You didn’t pump fake

Even if he’s the one that called and asked for the first date, even if he picked the day place and time. When the check comes and you don’t even make the fake, slow motion hand creep towards your wallet. You come off looking like a spoiled. gold digging chick that uses guys for free drinks and a meal. If that’s the case so be it, but acting like you “expect'’ a guy to pay for everything makes you come off looking like a spoiled princess which equals headache. If he’s into you or thinks the date went well then obviously he’ll deny your pump fake and offer to pay. If he’s not then consider you paying probably assurance he wont call anyway so no need to sweat it. Then there might also be the chance that you’re one of those 21st century independent chicks that don’t mind paying for stuff, but what are the chances of that happening.

You verbalize your low market value before sex

This guy is already into you because he asked for your number called and asked you out on a date. You guys might have gone a few dates already. Why would you vocalize your insecurities by saying you wish you were skinnier, or you really don’t think you’re as pretty as other girls? Or even point out other girls who you think are more attractive than you when you’re out. I know sometimes girls do this looking for an ego stroke or compliment. You might even get one from the dude. But one of the thing every singe guy wonders when he’s with a girl is, “Can I do better” Why answer that question for him by telling him yes?

You don’t match his communication

If I guy calls you, you’re response should be a call back not a “hey what’s up text message”. If he text, don’t send him an e mail saying sorry you missed his text. If he e mails, don’t send him a message via carrier pigeon. Even though it might seem convenient at times, to most guys this comes off as playing some weird power game. The first sign of game then it’s game on and you might get moved to the bottom of the list for someone who matches response or responds in a timely fashion.

Using the I don’t usually do this line.

Even if it’s true, it sound fake so don’t even bother saying it. It will usually be followed with a similar cliche line from the guy, “yeah, I’ll call you”.

Trying to be too witty or funny,

I’m a funny mother fucker, and I actually like funny/ witty chicks. The thing is most guys aren’t funny at all or whatsoever. So when you start cracking jokes or being oh so witty, to most guys it comes off as a weird competition. If you’re funnier or wittier than the guy then it feels like you’re doing his job for him because guys are supposed to make the girls laugh. Listen it’s not your fault for being better than him at something, but you might want to wait till you guys know each other before you let your fledgling stand up career fly.

Bragging about your sex life.

You’re a girl, it’s not impressive you can bang any night you want, it’s not like you really have to put work into it. Telling all your crazy sex stories makes you come off as overcompensating and insecure. You’re sexy should be a mystery waiting to be solved not front page on the Washington post. Just saying.

Not having any fashion style or sense.

If a guy can tell you didn’t put any effort into getting ready to see him, then you’re kind of fucked and not in a good way. Act like you’ve done this before because at this point and time in your life, you should know what to do. Yes, I’m talking heals, end of discussion.

Complaining about regularly being pumped and dumped

See point number two.

Not keeping the conversation going.

kicking game is hard, help a playa out from time to time, have some topics to talk about.

Holding the pussy hostage

If it’s been a reasonable amount of dates and there’s obvious sexual chemistry between the both of you, it’s better to get the sex out of the way sooner than later. If it seems like you’re playing any kind of game and you’re holding the pussy as the ultimate prize, then with 9 out of 1o alpha males that’s all it will be come about. If sex becomes the big deal then we’ll do just what it takes to pump and dump. I’m not saying put out on the first night or anything I’m saying that making it into a big deal or even a game will insure that you get played. You’re thinking the longer you make him wait the more he’ll be into you, you keep right on thinking that and let me know how much it works out for you. Remember python game? Don’t hold that pussy hostage… liberate it and set it free.

Usually, or better yet when I was younger, nothing would bring me greater joy than running into an ex fling during a night and seeing that after me she’s gone straight down hill. She’s gained a good fifteen to thirty pounds and her life looks something like a train wreck. Extra points if I had something nice on my arm when it happened.

As I get older and especially lately, you get to know some of these girls. You learn that sometimes beneath the cold hard bitchy exterior there is a battle going on over weight, over food consumption. You learn that when life is going good for them, they’re happy, they work out more, stick to their diets better and win this battle. When it’s not so good, the cope with it by eating something greasy, late night or going on a carb binge eating. So when you hear that the person has given in and gone to the fat side, you know everything is not alright.

When this happens I feel guilty for some reason. Like if things had worked out, if we were together, I could encourage them, give workout tips or at least hit the gym with them. I could somehow talk them into going out for less meals and less bottles of wine intake. I mean don’t get me wrong I like a little thickness from time to time but my god there is a limit. But if someone cares more about food than themselves and looking good, if they surround themselves with enablers that like them on the fat end of the spectrum so they themselves can feel good, there’s nothing you can really do about it.

Him: Oh excuse me I didn’t mean to get in your way.
D: It’s ok, your fine.
Him: wow you look good where’s your man at
D: Thanks, he’s right here

I turn around and give him the “fall back playa” head nod us D.M.V boys know how to do.

Him: oh my fault man
VK: (ice cold) No worries

Upstairs the Scene wasn’t half as classy as our previous location. I questions my self for my venue choice. Girls running around in their flip flops and Forever 21 frocks. Dudes in sequence V necks. Skinny dudes wearing those extra deep, low to the belly button V necks that let the world know that you’re either an anorexic hipster dude or an AIDS patient.

I was about to suggest a move to a lounge in U street when a rap song came on that she knew. She grabbed me by the hand took me to the dance floor and started tworking it. I was surprised by how well she could move for age.

VK: Damn girl
D: VK you have no idea, I’d break it down better on you if I wasn’t in these heels.

We spent the rest of our time moving to the beats. Occasionally we’d have to rest because of her heels but during that time we talked and people watched and got watched. One of the things that impressed me the most was the fact that when we were talking or dancing her attention was completely on me, not looking around the room to see who was in attendance or if there was anyone she knew. Around 12:30 , after the nice dinner, couple of drinks, and dancing the night away her feet hurt too much and she was ready to go. She also had tennis lessons with the kids in the morning. It was raining outside so I gave her my jacket to wear and she waited at the entrance as I pulled the car up.

As we drive back to my place where her tricked out Mercedes truck / swagger wagon is parked, she takes off her shoes pulls her knees up and has them pointed towards me. Her arm is undermine on the console and she rests her head on my shoulder and tells me how much she enjoyed the night. I pulled up behind her car and we say goodbye and hug for what seems longer than normal, kind of just holding each other. I want to kiss her but I’ve been patient with my python game, I’ve been a gentleman for most of the night (except for when my boner was on her butt on the dance floor), I figured to fall back, the moment wasn’t right. I went inside and fell asleep with a smile on my face from ear to ear.

Post Script.

I broke a lot of rules on this date. Real talk, that night easily cost me close to 2 grips on a first date. But speaking for myself here, there are plenty of moments when I have self doubt when I question myself as a student of game. I find myself on the outside walking past a beautiful woman on the street and I ask would I be good enough for her, would I have what it takes to keep a woman of that quality entertained for a night? A grown woman, a rarity, a form of femininity that’s hard to find in this City. I had to know what it was like to pull a hot older woman.

It was like stepping in the ring against a better skilled boxer who’s two weight classes up from you. But in doing so I went the distance, I stayed on my feet. In one night I gained more confidence in my self and my game than if I had gone on 50 sushi dates that ended in notches with 50 different 21 year olds. Something happened that I haven’t experienced in a while. I genuinely had fun and felt a rush while gaming. I actually cared about her past and her stories of accomplishments and failures. It was nice being on a date and not being able to guess the persons life story after the hello hug. The fact that I enjoyed myself and I had a memorable evening to me makes the money spent not matter.

Do-gooder: I don’t think this is going to work.
VK: (upbeat) ok
Do-gooder: I just keep going back and forth one moment I’m happy and want to be with you the next day I panic and freak out over dating.
VK: (upbeat) ok
Do-gooder: don’t try to change my mind on this
VK: I wont
Do-gooder: (slight shock) you wont, well ok then so I guess this is goodbye
VK: See yah!

Click.

I was standing in my dark 501 shirtless, time, 7:00 pm. I threw on my extra krispy pure black button up, my black Stacey Adams, and my bone white tuxedo dinner jacket with the black trim. Found my black silk pocket square and I was golden Pony Boy, fucking Golden. My phone rang again at 7:20 and D the H.O.W (Hot Older Woman) told me she was waiting down stairs. I stepped off the elevator, walked towards the front and there she was a vision of Heaven. Her dress was this peach color that glowed against her lightly tanned skin. She wore these golden earrings that dangled, with what I can only describe as flesh colored high heels that matched her dress and were at least 3 inches. With her hair long brown and hanging over one shoulder she towered over me at 6′2.

There was enough time to tell her she was pretty, a hug, and we had to get moving. We had reservations at J&G Steakhouse at The W at 8:15 (apparently it’s all fancy and shit). She was genuinely impressed with my dapper fashion sense and showered me with compliments once in the car. As we entered the elegant lobby the pattern of attention we’d get that night started immediately. First there was a stunned silence in the room (like the feeling you get when you walk into a room and people are talking about you) if there were a pair of girls they’d nudge each other and whisper about her dress. If it was an older couple together first the wife or GF would look and sneer or take a double look, then the husband or BF would look and drop his jaw. Hands down I felt like I was with the hottest woman in DC that night. Cool chicks would come up to her and gush that they loved her dress, drunk guys would point at me and slur that my jacket was awesome or pimp. I’d get a nod of confidence from older gentlemen. We were quite the pair. A 6′2 39 year old ex model, actress, writer, mother with a 5′10, 29 year old random dude, a fucked reverse vortex of the norm, I ate it up.

Once seated and complimented by the hostess on our combined sexy, we ordered and the conversation flowed. Topics bled into each other as we discussed travel, divorce, relationship, hopes, dreams the future. I was extremely impressed with how graceful she handled the attention as if she didn’t notice every woman wanting to be her and there men wanting to be with her. When she talks about her career it’s with humility, never bragging about her accomplishments but claiming luck and timing. I lean back listening smiling, letting her talk. I have an inner panic attack when it hit’s me that I’m sitting across a fucking.grown.woman, I felt truly outclassed in every sense of the word. Well accomplished, two tax brackets higher, a decade of life experience more than me. What the fuck was I bringing to the table, to all of this. I have a flashback back to Jr Prom, my first date when my mom gave me the keys to her Benz.

“VK, at some point during the meal make her feel beautiful”

D is telling me about her trip to Italy and I lean in like I have a secret only she should hear, over the candle light I interrupt her,

“Excuse me D, I just wanted to let you know that you look absolutely stunning in that dress and I wanted to thank you for accompanying me out tonight”

My eyes are straight and direct, I have a slight smirk, my voice was Earl Jones low. Her face turns a deep red and for the first time all night I see her flustered. She smiles,

“Jesus VK, thank you, you don’t know how good you just made me feel”

Bulls eye. My boy’s GF was working reception at the hotel that night, she hooked it up so that after dinner we walked straight to the front of the line for the elevator to go to the rooftop patio lounge over looking the city. It’s surprising how nobody even squeaked a complaint as if they already knew the golden rule, that truly beautiful women don’t ever wait in line.

Once we stepped off the elevator and outside the view hit her like jab to the uterus. “Wow Vk, this is fabulous”, at that moment she puts her arm through mine. We walk about looking at different locations of DC. I decide it’s time to show her the just as impressive inside lounge. We walk in and take a second to admire the glowing bar as the live jazz band sets up. To play.

Again, she barely drinks but I order her the one drink she’ll have for the night. Within a couple of sips she’s tipsy and I’m even more relaxed to let my VK signature jokes fly. I told her I don’t like to gamble because I have already have two pretty bad vices, drinking and women. She makes a sex joke and I follow it up with a comment involving handcuffs and Chinese finger traps. She complains about how her ex was never really in the mood, I told her if I wasn’t in the mood I’d do a line of Viagra off her ass and get there. He wasn’t really into lingerie I told her if she got with me there’d be Classy Tuesday with La Perla and Whore Friday’s with Fredericks. She laughed so hard couples on both sides of us were staring over at us. If you want to raise your status in a room, make the prettiest girl laugh, hat tip.

Once you become good at game it’s important to develop what I like to call the art of the long con or simply Python Game. You basically game over an extended period of time say three to six months even up to a year. It’s keeping a target on the slow low burner instead of the full court press for action. Besides kind of accidentally banging her friend there might be many reasons why I guy needs to use python game. Long distance, one or both of you are in a serious committed relationship at the time, she might know about your past and might not be ready to let you in at the time. Whatever the reason it’s good to have a long con going on the back end while you’re juggling the regulars.

I met D one Saturday morning in the gym close to a year ago. Her gym time was very sporadic and I’d only seen her twice before and the other two times she was working out with her BF at the time. That Saturday I used game and we casually talked in between sets. I found out among other thing that D was a writer and I told a white lie that I was working on a project to acquire her number.

D is what I like to call a H.O.W (Hot Older Woman). Way different than a “cougar”. Cougars are old washed up desperate women who’s dating market value has plummeted so low that there only hope is to find young horny 20 something to pump and dump them for a night because no way in hell men their age or older would even glance at them anymore. D on the other hand was one of those rare intimidating beauties. She was 38 but stood at 5’11 and was in such great shape if she didn’t tell you, you would never guess that she had two kids. She worked out regularly, very rarely drank if at all, and knew all the tricks to age with pure elegance and grace.

You would never catch her out late night drinking and partying with friends. She was too busy running her own real estate company and managing half a dozen investment property that she spent time investing in. She does part time modeling and acting on the side and often travels to NY for Auditions and casting calls. Her latest project has been writing one of those self help books like Eat, Pray, bang or whatever and she plans on going on the speaking circuit after it’s published.

All this plus a serious boyfriend and joint custody of the kids meant that gaming or even spending time with D was impossible. I’d send a text or two every now and then. We squeezed in a lunch once and Saturday workout before that. I was able to talk to her a handful of times on the phone. Finally a few Sunday’s ago when none of my regulars could come to the pool for one reason or another I gave her a call. She agreed to join me at my pool to catch up and enjoy the sun.

Dressed in a tiny vintage black bikini with gold hoops on the side, wearing expensive looking Chanel sunglasses, her hair light brown kissed by the sun. She looked like a sexy piece of southern California. I was glad that I wore my mirror tint aviator glasses that let me leer at her body without getting caught. She was in better shape than most of the 20 something at my complex.

Our conversation was energetic like two people stumbling for a connection. We turned to dating and talk of relationships. This is where I found out that her and her BF just broke up about three weeks prior, what a shame. This lead to talk of what went wrong and how relationships fall apart between two people. Talk about honesty and trust. How a woman who spends that much time focusing and keeping herself well kept together for the man she loves needs to feel appreciated once in a while. There was more said but I was giving her boobs the care bare stare.

We waded into the pool and the sun glistens off the gold and water beads on her body. She transformed and looked something like a siren . She tells me how at the end of the relationship it all crumbled. He stopped taking her out, not even once a month, no dinners no dancing. He stopped working out and mounting biking with her. Along with other activities they shared together. He just let himself go and faded….

VK: Really?
D: Oh my God VK you have no idea! In fact I have this little cute dress that I bought in Vegas that I’ve been dying to wear out but I don’t have a place or a reason to wear it. Actually we should go out on the town one night, I bet you’d know where to take me in this dress….
VK: Sure that shouldn’t be a problem, have you ever been to The W Hotel in DC?
D: No
VK: Are you free next Friday?
D: Yes

Speaking for myself. I constantly travel between different scenes and environments here in the D.M.V. My night can start at U street on a rooftop and somehow end in a club in Midtown area or on K street. I could start at a dive bar in Arlington and end up in a hotel bar in DC. Many in my entourage are able to quickly adapt and that’s how we roll. I know deep down in my heart that I could never be with a club rat, the kind of girl that dances on couches, tables and bars for attention. Who air kisses bouncers, club promoters, DJ’s and seems to know everyone in the club. Who spends most of the night in VIP drinking of “friends” bottles.

The do-gooder and I have been seeing each other for about a month now. She doesn’t consider herself a “girly girl”, prefers to hangout in non pretentious bars, wearing comfortable clothes and blacking out like a tomboy. Which is fine, but I wanted to see her in a different environment.

A couple of weekends ago it was my workout buddy the degenerate’s birthday. He decided to do it simple and meet up with friends for drinks at a club in DC. Now it must be said, The Degenerates GF, T is straight silly. A pure bread nightlife princess. Born in Germany she grew up competing in VA beauty pageants, modeling, and doing promotions for a local sports team. Her friend who I often flirted with and has the same pedigree came along with us in my car.

Right off the back do-gooder and T’s friend clashed partially over me on the ride to the club. I heard her and T whispering among themselves in the back. Now the do-gooder was dressed straight, sexy black dress, hair done, high heels makeup. But from the start it was obvious that she was nervous and soon clearly out of her comfort zone. As soon as we got out of the car she was holding my hand for dear life like a scared little girl looking for assurance.

When we walked up to the club she started walking to the end of the line and was slightly confused when the rest of our group walked past it to the front like we usually do. Once inside she told me she didn’t like the other girls and that they were too stupid to carry a conversation with, which might be true at the same time this was the first time meeting my friend and his girlfriend so you’d think she’d try to open up. But she was obviously nervous. She was clinging to me and at times I felt like the hot chick on the arm of a beta. At one point this beautiful girl, a friend of mine who’s from Chile, 6’1, skinny long black hair came up to me excited to see me and chatted me up. Do-gooder was introduced but then fell back during our conversation like a timid mouse.

Because of her low energy obvious self doubt it felt like I was out baby sitting my little sister instead of partying with a hot girl that I’m banging. She ended up overcompensating by taking shots and getting drunk then starting childish drama. Trying to talk to other guys to make me jealous, pulling me away from conversations with the other girls in my group, at one point having breakdown and running out of the club. It was some shit straight out of The Hills.

Once home in my bed we had a conversation about the night. She confessed that she just felt out of her league compared with the other girls in the club. She said something that I’ve heard from other girls I’m with. She worried that she’d never be skinny enough, tall enough, or sexy enough like the other girls I’m used to dating and hanging out with. I didn’t play too much into her neurosis but told her if I wanted those other girls I’d be with those other girls, I’ve been there done that and wanted more. Then I gave her some dick to put her to sleep.

The truth is that I needed her to be those other girls. Not in terms of looks or appearance but in terms of confidence. I needed her to own her inner sexy and let it radiate through her being. Roosh, the rookie and the rest of my entourage all thought she was attractive that night. But it bothered me that when it came to the competition around her she folded under pressure instead of stepping her game up.

Yes, I know I contradict myself. I need you to be the saint and the whore. I need you to be that sexy girl in the club but not worry that you’re fucking every other guy when you’re there on girls night out. I need you to be able grab drinks with me and my boys at a sports bar like Spider Kelly’s on a Thursday night then the next night throw on that slut dress that I like and join us on the Rooftop lounge at the W Hotel. I need you to feel sexy and be sexy in cotton boy shorts and a wife beater or snapping the stalking to the garter belt of that La Perla number that I got you. I need you to be every fantasy woman that I’ve had and keep me grounded at the same time.

It was a Saturday and I was at Busboy and Poets reading a book and waiting for Roosh to show up so we could start the night. I was sitting on the couch and an extremely attractive sleepy head (Asian) was sitting on my right. I could feel her eyes on me but I was deep in my book . I ordered my favorite desert and I could feel every girl at the table look at it.

Eventually I would ask her to barrow a pen to mark a passage in my book and she replied with an enthusiastic yes of course. She then went on to offer me an extra pen of my own to use fully. We went back to our own thing and she stopped what she was doing and asked about the cheesecake while trying to decide what to order. I told her it was good and she should get it. This gave way to us talking about what she did and why each other wast there. She just got back in town and was taking care of some family issue in the Philippines. Based on her English she wasn’t FOB (Fresh of the boat) sleepy but one that has grown up and went to school here. Roosh showed up and our conversation continued after introduction. When her meal showed up she insisted that I tried some with her. I told her about different bars and lounges close by that we liked to hangout at. At the end she finally asked what my name was and told me hers with a warm handshake. She said that she came here often so I told her I’d see her around.

As we walked out Roosh asked me why the hell I didn’t get her phone number. According to him the day game signals she was giving me was the equivalent of a tipsy girl dry humping you on the dance floor then pulling out your junk and jerking you off right there. Apparently she was obviously that into me.

Right now I have a problem few men would ever openly complain about. I have too many women I’m fucking and talking to already. Honestly I never in my life thought those words would come out of my mouth. Apparently I’m in a game zone where I can do no wrong. I’ve got the 24 year old dogooder, the 27 year old Polish chick, the 27 year old Bitchy Bosnian and regularly talk to her friend who will be moving here mid July, Slut Pants. Slut Pants keeps telling me how she can’t wait to hangout with me = she wants me to beat that pussy up.

All this action has somehow left me drained and overwhelmed. My days are spent at work, the gym, then a date where I might bang and if I don’t I have to go home and text or call back one or two girls. Oh did I mention that I accidently slipped and banged The Cripple again so now she’s back on the tip? often times The Rookie and Roosh want to meet up on a Thursday and I cant because I have a date. When Its the weekend you’d think I’d be out getting new numbers but one of the girls finds away to crash guys night out with her friends or I’m too lazy and need to squeeze her in because I couldn’t see her during the week and she wants the cock. I think Timothy Ferriss put it best in his book The 4-Hour Work Week.

“The more options you consider, the more buyer’s regret you’ll have”
“The more options you encounter, the less fulfilling your ultimate outcome will be”

This little debacle has made me rethink some things about game, the fact that game theory itself is an ever evolving state of consciousness when it comes to thoughts about women. Ultimately this is what real end game feels like, you’re at a point where you have more than enough options. This experience has taught me that having more option doesn’t equate to more happiness in fact it’s the inverse. As a fat wise man once said, “more money more problems”. I wonder how much longer I can keep this juggling up, eventually the balls will have to fall and part of me wants this to happen just so I can rest. I’m slowly losing my sanity, keeping track of all this.

By the time we finished our appetizers, a full order of the Clams Casino, Bitchy Bosnian was gazing at me with this dreamy look. With some old school Italian crooner singing about love and murder suicide in the background, the Bosnian truly appreciated her surroundings. Her cold exterior melted, and with each bite of our meals and sip of wine we stumbled into our connection. She said she doesn’t remember laughing as hard with any other guy since she’s been here in America. By the end of the night we were making out in my car like star crossed teenage lovers. Now that she’s on the roster things are about to get interesting when her friend that I slightly hooked up with and speak on the phone with once a week (slut pants) moves to DC in the middle of July.

Roosh and I started at our usual spot and because of the overflow of bodies instead of the upstairs outside patio we settled for the first couple of rounds at the downstairs bar, inside under an AC vent. We noticed the line to get into the joint was filled with nothing but women, in fact even inside the ration of girls to guys seemed to be three to one on this night. I decided to warm up with a cute early 30’s blonde with dimples by opening with what might go down as the funniest neg ever (I was feeling confident enough to open with a neg; breaking my own rule),

“Excuse me, were you on the Real World DC”

She blushed and said no, but thanked me for the compliment. The convo continued and while her friend came in to talk to her, Roosh pointed out a girl in a tight blue and white cotton striped dress that hugged every curve of her body as she walked up the stairs and said, “VK, Russian”. I took one look and said back to him, “on it”. I finished the conversation with the girl that looked like the chubby cute chick from Real World DC and closed our tabs and went upstairs.

I saw her and her cute “older” friend standing against the upstairs railing across from the bathroom hanging out. I walked right up to her with that QB swagger and said, “Excuse me, by any chance are you Russian”. She smiled and said, “No, Polish”. I didn’t even act phased by my mistake and bounced back with, “I could tell you’re European with those high cheek bones and dimples”. This of course made her smile even harder. Her friend did not make any attempt to block instead stepped back to start texting someone.

She was 27 tall and had the body of your typical European tennis player. I touched her stomach and asked her what she did for her abs because I wanted mine to look like hers. She blushed and said whatever with the cutest accent, she went on to tell me about how she used to be in better shape but had to cut back from running eight miles to six and four but loves it because now she has boobs and an ass. I told her I loved her boobs and ass too. The conversation went on like this full of energy, highly sexual and tons of touching. At one point she said, “I have a feeling you’re experienced with talking to European girls”. I just smiled shyly and pretended not to know what she was talking about.

I knew we had to do a venue change so I asked if she knew how to dance (notice, not if she liked dancing or not). She caught the challenge in my voice and said yes with authority. I told her about the place one block away that my friends and I go to, that we were about to close our tabs and head there now and they should join us. She looked at her friend her friend smiled back and after tab closing our whole group was out the door.

By this point you guys know how this ends, but I’ll go through the motions for old time sake. We’re in the basement and things get grimy as they often do. It’s like an AXE body wash commercial. We begin grinding standing up and the more we dance the more sexual her moves become. At one point she sits me down and gives me a lap dance I would have paid money for. We took a break from dancing to get our drinks at the bar. While the bartender was making our drinks Polish Sharapova pointed out how sweaty she was. I saw the beads of sweat running down her chest and for some reason, instinctually, I took one finger, stuck it directly in between her cleavage pulled it back out then licked that finger. She smiled at me, tilted her head and we started kissing right there.

That night the heat and lady luck were my wingman. It turned out she lived a couple of minutes down the road for me so I took her back to my place for the night cap. Her girl seemed way too cool with everything and asked me for my phone number just in case she never heard from Polish Sharapova again. On the way to my apartment where eventually we would have mind blowing sex she showed me a text message her friend sent her earlier in the night while I first started talking to her. It read,

“Girl, he is fine as hell. If you don’t take him home, I will!”

I love summertime in DC.