TL;DR: I banged a black French girl who I called The Banker. Long philosophical and romantic rant mixed in between the lay report.
The post is more a philosophical musing session than pure lay report and fuckfest. There was plenty of fucking and dirty moments – but interlaced with romance and longing. Gammas , Twitter trolls and cardboard Alphas please leave now!
Nash from Days of Game (https://daysofgame.com) had posted recently about his servicing of a young Korean girl whom he had met a number of times. I found the post poignant and timely – both the Swede Peach and now this French Banker had reached out to me even when I was not feeling particularly in a fuckery mood.
RP Musicology, a wing of mine and an upcoming star in the philosophy of seduction in Sydney (in my opinion), decided recently he would not go online to meet women as the ones he met brought an “overtone of sadness” to the date.
That phrase echoed with me – what is it that women long for apart from a good fucking session? Why do they bring this energy with them if they “have it all”?
I mused on this topic post-fuck with the French Banker as she gave me all the clues about what she really longed for in life.
And strangely, this Lay brought back a haunting memory of the deep longing for happiness that Miss Bumblebee has been pursuing all her life, without mentors or support from men or women. Her longing still haunts me.
The Set Up
It was Saturday. I had spent lunchtime with an Indonesian girl in Hyde Park drinking coffee and sizing up whether I liked her. I had opened her some weeks back in Darling Harbour, a very hot set that was very dominant towards the end as our faces stood inches from each other.
Fresh from this date, I made my way to Circular Quay to take some photos a la Goldmund’s Camera Game (https://goldmundunleashed.com). I started out learning photography as a snake seduction effort to meet women – yet it turned into a passion of mine and I started enjoying it for the photography itself.
The camera became my prop for Daygame. When I approached a girl I could either go direct with a compliment or indicate I was after a portrait. It allowed me to roam the streets with a plausible backstory as to what I was doing.
I met two lovely British Indian girls, one of whom had checked me out at the lights. I took a photo of them both and wished them well.
Another, an Argentinian girl in white pants, was wandering aimlessly around the Opera House and so I opened her direct. She had a boyfriend, was not interested in going for a coffee, and THEN she hooked. I came in for another landing due to the missed approach however she was not interested in giving out her number.
The day had been satisfying and I made my way to the bus stop when my attention was arrested by a black girl applying make up on the street.
The French Banker
She was wearing an elegant body suit, straight black hair, and red lipstick. I opened her by asking for a portrait as she looked impeccable (using a Latin root word instead of a Saxon word so that she would understand) and threw out the assumption that she must have been French.
She was – a French girl from Paris and leaving on Friday. I asked her out for a drink that night (credit to Good Looking Loser) however she said she was meeting her brother who lived in Australia and was then travelling to New Zealand.
She asked for a photo. We hailed a person nearby and he fumbled through the DSLR process. As she stood next to me, I felt her breast push into my chest. Subconsciously, it was clear to me that I would eventually fuck this girl.
We exchanged numbers, parted and I later sent her the photos. A date was scheduled for Thursday at 6pm.
Texting was brief. Mostly logistics and complimenting her on her photo.
We met at the Potts Point Hotel at 6pm and she had gone to the rooftop bar to order a Chardonnay as I was running a few minutes late.
I had left the house tired and low sex energy, Tweeting that I would honour the reach out a la Nash’s post. Thrashing in my mind was whether I would be hard enough to fuck her.
I sent a post to the Daygame group I am part of with the challenge that would have one drink with her and then bring her back to mine.
Arriving at the bar, she was there at the table with glass of wine in hand. She looked wonderful. We sat opposite each other under candlelight and I ordered gin on the rocks.
Within about thirty seconds I started touching her hand and the caressing between us escalated quickly. The conversation was simply flirty small talk – she thought I was a spy, I was different, she was a banker for BNP Paribas so I teased her about that.
About Men and Emotions
We talked about men – she liked men who emoted freely and were not the strong, silent type. This resonated with me as I was tired of the cliched cardboard cutout Red Pill guys who were scared of expressing emotions freely.
To me, a full expression of emotion is the final challenge for a man. Not only can he be a warrior, but he can also be an artist and not fear free emotional expression because some Twitter warrior wants to shame him and call him a “cuck”. I had tolerated abuse on Twitter before – one guy even had the temerity to tell me to throw my son off a cliff because I let him cry. Real fuckwits encapsulated in 120 characters.
Men shame men – but the strong man stands before his peers presenting his chest fearlessly to them and telling them he is what he is – himself.
Soon our drinks were close to completion and she took my hand and put it behind her neck. It was a sweet gesture and I called it light energy. What is dark? she asked. I turned my hand and put it around her neck in a mock choking hold. She looked at me and smiled: “That is also light”.
I kissed her on the neck and we soon left the bar. Arm in arm, we walked up to the El Alamein fountain and asked a person passing by to take a photo of us. It was a sweet pose – she sat on my lap and we held each other like lovers.
We made our way down to Elizabeth Bay House where there was a lovely park overlooking the harbour. I had rolled out a blanket there years ago and played with my son as he formed himself in a parachute position and smiling at me at eight months. God I miss him.
At the park we made out and I pulled her top down to suck on her breasts. One of the most exciting moments for me sexually is when a woman slides her hand down my pants for the first time. We reciprocated and I started playing with her clitoris. She was a trembler.
I put out my hand: “I am going to do whatever I want from now on and if you don’t like it, slap my hand”.
We left and made out again on a little bridge overlooking the pond. As we walked up the hill back to the main road, I threw her against a wall and started making out again.
This time, more aggressively, I licked my hand in front of her and put it down her jeans and started to finger her. We were stuck under a bright light in front of a building. She moaned and was very wet and juicy. Soon a gay couple were walking past so I pulled out my hand and sucked on my fingers for her to see.
We jumped in a taxi and went back to mine. Crossing the six lanes, I grabbed her had and ran her across in between traffic. We stood at the door and I invited her in.
She took off her shoes and sat quietly on the lounge as I pottered around, put away Krauser’s Daygame Infinite that was lying on the bed, and poured two glasses of white wine.
I had promised to sing her a song on the piano – Chet Baker’s Time After Time – yet as we sat on the lounge, she was motionless. I felt a signal – she was ready. I took the glass from her, stood her up and started to undress her. (Roy Walker’s recent lay report https://roywalkerdaygame.wordpress.com/2019/05/12/lay-report-sdl-with-a-russian-stunner/ talks about this – the moment where she signals “can you just get on with it and fuck me?!)
DTF – Downtown Frenchie
We undressed each other and her breasts popped out, plump and ripe. Her body was fantastic – curvy, narrow waist, and with a delicate belly button piercing. She took my jeans off and knelt down and starting giving me a blow job – one of those wonderful moments when a girl knows how to suck your cock from tip to root … and then glances up at you with lusty eyes.
I was never a BJ man and got her on her feet, turning her around and starting to take off her jeans. I pushed her on the lounge and pulled at them. I got her up again and started fingering her while my dick was teasing her from behind. She mentioned a condom – she came prepared – and I took her to the bedroom.
I picked her up and threw her on the bed, opening her legs and giving her head. She was sweaty and a tad smelly – but what did I care when this hot, fantastic black girl was on my bed? She was a trembler and kept shaking as I chomped on her and eventually made her cum – deep trembling followed by a crash and then comfort pose.
I was soft. As I kneeled in front of her, ready to penetrate, I reached for a Sagami and then before I was ready … she just lustily pulled me in. My dick, after 38 years, was inside a black girl. I remember years ago fantasising about this while looking at JPEG porn on the internet in old dial-up days.
We fucked and we fucked and we fucked. I took her from behind standing while she rested her body on the bed. She continued to tremble and she orgasmed as I pounded her and played with her clit, often pulling her hair and shoving her head into the pillow. I leant forward and whispered in her ear dirty things. She muttered many times “J’e taime” and spoke French softly.
We rested for a bit as she was cold. I snuggled with her and held her in a strong bear hug pose to give her comfort. The blanket and nakedness had started for me that old teenage feeling of horniness and I put her on her side, scissors style, and started fucking her heavily. It was deep penetration and ball rubbing.
I pulled out, pushed her back down, and blew all over her, a reckless mess of créam semen over a black backdrop.
She lay there peacefully as she had also cum again. As I looked down at her, she reached around and took some semen in her hand and then licked it. I asked if she wanted a towel and a shower. She declined: “No – I want to keep this as a souvenir”.
Time After Time
From meet to fuck only two hours had transpired. It was 9pm. I had promised her a song so we made our way to a music jazz jam I liked to frequent on a Thursday night. There we ordered drinks and a mixed plate and made out like lovers on a cheap lounge. The host asked me to get up and sing – I chose Time After Time.
I am a romantic and I see no fear in creating a romantic bubble for a woman. After the semen swipe, I realised the full range of human expression – from dark and dirty, to sweet and saccharine.
As I dropped her home, she shared with me some truth – a few funny and sexy, and others which haunt me about women:
1. She told me that her breast push when we met was deliberate. I laughed and told her I knew. She was surprised.
2. She wanted a photo of me, hence the reason why she asked someone to take a photo the day we met.
3. She knew we would have sex from the moment I touched her hand early in the date.
But the haunting thing came after as we talked deep rapport about our lives and hopes. Bumblebee came to mind.
She told me that she planned to work for another five years so that she could purchase a house without debt, have children and be a hard working and dutiful wife to her husband, pottering around the garden and taking care of the family.
I had heard this before – from Bumblebee. Future plans of loyalty and relationship success – yet what saddened me was that these dreams are rarely realised – it just “never happened”.
Both the Banker and Bumblebee were high value women – well-formed, educated, successful, and attractive. Yet the narrative they have been given is often in contrast to what women truly want of their lives – masculine direction, drive and purpose.
When I used to talk to Bumblebee about her life, I sensed that she really wanted a mentor to help and guide her along the path of being a woman. Now, at 43, she has a huge amount of regret for not being with her family, and talks about the curse of none of her brothers or her having children.
I once offered to have a child with her but not in the usual Disney romantic manner. She rejected the idea. I realised then why we have White Knights – men sometimes really do want to rescue women from their directionlessness. It’s a form of empathy.
My deep sadness is that the Red Pill teaches us how women lose their Sexual Market Value in their late twenties and thirties. Their fertility window declines and they increasingly struggle to find men to meet their biological needs.
Both the Banker and Bumblebee face the prospect of never meeting their needs for family, simply because society has co-opted them into a corporate market structure that delay its until they are too late. Coupled with female indecision, it makes for a haunting, sad mix.
The Red Pill is obsessed with power over women, fears of hypergamy, and in my experience lacks real empathy for women. I might be labelled Purple Pill – it slides off. But how did we get to this point where we learn to seduce women yet we cannot show any emotion or sympathy for their lives. We all need hand holding, to quote Ron Paul.
Who are we as seducers? And what do we really want to feel with women?
She was giddy and excited at the thought that we could perhaps meet in Paris during my trip to Europe. I hesitated and then told her – yes, I would see her. I liked her and wanted a mini-romance.
We said goodbye and then she was gone.