04/07/2016 by Tom Torero
*Early draft of a lay report from my new book “Cold Calling”, released early 2017
This lay report is divided into thirds like a game of Three-Card Monte. It shows both the global nature of daygame and the infinite power of the internet for long-game hustling. Take your eye off the lady and you’ll be hustled yourself.
At the end of 2014 I was going through a big burn out. Two years of relentless daygame travel around the world, a lack of continuity or a base and still reeling from a death in the family. Unplugging from the matrix had left me disorientated.
A fellow British daygamer and flowmad called John suggested we get some late October sunshine in the south of France as a detox. I told him I wasn’t in a good state for daygame but that I’d come for the vitamin D and croissants. I’d not had a non-pickup holiday in years.
John had a thing for arty French girls, like me, so we chose the city of Marseille because of its bohemian vibe in comparison to the yachting crowd of Nice or Cannes. Hipster French girls, lazy days and sunshine; we had high hopes.
I arrived in Marseille airport to blue skies and the smell of pine trees signalling I was in the Mediterranean. John was arriving later so I took a bus into the city and headed for the Port.
I’d not realised how many north Africans had made the city their home and the French girls I did spot were nervously scurrying past groups of guys smoking weed. The city centre was dirty and had a dangerous, tense vibe. Perhaps I should have done my research.
I met John later in the day and we checked into our AirBnB up near the Notra-Dame de la Garde – a gorgeous old apartment with wooden shutters, paintings on every wall, farmhouse tiles and a balcony overlooking the hilltop basilica.
It didn’t take John and I long to adopt the Mediterranean way of life. Each morning one of us would go to the local bakery to buy hot fresh croissants and pan-au-chocolates. We’d brew some fresh coffee and have breakfast on the balcony. Then we’d explore the city – harbour, old town, a boat trip around the island prison that was the inspiration for Dumas’ The Count Of Monte Cristo.
As we explored John would stop and daygame hot girls that he saw out and about. I was trying hard to switch off from approaching, but by the end of the first day I was getting horny and twitchy to daygame.
By the second day I was approaching as much as John, enjoying the new city, new girls and French vibes. My mojo had returned. One of my early approaches was a fast Facebook close of a hot Russian girl who was in the city for a few days with a group on holiday. I’d heard her heels before seeing her, and she immediately stood out with her tight dress and tall slim body. She was mid-twenties, a company director from Moscow and typically monosyllabic.
I quickly forgot about the close and moved onto trying to get some of the local girls out before our trip was up. The Russian girl was busy with her tour group and the probability of anything happening with her small.
Back in the UK during time off from daygame and travel I pinged some of my long game leads. The Marseille Russian had accepted my friend request and we’d been having occasional late night chats. Checking her profile, I realised she had a 2-year old son and had just gone through a divorce (why she’d gone to France). Many girls in Russia marry young and are then divorced by their mid-twenties.
Fast forward a month and there I was in snowy sub-zero Moscow, early December. I’d returned to close two loops from my last trip and teach a student in the giant heated malls full of girls despite the season. On Tverskaya outside my apartment they were calving ice sculptures as girls scurried from the metro station to their work or home, wrapped up in fur but still wearing heels in the snow.
I only had five nights in the city. Three of them were booked with trying to close the other two loops, but I’d still managed to arrange a date with the girl from Marseille on my last evening there.
We met for a drink in the lobby bar of the Ritz Carlton. She was an hour late (very normal in the FSU) but for a genuine reason – Moscow traffic had been crazy because of a snow storm and she’d come straight from work, snow dusting her fur coat, her mum looking after her son. She was one of the “new rich” in Russia with a good salary from her job as a director and the payout from her divorce. She kept her word of paying for the drinks to apologise.
I’d chosen the venue as it was the closest to my apartment in case I was going to pull. We sipped our drinks in the gilded lobby bar as a pianist played jazz classics next to us. I looked out of place in my dirty boots, old jeans and leather jacket and she joked that I needed a rich woman to take care of me. I told her I was a glorified bum and that I didn’t even own a bicycle, just to make sure there wasn’t any provider frame.
She didn’t ask any of the usual Frame Tests but instead opened up about “not wanting to be a strong girl anymore.” She’d divorced her husband because he’d cheated on her while she was away at a business conference. It was clear she hadn’t been on a date in a long time, and had the “happy to be here” look about her. “I want to feel like a teenager again” she beamed.
After an hour her phone rang and it was her mother telling her she needed to come back home to deal with her son. Once again cock blocked by the clock. We walked outside into the snowy night and kissed by the metro steps, making loose plans to maybe meet properly when our paths crossed in Prague in the new year.
Over Christmas the long game pinging with her intensified. She told me her next company meeting was in Prague in January. I’d got two residential sessions booked and we worked out two days when we could possibly meet. The messaging moved from rapport to sexual as she’d ping photos of her in gym clothes, her getting ready for bed, bikini shots and finally naked selfies. The trick is to escalate gradually, getting more and more compliance, sending her photos of you that amp things up along with role play chats that get heavier and heavier.
By the time I landed in Prague a month later we’d had full sex chats and it seemed like a done deal. I was staying in an apartment behind the Palladium shopping centre and she was due to fly into the city a day after me. Like Moscow, the city was muffled by snow, the summer tourists gone and replaced by icy silence.
Coaching over, I headed back to the apartment to shower and go and meet her. Suddenly she went off the text radar. Silence all evening. I was puzzled what had happened to her, it had seemed like a dead cert. Instead I went out for goodbye beers and goulash with my student and then headed back home to crash. Still no messages.
Early the next morning she texted to say she’d randomly bumped into her cousin at the airport and that they were spending time catching up and sightseeing. She suggested a “quick coffee” altogether later.
It was her forebrain taking over her hindbrain at the last hurdle, the common “cold feet” syndrome in Game especially if the lay is not spontaneous and she’s had time to think. The cousin was her excuse to de-rail the train.
Such an attempt at snatching the frame needs short, sharp punishment. I did the only thing left to do and went silent myself, not answering her messages which got more and more frequent. The power of the push, giving her the gift of chasing.
By the following morning she’d caved in and was asking for my apartment address. She was flying out in the evening and had now ditched her cousin to come and find me. I told her to bring coffee as an apology.
As soon as she entered my apartment the build up exploded. Coffees were forgotten as we made out heavily like teenagers on the sofa. “I have bad news” she said as I went to undo her jeans. “It’s woman’s day for me.”
Many Russian girls have a big superstition when it comes to their periods and blood. “Come, come…” I said, taking her towards the bathroom, undressing and turning on the shower. “You don’t mind?” she asked. “I want you” I replied, pulling off her top and undoing her jeans. The hot water of the shower drowned out our moans as the hustle climaxed and I got my winnings for keeping an eye on the prize.