This lay happened in early December 2019 as I was settling into Monk Mode, following which I stopped all daygame after Christmas (and only continued with limited nightgame) due to impending final exams.
Unlike the last three lay reports, this one is not one of my Historical Exploits. I will continue those after this post.
I value truthfulness in my lay reports, so for this one I have expanded upon bullet points which I made soon after the whole experience.
It was the end of an era for daygame in my city as I knew it – my wings Swiss Roller & Daddy Figure had moved away in the autumn, Grandpa Bubbles had decided to focus on nightgame and other life aspects, and the only other Asian daygamer I knew (in person at least) i.e. Takeaway was planning his fast-approaching and brave move to a new country.
Little did I know that this would also be my last lay of Daygame BC i.e. Daygame Before Corona, a term coined by my friend Ben of Straßen Philosophie.
A note on coining terms in game:
There are many things about game which make it fun – the interactions, the dates, the fucking, the relationships of varying types, the camaraderie between wings, the stupid yet memorable moments of unscripted comedy, and of course the coining of funny new terms. Everything is meant to be enjoyed & laughed at, so if you find yourself bubbling with indignation at the comically-intended introduction of new terms such as Daygame BC, then maybe you need to find yourself a sense of humour.
Or get that butt-plug out of your ass, whichever works.
The Daygame Set
Returning to the lay report at hand, I was out in the daygame area with Takeaway one evening. The Christmas markets were in full-swing, which meant cramped spaces – not ideal for performing the front-stop. Luckily, my preferred method of stopping girls is from the side, since getting in front of her is not what actually makes the stop powerful and/or effective (something I discovered only after wasting enormous amounts of effort in the past – a story for another time).
After more than three years in this small British city, the end of my time here was in sight. Add to this the repetitiveness of a limited daygame area combined with the unforgiving winter cold, I was left feeling jaded.
For all my enjoyment of daygame as a craft, I was sinking into a pit of resentment and weariness. This negativity I felt was from trudging the same route over and over again only to walk past girls whom I’ve either already spoken to, been on dates with, or slept with. At least one of these would occur each day. Furthermore, this is without taking into account randomly bumping into people I work/study with – a frequent occurrence – which led to an accumulation of the easily ignored but nonetheless involuntary nagging feeling of looking over my shoulder when I daygame.
Having said all that, this evening I was feeling fine, although I was certainly an echo of my usual self.
As Takeaway and I strolled along (he strolled, while I trudged), a girl with black shoulder length hair and no coat strutted past us unsteadily in her black wedge heels. It was an unusually warm day for December.
I wasn’t sure, but I felt that familiar and momentary burst of realisation whenever a girl flashes an IOI at me.
I turned around, increased the pace of my trudging, and opened her.
As she turned to face me (side-stop, remember?), I was met with big, round brown eyes looking up at me. Wearing only a dark green jumper, skinny jeans and her wedges, Fay looked intrigued as I opened her.
When I complimented her and told her she must be unsteady in her wedges due to having just raided the shopping mall – a reference to the shopping bags she was carrying – she giggled and started smiling.
I teased her for being posh, which made her giggle some more as she gently swung her shopping bags around absent-mindedly.
Our conversation opened up.
Fay was to study medicine at university in the coming year, and when I asked her why she chose that (re: qualification), her answer was original and sounded genuine – although frankly I cannot remember what it was nor did I care through my weary haze.
She told me she lives in a town outside my city but that her college was in the city centre. A very “normal” middle-class English girl. We’ll dissect this later.
I took her number soon after.
The question of age did not come up. Not yet, anyhow.
Fay replied enthusiastically to my first text, after which we texted back-and -forth freely.
She injected her own wit & initiative, but pleasantly followed the flow of our texting which I proactively directed to ensure that she did not unconsciously steal the frame over text and derail the seduction, and that we continued progressing towards a date.
It was over text that she first brought up the matter of age, which I side-stepped with a now overdone (by me anyway) but ever-effective line which I first got from Tom Torero.
I do believe that using someone else’s lines are fine – great, even – as long as it would be something you would say naturally anyway. Just remember to credit them for it; plagiarism isn’t cool. (Do this in your interactions with girls too – it will make things extra fun.)2
However, if it does not feel like something that would easily roll off your tongue, almost as a throwaway comment, then make up your own or risk sounding contrived and being ineffectual in set.
Fay texted very keenly, but as I needed to navigate her logistical constraints over text, we only met after a longer text exchange than is usually recommended.
As she was compliant and real over text, things were relatively uncomplicated.
Serious “text game” was unnecessary, apart from when she brought up the question of age (my seeming ambiguity regarding the matter of age will be explained shortly).
I simply followed the golden rule of “Reward good behaviour. When she is real with you, be real with her.” – Nick Krauser in Daygame Mastery.
Fay was an example of a girl who had decided that she liked me, which naturally was due to the daygame interaction being decent despite my jadedness.
You can see screenshots of our text conversation below (read from left to right – skip if uninterested as they are unimportant for the overall story).
If you are reading them with the express aim of improving your own texting, see if you can recognise:
1) Light, simple (qualification-type) questions which let me nudge her along in the right direction as the conversation ticked over. Notice the very first one – a shameless daygame cliche.
2) Acknowledging her texts with teases or fun statements first, before being real and answering her questions. I’ve heard somewhere this is known as push-pull…
3) Placing her on a points system (re: qualification); learnt again from Nick Krauser’s Daygame Mastery.
3) Quite blatantly asking what her plans were to determine when she was free to meet. I did this to avoid her saying “No” at any point, which would have led to her rationalising (and crucially, believing) reasons for her saying “No”, thus resulting in a loss of compliance. Compliance is an old concept first introduced by Mystery, whereas in this context I was also keeping in mind the idea of Social Capital in texting, which was introduced by Todd V.
As you read that she was seventeen, I could almost hear you saying, “Dude, what the fuck?! What are you doing? This is bad!” (Or maybe the opposite. You pervert.)
For those who were not aware, the age of consent in the UK is sixteen, so worry not.
I deflected the question of age because I had been on a streak of speaking to seventeen year-olds who blew me out immediately when I mentioned my age despite being only in my mid-twenties.
The experienced daygamer would quite rightly point out that this was likely due to insufficient attraction on her part (and poor game on mine), but I’ll be damned if I allowed this pattern to continue in any way when I could at least control it somehow while I fixed the faulty pieces of my game (which, as you may have guessed, was my shitty fatigued vibe).
That said, I couldn’t deflect the question about my age forever.
Fay turned up early for our date.
As I walked up to our meeting place, I saw her waiting for me wearing a long eye-catching pink coat. The line “you look like a blob of ice-cream” came to mind. I don’t remember if I actually said it.
Aside from being fed up of the daygame route, I had also had enough of my usual date venues, especially as each of them had somehow rearranged their seating to become less conducive to seduction. That I had been on a streak of dates that led nowhere possibly also played a part.
We went to a bar I had never been to before, which Fay said looked very fancy as we entered. I suppose it was a cool place, but no more fancy than a typical chain bar. I doubt she’d been to many bars at seventeen.
We found seats on the deserted upper floor, then I left to order our drinks – wine for her and a beer for me – plus a large plate of nachos since sixteen to seventeen year olds can only drink specific types of alcohol on premises, with a meal bought by an adult and when accompanied by said adult. (No, I have not done this before – I was once that seventeen year old.)
As her coat came off, she revealed a simple black t-shirt, black leather skirt and black tights. It was sexy.
I could tell that Fay had little experience on dates because she defaulted to the most cliche and boring questions, and asked them with the same high-pitched voice which we are advised not to use to avoid sounding supplicating.
I politely answered maybe the first two or three, but when she asked, “So, do you have any hobbies?” I burst out laughing. She was really cute.
She looked puzzled at my laughter.
I usually stay rather quiet to allow her to work in the first half of my dates, but I ditched that with Fay at this point and led the conversation. She already liked me after all.
She was enthralled when I explained human anatomy relevant to my area of expertise (career-related, not sex-related), and I found her similarly nihilistic when we agreed that most people are fucking idiots. This may have been my weariness spilling over into our conversation.
Then inevitable the occurred.
“So, how old are you?” Fay asked.
“That isn’t the right question,” I replied with a smirk.
“What is then?”
“Anything BUT that,” I said, grinning now.
She sat looking at me thoughtfully. I found it adorable.
She then perked up and said, “So…how old are you then??”
I laughed once more. Her persistence was actually quite endearing.
“Well, you do the math then,” I responded.
She did, and I eventually confirmed how old I was.
Fay didn’t get up to leave the date and blow me out following this.
To be perfectly honest, I was not worried by this point after we had connected over our worldviews and shared academic/career-related interests (note that these are not necessary for girls to want to fuck you – some girls are less cerebral and just want you to take charge physically).
I asked her what was the oldest guy she had been with, to which she responded, “Nineteen.” She said she was sixteen at the time.
The whole fuss about our age difference was intriguing; the last time I slept with a seventeen year old was ten years ago; I was still a teenager. It was with an ex-girlfriend who was also the first girl I ever fucked. That time though, I was the younger of the two of us. Funny how the numbers work when things came back around.
I got Fay to sit next to me. She wasn’t close enough, so I reached over and pulled her in.
I told her that she had a very distinct look which I liked, reminiscent of a girl in the Marilyn Monroe/swinging 60s era. She beamed at me, and said that she did indeed spend time learning how to do 60s makeup.
In the months following my lay with Fay, I have since watched and immensely enjoyed the tv series Mad Men, which was set mainly in 1960s America. I was indeed reminded of Fay at times when I watched it, and developed a genuine appreciation for the simple elegance of the women of that time. That it portrayed compellingly the increasing liberalisation of attitudes towards sex in addition to its female characters being enraptured by charming yet brazenly misogynistic men was also of interest (purely academic, I assure you).
I don’t remember what I did or said for Fay to giggle and say, “You’re so flirty!”, but I pulled her in and kissed her after that.
I could feel her tits as she pressed into me – very large.
We continued chatting for awhile, during which she asked me where I live, to which I explained to her the area where I lived using a well-known landmark.
I pulled her in to kiss her again, and choked her this time. She was fine with it.
We sat in silence for a bit before she asked me, “So where is *part of the city centre I lived and aforementioned landmark*?”
I said, “I’ll show you.”
We got up, and left.
I did indeed show her the area and the landmark, but it was a short tour before we were back at mine.
We watched a video at my desk as she sat on my lap, my fingers tracing aimlessly on her lower back and then sliding under her top.
There was however to be a curve-ball: she said she had to leave in twenty minutes to meet a friend.
I could feel my daygame weariness and resentment bubbling to the surface as she said this.
Girls really are hardwired to sabotage our efforts to fuck them, only to have a deep and primal desire for us to succeed in spite of her efforts to derail us. Such is the game.
And so, control my simmering irritation I did, and onward I continued.
We began making-out, after which I picked her up and dumped her on my bed.
I pulled out her tits and reached into her skirt to get under her tights.
She was wet.
Fay moaned and held on to me tightly as she did so.
After a few moments, I stopped everything and got up. She looked baffled.
Looking down at her, I said, “You have to go, you’re friend is waiting.”
“Nooo five more minutes,” she said as she reached out and pulled me back down to her. So cute.
I remember saying “Five more minutes” whenever I didn’t want to wake up for school, groaning as I did so – which, thinking about it now, was likely what she still does & probably why she said it. Really strange to think about.
Our clothes came off quickly.
As I expected, her tits were big. The barely fit into my hands.
Sadly, she had some puppy fat around her midriff and thighs, which made her deceptively slim with clothes on but slightly less so without. My arousal lessened slightly.
She slid down to get between my legs to suck my cock; she worked it so well I wondered if she was previously a fat girl.
Sadly, she was quite vanilla with oral sex as sucking dick was the furthest she would go.
I pulled her up by her upper arms and flipped her onto her back. (As an aside, I find that grabbing girls by their upper arms and moving them about seems to really flip a switch for them, both in the bedroom and outside of it.)
“Do you have a condom?” Fay enquired.
I rolled one on, and entered her.
She starting moaning again…but unnaturally.
With each thrust, she let out a flurry of words which I found excessive. Moreover, her dirty talk felt scripted and stiff, like she was mimicking pornography.
It made the sex feel very artificial and frankly unenjoyable.
What did not help was that she quite literally just lay there – no clawing at my arms or back, no reaching up to feel my pecs, no grasping the bedsheets above her head. All she did was hold her legs back.
I tried to carry on, but after awhile, I just stopped.
I sat down on my armchair and got her on her knees to suck my dick again.
Unfortunately, the moment had gone. I didn’t feel aroused at all.
I literally told her, “I can’t cum for you baby.”
After that, we started dressing.
I managed to ask her how many guys she had slept with before me, to which she answered, “Three.”
As she left, she actually said, “Thank you for the drink, it was nice meeting you!”, like something out of a tacky American tv show (not in the league of Mad Men).
Thank you for the drink. I scoffed again while typing that.
The next day, in the forlorn hope that the sex with Fay could improve in the future, I sent her a ping. There were a couple of back-and-forths before she sent this:
“Just being serious for a moment, it was great meeting, thanks for the drink 🙂 but I just feel like the age gap is a bit much”
I simply replied, “Fair, it was cool meeting you. All the best.”
My descent into the the depths of resentment was complete.
The irony contained within Fay’s final text was not lost on me – I’m still chuckling about it now.
The rejection due to age difference did come up in the end, only this time it was after we had sex. The fucking pattern had not been dispelled, it just arose at a different point in the seduction – this time when it was done! Was it a new demon to wrestle with? Was I going to be haunted by seventeen year olds telling me I was too old to fuck them despite looking like a young Bruce Lee3 (with glasses)?
The answer is of course no.
The solution was actually simple: stop daygaming for some time4, focus on endeavours which will concretely advance my life and start enjoying it again.
As for Fay, she was a normal middle-class British girl, which in my experience meant being well-spoken, witty, enthusiastic, and mostly fun – that is, when they like you. The ones I have fucked are comfortable doing sexual things, and at times are downright filthy; it’s a shame Fay was less depraved than others. I am yet to write up all my lay reports with British girls, but you can read examples of what I mean here and here.
That said, the forced and unnatural way in which Fay fucked was new to me among all the girls I’ve fucked. It’s actually quite a shame as she was attractive and we got along well, not to mention that she is still young. Hopefully she learns to fuck better. Or could the issue be the person she was fucking?
Nevertheless, without great sex, any relationship is dead – a realisation I had towards the end of my relationship with the Latina (post coming soon).
Together with the first ever girl I fucked ten years ago, Fay was the youngest girl I’ve been with.
It’s too bad one experience was light-years more memorable than the other. I might just write a post on it.
Or save it for my book. We’ll see.
 If you were wondering, final exams went great, thank you. I’m now a stereotypical high-achieving Asian in a stereotypical title-carrying Asian profession. Full Asian status achieved. (Although this blog would get that revoked for having had sex before getting a full-time job.)
 This was a joke, damn it!
 Okay, that’s a real stretch.
 I burnt myself out in what is a crap city for daygame anyway. I mentioned earlier in the story that my wings moved or are moving away – part of the reason was daygame.