Tale of Three Women: Part Three
So far we’ve learned two lessons: in part one, that success with women isn’t so much what you do right as much as what you DON’T do wrong; and in part two, that you can’t judge a girl by her looks and that skill involved with women isn’t execution as much as adaptation.
Now, I’ll take you through an odd and confusing night I had with an Indonesian woman. Hopefully it will elucidate our final lesson: that ultimately, your expectations and perceptions will shape your outcomes, for better or worse.
Two nights after my escapades with the hot Norwegian, my friend and I were hanging out at our hotel bar having a couple beers. We were both exhausted from a full day of surfing and planned on having “just one beer” to help ourselves wind down for the night.
Now, I suspect everybody reading this has shared these famous last words before many-a-time: “I’ll have just one beer.” Predictably, we end up at a karaoke bar down the street plowing through a 2-for-1 special on fish bowls filled with some strange fruity concoction made from Arak (a local rice wine), vodka, and fresh pineapple juice. We got drunk.
While engorging ourselves on our gaudy beverages, we watched Australian tourists, one by one, file onto the stage and make complete fools of themselves by attempting to sing karaoke. The talent was weak that night, both on stage and off, and although we talked to a few women, again nothing notable happened for the first few hours.
We bounced around a bit and tried out other bars. We went across the street to a more or less empty dive bar with a shitty cover band playing 80′s music. Why we chose to go in, I’ll never know.
The lone patrons there were two attractive girls, dressed up nice with make up, fancy dresses and very stylish hair. Locals. My friend immediately made a B-line to sit next to one at the bar.
If you didn’t catch it before, I’ll state this explicitly: Southeast Asia is overrun with prostitutes. They’re everywhere. And if you haven’t noticed by my writing recently, I’m pretty jaded about them.
But my friend had only been in Asia for 3-4 days, so he was pretty unsuspecting and uninitiated. We had talked about it a bit over dinner one night, and he had met some prostitutes when he visited Colombia one summer. But other than that, he was inexperienced and mildly oblivious.
On the flip side of that coin, I have reached the point that whenever I see local women who are attractive and dressed very well, sitting in a tourist bar, I immediately assume they’re prostitutes and they will say or do anything to make a quick buck.
Not that I have anything against prostitution in general, but having been subjected to them many, many times over the previous two months, I was extremely reticent around them. I discovered during my trip that they’re not always forthright about their intentions or their profession, and will sometimes mislead you or outright lie to you to con money out of you.
The lesson here is that unless you’re willing to pay for play, steer clear.
With that out of the way… I will say the nice thing about the pros is they’re always friendly and talkative, so there’s no harm in sitting down next to one and having a drink. It’s like lap dances at a strip club, you can hang out with her, but tell her no when she offers.
So that’s what I decided to do… besides, my buddy had just sat down next to one of the girls and I worried that he couldn’t fend for himself.
I sit down. I turn to the girl next to me and introduce myself. She speaks broken English. Operating under my assumption that she’s a prostitute, I know I can say and do anything without threat of rejection, so I decide to make things fun.
Bypassing the boring and obligatory small-talk in broken tongues, I go into stupid touching games, an old favorite from my pick up artist days. Thumb wars, hand slaps, high fives and twirls — all the classics that I’ve come to love and abhor after doing them 3,500 times.
She loves it. She’s having a ball, giggling and getting excited as I present each new game or scenario to her. I tell myself that it’s because she’s not used to guys engaging her with things not involving their wallet and then continue. I make her stand up (wow, she’s short). We dance. But not normal booty-grinding dance, we ballroom dance with all of the dips, spins and twirls intact.
She’s on cloud nine. She’s reacting to everything I do like it’s Christmas-fucking-morning. Again, I write this off as most of the guys she deals with are fat, 50-year-old, drunk Aussie men who want happy-endings. This must be a refreshing change of pace for her.
I look to see how my buddy is doing… and… he’s gone? His girl’s gone too. Wow, what happened? I was sure he wasn’t in the market, but who knows, maybe he got drunk and she was persuasive…
I ask my girl where they went and she says she doesn’t know. Confused, I sit back down and ask the bartender but he doesn’t know either. A few minutes later, the bar brightens and it’s time to leave. She turns to me and asks me in broken English what I’m doing now.
I say, “I’m going home.”
She looks at me expectantly. Awkward silence. OK, I’ll bite. I ask, “Do you want to come?”
She smiles and nods.
OK. Decision-time. I stiffen up. Take her hand. Look her in the eye and speak slowly so she can understand me:
“You need to understand… I don’t pay money.”
She looks at me a little confused. I repeat it, this time slower and louder. I point at me when I say “don’t pay” and then point at her when I say “money.”
She looks like she’s thinking about it. Then she looks at me and says, “I understand.” I reiterate one last time. “I don’t pay money.” Now she looks at me like I’m crazy and says, “OK. I understand.”
We leave together. She lets me drive her motorbike back to the hotel with her on the back. Realizing that my buddy could be doing the dirty with his girl in the hotel room, I decide to give him a 30-40 minute grace period before I impose. I take my girl to the hotel bar and order a couple beers for us.
There’s no music, so now we’re subjected to actually speaking to each other for the first time. I ask her about her work. She says she’s on vacation in Bali, that she’s from Jakarta and she’s a hair-dresser. That would explain the hair, but I asked how she affords coming to Bali. Her sister works in a massage parlor here and she stays with her.
Sounds fishy to me…
She asks me some questions about the USA, and shows genuine interest and excitement by some of my answers. She says she’s never met an American before, which I find hard to believe.
We finish our beers. I’ve given my buddy enough time, so we proceed up to the room. But before we go in, once again, I stop her and say, “You understand that I don’t pay. You sleep here, but I don’t pay.”
She looks at me seriously now and says, “No, you don’t pay!”
OK then… we go in. Strangely my friend isn’t there. Don’t think too much of it and get into bed. Pretty soon (as usual) sex starts happening.
Not two minutes into it, my buddy busts into the room and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “Dude, you won’t believe what just happened.”
I look at the little Javanese girl below me, “Oh, shit.” I knew she was bad news.
My friend collapses on his bed and begins to launch into a drunken story until he he notices the girl underneath me. Not skipping a beat he says, “Oh, I’ll just tell you tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’m just going to sleep, you guys can do whatever you want.”
He was wasted. And for the second night in three days, he lay in bed while I had sex less than 10 feet away from him… What a true friend.
The next morning I wake up to being massaged. I roll over and she is wide awake and has a huge smile on her face. She’s affectionate: kissing me constantly, holding me, rubbing me, cooing in Java to herself as she rubs my fingers.
This is unexpected.
My buddy once again makes his patented, “I’m going to get breakfast,” maneuver. I didn’t intend on it, but we end up having sex again. She was so touchy that it ended up happening. After that she wants to shower together. I’m more baffled than anything and start to get a serious feeling of uncertainty as I climb into the shower with her. I checked to make sure my wallet, my iPod, my laptop were all secure, that my money wasn’t missing. Why was she being so cute and affectionate?
I also realized how absolutely atrocious her English actually was. It blows my mind that we were able to have some semblance of communication at all the night before, as we begin to struggle with plain topics such as, “Where are you going today?”
What does come through in the next few minutes is the following: where she’s staying, when her flight to leave is, and that she wants to see me again that night. Will I come? Will I come see her? Please?
Wait… Doesn’t she have other tricks to turn? She knows I’m not paying her… Uhh… she isn’t REALLY on vacation here, is she?
I walk her to her motorbike. She looks sad. She pushes me again to come see her. I lie and say I will, but honestly it was just to get her to leave. My cognitive dissonance is peaking and I don’t know what to think of her anymore. Super cute Javanese girl with a tiny body and a big heart? Or yet another con artist?
Either way, she didn’t believe me. She didn’t stand for it. She asked me this time why I was making her leave. I didn’t really have an answer, or at least one that could be explained easily.
More awkward silence… Then she looked at me seriously and in her cute, broken accent, “Why you think I prostitute?”
What killed me here wasn’t what I did, but what I didn’t do: defend myself. A moment passes and I don’t deny it. Sadness washes over her face. Fuck. This is how you make girls cry Mark… Tears began to form in her eyes. But before they could spill over and before I could save myself, she put her helmet on and got on the bike and rode away without looking back…
I met my friend in the hotel restaurant. I asked him what his story from the night before was.
He said, “You won’t believe it man, these girls are here on vacation from Jakarta for a few days, and were sick of all of the drunk Aussie guys. Dude, I talked to her for like 10 minutes tops and she came straight home with me. I’ve never had a girl so into me so fast before. But after the sex, she got all touchy-feely and asked if I was her boyfriend. Isn’t that crazy? It kind of freaked me out, so I made her leave. But then she started crying about seeing me again, I think she’s in love with me or something. It was really weird.”
“Wait, so you didn’t pay her?” was all I could come back with…
“What? No… they’re both on vacation like us… wait, were they hookers?!?”
I look away and sigh, “No… no, they weren’t.”
This is the takeaway: every woman you approach, you have some preconceived notion of you, of her, of what’s going to happen, what “should” happen, etc. These perceptions, good or bad, will shape your outcomes.
If you believe that every woman is going to be a bitch and not be interested in you because you’re short, then you’re going to behave in a way that she’s going to brush you off as a guy who’s insecure about being short. And you will have been right. If you expect hot club girls to not give you a second look because they’re drunk and entitled bitches, they’re going to detect your anger and insecurity and they will act like an entitled bitch around you. And you will have been right.
If you expect every woman to love you and want you unconditionally, then most women you meet will find something to love and want in you. If you expect most women you date to think you’re the best thing that ever happened them, then you will behave in such a caring and giving, yet strong way that will make women happier with you than anybody else. And you will have been right.
And finally, if you expect the girl you’re talking to to be a prostitute, then you’re going to treat her like a prostitute and she will end up feeling like one. And you will have been a stereotyping asshole.
Get your dating life handled. Become an attractive man once and for all, without faking it or pretending to be someone you’re not.
Models: Attract Women Through Honesty has been referred to as the best book in the field by many, and has received five-star reviews from all over the world.