PREVIOUSLY: PART TWO
The next day I was low on gas. My 32-year-old body was done after just two nights of partying, but I bought a couple cans of Red Bull and used that for fuel. During the day I managed a couple of approaches, but my heart wasn’t into it. Since I found a night spot that I knew I could get laid from, day game was no longer on the table. It would be better to conserve my energy.
The previous two nights I was out the door by 11:30, but on this night I was dragging. I didn’t leave until 12:30. I went back to the Millionaire Club.
I expected it to be more crowded than Tuesday and especially Wednesday, but it was nearly dead except for two girls at the bar. I approached the one nearest me and it turned out that she was Russian-born but moved to Finland when she was young, sort of like the Iranian girl. She was friendly and smiley, not at all stoic like I would’ve expected. She had a bit of Finnish flair with a colorful dress and gigantic red flower in her hair, but still retained the Russian sexiness.
She was touching me almost immediately, so I was debating whether to throw the Finnish flag under the bus yet again for a flag that I’ve had previous trouble capturing. The fact that I didn’t have my Russian flag after living in Washington DC, home to a huge Russian population, was embarrassing to me, but if I pursued her I would only have two nights left to smash something Finnish. With Millionaire providing so many opportunities, and the weekend yet to arrive, I believed I could take the risk. I wanted to try for three flags in one week.
The approach hit a snag because of her fat friend. She kept interrupting and wouldn’t shut up. Without a wingman (Jon was at a club down the street), I had to simultaneously entertain fattie while gaming my chick. The task wasn’t made any easier with the fattie trying to call me out: “It’s weird that you are alone” and “You should lose the beard, most girls don’t like it.”
I had a million comebacks to use but since I wanted to get laid I replied with witty niceties instead of telling her that a morbidly obese girl doesn’t have a right to criticize anyone. I looked around the club for a guy rolling solo like me so I could pin him on the fat girl, but there was nothing available.
The Russian girl then asked me if I wanted to go outside and smoke. And continue the three-way conversation with fattitude? I passed, safe in the knowledge that she would return back to me, especially since our faces got so close that we almost kissed. There weren’t many other guys around so I felt safe. I let them go smoke, saying that I was going to get a drink instead.
Twenty minutes later I notice them in another part of the bar. The Russian girl was not looking my way. Then three guys approached them, one of them eagerly going for the fattie. By not going out for a smoke, I fucked myself, even though just a couple months prior in Lithuania I had explicitly learned to go for a smoke with girls to keep the interaction going. There were no other girls to approach.
I comforted myself in thinking that the dude she was talking to had weak game, but I couldn’t exactly just go up to the new group of five. Of course the fattie was no longer cockblocking because she was getting attention. I had no choice but to let that scenario play out, since I wasn’t in a position to barge in and grab her away like she was my girlfriend. I decided to walk to Onnela, a club nearby that Jon texted me to say had girls.
The club wasn’t all bad but it was half empty and there weren’t many good opportunities. Jon was grinding on a Finnish-Indian girl. I did two approaches, got absolutely nowhere, then went outside. It was now 2:30, with only one hour left until the bars closed. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally, but I knew I had to soldier on. I walked back to Millionaire.
I was horrified to see the Russian girl grinding on the dude. I’m talking about a hands-on-the-floor, bent over, booty clapping kind of grind that left no doubt where that interaction was going. Apparently I had made a huge tactical error in assuming she would return, an error I seem to repeat. I was pissed because I like to think that I’m at the level where I don’t make such a nuclear mistake, but there she was, about to make out with this dude. I should have made that fat bitch at least earn the cockblock instead of withdrawing from the interaction voluntarily.
One of the hardest parts of being a player is controlling your state in the face of disappointment. If I let a situation like that put me in a sour mood, I wouldn’t be able to have the right energy to game other girls. For five minutes I talked to myself, saying that the mistake was already done and there was nothing more I could. The pain settled down enough to where I could calmly approach a blonde girl I saw looking around. She didn’t indulge my attempt so I approached her nearby black-haired friend. The reason I knew I could also approach her was because my opener on the blonde was so indirect that no martian spectator could conclude I was hitting on her. I was just a friendly guy.
Laurna had a shy personality type, not so conducive for one-night stands. I’d have to use a jackhammer to pry her out of that because a phone number alone would be useless to me. The first thing I did was buy her a shot. Then, to get the conversation off boring chit-chat that she was comfortable with, I tried to steer it to the personal. I asked, “Do you like American men, around 32 years of age, who are hairy and have beards?” She laughed and we ended up talking about our ideal types.
Then I asked when was the last time she had sex (“long time ago”). I asked her if she had made love to an American man before (“no”) and joked that if she’s lucky, she may have that opportunity. It was a risk talking about sex so much, but with little time before the bar closed, I felt like I had no other choice but to be blatantly sexual.
Finally, the last song of the night came on, a romantic R&B number. “Do you want to make slow dance with me?” I asked, in those exact words.
“Yes I do.”
And it’s there we kissed, just as the lights came on, as if right on schedule.
“Do you want to come to my apartment and have a drink with me?” I asked.
“Are you staying in a hotel?”
“No, a private apartment next to the Kampii metro station.”
She paused, a typical response by girls who don’t want to seem easy. I took that as my cue. I said, “But I’m not expecting sex. We’re just going to have a drink and if you want to leave after half an hour that’s fine, but I think it would be fun if we continued the night to talk and maybe kiss a bit more.”
“Okay, but no sex,” she said.
“Of course not,” I smiled.
Now it was time to play the cockblock slalom. She mentioned earlier that she was supposed to share a ride home with her blonde friend, and now there were two Colombian friends of hers tagging along, including a flamer who kept giving me shit for not looking like I was American. In front of the club I passed the test from the Colombian by dropping some American slang. He yelled, “You sound like you’re from New York!” He said that he suspects I’m a sneaky guy, but eventually left with his Colombian lady friend, leaving me with my girl and the blonde. Two down, one to go.
I walked in suspense with them to the taxi stand, with no idea if my girl was coming with me or not. I kept silent while they talked in Finnish. Once there, the blonde got into a cab, closed the door, and left, leaving me and Laurna outside.
CONTINUED: PART FOUR