It was the 27th November 2017. Me and Oscar had just had linner at a cevapi joint in Belgrade. Having gamed alone semi-daily for a few days, I felt good. My macro-vibe was on a high, and now, with the added confidence of walking with a wing, I felt like daygame superman. A well-preserved 33-year-old woman walked by. Short. Skinny. Reddish hair with a red hat on it, looking like a strawberry. Pale. Many good things. She gave me an IOI and I ran over and front stopped her. Hook point came almost immediately. I told her she looked like Little Red Riding Hood with her red hat, and she told me that I was the wolf. I told her how they would open my stomach and she would jump out of it, even though I haven’t even thought of the story since I was a kid. That’s one of the amazing things about good vibe; it gives you access to little bits of memory that you’d forgotten existed, and at just the right time. It was the strongest set of the whole trip, the whole thing flowing nicely, and her already projecting when we would meet again. Good times. Her name was Marina. I took her number and texted her later that evening. Texting was easy, even though she made a slight attempt to take the frame and lead, which seems as common in the girls here as social retardation in Swedish girls. We organised to meet two days later.
The evening of the date came. She called me half an hour before we were supposed to meet, and told me she’d run slightly late. “No problem,” I said. “Text me when you’re there.” She ended up being 20 minutes late. No big deal. I was in high spirits. We met and the banter continued as if it had never ended, but with more sexuality this time.
“I had a burrito for lunch with raw onion in it. Sorry if I smell,” she said. She didn’t.
“The only time you can eat raw onion is right before you’re going to bed.”
“What if you’re sleeping with somebody?”
“Then, no. You have to be single to do it.”
We walked to the first venue, a small pub near the river. She took off her jacket and revealed a grey pants and vest over a white shirt. I told her she looked like the singer of a blues band, and we continued imagining what that would be like. I also incorporated some questions that Craig Cassidy had told me would be good to use on a date.
“What’s your guilty pleasure?”
“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”
“What kind of guys do you date?”
“What did you like about me?” (She said my thick black beard and my eyes)
They worked well in themselves, and so did the extra confidence of having somewhat of a plan for the conversation.
I felt great in the first venue. I was charismatic and her eyes were lighting up as I did my occasional spikes. I easily took back the lead when she was being too chatty. She had a tendency to ramble on, which I didn’t like. But it was clear that we liked each other. And she was white! After having only fucked Asian and black girls previously during the year, having a white 7 sitting across the table fully into me felt like being dealt a royal flush at a poker game after a streak of mediocre hands.
We had ordered one beer each, and I noticed she was taking too long to drink hers. Again, Craig’s advice came to me. “When it’s time to go, tell her to finish her beer. Otherwise, you’re not holding the frame!” Point taken. I told her to finish it. She left it and we left the pub. Cheers, Craig.
We walked to the river, which had been the original plan for the date. She wouldn’t position herself to be kissed. I was contemplating just grabbing her and pulling her in, but I decided that it would be too needy and fast. Better to keep progressing her through the date and go for it when she’s clearly ready. We stood by the river for a while, until I decided it was time to go to the second venue.
I’d scouted the area surrounding our apartment for good date locations the day before, and had found a close to perfect venue just around the corner. Dark lighting, sexual atmosphere, quirky decorations, sofas. “Bingo,” I’d thought, before making a booking for a sofa in the darkest and most secluded corner of the bar I could find. Now we arrived, and sat down. Marina made the annoying decision of ordering food along with her drink. The escalation-train would have to make a little halt. On top of that, she kept bantering in Serbian with our waiter, even after he suggested that they speak English. I simply ignored it and played with my phone/looked at the menu until they were finished. It was becoming increasingly clear that she had an overall bossy demeanour . “Don’t react, don’t react, stay positive,” I told myself. I know that I’m too easily triggered by these things. When things are going well, I tend to forget that girls have to test you before they surrender to you sexually. She must have been content with the way I handled these obstacles, because after she’d finished her food, I put my arm around her and successfully pulled her in to lean on me. I told her I liked how her eyes lit up at certain moments when we were looking into each other’s eyes. “See, you did it again,” I said. She laughed.
Experienced daygamers will know that when a girl is willingly leaning on your shoulder, she’s almost certainly ready to be kissed. This is my number one signal for when to go for it. If she leans on me when I pull her in, I will go for the kiss very soon. After a first failed attempt and some rolling off, I got it on the second try. “You’re nice,” she told me as she looked me intensely in the eyes with a suggestive smile, effectively pumping my body full of oxytocin and dopamine. I started to seed the pull before going for it. “Let’s go for one more drink at my place, but just one drink, because I have to get up early in the morning,” I said. She complied.
We got to my place and sat down on the sofa. I played her a song on my trusty melodica wingman, and we started kissing. I brought her over to the bed and we engaged in heavy makeouts. There was LMR, and I was beginning to feel like it wasn’t going to happen this night. “Are we going to meet again? When? Let’s meet another day,” she said. I kept making out with her while being on top of her, and started grinding my crotch against hers. “I want you,” she hissed. I took the hint and continued escalating, but she wouldn’t even let me take her jacket off. So, I said to meet the next day instead.
We got off the bed and left the flat. I could already notice that I was more affectionate with her than what I would normally be with other girls I’d pulled. That was the first red flag on my part. I walked the 10 minutes walk with her to her car, and she gave me a ride back home in it. We kissed and I stepped out of the car. “Don’t dream too much about me tonight,” I said. “It will be difficult,” she responded.
The whole next morning, my mind was entirely consumed by her. Oneitis was in the making. I felt it, and didn’t like it. I knew from experience where this would lead. Still, there was nothing I could do about it. I simply had to run my game and do my best to fuck her. “There is always an emotional risk in going for what you want,” I had told my sister a few days ago when discussing something else. “But you have to go for it, otherwise, you’ll never grow.” These words rung truer than ever. I remember waking up much earlier than I had been earlier during the trip. I was constantly checking my phone to see if she’d written me anything. She sent me a picture of her socks, and I responded. She didn’t text back for a long time. I thought to myself whether I should wait for her to respond or simply tell her when to come to mine tonight. I went with the latter option. She responded quickly and affirmatively. We arranged to meet at mine at 7pm for a homemade dinner.
Now, let me give you some context to this story. After the day I’d met her, I hadn’t gone out and gamed properly for around 4 days. The cold weather held most of the blame, since I nowadays will feel fatigued and tired after only a short time of freezing outside. This, combined with the fact that I had no other strong leads at this time and that I valued her as one of the hotter girls I’ve dated this year was an excellent recipe for neediness.
I should’ve gone out and done some daygame before she came. I should’ve went out and done things that would occupy my mind and give me some perspective to the whole thing. But I didn’t. As 7pm approached, she told me that she would be late again. She said that she would be 30 minutes late, but after 30 minutes, there was still no sign of her. This really soured my mood. This was supposed to be the highlight of my day, and now, she was ruining it. 45 minutes passed, and I thought that this was enough, and proceeded to start cooking the food to eat it alone. But then, five minutes later, as I was frying the chicken and finalizing the meal (I’d done most of the work earlier), she arrived. She apologised many times during the first minutes of coming, as she could probably see that I was annoyed. I tried to play it off and stay positive, but the neediness I felt for her combined with my sour mood made it feel like trying to push a giant boulder up a hill. All of nature was working against me. Still, the date progressed fairly well. We finished our food and sat down on the sofa. She’d come in wearing a big white figure-hugging knitted cardigan. It looked nice, but it wasn’t particularly sexy. However, I noticed that she was wearing something tight and black under it. I was curious what it was. Also, I noticed that she was wearing socks that ended just above her knees, and when she sat down eating my food, a strip of skin showed between the end of the cardigan and the end of each sock. I stroked it as I walked past her. We finished our food and sat down on the sofa. I put on some clips of me playing guitar on the computer. Then, her boss called. She excused herself and spoke to him while I entertained myself. I left the room to go to the bathroom and then tidied up the kitchen a bit. She got done with her phone call and told me that know I would have all her attention. I was still a little annoyed, and didn’t fully engage with her. I left the room again to do something, and when I came back, she stood in the doorway, smiling. We started to make out heavily. I pushed her into the wall, and she lifted one knee up as if we were in a love scene in a movie. Her big cardigan came off, and revealed what she had been hiding under it. It was a tight black tank top, coupled with a faux leather skirt that went down to just below halfway down her thighs. That, together with the socks, made her look like a cheerleader. She was skinny, too. Hallelujah! She straddled me as I sat down on the sofa and she gave me a lap dance as I undressed her. Her boobs were great, larger than what you’d expect on her skinny body. Her stomach had slight abs on it. She was beautiful. Exactly my type. “Should we go to the bedroom?” she asked. I grabbed her and stood up, and walked with her to the bedroom and put her down on the bed. I took the last of her clothes off, and we had sex.
The sex wasn’t good. I thought it was, in the moment, because I was really attracted to her, but looking back, it was shit sex. This had a few reasons. First, she was unlike any other girl I’d had in bed before. Her pussy was extremely sensitive. So sensitive, in fact, that I could barely touch it with my hand. Putting a finger in it was out of the question. I could only place my hand on it softly and rub it slowly. This was also a problem when I was inside of her because I couldn’t fuck her hard, like I normally do. She also didn’t want to give or receive oral sex. Second, she hadn’t slept much after our date last night, and was tired. The third reason was that I wasn’t dominant and masculine enough, before, throughout and after the sex. I felt weak. I felt like I didn’t have the balls to do what I wanted with her. This was obviously made worse by her sexual quirks. The fourth reason was my neediness, which was manifested through overblown affection from me, as well as other low value behaviours. After we had sex, I couldn’t stop touching her. I was consumed by neediness. In the back of my mind I probably knew that it was bad, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was addicted. My guess is that my weird, moody behaviour before the sex, the bad sex itself and my neediness after it together killed her attraction for me. It must have become clear to her hindbrain that I liked her more than she liked me.
I didn’t consciously realise that I’d fucked up until the next day, when suddenly she went cold in her text messages. Her messages were about ten percent as long as they had been just after we’d met. I began to think it was over. The good state that I’d been in when I met her was gone and replaced by a sad mood with a touch of anxiety in it. Oneitis was in full effect. I decided not to text her for two days, go out and game again, and then send her a ping to see if she’d gotten warmer. One day passed, and she pinged me. It was a Youtube link to Bruce Willis playing the harmonica and singing in a blues band. Apart from the surprise from not knowing that Bruce Willis could sing and play harmonica, I got some state back from thinking that maybe she was still into me after all. I was like a heroin addict who’s feeling like shit from going cold turkey and then gets a little shot of smack that makes him feel normal again. I invited her to meet me two days later, before I leave town. We were to watch a movie together. Two days later, she texted me this:
“I will not stay very long, sth came up at home. But I will come anyway at least to see you once more before you leave…”
She had mentioned before that she lived in a village outside of town with her father and her brother. She had not been wanting to go into it too much. I thought that her excuse was genuine and that she must like me since she was making the effort to come see me even though she had things to tend to at home.
She came, and from the moment I opened the door, I couldn’t behave normally. No matter how much self-control you exert, it seems you can’t hide severe neediness. I felt awkward, clumsy and non-centred. Still, I thought that things might be fine. I was wrong. We sat down on the sofa, and she maintained distance between us. When I pulled her in, she reluctantly agreed to lean on my shoulder. She did it, but there was no participation on her part. We talked for a while before I got up and told her to come with me to the bed. She objected, but I simply walked into the bedroom and sat down on it. She followed me and we talked some more, before I made out with her. When I touched her breast, she giggled, said “no,” and pulled my hand away. Some more making out and I tried again. Same response. I began to realise that I wasn’t going to fuck her. That she didn’t consider me sexworthy anymore. I stiffened and felt a tightness around my heart. Even writing it now, a few hours after it happened, makes the same feeling come back. I know, it’s gay. But I can’t control it. I decided to confront her. When she said something that hinted at not wanting to have sex I asked her:
“Then why did you come?”
“If I don’t want to have sex?”
“I’m attracted to you. You know that I’m not interested in another type of relationship. So why are you here?”
At this point she started rambling broken chick logic. When Roosh V says that you should never listen to what a woman says, this is what he means. I could only comprehend little bits of what she said, it was very incoherent, and my mind was in overdrive thinking of what I should do. One interesting bit that I remember was this:
Me: “Did you enjoy when we had sex?”
Her: “Yes, I like it.”
“Really? I don’t think you did. You didn’t let go, it wasn’t good sex.”
“Yeah… Maybe, if we’d had sex on the first date, it would have been different, because the day after, when we did, it just wasn’t the same.”
I’ve been thinking about what this means. Here’s my theory:
The first date went well because I wasn’t yet needy and I was in high spirits. She left that night highly attracted to me, which explains her both texting me to tell me she’s home and then pinging me in the morning. It also explains her making the effort to dress up in sexy clothes the next day. But on that next day, for reasons already mentioned, I was in a shit state and needy, which resulted in the vibe of the date being bad, me beginning to lose the frame and having shitty sex. When she said that it might have been different if we’d had sex on the first date, she meant that she would have enjoyed it more and possibly let herself go more if it would have happened on that date. I think this is true, because the vibe when we were in my bedroom the first time was magical. I felt like a completely different person compared to the day after when we had sex and I have a feeling that whatever would have happened then in terms of her queering up the sex, I would have been able to handle it better.
Now back to my bed and my failed attempt at sleeping with her again. In the middle of her rambling, I interrupted her:
“Listen, I’m attracted to you like a man to a woman. If you don’t feel the same way, you should leave.”
“Okay, I will go. In five minutes.”
It didn’t take five minutes. I didn’t say anything more, and she got up in about twenty seconds and dressed in the hall while I remained still on the bed. She came back to say goodbye. She seemed to be expecting a hug, because she came to stand at the edge of my bed, looking at me. But I couldn’t give it to her. When a girl snatches the frame from me and there’s no winning it back, I just cut them off. I can’t act civil and treat them nicely and give them attention when they no longer respect me. I can’t even do it a little bit. In this example, I couldn’t even give her a hug and a warm goodbye. It’s an instinctive thing. It feels as if an invisible force is keeping me from doing it. I’ve tried to explain this behaviour to myself, and I the best theory I’ve come up with is that when the dynamic changes and I lose the power, I also lose my trust for them, and thus seek to distance myself from them and protect myself as much as possible. There have been times in the past, say around 4 years ago, where I’ve hung out with a girl that I’m sexually interested in after she’s rejected me. In hindsight, it felt like I was pissing on my own self-worth, only I didn’t know it back then, because I did have much of it anyway.
What it did next is slightly cringeworthy. As she was stood waiting for me to get up and give her a proper goodbye, I put out my hand to invite her for a handshake, as if it was the end of some kind of business meeting. My only explanation for this is that I don’t do well in confrontational situations. I couldn’t think clearly because of the adrenaline flood that was overrunning my brain. She didn’t take my hand. “I won’t get up.” I found a dark satisfaction in her reaction to those words.
“You won’t get up?” I saw her face contracting while she tried to maintain the smile on her lips. Evidently, I wasn’t the only one who felt the pressure
“No. I’ll stay here.”
“Okay,” she mumbled, unable to say it clearly.
She walked out of my room, through the living room, past the sofa and out in the hall. I heard her closing the door. It was game over. Another notch had been attained. Another emotional roller coaster had reached its bottom. It was time to heal, and to, of course, do it again.
: Brunch, but for lunch and dinner. Tends to be consumed when you have nothing else to do every day but hitting on girls, and thus waking up ridiculously late.
: Which seems to be the norm here. The consensus on the Balkans seems to be that it takes an extra-strong frame to be successful. I concur with this opinion. This trip has made me really up my game in terms of dominance.
: Tom Torero refers to this as the Floppy Test.
: In hindsight, I’m not sure whether this was a good move or not. Over-escalation has made me lose a few lays in the past, and thus I’m much more sensitive to resistance today. I think this is a good thing because it reduces the risk of girls jumping ship because of over-escalation. However, I might be missing out on quicker lays. Going forward, I will try to understand and overcome LMR more successfully. I plan on incorporating the “macro-roll off”, e.g., getting off the bed and making some tea, before going for it again.