Intermission

intermission

It’s my first time doing a 3-parter, so I thought I’d stick a short intermission between Act 2 and Act 3.

And…this is a lie.

The topic of bragging, which I mentioned briefly in my about, came up again, and I thought I would address it. While this is in response to my off-blog critics, it may also shed light on what my M.O. is with a lot of these “Story” posts, so that’s good too.

Anywho, the purpose behind sharing these events is not to speak about all of the women I’ve fucked, but to share experiences I’ve had which I think were crazy and/or humorous enough to be entertaining.

If my purpose was to brag, it would be pretty weird for me to build context with hundreds to thousands of words, and then turn the actual sex into some footnote. Like, I’m not gonna write about every woman I’ve been involved with, either. Not all of the circumstances surrounding hook ups/relationships have been worth repeating. If a drunk chick (as an example, this totally didn’t happen, I swear) doesn’t try to choke me out after I refuse to let her finger my asshole, then it’s not really a story worth telling, is it? A good example of this can be found in my post on “Caprice“:

“I can’t think of much else to say about our ‘relationship’ that was particularly interesting, including its consummation. Aside from her being the first chick I’d fucked that was open about her rape fantasies, I’d say it was all standard enough to not warrant mention.”

The post was about the consequences of the sex (with some foreword about how we got to it), a cautionary tale about discretion and sleeping with a friend’s partner. If all you saw was “Look at me! I had sex!”, then you should step away from your screen…

I’ll address the freshest complaint in specific, though. In “Galina, I“, I mentioned that our IQ’s were in the top 7%, and a few people had a problem with that. Look, I get it. Showing self awareness, or worse, mentioning your IQ is, like, a total faux pas…but I wanted to lay out just how closely Galina and I related to each other. To put it plainly, the statement is true, it’s contextual to the story, and I didn’t feel like self-censoring just to spare the feelz of a few (fellow, but lacking in emotional maturity) apes. As I laid out in my About, if reading this stuff bothers you so much then quit.

That’s all I have. Go take your smoke break and find your way back to your seat when Act 3 begins…

– Jack The Swashbuckler

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Galina, II

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Things between Galina and I were going great. I had a female friend that could relate to me, shared many of my interests, was intelligent, and whom I felt no pressure to fuck, even though she was upfront about finding me attractive.

So what happened?

A few months into this friendship, some time after I’d been giving a certain dating website a try and having success, I recommended it to Galina. It wasn’t long before she joined as well, having her inbox flooded with messages, and she’d update me on her experiences when we’d hang out. Since I’d learned a bit on Game by that point, I would give her my perspective on her suitors and their efforts.

There was one guy in particular (we’ll call him “Robert”) that, from his behavior, seemed like he knew a bit of Game. My mentioning this piqued her interest, so over the next few days she spent a bit of time picking my brain on the subject. This information would later be weaponized…

Anywho, Galina started seeing Robert, then eventually entered an exclusive relationship with him. Partly because he was a bit of a fitness freak, and partly because she deceived him in with photos of when she weighed a bit less, Robert had her ass in the gym on a regular basis. This was both good, and bad. Galina’s progress brought about changes which, well, escalated things between us.

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Galina, I

winoAh, Galina. Where do I begin?

“Galina” was a friend I met during my time in art school, and part of my incestuous circle of friends. Unlike the rest of the crew though, it wasn’t a geographical change that brought distance between us. Before a strange mix of personality quirks and events brought us apart, we were actually very close.

I believe the reasons we were so close were that we’d both experienced the horrors of armed conflict in our youths, both had IQ’s in the top seven percent, and both were a bit older (I was in my late 20’s, and she was in her mid 30’sthan the college students we found ourselves surrounded by daily. Also, at least on her end, Galina was unapologetic about the fact that she was sexually attracted to me…

Our interests in psychology, foreign films, and most of all, alcohol, were definitely big factors also. Galina was a self proclaimed wino, and though wine has never been my alcoholic beverage of choice, spending time with her definitely caused me to warm up to it. But I’m probably skipping over a few things…

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Game

dandy

a dandy admiring his own reflection

In past posts, I’ve made comments in passing about my “Game”, the most recent example being in “On Others’ Infidelity“. Since this topic will be central in upcoming stories, I think it’s time I said at least something on it.

The way I’ve put it previously is that my Game consists of me “showing up, looking pretty, and not shooing women away too sternly”, but I’d be lying if I said that was it. At least, presently. In the past, that would have been an accurate description. Today, it might look the same, but only to laymen. Oftentimes, Game is about what you don’t do.

Before learning proper Game, mine consisted of what pick-up artists call “Pretty Boy Game” and “Natural Game”. The former for being…well, pretty, and self-aware about it, and the latter coming from the dominant mindset that being found physically attractive by many women granted me (much of Game consists of miming or internalizing an “alpha male” attitude).

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Jailbait On Wheels

jailbait

The picture used in my post on sluts got me thinking of my past experience with jailbait (funny that the girls in the slut post look more jailbaity than the ones I’m using for this post), and I thought I should share it.

This was back when I was still working with the crew mentioned throughout the “Christina Saga”. My buddy “Fred” and I were on the job late one Friday night, driving stuff back and forth in our work vehicle—which happened to be a massive, turbo-charged truck—when this all went down.

While waiting at a red light, a little Honda Accord pulled up two lanes over from us…and it was chock-full of chicks. So I smack Fred on the shoulder and call him over to my window. “Bro! Check it out…” Fred leans over to look, and his eyes widen. “Uhhhh, hello? What the fuck are you waiting for?! Honk the horn!” So I hang my left elbow out of my window, and give the horn two good presses with my right hand. The girls all look over, and in unison, let out a “WOOOH!” while shooting their girly little fists into the air.

“WHATSUP?!”, Fred shouts across the way…

“WHERE’S THE PARTY AT?!” one of them shouts back…

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