This is long overdue.
Now that we live in the time of Covid-19*, and all important career-related engagements are on hold, I am finally able write up blog posts.
I value truthfulness in all my lay reports, and so despite the time delay between the lay(s) and publishing the lay reports, I keep to the details accurately by either posting old unedited lay reports from online groups I am part of (sometimes with commentary such as in this post), expanding upon or finishing half-written posts based on bullet points I made quite soon after the experience which contains its dirty details, such as this lay report you are reading now about the hottest girl I have fucked so far, and my best ever experience of nightgame so far.
It was the summer of 2019 in my hometown in Asia, four nights after I had met and slept with Melissa.
I was out with my best friend from high school, Capt. JC, who possesses the deadly combination of good-looks, cheeky charm and being a motherfucking pilot. You can better acquaint yourself with him here.
We found ourselves in the main nightlife area, where its long row of bars open out onto a deck overlooking the sea. It was somewhat Barcelona-esque, but with an exotic Asian flair and minus the beach (post on my trip to Barcelona in spring 2019 coming soon).
It was my final nightgame session before I flew back to the UK three days later, and Capt. JC to the city he works in.
As we met up, Capt. JC cheekily said, “So, no game again tonight yeah?”
I had (weakly) promised this to myself the night I met Melissa.
I laughed, and said, “No, definitely not.”
But we knew better.
For the first time in the whole two months I was back home, I felt completely, utterly unburdened in my approaches. I had already gotten laid, so any pressure – conscious or otherwise – had now dissipated.
I was purely, uninhibitedly enjoying myself when speaking to girls.
It felt awesome.
That said, as good as it is to feel amazing when speaking to girls, know that you can & should still do good game without it, so long as you don’t emanate negativity or neediness. Basically, just chill when you feel that turbulence inside yourself – focus on the essentials, and learn to have fucking fun with it all.
It was a Wednesday night, and so things weren’t too busy. We struggled to speak to more girls although having only done five sets. There was a two-set of Caucasian girls on the deck, but Capt. JC rarely likes non-Asian girls whereas I prefer local flavours wherever I am – except in the UK when I can help it.
As we walked around the nightlife area, we bumped into an old high school friend outside one of the two clubs. He was with a massive group of 15 girls and some guys (I don’t recall how many; they were unimportant). Having not seen each other in nine years, we were exuberant. It was a memorable scene. As it would turn out, so was the rest of the night.
Our friend invited us to the club with him and his friends. We said we would join him later.
We walked along the deck overlooking the sea once more. In one of the bars, two girls were dancing hypnotically and enthusiastically to the music. I have already mentioned just how attractive girls from my hometown can be; you can get a better idea of this here.
We had seen them previously with a guy, although he had now disappeared. I will admit we didn’t bother approaching them earlier due to the presence of the guy. Yeah, call us pussies.
Anyhow, we went over to speak to them.
Sasha was dressed in a black floral cardigan over a tight white tank top, with super short denim shorts. Her long flowing copper-highlighted hair looked almost professionally done, and she had a flawlessly sexy no make-up look. She was a real petite thing being half a head shorter than me, with slim legs & arms, and a tight ass. I’ll describe her tits later.
Unlike Melissa, Sasha was not of Chinese descent but of a local ethnic group whose girls look very exotic, almost Latina at times.
She had a really understatedly sensual girl-next-door vibe going on with her outfit, but she was clearly practiced in holding herself with elegance and class despite seeming slightly shy.
In high school, she would have been my absolute perfect type – the sort of girl I would fantasise about back then (like a chode).
From the open, Sasha was pleasant, but I couldn’t be sure if she liked me.
She was 25.
Sasha & her friends grew up together in a town in the eastern region of my state before moving to my hometown i.e. the state capital. Sasha herself then moved to the nation’s capital, from which she now worked.
Initially, she was reluctant to tell me what she did for a living.
Halfway through our conversation, the guy came back. He clearly wasn’t happy with Capt. JC and I speaking to the girls, but to his credit he played it cool.
After calling her a spy and a ninja (shoutout to my German friend Ben of Straßen Philosophie – he loves ninja girls), she told me quite shyly she was a flight attendant with the largest Asian low-cost carrier (which had recently drawn fire from their more conservative customers who complained that their uniforms were too revealing).
Without pausing to think, I said to her, “I have a friend who’s a flight attendant with Emirates. She tells me that everyone thinks her life is incredible, that she visits all these exotic places. But the reality is that it’s actually a hard job; most of the time there’s no time to even enjoy the places. You have to sleep, then get back on the plane for your next flight. It’s really just another day, another city.”
This was an actual statement that another flight attendant I met in the exact same bar years ago had said to me. I never slept with her.
I remember Sasha looking at me thoughtfully before she responded with a sigh, “Yeah that’s true, most people don’t get it.”
At this point, her girlfriend, whom Capt. JC was getting on with quite well, interrupted us. “She is so beautiful, I am so proud of her, she won the *some regional beauty pageant in their city* twice! She’s a real-life beauty queen guys!”
Her guy friend also chimed in with much the same. It looked like those two expected us to drop to our knees in adoration or something.
I turned to Sasha and said, “Flight attendant AND beauty pageants? You can’t be both you know, you gotta choose one!”
She laughed her ass off. It wasn’t even that funny.
As the laughter subsided, she became different. There was a visible change in the way she stood next to me, the way she smiled, the way she looked, her body language. She looked more relaxed, yet more engaged.
Later on as I debriefed with Capt. JC, I came to realise that this was the point where she must’ve thought, “Wow. Now this is a guy who doesn’t give a shit that I’m hot, or starts worshipping me as soon as he finds out what I do.” Which is likely what she is used to, given the calibre of girl she is. This is also likely the reason she was reluctant to tell me what she did for a living; she probably has guys fawning over her like chumps as soon as she tells them.
I also realised that my earlier spiel about the life of a flight attendant likely made her see that I’m someone who understands her world since it seemed that I know other flight attendants, which again added to the notion of me being unaffected by her beauty or high social status.
I suppose one could call this implied pre-selection.
It’s somewhat amusing to me since that was really the only thing I knew about the reality of life as a flight attendant. (Update: I just remembered what Capt. JC said to me after that night. Every flight attendant has two goals: one is to fuck a pilot and two is to fuck a first class passenger. So that’s two things I now know. It’s gonna be fun trying to work this one into sets.)
We talked a little more, but the bar closed soon after. We took all three of them to the club where our high school friend and his 15 female friends were.
I should mention that the girl Capt. JC was speaking to was really slim and sexy too.
The club is small, and is simply an open space with a stage at the front and tables on a raised platform at the back. That night, it was only half full. Everyone could see us walk in.
And everyone did.
I remember feeling the lingering gaze of our friend’s friends on me as I walked in with Sasha very close to me.
I glanced over at Sasha, and her body language told me she clocked it too. She was easily the hottest girl in the club that night.
Capt. JC and I socialised a bit with our friend and his friends; it would have been rude otherwise.
By now, Sasha had taken off her floral cardigan to reveal her slender body, and was gyrating very seductively with her friends near where I was standing.
She glanced over at me a few times, but very quickly, thinking I wouldn’t notice. Cheeky girl.
At one point, as I was talking to the girls in my friend’s group, I looked up and saw two girls waving at me on the raised platform at the back of the club.
It was a girl and her sister whom Capt. JC & I met a few nights ago.
You can bet Sasha clocked that too.
After a few minutes, as I was still in conversation, I felt a light squeeze on my bicep. I turned around, thinking it was Sasha. It wasn’t – the girl waving at me had come to say hello.
Our conversation was brief, after which I pivoted, took Sasha by the hand and started dancing with her. Her dancing skills were Latina-like, which I enjoy. We danced close, bodies pressed against each other.
This time, I felt the eyes of everyone in the club on us – the female friends of our buddy, other girls, the girl who waved at me, even the guys. The bartenders were smirking in our direction. I was sure Sasha felt all this too. This only made our dancing feel even more intense.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Capt. JC engaged in conversation with Sasha’s two friends – ever the good wingman.
Sasha swayed rhythmically and seductively as she pressed into me, looking deep into my eyes, smoulderingly and with mischief. Gone was the shyness from earlier. As I spun her around, she pressed her well-shaped tiny ass into my crotch and grinded on me.
The sensual, close dancing and the crackling tension that came with it was reminiscent of the Latina I saw for a year and a half up until April (post coming soon).
As we danced, we found ourselves next to a table of two guys and two girls. The guys were staring hard. One was looking at me with an aggressive stare. At a quick break in our
grinding dancing, he reached across and gave Sasha a glass of whatever he was drinking, like a true opportunist. She drank it.
In hindsight, this could have proved quite dangerous for Sasha but in the moment I simply thought, “Go ahead, you’re helping me out cause now she can blame whatever happens with me on the alcohol.” Plausible deniability. Thankfully, Sasha was fine the whole night after that drink.
This guy motioned for her to join him at their table, but she shook her head vigorously looking quite sheepish, then pressed herself into me and we started grinding again.
The guy and I looked at each other, and I pressed my finger to my lips in the universal sign of “Be Quiet”. His guy friend laughed at him. He looked away.
I have limited experience dealing with such incidents, but I was pleased that this interloper was dealt with successfully. However, I should have avoided this situation by leading her to a place where there would not be any potential AMOGs (“alpha-male-of-group); after all, it was a sparsely populated club.
After this incident, I led her to the opposite side of the club where there was more isolation and privacy. No one was around us.
We continued to dance closely.
Sasha had her back to the rest of the club as she pressed into me, but I had a view of the whole club. I saw waving-girl staring at us, motionless while her friends were dancing around her.
I wanted to test the waters, so I leaned in and said into Sasha’s ear, “I won’t sleep with you tonight”. She pulled away to look at me and giggled, then snaked her arms around my neck again and drew me close once more.
I didn’t want to waste time. Moments later, I took her out of the club and onto the deck which was now deserted. We began making out – at first slowly, and then passionately. I encircled her throat, I pulled her hair. Her fingers grasped my shoulders, she slid her hand down my back.
I pulled down her tank top to reveal perfectly shaped tits; they were smooth, orb-like and firm in my hands. As I sucked on them, she gasped and moaned.
We heard people coming, and so she re-did her top, and we walked.
I couldn’t take her home as she had left all her stuff with her friends, so I had to find somewhere to take her. We walked to a hotel nearby, but as we got to the door, she stiffened visibly and said we should return to her friends.
As we were walking back to the nightlife area, she was still holding onto my hands and caressing them. I knew that the chances of us fucking were high as she was still allowing me to lead her around while being physically really close to me.
However, I was racking my brains to find a place we could fuck. Luckily, as I mentioned above, it was a Wednesday night.
There is a club which has a secluded stairwell with darkly tinted glass walls which party-goers must ascend to get to the club. When the club is open and their lights lit, this would actually be a pretty fancy part of the experience of going to that club, but tonight they were closed.
I led her to the top of the stairwell where it opened into a corridor. It was dark and deserted. All we had was moonlight. We could see barely anything, let alone each other (or any CCTV cameras).
Sasha pressed her body hard against me as she had been doing throughout tonight. We made out some more as I slid the straps off her tank top and bra to reveal her tits again.
I placed her hand on my hard dick and she inhaled sharply. Into my ear she whispered heavily, “Someone’s awake.”
She undid my pants. I pushed her gently but firmly down to her knees. She grabbed my dick and squeezed hard.
“Pull my hair again,” she begged.
I will never forget that moment – an actual flight attendant, the embodiment of my perfect girl when I was in high school telling me to do dirty things to her.
I took her hair, held it in a ponytail and pulled it back so she looked up at me. I could see her face in the moonlight, mouth open in anticipation. It was extremely hot.
I slapped her, and she moaned.
I then pushed her head down onto my dick, and she began slurping very audibly, going deep repeatedly as I felt the back of her throat.
At one point I released her hair to hold her head with my hand, but she said, “No, pull my hair and shove me onto your dick.” I obliged.
After awhile, I pulled her up, pulled down her shorts, bent her against the wall, rolled on the condom, and fucked her. She said such filthy things as we fucked: grunting while saying that she was my slut, how she loved my dick, how she wanted it harder. The shy, poised girl I had met earlier on had turned into a depraved animal.
The whole time, I had a hand around her neck and pulled her hair so hard that she was looking up to the ceiling. Coupled with how she arched her back expertly to receive my thrusts, and how we had to be as silent as possible, this was so fucking erotic and sexy.
I moved her to her knees to finish as she ripped off the condom and grabbed my dick without missing a beat. She seemed possessed as she jerked me hard and vigorously, saying, “Cum on my titties”. As I looked down, I could see her lust-filled face in the scarce light as she worked me with her hands – this drove me over the edge as I came hard onto her tits, trying to stay as quiet as possible.
As things settled, she said in her normal, non-sex crazed voice, “I should get back my friends. Do you have a tissue for me?”
Since I didn’t have a tissue, she wiped my cum off her tits with her tank top and got dressed again, which I found as depraved and disgusting as it was hot, knowing that she would be seeing her friends with my cum still on her.
I picked up the condom to throw it on the way back, ever the civic-minded citizen. As I checked my phone, I had 5 missed calls and a text from Capt. JC saying her friends wanted her back. That was an hour ago.
As Sasha and I got back to the deck, we found her two friends with Capt. JC sitting down having a conversation. As we approached them, I said simply, “Hey guys, we went for a walk.”
The guy friend didn’t look happy at all, and said sarcastically, “Enjoyed your walk then?” He then whispered something to Sasha, and she made a strange facial expression.
It was now about 4am, and everything had closed in the nightlife area. I exchanged numbers with Sasha, and we all said goodbye.
Sasha said she wanted to meet me again before I flew off, but she never responded to my text. Capt. JC thinks that the guy friend had something to do with it, especially as she features on his Instagram and he has rather beta adoring captions of her.
To date, Sasha is the hottest girl I’ve been with.
Girls in the club openly checked me out simply because she had walked in with me. She even caused waving-girl to approach me, something that doesn’t happen often (although it does to Capt. JC), and then later stop in her tracks as she saw us dancing. Sasha clearly noticed all of this, and it made her feel even more attracted. All of this came together in an upward spiral of pre-selection likely fuelled by jealousy, which honestly made for a thrilling experience.
For an initially shy, impeccably well-presented girl who carried herself with genuine class – the type of girl I totally loved in my high school years – to turn into a filthy whore who took it rough at the top of a stairwell outside a nightclub after literally turning heads and making guys fight for her, this has to be my most staggering nightgame story.
As I recounted the story to Capt. JC, I remember being in disbelief but feeling euphoric.
Girls should never be pedestalised or taken as a measure of your worth.
That said, in sleeping with a girl whom my former self always wanted but never could have, and in the circumstances in which I did, I can only take pride in how far I’ve come.
I just hope there isn’t an amateur porn clip out there somewhere of me having sex on CCTV.
* This was written in the spring of 2020, at a time when the coronavirus pandemic was reaching its peak in Europe.