SELF-MASTERY
Banned
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2004
- Messages
- 1,971
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The nastiest thing that I have every done is.........
taste my own shyt and my own urine.
taste my own shyt and my own urine.
Forget the cash, the cars, and the chiseled jawlines. Female desire operates on a completely different frequency. Primal. Subconscious. Triggers that bypass her logic and hit her on a gut level. Most guys are totally blind to them.
I know because I was one of them. The overthinking. The paralysis. The silent drive home kicking yourself for freezing up. Watching average guys walk away with the girl while you stood there stuck in your own head.
Then I decoded the psychology behind what actually makes women tick. 22 hard rules. Subtle behavioral shifts that rewired my entire reality. The anxiety evaporated. Women started leaning in. Investing. Chasing.
You paid for dinner. You drove. You said "whatever you want is fine" every single time. All the effort, no expectations.
And she left anyway — probably for a guy who makes her pick up the pizza.
Painful. Also predictable. Her mind quietly concludes that anything requiring zero effort from her is worth exactly zero. You became a free sample, and free samples get taken for granted.
The 22 Rules flip the dynamic. Small shifts that get her investing effort, money, and time in you — until SHE'S the one afraid of losing YOU.
yeah right...TyTe`EyEs said:This must be Mastery's attempt at getting banned. It was inevitable...
Dinner ran three hours. She laughed at everything. You walked her to her car thinking this one's locked in.
Then: nothing. Two texts. No reply. What happened?
You did what most men do on a great date. You filled every silence, answered every question, and left her with nothing to wonder about. No mystery. Nothing to sit with when she got home.
Rule 3 of the "22 Rules" changes the ending: tell her a little, hold back the rest, and let her imagination do the chasing. The ghosting stops too.
Did you make it up to her??? I know she was pissed at you.Taviii said:I pucked in a girls bag of clothes right before new years eve so ruining the event for her.
I, for one, don't find this as nasty as many people would.SELF-MASTERY said:The nastiest thing that I have every done is.........
taste my own shyt and my own urine.
I could talk to any woman I wasn't attracted to. Charming, funny, relaxed. Then a gorgeous woman looked my way and I'd become a sweating, babbling mess.
The fix took me years to find and ten minutes to learn. Nervousness and excitement are the same physical state — pounding heart, adrenaline, flushed face. Your brain just picks the label. And you can pick a better one.
Rule 16 shows you how. You feel the nerves, relabel them as excitement, and let that energy pour out as enthusiasm. Women notice the guy radiating it. They always do.
Common sense almost made me apologise, but I fought the urge and didnt even look at her.SELF-MASTERY said:Did you make it up to her??? I know she was pissed at you.
Dude, I can beat that. I listened to an entire album by the B-52s.The nastiest thing that I have every done is.........
taste my own shyt and my own urine.
Oh man, I'm a sick fuq then... I've listened to the whole Aqua album.Desdinova said:Dude, I can beat that. I listened to an entire album by the B-52s.
Warm and full-bodied, with earthy, nutty overtones and hints of berries that dwindle to a bitter, smokey finish...pooparu said:What did that c*m taste like though man, I'm too ***** to taste my own lol.
Dinner ran three hours. She laughed at everything. You walked her to her car thinking this one's locked in.
Then: nothing. Two texts. No reply. What happened?
You did what most men do on a great date. You filled every silence, answered every question, and left her with nothing to wonder about. No mystery. Nothing to sit with when she got home.
Rule 3 of the "22 Rules" changes the ending: tell her a little, hold back the rest, and let her imagination do the chasing. The ghosting stops too.
OMG this thread is so funny :crackup:Vulpine said:Hell, I can't go out to eat anywhere without going home and blasting hot, frothy jets of liquid fire through a screen door....
I guess there was this time that I got snowballed during naughty-drunken sex.... I can't really comment on how good or bad it tasted: it's not like I'm a connoiseur and have tasted any other loads to compare it to.... and spit it back out all over her face - like a "3rd hand money shot".
Then I got up and got a big drink of water.
LMAO, nah bro its cool i'll take your word for it.Vulpine said:Warm and full-bodied, with earthy, nutty overtones and hints of berries that dwindle to a bitter, smokey finish...
Come on, dude, what the fuq do you want me to tell you?
It's bitter, salty, and gives you a weird stinging, scratchy feeling in your throat. Everyone has different tastes - some don't like olives, pineapple, or coconut. So, some people spit, some swallow... Mine might taste like pumpkin pie compared to some others - I wouldn't know.
Try your own spunk and get back to us, pooparu. Go. Now. Go shake one out into a shot glass and neck it.
Three seconds. That's how long it took. Your shoes. Your posture. The way you held your drink. Whether you looked at the floor or looked at her.
She already filed you away. Interesting. Boring. Safe. Bold. Before you even opened your mouth.
Everything you say after that is just her confirming what she already decided.
So stop rehearsing lines. Fix the first three seconds. Stand tall. Look up. Smile like you mean it. Walk like you belong wherever you're standing.
The words come later. The impression comes first.