The Warrior And The Hunter, Two Key Mindsets

When I decided to start this blog, I made a promise to myself that I would keep the mind-wank level at a low. Now I’m going to break that promise. As some of you guys might have guessed, I’ve been indulging in a somewhat wishy-washy kind of literature, namely Carlos Castaneda. Now, I’m not saying the guy had game (maybe he did), and I’m not even saying that his work makes for a great source of truth and ´learning the ways of the World’, as it were. However, I’m a sucker for metaphors and I always try to find patterns and commonalities between subjects that have (apparently) nothing to do with one another. Let it be clear that, in my opinion, most of his writing is just nonsensical gibberish – just like mine. In spite of this, there is always some gold to be found amongst the dirt and, in this case, that is in the two archetypes he describes when he was “studying” under the tuition of Don Juan Matus, an old Yaqui Indian sorcerer. In his teachings, Don Juan first urges Castaneda to “become a warrior”, since that’s the only way to endure the hardships of the path to knowledge.

 “When a man embarks on the paths of sorcery he becomes aware, in a gradual manner, that ordinary life has been forever left behind; that knowledge is indeed a frightening affair; that the means of the ordinary world are no longer a buffer for him; and that he must adopt a new way of life if he is going to survive. The first thing he ought to do, at that point, is to want to become a warrior. The frightening nature of knowledge leaves one no alternative but to become a warrior.
By the time knowledge becomes a frightening affair the man also realizes that death is the irreplaceable partner that sits next to him on the mat. Every bit of knowledge that becomes power has death as its central force. Death lends the ultimate touch and whatever is touched by death indeed becomes power.
A man who follows the paths of sorcery is confronted with imminent annihilation every turn of the way, and unavoidably he becomes keenly aware of his death. Without the awareness of death he would be only an ordinary man involved in ordinary acts. He would lack the necessary potency, the necessary concentration that transforms one’s ordinary time on earth into magical power.
Thus to be a warrior a man has to be, first of all, and rightfully so, keenly aware of his own death. But to be concerned with death would force any one of us to focus on the self and that would be debilitating. So the next thing one needs to be a warrior is detachment. The idea of imminent death, instead of becoming an obsession, becomes an indifference.”

  • Carlos Castaneda, A Separate Reality.

Now, how is this related to game? Well, if phrases like “frightening affair”, “no longer a buffer”, “death as a source of power” and  “detachment” don’t ring a bell, let’s see what entails, according to Don Juan, to become a warrior:


“The path of knowledge is a forced one. In order to learn we must be spurred. In the path of knowledge we are always fighting something, avoiding something, prepared for something; and that something is always inexplicable, greater, more powerful than us. The inexplicable forces will come to you. Later on it’ll be your own ally, so there is nothing you can do now but to prepare yourself for the struggle.
The world is indeed full of frightening things and we are helpless creatures surrounded by forces that are inexplicable and unbending. The average man, in ignorance, believes that those forces can be explained or changed; he doesn’t really know how to do that, but he expects that the actions of mankind will explain them or change them sooner or later. A sorcerer, on the other hand, does not think of explaining or changing them; instead, he learns to use such forces by redirecting himself and adapting to their direction. That’s his trick. There is very little to sorcery once you find out its trick. A sorcerer, by opening himself to knowledge, falls prey to those forces and has only one means of balancing himself, his will; thus he must feel and act like a warrior. I will repeat this once more: Only as a warrior can one survive the path of knowledge. What helps a sorcerer live a better life is the strength of being a warrior.
It is my commitment to teach you to see. I am compelled, therefore, to teach you to feel and act like a warrior. To see without first being a warrior would make you weak; it would give you a false meekness, a desire to retreat; your body would decay because you would become indifferent. It is my personal commitment to make you a warrior so you won’t crumble.
A warrior should be prepared only to battle. His spirit is not geared to indulging and complaining, nor is it geared to winning or losing. The spirit of a warrior is geared only to struggle, and every struggle is a warrior’s last battle on earth. Thus the outcome matters very little to him. In his last battle on earth a warrior lets his spirit flow free and clear. And as he wages his battle, knowing that his will is impeccable, a warrior laughs and laughs.”

And then, most importantly, this:

” You think about yourself too much and that gives you a strange fatigue that makes you shut off the world around you and cling to your arguments.
A light and amenable disposition is needed in order to withstand the impact and the strangeness of the knowledge I am teaching you. Feeling important makes one heavy, clumsy, and vain. To be a man of knowledge one needs to be light and fluid.

One has to reduce to a minimum all that is unnecessary in one’s life.

Once you decide something put all your petty fears away. Your decision should vanquish them. I will tell you time and time again, the most effective way to live is as a warrior. Worry and think before you make any decision, but once you make it, be on your way free from worries or thoughts; there will be a million other decisions still awaiting you. That’s the warrior’s way.
A warrior thinks of his death when things become unclear. The idea of death is the only thing that tempers our spirit.

To be a warrior you have to be crystal clear.

A warrior takes responsibility for his acts, for the most trivial of acts. He waits patiently, knowing that he is waiting, and knowing what he is waiting for. That is the warrior’s way. An average man acts out his thoughts, and never takes responsibility for what he does.

A warrior treats everything with respect and does not trample on anything unless he has to. He does not abandon himself to anything, not even to his death. He is not a willing partner and not available, and if he involves himself with something, you can be sure that he is aware of what he is doing. For a warrior there is nothing out of control. Life for a warrior is an exercise in strategy.”

  • Carlos Castaneda, A Separate Reality


See where this is going? Now, for the hunter:


“When a man decides to do something he must go all the way, but he must take responsibility for what he does. No matter what he does, he must know first why he is doing it, and then he must proceed with his actions without having doubts or remorse about them.
Look at me, I have no doubts or remorse. Everything I do is my decision and my responsibility. The simplest thing I do, to take you for a walk in the desert for instance, may very well mean my death. Death is stalking me. Therefore, I have no room for doubts or remorse. If I have to die as a result of taking you for a walk, then I must die.
You on the other hand, feel that you are immortal, and the decisions of an immortal man can be cancelled or regretted or doubted. In a world where death is the hunter, my friend, there is no time for regrets or doubts. There is only time for decisions.

If you would live out here in the wilderness you would know that during the twilight the wind becomes power. A hunter that is worth his salt knows that, and acts accordingly.

The art of a hunter is to become inaccessible. To be inaccessible means that you touch the world around you sparingly. You don’t expose yourself to the power of the wind unless it is mandatory. You don’t use and squeeze people until they have shriveled to nothing, especially the people you love.

To be unavailable means that you deliberately avoid exhausting yourself and others. It means that you are not hungry and desperate.
A hunter knows he will lure game into his traps over and over again, so he doesn’t worry. To worry is to become accessible, unwittingly accessible. And once you worry you cling to anything out of desperation; and once you cling you are bound to get exhausted or to exhaust whoever or whatever you are clinging to.
I’ve told you already that to be inaccessible does not mean to hide or to be secretive. It doesn’t mean that you cannot deal with people either. A hunter uses his world sparingly and with tenderness regardless of whether the world might be things, or plants, or animals, or people, or power. A hunter deals intimately with his world and yet he is inaccessible to that same world. He is inaccessible because he’s not squeezing his world out of shape. He taps it lightly, stays for as long as he needs to, and then swiftly moves away leaving hardly a mark.

A good hunter knows one thing above all–he knows the routines of his prey. That’s what makes him a good hunter. A hunter that is worth his salt does not catch game because he sets his traps, or only because he knows the routines of his prey, but because he himself has no routines. He is free, fluid, unpredictable.

A good hunter changes his ways as often as he needs. A hunter must not only know about the habits of his prey, he also must know that there are powers on this earth that guide men and animals and everything that is living. Powers that guide our lives and our deaths.”

  • Carlos Castaneda, Journey To Ixtlan.


That is too much of a borrowed voice, I know. But I think it helps to adopt certain mindsets in this harsh yet fascinating journey of learning. Let me finish by quoting the fictional old guy with a phrase that stuck with me ever since I’ve read it:

“All of us are fools. You always feel compelled to explain your acts, as if you were the only man on earth who’s wrong. It’s your old feeling of importance. You have too much of it; you also have too much personal history. On the other hand, you don’t assume responsibility for your acts; you’re not using your death as an adviser, and above all you are too accessible.

Change! If you do not respond to that challenge you are as good as dead. You have never taken the responsibility for being in this unfathomable world. Therefore, you were never an artist, and perhaps you’ll never be a hunter. There is one simple thing wrong with you–you think you have plenty of time. You think your life is going to last forever.”

Carlos Castaneda, Journey to Ixtlan.

Thoughts On Selectivity And Numbers Deletion

We all have this run-of-the-mill knowledge that women are the chased, that they are the prize up to the point we’ve bedded them. This is, of course, pretty much true. We know it, they know it. Try to reverse this dynamic in your mind and nature will smash your ego and punish you for having such a big brain (we’re talking game here, so hypergamy, fame or status are not thrown into the equation). So far, so good. That being said, is it true that we must “chase” and try to fuck every single girl we’ve got a number from? I think not, for the sake of our own mental health. We could, of course, and our notch count would very likely increase significantly. But would all that effort, mental – and physical, perhaps – trauma be worth it? I don’t know about you guys, but I value my time. There’s only so much of it I’m willing to exchange for pussy.

With that in mind, I will try to outline a new strategy I have adopted. I used to delete every unresponsive number; when I began hunting, I even deleted numbers from girls that didn’t come out on a date by the third time I asked them out, even if they were enthusiastic while texting. Or if I was the one who had somehow fucked it up. This may provide a short-term feeling of gratification, but it is suboptimal. So, as you may have well guessed, I’m keeping those fuckers. Why delete them, right? Doing so suggests one takes things personally, or gets upset. There’s no need to delete, just forget altogether you have that number – it is very important to really get that lead out of your head and stop investing – and, given enough of them and plenty of time, one or two could pleasantly surprise you. BUT, there is an exception to this, I think. And the key is in that word “pleasantly”. You see, sometimes I forget to be picky when approaching women. Sometimes my eyesight fails me, and then my good judgment is impaired by my hormones and the sheer excitement of the hunt, so I go for the number even if I’m not really feeling the girl. Perhaps she’s pure eye-candy but she’s eager to encourage one’s inner misogynist. Unlike her interest levels, these traits are fixed. Thus, whenever a girl is not responsive and, on top of that, she doesn’t really catch my fancy, I may opt to delete her number. The same goes for when I take the number, send my feeler and she responds, but her Whatsapp profile pic and status doesn’t show – which means she did not add me to her contacts. Not that I’m butthurt but, given that now and then I tend to take numbers from girls I don’t like that much – in the same manner girls give their numbers to guys they don’t really feel –  there is a high chance this girl that doesn’t let herself be seen may not be all that. And, if I don’t have a visual stimulus I’m not really enthused to make things happen. So off she goes. As to girls that respond over text but don’t come out on dates, my current policy is to give them two chances to come out on a date, spaced by a few days in between. If she doesn’t suggest a reschedule by the second time, I will put that number in the freezer and maybe try to contact her a third time many weeks later (two minimum), if she’s masturbation material and I’m horny. After that, if she still doesn’t come I won’t try to contact her again. The general concept here is ‘investment/persistence vs sex proximity’. The point being that one should be more willing to invest/persist the closer one is to sex. Therefore, I approach once (maybe twice if I sense hidden interest and a hind/front brain conflict), I go for the date twice, maybe three times, but if we’re near the sex location I will persist until the small hours, the next morning and then some.

Date With Black Tahitian Girl

Friday came and I was seven sets away from the first one hundred in Baires – yes, I’m counting them once again. Might as well do ten, so as to build good and nice momentum. Usually the best sets of my sessions are between the seventh and the fifteenth. It all started the way it often starts, with feet dragging and an intense desire to walk for the sake of walking, just “to see how things unfold”. We reasonably seasoned hunters should be wise enough by now to know better. But hey, isn’t it also true that we begin to put our hearts into the thrill of the hunt well after a few lame approaches and even two or three blowouts? I most definitely did not feel the fire inside me since I had been indulging in my Venezuelan LTR – who lives here – for the first four or five days, until her mom came from Caracas to visit her.

After a hearty breakfast I dressed, zipped up my boots and put on my badass rings.



Gorgeous, isn’t it?



I decided to try a new route and headed to a not-so-nice part of town. Soon I realized there were no targets to be found in that area, but I pressed on only with the intention of exploring. My already feeble determination to hunt was beginning to dwindle even further, then suddenly… I saw the beast! She was tall, leggy, with a round mound of an ass and her hair consisted of multiple long braids, reaching down almost to her behind – think Predator. My hunter spirit had returned to me. Was this going to come down to merely chasing prey, or would it turn ugly? Would it become a frame showdown? For a split second, thoughts of the hunter being hunted came to mind. Nevermind, go for it… Find out.



Same hair, same ass, subtract a point.


She was walking slowly and seemed lost, when I front-stopped her. I accused her of walking without a purpose, like “a tourist who lost her map”. She gave me the Russian Minute (or the Tahitian version of it), then suddenly began to giggle and coo, as I kept slowly mesmerizing her with my birdsong. The set was rather stilted and awkward at times, since she did not speak Spanish fluently. She understood most of what I was saying, but couldn’t speak clearly. I managed to get some tease and banter in there:

Me: Why Argentina?

Her: I came to study

Me: Ok. What exactly? Spanish?

Her: Yes! I like to learn Spanish. Such a nice language… blah blah

Me: Right. But you should have learned before coming here [told her this with a grin and waving an accusatory finger]. Now you have to study until smoke comes out of your ears [pinching her ear playfully]

Her: [Giggles turn to laughter] No! But I understand pretty well. I just can’t speak much. I’m shy!

Me: Alright, tell you what… I’m not a Spanish teacher and that’s not why I stopped you. Honestly, I find you very pretty and would like to take you out for coffee sometime. Would you like that?

Her: Yes, sure.

Me: Alright, I’ll take your number and we’ll talk later. [Then, as I gave her my phone and she started to type her number]… What were you up to when I stopped to talk to you?

Her: I’m going to an interview at a restaurant.

Me: I have a friend who owns a restaurant – not in this city though – and he told me he would never ever hire a Tahitian girl.

Her: Why not?

Me: Because he says they all steal food

Her: [Shock face, which then turns to mock indignation and turns as if to leave] What!? I can’t believe you said that!

Me: My friend said it. I believe him, though. C’mere [extended my hand, she took it smiling shyly]. Okey, I’ll let you on your way now. I’m late as well. We’ll talk later. Nice meeting you, hon.

I sent my feeler a few hours later and some back and forth texting ensued. At some point I normalized the conversation so as not to let it fizzle out. She asked me what I was doing at the moment and I replied that I was listening to some music and chilling. She was getting ready to go to church (checklist tick). I told her she was a good girl, she thanked me and that was that. “Probably another number that fades into the ether”, I said to myself. Then, at around 11 pm, she contacted me out of the blue:

Her: Bad [Daygame_In_Shitsville]. How are you?

Me: How come you’re still awake at this late hour? Good little girls go to sleep at 10, tops

Her: I’m not a little girl [angry face]. And I have to study

Me: Rock & roll. Let’s grab a coffee tomorrow. How’s 5 pm?

Her: Where would we go?

Me: There are plenty of places around town. I’m sure we can find a cool spot (Thanks Krauser).

Her: [Many doubtful faces in a row]

Me: I’ll text you when I’m free

Her: Sounds good. This morning I felt bad because of you… (Boyfriend back in Tahiti, perhaps?)

Me: You felt bad in church, ’cause while the priest was preaching you couldn’t stop thinking about my sexy body [cheeky face]

Her: [lewd face]

Next day around noon I contacted her, giving her directions for meeting. A little back and forth, mainly her asking me about the name of the venue. Then, this:

Me: I don’t have anywhere specific in mind. We could meet there and walk until we find a place of our liking

Her: Ok [Daygame_In_Shitsville]. I have a headache. Talk to you later

I wondered if this was a flake, or a confirmation. She said “ok”, which sounds like a confirmation… but then, that extra info about her having a headache and that “talk to you later” bit. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to press on and ask for further confirmation (I thought that was needy, somehow). And I had the whole day free. So I decided I was going to be at our meeting point at around 5 pm and get into a cafe and linger about for half an hour or so. I felt like doing that, anyway. So if she got there, couldn’t find me and texted enquiring about my whereabouts, I could simply make her come to me. If she really did flake, I would leave the place and open a few sets, maybe try to go for an i-date. Half an hour passed and… nothing. I stood up and began to walk the way back home. I couldn’t be bothered opening. I much preferred sitting on a park bench and simply watch people going by their day. I knew I had reached the limit of my catabolic phase and it was time to cool down. Go home, watch a movie. Spend quality time on your own. Yeah, fucking paradise. Halfway home, at 5:47, my phone vibrates. It was her:

Her: Hey

Me: What’s good?

Her: It’s 5:47 [dissapointed face]

Me: I know. I went there at 5, saw you weren’t there and thought that perhaps you fell asleep

Her: I was waiting for you to send me a message

At this point, my usual paranoia almost got the best of me for the first time. I was really tempted to believe she was an attention whore and a time waster. But then I managed to keep a cold head and thought: “wait… first of all, she’s not a Porteña (girls from Buenos Aires), she’s not even an Argie”. This could mean she’s not a dumb and soulless bitch like those I’m used to deal with. Emotional control and self possession are key cornerstones of tight game. Alright then, logistics… hand them to her. This misunderstanding could play in your favour. Besides, you have nothing to lose. Let’s find out what she is about.

Me: Where are you now?

Her: Home

Me: I’m in Starbucks, in Callao and Viamonte. Come if you want. [after some ten minutes of silence] I’m sitting down just now

I was actually walking past Starbucks. I had had my coffee already and did not feel like having another one just then. I would wait, like a tiger hidden in the undergrowth to patiently stalk its prey.

Her: I’m arriving

“Too soon”, I thought.”She is trying to tool you”, said that stubborn but self-preserving part of my brain. Ok. I had to make a decision. Either go in there, spend some more money and time in something I didn’t want, wait for her at the door (not a choice really, since I had already told her I was sitting down) or just get the hell out of there and forget about the whole wretched business. I decided to give it a shot.

Me: Cool. I’m upstairs.

“Now…”, I thought, “… I have to set a time limit on how much I’ll wait. Let’s call it an hour.” About 40 minutes had past and by then I was convinced she would never show up. Then:

Her: Sorry. I got lost.

This, when translated from Argiechickean usually means “I’m bored and insecure enough to want to waste your time by staying comfortably at home while pulling the strings of your blind horniness to prove myself to my girlfriends” (Yohami won’t let me lie). I simply did not care any longer. So what if she tried to tool me. At least I did not follow her instructions or jumped any sort of hoops. I had kept the frame. I had taken it like a soldier. Then, this:

Her: I can see you [many laughing faces with tears]

I was on the second floor, sitting on an armchair next to the big window facing the street. There she was, waiting to cross at the traffic light. Late as hell, but looking great. She was wearing black tight torn jeans and a t-shirt showing cleavage. The date was nothing spectacular and we had to use Google Tanslate, but she giggled a lot and followed my leading when I told her we should go downstairs to order our drinks, since nobody was coming to check on us (pretty common in this part of the world). She took all the banter I threw her way awesomely, and let me run some comfort on her as we played the “questions game” using G.T.

Me: What was the most embarrassing moment of your life? (besides arriving so late today ;))

Her: Hahaha! I don’t have one. Have you got a girlfriend?

Me: I don’t believe you… It’s complicated… I’m at a point of my life in which I prefer not to label things. I like being single and have fun. What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?

Her: [via G.T.] Once I escaped from my mother to meet a guy on the beach

“Holy crap!”, I thought. “… this is coming my way fast”. I seeded the idea of “going to a bar I’ve been meaning to visit”, and we should go later. She said no. “Not today”, anyway. Ok, cool. We finished our drinks, kept making small talk for some ten or fifteen more minutes. Around two hours had passed since she showed up. Then, I motioned for us to leave, she stood up and followed a few steps behind. I told her we were going for a walk in the park. As we were walking aimlessly (I was walking aimlessly, really… and she was following my lead) I felt the vibe kind of peter out. She was visibly nervous and so I tried to reassure her with some non-sex-related talk. For brief moments, I thought she was kind of losing interest, as in “why don’t you make a move?”. I did do some kino inside Starbucks and she took it neither greatly nor badly – amber lights, I would say. Fair enough, let’s escalate on amber lights. Why not? Let’s show some boldness… the mood is just right and I’m feeling horny. I want to fuck this girl. That’s enough for me…

Me: Do you see that sign over there, with the lights?

Her: Yes.

Me: I’m going to kiss you there.

She kept on walking for a bit, while the wheels inside her head spun furiously trying to frantically process the meaning of the words I had just uttered; then, suddenly she literally jumped as if she was inside a train about to fall from a cliff. And she wouldn’t move. She gave me a long meaningful stare. That’s when I went for the kiss. She turned her head away, in surprise. She planted her feet and refused to keep on going, as if walking past that sign entailed a mortal danger. Alright, time to give her some comfort.

Me: Ok, I’ll try again later. Let’s go now.

Her: [Giggles, resumed walking]

Me: [More boring non-sexual talking]

Then, I caught her eyeing me discreetly from time to time and smiling to herself. It renewed my boldness and I told her to stop for a minute since my legs were a bit tired. She obediently stopped and we were in front of a display window from which came a sensual bluish light. “This is the spot”, I thought. She stood looking at me between expectant and nervous.

Me: It’s alright. C’mere [seized her chin with the fingers of one hand]

I went once again for the kiss and… she moved her face away once more.

Her: I’m sorry. I just can’t.

Me: That’s alright. I’ll try again in five minutes.

She giggled nervously and got away from me, to the edge of the curb with one foot down on the road.

Me: It’s ok. [leaning casually against a wall, well away from her] You don’t have to commit suicide. Think about your loved ones.

Her: Hahaha. You can’t be trusted!

Me: It’s fine. I don’t bite… strong. No, I’m just kidding. C’mere now, let’s find where your bus stop is [pulling out my phone so as to reassure her].

Her: No, no… I found it… It’s over there.

Me: Ok. just come out of the road. I won’t try to kiss you again. Now I’m not in the mood, anyway.

She came near hesitatingly, and I extended my hand saying it was good to have met her. And that I had to be somewhere soon. She took my hand, I softly but firmly pulled her nearer and her eyes suddenly spazzed out. I kissed her hand, threw it away and turned around and left whistling cheerfully. Today, she texted me. Here’s the exchange:

Her: I wanted to thank you for yesterday. But I wasn’t expecting that. Take good care [several kissing emojis]

Me: No worries. We’re adults. I hope you didn’t get lost trying to escape from Bad [Daygame_In_Shitsville]

Her: Is that how adults behave?

Me: Only those of us who are a menace to society

Her: You are a menace to me

Me: Thanks. That’s the nicest compliment anyone gave me today

Her: [smiley x 6] You’re welcome [Daygame_In_Shitsville]

I don’t know whether I’ll fuck this girl. Hell! I’m not even sure if I’ll see her again. But I’m glad I had such a fine oportunity to work on my emotional control, persistance and hard as well as soft dominance all simultaneously, in a short period of time.




Here Goes Nothing…

Alright fellow hunters… This is my half-arsed attempt at a daygame blog. I’m a thirty-one-year-old Argentine bloke who happened to come accross the LDM a couple of years ago, and has been hustling the streets ever since, busting his ass to get a trickle of fresh pussy every now and then – with moderate success and plenty of frustration. As you may have guessed by now, English is not my mother tongue so please bear with me and don’t expect to find masterpieces of literature here. I’m an absolute beginner as far as blogging goes, so I’m bound to fuck up a lot.

This is intended to be a site where men gather to share their stories, their insights, questions and general experiences regarding the opposite sex. With this in mind, everyone is welcome to do so, so long as respect is observed and maintained. Bitching, jealousy and gossip – as well as any other feminine behaviour – will not be tolerated here. I hope you enjoy or find something of value, at the very least.

New City, New Life… 100 + Sets And A Rough Start

Most guys, I think, start to keep written record of their “player’s journey” as soon as they start cold approaching – or shortly after. Not so with me. I’m not claiming to be special or anything, just plain lazy and a chronic procastrinator. I have almost two thousand street approaches under my belt, and just recently decided to start boring you guys with my experiences and thoughts on game. Being an Argie, I have inherited the woppish and parasitic style that sets us apart from, say, the British or the Germans. All this to say I’ve been preferring to comment on other people’s blogs rather than starting my own (I still prefer it).

Anyroad, I have recently moved to Buenos Aires, my country’s capital city with the aim of honing my hunting skills. As Nash pointed out, volume is everything in terms of sustainable daygame – I believe this is key to success in general – and I had learned this lesson the hard way not long after having started to meander the streets of my hometown. This is a city of around 700k inhabitants where nothing much happens except from during the month of January, when hordes of hot girls from all over the country go to enjoy the mediocre beaches and perhaps get their ‘adventure dick’… If only there were any predators lurking below the surface. Well, lo and behold there used to be one who snatched the innocence of a few of these princesses – both local and visitors. It was november 2015 when I decided to quit college, dump my chubby ex girlfriend and start to seek the great sex everyone else seemed to be having. I remember one scorching summer day in a water & amusement park, standing in cue next to my ex girlfriend and comparing her to the teenage beauties walking by in their bikinis. I remember saying to myself: “This is unacceptable. Things need to change. How am I supposed to go back to my place and fuck this overweight girl after having seen all those hardbodies?” And change they did… Only it took about one more year of tolerating her gaining weight and having to wait a few weeks of deprivation to be horny enough to fuck her. One thing I must say about that girl I was dating is that she was a sweetheart, had a beautiful face and was most feminine. BUT… you guys know the rest. As an Arabic friend used to say: “When the flesh no longer yearns, it’s all over”. I had reached breaking point. I spoke to my inner conqueror: “Hey, man. This is not who you are. You’ve travelled the world fucking hot chicks in your early twenties… Look at you now! Afraid of leaving a fat chick because you’re too busy studying for a meaningless science degree in the third world (which makes it even more meaningless) and you worry that you may not get laid again in a long time. Pathetic! Get a goddamn grip!”

So one afternoon I summoned courage, went to her place, took her for a walk and delivered the blow. She took it pretty badly and so did I in the beginning. But somehow I knew this was like removing a lodged bullet with forceps during the Wild West Era; it hurt but it had to be done. So along came Krauser’s and Torero’s Beginner’s Daygame video – no longer available after their drifting apart. It blew my mind completely. Just seeing those two guys going straight to girls and outright telling them exactly what was on their mind without reservations felt refreshing and liberating, indeed. And in such a bold and masculine fashion, too. I purchased their book with that same name – also no longer available. I believe that is gold for guys just starting out, and neither of the two has, as of yet, come up with something of such quality for the absolute newbie. But I digress… November 2015 came and I was once again single and horny. I knew things weren’t going to be easy and I knew I was not to expect results of any kind until I was well into a thousand sets or more. But good luck kept me company, as I somehow managed to bed 8 girls during my first one thousand sets. It’s fair to say I did not start from scratch. I had been averaging 3 or 4 new girls per year since age 21, but almost exclusively from college or some or other sort of social circle. I had had the fortune of being hired by a big airline company located in the Middle East, which enabled me to travel the World and be “shiny” in the eyes of certain ethnicities – mainly dark girls from the Amazon or tall, fair-haired girls from the Balkans, Russia and Ukraine.

Back to my hometown, after having spent almost two years there doing daygame I found out that, despite the modest and continuous success, walking the same streets over and over again, bumping into the same girls and trying to remember them so as not to open them multiple times had taken a huge toll on my vibe. Soon enough, the wonderful feeling of freedom and anonimity vanished. And instead of a light disposition, so key not only for results but also for enjoying the hunt, I felt as if I was carrying an enormous weight on my shoulders. Always watching my step and feeling the spotlight effect more and more with every approach. It was time to leave for a better hunting ground. And here I am, in this urban jungle where the mythical Yohami developed his game. Buenos Aires, Beta Land, madhouse where the freaks roam free. Squalor allover. One hundred sets so far, about 20 phone numbers taken – most of them garbage numbers – and barely one date with a black Tahitian girl (more of this in a future post).

Currently I’m looking for a bartender gig (I’m only able to withstand a job if I drink) and so I’m not sure how much time and effort I’ll be able to put into my street game or this blog. I’m intending to treat all three – daygame, job and blog – as hobbies so as not to corrode the spirit. I’ll probably be doing chunks of 100 approaches and then take a few weeks off to ruminate things. Slowly but surely, the rust will start to come off.