#45: Red Letter Day

So I’m out last Sunday with V. The sky’s grey, there’s a chill in the air. A standard London day. You know what I mean? I’d done four sets so far, or to be more specific, three sets which I shouldn’t have done, and one which I should, and did do. The latter set ended with a number. I saw a tall, blonde girl who turned out to be Lithuanian shooting across the road at Piccadilly Circus and my legs were moving before I’d told V to “stay here a sec”. The other three… hmmm… I just shouldn’t have done them. They didn’t fit into the three magic categories of approaches (unicorns, spidey sense, and DNA tug). I’m still having to remind myself that sets for sets sake is silly. I guess I’m still getting over “10 sets in two hours” guilt.

V, on the other hand, should and did get his 10 sets that day. That Sunday he reached “La Centina”; 100 sets. He’s still in the part of his Daygame career where the “10 sets!” command is law. So when he hit that number I told him:

“You know what, I’m nearly done… nearly.”

He was ready to go home but I wasn’t ready to end it yet; I didn’t have anything concrete in my pocket to take home and play with. I still put a time cap on it though, it’s best not to have a compliance based endpoint to your sessions.

“Let’s go up to Tottenham Court Road and back to Ocky Circus,” (yes we really do speak like that sometimes), “then we’ll both get on trains.”

“Yeeee fine”, he replied.

And so we did.

Alas, the streets were as dry as a hooker’s cunt after an all nighter… but not quite. Just as we got to Topshop I saw Sabina crossing the road to the other side. She was wearing a long red jacket and from the skinny legs that poked out of the bottom, when combined with her considerable height, I knew that she was just my type. As I said in my +1 post, a “London Eight”. I reckon in her home country she’d be a seven but in London she was proper hot tottie. Sabina was walking purposefully, though, so I had to shoot off from V, leaving him confused as to where I disappeared to.

“Give me a sec…”

“Whuh?!”

I was scared that she was about to go into a shop aka a black hole, but thankfully she veered to the left and went straight down the street. I followed intently, and when a gap appeared I got myself in front of her.

“Excuse me, stop stop stop”, it took a hefty amount of eye contact to lock her in place but her relentless pace was cut short. “I like this red jacket, you look like red riding hood delivering cakes to Grandma.” An absolute classic. “And the red glasses too…”, (she was wearing red rimmed glasses), “I guess it’s a theme.”

“No, not a theme”. She pushed the glasses to the top of her head and gave me the once over. Content, she crossed her legs and decided I was worth staying for.

People were streaming to either side of us but I ran my set as usual.

“So, what brings you out today.” I nearly always say this in set because if she continues from here, she knows that we’re officially in a conversation. It’s not a one-way value street emanating from my fine self; we need to get a back and forth going.

“Just some shopping. I need to buy some shoes.”

“Well,” I said as I looked her up and down, “sorry, that was just a cheeky opportunity to check you out.” Standard spike. “You’re not doing very well.” I pointed out that she was lacking shopping bags.

I found out that Sabina was Romanian and 20 years old; studying Maths at a top London university. I’d later find out that she studied PPE, but it didn’t really matter. This was where I started to piece together information which would come in use later.

“Wait, what’s going on?” She said as she shook her head as if she was coming up out of a trance. More information.

At this point, it would be a silly idea to try and elongate the set. I could say something ballsy like “I’m hitting on you” and then stack forwards, but because of the information I’d gleaned so far, it was pointless. I went ahead with my regular close and asked her if she wanted to get a coffee another time.

“All of that to ask someone for a coffee?!” She scoffed, but she still gave me her number.

I sent her my number and then met back up with V.

“Get the number?”

“Yeee”. And we parted ways.

*****

I was sitting on my bed, watching a Jordan Peterson lecture on existentialism with my hands down my pants. No, it’s not what you’re thinking…. But it makes me wonder about how people always say “wash your hands!”. It’s like, do they even think about how often guys scratch, aerate, or just fiddle with their genitals? And they’ve been doing it for millennia. Your little hand sanitiser ain’t changing nothing, punk.

My phone buzzed.

“So, when are you taking me out for coffee.”

Sabina had text me first, she immediately moved way up in my mind as to the likelihood of the lay. But then started to connect the dots, which of course you can only do after the fact. She had neat, clean clothing and was studying a serious subject. She had come from a poor country and was now studying at a top university. She’d asked in a very literal way what was going on. I didn’t think she lacked femininity, she was just very straightforward. Knowing this, I suggested the next day at 7pm in Carnaby Street, and she accepted.

It goes to show you that you should always give the girl your number at the end of a set. Don’t leave her a missed call, that’s awkward. I tried it and it’s weird when you’re standing there with the phone against your head, hearing the bleeps, while she stands there gawking. Better to just send the text, let her know it’ll be in her phone, then continue talking as she fishes her phone out. If she doesn’t have your number, it takes that possibility away, even if it’s just a small one.

We didn’t message at all after agreeing the logistics; I thought it would be silly to ping her the next day. She seemed like someone who could be taken at face value and therefore messaging her would show that I couldn’t suss her out.

*****

She was bang on time as well. Standing there wearing black skinny jeans, heeled boots, a strappy black blouse, and some kind of cream coloured blazer. It lined up with what I’d worked out so far. The one thing that stood out was her perfume. It was nice, and I smelt it immediately. Again I mentally increased the odds of sex because it showed that she was making an effort.

After greeting her I directed Sabina down the street to the Sacred Cafe, where we sat downstairs both sipping on cups of tea. Her’s was Earl Grey, mine, breakfast (with milk of course; ENGERLANNNND!!!). Mazz likes to use this as his second venue but I disagree. I think there’s only one seat in the venue which is great for physical escalation (a sofa at the back), and of course everyone makes a beeline for it anyway. I prefer it for venue one, because it does a range of teas and coffees even in the evening, but it’s not an everyday place where you’d get your morning macchiato. And even then, they play the music way too loudly downstairs. If people have good recommendations for a first venue near Carnaby Street which does non-alcoholic drinks then I’m all ears.

We went into comfort and I found out more about her university life and what she planned on doing after it. I could tell that she was a bit of a busybody, and seemed to be doing a lot of work in multiple societies. But that turned me on a little bit; let me explain. In all the sciences there’s always one girl who rules the roost and has her hand in a lot of pies. She’s the de facto hot girl of that discipline, and therefore is desired. However, this attention commonly makes her a little bitchy and entitled. This isn’t to say that Sabina was bitchy and entitled, well at least not to me. It’s just that I could imagine her being that way amongst her classmates. Now, the reason why it turned me on a little, was because it was an opportunity to be the guy fucking her while she lorded it over her classmates. When you’re in the classmate situation, you always know there’s someone fucking her… And I could be the one to tame her.

I threw in some colour by talking about the tea pots and how I was when I was growing up.

“I like these teapots, they’re very English. But when I was growing up I hated being told what to do, and I used to shout ‘you’re not the boss!’ when I had a temper. I guess I still hate being told what to do… Anyway. So, to mock me, my parents bought me this big mug with ‘The Boss’ written on it.”

She giggled at that and I think she enjoyed the fact that she was being let in on an embarrassing secret. Plus, there’s a humour in imagining me as being little at some point, considering my height now.

“Are you finished?”, I said loudly over the music. “Let’s go, I want to show you another place.”

“Ooh okay.” She replied. Maybe she’d been hoping all along that it wasn’t just going to be a coffee.

As I led her down the street to my second venue, The Old Coffee House (a recommendation from Mr. J), I assumed the bounce wasn’t on. You can read this and scream “but it’s so obvious!”, but remember, as I said earlier, you can only connect the dots after the fact. In the moment it always feels like the whole thing is running on a knife edge and that a wrong moment of calibration will scupper it. I thought that we had had a nice chat in the first venue, and that we would have one drink in the pub where I would decide whether or not the kiss was on. I didn’t think we had nearly enough momentum to move to the lay.

“What do you normally drink?”, I asked as she finished her cigarette outside the pub.

She look at me over her glasses in the manner of a luxurious cat. “Wine, or vodka, mostly.”

“Hmm, okay”. I put my hand on her back and we walked in and up to the bar. I laid a pondering finger on my chin as the bartender stood to attention. I looked around at all the trinkets on the wall before paying attention to their excellent range of ales.

“I’ll have a pint of this one please.” I said pointing to the desired pump. “And you?”, I asked Sabina.

“I’ll have the same”.

“The same?” I was a little confused.

“Yes”.

“Fair enough.” I shrugged. “Do you want a big manly pint or a little girly half?”

“Mmmm, a pint”, she decided. A pint? She reached into her bag to fish out her purse.

“No it’s okay I’ll get this one”, I said.

“I’ll get the next one.”

More information was fitting into the puzzle, and she’d just added a lot more pieces. So she definitely wanted two drinks and at least one of them would be a full pint of beer. Things started to flip and I considered pushing for the lay that evening.

We sat down in a corner booth and I ran up my escalation ladder, but I ran through physical escalation on her hands twice because I didn’t think I had enough confirmation. I reached over and looked at her little silver bracelet, but she didn’t quite flop her hand into mine. But later on, when we compared tans, she was very forthcoming in offering her arm. Content, I marched on.

“Another drink?” I said. It would be weird to go to another venue, I thought, as it would seem too Gamey. She’d already offered to buy the next round so it just seemed natural.

“Sure, do you mind if I have another cigarette first?”

“Sure.”

We left our two new pints (pints!) on the table and stepped outside. Two middle aged women asked for a lighter and seemed to be in a chatty mood so I bantered with them a little bit, and in the process completely ignored Sabina. I honestly didn’t mean to Game her in this way, she’d been behaving well enough so far, and the conversation only lasted thirty seconds. Still, it probably had an effect. They scooted off and we settled back into our conversation.

“Brrrr! I’m cold.” She said.

“Come here.” I pulled her in and gave her a big hug.

“Mmmm thank you”.

Less than a minute later.

“I’m still cold!” I knew an opening when I see one, so I pulled her in again, but this time tipped her chin up and kissed her.

It was now officially on. I’d made up my mind. Push for the bounce home by getting her heated up over our second drink. And I did exactly that.

I started the Questions Game and pulled her in closer to sit right next to, and whenever she would give me long sustained eye contact I’d pull her in and we would makeout. It felt a little odd, and I knew that she knew it.

“Is it bad to makeout like this in a pub?” She said while giggling a little.

“Yeh, a bit.” I replied devilishly, before pulling her in again and this time, pulling her hair. That got to her. I could tell. She started moaning and every kiss after that she’d be pawing at my lustrous beard.

By now, I had dropped my voice down completely. “What do you find attractive in men, like, really, attractive?”

“I like to be dominated”, she moaned into my ear. Praise jeebus! “How many girls have you been with before?”

“Hmm, around 40”, I replied. It’s best not to be too precise because that sets her Game alarm bells off.

“Hmmm, what to ask you next, ah! I’ve got it.” I let that hang for a second; the question was completely planned but I didn’t want it to seem so. “When did you last have sex?” I asked before turning away. It’s always best to let that question hit and then look somewhere else, if you look straight at her it can be creepy.

“Two months ago. I’m a person of routine. I was back home and I called up my ex-boyfriend.” Bingo.

She was pawing all over me by now and we’d nearly finished our drinks. “Let’s go.”

I didn’t need to say where, and when I pulled out my phone to order the Uber, she didn’t bat an eyelid. We did have a few problems though, and they were all out to cockblock me. First, it was cold, so I had to pull her in and keep her buying temperature high as we waited an inordinate amount of time for the cab to arrive. Here’s a pro tip: even though the end of Carnaby Street is on a road, because of one-ways roads, cars have to take a long winded route to get there. Set your location to Regent Street and then walk to that point. The next was that when the cab did arrive, he took a circuitous route to get us south of the river. I could swear he was rubbing his hands together with glee as we took, as far as I could see, all the wrong turns. The last aspect of this Trinity of Cockblocking, was his radio. All of his presets were for garbage music which didn’t suit the mood at all.

Anyways… mPUA as I am (the m stands for “massive-cock”), I managed to keep her in the right spot so that when we got back to my flat, it was still on. But first, I had to take an epic piss. I think I pissed continually for a whole minute.

I came back to the living room and poured a couple of drinks while she used the bathroom too. She returned just as I was finishing, and slinked on to the kitchen counter. I passed her a drink, we clinked our glasses, took a sip, and then were on each other like savages; I could tell that she wanted it rough. We ripped off each other’s clothes and I revealed her tight body, the kind that we get into pickup for. I gave myself an inner high five as she went about sucking my cock vigorously. I gave her a good facefucking for good measure, before throwing her on the sofa and starting to fuck her.

“You like my hard cock don’t you.”

“Yes! Oh God I love your cock!”

I slapped and spat in her face. “You’re Daddy’s little slut”, I growled.

“Yes! Yes!”

I carried her into the bedroom and finished her off in there, and we fucked twice again. Each time it felt like her pussy was sucking all of the cum out of my dick. Superb. Best sex in a while. I collapsed next to her and she continued writhing around in joy, before nuzzling into my chest and running her fingers through my beard.

“So how many guys have you been with?” I assumed the number would be high considering her sexual prowess and how easily she’d been led to sex.

“Three”.

“Including me?”

“No, you’re the fourth”

It made sense considering how she had said she’d had a boyfriend from 16-20 years of age. That’s a lot of sex and a lot of time to learn in. I guess my surprise was a contextual one, because any Anglosphere girl who fucked like that would probably have had at least 10 dicks inside her already.

“The other guys, how old were they?”

“Two were one year older than me, one was one year younger. This is the first time I’ve had sex with a man.” Golden.

“And when did you know you’d have sex with me?”

“When you pulled my hair.”

“Mmmm, nice”, I replied. “Well how about when you knew I wanted to have sex with you?”

“When you kissed me.”

“Well I would have fucked you there on the street”, I said, reprising a line from our earlier dirty talk. “How did you know I could dominate you.”

“I could just tell when I first met you. You make me feel so small.”

It was past midnight now and I needed to get up in the morning for work so I said she could stay or I’d walk her to the station. “It’s okay I’ll get an Uber.”

She got dressed, I put my dressing gown on, we agreed in principle to a fuck buddy relationship (let’s see if she follows through though), and I said goodbye at the door.

Yours unfaithfully,

Thomas Crown

16 thoughts on “#45: Red Letter Day

  1. I’ll have to keep “so what brings you out today in mind” – triggered a why didn’t i think of that moment.

    also really appreciated your post on age – amongst the wings i associate with, the guys who are really coming into their prime are between 27-29 and i presume that glory period is a about a decade or more before slowly dripping off . I’d always assumed the prime would be 28-36 assuming a guy takes care of himself and builds himself in his youth

    Like

  2. Great report. It’s easy to think in hindsight that you could have skipped several steps, sometimes they even tell you that afterwards. But it’s always better to play it safe.

    Like

  3. One of yout best lay reports so far I think, not only because I imagine her to be very yummie,
    also your writing style. The memoir writing got you heated up, I guess 😉

    ‘It goes to show you that you should always give the girl your number at the end of a set. … If she doesn’t have your number, it takes that possibility away, even if it’s just a small one.’

    Soooo true.
    https://socialparkour.com/2018/05/04/moscow-resi-with-krauser-d1/

    From my 10 numbers, 2 were really keen sets and would probably have contacted me already. Shit.

    PS: I think she turned your head a bit. Or are you faithfully ours now? 😜

    PPS: I like your new player name ‘McPUA’, sounds so… Scottish! 😬

    Like

  4. Tell us more about the face spitting. A spray of spit or an actual spit ball to their fore head?

    Like

    1. Yeah this Italian girl once wiped my cum off her face and slap it across my face. Fuck i was pissed off at the time. Walked out.

      Liked by 1 person

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