After years of preaching about my need for an “aggressive girl” I’m realizing that I’ve got an aggressive and downright chivalrous side to me that’s increasingly making appearances. Especially after a few pints. After all, that’s how I ended up sleeping next to Kandace last weekend.
A month ago while I was in Belfast I half-joking half-seriously asked the DCU guys where they go to pick up girls. I wasn’t looking for a quick one night stand but after watching girl after girl walk into a bar and pick up a guy within seconds, my frustration level was about maxed out. Kevin let out a boisterous laugh, then told me to go to a place called BarCode. It was out in a suburb of Dublin, away from the city centre. He told me that it was the only place in Dublin where I could walk in, say I’m twenty and American and easily end up hooking up that night.. He also confided in me that the club hardly ever checks IDs, so be careful of picking up really young girls. I took note of it, but truthfully couldn’t care less. A real place in Dublin where students actually go, far away from the prying eyes of horny Irishmen looking for some easy foreign tail? A place where I could shamelessly play the age card I saw used every night we went out? Needless to say it sounded like too good of a thing to be true, a mystical Avalon ever beyond my reach.
After spring break I kept the place in the back of my mind, occasionally trying to get my friends here (mostly girls) to come out and join me. Naturally, they’d rather pay 6 euro a pint for a change of meeting a 28 year old Frenchmen named Henri. Tensions finally came to a head on Thursday when I desperately wanted to give BarCode a try but my friends flatly refused even though I had accompanied them on many a shit night. I practically told them to sod off, but couldn’t work up the courage to take a taxi by myself to what was probably a rather sketchy club. I ended up venting to another friend of mine who was able to parse through my bullshit, calm me down, and reminded me why I was here in the first place.
The next day, I woke up determined to go to BarCode. Even if the world crashed down, I was going. People could join, people could stay home. I was going to go and put Kevin’s maxim to the test. The floor below me has an “American night” consisting of staying in, playing beer pong, Kings, and generally just getting sloshed at the apartment. The combination of several Southern Comfort and Cokes and some Bailey’s Irish cream knock off had me stumbling around, groping for something to hold onto even before I drank with them for another hour or two. I tried to get a few other people to come along, but they admittedly already had other plans, and American Night had been a resounding success with everyone obliterated before midnight. Finally I got up, announced to no one in particular that I was off, and a few close friends wished me luck.
I vaguely remember catching a taxi to BarCode and weaving in and out of suburbia. Out of nowhere, a large open space and complex stood in front of me like the Gates of Eden. A quick scan reveals a very young crowd, but no stodgy tourists or loud Americans. I’m in.
The place was huge, and an ideal layout for a club. The dance floor is well populated, but the music isn’t deafening and crazy strobe lights are kept to a minimum. The girls are cute and drinking on average twice as much as I am. I stumbled over to the bar, now more tipsy than trashed. I order a pint, take a sip, and… now what? When you’ve got a group with you, you’re able to stake out an area, sit and chat, and eventually groups start mingling as the night grows ever longer and more drinks are poured. All I can do is take a seat on the couch and drink some more. I inadvertently people watch, trying not to look like THAT guy.
A few minutes pass and a young guy walks up to me with a certain skip in his step. “Hey man, how’s it going” he asks with what sounds like sincerity. I tell him that everyone I know was being lame tonight, so I came alone. He pulls up a chair and tells me of his night and his recent troubles with his girlfriend. Two strangers, united by our bizarre fates.
After two rounds, he asks if I’ve met his older sister. Charlie is only about 17 himself, so how much older could his sister be? He walks us over to a nearby table and introduces me to Kandace. One quick look confirms she’s my type. Jet black hair, a killer smile, and an attitude that screams “I don’t care, but really I might”. We effortlessly slip into conversation as she tells me that she’s half-Irish, half-Kiwi but she’s been here since she was four. Her accent is a new pleasure, and turning me on effortlessly. She’s even got that acidic wit that drives me wild. Fuck, I think. This is it, don’t mess this up.
We continue our conversation, but as it always happens we both have to go to the bathroom. We agree to meet back up on the smoker’s patio, and I practically jaunted over to the bathroom. The birds are chirping, the hallelujah chorus is primed, and the past few months of sexual frustration is all prelude. Then I walked into the smoker’s patio and saw another guy chatting her up. His hands are on his hips and he’s doing all the standard male posturing. She looks bored, or at least I hope she is.
I began to walkover to them, unsure of what the hell I was going to do next.
Wait for him to finish talking to her? Put my hand on her even though we haven’t kissed? Get into a brawl? What the fuck was I doing? I’m not aggressive in the slightest and I would never just make a brash move.
Was Everything I was thinking before I walked up to her and promptly made out with her without saying a word. She was a bit surprised, but quickly responded in kind with a rather nice session of wandering hands and intense kissing. The other guy must have left once I did that, as when I opened my eyes a few minutes later he was gone.
The night continued on from there, and her and I are continuing to text back and forth. It’s a game of nervous anxiety, but after so long it’s grand to just be back in the game at all.
Am I aggressive? Why can I be brash and bold with everything BUT the approach? And why do dark haired vixens with a silver tongue turn me on like no other?
Questions for another night, surely.
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3 comments:
Steve: 1, Road to Celibacy: 0
Good for you, just going for it like that--you seem a bit more galvanized as a result. I've always pitied guys for having to be the ones who did all the approaching and chatting up--it's yet another tragedy of our strict gender conventions (but one of the few we women benefit from).
If it's any comfort, I do think that women tend to take a bit more charge as they get older and more confident. So hopefully by the time we're 25-30, you'll only have half the pressure to be aggressive as you do now. Or I could be wrong and women will still be acting coy then; and in an act of frustration you'll end up in a seedy BDSM club eyeing leathered-up dominatrixes because that's the only place you can find aggressive women. Ahem. But I remain optimistic about a sadomasochistic-free life for you (so long as that's not what you're aiming for, of course).
I thought your entry was going to take an interesting turn when that young guy approached you, Steve, but I was mistaken. Anyway, good for you, darling. :)
Beautifu!
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