75% of picking up “girls” is attitudinal, 15% what you say, and 10% your innate sexual appeal (or the lack thereof) to them. In other words, if she doesn’t dig you, and your demeanor and delivery are off, talk is cheap. Would you buy a great car from a salesperson who kept fumbling with his clipboard, staring at his feet, and pausing at a loss for words, even though he named every last feature the vehicle has, the service plans, etc? Not so much. When you’re scheming on some drawers, less is more.
Fine women hear a load of crap from male strangers every day- catcalls, lewd stuff, compliments, financial propositions, braggadocio, tired rap, and worse. You have no clue, having never been a woman. Never say six words when three will do. You’ll never get anywhere walking up and running off at the face with a bunch of mindless chatter. Hit home with some words that carry meaning, and throw off some charisma. Be succint, direct, energetic, and interesting. If you feel a little hesitant, or even have had a bad day, don’t step to her. Talking to babes is like a sexual polygraph, a lot of things which come through are involuntary and nonverbal. A lot of what I say is very straightforward, but clean, and spoken in short sentences with some of the words implied. Think of an instrumental jazz phrase, or a minimalist painting- these things allow us to mentally fill in the blanks.
“Miss me?”, said in jest, beats “Did you miss me?”
Let your body language and your tone do a lot of the talking. “Where do we go now?” in a nightclub sounds quite different if you extend your forearm for her to lock arms with you. In a happy hour bar once, I sidled up to a babe a guy had been trying to pull for a solid 45 minutes, and said:
“I think you’re the one,” and we ended up spending the better part of that weekend together. I don’t know if Mr. Longwind even copped the digits. Short and sweet (like she was)- that’s how we roll at PullJoy. I remember getting this fine Creole divorcee I’ll call “Giselle”, to roll her call window down so I could meet her as she drove away from a convenience store in one of America’s most liberal suburbs. Had to be almost midnight. All I said when she looked was, “Who are you?”. I found out, too.
I met a babe once, arts student with her own suburban crib, we’ll call her “Leslie”, with little more conversation than, “You look nice to kiss.” First thing out of my mouth- and on my 25th birthday, Leslie was singing “Happy Birthday” to me in the breathy manner Marilyn Monroe sang it to Jack Kennedy. Get in, get going, build rapport, and elevate to a kiss.
Phat babes don’t waste time, and neither should you.