Work out, put on nice clothes, talk to girl, tease her, tell her cool things about me, pretend to be interested in her, fuck her.
Too fucking easy.
I don’t give a shit about sex. Any broad can spread her legs.
You know what I do care about? Holding girls to a higher standard.
Why? Because my seed is liquid fucking gold and I don’t give it out like its god damn tap water.
See girls, your pussy is powerless to me. What else you got?
You slip on a tight skirt and throw on some makeup and flaunt those nice tits and think your job is done. You shit-test me all the way into the bedroom expecting me to give you amused mastery and show you my status and give you attention and ignore you just right all at the same time, and then you’ll give me sex.
But why should I give you my valuable time and let you revel in my charisma?
Sex, is that the big deal? I’m supposed to feel so grateful that you blessed me with that magical unicorn pussy of yours?
I got news for you girls. For a guy with any clue, finding sex is as easy as finding a pizzeria in New York, and like pizza in New York, its all pretty fucking good.
Your brand ‘aint that special.
Sex is everywhere and anywhere I want it, I don’t give a shit about yours.
It takes more than a nice curve of the ass or a bat of the eyelashes to earn my seed.
My salty essence and genetic code is a gift from my father, and his father, and his father, and on it goes. Its the sticky genetic code of self-sufficient men who have protected and provided for family, women and children. Its the haplogroup of men who built civilization. I have the genetic lineage of warriors, business owners, firefighters, blacksmiths, farmers, herders, poets, politicians, soldiers, artists and even chefs. Hard jobs that help build the world, thinking jobs that help build a culture, they’ve all been done by men in my bloodline. My ceiling for accomplishment is limitless.
I’m not some average guy begging to give my seed away. My seed is valuable and I know it.
Men of lesser genetics may be able to afford spraying their seed anywhere; I allow myself no such atrocities.
My sperm could populate an entire society of strong good looking altruistic people and any girl who takes it in would be lucky to be a vessel towards that new world.
But for that I demand a high price.
Whether or not our sex is intended to end in pregnancy makes no difference. Just the sheer fact that it could makes me demand the same high price.
You better have enviable genetics yourself- I don’t breed with inferior stock. Beauty is the minimum and you better know how important that is. Long hair grown to impress me, healthy diet and exercise to maintain your figure and viability of your eggs.
But the beauty that draws the stares, stutters and drools of lesser men won’t capture my attention for more than a millisecond. I am inundated with a surplus of beauty in my daily pursuits, I can assure you that yours ‘aint that special. You probably look like shit first thing in the morning or on the first day of your period.
I expect impeccable hygiene and classy style. A body tainted by tattoos and excessive piercings and slutty clothing signals you are available for sex to lesser men than myself. I’ll have none of that.
I demand a low N count to show you value your body and sex, and the seed I am about to give you will be appreciated on the level it deserves. A low N count shows both intelligence and confidence as you are smart enough not to give your body to charlatans and scoundrels, and confident enough to wait for the high value man you know you deserve.
I expect manners and grace. No swearing, drunkenness, burping, sarcasm or anything else unbecoming of a lady. I spend a lot of time working with and competing against men in my daily life, the last thing I need is the company of a woman who acts like the men I must compete with. You exist to soothe, not to grate.
A year from now I will be richer and fitter and more socially respected in the Kingdom, but your beauty will have faded a notch. I demand that you treat me with the humility and respect that this biological reality dictates.
Finally, there is nothing I despise more than a woman who shows any disgust for my jizz.
It is the Royal Essence and you better enjoy every last drop.
If it lands on your face, chest or back, consider it raindrops from heaven, a rope of Holy Yogurt.
If you are lucky enough to get it in your mouth, savor it like the nourishing nectar of the Gods.
If I shoot it inside you consider it the greatest compliment of all. You will feel an immediate buzz.
My jizz is to women what Walter White’s pure blue meth is to junkies.
You’ll take my seed, sweetly tell me “thank you sir” and buzz with happy feminine energy for the next day while you iron my fine shirts and indulge in memories of me.
I’ll settle for nothing less.
Some girls don’t want to respect a man that much. They have been poisoned by feminism or never had a strong male figure to look up to growing up or they have already taken far too high a volume of cock to revere their next one. I have no use for those girls. Even a one-night stand with them is worthless beyond the ten-second orgasm, itself not worth the time spent to get it. Leave them for the men who have a low enough opinion of themselves to not demand such respect.
For guys, I don’t give a shit how many girls you’ve fucked just like I don’t give a shit how many pizzerias you’ve eaten at. A man is measured more by the pizzeria’s he refuses to eat at, the prices he refuses to pay for average pizza, if you know what I mean.
Remember, you set the price of your seed.
Mine is fucking gold.