BEAUTIFUL SINS: I have lived a life of simple pleasures. Maybe too simple. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. But, women? Yea, that I do. And before you get all stuck up in your high horse, there’s the small fact that they love me too. Now I know I sound like I literally blow steam off my own ass, but stay with me – let me begin, and let me finish. I am truly a master at this.
Myriads of women have prodded down the path of my humble existence for the mild gratification of the heart and flesh. I make them come. And I make them go. This is an art. If I met one whose heart was too guarded to invade, then I’d have met with any dandy man’s favorite subject. For there’s no greater fun than the chase before the kill. But if she persisted too long, then I could be facing the possibility of a rare waterloo: falling in love.
This has happened three times. And that is too much.
But, you see, these women who have fallen by the landslides, they’re just statistics. Those three who have had me on edge are the real she-roes. They have made me the master that I am.
Stay with me. This is the beginning.
I met Amber a fortnight ago while attending a public speaking course. She was tall and pretty. To use “beautiful” would be pushing it a bit. She wore a tight-fit brown skirt suit with a yellow camisole that allowed just a fair view of her cleavage. Her suave smooth legs jutted sinfully out of her short skirt and promoted the intimidation generated by her imperious behind when she strutted pass cattily. All eyes were riveted on her. The confidence in her gait told me she was used to this response from men.
I bit my lower lip just looking at her. All the things I could do to that body were beaming in my mind’s eyes.
I knew what to do – how to go – and what to say. To mix metaphors, my heart was a singing canary.
I use a very simple combination: start off with humour, show some wit and intelligence, and then hint at a little warmth. It’s the best start-off recipe I know to dating. But it would appear – to mix metaphors again – I was a dollar late and a day short.
I saw a gentleman presumably call Dibs – he made the first move. I was watching him from the corner of my eyes. He stepped up boldly and said, “Hello.”
Wrong move.
When you have not previously met a lady, you are coming from an insecure position. To say a hello is to give her one of three options: to be either polite, rude or indifferent. A man who’s been about town never leaves it to chance. He’s like a chess master, calculating ahead. His moves are determined by the responses his adversary is likely to give.
Amber smiled vaguely and mumbled a greeting under her breath. Then she got her phone out of her bag. That was a clear sign she had assessed him and he didn’t make the cut. Now, she was going to pretend to be wildly enthralled by somebody on the other end of the phone conversation she was about to get on. His best bet would have been to excuse himself and save some face. That way, he could re-strategize and try again. But he lingered until her call connected. She moved away to get some privacy. She didn’t acknowledge he was going to be rooted to the spot like a pathetic mannequin waiting for her. And he didn’t know whether or not to follow her. Somehow, even he knew it was over before it got started.
I could read his mind. Damned if you do. Damned if you don’t.
Women want to be swept off their feet. But they don’t want to get a warning before you do it. That just sucks the thrill out of the ride. Unless they already like you.
When Amber got off the phone, she went off in the opposite direction. Just what I expected. For me, it was curtains up. The chase had begun.
In five minutes, I had a wing woman. A wing woman is a woman whom you send forth to the actual one you are prospecting. Women get along faster with women. So, the wing woman clears the path for you, looks around, invites you over, and introduces you as her cousin or a really close friend or whatever the heck will not spook your object of interest. Then later on, she excuses herself to use the bathroom and never returns. I implore wing women for people like Amber who are constantly on guard and seemingly unfriendly. So with a little prepping, my wing woman, Lade, went to meet Amber and they started talking. I figure they were getting along because Amber was smiling.
And then Lade beckoned at me from across the hall. When I accosted them, she said, “This is my cousin, Ronny. He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t need this course. His lingual command is flawless. But, you know, big brothers will always be the King Kong they are, making sure we’re safe.”
I smiled and offered my hand for a shake, with a little ice breaker. “Next thing, she’s gonna tell you I wrote Obama’s speech.”
Amber smiled. “Sounds like you could.”
Now that is my point. By all means, get a woman smiling – or laughing – from hello. Practice if you have to. If she’s laughing, she’s listening to you. And if she’s listening, then you can put your hand on her waist and say I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.
Okay, I’m getting ahead of myself. So as I shook her hand, I quickly added, “Did they send you out here so the remaining staff can work for one day without distraction?”
She caught the joke and guffawed.
Then I kissed the hand lightly.
Lade knew that was the cue. “I’m going to freshen up a little, please excuse me.”
Amber nodded her approval as Lade sashayed off to the rest room. And I took my place in front of her. Now stay with me. Let me begin, and let me finish.
