by Tony D
Getting a fast make-out isn’t hard if you’re aggressive. You can basically kiss-rape a girl before her logic kicks in. Most dating coaches claim to be experts with women, though I’ve never met one that could be considered better than any other. You can be as attractive as you are, but never more so than you’re least attractive and best option. There’s no magic involved: the woman has the final say. The only thing a seducer can truly manipulate is emotion and perception, just like any good sales, politician, or con-man. Pickup works because the woman decides she wants to be picked up, not because your magic pua lines brainwashed her. If you’re not solid within yourself, more so than her, she’ll bounce. We teach men how to fake confidence until their positive experiences allow them to believe their own lies. So here’s the question…what is personality? What’s taste? What’s a belief system worth if you can toss it all away like a used condom and begin anew? You think you know yourself, but all you know is that you don’t know anything; especially not yourself. Now fly my monkeys, and bring me Dorothy!
I’d been working for him for two months now. I wouldn’t call it working, because he wasn’t paying me. He kept promising he would, once I worked off the money he figured I owed him, which was about two thousand dollars. He never actually taught me anything my own experiences hadn’t already.
As I was lecturing the students I spotted a super cute little blond. There was a Santa hat on the coat rack. I walked over, pushing through partiers, grabbed the hat and dropped it on her head.
“There you go. Now you look cool,” I said.
“Oh, why thank you sir! I always wanted to look cool,” she replied with a smile, completely receptive.
“Ok, give it back,” I said, and took it away.
“Aww! Hey! You meanie!”
“Here,” I said, holding my hand over her head, “you can wear the invisible hat. Now we both have one, except mine is better, because I’m awesomer.”
Sometimes talking to girls like you’re six years old works.
Her name was Summer, a twenty-two year old nursing student from Halifax. We were getting on well when another pretty one walked up, grabbed her hand and pulled. I reached out for my treasure and latched on to her forearm. “Hey!” I said. “Wait your turn, you love pirate!” I tried a karate chop, but she wouldn’t relent. Before Summer was dragged away, we vowed to rendezvous later. I went back to the students.
“Woa she’s hot,” one of them said.
“Yeah. I’ll try again later. Her friend is playing mother hen.”
I carried on with my game lessons.
“You can’t be worried about rejection. I mean, look at me and look at that guy,” I said, pointing to a tall, thick haired, toned young guy. “If I relied on my looks, I’d never pick up a girl. Unless you demonstrate superior game, the good looking guys will win. Why should a ten go with me over him?”
“Because you have game?” one guy said.
“Sure. Sometimes I do. But really, the only way for a guy that looks like me to get a beautiful girl, say a ten, is to play the numbers game. Status helps, but I’m not a promoter, DJ, or rock star. So to get a beautiful girl I have to hit on one hundred, where as that guy probably has to hit on thirty. But somewhere, there’s a girl that prefers this, to that.”
“That’s depressing man,” another guy said.
“No. That’s reality. If you don’t want to approach hundreds of women, just start a band. It doesn’t even matter if you suck. They just care that you’re on stage.”
“That’s pretty negative.”
“You’re not my mom.”
“What?” he said, scratching his head.
I saw Summer flirting with a young guy near the bar. He had his phone in his hand and was getting her number.
“See that guy?” I said to the students.
“Yeah,” they said, nodding.
“I’m giving him five minutes to do something, and then I’m stealing his girl.”
They all smiled.
“Really?” one asked.
“You bet.”
I felt like Babe Ruth, pointing outside the stadium, knockin it out for the crowd.
Five minutes passed and the guy was still chatting. Good for him, I thought. Now it’s my turn. I walked straight towards them, put up my hands out in a grand hugging gesture and said, “Summer! Oh my God! It’s been sooooo long!”
“Ohhh…heeey!” she replied. We hugged. The other guy sort of looked at us funny, not sure what to make of me.
“Hi bro. How’s it goin?” I said, giving him a handshake. “Have a good night.” I dismissed him.
And then he said, “Ok, thanks,” and sauntered off, defeated by superior game.
You get what you want. He wanted a phone number, I wanted her.
That was so awesome.
We were still hugging. “I’m not letting your friend drag you away this time. You tell her I’m a good guy, ok?”
“Oh she knows you’re a good guy. I told her you were.”
I caught that last bit: I told her you were. That meant they were talking about me. That meant I could get this girl. I looked at her lips, then at her eyes, then at her lips. She licked them, preparing. I leaned in slowly and she let out a little sigh and opened her mouth, but I didn’t kiss her—I just lingered, a millimeter away to keep the tension. The students were huddled at the bar, watching. I was in The Matrix.
“I think you love me,” I said. “I’m marrying you.” I leaned down, placed one hand beneath her legs, one behind her back and swooped her up. She squealed and wrapped her arms around my neck. I carried her up a few stairs singing, “Here comes the bride!” and dropped her onto a couch. I sat down, pulled her onto my lap, grabbed her face—real dominant like—and stared into her eyes for about five seconds, until she submitted… and then we kissed. It was epic.
Women need to trust you, so I built trust. It can’t be all Santa and Unicorns. It’s risky to leave the role-playing and come back to reality, because the girl might realize you’re not that interesting. She was from Halifax, visiting her parents for Christmas. She liked skiing and drinking. She had a fun and bubbly personality, small breasts, green eyes, a button nose and dimples. Probably the prettiest girl I’d caught up to that point. She looked like the sort of girl I would fantasize about in high school. I’d watch them from afar and wonder how I would ever get with a babe like that, and now here I was making out with one, like I did it every day. She would never know how hard I had to work for her.
“Look!” I said. “It’s snowing outside, so let’s go on an adventure. You’re not crazy are you?”
“No, no! I’m not crazy. I’m a good girl.” She sat up extra straight in her cutest good girl, not-crazy pose.
“Okay, is your friend going to stop us? Go tell her you’re leaving with me. We’re going to make snow angels.”
I believe in you Sebastian.
“Yay! Snow angels!” she cheered, clapping like a drunk baby. “I won’t let her stop us.”
It’s important to have a reason to leave, like making snow angels. Of course she knows we’re going to bang, but again, it’s not allowed to be her fault. It just has to happen, so she’s not a slut… even though she is. Sometimes I have a cool movie to show her, or my Siamese fighting fish, or a childish video game. You want to keep her mind occupied, far from logic and reality. It’s dangerous being a girl. They need to believe you aren’t going to eat them and use their bones for arts and crafts. There are believed to be cults of pua D&D nerds, rolling D10’s made of pure virgin tibia.
I held her hand while she talked to Princess Cock-block. Summer was on my side. Every few seconds she would give my hand a squeeze, and I’d reciprocate. We were on the same team: Team getting laid tonight. Then she looked at me with her big green eyes and said, “Let’s go!”
I walked her to the coat check, looked back and saw seven guys huddled in a group, watching me pull this hot little blond. I waved, they waved back.
Winning. Winning. Wi
nning.
There was a snowstorm that night. Strong gusts were sending giant swirls that flew up our jackets and bullied us. On every corner were groups huddled for warmth, hailing taxis that zipped by, full with their lights off. This was bad. Girls don’t like being uncomfortable. They don’t get off on conquering hardships the way men do. This could spell disaster for my seduction.
“It looks like we’re walking lady,” I said.
“It’s nice out! I don’t mind a trek.”
“Good girl. I’ll carry you,” I said, and leaned down so she could get on my back. I carried her a few blocks and flopped into a snow bank. She screamed and punched my shoulders with her little fists. I picked her up and pushed her against a street lamp, put my tongue in her mouth and squeezed her firm, round ass. It was so excellent, and she tasted like the best Christmas ever. Across the street a group of young men were cheering us on. “Woooo! Go bro! Nice!”
“I really like your beard. It tickles my face.”
“Oh yeah, check it out woman!” I nuzzled in there and wiggled my face on her neck. She screamed. Our walk was long: at least thirty minutes, in a storm, but she didn’t complain, not once. Every few blocks I pushed her against a wall and kissed her, just to keep the fire stoked.
We were both freezing so I ducked into a busy pub. “Let’s grab another drink” I suggested.
I was a little worried that she would sober up and change her mind; that she would realize I’m only pretending to be this awesome. Her attractiveness was a bit intimidating. I was already imagining her as my future girlfriend. It wouldn’t be so bad. We could have picnics and go to wine and cheese parties, maybe meet each other’s parents. We could fight and then have make up sex. I could teach her pickup and we could have threesomes. We could do improv classes together, and go to indie-rock shows. People would look at her, and then at me, and wonder, “How did he do it?” Books, you fools, books.
We ordered a couple pints and sat down. Within thirty seconds the wolves descended. They figured I must be her brother, or gay best friend. One guy approached us crooning a Weezer song drunkenly into his beer glass.
“If you want to destroy, my sweater, pull my strings, and I’ll come undone!”
His eyes were squarely on Summer. I turned her head and kissed it until he pissed off. Under the table, I put my hand on her thigh, and crept up. She didn’t complain. I ventured a little higher and rubbed the outside of her pussy under her skirt. She smiled. I slipped a finger inside of her; she put her head on my shoulder and kissed my neck. It was time to get her home, before she changed her mind. I’m always a small trip away from failure.
She whispered, “I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes…I do.”
I won’t let her go. I don’t care if it’s needy. I held her hand as we slipped through the crowd of young drunks, past make-outs and arm wrestling and binge drinking. The wolves were hunting, licking their teeth. Another guy tried his luck, but he was too messed up and I shouldered him out of the way. These guys were amateurs. While she was in the can I meditated on positivity—always positive. When she returned, I kissed her again, just to make sure.
We exited the den of drunkenness and landed back on the path of glory. We were still kissing and talking and I felt like a true champion; rightly validated. I thought of all the lonely losers sitting in their parent’s basements eating Cheetos and masturbating to pictures of their sisters’ best friends on Facebook. Not me. I’m a living legend. Such is the power of the dark side.
“Here it is! It only took us forty minutes. Not bad,” I said, unlocking my front door and ushering her inside.
“Haha. Yeah not bad,” she said, brushing snow from her hair, surprisingly chipper.
We snuck up the stairs past my roommate’s door. Once in my room, she turned around and pushed her breasts against me. I lifted off my shirt and she mirrored. I thought of my soft, chubby body, and her fit and youthful one. How did I do this again? I admired and explored her long gorgeous valleys of snowy flesh. Thank you, thank you, thank you Sebastian, you smart devil.
Nice work bro. But I’m sleepy.
Her pussy was freshly waxed with only a little landing strip remaining; a pussy-hawk. I couldn’t help myself. I got down, pulled aside her panties and kissed it. First all around the outside, in little circles venturing closer and closer to the center. It was like a pink little flower blossoming on my lips. Stars and rainbows and Unicorns hooray! She moaned and wiggled her hips and even laughed a little. As I was working away her cell phone rang. She reached down and punched in a long reply, then tucked it back into her purse. “Sorry, mmmmmm, that’s good,” she said, pulling at my hair.
She pulled me to the bed, fell to her knees and started her work. The amateur! Her teeth raked my dick. “Owww!” I cried. She tried again but she was terrible, so I flipped her over onto her belly and finger banged her from behind. She bucked her hips and squeezed my pillow while moaning with pleasure. I leaned into her for some dirty talk.
“Oh you’re so pretty. You’re little pussy is ready for me isn’t it?”
“Yes! It’s ready!” She replied enthusiastically. “Fuck me, fuck me please.”
You have to work a woman’s mind, as well as her body. I’ve got a friend in the Montreal lair that can bring a girl to orgasm with words alone. He’s a hypnotist. I’m not. So I use my penis.
Hey man. I’m not feeling so good tonight.
I slipped on a rubber that I had stashed under the mattress. I congratulated myself for preparing for such blissful moments. I hovered my dick just on top of her pussy, but halted shy of pushing in.
“I want you to beg for it,” I said.
“Oh please, oh please, I need it!”
“Do you really? I don’t believe you.” I shoved it in, just a little bit and pulled her hair, arching her head. “I can’t hear you Summer. Do you like me enough?”
“Yeeessssss! God fuck me now!!!! I like you, I like you!”
“Ok,” I said as I jammed it in, up to the hilt. She cried out and took it. I start thrusting like a mad man, but something wasn’t right. It just sort of noodled out. I was soft like a baby finger, or an uncooked sausage. I took it out and slapped it a few times. I put in back in. I played with her ass, her tits, her lips, but it just wouldn’t stay up. I got up and stretched, and tried again. I prayed to Crom even, but he wasn’t listening. After a while I gave up.
“Sorry, I don’t know. It must be the booze. Give me a minute.”
“Yeah, you drank a lot. It’s ok,” she said. “I already came anyway, when you were going down on me.”
“Really?”
“Yah.”
“Cool.”
I waited a few minutes and then tried again. I got semi-hard and gave it my best, but I couldn’t come. It just flopped around in there like a dying fish. Ashamed, I rolled off of her and put on my boxers. I finally pulled the hottest girl of my life and I couldn’t keep it up? What cruel joke is this? I laid on my back to rest and ponder the absurdity. Her phone rang.
“Yeah, tell my mom I stayed at your house ok? Yeah. Oh I’m ok. I’m just at that Nathan’s house, from the Cellar. Yeah. Oh my god, she did what? What a jerk! Yeah? Hmmm. Ok. Yeah? Ok. No he’s nice. I’m ok. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Yeah. She called me Nathan. Whatever.
Sorry dude… maybe you should work out more or, something. She must be disappointed.
I woke up early and looked over at my girl. She was stunning with the light shining through the window across her pouty, sleeping face. I played with her boobs for a little while until she woke up. I tried to give to her again, to make up for the poor performance the night before, and I did alright this time. I kept it up and lasted about ten minutes. Mental note, binge drinking makes sex fail. I took her for breakfast and we talked about insignificant things like school and work. I told her I wanted to see her again but
she said she was going back to Halifax after Christmas, and she was busy every day until then.
Every day, I thought. Sounded like a blow off. Oh well. I guess that’s why they’re called one-night stands. The cycle continues.
I got to work early that day. I had a plan: I would charm some of the other managers for a promotion. I would double my production, work twice as fast, and be ten times as positive. As I was setting up my section, another manager, Mick, called me over. “Sebastian, I need to talk to you. Take a seat.”
“Ok.”
“You’re a really great guy, really smart. But you’ve been asking all the managers for promotion. You can’t just ask for a promotion. You have to earn it. On top of that, you’ve been talking back to the servers.”
“What’s wrong with asking? Shouldn’t you go for what you want, or make it known you want to succeed?”
He took a sip from his coffee.
“That’s not how it’s done. You need to be humble.”
“I don’t see how being humble will get a guy ahead in this life. You need to take action. I can’t stand being passive,” I said, growing irritated.
He checked a text message, wrote a reply and then looked at me.
“Look, Sebastian. It’s just not in the cards. If I was you, I would submit my resignation. Give two weeks.”
FUCK YOU
“Am I being fired?” I said, grinding my knuckles into the table.
“No, you’re not. But you should go. You won’t get ahead here.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not for you.”
“Ok, that’s fine,” I said, standing up. “Can I go back to work now? I have a lot of tables to clean. People are extra sloppy during the holidays.”
“Yes, that’s all. And Sebastian, you’re very hireable. Don’t be down. This just isn’t the place for you.”
“Sure thing, boss,” I said, fixing my apron and heading back into the mess.
