Scott Donner - The Lolita Method

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Este es otro manual que encontré es otra versión
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  • 1. The original first edition of The Lolita Method was written 
 and published by Freedom Storehouse Press in 1989, with a second 
 edition printed in 1991. I have since revised and updated the text. 
 The book was co-written with a friend of mine who has given me 
 permission to revise and post it. At the time I wrote this, I was not 
 PRED. I was just a humble public school teacher with a dream. 
 I left teaching and a failed first marriage soon after I 
 completed the first draft of The Lolita Method, relocating to New York 
 City. There I met a host of underground writers in the 'zine world. 
 I showed one of them my manuscript for The Lolita Method, and he 
 turned me on to Freedom Storehouse Press. They printed and published 
 the book, and it was distributed under the counter in porno shops and 
 headshops. 
 Anyone who has a copy of the first or second edition has a 
 real collector's item. I've been looking for an extra copy for the 
 last couple months now, but no luck so far. If you have one, put it 
 up on e-bay. I've had an offer for $100 for the book, which is 
 amusing because it was printed on cheap paper with a staple binding. 
 Well, that's enough reminiscing for one day. Enjoy .. Anti-Disclaimer: Oh, COME ON! "The Lolita Method" is the sole property of PREDATOR Press Intl. 
 Comments, questions, death threats please e-mail P...@altavista.net. The Lolita Method The Sure-Fire Way to Pick Up Forbidden Girls by Scott Donner aka PREDATOR 
 with Bill Humbert The authors would like to thank the following for their continuing inspiration, effort and support: The Humbert Society of America (Hard Cocks in Search of Young Twat); Lolitas Everywhere (Thank God for Clueless Cum-Dumpsters); Stupid Parents ("Our daughter would never do anything like that ..."); Vladimir Nabokov (For providing us with a vision and a name); Andrea (Doinkin) Dworkin, Catherine (MacKuntin) MacKinnon & the Femi-Nazi Sisterhood (For providing us with crucial insight into adolescent female psychology which we routinely exploit); The FBI & Law Enforcement Agencies Throughout the World (Catch us if you can, assholes!); Our Wives & Girlfriends (For providing us perfect cover & fuckable daughters); Our Future Prey (May your brains be empty and your pussies tight) ii. INTRODUCTION I'm going to make this short because I hate books with long introductions. I do, however, want to take a brief moment to tell you what this book is all about, in case you haven't already figured it out. Objective - To Attain & Maintain the Sexual Presence of “Forbidden” Girls in Your Life Yes, you read that right. The "Lolita Method" is quite simply, a systematic approach to bagging “forbidden “girls” in their formative years” (although we do address the issue of Little Lolitas as well). This book delivers in clear, concise, step-by-step instructions what other "How to Pick Up Girls ..." authors won't even dare to suggest. The Lolita Method openly addresses the varieties of teeny-bopper twat available in the statutory meat marketplace and provides the proven strategies best suited to acquiring those coveted young cunts. For some of you (parents, cops, preachers, feminists, lesbians and sensitive [emasculated] males) the language and ideas presented in this study may offend, repulse and, perhaps, induce you to near homicidal rage. Oh well, there's nothing I can do about
  • 2. that. It's your fucking fault for picking up the book in the first place. So fuck you. You make me want to puke, too. For those of you considering getting into the Lolita Sweepstakes or just curious about what Bill and I have to say, I bid you welcome and hope you find our work as fascinating and as stimulating as we do. Others of you will have come to the point where you are ready to take that next step and plunge into the forbidden paradise of “young-adult” poontang. Thank God you found us before venturing into these often troublesome waters without being at least somewhat briefed concerning what to expect and how best to proceed and succeed. For the experienced Humbert, we hope our research provides you with some new and innovative tactics for increasing your Lolita "kill" ratio. We also hope you appreciate our efforts to at long last collect, collate and chronicle all the various and sundry seduction methods which have proven so successful all these years. (Oh yeah, and the case studies are pretty hot, too.) What you have before you is over twenty combined years worth of painstaking research, and as far as we know The Lolita Method stands as the most comprehensive work devoted to the art of fucking “forbidden” girls ... ever. If you don't agree, please, do us all a favor and introduce us to something that considers the issue in the same simple language and puts forward an even more practical plan of attack. We would like to read it. I, for one, am always willing to learn. No, the "Lolita Method" is not 100% guaranteed for every “forbidden” girl in every circumstance. We don't need to make hollow promises to satisfy our readers. Rest assured, however, that if you do read this book and seriously (and I mean seriously) make an effort to implement our strategies you will succeed in your quest to fuck “forbidden” girls!!! That's not a guarantee ... it's a fact! All you need to bag bimbettes is a little patience, a little courage and a great game plan. So, let the "Lolita Method" be that master plan, and leave the details to us. Overall, no matter who you may be or what kind of agenda you may have brought to these pages, the "Lolita Method" presents an excellent opportunity for everyone to explore the psyches of those of us who like to fuck “forbidden” girls. The Method also examinines the issue of sex with “forbidden” girls from a wholly different (and may I add enlightened) perspective. For those who would read this book in an attempt to gain insight into the methods of the Humbert and thus thwart his efforts -- parents, law enforcement officers, femi- Nazis and preachers -- go ahead and try. But I should warn you of something first. Humberts have been hanging around fucking your precious little daughters since civilization began, and we'll continue to bust their tight cherries no matter what you and your pathetic "morals" have to say about it. So, why don't you just lie back and enjoy it. Who knows, you might find a little Humbert in yourself as well. So, without further adieu ... welcome to my world. Scott Donner April 1, 1995 ____________________________________________________ 1 
 In the Beginning Before we begin our Lolita Quest, two short narratives would, 
 perhaps, be in order. These are the stories of the two authors' first 
 recorded "kills," and we are using them here to illustrate a few 
 points. 
 First ... Humberts come in all shapes, ages and sizes. For 
 the most part, seducing Lolita has very little to do with how you look 
 or how much money you have in your wallet. Like prime real estate, 
 prime "forbidden" pussy is all about location. The successful Humbert 
 places himself in a
  • 3. location where a fresh cunt just comes strolling 
 by. Think of the hunter sitting in his tree stand above the skittish 
 young doe who is oblivious to the fact she's in the cross hairs. 
 Second ... The disadvantage of your age is actually an 
 advantage. The trick is learning how to turn the tables and transform 
 yourself from a "Dirty Old Man" to the "Experienced Older Man." Like 
 Nabokov's Humbert (from the novel Lolita, required reading for any man 
 obsessed with "forbidden" cunt), adult males and only adult males can 
 provide what Lolita is really looking for, which leads us to our next 
 point. 
 Third ... Lolita's primary desire in life is to become and 
 feel like a "real, grown-up woman." We call this adolescent obsession 
 the Lolita Urge, and it is responsible for dictating almost 100% of 
 Lolita's actions and reactions. The Humbert who can manipulate this 
 urge is the Humbert who routinely scores kills. 
 Fourth ... Lolitas can be broken down into seven primary 
 categories: the Stoner, the Gold Digger, the Average Girl, the 
 Romantic Artist, the Virgin Mary, the Ugly Girl & the Freak. 
 Recognizing Lolita's type immediately puts you at the advantage. 
 Certain strategies work better with certain types of girls. All you 
 need to do is plug it in. 
 Although neither Bill nor I were consciously aware of these 
 crucial factors when we began individually bagging bimbette pussy 
 years ago, we did, however, instinctively pursue certain courses of 
 action that utilized all four rules of thumb. Before we delve into 
 the Method, then, perhaps it would behoove us to take a closer look at 
 the humble beginnings of your humble Humberts. Scott's Story My first "forbidden" "kill" occurred when I was just 18 years 
 old, in the summer between my senior year of high school and my 
 freshman year in college. At the time I was a hot-shot, young 
 musician (a trumpet player if you really must know) who had just been 
 awarded a music scholarship to a major Midwest University. 
 That summer, I found work as a Counselor In Training (CIT) at 
 a summer music camp sponsored by a local college. This was your basic 
 "live-in" type arrangement with about 100 kids ranging from 11 to 17 
 occupying college dorm rooms, attending orchestra rehearsals and 
 private lessons, and performing weekly concerts in the city park. 
 I was part of a staff numbering 6 CITs, 8 Counselors, 4 
 Directors and 1 Dean. From the onset, I encountered numerous 
 personality conflicts with the staff hierarchy. The Directors didn't 
 like me because, as they put it, I was a "jazzer," which in layman's 
 terms meant I wasn't your typical, 4-eyed classical music nerd. In 
 addition to this, the Counselors immediately pegged me as a bad 
 influence because of my long hair, pony tail, and my propensity to 
 blare loud be-bop music from the stereo in my room. In fact, the only 
 thing saving me from immediate expulsion was my raw ability as a 
 musician. I was arguably the best trumpet player (not to mention 
 musician) in the camp, and for some unknown reason the Dean liked me. 
 Needless to say, my rebellious ways and "jazz star" rep 
 quickly endeared me to the kids, and by my third week I already had 
 quite a large following of Scott Donner wannabes among the boys and 
 Scott Donner groupies among the girls. To put it bluntly, my musical 
 talent and "hell's bells" attitude had made me the camp legend, and 
 being the cocky young guy that I was I ate it up. 
 Of course, the Counselors tried to take me down a peg or two. 
 They made me dorm monitor for the worst group of older boys, and when 
 that didn't break me they placed me in charge of supper clean up, 
 which is really where my story begins. 
 Sitting at my supper table every night (we all had designated 
 seats) was a fresh-faced, 12-year-old flute player named Tracey. 
 Although blessed with a shy, pretty smile, Tracey stood about 5'6" 
 (and growing), and her thin, lithe frame made her appear somewhat 
 gawky when compared to most of the other girls
  • 4. her age. 
 Already, however, she sported a ripe pair of budding breasts 
 that pointed out like soft, firm spikes through her summer wardrobe of 
 T-shirts and halter-tops. In addition, she showed off her long, 
 sinewy legs every day in a succession of cut-off, denim shorts that 
 rode up high along her thighs and fit snugly over a flat, yet slowly 
 developing ass. 
 Although Tracey could not be called the prettiest or the most 
 popular girl in her age group, her quiet, attentive demeanor made her 
 a favorite among the staff. If you needed someone to help with the 
 dishes or take down chairs after a rehearsal, you looked for Tracey. 
 In retrospect, I guess that's how the whole thing started. 
 As an eighteen-year-old hotshot surrounded by a veritable 
 swarm of adoring, "forbidden" cooze, I found it impossible not to 
 flirt with the girls. Sure, I was starting college in the fall, but 
 the sight of a 12 or 13 year old cunt in a pair of shorts (or worse 
 yet a bathing suit) still sent my cock straight back to 7th grade, 
 when I used to jack off all night dreaming about sinking my teeth into 
 some of that tight, tender, teeny-bopper gash. 
 Although she didn't fawn all over me like a lot of the girls 
 with their adolescent crushes, I could tell Tracey was attracted to 
 me. Sometimes I would look up in the middle of orchestra rehearsal, 
 shoot a glance in her direction, and there she'd be, just staring at 
 me. Then she'd flash me that shy, killer smile and go back to her 
 music. Needless to say I found myself getting more and more turned on 
 at the attention until I slowly began to take matters into my own 
 hands. 
 Every night at the supper table, I'd tease her, talk to her, 
 do anything I could to see her eyes connect with mine. I suppose 
 somewhere deep in my subconscious mind I knew where this thing was 
 heading, although I never would have admitted such a thing at the 
 time. 
 Overtly, I pretended to be interested in one of the other 
 CITs, a somewhat stuck-up, nineteen year old bitch from back east 
 named Mia. In my mind, however, I knew I was becoming obsessed with 
 little Tracey with the shy smile. At night, I would jack-off 
 furiously with images of her cum-covered face spurring me on to higher 
 and higher planes of ecstasy. 
 As the days went on, then, I became even more and more 
 entranced with her, and I began manufacturing additional moments for 
 us to share. Besides sitting next to her at supper each night and 
 enlisting her help with the dishes, I also began "bumping" into her 
 after rehearsals, or between classes, or during free time. 
 By the time I realized what I was doing, it was too late. 
 Things were getting out of control, and, worse yet, I thought I had 
 begun sensing a naive receptivity on her part. The very thought of 
 actually doing anything with her sent my head spinning in even crazier 
 circles, and sometimes I even caught myself thinking the unthinkable 
 .. "You know, I bet I could do her. I bet I really could ..." 
 Our mutual crisis finally came to a head one evening after 
 dinner. As usual, she'd stayed to clear the tables and clean the 
 dishes. As we worked together, I could sense the tension between us 
 growing. We brushed up against each other "accidentally" a few times, 
 and my body began responding with all kinds of danger signs ... hard 
 cock, pounding heart ... which basically said: "Get the fuck out of 
 there, Scott!" 
 I still don't know to this day whether or not Tracey knew 
 exactly what kind of effect she was having over me. I find it 
 impossible to conceive, however, that she didn't notice the raging 
 hard-on pressing through my jeans. 
 Of course, so-called human sexuality experts will tell you 
 that most 12-year-old girls don't crotch watch, and those that do 
 probably don't even know what they're supposed to be looking for. 
 Yeah, right, and I'm the fucking Dalli Lama. 
 Listen, I know "forbidden" cunts. I work with them, I fuck 
 them, and I force myself to pay attention to their endless, mindless 
 prattle. Believe me, the minute Lolita learns about dicks in Family 
 Living Class she's ready to sell her fucking soul for a glimpse of one 
 (and quite often does, thank god). 
 So don't listen to the fucking experts who go on and on about 
 the fragility and innocence of sweet, little girls.
  • 5. Little girls want 
 cock; they dream about it, and in my heart of hearts I know my little 
 Tracey possessed as much awareness of our situation as I myself. 
 She knew what was going to happen. She just didn't know how, 
 where, or when. Those little details she left to me because I was the 
 "older man," and it's up the "older man" to sort out all the bullshit 
 and get down to brass tacks. Like the song says ... Girls Just Want 
 to Have Fun. But I digress, so please let us return to our little 
 seduction scenario. 
 As Tracey and I finished up the dishes that night, I 
 maintained the conversation we'd been having and followed her out the 
 dining hall and onto the campus green. I just kept talking, and she 
 was laughing, and to anyone passing by it all must have looked very 
 innocent and on the up-and-up. 
 But in the air between us, the sparks were flying fast and 
 furious and the "chemistry" was about to cause a thermonuclear 
 meltdown. Here she stood, the exact prototype of the girls that had 
 always eluded me during the painful years of my early adolescent. 
 The day I hit puberty, I found myself inexplicably drawn to 
 the shy, pretty girls, the ones that blossomed into womanhood in the 
 blink of an eye, the ones who were always bored with the "boys" their 
 own age and went right from early adolescent awkwardness to performing 
 backseat gymnastics in the cars of older, cooler guys. 
 But I was 18 now, and I was finally one of those cool older 
 guys. One problem remained, however ... summoning up the courage to 
 put all my grandiose schemes of seduction into action. Yes, it was do 
 or die time, and to tell the truth, I really don't know how I ever 
 managed to get up enough guts to act. I guess I just kept talking, 
 kept her interested. Then, when we reached the steps outside the 
 practice hall, I made my play. 
 "I've got to go upstairs and get some music I've been working 
 on," I said. "You know," I quickly added, "we don't have to be at 
 orchestra for another hour yet. Would you mind doing me a favor?" 
 "What?" she asked oh-so-innocently. 
 "I'm working on a new piece for the brass choir ..." 
 "You're writing something for the brass choir?" she 
 interrupted, obviously impressed. 
 "Yeah, it's not much really ..." Actually it wasn't much at 
 all, merely a required project for my music theory class. But I was 
 the camp legend, and surely it wasn't inconceivable that I, Scott 
 Donner, might write a piece for the brass choir to play in concert. 
 "I'd love to hear it," she practically gushed. 
 So, we went upstairs to my practice room high atop the fourth 
 floor in the deserted building, and I proceeded to fumble around on 
 the piano a bit and ask her opinion about my stupid piece of music, 
 which she of course drooled all over. 
 Minutes later, she was sitting right next to me on the bench, 
 and as I played through a particularly rough passage I fidgeted around 
 next to her, surreptitiously rubbing up against her as I managed my 
 best Beethoven impression. When she didn't bolt upon contact, I 
 shifted myself until I was even closer to her slender form. For a 
 split second, my elbows rubbed against her twelve-year-old breasts and 
 she shot me a look that was half rapture and half terror. 
 "What do you think?" I asked her when I finished. 
 "It's beautiful," she replied. "Awesome," she added in 
 typical twelve-year-old fashion. 
 Instinctively, I zeroed in on her eyes and wouldn't let them 
 go. She turned her gaze down after a moment, but I slowly lifted her 
 chin until I had her shy eyes prisoner once again. Her lashes 
 fluttered and closed. I said "Fuck It" to myself, wrapped my arms 
 around her and ki
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