It is my last morning in Tokyo. I am a little amazed about last night. We woke up early this morning. She was teaching a class at 8:30 on the other side of the city. It was a beautiful, and at least somewhat unexpected night.
I will write some more later about the last week here, but it was not an easy time for me. There was a lot of what I am tempted to call “disappointment.” A double-barreled kick in the balls on Thursday, unmet expectation on Friday night, and then again Saturday night, and then once more Sunday morning… I was frustrated, as my last week was not yielding the fruit I had hoped to harvest. Not any fruit at all, for that matter.
Based on the opportunities I had set up for myself, even if I just “rolled the dice” on those final days, I should have had a win. But I didn’t. It was a high-quality problem, but I didn’t expect the culmination of my trip to feel like any kind of problem at all. More on all that later.
And then it was Sunday, my last full day of a 40 day trip to Tokyo, in my personal paradise of beautiful, charming women. And I was beat up from that very long week, absolutely packed with the hard work of a daygamer, brimming with stories and little adventures, but very little skin to skin contact. And no P in the V.
I’d had three dates the day before (Friday), but not so much as a makeout. I had three more dates on Saturday. Nothing. It felt as if Baby Jesus was on cruelty bender, playing “kick the dog” with me no matter how hard I tried. The wicked daygamer, cast out of heaven.
As I awoke on Sunday, my plan was to secure a date for my last night. I had had a short, but excellent little daygame session on Saturday between all those dates. All I wanted was an idate, and I got it, but I also closed a cute girl with a really elegant walk late in the afternoon.
She was very excited about the stop, and we had a soft agreement to a date for Sunday night. Which was good, because despite all my efforts, I did not have a date lined up for my last night… I felt almost embarrassed about it. I had a warm lead from Friday’s daygame from a girl visiting from China. She was quite hot, good initial pings via WeChat, and I had hoped to set something up with her… but that lead had gone silent. I think I was overselling it.
I woke up Sunday around 10 AM, and before my eyes were even completely open and clear, I messaged “the elegant walk” girl from the day before. We’d already pinged each other, and she seemed ripe:
NASH: Ummm, such a pretty day.
NASH: Come have dinner with me tonight.
She was so into the pickup the day before, and so quick to say yes to the idea of a date, I felt pretty confident. Even if it turned out to be a simple, mild date, I would have felt good about wrapping up my trip that way… however:
ELEGANT WALK: I thought I have nothing tonight, but I have a plan to have dinner with my friends…
ELEGANT WALK: I hope we can meet again =)
Rrrrrrrrr. Fucking A.
This was becoming the flavor of the end of my trip. Lots of little let-downs.
I had even tried to double-book (multiple dinner offers out to various girls), including yet another little girl, a 20 year old I had dated on Friday. She also messaged to say she wasn’t going to be available. It was my last night, and I was left with nothing. Amazing.
Why did my trip have to end this way? So many warm situations, so many little heartbreaks. The rug pulled out from under my otherwise stable feet again and again. My volume was unbelievable. I’ll do my stats later, but this was an epic trip in terms of work ethic. And yet, the last week was nothing but missed shots. My aim felt pretty solid… it was like the target kept moving on me.
Here I was…. last night in Tokyo. No date.
I started to feel superstitious, thinking the Universe was trying to teach something. Sometimes I think hippie shit like that when I can’t explain why I’m so powerless to make things happen for myself. Perhaps this was some kind of cryptic and cosmic lesson? Maybe my own greed was part of why things were not working for me? I had certainly been indulgent.
Maybe I should leave well enough alone? Perhaps I should just take the night off, go to the pool? Have dinner alone… maybe a nice yakitori place? Go to bed early, watch some HBO on my laptop via my VPN. Set the pace for a more “reasonable” lifestyle when I get home, get started on that now, show respect for my health and try to find some balance, as I have been completely over-focused on game for the last 30+ days of this trip.
But that’s not what I did. Almost against my better judgment, I was not going to give myself a day off.
I had lunch and took some deep breaths. I started to feel less disappointed. Good… fuck feeling disappointed. I was relaxing into my situation. I didn’t need to wring my hands about this last night. I am happy to hunt, and this is not a grind. It really is not. I can accept the facts before me, but I can also evaluate my options.
What can I do from here?
I did what I am increasingly convinced is the best thing about daygame for me… I took my frustration, and my lack of results, and I put that into another daygame session. This is an extremely powerful thing for me right now. I can’t recommend it enough.
Yes we can meet girls, date, makeout and get laid via daygame. Yes.
But almost more important to me right now, we can take our rejections, our cancelled dates, our refused kisses, our LMR, our self doubts, and our own personal AFC history, all that, and pour it into
hunting girls our self development.
This is so fucking healthy. I really believe that.
I want to have balance in my life. And yet daygame has been a place for me to burn off steam, much like skateboarding was for me when I was younger.
For me, this practice of taking any frustration with the girls (or the lack of girls) in my life, and channeling it onto the sidewalk is at the core of the freedom that game has to offer.
That “judo” move, that “lemons into lemonade,” is the essential bit of my Girl Tornado theory. I realized that on this trip. That “using force against itself” is the essence of being “non-needy” in my game right now.
When I feel at all needy, I do daygame. Talking to girlsis fun, so that alone can shake me out of neediness. But talking to girls also gets you more girls. That’s just simple math.
So a daygame is like concentrated non-neediness. Working to change your state in the near terms and your long-term position as well.
I don’t stew on my failure or lack of pussy. I go out, I work my craft, and I enjoy the hunt. I give girls good experiences. And I almost always end up having a good experience myself. I am transformed. Girls can see it… and they like it.
This is alchemy… turning not just the frustration, but myself, into “gold.” Hammering it out on the streets, and against the anvil of my inner game. This was really fucking landing for me as I worked the streets one last Sunday in Tokyo.
Fuck yeah. Viva daygame. Hunt, beast. Because you love it.
And I do.
All this was going thru my head as I started my approaches for the day. There was very little gas left in the tank, but I was committed. I was exhausted — this trip has really stretched me, emotionally and physically — bit I was going to try.
So I promised myself 15 more approaches. Just 15 more, Nash. And then… a quiet dinner and that movie at home. That would be fine.
And my first approach started with what I thought was an IOI. I got after her and she rewarded me with a solid blowout. Ha! My state climbed a bit. I clapped my hands.
And the next set was a very charming girl, maybe 30, but lovely, and she hooked hard. Soft feminine glow. She had plans for the afternoon and the evening, so she wouldn’t do. I told her to hold my hand. Her hand was soft like powder. I was enchanted. I suddenly had a hunch she was married, so I asked and she said, through broken English, that she was engaged. Oh, an engaged woman charmed by a deplorable cad. I love it.
With that approach in the books, I knew it would be a solid day. And it was. 15 approaches came and went, and I went further. 29 approaches before it was over… including about 15 blowouts, ranging from sweet and gentle to harsh and icy. Having claimed my title as the Worlds Best Blowout Artist (© Nash, 2017), all those blowouts only made me stronger.
I was in and out of Starbucks all day. It was near freezing, and I was using hot tea to keep my hands warm. The crew there likes me, and we have had a funny relationship as I come in so many times per day, like my tea a particular way, and so often bring insta-dates there — seven or eight in two weeks’ time. That crew boosts my state, as we’re on such good terms.
Come with me
To the sea
The sea of love
As I left that Starbucks, I was crooning down the sidewalk, singing my best version, an American voice in a foreign land, adding a lothario’s wink to the songs intent. Come with me, indeed.
My state was now in full form. I was the street. I was the pickup. And then I got the IOI that mattered.
She was a plain looking girl in many ways, but there was a sparkle to her as we locked eyes. Dressed warm, like everyone else, wrapped in a coat, with a big scarf and short hair. A long denim skirt. Two different bags over her shoulder. And she was girly.
And she was the 29th girl of the day.
29 girls, man. Yeah.
As I raked the crowd with my eyes, I got what Steve Jabba would call a “very strong IOI.” I often avoid girls that I make eye contact with as I think it can ramp up their defenses, but in this case, this felt very on. I owe several good approaches to Steve’s theories about IOIs. I have studied him. You can hear more in his video series and in the book that Krauser produced, Primal Seduction. I have both.
I doubled back around to stop her, and with the new stop I’m doing, she was already smiling before I said a word. My stops got much better on this trip. I am doing a back-pedalling kind of stop now, with lots of eye contact before I say a word. It is working.
She claimed not to speak English, and it is true… she speaks very little English. But the vibe was right. I stressed that she and I had connected with our eyes, and danced with her a bit, and then offered to take her for coffee. She was a quick and easy yes. Cool. I had a fresh cup of tea in my hands already, but I dragged her back to Starbucks, the crew smiled at me as I bought her a soy latte, and we walked upstairs to find a seat.
On the three short blocks to Starbucks, I learned she is a yoga instructor. Visions of a healthy, flexible body went through my head. She has perfect posture. Lovely little girl.
She is 26.
It was a mild and comfortable date, nothing like the makeout with the 20 yr old from Wednesday. We did 90% of the date via the Google Translate app. I showed her my stickers, gave her two of them, showed her some more artwork of mine on Facebook. After about 15 minutes, I started to talk about how tonight was my last night. About how my plan had been to go to a yakitori place. I asked if she was hungry and she gave me cute, girly confirmation. I asked if she wanted to join me, and she was a yes again.
Could it be??
After this painful, workhorse of a week?
Was this going to be…???
Lean back, man. Go to dinner. Enjoy it. You got your date, same day, brand new girl. Great way to end the trip, right here. Go enjoy some food and a drink. Who cares what happens after that.
We had to go back to some lockers in Harajuku to get my bag, with my computer in it. She was fine with that. I made a little bit of small-talk by saying things occasionally via the Google app, and by saying somethings in English, which I was certain she did not understand.
I wanted things to be smooth, so I pushed us into a cab, avoiding trains and a bit of a walk. We are dropped off and find the spot I was looking for (a place I had explored weeks ago when I was too sick to approach) and there was no trouble getting a couple of seats at the counter, with a view of the cook doing the yakitori thing. Another great Japanese experience.
And more excellent food. She served me. Like several other girls on this trip. And she kept an eye on my drink, and when it got low, she would flag the server and get me another. She had two drinks as well. Her face took on a pink tint, and she was relaxing somewhat. She never looked nervous, but she was something like polite and formal, especially at first. I felt her soften up. She already liked me, but now she was starting to enjoy me.
I did not talk sex on this date. I didn’t ask if she was a virgin or when she first had sex or if she thinks she is a good kisser.
I did touch her. I had my hand on her back, like I did with just about every date on this trip. I used the backstory of our initial eye contact to stare into her eyes a lot. I would reward her lavishly for staring back. She was not overtly sexual with me, but was doing her best to flutter her eyelashes and give me some energy via those black, shiney eyes. I reached into her lap and held her hand.
Was this going to be…??? Really?
Post dinner, moment of truth. I told her I was too full for desert, and she agreed. I asked if she wanted to come back to my house — and as she confirmed what I was saying by reading the translation off my phone there was a brief hesitation. And then I said, “…to listen to music,” and I heard the soft confirmation in her voice. And to look at my art. And she was sold. And later, when we’re not so full, to have some gelato. Did she like gelato? Yes, she loves gelato.
Cab back to my house. It stopped in the same place as the night I had sex with The Idol, same cab fare, from different restaurants but almost the exact same part of town.
Is this going to happen??
Upstairs, inside. She was the fifth girl I got back to my place this trip, 200 sq ft of very comfortable, modern Tokyo apartment. She was calm and happy.
We both used the little bathroom. We looked at the street art stickers I’d accumulated to add to my collection back home. We sat on the bed and I flipped through my sketchbook… much of which is naked models from drawing sessions.
And I kissed her.
She pulled her arms up near her neck, across her chest, but the look in her eyes was calm, simple, and pretty, like she was the rest of the date. She wasn’t really kissing back, but wasn’t going anywhere either. I started to suck on her neck and she produced those familiar sounds I love to hear.
I pushed her back onto the bed, and did that on/off type of escalation I like to do, a little faster than normal, as she seemed into it. When I pulled her long sweater out from under her denim skirt, it felt pretty on.
Fully making out. As I dragged her around the bed, moving her body around and into positions I wanted her in, her skirt came up as I folded her legs back. What I thought were tights, were thigh-high socks, and I caught a flash of panties and soft, creamy thighs. Ummmmm.
I’m going fuck this girl, I thought.
And I did. +1 Tokyo.
Part of me could not believe it. I was so tired. I wasn’t entirely sure this was real… maybe it was another dream of wishing and working and wanting for a moment like this one. I had laid in this same bed, having fantasies of this kind of entanglement so many times in the last 39 nights. I’d had four other girls in those same positions. I’d fucked two of them. I could not rule out the possibility that I was delirious or confused.
But it was true. It is true.
I did everything I wanted to do to that pretty girl. I didn’t fuck her ass, out of sheer laziness, but I feel certain that was on the table. After I’d licked and chomped on every part of her, I presented my limp cock to her, and told her to suck it.
Great blow job.
One interesting thing about this girl, was that we know she was not expecting to fuck. Not me, anyway. This was not a date… I pulled this girl off the sidewalk a couple hours earlier. But as I undressed her, she was looking very sexy. Those thigh-high socks. Fancy bra and panties, matching and black. In addition to the bra, she wore what looked like a tank top, but cut beneath her boobs. It was a boobless tank top. I’ve never seen anything like that before.
I took all her clothes off excep that thing, as it wasn’t in the way, and was sexy as it framed her small boobs and her tiny pink nipples. She guarded those boobs constantly. I had the pleasure of having to pin her arms back each time I wanted some, fighting against some yoga-girl strength. She would moan each time I succeeded. The rest of her body was unguarded. Including her tasty little ass.
She had a soft, butter-smooth body without a mark or a blemish. Not overly lean or wiry like many American yoga girls, she was soft like fresh bread and smooth like buttermilk. Delicious from head to toe, I know, because I tasted it all.
She made all the noises I’ve ever heard in Japanese porn, including the classic “kimochi!”
Afterwards I collapsed next to her. A few minutes later I got up, took the condom off, put on some more music and crawled back into bed and held her, enjoying her smell and the post-sex bliss.
I felt myself slipping into sleep. I escaped her and her warmth and took the gelato from the freezer. And we laid in bed, her cuddled under the blanket, and I spoon-fed her some desert. I was streaming some Miguel from my Bluetooth speaker and we didn’t talk. We shared bites of gelato between us. I started to bounce a little to the beat, and we laid there, washing down the sex with desert, moving together to the slow RnB rhythm as we laid side by side in our pile of smiles and blankets.
The scene had a very teenager vibe to it. This grown man was happy.
I said, “Kyo, wa… Sunday?” She said, yes. I said, “Nice Sunday!” and smiled. She laughed. Yeah, “nice Sunday!,” she said.
We got out the phone to translate some more, confirmed she had missed the train (which she never even asked about), and I told her that if she wanted to, she should stay the night. I cleaned up our mess of clothes and condom wrapper and street art and empty gelato containers. I brought her an extra blanket. And we curled up and slept.
She would touch me, and wake me up, and snuggle. And I’d put her hand on my cock or my hand on her ass. I’d pull her head to mine and kiss her. Another fantastic night. Very much like The Idol, not quite as animated, which made it slower, not as exciting but even softer. She felt like a girlfriend right away.
We were up at 6 AM to the blare of her alarm. A little over 5 hours of that half-sleep I always get with a new lover. She was cute, and wide-eyed, and bubbly. We put her in the shower. I had a toothbrush for her. When she was out, I jumped in. I poked my head out to get her to put a little toothpaste on my brush, and I caught her half-dressed in the long socks, panties, the bra and that tanktop thing. She was wonderful to look at.
I walked her to the train and she asked me for some contact info, we hadn’t done that yet. At the train I stood there, and she stopped and turned around three different times as she walked away to wave goodbye and smile. Adorable.
Ahhh, I needed that. As in, I was kind of “needy” for that. Not with her, but with myself. With life. Needy with the end of my trip. But it happened. And it was good.
What had been a solid trip had turned into hard lessons in the last few days. I know same day sex is possible, and I was doing all I could to get there, but I had dropped my expectations in the final hours. I was working my mind toward the idea that I had to learn from the lack of sweetness in the final Tokyo moments.
I love the way this trip wrapped up.
I love the lay, and the experience of being with that girl. But I also love the “movie ending.” A final-moment SDL to punctuate the drama of it all. As I woke up with her this morning, I was still doublechecking to see if I was in a lucid dream.
As I look back now, I am stoked at the third lay. Of course. The hyena is rather satisfied, if not at the overall volume of sex, at least at the stats. It says something about my game, I feel good about that.
I’m also looking at how a lay can make or break my own self-respect. And how that’s not the man I want to be.
The term we point to is “internally validated.” I had a public goal of two lays on this trip, but a secret goal of three. And I hit it. But internal validation is the more worthy goal. The part of me that is truly internally validated comes from when I look at the work I did on this trip.
Not the “grind,” that’s not what I mean, but my willingness to put in the work and dedication to understand myself and women. It’s not the number of approaches (even as vital as volume is to this education), it’s the discipline. It’s not just throwing myself against a wall of rejections when I would hit a run of blowouts on the street, it was the ease at which I could operate in the face of those moments. And it wasn’t about how hard I struggled (last summer comes to mind, but even the last week of this trip), it was about a willingness to try to relax into this path as man. And to be open to hearing were I need to grow.
I am looking at you, Yohami, when I say that. Thank you.
And then there was this:
NASH: When I pull off the street for the first time, I’ll msg you to thank you. I’ll happen soon. I know it. I can’t wait to write that message.
STEALTH: I’ll look forward to your message
Okay, Stealth. I thank you again for opening my eyes. For what you said, and the friendly push in your voice as you said it. I won’t post this story until I can get off the plane and message you first. Thank you, again. I’m sure I’ll think of you some more as I continue my adventures. Thanks, man.
And even with any last bit of cold-sober evaluation, about how I allow my internal peace to rise or fall based on how long it’s been since I had my cock between some lovely girls thighs…
It was awesome to fuck that girl. Delicious at every level. That may not be the measure of who I am as a man, but it was a very nice little reward for not giving up. For that last fucking approach that turned around the end of my trip.
YOGA GIRL: Nash :)
YOGA GIRL: you were very gentleman and lovery
YOGA GIRL: last night was a very good time
She is a happy girl. She left her earrings in my apartment. I found them, and a hair tie, as I checked out this morning. I told her I’ll mail them to her. Which will be a fun way to connect with her as I get home.
And… I love how I can eat a girl’s ass at night and have the reputation of a “gentleman” in the morning. That’s the man I want to be.