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Getting in touch with your inner animal
10/17/02 4:12:05 PM Eastern Standard Time
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Cliff's List Website
http://www.cliffslist.com/
Please go to the website for a full list of the rules, disclaimers,
suggested links and referrals to other seduction sites and explanations of
what this list is all about. Seminar, workshop & conference schedules are
on the website also, as is a glossary of terms that may be used here that
you may be unfamiliar with.
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Review of the Voodoo Machine:
l ordered this some time ago and, after some missteps (the order got
misplaced, I changed it from ordering a one person unit to a two person
unit, etc.) it finally came in this week. I think the jury is still out on
this one, though. I used it three times last night and I plan to use it
quite a bit over the next week or two. I should preface this review with a
comment that I am usually not one who experiences certain things with the
intensity that others do - I am a pretty insensitive lout when it comes to
certain of the senses (eg. I think my sense of smell and taste are not as
sharp as some other people I know). However, I did experience some
wooziness and I think I slept fairly well (for me) in between the times I
used it (I used it when I went to bed and twice more as I woke up during
the night). My first observation was that it seems expensive for what it
is - which is a small rectangular box (similar to a cheap radio and about
the size of a thick deck of cards) with an intensity dial (actually two on
the unit I have) in front and a place to plug the wire to the ear clips in
on the top (again, place for two clips to be plugged in on my
version). The unit runs on one of those square 9 volt alkaline batteries
(which is not included) so it is very portable. You put some of the
contact gel (the same type of goop your doctor puts on the sensors when you
have a cardiogram) in between the ear clips and you clip them on to both
ear lobes. Then you turn the dial on and you start to feel a small pulsing
in the ear lobes to which you increase or decrease the intensity to your
comfort level. The unit will then just continue to pulse for 20 minutes
and then turn itself off (I was asleep each time before then and never
noticed it turning itself off). So for the price you are getting a clip on
device that pulses on your ear lobes - it appears quite expensive in that
context. I did experience some effect and I am going to keep using it for
a few weeks and see what happens. Now the interesting PU application of
this would be to go out and hook up a young lady (or 5 young ladies at the
same time, if you buy the hookah version for $189.95 U.S. - a smart
Canadian company, Voodoo Machine charges in U.S. dollars). While I didn't
get the full all-natural drug-like effect, I can imagine that if the women
did get it they'd be all over you wanting more. My gut is that others will
experience this more intensely than I do (which is common, as I said above)
and before saying it doesn't do much I plan on trying it out on some others.
My suggestion would be to get the one person unit ($89.95) and see if you
get the benefits as outlined on the website ("Experience feelings of
inebriation, psychedelic visuals, extreme relaxation, floating sensations,
intense endorphin releases, all culminating in a relaxed yet alert euphoric
state. It's a completely electronic drug-like experience and it's entirely
safe, legal, and beneficial in so many fantastic ways!"). You can order it
through this link: http://www.voodoomachine.com/?wid=1125&bid=0
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Ginko:
Saturday night my ex invites me to a party at her house. She shares it with
the boyfriend of a hot secretary I work with...I'll call her Blondie.
I work literally 10 feet away from Blondie 40 hours a week. We barely speak
to one another. I just can't connect with her and I do NOT want to just
make small talk with her. So, we work mostly in silence. But, once in a
while I'll get physically playful with her i.e. pretend fighting, hiding
around corners and scaring her...all very childish and adolescent stuff.
But, she seems to like it. She's 5'10 in shoes, huge breasts, and really
nice face. Guys at work try to be nice, charm her, entertain her, in other
words "kiss her pretty little ass". I wanted to separate myself from them,
so, I occasionally would get a little physical or not talk to her at all. I
have no expectations from her, and I'm sure she has none from me, I'm just
a guy who likes to 'play' with her every once in a while.
Forward to Saturday night. Blondie's boyfriend and my ex threw a party at
their house. There were about 20 people there when I arrived. The place was
bathed in red light, the sound of r&b wafting up from the basement. I went
upstairs, said hello to a few people
I knew and headed for the kitchen to get a drink. Blondie was there and we
started our greeting up from the physical part of our relationship at work
by mock punching each other which somehow mysteriously led to a genuine hug
hello which I converted into a bear hug and lifted her off of the ground
which then turned into her slightly pushing me away from her and then
somehow her right hand fell into my left...much like a boyfriend and
girlfriend's would, but her hand got half in mine when it seemed like we
both became aware of what we were about to do and simultaneously pulled our
hands apart.
Remember, Blondie's boyfriend is in the house. Curiously, she's obviously
pretty flirty with me with him around, almost as if it's
actually safer for her to flirt with me because he's there! Which doesn't
make any sense, anyway...
Now she's standing next to me, leaning up against the kitchen counter and I
decide to try a Toecutter move. Looked at her and said, "remember when we
were little kids and you'd play in the sandbox and a boy would come up to
you (at this point I slipped my left hand up the nape of her neck and
grabbed a fistful of hair) and pull your hair like this?" I pulled her head
back for a couple
of seconds...hehe...she didn't say anything at all, just kind of blanked
out I guess, after she came to, she mentioned she wasn't wearing her heels
and how much shorter she felt without them...I agreed with her, told her
how short I thought she really was, and was kinda pissed that she had
misrepresented herself in this way...my tone was curt and domineering
throughout all of this...as I left the kitchen I flicked water that was on
my hand towards her face. This is where I thought I went too far...whoops.
Forward a couple of hours to the basement. People are dancing, everything
is respectable and polite until this tune comes on by Nelly...something
about "take your clothes off"... So, 3 guys take their shirts off, my ex
fucking loves this and starts pulling the remaining guys' shirts off, hey
it's 3:00 a.m. and people are drunk...now ten guys have their shirts off,
the women fucking LOVE this shit. I get tired of dancing and sit on a chair
next to where people are dancing. Blondie has a girlfriend on either arm
and they're laughing and traveling towards me when Blondie mock trips and
falls on me stuffing her huge breasts into my face, she laughs in an 'oh my
God' kind of way...Yea, right. Now I grab her, almost rough, like,
manhandling her and get her so she's laying across my knees, face down with
her ass right there...so, like any respectable shirtless person would do, I
started spanking her...nice medium force spanks. She slithers up and tries
to lightly slap me in the face, I grab her hard, turn her around and start
bouncing her up
and down on my right leg...like a father does with a daughter, then I just
picked her up like a married man does his new bride as
he takes her across the threshold to the bedroom.
Remember, all of this manhandling, spanking and general roughhousing is
done shirtless, so, the whole thing is pretty sexually charged. A LOT of
fun . That little escapade dissipates. She sits down at a chair 5 feet
away from me and immediately
two of her male friends slowly dance around her, just hovering there, it
was stupid, what were they doing?...then I realized they
wanted some of that stuff, too. It was a little sad, something *I* would
have done not long ago.
She gets up to dance again, I grab her hands and we start off round 3 of
our interactions with some ridiculously polite pirouettes
and turns, like she's waiting for some more unexpected fun. So, I dip her a
couple of times having to grab her ass to leverage her
up of course, turn her 180 degrees and pull her towards me so her ass is in
my crotch and I start dirty dancing with her...this is
when her boyfriend walks in...he walked past and gave us a serious raised
eyebrow, 'what the heck is Blondie doing'...it's not
like her to be this way. She's usually very quiet and submissive. I let
her go, a minute later he's furiously making out with her,
something he never does, ever. He never makes out with his girlfriend in
public, ever. He's a bit of a player and doesn't want potential
lovers to spot him with a 'girlfriend' so, his making out with her was
pretty remarkable. 5 minutes later I decide to go and say my goodbye's.
Blondie's there, her boyfriend is 3 feet away from her. I walk up and say
I'm going and give her a big hug and plant a looooong kiss on her cheek, I
just held it there and I started to notice her left leg was wrapping around
my right calf. As I pulled away from her cheek to end the kiss, she put her
hands on my face to stabilize it so she can kiss my on the lips!
No tongue, no peck either, a nice, robust kiss on the lips with her
boyfriend 3 feet away.
Problems include how to convert all of the above into serious physical
action at a party. Her boyfriend's there, her friends are there. Also, my
reading of the situation.. i.e. is she attracted to me? or is she just
'letting go' due to the party circumstances? Also, how to keep SOME of this
vibe up at work...she's quite prim and proper at work and I don't want to
allude to Saturday in some
cheesy fashion, like raising my eyebrows up and down and saying...'well, we
had fun didn't we?" Puke.
So, I was thinking I might just casually say something like, "Well, well,
are you going to grope me here too?" Making the night seem like her doing.
Then, just forget about the whole thing.
Things I learned were, language smanguage. For this situation getting in
touch with your inner animal was the ticket. Ever see a male cat mate with
a female cat? It's violent, he pins her down, bites her neck and fucks
her. I felt some of that when I grabbed Blondie's hair and pulled her head
back and stood over her, dominating her. I can understand how some guys can
walk into a
bar, forcefully grab a girl and walk out with her now. They just bypass
her brain and aim straight at the animal.
A very specific technique for a particular kind of girl I guess. Frankly, I
totally got off on the aggression I felt towards her, obviously she did
too...like a couple of animals.
Cliff's Comment: You're my new hero. I am sure you'll be so busy with
women lusting after you soon that I'll never hear from you again...
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Philip:
>Kipp: I met this lady on line who I have since been speaking with by
telephone. We are to meet when I go to a conference in New Orleans in two
weeks. She sent some photos and I asked her what color her eyes were. She
told me they are vivid blue and she gets compliments all the time. In fact
she says she gets approached by guys who tell her what great eyes she has.
She says this
really turns her off!
Philip: I'm in the middle of a perfect speed seduction» right now with a
drop-dead gorgeous HB 10 years younger than me (~20): we met 3 weeks ago,
and since then we've talked on the phone several times (lots of SS/NLP
including metaphorical stories/poems), had an afternoon/evening beach
picnic outing (see below), and now tomorrow night she's coming round to
stay over at my
place (I amped her up on the phone until she eagerly volunteered to do so,
including asking me my favourite colour underwear on a girl).
This girl has brown eyes, and I told her they were "beautiful" while we
were frolicking on a blanket after picnicking on the beach. She replied
that she just thought they were just boring brown. Realizing was had
carelessly ventured into AFC land with my comment, I responded by shrugging
somewhat disinterestedly at her comment and casually said that brown was my
favourite colour for eyes and shifted the convo on.
I wrote a fun little poem about our adventures the next day, handwrote it
out and mailed it to her in an envelope sealed with wax (with which I
scored a bulls eye with her in terms of triggering her romantic adventure
fantasies, which has been a theme I have been using with her). I'd
discovered that she is 1/8th Spanish, so one of the lines included "Our
tongues divining, your Spanish-brown eyes smiling/Starlight shining on
bodies close and entwining" and she told me that she showed it to her
girlfriend. She said her friend said "Awwww, he call your eyes lovely
Spanish-brown - can I dump my boyfriend and share this guy with you?".
What I did here was reinforce my comment about her eyes, but more
importantly I reframed "boring brown" into something much more exotic and
beautiful: "Spanish-brown", and it seems to have worked a treat!
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Mark B.:
>Mystery: You don't tell her the TRUTH. "Well, I'm trying to appear cool
to you while not wasting my hard earned money on a girl who may not fuck me
anyways."
MB: I think there are many more factors involved as to whether or not a
woman will fuck you beyond whether or not you buy her drinks. But no matter
what you do there is always a chance she may not fuck you, irrespective of
whether or not you spend money on her. To not spend money on a simple meal
or a drink because she may not fuck you, to me, is silly. First you may
learn a lesson in relating to women from your experience with her. As well,
women rarely if ever agree to fuck you unless they make it obvious they
want to and then you ask them or you have her alone in a private place and
you can just take her without asking by kissing her and taking off her
clothes. I believe that spending money is a function of your activity and
what you are doing such as going to eat or out to play pool. In such a case
picking up the bill is expected but what makes a difference I feel is
whether or not you make it seem that you are trying to impress her with
your money or succumb to her materialistic wishes - both which usually do
not get one laid.
> MYS: Sorry, she needs to QUALIFY HERSELF before she gets a chance to be
with THIS MALE 10 thank you.
MB: Sure, there are women that looked hot but once they opened their mouth
I balked but if they seem half decent for me it's a matter of chemistry and
a good connection before I decide I want to see them again. If she cannot
relate to me the way I want her to I pass. But what if you have qualified
her and she does not want you?
> Tony B.: Ahem.. How about that future pacing stuff? Showing her the good
of a future with you. Something also to be tread lightly on, cause you are
still SAYING IT, you better perform on it. In my opinion, Future pacing is
best done by telling her a few things in distant future within her
IMAGINATION, all the other stuff that is achievable, just shut up about it
and do it spontaneously. Of course, there is no way to say that either way
is wrong, there are applications for both.
MB: I usually avoid talking about a future with me at the beginning because
I do not want them to think that they have me that easy. You want to
generate some sort of uncertainty that you may be or may not be around.
This keeps them on their toes.
> Mystery: Attitude is NOT the solution. You need to SYSTEMATICALLY
DEMONSTRATE your value. You need specific tactics and strategies, not pep
talks. In the movie "Magnolia", Tom Cruise said the KEY to getting a women
into bed was "LANGUAGING". I gave that a LOT of thought. And I disagree.
The MAGIC KEY is "DEMONSTRATION".
MB: I do not demonstrate anything to a woman other than making her feel as
easy and as carefree as possible. When with me women say that they feel so
easy and relaxed that they forget about the rest of the world. I am their
get away. Once they feel understood and at ease I move in for the kill.....
Tony B.: Pulling out your pictures and digital camera with a photo routine
looks nearly as desperate as telling her you are really cool.
MB: A true master just IS. He does not need to show anything about himself,
he just exudes power and confidence on his own without having to show it.
>Mystery: See, this is DATE stuff. You have to tell her UP FRONT what YOUR
RULES are, otherwise you have to do what is EXPECTED of you ... which is to
PAY. It's best to get the "I only date GFs" out of the way early so set
PROPER expectations."
MB: I tell women that I see women but not date as dating gets you into some
sort of a defined pattern of behaviour. I tell them not to categorize
anything we do as her and I are going to do what we want anyway so why
place a definition to it that may constrain us.
> Mystery: Personally, I BELIEVE in not spending my hard earned money till
she is my GF, so telling her this works to my advantage.
MB: Once again rule and more rules. I have no rules and go with what the
situation calls for. When does she become a GF? 2nd meeting, 3rd. I do not
feel any sane woman would really go for a guy who has not spent even $20 on
a meal. What do you do when you are out? Drink water from the sink and walk
around the city?
In closing, I am not about to challenge your personality, ethics or morals,
I have SEEN the women you get. I am just saying that your way and the
HARD-NOSED "I'm NOT buying your drinks" attitude isn't going to get you
into some of their panties. It's a drink, or a dinner, it's time spent
together NOT worried about the money, not having a care in the world.
Getting into her mind and seducing her, filling every crevice of her sexual
being with you, to that point where you own her mind, you are everything
she ever wanted and wouldn't think of being with anyone else. Do it with as
many women you want to. Let your actions speak the words that you want to
speak, she'll figure out just what you are about on her own, if you do it
right.
MB: I feel that a woman that goes for you would do so no matter how much
money or how little you spend on her but to deliberately withhold spending
money not on her but while with her shows poor social judgement and may
push her away. Besides if you make it known up front that you do not spend
money on a woman before she is your GF, you will only get women that accept
this rule and NOT the ones who find this rule unreasonable. To me it's not
that this rules makes women who expect money to be spent on them suddenly
accept your terms but that it disqualifies women who do not accept it and
leaves ones who do. So to me really it's more of a qualification tool
rather than one of influence.
> Kipp: I met this lady on line who I have since been speaking with by
telephone. We are to meet when I go to a conference in New Orleans in two
weeks. She sent some photos and I asked her what color her eyes were. She
told me they are vivid blue and she gets compliments all the time. In fact
she says she gets approached by guys who tell her what great eyes she has.
She says this
really turns her off!
MB: This is why I do not complement women any more about anything until I
know them well and have fucked them already. When I meet them it's just
conversation but no mention of how they look. I realized that focusing on
looks makes women feel shallow. When I get complimented sometimes by women
on anything I feel they do not see me but the superficial outside and as if
they do not have the capacity to see further into me beyond my eye or hair
color. Such women turn me off and I see how women can also get turned off
by immediate compliments.
> Feynman describes in great detail his lack of success as a first-class
AFC. He tells how he had been hanging around in bars in Las Vegas, trying
to score with the women. He had been very generous in wining and dining
them, and having ZERO success. Finally he ran into an old gambler who
explained to him, "under no circumstances be a gentleman! You must
disrespect the girls. Furthermore, the very first rule is, don't buy a girl
anything - not even a package of cigarettes - until you've asked her if
she'll sleep with you, and you're convinced that she will, and that she's
not lying." (Bantam Books, NY, 1985, p. 170)
MB: Vegas is known for bitches and leeches. I have friends who went there
only to realize that the more you treat women like shit the more they love
you and vice versa. Vegas is an anomaly and I would not necessarily assume
that what works there works anywhere else.
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Maximillian Hell:
Truly, one of the great minds of our century, perhaps the only recognized
genius to apply his talents to the art of
seduction», and to write about it.
A biography of A.J. Ayer came out a few years ago. I only read the review,
but he was supposedly a life-long PUA. He arrived for his frosh year of
college with a beautiful mistress in tow. Most of his peers--products of
boys-only public schools--had hardly ever talked to a woman outside their
family. Apparently in his dotage he was spotted at a party keeping a crowd
of models in rapt fascination with his stories and jokes.
Clifford's Comment:
I thought the above was a little thin on info so I did a search on the
net. I uncovered more info at
http://www.tnr.com/012901/blackburn012901.html and here are some excerpts:
The article is titled "Ladies, Truth, and Logic" by Simon Blackburn. It is
a review of "A.J. Ayer: A Life" by Ben Rogers
(Grove Press, 402 pp., $30 - available on amazon.com at
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/070116316X/qid=1034886293/sr=1-4/ref=sr_1_4/002-5701828-4292062?v=glance)
and it includes the following:
"This beautifully written, sympathetic, and sensitive biography tells the
life of Britain's best-known philosopher in the generation after Bertrand
Russell...
The best anecdote in Rogers's vivid book comes from 1987, only a year
before Freddie's death: At yet another party he had befriended Sanchez
[Fernando Sanchez, a fashionable designer famous for women's underclothes].
Ayer was now standing near the entrance to the great white living-room of
Sanchez's West 57th Street apartment, chatting to a group of young models
and designers, when a woman rushed in saying that a friend was being
assaulted in a bedroom. Ayer went to investigate and found Mike Tyson
forcing himself on a young south London model called Naomi Campbell, then
just beginning her career. Ayer warned Tyson to desist. Tyson: "Do you know
who the fuck I am? I'm the heavyweight champion of the world." Ayer stood
his ground. "And I am the former Wykeham Professor of Logic. We are both
pre-eminent in our field; I suggest that we talk about this like rational
men." Ayer and Tyson began to talk. Naomi Campbell slipped out.
It is hard to know where to begin: the rash courage, the quick wit, the
charm, or the glamorous company. As to this last, let us not forget that
while the intelligentsia of today may goggle enviously at a philosopher
mixing in such circles (great white living rooms! models!), there were once
times when Leibniz or Kant would not have been beatified by an invitation
from someone whose skill lay in placing the holes in women's underpants. In
any event, as Colin McGinn has remarked, the only touch that is lacking
from the tale is Ayer going on himself to seduce the delectable Campbell,
with no force required. It is not recorded what the detumescent Tyson and
Freddie went on to talk about, nor for that matter what he was previously
discussing with the group of young models and designers. (Logical
positivism and the significance of the thong? McGinn suggested, archly.)...
Perhaps, on this note, we should get the woman question out of the way. In
1952 (in spite of it being eleven years before sexual intercourse began,
according to Philip Larkin), Ayer had been together with an artist and
theatrical designer named Jocelyn Rickards for a couple of years. He began
a series of affairs.
"Girls came and went, or came and stayed," Jocelyn recalled. "Progressively
I became part of a trio, a quartet, a quintet, and sextet (plus Renee)
[Ayer's first wife].... All the ladies knew about me, I knew about all of
them, but none of them knew about each other."
"He was terrible," said one woman friend, "he used to boast about how many
girlfriends he had, `One for breakfast, one for lunch, one for dinner.'"
Personally, I find the appetite less in bad taste than the boasting--even
Don Giovanni needed Leporello to do that for him; but Ayer was never one to
hide his light under a bushel. From our present vantage point, when it
requires the permission from a couple of lawyers, the Board of Trustees,
and the entire faculty of Women's Studies for university inmates to nod at
each other, those times seem very primitive. In those olden days wit and
intelligence were still aphrodisiacs and few women had discovered that the
energetic indulgence of indignation and resentment provides their supreme
sexual pleasure. In any event, Ayer retained the affection of his friends:
there seem to have been no Donna Annas and Donna Elviras flapping out of
the wings to spoil his pleasures.
Men, it is true, sometimes reacted badly. The playwright John Osborne, who
later lived with Jocelyn Rickards, described Ayer as "possibly the most
selfish, superficial and obtuse man I had ever met," a "cruel pear-shaped
Don Giovanni." Apart from the shape, this might remind one of D.H.
Lawrence's diatribes against Russell, though Osborne at least had the
excuse that Freddie was at that time trying to steal Jocelyn back. Yet one
woman, the redoubtable Dee Wells, married Ayer twice, and just as the
second marriage was about to take place another old flame, whom Rogers
leaves coyly anonymous, reignited an intense physical affair that nearly
prevented it. This in spite of the fact that she was some fifty years
younger than Ayer, who was then seventy-eight years old and within a few
months of his death. (Jocelyn herself regularly attended his deathbed.)
Many of Ayer's partners, including his third wife, Vanessa Lawson, were
great beauties of their day, and many were otherwise remarkable.
It is hard to analyze charm, but cut it as we may, Ayer certainly could
turn it on. And he could also turn it off, appearing fidgety and irritable
and depressed. Expansive or withdrawn, his moods were always salient. But
he knew how to talk to women, and behind the vanity and the constant
movement many seem to have detected a vulnerability and an insecurity that
demanded their ministrations. Perhaps they also rose to the challenge of
fighting off the withdrawal. Then, pear-shaped or not, his quicksilver
mind, the melting, dark, bedroom eyes, and the sensual satyr's face seem to
have done the rest.
Whether we reach for notions like obsession and superficiality, or words
like "gusto" and "zest," may be a matter of taste. But Rogers delicately
steers us into the realization that somewhere things were not quite right.
Indeed, he confesses to having discussed with Dee Wells the possibility
that Ayer might have been mildly autistic. The higher-functioning autistic
can be capable of great feats of concentration and memory, and may be apt
to gabble and twitch, and loves routine and order. But human feelings are
basically foreign to such a stunted individual, and can be aped or donned
only with difficulty. The autist's world is a place of "discrete
sense-impressions, of patterned surfaces and disembodied stimuli."
All of this fits Ayer--and his philosophy--quite well. Still, as Rogers
goes on to note, it is only part of the picture. Ayer did have emotional
attachments (especially to children), he loved literature, and he was not
short of imagination and even wisdom: "he never dreamed that morality might
be reduced to a system, or social conflict eliminated." In short, there
appeared not to be anything inhuman about him, only something enigmatic,
perhaps lonely, undiscovered, and not fully understood, sort of a don's
version of James Dean.
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