Montreal: FR: Perdre 3 beautés en 1 seule journée
I just experienced THREE dramatic losses in the same day. I actually have five diverse and unique LRs that I could/should write. But I find myself instead thinking about these three losses of Friday, August 5th…
Once upon a time, I was thinking about making a list of my top five or ten misses on the PUA-Tour. These are girls that were exceptionally beautiful that shared a great time with me that I then lost for whatever reason. As an artist, I always wonder what I could have done differently. Anyway, the losses I have experienced in Montreal alone would dominate the list. Damn I have lost some dazzling and dynamic women, which just seemed sure-to-bone. Oh well.
Note: This post is heavy laden with actual real-life emails from my girls, because that’s how I like to document things. These emails should help you see the effect that I have on women (both in gaining and losing). Interpret at your own risk.
Friday Girl #1:
First I had a date at noon. This girl I had met two weeks prior. Street meet—contact close. I flaked on our first Day2 attempt. I apologized in an email and suggested that I come to her area of town so she wouldn’t have to invest resources to meet if she felt like I might flake again. She said she still wanted to meet, and the emails showed that she was still intrigued. Yesterday was the earliest we could have gotten together. Her email to me after my flake, shows how not showing up, although largely unintentional, served to increase interest:
”It’s 11h06, I’m back from my travel to the Vieux Port...I feel like I’ve lived a whole day since 7 this morning.....I don’t know how I should feel, sad or mad or stupid.... I feel strange.... So many questions are bursting in my head! Where should I have been? Were you late, lost, dead, kidnapped, asleep, in front of another statue...? Were you waiting for me somewhere else? And where was this ‘somewhere else’?
I waited 30 minutes, then I started walking, drawing squares around the Place Jacques-Cartier and the Bonsecours market searching for the somewhere else, searching for the other statue.....I was waiting in front of Nelson's statue, on the Jacques Cartier Place. The Old Montréal was beautiful under the light of the morning sun, but I was alone and I felt lost....Why was this meant to happen? Where was the somewhere else? Was it the Maisonneuve's statue in front of a cathedral?
I’m so sorry about all that.... I feel like I’ve lived a whole life since I’ve met you, and I really wanted to see you again. I still don't understand why was this meant to happen, but too many times in my life I didn't know how to seize the opportunities presented to me, and while I was waiting, I thought ‘Well, when you fall off the horse you have to hop back on...’ I think that it is not too late to try again....Well, tell me if you still have the time to visit the city and take some pictures....”
So we finally coordinate plans to meet again. She’s at the meeting spot and I’m actually on time. We walk the Old Port and talk. (BTW, she’s another Quebecois and her English isn’t the greatest.) She reveals a few things. She says she’s been apprehensive about meeting me again. For one thing, she couldn’t remember exactly what I looked like. She described how she dreams of her ideal man, but his face is always a blur, just like my face in her memory. She also talks about how she was thinking I was part of the Mafia because she thought I was smooth in dealing with people and I got her comfort and fascination very easily. She wondered if I was going to kidnap her and sell her into slavery. I laugh and play along with this exaggerated scenario while addressing the real concern at hand.
We climb this twelve story fire escape and take pictures of the port. (She’s a photography student, age 18.) From here we have great views and share our first kiss. I talk about sensuality and passion and give the Sensuality Test. She’s actually quite thoughtful about it and came up with questions of her own. What’s more sensual…silence or conversation? (I choose silence and riff on themes of how nonverbal communication trumps verbal and how sensual it is to just look into someone’s eyes or give them a glance or a smile.) She had another good question that I wish I could remember.
I assuage all her concerns. I reframe everything as being cooperative and mutual. And beautiful and passionate. Even if I am here for such a short time, I have only to offer honesty and respect and magical experiences. She’s very comfortable with me. I tell her that she’s hijacked my brain. I show her some massage techniques. We proceed to make out way up on this fire escape. The scene is exciting for us both. There are literally like a thousand people beneath us and curtain-less windows on all the skyscrapers surrounding us. There are people milling about in the office behind us that leads to the escape. I’m sucking on her breasts and rubbing her crotch. “We have to stop, we’re going to get arrested.” There are a lot of cops beneath us and people absolutely everywhere. Just making out, I am sure we had an audience. I considered it very likely that we would get arrested as we would be trapped on the escape and even without fucking, we were still trespassing. Maybe if she had a skit on, we could have…
So let’s find somewhere else. I think I can get here to the van, which is about a twenty minute walk to the Metro and a thirty minute train ride. But she tells me she has to be at work soon. She tells me her schedule and we make plans to meet early the next day. We have a little bit of time to spend together still and I walk her to the clock tower and I’m looking for a place we could really do something. I don’t know the area, and there are people absolutely everywhere.
I take her to this slightly sheltered area of the park behind some shrubbery. We make out and I’ve got my hand down her jeans. I’m finger banging her and she’s loving it. She’s stroking my dick and I pull it out for her. I convince her to “kiss it” but she barely puts her lips on it. She keeps looking around and I tell her to close her eyes and enjoy the feeling and I will keep watch on the surrounding. Sure enough, some fucker is watching us. And he’s walking closer. I take my hand out of her pants, put my dick away, and we turn away as he passes. I try to get her worked up again, but now it’s all about how she’s late for work. We laugh together as we walk to the subway. I remind her about our meet in the morning and she vacillates. I know I’ve lost her.
The next time I check my email, it is confirmed:
”I won’t be there tomorrow. I realize that my life needs a plan. In order of importance, Love is in first, followed by Pleasure, and then Sex. Yeah, I just realized that love is in first, even if it brings me expectations. I prefer to dream and to learn from my errors, than not dreaming at all. Life is short, we should follow our dreams, and mine is to do the right things, when I feel it’s the right time to do them. If I want to feel comfortable, even if I do feel comfortable with you, I won’t come tomorrow.”
Friday Girl #2
I was set to meet my second girl at 6PM. This would be our Day3. We met at a bar among her friends and we shared great conversation and an amazing kiss. She’s 20 and studies fashion design. Day2 we walked around the Old Port and the clock tower. I told her that her expectations should be to enjoy the moment and the magic I can provide and that we should not expect any sense of future. She’s cool and tells me that she just ended a relationship and has no expectations, just to have fun and see where things go. I do my sensual qualifying and find her energy to match my own. I also love how she can verbally spar with me and we’re teasing each other seductively. This one is going to be amazing—beautiful Italian baby. After a great time, we both have places to be. Mine is another date, and I’m honest about it. We exchange some more passionate kisses and embraces and then depart. If it didn’t seem solid enough already, she sends me this email:
”Hey, how did your date go? Got home a while ago. Had to take care of some things, now I'm writing to you. Thanks a lot for everything. You really opened my eyes to a lot of things. You really made me see things in a different way. Well, we have to get together again. Maybe Friday. There is this fashion show that my friend is doing the make up for so maybe we could go see if your going to be around and don't have a date that night. Let me know, it would be nice to see you again.”
So, I show up for our second time out. We embrace. We kiss. The physical intimacy is still there. We walk and hold hands and things feel nice. I try to lead her to the lingerie and sex toy shop, but she doesn’t want to go in. Cool, no pressure. I ask about this fashion show and we Metro to the Jean Drapeau Island where it is being held. I was telling her to notice how envious people look when they see us together. Turns out it is $15 per person and we skip it. We hold each other and talk intimately next to a fountain.
The only other thing worth mentioning is that she kept talking about her ex-boyfriend and how this and that reminded her of him. I said something about being in the present and enjoying the opportunities right before us. What is this moment lacking? Nothing. Right answer. I told her I was interested in her role as a beautiful and passionate woman and not a daughter (kept complaining about her parents), a student (school’s about to start), a friend (her friends told her not to see me), an ex-GF (would not shut up about her ex-boyfriend) or anything else. Tried my best to keep her present and positive. I taught her how to give a hand massage and had her demonstrate what she had learned. Also gave each other neck and shoulder massages.
Her mom calls. She lives with her parents. She’s got to go. Not much I can do. I walk her to the Metro. She’s got tears in her eyes and she’s telling me that she can’t be with me and she’s not ready to ‘give herself.’ I’m mostly smiling and respectful. My artistry is intense and I’m not sure what to do in these situations. I told the 100% perfect girl story (credit: Style). She keeps saying, “I can’t, I can’t.” I assuredly tell her that I know what I will be missing…wonderful times with an amazing and passionate woman. And one day she will realize the opportunity she has missed as well. I just hope she’s not plagued by “what ifs” and “could-have-beens.” Like I will be. We hug. I’m out.
Just to make sure I got the message, she sends this email:
”It was a fun night. I'm sorry that I could not give you what you wanted. I was just not able to pass that stage yet. Well, it was great meeting and getting to know you. Good luck in your next adventure and stay in touch.”
Friday Girl #3:
I hit the street for the ongoing FrancoFolies Festival. I’m worked up. I really hated to lose this one. And that’s two solid loses for the day! I’m thinking about the days earlier this week where, when I had flakes, I always ended up pulling same-day. No problem. I hit the festival with the determination of that character in the movie Tomcats where he’s worked up over this chick and he says to himself “I’m going to fuck the next chick I see.” Of course he runs into a warpig and says, “Okay…the NEXT chick I see.”
So here I am. 2sets and 3sets are opening moderately well. I don’t have time left in the city to follow new contact closes. I have this strange sense of urgency. I’m also very tired. I can’t explain this mood and mentality. I’m thinking about how after I pulled 5 girls here, and I had one week left and I told myself that it was going to be my goal to pull 5 more. 5 more in one week. Who can do this? And they all came…one after another. So here I am at ten. Who does this? Got to get out of here…Sunday…Monday at the very latest. I’m thinking about how the SDL with the sexy Mexican girl on Thursday actually fucked up my karma. Like that was ten—okay, goal met—like the universe didn’t want me to have the fire escape girl and the Italian girl too. Even though they probably needed me the most. Just wasn’t meant to be. So here I am with this weird mood and this weird determination and I’m going for number eleven.
And then I see her. Holy shit what a beauty. Another Latina. Long beautiful blackish reddish curlyish hair. Expressive eyes. Incredible figure. She’s wearing this dress with a singular wrap-around image. Very retro. Very go-go. She’s got these badass black boots with zippers all over them. Me likes.
Is she actually alone? Who cares. I approach and I get her smiling. She is alone. The group ends at the stage near us and we head to a different stage. We have engaging conversation and lots of laughs. I keep smiling and throw her a lot of broken Spanish, happy to deviate from all this French. Turns out she is from Chile and she is 26. (I am 26, and the Mexican girl last night was 26—maybe the universe likes me after all.) We go for a walk beyond the festival. Of course St Catherine St on a Friday night is like a festival everywhere.
She actually suggests we get a drink. I take her to the place that HBgraphicartist introduced me to. I ask fun qualifying questions and show her the view from the balcony. I give her a passionate SOI and she’s entranced. I go for the kiss, I get sidestepped and told I’m told she has a boyfriend. Back home. Okay. So did the girl Saturday and persistence paid. I’m also thinking about the Mexican girl from last night where directness paid off more than anything else. I’m thinking I’ve got this one solid. I mean, it’s meant to be—third girl for the night, third time’s the charm, right?
So I sit her down and she orders a beer. She’s a fairly accomplished film student in Santiago. She tells me about her film projects. It sounds like her family has some money too. Miscommunication is prevalent—language barrier. It’s best that she talk and talk and I smile and nod, then I can talk and talk (seductively) and she can smile and nod and bite her lip and blush and think naughty things. And it’s going smoothly. We’re sitting with her knee between mine. I give her the questions of the Sensuality Test. We’re giving each other very nice hand massages and kino is all-around nice. I’m overselling my photography and she’s interested. I tell her that if we can go to my station for a few minutes I’ll show her these cool pictures.
We’re hand in hand, the vibe is great, and I walk her to the Metro and right outside she gets cold feet and she’s reminding me of the boyfriend. I know…lets’ just go look at pictures. Shared false pretense? Just pictures. It will be fun. Actual false pretense? So she’s with me. I give her this incredible head massage for basically the whole train ride. She’s entranced in transit. I tell her that my place is actually a vehicle. She’s intrigued by the idea, as they all have been.
So we get to my van and I tell her that I am going to drive to where I can get a network in order to check my email real quick. She can do so too. No prob. This takes me out of the hotel parking lot and onto a residential street. A little bit of a risk though because the cops have approached me and told me not to return to this street.
Apparently folks had called the cops after noticing that I pull up here day after day. Must look suspicious. The cops approached me I told them about wifi and I was there to check email. They ran some search on my license for like twenty minutes and just told me to find a different connection. Oh well. But anyway, I decided to roll up on this spot again one more time.
So I boot up the computer and give her some printed photos to look at while I check my email. There was no hesitation coming into the back and she’s got her hand on my leg and everything is green lighted. I send her a quick playful email. I offer to let her check her email. I show her some photos on the computer while I play some chill music. She likes. Close computer.
I go for the kiss and I’m in. Very nice. Proceed to kiss neck and ears and arms and legs and touch breasts. She’s not breathing heavy or otherwise getting into it, but not stopping me either. I direct her to kiss my neck and I put her hands on my chest. Kiss my chest, kiss here, bite there, etc. I’m telling her that I want to taste her. I’ve got my hand under her dress and I put her hand on my straining cock…
And that’s about it. She pushes me away. It’s abrupt. All I hear is boyfriend, boyfriend, novio, novio, boyfriend, blah, blah. I try “juicy secret” threads but she’s already locked. Can’t get her back in for anything. Long story short, I respectfully take her home. Keep the ride upbeat and playful for whatever its worth. You know, not being a pouty sore-ass. We smile and kiss when I drop her off. She has my email just in case she has anything to say. Damn.
Three solid losses the same day.
Live loss, love life. GoneSavage