PREVIOUSLY: PART 1

Once outside, my first approach was on a girl walking behind me. What I did was pause at the intersection, stare at my phone confusingly, and wait for her to catch up before hitting her with my night street opener (“Can you recommend a bar that is still open?”). She didn’t know of a place but kept engaging me. I knew it had potential because a girl will not talk to a man at 5am for no reason.

“Do you mind if I walk with you for a bit?” I asked.

“Sure, no problem.”

I was starting to believe I could pull, but then a few minutes into the walk she said, “Well there are my friends, bye.” Up ahead there were two girls staring at me.

I was encouraged. I started to reminisce about my Iceland bangs and how approaching lone girls late at night was also effective in Estonia. I thought about how this leads to the most anonymous sex possible, even more so than the internet. There are no witnesses and no information of the interaction is logged on a computer.

Halfway to my apartment, a lone girl was walking towards me. She had bangs, which was a good sign, but up close she was a 5.5 at most. Under no circumstance would I approach her in the club. She was wearing running shoes and some sort of smock for a coat. I approached her more out of habit than a desire to sleep with her.

She took my approach a little too well and we buckled down for a ten minute chat on the street. She was bangable, but barely. The best parts about her were her bangs and full lips. I decided not to go for it.

“Well I guess you’re tired and want to go. I don’t want to hold you all night on the street,” I said.

“We could go somewhere else,” she replied.

I must admit that something inside me comes alive when I know it’s going to be an easy bang. Before she made the offer I was reluctant to go through with it, but now that she made it clear I wouldn’t have to work, I got excited about the prospect of sex.

I suggested we walk to my place for a drink. Once there I made two screwdrivers. We sat on the couch and talked for ten minutes about how Sweden is gender neutral, and then we fucked. Meet to bang took about 30 minutes.

Her body wasn’t fat but she was stout. She had absolutely no curves. Her ass was flat. She may have been the only girl I had sex with who kept her ass fully flexed during the act, which made it seem even flatter. She made almost no noise. The sex was mechanical. Her lips were nice, however. I got my nut and after that I tried to sleep next to her but couldn’t. I felt like there was a thing on my bed that I needed to get rid of.

I moved to the couch. I wanted to take a shower. I felt superior in the club to the foreign guys who I thought were getting mediocre quality, and then I went and did the same thing. I didn’t feel so superior now.

A lot of negative thoughts went through my mind as I lay on the couch. That I was dumpster diving. That I was passing on relationships with good girls to bang what was currently on my bed. That I was on the road to associating sex with negative feelings and uncomfortable situations. That getting a good night’s sleep was better than this. That I was just in another country I didn’t like with a girl I didn’t care for.

My line of thought started to veer into just quitting the game entirely, but then I asked myself, “If she was pretty, and you liked her, would you still feel bad?” No, it’s only with these mediocre girls I fuck from one of my “I gotta get laid tonight” missions.

She got up in the morning and put on her clothes. “You’re leaving?” I asked, feigning surprise. She said she had to do some things. I was polite and asked for her phone number. She gave me a little kiss and then thankfully was gone from my life forever. I felt like my apartment was infected. I started cleaning—the dishes, the bed, the bathroom. I took a shower. I wanted to remove any trace that she was there. I wanted to repress this bang in my memory like I have many others.

I slept for much of the afternoon and got up feeling a little better. I distracted myself with some work then went to the coffee shop at around 8pm. Jenny was working the cash register, smiling like is usually the case.

“You’re always smiling,” I greeted her. “You seem like a happy person.”

“I am happy!”

“So tell me what is a good drink for someone who is tired and needs a bit of energy. Something that gives you a little boost.”

“Coffee?”

“Perfect, I’ll take one.”

The coffee shop was empty so we began to talk. I asked if she had thought of any tourist recommendations. My hope was to use her answer to segue into setting up a walk.

“Have you checked the internet?” she asked. “There is the tourism site of Gothenburg…”

I hid my disappointment. In the past 24 hours she had time to think of a potential date and realized that she didn’t want to go ahead with it. Usually when a girl changes her mind like that it has to do with another man in her life, but whatever the reason, the result was the same.

“When are you leaving again?” she asked, as I added sugar to my coffee.

“The end of the month. This means we don’t have enough time to fall in love and make babies.”

“Well we can’t anyway…” I stopped stirring and looked up. She had a nervous look about her like she was about to tell me a secret. “Because I have a boyfriend.”

I nodded. “That’s too bad. We probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway.” I smiled, genuinely happy that it was her situation and not me.

I said, “If I was mayor of a town, I would make all women wear a badge announcing if they had a boyfriend or husband. This way a guy knows what her status is. It’s a shame to get to know someone you like only to find out they have someone else in their life.”

She called my idea weird and then I went to sit down.

The coffee shop remained quiet, but Jenny kept coming around to bus the empty tables. We got into many long conversations, mostly about where I have been. I was frank with her: “Even if you were single and we were perfect for each other, I would have to leave soon anyway.”

“How can you live like that, just moving around?”

“It’s like a drug, I guess. Different cities, different women. I get bored of things quickly, like a little kid who needs to be constantly entertained. It’s fun, and it’s exciting, and I’m lucky to have this opportunity, but lately I’m wondering if it’s kind of… empty.” The naked body of the girl from just a few hours ago, with her ass clenched tight, popped into my mind.

“At the same time, it’s so interesting,” she said. “I don’t usually meet guys with your experience. I would love to talk to you more about it.”

She told me that she was going to Copenhagen for a few days. I gave her some recommendations on what to do since I stayed there for two months and then she told me that we could hang out after she got back. She didn’t qualify it by saying “as friends.” I got her number and was pleased, genuinely interested in seeing her again. This was a girl I would want to get to know and sleep with more than once, maybe even develop a little relationship.

That night I looked at the calendar and realized I didn’t have much time until meeting my friend in Croatia for our three-week party and fuck fest on a Mediterranean island. Before that I wanted to squeeze in a side trip. I already had my Icelandic, Danish, Finnish, and Swedish flags and needed only Norway to complete the Scandinavian sweep.

I planned a full weekend in Norway that would get me to Croatia in time for my friend. I had to be in Oslo in nine days. By the time Jenny came back from Copenhagen, we’d only have two possible days to hang out. I would need more time than that to make something happen with her, but I really wanted to get my Norwegian flag.

Don’t Miss: 14 Things Every Guy Should Know About Swedish Girls

My true feelings about a country come out after I get the flag. It tells me a lot about what I need to know about interacting with the local women, and unless I see hope of something a little meaningful, unique, or special, I back down. That’s what happened after getting my Swedish flag. I didn’t care for prowling through the mall or going back to the club Sticky Fingers. I just wanted to spend my days at the coffee shop.

The one I started going to had a blonde girl with curly hair. She was not the most beautiful girl who worked there but I was drawn to her warm personality in a country where people were restrained from showing emotion or excitement. One day I pointed to a pastry and said, “Where I’m from we don’t have  that.” She asked where I was from and I wanted to explore things further but there was a line behind me.

After three or four days of ordering from her without really getting anywhere, I came on a Saturday afternoon when she wasn’t there. You know how you can tell when someone is looking at you from the corner of your eye? Well, as I was reading my book, I felt it. The second I looked up I saw her walking by. She slowed down her gait a bit so we could exchange hellos.

I waited a while to see if she would come back around but she didn’t. I began packing my things to leave. At that moment she came to bus the tables next to me.

“The sun is finally out today,” I said.

“Yes, summer wants to arrive.”

“I’m a little surprised by the cold weather. People told me that if I wanted to come to Sweden then I should do it during summer, but it’s the middle of June and it doesn’t feel like summer.”

She put the tub down on the table. “July and August has good weather here. By next month it should be fine.”

“I don’t think I will be here next month,” I said.

“How long are you staying?”

“About two more weeks. Oh, I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Do you recommend any touristy things to do? Honestly I haven’t done much but come to this coffee shop.”

“I can think of some things. Are you here in the city alone?”

“Yes, I’m alone. What’s your name?”

“Jenny. And yours?”

“Burt. I know you work a lot, but if you get free for an hour we can take a walk. Maybe you can show me around.”

“Yeah maybe.”

“Do you work tomorrow?” The coffee shop was getting busy and I knew she couldn’t keep chatting.

“Yes I’m here until closing.”

“Okay well you think of some places and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

It was a risky move to not go for the number right then, but I knew Sunday would be quiet and I could get it on stronger footing. I also planned on showing up late so that she would (hopefully) wonder if I was coming or not. When I meet a girl at a bar I go full-court press and aim for a nonstop chat of a couple hours to get her in bed the same night, but in a situation where you see someone regularly, a dance has to be played. Attention must be regulated.

That night I went early to the club Excet at 10:30 to avoid lines and a cover charge, but was hit with a $20 fee nonetheless. I was the fourth or fifth person there and settled onto the ground floor where the DJ played a lot of Drake and Kanye West. The music was quiet enough that I could pick the brain of the young bartender for nightlife tips. He was a big fan of America, like most Swedes, and asked me a lot of questions about which city he could go to for both work and play (I told him New York).

The crowd turned suddenly. One minute it was quiet and the next I felt like it was packed with drunk people. Behind me was a group of eight guys, all plastered, with one in a wheelchair. I had never seen a drunk guy in a wheelchair before that wasn’t a homeless man. He began raging, throwing cups at his friends in response to them dumping a beer in his lap. I was hit twice and told one of his friends to tell him to take it easy. He said, “You should tell him!” That was a neat trick, I thought, letting the cripple get away with anything because everyone would feel too guilty to tell him stop misbehaving. I moved away from them and watched the cripple terrorize the crowd with impunity.

My first approach of the night told me how things would go. I talked to a cute girl who was interested that I was American, but her friend wouldn’t stop pawing at her. The conversation lasted five minutes. My second approach was on a girl who actually wanted to live in Washington DC and was excited I was from there. It doesn’t get more money than that, but a few minutes later her friend physically got in between us. It was the night of cockblock. Every single approach would end a couple minutes in. I looked around to the other foreign guys and they were getting with 4′s and 5′s and 6′s. I refused to go below a 7.

By 3am, with two hours left to closing, I was exhausted. I had gotten absolutely nowhere. I wasn’t even getting close. It became hard to do an approach after this time because groups merged and the male to female ratio was four to one. I badly wanted to go home but I felt that since I had stayed out this late, I might as well go all the way. I maintained sobriety by following a one-drink-per-hour rule. I made it until 4:45 just as the club was emptying.

As an afterthought, I remembered how this hour would be prime game time in Iceland, that all I would have to do was walk around for a bit and approach singles. Would it work in Sweden? Only one way to find out.

CONCLUDED: PART 2

I was beat from my Finland flag mission, but I still had to get my Swedish flag. For the first 24 hours in Gothenburg I tried to get some momentum going, but Sweden had less beautiful girls than Finland. My mind didn’t want to put in the same amount of work for less. I went out on Tuesday night. No bang. Wednesday night. No bang. Thursday night. No bang. Friday night. No bang. I was running into some problems: the talent pool was low, there was too much of a social circle vibe, and the ubiquity of Converse shoes hurt my boner.

During the day I wasn’t seeing a lot of singles, but I did approach and get a couple numbers. The day approaches told me that Swedish girls like American guys, so it was just a matter of putting in the approaches, but I didn’t even care for banging a Swedish girl except for the damn flag, an artificial game I’ve implemented in my life to justify chasing women with the same energy as in my early 20s.

On Saturday night, in a moment of fatigue and apathy, I was ready to give up the flag hunt. Who cares about the Swedish flag? How much more validation do I need? But my internet was so slow that I wouldn’t have had much to do. I changed my clothes and went to a bar near my apartment called Sticky Fingers, a hipster spot with mediocre girls but great logistics.

I looked around at the chubby, tatted up chicks wearing homeless lady clothes. I wondered why they voluntarily dressed like that. Many of them had a hoop piercing in the middle of their nose that I’d seen in pictures of bulls. In my head I kept repeating the phrase “failure is imminent.” I was ready to fail. Even though I had nearly three weeks left in the city, I didn’t want to work for this. I just wanted to go back to any of the countries I’ve been before (except Latvia and Denmark).

My first approach was on a girl who looked Spanish. I waited for her beta orbiters to get distracted before I could make a move. She was receptive. Swedish girls love America so I leveraged that by bringing up all the classics: McDonald’s, Starbucks, iPhones, pizza, and so on. In the middle of the conversation one of her orbiters came by, scuffed her hair and started dancing like a clown. She later told me, “He’s been in love with me for three years. He’s a great guy.” So great she won’t bang him.

She dropped the boyfriend about 15 minutes later. I asked her if she ever cheated on him before. A bit obvious, maybe.

“No, I would never cheat on him,” she said. “We’re looking to buy a house now.”

Failure is imminent.

I had to wait a long time before doing another approach. There were girls around but they were safely ensconced in their circle or dancing like retards. One girl I had been eyeing made her way to the bar. I stood behind her and when she finished her order I approached. She shot me down immediately.

Failure is imminent.

I felt like a stalker because I would see a girl I wanted but have to patiently wait for an opportunity when her orbiters took a break. I successfully stalk-approached a tall blonde. She was extremely receptive, saying that she has never talked to an American before. I did a little compliance test by asking her to come with me several feet away to the bar. She agreed and we got to touching. But then her phone rang. And then her girlfriend came. And then her redhead ex-boyfriend came. “Hey I have to go find my other friend,” she said, “but take my number!”

Failure is imminent.

I went upstairs and found a cute girl at the bar. She had the bull nose piercing but everything else was fine. We talked for ten minutes but she didn’t ask me a single question, not even where I was from, then eventually left.

Failure is imminent.

There was no approachable girl so I decided maybe I could win some money in blackjack. I lost my 100 kroner (about $14) in three minutes.

Even though I had done only four approaches, I had been at the bar for three hours. I told myself that I wouldn’t leave until closing. I had to stay until the bitter end.

Then a petite brunette walked by. I tapped her and the approach started fine. She had lived in England so I teased her about her accent. She was cocky and tried to clown me, but I gave her lip right back and she seemed to like it. Then her fat friend came by with a guy, the redhead who was the ex of the blonde girl I talked to earlier.

“Do you want to smoke downstairs?” the brunette asked.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. Just the previous week in Helsinki I had blown an approach by saying no. We smoked and it became clear to me that this girl was more British than anything. I had to ask her if she was actually born in Sweden because I didn’t want a British flag. She was indeed Swedish so I proceeded. Her face was okay and at that hour I’d say she was probably top three in the club, which at Sticky Fingers doesn’t say much.

She told me she wanted to dance, but I didn’t feel like dancing. I let her dance for two minutes then I went back to her and said, “You want to come with me to the bar? I want to get a drink.” She came. I bought a round.

We got into a chat that, had it been a year earlier, I would have easily blown. She said, “I wonder if I’m going to be 50 and have regrets about not having kids at a younger age.” She was 27.

I said, “This is why I’m glad I’m a guy. I can have kids whenever.”

Her brows furrowed. “Not really. I read an article that men’s sperm get weak. You don’t have that much time either.”

She was trying to rationalize her failure at becoming a mother by making it seem like single guys her age were making the same mistake.

I said, “My dad had my half-brother at 52 years old.”

“Yes, but these days it’s hard. That won’t happen anymore.”

I wanted to crush her, but we were at the touching stage and getting ready to kiss. In Denmark I would have gone nuclear, but that’s part of the reason why my time there was so shitty. So instead I said, “That sucks.” And that was it. I killed the topic. I understood where the line was in offending Scandinavian girls, and I’m happy to say that in Sweden I didn’t get into any serious battles. Five minutes later we kissed.

Out of the blue she said, “But we can’t have sex, I’m on my period.”

Without hesitating, I replied, “I don’t care, I’ll drink the blood.” I’ve somehow become a magnet for menstruating women.

I had my period game down pat. The previous two girls I banged were on their period so the routine was fresh on my mind: “When you get to my age, a little blood doesn’t get in the way of intimacy with someone. I find it strange that guys are bothered by it when it’s a natural human thing that doesn’t really interfere with anything. Just put a towel down and have fun.”

“Wow, okay, maybe we can do it. But usually it’s something I do with a boyfriend.”

“I don’t judge girls for being on their period.”

I didn’t show excitement or try to convince her further. As long as you let them know that you won’t judge them, one of their biggest fears, they’ll let you do anything.

The club was beginning to close so it was time to put the logistics together.  I asked her if she wanted to come to my place but she insisted on going to hers instead, where her fat friend was staying for the weekend. I said, “I don’t have any money for the taxi, though. I spent it all.” I didn’t want to shell out the cash because I knew taxis in Sweden were expensive.

“It’s okay I’ll pay.”

In the cab she starts talking about how maybe we could have sex. I knew she was trying to draw me out and make me state how badly I wanted to bang her, but I wasn’t biting. Even when she said “Swedish girls give excellent blowjobs,” I just shrugged my shoulders and said, “I wouldn’t know.” I made it seem like I didn’t care what would happen and that we were just hanging out.

The fat girl and the redhead were already in the apartment. He came up to me in the kitchen and said, “I see you were talking to my ex-girlfriend in the bar, the tall blonde. I fucked four girls since we broke up.”

“Um, that’s nice. Yeah we just had a little chat.”

“I’m going to fuck this girl, too.”

“I’m sure it will be tons of fun.”

I didn’t want to give him anything he could cockblock me with. While him and the fat girl went in the living room to copulate, the brunette made me a drink and started talking about the methodology of the upcoming bang.

“Do you want me to take off my tampon?”

“Yes. Just let all that blood flow. Blood is good.”

“Okay I will go do that now.”

I disrobed to my boxers and hopped in her bed. She came and got naked. She then started sucking my dick. Now I must say she wasn’t kidding when she said Swedish girls can suck. She had her lips wrapped tightly around my cock, with no teeth, and was going up and down rapidly enough that the bed was shaking like there was a minor earthquake. After a few minutes I felt like I was about to come so I stopped her. I needed vaginal penetration to get this flag. I knew I could always blast in her mouth and then go for round two later, but why risk it?

I got on top of her and she said, “You have to turn me on.” So I gave her thirty seconds of foreplay, spit on my dick, and started easing it in.

After just a few pumps, I realized that I wasn’t going to make it long. The blowjob, combined with her tight pussy, was too much. I tried my best to think of baseball but at the two minute mark I was ready to blow. Should I just let it rip or dela… ah fuck it. I pulled out and ejaculated like a champion. A dollop of semen got on her face and hair.

She said, “Wow, okay.”

I figured that I’d try to satisfy her for the second round where I’d last longer. I find that girls don’t judge guys the first time anyway.

While she was in the bathroom I heard the fat girl banging the redhead. That’s nice for them. I looked down at my dick and there was no blood on it. She must’ve been towards the end. Then the brunette came out and immediately said, “Do you want me to call you a cab?”

I knew what that meant. My sex afterglow evaporated after knowing I was no longer welcome. I sprang up and said, “Nope that’s fine.” I used the bathroom and while I got dressed, she tried to make fun of me by saying things like, “That’s the best sex I ever had in my life” and “That really was good sex.” I didn’t engage her and that seemed to spur her on even more. My sexual performance did not meet her expectations.

I let out a couple “Mmhmm whatever” then walked out the door.  I didn’t want to get into an argument that her two “witnesses” could construe as distress. I kept it smooth and then dipped.

On the walk downstairs I wondered if she was really upset that I came fast. I thought of my friends back home who had some horror stories of girls who turned on a dime like that right after sex. I think it’s possible she used that as a pretext to get me out of there because of some other issue. I’ll never know the real reason.

I got some money from an ATM and then hopped in a cab. During the ride home I thought of how the brunette will trash me to the others and how word may get back to that blonde girl I met, but then I sat back and smiled, because I just captured my Swedish flag.