The city was clamoring my name like a banshee as I lay flat on my back feeling the soft vibration of my cellular phone, as each text buzzed in repeatedly. A premeditated night in demand of the fulfillment of my obligations. The consummation of our agreement would be settled at approximately 10pm. I wasn't up for a night of sarging at first since I was fatigued from a combination of toxins, salubrious sedatives and lack of vitamins from a binge of liquor infused nights with Black Tom in combination with repetitious cycles of driving from facility to facility searching for salamander heater to melt his frozen water pipes.
I vacillated on chasing an exhausting sarge or resurrecting my immune system.
The time approximating the meeting period for which I agreed to wing for "Big Papa". I was drained from the laborious mission with Black Tom and an intoxicating experience blending Skyy and Belvedere vodka with the unforgiving subzero temperatures that encompassed us. I wasn't feeling the sarge and began having considerations about even going out Saturday but fatuously went against my conscious. The angel on my shoulder craved the comfort of my bleached pillow but the devil inside coaxed sinister and mischievous words that stimulated my desires. It was I that choose to be defiant in nature by vacuously choosing to sarge.
But this was the night I was waiting for. This was the weekend that I had prepared so ambitiously for and couldn't resist letting it slip through my grasps. With irritation I ascended to the medical cabinet and placed my towel in the sink. I took a deep breathe and looked into those eyes--all I could see is the pain and impuissance. I sighed again then inserted the first contact lens over the cornea to deceptively conceal the true color of my iris. I contemplated about why I was doing this as I patiently ensconced the second iris. This is what I worked for all month--"The Sarge". A few weeks of practicing canned routines verbatim along with studying kino escalation, IOIs, Direct-approach, mid-game, opinion openers, mentalism and numerous other aspects of "The Game". I was told not to do this and even that my "old-school" material wouldn't even work anymore these days. Being out of The Game for a few years living a life of forlornness and melancholy my vacillations started to get to me again and I continued back out.
I took a bus to the bar and figured I would cab it home after downing a carrot Sobe' and popping a few multivitamins I bought from GNC. I decided to hit it up early and start "social proofing" a different venue before meeting up with Big Pappa at the second spot. I took the train into the city and chat it up with a few locals to ease my tension, calm my nerves and develop comfortability in society before reaching the first bar.
I reached the place finally and actually felt better as the vitamins and Carrot juice digested. I spoke to a gay accountant and his female entourage as the entered the venue. The bouncer took my ID and analyzed me properly but "the fear", "the fear" set in amalgamation with the exhaustion and I couldn't bear to look him in the eyes fearing that he would notice my eyes were a different colour then my ID stated and would question me at the door therefore blowing my cover. It was all subjective--you know, "the fear" and all. My mind went blank as he let me in; I froze momentarily and followed the set in front of me. I spoke to them again and hesitated doing a canned opener because it was too "oldschool" in the scene and wouldn't work anymore these days. I hedged and softly excused myself passed them. I stared at the security guard and considered using the bathroom as I always do before I do anything in public. As an artist, musician, writer and public speaker I always have had a routine I did before performing in front of an audience but tonight and did a sort of "internal phase shift" and entered the venue as if I was green to the city and freshblood. I followed the set up to the bar and talked them briefly before ordering an intoxicating beverage. I dropped my shoulders, corrected my posture, smiled and breathed with a warm aura of confidence that spread slightly about my SPAM. I listened meticulously to the tone of the SPAM as it diminished from roaring to a soft tone of whispers. I grabbed my drink and swaggered through a helter-skelter crowd set on a night of hedonism.
I reached the patio doors and swung them ajar escaping the mass populace and flooded outdoors for a bit of relief. It was "the fear" that set in again so I wiped it clean by making a lackadaisical approach to a set. I was frozen for about 20 long seconds and just as the I felt "the crickets" setting in with the first chirp I made my move and smiled and shook the hand of a guy standing around with his female liaison. We made "small talk"--nothing big--just something to ease my nerves and begin to develop social proof.
Then a middle-aged women walked out and stood firmly holding a drink and I confidently said "Hi!". We had a brief talk about the weather and how the night was. Then out of the corner of my eye she rushed through the patio door like succubus on the hunt for freshblood and a new lover. There she was my target looking the other way then she looked right at my facade and then down at my cock-area of my jeans and proceeded to look at my shoes, then looked away and locked her eyes on my mine. She looked away with slight disinterest and I said "Hi" to her and the other woman (her mother) commented on how we were just talking. I took this to my advantage and "played the family" throughout the night making myself seem like the intelligent but yet fun guy that could relate to them a little and showed some interest in their daughter but still didn't take it too far.
I moved along continuing to develop social proof throughout the hour and hugged a girl but my target quickly followed after me like a puppy-dog or a cat that wanted her string. I pushed and pulled cleverly throwing a bit of charm here and there and delivered "low kino" as she wrapped her arm around my waist. We talked a little and she introduced me to her brother as he came in. We chatted but I never revealed my name therefore standing by my rule to not tell anyone my name unless they asked--no one did. I moved from set to set and chatted with various groups of women and the cat followed when I ignored her. At one moment I felt her move hastily up behind me and pressed her breasts against my back and moved close to the point where they split apart and her hips were actually pressing against my ass.
Her boyfriend later arrived and she hesitated for a little while to introduced us as we talked for 5 minutes of so. I then decided to run an opinion opener for the hell of it, you know--just practice...for the next venue to warm me up to meet up with Big Pappa. I did a canned opener I practiced for a few weeks filling in my sister as being dumped by her boyfriend who left her for another women. He called her saying her saying he "loved" her but wasn't "in love" with her. I ran the opener on the targets mom but wanted the target to over her it but maybe for the "random" or maybe for a "reason" she walked away behind me and entered the bar to grab a drink and heard nothing of the opener. I thought I blew it and considered giving up but as a performer I knew that I would clean up my routine and just close it out and leave and get a little respect for an "off-night" show with a few errors. She came back with her boyfriend and I left the set and surfed the crowd developing social proof. Talked to the quasi-mod chicks and their cool boyfriends and such. My target pulled me back into her circle to chill. She pressed against her boyfriend's back but seemed disinterested so I befriended her brother and parents. I chilled for a bit and left to social proof more and "make my rounds".
I approached the set again with my target (shouldn't be doing this since she had a boyfriend) and decided I needed to finish my opener so I didn't look stupid (all subjective). Her boyfriend went inside to get a drink and I told her about my sister's situation and she ate it all up. I asked her for advice and to explain the difference between the two meanings of love. Her boyfriend returned and she sat on his lap. I talked with her parents and made "bro-eye contact" with her brother i.e. I gave him the look like "I like you...I'm cool and I know that you want your sister to date someone you like and can chill with and that guy could be me".
I left the set and looked at the cameras at the nightclub which could be viewed from down the street at the venue I was at. I felt like I was always being watched. I escalated to the next set making my rounds. It felt like an hour went by but it was probably only 30 minutes.
I focused my energies on directing the attention of the audience toward an artist in the crowd. As the audience grew interested in the musician I aided their attentive eyes on him as he roared with enthusiasm and aggression; as he hyped the viewers I supported his magnificence. I maneuvered toward and an adjacent set but was hindered by the error of embarrassingly dropping items to the ground. I swiftly caught the objects and saved face and then turned to move toward the set that contained my second target—a two-toned medium HB with a red leather jacket. She was a good “8” that had modeling attributes but probably diminished her potential of aspiring to be one through age, social discouragement (something that happens to nearly all talented types) and likely children and familial obligations. She bore a black and golden purse that was slung over her shoulder. I wanted to ask her if the accessory was from Gap and proceeded to advance toward her while my first target was huffing about with her “boyfriend”. While he was studying Deuteronomy and GUIs as a youth I was peering into the realms of the Kama Sutra and Tantric Yoga; not to say that I am not an avid enthusiast of academic Christianity and theology I just have always had a found interest of sexuality; even as a teen and in my college days back East I delved into the archives of the Marquis de Sade.
As I progressed toward the second target I was prevented by her friend who “cockblocked” me and commented on my catch. She joked about how I barely caught the objects. She was a “meanie umpa lumpa” i.e. she was overly tanned, short like a chubby munchkin, enjoyed annoying those around her (mostly men) and took pride in “negging” men (women “neg” men all the time it’s just that we don’t often catch it or perceive it that way and it’s not always intentional but a part of their built in mechanism its sort of a sublevel to their Bitch Shield), as if she was too good to be tamed by any lion in the jungle. She was “cocky” for a chick and had masculine traits but was nice—she was average, somewhere between 4 and 5 but with some makeup and an outfit other than jeans and a hoodie she could probably fix herself up to be a 6. I looked at her other friend and a thought clouded my mind from the California days; “The Umpa Lumpas are back!”
Adjacent to me stood a tripe set composed of 2 Latinas and an Americanized Italian. I bypassed the midget and swaggered toward my “Italian 8” but without a phase she confidently took control of the conversation and ordered her pack inside “Come on girls lets go inside.” She was like a feminine panther and as she dictated the group they turned and strutted in synch without hesitation. I not sure if she was even drinking and I grew very curious of her as she marched away with “her bitches” nursing what appeared to be water with a lemon in it.
I then focused my attention to the first target that jumping off her “boyfriend” and pushing him away; I could see the annoyance and irritation on her face. She seemed to be disinterested in him and had more interest in me. She sidled toward me with a “dragon stride” as her body and hips waved like seductive snake and she whipped her wavy hair to the side and then dipped a little reminded me of an hour glass. We aligned parallel to each other but I didn’t look in her direction as she looked over and her boyfriend passed by and went toward the inner doors of the complex.
I then approached her again and gave her a “Time Constraint” and swiftly a dark cloud of regret hovered over me as I sensed the infidelity in the air and the guilt in my heart. I soon thought to myself nothing of it and started to walk away. She stopped be with her ass, slid to the side of me and put her arm around me, squeezed my bicep and put her hand on between my hip and glut. So I “low kinoed” her again and leaned in toward her lips that were closing in on my ear. She said “You can go a little lower” or at least subjectively I thought that I might have heard that. I released my hand from around her waist and she squeezed me closer but I expressed no empathy as I looked at her confused boyfriend that looked around and at us and was staring at the other parties in the vicinity. I was in suspended animation for a minute and felt like I was at home in the complex in Europe back in the 90s but then quickly returned back to the moment and said “What did you just say…I couldn’t hear you?” I sort of froze up for a minute but it wasn’t like a lonely cold freeze but more of one that was filled with warm and vibrant energy.
Maybe her words were an illusion of my mind but she then said:
“Oh, you should hang out with us sometime I will give you my phone number and you should call me.”
I asked her “Are you sure?”
“Will he care?”
“What’s his name again?”
The words just rolled out and she replied with a firm:
“No, he won’t care, his name is “so and so”…don’t worry about him”.
She said those last words “Don’t worry about him” as if she didn’t care much for him anymore but continued to seek strong interest in me.
We both looked at him and he I could see what appeared to be tears building in his eyes mixed with a façade of confusion between a look that it was possibly “just fine” and nothing was going on in the woodworks. I looked at her and she smiled then squeezed me tighter toward her body. Did she truly want to “just be friends” or did she want a “friend with benefits”. Maybe she had something plotting deeper in the course of her veins like discovering the touch of a new man in her bedroom. I began to say no inside my mind but she cut me off verbally “You should take my number down.” Here it is 555 555 5555”
So I put her actual number in my cell phone and I said “what about him?”
She replied with “you can call me,” as if she wanted me to call him.
As I looked over at his back turned to us I felt that she was doing this behind his back. I knew deep down that she wanted to leave this guy and heard the same response from cougars I picked up in the past. Then I thought back to what Tyler told me once and a principle that I commonly stood by “back in the day” i.e. “fuck it!”
I told her “I will call you sometime.”
She said “Okay, I would like that.”
I went toward the doors to the complex and 7 girls were jumping up and down. They were looking out the doors into the patio at me anxiously with the look on their faces like they all wanted to give me their phone numbers and were curious as to what was going on outside. Maybe this was all subjective because as I passed through those gates the vibe changed and they 7 girls swiftly changed face and dolled up a little bit giving me the feeling like they were half-way ignoring me but their other side was looking at me and analyzing my character.
As the “pickup” occurred I looked over at my interior audience of women I talked to earlier and some I didn’t whom were all staring through the windows like hounds agog and thirsty for meat. I knew that the 7 girls wanted my number as the hour ticked in. I turned and they gazed astonished staring at me from the other side of the glass.
As I entered the floor they quickly shifted their attention back to their sets, AMOGs, AFCs, other mates, champs and chumps of the crowd. I looked at all the women and they softly ignored me and some were curious to know me. Thoughts came over my mind as I glanced into the eyes of every AMOG, HB, chica and AFC in that encompassed me.
Sounds ringed in my mind like “He’s a pickup artist”, “He’s a newbie”, “ He’s a housewrecker” “He’s breaks up relationships”, “He’s a professional pickup artist”, “Stay away from my women”, “He’s not as good as me”, “He’s in that community” “He’s just starting out” “He’s trying to fuck the whole bar”, “He’s one of those Pick up artist guys”, “Haven’t you seen that shit on VH1”, “He’s just a wannabe”, “Jeremy”, “That guys a chump” “who does that kind of shit at a bar” “Eric???” “No, just some other cat I see”.
I kept thinking and it felt like everybody was looking at me with glaring eyes; some women flattered, some wishing I would pick them up, some jealous, some fellas securing their ladies for the night trying to get them away from my tentacles. I felt like everyone knew what I was doing but maybe it was all just an illusion of my own mind. I felt like a total newb but at the same time I felt like a Pick Up Artist coming out of retirement. Inside I also felt like everyone knew that I was a part of this once secret community that was now exposed to the world. Part of me wanted to be in L.A. again, part of me in Hollywood. A voice in my mind wanted to be back in Europe and another part said move to Florida while a voice screamed for Monica back in Las Vegas.
Then the roar of the wild crowd simmered down to a soft tone again and I considered asking for a glass of water and continuing “the sarge”. After all I already developed a little S.P outside and was beginning to move the party inside but as I looked around I had 2 thoughts’ “You could like get 5 more numbers tonight with some work in this place” and “They all know, you should leave and go meet up with Big Papa”. The concept dawned on me to call it a night here at the venue and go a few blocks down and meet up with “Big Papa”.
I was sick as a dog and faked my smiles all night. I played it cool and proceeded to move through the crowd looking at the “Umpa Lumpas” and “Hot rad red 8 Italian” whom was now ignoring me and focusing her eyes on her friend and two tall Caucasian dudes moving in for the kill on their selected targets. I seriously contemplated staying at the venue and developing S.P. inside. I chatted with security again and vacillated on my options. I moved toward the hallway where it was quit and called “Big Papa”. He asked about the place and I wanted to tell him it was going strong and too come over but I actually said to him, “it’s pretty good, it’s alright here.” Asked him if he was ready to meet. As I was leaving the lion inside of me wanted to stay and continue sarging but part of me felt like the venue was forcing me out and part of me felt like they liked me there and part of me felt like I should leave so I don’t spoil my chances with the pickup.
For the first time I felt the “performance” aspect of pickup and not of it as meeting women and doing some tricks to get their phone numbers. I finally discovered what it feels like to perform as an artist it is a similar feeling to doing magic in front of a crowd, playing in front people as a musician or doing some public speaking before a large auditorium with all eyes and ears on you. I have done all these things in the past and I realized why a pick up artist is called an “artist” and that it is actually a “performance”. I reminded me of what Jeremy talked about in the 90s. 
Awesome Pickup!
CHAT