RedpoleQ - Meet and Date Asian Women: Foundations

Meet and Date Asian Women

Foundations

by Socrates

Copyright 2013 Socrates

All Rights Reserved

Dedicated to Tattoo on the Korea Lair for getting me started in pickup, and everyone from the A-Team for helping me along the way--you guys are top drawer.

Table of Contents

Its been years now since I started the process of becoming better with women. Looking back, its hard to believe where I started out. I was a pudgy, balding, 20 something with a serious lack of social skills and essentially no luck with women. On top of that, I had a crippling lack of confidence and self esteem. When I see other guys begin the process of improvement, I have to admit that Im jealous of where theyre usually starting.

The people who approach us about learning how to better their love lives come from all walks of life and have all sorts of defining characteristics: students, filthy rich trust fund babies, businessmen, IT professionals, teachers, tall and thin, short and fat, incredibly good looking, incredibly socially awkward, chill, normal, cool guys... The one thing that they all have in common, though, is that they dont think theyre getting the type of girls they should be getting and theyve finally found the courage to change that.

Good for them.

This book is the jumping off point for a much more in-depth and thorough developmental process, a process that will take you from where you are right now, today, to wherever you want to be. That sounds very salesy, but its absolutely true - achieving the success that you want to achieve comes down to how much work youre willing to put in. You can take this as far as you want to take it. Im still on the path of self-improvement and I likely always will be.

To get the most out of this book, take the time to read it through once, and then come back to it to reference sections that you need clarification on. If you want some quick advice on what you can do to maximize your chances as quickly as possible, turn to the end section titled Next Steps. You can take critical action now, today, by pushing forward with the suggestions I make in this section but make no mistake about it - Asia is a different world and you need the background in these pages to have real success with these women.

Early one sweltering summer evening, I made my way down a long stretch of sidewalk towards Sinchon station, in Seoul. As my shoes reached across slabs of warm concrete, I could just barely make out a figure standing next to the subway entrance, head down, looking at her phone. She had long brown chestnut hair that reached towards the small of her back, and her tall hourglass figure had been perfectly tucked into a seductively simple sea foam dress. It hugged her body closely, curving around two perfectly sized breasts, cutting in tightly around her waist, then flaring out at her hips, as if she were a 1950 varsity girl. When I got closer, she looked up with two large brown eyes and a smile spanned across her face. Stepping towards her, I began to feel the youthful radiance of her perfect almond skin. Was she really waiting for me?

Hi!

She was.

Somewhere on the Seoul subway a week before, I tugged open a door connecting my train car to the next, and then stepped through the threshold. The car was packed. People were planted down in every seat, and hanging off of every available handgrip. She stood leaning up against a car door on the far side of the train, just past a group of Koreans nattering loudly at each other. Her glittery nails were busily punching away at the keys on her iPhone. From the far side of the car I could make out a pair of pouty red lips planted perfectly between two softly curving cheeks. She was alone, but completely absorbed by the text message conversation she was having. I advanced.

When she looked up from her iPhone, my hormones leaped. In two and a half years of living in South Korea, a country home to some of the most exceptionally beautiful women in the world, I had never seen anything like her. She was truly stunning.

Im a model, she would later tell me with that innocent look only someone with a playfully naughty side can give. I teased her for a bit, asking if she was a hand model, if she spent her summer farming, or, after feeling her muscles, if she was a taekwondo champion. Somehow, at the end of it, I walked out of the train car with her number and plans to meet her the following week. Now she was standing on the sidewalk in front of me, on a pair of tall red heels, with an excited, expectant look. I couldnt believe just how gorgeous this girl was, and that I was actually going to spend time with her. I couldnt believe that she was actually here for me .

I smiled and waved, telling her it was great to see her. Then, quickly my expression changed to shock, and I pointed behind her. Whats that?!

As she turned to look, I went in and scooped her up, twirling her in the air. She shrieked loudly and her long red umbrella twisted behind her, smacking people as she spun. I let her feet land on the ground with a thump seconds later.

Hey! She yelled at me with embarrassment, noticeably annoyed, but also a bit amazed. It was exactly what I wanted. She bowed and apologized to the woman next to us, then punched me hard in the arm. I doubled over with laughter, then slid my arm around her waist and guided her down a tree-lined street towards our restaurant.

It never used to be this easy for me. Growing up I had no self-esteem. In high school I would walk though the halls with my head down, looking at the ground, so I wouldnt draw attention to myself. I was terrified of running into one of the bigger guys - hair shaved into mohawks, death metal tattoos running up their forearms, guys who would have a sinister smile whenever they saw me. I would walk the less frequented halls and stay far away from the cafeteria but somehow I would always make a wrong turn. I was constantly picked on and barely had any friends, never mind a date.

My self esteem was so low that I couldnt even talk to a girl normally, not that any of them would actually have given me the time of day. When it came to women in my school, their words were just as caustic as the guys who bullied me. I would walk into a classroom, past a few blond girls checking their makeup in tiny silver mirrors, then hear ...faggot... hes so gay, in passing. On the outside, my expression would stay intact but on the inside their words sliced through me like the serrated edges of a sword. I would find my seat, sit down, then, with a dry numbness, drift off while my teacher spoke.

During university I watched as the friends I had made outside of school moved away one by one. On Saturday nights, I would come out of my room after studying, climb down the stairs, and then take my place on our familys aging tweed three-person couch. My mother would smile at me, then click on the TV and turn to a documentary about the life of bats, or Alaskan glacial systems. My social life was dreadful. On the rare weekend that I had to miss documentary night, my parents were always disappointed. While my self-esteem was starting to improve, it was still supernaturally low; it still took a tremendous amount of courage to spend time with a girl. Of course, I never had control over which girl I could spend time with. She always had to choose me and, while she was never decent looking, she could always out eat me.

Sex, unfortunately, was never her biggest concern. By the end of university I was beginning to think I would die a virgin and the anxiety and desperation I felt because of that grew steadily. One by one I would watch pages slip from the calendar, first January would pass, then February, and before I knew it Christmas had arrived again.

My break came one Monday afternoon when I heard that my friends girlfriends highly sexual sister was interested in me. I put on my finest khaki pants and striped button down shirt and got set to meet her. With my hair flopping down to one side, I looked like a nerdier version of Doug McKenzie. My friends truck pulled up at her house. We hopped out and made our way single file up to the front door. My legs were trembling beneath me and my chest was beginning to tighten. Moments later the door opened and through the threshold I could just make out a dark silhouette on the far side of the room. My heart skipped a beat... then another... and then stopped altogether. She leaned back on an old wooden computer chair and smiled, her rippled stomach hanging out from under a shirt 3 sizes too small like a large cellulite donut. Sitting there, in the corner of the downstairs living room, was a woman that reminded me of a younger version of Jabba the Hutt - beastly, with an odor that punched through walls. I was so desperate and down, however, that a few months later I went for it anyways.