This past winter, I moved back to my hometown in Texas for a few months. In March, an old friend of mine from college came to town for a business trip. We hadn’t seen each other in ages, so I invited her out for dinner and some drinks and I told her I’d show her around my home town. I hadn’t seen this friend in at least three or four years. She was one of the first friends I made in Boston when I moved up there, but by the time we graduated, we had drifted apart a bit, really only bumping into each other at parties and whatnot. After school, we more or less lost touch completely, only occasionally chatting on Facebook. Needless to say, she had no idea what my job was.
When she came into town, I told her about it over dinner. She’s a pretty cool girl and thought it was interesting, if not a bit funny. Although, as with just about everybody who’s known me since my pre-PUA days, she teased me about it mercilessly.
“So, what exactly qualifies you to be doing this job again?”
“Come on, you saw me at the end of college, I was a manwhore.”
“I see. And is ‘manwhore’ a job title or job description on your resume?”
A little later, she playfully said, “OK, when we go out tonight, you have to pick up a girl. I don’t believe in this nonsense. You need to show me.” I give her the usual runaround that I don’t pick up on command. She chides me a bit. We laugh and leave it.
I don’t know what it is, but every time this happens, every time someone in my personal life challenges my profession and my, I guess, pick up skills for lack of a better way to put it, some ridiculous pick up happens in front of the person. It’s happened to two of my best friends. It happened with my ex-girlfriend a couple years ago (she was NOT happy about it). It’s happened in front of my brother (with a female police officer, no less). It even happened once in front of my dad and step-mom a couple years ago (our waitress at a restaurant basically threw her phone at me until I promised to call her). This night ended up being no different.
And the funniest part is that when this happens I don’t consciously step up my game or anything. I hate the whole idea of picking up girls to prove something to someone else. And I hate it when people challenge me to do crap like this. It makes me feel uncomfortable. But it’s almost like there’s a Seduction God, and I’m the Chosen One — the moment someone doubts me, the Seduction God puts the most ridiculous opportunity in front of me, inviting me to prove everyone wrong in grotesque fashion.
You can probably see where this is going.
Enter the beginning of the tale. It’s after dinner. We’re downtown now and in the midst of getting hammered together. We’re catching up on old times.
As the night dragged on, the bar we were sitting at became more and more crowded, until we became those two drunk assholes who insist on still sitting at the bar with their drinks even though there are like 25 people behind them trying to get served. Usually I relish a bit in being so obtuse. But something changed. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tiny brunette with a beautiful face and tight little body trying to squeeze in near me. I’m suddenly inspired to make an exception. I scoot my stool over and nudge her in next to me. She thanks me with a big smile. I smile back and ask her name. She tells me. I can’t hear her, so I put my arm around her and pull her into towards me gently, she follows. She tells me again. She’s young. Really young. And really hot.
I can tell she’s young not just by how young she looks (she looked probably 17… I know, I’m dirty), but she wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer either. In fact, she was one of those bubbly, excitable girls who giggles at everything to the point of it being a little obnoxious. She later told me she was 19 and showed me one of the shittiest fake ID’s I’ve ever seen in my life. Either the door guy is blind, or she did something I don’t want to know about to get let into this place.
We talk a bit. It comes out that she’s a cheerleader for the local university. She seems to be proud of this. The university is one of the largest in the country with one of the most prestigious sports programs in the country, so this is actually not a small feat. Getting into that cheerleading squad is probably insanely competitive. So I assume it’s actually something worth being proud of. And at 19, it’s also a safe bet that this also probably accounts for most of her identity and self-esteem. So I decide to compliment her on it.
“That’s impressive. I bet it was very hard to get onto the squad, especially as a freshman.” She says it was. She tells me about how competitive it is, how hard she has to work. I tell her that she must love it. She does.
“I think it’s great that you’re so dedicated to something you love. Not many people are that lucky. I bet a lot of people don’t realize that too. They don’t see the dedication and the work you put into it. They just see the short skirt and cute face.” She’s beaming now. She agrees. She talks about how rude the male athletes can be, how she loves to travel to the away games all over the US. It’s all very exciting for her. She’s getting excited. It’s cute. So I tell her. I say, “You’re getting excited just talking about it. It’s really cute.”
It was also clear that she had not been to many bars before. The way her eyes lit up as she suggested we all do shots can only be described as the way a little girl reacts when you tell her she’s getting a pony for Christmas. I say, “Sure, let’s get shots.” With no hint of irony, she actually cheers my decision. I pull her onto my lap and tell her I like her. She smiles really big and puts her arms around me and presses her face against mine. I look over at my friend with a shit-eating grin. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
I introduce cheerleader to my friend, although my friend has a strained look of pain behind her smile. My friend is actually pretty much the opposite of cheerleader: very smart, very witty, in her mid-20′s and a Boston-native with a no-bullshit attitude. She didn’t so much talk to cheerleader as lob sarcastic comments over her head the rest of the night.
The conversation from then on was uhh… pretty inane, to be honest. So my friend’s sarcastic comments were actually what kept me entertained. Honestly, other than talking about how all the guys on the football team are assholes — and if you don’t think I milked that conversation for as much “Us versus Them” framing as possible, then you don’t know me very well — other than that, I don’t remember what we talked about. She was hot and I was drunk. And that was sufficient.
Every now and then, she would get a huge smile and say, “I just want to have fun tonight!” The her innocent enthusiasm was actually a bit contagious. I look at my friend and say, “Hey Friend, we’re going to have fun tonight!” obviously rubbing in what was going on. She shakes her head and chuckles:
“You asked for this! You wanted to see this!”
“I know… I did. But I’m quickly regretting it.”
Cheerleader asks us how we know each other. I tell her that we’re old friends from college. The fact that I’m out of college and went to school in Boston appears to sound exotic to her. She’s a small town girl from Texas, first year of college. Not hard to impress.
Eventually my friend excuses herself to go home. She can see the writing on the wall and is tired after a day full of meetings anyway. I take cheerleader to the back bar where I know the bartender. We get a couple free shots and start making out. It’s almost closing time and I sort logistics out. My place was not an option that night, so it has to be her place. Cheerleader lives off campus, has her own room, has a roommate, her roommate is here at the bar. I need to meet the roommate ASAP.
I get introduced to the roommate. Roommate has a boy with her, this is good. Roommate met boy tonight. This is very good. Roommate says she’s seen me making out with cheerleader. This is also good. Roommate asks me if I’m aware cheerleader has a boyfriend. This is bad.
Roommate pulls me aside and gets very serious. I prepare for the massive cockblock that’s obviously coming. Roommate begins to blather on about how cheerleader is in a long-distance relationship with her high school sweetheart, but they’re having a lot of trouble and how they should break up (in her opinion), but it’s complicated and that I should probably be aware of, blah, blah, blah…
And then she does something unexpected. She interrupts herself and says, “Actually, you know what? Go for it dude. To be honest, she really needs to get laid… bad.”
Wait, what? Seriously? She then says she won’t get in the way, but that I should know it’s a complicated situation and it may get messy.
Wow, what an awesome roommate.
I go back to cheerleader. She’s throws her arms around me. Some more chit-chat, some more making out, some more chit-chat, and it’s time to go. I just assume I’m going home with her, I don’t even say anything. It never comes up, but I hold hands with her and start walking with her. The plan is to walk with her until someone says otherwise. Roommate’s got my back. Roommate’s guy (who turned out to be cool) has got my back. So I’m just going to roll with it.
It turned out that these girls lived on the other side of downtown, across the entire campus, a three-mile walk. I was too drunk to drive. And being broke college students, they refused to pay for a cab. At one point I said fuck it, I’ll pay for a cab, but downtown was crowded because of a festival, so there were literally no available cabs on the way back.
I have to say, nothing kills the mood more than a 45-minute walk to some girl’s apartment, her in high heels, and you stopping to piss in the bushes every 10 minutes. I tried to keep things light and fun as much as possible, but there was only so much one could do. At one point I ended up carrying her a good 3-4 blocks on my back because her feet hurt so bad. Halfway through she began complaining incessantly. And for a while towards the end, it felt like I was losing her completely. She got distant and quiet at points. But I said fuck it, I’ve walked this far. If worse comes to worse, I’ll just sleep on her couch until I sober up.
She had been one of those A.D.D. girls who texted a lot all night. But about halfway into the walk, she really started to text non-stop, and even at one point took a drunk dial from somebody. I really can’t emphasize enough how much this 45-minute walk sucked. And then it went from bad to worse. As the walk went on, I came to find out it was her best guy friend from back home who she was talking to. This same guy was texting her and calling her non-stop, not a bunch of random people. Sounds fishy. I asked her if she had ever dated him (“no”), how long she had known him (“all through high school”), how good of a friend he was (“he’s my best friend, he’s always there for me”) and how often they talk (“every day”). Right, OK. So this dude has been trying to bang her for years, was put in the friend zone, and now that things are falling apart between her and her boyfriend, he’s all up on her, trying to Nice Guy/Best Friend his way into her pants, and is freaking because she’s going home with some guy she met in a bar. First of all, I empathize with the guy (been there), but more importantly, he’s probably jealous and trying to derail things.
I played it cool for a bit. I let most of it go. But the texts just kept coming faster and faster and then they became phone calls… and she was taking them. I tell her at one point, “You should tell him you have to go.” She does. 10 minutes later he calls back. So I say, “Let me talk to him.” She quickly gets uncomfortable and hangs up. She didn’t pick up his calls again after that.
We finally get back to her place after what seems like ages. The mood is definitely killed. We’re both tired. We’ve both sobered up quite a bit. She’s getting noticeably nervous and awkward. I’m guessing this is the first time she’s ever brought a boy home. There are pictures of her and her boyfriend in her room. Very awkward. Not sure how this is going to pan out.
She goes to the bathroom for something like 15 minutes. She’s either taking a massive dump, or texting her super-best-friend again. Maybe both. I sit and wait patiently. It’s almost 4AM.
She comes back to her room. Gets undressed down to her underwear (wow, what a body), turns the light off and hops into bed, rolling over immediately so her back is facing me.
I kiss her some and gently turn her over. She’s a bit cold towards me, but after some kissing she warms up and reciprocates. At this moment, it’s important to understand a few things. These were some pretty extreme circumstances for her (the boyfriend, her age, the inexperience, the walk home), and clearly she’s not comfortable and we’re on a collision course for massive LMR any second now; something I haven’t gotten in years and have rarely ever gotten period.
(For the uninitiated, LMR is when a girl resists having sex with you even after she’s gotten into bed and fooled around with you. It usually indicates that when push comes to shove, she didn’t like you as much as she thought and she changes her mind. Typically it has more to do with her not trusting you, rather than her not being attracted to you.)
So there we are, in bed together. She’s uncomfortable. She’s going to be cutting me off any second. In this situation, there’s always a fork in the road: you can do the typical freeze-out/high-pressure PUA bullshit to try to manipulate her or annoy her into giving up the resistance. Or you can be honest about the situation and resign yourself to accepting the fact that you may not have sex tonight.
Guys, listen. Always, always, always go with the second option. It may sound counter-intuitive, but you have to go with the second option. Not only because it’s the right thing to do. Not only because it’s what any respectful human being should do. But because if you make it clear that there is absolutely no pressure for her to sleep with you, if you show her that you can be trusted and that you’re OK with whatever she decides (and by the way, you do need to be OK with whatever she decides), then she’s going to become ten times more comfortable with you, and therefore is actually more likely to WANT to have sex with you. You are in bed with her half-naked after all, it’s not a question of want, it’s a question of trust and comfort.
Besides, sex with girls who aren’t excited to have sex with you is fucking awful. It’s worse than masturbating. I never get LMR and from now on, neither should you. Stop pressuring these girls. Let them know you’re OK without having sex and do actually be OK with it. Most of them will soften up and it’ll end up happening naturally and it will be a far more pleasant experience for both of you.
Yes, not all of them come around and decide to have sex with you. But guess what? They weren’t going to have sex with you anyway.
So laying there in bed with her awkwardly, I state the obvious:
“You’re not totally comfortable with this right now, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
We talk about it. She’s only been with two guys. She’s never had casual sex. She’s nervous about it. Although she does say she wants to do it. She says she’s in college now, that she doesn’t love her boyfriend anymore and she wants to be able to enjoy herself and do what she wants to do. She wants to experiment and have fun (“I just want to have fun tonight!” rings in my ears from earlier in the bar.)
After talking about it, some of the burden seems lifted from her. She’s lighter. She’s nuzzling herself into me now. For the first time since we left the bar, she seems like she’s actually happy I’m there. I tell her we can fool around and if at any point she feels uncomfortable we can stop. She says OK. We talk and joke and kiss some more. And at one point while kissing, I begin to take it further.
Afterward, drifting to sleep, she says, “Don’t take this the wrong way. But can you not be here when I wake up?” I tell her OK. Then I hold her until she falls asleep.
Soon the sun peeks through the blinds. Dull light shines across the walls and picture frames, settling in white geometry over photos of her and her boyfriend. I creep out of bed. Silent, I put my clothes on and step out of her room. In the bathroom her phone is on the counter. I pick it up and look at it. There’s a text message from the best friend back home, “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
I walk out, and walk back alone in the dawn.
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