Miss Phat Booty

Some months ago, my roommate introduced me to an Italian shorty. He figured we’d be a good fit. Nice long brunette hair, and a fatty that defies explanation. Of course I was terrible back then. I couldn’t keep her interest in the club, and she left me on the dance floor to do her own thing.

Fast forward to last weekend, after a decent string of success this year and a lot more confidence. Well, at least I could hold a convo and keep her laughing while at the default spot. Roosh asked her about guys buying her drinks, and she said she never lets guys buy her drinks. If he insists, she just walks away. She’s not that type of girl. Hmmmm.

After a bit I went to the bar, and she gave me cash to get her a drink as well. I told Roosh how I thought things were going: “I’m not sure if there’s any connection.”

“Well if you like her, you should just go for her.”

Good advice. I went to give her the drink, but she was now surrounded by 3 dudes. No homo, but they were all really good looking. I gave her the drink and went to holla at something else.

After a while we decided it was time to move. I went back to where my roommate, his girl, and Miss Phat Booty were. The 3 dudes were still there. I told everyone we were moving on. Miss Phat Booty told one of the guys to take her number. But he didn’t. It was apparent why: he was wasted. He stuck his hand to me and greeted: “Heey mate! Wassssuuup. Maaayne, I am bout tuh huve a baybay on da way. I soo huppy!” He and his buddies were from London. All the while Miss Phat Booty kept trying to get him to take her number. Fail.

At the next spot, she wrapped her arm around my arm, looked up at me, and smiled. I felt like I was in. I told her to come with me to the bar while I got a drink. She held my hand and squeezed it tight. I told her what the deal was at the bar: “Now, I know you don’t like it when a guy buys you a drink, so if you want, you can walk away right now.” She laughed and had that look on her face like, yuuuuuuup, she just got got.

We danced, well, I stood against the wall and she danced on me. I knew I didn’t have to keep the convo going, but I didn’t want there to be too many pauses. So I started talking out of my ass: “my problem in this club is I get blocked by all these taller buffer dudes.”

“Well I think that you’re the cutest guy here.”

Time out. If you look above average, you still need game. Otherwise opportunities will pass you by. Believe me, I know. As I mentioned earlier, I got no where the first time I met her. But I’ve had worse. I mean times where I couldn’t even close the deal. I’m talking about having a friend tell the girl that it’s a good idea to have sex with me. Game Hall of Fail Fame.

While dancing, I started smelling some funky arm pits. I know she’s wearing a sleeveless top, but dayum she shoulda worn some deodorant! It wasn’t deal-breaking bad, but I started to wonder about this girl. Whatever. I’ll just cock my head to the side.

A group of guys walked by while she grinded on me. “Those Italian guys are hating on you right now.” Hmmmm. I know all about hate when I’m with an Italiana. I’m just glad no one bothered me this time.

I told her it was time to get out of there. She asked me if we were going to her place or mine. I told her mine.

It was mostly silence while driving back. I turned on some music, tried to keep the convo going, but wasn’t getting very far. Oh well, I’ll just drive to my crib and see what happens.

“Wait, we aren’t going to your crib, we’re going to mine.”

“Oh, ok.” I just kept driving towards my place. She didn’t bother giving me directions, and I didn’t ask. After a bit, she got the idea.

“I thought we were going to my place.”

“You dropped the ball, navigator.”

There still wasn’t much convo, and I was afraid she’d pass out. She seemed tired, and tipsy, on the walk upstairs. I was still having doubts. Then she went to the restroom.

While she was in the restroom, I still noticed the funk. Wait a second. Is that me? What the hell Rookie, how did you forget deodorant?? Oh well, it got me this far, no point on doing anything about it.

We went back to my room, and the clothes flew off. I grabbed a rubber.

“You better use a condom.”

“Yup. I got one.”

“What? Already?” Gotta love that token resistance. I’m glad there wasn’t any more than that. We were both ready to go.

This shows my progression in game over the past few months: from not being able to maintain a convo, to just spitting verbal diherrea, hoping some of it sticks to the walls. For this past weekend, it was all I needed.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, I had her put her number in my phone when I drove her home the next morning.