The Birth of Japan Game is a chronicle in ten parts, recounting the early years of Dorian Gray’s journey along the path. The narrative begins some time in 2006 and concludes in early 2012. Names have been changed to protect the guilty and innocent alike. Previous episode here.
After a few months my life settled into a routine, and the excitement of gaming in Hiroshima on the weekends more than made up for the monotony of life on the island. And with no other Westerners around to distract me, I ended up interacting with a broad spectrum of the island’s residents, which helped me understand perspectives I hadn’t previously considered. Despite the initial difficulty of parsing their dialect, I quickly made friends with the fishermen and factory workers who shared my apartment block. Their adventures with Filipina hookers weren’t for me, but I accompanied them on fishing trips and camping expeditions to the forested heart of the island. I shared okonomiyaki with them in greasy spoon diners run by grandmas with brick faces and cracked smiles. I got to know the rhythm of their lives: sweaty labor during the day with white towels tied around their heads, their faces tanned brown by the sun. The island people, I found, had a fairly liberal attitude towards sexuality: even my colleagues in the town office weren’t surprised to hear of my adventures in Hiroshima. Single mothers abounded, many of whom had returned home with their young children after divorcing big city husbands, and some of them seemed all too eager to invite me over for dinner. But I tried to keep things discreet and never become entangled with anyone from work or my immediate neighborhood. It was one thing to hear that the young Westerner in town was a bit of a player, another to have him bed your cousin or a woman you’d known your whole life. I wasn’t eager to make enemies close to home.
Even so, there were a few close calls. The daughter of a town official became interested in me, inviting me out to the movies. She was the same age as me and attractive enough, but I kept things strictly platonic. And once, a homely type from the town office ran into me at random in Hiroshima while I was out with Yurika, a truly ludicrous hostess with a mane of dyed blonde hair, enormous eyelashes and circle lenses that gave her the appearance of an anime heroine. But for the most part my tactical discretion worked, and I got along well with my coworkers. My immediate supervisor was a grandmotherly type who took a liking to me, and once I won her favor, everything at work went smoothly. The island was quaint and boring, but it was a refuge from the chaotic weekends in Hiroshima. I even learned to appreciate its natural beauty, taking long walks at night and exploring the beaches. This was what a Japanese settlement would have been like hundreds of years ago, an isolated community with the sound of waves always present, and the stars shining brightly in the night sky above. There were numerous local events, and more than once I got to help out with hefting a heavy portable shrine during festival season, parading it through the darkened streets while a crowd of drunken islanders sang and clapped their hands.
The island was also full of young children, and once a week I visited the local kindergarten to teach them the alphabet. It was the first time I’d ever really spent much time around kids since I’d been one myself, and I was shocked to discover that even three year olds were fully-formed people with clear opinions and strong personalities. Their perspicacity and frank talk startled me, as did their utter absence of pretense. They simply told it like it was, often pointing up the absurdity of the adults around them. This exposure to the brash directness of children would greatly influence my approach to meeting girls. I saw that I was still taking everything too seriously, and that I lacked the utter entitlement I’d once had as a child. Seeing the three year olds getting their own way time after time and treating complete strangers as if they already knew them turned out to be the one thing that finally cracked nanpa for me. Instead of trying to convince women to give me their time, I simply acted as if I already had it, as if I’d known them for years. Once I adopted this frame and put it into practice, my street approaches went much better.
As my self-image adjusted itself, I started to feel utterly at home in Hiroshima. There was Shintenchi Park, Parco, Hondori, Nagarekawa, and even the Peace Memorial Park (Heiwa Koen): more than enough places to meet girls. I also ventured further afield to the even more rural Matsuyama in Ehime Prefecture, a small, traditional city most famous for being the setting of the novel Botchan by the celebrated novelist Natsume Soseki. And when I had time, I explored other cities in the area, such as Okayama and Fukuyama. Many of these cities had become all but depopulated, with most of the younger people moving to Osaka or Tokyo for work. But those who remained were bored and often up for action, and there were some real beauties hidden away in these obscure corners of Japan. I was aware that I was living “off the map,” pursuing hardcore street game in places where next to no other foreigners were doing it. This added to the sense that anything might happen.
Now that I was posting regularly on Japan Lair and meeting up with other gamers, I started to devote even more mental attention to really “figuring it all out.” While I was still nowhere near the level of regularly getting with my ideal girls, I’d certainly made significant strides in that direction. In short, I was still far from congruent, but my frame started to cohere more quickly than I could have imagined. It helped that I was dressing the part: with my new blonde hair, sunglasses and thick black winter coat with its imposing fur collar, I looked totally different than I ever had at any other point in my life. Heading out each weekend and chronicling my adventures on Japan Lair when I returned to the island, I started to actually feel like “Dorian Gray” as opposed to the everyday person I’d always been. I started to feel entitled in a way I never had before: the girls I desired clearly belonged with me, because who else wanted them more than I did? No one.
On Japan Lair Dylan wrote detailed reports of our gaming sessions in which we came off almost like superheroes. Encounters with girls became elaborate confrontations complete with dynamic reversals and eventual heroic victories. Sometimes it was difficult to tell whether he was being subtly parodic or not, and even now I’m not completely sure that he wasn’t taking the piss, but his reports soon garnered a loyal following. At the time, most of the people on the forum were still taking a somewhat indirect approach to meeting girls. As a result, most of their reports concerned trolling the bars or hitting up parties for women already predisposed to like foreigners. In contrast, our focus on direct approaches and consistent, unambiguous nanpa was somewhat revolutionary. We were still blowing out fairly consistently, but at least we were taking constant, unapologetic action.
Dylan initiated games like his “Keys to the Kyabakura,” in which whoever could successfully hook a girl on the street using absurd opening lines would be declared the winner. We grew accustomed to approaching with complete nonsense such as “Excuse me, are you a mechanic?” or “Pork chop sandwiches, am I right?”, and soon discovered that it made little difference to whether the girls would give us initial attention or not. Other versions of the game involved “constraints,” such as always redirecting the conversation to a preset topic. These topics were usually something embarrassing or ridiculous, such as freshly baked goods, or your relationship with your mother.
“You seem like a kind person. My mother is kind too,” we’d have to say. Or: “You’re working in a pastry shop and love baking? That’s just like my mother!”
Needless to mention this elicited fairly mixed reactions, and we usually blew ourselves out by breaking into laughter long before the conversation ended. More than anything though, Dylan taught me not to take anything too seriously. During this period I was almost constantly frustrated whenever girls would ignore or reject me, but Dylan’s relaxed outlook and sense of humor helped me keep calm.
As a result of Dylan’s calming influence, I started to think more deeply about the real impetus for my game. In other words, what was my ultimate motivation? This seemed to be a crucial question when I considered the pitfalls of anchoring myself to ego validation. The way I saw it, there were two possible traps: letting my inner mental state be unduly affected by reactions from friends and wings, and letting it be unduly affected by “failures” and “victories” with women.
The first trap came about as I saw myself being praised for my increasing successes with women. I realized that if I came to desire or depend on adulation from others, my actions would eventually become inauthentic, because I would start to deviate from my true or ideal desires in the hope of pleasing or impressing others. I decided that I would never consider social validation of this kind to be a prime motivating factor. The social aspects of game – making friends and winging with others – could never be my ultimate motivation. The social or “support network” aspect of the game can sometimes obscure its real purpose.
The other trap was both more immediate and more dangerous, because I was still incredibly reactive, letting my emotions swing wildly up and down depending on perceived victories and defeats. When things went “my way” on a date I would become ecstatic and confident for the next few days, but when girls weren’t down for sex or left at the last minute, I would become depressed and upset. This trap meant that I increasingly tended towards taking an instrumental view of interactions with women, and would feel anger towards them when things didn’t go as I’d hoped. I realized that if I continued down this path, I would eventually end up in a thoroughly selfish and misogynistic place. I needed to clear my head and find some way to detach myself from outcomes.
To solve the problem I ended up jettisoning the idea of progress altogether. The results-oriented idea of game as some kind of practical skill was itself an impediment to overall growth and success. All I needed to focus on was acting correctly in any situation I found myself in while pursuing my ideal girls. In other words, I was only accountable to myself for taking “perfect action,” or the action that would conceivably lead to the most success with the girls I wanted. Beyond that, I saw that I could never really control how they behaved, and in fact I didn’t even need to try, since the girls themselves were intelligent enough to recognize that this desire for control was a manifestation of inner weakness! But as long as I held myself accountable for pushing things as far as I could and exerting myself whenever necessary (such as when seeing a beautiful girl crossing the street and rushing over to talk to her), I could maintain dignity and know that I had done the right thing.
My general interest in what might be called fringe psychology or unusual states of mind also started to become more prominent during this period. Being a fairly analytical type, I’d noticed that my interactions tended to vary wildly depending on my inner mental state. If I was feeling positive, confident and outgoing, girls usually responded well to me. But if I was feeling unconfident and depressed while forcing myself through the motions of approaching, their responses were less than great. I realized that I needed to work out a means of rapidly shifting my mood or aura to where it needed to be, because beautiful women could appear at any time while I was walking around the city, and so I needed to be able to take correct action instantaneously. At the same time, I started to pay even closer attention to the moods and perceived “energy levels” of the girls I approached. Did they seem tired, or in a hurry? Were they walking slowly and confidently? Did their faces appear to express much emotion? Hiroyuki and Rintaro had taught me to pay attention to girls’ walking speeds, but now I scrutinized every element of their body language, posture and facial expressions.
After taking the bus to Hiroshima on the weekend, I would usually begin with a kind of meditation in my hotel room. I would start by “centering myself,” or realizing my position of extreme advantage in regards to game. I reminded myself that I had the extreme privilege of being in Japan, being in good health, and being able to directly take action to get with my desired women. There weren’t any serious obstacles standing in my way at all. The only thing I needed to do was go outside and game as hard as possible for as long as possible. The results would be whatever they would be; that was out of my hands. But I could always make sure that I pushed every interaction as far as it would go. As long as I did that consistently, there was nothing to worry about, regret or over-analyze.
One weekend I was walking down Hondori with Dylan when I noticed a group of two girls standing in front of Starbucks. The first was a standard short, cute university type in a white dress with puffy sleeves. Her friend was around the same height, but had certain crucial physical proportions that meant my gaze lingered on her longer than usual. In particular, her legs were not:
1. Straight at the top and bowed at the bottom
2. Short and stumpy, with thick calves (what is referred to as daikon ashi)
3. Slender but otherwise unremarkable.
In contrast to these common types of Japanese female legs, this girl’s legs were eye-catching. They were still somewhat short, given her overall height, but most importantly they were both pleasingly curvy and thick without being fat or too muscular; in other words, her bare legs (she was wearing mini shorts and black high heeled-sandals) immediately riveted my attention and didn’t let go, which meant that I had to approach her.
It’s worth stopping for a moment to discuss the idea of a gamer’s gaze as just mentioned. One thing that always struck me about Dylan was his ability to quickly notice fast-moving girls in public, girls who seemed to always exist somehow outside of my field of vision, as if they were popping in from some other dimension of hotness. With his “eyes of a hawk” – his term – he was constantly pointing out girls who were giving us eye contact, or who were outstandingly hot and on the verge of getting away, meaning I had to chase them down at top speed. I quickly realized how many girls I simply wouldn’t have seen if he hadn’t pointed them out to me. Growing up, I’d always thought of myself as fairly observant, but in comparison with Dylan, I might as well have been blind. At the time I interpreted it as an almost supernatural gift, but now that I’ve been teaching nanpa for nearly a decade, I’ve learned that this “gamer gaze” is very real, and it’s a skill anyone can acquire, provided they simply put in the time to do so. With those new to game, I’ve noticed that they often won’t initially see girls even when I point them out, and their reaction times can be cripplingly slow. And I can remember being like this myself. But given the ridiculous population density of Japanese cities, having a mental and visual “fast processing speed” is absolutely essential for long-term successful nanpa. With its hundreds of constantly circulating girls, Hondori in Hiroshima was where I developed my gamer gaze, but you can achieve the same thing outside any major station. It’s actually optimal to begin somewhere that initially seems overwhelming, with too many moving women to visually process; over time this will train your gaze to focus on the hot ones you need to notice and then approach. A truly discerning gamer gaze is able to dismiss entire swathes of the populace in an instant, homing in on the single significant girl, like a lone thread of gold in a tapestry of gray.
But to return to the girl with the delicious-looking legs standing outside Starbucks. Her name, as I soon discovered when I went over and introduced myself, was Sayumi.
By now I had something like a routine approach down, a somewhat ramshackle compound of “confident” body language (posture straight! Shoulders back!), an unhesitatingly direct stride over to my target (catch and maintain the eye contact! Look as if you have an urgent message to deliver!) and a sentence salad of fairly inane lines delivered with “total conviction.” It probably sounded something like this (in Japanese):
“Guess you’re shopping today, right? Interesting shoes you have there. Just been out browsing all day with my friends. Are you from Hiroshima originally? Only been here myself for a couple months now. Thinking of heading over to Nagarekawa later and hitting up a club, but haven’t decided yet. How tall are you, anyway?”
The actual contents of the approach varied depending on whatever came into my head at the time. I ended up repeating myself a lot, but I tried not to consciously attempt any actual memorization. The point was always to improvise in the moment, even if the results were often lackluster.
Dylan gamely (pun intended) came over and tried to deal with Sayumi’s friend, but she wasn’t having it and simply backed away, choosing to wait out our approach. For her part, Sayumi seemed not so much immediately entranced by my words as she was subtly disturbed (yet compelled) by what I was saying. In other words, she reacted as if I, a foreign stranger speaking her language, really did have something important to convey to her, rather than a shotgun spam approach that I’d already fired off multiple times that day. Looking back with later knowledge of her emotional state at the time, I can see that she would have been receptive to any kind of random variable entering her life. But more on that later.
Sayumi’s story was this: she was a country girl from Yamaguchi who’d gotten blissed out at a young age on B-Kei fashion and Japanese hip-hop, and was now working as a hostess. Yamaguchi is one of the more rural areas of Japan, and so for Sayumi, Hiroshima was the big city. Coming out to shop and meet her friend had been a fairly significant drive for her. When I met her, her general fashion and makeup still had remnants of her B-Kei past, a style which accentuated the overall curviness of her body, and her broad but basically sexy face (voluptuous lips, big eyes, small nose). She looked like the kind of Japanese girl who had had dreadlocks at some point.
Despite being a constantly put-upon and abused hostess at a shitty club in the countryside who was used to dealing with some of the worst excesses of the Japanese male population, Sayumi maintained, as the cliche goes, an untarnished heart of gold. Even after everything she’d been through (again: more on this later), I never heard her express anything like a petty, negative, selfish, grasping or even really frivolous thought. Neither did she play the kind of emotional games common to hostesses. She’d somehow made it to her mid-twenties without suffering any serious moral deformity.
The approach continued for some time, and I eventually got Sayumi’s contact info. This being the distant past, I had to use sekigaisen, the infrared laser information transfer on our clamshell phones. Note that at this point in my thinking, I wasn’t consistently pushing for immediate bounces to my hotel, despite how close it was. In retrospect, given these fantastic logistics, I obviously should have set something up for later that night. But at the time, my strategy was to do street, shop and cafe game during the day, collect as many numbers as possible, and then go to Nagarekawa at night. Given that I only had the weekends in which to game in Hiroshima, I wanted to be out clubbing both Friday and Saturday nights.
Dylan and I continued gaming for the rest of the day, and I got enough new contacts that Sayumi didn’t immediately stand out as the highlight of the weekend. Nevertheless, when I got home to the island on Sunday night, I dutifully messaged her along with everyone else whose number I’d gotten. She seemed a bit nonplussed at first, asking why I’d wanted to talk to her. True to my mindset at the time, I mechanically pushed for a meetup the following weekend. Until now, I’d gotten used to girls either quickly agreeing to meet, or else completely ignoring me. But Sayumi, though responsive, seemed to want reassurance that I seriously intended to meet her, apart from wanting to know my motivations. Not really knowing what to say, I kept things vague: “I want to know more about you.”
The week passed, and Friday came again. As planned, I caught the bus to Hiroshima, checked in to my hotel, took a shower and got ready to meet up with Sayumi at our designated meeting point outside Parco. At this time my “date course” was still fairly elaborate, with numerous venue changes and restaurants that were more expensive than they really needed to be. Looking back, I could have just immediately gotten cheap beers from 7/11 and taken Sayumi – and so many other girls – straight to my hotel, given how crazily central it was. But at the time, the hotel bounce came only after a protracted date that included dinner at a revolving restaurant on the top floor of a tower in the center of the city, followed by dessert at a trendy second floor cafe across from my hotel. Sometimes I even added on a third stop at a standing sake bar – the idea was to take the girl on a “whirlwind tour” with multiple locations to make her feel as if she’d known me longer than she really had. I’d read online somewhere that this was a good idea, and like most secondhand ideas of this kind, it was mostly nonsense. But I was more credulous back then.
Sayumi was waiting for me outside Parco when I arrived, wearing knee high black boots and a black top. Her hair was done up and she was wearing more makeup than she had before. She looked even hotter than she had when I’d first approached her, and I felt an initial flutter of giddy nervous excitement. I realized that she really WAS hotter than I’d given her credit for, which is always an enviable position to be in when meeting someone for a date.
I took her on the standard date course as mentioned, and things went well. To suppress my nerves, I ended up drinking quite a bit, and Sayumi followed my lead. Somewhere between the trendy dessert cafe and the standing sake bar, I hit upon the idea of a karaoke bounce, which seemed to make sense at the time, since we’d been discussing music. We got inside, and after a few songs I could no longer contain myself. I immediately threw my arm around Sayumi and pulled her into me, kissing her with some force. Sayumi responded with just as much desire, and for a while it looked like things were about to progress to sex in the karaoke room. At least until her phone began angrily and insistently ringing, and she pulled away to answer it.
I’d noticed her phone had been buzzing and vibrating at various points throughout the night, which had somewhat irritated me, although I hadn’t said anything, given that she hadn’t actually answered it, and I was aware that hostesses were usually deluged with messages and calls on their multiple work and private phones. But this time Sayumi didn’t just answer, she actually got up and left the room, and her body language changed. Her face went from looking relaxed and excited to suddenly tense. I could tell something bad was happening on the other end of the line.
I suddenly became worried she’d disappear, so I stepped outside as well. As I did so, she hung up.
“It’s my boyfriend,” she said.
“Um?” I said.
“He’s pissed off and says he’s coming here.”
“Haha…that probably won’t end well for him.”
Sayumi said nothing, but still looked tense. I decided we needed to get back to my hotel as soon as possible, so I lead her outside and we stopped at the 7/11 for drinks. On the way out her phone rang again, and she answered it once more. We were now passing through the Alice Garden area outside Parco, and Sayumi’s walking speed seemed to decrease the more she talked. I could hear a man’s voice on the other side of the phone, and it sounded angry. Impulsively I took the phone out of her hand and hit End Call. Then I led Sayumi over to the elevated steps at the edge of the park. During the day this area is usually crowded, mostly with young people, but now it was empty. The basic setup is a broad series of steps leading to nowhere, almost resembling a kind of concrete bleachers. Several large rectangular pillars emerge from it as well, giving it a vaguely modern art appearance. I led Sayumi up to the top and we sat down behind one of the pillars. From here, we had a panoramic view of the large open area directly outside Parco. We cracked open our lemon ChuHis.
“So what’s happening with him?” I asked, still holding her phone.
Sayumi told me that her boyfriend had been abusive for some time, and she’d been thinking of breaking it off with him but didn’t really know how. His threat to drive down was almost certainly idle, she told me. It seemed my initial approach to her had come at just the right time for her to use it as a decisive means of ending things with him. Apparently he’d wanted to meet her tonight, but she’d texted him that she was driving down to Hiroshima to meet me, and now he was raging alone and drunk back in Yamaguchi.
To my mind, this new information meant that I was certainly going to succeed in getting Sayumi naked. But I was also drunk and wanted to get that success as soon as possible. I started escalating fairly heavily, kissing her deeply and slipping my hand down her shorts. Before long I’d unbuttoned them and gently slid them down. Sayumi was thoroughly wet, and I saw no immediate reason not to go for it right now. I drunkenly reasoned that our position behind the pillar at the very top of the stairs would protect us from view, and anyway, there didn’t seem to be anyone around at this time of night. I unbuttoned my pants, slipped on my wallet condom and then pulled Sayumi onto me from behind. We went at it and things were approaching the climax when I heard an unpleasant sound from below us.
“Oyy…oyyyy…..OYYY!” came a rough growl. I looked down and saw that a Japanese man was standing at the bottom of the stairs and looking up at us. He appeared to be in his early thirties and had slicked-back hair, a dark jacket and the kind of brick face that reminded me of my old friend Hiroyuki. But this man’s expression was somewhat less than friendly. With a can of Nodogoshi beer in his hand, he glared up at us with a horribly fixed gaze. For a moment I drunkenly thought it might be Sayumi’s boyfriend, but there was no way he could have gotten here this fast. It was clearly a random stranger. Hiroshima is known for its rough characters.
At first I ignored him, hoping he’d go away. I tried to avoid eye contact, but then I saw that he had actually taken a few steps up towards us. “OYY!!!” he repeated.
“Not YET! Not DONE yet!” I said loudly in English, then the same in Japanese.
“Not done?” the man repeated.
“Wait! Wait! WAIT!” I said.
“WAIT!” the man copied.
The situation had reached the level of surrealism that sometimes arises when Japanese people and staggeringly large amounts of alcohol are combined. Sayumi was bouncing up and down on my erection, seemingly oblivious to anything around her. Even so, my priority was now to finish up as quickly as possible, as I didn’t want the man to continue watching us, or worse, come up and interfere. I somehow managed to put him out of my mind and steadied Sayumi’s hips with one hand while reaching the other down her top, and completed my thrusting in a flash of ecstasy. I immediately pulled out, whipped off the condom, pulled up my pants and got to my feet. Sayumi did the same, and then we were hurrying down the stairs.
“Finished!!!” I said as we passed by the man.
“FINISH,” he repeated.
Sayumi had retreated behind me, and we dashed to my hotel, which after all was just a few minutes away. Once inside, we collapsed onto the bed.
With no warning, Sayumi then told me that, as a sixteen year old, she’d been gang raped by a group of young men in a van who’d given her a lift home from high school. When she told the story to her parents, they’d criticized her for being stupidly trusting, and her father had responded to her tears by striking her in the face. I wasn’t sure what the point of this disclosure was, but I’d had enough drama for one night and could only react with a kind of numbed sympathy.
“That’s terrible,” I said, pausing to let her take the initiative again and talk if she wanted, but instead she lit a cigarette and opened her last ChuHi. A while later we were sexing again.
The next morning we woke up early, smoked cigarettes and went for breakfast at McDonald’s. Sausage muffins and coffee proved to be a great start to the day.
I returned to the island later in the day, and when I checked my phone after getting home, I saw that Sayumi had messaged me. I replied, and after a few fairly generic messages, she sent a much longer one. The gist of it was clear: she had feelings for me and wanted to be my girlfriend.
Now I was faced with a situation that would have been a no-brainer a few years ago: I would have just immediately responded to her message in the affirmative. After all, this was a significantly attractive girl who clearly had options, and was taking the initiative in asking to go out with me! Not something to take for granted…
…or at least that’s what I would have thought before. But now, my nanpa ideals, as I saw them, wouldn’t allow me anything like a girlfriend: I was through with conventional relationships. Even so, I was aching to have sex with Sayumi again as soon as possible. At my hotel in Hiroshima, we’d discussed things to explore next time, and she’d promised to bring her old high school uniform. I could already imagine her voluptuous body busting out of the shirt skirt and knee high socks. There was nothing for it: I had to lay my cards on the table directly.
“I can’t be your boyfriend,” I said. “I’m not sure where I am in my life now or what path I’m on. But I want to see you again.”
Once again, the gap between theory and practice reared its head. In my mind, I knew I was supposed to be a gamer, or even more than an average gamer: a nanpa gamer, or in other words, someone who directly propositioned women on the street, approaching under zero pretext. But this still seemed difficult to really believe. The act of refusing an attractive young girl who clearly and in no uncertain terms wanted to be my girlfriend, and whose boyfriend I had just destabilised, was incredibly bizarre. Inculcated with scarcity mindset from a young age, the idea that I could refuse a “relationship” in no uncertain terms and yet still explicitly pursue sex with her was still difficult to process. It seemed almost like cheating at life. Conditioned with a certain cultural narrative, it was impossible for me to believe this arrangement would work.
But it did, as I saw a few minutes later when I checked my phone again.
“Okay!” Sayumi had replied. “Let’s meet again!”
And we kept seeing each other, at least once a month, for the next two years.
Sayumi, like several other women in this story, is now happily married with children. To a Japanese man who wears a baseball cap and sunglasses at night. Some things are perhaps inevitable. Anyway, I like to think that I at least helped her transition out of constantly dating abusive men.
So, I thought…sex with girls after twenty minutes of meeting them for the first time. Sex with girls who I told up front weren’t my girlfriend and who were aware I was seeing other girls. Multiple regulars at the same time, and no need for a girlfriend or any kind of “commitment.” I’d been stumbling along the path for close to two years now, but I still didn’t really believe most of this was possible. Now I was being proven wrong the more action I took. Had it always been possible to live like this? It was impossible to say, and I still had no idea where it would all lead.
