#62: Dead Simple

I promised this year that I would write executive summaries of my lays and then storify them for a book at the end of the year. The previous reports had all been around 1000 words but I simply couldn’t write this one up in so few words. It took a lot of time and there was so much to comment on as well. Enjoy!


It was an oddly warm April day – 24 degrees if I recall correctly – when Mr Rasputin and I were heading from Whole Foods down to Piccadilly and then to Leicester Square. For a change we went inside the actual square and didn’t go round the outside like two trailer park girls.

As we approached the fountain Diana rushed past us: shoulder length brunette hair, brown eyes, average height and wearing a long dress of different colours. A cute girl. She seemed to give me a slight IOI but it might have been just to avoid bumping into us (T). Nonetheless I followed her path with my eyes and checked out her wide hips and great arse. I gave Grigori the nod and went after her.

I had all the worst angles to approach; she was dodging in and out of people and I knew I had to get my approach in quickly (T). I settled for a side-on stop and then gradually wedged my way in front of her, telling her she had a very mediterranean look. Diana stopped immediately and her eyes locked in place with mine. It turned out that she was Portuguese and from a little village, studying a kind of science at a London university, which was fortuitous because I had just come back from Lisbon and so I could tease her a bit about small village life compared to the big city.

I looked down and noticed she was carrying a plastic bag and inside: a thick book. I thought it must have been one of her textbooks so I prodded it and asked her what it was. It turned out it was a book on Dianetics! It was actually a small sign of things to come, but no: she didn’t try to convert me.

“You must be very strong carrying this,” I teased while I checked her bicep to see if she was strong enough (T).

She seemed very chirpy, some might even say ditzy. Sometimes she’d cut herself off mid-sentence as if she was saying something she shouldn’t. Then she’d apologise. I think that she was experiencing a massive amount of brain-fry and which was exacerbating her neuroticism and agreeability.

I worked my way to a routine number close but she erred when I offered it. It was an odd reaction considering the strength of the set but I just pulled my phone out and put a new contact in (T), before walking back to Grigori and telling him about the set.

The texting went swimmingly: she messaged me first to say that she’d saved my contact (T) and her responses were quick and full of smileys and exclamation marks. Grigori and I sat down in Franco Manca in Soho and over the course of our pizzas I already had a date with Diana set up for the next day around lunchtime (T). I had to take a call in the afternoon and so I figured that, with her appearing to be a run of the mill K girl, I’d lay the foundations of the lay then seal the deal later that week.

We met the next day in Carnaby Street and I took her to the Sacred Cafe for a drink, where I went into the usual conversation topics and escalation for a first venue. Interestingly when I asked her what she found attractive she said beards, which made sense, but then:

“Boys who play games, but I don’t know why…”

I also found out that her parents were separated and that she had sided with the father after the divorce, which is very rare (T). I can imagine that by siding with the father it creates a wholly different set of daddy issues to what a player regularly encounters. Girls in that situation end up with a craving for a strong, dominant, masculine father figure and a genuine love for men, rather than the classic absent-father trope where the girl takes on the mother’s expectations of men.

As we talked she took all of my touch so I was emboldened to go further: touching her legs and hair up at the base of her neck. But something was distracting me: her phone. It kept on buzzing.

“Sorry,” Diana said as she rejected call after call. I looked at the caller ID and there was a heart next to it.

“Sorry it’s my boyfriend,” she told me after taking a 20 second phone call and then hanging up. It turned out that she lived with her boyfriend too.

Well then that changes things, I thought to myself. Not in terms of method: I was still planning on the second date lay. But it added a layer of risk wherein she might pull out of the process at any minute when she realised she was headed towards infidelity. Or perhaps she was just a timewaster after all.

We finished our drinks and then went to a pub where the touch ramped up; she even reached out multiple times to touch my hair saying she liked how it felt before snatching her hand back. I didn’t make any overt attempts to kiss her because there was no need to (T); I didn’t want to draw her forebrain’s attention to what was going on. I tried a couple of covert attempts though: lightly trying to move her chin as I played with her hair and later on as we left the pub I put her on a step to compare heights but she maintained a polite distance (T).

I saw her off at Oxford Circus station and thought about my next moves. I’d certainly continue the pursuit and would ping her the next day, which I did. She came back with the same enthusiastic response and I set up a second date for later that week. We exchanged Instagram accounts as well so she could get a better look at my lifestyle (T).

We met near to my flat and I took her to a pub around the corner where she was immediately touching my arm and talking in the same erratic manner. With the information I gleaned from the first date I built a tease which I kept on running throughout the date: that she was bored of her studies and was going to take her leather jacket and join a biker gang. Then go from town to town smoking and drinking and eating lots of chocolate (her guilty pleasure supposedly). (T)

From there we went off to a bar two minutes away from my place and sat thigh to thigh but there was nothing special said in terms of conversation.

By this point I still hadn’t kissed her – a record for me – but she wouldn’t allow herself be pulled into me. Without floppiness I didn’t want to go for an overt kiss close and so settled on trying it on back at mine. I knew that I had to make some sort of move on this date otherwise there would be genuine evidence that I was trying to be friends with her, which I wasn’t. (T)

When we finished our drinks I walked her straight back to mine. She hesitated a little on the doorstep but after a little bullshit about listening to music she came straight in, sitting next to me on the bed. I pulled her in to try and kiss her but no luck. A little while later I tried to squeeze her boobs to heat her up but she moved my hand away. After that she excused herself and left.

Fair enough, I thought, at least she knows, and can’t deny, exactly what’s up now.

This bubble burst was probably the most important. She knew what I wanted without a shadow of a doubt and her plausible deniability was drawing down by the minute. Still, when I pinged her the next day she replied in the same manner and agreed to meet again. Game on indeed.

I met her at 9pm the following week in the same spot and my plan was simple: talk about sex as much as possible. Even if she didn’t respond to the conversation topic it would still have her thinking about sex and associating those thoughts with me (T). I was hoping that it would give her hindbrain all the ammunition it needed to overwhelm her forebrain’s defences.

We met and I walked her straight to the same bar and we started the Questions Game immediately. It went as I predicted and she refused to answer some questions. I could tell that she thought that in not answering them she was doing nothing wrong, but sometimes she’d relent later on and answer the questions. (T)

When I asked her when she last had sex she told me the day before with her boyfriend, which was an interesting snippet of information because it was telling me that she wasn’t wanting for sex. It’s not as if they had a loveless relationship where they were rarely intimate. If she had said that she hadn’t had sex for a few weeks because of some relationship problem it would have fit the horny narrative much better.

Then when she would turn questions back to me I’d always focus the morals of the stories on how sex was natural or being independent or that cheating wouldn’t make her feel bad (T). I asked her what’s the naughtiest sexual thing she’d ever done and after resisting answering for a while she eventually told me that she’d wanked her boyfriend off in the back of her parents car as they drove them home. She asked me the same question and I told her the story of a lay from last year where the girl had a long distance relationship which had recently become open. It wasn’t really the naughtiest thing I’ve ever done, sexually, but of course I wanted to stress the infidelity-as-natural narrative and I could work a lot of pre-selection in there.

The second part of the plan was to simply walk her home again. She initially said she wouldn’t go to mine so I told her we were going for a walk and then just walked into my flat and she followed me.

Unfortunately I couldn’t bust her LMR. She’d be whimpering and looking at me, writhing against my body, sometimes grabbing at my jeans, pulling down my t-shirt to look at my chest hair (she loved hair), leaning in to kiss me but then pulling away and talk to herself:

“Diana you can’t do this! You’re crazy!” she’d say to herself, before looking back into my eyes and whimpering.

Sometimes she’d sit upright and look into the distance, then I’d tell her that we were just talking and that she should relax and then she would lie back down.

This went on for about two hours and her self-talk went from character based resistance (“I can’t do this, I’m not that kind of girl”) to resistance based on being caught (“I don’t have my shampoo with me, I’ll smell like a boy”) (T). I think it was in that moment that she decided that she would definitely have sex with me, just not tonight.

I was playing it the wrong way that night though: trying to kiss her. She’d obviously decided that kissing me was the line in the sand, that if she did she’d officially be a ‘slut’ (T). I tried to circumvent that barrier by touching her arse and boobs or fingering her over her jeans, and I did do the latter, but her cloud eventually lifted and she excused herself again.

Diana went over to her phone to look at the nine missed calls and several unanswered messages from her boyfriend. Every time I’d heard her phone buzzing I would reach up and put my hands over her ears just in case it brought her back to her loyal senses. She told me she would tell her boyfriend that she went out with her friends and got drunk. Just before she left I floated the idea of watching a movie together sometime and that she should think about which movie she would like to show me.


So the bubble had burst again and there was no denying on her part that I wanted to fuck her; the message was so loud it could wake the dead. I sent a photo ping yet again the next day and yet again she responded enthusiastically. It got me to wondering: should I keep on pursuing this girl? Perhaps she was just a timewaster who would extricate herself just before sex. It was possible but she would have to be a pro to pull that off.

Then there was the simple theory that I was a hypergamous upgrade for her and she would run as many illogical loops as she needed to get to sex (T). All the signs she had given me were of very strong interest and included her reaching out to touch my bracelets, hair, etc. The theory says that timewasters are filtered out by physical escalation, whereas on each date I had pushed forward the escalation.

I made myself a pact: as long as the escalation progresses I’ll go to five dates maximum. I’d normally never go that far, I’d normally blow the whole thing in the process by over-escalating. It’s not that she was outstandingly hot, it’s that I hadn’t been in this situation before: having the opportunity to fuck a girl with a proper monogamous boyfriend. They even lived together! I’d felt that I’d been hammering on the door of the secret society for years and now finally I could build a reference experience which proved my (perhaps temporary) entry without a shadow of a doubt (T).

This bubble burst period was different, though, because after the third date I went to Prague for 11 days. It worked in my favour massively and in fact, later on, Diana admitted that while I was away she couldn’t stop thinking about me. It was a macro level push after all the interest I had shown up to that point and let me DHV about being free and in control of my life (T); she had told me how much she wanted to travel and whenever she had brought it up I would always stress how good it was to be independent and do what you like.

But this time there was a tiny flicker of sexuality to our messages. I’d send a photo ping every four days or so and in the ensuing conversation there was this undercurrent of flirtation. Whenever I talked about behaviour or good girls and bad girls or being naughty or overindulging she would always include winks in her responses and play along, if only for a few words, in her reply (T). This wasn’t there previously. Before, if I’d thrown these elements in she would always focus on the other parts of my message. Or if there was no escaping it – if that was the only content of my message – she would sometimes not respond at all.

On the way back from Prague, just as I got to the airport, I messaged her and before the plane took off we had agreed to meet for a coffee and a movie that week.


Diana and I met in the same spot for the third time. One thing that Diana never did was change her style; it was always very casual: jeans and a t-shirt. In fact the dress she wore when I met her was the only time I’d seen her in something different. There was a small change this time, though: she had ripped jeans on. And one of the rips was on her upper thigh (T).

I casually walked her to a coffee shop, got takeaway coffees, gave her a cursory tour of the local area, led her to Sainsbury’s to buy a sweet cider and then took her back to mine. It was almost comical as we got close to mine:

“Wait a second…” Diana paused. “I think I recognise this place,” she said as she looked around.

The thing was she genuinely looked like she wasn’t sure whether she recognised it or not. Like the kind of reaction you have when you see something in real life which you could swear you saw in a dream once before. The lengths girls will go to get laid…

We got inside and settled in; I had scanned Netflix the day before and lo and behold they had Vicky Cristina Barcelona! I don’t usually care about what the film is but this cliched choice had all the elements I wanted in a film to encourage infidelity (T).

Diana immediately sat next to me on the bed but at a respectful distance. I knew my challenge and so I got cracking: feel how cold her hands were; handhold to ‘warm her hands’; pulled her over to sit closer to me; put my hand in her hair; laid my hand on her hips; then on her arse over her jeans; then on her arse under her jeans. She was writhing around against me as I squeezed her arse.

Occasionally I would stroke her skin with my fingertip on that upper thigh rip and eventually I dug my hand inside the rip and started to finger her. Remember that by this point I hadn’t even kissed her yet and she was still giving the kind of half-retarded-talking-to-herself reactions. I just followed the same procedure as last time: telling her to sit down and watch the film and I’d begin escalating a few minutes after (T).

The film finished and we were still wrestling with the LMR. Diana needed the bathroom and I saw it as the important moment that it was. Often a girl will go to the bathroom to make her mind up about sex: she either goes in there and psyches herself up to push forward and get to sex, or she comes back with her mind made up and leaves (T).

When Diana returned she was pensieve, looking down at the floor. I was sitting on the edge of my bed and pulled her over and she straddled me. I could sense something was in the offing. She allowed me to pull her head over to me but she still wouldn’t kiss me.

“I’m just kissing your cheek it’s okay,” I reassured her.

First I kissed one cheek, then the other, then the other, alternating but each time getting closer and closer to her mouth (T). Eventually our lips were touching, but there was still some reticence in there. We were there for a second but then the dam burst and we were making out and she was moaning… I thought I was home and dry. Finally! I thought. But then that forebrain came back for one last stand and she snapped to again.

“Let’s just sit down,” I said as we both lay back down on the bed. “In fact I’m a bit tired, let’s have a nap.”

I wasn’t tired, I just needed a push, so I lay there with my eyes closed and pretended to sleep (T). As I did, she played with my beard and my hair and I could sense her looking longingly at me. I ‘woke up’ and we kissed a few times but then she would pull away, so I’d go back ‘to sleep’ again.

This went on for fifteen minutes or so until I could sense that it was time for a big move: kissing her, pulling her hair and sliding my hand down her jeans to finger her; I’d taken off my watch about an hour earlier when I realised it was blocking my access. This was all to overload her forebrain and make that full blown assault on the finishing line (T). She writhed about in response and grabbed at my dick over my jeans. I desperately wanted to get my dick out but my arms were tangled up terribly. I couldn’t get it out.

I came up onto my knees while still fingering her then reached down, undid my belt – she looked at me imploringly – then I undid my fly, and got my dick out.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she said as she reached out to grab my dick and started wanking me off.

I continued fingering her and used my free hand to undo her belt and her jeans and pull them off of her. Then I freed both of my hands and took off my jeans and underwear.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she said as she opened her legs.

I went in. +1.

I was pretty horny because of all the LMR (the film was two hours plus an hour of messing about afterwards) so the sex lasted all of about two minutes. But her arse was as good as it had seemed in the first place: like two footballs hugging.

I didn’t want to do a full blown PSI because I didn’t want her to feel slutty. I just talked a bit nonsensically about food and about how I wouldn’t say that a pizza was bad because it didn’t taste like a burger. I messily tied that analogy around to expecting different things from different guys; that her boyfriend was the one to give her comfort and security, not excitement, but that’s just natural. Anyone with experience of the red pill will see that I was just explaining her alpha fucks / beta bucks hypergamy to her.

I fucked her again and again she said ‘we shouldn’t do this’ as she opened her legs. She came and afterwards turned to me and said ‘thank you.’ Banter.

Her reaction to the whole thing was as frantic as her behaviour the whole time, except rather than her jumping between “we can’t do this” and her showing me super strong interest, she went over to jumping between ‘how can I hide this’ questions and being plain happy. I could tell that she enjoyed the fact that she’d made it through her own forebrain resistance to the other side and her only concern now was not being caught. In fact she was rather chipper.

I let her have a shower and then walked her to the nearest Santander bicycle rack. She told me she’d go for an hour’s ride so that she had a reason to shower when she got back and asked me not to send her any suggestive messages because her boyfriend sometimes read her message notifications. I hugged her goodbye and that was that.

Yours unfaithfully,

Thomas Crown

2 thoughts on “#62: Dead Simple

  1. These stories are sometimes more interesting than the lay it self. Tight game mate.

    [Cheers. I think the main things involved were simply persistence, plausible deniability and continually escalating. TC]

    Liked by 1 person

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