I am in Berlin at the moment, supposedly on a Eurojaunt … yet my leads (French Banker, Miss Boulder, The Neighbour) are drying up rapidly so more like a Eurotaunt. In the meantime I will write about some of the highlights of my Red Pill existence in the form of vignettes, or small character studies.
The idea of vignettes came from a book I read many years ago – A Writer’s Notebook by W. Somerset Maugham. He would compile short anecdotes, stories and draft short character studies of people he met in his life. Some of these would form characters in his novels.
Enter Somerset Maugham
Maugham is one of my favourite writers. I read him in my earlier and more vulnerable years when I was an overweight, friendless nerd in need of some sexing to break my virginity. There was a collection of his works at the local library that I devoured and I ended up purchasing the ones I liked the most:
1. Of Human Bondage
2. The Razor’s Edge
3. The Moon and Sixpence
4. Collected Short Stories
What each of these had in common were strong female characters written by a man who was likely homosexual and who had a true understanding of female sexuality.
The Moon and Sixpence is a fictionalised account of the life of Paul Gauguin (in the book known as Strickland) and contains a story early on in the book that summarises for me Maugham’s true understanding of women:
“(Strickland) is helped and supported by a commercially successful but hackneyed Dutch painter, Dirk Stroeve (coincidentally, also an old friend of the narrator’s), who recognises Strickland’s genius as a painter. After helping Strickland recover from a life-threatening illness, Stroeve is repaid by having his wife, Blanche, abandon him for Strickland. Strickland later discards the wife; all he really sought from Blanche was a model to paint, not serious companionship, and it is hinted in the novel’s dialogue that he indicated this to her and she took the risk anyway. Blanche then commits suicide – yet another human casualty in Strickland’s single-minded pursuit of art and beauty“.
(Wikipedia entry on Maugham, accessed 29 May 2019)
To me, Strickland’s dark energy as a man – his Alphaness and dominance – inexorably draws Blanche to him. She abandons Stroeve – a helpless Beta – and is used by Strickland, presumably both as a model and sex partner. Her loss of Strickland – her Alpha widow status – leads her to commit suicide.
Maugham’s work was my first exposure to Red Pill theory and the art of vignettes.
One Tuesday night, some months back, I decided to go out for a dance at a common establishment in Sydney. It was known for being a combination of a place to dance and a place to pick up.
I arrived early and struck up a conversation with a dapper looking Maugham-esque chap at the bar who was a wedding MC and had, in a previous job, financed the construction of the bar.
He and I chatted about approaching women and he gave me a classic textbook approach:
“Look for women who are looking at you. Smile at them. When they look away, come back in and smile at them a second time. If they return the smile, go approach them as soon as possible.”
I watched him approach around ten women that night – in groups, on their own, next to him at the bar. He was an expert at it – well-dressed, charming, and warm. And married.
The Czech Woman
I made my way around the bar, talking to women and making a comment about their dress: “I like your (insert details). Let’s dance a little later. I will come and find you”. And then I would point at them. It seemed to work.
As I passed through one of the thoroughfares, a woman stepped into my path. She appeared to be Eastern European, in her mid thirties, and with a shaved undercut more reminiscent of a lesbian Instagram fitness model. We chatted and danced for a bit – she was from Czech Republic and was here with work colleagues as they had all lost their job that day so were celebrating!
I let her go and scanned the room for interest. I danced with an Italian girl as well as an attention-seeking Argentinian girl whom I knew was there for the dance. You could tell who wanted to dance and who wanted to be seduced.
I made my way back round and the Czech Woman was again in my path. Let’s call this Orbit Theory.
Magnum (http://magnumlivelarge.blog) and I have been discussing this concept where a woman will subconsciously or consciously put herself within orbit of a situation where a high-value guy will try to seduce her.
I am sure this has been given many names within the community but I just wanted to define it for myself.
1. Dance classes – where a woman will join a salsa class to fall into orbit with a high-value guy, generally the teacher who is fit, attractive and Latin. Some women will go further and travel to the teacher’s country to learn more “dance”. Cuba is a good example of Thailand in reverse – white women looking to have a holiday romance with some black Cuban guy.
2. Boot camps – where a woman will join a bootcamp presumably to get into shape but more as a validation exercise where she is being led by a fit guy who could potentially become the object of a sexual dalliance.
Both of these above have solid real life examples of women who were seduced by the dance teacher or the gym instructor. It’s so common to the point of being a cliche.
As the Czech Woman and I met again – with her standing in my path – I decided to dance with her and chat about her haircut. She was proud of the look and I jokingly told her she looked like a lesbian: “Oh really, my husband cuts my hair.”
I think at this moment I looked at my watch and realised that an hour or so had passed since I met her to when she told me about the husband.
She was wearing a green/emerald dress. I must have been attracted to her as I am a lover of emeralds. I asked her about the brand and she showed me the label: “SEDUCTION“.
I moved to the bar and invited her to have a drink with me. It was a tease and I joked that she would buy drinks for the both of us. In the end I bought drinks for her.
We sat down on high stools and I remember her facing me and being positioned between my legs, hers closed and mine open. She had seen a screenshot of my son as I ordered the drinks and we got on to the topic of children:
“I have been seven years married and we are trying for a baby. Soon we will be going to IVF as nothing is happening.” She spoke with some lamentation in her voice.
“Let me suggest something that will make you pregnant”. I innocently suggested.
“What?! Sex?” She replied indignantly.
“No … competition“. I paused and looked at her intently, channeling every last ounce of seductive energy to pierce her mind with pure sexing – the kind of look where at the top of your mind is the thought of you fucking her from behind and blowing inside her.
We locked eyes and I felt in my being that she deeply understood what I was suggesting.
The silence was all.
Tea For Two
I signalled to her that I was planning to leave. She said she would come with me outside. I cautioned her and asked whether her friends would be concerned. She did not care and came outside with me.
As we stood outside the bar, her phone began to ring and she answered it. It was her husband. She had a brief conversation with him and then ended the call. Her first reaction was to slightly belittle him and she harped on about how he had scolded her for (a) going out and (b) wearing a cocktail dress.
I asked whether she wanted to join me for tea. “Tea or ‘tea’?” I countered her concern with even more plausible deniability and looked at her with a micro-smirk: “Tea”.
My car was parked some distance away and she told me that she would accompany me to the car. As we got to the car, she relented and said that she had to go.
I stood above her and put my hand around her back. I could feel the charge was building and said to her: “you’re not going anyway“, pulling her in and making out with her and pushing her against the car. I pulled back and I could see she was impressed with the make out.
“Let’s go right now”.
She paused – and paused – and paused – and then finally said with a heavy heart: “I have to go”.
We exchanged details and I asked her whether she would like piano lessons at my house. She balked and said: “Private lessons? Just piano lessons and nothing else“.
“Come for tea … and piano lessons”. Again a micro-smirk. Again silence.
We said goodbye.