I wake up bright and early with the newly acquired F-town dogtags around my neck. Life is good. The bright welcome sounds of my laptop greet me as I check my mail. Oh dear, Robusto has stolen the title while I slept, the sneaky fat aussie cunt. The sky suddenly darkens outside.
Later in the evening I come back from muay thai training with Bhodi and we turn our scooters into the final approach home. There’s a small massage parlor so I park up and decide to get the kinks of training kneaded out of my muscles to avoid tomorrow’s aches. Bhodi says “there’s a nice bird works there.” Indeed there is. It’s 11pm and an early 30s slightly MILFy bird is starting to close up shop, alone. I enquire whether there’s time for a massage and she assents.
Note at this moment I have zero intent. It’s not even on my mind. I’ve been having massages every night after training so this is just more of the same.
For the first half hour I recline on the futon with my eyes shut and don’t say a word. The woman busies herself digging thumbs into pressure points and grinding her elbow against my muscles. Maybe I’m kidding myself but my spider-sense is tingling. Something about her manner isn’t quite right. She seems to be putting too much of her body into contact with mine. It’s not sexual but it’s vaguely sensual. I pay it little mind. She starts to make light conversation which I reciprocate. Then towards the last ten minutes we are talking more so I drop in light DHVs reflexively. She compliments me on my “strong shoulders”. Hmmmmm.
She finishes and I’m still thinking nothing of it. It’s midnight and we’re both tired. She sits down on a futon next to me and makes small talk. I’m reading her for IODs to see if she signals me to leave so she can close up shop but they never come. So I put a calm vibe on her and gradually take control of the conversation. Before long she’s showing me photos of her family and saying she’ll sleep in the parlor tonight because her house is 40km away. It’s never awkward but it’s all inappropriate for a customer-client frame. Something is afoot.
So I escalate slightly by giving her a light shoulder massage. Then I suggest showing her my puppies my photos on my laptop at my room (less than 100m away). Thus begins a pattern of two-steps-forwards-one-step-back that continues for the next hour. She initially demurs then agrees, then as I put my shoes on and start going she demurs again before following five minutes later. At my room she sits on the corner of the bed while I put on facebook and spotify. I know she’s up for it but clearly wanting to be pressed so that she can tell herself it “just happened”.
After ten minutes in my room she rebuffs the first two kisses in a half-arsed display of chastity then takes the third. I’ve long since figured out how she wants to be seduced so I just move it along gently but firmly until she’s rubbing my cock and I know it’s a done deal. She’s a decent lay. Then she excuses herself and walks back to her shop. I don’t even pay for the massage.
I fire off an email to Robusto to request he unburden himself of the tags which he no longer has a right to wear.
This lay is what I would call a “George”, after my new Greek buddy who has stacked his adulthood with over a hundred such lays. There was no game per se. I just went on with my business and allowed my spider-sense to pick up signals when a girl was in the right mood at the right time. Then I just laid my vibe on her, relaxed, and gently moved it forwards. Every one of you probably has twenty of these experiences where you failed to spot the signals and thus nothing happened. And this is an unexpected reward of following the game route – you pick up such good calibration in the process of opening thousands of girls that when a lay just walks right up to you, you are able to spot it and let it happen.
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