What is the secret of attraction? It is well and good to talk about a magnetic personality, but what does that mean, really? What makes a man irresistible to women? What qualities cause women to fantasize about a man? What is the essence of charm? Why do men like Casanova still fascinate us today? Why do women always gravitate toward certain types of men, inviting them willingly into their lives, their arms, and their dreams? Is it looks, power, money?
We have this notion that all men who are successful with women must have something going for them that the average man does not. Well, that notion is correct. However, contrary to everything we have been led to believe, it is not looks, power, or money.
These are the things most men concentrate on—an accumulation of externalities, so to speak. And why not? A man with power and money will be surrounded by women, of course. Is that success? Perhaps. Is he loved? Ah, who knows? Maybe he is. All we know for certain is that men spend their lives trying to increase their personal power, thus increasing their influence, thus increasing their perceived value to others, thus believing that all this will make them appear more “lovable” to women. This is not new; it is a simple concept that we all understand.
But is there something else? Yes, my love, there is. If you press me for an answer, I will say this: the kind of men that women universally adore possess an inimitable love of life, a sense of aliveness, an irrepressible audacity, and an overwhelming sense of fun. And more than anything else, they possess a supreme and ever-abiding love and admiration for women.
There is something magical about the heart of a man who loves himself, loves love, loves life itself. There is a surging rush of curiosity and wonder and mystery in his every step. His is a life poetic, filled with the spirit of elegance and gratitude. The words are light on the page, a lightness and ease, a welcomed breeze about the whole experience. All women and all men are drawn to him, for he is a man of conviction, of honor, of purpose. And this sets him apart, miles apart, from other men. He is labelled by all, in hushed tones and with a modicum of envy, as a “natural.”
“Why is it that we can get phone numbers, but you get women who love you forever?” I will say it again: men who love women are loved by women. Men who love women are hymned far and wide, adored and doted on by women. Men who love women view the world with different eyes. Men who love women smile and wink at all the girls, for they possess a secret, a secret of the universe.
A lover of women is a lover of life. That’s just the way it is. It might be possible to love life without a love of women, but it is not possible to be a lover of women without a love of life. It’s like spelling. People who are not good at spelling may or may not be intelligent, but people who are good at spelling are always intelligent.
All men who love women have the same way of looking at the world. They all have the same traits, and these traits have been constant throughout all of time. What is interesting is that other men have none of these traits. A man either has all of them or none.
Many have tried to unravel the tapestry of men, but no one has ever managed to successfully tease out the threads that belong exclusively to the lovers of women. I shall try.
There are plenty of men who possess a certain facility with women, but those who possess a masterful understanding of women, and the hidden arts of love, are exceedingly rare. In all my years, I have met exactly two. These two men, from entirely different backgrounds, have the greatest facility with women I’ve ever seen—a smoldering understanding, an intuition approaching my own. Theirs is a life of abundance, an abundance of women, the kind of life that men everywhere dream of every day.
Women can tell in an instant who has women in their life and who does not. So can I. Game recognizes game, as they say, and these men… well, I recognized them immediately. A knowing nod, a clear-eyed assessment, a shaking of hands as peers. I get it, you get it, we both get it. Yes, indeed. Behold, a brother-in-arms before me.
One is European and has spent his life traversing the world as a high-paid escort for lonely women of means. The life of a gigolo. Now then, although one might bridle at the morality of his chosen profession, one cannot deny that his years of practice in making women of all ages and sizes feel special and beautiful, of sitting and listening to them and their stories, and of touching them in caring ways they have never known, would tend to make him highly attuned to the majestic symphony of the female spirit. Which is my only point.
The other man is a fellow Canadian. Women hover around him like a rock star, and it is phenomenal to behold. Oh, and he isn’t a rock star. He drives a city bus. The bus driver. And yet he has a quietly seismic effect on women. They adore him. They give him everything. They take care of him. They defend him. They seek him out and miss him when he is not around. They bring all their girlfriends around to meet him. Mothers tend to jokingly keep their daughters away from him, but love him just the same. He is magnanimous and inviting to all around, generous to a fault, kind and gracious. Above all, he is highly, highly sexually charged, concupiscent to the core. Everything he says to women, young and old, is a manifestation of his virility. He is here to lay waste to all the land, scorched earth, all or nothing. Everything out of his mouth and everything he does informs the world around him of only one thing: I am here to bend you over, if you desire it. And you will love it. And yet every woman who meets him feels thoroughly safe and protected in his presence, like he is a magnificent, well-fed lion, calmly protecting a little gazelle from harm. This man will be surrounded by women until the day he dies.
In the presence of these men, something is invoked in the hearts of women, something placid, something ancient, a direct summons to the brightest aspects of female nature. These men command attention from women—in every connotation of the word—and women rush to comply.
**
Here is a sublime secret of the ages, the secret of men whom women eternally love: They are father figures and little boys—simultaneously! There you go. I’ve never heard anyone say that before, but I am convinced it is true.
Leadership and vulnerability, a lightning combination that is utterly impossible for women to resist. It is the greatest strength of these men, their triumph, the defining characteristic that sweeps all other men unceremoniously into a corner forever.
Because they are simultaneously father figures and little boys, these men are the only ones that can reconcile the seemingly irreconcilable duality of the nature of women: the madonna and the whore. They appeal to both sides of the feminine mystique. A woman wants to be put in her place by a leader and, at the same time, she wants to take care of him immensely. She wants him to stand guard at the mouth of the cave, fire-torch in hand, majestic and defiant against the elements in one moment, then crawl into her lap like a kitten the next.
Do you understand the impact of this, my love? The broad-spectrum, dual nature of these men is an overwhelming notion for a woman, a shattering, unprecedented, thoroughly welcomed assault on her senses and her heart. Oh, what possibilities, what profound and boundless enlightenment this is for her, for him!
When a woman enters into the presence of a man who embodies both the indomitable spirit of a warrior and the inimitable spirit of a child, she will respond to him with her entire being, her entire body, her entire life. She will never leave it. She will love this man forever.
It is a perfect balance, a tightrope they traverse with ease. The leader side of them is never aggressive or controlling; it is firm and in command. And the boyish side of them is never mewling or pitiable; it is playful and beaming and in need of a bath.
These men command attention in pleasing ways. Given the right circumstances, they can get any woman into bed. Never by coercion or convincing or conniving; but by making her feel, with every breath she takes, that she is a true beauty and she is highly desired. Their sexual nature is always direct and on full display, but it is forever accompanied by a gracious generosity and profound respect. They have a knowing about them, charm is ever present, and a graceful escape is always proffered.
All sexual aggression is sexual frustration. Women are buffeted by winds that should be directed outward. Men who love women can afford to be extremely sexual because they have no sexual aggression in their soul. There is nothing frantic about them. They are bastions of stillness and grace, but still highly sexual. They are dangerous, yes, but never to her. Simply put, a woman always feels safe in the presence of these men. Women only feel afraid if they think they might lose their ability to choose.
Other men, awash in sexual urgency, simply do not have the light touch necessary. They invade women, occupy the land by force, then spend all their time trying to suppress the rebellions and uprisings. They come from a place of frustration: either needy and begging for sex or indignant and demanding it, a hand that is either limp and clammy or an iron fist. Never the requisite velvet glove.
What about men who are good-looking, my love? They have an unfair advantage, do they not? Well, maybe they do, but only for a few minutes or so. Ultimately, a man’s physical appearance is such a small component of attraction for women that it barely registers. In fact, it doesn’t really matter at all. Women are not attracted to men who are good-looking… they are attracted to men who are attractive. Big difference.
A woman is attracted to the way a man chooses to move through life and how he perceives the world around him. She is far more attracted to the way he makes her feel than the way he looks. She is far more turned on by his mind than by his appearance. A man’s mind is his greatest, most attractive, most erotic feature.
This isn’t to say that women don’t notice or care about the way a man presents himself or the way he carries himself. The first thing a woman notices about a man are his extremities: his head, his hands, his feet. In other words, his hair, his nails, his shoes. These subtle clues speak volumes to women, for they are indicators of how a man views himself and the world around him. Part of the attraction for a woman is knowing that he finds it important to take care of the little things, to look his best.
So yes, it is a wonderful thing for a man to learn how to dress well and how to groom himself well, and he has no excuse whatsoever for not staying in shape. After all, walking is free! These are all great things for a woman to see in a man, and it’s not only because it makes him more physically attractive to her; it is because it portrays to her mind his sense of self-worth. Which, I suppose, amounts to the same thing.
**
Some of the most famous lovers in history were, by most accounts, average looking, or even quite ugly. Look at some of the portraits of Casanova, for instance. Or photographs of Jean-Paul Sartre. Not physically attractive at all. But the auras of these men were intoxicating, mesmerizing, breath-taking, to volumes of women.
Casanova described it like this, “I was not handsome, but I had something better than beauty—a striking expression which almost always compelled a kind interest in my favor…” And one writer said of Sartre, “Women fell for him because he knew how to explain their soul to them.” Even Voltaire said, “Give me five minutes to explain away my ugly face, and I can bed the queen of France!”
Sartre, for example, was renowned for his philosophy but almost more renowned for his prowess with the Parisian ladies. Yet he was, by all accounts and evidence—and by his own admission—notoriously ugly. One leg was shorter than the other, causing him to lurch when he walked, his eyes were big and loopy, flailing around in random and opposite directions, and he was barely five feet tall. And yet women loved him, desired him, fell at his feet.
It was no accident. Sartre deliberately and painstakingly developed his confidence and persona. He looked at his life, realized that he could either wallow forever in his limitations, or he could do something about it. He dreamed for a long time about being adored and desired by women, until finally he made a conscious choice to become just that. Through sheer force of personality and deliberate choice, that’s exactly what he did. He became what he always dreamed of being: a ladies man.
We have absolutely no excuse. Some guy said to me recently, “I feel like I’m too short for women to ever be attracted to me.” I told him the only thing he was short on was the courage to get out there and put himself into the land of women.
Almost everyone can think of a guy they have known who seemingly had nothing going for him—not good-looking, not in shape, no money—and yet he was constantly surrounded by women. His secret? His assumption that all the girls are his girls.
**
It has been well said that you don’t have be impressive… you just have to be interesting. So how does a man become interesting to women, my love? By being interested in them. Casanova said, “Love is three quarters curiosity.” Behold! The fundamental ingredient for dynamic interactions and sublime relationships with women: curiosity.
Curiosity is the wonderment of life. It is the sense of adventure in our soul. It is learning to cultivate profound interest in the journey itself, the learning, the surprises. It is the essential ingredient in every dynamic interaction in life. It is infectious. And it is, in turn, massively attractive to women.
Curiosity is underrated. Curiosity is misunderstood. It is not about seeking answers. It is about seeking mystery. Always and forever seeking mystery. A great life is one of mystery, not answers. We have this packet of answers in our hand. Now what is the greater mystery?
Intelligence is curiosity. It is that and only that. If you are curious, you are intelligent. If you are not curious, you are not intelligent. In fact, politically correct be damned, I will say it straight: A general lack of curiosity is a general lack of intelligence. I will even go so far as to say that a general lack of curiosity is the worst of all traits.
We are automatically good at what we are truly curious about. The effort of learning is halved. A man who is curious about women, or anything really, is always paying attention, always fully engaged, always learning. While other men are looking for ways to impress women, a curious man is looking for new ways to understand them.
Curiosity is alchemy, transforming a pedestrian encounter into a truly engaging experience. It imbues all of our interactions with a sense of ease and delight. It is the only tool a man needs on a date with a woman. It negates any worries about what to say, what to do, how to be. And it is the only thing that will ever keep a relationship alive and interesting. It solves everything. When there is genuine curiosity in an interaction or a relationship, everything will flow.
Curiosity is a form of creation. What does it create? Why, curiosity, of course. Curiosity begets curiosity. If all men had a spirit of curiosity, the world would change. Imagine a man who is genuinely curious about his wife and children, excited to gather them around him at the end of the day. “Tell me, my loved ones, about your day.” Yes, genuine curiosity allows everything to unfold and spread out before us like a picnic on a sunny day beneath a tree.
Curiosity is a gift, a gift from a man to the world. It is about him learning to be genuinely interested in a woman. It is about being puzzled, amazed and enchanted by her, this amazing woman sharing this part of his life. He is listening, engaged, and interested. He is fully present with her. He is drawing her forth in return. By sharing himself with her, she will share herself with him.
“But what if I am not really curious about women?” men say. Then get curious. You can always find something in any woman to be curious about. Curiosity is a choice. We can all choose to be more curious, more interested, more engaged. When we choose curiosity, choose to view the world with a real sense of wonder and delight, our curiosity deepens and strengthens.
Men want a greater experience with women, but all they have to do is look for ways to be curious about women and their lives will change. Women will adore them. Even sprinkling their conversations with the phrase, “I’m curious…” is immensely powerful. “I’m curious… why did you move to this city?” or “I’m curious about those shoes…” And then… just listen. It sets a beautiful tone for the whole interaction. She will call all her friends and say, “Wow, I met a man who really listens!”
Genuine curiosity is a trait of all great lovers. It is impossible to be truly adored by women without it. True lovers are immensely curious about women, always listening to them, always looking at them with a sense of wonder. True lovers want to know, want to know, want to know. Tell me things. Tell me your stories. What do you love? What do you love? I can’t even begin to describe how mesmerizing this is to women.
Men have this notion that they need to talk about themselves in order to be interesting. After all, if they only talk about and listen to her, well, isn’t that tantamount to neediness, to supplication, to putting her on a pedestal? Uh, no. Not at all. A true lover never talks about himself when he sits down with a woman. How can he? The truly interesting subject is sitting right there in front of him. Hello, beauty… tell me about you.
Sometimes a man on a date with a woman will rapid-fire a bunch of inane questions at her, like a persiflage-spewing, polyester-clad salesman, not really listening to her and not really wanting to know. He is only thinking about the next thing he is going to say, and he is waiting for her to stop talking so he can say it. It’s all about him, and how he can impress her. He brags about himself, he talks non-stop, slowly burying her with shovelfuls of unremarkable personal information sludge. “Yes, and when I lived in Cincinnati… and my other car is… to the gym three times a week… I don’t mean to brag but when you’re good at it, it’s actually pretty easy…”
Ah, but that’s not curiosity. That’s not being interested or interesting. That’s not real listening. That’s smarmy and invasive. That’s a job interview. Maybe if he can just say enough impressive things about himself, she’ll hire him. Might as well just hand her his resumé. Where’s the fun? Where’s the joy? Who is this delightful girl in front of him? What is interesting about her? What is she passionate about? What does she believe? What does she love? What is the dream?
She will match his energy. She will rise—or descend—to the level of the interaction. She will give back to him exactly what she receives. If he is distracted, distant, dry, platitudinous, monotone, not really paying attention, and sitting stiff, she will respond in the same way. If the conversation is all surface, just a dispassionate exchange of pedestrian information, then so is the whole experience. The time spent with him is mostly uninteresting and devoid of life. But if he is genuinely curious about her, a little more quizzical in tone, posing questions more searching than the general interrogations of others, she will come alive, animated, poised, and focused on him; the whole conversation is elevated. She will be caught up, transformed, in the magical juxtaposition of him and her in that time and space.
It seems to men that women never seem to know exactly what men want and need. It’s because we never explicitly state our desires. We expect her to just know what we want and then we are frustrated when she doesn’t. If men were ever lucid enough to ask why, women would look at them in surprise and say, “Well, it’s because you never asked!”
Women are marvelous reflectors. They will respond and meet a man exactly where he is at. They will treat him exactly in the way he asks to be treated. It’s that simple. It is up to men to create the kind of experiences they want with women. It is up to men to describe to women exactly what they desire from them and exactly how they want it to be. This is the supreme task of men when it comes to women. We teach women how to treat us. Women only give us what we ask for, even if we have no idea we asked for anything at all.
**
And sometimes… no, all the time… how do I say this without being misunderstood? Ah, let it be misunderstood, for it is subtle and it is wonderful. When I am talking to a woman, I interrupt her. Constantly. I break her train of thought, her sentences, in mid-phrase, all the time. And she doesn’t even notice.
Don’t get me wrong, my love. I do not interrupt her in order to impose my opinions or to hear my own voice or because I think I have something more interesting to say than her. No, not at all. I interrupt her to clarify, to shape, to enlarge the things she is saying to me. “Wait a minute,” I will lightly tap her arm, cutting her off in mid-sentence, “You said you love to paint… more than anything else in this world… tell me more about that.”
Or I will cut her off for fun, just to shift gears a little, taking the conversation somewhere completely different and new. She might be saying, “Yes, I moved here to Montreal three years ago and—” I tap her arm. I smile. I look in her eyes. “I love the shape of your lips…” And straighten suddenly, sitting back in my chair, “Sorry, you were saying? Montreal?” A wonderful diversion, a digression, a short-circuit across her frontal lobe, or something like that. In a good way. It has the same effect as kissing her suddenly, unexpectedly.
It might sound counter-intuitive, but interrupting this beauty before me does not come across to her as rude or offensive. Not at all. Instead, my little innocuous interruptions, my gentle asides, create a natural ebb and flow between us. Interrupting her amplifies the connection, sprinkles magic all around us, and electrifies the air, a palpable frisson.
Am I listening to her? Oh yes, my love, I am really listening. I am right there before her, hanging on her every word. Because of her, I am omnipresent, omniscient, enchanted. This is listening on a superior plane. It is active listening, interactive listening. It is sharing my experience of listening to her with her. “I’m listening to you, my love, and here is what I am hearing,” as if to say.
I am asked all the time: What is your method? What do you do or say to women that is different from other men? Ah, well… the truth is, it doesn’t really matter what I say to women at all. In fact, my method is: there is no method. If pressed, however, I will say that my method is this: I put invitations into the world, and I leave them out there. That’s all I do.
Putting invitations into the world is the essence and foundation of the way I interact with women, my love. Everything about me is an invitation. Life is a dance and I am inviting her to dance. If she accepts, then I am inviting her to shine. I will not grab her hand, lift it up, and spin her dizzy round and round by force. No, I will lift up her hand and invite her to step into the space between us—an invitation to twirl, to be the beauty, to wow the crowd. The important part is that she must step willingly into that space. If she accepts my invitation, then I will lead and she will shine.
I don’t ask for anything. I don’t ask if she is free. Or if she would like to go for coffee. Or what she is doing later. Or if she has a boyfriend. I simply invite. A grand invitation. A luscious invitation. I tune into her desires and extend my hand, as it were, in invitation. Always by invitation—never by force, never by control—an invitation devoid of presumption or expectation.
I extend an invitation very early in the interaction, sometimes even as my opening line. I always say it with a smile, with delight, and without apology. If I get close to her and everything about her is nice—the way she smiles and the way she smells—then I invite her to join me. Where? When? How? Is it even possible? I have no idea. I haven’t even thought that far ahead yet. All I know is that she and I should be together. And this is exactly what I say to her. I lean in close to her and smile, “I love your smile. Can you feel that in the air? You and I should be together…”
“No,” she might say, “I have a boyfriend.” If this is so, I will bow out gracefully, respectfully, for if she is in love with another, then she is not my girl, now is she? I want her full heart, her full attention, her full ebullient spirit, excited to be with me. Not with him.
I do not, however, apologize. I had no idea she had a boyfriend. How could I know? I did nothing wrong. I simply spoke my truth, expressing my desire for a pleasing woman whom I encountered, doing my job as a man. “Ah, I understand,” I will say, “I meant no disrespect to you or to him. But of course I would be remiss if I did not say these things to you. Look at you in that dress… you, my dear, are absolutely lovely.”
If she says she has a boyfriend but she signals to me with her eyes or body language (they often do) that she is not happy or not in love or not sure, ah then, that is a different story. My invitation stands. “I can’t…” she says. Yes, well, I understand. And you’re still invited.
“Come away, o human child, to the water and the wild” intoned the immortal Yeats. Because why not? What else is there? Why not escape into immeasurable, shimmering romance? Why not return for a while to the innocence and passion of our youth? What is the point of a life if we are not living? Look over there, my love. Can you see what I see? Over there… beyond the horizon… come away with me.
**
Women are never offended by an honest invitation. I can’t count the number of times a woman has stood before me and said, with her voice and her eyes, “I can’t… but thank you. It is so refreshing to hear.” Yes well, I hear you, sweet girl. I hear exactly what you are saying. You are thanking me for noticing you. You are thanking me for respecting you. You are thanking me for honoring your current relationship. You are thanking me for giving you the gift of desiring you. You are thanking me for presenting myself to you in all the ways that men do not. Yes, we both know that it can’t happen between us, and that’s okay. That’s not the point anyway, now is it? The beauty of this moment is enough and will suffice. And what’s more, you will never forget this moment, will you? That one time when a stranger expressed an honest desire for you—without presumption, without manipulation, without games, and with full respect. You will go forth from our little encounter floating a little off the ground, shining like an angel of glad tidings and great joy.
Because I am simply putting an invitation into the air and leaving it out there, because I am merely stating what I would like to happen, because I am not asking for anything, it is not possible to be rejected. Let me say that again: I never experience a sense of rejection.
A glorious invitation. Take it or leave it. Of course you are invited… look at you! It makes complete sense to my mind. What you do with the invitation is entirely up to you. The ball is in your court.
To live a life in the spirit of invitations is to live the life of a true lover. I have this notion that as long as I stay connected to what I desire in my life, and speak my truth and put invitations into this world, then the right ones will show up. The ones you love are the ones who love you. That is a law of the universe. If she accepts my invitation, then she is my girl. If she doesn’t, well then, she never was. How perfect is that? We both win either way.
There is an alignment, a calmness, an elegance, about the whole thing. If I just stay on my journey, then one day, perhaps, I will look over and notice that someone lovely is walking beside me. I was alone before, and now, because of my spirit of invitation, she is walking beside me. Just like that. There is no need in me to go out and frenetically try to pick up girls or phone numbers. I know where I am going and I have no time to veer in the direction of any woman, no time to try to convince her of anything. If she is my girl, we will find each other in our travels, naturally and easily. Yes, there is a delicious calmness about the whole thing. That’s the way it works.
**
There are, I think, three levels of invitation. When a young man wants to invite a girl on a date, he asks her out: “Hey, would you like to get together on Thursday evening?” Now then, his whole plan for Thursday night is dependent upon her answer. She can, with a single word, determine how he is going to conduct that particular slice of his life. “Yes” will set him scurrying off in all directions at once, excited, nervous, and making plans. “No” will return him to his former state of equilibrium (albeit a little more subdued) to do whatever it is he would normally do on a nondescript Thursday evening. You could say that she is the arbiter of his fate for that particular Thursday evening. You could even say that he gives her that power.
If she says yes, he is excited and now must create a date he hopes she will like, something memorable, something better than all the dates she has had with all the other guys. He racks his brain. Where should he take her? What should he do? What will she like the most? Coffee? Dinner? Movie? Concert? Art gallery? Hot air balloon? Ah, who knows? It’s all so confusing. If, on the other hand, she says no, then he will just stay home or hang out with his buddies or do whatever. Let’s call this the first level of invitations.
As he gets a little older, experience or advice teaches him that it is better to already be doing something interesting and then to ask her to join him. “Hey, my friends and I are going to a concert on Thursday. Would you like to come with us?” He discovers that this is much better than just asking her out and then trying to dream up something to fill in the time slot. This is much better because it looks like he already has an interesting life and he is going to have fun on Thursday anyway, with or without her. You could say the only power he is giving her now is the power to enhance, with her presence, what he is already doing anyway. Yes, this is much better. Let’s call this the second level of invitations.
Now then, is there perhaps a third level of invitations? Yes, my love, I believe there is. I’ve never heard anyone describe it like this before, but it makes complete sense to me, and aligns with my experience. The third level of invitations is this: inviting her into nothing… absolutely nothing.
An invitation into nothing. How truly powerful this is! I am not worrying about where to take her on a date or what memorable event I can invite her to. I am not trying to prove to her that I have a busy or interesting life. I have nothing special planned at all. I am offering her nothing. Which is to say, I am inviting her into the presence of us. Which is to say, I am inviting her into our own little world. Which is to say, I am inviting her into everything.
It doesn’t really matter what it is we do at all because we, together, are the event. We, together, are the memorable occasion. We, together, are all that matters. In other words, I actually do have something special planned: the experience of me and her together.
There is even a sense, I suppose, of subconsciously down-playing and disqualifying myself. It’s almost like some quaint part of me wants to strip everything away, down to the essence of just me and her, down to the simple ascetic beauty of “a jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou,” as Khayyám so wonderfully put it. I want her to accept my invitation simply because we like each other, not because of the distractions I might offer or because I have something cool for us to do. Yes, my love, I have nothing spectacular to offer you… just me… and yes, you’re still invited.
**
When a man meets a woman and he wants to ask her out on a date, he usually does it by… well, literally asking. He will say something like: “Would you like to get together sometime?” or “Are you free tomorrow evening?” or “Do you have any plans for this Thursday?” or “Would you like to have coffee with me?” or “It was nice talking to you. Can I call you sometime?” On the surface, these questions all seem innocuous and normal, a good thing to do. It’s better than doing nothing, right? However, he is still, hat in hand, asking.
I don’t ask for anything. I make statements. Big difference. With ease and delight, and a sparkle in my eye. I will say, “It was nice talking to you. I would love to see you again.” Or “Cancel your plans, sweet girl! Let’s get together tonight.” Or “I’m going for a coffee right now, if you’d care to join me.” All of this is presented as what it is, a pure and honest invitation. There is no hint of ordering her around or controlling or demanding. And no questions at all.
Only statements. Never questions. There seems to be little difference between saying, “Can I call you sometime?” and “I would love to call you.” Each, at first glance, is pretty much saying the same thing to her. In fact, she won’t even notice the difference. But the effect on the interaction is huge. Subtle but monumental. It speaks volumes to the heart of a woman, for it telegraphs to her that not only am inviting her to dance with me, but I am willing to lead the dance. Where are my desires as a man? Where is my masculine edge? Where is my love of women? Right there. Right there in front of you, my love.
**
A man sees a woman over there and he studies the situation, stands back, watches her, and wonders what is the best thing to do. Then when he has summoned enough courage, he approaches her and says whatever he thinks might be best to say. His intentions are good. His attraction is real. His approach is honest.
However, he has been conditioned by media or mother that he must remain sexually neutral, that he must not offend her. He has learned to hide his attraction, his desires, and certainly his sexuality, beneath a politically correct neutrality. This sets the tone for the encounter.
His conversation is surface, breezy, and innocuous. He might be pleasant and interesting. He might offer to buy her a drink. Oh, but he has something… he has an agenda, a desired outcome, hidden, buried, shunted into the shadows. He wants something from her: a phone number, or a date with her, or a one-night-stand, or a relationship, or love and marriage. None of this is secret to her, even though he thinks it might be. He is afraid to just say it. He is in his head the whole time, trying to figure it out. He is not really listening to the things she says because he is trying to angle the whole conversation toward his subterranean goal. He’s thinking: I have to somehow get her phone number or I’ve failed. And thus, he spends the entire time calculating, calibrating, inching toward his goal.
He measures his success in the interaction by her response, and how well it seems to align with his agenda. If she responds favorably, he feels good. If she doesn’t, he starts to feel that old familiar twinge of rejection. His hidden objective, he realizes, just might not be obtainable. Once again, he has failed. He turns away, dejected. He walks away knowing what he’s known all along: that he is not good enough.
None of those objectives are, within themselves, objectionable. People can want what they want. Desire is not a bad thing. Needing what they desire will create problems; hiding what they desire will create even more. And hiding it, of course, exacerbates the neediness. The mistake is to not express what we are really after. The hidden-ness of his agenda, his masking of intentions, his secrecy about his desired result, is what clouds the interaction.
When I meet a delightful girl, she knows exactly what I am all about within the first minute. She knows there is no way she can put me in the “let’s just be friends” box. How does she know this? Because I tell her! I tell her with my body language, my touch, and especially my words.
I just say it straight. Of course I would love to explore her in all her glory! Of course I am going to say, “Wow, look at you!” Of course I am going to say, “Run away with me…” That’s who I am. This is what I want. She, of course, can want something else entirely. That’s completely up to her. I can’t be rejected by her because I am not asking her for anything. I am just stating what I would like to happen. I am just speaking my truth. I’m just saying what I want.
A woman knows the difference between me and a guy who is on the make, trying to pick her up. And also the difference between me and a “nice guy” asking her out for a coffee and a subsequent string of frustrating dates.
Submitted September 04, 2019 at 02:52AM by Blakestone0 https://ift.tt/2zRCnlq
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