Passing up on the Losers

Once again, you’re in a delicate situation with a woman you met at a bar. You’re at her place, a fistful of condoms on the bed next to you. She’s under you gasping and clawing at your shoulders like she’s drowning, and you’re plunging into her, rocking her bed so hard that the headboard is drumming a beat against the wall. You’re surprised the that next door neighbors aren’t banging on the wall yet. Damn, it’s early in the morning, the time, around 3:00am. You finish and roll over on your condoms, which remind you that if you recover, and get another erection fast enough you can probably go at it again before she drifts off to sleep. The question is though, how in the Hell did you get here?

How did you end up in her bed this weekend, and how did you end up in Samantha’s bed last weekend? What do you have? Some kind of amazing pull that you snatch women out of thin air every weekend? Are you such a conversationalist that you have them hanging at every word? Are you so witty that you keep them nailed to the wall with your repartee? C’mon, you aren’t all that hot shit. You’re not even handsome or classy looking. You’re just an average Joe, out for a few drinks, and maybe to get laid.

The answer is simple: you know what to look for when in the bar. You have the practiced eye. You jump from prospective lay to prospective lay like a bee to flowers. You talk to Karen first, she is attractive, Blonde, blue eyed and looking around anxiously. When you ask her if the seat next to her at the bar is taken she shrugs. As you talk, she is looking around you, her answers are monosyllabic, and her attention is elsewhere. She is obviously not into you.

Beings smart, you do not waste your time with this loser. You move on, past all iterations of her. Bonnie, Catherine, Princess, Fawn, you move ON.

Because there are only five hours in a solvent night cruising a bar to find the suitable lay for the night. Wasting ten minutes with a loser is not the way to go. Loser? Maybe you are the loser? You will be tonight if you don’t find someone to swap bodily fluids.

Are you looking for love? Are you looking for a relationship? Funny, they sometimes happen after these types of clinches. You pick them up. You have amazing sex. You go out on a date afterwards. You have more sex that is amazing. This goes on for a week, a month a year. A relationship blossoms, still, it has to get started. Still you have to find something tonight to plant the seeds of a relationship, in more ways than one. Remember your condom.

Then you meet her, Belinda. She is a brunette, with dark, irresistible eyes, a wide mouth, a quick laugh. She watches you as you talk; she takes a breath between her long diatribes to give you an ‘in’ to the conversation. You talk politics, you talk arts, and you talk mutual college subjects. You bullshit, but you aren’t there yet. What is the matter? What is lacking here? What is the true signal that she is going to take you home tonight? What are you now looking for, as the clock ticks that tell you that success is just a few hours away?


The Social Lubricant

Belinda is drinking. She is drinking and drinking hard. She is driving down her inhibitions. With every glass, all of the demons in her head, all of the reasons why, all of her admonitions to the contrary, are being driven away. Drowned, and she is allowing for the opportunity for casual sex to fall into play. She is literally paving the way against herself to let herself go. That’s what they call it, ‘letting themselves go’, blaming the alcohol for the false courage, for the blind reaction. Putting themselves in the position to blame the Social Lubricant for getting them in this situation in the first place in the morning. It can be sometimes good, sometimes bad for them, but all the same, having something to blame when the sun comes up and sobriety sets in.

Belinda is bashing in her head, bashing down the wall, and opening herself to you, as long as you don’t fuck things up, she’ll take you home. That’s all, and you calm down, all the signs are there, you are on autopilot. Leave the rest to her and she’ll take it from here. Just a little nudge here, another there. Can I walk you home? Where do you live? Oh that’s on my way, would you like to share a cab? I’d hate for the night to end, would it be alright if I come up and have a night cap? A drink of water?

Just get into the apartment and then she stops in the middle of the living room, showing off her apartment, and quickly she shows you the bedroom and when she turns to leave, you make your move. You’re a predator now. You’ve been hunting her all night. She has been hooking you all night. The answers are clear; the next steps come naturally, an animal response. There is nothing more to do but react. You touch her, you stroke her, stroke her hair, her face, her shoulder. You throw a heavy kiss on her. She returns it. Game over, it’s time to score. You go for her blouse, she goes for your shirt. You tear each other apart.

Now you are done, sweating, panting, rolling over, a fist full of rubbers at the small of your naked back. She is panting and you’re thinking. The night went well, the sex was good, and she smelled wonderful. You stare at her white ceiling. Belinda, her room is neat and comfortable her bed as soft as she is. She rolls over, her back to you. Jesus! She is even going to let you spend the night! Can you believe this woman? Not only a one-night stand, but also one that is not afraid of closing her eyes with you in the room! What a catch! She WANTS you here in the morning when she wakes.

You wonder to yourself, how in the Hell did you get here? Now you know, now you remember. You didn’t waste your time with useless women who weren’t interested in you, which is commendable, you moved fast enough to find the one that you appealed to, and you watched to see if she was lowering her defenses, and she was.You did everything right you sonofabitch.

You make a mental note to get Belinda’s number as another serious throb strikes your flaccid member. With the beat of your heart, it inflates like a tire on a pump. You unwrap another condom and roll it on. Pulling at her shoulder, she rolls over towards you, once again on her back and you mount her. Once again, you’re where you wanted to be tonight.

Two things: 1) remember to get up early enough, you’ll probably get another opportunity to hit her again before she takes her shower, 2) remember to get her cell number or at least her e-mail address, and 3) remember to remember her name. Don’t call her Samantha! Was it Belinda, was it?

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