It was one of those California summer nights, muggy with a mind of it’s own. You instantly started sweating as soon as you stepped foot outside and on nights like this the heat does strange things to girls. You’d be insane to try and dress up in anyway beyond the basics. That’s why I rocked a simple white T, jeans and black chucks. It was Saturday night exactly two days after I hooked up with the Dogooder. For some reason I felt like I had that glow The Rookie was talking about. Girls were turning their heads and I could feel eyes following me into every room I entered.
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),
Roseville Craigslist Web
“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 California.