Holiday Report

I’m back! Six weeks since my last post and what have I been up to? Well, going on holiday… twice.. has been the main reason for my silence but since my return I’ve been suffering from blog constipation: my normal dribble of shit can’t continue until I crap out the big turd wedged sideways at the bottom of my filth-pipe: the big holiday report. So here we go…

Phuket

Too lazy to sort out a visa for Vietnam I opted for Thailand. I still wonder what went through the heads of the friends who recommended Phuket to me. Ugh. Tourists. Cheese. Whores. Noise. Horrible. The resort I was staying in wasn’t even Patong, filth-central,  but was awful. Fat (ter than me) Danes, Russians and Brits displaying their ravaged, tattoo-covered sovereign-ring wearing, waddling  bodies to the masses as they ambled round, ate in rubbish, expensive Thai restaurants, sat on the beach doing nothing or sat in girly bars staring at whores. Not exactly a backpacker vibe. Whoops.

I was in a clean but expensive guesthouse (£30 per night) and the bar was frequented by expats who’d moved to Thailand to live the dream. One Kiwi couple had been there nine years. Hadn’t been anywhere else in Thailand. Didn’t speak any Thai. The old English guy with the Union Jack tattooed on his sagging pec was an ex-con. He explained to me he shacked up with an over-the-hill old Thai ex-whore who doted on him. At opportune moments he snuck out with various excuses and raced to town to “do a quick whore”. I ran into him at 8am, tearing along the street with a look of someone who’d lost something important. “What’s up?” I asked him. “Oh. The old bag’s asleep so I’ve got about thirty minutes to get it up a girl”. He disappeared down an alley and later told me he’d simply walked into a girly bar, pulled down the shutters and screwed the first whore he found ontop of the pool table. Living the dream.

Whore 1

I decided to get whoring out of my system and went to a girly bar the very first night. It was rubbish. More punters than whores. And the whores were not great. All the punters there though they were in heaven and the girls were beautiful, but they obviously aren’t as widely travelled/whored as me. The girls in the Phillipines and China are WAY better. I selected the least worst girl, took her home and had an uninspiring rut for a paltry amount. Rubbish. But a wise, wise move. Out of my system and ready to concentrate on the holiday.

Chiang Mai

Bored with beaches and disgusted with Thailand I took a gamble and booked a flight up to Chiang Mai, up in the north and with not a beach in sight. Good move. It was great. A really laid-back city with a great vibe and lots going for it. I deliberately picked a hostel, not a guest house, as they are the best way to meet people. I lucked out: the hostel was great with a fantastic atmosphere. I didn’t spend a minute alone that wasn’t deliberate. It wasn’t in the city centre, it was in the posher university district and this area was great. Loads of little, unique coffee bars and cafes to while away the hours in. The rest of my holiday was spent in this city.

Hostel Game

I wasn’t in the hostel to pull. I wouldn’t turn it down but it wasn’t my goal at all; I was there to relax. With my new ability to see the matrix it was in interesting opportunity to observe.

1)Few players

Almost no males had game. Most guys were just normal, positive backpackers up for fun and laziness. I didn’t see any emo chodes, just normal blokes. I guess most of them loved the idea of having a holiday fling, but the only way they were going to get it was if a girl picked them. I only saw about four guys with game. Two were British and mid twenties.  They had less of the effusive, gushing friendliness of the average backpacker about them. They were more collected. A little less friendly. Perhaps a bit stand-offish. They didn’t say hello to everyone, they waited for people to ask them questions. Unfriendliness Alphaness. They were more leaders of men, they’d organize trips or activities and go to bars and always somehow had the most interesting girls amongst their group. The other two with game were not British. One was Australian, the other was not. They didn’t have any conscious game. They had value. They both did their own thing, had fascinating back stories (which are worth a lot on the backpacker scene), and emitted an aura of irreverent coolness. I’m sure all of these guys pulled now and again. Maybe once for every month of travelling.

The first night I was there four Argentinian guys turned up. All young, lean, tanned and swarthy. They asked me to go with them to a bar so off we went. I was expecting to see them clean up so imagine my surprise to discover they were absolute chodes. Swarming like flies at the side of the dance floor, clutching bottles of beer as shields, getting unnecessarily drunk and chode-hopping at any single sign of interest. Rubbish. Somehow they got in conversation with two Swedish girls at a table. All four of them swarmed in the Chode Horshoe on the other side of the table, staring at the value. All four of them went for the HB7 and ignored the HB6 friend. One of them kept crawling his hand across the table like a spider, slowly inching towards the girls hand only for her to give a look of disgust as she noticed it and then move her hand. He’d pull his hand back then a few minutes later slowly start to repeat the process. Useless. What did I do? I did nothing. I could tell neither of these girls were going to fuck anyone. Period. I could see it in their manner. Case closed.

Bhodisatta Bar Test

I noticed an interesting thing about the bar.  Two AM, music in full flow, packed with young travellers, dancing on the tables and how many people were copping off? Probably two or three couples. That’s it. For the whole bar. This matters. If you’re going there to cop off and nobody else is then your chances are harder. Give the place the BBT. Go there at one AM and just count up the numbers of couples making out. It’s enlightening. It really exposes the myth that people are pulling in great numbers in clubs. The Hoxton Bar and Grill is a good example. I did my one-to-one’s here practicing approaching. Stone cold sober. Looking round at 1AM how many couples were playing tonsil-tennis. I shit you not sometimes I could not see as single couple. All those singles. All that alcohol. And nothing.

On the other hand I once went to a posh, expensive club in Mayfair. It was £15 to get in and drinks were ruinously expensive. The clientele was more upmarket; it was full of posh birds. What was it like at one AM? Debauched. I have never seen a club with more snogging, fondling, groping in darkened corners and writhing on benches than in that place. Why? Not sure, but I think one key factor was that there were so many 8’s and 9’s and 10’s in there that good looking women stopped becoming something special. Rather than swanning round all night soaking up attention and going home alone they realised they were not unique and got one with it. I was shocked. By two AM one particular part of the club actually smelled of oestreus. It literally smelled faintly of fanny. It was a mating-pit. How many 8’s, 9’s and 10’s did you see copping off in Tiger Tiger last time you were in?

***********

The guy with the best game in the hostel was a backpacker who was working there for a few months. Older, tanned, big square jaw and quite Alpha he had the position of authority and people qualified to him all day long. He emitted a fun, irreverent vibe and refused to acknowledge the hotness of any of the young, female travellers. Instead he just ripped on them and talked nonsense to them. Excellent.

2) Girls have the value

From the hostel I saw, and previous hostels I’ve stayed in I’d say that the value still remains firmly with the women. The ratios aren’t bad: there are around 1:1 male: female travellers. There are solo female travellers as well. There are girls there with personality and value beyond their looks; after all your average London media girl or Essex secretary doesn’t pack a back and tour round Southeast asia on her own does she? The problem I could see was twofold:

a) Men want it more

Well what a  massive fucking suprise this one is. It was obvious a lot of the young guys there were desperate for a holiday shag to make their trip truly a memorable experience. Notice I said “a” shag.  I don’t think any of the girls had this frame. Maybe “meet someone nice” is as far as they’d go.

b) Most men have no game

The two physically hottest girls in the hostel were a pair of American sisters age twenty-six. They had exceptional physiques; perfectly proportioned in a pneumatic, stripper way. Natural, huge E cup tits, tight tops, dialled-in waists with a total absence of muffin-top and the spinal erectors showing in the small of the back, tight round, squash-ball arses. Faces were 7. Bodies were 9.5. They knew they had the value and they did little things which nobody seemed to notice but me. Sleeping on the couch near the entrance on their back with their tits on display. AFOG’ing other females. Turning their attention on and off like a tap. I saw various guys try to talk to them, they’d respond politely but then often just interrupt each other mid-sentence and walk off. Wide open for game I’d say, but the only people getting anywhere was one of the British guys who’d infiltrated their group and slowly taken on the leader role. Nice work.

Verdict

After a conversation with Special-K I realise the hostel is eminently gameable. A gang of guys with good game can roll into a joint like this and game the whole hostel, carefully over a few days and get some closes for sure. The two American tit-creatures were wide open to some classic Mystery Method game.

Trek Effect

Whilst in Chiang Mai I signed up for a three-day two-night “jungle trek” to see a “remote hilltop tribe” and other similar stuff. I decided to do a bit of matrix observation at the same time as well. I immediately took charge of the group and acted dominant. A bit Gordon Brittas and clipboard waving but the way I see it is I’m the most intelligent, logical and resourceful person in the group and if the shit hits the fan I’m the one who’ll have to sort it out so I’m not letting some loudmouthed woman or chode Beta take pole position until that point. Generally I just acted myself. Ripped the piss out of everyone yet made them unable to get offended by mixing it in with humour that would get the whole group shrieking with laughter. I’d also fractionate in insightful and intriguing comments and observations. None of this was a put on.

There was an American girl who I found quite attractive.

A bit old, 31 she claimed but looking more like 39 due to too much sun but still with a ripped, toned, fatless body. She was an imbecile. She made no attempt to dominate and walked around singing to herself, being bubbly, making comments then laughing when she realised how stupid they were. I liked her. Very feminine.

Aside from that there were two Canadian sisters. One was facially hot; she looked like Nicole Kidman and had red hair. However I disregarded her because her body failed to arouse me and she was a social worker by trade so I had not intention of listening to her garbage in order to fuck her. Her sister was funnier but plainer.

Ontop of this we had a couple of discounted HB4s and a British HB5 and Australian HB5 who were friends. I didn’t fancy either of these girls and through the trek would just have a laugh with them. It was more me being self amused than anything. I’d just lead the conversation, run rings round them, tease them, self-amuse and get them qualifying to me. Everything they asked about me ended up being a DHV. No untruth. Just reality.

There were only three guys in the group. One Englsh guy who was cool and was my pal. An American guy submissive to his fat HB4 girlfriend. Not clever, incapable of being witty. Ontop of this we had a really good looking Swedish guy. Tanned, nautilus-machine pumped up FHM muscles, tight shorts and artfully frayed shirt. Totally feminized. He sat there trying to look sexy. Made no attempt to contribute to any leadership or decision making. His body language subjugated to women. Sweden must be a lost cause.

After the trek we had a night out in a bar. I’m thinking possibly of going for American but by now her idiocy is grating on me and as we’re staying in the same hostel I’m shuddering at the thought of having to spend four days with her because of two minutes of groaning and squealing on a bunk bed. I get talking to British girl. To my total amazement she tells me that Norwegian is actually a flirt and has tried it on with her. Sat beside her by the campfire, rubbed her legs, eye-fucked her then in the big bamboo hut we all slept in carefully arranged his mattress next to hers and felt her up in the night. I’m amazed. And jealous. I thought this guy was feminized? She starts complaining to me that he took her to the edge then wimped out, panicked and rolled over and went to sleep. I’m amused but determined not to be an emotional tampon.

“Maybe you’re good enough to grope but too fat to fuck?” I ask her. She’s shocked. I laugh and immediately feel some aggression, spurred on by jealousy of this guy. I tell her “Your story reminds me of this Chinese girl I used to go out with..” and launch into a sex story about a Chinese student I used to date. This is a first for me. I’ve never sexualized a conversation with a woman before. I’ve talked about sex when part of a big mixed chode group but that was basically me quivering and hoping nobody would smell my fear or saying gross things to shock everyone and in effect deselect myself as part of my EDM. This was different. This was proper sex talk. There’s a momentary look of shock on her face as I start it, then a few seconds of bemusement, then something in the hindbrain flickers and a switch is flicked. I can actually see it happen in the eyes. They don’t so much spazz as just subtly change. She looks at me. There’s hypnotic scanning. I realise she wants to fuck me now. I’ve gone from invisible to Alpha in minutes.

American girl then appears and I still have the Brit beside me. I lean back, lower my tone of voice and start talking to her too. She swivels to face me and scoots forward on her chair. Her legs are open and her knees are pressed inwards on the outsides of my knees. I don’t fail to notice this.

And there we have it. One of the most glorious moments of my game journey so far. A girl on the arm of the chair who is kinoing me as I slouch back and look in the eyes of another girl who is sitting opposite me with her legs around mine, fancying me as well. How did I get this far? Is this me?

I have a bit of a think. American’s attractiveness is wearing off. She’s starting to really annoy me with her idiocy. She’s still got four days in the same hostel as me. I don’t want her in my space for this time. I decide it’s not worth the fuck. Well, I’m not saying it was in the bag, but it wasn’t worth even beginning the effort. I can’t be having my head done in for four days. I burn her and cut her loose.

I’m talking to the British girl again. I’m delighting in this. I don’t really fancy her but this is liberating; I don’t give a shit and am experimenting. I look in her eyes and start telling her graphic details of what I’ve done to the Chinese girl. I’m lowering my vocal tone and building up the tension. I’m telling her about the orgasms, the rutting, this, that, blah blah. It’s like sucker punching her. As I progress with this I see it all hitting home. Her eyes are flickering and it’s like she’s going in a trance. At one point she looks at me and I just know: this girl wants to fuck me.

What happens? I don’t close her. Why? A combination of these factors:

1. I don’t genuinely fancy her and feel weird about my first F-close from game being a girl I don’t fancy.
2. Her body doesn’t turn me on and I worry she won’t arouse me enough to do a decent job. I’ve bigged myself up a sex-God in the stories so much that the likelihood of a pathetic performance is high.
3. I still have a problem visualising it actually happening.

DrunkenBaker went bananas when I told him I burned an F-close but I’m not that bothered. I didn’t get in game to fuck women less hot than (Asian) girls I used to get as a chode. I’ve learned my lesson though, and the lesson is this:

1. Sexualisation is the way to go.
2. If you don’t fancy her just get her to suck you off round the back of the bar at least. And film it and put it on your blog.

Singapore

On the way back from Thailand I stopped over in Singapore for three days. Singapore is paradise. “Oh no! I could never live there: it’s so controlled and regulated” say the lazy liberal chodes living in their ethnic shitholes in London, probably above a kebab shop and next door to a bookies and over the road from a CostCutter run by an Amerian with big, dirty hands and a smelly jumper on. London is a shithole. Singapore is paradise. It’s an engineered society. Good. It works. This is what benevolent dictatorship gets you. Immaculately clean, pristine roads, manicured gardens and palm trees. Safe as houses: people don’t bother locking their doors. Can you imagine that in London? There are no black people in Singapore. Not that I’m saying there’s a link between race in crime in London. Oh hang on. I am. Because it’s actually true.

The whole place has a positive, friendly vibe. Coming from London I was initially freaked out at how normal people and workers went out of their way and were so smiling and friendly. DrunkenBaker used to live in a shithole with a drunkard in Clapham for £600 a month. Now he pays £550 and lives in a huge, air-conditioned apartment with complimentary 25 metre pool, sun loungers, sauna, gym and squash court. Beside his house is a food court where you can eat yourself sick on home-style food for four pounds. On the main road there’s not a bookies or charity shop in sight. The starbucks is open till one AM. There are restaurants, not kebab shops. They’re probably illegal.

Ontop of this as an expat you have a good social life. As part of a useful minority within months the whiteys have a social group of dozens of like minded people. And these aren’t your English-teaching, typical wastrel lost souls you find living in Asia; these are positive, professional people with good career jobs and the get up and go to leave and get themselves out to paradise.

Salaries are less but there again so is income tax. Ten percent and with VAT  at seven percent. There is no social underclass to pay for. The middle class don’t fund a mass reverse meritocratic breeding program like we do in the UK. Your money is your own. And even if you’re earning 200 grand in London you STILL can’t live anywhere where there’s no litter and no crime.

My plan is to John Galt the UK and bugger off to Singapore next year.

Lee Kuan Yew I worship you.

Whore 2

My holiday was almost over; I was sitting with DrunkenBaker in his apartment with three hours to go before I had to get to the airport. On a whim we decided “Fuck it. Let’s do a whore”. A few minutes on Google and we’d located a few Singapore escort agencies. It’s completely legal there which is nice, considering their views on law and order. Half an hour later we’d received a set of instructions akin to what a cold-war spy would have received. Taxi to Hotel A. Sneak in lift, wait for guests with keycards, go to floor three, go out exit into carpark, call number, wait for girl to come down and take you to the room.

Eventually Whore A appeared. Nothing like her picture which I realised was at some point based on her photo but had been photoshopped to pointlessness. Maybe 20. About 5’ 4”. Slim. Skin not great. She took me and DrunkenBaker up and Whore B opened the door to her room. DrunkenBaker
moaned and jabbered in lust and shoved himself at her and the door slammed. Decision made. I was with Whore B. We went to her room.

After a sequence of bad whoring experiences in the UK I had sworn off whores. They’re too expensive, they think they’re doing you a favour and they don’t really enjoy it. Rubbish. This experience was totally different and served to remind me of the true joy of whoring. Whoring in Asia.

The girl is Thai. I will call her Thai. As soon as I was in the room she seemed sweet and caring. She started giving me funny looks. I showered and waited for her on the bed. She gave me a strange look. I caressed her and said comforting things to her while looking her in the eyes and kissing her. I realised her strange looks were in fact massive, eye-spazzing attraction. That was it. I didn’t do much at all. She fancied me rotten. That’s all there was to it. And before you start sniggering and say “that’s what they’re paid to pretend!” let me say good sir, you know absolutely bog all about whoring. I’ve been there. I’ve done it. Let me tell you the difference between a whore who likes you and one who is pretending is as clear as day. Whores are rubbish. It’s obvious. Most of them are so lazy they don’t even try to pretend. I’ve had lazy whores. I’ve had rude whores. I’ve had monstrously sexual whores. I know the difference.

I have this effect on Asian women sometimes. In Asia. Maybe it’s aura. Maybe I’ve just internalized that I’m attractive to Asian women in Asia and it radiates out. I think it’s partly that and partly genetic. There are certain women that I just KNOW will find me attractive. Listen to the hindbrain.

Back to Thai. She’s eye-spazzed on me and is moaning and keening softly under her breath. I start kissing her, kneading her neck, caressing the small of her back. My touch is like magic, a wonderful blend of hard and soft. Her eyes have rolled up by now and are completely glazed. I briefly wonder if she’s been smoking crystal meth. Barely two minutes has gone by and she spasms and shakes on the bed, shouts a strange guttural sound and furiously wriggles herself down my body with a determined look on her face. She tears my underwear off, moans with pleasure and stuffs my cock entire down her throat.

This is great.

She then goes FULL PORNO on me. She starts sucking it like a motherfucking vacuum cleaner. Drown this girl in a tank of filthy water and pass her a hosepipe bleeding air and this is how she’s sucking it. She’s feeling my balls, licking my shaft, underneath-bit, thighs. There’s spit and drool everywhere. At various points she slaps it on her face and just moans with her eyes closed.

What superb service.

I’m feeling quite like drilling her guts out now but I get an urge to eat pussy like it’s breakfast, lunch and dinner in one. I flip her on her back and commence the body torture routines; licking and teasing her all over, up the thighs, around her wound, etc. It’s working beautifully, she’s moaning loudly now and thrashing around. She starts spazzing out and shaking and scrabbling with her feet. “PLEASE!!” she screams, grabs me and starts heaving me ontop of her. She starts to sob. “Please fuck me!!” she gasps. Getting the condom on took all of a second then before I know it I’m riding an express-elevator to hell. Glue yourself to a bull and have a friend let off a fire extinguisher up its backside. That’s what I was riding. Within about twenty seconds she’s come and is now fully, properly screaming while her pussy spasms and clenches on me. I fuck her some more. She comes twice more in about a minute. She’s moaning all kinds of shit now, her face is covered in drool and tears and god knows what. I flip her over to do her doggy but she starts screaming and groaning sex shit and the sight of her squash ball ass parked in front of me is too much: I come as I’m trying to get my cock in her.

It doesn’t matter. She rams herself backwards and impales herself on it and starts pistoning on me like a pneumatic ram. She shudders and spasms and comes again. She comes three times in about two minutes. Finally my nerves are shot and I’m worried by now the neighbours will call the police. I push her off and collapse.

An excellent job enjoyed by both participants.

We relax for a while and she fawns on me, like a little Thai Salacious-Crumb petting Jabba The Hutt. After a while I shower and the water reinvigorates my cock. I realise with shock I want more. I’m not twenty-five no more. It’s seldom I want to come more than once in a row unless I have some proper pervy porn on the go and am abandoning myself to a wank-Odyssey. Real flesh and blood women rarely make me want to bother. Once I’ve banged my load up them I’d rather they just pissed off and let me sleep.

I go back in an engage in a triple-X throwdown with Thai. It’s twice the first one. It’s a spiritual experience. It’s like a Tiger raping a Lynx. This girls a real live-wire. She’s a thrashing, moaning, drooling sex-dervish. She comes like there’s no tomorrow. At one point I decide to try the White Tiger Tantra stuff and get her propped up on some pillows and give her G-spot a good frigging. “What is THIS?” she screams and then spasms and jets she-squirt all over the pillow. Glorious. I’ll never get tired of that I tell you.

I could have stayed all day but I had a flight to catch and DrunkenBaker was waiting. The cost? £75. I gave her £100. My god she was worth it. Got her phone number. Next time I’m in Bangkok she’s getting a call. I shower and leave and meet DrunkenBaker downstairs. He has a dazed, satisfied look on his face. Turns out his girl was half-Thai half-Japanese and seemed to literally love him and started writing him love poems in Kanji on hotel napkins.

God I love Singapore.