Hot Hunting
Submitted by jimmy on 5 March, 2011 - 00:39I didn't get into game to learn how to meet 7s and 8s. I was tearing my way through a steady stream of 7s and 8s before I even knew game existed. When I heard about Mystery, I heard he had 'seduced and dated many of the world's most beautiful women' using only his method. That's why I got into game. I wanted 9s and 10s. I'd had shots at 9s and 10s in the past and always lost. Once I'd had a year of game, I understood exactly why I'd lost. I was needy and boring with those women. I was dangerous and sexy with lesser women.
Now, I am still not massively successful with 9s and 10s, but I am climbing slowly into their radar and I have dated and 'dated' a few in the last 5 years. When I go out, my wings will open 15 sets. I'll open 5. I am lazy, it's true, but it's also because I am looking specifically to hunt me down a woman who is, dare I say it, out of my league. I don't want to spend time in a set with an 8 and have a 10 walk past and me not notice.
Sure, I still date average women. My three current girls are two 7s and one 8. I do this because sometimes it's on a plate and/or I have been out all day/night and opened nothing so I have to do something. Or I am teaching a boot-camp and have to demo. It's not a time to be picky, it's a time to do.
The super hot are, unfortunately, very rare. Very. I just rarely see them. So when they appear, I take it. No AA, no excuses just a massive sense of 'FINALLY', like waiting for a bus that is long overdue. It's the only time game is exciting for me now. When I actually think 'Jesus, who do I think I am to approach this girl'.
I am talking about, for example, this girl here whom I number closed in Camden not too long ago. She stood out like a sore thumb. Elegant, confident and beautiful. I felt the blood tingle and my heart said 'time to go to work Jambone, pull the trigger.
One of my main wings and best friends tells me that I am not only one of the only guys he knows who has the balls to approach these women, I am the only guy he knows who actually has the unshakeable self belief that I BELONG on their romantic radar. And I do. Of this, there is simply no doubt.
I'd rather Facebook close a girl like this than 'date' a 7.
I'd rather get blown out by a girl like this that 'date' a 7.
It's in these moments I feel alive. I feel like a man. I used to shake uncontrollably when I saw such women. Now I don't. I feel worry is all - because I know it may be another month until I see another. But they hold no fear for me.
And it's a challenge. They ALWAYS have a boyfriend. Of course they fucking do. 22 and hot as hell. And their man is usually richer and more famous than I am. But I can excite her more. The truth is, I know full well that these women, these prey I covet, are in demand and if I want one, I am going to have to take her right out of the hands of a guy most people would class as my superior.
Winter is over. The days are warm and light. Bring it on.
One of my main wings and best friends tells me that I am not only one of the only guys he knows who has the balls to approach these women, I am the only guy he knows who actually has the unshakeable self belief that I BELONG on their romantic radar. And I do. Of this, there is simply no doubt.
I'd rather Facebook close a girl like this than 'date' a 7.
I'd rather get blown out by a girl like this that 'date' a 7.
It's in these moments I feel alive. I feel like a man. I used to shake uncontrollably when I saw such women. Now I don't. I feel worry is all - because I know it may be another month until I see another. But they hold no fear for me.
And it's a challenge. They ALWAYS have a boyfriend. Of course they fucking do. 22 and hot as hell. And their man is usually richer and more famous than I am. But I can excite her more. The truth is, I know full well that these women, these prey I covet, are in demand and if I want one, I am going to have to take her right out of the hands of a guy most people would class as my superior.
Winter is over. The days are warm and light. Bring it on.




