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.
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