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- Jul 17, 2013
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- 1,490
I don't know whether it's coincidence, selective memory, or the manifestation of some actual statistical law, but when I'm about to give up a day-game venue for a bad job, very often a last-ditch effort seems to yield results. Chase talks about this in his "Maxim #3", which reads "Learn to Assess Importance Objectively", in the article How to Be a Man Women Chase and Pursue.
It's Sunday. I am in my favorite city park and have already walked a couple circuits without seeing any obvious opportunities. As I am just about to leave, I notice a feminine figure on a swing-seat by the lake. The swing-seats face out over the lake, obviously, so I am seeing her from the back and from a distance of perhaps 200 feet. I can tell that it's a woman, and a young woman at that, but not much else.
Well, she's alone, so there's nothing to lose, I suppose. I casually walk over to near where she is sitting and take up position slightly in front and to the right of her, still about 15 feet away. The idea is that she sees me pass and can view me from the rear if she is so inclined. I adopt a confident "hero" pose and look out over the lake, not apparently observing her.
After some 30 seconds standing in this position, I turn back, walk behind her swing-seat and take a good look at her figure as I do so. She's the curvy type: certainly not overweight, but oversize breasts, round ass, prominent feminine hips. I normally go for the willowy sort, but okay, I can be flexible
Now coming around on her left side I stand forward of her again, for a shorter time, then turn my head and look at her over my shoulder. She's a brunette and, boy, is she cute. She notices me at this point, of course, and I engage her immediately:
After a few minutes' conversation I ask her name, and give mine. She is visiting the city and has an arrangement with some friends here to help them during her visit. She flies back Wednesday morning to one of the states in the Rockies where she is currently undertaking postgraduate study in sculpture.
Another couple minutes pass and she takes off her eyeglasses, puts one stem in her mouth and gives me a sidelong glance. If she looked hot in her glasses, she looks positively delectable now. Deep brown eyes stare out at me from a creamy-white face, framed by hair the color and sheen of old, burnished oak. Her prominent cheeks and kissable lips, enclosing an apparently perfect set of teeth, complete the picture.
I can't help myself. I draw a sharp intake of breath and tell her she's sizzling hot and that I hadn't quite realized it before. I can't remember the exact phrasing I used.
She's delighted by my reaction... this is evidently her party-trick She explains that she sometimes wears contacts but didn't bring any with her to this city. I joke that the eyeglasses keep random men from pestering her. She takes it well.
We talk for around 45 minutes. She's highly intelligent and can discuss just about any subject under the sun. The whole mood is very relaxed and peaceable, on an unseasonably warm day at the lakeside in the park; I shan't bore the reader with details. The number-close went down as follows:
That just doesn't happen for me. I figure that now would not be a good time to piss around.
So the very day before I met SexySculptress, I asked my trusted hairstylist to do me a buzz-cut as per -B-'s suggestion. I don't know whether it makes me handsomer, but I think it is not a coincidence that I have seen a sudden improvement in women's responses. I met a lady yesterday who actually sent me an icebreaker less than 10 minutes after I parted company with her, using the number that came up on her phone when I made a canceled call to save her number. But that is by-the-by.
Next evening I get another unprompted text message:
The anti-flaking text exchange is revealing:
At her own request (the advice of her friends apparently) the date is in an attractive, quaint town within the metro area, just outside the city limits; the restaurant is of my own choosing following consultation with my colleagues who live there. Laying her is unrealistic given her early flight, the off-base location and above all my own modest level of progress so far in this discipline. I therefore set myself the date objective of making out with her. Not a brief kiss for a few seconds, but multiple solid, wet, deeply satisfying make-out sessions lasting minutes at a time.
I wait outside, on high ground with a good view. She has some small difficulty finding a parking spot and around two minutes after the appointed time I see her skip hurriedly into the venue. I follow her in and she is already discussing my reservation with the hostess, to my amusement. I come up behind her and lay my arm on her shoulder.
From this and a few other things I mention later, I think she has confidence issues.
We make wonderful conversation for about an hour. As well as responding to my prompting on deeply personal issues, the lovely girl places her intellect on display and speaks volubly about history, geopolitics, music and the arts in general, travel and even medicine. She tells me she's 25. Yeah, she's smart. And easy on the eyes with it
She orders modestly, drinking only iced water, while I have iced tea. For some reason she expresses a desire to pay a portion of the check, but I decline. (These American women sometimes overdo it a bit with the whole self-reliance spiel, don't you think? I do like their independent-mindedness though. And of course I love their beauty. Most of all, I admire their openness—giving out blindingly obvious approach invitations in the street, for example.)
I suggest a walk; it's a little cold, so I put my arm around her. She follows my lead well. The first kiss is simple:
After a few more minutes I actually tell her I want to kiss her again because she's going away soon, and she initiates. This one is longer still than the first and we really get into a serious make-out.
She tells me she enjoys kissing. She says she hasn't had a good, hard kiss for a while now. I ask how so, and she tells me that the dating pool in her little university town in the Rockies is severely limited. "Incestuous" is how she describes it, though I am not so unintelligent as to think that she means this literally. She tells me about one man who took her on a date. Apparently he was saying "I'm going to fuck you" to her repeatedly throughout the date. "You're hot, and I'm going to fuck you." She tells me that she replied: "No you're not. I know I'm hot, but you're gross." I'm not sure whether the point of this story was to illustrate the scarce college-town Rockies dating pool or to remind me that she's hot, she knows she's hot, and so do men. I express amazement that she accepted a date from such a man and she explains that he got very drunk during the course of the date... frankly I am left scratching my head.
I walk her slowly back to her car over the course of the next twenty minutes; we stop and make out several more times. When we reach her car I suggest that I get in with her and she agrees. "But that's all," she says. When I'm inside I ask her to explain. "That's all: talking and kissing." I give her the Okaaaaay look—this seems uncalled-for. Anyway, my objective is already achieved. She apologizes and starts prattling on again about her limited dating experience. I grab her and kiss her to shut her up.
We do exactly what the lady said—talking and kissing—for another half-hour or so. I qualify her on her body: frankly I can't help it, it's another instance of the words coming out of my mouth from sheer, sincere desire. I might not think I normally go for the curvaceous type, but when you see it set out in front of you... oh boy. She tells me it's "madmenesque", and goes on to explain that she has the exact same measurements as Christina Hendricks, who plays the office manager in Mad Men.
She drives me back to my own car. On the way she has the temerity to suggest again that I add her on Facebook, "even though we're attracted" as she puts it... not sure why she's making friendly overtures to a man she's just been kissing passionately for the past hour. I ignore this. When we reach my car, she tells me to think of her when I next see Mad Men and I assure her that I shan't be able to help it! We make out again for an extended period before we part, and as I say goodbye, she won't meet my eye. Perhaps she wants to protect her feelings, not get in too deep as she all but knows she won't see me again.
After her flight lands today in the Rockies I text her very concisely, expressing happiness at the times spent pleasantly together. It's an experiment more than anything... girls have seemed to disappear on me recently after kissing me, and though this one is out of physical reach, I'm interested to know what happens. She does indeed respond, in similar terms, shortly after. Well, that's a first.
I'm very happy at my own progress and grateful to Chase Amante and so many helpful members of this forum for helping me change my life. Since November 1 I have kissed four new girls (until then, I had been monogamous for 12 years, due more to lack of skill than lack of desire). Three of the four have been in cold approach: two on the first date off of day-game, and one on-the-spot in night-street game. The other, actually the first, was in peripheral social circle and on-the-spot (same-day of meeting the girl). I wouldn't have believed any of this possible a year ago. Thank you, friends.
-Marty
It's Sunday. I am in my favorite city park and have already walked a couple circuits without seeing any obvious opportunities. As I am just about to leave, I notice a feminine figure on a swing-seat by the lake. The swing-seats face out over the lake, obviously, so I am seeing her from the back and from a distance of perhaps 200 feet. I can tell that it's a woman, and a young woman at that, but not much else.
Well, she's alone, so there's nothing to lose, I suppose. I casually walk over to near where she is sitting and take up position slightly in front and to the right of her, still about 15 feet away. The idea is that she sees me pass and can view me from the rear if she is so inclined. I adopt a confident "hero" pose and look out over the lake, not apparently observing her.
After some 30 seconds standing in this position, I turn back, walk behind her swing-seat and take a good look at her figure as I do so. She's the curvy type: certainly not overweight, but oversize breasts, round ass, prominent feminine hips. I normally go for the willowy sort, but okay, I can be flexible
Now coming around on her left side I stand forward of her again, for a shorter time, then turn my head and look at her over my shoulder. She's a brunette and, boy, is she cute. She notices me at this point, of course, and I engage her immediately:
Marty: May I sit here, if you're not too busy?
SexySculptress: Sure!
Marty: (sitting) So you've been to the art museum, huh?
After a few minutes' conversation I ask her name, and give mine. She is visiting the city and has an arrangement with some friends here to help them during her visit. She flies back Wednesday morning to one of the states in the Rockies where she is currently undertaking postgraduate study in sculpture.
Another couple minutes pass and she takes off her eyeglasses, puts one stem in her mouth and gives me a sidelong glance. If she looked hot in her glasses, she looks positively delectable now. Deep brown eyes stare out at me from a creamy-white face, framed by hair the color and sheen of old, burnished oak. Her prominent cheeks and kissable lips, enclosing an apparently perfect set of teeth, complete the picture.
I can't help myself. I draw a sharp intake of breath and tell her she's sizzling hot and that I hadn't quite realized it before. I can't remember the exact phrasing I used.
She's delighted by my reaction... this is evidently her party-trick
She explains that she sometimes wears contacts but didn't bring any with her to this city. I joke that the eyeglasses keep random men from pestering her. She takes it well.We talk for around 45 minutes. She's highly intelligent and can discuss just about any subject under the sun. The whole mood is very relaxed and peaceable, on an unseasonably warm day at the lakeside in the park; I shan't bore the reader with details. The number-close went down as follows:
Marty: What time are your friends expecting you back?
SexySculptress: I'd better get moving soon.
Marty: If you'd like to meet for coffee or a bite to eat before you leave our city, I'd be happy to see you again.
SexySculptress: I doubt I have time; I promised my friends I'd help out as I mentioned. (catching her breath) I do like talking to you though. Are you on Facebook?
Marty: (long pause, exasperated look) No. And anyway I don't do that with women I'm attracted to.
Marty: I'll take your cell phone number if you like.
SexySculptress: Sure, just so long as you know I'm going to be a long, long way away. (hesitating for a moment) We could have dinner, once I get the job done.
SexySculptress: You're very sweet.
Marty: You too. See ya.
Sun 6:00 PM—Marty: Delighted to meet a fellow lover of beauty -Marty
Sun 6:00 PM—SexySculptress: Thanks, nice to meet you too!
That just doesn't happen for me. I figure that now would not be a good time to piss around.
Sun 6:03 PM—Marty: How about dinner Tuesday?
Sun 6:05 PM—SexySculptress: Depends how much I get done, I'll let you know.
Sun 7:13 PM—SexySculptress: I think that should be okay.
Sun 7:55 PM—SexySculptress: Sounds good.
So the very day before I met SexySculptress, I asked my trusted hairstylist to do me a buzz-cut as per -B-'s suggestion. I don't know whether it makes me handsomer, but I think it is not a coincidence that I have seen a sudden improvement in women's responses. I met a lady yesterday who actually sent me an icebreaker less than 10 minutes after I parted company with her, using the number that came up on her phone when I made a canceled call to save her number. But that is by-the-by.Next evening I get another unprompted text message:
Mon 9:27 PM—SexySculptress: Did you still want to go to dinner tomorrow evening?
The anti-flaking text exchange is revealing:
Tue 5:21 PM—Marty: Heading out shortly. See you later
Tue 5:21 PM—SexySculptress: Leaving now, very much looking forward to our date!
At her own request (the advice of her friends apparently) the date is in an attractive, quaint town within the metro area, just outside the city limits; the restaurant is of my own choosing following consultation with my colleagues who live there. Laying her is unrealistic given her early flight, the off-base location and above all my own modest level of progress so far in this discipline. I therefore set myself the date objective of making out with her. Not a brief kiss for a few seconds, but multiple solid, wet, deeply satisfying make-out sessions lasting minutes at a time.
I wait outside, on high ground with a good view. She has some small difficulty finding a parking spot and around two minutes after the appointed time I see her skip hurriedly into the venue. I follow her in and she is already discussing my reservation with the hostess, to my amusement. I come up behind her and lay my arm on her shoulder.
Marty: I've been following every dark-haired girl into this place.
SexySculptress: I'm sorry I was so hesitant... I'm so happy you invited me... I'm not very experienced with dating... I've only had two boyfriends.
From this and a few other things I mention later, I think she has confidence issues.We make wonderful conversation for about an hour. As well as responding to my prompting on deeply personal issues, the lovely girl places her intellect on display and speaks volubly about history, geopolitics, music and the arts in general, travel and even medicine. She tells me she's 25. Yeah, she's smart. And easy on the eyes with it
She orders modestly, drinking only iced water, while I have iced tea. For some reason she expresses a desire to pay a portion of the check, but I decline. (These American women sometimes overdo it a bit with the whole self-reliance spiel, don't you think? I do like their independent-mindedness though. And of course I love their beauty. Most of all, I admire their openness—giving out blindingly obvious approach invitations in the street, for example.)
I suggest a walk; it's a little cold, so I put my arm around her. She follows my lead well. The first kiss is simple:
Marty: How well do you see without your glasses?
After a few more minutes I actually tell her I want to kiss her again because she's going away soon, and she initiates. This one is longer still than the first and we really get into a serious make-out.
She tells me she enjoys kissing. She says she hasn't had a good, hard kiss for a while now. I ask how so, and she tells me that the dating pool in her little university town in the Rockies is severely limited. "Incestuous" is how she describes it, though I am not so unintelligent as to think that she means this literally. She tells me about one man who took her on a date. Apparently he was saying "I'm going to fuck you" to her repeatedly throughout the date. "You're hot, and I'm going to fuck you." She tells me that she replied: "No you're not. I know I'm hot, but you're gross." I'm not sure whether the point of this story was to illustrate the scarce college-town Rockies dating pool or to remind me that she's hot, she knows she's hot, and so do men. I express amazement that she accepted a date from such a man and she explains that he got very drunk during the course of the date... frankly I am left scratching my head.
I walk her slowly back to her car over the course of the next twenty minutes; we stop and make out several more times. When we reach her car I suggest that I get in with her and she agrees. "But that's all," she says. When I'm inside I ask her to explain. "That's all: talking and kissing." I give her the Okaaaaay look—this seems uncalled-for. Anyway, my objective is already achieved. She apologizes and starts prattling on again about her limited dating experience. I grab her and kiss her to shut her up.
We do exactly what the lady said—talking and kissing—for another half-hour or so. I qualify her on her body: frankly I can't help it, it's another instance of the words coming out of my mouth from sheer, sincere desire. I might not think I normally go for the curvaceous type, but when you see it set out in front of you... oh boy. She tells me it's "madmenesque", and goes on to explain that she has the exact same measurements as Christina Hendricks, who plays the office manager in Mad Men.
She drives me back to my own car. On the way she has the temerity to suggest again that I add her on Facebook, "even though we're attracted" as she puts it... not sure why she's making friendly overtures to a man she's just been kissing passionately for the past hour. I ignore this. When we reach my car, she tells me to think of her when I next see Mad Men and I assure her that I shan't be able to help it! We make out again for an extended period before we part, and as I say goodbye, she won't meet my eye. Perhaps she wants to protect her feelings, not get in too deep as she all but knows she won't see me again.
After her flight lands today in the Rockies I text her very concisely, expressing happiness at the times spent pleasantly together. It's an experiment more than anything... girls have seemed to disappear on me recently after kissing me, and though this one is out of physical reach, I'm interested to know what happens. She does indeed respond, in similar terms, shortly after. Well, that's a first.
I'm very happy at my own progress and grateful to Chase Amante and so many helpful members of this forum for helping me change my life. Since November 1 I have kissed four new girls (until then, I had been monogamous for 12 years, due more to lack of skill than lack of desire). Three of the four have been in cold approach: two on the first date off of day-game, and one on-the-spot in night-street game. The other, actually the first, was in peripheral social circle and on-the-spot (same-day of meeting the girl). I wouldn't have believed any of this possible a year ago. Thank you, friends.
-Marty
