| Alright, I haven't posted anything here in a while. To be fair, I should probably get to bed (revision for exams), but I need to get my head straight. I need to dispose of the verbal diarrhoea that's sloshing about in the sewers of my brain. That's what this journal is for, right?
So I'm sitting alone in my room at 2am, having spent the previous two hours crying. I've pissed off most of my friends and wings by yapping about my little dilemma non-stop and being a needy slut-for-attention bitch about it. I thought getting everything off my chest would make things better. It didn't.
Rewind couple of days.
I talked a fuckbuddy of mine from Paris, Alison, into picking me up from the airport. We had hooked up a couple months back. She lives in another country, so this was the first time I'd see her since that amazing night we shared. In my mind, Alison was a cold-hearted, emotionally disconnected self-proclaimed queen of one-night-stands with extremely sharp wit. She was gonna attend a workshop I was holding later on that very same day and I wanted to talk to her about it. Give her a little mental preparation for what she was gonna hear, which was, essentially, a step-by-step description of how I sarged her. Without putting the whole seminar into the right context, even a cynical girl like her would understandably get a bit freaked out.
Not only was she way late (so I decided to get the train from the airport to London by myself), but a pivot of mine had already explained to her it would be a 'seminar on picking up chicks'. Things were really looking up.
So I meet her in Liverpool Street instead. A typical situation I've had happen with so many kiss-closes: when we meet, she tries to kiss me on the cheek. I know better than that. I kiss her on the lips. Standard operating procedure. She did not throw anything crass in my direction or comment on that in any way – perhaps she was tired, but a little 'that will be five dollars' or 'I hope you don't mind I was imagining Johnny Depp' would have made me feel more at home. To any aspiring pickup artist those would have been shit-tests, but I knew Alison enjoyed verbal duels as much as I did. We had found worthy opponents in each other.
We got a little banter going back and forth. Her sense of humor was even sharper than I remembered. We chatted about the little things, the big things and things that were too random altogether to be called conversation topics at all. The vibe of the whole interaction was incredible. I felt that 'genuine connection' I hypnotise women into feeling with me. It's a great feeling. It's an even better one to know that I'm still capable of experiencing it myself.
Unfortunately (I would say fortunately, but I'd feel like a bastard for saying that), the pivot I was mildly annoyed with wasn't feeling too great. Given that Alison was her best friend, it came as no surprise they both went home instead of attending the seminar. As a direct effect, she knew I was a pickup artist, which I'm not. But that didn't matter, because to her 'pickup artist' was synonymous with 'player', which it isn't. The misunderstandings were piling up, and it made the situation all the more confusing.
I'll skip the details of the workshop for the sake of the reader's convenience (the usual - I kicked ass).
Alison was staying at the pivot's house, so I decided it would be a logical place for me to spend my Friday night. I was really keen on getting Alison to my place, but the pivot was still feeling ill and Ali felt like she needed to keep her company. If she came round mine, she'd be dealing with the guilt of leaving an unwell friend alone in her apartment to enjoy a night of unspeakable debauchery. Guilt and unspeakable debauchery don't mix. Reluctantly, I put on my hat and left my apartment with a pair of boxers, some socks, a toothbrush and a respectable fraction of the condoms I had stashed away. This was gonna be a fun night.
The three of us started the evening at a bar near the pivot's house. Some other dudes soon joined us, which usually pisses me off because I'm very protective of the women I'm with. There's an element of vanity in it as well: I know I look way hotter with two girls than with two girls and three guys. But their company meant I got more one on one time with Alison. I knew how to set the sexual vibe of the interaction. 'People always want things they cannot have' is a principle which, in my mind, is the crucial ingredient. I had been coming on to her over the phone all day and I teased her mercilessly at the bar. At the times of both conversations, sex was right out of the question. I always used the same 'I am tired, I just want to get some sleep tonight' takeaway whenever things got hot. It was working. As soon as I asked her for a Red Bull, Alison made the usual sassy comment I would have otherwise had no comeback to. Bearing the sexual vibe in mind, I just yawned. She got the message – she had to pump me with energy, otherwise the very thing she had been looking forward to, the highlight of the entire day, wouldn't happen. And believe me, I planted the right seeds in her imagination. She leapt out of her chair as if it were hot embers and rushed to the bar to order my drink.
I lead her back to the pivot's apartment by the hand. She was squeezing the whole time. I did not need indicators of interest at this stage, but just understanding what was going on gave my ego a pleasant pat on the back.
We cuddled up next to each other and started watching 'Casino'. Her fingers were gently caressing my hand. Add her gentle kiss on my neck every now and then, sometimes rewarded with a kiss on her forehead, and you get a picture of what I'd consider an awesome evening right now. Although we talked about being tired and 'just cuddling', we both knew this was just the moment of silence before the storm.
I will not go to the great lengths required to describe the pornographic details of the adventure that ensued. I will tell you that it was awesome and leave it at that. I'll let your dirty mind do the work for me. I know this is the one part of the post where your imagination is actually motivated, you disgusting, despicable person...
What happened afterwards felt strange to me. The feeling of connection I felt while talking to her before the workshop was amplified. As we talked, I realised that the emotionally disconnected queen of one night stands was just a mask she put on. As the mask lowered, I began to see her for the shy, insecure and very lonely girl that I accuse (always rightly) all the hot women I meet of being. The only difference is, with her, I wasn't simply running game. I actually saw it. The slightly cynical Alison turned out to be a hapless romantic. As I proceeded with my coldread-like analysis of her, she opened up and admitted I was the first guy to ever figure her out. And the more her mask came off, the more I lowered mine, only to find I was looking in the mirror. I was just like her. 'A self proclaimed pickup artist and a self-proclaimed queen of one night stands, what a couple we'd make'. Her words, not mine.When I did the soul gazing routine, I honestly felt amazingly connected to her. I became 'a friend of the soul'. I was running game on myself.
I fell asleep slightly confused, marginally worried and very, very happy. As I close my eyes right now, I go straight back to that memory and my eyes start watering. When did I become this pathetic?
We spent the next day at the park with a group of mutual friends. Alison was acting distant towards me – the mask was back on, I just couldn't figure out why. Looking back at it, I realise she was protecting herself. We both knew she was leaving for Paris the next day. I wanted to make the most of it, she was afraid of developing feelings for me. If you're a woman seeing a pickup artist, I realised, you have to be super weary of not getting too attached too quickly. The guy's life revolves around sucking women into the black hole that is his bedroom, to hell with how or why he does it.
I went out to sarge with Perry and JJ, my two friends, wingmen and mentors. The night was going great, I ran game on some German chick and she ate it up. I was feeding her the traditional chick-crack. Some cold reads, some magic tricks, a lot of role playing, future projections and some simple NLP. Oh yes, I brought out the big guns. I got a text from Alison in which she explained she was feeling tired and she'd stay in with the pivot that night. I rang both of them a couple times only to reach the voicemail. Ali was constantly on my mind. As I was kissing the German, my head was desperately trying to figure out a way to see Alison. This task proved to be beyond my supernatural manipulation powers. I went home alone.
Ali was catching a train the following afternoon. I went to see her at the station very briefly. Although she was covering it up beautifully, I could tell she was feeling extremely emotional. She was my reflection. We both pretended like the parting had no impact on us. We didn't even kiss. We just gave each other the rock and went our separate ways with a simple 'later'.
I'm too cynical to call it 'love'. But that girl is constantly on my mind. I cannot have her not because I'm in the friend zone or because I lack game. My problem is of a much more trivial, geographic nature. Long distance stuff doesn't work.
Right now, I'd give up the Game just to have her here.
I fell off the horse, my friends. The only logical course of action is to get back on it and sarge like I've never sarged before. I pray to fuck this works, because in all honesty, I am a terrible mess.
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CHAT
