Ok. By popular request.
There was this guy I knew once. I'll describe him to you.
He was stick thin. Sallow, pale skin. Almost yellow. His har was long, straight and lank. Greasy sometimes.
He was taller than me, perhaps 5`11, but his narrow shoulders and skinny build made him look gaunt and lanky. His head was big, too big for his body. He looked like a lollipop.
The man was a machine. I never, ever saw him fail to pull. To this day, of all the men I've met, he had the most profound effect on women, just by his presence.
He was almost spaced out, almost, but not quite. When he moved through a club he did so like a willow. His movements had a kind of preternatural grace, a beauty to them. It was strange, there was a poise about the man, a poise. It's all I can say about it. Even as I picture it now in my mind, I find it hard to describe.
It was like he was an expert in movement. Like some people have their expertise. His was walking, standing. He moved with total effortlessness, as if his body was an afterthought to his intent to move.
He never drank, and his conversation, when I spoke with him, was never deep, nor fascinating. His mind did not move from subject to subject like I did. He was not as eloquent as I, not as insightful. I earned more money than him, much more. I was so much more educated. So much better built and better looking. Every single external thing that you can possibly name, I beat him on, hands down.
There was never, ever a time when I came close to competing with this guy. He was monumental.
Women of substance and character. Artists. Musicians. One girl who was, and remains, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I would have walked through fire to kiss her.
He ****ed her. She was putty in his hands.
It was grace, if I could call it anything. That's what the man had that I didn't. Grace. Just the most monumental grace. He had no money, and he had no prospects. He was not a particularly good looking guy.
He just had grace. Women flocked to him. I never saw him make an approach - I never saw him need to. His movements were hypnotic, even to me. I felt, next to him, like a clumsy child.
Of all the beautiful girls in that group of friends - all the really, achingly beautiful girls - he'd ****ed them all.
Even today, I teach this stuff - and I am very good with women - I honestly cannot tell you for sure if I could go toe to toe with this man.
That said...
I would love to try.
There was this guy I knew once. I'll describe him to you.
He was stick thin. Sallow, pale skin. Almost yellow. His har was long, straight and lank. Greasy sometimes.
He was taller than me, perhaps 5`11, but his narrow shoulders and skinny build made him look gaunt and lanky. His head was big, too big for his body. He looked like a lollipop.
The man was a machine. I never, ever saw him fail to pull. To this day, of all the men I've met, he had the most profound effect on women, just by his presence.
He was almost spaced out, almost, but not quite. When he moved through a club he did so like a willow. His movements had a kind of preternatural grace, a beauty to them. It was strange, there was a poise about the man, a poise. It's all I can say about it. Even as I picture it now in my mind, I find it hard to describe.
It was like he was an expert in movement. Like some people have their expertise. His was walking, standing. He moved with total effortlessness, as if his body was an afterthought to his intent to move.
He never drank, and his conversation, when I spoke with him, was never deep, nor fascinating. His mind did not move from subject to subject like I did. He was not as eloquent as I, not as insightful. I earned more money than him, much more. I was so much more educated. So much better built and better looking. Every single external thing that you can possibly name, I beat him on, hands down.
There was never, ever a time when I came close to competing with this guy. He was monumental.
Women of substance and character. Artists. Musicians. One girl who was, and remains, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I would have walked through fire to kiss her.
He ****ed her. She was putty in his hands.
It was grace, if I could call it anything. That's what the man had that I didn't. Grace. Just the most monumental grace. He had no money, and he had no prospects. He was not a particularly good looking guy.
He just had grace. Women flocked to him. I never saw him make an approach - I never saw him need to. His movements were hypnotic, even to me. I felt, next to him, like a clumsy child.
Of all the beautiful girls in that group of friends - all the really, achingly beautiful girls - he'd ****ed them all.
Even today, I teach this stuff - and I am very good with women - I honestly cannot tell you for sure if I could go toe to toe with this man.
That said...
I would love to try.
