“And we should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once. And we should call every truth false which was not accompanied by at least one laugh.”

Friedrich Nietzsche

It was one of those bewitchingly prophetic Saturday nights when my friends decided to hit our favourite dive bar. Tonight I would put the nice guy away, stuffed behind the poet and the bad boy and become a Picasso; a twisted statue to be admired. That’s one of the joys of game–trying on new personalities.

Field Reports are Educational Porn

I was deep in the mental shit house of going out five nights a week chasing tail and failing miserably. Even though I considered myself somewhat of a modern Casanova self-help super hero, the correlation between skill and luck was making itself apparent. Skill don’t mean jack without luck.

I’m leaning against a column sucking back my three dollar pint when a gaggle of young women cruise past our group. I size up facial symmetry, waist-hip ratio and instinctually reach out and clasp my girl’s wrist and tug. I believe in myself. She turns, smiling. Good.

“I like your boots. I could see you bouncing on the moon.” I say. I lock eyes at half-mast, sleepy style until I sense interest—not that I care. This takes about four seconds. I have her at, “Hello.” What does interest look like? She doesn’t leave. She holds eye contact. She smiles and occasionally wets her lips. Mostly though, she just doesn’t leave.

Note that I’m neither beautiful nor tall or even really cool. But I spent many years working out my charm in the pursuit of feline. I follow rules but break them regularly: Stand tall, lean back, speak slowly, eye contact, strong touch, confident vibe, outcome independent…creativity. All check. The most important rule is that I actually go out and try. I always follow that one.

She tugs her friend’s sleeve, “Hey Lindsey, this guy says my boots remind him of the moon.” Lindsey hugs my blonde and replies, “You won’t find a babe like this on the moon!”

When a girl upsells her friends value it’s a sure sign they are shopping for men. Usually someone’s been dumped or feels down or fat or something. I don’t know. But if you are the first decent guy that hits on her and you don’t fuck it up, then a thumbs up from her friend is a green light on the tarmac.

She Made Me Horny

I’ll call her Lauren. Lauren is twenty three, a student of dental hygiene, 5’8”, thin with big boobs, blonde hair and blue eyes. Lauren has told me all of this without my asking. Lauren is dragging me to the bar by my hand. Lauren is double fisting gin and tonic and asking me many questions about what I do and who I am and where I’m from. All of which I answer semi- truthfully because at this point, pulling away or playing games would be stupid. I let her run the show which is contrary to all the bullshit I’ve been taught over the years.

She tells me about her cat who likes to nibble her toes while she sleeps. And she sleeps in her bed that is really high off the ground at her apartment which is near mine. Through all this I lean back and shut up. I occasionally run a finger through her hair, brushing her earlobe or cheek. I sometimes glance elsewhere, and then bring it back.

Lauren shares about her favourite music and how she loves to cook and with one hand, I place it on her lower back, resting above her buttcheek. She doesn’t shy off. She’s sucked bare her first beverage and is eagerly consuming her second. I take note.

“Let’s go over here.” I say. She follows me, glancing back at her friends with a smile, just to let them know it’s all good. I take her to a bench and sit. I lift her lovely legs and toss them over mine so she’s on my lap. She’s my girl.

I’ve said very little which is more than enough and slowly and confidently I escalate by asking small logistical questions. I always return to her apartment. “Is it nice? What’s your kitchen like? What sort of music do you have?”

And then after half an hour I ask if I can see it. She says, “Of course!” Like there would be any other answer. Did I win the lotto or is this normal for Lauren? I admire her fine body, tilt my head and swallow the cheap beer. “Let’s go.”

And We’re Off

In the cab as she’s talking I place my finger on her lips, she stops. I lean in but don’t kiss her; we just sit with our heads close, feeling each other’s breath, revelling in the sexual tension like worshippers at the altar of horniness.

As I’m inside her, on her too-high bed, with Elton John crooning, “Bennie and the Jets!” and her cat preening from the foot, I’m thrusting and she’s moaning… and I wonder if I have any talent, or skill, or charm at all. Did I really need to watch fifteen dvd programs, read twelve eBooks and approach a thousand women?

I’m not sure…but It’s been a good ride so far. I’ll think I’ll keep at it. Tomorrow night will probably suck.