The Player’s Diary 02

The Player’s Diary 02

I know a lot of people who would rather swallow a handful of nails than ask a really attractive lady for her number. I don’t blame them. There’s no laid down tactic to get around this hurdle. When I want to make sure I get a lady’s number, I don’t ask for it. I ask for her phone. When I have it in the palm of my hands, I look at it and make a remark, “Hey, what a nice phone!” I dial my number with it, look in my phone screen as it starts ringing and say, “Hey, what a nice number!” It’s funny, stupid, charming and disarming. Just be sure to do it with a hilarious tone. That’s how I got Amber’s number. If you back it up with charisma, it never fails to get you the number and a giggle from the woman.

Trust me, I never miss the bull’s eye.

I didn’t call Amber for a couple of days. It’s a bad move worthy of capital punishment to show desperation. In fact, form the impression that you probably forgot about her after she left, then somehow a comet fell from the sky, and she flashed past your mind by chance two days later.

Don’t sound aloof. Sound honest.

But make the facts clear: you weren’t thinking about her the whole two days. It’s not that she’s not important, she’s just not the most important thing in your life . . . yet.

And why would any woman still be interested in you? Because your world is active and fun and purposely driven by you. You’re not asking her to come and make it exciting, you’re inviting her to enjoy the excitement. That’s hard to let up.

Also Read: The Player’s Diary

Remember what I alluded in the beginning, you lay the path for the lady to follow. You don’t let her play the queen’s gambit. You must know what route she’s likely to take, and you must already be there waiting for her.

So before I ask her out to dinner, I have to phrase the question in such a way she gives me the answer I want, and then I must also have the follow-up to that response. “Where’s the best place you’ve ever had dinner?” I asked her, and she said, “La Pataya.” I snorted, “Not a bad place. I’ll pick you up at six, let’s discuss climate change and spaceships at La Pataya.”

A lot of guys usually disagree with this approach but I think it speaks a landslide if it has never failed me. It’s simple. I’ll rather give a lady the impression she’s coming out to have fun and be wildly entertained by me than make her think I simply want a hideout where I can beg her to be the human incubator for my future rug rats.

So do you really wonder what she said? Here we go: you better not keep me waiting.

Now I’ll let you into a little secret as to why I went along with La Pataya. The environment has low noise, colours and built in situations. The slight noise is to make certain you never experience a dreary silence at any point. Colourful things keep aiding your mind with ideas to talk about and the funny little Hawaiians are the built in situation. I can poke humor at them all night.

So you see, I leave nothing to chance. With the possibility of a flop outing reduced by fifty percent, what is there to worry about?

Things to say? No way.

Actually, it’s more important you know the things not to say.

Here’s a quick tip: don’t ever whine, or complain, or talk about how you’ve had bad luck for a while, or how you fear that you may not be very lovable, or how long it’s been since you had a fabulous date. Any of these will suffocate your chances of a next date, unless you’re dealing with a Pollyanna.

Instead be theatrical, seem full of live and energy, joke and laugh heartily. At a time like this you can even ask her a direct question. Just tilt your head, squint your eyes, make furrows form on your forehead, act like that sparkling comet just landed on the tip of her nose and ask her anything.

In this manner I asked Amber, “You look rusty. You look like you’ve not had sex in three-quarters of a year. Am I right?”

She had that bewildered look that soon dissolved into an unbelievable laughter. “I actually have a life–you know–an interesting one at that? And I had sex last month.”

And then we both laughed.

With a different approach, she may actually have found my question disrespectful or a tad too forward. Plus status is extremely essential. No matter who the lady is, if you want to date her, you’d better be commanding a higher status. If you relinquish it to her, you do so at your peril. You see, status is intimately connected to attraction. If you communicate to a woman through speech or body language as a low status person or implying that you’re willing to let her be the high status person, you strangle the attraction. I mean, if you put yourself on a lower pedestal, it’s expected that she should look down, if she has to see you. So pump up that self-esteem every day.

As one hour lapped on to another, and on to the other, Amber laughed the night away with abandon.

In between the moments, I would flirt with her a bit, holding her hands, giving them a gentle squeeze, letting them go, softly brushing the cheek with my thumb, leaning forward till my forehead touched with hers. I come a bit, and I hold back a bit. That was the rhythm. And I followed the fluctuation without acting or feeling attached.

There are two pitfalls to be wary about when flirting. If you don’t do it well, if she realizes you’re holding back, she’ll surmise you’re either scared or being careful because of some commitment to somebody, somewhere. If you over do it, she’ll tell you she wants to be just friends.

When a lady says, “I just want us to be friends,” it means you showed up needy. It means you’re acting like you need her so much while she’s trying to figure if she needs you at all. If you ever get on the needy note before a lady, forget it. Your chances are already off by over 98 percent.

I drove Amber home at ten o’ clock and she invited me in to see what her apartment looked like. She poured two glasses of scotch, offered me one as we settled into her sofa. I found myself chatting into midnight.

Normally, I would have broken free stubbornly. But now she seemed so into me already. My best tact would be to make her feel I was following her lead, meanwhile I actually crafted the path.

Not long afterwards, she snuggled into my arms and slept off.

I got the message: she had sentenced me to a night in her apartment. After watching her for a bit, I joined in the nocturnal slumber.

It was a soft kiss on my lips that woke me up at three o’ clock in the morning. A familiar wave of conquest came upon me as I kissed her back. A player sets the pace and commands it. Even when he gives the lady some power, he holds back greater power, and pretends he is overwhelmed by her whims and caprices, so that she rides him and herself to his ultimate goal. She takes the credit and the guy doesn’t get to feel guilty. What does he care? What did I care?

Mission accomplished.

I went home and glided back into my life.

I promised I would call, but I knew I wouldn’t.

I promised we would have dinner again. That, too, was a lie.

At least not in a fortnight. I was going to forget all about her, thrive on other conquests, and if she was still there later on, then maybe we’d tango again.

But by the evening hours of the same day. I realized I was still thinking about her. I’d been thinking about her all day.

Something was wrong.

 

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