| For the past few months I have been going to an art collaborative every Tuesday night. I was introduced to this place by a coworker and it quickly became our Tuesday night haunt. They have live music all night in the main room, and in the side room there is an ever-changing art gallery, comfortable chairs and sofas and places to chill (or bounce, if you will) comfortably and a surprisingly high amount of attractive women. This is especially true if you’re into the artsy/alternative girls, which I am.
So this Tuesday night we show up like always, I was with a friend who we will call “Jim,” and we were waiting for my co-worker, who we’ll call “Anna” to get out of work. We walked in the front door and were greeted with handshakes and hugs from the couple that organizes the event.
My honest and enthusiastic greeting of friends at the front door, in view of everyone, naturally doubled as an SV raising tactic. With several pairs of eyes on us, Jim and I walked to the middle of the room in front of the stage and sat down in the two large, comfortable chairs that sat there, dead center of all the action.
Aside from Anna, I also had 6 other people coming to meet up with me (in groups of 3, 2, and a person on their own), thus I kept looking toward the door so I could spot them when they arrived (they were all new to the club and might have trouble navigating).
As I glanced back toward the door a curious thing happened: I made eye contact with an HB that I had talked to the previous week. Every time I looked toward the door, she locked eyes with me while she danced. Not wanting to send her IOIs and make her think I was too into her I tried not to look at her, yet our eyes continuously met.
Jim got up to go to the bathroom. I was watching the musicians on the stage in front of me when suddenly, no more than 15 seconds after Jim got up from his seat, a hand touched my chest. I turned my head to see the HB who now sat in the chair next to me, leaning in with a smile.
HB: “I like your shirt.”
ME: “Thanks. Wait a second.” I pretended to answer a text on my phone, even though I didn’t get one. I took my time typing a meaningless message to a friend before turning back to her. “So what’s up? Just walking around molesting strangers?”
HB: “Haha. We’re not strangers, we met last week... were you here on Saturday?”
ME: “No, what happened?”
HB: “Art exhibit, my first showing!”
ME: “ Oh, you’re an artist huh? Neat.”
HB: “Did you see my paintings? They are in the other room.”
ME: “Nope, sorry. Maybe I’ll take a look later.”
HB: “Yeah, definitely. I’ll show you which ones are mine.”
ME: “Maybe, we’ll see.”
HB: “And maybe you can analyze my life again!”
ME: “What?”
HB: “Remember... you did that thing to me... “
ME: “Oh, really? Oh! The Cube. Yeah, that’s pretty neat. Crazy accurate.”
HB: “Yeah... was that some kind of line or something?”
ME: “Line? Haha. No, sorry.”
HB: “Well... it worked.” She smiled, stood up and walked off looking at me over her shoulder.
It was on.
A little later right after my friends arrived, I saw her again, smiling with a small wave. I patted the seat next to me, compliance testing, and she sat. We chitchatted; I introduced her to my friends, etc. I then told her I had to go as my second group of friends arrived, so I left her. Later I found her while I was getting another beer from the fridge (this place is BYOB, which is sweet). Again, she came up to me and greeted me with a smile and a hand on my arm.
I told her it was time to show me her paintings, and we walked around the room looking at them. They were actually pretty good, but I didn’t let on. I said they were okay, but it was a little strange that she only painted naked women. I implied she must be kinky, etc. She smiled and didn’t deny it.
I suggested we sit in a quiet, comfortable place and she followed me across the room. We sat flirting for few minutes, just regular banter with plenty of Kino and IOIs on both sides. She brought up the cube again and asked if it was a routine, at which point I had to neg her.
HB: “Are you sure that wasn’t a line?”
ME: “You’re so adorable. You still I was trying to pick you up. I’m sorry sweetheart, you seem really nice but you’re just not my type.” At this point her jaw dropped and then she grinned, recognizing the challenge I had laid out for her.
HB: “Not your type? So I guess we’re just friends, huh?”
ME: “Looks like it, sorry.” I gave her a smile and initiated a friendly cheers with our beer bottles.
HB: “You know if that’s not a line, it should be... you would get so many girls with that. If I didn’t have a boyfriend I would have totally boned you last week.” She grinned, trying to get me to bite.
ME: “Nice. Well good thing you have a boyfriend and I’m not trying to sleep with you. Everyone wins.”
Now I actually knew the boyfriend wasn’t a shit test, I had seen her with him the previous week and earlier in the evening. Still, I pressed on. We talked for a while, and then her friend came up and we talked with her. The Cube was again brought up and I did it to my new obstacle. She gave it a 10/10. They agreed that it was amazing and that it could get me a lot of girls. I almost felt guilty.
At this point the club closed and people started to leave, my friends among them. Luckily, given my relationship with the people in charge (and this girl being one the artists there, thus having her own connections), we stayed after hours. With the crowd thinned out it was clear the HBs “Boyfriend” (she had described the rocky on-again-off-again situation, making me feel even less guilty for sarging her) was no longer in the venue. It was also easier to notice her following me around, touching me, punching me playfully, stealing my hat, and even breaking the Mardi Gras beads I had received on my way to the club as I tried to do a take-away and she grabbed the necklace to stop me. Obviously, I told her she was dead to me and walked off for a few minutes. When I returned to her she was still giving me all the signals, and I was almost positive I was going to F-Close. This was cool, and I didn’t feel like it was a fools mate based on this girl re-opening me a week after I initially opened her. There was clearly a real attraction.
It was now 3:30am and we were inside a club that closed at 1. The HB, her friend, and my friend who runs the event were all standing around talking when the girls said something about a cigarette, and I excused myself to the bathroom. When I returned only my friend was there, the girls were gone and I didn’t see them anywhere inside. I recalled the cigarette comment and decided that sounded wonderful so I walked down the stairs and out the front door, drawing my pack from my jacket pocket and looking around at the empty street before me. As I heard the loud click of the door closing, and being after hours, locking behind me, I suddenly realized that the girls were not outside.
I knew that the doors were locked at 1AM when the club closed.
I knew that if you were allowed to stay late, you were allowed to smoke inside, upstairs in the studio, the one place I hadn’t looked.
Suddenly, I knew the girls were up there.
Suddenly, I knew I was locked out of the building and not in possession of any numbers to get back inside.
I had smoked myself out of an F-close. I was pissed. I began the two block walk home, dragging my feet in hopes that the HB might come out and I could play it off that I had left w/o her intentionally... but sadly I made it home alone.
The next night as I was leaving a bar with my friends I saw the HB, who came up all smiles and hugs, saying how great it was to see me again and asking where I disappeared to the other night. She had spent the night on one of the amazingly comfortable giant beanbags in the art gallery room, all alone... the beanbags I had set a personal goal to at least K-close on. The amazingly comfortably giant beanbags I had been fated to F-close on.
The moral of this story: Number close early. You never know when you’ll lock yourself out of a set... or the entire building.
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"As to the deceit perpetrated upon women, let it pass, for, when love is in the way, men and women as a general rule dupe each other."
-Giacomo Casanova
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CHAT
