I was on a first date (also known as day two or D2) with a Greek girl yesterday.
I met her in Covent Garden standing outside Marks & Spencer, waiting for a friend. She was tanned, wearing a smart summer dress with Gladiator sandals on her feet and sunglasses over her eyes, clutching a bunch of bags over one arm with the ubiquitous iPhone in the other hand.
She had a Penelope Cruz-like look to her, with dark shoulder-length hair, a flat stomach, firm legs and noticeably over-large breasts. So I was a little intimidated at first but I approached anyway, as if you don’t try, you don’t have a chance of success.
So, she was a little stand-offish at first, but I gave her the Russian minute and used any and every scrap of information she gave me to try and start a normal free-flowing conversation. After a minute or two she seem to warm up and turn out to be super-chatty. I made sure just to let her go, but had to interject now and then to ensure that the talk was heading in a direction congruent to a seductive atmosphere.
So, I was a little surprised when it came to number closing her as I was pretty tired from recently changing my sleeping habits and I don’t approach a lot of European women, especially ones this hot, so I thought it would end up as a boyfriend objection or polite rejection, but she gave me a number and I said goodbye, I spent the rest of the day meeting other women and sent her a feeler message on WhatsApp a couple of hours later during a break between sets.
After waiting until late evening on Saturday night, I got a long supplicating message from her, so I tried to have a short but witty conversation and do a bit of comfort, with the aim of getting her out on a D2 for the Sunday afternoon. I made sure that most of my messages were very short, with enough teasing and playfulness, and she kept sending these big long messages.
“I know she’s chatty, but this is a little unusual” I thought to myself, but I was pleased.
“Maybe she’s just a Yes girl” I thought, or maybe I’d just done an exceptional job in the seductive process.
So, we arranged to meet at Leicester Square the next day.
I got there, she was early, so I kissed her below her ear in typical European fashion, on both sides. I took her off to a nice cafe near Seven Dials and had a normal conversation, focusing on listening, leaning back and leaning across her to get my drink. Hot and cold, push and pull.
I’d be looking about at the people walking by, then looking her directly in the eyes, making flirty comments, spinning her around to overtly look at her arse, all the normal stuff. Then I grabbed her and took her to a more dimly lit venue to slow it all down and try and kiss her.
We ordered drinks, sat side-by-side and I started talking more deeply about her life and more personal issues, sex and relationships. During this, I started touching her, lightly at first, using fake palmistry to tell her about her love and life. Then touching her arms and ears as I asked about her jewellery, then pushing her hair away from her eyes while I talked to her and stoking the back of her neck.
We talked about piercings, tattoos, what parts of her body she likes, her romantic and sexual experiences and then after some triangular gazing (looking from eye to eye, to lips and back again), I tried to kiss her.
Only to be rejected.
She turned her head away and held out her hand like a Policeman stopping traffic.
Which was kind of weird I thought, as she showed no discomfort with kino (touching) and was flicking her hair, turning to face me and returning kino with playful taps on my shoulders.
So, from my experience, “this is on!”, hence the confusion.
I went to the toilet, telling her I would kiss her again when I got back.
I returned, sat next to her and tried again. Another rejected kiss.
At this point, I was thinking of just throwing the towel in because she was a little too talkative for me and not the most positive girl I’ve met, but with how physically attractive she was, I thought I’d have one last throw of the dice to see if I could make things work.
So, I took her from the bar, walked through Covent Garden to the Embankment and walked along the Thames towards London Bridge. I decided that if I hadn’t kissed her by then, something was up and it was best to leave her alone, as this wasn’t some cold Russian or naive Korean girl who would need to be played with kid gloves over an extended number of dates.
So, we talked, I’d pick her up and pretend to throw her in the river, make fun of her accent and pronunciation, big London up and explain historical landmarks. I’d put my hand over her mouth to shush her and just be generally playful and attractive. I must have tried to kiss her at least half a dozen more times during that walk.
Let Her Go
By the time we got to within a quarter of a mile of London Bridge tube station, I think she could tell I’d had enough.
And I had.
I let her go her own way and I walked on my own to the station and went home. But instead of disappointment, I felt a sense of pride and elation, because rather than let my dick do the thinking, I’d stood by my values and not been taken for a chump by this chick who wanted to leech my time from me.
She sent me another long text later that evening, obviously expecting to be just another Beta to fawn all over her and supplicate to her so she could have someone else to show her London and buy drinks for her.
I texted her back telling her “You had enough chances. You don’t get any more. Bye forever.”