I think there is a general misconception in our society that women don’t like sex. Or, aren’t suppose to. Because only trashy girls named after Disney characters who chew watermelon Bubblelicious, wear Candies and flaunt their tits like they’re merchandise in some going out of business sale are into something as vulgar as sex. But it’s just not the case. Woman are people. And people love sex. It’s highly pleasurable. And if its done right, it can even be transcendent. (Why do you think so many of us scream out the Lords name at climax?)
Now there are some rules in the mating ritual that cannot be ignored. A big one is to never ever ever approach a man. Ever. Sorry guys, the ball is and always will be in your court. Why? Because you have a penis. It’s really as basic as that.
However, some of us ladies have evolved and have learned how to work around that rule by setting the perfect trap. Fess up ladies. You know who you are. Its nothing to be ashamed of. On the contrary, you are actually the brighter among our sex, because you’ve figured out how to get the men to come to you. With a few simple tricks, you’ve got the guy thinking he picked you up.
I will say that for a lot of women this might be sub-conscience. They have become so good at baiting the line, they don’t even know that they are doing it anymore. That, or they are so gosh darn pretty, they never had to give it much thought.
What exactly does this look like?
Well, I was coming home on the 1 train a few Fridays ago. It was around midnight and relatively early for a young single girl in New York to call it a night. But seeing as how I’m still celibate and probably not going to meet any guy interested in just talking on a Friday night after midnight and a couple of cocktails, I deserted my friends who were just starting their drunken tear, got a camomile tea and boarded the train alone.
That long train ride home by myself, especially on the weekends, when the train is littered with cuddling couples en route to fornicate, is indeed the worst part of my celibacy. I glare at them with envy. And slyly scan the train for possible sex partners, saying in my head, “Screw my blog, I want to get laid!!”
Sitting next to me was a young woman in what seemed to be the exact same predicament, slightly buzzed and not ready to go home alone. But she jumped into action. Standing in front of us was a decent looking guy holding a playbill.
After what I assume was a coy game of eye contact and the exchange of smiles, she innocently asks “How was the Opera?” while tossing her hair and saying wanna fuck? with her eyes.
I was just as shocked as our young guy.
Quick, remember what you saw tonight.”Oh, it was pretty good. Not the best I’ve seen, but pretty good”
“You see a lot of Opera?” She was clearly testing him. And everyone on the train knew it. One, to see if he was gay and two to see if he was actually into art, or merely holding a playbill to pick up chicks.
“Yeah, I try to go every season. I’ve only seen four this season.”
“Wow. What have you seen?” And the conversation carried on like this for an annoying amount of time because it was clear that neither one of them knew anything about Opera and were actually just sizing each up, wondering what the other person looked like without their clothes on while still trying to prove that they were educated and had opinions.
Until our prissy friend says, “That’s so great that you take advantage of what this city has to offer.”
“Thank you.” He said, thinking I’m so in! “Yeah, I try.”
And then the conversation moved seamlessly into “Where do you live, where are you from, what do you do?” Which translates to “Are we compatible” in the female mating dance. Which at this point was irrelevant because the girl had already decided she was going to have sex with him. He was an actor/musician, she was psyche major at Columbia. So, they were both nuts. I couldn’t have made this up if I tried. She then finds an excuse to stand-up and continue their conversation with their bodies pressed against one another. A bold move. I miss the majority of the end of this conversation, but assume it was filled with the same empty chatter as the beginning. But I look up from my book at 116th street and they are getting off the train together at her stop.
And just like that, two lonely people find each other. For sex. How romantic.
I was a little shocked that it didn’t just end with a number exchange, but it was Fuck me Friday after all. I guess the point of this story is that the guy didn’t see what hit him. He was minding his own business until a pretty burnet flashed her sweet smile at him and he was toast. And every woman has that kind of power. I guess when a cute young conservative girl looks at you with fuck me eyes gentle men, you take her home. And fuck her.
My new biggest fear is that this celibate path will make me buckle one lonely night after a couple glasses of wine and take home some out of work actor I meet on the train who is only kinda cute and only pretends to know something about Opera. But if and when that does happen, you’ll be the first to know.
Categories: See Jane Give Up Dick