There are two Distinct kinds of men: those who get it often and easily, and those who don't.
What is it that makes some men more successful with the opposite sex than others? It isn't good looks; male pulchritude may help, but some of the handsomest guys never seem to get any, while we are all familiar with the spectacular spectacle of the plain joe who, if he isn't exactly fighting off the girls, seems to have his pick of the better grades of the delectables. It isn't energy, either. There are men who expend ergs, watts, and amperes all over the place–and money, too –and where do they get? Home in bed, alone. An equal number of lazy bums, who husband their energies (the way they never seem to husband the girls they conquer) have only to stir themselves to beckon, and the damsels hurry over, all acquiescence and smiles.
What is the secret, then? Lets look at some case histories, from both sides of the lace-panty curtain, for our clues. An office party will be the site of our first exploration, for here we find in microcosm the world at large,i.e., people of both sexes in each other's company, all wanting to have a good time. It is 6:30 of a lovely evening, and the party's been in progress since a little after five. There's not much ice left and the paper cups are getting limp, but there's still enough booze for several more rounds. Stone sober and notebook in hand, we take up our observation post behind a screen. But before we do, we have to flush out that presumptuous young mail-room clerk who is wrestling a completely-willing beautiful secretary. Now, how the hell did he, of all people, get her?
The answer is simple: he asked. (Continued on page 48) Some Guys Get It (Continued from page 27) How did that come about? In this instance, as follows: The beautiful secretary, a lushly exotic brunette with all the right things in the right places, had been cornered at the party by a handsome junior executive of great charm. He had plied her with drinks and had dazzled her with stories in which he was the hero. In his own mind, he was warming her up for the "I-know-a-wonderful-little-French-restaurant" bit, which would be followed by the "Let's-go-to-my-apartment-for-a-nightcap" tactic. Beatrice, for that was the lady's name, was drinking it all in, the booze and the banana oil. She was ready. But John, the hero of his own autobiography, was so intent on verbal conquest, that he let the moment go by.
Not so Wilbur, the mailroom clerk. John had the edge on Wilbur any way you look at it: prestige, manners, appearance, pelf, smooth talk. But Wilbur had the operative advantage in one thing. Unlike John's, Wilbur's negligent upbringing had not included the building in of the notion that women don't like sex as much as men do, and that every seduction has to be accomplished by indirection. Wilbur knew from the first day when Beatrice came to work, from her walk and by the way she dressed and sat at her desk, that she lived in on aura of consciousness of her own sexuality and desirability. Wilbur couldn't have put this into words–he can barely talk intelligibly–but he knew it just the same. John could have put it into words–he's a great talker–but he didn't know it. He proceeded on the false assumption that the greater a girl's appeal, the harder she is to promote, which is not only nonsense, but contrary to Nature's laws.
John went to get more ice–the gallant hero. Wilbur moved in swiftly and asked Beatrice if she'd come behind the screen, he had something to show her. When a girl who is over 21 agrees to step behind a screen with a man to see some unidentified sight or object, the man–if he has Wilbur's pragmatic attitude–can be fairly certain she has some notion of what's expected. Wilbur did not waste words, and who knows what might have happened then and there if we hadn't come along to disturb them? We don't, but we do know what happened afterwards. Instead of asking Beatrice to dinner in an atmospheric restaurant, Wilbur (the penny pincher) asked her if she had any eggs at home and, if so, would she rustle them up a western and coffee. She had and she did. Etcetera. Score: one up for Wilbur, one dry run for John.
Before we leave the party for our next port of call, it may be of interest to amateur social-anthropologists to learn why fourteen other assorted male guests were unable to fulfill their yearnings for new adventure. Six were married commuters and dutifully left for home before 5:30. (Parenthetically, all six quarreled with their wives for one reason or another before bedtime, four of them so seriously that they slept on the couch in the livingroom.) Three other married men called their wives with sufficiently convincing excuses, and then repaired to a local bar for some stag drinking. Before they got around to the point where the upper inhibitory centers were relaxed enough for them to feel the Need, and admit it to each other, it was too late: the party was over and suddenly there didn't seem to be an unattached female in the whole damn city.
The one man in the office whom all the girls considered most attractive was also unsuccessful in consummating his desire for intimate feminine companionship. The reason was that he is among that familiar minority who passively wait for the ladies to make the first approach. This frequently works, thanks to the fact that there are more women than men in the world, but seldom at an office party where there are enough normally aggressive men around to keep the girls too busy to attend to the man who poses as hard to get. However much the girls may rue it later, they never seem to learn.
That accounts for ten no-hit players. The other four are quickly disposed of. Three tried so hard to get the girls they were working on drunk, that they themselves got too sozzled to continue their attentions.
The fourteenth man? He simply didn't want to bed any of the ladies present, or anybody else that night, believe it or not.
And now we're off, notebook still clutched firmly in hand, to a summer beach resort. Once more, we've shown discrimination in our choice of locale, for here are both sexes gathered in one place for fun and frolic.
Our first specimen is Steve. He's an average-looking fellow, very amiable, generally liked by men and women. But there's a feeling of baffled envy toward him among many of the men. The reason is that Steve is a compulsive and successful flesh presser. This seems to have no particular connection with his amatory successes and failures, but it's a sufficientlyinteresting–phenomenon and a common enough on–to merit our attention. Steve seems to lead a charmed life. He always has his arm around some girl's waist. There isn't a waitress in the place whose posterior hasn't felt his caress as she passed his table. You never saw meetings and farewells like Steve's: it's a hello kiss and a goodbye kiss each time, whether the women are married or not. Some badly hurt feelings and at least one black eye bear testimony to the fact that other men about the place observed Steve's flesh pressing and attempted to emulate him.
What's the secret of Steve's charmed existence? How come every time you go to the beach you see him asleep with his head in some girl's lap? Why is it that when a group gets into a car to go to the villages, Steve never drives, but is always in the back seat with a girl on either side and a third perched on his knees? The reason is in his approach and attitude. Steve is only normallysexy, but he is profoundly physical. He is a tactile tactician, a sensualist. Women sense this and it flatters them without frightening them. He just loves to touch and squeeze and stroke and kiss and handle things that look good, feel good, smell good, taste good. Make no mistake: his is not the affectionate-puppy attitude, which gets a man nowhere fast. As a matter of fact, Steve's flesh pressing is unimpeded by feminine resistance precisely because he doesn't demand or even desire affection along with it. Sometimes, of course, his sexual feelings are aroused in the process. Sometimes his undemanding physical attentions arouse sexual feelings in the women he so casually paws. Some women are piqued and thereby moved to dalliance by the very fact of his relaxed behavior. In such cases. Nature takes her course to the extent that custom and convenience permit. But the net of what we may glean from observing Steve is that it is not sexiness which wins him the right to fondle the ladies. Nor does this right entitle him to, or earn him, more than the normal amount of access to sexual pleasures.
Steve is a success with women, and as such is an instructive specimen. Now let's see what we can learn, more briefly, from some observable failures.
Dan is a nettled and unhappy guy. He knows he's attractive, he knows women like him, but they never let him so much as touch them. How come? The answer lies in his approach to his quarry. He'll never learn. It's always the same. One fine morning at the resort's eating-place, he sees an attractive girl at breakfast. She's alone, having arrived just the night before. Dan's not shy: he smiles his most winning smile and introduces himself. Within an hour, he and the new girl are at the beach. Observed from a distance, things seem to be going fine. They are talking happilly together, and there's the rub. Dan's conversation inevitably leads to intimate friendship, of the kind girls feels towards each other. Dan doesn't know it, but he's up against one of the firmest dictain the book:it's hard to seduce a pal. The only time a girl ever let Dan hold her hand was on the occasion of her telling him she was in love with another guy and her feelings were hurt when he didn't cheer.
Two other foredoomed, perennial failures warrant our attention, both because they are typical of large groups of unhappy males, and because we can discern underlying causes.
Ted is a calculator. He boasts about it. "You don't catch me getting involved with the first girl that comes along. No siree. I case the joint, find the prettiest, learn what I can about her–and then, brother, I move right in on her."
Only he doesn't move right in on her because, by the time he's ready, she's busy. What's behind Ted's failure? The answer is, he's afraid. Behind that facade of The Knowing Rake there is a little man who is afraid of women. He can't admit it to himself, so he unconsciously pre-plans his own undoing.
Our last specimen is Jeff. His is a traffic problem. He's a very attractive lad and he knows it. The girls know he knows it, and a lot of them find this too enticing a challenge to refuse. They go into battle determined to humble the conceited fellow by winning his love. Everybody in the fray is the loser, however, because Jeff hasn't any love in him, except the narcissistic kind which thrives on the fact that he's the object of a contest among the women. Nobody wins, and Jeff's a lonely man, stuck with his mirror for companionship.
And now that we've sampled some case histories, let's see if we can formulate some rules for the male who would make his way with the uproariously named gentler sex:
1.Work fast from the start.
Remember, the pace you set at the beginning of a courtship is hard to accelerate. On the other hand, you can always slow down if it's too fast for the object of your attentions.
2.Don't be afraid of a negative answer.
A girl has a right to at least one "no" before she yields, and the sooner you get that over with, the further you'll get.
3.Don't be a friend.
It is confusing and embarrassing to a girl when a man who has treated her as if sex doesn't exist, suddenly shifts to a boy-girl framework for their association. She will say you nay for sure.
4.Don't talk yourself out of it.
Many's the time that a man gets so fascinated by his own prose that the girl who has to listen gets bored, or cools off. Many girls who will do your bidding will never verbally agree to it, and if you try to talk them into it you'll lose out.
5.Don't wait to get started.
"Someday, I'm going to make a play for that girl," is a phrase which has often found the speaker, when he gets around to trying, superseded by another guy. If you wait until you're powerfully attracted, you lay yourself open to being powerfully disappointed. On the other hand, you can always stop after starting, in case you lose interest or something better comes along.
6.Don't do the other fellow's work.
Sadly, it frequently happens that prior commitments or unavoidable circumstances will require your leaving a girl's company while the evening, or the weekend, is still young. In such cases, playing her with edibles, potables and make-talk, with no opportunity to follow through, will just warm her up for some other man.
You, of course, know all this. But you might pass on the information to a buddy who hasn't had it lately.