#69: A Gutter Rat and a Total Wreck

It was my first day Daygaming in London since coming back from Warsaw. In the meantime the BBC Panorama documentary had hit the silver screen and the shit had officially hit the fan, for some. I powered through nightmares of troglodyte leftists beating me to death with rolled up Guardian newspapers and hit the streets with S.

We’d racked up a few uneventful sets between us and our session was now drawing to a close. S let me know he was going to run ahead and grab some food and then meet me for the final leg. We turned away from Tottenham Court Road, back towards Oxford Circus, crossing the street just by New Look.

I saw a good set coming towards me: quite tall; long, slightly curly brown hair; good face; general tanned-ness and dark features. An eight, I’d later confirm. I let S know that I was going to do the set and he walked off quickly. I slowed down and strutted as Annabel passed me. Though I didn’t get an IOI or feel an immediate burning desire to do the set, I knew that I had to just because you can’t let girls like that pass you. Her dark features offset my fair hair and pale skin so at least I had DNA complementarity working in my favour (T).

I opened and Annabel immediately gave me a suspicious look (T) as I made some silly comment about her long brown coat making her look like a teddy bear, or something like that. I continued stacking and found out that she was from Switzerland, a flag I didn’t have, and went off talking nonsense about her country. It wasn’t fireworks worthy verbal Game, but I did say it all in the right way (T).

She continued to give me a suspicious look but there was also sustained eye contact and I could spot some metaphorical darkness in her face, as well as her literally dark eyes and eyebrows. It reminded me of my SDL in Warsaw and after finding out that she was only in town for the weekend I decided to act the same as I did in Warsaw too: commenting on her hair and then reaching up to touch it, quite near her ear, which she completely accepted.

“What’re your plans this evening?” I asked.

“Oh, just going to get a slice of cake and then head back to my hotel.”

“Well I’ve got a much better idea,” I began, “how about we go for a drink now. Come on, you’re on an adventure in a new city and I’m a real life Englishman.”

She ummed for a second and I could see that she was there for the taking so I cajoled her down the street and into Bradley’s Spanish Bar (T). She had a medium (note not small) glass of red wine and I ordered a beer. It was busy inside, but warm enough outside, and so we stood there, facing each other.

My verbals during the set, word-wise, had been uninspired, but once the beer hit I took off. My vibe went from coasting to 100mph in about one minute and I verbally destroyed over the course of our drinks (T). Now her eye contact had lost its suspicious edge and instead there was a mixture of desire, her guilt for it, and her concern over what that desire meant for her character. Occasionally she’d look down demurely.

I pushed my advantage and racheted up my physical escalation, moving in and out of her personal space and trying to kiss her a couple of times (T). She deflected it but more importantly I recovered and she never excused herself. It was bloody obvious what my intentions were and she left herself in the danger zone (T).

Then, as a lot of girls will do when seriously considering such a choice, she began to talk to herself:

“It’s just a kiss so what’s so important… nothing is going to happen.” She looked up at me: “I have to tell you that nothing is going to happen tonight.”

This happened a few times over the course of that drink.

“I also must tell you I haven’t… been….”

“Yes?” I said, cocking an eyebrow.

“I’ve not…”

“Uhuhhh,” I coaxed.

“I’ve not been with anyone for two years. Well, I’ve been on dates. But I always found a way to not… You shouldn’t get any ideas!”

“Well I can tell you,” I said, smiling inwardly and outwardly, “that I haven’t been listening to anything you say. It’s just in one ear, out the other. You see, my brain is very, very small. Like a peanut. And all I think about is food and sleep. Us Brits, we’re simple folk you see. Very simple folk. Same again?”

Annabel looked up, surprised, not quite sure what I was talking about for a second. She ummed again in the same way as before (T).

“Come on,” I told her, “you’re on an adventure, remember?”

“Okay,” she acquiesced.

I returned five minutes later with the same again, grateful that she hadn’t just ran away in the meantime. That break had been her opportunity to slink off unnoticed and she’d passed up on it. Game on!

I continued my conceited prattle, moving in and out, trying to find the right moment to kiss her. I began escalating the conversation more, talking about sexual topics and asking her what her favourite part of her body was. I asked her what turned her on: a man taking control and that she wanted to feel weak around him (T). I took that as an opportunity to take a fistful of her hair at the base of her neck and pull it slightly: always a hit with the ladies! I left my hand there and moved my face towards hers but she dipped her chin down. She didn’t move away though, so I tipped that chin up and kissed her. She went for it strongly and I knew the tide was turning in my favour.

Her demeanour from there changed completely; there was no longer any looking down or away. She looked deep into my eyes with a kind of exuberance and beamed a big smile (The Switch): finally she’d found a man she could be happy fucking. I’d talk for extended periods at a time and she’d have to stop me to ask me to repeat myself because she couldn’t follow what I was saying. It was a complete hindbrain takeover.

At this point I think the lay was mine to lose but I was reticent to pull home straight away because I thought that I needed one extra venue to reduce the chance of ASD raising its head (T). That’s exactly what I did and after fifteen minutes necking a cocktail in a nearby bar she enthusiastically agreed to coming back to mine.

No LMR. +1. Go me.

There was something souring to the experience, though. As I fucked her she began saying “tell me you don’t like me.” I was thinking oh don’t be that way. Like I said, it just soured the experience: a secret crazy. I mean, maybe she was just a regular girl and I’d inspired it in her, but the “trust issues [her] last relationship created” and some potential daddy issues made me think she probably was just a crazy.

It amazed me the range of experience and emotion which Annabel had been through that night. Walking along minding her own business, being suspicious at first, then being attracted but guilty for it, before finally giving in to her desires, being full of happiness, and then finally breaking down. Daygame means you meet everyone.

Yours unfaithfully,

Thomas Crown

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