A natural history The Seduction Journals of James Marshall [1 ed.]

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A Natural History The Seduction Journals of James Marshall

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Dedicated to the Naturals, Jon, Shultz and the women who taught us

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Introduction This book is a collection of journal entries written from 2006 to 2008. Initially many of them were published on a now defunct men’s seduction forum. Also included are entries from my private journals, travel stories and more recent theoretical notes. This period was formative for me as a seducer, and indeed as a young man trying to prove his worth, his abilities and to work out who the fuck he was. Being a man in your early twenties is a very confusing time. Most likely, you have no money, no vocation, you haven’t made your mark on the world and you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with your life. Most men at this age have no idea how to relate to women or any real idea how they might think, act or feel, which cruelly coincides with a peak in their, admittedly ongoing, desire to have sex with them. Women seem to work out about men, sex, and relationships much earlier in life, and soon realize that men their own age are reactive near morons a feather’s stroke from explosive ejaculation, and so often seek and are sought out by older guys. Or they’re after the few high status bartenders, surfers, musicians, djs, and players their own age who’ve wondrously monopolized all the sexiest females (and seem oblivious to damned inequity of it all!). For the average looking, the shy, the nice and the lower status men, the prospects are frustratingly bleak. The average man in his 20’s, unless he is unusually good looking, confident or well connected, tends to float between extended periods of frustratingly involuntary celibacy into unsatisfactory relationships with the first girl in the longest while that has let him fuck her. He cycles through that a few times over the decade, perhaps drunkenly stumbling into the odd one night stand along the way (however on earth did he pull that one off?), and then marries someone somewhere in the range from pretty ok to soulshittingly awful. His life pretty much ends there, buried under child rearing, mindless, soulless, artless work and an increasingly fat and nagging wife who eventually leaves him taking the house, perhaps the kids, and never the mortgage. IV

Of course there are many exceptions to this bleak prophecy. You may luck upon the perfect girl at work drinks during your first internship and have a soul satisfying life together… although chances are an apathetic approach of waiting and hoping is almost guaranteed to ruin your life. My situation wasn’t quite that dire back when I started, although I had an early sense that this destiny might await me if I didn’t do something extraordinary to prevent it. I was a real dork growing up: big nosed, skinny, played the flute and read medieval history. I was beaten by bullies, teased by the cool girls and had no male role model or concept of what a man was supposed to be. I was raised in a poor household, with just my mother and brother. From a pretty shit childhood and adolescence I had some lucky breaks mixed with a stubborn refusal to be anything other than quirky and outspoken. I went on student exchange to America when I was sixteen, where because I had an Australian accent I was by default cool and so lost my virginity. I got into theatre and music and made a lot of female friends. I became a hippy muso and bumbled along having pretty and sometimes really sexy girlfriends by being awkwardly charming and going to lots of plays and starting a band. I built the foundations for being really good with girls through my lifestyle - learning how to express myself, stand out, be creative, and speak to women’s emotions. Later, on my journeys to ashrams in India and whilst training kung fu at the Shaolin temple, through meditation and martial arts I learned how to have presence, fierceness of intent, decisiveness, grace and internal control. I’d always wanted to be good with women and in my own way I was becoming good at grabbing the opportunities that drifted into my social scene. I knew however that I was severely limited: to a certain social clique, to using my band to meet girls… and this feeling that I was never going to have anything other than a pretty hippy girlfriend gnawed at me relentlessly. So it was that when I was 26, coming out of a long-term relationship and on a conflicted zigzag path back to Shaolin temple, I got embroiled in a full-blown obsession with seduction! V

Note that I say here seduction rather than women. Transitioning from the austerity and discipline of years as a proto-monk towards a not so distant time of full-blown, rampant hedonism, I entered the “Seduction Community”. This was an online men’s support network for self-confessed beta males who shared tips and theories on getting laid and trumping the status quo of alpha dominance. The “Melbourne Lair” members met at a community centre over pizza and swapped tales, bickered over competing theories and commiserated over failures. After sifting briefly through the pseudo-science bullshit that constituted most of the early formalized seduction methods, I settled into daily trial and error, going out almost every day and most nights to bowl up to women who were clearly out of my league. I eventually joined forces with three of the best and most eccentric pick up artists I have met to this day: Flowz, Wolf and Z. The Rasta, the club king and the introspective DJ. These three lone wolf smooth operators exemplified most of the many sides of those who would became known as “Naturals” - men who instinctually get it. I became the 4th missing link and together we shirked all other responsibilities and pursuits, blending our styles and knowledge and becoming a rat pack for the new millennium that cut a swath of sexual mayhem through naughties Melbourne and then on through the world… Picking up women become an endless addiction, with each new level of difficulty spurring me to work harder, smarter or dirtier. I wanted the best, hottest, proudest, most coveted women around, although not essentially for the sex, which was the sick part. I liked getting laid but there was certainly more than one occasion when I found myself cock deep in a club siren, thinking about the text strategy I would use on the next girl I was working on. I also remember popping my latest conquest in a cab and rushing inside to type out the episode, hurriedly laying down the quotes and crafting my “Field Reports”, and publishing them within the hour. The approval of a largely anonymous online group of lonely men, was somehow of more importance than basking in the personal afterglow of a night with most men’s fantasy woman. This obsession with pick up at the expense of all else was by no means healthy but it was necessary for me at the time.

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It was about women and sex but it was much more than that alone. It was about proving myself, breaking the limits of what I was supposed to be happy with. I wanted to exist in the realm of the rock star! A super rich, kingpin, playboy, player, with barely a dollar and no fame. I wanted endless choice, variety and adventure. I wanted to be the best and have everybody know it. I wanted not just to get inside the pants of the uber hotties but to crawl inside their minds and hearts as well, to make them obsessed with me. To haunt them throughout their lives, as something exceptional. A white whale if you will… All this was about confronting fears and self-doubt. Gratifying while at the same time attacking my ego. It was about understanding my actual potential as a man, and eventually, about letting go of it all and falling stupidly in love. For guys who get into this world, it would be hypocritical of me to suggest you should temper your enthusiasm and not go as far as I did. But I would say that once you’ve saturated yourself in this for as long as you need, get out and do other things again. When Betty dumped me she said, “When we got together, you were this crazy interesting guy, playing music, doing kung fu, had so much depth... Since you got into pick up - and you know I don’t judge it - you’ve become boring. It’s all you do, all you talk about, so... I’m out.” It was the slap in the face I needed and around that time I started to try to find some balance and to reconnect with the things that had made me attractive in the first place. This led me on the path to meet Olya, get serious about my career, get back into kung fu and curb all the late nights, and (most of) the drugs. Although I’ve had many far wilder, careering and monumentally impressive seductions since these years, I’ve not written a story about any of them since the last one in this book. I probably should, but the desire to record and gloat has passed as waking next to a model or a couple of ballet dancers has long since become a standard fixture in my life. These days I’m a successful entrepreneur who travels nine months a year to wherever I feel like, having affairs with all your top ten’s, and often grappling (only a little smugly) with questions like: “What country should I go to and what should I do there and should I stop by St Petersburg to see Nastya on the way”. VII

I’m living the international playboy lifestyle these days and so, have much less to prove. That insatiable questing to nail the next girl and then the next insists a little less strenuously. These days I'm more interested in long erotic mornings with the one that I'm with. Although I teach seduction for a living now, I spend the rest of my time traveling, learning tango, still rocking kung fu, studying psychedelic shamanism in the Amazon, reading dense literature, going on absurd adventures with my friends and fully appreciating the relationships in my life. Seduction is in my opinion a skill that a man must learn, or he will be alone a lot and end up spending miserable years or decades with the wrong woman. The idea that “The One” will appear some once upon a day like any other… and make everything alright is an apathetic excuse to have no balls and to not look critically at the areas of your personality and lifestyle that need to change. Or you can just give up and get together with that girl in your office - who is pretty bloody certainly not The One but just the one that you could get! Learning to walk up to a stranger and make a good impression is a skill that means you will not shackle up with Enid from accounts at the water cooler, but will only end up with the woman of your dreams. This book is the story of how I did just that. In this book you find a pretty comprehensive record of my journey from insecurity-clad hippy opportunist to consistently successful ladies’ man. For the prospective Casanova you should find this more than useful, to watch the arc of learning I went through. Most of my clients find it hard to believe I was ever shit with girls, or had spectacular failures and even when I tell them otherwise I can see that they harbour ongoing suspicions that I was born cool and popular, with my silver spoon in their mouths... Over the course of these journals you’ll see that not only did I make constant blunders in between my hard-won successes, fucking up cake walk seductions with newbie errors but that I was also subject to hounding self-doubts, existential crises and bouts of dangerous jealousy and sentimentality. Men get into seduction to fuck hot girls and avoid feeling bad about themselves. The truth is that when you delve into this deep enough, you inevitably have to face all your fears, your ego, the limits of your knowledge VIII

and abilities, and above all, you have to reveal yourself to women. If you’re not more than brutally honest with yourself this can lead to some kind of breakdown into neurotic almost schizophrenia as your “Pick Up Artist” façade crumbles before the reality of an actual woman. I’ve seen it, and maybe been there… But it’s not much of a risk compared to the chance to break through, to evolve and to become a mature man worthy of the women he wants. What starts out as fairly clinical set of soulless field notes on the science of seduction gradually becomes a reflection on my internal growth, my understanding of women’s true desires and nature, and eventually on the complexities and beautiful madness of being in love. I start with the arrogance of conquest and find my ego, machismo and beliefs shattered over and over until I truly come to a point of respecting and adoring women rather than just wanting to capture them. At the same time I come to peace with who I am and finally start to really love myself. Reading back on these entries, particularly the early ones, I’m wryly amused by how naïve I was and how much effort I put into getting some often very average girls into bed (then writing in excruciating detail about how I managed to or not.) You'll notice that as I get better and the results start piling up, I go into less detail about exactly what I said to open and talk more about the vibe, my intent, the meta-behavioural patterns. These days there are countless more eloquent and daring pickups and interactions I could quote from but the value of these early writings is in seeing how my skills exponentially improve, along with my mindset. From conquering fear, verbal efficacy, harem management, physical escalation, to handling fuck ups and flaky girls, it’s all in here. You’ll see how I go from fumbling dates with plain Janes to eventually getting a new beauty into bed every week and then dating 5 exquisite women at the same time before finding someone very unusual that smashed me back to square one. I should also note that there is quite a lot of drug taking in these stories. After being an extremely pure Buddhist practitioner from age nineteen to twenty six, I certainly swung the other way! These two years were definitely my party years, where I indulged in every damned excess I could figure out how to make available. Even so, when I went IX

over the stats of the over fifty women I slept with in those two years, around 80% were seduced without drugs or excessive alcohol being involved. I don’t want to endorse drug use, certainly not as something to do to get girls but that’s the way it was for us back then. I was out every night, playing in a touring acid funk band and on a mission of hedonistic grandeur. So I’ve kept it in there, LSD and all. I've had friends who have died from drugs (well usually from falling or jumping off things while on drugs, seriously, you cannot fly!), others who have wasted years of their lives on them, and then mostly - like my own experience - I know many people who’ve dabbled for a couple of years, or indulged occasionally, had fun and got out without too much of an issue. I hope no one gets the impression that without this kind of lifestyle you can't be a proficient ladies man. These days I'm more on the monk side of things again. I don't play in a band anymore or go out much except when teaching, but my results just keep getting better as I further mature into my masculine essence and mission. There’s a standard Hollywood storyline which always pissed me off. Freewheeling bad boy, lives by his own rules, seductive, charismatic and sleeps around without a care. Then in the end sees the error of his boyish ways and gets married to the one. Ironically that’s exactly what I do. On acid of course. You’ll see, it’s a fun ride…

James Marshall. Amazon jungle, Peru. April 2015.

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Part 1 – Genesis of a ladies man

Page 1

Part 2 – The Naturals

Page 98

Part 3 – Sex Pentangle

Page 163

Part 4 – Journey to the East

Page 244

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Part 1. Genesis of a Ladies man

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Jimmy Taranto back stage

“OK James, we need you hard now.” These were the words I’d been dreading and anticipating for weeks. Standing in the women’s toilets of a gritty rocker bar, wearing black vinyl pants and a purple velvet shirt, this was finally real. I was playing Jimmy Taranto, narcissistic rock star, banging a groupie back stage in the opening shot of The Band; Australia’s first ever major feminist erotica feature. I’d rocked up to “work” early Monday morning where I was immediately accosted by a reporter from the Age, asking me “How do you feel, knowing that you will be having sex with that girl (pointing to Phoenix in the make up chair) today?” “I feel pretty good about it actually,” I replied. And I did. I was in the best shape of my life, solarium tan, waxed eyebrows, shaved nuts and ready to fuck. Still, with the moment finally upon me my bravado was faltering. We squashed into the grotty bathroom and I exhaled deeply. “Are you nervous Phoenix?” “No silly. Is this your first hard-core scene for the movie?” “It’s my first hard-core scene ever” “Oh sweety, I’ll look after you” Supporting Phoenix with one hand propped up on a bench, I took a deep breath and willed the blood to rush to my pants. The camera crew were squeezed into a toilet cubicle waiting expectantly, with Anna the busty director smiling encouragingly with her matronly deviance. I looked down at my cock which was not cooperating as directed. “Umm, it’s not really working.” “So what do you need to do?” “The problem is I don’t have any contact with Phoenix at the hips…” 2

Wasn’t there supposed to be fluffers for this kind of things? This is why they should keep porn out of the hands of the feminists and back with the misogynists where it belongs, I thought with irritation. I said to Phoenix, “Ahh, do you mind if I feel you up?” “Sure, no problem,” she said without hesitation. While she chatted to the make up girl, getting a last brush of blusher, I fingered her and squeezed her tight butt until I was hard. “Ok, I’m ready”. Whilst trying to keep Jimmy Taranto in mind, my arrogant shallow rocker character, slamming an anonymous groupie with no regard, I tried to curl a slight snarl of indifferent contempt and go at it. I lift Phoenix who is tiny with a perfect petite figure, trashy make up and big blonde mane looking like a suburban school girl tart, kiss her, and touch her up. “Ok James ve need you to move ze labia aside a little furzer”, says Sanna the German cinematographer. I put her down spin her around and bend her over the sink, whack on a condom, pull her g string aside and start pounding her. “CUT!” Anna yells. “That was fun!” Phoenix giggled. We go through the same thing again, from different angles. I grab her hair and yank her head back getting a little creative as I relax, with the stress of actually getting an erection gone. On the third and final take in another misguided girl power move they had planned on faking my cum shot with a syringe full of mayonnaise and vinegar. “Look Anna, do you really want this faked, or would you like me to do a real one” “Oh, well that would be great. Phoenix, is that ok?” “Sure, it’s only come, so long as you clean me up after,” she said with a giggle. “Now James ven you are ready to come, I need you to blow air on my face several strokes before, so I can adjust the shot as I vill not be able to see you srough ze viewfinder.” 3

Banging the shit out of Phoenix about to bust, I turn and puff gently at Sanna’s cheek, then pull out, frantically trying to get the condom off, yanking it off just in time to deliver a theatrically brilliant money shot all over Phoenix’s tiny bronze arse. I stumbled off shot, panting for breath into an empty cubicle and looked back at her bent over covered in my jizz with the camera still rolling as she pulls a Polaroid camera out of her bag and takes a photo of her butt to put in her groupie scrapbook. In the mirror I can see the crew crammed into the adjacent cubicle and myself slumped spent against the door. I smiled in bemusement and thought, “How did it come to this?’

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Two years earlier…

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Henan Province, China 2004 The cicadas sang incessantly through the dry heat as my bus drove off in a cloud of dust. I sat dejected by the road, while yapping Chinese tourists filed past me into the Buddhist temple I’d been dropped at. It wasn’t Shaolin temple, I had no idea where I was and it seemed I’d forgotten all my language in the couple of years I’d been away. All the fire and passion for travel had been sucked out of me in the previous few days, with the heavy weight of guilt at having cheated on my girlfriend Zahra wearing me down. I didn’t want to go to Shaolin, I didn’t want to face the spitting jostling masses and the ubiquitous statement of “Meiyou!” (don’t have, can’t do, don’t wanna, etc.) to every request for a train ticket/dumplings at a dumpling restaurant/the time of day… I hadn’t eaten all day, I couldn’t read a menu. I just wanted to go home, admit my sins and beg for forgiveness in her arms. On arriving in Beijing a few days previously I immediately called the girls I’d been secretly chatting to on the internet and ran around in a jetlagged haze, coming down with a fever from days without sleep, going on furtive dates. I fucked a tiny corporate girl and then sped down to Tianjin where I met Tracy, a yoga teacher (Chinese girls always chose a western name to tell foreigners, knowing we can’t pronounce theirs. For some reason one in three choose the name Coco). She was tall and robust and was fairly pretty except when she smiled, when she was a little bit ugly. Moving to Beijing from the western frontier she studied international trade and began working for a large company. Somewhere she came across a book on yoga and began to teach herself. Eventually she quit her job and found a master, committing her service to her and studying 8 hours a day. In the west this would be impressive, in China it’s unthinkable. Chinese urban youth couldn’t give a Confucian fuck about health or spirituality. They are generally a seething mass of the worst parts of western consumerism, refined into its most unashamed soulless horror and multiplied by a billion. “My friends say I am like child. I want simple life with health and calm mind. I don’t want big house, fashion, make-up” She was delighted to find I was a vegetarian. I was the only other one she had ever met. 6

We wandered the strange ex-pat bars listening to a Filipino covers band play ABBA, dressed in yellow lycra, fronted by a pudgy transvestite. She took me back to the hotel and we fooled around on the bed. “James, no… you want to rape me?” she said in sweet token protest and hilariously inappropriate word choice. I pulled off her clothes, bent her over and “raped” her good, with her back arched impossibly into an obscene yoga asana, moaning till I coated her with jizz. I lay in a feverish daze as she stroked my hair and spoke slowly and soothingly to me “I want to remember you,” as she stroked my body, “I will remember your big nose, your eyes, ears, chest, arms… Who knows when we will have this opportunity again? I’ll cherish this moment and your soul. Close your eyes.” I snuggled into her chest like I did with Zahra and tears fell down my cheeks. “What will you do when you go home James?” I looked blankly at myself, naked in the mirror holding this pure soul. What will I do? “I respect you James. When you grow old you will look back on your life with no regrets.” I couldn’t hold her gaze and I knew that I would look back on these days with many. After I came in her mouth the next morning, she took me to the train station and ordered me breakfast as I wobbled dizzily from my fever. There was nothing vegetarian, so she ordered two plates of spicy beef stew. She picked out big fatty chunks of meat and fed them to me with her chopsticks. “You have a long journey ahead. You need energy.” I chewed slowly, it tasted good. And with that, the last bastion of my spiritual discipline fell away after five years of rigid abstinence, ironically being fed meat by the only vegetarian without monk’s robes in China. She kissed me clumsily and waved goodbye smiling her ugly smile without any tears as the train pulled away.

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Shaolin Temple Blues I was heading back to Shaolin temple. Legend has it that 1500 years ago an enlightened master from India called Bodhidharma travelled to China to spread Buddhist teaching. He eventually ended up in a cave above a temple where he meditated for nine years. When he emerged he taught the monks of Shaolin Si (Small Forest temple) a system of physical exercise which had martial application as well as spiritual and energy cultivation effects, based on yogic traditions. Over centuries these developed into thousands of styles of Gong Fu (Kung Fu) and energy arts. Alongside meditation, scripture study and traditional medicine, monks learnt legendary techniques of almost supernatural skill. The monks there could run across water, break steel on their heads, dodge arrows and were undefeatable, or so the legends said. The Shaolin monks became famous fighters who at several times in history protected China from pirates as well as taking sides in endless civil wars and sheltering fugitive emperors and bandits. As a result the temple was periodically destroyed when the abbot backed the wrong game of thrones contender. In 1928 the temple was burnt down for the last time and the ruins further vandalized by chairman Mao’s zealous red guard in the 50’s. It lay in ruins for decades, with the monks and masters disappearing into exile or hiding. In 1980 the building was partially rebuilt to create a set for Jet Li’s breakthrough movie “Shaolin Temple”. It was a huge hit domestically and suddenly thousands of young Chinese ran away from home, turning up at the gates, wanting to learn the mystical Kung Fu secrets they’d seen in the movie. The government, now embracing western free market policy, recognized a money-making opportunity. They scoured the countryside for remnants of the old lineage of monks, invited them back, rebuilt the temple and told them to start teaching again. So Shaolin temple, obliterated by the communist inferno of the Cultural Revolution, was reinstated as a national treasure and opened its gates for business. By the time I arrived it was the second most visited tourist destination in China after the great wall. Convoys of busses rolled in every day as thousands of Chinese tourists came 8

to wander through in groups led by guides screaming through loudspeakers, to carve their names into the thousand year old Gingko tree in the courtyard (without the slightest thought that this was a supreme desecration) and gawk at the demonstration monk teams who back flipped, round house kicked and flashed tin foil swords at dizzying speed to pounding techno over screeching speakers. From opening to closing time, Shaolin was the least peaceful, least spiritual place in China. The traditional lineage, following an unbroken line from Bodhidharma to the present was under the patriarch Xu Xie. He was in his 80’s and crippled by Parkinson’s disease. His most famous disciple was De Yang, a gifted Gong Fu expert and previous poster boy for the temple. The government had replaced Xu Xie with a puppet abbot called Yong Xin, who rumour had it, lived in a mansion in a nearby city with two mistresses. De Yang left the temple and set up a private school in the nearby hills. The muscled, shavedheaded boys parading through the temple in robes and performing for the tourists were certainly not monks. They were acrobats, trained in flashy new styles of Kung Fu, designed to look great but without any martial arts function or spiritual content. Two years previously I’d turned up at the temple. I’d been studying traditional Shaolin Gong Fu since I was 18 in Australia. I was totally obsessed with it and had finally convinced my master to introduce me to the monks he had learnt from in the 80’s. On that initial trip I’d been introduced to Xu Xie, De Yang and the last generation of true monks, who had been squeezed into a forgotten corner of the temple by the new abbot. I’d been assigned to study under De Chao, a hugely bearded, gigantic monk with a big smile and ageless serene face who carried around a monk’s spade, which was a long heavy pole tipped on one end with a curved spade blade and the other with a crescent moon blade. He looked like he’d walked off a martial arts movie set in ancient China. During my first trip he’d trained me in using this heavy weapon, in meditation and in calligraphy. It was he who I was returning to study with again. The problem was, I’d taken the wrong bus. The temple I was standing limply in front of was not Shaolin. I was exhausted and gutted of all sense of adventure with the guilt of my cheating rampage haunting me. I sat down in the dust and gave up. The sun reached its scorching peak as a van arrived. A class of students piled out and squatted down to their lunches. I must have looked pitiful as one dumpy girl yelled out: 9

“Foreigner! Are you hungry?!” I nodded and meekly trotted over like a stray dog and gulped down the noodles they handed me. It occurred to me that an Australian stray dog dumped in the same position would have done much better: taken a moment to sniff the new pungent scents, pissed on a tree, licked his nuts and wandered off to eat something rotting in the streets and mount a local bitch. I managed to explain my problem and they rang De Chao for me and organized a car to come and get me. A couple of hours later I was cruising through the streets of Deng Feng, a typically ugly town that had mushroomed in size since the new abbot bulldozed the township around Shaolin and sent all the Wushu schools to be rebuilt there, fifteen kilometres away. By the roadside, scores of kids in their school’s tracksuits jogged past carrying spears and the flimsy aluminium Wushu sabres. We sped by school after school where thousands of students were spread out over massive dirt courtyards, drilling Kung Fu forms in matching tracksuits to the shriek of a trainer’s whistle. It was sights like these that so often baffled and disillusioned western would-be warrior monks, arriving to the place of their martial arts fantasy to find it swamped in tourists and armies of acrobatic children performing precision theatrical parodies of the ancient arts. They soon found the authentic training with Shaolin monks they had organized at great expense, was in fact a spot next to an 8 year old village kid - pounding through relentless military routines from dawn till night and sleeping in a concrete dormitory. The fantasies of sincerely studying ancient spiritual secrets and master-to-disciple martial arts were quickly crushed. We careered through the gates of De Yang’s school into the main courtyard right into the middle of a film set. The hundreds of students all jumping, kicking and slicing scattered as the driver skidded through them, doing a lap of the yard looking for a place to park. I cringed in embarrassment watching De Chao, De Yang, the old abbot Xu Xie and other senior monks watching by from a platform as I ruined the shot for some film they were making. My old Tiger Hook teacher Xing Wei dropped his sword, ran over and ushered me into a huge training hall. A whistle blew outside and everyone ran into the hall, the young monks filing out into dozens of rows while De Chao pushed Xu Xie in his wheel chair up a ramp on stage. Four monks hoisted lights up on the tips of various 10

bladed pole weapons. Cameras started rolling and the rows of kids rushed through sloppy versions of Gong Fu forms while techno reverberated around the hall. Xu Xie was wheeled about from shot to shot, his robes and beads adjusted as he shook uncontrollably. What the hell had happened since last time I was here? The last generation of real monks was selling out it seemed. I wondered what poor old Xu Xie thought: surviving the cultural revolution, having his home and art form exterminated, only to be resurrected by modern Chinese Kung Fu fantasies to find himself the puppet star in bizarre Kung Fu music videos. Well he was a living Buddha, maybe he saw the whole thing as a cosmic joke. Afterwards De Chao came to me, put his hands together, we bowed to each other and said, “Amituofo” (infinite light). He looked into my soul with those deep, almost inhuman eyes. My mind emptied; we were not separate. He laughed his joyful giggle, “Jam-es, let’s go!” A driver took us to the temple and I was confused as we drove the last stretch to the gate. There used to be a ramshackle row of houses, hotels and restaurants leading up to the entrance. It was all gone and instead there stood rows of fully grown fir trees, as though since primordial time. The government had bulldozed the village and replaced it with a forest. You have to hand it to the Chinese: without pesky concepts like human rights in the way, they sure get shit done fast. We hopped out at the temple gates and instead of going inside De Chao led me around the side of the main temple. The place was undergoing a massive extension; business must be good. Walking as De Chao’s shadow, no one dared stop us as we poked around the construction, past the workers sanding huge new lucky stone turtle statues, past the team restoring all charm out of the old walls, peeking in a back room where several old monks greedily counted wads of cash. Then up past the young pine forest, past the old neglected nunnery no one goes to, where a dozen impoverished nuns tended their gardens. Up winding trails past startled village children, running shrieking from the massive monk and his skinny white ghost. For a big round man, he set a cracking pace as we scaled Song Shan mountain until breathless we reached Da Mo Dong (the cave where Bodhidharma is said to have sat for nine years). Two nuns stood guard. We went into the cave and prostrated at the altar and meditated a while. 11

We were about to start the run back down when the younger nun, a stocky moon-faced girl of about 20 called out to De Chao. Her name was Yan Xiao. She spoke quickly to him and then dropped to her knees bowing as she kept talking with urgent intensity. I’d forgotten most of my Chinese but I could make out the general meaning. She had run away from home in Inner Mongolia to come to Shaolin to study Kung Fu. The nunnery accepted her but they no longer trained, although historically they had. She was begging for De Chao to teach her. He explained that that was impossible: he couldn’t go over her master’s orders. Yan Xiao kept pleading and touching her forehead to his feet. He looked at me and said in Chinese, “James you can teach her.” She immediately stood up, bowed to me and said, “Shifu, Xie Xie (thank you master).” We agreed to meet in secret the next day in a forest hidden from both temples. By the time we got back to the temple gates, it was past closing time but with De Chao by my side we strode in past the security guards. My eyes filled with tears. With the tourist hordes gone for the day the temple was serene. We went to the old true monks’ wing of the building. De Chao pulled out a long roll of rice paper, ripped a three-metre length off and laid it on the cobbled courtyard floor. He took a calligraphy brush out of his room that was the length of a broom and as thick as a lamppost, with a massive bulb of horsehair at the tip. He set up a bucket of ink, then stood just to the side of the long scroll of paper with his eyes closed. As dusk fell he meditated for minutes. Then all of a sudden he took a breath in, dipped the end in the bucket and in one long continuous stroke swept the pole over the paper, writing huge Chinese characters the full length of the scroll. It was beautiful, alive - the air was vibrating. He bowed to the calligraphy, then to me, and said, “Mingtian wu dian,” (Tomorrow, 5am) and disappeared into his quarters. I walked out of the temple, with a mixture of joy and melancholy. The temple was changing fast. The old guard wouldn’t last much longer. Even if they stayed, it looked like they too had been caught up in the Kung Fu gold rush. But I was here. It was a unique privilege. Studying with the last Shaolin masters in the last days of 1500 years of living history.

12

I thought of Zahra and I couldn’t stand holding the guilt any longer. I found a payphone and called her. “It’s Jamie. Please don’t say anything until I finish. The first week I was here I fucked two Chinese girls.” There was silence. “Can I say anything yet?” “Yes.” “Why?” “I don’t know.” I didn’t know. They weren’t very attractive girls. Zahra was great to me, she was gorgeous, smart, and great in bed. Something inside me needed to destroy a relationship. The better it got the more I felt trapped. What if we got married, had kids? The end of youth, the end of freedom. There must be something wrong with me, I just can’t be satisfied. As we both cried the line from Jeff Buckley’s song rang in my head, “Maybe I’m just too young, to keep good love from going wrong.” She didn’t get angry, didn’t scream that I was an arsehole like I hoped. She sniffed back her tears and said, “I think it’s time to grow up. I need you to really think about what you want from me.” I stumbled on my words through choking tears. “It doesn’t matter, because now I can’t have anything from you.” “That’s for me to decide. If anyone is calling this off, it will be me.” “You must hate me.” “Baby, my heart is breaking because you’re crying in a foreign country with no one to hug you. We both need some time to think. Call me again next week. I still love you.” She hung up and I sobbed in the street. A kid in monk’s robes walked by, laughed, and shouted, “Gui zi feng le!” (crazy white devil) and poked his sword at me. The next afternoon I traipsed up the mountain into a quiet grove of trees and there was Yan Xiao waiting as we agreed. She bowed and stood to attention. I took her through stances, basic fists, kicking drills. She learnt fast, focusing intently on every move I demonstrated, drilling it over and over. I would ask her if she was tired and she’d shout back “Wo bu lei Shifu!” (I’m not tired, teacher!) like a soldier. When we finished, we bowed and walked off in opposite directions, to the monastery and nunnery. I burst into 13

manic laughter when I was over the hill from her. I would never believe this life if someone told me about it. The days settled into Shaolin routine. It was like an endless training montage but without the 80s music and with much slower progress. Up at dawn, stretching, running up the mountain, drilling old orthodox fist forms and weapons practice. In the afternoons I’d sneak off to teach Yan Xiao. She picked up weeks’ worth of training every class. She was a natural and was obviously sneaking off from the nunnery to practice alone, because every day she was twice as good as the day before. Together we would smash through the foundation Shaolin fist form, our voices echoing through the valley as we shouted the resonator, “ZHI – HA!” on the last punch. If you’d stumbled across us training in tandem together I guess we would have either looked amazingly cool or totally absurd. I noticed my eyes taking a peak down her robes at her large breasts from time to time and then quickly scolded myself: “For fuck’s sake Marshall, can you please not leer at the nun you’ve been entrusted to teach?!” I kept doing it of course and later wrote a song about her. She took five vows and shaved her cute head bare If the boys don’t like her now she doesn’t care I couldn’t change her mind baby even if I wanted to Between nirvana and me I know what she would choose De Chao taught me the special Qi Gong (breathing and focus exercises) of Iron Palm. This was the technique which allowed advanced practitioners to have superhuman strength and break steel. We practiced cross-legged in front of large smooth river stones. Breathe in, direct energy from the third eye down to below the belly button. Breathe out, direct energy from centre out to my palm as I slapped down onto the rock. When my focus was on point, I felt no pain and my body felt full of electricity. One day De Chao grabbed a brick from a shelf in his room, put it against a step, took a deep breath in, swung his arm down and shattered the brick. He took another one out and said the only English words he knew; “Ja-mes. Ready. Go.”

14

I opened my mouth to protest that I wasn’t ready. He interrupted me before I could speak. “Ja-mes. Ready. Go.” He held it to the edge of the step. I moved without thinking, following my breath down to my centre and swinging as I exhaled. The brick split in two. He smiled and went back to his calligraphy. I spoke to Zahra every week; she’d flipped from her initial elegant measured response to anger and hysteria. She screamed that she hated me, that I made her feel worthless, all the stuff I deserved to hear, but she would always soften again. She wanted me to fight to get her back and even though I said I would, in my heart I still couldn’t commit. I missed her so much but I knew there was life after her, that my restless mind and need to be free wouldn’t leave me in domestic peace for long. One morning after our usual brunch (De Chao loved watermelons and would eat an entire one, followed by half a dozen rice buns before we started the next class), he beckoned me to follow him down the road till we came to a small shop that sold robes, sandals and demonstration weapons. He picked out a blue silk set of pants and button up Chinese collared top for me. While I paid, he pulled out his mobile phone, dialled, held it at arm’s length and shouted at it. When we walked outside I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There was a baby pink open-top 1930’s replica Rolls Royce waiting, with 6 golden horns mounted on each side. De Yang was sitting in the back in full ceremonial robes. Two of his disciples sat on motorbikes flanking the car. He beckoned to us and trying not to burst into laughter or hysterical screaming, I got in the back with them. I’d long since learned there was no point asking Chinese masters questions like, “What the fuck is going on?”, so I sat obediently while we sped along the pot-holed country roads flanked by the biker monk escort. Two hours later we arrived in the city of Zhengzhou and pulled up outside a TV station building. I followed the entourage inside where we were greeted and taken to a meeting room. Eventually a translator came in. “Mr James, welcome honourable foreign guest. It is a great moment to have you on today’s show.” 15

“Err, show?” “Yes. You and your masters will be our priority guests on this episode.” “Oh, that’s great.” I tried to force a smile, “What exactly will I be doing?” “Gong Fu of course. Your master Shi De Chao tells us you have travelled all the way from Australia to perform. He also told me you are a famous singer. You must of course sing for us as well. He has brought your CD.” The man pulled out the album from my now disbanded hip-hop group that I had given De Chao last time I was in China. “If you could please choose best song you will perform, we will prepare the technicians to assist you.” De Chao smiled and nodded to me. There was no escape. Apparently I was about to sing and do a martial arts demonstration to a live audience on a channel that broadcast to twenty million people. He handed me my album and asked me to choose a track. I picked one called: Everyday. “Excellent choice. I must ask, what is the message of the song? It is important the topic is approved by the government.” Like all the songs on the album, it was badly crafted Aussie hip-hop about corrupt governments, nihilistic complaining, and smoking bongs. “Um, this one is about… the everyday experience of people. You know, simple joys and friendship. Yeah, that’s it.” “Very good sir. Let’s begin. Your presentation time is in fifteen minutes.” The next thing I knew I was backstage. An assistant gave me a nudge and I strode out, waving at the cheering crowd as dramatic music blasted and lasers bounced of my shiny silk pyjamas. A male and female host greeted me and shouted through their microphones. Male host - Thank you everyone, thank you! Female host - Hello, how do you do, what’s your name? Me - Hello, my name is James FH - Wow, your Chinese is so good! FH - Now James is from Australia and has two jobs. What’s your first job? Me - Traditional Chinese medicine MH - What is your specialisation? 16

Me - Massage and acupuncture. FH - Then your second job? Me - Uh… Singer FH - His time is arranged very well, in the day he gives you acupuncture and at night he sings to you! (The crowd cheers) MH - James came to us dressed for kung fu but he will sing for us! The intro to Everyday started and I danced around the stage, shimmying with the sexy female host while I rapped over the top of my recorded voice. My dreams are desires sewn in my head by a digital screen I’m so numb if you cut me I won’t scream Unaware, living dead don’t care Don’t you dare get off your chair Work and slave, spend don’t save Buy a robot spade to dig your grave Every day, it’s the same old shit yeah You know we’re sick of it The song abruptly faded out while the crowd politely clapped. I don’t think rural Chinese were quite ready for Aussie hip-hop yet. “Alright, thank you everyone!” “Now that he’s finished singing his song today, we reach the wushu part of this show!” “You can hear it when he sings, he uses his qi well. Now, can you demonstrate some kung fu for us?” I busted out my best form, while soaring emotional Chinese opera music played and the crowd went wild. I finished to a standing ovation. The stage manager thanked me profusely, stuffed 500 yuan (around 100 bucks) in my hand and we got back in the absurd pink car and drove back to Shaolin. As we cruised through the hot night with the top down, two Buddhist masters by my side and the 17

biker monks criss-crossing in front of each other ahead of us for kicks, I realized that was the best paid gig of my life to the largest audience I would ever play to.

On my last day I walked up the mountain trail as light rain fell. Yan Xiao was standing under a small tree, intently watching droplets fall from the tip of a branch above her little button nose. We bowed in silence and went through everything I’d taught her. She had it all locked in; her movements were crisp and powerful. When we were done, she took a little golden blessing card from her pocket and gave it to me. “Xie Xie Shifu.” “Study hard, remember everything”, I replied. She nodded. We bowed one last time “Amituofo”. De Chao was crouched washing apricots in a tub in his courtyard. When he noticed me, he ducked inside his room and came out with his monk’s spade. He threw it across the courtyard to me, yelling - “Hoo!” I caught it and threw it back. It was a game he liked to play, catch with a deadly bladed weapon. After a dozen throws he laughed loud, leant it against a wall and beckoned me to sit in horse stance. He stood opposite in the same stance, folded his palms over his Dan Tian and closed his eyes. We meditated for a long time. As always my mind would drift from focus on my centre and breathing off into thoughts and imagination. But suddenly everything emptied. I could feel his vibration, emanating, loving but unattached, expansive but precise. Tears rolled down my cheeks. My last moments with my master. Somehow I knew we would not meet again in this life. Eventually he said quietly, “Hao” We opened our eyes, looking into each other. One soul, one universe, one breath. He held out his huge bear paw, we shook hands and I turned and walked through the temple gate.

18

Persian Princess Zahra was waiting for me at the airport. Her usually radiant tanned Persian skin was pale and grey. She looked fragile and lost. She’d waited months for me to finish my Kung Fu fantasy quest with a broken heart and it had taken its toll. We kissed briefly and didn’t say much until we got to her house. Lying on her bed, I couldn’t believe what my senses told me. She was with me again, tentatively holding my hand, looking in my eyes. I breathed deeply to smell her. Outside parrots sang and the sun shone. I felt painful nostalgia for a year ago when we were falling in love, everything so simple and pure. Our fingers slowly touched, moving cautiously over each other’s bodies. Then like a rubber band snapping back we pushed together and made love. We cried as we came together. Soon after, we moved in together. She’d always wanted to but I’d resisted, trying to keep my freedom but I knew I would have to commit more if I was to really win her back. We decorated the apartment, cooked and sang together. Day by day we fell back in love, the color coming back to our cheeks. We fucked on the couch, bending her over the tiny kitchen table, anal sex on the floor. I felt good. This wasn’t the prison I imagined. Maybe I could be content with domestic life. I massaged a couple of clients a day in the small spare room, Zahra worked on writing her poems and Uni assignments. I practiced with the band and kept up my Gong Fu. Life was good again. One day she sent me a text while I was out. “We need to talk.” I rode my bike home sweating. I’d told her about the two girls in China but there was really much more; dozens of emails to other girls I’d been hustling but never fucked, diaries about the other dates I’d been on, a hand job in the back of a taxi, the hookers I’d banged on my way back to Beijing after Shaolin, private journals about my longing to be a free manwhore.. what did she know? When I got home, my diary was indeed laying open on my bed. Why did I feel the need to record everything in my life, all perverse thoughts and ugly evidence? She sat down on the bed and I sat down next to her, dropping my head in my hands. “Are you disappointed?’ I asked, not sure why the question came out that way. 19

“Yes. Mostly that you have slept with double the people I have since we first met.” I froze and nothing felt real after that. She went on to explain calmly that the night after I admitted my cheating, she invited a Forty-year-old guy she vaguely knew over, because “he was a good listener”. He brought two bottles of wine over and fucked her drunk and crying. The next two weekends she sat by the bar until the man that approached her was attractive enough and then went home with him. I snapped. “You fucking slut! At least I told you. You let me think we could fix this, move in together and start a life. Tell me every fucking detail!” In my impotent hypocritical rage I grabbed her phone, demanding the first one’s name. I called him while she clawed at me screaming, trying to stop me. He answered “Hey babe, up late huh?” “You listen here you sleazy old cunt. I am going to crush your face in. Come to the pier at St Kilda now to fight, you piece of shit!” He laughed. “Are you drunk mate? I’m not gonna fight you. You fucked this up mate, messin’ around in China. It’s nothing to do with me. You threaten me again and I’ll have your kneecaps.” I threw her phone down and pushed her off as she tried to hug me. “Don’t fucking touch me you whore. It’s over.” I ran out the door, slamming it in her sobbing face. I rode my bike through the city, on and on, screaming and raging into the night, trying to exhaust myself. At one point I stopped at a traffic light and a carload of twenty something wogs yelled at me. “Yea mate! Nice bike! Get ya license ya faggot!” I turned my wheel and rode at the driver’s side door full force, snapping off the mirror. I threw my bike down as the four of them jumped out of the car yelling, “You’re gonna get bashed!” All at once they froze and fell silent. I stood hands by my sides staring the leader down with insane fury. Something in their lizard brains warned them. This animal has a death wish. He doesn’t care what happens. This will not be fun. They sheepishly got back in the car and drove off. Hours later I came home, ragged and dead inside. I found her on the bathroom floor, swallowing the last painkiller in the pack, no doubt timed for dramatic effect. I ignored her and started smashing plates, ornaments, ripping our clothes out of the cupboards, upending the table. “Time to pack slut!” “Ok, ok. Please calm down. Please don’t break any more of my things. I’m going.” 20

As she packed, swaying from the pills and crying I broke down. Collapsed in a corner I hid my face in shame, howling. The deep chasm of her absence opened in front of me. She held me and said she would stay, all I had to do was tell her. I wanted her to but I couldn’t say it. She looked so beautiful, even broken like that. Through tears I heard her say, “I promised I would show you how special you are. Now I can’t but I promise someone will.” She vomited on the floor. My fury finally spent, I collapsed in bed. Her friend came to pick her up. As I passed out I felt her lips timidly kiss me. “I love you more than anything” she whispered. Then the house was quiet.

21

Jon Zahra was gone, I was alone in the wreckage of our apartment. I massaged a couple of clients a day, fiddled about with online dating and strolled by the water. My heart was broken and I had no one to blame but myself. This is what I asked for: freedom. I formed a vague plan. I would turn Baron Samadhi into a cocktail lounge jazz band and move us to China to play in five star hotels. I’d save enough money there to disappear forever to Shaolin to become a real monk and master seventy two forms of Kung Fu, become enlightened and live as a recluse developing esoteric skills in trans-dimensional travel. The problem was I was still haunted by outlandish erotic desires and a fear of leaving the sensual pleasures of the world behind. I desperately wanted to have sex with 100 women. Really hot ones, the ones I could never get. Models, blonde surfer chicks, those girls with nice dresses and heels at those clubs that have infinity pools in them, corporate hotties with black stockings and white blouses, Russian babes like in Bond movies, oh and some threesomes to, I wanted some of those… Trying to reconcile these two divergent paths, I decided I would fill myself to bursting with the most extravagant excesses of hedonism, sexual depravity and drug-induced madness I could, with the basic hope that I could leave it all behind at the end for spiritual austerity. I was sitting pondering this plan when I got a phone call. It was Jon. “How are you cobba?” “Not so good, broke up with Zahra, went into schizo jealous meltdown and now I’m drowning my sorrows and wondering what next.” “I left Enid.” “Bullshit.” “I did. She cheated on me and I’m moving to Melbourne to live with you.” “When will you be here?” “Tomorrow. I’ve got nothing, she took it all so should be easy to pack.” “I can’t believe it.” “You better! Get the couch ready! “

22

I first met Jon in my final year at high school in drama class. He was handsome and tall with long wavy hair, wore Hawaiian shirts and corduroy pants and I was told he was a hard-core Christian. We ended up in several plays together where he shone as a talented actor, and during a production of Shakespeare’s Merry Wives of Windsor we started to become friends. He came round to my decrepit group house with throwing knives stuck in the roof and the entire lounge room covered in porn pinups to practice lines. I introduced him to The Doors, weed and we sat up late debating philosophy and religion. It was an unlikely friendship between a stoner pseudo-Buddhist and a straight virgin Christian but for some reason it worked. I gradually got him into drugs, beat poetry and at least talking about sex. He walked out on my 18th birthday when the stripper arrived and spent the end of high school running away from girls who wanted to fuck him. He’d been brought up in India when he was a kid and eventually he told me the strange story of his childhood. His family had joined a hippy Christian cult in the 70’s called The Children of God and relocated to India with hundreds of other families from the West. It was perhaps the worst cult to emerge from this era and ruined countless families and lives. The leader David Berg was a sadistic paedophile who institutionalised child abuse and wanton promiscuity. Women were sent out to fuck random men to draw them into the fold with slogans like, “I’m a hooker for Jesus”. Kids were given pornographic instructional manuals disguised as comic books and put together to practice, or worse, abused with impunity by adults in the group. Most belongings were confiscated and Jon’s family ended up like other white brainwashed families, begging and performing religious shows in private houses and on the streets of India for their food. When the parents finally came to their senses and brought them home four years later they were destitute and emotionally frozen. Their parents then threw them into other extremist conservative Christian groups, where their childhood experiences were hidden and never spoken of again. I was the first person he told and he was shocked to see that I listened without judging and helped him to talk it out. It took many years for him to come to terms with these events, confront his parents and the God he felt betrayed by and take his power back.

23

During our acid trips and stoned all night writing sessions, we’d talk about India, adventure, spirituality and sex. Jon wanted to return to India to confront his past and I wanted to go to Asia to find monks to study with. We discussed the idea of going together and made loose plans. At the end of school I was applying to join the army for officer training. You’d need to look pretty hard to find anyone less suited to the army than myself but I thought my father wanted me to go and I had a vague idea of learning how to kill and eventually becoming a mercenary vigilante who busted into Columbian drug lords’ mansions and gunned them down. I was also a fairly talented actor and so I managed to bluff my way through a series of interviews and tests, convincing the brass that I was a patriotic, Arab hating, Aussie battler. Each time I returned from the interviews I felt sick to my bowels. I could see a decade of personality bleaching and dictatorial commands ahead of me, which just could not balance the good dental plan and free university education. In the end I walked into the final psychological interview and told the officer I considered suicide a valid political statement, waxed lyrical about the benefits of psychedelic drug use and gave him a wink when he asked if I’d ever had homosexual urges. My heart leapt for joy when I received my rejection letter and I rode straight over to Jon’s house, snuck in the backyard and banged at his window. He popped his head out and said: “What the fuck?” I read the letter out loud, lit it on fire and we both pulled out our cocks and pissed on it. “Jon my friend, we are going to India.” While most of our classmates went straight into University, Jon and I set out to the western deserts of New South Wales and worked on farms as fruit pickers. We worked twelve hours a day in stinking heat and dust, making friends with the underclass of Australia; broken old drunks, illegal Thai immigrants, stoned aboriginals and wayward destitute backpackers. We played music at night on flute and guitar, smoked needle thin joints from our tiny bag of bush weed and dreamed of the Far East. After three months of backbreaking work I returned to Canberra to buy our plane tickets. I was out one night with some friends and briefly met the cutest girl I’d ever seen. She was a boisterous sensual sixteen-year-old raver called Deanna. I saw her leave the bar 24

and ran after her. I ran past her and hid behind a tree. She walked past and I did it again. At the third tree I sat underneath it cross-legged and held out my hand. “Come climb it with me,” I said mystically We climbed the tree and looked into each other’s eyes. “I have to go, I’ve got friends waiting” she claimed. “Come back when you're done, I’ll wait.” “I may be a long time.” “I’ll wait.” I sat in the tree for 4 hours, watching the moon pass through the leaves. I was nodding off when I felt her tug at my foot. “You waited!” We got on my old bicycle and rode to my mother’s house, snuck in and fucked all morning. The next day she quit high school, packed her life into a backpack and came back out to the farm with me. The three of us spent another month in the caravan, taking days off to drop acid and drive to the local town dressed in old suits and crazy hats, making general nuisances of ourselves while the old timers snarled across their beers. We fell in love, experimented with every sexual variation we could conjure up and lived the simplest, most peaceful existence I’d ever known. My best friend and my lover, living from the land. Nothing to worry about, just hard work, long erotic nights, good hearty food and exciting adventures ahead. We finally had enough money to go. We returned to civilisation and then Jon and I boarded a plane for India, leaving Deanna crying at the airport. She was my first love and would become my fiercest adversary and ally for many years to come. Jon and I backpacked through Indonesia and Thailand. Along the way, I took him to live sex shows in Bangkok, picked up hookers in Lombok (he talked to his all night about her feelings) but he never cracked, holding out to some confused vestige of Christian morality. We eventually arrived in India where we were immediately duped into heading north by corrupt travel agents and found ourselves in mystical Kashmir, which after all my years of travel still haunts me as the most breathtaking landscape I have 25

ever seen. Unfortunately it was also in the middle of a war but dumb luck seemed to preserve us on our journey. We took insanely long and arduous bus rides across the Himalaya to Ladakh and then down to the mountainous party town of Manali where Isrealis blared Psi-Trance across the mountains and everyone was wasted all the time. We had assumed that travel would lead us to untold romantic adventures with brazen Scandinavian travellers but we never really met any. We didn’t know how. We were only eighteen years old, lost and unsure what we were looking for. Most other travellers were in their mid-twenties and seemed cool and calm amongst the seething chaos of India. One night we were in a convoy of buses and trucks following the tail lights of the vehicle in front of us. After thirty six hours bouncing around a packed bus over precarious unsealed mountain roads, with sheer drops deep into valleys a hundred metres below, suddenly the night turned black as all the headlights went out. I jumped out of my seat and ran to the front pulling open the door to the driver’s cabin. A cloud of hashish smoke billowed out. I screamed: “What is going on, why are the lights out?” The driver’s buddy, looked up from the chillum he was packing and said with a friendly grin: “Oh sir, no need to worry. Simply so the Pakistani snipers cannot see us.” He handed me the chillum. I looked at him stupefied, furious, incredulous. I took the pipe and took a long draw. I stumbled back to my seat laughing like a madman to tell Jon. He snapped. “I can’t do this. I don’t know what I thought I’d find here but it’s not worth it. I just want to go home.” He left a couple of days later, broken and more confused than ever by the country that had stolen his innocence. I travelled to the Tibetan Buddhist enclave of Dharamsala where I checked into a ten-day silent Vipassana meditation retreat and had my first painstaking experiences of true spirituality. I came out a different person, for the first time in my life I took responsibility for my actions and became a committed practicing Buddhist. I returned home soon after, following a debacle with charming jewel smuggling mafia, two brothers Ali and Mustapha Bahg, who managed to scam me out of all my money, extort much more out of my father (in exchange for my life) all unbeknownst to me, while dressing me like a king and entertaining me at caviar and whiskey soaked parties in their Mughal mansions.

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I got home with ten dollars to my name and met Jon briefly to tell him of my adventures. He was working café jobs and waiting to start university. I headed back out to our old caravan in the desert to pay off my credit card debt in sweat and tons of oranges. I was not in the mood to see anyone, certainly not Deanna who had fucked a close friend in my absence. While I was away she’d grabbed her insane but gorgeous redheaded friend Mia and gone out to the caravan to make some cash before they discovered stripping was much more lucrative. So there was the three of us, in my caravan, in the same bed. I ignored them and followed a Spartan ritual. I started sleeping on a mattress on the floor, working dawn till dusk, saving every penny and fantasizing about returning one day to India to brutally dismember the Bahg brothers. One night Mia and Deanna woke me by dragging me naked into their bed. It was the first in a series of unrecognised threesome opportunities I would miss during my youth but as I was so grumpy, I rolled over and pretended to sleep. In the night, Mia and I woke, our hands reaching between each other’s legs. The next day Deanna could sense the sexual tension. She went into a rage and left to become a stripper. We breathed a sigh as she left and clawed at each other with insane passion, hardly leaving the caravan for a week. We were together for the next three years. Mia and I moved to Sydney where I studied Asian history at university and found a small very traditional school of Shaolin Gong Fu, which I become fanatical about studying. I was introduced to their branch of Cha’an Buddhism (known more commonly through its Japanese counterpart Zen) and I went from a drug- taking nihilist to a strict vegetarian, who never drank or took drugs and had no social life outside of a few close friends, Mia and my Gong Fu school. In those years I never met any new girls. I was always voraciously hungry for sex but I never strayed. Mia and I had a tumultuous relationship. She was gorgeous, sexy and unstable. We lived on top of each other in a tiny one-bedroom flat and jostled to be together while I tried to meditate and pursue solely spiritual goals. We drove each other crazy and as she also studied martial arts it was violent at times when she couldn’t control her temper. We were kids, making all the 27

mistakes and causing all the damage first love has built into its design. We eventually broke up and I moved to Melbourne to chase music stardom dreams. Meanwhile, in Canberra Jon had found a woman. Enid was a beautiful artist with South American blood and they soon found themselves moving in and in love. It was an incredibly destructive relationship that lasted six years. Enid was insecure, needy and hated Jon’s friends. She would burst into hysterics every time he tried to spend time with anyone else. Jon treated her like a queen and the more he gave the more she took. After a lifetime of taking orders from churches, his parents and me he slipped deep into co-dependency with her and gradually retreated from the world. Enid set ultimatums and eventually his friends disappeared. Jon smoked weed and acted in dozens of amateur plays as his only outlet. I tried to maintain the relationship for years but Enid and I hated each other venomously. Although I moved back to Canberra where we lived together and played music for a short while, eventually I gave up and almost lost contact altogether with him. Then, out of the blue he was back. My best friend, partner in world wandering and divinity seeking was back. The next day he arrived, wild eyed and stoned and we hugged and leapt about in joy. Freedom! Heart-break! Music! Aggression! He was just what I needed at that time and I was so grateful to have him back. I waited that bitch out and now the veil was finally gone from his eyes. Time for some fun! Time to get laid! It didn’t quite work out like that. Within weeks, Jon rebounded into a relationship with a dumpy pleasant friend of his sisters and stayed with her for a year. I had to bite my tongue as I saw his old patterns arising, the need for security and love at any price. She was better than the last one at least.

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One night still standing My birthday rolled around and eight people turned up. That was pretty much everyone who actually cared about me in Melbourne. They were good people but I couldn’t help but feel my glory days were over. The sad fact dawned on me that after high school, as people nest and get real jobs, their social worlds shrink. They find themselves into their twenties with a handful of friends and an orbiting ring of pleasant work acquaintances. The madness, hope and dreams of their youth vanish and are replaced with the numbing comfort and insidious slow death of adulthood. It was what I feared more than anything and the reason I shat on a beautiful relationship with a stunning wonderful woman. I wanted to stay young. I wanted to fuck young women. I wanted to take drugs and adventure through the world, living like a psychedelic rock star. But how…? I saw it all around, relationships forming by nothing more than the vacuum of proximity and loneliness. People didn’t end up with the girls and boys of their dreams. They ended up with whoever they more or less clicked with from their immediate social circle. Or whoever was lonely and horny enough to shack up with them. As life went on and they cycled through relationships, they choose from smaller and smaller pools, finally shackling themselves to a person so far from their ideal that the compromise gutted them of life. I vowed that I would resist this insidious pull. I had deliberately collapsed the best relationship of my life for a reason. I was determined to become a consummate seducer; a man to whom ultimate choice in his partners was his art. I would stay alone, I would brush off the girls who were nearly but not quite right, I would venture out into social worlds that then looked like mirages. I would fuck some models and complicated, arty teen beauties like I never could in high school. I would not grow old and comfortable. I would start tomorrow…

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The single man’s life is generally one of constant low level frustration which peaks to murderous intensity on nights out, as he falters and drunkenly stumbles through halfarse attempts to meet women. This usually ends with the immediate jump into another relationship with the first time a woman of passable quality who agrees to remove her panties for him. This continues throughout life with options slowly narrowing as social circles diminish, hair lines thin and bellies expand… In those first weeks of being single again I faced the common shock postinstitutionalisation of being free and without a source of sex. When a man becomes single after years in a relationship, there is an immediate panic that descends on him. We realise suddenly how dependent on regular sex we are to remain at ease and keep our self-esteem buoyant. As I had no single friends, no understanding of how to navigate the nightlife, I began by taking any opportunity to head out of my apartment that came my way. At first these invitations were fairly banal. I might meet a bandmate for a drink before rehearsal, get invited to a loose acquaintances party or a gig. I found that I didn’t like most people. I felt too quirky, cynical and abstract to relate to the average Australian. I’d never liked sport, driven a car, drank beer, beaten up a gay man or surfed. I never had the loquacious, affable demeanour of the archetypal attractive Aussie male, nor did I want it particularly. I saw life as struggle, existential questioning, battling deep and contrary aspects of yourself and others in the potentially futile pursuit of happiness, or peaceful coexistence with another inevitably flawed, selfish and complicated being. I’d always found the small number of people I related to, bored deep into their hearts and never left. I was truly a fantastic eternally loyal and understanding friend. I was a good, creative and non-judgemental lover. I was an awful, possessive, grumpy boyfriend. I definitely didn’t know how to have fun. I went out one night with a guy from a band we played with to Cherry Bar, a grotty, scenester rock club in the city. The tattooed DJs played obscure rock and the place was always packed with lots of leather, tight jeans and hard drinking girls and guys. I walked

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past the bar and caught the eye of a curly haired blonde with ample bosom spilling out of a lacy bra beneath her leather jacket “Hey there, you ah.. you know?” I had nothing. “Know what?” she leaned closer. “I don’t know. Who cares. I’m James.” I held out my hand to shake hers. She ignored the offer and ordered a drink. Actually, two drinks. She handed me the second whiskey. “I’m Serena.” We drank and screamed in each other’s ear for an hour as she got me much too drunk. She offered me one more and I said: “No thanks I’ll have a water and unless we leave soon, I’m not going to be much use to you.” She skulled her beer in one long gulp. “Let’s go then.” I sobered up while watching her bubble butt ripple with the impact of my dick. I thought to myself, “This is my first drunk one night stand. That’s a great thing to be doing.” I watched the blemishes and imperfections appear on her body, as my vision came into focus. She was in her early 30s and although a ballet teacher, was past her prime. “Fuck me properly”, she purred provocatively. I pumped harder “How cute”, she giggled. I grabbed a handful of her curly mane, yanked her head back and slammed her violently, letting myself go. I threw her around and for maybe the first time in my life completely selfishly fucked a woman, which it seemed was exactly what she wanted. We collapsed shaking and wet. “Hmm, that’s more like it. You certainly are twenty five…” In the morning I watched her dressing, zipping up her long boots. I felt the old polite programming push me to ask for her number but I resisted it. She looked in my mirror “Oh dear, the walk of shame. You look pleased with yourself.” I smiled and nodded. “Ok, well I’m going.” “Ok.” 31

She walked to the door, glanced back gave me a little smile and left. I wished straight after I’d given her a hug goodbye to thank her for sharing the night and making me feel like a man again.

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Internet date rape I’d always been a technophobe and came from a family where there was some misplaced pride in the avoidance and scorn of technology. I came from the last generation that wasn’t brought up with a dozen screens flickering around the house and although everyone else had been using the Internet for years, I had ignored it completely. We were Generation X apparently but I was deliberately avoiding our defining skills. My world was books over web pages, dubbed tapes of 60’s Rock over mp3s, and weed over pills. The Myspace indie generation name check this aesthetic, buying old tape players off ebay and making mixtapes in ironic reference but for me that was the way it was done and I maintained a certain elitist pride by ignoring the 21st Century. A computer wiz friend of mine finally convinced me I needed to catch up and had built me a functional but out-dated computer and hooked me up to a grindingly slow dialup connection (which I believe I’m still paying six bucks a month for, I should really cancel that). In those early days of single life I stumbled across internet dating sites and soon found my old pretensions of 20th century snobbery disappear. In the absence of a social life I almost immediately become addicted to the elusive promise of instant sexual connection via this medium. I look back on the months I spent tapping away long letters to strangers as one of the few truly pathetic points in my life. Eventually I actually met a bunch of women this way and got laid pretty frequently but this medium for meeting women is incredibly emasculating if not done in conjunction with a healthy, normal, real-world social life. I fell first for the sites that are designed for swingers and casual sexual relationships, which exploit the pervasive assumptions that there are certain types of women, sluts and good girls. I, like millions of other foolish men, gravitated to those sites first, thinking that logically if what I wanted was sex, it should be straightforward to get it through sites that advertised purely sexual liaisons. It took me a while to realise that the ratio of men to women was 10 to one and also that the value of girls jumped considerably in this context. A girl you wouldn’t look twice at on the street is bombarded with dozens of messages a day and becomes picky. Unlikely that she will

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ever meet any of them in person, she strings them along with saucy messages as the validation comes from the attention, not the resolution of the fantasy. Hours and evenings I wasted on this futile experiment until I switched over to normal dating sites.

Each time I had a bad date with someone I had nothing in common with and zero chemistry with, I would swear, never again. No more Internet. But then a lead would pop up that got the better of me and I’d set up the date. The thing that took me far too long to work out was that an internet date should always be short, with an easy escape route. This is a good rule of thumb for any date actually and I was to suffer through many expensive, gruelling dinner dates with frumpy vapid chicks from call centres, before I finally realised what all players know – the most inefficient and boring way to get a woman into bed is to take her to dinner. Kitty and I started chatting online. She was a ballet teacher from Tasmania and looked great in her photos; lithe, flexible (obviously) with a friendly sporty look. I got her on the phone late at night, where we talked dirty and got off together. She arranged to come to Melbourne for a weekend and promised to be a very bad girl for me, telling me to have a video camera, handcuffs and toys ready. The problem was that I had a German backpacker I’d picked up on tour living with me, so we had nowhere to go. So I invented a story about spending the night with Jon to write songs and hired a hotel room for the first time in my life. I got there in the afternoon and set everything up. Wine in the fridge, strawberries, cream, video camera, condoms and handcuffs under the bed. She knocked at the door and I let her in. Seems the photos of the taut elegant ballerina online had been taken some years ago. She still had something of a body on her and one of those generic pretty Aussie faces that leave me cold. Within two minutes it was clear that we had exhausted 34

all possible conversation. These were two people who were not designed to be alone together. I pushed her on the bed and within minutes we were fucking. Within less time than it took to undress I came miserably. And then the horror of the remainder of the evening dawned on me. It was 5pm. From then until dawn would be an eternity. We went to dinner. Murder me. We went to have cocktails. Slit my throat. We went to see a band. Sell my organs. The hours crept by as our floundering attempts to reignite conversation fizzled out. By 11pm I hated her. She said she was thirsty. I ignored her. After blowing all my cash on a hotel, dinner and drinks I decided I wouldn’t spend another cent on her and vowed to all the saints of the five faiths that I would never invite another vapid idiot into my life to fuck them ever again. I checked the time. Ok, I thought. All I have to do is take her back, fuck her one more time, then get up very early and run. We got back to the hotel and I had to force myself not to flinch in disgust as she undressed me. You would have thought as a ballet dancer she would at least have some erotic contortionist tricks but the sex was like trying to put together IKEA furniture. I blew my load in under a minute, continued to squelch around in the condom for another couple of minutes for appearance’s sake and then rolled over and pretended to sleep. It’s almost over, it’s almost over. I woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Hands were roughly grabbing my body. Oh no! She wants more! No no, I’ll just pretend to sleep. Yeah, do one of those sighs and snorts sleeping people do, she’ll give up… She wasn’t giving up. A firm grip clamped onto my shoulder and she rolled me onto my back and felt me up. I cursed my treacherous cock for responding but there was no escape. Yet another joyless two-minute performance and I rolled up into a ball, feeling dirty and used. I begged for morning to come. Just before dawn I woke from another anxious dream and heard her moving around the room. In a moment of panic I imagined her finding the handcuffs and tensed myself for a fight. Instead I heard the fridge door open and a crackling sound. Ice. Please, I’m not a bad man, I’m just misunderstood. I screwed up my face in horror as I heard her pop an ice cube into her mouth and start crunching it. Again she jerked me over on my back and went straight down do deliver what I presume she thought was a creative delightful 35

blowjob but which made my skin crawl. I now knew what it was like for a woman to have some heaving man, pressuring and cajoling his partner into sex. You hear stories occasionally about women raping men and the standard response is to scoff. Preposterous! How is that even possible!? Well, as my brainless member once more swelled and she inserted me into her, I knew I had become one of those rare statistics.

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Enter the Lair

It was Shae Mathews, my old spiritual seeker buddy, who first introduced me to the concept of seduction as a learnable skill. Shae is short and muscular, with red hair and a James Bond jawline. He’d been brought up in a rough country town, where he was a local wannabe gangster who grew huge crops of weed in the bush, wore tracksuits and drove loud cars. After high school he went travelling alone up the east coast, coming into contact with various hippy spiritual types as well as an old Aboriginal medicine man. He got deeply into spiritual study and dedicated himself full time to discovering the secrets of the universe. We met in technical college where we were twenty-one, studying Chinese medicine in the same class. We became close friends. He moved in with me and we spent much of our time together, training martial arts, meditation and other esoteric dabbling. Shae was always hunting around on early online download sites and came across the original seduction material. He played me a tape of Ross Jeffries, the infamous hypnotist who used convoluted language patterns to put trances on women, which apparently made him literally irresistible. Sounded like bullshit to me. Being good with girls is about looks and having some angle like being a DJ, right?

Five years later, after finding the book - The Game - on the bedside table of a Greek girl who took me home, I took note when it mentioned online forums called “lairs” where men discussed pick up and met up to further their skills. The idea sounded exciting and I imagined secret brotherhoods of masterful seducers, meeting in solemn brooding circles to trade secrets and then fan out into the city to unleash their brilliance on the female population. At this point I had no single male friends. My social world consisted of the members of my band, a handful of close female friends, my brother, and Jon who was now reensconced in another relationship and had no interest in hitting the clubs. The thought of heading out alone to try to figure this all out was pretty daunting and so I began my search for like-minded lotharios.

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A quick search on the net led me to the Melbourne Lair. To join up, there was a questionnaire asking what level I was at and what it was I could bring to the group. I wrote to the admin “Iceman” explaining my situation. I took it very seriously: Currently I sleep with a new girl every 2 weeks and have a background in meditation and massage therapy. I feel I would be an active and positive member of your group. For a user name I chose to call myself Jimstar, which was a nickname my old groupie CC gave me, when she still believed I would become a famous musician. It resonated with my aspirations. A guy calling himself Purple Marquis, contacted me back and invited me to the lair headquarters for one of their regular meet ups.

So, full of excitement I rocked up to the Brunswick town hall one Tuesday evening to meet the masters. Standing by the doors waiting to be let in was a shuffling group of guys, exchanging furtive glances and limp handshakes. We were let in by Iceman, a tall stylish Asian guy who acted clearly like he was in charge. We all walked up stairs to a small conference room and the meeting began. As I looked around the room, I studied the faces of the men present. From that day on, I would attend dozens of such meetings around the world and the realities of who and what lair communities comprised quickly dawned on me. These were not masters of the game, far from it. Here was a snap shot of the countless groups of men I would encounter as I eventually became a speaker on the circuit worldwide. These were the underdogs of society’s sexual hierarchies. Short balding white guys, nervous Asian virgins, bitter Middle-aged divorcees, muppet-faced dorks. Whenever I meet new groups of people, I tend to keep quiet and watch how things work - to see who is in charge, who is trying to bluster and who knows what they are talking about. Although everyone was friendly and enthusiastic, I could see quickly that there was no one in the room who had much to teach me. The guys chatted briskly about game using jargon and acronyms I didn’t understand. Pizza and fizzy drinks appeared and I found myself at a kids’ party, with nerds talking in purely theoretical terms about seducing women. The guy next to me asked what I did. I said I was a massage therapist and played in a band. 38

“Awesome DHV man.” “DHV?” “Demonstration of higher value; gives women more reason to fuck you.” “Well actually, that’s why I’m here. I feel like it’s a crutch. I want to be able to meet girls anywhere and not rely on being a musician.” “Fuck that, more DHVs the better, even better that they are real.” Someone asked me how I got into game and all eyes turned to me…

I was out with my bass player having drinks for his birthday, when I noticed a gorgeous curly haired Greek girl by the bar being chatted up by a big good-looking Aussie surfer type. He was buying her drinks and dancing around entertaining her. I guessed she was interested but not sold. The guy went to the bar to buy drinks and I walked over. “Hi, having fun?” “Yeah I guess.” “Tell you what. When you’ve finished using that guy for free drinks, let me know and we’ll head home. “ Her mouth opened a little in surprise as she took a moment to form some attitude to throw back at me. I looked her dead in the eye and waited. She stepped in close and whispered, “Meet me outside in 5 minutes”. The next morning when she was in the shower I picked up a book next to her bed: “The Game.” When she came in I asked, “Did you seduce me or did I seduce you?” She winked and let her towel fall to the floor as she slinked into bed next to me.

There was silence in the room as a dozen faces looked at me with astonishment. Finally a chirpy Lebanese guy piped up: “Fuck man, what are you doing here? Sounds like your game is tight.”

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The Game The book I had picked up next to my sultry Greek lover’s bed deserves a mention here. The Game – penetrating the secret society of pick up artists changed my life. Not because of the “secrets” it revealed but for being the initial mainstream text that opened the way for a revolution of male sexual consciousness that I jumped aboard. If it weren’t for that book I wouldn’t be here now. I guess I’d be an acupuncturist, sometimes trying to sneak off on my wife for a quickie with the neighbour. It built the foundations for a worldwide multimillion-dollar seduction industry and for many of the countless men who have read it, this book changed their lives forever. The story of its author Neil Strauss, better known as Style, and it’s twisted genius protagonist Mystery revealed to men worldwide that the secrets of sexually successful men were scientifically replicable. For me, this book represented choice and possibility. The ubiquitous “Mystery Method” is now considered dated, unnecessarily complicated and for the most part ineffective, and even back then the method seemed like nonsense to me. I never once used the canned lines, negs, peacocking, and group theory and so on that the book talks about but it gave me and other progressive seducers to come a foundation to build off. It was really the ramifications of what was not said that interested me. If seduction could be learned, I needed to find people who had something useful to teach. It certainly wasn’t Style or Mystery. To be fair, many of the social theories it alluded to and its breakdown of human attraction were ground-breaking but the methods used to manipulate these insights were usually unsuitable to most men. They relied on lies and putting on an act - pretending to be a character that was attractive, rather than becoming attractive. The methods also came from a flawed premise, being that women won’t like you as you are. Everything it taught was based around trying to get through the hitherto insurmountable barriers to meeting attractive women. Rather than teaching you to be bold and direct, it taught you to be sneaky and duplicitous. It

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advocated memorising scripts, not learning to be a good conversationalist and pretending to be a brash, arrogant character to mask your insecurities. I have personally coached huge numbers of men who became more confused and lost than ever after trying to follow the advice within the book. They then have to relearn to be real and natural. The problem was that the methods were only suited to a particular type of sociopathic male, with the ability to make the unreal seem genuine. Mystery certainly got laid often but was clearly suffering from Asperger’s and couldn’t relate to humans as anything other than problems to solve. According to close friends who worked with Neil, he was never good with girls. He was able to leverage his money and fame to sometimes get groupies but his abilities were grossly exaggerated.

The book however, opened a world up to everyone that wanted more than their allotted love life. It confronted the sexual status quo that said tall, white, rich, popular, arrogant males were always and should always be at the top. Suddenly nerds, Asians, introverted engineers, anxious virgins, the underdogs of high school and society had tools and hope of breaking free of sexual obscurity. Worldwide they pooled their knowledge, funnelling their logical, frustrated minds into new techniques and ways to meet women and snatch them away from the school bullies, club kings and those who by good fortune or natural talent had worked it all out. The seduction community following The Game mushroomed out into evolving, competing and collaborating schools of thought that dissected sociological paradigms and built more and more effective ways to fuck with the social matrix. If it weren’t for the Game, this would still be an underground curiosity. As it is, the book and its characters were first movers in what was to become a worldwide phenomenon.

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Young and Gym fit

In 2002 I finished an eastern medicine diploma and after moving to Melbourne with the band, tried to set up a business doing massage. I bought a table and towels, made posters and flyers and started trawling the streets trying to get business. A couple of hippies called up asking for student discounts but that was about it. I called a friend of mine, Costa in Sydney who had done a short evening course in basic massage and said he was going to try to get work.

“How’s the massage biz in Sydney?” “It’s amazing! I’m making 700 bucks a week.” “What the fuck? I haven’t got anyone. I studied for two years! How are you doing it?” “I advertise in the gay newspapers.” “Really? I’ve been advertising in hippy shops and putting flyers in letterboxes. I did a thousand and nothing!” “Hippies don’t have money. Homos do and they spend it on pampering themselves.” “Don’t they want hand jobs or something?” “Yep, you just gotta dodge that.”

I went away and wrote an add for the local gay times. The add came out, still nothing. I called Costa back: “It’s not working man, maybe it’s different in Melbourne.” “Well what does your add say?” I flick through the pages and read it out: Qualified eastern Massage practitioner, available for Chinese therapeutic and Japanese Shiatsu sessions. Member of Australian Massage Association.

“Are you joking? It’s a gay mag, you gotta sex it up. Forget about your qualifications, they don’t give a shit about that.” 42

We threw ideas back and forth and eventually came up with: Attractive gym-fit therapist available 7 days for full body pleasure. The day the add came out, my phone rang off the hook. So I began my career as a fake gay massage therapist. Men started arriving daily: simpering old queens; immaculately groomed metro guys in advertising; rough Aussie blokes who came in from the country to slip away from the wife once in a while; rippling muscled, perfectly tanned club Adonises - I had them all. Mostly they behaved but a couple of times a week I’d have to fend off some subtle or overt advance. An elegant old queen said “Excellent massage James, and now let’s talk about your extra services” “I don’t offer any of those.” “Really…? You do know you’re the only one.” Another time I returned from washing up after the massage to see the guy out. He was a gorgeous, perfectly sculpted young man and as I opened the door I was confronted with him sitting up on the table, huge erection in hand, looking at me smugly, “That was good, now I want some sex.” He looked very confused as I formally stated the professional nature of my services and quickly closed the door. Ironically, for the next few years I funded my lifestyle of full time pussy hunting by rubbing oil into the butts of Melbourne’s gay community.

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Larry & Lisa

One day I received a call from a man who explained that he was looking for someone to massage his wife. The flyers had finally yielded something. We agreed on price and time and then he asked if he could come and watch. I needed the money. They were middle aged and clearly orthodox Jews. Larry rambled in a loud American voice, very friendly and awkward. Lisa never said a word aside from hello and goodbye. She was pretty, blonde and had a great figure considering she had given birth to seven children. I left them so she could undress and then returned and gave her a massage. Larry sat on a chair and fidgeted and tapped his foot. They paid me and left. Weird. The next week another call: “James! Lisa was over the moon about her experience with you. She said your touch was like silk. We’d like to book another time. Oh and feel free to let yourself go next time.” “What do you mean by that?” “Just, feel free to ah… explore. Just to do what you would do naturally.” “What I would do is a professional massage.” “Oh yes of course but if your hands happen to go in any crooks or crinkles, that’s nothing to worry about. We’d like 90 minutes this time.”

Crooks and crinkles? Never had anything sounded less erotic. The next session, I went about my usual routine but let me hands go much higher on her inner thigh. She spread her legs. I turned her over and gently massaged her breasts, her tummy and ever so close to her pussy. The next time Larry called he tried his luck again: “Listen James, great work. I’m learning a lot watching you. Perhaps I could pay you to show me how you do that. “ “That would cost more.” “Of course, you’re a professional.”

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A few days later Larry and I are hunched over his prone wife while I tried to guide his hand along her back. He shoved and grabbed with his clumsy fat hands and for the first time ever Lisa spoke up, “No Larry, that’s not how James does it!” He screwed up his face and kneaded her buttocks with sweat dripping onto her from his forehead. We never tried that again but they became my weekly guests. Always with Larry watching and gradually I let my fingers run right up to her pussy - she was soaking wet. So before long my 90 minute special, double price massage included me vigorously fingering her from behind until she came with a tiny cry. Then I’d continue working the rest of her body for another half hour, cover her with a towel and leave them to get ready.

Finally Lisa called herself “James, I’ve really enjoyed our visits. I spoke to Larry and I’d like to visit you alone next time.” “Umm, are you sure Larry is ok with that?” In the background Larry jumped in “Oh hi James. Yes, yes that’s fine. I’m just here next to Lisa and ah yeah, thought I’d throw in my support.” “Ok thanks Larry. Umm… sure.”

After she undressed and lay down, I took my clothes off. I let my hard cock rub against her while I worked her over. She reached out tentatively. I lay my dick on her palm and she squeezed and then suddenly jerked it fast. I slipped two fingers into her and she pushed back hard. I stood there, watching her fucking my fingers and realised I was getting paid three dollars a minute to get a hand job from a Jewish mother. As soon as she came, I stopped controlling my breath and let myself go, spurting all over her back. She collapsed and I rubbed the jizz into her back and finished the massage. She called me the next night “James, I just wanted to tell you our visits have meant a lot to me. Last night I felt you played me like one of your instruments. Thank you for everything you gave to me.”

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That was the last I heard from Larry and Lisa.

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Eve

This experience got me thinking, surely there has to be another niche market for erotic massage that didn’t involve gay men. There must be other rich swinging, experimental couples that would want to be serviced. What if, I wondered I could find a slutty girl I could train up and then we could do couples? I quickly wrote up an add and posted it on an adult job listing classifieds. One girl answered: Hi I’m Eve, I’m 20 years old, Mediterranean background. I’m hot. Looking for work in adult industry but I’m from a prominent and conservative family, so I require discretion. Here’s my number. Sounded too good to be true and with my previous internet disasters fresh in my mind I arrived at the café to meet her with low expectations. “Eve?” She looked up, smoking a cigarette slowly with a devious look in her huge almond eyes. She was hot stuff: tanned long legs, a thick mane of dark hair, bouncy curves and a big proud Cypriot nose. We drank coffee and I tried to keep the semblance of the interview farce going. I told her my idea. She said it sounded fine.

“So what are you prepared to do… I mean with the clients?” “Well I don’t do anal and I don’t take come on my face.” “I think we can work with those limits” “When do we start?” She purred. “Well first I need to see if you can massage or not.” “Ok, let’s go. “

She drove me back to my place in her fancy car that daddy bought, Versace dresses crumpled on the floor amongst high heels I’m sure were worth more than me. 47

I take her straight into the massage room and she asks me to show her first. Without asking she strips down to a leather g- string, popping out her huge buoyant tits and lies down on the table, her round tight butt jiggling just right. I start oiling her up and lightly running strokes along her back. “This is just a therapeutic massage, not tantric. Just to give you the idea”. “Why don’t you give me a tantric one?” Without pause I adjust the strokes, letting my fingertips trail, running along the outside line of her breasts, scooping under her pelvis, teasing between her thighs. Her breathing gets heavy, I can smell her pussy. I stop without going too far. “Fuck that was hot”, she says as she slowly sat up to face me, “Your turn.”

I stripped completely and lay down. Intuitively she rubbed oil in, running her fingernail tips down my sides, sending shivers through my body. She bent down and rubbed her firm tits all the way along my back, letting her long hair trail behind. After a long time, she gently stopped. I sat up. She stepped up close to me. The room was steamy and hot, smelling of scented oil, sweat and desire. I pulled her in and we exploded together, grabbing big handfuls of juicy ass and tits. She dropped straight to her knees and swallowed my whole cock all in one go. She rammed her head down violently gagging and moaning while she sucked lustily. I pulled aside her panties and jammed two fingers into her dripping shaved pussy, then pushed her down onto the massage table and start fucking her as hard as I could. She screamed while her tits bounced violently and she gripped the sides of the table. I heard the splintering of wood, as the legs started to give way, so I grabbed her hips, span her around, pushed her over, ramming her pussy and grabbing a big bunch of black locks. I went crazy, both of us arched ass out, legs bent under her for leverage, I jack hammered until I couldn’t take it any longer. I pushed her to her knees and spurted long coils of jizz all over her gleaming oily tits. She rubbed it all over her nipples, looked up at me and said, “So do I have the job?”

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Eve started coming round every couple of days to “train”. A friend took naked photos of us and I started making a crude website to advertise our couples massage. We fucked every time of course but I had trouble keeping an erection sometimes. She demanded that I dominate her and slap her around. “Come on babe, be nasty, hit me, don’t be a pussy about it!” I squeezed my hand around her neck and thought, how do you dominate a woman who is barking orders? I took her out to some friends. She talked incessantly about herself and money, constantly dropping in comments about her mysterious rich family. She was rude and condescending. I took it quietly and tried to keep my distance. I needed her for my scheme but she was trouble. She stayed the night and the next morning we practised our massage routine again. Of course it ended in an oily fuck mess on the table. I choked her (following her orders) and started rubbing my thumb around her butt hole. It swelled and puckered to my touch and took the thumb easily. I started worming my cock around the entrance and she turned her head and said: “There’s no way you are taking my anal virginity. That’s for my husband.” With an evil smile I nudged forward and the head of my cock popped straight in. She gasped with a look of confused outraged ecstasy. I pushed slowly and it slid in. She cried out, dropped her head and started rubbing her clit furiously. I grabbed her cheeks and started fucking her asshole. She screamed and pushed back on my cock, coming with an explosion of pussy juicing convulsions. I pulled out and yanked her head back, jacking off aggressively. She looked at me flushed and moaning, licking a lascivious sneer across her lips. A gush of hot jizz coated her face. I collapsed on the floor, “Jamie, you bastard, I said that was for my husband.” She stood up and took a cigarette from her purse and laughed, “But it felt surprisingly good… I hope you appreciate it,” she said as she flashed a smile and snapped her bra on.

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That night I was reading quietly at home and she called drunk. “I’m coming over.” She arrived and jumped straight into bed and told me to tell her a story. I really wanted to be alone but I told her about banging a hooker in China. She started rubbing her pussy against me. “I like that, tell me another sex story.” I launched into another anecdote, starting to craft quirky supporting characters and an abstract storyline. She cut me off. “I don’t want to hear that, just get to the sex.” “I’ll tell my stories how I want to, thanks.” I snapped back. Without skipping a beat she again demanded a sex story. “I’m not going to tell you anymore.” She rolled over saying, “Fuck you.” I lay there for a few minutes and could feel tears welling up. I suddenly couldn’t stand to be next to this cruel narcissist any longer. “Can you leave?” I said “What?!” She spat back. “I think you’d better go.” She leapt up and started screaming “How dare you?! No man has ever kicked me out! Look at you, you’re a loser. You’re 26 and you’ve got nothing, you’re a child!” I was filled with rage and screamed back: “Fuck you. If I had’ve come into your house and treated you like that, how would you react?” “I would tell the fucking story!” “You are the most self-centred, shallow person I have ever met. Get out!” As the door slammed I curled up in my bed and cried my heart out. I thought of Zahra and our tender love, set so starkly against this cold domineering woman. I felt the sorrow of all lonely fearful humanity and felt racked with guilt and despair. I thought of her crying to herself while I was in China, so hurt and alone. Pathetically I dressed and walked through the cold streets to her apartment. She let me in, sleepy and quiet into her warm bed. She held me to her breast and I sobbed myself to sleep.

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In the morning whatever epiphany I had was gone. I told her I was sorry I came over; it was weak and selfish to bother her. My small cunning mind started working immediately on ways to resurrect the sleazy massage parlour and move to the next pussy and pipe dream. That very night a classy Macedonian girl I’d met once before for dinner, came over with a bottle of wine. We talked for a couple of hours and then I led her to bed. I could feel my mojo sucked dry from the lingering assault of Eve’s fury. My cock failed but I kept trying. I ran my finger down her neck, bringing my mind to my fingertip. I breathed long and deep, closing my eyes as I traced over her trembling nipple, down the soft corrugated bumps of her ribs, down to the delicious dip of her hip, down, down. I opened my eyes and pulled her in. Romeo must die. She came three times.

Iceman

I met up with the lair guys a few times when they went out “sarging” (what normal guys call going out and hoping to get laid). Their usual haunt was a trashy meat-market called Transport in the Melbourne CBD. On the first night, I remembered the few bits of pick up theory I’d learnt: the three second rule – that you must approach someone within 3 seconds of arriving at a venue, to smash your “approach anxiety”, and the fact that you need to get girls physically moving with you to an isolated location to start touching them. Also the idea that they all fixated on of demonstrating higher value. Value of what, higher than who? I wondered. I drifted through the crowd looking for the guys, when I noticed a cute brunette chatting around a table with a big group of friends.

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“Oh, I love this song, why is no one dancing?” she mused to the group. I stepped through, reached my hand out and said, “I know, it’s such a waste.” I took her hand, stepped up onto the table and pulled her up with me. We danced and made out, with her friends standing in a circle below us. Amazing, I thought. All you need is psychological isolation to shift her attention. I excused myself and found Iceman. “Hey, what’s up? I just did my first make out for the night, you wanna come back to the set with me?” “Don’t worry about the girls now, come meet the guys,” he said. As I got introduced around to seduction community guys, more of the truth become apparent. Most of them were not approaching women. Many of them wore silly accessories such as bunny ears, cowboy hats and extra watches in poor imitation of Mystery’s ubiquitous style but none had the personality or pathology to pull it off. I soon learned that lair nights usually consisted of bundles of anxious outcasts shuffling about drinking water, making excuses about why they weren’t approaching, and scoffing at the Aussie drunks who stumbled up to girls asking if they were having a good night, or “waddaya driiinkin?” The sad fact being that it was those louts, not our pick up theory specialists who went home with the girls.

I’ve often encountered women who are appalled by the idea of the seduction community but I always reassure them that the vast majority of guys in it are completely harmless. They’re shy sweet guys mainly trying to find a girlfriend. Most of formalised pick up simply doesn’t work because so much of the important aspects of delivery, presence and responsiveness are missing from the theory and the guys who try to use it. If you’re ever going to be picked up by a real PUA you won’t be able to tell he’s doing it and furthermore, you’ll thoroughly enjoy it.

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What the Fuck is an F-Close?

From here on, my readers, I’ve included reports I wrote during my early seduction escapades, which I published in the Melbourne Lair forum. You’ll notice that in my initial entries I write in the dorky jargon of the seduction community as it was at the time. An inhumane lexicon had been coined by the Asperger’s sociopaths who first taught seduction methods and had caught on in the logical, emotionally stilted gender adversarial community. I jumped in, learned the terms and wrote them into my reports for a short time. Tempted as I now am to rewrite the reports to whitewash over this aspect, in the end I’ve decided to leave the reports as they were. The stories show not only my development in game, but also thankfully in removing most of the demonizing PUA terms. A few of the terms have stuck for better or worse and you’ll still hear me say some: set, approach, number close, (though certainly no K-close or F-close! Which refer to the magic of human lips and genitals connecting), target, LMR but for the most part I highly recommend not thinking or speaking in jargon when referring to intimate relationships between people. At the end of the day seduction isn't a video game. It's two people sharing a story, a connection and a dance of sexual polarity.

From my initial researches all that I really picked up, in terms of technique, from the Pick Up Artist community were some concepts about female behaviour triggers: such as why they often freeze and halt the sexual escalation moments before sex. Luckily I never bothered learning any of the convoluted cheesy cold-reading routines, hypnotic language patterns or fake demonstrations of higher value monologues, which were in vogue at the time. I opted for rolling up, saying what was on my mind more or less and vibing from there. Natural game, they would come to call it later. I was initially pretty stilted and not consistently sexually bold but I learnt quickly, primarily by observing the women’s responses and interviewing them about why I crashed and burned if possible. I also carefully watched my three wingmen who you’ll meet soon and badgered them with questions about their methods and mindsets, always searching for the underlying principles that united our varied styles.

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The result over several years was that I was able to backwards engineer what a “Natural” does and how he thinks, which eventually led me to developing the coaching frameworks I now use. Now, let’s get back to the action…

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Dumpster Pickup 2nd April 2006 Hey everyone, I'm a newbie to formalised PUartistry and I'm keen to hone my intuitive and trial and error skills, which is why I've hunted you guys down. I'm a 26 y.o. tall, cheeky white boy from St Kilda who plays in bands, tours the country and massages Toorak society ladies for a living. Having released myself from monogamy fairly recently, I'm dedicating myself to successful bachelorhood and am ready to destroy whatever comfort zones I still inhabit… Look forward to meeting all you gentlemen soon. James And now a story for you all to critique.... After ten hours recording in the studio I stumbled off the tram on the Esplanade feeling dazed and reckless. Ahead of me, two very attractive Chapel street type blondes all tarted up, were rummaging through a pile of dumped furniture. I've never had any luck with this type of girl, the ones that go to daytime raves sponsored by red bull, snort MDMA and call it Molly, have big tits and fuck guys with fluro sunglasses, muscles and Southern Cross tattoos on their shoulders. I only ever snagged alternative rocker chicks or exotic ethnic girls but I'm trying to diversify... So, without hesitation I walked straight up and put my hand on the battered piece of cane furniture Blondie was inspecting. “No way you're taking that, it's mine”. She turned, startled. “No, I'm joking, it's all yours”. Luckily she laughed and I was in. General chit chat, throw in mention of the band/massage (these are tacky hooks but they work. I'd like to stop using them) and invite them to a gig. It turns out we are practically neighbours, so I try to play on the community feeling… 55

She says, “Sure, but you should come over for a glass of wine in the week.” I grab her number and wander off home. Time elapsed, maybe five minutes. I wait three days, call and invite myself over. I buy a bottle of white wine (note, must learn about wines) and stroll over. The door is answered by yet another beautiful blonde who takes me down the hall into the kitchen where - I shit you not - there are a total of six, hot 20yo women. (Have I possibly wandered into some sorority sex kitten horror movie?) Knowing this is a dangerous situation I quickly make definite contact with each friend, paying particular attention to the one who sneers as I enter. I hardly acknowledge Blondie. Out in the back garden I meet the Alpha male, a hot black dude with a famous sister from NYC. I talk at length to him, pretty sure I was holding my own. Fast forward: dinner, wine, move to a bar, continue working her friends but gradually making physical contact and flirting with Blondie. I escort three girls home and Blondie requests a massage (that old trick again). I follow her upstairs and perform all my duties, feeling just like a muscly surfer as I slapped her tan buttocks, watching her big tits bounce in time with my dick and the day party techno she put on.

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Blue balls & Booty calls 6th April 2006 After attending my first Lair meeting last week, I was inspired to augment my intuitive style with some of the techniques and theories discussed. This will be my first post where I will attempt to speak in pickup nerd jargon. Excuse me if I muddle it up. Two weeks with no action is too much to tolerate, so I resolved to push myself hard this weekend. Friday- I went out to catch some of the free music going on around the Commonwealth games (Guys, don't waste this next week, the city is PACKED with excited foreigners and suddenly sociable locals. Call me if you want to work together). I practised my A1s, saying hello to every girl whose eye I caught… The previous week I had number closed a cute 19yo Taiwanese girl with a New Zealand accent (what a horrible mix). Sent a few innocuous messages and that night she called to see what I was up to. Met up at Bar Open and immediately moved into Kino, held her hand, lent in close. She was clearly very drunk so it was a pushover. Moved her to a couch and kiss closed. This was nothing new to me, the interesting thing for me was dealing with her suspicious teenage friends. I made very direct contact with the alpha male and gave him some advice on the girl he was working on. Whenever they came over I took command and then re-isolated my girl. The other thing I worked on was sustaining the conversation in between make out sessions with someone who bored me shitless and I had little in common with. I haven't learned any patterns or routines so I was just playing with basic principles of eliciting emotional response, changing pace, essentially asking clean questions to find out what she was interested by. She was interested by shopping, TV shows and going on holidays to Bali… what a gem. As the bar closed I managed to remove her from her friends and suggest we catch a cab together. Reaching her place in the city, she implied she wanted me to come up, so after a heavy session in the lift she took me inside. 57

There is no such thing as a sure thing. I went to the toilet and in that minute, she changed her mind and bundled me out the door. She said, "I don't think you should stay, things might get out of hand" (That’s the idea!) While she said this, her hand pushed desperately over my cock. Mixed messages? I asked if she was sure because it didn't seem like she wanted me to go. I continued kissing her neck and rubbing her pussy while we had this discussion outside her apartment. Still, she was adamant and eventually I got pissed off and left. Five minutes later an old fuck buddy called and demanded my services, so I broke the two week drought but no new conquests. Any advice on this last minute resistance? Not sure it’s worth trying again with her, the kiwi accent on an Asian girl is almost unbearable. Saturday- a day of rest Sunday- Went on a date with a 30yo architect. She's desperate for it and I'm not interested. She's too nice to fuck around with, yet I still have this idiotic habit of humouring 7's instead of deleting them completely from my game. The only good thing was we walked by the bar where my Blondie score from two weeks ago works and was called in by her. I'm working on her friend who was sitting next to her. I very briefly chatted to Blondie, ignored her friend, glanced at her once with predatory eyes and then left them. After I dumped the architect (after stupidly agreeing to another meeting, where I will again waste both our time and deflect her advances) I headed to the live music around the city. Met my best mate (who I lament is a serial monogamist) Jon and we headed into the crowd and danced like lunatics. I felt my mojo working and spied a group of hot hippy girls dancing (my usual type). We moved over and I made eye contact. By great luck one of them went to school with my guitarist and had seen us play. She came over and chatted. She is a card-carrying lesbian but she had two friends, a Busty compact ethno hippy chick and an absolutely stunning natural Blonde with massive tits wearing

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Doc Martin boots and an ugly op-shop dress. Perfect. Well almost, turned out she was a kiwi. Her name was Tamzen but sounded like Timzn, when she said it. I spent my time on Busty and didn’t need any game. We got on immediately: both studied Chinese medicine and had general hippy waffle to shoot about. The Blonde hippy was polite but either very shy or completely uninterested. Great, I thought. A chance to battle against indifference in a warm approach atmosphere. Social proof was already established. We changed venues three times over the next few hours, dancing and chatting. The blonde never showed any more than the barest IOI's that social protocol demanded. My presence clearly made her uncomfortable but I pushed ahead regardless. As I could feel my chances waning I decided it was time to make my move and bail. “I think I'm going to head home. Would it be really cheeky of me to ask for your number?” “I think it would.” she replied. I smiled and waited. She nervously pulled out her phone and put my number in and called me. I should have left then but the lesbian invited me to get ice cream with them. The following 20 minutes were useless and probably made me seem creepy as if I would never leave. A tram ran by, I quickly said goodbye kissing all three on the cheek and jumped on. It was a proud moment. I had number closed a knockout girl who had no attraction towards me. A very clumsy set which worked simply because I had the balls to continue (and the lesbian helped). I got off the tram in St Kilda and strutted. Stared down beautiful girls on their boyfriend’s arms and struck up a conversation with two guys walking next to me. I never talk to random guys, truth is I’m not very friendly. We immediately got on and as they walked up to "Mink" and were ushered in by their door bitch friend I decided to join them. Walking into this club was an alien environment. I've always been a rocker and these exclusive boutique clubs were never an option. It was an advanced seduction location. Lots of peacocking good-looking rich guys and blonde super strumpets that I've never 59

had any luck with. The only thing I had going for me was that I was so out of my element that I didn't give a fuck. “Watch this!” I said to my new mate. I had no idea what I was about to do. I walked up to two blondes: "Excuse me, sorry to bother you I was wondering if you could help me with a problem I'm having? It seems that I'm invisible to blonde women (true). Just wondering if you could tell me if there is anything about me that is causing this". It was a terrible line, self-critical and confusing - I bombed within 3 minutes. I felt great, I couldn't care less. I talked about it to my new buddy and he pointed to the two hottest blondes in the room. He must have thought I was on cocaine. I strode over and repeated the same routine. I was again brushed off in less than a minute and again laughed my head off, thinking of the fear I no longer seemed to have. Good start, now I need to work out how to turn these spectacular failures into success. Ten minutes later I got a call from a 34yo I had been tuning on Myspace. She was fucked on drugs and wanted to come pick me up. Half an hour later her car pulled up and out she tumbled in fishnet stockings, a green velvet leotard and 5 inch gold heels. In the car was her flaming gay friend and a girl so trashed her tit was bouncing casually out of her top. The gay boy said, "Oh you've got fantastic cheekbones and hair!" and drove us to Revolver. There was no game here. We danced, drank and gay friend said, "Stop fucking around and kiss her!" Which I did. She matter-of-factly handed the keys over to GB and we caught a cab home. Now this girl was certainly starting to show the effects of two decades of partying but had a fantastic bum and I suspected would be a firecracker in bed. Deep throat, acrobatic position changes, finishing up with a rambunctious pounding from behind with my thumb snuggly lodged up her arse. What a cruel irony that they get better in bed and more interesting as people as their bodies deteriorate. She sent this message this morning:

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Absolute pleasure to contribute to your research for the dork sex god’s art of war& further enhancing my skills in the art of whore.

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Two sets forward, one step back 24th April 2006 Some good developments this weekend and some teary failure to balance things out... Thursday - Called the blonde hippy Tamzen, who I number closed the previous week. I moved too quickly from “hi” to “wanna meet” and she was nervous. "Maybe, I'll send you a message on Sunday if I'm free." Fuck. Friday- Took out my ex GF Mia’s 17yo brother, who was visiting from the country, to demonstrate pick up principles. We went to a street festival and practised cold approaches. These are no problem for me now. I can now say - “hello/how's it going” to anyone. The trick is how to move from innocuous greeting to really entering a set. We went to Transport really late and met up with Iceman and co. Things were getting very messy and it was a stallion party. I did one classy and quick entry, and got out of there. Saturday - Again out for the festivities with apprentice and my best friend Jon. An old female friend CC calls me to say she is at going away drinks for a workmate and that it would be in my best interests to drop by. Bless her. I leave the two boys at a concert and walk into Lounge. She is at a table with 4 nerdy guys (no offense to nerds, we are all nerds otherwise we wouldn't be here) and four hot Asian girls. I move like clockwork. Give my friend a big hug, introduce myself to all, make friends with nerds, position myself next to hottest girl, start flirting, then say, "look, I've gotta go but if you guys are out tonight, give me a call." I give my number to BustyAsia and she asks for mine. Then I leave the set with a wink to my friend. On the way out I notice a chick who I have been chatting up on Myspace, who I'd never met but had tentatively arranged to meet the next week. She was in a big group. I walked straight in, "Hi Justine." She was startled but recognised me. "I won't interrupt your night, just wanted to say hello. I'll call you next week." Eject. She started texting me an hour later wanting to meet up, saying her friends were boring. 62

I was too deep in set by then so wrote, "I thought you were taken tonight, so I had to find someone else to play with. See you soon." (Nailed her a week later) Went back to meet Jon and wait in line at Transport to hook up with the Lair boys inside. TeenTaiwan, the Kiwi Asian who had kicked me out with a boner last week called and I told her to come down and meet us. She turned up 30 minutes later and joined us in the line. I gave her a quick kiss but kept things pretty cold. The other Asian girl messaged me and I told her the same. She turned up but when she saw the hotter girl fawning over me, said she didn't want to wait in line and left. Eventually security told us all no one else was getting in (unless they were blonde with big tits I would say), so we all went to Cherry Bar. Once in Cherry I started making out with my TeenTaiwan. We all got pissed and danced like rock hooligans to AC/DC. She was getting steamed up like last week, so after a couple of hours I decided to extract. Gave the word to the guys and they excused themselves. TeenT and I did one more venue change. More dry fucking on the couch and then I said "I'll walk you home." Not quite... She was still reluctant, so we sat on a bench in the alley near her place and she straddled me grinding denim. Finally, up the lift to the door where things had ended last time. Door opens, I walk in, no resistance. Good. I create some space, keep her talking, go out on balcony, more action. Good. She gets cold, we go inside and she walks into her bedroom. I follow. At every new step she resists and I back off, or try whatever distraction tricks I've accumulated. We get clothes off and as I'm trying to manoeuvre she says, "I'm not ready for this James, lets snuggle." I've got to be careful about rolling my eyes at times like these but I give in and hug her. She passes out. Next morning she gives me a hand job which is the kind of furtive teenage placation that I would usually not bother with but it had been a frustrating night. She clung to me as I tried to leave and I knew the game was over. I'll close next weekend no problem but it has dragged on too long so that my departure is going to be a messy "I thought you were my boyfriend" one, rather than "It just happened". 63

Actually, I never did fuck her. Decided it wasn’t worth the bother. Sunday - called Tamzen: Me – Hey how are you fluff fluff. Look I know we said we'd meet up today but I had a huge night and I'm in no condition to entertain anyone. What about we meet up mid week. Her – Yeah, I'm pretty busy this week and going away next weekend to the beach eh. So yeah probably not eh. Me – That's cool, tell me something. Do you have trouble just telling a guy that you are not interested. Her – mumble, pretty busy as bro mumble Me – I'm not trying to be pushy but if I want to get to know someone, then I don't waste time about it. I'm certainly not desperate, so just let me know if you want me to back off. Her – Yeah, it's just not a good time for me mumble mumble. Me – No problem. Look, you've got my number so give me a call if you change your mind. Have fun at the beach. Delete. Too bad, she was the hottest chick I've spoken to since my ex. Can't win them all but you have to keep playing.

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A Short History of Baron Samadhi When I was eight years old, my mother read a book called - “The right instrument for your child”. It advocated for me, because I was slim, introverted and sensitive, to play the flute. So I started classical training in the least manly of all instruments as well as becoming an exquisite boy soprano. I sang in classical choirs and orchestras and got beat up after school as a result. I played throughout childhood and had a stint in the high school marching band when I was an exchange student in Idaho. But as I got into drugs and girls in late high school I stopped practising. A couple of years later in the year 2000, my old friend Dave suggested we start a band, influenced by our love of old soul, funk, acid rock and bebop jazz. We were some decades too late for a funk revival but we got excited about the prospect of writing weird songs and getting famous. So we pulled in my brother Shultz on drums, Jon on bass, Dave on organ and sax and me singing and playing flute. Before long we were dragging Dave’s ancient Hammond organ down into dingy pubs, playing opening spots for local nobodies. We dressed in flamboyant old suits, fur coats from op-shops and increasingly more camp disco pimp wear. I wrote songs about sex with nuns, spiritual yearning, odes to magic mushrooms and a fourteen minute psychedelic funk odyssey about zombies from Haiti. Zombies from Haiti are coming for you tonight They’re gonna practice voodoo on you and you know they’ll do it right You better make it back to your room while it’s still light Because zombies from Haiti are coming for you tonight Put in a trance and buried alive Don’t dig them up you’ll get a nasty surprise They’re undead and they’re underfed They want your brains or your soul instead If the witch doctor points his stick at you You know your days in the sun are through 65

The band line up changed fast as my brother moved cities, I fought with Dave and Jon moved into doing theatre seriously. I refused to give up, now hungry for stardom and auditioned for new members. As we played more shows, I became obsessed with making it, becoming famous. I loved the music but it was definitely inextricably linked to women. I was still living with Mia at this time but starting to get restless and worried that at the old age of 21, I was about to miss my youth. I remember playing a shitty little pub in the suburbs one weekend. While the guitarist was wailing his solo, crammed up against the poker machines in the corner a pretty girl handed me a note. Time stopped. I opened it and read: “Hey Pied Piper. I’d follow you over the cliffs of love anytime.” My ears felt hot. It was working. I looked up and at the back of the room a girl waved. Not the girl who gave me the note, this girl was much, much bigger. I sighed and picked up my flute to play the next horn line and thought, “It’s a start. All I need to do is get more famous and the groupies will get smaller.” A couple of years later I was single and we were rulers on the funk scene in Canberra. By this I meant of the five other bands that played something similar around the handful of run down live music venues, we were the kings. We recorded an album in my lounge room, put on a big show and had two hundred people rock up. The girls did get smaller, although we were certainly not getting close to manifesting my fantasy brunette lithe waifs who read Kerouac and did ballet. We decided Canberra was too small for us and one day the entire band packed up our meagre belongings, left the girlfriends we didn’t really like and drove two station wagons full of instruments to Melbourne. We lived initially all together in the drummer’s mother’s place that was an hour train ride from the city. We all rolled up to the local unemployment office to register for the dole. The lady behind the desk asked me: “So what kind of work are you looking for?” “Musician. Playing original funk fusion specifically.” “Ah, right. We don’t have anything like that at the moment… we’ll be in touch.” The rest of the band shuffled forward and the drummer stepped up. “What kind of work are you looking for?” “Music. Left-handed drummer.” 66

Look out Melbourne, Baron Samadhi had arrived. We’d practice every day and then I’d set out with a bundle of our home made albums and grainy VHS live videos to visit every pub, bar and venue in the city to try to get us gigs. I’d watch bar managers scoff as they threw my package into a pile of rotting demos, leave endless voicemails and emails for bookers, plead with café owners to book us in exchange for food but almost nothing came of it. In a fit of desperation I bought a big black dildo and wrote - “Book the Baron” down the shaft in red nail polish. I sent it to the rough old broad that booked for the Espy, the iconic seaside pub where AC/DC cut their teeth in the 70’s. She called me a few days later. “Did you send me a black dildo?” “Yes” “You’re a cheeky bastard aren’t ya.” “I am. We had to get your attention somehow.” “I listened to your demo, it’s alright. Come and see me on Thursday after lunch.” She booked us on the spot and when the show rolled around we forced every person we vaguely knew to come. The crowd was just big enough and just drank enough for us to get called back. We had arrived. The Melbourne music scene was amazing at that time. The quality of musicianship, stagecraft and original music coming out of the city was exciting and intimidating. We all lifted our game fast and soon had built a powerful live show with a new horn section, choreography and increasingly complex funky stylistic mashups. I plotted to organise our first national tour and over summer we all piled into a beat up old hire van and drove up the coast, playing sleepy seaside towns, backpacker meat markets and bogan desert pubs. We made the decision whether or not to wear our pink sequin pants and ruffled shirts each night based on how aggressive the crowd looked. Those adventures up and down Australia became comic farce missions as we struggled to sell enough CDs to pay for petrol to the next town. But I loved it. We were good. We were getting there slowly. I felt like this was my one chance to step above it all. 67

On tour with the Baron 9th May 2006 Day 1. We drove to Sydney, four band members, and two stoner German backpacker chicks. Arriving late we made our way to Bondi to my ex-girlfriend Mia’s flat where we were staying. Everyone crashed on the floor and I got into bed with her and a friend of hers who was visiting. We watched DVDs on her laptop, getting cozy and the thought crossed my mind that this might be a threesome opportunity, but then my phone rang… *Flashback* three months earlier on another tour we rolled into Sydney after three weeks on the road. We played a show in Kings Cross to a small but pumped audience. I was at the height of my mojo, really in the swing of travelling rock and roll troubadour. I was already with a chick at the gig but afterwards at the bar one of the most stunning women I have ever spoken to came up to me. I wish I could tell you her name because it sounds like a porn star. Let’s call her “Laura Lipservice”. She was 20 years old: quarter American Indian, quarter African American, and half French. One of those super hipster girls that were always well out of reach. And here she was tripping over herself to give me her number. That’s the power of rock and roll. Over the next few months we exchanged the odd text, with restrained flirting… …I answered the call and it was Laura, tipsy: “Where are you, I’ll come meet you. I’ll be there in twenty minutes…” I removed myself from Mia’s grumpy grasp, got dressed and went downstairs. I didn’t notice the taxi pull up. Next thing I know I feel her hands over my eyes from behind. We stroll down to the beach and I notice that she is asking me all the kind of rapport questions we might pull on our targets: “What inspires passion in you”, “If you could be anything what would you be” etc… I don’t think I asked a single question about her.

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We got to the beach and splashed in the waves. I kissed her, it was one of those nights where the mack daddy Tao is on your side. I used a line I think I picked up from some PUA, “ Are you one of those girls who prefers kisses on the neck or on the ear”, as I did both. “You are doing both just right,” (What is this: Bold and the Beautiful?). She said, “You are coming home with me?” As we drove in the cab I kept a certain distance the whole time. Not pushing the physical too far. This was equal first with the hottest most exotic woman I’d ever touched but it all felt easy and natural. Arriving at her swanky sex in the city apartment we went to her room and she turned out the light (Note gentleman. If a girl turns out the light, you are about to get laid). She then said. “You’ll think I’m really boring but let’s just cuddle.” Anti slut defence kicking in, I simply said “Of course” and kept kissing her. We kissed on the bed but I didn’t make any moves past high school disco. Suddenly she pulled off her dress, bra and panties, spread her legs and pulled me on top of her. I pushed straight inside this exotic goddess, desperately wishing the lights were on. All the while she’s breathlessly saying things like: “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done”, “ Your touch is like silk”, “I barely know you”, “ I want you so much”. Next morning we made it again and I cabbed back to the band all waiting and irritated next to the van. Off we go… Day 4. Playing at the local pub of a tiny town a bunch or local girls came in and danced up close to us. During the set break I chatted up a busty pretty one. She bought our CD and her girlfriend asked me to sign her cleavage, which I reluctantly agreed to. It’s hilarious really. My band is not famous, you guys would have never heard of us but when you are playing live you are at least the most famous guy in the room. After the show we followed the four girls to the local RSL (veterans bar). Unfortunately my mark started to flake as she had to catch an early flight. I offered to walk her home but she refused. She sent me a text later, “Sorry, I like you. Just shy…” About 1am all wasted, we went to the local bakery that stays open all night and acts as a default nightclub. We fire twirled and drummed with some hippies and out of nowhere a gang of young girls appeared. “Wow, you guys are in a band? That’s like so cool.” They were all over us. I had one on my lap two draped on my shoulders… I was a king. “Hang on, 69

how old are you guys?” “Fifteen!” they yelled in unison and giggled. “Fuck! Get off, go home.” I said to them and myself. Day 9. Bad luck and comic disaster plagued most of the rest of the trip. We had a lot of dead shows with very little talent to work on. One town it rained so heavily that the roads in and out were blocked and we played literally to the barman. I got a few numbers here and there but no action. The bass player and drummer foolishly hooked up with the German girls we’d brought as roadies/CD salesgirls, creating instant girlfriends they couldn’t escape from. I had been counting on the Koala Beach Backpackers Resort in Noosa. It’s a trashy hostel with a bar and last time we played there we all got laid. I tell you, backpackers are some of the easiest and best targets there are. They are poor and desperate, have left all their inhibitions back in Berlin, are generally fairly interesting because they’ve at least been somewhere, are almost always single and are going away soon (although I have made the mistake of offering my couch before and ended up with euro-barnacles that are almost impossible to dislodge). The show we played there bombed. The crowd just wasn’t getting our obscure time signatures and quirky horn lines and I was getting almost no glances from the girls. I was in a foul mood and didn’t really have the heart to work the floor. Still, I chatted without enthusiasm to a plump Peruvian with long hair and a cute round face. She was blabbering: “I can’t believe I met the singer in a band.” We had a dance and a snog and she hung around while we packed up. Afterwards we all had a joint by the pool and feeling better, I offered to walk her back to the apartment she was at down the road. I inquired about who she was staying with. “There is eight of us in the same room.” Damn, oh well just call it a night I thought. We kissed at the door and it started getting heavy. Fuck this, I’m a rocker on tour. Time to act like one. I span her around pulled down both our pants, rolled on a condom and pounded her plump buttocks under the streetlamp for a few minutes. Gave her a kiss on the cheek and strolled off down the street, flinging the condom in a bush while I whistled one of my songs. 70

Day 13. Returning to Sydney for the last show, exhausted broke and smelly. A bunch of our mates turned up including my two ex-girlfriends, Mia and Zahra. The most recent (that to be honest I’m still hung up over) and I had been having a few nostalgia screws and I was a bit worried that Laura would turn up and I’d have some awkward explaining to do. Luckily she didn’t and after the show, we all headed over to the hostel in Kings Cross. Zahra settled into my bunk and snuggled up. I got a text from Laura asking me to come over. So I lied through my teeth to my half-awake ex, saying an old friend wanted to meet me with a bottle of wine. I strolled around the corner to her apartment, had amazing sex (this time with the lights on, marvelling at her perfect body and caramel skin), skulled a glass of wine, dabbed some on my neck so I smelled more of that than pussy, went back to the hostel and had sex with Zahra too. Why? Because if you're at all like me, when you are given the opportunity to sleep with the two hottest girls you’ve ever had in one hour, then you must.

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The Daily Grind 12th May 2006 Ahoy womanizers. I've been a brazen bastard with my approaches this week, here's the highlights... 1. Waiting in line at Bimbos with three guy friends. Four 30-something women line up behind us. Me - Hey guys, we'll get in much faster if we couple up, everyone grab a partner. I reach over to the most attractive one and pull her to me and put my arm around her Me - So how long have we been going out for? Cougar – nearly 2 years. Me - Oh, so if we don’t spice things up the sex is going to start to get boring, etc... The bouncer lets us in and she says, “Well now you can buy us a drink.” Me: No way, girls buy me drinks. She buys me one and for a microsecond we both freeze as we realise what I’ve done. The power of a strong frame dawns on me. We play act the couple role some more, playfully fighting over domestic duties. We dance, bounce around the venue. I lean over and say, suddenly all sultry, "So, are you taking me home tonight?" (Note: this kind of direct question seems to work well on older career type women. I always ask this type to take me home, rather than offer to go to my place. I have theories about why this works, to do with gender roles. i.e: women in that position often find men are intimidated by their income or status and therefore may try to overcompensate by flashy shows of cash or bragging. I find by playing on the broke young carefree toyboy they feel more comfortable and realise that it is about a night of great sex, not a power play) She says she can’t because her three friends are staying over. Eventually she decides to go. My drummer MikeCheck and I walk her out the door and I say, “So give me your number” very loudly in front of my friend, so that it is not covert. 72

Her – I can’t. That would be illegal. I’m too old for you MikeCheck – What how old are you? Her - 37 Mike – Really, you don’t look a day over 30 (true) Me – Anyway, don’t you want a fit young toy boy? Mike - I can personally endorse him. She gives me her number and I give her a big kiss - *smacko*! 30 minutes later I send a text: Toy boy. Available for late night requests, tantric massage and discreet affairs. She replies - I might just have a few jobs for you around the house Some days later… Me - Thought I should come over this week and demonstrate my abilities. Her - how is Wednesday That is this Wednesday, so I’ll keep you up to date. 2. With two mates from out of town who are deep into SS (SS = Speed Seduction a creepy and probably useless early seduction school started by a bitter weirdo called Ross Jeffries that uses dubious hypnotic tricks to get women into bed.) stuff but get very muddled and seem to have a lot of trouble saying hello to a woman, went out on the town. On our way to a party we stopped at a small pub for a beer. A rock band was playing, so I went up the front to check it out. I stood next to an adorable bob-haired hipster and glanced over, as did she. Me – Do you know the band? Hipster – Yeah, they’re from my hometown. Me – Oh, so which one’s your boyfriend or brother? Hipster – Na, just mates…

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More chatting, turns out she’s 19, first year uni student. She dances and bumps her hand against me repeatedly. I take hold of it, then throw it away. After ten minutes or so, I say I have to go. Me – Do you want to give me your number? Hipster – Will you use it? Me – Would you like me to? Hipster – Yes. Me – How soon? Hipster (leaning in) - Very soon. I kiss her and walk off. Progress: Meeting later this week. 3. On the tram again in St Kilda and I sit next to a cute young girl. I notice there is a drum stick sticking out of her handbag with - “hey Annie, you are a *something something illegible*….” Written on it. Me - Who’s the drumstick from? She laughs. Groupie - It’s X, the drummer from Xband (famous aging aussie band). I just left his hotel room - *giggle*. Yeah, groupie. He’s 17 years older than me. (she’s 18) We talk music, older guys, blah blah. In hindsight I should have tried to AMOG the drummer by using his age against him. Anyway, the conversation went quite naturally, I kept the music angle going as she was obviously gaga over musicians. Half way through I said, “I should get your number, maybe we can hang out some time.” She happily gave it to me and the conversation continued. I knew it would be a bad time to get too flirty with a rock star’s jizz still drying on her tits, so made mental note to pursue in a week.

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4. I get on the crowded tram in the city and notice a tall busty blonde. We sit opposite each other. I am holding a book and I can see she is trying to read the title. I spin it around to face her and say, “Did you want to read this?” She blushes and smiles. Busty - You go to RMIT? Me - No, I’m a musician. Busty - Oh wow, that’s cool. (and then much too quickly blurts out) I’ll be your groupie! She gives me exaggerated looks, batting her eyelids and so forth. We both get off in the city and she says, “Well it was lovely to meet you.” Me - Yes, my name’s James by the way. Cindi - Hey, I’m Cindi. Me - Well I should get your email and I’ll let you know about our next gig. Cindi - My email? Why don’t you take my number? I get her number. Cindi - Make good use of it. I send her a text 30 minutes later: I had a good feeling about you when I got on the tram. What are you up to tonight? Cindi - Wow, what a cool first message. I’m going to “7”. Don’t judge me, I’m being dragged there with friends Me - Maybe I should buy a pink polo shirt and come along. Cindi - I’ll look for you in pink then xx. I didn’t end up making it but I’ll follow up this week. And now for this week’s fuckups… I was out at the Night Cat with some mates and was about to leave when I caught some lingering glances from two girls who had been talking to a mutual friend. As I was waiting to say goodbye to him I could see one of them, a thin tall girl with a French bob hovering unnecessarily close, so I leant over and introduced myself. I played it pretty cocky and she was trying to keep up.

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Me - You’re friendly. Her - I like to be approachable. Me - You like to be approached by strange men? French - Well, you know. (she gestures away) Me - What are you pointing at? French - umm… Me - Better in this direction, come closer. We dance slowly for a few minutes. Me - I better go, my friends are waiting but give me your number. She does. French - So, now you have my number… I text the next day: I was thinking we should continue our conversation, perhaps Wednesday night? We meet up at a small bar. We chat and drink, conversation is going fine but it is all fairly standard stuff, family, hobbies, travel. I realise after an hour that the sexual tension is dissolving rapidly and I have failed to make any physical contact. This continues for another two hours and a venue change. The longer it goes on, the harder it seems to bridge the physical gap. At 2am we are thrown out of the bar and walk aimlessly through the streets. She says “Where are we going?” Me - I’m walking you to a taxi. We get to the rank and I kiss her. She gets in the cab and I walk away cursing… I met her again out with some friends, danced a little, kissed her once but it’s not working. I missed a crucial step, so I’ll have to let that one go. I vow that for the next ten dates I’ll try to kiss the girl within 30 minutes, no matter how awkward. I must crush this hesitation. 76

Negs and Nurses 17th May 2006 And now from disaster to triumph… The BustyAsian nurse Kylie sends me a message: “Hey me and some mates are going out Friday, want to come out for a drink?” During a text flirting session later, she repeatedly said she would not be sleeping with me. I would try to deflect each comment because I don’t want the thought to become too solid in her head. (Note: in the past when I know a girl wants to fuck but says things like this so she doesn’t seem like a slut or whatever, I have tried cutting the bullshit and said something like: “look, it’s quite obvious that you will be sleeping with me, Let’s be adults about this and stop wasting time with this charade?” It doesn’t work.) I go out, with the thought - “Must escalate.” I met her and her friend at the Kitten Club and kissed them both on the cheek. We sit down and talk. Kylie: We were just talking about our favourite positions. “Excellent choice,” looks like she’s already warmed up… The conversation moves around this sort of topic, positions, how you lost your virginity, have I been to a hooker (not this week), etc.… Now you have to be careful when girls bring up explicit sexual topics. It can be easy to get excited and think - “Yes, sluts! I’ll tell them about the time I was boning my mate’s sister up the arse in their parents bed and…” and then they can suddenly act shocked and you look like a pervert. So, I kept up with them but demanded a story of equal value for every one of mine. Boy, any of you whities out there who still think Asian girls are innocent, trust me they are not. I go to get a drink with my target and as we are walking back Obi-Wan’s voice echoes, “James, escalate…” I grab her and go in for a quick pash. We walk back to the table and 77

who should I bump into but our very own Morpheus, who is in the middle of a three set. We say hello and go back to our girls. The jazz band starts and I ask my girl’s friend to dance to include her and neutralise any cock-blocking nonsense and then with Kylie. We dirty dance a little and I see her friend is feeling left out. I excuse myself and go over to Morpheus, “Come help out, take care of her friend”. Now Morpheus, absolutely no offence intended. Everyone fucks up and I’m documenting this so the guys can learn from it. I know you realised your mistake as soon as you did it but sometimes you only get one shot. The four of us sit down and her friend looks visibly unhappy and moves away from Morpheus. My girl leans over and says, “Your friend asked if she was growing dreadlocks. Why would he do that?” Well you see my dear, we both belong to an underground club that studies pseudo hypnotic behavioural science techniques of dubious ethical standing to seduce women including a method called negging, whereby an underhanded insult is delivered to shake a woman’s self-esteem and therefore make her feel vulnerable and more suggestive to the sexual power of a confident male. “Ummm, I dunno. Guess he was just nervous.” Shortly after my girl leans across and kisses me for a few minutes and then says, “I better take T home. See you later.” Morpheus - Sorry man. Me - No worries. We go and get a beer. So now a brief word on negs… The girl that this line was delivered to was a 4 foot 2 inch tiny Asian girl with thin neat black hair. The neg was so incongruous with the reality that it could only be taken as an insult or the comment of a weirdo. Please guys, try to discern the situation. I’m not fond of the whole negging concept. I would reserve it for bitchy silicone-titted blondes that need taking down to be at all permeable. In a friendly group situation, go for other techniques like having fun and touching. 78

Now don’t worry, it all ended well… Kylie calls me the next night at 2am. She starts talking about sex again and reiterates that she won’t fuck me. I’m starting to get bored and I’m about to pull the plug when she suddenly tells me why. Turns out that as a six year old, she fell from an 18 story window, nearly died and one of her legs is badly damaged and she therefore feels very self-conscious about her body and won’t leap into bed with someone she doesn’t trust even if she wants to. Well, I didn’t see that coming. So, it’s good to keep in mind that when a girl says she won’t fuck you, she might actually be saying: I have my period, I’m in the middle of a divorce, I'm worried about my love handles, my unshaved pussy or… my prosthetic leg. I’m all for bailing from a target that is wasting my time but you need to use some discernment and intuition to gauge which ones may have extenuating circumstances or just need a little more time. Anyway, I tried to make light of it, saying I wasn’t a shallow bastard who would bolt at something like that. I suggested she come over the next night and then grab some dinner. She said maybe. Tonight she came over. After twenty minutes she jumped into my lap and humped me. I carried her to the bedroom, turned the light off and she went crazy. Tomorrow night the 37-year-old Cougar. Onwards!!

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Toy boy duties 19th May 2006 I met up with the 37-year-old cougar Shayna last night at a small pub in Fitzroy that she specifically asked to meet at. She had come straight from work, was dressed up in her corporate gear and as usual I was dressed like a shaggy musician. It occurred to me I’d never been on a date with a woman wearing a suit and stockings before. I must be moving up in the world. She bought me two drinks, we sat in the back room to chat. She was as generically Australian as Fosters but she was fun. However, she kept asking questions like, "Why are you here with me? You're a good looking guy. Couldn't you be out with someone your own age?" I replied, “I could but I choose to be here. This age thing is only going to be an issue if you make it one.” She asked about my relationship status. I told her I am deliberately single so I can sleep with lots of different women. We made out. We got talking about how harsh Melbourne women were and that it was difficult for men to approach them. I told her about gaming (although keeping it in vague terms, so it didn't sound formalised) and why nice guys never get the girls. “So how do you get the girls?” “I'll tell you tomorrow.” “No, tell me now. I mean, whatever happens with us at the most it will be an affair right, so you can be honest. “ So, I explained how I picked her up the previous night. Me - and now I'm going to ask you the same question I did the night we met. Shayna - What’s that? Me - Are you going to take me home? Her - That's a loaded question Me - No it's not, it's very clear. 80

Her - Well yes I'll take you to my apartment but I can't promise anything. We leave and she leads me to her place, which is literally ten metres away. Nice place; this girl is loaded. Turns out she was married for twelve years to some rich accountant. She said she was his 4th priority after work, golf and the BMW. We drink wine and make out. Jesus, she was full on. She kissed with her teeth, she was actually biting me at the end of each kiss - what a turn off. She was a bit of a bogan, bad music taste, trashy thriller novels around but I wasn't there for conversation. Me - I'm going to the bathroom and then to your bed, you should join me Her - I will. We undressed and I was amazed. She had a body that would shame many of the 20year-olds I've been with. Immaculate real breasts and tight skin. I performed my toy boy duties and as I rolled off she said: "Fuck, I love you. You are NEVER leaving!" (That sounds ominous)

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Hipster Teen & African Queen 28th May 2006 The end of my most successful week of pick up to date in which I achieve my 12th and 13th scores for the year and graduate to true seducer. On Friday I sent a message to the 19 yr. Italian hipster I number closed recently: I have to be on the tour bus tomorrow at 7am but I’m willing to lose some sleep if you’ll come and meet me tonight. Sure. Hey is it all right if I bring some friends? My first impulse was to get annoyed and write, “Well I can’t stop you” like some reactive dickhead. Instead I reconsidered and wrote: Of course. We’ll find them some sexy boys. I met her out the front of The Espy and she wasn’t particularly friendly to begin with. We walked inside to find her friends. There were about seven of them, guys and girls. Not an easy group to work with. I immediately make a connection with all the girls, shook the guys hands who were all jock meatheads. I found one of her friends to be very open and so pegged her as my ally. I wanted to lift the physical contact back up to the level of the first night very quickly, which I did in a light-hearted way, bumping and leading her around. We sat together and I said, “Close your eyes”. She did and I kissed her. Then I took her to the bar, doing compliance tests that she soon followed like a lamb. Her girlfriends came up and were all: “We don’t like this place, let’s go clubbing in the city”. She said, “No, I like the atmosphere here.” This happened a few more times, her mates trying to bail on the venue. I didn’t do anything to fight it, other than build the intimacy, so she became firmer that she wanted to stay. I moved her to the dance floor where we made out heavily for about an hour. Eventually I realised that her friends had all gone and that the game was won. The rest was formality. About 2am I suggested we get some air. Rather than walk her straight

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home, I took her down to the beach. She slipped over and hurt her ankle, so I said, “let’s get you back to my place out of the cold”. Back in my apartment, we got to it on the couch. I wanted to make it completely resistance free, so I stalled one more time. “I’ll make you a cup of tea”. I made it but we never drank it. I carried her to the bed, undressed her lithe size 8 body, sucked those teen gumdrops, licked her sweet pussy until she clawed me on top of her.

With half an hour sleep, I got up, leaving the lovely teenager to sleep, hopped into the tour bus (which is actually the drummers station wagon) and drove to Canberra with the band. Later at the venue I met up with my old friend Shae. He’s a dictionary of seduction theory, fantastic with NLP but pretty shy in field. I was rushing around organising shit and catching up with friends but I spotted a decent 2 set standing near Shae. He opened the cutest one and I quickly moved in to get the plain one away for him. I could hear him starting to run some Speed Seduction pattern “Imagine a time when you were incredibly aroused….” You hypno PUAs crack me up. So I vibed my 7 and threw some status over to Shae. His girl is rubbing her neck and I say. “Sore neck huh, pity you don’t know any professional massage therapists. Yep, Shae and I are definitely not highly trained therapists…” A minute later they’re sitting at a couch while Shae massages her neck. She melts. Plain7 - So what’s going on here tonight? Me - Oh, some band from Melbourne playing. Her - They any good? 83

Me - They’re ok. I get up on stage and play an insanely tight set to a packed crowd. After the show, I was more interested in catching up with friends than hunting but also really wanted Shae to get some action, so I took Plain Jane to the dance floor. She was drunk and putty after seeing me on stage. I kissed her and she molested me. It occurred to me that it didn’t look so good to any other girls I might want to upgrade to later so I said: “So, how’s standing up working for ya?” She took this as a cue and led me by the hand to a corner and pinned me up against the wall and humped me like a German shepherd. I was more interested in the posters on the wall and kept glancing over to see how Shae was going. He was working too slow, so when they went to the bathroom I said: “Kiss her! I can pash this ugly chick only so long.” They came back and he did. My work is done. I told my girl I had to pack up and leave, so the two of them left, visibly disappointed. Sometime later we decided to go, so I went over to the stage to grab my trumpet and glanced over my shoulder. Standing still in the middle of the dance floor and staring at me was a guy and next to him a stunning black girl. Braids down to her waist, huge tits and big booty and the face of an Egyptian Queen. The following interaction took place in two minutes. I put down my trumpet walked straight up to them and said: “What are you two staring at?” Her - (leans in close) maybe you. (Canadian accent) I turned to the guy, shake hands and greet him warmly. He smiles knowingly and steps back. I can tell he’s gay and he can tell I’m ok with that. Her - So did you play tonight? Me - Don’t tell me you missed us? We’re only here for one night, back to Melbourne tomorrow. Her - What kind of music do you play? 84

Me - Dancehall, reggae. (closer to funk and soul but I suspected these genres would go down better) Her - Oh my favourite. Me - What is your name? Her - It’s Zinzi. Me - That is a beautiful name. Zinzi - Where are you staying tonight? Me - At my mother’s place, why do you ask? Zinzi - Thought we should meet up later. Me - Give me your number then (she does). Now kiss me. We lean in and kiss, pulling away at exactly the same time. It suddenly feels like this week of intense gaming has been leading up to this moment. That I have been lifting myself up to the level where this goddess and I naturally connect. Me - You are absolutely gorgeous. Zinzi - and you are incredibly hot. As I lean in to kiss again I say, “I know,” which was unnecessary and arrogant. It passed without comment though. We broke off and I walked out the door, grinning. Shae and I got in his car and sped off laughing like maniacs. We were tweaking from our success and ranting about how good it was to be a master and engineer of your own reality. Back at my mum’s place we had a nourishing bowl of pea and ham soup and mixed up a mild tea of Magic mushrooms. I sent Zinzi a text telling her I’d be back soon. She wrote back - I’m still at the club, then I might be up for some reckless abandon. Where in Canberra are you handsome cause my place is central and I may need an Aussie to inspect my bed bugs…

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Me - (using her frame, not the sexiest metaphor but she started it) Did I mention that as well as being a rock star, masseur and martial artist, I’m also a mean pest inspector? I’ll be back shortly. Zinzi - K then I may have to have you inspect things tonight… “Shae!! Lets go! This one is on the boil” Back to the club and she’s gone. I call - she’s in the city square. “Wait there” It’s 2am. False time constraints are good, real ones are better. I have to leave town at 6am. Shae and I walk up to where she is seated on a bench with the gay friend and a female friend. There’s nowhere for us to sit and I’m aware that hovering around a bench looks lame. I am talking fast, keeping the friends engaged, making jokes but I can’t see an obvious way to pull this merry party apart. She does it for me. Very deliberately she turns to her friends in turn, kisses their cheeks goodnight and stands up. I shake Shae’s hand and say goodbye and the two of us walk off arm in arm. Perfect match. We walk back to the university campus and get a chance to talk. She’s twenty-one studying law, from an incredibly wealthy aristocratic mixed-race family. We get on amazingly well. Back at the student residence I go to the bathroom and as I’m taking a piss the mushrooms hit me. “Oh yeah, I forgot I took those…” Feeling funny I walk to her room and go in. She’s not there - the place is candle lit and warm with some underground krunk dancehall playing on her laptop. I stand there buzzing pleasantly from the toxins, quite content. “Oh yeah, even better… in a minute she’ll come in and…” She walks in and we rip each other’s clothes off. She pushes me on the bed gets on her knees and gives me crazy wet jungle Zulu head. She’s just cleaned her teeth, so the antiseptic tingle mixed with the mushies is blowing my mind. 86

I pull her head back and throw her on the bed, devouring her pussy while putting on a condom. Then we fuck like hell’s whores. My god, one of the best of my life, watching white pole disappear into black hole. I wrapped her braids around my fist and pummelled her coco buttocks to an insane climax! If I had’ve been a beat slower or less crazy I couldn’t have kept up with her but I put in an inspired performance. We collapsed on the single bed laughing. “You have restored my faith in men.” She moaned. We lay talking intimately about family, life, sex and dreams and then went at it again. At 5am I kissed her goodbye. She lay naked in the soft light like a sultan’s consort, drifting to sleep as I closed the door. I go to the public bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. Hair tangled, iris in supernova, five day beard, ripped jeans, sixty hours without sleep, the smell of different pussies, beer and smoke on me, coughing my lungs up from a chest infection and I actually say out loud: “Now that’s rock and roll!” Shae picks me up and slaps me on the back as I get in. He is tripping and talking about alien astral wisdom. We drive up to the mountain behind my mum’s house and walk up into the bush as dawn creeps in. We do a set of Qi Gong, pumping energy through our bodies and then slowly walk back to the city. I felt fantastic, as though new barriers had been shattered. This week I had begun to see deeper how the system works and was moving in it like a puppeteer. Everyone around me seemed to operate in slow motion, completely unaware. Finally all my studies in Buddhism and energy were coming into synergy with my pursuit of women. THIS is the way for me to live. Why exist in any other reality. I wasn’t born to be a monk. I’m here to be a sex monk. I wake up the band, we get in the car and drive back to Melbourne. I slept for 20 hours.

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Turning a Lesbian backstage and other stories 21st June 2006 After a year of sneaking into an audio engineering school for all night guerrilla recording sessions, spending all the money the band ever made ($2432), calling in favours of a dozen guest musicians, graphic designer, parents to fund the rest, Baron Samadhi finally had a full-length album: On the S.S Anytime. I hustle a launch date at the Espy Ballroom and work round the clock to make sure there are some people in it. I invite all my girls, my Ex Zahra, and all my WIP (works in progress) to the gig. I had no game plan or any idea at all on what I intended to do but I was certain it would be hilarious either way. This was my night, my funky empire and I wanted everyone and every level of absurdity in attendance. Before the doors open I do a mental check on who will probably be coming and decide the only danger of a nasty mess is related to Zahra and the Hipster Penny (because I haven’t given her the “this is the way I run my life take it or leave it” speech yet.) I send her this text to neutralise her: Blah blah… One more thing, my ex will be here tonight and I don’t want to rub her nose in it, so better if we keep physical contact to a minimum, hope you understand. When I see her I give her a quick kiss and keep moving. Doors open at 8pm and I don’t stop rushing around till dawn, juggling my ex, three Fuck buddies in the audience and at least 5 girls I’m working on as well as running the show. *Flashback* Over summer we were playing at Woodford Folk festival and after our set a spunky hippy folk singer called Kim played. Great singer/songwriter. We got chatting, turned out she was from Melbourne and a card-carrying lesbian. We hung out a few times, got on really well and some months later I ask her to record a duet with me for the new album and then to perform it with us at the launch…. Back to the gig… 88

At some point, while the support act is playing, Kim suggests that we go upstairs to practice the song. “Cool, should I grab the guitarist to play with us” “No, should be fine A cappella,” she says. We go upstairs, past all my girls and I can feel some tension and wonder: “Could it be… no surely not.” I find an empty band room and we shut the door. There are sparks in the air and I move without thinking. “Hey Kim, is there some weird sexual tension going on between us”. Everything slows down as she looks at my lips and says, “I don’t know, is there?” I go straight in and kiss her and it’s all on. It gets pretty heated and I think: “There is no way I’m letting this rock star milestone pass.” “Let’s not be pussies,” I say, bend her over the couch pull down her tights, frantically roll on a condom and screw her while she yells, “Yes, Fuck me!” Then we practice the song, go downstairs and off on our separate ways. The absolute gorgeous irony hits me as later that night we sing a nasty ballad about infidelity to each other on stage with my ex-girlfriend who I wrote the song about swaying in the front row. What an insane life. All I’ll say to you my love is I won’t cheat And if I do, I won’t repeat If I do that to you, I won’t lie And if I do that as well, I won’t deny That I fucked up baby, you can blame me But I’m not ready for a lady like you And if you just would listen, to my position I’m a victim of the human condition Cause I’m little bit of man and a, whole lot of animal May be vegetarian, when it comes to girls I’m cannibal 89

And you’re on the menu, but after that I’ll continue Because although in your eyes I’m the one I hate to tell you that’s not me The gig went off, hundreds of people dancing, the band tight as thieves. Definitely the best show of my life and the first moment where for all intents and purposes I felt like I was a bona fide rock star. Sometime later I get a phone call from the blonde bombshell Cindi: “I left my I.D at home, can you let us in the side door?” I meet her around the side and she’s with a hot little brunette strumpet I recognise from the Internet, I’d been chatting up who says all sassy, like she has me whipped: “You sent me your phone number on the Internet, how could you do that to my best friend?” “Yes, I certainly did.” Silence… “I’m not going to apologise for it, if that’s what you’re waiting for.” “Oh, ok, well I guess that’s fine then.” They giggle and stammer out. We all laugh. Just as I’m about to take them in, security guards appear and won’t budge on the I.D issue. “Sorry Cindi, nothing I can do. So what next?” “I don’t know.” She says whilst tottering on her heels leaning forward. I step in and kiss her, while my band mates, smoking a joint in the alley yell “Get a room!” I kiss the brunette on the cheek and give her a little pat on the bum and off they go… After the show I get text from little teen Penny:

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Why did you ask me to come if you didn’t want to hang out with me? Backup? My second impulse after the first one which was to think, “Yep, you pretty much nailed it,” was to write back, “Sorry sorry, excuse excuse…” but I stopped. If there is one epiphany I had that night it is, never NEVER say sorry. (unless you have been a real cunt and actually should be sorry). Never apologise for your life choice, for being the animal you are or want to be. Make no apology but take full responsibility for the karma your actions create. I have to sort out the money, pay everyone and spend time with my friends. I’ll understand if you don’t want to hang around. Of course she did wait. We made out but I was done with chicks for the night and sent her home clutching at my hand till the last moment, got fucked up and jammed with my mates till dawn.

On Sunday, I got a call from the 30-year-old architect that I had been on a couple of lame dates with. I didn’t kiss her and really had no interest but hadn’t done the smart thing and told her. Anyway, she asks if she can book in a massage for that afternoon. She comes over and I leave her to undress in the massage room. I walk in and notice for the first time that under her tiny frilly G-string she has a lovely dollop of an arse. Hhmmmm… I give her my standard massage but adjust all the movements ever so slightly to make it sensual while not overtly sexual. Afterwards, I wait in the lounge room for her to get dressed. She comes out in a daze, I wait for one breath to give her a chance to focus and then grab her. She looks shocked and then immediately starts clawing at me like an animal. We rip each other’s clothes off and she goes straight down and expertly sucks me off. She is one filthy architect, 91

straight into 69, pushing my muzzle into her so hard I feel like I’m gonna break my nose on her pubic bone. We fuck, she pays for the massage and leaves. I think that makes me a $50 whore.

Couple of main lessons to take from this weekend. That you should pounce without warning on lesbians and massage clients? No, but it is important to realise when the attraction and comfort phases have been dealt with, even if you weren’t intending for them to have happened. In both cases I was able to jump right to the end of the seduction because everything was already in place. And finally, never say sorry. If you want to have a parlour full of willing maids you cannot apologise for your choice of lifestyle.

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Jimmy Taranto is born Jon called out from the sunroom where the desktop computer was, “Jamie! I think this is for you.” I came in rubbing sleep from my eye. “This better be good to get me out of bed at the crack of noon.” “Yep. I was looking for acting jobs and found this one I think is more up your alley.” “I haven’t acted since high school.” I looked over his shoulder and read the audition notice. Actors and Actresses wanted for feminist erotica full length feature film. Must be willing to perform full frontal nudity and hard-core intimate scenes. Main character synopsis. Candy Leigh – early 20’s female, rock and roll aesthetic, Jimmy Taranto – Late 20’s, 1970’s long hair rock aesthetic… I called the director immediately. Hi Anna. My name is James Marshall and I’m the right man for your role of “Jimmy Taranto. Libertine. Self-absorbed rock star kind of vibe right” Thanks but we’re only looking for male performers who have a female partner willing to perform with them. “Trust me, I’m your man. I was born for this role.” “Are you really? You better come round then.” I rode my bicycle over to her house, read some lines, showed her my penis and that was it. She signed me up for $2000 to be the male lead in Australia's first feature length feminist porn movie – The Band.

First day on set was a letdown. We sat in a circle to read lines and I found out one of the super-hot chicks that I was supposed to bone disappeared and they replaced her last minute with a chunky heffer who would only do a simulated scene. This is why the porn industry should be kept out of the hands of feminists and safely with misogynists. I met Phoenix Starr, the little blonde I'll be banging in a back stage toilet. She seriously looks like she is 12, very cute and completely brainless. I've become a petulant star and 93

I'm going to give it to her real good to blow off this frustration. Fuck, they’re talking about simulating the cum shots too!! Too bad, I'm giving her a real one. Other than that it's been fun. It's a massive production, with about twenty crew, caterers, dozens of extras, big rock scenes and so on. Triple J came in and interviewed us for their new TV show, so keep an eye out for me, doesn't my make-up look maaaarvelous.

My day as a porn star 24th July 2006 “Honey I’m home, my what a day I’ve had.” For everyone that ever wondered what it is like to be a porn star for a day, here it is. I rock up to “work” early Monday morning where I am immediately accosted by a reporter from The Age, asking me “How do you feel, knowing that you will be having sex with that girl (pointing to Phoenix in the make-up chair) today?” “I feel pretty good about it actually”, I replied. And I did. I’m in the best shape of my life, solarium tan, waxed eyebrows, shaved nuts and ready to fuck. I also felt very nervous though. Would I be up to the task? As the moment drew nearer, I monitored my breathing, trying to keep myself calm but still ran to take a piss every 5 minutes. Finally we were called onto the set, which was the filthy girl’s toilets at Cherry Bar. Up till this point I had had about three minutes of conversation with Phoenix, so this was starting basically from scratch, with no rehearsal. Me - Are you nervous Phoenix? 94

Her - No silly. Is this your first hard-core scene for the movie? Me - It’s my first hard-core scene ever. Her - Oh, I’ll look after you. Then Anna the director yells “Alright James we need you hard for the next shot!” Did I have wood problems? I had what you might call a wood hesitation… “Umm, the problem is I don’t have any contact with Phoenix at the hips…” “So what do you need to do?” I turn to Phoenix, “Ahh, do you mind if I feel you up?” Phoenix was an angel to me. She’s a professional and doesn’t owe me a thing but she was kind and understanding during what’s actually a very vulnerable situation for a man. Props to her, I hope she goes all the way to the, uh, top I guess... “Sure, no problem.” So there I am, fingering a porn star and jerking off, while she’s chatting to the makeup girl. Surreal. “Ok, I’m ready.” The director put us in position, with Phoenix perched uncomfortably on a bench and me holding her up. The director explained what it was she wanted us to do and yelled action. Whilst endeavouring to remain in character - I was an arrogant rock star off hand fucking a groupie in a toilet - we got to it. Kissing, touching up and fingering her as the German camera girl says, “Ok James ve need you to move ze labia aside a little furzer…” I lift up this tiny nymph, she wraps her legs around me and we kiss. I put her down spin her around and bend her over the sink. I whack on a condom and start pounding her “CUT!” Phoenix: “*giggle* - that was fun.” We go through the same show again, for different angles. The second time, with the stress of actually getting an erection gone, I had a few moments to enjoy it. We were both started to get into it and were making out even when we weren’t in shot. There is one moment when I look up and I can see the director, sound dude, and camera girl reflected in a mirror, all crammed into a toilet cubicle, a couple of metres away, 95

while I’m pounding a stunning size six porn star in my black vinyl pants and eyeliner, and the thought forms: “How did it come to this?” On the third and final take where they had planned on faking a cum shot with a syringe full of mayonnaise and vinegar, I said: “Look Anna, do you really want this faked, or would you like me to do a real one?” “Oh, well that would be great. Phoenix, is that ok?” “Sure, it’s only come, so long as you clean me up after - *giggles*” Sanna the DOP barks, “Now James ven you are ready to come, I need you to blow air on my face several strokes before, as I vill not be able to see srough ze viewfinder.” So I’m banging the shit out of Phoenix about to bust and I turn and puff gently at the camerawoman, then pull out, frantically trying to get the condom off, yanking it off just in time to deliver a theatrically brilliant money shot that Peter North would have been proud of all over Phoenix’s tiny bronze arse. I stumbled off shot, panting for breath into an empty cubicle and looked back at her bent over covered in my semen with the camera still rolling as she pulls a Polaroid camera out of her bag and takes a photo of her jizz-covered butt to put in her groupie scrapbook. That is a memory I will take to the grave. And so too can you when the movie comes out… After that Phoenix and I got on much better, chatting like old friends. If only life was like porn things would run much better. There was one other memorable moment that day. We were filming a scene where for whatever reason I’m caught by a photographer jerking off in the men’s toilets. So what I need to do is get hard with five people watching in a revolting cubicle, this time with no hot porn stars to help. It wasn’t happening. So they cleared the set, I tried to conjure up the morning’s experience, (help me Phoenix, you’re my only hope) managed a halfy: “Ok, quick get in here!” Everyone rushes in, sets up the shot and by the time they are ready, I’ve lost it again. I start getting frustrated, “Just talk amongst yourselves, it’s too much pressure with you all watching”. 96

Anna yells out jokingly: “Anyone want to be a fluffer?” I hear mumbled conversations, as I’m standing there very annoyed with my limp dick in hand. Next thing I know in walks the stills photographer, who is a cute very sharpwitted no bullshit kind of girl and in no way a porn star. She gets straight down on her knees takes my dick in her mouth and sucks it right there. I’m speechless. I get hard. I wait some time… And a few moments longer, a little longer… “Ok, thanks I’m ready.” ACTION! She pokes her head in after the take and says, “And I want my name in the credits as fluffer.” That’s what I call a woman. I’ve lived a pretty awesome adventurous life to this point and I intend to continue in this way but I’m fairly sure that I will never come home from a day of work more satisfied than I did that day.

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Part 2 - The Naturals

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Wolf I first heard of Wolf on the Melbourne lair forum. He was mentioned in different field reports with glowing admiration. Stories circulated of him wordlessly approaching girls in the middle of mixed sets, extending a debonair hand and leading them off for unimaginably fast closes. He posted sporadically himself, delivering brisk but cryptic advice on direct game. “Gentlemen, the seduction and the duel are won before the sword is drawn.” I imagined him to be at least 30, a mature rogue, maybe with a moustache. I wanted to get very good at this and knew I needed to learn from some masters so I made a note to seek him out when I could.

By this time I had unwittingly developed something of a reputation in the community. I was fucking multiple girls, some were really hot. I was approaching girls almost every day and starting to develop systems of harem management. As far as the local seduction community was concerned, I had it made. The fact that I was getting laid regularly was in itself a mark of mastery in their eyes. This wasn’t enough for me, I knew I was by no means a master. I wanted to learn from the best but so far I hadn’t met anyone who could teach me. The first “master” I saw was one of Mystery’s wings, “Lovedrop” who gave a talk to the lair when he and Mystery were in town teaching. When he walked in I scoffed, he was fat and unattractive but he had a very cool jacket. I was surprised by his presentation though. He had a commanding presence, certainly had voluminous knowledge on seduction and gave convincing arguments for the use of the heavily scripted and calculated Mystery method (which amounted to, if you don’t have a personality, you better memorise one).

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During a break as everyone mingled I noticed one young guy sifting through the crowd, shaking hands with everyone, wearing a big grin, and gesturing with big confident movements. He came by and introduced himself. “Good evening. Wolf.” So this was the legendary Mr Wolf. There was no doubt, he was a beautiful man. Tall, dark, big black eyes, a huge grin, a scar under his left eye from his brawling suburban adolescence, a gold Egyptian knot earing dangling from one ear. He looked to be about 25 and of Latin descent (I found out later he the son of an Aussie working class larrikin from Geelong and a Mauritian aristocrat), dressed like a Cuban gangster with a loud shirt unbuttoned to his nipples. I smiled slightly. “Hey I’m James, Jimstar.” I waited for him to remark on my posts or reputation but he didn’t, seeming to have no idea who I was. I said nothing more, he passed on. I knew our paths would cross again soon.

Some weeks later I decided I had developed enough skill and my own strategies that I was ready to teach a few things. I had four girls on the go at the time and I’d developed a fairly stable way to keep the peace without ever compromising my freedom. So, I decided to give a talk for the lair on “harem management”. About eight guys turned up and we squashed into a tiny conference room at Iceman’s offices. Your regular lair types; nervous young guys, a few desperate older ones, Asians and Indians. I could see that for most of these guys, harem management was a long way off but props to them for dreaming big. I discussed my philosophy, which at that time was still in its infancy. After about an hour there was some noise at the door and Wolf burst in with his wing Surya, who looked amazingly similar to Wolf, only shorter and a Nepalese version. He gave me a nod and without apology took a seat at the back, sprawled out, legs open 100

wide. This time he was dressed like a suburban gangster; in a tracksuit and baseball cap. It should have looked bad but on him it worked. I continued my presentation and at the end he stuck around. We exchanged a few words at the end and he introduced me to Surya, who mirrored all Wolf’s mannerisms but couldn’t hold in his cheeky nature, bursting into infectious laughter for no reason and cracking terrible jokes that you couldn’t help join in with. “We should hit the town together sometime,” Said Wolf in his deep sonorous voice. “I’d love to”, I replied and we exchanged numbers. I tried to hook up with him a few times but he always declined with charming excuses. My game was good enough at that point that I decided to drop it and let him come to me, when he needed something. I’m very patient and I knew he was interested…

After my post on my experience as a porn star, my reputation was firmly cemented in the exclusive nerd inner circles and I received dozens of emails of congratulations. I found it funny that this was what I was becoming respected for and also that I actually cared. One of theme was from Wolf. Mr Marshall – a great day and glorious beginnings, next stop Hollywood. Before that however, I have a proposal for you. The world needs our help and I know you are the right partner for the task. Who else can teach these misguided boys to become Naturals? Let me buy you a drink and convince you to give up whatever else is in my way and begin – Wolf I looked at the screen a long time, thinking. Part of me said this is the last thing I need. To get involved in yet another dodgy scheme that will split my focus even further and pull me away from my path back to Shaolin. On the other hand, at least it’s not my 101

ridiculous scam for once so maybe it had a chance… I looked at my diary. If I remained on track I would be heading over to China in about six months. I still didn’t have the skills I wanted in Pick up. I wanted to get this out of my system once and for all before I headed to China to live as a reclusive monk. So fuck it I thought. I’ll see what he’s got to say, maybe join in for six months and make sure I milk him for every trick he knows and then head off for the temple and leave it with him. That was the idea anyway.

We arranged to meet at a quiet bar in the city that week. I got there first, ordered a tea and read “Journey to the End of the Night”. When he did arrive, nearly two hours late he burst into the bar, thrust his big hand out at me, “James, excuse the delay.” He immediately pulled out a jumbled folder with assorted printed pages spilling out that had “the Natural” in bold up the top. “The Natural?” I said. “The Natural.” “Tell me more.” He described his idea and pulled out a few pages that outlined the business philosophy. I read through, asked a few questions and it became apparent that he was mostly bluffing, didn’t have any real business plan and was desperately in need of allies who could turn his obvious charm and reputed skill into something viable. I was bluffing too, remaining calm as the seducer monk he believed I was, carefully considering his words and choosing measured replies. I soon realised that the Natural would be a scam of the sort I knew well. Improvised, disorganised, built on big promises and no way to deliver on them. So of course I wanted to do it. Besides, I wanted what this guy had, or I’d heard he had. We chatted a while, got to know each other a little. He was in his first year at Uni, studying entrepreneurship, worked as a promoter for a couple of the city’s most prestigious clubs. I nodded although I had no idea what a promoter actually did. He’d 102

also worked a lot in retail in upmarket boutiques, which explained his unusual but impeccable style. He also did Latin dancing at competition level I told him about Shaolin, my music, massage, and juggling girlfriends. We were sizing each other up and it was obvious we were completely different but I liked him and I felt an immediate kinship for him. He was a bullshit artist with a good heart, and on that fundamental level we clicked. As we talked it suddenly dawned on me that he was younger than he looked and acted. There was something too playful and innocent about him under the proud bluster. We were talking game, about our sticking points. I explained I was very good in some situations like the alternative, arty scene, but had no experience at all in glamour clubs. He said his main issue was age. “Really, how old are you?” “How old do you think I am?” “About 24, 25.” “I’m 18.” I was speechless. Who was this guy? How did he get like this, to command himself like that at that age? If he was as good as everyone said, I was even more amazed (and jealous). I had already made my decision but I let him sell it to me a little more. I didn’t really believe this idea was viable in the long term but I figured we might make some fast bucks and it would mean I could hang out with him all the time and hopefully get a true mastery of seduction, nail a few complicated 19-year-old glamour models and then let it drop, and get on with being a grown up. Finally, I stopped him. “Ok, here’s my situation. Until this afternoon, my plan was to spend the next six months tying up my old life, getting some money together and leaving for Shaolin temple indefinitely. I’m twenty-six and running out of time to really advance myself in Gong Fu before my body starts deteriorating. But… I like your plan and I think it could work. I’m willing to join you on this, become your partner straight down the line, put in one 103

hundred per cent for at least six months. At that point, hopefully the business would be stable and I could head off and maybe sell my shares to you. In any event, we can renegotiate at that point.” Wolf smiled eagerly. “I like your style, agreed.” “But, I have one condition…You and I need to go out together, at least twice a week, every week”. He burst out laughing and slapped my shoulder heartily. “Of course!!” We shook hands and The Natural was born.

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Irina – Part 1 I walked into Centrelink to hand in my unemployment form and noticed the girl in front of me was drop dead gorgeous. An easy 9, tall, lithe, with a mane of black hair. Then I heard her speak and my exotic chick radar went berserk- Russian! Maybe it's some deep genetic prerogative hailing from my Ukrainian peasant lineage but for whatever reason that accent flattens me. There was some problem at the desk and she was asked to sit and wait. Now, the social security office would come in a close second to a sexual health clinic as worst places to pick up (“So, you come here often… So, if we are both clear maybe we should… So, is the father here today…”) but the incessant PUA voice arose in my head: “Ok, I’ll hand in the form and walk straight up to her and say…” I was thinking this as I walked out the door without even glancing at her. “Fuckshitcunt, you pussy, call yourself a pick up artist, bullshit artist more like it!” I hate that voice much more than I hate being rejected. In fact I like being rejected, I think it’s funny. So I turned around and walked back. Thank providence she was walking out the door and I didn’t have to run the set in an environment with fidgeting smackies and irritable bureaucrats listening. I literally ran after her in what I’ll call the “hopeless romantic comedy opener”: me - Um Hi, look this may seem really bad, I uh I saw you in there and I wanted to speak with you and I know that is a terrible place to meet but…(by now look of confused distaste on her face). Anyway, I uh are you busy right now? Her - Yes I’m busy I slow down and say, “Well do you mind if I walk with you to the end of the street?” Her - I need to go to university now me - Where are you from? Her - From Moscow me - Really, can you tell this nose is from Russia too (pointing at my massive shnoz)? We talk for a couple of minutes, her name is Irina. She is shy and reserved but I can see her slowly relax… 105

Turns out she is a piano accordion player, fallen on hard times now studying fashion. Kill me. Her - I make the fashion buttons but my English is no good so no work. Now I am separate, separated. I was married but now not. It is a long story. Me - Is there a time you can continue telling me? Her - You are interested in this story? Me - Yes, I think so. And then in the most endearing crisp cadence she says: “We can talk about it on Sunday” and gives me her number. I skip down the street laughing and sniffing the spring flowers. “Yes, yes you are a pick up artist!” I sing. It is not about being some flawless super suave dude who says the right thing every time. It is about being able to snatch victory from the fumbling stuttering jaws of defeat while not accepting those doubts that tell you from the shadows that she wouldn’t want you.

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Slumming it I went on a day two with what I thought was a 7. The number close happened at Cherry Bar on Friday like this. I’d just come from an inspired flawless number close with a half-Croatian halfUruguayan 9 and went to get a drink (well, obviously not flawless because she flaked). I chatted briefly to this girl next to me at the bar, she asked me to buy her a drink, I said no but because the barman thought we were together I accidentally did pay for it. “I never buy girls drinks, you know I expect one in return.” Then suddenly my friends were all leaving, so I said goodbye. She was flustered and spat out, “But I still need to get you a drink! Here take my number.” “No, I gotta go, I didn’t bring my phone with me.” “I’ll get your number then.” She pulls her phone out and looks at me unblinking. Then she puts a finger to her lips to say she wants a kiss. I give her one and leave. She calls two days later and we end up meeting. At second careful inspection I’d say she dropped half a point, ok a full point…maybe one and a half. I made a strict vow to myself that I would not go on anymore day two’s with chicks less than 7.5. I had been fluctuating too much, mostly with 8’s and 9’s but then sometimes dropping down low when there is no excuse for it. Anyway, because she chased me I made an exception. Standard escalation, bounce, dance floor, and “I’ll walk you home” exit. The sex was terrible, her pussy did this weird clasping dry suction thing and I found myself lying there in dread, kicking myself for being there. I say, “I find it impossible to sleep next to girls….so, I’ll head home soon.” She jumps up. “That’s a typical guy thing to do! Why do guys never stay the night?!” How could I tell her it wasn’t (only) because guys were nasty bastards. It was simply because she wasn’t hot enough to bother sticking around for. I scolded myself. Seriously James, it is not fair on girls like this to go home with them and shows no respect for the art form.

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A good pick up artist should not sleep with lower shelf chicks unless as part of some drunken adventure or a threesome. It is cruel and cheap. I’m not really sure who should be servicing these girls but thinking too deeply about that sort of thing is depressing. Anyway, I get dressed with that restrained panic particular to this clichéd situation and as I’m walking out in the dark she says: “So will I see you again?” “No” “No?” “No” “You’re saying no?” “Yes” “You’re saying yes or you’re saying no?” “No” “Oh… Thank you for that answer.” I scrabbled for the front door, opened it walked out, realised I’d walked into the housemate’s bedroom, tripped over found the front door and literally ran for my life. She rang me to ask why. “Basically, I don’t want to lie to you. I sleep with a new girl every week and I’m not interested in anything else. I can tell immediately when I click sexually with someone and we didn’t. I don’t want to bullshit and say I’ll call when I won’t.” She thanked me again for a nice night and that was it. That was the point where I redeemed a disastrous evening. Take note of this. If you guys are reaching the point where you are closing regularly you must work out an exit strategy. In my experience the only way to maintain an ethical system that doesn’t fuck people over and end in messy confrontations is to be blunt like that as early as possible. For me, I need to start saying no to more women.

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The very next night I happened to see her out in a small bar. I went straight over, kissed her on the cheek, made thirty seconds of pleasantries and then exited. I could see her giggling and whispering to her friends, she seemed fine.

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Kiss and Run

On Sunday I was at the Night Cat dancing. One of the top five in the room smiled at me. I leant over and said, “What are you smiling at?” “I don’t know, you?” We danced a bit closer. As soon as the song finished I put my arm around her and said, “Come with me and get a drink.” She hesitated momentarily and said “ok”. As we walked I said, “But you’re buying”. She laughed and bought me a drink. “Let’s sit down”. We squeezed onto an armchair as we chatted. She was a drummer and part-time model called Carrie. She said “I feel bad, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea but I’m sort of here to pick up one of the guys in the band”. “Why do you feel bad? I don’t own you. Which one is it? Oh you like the Latin guys huh? Anyway who’s your favourite bebop drummer?” After ten minutes she said “This must seem terrible to you…why don’t you take my number?” “Why? You want me to call in a couple of weeks and see if it worked out for you?” “No, no, take my number… well, I better get back to me friends.” “Yep, me too. First kiss me.” She takes a breath in to say something. “Don’t think.” I say. She breathes in again. “Don’t think.” I kiss her and we go back to the dance floor. I knew I didn’t have a chance that night so I just left it at that, exchanged a few glances and had fun with my friends. I jotted some lessons that became clear that night. -

Don’t be rigid about not buying drinks. Alcohol is a pivotal part of night game, whether you are drinking or not. It is almost never a good idea to approach a woman at the bar and say, “Can I buy you a drink”. Because it really says, “Can I buy five minutes to try and convince you I’m worth it”. It is however often ok to use drinks in other contexts. Even if I had not said, “But you’re buying”, that opener would have worked. One second before I said it, I didn’t know what I was going to say, so it was spontaneous and friendly. It was an invitation to join me, not a needy request for her attention. 110

-

Know when you are beat. On that night, the musician had more value than me. She was there specifically to go home with him. I got the best I could out of the situation and then bailed without being outwardly affected in the slightest by this. This Latin lover won’t stick around, I’ll wait a couple of weeks and then move in.

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Night Shift Wolf and I started heading out as agreed and two nights a week soon became most nights. We would alternate between the dive bars and live music venues I knew and the, you’re-not-on-the-list, button up shirts only, glamour clubs that Wolf prowled. At first I was completely out of my depth. Wolf lent me leather shoes and shirts and I followed him, trying to keep up. It was too loud to talk, girls turned their backs on me before I was in arms reach, forming protective circles as they danced joylessly to the endless brainless four on the floor beats. The men stood by the bar, looking tough and rich. They ordered Moet and sent it to tables of girls, who drank it without so much as a smile. Wolf would stride in, (ten bucks in my pocket and my balls in my hand as he would say) almost in slow motion like he was in a film clip, glaring at the girls in his path, occasionally nodding upwards in tiny gestures of respect to the two other guys with game in the venue. I watched incredulously as he moved up to some wannabe model, promo chick or Italian princess in Gucci, pulling her gently in by her lower back, grazing his stubble on her cheek as he whispered in her ear. Often she’d bounce back laughing, or sneering, as though he’d said something shocking. Then she’d dart back, flicking her hair, popping her tits out, pressing against him and often in under a minute, he’d smoothly take her by the hand and lead her off the dance floor to a quiet corner. I witnessed him multiple times take bombshells in minutes into the girl’s bathroom, girls that I would have given a kidney to be with. There was no “bros before ho’s” on these nights out. Once he locked in with a girl, I was on my own. I’d stumble about, trying to blast my desire through my eyes, move with certainty. It was gruelling. I was completely out of my element. The next time we’d meet I’d grill him about what the fuck he was doing. He said when he walked in the club he imagined he was a twenty metre tall bull fighter, with fangs and fire blasting from his cock and the girls were little rabbits. “Yes yes but what did you say to that brunette with the silver dress?!” Which brunette? What the fuck?! THE brunette, the one you fucked in the bathroom, you said her name was Maria. She was insanely hot! “Man, you know how many Chapel Street Maria’s I’ve fucked?” 112

“Well are you going to see her again?” He laughed loud, threw his arms out in a gangster flourish. “You know I don’t take numbers.” The times he came clean about the magic words he was whispering in these club queen’s ears, it made no sense. They were statements, often without context. “You look like you saw a ghost.” “I know what you’re really thinking.” “My mother makes the creamiest pasta”, whatever popped into his head. I gradually started to see, it was his intent, his timing, decisiveness that was having the effect. Yes he was handsome, looked slick but so did dozens of other muscled Versace clad guys in those clubs. His touch was elegant, the moves of a practised Latin dancer, his presence was palpable.. and this motherfucker was eighteen years old. Then the next night, we’d hit a jazz club, quiet bar or a late night bookshop that sold coffee and then it was Wolf’s turn to falter. He didn’t really know how to talk to women, especially not ones who had been to university or who had strong opinions. While I’d be talking literature with a rocker girl, gently brushing my fingers against her thigh with a subtle sexual glance, he’d be working her friend and come across as arrogant and uncalibrated as he tried to show his dominance in the art history section of a quiet bookshop. We were both crashing, burning and learning at a dizzying pace.

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If it ain't broke Couple of weeks ago, met a cute-as-a-button bob-haired Polish girl in line at a club (Note, I have picked up numerous times in club lines. Start conversation, then disappear into the crowd and reappear later, or take them straight to the bar for a drink. It sets you apart from guys she meets in the bar, which doesn't actually make any sense but seems to work). When we got in, I went over to my friends to dance. On the way out I went up to her. “Would it be totally inappropriate for me to ask for your number?” I phrased it that way because I couldn’t tell if she was attached to any of the guys she was talking to. “Not at all”. We went out to dinner the next week and everything went well. She was putting as much effort into conversation as me; it was clear there was an equal level of attraction. So we get to the bill. Guys, you must be adaptable. In the situation where both parties are equally interested, it is not necessary to play hard game on them. I asked her to dinner and on that night it was appropriate for me to pay. She reached for her wallet and I said, “I’ve got it, you can buy me a drink.” Now because she was not expecting me to pay and was therefore not there to gold dig (not that I have much gold) I knew she would calculate that she needed to buy at least two drinks, which then gets both parties tipsy. As I walked her home, I grabbed her arm in the middle of the street and said, “I think it’s lame to kiss a girl on her doorstep” and kissed her. She took me into the lounge room, we made out on the couch and I said: “This couch is pretty uncomfortable for fooling around on.” To which she said, “Yeah. At the risk of sounding sleazy, would you like to come upstairs?”

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Clarke Street Since Zahra had moved out I was struggling to pay the rent, so Jon and I hunted around for a new place. We soon discovered that mid-twenties single males are real estate agents’ least favourite people and got rejected from every place. So one day we started dressing in tight, nicely ironed shirts, borrowed Wolf’s shoes and shiny belts and called each other “pumpkin” and “silly” at the house inspection and a few days later we had a place. 56 Clarke Street was a two bedroom run down terrace house, ten minutes ride from Brunswick street where we mostly went out to play gigs and hunt. It had a spare small room where I kept massaging gay men, while Jon went off to work as a Drama and English teacher at a Catholic school in the suburbs. He was still with his rebound girlfriend but I could see the cracks forming, he was definitely getting curious about what me and Wolf were up to. One night, Jon and I went to a hippy warehouse party and who should turn up but the blonde hippy 10, Tamzen who had rejected me way back when I was making my first fumbling cold approaches. She was friends with Jon’s sister it turned out and we awkwardly said hello as she was introduced to Jon. He was totally blazed as usual, in his own world, playing guitar and singing with his achingly beautiful voice. I watched her, watching him. Tamzen was into him. Incredulous, I realised he accidentally started doing all the right things. He was aloof. He teased her, he was so stoned, his speech pace was slow and mesmerising. She asked for his number before she had to grab a ride home. Later, Jon and I were smoking a joint in our little concrete backyard when she called. “I’m just smoking at home.” My heart was pounding, there was a long silence while she spoke. “Yeah, sure. Come round”, he said cool as could be. I make myself scarce and when I heard the knock at the door I couldn’t help but press my ear up against the wall, listening to the muffled voices, her giggles, then silence… I held my breath and then, ever so faintly, the exquisite sound of her first pussy stroked sighs. Then another, louder and another, he was fucking her.

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I leapt in the air, punched and kicked, contorted my face in silent screams of joy, wanting to bellow to the world, “Yes! yes! You motherfuckinglegendhippyslamming King!!!” He gave it to her all night. The next day he told his girlfriend. As she screamed indignant outrage, he calmly nodded and finally said. “So there’s not much else to say. We’re broken up now. Sorry. Goodbye.”

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I have a boyfriend 20th Oct 2006 It was 4am, trawling to the end of a long messy night with two 19-year-old inseparable best friends at a hip-hop club. The previous week I had spent all night in bed with these two, playing them off against each other but was unfortunately unable to split them or engineer a threesome. The hot one was a little busty peach blonde and her friend was an obnoxious 6 with a massive Roger Ramjet-sized jaw that never stopped yapping. I begged Jon to distract her, which proved more difficult than we expected. This bitch was awful. I tried to isolate my target multiple times and just as we were getting some pash action on the couch, Roger Ramjet would plonk herself down and yap in our ear. I moved Peach to the dance floor, so that Roger would be penned in by sleazy black dudes, who humped her into a corner, thank god. I then noticed a girl who didn’t belong in the club. A retro rock & roll girl in a tight 50’s green dress with purple pin-up girl stilettos. A mane of black hair, milk white skin and bombshell red lips. Just my type. She caught my eye and flicked her fringe in invitation. I walked straight over without breaking eye contact and danced with her for a few minutes. Then thanked her and went back to the blonde. I saw her by the bar a little later, went over and introduced myself. Her name was Betty. Brief nothing special chat and then I had to excuse myself as my crew was leaving. I got her number, then Jon and I and four girls went back to our place to get high. Jonny’s target’s friend gracefully exited some time later and he took his girl to bed. I was left on the couch with Peach and Roger. Christ, there I was snogging her, squeezing her rock hard tits and Roger leaning on my shoulder still blabbing inane shit. I felt like knocking her out. Eventually I said, “Do you want to go to my room”. “What about Roger?” “Do you guys do everything together? Doesn’t that get a little difficult?” She wouldn’t budge, so at 7am I booted them both out.

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As soon as I woke up that evening I called Betty. 12 hours after the number close. I did this for a specific reason. If I had been following PUA dogma I would have waited two or three days. I knew it was a gamble but I had a gut feeling that it was the right way to do it. I only had a few minutes with her, the close was rushed and everyone was wasted, so I surmised that if I waited too long she would have forgotten me and her attraction. “Hey, this is James. I met you this morning at a trashy club…” “Oh hey. Calling in case I’d forget you through the hangover?” “Exactly. So who the hell are you?” We got on really well although at some point I got a bit carried away. I was telling her a story about a gig we played recently at a friend’s 21st birthday party. “So his friends hired a stripper, who came dressed as a cowgirl. I think she's usually used to dancing to 90’s dance music and wasn't expecting a live funk band. Still she was a good sport and at one point she was popping her tit in the end of my trumpet while I soloed which made a surprisingly good mute…” There was silence, then she said “Yeah I'm not that cool with that, we should change the subject.” I said “Sure I guess my improvisational technique can be confronting.” When I suggested we meet up, she burst out quickly: “I have to say this now, we can’t go out. I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.” “I think you are jumping ahead a little. Let’s hang out before we talk about heavy stuff like that.” I check out her Myspace page later and it says she is in a relationship. Usually I wouldn’t bother with a girl who has a boyfriend but again, something told me there was more to this than there appeared. She sent me a text the next day, saying sorry for her outburst and did I want to meet her that night. We met at a local pub on a night that happened to be the meeting of the Melbourne Ukulele club. Six ukulele players jammed out Bon Jovi and Bob Dylan while we chatted. At some point in the conversation I was saying for some reason: “One of my skills is that I’m able to tell when people who shouldn’t be sleeping together are.” 118

She blurted out, “Should I be sleeping with my boyfriend?!” I did not flinch or skip a beat. “I would hope so”. “Well I can’t because he’s 14000 kilometres away.” (ding ding, hello)… Turns out that the boyfriend of three years has moved to London with his band indefinitely. They had decided to go their separate ways but then he calls in tears begging her to wait for him. That is all the info I need, game on. I change the topic and keep it steered away from him for the evening (although she brought up various doubts and complaints about him). She was expecting me to come across with aggressive physical escalation. She had been waiting for months, sexually frustrated so she was ready to crack, but I knew she was living in denial and ready to throw up her boyfriend shield at any moment. So I reversed my game. I didn’t touch her once. I didn’t make a single innuendo or flirtatious remark. She was very smart, and initially very wary. So, we just talked, drank (she paid) watched the ukuleles and had fun. She was clearly starved of male affection, grappling with internal battles, so I simply amplified what she was missing out on while nodding as she implied that he was cheating. After the bar closed, we bounced to get a hamburger and walked to my place. I cracked the house emergency seduction Frangelico, sipping a glass with her on the couch. Suddenly she grabbed my collar and kissed me. She was wild but not budging off the couch, not tonight. I spent an unprecedented three consecutive nights with her, basically allowing her to escalate incrementally. I would usually not do this but I clicked unusually well with her and I wanted to maintain her state, so she didn’t have a chance to move outside her emotions. Second night I took her to bed but she was firm with her limits and impervious to freeze outs. On the third night we went to a rock club and someone stole my jacket and her handbag. Jon drove us home and in the back seat she said, “We should console each other tonight, with less clothes.” Although I maintained composure, I thought to myself, “Fuck yes girl, that is a fantastic thing to do. Let the guy know he’s gonna get laid so there’s no stress and we can relax and enjoy the build up.” 119

We got home, chatted with Jon in the lounge room and then she stood up and motioned to my room with her thumb. The moment the door closed behind us, she tore my clothes off and vented months of celibate frustration on my innocent body… It was worth the wait. And she dumped the boyfriend the next day.

Wolf was still living in the outer suburbs with his parents but started crashing in the massage room most weekends. Before long he was more or less living there. We posted an add on the lair announcing that “The Natural” – the world’s first dating coaches teaching intuitive seduction, without any lines or fake gimmicks, were open for business. Our first few clients came trickling in. Whoever handed us the few hundred dollars we were asking had us both by his side. We’d cruise into clubs with the overwhelmed student and proceed to put on over the top demonstrations. Wolf would grab girls, two at a time and lead them on and off dancefloors like it was a Justin Timberlake clip. I would lock girls in for intense conversations, slowly drawing them in with my smouldering intent. It took us a while to realise that this live pickup circus was intimidating more than teaching. The students could nowhere near keep up and very gradually I started to deconstruct what were the replicable movements, conversation themes, types of touch and most importantly the mindsets that both Wolf and I used in our own distinct way. Those early workshops were laboratories where I slowly uncovered the five principles which all true ladies men exhibit and worked out how it could be taught.

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James and Wolf at the races and other stories 10th Nov 2006 Yikes, been hunting like a motherfucker lately with Wolf. One night we do his world (R’nB/glamour clubs) and then the next night my world (Filthy hippies and rocker clubs). It’s been awesome learning from each other. Wolf’s club game is incredible. He sifts through the crowd, walks straight up to the hottest bitchiest girls, grabs them in tight, says something highly suggestive in their ear and never fails to get them smiling, laughing and touching him instantly. The number of times he gets them boiling so hot that he gets even the most uptight girls into the club toilets lifting their expensive dresses, makes my head spin. He’s also taught me a lot about winging. We were sitting with two 9’s and right at the point that Wolf was explaining that I teach men about posture, poise and grace, I knock one of the girls drinks all over her. Now I have never seen Wolf buy a drink for a girl, but he got straight up and went and bought her another drink and then continued to sing my praises. It was so I wouldn’t need to apologise profusely and to show the solidarity between us. Very important guys, always back your wing. I do better in groups, bouncing conversation and creating intrigue, so he’s been picking that up. My game is generally more protracted and subtle. Between us we’ve opened countless sets, got dozens of numbers, make outs and lays in the last couple of months. Latest exploits…

Derby Day Wolf and I had never been to the Melbourne Cup horse races and decided that the ladies of Melbourne deserved our company. The only suit I own is a 70’s powder blue one that an alcoholic fruit picker left in the squalid caravan he sold me for $35 when I was 121

working on an orange orchard after high school. So it was the stylish Mr Wolf to the rescue. Once he was done with me - sable double-breasted suit with braces, white pointy shoes, white silk tie on white silk shirt and a white rose and Wolf in a burgundy pin stripe - we were a force to reckon with. I never gave much thought to clothing before I met this guy but watching the difference a good sense of style has on women has made me put more effort into this in recent times. Don’t make it harder on yourselves guys. Get good clothes. We drove to Deanna’s place, where we picked up her and Mia (two of my ex’s who are best friends and strippers), then looking divine we all went off to the races. The moment we got in, we ditched the girls (or they ditched us) and went berserk. Over the next few hours we were not out of set for longer than a few minutes. Never have I seen so many women begging to be approached. We were opened multiple times and the way we were dressed was continuously commented on. With a sea of drunk black suits we stood out a mile. It was painfully obvious how inept most men are, under the harsh magnifying glass of daylight and alcohol. We both number closed on every set. Ten numbers a piece. Afterwards we went to Vatican where Wolf hooked up with a foxy Italian. Deanna and Mia picked me up and we went to a strip club with two other stripper mates of theirs. Everyone was wasted and I had both of them, snuggled in next to me making out with both, whilst dumbfounded men looked on in the club. I handed out my card to a few guys and told them if they wanted to stop wasting their time blowing money in depressing strip clubs and start doing things like this, they should call me. The four girls and I got a lap dance from an extraordinary black girl. At one point the five of us are sitting around her with five sets of hands rubbing the black girl’s massive tits. The girls paid too. Life is good. I realised that a threesome was on the cards with my ex’s, so tried to get them moving about 3am. We couldn’t get a cab for nearly two hours and they ended up having a hysterical fight on the street. The night turned ugly. Deanna walked off, Mia passed out in the gutter. So I was left standing in the street trying to hail a cab and then telling 122

drunk groups of guys to fuck off when they moved in on Mia. Eventually Deanna comes back and I get them both sobbing into a cab and back home. We all hop in the bath together but by that time I don’t know why but I was over it. We’ve all known each other for too many years for there to be much sexual tension. Deanna passed out on the couch, Mia and I fucked for old times’ sake and called it a night.

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Drugged Teen foursome fuckup When I was seventeen I moved into my first group house with some school mates. What became known as “Space House” (because we spray painted the letterbox silver) descended into filth and debauchery. We were the only dudes our age with our own house, so people came and went as they pleased, maggots bred on the sink, the quinces rotted in great piles out the back and every night was weed/ LSD soaked. One night two girls from school were let in by my housemate and they walked into my room unannounced as I slept. They slinked onto my sagging mattress (with the springs that stabbed you if you slept on your back) on either side of me and said, “We’re gonna work you out.” I pulled their hands off me and told them to get out because I had a girlfriend. Few days have passed since then that I don’t regret that decision. Teenage romances come and go but threesomes are like Halley’s Comet. Since then the elusive threesome has evaded me. I’ve come close a few times but never quite pulled it off… So I’ve been hanging out with Betty a lot. Going to gigs, sneaking into her backyard and into her room at night, swing dancing, cooking, hanging out with all my friends, fantastic sex, lots of fun. Of course I told her at the beginning about my rules and lifestyle… So the other night we’re out for the third night we’d been out together that week at a rock club and I start getting phone calls from the 19yo Peach. I ignore the calls. I get 48 (I kid you not) of them in a row. I text her where I am but that I can’t hang out tonight. At 2am Betty and I walk out of the club and there waiting in the alley dressed like my fantasy schoolgirl slut in knee high socks and pigtails, totally wasted is Peach, Roger Ramjet and two other tarted up teenagers. I walk over and the two teens I’d never met wrap their arms around me. One of them purrs, “Who’s that girl? Is she your girlfriend?” Peach is too drunk to speak, just rubs herself on me. “Leave her and come with us to the hotel.” My arms are crossed and I say coldly: “Na, I’m going.”

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As I push them off me and turn to walk away I can feel my heart break in two. We get in the cab and there are tears in my eyes and I’m twitching like I’m about to have a seizure. I sent her a message: “Another time Peach. Night” To which she replied “Hmm, whatever Jammes you cock suker whatever.” When we got home I couldn’t raise an erection even as my lovely mistress lifted her red dress to show me her suspenders. I had shamed myself into impotence. This night was a sobering wake up call. Once again it is proved to me that if you want the ultimate in extreme sexual lifestyles you must be disciplined, emotionally unattached and state what you want without apology. The fuck up was purely mine. I told her one thing – that I was not willing to commit and then proceeded to do lots of boyfriend things that of course she responded in kind to. By not being a steadfast man I failed everyone. My mistress, the horny sluts who thought I was a sexual animal and were humiliated when I proved to be a pussy and myself. I should not be out on weekends with a fuck buddy full stop. There were very specific reasons I instituted my rules and boundaries and because I broke them I missed an experience that is only likely to come along once in a man’s life.

Cup Day redemption The next morning, still feeling sick to my bones I confessed my sins to Wolf. He shook his head in disgust, pulled out a perfectly cut blue pinstriped suit and we went off to Melbourne cup. The thing about Wolf and I is that we are incredibly driven and smooth but have terrible directional sense and logistical skills. 125

We often strut down the street with great purpose together and one of us will say “Ummm, are you going anywhere in particular”. “Ah, No I thought you were leading the way.” So due to various fuck ups we arrive at 4pm, as most people are leaving. Anxious to wipe the memory of the night before away, we leapt straight into set, number closing two cute 19yo hired guns, bounce through a few nondescript sets, registering countless coy and not so glances from the ladies admiring our Superfly get up. I spot the lips of a glamour blonde 9.5 mouthing to her friend, “He’s hot”, or so I imagined. We walked straight in and ran a flawless set: “Did we just have a moment?” “I don't think so.” “Well I guess we are now.” “I guess you're right”. I got my girl to add me as “Rock Star” in her phone and I noticed a number that said “Anna nude” In her address book. “Who’s that?” I asked. “Oh. A nudie photographer. I was considering that stuff for a while. I do swimsuit stuff for Ralph, and it’s basically the same.” (Amazingly this girl later called me at 2am but unfortunately I was otherwise indisposed. I never hooked up with her though she played hot phone game on me a couple of times. Wolf explained with those high value glamour girls, you need to nail them fast. By the following Wednesday night they have another purse full of panting alphas. You need to boil their attraction quickly and finish it before your validation is superseded. I should have kicked the other girl out of bed immediately and gone after her, she was euro porn star hot) We walk off with huge grins and renewed faith, strutting through the crowd at half speed. (Wolf’s theory of pace. Always walk very fast or very slow. Draws attention and Builds your own reality). We went down to Brunswick St to grab some food and sat by the window.

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Two race day strumpets walked by and nearly gave themselves whiplash perving at us. I smiled at Wolf and said, “Instant date?” He grinned and ran out the door. Three minutes later we’re all sitting at dinner. They were solid 7’s, both 28 and dressed to kill. We bounced them to a bar and while they were in the bathroom we decided we each preferred the other’s girl so decided to swap. “But… you reckon we’re too deep into rapport to swap?“ I said. We look at each other and say simultaneously “Naaaa.” When they come back we go cold on our original girl and swap places, talking each other up to the new lady. I was amazed how quickly we could reengineer attraction. These girls wanted cock and preferences were interchangeable it seemed. At that point a bunch of their friends arrived and the dynamic went strange. I wasn’t listening that intently but there was some issue with an older guy, his ex-wife and Wolf’s girl. She disappeared and Wolf went after her. As soon as we were alone I kissed my girl and she moaned almost embarrassingly loudly. Time to speed this up. I suggest we all go to the masquerade party we’d been using as bait all day (which was really just Wolf and I and some batman masks). We get out the door but sugar daddy cockblocks and whisks off with Wolf’s girl. Mine says, “Oh, I better go with my friends then.” Her friends turned and blurted in unison; “Na go out, have a good time!” (She later commented “I can’t believe my friends let me go off with two masked men”). As soon as we walked in the next bar, Wolf gave me his eject signal and disappeared. One drink later I say, “Let's get out of here.” “Where are we going?” “My place, unless you want to drag me back to Williamstown.” We get home and she humps my leg groaning but won’t let me take her dress off. She stopped a few times and did that I’m thinking about this really hard and I’m not that kind of girl and I probably won’t do it look. It’s such a beautiful thing to know now that this look is just for appearances and by that point there is no chance of failure. Still she resisted every time I tried to lift her dress. Hmm, she doesn’t want to get undressed because then she has to admit to herself she’s having a dirty one-night stand. I had 127

another idea. I turned her around, rolled on a condom, slip her panties to the side, grabbed a big handful of arse and designer dress and pounded her silly. Does it somehow not count if you keep your dress on? Guessing I’m not going on her list but she’s definitely on mine. Jon said he awoke to the sound of her screaming “Harder” and drifted off into pleasant dreams. She never took her bra off, so I wagered a game of connect four on it. She lost and out popped her big brown titties. She jabbered on about herself and what women want (while clearly having no idea what they want) and eventually called a cab and left. I let out the joyous trumpeting fart that I had been holding and slept till the afternoon.

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Flowz and Z A new character popped up on the lair, calling himself Flowz. He said he’d fucked six girls in seven days on a work trip to Adelaide, wrote in a nonsensical hip-hop jargon and always signed off – Blaze. He posted one day: Any cat wants to unstick their dicks from the keys and get real – Vegie bar wedz night 30 after 7 – Hulha. Blaze Wolf and I were curious. He was a shit-talker, could he back it up? We rocked up Wednesday night and there was Flowz. He was black, tall and skinny with a gigantic afro, wearing an old hoodie, mismatched socks and huge orange sneakers. His voice was incredibly deep and hypnotic. With him was a guy who turned out to be his wing - Z. Quiet, dressed all in black, with thick rimmed glasses. Wolf and I sat down, shook hands with them and with the four other nerdy lair guys who had also turned up and were starting to get very nervous as they quickly realised they were clearly not who Flowz was looking for. After a glass of water they all made their excuses and left. The four of us chatted on, Flowz was animated but focussed, asking us probing questions about our style. I immediately liked him - I soon found out everyone did. Z said almost nothing but held eye contact, longer than even I, the Shaolin monkey, could handle. The waitress came over to collect our cups, a super-hot tattooed Fitzroyal hipster. As she picked up a cup, Flowz gently laid his hand over hers and said “How ya been?” She blushed, then composed herself, remembering that service staff on Brunswick street measured their worth by how condescending they could be. “Ah do I know you?” “Na, but let’s fix that.” She scoffed and slowly pulled her hand away, “Ah, yeah…” she trailed off but kept standing there. “Seriously, how we gonna make this happen?” he pushed a napkin towards her and said, “Draw me something.”

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“I have to get back to work sorry,” she quickly replied, all business again. She swiped the napkin and cups and scurried off. Later she returned with the bill and without saying anything dropped the napkin in his lap. Her number was written on it. Wolf pretended he didn’t notice but I couldn’t contain myself. “Alright, we have to hang out more.” We pulled our wallets out to pay and Flowz said without batting an eye, “Got no paper tonight, you got this one Jimtstar right?” I had that one and would have many more in the future. Outside wolf and I walked, no place in mind. Finally he spoke, “Flowz, I don’t trust him.” “What, why?” “He’s a hustler.” “Says the best one I know.” He grinned. Two tipsy girls tumbled out of a bar ahead. We went to work.

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Cherry Red 24th November 2006 About a year ago I was on a plane home from Canberra and I was sitting across the aisle from a sexy cherry red head. This was when I was newly single and before I knew anything about game formally. For the first time in my life I was pushing myself to approach strangers, so I leant across and said: “Do you reckon you can only get a job as a Virgin stewardess if your name ends in I? Look around: Mindi, Cindi, Candi…” She laughed and we chatted for the rest of the flight. She was 20, studying vet science and had been partying with her evil twin sister all weekend. It’s amazing for me to see how far I’ve come. Back then I was still relying on my band as a crutch, so I asked for her email and told her I’d let her know about our gigs - lame. A couple of weeks back I was at a cocktail lounge with two of my best female friends CC and Charlie and we were talking about pickup. They were a little sceptical and said they wanted to see it in action. “OK, choose me a girl and I’ll get her number.” They both point to a gorgeous cherry redhead wearing tiny shorts and high heels. I walked straight up and said hi. Her face lit up and she said: “You’re James from Baron Samadhi right?” “Ahhh, yeah…?” (This was the first time a hot girl had said those words to me, although I'd often imagined it happening.) “I met you on a plane last year when I was totally coming down and looking terrible.” What luck! At this point I noticed three guys standing obviously near her with their backs turned. Big muscly agro fuckers in polo shirts. One of them leaned his elbow into me and says aggressively: How’s it goin?”(fuck off that chick is mine)

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Me - Yeah good, how you going? (actually you are a brainless buffalo and I know how to handle you) Dickhead - Good, how you doing (I’m big, be scared of me) Me - You already asked me that. (You lose) Me to redhead - You know these guys? “No.” “Cool “- I put my arm around her and turn her away. “I gotta get back to my friends but give me your number and we should catch up soon.” I walk back to CC and Charlotte who are speechless… Jon and I decided to throw a party last weekend, so we invited lots of people, put up fairy lights and bought chips and fizzy drinks. I didn’t consciously plan it but as everyone arrived I realised that there was about 25 girls and 5 guys. Nice odds. This constant pounding the pavement was paying off. At any social gathering of my friends you can guarantee that there will be half a dozen girls I’ve been with. I’m not a masterful pick up artist. I’m pretty good and getting better but my real talent lies in the fact that when I sleep with a girl or have a relationship with ones that I really like, I can keep them around me. Forever. And I do, I love them forever, surround myself with them and I can bring them together without fear or apology. So Cherry turns up with two friends, the drummer model chick Carrie, from weeks back rocks up and there is no mention of the Latin rock star, ha-ha. What a girl, handshake like a sailor, left-handed rock drummer, talks like a bogan from Sunbury and looks like a catwalk model. I hand her three darts and say, “Ok let’s play darts. Loser has to kiss the winner.” She loses and we both win. She leaves a bit later to see a band and asks if she should come back later. I say yeah, come by late. She sends me a text at 3am: Eh, really want to come over but can’t make it. CrOOk as. We plan a date for her to make it up to me next week. (I bang her a week later)

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As the night’s winding down I start to pay more attention to Cherry. Her friends are both uptight, forming protective passive aggressive geometry around my girl. I ask how their love lives are going and they both say - “shit!” Turns out one of them is a virgin. Nothing more dangerous than a plain virgin with a hot friend. I am trying to send them home, without Cherry of course, and they are suspicious. I do a massage swap with one of them. And then start escalating gradually on Cherry. I put my hand on her lower back and then look her virgin friend in the eye, hiding nothing. Cherry looks at me with trepidation and says: “I don’t know what to do, I want to go out but they’re going home”. Her friends chime in: “Just come home, you have to work tomorrow”. She turns to me - “What should I do?” It sounds simple but it is moments like those that define your competency. My first rule is NEVER APOLOGISE. What I mean in this case is not apologising for the fact that I want to fuck her and she wants me. So I say this and I don’t care who hears it: “You should just stay here.” I can see her tangible relief as she says, ok. Simply making it easy on her to say yes and taking responsibility for the decision allowed her to surrender to what she really wanted to do. I shuffle the random guy that had offered to take her out to an after party out the door. A British backpacker dude who had thrown up earlier is passed out on the couch and as I’m getting him a blanket the plain virgin says, “You better look after him, you tool.” I stop, turn to her, pause and say very calmly, “Did you tell me in my house that I have to look after a stranger and then call me a tool?” She’s silent. “Goodnight girls” and gesture to the door. Everyone leaves, I tuck in the backpacker and take Cherry to my room. My god, what a kitten. Ranks in the top five tits I’ve ever seen, perfect creamy skin, peach of an arse and a crumpet so smooth it creates a vacuum that sucks you in. Sigh… I try not to come more than once a week but when I do, I’m usually done for the night. But with this gem I could not get enough. We fuck all night, pass out at dawn and then get up to scoot her off to work.

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I felt like the best type of white trash standing bare chested on the veranda, beer cans and streamers all over the concrete, waiting for her cab with a gorgeous nymph leaning on me, waving at the neighbours as they walked the Sunday dogs. When Jonny came in my room later and asked if the 5 condoms on the floor were all from last night I just smiled and said, “Great party huh?”

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Lin Lin’s temptation 12th Dec 2006 I get a call. “Hi this is Lin Lin, I don’t know if you remember me…” The week before I played a gig and among the audience was a woman who has been my massage client for most of this year. She’s about 40 and pretty for her age. She is also completely deranged and dangerously in love with me. She had an awful history including being hospitalised by a brutal boyfriend and being raped multiple times by strangers. She sends me anonymous letters and text messages like this: Hi James, I am renouncing everything including my vibrator. Need to burn off some karma and purify. I’m still afraid of men. Ever since I’ve been let out of my cage you are the only male I feel safe around. Your energy is like milking heaven and I know by all the ravishing beauties that you bed that I am safe just to live out a totally unlived teenage crush experience…I revere you. And then later… I’ve been so unequanimous with you… fantasizing way too much. I can’t have contact with you anymore because I lack control and I’m too lonely and horny and just want to suck your cock. This is the power of a patient ear and a healing touch my lads… Of course it would be completely unethical to allow the therapist/patient lines to blur… so a couple of weeks later I took her in my room after her massage. She dropped to her knees and blew me while staring up at me with devoted crazy eyes… Anyway, she rocks up to the gig and brings a friend. An exquisite Chinese lady in a tight white expensive dress, dripping in jewelry. She introduces me to Lin Lin and I chat to her for a few minutes about Gong Fu and music. I decide it’s better not to try and seduce her with my client watching, so I go back to the band. 135

“Yeah, of course I remember you Lin Lin…” She doesn’t say where she got my number but says she wants to show me her music. I suggest lunch. We meet and talk for a couple of hours. I work out through her Chinese zodiac that she is 36. Incredible, she looks 20. Her face is flawless, her huge doe-eyes darting nervously. She is deep into Vipassana meditation and amazed that a white boy is onto all that stuff. I suggest a walk to the park. I do lots of very subtle touch tests and get micro-negative reactions in the form of slight tensing of her posture and darting looks. I’m still not sure what the deal is. “So you don’t have a boyfriend?” “Yes I do, you met him at the show…” Ah yes, Jewish property tycoon, plays piano. He was meekly standing behind her when we met. Turns out they’ve been together fifteen years. “So do you write music together?” “We try but always end up fighting,” She unconsciously blurts out that he’s bossy and uncompromising too. I nod knowingly; she quickly changes the subject. We get to her car and get in to listen to her songs. They were soaring emotional Asian pop with synth choirs and harps and other pukeworthy production, but pretty tunes anyway. Afterwards I stab her in the eye with my gaze and say: “Why did you call me Lin Lin?” She blushes and stutters, “I want to show you my music” “Yes but why me, I’m a stranger to you?” “I, I don’t show anybody. I’m not sure why I call you. I never call anyone. I just want to share it with you…” “Is that all?” I hold her gaze relentlessly. “Yes.” “Ok, well I should go now.” I lean in to kiss her cheek and she half turns her head so the sides of our lips touch. 136

I stay in close and say firmly and slowly: “Do you want to kiss me properly?” She says nothing. I gently touch my lips to hers and pause. She tentatively kisses me back. I walked away buzzing. What the fuck is happening, I feel like I have super powers. This is my civic duty - to bring excitement and danger to the neglected beauties of this earth…

This seduction became a deliciously protracted affair. I had three dates with her (where she took me out and paid for swanky dinners) and managed to get her back to my room twice and went super-aggressive caveman. I would pull her in, run my hand up her leg and suddenly she would become violent, pushing me and scratching, once even slapping my face. I’d back off, then she’d slink back in my arms and we would repeat the process. It boiled me into an animal, she loved that look in my eyes I could tell but was terrified as well. On the fourth visit something was different. She struggled a little but spread her legs wide when I pushed her thighs apart and closed her eyes tight. I slipped my finger under her silk panties. She was dripping. Her pussy was degrees tighter than any virgin I've felt. She kept her eyes closed and I quietly rolled on a condom. I lay her down and tried to push inside her. She was so tight it took minutes and the pressure made me want to come immediately. Before long she stretched and we started fucking. When she finally opened her eyes, they looked completely different, alive, crazy on fire. She started screaming, louder and louder. I turned her around and couldn't believe my cock fit inside her tiny body. From behind it looked like I was fucking a ten-year-old boy. I guess this is what it feels like to be a black man. I slammed her tiny body until she went into convulsions, her legs quivering uncontrollably. She screamed like she was 137

being burnt alive and collapsed in messy orgasm. Afterwards, I watched her dress, put on all the expensive jewellery her boyfriend gave her, smooth down her designer dress and brush her perfect black hair. She gave me a shy smile and I walked her to her car.

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Your reputation precedes you Mr Marshall 18th December 2006 My mate Sasko who is making an indie doc about Wolf and I told me his girlfriend had found a girl for me. He told me she was doing her PhD in psychology, little Italian pixie. She’d been told I was a porn star player always up for no strings attached fun. Thanks for the endorsement Sasko. Outsourcing seduction, now there’s a new idea. We started exchanging the odd flirty text and then I invited her to the Night Cat late on Sunday. She was a tiny package, size 6 with a tight peach arse. Spiky short hair and an innocent fairy face. I looked around the club and realised there were three girls in there I’d recently fucked. For a moment I felt panic through my body and then relaxed as I remembered that I didn’t need to apologise for myself. I wasn’t lying to anyone. I was a free man. I went round to them all and gave them a hug and peck on the lips and then got back to Pixie. It was amusing to watch her over the night. Her body betrayed her nervousness and the funny thing was I could see her going through the motions of deciding whether or not to let the seduction happen. Little did she realise that unlike all other times in her life the situation was reversed. It was me deciding whether she was worth taking home, or ditching for one of the other three girls in the club I could take. Mao Zedong was wrong: power came from having multiple vaginas to choose from. She later told my mate who set us up that she went to the date intending not to fuck me but found herself swept up in it. He was incredulous: “Maestro! How the fuck do you get a chick to sleep with you when she knows all about you and can see it coming?” “The reason is exactly that”, I said, “The best seductions can be seen a mile off but even if you try to avoid it, suddenly it engulfs you from just the angle you weren’t expecting.” We had a couple of drinks and then headed to First Floor. She started loosening up and dancing and then said in my ear: 139

“You take drugs?” “Occasionally. Why?” “I’ve got some.” “Let’s do it.” She took me by the hand into the girl’s toilets and into a cubicle. We dropped half an E and snorted a line of speed (my first ever, believe it or not). I slammed her against the door and we made out heavily. After a bit the bouncer yelled into the room that they were closing. So we cabbed back to my place and had turbo drug sex for hours. The old Russian saying - “Big girls are for work, small girls are for fun” - came to mind as I effortlessly tossed her around, and as she squatted to impale herself in my lap, I watched her tiny butt bounce frantically at a speed a heavier girl could never match on my cock. Another night when she was over she said: “Despite your reputation as a heartless womaniser I feel like you wouldn’t hurt a fly.” “That’s why I’m such a good womaniser. I let women feel safe and able to express their sexuality without the judgement and the manipulation of emotional attachment. I have nothing to hide and I truly respect the girls I’m with.” She pushed me and said, “Shut up and fuck me.”

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Caravanserai 15th January 2007 Last night I dreamt that she chose me. We kissed as we walked, it was truly heavenly. The others were all around, happy and in peace. I woke up and laughed. Wandered around the Clarke St house: stinking bags, rotting mangoes and instrument cases strewn across the shiny hardwood floor. What a fucking trip. Three weeks on the road over summer with the band. Maybe the last tour we ever have but then I say that every time. This time we packed an old bus with seven members plus Jon as support act and mojo mascot. Played a dozen shows to packed rooms and empty ones, got fucked up every day, saw old friends, made new ones, swam in rivers and oceans and lived on pies and mangoes. Here are some memories - I misplaced the others… Bellingen We went walking in the Dorrigo rainforest, ate magic mushrooms. Light rain fell as we wandered slowly along the path. The mist closed in and it felt like we were under the sea among a giant seaweed forest. Then the clouds opened up and dumped divine hard rain on us for hours. We emerged late in the afternoon, drenched and happy. Newcastle We all crashed at my old mate Jack’s place. He's a tattoo artist and lives with Australia's most modified man (who turned out to be my old high school P.E teacher), who has hundreds of piercings all over his body. As it turned out they were doing a suspension that weekend (where they hang themselves up by hooks, because…) and so all the body mod dudes and chicks from around the country were also crashing there. The eight of us boys walk into their party looking particularly not tough or edgy, into a room full of people covered in tats, with dermal implant horns and forked tongues. Jon says, "Don't anyone mention my tattoo," referring to the tiny circle on his shoulder he got when we 141

were high on mushrooms travelling through Indonesia in 98’. There were a few hot girls in the group albeit covered in ink and spikes. I got on well with one who was a little firecracker stripper. They all came to the gig (in fact they were the only ones who came) and we all got hammered together. Afterwards I isolated Tatgirl as best I could and talked Chinese classic literature with her. She’d read Journey to the West, which made me fall in love with her instantly. We all went back to Jack’s place and I could see the pierced dudes getting jealous. They tried to cockblock me, which could be dangerous because they have sharp bits of metal in their cocks. One of them came out with two lit roman candle fireworks in his hands, which blasted fireballs through the room - an unexpected tactic. Tatgirl went to a bedroom with the other girls in the chaos. She gave me a lingering look as she closed the door. I knew I should just invite myself in but I didn't. Maybe she'll come out later… She didn't. Yamba Played the beautiful coastal town of Yamba where I’d had my fastest ever pick up - 10 minutes from hi to fuck - the year before. It’s actually quite difficult to pick up in a lot of these towns. Due to liquor licensing the venues close about 20 minutes after the band finishes. So you have very little time to seal the deal. Also the quality is often much lower than in your average suburban Melbourne pub. I spotted my target from stage: tall brunette 8 with a killer body and huge perky tits. I saw her dancing with a group that included an obviously friendly cool guy, who lurched about with wacky dance moves. As soon as we finished I walked up to him introduced myself and we grooved together. The busty girl came over, introduced herself as Lucy and I immediately grabbed her for a waltz. A super buff bronze alpha surfer dude was hanging around. Coolcat suggested a nude swim, so a bunch of us walked down to the water. Everyone stripped off to underwear and my eyeballs nearly burst. Her body was exquisite. Alpha man was jostling with me but she didn’t seem that into him. After the swim she suggested a party at her house and we set off down the street, the band joined 142

us. Lucy and I walked ahead while Jon engaged Alpha in intelligent conversation, which suitably distracted and confused him. Everyone straggled behind us and eventually Surfer boy gave up and slunk off home. Power to the music nerds! We partied at her place for a while. Jonny sang a few songs (Which works well as a wingman act, but, take note guitar strumming nice guys, is mostly useless for seduction). I asked her to give me the tour. She showed me around and I kissed her in the bathroom. “Wow, where did that come from?” Everyone eventually left and we went to her room. I got her top off and was greeted with my first ever pair of bulging fake tits. It made my year. Slammed her all night and she drove me back the next morning in her tough V8 truck on her way to surf. Coffs Harbour- NYE New Year ’s Eve we played a daggy returned serviceman’s bistro place in Coffs harbour. We all dropped pills and I’m sure played pretty sloppy. For NYE the place was pretty dead and not much talent. After the show I approached the hottest girl there, a blonde big-titted 8. She was totally not my type, fickle glamour girl from the Gold Coast. When I asked what she did I wasn’t surprised to hear she was in finance (yawwwn) and shrugged her shoulders. “Why did you tense up your shoulders when you told me what you do? Are you ashamed of it?” “No, it’s just not that interesting I suppose…” “Depends on how you sell it. Look let’s try again. I’ll ask what you do and you stand up straight and proudly announce you’re in finance!” She hung around while we packed up. “This is pretty funny huh? Longhaired broke hippy muso and the blonde glamour corporate girl. Bet you didn’t expect to spend NYE like this?” “No, but I like it.” I took her to a couch, while everyone packed up and when the conversation lagged I said: 143

“I think I should kiss you before things get awkward.” She said, “No, I want to start the year right, not pashing random boys, even sexy ones…” We walked back to the group and I grabbed her and said “one more thing…” and kissed her. “I so totally saw that coming,” she said smugly. I pushed her off and started walking away, she pulled me back and we went at it again. The band went down the beach and I took her for a walk. As we were kissing I held her behind the neck like I always do and girls love. She froze and said: “I don’t like people touching my hair.“ For a minute I thought she must’ve had some trauma from a sexual assault or something. She went onto explain: “I don’t let anyone touch my face or my hair. My mother told me not to. She’s a great mother. That’s why I have such beautiful skin and hair…” I was speechless. True, she had very nice skin and at that moment I imagined soiling it with a blast of filthy jizz. At that point I weighed up my options. Waste my time with this princess or join the crew for more drugs and good times… Ten minutes later I’m sitting back with the crew in a circle on the sand. Everyone was hilariously wrecked, singing songs, rapping and carrying on. Princess was very uncomfortable. She whinged about the sand, said she was cold. I ignored her, sucked down a nang, smoked a joint and drank home brew blackberry wine from a plastic bottle. We dumped her at her hotel, found some drunk aboriginal dudes to party with and sang songs till dawn. Byron Bay I was walking down the road in Byron bay, wearing the sailor’s hat that is passed around all tour. Three teens were sitting at a bench and one called out: “Hey, can I wear your hat?” I put it on her and asked if she could drive. 144

“Yeah, why?” “Well that hat is worn by whoever is driving the tour bus, so if you’re up for it maybe you can join us… What are you guys doing tonight, you should come see us play. Hang on, you’re not even 18 are you? “ “Yess!” They all said. The cutest blonde Clara added, “Well, almost.” “Gimme your number,” the first one said to me. As she typed it in Clara said, “Quick Sarah, ya mum’s coming…” They ran off giggling. Never heard from her and forgot about it. Few nights later, because we thought it would be funny we all went to a rodeo just out of town and I bumped into them. They were with another friend, an obscenely large-breasted barbie. I was interested in Clara but she disappeared. So as we were leaving I went up to barbie. “Hey, Take out your phone and put this number in.” “I don’t take boys phone numbers” “It’s not for you. Give it to Clara and tell her to text me.” An hour later I get one: Hey, what are you up to? I’m at the Buddha bar, come by for a drink. My drummer Mike Check and I are standing by the bar when a big-titted drunk 7 comes up and starts chatting. The following takes place in about 5 minutes. The three of us muck around, she makes it clear that she likes Mike. Someone mentions the tour bus and I suggest she should help us christen it. “Why don’t you go and fuck Mike in it right now?” “Alright, let’s go,” she says. Mike hesitates because he has been pounding a kinky 5 for the last couple of days. We are all crashing at her place and she is due to arrive at the bar any moment. He quickly comes to his senses and by the time five minutes tick by he disappears with strumpet to the bus. That’s the fastest pickup I’ve ever seen. He gets back ten minutes later, looking pleased with himself and a little nervous. His kinky 5 rocks up minutes later. He decides to push his luck and suggests a threesome to her. Too greedy Mike… She storms out and he runs after her. 145

I say to the strumpet. “Now you’ve fucked things for us. The whole band will be out on the street. You better take me home with you.” “Sure. I’m in Lennox heads.” “Whoah, that’s ages away. It better be worth my trouble.” “Of course, I’m a great fuck.” We make out and she rides off on an ol BMX telling me to call her in half an hour. When I do, she is too drunk and incoherent to pronounce her street. No word yet from Clara, so I call her. A teenage boy answers, slow and laconic like the cool boys at high school. “Yeah?” “Hi, where’s Clara?” “In bed next to me.” “Oh Ok, see ya.” Hahahaha… I love that every time I try to pull off something truly lecherous I get slammed. Felt like a loser that night, couldn’t pull sloppy seconds on a drunk tart and got out gamed by a kid. Damn. Coolum We played in the gorgeous beach town of Coolum to a small crowd. There was a decent buxom chick in the audience that I had flirted with last time we were in town. She had sent me raunchy text messages over the months, so I knew it would be a done deal. After the show Jon was chatting to the only beautiful girl in the room. Priss was a gorgeous hippy with bright blue eyes, curly natural blonde hair full of feathers and shells. Turned out she was travelling south the next day and asked if she could get a ride, “Of course!” we all jumped in to say… Afterwards the band piled in the van and my girl directed us to her house. She and I got out and I envisaged a no brainer lay. We walked to the verandah where her housemate was sitting. He looked visibly unhappy and said “Kate, can I have a word with you?” I found out later the conversation went like this: 146

“What are you doing? Who is this guy?” “It’s cool, he’s just a friend, he’s crashing here tonight.” “Did you forget you have a boyfriend?” “It’s cool, nothing’s happening….” We all sat on the veranda, smoking joints in silent cold war. Both of us making the odd stoned pleasantry while saying, “Fuck off dude” in our heads. After at least an hour, he finally gave up and left. I kissed her immediately but she was resistant. I got her in her bedroom and onto the bed but she kept saying, “I’m really sorry James, I’m so tired, I need to get up early” etc. I thought - “Fuck this, I am a sexy rock star on tour, there is no way I’m taking no for an answer from this frumpy generic beach girl.” I pushed and pulled till she told me she had a boyfriend. I said, “You have been waiting for me all year and here I am. I’m not gonna be back here for a long time.” “I’ve never brought any one home like this and I’ve found someone special, we’re planning a trip to Bali…” She held out, so I did a hard-core freeze out, rolled over ignoring her. It worked immediately… “Don’t you want to cuddle?” I pounded the shit out of her, making sure the bed smashed on the wall for her housemate’s benefit. I painted her pillowy tits white and she rubbed it in saying, “You filthy fucker.” What a feeling: walking in the morning barefoot down the street of a strange town in last night’s clothes, stinking of sweat and pussy to jump in the bus with my friends and jet to the next adventure. Priss I had told Jon that I would wing him on whatever girl he chose, he has always been such a good friend, has had such a shit run with girls… so, much as it pained me to yield the peerless Priss I did and made sure I had his back. They got on perfectly, she sat closer and as we got to Byron bay she decided to stay with us and come to the next town. I 147

smiled at Jon, thinking, “Here is your gift, take it.” She ended up staying with us for the rest of the tour. She stole all our hearts. Jon bumbled around her, serenaded her, danced a little closer, touched a little more boldly. I warned him not to hesitate too long. We swam at the river and they walked downstream alone together. When they came back with him following like a lamb I knew that he had missed his chance, if there ever was one. How to describe her? I feel like I want to shout down anyone who has ever worshipped a woman and say, “You have never been in the presence of one like this!” All the love songs of history are just imagined imitations of a girl like that. Only 20 years old, fearless, smart and quick-tongued. Not a hint of malice, innocent and wise, an open heart to everyone. Beautiful and shapely with swelling breasts and dirty finger nails and feet. We fed her, gave her a room to stay, gave her drugs and hugs and she took them graciously but we wanted to give more to thank her for coming to us. She enchanted the whole bus; we all fell in love with her. We could see ourselves doing it without possibility of success but we all jumped anyway. Rick and Jon strummed their guitars writing songs about her as she worked fabric, feathers and shells into our hair. She seduced us all, a wood sprite PUA. Her routine stack was sublime. She had us all playing kids’ games, finger painting, climbing trees, singing along. We all jostled for her attention, literally building a human pyramid for her… Hahahahaha. Wherever she walked those who couldn’t resist her soft siren’s call followed her. I held back but still found myself standing next to her more often than not. She gave to everyone, because she couldn’t be with just one of us. Her touches, so natural, fleeting and without agenda. She cut my toenails, massaged Rick’s hand, snuggled in Mike’s lap, climbed on Jon’s shoulders… On our last night we played in the tiny forest town of Bellingen. Gorgeous and green, misty and hot. That night by chance another much more famous touring band was playing down the road, so there was almost no one there. Priss and Jon danced for us and that’s all we

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needed. Jon was still ineffectually trying but I knew he had no hope now. I could see him falling hard for her, like he often does with sandy-haired hippy nymphs. After the show I talked to the only decent girl there, a single mum, pretty drunk. She gushed about the band and asked where we were staying. “Upstairs,” I said. “I’ve never seen the inside of those rooms.” “You want to? Let’s go.“ I grabbed her hand and pulled her upstairs into our room. I kissed her straight away. She was shocked and started babbling basically to herself: “I haven’t done anything like this in six years, not since I met my husband. Here I am two days after he’s gone with my lips stinging from a new man’s whiskers…” I fingered her standing up but she continued musing with my hand inside her, talking about heroin addiction back in St Kilda years ago, her kids, husband… I reached a point where I could see this consuming my night when really I just wanted to get fucked up with the crew and go spastic. So despite the fact that I could’ve beaten Mike Check in the quickest ever pickup, I stopped… She asked if she could hang out with us because she didn’t want to be alone. I felt sorry for her and so went for a quick drive to her old weatherboard house just out of town. We tip toed in to check on the babysitter (who was one of the 15-year-olds that had nearly got us into trouble the year before) and kids and grab her single beer can in the empty fridge. I got back and found everyone on the dorm room, playing with their hair, lounging and drinking. We all ate MDMA powder that Rick’s uncle had sold us and rolled into fluffy bunny space. I basically ignored yummy mummy and soon she was gone. I felt a little sad for her but this night was for solidarity with my friends. We all massaged each other, I spent a long time on the guitarist Kit. My old friend - suffering romantic. Years of writing and playing together, we had become so distant and our lives so far apart, reduced to a fragile jelly, picking a beautiful tune on the guitar. Down by the river hours later as the edges of dawn crept in. A lost soul came to us, stumbling along the small town streets, to the river banks we were all playing by. Redheaded Bertie, 17 years old and flying dangerously on acid - his young consciousness 149

cracked open and speared with frightening insights. We stayed with him all night as he ranted like a bogan Jesus. Priss held him, Jon sang him songs and I looked him deep in the eye and told him the truth – awareness of this moment, love and no separation. He held Rick’s guitar and in a flash threw it in the air, smashing the neck. Then he sprinted to the cliffs edge and jumped, luckily into shallow water and soft mud. Rick went in after him and held him prone in the water, turning him in gentle circles, even though he had just smashed his most precious possession. We took him away and left Jon and Priss alone. I called out - “Remember what Wolf said” (This stuff is 90 percent balls). From behind a grove of trees we could see them sitting together, Jon still singing her songs and never making the move he would regret forever. I walked Bertie to the hospital and gave him to the nurse. He cried and shivered and wouldn’t look me in the eye as I shook his hand and told him to remember the good things from the night and to continue searching.

I got a call months later “Is this James? Are you from Baron Samadhi?” “Yes…” “Do you know who this is? It’s Bertie, do you remember me?” Yeah Bertie I do. He asked me strange questions about why we had said certain drug addled sentences to him, why Rick had moved him in a figure 8 in the water, asked if we were doing satanic rituals? No man, you were really messed up on drugs, we were just trying to keep you safe. 150

“When they let me out of hospital all I could see was smoke and hellfire and I scratched my eyes out...” “What do you mean?” “I scratched them out. I'm blind.” “You, literally scratched your own eyes out? “Yes.” “Why did you do that?” “Because I was having visions of hell. I was in a prison cell and people were trying to hypnotise me to get me to smoke cigarettes. You can’t speak the word of god with a burnt mouth. I was in hell, choking on rubber fumes. These fire balls kept coming at me and burning me and I would die and then come back alive again, over and over.” I didn’t know what to say. “Are you still doing music?” “Yeah, you wanna hear something?” “Of course.” He took his guitar and launched into a melody, delicate picking, frantic and passionate. I cried silently while he played. He let the last chord ring. “Hey James, what were the good things I was supposed to remember? “ “I don’t know Bertie. I’m sorry.” I asked around and it was true, he'd scratched his eyes so badly he'd lost all vision. The town still thinks a band of junkie devil worshippers is to blame.

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Sydney Drove to Sydney, coming down shaking and sweating. Jon sobbed quietly on my shoulder, saying, “I failed.” He passed out on the floor and Priss snuggled up to Mike Check. In Sydney we dropped Jon and Kit off at friend’s apartments. I hugged Jon and we cried. We got to Bondi and met my ex, Mia, and a couple of old friends. We had a great night on the beach, smoking joints with Columbians and doing handstands. I made the decision to help Mike Check get Priss. One of us may as well get her and she seemed to like him the best. I put half the band at a hostel and then the three of us went to crash at Mia’s. We put them on the foldout couch and went to bed. (Nothing happened. Soon after tour Mike got together with her housemate and eventually had a kid with her. Priss moved to Thailand and got knocked up by a kick boxer.) I’ve slept with Mia a few times over the years since we broke up but it was always strange. She would be violent or distant. That night it was really nice, really comforting to be with the person that we’d spent such formative years together. We made love and peace. Going home The drive home to Melbourne was quiet. The last drive is always a little sombre, as the drugs demand their payback and the rock and roll dream starts waking up. Your mind runs ahead and starts your life back in the real world. The group starts to unravel. I looked around at the crew, melancholy but happy. I feel different. It seems like a lifetime ago we stepped on that old bus. I hadn’t had any time alone with Priss until that last ride. All the others boys had wanted it so badly and I didn’t want to do myself the mischief of getting too close. We sat together for a couple of hours and talked about her estranged jealous lover, my seduction lifestyle, spirituality and drugs. I could feel her pure simple gaze cut through me and I felt old and unsure.

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She taught me to drive for the last hour back into Melbourne, the others passed out at 2am. I crunched the gears and she put her hand on mine, “Just relax…” I never touched her. I knew I couldn’t seduce her because my heart is not open and my soul not free enough. There’s the paradox. It would take a girl like that, nothing less, for me to retire but to get her I would need to be empty of agenda and let it all go. We dropped everyone off one by one, pulling sodden backpacks and rotten fruit from under the seats. I hugged Mike Check and Priss at my door and let them go. There are tears in my eyes now. For her, for the longing and for the release of desire. For the whole trip too, for my loyal friends, my old lovers, lost souls, rivers, the sea, broken hearts and unified spirits, forests, and brightly lit bistros. For my wonderful body, ageing inexorably to remind me of oblivion. Gratitude for a life like this.

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Swedish Stripper 10th Feb 2007 Fuck yes. Just got home from teaching a regular client. Really good bloke, making some awesome progress. We hit the street first as usual, opening a few sets, sitting down with a couple of girls at a café, pushing our client and ourselves into state. By the time we finish teaching, we’re too wired to think of going home. Wolf spots his target for the night, an insanely beautiful girl that looks like Angelina Jolie 10 years ago. She gives him the eye and I can see that crazed mist descend on him. His eyes change, he becomes hyper aware and I know the hunt is on and that success is assured. She passes him in the crowd, he grabs her hand and whispers: “that was much too obvious”. He pushes her off, pulls her back in and takes her outside and pushes her in the alley. The club is full of generic glamour girls, not one of them stirs anything in me. Then I spot the one who doesn’t belong there. Wearing black jeans and converse sneakers, sparkling eyes and great posture. She notices me looking and I hold her gaze and smile. She waves. I almost walk straight in but then I notice she has her arms around a dude’s waist. “Boyfriend?” I speculate to Wolf. “Boyfriend? What the fuck does that mean?” Oh yeah… She sits down and pulls out her phone. I walk over, squat down and say, “Excuse me. You are the only girl in this place that I’m interested in. Can you come over here and talk to me?” She looks up, nods and we move over to a couch. She says she needs to finish her text and I can see she’s writing in some Scandinavian language. When she finishes I say: “So what is your story…”

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Her - Why are you wearing this cowboy shirt? Me - I’m a male stripper. Her - Oh really, what club? Me - ummm, stallions lounge.. Her - I’m at Centrefolds ( I knew she meant it). Is that too personal to say? Me - Doesn’t bother me. Two of my girlfriends were strippers Her - I don’t like that Me - Why not? Her - It seems to be a pattern Me - Isn’t the universe made of patterns… What I like about strippers is that they are strong, independent and take responsibility for the consequences of their actions. She smiled - I like that better. “Ok, so you’re from Sweden right? Cool, well I’ll tell you what I am not going to ask you. I’m not gonna ask how long you’ve been here, what parts of Australia you’ve been to, when are you going home, do you like Melbourne…” She laughed. “What I am going to ask is: what are 5 things you want to learn before you die?” (I dig this question. A smart girl asked me that on our first date). She said, “To learn how to hold my breath for 5 minutes so I can work on an oilrig etc etc…” I got her number before her friends pulled her out of the bar, and got up from the couch totally pumped. Walking out of an immaculate set like that makes you feel like a god. The room suddenly seems like a kid’s playground. You strut through and can see the truth underlying every interaction happening around you. The world belongs to you.

20th Feb 2007 I organised a date for Monday night. We met in the city and went to a jazz club. Lots of flirting, standard Kino escalation, bounced closer to my place and another jazz bar. Just 155

as we were walking in I said, “Stop!” Span her to me and kissed her. At 2am I got her in a cab and back to my place, on the couch, in my bed and undressed to her g-string. She put up predictable LMR: “No sex on the first night…” “That’s fine,” continue escalating. OK, here I am with a stunning 22-year-old Swedish stripper almost naked and writhing in my bed. This should be pretty simple... She is getting crazily horny, grinding against me while I’m fingering her yet she still says: “It doesn’t matter how horny you make me, I won’t have sex with you.” I did my staunchest freeze outs ever, grabbing her by the hips and pushing her to the other side of the bed laughing and saying, “Stop doing that to yourself. Get some sleep.” She jumped back on me three times but never cracked. In the morning things were weird and we parted awkwardly. Last Minute Resistance is an amazing phenomena. It’s inconceivable to men how it could work. To imagine having a beautiful woman throwing herself at you, you’re single, your cock is hard, everything is just right and then for some nebulous unnecessary reason, you stop everything, piss off the girl, deny yourself sexual release and try to turn the interaction into stilted formal distance. Yet, the woman can be dripping with lust and still deny herself pleasure with exacting self-control. I know all the theories on why it exists yet it still baffles me. I figured that was it, end of story. Strippers have a very elevated view of their value and constantly equate time and men with money and power exchange. Tried calling later in the week, nothing. So I’m the St Kilda festival that weekend and I bump into her and her two blonde Co-swede stripper mates. She’s all over me, kissing me in front of everyone and saying she wants to meet up. I get a call from her at 5am drunk and giggling with the girls. I organise to meet up with her in the afternoon. Later she flakes… Try again in the week, she writes back saying she’s busy but she’ll call. Nothing. So I send this message a few days later:

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Hey Heide. I know you’re busy, so am I. I’m not some loser from the strip club, so I’d appreciate the same respect and honesty I’ve shown you. Remember when I said “don’t say maybe, just say yes or no”? Well, here’s the simple question. Wanna see me again? She writes straight back: Honestly I don’t have time to see you. I thought I would. Leaving next week. Hope we can stay in touch. X Heide. I thank her for her quick reply and delete her number.

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Blowjob vending machine 17th March 2007 I’m out at Polly with the lads and ladies for Z’s birthday. A bunch of PUAs and hot chicks. Our social circle had grown to a roving moveable feast. One lair guy, Slique calls me over and introduces me to a Canadian girl, Jenny, he’s just met (When I ask him why later, he told me she had said she wanted someone hot to pash that night). She was a short cutie with perhaps the biggest tits I’ve seen, bursting out the top of her corset. All my lovers lately have had very petite breasts, so I’d asked the universe recently to send me some big melons and here they were. I went up, said hello, got jostled into her and grabbed her hand. She started playing handsies straight away. Her friend was a nasty UFOG (ugly female of group). They are so dangerous. They hate their hot, big-titted best friend and want to fuck up her night always. Davich did his best to keep her occupied while I took Jenny to the bar. We had nothing in common but the trash talking banter went along fine. An hour or so later, we all bounced to Bimbos. Davich had bailed on the wing assignment hissing, “That girl is a fucked up bitch” to me. True enough. She whinged and whined about being “dragged” along. In the bar more bouncing around and building comfort. UFOG kept saying, “Come on Jenny, lets go home. I’m bored.” Shae took over and although she was a rude cunt to him, he managed to get her laughing and almost amicable. Eventually he offered her a ride home and in a brotherly show of wingman heroism dragged her out of the bar. Thanks Shae, I owe you. Bounce First floor, she buys me drinks, tries to talk like a black chick to Flowz: “Wassap brother, howz it hangin?” Flowz replies in an eloquent English accent: “My dear lady, the night air has tickled my constitution swimmingly.” She looks baffled and then says to me, “Are we going back to your place?” I hand my drink to Flowz and yell out - “Night Everyone!”

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There’s always that anticipation when removing overly large breasts from their wrapper. How have they fared in their battle with gravity? I unclipped the 20 or so eyelets of her corset and out they popped. Eureka - Full and high! Buoyant orbs of 80s revenge of the nerds fantasy! It’s funny, I find North American girls look at blow jobs differently than Aussies and euros. Here I find it’s often an erotic addition added later in the sexual relationship, an indication of intimacy. Whereas with the yanks, cock sucking is used often as a sexual substitute. To placate a man without needing to fuck him. Perhaps I’ll write a book one day: “Comparative international fellatio philosophy 101” So she jumps straight down and gives me the most efficient head of my life. It was like I’d put $2 in a blowjob vending machine, cranking and swallowing with pneumatic consistency. Within 30 seconds I felt I was gonna lose it. Incredible, usually I can never come from head. “Stop, I want to fuck you.” “I’m not gonna fuck you honey, just let me finish you off,” she said in between strokes. It’s 5am, I’m drunk and tired… “Ok,” I say and lie back. A minute later with her massive tits spilling out of my hands I splatter her tonsils. Twenty minutes later after getting her all hot, she changes her mind. As I’m poised to jam it in, she says: “James, stop! …….. What’s your last name?” Hilarious. Female last minute irrelevant information chip kicking in. … “Marshall.” “Ok,” she sighs. Pound the hell out of her. Sleep. Wake up, get another one minute special and off she goes. The next morning I text her: Available for midnight service calls To which she replies: Thanks but I was just after the one off easy lay, rock on! Is she calling me easy? She’s right! I don’t even know her last name. 159

The Johannesburg twist 29th May 2007 Mike Check’s birthday. We all rock up at Bar Open to dance like spazzos to a gypsy band. Mike has a whole bunch of first-year teachers that he studied with there. Mostly blonde generic Aussie girls, so I don’t take any notice. The hottest girl in the room, a busty sweet-faced sandy blonde in a hippy dress and glasses, glances back at me and then whispers to her friend. I spot her later in a group and walk straight up. Me - Were you looking at me Her - I think I might have been Me - Come over here and talk to me. Turns out she’s an 18-year-old ballet dancer from the suburbs called Michelle. Lovely. We chat for a bit and I say, “I’m here for my mate’s birthday so I better get back to them. I’ll grab your number though and we should catch up next week.” I told her I was out of town rehearsing with the band because I was in the middle of hectic harem juggling and couldn't manage another girl in the mix. When I “got back” I messaged her: Hey, just got into town and looking for someone daring and spontaneous to cause some mischief with. Know anyone like that? I do but she’s a good nine years younger than you. Perfect, you know how hard it is to meet girls my age who don’t want to get married after the first date?! She was hard to pin down. Wouldn’t answer calls but replied to texts. Kept dodging a meet up. Her - Why don’t I call you later in the week and we can discuss meeting up. I was talking to Flowz after ping-ponging with her for a week and he suggested: Or we could stop playing cat and mouse and make a time and place now to have that conversation in person. 160

It worked. She invested heavily, travelled an hour by public transport on a work night to meet a guy, alone, who is nearly a decade older. The date went fine. Standard stuff, tried not to intimidate her with the age/experience gap, got into her family/friends/ hopes/dreams. It’s such a shame. At that age their bodies are in their prime but even if they have the potential to become fascinating people, they (generally) just haven’t had the time yet. So it got fairly tedious and after kissing her for a while I called the night to an end and sent her off for a very expensive cab ride home. A week later she came to see me again, couple of drinks at a quiet bar and when I felt it was time said: “Do you want to hang out at my place for a bit before you head home?” Back in my room, zero resistance and before I know it I’m sinking into pristine teen pussy marvelling at her buoyant C cups and milky firm skin. Afterwards, she asked me in all sincerity: “Why didn’t you do that on our first date?” Errr… hmmm.

Anyway, back to Mike’s birthday… Bounce to Bimbo’s with Mike, Wolf and all the teacher chicks. I start chatting with one of them, a very petite, short blonde with a flawless doll face and blonde hair (not my type at all but most guys would give her a 9). She stayed with me while I ordered a pizza. She’s originally from South Africa and now teaching art in a remote northern territory township, with 100 people that is a “dry” community (No alcohol allowed in the town). She’s in town for a week and looks like she hasn’t been fucked in a year. Jackpot.

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After our seemingly harmless chat, Wolf, Mike and I hit the dance floor with all the teachers around us. Anke the blonde danced near me but I ignored her. I went for a walk and as I pushed past an elegant brunette sitting at a couch she moved her legs for me. I said: “I’ll take that as an invitation to sit down.” “You’re welcome to.” I had a really eye-opening conversation with her. Here was a hot, really fun, down to earth 29-year-old lawyer who hadn’t had a relationship in three years and said: “You know, you are the first guy in I don’t know how long that has come and spoken to me like a normal person.” It made me realise what an incredible thing it is to be a man in my position. If you have the balls to approach and are able to remain relaxed and have decent conversational skills, the world is your oyster. The conversation was so refreshingly agenda free that I decided to leave it there without asking for her number. I could see Anke hovering around looking very worried. I thought it would be cruel to leave her hanging any longer so I said goodbye to the lawyer. She shook my hand and said: “Thank you so much for talking to me.” I went over to Anke and she bought me a drink. I took it and held her hand. I could feel the tension drain out of her as she realised that I had chosen her. I kissed her there and she melted. A few more drinks and a bounce to First Floor. She pushed her body against me like a cat and I could feel how desperate she was. “Lets get out of here.” She gave me one of the most startling blowjobs of my life, twisting her head one way and hand the other with incredible dexterity, speed and smoothness. The “Johannesburg Twist” I thought to myself. She was a lovely girl, very well groomed and so sweet to me. I took extra care to give her such a royal fucking as to tide her over till her next return to civilisation.

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Part 3 - Sex Pentangle

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I just met a girl named Maria 1st June 2007 Months ago Wolf and I were at a party and I met a beautiful demure massive-titted size six Italian girl from the suburbs called Maria. Lives at home with her parents, works as an accountant for a toilet paper company and has bought her first house at 23. Very sensible. I got her number, can’t remember how. We flirted via text for a bit and she came to one of my gigs but I got really busy with other girls and let it slide. Couple of weeks ago I sent out a general text regarding one of my shows and she wrote back: “Will you say hello if I come?” “Of course. If my memory serves me correctly it was you who disappeared. Or have we missed out on all this time due to some miscommunication?” “Well, no time like the present. I’ll see you at the show.” She didn’t turn up which is just as well because I had to juggle three of my ladies that night and ended up with the teen ballerina again. (One of my mates bought her too much champagne and she passed out on my bed three minutes into sex. Very frustrating night.) “Not good enough Maria. You’ll have to take me to dinner to make it up to me.” (One of the principles of poor boy game. Invent debts. Most people don’t like being in debt and will endeavour to settle the score, even if the debt doesn’t exist.) So Sunday she takes me out. We’re down to lentils and tuna at Clarke Street, so I happily munched down the big fat steak she bought me.

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After dinner we walked to the park and fooled around on the bench. She was very passionate and open about her desire. She asked what I liked and kissed and bit my neck on instruction. “And now I require a lift home,” I said. She pulled up and I said, “Your bed time is 11 right? (she starts work at 7am) You’ve got about 17 minutes till then, so you should come in.” I get her top off and out bounce these enormous D cups, still nicely defying gravity. Happy man. Great sexual energy. She kept saying, “I’m trying to be good,” and, “It’s really past my bedtime now”. “You’re right there, I shouldn’t be distracting you.” She left soon after but I knew it was on the boil. It was exhilarating foreplay. Next day I wrote: “I was thinking; you should come over after work sometime this week so I can see you in your saucy corporate outfit.” Her - Thursday is good. Saucy could get me into trouble. Me - I think you knew there would be trouble from the start Her - I wouldn’t know what trouble is, I’m sweet and innocent… Although maybe not around rock stars On Wednesday night I wrote: “I’d like to make a request for white blouse and black lacy bra, hair up and black pencil skirt above the knee.” “Funny you should ask, that’s exactly what I had laid out. Maybe you’ll get a peek at the lace…” She arrived looking like a secretary fantasy stripogram. I took her into my room straight away. She was fidgety and talking too much. I shut her up with a kiss. The buttons on 165

her blouse burst open, her skirt slid up her thigh with sincere protests and bitten lips of stoic denial. Pretty soon she was sucking me off and riding me furiously, her big round tits bouncing energetically like only a good suburban wog girl let off the chain can do. I pulled out and sprayed all over her tits as she shook her hair like in a shampoo commercial. Afterwards, she stood up my come dripping down her tits and said, “I feel like I should cook for you now.”

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Juliette I was on stage at a small bar, playing a complicated flute solo, when I noticed a tall blonde girl standing with Shae and his sister Nina in the front row. She was taking photos with a nice camera, long blonde tight curls spilling over the lens. In tight white jeans and cowboy boots I could tell her body was exquisite - the best bum this side of Brazil. I made a mental note to ask Shae about her and track her down. Flowz and I were walking down Brunswick St on a restless Wednesday night, looking for mischief. I happened to glance into the window of one of the small cocktail bars that dotted the strip and did a double take. It was the unmistakable blonde curly mane of the photographer girl from my gig. “Hang on Flowz, I’ll be right back.” I strode in and crouched down next to her and the friend she was sitting with. “You. I’ve been looking for you.” “Really, what did I do?” She replied with a sweet smile and a thick French accent. “You ran away from my show the other night without saying hello.” “It was enjoyable performance and now I’m saying it, allo. I’m Juliette.” She was pretty, open and unpretentious, the body of a model but the movements of a country girl, used to hanging out with boys. “I have to go but you and I need to spend time together. Can I take you for a walk?” “My pleasure.” I took her number, kissed her cheek twice (Europeans do that right?) and went back out to Flowz. “Who was that?” “I don’t know. Someone new, maybe someone special.” “She’s dope.” I called her the next day and we met for a walk. She was 25, an au pair from the countryside in Brittany, currently living with a family, looking after their young girl. She loved photography and travel, she’d been on the road for years from Africa to Australia. 167

Nothing like the stereotype of arrogant French, she spoke simply, laughed all the time. She seemed a little lost, not sure of her path in life but was joyful always. She’d talked to Shae’s sister about me and knew all about my slutty lifestyle. She asked me many questions about it. She said she was a romantic, had only ever had “serious relations”. On our second date, I walked her to Clarke St. At the doorstep she stopped and said without insinuation “You have some plans for me?” “Of course.” I opened the door and gestured inside. She walked in. In my room we kissed very slowly. She said “I didn’t do this for 6 month” “Why not?” “I don’t need it, unless I feel connection there is no point.” “What do you feel?” She said nothing, closed her eyes as I lifted her summer dress. We had sex slowly, delicately. She was completely silent the whole time. Afterwards she said, “Nina warned me about you. Said you are dangerous seducer. Is it true? You are dangerous?” She fell asleep in my arms.

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How normal people get laid 2nd june 2007 This girl Daisy contacts me on Myspace. I went through a net game phase early on, with some mixed success but decided that it was a waste of time and an excuse not to get out there and meet real women. Still this chick was hot, with a great rack and good taste in music and she made first contact so I wrote: Hey Daisy, Good to hear from someone with good music taste finally. Now we could waste time sending flirty innuendos back and forth till one of us gets bored or you could text me your number and I’ll call you to plan some mischief. James 042xxxxxxx p.s. I much prefer you as a brunette She sends me a text the next day: Being a brunette is a lot easier! People take you more seriously but blondes do have more fun. To which I replied: Brunettes get away with more because no one suspects what they are up to. We chatted on the phone later in the week, had a good vibe going. Back and forth trying to meet up and then last night she texted me to invite me for drinks with her girlfriend at her local. It was south side of town and I had mates pestering me to hang out but had a gut feeling to go for it. So I caught a cab to Windsor Castle and found her at the bar. Thankfully her photos were accurate. She was sexy, big-titted, chatty and already drunk. She bought me six drinks over the next two hours, wouldn’t let me pay. She asked my star sign, read me like a book. We flirted pleasantly, gradually more boldly and got smashed. Soon it was closing time and she asked, “What are we doing now?” “We should head back to your place to meet your dog.” “OK, we can listen to some music.” 169

She went to great lengths to warn me about her messy room. Her place was literally 20 metres from the pub. I chuckled as she made excuses. A cup of tea later we’re on her bed making out. I push her down and start groping her big pillowy tits and rubbing her through her stockings. “There’s no way I’m gonna fuck you tonight, I don’t even know you.” I love this last minute resistance shit. “That’s fine”, I say. I do a couple of mini freeze-outs at high points of her arousal. She chases each time but makes her token protests. “Oh, I want to fuck you when I’m not wasted and I know you.” “You can do that as well,” I say. Running my hand up her thigh I sneak my fingers under her stockings and she grabs my hand. She holds firmly and we lock eyes staring each other down like two soldiers locked in a knife fight. I push through slowly, dipping straight into her soaking pussy. She gasps and rides my hand, fucking herself with my fingers. “This is totally against my rules, I’m not gonna fuck you.” A few minutes later she breathlessly asks: “Do you have a condom?” Before you know it I have her bent over under the harsh lamplight pounding away while she looks back at me squeezing her tits in unison with my thrusts, her mascara smeared down her cheeks. So this is how normal people do it, I thought (except that it is usually the man who gets the woman drunk and takes advantage of her). They get wasted together at the local pub, stumble home around the corner at closing time and have sloppy dirty sex until they pass out. The next morning they wake up and find themselves in a relationship.

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The Chinese Taoists say it takes seven years to know a woman’s body and another seven to know her mind. I mused, that may be true but I wondered how much more of interest there was to find after the first year. Maybe another 15%.. Was that worth thirteen more years of aging, bickering, lying and disappointing to find out? What was the actual value? Because as the number of women in my bed increased and accelerated I came to relish the alternative. Why should I know or care about anyone else’s digestive habits, their eternally churned over childhood disappointments? Why should I see them daily and have to ask if it was a good one? How refreshing it was to not know where they were spending every minute of their day and to have no obligation to let anyone know how I spent mine. I really didn’t care, nor did they. We met, drank, ate, fucked in the kind of filthy abandon that you can only do with someone to whom you owe no fidelity and have no reputation to uphold with. We danced, smoked dope, I fucked her ass, came in her mouth and then she was gone. My bed was my own to fart loudly in. My time was my own for books, writing, music or any spontaneous adventure I chose to engage in. One day I rode my bike from house to house, having sex with Juliette, Lin Lin, Cherry and finally ended up at an Indian dentists house where she cooked me curry and I passed out from exhaustion as she rode me. The lifetime tally of the vast majority of men on this planet in under twenty four hours. When was I going to grow up and start taking life seriously? Never!

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From Russia with Lust – Part 1.

Fuck fuck fuckkkkkkk!! I slammed the door and screamed, wanting to punch a hole in the wall. Cannot believe how I could fuck it up like that. Textbook retard. There is a glaring hole in my game and I just lost. As she drove me home she asked, “What’s on your mind?” just as I was thinking, “Christ, I haven’t escalated. I should have kissed her hours ago and now we’re heading for a parked car awkward moment lunge fuckwit kiss. Is there a way to salvage it??” I said “aaahhhmmm….” “Well what you are about to say is not what you were thinking.” She had me. We pulled up and I said, “Can you get out of the car?” She walked around and I put my arms around her and she flinched. “Look, are we going to kiss or what?” “Ahhh…That’s a terrible thing to say” “Well, I’ve fucked it up long ago, broke all my rules and the worst place to kiss somebody is at the end of the date leaning over the gear stick or standing by a car…” She laughed and I stepped in once more. “I told you, I like somebody” “Fine, so give me a hug then.” I turned away saying goodnight and opened my gate. Stomped out to the garage, ranted and raved and smoked a bong with Jon. Blazed back in my room, calm down boy. Now, let’s see what happened. I’m no master pick up artist yet. Once again I have been hammered with the universal truth. I must not listen to what women say. Just escalate the same with everyone. There

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are no exceptions. Even the mind-blowingly hot ones with game, especially them. What was that reverse game shit? You started so well. I met Natalia at one of my shows months ago. She was with her equally hot Russian sister that my drummer Mike Check was after. I went into the group cocky, glancing at her and giving her the eye. I noticed her watching me through the gig, smiling demurely. After when I went back in and said “I saw you smirking through the whole show.” “That’s not a smirk, it’s my face… “ “You said it.” I grabbed her number but somehow wasn’t sure how to follow up and left it. A couple of weeks later at another gig I walked back to Mike with some drinks for the crew we were out with. I handed a drink to Juliette, looked up and saw it was Natalia. “Oh that’s not for you Natalia, how are you anyway?” “Busy. My PhD thesis is due soon.” “Yet out cavorting with the underworld I see.” I went back to Juliette but texted her later Me - In and out without a goodbye again. Her - I’m so sorry. I’ll definitely make it to some more shows soon. Me - Not good enough Natalia. You owe me chai on a Sunday afternoon. Her - Pick a Sunday. Right on. My game was tight. When she walked up to me in The Botanic Gardens I noted without reacting that she was exceptionally beautiful. When I met her in the smoky bar she looked like a pretty hot eight but here in daylight she was a smoking nine. We laid out the blanket and wine I'd told her to bring and the picnic food I'd brought. I've started requesting girls to always bring something to a date. It immediately sets you

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apart from guys trying to buy or impress them and makes them feel more invested in the outcome. “So, I don’t know anything about you except you’re Russian and you like my band...” 22, doing PhD in physics, plays classical piano, dances tango and studies gymnastics… A year ago she would have been unthinkably out of my league. Then her phone rang and she spoke in Russian to her mother. My heart stopped, kill me now. Sitting by the lake for a couple of hours we exchanged scorched flirting with her teetering on the back foot. She was so into me. I came clean with all the seduction stuff, pretty sure of my ability to go direct and honest. We were talking about The Natural and I mentioned something about Kino escalation, she asked me to elaborate. I said, “No I won’t right now because I’m interested in you and if I tell you, it will ruin it.” She froze, her jaw actually quivering. I held the tension there for a few moments and then continued the conversation. Right there I had instituted reverse game. She now knows my reputation and intention and expects me to plough ahead with aggressive seduction. Instead I do the opposite. I don’t touch her. I keep the conversation light-hearted but spiked with attitude and disinterest. I went deep into her emotional space, inspiring, challenging, and empathising with her. When I felt the discussion stall, I jumped up, held out my hand and said, “Let’s take a walk.” She didn’t take my hand and stood up. I walked off and climbed a tree. She came up with me and we sat together on the branch. I didn’t kiss her. I jumped down, helped her down holding her waist. We paused and I didn’t kiss her. She dropped me on Brunswick St and as I leant in she turned her head and I kissed her on the cheek. We exchanged phone calls over two weeks. When I asked to meet up she said “I like someone, so I want to know if you are just going to pursue me or whether you want to get to know me as a friend.” 174

Me - I won’t pursue past the point where I see that you’re not interested. Her - Well girlfriends aren’t mountains, they can be moved. Me - I’m aware of that. Anyway, we should not be having this conversation, it’s not sexy. After a couple of bungled appointments, we met up tonight. I held her firmly when I kissed her cheek and I could sense her wall melt momentarily and her thoughts kaleidoscope from that touch to the bedroom. Flirting, teasing, laughing, and eating lustily. She slipped over and over, mentioning past lovers too often, to try and shake me. I reclined and watched her squirm. We went to see my brother’s band perform, a room full of social proof: my friends, my scene, ex-lovers sauntering about… Afterwards, coffee, still no touch, no bold move. Into the car and failure. I convinced myself that I was running some protracted artistic seduction with a rare prize. So I ignored the universal rules and listened to what a woman was saying rather than her behaviour, to her primal fears and desires. She was testing me tonight, to see where I matched up to her other guy. She was attracted to me, fascinated and intimidated. By the end of the night her beauty and charm was validated, she had the pleasure of having a professional pick up artist rock star stumble and lose his composure over her and of course the choice of which man to take was made perfectly clear. It’s good though. I was losing my killer instinct with all these lovely willing beauties in my bed. I’m still not good enough and must master this. It’s not time to sit back smugly yet. Going out tomorrow to smash it. Get my kicks before the whole shit house goes up in flames - Alright!

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Part 2.

So it doesn’t quite finish there… I’m at the St Kilda Festival watching a band with my arm around one of my new girls. I get this text from Natalia: Her - You sure don’t waste time. Me - Too much to do for that. Ten minutes later she is standing next to me. I give her a politely cold kiss on the cheek and turn back to the band. Then I half lean over. “You spying on me now?” She laughs, and I turn away. Her - Anyway, this band is boring. We’re going to go on some rides. Bye… I felt mild satisfaction from the encounter but my intention never to talk to her again, stood firm. My girl had to go and Wolf rocked up shortly after. I told him about it as we were getting food and he said, “Great, it’s back on!” “Ahh nah man, she’s just baiting me and if I bite I’m just gonna get slammed again and lose more power.” “So what? Fuck the power! She’s re-attracted right now, you’ve got one more shot so get it moving.” “… fuck. Alright.” Me - Fish and chips on the small pier now if you’re not sick from the gravatron. Her - I didn’t get to go, my friend wasn’t willing to wait in line… We’re getting pizza on Acland St. You up for a ride?? Wolf said, “yeah, but play hard, make her work for it, tell her to pay.” Me - Yep, your treat Her - We’ll add it to the list then eh? 176

(Referring to the fact that she bought me drinks the other night. Fuck now I look cheap. I’m stumped and starting to lose my cool. Try to cut thread and lead…) Me - Meet me in ten or are you in heels? Her - No to both I’m pissed now, she is nailing me at every step. Wolf says don’t answer. Her - Hehehe nah I’m not in heels but I’m still at the pizza joint… Are u at the pier? Which one?? Where? My feeling was to just go see her but Wolf said I couldn’t capitulate then. I shouldn’t have listened but I sent back my Armageddon line. Me - There’s a difference between having game and playing games. Night. Her - Oh come on I’m kidding. I’m with a friend I haven’t seen in ages, I want to see you, let’s meet up… Are u leaving?? (now she’s begging or fucking with me and I can’t think straight) Me - Three’s a crowd as they say. Her - Me immigrant I not know what they say in your world. I don’t reply. An hour later she writes: Her - Is it a rule to not reply after your “goodnight”?? Me - No rules. I’m at Metropole. Her - Oh now you tell me. I’m on my way home. My turn. Night. Reading back over it now makes me cringe. I had one more shot when she was emotionally triggered from seeing me with another girl and feeling capricious because of the crowd’s atmosphere. I fucked it again and now I’ve come across moody, rigid and humourless. This is the sound of me deleting her number (again) and walking away.

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Part 3.

For those who came in late… Super seductress Russian physicist totally owns James twice, leaving our intrepid PUA broken and humbled. Could it be, he’s finally met his match?? I had resolved not to see her again when I get this message: “Hey, can I book in for a massage??” There’s the bait, wiggling suggestively on the hook. So she rocks up, undresses, lies on my table and I rub oil into her for an hour. While she’s getting dressed Wolf arrives (unannounced as is his style). She comes out of the room all dozy and timid and Mr Wolf proceeds to push all her buttons and tease her until she gets up and says: “I feel uncomfortable, I’m going now.” I escort her out, take her money, kiss her on the cheek and she goes. I’m fuming inside again and I’m not sure why. What the fuck does she want?? I get a text after midnight while I’m in bed with Juliette: “Damn, there was no full page write up of your masseurial skills in the Age today (reference to the article on The Natural that had recently been published) I searched and searched but my opinion will have to suffice” By now I’ve decided that I’m just gonna confront her bluntly and get a conclusion for my own piece of mind. I know this is ill-advised (common nice guy mistake to try to verbally dissect a courtship with a woman, thereby obliterating all sexual tension) but I’ve just had it. Before that though, I have a long chat to Z to get his input. He suggests 178

confronting her, even using a logical frame but an emotional angle. His ideas make a lot of (twisted) sense but it is so counter-intuitive to my personality that I get a bit muddled. Anyway, I call to have it out. No answer. She calls, I miss it. I call, she’s out with friends, cat and mouse. Yesterday morning I get this: “Are you busy tonight? Want to get a drink or something?” I write back and we arrange to meet that night. But I have other business to attend to first.

I head to the botanical gardens with a backpack full of deli goodies to meet Eliza. She was a massage client of mine from a year back when we both had long-term partners. She is an actress/yoga teacher, a beautiful and elegant English rose who I always had a thing for. Every time she came for a massage, I touched her carefully, listening through my fingers trying to discern subtle tremors of sexual attraction from her. Zahra would be in the other room but so many times, I entertained the fantasy of letting my fingers brush over her pussy and her suddenly coming alive with the pent up lust I imagined we were feeling. I bumped into her when I was out with Wolf the other night and she mentioned she was single. I say “me too” and “finally” in the same sentence and we make a date. We meet for our picnic and she tells me she hasn’t been with anyone since the breakup. “I went out for the first time in months the other night thinking - I need to pash a boy. But I’m looking around at all these guys in polo shirts, holding a drink and cigarette leering at all these women and it just revolts me. Give me a MAN. One that can go and talk to a girl with respect and honesty.” A little later as we’re lying on the grass, without a word I lean over and kiss her. 179

“I was wondering if you would do that.” “I’ve wanted to do that for two years,” I said and kissed her again. I love that feeling of receiving exploding relief and lust from a gorgeous woman who has been holding out for true masculine energy. We rolled in the grass, hands all over each other and she said, “It feels so fucking good to be touched.” Standing by her car she looked at me demurely from lowered eyes and said, “What do you want to do now? We can part or… stay together”. I knew she wanted to sleep with me that night but I had organised the date with Natalia. “I’d love to but I can’t tonight”. So I took the gamble and left… A week later she came over. We were planning to make dinner but never got that far. Within 10 minutes we were tangled in bed. She ripped my jeans off like she was starving and cock was all that could save her. Poor dear was so deprived. I made sure I didn't come until she had three times. She slumped back on the bed and almost shouted in her elegant theatre trained voice, “God I fucking needed that!” When she had recovered she said, “You know James, the first day I was walking to your house to get a massage I thought to myself – I so hope he's cute. My boyfriend wasn't giving me much affection and I was craving a sexy man’s touch. Even though I couldn't really afford to see you, every time I was really horny I called you up. After you massaged me, I would go home and masturbate, imagining you wouldn't be so professional…”

Later that night Natalia and I met and after a little small talk at the cocktail lounge I said: “So Natalia, let me ask you - how do you feel after we say goodbye each time?” She gets flustered, won’t look at me and can’t answer.

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Her - I don’t know, give me some options? Me - OK, good or shit? Her - Umm, good, I guess. I don’t know. How do you feel? Me - I feel shit. I’m not saying that’s your fault but it feels like we’re interacting like children. Can we drop the bullshit and talk about what’s going on between us? I have been straight up with you from the beginning and you have been playing games. You say you like somebody, maybe you do, so what? All the signs you give suggest you’re interested in me. If you’re looking to start a friendship, you’re going about it the wrong way. I expect blunt honesty from my lovers and friends. She said she didn’t want to feel like a failed conquest, that’s why she kept in contact: “Just because I didn’t want to kiss you that night wasn’t playing games. It just didn’t feel right.“ “You’re interested in me right? I know you are.” “Well you’re interesting.” “No, don’t give me that.” “Ok, I think I’m interested in you.” We talked some more; I even told her that she was the first woman to shake me in a long time. She was still suspicious that this was all still part of some convoluted, twisted game plan. I assured her I could not be bothered with such manoeuvring. Truth was I was so lost in all my contrary manoeuvres that I had no game plan anymore. We leave the bar and strut down the street together. Neither of us had a destination. I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her firmly to me and said: “I don’t care if this is the right time or wrong time…” and kissed her. She uncoiled like a snake, the moment shook us both. “I couldn’t have refused or you would have thought I wasn’t interested.” “Aha, check mate.” “Although you did still use a precursor to warn me, you didn’t just grab me and kiss me…” I grumbled and slapped her butt lightly. 181

We went to the Night Cat, she was acting coy and shy so I kept leading her around. She didn’t want to dance so I made her leave. “I’m not sure what I want to do but I don’t want to go home yet.” She said dreamily. Walking along I decided to cut it. “Let’s quit while we’re ahead, I’ll walk you to your car.” “I’ll try not to take that as a rejection. This is one of your, leave them wanting more tricks right?” “Get fucked Natalia.” Kissed her goodnight. She sent me a text soon after: “What a waste of tipsiness, can’t believe you sent me home! Well I feel fine. You??” “We’ll be tipsy another time I’m sure. I feel fine too.” To be concluded…

182

Better a minute too soon, than a moment too late

We all went out Sunday night. Just a normal Sunday of dancing salsa and a few drinks. Mia and her fairly dull but beautiful British stripper friend Lori down from Sydney, my French lover Juliette, Wolf, Z, and Jamie Mclane (a dating coach who worked for Juggler, we’d become friends with.) The best crew. Mia asked me to get her some pills, so Flowz arrived with the goods. Lori and Mia shouted us all ecstasy. Juliette had never dropped before but shrugged her shoulders and took it. Wolf and Jamie declined. An hour or so later we were all dancing happily together, one sleazy family. Z and I would keep the orbiting drooling men at bay and soon all eyes were on the five PUAs and four stunning girls. Juliette made friends with a stunning Eurasian girl and they began dancing close with their hands gradually wandering. She introduced me as her lover and I danced with Nicky, close but not touching her. She gazed at me with sex in her eyes. I began to see some possibilities forming. I left them alone and they became increasingly intimate. While my back was turned, a random dude attached himself to Nicky. Juliette kept pulling her away saying, “She’s mine.” This guy was incredibly persistent, like a moth to the flame, and you could tell Nicky was undecided… We bounced the whole group to Bimbos and the moth followed. Juliette whispered to me that she thought Nicky was so hot and asked if I liked her. She pulled us together and put Nicky’s hand on my chest. I sat down on the couch with Mia and Lori. Juliette sat on my lap, pulling Nicky onto us too. Juliette lent over and kissed Mia, the first time she had kissed a girl. Then Juliette and Lori and finally Juliette and Nicky. There I was, sitting with the four hottest girls in the room all making out in delicious combinations on my lap. While the moth went to the toilet I quickly moved the group to the igloo room. As I shepherded the last one in, he appeared and saw us. Fuck, this guy was not giving up. I pushed in next to Nicky and engaged her for the first time, pulling her gaze away from 183

him. She is a musician so we talked about song writing. She held my hand and slowly lost interest in moth. We were all well fucked by now and Juliette was over the top, dancing on the table and babbling. “Tonight I want you to all promise to visit me in Paris!” The bar closed and out on the street I suggested we all go to Mia’s apartment. Juliette and Mia convinced Nicky to come with us and I turned and boxed moth out and addressed him for the first time. “Hey man, how are you? What’s your name?” “I’m Sebastian.” “Cool, well we’re all going back to a friend’s place, we’ll have to say goodbye here. Did you grab Nicky’s number?” “No…” he suddenly realised he had lost. “Well you should grab it now.” I smiled and stared him down. He sheepishly got her number and walked off down the street. Sorry dude but I’ve been working on this for ten years, I’m not about to yield to an opportunist barnacle. So the merry crew strolled down the road around the corner to Mia’s boss’ luxurious apartment. As I closed the security door behind us all I laughed to Wolf. “No escape now.” He was unusually quiet that evening, watching me carefully. He’d just come out of a Vipassana ten-day meditation retreat, so his predator mojo was much more mellow. I guess he realised this was my night. The next few hours are a bit muddled. I remember we were all sitting around on the couches massaging each other’s feet. Mia was whinging and we bickered good-naturedly (in some drug fucked re-enactment of our four year relationship). Nicky and Juliette snuggled and at one point Juliette said, “Do you want to come upstairs for a rest?” “Yeah sure”, Nicky said eagerly. They went up the stairs together and my heart skipped. I waited five minutes, went to the bathroom and talked to myself in the mirror. “This is what you have been working towards all your life. Now go, young grasshopper.” Better a minute too soon than a moment too late! I poured a glass of water, smiled at everyone and walked up the stairs.

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I opened the door and my mind emptied. It was confused. The scene I imagined as I turned the handle was precisely the one I was met with. There in the dim light two beautiful women lay naked, kissing together. What a perfect pair; Juliette, lithe and slim, her blonde curly hair draped over Nicky, dark-skinned exotic and curvy. “I brought you some water. Do you mind if I join you?” They sighed, barely noticing me. I took off my clothes and slipped in bed next to them. Taking a sip of water I dripped it into both their mouths and then kissed them both. They were pretty wrapped in each other and I was content at first to watch them, while I lazily ran my hands over them both. I noticed I didn’t have an erection and worried momentarily that maybe the drugs and situation might fail me. We talked and Juliette explained our relationship - that I slept with other women. “And are you with other guys?” “No.” Juliette turned to me and said, “I think you shouldn’t do that.” “That’s the first time you’ve said that to me.” The topic passed and we all kissed. My throat was dry and we ran out of water. I said: “I’ll get some water and some moisturiser to massage you both. I’ll be back in five minutes, so don’t go anywhere.” Next thing I know I’m in the bathroom ranting at Z and Wolf, telling them a lofty story: The Genesis of a Pick Up artist. It was the story of a poofy choir I started in primary school, of the one performance we did and the beating I received from the bullies afterwards. I danced about, inspired and engaging, marking arbitrary signposts of my development. At one point I said, “You realise that while I’m down here there are two beautiful women naked upstairs?” Wolf nodded (he later said if he hadn’t just come out of Vipassana and wasn’t feeling all calm and equanimous, he would have slapped me in the face and said to get the fuck up there). I quoted the only Shakespeare monologue I could remember; Master Ford’s jealous rant from Merry Wives of Windsor. “Though Page be a secure fool and stand so firmly on his wife’s frailty, yet I cannot put off my opinion so easily. She was with him at Page’s house and what they made there I know not. Still, I have a disguise to sound Falstaff. I will about it.” “Better a minute too soon… than a moment too late…” I trailed off. 185

How long had we been there? Much more than five minutes. I burst out of the bathroom to find the girls were back on the couch with everyone. It didn’t hit me then what I had done. Or maybe it seemed like there was no problem, we had plenty of time, I supposed. Dawn crept in and I shut all the blinds. I lay with Nicky giving her a couple of kisses. She was intrigued by me. “How can you be with a girl like Juliette and then sleep with other girls?” I held her stare and whispered, “Because the others I’m with are just as special.” “Really?” “Yes, just imagine that, having four as wonderful as her.” “You have four, amazing in different ways and you sleep with them all?” “Yes.” She laughed deviously. “You are one greedy fucker aren’t you?” “How did you end up like this, so hot with the girls?” I think I started the same waffling genesis story but was thankfully cut off… Sometime later I was suddenly hit by genius as I looked at the group around me. “Hey Z, is there anyone here who’d be interested in joining a band and laying down some fat beats and crazy samples?” He paused and then got it. “I’d be in for that.” “Hey Flowz, you know anyone that might want to throw some fly rhymes and hip hoppity styles over those beats?” “Cool, I’d be in that.” “So Nicky, know any hot chicks who’d want to strum some minimal chords over that mix and sing sexy vocals?” “I’m in.” “I guess that just leaves space for some trippy flute and grooving bass.” Wolf nodded. Juliette piped up, “And what can I do?” “You’re the muse of course. And we’ll call the band Juliette after you.” We all laughed excitedly and discussed ideas for the band.

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Flowz said, “We should do the album first, then come out with the live show, the whole package together.” “You know Flowz, that’s the opposite of what I would do… I’ve got it, the key to our success. In this band we do precisely the opposite of everything I say. Agreed?” All nod. Later I was standing with Wolf and out of nowhere I said, “Don’t end up like me Wolf. I had to do it this way but you don’t need to…” Then I remember holding him firmly behind the neck and looking hard into his eyes. “Are you loyal Wolf?” “Yes James.” “You sure? Because I’m loyal to the grave.” “I am.” “Good, then we can’t fail.” “James, you’re holding me behind the neck.” “Yes, like a woman.” “Yes.” I burst into laughter. Wolf told me the next day that encounter scared the shit out of him. He saw me for the first time as the chaos magician he’d been told about, ensuring my survival for another couple of years of madness by building a band to keep the night from ever ending. As day approached I spat out more ideas. We’ll take Nicky home, go swimming at Brighton, breakfast and then all go shopping for new clothes. Then I’ll massage Juliette and make her dinner. I can do it, make a woman completely happy, for one whole day. I rang Jon and woke him. “Jon, you’ve got to come here, bring some weed and your guitar I want you to sing Resourceful Woman to me and join this beautiful family.” We dropped Nicky at the tram stop as we started to come down. Jon arrived with us all fading. He sang for me, so beautifully and then had to leave for an interview. My dearest friend. I lay by the pool all day, the last sunny day for the year. I felt awful. Shaking and barely able to move, it dawned on me what I had done. How I had so diligently built all the 187

circumstances and skills over years to convene on that night so my old and new lovers would create monolithic sexual mystique over me and seduce another one for me, giving me what I most desired. Not just two women, but two exquisite women who naturally and purely desired each other and me. I was the most sexually valuable I have ever been, covered in loving beautiful women and yet I fucked it up. Essentially I retreated to the bathroom of my childhood, playing make believe with my friends. Telling them stories about the origin of this creature instead of completing its metamorphosis. Also, I was just on drugs and couldn’t get it up.

188

The Outer Limits of the Lifestyle

Betty had still been seeing me through all this but I’d stopped taking her on fun dates and night time bike rides. I had too many girls on the go, there was no time for that. I was obsessed with only seduction and when she was around I couldn’t help but talk about it, some amazing new insight, something clever Z or Flowz had said, some girl I’d won over. One day she was sitting on the couch with me when Jon walked in. “Hey, Priss just invited us to a dinner party at her house this weekend.” He started reading from the text message – “Hey Jonny snuggle pie, please join me and some special fairy folk this Friday eve for vegie dinner and mulled wine. Tell James to bring whatever.. lady.. he.. has.. with.. him… that…. night.” His voice started trailing off as he read the final words but it was too late, they all came out, extra slowly and clearly. She got up and walked into my room. I followed her. “Listen, I get it. I get the whole pick up thing, I know I’m not the only one but I have to be number one in some way. I can’t see you, knowing there’s other girls you hang out with, that go to dinners with you and Jon or whatever. You used to be so interesting, you were into music and Kung Fu and all your bizarre interests. We used to party and you made me feel sexy and alive. But to be honest it’s boring now. All you talk about, all you do is seduction. You know I don’t judge you but it’s not enough. I’m out.”

Samsara Wolf sat on the couch fingering his bass. Jon squatted by the fridge writing a “loser sportswear” slogan “there can be only one winner”, with magnetic children’s letters. 189

I tottered in the kitchen toasting bread, stoned off my brain with toxic mouse shit smoke billowing out of the grill in green plumes. Wolf not laid in a month, meditating and pondering his existence for the first time. Jon, busking on the street, chasing rock and roll and sexual love without borders. Me, flirting with despair, doubt and then digging my heels in harder. These are your evolved hyper sapiens Irresistible to women, emotionally balanced, physically gifted and spiritually aware. What a fucking joke. I’m a professional Casanova, Romeo, pick up artist, con artist, bullshit artist. Yes I fuck lots of women. More than most of you ever will. I have ex-girlfriend strippers, I’ve been payed to fuck a porn star on film, rub Jewish mothers’ pussies, slammed teenies, backpackers, Brazilians and Swedes. I’ve been a rock star, snatching up groupies in outback pubs, poled a hooker for free, filmed a decade of home porn, had two on the go, then three, then four. Pushed out towards the once-thought-impossible sex pentangle. Almost, but not quite. When you ask for everything, you get everything and that is more than this fragile ego can handle. I’m finding that the outer limits of my open or polyamorous relationship stands at about six months. I thought I had found the eternal answer, the paradigm to solve my problems. There reaches a point where the primary mistress’ desire for stability and commitment tips over, unbalancing her attachment and addiction to the great sex. She is finally faced with the fact that really I won’t change or bend, even as she is drawn or pushes deeper into my life. So the prospect of leaving causes genuine pain, the unspoken expectations that have been thus stalled are finally exposed and disappointed. Bitterness creeps in and female revenge uncoils. At this point the player has two choices. To bend, to apologise, to submit and repent. To pledge love, honour, fidelity and perseverance. To promise and therefore to lie. This path inexorably leads to a long sentence of monogamy and all that entails. Inevitably the desire for fresh pussy, adventure and the escape from old age leads to a deliberate or desperate sabotage through betrayal or breakdown. So, the cycle begins again with more karma and chaos left in your wake. 190

The other choice is to stand firm. To evade the point of confrontation as long as possible and then face it to let her go, or send her away. All at once, painful and quick, or slow and insidious. To admit the inherent flaw and perpetual nature, exactly the same. To begin again, a little older, slower and more lecherous. These are still the first and second noble truths. Suffering, misery, ignorance, repetition, fun, drugs, fucking, marriage. There is no loophole for hedonism, nor liberation in stoic surrender. Juliette in tears again. I missed a date, forgot to call, never wanted to leave the house, just hang out and fuck, all my romance and flirting saved for newer conquests who demanded it. She said I was very good at explaining everything away, very good. But she still feels left out, lied to and disrespected. Here everything I said about my situation starts to unravel. She doesn’t attack my life choice, she attacks my honour, my self-absorption and selfishness. I defend my position as I always have, with or without apology. Through tears she said, “An Asian man told me today I was most beautiful women in the world. He asked if I had a boyfriend. I said I didn’t think so, he can’t make up his mind. He said that if I were his he would worship me every day. It’s true he would but it’s you who can have it.” Even as I feel her slipping away, my mind cock sails through time, locked in and closing to the eighteen year old ballet dancer I’ll see on Thursday.

We had twenty-five people over for dinner. Jon was still packing his room as they arrived. Pick up artists, hippies, musicians, beautiful party people, family, strippers, lovers old and new. Our film crew recorded it for the doco. Here are the naturals, pissed and jolly. See, they have female friends, they can have normal conversations, they can cook and show their humanity! Behold. 191

A line of coke in my room with Flowz and Z and down to the Night Cat. What a beautiful crew. The smoothest cats and hottest chicks, blazing with energy and sexuality. This is wonderful I thought. Only PUAs could do this. Build a group of rare men and women that circulates without attachment. Hahahaha. Nicky the seductress said to me, “The thing I like about you is that you’re a free agent. You sit there so nonchalant. I’m a free agent to, that’s why we understand each other.” Marie has said to me so many times that the reason she is with me, the reason she likes me, why she respects me and accepts my polyamorous life is that I am confident and honest. These things only. I’m neither of those things, she’ll see that soon. I had my first stabs of jealousy this weekend, watching her dancing wild and free, idiots drawn in like drunk moths to the glow of her beauty and energy. Of course I must’ve known this would happen when I suggested she started stripping. It was my insurance against my actions. I will deal with it and she will deal with my other women. But strung out on drugs and booze, no sleep, jumping from adventure to misadventure, emotional and repetitious always chasing poignancy above all else, jealousy awoke from its little sleep. Poignant moments. My brother Shultz’s last show with his band. Choosing his lover and sanity, making an adult decision. Leaving the band, Melbourne, all of us for spiritual travels to India and then moving to Perth where his girlfriend has studies. He says it feels completely right. She is his life partner, they share everything. He doesn’t want to throw years into the rock and roll dream and end up worn and bitter. I cried as they played in the dingy bar. The best I’ve seen them, Shultz shining with release. Drumming and singing his heart out for the last time with no false pride or expectation. I got up and played horns on a couple of tracks, it was an honour. Natalia’s phone call out of the blue, appearing at the gig in a bright red woollen coat, her Russian cheeks flushed. Jon leaving for home with his new hippy girlfriend. For the first time I think I need him more than he needs me. I’m scared to live without him. Only he understands it all. In his element once more as a boyfriend, daggy clothes, scruffy beard, broke and happy. This time it’s different. Like most people he doesn’t like being single but he gave it a good shot, fucked a few women properly and was fearlessly alone for the first time. I’m proud of him for destroying that needy child inside. I think this new love will be good for him.

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He woke me this morning with two girls in my bed. I hadn’t fucked Nicky or Juliette, I had nowhere near enough yang to swing that. Juliette and I had talked in whispers all night, while Nicky slept soundly, talking in her sleep. At her probing I’d told her of the sparks of my jealousy, told her that's why I have to see other women, I can’t commit because then I’ll turn into a monster again. She said tenderly she would not yield to my paranoia, she never had to another man. “I won’t justify myself, I am always faithful. Even though maybe you don’t deserve it, I’ll always return to your bed or end the relation. I do my best to understand you and what you do. I won’t change the way I act” I looked with horror at what was about to start, I thought of Zahra vomiting in the trashed apartment. I can’t drag anyone through this again. I’m criticised on all sides. I’ve always defended myself as violently as needed but it is piling up. Misogynist, liar, bastard, manipulator, pervert, egomaniac. Is this really true? That someone who looks so carefully at what he does and bares everything could be so evil? Anonymous emails about the business, angry pseudo feminists, reformed old friends mutterings and rumours. My wall of PUAs and long-suffering supporters holds. This has been working. Yet I’m reaching its outer limits. I really am trying not to become that man I hate. So what can I do? Extremes. Always extremes. What happens at the zenith of an extreme? That is probably my most destructive habit. I feel old man. My health is shot. My mind is mush, my will is hanging on a thread. It’s fine. I don’t mind. This is the way I like it. Break down to build up.

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From Russia With Lust – Part 4.

Natalia just left and I feel giddy. Nice to have that sensation again. Thought I would never get her into my house again after the massage fiasco. We pulled up and I said, “Would you like to come in for enter-token-excuse-here…?” She winked and said, “Coffee?” She hesitates before every action, rejects most of my kisses. Lying on the couch an hour later she gave in and kissed with passion. I haven’t felt softer lips since that ten-year-old boy street-kid in India kissed me (long story). I know precisely what she’s doing to me. My attraction to her is directly proportional to her resistance, coy, feigned innocence and fuck-me eyes. She is beautiful of course and sensual but that’s not it, I’m fucking technically hotter women. It’s been a couple of months that we’ve been seeing each other, moving painfully slowly. In fact I’ve never waited this long for any woman. It would be unbearably frustrating if I wasn’t sleeping with a dozen other girls in between (In the normal world, this kind of protracted drip-feed of sexual affection makes men’s wiring go faulty and ends in marriage proposals). As it is I guess I’m starting to enjoy it unfolding like this. Getting close, she will feel such wrath. Could this be love?? Hahahahaha

From couch to bed, shoes on. Next time shoes off. Brakes on, brakes off. I’m keeping my cool, barely. 194

I’m out late one night with the boys at a jazz club. She texts me, she’s drunk. She wants to meet. I say I’ll wait. An hour later I write back saying “Seeya I’m going home.” “No wait! I’m coming.” She arrives drunk and cuddly, snuggling and kissing me. Never seen her so tender. We get out of the cab at my place. “Where are we, what are we doing?” “You know exactly where we are.” On my bed she jumps on me grinding. Here we go I think… and then… no, this isn’t real. I don’t want to win like this. A cheap drunk shot at the end of such challenging game. I stop her and she dozes for a moment. “Hey Natalia, wake up. I’ll get you a t-shirt to sleep in.” “No, no I’m awake.” I get her a t-shirt and leave her to change. When I get in bed it’s on again. She’s grabs my cock and I rub her pussy. We stop and she passes out.

When all else fails there’s always psychotropic drugs… It’s been weeks since I’ve heard from her. I’ve decided I’m over it. Yep, I’m done (again), this is a waste of my time. I’m at a gig in the city when she calls. “Hey, haven’t talked to you for a while.” “Uh huh.” “So, what are you doing now?” 195

“At the Pony, come by if you want.” “No, I don’t feel like coming to the city.” “K, see ya.” An hour later she is standing next to me. The show finishes and I walk outside with her and Mike Check. “So what’s happening now?” he asks. “Natalia is taking me home.” “Oh am I now?” “Yep, let’s go.” I feel free of her, this is our goodbye. I tell her this is the most comfortable I’ve felt with her. “Why?” “Because I don’t want anything from you anymore.” We pull up at my place. “Come inside.” “No.” “Come inside.” 5am in my bed: “You want to take the most powerful psychedelic on the planet?” “I’ve never done drugs. Of course I do. I’m so scared.” My brother had put me on to a rogue biochemist friend who hooked me up with some DMT. (Dimethyltryptamine – arguably the strongest psychedelic on the planet.) I’d already had it for months, too scared to try it. I made a makeshift pipe out of a pen and some foil, breathed the DMT in deep, lay back and handed the pipe to Natalia. I dropped quickly and was immediately in the most intense off-world space I had ever experienced. Geometric cogs, shifting mandalas, in the brightest pinks, greens, reds tacky in their neon brilliance. I shifted my breathing, slow and regular. I was in outer 196

space, with bright planets and brighter galaxies. Suddenly all the angles disappeared and everything swirled around me. I was aware of a massive feminine force. Two enormous black goddesses with supernova afros and planet-sized breasts passed slowly above me. “Oh ladies,” I thought. Such expansive love - sexy and mothering. “I’ll never find a woman like that again,” I said as I came to. Natalia came out of hers grinning and laughing like a child. “It’s so familiar” she kept saying. She tried to explain it with physics, struggled and gave up. We kissed and played and laughed. I think it was the first time we were nice to each other. We took off our clothes and lay together. I grabbed her butt and she exploded, kissing hard, wrapping her legs around me while I rubbed her pussy. As quickly as it started she pushed me off. “Why are you so stubborn? Let yourself go and do what you want to.” “Why do you assume I want to sleep with you?” “I know you do, we both want each other” “I thought we stopped seeing each other.” “Yeah, well that didn’t work out between us.”

I walk into the jazz bar and put my scarf around her to kiss her. She squirms away and I feel like an idiot. I step close and say quietly and firmly: “If you ever push me away in public when I’m trying to kiss you again, we are done.” Talking, negotiating, getting tangled. She confuses me, infuriates me. We nearly end it. I’m always on the verge of walking away but the pussy on the stick is almost in reach… She likes me, I’m not her type, she feels like a baby, she wants to be cuddled, she doesn’t want me to touch her. I get sick of talking in circles, grab her wrists and push her against the car. “That’s so hot,” she sighs. I kiss her savagely. “I thought we were ending it, why am I still here?” “Because you got turned on.” 197

“That is such a turn off to say that.” I turn and cross the street. “Don’t be so proud!” she calls after me. “I can’t swallow my pride and come back.” “I’ll come to you then.” She runs across the street. ”James, James don’t go I just want your affection,” she says in mock melodrama *Slam!* “Or to be pushed up against the dirty city wall. Here we are 45 minutes later, when we could be in your room with you giving me a massage.” What the Fuck!!? “Let’s go then.” “Ok.” The barrier comes down at the train level crossing, I undo my seat belt and pounce on her. I stop. “Why did you stop? Is it some leave me wanting more trick?” “No trick.” We pull up but she doesn’t park… “Are you coming in?” “No, you changed my mind.” “See you in a few weeks.” I say coldly and slam the door. I go to the garage and kick the shit out of the punching bag. This woman is killing me. I’m learning so much.

Thrashing down the highway in the rusty tour bus with Baron Samadhi again. Juliette on my lap but Natalia on my mind… 198

“How are the vibes in the car? I miss your lips.” She sends. “Better… heading to a hippie commune to play bongos and walk around naked. You know you drive me crazy don’t you?” “No, I still suspect you use lines so I take you saying I drive you crazy as the first steps in making me miss you so it’s not so much effort when you’re back. Investment. But I hope your mind doesn’t work like this.” She baits, I bite, she throws me back with a bleeding mouth. We stay in touch, talk on the phone, sometimes letting the bullshit drop and really connecting. We miss each other, we want to be together, the sexual tension is palpable. Two weeks later I arrive back home and message her, asking her to meet me that night, expecting her to rush to me… She’s busy, birthday drinks, PhD, blah blah… Mid next week and still no contact. I angrily type her a message. “Another fortnight of proud silence?” “No been busy at Uni. Went to a Pink concert last night can you believe it?” And then a minute later… “Sorry I’m tired, stressed, angry at my supervisor. Goodnight.” For some reason I felt furious. What the fuck? This is absurd. We haven’t seen each other in weeks and now she’s blowing me off like I’m some needy loser chasing her. “I’m going to bite my tongue here. When you’ve had some rest you call me. I’m so close to walking on this. Goodnight.” Late the next night I’m out with Flowz and Z-man when she calls. She wants to settle it. We fight and bicker. Her - I’m annoyed you don’t understand that I have to stay at uni till 7pm every night. 199

Me - I don’t expect much from you. We only see each other every two weeks and then we spend half the night going over the same ground to get back where we were… Her - … and it pisses me off you don’t have a car and I have to drive you home. Me -… that's the cumulative result of ten years of distraction of doing interesting stuff that makes you attracted to me... It pisses me off that you live in the suburbs. Her - You know how many times I’ve wanted to call you to come over? Me - Why didn’t you? I would have come over. Her - Oh really, how many times would you have caught a cab over? Me – Three. She laughs… Me - Look, if you want me to end it I will but I think that’s a waste because we work really well together in some ways but just communicate like squabbling schoolgirls. I really like you… Her - I don’t believe you. It doesn’t feel true. Me - Are you kidding? Why the fuck would I have stuck around this long? For my pride? To get laid? It takes me two nights maximum to get a girl into bed. If it takes three then I feel ashamed. You are ruining my reputation, the best seducers in this city are sick of hearing your name. Seriously, I cannot imagine how someone could ever get you into bed. When you find him, I want to meet him and shake his hand! The only reason I’ve had to play such hardball game with you is to keep up. Her - It’s only you that brings this out in me. Me - Great, so some other fuckers get it easy, huh? Her - Yes, no. I don’t know. Me - So why didn’t you sleep with me? Her - Because I don’t want to. Me - Bullshit. You’re telling me this boiling sexual tension I feel isn’t there? Her - No it is there but I don’t want to sleep with you and it’s not my pride. I don’t want to be having this conversation. It’s like at the beginning when you messed it up. I want the magic of the first time you touch hands, the first kiss… Me - Well I’m sorry Tsarina, I can’t change that now… This is going nowhere. Alright, you want me to have the balls to do it? Her - I think so, then I won’t feel guilty having to be the one. 200

Me - Alright, but you better be certain because I won’t go back on this. Her - You know that has the instant effect of making me uncertain. How can I stop that? The moment I’m about to lose you I feel sad and want you to stay. Me - Well that’s too bad. So listen Natalia we need to talk. It’s just not working out between us, so I think we better just leave it… and it will be fine. We’ll probably hang out occasionally and not have the great sex we should have and make girls and boys jealous by looking so hot together… Ok, happy now? Her - No. Me - I’ll miss you. Bye. I walked down the stairs feeling elated, with a great weight lifted from me. I’m free! The boys had left with some strumpets, so I chatted up a teen for a bit and made for home. Walking back to my bicycle I saw a group up ahead in the middle of some sort of scuffle. As I get closer I see two guys pushing another guy around while a girl screams at them. I wanted to work out what was happening before I stepped in. Then they pushed the guy over and started laying the boot in. I put my bike down but a skinny guy with glasses who had been watching ran over and pulled them apart. The two big agro dudes sauntered off and the original couple got in a cab. I suspected it wasn’t over so I hung back near the skinny dude and his girlfriend. Sure enough the thugs appeared from an alley and started following. I rode over and told them to get a cab. We pulled one over and one of the thugs came running. “Hey, I just want to ask you something…” he said, to get the attention of the nerd. I was riding around the back of the cab when they collided. The nasty cunt grabbed the guy by the face and smashed his glasses, this set off the nerd who grabbed blindly at him. I dropped my bike and pulled them apart, telling them to back off. The nerd was furious screaming, “You fucking bastards, you broke a $500 pair of glasses”. The biggest guy punched him in the face and I snapped. I ran in and hammered him hard in the side of the jaw, span around and side kicked him and was suddenly pumped with the most rage and adrenalin I’ve ever felt. “It’s on! Let’s go motherfuckers! Put it right here! I’ll fucking crush you!” 201

I screamed as I advanced on them. Suddenly all the amphetamine driven courage drained from these guys as they saw the true maniac in my eyes. Each time they tried to open their mouths, I shut them down sticking my finger in their face and pushing forward. They soon turned heel and shuffled quickly down the street. I helped the brave nerd and his girl into a cab and rode home roaring into the night, woke up Wolf and Jon and we danced around like cavemen howling to Pavarotti.

From Russia with Lust: The Conclusion. Last weekend I was out with Wolf teaching a client. I was in a good mood, the workshop was running well. We dropped into Black Cat to work on some low key sets and I spotted a busty Indian girl with amazing eyes whom I realised I had traded glances with on the tram a week before. She came past me and I held my hand out and said, “Stop”... I waited a few moments and then said: “We had a moment on the tram last week didn’t we?” She looked at me cheekily with those huge almond eyes… “Yeah.” “You on your way to the bathroom?” “Yeah, you wanna come with me?” She said lustily. Before I could answer, she turned me at the hips and pushed me ahead of her and straight into the girls’ toilet. We locked the door and I pushed her against it, making out hard. She stopped and gasped: “Who are you!?” I knew Wolf was waiting outside expectantly for confirmation of my first bathroom kill but I wasn’t exactly sure how to progress… I didn’t push it, I guess I pussied out. We swapped numbers and I went back to my client. 202

Later that night we opened three girls on the street and bounced them into the Night Cat. Wolf whispered in my ear. “Natalia just walked in.” A few minutes later, I felt her scratch my arm like a cat. We hugged and she held onto me, looking wide eyed. “What are you on?” I asked coldly. “Ecstasy. I just finished a report. Are you seeing anyone…? I saw you with that girl… (Juliette). I thought you didn’t like blondes.” “She’s French, so I made an exception.” “Well, great hair.” “You seeing anyone?” “No, of course not. You think I’d stop seeing you and find someone better?” I kissed her and then said I better get back to work. We knocked off about 2am and I joined Z for a beer at Bimbos. Got a call from the sexy Indian, asking me to come over. I got her address and told her I’d be there in 30 minutes. Natalia rocked up and I talked to her briefly, kissing her on the couch as the dudes who were trying to pick her up looked on disappointed. (She told me later that after I left one of them asked for her number. She said “No, didn’t you just see me with him?” “What, is that your brother or something?” With that icy Russian disdain she said, “Yeah, you should see me with my Dad.”) I went back to Z who was working some sneaky low energy game on an insanely hot Goth model with a drug dealing sugar daddy watching over her. Realising I was running late for my booty call I said bye to Z and Natalia, who looked shocked at my departure. Too bad Natalia, I’m not missing another opportunity on your account. I catch a cab to the Indian’s house, ring the buzzer, call her phone and no answer… hmmm… 203

Meanwhile I’m getting texts from Natalia. Her - Weird Me – What? Her - You Me – Why? Her - I didn’t know what to say, wanted to say something Me - You’ll get another chance. Good night Her - Good night. I’m too tired to get up but these men are retards Still no answer at the door. Turns out she had passed out. Don’t worry, I nailed her last night. Went to her house, she was a little drunk but suggested we grab a bottle of wine from her local. The bar was ten feet away and just closing as we stepped in. The staff all knew her and smirked as she asked for a bottle. The barman said: “You having a party at your place Palavi?” “Ah, Yeah.” “Oh great, can I come?” “It’s just a small one.” “Oh, what like a sleep over with pillow fights?” “Look can I just get the wine thank you?” Cheeky bastard, I was thoroughly enjoying the awkward situation. Anyway, so I wrote to Natalia: “Well if you need somewhere more comfortable, come to my place.” Her - Really?? But I’m scared you’re just going to try to sleep with me. Me - That is out of the question Her - awesome Me - What kind of tea do you want Her - we, not just me, want anything eucalyptus or mint 204

Fuck… she’s bringing her friend… She and her annoying girlfriend arrive about 4am and I’m over it. I have to get up early and teach, so I make them tea and chill out. I chat briefly with her friend but don’t touch Natalia. Me - Ok, guys I have to get up early. If you want to crash you are welcome but I’m going to bed. Friend - Ummm… I don’t know. Natalia what do you want to do? Her - I don’t care. Me - Ok, Rachel I’m gonna grab you a blanket. You can sleep on the couch. Natalia, you can stay in my bed as long as you behave yourself. I sorted out her friend and we went to my room. She held me and put her head on my chest. “You smell so familiar…” We get it on and then I break it off, get undressed to my undies and get in bed. She does the same and it’s on again. I suddenly fire up, feeling aggressive and start pulling her stockings off… She mumbles, “Mmm, I feel uncomfortable.” “No you don’t. You want me.” I’m not even going to let her start with that bullshit again. I tear off her stockings and undies and pin her down while I put the condom on and put it in her. Then I stop and take a deep long breath savouring the victorious moment. With her bra still on I fuck her until the sheets are a tangled ball. Moaning loudly, clawing my back she keeps her eyes closed, like an ostrich with its head in the sand pretending it’s not really happening. It was happening alright. The next morning Wolf bounded down the hallway in his undies and stopped in disgust when he saw the two girls on the couch. He pulled me aside: 205

“You better have a good reason why that bitch is here.” “I do”, I smiled. They sheepishly left, then Wolf and I put on Pavarotti and danced about in celebration. I texted the next day: Me - That was surreal Her - I wasn’t there (ostrich) Me - Where were you? Her - Who knows? Yes it was surreal. Were you high when u wrote last night? How was last night, did he make progress? Me - It still counts if you close your eyes. Totally sober. He did much better. Taught him how to shake a woman’s emotions rather than have a pleasant conversation. Her - You’re dangerous. Poor girls. Me - That’s very nice of you to say

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Irina – Part 2. I call the stunning Russian I met at Centrelink and she never answers. I try calling from different phones, at different times of day. Nothing. I send messages, fun ones, rhetorical questions, greetings and finally honest heartfelt requests... nothing.

Many months later Whenever my band plays a show I put her on the group texts. A couple of times she replied, saying she can't come. When I write back, she ignores me... One night I'm sitting with Wolf discussing dead numbers. You keep numbers that have flaked? No way, delete that shit. Why? What if they come back online months later? That ever happened for you? I dunno, maybe if they break up with a boyfriend or they’re horny? I’m reminded of Irina, so I send this: "Hey Irina, I saw a crazy gypsy band the other night with a female accordion player and it reminded me of you. How have you been?" At 5am I get: "Hello James. I'm not bad. You send me message sometimes. Why?” I laugh out loud, she's so adorably blunt.

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"Remember when we met I said I wanted to hear your story? I still do. Would you agree to have one cup of coffee with me?” "Thursday. Is it good?" I jump up from the couch in boyish elation. "Sure, we can go see a band." "No, I must go before 9pm." Hmmm, 9pm curfew… she replies at 5am… she has limited English and was in economic trouble... My mind starts working and I figure that maybe she’s a stripper. That would explain her reluctance to meet me. Strippers become incredibly jaded and male attention even from genuine guys loses all impact. Back and forth with texts over the week. She only answers half the time but I soldier on. As I sit in Federation Square I fully expect to be stood up. And then, she's there. Nearly six feet tall, still dressed straight off the boat Eastern Euro style: White leather jacket, brand names plastered all over, new sneakers, big hair and a bit too much make up. I love it. We spend four hours together walking through the park, an enchanting stroll. She has her guard up almost the whole time as she gradually tells me her story. Stripper? I was way off. She was married, as a virgin at 21, to a man she didn't love. On her wedding day she decided she wanted a divorce. She left her family and job playing accordion and singing in restaurants and they moved to Australia. She studies here and works part time as a model. She found out he was married to another woman with a child. She left him, "I don't want dirty man and Liar" (That's when I met her). As she was broke she moved back in but stopped sleeping with him.

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"My dream is divorce but he say why you want make trouble for another man. I will break legs or shoot him. Sometimes I say I find man he is great, I kiss him - so he will hit me. He hit but he cry like baby. He is no man. But he is security man with gun, make trouble" She is incredibly jaded and cynical. She's been dragged to the other side of the world by a man she hates, away from her family and poor but happy life. She's suspicious of everyone and talks about her dog more than people. Really we don't have much in common but she enchants me. I get her smiling and laughing. I never touch her or turn the conversation suggestive. At the end I say, "You know I want to date you but if that's not what you want I can be your friend," and I mean it. I have more than enough girls and she doesn't have enough friends. She doesn't tell me either way but says we can meet again. I feel satisfied. That's all I wanted from her, just a chance to connect. If it goes further, fine but this resolution is enough. I tell Wolf and he rants; "Dude, stay the fuck away. We're gonna have some crazy arse Russian gangsters shooting out the front of the house…" "Yeah, so what. The hottest women in the world are over there, we gotta start training…"

Part 3. Aug 2007 Coming back from tour I sent Irina a message asking if she’d like to see me again. “g.e James. Why not… I’m not live with him anymore. I moved with police. It’s finish. He can’t come closer than 200m. I live in zone 2” 209

So we met again in the city. She had a black eye. “Don’t look at me, it’s ugly. I’m fine, thank you.” Again we went for a long walk and she told me the story. Her husband had hit her and a neighbour had called the police. They moved her out into a women’s refuge and put a restraining order against him and like that it was done. She was unshaken and unemotional about the whole thing. “You always walk? What else you like to do. You like movie?” “Sure, I…” “Let’s go.” And off she strode to the Casino where she bought us tickets to a zombie movie. We sat silently as wives butchered husbands. She gave me fleeting hug and strode to her train. Her message that night was: “I forgot to say thanks to you for saunter.” I thought a lot about the situation. I knew this would be a protracted struggle and it was certainly my most challenging to date. I doubted whether it was possible at all. She had only been with one man and hated him, had no interest in sex and was seemingly emotionally impervious. I knew I had to start shifting the dynamic to take leadership. The first step was to get her out of the city, to move her away from that neutral setting and over to my side of town. So the next time I planned to whisk her away immediately for lunch on Brunswick street. She surprised me from behind in Fed square, put her warm hands over my eyes and before I had a chance to say anything she was striding off towards the casino. I hurried to catch up, trotting along beside her. Fuck. Next thing I know we are in the movie theatre again watching Shrek 2. This was against all the rules. Movies. Popcorn. Daytime. As we sat there, I cautiously put my hand on hers. There it was, a tiny twitch, a minute caress. My heart jumped. Yippee, I touched the hand of a girl watching a cartoon in the middle of the day!

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We held hands as we walked to the tram stop but she pulled hers away as soon as we reached the crowds. I tried to kiss her briefly but she quickly turned her head and said… “No. It’s city!” I smiled as she got on her tram. I was beginning to understand her cultural peculiarities. Discretion and privacy were incredibly important to her. To this day she almost never lets me touch her in public. Later she wrote: “I just want to tell you thanks again and sorry for ‘kiss’ it’s difficult for me.” I had been hassling her to come to a gig since we met. It’s an old trick and one I don’t like relying on but I was running out of ideas. Finally she agreed. “Hello James. Thanks for CD. I listening now. I like your voice. I’ll come on Saturday promise. See you there.”

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The final Jon and Jamie Show – 48 hours of madness

I arrived home from Juliette’s apartment. Jon left a tiny pile of weed in one of my old tea cups, with one paper and a curled piece of cardboard. Just enough for a wee hoot. Underneath was his last dole form filled out ready for me to drop in to Centrelink, pretending to be him, funnelling a last paltry portion of civilised wealth to his waiting hands to fend off the insanity of India that he was once more returning to. The rest of the room is trashed. Dried pools of blood on the floorboards from where I tussled with Maria, the suburban wog beauty, pulling her clothes off and bleeding from my ankle. Semen soaked sheets, smoky coats and broken gadgets. I had been awake for two days eating drugs, wandering the city with my friends, burning our cells and hunting pussy and kicks. Jon left today on his way to India to see his love. Rita, the dreamy hippy he’d studied with at university and who’d dated several of our friends before hooking up with Jon. They’d fallen in love just before she was booked to head of alone on a yogic pilgrimage to India and so he threw all caution to the shit and turmeric scented winds and spent borrowed cash to get a ticket to follow her. He’s a romantic maniac: leaving uninsured with a pocket full of change, no inoculations… just the crazed drive to make love and escape. I miss him already. Pondering the last two days, trying to piece them together, and my mind drifted. I thought… men defy nature. They defy their own mortality and insignificance. To transcend and cheat their body. To become immortal in an idea, a song, an empire, in a string of dazzled young lovers or a machine. Women don’t usually want this. They don’t desire to conquer or defy nature. They want or submit to fulfil their biological imperative. Everything reminds them of it - the reality

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of death and new life springing from it is ever present. I dozed in the warm water, until the doorbell woke me. Lin Lin came in, immaculately dressed as always. I fucked her tiny Chinese pussy relentlessly, while she screamed like she was being killed. After I offered her DMT. “I never tried any drug but I trust you.” When she came out she was smiling like a child. All she saw was lotus blossoms, endlessly blooming, one into the next. Her mind and heart are so pure, there’s nothing for psychedelic madness to hold onto. A month before she’d mentioned she wanted to go away with me on a holiday. “Well I’d love to but you know I don’t have money for that.” “Maybe I could take you, a gift. You know I want some special time with you all alone.” I suggested China, thinking I might slink off after to see my masters. She jumped at the idea and began making plans straight away. I started making bigger plans, it was time to escape for a while. I was beginning to unravel. She gave me some money and my ticket and we discussed our trip. She was so desperate for my time she'd become my jade mamma. I kissed her, slapped her butt as she got into her BMW and she blushed. “See you in Guangzhou baby.”

48 hours earlier… I stroll down the street at 3pm, having finally seized the day. Got a list in my pocket: go to the post office and get milk and such. Never do manage that. Bump into Flowz and Z, drinking beer and hustling two hipsters. We tell them we’re seducers. They put up the femme walls and the battle of the sexes resumes. Meta-Game: explaining a seduction as it happens. By the end we all have their numbers, though we’ll never call. 7’s. Russian 3’s. I text Maria, my massively stacked suburbs wog girl: Quiet night in the suburbs?

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Flowz stops me before I send it: “No question mark. Statement…” Quiet night in the suburbs. The words echo round her quiet room and safe life. It is a quiet night in the suburbs and here I am. Not too far but a world away wild nights are starting. I could be part of it, she thinks… Something like that… what are your plans rock star? Battle of the sexes with strangers. Heavy stuff. Come save me. Can I sit in and listen, stand at the back of the class and observe? Maybe I might drop by if I can. Are you at home? Grabbing some dinner. Meet me there in an hour. Five minutes after she arrives, switches flick in her head and she decided she wasn’t going to fuck me. So we battled it out. Buyer’s remorse LMR. I scrambled, tried to dominate, arouse and negotiate. Took an hour at least to get her pants off. By the time I got in I’d lost control of my arousal state and was about to blow immediately. I stop as she’s getting horny and trying to get on top. More struggles as I try to lick her out, lose my stiffo and have to piss. When I get back she’s dressed and we start all over. 30 minutes later and I’m right on the verge. Manage a half-hearted stop start and splatter all over her amazing tits. Very poor performance. I trip as I stumble in the post jizz haze, cut my ankle on the desk and bleed all over the floor. I look at her porn star body as she zips it back into her good girl package. What a waste, I’ll never see that again. I chat with Z about it the next day. He tells me how to short circuit Last Minute Resistance and recounts a story: “I picked up this young girl at Bimbos on a Tuesday night and walk back to my place. I just know that it’s too quick for her and that she is going to put up LMR so I diffuse it 214

before we arrive. “Look, you’re welcome to stay over but just so you know, we won’t be having sex tonight. I’m just not in the mood.” They get into bed and make out and the next morning he wakes up to see her quietly getting dressed. In his smooth slow voice he says, “Hey, you’re leaving… Oh, I know why you’re going. You don’t have to work today and neither do I but you spent the night in some strange guy’s bed and you’re probably thinking that I’ll expect to have sex with you. There’s no way that’s going to happen today, I’m so lazy in the morning. Come back to bed, sleep in.” Ten minutes later they’re fucking. Midnight. Time to start the night. I decide to follow Flowz this night for the first time. He mentions the MDMA crystals in his pocket and that keeps me hanging on till dawn. We drop by a Turkish restaurant where the family hurries us inside and upstairs. A banquet is laid out and we are fussed over by the mother. The family joins us and we feast. As soon as we’re done, Flowz kisses her cheeks, fist pumps the uncles and whisks me out onto the street. Two stops at houses, one a derelict warehouse and the other a mansion to deliver drugs and finally to First Floor. He wanders the club talking to everyone. He’s everywhere at once. But he’s always alone. Stands to dance in an exposed spot. Buys me a drink and disappears. Everyone knows him, he’s warm and distant. I talk to a beautiful girl badly. I do it again. She politely joins in without any interest. As we all walk out I run back and blabber: “I know this isn’t a great time or place to ask for your number but it’s all I’ve got. Can I have it?” “Sure.” She holds up her phone with the number… Women are tolerant of tall fools who give it a shot. I get in a cab with Flowz and a pretty blonde as dawn threatens the horizon. To the Boardroom - his odd house: a dilapidated lawyer’s office from the 40’s. We snort the crystals, eat acid, smoke weed and drink $200 cognac. His housemate comes in to smoke. “You look familiar,” he says to the girl. “Na,” says Flowz, “You just got a generic face. I see lots girls look like you… that’s not an insult, it’s a compliment…”

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Later that day in his bedroom with the bricked up window he asked her without any warning, “You spit or swallow.” “What…?” “You spit or swallow?” “I… I spit” “I’m not down with that. You gonna have to wear it…” He jerked his mighty zulu load over her face. “I never kissed her or tapped that pussy. Nothing. I’m a sicko.” Meanwhile, I’m fuckin high and Flowz and I lock into a solid rant for hours. He throws me books off the shelf. “Jonathan Livingstone Seagull”, books on drugs and philosophy. A picture book of Australian birds, a modern history of Mexico. I dip in to each one and it fries my head. He tells me to read about tobacco. It explains the process of addiction. I have a vision of the human organism, rutting and gambolling through history, a grotesque creature turning smoke into craving into cancerous flesh. As if the addictions of humanity are living viruses - infecting, conquering and killing their hosts. Listening to Reggae, Flowz pumped his fist in the air in that way that only proud black men can do. All soul, righteous defiance and drug addled complacency. “Flowz, I don’t know anything about you. Tell me your story.” He avoided it for another hour. “I was conceived in Australia… I was born in Jamaica. Dad’s Jamaican, Mum from New Zealand. Lots of jobs… I was a butcher, laminator, sales… I was good at that. Fucked my first pussy at 9, first threesome at 13, those bitches were crazy. When I was 15 I started dealing coke… back before I cut it. My supplier sat me down and did the math. That’s when I started cutting it. Man I hate doing that shit…” “Why, you don’t like ripping people off?” “Na, I just hate sitting there with a razor, boring as.”

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About 10am I left as my brain melted down. Hitting the street I was terrified. Death seemed imminent, in every car and person. And the full ramifications of it were present. How can these rotting bipeds walk around like everything is ok? Their entire existence is pointless and they can die horribly at any moment. I could feel mangled car metal slice through my body and I shivered. Miraculously the taxi delivered me home and I locked the door, hid in my room under a blanket. I knew I was only safe for the moment. Oblivion and worse still, an eternity of this lay ahead. I messaged Jon… Coming down off hard core flowz. Need hot chocolate and the old familiar madness. Ten minutes later he was there, stoned immaculate in the doorway. I rushed him in and locked the door, suddenly feeling better. We stomped around, he made me tea and I blabbered at him while we smoked snoots. I passed out for a couple of hours and then we got up and rushed into the city to visit our old friend Charlie in the psyche ward. She’d become suicidal again and had been committed. I felt right at home as we scoffed down a massive plate of food in the cafeteria. She laughed at us, looking more deranged than anyone there. I didn’t really want to leave. Back on the tram and off to our gig. I’d booked Jon to play support for us. It was Jon’s last show with the Shirtless Guitars, the political folk duo. He cringed through playing the simplistic anarchist ballads, and afterwards, he killed a man’s rock and roll dream, telling Rick it was over and that he was off to India to be with Rita…. Who was Rick’s recent ex-girlfriend.

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Irina appeared as she promised. My heart nearly stopped. Into the grotty rock venue she strode. Six foot three in white leather stiletto boots, shimmering stockings and a tight woollen black short dress. Proud and pure, sexy and ice cold. She had some idiot doctor drive her there from the suburbs (one of several competitors who were trying to win her with favours and money) and wait for five hours while I, a jittering bag of drugs and bones tried to get through her walls. Long silences, misunderstood sentences. My musician mates lumbering over, each looking to her like a derelict panhandler to meet this unearthly beauty. When she met Mike Check, she stared at his dreadlocks like he was an alien. “Do you want to touch them?” He asked. She cautiously tapped one like it might bite her. She smiled her little doll smile while I played, leaping about for her amusement. The ballet dancer teen turned up but left in embarrassed defeat after seeing her competition. After the show I suggested a walk. At the back of the pub, near a dark train station I tried to kiss her. “You have a lot of friends” “Yes.” “You kiss your friends? I’m your friend.” “Will I always just be your friend? You know I like you. I told you at the beginning. And you must like me too because otherwise you wouldn’t be here with a crazy guy like me.” “I like your voice… and you are taller than me.” “Is that all?” “Yes.” She looks at me up and down. Noting my scruffy sneakers. I don’t fit her idea of an eligible mate. “You wear same thing on street and in club?” “Of course, that’s my style.” “When did you last kiss a girl?” I lie flat out. “Three months ago.”

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She interrogates me but softly. Looks carefully at my face for lies and sees them and lets herself ignore them just a little. “You are fox. All men is fox. But you are not stupid fox. If I kiss you. Next time you will want more.” “Another kiss?” “No. More.” I try to kiss her at every turn. She tilts her head less and eventually I touch her still lips. A few more. More soft words, less resistance. Finally she puts her hands around me and kisses me lightly on my neck. Another and another. Each one cripples me. Divine moments. She ignores the Russian folk tune tinkling from her mobile as the desperate Doctor tries to stop us and kisses my lips slowly. We walk back and she darts across the street to the shiny car. The next day she writes to me: Your kiss… it was very polite have a nice day. x

Back at my place the old familiar madness continues. More MDMA and mushrooms fall out of Scott the sax man’s pockets and I can’t think of sleep yet. Wolf arrives and launches into a monologue about his newest club conquest. Throwing out obtuse gestures, pounding his crotch into the air, marvelling at his power and glory. Grabbing a stunning Spanish girl by the hand and leading her to the VIP lounge after a word with the manager, pushing her against the wall and kissing her hard, grinding her into the bathroom. She resists hard and that fires him further. Those dark eyes flash violently and he grabs both her wrists and ferociously pins them above her. Her eyes wide with fear and excitement. 219

“What are you going to do to me?!” Bent over the sink he slams her perfect Latin buttocks staring wildly at himself in the mirror. She watches her own face in shocked disbelief at the absolute erotic degradation she is experiencing. He sprays the mirror and her Gucci dress and she collapses onto her knees. He zips up and turns to her as he walks out: “Make yourself decent.” Z calls to let me know that Lauren the slave is horny and it is my turn. Flowz picked her up at a rave and passed her around. She had fucked the other three and it was decided that we must all do it. Z showed me footage the other day of he and Flowz tag teaming her, high as condors. While Z fingers her, Flowz grabs her leg, rubs spit behind her knee and folds her leg around his massive Zulu Wang. He then fucks her knee pit. He really is a sicko. It was the most surreal perverted thing I have ever seen. Wolf is excited. I’m too wrecked to do it. So he calls from my phone and does a decent impression of me, inviting her over. Tall and blonde, trashy and stacked she comes in. Wolf explains the strategy to me before he takes her out into the garage and fucks her. He walks back in and straight to his room, locking the door. By now it is just Jon, Scott and I. She wanders in quietly and Jon does her reading from The Prophet. It talks about voluntary slavery and emancipation. He is peaking and concerned for her. She goes to Wolf’s room and tries to get in, bangs loudly and shouts his name over and over. I cue the boys to leave to buy breakfast. She comes back and I say “I’m going to my room to chill out. Come if you want to.” She follows me. I try to kiss her and she says, “I can’t be with you.” I have no interest in her or fucking her except to complete the slave pact. Her rejection is fitting. Humiliating to us both. I lie down and pass out. When I wake she’s gone. Jon and I spent the day spaced out together, smoking the last of his weed feeling fine. We meet all the boys and girls for a few joints outside Night Cat. I’m fading and Juliette invites me over. I hug Jon and he looks into my eyes for a long time. We pushed it right to the end. Go my friend.

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At 2am I arrive at Juliette’s apartment. Smiling and lovely, as fresh as I am faded. I followed her perfect bum to the elevator. Grinding myself against her as we clawed at each other furiously. I fucked her terrifically with the last of my strength and fell asleep in her arms. I felt safe and loved.

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The Natural’s sex Shaman Shae and I had stayed in regular contact since I’d moved to Melbourne. He had stayed in Canberra, lifting weights, studying magic, NLP, Buddhism, tantra. Whenever I came to town to play a gig or visit family, we’d lock in his room for hours, discussing esoteric conundrums, meditating and swapping techniques. His knowledge was staggering, he was so incredibly advanced as a spiritual human being. But his earthly reality had stagnated. He lived in a rent controlled government flat, was broke and hadn’t been laid in years. It was as though he was in a deep recluse, building his internal world and needed a catalyst to break out and shine. Wolf and I had developed a pretty solid teaching system by now (well, I developed the structure. He was the vanguard of pushing what was possible) but I saw that the problems our students had were so much more than about what to say, how to touch or what technique to use. There were deep issues with worthiness, social anxiety, lack of motivation, self-hatred, hatred to women, daddy issues, mummy issues, being stuck in their heads, only using the analytical parts of their mind… Inside the average man’s head and heart was a mess. After Jon moved out and left for India I called Shae. “Brother, we need you to move to Melbourne. The Natural is rolling well but it needs depth. I’m teaching the guys meditation but you’re the guy I need to make this into something truly life changing. Jon just left, there’s a room free. Come live with us and join the team.” “Alright, I’ll drive down next week, meet these wackos you keep talking about and see what it’s all about.” Shae moved in with us and we started adding inner game sessions with him to the workshops and he started trying to learn seduction from us. The first night Wolf took him out, he dragged Shae into a 2-set with a couple of glamour girls. The sporty blonde Tash gave Shae attitude straight away, playing out the standard club dynamic: Bitchy girl tests for alpha push back. Shae instead spoke from the heart. “Hey, I know I’m a stranger but I’d like to see who you really are. Can we start this from a place of openness and non-judgement?” 222

Tash was speechless and then suddenly said, “Yes please, I’d like that.” Within a week they were in a deep relationship. She was a personal trainer and actress, doing bit parts in movies with a perfect body and doll like face. It was Shae’s first approach. They would keep me and Wolf up with all night sex magic rituals, Shae taking her through all the advanced tantric initiations he’d been studying for years. One night after literally hours of the walls shaking, she finally screamed “My boyfriend is the best fuck in the world!” I had no doubt she was right.

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The Peak

I’m getting everything I want, all of it once. These days are the most surreal of my life. Jumping from immaculate pussy to immaculate pussy. The most impossible of seductions and lovers. The cold Russian model, just free from a life of isolation and betrayal and resilience into the face of the tenderest and most dangerous of seducers. The Chinese bodhisattva, dressed in Gucci, balanced and bright writhing like a burning snake on the end of my stabbing cock screaming with joy and gulping my come with mad hunger. The French maid, from a life of weak cowardly men and lecherous profiteers to find the most honest and painfully distant lover proclaiming his ungraspable love a little too late. The devoted teen ballerina, whose fragile self-esteem pivots on my erratic attention. The stunning physicist, finally pacified after glorious battle. The chorus line of one night stands… I stood outside the kitchen tonight smoking a joint alone. I looked inside the window and imagined all the exquisite women who have laughed and cooked and cried and fucked in there. All the drunk and smashed nights with the boys. All the months with Jon balancing respectability with the old familiar madness, affirming our life long brotherhood. Wolf, Flowz, Z - my newest brothers. Forged deep and fast in the collective seduction of countless beauties. The most coveted models, strippers, academics, avant garde ladies of all high and low societies. So many long nights of synchronicity, triumph and defeat. I cried and smiled with the vision of my old bones jiggling in my ragged kashmiri dressing gown, loving them all and releasing them as well. Out of my own clutching skin away and back again into the blissful collective awareness.

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Au revoir mon cherie

Juliette was broke. She’d finished her stint as Au pair and was really only hanging around Melbourne to be with me. She asked me if I had any ideas how she could make some money. She was so innocent really. Simple and pure hearted. I knew she was in love with me, I was torn between keeping her at a distance so I didn’t hurt her too much and rushing into her loving embrace. So I suggested something I would have never done before this bizarre epoch. “You could do stripping… Mia and Deanna could show you the ropes. Good nights they make five hundred dollars or more. The clubs they work, the guys can’t touch you.” She looked at me a long time and said, “You would be ok with me doing that?” I lied and said, “Yeah it’s fine. It’s just selling a fantasy.” She practised dancing and taking off her clothes for me, clumsy and adorable. It wasn’t long before she was moving like a snake, taking my breath away. Soon she would be doing that to strangers. I told Deanna to look out for her, show her how to work the system without getting taken advantage of. It was the price I had to pay to keep her. I had to send her away at least that far, so I could keep hunting.

Juliette stripped on Fridays which suited me, so I usually booked another girl in. Natalia contacted me drunk late at night (which is when she’s feeling horny and self-assured) and came over. First time I’d seen her since she finally took my cock and this time there was no pretence or resistance. No condom, fucking hard all night. “There’s tingling all up my arms, that’s never happened before.” Next morning I got dressed for my Serbian friend Sasko’s wedding. I wore one of Wolf’s immaculate suits and I looked smashing. Nadia drove me fast, running late and dropped

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me at the church. When it was good with her it was very good. We were stylish, sexy and full of bluster and attitude. The wedding nearly made me cry. I don’t buy any of that forever after bullshit for a minute but it was lovely to see everyone there supporting an improbable venture and looking marvellous and merry. I only knew a few people but it became quickly clear that everyone knew me. Sasko has a big mouth and I soon discovered I was the most dangerous and intriguing man there. Everyone knew my reputation as a lady killer, as well as about the Natural and the porno (which is where I met Sas who was helping build the set). There weren’t any hot single girls around so I just got drunk with Sasko’s old dad and enjoyed the infamy and wog family atmosphere. I talked at length to a smart arse 6, who kept saying, “It’s great we can talk like this and you’re not trying to pick me up. I don’t want to fuck you and you don’t either, so it’s great I can relax and talk properly with you.” The reception was at an old Victorian girls school with three stories. I went for a walk with the girl (who’s name escapes me) up the stairs. We climbed out a window onto the roof and started making out aggressively. “There’s no way this is gonna happen,” she kept saying, pushing me away and then pulling up her dress and putting my hand in her panties and rubbing her own tits. I grabbed her again and she slapped my face hard then dropped to her knees and grabbed my cock out of my pants and sucked it violently for a minute. Then up again and pushing me around. Suddenly the janitor appeared at the window. “You can’t do that, get back inside”, he said and then stayed still watching us. “Alright mate, you can go now. We’re coming in…” He shuffled off and as we climbed back in she pulled her dress up again and I fingered her from behind, her arse poking out the window as she drunkenly stepped back onto the stairs. Then back down to the bar for more Serbian spirits. Good party. The next night was Juliette’s last night before it was time for her to head home to France. We all went to Night Cat to dance. Nicky was there, flirting with everyone as usual and she sidled up to me and said slyly.

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“You were so sexy the night I met you. I remember dancing with you here thinking, this is hot. You could have so taken advantage of the situation that night… Why didn’t you?” (Because my dick wouldn’t work on drugs and I was scared and didn’t know yet how to handle two girls at once.) “It’s one of the few great regrets of my life,” I said with a wistful smile and went back to Juliette. As we were leaving Flowz dropped something in my hand and nodded towards Juliette. I bit the pill in half in the cab and put the other half in her mouth -“A gift from Flowz.” “You see how much I trust you? You know I was never like this before…” We stayed up all night packing her suitcases and making love. The pill took over very slowly and we ended up talking for hours locked in a loving embrace with my penis inside her. We talked about our affair, how hard it was on her, but how much she appreciated the chance to be with a strong and honest man. We talked about her grandfather’s sexual abuse throughout her childhood and about her fears and sexual blockages. We cried to be saying goodbye, not knowing when or if ever we’d be together again. She wanted to be with me: “For me the question isn’t so difficult. I am only 24 hours away if you decide this is what you want.” The next morning we rushed around doing last errands. She was falling apart from no sleep and the come down. I got her to the airport and I wanted to tell her I loved her, that there was hope for a future for us, but I choked on it. I couldn’t say what I only halfbelieved. We cried and held tight. “I don’t want to never see you again,” she said between tears. Then they were calling her flight and she was gone. Till the minute before her flight took off I held my phone, wanting to call her and say it, but I didn’t. I walked up the street and Wolf was sitting on the veranda slowly smoking a cigarette. I stood in silence by him with tears rolling down my cheeks. “Great girl, you gonna miss her a lot huh?” I took a deep breath in. 227

“OK, I gotta get ready to go meet the ballerina and bring her back here for sex.” Wolf raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re in the right frame for that?” “Nope but that’s what we do.” I splashed water on my face put a condom under the pillow and an hour later I was pumping away at the teen ballerina’s white round buttocks.

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Irina - Part 4 The next weekend she agreed to go to St Kilda with me to see Flowz rap at The Espy. She was horrified by the smoky, beer-soaked venue, the second pub she’d ever been in (my last gig being the first). As usual she was completely impassive to anyone that spoke to her. I introduced her to Flowz. He stood in front of her and held open his arms. She stood looking at him quizzically. He nodded and opened his gesture wider. She glanced at me and I nodded towards him. He walked over and put his arms around her like a rasta flytrap and she cautiously did the same. Incredible. Reality shifts around Flowz, not the other way round. Later I walked her down to the pier. “You take me to this place for kissing right?” “Of course,” I replied. “You want more right? You want sex.” “Yes, I want to sleep with you but that’s not all I want.” She smiled. “Thanks for honest” We kissed slowly under the dim lamplight and I ran my hand over her firm breasts, squeezing gently. She didn’t resist. Next week we met in the city to see a movie. I was starting to enjoy these movie dates – haha. Afterwards she suggested a walk and started off with purpose. “You miss the beach,” she stated and hopped on a tram to South Melbourne beach. Walking along the sand, she pointed to a dip in the dune out of sight from the road. “It’s too dirty to sit here. I sit there with Don (her dog).” I led her over to the spot and we sat down. Massive compliance, Russian girls refuse to sit on cold ground or concrete because of a superstition that it makes them infertile. We kissed and I ran my hand up her thigh quickly and briefly squeezed her pussy. She jumped with shock. 229

“Oh! What you do! That’s private place.” I removed my hand immediately and she said with comic dead pan politeness: “Thankyou” The ensuing tussle was really fascinating… She resisted logically and broke off each tryst but she seemed excited when I became aggressive and pushed between her legs. She fought me hard but once I had retreated she let whatever ground I had taken stay. “You are dangerous… dangerous and sexy.” Which sounded very dangerous and sexy coming from her lips. She started asking me about massage, “It’s like prostitute right. My mother said this.” I laughed and convinced her that what I did was legitimate and to my surprise she asked what I charged. “Why don’t you come over on Tuesday and I can give you one.” “It’s professional, not sex massage?” “Completely professional.” So there it was, she was coming to my house to get naked and oily. The impossible was beginning to appear possible. I was talking with Z about the seduction and by his reckoning it was almost done. There had been a massive jump, from complete freezing unresponsive courtesy to her travelling well into my frame/territory and letting me escalate. But I was again unsure where to go next. “It’s more complicated than usual….” “You said that about the last Russian.” “Yeah but this one is..” “Different? …When are you seeing her next?” “On Tuesday.” “So, you can fuck her then.” “I don’t think so, I think it will take till I leave the country, if ever.” “Well if you think that then that’s what will happen. Russian or not, she’s still a woman.” 230

She arrived and when I tried to kiss her she said: “No, I’m patient. You kiss your patient?” As soon as we got in the room, to my surprise she undressed to her panties and lay on the table. I had to hold my breath when I saw her body, to stop from howling. It was a Greek statue of perfection. She fidgeted the whole massage and kept lifting her head up to see what I was doing. When we finished she paid me straight away and seemed to be getting ready to go. I took her to my room and we stayed there for hours wrestling until the last trams were gone. “This make trouble for me. I can get pregnant or health certificate.” “We can use protection, it’s safe.” “It’s not 100%. Only one way is 100%.” She was right there and I had nothing… At one point I went out to get a drink and met Shae and Wolf in the kitchen. We huddled around for a quick conference, “Ideas anyone?” Wolf - Go cave man, just push it hard, she’ll crack. Me - That’s your answer to everything. This one is different, she locks down under aggressive pressure. Shae - I’d say just back off, give it time. Use an agreement frame, agree with her concerns and then increase her emotions in a positive way about the alternatives. Back in I went and used a mix of the two suggestions. When I pushed she capitulated but then locked up. “You can’t make me, no man can make me. Even husband never do if I don’t want.” I talked slowly. “I know you are suspicious of men. But I’ve always been honest with you, right?” “No you lie, I know you do.” “OK, everyone lies. But I have told you from the beginning what my intention was. I know you want to and you are worried but you can relax and explore what you want.” Her phone rang, the doctor. “Yes, I’m stay with him. It’s not your business. No thanks, I’m fine.” 231

“He’s not stupid, he says you are my boyfriend. He ask if I kiss you.” When I retreated completely she would come to me and kiss my chest and neck. “I like when you don’t want. It makes me want.” When I turned out the light she eventually let me take her top and bra off. “Oh! You did it.” In the dim light I could see her white body, incredible long and slender with perfect breasts. I couldn’t get any further, she wrestled me off and eventually I gave in, she dressed and we slept fitfully together. I was worried that she would have regrets from the night, freak out and disappear, which is why I pushed it too hard.

I invited her over for dinner. It’s too far to visit. I'm lazy. I can make dinner for you. Ok, but if I come over I’m staying the night. Ok, see you soon. I took a bus way out into the suburbs to a rundown house (the safe house the cops had put her in) and knocked at the door. A grumpy Australian women in her fifties answered in a nightgown. “Uh, is Irina here?” She shuffled off without a word. I walked in and startled Irina in her room. The walls were covered with pages of magazines, models in designer clothes and Indian Bollywood heart-throbs. Lots of garish tacky ornaments, sketches of clothes she was designing and a few photos, including one of her in her wedding dress kissing her cat and with her parents. The house was hilarious. Irina the ice-cold Russian with five canaries and a massive spoiled husky. Sutti the shy Pilipino and Linda the alcoholic rough Aussie grannie. Constant cold war between them. Linda smoked in the lounge and got up at 5am putting on Elvis 232

Presley records. Irina got her revenge by blasting Bollywood tunes late into the night. Linda left the gas heater burning day and night in the lounge while Irina left all the windows open during the winter nights. Sutti skittered around quietly, stir-frying her dinner and hiding in her room. Irina cooked me meatballs with gerkins and dates but fed her plate to the dog and only ate ice cream herself. She told me more about her story and how she came to marry her husband. She had led a very sheltered protected life. She never went out to nightclubs and never had a boyfriend. She went to a musical college after high school, studying accordion. She wanted to go to a secretarial college but her parents forbid her, because being a secretary is synonymous with being a mistress or glorified prostitute in Russia. It’s a very dangerous country to be a particularly beautiful woman in. She recounted several instances of harassment by mafia and strangers, which she was lucky enough to escape. Women are raped, murdered and sold into sexual slavery with impunity, so you can understand the level of caution of her parents. After she finished studying she got a job as a hostess at a casino. She was still a virgin and was suddenly plunged into the seedy underworld. Her future husband was a Jewish Russian who met her there one night. He found out somehow that she was a virgin and asked to speak to her parents. He explained to them that he was able to move to Australia and wanted to marry their daughter and take her there. Sounds like he was a fast talker and her parents were bamboozled into discussing the possibility with Irina. “It’s your decision mother, I’ll do what you say. I have no feelings for any man.” And so the wedding was hurriedly arranged before he went back to Australia. On her wedding night she resisted his advances and ran back home telling her mother she didn’t want to sleep with him and she wanted a divorce. “It’s not possible, you’re crazy! He’s your husband now,” said her mother. She was sent back to him and she lost her virginity in silence. A year later she joined him in Australia where they lived unhappily together for a couple of years. Soon after she arrived she refused to have sex with him anymore and fought 233

him aggressively every time he tried. He became violent and hit her but it sounded like she gave him hell too. She told me about the final episode where he gave her the black eye. He was again trying to cajole her into bed and telling her he loved her. “Don’t talk about love! I don’t want to hear it!” She grabbed me under the jaw and shoved me against the wall with surprising force to re-enact what she’d done. “Then he got up and…” she mimed a fist to her eye. Some of her cynical insights into men and relationships delighted me. Women want everything from one man. Man wants one thing from every woman. I never love man. I never will. One day he will die or go with other woman. True that. She brought in a tiny foldout cot for herself but agreed to join me in her single bed for a cuddle. As we made out I put her hand on my cock and she jumped like she’d been bitten. I rubbed her pussy and she said: “Why you touch there?” “For your pleasure.” “I don’t need that, better do to yourself.” She changed her underpants and got into her cot.

Next week she came to see me play again and stayed the night. Strutting down the rainy Fitzroy streets, Irina and I appeared as something from a twisted folktale. We walked into a souvlaki joint at 3am and every head turned. Irina mesmerizing in her deadly heels and garish Russian skirt of bright colours screaming. Next to her in torn denim with sunken eyes, a charmed, dishevelled man with some miraculous fabled key to 234

access the pleasures beneath the snow. In my bed soon after, playing out the last token battles before her inconceivable surrender. My god, I had her there on all fours, chaffing my cock on her little shorts, squeezing those pure white firm peaches as she unleashed erotic upheavals with her hips and ass. But still fighting in her head. I push and freeze, thaw and repeat. She pushes back suddenly stroking my cock and clawing at my jeans. On a retreat I turn off the lights and wait. “It’s boring, I can’t see anything,” she says. Lights back on and unimaginably she puts me in her mouth, so slowly like letting a wild animal eat out of your hand but soon after I'm pumping her head as she moaned and squeezed my balls. I'm mesmerised, watching my cock pump in and out of her perfect Snow White face. I was going to lose it and I said, “Stop, I’ll come soon.” She bobbed her head faster and kept going as I filled up her mouth. She spat it into a cup and said: “Sorry I can’t eat this but it’s not yucky.” I see in her, fire and violence, bubbling to smash at any masculine force trying to shackle her freedom. That’s why only I have the power to get this one. The counterweight of passive detachment, tenderness, bursts of aggression and leading her to stay in her body, following its raw desire. “I want you.” “You can have me.” “No, three reasons you know.” Her logical impasses cracking as I start to unlock her physical triggers: rubbing my beard over her shoulder, kissing between her shoulder blades, kneading her breast firmly, rubbing our heads together, all the while avoiding or agreeing with her concerns and protests, letting their memory fade with every touch. She avoids kissing as long as she can. When I back away enough times she explodes, her powder soft lips biting at me. She had her period.

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“Next time will be dangerous to see you. I said before you wouldn’t get my clothes off but you did, so it is dangerous.” “What’s the solution then?” “I won’t see you.” “Ok, well that’s the only answer then…” We both smile and I pull her to me and stand on tiptoes to match her in her heels. I hear little snippets of the brutality and cowardice of the rich, stupid and violent men who circulate around her, bashing their heads against her unbreakable will. She has almost no friends because men only want to fuck her and women are jealous of her beauty. The morons throwing money at her with not a dollar sticking. “When you have enough money to buy a country then come back,” she said to one millionaire. And here am I, broke and without capital, about to claim this rare prize. She has been conditioned and desexualised by one inept brute who never touched her heart or gave her true ecstatic pain. Who never delivered anything near the bodily release and pleasure she is about to experience. I am giddy with excitement at the prospect.

She invited me over for dinner and in a spontaneous out of character move I bought her a bunch of roses on the way. We ate dinner and communicated in the funny way we did. A few sentences, many misunderstood, plenty of silence, listening to music, flicking through magazines. She would always avoid physical contact till the end of the evening when the house was quiet. She lit candles and put on some awful rock versions of classical music and this time there was no pretence of pulling out another bed. I behaved differently than on other nights, not pushing so hard and letting her come to me. She voiced her final concerns. 236

“It make trouble for me. It’s not safe.” “I’ll get a condom ok? Protection. I had a health test recently and I won’t finish inside you, so it is very safe.” Her resistance was still there but it didn’t feel impenetrable. I was more relaxed than previously and I took my time working her up, till her inner thighs were slippery and I was between her legs with our underpants on. Finally, she took a deep breath and said: “Don’t finish inside.” I quickly grabbed a condom, rolled it on, gently spread her legs and pushed inside her. It was done. We made love slowly for ages until she became frustrated and pulled my hips till I fucked her hard. There in the candlelight I could scarcely believe it. I finally had her bent over, those forbidden buttocks in my hands slamming into her tight soaked prize, while she moaned softly. It was my greatest triumph! I snuck into the bathroom to text Wolf: I am a genius. The next evening I got this message from her: You did it… I want more.

Escape

I got in the taxi to the airport at 5am. As it honked I ran up the hallway to hug Shae and kiss his sporty bunny goodbye. Burst into the massage room flicked on the light and yelled - “See ya later Alpha man!” - to a grumbling Wolf, grabbed Irina for one last kiss 237

and piled into the cab. She stood by the door in her singlet and short cotton skirt waving. My god she’s beautiful… My farewell party was exactly as I would have imagined. The accumulation of several years of networking, seducing, and charming my way through the cities cliques of mavericks, sirens, hippies, clubbers, nerds and maniacs. I booked a lovely bar in a quiet street and 200 people ended up arriving. Old lovers, new friends, bad boys, good girls, a handful of my current girls (but not the ones that would cramp my night like Irina), pick up clients, my brother and his crew. My film crew was there following me around all night filming the closing shots for the doco they were doing on me. Here’s James with another girl smitten and dazzled by his charisma, here’s James magnanimously hugging a dorky client, here’s James belting out his funky tunes and so on. Wolf arrived late, dressed impeccably like a 40’s tap dancer. Z, brooding and dangerous rolled cigarettes and span webs in the barmaid’s imagination. I had four bands play including Aleks & the Ramps, my favourite band of all time! It was my brother’s last ever gig with them before he leaves everything to move to Perth with his girl. I dropped a pill before Baron Samadhi’s set and then hopped on stage. It went ballistic. Everyone crammed up the front, a room full of family singing along to all the songs. Scotty the sax player and I were the only ones on drugs and the rest of the band held it together so we could spaz out. What in my mind was a nice tight set was actually 2 hours long but who cares. It’s my fucking party! One of my Asian clients Wah, arrived with the cute little white girl he picked up on our workshop. He was the one who really built my faith in what we do. He is tiny but a great guy and with our help he developed into a very competent ladies man. I asked him how things were going with Bec and he said: “Ok, just taking it slowly.” “Have you slept together yet?” “No, not yet…” Later in the night I had a moment with her and asked the same things: “What’s going on between you two?” 238

“With Wah? Oh, nothing… I mean he is a lovely guy. I really like him but there’s just no spark. I wish there were… I’m just not sexually attracted to him.” She brushed her knee against mine, batted her eyelashes and my heart sank… For some guys the battle is almost insurmountable. The cruelty of the genetic lottery, of sexual racial discrimination. We are lying to them to say a 5-foot waif Asian guy can seduce girls like we do. I've watched ugly short guys muscle through with balls and persistence but it's many times harder than for lanky tall white men. How could I tell him that the best he can hope for is a quiet little generic Asian girlfriend? Even if he were five inches taller it would make all the difference. Flowz turned up to drop off drugs and soon after announced he was going off to get some sleep. He baffles me. On a Tuesday night he might decide to blaze around the city snorting lines with hip-hop homies and hippy pixies till dawn but at the biggest party of the year he decides to get an early night… Like I said reality shifts around Flowz, never the other way around. A random rocker kid ran up to me after my set in a speed frenzy and said, “Man, karma is real. I want to buy your CD for this guy (pointing to a skinny baffled little emo). I don’t even know his name!” “Sorry man, we sold out… tell you what. You give me the money and I’ll mail a copy to him. But here’s the thing… he is never going to tell you if he got it or not. See what I’m doing here?” He reeled in shock - “No way man, that’s too heavy.” “You just gotta believe…” “Man, karma is a powerful thing. You better…” “I’m not afraid. Let’s do the deal.” I posted the CD at the airport. My 18-year-old ballerina had driven all the way from the suburbs by herself to be with me. I dumped her with some pick-up fans for the night who kept her entertained in the vain hope of getting her number. I had decided though that I wanted to end the night 239

with Natalia. I could see a long drug-fucked morning stretching out and decided she would be the best consort. After the show she came up and tentatively said: “I think I might head off soon…” “Really? Uh, ok.” She shrugged her shoulders quickly in the sweetest way as she said hopefully: “I’ll stay if you want me to.” I put my arms around her waist and said: “Look, I don’t know how long this might drag on. It could very well end up a bunch of boys taking drugs till 10am, so I don’t want to waste your time. It’s up to you.” I glanced away to pretend to acknowledge someone and then turned back and said: “Let me walk you to your car.” Glitch, bait and switch. What if this power got in the hands of the truly evil… I winked at Natalia and led my teen out the door. We stepped through the freezing Melbourne streets and I thought to myself how gluttonously spoiled am I, that I have the choice to send this exquisite golden-haired pearl-skinned devoted teenager home. The weekend before I’d been fucking her in the massage room because Wolf had stolen my room to bang a Russian mafiosi’s daughter. I was looking at my cock pistoning in and out of her pink pussy, her perfect tits swollen with youth bouncing half a beat behind my cock and half a beat ahead of her cries, thinking - “This is the greatest moment of my life”. Back in the pub I pulled Natalia aside and asked if she wanted to drop acid with me. “I don’t know, why do you want me to?” “I want you to stay with me tonight.” “I would anyway.” “I want you in the same space.” I bit the sugar cube in half and popped it in her mouth. As the place shut around 5am I collected a rag tag crew and the door cash (I made a tidy $500) and bounced back to Clarke St. The only other girl there was Deanna (My first girlfriend from back when we were innocent teenagers, now both completely corrupted). Z and a few other stragglers blazed and sang and generally trashed the place. Natalia started freaking out on her trip. I tried calming her down but my 240

nonchalance just made it worse. She started blaming me for drugging her when she was drunk using my seductive conviction (true enough). She got stuck in a loop, getting worked up and crying. I told her to talk to Deanna. “She’s a female version of me. We made each other.” They locked themselves in the bathroom together for an hour. I went out back to smoke joints and chat with Z. He was melancholy in love. His new girl was doing back-turns and freeze-outs and refusing to open up and commit. Oh the cruel irony. Eventually the girls emerged but Natalia kept disappearing. I chatted with Deanna. “Is she alright, is she just enjoying the drama? You think she’ll wander off, she wouldn’t drive home would she?” “I doubt it, what she wants is in this house,” Deanna replied. I cooked everyone flaccid pancakes as they faded. They all started passing out on the floor. Z crumpled by the kitchen door, very unlike him. He’s usually a dignified drug fiend. I put blankets over the bodies and went out into the cold dawn to find Natalia. She was sitting in her car, still angry at me but gradually submitting to the trip. She told me she’d read the messages on my phone last time she was over and that’s why she crashed her car on the way out. There were messages of love and lust from a dozen girls in there. I eventually coaxed her back home and into bed. I was coming down from a variety of drugs and my hangover was kicking in. We fucked and passed out. Spent the whole day in bed, in the bath, watching English sitcoms, cooking and fucking all round the house without condoms. Seems she can only relax and be her cheeky sexy self around me when on drugs or coming down. Never mind. She ended up staying the next night too and finally left Sunday morning with those rosy cheeks only waves of orgasm can bring. Sunday night was for the boys. The Naturals met for dinner and beers. Z had been stoned for days and I blazed on with him till late. He’s hurting, Marlene has really gotten under his skin and he’s feeling directionless.

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“Seems this is the best time for you to be leaving and the worst time for you to leave us,” he said. We talked about going back to university and settling down in some sense. I think all the boys are coming to a breaking point and wanting to channel their skills into something new. Whether we can be disciplined enough to focus on something other than pussy and pipe dreams is still to be seen. Monday I spent at home packing. I had visitors throughout the day, coming to say goodbye. Scotty dropped over for some love advice while I hung out the washing. Next, my brother and Irina came over for dinner. A big family affair, with Wolf, Shae and his sporty girl. Irina gave me lots of expensive lotions for my birthday and she opened up to the group, something I’ve not seen before. She chatted to Shae’s girl and let me kiss her and play with her in front of everyone. Wolf gave me a fancy shirt and two silk strips to tie up girls with on my travels. I saw my brother out and cried as we hugged goodbye. He’s such a good man. He loves his woman and wants to help the world, meditate and be at peace. He’s given up the follies of rock and roll youth to study Buddhism, wander in the woods and be a perfect partner. My blessings go with him. I bid them all goodnight and took Irina to bed. She stopped me from going in without a condom. “You took drugs at your party and were crazy. Maybe you had sex with a girl with no protection”. It hurt her this time. I’m sure it’s not physical pain as such because I know what I’m doing and once she relaxes there is no pain. She has all these sexual blockages from that bastard husband of hers. She refuses to let me go down on her and gets uncomfortable about her wetness. We tried with a condom but she didn’t like it and when I took it off she got on top and pushed me in. We fucked for two hours and then she sucked me till I came on her snow white breasts and face. I still can’t believe it when I watch her suck my cock. The same impersonal impregnable ice queen transformed to licking, nuzzling and sucking with enthusiasm and creativity. “I will wait for you four months,” she said without a hint of sentimentality.

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We dozed a little and then it was time to go.

I never saw her again. When I got back from my travels, I called and her number was disconnected. I realised I never knew her last name and there was radio silence from the emails I sent. Two years later I tried once more asking if she was ok and curious to meet up for old time’s sake and got this reply on New Year's Day.

Merry Christmas to you too and Happy New Year.

I just now check your e-mail...

Curious? Old times sake? It was big mistake after ex-husband.. my mistake. Forget it. Nothing happened. About me ... I'm going to Russia visit my parents in February and leave my pets behind for time being: 35 lovebirds and eclectus parrot, rabbits, kat and dog. From 2008 i start working in Vet hospital just for fun, but now it's more than just fun. It's my second family and i also running my own business. Once a week i taking private horse riding lesson but not jumping yet... About private life my heart close for everyone. I didn’t met yet someone with who i can spend my life, get married and have many kids. Also start learning Japanese and French... I don't ask anything about you because i never was curious about other peple life. See, everything more simple and you don't have to see me for short chat in the city. All the best . Cheese. I was speechless. I didn't write back. I never really completed that seduction. Her heart remained unmoved, closed to all mankind. My mistake. Forget it. Nothing happened…

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Part 4 - Journey to the East

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China Model Meltdown September 2007 Before I left home I kept thinking that I wanted to see Juliette again. She had gone back to Paris and told me if I wanted her, she was only 24 hours away. By now my heart and head were a mess. I'd created the coveted sex-pentangle: Five gorgeous girlfriends (plus many more flings and low rotation lovers) that all knew about each other. I'd created the ultimate modern harem but the emotional overdrive of dealing with all these relationships simultaneously was burning me out. That's mostly why I was running away to Asia and Europe. I needed to reset, start from scratch. Detox from the late nights, drugs, endless chase of kicks and chicks. I don't know, maybe settle down a bit, fall in love. Julliette seemed like the one. She was so devoted, so sweet, wasn't seeing other men even though she knew I fucked every hot girl I could get my hands on. I pondered asking her to come and see me in China, once Lin Lin had left. Maybe we just needed some time away from my pussy-go-round and love would grow. I decided to wait to make the decision until I got to China and all the drugs and women were out of my system.

When I stepped out of the airport at Guangzhou, I took a deep breath and dived back in. It was three years since I’d been in China and I quickly remembered why I hated the place, outside the fantasy time capsule of Shaolin. It’s the sheer density of clamouring humanity that drives you down, particularly if you suffer from any form of empathy. Hordes of determined faces moving relentlessly forward, raping their land to catch up to the West and sealing all of our doom in the process. Driving down the endless streets, endless concrete apartment blocks, through the ever-present smog you feel like you are catching a glimpse of the end of the world – just smog and concrete. The smell isn’t like

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the organic stink of most of Asia - it’s more like taking a turd, processing it through a chemical plant, and then pressure-cooking it in a coal furnace… The moment I arrived at the expensive hotel Lin Lin had booked for us, with her waiting expectantly by the front desk, I knew it was a bad idea. She had bought me presents that she hid around the room and was doting on me hand and foot. I immediately felt trapped, beholden. So this is what it's like to be a gold digger. I was a grumpy cunt to her. Poor girl was falling in love with me, had flown me in for a romantic holiday but outside of fucking her I could barely stand to hold her hand. I just get so claustrophobic when I have a girl I’m obligated to. Also China immediately affected me. The crowds, the pollution, the noise, the endless grey crumbling apartment blocks. Looking at billboards for products that most of them can never hope to buy, set against sunsets over verdant fields, forests and villas made me despair. In the West this propaganda is bad enough but in China those places don’t even exist. They are all scrambling, scorching their country into Armageddon and toxic dust for a fantasy that can’t be bought. I think I keep punishing myself by going back, as I feel some perverse need to face the end of the world with the rest of the stinking, shouting hordes of crazed humanity. We flew west to Yunnan province, which surprisingly had bluish sky and green trees if you travelled far enough to find them. We arrived in Lijiang in Yunnan province, home of the Naxi minority and a world heritage site on account of its famous old town which managed to survive the cultural revolution better than most places. We stayed in one of the two hundred-year-old houses, which looks like the old China you might imagine four wings with an internal open-air courtyard filled with cobblestones, bamboo and bonsai. We met some visiting Japanese anthropologists, studying the impact of tourism on the place (big!). Ate dog one night with them to be polite which tastes pretty much how you might imagine. The town is swamped with Han Chinese tourists, pulsing through the old streets, shouting, littering, haggling while the Naxi pose for photos and perform their traditional dances to techno remixes of folk songs. Cultural desecration and commerce - everything in order here. At least you could escape back in the house and sip tea.

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Wandering down a laneway in a small village we came across a photography crew shooting two Chinese models dressed as Tibetans. An hour later we were sitting in our new home trying on crisp white wedding outfits with absurd Sergeant Peppers’ trim. They had hired us as models, giving us free room, three banquets a day, more Chinese beer than we could drink and local bush weed for me. In return they would drive us around in style to remote villages, mountains and temples to model as a happily married interracial couple gazing into the distance towards a deliriously happy future together. Oh the irony. My days now consisted of many hours of feasting at hidden restaurants and friends’ houses with my new family, punctuated with photo shoots in exotic locations and complicated drinking games that I always managed to lose. The group was a motley crew. Zhu Ge is the boss, a thirty six-year-old ex army captain turned entrepreneur who finally had a depressive breakdown, sold everything and moved to this village to ponder Buddhism. There he met Jin Laoshi (teacher Jin), who was a hotshot fashion photographer with a great mullet from Shanghai who too was running from modern life (and his wife…). Recently joining them was Chang Chung, a melancholy businessman, poet and jilted lover who left everything to wander china and got stuck at the house playing chess, philosophising and puffing constantly on his pipe. Add to this the willowy beauty Rong Rong, a model from Dali who came to Lijiang to kill herself over a bad boy, only to end up posing in wedding gowns with Ling Ling - the raucous lover of Zhu Ge (of the Hui Muslim Chinese) - grinning and playing jokes all day with the young boys who hold Jin Loashi’s lights. Then there’s big gentle Da Ma, who cooks all day for us and is secretly going out with Xiao Mei the make-up girl who’s mother would make such a scene if she knew. To top it off you have a massive dog named Da Sha (big fool) who wanders the town scaring city tourists, plus Lin Lin and I and we had the dream team. Every few days we would pile into vans and drive out into the countryside on surreal trips, staying overnight at guesthouses. Passing through breathtaking scenery: eerie moss-covered forests, Tibetan farm land dotted with gorgeous houses that hold their entire yak flock within the compound during the long winters, past fields of sunflowers, up foggy narrow mountain passes at breakneck speed all singing along to Tibetan pop

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(sung in Mandarin for the Han market). These are places that I can’t believe still exist within the environmental cataclysm that is China. The other amazing thing about this province is the amount of ethnic variation. I’ve always just been amongst the monolithic Han people, short and grey/yellow with hideously rude men and doll-like women. But here you have vibrant handsome Tibetan, Naxi, Hui, communities as well as very rare Huni people. Sitting at lunch in Shangri La with Zhu Ge’s Tibetan friend Renzin Dorgie it was commented on that there were five nations at the table. In my experience Han are incredibly racist, particularly towards their indigenous minorities who they consider backwards curiosities. This group however were unlike any I’d met in China. All were deeply respectful of each other’s cultures and open to ideas from many faiths and ideologies. Lijiang seems to attract lost souls, mavericks, rebels and dreamers. Life here can be calm, easy and simple, which is a rare thing in this country. On days off I would go the local bathhouse. For about fifteen dollars you enter a world of oriental pleasure. First a shower, then into the hot pool, cold pool, hot pool, into the sauna, onto a table where a muscular young lad scrubs off layers of old skin with a salted luffer. I’d been to these places many times on previous trips, so this time I wasn’t surprised when he cupped my balls and scrubbed my scrotum to a shiny pelt, and I simply smiled to myself remembering the first time I’d taken my brother to a bath house on my previous trip and neglected to warn him about this particular procedure… Next into a private room, where a pretty girl massages you with surprising vigour for an hour. Occasionally they throw in an efficient hand job but I’m never quite sure if I’ve ordered one. None so far on this journey. Then, when you think you can’t take anymore, in shuffles a little plump girl holding a stool who plonks down and massages your feet to unbearable ecstasy for an hour. Then I would float home to fuck Lin Lin. I was glad to have all these characters to distract me from my aching need to escape Lin Lin. One night she got drunk for the first time in a decade and started crying. “You just want to ruin me don’t you?” I didn’t even want that from her, I was just using her for money and sex.

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I told her that there was no future for us and that we should end the affair and she should stay with her boyfriend. He’s a good man, I’ve met him a couple of times and he is completely devoted to her. She thanked me for the many things I taught her and for bursting the naïve bubble she’d lived in all her life.

Meanwhile I was writing to Juliette and asked her to come and meet me in China. I told her I had deep feelings for her and that I wanted one more chance to try and make it work, or at least see how we really felt. I knew how impulsive and passionate she was and that she would say yes. I’d secretly negotiated with the photography crew. I'd shown them pictures of Juliette and asked if they wanted this French blonde beauty to model for them. They agreed to pay for me and her to fly back to them and cover all our expenses once she arrived in Hong Kong. Even on our last day, as I tried to be nice to Lin Lin she irritated me. I bit my tongue and went with her to the airport to say goodbye. She tried to keep her composure but after we hugged a final time and said goodbye, she burst into tears, turned and walked hurriedly away. I was an A-grade bastard. At least she knew the price of leaving a truly nice guy for the bad boy.

I travelled overland to Hong Kong, thinking all the time of Juliette. I guess I was delusional but all I wanted was to be safe in her arms. Due to bus timetable fuckups, I arrived three hours late to the airport, so our meeting wasn’t the romantic reunion we’d hoped it would be. She was flustered and thought I'd stood her up. I booked us a nice 249

hotel. We checked in, made love in the shower and fell asleep. After that I’m not sure what happened. I didn’t feel what I thought I would. She was impatient to talk about our relationship but I didn’t have much to tell her. I got irritated at little things and swung between silent grumpiness to repentant affection. I didn’t tell her I loved her. I wanted to really feel it before I said it. She had spent all her money and flown to this fucked up country to be with me and I just couldn’t find the love that I was sure was inside me. We flew back to Lijiang, joining the wacky family again who kept their mouths shut about the fact that I’d been doing the same whole adventure with a different woman days before and continued the bizarre modelling assignments throughout the countryside. My head got worse, I started losing it. One day in the van I started banging my head on the window, crying. I told Juliette I hated myself, that I couldn't open my heart, that I'd dragged her and so many others into turmoil for my insane sexual megalomania. She cried and hugged me. A week later back at the airport I sent her home. She stood waiting a long time but I never said it. Why it was so hard to say the lie she so desperately wanted to hear, when I'd been living so many other grey-black shades of truth, I don't know.

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EU-topia I gave up all ideas of heading back to Shaolin. I had to get the fuck out of China. I knew I was running away from myself but at least I could do it somewhere that you could breathe the air. My mother had always wanted to go to Ukraine, since the Berlin wall fell. We still had family there, my grandfather leaving them behind as he escaped first Stalin’s peasant purges and later the Nazi advance. Then as the iron curtain fell, he lost all contact. She never had much money but we talked and she decided to go and said she would pay my ticket to come over and join her on the family reunion quest. I flew into Budapest to meet her. I was overjoyed to see blue skies, quaint European fields and no Chinese people. Budapest is gorgeous, I would eventually move there but we quickly moved overland to Ukraine. The moment we crossed the border I was crippled by the women strutting down the street. Without exception every girl had knee-high leather boots with four-inch heels, big hair, cabaret make up and was squeezed into shimmering miniskirts and tight coats with ample cleavage bouncing out of their (mink/panda/snow leopard) fur linings. I had heard that Ukrainian girls were beautiful but that is an understatement. I have never seen such a saturation of smashingly gorgeous women, slamming down the potholed streets like it was a catwalk. In the West they would be considered way overdressed and actually the classier the girl there the more she looks like an expensive hooker. The men in hilarious contrast are stocky, thuggish, all with buzz cuts and terrible fashion; wearing oversized patent leather jackets, ankle-high jeans and ugly black dress shoes. They all seem fairly oblivious to the sirens sweeping by and the contrast of the couples walking together seemed like a human rights abuse. For the fashion police, the dressing taboo of denim jackets with same shade denim jeans is a staple here. So I proudly donned my denim on denim outfit, stuck my big Slavic shnoz in the air and disappeared into the crowds.

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Wing-Mum 26th Sep 2007 Mum and I checked into a run-down hotel and went for a walk in search of the river. Getting lost, we argued about which way to go, when a sexy petite girl strutted past and shot me a glance. She crossed the road and again looked back then disappeared around a corner. “Mum wait here, I’ll get directions.” I ran across the street and after her. She was a long way off but she glanced back and when she saw me, stopped and pretended to look at a poster. “Excuse me, do you speak English?” “Yes I do.” “Great. I’m looking for the river.” “The river? It’s this way, I’m going there.” “Cool, thank you. I’m James, I’m travelling here from Australia.” “Really? It’s interesting. I’m Luda.” “You are a student?” “Yes, future dentist. Would you like me to show you the way now?” “I’m with my mother, so I must go and get her. What are you doing tonight?” “Tonight? I have no plans.” “Would you like to meet me?” “Yes. Maybe. I must ask my mother. I’ll wait for you and your mama now.” “No, you go ahead, she’s embarrassing. Give me your number and I’ll call you later.” We shook hands and I ran back to mum. “The river’s this way.” We met later that night and went walking around the city. She was 18 years old, petite with knock out tits and a round pretty face. I told her I was 25. She was bright and friendly and we kept bumping into people she knew on the street. “What do you think about an 18 year-old-girl with a 33-year-old boyfriend?” 252

“You have one?” “No, I did but my mama made me end it. “ “Well I don’t think age is important if you are happy.” She took me into the quieter streets to an old castle. She slipped a little on the cobbled streets. “I should carry you” I said and scooped her up. As I carried her in the dark I tried to kiss her. She evaded me in the sweetest way, putting the tip of her nose on mine and moving it in unison with me as I tried to get to her lips. “Maybe later.” I told her about my modelling in China. “I am also modelling but I can’t show you. It’s with no clothes.” I was surprised. “You mean for a magazine or internet?” “No, just for me.” We took a taxi to drop her home before 11 and I kissed her in the backseat. I walked her to her little house down a dirt road and we kissed passionately under the cold starry night. “Will you write me a poem before I sleep?” “Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I wandered slowly back to the waiting taxi. In a strange dark street looking up at the stars, in a strange country, my Ukrainian blood stirred and felt like I was home. I wrote her a bad poem and sent it from the taxi. The next evening we met, went to eat pizza and wandered around the city watching festivities for the cities birthday. She was incredibly affectionate but every time I mentioned coming to my hotel to look at photos or get a copy of my CD she was evasive. She had to be home by 9pm, so we were running out of time. I took charge and stated, “Ok we should go and get your CD. Let’s go.” She nervously came with me to the hotel and up the lift but stopped at the door.

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“I’m a little scared of you.” “Really, why?” “Not scared of you, of what might happen.” “No need to be because you don’t need to do anything you don’t want.” She tiptoed in and I closed the door. I sat down comfortably on the bed, opened my laptop and started looking at photos. She joined me and five minutes later I turned and started kissing her. From there she didn’t put up any resistance. I took her clothes off and marvelled at her body. Size six with C cups that were the firmest I’ve ever felt. She lightly tapped my cock and said: “You have something for this?” I put on a condom and went down on her. “I haven’t done this for a long time, please be gentle.” When I tried to enter her she visibly tensed up. “I can’t relax.” “Take a deep breath in.” We breathed in together. “Now breathe out and relax everything, concentrate on my kiss.” As she breathed out I pushed into her and she sighed. We had sex twice and then I took her home. She arrived early the next morning as I was packing. With ten minutes till I needed to leave we ripped our clothes off and fucked lustily on the old single bed. “I don’t want you to leave. Will you come back?” “I’ll try.” “And, I’m only 17.” “Well I’m actually 28.” We laughed and said goodbye.

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Lviv Mum and I took the train to Lviv, Ukraine’s second largest city and its cultural capital. Shabby but gorgeous. Every building in the centre is exquisite and the whole place is packed with ancient churches, market squares, theatres, charming cafes and postcard perfect backstreets. Over the last few months I’d been lining up girls in all the cities I was planning to visit through Myspace, so I had a few numbers for Lviv. I met Solomia first, a 19-year-old student who spoke four languages, as well as playing in the university orchestra and engaging in a variety of other clubs and extra-curricular studies. She had a beautiful body but wasn’t that pretty compared with the average Ukrainian. I decided not to run any game on her and just let her show me around the city, explaining the history and telling me the exact year that every monument was built. Late that night I arranged to meet another girl from Myspace, 19-year-old Yaryna. We met by a statue and immediately clicked. She was tall and stacked, a little bigger than I like but with huge tits, a burlesque figure and very beautiful face. Incredibly mature and independent, she had travelled a fair bit, which is very unusual for Ukrainians because it is almost impossible for them to get visas to any country except Russia. Her parents were much more liberal than most and let her do what she wanted. She studied full time, worked two jobs and tutored English, as well as speaking four languages, of course. She took me to a local university bar and we drank honey Vodka and ate Varenyky (dumplings). She knew all the staff and the DJ and went to talk to him. She returned a minute later and said: “Do you like to slow dance in Australia?” “Ah, I’m not exactly sure what you mean.” Suddenly the pounding Russian techno stopped and Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” came on. She led me to the dance floor and we “slow danced” like at a high school disco. “Usually it is the boy who should ask for the dance but you don’t know the rules.” We left and went to sit on a park bench. 255

I took her unlit cigarette from her mouth and said, “You can kiss me before you light that.” I kissed her and then handed it back. “It’s funny to have a guy tell you he teaches men how to get women and then he’s hitting on you.” We went for a long walk through the city streets and then up a hill to the old castle. On the dark path we made out and got really heated. I squeezed her double D tits and fingered her while she jerked me off. I didn’t have a condom so I couldn’t fuck her. In the darkness you could hear other couples fucking. Oh the logistical problems that come with living at home till you get married in a country that is below freezing six months a year. We spent the next couple of days together but because I was sharing a room with my mum, we didn’t get a chance to sleep together. I vowed that for the rest of the trip I would get single rooms no matter what the cost. The women here have flattened me. Not only for their beauty. They have one tenth the opportunities we have in the West; average wages here are often less than $100 a month, the infrastructure is fucked, the government and industry are run by mafia and for the average person their prospects for ever leaving or being able to better their situation are pretty bleak. Yet, the girls I’ve met are incredibly studious, cultured, positive, driven, proud and upfront. Yaryna asked me what Aussie girls were like. “Well, let’s see… they are about half as attractive as Ukrainians, have terrible posture, they play childish games, complain a lot, are often very boring and don’t know anything about the rest of the world… I’d say that Australian men are better looking than Ukrainian men though.” “So, Australia would be a good place for Ukrainian girls?”

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“Yeah, maybe there is a conspiracy and that’s why it is so hard for you to get visas, because then the women from the West wouldn’t have a chance.” “Ukrainian women are strong and can work, cook, look after children and look sexy. We have to survive.”’ Man, I wish I could marry them all and bring them home…

Aunty Katya’s Vodka Next we flew way east to meet our long lost relatives in the unpronounceable industrial town of Dneprodzerzhinsk (In my international experience of exploring hideous living arrangements, our relatives’ apartment blocks came in second only to Anyang in China where I had friends who lived directly under a coal power station cooling tower.) Well away from the picturesque charming city centres, here was the reality for most Ukrainians. Crammed into rows of identical indescribably ugly soviet apartment blocks. Drunken men stumbling aimlessly, old babushkas selling meagre produce from their tiny bits of land on the dusty streets and teenage mothers (still dressed to kill in miniskirts and fuck-me boots) pushing prams to the market. We were bustled inside to meet my bossy aunt Katya and one-legged uncle Hennadiy. They spoke no English, we spoke no Russian. Immediately we were stuffed with arteryclogging peasant food and six shots of Katya’s homebrewed Vodka. Recovering alcoholic Hennadiy was even allowed a shot to celebrate the occasion. Henaddiy and Katya slept on rugs in the tiny living room, insisting me and Mum take the tiny single beds in their room. Next morning we were again obliged to slug down vodka even before a cup of tea. Mum and I were hammered by 9am.

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Louisa - part 1. Later that day, once I’d sobered up, I went to the adjoining city of Dnipropetrovsk to meet a girl from Myspace. 23-year-old Louisa appeared at our planned meeting spot and I had a very difficult time dragging my eyes away from her tits. She was a size 6 and had D cups perched out in space. She had arranged for me to rent an apartment for two nights but it had fallen through at the last minute. The evening was a complete fiasco as she desperately tried to find other accommodation for me. It took her a couple of hours to finally find a flat, which was twice the price I had planned to pay. I was trying to stay relaxed and friendly but really I was just ineffectually waiting about as she anxiously tried to sort everything out. We finally checked in and went to grab dinner. Five minutes in she got repeated calls from her mother and apologetically said she had to go. “I can meet you after work tomorrow and we can spend the whole evening together? We can go walking in the park and have a nice dinner, ok?” I was reconsidering the whole thing. I’d spent a hundred bucks and would need to spend another hundred tomorrow with no certainty of seducing her. She was pretty upmarket, a good girl from a respectable family and I didn’t know if I’d have enough time to pull it off. “I’m not sure, I’ll have to think about it. Sorry but it is very expensive for me to stay here.” She left and I munched my steak, drank both our wines and went back to my big empty apartment to drink in the bath from the plastic bottle vodka Katya had thrust at me along with a sausage when I got on the bus that morning. I decided to give it a shot, those tits were truly spectacular, so I left her hanging till morning and then let her know I would stay. That evening she arrived and I invited her into my room whilst I got ready. She sat on the bed and prematurely I went in for a kiss. “Why you think you can kiss me? Because you are Australian and have your own band? I’m a shy girl” I couldn’t hide my irritation. “You came here just to kiss me? You know I never promised you anything.”

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“I know but I’m surprised, our messages were flirtatious, not just friendly. You can’t blame me for expecting something.” This kind of petulant logical negotiation was antiseduction and I could feel the whole thing falling apart. “Maybe you should go back to Dneprodzerzhinsk tonight, so you don’t waste your money.” Fuck, this was going very badly and I pretty much decided to bail. “Yeah, maybe I should.” “I would like you to stay.” “But you won’t kiss me?” “If I kiss you, it will change your mind?” “I don’t negotiate for kisses… ah never mind. Look, I know this isn’t your fault so let’s just forget it. So what shall we do tonight?” “Have hot sex on the bed,” she said straight back, completely deadpan. I did a double take… and laughed. “Now I have surprised you again?” “Yes, very surprising girl (trying to regain composure). Ok, so what shall we do before that?” “No need to do anything, you can start now.” I couldn’t tell if she was serious, so I changed the subject and gave her a birthday present and showed her some photos. She snuggled up to me and I went in for the kiss again. She climbed on top of me pulling up her skirt way past her thigh high stockings and it was on. I popped her magnificent massive tits out, grabbed a handful of arse and went at it. She was wild, sucking me off watching herself in the bedhead mirror and poking her perfect butt in the air, wiggling it side to side for my viewing pleasure. I fucked her madly for an hour and I lost count of the number of times she came, screaming so loud I thought we might get a visit from the police. At half time she said, “Let’s go to the kitchen.” I bent her over the stove and we ended up on the couch for the finale. “That was the best sex of my life. Why are there no men who can do that in Dnipropetrovsk?”

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She told me her previous boyfriend would only fuck her once a week or less and always in bed with the lights out. “Sometimes at his office I would try to provoke him to do it on the big desk but he never would. All my life I have dreamed to have someone to discover my fantasy with, to be crazy with passion.” We had a shower and she got dressed and said she had to go. “You don’t want to get some dinner first?” “No. You have your own life in another country, I won’t see you again. Don’t send me any messages. I didn’t wish to have sex with you but you tried to influence me with your present, your band’s disk and your beautiful eyes.” She said half seriously, “You know, I would never imagine I could have sex with a foreigner who is staying only two days after only just meeting.” “So why did you?” “You were disappointed and must be thinking - ‘I spent all this money to come to Dnipropetrovsk and now I’m leaving with no sex.’ I wanted to elate your mood.” I kissed her and she moaned and went down straight away to suck me off. She jammed it deep in her throat, gagging and sighing. She popped it out and looked up at me. “What you call this in English? Cock suck?” I bent her over, pulled up her skirt and pounded her to another screaming climax. I told her to talk Russian and she whispered breathless passionate filth in my ear. She finished me off, sucking me till I came in her mouth while she looked up at me with smeared mascara. Best $200 I ever spent.

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Olya - part 1. 10th Oct 2007 After a week of sign language and heavy drinking I took a weekend off and trained it down alone to Odessa. A city famous for hedonism and beautiful women in a country famous for beautiful women - I had high expectations. I met Olya on Myspace, which I’m not happy about. I've imagined seeing her on the street and wondered if I would have had the balls to approach her. We’ll never know… She was 22, a professional model of delicate beauty. Tall and lithe, calm, poised, keenly intelligent with more understated self-assurance than almost anyone I’ve met. I came to Odessa to meet her, though of course I didn’t tell her that. I told her I needed a weekend away from my aunty Katya and her morning jam jars full of homemade vodka. We met by the opera house at night. That first glance of her striding towards me took my breath away. Her head bowed, hair in a tight plait, exquisite angles and a tiny hint of a mischievous smile. I did a decent job of looking unaffected by her beauty and grace but inside I was a wreck. We walked fast through the streets with no destination in mind and talked. The conversation went quickly to spirituality and I bullshitted about Buddhism, started threads and losing them when she looked at me quizzically. She’d had an incredible life: modelled around the world, lived in Japan for a year with a Colombian cocaine dealer, studied voodoo alone in Nigeria where she got malaria (“the most intense psychedelic experience of my life”). She wrote and edited a magazine on gambling which she had personally convinced an oligarch to bankroll. “I’m interested in the addictions of people. Have you been addicted to anything?” “Women. Chaos. Sugar.” I said. “For me, green tea, men, I was addicted to crack for a short time. And I’m addicted to sleeping alone.” We sat at a bar for hours talking. I felt like a fraud looking at her. Her dark eyes stared deep into me while she talked. Her body was completely still, the smoke coming out her mouth was mesmerizing. My mind was working frantically to pierce into her, to ask the right questions to unlock her desire. She seemed completely autonomous. She knew 261

how attractive she was but wasn’t attached to the validation of it. She had many lovers, spoke candidly about them, admitted her faults without apology and had piercing insights into reality. “I used to enjoy playing games, building elaborate constructions.” “Many people want to be manipulated and lied to, so it’s not hard to play games.” “I’m not interested in those people who are easily manipulated.” “So what games do you like to play?” “I play at many things. I’m a model, I’m a writer. I’m a traveller and mystic.” “So what are you really?” “Most of all I am a woman.” We talked about men’s obsession and jealousy. She had a boyfriend who she wanted to share everything with. She told him of her affairs with other men and he went crazy, ending up in hospital. “I can understand that. A man would want to possess a woman like you. To let go of your lover physically and trust in her love for you is the hardest thing I can imagine.” “Really a woman does want to be possessed by a man, the right man.” “Really? But you don’t even possess yourself, so how can you possess anyone else?” “Yes, it’s a problem.” “Would you ever be with just one man?” “I want to be devoted to just one man but to be free to spend the night with another man and then come and share it with my lover. He would do the same. That can be a beautiful thing. I’ve never found anyone who can do this though.”

I found myself launching into waffling esoteric passages, unsure of the point I was making and looking to her politely impassive face for approval. I told her about what I teach, that I explain to my students that to get the woman of their dreams they must be the man of hers. And there I was with a woman who couldn’t be more perfect and I was sinking. Under her piercing gaze I was much less the man than I fooled the world into thinking I was. We had many things in common and I knew I was 262

saying a lot of the right things but inside I felt weak and a liar. I’m not the man she wants. Not strong enough, not honest or bold enough. I wasn’t man enough to seduce her. At one point she held my gaze longer than I could stand. The room went blurry, it felt sexual but I wasn’t sure, I had to look away. She told me that light fixtures and wiring explode wherever she goes. I believe her. I walked her home, still not daring to touch her and we stopped by her gate. “Thankyou. I enjoyed… spending time with you,” I stuttered like a virgin. “So did I. I’d like to see you tomorrow,” she said. I put my hand on her waist and kissed her lightly on the lips. We kissed tentatively a few times and said goodnight. I stumbled down the street like I’d been shot, laughing and throwing my hands around. It would take a woman like that to really break me. I told her two nights later that I found it impossible to read her when we met. I had no idea she was interested in me until the moment I kissed her. I didn’t touch her at all during our date and she said, “I was about to be disappointed but then you kissed me in just the right way.” I sat on my couch sipping tea with a baffled grin on my face, when I got a message: Her - Life’s really full of surprises Me - Certainly is. And another one is that after getting lost and walking around the block twice I found my place is opposite yours. Her - I meant it Me - I know. Are you really so addicted to sleeping alone? Her - I’m snoring Me - I see. Next time I’ll bring ear plugs ;) Sleep well, see you tomorrow. Her - Hope you can get them till tomorrow Me - Maybe cotton wool would be enough Her - More than enough Me - Well I have some light bulbs that need breaking here if you would like to help…

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Her - It will be my pleasure to help you out tomorrow I’m gonna fix it all however I’m not sure about the results And in the morning she texted, “Oh yeah I should have fixed your lights yesterday cause I had a dream of this anyway”

James – Part 1. I met James on Myspace. One day I got the message from him. Hi Olga, James here from Melbourne, Australia. I'm a musician and actor and I'm planning a trip to Ukraine and Eastern Europe in a couple of months. I've got lots of family there that I've never met, so time to go and discover my culture. You seem like a cool girl, funky style. I'm interested in meeting people over there, so if you have some time maybe we could chat. Who knows, maybe you can show me some of your city when I get there. Tell me some more about yourself. What city do you live in? Chat to you soon. James p.s this is my bandwww.myspace.com/baronsamadhirocks Dear God! Odessa’s getting freaking popular. It was probably the seventh message about the trip to Odessa I got within a week.

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I looked through his page quickly. James seemed to be a good friend and reliable teammate. I liked his guys, especially the one with dreadlocks. I was rushing to pick my Israeli DJ friends from airport so I forgot to answer the message. In about a month I got to hear from James again. This time I told him a bit about myself in return. He asked for my number and said we could meet up in Odessa to cause some troubles together. I thought of whether we usually cause the same troubles, smiled and some way decided we usually don’t. Few weeks later my telephone beeped.

Hi. Would be nice to meet you today if you have time. I’m in Odessa now. James. Australian rocker. This message hasn’t inspired me enough to get my ass out of bed after partying all night long and sleeping only few hours.

“Hay rocker how do you like it here? Would be great to meet you indeed but I’m really sick so let’s do it tomorrow.” “Well sassy lady get better and give me a buzz when you’re ok. “ “I will. See you.” It was a gentle autumn day, warm and misty, with obscure colours and the smell of leaves in the air. I was lying in my bed in front of big open window thinking of that if this world wouldn’t be mine I would have never survived last night. I felt playful, happy and lazy, watching tree fingers behind my window and listening to the sounds of silence. I was getting calls from my friends and different guys I met yesterday but I switched off the sound. “Naah! There’s no way I will see you again till next weekend!” I was laughing to myself and thinking of all these wonderful aliens never getting tired to put themselves into troubles. Are you feeling any better? It was from James. I thought feeling better than I do now is impossible so I answered the truth. Nope, I don’t. All my day was happily crumpled under the blanket. When it was about eleven in the night, still being unable to move properly I took my phone and typed quickly: 265

It’s a miracle! I suddenly recovered. Where are you now? I walked down the street thinking about something uneven, slightly smiling, looking into people’s eyes and watching them doing time steps to the beats in my earphones. Guess I was already late but I couldn’t refuse myself to pass through my best friend’s place. I was very happy to find his car covered with a huge layer of dust in front of his door! I left him a message on the bonnet: bring your ass to me tomorrow! P.S. Greets to wife, don’t forget my CD’s!!! Laughing to myself from what I’ve done, I went straight to the fountain where we had to meet. In ten minutes I was almost there. Having no special plans and expectations about Australian rocker, I was getting closer to him, going crazy from sexy nightfall (my time!). He might have heard my footsteps and turned himself to me. After a short but straight and calm glance James said hello and kissed me on the cheek. I found he was less tall than I thought he would be. James was very calm, made no extra motions had amazing smooth voice which however was too smooth to be sexy. I decided he might be dead tired after trip. We started wandering around the city talking about different things. James didn’t look like being any interested in me as a woman but still he was a nice guy and I decided he’s one of those making friends all over the world for some inaccessible for my understanding reasons. From what I could see I concluded we won’t cause any troubles together… Our conversation went to Buddhism and I got very interested. I was listening to James and trying to understand the limits and the goals he is putting for himself in his practices. Those were the questions I would like to get the answers from myself. Is he accepting the principles of Buddhism just to use it for personal growth or is he aiming something more? Is he realizing his aim and is he moving there never looking aside? And what is the real place he gives his Master in his heart? Is he completely devoted to him or is he accepting his will as long as his Master’s not affecting his ego seriously? I was asking many questions attempting to get some clear answer but a bit later I gave it up cause I felt James didn’t really understand what I was asking about. Well, maybe he did, but still I decided to reduce my interest for a while. We ended up in noisy café, super noisy on weekends. Anyway, I liked that now I could see his eyes. We were talking about lovers, about women’s desire to be possessed and I asked how man can possess a woman if he does not even possess himself. I asked whether James 266

knew exactly what to do with girls after seducing them meaning relationship and he answered with a smile that nobody knows. I smiled him back and thought I might be the same. But getting sex is so easy that for me it is not making any particular reason to learn how to do it, so I was wondering about seduction’s real reasons and seduction artists’ real problems. It was clear that even if they learn to get sex easily they are same unsettled with women as if they could not. Huh not big deal then. We were talking about bunch of stuff, asked one another interesting questions, I was relaxed enjoying the night and our conversation, being a bit intrigued about what James really wants from me. He didn’t give me any signs of being interested and some why that was amusing me in a good way. In his words about women, devotion, variety of partners and different gender stuff I could clearly see myself some time ago. James was still thinking that man’s freedom can be taken away by woman, but I could hardly imagine free person becoming not free in relations. I was sadly taking note that even this wonderful charismatic man sitting in front of me is likely to have the same problem as any of his clients he’s teaching. The only difference is he’s strong enough to ignore this problem and to fool himself for lifetime, fucking women and maybe living together being with them. Our conversation slightly touched love and freedom again. I thought that fear of losing the freedom is actually fear of losing the sacred right not to work on yourself leaving all your lights on untouchable or to work on yourself but only in your own chosen direction, not in one your relationship may demand. Well…nothing particularly new. I told James that real love is bringing real freedom, cause only in the presence of real love or the pain you’re about to die from it you can get yourself disengaged from all your bullshit. I’m not sure if I told all this out loud. We were talking for hours and I couldn’t take my eyes off of James. There was something particular about him. He was a beautiful man full of fire and life force, strong but foggy at the same time. I felt he was stuck in some point of his life. But I was sure he can be the one able to change his own life and other people’s lives. I was sure he’s the one able to love and to state his will with no regret and doubt, the one able to lead people. I thought all he needs is faith and love. Later I told him that faith and love are making human undefeatable warrior and he said he didn’t have them and he’s not a warrior. When I see something, it is really there. Even if it’s not there, it will be there anyway. I wanted James to see who he really was. I thought I will give him a peg to hang the thing on 267

and if he’s likely to be the one, he will get involved. It was pretty fair cause he’s still free not to accept this challenge. But I wanted him to. We were talking… Was funny that all the things James was doing intentionally, the way he controlled himself were confusing him now. I asked him provocative questions about relations which he had no answers for and he came up again and again with long philosophical reflections. I felt which of his words go straight from his heart and which heavy and senseless sense constructions he didn’t really believe were. Some why I thought he had never loved for real, with all of him, although he surely is having many beautiful lovers and probably he’s able to bring bright feelings and emotions into his relations. We left our place and I asked whether he was tired. He said he wasn’t. I supposed James to invite me to his place to continue our conversation but he didn’t. I was about to invite him to mine but then I remembered I had a party yesterday and it’s looking like being attacked with artillery of tripping freaks. Well I will go sleep peacefully then, I thought with no regret. We stopped in front of my door, said we were enjoying ourselves and I told James it would be my pleasure to meet him tomorrow. After James kissed me I had no more doubts. On my short way to the door I thought James might have been thinking hard about either to kiss me or not all the way and it amused me. I was happy he finally did it! I could kiss him first but then I would miss a chance to watch his own choices. I typed a message: “Life is full with surprises” meaning he’s the most unusual pick up artist I’ve ever met. After few short messages he said he’s staying just in front of my house and invited me to come sleep with him. No way darling, you had enough time to do it! And now, when it’s five in the morning and when I’m already undressed in my bed you finally resolved you are ready. I laughed to myself thinking about James with desire.

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Olya – Part 2. The next day she came over to my apartment. She wanted to hear my music, so we sat on the couch cuddling while it played. I kissed her slowly. She replied very lightly, patiently, until suddenly she burst with passion. She moved like a burning snake, wrapping around me and kissing so fast and wildly that I could hardly keep up. She climbed into my lap and I picked her up, took her to my bedroom and we undressed each other. I was anxious, my mind buzzing. I suddenly had the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, naked in my arms I could hardly believe it and I was worried that I wouldn’t be good enough for her. Her passion was amazing - I couldn’t help wondering if she was like this with all her lovers. I went down and licked her exquisite pussy and the sounds she made were unlike any woman I’ve been with. The sweetest whimpers and a heartbreaking cry when she came. We made love between long embraces for six hours. Her body was breathtaking and I savoured every touch even though I couldn’t shake my apprehension. Afterwards we had a bath, touching each other’s hands and hearts. I could tell she was totally present in the moment but I wasn’t. I couldn’t stop my thoughts clambering to attach to this rare woman. I wanted to tell her I loved her, I wanted to marry her and take her home - absolutely ridiculous. She slept while I went to the market. I cooked for her, a little frantically, but gradually and deliberately I slowed myself down, concentrating on the knife in my hands. These are the rare moments of divine happiness that dance into your life. You can’t hold it, you can’t keep it. She was here with me, she wanted to be here. The pasta boiled, soft music played, it was raining and I kissed her cheek awake. We ate smiling happily, pressed close on the couch. We slept late and in the morning I woke many times, still in disbelief at this incredible woman hugging me tightly. I missed my train that night and she stayed again with me. We went to get sushi and talked again about our spiritual practices but this time without any bullshit. I felt comfortable with her now, I couldn’t really understand why 269

she was with me but I was content that she was. I told her about my past vegetarianism and she said: “If I don’t eat meat I become too nice. When we eat meat, we become animals. This is good.” I know so little about her life but the flashes she tells me are fascinating and frightening. Full of decadence, poverty, danger, adventure and passion. Drugs, money, modelling, travel, voodoo… She is completely unashamed about her sexual life. She has lovers all over the world. She’s unattached to any but loves them all. She’s a mirror to me and it frightens me. “If I’m with a man I love him, even if it is for an hour. Otherwise there is no point.” It was true, she was confrontingly tender and passionate with me. It felt like she loved me. She wasn’t hiding anything. I interviewed her on film and her answers were unlike any other woman’s. She knew precisely why she was attracted to certain men, what she wanted, how to get it. “Do you prefer bad boys or nice guys?” “Good bad boys, not shit bad boys.” “What’s the difference?” “A shit bad boy is a thug. He just takes and has no honour. A good bad boy may be a drug dealer or a rock star but he has his own rules that he lives by.” When asking her about whether she had been hurt by a bad boy, she said no. “Actually I was hurt when my boyfriend was killed.” I imagined the men in her life must have been powerful and dangerous. I said to her, “I’m no warrior.” “I think a warrior is a man who gets what he wants.” “I always get what I want but I’m not sure that I deserve it.” “That doesn’t matter, by getting it you deserve it.” “Do you feel you are treated differently because of your beauty?” “No, I am treated differently because I am different.” 270

She said “If I don’t sleep with a man on the first or second night I never will.” Her best friend Vitaly came to visit, asking me about meeting girls on the street. I demonstrated, using a time constraint: “Do you mind if I walk with you to the end of the street?” Olya jumped in: “This isn’t good. If I like a guy then he shouldn’t say, can I walk you to the end of the street. He should say, can I walk you to your bed.” “Do you teach your guys what to do in the morning?” “I’m not sure, what do you suggest?” “Don’t run around, worrying if she liked it. Don’t cook her breakfast and don’t talk about the future. It is bullshit to start planning a marriage or when you will see her. If she wants to go let her. A beautiful night is one thing but it may be nothing more, so just relax and see what happens later.”

On the night train away from Odessa, I sobbed into my pillow. We stood kissing in the carriage until the whistle blew, with tears streaming down my face and one tiny drop in the corner of her eye. There was so much I wanted to tell her but I restrained myself. I only knew her a few days and felt like I was in love. This was unthinkable to me. My heart has been so cold for so long, impervious to the sweet devotion of my many lovers and she cut straight into me, opening up all my fears and potential. I knew now the man I needed to be. She said she wants a warrior, a predator who understands himself. Who is strong and supple, ruthless and noble - with a bold heart that can let her go, even into the beds of other men and thus be the one to truly possess her. She wants a man who will fight for her. I’m no warrior, maybe I was once but I became lazy and timid. I want to be that man, better than ever. I want to love fearlessly. As the train pulled out she sent me a message: “You won’t believe! All the lights nearby train station are off…” 271

James – Part 2. I left my home and crossed the street, cause James told me he’s living just in front of my house. I had no idea where this “just in front” is but I wanted to find him. I was wandering around three blocks till I stopped and called his name out loud. I saw him in the window of the building I was facing in a second. Next moment I found myself in inky darkness of his cold room. I could see nothing, but I was looking at James and he was looking at me. I knew I came to fix his lights but I wasn’t sure it’s possible. James asked me who I was but I had nothing to tell him. I closed my eyes though it made no sense in that darkness, feeling James’ glance waiting to hear my answer. I felt his warmth but still it was dark and cold. I looked at James again and told him with no emotions: I am You. James was there looking at me but I couldn’t see him anymore. I stepped out of the darkness straight into the street. Have never seen this street before, but I knew which way to go. In a few moments I reached my house which was some why looking like the one I used to live in Emirates. It had a high marble fence and no windows facing the street. I was afraid James won’t find me here. First thing I did in the morning after waking up was sending him a message: I should have fixed your lights yesterday cause I had a dream about it any way. James said he had a dream about me also. This guy seemed to be a great thinker so I entrusted myself a mission not to leave him much time for thinking. Winking to my mirror reflection I rushed out. It was raining all day long and surely the time to renounce my principles and to get an umbrella has come… Rain drenched through and little trembling I finally came to James.

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We were listening to his music on the couch and he covered my shoulders with his hand, touching my head with his. I had never in my life enjoyed simple touch that much. It was the first time James touched me and I had amazing disarming feeling of that two puzzle details suddenly coincided and fell in one another. I lost my breath for a short moment, being unable to define myself and my own sense perception in these two people on the couch. We started kissing slowly as if we were exploring yet unknown ground before making a step. And then something from deep inside of me rose up to the fly, not sure if it was me or James or both of us, but next moment we started kissing with a wild passion as if there was nothing to hide anymore and no more reason to restrain it. James took me to the bedroom and we undressed each other. His body was delicate and amazingly strong as if he was an archer or an arrow. We were kissing passionately and I was about to burst with tears when he pushed inside me. Just fucking this man could never be enough for me, doesn’t matter how good he was. I realized I wanted all of him. For one night, for the single moment – doesn’t matter for how long. I lusted for James to insanity letting myself go and getting drunk from his every touch and kiss, giving myself to his strong arms willingly with desire to honour and worship this rare man and his man’s power. We were making love looking into each other’s eyes… James was fantastic. I loved discovering him, his might and passion and I wanted him to feel my delight. I never meant to show it with words or groans but it was always there in two tiny drops in the corners of my eyes. I was making love to the young beautiful god who sometimes looked unclear as to himself, but it made no difference as long as I could see him clear. I was dearly devoting my pleasure and my orgasms to him, as if I was the guitar giving the most breathtaking melodies to the one who is a wiz in playing it. We were making love for many hours and I never got bored, a single thought couldn’t come to my head. I filled myself with this man, getting inspired to be real woman for him, willing to give him whatever he’s able to handle. I wasn’t hiding my devotion at that moment. It’s hard to explain, but it really gives you a lot and sometimes takes you a lot to open yourself to somebody. Only when being cruelly open you can clearly see who you are and what the real value is. I’ve opened myself to James from the very beginning and it was supposed to open him sooner or later. …every time we were having a halt in sex I was in pain from missing

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him. It hasn’t changed since then at all; I felt the same every time we made love ever after. It was a fair price for getting his heart. Now when I have his heart I miss him even more cause I gave him mine in return… That is the sweetest pain giving you the sense of being alive and I feel sad for those intentionally protecting themselves from it for a lifetime. …then we had a hot bath together. I was looking at James calmly caressing him with my eyes and thinking of that he’s amazing and little lost, that he probably has no clear idea about what is going on now or maybe he’s just tired. I was thinking that he will leave tomorrow but I will keep him in my heart because he’s worth it and because it is the only way to keep him. I was looking at James forgiving everything he could do or couldn’t have done in advance, letting him go any moment and inviting him to stay with me as long as he wants… I didn’t want this moment to finish and in the morning I refused to wake up until James gave me a kiss.

I could leave it there, I really could. I’m an expert at remaining unattached, at living a beautiful moment and letting it go. A wonderful memory and a nice story and our lives separate forever. That’s easy for me. But I also know I could be the warrior she wants but I would need to fight for her. I would need to risk everything, to risk becoming consumed by my sleeping jealous monsters, to risk getting hurt and hurting her, to risk madness or worse, a dreary mundane ending. She sees something in me that I’m unsure is there and I would need to prove it. We are living parallel lives in many ways, following our own extreme pursuits and paths, filling our lives with beautiful lovers but keeping them all at a distance in the name of freedom. I know now that this woman or one like her is what I need. Really I don’t want an innocent devoted girl. I lust after them, to dig into them and corrupt them. I rip them open and expose them to violent passion and the abyss of human disappointment. I give 274

them a taste of a dangerous man who is also tender enough that they think I might change for them. Then I get bored and they see that what I said in the beginning is finally true. All those disappointed hearts leave me feeling heavier because I feel responsible, even though I never promised anything. Olya is completely different. She doesn’t want to control a man or be saved by one and she would not stay with a man trying to do that to her. In fact I would need to be always vigilant to stay a predatory hedonist just to keep her! She is powerful but also completely feminine and yielding in her strength. She is a fearless and real woman who needs equal bravery from her man. I can do it. Will I?

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Rape Fantasy and Consent I feel the need to disrupt the romantic flow here to explain the context of this next story. During this episode there is an extreme sex scene that includes a simulated role-play rape. I want to make it clear that I in no way condone any form of unwanted sexual violence against women. Many women I know have experienced the unimaginable trauma of rape and sexual abuse and I’ve seen what deep often lifetime scars it leaves on them. However, there is a common element to female sexual psychology that includes a desire to receive dominance, pain, and theatrical violence from certain men at certain times. The reasons for this are complicated and I won’t go into detail here but the fact remains this does exist and it is not uncommon. If you find this next scene confusing or shocking, reread it more carefully. It is actually Louisa who leads the entire fantasy. She gradually tests me to see two main things. One, is it safe to explore this fantasy with this man and two, is he capable of playing the role right through to the point she wants to go to? She plants the fantasy in the bus and then deliberately antagonises me to the point where I get violent, exactly as she wanted. Even as I’m losing my cool, I’m still conscious that she keeps giving me clear signals (such as sucking my dick) that she wants me to keep pushing things to a sexual extreme. I encourage men to explore and discuss this kind of role- play with women but be careful and make sure that consent is truly there. The reality of life is that all consent is not verbal and explicit. Formally checking at every stage of sexual escalation is a complete mood killer and almost no woman wants that. However it is vital that you check in with her in verbal and non-verbal ways often during a scene like this to see if she is really there by choice or is actually afraid of you. Now back to the shockingly hot action.

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Louisa – Part 2. Even though Louisa had forbid me to contact her, I wanted another go at that magnificent body and filthy sex. On the train I sent her some sexually pumped texts that got her horny and she asked me to come and see her again. I booked an apartment in Dnipropetrovsk and she arrived at my door after work in a cocktail dress. We fucked insanely then went to dinner. We walked into a restaurant with Mercedes and BMWs out front. I should have checked the prices but by the time I realised we were in some swanko mafia place she had already ordered. 150 dollars later… She sat demurely and ordered French wine and when the waiter left said: “I could do something pleasant for you.” She crawled under the table, pulled my cock out and sucked me off. The waiter came around the corner with the cutlery and without skipping a beat or changing his expression, turned on his heels and left. I said, “Go to the girls bathroom and I’ll be there in a minute,” She left but came back a moment later. “You won’t find it, come with me.” She led me through the restaurant to the bathroom, where the waiter held the door open for us and gave me a little nod. We went in and I ripped her skirt up, yanked down her blouse, bent her over the sink and slammed her watching her huge tits bounce in the mirror.

A couple of days later I went again to see her just for a couple of hours to say goodbye. I needed to be back for the family farewell dinner in the early evening. We walked along the Dnieper river boardwalk in the sun, chatting and having fun. We were both really horny but there was nowhere for us to go and no time. She begged me

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to stay with her but for once in my life I decided to be a good boy and to fulfil my family obligations. She reluctantly took me to the bus and at the last minute I said. “Get on, come with me. Come for dinner, I’ll say you’ve come to help translate. It’ll be fun. My family are alcoholic peasants.” She refused, “No, your mama will think I'm a prostitute!” but I grabbed her and pulled her on. We sat at the back of the bus and she started whispering in my ear. “I’m walking home from work in the dark. I decide to go the quick way through the park. I can hear footsteps behind me, getting faster. I start to run but I trip. You grab me from behind and put a knife at my neck. “Shut up you Russian slut.” You say and push my head into the tree. I feel pain but I’m excited. You are violent, you rip my shirt and pull my skirt up and fuck me hard. There’s a little blood from my neck. I feel fear and think I will die but I’m coming it feels so good…” Coming from her sweet innocent lips, whispered into my ear with her little lisp drives me crazy. I pull out my cock and push her head down. She sucks me frantically as the bus jolts down the cobbled streets and I try not to look at the old babushkas in the seat in front of us. We get back to the apartment an hour late and I hastily introduce her and smooth things over with my mum. It’s a really fun night, we visit some other relatives, have a big meal and drink vodka. My bossy aunt obviously disapproves of Louisa and tries to hurry her home. I ask her to stay. “I’ll stay with you but you must pay for my taxi tomorrow,” she says. “What? No. Just take the bus.” “No, you won’t send me home like a cheap parcel. Be a gentleman for once, James” “Ok, whatever.” I tell mum, “I’m gonna stay somewhere with Louisa tonight, so just keep Katya’s nose out of it and I’ll be home at 6am to catch the train.” At about 11pm we finally escape and take a taxi to the only hotel in town. A crumbling soviet monolith. It’s expensive. I say: 278

“If we get this room, I’m not paying for your taxi tomorrow.” “Then I will go home now.” “Don’t fucking push me Louisa, go now then.” “Ok, I’m going.” “Get the fuck upstairs!” I glance at the bored concierge and push her ahead of me, she gasps in shock. “Keep moving!” I slap her butt and push her against the wall to feel her up in full view of the lobby. I keep pushing her till we get into the room, lock the door and slam her against the wall holding her roughly by the throat. I rip her blouse open grabbing her big tits and suck and squeeze them violently, then I push her into the armchair, pull my cock out and jam it in her mouth. “Yes, fucking suck me you bitch.” She has barely had time to catch her breath or say a word but she goes wild gulping my cock deep and moaning crazily. “Choke on me. You love it”. I grab her hair and ram her head deep down while she gags and spit spills out her mouth. I pull out and slap her hard in the face with it, then I drag her by the hair onto the bed, pull her shorts and panties down, bend her over and stuff my cock in her already soaking pussy. “Take it you slut, you fucking whore!” She is going wild, screaming at the top of her lungs, pushing her arse high in the air screaming in Russian and spluttering “Yes James. Fuck me like a real slut! Like a dirty Russian prostitute!” There is a massive tacky gilded mirror on the wall and she is enthralled by the sight of me savagely hammering at her tiny pussy. She comes over and over until she is crying and exhausted. I hold her tightly, wipe her face and kiss her tenderly saying. “Darling, baby. Good girl.” We drink wine naked in bed. Then she tells me to close my eyes, puts music on her phone and does a strip tease for me, letting me film it. (Earlier that day she wouldn't even let me take a photo of her in the street saying, “I don't want to be part of your collection”.) She moved like a pro stripper, posing and coming by to suck me off now

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and then. I eventually lose control and hammer her pussy on the chair, filming as she came again and I drenched her face and tits. We walked in the cold to a corner store to buy bread, cheese and sausage and came back to eat. Later she got on top of me and rode me. I fingered her butthole. “You like that?” “Oooh, Yes James.” “You want me in there?” “I never have done this. Will it be pain?” “No, I’ll be very gentle.” I spent a long time gradually fingering her tight arse and then bent her over and slowly worked my cock in. She fingered and rubbed herself and soon she loosened up till I was pounding her hard. She rubbed herself to climax and screamed for more as I hammered her tiny hole and pumped come inside her. We slept a couple of hours and then I put her on the bus like a parcel.

It was probably the best night of sex of my life. I’ve never dominated a woman like that before. She deliberately antagonised me to get me to do it and was perfectly adventurous and yielding, letting me lead her to the fantasies she wanted. She sent me this message a few days later: Dear, you know every time I remember this night I become horny (not sure the spelling is correct but I hope you understand what I mean). You was so angry, was ready to kill on that stairs! I tried to make you furious. It wasn’t for me really important to get home by 280

taxi cause I knew you hadn’t money. I just wanted to see your crazy eyes! And when you started kissing me on the stairs and everybody saw it, so rude with passion… and then going upstairs you pushed me like a slut… and then opening the door you choked me, I couldn’t breath… I felt pain… and when you pushed me on the armchair, took your cock and made me suck it, slapping in my face… this minute I even felt a real fear and it made me crazy… and today I’m again a good girl.

Mum and I left the family and rambled north on rusty buses through beautiful countryside, the breadbasket of Europe washed in autumn colours. We took a side trip to find my grandfather Oleg’s old village. He’d been sent away as a child along with his father to the Siberian Gulag, enemies of the communist state because his father owned a small flour mill. He was worked to death in the frozen forests of the Tigre. Oleg escaped and travelled on an epic journey of survival, many years later escaping the Soviet Union and migrating to Australia. Tolmach was tiny, two dozen picturesque houses, having changed little since my grandfather was a boy there. We visited the local official who ceremoniously shooed all the complaining babushkas out of his office, gave us coffee and then took us on a guided tour of the town, banging on the door of our old family home. My mum was overjoyed and cried as we sat down for tea in the house that she had imagined for years whilst she wrote her father’s biography.

Olya – Part 3. Further North to Ukraine’s capital Kiev. I had a smashing time there. Met up with Olena, a crazy girl I had travelled with in China years before. Through her I partied with the 281

expat crowd. I was out late one night with Uli the Austrian river rafting guide when we were stopped by three cops. They took us to a subway tunnel, searched us and decided it was “big problem” that we weren’t carrying our passports. “You must come to station.” “Ok, let’s go”, said Uli. “No, better money now fifty, fifty, fifty,” the pudgy one said as he pointed to his comrades and himself. $40 later we were on our way. The corruption in Ukraine is deeply rooted and keeps the general population depressed and fatalistic. All presidential candidates are known for their dodgy business dealings, graft and insider trading. Paid crowds are bussed in from the villages for rallies; you need to bribe surgeons to complete an operation correctly. Almost every person with money in the country has procured it through illegal means. There is a Ukrainian saying: “Don’t ask me how I made my first million.” Olya came to meet me in Kiev on her way back from a photo shoot in Moscow, for two days. We met by a fountain in the square and held each other kissing, not saying a word for a long time. With my eyes closed, the sound of the water, people laughing, the sun warm on us, I knew I would remember this forever. We met her journalist arty friends, smoked a joint by the cathedral on a cold evening and made love late into the night. She cooked (and burnt) cheese pancakes for me in her underwear. She smoked languidly by the window and gave me head on the couch. I still found it hard to talk to her properly, she is a complete mystery to me and I almost like it that way. We spent long periods gazing at each other and silent tears fell from her eyes. Today we strolled through the park, autumn leaves falling and the last sun of the year warming us. We sat on the sand by the Dnieper river and kissed passionately till it was time to leave. We rushed through the streets and made it to the station as the train was pulling out. I jumped on and leant out the door holding a handle to kiss her once more. Then she was gone.

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Austeja 29th Oct 2007 I ran my first international workshop this weekend in Lithuania. My client Darias was a likeable 23-year-old, lacking a father figure, who had some imaginary confidence problems. First night we blasted through street approaches, getting the numbers of a hen’s night (they invited us to their hotel room later but unfortunately the door man wouldn’t let us up.). Darias was ok on approach but left too early and had trouble getting past mundane chitchat. We did a few clubs and got some numbers and called it a night. Next day during the day component we drilled approaches, conversation, flirting and touch with a girl I’d met that week. We went out again that night, starting with street warm ups. We opened a 2 set sitting on a street bench, asking directions to a club that didn’t exist. They were both 19: a blonde and a very slim dark-haired beauty. The brunette, Austeja asked where I was from. “I’ll give you two guesses and if you are right you win a hand massage.” She guessed in two, so I massaged her hand. “How does that hand feel?” “Great, wonderful.” “Ok, and the other one?” “Just ok…” “Well, I’ll have to fix the other one for you later. We should go but give me your number and we’ll meet up later.” We got their numbers and continued down the street. Hit some clubs. I walk onto the dance floor up to a cutie who is dancing crazily with her friends. I grab her and say: “You’re the party girl right?” “That’s right!” “Great cause I’m the party boy. What’s your party girl name?” “Whatever you want it to be.” “Ok, I’ll call you Larissa Golightly.” 283

We dance and then I pull her in tight. “I like you.” “Why?” “We’ve been together for ages and you haven’t asked me any boring questions like, ‘Where are you from?’” “It’s Saturday night baby, you could be from the moon for all I care.” “I am from the moon, the dark side…” As I eject I turn my cheek and tell her to kiss it. “I don’t kiss strangers,” she said. So I left with a smile. A few sets later I go back in and say: “Don’t I know you?” “Yes, we met on the moon.” “So we’re not strangers then?” “You are very clever.” Make out. Darias was doing much better, leading girls around the club, staying in much longer than he wanted. He got the number from a hot, bitchy blonde who had taken ages to open up and we decided to bounce. Well after midnight we made it to the club the original two teens said they were heading to. We found them by the bar surrounded by drunk idiots. I pushed through and span Austeja around. Her face lit up and we hugged. I led her away from the crowd to Darias and his blondie Greta followed. The girls wanted to smoke, so I took Austeja by the hand and we all went outside. For the next hour we exchanged just a handful of words. They were both very drunk and flirty. I told Darias to escalate fast. We split them and went back to the dance floor for dirty dancing. My girl was grinding erotically, over the top actually, more like a lurching lapdance. We were getting disapproving looks from the meat market crowd. I moved her into a corner of the dancefloor, pashing and dry fucking against the wall, rubbing her pussy through her jeans. I had to prod Darias a few times but he eventually kissed his girl. I started thinking logistics and told him the plan. Outside again for a smoke, I said: 284

“You girls want to keep dancing or should we go and get a coffee?” “We can go if you want,” Austeja said. We walked to the all-night café that was a very short walk from my place and had some hot drinks. Darias was glorious here. He kept the group together and made the girls speak English. He teased his girl in a relaxed confident way. She punched him in the arm and was clearly hugely attracted. I was so proud of him. “Hey man, you haven’t heard my new album yet have you?” I said to Darias. “Uh no actually.” “We should all go back to my place and have a listen. You girls want to come to my apartment to listen to my music?” So we walk out and stroll the 100 metres to my place. I love that feeling, as you close in on the kill. The girl still has it firmly in mind that she won’t fuck you but the percentages are stacking up in my favour, just a few more steps… We all sit on the couch and soon afterwards I get up, taking her by the hand, but she gives a little worried look and doesn’t get up. I sit again and we make out. She glances over to see her friend doing the same. A few minutes later she says: “Maybe we can listen to your music?” So I take her hand again and we go into the bedroom, closing the door. I put on some good old Baron Samadhi and take her to the LMR couch for token resistance. She straddles me and I pick her up and take her to the bed. Her defences kick in. She stops kissing me and says, “I must go.” “Really, would you like to go?” “No, but I must, my friend will be angry.” “I think your friend is having a good time.” “My mother is waiting for me.” “If you need to go that’s fine.” I get her top up a few times but she pulls it back down. She takes mine off but I’m hitting a wall, I can’t get any further. Up till then I’d barely spoken to her at all and now she was sobering up and feeling worried about what her friend was thinking. 285

So I stopped and asked her a few questions. “Tell me about yourself, what is your passion?” “My passion is horse riding, and travelling. I want to go to Tibet.” “Really? Would you like to see some photos of Tibet?” We browse through my travel shots and she relaxes and reinitiates the make out. She has a couple more freak-outs, even gets up to go but I pin her against the wall and manage to get my hand down her pants. She’s wet and starts losing control. I take her hand and put it on my cock. When she is getting close to coming I push her on the bed and undress her, she doesn’t stop me. Her body is perfect, size 6, firm gumdrop tits, round muscular ass. “Do you have this thing for umm…” “Of course.” Grab a condom, in we go. Due to the extended battle I was ready to blow quickly, so I dipped in and out slowly until I got my breathing and focus locked in. Then I enjoyed spearing this gorgeous strumpet, bent over with her tiny firm peach buttocks in my grip, shaking the noisy wooden bed to a raucous finale. She quickly dressed, giggling. We went back out to find grumpy Greta sitting alone. Unfortunately Mr Floppy had crashed her party and Darias had escaped. Boots and coats on and out into the cold Vilnius morning they went.

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Olya part 4. 12th Nov 2007 Watching a blazing sunset out the window of a train, heading south to Slovenia, thinking of the people and places I’ve been to on this trip but mostly of her. Olya and I met in Kraków, Poland for another few short days together. Her train was five hours late and when I finally got to her platform she was alone by her bags smoking. It was still there - my heart was bursting with happiness. I took her to the quirky retro apartment I’d rented and we made love, cooked and talked late into the night. While we were fucking we kicked the blanket onto a candle, which burst into flames. I jumped up, poured a bottle of water over it and pushed her straight back onto the bed. We wandered around the old town, up to the castle, through the Jewish quarter for soup and tea and to rummage through old antique shops. We slept late, watched a movie, and had sex all day. Using her computer while she was in the shower I had a quick look through her photos. “Don’t do this to yourself”, I said in my head but of course I did. Flicked through modelling shots, nude shoots, partying with old boyfriends, the murdered Columbian dealer. Came across a set of her on drugs, making out with two other girls topless in an expensive Asian hotel room. Trashy and pornographic with a smug middle-aged Yakuza posing with them. I closed the files and tried to let it go. I’m a porn star, professional womaniser remember? No moral outrage, no jealousy, no hunt for more evidence, not this time. We are here now that’s all that matters. On our last night, she had bought her ticket home and it hit me she was leaving again, maybe this time forever. I took her into our room and as I pushed inside her I burst into tears and she did too. It was a beautiful catharsis. Our hearts were opening, we were exposed. We cried together, waves of emotion, holding tightly. I could feel it inside me, a little fear but mostly certainty. “I love you”, I said to her quietly and she said it back. It didn’t matter what it really meant, or that we had only known each other for a few weeks. I didn’t need to worry about commitment or fidelity or betraying her. We are equals in deeds and philosophy and we are bravely facing an impossible task. 287

I stood on the platform as the first snow of the year fell. We watched each other with tears falling, until the train took her out of sight.

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The Wild East After Lithuania I took a brief trip to Latvia to meet a family who were in debt to mine. My grandfather had rescued a girl called Vera, helping her escape the Soviets during the war. They walked over the Carpathian Mountains, dodging both the Nazis and Red Army as the Second World War reached its bloodbath finale. They had a heady romance in amongst the horror but eventually parted, with Vera settling in Riga. I met up with her granddaughter (about my mother’s age) and her son. They took me around town and to the desolate Baltic coast and then I hopped on a long bus ride to Prague. Prague is the kind of city that makes you feel ashamed of being a backpacker. It is truly amazing, the most beautiful city in Eastern Europe many say but it’s overrun with tourists and endless packs of pissed British fuckwits in tutus on stag weekends. As I had been living it up for some time in (two star!) hotels, I decided to punish myself with an authentic backpacker’s weekend and so checked into the scummiest hostel in town. I came home at 3am one night to find a filthy snoring Brit passed out with his shoes on in my bed. I kicked him in the shin and without apology he stumbled onto his bunk. I was woken three hours later by three grim bustling Czech matrons vacuuming the room, said, “Fuck this!” out loud and checked into a cheap hotel. My Ukrainian friend Olena had lived in Prague for years and so she gave me the numbers of some of her expat friends. I was invited over to meet Carlos, a Peruvian lawyer. “In Peru, guys come from Europe and take all the girls, even the ugly Czech guys can score there. So I am over here getting my revenge”. He lived with a couple of other South American guys, a sexy Polish girl and they had two stunning Slovakian girls staying the weekend. I had a great time with this crew, partying long and hard. One night we ended up at a high society expat house party, snorting lines of coke off expensive furniture, whilst burning gas jets that ran the length of one wall kept us cosy. I hustled all the rich guys there, selling The Natural. I nearly choked when one decent looking American explained he ran a multi-million dollar construction company, had been in Prague for eight years and had never been able to date a local girl. Czech girls

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are nearly as hot as Ukrainians and with the lowest rates of religion in the world are up for fun, although a little cold at first, due to the density of idiot tourists. While out with Carlos I chatted up a delightful nineteen-year-old Czech model. I managed to get her alone, walking to Charles Bridge where I kissed her. It was to be my final travel seduction, quite a prize. I never made it though. Made a bad logistical decision on the last night, not sure how to get her up to my room without being explicit. I felt angry at her for not taking my hints and myself for being indecisive. Frustrated that after all this training and study I can still fuck it up as consistently as I succeed. Angry that on any given situation a woman of any sort will flip between princess to wanton slut, reacting to the sexual charge of the man. I shouldn’t be angry, it is just a natural law. I still often inhabit that apologetic politeness that cripples most men. I watched Carlos working girls, no strategy or subtlety, just sexual desire without apology. Circumventing her conditioning, arousing her lust and closing fearlessly. That old faulty wiring in my head projected these thoughts around to Olya, imagining real naturals, dealers and DJ’s seducing her easily (or her them). VIP rooms, hotels, yachts, cocaine, gangsters... And me, supposedly a professional seducer here with a doe-eyed teenage beauty and I just couldn’t complete the simple task of isolating her to a bed. These jealous insecurities and perverse self-destructive thought habits are so familiar. Violent tantrums spanning a decade of relationships. I don’t want it again and I hate that this bullshit rises for me in tandem with falling in love. Sex, so easy for a beautiful woman to get and the select few men who rule, that the scrambling pursuit by the masses for it draws utmost contempt. I worked so hard to develop this skill. To finally be able to have a woman like that when I wanted on my terms. I have fucked 100 beautiful women! (well, 97). Acknowledge me! But out there, some dealer or gangster has fucked my girl with ease and hundreds more. I met a US fighter pilot in a bar in Prague who flew combat in the Middle East. Not afraid to die violently but by his own eager admission, scared shitless of women. His admiration of me was unsettling. I went to talk to a blonde with big tits to show him, a nothing movement and it was sorcery to him. So, easy please ladies! It is hard, it is a valuable skill, it is the gift of a scarce few and the coveted impossible desire of the 290

endless hordes of frustrated, horny humanity. I stole it back, it is mine. Why should I declare its emptiness and give it up?

Istanbul Olya and I were desperate to see each other one more time before I went back to Australia. We were running out of countries that she could get a visa for and worked out that Turkey was our easiest option at short notice. We met in Istanbul. That first glimpse of her, kills me every time. Five days together and we were holding each other almost every minute. Our love went deeper, quickly. She softened more and more, still as strong as ever but melting into me, I got to see the beauty and tenderness of her womanhood. I told her stories and we danced and played and had serious and childish talks. We started talking about what was next, the harsh reality of what we were facing opened up. I felt amazing walking with her, so light and young. Each time we cried together, making love under Turkish night skies, I felt my chest opening up more and more. What an incredible thing to have the woman of your dreams, to have her love you and want only you and to have another chance. Such gratitude for these things I’ve been given, even if I’m unworthy. “I don’t want to lose you.” “What are you prepared to do not to lose me?” she said straight back. I stumbled a little in my mind “Whatever it takes,” although I wasn’t sure “Then you won’t lose me.” On our last night we were walking up the hill to our hotel. Olya pulled me to her crying. “Baby, I love you. I just don’t want to lose you…Will you promise me one thing?” 291

“Yes.” “Don’t be afraid.” “I won’t.” Just before she got on the plane she started asking me to think about what happens next. I said I would work it out, find a way. I could see she wasn’t quite convinced. We kissed softly, one last time.

The Choice Even if we can get through the bureaucratic nightmare of an Australian tourist visa, then what? The conversation unsettled me because again it relates to the singular step of bravery. What will I give up for her without any assurance that I will not lose everything? But what if I don’t and I miss a rare chance to love a goddess properly? She’s here, imagine it. In my little room in Melbourne, the delirious first few days making love, on the town with the boys and girls, catching trains to meet relatives and cheap trips to the seaside. Yeah I can see it. Some very happy and beautiful times. I can also see the rise of jealousy and possession. I can see betrayal and heart break, or boredom and uncertainty. I have always disappointed my woman in the end and I can see the abyss of fatalism about relationships will grow deeper than ever if this one doesn’t work. Man it would be so much easier to just keep my revolving harem of hot girls who I can fuck when I want, rather than to deal with everything this love entails. She said when a man disappoints her, she discards him or treats him with contempt and cruelty… I asked how she would be disappointed. She replied without hesitation. An inability to make decisions 292

An inability to fight Not knowing what he wants Fuck, where did she come from? Why is she so fearless and certain? She’s said it so explicitly I could never misunderstand but look at the boundaries to fail within! I can fight for her, I want her but I also fear that having fought and sacrificed and yielded my heart that she may just be swept away by the raw power of indifferent rivals. She once said, “I work on a come and get me principle”. If you want her without falter and take her, she’s yours. I was that man, taking girls that were neglected or bored. It’s a wonderful position to be, the man who women fantasize dangerously about. Now, to go back to being the devoted vulnerable boyfriend is a less appealing prospect. I compare it to the situation with Lin Lin. Her partner of fifteen years, a decent and loving man who has provided for her and doted on her was no match for me. All I offered was excitement and uncertainty. I guarantee she never screamed for him as she did for me in complete filthy slut abandon. That isn’t fair. I’m not more a man than him, I just honestly don’t give a fuck and he does and so he must lose. Reading the story of our meeting from her words was eye-opening. She saw straight through me. She wasn’t attracted to me, we discussed that. “You gave me no reason to be, you showed no interest in me as a woman.” I didn’t at all I know. I was trying to stay calm and not give away my apprehension. She was the most beautiful and startling women I had ever met and I was dying inside. I succeeded in covering that up at the expense of being real and showing her I wanted her boldly. Thankfully her curiosity gave me another chance. But what is it these incredible women see in me? The ones who are fooled by the fireworks and stories, well that’s simple. But the rare ones who look to my core see something that I don’t feel. Mia. Zahra. Olya. They believe in me but I don’t. It’s like a special woman is a mirror to your potential self. “Be my man,” she texted to me. She’s saying, “Be strong and fearless, be the man I see.” She needs him. Maybe it’s simply that men are so hopeless overall that in comparison I am a better option. I can’t think of a single truly strong man, not one. It’s not good enough though, not nearly.

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I’ve been away nearly five months, nothing really. Not like a sea voyage by old explorers or some arduous cross-continental adventure. I just caught trains around different capital cities really, stayed in ok hotels and picked up some women. I took it fairly easy and lived well. I was looked after by kind women and family, had money funnelled in to me by assorted scams and patrons, so that although I’m arriving home broke, I’m not destitute. It also wasn’t a hedonistic romp. I had sex with five incredible women, actually some of the best sex of my life between Louisa the nymphomaniac and the loving passion of Olya. I could have done more, there were nights when I didn’t go out. I was scared to go to clubs alone, I didn’t approach every girl I should have but I didn’t do badly. I hate making vows and breaking them. I hate being unreliable to myself but next year I must stand up and be a fucking man. I must work hard and fearlessly. I must make a career, not just another scam to allow me to barely survive outside the mainstream of honest slavery. I feel like I’m setting it up to start right. Baron tour, maybe the last. I always say that. But we are getting old. Kit is getting sick of it, he’s getting married. We are not gonna break through to anything, we won’t be superstars. I don’t feel I have any really great songs left in me. It’s just a dated party band now and I think I’m ok with that. I don’t need a band to get women, the funk can’t last forever. Of course all the old temptations are there. Flowz, late nights, wasted days, abandoned pipe dreams and schemes, merry-go-round of women. I’ll need to make some good and firm decisions soon after I arrive. Will I try to hook up my old harem? Irina the Russian ice queen. I worked so long and hard to get her, such a shame to let her go. Natalia the narcissist, the teen ballerina… Lin Lin? I should pay her back for the plane ticket at least. Man, I broke her heart, poor girl. I have broken so many. And I have the cowardice to keep avoiding my turn. Face up! Come to me Olya! Break me! Fear. Hope. Love.

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I signed up for a Vipassana course, my first in five years. I’ll get off the tour bus and settle in for the big pain. It’s incredible to think of me back in my early twenties. What a maniac. So much fire and extreme resolve. I was so serious about Buddhism, training, about my ascendance. Then I gradually lost my grip, let it slip away, meditation, then Gong Fu, then vegetarianism and found myself in another world altogether, starring in porn, taking drugs, lazy and sensual. Baffling really how those last few years slipped by. I don’t feel regret. I had a fucking great time and lived like a rock star on the income of a pauper. But I wonder…perhaps it wasn’t enough to justify being ten years behind my contemporaries. No surely it was. I’m the envy of my rich clients. They will throw thousands of dollars at me for just a taste of that life.

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Back home 23rd Dec 2007 After sixty hours of travel, I walked in a daze through customs where Shultz and Jon let out a yell. Back to Charlie’s house where Rita, Saskia and Charlie had dinner ready. My brother was back for a short visit from Perth where he and Saskia are living. He’s isolated but happy with his decision to leave rock and roll and bohemia for love. Jon and Rita had gotten engaged in India, which was fitting. He was always gonna be a family man and he’ll be a great dad. I was a bit disappointed when I asked how he’d proposed. In conversation he’d said, “I want to marry you one day,” and later they ‘decided’ to marry. Seemed a bit timid to me, if you’re gonna do it may as well stand up and ask fearlessly. Still what do I know about suggesting lifelong commitment? The next day I woke wired very early and burst out into the sunshine strutting happily down the decadent streets of Toorak. Australia! What a country! The soft Anglos don’t deserve it. Flood the place with iron-hearted sexy Slavs I say. I went straight over to Clarke Street, burst in the door and yelled, “Wake up Naturals!!” Wolf bounded out in his underwear with a manly hug and big grin. I sat down with him and Shae and swapped stories. Some things had changed. The four horsemen of the sex-pocalypse had dispersed. Z was laying very low, living with his girlfriend. Wolf hadn’t been clubbing in weeks, settling in with his first ever girlfriend. Flowz was still Flowz. Shae was still happily with the sporty chick Tash. She adored him. Fantastic for him after so many years of celibacy and for her to have this strange, bogan, sex shaman blowing her mind. A tall, elegant, stunning woman came out of Wolf’s room in a towel. Irene, the Scottish aristocrat (She came from a thousand year old estate who had taken the land from the Vikings). The first girl to ever hold Wolf’s attention. There had been some big shifts in my absence. Believe it or not Wolf had been exclusive with this girl for a month! I asked her what she had done to him, how she seduced him. “I cannot really remember, I was pretty drunk at the time. I’m cookin’ some eggs, do ye want some?”

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I watched them together and noticed something I’d seen in Olya too. I asked myself, “Why these two of all the brilliant, gorgeous women we had been through?” The answer I think is simple. They know their value and demand the best. We either give them everything or they will walk. Not in a petulant, high-maintenance way; they are simply goddesses and know that they can give infinite power to their man, but he must do the same. Girls like Juliette and Betty made many allowances for me and my lifestyle. They tried hard to understand it, empathise with my motivations and make excuses for me. They took what I offered, not what they wanted and so ended up with nothing. Wolf and I drank some wine on the garage roof. We talked a little nostalgically for the golden madness era just passed. It couldn't last forever, I always knew that. It was killing me. I got out just in time. Wolf was having unsettling emotions around this girl. He was attached. She had seen through his armour, but he still had a firm core of predatory cynic. “Man, this love stuff is ok but I still wonder what’s the point? We know it’s gonna end and there will be many more days of slamming strumpets. We’re gonna break them.” “I know we’ll all be broken but you know, I believe in love again. If you're lucky it comes to you a few times in your life and lifts you up. You meet a rare woman who gives you the chance to truly be a man by honouring her. You learn something you can’t learn anywhere else and then it passes, maybe with betrayal or disappointment, leaving a great hole and pain but that’s ok. It is worth the price.” “Say that again.” I told him again. “You’re a wise man Jamie.” I feel her absence acutely. My heart isn’t here and I feel disassociated from my home. I imagine her by my side at every step, walking through my father’s fields, on the streets, dancing to Brunswick Street bands… My uncertainty about her is gone and replaced with the unwavering need to have her here. I can’t think much further than that. It is keeping me focused. I think about all the great love affairs and tragedies of history. How many countless lovers have been torn apart by war, disaster, religion, pride and politics? Wives stolen into slavery, raped and murdered, dead in childbirth. Men sent to 297

war, broken in work camps, escaped to find a better life and never to return… Of unrequited loves, festering into crippling obsession or breathtaking art. So much misery, boiling down to the futile, undeniable wish to see their beloved just once more. And here am I with barriers and challenges certainly, but nothing insurmountable, given the chance to experience more times in my life than I deserve, the aching bliss, the rekindling of youth, the intensity of physical passion, the fear and hope of earthly love.

I haven’t ejaculated in three weeks. The last time I came was inside Olya, with only an hour left together, holding tightly in an Istanbul hotel room. Crying freely, so close to each other with the imminence of our separation pressing on us urgently. I haven’t approached any women since I got home, I know I will at some point but for now I’m content living with her afterglow. I wondered what I would do with all my old lovers. Would I hop back into bed with them as if nothing had happened, or sit each down to explain my change of heart and graciously offer my friendship? As it turned out I didn’t really need to make the choice. The harem, that I had painstakingly built for myself through will, madness and precise strategy, had evaporated in my absence. Natalia and I met, both gushing about our new lovers. She was with a young sporty astrophysicist - perfect for her. We insulted each other pleasantly in our old fashion and enjoyed a relaxed moment now the seduction was over. Lin Lin, I haven’t called. I will, I owe her money and closure but I won’t fuck her again. There were many others I could call and probably get back on my roster but I am cautious to do so, to invite that drama and exhausting juggling back into my life. I found out Juliette had come back to Melbourne, which surprised me. She said she felt more at home in Australia now. After the China fiasco, she had told me she didn’t want 298

any contact but I let her know I was back and that I was happy to meet if she wanted. She’s too sweet to stay angry, so we met at the park. She was as radiant as ever, looking just as when we’d met last summer. She hugged me and I felt a momentary surge of old emotion and wanted to kiss her. She talked too much as usual and I didn’t say enough as usual but we got on fine and she was happy once again, no longer bound to me. I told her about Olya and she looked teary for a moment but said she was happy I’d found love. I saw Betty as well. Jon and I went to her birthday drinks at the Spiegletent. She looks great, retro-bombshell in her prime. She’s started a successful burlesque troupe and has arty boys swooning all around her. Flowz was there too, pretty much the same, only pumped full of muscles from working out with Shae. As committed to polyamory as ever, telling me about the latest foursome. He was truly built for this shit. The drugs, the madness, the endless stream of women doesn’t seem to rattle him at all. It aligns with his fundamental philosophies. Betty pulled me away - “Can you stop plotting and come dance with me”. We spazzed out to the gypsy Balkan band with big grins and were at peace. She said I’d changed and would like to hang out to see what this new calm nonseductive James was all about. “This is more me than the guy you knew Betty. You just met me at a strange time.” As I said goodbye I absent-mindedly ran my hand down her arm over her fingertips, a technique I’d crafted on her body and now teach in workshops. She laughed loudly, “I can’t believe you just did that, you didn’t even mean to. You haven’t changed a bit!” It’s funny that the rake can be redeemed by renouncing his old ways and falling in love. All is forgiven if you step back in line with the consensus relationship mould. I don’t feel comfortable with that. I find it trite and insulting to the validity of walking the player’s path and to the women he has been with. That all of them were somehow not enough and only the true destined one at the end was worth giving up youthful irresponsibility for. Happily ever after with your one true love? What nonsense. They were all goddesses, sirens, sluts and princesses. They were all human, flawed, and perfect.

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Baron Samadhi’s Last Charge We all piled into the old touring van for Baron Samadhi’s last ride. Blazing up the coast with my troubadours. The first night in Canberra I pulled a trashy pick up with a 30something, ugly Pakistani corporate chick. She was slurred-speech drunk. I fucked her badly and then snuck out while she snored with the condom wrapper next to her head. Number 99. On New Year’s Eve, we played in Bellingen, all dropping ecstasy as tradition decrees. At the countdown I beckoned the hottest girl in the room, a slim tanned blonde, with a perfect surfer girl face, to come kiss me on stage. After the show I got her away from her cousins (palming one off to the sax player) and made out with her. She asked if I had any drugs. Scotty overheard and slipped his last pill into my pocket. I handed it to her, she smiled sweetly and said, “Now you have to look after me tonight.” She was eighteen, ex-hippy turned glamour and caught up in the Rock ‘n’ Roll lie for the night. She wanted to party, dance, be seen with her trophy. At one point while a bunch of us were sitting on the pub veranda she stood up, turned around and said, “What do you think? People say I have a great bum.” She pulled up her pink dress, arched her back and looked back at me smiling, revealing her swimsuit model-perfect bum and tiny pink g-string. A blood vessel in my brain burst and I wanted to scream. That was the body, the girl in the TV shows about spring break and parties I’m not invited to. The teen siren in the casting couch porn. That was what I missed in high school. That sculpted curve of muscle, fat, vagina and anus was the reason for living and dying. Yet somehow I managed to maintain my poker face, raise an eyebrow like I spend all day eating ass like that and said casually, “They’re not wrong.” It took me till dawn to finally get her to our room. With eight other people passed out we tussled on the bunk bed. She said, “Is there a shower here?” I led her to the bathroom, turned on the shower and stripped her. She was perfect, flawless, the flower of youth, breasts so firm, figure defying gravity. I bent her over and she held the towel rail while I fucked her hard watching our bodies in the mirror. Her eyes were glowing from the MDMA, she was so happy, both of us living out our fantasies, smothered in the lies of drugs – Her catching the lead singer, me fucking the ‘teen-girl’s gone wild bikini model.’

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Back in bed I shivered and sweated as we came down and we fucked again in full view of anyone who might drift out of their coma. She was the 100th girl I’d had sex with in my life. I thought to myself: What else do you want? Have you proved what you set out to do yet? Surely any regrets or feelings of having missed out in my early youth are vindicated now. You have lived like a rock star, a startling achievement for a man who is broke and not famous. One hundred pussies, one hundred women, dozens of whom were immaculately beautiful, brilliant, talented and powerful. Grow up you funny fool and I finally passed out. Jon met us up the coast for a couple of days. He was looking radiant, with his hippy fiancé Rita. For the first time in my life I was envious of him, having the love of his life by his side, moving finally towards a happy future. Our friendship is stronger than ever. We picked mushrooms in a field. The farmer burst out of his shed with a rifle over his shoulder screaming, “Get outta me field, ya tripping hippy cunts!”

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Sit The band dropped me off in Sydney and I spent one more decadent night with Costa, Mia and a stripper friend of hers at a mansion that Costa was housesitting. We swam naked in the pool and squashed into the spa, smoking cigarettes and drinking wine. Next day I took the train up to the Blue Mountains and checked into my first ten-day Vipassana meditation retreat in five years. The first few days I twitched and fidgeted, unable to hold focus as the pornographic kaleidoscope of deliciously depraved moments from my last couple of years flashed incessantly by. Tight Pussies, jets of semen showering over doll faces, glorious screaming sirens, roughly sodomised arseholes… It all came to torment and titillate me. Slowly my mind settled. I had no blissful etheric episodes like on other retreats, just heavy pain and dense sensation. I was a little lazy at first but became resolved by the fifth day and set to work on excavating the calcified layers off my heart. At night just before sleep, I’d let myself leave my body and fly through the night at dizzying speed to snowy Ukraine. I’d touch Olya on the shoulder at work, partying, even in the arms of another man and take her out of her body and away. We would float above the earth’s atmosphere, bound in celestial embrace, becoming a constellation. Lovers on earth would look up at us on clear nights and tell our legend. On the eighth day I had a vision of a scene from ten years ago. I was visiting my mother after a year of estrangement. I came to dinner with her and Shultz and at some point she got worked up in her old manner, starting one of her psychotic tantrums. I stood up without a word and left. The scene stayed in the room with her and Shultz sitting silently at the table. I burst into tears in the meditation hall, got up and went out into the bush and cried my eyes out. During that impression I had an immediate realisation about the reasons behind my flawed relationships with women, my fear of commitment and rigid abhorrence of the idea of children or monogamy. It all came in a flash. Images of my mother and father, as young parents, their mistakes, their twisted bitterness, their attachment to their misery and the manner that they passed it on to us. I saw the myth that my mother created about my dad. A figure beyond human proportions; a powerful, cunning womaniser and pathological liar. She crafted my image of manhood and then 302

constantly compared me to it. So I became that myth, far stronger, more dangerous and calculating than my father could have ever been. Really he was just a young man who got married and had children too young and cheated on his wife a couple of times. A careless father whose absence and dumping of responsibility turned my mother’s sorrow at a betrayal to a white-hot hysteria over the years. She turned it inward until she couldn’t hold it and spewed it into my life, crippling me. I realised that the reason I don’t want children is that I don’t want to risk betraying my lover and leading her to hurt our kids in her grief. But I went deeper than that. It’s easy to trace your injuries to their source but much harder to take responsibility for them. I came to a point of deep compassion for them both. I forgave them for their fuck ups, their petty hatred that poisoned decades of their lives, for damaging their children as all parents must do. I saw myself as that lost young boy, cradled him in my arms, allowed him to grieve and rest. I felt expansive love for my mother and father, seeing them fragile and in pain. Then back, going back, generation after generation of ancestors, like they were my children.

So do it On previous retreats I’ve come out floating like an angel, light and at peace. This time I came out feeling like a warrior. In some ways I didn’t go too deep. I certainly didn’t come close to any sort of ego death but I did focus my will, rip out the laziness and timid doubts that had plagued me for years. I felt ferocious and couldn’t wait to grab life by the neck. I went to visit my mother and told her all this. She broke down announcing she was a failure. I refused to let her off that easily. I told her how she and dad had built my model of manhood, how that had fucked me up but that I had come out brighter than ever. Most importantly I told her that she was forgiven. “I forbid you to carry this guilt around anymore. I have learnt from all these experiences and I’m growing into a good man. Shultz and I love you and it is your responsibility now 303

to spend the rest of your life working on your happiness.” I held her, she tried to wriggle away but I held tighter until she stopped moving. I breathed out love from my heart through her.

I returned home finally to Clarke Street, the boys in disarray, business a shambles and with divine fury I whipped us into shape. Of course it’s not that simple. I’m hanging at a point of great uncertainty. Some days I jump up early and into action, others I sleep till noon and wander around aimlessly until I get angry at myself and rush around stressed trying to catch up. I’m completely broke. My old massage client base of gay men seems to have dissolved; only one or two a week arrive. Maybe the word had finally gotten around that I was a fraud. I have sizeable debt to repay and I know the Natural will take months or a year to start supporting me. Jon gave me $100 and said, “That’s not a loan. You bailed me out more times than I can remember.” I try to relax, knowing that if I move steadily and focus my Qi it will be fine. I smile at myself, realising that in some ways I did waste opportunities and years. “You’re young but you’re not that young”, I once said to a twenty eight year old client, to warn him that although his career was secure, he was running out of time to build skills with women. A fair warning to me in reverse. But really I just made my choices. I chose to invest those years in a rock and roll gamble, to build a specialised skill in seduction, to travel and experience the extremes of life. If I could go back I would have been smarter (of course we all would). What would I change? I would have become a DJ and a promoter instead of (or as well as) a musician, I would have always studied part time, adding skills and qualifications, I would have found ways to get paid to travel, I wouldn’t have been such a pop culture snob, I would have smoked much less weed. I remember being in a Gong Fu class with Xing Mu when I was twenty-one. He was giving a discourse and saying that he has no time for people who look back with regret and say, if only I was 21 again, I’d do everything differently. “No you wouldn’t - he said 304

you’d stuff around all over again. Move only from this point and only forwards.” I sat there, back straight, breathing locked into Dan Tien, my mind fiercely concentrated and thought to myself. “I will never look back with regret. I won’t waste a minute.” But I did, I slipped, I rolled in my descent, kept bobbing back up to have moments or months or projects of brilliance and inspiration but then dropping it all again letting lazy depressed goblins steal precious moments. Yet here I am. Still alive, still in my twenties (only just), still peaking! I have a timecrafted pattern of behaviour to break or replace. I want to succeed, I want to forever remain a loose cannon, maverick, wandering minstrel, sex monk, but I don’t want to destroy myself while doing it. There’s no glamour or heroism in that, to tear it all apart over and over just before the moment when I need to commit. I’ve made so many vows over the years to myself, similar to the ones I want to make now. I’ve come close to them, danced around them, compromised, lurched forward and back but never committed totally to mastery. I must. Olya and I were talking one night before we said goodbye in Istanbul and I said, “I feel like I need to prove myself to you. That I’m not yet man enough, that I need to be super human.” I was expecting her to reassure me and say, “Baby, you’re so special, I love you for who you are.” Instead she looked me in the eye and said, “So do it.”

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And we all lived happily ever after right?

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Spiral This isn’t a fairy tale. Life continued, smashing and rinsing us across its rocky shores… Wolf moved to London to be with Irene. He ripped me off for thousands of dollars and after raging fights we cut contact. The Natural was dead. We both started our own companies, he carried on a year or so but it fizzled out. I started The Natural Lifestyles and started building it into the global company it is today. Wolf left Irene, bought an old motorcycle and rode it all the way from London to the very bottom tip of Africa. We did meet again once in Buenos Aires but that’s a story for another time. Last I heard he was living in rural America, married with a kid, writing a book about his road trip and working on the land. Jon and Rita planned to get married but their relationship unravelled. He had a mental breakdown, ending up in hospital. He gave up school teaching and became a busker, singing his heart out on the streets, still writing achingly beautiful love songs for sandyhaired girls. Shultz and Saskia got married and spent years travelling the world, doing anthropological research in Mongolia and India, studying Buddhism, living on next to nothing but joyfully loving life together. Still to this day they are the only truly successful long-term couple I have ever seen. Flowz swung between drug addiction and extreme discipline, juggling scams and schemes, always managing to get in and out of trouble. He finally went clean and got deeply into Qi Gong. He had two kids and moved to Tasmania to be near them after he inevitably split with the mother (when she found out he was banging the babysitter). Olya and I fought the world to be together. I created the now infamous Euro Tour, the world’s first and only ten day travelling seduction workshop out of the desperation to get back to see her. I proposed to her on acid by the Odessa opera house steps where we had first met. Eventually she moved to Australia and we got married, so she could stay in the country. We lived in a big warehouse with the Naturals as I gradually built my empire. We had a couple of intense, passionate years together. She gave up modelling 307

and decided to become a DJ. Within months she was playing to audiences ten times larger than I had ever played to. Within a year she was headlining festivals and touring. Cracks formed and we fought. I was jealous and grumpy, she was distant. She became more obsessed with fame and making it than I ever had. We fell apart, took each other for granted, and broke each other’s hearts. We broke up and got back together over and over until I realised I had to leave the country if we were to ever really let each other go. So we swapped continents. I moved to Eastern Europe to heal the brutal yet depressingly ordinary end to a magnificent love affair. I hit the road once more, throwing myself into work and the hunt. TNL emerged as a global force in men’s personal change. Despite carrying a shattered heart, having faced such an elite adversary, my seduction powers were stronger than ever. I laid waste through the world, meeting a new cadre of wild men and bizarre creatures (Liam McRae, Sasha Daygame, John Keegan, Vince Kelvin, the cast of larger than life characters kept expanding) living out easily another book’s worth of erotic adventures. I met a seventeen-year-old girl in Serbia on The Euro Tour. With my expert eye, I could see under her frizzy hair, dorky glasses and frumpy clothes, she was an exquisite beauty. She was quiet and intelligent, quirky and dreamy. She was looking for a gentleman scholar with a knack for bedroom violence. She liked girls more than boys. I was her first lover. She waited while I burnt out my heartbreak from New York to the Amazon and eventually won me over. We now travel the world, seducing stunning girls together. I got back into Gong Fu, my body well past its peak but the practise more precious to me than ever. I still can’t keep any form of routine, still ride mayhem daily but I’ve mastered the art of balance in chaos. At least for now.. Life and love don’t move in a line of any shape. It runs in phases, looping into cycles. Some only do one orbit in their life, others like me spin at insanity inducing speeds. If you don’t learn the lessons, or evolve you repeat the same loop. Same girl, different face. Same dramas, same patterns. But if you tilt, even just a little upwards, it becomes a spiral. You expand, your heart grows bigger even though it has more scars.

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