Don’t men realize that women talk?
That we analyze and dissect every word and nuance?
He’d been trying to pick up on me for most of the evening, arranging to sit next to me, his body language loud and clear. The problem was, not only had he previously fucked—and fucked over—quite a few girlfriends of mine, he thought I knew nothing about it. Of course, that wasn’t going to stop me from playing along, at least for a little while.
He was sort of handsome in that tanned, Californian, hip/alternative/soap opera star way. The kind of guy whom female guests on trashy daytime talkshows would describe as having it “goin’on “ .
But that was never really what I was into. He wore khaki Dockers in some sort of bicoastal, jet set, Euro-trash wanna-be preppie paean to casual cool… and no matter what sort of fashion faux pas I was willing to forgive, that wasn’t one of them. Besides, though he thought he could read women like a book, I could tell he was the type of man who would lose the hip façade and blanche at any graphic reference to sex. I bided my time, waiting for the right opening before dropping my little bombshell.
“Admit it,” he said, all smarmy and confidential, like he suddenly could unleash my pent-up desires by saying something so… intimate.
“Aren’t you the type of Girl who lost your virginity on horseback in your early teens?”
“No,” I replied matter-of-factly, telling the truth, waiting for that uncomfortable pause for him to stammer an excuse and drift away, latching onto somebody else.
“I’m the type of girl who lost her virginity to her hairbrush at the age of four.”
Worked like a charm.
The story you just read is from my book, “Escape From Houdini Mountain”.
Get it on Kindle here: http://www.amazon.com/Escape-From-Houdini-Mountain-ebook/dp/B00A42666G
I’ll be reading from my brand new book, “Showgirl Confidential: My Life Onstage, Backstage And On The Road” on Thursday, November 14,2013 at Stories Books and Café, 1716 W. Sunset Blvd, LA 90026 at 7:00pm