A Natural History The seduction journals of James Marshall
Bonus Chapters
1. Introduction
2. The story so far
3. Chapter 1. Jimmy Taranto back stage
Introduction
This book is a collection of journal entries written from 2006 to 2008. Initially
many of them were published on a now shut down men’s seduction forum. Also included are entries from my private journals, travel stories and spiritual adventures.
This period was formative for me as a seducer, and indeed as a young man trying to prove his worth, his abilities and to work out who the fuck he was.
Being a man in your early 20’s is a very confusing time. Most likely, you have no money, no vocation, you haven’t made your mark on the world and you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with your life. You’re also bombarded with competitive pressure, told you must run to catch up to impossible i deals of success before you will be worth anything as a man. Likely you’ll have an insidious family or cultural pressure to conform to values
and sacrifices your parents endured. Unlikely you’ll have any meaningful or effective tuition on how to understand and communicate with women. Most men at this age have no idea how to relate to women or any real idea how they might think, act or feel, which cruelly coincides with a peak in their (ongoing) desire to have sex with them.
Women seem to work out about men, sex, and relationships much earlier in life, and soon realize that men their own age are reactive near morons a feather’s stroke from explosive ejaculation, and so often seek and are sought out by older
guys. Or they’re after the few high status bartenders, surfers, musicians, djs, and players their own age who’ve wondrously monopolized all the sexiest females (and seem oblivious to damned inequity of it all!). For the average looking, the shy, the nice and the lower status men, the prospects are frustratingly bleak.
The average man in his 20’s, unless he is unusually good looking, confident or well connected, tends to float between extended periods of frustratingly
involuntary celibacy into unsatisfactory relationships with the first girl in the longest while that has let him fuck her. He cycles through that a few times over the decade, perhaps drunkenly stumbling into the odd one night stand along the way (however on earth did he pull that one off?), and then marries someone somewhere in the range from pretty ok to soul-shittingly awful. His life pretty much ends there, buried under child rearing, mindless, soulless, artless work and an increasingly fat and nagging wife who eventually leaves him taking the house, perhaps the kids, and never the mortgage. Of course there are many exceptions to this bleak prophecy. You may luck upon the perfect girl at work drinks during your first internship and have a soul
satisfying life together… although chances are an apathetic approach of waiting and hoping is almost guaranteed to ruin your life.
My situation wasn’t quite that dire back when I started, although I had an early sense that this destiny might await me if I didn’t do something extraordinary to prevent it.
I was a real dork growing up: big nosed, skinny, played the flute and read medieval history. I was beaten by bullies, teased by the cool girls and had no male role model or concept of what a man was supposed to be. I was raised in a poor household, with just my mother and brother. From a pretty shit childhood and adolescence I had some lucky breaks mixed with a stubborn refusal to be anything other than quirky and outspoken.
I went on student exchange to America when I was 16, where because I had an Australian accent I was by default cool and so lost my virginity. I got into theatre and music and made a lot of female friends. I became a hippy muso and bumbled along having pretty and sometimes really sexy girlfriends by being awkwardly charming and going to lots of plays and starting a band. I built the foundations for being really good with girls through my lifestyle learning how to express myself, stand out, be creative, and speak to women’s emotions.
Later, on my journeys to ashrams in India and whilst training Kung Fu at the Shaolin temple, through meditation and martial arts I learned how to have presence, fi erceness of intent, decisiveness, grace and internal control. I’d always wanted to be good with women and in my own way I was becoming good at grabbing the opportunities that drifted into my social scene. I knew however that I was severely limited: to a certain social clique, to using my
band to meet girls… and this feeling that I was never going to have anything other than a pretty hippy girlfriend gnawed at me relentlessly. So it was that when I was 26, coming out of a long-term relationship and on a conflicted zig-zag path back to Shaolin temple, I got embroiled in a full-blown obsession with seduction!
Note that I say here seduction rather than women. Transitioning from the austerity and discipline of years as a proto-monk towards a not so distant time of full-blown, rampant hedonism, I entered the “Seduction Community”. This was
an online men’s support network for self -confessed beta males who shared tips and theories on getting laid and trumping the status quo of alpha dominance.
The “Melbourne Lair” members met at a community center over pizza and swapped tales, bickered over competing theories and commiserated over failures. After sifting briefly through the pseudo-science bullshit that constituted most of the early formalized seduction methods, I settled into daily trial and error, going out almost every day and most nights to bowl up to women who were clearly out of my league. I eventually joined forces with three of the best and most eccentric pick up artists I have met to this day: Flowz, Wolf and Z. The Rasta, the club king and the introspective DJ. These three lone wolf smooth operators exemplified most of the many sides of
those who would became known as “Naturals” - men who instinctually get it. I became the 4 th missing link and together we shirked all other responsibilities and pursuits, blending our styles and knowledge and becoming a rat pack for the new millennium that cut a swath of sexual mayhem through naughties
Melbourne and then on through the world…
Picking up women become an endless addiction, with each new level of difficulty spurring me to work harder, smarter or dirtier. I wanted the best, hottest, proudest, most coveted women around, although not essentially for the sex, which was the sick part. I liked getting laid but there was certainly more than one occasion when I found myself cock deep in a club siren, thinking about the text strategy I would use on the next girl I was working on. I also remember popping my latest conquest in a cab and rushing inside to type out the episode, hurriedly laying down the quotes and crafting my “Field
Reports”, and publishing them within the hour. The approval of a largely anonymous online group of lonely men, was somehow of more importance than basking in the personal afterglow of a night with most
men’s fantasy woman. This obsession with pick up at the expense of all else was by no means healthy but it was necessary for me at the time. It was about women and sex but it was much more than that alone. It was about proving myself, breaking the limits of what I was supposed to be happy with. I wanted to exist in the realm of the rock star! A super rich, kingpin, playboy, player, with barely a dollar and no fame. I wanted endless choice, variety and adventure. I wanted to be the best and have everybody know it. I wanted not just to get inside the pants of the uber hotties but to crawl inside their minds and hearts as well, to make them obsessed with me. To haunt them throughout their lives, as something exceptional. A lover of a lifetime.
All this was about confronting fears and self doubt. Gratifying while at the same time attacking my ego. It was about understanding my actual potential as a man, and eventually, about letting go of it all and falling stupidly in love. For guys who get into this world, it would be hypocritical of me to suggest you should temper your enthusiasm and not go as far as I did. But I would say that
once you’ve saturated yourself in this for as long as you need, get out and do other things again.
When Betty dumped me, she said:
“When we got together, you were this crazy interesting guy, playing music, doing kung fu, had so much depth... Since you got into pick up - and you know I don’t judge it - you’ve become boring. It’s all you do, all you talk about, so... I’m o ut.”
It was the slap in the face I needed and around that time I started to try to find some balance and to reconnect with the things that had made me attractive in the first place. This led me on the path to meet Olya, get serious about my career, get back into Kung Fu and curb all the late nights, and (most of) the drugs.
Although I’ve had many far wilder, careering and monumentally impressive seductions since these years, I’ve not written a story about any of them s ince the last one in this book. I probably should, but the desire to record and gloat has passed as waking next to a model or a couple of ballet dancers has long since become a standard fixture in my life.
These days I’m a successful entrepreneur who travels 9 months a year to wherever I fe el like, having affairs with all your top ten’s, and often grappling (only a little smugly) with questions like:
“What country should I go to and what should I do there and should I stop by St Petersburg to see Nastya on the way”. I’m living the international playboy lifestyle these days and so, have much less to prove. That insatiable questing to nail the next girl and then the next insists a little less strenuously. These days I'm more interested in long erotic mornings with the one that I'm with.
Although I teach seduction for a living now, I spend the rest of my time traveling, learning tango, still rocking Kung Fu, studying psychedelic shamanism in the Amazon, reading dense literature, going on absurd adventures with my friends and fully appreciating the relationships in my life.
Seduction is in my opinion a skill that a man must learn, or he will be alone a lot and end up spending miserable years or decades with the wrong woman.
The idea that “The One” will appear, driven by fair and romantic fate, to make everything alright is an apathetic excuse to have no balls and to not look critically at the areas of your personality and lifestyle that need to change. Or you can just give up and get together with that girl in your office - who is pretty bloody certainly not The One but just the one that you could get! Learning to walk up to a stranger and make a good impression is a skill that means you will not shackle up with Enid from accounts at the water cooler, but will only end up with the woman of your dreams. This book is the story of how I did just that.
In this book you find a pretty comprehensive record of my journey from insecurity-clad hippy opportunist to consistently successful ladies man. For the prospective Casanova you should find this more than useful, to watch the arc of learning I went through.
Most of my clients find it hard to believe I was ever shit with girls, or had spectacular failures and even when I tell them otherwise I can see that they harbour ongoing suspicions that I was born cool and popular, with my si lver spoon in their mouths...
Over the course of these journals you’ll see that not only did I make constant blunders in between my hard-won successes, fucking up cake walk seductions with newbie errors but that I was also subject to hounding self doubts, existential crises and bouts of dangerous jealousy and sentimentality. Men get into seduction to fuck hot girls and avoid feeling bad about themselves. The truth is that when you delve into this deep enough, you inevitably have to face all your fears, your ego, the limits of your knowledge and abilities, and above all, you have to reveal yourself to women.
If you’re not more than brutally honest with yourself this can lead to some kind of breakdown into neurotic almost schizophrenia as your Pick Up Artist façade crumbles before t he reality of an actual woman. I’ve seen it, and maybe been
there… But it’s not much of a risk compared to the chance to break through, to evolve and to become a mature man worthy of the women he wants.
What starts out as fairly clinical set of soulless field notes on the sci ence of seduction gradually becomes a reflection on my internal growth, my
understanding of women’s true desires and nature, and eventually on the complexities and beautiful madness of being in love. I start with the arrogance of conquest and find my ego, machismo and beliefs shattered over and over until I truly come to a point of respecting and adoring women rather than just wanting to capture them. At the same time I come to peace with who I am and finally start to really love myself.
Reading back on these entries, particularly the early ones, I’m wryly amused by how naïve I was and how much effort I put into getting some often very average girls into bed (then writing in excruciating detail about how I managed to or not). You'll notice that as I get better and the results start piling up, I go into less detail about exactly what I said to open and talk more about the vibe, my intent, the meta-behavioural patterns.
These days there are countless more eloquent and daring pickups and interactions I could quote from but the value of these early writings is in seeing how my skills exponentially improve, along with my mindset. From conquering fear, verbal efficacy, harem management, physical escalation, to handling fuck ups and flaky girls, it’s all in here.
You’ll see how I go from fumbling dates with plain Janes to eventually, getting a new beauty into bed every week and then dating 5 exquisite women at the same time before finding someone very unusual that smashed me back to square one.
There’s a standard Hollywood storyline which always pissed me off. Free wheeling bad boy, lives by his own rules, seductive, charismatic and sleeps around without a care. Then in the end sees the error of his boyish ways and gets married to the one. Ironically that’s exactly what I do. On acid of course. You’ll
see, it’s a fun ride…
James Marshall. Amazon jungle, Peru. April 2015.
The story so far… The year was 2006. and I was about to become really really good at getting the women that most men wanted to want me. This would eventually lead me to a bizarre career that involved flying around the world, dating models & top shelf bombshells of all types and getting paid silly amounts of money to teach men to do the same. Leading up to this was a series of events that would in no way hint at this direction to come.
My life up till that point revolved around Kung Fu, Buddhism and my flute.
Since the age of 19 when I’d tak en my first 10 day meditation retreat in India and quit pot, I became a fiercely disciplined (and pretty rigid and humourless) Buddhist. No meat, alcohol, drugs. I meditated hours a day and became obsessed with Shaolin martial arts which I studied with several masters in Australia. I started university, quit, studied Oriental massage and then worked as a massage therapist for some years. I also started a highly unmarketable, technically brilliant funk band called
Baron Samadhi, playing blistering flute solos and
singing about esoteric ramblings to a tiny but dedicated fan base.
I went to China in 2002. and 2004. to further my studies at Shaolin temple in China with the last of the true Shaolin monks - hitting rocks, spinning large weapons around and meditating in painful positions. I loved it there, and the idea gradually formed in my dharma bum mind: I was gunning for enlightenment and I felt increasingly, that I was destined to move to China permanently, to
disappear into Song Shan mountain’s mist and to become a true ascetic warrior monk.
Only problem was, I was a very horny young man. I had a really sexy Persian girlfriend who I fucked 5 times a day (All that Qi gong, organic food and tantra paid off) and yet I was haunted by outlandish erotic desires and a fear of leaving the sensual pleasures of the world behind. I desperately wanted to have sex with 100 women. Really hot ones, the ones I could never get; models, blonde surfer
chicks, those ones with nice dresses and heels at those clubs that have infinity pools in them, corporate hotties with black stockings and white blouses, Russian
girls like in Bond movies, oh and some threesomes to, I wanted some of those…
And so I cheated on my girlfriend with a plain Chinese secretary in Beijing. I told her. She fucked three guys in revenge. I went on a jealous rampage and smashed up our house. She left of course and suddenly I was alone, a total wreck wondering how I could possibly straddle these two extreme poles of my desiring. So I made a deal with myself. I would take a year to dedicate solely to becoming ludicrously good with women, would get those 100 notches of all the right specifications, bury myself in every depraved unlikely pornographic combination I could imagine to get it out of my system. And then I would move to China and be a monk.
That’s how I ended up on an internet forum for guys who sucked with chicks and on the adventures you’re about to read.
Oh, you may ask, what happened to becoming a monk after number 100? A young man known as Wolf came into my life and changed things for ever. I’m
still going back to the temple you know, right after number…
Chapter 1- Jimmy Taranto back stage
“OK James, we need you hard now.” These were the words I’d been dreading and anticipating for weeks. Standing in the women’s toilets of a dirty rocker bar, wearing black vinyl pants and a purple velvet shirt, this was finally real. I was playing Jimmy Taranto, narcissistic rock star, banging a groupie back stage in the opening shot of the Band, Australia’s first ever major feminist erotica feature film.
I’d rocked up to “work” early Monday morning where I was immediately accosted by a reporter from the Age newspaper, asking me
“How do you feel, knowing that you will be having sex with that girl (pointing to Phoenix Knight in the make up chair) today?” “I feel pretty good about it actually,” I replied. And I did. I was in the best shape of my life, solarium tan, waxed eyebrows, shaved nuts and ready to fuck. Still, with the moment finally upon me my bravado was faltering.
We squashed into the grotty bathroom and I exhaled deeply.
“Are you nervous Phoenix?” “No silly. Is this your first hardcore scene for the movie? ” “It’s my first hardcore scene ever .” “Oh sweety, I’ll look after you.”
Supporting Phoenix with one hand propped up on a bench, I took a deep breath and willed the blood to rush to my pants. The camera crew where squeezed into a toilet cubicle waiting expectantly, with Anna the busty director smiling encouragingly with her matronly deviance.
I looked down at my cock which was not cooperating as directed.
“Umm, it’s not really working. “So what do you need to do?” “The problem is I don’t have any contact with Phoenix at the hips…”
Wasn’t there supposed to be fluffers for this kind of things? This is why they should keep porn out of the hands of the feminists and back with the misogynists where it belongs, I thought with irritation. I said to Phoenix
“Ahh, do you mind if I feel you up?” “Sure, no problem”, she said without hesitation. While she chatted to the make up girl, getting a last brush of blusher, I fingered her and squeezed her tight butt until I was hard.
“Ok, I’m ready”.
Whilst trying to keep Jimmy Taranto in mind, my arrogant shallow rocker character, slamming an anonymous groupie with no regard, I tried to curl a slight snarl of indifferent contempt and go at it.
I lift Phoenix who is tiny with a perfect petite figure, trashy make up and big blonde mane looking like a suburban school girl tart, kiss her, and touch her up.
“Ok James ve need you to move ze labia aside a little furzer”, says Sanna the German cinematographer.
I put her down spin her around and bend her over the sink, whack on a condom, pull her g string aside and start pounding her.
“CUT!”, Anna yells. Phoenix: *giggle* “That was fun.” We go through the same thing again, from different angles. I grab her hair and yank her head back getting a little creative as I relax, with the stress of actually getting an erection gone. On the third and final take in another misguided girl power move they had planned on faking my cumshot with a syringe full of mayonnaise and vinegar.
“Look Anna, do you really want this faked, or would you like me to do a real one” “Oh, well that would be great. Phoenix, is that ok? ” “Sure, it’s only come, so long as you clean me up after *giggle*
“Now James ven you are ready to come, I need you to blow air on my face several strokes before, so I can adjust the shot as I vill not be able to see you srough ze
viewfinder.”
Banging the shit out of Phoenix about to bust, I turn and puff gently at Sanna’s cheek, then pull out, frantically trying to get the condom off, yanking it off just in time to deliver a theatrically brill iant money shot all over Phoenix’s tiny bronze butt. I stumbled off shot, panting for breath into an empty cubicle and looked back at her bent over covered in my jizz with the camera still rolling as she pulls a Polaroid camera out of her bag and takes a photo of her sticky cheeks to put in her groupie scrapbook. In the mirror I can see the crew crammed into the adjacent cubicle, with the boom mike and lights poking out at silly angles and myself slumped spent against the door. I smiled in bemusement and thought, “How did it come to this?’
The complete book will be released 8th April 2016.
