Let me start with who I am -- I'm no first pick by looks alone. My name is Liam, I'm 44 years old, twice-divorced, balding, 5'5 tall, I grew up before orthodontics was common, and I have a bit of a beer gut. I'm a garbage collector from Manchester, England, a real working class man, not some posh prick who can walk around blinging in expensive clothing. I finally got tired of sitting alone at night perving to myself, tired of feeling inferior. I'm a long-time lurker of PUA sites, first time writer. It's my own method, and I just hope what I write here works out for all you Yanks across the pond like it does here, where the girls aren't so prude. My experience is more practice than theory -- the latter you have to learn on your own.
This is what I call the "Maximum Hardcore Method" -- it's a high-risk, high-reward method, and it takes a lot of bollocks. The goal is to stimulate and control the primitive brain in the amygdala while constantly punishing the rational neo-cortex through extremely aggressive, absolutely fearless, dominant alpha-male behavior. It is what women really want when they say they want a man with "confidence." It's deeply psychological in nature, but it requires more practice than theory, so I shall share a shining moment from a few weeks ago with you.
It's long and detailed, at 4 parts, but I'm proud to share it.
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I start my night out at about 11pm, after not wanking for a week and washing down two Viagra with a pint of Grey Goose liquid courage. I'm dressed outlandishly -- khaki shorts, a cheap blue dress shirt, rattlesnake boots, and a ten gallon cowboy hat. This might be every day wear in the US, but people in the UK hate George W. Bush and related "cowboys," so it makes quite a scene here. My pockets have nothing in them but a wad of cash, a bottle of half-filled lube and a magnetic swipe hotel key.
I find a club called Sankeys, and slap 15 pounds (about $20 USD) at the gate, walking by without getting my hand stamped. The first thing I do when I walk in to the thickly packed party is to light up a pungent American cigarette, a Marlboro Red. Smoking indoors is totally illegal here and very shocking, even with chavs and wogs (white trash and guidos) doing coke in the bathrooms and what not. This draws the attention of anyone who looks, giving them the impression that I'm a complete renegade, a rule breaker.
I push my way through crowd and walk up to the bar, blowing noxious blue smoke onto the dancers and onlookers and clearing them out like it's pesticide. It makes me the tribal chief in primitive terms, with all before me mere insects. I then spot my target -- a girl about 18 years old (the drinking age here), dressed up childishly, with snaggle teeth and poorly bleached hair, the ugliest one of the skinny little birds at the bar. The ugliest bird has to be given the attention to stir inherent competition.
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I push her shoulder, look her dead in the eye and say "Spread your legs, you cunt." I switched the typical eye contact in conversation in this case, using touch first, and nothing so subtle and emasculated as brushing. She laughs, and her friends look towards what the commotion is. I yell at her, "Show me your ass pipe, you teenage twat." She laughs, and turns to her friends, amused but enthralled. She says, laughing, "You'll have to buy me a few drinks." I respond with, "No, you buy me a few drinks first, you bloody fuck pig." She then looks seriously as me, and her insticts begin to take over -- she steals a round of shots from her friends and others at the crowded bar, and gives them to me. I pound them one after another, right to the face, then grin.
The ugly bird is shocked that I actually accepted it at first, but instinctually sees herself as making a pleasant offering to a God. A group of other males approaching shy away from the scene. They're all younger and fer better looking, but I'm projecting the aura of a champion. Next, I shove her friend out of the bar stool to intimidate her social group feel inferior, sit down in it, and move to the Kino escalation (Incidental Class 2, for you DiCarlo Ladder nerds). I sensually rub my hands up her thighs, flip up her skirt up on top of the bar stool, and catch a glimpse and a whiff of her exposed, soggy quim. Her friends, shocked by my behavior initially, are now in awe.
I speak in a demanding tone, in front of her friends, to establish my dominance as a commander. "She's going to get on the dance floor and eat my asshole out, this bloody stupid slut." I playfully pinch her face, sit her up with a slap to her butt cheeks, and grab her arm before she can think about it. I drag her out toward the main floor, tenderly holding her hand, complimenting her by saying "You're real fucking cute." Some fat Jamaican sambo stands in my way, and I spit the butt of my illegal cigarette out on his shoes and glare at him. At this point, she trusts me completely as her guardian as I take her into the maelstrom, as I have defeated a gate keeper. We're soon in the blare of deafening Dutch techno music, thick fog, pulsing lights, and blinding lasers.
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We're now in the crowd -- ironically, as isolated a location as needed for the "escalation ramp," since one can be alone in a crowd. I grab her from behind and she turns her neck and tongue kisses me deeply, completely ignoring the stench of my breath. With the beats blaring us to our animal nature, I run through the back, stomach, and breasts stimulation in a matter of seconds with both hands. I flip her skirt again hook my middle finger up her tight little fuck hole, rubbing my palm all over her mound.
This hits what the PUA academics call the final point of sex, but I'm not done yet -- in my Hardcore Method there is more than this. I pull my finger out just while she's warming up, then unzip the front of my trousers and genuflect slightly. She follows my command from before obediently, controlled by my gift. The bird gets behind me, and pulls my trousers down, exposing my bare arse in the middle of the club, my raging stonker bursting forth. Returning my favor, she tongues my shaved bum, and I dig into the khaki shorts below my waist for the bottle of lube, squeeze some out on my hand, toss it onto the floor, and begin wanking furiously as I enjoy it and exhale "Yeahhhhhh." A late-30's cougar, shocked but seeing my plight, drops to her knees and begins to stroke and slurp my hard, throbbing member in a primal manner.
I then know that I've established a dominance over the crowd, particularly her friends watching from behind the bars in the steps above, covering their mouths, stunned. I rub my arse in her face, spit in the MILF's face who was blowing me, slap her aside, and begin wanking furiously. I stand up straight for a second, angle my pink cigar downward, and cram it to the bird's awaiting mouth, my sweaty and bespittled bollocks smearing drippy goo over her eyelids. I thrust in a backwards piledriver, screaming "Yeahh. Uhhh yeahhhhhhhhh. Taste it." as people begin applauding.
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At this point, I have the crowd. The bulky security guards have taken notice and are pushing their way through the crowd to arrest me as an outlaw, so I have to move fast. I pull up my khaki knickers and grab one girl by the arm, the cougar by another. Dropping my grip only for seconds as I elbow gals and guys alike to get by, I walk up to the bird with the stinky breath's friends, and yell in their faces "Get to my flat now, fucking cunts." One of the twats begins to hesitate, and before she can make an excuse, I slap her hard, yelling "Get with the program, honey! Only I call cut on this set!"
They follow me out front, this stage being the "escape to freedom." I cram all 5 of them into the backseat of a taxi cab, one on top of the other. Diving into the front seat, the five shots from earlier hitting me, I throw hard cash into onto the dashboard of the Paki driver's Joe Maxi and tell him to move. Tires squeal, and we're on our way to my crummy hotel room. I won't go into the gory details of the rest of the night, but the ghost of 6 years of perving alone was put to rest that night... only to soon rise again.
