Red Pill Vignette – The Woman in Red

Budapest

My time here had been shit – a lesion in my back and flu symptoms, apart from the interminable heat.

This was supposed to be a Jaunt and felt more like a Taunt. Still, I pushed through and came out on the street to meet Hungarian women.

The trip felt like a reconnaissance in case I ever get sent to Europe for work and needed to pick the cities I’d like to visit the most on a cheap Easyjet flight.

Hauer Cafe

I went to a local cafe in Budapest for a late breakfast. There the wide-eyed waitress served me a coffee and a Hungarian goulash.

I looked over and there was a young, lovely woman in red standing and preening herself in front of the mirror while her portly husband sat eating his lunch. She put so much effort into dressing, grooming, makeup – and here she was correcting, patting down, and shaping herself to be picture of beauty.

Quite literally at this table …

They ate in silence.

He was sitting on one side of the table with sandwich in one hand, phone in the other. I imagined him to be mid-thirties, about twenty kilos overweight, a government employee or IT worker, and comfortably middle class.

She to me was probably late twenties – and while not a trophy wife, definitely much more attractive than him and in the prime of her life.

The Waitress

I got to talking with the waitress and told her I had something to say about this woman in red.

They paid the bill and soon left. The waitress, curious, came back to me and asked what I wanted to say about her.

“She is totally bored in that relationship. Did you see them?” I remarked.

“Of course I did. I used to be that woman in red,” she replied.

She went on to tell me about her former boyfriend – how she was with him for three years, how they got engaged and how in the end she broke it off because, well, he was just so BORING.

I got her number and we agreed to go for a drink.

“Don’t worry. With me you will never be that woman in the red dress,” I assured her.

References

RQ’s post is timely:

https://theredquest.wordpress.com/2019/06/12/boredom-death/

Thought Bubble 002 – Seduction No-Nos

Précis

Three topics I avoid now when trying to seduce women.

Feel free to comment.

Politics

This seems pretty obvious – unless you are in politics (really, an expression of power), then skip this topic with women. It’s lifeless, polemical, divisive, and very anti-seductive.

Politics can also draw you into discussions on feminism, gender roles, income distribution, etc. (Note: RP Musicology and I have talked about this – women do often reveal their true feelings about these topics but after hard, dominant sex.)

I used to talk heavily about politics as it supercharged me as a male … really, it was just wasted energy taken away from the act of having fun with women and trying to seduce them.

TASK: If she tries to talk about politics, direct her away from the discussion.

Religion

In my opinion, organised religion is an expression of anti-seduction. Unless you are reading the Song of Solomon or the Kama Sutra, there really is not much to be found in religion that is likely to seduce a woman. It just FEELS anti-seductive.

The only exception I can see is mysticism and astrology, which to me really is an expression of female intuition, fertility and sexuality. I often wonder whether mysticism and attempts to predict the future is really a psychological tool for women to assess you as a possible sexual mate.

Women often get trapped in their own fantasies when assessing for a mate. The French Banker still is in contact with me and believes I work in intelligence, simply because I created the “spy” fantasy for her when I met her.

Red Pillology

This was a new discovery for me – women do not want to hear overt discussion about the Red Pill, particularly in relation to cuckoldry. This last topic is far and away the biggest hotspot in the discussion of evolutionary biology and the darkest secret about women – that they have the capacity to deceive a male into raising a child that is not his.

I notice, even from the most liberal and open women, the smokescreen be applied when talking about this topic. “But perhaps he is okay with it”, adoption, sperm banks, etc.

HOWEVER – Red Pill truths can be sub-communicated to the woman so that she knows you just “get it” and that you are the LOVER – like my time with the The Czech Woman.

Blue Balls Report – Munich: Brunnhilde & La Napolitana

Brunnhilde

She appeared at the hostel where I was staying – a mixed German/Turkish girl who was visiting her SJW Canadian friend (who incidentally, was a ‘broken’ woman in my opinion). I noticed a few IOIs and made some trivial conversation that night.

On the Tuesday I made my way to Marienplatz to meet with a few friends I had made in the hostel – two Canadians and an American. After climbing down one of the bell towers, I discovered her and the Canadian SJW at the bottom conversing with the group.

We made our way around Munich – the Hofbrauhaus for lunch, the English Garden, an odd surfing spot on the river and then a subsequent dip downriver.

I had made a few flirty comments about her not wearing any underwear and received the telltale punch on the shoulder – the classic Tease Punch.

Her Italian/German friend from Napoli joined us – La Napolitana. She and I immediately connected.

Later than evening we played a drinking game (I mean seriously, at 38?!) which included Never Have I Ever. The object of the game is to admit to something you have not done and if someone else in the group has done it, then then need to lower a finger.

I admitted to many more things than almost anybody else at the table. The American, observing Brunnhilde, noticed that she and I both lowered a finger when the challenge was set around “wanting to sleep with someone at the table”. It was clear.

Texting was quite hot between us after Brunnhilde left – I joked that she and I needed to come up with a new Never Have I Ever challenge just for the two of us.

We met for dinner the next day with the SJW and La Napolitana – and the vibe was quite simply DEAD between us.

Blue Balls #1.

La Napolitana

I opened my heart a little too much with La Napolitana

Given that the connection was dead between Brunnhilde and I, I then started working on La Napolitana who was sitting across from me at the table.

She was very sweet, 24, K-selected, and the product of migrant parents from Napoli. Her father was a musician and I showed her a number of videos of my performances in Sydney. She seemed like she wanted to express herself artistically, yet her father had warned to not pursue art.

To me she was K-selected and sheltered in much the same way children of ethnic parents are sheltered in Australia – some follow the rules, others rebel against them.

The conversation was warm over dinner between us. The SJW threw in a baiting comment about how difficult it was for single mothers – and much to my chagrin, I just lost it and told her she was wrong. I talked about male suicides of men who lose access to their children, of my father’s story taking care of two children on his own, and how I measured a person based on their needs and not their gender.

(The SJW irked me – she had said that most of the sex in her life was “non-consensual”. I balked and told her that was a joke – more like non-responsibility. I had interviewed women who were the subject of rape in war crime situations and this SJW was simply trying to distance herself from drunk hookups).

Oddly, at the end of my rant – citing my work, my situation and how the SJW simply was wrong – La Napolitana got up and gave me a hug. It was very unusual.

Later we went for coffee and shishas. She was curios about my short erotic fiction that I was writing (really just fictionalised accounts of women I’ve fucked with a classic arc that engages a woman’s psychological core).

She told me about an American she was dating who had one day simply told her he did not want the relationship and then disappeared. “I know he loves me,” she said. “I wanted to get married”. My thoughts were mixed – he sounded like a case of catch-and-release who made a wise decision rather than fuck with a girl’s life (I wish I had).

Her relationships had been rollercoasters and she confided that she secretly enjoyed the ride. Patterns in relationships is a tell.

Later, at the hostel, Brunnhilde and the SJW left, encouraging me to make sure La Napolitana got home safely. She and I chatted for quite awhile about preparing for marathons, Strawberry Fields (predictable), and where the life journey would take us.

I dropped her back to the main station and made my move – which she rejected. She then reached out for a hug which was like a wall of unexpected affection. She left me with a kiss on the cheek.

The next day I sent her a farewell text and wished that we had had more time to pursue the connection. She wrote back: “I did not want to pursue the connection any more than what we did”.

I was gutted.

I took the unusual step of writing back to her and asking her to delete my number – I find it difficult to stay in contact with girls with whom I have developed an affectionate connection but who do not want any more. I told her I was the sex and adventure guy and liked to feel “love, affection and sex” with girls I like. I had to CUT.

I reflected on this girl all last night and today. I think I was needing affection more than sex and she must have sensed that. I definitely know that I was not suffering from a “failure to feel”.

But in the end we are not owed sex as men. I know it’s a projection but it genuinely feels like she wasted my time as my needs were too high for what she could give.

A great Reference Experience.

Blue Balls #2

Thanks

Many thanks to Nash (https://daysofgame.com) for his guidance and support with La Napolitana.

Field Report 003 – Ells In Berlin

Reddit Weed

Wading through the Red(dit) Weed, I found an entry of a young Daygamer in Berlin:

https://www.reddit.com/r/seduction/comments/9ock2a/my_daygame_experience_so_far_statistics_and/

I reached out to him, stretching my hand through the Weeds, and he replied! Let’s call him Ells.

(BTW: He can be contacted at:

Email: ells@daygamedaily.com

Reddit: u/MinxXxy)

Ells

A young British guy with impeccable Cambridge credentials who was on the road to mastering Daygame and building a rotation of young, hot, tight women.

His work rate for front stops was high and he threw himself into many sets mid-conversation.

He and I also did a number of two-sets – one in particular where I think he tagged the wrong woman to talk to as my girl – half Austrian, half Tunisian – was just … exquisite.

A hot, young Jordanian we both spotted – but Ells has first dibs as my Daygame host.

Berlin Stadtbiblothek and Franzosicher Strasse

Berlin is definitely the city if you are after tattoos, hippie clothes and nasty looking women. What amazed me was how hot and petite German girls were – with a touch of Vietnamese and Turkish for good measure.

I opened a French girl who was singing to herself in the coffee shop – a young, 24 year old classical pianist who unfortunately had a “friend” (whatever that means).

Ells arrived and I was pleasantly surprised that he was … British. I clearly did not read the profile.

We went for a brief stroll for about an hour around Humboldt-Universitat zu Berlin and discussed our respective “journey”, the usual sizing up of Daygamers. Ells had been here for six months working in marketing – both through his work and self-marketing on the street.

Ells opened quite a few hotties – the streets were much more talented than I had remembered in my last two trips to Berlin. Daygame must have opened my eyes to women because I don’t remember seeing how petite and cute German women are.

We drew on the same chords of inspiration – Torero’s podcasts and a somewhat sceptical view of the Red Pill community and its more strident commentators and their ideas around how much women cheat.

I liked him. He was real.

Weinmeisterstrasse

I snuck out of the house – my brother was spray painting his bike and he asked where I was going. There was no point telling him: “just for a beer with Ells”.

Ells and I met at Weinmeisterstrasse for a good daygame sesh. Most of my opens were indirect and camera-based; his were direct and front stops.

He closed a whole bunch of girls – it was a fashion district for women; and I closed onean Indian girl on a weekend trip to Berlin.

The Indian set was dirty – she gave me a huge IOI and I had to honour it. She was flirty, fun and definitely not innocent, agreeing to meet for a beer over the weekend.

P. S. I did not honor the reach out when she wanted to meet for a beer. I sent her this text the next day … #daygamefails:

Raw Flohrmarkt

We had agreed to go to the flea markets in the afternoon … but I picked the wrong flea markets.

A school friend of mine – let’s call him Journey – whom I had not seen for twenty years was at the Raw Flohrmarkt selling jewellery. He was the first in my year to become a father … and had gone through a spiritual journey the last four years as the girl he raised on his own from 5 to 13 years had gone to live with her mother – and promptly stopped contacting him.

Journey and I bonded quite closely in that short time. We both had set ourselves free of being shamed as fathers; both had a love of younger women (he was seeing a 22 year old German girl who was the jewellery maker); and both knew our own value as men. It was a bittersweet moment as we both laughed at our lives in reverse Benjamin Button style.

Mauerpark

Ells texted me and I realised I was in the … wrong flea market. Berlin had a number of them. I caught the tram to Mauerpark – a hotspot of hippie activity. The Great Unwashed were here and out in force.

Hippies’ Paradise

A well put-together woman …

You Make Me Feel Like A Natural … Daygamer

Gladiatorial sport

Hotbod
Most productive nation in Europe
These two were Yanks – loud voice, strong Frame and “sex hair”

Post-Daygame Debrief

We had some post-park beers and admired the talent as they walked past. It was distracting and we barely held a conversation.

One of the refreshing things I found about Ells – and one of the “core competencies” of a Daygamer – is not only leering at the girl on the street but APPROACHING HER. It really is the thing that separates boys from men.

Some of his leads’ messages started to flow in and he was giddy from the responses.

A pleasure to meet him. We will game again when I return to Berlin.

Thought Bubble 001 – Orbit Theory

Introduction

This is a series of short ideas or “Thought Bubbles” to help myself more fully understand the true nature of female sexuality.

I am sure that these ideas have already been given names within the seduction community however I wanted to define them for myself.

Feel free to comment.

Orbit Theory

Magnum (http://magnumlivelarge.blog) and I have been discussing the concept of “orbit theory” where:

a woman will subconsciously or consciously put herself into orbit into a situation or an environment where there is a possibility of meeting a high-value guy will try to seduce her.

Below I have broken it down into Situation, Elements and an Example.

Dance Classes

Situation

A woman will join a Latin/salsa class ostensibly to learn how to dance … ostensibly.

Some women will go further than just a local dance class and travel to the teacher’s country to learn more about the dance.

Cuba is a perfect example of a Thailand for women – mostly white women looking to have a holiday romance with some black/mulato Cuban guy and fund his lifestyle.

Elements

1. Lead/follow structure of partner dancing which creates strong polarity

2. Exotic, foreign teacher – fit, attractive, Latin, often black (jungle fever in reverse)

3. Male physicality and artistry – ie. guys who love more than sport

4. Romantic bubble while dancing – as in tango, a “three minute romance”

5. Men who are not afraid to approach women, shower them with affection and escalate

Example

Anybody who has been to a Latin dance class or been part of the scene knows that it is the white girls who fall victim to the Latin teacher the fastest. Most Latin dance teachers clean up and fuck many of their students. Sometimes Asian girls fall victim

1. A well-known female actress in Australia is dating a Latin dance teacher. Predictable. Much like her film work.

2. A wonderful little vignette of an Australian woman – 60 – who complained to me about the lack of eligible men for her. I told her to go to Europe. She liked the idea.

“But I have a better idea – why don’t you go to Cuba and fuck a whole bunch of black dudes thirty years younger than you?” I suggested.

“Coco, I’ve been there and done that already. I want something more permanent.”

Boot Camps/Gyms

Situation

A woman will join a bootcamp or gym ostensibly to get into shape … ostensibly.

One of the most dangerous elements of the gym is the infamous “personal trainer” – a one-on-one session between a fattie/neglected woman and a fit, hot trainer.

Elements

1. Overweight or neglected female who is single or in a boring relationship

2. Fit, attractive, young personal trainer

3. Moral support from the trainer to the fattie, heaping praise on her progress

4. The female thinking about sport fucking the trainer or masturbating to him at night

Example

Bumblebee told me about her personal trainer – a young, fit Australian guy in a relationship. It was a private gym and she needed to book her sessions in with him. She had a group of girlfriends who would book a Saturday session and then “brunch” afterwards (ie. consume the calories you’ve just burnt).

One day, Bumblebee (BB) was lamenting the fact that one of her class had gotten pregnant to the personal trainer and that she decided to keep the baby. BB was sad because the trainer did not want the baby and disavowed the future mother. I told Bumblebee a slice of Red Pill truth: “she fucked him because he was hot, already taken, and would provide great genes to the baby.”

It was SO sad for her, BB sighed. I told her to snap out of it – it was 2019 and she could have had an abortion if she wanted.

Soon the future mother was banned from the gym as she was stalking the trainer, pleading with him for a relationship, and then gave a false choice to the girls group – “you support me or him”.

The girls, remaining in orbit, all chose him.

Travel

Surf / Pray / Fuck

Situation

For anybody who has seen Eat Pray Love – I pity you.

For anybody who had to sit through Mamma Mia! The Musical – I pity you.

For anybody who has read Lay Report 005 – The French Banker – I pity her.

Women throw themselves into travel for so many reasons – “discovering themselves”, adventure, excitement, better understanding of the world, cultural exchange, charity work, etc … ostensibly.

How about women travelling so they can expand the possibility of genetic availability in high-value men in a foreign locale? Perhaps even a destination where their Sexual Market Value has improved? Or where they can enjoy the delights of having their head against a bathroom mirror in a cheap hostel in Munich while being fucked by an Aussie backpacker? (That’s where I’m going now).

Elements

1. Juncture point for a woman – after school, after university, relationship breakdown, “discovering herself”, cancer scare, etc

2. Solo travel – speaks for itself

3. Woman’s Search for Meaning – not to make fun of Victor Frankl’s book (which is exceptional), but women really do not understanding this primal drive that generates so much of their searching activity.

4. Some form of diarising, blogging, communication plan to give the appearance of genuine, legitimate activities interspersed with “It Just Happened Sex”.

Example

See the following example at the Casual Sex Project (https://casualsexproject.com/some-like-it-rough/).

In short, 30 year old female in a 9.5 year monogamous relationship who decided to go on a surf trip to Morocco. She fucks the teacher and then splits up with the boyfriend.

I will quote some material from it:

Ilyas was my surf teacher for a week in Morocco. At that time, I was in a monogamous relationship for 9,5 years and I never cheated nor wanted to cheat on my partner. 

She not only rode a long board – she also rode him:

I slept at his place and left early in the morning. The next day was complicated. I was so thrilled about that incredible night, it was like having “real” sex for the first time. But I was also wondering what it meant for my relationship and my boyfriend. I broke up with my boyfriend 6 weeks later because Ilyas and I were still in touch every day, talking about how amazing and unforgettable the night was, calling each other every week, and making plans to see each other again. All I wanted was to be single to explore that relationship.

Blow / Choke / Fuck:

The first night we spent again together was the best sex night I’ve ever had. We had sex twice and I had over 10 orgasms during that night, 3-5 the first time and 5-7 the second time. The second time we had sex was the best of my life. I got so wild, gave him a blow job, he choked me, told me to “shut up” with his hand on and his fingers in my mouth. Of course, there was still a lot of spanking and domination from him (doggy style). Ilyas made me discover a new facet of my sexuality, that I liked rough sex, and that has changed my life

I wonder what the boyfriend was thinking when he purchased the ticket to Morocco for his girlfriend’s 30th birthday so she could “discover herself“. He must have “choked” up when she unceremoniously dumped him when she got back home.

No judgement on the girl – she wasn’t being fucked properly.

This guy is definitely not Ilyas – just have a look at that cock-cover going on with his hands.

Red Pill Vignette – The Colombiana

The Colombian

I had known the Colombian through my ex. She was a flirty, fun girl who had been in an abusive relationship with a Persian for many years until they eventually split. Abusive in the sense that he loved hard, dominant sex and loved to fuck her in the arse.

The Colombian and I went on a date to test the untapped sexual tension between us. At the time I thought things would just magically come together and I never escalated – a mixture of not knowing whether I really wanted her.

She soon moved on, we remained friends, and one night she invited me out to a salsa night at one of the large bars in Sydney.

Wednesday Nights

She had invited some friends – a consular worker from Costa Rica and another South American girl.

The thing I liked about the Colombian was that we would talk Spanish and it was the equivalent of banter in English – something I would normally experience with an Australian or an Irish girl. Foreigners did banter, too.

We entered the bar and scanned the room, looking for a place to eyegawk the crowd. The usual suspects of the salsa scene were there – nasty looking Latinas, blow-in businessmen from the area, try hard Asian guys who learnt to dance REALLY well.

The Colombian went pale and she confided in her girlfriends that we had to go now. Men are usually excluded from these kinds of feminine crises and this was no exception. The Colombian was adept at dramatising a situation for full effect.

We ducked out and made our way to a German bar nearby to have a drink.

Biergarten

“Colombiana – what was that drama about?” I chided her.

“Well, I’m waiting for a new guy and I can’t be seen there. So we decided to move here,” she replied palely.

Her drama had the edge of something strange and I probed about the guy.

“He is someone I met recently. Real nice guy. He’s coming to meet us right now”.

The guy – let’s call him the Nephew – turned up and he seemed … nice.

He was a pleasant guy in a sweater, very affectionate towards her … and chodey. (So was I at the time so who’s judging?)

Knowing the Colombian, she was sizing him up for boyfriend material in the vain hope she could eventually get married and have kids and perhaps even stay in the country.

I asked the Costa Rican about the Colombian’s look of horror at the bar. She seemed quite open about it for a diplomat.

“She hooked up with his uncle. He was there at the bar and we had to make an escape”.

Airfield

The Colombian soon disappeared from the scene – she was one of those girls who would enter a relationship and not be seen for months or years only to resurface when things were bad or had ended.

That Christmas, I had gone with friends to a winery area outside of Sydney where we stayed at the airfield where a pilot friend had a propellor plane. The Colombian and the Nephew had – coincidentally – stayed in the area and were umming and ahhing about visiting us.

Why? The Colombian was screening us about her “secret” because all of us knew about the Uncle.

They eventually turned up and stayed for morning tea. It was an awkward, fawning affair as she lavished affection on him while he sat proudly in his chair. There was a touch of conservatism about him – and his chodeyness had not dissipated.

Random Texts

Some six months later, I got a random text from the Colombian asking how I was and whether she could call me. I sensed that it was over between them.

She called and we talked a bit. In her usual dramatic flair, she told me that in the ensuing months they had decided to live together, purchase a house and planned to get married.

So what had happened?

“I told him about the uncle. I don’t know why I did. I was just scared that he would find out directly and so I told him”, she said tearily.

She had tried to head the uncle off at the pass.

“Yeah, so what’s the big deal?” I asked innocently.

“Well, I told him about the uncle and he thought he could deal with it – but he couldn’t. He just told me he kept on imagining the two of us together and couldn’t get the image out of his head.”

“What happened with the uncle?” I continued.

“It was nothing, nothing happened. We just met and had a good time. He’s just the usual Latin guy. Nothing happened. A bit of a creep.”

She ruminated on these “nada pasó” words a number of times. Her face filled with disgust as she described him to me. I couldn’t cut through the BS so just speared her with an assumption.

“So you fucked the Uncle and then you told the Nephew about it? Good move”.

She had this cat’s bum look about her when I got to the truth.

Red Pill Coaching for Women

By that time I was fully immersed in Red Pill theory and I thought I’d give it a shot to try and coach her into making the right decision as a woman. I liked the girl and I did not want her trapped with a chodey Beta.

It wasn’t the first time she had fucked someone I knew. She had fucked a friend of the pilot’s at the pilot’s house after a night out – and yet “HE has issues as he texts ten girls at once on Tinder looking for a hookup”. Lovely projection coming from her.

“Colombiana – let me tell you – he will never get rid of that image from his head of you fucking the Uncle. He will use it against you for the rest of your relationship and you’ll be shamed for it every time. Guys like that don’t understand women are just as human as guys.”

Imagine you are this Blue Pill Nephew. You’ve met a girl, felt attraction for her, and eventually slept with her. Affection and love follows. You assess her as a prospect for a long term relationship and then – WHAM! She tells you about hooking up with the Uncle.

The thing about sex is – what did the Uncle do to her? Did he fuck her in a bathroom? Cum on her face? Fuck her up the arse? Was it quick, dirty sex? Did he facefuck her? (Perhaps he was reading https://rivsdiary.wordpress.com)

It’s the Male Hamster Wheel in action. Did he taint my Pure Chaste Woman?

Soon she started asking for my help to find a place to live and start a new life. I found a spot for her … but then suddenly she told me she was “giving it (the relationship) a go”.

Facebook Update

Yesterday I saw some lovely glossy photos of their wedding – the Nephew and the Colombiana. It was a match made in heaven.

I wonder whether the Uncle gave a speech.

Photo Essay – Tiergarten and the Brandenburg Gate

Précis

I purchased a book called Camera Game from Goldmund Unleashed (https://goldmundunleashed.com) late last year, ostensibly to learn how to game women through street photography and sleep with them.

Over time, however, my interest in photography became greater than the Game element associated with it. A true transition where the object is developing the photography and artistic skill set and the reward is the possibility of meeting and seducing a receptive woman.

Game IS a project for me – but so is music, singing, dance, photography and writing. These interests provide a healthy balance to counteract the dark forces of leads you have not responded to you, “blue balls”, flakey dates and LMR.

TL;DR: Photographic essay of a famous park in Berlin. The article is mostly Game-free. You can skip if you want – this is a philosophical musing about my life and is as long and meandering as a walk through the Tiergarten.

Berlin

My brother moved to Berlin in 2015, ostensibly to live out a Five Year Plan of residency to balance out the Five Year Plan his then German girlfriend had done in Australia.

I was excited for him on this new journey – he had gone through a traumatic break up in 2008 where his then first wife – an Australian – had called home while at work (she was away working in Western Australia) and had unceremoniously dumped him over the phone! This move represented an expatriate life that I had lived before … something which I knew he longed for but had never had the opportunity. Meeting this German girl had set the ball rolling.

Visits

We visited in 2016 – my parents, son and I – a long, arduous trip travelling with two elderly, infirm characters through Singapore. It was a wonderful experience – I had recently separated from my son’s mother and needed respite on holidays. Our family was unified and it was sweet. It was on this trip that we went to Pisa – the one moment of my life that truly defined me when I got my Dad to feel something (A Love Letter to Miss Bumblebee). I have mentioned that story a number of times because it is defining for me.

In 2018 we returned – this time through Bangkok – and the elderly, infirm parents had worsened to the point that my Mum had had a stroke and my Dad was with a walking stick. My brother married this German girl and we had a wonderful wedding in the countryside, holed up at a hotel formerly known for its SS credential including an old hunting lodge.

The Tiergarten

This park – a large area formerly reserved for hunting – forms a large rectangular block in West Berlin. Large roads cut through it, leading to the grand piece of architecture known as the Brandenburg Gate.

This trip represented to me the book end of a time in my work – approximately eight years – where I literally finished my shift and got on a plane an hour later. I had planned nothing apart from the broad phrase known as a “Eurojaunt”.

There was nothing jaunty about me. I landed here and immediately slumped into a reflective state about my life:

1. I started training here for a Half-Marathon in September, a fitness goal which, in my opinion, could not even be carried out by the best Soviet planners.

2. Eurojaunt was really the illusory title of sex as the object of my trip … when I had no leads, no plans, and no drive to do so.

3. I brought my camera with me as a form of therapyJohn Ruskin puts it best.

“The greatest thing a human soul ever does in this world is to see something and tell what it saw in a plain way. Hundreds of people can talk for one who can think, but thousands can think for one who can see. To see clearly is poetry, prophecy and religion, all in one.” – John Ruskin

I entered the Tiergarten and took a photo of this embankment. To the right of me was a young German girl – headphones, eating a hamburger and very cute. She was my first cold approach of the trip.

I opened her a la Krauser with “I hope you speak English”. She was frosty, direct, forthright and asking “why?”

“Well, I was taking photos in both directions and you ended up in my lens. I wanted to come say hello – you look very cute with hamburger in hand”.

She was an ethnic German – probably Thai or Vietnamese. Once she realised what was going on, the frosty reception dissipated and I was left with a young woman discovering her feminine state. I wished her well and then left. She was rapt.

I strolled past this building, reflecting on my first trip to Europe in 2007 to complete the Camino De Santiago in northern Spain.

An old ex – not just any ex but a girl I had lost my virginity to and was with for nine years – was my walking partner. Let’s call her Jordana. We enjoyed a wonderful, BluePillian life together, travelling to many countries and living fully.

I WAS trapped sexually in my twentiesI don’t deny that yet the fruits of my life were just as flavoursome as any Game ‘woke’ status as now.

I glimmered some Red Pill when I lived and worked overseas in South East Asia towards the end of that relationship. I had tried to be good in the relationship – the Best Boyfriend status – and had watched the full series of the Wire as an antidote to going out to bars and picking up women.

Pick up women? I had no idea. My growth was stunted as a man – like Blue Pill Twin (Red Pill/Blue Pill Twins) – and I eventually enjoyed a few drinks with some colleagues in a bar with dancers. A huge spike of dopamine drove me back into my manhood.

I tossed and turned the idea of picking up a bar girl and paying for sex for weeks – until Jordana turned up and we eventually negotiated some kind of open relationship truce. She left for Australia and had given me on my birthday a certificate allowing me to do what I wanted before I returned home. Even in that situation she was leading.

I indulged significantly. Returning home, we ended our relationship as I had kept in touch with a dancer I had met there and it was just too much for Jordana.

Blue Pill remained.

My life tussle continued. I rented a small flat after Jordana and was very alone. I had never really been on my feet before as a man, had no mentors, and very little sexual experience. I had never built a life outside of a co-dependent relationship with a dominant woman.

Something sinister was felt during this time – many reflective moments during my time with Jordana where she actively sabotaged any element of identity I wanted to forge for myself. Whether it was my singing friendship with the Captain, study and personal goals, or dreams for myself – she believed her identity was more important than mine. I felt disgust for myself and her.

I met my son’s mother later that year – she was a shop attendant at a cafe and we had an immediate connection. Oddly, like with Bumblebee (Miss Bumblebee) , there was no conscious Game involved it just happened. I often wonder whether this is what it feels like for women when an experienced player seduces them – it just feels like it happened.

We had some loved up months – love meaning sex – and it was an exciting relationship for both of us for a time. Soon it grew boring – I tried to end it a couple of times due to her neediness, drama and suicide attempts. But the White Knight in me kept it going. I remember us celebrating two years together and it was like a funeral.

At that time she and I had formed the idea of having a baby. I felt sympathy for her, thinking that the baby would ease her psychological heartache of being abandoned by both her father and mother. It did not.

Some two years later, after our son was born, she told me that she had had a baby to see whether it would bring us closer together. It was a death knell and I felt used – I had tried to love romantically but I really did not want this woman in my life, before, during or after.

Again, I felt disgust for myself for having spent so long with someone I really did not want.

One of my favourite songs at the moment is by Gregory Porter called No Love Dying. The words resonate strongly with me as my brother had used one of the phrases in relation to his ex wife:

There will be no love that’s dying here

The bird that flew into my window

Simply lost his way

He broke his wings

I helped him heal

And then he flew away

Well the death of love is everywhere

But I won’t let it be

That there will be no love dying here with me

No Love Dying by Gregory Porter

In my family, each man stumbled through the forest of a Blue Pill fate:

1. My father got a girl pregnant who was 16. She was put in a home for adoption and he rescued her and married her. They had the child and then another … and his then wife cheated on him a number of times. He ended up taking care of both kids – for five years. The Family Court then split custody and my eldest brother eventually decided he would live with his mother.

He remarried, had two kids and then suffered a bout of stomach cancer. He survived and his new wife – my mother – was glad to see him through it. Shockingly, when he was diagnosed with an autoimmunity disorder in 2016, her reaction was the opposite – she wanted to end the marriage. Clearly he had reached his utility point.

2. My older brother married a girl after selling a car to buy a pink diamond ring. It was the world’s best wedding and worst marriage. She dumped him over the phone and told him she had slept with a female nurse. I suspect that she did something so outrageous like that so as to fully test him as to whether he would be supine enough to stay. He did not – and later she bumped into him post-divorce asking to get back together.

3. My eldest brother dated an older woman and was whisked away to a far flung city where she eventually got a kid out of him. They separated after some years. He then married another girl who was cheating on her husband at the time – with both my brother and two others. They had a child and she eventually cheated on my brother … and ended up in a psychiatric ward. He was left raising BOTH kids from two different relationships.

Curiously, I asked him about the girl he dated when he was young and whom we all liked. “Well, she was lovely and sweet … and also cheated on me”.

Our family was cursed with BluePillia.

I reflected on the last time I had walked through the Tiergarten. It was three years before and with my son in a pram. It was a wonderful bonding trip for the two of us – cathartic and sweet, like two boys on the road. I remember coming across a large group of nudists and was curious to return to find them on this walk.

One strange conversation I had with my brother was around nudists and tanning your balls. Bumblebee and I had been to a nudist beach in Sydney described as “family friendly”. While there I told her to look at my balls – and she gave a look of surprise when she saw the balls rolling back and forth on each other – what a reference experience for her! She and I then returned home and had the hottest sex I could remember – she literally described my cock as being hotter and harder than ever before!

The only aspect of Blue Pill I cherish is the reward – having a son. It was the gateway to parenthood even if it was done wrongly (Player Dad) Yes, it was done in the wrong way, with the wrong girl and in the wrong circumstances … but I still feel like I won the genetic lottery with him. He was a product of love.

He now lives with his mother and her new partner, both of whom welcomed a new son recently. It is a weird arrangement – I don’t think she is happy – and I am confident that the new partner will have never heard of the Red Pill. From the outside it appears like she is using him … but who am I to judge?

I like The Red Quest’s musings (https://theredquest.wordpress.com) on children and the eventual longing it creates in you, especially if you have had one before. I like holding my son up to the light and jokingly moving him from left to right with the exclamation: “Asian, white, Asian, white” as the sun reflects him.

A dark Red Pill corollary was a moment I was in the donut shop buying some coffee beans and donuts for my son and his mother. The owner asked me how I knew them:

“Well he is my son – I think”.

The woman behind me in the queue chuckled. I turned to her and pointed my inner cheekily – “what’s so funny?”

“Just your comment”, her eyes twinkled as she said it.

“Well, at least some white guy is the father … it’s probably me!”.

“I hope so”. She kept eye contact for a tiny micro second more than needed.

We laughed and all I could think of was bending her over the counter and punishing her sexually for such an obvious Secret Society moment!

Dropping off my son and returning home along was a stoical moment for me. Being good was a lesson in failure. But what was the failure? Well, through a Blue Pill lens the failure is that your romantic efforts are not rewarded with female loyalty and genuine feelings for you.

My philosophical musings to now really are like the walk through the Tiergarten – trying to piece together what kind of life I want now that I am ‘woke’ to evolutionary biology.

It reminds me of a conference I attended many years ago based on a Christian scholar called Francis Schaeffer. He asked the question of Christians: “How Should We Then Live?”

I left Christianity a long time ago – indeed, I never really was. But it begs the question – when we feel like we have an ‘inside knowledge’, in this case the truths of evolutionary biology, how should we then live?

I thought about this deeply, particularly monitoring the Red Pill community and a feeling I get of increased conservatism in it. I cannot find succour there. I am my own man and will need to form my own conclusions.

St Augustine pretty much summed up my feelings on the Red Pill community:

“Lord, make me chaste – but not yet”.

– St Augustine from the Confessions

The German people – Dem Deutschen Volke – have at once shocked and surprised me by the intensity of their behaviour. If calibration is the buzzword for wannabe seducers, then these people have none.

I was washing my face in the bathroom and the guy next to me asked me if it was hot outside. It was like he had stored up that facetious comment for years and it came out in a hearty and uncalibrated way.

Miss Boulder (Adventure Sex – Miss Boulder) likewise propositioned sex to me in the most uncalibrated way … and I cannot tell whether she was being humorous or just practical.

Practical people? Or just years of untapped social energy that comes out like a sledgehammer?

A supreme irony on this trip was that the only Indicators of Interest I received during the day while on the street were from … foreigners. Everybody else was walking with purpose and intent.

At night, however, Germans defrosted. I remember a shameless moment on the Metro where a young girl was kissing and hugging her boyfriend while eyefucking me over his shoulder.

Thank God! The Red Pill had not passed by Germany … I had discovered the light.