I was feeling at that point that things were somewhat surreal. This was an entirely new experience to me. I had been going along for most of my adult life living from one day at the office to the next and going home to my monogamous relationship. Here I was tonight at one of the hottest parties in the city with the coolest group of guys and hanging out with a relatively hot young twenty-six year old. As I watched Mick make the rounds, making out with first one girl and then the next I was filled with a renewed desire to make this work. This is what I wanted and where I wanted to be right now. No more boring office life for me.
As the night laboured into early morning, Betty suggested that we go to another party at CentrePoint, the 27th tallest building in London that was built on the former site of a gallows. Companies such as the William Morris Talent Agency out of the States, Arabian and Chinese oil companies and EA games used some of the offices. Up on the 33rd floor a 360 degree viewing gallery offered spectacular views on London but, more importantly, to us there was a bar in the middle of it. It was a private member’s club at that time, although I believe that has changed in years since. Betty was able to get our names on the guest list that night and the rumour was that Beyoncé, who was on tour in London at the time was going to be hosting an after party. Feeling star-struck, I was having a hard time believing that this was my life. Or, more correctly, it was like peeling back the curtain on what may become my life.
The prior New Year I’d gone up to the roof of my apartment building with a cup of coffee and watched the fireworks with my wife. Then we’d gone back and watched TV. I hadn’t even changed out of my slippers. This was a different life.
As it turned out Jimmy and Betty were so lazy and disorganized that by the time we got to CentrePoint it was 3am. And if Beyoncé ever had been there she certainly wasn’t then. I looked under the tables just in case she was hiding. The party was wrapping up. Staff were stacking chairs and mopping the floor. We had time for one drink and that was it before they kicked us out.
Rakiya was hanging tightly on my arm, giggling at any little thing and as buzzed as I was. She’d not given me any trouble all night, never called her friends, never tried to take me to different bars. The whole time she’d just been pleasant company and let the night unfold. As we made our way down a quiet corridor right outside of the bar we started making out. It got pretty passionate and seedy as I pushed her up against a wall and started grabbing at her tits. My dick was hard and pressing up against her and she reached down and grabbed me through my pants. As things got more heated, a bouncer came along and moved us on.
“Hey kids, none of that here,” the muscled up, nicely dressed doorman told us, putting the brakes on my moves. I had to think fast, it was crunch time. No more bars, no more stalling. Time to pull the trigger.
“But how? How will I get her home now?”
The game plan then called for “extraction.” It simply means getting the girl from the spot of the entertainment to your home so that you can have sex. It was ten years since I’d last done it. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew that it had been a year since I’d had sex and I wanted to fuck this girl that night. I looked at her big ass and imagined slapping it as I rammed my dick into her. I looked at her dark brown skin and wondered how she’d look with my cum splashed all over it. I was so horny I would’ve fucked the Queen Mother.
I knew the Tube ran all night on New Year so I walked her to the station, stopping to make out and feel her up along the way. We got the Northern line south to my place. I was still thinking, “This is really going to happen. I’m going to be fucking this twenty six year old girl in less than an hour.” But then when the train stopped two stations before mine and she started to get off I got that sinking feeling.
I said, “Wait, where are you going? Come back.”
“I have to change trains here to get home,” she said. I was getting anxious again. “What do I do now?”
I simply said, “Just come on to my place and have a drink.”
“No, no, I have to get home,” she said.
I thought back again to what I was taught at the boot camp that I had attended back in July. She was showing me ASD—an anti-slut defence. That’s when the girl wants to have sex, but she feels guilty about it and wants the guy to take the responsibility for moving it forward, so she’ll throw up all kinds of obstacles. The crucial point is she is hoping the man will find a way to brush aside those objections so she can get the sex and still leave when it’s over feeling like things had progressed naturally. Remembering this, I quickly said, “It’s okay, we’ll just have a quick drink and then you can go. We’re not going to have sex.”
That did the trick. She got back on the Tube and I high-fived myself mentally. I was shocked and impressed with myself. It seems silly and trivial in the grand scheme of things, but this was a big thrill for me, being able to see the labours of my education come to fruition. We got off the tube at Kennington and were soon in my place. I was feeling great at that point, the voice in my head telling me that it was a done deal. I was going to get laid.
Once inside the apartment I poured her a drink, as promised. We never really finished it though. We were both kind of drunk and still hot and bothered from our earlier groping session. I started kissing her and, within minutes, dragged her into my bedroom. She wasn’t offering any resistance at this point. She was loving it and as ready to fuck as I was.
It was dark, and I didn’t turn on the lights. I fumbled with my mp3 player for soft jazz and the mood turned seductive as I slipped off her dress and tossed it to the floor and dropped my pants right next to it. She slid down my body while I reclined back on the bed and, as I watched her sucking my dick, I almost still couldn’t believe it was happening. I looked down and could see her dark skin and big eyes looking up at me with her decent fake titties bouncing around as she sucked on my cock and I thought, “Damn! This is really happening. I’m really going to get to fuck her!”
I got to have sex, finally, and it was good. We both enjoyed it but then things got weird afterwards. At this point, I was still messed up and broken inside from my divorce. There were still all kinds of strange personality quirks I hadn’t yet straightened out so, suddenly, I felt this intense need to “qualify”. Qualifying is more pick up jargon. It means trying to demonstrate to someone the reasons why they should like you. The best way to explain this would be to think about how on a first date the man typically looks at the woman as being higher value then himself. She’s the “prize” so to speak, and he needs to convince her that he is deserving. So, he’ll talk about how successful he is or how rich he is, anything to make her believe he is worthy. I was being overwhelmed at this point by the need to do this even though I’d already fucked her. It’s not logical. So I did something so weird and now once I thought back on it, so embarrassing.
I reached under the bed and I pulled out an A2 manila envelope. Within this envelope was my resume, my diplomas from my Bachelor’s and my Master’s programs, certificates and commendations from employers, and references. It was a package that I put together in order to obtain a job, or supply proof to Human Resources for a background check when taking a job offer. I began showing this stuff to her.
She was polite and attentive, but I know that she had to be thinking, “What the hell is wrong with this guy? Why is he showing me these five minutes after we had sex? This is just weird.”
She would have been right. It was bizarre in fact, and I know now that it was because I was in a place where I doubted myself to the point of not seeing my own value. I’ve discovered since that qualifying to a woman puts her in a place where instead of looking up at you she is staring down at you from her position of power. Women don’t want to be on a pedestal—they want to look up to and admire the man who is fucking them. The contrast to this is having the woman qualify to you, and that was a lesson I would learn at a later date.
So poor Rakiya probably started getting an icky feeling that maybe she’d slept with a man lower value than she’d presumed. Well, it’s only sex. I’d gotten my notch and finally broke the duck with Game.
Rakiya spent the rest of the night and left late in the morning. I never saw her again, and I’m not sure to this day if it was due to my peculiar behaviour, or if it was that she never really saw it as being more than a one-night stand. Either way, as I stood in my kitchen and poured my coffee that morning, I was smiling. I had a helacious hangover and my balls were aching from finally being relieved of their “blue-ball” state, but the smile on my face lingered throughout the day. I had finally gotten laid, and I had actually completed the process of meeting a stranger and then having sex with her in one or two days, from beginning to end.