Play or you'll never know...

I'm in her kitchen, sitting on a barstool, one arm on the marble countertop.

It's dusk, she's at the stove cooking dinner, and he is on the patio having another cigarette, glowing cherry visible from my seat if I just turned my head.

"I need to ask you something," she says, setting the spatula onto the counter, meat simmering in the pan.

I'm always worried when conversations come with a preface. It's rarely a good sign.

She sits on the stool in front of me, drawing her legs up and hooking her feet on the rungs.

"I think I screwed up."

"How so?" the common question that falls often from my lips.

"I think I came onto this guy too strong. I think I blew it and there's no backtracking now. I'm not sure how obvious my interest was."

"What happened?"

She gives me a rundown of the events of the last few weeks, a typical enough scenario of a guy who makes plans and then flakes on them. She explains how they met, explains the common dating history, the potential for drama, his personality, and why she wants him. She tells me what she knows about the type of women he goes after, and who he is seeing now.

I ask her questions to fill in the details. She mentions briefly that she's started seeing this other guy, that they really hit it off. She tells me of their social engagements and plans for future activities.

And then I break it down.

She hasn't blown it, she's set herself up wonderfully. She has a perfect situation to work with.

Running through actions, reactions, stimuli, comparisions, desires, values, I stream out her potential course. This is what you want, this is how you're going to get it.

During this, our friend comes in from the patio, the scent of smoke hanging around his person like a thunderhead.

She listens, and when my words stop, she looks at me through her bangs, "V, you're so fucking devious. I've read everything you read and I still can't do what you do."

I shrug. This is something I've been doing for years, years before any books entered my world. I run on instinct and experience. I have a lot of both.

He, on the other hand, is disgusted, "I can believe these games you play. It's all false. Why would I want to act in an unnatural way in order to get someone? I'd rather have someone want me for me."

"It doesn't work that way. You know this."

"It's still fuckin' disgusting."

I turn to her, "So, you going to do this?" Hesitant eyes turn towards me. "Look, think of him as your little laboratory gerbil. You want to learn all of this seduction stuff, you need to try it out. He's essentially already rejected you, so you've got nothing to lose. You've already failed. So try it out."

She grins at me, "Okay."

... ... ... ...

The three of us are sitting on her couch. I'm in the middle.

She and I both have our feet propped up on the glass coffee table, ankles crossed, but in opposite directions. Her toenails are a bright turquoise, mine a dark maroon.

A movie is playing.

I'm staring at our feet.

We're so different. She surrounds herself in vibrant colors, I dress in dark hues. She's a tiny, adorable 5'2". I tower over her at 5'9". She's extremely emotional, very volatile. She raises her voice a lot.

I never raise my voice. My emotions stay contained.

She, like so many others in the last several months, have come to me for advice on how to get the man they want, how to do what I do. How to keep in control, how to snag his interest, how to work a room to your benefit. How I value myself and never let the guys with the madonna/whore complex ever impact me. Because they truly don't.

I respect myself, and so I am respected. I work a room because I know I can. I just need the motivation. I only expend the effort when I have a reason.

Because this isn't my life.

She tries so hard to get the guys, and I keep telling her that my methods will not work perfectly for her because we're so different on a basic level. She's wonderful and amazing and I attempt to shift my style to fit hers so she can do what I do in a way that suits her needs.

I ran away, before, because I could not handle the attention. I could not handle the questions, could not handle the sheer amount of input I was getting from everyone. It began to feel as though I could not express myself as fully as I wanted to, and every time I blogged, I would be descended upon by men wanting to fuck me and women wanting to learn from me.

How do you do it?

You roll with it. Your life comes barreling towards you and you leap on it and ride.

My life isn't yours. Define what you want, define the men that do it for you, and become what they desire. Just make sure it is what you desire for yourself as well.

No matter how many ways I try to explain that, I always feel like it's never being heard. Your seduction style is your own. You seduce because of your differences. You become valuable because there are not that many others like you that are available.

Become yourself.