point, I take the menu and pretend to read her a story out of it. I tell her a story that is obviously about herself, where “a little girl called Erica came to London and met a crazy man called Sam…” and so on. It was fun, and goofing in this way put me in a flow state where I stopped caring so much about what I said. She went to get the second round of drinks, while I went to the bathroom. I came back, and we had our drinks served to our table. I wanted to escalate further, and noticed how I could put my hand on her shoulder and grab her, even shake her a little bit, without her flinching. That’s a good sign. So a little bit later, I grabbed her and started pulling her towards me. “What?” she said. I gestured for her to come sit next to me. She asked, “why should I?” and I responded, “Well, you don’t have to, but I’d like you to”, and then proceeded to drink my drink and not push it further. Recognising my non-needy intent, she sat next to me and pushed herself into me. I made a point out of finally smelling her hair. It smelled good, and it turned me on.
We started talking about more sexual topics. We spoke about her past relationships, her telling me that she’d come out of a 5 year relationship and decided that she would never have a relationship again. I told her that my longest relationship lasted 6 months, mindfully positioning myself as the fast-sex guy. She told me that she didn’t believe in monogamy, and how she thought it was unnatural. I agreed, telling her about women’s dual mating strategy, how they will marry one guy for security, but the sex will be shit, and they’ll secretly want to fuck the badass who chooses his freedom and isn’t willing to be locked down in a marriage. As I lectured her about these red-pill truths, she started stroking the inside of my thigh and leaning into me more and at one point she told me: “You’re such a rebel”. She was getting turned on, and it filled me with pride. I was getting full confirmation that I was the lover, something I’ve sought to be for years. I was certain I was going to be able to kiss her. I’d been sure ever since she sat down next to me and leaned into me. At one point during a drawn out silence, I turned her face by her chin towards me, and we engaged in a soft make out. Between the talking, we made out a couple of more times after that, a bit heavier each time and always with me ending it first. We did the questions game, her telling me that she’s previously had a relationship with another woman, that her favourite position is doggy style and that she’d had sex with a married man in his family home without knowing he was married. It was on, so I pulled. I told her something along the lines of: “Do you have a favourite song? I’ll play it for you, I have a guitar. But you have to promise me one thing. You have to clap when I’m done.” Her response was an affirmative one, although a very faint one. I knew, however, that faint agreeing, or even silence, is a green light. She went to the bathroom, and when she came back, we walked out and went to my place, which is in the block next to the second venue. I put my arm around her and she responded by doing the same thing. I don’t normally like to do this, but the vibe was so warm and pleasant that it felt totally natural. Besides, she was only in London for holiday and didn’t seem to have a reputation to protect. She did some light teases on the way, probably to see if it rattled me . It did a bit, but not a lot. I simply agreed and amplified whatever tease/shit-test she threw at me and laughed it off. We got to my room, and I sat down on the bed, her on the other side. I played her Hallelujah on the guitar, as I looked into her eyes. I played one more song, before I decided it was time to escalate. She asked me if I wouldn’t play her another song, which was token LMR. I told her no, and pulled her over to my side of the bed. Things got hot from there, her clearly gagging for it. After getting past a bit more token LMR, we banged. Score!
 No, it wasn’t.
 Assuming you were man to woman on the street.
 While still avoiding to qualify myself and ramble on.
 For example, when I told her that I had a friend who, like her, lived near London Bridge, she jokingly asked if she could have his number, while clearly looking at me to gauge my reaction.