- Joined
- Jul 17, 2013
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- 1,539
This is not going anywhere, that's for certain. I just want to put it down on paper because it's quite a unique experience... approaching and number-closing a girl who is actually waiting for her date to show up. No kidding.
I am in Starbucks just off of the campus of my city's technical university, in a busy and relatively stylish area of the city. Not to buy a drink mind you—I never spend any money in Starbucks, not on my current salary anyway—but to open pretty girls. I discovered this particular venue less than a month into my experience with day game; on any given day after lunch, it tends to contain a good half-dozen girls in the 18 to 22 age-bracket ranging in hotness from merely very hot to extraordinary. I can tell you that when I first entered the place, back in May, I found it more nerve-wracking than the most popular nightclub in town. But that was then... this is now. Yesterday to be precise.
I walk in, ignore the line for coffee, glance around the interior en route to the restroom. There is one blond girl of exceptional beauty, seated, reading, near the center of the venue. Her age is around 19-20. No one else interests me any longer.
I exit the restroom, casually walk toward the center of the interior space, and make a big show of pulling out a chair at a table nearby the girl, in the hope of causing enough disturbance to get her to look up from her book. No dice. I make as if to reject the table and head to a larger table still closer, right next to her. I sit, taking up a lot of space, occasionally checking a news story on my phone but certainly not hunched over it, holding it out at a distance and regularly glancing up and around, the very image of relaxation.
Her blond hair is shoulder-length. She is dressed rather classily for a student, in a short cream-colored skirt and figure-hugging jacket, heels and pantyhose, her legs twined round one another in that way that only slim women can do and that drives some men, including myself, wild with desire. A matching cream coat is draped on the chair which holds her exquisite ass. Her legs and arms have the appearance of a gymnast's, her waist is not a millimeter above perfect. She would not look out of place on a fashion runway. Her makeup has been applied with exceeding care, in particular the eyeliner which is not pencil but the liquid variety.
Dammit, I need to get her attention. She occasionally looks up from her book, but not in my direction. This goes on for maybe ten minutes. I need a distraction.
Shortly I see my opportunity. A group of three Germanic-looking women, with an academic air, of indeterminate age, bluestockings out of Central Casting, are standing around looking exasperatedly for a table. Since I have sat, all tables have been taken, including the one where I earlier pulled out a chair. Remember, I am right at the center; it seems as if the edge locations have been occupied preferentially.
My table is huge. I wave over the group and tell them, in a loud, confident voice that I'm just leaving and they should accept my table. I stand and gesture them through. After some half-dozen "Are you sure?"s and "Thank you!"s apiece, I convince them to sit. Perfect. I take hold of the second chair at the girl's table, opposite her, and open:
What do you think fellas? Drop it? I'm inclined to think so, but it was fun! For her as well, apparently... that's really what this is about, isn't it!
-Marty
I am in Starbucks just off of the campus of my city's technical university, in a busy and relatively stylish area of the city. Not to buy a drink mind you—I never spend any money in Starbucks, not on my current salary anyway—but to open pretty girls. I discovered this particular venue less than a month into my experience with day game; on any given day after lunch, it tends to contain a good half-dozen girls in the 18 to 22 age-bracket ranging in hotness from merely very hot to extraordinary. I can tell you that when I first entered the place, back in May, I found it more nerve-wracking than the most popular nightclub in town. But that was then... this is now. Yesterday to be precise.
I walk in, ignore the line for coffee, glance around the interior en route to the restroom. There is one blond girl of exceptional beauty, seated, reading, near the center of the venue. Her age is around 19-20. No one else interests me any longer.
I exit the restroom, casually walk toward the center of the interior space, and make a big show of pulling out a chair at a table nearby the girl, in the hope of causing enough disturbance to get her to look up from her book. No dice. I make as if to reject the table and head to a larger table still closer, right next to her. I sit, taking up a lot of space, occasionally checking a news story on my phone but certainly not hunched over it, holding it out at a distance and regularly glancing up and around, the very image of relaxation.
Her blond hair is shoulder-length. She is dressed rather classily for a student, in a short cream-colored skirt and figure-hugging jacket, heels and pantyhose, her legs twined round one another in that way that only slim women can do and that drives some men, including myself, wild with desire. A matching cream coat is draped on the chair which holds her exquisite ass. Her legs and arms have the appearance of a gymnast's, her waist is not a millimeter above perfect. She would not look out of place on a fashion runway. Her makeup has been applied with exceeding care, in particular the eyeliner which is not pencil but the liquid variety.
Dammit, I need to get her attention. She occasionally looks up from her book, but not in my direction. This goes on for maybe ten minutes. I need a distraction.
Shortly I see my opportunity. A group of three Germanic-looking women, with an academic air, of indeterminate age, bluestockings out of Central Casting, are standing around looking exasperatedly for a table. Since I have sat, all tables have been taken, including the one where I earlier pulled out a chair. Remember, I am right at the center; it seems as if the edge locations have been occupied preferentially.
My table is huge. I wave over the group and tell them, in a loud, confident voice that I'm just leaving and they should accept my table. I stand and gesture them through. After some half-dozen "Are you sure?"s and "Thank you!"s apiece, I convince them to sit. Perfect. I take hold of the second chair at the girl's table, opposite her, and open:
- Marty: May I take a seat for a moment?
Girl: (looking up from her book, smiling at me kindly) Hello!
Marty: Hey! Do you mind if I sit down for a minute?
Girl: Sure!
Marty: (sitting) You have this wonderful look about you, and I couldn't resist coming over to say hello. I'm Marty.
- Marty: I hope I'm not disturbing you from your book.
Girl: No, not at all. I'm meeting someone shortly, but I'm okay for a few more minutes.
- Marty: Well, I know your friend is coming shortly—
Girl: (checking the time on her cell phone) I still have five minutes.
Marty: —but would you like to grab a bite to eat some time?
Girl: (smiling, looking away) ... Well... (struggling with the question) ... I'm kind of dating someone.
Marty: Oh indeed? (smirking) So tell me... what does "kind of" mean?
Girl: We... ummm.... we're just starting to date.
Marty: Oh now, I don't want to interfere with that... (grasping her hands, which are clasped on the table) Certainly not if it's budding into a new relationship.
Girl: (looking down, smiling) I think it might be.
Marty: Listen, there needn't be any... (pausing, looking away, pretending to search for the right word) ...any expectations, we could just downgrade it to a coffee if you want. (She giggles.) Tell you what, why don't you give me your cell phone number, then you make up your mind later.
Girl: (smiling) Okay, that sounds fair enough.
Marty: (as she enters her number into my phone) Now I'd better get out of your way before your friend arrives... listen, it's not the guy you're just starting to date, is it?
Girl: Yes, actually it is!
What do you think fellas? Drop it? I'm inclined to think so, but it was fun! For her as well, apparently... that's really what this is about, isn't it!
-Marty
