For an introduction to this “dirty thirty” series of blog posts for my new book Below The Belt, go here.
Fucking Feminism – December 2013, London & Heidelberg
It’s popular for guys into pickup to get reactive when it comes to feminism. They’ll get mad, try to debate feminists and go on long angry rants. Therein lies the problem. Feminism is just a giant shit test to see how strong a man’s frame is, and by reacting you’re immediately losing. Just like with any other shit test, you’ve really got two options: 1) to ignore or 2) to agree and amplify. This filthy story is about a third option – fucking them.
In the early Autumn of 2013 I was teaching a student in central London, taking the tried-and-tested daygame coaching route from Trafalgar Square (warmups) to Covent Garden (compliments and stacking), onto Regent Street (front stops and numbers) and then finishing on Oxford Street to really toughen the student up. At the end of every session I would take the guy indoors into Topshop to give him a go at high pressure situations.
Not enough daygamers take advantage of indoor game. Topshop’s like a nightclub just without alcohol or men – it’s three floors of girls all crammed into a small area, plus feel-good music pumping and zero competition. I wanted to demo for the student who was worried about the shop security and other people listening, so we lingered around the ground floor to see what we could find.
Right on cue we spotted a tall girl with dyed red hair who was about to exit the store. Right in front of the burly security guard I opened her and gave her a compliment, then pulled the rug from under her by teasing her that she looked like a Mr Freeze Tip Top. Luckily she laughed and gave me big eyes. She was German, a newly qualified teacher and in London with a group of language students for a few days.
The close was rushed and only a Facebook as she said she didn’t have a UK number yet, plus the security guy was giving us cockblocking proximity. Ah well, only a demo, just a flaky lead to put into the funnel, nothing to write home about.
To my surprise she accepted my request soon after and proceeded to send me lengthy invested messages about her trip. As any guy does the first thing I checked was her profile pictures. Here’s where I uncovered the truth about her…she was a hard core feminist.
She ticked every feminist cliche going: coloured hair, owned a cat, vegan, Greenpeace member, “activist” etc. The only difference was that she was hot. Her German genetics meant that she was tall, skinny with strong model-like cheek bones. Luckily she hadn’t shaved off all her hair and still had it down to her shoulders.
I know many pickup artists that would immediately dismiss her as a lead. They’d go on a long tirade about her character and moan about how the world is going to the dogs. I prefer to see these girls for what they are – lost puppies who need a pack leader. Feminists are craving a strong male lead more than any other group of females, like children who’ve been abandoned by their dads.
Rather than debating her or getting reactive, I stuck to my guns and just played up my side of the equation when she’d ask me why I ate meat (I’d send her pictures of delicious steak) or question my “excessive” flying (I told her I was an international drug dealer and bodybuilder).
The sporadic messaging on Facebook continued back and forth throughout Autumn and early Winter until I told her I was going to be in Frankfurt in December (I was coaching a guy there for two days). Immediately she suggested meeting up in Heidelberg where she lived, not far away, and showing me around the Christmas market.
Travelling to another city to see a girl is a dangerous strategy and poor frame, unless you’ve got some green lights. Up until this point we’d not really sexualised the Facebook chat and I’d not gotten any intimate selfies off her. So I went for the nuclear option – asking her outright if I could crash at hers for a couple of nights. If a girl replies positively to this then you know it’s on.
This is what unleashed the beast in her. She wrote back accusing me of being presumptuous, of being a womaniser, a “typical guy” with a “patronising view of women.” I opened the message, chuckled and then quickly forgot about it, filing it away mentally in the dead-end leads section of my brain.
Non reactivity and the power of the push. Two key components that guys forget when a woman’s going off on one. Accidentally my silence spiked her emotions even more. She’d send longer and longer messages, hot and cold, one minute telling me I was “cold hearted” and then the next minute liking all my Facebook pictures and asking if I was still visiting her in Heidelberg.
December arrived and soon I was off to Frankfurt for my coaching session. I’d tentatively agreed to seeing Feminist Girl (if the demo sets in Frankfurt with the student didn’t uncover any calmer, hotter girls) and sent her a tongue-in-cheek message saying she should meet me at the train station with “balloons and chocolates” to welcome the British VIP.
It was freezing cold and a light covering of snow was on the ground as the train pulled into Heidelberg station. I’d taken a gamble and not booked any accommodation, even though I’d not brought up the topic with Feminist Girl since the initial message. And there she was standing by her car, waiting for me…with some balloons on strings and a box of chocolates under her arm!
Repeat after me: Girls like to please guys. Girls like to submit to dominant men. Girls want you to pass their shit tests. Girls don’t want to lead.
First she took me to her apartment to drop off my bag. Sure enough her place looked like something from a Feminism101 handbook. Posters about “strong independent women,” yoga mats, lots of house plants, knitting and weird fruit teas. Plus a cat. A very angry cat.
We headed out into the cold snowy evening to explore the Christmas market and climb the cobbled hill up to Heidelberg Castle, drinking Glühweine and taking pictures. She flipped between passive and accusatory just like on her Facebook messages. One minute she’d be dreamy and open, the next she’d be having a mini rant about how there was sexism in her school. Like with any other shit test, the key was to ignore what she was saying or make fun of her. I told her I’d lock her in the castle and make her grow her hair again so a noble prince could save her. She pretended to be in a strop but like a little kid I could see she was enjoying not being taken seriously.
Back at her place we settled down on the sofa to watch a movie (she chose Bridget Jones 2, I kid you not) as her cat hissed at me from the table tops. I purposefully didn’t make any big escalation moves as I knew that if the clock counted down, later and later, I’d have to stay the night and therefore we were going to fuck.
By the end of the movie I’d still not done more than put my arm around her. She was so engrossed in the movie and I was starting to doubt if the bang was actually on or not. “I get up for school at 7am” she said, standing up and yawning.
Without saying a word she climbed the wooden stairs to her loft bed and started changing ready for bed. So clinical, so practical, like only German girls can be. In the semi darkness I followed her up and did the same, stripping down to my boxers. She opened a bedside drawer and took out a condom, prepared and precise. I couldn’t take the sterile vibes any more, pulling her towards me and making out with her like it was the end of the world.
I remember fucking her into oblivion, she was so loud and wanted me to pull her hair harder and harder. Slapping her arse, my fingers in her mouth, hand around her throat, she couldn’t get enough. All the while her angry cat looked on from the staircase.
Here ends today’s lesson – don’t take feminists seriously. Don’t engage them or debate them. Instead, see them as lost sheep who are longing for a shepherd. Girls like this are craving a guy with a strong frame who can make them feel feminine again. And the best way to do that – fuck them 😉