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.