- Joined
- Nov 14, 2017
- Messages
- 306
Did my first approach mission in a while the other day. Alas, as is usual in my current time and place, I bitched out on every last girl. But I still had some interesting experiences with body language and got several invitations. Ran into sticking points over age, following women, and “COVID” masks.
This was on a backdrop of profound, risky, and unusual intent.
Given natureʼs design in which females ideally seek to become pregnant by polygamous males and then sucker monogamous males into caring for the offspring, Iʼve decided to try to find one of these exotic beauties in the Central American country Iʼm temporarily living in who would be willing to get pregnant by me while finding some other way to provide for the child. There are various ways she could do that, but the post title alludes to this country having some supply of Western expats with zero game who Iʼve personally observed to look after babies obviously not theirs. Being white, I could give them a more convincing fake!
This was my first full approach mission since actually designing to impregnate a girl. Especially given how utterly erotic I find the thought of pumping my kidʼs genes into a beautiful exotic woman, it was my hope that this plan might give me a mental boost against pathological approach inhibition. I have felt an increase in my sex drive and boldness. Iʼve even gotten fully hard in public from checking out a chick. Unfortunately, it hasnʼt been enough to break the inhibition, at least not yet.
While it has always been a big problem for me, approach inhibition has been particularly demoralizing in my present location. The low population has made it catastrophic, yet at once the girls here are clearly more open to me, making the fact that I donʼt approach them all the more tragic. In the 6+ months Iʼve been here, Iʼve only hit on two girls. Got one of them home (and without spending a dime on her).
The mission here was about six hours of wandering streets in the afternoon and early evening, which produced a dozen or so decent opportunities.
To Be a Stalker
Noticed the backside of a girl walking up ahead.
Part black, part Maya, part white. Very sexy figure. Thick but tight thighs, full ass, nice muscle tone. Curly hair up in a bun.
Her skin was a light shade for a black girl. American rappers would call her a “redbone.” (And idolize her.) In the past, the lightness of her skin would have cut down my interest. Not now. I found her skin tone pretty. With that said, I still find that coffee‑black skin tone of those tall, cherub-faced South Sudanese beauties absolutely breathtaking.
Sexy chick and I were walking in the same direction, so I had time to take her in. I didnʼt take my eyes off her. Of course, having her back to me, she didnʼt notice right away. But I think she sensed me, because at some point she casually glanced behind her. Iʼm guessing she knew I had already been looking. I wanted her to know. Our eyes met immediately, and locked for a few seconds until she turned back forwards.
She continued walking casually. By her body language, I felt that she didnʼt mind me looking at her at all; perhaps even liked it. It felt really good to check her out shamelessly and be unafraid of having her sense my desire, and my unapologetic confidence seemed to have an effect on her.
Not 10 seconds later, she casually reached around and yanked up her shorts hard. I think she wanted to get them to ride up tighter on her ass, and I think she was doing that for me. I did sense this in the moment and I started to get excited that her sexy body might soon be mine and maybe even the vessel for my biological child.
I was intentionally walking faster than her, but not too fast. I was going to catch up with her, but itʼd take a good 30 seconds, maybe more. This road led to a nearby central part of town, and assuming she was going there, Iʼd have had plenty of room to reach her.
Instead, againt my hopes, she turned up a small street to our right. Mind you, she did this casually, certainly not like she was trying to dodge our meeting.
Unfortunately, this threw me off, because this was a quite small street, running only for a handful of houses. I felt that turning onto this street took away any plausible deniability that I was following her.
My unfortunately still very powerful socialization was telling me that if I turned down this street, that what I was doing was stalking her.
This concern may have been valid had this been a girl who hadnʼt displayed receptiveness. Unfortunately, Iʼm not quite used to a girl acting in the way that she did, so I didnʼt properly factor her interest level into my calculations of how much risk to take. All I knew is that following a girl down a small street is something that I donʼt do.
My brain was at this point suffering a nuclear meltdown. On one hand I was just filled with lust and with a degree of confidence that my lust might be welcome. On the other hand I was filled with terror that I was about to become a stalker.
I kept walking, up to the far edge of the intersection. I stopped at the very edge. Normally I would by the time I had gotten to the far edge have just resigned to chicken out, and would have kept walking down the main road. But my decision to try to knock up a girl had turned the decision to walk up this small street into potentially a matter of the life or death of my genes.
I put my pack on the ground.
In a feeble and probably counter-productive attempt to seem nonchalant or like I wasnʼt following her, I decided to take a swig of water first and then go up the small street.
As I was drinking, it occurred to me that this was a metal canteen I was drinking out of, which could potentially be mistaken for a flask of liquor. Even my considerably elevated abort threshold had now been exceeded.
As I got up to continue down the main road, I noticed that the girl had been going up the small street at snail pace. This dug the dagger even deeper, because on some level I was then made almost certain that she wanted me to approach, yet by this time everything had been completely bungled and thereʼs no way I could ever drive myself to do it now.
It later occurred to me that perhaps I ought to have just yelled to her or something rather than follow her up the street. Or run up to her on that street, as opposed to walking, such that Iʼm obviously not trying to just keep following her.
This was an enraging experience. But it was also a confidence boost, that a girl that sexy was inviting me to approach her.
Fear of Age is Back
I was walking along the main highway that runs through town when I spotted a cute Maya chick coming my way. Probably somewhere between 15 and 25. Iʼve been trying to keep my gaze on a woman for as long as possible rather than weakening myself by looking away for fear of being too aggressive. Itʼs still hit‑and-miss, but here I succeeded, and my reward was having her say “hi” as we were passing.
Iʼve been finding that if I solidly keep my eyes on a woman well past the time where it feels like Iʼm being impolite, some women become openly friendly. This started as an inner game thing — I was trying to train myself to not be ashamed of my desires, in the hopes that it would lower my approach inhibition. Thatʼs still a work‑in-progress.
This girlʼs response was mildly encouraging, but sheʼs not the only woman who gave me a response on this mission, and actually another one (not otherwise mentioned in this report) gave a much more blatantly positive response, to the point that any guy would have slapped me for just walking away — which is unfortunately what I did.
With the Maya chick here, I had an opener in mind, but something spooked me.
She had on a backpack. And there were several groups of school‑age youths coming from the same direction. It occurred to me that she may have been a school girl. I couldnʼt be sure she wasnʼt 15. And this was a very open location with significant traffic. Many people might see me, a younger looking but nevertheless middle‑aged man, stopping a 15 year old girl. Not that I thought she was 15. But it was a possibility.
I just said “hi” back and didnʼt stop her.
That made me really upset, because she could just as easily have been 19, or 23, and that may have been a perfectly good opportunity to finally bust my nut inside one of these Maya women who have been teasing me for months with their cinnamon complexion and beautiful, exotic facial features.
Itʼs not the first time this has happened. And if a young woman of this age range is with an older woman who I figure might be her mom? Forget it. And thatʼs a very common scenario here.
It doesnʼt help that recently a good friend called a politician who was embroiled in a sexual scandal involving a 17 year old girl a “pedophile.” Ironically, sheʼs above the age of consent in both the friendʼs and politicianʼs countries. He was implying a moral equivalence between fucking a fertile, biologically adult female who desires and is capable of enjoying sex, and luring a little kid into something their body is not primed for and which they donʼt understand at all.
It goes without saying I donʼt agree with that attitude, but at once I become fearful that I am living in a society that would judge me in that way. So, when Iʼm looking at a female in the age range where itʼs not easy to tell if sheʼs legal, I become terrified of harsh social consequenes for even so much as hitting on her to find out her age.
Back when I was first learning day game, this had been a huge problem for me. It was largely stopping me from doing any approaches, because it was hard to rule out the slightest possibility of a girl being underage.
It took a lot of work and a lot of self-love to overcome this and to totally reassure myself that itʼs perfectly normal and ok to be attracted to females that are sexually developed, full stop. Find out her age, and if fucking her would be illegal, just bow out.
Back home I did do this, and it very much helped me get laid: my first seduction was a college chick who Iʼd been scared might have been a high school chick. By then I knew to just find out; Iʼd already hit on a few friendly chicks who turned out to be in high school. Itʼs really no big deal and nothing to be ashamed of.
But that was in a city of millions. Anonymity. I have very little of that here. The other day, the lady at the laundry stand somehow got my number to text me that my clothes were ready, even though she had forgotten to ask for it. That terror of being seen hitting on what might be a minor is back in a major way.
A Mask To You!
At dusk, I came upon a pair coming towards me. One was a cute Maya.
Her not being alone, the inhibition was even higher. But I had to push through.
As we closed distance, the girl looked at me, took out a facemask and started putting it on.
God, that just pulverized my confidence that sheʼd like me to approach her. I have enough trouble as it is getting myself to appreciate that hitting on women is neither wrong nor unwelcome.
This has happened to me more than once recently.
I donʼt understand why a significant minority of people are still wearing masks in spite of mass vaccination, just about everyone now having immunity one way or the other, and the present variants being essentially a common cold.
The very low fatality rate canʼt possibly be worth all the social damage caused by these measures and the mass‑media induced hysteria. Unless youʼre Pfizer.
I realize that I shouldnʼt have let this stop me. If sheʼs going to shoo me off, so be it. She probably wonʼt, anyway. Although it feels like a rejection of me personally, this is just a ritual she has been brainwashed into and would have done to anyone.
Is there some clever and tasteful way to tease these chicks over their germophobia?
Bicycle Blues
Girls here often ride bikes. Iʼve never approached a girl on a bike.
Coming up behind you is more challenging due to short notice. Recently I figured out to use my ears. If I hear a bicycle behind me, I turn around to look. This gives a window to make eye contact, see if she is cute, etc.
The day after the mission, spotted a cute Maya chick on a bike. I was walking down a side street and coming upon one of the main avenues, which the girl was riding along at some distance.
Iʼd been intending to continue down the side street, and in past would have likely done so in spite of the girl. But the desire to reproduce led me to turn onto the avenue in the direction she was headed.
As I heard her coming up behind me, I looked back. We made eye contact, until I turned back forwards as she passed.
I was just stupefied, and in the brief moment did not know what to do.
In spite of having already planned to try to stop chicks on bikes by just yelling, “¡Amiga! ¡Alto!”
Had I not forgotten this mind-bogglingly complex plan, I wouldnʼt have been able to execute it, anyway. I donʼt yell at strangers. Hell, Iʼd be unlikely to yell to get the attention of a friend, unless I absolutely had to.
What the fuck is wrong with me?! Why am I so meek?? Alas, Iʼve been like this my whole life.
Here I should remind myself that casually knocking up some random chick involves some serious risks. I feel that the benefit of getting to spread my genes is worth those risks. But theyʼre much bigger risks than from yelling to a girl, or hitting on a girl who has just put on a mask because of me, or whatever.
I do think living in Ugandaʼs capital could help me. There are areas there where random opportunities would come up at vastly higher frequency than in this little town. Faced with the same scenario over and over and over, rapid-fire, there are only so many times I can go blank or chicken out before I finally yell out whatever is the Luganda equivalent of “¡Amiga! ¡Alto!”
Clearly, this little town is not a very good place to be fighting pathological inhibition, so itʼd be more efficient to just masturbate until I leave. The problem is, I find the girls here beautiful enough that itʼs going to break my heart a little if I leave here without having at least once deposited my sperm into oneʼs vagina. What makes it worse is that Iʼm 100% certain that a significant fraction of them would happily let me. Itʼs my own head thatʼs stopping me.
To put this into perspective, never having a kid with a South Sudanese chick is what would truly break my heart. But that doesnʼt mean the situation here is not painful.
This was on a backdrop of profound, risky, and unusual intent.
Given natureʼs design in which females ideally seek to become pregnant by polygamous males and then sucker monogamous males into caring for the offspring, Iʼve decided to try to find one of these exotic beauties in the Central American country Iʼm temporarily living in who would be willing to get pregnant by me while finding some other way to provide for the child. There are various ways she could do that, but the post title alludes to this country having some supply of Western expats with zero game who Iʼve personally observed to look after babies obviously not theirs. Being white, I could give them a more convincing fake!
This was my first full approach mission since actually designing to impregnate a girl. Especially given how utterly erotic I find the thought of pumping my kidʼs genes into a beautiful exotic woman, it was my hope that this plan might give me a mental boost against pathological approach inhibition. I have felt an increase in my sex drive and boldness. Iʼve even gotten fully hard in public from checking out a chick. Unfortunately, it hasnʼt been enough to break the inhibition, at least not yet.
While it has always been a big problem for me, approach inhibition has been particularly demoralizing in my present location. The low population has made it catastrophic, yet at once the girls here are clearly more open to me, making the fact that I donʼt approach them all the more tragic. In the 6+ months Iʼve been here, Iʼve only hit on two girls. Got one of them home (and without spending a dime on her).
The mission here was about six hours of wandering streets in the afternoon and early evening, which produced a dozen or so decent opportunities.
To Be a Stalker
Noticed the backside of a girl walking up ahead.
Part black, part Maya, part white. Very sexy figure. Thick but tight thighs, full ass, nice muscle tone. Curly hair up in a bun.
Her skin was a light shade for a black girl. American rappers would call her a “redbone.” (And idolize her.) In the past, the lightness of her skin would have cut down my interest. Not now. I found her skin tone pretty. With that said, I still find that coffee‑black skin tone of those tall, cherub-faced South Sudanese beauties absolutely breathtaking.
Sexy chick and I were walking in the same direction, so I had time to take her in. I didnʼt take my eyes off her. Of course, having her back to me, she didnʼt notice right away. But I think she sensed me, because at some point she casually glanced behind her. Iʼm guessing she knew I had already been looking. I wanted her to know. Our eyes met immediately, and locked for a few seconds until she turned back forwards.
She continued walking casually. By her body language, I felt that she didnʼt mind me looking at her at all; perhaps even liked it. It felt really good to check her out shamelessly and be unafraid of having her sense my desire, and my unapologetic confidence seemed to have an effect on her.
Not 10 seconds later, she casually reached around and yanked up her shorts hard. I think she wanted to get them to ride up tighter on her ass, and I think she was doing that for me. I did sense this in the moment and I started to get excited that her sexy body might soon be mine and maybe even the vessel for my biological child.
I was intentionally walking faster than her, but not too fast. I was going to catch up with her, but itʼd take a good 30 seconds, maybe more. This road led to a nearby central part of town, and assuming she was going there, Iʼd have had plenty of room to reach her.
Instead, againt my hopes, she turned up a small street to our right. Mind you, she did this casually, certainly not like she was trying to dodge our meeting.
Unfortunately, this threw me off, because this was a quite small street, running only for a handful of houses. I felt that turning onto this street took away any plausible deniability that I was following her.
My unfortunately still very powerful socialization was telling me that if I turned down this street, that what I was doing was stalking her.
This concern may have been valid had this been a girl who hadnʼt displayed receptiveness. Unfortunately, Iʼm not quite used to a girl acting in the way that she did, so I didnʼt properly factor her interest level into my calculations of how much risk to take. All I knew is that following a girl down a small street is something that I donʼt do.
My brain was at this point suffering a nuclear meltdown. On one hand I was just filled with lust and with a degree of confidence that my lust might be welcome. On the other hand I was filled with terror that I was about to become a stalker.
I kept walking, up to the far edge of the intersection. I stopped at the very edge. Normally I would by the time I had gotten to the far edge have just resigned to chicken out, and would have kept walking down the main road. But my decision to try to knock up a girl had turned the decision to walk up this small street into potentially a matter of the life or death of my genes.
I put my pack on the ground.
In a feeble and probably counter-productive attempt to seem nonchalant or like I wasnʼt following her, I decided to take a swig of water first and then go up the small street.
As I was drinking, it occurred to me that this was a metal canteen I was drinking out of, which could potentially be mistaken for a flask of liquor. Even my considerably elevated abort threshold had now been exceeded.
As I got up to continue down the main road, I noticed that the girl had been going up the small street at snail pace. This dug the dagger even deeper, because on some level I was then made almost certain that she wanted me to approach, yet by this time everything had been completely bungled and thereʼs no way I could ever drive myself to do it now.
It later occurred to me that perhaps I ought to have just yelled to her or something rather than follow her up the street. Or run up to her on that street, as opposed to walking, such that Iʼm obviously not trying to just keep following her.
This was an enraging experience. But it was also a confidence boost, that a girl that sexy was inviting me to approach her.
Fear of Age is Back
I was walking along the main highway that runs through town when I spotted a cute Maya chick coming my way. Probably somewhere between 15 and 25. Iʼve been trying to keep my gaze on a woman for as long as possible rather than weakening myself by looking away for fear of being too aggressive. Itʼs still hit‑and-miss, but here I succeeded, and my reward was having her say “hi” as we were passing.
Iʼve been finding that if I solidly keep my eyes on a woman well past the time where it feels like Iʼm being impolite, some women become openly friendly. This started as an inner game thing — I was trying to train myself to not be ashamed of my desires, in the hopes that it would lower my approach inhibition. Thatʼs still a work‑in-progress.
This girlʼs response was mildly encouraging, but sheʼs not the only woman who gave me a response on this mission, and actually another one (not otherwise mentioned in this report) gave a much more blatantly positive response, to the point that any guy would have slapped me for just walking away — which is unfortunately what I did.
With the Maya chick here, I had an opener in mind, but something spooked me.
She had on a backpack. And there were several groups of school‑age youths coming from the same direction. It occurred to me that she may have been a school girl. I couldnʼt be sure she wasnʼt 15. And this was a very open location with significant traffic. Many people might see me, a younger looking but nevertheless middle‑aged man, stopping a 15 year old girl. Not that I thought she was 15. But it was a possibility.
I just said “hi” back and didnʼt stop her.
That made me really upset, because she could just as easily have been 19, or 23, and that may have been a perfectly good opportunity to finally bust my nut inside one of these Maya women who have been teasing me for months with their cinnamon complexion and beautiful, exotic facial features.
Itʼs not the first time this has happened. And if a young woman of this age range is with an older woman who I figure might be her mom? Forget it. And thatʼs a very common scenario here.
It doesnʼt help that recently a good friend called a politician who was embroiled in a sexual scandal involving a 17 year old girl a “pedophile.” Ironically, sheʼs above the age of consent in both the friendʼs and politicianʼs countries. He was implying a moral equivalence between fucking a fertile, biologically adult female who desires and is capable of enjoying sex, and luring a little kid into something their body is not primed for and which they donʼt understand at all.
It goes without saying I donʼt agree with that attitude, but at once I become fearful that I am living in a society that would judge me in that way. So, when Iʼm looking at a female in the age range where itʼs not easy to tell if sheʼs legal, I become terrified of harsh social consequenes for even so much as hitting on her to find out her age.
Back when I was first learning day game, this had been a huge problem for me. It was largely stopping me from doing any approaches, because it was hard to rule out the slightest possibility of a girl being underage.
It took a lot of work and a lot of self-love to overcome this and to totally reassure myself that itʼs perfectly normal and ok to be attracted to females that are sexually developed, full stop. Find out her age, and if fucking her would be illegal, just bow out.
Back home I did do this, and it very much helped me get laid: my first seduction was a college chick who Iʼd been scared might have been a high school chick. By then I knew to just find out; Iʼd already hit on a few friendly chicks who turned out to be in high school. Itʼs really no big deal and nothing to be ashamed of.
But that was in a city of millions. Anonymity. I have very little of that here. The other day, the lady at the laundry stand somehow got my number to text me that my clothes were ready, even though she had forgotten to ask for it. That terror of being seen hitting on what might be a minor is back in a major way.
A Mask To You!
At dusk, I came upon a pair coming towards me. One was a cute Maya.
Her not being alone, the inhibition was even higher. But I had to push through.
As we closed distance, the girl looked at me, took out a facemask and started putting it on.
God, that just pulverized my confidence that sheʼd like me to approach her. I have enough trouble as it is getting myself to appreciate that hitting on women is neither wrong nor unwelcome.
This has happened to me more than once recently.
I donʼt understand why a significant minority of people are still wearing masks in spite of mass vaccination, just about everyone now having immunity one way or the other, and the present variants being essentially a common cold.
The very low fatality rate canʼt possibly be worth all the social damage caused by these measures and the mass‑media induced hysteria. Unless youʼre Pfizer.
I realize that I shouldnʼt have let this stop me. If sheʼs going to shoo me off, so be it. She probably wonʼt, anyway. Although it feels like a rejection of me personally, this is just a ritual she has been brainwashed into and would have done to anyone.
Is there some clever and tasteful way to tease these chicks over their germophobia?
Bicycle Blues
Girls here often ride bikes. Iʼve never approached a girl on a bike.
Coming up behind you is more challenging due to short notice. Recently I figured out to use my ears. If I hear a bicycle behind me, I turn around to look. This gives a window to make eye contact, see if she is cute, etc.
The day after the mission, spotted a cute Maya chick on a bike. I was walking down a side street and coming upon one of the main avenues, which the girl was riding along at some distance.
Iʼd been intending to continue down the side street, and in past would have likely done so in spite of the girl. But the desire to reproduce led me to turn onto the avenue in the direction she was headed.
As I heard her coming up behind me, I looked back. We made eye contact, until I turned back forwards as she passed.
I was just stupefied, and in the brief moment did not know what to do.
In spite of having already planned to try to stop chicks on bikes by just yelling, “¡Amiga! ¡Alto!”
Had I not forgotten this mind-bogglingly complex plan, I wouldnʼt have been able to execute it, anyway. I donʼt yell at strangers. Hell, Iʼd be unlikely to yell to get the attention of a friend, unless I absolutely had to.
What the fuck is wrong with me?! Why am I so meek?? Alas, Iʼve been like this my whole life.
Here I should remind myself that casually knocking up some random chick involves some serious risks. I feel that the benefit of getting to spread my genes is worth those risks. But theyʼre much bigger risks than from yelling to a girl, or hitting on a girl who has just put on a mask because of me, or whatever.
I do think living in Ugandaʼs capital could help me. There are areas there where random opportunities would come up at vastly higher frequency than in this little town. Faced with the same scenario over and over and over, rapid-fire, there are only so many times I can go blank or chicken out before I finally yell out whatever is the Luganda equivalent of “¡Amiga! ¡Alto!”
Clearly, this little town is not a very good place to be fighting pathological inhibition, so itʼd be more efficient to just masturbate until I leave. The problem is, I find the girls here beautiful enough that itʼs going to break my heart a little if I leave here without having at least once deposited my sperm into oneʼs vagina. What makes it worse is that Iʼm 100% certain that a significant fraction of them would happily let me. Itʼs my own head thatʼs stopping me.
To put this into perspective, never having a kid with a South Sudanese chick is what would truly break my heart. But that doesnʼt mean the situation here is not painful.
