I don’t know what Chris Hansen would think of the devious and deceptive tactics my friend and I employed to trap a different type of sexual predator; that’s right, a gold digger.
Gold diggers have been around since man first learned to farm land and acquire goats and chickens. While most women have a hypergamous nature, gold diggers don’t necessarily care about bonding or the survival of their offspring, and see sex merely as a means to an end. Since it’s the resources and the lifestyle these women are after, the easiest way to get into a gold digger’s panties is to create the illusion that you are that dapper Don with disposable income.
The following is a true story, although the names have been changed to protect the innocent (and not so innocent).
My buddy Jack was a real estate agent, though not particularly stellar one, and although he was nowhere near wealthy, he had keys and access to multi million dollar mansions, that he showed his prospective buyers (more on this later).
Jack and I would always party together on the weekends and talk shit about the type of girls that would kiss ass to rich guys in the nightclubs, who would buy them drinks in the VIP in exchange for vajayjay back at their cribs.
In my eyes, they were nothing but undercover prostitutes, but in Jack’s, they were something more. They were dreamers who were sold the Cinderella story as a child, and were now out to realize their dream, looking for that knight in shining armor that would whisk them away to a place of happiness ever after. If they wanted to be a princess, Jack wanted a role in that play as prince, for as long as the curtains stayed open.
Together, we formulated a plan on how we were going to use the internet to catfish and get Jack laid with one of these harlots. I worked on Jack’s online profile and made sure the photos were well curated; pics of Jack sunbathing on a yacht, playing golf, drinking champagne with other boogie types, and of course, the shot of him exiting a Rolls Royce with me dressed as his driver, holding the door for him. Jack had to be seen as living the lifestyle of the rich and famous, from country clubs to private jet rides, we managed to get the pics to pass the mustard. It helps to know Photoshop for this.
Jack previewed the homes and looked for staged ones that were fully furnished with bedroom sets, couches etc. Most girls aren’t going to fuck you on a hardwood floor, no matter how expensive the home. Fortunately, most real estate agents aren’t showing properties in the evening, so he would go by a given mansion with a suitcase of his clothes and hang them in the closet and put some in the drawers. As an added touch, we even left a few doctored bank and stock account statements with high balances on the tables and dressers, just so they would have something to read while he went to use the bathroom.
Then we simply advertised his baller status on dating sites and apps like Tinder and Bumble and wait for the fish to bite.
And bite they did, almost like a feeding frenzy! Matches came fast and furious as dozens of girls matched or filled the inbox daily. Some were already being playfully naughty in their messages. Others desperately tried to qualify themselves by sending messages about how they had just returned from some exotic travel adventure, or had been dining at an exclusive restaurant. We, being red pill and aware of a gold digger’s nature, knew it was all a show of social proof, but they were all the same hypergamous, shallow monkey branchers to us.
I would schedule the dates via text using a temporary Google Voice number. I had tentative dates ready on a moment’s notice if the current one turned out to be a dud. We would first have Jack meet them for happy hour at a local bar & grill just to make sure we screened out any mental cases, hood rats, lady boys, fatties, or other undesirable catfish. Once they fit the bill (only 8s & 9s with class), we moved them to Jack’s house using a car that Jack borrowed from his uncle. It was an old 1984 Jaguar, black with the wood trim interior. The car wasn’t worth very much, but luckily, most girls don’t know the first thing about blue book values. We made sure to have it waxed and shined to get their panties wet for the ride home. To complete the illusion, I played Jack’s chauffeur, complete with three piece wool suit, beret and white gloves.
After screening out several girls, we set our sights on a gold digger in her prime; Danielle, a 25 year old business school grad who was using her sex appeal to climb her way up the start-up ladder. She was a solid 8.5 with the curves that make many a man risk his marriage for a romp. She met Jack at the bar and enjoyed a $3 strawberry daiquiri (happy hour prices). I watched her giving Jack the classic IOIs (indicators of interest), the head tilts, the neck strokes with her perfectly manicured nails, and the giveaway hair flip.
He gave Danielle the canned excuse that he had just purchased a place and needed her opinion on interior design ideas. This greedy girl didn’t hesitate to come over. On the ride to his property listing, I (playing the chauffeur) answered some calls on my cellphone (fake ringer app); First his broker was calling asking him what he wanted to do with the shares of Disney and his short positions in the Chinese dot coms. Next, his tax attorney wanted to know if he needed help setting up his offshore tax shelter. And finally, the host from the Bellagio called wanting to know if he wanted to be flown in by private jet? After the last call, Jack instructed me to send all calls to voicemail as he didn’t want to be rude to his guest.
At this point Danielle was buying the charade, as she was all starry eyes and huge smiles. Her phone was on silent and she never looked at it even once.
I dropped them off at a mansion in the hills with breathtaking views of the city. I opened the door and helped “the lady” to her feet. Jack told me that I was relieved and that he would call me if needed. The look on Danielle’s face was priceless; all blushes and smiles. She reminded me of the character in the movie “Pretty Woman”, whose ship had finally come in.
A refilled expensive bottle of cheap champagne waited in the fridge, and that was all that was needed to put the nail in her muffin. The pillow talk afterwards revolved around what Jack’s plans were and how she wanted to travel with him in the future. Without making any promises about those adventures, Jack told her he had an early appointment and they had to be out by 8 am the next morning. The agents would be there by 9 to show the place and Jack and I needed time to ditch the evidence.
He was able to sleep with her two more times before she caught on to the con. We’re not sure if it was the agents’ business cards we forgot to remove once from the kitchen counter, or perhaps she used a friend to setup a date as well, or maybe she got wise and tried to run a background check on Jack, who didn’t exist, maybe she had access to the listing information on the property address. Whichever the case, once she figured out she had been had, the temptress disappeared; all communication blocked or left unanswered, as girls who don’t want to face reality tend to do. She knew that if she called him out, he would do the same, and although there was no shame in his game, there was plenty in hers.
Most of the girls couldn’t wait to jump out of their panties and into bed with Jack. If he was lucky, he could smash twice or even three times before they caught on to the con. He told me that he felt like a rodeo cowboy, riding the bull for 8 seconds. He knew he was going to get bucked off sooner or later, but the ride was exhilarating, none the less. He made sure to use a Google Voice phone number, an alias, etc. just in case they got vindictive as we all know some crazy girls can get. And then it was simply on to the next one.
Do you have an experience where you fooled a gold digger? We’d love to hear all about it in the comments.
