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[INSTANT] SEXUAL A

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FROM THE NEW YORK 1 MEsKESTSELLING BOOK, THE GAME: PENETRATING THE SECRET SOCIETY OF PICKUP ARTISTS BY NEIL STRAUSS

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[INSTANT] SEXUAL ATTRACTION BY

SIN FROM THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING BOOK, THE GAME: PENETRATING THE SECRET SOCIETY OF PICKUP ARTISTS BY NEIL STRAUSS

BB An imprint of BlackBook

Identities have been changed to protect certain identities and creative license has been taken with some minor storytelling and/or the sequencing of events. Edited by Don Diego Garcia and F.nki Photo Captions by SIN and Michael Wisnieux

[INSTANT] SEXUAL ATTRACTION

'Instant Sexual Attraction" is a trademark used by BlackBook. All rights reserved. No part of mis volume may be used or reproduced in any manner or purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use whatsoever without prior granted permission in writing. All violations will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. By opening this volume, you agree that you will be held liable for civil damages including, but not limited to, lost sales and enforcement costs, if you share this book or any portion thereof with anyone else.

CONTENTS INTRODUCTION 10 CHAPTER 1 PERVERSIONS 9 CHAPTER 2 THE ORIGINAL SIN 31 CHAPTER 3 PLAYING THE GAME 37

CHAPTER9 THE GURU ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP 146 CHAPTER 10 SIN'S ATTRACTION TEASE

163 CHAPTER 11 SOCIAL PYRAMID THEORY

197 CHAPTER 4 MIRROR THEORY 53

CHAPTER 12 ONE BIG HAPPY FAMILY 217

CHAPTER 5 NO MORE MR NICE GUY 79

CHAPTER 13 TANGLED WEB THEORY 239

CHAPTER 6 SEX ON THE BRAIN 92

CHAPTER 14 PROJECT HOLLYWOOD 249

CHAPTER 7 THE HOLLYWOOD ROOSEVELT 109

CHAPTER 15 DAY TWO GAME 270

CHAPTER 8 MULTIPLE HITS ROUTINE 129

CHAPTER 16 CHESHIRE BRIDGE 306 CHAPTER 17 PUA LIFESTYLE 318 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 330

To all the Women reading this book, Welcome to my world. My name is Sin. I'm so happy you made it this far, some women might not have. It's also great that you have already decided to think outside the box and explore a uniquely different sociological view of how males and females interact. Congratulations on this. There is good deal of information for women to discover inside this book, which in turn, may help give you a much better understanding and clarity of yourself. Know that I am a Pickup Artist. By saying such, I understand that "Pickup Artist" is a loaded term that's often viewed in a negative light, or in some extreme cases; it can also be seen as synonymous with the word "misogyny". But I can assure you that "as a Pickup Artist", I am someone who absolutely loves everything there is about women, and often prefers their friendships over mea This is why I personally find any negative perceptions associated with Pickup Artists ironic, because the dictionary definition of the word "misogyny" actually means "hatred of women," and this couldn't be further from the truth in respect to myself (and the large majority of Pickup Artists). What I believe women are really talking about is "disrespect" instead of hatred. Dishonesty is disrespectful, but it's also gender-neutral. Whether excuses are faked, pickup lines are used, or simple observations are made by men to initiate talking; or whether women make up excuses of their own, dish out false compliments, or feign interest in something they dislike to start a conversation up with a man, the effect is the same. Starting a conversation by verbally faltering isn't singlemindedly disrespecting a woman or a man, instead, it's simply a lack of good social skills needed to meet and attract the opposite sex. Logically then, it follows that the better

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your social skills, the more truthful you are able to naturally become. The more you practice, the more you lose those feelings of anxiety, obsessional thoughts, phobias, and compulsion preventing you from being your true self or comfortable when meeting the opposite sex. Eventually, with enough success, you may find that you are labeled a sleazy misogynistic Pickup Artist as well! Welcome to the club! But somehow, the logic just doesn't seem coherent at all. In my book, I clearly advance the idea of truthfulness, and demonstrate why this is the best way for both men and women to socially interact. Everybody wins. Even more, as a Pickup Artist, I gladly accept any behavior or conduct women may choose. I certainly don't: 1) consider sexual females sluts, 2) expect women to fulfill stereotypical gender roles like cooking, cleaning, or to be barefoot and pregnant, 3) want to prevent a woman from working or making equal pay, 4) expect women to be virgins until marriage, 5) want to prevent women from having one night stands or short-term relationships (even if it breaks my heart), 6) need to exclude or narrowly define what types of occupations women can choose for themselves such as stripping or making pornography, or 7) want to prohibit women from using their natural sexual guile to attract men, which is exactly what both sexes attempt to do, while conversely, Pickup Artists encourage women to exercise their right of choice most! To me, anything less seems disrespectful or hateful of women. Hence why female Pickup Artists see themselves as redefining their roles as women, where they can now choose a mindset to be comfortable with their feminine sexual prowess and equal with men at the same time. Seduction done correctly should be perceived as enjoyable, and something that makes the woman feel good

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about herself. Ultimately, the woman should choose the best man possible for herself. A Pickup Artist's goal is to transform his self in order to put his best foot forward, and thereby, be chosen more often, which in turn, gives women more choice of viable men. The rest is superstition of what you may not know. I invite you to learn how, and hope you enjoy the adventure to its fullest. Of course, I invite any woman out there still with questions to investigate further by contacting me by email to explore the difference between "misogynist" and "lover of women". I'd be very bad not to.

This book is dedicated: To all the girls I've loved before.

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"Y'know what they say... Big hands... Big talent; Mystery, star of VH-l's reality TV show

The Pickup Artist

Do not skip forward when reading this book. The ideas presented are developed in story line first, then they are translated into instructional techniques. The ideas are built upon each other, creating a complete journey. If you skip ahead, then you will lose the deeper meanings behind them.

INTRODUCTION "You should write your story, man," Style said to me, time-and-again. "You have so much to teach. You were in on the ground floor of the whole pickup movement with Mystery. I owe a lot to your friendship. And you're the only guy in The Game who disappeared from the scene after it came out. People are always asking about you." Style was right. I'd been Mystery's wingman from the very start, long before the unprecedented explosion of Pickup Artists from every corner of the planet created by Mystery's workshops. Mystery hadn't invented the Pickup Community, but he gave it a baptism by fire. His predecessors wrote books and gave seminars. Mystery rented a limo and took you to a nightclub. He taught in "the field", in bars and nightspots full of real women, among other competing men, and the fog of war. And I was there with him, every step of the way. Still, I had reservations about sharing my dark inner-most secrets for building powerful attractions, just as Style did, before exposing the double life of Pickup Artists, when he wrote his book, The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists^ (which daringly looks exactly like a Bible). The unspoken creed among pickup artists until then was one of secrecy. "If I do it," I said, "111 have to get completely behind it. But, how can I do that? Reveal everything? And why? There's enough awesome strategy already out there for pickup - Mystery's Venusian Arts, your 30-day Stylelife Challenge. "You need to share your experiences, man. Your story, your style, and your technique all come from a different

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place than everyone else. So get your ass back to L.A. and start teaching the stuff! You're so much more qualified than many of these wanna-be pickup artists who are just leading men astray." It was true; you could find a lair and a reading list just by Googling "PUA," and that was just the legitimate stuff. Everywhere I looked there was Seduction Amway, some guy with a catchy screen name and his own forum who sarged for a week with a Master Pickup Artist and now wanted to sell DVD's and run seminars. I, on the other hand, was still a big question mark to most people. People wanted to know about the real Sin, the original Sin. Even so I felt my secrets might be better left unspoken, safely locked away lest they fall into the wrong hands. For me, the game started as a journey, not a journey to see how many women I could get into bed, although the number is impressive, but a spiritual one. My goal has always been to seek out growth, the growth that everyone often talks about but rarely achieves. Pickup was the flip side of the coin. Now my hard-earned spiritual secrets could also make testicular fairy tales come true. There was a pregnant pause that lingered between us. "Ah, fuck it!" I finally replied. "If I'm going to do this tiring, then I'm going to do it right I want to give away every secret I know on how men can attract women instantly. I want men to have the upper hand. I want men everywhere to win!" So here it is finally - the secrets that both men and women alike will want to discern. This is my method, Sin's Method, exposed and in the open. Everything you are about to hear is a true story. It really happened. Here is how my journey for spiritual growth began...

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CHAPTER 1

PERVERSIONS H o w the hell did I set here? I was surrounded by freaks. Industrial music punched through the nisht club; soths in morbid black, dark eyeliner and leather boots pounded their fists against an invisible wall; Mvstcry levitated six inclies off the cround in front of me; and my reality had finally crashed completely out of control. I'd been spinning recklessly for three months solid, right after my spectacular blowout enlightenment and life changing decision not to join the monastery to become a Buddhist monk. And now, Mystery, easily the most talented illusionist I'd ever met, posed like a swami mystic offering salvation from his sleazv bas of tricks. Little did I know that Mystery would become one of the greatest pickup artists in the world, and that 1 would be beset by scores of gorgeous women as a master of the game. Mystery had introduced himself at first as Erik von Markovik. I'd later learn that lie also had an undisclosed alias - Mystery - which wasn't exactly part of his whole illusionist act. A short while after. I would sec past his illusionist facade to discover who he really was; to learn about an unseemlv secret societv of Pickup Artists lurking in an underworld of dating, coitus and hieh-fives. The club was hailed Perversions for obvious reasons. It was a night club of Industrial music, Electronic Body Music (EBM) and Power Noizc. Perverted projections illuminated the walls, flickering images of sex and vampires. It was a parade of the gothic subculture, with Neo-Victorian girls in

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black corsets and fishnet stockings, rivetheads in paramilitary gear, tortured piercings and skin art, and drag queens. Somehow. I'd managed to fit in anions this odditv of misfits and freaks. I leaned against the bar. casually observing the audience that had Gathered around, and threw out a challenac to Mystcrv. whom I'd met for the vcrv first time. "Do it again! Right now!" I demanded, holdina out mv cup of water, ostensibly giving Mystery no chance to prepare. "Right now!" Mystcrv narrowed his eves, broke from his admiring fans, and approached me. But this time. I felt confident I'd caught him by surprise. I was determined to expose his telekinctic illusion as a simple hoax, having made him repeat the effect now several times over. Mystery extended his long arms, pulled back his sleeves in a cheesy effect to say: "Look, nothing up my sleeves]" and then, he placed his hands over my drink. My eyes strained in the darkness of the club, intently studying the illusionist in front of me. I watched for any possible clue, some kind of slip up. or any logical indication of how he did it. Mystery wiaalcd his lone. thin, maaic finacrs. lie had a towering six foot five frame, w as lanky, pale, exceedingly arrogant, and smiled widely like a swashbuckler. He looked at me as if he owned the place, although I'd never seen him here before tonight. And, what was worse, I found myself forced to look up at him, being only average in height. It was a fact that didn't seem to escape Mystery as he loomed in closer. "Watch aaain." said Mystcrv. as if he was talking to a demanding four-year old nephew. His hands circled my cup, r

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hovering a foot above my straw. "I tighten my stomach muscles, exert pressure on the straw, and—" "No wayl" I complained loudly, aggravated at how my straw had just sloshed around the rim of the cup. lifted from my drink entirely, and flicked out onto the floor. I had detected nothins that would reveal him. "Pretty neat, eh?" he replied, letting go of his breath and exhaling. Mystery's nasal-sounding Canadian accent was paradigm with the "eh" tagged at the end of every sentence he spoke. It was as obvious as the handful of lemons he squeezed into his coke. "Damn foreigner," I thought, annoyed at his persistent secrecy. The bastard probably dipped his French fries in mayonnaise too. I fit in perfectly with the wanna-be dead with dyed black hair (that was once naturally blonde), my pale skin, a black waffle long-sleeve shirt from the military surplus on Vine Street, black Dickies work slacks, and black Czechoslovakian paratrooper boots, known as Monkey Boots. Surprisingly, Mystery blended in as well, wearing a cheap black business suit that he'd probably shopped from the sales rack at Ross "Dress for Less" onlv a block away on Sunset (which had obviously been rigged for illusion), his long black hair tied into a tacky ponytail, and black painted fingernails. In fact, he was more of a freak than I w as. The most noticeable difference between us. however, was a hot little five foot two girl named Sadie, who had natural double D's. and hung next to me as my "Pivot" (a woman, typically a friend, who helps a pickup artist meet other women). Of course, the term was just one of many words in a lexicon of pickup artist terminology used by them for secrecy. Later. I'd learn the intricacies of "PUA" linco. :

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usina their tonus on my own as if they were second nature. According to PUA (Pickup Artist) vocabulary, Sadie was a IIB9 (or, a Hot Babe rating " 9 " in looks on a 10 point scale). Mystery slid in next to Sadie and actually managed not to look down her shirt, which wasn't so easy to do. She was wearing a low cut number, specially designed to get men to stare at her ample breasts. She loved the attention her chest gave her. But while Mystery made his move on Sadie, seemingly keeping eye-contact the whole time, I brooded over the straw lvina on the floor across from me instead. Suddenly. I felt foolishly out of place as I still held the water cup in my hand. Sadie was like a sister to me. althouah she was a notorious flirt. Mystery, of course, knew nothina of this. I'd known Sadie since she was fourteen. Back then. 1 eked out a deplorable existence by parking cars at the Fashion Island mall in Newport Beach. On weekends. Sadie would visit with her friend Brie among a hundred other annoying adolescents that jumped from planters, ran through fountains, huna off railinas in front of the Yellow Brick Road Arcade. '

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and aathered at the Island Terrace food court. Sadie was the clever and playful Aries who tried to instigate fights; Brie was the brooding and mysterious Scorpio who liked to be ignored or pushed away. Both girls shared their drama-filled lives in detail with me, and I was thankful for their company, handina out my own version of useful advice. Of course, having watched them grow up, I vowed never to sleep with them, but finally slipped up and slept with Brie when she'd returned from her Freshman year of collcae. Sadie was furiously pissed, because she'd felt that I should have hooked up with her too. My biggest mistake, however, was sleeping with Erie's mom two weeks later. After the bia blowout, the two of them never wanted to talk with me again. But until

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then. Sadie and I had the rapport and body language of good friends or secure lovers. Mystery wasn't sure which we were, but knew lie would have to get through me to successfully close Sadie. Suddenlv. Mystery hit me on the shoulder: "So what do you think, eh?" he gestured at my cup. "That's what illusion is all about!" My mood began to darken. The guy was a certified caotist. "It's just a trick," I argued. "Trick? ... Trick!?!" hooted Erik. lie leaned in closer. I was well-read on the topic of non-verbal communication. Mystery was either completely unaware of his aggressive body language, or he was making an effort to overpower me. which one. I wasn't certain. What w as most interestins about Mystery was that he appeared aggressive while remaining completely non-threatening. "The 'real' illusion is in the minds of those who hear about what I just did." he began, "...Testimony! Those who witnessed me levitating six inches off the sround will tell their friends. Their friends will tell their friends. In an hour or two from now, I'll hear about how I levitated three feet off the ground. Only I won't show them. That's illusion!" What kind of bullshit was that. I thought. The illusion, as he put it. was wreaking havoc with my mind, and I wanted it over with - Now! Smugly, Mystery allowed my infectious curiosity to plague my soul. How could I explain to this self-satisfied show-off that I had practically been a Zen monk, meditating some four to six hours a day while staring at a blank white wall, and how his illusions possessed a much deeper secret for me, whatever that was? :

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Even worse, how could 1 explain the blowout enlightenment I'd recently experienced, which had (in all its strangeness), brought me out of my retreat, and back to night clubs once again. Earlier, my mediations had become so intense that I could only explain them as something similar to having jammed my fingers into an electric wall socket. Mv friends had been convinced that I was some sort of guru, possessing the answer to life's great mysteries. I was someone who had been sought out. instrumental in guiding the lives of many through their own spiritual endeavors. Naturally, my friends had assumed that I had spiritually evolved out of my lurid past, where I used to go out clubbing late, meeting a new girl almost every night, changing women almost as often as I changed nightclubs. But unknown to my friends, my blowout enlightenment had actually revealed "nothing" Not just any kind of nothing, but dark, absolute, bleak, existential nothingness! So strange and powerful, in fact, that mv enlightenment sent me running all the way from my former life in stale Orange County to a new one in the grimy streets of Hollywood. On that day, everything I thought I knew had changed; I felt earthly, terrified, and on the edge of insanity. I felt as if my much-loved illusions of bright rainbow colors had been ripped away, and now. I dangled my feet over an inky black void! In reality, I'd just returned from staving at Shasta Abbey monastery, a Buddhist retreat in the mountains of northern California. There. I experienced three wet dreams for the first three nights in a row, and my brain felt like it dropped completely out of my head. I was overwhelmed with chi and became stuck in meditation, unable to wrestle my thoughts free, no matter how hard I tried. My mind was like crystal, a lens so luminous that I could have used it to bum ants (if I

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hadn't felt so at "one" with everything around me), so I carefully stepped around them as the ants marched with us to the dining hall instead. Then, the laughter started. Mad, uncontrollable, Zen laughter. The type of laughter that the resident Buddhist monks didn't exactly appreciate, or apparently comprehend; and 1 knew right then, with every fiber of my being, that the monastery was no longer the place for me. I had seen that even monks had their problems like everyone else. No, I would have to go back into the world and live a normal life of stressful subsistence, and somehow manage to reach total enlightenment. Everything 1 had felt and thought for six years was gone in a Hash. I was totally convinced that I'd gone mad. But who would have guessed this just by looking at me? I looked just like everybody else in the club. I was goth again, and my friends back in Orange County felt robbed of their teacher. I had played a role for them. But it was an illusion that was no longer mine. I felt fortunate that Sadie had started clubbing with me at Perversions, and out of everyone else, she was happy to see the drastic change. She'd also just recently turned twentyone. Unexpectedly. Sadie cupped my ear. "I think this creepy guy is trying to hit on me," she whispered. "But he seems kind of fun. What should I do?" Sadie had been doing her fair share of flirting in return, but like all girls, she admitted to nothing. "What? Really?" I said excitedly. "Listen, go with him out to the smoking patio in the light and try to get him to do his trick again. Find out how he's doing it. Pat him down if you have to! I have to know, okay. Flirt it up."

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Sadie gave me a wry smile. The girl was evil in many ways. Ironically, I could put her evil nature to good use. Sadie hooked Mystery's arm and the two left. Mystery looked both victorious and unsure as he still tried to decipher if she was my girlfriend. I saw no reason to set him straight; that was my illusion, and I would use the leverage if need be to figure him out. I felt certain that I had met Mvstcrv this night for a reason. lie possessed an answer I needed. Were his powers real or not? Had religious testimony throughout all history been the work of mere illusion? For me. the grim possibilities were endless. And. while 1 didn't know yet, Mystery would lead me to travel deep into the most bizarre and counter-intuitive shadows of human social interaction, learning that human life was much more mysterious than 1 had ever imagined. Later, I paced impatiently under flickering strobes, until I crossed over to the other side of the dark club. I passed next girls in mini-skirts and vinyl boots, black lipstick and garter belts, as they danced seductively for the crowd on boxes above the floor, but barely noticed. Finally, Sadie came bobbing back to find me and towing Mvstcrv behind her. She oozed excitement, bewilderment. She'd seen Mystery stop the big second hand of her watch, for which she had no possible explanation. Sadie had held the watch in her own hands and Mvstcrv had merely looked at it. and time halted. Soon, Sadie, having the attention span of a ten year old girl, bounced away again while I found myself enthralled in a discussion with Mystery on Memetie Theory, a term coined by Richard Dawkins in 1976. He explained that "mcmcs" were the building blocks of cultural evolution, propagated from one mind to another. It was analogous to the way genes propagate from organism to organism, as units of genetic information in biological evolution. Mcmcs, in

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contrast, consisted of catch-tunes, catch-phrases, popular beliefs, clothing fashions, and more. lie expounded on the tantalizing war of information as if these battles were happening all around us - right now. "Mcmcs." he said, "struggled to survive." Evidently, the bloodv war took place on notebook paper, magnetic audio tape, compressed video, and even as sprayed graffiti on the dilapidated buildings of Hollywood, which had mostly been built in the 70's too. His intelligence was extraordinary, but his outlook on life was more like an oil spill off the coastline of ice-cold Alaska. He spoke of how the universe was trying to kill him and how his sole purpose in life was to procreate and spread his seed. He spoke of God and teddy bears, and compared how as a child he believed his teddy bear had been alive, until he ripped out the stuffing guts - "so the same with God," he said. The dude was bleak, but no more bleak than the sea of rivctheads stomping on the dark dance floor in front of us, or the goths standing at the bar acting like their red wine was actually blood and they were vampires. Illicit am I doing here, I thought? How did my enlightenment bring me to this? I was on a new adventure. Even though 1 had explained my change in consciousness to my friends from Orange County, they still felt that I'd become lost. But how? 1 was learning so many new things. 1 believed that this lankv illusionist was at Perversions for me. and that the powers he'd demonstrated held the answers I'd been looking for, whatever those answers might be. However horribly flawed he might seem; I knew he was the one I'd been searching out. 1 had ordained Mystery my personal guru. Sadie checked back in with us throughout the night. She'd flirt with Mvstcrv for a moment, then head back off to

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the smoking patio. Apparently, she'd found another boy or girl to occupy herself with, even though Mystery would be making out with her before the night was over. Mystery smiled and punched my shoulder. "Pretty wild, eh?" lie paused. "So tell me about Sadie. I low do you two know each other? Is she your girlfriend?" I started to raise my finger, suddenly irritated by his brazenness. Was this guy a guru or just a dedicated lecher in a bad suit chasing mv pivot? The "mvstcry" was starting to test mv nerves. But just then, before I said anything I might regret, we were approached by a blonde surfer dude with a white coral necklace and an Ocean Pacific t-shirt similar to something I wore around the time of middle school in the early 80s. He seemed like someone who'd clearly wandered into the wrong club. This happened every so often; regular guys would hit goth clubs while belligerently drunk just to punch at the freaks dressed up like it was IIallow cen, or in the hopes that Perversions was full of bad girls who were just begging to do bad things to regular guvs. Goths hated this because it mined the whole costume effect. Black clothing for goths was the minimum; dressing in drag was optional; crawling across the dance floor like someone who had lost a contact surprisingly made you one of the cool kids. The newcomer was hopelessly out of place here. The gothic snobs leered at him under the black light, oozing disdain. I Ie w as also alone and seemed sober, which made him cither verv brave or extremelv lost. :

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The blonde surfer nodded in our direction and pointed across the room at Mystery. Mystery?" he tested, walking up. 'Chase?" replied Mystery.

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Suddenly, thcv erab arms like old comrades and instantly started talking as if they'd known each other for years. "You weren't kidding about this place. You really sarge here?" Chase asked apprehensively. "Look around." said Mystery, "you see what I mean about the I IB density?" "Sure." Chase replied, obscrvins girls wearing lingerie. "I'm just not sure I'd want to fall asleep afterwards. I feel like I'm in an outtake from the Lost Boys. I'm glad I recognized you when I did; I knew you were tall, but all these drag queens in 8-inch platform shoes were throwing me off." I scratched my head. I couldn't understand the words, but I sensed their meaning. Who the hell was Mystery, I thought? I low was it that J

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they knew each other so personally when they didn't even know what each other looked like? I listened closely, detecting the use of a secret code that broke up their sentences like the curse words of a sailor. They assumed I wasn't catchins onto this, but it was fucking ml

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obvious to me. Code for what, I brooded? Sarging? I IBs? The topic was clearly women, but I'd need the secret decoder ring from a box of cereal to say for certain. Nothing they said made any sense. I quickly ruled out the magician's code, fairly positive that the blonde surfer dude wasn't a master illusionist. "You know, you can talk about women around me," I interrupted. "I've dated a few myself you know. There's no reason for all the secret code talk." Mystery turned to me; he seemed to have noticed that I was different from other men he'd met. and that he could trust me.

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"Hey, man," he started, "you have to swear secrecy on this if I tell you. okay? You can never tell anybody else, right? Especially a womanl" Well, at least I was slad to learn thev weren't dating men. That would have been mv bissest misread ever, because all this time it wouldVe meant Mystery was actually trying to ml

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pickup on me! You never know with a guy who has so many secrets. Illusionist or not, I could tell he liked playing up the mystery act, creating melodrama for his life were there probably was none before. "We're Poo-ahs," he said in a hushed tone, as if he'd said something profound. "Fupahs" I asked. It sounded like something vou sot in Tijuana for ten dollars. "Pickup Artists. P-U-A. PUAs." I looked at both of them squarely, and laughed. The term sounded ridiculous. But what I didn't know was that Mvstcrv was the first one to coin the term on the alt.seduction.fast newsgroup. He had apparently got tired of typing out Pickup Artist every night on his field reports he spent hours posting. "You've sot to be kidding, right? You mean like Robert Downey, Jr. in 'The Pickup Artist* where he chases Molly Rinewald?" It was the only reference I knew at the time. I was suddenly filled by all the cheap images of pickup artists that caused women to have vile reactions and sudden migraine headaches. "No, dude." said Chase, "we're a small internet community of PUA's on Mystery's Lounge who share *

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techniques and ideas on how to meet women. You should go to the lounge and check it out. Pickup isn't what you think."

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klw i cry

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Who was I to judge. I concluded? If that's what they did. then sure, why not? I had over ten years of experience under my belt "picking up" women. I was no AFC (denoting, an Average Frustrated Chump, who was a stereotypical nice guy unskilled at meeting or attracting women), as they might have thought. I'd already been with more women than I cared to disclose. And. in that sense. I wasn't much different than Mystery and Chase. I was always a natural. In my earliest days of elementary J

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school. I had an inborn charisma that made boys follow my lead and attracted the most popular and desired girls in class, not for sex obviously, just the usual furtive experimentation, but all the Girls felt drawn to me somehow. For me. it was never any other way. Girls lined up, fought and sissled over the chance to sit next to me in class or so out to the fence line and kiss under a tree. However, the significance of this spectacular early success didn't register for me until the seventh grade, around the time when making out turned into heavy petting. Unfortunately, every boy my age kept growing taller - except me. By the eighth grade, I still looked like a sixth grader, and no one would let me forget it. From then on, I had to work for girls just like everyone else. It wasn't until my senior year at five-foot six. when I finally *

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got laid by my exceptional girlfriend Michelle. 24

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smoking hot. and to mv pleasure, wore a miniskirt and high heels everyday to school. She had perky breasts, and an olive-skinned hard body that she would oil up nightly with Hawaiian Tropical Suntan Oil just before she went to bed. Every night for six months, I climbed through her window while her mother was asleep, fucked her for hours, and drank mass quantities of orange juice the next day at school to replenish my depleted strength. My sudden need for more sex, my craving for the smell of coconuts, and my love for women in all sizes and shapes had started from there. But for reasons unknown, despite Michelle. I never fully regained that instinctive factor I'd possessed from my early childhood years, where by some strange force, girls on the playground were completely drawn to me. I still got more than my share of women, but only through hard work and perseverance. It would take Sarging (going out to a club, bar or anywhere specifically to meet w^omen) with Mystery as his wingman to help me figure out exactly what it was that I'd lost. Of course there had been other teachers too. Bill, who was an incrcdiblv charming lecher, had winged me during my late teens. We'd met while going through Navv Dive ml

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Together, we'd hit clubs

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like Players. Club La Vela, and Spinnakers every weekend, cleaning up more than ever during Spring Break. I'd open hot babes in bikinis, and when I suddenly stalled (overcome by their beauty), he'd pick up the conversation and get them laughing again, handing them right back over to me. There were a slew of girls we met, slept with, and then subsequently said our goodbyes to the following morning as they left the state to go back home, wherever. During all that time. I still thought it was all about me that made the difference, the way I looked, how tall I was, or

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similar; never did I look at it as if it was scientific in method. I'd thought my looks and charm opened the doors, but instead it was just physiological attraction switches that could be learned by any man to trigger the many women out there. I succeeded by pushing buttons at random and sometimes getting the right combination. Mv ignorance wasn't from lack of trving. I was an avid reader of books on ****

dating, relationships, and romance from people who had PhDs. 1 listened intently to various self-hypnosis tapes on Charisma, Astral Projection, and Confidence. 1 even attended a live taping of the Love Connection at KTLA on Sunset Boulevard. But nothing compared to the real life experience of failing and succeeding at approaching women in the field (in bars and nightspots, or at any location where one could possibly meet the opposite sex). Then, in my early twenties, I met Lars, a salesman by trade, who taught me his strategy of 10-to-l; which basically required you to approach and fail with ten women just to get a single one. We'd hit every KROQ nightclub that played 80s music in Orange County, where Lars wore red converse high-tops, outlandish graphic T-shirts, had more gel than hair in his hair-do. and then proceeded to dance wildly like a complete clown. Next, we'd scan the crowd for girls who noticed us. go and grab them, and dance away the night in large groups. It was great to meet women while having fun. even though most of them laughed us off. Later, we'd take whoever was left to the parking lots, make out with girls against cars, and then exchange numbers. We had a great O

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time and sometimes we ended up with amazing women, but 10-to-l was a high price to pay and I still felt the sting of rejection every time. Perversions was a far cry from the KROQ clubs, even though, my system had changed little. With Sadie as my

26

pivot. I was still playing the 10-to-l game, but in a threeroom nightclub with over four hundred (more than half women) that still seemed like better odds than I needed. It would take Mystery to show me the error of my ways. Mvstcrv turned to me. m>

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He was dead serious, telling me that pickup wasn't by chance, but by science, and that he'd been working on his theories now for years. lie testified that he'd been a geek once, but he'd overcome his scekdom and fears of approaching hot women through his magical stage performances that he'd practiced since age nine. Not content to push buttons at random like I had, he had actually deconstructed and analyzed every social interaction he'd had with the opposite sex, until he could finally lead his interactions with beautiful girls like a tour guide. This was by definition the only deference between myself and a J

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pickup artist. Scientific observation. But from my viewpoint, judging him in the nightclub, he hadn't fully overcome total gcekdom. To be honest, neither had I. I had Dungeons and Dragons books safely hidden away in my closet too. I shrugged. "Actually. I don't need help," I told him. which was only a half-truth. I wasn't exactlv at the top of mv same of late. But to know Mvstery is to know that Mystery loves to ml

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talk about himself. And he talked inccssantlv as Chase and I ml

listened. Mystery spoke intelligently of making approaches systematically without feelings or worrying about the emotions of rejection. "Pickup is a system," he argued, "it doesn't matter what you look like, it only matters what you say, and how well you say it. If you approach flawlessly, you can get the girl every time. It's that simple!" r

27

Mystery looked at both of us expectantly when he'd finally finished. Chase still nodded diligently. lie was already a convert, and as 1 would soon discover, he was a damn good pickup artist as well. Chase had obviously enjoyed his talk with Mystciy more than the vibe at Perversions. Eventually Chase would have to sav aoodbve J

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and left Mystery and I on the smoking patio. Sadie was still off keeping herself busy, and Mystery and I were alone at the moment. I mulled over his arguments one more time. What struck me the most was how he used the term, 'scientific.' Pickup techniques could be compared with science to measure the results of "approach experiments/* and then from those results, new hypotheses could be formed and then tested again, and then again, until you finally locked down through social calibration "what actually worked" and "what really doesn't" while taking none of it personally. The method was Genius. Mvstcrv was a genius. I had never viewed things that way before. The difference for me was that 1 was limited by my own ego. fear, and insecurities of whether I was attractive enough for a particular girl, or if I was just too lame to be considered as a potential mate. Scientific] The idea was like a promise that Mystciy had personally made just for me. It was a 1 -to-1 success ratio, and it was just a matter of learning, understanding, and applying the scientific method I had learned in my underscxed high school davs. While I had no trouble getting women. I realized I had been going about it all wrong! 10to-1 had only been a starting place. Mvstcrv smiled and grabbed my shoulder. He'd been highly impressed by what I had to say about meeting women, and must have felt like I was deserving of being part of his secret community.

28

' T h e first tiling is for you to pick a name. But you need a name like mine, eh? Mystery! Something like that, right?** he said, obviously liking the sound of his own. Mystery was asking me to join him. "Someone who could be his wins.** lie said. He needed someone who could keep up, someone who could challenge him. Mystery wanted me as his wingman. Sure, it was a far cry from joining the monastery. But why not, I thought? If it hadn't been for my blowout enlightenment, I would have never met him. I was seeking personal truth in a demon-haunted world, after all. On my web site at home, I had a picture of a naked succubus (a demon in female form, believed to seduce and have sexual intercourse with men in their sleep). At the time. I considered my desire for women to be the bane of my existence, seemingly a moral dilemma, one that would lead me away from spiritual enlightenment. But now Mystery, mv personal guru, was inviting me into his dark seedv world ml

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of seduction instead. The name, Sin, seemed more than appropriate. When I said it. Mystery just smiled and nodded his head. Sin was born.

29

The Illusionist Erik von Markovik (aJca. Mystery)

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It was always good to hear Style's voice. Style had ten diinss coins on at once at any given time: none of those included a moment to himself. He jumped from sentence to sentence, often stopping in the middle or skipping over to another awesome topic as he detailed the excitement of his life and how things had been going exceedingly well for him. Style, also known as Neil Strauss, was the author of the New York bestsclling book, The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists, which revealed an entire community of Pickup Artists, and thus, breaking the code of strict secrecy by bringing them into light. What was even more alarming was that nobody in the community really J

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seemed to mind. When Neil Strauss isn't writing novels, Style runs one of the most successful and recognized business models for instructing men on how to meet girls. Style called his company the Stylelife Academy, where he offers degrees in meeting and seducing women. But Style wasn't just a worldfamous writer and businessman, he was also a modern-day Casanova with women, and along with Mystery, lie was considered to be the very best among Pickup Artists. Style (by his own description) was short (only five footsix), skinny, and balding. At least, that description had fit him when I'd first met him long ago in the Seduction Community. Today, he w as better described as compelling, stylish, and extremely polished. Style's time with Mystery had transformed him. They'd traveled all over the world teaching together, and now. Stvle was irresistible to women, and a leader among men. Suddenly, Style's voice stopped, his attention diverted from the conversation. "Neil, you there?" I asked. :

35

"Oh yeah, man. I Icy, I almost forgot, people have been asking about you ever since I wrote The Game. They want to know who the real Sin is. The 'original' Sin." "Really?" I said. I'd been away for far too long. Apparently, after I left Hollywood, my name, "Sin," had been up for grabs. Others in the Seduction Community tried to claim that thev were me; the Sin who taught Stvlc his indirect approach and attraction game during Mystery's first historic workshop at the Roosevelt, the Sin who was Mystery's previous wingman and valued collaborator. My description had been emulated, my methods of instant sexual attraction had been sought out ineffectually, and my wellregarded reputation within the community had subsequently been sponged. I'd have no association with any other business except Stylelife Academy and Venusian Arts, but imposters had used my name elsewhere. I guess imitation was a form of flattery, but there was only one "real" me. Original Sin, I thought. I had to laugh at the metaphor. Eve had given Adam the apple from the Tree of Life to eat. and beautiful women evervwhere were mv fatal weakness. "You know." I continued. "It's hard to believe evervthing you and Mystery have gone through since I've left. I miss old times! Fuck, I miss Hollywood!" "It's not the same anymore," Style replied. "Everything is big business now. Everyone is competing against each other and thev're doing whatever it takes to win. The community needs to come together, instead of fighting against one another. You left just at the right time. We had great times back then. Your shit was rock solid. Nobody knew how to attract women like us. When are vou coming back to LA?" J

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Things had obviously taken a wrong turn in the Seduction Community after Project I Iollywxtod, a collective house where Style, Mystciy, Papa. Playboy, and Herbal had lived

36

in a single mansion off Sunset Boulevard and competed for the attention of women. There had evidently been a falling out. "Real" Social Dynamics, a business model ran out of the same house by Papa, had been competing directly against Mystery. Bad blood eventually led to Mvstcrv moving out J

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of the house. Project Hollywood had been abandoned. Las Vegas, however, proved even worse. Mystciy, after trusting a new business partner, had lost the control of his MvstciyMethod.com and hadn't been associated with the m>

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corporation since then. Only now, instead of just a rival business teaching his stuff. Mystciy found himself in legal battle that lasted over a year and a half. Despite obvious setbacks. Mystciy had landed his own reality TV scries on VII-1 called "The Pickup Artist." Mystciy had turned into an instant celebrity. Soon after, he created another successful business model named the Venusian Arts with new partners Matador and Lovedrop, where he currently uses his extraordinary pickup genius to teach highly effective bootcamps and seminars. "Wow," I said. "I'm just glad everything worked out okay." Suddenly. Style was interrupted by his personal assistant; he was on deadline again, writing another book called RULES OF THE GAME - The Stylelife Challenge: Master the Game in 30 Days. He covered the phone and talked fast like a native New Yorker, where he'd actually spent many years writing as a music critic in an influential Pop Life column for the Ncw York Times. When I met him, Style lived in Santa Monica on the beach in a tiny apartment, with boxes of unopened music CDs stacked into corners, and used to prop up his broken coffee table. He'd been living back and forth to New York, where he kept a second apartment. He shared with me later :

37

that he'd decided to live full time in LA because pickup was becoming an influential force in his life. Around the same time. Style had just finished a book he wrote with Marilyn Manson called The Long Hard Road Out of Hell. We went to Twiggy Ramirez's house (the bassist for Marilyn Manson) for a Christmas party that year. Twiggy was an awesome host. Style and I got the numbers of every available girl at the party, kissing more than just a few. Later, Marylyn Manson chose to sit on the floor instead of taking over my scat on the couch, even though I had happily offered it to him. I had been blown away at how humble he

was. Books and covers, I thought. Who's to judge? "Okay. I'm back." said Style, pressured by the tempo of his work. "I'll be coming to LA soon," I told him. Style was ecstatic. I'd been planning my return for some time now, but unexpected obstacles kept setting in mv way. "Don't forget to call Mvstcrv. man." he said. "He's moving back to LA too. I le should be driving back from Las Vegas now with his stuff. Oil. and it's his birthday today." Damn. Mystery, I thought. How I missed him. It would be like old times, everyone back in Hollywood at one time. I was flooded with thoughts of the past.

38

Nailed against the walll Neil Strauss, Bestselling Author (a.k.a. Style)

CHAPTER 3

PLAYING THE GAME Everything was a new idea in those early davs. Mystery and I spent every night going out. hitting the preeminent clubs of Hollywood, and sarging the hottest girls each one had to offer. We didn't have posh designer clothes, expensive convertibles, or bottomless studio expense accounts, but possessed razor-sharp "inner game" instead: the scripts, the subtle movements, and the calibrated responses from countless social interactions that actually got girls. We were a force to be reckoned with, probing the complexities and psychology of women. We created the cause, observed the effects, connected the strings, dismantled the information, again and again, making approaches throughout the night in a fervor of exhilarating success and intriguing failures. We were always spinning new ideas off one another and plotting our next run. Patterns and rules emerged that seldom varied. Mystery's pattern was simple: Find-Meet-Attract-Close, where we'd first locate an attractive target of the opposite sex (target being a gender-neutral term), approach her to meet, display alpha male qualities to attract her, and then close her by getting her number and possibly a kiss. We gauged how strong the attraction was by watching for Indicators of Interest (101s); did she twirl her hair, cross her legs towards me. laugh at my jokes, squeeze my hand, or stare back into my eyes with that certain "I want to fuck voir look of intent and dilated pupils? Or, to get the number and kiss, we'd use more advanced techniques like: Bait-I look-Rcel-Release. where we lured girls to tell us something interesting about

40

themselves, and when they answered (the hook), then we'd reel them in with a quick 101 of our own. only to release the line and play hard to get. Then repeat; swapping new bait between new faces until the clubs closed. Mystery had broken down our game into components, terminolosv. and standards. Some of the terminologv w as r

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already floating around in the community. Some he adapted from other disciplines: behavioral psychology, acting, zoology. When nothing seemed appropriate, we just made it up from scratch, turning some off-handed phrase into gospel. In the beginning. I didn't sec why we needed the jargon, but as more PUAs met up with us to go out sarging, the lingo quickly created a communication bridge to transmit evervthing we had learned. We could now use effective ml

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dialogue to share more than what we'd learned by ourselves alone. After each night ended, we'd storm some corner coffee shop or late night pizza joint still buzzing from sarging the clubs and our interactions with the opposite sex. We spent more time talking than eating, trying to articulate everything at once, while being ogled by groups of women from the tables close by who wanted to join the fun. The game was becoming part of us, and like patient zero, we infected those around us just by being there. At Mel's Drive-In, Mystciy sat enthusiastically in the booth next to me, exudins the confidence of a born again seek. He was even more Glib and exaggerated than other nights, where he finally slid back in his scat to indicate a particular set of eye-catching girls he spotted at another table staring in our direction. "I know, eh?" he said, "watch this!" Mystery jumped up and crossed through the restaurant to the table of energized females. The game was on again. The promise of new girls

41

left stones half abandoned, sentences danslins. and thoughts dropped carelessly to the floor like dirty napkins, bent straws, and derelict silverware. We'd hit three different clubs that night, the number of locations increasing steadily to meet our growing needs. Better game provided us more options, and the line between our scientific pursuit and quest for the girl par excellence was quickly being blurred. We were social scientists, but we also loved the way we felt, and each time we needed to meet a few more girls to keep the feeling of validation going. One nightclub wasn't enough any more. We worked entire rooms in 90 minutes or less, something that would have taken us all night to do in the past, but for some reason, it was never enough. Earlier, we'd emptied our pockets of crumpled papers and cocktail napkins, smoothed them out on the table, and counted the phone numbers written in pen, pencil, and even lipstick. Mystery's stack of phone numbers collected water underneath his coke glass like a coaster, seemingly deserted. He was willing to throw them all away in order to meet just one more girl. Mystery looked over to me and then turned back to the women at the table. "First impression?" he asked the girls, thrusting out his large hands to reveal black finger nail polish. A stunning blonde giggled and flushed red when Mystery sat next to her. It was a testament to Mystery's skill that something so simple could work so well. But Mystery knew best; it wasn't what you said but how vou said it. Women didn't come into Mel's after hours looking for a dark stranger to tell them the secret of human existence in twelve words or less, they just wanted somebody interesting to get their attention and then keep it. The blonde loved the nails; her friend

42

thought they were tacky. It didn't matter, because as soon as they shared an opinion Mystciy had their attention and just needed to maintain his momentum. Mystciy proceeded to bend their spoons with the power of his mind, and then, they took turns as he read their thouehts. He euessed initials, numbers, and other tedious trivia that made the sirls so wild. **mf

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I sighed deeply and checked my watch. In two hours, the sun would come up; Mystery had opened another set. and at the same time, killed any dialogue or reflection on what we'd accomplish that night. Every time we'd start to dig at the impenetrable truth of women. Mystciy opened another set. It was as if the answer could be found within a kiss-close after fifteen minutes or another phone number would give us what we truly lonsed for. Sometimes, this pissed me off. Mystciy at some point had chosen science of courtship for the sake of the science alone, while I had wanted to unlock the deeper mysteries of life. During these days, we pulled more phone numbers than we could ever call. I had slept with more than a bus load of women, and Mvstcrv was running out of lee room on a Boeing 747 "Jumbo .let". When I think back. I wonder what had ever happened to all those numbers and all those women that we'd met - the numbers winding up in trash cans, lost, or left on tables with the tips; the memory of women I'd slept with fading over time. Things were ecttine weird. When Mvstcrv and I would go out on the town, anything seemed possible. For those brilliant but tleetins moments. Mvstcrv and I owned the world, regardless of how dead broke Mystciy really was, or how tired I'd be the next day. Mystciy was trying to jumpstart a career as a grand scale illusionist, while I stared at a computer screen at work, half asleep from the events the

43

night before. Both of us looked sickly and pasty with dark circles under our eyes, but somehow to the girls, we radiated personality. Suddenly my reverie was broken as Mystciy called me over to the table with a bis Cheshire grin. When 1 Kmf

approached at last, a cute brunette invited me to sit down with only a sliaht adjustment of bodv language, and from the m

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moment our eyes met, I knew immediately that she desired me. Right then. I knew I'd leave with her number, if not take her home that niaht. It was bullshit as far as I was mmm*

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concerned. I was starting to feel bitter at the time we'd wasted talking to random girls; wc entertained them, they'd enjoy our excitement, we'd close them for phone numbers, kiss them, and for what? We'd never even call or sec them again! Datina was now the enemy: it aot in the way of our saraina. *^m*

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I knew I had so much more that I wanted to figure out. I wanted to know the secrets of women, the little why's, the simple how's, and everything else in between that came with long-term relationships. For the first time since we'd started. I wanted something deeper. I sat uninterested at the table as Mystciy droned on. He was in his game and he hadn't stopped talking for a second. But then, the cute brunette pressed her leg against mine and smiled, giving me total validation, and my mood quickly changed. Watch all the porn you want, there is nothing more compellina than a woman's inviting smile. "This is the life," said Mystciy. I nodded. Women, I thouaht. You had to love gazing into their eyes. The next weekend Mystciy and I did something we'd never done before. We challenged each other to a direct contest, seeing who could pull the most kiss-closes with 44

accompanying numbers. We had always worked together as a team; "who was the better" had mattered very little for us. In those days, Mystery was already very advanced, and I was hard pressed to keep up with his pace. I'd preferred my indirect approach, which was slightly slower, while Mystery w as much more direct and rapid fire. Building instant rapport, kiss-closing a girl in fifteen minutes, (which could consist of a simple peck on the cheek to a full French kiss before you left), finding a new set (that Mystery hadn't already polluted or stolen for himself), was a constant challenge. I knew since Mystery could open faster, I would need to close faster, so in response. I became much more aggressive at Kino, (a term that came from the word kinesthesia, referring to the sense that detects bodily position, or the movement of muscles, tendons, and joints for PUAs. it also means to touch with the purpose of arousal); which helped me compete. I quickly became a master at escalating kino: touching her wrists, hands and elbows or her bare knees as I talked with animated hands, then getting bolder bv grabbing or pushing her hips as I :

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jested, and eventually to stroking or smelling her hair. Interestingly, women who responded so easily to my touch had begun to transform me, changing the way I looked at the entire game. I began feeling in a positive way as if all women were already my girlfriends and it was natural and v>

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comfortable for me to express my physical presence to them. The battle of the champions took place at the brand new club Vesuvius, a very exclusive venue. Mystery's manager Boris, a Russian Mafioso-typc who spoke with a thick yawning accent, had secured us VIP passes to go there and skip the line anytime we liked. Painstakingly, Boris stood with us droning on about his meeting earlier with Executive Producer John Daly, and how r

45

he'd set up an interview for Mystery to sell the grand illusion he'd planned out: Levitating Over Niagara Falls, which Mystciy had been excited about for some time. Apparently. John Daly had also suggested that Mvstcrv should play the role of Jesus Christ in an upcoming film he was producing. This, of course, went straight to Mvsterv's head, but made for w

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a good laugh. Boris, Mystery and I had actually just returned from Las Vegas a few weeks earlier. There we had hit all the big w

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illusionist acts on the strip with some of the best scats in the house - for free. Boris promoted Mystery's incredible magic skills by day, while Mvstcrv and I hit the Hard Rock Cafe Hotel bar by night, demonstrating other skills, the type that got us laid. 1 looked at Boris. He had no idea about our contest going on. This was probably for the better; Boris had pulled some major strings just to get us VIP for Vesuvius for Mystciy to network, and he would have been on edge if he knew we w ere determined to pillage the club in one night to determine which of us was the better player. Boris incessantlv labored on about details, as Mvstcrv and I sipped free drinks, and passively looked out at a birthday party made up of about twenty incredibly gorgeous women (30-somethings), sizing it up. The women played party tricks wearing silly cone hats and jumped up and down by the tables as the DJ spun their favorite tunes just for them. The club wouldn't open up for another half hour, but \vc decided to crash their private gig. Mystciy and I never spoke of rules; we had been living them for months. Phone numbers were incontrovertible evidence of a pickup, and the camera we brought would be used to photograph proof of kiss-closes. Physical violence :

46

and character assassination against each other was out. Everything else was just part of the game. Boris finally looked at his watch, 9:30 P.M. He had to rush home to his wife, she'd recently given birth to his baby J

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girl, and Boris was eager to get home and hold his newborn. Perfect. I thought. We would have all night for our challenge to unfold. 1 waved goodbye to Boris, (the last tiling 1 remember), and then. I turned around to find Mvstcrv gone. *r

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Oh, crap\ Immediately. I spotted Mystery walking straight towards the large group of women - the only women] Suddenly, a new song boomed loudly over the speakers and the girls ran away, all twenty of them crowding the dance floor and screaming, leaving Mystery walking up to w -'

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the empty tables covered in confetti, party frills, and presents. The DJ was playing their favorite request. Tough break, I laughed joyfully. Next ... my mouth dropped open. No possible way, I gasped! Some men were brave—hell, I was brave, but Mystery was fucking crazy. I watched as he walked straight out into the center of the dance floor, into the middle of a multitude of sophisticated and comely women, the type with money, taste, and the jaded wisdom that only three decades spent in Los Angeles could bring. Then he spread out his arms like he hung on an invisible cross, tilted his head back while looking at the *

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glittering globe above the dance floor, and subsequently, starting to spin slowly, as if he was absorbing the flashing light of the crystal ball like the sun. Suddenly the idea of him playing Jesus wasn't quite so ridiculous. The music thumped loudly, filling my cars and resounding in my idle feet. Nothing was said, nothing could be heard over the driving beat. Slowly, Mystery lowered his head and focused in on the girls while still turning - he looked every single one 47

of them in the eves as he did a full 360. radiating a mischievous but playful aura. His eyes invited them to come and play with him. Immediately, the women responded, forming an actual circle around him. They slowed their dancing and instead swayed to the song as all eyes stared at Mvstcrv. waiting to follow his lead. I couldn't believe what I was seeing! I leaned across the brass railing to get a closer look, feeling like a total chump. How was I going to compete with this guv. I thought, he's flicking nuts! He wasn't just opening a 20-set, he was enthralling them. Maybe all of his tricks were just illusions, but what he was doing out there with those women was real, and it was magic. It was cxactlv the kind of magic I had started this journey in search of. The women undulated in rhythm, patient but expectant, as Mystciy, with deft hands, pulled out a flat sheet of cigarette paper from a Zig-Zag booklet he'd carried in the lapel of his cheap suit jacket rigged for magic and held it out for the women to sec. All twenty women were feeding him the attention and energy he'd craved, waiting fervently for what he'd do next. Then, Mystery skillfully rolled the empty paper with nimble fingers, reached into the pocket of his neatly pressed blue jeans (with creases ironed down the legs), pulled out a silver Zippo lighter, struck it across his leg to light it, and lit the cigarette paper. In a flash, the paper burned up in a single flame and puff of smoke and magically in its place appeared a real lit cigarette held in Mystery's mouth. He inhaled the cigarette, its end glowing cherry red. and then blew smoke through his nose to demonstrate that it was genuine. All the women gasped in unison. Then he took a deep exaggerated bow. The girls went wild! Msytery was a fucking movie star, and he'd absolutely captivated the lot of them.

48

A moment later, he approached the hottest woman in the group, confidently took her by the hand as she stared back at him in rapture, and then, he took her off the dance floor to a out-of-the-way table so they could be alone. The other girls were cheering their friend on excitedly and making catcalls after her. I shook off mv total amazement and kicked the chair next to me. The challenge was on! There was no way Mvstcrv w

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I was going to open a set of twenty women, so I sat down in the chair I had just abused, a surprisingly crappy chair for such a fancy place, and nursed my drink while he mingled large. I raised mv drink in a silent salute. I refused to be w

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shaken. All that work for just one number and a kiss, I thought. Enjoy it while it lasts. The club was about to open. Girls would pile inside, and then my game was on. 1 had a trick or two up my own sleeve to show them. Throughout the night. 1 worked set after set furiously, W

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kissing most girls in less than ten minutes, then channeling mv momentum and making it five minutes. Soon. I was ml

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tapping my check to any random girl as she passed by. having them kiss me, then working the close for numbers aggressively afterwards. I walked out onto the smoking patio to find Mystery sitting with one of his usual type in his lap. She was an I IB 11. had natural double D's. long tan legs, pink glossy inflated lips that matched her pink thong, and almost certainly a brain that struggled with adding single digit numbers. Mystery's type of girl was pleasing to the eye, but I avoided them since my mind would hurt after five minutes of conversation with any one of them. They lacked the ability to contribute more than giggles and monosvllables to a W

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49

monologue to one empty head stacked on top of twooversized cantaloupes. Mystciy, of course, had little trouble with this. He spoke on his favorite topic: himself, and the girls flopped into his lap and bounced while he tickled them with his large hands. I took the camera out to get a shot. It was more than just proof for the contest. We'd talked about getting better at documenting our amazing experiences. We'd been lazy until now. agreeing that things had surpassed a certain expected reality for an average man. From these heights, words seemed like empty boasts, but pictures said everything we needed to say. Mystery hammed it up and snatched a suede cowboy hat off her head. Mvstcrv had started to notice that trulv stellar girls always wore something noticeable like a cowboy hat, a boa. a scarf, or big sunglasses at night. It was a precursor to Mvstcrv's Peacocking Theorv (noticeablv dressing up in loud flashv clothing or showy accessories to attract the attention ml

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of the opposite sex), which wouldn't emerge until later in his game. I prompted them to pose for the picture. Mystery instinctively responded, and soon they were standing in front of me together, as Mystery dipped her over his arm. exposing her ample chest as if they were dancing. I counted to two and snapped the shot. Mystery in response to my sour expression ran up to sec what was wrong with the digital picture. "I want to sec too." called out the girl. Her angelic face had been twisted and bent out of shape on the picture. Mystciy and I looked at each other. Suddenly, we fumbled with the camera and zoomed. Mystcrv grabbed the camera and showed her the contorted image of herself.

50

"Oh eod." Mvstcrv started. "Look at that! Wait, is that a zit there on your chin?" lie zoomed closer. "What is it? Oh mv sod!" The girl squealed at the sight of it with laughter, and begged for me to take another picture. "Okav. okav." 1 said, directing. "Now sive him a kiss this J

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time, like you're passionate lovers and you want to swallow his tonsuc." "Eww, no!" she said. Mystery shrugged and tapped his cheek. She leaned in for the peck, when he suddenly turned his face towards her. Mystery and his girl traded spit for five minutes, making out in front of me while 1 was content to scroll through the pictures in the camera, thinking how evil it was when we worked together. Then I remembered it was a contest. Instead of enjoying Mystery's success I needed to be finding my own. Not a moment later. I was approached by a striking girl named Kasha, a mulatto from New Orleans, and a perfect ten. "Can I sec?" Kasha asked. "Sure," I said, inviting her closer so we w erc sharing each other's body space. I looked at Mystciy and smiled. The infamous Camera Routine had been born. For a short moment, we both seemed content to waste some time on these girls, delaying the contest, maybe for a few minutes, maybe for good. This was perfectly fine with mc, because Kasha was extremely intelligent. She was the opposite of Mystery's type; gloomy, lean, and brilliant. She could crack a joke like a whip, but also conveyed a depth of thought on even trivial topics. Soon I was hopelessly enamored with her glimmering eyes and tete-a-tetc banter. :

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I had had an eye out for a long-term Girlfriend. Unlike Mystciy, I was ready for a long-term relationship, where I could do more than just scratch the surface. The secrets of women, the myriad of female complications; it was still a riddle to me, and I wanted to sort out every convoluted secret they possessed. I realized that despite the contest. Kasha's was the only number I actually planned to call. We'd completely clicked, and it seemed that I'd finally found someone in whom I could wholeheartedly invest. I had come here tonight worried ml

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about the volume of numbers, and would leave knowing the quality of whom I met was all that mattered. It seemed God had a sick sense of humor. Kasha asked me to wait on the patio while she went back inside to politely ditch her friends so wc could spend the rest of the night together. I felt wann and alive. But nearly ten *»

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minutes passed and I was still waiting on the patio. And suddenly, it felt more like I'd been frozen-out. The clock ticked away. Mvstcrv had already gone back inside and I had no idea what he was up too. Was the competition still on, or not? I was suddenly apprehensive about the contest. I pictured Mystery gloating on his achieved victory, and realized I could seriously be falling behind waiting for a girl that would never come. Fifteen minutes had passed. Fifteen minutes alone on the smoking patio of a club seemed like an eternity. How many friends could she have? It was a big club, but really. I could walk an entire mile in fifteen minutes. Before twenty ml

minutes struck. I ducked back inside and looked around for Kasha; she was nowhere to be seen. So. being terribly restless and slightly heartbroken, I decided to check up on Mystcrv instead.

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When 1 found Mvstcrv. he was talking with a dazzling •

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hands, and an side, wearing a name was Laura, had hungry eves.

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save her from watching her friend cuddle up to Mystciy. Mystciy waved me over, inviting me to join him. Or, maybe he just waved and I invited myself to join? Contest or not. Mystery needed a wingman, and I knew the redhead was mine. Like a horrible Greek tragedy involving Odysseus, I was doomed from the start. I hurried and rushed tilings along coarsely. I had lost precious time and there was no point trying to be gentle with a sure thing. But as soon as the redhead kissed me, like a game of Fates. Kasha had found me. She actually walked right up to me and yelled. She cursed at how she'd been waiting outside on the patio for me to return. Then, after she'd looked all over the club for me, she found me here, being kissed bv another girl. w

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Her eyes said it all. filled with disappointment and disgust. She'd been the girl I'd been searching for - an O

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amazingly deep girl with something real and profound to offer, and I had stabbed her in the heart for the sake of the game. I tried to convince myself that I'd done nothing O

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wrong. How could it take twice as long to say goodbve to her friends as it took me to kiss-close a complete stranger? I waited over fifteen minutes, and then looked for her. How long was I supposed to wait? I fooled no one, especially not myself. I had decided that Kasha was a girl I'd dedicate years to. but I hadn't been willing to wait twentv minutes for 53

her. I had killed a part of her, and a part of me died as well, a part I could never get hack again. Kasha stormed off. and 1 didn't even bother trying to number-close Laura. Mvstcrv collected the nameless blonde's number like a pro and I even half-heartedly snapped their picture. But the incident had burned out the club for us, and shortlv after, we gathered outside. "Bummer, eh?" Mystery said. "She was so gorgeous too." In Mystery's own way, he was trying to cheer me up, but it didn't help. On the number count, wc had each pulled five from only a two and a half hour stint. A fucking tic. Kasha would have pushed me over the top. Or Laura for that matter. Fuck, whatever. I was obviously pissed for other reasons. Despite the numbers. 1 conceded the contest to Mystciy on account of the 20-set he'd approached in the beginning of the night. "To be honest," I said, "I never would've had the balls to do that." He clcarlv outranked everyone I knew. For the rest of the weekend, Mystciy and I pulled numbers from everywhere wc went, but we never compared tallies again after that. There was to be no more competition between Mystciy and 1. Our goals were different, yet we were the same. I thought Mvstcrv to be a genius. O

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I Ie nodded and felt the same of me. I, however, felt suddenly unplugged from the power generator, as Nco had been in The Matrix, seeing reality as it really was. My revelations came bv studving the mind at J

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niles of the matrix? What were the rules of the game? What were the rules of life itself?

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An offer ya can't refuse. Domiano's Mr. Pizza, Hollywood - Mystery & SIN

CHAPTER 4

MIRROR THEORY You can't succeed without knowing the rules of the game. But after attending numerous bootcamps, working your personalized programs, rummaging through all the canned material you can find, reading and replying on forums for hours a day, gaining lots of field experience, filing numerous field reports, getting rejected, succeeding, succeeding again, memorizing, studying, worrying, and so on, you can lose your perspective. Sure, the stuff works. You've learned from the best at the Venusian Arts and Stylelife Academy. YouVe tested it infield and calibrated the results yourself from real social interactions and experiences. Now you're pulling numbers Hke a playboy, getting kiss-closes every fifteen minutes, and getting hot babes in bed in seven hours or less. You are on top of your game. But did you forget what all of your efforts were really about? Has your perspective been left at the bus stop while you race by in your new convertible, top down, with the girl of your dreams next to you and her long blonde hair blowing in the wind? Do you even remember why you started pickup in the first place? The answer is simple. If you think back hard enough, the reason was: You. You were the one having trouble meeting girls. Then, as you excelled at meeting girls, everything else in your life changed as well. Now, you're living the lifestyle others envy - but did you forget yourself along the way? Remember when you once sat at bus stops, watching life pass you by. Now you're The Man! - and life has revealed

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something incredibly powerful to you. It has revealed meaning. And you accidentally discovered it while learning how to pickup women. In this chapter I ask you to look into my mirrors and find your perspective. I ask you to slow down for a moment and seek out meaning. You haven't just been learning how to meet girls; you've been mastering the secrets of life.

MIRROR NEURONS Neurons are nerve cells that process and transmit information from your brain to the rest of your body through your nervous system, telling your body what to do, such as walk, run, or jump. Mirror neurons, however, are "premotor" neurons, which fire off related to a particular action taken, and also; fire off exactly the same way when an animal observes the same action performed by another animal. The premotor neuron mirrors" the behavior of the other animal, as though the observer was performing the exact same action itself \ Take pornography for example, just watching it can trigger the same pleasure response as the real action. The brain doesn't know the difference. When I first discovered mirror neurons, the implications on how they affected pickup, and life in general, were astounding. "How far does the rabbit hole go?" you ask. Well, since by definition "behavior" consists of the actions and reactions of a human or animal, whether consciously or unconsciously, overtly, inadvertently, or covertly, voluntary or involuntary; there is almost no end to the interactions of mirror neurons, and they're even believed to be very important in imitation

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Mystery's skills had become legendary. Mine had improved remarkably as well. I was sure that I was on to something now, and it was evident to Mystery as well that something about me had changed. I really needed to get some sleep! But getting sleep would prove to be a challenge. It also didn't help that we were crammed into a tiny apartment with black walls that made the place seem even smaller than it was. Having guests in my tiny shit-hole D

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studio apartment in Koreatown was easier said than done. The building had once been a crack house which burned down, and was subsequently purchased by a notorious slumlord who"d been scandalized for illegal renting practices in the LA Times. But I felt luckv to be there. I'd gotten in ml

on the ground floor while he repaired it and was still awash in bad press, making my rent fixed at an unbelievably low four hundred bucks a month until the day I moved out. Of course. I had to do without a stove or refrigerator for six months and chisel funky brown crud out of the bathtub and toilet on my own. But as the rent checks flowed, money was put back into the building, and slowly each apartment got all the basic necessities for modern living. Six months later, people paid eight hundred dollars a month to live in the same crappy building. "Oh, fuck. Look at all these emails, eh? My secret lounge is really picking up." Mystciy had hooked up his outmoded WebTV to mv 36" Wega flat tube. WebTV would ml

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go out of business less than a year later. 83

Mystery sat with

the keyboard in his lap typing furiously as he attempted to reply to over one hundred emails soliciting his advice, asking him to share his thoughts, techniques, and sequestering his field reports from our recent night's activities. For some, our success was hard to believe. 1 didn't care if they believed, but Mvstcrv took every challenge seriously and did battle on ml

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his keyboard. "Fuck that, right? We've got the pictures to prove it, eh?" I was in for a long night. I put a pillow over my head. The same pillow that had been wet just two days before from a girl named Petra that Mystciy had gotten a blow job from while 1 stepped out of the apartment. What made it worse was that I had an OCD like tendency to keep everything clean, which seemed to be kicking me in the head as well. "Why the fuck did you have to use my bed?" I complained. Mystery had a make-shift foam mattress in the corner next to all of his luggage literally two steps away. I imagined the worst. What had he done on my pi 1 low ? "Dude, no worries," he said. "It's just drool. Honest, I didn't spunk on your pillow ." Again, it was Mystery's way of trying to cheer me up, but the thought of drool versus cum didn't necessarily help. But who's drool? Truly. 1 didn't want to know. Petra was sexy as hell; I would just imagine it was hers no matter what. Besides, it was the same bed where I'd fucked a girl named Nancy for hours on end the weekend before as we watched the Planet of the Apes marathon on TV with only trips to the fridge and bathroom, minus the shower. We reeked of fragrant scent of sex and body odor between 7

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stained black sheets. The weekend before that was the little Jewish princess with an athletic body and permanent sexual overdrive who wrote me dirtv limericks when we weren't together or bragged about our great sexual feats at the local ml

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clubs. There was the gorgeous blonde Russian girl from down the hall that had perfectly pink nipples, pink lips, and pink painted fingernails to match, the wafer thin Polish girl with visible ribs and jet black hair who wore a fake fur coats with fetish lingerie underneath, the 30-somcthing Spanish woman with double-Es from my chiropractor's office in Beverly Hills with industrial strength hook and wire bras that practically needed pliers to take off, and the flaming redhead make-up artist who always seemed to have glitter residue lightly sprinkled on her flat pale stomach. The bed was setting lots of use. Sadlv. none of which was sleeping. No matter how many times I changed the sheets it seemed like the fluids just blended together. Now it was also on my pillow, pressed against my head. Two hours left and I had to go to work. Frankly, I couldn't wait. During the months Mvstcrv had been away, I'd sarged a 7

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minimum of three to four nights a week just by myself. But I found that I needed something more. I needed a place to belong. So I started DJing with a new buddy of mine. Xavicr. Xavier worked for one of the biggest promoters for alternative clubs in Hollywood, which sounded much more impressive than passing out flyers, which is what he did. He was twenty one, goth, and grungy, with his hair tucked in a black double-knit ski cap, way before ski caps were considered cool. He wore band T-shirts like Death In June and Christian Death. I had absolutely no DJ experience and neither did Xavicr, but we weren't going to let that stop us. The days of vinyl and dub-plates were over; everyone just used CDs. How hard could it be to pop in a CD and bob your head to music? The challenge was to push the envelope on just how many girls I could possibly get jamming to my tunes at a club. After cutting our teeth on specialty nights at bigger clubs, wc finally landed a gig DJing at a new gothic

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after-hours club which had paid dancers and fetish sideshow events. For 120 minutes a night we each ran the place, and immediatelv I was setting laid because of it. I now had a 7

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lifestyle. Xavicr smoked his cloves furiously and concentrated on ml

mixing the best transition between two songs. I didn't worry about this at all. He was better at mixing. 1 got the girls. "Oh look, another girl." he'd say, shaking his head. They were now approaching me. We'd talk of music, they'd make requests, we'd look through my CD albums together touching, and while doing so. telling them that I was going to have my way with them. There was the dancer who had crazy lesbian cats who'd obviously been cooped up in her studio apartment too long and eerily observed us from top the refrigerator as we lay naked in bed. the petite graphic artist who could only cum by grinding against my pelvic bone so hard she'd severely bruise it, the exceptional girl from Riverside who danced to every song I played and then later took me outside to do her against the wall while standing among empty beer cans and trash. There was the little submissive girl from Bar Sinister who liked to be spanked and told what to do. the raver girl who wanted to be fucked on the smoker's bean bags while everyone else watched, and the girl who stayed in the hotel across the street who balanced on her forehead and knees buck naked, spread her butt cheeks with both hands and started moaning loudlv for no reason, all on her own. I left soon after that. I was used to bavins women, but I was also used to having to be the one who made it all happen. Suddenly women were throwing themselves at my feet. Xavicr and 1 had finally given women a better reason to get involved with us. Music. Even Xavicr had a little girl hanging onto him. I

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said he looked happy. lie said that he was afraid of being stabbed in his sleep. One night he awoke to find her watching him, fanatically. I said that's great, that's how women act when they're in love. lie didn't seem to think so. I discovered that my lifestyle had gained a momentum all its own. 1 had even earned a reputation as a bad boy around the clubs I frequented. I was now attracting women everywhere I went, even when standing around. When I had sarged with Mvstcrv I had to maintain control over every aspect of the situation to maintain my game. Somewhere along the line my game had started controlling the situation for me. It was clearly evident that I had changed, because now. I had three women masturbating to me into mv C

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apartment from the building across the way. The moaning and screams of the girls I'd pleased in my bed had obviously attracted their attentions. For me. I was just homy. For them. I was someone who knew how to satisfy women. I was an archetype now. That was the difference. Nothing had physically changed, yet everything was completely different. I could imagine these girls seeing my antics for K^

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the first time and huddling around their window, giggling, peeping in, and barely believing. Over time, after my many repeat performances, they came to associate me and my open window with total sexual satisfaction. Come look, he's at it again, oh look, she's back again for more. Now, for reasons I would never know, they had decided to return the favor. What my peeping neighbors really taught me was that women liked sex and they appreciated a man who relishes it unashamedly. All this time I have been using mv kino to m<

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physical desire. My new game embraced it unapologetically. I became a walking romance novel but without the cliches. It was all about the mental tease. I'd touch girls lightly on 87

the knee, while talking fervently about the greater meaning S*m*

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of life, and then. I'd talk about the visceral beauty of females; and how 1 preferred to have sex by devouring and ravishing them. Women absolutely loved this. The bolder 1 got without getting vulgar, the easier it was to get them into bed. And I finally realized that talking about sex is the most w

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confident thing a man can do. More importantly, I truly realized that women actually want to be seduced. I had at last come full circle with the lessons I'd learned on my own from my adult past, mastering again the natural game of my childhood. The next night. Mystcrv and I were getting ready to go *

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four hours a day. When I finally released it. and came, it was with Debbi. a professional ballet dancer from Orange County. The windows of my room had fogged up opaque as actual water beaded and ran down the walls in streaks due to the steam coming off mv back. The cum was so thick that it O

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barely oozed out, like toothpaste. It was as if stagnation had been squeezed through a tube and finally set free, while I had to milk the rest out by hand. But by ejaculating, I suddenly felt healthier and more alive than I did before. And, without a doubt. I decided to never go to such an extreme again.

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But what I also learned was something very unexpected. I'd accidentally learned the psychological importance of my semen. Not cum mine for women drove them mad! They w

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desperately tried every trick known to get me to cum for them. Even though 1 framed my efforts as spiritual and carefully explained how I was doing it as a path to enlightenment, thev still felt highly insecure, unfulfilled inside, and affected for hours afterwards. But why*! I could only conclude back then that there was something much deeper going on. Now that I was the alpha, the seducer, the bad boy who was getting laid by different women every week, it was clear to me that there was a conflict between our biology and our stated ideals. Simply put, women have a biological need to be impregnated, and men have the same genetic need to impregnate women. The human species depends on it. But why the difference in ideals when ignoring biology clearly affected our psyche at its core? Unmistakably, the reason why 1 did so well at the clubs was that women instinctivelv sensed that I was a virile sexual male, and therefore, someone to be sexually desired. It was a natural hard-wired biological response to ensure the survival of our human species. Biologicallv. this meant that "trying to get laid." isn't as "bad" as some may make it out to be, while masturbation, birth control, and millions of dead sperm is psychologically harmful to men. It finally made sense to me. Sex is fundamentally one of the most important things wc do. It completes us. Our biological parts demand it just as our spiritual side demands love and meaning. There was obviously a healthy satisfaction for a woman to excite an alpha male until he came. Just the same, there was an equally powerful psychological sense of achievement and

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boost to self-esteem for a male to release his seed inside a woman. Sure. I'd be the first one to admit that anything done in excess will have its harmful affect on your person. I can confess to having repeated sex some sixteen times over the course of my weekends for nearly two years that had left my J

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brain feeling drained and a bit slow. But then. Wow. what incredible fun to be intimate with women, attempting every sexual position our human bodies and personal flexibility allotted us to do at the time. I had also learned that ignoring my biology doesn't stimulate spiritual growth cither (such as holding back my seed), and that my own mental health depended on me dimming for women, just as the mental health of my female partners depended on me ejaculating for them. Ultimately, the big truth is. 1 wouldn't be alive in the world without sex. ' Whether I was conceived by two loving parents, or during an intoxicated one night stand in an alleyway, or by a ,;

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tiny breach in a torn rubber, it doesn't matter because I'm still alive. Life must sustain life. Most people find the idea of their parents having sex to be offensive. I for one am glad my parents fucked their brains out. Who cares how? But if they probably weren't sloppy drunk or stupid horny. I might have been a stain on their sheets or "drool" on their pillow. The logic was extremely forgiving (if not convenient), because now I wasn't bad for making myself viable for women. I was fulfilling a biological responsibility for the both of us to have sex. Sure, contraceptives confuse things, but I can't be making kids every time I have sex. Besides, my biology doesn't know the difference. By practicing making babies, at least 1 was doing something more psychologically and emotionally healthy for both my partner

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and myself, more than by tickling my balls with three fingers to hold back the coming flood. Immediately, I searched Google on the internet. While I'm not saying to stop using birth control. I was curious what would happen if every male in the world suddenly thought Taoist Sex or celibacy was the way to go. In only six months, the world would be short over ten million newborn babies, and new human life would cease to exist as wc know

it (for half a year)\ The cursor blinked.

How the fuck could that be spiritual, I thought? Suddenly, I realized that I'd somehow have to explain all of this to Mystciy on the car ride over. While I had doubted my own biological needs, struggling with my conscience until now, Mystery's needs were patently obvious to him and thereby natural. He was the quintessential alpha male who never questioned his biological duty. Clearly the spiritual connection would pose a dilemma for me to explain. "Hey, man," Mystciy called from behind. "Check this out!" I turned to look. Mystery was holding up his pants, proudly. Sharp creases were pressed neatly on each leg. "Nice, huh?" I had a long night ahead of me.

Mystery's girl signals her submission — another delighted visitor to the bat cave.... SIN's Secret Base, Los Angeles

"I'm batman." A Self-Satisfied Mystery

CHAPTER 6

SEX ON THE B R A I N Statistically, men think about sex every fifty-two seconds. This is a cold hard fact; a product of genetics compounded by modern day marketing ploys which flash images of attractive women on billboards, TV commercials, over the internet, and magazine pages that we (as men) simply can't escape. But what makes it even worse, is that: • • • •

Struggling against your puerile sexual urges is useless. Every time you see an attractive woman, youll want to have sex with her. Masturbating into dirty socks will make you feel guilty and remorseful. Talking dirty to a woman you hardly know will leave you feeling like a pervert.

Men, do not be alarmed! This is all perfectly normal. Your brain has been working against you ever since your first impression of sexual intercourse. Why am I telling you this now! I'm telling you this because the mind is a hurdle, a hurdle which you must overcome. This is true in all things in life (the deeper meaning directly translating to your spiritual enlightenment), but for our purposes here, it is most imperative to overcome these sexual hurdles if you are ever going to get laid or truly express your sexual nature.

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CONQUERING SEXUAL HURDLES Let's face it; in order to enjoy a healthy sexual relationship, we must view our sexual selves in a healthy way. But, before I can teach you how to have a great sex life (the one you deserve), I must first show you how to overcome sexual hurdles that may have prevented this. Here are the main causes you must strive to conquer: •

Approach Anxiety (AA), where men are crippled by the prospect of approaching attractive women. For men, this is the number one cause of selfinduced sterility. Men have suffered: dry mouth, paralyzation of the legs, memory dump, and courage flush; as a result of their fear of approaching the opposite sex.

•

Conquering AA: You must first learn that: #1 - we choose who we want to be with every new choice we make. One nominal choice may be seemingly insignificant, but many choices put together, over time, can change us forever. In short, we are the sum of those choices, good or bad. There is no easy solution to conquering AA. Simply put, we must choose to keep trying in our pursuit to meet the opposite sex, keep facing rejection, (remember "failing" is not to approach), and keep forging ahead until we discover for ourselves the right way to approach women, sexually attract them to us, and build successful relationships. To accept failure due to AA is to fail at creating a significant life. You must challenge this hurdle of the mind as many times as it takes, until your success is achieved. It is

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easier said than done. Use the Alpha Wave Routine (revealed later in this chapter), which is a great way to alter your brain waves in order to limit anxiety and thereby help you defeat AA. Use the Multiple Hit Routine (see Chapter 8), which is a functional way of approach to help circumvent AA until you can gain enough skill to make direct approaches with confidence. Sex Guilt (SG), where your negative feelings about and associations with sex may be affecting you more than you know. You only need to flip through some of the dark pages of psychologist Sigmund Freud's theories to get a better understanding at how much sex has influence and power over us in our lives. Even if you view yourself as a strong virile male whom has no fear left when making approaches or engaging a woman's attention, you are still affected. In fact, you are affected every time you have intercourse and do not impregnate the woman. Oh yes, by simply using a rubber or any other form of birth control, or wasting your cum in a wadded up ball of Kleenex, you are affected in a negative way. It is deep rooted psychology that affects us from the time of our first fantasies, experiences, and perceptions of those sexual experiences. Sex Guilt can be experienced in four different ways: 1. Biologically, where sexual intercourse or sexual contact in any form can have medical concerns such as sexually transmitted diseases or unwanted pregnancy due to unprotected

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sex. Not to mention sexual dysfunction such as faulty equipment, inability to cum, inability to maintain an erection, etc.... 2. Psychologically, where aspects of your sexual behavior can be affected by viewing sex as a lesser animalistic urge, suffering from the damage of sexual abuse, sexual fantasies that are seen as inappropriate, etc.... 3. Sociologically, where sexual acceptance is subjected to cultural, political, and legal mediation such as the word "slut" for women, the loss of social reputation, and the old laws of some states that still forbids things like oral sex. 4. Philosophically, where it can span moral, ethical, spiritual or religious aspects. For example, illegitimate sex out of wedlock is considered to be a sin by some. Sexual desires or fantasies are also seen as sinful, sex for any other reason than procreation, the use of artificial contraceptives by a married couple are also on the list, and everybody's favorite, masturbation! What makes Sex Guilt even more complex is that human sexual behavior has to be learned by observing others. We have to be taught sex. Otherwise as humans, we don't know how. Just think about it. This means that everything we know about sex (except our urge) we've learned from somebody

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else or some other source (whether good or bad). The potential for detrimental learning when biological, psychological, sociological, and philosophical ideals and concerns of what constitutes permissible sex conflict throughout the entire world! For example: females learn to say "no" while men learn to say "yes." Masturbation to pornography, romance novels, or your sexual fantasies is bad. Sexual exploration before marriage is a sin. Talking openly about sex is forbidden. Etc.... The list goes on forever. Even different periods in history have dissimilar takes on the subject of sex and our future perceptions will be different as well. But one thing remains a constant throughout all time; Sex Guilt affects the full range of our sexual behavior, as shown in The Mating Mind by Geoffrey Miller. It's upon each of us to look inside ourselves and locate the hurdles our mind has placed before us, then challenge them, and overcome them. The reality of life is that our survival as a species depends on overcoming any sexual hurdle we may confront. AA and SG are also interlinked. If you suffer from Approach Anxiety, you most likely don't talk sexually to girls. •

Conquering SG: Use the Porn Mag Challenge (revealed later in this chapter), which (for men) will target a lifetime of SG you have habitually learned from bad patterns associated with your "natural" visual sexual urges. You must challenge yourself to overcome your bad programming. Note: the Porn Mag Challenge is only one example (my example), you're needed challenge may differ if you have

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dissimilar feelings of SG. You should always seek professional counseling for psychological or emotional issues and trauma, or medical advice for biological concerns. SG can also be conquered by changing your brain waves (The Alpha Wave Routine), helping transcend the bad frames associated with sex you may be holding onto. Alpha Waves could be used to blast through nerves, anxiety, doubts, and limiting beliefs in specific situations that trigger your sex guilt. Ultimately, learning yourself, introspection and seeking more knowledge on your specific concerns will be the catalyst to help you overcome what may be affecting you in a sexually negative way. •

Creepy Man Disease (CMD), where men being uncomfortable around women can actually make "women" feel uncomfortable around those men (see Empathy Mirror). The word women typically use to describe this feeling is: "creepy". CMD is a serious subject and can be devastating in the field when men are trying to build sexual attraction by using kino. Men, if you find that your touch lingers slightly too bng, if your not breaking off contact first, if your hands are cold and sweaty from bad nerves, if your touch isn't confident but shaky, or dodgy, you could be suffering from CMD. CMD is the result of not being around women for long periods of time (or at all). It can happen to anyone. CMD is detected by a woman from miles away. Women call it being desperate, but in fact, men get strange after not having female contact for extended amounts of time (such as in-between girlfriends). Kino needs to be

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used to establish dominance, safety, and to communicate hundreds of other things that can't be spoken, such as alpha male traits, familiarity, rapport, etc... Your touch should in truth be able to induce the Boyfriend Compliance State (BCS, directional command over her via touch, where you can touch her all the time), right from the start. BCS touch communicates that you are used to touching a woman (without fear), and therefore signals that you must be a viable male. BCS is the point of familiarity where a female feels that you are already like a boyfriend. Conquering CMD: Get in the habit of talking with your hands. You must make contact with any other human being as soon as possible. You should be able to touch both females and males alike without coming across as creepy or strange. Your touches should be brief, without lingering or stutter-touch effects where you touch repeatedly lightly because you lack the confidence of grabbing a shoulder, patting a back, or shaking a hand. You must build up your confidence with human loving touch until your touch communicates both dominance and safety. Then, when touching women, your touch will communicate the proper message of familiarity and comfort (received by her Reaction Mirror), and she will respond in kind with attraction. Touch a "girl" friend and explain why you need to hold her hand. Slap your buddies on the back, or your co-workers. Introduce yourself to a beautiful woman and shake her hand. Pay for massages or give them. Get lap dances at strip clubs. Hire "legal" escorts if you must

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and hug for an hour. Whatever it takes to shake off CMD.

THE PORN MAG CHALLENGE The porn mag challenge is just as easy as it sounds, go out and purchase a porn magazine (of your choice). Only the key to the challenge here is to make the purchase in a "highly public area" and from a "female" clerk. Trust me! You will be stunned at the psychological and sociological Sex Guilt you suffer from, discovering much about yourself, and learning how it's impossible for you to exude your own sexuality when you're sexually repressed by other's opinions. I know some of you just thought, "This doesn't apply to me," but trust me, it does! Masturbation equals humiliation in most parts of our society. Some women have disgust for pornography and regard men as perverted if found out. You may have repressed these deep-rooted feelings from negative social reactions, which have fucked with your mind on an unconscious level. But why is pornography bad? Pornography magazines fulfill a meaningful purpose for a specific function; they give men visual stimulation to masturbate to while pursuing glossy pages filled with silicon breasts and airbrushed skin. A recent study has shown that there are five web pages dedicated to pornography for every one normal webpage. Supply and demand is everything here. Men need visual stimulation! So, if there is such a demand from men, then why are men forced to hide in closets, or behind locked bathroom doors just to sneak looks at pictures of naked women simply to masturbate (don't forget women too)?

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Why are men accepting that their sexual needs are perverted or unacceptable to society? Men have heard lots of reason why pornography is bad. Or why his visual sexual urges are wrong. These "visual" sexual urges however are biological! Millions of years of evolution have perfected the physical appearance of women for men to find them visually appealing. The survival of our species depends on it! How bad can this be? You must use the Porn Mag Challenge to overcome your negative sexual associations. Sexually liberate yourself now and draw women to you. You can be a highly sexual male who is comfortable with his own urges. You can free your repressed Sex Guilt, and the spiritual growth you'll experience will not only be obvious to you, but to others as well. It's not a sickness as some might make you believe. It's your natural self. Become a human male, and you will find that women will suddenly become powerfully attracted to you. So what are you waiting for? Find a busy store like a shopping center, a liquor store, or anywhere you can stand in line and proudly display your porn magazine while holding it. If the porn magazines are behind a counter, then ask proudly to see a magazine. Examine it (if concealed by plastic wrap try to look through it to see nudity). Then hand it back to the female clerk and say, "Nah, that one's not going to do it I need that one there instead, yeah that one with the two girls perching their... er, backsides." You want to act playful, funny, relaxed, comfortable, and at ease with porn and masturbation. Why nofl Shouldn't you be relaxed with your own natural urges for pornography and other visual stimulation? Holding up the line at this point is perfect You should happily admit to the awkwardness of it all, as others in line or the female clerk look at you with

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feces of disgust and revulsion. You should shrug, isn't this normal behavior for men to like pornography, so why all the fuss? Why do you have to hide this truth from the world like something is wrong with you? Isn't it possible that there is something wrong with them instead (for not accepting you as you truly are)? With the new magazine in hand, you want to examine it, and then say: "Oh yeah, this one is much better. I'm going to use this one all right. I can't wait!" or, "Alright! Tm excited now!" (acting as if the specific porn magazine has met your approval). And so on. See how bold you can get? You are challenging your Sex Guilt, and breaking down barriers that have prevented you from expressing yourself freely as a sexual being, a sexual male who likes pornography, naked women, big or little hooters, and the physical beauty of women in all its glorious forms. For some, this may not be easy to do. Notice how you are paralyzed by fear. How you become silent or awkward. How you overcompensate by talking excessively off the topic in hopes that they will somehow be distracted. And, how the looks of disgust from others around you are like laser beams, burning through you. You may suck at the Porn Mag Challenge at first, but keep trying to get braver and bolder. Some of you may feel that the Porn Mag Challenge is too easy. If so, then while purchasing the porn magazine of your choice, also purchase hand lotion (again, your choice on brand that's most enjoyable). Watch The Big Hit on video for inspiration. This will step up the implication of what you intend to do with the porn magazine, which will be clear to everybody in line; you are going to masturbate. Soon you'll forget why this was supposed to be bad. It's up to you to challenge this sex stigma. You must overcome the opinion that women don't like men who are

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sexual, when actually they love it. What women really want are men who are comfortable with sex, but to be comfortable with sex, men must first get rid of their Sex Guilt, and then, as if women can tell you have been spiritually awakened, they will magnetically be drawn to you.

BEYOND THE BRAIN Here's the real mind-screw: you must use the mind (the hurdle itself) to overcome the sexual hurdles in front of you (placed there by your mind on behalf of society). It is a daunting task to say the least, but this can actually be done with altered states of mind by inducing different brain waves, which are by definition ihythmic fluctuations of electric potentials that can be measured between different parts of the brain. Each rhythmic brain wave pertains to a different state of human consciousness. For the moment, I ask that you set down any spiritual undertones and think purely scientifically. Take now for instance. Right now, you are reading this while your mind is in beta rhythm, or while utilizing Beta Waves. Beta Waves are the normal state of your mind directly associated with waking consciousness. Think active, busy, anxious thinking (such as AA), active concentration (such as reading), perception and consciousness. It is very important for any pickup artist to understand that normal consciousness is the direct cause of your AA or other anxiety. Beta Waves serve the obvious purpose of allowing us to function in the ordinary world, but they are also the cause of our approach failures. To temporarily induce brain waves other than Beta Waves is to view reality from an altered state. In this altered state, what made you

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nervous or filled with anxiety before may now take on a completely new meaning. The Alpha Wave Routine is a way to induce an altered state of mind that can be used in-field and while making approaches.

ALPHA WAVE ROUTINE What are Alpha Waves? Alpha Waves originate from periods of relaxation when your eyes are closed, but while you are still awake. And, as soon as you open your eyes, Alpha Waves begin to diminish and you slowly return to your Beta Wave state of mind. Simply put, Alpha Waves are the activity of the visual cortex in an idle state. So how does a Pickup Artist use this important type of brain wave while making approaches? Just follow this easy routine. First locate a woman you wish to approach, then you burn her image into your mind, noticing every little detail about her, then after that, you remove yourself to a location where you can close your eyes for 10-15 minutes. With your eyes closed, you now imagine you're with your chosen woman. You visually reconstruct her in your mind, every little detail that you can possibly remember. You are about to interact with her in your mind, but first I must tell you that instead of remotely viewing yourself, you instead want to be looking through your own eyes in your imagination. In the first person, see her, see your hands touch her, just as if it was a real experience and you were looking through your own eyes. Now, I want you to imagine that she is standing there for you, she is held in your imagination, and in your imagination she sexually desires you like no other man. You must imagine that your touch pleases her and brings immense pleasure to her as you

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remove her clothes. You should be talking to her in your imagination, telling her how powerful you are, how you are going to make her cum like nobody ever has before, how she is yours, etc.... Then, see yourself go down on her, and make her scream with excitement and pleasure. Look into her eyes, and see her eyes dilate with pleasure. In your imagination she should be calling out your name, drinking your essence, as you drink hers. After you're done, and in your imagination she has cum repeatedly to exhaustion, and she is now looking at you with awe, see her smile, then open your eyes (stop imagining) and immediately approach her in "real" life. For real, walk right up to her and smile. Immediately start with a direct opener before your Alpha Waves diminish from your eyes being open, while noticing the affect your presence will have over her. She will immediately respond to your sexual being. Escalate kino quickly. It works. You should be powerful and magnetic. Speak in a manner as if you've already had already sexually pleased her (even though it was only in your imagination — the mirror still works). You'll not only be amazed at your results, but also the positive changes on your personality for approach and pickup. You might also notice that your AA has completely disappeared. Note #1: altered states of mind are a spiritual journey. For this reason, I strongly recommend that you only use intentional or natural methods to induce altered states of mind (as listed below). Altered states of mind can be induced: Accidentally, such as high fever, sleep deprivation, fasting, or traumatic events.

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Intentionally, such as sensory deprivation, mindcontrol techniques, hypnosis, or Zen meditation. By Ingestion, such as alcohol, opiates, psychoactive plants or chemicals (LSD, peyote, e t c . ) . Technologically: psychoacoustics, light and sound stimulation. Naturally: lucid dreaming, psychosis, and astral projection.

Note #2: The Alpha Wave Routine can also be used to help overcome sexual dysfunctions brought on by SG by reducing pre-sex anxiety. Alpha Waves can be used to psychological "reset" your mind, build confidence, induce powerful urges, etc... in order to get busy in the bedroom.

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SEX ON THE B R A I N Summary Page Struggling against your sexual urges will do you no good. You must learn that the negative connotations of sex are merely mind hurdles in the way of your biological design developed from over one million years of evolutionary perfection. Approach Anxiety (AA): the effect where men are crippled by the prospect of approaching attractive women (ie. self-induced sterility). Conquering AA: we must choose to keep trying in our pursuit of meeting the opposite sex, keep facing rejection, (remember "failing" is not to approach), and keep forging ahead until we discover for ourselves the right way to approach women, sexually attract them to us, and build successful relationships. Sex Guilt (SG): your negative feelings associated with sex may be affecting you more than you know. Sex Guilt can be experienced in four different ways: •

Biologically: where sexual intercourse or sexual contact in any form can have medical concerns (ie. sexually transmitted diseases or unwanted pregnancy) including sexual dysfunction (i.e. faulty equipment, inability to cum, or inability to maintain an erection).

•

Psychologically: where aspects of your sexual behavior can be affected by the way you view sex (i.e. animalistic urge, damaged from sexual abuse, or inappropriate sexual fantasies).

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Sociologically: where sexual acceptance is subjected to cultural, political, and legal mediation (loss of good social reputation, labeled sluts, against the law, etc).

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Philosophically, where it can span moral, ethical, spiritual or religious aspects (i.e. illegitimate sex out of wedlock, masturbation, or use of artificial contraceptives).

Conquering SG: Challenge yourself to overcome your bad programming by seeking professional counseling, medical advice, inducing altered brain waves, and

directly challenging limiting beliefs for specific situations that trigger your sex guilt. Creepy Man Disease (CMD): the results of men being uncomfortable around women which in turn can make "women" feel uncomfortable around those men. Conquering CMD: Talk with your hands, make contact with other human beings, touch both females and males alike - persistent human contact is the only way to overcome being creepy or strange. Porn Mag Challenge: a challenge specifically designed to circumvent Sex Guilt. Purchase a porn magazine in a "highly public area" from a female clerk. Discover and eliminate the bad programming trying to prevent you from feeling absolutely comfortable doing so. Beta Waves: your normal state of your mind (normal brain rhythm) directly associated with waking consciousness. Think active, busy, anxious thinking (such as AA), active concentration (such as reading), perception and consciousness. Alpha Waves Routine: Alpha Waves originate from periods of relaxation when your eyes are closed, but while you are still awake. And, as soon as you open your eyes, Alpha Waves begin to diminish and you slowly return to your Beta Wave state of mind. Simply put, Alpha Waves are the activity of the visual cortex in an idle state. The routine is to close your eyes and visually reconstruct a female you plan to approach in your mind and sexually satisfy her with your imagination for 10 to 15 minutes. Next, open your eyes and approach her before the alpha waves diminish. Open powerfully with a magnetic presence of a strong sexual being. Speak in a manner as if youVe already pleased her sexually (even though it was only in your imagination - the mirror still works). Youll not only be amazed at your results, but also the positive changes on your personality for approach and pickup.

Mystery: Not a foot fetishist per se, but a willing worshipper of female physiology. Go-Go Dancer Caught WUd @ Velvet Underground, Toronto

CHAPTER 7

THE H O L L Y W O O D ROOSEVELT We sat in the piano lounge of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. Mvstcrv chose for himself a bright red Victorian armchair and proceeded to stretch out in it like a throne. 1 sat on the dark chair perpendicular to him. dressed in solid black as usual. Two days ago I'd learned that Mystery had announced over the internet that he would be teaching Basic Training Workshops in several cities around the world, and that I'd be teaching the workshops with him. The first workshop would be here in Los Angeles, lie charged five hundred dollars per person, promising that they would each approach at least fifty women over the course of the weekend. Three wouldbe students in need of help had actually signed up. "Damn, dude," I said to Mystery. "Who pays five hundred bucks just to learn how to meet women? I mean, soliciting advice over the internet is one thing. But paying hard earned cash for the promise of getting girls is something else." I imagined meeting the absolute worst of the worst, guessing the details of their absurd inadequacies, far-fetched complexes, and an obvious absence of any sexual encounters. Why else would any man dig so deeply into his wallet? But Mystery was confident we could help them. I remained skeptical, remembering the painful transformations I had personally gone through recently. Mystery's students

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would have to challenge their single worst fear - women] And that terrified most men. Mystery dismissed my doubts and pulled out a large manila envelope from his jacket instead. Then, he spilled out photographs of the most gorgeous women possible into a pile on top of the table in front of us. Lying on top was a recognizable Penthouse Pet of the Year, one which I remembered from the night when Mvstcrv had first made out with her in front of an exclusive club while Boris and 1 waited on the valet to fetch our cars. Earlier that night, we'd actually picked her out from a photo album of spectacular models, stunning starlets. Plavbov Bunnies, and Penthouse Pets, amid hundreds of other truly stunning women from all over greater Los Angeles. It was a perk for Mystciy from his new agent. Diana, who threw Hollywood industry parties in order to network her clients. These ready-made party girls had submitted their very best headshots to Diana simply to be invited. "Powerful men want beautiful women surrounding them," Diana said. I didn't want to break the news to her, but she'd just sent feminism spiraling backward at least one hundred years. Diana was Eastern European - I'd guessed by her thick accent, but from exactly where. 1 wasn't sure. I actually tried never to look too closely at her. She was overweight and aging badlv. She might have been a femme fatal once in her youth, but now her beauty mark was just an unsightly black mole smack dab in the center of her face. She smoked like a chimney too, often speaking with a cigarette hanging out from the comer of her mouth. But the parties were great! Mystery fascinated the crowd with his magic, levitating rings off pencils until they floated in the air. reading minds with ESP. and using sleight of hand. ^*

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He was networking to find a sponsor to finance the grand

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illusionist stage performance he'd planned with Boris in Las Vegas. 1. on the other hand, was tree to roam about, flirting with an overabundance of mouthwatering women that completely outnumbered the men four to one. It was a PUA's dream made in heaven! I sometimes wondered what separated Diana from an ordinary madam, peddling her call girls. But all of those women had submitted their own hcadshots by choice. Starfuckers. I felt critical and disapproving. But then, we were the ones picking out the photos based solely on looks and body dimensions. "Stop hogging up my girls," Diana had hissed at me. I'd been sitting on a bench in-between three 20-something models, taking turns kissing them while wc took snap shots. Diana had made the mistake of assigning me as photographer for the night. She'd done so to keep me from seducing a very influential and sultrv forty-something divorcee who apparently was worth a lot of money I happened to be entertaining. "Women like her were onlv for her clients." she scolded me. But, no matter how hard she tried, there were just too many women to go around. Eventually, Diana just stopped coming to the parties all together. I picked up the headshot of the Penthouse Pet from the table. Looking at it now in the Hotel Roosevelt. I remembered what Mystciy had suddenly said to me that night, seemingly higher than life with enthusiasm. "Sin!" Mvstcrv called to me outside the club. He'd broken away from his Penthouse Pet to tell me his unexpected, brilliant vision. "We arc no longer who we used to be! We have readied a whole new level of women. We have evolved." Mvstcrv had the glare of a zealot. "Sure, okay," I said. I had no way of telling where this was headed. At present, he had his arms outstretched and he

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was looking earnestly up at the stars. He suddenly stopped and grasped my shoulders. "From now on. I'm no longer content just to meet any attractive woman. 1 want pinup fantasy. I want the girls 1 masturbated too when I was a pubescent teen. I want the fucking girl that everybody else wants; only she's on my arm and we're walking down the street together. 1 want to live the life of a fucking rock star...." Mystciy paused. Boris and 1 looked at him expectantly. "That's it. I'm done." He smiled, and then ran back to his Penthouse Pet. giddy with excitement. That was it, I thought. Mvstcrv had found what he'd been looking for his entire life. Total validation! It was the type of validation only found on glossy pages (or sticky ones). Mystciy had battled his own personal fears and shortcomings for the sake of science. He'd suffered through humiliation, doubts and failure, rising successfully with his newly J

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acquired Penthouse Pet and the key to life itself. Mystery would finally inseminate his DNA among the most gorgeous women from all around the world. He'd even defiantly challenge the Great Ramses the II himself. His universe had finally made sense. Style was the first student to arrive. Both Mystciy and I watched him move closer, as I leaned back in my scat, studying him. my hands forming into the shape of a pyramid. Awkwardly, he stopped in front of us. "Urn... hello," he said, with hesitation. "Mystciy?" "Exactly," said Mystciy, "in person!" He stood up. shaking Stvlc's hand. "And. this is Sin. my wingman. He's *»

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going to teach the workshop as well. He's an amazing master PUA."

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You'll love his stuff.

Style was short, balding, and surprisingly, well dressed. He wore a thin, tight crew-neck sweater, trendy black pants that flared at the bottom, and black boots with heels that gave him a little extra height. lie was nerdy. but definitely manageable. Mystery tossed the manila envelope in Style's lap as soon as he sat down. "These arc some of the women I've dated." Mystery said. "Take a look. This is what I will teach you. To have women like this yourself." Style sat on the edge of his scat his knees touching. He nervously opened the thick packet of photographs. Unaware, he turned bright red as he looked in wonderment at stunning half nude women. Here was someone worse off than I was, I thought. Mystciy had reached out to a community of men desperate for help. They wanted what wc had. They wanted to know our secrets. Thev wanted to feel the stimulating touch of a woman. Anv woman! But life had done to them a great disservice. They lacked the necessary skill set in order to m>

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succeed at attracting women to sleep with them. Extramask was next to arrive, lie was tall, twentysomething and gangly, with a face that could be handsome from the right angle. 1 lis clothing seemed to hang off him as if thev weren't his own. His bodv language immediatelv J

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Then, Extramask droned on about three of his past relationships, sclf-mockingly with very little prompting from us. Finally, he admitted that the three relationships he detailed had actually been in the sixth grade. Extramask hadn't had a woman since. "So have you ever slept with a girl, or not?" 1 asked. I 16

"No, I haven't," he said, flatly. "I've never kissed a girl before in mv life." Extramask was still a virgin in his late twenties. This explained a lot. I took a mental note; leave this guy to Mvstcrv. I Ie was going to need a lot of work. Style, however, had explained that he'd been with somewhere around seven girls thus far, which when pressed, "somewhere around seven" quickly translated to "six." But even six was better than none. Sweater had arrived last. He was well groomed, polished, tan and balding, and he'd flown sixteen hours from Brisbane. Australia - just to attend Mystery's workshop. Sweater was the paradigm image of a successful businessman in his forties, wearing gold rope jewelry and a fat Rolex watch. However, his atrocious, thick cable knit sweater immediately poked you in the eye like a toothpick. It was loud, convoluted, and multicolored; the type a man would purchase in hopes to impress the sales girl of a retail store in the mall. Sweater shook hands confidently, but then stared at the floor afterwards, unable to look us directly in the eye. Even his voice trembled as he attempted to explain his situation. Sweater was new to the community. He was hesitant to say even his first name, so Mystery dubbed him "Sweater." The workshop had begun. "Forget what you have been doing." Mystery asserted, confidently. "If what you've been doing got you laid, you wouldn't be here now. Over the course of the workshop, you will learn to be me. You will learn the rules of the game. I will teach you the sequence - Find, Meet, Attract, and Close. And you will have to fail over and over again until you get it right." mm*

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Style. Extramask, and Sweater had the look of sudden death. "Your emotions arc going to fuck you up, don't let them," Mystciy continued. "That's your DNA trying to confuse you. Only the strongest procreate. Approaching women is uncomfortable, but ignore it. You'll make over fifty approaches in the next four nights, until you get it right. Don't worry, Sin and I will be there to guide you, correct your mistakes, and send you back. It's a process of experiments and tests." Mystery's students huddled closer together like men floating adrift on open waters. They did the math. There were just the three of them against one hundred and fifty women. They'd be eaten alive! ml

"Sin, do you have anything for them?" I looked at them intently as their eyes darted away, nervously. Thev were both eager to learn and uncertain as to J

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what would happen next. I could'vc had sympathy. But instead, I laughed evilly. "Get ready to be scared for your lives! No more stalling, let's go." As far as I was concerned, they had selected the quick path to enlightenment. The limousine ride over to the Standard was filled with nervousness. Mystery lectured from the backseat as his students anxiously listened. It was Extramask who finally J

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interrupted, trying to break the tension by noticing the free bar of liquor bottles at their disposal. "A crutch," Mystciy said. "Alcohol is not a legitimate tool for handling your approach anxiety. There'll be plenty of time to drink with the girls later." In the PUA world, getting drunk was a serious foul. You had to learn how to feel comfortable approaching women while completely sober. There was no honor given for

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getting sloppy and stumbling around, no reward for picking up on the girls who threw up in the planters outside after the bar had closed. Seduction involved much more than that. Pickup Artists weren't desperate men going out trying to get laid. We had numbers to spare. It was about skill and perfection. Interestingly, the more women wc had been with, the more women who wanted to be with us; a phenomenon which proved that only certain men had their choice of all women, while other men went home empty handed. It was the reality of any Pickup Artist of merit. Each night started the same. On the limousine ride over, Mystery would rapidly dispatch thirty-minutes of wisdom culled from the over three thousand posts he'd written to his secret forum, giving advice to those who wanted to learn in the exact same way as he instructed now. Mvstcrv had managed to sociallv deconstruct the entirety of the initial attraction phase between men and women. He was a ready almanac of techniques specifically designed on how to get the girl. Then the students spent an hour or two in the Hotel Roosevelt downloading their experiences as we prepared them for the following night's game. We'd hit the Key Club, the Standard, Sky Bar; the students improving ever so slowly over the course of the workshop. By the end of the fourth night, we hit the Saddle Ranch on Sunset Boulevard. It was a country-themed meat market, possessing a mechanical bull, sawdust, tables, and a long rustic rectangular bar that dominated the length of the room. It didn't take long before we broke off into our separate groups. I took Stvle under mv wing, leaving Sweater and Extramask with Mystery. Sweater had a great personality, but he still derailed his conversations with women due to nerves. Extramask. however, rarely left Mvstcrv's side.

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He'd been resistant to make approaches for fear of failure. Style had done remarkably better. Style and I looped the bar. Suddenly, I stopped. In front of us was a striking girl wearing a cowhide cowboy hat with long blue hair, a tight miniskirt, silver-tipped cowboy boots, and a perfectly shaped ass. She stood at the management counter filling out what looked to be an application. Instantly, I huddled with Style. "Dude," I said. "Up until now, I've been teaching you Mystery's method. But I want this girl. 'Ncgs* have never really worked well for me. I use mostly inner-game, and something I call my Multiple Hits Routine. It may seem a little strange at first, but trust me. the shit works great! And. it's fucking undetectable." Mystery's "negs" were statements or actions designed to briefly disqualify yourself from being considered a potential suitor, such as blowing your nose in front of her or noticing how her shoes look comfortable. You were supposed to throw them like tiny pebbles to make her laugh. When 1 used negs. thev hit like large boulders instead. I immediately approached her. "I don't know," I said, as if Style and I had been having a conversation. "Let's ask the only girl in the bar with blue hair." Instantly, she turned to face me. holding pen and paper in hand. I had always felt that situations presented themselves as if everything had been inexplicably planned. "Ask me what?" she said. I indicated the pen and paper she held in her hand. "Uh, well, we wanted to know why you're doing homework at a bar?" "What?" she laughed. "No, it's an application. See. I'm applying for position here." " O h . . . " I turned to Style. "S