Back when the ‘sphere was young, writers would publish a post explaining their ‘red pill moment’ – the instant they realized that everything they’d been told about women was wrong. It’s fallen into disuse but I’m bringing it back.
In 2011 I was a blue pill beta who still believed 90% of the things that I was supposed to believe, and I dismissed hate facts with all the fervor of a furiously bespectacled lesbian social worker.
After yet another hair-raising breakup – I feared the crazy bitch might stab me – I decided to avoid dumping girls for while by avoiding real relationships. I would just play the field as I had heard other men managed to do.
I met a new girl and we shagged within hours. She later pressed for relationship clarification and told her openly that I didn’t want anything serious and that I would not be exclusive. I expected her to slap me on the spot, or at least to storm out at such a degrading suggestion.
I met another girl and set the same conditions, right from the outset. No slap. No storming off. We were in bed a short time later.
Both girls gave me a lot more grief than I was used to. They constantly whined about how I was such a player, demanded to know how many other girls I had, how old they were, etc. etc.
I decided it was all too annoying and I stopped seeing both of them. I was celibate for about six months while I focused on other projects.
Finally I decided it was time to get a normal girlfriend. A good girl, this time. Some friends introduced me to their friend who they thought would be perfect for me. Indeed, we had a lot in common. We liked each other immediately. Wanting things to be respectful and meaningful, I invited her on several chaste dates – coffee, movies, the zoo. Long, deep conversations and lots of getting to know each other. When I decided we’d waited a decent period I invited her around, cooked dinner and commenced seduction.
She knocked me back.
I couldn’t make sense of it. I’d been so nice to her! So much nicer than I normally am. And those other two girls who I’d treated like shit – they’d been much keener. What on earth was going on?
This was my very first realization that the world beyond my skull was a very different place than the one I had previously imagined.
Somehow I stumbled upon 2011’s three Rs of sexual truth: Roissy, Roosh and The Rational Male. Retrospectively applying theory to practice I could piece together what had happened throughout my entire romantic history. There was no event, no irrational outburst still mysterious. In philosophy this is described as an ‘inference to the best explanation’.
- My first real girlfriend left be because I was way too beta. The contextual alphahood I had enjoyed when we first met had well and truly worn off.
- My most recent, real girlfriend had treated me badly because she was an alpha widow. She’d previously dated bad boy CEOs with apartments overlooking Manhattan. I’ll give you one guess what her favourite TV show was.
- The two girls I’d tried to see casually were behaving badly because they were giving me shit tests. Only a high quality man gets to openly service multiple women. They were testing to ensure that I really was such a man. My responses were a little off-key – instead of giving them irritated, stony silence I should have agreed and amplified. I.e.: ‘How many girls do I have? Hmm, fifty-seven, but I only count the models. And you. I count you an an honorary model because you wear a blouse with that trendy spot of chocolate ice cream on it. No, seriously. Everyone will be putting ice cream on their shirts like that tomorrow, you just watch.’
- The new girl who I’d tried to turn into a girlfriend? I’d been way too nice to her, signalling low value. I later found out her ex had been an abusive mongrel. And I’d taken her to the zoo! Oh, I’m blushing.
The next step was simple. I reinstated the neoharem with new, improved arseholery: minimal messages, no phone calls, shit tests laughed off with psychopathic contempt. I accepted that girls would fall in and out of the rotation over time. I gave special treatment to the ones who were behaving themselves (we would actually go out and do things) while those who’d been naughty were put into the doghouse of limited contact time and a stronger focus on sexual service. Oh, and that girl I’d courted in such a gentlemanly way? After giving her no attention for months she contacted me out of the blue and suggested that we ‘try again’. We did, that very night, and my harem had a proud new member. One of my original casual partners also jumped back aboard Nikolai’s Trans-Spergian Railway.
Of course all this is Red Pill 101 cliche to my readers, but to the newly initiated it’s a book of magic spells. These days I have to moderate my lusts due to environmental restraints but I will never forget those lessons learned in horror and delight on that old iPhone. If I do happen to have an innocent reader to whom all this is news, I recommend that you start your education here. Good luck, and enjoy.
Further Reading: Schrödinger’s Pussy
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