Another Chapter with the Siren

The year is wrapping up. I’ve been recovering from a surgery so my hunting and dating life have been mostly on hold. It’s been a tepid end to an otherwise hot year. But I have another story to tell. It’s about the Siren.

As I drove down south today to see my family for Christmas, I was thinking about writing this post. And I realized that I wrote something about this girl earlier this year (after an especially emotionally wild week with her). I never pushed that piece live. And then, the events of life moved on… so the story sat.

At the time I didn’t know if that was the end of the story, or somewhere in “the middle.” I assumed she and I had seen the end. Another train, had left the station.

As things have revived with her this last week, I can sample from that post now… pickup where I left off… a post within a post.


>> This post is about Siren. And about relationship game. And about being the man I want to be.

That is one of the opening lines from that post, which I wrote back in June of this year. It is still true, six months after I wrote it.

This is still about the man I want to be. And my efforts to be that man. With Siren, yes, but with all the girls.

>> I talk about Siren a lot. I picked her up last December. I fuck “sevens,” but at the time, I was tempted to call her an eight. In my world, she’s an eight. She is remarkable.

And she is remarkable. She’s one of the finest, most exquisite girls I’ve ever known.

>> She graduated art school the month I met her. She is a musician and very much a true artist. Her commercial specialty is scores for film.
>> I actually picked her up twice. The 2nd time two days after the first. If I hadn’t run into her that 2nd time, I would not be writing this now. Luck is always part of the story.
>> She is 28, 16 years younger than me. About 5’5″, very skinny, “model” proportions with small boobs… Think the Chinese version of the Ukrainian teen porn star.

She is 29 now. And still very hot.

I like the story of how she and I met. Not only because it was a daygame pickup, but because it took that second approach to “set the hook.” And then, the richness of the relationship that followed. And up until recently, I would say without hesitation, she was my favorite daygame girl ever (that honor now belongs to Miss Thick).

>> And I remember thinking that back in December I had put this girl Siren on a pedestal, and that that would mean I had no chance with her. But that’s not how it worked out. I fucked her in December. She is a passionate and “romantic” lay. Beyond that, post-sex, actually sleeping next to her is dream-like.

Many things about her are dream-like. That’s a way to understand her.

YOHAMI: Interesting. She’s a feeler. She’s asking her deeper conscience. She doesnt fit in the world, partially like Honest Girl, but this one is floating next to the world (not above).

That is what Yohami said when I first wrote about this girl… over a year ago.

But it’s that pedestal thing that is most vivid for me. I did put her on a pedestal.

In many ways, I did better with “holding my center” with her than I had at any other time in my life. I know I was overindulgent. Below I write about how she and I ended up drifting apart… was that because I wasn’t solid enough? Too interested and over-boiled? Was it simply events in her life, that had nothing to do with me?

I didn’t know then. I don’t know now. The only part I can control is me.

>> Beginning with our first date, we’ve had a theme of “Independence.” I like the concept of trance-words, and when she mentioned that word I took her seriously.
>> I have always treated her like a wild bird… I call her, I love it when she comes to me, and I would never think to try to cage her. I am certain that would kill the magic in her song.

I’m pedestalizing her here ^. True. But I was partially right, in the way I read her, even if my mindset was a little off. Too much about her. Correct, in my reaction… even if I wasn’t consistently correct in my leadership.

With that said, she has her own version of strong frame. It’s that dream-like state where she lives. I’ve made some bold, strong, successful moves with her, but there is only so much I can do versus the swirling world of music in her head. That’s not cowardice to admit that. It’s sanity and caution. It doesn’t pay to piss into the wind.

I called her Siren for a reason. Careful, sailor.

>> Meanwhile… She is always seeding our time together with comments about other men. The guy that keeps trying to get her to play music with him. Someone at her job professing his love for her via Facebook one night while we were out together. Stories about the ex-boyfriend wanting to get her out for dinner.

This is the part of the story where I begin to sober up.

Yes, she’s magical and beautiful. She had me (in some sense), in that first moment I saw her, lost in thought, gliding down the sidewalk, notes in her head none of the rest of us can hear. I find all that terribly attractive.

But I also could see her power. Not the music, but the potential for the abuse of her hold on me. The games of a girl that has played with boys before. And my very intense interest in her made me susceptible to her charms and pitfalls.

>> In each case, I took the opportunity to tell her all that is none of my business. That I know she is a free bird. I would tell her I want her to spend time with me. That I know she is a hot girl, and the idea that other men like her seems obvious to me. Sometimes I’d comment on their game… But I never tried to process her.

This wasn’t about me kissing her ass. This was a way for me to be non-reactive at some level. And I was. It wasn’t “fake it ’til you make it.” It was real. She had as strong an allure as any girl I had ever dated at the time… but I had more belief in myself than I’d ever had. I did alright, staying out of her gravity, remaining (mostly) in the center of my own.

I was fucking other girls the whole time. I was “in trouble” with this girl from day one, but this wasn’t typical “one-itis.” Not at all.

>> I leaned into my game. I fucked Miss Thick while she was gone… Repeatedly. I met, gamed and banged the Mongolian in this period. I dated several other girls.
>> I felt cool. Cool is attractive. To me, to her… And to the other girls in my ecosystem.

It’s true. I felt very cool, much of the time. It was seeing the other girls that kept me “honest.” Kept me from making more bluepill mistakes than I might have otherwise made.

As our relationship went on, her career started to blossom. She was busy, making music, working, practicing. I would sometimes have a bit of troubling getting her out.

And the Siren is a deeply feminine girl. She doesn’t really say “no.” Not often. She just avoids answering. Or talks around the “no,” so she never has to say it. It’s part of her female ambiguity, and she’s a master of it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see me… it’s just that she was “busy.”


And I could feel that. And I was advanced enough to know not to push against that. We seduce. If it works, great. If it doesn’t… there are other girls. Those are the choices.

But I would see her again, despite the bumps in the road along the way… I would see her many times. Lot of great nights together. Lush dinners. Intense sex.

>> I got her out. I met her at my door, took her upstairs and fucked her. It was late as we cooled down. I took her to a fancy restaurant. We sat in a corner, side by side. We were the couple that makes married people uncomfortable… Rosy-cheeked with post-sex glow. I fed her bites of the octopus-fennel salad.

These moments were so pungent, sophisticated, potent. Her, intense pink cobwebs. An incredible companion. For me as a seducer, epic performances. Her, a prize of a lifetime.

“…she was clearly turned on, and we ended up in some very dominant kissing, me pinning her head to the bed, using a fistful of her hair to hold her mouth in place as I got aggressive and shoved my tongue in her mouth. I ate her pussy, but via candle light, dragging her pretty ass to the edge of the bed, candle on a stool next to me as I knelt on the floor… so I could see all my favorite parts. Hot and medieval.”

This ^ was Siren and me in April. The sex… was incredible, much of the time.

But there was more trouble.

>> Then… Another two weeks until I saw her again. I’ve mentioned this in other posts.

If I read the writing on the wall… I am sure she was fucking someone else. Maybe not… but I want to be a grown up here. It is a rule of my life, that I always assume the girl I am fucking… is fucking someone else. That isn’t about me. That is about girls. And about the endless sea of options available to nubile women.

And I think it’s false machismo to freak out about that. This is Secret Society stuff. This is real life, beyond the Disney filter.

>> I felt vulnerable… But I know that “showing your emotions” is fools gold.
>> I pinged her, and she put me off… So I gamed some more. And I fucked Miss Xi’an.
>> I was firm in my assurance that I must lay back. She is a girl in high-demand. I actually do have options. I forced myself to not show any neediness…
>> The next day, as I was preparing myself to fuck Miss Thick, she pinged me. Finally.

And we would do it all again.

I felt insecure. Not low self esteem, but more so that the relationship itself felt tenuous. I wasn’t sure if this was the last hurdle before she surrendered, and things settled down… or if this was the last time I’d see her. Each time, I never knew.

I tried to be the man I want to be. I want to have fun. I want to hunt and kill… not chase. I tried to find some balance. It wasn’t always hard.

NASH: You are a busy girl, doing good things.
NASH: But I feel a little bad for you…
NASH: Because you haven’t been able to see ME!
NASH: You must miss me so much. : ]

How do you initiate attention from an introvert, that is busy? How to do this, in a way that doesn’t come off as chasing? We have to lead.

I’m not claiming this is great game… but this is an example where you try to lead on one hand, and avoid appearing to lick boots on the other. This balancing act, is one avenue down which game might take you if you want to see girls… beyond the initial conquest.

>> It is an art to lead a high-status girl without looking needy. Part of what I did right with her was to get busy with other girls. And I have been. And part, was trying to lead in a cool way.

Trying… to be cool. To feel cool. This is what was on my mind at the time. Remaining in a state of “cool” was a lantern that helped me navigate these moments.

And I would see her again…

>> We met… and she looked… Amazing. Form-fitting clothes… And the same hat she was wearing when I approached her on the street that second time.
>> The vibe was a little different. So for the first time in a long time… I didn’t take her upstairs and fuck her right away.
>> We settled in. I got us both a drink. And we sat on the kitchen table to talk.

All of this was a test for me. A test of how well I could “hold the container.” Her ongoing walls of silky obscurity to confront, to scale, to explore, to overcome. Her feminine trials. The examination of my own insecurities. Of the uncertainty of all of it.

That was it, mostly. Endless uncertainty. Showing up to that, with a hard cock and an easy smile, again and again.

>> And we talked about even more job offers. And how at least one of the offers was from a CEO that had that twinkle in his eye that he wanted to fuck her… Those are my word, not hers. She would ever say anything like that.
>> And I told her that I know she is scared. And all this is intimidating. And that I get it.
>> And I did all this from the POV of what I call “daddy game.” Calm, confident, wise older man stuff. I wasn’t clingy.
>> And I hugged her. And I stared in her pretty face.
>> And something in her look changed, and she told me to kiss her. And I did.

I love that reaction from her.

These are the moments. This is a big part of the dividends of the work I do in game. The stamina to hold it together, to be a man, even as I could feel this relationship potentially slipping away. Even then, keeping the ship afloat in stormy waters.

And it worked. This time. It worked… for both of us.

I was being a leader. I was being a man.

>> And then I walked her down the hall, just like I did for the first time in December, and I fucked her.
>> And afterward…. She cried. She laid her head on my chest… That long black hair on me, in the pillows and the sheets. And she cried.
>> And then she told me she may never say it again… but that she loved me. I told her, “I know you do.” And that I loved her too.


It’s always intense with her. The “I love you.” The tears. It was a lot to hold. Mixed with the sex… it was heady cocktail. So much.

The whole relationship was like this… this is what she and I are like when we are together.

>> I told her she was safe. And that for now… All of that was far away. And that I could protect her. That she was safe with me… This nasty Beast. Her, the Beauty. She was safe in my castle. Safe in my arms.
>> And we lay there for a minute. And then showered.
>> And now she was a little girl. Her voice had lost its seriousness. She giggled. I held her as the hot water covered us. A little girl, childish, in my arms. I dressed her in one of my t-shirts and took her back to the kitchen.

It was like that. Sexy. Bad ass. Tenuous. Scary. A lot to hold. A lot to behold.

What a story. This too… from daygame.


And then, sometime around the end of June, after almost 20 dates and as many sleep overs… I didn’t see her again. One day, she simply didn’t return my message.

Before that point, I had been asking her out… and I never heard the “yes” I wanted. It was one reason or another… which is her way of saying “no.” It was the longest we had gone in that state.

When I sent that message she never responded to, no response at all… I didn’t push it. I didn’t need to, I could hear her message in the silence.

She went cold. So I let her go. Just like that. I didn’t message her again either.

It was amazing. The radical ups and downs. No threats. No fights. Radical emotional wins and losses. Back to back. So much uncertainty.

And then… no talk. No explanation. I just let her go. And walked away.

I think that was the right move.


A couple of months ago, I went through some of the messages I had sent her in the final weeks:

NASH: Hello Special Girl, you’re on my mind.
NASH: I miss your pretty face, Sweet Girl.
NASH: You are a beautiful and special girl…

^ From separate occasions.

There is a place for compliments, particularly with a girl that you are already fucking. But I was overdoing it.

HER: You are the best beast!!
HER: I am really happy to stay with you!!!

^ Also from separate occasions.

She was into it. She was into me. But I had sort of lost my frame. Again, I don’t know how much of my “leaning in” was the problem. Who knows. We never know.

The girl told me she loved me just a week or so before she went cold. Maybe I mis-read the whole thing? We don’t know.

NASH: But Siren is out of pocket… who knows if she’ll be back (I’m not going to chase her).

We may have a sense of why things work, but beyond the obvious beginner mistakes… it’s hard to know why a girl says “no.” That is true in the pickup. But also true down the line. This is something I accept about the game.

Knowing “why” is not the answer. That’s not our job as men. Our job is to do. And to know when not to do. But “knowing why” isn’t mandatory. It’s probably greatly overrated. I think so, at this point.


The entire engagement was an ocean of passion and vulnerability. An adventure of the heart… and the loins.

I tried to look at it as training. I tried to let it “stretch my nervous system,” so I would be stronger the next time. This is how we grow.

She is one of my greatest teachers.


She and I generally communicate via WeChat.

As things unravelled with her, I played a game, for a while, where I filled my phone up with new girls and more WeChat connections. Where she had formerly been at the “top of the screen” (= my most recent chat), now… she was further and further down the list.

Until… I pushed her off the list entirely. Out of sight.

But not, entirely… out of mind.

The day I noticed I couldn’t see our last thread… I had a brief moment of half-hearted pride. I couldn’t fix that situation. But I could pave over it with new opportunities.

Realizing this ^ is a powerful moment for a man of game.


And that was all months ago. I had let her go. I really had. I have since had a lot of adventures with a lot of other girls. I would think about her, talk about her here and there, but I had moved on.

I never forgot her. Of course. When she would come to mind, thinking of her was like standing in molasses. It slowed me down. Sticky, girl-mud and a heaviness that stretched from my heart to my balls. A thought of her would make me pensive, and take the smile off my face. Not because it wasn’t a great affair… but because it really stung to watch it end.


It had been months. And then, a couple of weeks ago… I saw a quote about a piano. The quote made me think of her. I sent it to her.

She didn’t reply right away. I remember noticing that, briefly, but it didn’t mean much to me. I wasn’t needy about her when I sent that message. My note to her was only a gift. If she never replied, I was fine with it.

But then… she got back to me. And not just about the message I’d sent.

She had been in a car accident that day. Nothing super serious, but she ended up in the hospital briefly. And she told me a bit about it via WeChat.

And then I was conflicted…

I care about her, very much. Of course I do. But I also know how she had “hand” in our relationship, in some ways. I knew I’d lost some control. It would be so typical AFC to jump in to “save her.” Or to show too much care. Typical. Boring. Sad. Disgusting, for everyone.

So I didn’t do it.

I didn’t want “over game” the situation either. So I showed her some concern, but I watched myself. I did something like “teasing” her a bit. I took some of the sugar off what I felt the weaker side of me wanting to do.

And then… I mentioned my surgery, told her I was recovering, and sent her a pic I had taken of myself when I was in pre-op. Which sort of balanced the “needs” in the situation. And she showed some emotion about it, but I didn’t explain what had happened. I just compared the injured states… hers and mine. I left some mystery to it.

I wrapped up the conversation, pretty quickly. I told her to go to bed. And I said:

NASH: Say hello to me when you feel better

And the next day… she did. We chatted some more. I showed some care. But I lead the conversation so I wouldn’t be too much of a Knight in Shining Armor about her state. I suggested lunch when we felt better. She said, “Sure.”

A few days later:

NASH: There is a woman in the subway singing opera. She seems a little crazy… but she has a nice voice.
NASH: She reminds me of you.

On top of being a first rate talent on the keys, the Siren has a background in opera as well.

And I was doing something like a neg here. But I wasn’t really trying to game her. I was trying to game myself. To not go too sappy. To show some restraint.

And also to explore an opportunity to see her again. To see what was there. Perhaps rejection? “Sure” wasn’t a very enthusiastic agreement to my lunch offer. But I was curious to see what another dance with her might be like. I was curious to see if I might learn anything… if we saw each other again.


So we set up a lunch. For last Wednesday.

But then… Sundance was leaving town for the holiday. And he suggested lunch on that same day. So I cancelled my date with her, and agreed to lunch with my wing instead.

It felt good. It wasn’t “fake busy.” It was “real” busy. And I liked that I put my wing before this girl that went cold on me last summer. That was a good choice.

And I cancelled on her, but then offered dinner instead… and she agreed.


So last night, after several months, the Siren arrived on the steps of my front door. Yet again.

She smelled fantastic. She looked, charming. And graceful. She always does.

She was immediately complimentary about me. She talked about how I looked good… and maybe better. Her eyes sparkled.

And she was also fragile. She is a particularly delicate girl. Even fucking her, I feel like I have to be careful that I don’t hurt her. Her music is big, and fierce, and bold, like a storm. But the exterior, is extremely sensitive. The film of emotion around her, is like the shell of a bird’s egg. As she is still recovering from her car accident, she was even more so. It was her… same as ever, but further distilled.

We went to dinner. I helped her in and out of the car. I held her hand as we rode to the restaurant… I could tell it was on. It was.


If I allow myself to wonder what was going on in her mind this last summer when things between she and I fell apart, my guess is this:

When she went silent on me… she had too many options.

Too many options around work (so many people were offering her jobs, to teach, to play, to compose). And so many men with active interest in her (co-workers, other musicians, directors, randoms in her life). I think… she was careless with me. Because she didn’t need me. And she had better offers. And… because I got too sappy and AFC about it all. Not bad, not terrible, but enough to fall back in the pack.

Maybe I’m wrong. I’ll never know.

At dinner last night, I learned she’s had a hard few months. She talked about being lonely. She talked about some work set-backs. Maybe the initial round of offers fell apart… like one of my girl tornados might dissipate into disorder and disappointment.

And I think some of those work offers were connected with romantic interest… so perhaps… the whole thing came crashing down for her.

I don’t know. I listened about her life. And shared mine. But never asked for any kind of explanation about her and me. I never will ask.

When dinner ended… I told her to come back to my place for some tea. She agreed.

We arrived. I took her upstairs. She put on some Bach variations. We sipped a bit of tea. Cats swirled around us… they like her.

And I kissed her.

She asked if I missed her. I shrugged my shoulders. And stared at her. Nodded a bit. Kissed her again.

Then I made her hold the speaker, and I took my laptop, and I guided her down the hall to my room. She was a bit hesitant as I set the music down. She said, “I don’t want sex.” I said, “you’re okay,” and guided her back onto my bed.

It wasn’t that hot… not at first. I pulled her head and shoulders across my chest. I held her and we lay together. We talked. I kissed her some more.

And then… I felt her sink into it. The whole thing, she was into it. I mentioned above that when she is really into me, she becomes a little kid. Like an eight year old. I know that is a type of masculine homerun. If I am amazing, and make her feel safe, she age regresses. That is me, at my best. And she was doing it, last night. I was doing it. In my bed. It was all so familiar.

For my part… I had fucked Miss Thick the day before. I wasn’t particularly horny, or turned on at all. Earlier in the night, I had assumed I would fuck her. Not out of pent up sexual need, but for the opportunity to have that kind of dance with her. As she said “no” to sex as I lay her down on my bed, and then… the lack of spark in our first few moments laying down together… my mood had shifted.

Fucking her wasn’t a priority.

And I felt an instinct of self preservation. Along with a mix of curiosity. And some confidence. I felt the romance, but I wasn’t leaping back into it… like a fool.

And she told a lot of stories about our previous time together. And about how she would look at me while I was sleeping, and say to herself, “I am yours.”

And some of that felt like bait. The true work of a Siren, her sweet song, leading me into the rocks… again. I know she and I know true passion together. And I was flattered. But it was so much sugar. I read it as such.

And then… I felt her get hot. And I was a little more forceful. And I could see she was turned on. I told her so. I felt her flame up even more. I have made this girl dripping wet, so many times… soaked to her knees… I could see it in her eyes again, last night.

And then… I kicked her out.

It was easy, and sweet, and gentle. But I kicked her out. Got her on her feet. Held her, kissed her some more. Helped her with her coat. Made her call herself a car. Walked her out onto the sidewalk. Kissed her again. And she drove off… looking back at me. Waving.

I had a beer and some smoke and fell asleep on the coach. It was great. It was what I wanted.


I don’t know if we’ll see each other again. I feel good having had a chance to write another chapter in her and my story. An interesting chapter. Another scene, to rinse away the sting of the way we ended the previous run.

Perhaps I’ll fuck her again. I don’t know.


The big deal for me… is that I never asked her to explain herself, back in June, when I felt her pulling away. I was never even close. I knew I wasn’t “doing well,” but I didn’t need a lot of words about it. The truth was the truth.

I feel great about that. It is a weird milestone, but it is a milestone.

And I am glad I didn’t ask her to explain herself last night. I wasn’t even tempted. All of that “needing the words” seems childish to me. That’s not the man I am now. I don’t think that is how it works at the upper levels.

What would she even say? Would I believe her? Why not just read between the lines? We have been communicating… rather clearly… all along.

There was some measure of education and learning in my experience with her.

And for that… I am proud.

They talk about “purplepill” guys, that use a bit of game to get a girlfriend… and then slip into mostly bluepilled lifestyles. That’s not me.

I have fallen in love a couple times via this daygame thing. And had LTRs that really mattered to me. That spun me. That fascinated me. That made me wonder…

This is one of those stories.

Viva daygame. And happy Christmas, boys.