A Thousand Tiny Failures : Memoirs of a Pickup Artist by Tony D

Author:Tony D [D, Tony]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Nonfiction, Retail
Amazon: B00F225ZTM
Published: 2013-09-07T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

“Good girl?” (Le Guerrier)

Sarah texted me and wanted to go out again. I was pretty sure she’d be dtf this time if everything worked out. I thought I’d blown it with my walk out on our last date, but she liked me. She was sort of masculine. I’d been meeting lots of girls that acted masculine lately. It was like they wanted to be the leader. I don’t like that. I like being the man. The best women I ever dated were from Mexico, Brazil, and Columbia. They’re still girls. North Americans have it all backwards. It’s a role reversal.

I’d been seeing Montana about twice a week, and the sex was great, but that’s all. We would fuck and then she’d kick me out. I’d never been with such an orgasmic girl. I could usually make her come three or four times a session, but she didn’t want anything else to do with me. It was like, the closer I came to being awesome with women, the further I was. In my head, I wanted to be a player, but really, I wanted a girlfriend. My standards are just higher than my attractiveness. I’m like a cute puppy that you want to cuddle, but I smelled like puppy pee.

I’d been reading two books called, A New Earth, and, The Power of Now, by Eckhart Tolle. Now, before going out I would meditate for half an hour to get in The Now. I loved losing myself within myself. It’s like that scene in Being John Malkovich, where he crawls through the portal leading inside his own head. That’s what I’d been doing my entire life; crawling around inside of my skull, lost, pursued by Minotaurs.

Meditation is dope, but not as effective as cheap French beer. Practicing pickup seven nights a week was taking its toll. It makes you a little bit weird… no, a lot weird. I no longer saw people as people—just opportunities. I didn’t view women as women, but more like characters in a video game. Of course, it was different if they actually dated me, but I was frustrated from all the flaking. The only way to deal with the tremendous amount of rejection is to view the whole process as something separate from my reality, so it isn’t personal. As for approaching, it was really no big deal anymore. Just an action you take—something to do. Like making toast.

I met her at her place. Sarah was in her bra and Mickey Mouse boxers with a French cigarette dangling from her thin lips. Her feet were on the coffee table and she was painting her toes pink. I love pretty feet, not sure why. Cute toes, they just look like smooth little sausages or something. I leaned over and pinched her foot.

“Ow! No pinching, Sebastian.”

“I want to bite them.”

“What? Why?”

“They’re too cute.”

“You’re a weird guy.”

“Yeah. I am.”

She got dressed in a short white dress, and we left for a local bar to catch the first band. Sarah got a call so she stopped outside the bar to talk.

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