I put this little episode down to bad luck, like an aberration. A week later I met a Belfast native from the LSS called Paddy. He was a good guy, and I liked him. He was just a normal guy, not a weirdo like Diego, thank God. He always looked intense, I’m not sure why, but he turned out to be fun to hang out with.
Paddy and I decided to go out one night to a Shoreditch bar called Cargo. It’s an Indie bar, a really “hip” place with a noisy dance floor, beer garden, and bar area. The beer garden was great on a warm summer night. The club was crowded with university students and hipster chicks. By the time my friends Steve and Devak showed we were a pint to the good. Steve was the first guy who I had met on the boot camp recently, a nice guy from white Zimbabwe who had recently come out of a bad break-up. We remain friends to this day.
We were all making the rounds, and as I was coming out into the beer garden I spotted two young black girls. It turned out they were Somali sisters, maybe eighteen and nineteen. The younger one was built really nice with a big ass and big tits. Her hair was long and she was just really pretty. Her sister was just okay, nothing special. Paddy had gone on ahead and was walking around the bar, so I start talking to the girls solo. I find out the hot one’s name is Hibaq. Her sister was Haweeyo. I doubted I’d manage to say that while drunk.
Steve joined me. I could tell that the hot one liked me. She was making eye contact and giggling at everything I said, so I suggested we go down the street to another bar called the Elbow Room to play pool. This is a technique called “the bounce.” It’s both an early test of the girl’s compliance to your leadership and also a demonstration of that ability to lead. If the girl is willing to follow you, she’s interested. These girls agreed. The Elbow Room is another pretentious status-whoring indie bar but I like the 70s retro vibe and pool tables.
A game of pool gave us plenty of excuses for casual touch. We would help the girls adjust their pool cue, line up shots and so on, allowing a touch of hands or soft, brief pressing together of bodies. Not much more advanced than the seduction techniques seen in a high school disco, really. Hibaq was letting me kiss her but, because of my hesitation and lack of self-confidence, she got away that night. I did get her number, and we’d texted for a while, but I could never get her to commit to a date. After a few weeks it just kind of died off.
About a month later, Paddy and I were out in Cargo again. We’d finally found a gameable weekend bar with that correct combination of pretty girls, open-plan seating, and music that doesn’t reduce you to shouting at each other in monosyllables.
We were in a crowded bar area, just behind the four-deep crush of revellers ordering drinks. A drunken girl walked towards Paddy and smiled. He instinctively put his hand out; I think originally to shake hers. She took his hand, and he pulled her in and just started making out with her. At this point I’d only kissed one girl in nine months, the Somali from a previous week. And here was Paddy making out bar centre with this girl that he hadn’t even met. They broke free, and she went to the toilets. He never saw her again, but I just thought it was so amazing. I asked him, “How did you do that?”
He grinned and said, “I don’t know, I just pulled her in for a kiss and it worked.” He was pretty proud of himself, and I was pretty impressed as well. It seems like a small thing now but this was the stage of wideeyed wonder newbie players go through. Remember the context—I was thirty-four years old, had never been good with women, and I still barely believed it was still possible for me to pick up a hot young girl. Even in my university years that would’ve been a memorable event.
As we were headed into the beer garden, I saw the Somali girls sitting at a table near the back. Hibaq gave me a guilty look, thinking I’d be mad at her for not replying to my texts. I played along, giving her a parody evil look and wagging my finger at her. She giggled. Game on.
Paddy and I went over to their table and chatted for a while before beginning to initiate what we call “mini-isolation.” This is when you get the girls to turn away so they’re not directly looking at each other. It’s a relief of the psychological pressure that often keeps a girl from otherwise doing things she might want to do if she weren’t being watched.
Paddy got the sister facing him, and they were talking. I grabbed Hibaq and pulled her up onto my lap. She was giggly and a little bit drunk. Her thighs were over mine with her lower legs dangling between. The left side of her ass was hanging off the side of my left thigh. I could have literally reached up and grabbed a handful of ass with my left hand.
I put my face close to her ear and started dirty talking. She was regaled in seductive tones about how great her tits looked and the risk they might be taken out right there and mauled. I told her I wanted to lick and roll her nipples between my teeth and nibble them softly.
This might seem like a strange time to bring this up, but when I was about two years old I had an ear condition that made me semi-deaf. By the time surgery corrected it I’d developed a stutter so I was sent to a voice therapist. It was a roaring success. Now I have no trace of a stutter and great vocal projection. That’s great for picking up girls. Loud and clear says confident and sure of yourself. That night, however, I happened to look up at Paddy as I dirty-talked and he was laughing. Pretty much half the bar was in on my conversation. The sister was sitting there with her back to us, acting as if she hadn’t heard a word, but squirming uncomfortably at occasional verbal embellishments of mine.
Hibaq was also squirming and giggling by this time and getting really horny. I slipped my hand up where her ass was hanging off and slid it under her skirt. I started fingering her through her panties and along the side where it was skin-to-skin. She loved it, and by then my hard-on was pressing against her ass.
I said, “Let’s get out of here.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I have to go home with my sister. We live with my parents, I can’t stay out.”
I had already checked out the bar. There was no feasible place to have sex without getting busted and thrown out. It seemed that first Game lay would elude me again.
“How about you suck my cock,” and she said, “Okay,” readily.
I took her hand, and we went up to the front door. At this time of night they were charging a cover of about ten pounds to get in. I asked the bouncer if we could get a hand stamp, go out, and come back in. The miserable bastard wasn’t having it, saying we’d have to pay to get back in. I said, “Come on, we’re just going to be like five minutes, have a really quick smoke and come back in.”
He was likely fully aware he was cock-blocking me and just didn’t give a shit. I was suffering blue balls and pretty sure that if I could get her out in the alley for the blowjob, I could probably just spin her around and fuck her right there. What a story that would be—banging a nineteen-year-old large-breasted Somali in the alleyway behind a bar. But no, nothing doing. As I was to learn many times over in the subsequent years, fast lays live or die on momentum and if you come to a screeching halt it’s probably lost forever.
I went home alone. Hibaq and I texted on and off for a while, and then one night she messaged:
“Do you want to fuck?”
In hindsight, I should have been dominant and said something like “Kennington station. Nine o’clock. Best underwear and biggest smile!” But, I said instead, “What? Now?”
That reply just leaked weak conviction. Half an hour later and I hadn’t gotten a response. I called her and could hear her sister in the background. They were giggling and she told me it was a joke, her sister had gotten a hold of her phone. I didn’t really think that was the case, I’d just failed a test. Nevertheless, I never saw Hibaq again, and I’d have to go back out onto the streets to drum up more new leads.