P.L.A.Y.time- Disciplined and Bred (P.L.A.Ytime- tales of sexual savagery)

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Dim and strange are the recollections that steal over me while I read these time-worn letters of one who, with all his faults, was the kindest, fondest, and best of enthusiasts. It seems like a dream; I cannot fancy that I am the child alluded to. It seems as though all this must have happened to some one else, and that I stood by and watched. Yet have I a vague and shadowy remembrance of the warm autumnal evening; the road soft and thick with dust; the creaking, monotonous motion of the carriage, and my waking up from an occasional nap, and finding myself propped by the strong arm of a stranger, and nestling my head upon his broad shoulder, whilst my father's kind face and eager eyes were turned towards my new acquaintance with the earnest comprehensive look I remember so well.

My father always seemed to take in at a glance, not only the object that attracted his attention, but all its accessories, possible as well as actual. I believe he never left off painting in his mind. I remember nothing very distinctly; and no wonder, for my little brain must have been a strange chaos of shifting scenes and unexpected events, foreign manners and home ideas, to say nothing of a general confusion of tongues; for I could prattle French, German, and Hungarian, with a smattering of Turkish, not to mention my own native language; and I used them all indiscriminately.

But my father's letters bring back much that I had otherwise forgotten, and whilst I read the story of the renegade, I can almost fancy I am leaning against his upright soldierlike form, and listening to the clear decided tones in which he told his tale. Shall I tell you why I entered the Imperial army? All my life I have thought it best to be on the winning side. If I had been born an Englishman, oh, what happiness! I would have asked no better lot than to wander about with my dog and my gun, and be free. But a Croat, no, there is no liberty in Croatia. We must have masters, forsooth!

But these, too, have their masters, and I have seen the lord of many thousand acres tremble before a captain of dragoons. So I determined that if a military despotism was to be the order of the day, why I, too, would make a part of the great engine, perhaps some time I might come to wield it all. My father was appointed steward to a great lord in Hungary—perhaps, had he remained, I might never have left home, for I am his only child, and we two are alone in the world; besides, is not a son's first duty to obey his father?

If I wanted to move across that stream and had no boats, what should I do? I would try if it be too deep to wade. But the regulation says, soldiers shall not wade if the water be over a certain depth. So for six inches of water I must be defeated. That should not be my way; if it came no higher than their chins my men should cross; and if we could keep our muskets dry, where would be the harm?

Well, I soon rose to be a corporal and a sergeant; and whilst I practised fencing and riding and gymnastics, I learnt besides something of gunnery and fortification, and the art of supplying an army with food. At last I was made lieutenant and paymaster of the regiment, for I could always calculate readily, and never shrank from trouble or feared responsibility.

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So I had good pay and good comrades, and was getting on. Meanwhile my poor father was distressing himself about my profession, and imagining all sorts of misfortunes that would happen to me if I remained a soldier. In his letters to me he always hinted at the possibility of some great success—at his hopes of, before long, placing me in an independent position; that I should leave the army to come and live with him, and we would farm an estate of our own, and never be parted any more.

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Ticket after ticket did he purchase, and ticket after ticket came up a blank. At last, in his infatuation, he raised a sum of money—enough to obtain him all the numbers he had set his heart upon—for he mixed calculation with his gambling, which is certain ruin—and for this purpose he embezzled two thousand florins of his employer's property, and wasted it as he had done the rest.

In his despair he wrote to me. What could I do? I have it here in this leathern bag. I have saved my father; he is steward at Edeldorf.

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  • I shall see him to-night; after that I must fly the country. I will go to England, the land of the free. I am ruined, degraded, and my life is not worth twelve hours' purchase; but I do not regret it. Look at your boy, sir, and tell me if I am not right. You like a fine place, Hal; you always did. I remember when you used to vow that if ever Fortune smiled upon you—and faith, it is not for want of wooing that you have missed the goddess's favours—how you would build and castellate and improve Beverley Manor, till, in my opinion as an artist and a man of associations, you would spoil it completely; but I think even your fastidious taste would be delighted with Edeldorf.

    The sun was just down as we drove into the park, and returned the salute of the smart Hussar mounting guard at the lodge; and the winding road, and smooth sward dotted with thorns, and those eternal acacias, reminded one of a gentleman's place in Old England, till we rounded the corner of a beautifully-dressed flower-garden, and came in view of the castle itself, with all its angles and turrets and embrasures, and mullioned windows, and picturesque ins-and-outs; the whole standing boldly out in a chiaro-oscuro against the evening sky, fast beginning to soften into twilight.

    Old De Rohan was on the steps to welcome me, his figure upright and noble as ever; his countenance as pleasing; but the beard and moustache that you and I remember so dark and glossy, now as white as snow; yet he is a very handsome fellow still. In mail or plate, leaning his arm on his helmet, with his beard flowing over a steel cuirass inlaid with gold, he would make a capital seneschal, or marshal of a tournament, or other elderly dignitary of the middle ages; but I should like best to paint him in dark velvet, with a skull-cap, as Lord Soulis, or some other noble votary of the magic art; and to bring him out in a dusky room, with one ray of vivid light from a lamp just over his temples, and gleaming off that fine, bold, shining forehead, from which the hair is now completely worn away.

    There are no more of the old dusty letters. Why these should have been tied up and preserved for so many years is more than I can tell. They have, however, reminded me of much in my youth that I had well-nigh forgotten. I must try back on my vague memories for the commencement of my narrative.

    The boy was evidently bent on patronising his friend. The friend was somewhat abashed and bewildered, and grateful to be taken notice of. Come and see my sword. They were indeed a strange contrast. Victor de Rohan, son and heir to one of the noblest and wealthiest of Hungary's aristocracy, looked all over the high-bred child he was. Free and bold, his large, frank blue eyes, and wide brow, shaded with clustering curls of golden brown, betokened a gallant, thoughtless spirit, and a kind, warm heart; whilst the delicate nostril and handsomely-curved mouth of the well-born child betrayed, perhaps, a little too much pride for one so young, and argued a disposition not too patient of contradiction or restraint.

    His little companion was as unlike him as possible, and indeed most people would have taken Victor for the English boy, and Vere for the foreign one. The latter was heavy, awkward, and ungainly in his movements, timid and hesitating in his manner, with a sallow complexion, and dark, deep-set eyes, that seemed always looking into a world beyond. He was a strange child, totally without the light-heartedness of his age, timid, shy, and awkward, but capable of strong attachments, and willing to endure anything for the sake of those he loved. Then he had quaint fancies, and curious modes of expressing them, which made other children laugh at him, when the boy would retire into himself, deeply wounded and unhappy, but too proud to show it.

    As he looks now at Victor's sword, with which the latter is vapouring about the hall, destroying imaginary enemies, Vere asks—. No, I think they must be the people that are killed. So the two boys make their entrance into the banqueting-hall, where De Rohan sits in state, surrounded by his guests. On his right is placed Philip Egerton, whose dark eye gleams with pleasure as he looks upon his son. Who but a father would take delight in such a plain, unattractive child?

    Vere glides quietly to his side, shrinking from the strange faces and gorgeous uniforms around; but Victor walks boldly up to the old Count, and demands his daily glass of Tokay, not as a favour, but a right. Come, clink your glass with me. Austrian soldiers are not so brave as Hungarians. Why, with that sword of yours, I should be very sorry to face you with my whole division. What a Light Dragoon the rogue will make, De Rohan! I shall make an Englishman of my boy, Egerton; he shall go to an English school, and learn to ride and box, and to be a man. I love England and the English.

    Egerton, your good health! I wish my boy to be like yours. My father's face lighted up with pleasure as he pressed me to his side. I believe he thought his ugly, timid, shrinking child was the admiration of all. All men are naturally brave; it is but education that makes us reflect; hence we learn to fear consequences, and so become cowards.

    What say you, De Rohan? You have been in action, and 'on the ground,' too, more than once. Were you not cursedly afraid? Give us a pint of wine in our stomachs, and we are breastplate all over.

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    We were drawn up on the crest of a hill opposite a battery in position not half-a-mile from us. If they had retired us two hundred yards, we should have been under cover; but we never got the order, and there we stood. The soldiers grumbled sadly, and a few seemed inclined to turn rein and go to the rear.

    Mind you, it is not fair to ask cavalry to sit still and be pounded for amusement; but the officers being cowards by education , Mr. Egerton, did their duty well, and kept the men together. I was watching my troop anxiously enough, and I heard one man say to his comrade, 'Look at Johann, Fritz! Bravery, after all, is only insensibility to danger.

    The guests all laughed; and the discussion would have terminated, but that De Rohan, who had drunk more wine than was his custom, and who was very proud of his boy, could not refrain from once more turning the conversation to Victor's merits, and to that personal courage by which, however much he might affect to make light of it in society, he set such store.

    Are you afraid of being in the dark? I don't go through the Ghost's Gallery after six o'clock. This na ve confession excited much amusement amongst the guests; but De Rohan's confidence in his boy's courage was not to be so shaken. Victor looked at me, and I at him. My breath came quicker and quicker. The child coloured painfully, but did not answer. I felt his terrors myself. I looked upon the proposed expedition as a soldier might on a forlorn hope; but something within kept stirring me to speak; it was a mingled feeling of emulation, pity, and friendship, tinged with that inexplicable charm that coming danger has always possessed for me—a charm that the constitutionally brave are incapable of feeling.

    I mastered my shyness with an effort, and, shaking all over, said to the master of the house, in a thick, low voice—. Victor, too, caught the enthusiasm; and, ashamed of showing less courage than his playfellow, expressed his readiness to accompany me,—first stipulating, however, with praise-worthy caution, that he should take his sword for our joint preservation; and also that two large bunches of grapes should be placed at our disposal on our safe return, "if," as Victor touchingly remarked, "we ever came back at all!

    Hand-in-hand we two children walked through the ante-room, and across the hall; nor was it until we reached the first landing on the wide, gloomy oak staircase, that we paused to consider our future plans, and to scan the desperate nature of our enterprise. There were but two more flights of steps, a green-baize door to go through, a few yards of passage to traverse, and then, Victor assured me, in trembling accents, we should be in the Ghost's Gallery. My heart beat painfully, and my informant began to cry. We laid our plans, however, with considerable caution, and made a solemn compact of alliance, offensive and defensive, that no power, natural or supernatural, was to shake.

    We were on no account whatsoever to leave go of each other's hands. Thus linked, and Victor having his sword drawn,—for the furtherance of which warlike attitude I was to keep carefully on his left,—we resolved to advance, if possible, talking the whole way up to the fatal table whereon lay the Breviary, and then snatching it up hastily, to return backwards, so as to present our front to the foe till we reached the green-baize door, at which point sauve qui peut was to be the order; and we were to rush back into the dining-room as fast as our legs could carry us.

    But in the event of our progress being interrupted by the ghost who appeared, as Victor informed me, in the shape of a huge black dog with green eyes,—a description at which my blood ran cold,—and which he added had been seen once by his governess and twice by an old drunken Hussar who waited on him, and answered to the name of "Hans" , we were to lie down on our faces, so as to hide our eyes from the ghostly vision, and scream till we alarmed the house; but on no account, we repeated in the most binding and solemn manner—on no account were we to let go of each other's hands.

    This compact made and provided, we advanced towards the gallery, Victor feeling the edge and point of his weapon with an appearance of confidence that my own beating heart told me must be put on for the occasion, and would vanish at the first appearance of danger. And now the green door is passed and we are in the gallery; a faint light through the stained windows only serves to show its extent and general gloom, whilst its corners and abutments are black as a wolfs mouth.

    Not a servant in the castle would willingly traverse this gallery after dark, and we two children feel that we are at last alone, and cut off from all hopes of assistance or rescue. But the Breviary lies on the table at the far end, and, dreading the very sound of our own footsteps, we steal quietly on. All at once Victor stops short. The question alone takes away my breath, and I feel the drops break out on my lips and forehead.

    We stop simultaneously and listen. Encouraged by the silence, we creep on, and for an instant I experience that vague tumultuous feeling of excitement which is almost akin to pleasure. My hair stands on end, and Victor's hand clasps mine like a vice. I dare scarce turn my head towards the sound,—it comes from that far corner. A dark object in the deepest gloom of that recess seems crouching for a spring. What shouts of laughter met us as we approached the table.

    I shrank from them all and took refuge at my father's side. We were sent to bed, and I shared Victor's nursery, under the joint charge of Nettich and his own attendant; but, do what I would, I could not sleep. There was a stain upon my character in the eyes of the one I loved best on earth, and I could not bear it. Though so quiet and undemonstrative, I was a child of strong attachments. I perfectly idolised my father, and now he was ashamed of me;—the words seemed to burn in my little heart.

    I tossed and tumbled and fretted myself into a fever, aggravated by the sounding snores of Nettich and the other nurse, who slept as only nurses can. At last I could bear it no longer. I sat up in bed and peered stealthily round. All were hushed in sleep. I determined to do or die. Yes, I would go to the gallery; I would fetch the Breviary and lay it on my father's table before he awoke. If I succeeded, I should recover his good opinion; if I encountered the phantom dog, why, he could but kill me, after all. I would wake Victor, and we would go together;—or, no,—I would take the whole peril, and have all the glory of the exploit, myself.

    I thought it over every way. At last my mind was made up; my naked feet were on the floor; I stole from the nursery; I threaded the dark passages; I reached the gallery; a dim light was shining at the far end, and I could hear earnest voices conversing in a low, guarded tone. Half-frightened and altogether confused, I stopped and listened. The Count's old steward has seen all go to rest in the castle; the lords have left the banqueting-room, and the servants, who have been making merry in the hall, are long ere this sound asleep.

    It is the steward's custom to see all safe before he lights his lamp and retires to rest; but to-night he shades it carefully with a wrinkled hand that trembles strangely, and his white face peers into the darkness, as though he were about some deed of shame. He steals into the Ghost's Gallery, and creeps silently to the farther end. There is a dark object muffled in a cloak in the gloomiest corner, and the light from the steward's lamp reveals a fine young man, sleeping with that thorough abandonment which is only observable in those who are completely outwearied and overdone.

    It is some minutes ere the old man can wake him. Hard, hard is it to be robbed of my son—robbed—" and the old man checks himself as though the word recalled some painful associations. I must be off before dawn; but surely it cannot be midnight yet. I have concealed you here because not a servant of the household dare set foot in the Ghost's Gallery till daylight, and you are safe; but twenty-four more hours must see you on the Danube, and you must come here no more. The son had more energy and self-command; his voice did not even shake as he soothed and quieted the old man with a protecting fondness like that of a parent for a child.

    My first duty is to you, and were it to do again, I would do it. Father, I shall come back some day, and offer you a home. Fear not for me. I have it here in my breast, the stuff of which men make fortunes.


    I can rely upon myself. I can obey orders; and, father, when others are bewildered and confused, I can command. I feel it; I know it. Let me but get clear of the 'Eagle's' talons, and fear not for me, dear father, I shall see you again, and we will be prosperous and happy yet. But, how to get away? Can I get a good horse here? Does the Count know I am in trouble, and will he help me? Tell me all, father, and I shall see my own way, I will answer for it. The General is a jovial comrade and a good-humoured acquaintance; but, as a matter of duty, he would hang his own son and go to dinner afterwards with an appetite none the worse.

    The Zingynies are in the village; they held their merrymaking here yesterday. I saw their Queen last night after you arrived. I have arranged it all with her. A gipsy's dress, a dyed skin, and the middle of the troop; not an Austrian soldier in Hungary that will detect you then. Banishment is better than death. How can we get out of the castle without alarming the household? I leave all to you now; it will be my turn some day. My curiosity was fearfully excited. I would have given all my playthings to follow them. I crept stealthily on, naked feet and all; but I was not close enough behind, and the door shut quietly with a spring just as my hand was upon it, leaving me alone in the Ghost's Gallery.

    I was not the least frightened now. I forgot all about ghosts and Breviaries, and stole back to my nursery and my bed, my little head completely filled with a medley of stewards and soldiers and gipsies, and Austrian generals and military executions, and phantom dogs and secret staircases, and all the most unlikely incidents that crowd together in that busy organ—a child's brain.

    The morning sun smiles upon a motley troop journeying towards the Danube. Two or three lithe, supple urchins, bounding and dancing along with half-naked bodies, and bright black eyes shining through knotted elf-locks, form the advanced guard. Half-a-dozen donkeys seem to carry the whole property of the tribe. The main body consists of sinewy, active-looking men, and strikingly handsome girls, all walking with the free, graceful air and elastic gait peculiar to those whose lives are passed entirely in active exercise, under no roof but that of heaven.

    Dark-browed women in the very meridian of beauty bring up the rear, dragging or carrying a race of swarthy progeny, all alike distinguished for the sparkling eyes and raven hair, which, with a cunning nothing can overreach, and a nature nothing can tame, seem to be the peculiar inheritance of the gipsy. Their costume is striking, not to say grotesque. Some of the girls, and all the matrons, bind their brows with various coloured handkerchiefs, which form a very picturesque and not unbecoming head-gear; whilst in a few instances coins even of gold are strung amongst the jetty locks of the Zingynie beauties.

    The men are not so particular in their attire. One sinewy fellow wears only a goatskin shirt and a string of beads round his neck, but the generality are clad in the coarse cloth of the country, much tattered, and bearing evident symptoms of weather and wear. The little mischievous urchins who are clinging round their mothers' necks, or dragging back from their mothers' hands, and holding on to their mothers' skirts, are almost naked.

    Small heads and hands and feet, all the marks of what we are accustomed to term high birth, are hereditary among the gipsies; and we doubt if the Queen of the South herself was a more queenly-looking personage than the dame now marching in the midst of the throng, and conversing earnestly with her companion, a resolute-looking man scarce entering upon the prime of life, with a gipsy complexion, but a bearing in which it is not difficult to recognise the soldier. He is talking to his protectress—for such she is—with a military frankness and vivacity, which even to that royal personage, accustomed though she be to exact all the respect due to her rank, appear by no means displeasing.

    The lady is verging on the autumn of her charms their summer must have been scorching indeed! Black-browed is she, and deep-coloured, with eyes of fire, and locks of jet, even now untinged with grey. Straight and regular are her features, and the wide mouth, with its strong, even dazzling teeth, betokens an energy and force of will which would do credit to the other sex.

    She has the face of a woman that would dare much, labour much, everything but love much. She ought to be a queen, and she is one, none the less despotic for ruling over a tribe of gipsies instead of a civilised community. Let me see a soldier of them all lay a hand upon you, and you shall see the gipsy brood show their teeth.

    A long knife is no bad weapon at close quarters. When you have got to the top of the wheel you will remember me! The soldier laughed, and lightly replied, "Yours are the sort of eyes one does not easily forget, mother. I wish I were a prince of the blood in your nation. As I am situated now I can only be dazzled by so much beauty, and go my ways. The woman checked him sternly, almost savagely, though a few minutes before she had been listening, half amused, to his gay and not very respectful conversation. Once more I say, when the wheel has turned, remember me.

    Give me your hand; I can read it plainer so. She was studying the lines on his palm with earnest attention. She raised her dark eyes angrily to his face. Look at that white road, winding and winding many a mile before us upon the plain. Because it is flat and soft and smooth as far as we can see, will there be no hills on our journey, no rocks to cut our feet—no thorns to tear our limbs?

    Can you see the Danube rolling on far, far before us? Can you see the river you will have to cross some day, or can you tell me where it leads? I have the map of our journey here in my brain; I have the map of your career here on your hand. Once more I say, when the chiefs are in council, and the hosts are melting like snow before the sun, and the earth quakes, and the heavens are filled with thunder, and the shower that falls scorches and crushes and blasts—remember me!

    I follow the line of wealth: I follow the line of pleasure: Costly amber; rich embroidery; dark eyes melting for the Croat; glances unveiled for the shaven head, many and loving and beautiful; a garland of roses, all for one—rose by rose plucked and withered and thrown away; one tender bud remaining; cherish it till it blows, and wear it till it dies.

    I follow the line of blood: Rising on the whirlwind, chief among chiefs, the honoured of leaders, the counsellor of princes—remember me! The gipsy stopped, and clung to him exhausted. For a few paces she was unable to support herself; the prophetic mood past, there was a reaction, and all her powers seemed to fail her at once; but her companion walked on in silence. The eagerness of the Pythoness had impressed even his strong, practical nature, and he seemed himself to look into futurity as he muttered, "If man can win it, I will.

    The gipsies travelled but slowly; and although the sun was already high, they had not yet placed many miles between the fugitive and the castle. This, however, was of no great importance. His disguise was so complete, that few would have recognised in the tattered, swarthy vagrant, the smart, soldier-like traveller who had arrived the previous evening at Edeldorf. From the conversation I had overheard in the Ghost's Gallery, I was alone in the secret, which, strange to say, I forbore to confide even to my friend Victor.

    But I could not forget the steward and his son; it was my first glimpse into the romance of real life, and I could not help feeling a painful interest in his fortunes, and an eager desire to see him at least safe off with his motley company. I was rejoiced, therefore, at Victor's early proposal, made the very instant we had swallowed our breakfasts, that we should take a ride; and notwithstanding my misgivings about a strange pony, for I was always timid on horseback, I willingly accepted his offer of a mount, and jumped into the saddle almost as readily as my little companion, a true Hungarian, with whom,.

    Of course, Victor had a complete establishment of ponies belonging to himself; and equally of course, he had detailed to me at great length their several merits and peculiarities, with an authentic biography of his favourite—a stiff little chestnut, rejoicing in the name of "Gold-kind," which, signifying as it does "the golden-child," or darling, he seemed to think an exceedingly happy allusion to the chestnut skin and endearing qualities of his treasure. Fortunately, my pony was very quiet; and although, when mounted, my playfellow went off at score, we were soon some miles from Edeldorf, without any event occurring to upset my own equilibrium or the sobriety of my steed.

    Equally fortunately, we took the road by which the gipsies had travelled. Ere long, we overtook the cavalcade as it wound slowly along the plain. Heads were bared to Victor, and blessings called down upon the family of De Rohan; for the old Count was at all times a friend to the friendless, and a refuge to the poor. My pretty boy, I was at your christening, and have held you in my arms many a time. Let me tell your happy fortune. Victor began to relent. I proffered my hand readily to the gipsy, and crossed it with one of the two pieces of silver which constituted the whole of my worldly wealth.

    The gipsy laughed, and began to prophesy in German. There are some events a child never forgets; and I remember every word she said as well as if it had been spoken yesterday. And the dove's heart shall become like the eagle's, that flies alone, and fleshes her beak in the slain.

    Beat on, though the poor wings be bruised by the tempest, and the breast be sore, and the heart sink; beat on against the wind, and seek no shelter till thou find thy resting-place at last. The time will come—only beat on. The woman laughed as she spoke; but there was a kindly tone in her voice and a pitying look in her bright eyes that went straight to my heart. Many a time since, in life, when the storm has indeed been boisterous and the wings so weary, have I thought of those words of encouragement, "The time will come—beat on.

    It was now Victor's turn, and he crossed his palm with a golden ducat ere he presented it to the sibyl. This was of itself sufficient to insure him a magnificent future; and as the queen perused the lines on his soft little hand, with its pink fingers, she indulged in anticipations of magnificence proportioned to the handsome donation of the child. And the sword shall spare thee, and the battle turn aside to let thee pass. And thou shalt wed a fair bride with dark eyes and a queenly brow; but beware of St.

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    • Birth and burial, birth and burial—beware of St. Mother, can't you make out I shall be a soldier? I took advantage of the movement to press near my acquaintance of the day before, whom I had not failed to recognise in his gipsy garb. Poor fellow, my childish heart bled for him, and, in a happy moment, I bethought me of my remaining bit of silver. I stooped from my pony and kissed his forehead, while I squeezed the coin into his hand without a word.

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      They will be red afterward. Then, and only after I have made sure you are nicely lubricated preferably by eating your pussy for a good long while I will fuck you. And I will fuck you hard and through, fast and furious, for hours on end. You will be sore after. Finally, to finish things off I will then fuck you in the ass, with a bit more light or heavy slapping of your ass cheeks thrown in just to remind you not be such a whiny little bitch. Your ass will long for my cock afterward, especially when you are taking a really big shit.

      After a few sessions like that you will be a changed woman. Perhaps the sweet elixir will last only a little while, but during that time you will feel things you have never felt before. Why waste the time? As well, what women excel at in the workplace primarily is being dutiful diligent followers — including at very high levels of expertise. How much important stuff is really invented by women? In all fields, outside literature and a few arts. Men dropping out from being career ambitious that is, except in obvious chic magnet stuff like acting and being rock stars.

      You hardly care about your poor taste. The only chance they have is on a team with genes from an alcoholic loser. There are two reasons for this 1 you can attract only lower quality mates than you could without a child and 2 you get no support for your child from the father or his family, if you have the bad luck to lose your job or something, your son suffers; his suffering makes him a less valuable mate later in life. Him being a loser with women means your genes die. Jesus look at all these guys for child support no wonder guys getting reamed the edumucateds want it that way and think it is great and necesary.

      She is a , times better than the bitch who leaves the man and goes on a crusade to destroy him. Sometimes you need to build a woman up, and help her feel more confident, or calmer, or hopeful, or trusting. Most men know all about reassuring women and do it to excess. Or to women misreading the overall message. Then there is no drawback to marrying her and giving it a go to see if it would work. She would be a perfect woman for marriage in the states right now. Yes, there is that other side. A lot of men go too far with the emotionally distant asshole thing.

      They get more girls than all too emotionally available, reassuring betas, but acting that way can cause long term relationship problems. What redcal we have been talking about men who get fucked over after marriage and sold as slaves to child support and alimony and that is why people will be avoiding marriage. Also have heard many stories of woman who make it extremlely difficult for a man to see his kids. In rains case the man chooses his involvement.

      Now all of the sudden the wish of the perfect divorce comes true and people are complaining. What the fuck is the problem? Ironweights, dude, did you got scooped!?! A lot of game is about good guys getting back their masculine edge. It is deprogramming us of the wrong headed advice of society and yes, you women. That is going to ripple through the society in the next years as there are markedly fewer men in the upper part of the economy. The result of that huge disparity — one which has been noted but which the feminist establishment seems determined to keep in place and in fact make worse in the years ahead — is that relatively few of these educated women will be able to find mates … as we know, women are hypergamous and most would prefer to be alone than with a man who is lower in status than they are.

      The result of that will be women deciding either to not have children, or to become single mothers by choice. In the first case, the birth rate plummets even more than it already has. In the second case, the birth rate will shrink, but less. But in either case, it means a lot of men, perhaps the majority, will not be fathers, or will be fathers who are not living with their kids.

      The impact is already being felt. We are creating a growing class of untertan, untouchable sexual caste males who are basically going to be seen soon enough as human refuse. There is no way out of that problem. Currently the white birth rate in the US is around 1. No civilization has ever survived when the rate drops below 1. I expect that due to the economic demographic described above, the rate will drop.. Of course the overall birth rate is higher, but all that means is that the culture of the US is heading towards a massive shift away from what it is today — much less educated, much more underclass … much more like Brazil.

      Get used to it. Men are not going to show you deference or CARE about you one way or another. A-holes have sex because women reward this and those without are not going to care. Your son, btw, is statistically likely to have far more problems in life than a boy who grew up in a two parent family, with the biological father married to the mother. You know this, correct? You can certainly find pump-and-dump guys, but all that will do is teach your son some fairly negative, though realistic, assessments of women.

      This also applies to your son, HIS reproductive success will be based along with his happiness in banging as many women as possible in short-term pump and dump relationships. Or he can be an angry, loner, bitter beta like Rorschach. I am utterly unsurprised by the negative reaction to you by the men here. If you meet this babe you will need your A game. However, I think she might be worth it. Are all these traits related to asshole-dom?

      For all the men here. For the ladies this might be true. Roissy asked me to pass on this message to the women older than 25 years. This is, I am afraid, true. Play good game, and tonight you could be …. Doing so would at the least, show her to be the sensible, reasoned person she herself has purported to be.

      Moreover, she has attacked others. But perhaps your arguments would have longer legs if you could explain explicitly why, Negging does not work? Your son has, by all accounts, a much more difficult road to Manhood as a result, even assuming his grandfather is around long enough to see him grow to manhood. Please, do not take this as a personal dig, it is not.

      Just tallying the facts as you have laid them out.

      2310 pictures of flowers to print reduced pictures of flowers to print yellow pink fabric joann

      Indeed, we see this all the time-please note how often divorced Men remarry, versus divorced Women. In fact, even moreso, since it is a known fact that they tend to be inherently more unstable than marriages, even in our time. Again, you may beat the odds-its happened before. My Dad once hit for more than K at Atlantic City. But that was a fluke. But if trends measured in White America-White, suburban America-are any indication, Black America becomes the canary in the coalmine, rather than some social and demographic aberration.

      Holy shit, some of things posted are just so mindblowingly misogynist that it just makes my head spin. I know you have no interest in game but you can always Drive all night. And that is enough of your backchat. The last thing I need is some dame giving me a headache. Too late for romance: On your second attempted insult, I suppose a single mother should be out getting drunk and partying on a Friday as opposed to being home spending time with my son? Way to contradict yourself. I am not going to talk to you anymore if you keep repeating things that I already stated above a milllion times.

      Second we already covered a million times that YES I made a bad choice in men and had a son with him by choice. Well exactly HOW would someone prove something like that??? You initiated the backchat, my friend. You brought it upon yourself! The phrase implies that any guy can serve as a father substitute. This just is not true. It is by daily observance that sons learn to be men from their fathers, who have authority over their children.

      You know you might have a window of opportunity here while someone is being all diligent about upcoming exams. After i fuck this bitch for 7 days straight i can tell her to jump she will ask how high. I can tell her to dive off a cliff and she will grow wings. One need not have read Burke or Locke here. The game is based on what to many people is basic psychology for both men and women with slightly different approach.

      There is nothing wrong with a person choosing to live their life with only casual sexual relationships and things of the sort. THAT is the part I have a problem with. I hate women who are gold-diggers and live off the generosity of others in the same way. Also Obsidian I am not irrational enough to think that there are NO negatives to being a single mom, however so far I have done very well in giving him the same kind of life any other kid has ie: I expect no less from my son than I would from any other able-bodied, educated person.

      Also, since you asked I am a white woman and my son is white as well. Overthrow the government and repeal by fiat the amendment giving women the right to vote. Then with the resulting electorate, ratify it. Neither idea had ever crossed my mind, which I mean literally, before coming here. And being here a lot.

      Great post Roissy, great. Word to the wise, you may be unaware that a boy growing up needs a male in the house. For all I know, maybe his development needs the testosterone in the air. I know my wife sometimes says that she suddenly feels calmer when I come back from work. Also, he needs to have a male role model.

      Ideally, someone he can emulate. But evel less ideally, someone who he can use as a guide in how NOT to be. Or if understandably a beta is unacceptable, then some older divorced guy with alpha qualities, whom you can give a child too. I hear you man. No wiser point has Obsidian made than African-Americans are the canary in the American coal mine. Women know, and know well, the enhanced outcomes for boys: The risk of the next generation falling down is just too great. What is it that women want? Women generally have a shorter future time orientation, whenever basic needs are met.

      If you have a son, I would advise him to become the most dominant, sexy man he can, and not waste his time with anything but becoming a PUA and impregnator of as many women as possible. Having a newborn boy, these thoughts are never far from my mind. Honestly, both of those options would be really rough for me for two reasons above all else:. The option of a more Alpha-but older divorcee is equally horrifying because I am very very prone to dating guys who are either my age or at least 5 years younger.

      And is just commiserating about it online? Out of curiosity I checked your blog. You have a son. The time for that was over when you got pregnant and chose to keep the child. Well I already answered as to HOW I ended up here and the reason for me being here is pretty much what you just said. I like to read, I like to debate, and I find human nature interesting. Almost to a tee, really. And in the age range where I think your theory applies best, too.

      You can have a nice life and not pass on your genes. Came here from a comedy site thinking it was a joke, and got pulled in to the truth and power of our arguments. We must — simply must — marshall all of our available resources and technology. We need to gather the strength of will to do things that in earlier times might have been considered unthinkable. With this steely resolve and renewed vigor, we will — by government fiat, if need be — acquire the services of one Alias Clio. We will throw all available fertility technology at the problem. IVF will allow us to salvage her spectacular, one-of-a-kind eggs, and with the assistance of certain right-thinking alphas on this blog, we could concievably fertilize enough eggs in enough time to possibly create a Brave New World, with Alias Clio serving as the new Eve, representing a singularity in the evolution of humanity to a new level of organization.

      While the incubation of the eggs would necessarily be done via the latest technology to maximize numerical potential, I feel that — as a sort of hat-tip to the old world order — the fertilization should be done in the traditional manner. I am very very prone to dating guys who are either my age or at least 5 years younger. I have never dated a guy who was even slightly older than me. Lady Rain, Listening to one of my faves, Lisa Stansfield, while reading your comments. Pardon the delay in my own reply to you.

      Like you, there are those who wrongly assume that Game is geared for primarily multiple, short term sexual relationships. This is a grave misunderstanding of what Game is, and indeed, in the archives of this very venue, Roissy himself makes it very clear that it is quite possible to employ the tenets of Game within the confines of a longterm, monogamous relationship or even marriage.

      Indeed, members of the forum, such as Dave From Hawaii, PA, Doug and others, have written about just this at considerable length. I do not cotton to the idea that Game is inherently misogynist, or that Game invariably makes one a misogynist; as noted above, Game in itself, is devoid of such aims.

      But the two are not intrinsically linked. I have gone on record, in this forum, publicly, that learning has given me a much deeper appreciation for Women since learning Game, not less. Whether the button pusher respects or even likes Women, is a matter completely seperate from Game itself. And what are you Tupac? You men are so happy with even a sniff of pussy on this blog you will waste your intelligence responding to L. Thanks for the suggestion, I sent it in!

      We all know the issues involved in that and we also should know single mothers are physically incapable of understanding said issues. Instead, can we build on what Roissy originally wrote??? Here is my contribution. Do you know Bon Jovi? He lives with me in my own place. Actually, that response was pretty creative and awesome. You know what I mean. Okay I missed the part where you said he was the same age as you, and cued off of where you said mostly you dated younger men.

      A good debate is a good debate, none the less. If you read my dialougue with some chick you will note no lies. I could go to her house and fuck her. He was actually fun to debate with headmaster that is right up until he posted allegedly drunk and started it with this:. You really do not understand game, and its purpose its okay, a lot of people dont. Try to read a bit go through some archives, and other blogs , and try not to type so much. The scene is the local mall.

      She picked this up right away, because her body language got self-conscious she started unconsciously smoothing out her clothes. The funny thing is I did this accidentally in my younger years. I felt bad, but funny enough it worked. If you guys do want to debate ladyrain and what not, it would be much more entertaining and on topic over at the cracked forum. However, using this to make things a little easier is a lot different than using this to wage an imaginary war on one sex is both immature and creepy.

      I read some of the comments on those cracked. Well yea chuck she would think she was flying till she hit the ground. I may do it one day out a window having previously set up a movie stunt type balloon down below. War has been waged on men for decades. These men have a right to fight back as they wish. Mindset comes from examples because by seeing them, you know how to spot an opening when the real thing rolls around.

      Most people watch a baseball game or two before picking up a bat. Most women hate me B. I hate most women C. I consider that particular blogger to be just as ridiculous as Roissy is. I suspect some beta male is supporting you and the son of your alpha lover, either indirectly or directly. Try raising a son as a single mother in a neighborhood where all the mothers are single and raising sons. Think crime, gangs, violence, as routine.

      That is just another form of cuckcolding. You find offense that men like Roissy study women like you and seek to have sex with them. I suspect you have sex anytime you feel like it. Men have to work at it. That fact you you refuse to recognize the serious psychological damage to your son by cutting him off from all contact with his father for the simple act of roughing you up emphasizes your lack of understanding of the male psyche. I live off myself and no one else. I have the feeling that you are on a jihad to discredit Roissy et al because any enlightenment amongst men in general would detract from your already shrinking value, and you really have no desire to change your behavior in the least.

      I made a personal choice to leave his father for being abusive and somehow the image of him at 15 under MY care as opposed to both of our care ie: Or is the putative father not the father, as I suggested on the other thread? You are totally shameless. Come up with one single reason a man should provide for you, you parasite.

      Lady Rain, your choices are your choices. Neither one is likely to make you happy, best bet is to minimize unhappiness. It does not matter WHERE the income comes from, so long as it is stable and allows you to pursue bad boys. I mean come on. You have a kid with a bad boy and knock guys who want to learn how to act like a bad boy? Novaseeker — Lady Rain is by no means unusual. Sadly, the choice is pass on your genes, have a lot of sex, or live like a sexless monk, alone and unhappy, for men.

      Those are simply the cards dealt. I mean, look at her. Female income is not coming down, ever, so the fundamental aspect of mating is changed to favor bad boys spreading their seed. Just crude, idea free taunting. Reading the Rain Lady does not make me think she is a shank or an evil person. However, she made choices and has gotten herself into a position that earlier generations would have seen as completely crazy. Admit it Lady Rain, your mom and her fore-mothers would have been slapped silly by their own moms if they announced that they intended to hook up with a violent-tending guy and then raise his spawn as a single mom.

      Women today are not enough afraid of ending up where Lady Rain is. I am glad for her that she does not seem to demand another permanent relationship or more kids. Because the odds are that is what she will get. Those two posts you just quoted. So to answer your question, no they are NOT the same people and we are talking about two totally different time frames. He chose not to be. I agreed his choice was fine.

      That was his choice not mine. Once again, you asked me to explain what makes me quality? This is where you enforce Roissy. You see, we all know women do not find betas attractive, and neither do you. You had a son by a bad boy, and your subsequent betas fail to meet your romantic interest. This is why men follow Roissy. Do you understand now? They must be so used to weak men saddling up to them frothing insincere compliments just to have something to say, when a true observation can say so muc more and give you two something to actually talk about.

      However I never said women prefer Beta-types. I think most women would ideally like a fine blend of both! Middle class in some areas. Again, I cannot thank Lady Rain enough. My usual points get made straight from her own words. For me personally though? I can handle being with a guy with serious attitude because it matches my personality better than a sensitive beta would.

      There IS such a thing! Like I already said, everyone is guilty of this regardless of gender. Like feminism for example. Or like the No-Carb diets even. Sex can be a drug and so can mind control and I think Roissy is aware that the people who will follow him the closest are the people who are probably taking it a bit far.

      This is dangerous is ANY culture or gender. How lightly to take it. What comes to mind when you see that word: What does it really encapsulate? The biggest and deepest fears of man and woman both: Will my genes survive? Am I not good enough to be selected? How much power do you have when you use observation to note exactly where it lies? How much power do you have when you hone your skills to sense where the deepest weaknesses of the human being in front of you are?

      You do this by practicing watching, observing, testing. Then you drive it home, you sniff out the blood and head unerringly for the wound. Just like when a beta is completely destroyed and thinks he is worth nothing. If you have mercy, if you want more than a bit of nothing, if you want a functioning, happy human being then perhaps you will be good enough to soothe the wounds.

      I still have feelings for you anyway, for now. By God, it is heartless war. Go on, rationalise how you proceed on destruction…. Am I not good enough? The latter are users of game. Alpha in this context has nothing to do with hard work, professionalism, or even money. Alpha in this context has strictly to do with the ability to pull, or attract, women whom one wants to attract.

      Roissy takes it to an extreme, I agree.. I think he does more good than harm.. On balance, men need some way to adjust to the wide-open sexual marketplace there is now. Good to know that anything on the internet is always available somewhere. For example, a jilted lover could just suck up her website onto his hard drive and show it to her son when he is 13 so he knows better why his mother deserted his father. Maybe, just maybe, he dumped her for being a slut. Roissy did say to gather blackmail material on your lovers.

      Roissy is just so right about women, it is scary. It may be that women with low sex drives are happy with beta men, but, the rest? No wonder she dumped him. She should tell him to read this blog. He will be so grateful she dumped him. I usually tease girls, but, now I have a much better sense of what teasing can do. Have you a longer list of useful insecurities? I gave you a hard time before ladyrain, but compared to the rest of those yahoos at cracked you almost seem reasonable and sane.

      You cannot have the cake and eat it all. Romance novels end where the alpha becomes a beta marriage.


      Add the decreasing level of ocytocin after about years of a relationship plagues men adn women , and you have an explosive mix. Keep this video in mind next time you think of acting beta. The exaggeration is for comedy, but the fact is that women see and know alpha vs beta when they see it. The ovarian hormonal cycle is God, in terms of game.

      Most of the rest of the cycle — ie dry, no sex — she wants a herbacious nest-building beta-drone. To help her build her nest and go then sleep on the coach. Robin Baker goes into this. With DNA tests that is going to become less viable, but paternity tests are still pretty rare.

      This is also to test who has the most competitive sperm Nova. She pus her two potential mates sperm in direct competition to see if one has a genetic advantage in sperm warfare over the other. Thanks Oscar for posting the cracked forum link. Roissy can definitely stir people up. The roissy haters are entertainingly hypocritical. A female poster wanted to glass roissy if he ever spoke to her at a bar. I wonder what their views on gay bashing and violence against women are. Upon the birth of your son, within a short period you dump him…he willingly leaves with nary a fight for custody of any kind…and wants NOTHING to do with his son?

      He quit you, simple, but it killed him to lose his family son. The man you describe would not simply give up on his son and be MIA unless his situation was absolutely toxic. What did you do? What would he say? But first, my two Latinas. On the Embraer Lineage to Caracas. I remember a part where he neg hit a client, telling him he had bad breath, in order to make the guy insecure so he would be bargaining from a worse vantage point.

      You can see the nanny-government mindset: The nuclear family is dead. Women are not interested in long-term relationships, so for men, the way to go is to not just be an A-hole, but spread your seed. As for Roissy and his site, people post here for a variety of reasons. One, to learn how to be an A-hole successfully and get women. Since women by your own admission prefer A holes. Again, I thank you for posting here and being honest. And as both parents and scholars know, such instability is hard on young children. Not surprisingly, a growing body of research on cohabitation and child well-being indicates that kids who spend time in cohabiting unions are significantly more likely to experience emotional problems, school failure and physical and sexual abuse than children in intact, married homes — in part because they are much more likely to be exposed to a revolving series of romantic partners, usually unrelated adult males, who do not have their best interests at heart.

      No group has ever recorded a decrease in illegitimacy outside White teens. And even that gain seems temporary. Of course, in real life sans make up can destroy an erection within fifteen nanoseconds. They expect me to make a decision even though they have more information about the choice. Whiskey, As per usual, good money. This is the problem. MySpace is rife with people showing off tattoos, single moms pimping out their oddly named kids, and older women who just think bikers and thugs are da bomb!

      At least, relative to having kids that you have a relationship with. I have more biological kids than anyone here. I have been procrastinating on going to the second sperm bank in Oakland, but if I do it, that will be another round of up to ten. Even if they have my genes. It is your child. If you can only have one of the two — genetic propagation or a parent-child relationship through adoption, clearly the latter is preferable if you have to choose.

      So why so much importance to gene propagation? I sincerely think that Game is the last thing DA needs. It would fail miserably at patching the holes in his failure to grow up. A former 8 who rapidly declined to 7. The distinction is between sperm donation which is anonymous until the child is 18 , vs.

      The two are exactly the opposite of each other. DA is an unworthy recipient. An alpha would not take this as established fact.