Beware the use of hyperbole.
I finally had my shot with a very attractive actress/Guatemalan/German. I had picked her up at the opening of a new lounge/club space in midtown. She gave me the number, but was generally standoffish and my shtick was interrupted by a gay friend of hers. The energy was off and my approach was not very smooth. In any event, I got her number and worked on her periodically over the next couple of months… a text here and there. (A low-impact pickup can secure the number, but often makes the girl slow to respond.)
She would respond intermittently and she was difficult; she always wanted to meet on her terms. A few weeks ago, circumstances were just right and we met. I was house-sitting downtown at a beautiful apartment and she was out with some friends at a local spot. I broke my rules because this one wouldn’t cooperate; I went out to meet her on neutral turf. It went well, mostly because I really hit it off with her friend. The friend and I had a real fun, ironic rapport and Kim could see this. I didn’t overstay my welcome, and seed planted, I departed. I knew her friend would lobby for me, and Kim had shown interest, though she was quite shy and introverted at our first meeting.
After that first appearance, I knew I could transition to the apartment, and that’s what I did.
A week later she came right up and I had the lights turned down, and music on. She had been drinking and was in a good mood. She sat on the couch and we talked for a bit and then, as I was returning from the kitchen, I leaned in and gave her a kiss. Things escalated and soon we were on top of each other.
I made a few careless errors which prevented me from screwing her.
This is instructive because it highlights how delicate closing the deal is: one slightly-off maneuver can torpedo an otherwise brilliant set-up. (caveat: I was operating in a new apartment, so I didn’t know how the space worked, and so by Murphy’s Law it worked against me.) On the couch, things got started, but it’s very hard to get my hands in a girl’s pants when she’s sitting. It’s too awkward with tight waistbands, belts, buckles, etc. It’s best done standing or lying down. She went into the kitchen (which is the opposite direction from the bed) and was looking out the French windows into the garden. I came behind her and we started kissing. Again things ignited, and soon I had my fingers inside her. But, here’s the mistake. Unless she’s really freaky, I’m not going to get her over the kitchen table to bang her from behind. Neither is she going to drop to her knees and give me head. Such initiative is rare for a girl the first time (though it happens). The best move is to lie down on a bed and start making out and the clothes will come off. However, the bed was a good 30 feet away, and judging by Kim’s resistance and body language, I’d a snowball’s chance in hell of covering that much ground with her.
So, after a few attempts to get her knickers off, I relented and she adjusted herself by the front door and kissed me a few more times before heading out.
She didn’t know my back-story (that I pick up and sleep with girls professionally) so I was confident we’d see each other for round #2. However, I did go into the bathroom at one point in the night to piss and I heard her banging around in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and drawers (or so I thought). It occurred to me that she may have been rummaging through my stuff. Stuff which revealed my last name, making me Google-able.
So, she left. Not forty-five minutes later I get a text from her: Ur the devil. At the time, I thought it was an endearing version of, “Oh, you bad boy, you get me so worked up!” I responded, “Lucifer, himself”
I went to bed satisfied with my work (but not before a 19 year-old I was banging came over). The next morning I checked my phone: nothing. I thought that was weird. Girls are usually pretty communicative after they hook up. I let it sit. Towards lunch I called: no pickup. Twenty minutes later I sent a message telling her we needed to speak, that I had something to tell her. My fear gears were working now, and I was imagining that Kim had discovered my name as she rummaged through my stuff, had taxied home quickly, and had jumped onto Google. I tried to recover. At the advice of two female TV producers (we’re working on a show together) I decided to come clean. Under the assumption that she knew all about my hustling ways I texted her something like, “I figured that since you’re an actress you’d understand the use of a persona to launch a career.”
Nothing.
On the way to a pitch meeting an hour later, I get a response: “What are you talking about, luv?”
I was in a pickle. I’d overreacted and disclosed something prematurely, for no reason. I decided to play the bad-boy, with humor, angle:
Me: “I’ve done some very bad things in my past”
Kim: “Define bad things”
Me: “Nothing prosecutable.”
That was it. I haven’t gotten a response from her since. I’ve sent several messages over the last couple of weeks. I even sent an entreaty for an explanation–nothing. What can we learn from this fiasco?
- Never take advice on how to screw women from other women. (Ed. Note: Unless they’re female dating coaches with a good rep!)
- Don’t jump the gun. Let her confront you. A premature confession can upset an otherwise smooth game.
Luckily, it’s summer and there are tons of fine girls in the city. But I’ve internalized the lessons here, so I won’t repeat them going forward.
