Hell-demon
08-01-06, 16:19
I've had tow rite an opening to a story for English and i want some feed abck on what i've written :) It's lengthy but I would apprecaite it ok. Its about the secretw orld of pick up artists based around Niel Straus' book "The Game".
*********************************
There was Crimson lying on his apartment bed, lifeless. He had overdosed on something; the empty pill bottles decorated his room. And there was me standing there a spectator to my friend’s demise. But I knew that he was more than a friend, he was a mentor and guru to me. He made me more than I am. He was pick up artist.
Before I knew Crimson, before I saw him take a downward spiral into madness I was a mere journalist. I was looking for my next big story. Something to pay the bills and fill my fridge. But I found something much more, something that was bigger than me. I found a secret underworld and I became part of it. It all started with a phone call from an acquaintance.
His name was Ralph Tetherson, a small bookish guy with very little time on his hands, and he wanted me to help dig up some info on a pick up artist. Naturally I obliged. So I set about my research on a guy known in the pick up community as Crimson. You type pick up artist into an internet search engine and you’ll be bombarded with websites claiming to have the ultimate answer to picking up women. Hundreds of guys claiming to be masters of seduction and with their aid you too could be breaking bed springs with a woman within minutes.
But Crimson was different. He was the genuine article. A legend amongst professional pick up artists and wanna bes. Crimson wasn’t this guy’s real name of course. In fact nearly all pick up artists have some kind of handle. It’s their secret identity. In the real world you could be called Bob and be a construction worker who works 9 till 5. But in the pick up community you could be called Daredevil and sleep with hot super models nearly every night.
When I did my research I discovered websites of supposed players who posted field reports of their sexual conquests and tips on seduction. At the time I didn’t really care much for that sort of thing, I was more concerned with tracking this Crimson persona and getting an interview for Ralph’s book. After much searching and wading through the crap these pick up artists were posting I almost gave up looking. That was until Ralph gave me a phone call.
“Hey Alex how goes the research?”
“So far so bad” I murmured down the receiver.
“Well our Crimson friend is doing a seminar is Los Angeles. I booked you to go. Ordinarily I would go myself but my hands are tied with this article on Microsoft”
“What do you mean by seminar?”
“Obviously you haven’t doing your homework my man. These pick up guys they host these talks at hotels, meeting rooms and any other places they can find. They give advice to lonely losers who can’t get laid and charge a mint for this service”
It was all fitting together now. Ralph saw me as one of these “lonely losers who can’t get laid”, hence why he wasn’t going to be seen dead there. I hated Ralph’s arrogance and holier than thou attitude. I was his foot stall, his lackey, the guy he gave the crummy jobs to. But in time I wouldn’t be his bitch any longer. I was going to branch out into a whole different world.
I’ll admit when it come to the opposite sex, I’m terrible. I stutter in the presence of a woman and I say the wrong things. I guess journalist aren’t supposed to have sex, just sit down at a desk and write till your fingers go blue all the while repressing your sexual frustration. It was all going to change though. I was not going to be Alex the journalist, but Alex the player. A pick up artist of the most formidable kind.
I packed my bags. Gave my car a full tank of gas and set out on a lengthy road trip. Several run down motels and gas stations later I reached the city of angels. Little did I know this place would become my new home and stomping ground. I didn’t know what I was getting into. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to back away.
I reached my destination late. Crimson was hosting his seminar at the Filben hotel, a swanky place with enough lights to make an epileptic out the most stable of person. I quickly entered the illuminated building trailing papers and notes, getting more and more stern looks from the hotel staff as I ran by. Eventually I found Crimson’s meeting room. I stood outside the door for a while. I could hear chanting.
I entered the dimly lit room adorned with tacky plastic chairs. The air filled with the testosterone of a dozen men or so starring at this charismatic figure on stage with a spot light firmly attached to him. This was Crimson. He certainly fit the profile of a pick up artists. He was commanding, oozed confidence and self respect. He wore a fine Italian suit drenched in style. His black hair slicked back and he had a very powerful gaze. And these guys were hanging on his every word.
They were nothing compared to him. They wore shirts, and glasses or terrifyingly bad sweaters. It was like these guys still had their moms to shop for their clothing. And Crimson was here to try and mould them into womanising machines. I couldn’t help but feel cynical. I took a seat at the back and watched Crimson preach his words on picking up women.
“Nice guys finish last”, he started “You get a girl flowers, love letters and pour out your heart and be a romantic, you will fail. While you’re at it get a dog leash and have her take you out for walks. Because that’s all your doing, being submissive. You have to take control. Ever noticed you get ditched for a guy who is a complete jerk. And you are left alone with your kind heart and warm smile. All the while she’s getting dicked by a cocky bastard”
He was really getting pumped up now and all his followers were nodding their heads in unison. I was slightly intrigued although still wasn’t convinced. He commanded the room but was he really a good pick up artist?
“I see a lot of you here as guys who have been told countless times, “Let’s just be friends”, or “let’s not rush things”. Well you know what I say to that? Bullshit!”
Crimson raised his fist and everyone cheered.
“I promise you that you will become the cocky, confident funny guy that women are attracted to. I will teach you opening lines, how to make yourself seem valuable, how to initiate threesomes and all sorts of techniques that will make Casanova seem like an amateur”
And so it began. The seminar lasted three hours; three hours of preaching pick up techniques with the pick up jargon thrown in for good measure. PUA (pick up artist), HB (hot babe), IOI (Indicator of interest), pea cocking, sarging, wing man, ESP techniques, NLP, freeze out, shit tests, boyfriend destroyers, alpha maleing and so forth. If anyone talked to me in the street like this before I went to this seminar, I would have assumed Valium was going cheap. But I now knew what this stuff meant, what these guys in internet chat rooms and forums were talking about, and later I would know so much more.
I always believe in business before pleasure. So after the seminar I approached Crimson in the hotel lobby who was with his adoring followers who were ready to go out sarging, that’s picking up women if you don’t know the lingo. He had this aura of charm about him. If he hadn’t become a pick up artist he’d be some kind of salesman. He was natural born speaker, his sales pitch could be that you’d be buying a car that explodes as soon as you stepped on the accelerator, but you’d still by it. I slowly walked up to him.
“Hi…erm Alex….I’m…a journalist. I was wondering I could do an interview with you”
“No.”
“What?
“That’s not why you are here. You’re here to find out how you can get into a girl’s panties.”
Crimson was very blunt but had a cocky smile on his face. A part of me knew he was correct, that I was intrigued with his methods of getting women. I felt like I was insignificant to a man who had the answers to so many guys’ problems.
“What’s your score?”, he asked very directly.
“Score?”
“Yeah how many ladies have you bedded?”
“Er..I don’t know…3?”
“65 my friend. And so can you”
It was bold claim but during his seminar the stuff he was saying made sense. Crimson would take me under his wing and show me a world I never thought I would be a part of.
“Alex I see a lot of potential in you. You could be a lady killer if you just stepped outside of yourself and be more than you are. I think you got something a lot of these guys here don’t have, initiative. That will take you very far. So ask yourself this, do you want to be a pick up artist?”
I thought hard about this. All my life women eluded me, yet here was a man who had no problem with women. He had a smile and reassurance that made me know that if he took me into his world then I would be so much more than a lousy journalist.
“Ok” I said taking a deep breathe before my response.
“Good”, He smiled. “Follow me. We’re going to a different night club to these saps. We’ll take my limo and I will get you started on your first steps to becoming a super star of sex”
*********************************
There was Crimson lying on his apartment bed, lifeless. He had overdosed on something; the empty pill bottles decorated his room. And there was me standing there a spectator to my friend’s demise. But I knew that he was more than a friend, he was a mentor and guru to me. He made me more than I am. He was pick up artist.
Before I knew Crimson, before I saw him take a downward spiral into madness I was a mere journalist. I was looking for my next big story. Something to pay the bills and fill my fridge. But I found something much more, something that was bigger than me. I found a secret underworld and I became part of it. It all started with a phone call from an acquaintance.
His name was Ralph Tetherson, a small bookish guy with very little time on his hands, and he wanted me to help dig up some info on a pick up artist. Naturally I obliged. So I set about my research on a guy known in the pick up community as Crimson. You type pick up artist into an internet search engine and you’ll be bombarded with websites claiming to have the ultimate answer to picking up women. Hundreds of guys claiming to be masters of seduction and with their aid you too could be breaking bed springs with a woman within minutes.
But Crimson was different. He was the genuine article. A legend amongst professional pick up artists and wanna bes. Crimson wasn’t this guy’s real name of course. In fact nearly all pick up artists have some kind of handle. It’s their secret identity. In the real world you could be called Bob and be a construction worker who works 9 till 5. But in the pick up community you could be called Daredevil and sleep with hot super models nearly every night.
When I did my research I discovered websites of supposed players who posted field reports of their sexual conquests and tips on seduction. At the time I didn’t really care much for that sort of thing, I was more concerned with tracking this Crimson persona and getting an interview for Ralph’s book. After much searching and wading through the crap these pick up artists were posting I almost gave up looking. That was until Ralph gave me a phone call.
“Hey Alex how goes the research?”
“So far so bad” I murmured down the receiver.
“Well our Crimson friend is doing a seminar is Los Angeles. I booked you to go. Ordinarily I would go myself but my hands are tied with this article on Microsoft”
“What do you mean by seminar?”
“Obviously you haven’t doing your homework my man. These pick up guys they host these talks at hotels, meeting rooms and any other places they can find. They give advice to lonely losers who can’t get laid and charge a mint for this service”
It was all fitting together now. Ralph saw me as one of these “lonely losers who can’t get laid”, hence why he wasn’t going to be seen dead there. I hated Ralph’s arrogance and holier than thou attitude. I was his foot stall, his lackey, the guy he gave the crummy jobs to. But in time I wouldn’t be his bitch any longer. I was going to branch out into a whole different world.
I’ll admit when it come to the opposite sex, I’m terrible. I stutter in the presence of a woman and I say the wrong things. I guess journalist aren’t supposed to have sex, just sit down at a desk and write till your fingers go blue all the while repressing your sexual frustration. It was all going to change though. I was not going to be Alex the journalist, but Alex the player. A pick up artist of the most formidable kind.
I packed my bags. Gave my car a full tank of gas and set out on a lengthy road trip. Several run down motels and gas stations later I reached the city of angels. Little did I know this place would become my new home and stomping ground. I didn’t know what I was getting into. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to back away.
I reached my destination late. Crimson was hosting his seminar at the Filben hotel, a swanky place with enough lights to make an epileptic out the most stable of person. I quickly entered the illuminated building trailing papers and notes, getting more and more stern looks from the hotel staff as I ran by. Eventually I found Crimson’s meeting room. I stood outside the door for a while. I could hear chanting.
I entered the dimly lit room adorned with tacky plastic chairs. The air filled with the testosterone of a dozen men or so starring at this charismatic figure on stage with a spot light firmly attached to him. This was Crimson. He certainly fit the profile of a pick up artists. He was commanding, oozed confidence and self respect. He wore a fine Italian suit drenched in style. His black hair slicked back and he had a very powerful gaze. And these guys were hanging on his every word.
They were nothing compared to him. They wore shirts, and glasses or terrifyingly bad sweaters. It was like these guys still had their moms to shop for their clothing. And Crimson was here to try and mould them into womanising machines. I couldn’t help but feel cynical. I took a seat at the back and watched Crimson preach his words on picking up women.
“Nice guys finish last”, he started “You get a girl flowers, love letters and pour out your heart and be a romantic, you will fail. While you’re at it get a dog leash and have her take you out for walks. Because that’s all your doing, being submissive. You have to take control. Ever noticed you get ditched for a guy who is a complete jerk. And you are left alone with your kind heart and warm smile. All the while she’s getting dicked by a cocky bastard”
He was really getting pumped up now and all his followers were nodding their heads in unison. I was slightly intrigued although still wasn’t convinced. He commanded the room but was he really a good pick up artist?
“I see a lot of you here as guys who have been told countless times, “Let’s just be friends”, or “let’s not rush things”. Well you know what I say to that? Bullshit!”
Crimson raised his fist and everyone cheered.
“I promise you that you will become the cocky, confident funny guy that women are attracted to. I will teach you opening lines, how to make yourself seem valuable, how to initiate threesomes and all sorts of techniques that will make Casanova seem like an amateur”
And so it began. The seminar lasted three hours; three hours of preaching pick up techniques with the pick up jargon thrown in for good measure. PUA (pick up artist), HB (hot babe), IOI (Indicator of interest), pea cocking, sarging, wing man, ESP techniques, NLP, freeze out, shit tests, boyfriend destroyers, alpha maleing and so forth. If anyone talked to me in the street like this before I went to this seminar, I would have assumed Valium was going cheap. But I now knew what this stuff meant, what these guys in internet chat rooms and forums were talking about, and later I would know so much more.
I always believe in business before pleasure. So after the seminar I approached Crimson in the hotel lobby who was with his adoring followers who were ready to go out sarging, that’s picking up women if you don’t know the lingo. He had this aura of charm about him. If he hadn’t become a pick up artist he’d be some kind of salesman. He was natural born speaker, his sales pitch could be that you’d be buying a car that explodes as soon as you stepped on the accelerator, but you’d still by it. I slowly walked up to him.
“Hi…erm Alex….I’m…a journalist. I was wondering I could do an interview with you”
“No.”
“What?
“That’s not why you are here. You’re here to find out how you can get into a girl’s panties.”
Crimson was very blunt but had a cocky smile on his face. A part of me knew he was correct, that I was intrigued with his methods of getting women. I felt like I was insignificant to a man who had the answers to so many guys’ problems.
“What’s your score?”, he asked very directly.
“Score?”
“Yeah how many ladies have you bedded?”
“Er..I don’t know…3?”
“65 my friend. And so can you”
It was bold claim but during his seminar the stuff he was saying made sense. Crimson would take me under his wing and show me a world I never thought I would be a part of.
“Alex I see a lot of potential in you. You could be a lady killer if you just stepped outside of yourself and be more than you are. I think you got something a lot of these guys here don’t have, initiative. That will take you very far. So ask yourself this, do you want to be a pick up artist?”
I thought hard about this. All my life women eluded me, yet here was a man who had no problem with women. He had a smile and reassurance that made me know that if he took me into his world then I would be so much more than a lousy journalist.
“Ok” I said taking a deep breathe before my response.
“Good”, He smiled. “Follow me. We’re going to a different night club to these saps. We’ll take my limo and I will get you started on your first steps to becoming a super star of sex”