The Player’s World
I looked down at my regular who was softly curled up in my duvet. Her little head poked up out of the top like a hot dog and the irony of her being a vegan lent me a wry smile. I sat down on the edge of the bed and lay one hand one the side of her face, which sloped from big eyes and high cheekbones done to a gentle chin. I caressed her cheek, then pushed the hair off of her face, kissed her softly, then wiggled the end of my nose against hers. She slowly let out a sigh of contentment which belied a warmth shared between us.
I stood, wrapped a towel around my naked body, grabbed my toothpaste and toothbrush and headed to the bathroom. 15 minutes later I returned, stepping out of a cloud of steam as if it was a sci-fi movie. She had started to get ready herself but was moving around groggily.
“I’m so tired,” I admitted, dragging her back onto the bed where I started to kiss her again.
“Mmm,” she agreed as she ran her hands over my arms and then my back. It felt good to have her small hands running over me.
I stood up again. She was still on the bed. I was of two minds.
Calling in sick would be dead easy. All it would take would be one text message to my boss explaining that I couldn’t make it in today, and that would be it. But on the other hand… there was the small matter of my conscience.
What defines the K-selected existence is conscientiousness. Conscientious people are hard-working, organised, loyal, and honest. Showing up to work on time every day is a key part of their identity. Prior to me entering the Player’s World I’d never called in a sick day, but now I’d done it a couple of times and when I did I felt an underlying tension. Both times, once I’d finished my lie in, I’d tell myself I shouldn’t have done this. It didn’t feel good even though I appreciated the free day off. I just shouldn’t have.
But it really would be as easy as one text message. Everyone else does it, I’d thought to myself on each occasion, and it’s so easy. Why is it so easy? Because it’s the K world and it’s built on K assumptions of character. The system works this way because it’s assumed that you are telling the truth: social trust. But what happens when the r-select enters the K-select’s world? They see all these systems of organisation which are oh-so-easy to exploit. Take this case, for example: I could easily expand my 25 days of holiday a year to 30, for free.
Everyone’s doing it anyway. It was typically r-selected way to rationalise my desires.The only difference is that before, I would look down on people who were doing it. But I still couldn’t make up my mind so I tried to outsource the decision. I grabbed a coin.
“Heads: I keep my head and I go to work. Tails… I can’t think of how to relate the two. But you get the idea,” I said to my regular.
It was another r-selected way of operating: refuse responsibility.
I flipped the coin up in the air and let the cold copper fall into my hand. I tentatively brought it down onto the top of my left hand: heads. It wasn’t the result I wanted but that’s not how flipping a coin works. It works because you hope for a certain result and in doing so you make your mind up.
“Come here.” I gestured for her to come over and put her hand on the erection straining against my jeans. I undid my fly with my left hand and put my cock in her mouth while I grabbed my phone with my right and rattled off a text to my boss. Looks like I wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t make it in today.
We woke up again around 11:30 and got ready for the second time that day.
“What’re you doing today?” she asked.
“I’ve got some… admin to do,” I said as I packed my laptop into its case, “and then I’m meeting R later on.”
“Yeah… life admin.” ‘Life admin’ meant finishing the final draft of Demolition Lovers and ‘meeting R’ meant meeting a wing to go Daygaming.
R was the sort of guy who exuded a kind of effortless cool. Each word which dripped like honey from his thick lips carried gravitas and gave what he said a kind of unexpected cerebrality. I say unexpected because he is an admitted natural who had been picking up girls for a decade. My initial assumption with naturals is that they don’t appreciate the deeper side of Game because they’ve never needed to.
R was in the Game to get laid and was loving it. At 35 he felt that he was at the peak of his powers and didn’t want to slow down. He went after sets straight away, pouncing on them like a bloodhound. It was impressive to watch. There was no build-up period. He just went for it. The downside, however, was that we weren’t taking turns on sets. I’ll make sure I mention that for next time, I thought to myself.
We finished up around 8pm. My last set of the session came near Piccadilly Circus and was a Russian woman who was married and was leaving the next morning, but would not come on an i-date. Still, we were coat to coat and the sexual tension was invigorating. Recently, I’ve been having a lot more sets such as these which don’t end in a number but still supercharge my state.
Even though R had gone I was up for some more Daygame. I decided I would walk up from Piccadilly Circus to Oxford Circus, then down towards Tottenham Court Road, before taking the bus home.
“Excuse me,” a voice asked as I was about to cross the road. I looked to my right and saw a guy of average height in an overcoat and an open flannel shirt which sprouted a decent amount of chest hair. He continued: “Are you doing Game?”
“Yeah, I am. My name’s Tom. How’s it going?” I offered my hand and he shook it.
“C,” he responded. C had already passed the first test of approaching another Daygamer: not doing a cheesy front-stop, which is cringeworthy.
I asked C about his Daygaming experience: he’d been at it for six months and had had his first lay. It marked him out as not being a weirdo, but I think he was still in the “but X says…” phase. I tried to explain my worldview as best as possible but it was difficult to pack in so much information in so short a time. No wonder beginner’s information is full of easy to follow soundbites. It makes me wonder whether I’m suited for teaching because I want to give the whole picture.
“You’re voice is familiar,” he told me, “have you been on any podcasts?”
“Yes, I was on a Tom Torero podcast. I can’t remember the number though. It was called, and I just want to clarify I didn’t come up with the title, I’m not that conceited: Beginner to Advanced in 15 Months.”
I opened my first set in front of him on King Street near Carnaby. It was another one of those sets where I got incredibly close, but didn’t close as she had a boyfriend.
“I think you should move your legs less,” C said. Oh ho ho C that is the wrong answer! I could hear the Family Fortunes ‘wrong’ noise play out above us, and then I went on to describe how the ‘alpha pose’ is a cue for beginners.
So here’s another tip for someone approaching another Daygamer: don’t critique their form unless you’ve been in the Game for longer than them. If you must, you have to frame it as a request for information along the lines of: ‘I’m interested to know why you do that, rather than this?’
We carried on up to Oxford Circus and then right towards Tottenham Court Road where I saw a girl walking towards us. I let her go by, gave C the eye code, then turned around and went after her. As I was approaching I got a sneaking feeling that if R was still here with me this set wouldn’t have been mine…
Long, dark hair. Big eyes and long eyelashes. Lips. Legs. Evita’s motion carried her forward and I purred. I felt as if I would expose two rows of jagged teeth and pin her against the wall immediately, if no one were watching. We shared a glance as we passed each other and I felt an immediate surge of animal strength.
I think she caught the blur of my jacket out of the corner of her eye, because as I approached she was looking over her shoulder and watching me come in. From that moment we locked eyes and I rounded her. She stopped immediately. “What took you so long,” her eyes told me.
“Excuse me. I hope you speak English, because you look very Russian…” Evita cut me off and offered her hand to shake mine.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Tom.” There was no point in finishing the opener, it would have just been over-Gaming. We shook hands and Evita immediately took one step forward, literally opening her legs for me.
Our conversation was effortless as we bounced between comfort and attraction, all the while backed by our simmering eye contact.
“So I was going to say I thought you looked Russian.”
“No, I’m Italian.”
“Ah I see. Why are you in London then?”
“I moved here last week.”
“Studying, working, what?”
“I’m a burlesque dancer.”
“Nice,” I replied with the perfect tone. I had to be approving but not thirsty, and certainly not self-righteous.
“But I studied Psychology as well. I want to carry on doing that eventually.”
“That’s good. So are you like a psychic mind-reader or more pop psychology?” I asked, offering the false dichotomy. She bit for banter.
“A mind-reader,” she responded with a hungry look.
“Hmmm okay, so what am I thinking of right now?” I smirked.
“You are thinking that you want to have my phone number.” I looked away and down bashfully.
“Evita, Evita… you’re good at this, “ I said as I smiled as if I had been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
I took the conversation from there for a little bit more comfort before wrapping things up.
“Listen Evita, I know you’ve got to get to work so I’ll tell you a little secret. You did read my mind because I think you’re very pretty and I did want your phone number. Another time I want to take you for a drink. “ She jumped on it and we exchanged numbers.
“Okay, send me a message. We can meet soon. In a couple of days maybe.”
I nodded and smiled. “Sounds good.”
Our eye contact lingered as we moved away from each other. She touched me on the arm and she only just remembered to say ‘goodbye’.
As you may have guessed the texting was dead simple. She agreed to my first date request and then went on to give big green lights. For example, when I pinged her saying I was making a Sunday feast (the date was the next day), she responded by saying “save a little for tomorrow” and then the devil emoticon. That emoticon is the biggest green light over texting if I’ve ever seen one.
And yet still I was second guessing myself. What if she was just a tease? What if she came on the date and when I started escalating she would tell me I was too forward? Completely ridiculous when viewed in hindsight, but I still had these nagging thoughts.
After a bit of faff I found Evita. We were meeting at the train station near my house but it’s bloody labyrinth, with more exits than you can shake a stick at. I waved to her, took two steps forward, then stopped and let her close the rest of the distance. Again I felt that surge of animal desire: black boots, black tights, a red tartan skirt, a black top and black leather jacket. Make-up. Pouting lips. Eyes.
“You look nice, “ I observed as I kissed her on both cheeks.
“Thank you,” she replied, “where are we going?”
“Ah there’s a little pub just around here. We’re going there first.”
As we stood at the traffic lights I pulled my leather jacket up around me. Eventually the lights turned green and I place my hand on the small of her back and guided her forwards.
“So do you have any tattoos?” Evita asked me as we walked along. She was escalating on me!
“I don’t, no. You? Wait, hold that thought.” We had reached the pub and slipped inside. The warmth was welcoming and I rubbed my hands together.
We took a look around and found a couple of stools at a large round table, before I went off to the bar and brought back a couple of beers. Some rock and roll played out of the jukebox and Evita couldn’t resist moving her body along to the music.
“Right, tattoos. You were saying,” I said as I returned.
“Yes I’ve got one big one, here on my leg,” she pointed down to her leg where I saw the beginning of a huge tattoo which sloped up the side of her body. “It goes all the way up to here,” she said as she drew her finger up her side to rest on her ribs. I drew my finger up her leg and then looked away. She continued: “and I have another one on the back of my neck.”
“Let me see.” Evita turned around and pulled her top down a little to show me.
“You know, “ I began, “when I first noticed you walking along, do you know what I thought?”
“What?” she asked, smiling in anticipation of information regarding herself.
“That you reminded me of a cat, “ I smiled and looked away, before bringing my eyes back to hers. Again there was that electric connection.
“Yes. The way you move your body, it’s very feline. But also, you know the way how a cat lies in the sun? How it finds that little shaft of sunlight and stretches itself out?” I acted out my words as I said them. “You’re like that.”
“Mmmm,” she purred and flicked her hair.
“And I like that. I find that I’m a very direct person. A very forward person.”
“I can tell,” she leaned in.
“And so I like it when a girl can take my energy. Of course I like beautiful women and feminine women. Of course. But that’s important to me too. What kind of men do you like?”
“Well. I like a strong man. And he has to be a gentleman, but a little bit crazy.”
“A gentleman but a little bit crazy,” I repeated back to her. “So tell me, would he also have to live in a castle?”
“Maybe,” she said laughing.
“And only go out at night?” she could see where I was going with this. “And also have long fangs?” I began to snigger as if I was a schoolboy who had made a fart joke.
“Oh yes I’ve got the marks just here,” she said, exposing her neck. I leaned in and looked then nodded with approval.
“So what did you like about me then?” I asked.
“Well you have a look. The way you look has a dark twinkle.”
“A dark twinkle?” I asked with feigned indignation. “I’m a good boy!” I looked away and grinned. Evita punched me on the arm.
“Let’s just say I don’t believe you.” She flicked her hair again.
“Okay okay,” I said, cutting that conversation thread off and moving on, “tell me a secret about you.”
“Hmmm,” she thought about it for a second, placing a finger to those pink lips of hers. “Do you want to hear a heavy secret or a light secret?”
“Heavy,” it was the obvious choice. “There’s no judgement here.”
“Okay well I moved to London 10 days ago. I was in a four year relationship in Italy and I just needed new surroundings. But I needed to work too.”
“Uhuh,” I nodded.
“My friend recommended it to me, so I’ve been working in a strip club.” It was another case where I needed to answer in just the right tone: approving but not thirsty, and not self-righteous.
“Hmm, okay. You can make a lot of money doing that.” My tone was bang-on yet again.
“Exactly. My friend told me she knew a girl who made over £1000 in one night. And anyway, it’s just talking to people. That’s how I see it. I’m just having nice conversations with people.”
I took her hand and looked at her rings, then her hair, and pulled her stool in closer to me. The tension was mounting.
She finished the last sip of her beer. She’d finished quicker than me.
“1-0,” she said triumphantly.
“I’ll have the same again,” I responded, and then sent her to the bar to get the next round. As she stood there, I made a point of checking her out so that she could catch me in the act. When she did, I play acted being startled and then looked up and away, but the act wasn’t over: I had to look her in the eye again and smirk. It added to the I-know-that-you-know frame.
Evita sat back down with our second round and we were thigh to thigh, facing each other. She had made proximity so easy to obtain and now I was going for the kiss but… she rejected it. After everything that had come so far, she had rejected my attempt to kiss her. Obviously I was a little miffed because of the violation of expectation but I soldiered on, knowing that I would try again in isolation between my first and second venue.
I rebuilt our conversation out of the ashes of our sexual tension. Her rejecting the kiss had killed it and I needed to set things up as they had been before. We easily fell back into our flirtatious rapport and were in continual contact. I drew my fingertip over her leg now and then in figures of eight.
With the second round out of the way, I told Evita we should go to the next place. As we walked down the street here was my opportunity for a second kiss attempt, except now in isolation.
I stopped walking, smirked, and then took her arm and turned her towards me.
“What are you doing?”
I drew her in and went for it, but again she moved back, rebuffing me. But I had her own words ringing in my ears: “I want a strong man,” so I put my hand on the back of her head and squeezed her hair. She took a breath in. Now when I drew her in I angled my chin up and pushed it forward so our lips would meet. After a nanosecond of resistance, she went all in.
I was 99.99% sure of the lay in that moment. It was the same as with Rose. Evita had responded very positively to a moment of hard dominance and it subcommunicated one thing: “as long as you march towards the lay you’ll get it.”
We sat down in my second venue in seats far away from the rest of its patrons with another round of beers. Our third pint each.
“So tell me,” I began the Questions Game, “what do you really find attractive?”
“I said. A strong man.”
“Okay, but what really turns you on?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just really enjoy sex.”
“Hmmm,” it was another of those moments to get the tone just right. “So do you enjoy it when…” I went on to ask her about the different things I like to do during sex and she agreed each time. As I went through I gradually changed the way I was phrasing the sentences from ‘do you like it when a guy…’ to ‘I like it when I do X to you’.
“… and how about if I slapped you across the face?”
“Yes,” she replied, “but I prefer this.” She took my hand and laid it across her throat. “And what about you? What turns you on?”
“Well, the things I just described. But I think sex should be animalistic. I’ve never been a fan of leather and latex. I think sex is the time when you let out the side of you that you don’t let society see.” I looked away and let everything sink in. “So when did you last have sex?”
She laughed. I could tell she was loving this conversation. “Four days ago. And you?”
“Three days ago.” I tend to answer this question in one of two ways. If she seems more r-selected then I give the honest answer. It turns them on to know you’re fucking left, right and centre. If she’s more K, then I’ll say ‘about two weeks ago’. In this case I don’t want to come off as a pussy hound. I want her to see me as the man she can have her adventure with, not an actual gang-banger.
“Who with?” she probed.
“Oh, a friend.”
“Ah so like a fuck buddy thing? That’s good. So do you like to just have sex or deep sex?”
“Deep sex?” I raised an eyebrow then interpreted what she was saying. “Well I think that after sex you have the most honest conversation that you’ll ever have. Just like how we’re having a very honest conversation right now. So yes, I suppose it is deep sex.”
I went on to ask her what her favourite position was and what her fantasy was.
“Excuse me,” a member of the staff had come over to our table, “just to let you know we’re taking last orders in 30 minutes.”
“Okay,” I said. I turned to Evita. “It’s fine. I know a great bar nearby which is open really late.” We’d nearly finished our drinks anyway so I downed the end of mine and said to her, “right, finish that.”
We stood up and put our jackets on then went over to the exit. I opened the door.
“Madame,” I said in a faux posh voice.
We trundled down the street and in less than two minutes were at my doorstep.
“Are you serious?” she asked.
I don’t know how to describe her tone, but it was as if she as saying ‘I can’t believe you’re making me do this.’ Now, of course, she was there completely of her own volition, but I think it could be down to the agreeableness of her hindbrain, and how her forebrain was yet again being lead on a merry dance. Still though, she was smiling throughout. I opened the door and went inside, then walked back over and playfully yanked her over the threshold. She stood in the hallway, still smiling, so again I playfully moved her forward by pressing on her back.
We got up to my room, put on a little bit of music, and sat down with a couple of beers. After a couple of sips I put mine down, then smiled and took her’s out of her hand and sat it down next to mine. She smiled too. I leaned in and kissed her, pushing her back onto the bed, but every now and then she’d pull her head away a little. She was loving the cat and mouse game. But it was fine, because I was too. I knew where we were headed and this was just part of the fun.
I drew my hand up her side and started to squeeze her tits. They were oddly hard and therefore definitely fake. They rose and fell in front of me. Two little, hard mounds. Heavy breathing is the best signal to go full speed ahead.
I stood her up and took off her skirt, top and tights, and then laid her back down and started fingering her. Again there was a nanosecond of resistance, before she went for it completely. All of our clothes came off and I put a condom on. I looked her in the eyes, enjoying the feel of her cold skin against mine, contrasted with the warm air of the heated room. I pushed my cock into her pussy and watched her eyes go wide. +1.
Another dirty birdy in the bag. She would guide my hand onto her throat and moan insanely when I choked her. The harder I squeezed the more she liked it. I took my hand off of her throat and put two fingers in her mouth, and again, she guided my hand, pushing it further down her throat so that I could feel her tonsils. I fucked her up against my wall, a mirror in front of us, and I reached around and started grabbing her fake tits. Not as tastefully done as #48’s but still, there’s a kind of sordidness about them which adds to the excitement.
I came, took the condom off, then threw it on the floor where it landed with a splat.
“When did you decide you wanted to have sex?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I just love sex.”
And then later on, as my heart rate normalised: “What’s your favourite part of my body?”
“Yours eyes. Like I said, they’ve got that dark twinkle.”
“Dark? As in violent?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Well I’m flattered.” It was great feedback. It’s what I had been aiming for. “So when did you get these done?” I said, gesturing to those hard mounds.
“Well when I was 18 I was a model, and I developed… what’s that thing when you don’t eat?”
“Yes, that’s it. I just wanted my boobs back.”
“Hmm, fair enough,” I replied.
Of course, just one time wasn’t enough, I had to fuck her more, and so I did. She was sucking my dick and I started to face fuck her, when she laid down on the bed, inviting me to go deeper. It was like porn, with her back touching the bed so that in effect my PUAnus was over the top of her eyes.
I considered letting her stay so I could have more in the morning, but decided against it. I walked her back to the train station and looked forward to the celebratory kebab I was about to devour.
“Bye baby,” she said as we kissed. She turned and went through the barriers.
A few things have been going through my mind since this lay. The first is that Evita is similar to Tamari, in that they’re both heavily r-selected. The only difference appears to be that Evita has accepted her nature and can enjoy her sexuality, whereas Tamari didn’t appear to accept her nature and has subsequently gone absolutely bonkers. I really enjoyed my experience with the former but the latter has one I didn’t want to repeat. Okay, I’ll admit, I fucked her one more time just to be sure!
But so what if I want to see Evita again? I don’t think I will. She’s clearly had a lot of sex. I didn’t dare ask her how many guys she’s fucked before. If anything she’d probably give me a truthful answer and I’d immediately be turned off. The thing is with a girl who has accepted her r side is that she is, ironically, just as much into conquest as we are as players. Once the lay is out of the way, then the sexual tension drops. There’s no “will they won’t they”. So if she does enjoy the thrill of a new sexual partner, why see me again in a distinctly organised way where she comes over every two weeks for sex? She knows I have regulars and I suspect she is the kind of person who wants everything in her life to be distinctly “irregular”.
My next train of thought regards Yes girls. Without a doubt Evita was a Yes girl. In fact, she’s probably the Yes-siest girl I’ve ever fucked from Daygame. I’ve had lays where I’ve taken her for a 45 minute drink and then back to my place for sex, but in those cases I think I was moving the girl forward purely of my own accord. In contrast, Evita actively helped me in this seduction.
So should I brag about this lay? Afterwards I felt like a giddy schoolgirl thinking “I fucked a stripper” and was able to tick that ego box. But was it just pure luck? I could feel the sexual tension between us; was that something that would have existed before I’d started Game? This is a topic I talk about in Demolition Lovers: the Yes Girl trap. As your Game gets better at all levels more girls become Yes girls for you and you start to wonder whether you have any skill at all. Are you just lucky? Are you just a natural? Has my “psychotic dark twinkle” been amplified by Game or was it created by Game? Are we in effect all naturals? By that I mean, was everything that made you successful just lying dormant within yourself, and therefore your success as a PUA is decided by traits, active or dormant, which you already own?