Women Do Have Agency

An Eceleb Rashomon (nunnadis happen ofc!)

We were friends. Dear friends.

She was there for me last November when one of her girlies started messaging people “asking” about me. The sheila's story sounded fishy to Lurla because I'd been in her own DMs months before and hadn’t been anything close to predatory.

That was in I think August? She only had a few dozen subs at the time, but was already dominating the Notes algo because she did the Dasha routine significantly better than anyone else. Haywire was calling her a red scare twitter girl or some shit and I got her to back off, pointing out to her that Lurla’s longform writing was actually quite good. Once she saw it Haywire agreed; these days she's promoting Lurla and the two of them seem to be friends.

I knew from the outset she'd be famous one day. 
Not Substack famous; Famous Famous. 
Assigned as homework famous. 
She’ll almost certainly be in Wikipedia before I am, and for sure would have overtaken me in subs by now if she hadn't nuked her first account. The girl is simply a prodigy. 
She's also an innovator; a tastemaker; a leader. 

She read me her DMs from other girls. They said she gave them runway to write about their own fucked up shit. Soon they started copying her vibe, and she got rather pissy when a few of them did so just a little too well. Some of those girls are much bigger than her now because despite being a lot less talented they operate in a more scalable and consistent way—Kasparov to her Fischer.

I’m entirely certain her volatility won’t last, because the girl’s just insanely ambitious. You wouldn’t know it to look at her, because like Mr. Lavender she’s very talented at performing nonchalance while ruthlessly managing her personal branding, but that’s just because both of them understand that artistic status hierarchies demand a certain sprezzatura—it comes off as very gauche and unrefined to actively chase success.

Now personally I find this kind of attitude incredibly gay and have always clashed with other artists over this, because whenever I speak candidly with one of you goofballs it literally always turns out that you secretly want to be famous and admired and rich but think guys like me are a bit oafish for being too open about actively wanting that. 
And in fairness most people simply aren’t good enough to get away with it. 

Thankfully I am.

And so is Lurla. If she made a serious go of it she could easily be pulling six figs off Substack this time next year. No gimmicks necessary—just a dignified $8 paywall. She’d have to be disciplined and intentional and burn a little excess social capital on openly giving a fuck about things, but she easily has the raw talent to pull it off.

I wanted to help her get there, so in our first call I spoke to her about monetization. She seemed interested at first, and practically squealed when I showed her how much revenue I was bringing in from my paywall, so I gave her a bunch of advice for how to make that work with her own content. Ultimately she never followed any of it.

…which honestly makes a lot of sense for a 19 year old girl who comes from money; she’s not going to get much of a hedonic return from entrepreneurialism compared to optimizing around social status by performing nonchalance. Her attitude struck me as immature at first because I’d thought her circumstances different—she initially told me she was 21, and her persona on Notes sort of presented herself as working class—but in her sexy cowboy boots I’d no doubt do exactly the same thing.

Anyway we never really spoke about business again after that convo. Lurla recently described our dynamic as “transactional,” and may genuinely believe that now thanks to the tragic legacy of Paleolithic Bride Capture, but I never sent the girl a penny and basically all of the advice I gave her after that convo had to do with deep personal shit or her long-term creative trajectory, and if we’re counting that as “transactional” then literally what relationship isn’t?

I also gave her lots of sexual attention. Obviously. 
The girl is gorgeous. Looks and sounds like Snow White.
She complained her boyfriend was a weak loser who doesn’t want to drug and rape her, so I told her I was going to steal her from him and put her up in a swanky apartment across the street from my splendiferous high rise condominium.
That was my first mistake; rich girls pretty much always get the ick when you flash cash like that, the only exceptions being wine track Negresses and occasionally JAPs.

I recovered. Roughly a week after we started talking I wrote a little jingle for Lurla—80% because I was already hugely taken with the lass, and 20% because I intellectually fancied the recursive aspect of writing a song named after a girl named after a song.

She really loved it, listening to the ballad roughly thirty times per Substack analytics. Then we quarreled that night and she told me she hated the song before texting me the following morning saying sorry she still likes the song. Then we had another fight because I self-indulgently offered to buy her a pedicure and that triggered some old trauma response, and for the next three months or so we didn’t talk at all.

Happily circumstances changed in November after some drama with another girl, when I reached out to Lurla for a million different reasons. For about a week she pretended to be mad that I’d “tried to fuck her friend” (wife her friend more like it), presumably for silly Girl Code reasons, but after that we began talking extensively—mostly about Lurla’s creative aspirations and social difficulties and personal traumas. She told me a bunch of intense shit she claims to have never told anyone else before, and I’m not sure if that's true or if the things themselves were even true but they sure as Hell made for a remarkably compelling story.

Lurla is a genuinely spectacular storyteller. It was honestly a grievous insult for me to call her The Zoomer Dasha when that bitch is very obviously The Zoomer Sylvia. 
or perhaps The Zoomer Houellebecq. 

Things got sexual fast. She pretended to be significantly kinkier than she really was, and told me she'd fucked eight dudes (including no less than two Negroid gentlemen). At this point I’ve had so many girls admit to having lied about their body count in precisely the opposite direction that I price it in like girls do with height and dick size and income, but this was the very first time I’ve EVER had a shy innocent virgin lie to me about being a miscegenating libertine kinkster. But I suppose that bizarre decision was ultimately to my benefit, because I would have been infinitely more beta had I known she was a virgin (this is what we writers call “foreshadowing” btw).

Anyway given that her purported body count was 8 and she constantly talked about how much she wanted an old man to rape her I was pretty aggressive in our texts. Lurid photographs were exchanged. There was lots of fetishistic sexting leaning on ageplay and power exchange—I really put that verbal IQ to good use and sent the lass some genuinely inspired bawdy limericks.

She’s already chosen to leak the contents of some of our exchanges, and I don’t really mind that decision given that it’s already won me a horny Jewess DM from one of her subs, but I was really expecting her to keep our sexual exchanges private—not even as a moral thing but just for game theoretic reasons. Other guys are probably going to be a lot more circumspect about giving Lurla this sort of attention going forward, *especially* if they’re a dude with a big platform and something to lose. Nobody impressive will send you the good shit if he’s gaming around the possibility of you turning him into Armie Hammer once the next caveman comes around.

Reputation matters. There are certain things in life you can’t just drive away from.

Anyway the sexual stuff was at times difficult to navigate because the performative kinkiness meant Lurla would occasionally get triggered when we delved into certain territory. To her credit though she got really good about navigating this gracefully, because she genuinely loves men and seems to harbor a particularly special appreciation for wounded and misunderstood aggressive masculinity. Whenever we touched on a nerve during sexting I generally used the opportunity to explore the genesis of that trigger and discuss how she could move past it in the future, and at the time she obviously appreciated that. But she also has the verbal IQ to spin at as grooming if Mr. Lavender ever tells her to do so, so I guess we’ll see.

Let’s talk about Mr. Lavender.

The dude was always sort of lingering in the background of our flirtationship. 
At various points Lurla told me that she didn't respect him; that she knows he's slimy and disgusting; that he's Not Even a Good Writer; that he's repetitive and unoriginal; that from the moment they started talking she viewed him as a vector for self harm...
...all the reasons you'd obviously want to fuck him, silly bitch.

She transparently wanted to make me jealous and torture me a bit by fucking literally the worst dude possible as some displaced paternal resentment thing; poor ponderous Wally B needed to suffer for the sins of her dad and stepdad both!

The thing is it was kind of hard to give a shit because to my knowledge she'd already fucked eight dudes (including the pair of spades, which to my mind brought her Adjusted Body Count to around 20). So my tack was basically just to deny the situation oxygen and let the two lovebirds do their thing. 

I also had zero delusions about actually dating Lurla, let alone marrying her, because the lass was at far too early a stage in life to be in a serious relationship with a wizened man of 31 years who'd expect her to maintain a certain public decorum and respect for our dynamic's attendant obligations and responsibilities. She frankly displayed a lot of contempt for the very notion of responsibility, which I don't even blame her for because that attitude most definitely codes as high status and she very obviously has the looks and magnetism to pull it off. But she herself admitted it was bad for her long term, and if I'm being entirely honest fam I somewhat doubt it was a Lurla Original. 

But another reason I didn’t really care is that at this point I was on the victorious side of an entirely separate rivalry with this other nigga—let’s call him “Wyoming”—who ran a discord server he used to complain about me because I’d gotten further than him with all the various egirls he has a crush on. Wyoming had been my best wingman with Lurla’s friend because he couldn’t stop warning her about me, and now it seemed he was doing the exact same thing with Lurla (another instance of foreshadowing btw, which in this case also doubles as something we writers call “dramatic irony”).

Anyway Lurla blocked Wyoming and sent me a bunch of screenshots of his texts making fun of him and I quite merrily partook in this concluding that it would certainly never happen to that swaggering pirate lord Walter Bismarck!

While this is going on Mr. Lavender and I are entirely cordial. He commented on my shit a lot and I told him that after he fucks Lurla he should swing by Orlando and I’d buy him a beer or three. Meanwhile Lurla says a bunch of shit that’s obviously trying to make me jealous or set up some faggoty Don Jose / Escamillo thing so I say stfu just fuck him I don’t care—half reverse psychology, half wanting to pop the zit.

Overall I just don’t see it as an issue. But over time I do start to pick up on some bad and predatory vibes from Mr. Lavender that start to make me think the carefree loser persona is hiding something genuinely quite sinister—actions that seemed to me like transparent dominance plays wrapped up in honeyed mockery or self-deprecating language he could hide behind if I ever try to call him out.

For instance, after listening to my podcast interviewing a former girlfriend he messaged me saying he found it amusing when she made fun of the noises I made during sex, and proposed both publicly and in the DMs that he pick up some “local girls” and go on a double date with me. This seemed like a very obvious trap intended to present me with a situation where I lost either way—either A) enter into an arena with a younger man who optimizes his life around being hot to teenage girls and doesn’t allow me to lean on any of my own advantages; or B) admit defeat preemptively, conceding him a win and allowing him to construct a dominance frame; or finally C) call him out on this bullshit so he can say “there’s no competition brah” and try to make me seem insecure and aggressive. What a devilish scheme!

...so devilish that I bet a lot of you are even thinking while reading this that I *was* just being insecure and there *was* no real competition. Nah that’s retarded, because
Lurla later revealed to me that she was supposed to be one of those girls.

This dude was *absolutely* trying to set something up to humiliate me, or at the very least establish dominance over a competitor in a similar or adjacent status hierarchy.

But at the time I didn’t know about the Lurla thing so I gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed he was just being impish and ultimately opted for C in a high verbal IQ way that very politely told the dude yeah not fucking happening. But I still wanted to get drinks with him, because at least that would make for good content.

Then he sent me a bunch of DMs with his friend. The dude he cuckolded. 
He made sure to point out the other dude was now totally cool with it ofc.
Because Mr. Lavender is very good at plausible deniability. 

But I actually don’t think the other dude *was* cool with it. Who the fuck would be?
I think he was fucking scared of Mr. Lavender and also in love with this girl and willing to lick a bit of asshole just to get past the situation.
I told Mr. Lavender as much when we met in person.

The dude made me sick to my fucking stomach—instant flight or fight response.

Mr. Lavender gave me the strongest dark triad vibes I’ve ever felt in my life.

But I muted this point in the other article because I knew that would just make Lurla want to fuck him more, choosing instead to opt for a bit of reverse psychology, as after meeting him in person I did start to feel genuinely uneasy about the two hooking up.

But it’s a Catch-22 because there’s no way to warn a girl about a guy she wants to fuck without coming off as a jealous incel. There’s no way to write about it without coming off like that either. Yeah, I know you’re questioning my fucking motives, reader. 
“Hmm... is this just intrasexual competition?”

Look, Lurla also thirsts after Med Gold and Dmitry and I feel a hell of a lot more competitive with them than Mr. Lavender because they actually produce content with substance and intellectual merit instead of schlocky goon fodder for molested girls. 
But when I see Dmitry complimenting her titties I think "good for you man, carry on" because I respect the dude and if he flew her out and fucked her I'd actually approve of that and think it would massively improve her personality.

This was different. 
This was a paternal protective instinct. 
Because Lurla had called me daddy before—less so as Mr. Lavender approached—and it had felt VERY different from the way girls had said it to me in the past.

Our entire walk to World of Beer consisted of nothing but obvious dominance ploys. 
The first thing he spoke about was cuckolding his friend. He played up how much the guy loved her, and how he spent money on her, and how he his superior because he didn't need to pay. He *really* emphasized the money angle with me. 
He wasn't even trying to be plausibly deniable.

Immediately he pivoted to how he planned to fuck Lurla the next day. Then instantly
"I know you've been on that too..."
"Man, if I lived this close to her I would have been up in that Day One!"

He proceeds to talk about her in a vulgar and dehumanizing fratty way and I go silent to send a message that this isn't acceptable. I wouldn't have been opposed to talking like that after a few drinks, but this was bizarre and aggressive behavior. He pivots to boasting about cucking his friend again and I try to reign him in by warning him that if he keeps pulling this shit he's really begging to get ganked by a jealous boyfriend.
"Ha! What can they do to me? I literally live in a van. I can just drive away."
"The only guys I fear are lawyers."

We get to the restaurant and I realize he’s too intent on being aggressive for me to just freeze him out, so I shift things into my frame by steering the convo to his long term plans. He says he wants to travel to Asia and write about fucking the women there. Seems kind of played out to me personally but idk maybe enough time has passed since Forney banged the Philippines. Although personally I think Asian girls are unattractive. Flat puffy feet. Groace. Liking them seems Gen X coded.

Later I mention my reclusive lifestyle and his serial killer eyes bulge in their sockets like a barracuda that just spotted its next prey. That’s his angle—both with Lurla and his audience of gooning art hoes. He won’t shut up about how *weird* normal people would find that and I flatly tell him that normal people would probably find it just as weird to fuck your friend’s girl and see nothing wrong with that. I could have added something about posing for pics for gay Asian men but didn’t want to be aggressive.

He certainly did. On the walk home he kept probing me for weaknesses in a way he probably thought was plausibly deniable and molested girls would defend as such because he induces a flight or fight response in their aching amygdala. I overtly vocalized the status implications of literally all his comments and he seemed a bit annoyed at that but didn’t really care because he had what he needed from me.

At that point we parted ways and I guess he wandered the streets drunk for a bit. 
I’d love to also rag on the dude for being a lightweight, but I’m honestly the same.

My article about him came out the next day. My goals were basically to A) make some money; and B) give perceptive readers an advance signal because I strongly suspected I’d have to write a follow-up like this at some point; while simultaneously C) minimizing the chances of him fucking Lurla through reverse psychology (in that piece I explicitly say I want him to fuck her because that will make it easier for me) and a deliberate muting of the dark triad angle.

It’s well received. He posts something on Twitter about me being fatter and shorter than he expected and touching my face all the time and being a recluse who doesn’t exercise but Used To powerlift etc. etc. Clearly he’s way more butthurt than usual but it’s mostly plausibly deniable. The dude is genuinely good at his craft.

And at this point Lurla still doesn’t want to fuck him.
She’d told him as much several weeks beforehand and made a point of telling me too, to which I responded with the obvious “bitch that means literally nothing you can just change your mind, just fuck him at this point I don’t care.”

To get her to do that Mr. Lavender reverts to his shtick of Poor Sad Homeless Man. 
Because he's a Human Bean, you see!

The dude posts some masturbatory note about not being able to get laid in Dallas that he'd written in Feb but never published and it says "even Lurla is done with me." 
She responds she could never be done with him etc. and I know it's prob happening.

I call Lurla and feel her out. 
She says she's meeting him for coffee the next day and they're Not Having Sex.
I roll my eyes and tell her that's utterly retarded.
If she sees him he's obviously going to show her the van and abc123. 
Uncle Walt is hardly naive to the ways of worldly men. 

Eventually she concedes the point and says very directly
"I know if I meet up with him we're definitely having sex."

And curiously, my dear reader...
After knowing Lurla for many months...
And having engaged her in many an intimate conversation...
This is the moment I learn she's ackchually a virgin.

She tells me then and there how much her virginity means to her—that she's always considered Mr. Lavender a disgusting loser and Not Even A Good Writer and from the moment they began talking wanted to give it to him as a kind of self-harm. 
But then in February she said No—decided that isn't how she should lose her virginity.

And he said okay but I still want to meet up. And presumably she took that at face value because she's a silly little woman who thinks words actually mean something. 

...except of course she didn't. 
Cap'n Walt isn't naive as you ladies think.
The two of them were playing a deeper game at that point.

In the days that followed I asked multiple female mutuals including her Best Friend what Lurla's motives possibly could have been for dropping this now of all times.
Did she want me to save her, or was she just looking to torture me?
The general consensus was Both.

I genuinely tried. 
Told her to get in an uber to me or I'd doxx him. 
Yeah yeah I know, it looks like I'm trying to fuck her myself. I wasn't. 
Believe me, Cap'n Walt has zero interest in despoiling virgins. That shit actually means something, especially with a girl like this, and if I ever took Lurla's virginity it would only be in a white wedding scenario. For casual hookups and even general dating I strongly prefer women with a 15-30 bodycount. Not so high they act like a hooker but high enough that they'll let me do gross shit the first time I fuck them.

And here's the important thing: if Lurla had gone literally anywhere else then the dude could Simply Drive There and keep waiting her out. She was in a situation with the two of us where one man was going to have to feel betrayed and humiliated for it to actually resolve. But that was not a game I or anyone else could win against someone with limitless time and mobility, which is precisely why I'd been trying to avoid getting sucked into such a game for months. 

But Lurla held onto that virginity card like a Jew's last penny, and I'll give the devious little tart credit, she deployed it fucking masterfully.

Lurla bats my empty threats aside, placing them snugly in her cute pink handbag to be used against me later once Amazing Amy is ready to slam shut the iron maiden. She points out that everyone has seen Mr. Lavender's face and name at this point and that doxxing him wouldn't accomplish anything other than hurting my own reputation. 

Entirely correct. 
She's always been three steps ahead of poor predictable Walt

I get in my feelings.
I fuck up by feeding her all those displaced paternal resentment cummies. 
I tell her if they meet up she's obviously going to fuck him, that she's making an enormous mistake, that when she's 30 or fuck 25 she'll have no interest in dudes like Mr. Lavender and will regret doing this for the rest of her life.
"Mmmm, yummy daddy! Tell me how it hurts you more!"

Eventually I say something that causes her to hang up the phone in rage:
"You're sacrificing your virginity in a Satanic ritual."

She grew up Catholic. Still is I think. She framed it as her parents telling her that her virginity is the most valuable thing about her which is prob a bit of an exaggeration but this is probably all making sense to you now right?

I figure anything I say at this point will just feed her animus possession and I need to rely on her girlies. So I text her BFF and explain the situation. She says she trusts me and agrees that Lurla shouldn't lose her virginity to Mr. Lavender. 

The next day they FaceTime and Lurla, of course, Simply Lies to her BFF, who asks her to confirm that she is at her nonna's house. She does so and then proceeds to tell her BFF that she is Definitely Not going to meet Mr. Lavender.

Lurla then calls me crying and says her nonna went through her diary and observed that for months now she'd been writing about her substack and conversations with that dashing Cap'n Walt (*gasp*). But then her mean stern Italian gamma called her a whore and kicked her out of the house and now she has no place to gooooooo and like a Stupid Goy I took this entirely at face value and was like OH YEAH WERE YOU WRITING ABOUT MR. LAVENDER TOO?! and she was like noooo of course I wasn't it's so much more special with youuuuu. 

Diary fucking Shmiary. 
I'll believe anything a pretty girl says when I'm sleep deprived and agitated. 
She was trying to A) establish a cover story for not being at her nonna's if I talk to her BFF later; B) win back my sympathy and trust by making me feel bad for her while trusting in the purity of our Special Connection. 
And it worked like a charm. Seriously that was some Amazing Amy-level intrigue. 
The girl's a veritable eminence grise!

She persists in telling me that she Really Wants Him To Leave...
but also hasn't told him that because she doesn't want to Cause A Scene.
I proceed to explain the game theoretic realities of the situation to her in exhaustive and rigorous detail and she doesn't have a remotely adequate response because Lurla's IQ is only 121 (I scored 139 on the same test but also have a very strong verbal tilt). 
And so she defaults to the reliable ad baculum:
"I called you because my gramma read my diary... I don't really want to be persuaded."

I tell her to just fucking admit she's choosing him over me. That it's okay, I can obv move on, but it's not dignified for either of us for her to be toying with me like this. 
Just admit it and go fuck the dude. It's okay!
"noooo I'm not gonna even see him I'll go to my mom's house and stay in my room all day I just need to go over to my friend's house to get my drink..."
"Go over to your friend's house to get your drink? You mean create a pretext to text him something quirky so you can arrange a meeting in a plausibly deniable spontaneous way?"
She fucking giggles.

I've heard that giggle before. 
That's the Evil Molested Demon.
Once it pops out you're toast. Wise men back out at this point.

But this is Wally B we're talking about—an emotionally dysregulated Wally B at that! And it occurs to me there's one last gambit I might pull to save the Maiden Fair.

I call Mr. Lavender directly. Tell him very politely to get the fuck out of town and send a picture from Savannah. When I tell him that I just found out she's a virgin I hear the narcissistic glee in his voice and he immediately uses it as a vector to disparage my connection with her compared to his own. I tell him he clearly isn't good for her and he says that just makes him want it more. 
Of course it does. It would me too. 

I tell him look she isn't doing this for the right reasons she will look back on this day and seriously regret it. He turns it on me, questions my motives. 
Yeah, that's what I would say too. 

I say she should go to campus this summer and lose it to some guy her own age who isn't an internet narcissist and I myself genuinely don't want to fuck her at this point.

You still probably don't believe me about that, do you?
*I* wouldn't believe me if it *weren't* me.
But for what it's worth, I've struck up a friendship of my own with Lurla's BFF, and that girl absolutely believes me. She said she would back me up publicly if necessary—we'll see if that ends up being true, but as it stands I genuinely do trust her.

Look, what you need to know is this: 
I realized at this point that I'm too kinky and aggressive for a girl like Lurla and a lot of her initial provocations in that vein were just performative attention-seeking. I was also getting annoyed that she kept sending pictures of her tits instead of taking the hyper-specific feet poses I wanted, because for me tits are like how most guys see a woman's neck—nice and feminine and wonderful, but I won't get hard unless I get a decent sole shot. But Lurla was monstrous niggardly with those and I only ever got 1. 
That alone was a sign we weren't sexually compatible.

More to the point, once I learned about the virginity I had a hard time even seeing her in a sexual light at all and the dynamic was 90% paternal. And if you still don't believe me and insist I was only trying to fuck her myself then fine, eat my fucking cum.

Anyway at this point I inform Mr. Lavender that I know there's nothing I can do but that if he takes her virginity and ends up hurting her It's Fucking War.

I inform him that if he does hurt her his reputation actually wouldn't survive that. There are certain lines you don't cross and well-respected virgins are one of them. This girl is like everyone's little sister they also masturbate to, and even fuckboy types will get pissed if she ends up feeling exploited by you. He says he understands that. 

He figures out his angle.
He tells me that he's Not Gonna Fuck Her and that he Just Wants To Hang Out.
I say those words are utterly meaningless because there's literally no mechanism for enforcement or verification. 
He acknowledges that. 
I hang up the phone.

I spend the rest of the day working on an article called He's Going to Hurt Her. 
I know there's no way to defeat the demon I'm up against but decide to tilt with windmills anyway because that's what I do I guess.
She asks me to send it to her later. 
She says it's beautiful but it's a good thing I didn't publish it because I'm being silly and she Isn't Even Going To See Him.

In our text convo I can see the angles he's been working on her about me—it's pathetic how I'm a recluse, I'm obsessed with money whereas he Only Cares About The Story, all of my past sexual conquests were illegitimate because I met the girls on SA even though I wasn't even paying those bitches half the time.
I know perfectly well that when you have to argue you've already lost.
This game is all about Desire and Power and Narrative. 
Even making an argument is incel-coded. 
This is the very last time we speak.
She's not hostile. It's just sad.

Several hours later she posts a poem:
There are no seagulls in the sky, no
leaves on the palms. 
The tidal flats are naked,
the mud ripples like skin
under a microscope.
I don’t feel any differently than yesterday
or tomorrow.
My sister has hatched 
into a long bronze thing
neither of us recognize. 
Her gaze strikes me
with the volatility
of wearing a skirt on a windy day.
The blonde boy takes her hand,
and their pseudo love goes pulsing
with the creatures beneath the muck.

She doesn’t text me back when I ask her about it.

I figure it happened and try to move on.

The next day on Notes :

On Twitter:

He also releases an article called How To Manipulate Women Into Sex, which includes this charming excerpt (I’m not breaking his paywall bc he also released it for free on Twitter bc pretending not to understand monetization codes as high status):

I mean, like… yeah, fucking duh. 
We all figured this shit out like twenty years ago, bro.
For a long time the meta has been all about how to get around this tragic aspect of feminine nature and form a genuinely meaningful connection with a woman. 

I don't care if you do this with random Asian whores. Literally couldn't care less.
You shouldn't do this to a virgin, and CERTAINLY not to someone like Lurla. 

I release an article call That Codes as Low Status! to systematize for you autistic dweebs exactly how WBE comes off as blisteringly appealing to women.

I then release another article aimed at one such autistic dweeb (actually a very lovely friend of mine) that includes a mild warning about WBE’s behavior being a genuinely dangerous form of cognitively feminine predation that fathers need to understand.

Lurla has been ghosting me for days at this point. At first I’d told her Fine We’re Done and meant it but after his manipulation article I start actually worrying about her like a beta simp faggot and text her just to confirm she’s doing alright.

A few minutes later she texts back she is and I reply that I’m over it and she can always come to me if she needs help with anything.

A few days later she blocks me.

I notice this happens immediately after WBE reads the Piotr article:

I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.

Personally I don’t think that article she wrote really sounds like her usual style at all in literally any of the parts that involve me… but of course I have an ulterior motive for thinking that, don’t I? These situations are always Rashomon.

But regardless of how involved he was in writing it, it actually does sound as though she’s very in love with him. And I’d never deny he won fair and square. 
All’s fair in love and war and all that.

I just hope he’s treating her right and didn’t twist her arm into writing that, because Lurla is very protective of her brand value and if she wants to give it up to him like she Didn’t give her virginity that’s her choice but not something to be done lightly.

Anyway, why did I write this article? A few reasons:

1. Obviously to relay my side of the story and assert my basic dignity. My dynamic with Lurla was not “transactional,” the sexual attraction was mutual, and we did share a genuinely intimate and affectionate bond. Contra Mr. Lavender I was not “grooming” her, that’s patently retarded. She was an adult who enthusiastically consented to all our sexual interchange and expressed earnest gratitude for the advice I offered her. I have countless receipts to that effect but obviously won’t drop them here for her sake. Also nigga I’m 5 years older than you.

2. To explain my actions re: the doxx threat. Ultimately they were worthless except as a barb against me later and both of them knew that. I’m pretty sure I didn’t put it in writing and could easily deny, but I’m man enough to own up to my actions because I’m entirely confident my audience will see where I was coming from. Yeah I was dumb to brandish a knife I wasn’t willing to use, but I don’t actually think it would have been wrong to go through with it given the circumstances.

3. To plant a flag in the ground and declare that yes, the dude is absolutely a malignant narcissist, he’s 100% coming for your girlfriend and your daughter, he’s fantastically talented at covering his trail with plausible deniability and making the Other Fella seem like the Bad Guy, and he can absolutely get enough oxytocin in a bitch to leverage Paleolithic Bride Capture and have her Speak His Truth after he’s orchestrated some situation to theatrically humiliate you. This clearly gets him off and he was clearly gunning for me in this way from the outset.

   Why else would he want to bring Lurla to Orlando?

4. To tell Lurla very firmly: You have agency. And women have agency, try as they might in situations like this to pretend otherwise. You were the one who convinced me of that with that little giggle of yours. You chose to do something malevolent to someone who cares about you quite a lot. And look, I understand what you were doing, and realize that it was only half-conscious and motivated by a bunch of shit in your childhood no reasonable person could blame you for. You’re almost certainly being manipulated by someone who isn’t good for you, but I think you do legitimately enjoy whatever it is he provides. I wouldn’t have dissected it so rigorously if I didn’t believe that. It’s something I cannot give you and I’ve long made my piece with that. But you won’t enjoy it for long and quite frankly deserve better. The well’s poisoned between us at this point but you should try to hypergamize to GLO or Med Gold or Dmitry or someone who actually writes about ideas instead of someone you yourself called disgusting.

Anyway they’re obviously going to call me schizo incel crazy blah blah blah and in any other Gone Girl situation the implicit threat of that almost always works because no man wants to be the construction worker in the diner screaming “she led me on!” until Spider-Man has to swing on in to beat him up.

But that’s not going to happen in this case.

One reason for that is Lurla’s BFF has my back. She knows there was triangulation and deception going on because she herself witnessed it. This girl and I have spoken very extensively at this point and she has utter confidence that my motives were pure. She’s also a rich and beautiful woman whose word people will take seriously.

Another reason is that I’m ready to put this shit behind me and end things here. 
Now that The Trvth is out I’ve no further quarrel with either of them and want no further part in these gay shenanigans. I merely had to Correct The Record so I can walk into the sunset with dignity and go back to focusing on Tortuga. 

and tbh I’m done pursuing girls on Substack, bc frankly you bitches are significantly crazier and more vindictive than any of the girls I met on Seeking. Maybe that will change once The Inevitable happens—I give it like five months—but as it stands Thomas already has all the ones I like on his roster, and I suspect that after this article drops he’ll be poisoning the well and playing the victim and crying some sob story about how this insecure schizo recluse who touches his face too much and never leaves the house or exercises and talks about money all the time and is fatter and shorter than I expected and left me drunk is being so mean to him blah blah blah

And that will work splendidly on very young women, because contra the title there actually is some deep and meaningful sense in which Women Don’t Have Agency, and the dude has plausible deniability and subtextual status signaling down to a science. 
I could tell you he admitted as much to me in person, but I obviously have an ulterior motive, so just look at my guide and use it to dissect his posts and you’ll start to see it.

I’m confident that men will understand. 
So will the more reasonable women over 25.

But it’s still gonna hurt me. I understand that. 
This is *absolutely* a Hamilton move and some of you will think it’s cringe or schizo or overly earnest or w/e. Well fuck you, eat my cum, you deserve to be tortured to death.

At the end of the day I’m more than willing to sacrifice my own social capital and ability to secure Substack Pussy if it means materially reducing the probability of this shit happening to another man’s daughter.

Because when she called me Daddy it was the first time in my life it felt real.
And this kind of shit is what Daddies do.
Now subscribe to my blog.