A single mum. Father died when she was four. Alcoholism, probably in combination with some kind of liver disease. ‘He could have lived longer if he had done things a little differently.’

She’s forgiven him.

John wonders what impact this has on her relationship towards men in general.

Does she try to save men as a substitute for saving her father?

John knows he can’t assume these things just like that, but his experiences as a therapist let these thoughts creep up automatically.

She’s hard-working. Been sleeping four hours a night for years. Tough job working with disabled people. Always taking care of others, but does she even allow others to take care of her?

She writes poems.

Freya is almost too nice. That’s why she is leading the Volvo driving soccer mom life, but didn’t exploit some rich guy to get to the Volvo. The job of raising a kid on your own without the perks.

John is more sexually triggered by princesses. Intelligent women, but princesses. Women he has to slay a couple of dragons for before they allow him between his legs. Still, Freya is so kind, so thoughtful and so non-superficial that he feels it would be crazy to not be intimate with her.

PUA literature does not talk much about MILF’s.

Odd since mothers are more interesting than young exchange students – the typical PUA prey – who do not know anything about life. A woman who has given birth has an intuitive wisdom about life that nothing can make up for.

She describes herself as a character taken from a Renaissance painting, but she is anything but vain.

Freya is empathic. Freya is kind. Freya supports people. Freya is giving and self-negating.

She has a son. The father remarried. He has children with three different women. Freya is friends with one of them. Their kids play together. They are brothers after all. She is still on speaking terms with her ex-husband. Slovak women are exceptionally loyal and forgiving.

At no point during John’s 20 hour marathon conversation with Freya does he spot any anger towards her ex-husband. An egotistical manchild who asks his ex-wives if they ever talk about how he was in bed. If he would be as devoted to his children as to his own self-image, he might win the father of the year award.

John and Freya walk all around Bratislava. You can do a lot of walking in 20 hours. You can cover a lot of topics in what is almost a full day and night. After 20 hours they know more about each other than 80 percent of the people they have ever met.

At six in the morning the talking stops. Freya’s been sprinkling around signals that she is ready for more than just talking. She is been touching his arms, been grabbing his waist, been saying that he is the only one she allows to walk to the right side of her, because on the left she feels like she is being dominated. ‘Perhaps that is because I feel safe with you. It is really weird.’

He puts one of her legs up on a bench in a park. Pushes up her dress and spreads her legs. He is so tired at this point that it does not take him any effort to be very slow about everything. He can tell she hasn’t had sex for a long time. Her body is aching for it. He feels it in the way she’s pressing her clit against his mouth. He licks her to the sound of crickets in the grass who seem to be making encouraging sounds.

Eventually she unhooks his pants and jumps on him. She comes like that, in the middle of the park, while he is carrying her. After what seems more than just one orgasm she slides down and hangs on him for a while, trying to catch her breath. A deep sigh washes past his neck, and he sees her squat in front of him, ready for a blowjob.

When the unruly fluids have been released, she says: ‘There was always something that bothered me about the smell of my boyfriends, but you smell like milk and butter cookies. Kinda like Sunday morning.’

She laughs and they walk to a bus stop, going their separate way.

The last thing she says is: ‘There would be less wars if we could all just loosen up about sex more. All those gun nuts are sexually repressed and load up on phallic weaponry. It’s sad. Sometimes I wish we could all collectively commit suicide and end the human virus.’

She would never hurt a fly of course and bends over backwards to try and please the people around her.

He says: ‘Let’s enjoy sex with mutual respect and without the drama’

‘Agreed’, she says. They hug and she gets on the bus. Completely red in the face, but walking with more confidence than before.

When John arrives home, Z is already up, when she hears about it, she says: ‘I don’t care about how succesful guys like James Marshall are with their seduction workshops, they are only scratching the surface.’

Z’s biggest worry: ‘You did use a condom, right?’

‘Of course.’

‘I have been stuying PUA doctrine myself for the past couple of days’, says Z, ‘and I think I have come up with some interesting conclusions.’

‘Let’s have breakfast at that hipster restaurant you like so much and you can tell me all about it.’

‘Good. I wonder when this project of yours is finally going to stop so you can focus on more important stuff.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like politics. Like helping people. Like building a flourishing therapy practice. Like opening your own school. I know you want those things, but you are scared and running away.’

They walk hand in hand to the tram stop. John needs very little sleep when he is not depressed.