Here is a fun post. It is my first successful journal entry using The Game & MM stuff. Life is a funny ass journey.
Nannette
10/25/2004
God damn her with her with her little hoops she is making me jump through. I am rapidly becoming her dancing monkey. Fuck. She is just another snotty rich girl looking to bang that dentist she keeps walking back over to. I can't believe I am sticking this out, baby sitting her drink, putting up with her shitty little tests. I have this faux hawk for a reason, though. It's called 'pea cocking' and its used to draw attention to me, something that stands out from other guys. I don't have a dental practice so I guess it mine as well be my hair, at least I can tell her I am a stylist. If she doesn't assume I'm a faggot, eventually I just may get in her pants. Even my Dad assumes I'm a faggot, by the way.
Finally, the dentist blows her off and she returns to chug her drink down. I never tell her I spotted a drowning, drunken fly in it nearly twenty minutes ago. She didn't seem to notice. It is my private inside joke. The thought of her shitting out a fly tomorrow makes me calm and I regain my solid composure.
Its already 1AM, and Maloney's is closing down. Time to go. Time to put the efforts of the last two hours of my life to the test. "Let's go grab some food." I don't really give her a choice. Nor, do I want to grab some food. I want to fuck Nanette like the snotty sorority girl she is. We hop in her car and she decides she wants to keep the party going. "Do you have any beer at your place?"
You are god damned right I have beer. I also have a shit hole for an apartment. A month earlier, my girlfriend had a 'one sided fist fight' with me and I left her, my vehicle had pissed out on me, I had to take the city bus to work, I was losing money hand over fist in my career and I hadn't even paid my rent this month. By the way, have you ever ridden a city bus in Tucson? Jesus. Let's just say my living arrangements deeply reflected my current social turmoil that eventually threw me into the pick up artist community.
My saving grace, my self help program, my new religion. The Game & The Mystery Method. A client had given me the books. God bless him.
We parked in front of my place and I chatted her up with some canned material I had found in an online forum, soon we were making out in the car. Once we decided to go inside, we never made it to the fridge. We were like fire and ice, or guacamole and peaches. Just some shit that didn't belong together. Her sexy 22 year old presence, fresh from the MAC make up counter and her UG boots and her tight shorts, me with my faux hawk, decorated in tattoos, and my sink full of dirty dishes that mirrored my self esteem.
She had told me earlier that she didn't go for guys like me. But she didn't seem to mind now with her perky ass in the air, yelping face down in the pillow, a prize winning Poodle getting fucked by a near-homeless German Shepherd.
As the scent of pheromones and vagina cleared the room, I told her she couldn't stay over. She must have thought I was an extreme player, but my rationale was that it was almost 4 AM and the sun would be coming out soon. I couldn't hide the dog hair, piles of clothes in the corner, and empty beer bottles filled with cigarette butts peppered around my computer (from my cramming of PUA information, you tube videos and late night visits to worldsex.com). Like a vampire, my mess could not see sunlight!
She called the next day. Very surprising. This shit works well even though I didn't work it well. I have always fucked random clients for sport but crashed in other social situations. This is something different, something magical.
I guess I should clean my place.
TheDynasty
