NSFW Author

My friends think that I am an hopeless romantic loser because I am trying to get myself a girlfriend from girls I meet in ordinary bars, when these girls usually just want a one night stand.

Where else am I supposed to go? To a singles bar where men are desperately trying to attract the attention of girls who are there mainly because they are afraid of ending up alone past their prime?

To a speed dating evening where you have only a few minutes to appear less of a loser than you are just for showing up?

To a website where every girl receives over 100 e-mails like mine on a daily basis with no chances of a poor accountant like me to shine?

So I prefer to be the hopeless romantic. I use all of my charms and all of my lines to get a girl in my bed and hope that when the morning comes, I will have made a sufficient impression on her to get a phone number and possibly, a proper date.

But what does my friend know? They are married, dating or have given up on finding a girlfriend years ago.

I was like them until recently and couldn’t understand it either. I had a girlfriend, I mean, not that I even really gave up on dating.

She was my high school sweetheart. I know, cliché to the bone. We flirted all through high school, never really connecting but never really drifting apart. We both joked that we should go to the prom together after years of our careful dance around our feelings and ended up hitting it off.

It was nice while it lasted, but after a few years, we realized that the mystery of dating the other half of our couple simply didn’t compensate for the banality of living together.

Maybe there was a reason we didn’t date in high school. Maybe we should have never dated at all.

But now, I was single and didn’t want to remain single for the rest of my life. With no school coeds to flirt with and only much older, and either married or repulsive female co-workers, I was left to my own demise to find not the perfect women, just one who would have me.

So I flirted in bars. I slowly became good at it. It helps when you are relentless and go every week, twice a week. You start to notice which shirt works and which line doesn’t. You start to notice which type of girl is only out to drink, and which one is willing to continue the party elsewhere.

You discover the subtle cues that many women leave when they are either alone at the bar or dancing with friends which indicate they like what they are seeing when eye contact is made and which signals they make when they are just trying to scam you out of a drink.

Eventually, you start to be good enough to have a nice batting average. I generally get lucky once or twice per month and the night proceeds to my nice adapted apartment.

Because on that second part of the evening, you are just as tested as when you were in the bar.

If the apartment is messy, they don’t want you in their lives. If it’s too clean, it’s looks like it was staged. If it’s well decorated, they like you for it, but if it’s too much, they worry you hired a pro and might not have any tastes on your own.

But the biggest point I discovered, is to leave some evidence that you cook, while not appearing to have simply forgotten to do the dishes.

Perhaps a can of tomato sauce on the counter, ready for recycling, and a lasagna with only 1 serving removed left in the fridge, along with other tasty leftovers.

I always also leave a children toy half hidden in the sofa so I can explain I sometimes babysit my friend’s kids. Well, I did so at least once or twice in the distant past when I still had a girlfriend, but this is just for appearances.

I also had business cards made professionally with my cell phone number and a nice title which I leave a stack of by the door. A few girls picked one up even if they ended up not calling back. I know, because I always leave exactly 9 cards so I can count them the next morning.

It might look highly calculated, but you have to remember that it’s a jungle out there. Every man for himself and every woman doing everything she can to find something to reject you.

Truth and honesty can come later. It’s not like I am presenting a fake me, just a bleached me, a better me. A calculated me.

Because if I can’t get them to trust me enough to leave their phone number, I will have lost them and I would have to start all over again with a different girl.

This morning, the girl, Sue, actually stayed until breakfast. They rarely do. They generally run right after the sex, maybe out of fear that spending the night would make them captive or stuck in a relationship. Maybe they are afraid that as soon as they fall asleep, I would steal their phone number and harass them.

I learned it the hard way, unless the girl actually gives you her phone number, don’t bother calling her. It’s not the phone number that counts, it’s the fact that she gave it to you.

Sue was really hot in bed. Slim waist with a chain around it, small perky breast which held in place magnificently well and long brunette hair she loved to brush against my hairy chest when she was on top.

And on top she liked it, a lot. I was able to penetrate her deep enough to enter her cervix once she was rather relaxed. It’s not just that I was long enough to do it, but I also suspect that she was a little shallower down there than many other girls.

It made her moan in a soft breeze kind of way rather than in an explosive burst of cacophony many girls seemed to try and project to impress their date.

It made me feel like she was honest with me and it made us actually climax simultaneously, something established couples often have a hard time reaching but which we successfully did on our first try.

I had high hopes last night for her and seeing her this morning still naked and wrapped around me, it made me even more happy to having met her.

I woke up first and got dressed in the living room before preparing a nice breakfast: toasts, eggs, cereals, fruits, juices and coffee.

I tried to make as little noise as possible but soon enough, a still fully naked girl joined me in the kitchen asking for the bathroom.

Seeing her nude once again only increased my resolve, but I didn’t want to appear needy, so I simply continued on my breakfast preparation.

When she came back, she had dressed as if she was ready to leave, but when I invited her for breakfast, she agreed to sit down at the table.

We had a pleasant conversation which was light and superficial but we both smiled the whole time. Sue ate little but with appetite.

We hugged before parting and when I expressed the desire to see her again, she simply smiled and left.

There were still 9 business cards and I was sad to have missed such an opportunity until I too frequented the bathroom and saw her number written in lipstick on the mirror above the sink.