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Divide et impera.
Sometime in November, my sophomore year, I found myself on a couch between two girls, who I’ll call Latvia and Fountaine.
Fountaine was a girl who was in my English class before I switched out. I often teased her, shredding a page of paper and dumping the pieces on her head for my amusement. She often got “mad” before laughing and play along. For the most part she is unimportant for most of this story.
Latvia was a (surprise!) Latvian girl I met just a couple of hours before I sat on that couch, during an International Schools Sports Tournament (I.S.S.T.) volleyball game. Fountaine introduced us when their group of friends moseyed on over to interact with mine. While I don’t remember our exact conversation, I do remember that I made quite an impression on her (kind of how a girl is pleasantly surprised that you challenge her). She tried to sound very intellectual by talking about the human species originating from Africa and agreed with a very nonchalant attitude. Somewhere in the conversation I said something along the lines of she had a cute butt and it was clearly on display (when I said whatever it was, she moved her body so I got a better view).
Anyway, back to the couch.
Somehow the conversation turned to ropes and liking it rough, or something to that affect. Fountaine commented, “I bet you like it rough.” I agreed with a smirk, “You know it. Ropes, Fluffy Hand Cuffs, the works.” I actually didn’t know much about that stuff, but I pretended that I knew it all too well. In the near vicinity, too near for Latvia, an ex-boyfriend/hook-up walked around and she hid her face in my chest. Fountaine said, “No fair!” I mediated this dispute by saying that they both could have me. Fountaine would have me during the week and Latvia would have me during the weekend. When it was time for the girls to go, I said, “Where are my hugs?” and both of them hugged me good-bye.
That weekend I got Latvia’s email and flirted with her over MSN chat. Unfortunately I can’t remember the conversation nor can I find, but I remember me asking, “You want me to buy you a pair of underwear?” She replied, “That she was not sure she wanted to release her butt size to me this early on.”
I got her number and we flirted over the phone. She texts me, “I want to make you scream.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
One day we’re texting back and forth and she texts me “Fuck you”, I imagine because of a certain tease or something. I reply, “Go to bed. You’re acting pissy.” She replies, “I meant that in the nicest way possible 🙂 ” We arrange a bet over text. Each of us will tease the other (short of getting physical in public) until the other can’t take any more and has to have the other.
The next week I see her once in a math team club after school. “Math team? Out of the places I’d find you…” I say it jokingly and the teacher shoos me out of the classroom. We exchange a few texts or chat over Facebook. I make the mistake of referring to our “weekend arrangement” as “super kinky” in my haste to sexualize our conversations (aside from light insinuations). I don’t remember the exact response but it is not good. When I texted her that Sunday, “How’s our bet going?”
She replies, “I see you more as brother. Incest is not the way to go.”
The lesson I learned here is to not be too eager to show my interest, or to assume anything is going to happen because of a fictitious arrangement. I also probably flirted too much and should not have put her down for her involvement in math (instead of teasing her I probably ended up insulting her.
Instead of hooking up, we became friends. I treated her like my little sister and talked with a lot. She was friends with the Camera Whore and another girl I would later become involved with.
We are still good friends to this day and I still call her my little sister.
The same year (10th grade) of my second major fail, I had one of my first experiences with the power of eye contact. Unfortunately, I was still learning about the whole girl/guy game (before game) and was unable to capitalize on my inadvertent success.
In the 9th grade class, there was this cute Spanish girl. My only contact with her in the first semester was on Facebook, as the multitude of pictures she took at ninth grade parties invaded my feed. I learned that she didn’t smoke or drink, but would go to parties and take picture after picture after picture.
I looked through these pictures, curious as I was, until I came across a picture of the party’s host making out with her boyfriend.
I commented starting a conversation (interspersed with comments from others of course) that looked something like this (her comments are in italics):
Have you no shame, [redacted]? lol
noo she took my camera and took the picture.. and asked me to upload it 🙂
How does that work again? She took your camera, took a picture of herself making out with her boyfriend at a rather fiendish angle, and then begged you to put it up?
Sounds a bit sketchy to me, but then again, I wasn’t at the party. 😛
haha no i ment [random girl] took it. and took the picture.. and [party girl host] asked me to put it up … sorta
Oh ok. I understand now…sorta
I believe I had another conversation on Facebook chat with her that she started. I think she tried to her explain herself and I simply laughed and called her a ‘Camera Whore’. Interestingly enough, I never bothered to really check out this girls profile to see what her deal was. After that, I did not talk to Camera Whore until the next semester in January.
At first, I did not talk to Camera Whore. In fact, I would see her walking around school randomly, but didn’t recognize her at the time. All that was going on in my was that I kept seeing a cute girl now and then, and I liked it. I made a point to get a good look at her every time I did. I automatically started looking in her eyes every time. At first, she would just stare into my eyes as she walked by. Then the next few times she passed me, she would smile as she stared into my eyes. And I would smile back. This continued for days.
Finally one day, she passed me in the hall way and touched my arm, “Hey!”
At the time I didn’t recognize that move was an indicator of interest, but I did become better friends with the Camera Whore. It turned out that she was one of the prettiest girls in the school. We hung out a little more and more as the days went by, and a dance was coming up. To this day I believe I could have gotten her. But I messed that up when I started dating a different girl, who was a sure thing, as I was still getting over Delight. This girl also happened to be the Camera Whore’s less attractive, best friend. When I realized my mistake, it was too late, but I shall explain that story another time.
The lesson to me here, is that good eye contact, is very helpful if done right. It is a covert way of showing interest (or piquing theirs) to a girl, even though it is as clear as day to her.
P.S. Looking back at my little conversation, I shudder at the smiley’s I used, but the overall teasing was spot on I think.
In 11th grade, my coach picked me to go along with my rugby team to play our mid-season games against BSP in Paris.
While the games were fun, I had more fun at night.
My host family’s son (we’ll call him George) took my teammate and I out to the James Hetsfield Bar where we met up with some of his friends and other teammates of mine.
Within about 5 minutes of sitting down and introducing myself to George’s friends, everyone had vacated the table except for myself, my roommate, and a petite girl from Ecuador (we’ll call her Playette)
I started with a simple “Hey” and conversation rolled. I don’t remember exactly what I was saying but three minutes into our conversation, she laughs at a joke I made and places her hand on my upper thigh for emphasis. I look at my roommate, he looks at me, and we both think “Game On!”.
I vaguely remember mentioning that I was studying German and her eyes widened as she exclaimed, “I love German! Teach me some German.”
I taught Playette three dirty words. I talked with her about how I loved to travel and where I have traveled so far. Hold up! She’s gotta make a quick phone call. I walk away to talk to somebody else. After about 10 minutes, I walk back to her. “Where did you go?” We talk some more and she accuses me of being a player. I don’t remember my reply, but I do remember me suggesting we go outside for some “fresh air”.
Next thing I know, I lead her outside, and start making out with her against a tree. In public.
Now hold it. This is the success part of the story. The next, is a fail.
Somehow I thought I needed to make her jealous, or seem not as important, like she interrupter our conversation earlier talking on the phone for a few minutes before I walked.
I said, “Time for me to check my phone for something important.” I checked my phone for a text I already knew was there, from my ex. I sighed and put it away. “Who was it?”, she asked me. “Just a text from my ex”, I replied. “Do you still care about her?”
I paused and as soon as I did her demeanor changed. “Maybe you’re not over her yet.”
I was sure that was, but for a minute I actually thought about it. I didn’t kiss her anymore afterwards. Game over, thanks for playing.
To my mind, there is more than one lesson here.
1. Overtly making a girl jealous (telling about other girls) does not work. It backfires.
2. I just met the girl and was making out with her. Anything outside of figuring how to isolate her should not have crossed my mind. There is a time and place for everything.
As for the body language, I could say that her body language was open, her legs crossed towards me, or she was staring at my lips it would not matter. I don’t remember reading any of that from her body language. The important part is that I recognized her touching my leg for what it was, an obvious indicator of interest, and acted upon it. And this was before I got into game and realized what I saw happen before my very eyes.
My second major fail was at a party in tenth grade, my second house party of high school.
I was still not completed over Turkish Delight, but she wasn’t on my mind all the time I guess.
Anyway, I was enjoying the party and some way or another, I ended up on top of a couch, and some girl ended up on top of me. She started rubbing my face so I started rubbing hers. And that was all I did for a couple of minutes, staring into her eyes as she stared into mine. A friend of mine, who is a lot better with girls, walked by and placed my hand on her butt. At first, it annoyed me.
I thought “Hey! What the hell is he doing?” But I didn’t move my hand away, and the girl didn’t seem to mind. I thought “Hmm…that’s wierd.” Up until this point I had never kissed a girl and had no idea what to do in this situation.
After some time, the girl hopped off of me. And made out. With every other guy at the party. Including my friend who placed my hand on her ass. Right in front of my eyes. I was so frustrated that I missed out on such an easy girl that I hit on the fat girl and contemplated making out with her, but my game was even too weak for that.
In the end, I got drunk and passed out. That was after all, my second time drinking, and my first time drinking absinthe.
Despite the haze I experienced next morning, the night’s lesson to me was clear.
I could have kissed that girl last night. In fact, hindsight says that it was obvious that she wanted to kiss me, or that I could have kissed her.
I realized that I had no idea how to tell if a girl liked me, wanted to kiss me, or how I should respond to that. I could not read body language at all even if it was as clear as day.
I knew that I had to learn to read the signs.
Before I got into game, I failed majorly with girls. But with each failure, I learned powerful lessons that seared themselves into my memory to this day. This is not to say that my learning experience pre-game was nothing but fails, I had small success too. But I believe I learned more from the fails than I did my successes. I intend to share my failures, so that other men can learn from them too.
This is the story of one such fail.
At the end of eighth grade, I switched schools. I went from military school in the U.S. to an international boarding school in England, south of London. I went from an all guys school to a coeducational school. The beginning of the year was interesting as my head was constantly turning to look at all the girls I was not used to seeing or dealing with, outside of school dances.
In November of that year, I went to my second high school dance. I don’t remember all of it, but what I do remember was that about half way into the dance, I started dancing with this Turkish girl. We’ll call her Turkish Delight, or Delight for short. As I danced with her more and more I decided that she was really cute. We danced and talked until the formal was over, and I walked her out like the little gentleman I was.
I had a good time, and as I lay in my bed, I was enamored.
I started talking to this girl more and more. She would come to my math class during break and we would talk. Her favorite band was Nirvana and she hated Kurt Cobain. In my creative writing class we started covering poetry so I wrote her a poem about Nirvana which she liked. As we started talking more she asked me, “Who do you like?”
I told her to tell me first. She told me she liked some Dutch guy. I gave her a vague description of her “Brown hair, tan, danced with me at the last dance”. She seemed to have no clue who I was talking about and wished me luck. I got her number and contact info (man, that stuff was easy in highschool). One day I learned that she had never had eaten gingerbread before, so I went, got her some (it just so happened a school event offered free gingerbread), and wrote a poem about it! I gave her the ginger during the break in class, but didn’t get her the poem. We went on Christmas break.
I started talking with one her Dutch friends who was in some of my classes, and as we became good friends, confided within her everything. She loved my poems and romanticism and what not, and encourage me to write them and said she would find out if Delight liked me or not.
At this point I had written a small amount of poems about Delight. One poem about the dance we had was even called “Turkish Delight”. I talked about Delight constantly and she was on my mind all the time. I talked with my friends, my parents, and the Dutch girl. At first they were all supportive.
In January I didn’t talk to Delight for a while and I thought it was all over. I wrote sad poems about the end and how I wish I had another chance. Then I started talking to Delight again and I started writing happy poems. I remember I woke up at three in the morning to write a poem about her, inspired from a song by Akon that reminded me of her. In April, she saw a poem I wrote about her because I mentioned I had won some poetry competition and she an awkward thank you. In April, before Spring Break, we had a group presentation due and I took complete control and made a fool of myself (the class was amused but the teacher was not). She got pissed off at me. My Dutch friend told me through text a day later that Delight did not like me. When I went to talk to Delight she told me not to talk to her for a while.
I felt crushed. I talked about her all the time still. My friends tried to lift me up. They told me that they had tried to get me to look at other girls but I only had eyes for Delight. One friend asked Delight if she would ever date and she of course said no.
If you felt sympathetic but tired of hearing my story up until this point, then you felt exactly like my friends. It took until January of the next school year for me to stop talking about this girl.
However, I did learn a lesson from this major fail – I learned not to get too attached to any one girl too quick.
I mean, I never even kissed this girl. We were never going out. Yet, in my head I was already dating this girl, in love with her, obsessed even. I wrote over 12 poems about this girl and even wrote some vague poems on Facebook about her (I have since deleted the Facebook ones). I got way too attached for no reason at all.
I have kept the poems I typed on my computer as a reminder of what happened so I never make the same mistake again. So far, it’s worked.
Learn from my fail.