Something you hear in comments sections everywhere in the manosphere is: “Why couldn’t I have found out about this shit in high school!” It’s a well-shared sentiment and I find it amazing looking back on all my pre-red pill failures that I can nearly spot the exact instances where things went wrong. Like I said before, I discovered Roissy and co. almost immediately after one of the most crushing defeats in my romantic career. My heart was destroyed by the same one-itis broad that had burned me multiple times in high school and as I read more, I began to think if only…
I was hosting a house party. My house parties are generally pretty solid, lots of alcohol is consumed and good times are had by all. I have two pong tables set up side by side and a fire pit out back for variance. Things were going well, I was getting proper hammered and enjoying my beerpong. Above one of the tables is a chandelier and I can recall the beginning of a new house rule that night as I hit a turn around fade-away jump shot over it and into the cup. Anyway, I had a prospect already at the party. A reasonably cute blonde, I’d say she was about a 6.5. I was working on her slowly and teasing a bit while mingling with the rest of the party as the night went on. Cue my one-itis showing up.
She was about a 7.5 and I’d always overrated her. We had developed a long and sordid history together, she cheating on two previous boyfriends with me and I cheating on a girlfriend with her. We’d just never been able to “get it right” so to speak. She showed up with her best friend and another mutual friend and looked pretty good. She was of course in a multi-year relationship with some dude so I wrote her off upon arrival and focused on other people, beyond the basic “hey, what’s up long time, here’s the wine” schtick.
Drinks poured into mouths and conversation poured out of them, everyone had a great time. I can remember I’d been getting myself in shape for the previous few months and was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. I was a regular lil Hank Moody on the night, completely overconfident because of the party-host value and feeling good about myself. Of course she was going to pursue me. Of course we were going to start talking. My previous prospect got all huffy and left because I wasn’t paying her enough attention and I hardly noticed because for some reason I just couldn’t help myself.
We were out by the fire, half the party out with us. She sat on my lap, using her drunkenness as an excuse to flirt her tits off. We could see and feel each other’s breath in the chilly pre-Autumn air. One of my best friends kept overtly trying to tell me how ‘on’ it was. I love my friends but it’s so funny that they feel the need to point it out after it’s already become obvious. Eventually I got up and went inside to check on the rest of the party and then go upstairs to check on something.
I came out of the upstairs bathroom and lo and behold, who had followed me up the stairs? Sure, we should go into the spare bedroom and look out the window at the party, and no, we probably shouldn’t turn the lights on. That way when my tongue’s down your throat and your hand’s on my dick we can maintain some pretense of subtlety because the night doesn’t tell lies, babe. No, they won’t know that we both mysteriously disappeared at the same time just because it’s dark. Really.
It didn’t take long before we were rolling on the bed together, panting and removing one another’s clothes. She gave the piteous and hysterical “wait, we can’t” once she was down to her panties and I asked her to quit when it stopped feeling good. Of course it didn’t stop feeling good, and after a cutting a timeless swath of sweaty, dark, passionate fucking we laid together gasping. We reflected on our now threepeated transgression and returned to the evening’s festivities.
The party went along swell the rest of the night. Some of the guests left, and the ones that were too fucked up to do found a couch to crash on. I bid everyone adieu and enjoyed the lingering hug my one-itis gave me before she left. After putting out the fire and locking the house up I went upstairs to find a text on my phone. “I smell like you. :)” Smiling like a butcher’s dog, I closed my phone and went to bed, enjoying that ‘used’ feeling your dick has after you’ve just enjoyed some pussy.
The next day, she texted me while I was cleaning up asking me when we could do that again and after a few hours I texted back “tonight.” She lamented her busy schedule and said she couldn’t make it until after the weekend. I said “ok.”
She broke up with her boyfriend that weekend and came over to my house out of the blue on Sunday in a skimpy white dress. Oh did I enjoy just about tearing it off of her. We went on to have a steamy, torrid affair that summer. This made three boyfriends she had cheated on with me but this made it the first time we’d ever connected together and formed a real relationship. The highlight was when we went to her best friend’s wedding and ran off to fuck multiple times through the course of the reception. Of course it ended on mutual terms as I had to return to college in the fall and her work schedule meant she couldn’t be around to keep me satisfied with just one woman, but it was a wonderful summer that we both enjoyed…
…if only I’d taken the red pill, this is how the ordeal would have taken place.
Instead, I pulled away after we began making out in that dark room. I didn’t push for sex right then and there, and eventually her best friend came looking for her.
Instead, I texted her first that night telling her how great it was.
Instead, I texted her first the next day, asking her about how she felt about it.
I did indeed manage to get her to come over that weekend, and we did indeed have sex and I could’ve pushed that into the relationship I wanted, but…
Instead, I let her talk herself into a dramatic little situation where she couldn’t leave her boyfriend because he was one of the groomsmen in her best friend’s wedding.
Instead, I waited, like a little fucking puppy, feeding off scraps of her affection until the wedding came around only to be left empty-handed when she convinced herself she couldn’t leave her boyfriend at all.
Instead, I wasted an entire summer of self-improvement on one fucking girl that I wasn’t even fucking daily and let myself fall into damn near depression over my un-reciprocated feeeeeelings.
If only I’d taken the red pill sooner. If only.
On the bright side if I’d been red pill back then I’d have probably knocked her up, so that’s something!
I can look back on all that now and laugh at what I was vs. what I’ve become and I’m very thankful that the bitterness from that wasted summer has dried up. It’s just a learning experience and now a story of what I used to be. A stark contrast indeed.
Cheers, J. Worthy
Well not technically. Technically the beginning was two years ago where I sat being pathetic, pining over some bitch that didn’t want me. This was not the first time I’d found myself in that exact same situation with that exact same girl. I couldn’t figure it out. I bet a lot of guys have those moments where they just sit and scratch their heads, wondering why the world is so fucked up and why no desirable girl will stick with you?
Newsflash pal, it’s you, not the world. That was the wakeup call that I received as I sat there staring at my phone wondering why I was going on day nine or ten without her answering my text messages. This recurring thing only had one really common denominator. Me. And that’s one of the messages I want to get across to anyone that takes the time to read my stories here. You are the one that controls your success in life and as a man. You set your own standards and create your own goals, and indeed it is down to you to put in the work to achieve them.
When I was sat on that bed, staring beleaguered at my telephone, I was a skinny-fat useless toolbox pale from too much time spent on the internet and too little outside. My meager appearance and timid approach to just about everything was the antithesis of arousing to the opposite sex, and that’s why this girl was my kryptonite. She’d allow me to get close, thinking that maybe this time would be different, but in the end my putrid traits and behavior made her change her mind every time. Yeah it was just so unfair for her to lead me on and so downright cruel of her to take advantage of a nice guy, right? You know what I could have done to avoid this? Been a fucking man and held her up against my wall while I raw dogged her and gave her eyelashes a protein bath.
This is something that I see from a lot of guys everywhere. This sense of entitlement to a hot girl that will love them and shower them with limitless sex and endless fidelity is absurd. There needs to be some acknowledgement on our end that we need to bring something to the table. It’s simple economics. If what you’re bringing to the table is not up to snuff, you will be leaving disappointed when no one wants to trade with you. So tell me, if you’re an out of shape guy that’s too scared to do a cold approach, how are you going to go home and whine about how rotten women are on the internet? How are you going to blame women for your quickly inflating dry spell? Take a look in the fucking mirror, mate. Jesus christ.
My name is Jack Worthy, by the way. Nice to meet you.
For so long, I was that guy, sitting around and blaming everyone but myself. I was a nice guy, why couldn’t women see that?
Women see what you put out there, and finally I realized what I needed to do. At that time I had only just been introduced to Roissy and Roosh. Reading some of what they said really resonated and put the first dent in the feminist brainwashing I’d grown up with. I began to read in earnest. I powered through most of Roissy’s archives, which he makes painfully easy to do with his genius link system. I ordered The Mystery Method for starters, and then got Bang. I was like an animal. All of this stuff made so much sense. There were “AHA!” moments by the day. I got inundated with the stuff and wanted to try it out.
Minimal success followed. I certainly felt better about myself and was more in tune to the ‘social dynamics’. But there were still problems all over the place with my game. I would get too drunk and fuck up. I would freeze up at the wrong time. I would rationalize not doing approaches. It was still awful.
Over that time I’ve been improving my life bit by bit and of course inundating myself even further into the manosphere. Branching out, from Roissy and Roosh I started following guys like Fly Fresh and Young, Jack Frost, The University of Man, and Masculine Style to soak in as much knowledge about game as I could.
Long story short, my life has been a self improvement project for the past two years and it’s time to see what I’m made of. I’ve got the worst approach anxiety I can think of. My rationalization raccoon comes up with all sorts of reasons to avoid approaches and it’s got to stop. Especially with where I’m at in my life. I have so much going for me, I am getting better by the day. To be perfectly honest any woman out there would be fucking lucky to be a part of my life.
So that’s what this blog will be about. I’m trying to be a writer, so I thought why not add my hand to the manosphere and give other guys in my situation something to read about. Often we see guys like Heartiste and Roosh out there living the dream while we’re just at the beginning of the game. It’s easy to feel isolated and I want other guys in my spot to know that there are so many others in the trenches with you trying to get better. You’ll get to read about my failures and that will hopefully make you feel better about your own, and I hope you’ll be able to celebrate any success I have as well.
While I will try to keep this to my own stories, I will inevitably be delving into feminism and its complete destruction of our society. Almost daily, even in a foreign country, I have to suffer feminism’s ugly tenants. The six headed beast stretches its necks and follows me to every corner of the globe. I was in a museum the other day and I overheard a woman complaining to her friend about a poster advertisement. I don’t know what the ad was for, but her complaint was that the woman’s waist was unrealistically thin. Nevermind the fact that this advertisement was drawn in cartoon style, this is just something that’s so particularly ugly about the feminist condition. When I talked about guys feeling entitled to women earlier on up, that entitlement cannot threaten to imitate that of the feminists. So you feel so entitled to your poor life choices that no one is allowed to even portray other women as thin in an advertisement that was made well before you were born?
I don’t want to rant, we’ll save that for future posts, but that will be a major topic of discussion here.
Anyway, it’s very late where I am currently (London, England) and I have to be up early so I can get to the gym. I hope you’re doing well in your pursuit of snatch, success, and stories. Because really, that’s what a man’s life runs on. Cheers.