Dear fellows, I write to you from crowded train directed to Venice, Italy. A romantic, decadent, charming place, home of one of the greatest PUA of the past, Casanova; a mysterious city that like a beautiful and once young lady, is willing to unveil its hidden gems to the ones able and patient enough to find them. There I hope to find O. again, a gorgeous Canadian that I’ll write about another time.
It came to my mind that I forgot to post here my first Tinder lay, in the first days of June. It was a new tool for me, so I hope that through my mistakes you can learn something useful…and obviously get lay way more than I did, and I’m doing.“It’s a match!”
appeared in my screen on a sunny, late May, Friday morning. On the other side of the screen, there was A., a small, short-hair brunette mixed martial artist from Washington. I was kinda excited, after all she was the first American that I ever tried to pick up, and I sincerely didn’t know how to open a conversation, and that was a bad situation: as far as I’m experiencing on this app, girls want men to open the conversation, and certain kind of openings are more useful on certain kind of girls, and way less effective on others; as a general rule I suggest to be social savvy, to calibrate and tailor your words to the kind of girl you’re texting with. From time to time instead you’re lucky, and meet a girl like A. who opens me with “unusual people are the best” – referring to the phrase in my bio “looking for unusual people”. That revealed to be useful in two ways: first attracts all kind of weirdos that rate themselves as “unusual”, and I love that kind; secondly it reminds me why I use the app – I want to meet interesting and worthy people (and nail them if I feel I would enjoy it
After a brief talk, I invite her out on the next day, during lunch pause from work – I think chat on Tinder must be oriented to meet the girl face to face as soon as possible, I’ve lost many interesting girls there because of the wrong thought that I should build some comfort before asking them out: if she’s there she wants to meet people, not get bored on the phone. Working by day in a major company, I always dress sharp when I can: a clean and tailored suit has the power not only to greatly impress women (“suits are chick magnets”
, as one of my girls from Poland used to say), but more than that make me feel more comfortable, attractive and powerful. The robe makes the monk
, dress as the person you want to be, first impressions are fundamental. We met under the Giotto’s bell tower in the centre of Florence and we went to a gelato (an ice-cream cone) and a coffee in the nearby alleys, surrounded by the marvels of the Renaissance, while an exceedingly impressive scenario unfolded around us. During the evening while discovering all the wits and quirks that little badass’ mind and personality had to offer, I tried to carefully calibrate my speech, body language and conversation threads- those are not the topics of this post, but I try always to remember that Tinder is just a mean to an end, after the match and the meeting the game goes on like in every other situation; it’s just another virtual venue. I had to get back to work, so we decided to meet again Sunday at dinner: we didn’t have anything precise in mind, we agreed to go on an adventure and roam the streets of Florence at night, following the tracks of traditional cuisine.
Two days later our quest led us to a small place near Piazza della Signoria, a tavern so small that we had to sit outside in the alley, a place so old that has been serving roughly the same dishes for the last few hundred years. While having dinner I told her many little stories and facts about the city, and in the end mentioned a strange encounter I had with and old woman in Bologna, with the reputation of being a witch: a nice little way to show me her hands and have the kino going on with a little game hard to explain in words; after that I kept her hands in mine while I lost myself in her leaf-green eyes. Suddenly it started a light summer rain, and being in an alley we had to seek shelter in a nearby door, grabbing only our glasses of Chianti. While chatting and smiling I lost track of my words and found them again on her soft, slim lips. When the rain was over it was time for me to go, I had a train to catch. What a fool I was! I could have had her that night (as she confirmed me days later), but I was afraid to appear to direct and rude to a foreigner, and I esitated. By that move I put in danger all that I had worked for till then – as I learnt after many mistakes, if she likes you and gives the green light, don’t chicken out, go and grab her or you may loose her.
We met again on Tuesday night, we agreed to have a few drinks out near Santa Croce, another lovely part of fine things, she walked into me under the lamplights in a long, revealing, deep-red dress, a matching lipstick, and a brand new haircut. She wanted to impress me, and she succeeded. The pubs came on after the other in a drinking frenzy, until we found ourselves in an American bar, sipping two ice-cold mojitos, exchanging ice cubes with our tongues. Maybe because of the alcohol, by accident or for some link of luck, I grabbed an ice cube falling, and without much thinking, I started passing it on the back of her knee, slowly up to her thigh, and her giggling turned into moaning.
She grabbed my hand and literally pulled me out of the bar, across the deserted Florentine alleys, until we reached her apartment. She was smiling in the penumbra while we climbed the stairs leading to her bedroom, a smile that she kept even while she started unhooking her purple bra.