I was walking down a busy street on my way to an appointment when I first saw her. Now I'm pretty stingy when I apply a number rating to a woman. To me, HB 1 is Amy Schumer, HB 2 is pond scum, HB 3 is a fatty who finds solace in radical feminism, HB 4 is a feminist in her prime, HB 5 is a woman who refuses to apply makeup, HB 6 is your average woman walking around, HB 7 is the lowest threshold for banging, HB 8 is a hot woman, HB 9 is a woman who models or will be picked up by an agency pretty soon, and HB 10 is reserved for celebrities like Jessica Alba and princesses like Kate Middleton. This woman was a HB 9.5.

So I see this woman and I was immediately steered in her direction. Luck was on my side, as if I had somehow been given the opportunity to sell a stock to Warren Buffett himself. I would leave nothing to fail.

I cannot recall exactly what we talked about, because my mind was in full throttle, thinking 6 and 7 moves ahead, like a chessmaster competing against IBM’s Watson. But the specifics of what I said don't even matter. When I came up to her I made a comment about something about her appearance. She scoffed at me, and kept walking. But just like Muhammed Ali being hit by the first punch, I wasn’t about to give up that easily. Keeping my body physically ahead of her and pointed away unless I wanted to reward her with my attention, I continued the conversation, talking about this and that, putting forth out story after story, provoking her into response. And pretty soon, she became wide eyed and enthralled. I could feel her asking herself “Is this real life? Who is this dude?”. I was whiplashing her through a myriad of emotions, her cognitive systems going into overload.

How I did this was fundamental: You will put in a more concerted effort into seducing a woman you’re interested and less effort with a woman you're lukewarm about. This cannot be faked. Now imagine you’re approaching a woman you're not only interested in, but are interested in to a radical extreme. An extreme even ISIS would say is too much. You’re going to fucking fight for your life to maintain her attention and get her to sleep with you. That is what I experienced with this woman. Now this is different than pedestalization. I didn’t idealize her or idolize her. Rather, I framed it like a 12th seeded basketball team facing a 1st seeded opponent: I’ve worked all my life for this moment and I’m going to die trying to get a game upset.

I spoke loudly. I spoke firmly. I spoke with passion. I spoke with certainty in my voice and my declarations. I spoke like a man that was going places. Like I was the next Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King Jr, or any other inspirational figure about to start a revolution. When we were walking it was me directing her, me leading her, me putting my hand on the small of her back o so gently when we were crossing the street, and taking my hand off of her subtly and when appropriate. I set the tone, the tenor of the conversation controlled by the choices I made.

I was the day trader, given the opportunity to pitch my stock to Warren Buffett. I was an unranked boxer put into the ring with Muhammed Ali. I was a rapper from the street, scheduled to a rap battle with Eminem. I only had one shot, one opportunity to get it right. To change my life forever. Motivated like none other, I put aside my fears and insecurities and channeled all my adrenaline into a state of focus that was so sharp it could cut through titanium.

We talked, walked, and flirted. I teased, told her stories, demonstrated value, and required her to prove herself to me. I refused to pull my punches, riling her up with shit tests of my own. I took her for a ride, pushing, pulling, and tearing away at her emotions and her defenses. I fought and flirted with her as if my life depended on it. Nothing else mattered at that moment. All my training, reading, and practice on the field led up to my time with her. I was going to either get her contact info or drop dead trying.

In the beginning she was stiff as a board. She looked away, picked up her pace, did anything she could to get away from me, for I was a stranger. She put up a fight deserved of a woman who gets approached every second of the day since she turned 18. But I not only held on, I let her know I was a man of high smv, a man deserved of her attention. And she realized this immediately as I displayed no hesitation in anything I said or any action I took. We began to have fun, talking back and forth and exchanging stories, anecdotes, and information. The rollercoaster was far from over, the ride was one that would leave her dazed in a state of amazement.

She said something, I replied with a statement or story that got her laughed, even repulsed, or inquisitive. It didn’t matter, for her highs were high and her lows were low. Her emotions vacillated radically and with no end in sight. My stories were deep, poignant, and prolific. I got her enrapt, like she was a child at a puppet show. The best thing of all this was that I too was having fun and enjoying myself. You see, when you interact with high value people you yourself step up to the plate and your attitude becomes one of a high smv man.

The experience was amazing for the both of us. It was like we gave each other a proper mind fucking, right there on the street, with no care that there were people around. It was just the two of us, two bulls locking horns, and neither of us was going to let go or give up. She came at me with a statement, story, or shit test, I parried her with a story or shit test of my own, sending the message that I was no average man hitting on her. I was in it to win it.

Every test she gave me, I stayed unfazed. I showed that I was a man of value, of respect, and of dignity. Each shit test she dished out I deflected and was proud of my response. Shit test me? I’ll just agree and amplify. Another shit test? Look out, I just changed the subject. Oh wait, shit test incoming? I'm just going to ignore it completely. Watch out, shit test on the way! No worries, time to pressure flip. Jesus, another shit test? I’ve had enough of your shit, time to command respect.

I was amoral, showing no preference for one side or another. When she tried to steer the conversation to politics, I redirected it. When she brought up negative topics and criticized and complained, I didn’t take the bait. She wasn’t my friend, my pal, or my ally. She was a HB 9.5, an albino tiger spotted in the wild by a poacher, something most men will never ever have the opportunity to interact with in real life. I appreciated her for who she was and what she had to offer. My game was reflective of this fact. I owned her with my speech, my rhetoric, and my actions. I toppled her defenses by being smart, strategic, and savvy. By the time I was done with her she would be bending down to me, not just to suck my dick but to worship me.

As I predicted, she did model. Also as I predicted, she was a rare kind, displaying levels of intelligence and business savvy that would be impressive in their own right, and she did have her MBA. The reality of the situation was that this woman was an elite breed of human, the kind you’d never find on OkCupid or even Tinder because her social circles are the ones of society's elite. I wouldn't be surprised if she was the keynote speaker for Davos' last conference (Davos, for those who don’t know, is a gathering of the global elite, the most powerful men and women who run the world).

I fought one hell of a fight. When I felt it was appropriate and proper timing to leave her, I pulled away. We exchanged contact information, and I left proud as a peacock. I knew I won her over, giving her a radical experience no man has ever given her. If she were to flake it would only be because she was hit by a bus or in a coma. We later messaged each other and the vibe was still going strong. But after a few messages back and forth, she asks me this (I kid you not):

”Do you read The Red Pill?”

I stared at her message on my phone, dazed, unable to process what she just asked of me. I’ve approached hundreds if not a thousand women, and not once has The Red Pill come up. I don’t know what to make of it men. She knew I was Red Pill, yet she still gave me her contact information and continued the conversation when we messaged.

The ball is still in my court, as I have not messaged her back yet. How do I respond?