A guy and popular blogger, Legal Pub, who has become an Internet friend posted today about the serious crime of date rape. Here’s the link: http://legalpublication.blogspot.com/2008/09/actress-dame-helen-brings-date-rape.html

I wanted to point out an additional aspect of date rape along with other advice, which comes right out of God. It’s a story in which I nearly date raped someone, which, of course, surprised the hell out of me. (Please excuse any unusual spacing, etc; it’s a problem with Wordpress and their CSS’s, which occur when you cut & paste from Word.)

The Bitter Babe

Okay, we’ve discussed the bitter friend, but what about the bitter babe? The bitter babe is very different from the bitter friend. She is pretty and fed up with men and dating. Any woman can be a bitter babe at some point in her life.
A few years ago I was at a charity fundraiser thrown by an organization called the 20/30 Club. The club was started years ago by a bunch of young male professionals who wanted to meet more women, as well as help charities. They formed an organization that uses worthy causes and social events to bring professional singles together. Two great activities killed with one stone; what a great concept. The fundraiser was held at a bar called Jack Sullivan’s, which no longer exists, which is too bad because I did pretty well with women at that bar. (Every guy has a few bars where he has good success meeting women, and a few others where he can’t even get women to acknowledge he exists.)
One time at Jack’s, Steve and I ended up standing next to a group of pretty coeds who were looking for some action. They started pulling up each others shirts and flashing one another. It’s pretty easy to hook up with a woman when all a guy has to do is say, “Nice breasts.” Clearly, God—angry that I was successful with women at Jack’s—caused the bar to be closed.
I went to the charity event at Jack’s with a few buddies. We were all looking to meet someone, not to hook up with, but to date. We arrived early enough to commandeer a table and chairs. We were there for only a few minutes when a pretty redhead and blonde walked into the bar. They walked past us and headed upstairs. I noticed the redhead glance back at me a few times. The two women set up shop near the railing of the second floor. They people-watched patrons on the first floor from their post. I caught the redhead looking at me a bunch of times within the first twenty minutes. I sized her up: very pretty, early thirties, 5’7”, good body, nice tight butt. Her breasts were a little more than a handful, which I liked. Her bright blue eyes were the kiss of death. They lured me in all the way, especially with their contrast to her long red hair.
She scanned the room relentlessly. She scrutinized guys. She seemed a little annoyed and crossed her arms repeatedly. She didn’t laugh or smile. I decided to remain at my table for the night and not hit on women. Bad strategy to meet the redhead, right? Wrong. Different types of women need to be approached using different tactics. A lot of guys use the same tactic to meet women. They go out, they approach a woman, if she’s not interested or has a boyfriend, they move on to the next one. The weakness with this tactic is that women notice when guys hop around from one woman to the next. This offends lots of them and is a huge turnoff. It only works for trixies, vain women, and girls with low self-esteem.
These three types of women have a strong need to feel like they are the most desirable woman in the room. If a guy hops around and gets positive attention from the women he approaches, he will pique the competitive interest of trixies and other women with low self-esteem. When he selects one of these girls, she feels like she has won out over the other girls. This is important to her. Confident women don’t need such an ego boost. They don’t care to talk to a guy who is so obviously on the prowl. (Incidentally, if a guy hops around and is shunned by most of the women he meets, which is often the case, girls with low self-esteem will hardly say a word to him; they don’t want to be associated with other women’s rejects.)
This explains why confident beautiful women, referred to by some as “tens” (I’m not into the whole numbering system), sometimes date physically less-than-flattering guys. They know they are stunning and they have nothing to prove, so they don’t have the trixie competitive nature. They don’t need other women to be jealous of them in order to feel complete. Instead, they can simply go out with whomever they wish, as in the case of Nikki Cox and Bobcat Goldthwait.
Why don’t I like the numbering system? It’s inconsistent. A ten to one guy is often a seven to me and vice-versa. What’s the criteria? The system is too subjective to answer that question. Lots of guys give women with big fake breasts high numbers. I don’t find anything attractive about fake breasts and give these same women low numbers. Lots of magazines rate Halle Berry as the prettiest woman in Hollywood; I prefer Claire Forlani. It’s no secret why. Compare their eyes and remember my big weakness with women. Mostly, numbering is insulting to women. Instead, I just describe the woman and guys can assign her a number based on their own preferences, if they so wish.
The redhead wasn’t a trixie. She didn’t show signs of low of self-esteem. She watched various guys operate and seemed to criticize them to her friend. Every now and then, she glanced in my direction. What did she see when she checked on me? A guy just hanging out with his friends. I talked only to the women who were near us or who approached me. I was not on the prowl.
A lot of guys checked out the redhead but she was not approachable. She did not look like she was out to meet anyone. One guy did manage to talk to her at length. He was big, probably 6’4” with a solid build, about my age, twenty-eight. He’d talk to her for a while then go hit on younger women. When that didn’t pan out, he returned to her until other young trixies caught his eye. He’d go talk to them and then return. Eventually, he reduced his hopping around to just the redhead and one young trixie. Who would be the one lucky enough to nab him? Through it all, the redhead kept checking on me. I waited patiently. The big guy’s tactic wasn’t going to work on her, so I didn’t concern myself with him. My friend Steve showed up and I pointed out the big guy while making fun of his tactics, which is exactly what the redhead was doing with her friend. I knew she’d see me doing it, too.
It was really funny. The big guy was treating the redhead and the trixie the same. This is one big flaw with a lot of the books that give advice to guys on dating—they treat all women the same. The advice they give is geared primarily toward meeting, and typically nailing, shallow, pretty women. But, they insist that the advice is good for all women. They basically lump all women together into one mold. Unfair. That’s like suggesting all baseball players are the same just because they play baseball. Certainly not true; some are better hitters, some pitch, some field better, and so forth. It is the same for women, which is why the key to success starts with observation and has little to do with following a set procedure.
The bar thinned out as closing time neared. The redhead stood alone, still watching people over the rail. Her friend was busy talking to some guy; the big guy was talking to the trixie. It was time to make my move. I headed up the stairs and walked over to her. I didn’t say anything but instead leaned over the rail, looking where she was looking. I waited a few moments before speaking, “You’ve been up here all night watching people. So tell me, what are we looking at?”
She pointed to different patrons, “Well, that guy wants to go home with her, and she likes him, and that big guy there looks like a boring fuck anyway, and that guy there is gay and doesn’t know it.”
The “big guy” she referred to was the one who had been hitting on her earlier. She went on about him, “He just wants to pick up some young woman. The whole thing is pathetic, all these people trying to lie their way into bed. I’m so sick of the dating scene. If you wanna fuck me, just say you wanna fuck me, you know?”
Direct and honest. I like that in a woman. It’s a sign of maturity and confidence. I caught a glimpse of Steve approaching out of my eye. He arrived just in time to hear “If you wanna fuck me, just say you wanna fuck me.” He shook his head in disbelief. I could have said I wanted to fuck her. A lot of guys would have, but that was the wrong way to go. She’d know I was just saying what I thought she wanted to hear, and that would annoy her.
She was hurt that the big guy was going after a younger edition and she wasn’t going to put up with that shit. What did she want? To be fucked? To leave with the big guy? She wanted a victory; not a victory as in a guy, but rather a victory in the form of being one up on men. I was happy to give it to her; she deserved it. In response to her fuck-me line, without missing a beat, I gave my reply, “Wow. You’ve stumped me. No one’s ever stumped me, but you just did.”
She smiled, “Really?”
We spoke for about ten minutes. She was very bitter. Along with being upset at the big guy and with dating in general, she was overworked at a job she hated, angry with a guy she was “kind of dating,” and upset with her family. I needed to change her focus to find success.
“Would you like to dance?”
“There’s no dance floor.”
I stepped into her, “There is now.”
She smiled again and I put my arms around her. Steve and I took a few turns dancing with her before he left. After he was gone, she and I began to kiss. Her name was Lisa. Soon the bar began to close. I walked Lisa outside. She did not say goodbye to the big guy, who had since been ditched by the trixie.
I wanted Lisa. She stirred me up and I found her to be a breath of fresh air from the trixies saturating the bars I had been to recently. When we got outside, she immediately hailed a cab. I figured she’d jump in with a quick blurb that it was nice to meet me and drive away. Instead, she opened the cab door and looked at me, “So, are we going back to your place or mine?”
Wow, what a wonderful surprise! I lived closer, so we headed to my place.
Cab drivers probably make their most money picking up a couple headed for a one-night stand. I gave him twenty dollars for an eight-dollar ride and we got out of the cab. A guy on the verge of getting lucky doesn’t want to wait for change. That’s just more time for the woman to change her mind. He wants the cab gone as soon as possible, before the girl has a change of heart and decides to take the cab home. Guys about to have one-night stands make for big tips.
Inside my place things got busy pretty fast. We sat on the futon, where I removed Lisa’s shirt and pants as we made out. She was wearing a sexy black thong and black bra. After a while I went for the bra. She pushed me away and instead tore off my clothes. She was really into biting. She took hard bites at little pieces of skin on my chest, followed by great big bites of chunks of skin. I literally thought she was going bite my nipples off. It was quite painful. She went down on me. My immediate fear was that she would bite me down there, too. (She didn’t, thank goodness.) Something told me this was as far as it was going to go—a blowjob. I wanted more, so I had to make a move.
I stopped her from sucking on me (there’s something a guy doesn’t do often), and went back to trying to remove her lingerie. The bra came off easily but when I tried to remove the panties, she held them on by the waistband. I licked her crotch. I had found this to be a good way to get panties off when women hesitated to remove them. It worked like a charm. She gasped and let go of the waistband. I slid the panties off her. I was very glad I did. She had the best shave job I’ve ever seen. Her bush was this perfect, little narrow triangle, not too big, not too small. She was a natural redhead. I rolled her over and bit her sweet ass for a while, then rolled her onto her back. Her butt was pretty mushy upon touch, which was a little disappointing but I managed to cope. I slipped a condom on and prepared to enter. She suddenly went limp. Her eyes closed and she lay absolutely still.
“Lisa? Lisa? Are you okay?” I whispered.
She nodded and muttered.
“Do you want me inside you?”
She nodded again and muttered. She was clearly out of it, or faking, angry that I had removed her panties under false pretense. It could also have been the alcohol and work stress that suddenly gave her fatigue. She lay there, practically asleep. I thought about it. She was right there, lying naked before me. She wanted me inside her and I seriously thought about it. It would have been so very easy. My faculties weren’t one hundred percent either, as I’d had lots to drink myself. I rubbed against her to see if that would bring some life into her. She murmured as though she were in a dream, “Mmm. That feels good.”
I pushed in just the top of the tip. Nothing. I backed away. She wasn’t kissing back, she wasn’t moving; she wasn’t doing anything. Is this date rape? I loomed over her for a good ten minutes, trying to make up my mind if I wanted to do her or not. She was so beautiful, lying there naked. Also, I had to pee badly, which is impossible while sporting wood, so I needed to finish to take care of that.
I decided that it would be inappropriate and for the first time I could see how a guy could do such a thing under certain conditions. The idea of banging a girl lying dormant held little interest to me. The idea of doing Lisa lying there completely naked in front of me—with a little more than a handful of perky tits and the best shave job I’ve seen—held lots of interest to me. I debated another ten minutes. A battle of will and hormones was raging and will was on the verge of defeat. Finally, though, I acknowledged that I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I pulled the futon away from the wall and opened it. I took off my condom, to help keep the hormones from resurging a more effective assault, and lay down beside her.
I watched her sleep most of the night. When it got cold, I threw a blanket over us and cuddled up against her. She was responsive and cuddled back. Every now and then I removed the blanket to look at her some more, then replaced it. I didn’t take care of my pee problem. I was afraid that if I solved the dilemma on my own, she would wake up and want to fuck. I’d have wasted a great boner, which would have been a huge disappointment to me and my hormones.
I spent about eight hours with a full erection, much longer than the suggested length Viagra warns about in its commercials. I didn’t know such a thing was possible. I couldn’t sleep, what with the naked woman beside me and my current state of excitement. I suppose I could have left her and gotten into my own bed but that didn’t even occur to me at the time. When lying next to a beautiful naked woman, not much occurs to a guy. Even if it had, getting into my own bed would have seemed like wasting a perfectly promising nude woman and no guy is going to do that.
So I lay there, for eight hours, in erotic discomfort. It was torture. God was doing some of Her best work on me. She knew I wouldn’t take care of business myself and She had made me drink all those beers to fill up my bladder. Then She knocked out the naked woman, leaving me in a frenzied state. That Bitch! Lisa woke up in the late morning with a raging migraine. I assured her we had not had sex.
“You know, you could have. I wanted to, but I think I’m glad you didn’t.”
“I don’t think it would have been any good for me with you just lying there. Sex to me is kind of an everybody-participates sport.”
I walked her out and waited for her to get into a cab. I hurried back home and took care of unfinished business. After that, I took the most satisfying pee of my life. Aaah!
I learned three things from Lisa:
· Any guy can end up in a position to date-rape someone.
· Be gentler with women’s nipples.
· There is a right way to pick up the bitter babe.
I never imagined that I would ever be in a position to date-rape someone. I was that night, though, and it took every bit of discipline I had to restrain myself. Hormones are extremely powerful, especially when they travel in groups numbering over three times the normal amount. There are different types of date rape. One type is exactly what it’s called, the rape of a woman by her date. Another type is the one I faced. It’s the type of rape where a woman no longer has the faculties to consent, usually because she’s drunk.
I think this type of date rape is quite a double standard. If a guy and girl are both drunk off their asses and they have sex, she may not be held accountable for her actions, while he could be charged with rape. If a woman isn’t responsible for consenting to sex because she is drunk, how can a guy be responsible for engaging in sex if he is drunk, too? Realistically, I don’t know how many of these cases are tried. Fortunately for both men and women, there is a naturally built-in safety switch: A guy too drunk to think clearly is almost always too drunk to get aroused.
Prior to my night with Lisa, my idea of date rape was a scenario in which the woman is drunk and the man is sober. In such a scenario, clearly the man is abusing the woman. I quickly dismissed this misconception when I found myself sprawled over a nearly passed-out woman, thinking Oh my God, this is date rape. It’s far more likely that both the guy and girl are drunk. Date rape is another good reason to stay away from drunken women. If a guy is inebriated and takes a drunken woman home, he is likely to engage in sex with her. He could be charged with date rape. Just like drunken women who go home with strangers, this guy has put himself in the unwise position of being unsafe. The best play for him is not to take her home in the first place.
I’ve been tough on some women’s nipples. After nearly having mine ripped off in a set of gnashing teeth, I learned to be gentler with nipples—not too gentle, because that’s no good either—but definitely gentler.
The bitter babe is tricky to pick up and can be a lot of work if approached incorrectly. She is worth the time, though, as usually she is not in the mood to play games, so a guy can refreshingly be straightforward. I actually learned how to hook up with bitter babes prior to meeting Lisa, but since I was successful in those stories, they have no business in this book. The quandary with the bitter babe is two-fold. First, she can be any type of woman, which needs to be determined to have a chance with her. Second, she is skeptical and critical of men. She needs to be approached carefully.
I like showing the bitter babe a good time. I feel like I am giving her some things she really needs, namely some good treatment, sex, and respect. Bitter women are mostly bitter because they have been dissed a lot, they feel disrespected. There are often times, though, when I pass bitter women over because I just don’t have the desire to sit still for a long time or have the patience to deal with their bitterness. They can be a lot of work and take much energy.
The best way to approach a bitter babe is not to approach her. Let her observe. Watch how she responds. If she keeps looking over, she is intrigued and interested. She can’t figure out the behavior and that piques her interest. Go over and talk to her. If a guy doesn’t behave the way a bitter woman expects him to behave (in short, if he doesn’t behave like a guy), he may have a chance with her. Bitter babes aren’t looking for a male; they’re looking for an anti-male. I have the bite marks to prove it.