Most importantly, watch your fucking voice, don't lie and smoke cigarettes…
Women are delicate creatures. Their skin is poetry. They smell like fields of perfume. Like strawberries. I love them. I like to touch them. Most men do. Many years ago the journalist Neil Strauss wrote a best seller called The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists in which he elucidates ways to “close” women. Have sex with them. He uses other ridiculous vocabulary like “peacock” and “layguide.”
It is not hard to seduce a woman. To get her to yes. It takes a handsome face, fit body, sense of style, fabulous hair, car or truck with a story, a little bit of money, a lot bit of panache.
Mostly, it takes a critical understanding of your worth.
First. Look in the mirror before you sally forth into the night. Or bar. Is your hair receding? Are you wearing a rayon shirt? Are you wearing jeans by Diesel? Is your jaw as weak as your constitution? If yes, no, yes, yes then do not NOT aim for the most attractive woman. Aim for a woman slightly uglier than you.
Unless. You are genuinely funny. And slim. Then you can aim higher.
Second. By funny, I mean not an over the top clown but someone who subtly elicits a smile. A quick witty word about global warming. Sexy Santa outfits.
Third. Target and approach. Don’t use a fixed line. Don’t be smooth. Be confident. Smile broadly and wink. Shoulders back but not awkwardly. Head up. Make sure super sure that she is in your wheelhouse. That you would not pollute her presence and she would not pollute yours. Again. If you are reading this you would probably pollute hers. Aim lower.
Fourth. Compliment. But never the shoes. Men complimenting shoes has become overly clichéd unless you know the difference between Louboutins and Manolos. Compliment her laugh. Her voice. The way she fingers her drink. The way she toes the ground.
Fifth. Watch your fucking voice as you compliment. Practice. Don’t let nerves make it waver. Or pitch too high. If you want to control a woman it begins with controlling your voice. Don’t be artificially low. Natural.
Sixth. Be totally cool with silence. Be totally cool.
Seventh. Buy her next drink.
Eighth. Buy her next next drink.
Ninth. Buy all her friends a drink. Even her man friends. Don’t glare at anyone. Smile and wink. Smile and wink.
Tenth. Take her outside for a smoke. Health issue bullshit. Nothing but nothing is sexier than a man properly smoking a cigarette. Inhale. Offer her one. Light it in your own mouth and give it to her. Don’t fish lip. Don’t smoke a cigar. Smoke a Marlboro or a Camel.
Eleventh. Hold her hand. Don’t ask. Don’t quake. Don’t sweat. Don’t interlock fingers. Just hold it.
Twelfth. Take her hand, and her, to your car. Tell her the stars are out. Don’t lie. They are.
Thirteenth. Don’t drive too fast and don’t curse other drivers. Have your music ready on car stereo. Have it be Imogen Heap. Or if you have seduced a lesbian, Tegan and Sara. Smoke another cigarette as you drive. Smoke it halfway and flick the still burning carcass at another car.
Fourteenth. Ask her where she lives. Drive to the beach. Or a hill. Sit and look at the stars. Let Imogen Heap wash over the both of you. Produce gum and chew a piece. Ask her if she’d like one too. Reach over and roll down her window. As you do, brush your lips past her neck. Cheek. Don’t kiss. Control.
Fifteenth. Don’t be wearing a fedora. Or headwear.
Sixteenth. Drive to her home. The long way.
Seventeenth. Drop her off. Have her point out her window.
Eighteenth. Drive around the block. Smoke another cigarette. Go back to her house. Sneak in her window. When she asks how you got there say, “With love’s light wings did I o’er perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do, that dares love attempt.”
Nineteen. Make love.