Below The Belt Part 14

For an introduction to this “dirty thirty” series of blog posts for my new book Below The Belt, go here.

 

Russian Shapeshifter – August 2014, Russia

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Nice Guys like to think of girls’ personalities and behaviours as binary and fixed. They imagine her as either the “good girl” or the “bad girl,” the “girl next door” or the “slut.” This reveals their lack of infield experience and an underlying Madonna-Whore complex.

Those small minority of guys in the Secret Society understand what I mean by women as shapeshifters – they change their pattern of behaviours based on the frame they’re presented with. To a guy who comes across as a sweet, stable boyfriend like personality, she’ll mirror that by showing her angelic, innocent, squeaky clean side. To a guy who comes across as the rogue adventurous bad boy who wants a passionate fling she’ll reveal her naughty, wild, kinky side.

If you wear a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, an expensive watch and drive a Ferrari don’t be puzzled when every girl you meet seems to be a gold-digger. If you bang her after an hour of stopping her on the street in a pub toilet, don’t be surprised when she wants to keep it casual and not introduce you to her mother. She’ll accept the value proposition you’re offering at the start, whatever the form. The guy sets the frame, and it’s hard to change once in place.

It’s crucial that you understand this: the same girl can show different sexual behaviours depending on the guy she meets. For one guy she’ll fuck him on the first date, swallow, do anal and outdoor sex. For another guy she’ll wait five dates, demand dinner and roses, plus only do missionary position with candles.

This story from Saint Petersburg in Russia with a rich Daddy’s Girl illustrates this Shapeshifter concept perfectly. I was spending a month in the city (as I describe in my book Cold Calling) and hustling every day on the long main street of Nevsky Prospect. I’d conditioned myself like one of Pavlov’s dogs to reward myself with some cheesecake after each day’s marathon daygame session of 20 approaches. I’d gotten to 19 in the hot sun and was looking for any hottie to finish the session with. This girl was number 20.

When you’ve just landed in a Russian city it’s easy to be intimidated by the over-the-top shows of female beauty around you. High heels, long legs, tight dresses, long hair, full makeup….all in the middle of the day like they’re off to a club. After a few days of daygame you’re desensitised to it but when I saw this girl come out of a metro entrance I was nervous. She looked like brunette Barbie doll – pink dress and bag, visible gold accessories and luxury labels, strutting down the street with her iPhone in a pink Playboy bunny case. Fuck it, face the fear – jump in and approach.

She was actually far more friendly than I’d predicted, with excellent English having spend a month in the USA at a summer school. She was 22 years old, fresh out of university and out that day to spend her dad’s money in some expensive stores. The set went well but as ever in Russia, a solid interaction meant very little in terms of guessing if a notch was going to happen. I took her Whatsapp and we split.

My first date with Daddy’s Girl happened three days later in the early evening. I met her outside Galeria Mall and took her to my usual date venue across the road – an English style pub called the William Bass. We sat at right angles to each other upstairs under a portrait of the Queen (lots of easy role play fodder) and I ran the usual structure. I don’t remember it being that eventful, other than her telling me her father was very wealthy, she’d just come out of a two year relationship with a rich guy who had taken her to the best restaurants and clubs in the city but had “made her feel like his medal.” She wasn’t like her Barbie image at all, despite looking like one. She’d graduated with a degree in Economics and knew more about English literature than me.

The compliance was nothing special – she kept her cards close to her (ample) chest. I must have done my usual verbal and physical spikes but I remember not getting the full make out or bounce home as we walked past my apartment, ten minutes away. Slower dating is normal in Russia so I seeded another meeting and sent her on her merry way.

The second date was two days later, meeting at the same spot “for a walk.”  She turned up with a tight white dress on and taller heels like she’d come to fuck. Note that if a girl is wearing white with you (especially jeans or tight dress) then it means she’s not on her period so that’s a good signal for sex. As we walked past my apartment door on Nevsky Prospect I told her I wanted to “get my jacket” because the evening air was chilly. She climbed the stairs and came into the small bachelor pad with little hesitation, taking off her shoes and looking at the view of the street below. More green lights. I was quietly confident this was going to be a straightforward lay so in the bathroom I took off my infamous Torero belt to make escalation easier.

We listened to songs on Youtube and chatted to put her at ease, changing the music for the movie “Dirty Dancing” which she said she’d seen hundreds of times. Sitting on the bed we started drinking wine whilst watching the film. Even though it’s a crappy movie, it’s good to go along with girl’s fantasies and play them out in real life. Patrick Swayze’s character was doing a lot of the escalating for me as he wracked up the sexual tension with the movie’s sweet, innocent “good girl.”

The sitting turned to reclining, which turned to arm around her and some small kissing. This is where the usual token LMR kicked in. She said she only had sex with a guy she was dating, that it was too fast, that she didn’t know me etc etc, the usual forebrain roadblocks that an experienced player will have heard hundreds of times. I rolled off and we watched more of the movie. Patrick Swayze was now getting down and dirty with the good girl. I noticed that Daddy’s Girl sighed a little when I pulled her hair into a ponytail.

The arm around her and hair pulling turned to making out. She indicated for me to pull her hair more, “like you own me” she said. I remember the final escalation taking a long time (we got to the end credits of the movie!) with her enjoying the teasing and building sexual tension. Dick out, fingering, then fucking her for all of twenty seconds before she fell off the bed onto the floor where I carried on nailing her. She was a real biter and scratcher (girls do this as territorial markings) and left me looking like I’d been in a bar fight.

She orgasmed first and went to the bathroom to clean herself up. I went in after her and got her to give me a blowjob so I could cum in her mouth. I remember her continually asking for my approval, loving it when I told her what to do. After she said she wanted to be my “plaything” and next time be “told to shut up and then fucked as I walk in the door.” She told me that I was the third guy she’d ever had sex with (the first two were long term relationships) and the first guy who’d not bought her expensive shit. She said she liked the direct way I stopped her on the street and that she knew I wanted to fuck.

The total amount I spent on her: two beers on the first date (around $10) and a bottle of white wine at mine on the second date ($12), so around $22.

The next time I saw her I was meant to meet her outside Zara on the main street. She messaged me to say she was trying on clothes inside and that I should join her. I found which changing room cubicle she was in, waited until other shoppers were not looking and then went into the cubicle with her. We didn’t fuck, but we made out and I fingered her under her skirt. She didn’t buy anything, saying she’d get her dad to order it to the house.

To a Nice Guy this shapeshifting nature of a girl seems so strange as it’s just not logical. One moment she might be a butter-wouldn’t-melt university student. The next she might be a flashy Barbie girl on the arm of a rich guy. The next moment she might fuck a scruffy Welshman who stopped her on the street and spent peanuts on her.

I even know prim and proper conservative guys who are horrified at the thought of girls asking to be dominated and treated like “objects.” They are morally outraged, describing it as “degrading.” Their usual reply is that “only some girls are like that” as they bury their heads in the sand and pretend that the Secret Society doesn’t exist.

 

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