04/03/2017 by Tom Torero
“It is wise to direct your anger towards problems, not people; to focus your energies on answers, not excuses”
My last evening in a balmy city near Miami a few days ago before flying home to Europe was a good lesson for my anger management. What began as a nightmare of flakes and blue balls finished with a fast Same Day Lay through a redirection of my rage.
Things were coming down to the wire once again, like on every travelling daygame adventure. My leads were evaporating in the hot humid temperatures of the Caribbean climate. Collecting numbers through daygame wasn’t a problem. Neither was the initial text banter. It was just a nightmare getting the girls to commit to coming out. They’d initially agree but then vanish into thin air hours or minutes before the scheduled dates. The laid back Latino vibe of the place had its relaxed upsides, but this massive dating downside.
I’d had a first date with a hot 21 year old girl who I’d daygamed outside of the main mall as she was waiting for her bus. Long black hair down to her peachy ass, full lips and fine boobs. A real Pocahontas like girl. On that first date I’d taken her to a bar, back to mine, got the make out and some fooling around on the bed but then her mum called to cock-block and she vanished into the night in an Uber.
Getting her out on a second date was a nightmare. Twice she agreed to dates but then went silent on the day of the meeting itself. Her Whatsapp said she wasn’t online and my Royal Flush messages went unread. I’d given up all hope of seeing her again as I was down to my last evening in the city.
Mid-afternoon Pocahontas messaged to say she’d meet me after her university course at 6.30pm. I bit my tongue not to overdo the reactiveness about her previous flakiness and agreed to see her, going to the supermarket to buy some bounce-back essentials (beer and ice-cream). She arrived in a taxi an hour late – my rage was building and I was having a hard to hiding it as we drank some beers in a local bar near my apartment.
Twenty minutes into the date her phone rang – it was her mum again, calling her to come home and look after her brother. As she picked up her bag to leave I decided to Royal Flush it in person – unleashing my pent-up frustration by telling her what a time waster she was, and that she behaved like a child herself. This did no good (other than stopping any passive aggressiveness) as she walked out of the bar, got into a taxi and was never seen again.
I went back to my apartment, packed my things and fell into a downward spiral of anger. It was now late evening and I’d not got any more active leads. I was flying out of there in the morning and deeply frustrated at all the notches I’d failed to get. Solo daygame trips do this to you if you’ve had a losing streak and a lot of simmering frustration. I opened the freezer door, took out the ice-cream and ate half of it.
As I stood there looking out onto the busy street below lined with salsa bars and a river of people heading out to enjoy evening pleasures, I suddenly snapped out of the negativity spiral. “Enough,” I said in my head. “You have the skill. You have the hunger. You have the horniness. Don’t wallow in self-pity. Go outside and gutter game!”
Ten minutes later I was on the main strip, bamboozled by the flashing neon, the loud music blaring out of the Latino bars and all the people out for a good time. I’m never comfortable in night game environments, I’m just not desensitised enough to them and often feel overwhelmed.
“Just jump in,” I said to myself. “First one’s the worst one.” I stopped a girl hurrying towards the metro who blew me off before I’d even finished the compliment. I knew I had a scowl on my face and still a simmering angry vibe. Onto the next one. Another girl walking quickly towards a bar. She was polite but not interested.
My third stop was on a pretty girl walking slower and looking into shop windows. Before I’d even given the compliment I could feel her eyes on fire, that spark of sexual tension, that mutual hunger. She was a student at a local college on her way home, and said that she was sleepy after a 10-hour study day. As is normal in gutter game, I quickly pushed for compliance by suggesting we sit down for a “quick beer.” She agreed but gave a time constraint.
We sat at the back of the bar on sofas. The loudness worked in my favour as we had to lean in to each other to talk. The moment she touched my wrists to look at my tattoos, I knew there was a green light to go further. I rapidly escalated – taking her hands, reading her palms, looking over her body for “hidden tattoos,” smelling her hair, leaving my hand resting on her thigh. She kept saying she had to get going, but at the same time she never once backed away from the physical escalation.
“I’m hungry” she said, “I was actually on my way to the supermarket.” I told her I had ice-cream back at my apartment, but that we couldn’t stay there long as I was flying in the morning. Straight away the token barriers came down, as happens with fast pulls. She Shit Tested me hard – that I was too old, that I was a player, that I just wanted sex. I played along rather than reacting, amplifying her accusations. “I’m a very bad man,” I grinned, “a horny caveman who has nothing to offer but ice-cream. I’m so old I could be your father!”
We finished our beers and I lead her through the bar by the hand, paying the tab quickly and then simply walking towards my apartment. Outside she stopped once again. “You promise you won’t kill me?” she grinned holding out her little finger to make a promise. “Only if you’re very wealthy” I smiled as I opened the front door and stepped into the lift.
Inside the apartment it was easy. I opened two beers but they were left abandoned before we’d even taken a swig. A passionate make out was the last green light I needed, picking her up and taking her into the bedroom where we had sex to a salsa soundtrack that was the only TV channel I could find with music.
I’m writing up this lay report not really to remark on the lay, but to remind myself that by harnessing the hunger and channelling my blue balls anger, magical things can happen. From victimhood to victory, it’s my decision which beast I let prevail.