As The Pussy Turns

In 2011 I lived in Poznan for six months. It was the first Eastern European city I stepped foot in so you can imagine the carnal pleasures I eagerly dived into. I remember walking down the pedestrian path to Stary Browar, a modern mall in the center of the city, amazed at all the beautiful women who were cheerfully strolling by. I entered heaven, and so I did what any man would do when in heaven—I ate all that I could. I had such pleasurable sexual experiences during those six months that my memory holds firmly to them to this day.

I remember one club that I did particularly well at. The layout was just perfect, with a quiet bar that separated from a loud dance floor. There were only a few chairs so girls had to stand by the bar, making themselves available for intimate banter. Ladies night every Wednesday ensured an excellent ratio. Smartphones were just becoming introduced, meaning that less than 1 in 20 girls had them. Foreign men were still relatively novel, and so opening in English would nearly guarantee a lengthy conversation. There is no other club in the world where I ended up having as many one-night stands. It helped that my standards were average. My boner would activate immediately at a thin body and cute face, features that were becoming increasingly rare in America.

And then I left, thinking that better could be had while hoping for more adventure and pleasure. For the next three years, I would spend time in countries that contained the most beautiful women in the world: Ukraine, Estonia, Lithuania, Croatia, Romania, Russia, and Moldova. Every month my standards were increasing, every month I was becoming less tolerant of bullshit, and every month the world was changing.

Smartphones were becoming prevalent. The eye contact I would receive from a woman at the bar was now denied to me as she instead continued staring down at her phone, texting her international collection of suitors that technology now allowed her. Girls were becoming more curt and cliquish. Their standards were becoming higher along with their expectations. They were becoming lazier with pleasing me. They wouldn’t rush to clean my apartment after sex like in the past. I used to hear girls tell me how I was the first American they ever met, but even that was becoming rare. The situation was obviously getting worse.

I’m not a foolish man—I know that experience can not be duplicated. But I had to return to Poznan, a place where I was happy and only left because of a selfishness that you can’t really blame me for. In the back of my mind I hoped that things would be similar, that the dopamine in my brain would be released in similar quantities to the same stimulus I experienced before. I prayed for it on the flight from Ukraine.

The first afternoon was encouraging. The girls were still pretty and there weren’t many foreigners around. I got a couple smiles on street. With great optimism I went to my favorite club on its ladies night. Maybe I could just resume where I left off and pretend that I didn’t even leave. Maybe destiny is not dependent on time, separation, and the inevitable progress of humanity, and this city is one I was meant to live in. This club could remain a place where my sexual dreams would be fulfilled every Wednesday night.

It wasn’t to be. The club completely changed. The quiet room where I could speak in a normal voice was now studded with loud speakers. The ladies night was gone, replaced by a “everyone drinks free” night that made it a predictable sausage fest. The majority of girls were armed with smartphones and spent the bulk of their night texting friends and orbiters who were in other clubs down the street. I saw girls with ugly ear gauges covered with not only tattoos, but plastic wrap that signified the recent placement of tattoos. They had more carriage around their bellies and even wore wore dirty Converse shoes and Nike sneakers like I had seen in Scandinavia.

The responses I got from the women were okay, at least, but there is no way I could use the same game as before. I had to speak so loud that I was on the verge of losing my voice after only an hour. Their phones were vibrating in their hand as I spit my game, with one of her eyes on me and the other on her beloved electronic device. I’d have to morph into Bozo The Clown to battle the extra stimulation these girls were receiving compared to three years ago when I could be merely normal.

It didn’t help that my eyes were different. My standards were higher. My sex drive was not as urgent. I previously came to Poznan with a mission to sleep with as many beautiful girls as possible, but on the flight over this time around, my mission was to finish reading a book about the history of salt, write a long article for my blog, and edit some videos I shot that have been sitting on my hard drive for too long. My thirst had declined.

I came to this club so many times that the owner gave me a special VIP card, but on this night I could barely stay two hours. I walked out and paced up and down the nightlife street in an existential daze, passing by loud girls having fun and determined men who were hopeful of getting laid. I wondered what meaning I could possibly find in life now that my phase of sexual exploration is over, but even more urgently, I wondered what this signified for all men that the dating market is providing obviously less value for them than only three years ago.

People are often accused of nostalgia when they dream of a past they haven’t lived, and while I admit that my eyes have changed the way I see reality, I can definitively state that things are getting worse for men. I compare a picture of Poznan in early 2011 with one in late 2014 to see how any man will have to work harder for the same result.

I’d like to put the blame on feminism first and foremost, but it’s primarily technology that is reducing the ability of men to meet women in natural settings, to hold their attention, and to seduce them like men of the near past were able to. Technology is turning every woman into a narcissistic star of her own reality show, all centered on a little handheld gadget, morphing her brain into one that is less capable of providing men with happiness.

I’ve been to many cities more than once and not a single one has improved from my first visit. The quality of women—both their appearance and their attitude—is sliding to the bottom while the work we have to expend to meet these more inferior females is increasing. This phenomenon of pussy inflation is starting to force men out of the market, for what “average” man can find the time, ability, and motivation to seduce a merely cute woman who may only want to fuck him a couple times before becoming distracted by the next shiny object that gets placed in her path? If this inflations proceeds, the only men who will get laid consistently are ones who approach it like a job, blocking out a minimum of two hours a day to the task.

The reality we face right now is this: the quality of men around the world is increasing to compete with a decreasing quality of women. This is great if you’re a woman, because without lifting a finger you can get better than a couple years before. If you’re a man and didn’t step up your game recently, however, you will get lower results. If you don’t stay on top of the latest game scientific data or dating app, you will be out-competed. Or you’ll just get nothing. Inflation often helps those who have debt, but if you have no debt, if you lived life prudently and with virtue, inflation destroys your purchasing power. As much as men improve themselves, women are appreciating in relative value as they make all the wrong decisions with their lives. This is the world we live in.

As for my problem, it’s unsolvable. The women are declining while my experience increases my standards and decreases my propensity to work for the same old result. I am disappointed, to say the least. I have completely run out of options to feed the sweet neurochemical release in my dealings with women. If I’m smart I’ll just focus on my work, on making a difference for other men, because I’ve long since passed the point of diminishing return in which I can get enjoyment from women that is greater than what I received in the near past.

I will not approach a woman today. I shall wait until my desire to have sex is so great, so distracting, and so illogical that I don’t care how much effort I must apply in order to get laid. When that desire asserts itself, I will have to do much more than yesterday to get something similar I already had, or perhaps for something worse because of the decreasing quality of women everywhere, of women who now get their validation through electronic screens instead of men. My hunt for poosy paradise was in vain, because I did experience it for a brief moment three years ago. It existed—I swear to you—but now it is gone, never to return.

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