Last updated: May 14, 2014

Field Report: 5 girls in 5 days. Day 1.



I’m one day late to write this one.  It’s time to start really logging some of my dates so I can look back at them and get a confidence boost whenever I feel like I need it.  This week, I have five dates with five different girls in a span of five days.  I may be squeezing in a sixth one on one night, and doing “double duty” as I like to call it.  The first one was this past Sunday, 8/25.  Cute brunette with bright blue eyes.  She flaked on me the week prior at the last second.  I told her she owed me one and had to make it up to me.  So, Sunday might we met at an upscale bar near the ocean.

She shows up in heels, nice jeans, and a tank top.  Hair down as I had requested it.  She’s put some effort into this, which is good.  We sit down at the bar and chit-chat about life and shit.  I buy the first round (mistake, she should’ve bought this), and make her buy the second to make up for her previous flake.  She happily does so.  After two drinks, I bounce her out of the bar and we take a walk, strolling amongst the shops.  As I grab her hand she remarks how smooth I am.  I smirk and say, “I know.”  This annoying Indian family of 20 people ask me to take their picture overlooking the ocean.  I oblige and don’t bother to hide my displeasure as they take a solid minute to get situated.  God, I hate Indians; I’m in the middle of seducing a girl, you fucking prick.  Just because you’ve been banging the same ugly hag for the last dozen years doesn’t mean all of us are like that.  I give them their iPhone back with a scowl and lead her to a bench that overlooks the ocean.  I say, “If you think my previous moves were smooth, watch this.”  I kiss her.  She’s enthusiastic.  Tongue play ensues.  I pull away.  She tells me that was really smooth.  Cue another smirk.

My alarm goes off.  Time to make another move.  I suggest another beer at my place.  She happily agrees.  We drive the 4 miles to my apartment separately.  Upstairs, music on.  Drink a few more beers.  I kiss her and pull her into me.  Drag her into the bedroom (MISTAKE, should’ve just stayed on the couch).  She obliges, however, I may have killed a little momentum in hindsight.  She won’t let me take her shirt off.  Fuck.  Pull away, drink some more, whip out the guitar.  Try again.  Still no further.  I put on my makeout playlist.  Put her hand on my cock and she starts going to town.  Thinking momentum has swung my way, I try to once again remove her shirt.  She’s not having it (possible mistake, should’ve waited a bit before pressing further).  She has to be at work at 7:30am and it’s already nearly 11.  I half heatedly try again to no avail.

She’s 25 and has only slept with 4 guys in her life.  I can tell she’s a little on the fence because I’m 22 and have way more experience than her.  She labels herself a good girl.  Ahuh, whatever you think, sweetie.  I think I’ll see her again.  I’ll invite her over for dinner and drinks next week and see where I can get.

Expect an update next week 😉

Oh…and I ended up with blue balls.

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    1. It would probably be all about what a good-looking, fun, MODEST guy I am and how she knew I was going to go for the kill.

      Hell though, answer me this. If a guy invites you back to his place and you accept you, as a girl, MUST know sex is a realistic possibility, and that at a minimum, he’s going to push for it.

  1. While those Indians were getting situated, you should have taken a picture of your privates. At least zoom in on the teenage daughter’s chest or camel toe.

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