Daygame Mindset

I have no ‘minimum target of sets to do in a daygame session’. I firmly stand against the idea that you need ‘to do’ 10 sets a day, or 30 sets a week to learn. This is all nonsense and part of the reason that so many men fail in daygame – because they treat an emotional exercise as a quantitative one. They think that by doing x number of sets over x number of sessions that learning will improve, and results will follow. Why wouldn’t it. Eat your steak and go to the gym and in 6 months you too can be huge. There is only some truth to this and not enough to make the endeavour worthwhile. Rote repetition of a physical action (for instance the daygame stop) has some merits and I advocate learning the low-energy/low-impact stop as a priority. But simply approaching/spamming anything with a hole between their legs is detrimental to everyone. Not only does it reinforce the idea that men don’t need to think for themselves and create something memorable, but it doesn’t pass the smell-test for so many women. In my view it is far more useful to only approach women that inspire some sort of genuine reaction from you (spare me the observational originality of you look like a cute vampire – fuck that). I absolutely believe that one of the most important steps a daygamer can take is to cut the support chord and learn the skill of authentic conversation whereby you weave value, trust, intrigue and flirtation together to form an original experience for you both. Add into this mix elements of genuine sexual desire and you’re onto a winning approach. This imperative will begin to form natural interactions and trigger (hopefully, but usually rarely) some sort of response from the girl. At the very least the girl will know that you meant it. She will feel the authenticity. Throwing shit at a wall 30 times a week doesn’t serve any purpose. Ten well-intentioned and authentic sets will teach you more about what you can do in a set than the vagina=open approach.

My overriding daygame aim is really straightforward: it is to simply approach women that many men would be intimidated by. I have no fears opening the most attractive women. I am not intimidated and relish the challenge. It is fair to say that my approach anxiety had been logically dismantled by around my 50^th set. My only slight handicap remains opening southern British girls – especially students. In my experience they form a significant demographic of women with inflated value and are more likely than not to blackmail their own logic, common sense and honesty in order to re-frame an approach as an episode of harassment. Thankfully, I am largely able to filter out these women and I choose to avoid them like the plague.

Daygame interactions live and die on authenticity and this remains your best toolset to bridge several emotional crevasses between you and a girl in those short few moments on the street. And by this I mean she leaves that interaction with some imprinted notion that you are a man of value, confidence, intrigue and normality.

April stats

I did not do a lot of daygame in April. My stats are as follows:

14 sets 

7 numbers

1 lay

Despite the preamble, looking back on some of my number closes – they were weak. One in particular was a beautiful blonde Slovak girl and an English college girl. In both cases numbers were obtained but I did not develop anything meaningful between us. Just last week a gorgeous little Georgian immigrant loved the set but had cold feet later that night when I told her my age. I met her as she was bouncing around town in a little tennis skirt – all 4 foot 10 inches of her. 

Retrograde metamorphosis of Central European girls

I also had a date with a Polish girl who I met back in January. I am beginning to spot some concerning parallels in Polish girls who arrived in the UK when they were in early teens and have been here for 10 years or so. They essentially morph into British women. Pumped on entitlement, high from male adulation and a steady diet of tinder and cocaine habits, they typically start dating hollow masculine/pseudo-high value British men (you know the types – 1-series BMWs, skin-tight suits with their ankles on show, arms and hands daubed in shitty off-the-shelf rose tattoos (along with the highly original neck tattoo) while pumping high doses of trenbolone into their fat, docile heads on their home-leave from their offshore contract jobs in the oil/wind-turbine sector. Polish (British) women such as these (I have met 3 to date via daygame), have for the most part pissed and sniffed their 20s away, rotating through a slew of low-value men before finding themselves on the wrong side of 25 lamenting the age old adage where have all the good men gone. The one I dated last week has an Instagram predictably lifestyled-up with snapshots of Dubai etc (shopped to fuck in most respects). She was even living with a millionaire fat cunt who sugar-babied her for a year (despite her protests that it was real love). She met him in Marbella which is a place basically designed to attract slaggy Geordie Shore-inspired trash as well as the money-crowd. I got her back to mine anyway and managed to get her tits out but that was as far as it went. I had no intention to message her again. She represents the perfect example of a broken woman with a deeply inflated sense of her value and an inability to contextualise her role in the world, while failing to acknowledge her depreciation – despite the fact that seeds of acknowledgment – are just beginning to show. They look away all the same. 

Lay Report

I spent the bulk of my morning working from home before heading to the gym around noon before going ‘for a walk’ on my own around 3pm. The sun was shining and the streets were busy because – well – Primark. The queues for JD Sports and McDonalds were as bloated as ever with their usual clientele of our African and Asian englishmen sprinkled in against the usual council estate trash. It always makes for an interesting experience picking your way through this mess while spotting the basic-bitch southern English size 12 girls in their puffa jackets, flares and mum jeans and avoiding these just as you would the afore mentioned. I grabbed a flat white and made my way around the usual circuit. I spotted a slight exotic looking girl wearing baggy jogging bottoms. Her midriff hinted at a good body. Unfortunately, she was on her phone so I decided to stand across the street and sip my coffee in the hope she would terminate the call so that I could improve her love life. I was stood there just enjoying the sun on my face when I saw another exotic looking girl in black cycle shorts and t-shirt walk past me. I locked my eyes on her, but she didn’t return the IOI. I instantly felt that jolt of desire spread upwards through my stomach and my mind went into approach mode. I walked a little way behind her opting to choose a moment that offered the best low-energy opportunity to open, and this was granted to me almost immediately as she veered off to the right up an adjacent street. I let her get past the pub that had a few afternoon pissheads sat outside and caught up. The open was straightforward and direct:

“hi, we walked past each other a moment ago...

.. I noticed you. You made an impression. You stood out to me. Those dark eyes. I wanted to say hello. I’m a little bit forward, I know”.

I delivered this with strong eye contact, slowly and without a hint of a smile. I waited for her reaction and she quickly gave me one – she smiled and laughed and thought I was about to ask her directions. I quickly moved the conversation into small talk essentially dropping in little bits of value, asking her questions and taking her responses as further pivot points to develop the conversation forward (I should add here that she said I’ve only been here 3 weeks with my [?ex] boyfriend. I really do not recall whether she said she was effectively newly single or had moved here with her boyfriend).

It turns out that Elin had only been in the UK for 3 weeks and was due to start a job that week and is 22 years old. The set developed across some 15 or 20 minutes before I closed the interaction down and said, give me your number so we can arrange a coffee. 

I messaged her that evening and we swapped Instagram details. She was a very attractive woman, beautiful. Lots of pictures in sports cars and high-end hotels (wait for this – all will be made clear). 

As things developed on the old Whatsapp front she suggested we meet for drinks tomorrow evening. I booked a couple of bars in town and we met at 7pm. she was dressed casually in tight black jeans and trainers. She was a very pretty girl and easily slotted into the category of you’re reaching there with her, mate as we sat down for our first beer amidst the students getting pissed on Fosters on the tables adjacent to us. I ordered us pints of Heineken and we discussed all the usual blah blah blah topics. A second drink was finished, and we made our way to the next venue. It had been a really warm day, but the evening temperature had plummeted, so we were thankful that the next beer garden had a semblance of heating. We sat across from each other and I ordered a bottle of pinot grigio. I decided to try escalating a little. I told her that when I came back from the toilet, I was going to sit next to her. 

We made our way across the first glass of wine and I placed my hand on hers and placed both into my pocket. She looked at me and her mouth opened a little, before drawing her hand away and saying, I told you – I have a boyfriend. 

BOOOOOOOOM! 

I smiled and laughed a little before saying well, this is awkward. Why didn’t you tell me? To which replied that she did tell – on the street yesterday. It dawned on me that she had but I had misheard. Within a few seconds of taking another sip of wine I turned my head to the side and looked her square in the eyes and went all-in: I said, ok so you have a boyfriend. But I still want to fuck you. 

It was a fuck-or-walk moment. I had an immediate feeling she was going to get up and walk out but she didn’t. Within a few minutes the tone changed completely. Her hand was back in mine and she launched on a near-teary eyed reminiscence of how her ultra-rich boyfriend had cheated on her. He was away for a week with work. She said she fancied me. That she saw me on the street and checked me out as I stood there (I did not get an IOI, which illustrates how subtle some of these things are – evidently too subtle to see). She said she wanted revenge. I took the moment and ran with it. I said that we were going to finish our wine and get another bottle and head back to hers. I paid up the bill and she popped into the local late supermarket to buy wine. We arrived at her (boyfriends) apartment and entered the lift. The apartment was really impressive with some incredible city views. She put some music on and I poured us some wine. We talked, touched and kissed. I could tell that she was really excited at what was going to happen, but I started to feel a little conflicted. In order to assuage this, I asked her to change into her best lingerie, but she said she had none here. This was a real shame as fucking her in lingerie with that view in front of the windows over the city would have been fun. And then suddenly the phone went, and the colour drained out of her face. 

It’s my boyfriend, he’s video calling me. Quick! Get in the corridor. 

I grabbed my clothes, the wine glasses and wine and waited patiently outside. Her boyfriend had called her, a few minutes passed. I sent a couple of video messages to the boys to update them of my sorry predicament. Eventually, she opened the door. This was getting quite enough for me, so I went inside and stripped off my clothes and told her to follow me. The sex was fast and furious. She demanded to be choked hard and fingered very hard. It surprised (and revolted me) how much hand action she wanted inside that pussy. The sex was over, and I was a one-and-done. It was time to go. We had another glass of wine and she suggested that we meet on her terms, but I must promise never to message her. I agreed and left. I walked through the neon-streets of the city centre, alone at 1am, a little drunk and a little empty inside. 

We spoke the next day. 

She told her boyfriend everything that morning. 

There is dealing with a problem, there is revenge, and there is this. 

BroodingSea May 2021

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