Never was your beast of burden...

I have a mini-project going on at the moment, as I have mentioned.

My female friend, C, and the object of her lust, Crosser.

You think this wouldn't be hard. Guys are easy. She's hot, he's hot and, well, the average horny male, so everything should be fine.

However, she needs emotional connection. She needs to really know her partner, needs to be friends with her partner, for the sex to be enjoyable for her. She won't do one-nighters.

Doubly hard is that she's not his type, physically or personality-wise. He likes socially dominant women, women who are tall and assertive. He's a bit of a sub-boy. C is not a socially dominant woman, she's 5'3", and she's not too aggressive. I am a socially dominant and assertive woman, and I'm 5'9". What she does have going for her, in regards to him, is that she is very alternative looking. Suicide Girl type. You know what I'm talking about.

So I am working with her to get him into her bed while getting him to emotionally bond with her on at least a friendly level while keeping him off me. Which means that I have to reign everything I normally am in around him, including my inherent sexuality and my constant need to flirt and provoke, while bringing out hers and directing her.

I was reading an article a few months ago about when you go out and are winging for someone, you need to be at about the same energy and competence level. I didn't understand that at the time.

I totally do now.

She met him recently, at one of her social groups. He was new to the scene (still is, technically) and came with one of her more recent exes (A girl. C's bi.). Crosser is physically masculine, but quite feminine in how he presents himself. This is completely and totally C's type. She loves the girly men.

They live a few miles from each other, which is incredibly good for her, especially since we're in LA and traffic is such a hinderance. So he invited her to a few things, invited her to carpool with him to parties and the like. But each time he flaked.

She was getting confused. Why would you keep inviting someone and then flaking on them?

Multiple reasons, really. Some, totally logical. Some, not so much.

So she comes to me for advice. I toss up options for her, depending on her intent, depending on how she's reading him. I've never met him, so I'm working with generalities, which I really don't care for. She determines, in the end, that she should just back off and not pursue him. I suggested the same thing, but for different reasons.

Last week, he invited her to bar where his little brother's band is playing, and she invites me a long so I can meet him, see what I think.

We get there, introductions happen, he sits us down by the merch booth (as I mentioned in an earlier post), and he sits with us for a minute, but a bunch of friends of his and his little brother's are there, so he keeps wandering off.

I'm quite happy with this for my own sake, because the merch booth is being manned by his twin brother, who is a more masculine version of him. Thankyouthankyouthankyou. Girly men aren't for me. Thanks for the eye-candy.

But that leaves C staring off after him every time he leaves, looking like a new puppy whenever her master leaves for work in the morning and they sit at the front door and howl.

This causes lots of nudging under the table. I knock her with my knee everytime she does this and she has no idea why. I try to keep her laughing with outraegous statements and dry observations about the bar attendees. It's hard to keep her with me, she keeps trying to look for him.

After twenty or thirty minutes of this, one of her friends shows. THANK GOD.

He sits across the table from us, forcing C to turn her body away from the rest of the bar, away from Crosser, and since her friend is quite confident and engaging, between the two of us, we keep her active, occupied, and laughing.

This, of course, brings him back to our table.

The first round, he sits on her left. She says something that reminds me of a movie, so I quote the part I was thinking of to her, she laughs, and he mentions he's never seen the movie before.

V: "Oh, you haven't? You really should. I haven't seen it in awhile. C, we should totally watch it next week on our movie night."
C: "Totally. What do you want to eat?"
V: "I do the cream of cauliflower you made the other night. Crosser, she is such an awesome cook, she makes all the dinners for our movie nights. It's always fantastic."
C: "The cauliflower, really?"
V: "I like it. (then to Crosser) We have these movie nights every week, where a bunch of people come over and we watch horrible movies. C has this great house, cooks dinner for us, we end up laughing all night at these movies. It's totally fun."
C: "Okay, I guess I'll make the cauliflower. I thought it was too burnt last time."
V: "I don't know what you're talking about, it was delicious. No burnt tones at all. (to Crosser) You know, you live right by her, you should come next week. We can watch this movie so you can fill your 90s culture void."
C: "Oh! Oh, yeah! You should come! Let me give you my address."

Address was given. Finally. Talk about pulling teeth.

He takes off again, then comes back... but sits next to me, close enough that our thighs are pressing against each other. This isn't good. He leans towards me as C and her friend are talking. Ah, crap. I purposefully slagged out. Barest make-up, t-shirt and jeans, hair in a pony-tail. End.

He suggests that after the bar closes, we all go back to his place, right down the street.

I bail. I'm tired, I'm good to go home. He's extended the invite to the group, so I don't have to be there.

I hear from C that they got food and went to his place afterwards, then her friend gave her a ride back home. Her interest in Crosser has been rekindled, and she's thrilled that he is coming to the movie night the following week.


So, yesterday was C's birthday.

She wanted to do kareoke at, surprise surprise, the bar that Crosser frequents for kareoke on Tuesdays. It's a cool place and right down the street from her house, so I really don't blame her.

Initially, I wasn't going to go. I'm getting sick. I need more sleep.

But on promises that she would serenade me with Olivia Newton-John's "Physical", I relented and said I would attend, but leave by 11.

Two others are meeting us there, and we're picking up her guy friend (who I've grown very fond of) from the previous encounter on the way. And, of course, Crosser will be there.

I pick a round table near the stage, bar stools required for the height.

Five stools are acquired. I'm certainly not going to let Crosser think that we expected his company.

We sit. C is in the middle (poor choice, but *shrug*), I'm on her right, her guy friend is on her left. Two empty seats across from her. She should've sat in one of the two empties next to each other.

Crosser shows up, shakes her friend's hand, hugs her, barely says anything to me (which I thought was a good thing). He orders a drink and food to come to our table for him, then runs off to socialize. He starts to man the kareoke booth, so C goes in to put in her song. When she comes back, I suggest she let him know his drink is at the table.

But between this, her friend and I switch seats so I have a better view. I'm on her left now, he's on her right. This puts me next to Crosser's chosen seat. Not my intent, but, again, I've kept it mellow tonight. Make-up consists of lipgloss, again, jeans and a t-shirt, hair pulled back. I'm getting sick, I'm exhausted, I don't care.

He leans towards me, we're touching again. Asks me how my weekend was, if I got up to anything fun. I grin at him because he's inquiring as to if I went swinging with GV8 again. I believe he's come under the very correct impression that my weekends tend to turn into me being pampered, running all over LA, and having fantastic sex.

C starts serenading me. Her voice is a little off because she's sick. But she's doing her thing, being flirtatious and I'm giggling like hell because she dressed up for the part. During the bridge, she comes over to the table and I tease her that she isn't stripping so I feel short-changed. Dual purpose, one, it brings her towards the table, and two, when the song kicks back in she starts stroking her chest and undulating her hips in my direction, but since Crosser is next to me, it's towards him as well. Finally bringing the sex, thank you C.

Song finishes, someone drops by the song book so C, on my right, and her friend (on C's right) are flipping through it. I lean over to her and tell her that if she gets up and "goes to the bathroom", I will slide into her seat to "look at the song book" so she can take mine and talk to Crosser.

This also brings them into physical contact because I had to add an extra chair for him, squeezing us all tightly together.

She smiles, goes to the restroom, and I slide over, teasing her friend about song choices. C comes back, slides in next to Crosser, and they start talking.

Perfectly smooth, perfectly natural.

They sat and talked, legs touching for fifteen, twenty minutes. He got up to do a song, then came back to the table. But instead of sitting, he decided to stand between C and myself, wedging himself in and placing both hands on the back of our chairs, his right hip against my leg.

Crap.

Close body language, pronto. Yes, he's hot. Yes, he's wearing a t-shirt that clings to his chest and abs, his biceps are decent, his hair needs work, his teeth are perfect, skin is clear, and he's several inches taller than me, but he's not my style of guy on a sexual level, but he's good to look at.

I shift my hips (and therefore feet) towards C's friend on my right, square my shoulders away from Crosser, and start interacting with C's friend again, occasionally looking back towards Crosser and C to comment on something. Within two minutes, he's dropped his hand off the back of my chair and turned to face her with his chest, arm still on the back of her chair, perfectly open.

Score.

Another few songs, and I decide to leave. I take C's friend home. He lent me one of his Thin Lizzy CDs. I've been meaning to listen to that band for too long now, and keep getting distracted with my trip-hop.

C and I discussed, while we were at the bar, the movie night tomorrow. What she wanted to accomplish, what she wanted to learn, who we should invite who would contribute to the atmosphere and conversation in the way we wanted it to flow.

And she got Crosser to give her a ride home. I was hoping she would.

So tomorrow night will be part 3 in this ongoing saga. It's not going too poorly at all.