In my early 20s I had a dream of traveling the world without having to answer to anyone. I wanted to wake up at noon, work at my own pace, and sleep with a lot of women. It took over a decade of combined effort on both my game and writing, but I have realized that dream. Today I am free, and besides the occasional hurdle, sex is no longer a problem. It almost feels strange to me that it ever was.

I should have unbridled happiness flowing from my pores, but truth is my life today brings me contentment, not bliss. I’ve gotten used to this lifestyle and see it as normal. Only when I think back ten years do I appreciate how far I’ve come.

I’ve become a man without goals. I don’t need more notches or a higher income. I don’t want a family (right now). I don’t want a smartphone or tablet device. Besides a couple of countries I want to visit in the future, there is nothing else I want. What should I try to achieve next?

I’ve meditated about this problem a lot for the past couple months. My thoughts kept going back to the pussy I had in Poland, where my penis reached the then pinnacle of its existence. I don’t need any more notches, that’s for sure, but I can’t think of anything else that keeps my mind sharper and my masculinity stronger than chasing pink. The day-to-day adventures of pussy chasing keeps me young, vigorous, and fully engaged in life. Being a slave to the pussy has made me a warrior. I’m miles ahead of the sexual pack when compared to my male peers of the world, whose approach to getting laid is based more on luck and hope than concerted effort and strategy.

If pussy is my fountain of youth, it is clear what my new mission in life must be. It was under my nose all along, something I must have known was the answer but could not admit to myself. Here is what I wrote almost a year ago:

Within a country there is a city that has a bar that contains a spot where you will be in disbelief at how easy it is to consistently get quality women, regardless of how many flaws you think you have. On this 3 foot by 3 foot patch of space you’re an unstoppable rebel force, though for the guy standing next to you the patch does absolutely nothing because it’s not his patch. It is your duty as a man to find out where that little patch of Earth is and reap the rewards that it contains.

Ironically enough, I titled the post “Your Duty As A Man.” At the time my duty was slightly different, just to travel through Europe and fuck around, not to find this magical patch, this pussy paradise. I wanted to meander through Europe and accumulate random experiences and flags. Then Poland happened, and that plan no longer made any sense after I realized that a consistent stream of high-quality pussy profoundly affected my immediate happiness in a positive way. The feeling that comes from being unstoppable with the women was like natural heroin. Every night in Poland I’d go to sleep with a little smirk on my face, ready to die in peace, even if I was alone in bed.

It’s finally obvious what I have to do. My mission today is to find a place that exceeds Poland. My goal in life is to find pussy paradise.

I want to be in a place where if I step outside and take a deep breath, pussy will come. I want to walk in a huge club and be the most desirable man who women compete over. I want zero-effort pussy of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever had in my life. Maybe you’re laughing right now that I’m dreaming, that this place doesn’t exist, but I believe it does, and sometimes belief is all it takes.

Before a man searches for pussy paradise, he must understand its transient nature. Nothing stays paradise forever. They’re like once in a millenia tsunamis that occur after a convergence of unlikely factors, never to be seen again in a location for many generations. In two recent countries I visited, Estonia and Latvia, I saw the scattered ruins of the paradise that existed before me. Stories from those who remembered its peak suggested great riches and glory to all those men who visited, but I was too little too late (actually five years too late). With the rapid societal changes that globalization brings, I estimate a 1-3 year window until emergent pussy paradises fade, with the only thing left for late arrivals is the smell of faint pussy juice in the air.

When you stay on the road you start to develop a sixth sense for where pussy paradise may be. You look at a city name that you’ve never seen and have a feeling that this could be it. Then you dedicate a lot of time and resources to investigate further, only to be likely disappointed. In my hand I hold yet another losing lottery ticket, but the jackpot continues to grow and I still believe in my numbers. I will find pussy paradise, no matter how long it takes me.

I remember ten years ago when the thought of death put me into an immediate panic. I couldn’t bear to think that all I am will cease to exist. I didn’t want to believe that one day everything I did to become the best man I could would disappear for all eternity. I’d push the thoughts out of my mind like I’m trained to do by Western culture.

Now it’s rare that a day goes by where I don’t think of the grim reaper. I hold death real close to my chest, using it as the main way to act instead of waiting for tomorrow. The reaper pushes me to go against what my upbringing has indoctrinated me to do, to fit my peg body into the college-career-mortgage-marriage hole.

The more I think of death and the more I use it as a tool, of knowing that there is a clock on my life that ticks every second of every day with a random deadline that I can’t predict, the more it has pushed me to take the tough steps of making big changes in my life.

It’s now clear to me what I have to do so that I will not be upset when the end is near: I have to complete as many of my dreams and goals as quickly as possible. It’s a bucket list I must work on while still very much alive, not when I turn 50 or get diagnosed with a life-ending illness. I’m in the prime of my life, but I’m living as if it will soon end.

I believe the more times you can say “been there, done that” on your death bed to all the things you set out to do, the more peacefully you can go. These can range from the insignificant to the lofty:

• Banging a big Brazilian booty
• Writing a book
• Learning a foreign language
• Starting a successful business
• Living in another country for one year
• Procreating
• Playing a few songs on a musical instrument
• Fucking cheap hookers who loved you all night long
• Paying off debt
• Owning a restaurant or bar
• Starting a nonprofit organization
• Beating someone up with your bare hands

While it will be impossible to complete everything you want to do before you die, there is a point where you feel like you’ve done enough, where you’ve gone far above your human duty and any extra day you live on earth is gravy on top of what already was an exciting life where you acted instead of waited. When it’s your time to go, you can say to yourself, “I had a good run,” and close your eyes with no regrets. This is what I want.

I went to Miami Beach for spring break in my senior year of college. It was the year 2001 and I was 21 years old. A friend sold me into going even though I couldn’t really afford it. He urged me to put the trip on my credit cards, saying that I’d surely pay off upon getting a real job after graduation. He made it sound like it was the opportunity of a lifetime and if I didn’t go then I’d regret it forever.

I had been out to clubs a couple times before, but I had absolutely no game, no style, no confidence, and no money. All I had was hope that I’d get lucky. My mom helped me pack my wardrobe, including two fine pair of brown slacks, and I was off.

For some reason, guys think it’s easier to succeed with women when they are far away from home, that you unlock some type of cheat code that places you in a parallel universe where women are ten times more attracted to you. I thought no different. I believed that stepping foot in Miami would reveal the Casanova that was always bubbling underneath. I even took a couple boxes of condoms.

It become very clear early on that I would not succeed. I was a helpless little minnow in an ocean far bigger and more competitive than my University of Maryland lake. Me and my slacks were utterly unable to compete, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t try. I approached at least ten girls that week, my first approaches ever, and actually got a number from one (I remember calling her from a pay phone). I also talked to a “hot” girl for about fifteen minutes. I was proud of myself. Though I didn’t come close to getting laid, or even kissing a girl, it was the moment I first dipped my foot into the pool. The water wasn’t as cold as I had thought.

I get nostalgic when I think about that trip. I was just a sexually frustrated guy who wanted to bang a couple girls until finding a nice girlfriend. Back then I fantasized more about cuddling and romantic trips than aggressively loosening a woman’s pussy. I had no clue I would become who I am today, a guy who fucks just for the sake of fucking with no higher aim in mind.

I thought that learning game would be a means to the end of helping me get a girlfriend, but I didn’t know that within my nature was a man who viewed the game as the end itself. Now I look back at poor little Roosh of 2001, and remember how he had to gather the powers of Zeus to approach just one woman.

Then I wonder why men become who they become.

If you’re a man who has slept with a lot of women, it’s hard not to have those successes floating in the back of your mind when you’re looking for a new lay. You may feel that you’ve unlocked an upper level of pussy and shouldn’t have to redo lower levels that you labored on when you were younger. You wouldn’t even mind if new girls you meet had prior knowledge of all those beautiful girls you fucked, all to make the social proof obvious. You much rather leverage past bangs into current success instead of starting from scratch and grinding it out.

The beautiful Colombian girl you fucked a couple years ago? Doesn’t matter. The 18-year-old with a perfect body who you raw dogged? Big deal. The doctor’s wife you seduced that let you drive around in her husband’s expensive toys? No one gives a fuck. You’re only as good as your last bang. The past is not water that you can carry over to the present, just an abstraction that grows dim in your mind with time.

I rode a little high into Latvia after banging two new girls during my final weekend in Poland. I was ready to keep the momentum going and do even better in my new home in Riga. The universe had other plans for me.

I swung wildly but was unable to connect with the ball. My first week I went out on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, did countless approaches in almost ten different venues, both day and night, but had only two measly numbers to show for it. I was annoyed and angry because I thought I had passed the point of grinding it out, especially after coming from a country that was easy for me. The universe knew I was getting spoiled in Poland. It wanted me to be humbled again, to appreciate what I had. It began throwing curve balls to remind me of it really takes to succeed in the game.

I was beat by the time Saturday came around. I didn’t want to go out, and my thoughts constantly drifted back to Poland. I made myself snap out of it. Whatever made me successful there was not present in my new home, so I had to treat Poland as dead. I went to the coffee shop and wrote down a plan to get my Latvian flag from the things I had so far learned in my three days of experience. That night I walked out of the door with the plan in my pocket, telling myself that I couldn’t return home before 7am without exhausting all possibilities.

I got lucky on my third approach and returned home half past five with a Latvian girl. She had no idea that violating her pussy was the culmination of four grinding days where I questioned the decision to visit her city.

The universe doesn’t owe you anything. I don’t care what you’ve done in the past. I don’t care where you’ve been and who you’ve fucked, because there is nothing that says you are supposed to succeed today. No girl you talk to has to treat you well or be easy just because she’s not as hot as another girl you had a long time ago. All that matters is how committed you are to putting in time and effort towards your goal. Your game, your skill, your environment, and the level of difficulty will always change but as long as you work, you will succeed. Walk up to the universe, tell it you’re not spoiled, you’re not entitled, and then punch it in the face. Make it watch you put in that work.

Most of your game will carry over to other countries, but sometimes you have to completely reinvent the wheel or do the exact opposite of what you’re used to.

There’s no guarantee you’ll be happy in a country no matter how much due diligence and research you do. Don’t travel unless you’re ready to take the good with the bad.

Don’t underestimate how much local guys will hate you for being successful with their women. Watch your back when rolling solo.

There is a point where having additional money, without fame or status, will not at all help you fuck more or better women. That amount is much less than you think.

Too much success drives you away from what made you successful in the first place.

There are no regrets if you failed after listening to your gut.

Fucking pussy gets old, but fucking young pussy never does.

Success is less great if you don’t have anyone to share it with.

Everything they say about European winters is true.

When you’ve been with enough fast women, it becomes impossible to wait for pussy. During the time you’d be waiting you can fuck something else just as good, if not better.

Life is much easier when you assume that every girl will flake on you all of the time.

There are organized movements in Western nations to eradicate gender, particularly masculinity. Losing this war will make it all but impossible for you to find a feminine woman who wants to serve your needs.

The happiness you experience from success cannot be bottled up to appreciate another day. You need to constantly seek out more success that is even better than your last. If you cannot top an achievement, you have peaked.

Having an apartment near your favorite bar or club dramatically increases your notch count.

Some countries are not worth figuring out. If it doesn’t work after you gave it your best shot, move on.

The more happiness you find outside of your country, the more hate and criticism you will get from those who still live in it. They will do everything in their power to make you come back and suffer with them.

If you’re feeling depressed or lonely in a foreign city, go out for a one hour walk in the center. Something will happen.

Don’t dismiss eye contact from women; it’s the primary way they show interest. Your response to eye contact from a pretty woman should be instant, like a reflex.

The biggest way that men self-sabotage themselves is overdrinking. It’s worse than being best friends with a cockblocker.

Foreign women are almost just as bad about not using condoms as American women.

The layout of a nightlife venue is just as important as the ratio of girls to guys. I can pick up better in a sausage fest with a favorable floor plan than a gigantic mega club with more girls.

It’s hard to find good clothes in many foreign countries. You’re eternally stuck with H&M and Zara.

Tourist apartments are always cheaper than hotels, but they are more comfortable and don’t make you seem like a sex tourist. I see no advantage in staying in hotels.

As much as you hate your country, you will defend it if it’s criticized by a foreigner.

If you’re going to wear a suit, it will be much better received if you wear it in a venue where there are no other guys in suits.

You can’t go back to what used to make you happy. You have to find new happiness.

You should learn the local language, even for a short stay. It improves your experiences and scores points with the girls.

If you’re going away for a while, write a diary for one month before your departure. If you ever get homesick on the road, read that diary. If that doesn’t cause you to stop being homesick, you’re probably not meant to live abroad.

The low point of an expat’s year is Christmas. Buy good food and presents for yourself to dull the depression.

Women highly value honesty from a man, as long as it doesn’t involve positive feelings you have for her.

Baking soda.

Fear is man’s greatest enemy. I don’t ask anyone for advice with something that involves risk because they will try to talk me out of it.

The best city in the world can suck in the off-season. Not only do you have to know where to go, but when.

It’s better to overpack than underpack.

The first thing you should do when you get into a city is buy a small bottle of vodka to arm your afterparty move.

Foreign girls like silences. Don’t be so eager to fill them.

If a book doesn’t excite you, isn’t teaching you anything you don’t already know, or doesn’t fascinate you, stop reading and find one that does. Finishing a crappy book is like dating a girl you don’t like.

There are many first world countries in Eastern Europe where the cost of living is half that of the United States. You don’t need to live in Peru or Thailand to see considerable savings.

Polish and Russian are excruciatingly hard to learn for English speakers.

Your haters increase in direct proportion to your influence.

Life will you throw you problems that you can’t immediately solve, or solve at all.

Feminists have successfully brainwashed men into thinking they’ll become unattractive to all women if they choose to remain bachelors. Truth is that a man’s best pussy-getting years starts at 30.

Some guys say they grew out of the game. Then you see his unattractive girlfriend and realize he never got good at it.

The only game that will always work, no matter where you are, is the numbers game.

It’s better for a girl to look at you and laugh than for her to look at you and offer no response at all.

Reading books is the most powerful thing you can do to gain the experience of life without experiencing life. I’ve learned more from reading last year than I have from four years in college.

You adapt to little increases to your happiness each year. The dream life you envisioned for yourself ten years ago will be seen as normal when you finally get it.

No one is looking out for your interests 100% of the time, not even your family. You’re always on your own.

Your brain is capable of so much more if you clear it of distractions. Learning is a form of meditation.

There’s a reason why foreign guys don’t travel to the United States to get laid.

At the grocery store I ran into one of the first Polish girls I ever approached. Five months had since passed. She asked me what I was up to, surprised that I was still in the city. I said, “I fell in love and got married.” Her eyes and mouth opened wide until I let her know I was joking.

I thought about that little encounter afterwards, particularly how my whole strategy with women for the previous ten years is to bang them as quickly as possible with the least amount of work and bullshit. I’ve created an efficient factory assembly line that is custom-made for fucking and almost nothing else.

I don’t want to go for daytime hikes or romantic walks.
I don’t want to go to museums.
I don’t want to dine in restaurants.
I don’t want to solve a girl’s problems.
I don’t want to go on little vacations to the beach.
I don’t want to spend quality time.

On any given night I want to have a couple drinks, a couple laughs, and then fuck. I’m so dedicated to this goal that one outcome keeps repeating: short relationships that usually die after the second or third bang. There are no hard feelings, no tears, just a silent, non-dramatic end that quietly fades from both of our lives when it’s clear that two fucks was all I wanted from her. Then I go out and find another girl who is similar but different enough to keep me interested in order to repeat the same process over again.

Have I lost a part of what it takes to be happy in a long-term relationship of mutual sharing and companionship? I’m not sure, but when you’re a man with options who can fuck as much as your dick can handle, you don’t lose sleep wondering whether you’re on the right path or not. When you have a solitary life in strange cities without friends, you don’t care for much more than drinking and fucking. The particular lifestyle I’ve signed up for is making it increasingly unlikely that a monogamous relationship will happen for me.

It doesn’t help that the more I become the man I’ve always wanted to be, the harder it is to find a woman who stimulates me both intellectually and emotionally. It’s as if my experience is pricing me out of the world dating market, which was best explained by commenter Begby a few months ago:

The supreme irony of it all is that as soon as you’ve [become accomplished] and met all of [your] goals that make you interesting, funny, strong, attractive, and alpha, you are going to be WAY better than any potential woman you will end up with. You will be dumpster diving for the rest of your life because no woman can really measure up to a fully developed man. It’s called penis envy.

Why on earth would you treat them as anything but disposable toys, to be used 3 or 4 at a time and then discarded in short order? They are all inferior to the self-possessed man, so why would we want to spend our lives with inferior people? You let them stick around long, and they start working to ruin your life and keep you emotionally unbalanced so they can control you. Then when you are worn down enough to give them some of that control, they feel they “conquered” you, and are no longer attracted to you.

When is the last time a woman entertained you for hours, made you laugh, said witty things that she made up on her own, etc? Like never? All they are good for is sex, and even that is boring after a few times with the same girl.

Men really did get the short end of the stick on this planet—having to bust our ass 24/7 in a misguided effort to impress people who are far inferior to us.

The Polish girl at the grocery store believed my joke because she barely knew me. Otherwise she would just roll her eyes, because the outcome I told her would simply never happen.

Fifty years ago you would’ve probably received a basic education, created a family, and then supported it with a menial yet well-paying and stable job. Not only were you considered a man by society if you achieved all three of these milestones, but you would’ve felt like a man as well.

Times have since changed. After educating himself, the modern man is lost on exactly what to do or be so that he can have a sense of pride in who he is. Creating a family with masculine women who are eager to rob you blind in a failed marriage doesn’t make sense anymore. Being secure in a good job where you don’t have to worry every few months about getting laid off is a thing of the past. What can you do so that you feel like a man in today’s culture? I’ve determined six things:

1. Fuck 25 girls. After 25 notches, you will have a strong understanding of female quality and psychology, giving you needed tools to make good decisions when it comes to relationships and commitment. Before that number, you run the risk of entrapping yourself in a toxic relationship that takes away from your manhood instead of feeding it. You’ll have a nagging doubt in your head about whether the girl you’re with is ideal for you or not. Also, there is no other way I know of that builds a man’s confidence than fucking significantly more women than the average man.

2. Intimidate others with your physical size. Is it possible to be a man if others think you are weak and non-threatening? Is it possible to get respect from others when you look frail? As fast as I’m sure your newest smartphone can dial 911, it’s hard to feel like a man if you don’t think that other men would fear getting into a fight with you. This doesn’t mean going on steroids, but it does mean getting strong and taking weightlifting seriously.

3. Don’t be afraid of getting your ass beat. You’re not a man if you win a fight, but you are one if you’re not scared to get into that fight. When you realize that you’re not made of glass, you stand up for yourself in all situations, whether they possess threats of physical violence or not. You push back at disrespect even if you think you may get beat up. The irony is that the less scared you are of getting beat up, the less likely other men will ever fight you. Accepting that a beatdown will happen almost guarantees that you’ll never receive one.

4. Give back to those who took care of you. When you were growing up, who looked after you? Who helped make you who you are? Chances are you’ve yet to return the favor. Starting with our parents, we take for granted those who have helped us along the way. Right now they could probably receive help with something that you’re able to give. Repaying them is a surefire way of increasing their happiness, which in turn will make you happy. While I’m sure there are many starving kids in Africa who could use your help, there are people closer to you who could use it, too. Help them first.

5. Accept that you will die. Western culture does a great job of making death a painless afterthought, an event that might as well never arrive. It teaches everyone to deal with death by turning into obsessive-compulsive automatons when it comes to diet, exercise, and risk avoidance. Instead of living the best, most pleasurable life they can, people waste their time by hedging their bets in order to maybe live a longer, more unfulfilling life. Accept that you will die, sooner than you think, and get to work on those things that you want to accomplish right now, not ten or twenty years down the line. By doing the things you want without delay, you listen to your nature and become a stronger person in the process.

6. Do something worthy that other people admire. A genetic bug in the male genome is that we want to be admired. It’s not enough to do something great, but we also have to be acknowledged for doing something great. Until then it’s hard to feel like a man. Don’t do just the bare minimum. Don’t go easy on a project or hobby that means a lot to you. Don’t stop until you’ve gone farther than what most other men who have attempted it has. After you’ve reached a high level of achievement, share your knowledge and allow other men to accomplish what you have. When others want to do what you have done, you will feel like a man.

Do all these things and you will come into your own and be comfortable in your skin. You’ll also serve as a role model for those young guys trying to find their place in the world.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. I’m still here in Poland, pretending to be Peter Pan, having purely sexual relationships in a life void of responsibility where no one counts on me and no one expects anything of me. There is no reason to wake up before noon. I spend my days writing, reading, drinking, and chasing pussy. I have so much free time that I decided to learn Polish, one of the hardest languages in the world, just for the hell of it. I feel that there should be something more to life, even if it means taking on what may initially seem like a burden.

I’m convinced that the solution is to grow up and do what society expects of me, to be a man as defined by my middle-class peers.

I will man up and fly to Washington DC. I will fix my resume, make up some amazing bullshit for the four-year gap in professional employment, and become a microbiologist again. Hopefully I won’t have a mean boss, and hopefully the HR gals like me enough so I don’t get the axe in the first round of corporate restructuring.

Once stably employed, I will man up by looking for a modest condominium in the suburbs, taking on a mortgage that is not too crushing. The mortgage will give me a respectability that my self-published fuck guides never could. Hopefully the value of my condo doesn’t decline, the condo association nazis don’t complain about my music, and no major repairs will be needed that force me to eat ramen for an extended period of time.

To get around in the suburbs, I will man up by purchasing an environmentally friendly automobile, preferably a Toyota Prius. I will finance it. I will have to budget carefully since gas, insurance, and maintenance adds up. Hopefully I don’t get into a catastrophic accident.

I will man up and enroll in a part-time graduate program by borrowing the tuition (I can get my dad to co-sign the loan since he likes it when I go to school). If I really move my ass, I can have a fresh degree in four years, which will really impress my boss and set me up for a 4.5% annual raise instead of the usual 3%. My debt load should now keep me quite busy and anxious for the next 30 years.

I will man up and find a wife on eHarmony. She’ll be my age, a handsome woman tired of being pumped and dumped, with a masculine sensibility that South American and Eastern European women don’t have. She will drastically shorten her hair six months after the wedding, and in spite of my disapproval, she will gain one pound a month until finally exploding like a whale for our first of two kids. She’ll never make the effort to lose the pregnancy weight, no matter how many subtle gym membership gifts I get her for Valentines Day, Mothers Day, her birthday, and Christmas. She will lose interest in having sex with me. The most humiliating moment of my life will be when she tells me to pump her hand while she reads a woman’s magazine. I will feel unattractive and unloved.

Once the kids are in middle school, my wife will initiate divorce proceedings because “the feeling” is no longer there. The feeling was no longer there for me either, but I was willing to make it work for our children. Nonetheless, I will man up and let her take the property, the cars, and the kids. I will pay her steep child support payments that leave me on the edge of poverty. My kids will be brainwashed against me, and hate me for the rest of their lives. I’ll hate them too, but if I stop paying child support I will be sent to prison. With little fatherly influence in their lives, my son will become a little bitch and my daughter a slut who loses her virginity at the age of 14.

I will not give up on life. I will work even harder and make wise investments until my kids are 18 and the burden of child support payments are lifted. Once eligible for social security at the age of 67, I will take my modest nest egg to a modern country with a cheap standard of living, maybe Poland. Once there, no one will count on me and no one will expect anything of me. There will no reason to wake up before noon. I’ll spend my days writing, reading, drinking, and purchasing pussy. I will have so much free time that I’ll decide to learn Polish, one of the hardest languages in the world, just for the hell of it. Yes, I’m ready to man up.