The Game

a mysterious, fascinating, sexually powerful guy. And then, in the moment of truth, the lies had come crashing down, revealing a skinny bald guy with a limp dick.

On the last night of the Las Vegas workshop, Tyler Durden picked up a hostess named Stacy at the Hard Rock Café. She was a vampirish blonde who listened to new metal. When her shift ended, Stacy met us at the casino and brought along her roommate, Tammy, a quiet beauty with a touch of baby fat and a scent of grape Bubblicious.
    I was wearing a ridiculous snakeskin suit; Mystery was dressed in a top hat, flight goggles, six-inch platform boots, black latex pants, and a black T-shirt with a scrolling red digital sign that said “Mystery” on it. Even for Vegas, he looked like a freak.
    Within minutes, Tyler Durden was AMOGing him to Stacy. “He wears these weird signs and people laugh at him,” he told her. “I always tell him he doesn’t need to do that for people to accept him.”
    The students fanned the room to talk to women as I leaned against the bar and watched them. After awhile, Stacy sidled up next to me. She had been watching me lead the workshop and, from sheer social proof (lead the men and you lead the women), she had become interested. As we talked, she held eye contact with me. She played with her hair. She looked for excuses to touch my arm. She leaned in when I leaned back. All the IOIs were there. I could feel the air around us tingle, as it always does when a potential kiss is accumulating energy.
    I knew it was wrong. She was Tyler Durden’s girl. There’s a PUA code of ethics: The first one to approach a set gets to game the target, until either she submits or he gives up. But a PUA also doesn’t AMOG his wing. If Tyler Durden was going to tell girls I was Elmer Fudd, then Elmer Fudd was going to hunt his rabbit.
    I stroked her hair. She smiled.
    Would she like to kiss me?
    She would.
    We did.
    Then a shock of orangey blonde hair appeared in the periphery of my vision. It was Mr. Heat Miser. And he was pissed.
    “Come with me,” Tyler Durden said, grabbing her arm.
    I started to apologize. What I had done was wrong, and I knew it logically. But when that bubble of connection and passion builds around you and a girl, logic goes out the window and instinct takes over. I had fucked up. Sure, he’d been AMOGing me. But two wrongs don’t make a right. I felt like shit.
    However, consolation was only a few steps away. Tyler took Stacy to our hotel room, leaving her roommate, Tammy, behind. We were making out within five minutes. I couldn’t believe how easy this was. She was the sixth girl I’d made out with that weekend.
    Mystery, in the meantime, had picked up a scantily clad stripper named Angela who, in his estimation, was a 10.5. So we decided to ditch the workshop—it was 2:00 A.M. and they’d gotten their money’s worth—and take our dates to an after hours club called Dre’s.
    As we walked to the cab stand, Mystery paused and looked at himself in the casino mirror. “Winning feels good,” he said, grinning to his reflection, which grinned right back at him.
    In the taxi, Angela sat on Mystery’s lap, facing him, with her skirt spread over his knees. Before we were even out of the parking lot, they were making out. She bit her lip before they kissed. She softly moaned every time their lips separated. She sucked his index finger in and out of her mouth. She was performing for him, for us, for the less attractive masses outside, for God above. Everyone we drove past yelled and whistled at the lip-locked pair. In response, she arched her back and pulled her white panties to the side, revealing a patch of pubic hair shaved into a perfect teardrop. Mystery put a finger inside her. He was validated. She was validated. They validated each other. They were a perfect pair, each completely unaware of the other.
    At 5:00 A.M ., when Angela left to drive back to Los Angeles, Mystery, Tammy, and I took a cab to the hotel room we were sharing with Tyler Durden at the Luxor. I collapsed onto the bed with Tammy, and we started making out. Mystery was on the other bed. Tyler was in a chair, with Stacy in his lap.
    Tammy took off her top and bra, and then lowered my pants. She wrapped her hand around me, and started working it up and down while twisting her wrist. Her mouth joined her hand. This time my equipment worked, no problem. I guess something about the combination of whisky, porn stars, and public bathrooms was too