Get laid or die trying, p.8
Get Laid or Die Trying, page 8
Soon, however, the Nerd says she has to leave. I keep telling her she can stay at our house, it’s cool, but she insists on leaving. Whatever, she’s a major low self-esteem case. She keeps standing there repeating, “I’m a 4. I’m a 4!” Finally she makes her exit. I hope she gets home alive.
Taz, Brian and I start practicing our alpha caveman roars/grunts until a staff member tells us to shut the fuck up. The vibe at El Rio is getting really strange; the clientele seems to be getting younger and younger, it’s almost like an underage joint now. I attribute this to the dollar drink prices. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about teenage girls, but it’s certainly interesting.
The crowd parts for a second and I see this girl whom I almost fucked last week. I pulled her from Rio back to her dorm room at USF but was ultimately cockblocked by her roommate. She’s there with an entourage of what appear to be twelve-year-old gay boys. I mean, these kids are seriously underage, they are in fact fucking TEENAGERS. As she walks by, I reach out, draw her near and say, “HEY Alice!” She is very pleased to see me, as is Jon, one of the twelve-year-olds. We merge groups and go over to an isolated corner area. I sit next to the girl and initiate heavy physical escalation.
Out of left field, she informs me that she just broke up with her fiancé. “See? I just met you last week, and this week I broke up with him. See?”
I’m thinking, What the fuck is this shit? I just ignore it and bite her neck. Soon, I convince her and Jon to come back to our place, I tell them we are in a fraternity and we live in a frat house, emphasizing that “it is cool.” I figure the one guy will be easily distracted by my roommates.
We start to leave, but as we get about halfway up the block, three people come running up: it’s her annoying-ass roommate who kicked me out of their dorm room last week, another gay kid and some random dode she apparently intends to hook up with, judging by the way she’s hanging on him. The guy looks strange, like he’s on mushrooms or something. The annoying friend asks, “Where are we going? We’re coming along.”
The kid Jon pulls me aside and says, “NO. I do not want these people to come.” I know I should listen to him and prohibit them from coming, but I permit them to tag along. I am too drunk to stop myself from committing this tactical error.
We get back to my house and more drinking ensues. Taz keeps hollering fucked-up shit at the two kids:
“You look like you’re twelve! Oh man, this is a sting!”
“Wow! You guys are the gayest little dudes I’ve ever seen in my fucking life!”
“You’re so SMALL!”
He keeps saying this stuff OVER and OVER and they are getting pissed. I think it’s funny, but I do not laugh. Finally, I somehow get them to leave my room, and I’m isolated with Alice. I start the endgame. She says, “This is crazy, I don’t even know you!”
“What do you want to know? And why?” This shuts her up, and we continue kissing.
There is a knock on the door. I ignore it. I am sucking on one of the girl’s near-perfect tits when her phone rings. She doesn’t answer. It seems as though her friend Annoying has finished screwing around on my couch downstairs with the mushroom guy, and has decided that it’s time to go and that she will not leave without Alice.
Too fucking bad. She’s going to have to wait. Alice is enjoying herself. I tell her that “I wanna lick it” and take off her panties.
Yes. This is the moment I live for.
As I’m performing cunnilingus, her phone rings again. This time she answers it. I’m struck by the absurdity of it: she is talking on the phone as I eat her pussy, trying not to moan as she says, “No. NO! Ahhh ... oh... no, give me—ah!—fifteen minutes . . . ahhhh no twenty minutes! OH...”
This is bad and I know it, so I try to make it quick. I squirt lube on my cock and just as I get the tip inside, my roommate Alexandra starts POUNDING on my door, yelling something about “respect.”
Well, that does it, the girl’s state is completely broken, and she gets up. I open the door, and Annoying comes in and forces her to get her shit together and go. She says, “Alice, you so owe us for this one.”
I say, “Hey Alice, you don’t owe her shit.”
Annoying says, “Listen, guy, I’m not gonna let my friend just stay here.”
“I don’t understand what your deal is; nothing is gonna happen that she doesn’t want to happen.”
“Uh . . . yeah, but . . .” She has no real response to this. Be that as it may, Alice writes her number down and they leave.
Things go sharply downhill from there. I get totally drunk and hit Brian in the shoulder with an aluminum tee-ball bat in a blind rage, yelling, “GET AWAY, COCKBLOCKERS!”
Then we make a ruckus out front hitting cans into the street until the next-door neighbor, who happens to be an officer with the SFPD, comes out in his pajamas with his gun in his hand. He confiscates the bat, says, “Gentlemen, it is three in the morning,” and walks back inside.
In the morning, I go next door retrieve the bat. My neighbor just shakes his head and says, “What the hell were you guys doing last night?” I put on a sheepish grin, apologize and take the bat home. Looks like I’m really putting my best foot forward with the neighbors here. To make matters worse, I discover that one of the kids stole my sunglasses. Fuck that shit. I know where they live.
LITTLE MISS TWELVE GAUGE
I stand poised to log my first lay from an online pickup.
I’m calling her “Miss Twelve Gauge.” The girl is a solid 8. She is twenty years old and keeps a shotgun under her couch. She lives in the East Bay, about forty minutes away. She initially sent me a message on Friendster because she thought I was “hot.” I assume this was based on my photo, a ridiculous black-and-white “glamour” head shot (think Barbizon) and my profile, listing my occupation as Psychic Undercover Ass Model From The Future/Thug. In any case, she sent me a message out of the blue: “Can I make you my bitch?”
I replied, “I don’t know . . . CAN YOU?”
From there it was on, some banter back and forth about some “booty call” I was going on. I then sent her a lengthy message saying I had kinda lost faith in girls as a whole, because they were predatory and evil, and how I met this chick at the bar and she had an engagement ring on, and I was totally turned off, but the chick just wanted have her beta loser provider guy and also have this thing on the side with me, an alpha seducer guy, chicks are so fucked up, using me as a sex toy . . . how can I know if she’s any different? She sent back a message that was very genuine.
Yesterday she took it to the next level, initiating chat with me. I busted on her for thinking I was serious about being scared of predatory evil women (“Dork!”). Then I told her to come over and clean my house. I told her to come out to the Rio on Monday, indicating that I can get her in despite her being underage, “because I’m in the A-crowd.”
She said, “Oh you can buy me drinks!”
I simply replied, “HA HA HA.” I suggested she could perhaps get a “striped-shirt fag” to buy her and me drinks throughout the course of the night; after all, she was claiming she would be “the hottest one there.” She alluded to having me pick her up, but I squashed that and told her to take the BART. I got her to give me her number without asking for it by saying, “Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow.”
• • •
I call her and it’s set up: she’s gonna come by my place this afternoon, ostensibly to “clean my house.” She arrives in the city, calls me and I go to pick her up at the BART station. I roll up and want to get out and hug her to set the tone early, but she recognizes me as I drive up and jumps in the car. She is fucking hot, hotter than I expected. I am pleased. The mood is light, I’m feeling confident, drinking a Pabst Blue Ribbon. We get back to my place.
We talk about gardening. I show her my yard. Then I MAKE HER CUT MY GRASS. While this is happening, I’m tripping out; I have a hot young chick whom I met on the internet cutting my fucking grass for me. This whole process takes over an hour. Meanwhile, I’m focusing on RAPPORT. I know this is my weak spot, so I keep the cocky crap to a minimum, as I’ve already completed that stage. I do fractionate back occasionally, however.
After the ordeal with the grass, I am tired, so I lay down on my bed with her. I’m trying to position myself, but the damn cats keep jumping between us. I knock one away, and another jumps up. Finally, I knock them all away and I ask her how good a kisser she is. She says, “An 8.” I tell her I don’t believe it and kiss her.
Kissing lasts about twenty minutes, then I take her shirt off. Five minutes of this, then the patented “I wanna lick it” as I remove her pants.
She says, “What if I told you my pants don’t come off?
I reply, “Hmm, that’s weird, it looks like they come off!” I remove them swiftly.
More resistance as I try to take the panties off. She says, “I don’t sleep with strangers. I have morals.”
I just ignore this, say, “Yeah,” and take off her panties.
Then something horrible takes place. I kind of slide up on top of her, and I hear her SCREAM! For a split second, I think I did something to upset her, but then a searing sharp FUCKED UP agonizing pain shoots up my chest; something is TERRIBLY WRONG and I realize that my nipple ring has gotten locked up with her belly button piercing and it is yanking our fucking piercings out. I try to remain calm and move so that I can fix it, all the while she’s thrashing around and shit, GOD the pain is so intense it feels like my nipple is ripping off but finally I somehow manage to dislodge it, and I roll off, yelling.
My nipple is bleeding; there is blood coming out the tip of it like I’m fucking lactating. She sees this and says, “Oh my God . . . you’re pregnant with Satan.” Her navel is bleeding too. This kind of derails things. We lay there bleeding and shit for a while.
After a brief period of recovery, I take up where I left off and it isn’t long before I have her saying, “Fuck me from behind.” Awesome. I do her twice then drive her home.
At her house, she graciously makes me dinner. I decide to stay over and bang her some more. In the morning, she prepares strawberry pancakes and bacon for breakfast. We wash it down with Budweiser. I think I’m in love.
Upon arriving back at the Blauhaus, I find that she has already messaged me: “You rock.” This may be the hottest chick I’ve ever laid. I’m amazed at how easy it was . . . easier than an ugly chick! It’s something that’s said a lot on the forum, but it’s true: these techniques work better on hotter chicks. Banging this girl has shown me that I CAN get hot chicks and it’s in fact easier in many respects.
Total time from online meeting to lay: four days. I was skeptical, but now I believe. The internet CAN get you pussy, perhaps at the risk of losing some of your edge in real life, but I’m not complaining. This chick is hot.
Ahh, sometimes life is good.
I’ve got about three other online leads that seem feasible. Shit is getting out of control. I think I’m spreading myself too thin between my Rio chicks, my fuck buddies and my girlfriend. Now add this internet crap to the mix. I can’t keep track anymore. Time to trim down to a manageable stable.
TD AND PAPA AT EL RIO
“Fucking bastard, FUCK YOU! You fucking don’t return my calls and just fucking call me out of the blue to fuck! Fuck you, bastard, if I ever see you again I’m gonna KICK YOUR ASS!!”
Oh brother. Another threatening phone message. I should be accustomed to these by now, but this one is different. For one, it’s coming out of my answering machine at home, and this time it’s not from an employee. It’s from Haye. I fucked her back in March, and in the three months since then I’ve seen her maybe twice. Looks like she is a bit upset.
This chick knows where I live, and after this I definitely don’t want to ever fuck her again, especially in light of the fact she was down with the asphyxiation. Gotta pare down the stable before it spirals out of control. I have no experience with this, with chicks acting crazy. It’s odd, because I didn’t lie to her. I thought I did an excellent job of spelling out from the beginning that I didn’t want a relationship, that I have an extremely active social life where I see women. Basically, I let her know what the fuck I am: a player. I mean, Christ, whaddya expect, I picked her up off the street and we were fucking less than a week later. Who the fuck did she think I was... Ward Cleaver?
Bitches. Shit.
I erase the message. I have bigger fish to fry. I am awaiting the arrival of TylerDurden.
Papa’s coming through SF again, and this time he’s bringing Tyler with him. Two of the best guys from the online pickup community, staying at my place. This is going to be awesome. What’s even more exciting is that they have started conducting paid “workshops” where they take guys out to the club and do live instruction. There’s one scheduled here in San Francisco next week, and in exchange for my hospitality they’ve invited me to attend the program as their guest.
They arrive at around 8:30. I greet Tyler enthusiastically, like an old friend. He seems standoffish. He explains that he is tired as fuck as a result of his hectic travel schedule. Nonetheless, he begins methodically getting dressed for the club, spraying his hair before throwing on a fishnet shirt and a faux-snakeskin jacket. He puts a pair of sunglasses on as he walks up to me. “Dude,” he says, “I’m so exhausted that I’m not in the mood to go anywhere. Like, if I was invited to a Puff Daddy party I wouldn’t go. But I have to see the famous El Rio.”
Finally, we roll up to El Rio at 9:30. Of course, by this time there is a MASSIVE line outside. I am mortified at having to wait in line but TD is a lagger. I blame him entirely. I try to use my clout to get them in but it is a poorly coordinated effort and it just doesn’t happen. Chicks are laughing at me. “I never thought I’d see YOU standing in LINE!!! HAHAHA!”
Almost as soon as we walk in, a fat creepy gay guy goes caveman on Tyler, giving him an intense leer and projecting sexual state. Tyler is deeply disturbed. I pull him away and we go out back.
It becomes readily apparent that Tyler cannot STOP talking about game. He talks about it more than I do. The next thing I know, he’s forcing me to approach girls . . . groups of chicks much hotter than I am usually accustomed to approaching. “I’m doing this because I can sense your fear,” he says, “Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go.” He starts goosing me in the side until I do it. I run several sets in front of him. To my astonishment, most of the approaches go pretty well. I expected to encounter a higher level of “bitch shield” when approaching hotter girls, but it was really no different than approaching a 7, maybe easier.
After a few of these episodes, Tyler critiques my style. Most of my errors lie in body language. Holding my drink up instead of down at my side. Crossing my arms. Feet not far enough apart. Overgaming, i.e., too much ballbusting when the chick is obviously into me. Very insightful. While this is happening, Papa is spin-kissing a fucking model, unusual because model-caliber chicks are rarely found at the El Rio. She invites him to a party on Wednesday. I am impressed. I am inspired.
I look around and see a girl giving me strong eye contact. I go up and get her to buy me a drink, start running the standard shit. There is chemistry from the second I start talking . . . the chick is so into me it’s absurd. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, Tyler appears and says, “Hey, jlaix, let’s go to the karaoke bar.”
The chick asks, “Oh, you’re leaving?” All frantic. I eject.
I’m not sure why he pulled me out when it was going so well, and I ask him this with a slightly irritated edge to my voice over by the shuffleboard table. “You always want to do a takeaway on a high note,” he tells me. Okay, that makes sense. We leave the bar.
We go to the taco place first. As we are eating, who walks in but the same chick. “HEY! You weren’t at the karaoke bar!” After some talk, I simply throw my phone at her. She says, “What’s this for? To give you my number?”
I just give her a disdainful look and say, “Pfft. Be creative.” She actually punches TWO numbers into my phone before leaving. Crazy.
We go to the karaoke bar. I am riding high. I walk by the bouncer dude and say, “Yeah, you know who the fuck I am.” Inside, it’s intense, they have set up this bizarre, giant mechanical hog onstage and a fucking warpig woman is riding on it, all sweaty, singing Bon Jovi. A pig on a hog. This sends me to the ground in paroxysms of laughter.
The bartender, this chick with tattoos all over her arms, starts talking to me. Christophe told me that he was in there last week and she had been asking about me “Where’s Jeff? He’s the hottest guy in this place.” At the time, I thought he was bullshitting me to raise my confidence or something, but when I walk up to the bar now, she shoves a scotch in my face, free of charge. I start gaming her. I sing, and when I get offstage I see she has gone outside.
I follow her out with the boys in tow. She is smoking a cigarette. I grab it out of her hand and drag on it. She says, “You’re the best-looking guy in here.” I’m not sure how to respond to this. I ask her what days she usually works, then I go for a Spin Kiss. Problem is, I’m fucking wasted, and I fuck it up and actually INJURE myself, possibly incurring the first ever injury sustained from the execution of the Spin Kiss Maneuver. She has on some kind of metal bracelets, and I spin her around really hard, so much so that she spins like 540 degrees, and I notice the metal bracelets have slashed open my finger, there’s a flap of skin, and blood running down my wrist as we walk off.
Tyler, Papa and I get back to my pad and we stay up until four debriefing and going over all of the interactions with a fine-toothed comb. What a night. These guys are not only very skilled, but also very cool.
Tyler says, “Cool, man. It’s gonna be great having you as a guest instructor on the program. We’re going to give you a spot on the seminar panel too.”
I look over at Papa. “Guest . . . instructor? You didn’t say anything about that! I thought I was just going to attend the program for free!”
