#41: Pumped And Dumped

This lay report won’t be in much detail because it happened over the course of a a few months, but there’s some interesting rumination at the end if you want to skip the scarce story.

I’m counting this as a Daygame lay because… it was. But more importantly, I’m counting it for 2018 rather than 2017 just because of the clear separation in first and second dates. If I’d taken a girl on a first date on December 31st then the second, and closed her, on the 2nd of January, it would be more of a toss up.

I met Martina on one of my classic Friday afternoon Daygame sessions. It was back in October and the weather was getting colder and colder as the days were growing shorter and shorter.

It was around my 7th set of the day when I was up around the back streets behind Oxford Street (the ones running off of Great Portland Street) when I spotted a long legged girl dressed all in black. She was a bit far away and was hurrying along, but given my penchant for her body type, I sped up.

Eventually I caught up to her and stopped her, opening with the fact that she was dressed all in black and it made her look very gothic. I was pleasantly acquainted with her face as well; somewhere around a high 7. She would have been an 8 if her nose was a bit smaller (it wasn’t hooked… just long). As in, she was definitely better than just “a regularly attractive girl” but not “universally hot”.

I guessed, from her accent that she was either a) Australian, or b) Polish. I was wrong on both accounts (she had a Polish-y face and the accent, I’d later find out, was born of her ex-boyfriend). She was actually Italian. Cue the regular teasing of “oh so you just spend everyday eating pizza and pasta and drinking red wine”.

She shit-tested me a little, asking the standard “do you do this all the time?” stuff, but I navigated it with ease. This would then go on to reappear on both dates, and each time I would bat it down she’d qualify and say how brave it was.

The only issue was that the set was quite short, maybe four minutes at the most, because she had to get back to work. I took her number thinking that on one hand the banter was good and she had the archetype which I normally do well with, and on the other hand the lack of grounding.

Later that evening I sent her my first ping, and she got back to me the next day. Overall, her texting was pretty unreliable, but nonetheless I got her out the following Wednesday where we met in Carnaby Street in the Sacred Cafe.

That was the first venue, where we mainly had a “get to know you” chat, but I worked in my verbal escalation too by guiding the conversation towards the types of men she liked.

I found out that she had recently broken up with her boyfriend of three years and was now looking to be more spontaneous. That sounds like a good sign right?…

She turned all of the questions back onto me but I thought I performed admirably, leaving a lot of open loops in. She’d ask something, I’d begin to answer it, then have a brainwave and turn part of it back to her. Then I’d remember that I hadn’t answered the question a couple of minutes later, explain a little more, and repeat the process.

I really enjoyed our conversation and liked her as a person (surely not!). She had a cynical sense of humour befitting her black outfit.

Two people sat next to us throughout: a girl and a guy. I could tell that the guy was being dominated by the girl a little bit. They looked like two friends where, if the girl wasn’t married by 30, then they would get together. He looked oddly like Stiffler from American Pie… I actually pointed that out to him and he remarked that he had heard it before.

Halfway through my first drink with Martina, the girl turned to us and said, “are you guys on a first date?”. Nosey so and so…

I was a bit miffed because honestly, that’s very tactless to interrupt someone else like that if it indeed was a date; she seemed like the sort of girl who expected to turn to our conversation and win our frames as well.

But I knew my role. I tooled her a little bit and asked whether the two of them were together.

The interrupter went on: “I can tell he’s really into you”. Jeez woman shut the fuck up and go back to your own conversation… I thought. But she wouldn’t let up.

“Where did you two meet?”.

Martina told her about how I’d talked to her in the street, and the interrupter flashed me an attracted look. That certainly piqued her interest, and that turned the tide of her frame attacks. I went onto to talk about online dating and how it was shit, saying it loudly enough so that the table next to us could hear clearly, and she soon left us alone.

So all in all, the interrupter raised my value, but I didn’t want to talk to her at all. I’d rather the date was between just me and the girl I came out to see.

We were near the end of our drinks and I put on my best posh English voice. “Excuse me my dears”, I nodded to my unwitting accomplices, “we must be off now”, and I took Martina down Carnaby Street and into the Soho Grind, where we sat downstairs on stools facing each other.

There I went into my physical escalation and I could tell she was being sucked further and further into my frame. At one point she pondered something, but I could tell it was time to go for the kiss because she pressed her fingertip to her lips.

Knowing that this was the moment, I went forward and kissed her. She loved it, going for it with her tongue, and putting her hands up in my hair. Another sign…

We finished our drinks, and here’s where I was an absolute doofus: I had decided, at that point in my pickup, that I wasn’t going to go for bouncebacks on first dates because I was tired of over-escalating on girls. Considering the kiss and her signals, I definitely should of. I’d later on ask her, after fucking her, whether she would have come back that night and she said yes.

So quite timidly I told her I best be getting home and walked her to the station. We kissed again, and again she ran her hands up through my hair. I suppose she was making her own last ditch attempt to get the signal from her brain, down through her arms, into her fingertips, and then through my thick skull.

I asked her to message me when she got home safe and didn’t (when I’d asked her to do it she’d come back saying “jeez okay Dad!”), and again her texting was unreliable in the next few days. I sent another date request and she ignored it.

I gave up on her, thinking that she had lost respect for me for not reading her signals, which sucked, because not only was she hot, I also enjoyed her company.

Fast forward, to Christmas and I was sending out my cheeky pings. I saw her in my address book and messaged her. She replied a little later that day, without a question. I thought she was just being polite.

Fast forward again to last week and I was bored at work. I sent the same photo ping of a bear sleeping in a stream with a salmon in its hand to a bunch of old leads, and she got back to me. The conversation was stunted, again, but I thought why not just go for it, and literally just sent her the two beers emoticon and a question mark.

She came back a few hours later saying “maybe Saturday?”. At the time, I was busy with my brother’s birthday, but luckily for me (not so much for him), he ended up being ill. I messaged Martina saying I was now free and we agreed to meet near mine that evening at 9:30.

Now I was paying attention to the signals like a hawk: she was coming out three months after the first date on very little communication, it was late, and the first time we’d met I knew I should have pulled the trigger. I felt quite nervous getting ready to go out and meet her as I always do when you know you’ll have to work fast.

I met Martina at the station again and got back to work: pushing and pulling her around and pointing out how Crown Plaza had everything she needed (I purposely only pointed out a hair salon, a kitchen equipment shop, and a supermarket).

We shuffled down the street and squeezed into a busy pub where I had a pint of beer and she had a G&T. We sat on stools again, and within 10 minutes I could see her eyes rotating between mine and my lips. Time to kiss her again, and she took it no problem, but no hands up in the hair this time and only a little tongue.

The rest of the hour we spent in the pub revolved around me playfully tooling her, and me describing how I was pretty much a bear who just eats salmon and honey, and sleeps (thanks to Infinite for that one… but I did photo ping her the bear before reading that part!).

Once we finished our drinks I led her out of the pub.

“Where are we going?”, she asked.

“Back to mine for another drink”.

“Okay, but you really should ask. You can’t just walk girl you met on the street back to your house!”. Oh how little you know… “What’s your last name anyway?”.

She chuntered on about how she never went to people’s houses without first knowing their names, but I could tell it was just her verbalising her LMR before we got indoors.

I poured some drinks, we sat down, talked for a few more minutes, I pulled her in, and it was plain sailing.

She had a cracking body and I enjoyed fucking her roughly. She was a little surprised at first, but got into it and we dirty talked each other. She told me how she wanted me to bend her over the table in the pub, and I countered with how I would have pushed her up against the wall at the train station.

I came, and she immediately went to put her clothes back on. I was a bit miffed: it was cuddle time!

I got her to sit back down, and had the PSI, where I found out that she had been in LTRs from 19 to 25 and was only now having her adventures.

I asked her how many guys she’d had sex with and was reluctant to answer. In the end she said seven.

I also asked her when she last had sex and she said about three weeks beforehand, with a guy she was “seeing”. I went for some more details but she never said he was her boyfriend and said it was just casual. Whether that’s the whole truth, or maybe he thinks it’s more than she perceives it to be, is up in the air. Overall, she was rather coy.

I gave her my EFA, and she agreed to it, but not in the way that most girls do. Normally they’re all for the FB setup because it’s the best they’re going to get, but she was more like “yes… maybe”.

I walked her back to the station and said goodbye.

“See you soon”, she said as she strutted away.


She blocked me on WhatsApp the next day, which was interesting, and I have a bunch of theories as to why. Here’s my most fleshed out and favourite:

She was indeed in a proper relationship with this other guy, let’s call him Blue Pill Bill. Bill thought that they were exclusive whereas she thought differently.

Being in another relationship made sense as well considering Martina’s serial monogamy.

She was reluctant to say her real N (settling for a very reasonable number) because its size would suggest that she had had a lot of indiscretions during her LTRs, and now, I was another. She didn’t want to think of herself as a slut.

That was why she was noncommittal to the FB frame: because regularly seeing me for sex would be too much to keep up with her balancing Bill as well.

She blocked me so that when I messaged her for sex in a week or so’s time, it wouldn’t pop up on her phone and there would be no incrimination. This way she has complete control over the messages she receives. If she reopens communication then I will give this theory extra credence.

It sucks, because she was hot and I did want seconds, but all’s fair in love and war, and I got the lay. It was thought provoking too.

On the other hand, maybe she just came on a whim, was lead along by my in-person dominance, left, and then remembered that she didn’t like me.

Or maybe she just didn’t enjoy the sex… Nahhh!!!

Yours unfaithfully,

Thomas Crown

7 thoughts on “#41: Pumped And Dumped

  1. I’m glad you dealt with the intruder and everything worked out. i would get reactive “do me a favour…fuck off!” then turn away and resume the date. Well done Tom, you handled it.

    Liked by 1 person

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