The past few weeks have been filled with nonstop action.
Coaching the NYC Experience, photoshoots, the election, the protests, going out with the boys, and catching up with old friends kept me out every night and have left me exhausted.
And there’s been a bit of a dryspell ever since I lost my tooth last month.
There isn’t even a good story behind the shattered tooth–I was walking home one night, tripped over a piece of broken sidewalk and on the way down my face caught a railing. Was knocked out cold for a few seconds and when I came to, there was blood everywhere and pieces of enamel in my mouth.
I got up, walked over to a kebab truck where the Muslim manning it gave me a pile of napkins while asking if I needed an ambulance, I said no, but thanks for the napkins, hailed a cab, and went home. During the night I bled so much that I ruined my sheets, two pillows, and mattress encasement.
That was on a Saturday night and my dentist didn’t open until Monday morning, so I spent the next 36 hours treating myself–which is better than going to the hospital in NYC where you have to wait next to people with gunshot wounds and coughs from the depths of hell.
My dentist cleaned me up and created a $600 removable flipper tooth that I take out during key moments with girls for a funny effect.
While I was healing and out of commission, my most recent French lover cooled off and went radio silent, ending our little fling–which I don’t mind at all since we didn’t get along much outside of bed.
There hadn’t been any new sex since the Vampire Feminist and a threesome I had the night before her.
That’s the way of the player life–three girls in 24 hours, and then a month of nothing new. Its something you get used to after a while, but the lost Mojo takes its toll–I have a difficult time thinking of fresh ideas if I don’t get laid for more than a week (does that make me a sex addict?).
The plan was to lay low during this week and hit it hard again with coaching through the weekend.
That plan got interrupted right after eating some shrimp tacos and settling down to write for the rest of the evening.
My phone rang with a number who’s country code I didn’t recognize and when I picked it up a thick Irish accent said, “Yo, Goldmund, I’m in town for the next 8 hours, lets go to a strip club!”
It was my old friend S from graduate school. He’s an Irishman and I hadn’t seen him since he moved back to Dublin 5 years ago.
We had some wild times together, usually involving lots of beer, naked girls, and spilled blood. I’m surprised I never lost a tooth while out with him.
“Fuck me man, what are you doing here?”
He was on a layover on his way to Argentina and had the night in NYC to himself. I told him to tell his driver to come pick me up and we would go get some tits slapped in our faces.
S arrived smoking in the back of the car with a bottle of whiskey that he handed to me right away. He also handed me a wad of $20 bills and said “Daddy’s back in town, coming to make all the girls dance!”
We caught up over swigs while the driver took us to the dirtiest strip club in Brooklyn.
The only lights in the place are red, there is no cover but you are expected to have at least two drinks, the 400 lb bouncer has a shaved head covered in green tattoos, and most of the girls look like drug addled Addams family members.
A select few of the girls are very good looking and one came out on the stage a few minutes after we sat down at the bar to chat.
She was Chinese and had a big dragon tattoo running down the side of her torso. The way she moved up and down the pole was mesmerizing.
After her dance, like all the girls, she came over to us and thrust her boobs out. We both slid a dollar bill in her cleavage and when she looked at me with powerful eyes I told her to come over.
She walked around the bar, introduced herself as Kim, sat in my lap and said ‘whats up?’
I asked where she learned to dance and she told me her friend had a pole in her living room and she would practice when she was over there.
I asked what she did when she wasn’t dancing and she told me she was in a fine arts program at her University. I told her about my background and then asked what she was currently working on.
Kim said she was trying to write some short stories about loss and I immediately sparked up and shared my thoughts on how writing is the most powerful form of art because it can truly change the minds of readers. Most peoples lives weren’t going to be altered much by a pole dance–unless they were on some really good drugs. A big issue with any writer is that much of the time their minds are going to be consumed by thoughts that need to come out and there is a reason that most of them have a obsession with sex and a penchant for alcohol–it gets you to stop thinking for a while.
She agreed with my sentiments and I told her about my books and the recent launch of the NYC Experience. She reacted like most girls react, they think its very clever and a little strange–I explain thats just the way I like it.
I took out the wad of 20s S had given me and told her I wanted her to help me stop thinking for a while.
Kim walked into a booth in the back of the club and I inspected the couch for stains before giving up and sitting down.
She said we had to wait until the next song started and I told her she didn’t have to dance yet, but should come over, take her fishnet shirt off and let me put my face in her tits.
She did, and the little boobs were smooth as Chinese silk.
The song started to play and as she danced she took off her thong and grinded her bare ass on my crotch. I had been sure to wear a pair of loose pants in order to get maximum stimulation and it worked. I was as horny as a teenager and rubbing her bare ass and smelling her stripper perfume made the blood rush through my body.
When the song ended I told her to keep going and gave her another 20 while she went down and bit gently on my hard cock that held my pants propped up like a tent pole.
Afterwards, we went back out to the bar where S had two girls in his lap and was enchanting them with tales of debauchery through his thick Irish accent.
I sat down next to them and joined in when he began the story of the time we witnessed a beatdown in front of the stripclub.
We were on the sidewalk smoking when the bouncer with the green scalp tattoos threw two guys out of the club and into the street. They were big Dominicans and screaming in Spanish at the two other bouncers who stood to guard the entrance. The Dominicans both ran to their car, popped the trunk, took out telescopic metal police batons, extended them, and came charging towards the guards at the entrance.
Me and S backed up behind a food truck that was parked out front and when the Dominicans started beating the bouncers with the batons, we turned and ran into the street–both of us thought guns were going to be drawn and were expecting to hear shots fired.
A car was coming down the street and we waved frantically at it until it stopped. The guy asked what was wrong and we told him that there were dudes trying to kill each other at the strip club. He told us to get in the back and I called 911.
In front of the club, the Dominicans were now fighting the 400 lb man with the tattooed green head and another bouncer. The two original bouncers were on the ground and motionless.
After telling the police what happened and where, we stayed in the car and started talking to the guy driving. He was headed into Manhattan and going to a show. We asked what kind of show was he going to at 2am.
“A sort of sex show.”
I had witnessed regular sex shows in New York with people blowing and eating eachother out on stage, but where this guy took us was something else.
It was the first time I’ve seen someone stick a needle through the head of his cock. And the first time I’ve watched a girl lift up a banana creme pie with her labia (funny that I’ve come across similar acts at different venues since then).
The stripper girls were loving the story and it was especially fun reliving the experience with S for the first time in many years, our energy was infectious.
S left for the champagne room with two girls and Kim left to redo her make up (thats what she said, I suspect she went to snort something).
As I sat there sipping beer and feeling good, a few more Addams family strippers came out, and left me uninspired.
Then, a pair of endless legs came out on to the stage, and in between them was a little patch of glowing triangle. It was another Chinese girl, and this one was a ball of fire. She swung around the pole like a gymnast, smacked her ass like she deserved it, and made furiously strong eye contact with me.
**Note that me and S were the only customers in the joint–all the more reason to go out during the week**
I was transfixed and when the song was over and waved for her to come join me.
She came right over and told me her name was Chow. I couldn’t stop laughing at her. She barely spoke any English and when I gave her my best Chinese “Nee How Ma?” she swung around me like I was a stripper pole.
We tried to communicate but her English was impossible and I just kept touching her and getting more fired up from her buzzing body that was constantly moving.
I took her to the back room for a dance and she was a true nutty Chinagirl, flinging my hat off, jumping up on the couch to rub her hips and ass all over my head, saying crazy shit in Cantonese and letting me touch her wherever I wanted.
When we came out, I saw Kim over at a table, and she was writing in a pad. I went over with Chow and asked to read some of her work.
It was a description of a rape and how the girl was dealing with the consequences. Typical stuff that you can imagine a 20 year old stripper would write. I told her it was a delicate subject to try and cover and hoped that the surroundings we were in right now provided some inspiration. I did this while pointing at Chow.
Chow said something in Chinese and Kim responded back. They obviously were familiar with eachother but it didn’t seem that Kim was amused by Chows persona–thick jealousy–I didn’t care that much, I just wanted two Chinese girls rubbing their naked perfumed bodies on me at the same time.
I told them both to come into the booth and when they did I gave them 30$ each and told them to make it worth my while.
For 5 glorious minutes I had the dumplings crawling all over me completely naked. It felt so good and I loved watching them swirl around while my hands slid all over their velvety skin.
When I came out, the smile wouldn’t come off my face and it got bigger when I saw S with the same shit-eating face sitting at the bar.
We laughed and asked ourselves why we didn’t start every night at a strip club, we were in the perfect state of mind to go out and get some real pussy.
It was getting late though and S had to go back through security at JFK so we called another car and said our goodbyes while waiting for it to arrive.
It was just over a mile back to my place and I felt like walking, so I took a short cut through some project buildings and hoofed it back to my neighborhood.
As I passed the train station, I noticed a familiar scene and stopped to light a cigarette while it went down: a very attractive tall girl was trying to say goodbye to a good looking, but wimpy guy. He was trying to invite himself to her place and she was saying how tired she was and how they could do this another time. She had fun but really needed to get home right now.
I enjoyed watching, remembering how many times I had been in the guys shoes and thinking this was how most dates ended for everyone. I smirked at the memory as my mind burned behind the cigarette, and an idea popped into my head.
The block we were on was desolate and when the wimpy guy slinked down the stairs to the train, I picked up the pace and went after the girl.
I purposefully clopped my boots on the concrete as loud as they could go (and those boots can clop), and knew she could hear me hoofing it behind her in the darkness.
When I got closer and she started to turn nervously, I said “don’t be scared” and smiled as I slowed my stride to her pace.
This girl was tall, really tall. The times I feel the most anxiety approaching girls is around ones that are a lot taller than me–I really don’t like looking up at them–it feels unnatural. But I had Chinese stripper vibes surrounding me and was too cocksure to let a little thing light height become a bother.
She looked down at me and said “thank god, I hate walking around here at night” and I asked her if she lived close by.
She told me the street she lived and it was three blocks away from my apartment building. I said what I always say to girls who live in the same area “hey, we’re neighbors…lets hang out!” and she laughed.
Her name was Adelaide (which was easy to remember since I’ve dated an Adelaide), 23, she had just graduated college and moved to the neighborhood.
I told her she should be a proper neighbor and bake me some brownies, good brownies, the kind with the THC butter.
She asked what I was doing and I told her I was going for a nightcap and she should join. She readily said okay, much more readily than I expected, and as we walked to my favorite speakeasy spot I told her that I had just come from the stripclub and to excuse me if I smelled like strippers.
“I’m going to take you to the stripclub sometime. Its a fun date–once I took a group of French girls and we got kicked out because they took cocktail napkins, wrote $100 on them with a pen, and threw them at the strippers. Something interesting always happens there.”
We also agreed to go to a burlesque show at a local venue/gallery that held them regularly (the same place where I had seen the grotesque sex acts described above).
I asked who she had been talking to when I first saw her at the train and she said “oh, that was just a friend.”
“Oh really, well that friend really wants to fuck you, are you sure it wasn’t a Tinder date?”
She swore up and down that she didn’t do any online dating and I replied with an approving nod “well, good, because I don’t hang out with anyone who uses apps for sex.”
While we were having this conversation and waiting to order drinks at the bar, I felt a tap on my shoulder and predicted who would be giving me a stinkeye when I turned around to witness the source.
It was Cara. A blonde haired, big boobed, cat-eyed, American vixen that I had met when I was going through my ‘fuck 75 girls in a year’ phase while first learning game. She was a regular at this bar and I had seen her quite a few times before.
Luckily, she still was clinging on to her beauty and I wasn’t embarrassed at all when she looked my companion up and down like a piece of meat.
Cara asked me how I had been and said “its been a while, we should get together sometime” while I smiled and nodded.
When I mentioned to Adelaide that we should go into the backyard with our drinks she asked “so, who was that?” and responded “we used to be friends but things didn’t work out” and she went silent.
In the backyard we sipped our drinks and talked about fun places to go out in the neighborhood. At one point she mentioned her disgust with the results of the election and I bit my tongue a little and said “its just the president, not much is going to change anyway–what is really crazy is how emotional everyone is over what happened–its like they are big babies crying over something they wanted and didn’t get.”
She nodded in agreement and then I quickly changed the subject to my upcoming trip to Cuba.
During a pause in the conversation, I looked at her for a minute, admired her pretty face, and said “I want to kiss you right now” and she smiled and said “ok” and we kissed lightly.
“I bet we can do better than that” and I pulled her in close and we made out with much more passion.
She was laughing about how we had just met 15 minutes earlier and were now kissing like lovers in the backyard of a bar. I asked how long the date had lasted with her ‘friend’ and she said 3 hours–which gave me a strong belly laugh.
When our drinks were done I told her that I had a bottle of champagne at my place that I had been wanting to drink. We should go and pop it and I would show her some of my photographs.
She hesitated for a second and said “I really don’t think so, we know whats going to happen if I come to your place.”
“Listen, I don’t like to plan on things like this, lets just go for a drink. I’m going to try and kiss you again for sure, but no pressure.”
We walked the four blocks back to my place and went upstairs.
I told her to wait in my room and turn on the salt lamps while I went in the fridge and grabbed the $12 bottle of prosecco that was waiting.
When I came in with two glasses and popped the bottle, her boots were off and she was sitting on my bed.
The prosecco cork was popped, the glasses filled, clinked, “cheers, to serendipity”, and when she went to use the bathroom, I took off my boots and sweater and sat on the bed so when she returned it was easy to start kissing her again as soon as she sat down next to me.
Sex with a girl who is tall is something else. Legs are an incredible turn on and when they look like they never end, its easy to turn into an animal.
From behind, her long torso looks like a flowing river of flesh, and its easy to get lost in it and drown your thoughts into oblivion as you enjoy the rhythm.
After, she set her alarm for 6am and we slept.
- I love the nightlife for precisely the reason that you never know whats going to happen. There isn’t anything much more exciting than going out and interacting with sexy women, leading them to places they have never been, and exercising you seduction skills. Thats the world we live in right now, easy for amoral denizens of large cities to indulge in connecting with perfect strangers.
- Stripclubs are great places to begin the evening. I’ve never been a big patron of them, but they are great, especially on slow weeknights when you can get your juices flowing and start to feel invincible.
- Whenever something like this happens, I’m eternally grateful for learning game. I don’t want a serious relationship with anyone right now, but still need to have my sexual desires fulfilled. Pre-game me would have been the wimpy guy at the end of a 3 hour date who begged and pleaded before slinking underground to ride home alone while a knowing stranger was watching, ready to swoop in and seduce his fantasy in under an hour.
- Picking up girls on the street and in the subway has been my forte’ this year. I’ve slept with more girls that way than the ones I’ve met while out at venues. Its more fun, it feels dangerous, and I can tone down the energy–which is more suited to me as I get into my 30s.
- I’m sure the interaction would have been blown out of the water if I had defended Trump as president. The tension in the air is too high right now and people are out of their minds with the media brainwashing. Its best to say something innocuous and comforting, yet still keep your spine straight, while most of the millennials sooth their bruised egos.
- Always have a bottle of champagne or something sparkling in the fridge. Most of the girls that have come home with me agree on that note. And half the time I don’t even have to open it.
My Mojo is back, I’m feeling good, and life is bright.
If you are interested in creating a wild night filled with the unexpected, check out The NYC Experience, its been nothing but good times so far.
If you are interested in just one night of regular coaching, go here.
And if you enjoyed the storytelling style in the above post, you will love Art of the One Night Stand.