#64: Long Live the Car Crash Hearts

I’ve figured recently that weekend afternoons are actually a poor time to Daygame. Sacrilege, I know. My reasoning is that if you head out between 11am and midday then you’ll catch more solo girls as they are on their way to meet friends rather than heading out in the afternoon when they are already in their groups. In the summer, for me at least, I have extra motivation because I want to stay away from the hottest part of the day; I tend to operate better in the cold (T).

I had begun that session around 11:30 and headed from Warren Street down towards Tottenham Court Road, stopping off for a flat white which I sipped on as I eyed up the girls coming towards me.

As I got towards the end of the road Kim and I clocked each other: slightly taller than the average girl; shoulder length hair with a reddish tinge; a nice pair of legs and a decent pair of tits. Seven. Her only drawback was a slight gap in her two front teeth which meant she looked better with her mouth closed. I wish she had kept her mouth closed more…

Though I didn’t see her IOI I could definitely sense it somehow (T). I let her pass me, stopped, figured it was a very good first set and went after her. Kim slowed down straight away and I teased her for her hair not being naturally red. She replied by telling me she really liked my hair: massive green light (T).

We talked for five minutes or so, or to be more accurate: she talked for five minutes or so and I worked a couple of touches in (T). I asked her how long she was in London for – she was from America – and with her only being here for five more days, organised a date then and there for the Monday (T).

The texting was a doddle and I had the date confirmed over messaging within a few hours; I thought it best to get it in writing rather than assuming she was agreed already.

We met at the tube station and she was wearing a nice tight pair of blue jeans which showed off her toned legs. I walked her off to a local pub and we sat on a sofa side by side. Usually I’d sit opposite for the first venue but it was obvious that I’d need to crash the car that evening so I skipped a step.

She began to talk. And talk and talk and talk. I began to see how crazy she was. She went on about all her cookie cutter (American) liberal views on racism and cultural appropriation and I sat back and went into fantasy world, occasionally bringing my attention back into the world of the living to gesture for her to sit closer and to look at a piece of jewelry or her hair. She took all of that so I was confident in simply letting her tire herself out while I moved her closer to my bedroom.

I’d finished my drink and so I sped her up by drinking some of hers as well (T), before bouncing us to a bar a few minutes away.

We sat next to each other again and I put a little more conscious thought into the date as I escalated towards kissing her, which went over fine. The first time, though, she kept her mouth closed but I figured that I’d planted the seed in her mind and now she’d want to have a proper kiss, which is what happened (T).

I tried to play the Questions Game with her but naturally, as a retarded liberal, she was unable to follow any kind of structure. I escalated my questions trying to get her talking about sex and she answered me well enough, telling me she was into BDSM and that she was pansexual (so literally retarded then) but then she’d return with questions like “what’s your favourite Disney movie?” and “do you know your Hogwarts house?” These are not questions I’d expect to come out of an adult’s mouth…

The whole thing made me think to myself: there’s nothing genetically wrong with this girl. I don’t think she could ever push up into the eight category even if she was five years younger (she was 24). She was doing perfectly fine from a physical point of view and admitted to putting a lot of effort into her body, and I commended her for that. She was just retarded. It felt like a complete waste of a pretty girl.

Again she got about halfway through her drink and then her pace slowed to a crawl so I decided to help her along, before saying “let’s go”, walking her down the street and up into my flat on the offer of having tea (T).

I did actually prepare the tea, just for show. There was no LMR. +1.

Afterwards I found out some interesting stuff: she’d decided she wanted to have sex with me immediately. That wasn’t such a surprise. She told me she’d had eight or nine previous partners but she wasn’t sure. I expected more but it wasn’t a huge surprise either because this girl probably had a supply problem. This was the surprise:

“I haven’t slept with anyone new for five years,” she told me.

“Wait, so are you one of those girls who goes for ages without sex?”

“No I need it pretty regularly.”

“So do you have a boyfriend then?”

“Yes,” she responded.

“Is it open?”

“Yes.”

“Well how did that happen then?”

“Well I was travelling in Italy ages ago and I was on the phone to him, telling him how horny I was.”

“You couldn’t just knock one out?”

“No it was a shared dorm. So we were talking on the phone and he told me that he knew how girls were when they travelled. That they would want some adventure. So he told me to go out there and find some.”

Cuck. Literally he’s a cuckold. He’s actually encouraged her to go and have sex with another man. I’ve known gay people to show lower levels of faggotry. Mental…

“So who do you think does better out of this arrangement?” I enquired. There was always one party who enjoyed it more, but ask both of them and they’ll smile and say ‘it works’.

She giggled. “Oh definitely me. He’s just so shy and introverted that I could never imagine him actually chatting a girl up.”

Well paint me shocked.

It was bedtime for me so I began the “kicking her out dance” and she got the message. As she got dressed I saw this look come down on her face like a wounded animal. Maybe this had dredged up a fear of abandonment which her single mother had imprinted on her. Maybe this was her last ditch effort to get me to care but it didn’t work. I didn’t care.

The problem with these girls is that they live a self-fulfilling prophecy. They don’t believe that a woman can add any value to a male-female interaction beyond their looks and vaginas. They don’t work on their personalities or pick suitable conversation topics because they’re indoctrinated into the school of ‘you’re perfect just as you are’. In fact to them being conventionally feminine is equated with treason. So when they don’t offer any value beyond their looks and vaginas, and you take your fill of that, they have nothing left to offer you. Like a can of coke which you drain then throw away.

Yours unfaithfully,

Thomas Crown