Category Archives: Stories from the Road

Stories from the Road: The $40 Pay for Play Girl Treated Me Better Than American Women I’ve Had Relationships With

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The Zona de Tolerancia in Reynosa, Tamaulipas. It costs roughly $2 to enter the compound. Part of the strip club Lipstick is visible on the left

It’s no secret American women treat men like garbage. I’ve had a few pretty good American girlfriends here and there, but by and large I knew I was nothing more than a disposable utility or a passing infatuation with almost all of them. I knew any LTRs would risk my finances, freedom, and sanity.

As a social observer who watches single mommery become the norm on social media and in cities nationwide (i.e. once the sperm is extracted from the father and he’s disposed of and cast into state slavery, mom hops back on the cock carousel) I know my experience with predatory females is far from unusual. American women use men financially, then kick them to the curb.

Putting that background aside, about how frankly, shitty American woman are, prancing around as if they’re god almighty, any sex appeal they might have had concealed under layers of blubber, hair dye, and bitchiness, let’s move to a recent experience I had at one of the Zonas de Tolerancia in Mexico. These are areas of legal prostitution in many Mexican cities, representing the polar opposite of the shame sex creates in Anglo America.

I found myself on the Mexico border recently, with a trailer dropoff at a border town. Of course, crossing over for some tacos (in more ways than one) naturally was on my mind. So, I rent a car, drive to the Puente Internacional (International Bridge) and walk across. One of the nice things about crossing into Mexico is there’s no police state badgering a man when crossing Mexican customs. Sure, they’re there, but 9 times out of 10 a man just walks on through with narry a question about his activities. Someone with a libertarian bent, like me, loves that experience.

I walk out of customs, wave for a taxi, and negotiate a price of $20 for the cabby to take me to the Zona, drive me by the rooms where scantily clad girls stand outside, let me pick out one, and wait on me while I bang her. (Sometimes I get the taxi drivers to drop me off, but I decided just to do a hit and run this particular day.) As we pull out, I move to put on my seatbelt and the driver asks me what I’m doing. Suddenly, it occurs to me I don’t have to put on a seatbelt here. “Fuck it. I’ll leave it off,” I think.

We arrive, I pay the $2 to the police to enter the compound. (Yes, you pay police to enter a zone replete with brothels, strip clubs, dive bars, and freelance whores. Pay for play, is of course, illegal in the Land of Prohibitions, America.) We drive around the entire compound. It’s about 7 p.m. so even though it’s Friday night there are only a handful of putas on duty. In our first circle, none of them really caught my eye.

Thinking I’m another weak American, the taxi driver starts instructing me on what to do, in Spanish. “Stop and get a beer.” Of course, he invites himself to a beer with me. I flat out tell him no. Not because I don’t want to buy him a beer, I know he’s just testing to see if he can push me around. So, I tell him to drive around the compound again, and suddenly, a flaquita morena catches my eye. (She was a thin, tan skinned girl.) She had beautiful, flowing black hair, a very nice body with perky tits, and was wearing a revealing but classy black dress. She stood out over the other girls. Indeed, a man can truly find some diamonds in the rough in the zonas once in a while.

We negotiate a price, she asks for $40 for complete service. We go in her room, she closes the door, and we start talking. After bullshitting for a few minutes, I find out she’s 21 and lives nearby. She gives me the look that she’s ready, so I take off my clothes and she takes off hers. The light bulb in her room was out, but since it was daytime there were still some rays of light peeking into the room. Once my eyes adjusted I gazed upon a chick that looked stunning naked. Especially compared to the fatties I see in my trips around America, and what they must look like with their clothes off.

She had it all. Perky tits. Tan and supple nipples. Nice legs. Nice hips. Nice, taut little behind. After drinking that scene in, we proceed do the deed. She didn’t rush me. This flaquita morena actually made love to me rather than just fucking me. The whole experience actually got quite intense as I started pumping her pretty hard. I could tell she loved that. I knew afterwards I would remember this girl long after this day. For there’s nothing quite like being treated like a man when you come from a culture that hates men and hates sex.

We talk a few more minutes in Spanish, and I learn this girl is actually studying. They all say they are, but she has books in her room with her. I pay her more than what she was asking for, and get her number before I leave. This girl might be selling it, but she made me feel better inside than most American women I’ve dated because she respected me.

That’s why I monger in the zonas once in a while. Not only is sex a human psychological need as detailed in Maslow’s hierarchy, but it’s nice to be treated like a human being by a woman and not a walking, talking cash machine. I gotta tell you, mutual respect is where it’s at. Life is stranger than fiction sometimes, in that a $40 whore can make a man feel more complete than a woman he’s invested thousands or even hundreds of thousands of dollars in.

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Abundance Mentality: Turning Down Free Sex

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Women aren’t as alluring once you know their psychology

I am turning down some 20-year old pussy.

I can’t believe I just said that. But it’s true. I have a girl in St. Louis sending me nude photos of herself, and the offer for a NSA tryst is on the table if only I swing by and hit it. She’s not even asking for dinner. She has awesome tits. She has a pretty puss. What’s more strange about this situation is my route takes me through St. Louis, and I have extra time on my hands. It’s very nearly the perfect setup.

But, it’s a tricky situation. First off, this chick still lives with her parents. Second, she has a great body butterface knocks her down to about a SMV 6½ or so. Third, I know from talking to her she’s been around the block a couple of times. Fourth, I’m spoiled with frankly superior women abroad. American chicks just don’t do it for me anymore. I know they’re an inferior product that typically comes at a very high price. They’re aggravating, unfeminine, and awkward compared to the primo cuts I enjoy abroad. (They’re also usually fat, but this chick isn’t fat.)

One of the main issues is, once a man knows the twisted psychology of women, sex becomes something of a novelty because you know what the ass you’re banging is attached to. A predator and a dissimulator. And as all PUA For Life guys know the more success a man has with women, the less impressive getting laid is. It’s abundance mentality.

I also know I will more than make up for it once I finish earning my freedom money, and flee the states to live abroad again in just two short months. So, I’ll let this one slide. But at least I know I’ve still got it. I’m pushing 40 and can get pussy half my age pretty much anytime I want it. What a difference the manosphere can make in a dude’s life.

Have you turned down some free ass recently? Did it put your mind into a pickle…asking yourself, at least for a minute, “What the hell am I doing, turning down sex?”

What a change, from being sexually needy to having more sex and more women than a man cares to handle. That’s about all the personal satisfaction a man can ask for. Perhaps there is something to Maslow’s Hierarchy, after all. With a man’s sexual desires filled, he’s able to move on to nobler pursuits rather than focusing on hedonism all the time. (Although, there’s nothing wrong with some regular hedonism!)

As as side note, for those interested in my trucking adventures…I just grossed over $1,000 this week. I’m fattening up that freedom fund quite nicely. I’ll be delving into some good old-fashioned womanizing, hellraising fun soon enough. I think I just want out of America and this cultural cesspool at this point. I’ve been here long enough, and need a breather in saner, happier places.

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Eating on $5 a Day

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Sandwiches save big money if you make them yourself

Most people think getting a meal for $5 is a bargain. It ain’t. I figured that out a while back, and came up with what I thought at the time was a radical plan to make that much money cover an entire day. It worked wonderfully, and I enjoyed everything from steaks to eggs, bacon and homemade pancakes while at home. Every TNMM reader already knows Anglobitches won’t raise a finger to cook, so we have to “man up” (heh) and learn how make our own food.

Since adopting minimalism, and realizing I can buy experiences that will last a lifetime with my money rather than meals that will soon become excrement, I’ve slashed my food costs to $5 a day. And I have been quite happy with my arrangement. But trucking presented a new set of problems. Mainly, not having a full kitchen to take advantage of.

As I mentioned before, I’ve literally been eating on a budget like this for years. I’ve lost weight by planning meals. I’ve cut down on waste and aggravation by streamlining and simplifying. I’ve saved tons of cash. And I’ve adapted this plan to hyper-save while I’m in the throes of The Matrix, driving 3,000 miles a week earning that precious freedom money to power my mini-adventures here in the USA and my major adventures abroad.

In an orally fixated, obese culture, some will no doubt find the way I handle my food budget horrifying. I look at it this way. If you want to spend your paycheck on over-processed, over-seasoned food at Uncle Moe’s Family Feedbag (yes, that’s a Simpsons reference) then be my guest. Your wallet and your waistline will take a beating. Enjoy yourself.

But here’s how I eat on $5 a day while on the road, and fatten my bank account.

Bologna, ham, and other cold cuts are part of the agenda. Sandwiches made with wheat bread are a staple, and cold cuts can be stored in the mini-fridge I bought for my sleeper. A spice rack help keeps things interesting when preparing tuna salad or chicken salad. There’s even some potted meat that actually goes will with mayo and mustard mixed together. Then there’s potato chips (always the store brand) alongside cans of chili, Chef Boyardee, and other canned goods.

Since I don’t have a stove, or a lot of time, everything I do on the road is pretty much ready to eat food. Some will say I should install a stove and a microwave and all this, but to me it’s not minimalism if I’m spending money unnecessarily. I’m only planning on being in the U.S. for 6 months or so at a time. Things have to work, and they have to work without needlessly spending money on comfort-maximizing accessories.

Bottled water and Walmart store brand sodas are my daily beverages, along with instant Kool-Aid and iced tea packets to keep things interesting. It’s Walmart brand Pop Tarts for breakfast. Celery sticks, carrots, cherry tomatoes and a big tub of ranch dressing for snacktime.

This all comes out to $3 to $5 a day for 2,000 calories. To me, the whole idea is cheap calories that are there whenever I need them. While food snobs will be aghast, I know I’m not missing anything by skipping the drive-thru and the sit down restaurants they worship. (I eat a fast food burger once or twice a a week to remind myself how bad they are, and reward myself with a proper meal at a nicer restaurant once a week.)

The good news is, I’m literally gaining $400-500 extra a month in my budget vs. other truck drivers (and GloboWorldCorp employees) who eat out every meal. Just the savings on food is enough to pay for a monthly excursion when I finish my 23 days on the road and take my week off.

And as a result of cost-cutting like this, I’m currently saving around 95% of my income to take with me abroad, where I’ll have hot Latinas and Asian women cooking up delicacies right in front of me that make ersatz American food taste like the crap it is. You know, to make up for the sacrifice I made eating on the cheap in my truck.

See, it’s not so bad after all.

Do you know how much you’re spending on food each day? How do you do things at home? Or, if you’re on the road how do you eat decently while saving?

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Schadenfreude: Watching White Women Who Aren’t Getting Their Way

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White girls still haven’t realized they lost more with feminism than they gained

Here’s a short story from the road as I suffer through my last couple of months in America before leaving to go abroad again this fall. There were two moments of schadenfreude, or pleasure derived from another person’s misfortune, I had today. Both scenarios involved white girls who didn’t get their way, and their reactions as I observed them.

It was really a delight to witness their disgust and powerlessness. There are other, more entertaining moments I witness white girls who are upset by their new roles as soulless worker drones in society, but for some reason these two stood out in my mind as they happened.

Just to let readers know, I don’t like white chicks. I haven’t liked them for a long time. My most recent experience with one was when I banged a 23-year old white girl off and on for a year or so just before I dumped her to run off to Latin America, but typically I don’t have anything to do with them. (True story: She faked a pregnancy to try and keep me from leaving. She also tried to get knocked up by secretly removing her IUD. I’m not your child support slave, bitch.) I’ve had experience sexually and otherwise with every major ethnicity of women, and trust me, white chicks are the worst of the worst. They are, after all, the progenitors of rotten Anglo culture we discuss so often here at TNMM and Anglobitch.

Anyway, neither instance of schadenfreude is anything major. They just tickled me as they happened.

In the first case, I was pulling out from a truck stop and a white girl wanted to pull into the Burger King beside me. Of course, I could have let her in as there were two trucks in front of me at the intersection, but I have such a mental block against any act of chivalry towards Anglo females since they constantly tell men how terrible we are, that they don’t need us, and that the world would be better off without us and our awful sexual needs around. I can’t play nice anymore.

She looked up at me from her little toy box SUV and put on the nice face, with the puppy dog eyes. She’s obviously a regular user of the pussy pass. So, I looked her right in the face and moved my semi into a position to block her. Emotionless. Cold. Stone faced. She immediately shifted to a posture of disgust and amazement that I wouldn’t let her in. As traffic finally started to move and I moved forward, I made note of her expression and enjoyed her look of outrage after I did the unthinkable and made her wait an extra minute to pull in for her next recreational eating session.

I laughed and laughed about that as I pulled onto the Interstate.

In the second instance, I don’t normally like to eat out but I was in the mood for a sloppy fast food burger this evening. I haven’t had one in weeks, and decided to stop by a national chain to pick up some trash food. As soon as I walked in, I saw one rather plump white woman weeping, another trashy one consoling her from the front of the counter, and several other white girls behind the counter toiling away. All were fast food workers who obviously hated their new roles as corporate slaves. A couple were cute, but cuteness does nothing for me. I’m still an asshole when it comes to dealing with chicks.

I thought, “Isn’t female empowerment wonderful, ladies?! Now you can slave away at menial jobs just like men rather than having a nasty family to take care of!”

All the white girls behind the counter had bleached hair, and the look of disbelief on their faces they they had to do manual labor to earn some money. They all seemed to have the attitude, “Where is my male meal ticket to exploit and berate? I’m too good to be doing a job like this. I have the precious, pink anatomy!”

So, I look one of the fake blondies in the eyes and make my order. I talk to her as though she’s my subordinate, which in this case she is, and you can tell it just kills her that a man is telling her what to do and how to make his sandwich. Ah, the sumptuous irony that even after feminism these white girls still end up making sandwiches for men. Gotta love it!

Of course, she fucks up my order.

I notice when I get to the truck the burger is plain with cheese, when all I wanted to do is add cheese to it. I plainly told her this. She undoubtedly did it as a shit test to see if I would come back. Naturally, I go back in with a mischievous spirit. This time, blondie hides from me and fatty comes up to assist me. I tell her no less than 3 times in a very polite but stern way, I wanted this normal, not plain, add cheese. She’s baffled by my request. The third time I tell her, she cops an attitude.

She takes the burger, hands it to the only guy in the place, and tells him, “I don’t know what he wants.” Dude comes up, I tell him the exact same thing I told fatty, laugh in a cocky manner about it, and he immediately fixes my order in a cool, calm, professional manner rather than the estrogen-filled flailing around I witnessed from the YouGoGrrl brigade on this visit.

Yet another irony appears. If I want something done right, I have to get a man to do it. Meantime, the blondies continued twirling their hair and complaining about their jobs in the background.

To close, I have no mercy on white girls or their fucking problems, anymore. I played nice guy for half a lifetime only to be used and abused by them. They wanted their so-called empowerment, now they have it. Enjoy those burger-flipping jobs, babies. You won’t have a man like me or millions of other once “good men” to kick around anymore. Now you can pay for your own conspicuous consumption with your meager wages.

Here’s the sad truth you girls haven’t figured out yet. Feminism burned you, it dethroned you, and it turned you into a worker bee rather than queens of the castle. Enjoy the bed you made, because a motherfucker like me is going to enjoy watching you lie in it. I’ll be doing everything I can to make life a little bit harder for you. And encouraging millions of other men to do the same.

And getting a kick out of it, too.

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Stories from the Road: Back from Playa del Carmen, Mexico

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Another escape from hell to paradise

After taking a week long sojourn in Mexico to cleanse myself of the cultural toxicity of America, I’m back.

Luckily, I can request time off anywhere in the U.S. my trucking company does business, so naturally I request time off on the border every 3 weeks to escape the mean-faced, Cloroxed hair women and the spiritual emptiness of a nation that worships the shopping mall and the slow death of bad, ersatz food.

Here’s how it went.

I arrived at the international bridge around 10:00 p.m. after dropping my last load. I decided to walk across into a border city tormented by ongoing battles between Prohibitionist Mexican police and drug cartels. (Prohibition never works, it just leads to violence.) After having my sanity questioned by everyone who knew I was a white boy walking alone into Mexico, I can tell you I had absolutely no problems other than having to dick around with cab drivers who wanted to rip me off. You gotta be a man in Mexico. You can’t be a bitch. Weakness will be pounced on. Just so you know.

I immediately made my way down to the zona de tolerancia to search out some $40-$50 legal whores. Oh yes, renting sex isn’t illegal in Mexico.

The brothel inside the zona was dead, no chicas in sight, but there were still a few working girls in the cuartos or rooms around the compound. I ended up banging a 30ish chick from the capital of Mexico City and remember thinking as we finished up, “Holy fuck, this $40 prostitute just treated me better and made me feel like more of a man than any of the American women I spent large sums of money on dating when I still tried to be the Beta nice guy.”

She was light skinned, could have passed for white, and treated me with utmost respect. I remember thinking as we put our clothes back on that I come here to the zonas from time to time to experience women treating me like a human being and not a utility object, not just for the sex. (Which is hit and miss in terms of quality.)

Anyway, after that it was on to coastal Mexico.

Wisely avoiding the tourist areas, I ended up in Playa del Carmen. Initially disappointed by the Eurotrash and Americanized clubs and shops, I decided to take a walk to the bad part of town. Ended up having an awesome time with a couple of chicas.

And then, it happened.

I met a Mexican girl, about my age, who pressed all the right buttons. She reminded me of the first Latina I ever dated way back at the tender age of 24. The rest of my trip was magical. Transcendent, even. I remember why having the Latina experience changed the course of my entire life and I’m still chasing adventures in Latin America over a decade later.

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Latinas are the antithesis of manly Anglo women, but only in their home culture

This chick was hot. I mean really hot. Beautiful face, flowing dark hair, sumptuous curves, full booty, perky tits, luscious lips, and haunting eyes. She was so charming and treated me so well I was in a trance. I spent maybe $100 on the both of us for food and dancing the ENTIRE WEEK. Obviously, she was not after my money. Nor a green card. No, this was a real woman. She was everything I ran away from Anglo America to find.

A couple of times I fought back tears at the rush of emotion and happiness, having been starved of tender, female affection like this back home.

She would nibble on my ear and we would make out in public like teenagers. She would lay in my lap at the park. She would grab my hand as we walked around town and focus her attention on me. She cooked for me. She talked to me like she was interested in what I had to say.

Of course, the sex was incredible. It was real. More than just physical, it was emotional. There’s just nothing like the experience of a real, Old World woman. It can be a life changing experience, realizing there are places where women treat you like a man and not a dog. This is a big reason I travel.

But, my Savage Pilgrimages are about much more than empty sex and good times. I travel to have beautiful experiences like these in my life, in which I get to feel what it’s like to be with a woman who knows how to treat me like a man, rather than biding my time with a chick trying to be a man herself, like Anglobitches.

I am still high on this experience, walking around with a spring in my step and stars in my eyes as I wander back in to a nation of hateful, spiritually dead materialists. The memories and the happy daze make the transition back to living the life of a monk easier while I work and save for 6 months of living abroad. Memories like these motivate me. There are places where women aren’t taught to hate men.

While everyone else snarls their nose when someone mentions Mexico, I know the truth. This is a place where a man can still be a man and live a full life, one denied him by a gynocentric death cult.

All you gotta do is speak the language.

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