Sour Dick-Sucking Lips (Part 5 of 5)

PREVIOUSLY: PART 4. The entire story can be viewed in this PDF file.

“So why didn’t you want to meet me at the hotel bar?” I purposely save this up for the end of the date, after she has invested a whole night in me.

“I don’t like going to bars I haven’t been to before,” she says. Immediately my lips tense and I’m in disbelief. I unhook my arms from hers and look at her face.

“That makes absolutely no sense,” I yell, getting the attention of a man in a brown blazer passing us in the opposite direction. “If that was the case then you’d never step into any bar!” I want to add “idiot” but I hold back. I’m offended that she thinks so lowly of my intelligence that I’d swallow such tripe. I slowly resume walking again, looking straight ahead, and she grabs my arm, which I take as her way of apologizing, and says, “Oh come on, you know what I mean.”

“Obviously I don’t.”

“Look I just didn’t want to trek all the way to Dupont.”

“It’s only one stop away! It’s an extra 10 minute walk!”

“But it’s far!”

I think my face is turning red but I can’t tell. I take a deep breath through my mouth. “It takes me 30 minutes to come out here to meet up with you. And you’re telling me right now that you don’t want to take one metro stop to meet me at a bar that I take effort into choosing? This is… stupid.” By “this” I was referring to us, this relationship, but it doesn’t seem like she catches that. She doesn’t catch a lot of things.

“Calm down you’re just being silly.”

She is still holding on to my arm and I can feel my chest rising up and down whereas I didn’t before my outburst. With her apartment complex in sight the words “hot mess” pop into my head and now I remember why it sounded so familiar the last time I was here: it’s similar to The Killers debut album, Hot Fuss, a record that starts strong but quickly fades into mediocrity. In an unfortunate attempt to be taken more seriously, perhaps to mimic Coldplay’s formulaic success, The Killers have gravitated away from pop-rock monster hits to a mellower sound that is neither inspiring nor affecting. Plus Brandon Flowers’ lyrics have eroded into a realm of cheese that competes with trance anthems from the early 00’s (“Castles In The Sky” by Ian Van Dahl, “Heaven” by DJ Sammy, anything by ATB, etc.). This is most apparent in their third album, Day In Age, where only two tracks are not cringe-worthy: “A Dustland Fairytale” and “I Can’t Stay,” though neither have given me a compulsive urge play dozens of times a day like I did “Mr. Brightside,” and to a lesser extent, “Somebody Like Me.” “Mr. Brightside” still moves me, probably because I anchored it to a beautiful bartender I tried to sleep with who loved the song as well. I’m not so sure why she did since it’s about a man who quickly falls for a girl after just a kiss only to have his affections go unrequited. I think she’s in Greece now.

I don’t have to do or say anything to get into Rachel’s studio apartment—it is assumed. I walk into what feels like an Ikea showroom, because she’s in Ikea’s market audience and doesn’t know any better. I casually explore the space, use the bathroom, and then sit on her GRANKULLA futon. She joins me with her laptop and asks how I’m getting home. I say, “Don’t worry about it,” and watch her wrap up some work she needs to do for the next day. While on the futon she makes sure not to touch me. This has happened to me many times before; sometimes it takes a while for a girl to warm up to me when I’m in her place for the first time. I match her distance and take out my laptop from my bag. Left inside is my copy of Fathers and Sons, a tin of Altoid Peppermint mints, one condom (size extra large), Sennheiser ear bud headphones, a travel toothbrush, a travel contact lens case, and a ballpoint pen.

After she finishes her work I show her pictures from my time in Brazil. The first photo that pops up on the screen is of me in boxer shorts splayed out across a bed. I quickly hit the right arrow on my keyboard and say, “Uh that was taken by a… friend.” It happened over a year ago anyway. She seems to take interest in the fifty or so other photos I show her.

“So how are you getting home?” she asks, again.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not staying here.”

“Who said I wanted to stay here?!” I say. I show her more photos, from Argentina. Now I’m very sure there will be no sex on her MANDAL bed, next to the LEKSVIK nightstand, opposite the BILLY bookshelf. Ten minutes pass. Casually I say, “I think the Metro stopped running. Uhh mind if I crash on your futon?”

“This is only our second date! I told you you can’t!” she yells as she gets up from the futon.

“Alright you want me to walk home? Take a $60 cab? Great, okay.”

She says “I don’t believe I’m doing this” and orders me to get off the futon so she can pull it out.

Once the futon is ready she says again, “I don’t believe I’m letting you stay here.” I wonder why my luck is so bad that I found the coldest feminist in the city. Usually they are extremely easy because they don’t believe in “social constructs” like “whore,” “slut,” and “cum dumpster.” I begin to wonder if Rachel was sexually abused as a child, because I’ve never seen anything like it. But while I’m here…

She’s changing into her pajamas in the bathroom while I mill around the kitchen looking for a snack, something like a granola bar. I haven’t eaten in eight hours. She comes out and I stop what I’m doing to lean against the frame of the kitchen entrance, like James Dean, I’m hoping. She walks up to me and I extend my arms and she grabs them and comes into me. I bend my head down and she cranes hers up and we kiss. My hands go lower until they cup her ass and this goes on for about three minutes and right when I’m about to push her onto the futon she pulls away from me and I’m left there drooling with my eyes closed, searching for her lips in the air with my own. It takes me ten seconds to snap out of it. She is already laying in her bed.

I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and take off my contacts. Then I lay on the futon with all my clothes on, only ten feet away from her. It’s hard for me to accept that I’m in a girl’s place and not sharing her bed. In the darkness I tell her that when I was young my mom used to tuck me in and make me warm milk with honey. “You don’t have to make me warm milk with honey,” I say, “but I would like to be tucked in. And I want a goodnight kiss.” She asks me if I’m kidding and I say that I’m most definitely not. She sighs loudly and then gets out of bed, walks over, and kneels over me to give me a short kiss. I tell her to lay down for a minute and she lets out this aggravated moan, but does it. We lay side by side, kissing, and I’m being very careful not to trigger the switch that will cause her to scamper back to the bed. My left hand returns to its rightful place on her body and she seems to be getting into it, but her breathing is light and shallow. A girl about to have sex breathes heavily and lets out deep, elongated breaths.

Her hand is near my stomach and I grab it gently to lower to my dick but it doesn’t budge. Then I begin to roll on top of her and before I could complete the move she slithers like a snake away to her bed.

“How do you… how do you just stop like that?” I say. “It’s like you’re a machine.” She doesn’t reply. My erection goes limp and I fall asleep.

I take the same bus as her in the morning. Upon parting we make plans for a couple days later, a Saturday, and then she gives me a nice kiss goodbye. I didn’t consider not making plans with her but I set it up in a way that I’d be with my friends and she’d tag along. If she acts weird I can ditch her with no detriment to my night. I swear to myself that I won’t buy her anything. It doesn’t happen. She cancels on Saturday and tries to reschedule for an off-night. I tell her I already have plans, even though I’m free. I’m being played. I tried and I failed. I’m sour as hell. I never contact her again, and she never contacts me again.

On the same Saturday we were supposed to hang out, I go with Robb Report to a hipster bar, our second of the night. While I wait at the bar to order a drink, a tall, half-Asian girl with incredible bangs make eye contact with me. When I catch her she turns around to her friend. I tap her on the shoulder three times and say, “Where I come from if you look at someone you have to talk to them. You have to ask them… what their favorite flavor ice cream is.” I’ve never said that before, and am satisfied with the improvisation.

“What’s your favorite flavor ice cream,” she asks, smiling.

“Chocolate chip cookie dough, of course.”

Three hours later I’m fucking her on her friend’s uncomfortable leather couch. I try to fuck her a second time but my dick is half-soft from the scotch (and condom) and keeps bending like a cheap rubber hose. Her dryness doesn’t help. “I think you’re done,” I say. She lives in New York and I think I want to see her again. She’s affectionate and just as pretty as Rachel, and contacts me the next day just to say hi, but I still feel sour.

I did this to myself.

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Seeking Alpha
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Seeking Alpha
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What made you write this story out like this? Did you just feel like switching things up or are you working on a book? It worked well.

Days of Broken Arrows
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Days of Broken Arrows
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Very good stuff. Your best writing so far, IMO.

I really enjoyed the use of foreshadowing as well. Once I saw the words “women’s studies” in part four, I sensed trouble ahead.

It would be great for some of us to put together a compilation book like this, with our various oddball and hard luck stories about women.

jkc
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jkc
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well written, engaging story, Roosh.

you should rename it to Broken Furniture.

boru
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boru
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What?! Hot Fuss fucking RULED, man!

J
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J
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Nice story. A problem I’ve been encountering lately is going out with women I’ve already banged and they try to make me re-work for it like it is Date One again. After being denied one or two more times after I fade out. I can definitely relate to your sour feelings and then taking it out on the world by slamming three or four women you don’t care about in a week or two’s span to let out the anger and bitterness.

BasilRansom
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BasilRansom
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Roosh, nice to hear you used the “tuck me in line,” though it didn’t get you laid like it did for me. Great story.

GiantMidget
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GiantMidget
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Very well written. There are a couple of places that could be tightened up, like the paragraph about Coldplay. I’m sure its meant could serve a purpose but I felt like I was reading Hawthorne for a minute there. And only feminist like Hawthorne. Over all very impressive. Reading the line about grabbing her love-handle gave me flashbacks to my first lay, where the chick actually grabbed my hand and told me to “squeeze here.”

So I’ve always been of the opinion that we shouldn’t pay for girls till after we fuck them: “It’s a bad habit that I only let girls pay after I fuck them…”
You recognize this as a bad habit but I see it as a huge hole in your game. Of course I’m a total afc so this could be my inexperience showing.

Thank you for the service you provide to feminist sluts and afcs alike.

Maholo

speakeasy
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speakeasy
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Thanks Roosh, I was impressed with the color and overall quality of the writing. It was very entertaining to read. I think this is more of what we need and was is lacking on most sites dedicated to pick-up. That is, basically an anatomy of how it’s done, rather than just theory, real world working examples of how it all played out.

I hope you do more of these.

Carl Sagan
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Carl Sagan
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Liked the effort. Trying something different.

Writing is okay. I’m sure it will get even better over time.

W
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W
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Roosh was this fiction or non-fiction?

7: He went on about Mr. Brightside.. “about a man who quickly falls for a girl after just a kiss only to have his affections go unrequited”

which sums up the entire story

speakeasy
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speakeasy
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Btw, I think Roosh should send a copy of the pdf to that girl, lol.

The G Manifesto
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“Out of thin air GQ appears and reminds me that we have to go to a party down the street. I put my index finger up and five minutes later ask her if she wants to have a drink with me at a later date.”

From Part I.

Here was the moment of Truth.

You could have swooped her here, when you first met her and saved yourself tons of headache.

– MPM

The G Manifesto’s last blog post: Peter Schiff: Economic Armageddon?.

Karbrino
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Karbrino
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Wow, nice story. This is something we all can learn from it.

My question is, what did I learn?

GJ
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GJ
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Book excerpt?

Brutus
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Brutus
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Kabrino, I think the message here is: You can spare yourself headaches/heartaches at the beginning of any interaction with a women by not being fooled onto thinking she may be different than the rest.

If you notice a red flag (in this case woman studies) take it into heavy consideration.

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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Wow. You’re like a sad little child in a grown, hairy man’s body.

Were you ever capable of feeling normal human emotions?

roissy
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roissy
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when a girl tells me “womens studies” i step my game up a notch. those types are the sweetest victories. :cheerleader:

engaging story.

roissy’s last blog post: When You Know You’re Doing It Right.

finefantastic
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i like this format. more please.

finefantastic’s last blog post: E harmony.

Comment Ninja
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Comment Ninja
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I’m tempted to suggest that there was not enough comfort resulting in what’s referred to in MM as last minute resistance, but this was a lost cause and you did all you could.

No regrets man, and you got a killer piece of prose out of it.

crow
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crow
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Good stuff roosh.

Crow, now bringing european style loving to china.

sk3ptic
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sk3ptic
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best post you’ve had in months

Tits Baloney
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Tits Baloney
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At the end of this story you say that you feel sour.
The title of the story is “Sour Dick-Sucking Lips.”
One can only assume that it is you that has sour dick-sucking lips.
Is that true?
Also, this isn’t a very good story. Basically it’s a story about a whingy, malcontent who fails to correctly read the emotions of a woman he desires. He then blames his failure on her and justifies his self worth and fucking ability by bragging about banging a hot chick. Not terribly new or exciting stuff.
This story will interest few people beyond those that are familiar with you and your blog.

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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wow tits baloney, you’re fucking retarded for taking the time to say that

Phil
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Phil
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Well, you almost wore her down…

Phil’s last blog post: Guv’na says he had only “positive experiences” with Travis the Chimp.

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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Roosh is the mirror image of the “Nice Guy” asshole.

They say to themselves, I’ve been a nice guy to this woman, so why isn’t she giving me the intercourse I’ve clearly earned and am now due?

Roosh says to himself, I’ve been a good PUA and have done everything the EvoPsych pseudoscientists said I should do to this woman, so why isn’t she giving me the intercourse I’ve clearly earned and am now due?

Both nag, pressure, pout and sulk in an attempt to bed a woman and blame anyone but themselves when they fail. Oh, it was the feminism. That’s the ticket.

Tits Baloney is spot on. Roosh comes across as profoundly insecure and as someone who only finds self worth through the validation of constant fucking.

Emily
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Emily
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If you’re trying to take yourself seriously as a writer, you really need a proofreader.

shesaidno
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shesaidno
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One recalls what Dr. Johnson said of “Paradise Lost”:

“None ever wished it longer than it is.”

shesaidno’s last blog post: I once actually tried to game this girl.

Benedict Smith
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Tits Baloney – if you didn’t “get” the story, then it clearly wasn’t written for you. if you can’t understand the narrator, then step outside of who you are and what you think you know, and step back objectively for a second.
-Roosh – most of it felt unforced, ie: like I wasn’t reading a story, or an effort at writing a story, simply something unfolding (for the most part) naturually. good work. the use of small added details (he sounds like he’s eating something, probably grilled chicken) was succinct and well-timed.

Benedict Smith’s last blog post: “My god man! Don’t you know this is bat country?!”.

Stone
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Stone
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Great story. I think it’s a story, at least – doesn’t sound like something you would actually do.
I didn’t get one thing, though – maybe I read too fast – in part II you said you took her to NYC and fucked her a dozen times, I think? But in the end you never did?

RW
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RW
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There’s one fatal aspect to a chick like this. She will never allow herself to be part of your reality.

And that’s the only one that counts. The comment about potential sexual abuse is very good.

Although many who suffer from it, and there are many women who do, can go two ways. One they are fearful and somewhat frigid or they become nymphomaniacs.

They both go the self-declared feminist route though. And they never can have enough trust to know that a guy will lead them to a better reality. Their experience is too much to overcome.

Of course some guys are not looking to lead them to a better reality. But then again, they haven’t earned it either.

This girl is all to common in the northeast. She will eventually find some loser that fulfills her list of feminist criteria, and then will proceed to make his life more and more miserable year by year as she blames him for all her unhappiness.

Roosh got off easy. Lucky for him.

DylanSq
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DylanSq
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You should have jizzed all over her futon. Left her and her futon soiled.

Anon
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Anon
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ditto to Anon number 25. So pathetic– you are no better than the so called “beta males” you rail against.

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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Ha, you sound so bitter

shesaidno
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shesaidno
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These responses are taking a turn towards the nasty–and rightfully so!

What a horribly dull story!

shesaidno’s last blog post: Textbook hilarity.

anon
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anon
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I agree with #29, I’m confused because he said he took her to NY and fucked her, then at the end he says he didn’t. Can we get an explantion??

spaceman
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spaceman
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^ he was dreaming you retards.

spaceman
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spaceman
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roosh: all i have to say is , i would’ve been super cordial and tried to run tight game even if she was being lame, just for the lay. then never talk to her again.

sasser
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sasser
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Thanks dude, enjoyed the series. Accurately captures the strange behavior of women when they’re in that twilight zone of liking you/not liking you – they’ll be enthusiastic one day and cold the next.

My experience is that the buying temperature of a girl like this will unfailingly decrease over time – but with tantalising plateaus/minor increases that will keep you on the hook.

Had a similar experience with a chick a couple weeks back. Only after the event did I realize that my one and only real chance of banging her was literally on the first opportunity.

The G Manifesto
Guest

“Only after the event did I realize that my one and only real chance of banging her was literally on the first opportunity.”

The best chance you always have is when you first meet a girl.

Most guys cannot fathom it can happen. But it can and does…all the time.

When you first meet a girl is when you can escalate to sky high heights, and the whole thing seems “dream-like” to girls.

After the first night, “reality” sets in.

Reality is ugly.

– MPM

The G Manifesto’s last blog post: Down Economy for South Beach Models.

crack raiderrr
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crack raiderrr
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so real.

I can’t believe people are trying to criticize your writing! That shit is genuine, they’re just agitated by the content, so they try to nit-pick the writing style. Don’t buy it.

Your writing style is fine. Real strong.

And the story is damn entertaining!

You took a scenario that could easily be banal, since it happens all the time… and you made it into something very engaging. Thought provoking. That is, if you’ve ever thought about sex.

I’ve met a hundred rachels in my day… oh man…

shesaidno
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shesaidno
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“I can’t believe people are trying to criticize your writing!”

Stop lying to him. The story was poorly written and didn’t need to bet old as a “story.” It would’ve worked better as a simple essay with lots of “Is” and none of the wasted ambition.

shesaidno’s last blog post: Textbook hilarity.

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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good story. good writing.

Anon
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Anon
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Nice story.

Remember, fantasizing about a girl before you fuck her is THE KISS OF DEATH.

The more you act like a boyfriend, the less likely you are to fuck her. The more you act like a one night stand guy, the more likely she is to want to become your girlfriend.

Fuck her first, and everything else falls into place.

p.s. All the haters and grammar dykes, go to hell.

crack raiderrr
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crack raiderrr
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dude. how do you NOT fantasize about a girl before you bang her?

controlling one’s own thoughts is self-mastery of the highest caliber

Sunny
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Sunny
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Engaging story Roosh. Hope you had as much fun writing it as we did reading. Rich descriptions.

I think it’s time for a new video. Anything in the pipeline?

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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HAHAHAHAHAH

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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Having sex before both people are in love with each other is merely vigorous physical exercise sans emotion. It is hollow, draining, and it does not uplift you. It drains you.

This is why alcohol, seduction and pick up are necessary for girls to drop their pants so boys (not men) can get laid. There is no genuine human connection here. You fantasized about love, but still it eludes you. Doesn’t it?

“No one can tell you you’re in love; you just know it. Through and through. Balls to bones.”

I know you’ve caught a glimpse of the other potential, the possibility for real connection, of real trust, love and intimacy. But you cannot find it outside of you. It comes from within.

You are still young, but you are intelligent and perhaps wise enough to learn this lesson. You seem like a romantic at heart, but you wall it off due to fear. Fear is the antithesis to love. If you truly want love, you have to let go of that fear.

Through your self training and discipline, you may have become more self-aware and aware of others. However, you have to become more enlightened before you are ready to really love.

Keep writing. Perhaps one day you will look back on this and see the lessons it contained.