- Joined
- Jul 27, 2017
- Messages
- 16
All Hail, boys! Pinochet again.
I didn’t feel like approaching girls today at all. I felt like having a quiet lunch in the park in the fine early autumn sunshine… so what did I do? Of course, I went to the nearest target-rich environment to my office, to up my chances of meeting someone interesting.
As I rode over the footbridge to Gershwinplein, I couldn’t see any obvious openings. Half the benches were empty, there would have been no plausible deniability for an approach, and there was no one interesting there anyway. I locked up my bike and walked through to Mahlerplein.
This wasn’t much better. There was a distinct chill in the air already and the less hardy souls had opted out of lunching outdoors. Some young professionals were eating on the little wall surrounding the square, but they were generally in small social groups and seemed happy with their own company.
I returned to Gershwinplein and there she was, on one of the previously empty benches, with her back to me. A tall blonde mevrouw wearing a simple short blue A-line dress and matching covered heels. Legs crossed provocatively, decent figure, in excellent shape. She had not the peachy skin that is often found on blondes, but the honey-golden silky one. Age around 36, if I had to guess. Nothing like a sitting target to get El General’s rotors whirring
I looped around the back to get as close a look as possible and reassure myself that this was worth it, then a dogleg round the end of the bench and immediately looked to see whether I could make contact. Ordinarily I’d have asked if I might sit. But she had her nose in her phone and the timing wasn’t right, so I simply sat down a little distance away. The benches there are probably twelve feet long and I was maybe half a bench-length from her position.
There were two other benches nearby entirely empty, so I was going in entirely without a pretext.
I noisily crunched on a radish. She looked up and smiled. I ventured:
A nice start, she was already investing a little. She seemed happy.
I took some time to enjoy looking at her legs. I always enjoy picking a part of a woman and thoroughly objectifying it, to get myself into a sexual mood. Last time I filed a report, you may remember, it was the underarms. Often it is the hips. This time it was those beautiful golden legs with the texture of fine marzipan.
The conversation took a fairly ordinary turn, but I made sure to go direct as early as the opportunity arose:
She smiled with enthusiasm. I introduced myself, briefly apologized for sitting so far away and moved nearer. As we progressed with our sandwiches, we chatted away noncommittally in the sunshine. I allowed this to continue for perhaps 10-15 minutes total as I built comfort. Then I made an exit by suggesting I needed to get back to the office.
I gestured toward her right hand which a bore a simple gold ring.
She punched it into my phone.
Honestly I was a little surprised, but also my intuition seemed on lock. That ring on her marriage finger had thrown me for a loop, but there was something about her manner with me that suggested she was not in a committed relationship, perhaps divorced.
We will see. She didn’t reply to my icebreaker text, so perhaps she agreed on a whim and later reconsidered.
I didn’t feel like approaching girls today at all. I felt like having a quiet lunch in the park in the fine early autumn sunshine… so what did I do? Of course, I went to the nearest target-rich environment to my office, to up my chances of meeting someone interesting.
As I rode over the footbridge to Gershwinplein, I couldn’t see any obvious openings. Half the benches were empty, there would have been no plausible deniability for an approach, and there was no one interesting there anyway. I locked up my bike and walked through to Mahlerplein.
This wasn’t much better. There was a distinct chill in the air already and the less hardy souls had opted out of lunching outdoors. Some young professionals were eating on the little wall surrounding the square, but they were generally in small social groups and seemed happy with their own company.
I returned to Gershwinplein and there she was, on one of the previously empty benches, with her back to me. A tall blonde mevrouw wearing a simple short blue A-line dress and matching covered heels. Legs crossed provocatively, decent figure, in excellent shape. She had not the peachy skin that is often found on blondes, but the honey-golden silky one. Age around 36, if I had to guess. Nothing like a sitting target to get El General’s rotors whirring
I looped around the back to get as close a look as possible and reassure myself that this was worth it, then a dogleg round the end of the bench and immediately looked to see whether I could make contact. Ordinarily I’d have asked if I might sit. But she had her nose in her phone and the timing wasn’t right, so I simply sat down a little distance away. The benches there are probably twelve feet long and I was maybe half a bench-length from her position.
There were two other benches nearby entirely empty, so I was going in entirely without a pretext.
I noisily crunched on a radish. She looked up and smiled. I ventured:
A nice start, she was already investing a little. She seemed happy.
I took some time to enjoy looking at her legs. I always enjoy picking a part of a woman and thoroughly objectifying it, to get myself into a sexual mood. Last time I filed a report, you may remember, it was the underarms. Often it is the hips. This time it was those beautiful golden legs with the texture of fine marzipan.
The conversation took a fairly ordinary turn, but I made sure to go direct as early as the opportunity arose:
She smiled with enthusiasm. I introduced myself, briefly apologized for sitting so far away and moved nearer. As we progressed with our sandwiches, we chatted away noncommittally in the sunshine. I allowed this to continue for perhaps 10-15 minutes total as I built comfort. Then I made an exit by suggesting I needed to get back to the office.
I gestured toward her right hand which a bore a simple gold ring.
She punched it into my phone.
Honestly I was a little surprised, but also my intuition seemed on lock. That ring on her marriage finger had thrown me for a loop, but there was something about her manner with me that suggested she was not in a committed relationship, perhaps divorced.
We will see. She didn’t reply to my icebreaker text, so perhaps she agreed on a whim and later reconsidered.
