After getting almost no matches on conventional dating apps (except fatties who eventually blanked me), I decided I had one final chance at ascension. I'd come across an article about fetishist sites. I thought -- you know what-- this might just be where my luck is.
I picked a few and a bunch basically don't let you do anything without handing over a hefty sum. Fuck that! But eventually I found Feeld, which seemed promising even for a man of my genetic misfortune.
My hypothesis was this: the women on these apps evidently have high sex drives. That means, in the absence of a nearby higher value male, or in the interest of convenience, they just might make a hasty lustful decision against their better instincts. And since they shun monogamy, they should hardly fear the impact of occasional bad judgement. This seemed sound reasoning at the time.
I got nothing for the first few weeks. Jack. Nada. Diddily squat. But I kept at it. I even paid for a 3-month premium subscription at a "special introductory price" in a moment of despeation. Then, to my disbelief, one match! I messaged her and heard nothing back for 3 days. Oh well.
Suddenly, while I'm sitting around playing video games, a message comes in. I'd asked: "Are you a text-a-lot or straight-to-drinks kinda gal?"
She replied "Straight to drinks." Then asked, "What are you looking for?" I say "Sex and good company." She says same. Then she asks if we can meet for drinks. I reply with a casual Chad-faking "yep." I can hardly believe my luck.
We meet at a bar I picked, which is conveniently 3 mins from my city centre luxury flat in case things went well. I wore my Bentley for Men Intense, a masculine cologne well-known to inspire nymphomaniac tingles.
Conversation starts off light. What do you do? Why did you move to this city? How long have you been here? What do you for fun?
She's cute and funny. She's an Oxford-educated doctor who's leaving in 2 weeks once her course in tropical medicine is finished. Now, I have a job of good status, and clearly more money after maxxing that resepctably though to no current avail. So I thought we might bond over that and she might me consider be a betabuxx for the night, worthy of her goods even if her reptilian mind objects.
Hardly 15 minutes after we've arrived, she looks me in the eye dead serious and says. "Just so you know, nothing's happening tonight." And then the goddamn bitch starts waving her hand towards my person and says, "I'm not feeling this."
So now I'm left to finish my 3rd drink alone after she's downed her 2. And of course the £50 tab falls on me.
The rest is history. I get back home, jerk off to her, and recommit myself to the blackpill.
END.
I picked a few and a bunch basically don't let you do anything without handing over a hefty sum. Fuck that! But eventually I found Feeld, which seemed promising even for a man of my genetic misfortune.
My hypothesis was this: the women on these apps evidently have high sex drives. That means, in the absence of a nearby higher value male, or in the interest of convenience, they just might make a hasty lustful decision against their better instincts. And since they shun monogamy, they should hardly fear the impact of occasional bad judgement. This seemed sound reasoning at the time.
I got nothing for the first few weeks. Jack. Nada. Diddily squat. But I kept at it. I even paid for a 3-month premium subscription at a "special introductory price" in a moment of despeation. Then, to my disbelief, one match! I messaged her and heard nothing back for 3 days. Oh well.
Suddenly, while I'm sitting around playing video games, a message comes in. I'd asked: "Are you a text-a-lot or straight-to-drinks kinda gal?"
She replied "Straight to drinks." Then asked, "What are you looking for?" I say "Sex and good company." She says same. Then she asks if we can meet for drinks. I reply with a casual Chad-faking "yep." I can hardly believe my luck.
We meet at a bar I picked, which is conveniently 3 mins from my city centre luxury flat in case things went well. I wore my Bentley for Men Intense, a masculine cologne well-known to inspire nymphomaniac tingles.
Conversation starts off light. What do you do? Why did you move to this city? How long have you been here? What do you for fun?
She's cute and funny. She's an Oxford-educated doctor who's leaving in 2 weeks once her course in tropical medicine is finished. Now, I have a job of good status, and clearly more money after maxxing that resepctably though to no current avail. So I thought we might bond over that and she might me consider be a betabuxx for the night, worthy of her goods even if her reptilian mind objects.
Hardly 15 minutes after we've arrived, she looks me in the eye dead serious and says. "Just so you know, nothing's happening tonight." And then the goddamn bitch starts waving her hand towards my person and says, "I'm not feeling this."
So now I'm left to finish my 3rd drink alone after she's downed her 2. And of course the £50 tab falls on me.
The rest is history. I get back home, jerk off to her, and recommit myself to the blackpill.
END.
Last edited:
