I think it more appropriate to detail my coming into game as a progression rather than something hinging upon a pivotal moment. For the sake of comprehensiveness I'll detail my progression in stages within the context of my finding and swallowing gradually the "red pill".
Early Blue-Pill Stages and their Influence
I was always an epically pathetic beta. I had been raised that way with a single mother from a relatively traditional culture. I had always thought that the key to romantic success was being myself-nice and dependable. What else was there?
I declared at the age of 8 that I wanted to be married at 22 and start a family. My relatives (all single females) thought it was cute. I frequently fantasized about such a lifestyle. I modeled myself after the only father figure I'd ever had, my grandfather. The man had married at 22, stayed married until the day he died (aged 72), and had a large family. He was a religious, fairly traditional Jamaican man with views that, by western standards (but probably not by Jamaican ones), were particularly socially conservative.
My apple didn't fall far from that tree-my mother helped ensure that too, since that was also the only culture she'd ever known. All of the uncles I looked up to had been the same way, and I wanted to be just like them. My father was a player who sired many other children with women other than my mother, but I've yet to ever see him in person.
As a result, I grew up here in America trying to emulate a romantic/value system that had last been the norm 70 or more years ago, and that only may have still held some sway in the foreign, more traditional country from whence I'd come. I'd have to learn the hard way that the lessons of upper-class Jamaican conservatism I'd learned didn't apply among young Americans.
Looking back, I actually was a bit of a star in high school thanks to football. I had started weight training at 11, so by high school I was much bigger than most of my peers. I had earned a reputation for my good grades and strength (I went on to win a couple of regional football weightlifting competitions-I may actually have had the highest bench in the local area, and I certainly led the school). I learned how to play linebacker/fullback, made varsity a little early, got some media attention as a sophomore/junior, earned all-region honors, and made a name for myself. A lot of people knew who I was-I was actually in a perfect position to get a lot of sexual experience.
In the end, I graduated a virgin, without having ever kissed or really touched a girl. Why? I had no game. I had plenty of opportunities with girls who, now that I look back at it, were literally throwing themselves at me, but I blew every last one.
How'd I do that? Here's an example of the type of crap I pulled. One girl who'd been throwing herself at me asked me to a dance party. I rejected her and offered her an ultimatum-be my girlfriend now or we move on. This after one group date and perhaps 2-3 weeks of distant courtship during which she had thrown herself at me. She of course refused, and got another boyfriend, confused by the (long, odd) ultimatum i'd sent her on facebook (I still have it-it makes me cringe to this day).
Why'd I do that? I knew there'd be suggestive dancing at the event she invited me to, and in my own antiquated moral world it simply would not have been proper to get so close to a girl without her first having been at least in a proper relationship with me. That was my twisted logic.
This happened several times over. Sometimes they were less dramatic, with me being simply too shy and reserved to make a move when I needed to or to respond to the moves made on me. Sometimes I was just blind, totally missing blatant displays of interest until it was too late to act on them.
These misses were clearly the result of my own immaturity, but in my youth I was too insecure to do anything but blame the world and the people around me for my failure. I wasn't ready for self improvement, and I stayed alone as a result. I left high school a fairly bitter kid.
Taking the Blue Pill to College
I played ball well enough in high school and did well enough in the classroom to get a shot at Ivy League football, which had been my dream since I first started playing at 11. I held college up on a pedestal as a place where I could finally fulfill my naive, childhood fantasy of finding a future wife.
My logic was quite simple (and misguided): I'm a smart, accomplished, academically inclined, well educated Ivy League guy. They are smart, accomplished, well educated Ivy League girls with a similar inclination and, in many cases, similar athleticism. Obviously I should find a wife here, right? Right-we were compatible! So I pathetically set out to do it, unaware of the racial, social and developmental walls I was about to run into.
I fell in love pretty quickly, before freshman year even started (pre-season fall sports camp). She was also an athlete, a black girl of very dark complexion from Texas. She had a very thick lower body build (which got her a ton of attention from the urban set back in the south, including some athletes/entertainers), but a fairly plain face. My friends called her a 4, 5 and (in some cases) a 6. She was at best cute to them, at worst mediocre.
I found her beautiful.
Why? She was intelligent, driven and she spoke well, all things I'd been looking for. She was also black. Having come from a town/school where only 2% of the population was black, she really was the first black girl I'd met who boasted that combination. She was like a cute female version of myself, in a sense, and I was struck since I'd never seen that before. I'd later come to realize that there were many such black girls on my campus (a fact that would continue to blow me away for most of my freshman and sophomore years and lead me to premature infatuation), but she was the first I'd come into contact with. She was also the first girl I remembered taking so direct an interest in me.
We started hanging out. I'd go to her room often, she'd come to mine. I never made a move, for reasons you know by now. We needed to be official first-that was only proper. What would my grandfather say to such illicit relations? Still clinging to some religious notions from my youth (and, frankly, still cripplingly shy), I didn't take a shot. Instead, I foolishly asked her when we could start going out. She often replied (with a hint of disappointment/confusion in her voice-she just wanted me to make a move) that we could do so during the next school term (winter).
On one night while we were haning out, she gave me a hypothetical asking what I would do if, by the time winter came, she got impregnated by one of her close friends (a teammate of mine a year older who she'd known since high school and was still very friendly with). I should have realized it then, but I'd later learn that she'd been having sex with him as recently as that very same pre-season, a week before I met her. She'd given him her virginity as well.
Like an idiot, I responded that we'd "work through it". I had just learned that she'd been intimately involved with a teammate who was screweing her just before we met and was (probably) still doing it, and I was nothing but accomodating. I'd also learned of her desire to have a child with this teammate, and I rolled over for that too. That must have been the final shit test, because shit deteriorated quickly after that.
I realize now that she wanted to see how far she could push me (how weak I really was), and once she figured it out there was no turning back. She was merciless, and had clearly lost all respect for me.
She began aggressively mentioning other boys she was interested in on campus, right in front of me. I reacted with discomfort and jealously, failing what I now realized was another major shit test. She began to gradually show more disappointment, turning me down for dinner dates and trying to distance herself from me, calling me out as "weak" or "wishy-washy" when I displayed my weakness. It all came to an end about two months after we'd met, where she finally remarked that she had "better people to meet and spend time with" and she "didn't want me in her life anymore". That was it.
I tried to take it all well, even making an attempt to be outwardly cordial with her and say "hi" whenever I saw her around (she largely ignored me, wouldn't use my name in conversation around our mutual friends).
Inside, I was hurt, and angry. I'd been nothing but kind to her, like I was supposed to-how could she be so coldly dismissive?
This (late fall 2009) was when I began seriously getting into game, reading Roosh and Heartiste extensively for the first time. I even managed to see a couple of other girls before Fall ended, though I went nowhere with them (just some grinding on frat dance floors). One of these also resulted in another epic rejection, but I was still learning, having mistakenly tried a couple of corny pick up/text lines I'd found on a sizable PUA forum.
This was how I first got into game and began trying to apply it.
Tasting the Red Pill
By winter I was on a streak of self-improvement, having spent the entire break reading Roosh/Heartiste. I came in dedicated to eliminating my inner beta, and I would do this by going out extensively for the first time in my life (hitting frat parties like I never had in fall) and leaning heavily on liquor for liquid courage. I even started writing my first "game manifestos", messages that I sent to my friends who were in slumps to motivate them using the game concepts I'd gleaned from Heartiste and Roosh.
Surprisingly, my advice seemed to work for my friends, who came out of their own beta slumps and started getting steady hookups...but things went less well for me.
I hooked up twice that winter (no sex, just makeouts and a quick visit to second base). One came with a basketball player who never looked at me again, and whose friends actively worked to cock block me (my fault, I chased too hard). The second came with another athlete (soccer) who accused me of attempting to rape her. That saga is detailed
in this post.
This experience ensured that the winter of 2010 would be the only period in which I regularly drank and went out in my college career. I largely withdrew into my shell and went ghost after this, save for one more premature infatuatory saga with a black female that came during my Sophomore fall. That saga is detailed a little in
this post. She marked my entering the last stage of my development.
Entering the Final Stage: Swallowing the Red Pill
To keep it short: I came onto her quick, fell fast. She was very pretty and popular, a chearleader, heavily sought after on campus (arguably the most courted black girl at the school, along with her twin sister). Previous lessons had already taught me some reality, but with her I rationalized: she "wasn't like that". Turned out she was, and she'd be the last girl with whom I was naively unrealistic about. Went on 3 dates (mistake, too serious), got flaked on maybe half a dozen times (couldn't take a hint), learned she hooked up with a teammate and perhaps others during this time period (let the jealously get to me), and eventually I quit pursuing.
I failed miserably with her, though less miserably than with the earlier examples. I realize now what happened: she appaeared interested, and showed many IOI's (indications of interest) that kept me coming back after she flaked repeatedly. Her IOI's combined with my pedestalization got me invested too quickly. The thing is that she did not want anything serious, and I was very serious-I put her on a pedestal because of her beauty, intelligence, carriage and our very similar ethnic heritage, and she didn't want to be there. I foolishly hinted at long term relationships just weeks after we'd met, and even began thinking of taking her to meet my family. I became overly dependent on seeing her, letting her interest determine my own mood. I invested too much, too early.
Every time I got close, she pulled away (flaked) and started soliciting more attention from other male friends. This was a clear rejection of the too-serious attention I put on her. I needed to have been more casual and made a move earlier on WITHOUT PUTTING ROMANTIC PRESSURE ON HER for things to have worked. Instead, I tried to force her into my own naive/outdated romantic view, something she didn't want and, at her age, probably wasn't capable of living up to anyway. I was too serious, too insecure, and too inexperienced. Game over.
Once I realized this after a final flake from her and concluded there was no hope for anything working, I cut off all contact with her. The whole saga took place within fall of 2010, my sophomore year.
The experience I had with her familiarized me with the
female attention whore life stage and killed any remaining naive, romantic notions I had in my head-after her, I realized that in fact,
ALL girls are "like that". None of them belong on pedestals, very few actually want to be kept there by their men, and most of the young ones will react negatively when put there. I very much value meeting her-she finally got me to digest the red pill that I'd only begun to try and swallow the year before. After her, I reached a more complete state of maturity, one I remain in to this day.
Conclusion
And that is the (very long) story of my game development. As you can see, it was more of a tale of progression than of reaction to a single moment.
Summary:
High School and prior: Crushingly pathetic beta
Freshman Fall of College: Crushing rejection results in first opening eyes, first attempts to move away from pathetic, lifelong betatude.
Freshman Winter: Rape accusation causes retreat back to shell.
Sophomore Fall: Meet one more "special girl", give it last shot. Still a beta, allow said betatude to come out a little this time still despite lessons because I still think she's an exception.
Winter of Sophomore Year: Realize there are no special exceptions-give up childhood notions for good. Finally have my first sexual experience, and finally grow the **** up.
And now, here I am.
