May and June in Poland were two of the best months in my life. I had to research ways to increase my libido so I could keep servicing the insatiable sexual appetites of Polish women, who have long since been neglected by their goofy men. After an abrupt summer pause the action resumed in October, meaning all was good in the world, right?

No matter how great a movie is, it just isn’t the same when you watch it a second time. In October I went to the same clubs that I was so successful before, but I couldn’t regain the excitement, and decided that I’d be happier trying to find another great movie. Even paradise feels normal after a while.

My time in Poland can be represented in two innocent events, both of which happened on the same day.

I went to the dental clinic for a basic cleaning, surprised to find that my dentist was an attractive woman younger than me, with revealing curves despite her loose white coat.

It took me ten minutes to realize that she was actually flirting with me. After she did a fine job sand blasting my teeth, I sat by her desk and flirted back. We talked for a short while and one step short of going for the number it comes out that she’s married. Not comfortable pursuing a married woman, I aborted my attempt, but how common is it to be in a country where not only the dentists are pretty, they’re interested in you as well?

I was on my way home when I saw a tall girl on the street walking towards me. I immediately focused on her sexy legs; they seemed five feet long. My eyes slowly moved up, savoring her magnificent body, building up to the moment of eye contact. I got up to her face and immediately recognized her as a girl I had fucked a couple months prior. How common is it to be attracted to an anonymous girl on the street only to find you already banged her?

I’m completely aware that it may never get better. Poland may be the best place in the world for me, but leave I shall. I don’t want to bleed, and I don’t want to suffer, but I need the drug of new experiences, new action, new places, and new women. I’m like a baby who needs a new toy jingling in front of him, or else he gets irritated and kicks wildly into the air.

Goodbye Poland. You’ve made me a happier man, a better man. Even though I can come back to defile you anytime I want, I know it won’t be quite the same.

May of 2011 was an amazing month. I arrived in Poland with no expectations, eager to put two bad months of Denmark behind me. I was not ready for what was in store for me: bangable women everywhere who were fluent in English and had little attitude. Most importantly, they liked me. They liked my look, my humor, my conversation, my beard, my accent, and where I came from. On my third day I slept with a girl whose quality was top five of all women I’ve been with in my life. I called her “little egg” (jajeczko in Polish) because of what she cooked for me the morning after I slept with her.

Little Egg was beautiful, smart, sexy, optimistic, funny, and happy, a former punk kid who grew up faster than her peers, eventually settling into a fashion career. We had great chemistry so I always looked forward to talking and joking with her. I’ll always remember one night she showed up wearing a necklace that had a little gun. It made a click sound when you pulled the trigger. She shot me twice. I never met a girl who made me laugh as much as she did.

I kept Little Egg at arm’s length because I didn’t want to stop whoring. When I wasn’t with her I tried to fuck any Polish girl that could get my dick hard. I had one-night stands every night of the week except Sunday and Monday. Most of my conquests were college girls under 23 years old, nine years younger than me, and six years younger than Little Egg, the most mature and grounded of them all. I was living my dream, my dick was living its dream, and all was good in the world. I found my utopia.

It didn’t last long. Little Egg went cold on me after two months, suddenly busy when she wasn’t busy before. Was she tired of my reluctance to advance the relationship or did she meet someone else? I’ll never know. Summer arrived and all the students left, leaving the city a shell of its spring self. The pussy switch flicked to the off position. No more one-night stands and no more easy lays. My dream gradually turned into a nightmare. I lost the Polish magic.

During the summer I had to lower my standards for girls who were much harder to lay. Only in Washington DC did I have to work so hard for so little (hell, even summer in DC is better). I kept going like a good soldier until banging a nympho Polish girl who helped keep my testicles empty in those hard months. I enjoyed my time with her, but she was too shy and restrained. Besides, I didn’t want just one girl, I wanted all of them. I wanted a great girl on my arm while fucking young sluts on the side.

One day towards the end of September I walked to the grocery store and noticed girls all over the place. It seemed like a cargo ship had suddenly dumped a huge load of pussy on the streets. School had resumed. I wanted the spring back, I wanted the magic back, and was willing to do whatever it took to get it.

With school back in session, I went out on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday nights. I put in the work, at least 25 approaches, but there was little magic to be found. The clubs were filled with sausage. The young girls weren’t as extra horny like before. The magic must’ve been a one shot deal, I thought, so better ramp up the day game to at least get some dates going. I figured that in May I came at the right time with the right energy, leading to a great epoch of my life that could never be duplicated. You never see it coming, you only see it go.

I went out on Saturday night, the first of October, tired and dejected. I hadn’t been laid in two weeks. Expecting failure, I planned on doing five daily approaches at the mall starting on Monday to re-build a pipeline that was bone dry after burning the bridge with my summer fling.

At the club I sat down away from the action, something I never do. I told myself I’d get up when I saw something decent. It took half an hour for that girl to arrive. She was alone, wearing tight jeans, high heels, and a simple black top that revealed a nice curve in her lower back. She had long brown hair and bangs. She was a 7.5, no more and no less, with a petite body type that satisfied my perverse elephant-on-kitten sex desire. Still, I didn’t want to get up. I started making excuses why the approach would not go well, and remained seated.

Five minutes later she was still at the bar, just standing there. My excuses fizzled in the face of a good opportunity. I pulled myself up and moved my legs until I was right next to her. I tapped her on the shoulder and said, “You don’t look like you’re from here. You look like you’re from… Macedonia.” She had dark eyes and hair so it was plausible.

“I’m from Poland,” she said with a huge smile. “Why do you think I’m from Macedonia?”

She laughed at my jokes and complimented my appearance. She told me how badly she wants to visit America, particularly New York City. Within a few minutes she asked me what my astrology sign was, perhaps the biggest sign of interest a girl can give me without getting on her knees and blowing me right there. Over the next three hours I gradually increased the sexual tension as if playing with an oven thermostat. Light touches before heavy. Dancing a foot away before grinding up on her body. Gentle brushing of my lips against hers before driving my tongue in her mouth. You know a girl is ready when all you have to say is “Let’s go” for her to jump to attention and face the door, eager to leave with you.

In my apartment I made her a vodka drink that I knew would go untouched, the glass sweating all night. I leaned against my kitchen counter and pulled her body against mine. She took off her shirt, I unbuttoned her jeans, and she did the rest. I stared at absolute perfection: 100 pounds, C cup breasts, a round ass that would please any black man. She took of my clothes, bending down to get my jeans off. I unsnapped her bra and pulled down her wet panties. Roosh, get a condom. She stroked my dick with her hand and I put it between her legs, her bald pussy. Roosh, get a condom, it’s in your back jean pocket. I felt her juices leap onto my dick, smothering it with lubrication. Roosh, get the fucking condom. I turned her around, still leaning against the counter, and pushed her down. Stop Roosh you dirty motherfucker! The shape of her body was flawless. All I wanted in that moment was to be inside her. My inner monologue went quiet.

I went straight to raw dog, my dick going in smooth like butter. My eyes rolled in the back of my head and my head tilted up to the ceiling. For twenty seconds I felt paralyzed with pleasure, unable to move. She didn’t mind doing the work, holding onto the couch for balance to fuck me in and out, her moans getting louder. I regained focus and gave her the best dick I could, in the kitchen, against the couch, against the window with a view facing the entire city, and finally on my bed, her pussy juice leaving a crumb trail throughout my apartment. I pulled out right in time and ejaculated a liter of cum all over her body, shooting up to her neck.

We fucked again and again and again. I instructed her to talk dirty in Polish and she obliged as I fucked faster and harder. I had no idea what she was saying but I assure you it sounded sexy. Even Vietnamese would have sounded sexy at that point. After three nuts I knew it would be impossible for me to cum again, but I couldn’t stop. I was a mindless fuck zombie with no other function in life but to pump that poor girl’s pussy. Even sleep wasn’t required, only fuck.

I started getting angry that she was able to handle so much dick, so I fucked her as violently as I possibly could to tire her out, as if trying to lose her in a sprint, choking her and yanking on her hair, but I only fatigued myself in the process. “I need a time out,” I’d say, pulling out slowly. She’d cuddle next to me while I caught glances of my raw dick, wondering how much more it could take. After a twenty minute breather I’d wake her up and fuck some more. My dick was inside her for over two hours by the time she left the next afternoon.

Four nights later I brought home another girl. She had the same petite and thin dimensions, a body that I’d be lucky to experience even once a year in my own country. The sex wasn’t as good, especially since I was mindful enough to use condoms, but it was good enough.

October was turning out to be even better than May, but something felt off. Was magic simply fucking a lot of girls, or do you need something more, like having a Little Egg on your arm to balance it all out? I wasn’t sure, because I didn’t want to be sure. I wasn’t ready to examine the purpose of my current existence, to accept that my pursuit of the easiest sex possible may have costs that are decreasing my happiness.

Sometimes your subconscious decides for you. As if just out of curiosity, I started to casually research flights out of Poland.

In Poland, a high percentage of girls are in existing relationships. If you take a snapshot of a Polish club on any Friday night, around half of the girls will have a boyfriend. That wouldn’t be a problem if they were prone to infidelity like Western women, but unfortunately Polish girls are maniacally faithful to their “potato” boyfriends. Here’s what usually happens:

• I approach a Polish girl. Things are going great and then she tells me she has a boyfriend about fifteen minutes into the conversation.
• She says that I’m better than the boyfriend, and starts with the compliments about how I’m handsome, confident, and strong. Yes, they really say those things.
• I ask if she wants to have sex with me. She says yes.
• I stick with her for a couple more hours under the assumption that I have a decent chance of getting her back to my crib.
• She ditches me at the end of the night to fuck her boyfriend’s brains out while I’m stuck with nothing but my hand.

Polish girls are very convincing about making me think I have a shot. I remember one case where the girl said she’s “about to” break up with her boyfriend. I stuck with her all night and got nothing in the end. They want to experience the good feelings of talking to a cool foreigner, but not the guilty feelings of cheating.

Recently I went out on a Tuesday night to an club that, while cheesy and filled with sausage, was the only place in town that had a crowd. I settled in a spot next to the dance floor and approached a girl who was with her two girlfriends. She was overeager to chat, saying that she never meets foreign guys. After ten minutes she said, “I’ll be right back.” This is usually code for, “I don’t like you,” but she came back promptly and we settled into a flirty conversation. Her name was Anna.

It didn’t take long for the boyfriend drop to come. Then it played out like so many times in the past: she complimented me, touched me, and compared me favorably to him. Whenever I was on the verge of gathering enough strength to walk away, she’d do something intimate like hold my hand or get close to my face, as if she was doing just enough so I wouldn’t leave. It was hard to resist her feminine charm.

Anna’s two friends came back to collect her, thinking I was the typical club douche bag. While they had a conference discussing my merits, I thought back to all the nights I was tricked by a girl who only wanted the validation of being desired by a man other than her boyfriend. It was turning out to be another night where I’d get nothing.

I glanced over to one of Anna’s friends, who was slightly cuter. She was wearing black four-inch heels and a cocktail dress that left little to the imagination. Her ultra-petite figure made her look about 16 years old. She gave me a warm look after Anna introduced us. I asked her how she knew Anna, but she responded with a confused look on her face.

“Kasia doesn’t speak English,” Anna said.

I used Anna as a translator, finding out that Kasia was a 21-year-old student who lived in the suburbs. She spoke fluent German.

Every seduction must have a bold move where you announce through you words or actions that your intentions are sexual in nature. Sometimes that comes right away if you use a direct opening line. Sometimes it’s when you go for a kiss. Sometimes it comes at the very end of the night when you try to get her back to your place. Timing alone determines if your bold move is perceived as creepy or sexy, which is why it’s best to push it back until you’re sure the attraction is built. With Anna and Kasia, I decided to make an early bold move. Otherwise I was at risk of entertaining both of them all night long without getting anything in return.

I put my arm around the girls, let out a smirk, and said, “I would love to be with both of you tonight. How about we walk to my apartment, have a few drinks, listen to some good music, and make love?” I took a page out of the Vicky Cristina Barcelona playbook.

Anna giggled and then translated for Kasia, who smiled and reciprocated my half-hug. Anna then said something I’ve heard many times before: “I want to, but I have a boyfriend.”

I used Anna as a translator for the next fifteen minutes, building up as much rapport with Kasia as possible, until it was time to complete the switch. I looked at Anna and said, “You know you’re my first choice, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you are the first girl tonight that I liked, but you have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, but we can still talk,” she said. She grabbed my hand. Kasia pretended not to be looking.

“But that’s not fair to Kasia. She’s single and doesn’t have anyone to talk to. And I’m single, too. It only makes sense that I try to kiss your friend.”

She looked upset, but my logic was sound. Disagreeing would have been like spitting on Kasia’s face. “Good luck,” she said. I had her reluctant blessing.

I grabbed Kasia and took her to the dance floor. We kissed quickly. After dancing for a little longer than I would’ve liked, we sat down in a booth and tried to have a conversation. It was like two 6-year-olds communicating . Thankfully she could understand more than she could speak, so I kept talking about whatever I could think of, like I was reading from an invisible book. She’d listen, smile, and we’d kiss every few minutes. She had never met an American man before.

I told her I wanted to take her home. “No sex,” she said, a phrase that she could pronounce very clearly. I made the universal sign for sleep, telling her that I was tired anyway. It took about twenty minutes to get her to understand that just because she came to my place, it didn’t mean we had to have sex. I was telling the truth.

Anna let me take Kasia home, sparing me the cockblock. The first thing I did when we got to my place was load Google Translate on my laptop.

She typed in, “How many girls have you been with in Poland?”

“10,000.”

“No, really.”

“A couple.”

“Do you always bring home girls like this?”

“Never on Tuesdays. :)”

“Do you want to see me again?”

“Of course. You’re pretty, you’re sexy, you’re fun. I see no reason why I wouldn’t want to see you again.” I kissed her.

Her tiny size really hit me when she took off her heels. I asked her how much she weighed. “Thirty-five kilograms” (77 pounds). Besides her surprisingly round ass, she had the body of a gymnast who didn’t quite make it past puberty.

We moved to my bed. I got her down to her bra and panties but she kept saying “no, no.” I was so turned on by her beauty and petite figure that I told myself she’s not walking out my door without getting fucked. At that moment I accepted getting locked up in a Polish prison in order to make it happen.

She tried to go down on me but her mouth was too small. Then I grabbed her and made her sit directly on my face. I ate her pussy, the first time I’d done so in a couple of years. I enjoyed it.

I put on a condom, lubed up, and finally got her consent to put it in. The best way to visualize our lovemaking is an elephant mounting a kitten. My dick was half the size of her neck. I put her on her stomach and went deep, pounding her pussy like a pedophile. She took it like a champion even though I imagine it must have felt like getting fucked by a telescope. My orgasm was from another world.

While talking to Anna I saw a vision of the end of the night, of me sitting in my room jerking off to porn. I knew she would apologize for having a boyfriend and give me a little kiss goodbye on the edge of my lips. I knew that I would walk home alone. This time I refused to accept that.

Here’s a comment from the forum:

I love Poland. A true globetrotting playboy knows when it’s time to kick back and enjoy low-hanging fruit, and when it’s time to get down and bleed. Poland for the former, while places like Argentina and Spain for the latter.

After a few months of bliss, boredom and complacency sets in, and you’re longing for girls to feign indifference and play a mind game or two rather than show their cards right away. As a man, I just love the novelty and struggle of the chase too much, otherwise I’d live there forever. Great in the short-term though.

Not all guys have great success in Poland, but if you have the right key then the girls put out surprisingly fast.

I have the right key.

My game is not going up in Poland because what I had before arriving was insanely overkill. I came packing nuclear bombs when all I needed were slingshots. About two months in, I started to get “bored” of banging so much. I wanted to go somewhere else where I would struggle a bit and then have to come up with new methods or tactics. And then I slapped the fuck out of myself.

I bled for four years in high school, unable to talk to a pretty girl without urinating in my pants.

I bled for four years in college, constantly stuck in the friends zone with girls I hoped would give me pity sex.

I bled for nearly a decade in DC, improving my game on career-driven cunts who didn’t make me happy.

I bled for six months on my first South America trip, trying to figure out why my DC game wasn’t working on Latin girls, all while shitting my brains out due to various infections.

I bled for two months in Denmark on girls who were even worse than the DC girls I hated.

And then a short while into Poland I considered leaving because I believed that struggling was necessary to my growth as a man. Truth is I’m not sure how to live without bleeding.

I look at my reflection in the mirror a little longer these days, to make sure what I’m experiencing is real. I savor the moment because soon I will become numb to what is making me happy right now. I will stay in Poland until I no longer care about sex, until I need to give my dick a rest, until the thought of fucking another 110 pound Polish girl disgusts me. I will stay in Poland until I get deported. Maybe this will take another month, maybe another three months, maybe longer, but I would be a damn fool to leave when all my dreams are being met in a place that is as close to natural viagra as I’ve found.

I originally planned on some grand European voyage of visiting ten countries, but now that’s out the window. I will stay in Poland indefinitely, because I don’t want to bleed anymore.

Recently I was at my Poland “hack bar,” the place where I can run the same old game week in, week out and get consistent results. Once I find this bar in a city I don’t even bother going to other venues because of the huge risk involved in not hitting up a place where I pull like a champion.

I was standing in my usual spot, checking out the local talent, when a nice brunette (7.5) came up right next to me and smiled. We started talking. She had a large group of friends with her, one of whom was a little girl with a thick British accent. She was arrogant, trying to make fun of my American accent by saying it wasn’t “proper.” Then she used the word “hearer.” I politely corrected her and said the correct word is “listener,” since I’ve never heard of hearer before.

“But hearer is a word in Britain,” she said.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“It’s much better than listener. I only use hearer.”

I turned on the sarcasm: “Yeah I definitely came out tonight to have a gladiator battle about the word hearer. Are you British?”

“No, I’m Polish.”

“Well you seem British,” I said. “You’re cocky like them.”

“Thanks!”

“No, that’s not a compliment. It’s ugly when a girl is cocky. I don’t know any guy who likes that. Polish girls are ten times better, so you should act more Polish.”

“Whatever!” she said.

Then the brunette’s beta orbiter wanted to practice his English with me. I felt like the American clown for a little while, engaging the entire group, until finally I settled into a one-on-one with the brunette.

I’ve banged Polish girls who showed half the interest that she did. She approached me (practically), laughed at my lamest jokes, and remarked how she has never met an American guy who looked Spanish before. Polish girls like both Americans and Spaniards so I was like the best of both worlds. Her smile was constant and bright while talking to me. I may have been her dream man.

Then suddenly another one of her friends who I hadn’t noticed before squeezed through the circle and grabbed the brunette, pulling her away to dance. It was a blatant cockblock by an ugly broad who I guarantee lived abroad in England or America. Where else would she learn such anti-social behavior?

The brunette turned her face toward me and smiled, as if saying she wanted to stay. She said, “I’ll be back,” then let her friend finish off the cockblock. I began to wonder if the hearer orchestrated it from afar.

I’ll admit I liked her. She was a girl-next-door type whose slow stares and pouty lips hinted toward a ravenous slut lurking somewhere inside. But she made the decision to end the conversation at its peak, saying in so many words that her friendship with the ugly girl was more important than meeting a man she liked. I have no sympathy for girls who make this decision. If she can’t tell her ugly friends to back off for a night then she’s not serious about fucking.

It took 20 minutes for me to meet another girl, a blonde (6.5). I don’t know if I’m giving her a lower rating because I’m partial to brunettes, but she was looking good in four-inch heels and a tight top. Her breasts, I would later find out, were E cups, but she had such low body fat that she looked like a lollipop. She understood the power of her boobs, and started touching me with them, nearly knocking me over because of their immense size.

Within a few minutes my boner was raging. She playfully hit me when I told her I wanted to take her home and make sex with her, but seemed disappointed when I told her I was an ass man. She let me inspect her ass with my hands. “It’s nice, but very average,” I said. She hit me again. We were having a great time flirting, and all signs pointed to a happy ending for the night.

The brunette came back, about one hour after she first left. She stood right next to me and stared, looking annoyed. I decided that I was going to help her.

“Hey blonde, this is my friend, the brunette.” They chatted for a while until I eased back into talking to the brunette. She tried to position herself between me and the blonde. The blonde saw this and got agitated, but I put my hand on her side to let her know that I wasn’t trying to ditch her, that she was my ho for the night.

“We were talking and you just left,” I told the brunette.

“My friends wanted to dance,” she said.

“It was rude how your unattractive friend interrupted like that. Is she your babysitter?”

“No she’s not, but we can talk now.”

“I would, but I met someone else. Sorry.” Her face dropped. I took the blonde to the dance floor.

I hurt the brunette for one reason: so she could directly see the damage that her supposed “friend” did to her. I clearly pointed out the cause and effect relationship of her friend’s cockblocking that even a retard could connect. She will now resent that friend and cockblock her sometime in the future, meaning my revenge seed is already planted and will be delivered without me even knowing.

Should I have given up on the blonde for a girl that I liked a little better? Should I have made an attempt to at least get the brunette’s number?

No.

The best any man can do is give a girl an opportunity to connect with him. If she passes on that opportunity and he continues to pursue her, he needs to explain to his dick why he only likes imagining about getting pussy instead of actually fucking pussy. I’m in the business of getting laid, not waiting for girls to finally come around and realize I’m a decent guy. We’re not in the age of Casanova where multiple letters over a span of months is required to fuck women. Courtship is as dead as the telegram. Tonight you can meet a girl, talk for a couple hours, and take her to bed. There’s no reason to jump through hoops, and the more hoops you have to jump through, the more likely you’ll walk away empty-handed.

I took the blonde home and beat up her pussy like I just came out of prison. She had to tell me several times to slow down because I was thrusting like a demon gorilla. Condom use was sparse.

Needless to say but her breasts were the biggest I’ve ever experienced. Watching them flop around while she lay on her back getting pounded was one of the best sexual highlights of my time in Poland so far.