A surprise awaited me on Thursday morning. Amazon Prime had delivered the goods in record time – an order of Japanese Sagami 0.001 condoms. It was portentous – I was meeting a Japanese girl for a date I had met on Monday. She was the Girl on the Train I would later call the Masseuse.
The Masseuse – Set Up
She eyed me on the train, in PUA parlance, giving me an Indicator of Interest. I was on the phone talking to Mum about my sister’s wedding preparations and other inane topics.
She was short, dark skin, Asian and well put-together with jewelry, stylish clothes and makeup – her style could only suggest one nation: Japan.
Later I got off in the city to meet with Coach.
I went to buy some sunglasses; flirted with the shopkeeper there; and was approached by a stunning Australian girl who mistook me for the shopkeeper.
Later, meeting with Coach, we talked about Brazilian Jujitsu, my pending trip to Europe, and his flailing 9-to-5 work efforts.
Coach opened a MILF and as I crossed the road to the Mall, I saw her again – the Masseuse – with mini IPad in hand and a focused look. She reminded me of that Roald Dahl short story where everybody walked around reading books and bumping into each other.
I opened her with a standard variant – “I saw you on the train earlier and missed the opportunity to talk to you. Then I saw you here and had to come and say hello. You’re very cute. You must be Japanese”. A stop is a stop is a stop. No point sprucing it up.
She looked up totally confused. On her tablet was the Find My Phone app. She explained she had lost her phone on Sunday night after a tipsy night out. I gave her a Hotspot and we went in search of the phone, weaving through shoppers and entering stores demanding the phone. I called her phone a number of times – no answer. (It was a number close, I suppose.)
Soon we stopped and I told her I was no White Knight and that I was hitting on her. She hooked and we chatted innocently for a bit before I let her go. I asked her, in the manner of Good Looking Loser, if she would like to have a drink with me (one of the two acceptable ways of sub-communicating sexual interest). She did.
Later that night she thanked me for the help and told me she had found the phone!
Texting was breezy – she was free on Thursday night. I planned to meet her at 6:30pm and had alternative plans if she flaked or if we did not connect.
I had also planned an (absurd) midnight second date with another Japanese girl (The Hostess) I had met in the park a few weeks back.
TIP: I never plan back-to-back dates as it seems to lose the focus on the first date while thinking about the second. To deal with flakes I plan something else – like a music jam, going out to dance, or seeing a comedy show.
Daygame is special in that you see the woman in the flesh before the date. The magic is when she turns up on the date and is ever more beautiful than when you met her. Yet for me it was a case of monoface – the blurring of multiple faces after numerous sets which reminded me of Michael Jackson’s Black or White video. She was totally unrecognisable to me until she turned up for the date.
She arrived at the Yacht Club on time – my go-to venue for sunset drinks over the Harbour. She was lovelier than expected: shoulderless black top, jeans, silver bracelet and drop earrings.
At the bar we were given the option of a small or large wine serving – she opted for the large. Signal #1.
“Choose the best seat”, I told her a la Krauser. She found a spot away from the crowd, sitting across from one another at a picnic-style table.
The Questions game ensued – nothing too fancy. She asked me a hypothetical – if my whole house was white, what part would I change? Black bedsheets, I told her. Her eyes popped – the proverbial eye spazz. This happened a number of times over the night and felt like signposts on the road. Signal #2.
I had no other venue to go to so used the break in drinks to move to a side-by-side seating arrangement and get piccolo wines. The idea was improvised. She went to the bathroom and I texted TodayGame Tom, my wing from Tuesday: “might close this girl.” Like a rugby coach at half-time brooding over a possible loss, he replied: “go get it my man!”
The great Twitter seduction writers began circling through my mind: Nash (http://daysofgame.com) was telling me to escalate, Today Game Tom (https://daygameto.wordpress.com) was telling me to change venue, and a chorus of Following Twitterers clouded my head.
She came back, and I escalated on the jewellery, then the earrings, and finally the nails. Predictable. Workable. Pedestrian.
Drinks gone, I told her to come with me. The next venue was across the park and up the hill – absurd. Red Quest (https://theredquest.wordpress.com) came to mind: “make out with her from Venue One to Two”.
We ended up in front of a large ornate Georgian era house overlooking the Harbour and super moon. I pulled the trigger – she refused the kiss, one, twice, three times.
Tom Torero appeared – “I’m a man, you’re a woman, it’s my job to try, your job to resist”. This was getting schizophrenic. It felt like sideline coaching.
And then I saw an eye spazz and tried again but was deflected. Girl, Interrupted. She said she was trying to be “polite” by thanking me for the help with the phone. I was unconvinced and challenged her, telling her that no woman would ever be so polite as to end up in a dark park late at night watching a super moon.
We went up to the main street and I found an abandoned lounge where we sat for a minute. We wanted a drink so I grabbed her hand, dashed to the bottle shop and bought some wine and plastic glasses. Adventure Bubble. We moved to the main park near the fountain and found a spot.
There, we sat side-by-side on a bench while she tested me with the usual Counter-Player insurgency – Why me? How many women do you talk to? This is too fast for me.
I paused, sat back, and told her a story about what kind of person she saw in the mirror and whether she liked that person. It reminded me of a moving scene in the film Angel-A where the protagonist struggles to express the phrase “Je t’aime” while looking at himself. He is guided on the path by a tall angel who helps him.
I told her that sometimes I struggled to look in the mirror and find self-love. It was true – we all have doubts of self-love. We talked about my father’s “failure to feel”, that Anglo Saxon defect where we deflect emotions rather than express them. On a trip to Italy once, he and I stood in front of the Tower of Pisa, which he dismissed with an “it’s okay”. Pushing him, I demanded that he express something real for the first time in his life and get rid of the flippancy. His eyes watered up and said: “It’s incredible”.
She came to my emotional aid and I slowly kissed her shoulders and neck. Then, after a small wrestle, I forced the kiss and she responded. Not strong but sensual.
I pulled the trigger and asked her to come back to my house for a drink, three hours after we had met. She fretted over getting home so I said I’d call an Uber. Then, unexpectedly, she mounted me and gave me a long, passionate kiss while grinding herself into me.
We left and walked home; a glass of red wine had spilled on to her jeans; she tipsily navigated the thorny roots of the fig trees that had lifted the footpath; we breezily passed the 24 hour cafe that was normally used as my last venue before bouncing home.
Inside, she took her shoes off – actually I asked her to take her shoes off (TIP) – and I poured her some water and also wine. She played Chopsticks on the piano quietly while I tidied up the house.
The piano was unveiled and I played her an Amy Winehouse song Love is a Losing Game and then an old jazz classic called Time After Time. She sat on the lounge purring like a cat and waiting for me to pounce. I started giving her a foot massage and thumbing nerve endings like an interrogator to reveal her secrets. She squealed and writhed. She was ready.
I picked her up and made her sit on my legs while on the piano stool, undressing her slowly. I make it a rule to undress myself first – the shirt – and then take her top off. She was soft to touch and smelt like sandalwood. Her bra came off and I sucked her nipples, commenting on how I loved small breasts.
There was no Last Minute Resistance and we stood up to take our pants off. There, she sat down again in front of me on the lounge while I stood there hard, much harder than usual. She hinted at a condom for a blowjob. Sensing overkill, I just picked her up and carried her to the bedroom and threw her on the bed, just threw her.
I gave her head while she gently tried to push me off with faint cries of “no, no”. She was clean shaven and petite. I overindulge in head and often get carried away, drunk on pussy juices and rimming.
Sagami on, it had been awhile since I wore 0.01s. We fucked, first to get a sense of ourselves together, then to look for pleasure spots for the two of us. I always enjoyed the Four Pillars of Sex – missionary, standing doggy, her lying on her side while I entered from on top in a scissor position, and her lying on her stomach with me behind. Enough variation, enough dominance, all highly penetrative.
She didn’t like to kiss while fucking, but here and there would reach in to kiss me. I held her down, pulled her hair, and fucked her from behind before she complained it was too deep. We switched and I put her on her side and fucked her, holding her tight with both arms until I came.
She snuggled under the sheets and I went to fetch some dark chocolate a neighbor had given me. We hugged as we ate and sipped wine. I looked down and admired her body, the kind of look you give when you are fucking a girl from behind and asking yourself: “how did I end up here?!”
Soon we went another round, this time more sensuous and playful. She loved to ride me and needed to be guided a little to find the right spot to grind her clitoris against me. Again, I dominated her, and the fucking her from behind and cumming a second time in short space.
We admired a pot plant I had purchased and looked in the cracked mirror for any bad omens. There were none – only the two of us naked and comparing our bodies.
Desire overtook and we had sex again, but this time I came up dry. I turned her over and started fingering her heavily until I felt her walls squeeze and a faint cry and then physical crash as she came. She was cathartic. I knew she had not been fucked properly in a long time.
She snuck out of the house early as I was searching for the car keys to drop her home. I found her up the street trying to walk the distance home! She had mentioned that she had overwhelming desire for Adam Levine of Maroon Five so we put on What Lovers Do on the way back, following on with Sugar. Cheesy (but then again, I could live in a dairy bar). A short goodbye and a future projection (TIP) that I would feed her next time I see her.
First Daygame Lay Open-to-Close
I came home content – no, exhilarated – at the thought that I had just had my very first Daygame lay from open-to-close within three days and on the first date!
1. Escalation – this was the first Daygame date where I properly escalated both verbally and physically. When I felt that tension between us, I took the risk and went in for the kiss despite being rebuffed a number of times.
2. Comfort – the story about my father shifted her mood and she started positively qualifying me. She also found great comfort in the fact I would get her home safely in an Uber so she could walk her dog in the morning.
3. Adventure Bubble – running around town checking out the super moon, buying wine and drinking in the park
4. Pulling the Trigger – I knew I had to ask her to come back with me at some point and took the risk to pull the trigger.
5. Condoms – Sagami 0.01s. Almost as good as condomless sex. Psychological barrier broken.
6. Green/Amber/Red – I remembered this technique when she was rebuffing my advances but not leaving or moving away.
7. Player Tests – the usual questions which I rebuffed with the standard answers.