Since my last article I have had to move to another safe-house as the Ya-Ya-Sisterhood-of-the-Traveling-Pants have put out a Jihad on me for publishing trade secrets. Me, I just want a decent relationship as much as you do. So at the risk of my own life, let’s get down to business. I speak now of the familiar tribal custom which shall formally be known here as The Fuck Dance. And it goes a little something like this --
You’ve met her. She rocks your world. You’ve got a non stop hard-on for this woman. You would do anything for her, even go down to the nearest store and get her a box of Tampons. She feels the same way. She’d do anything for you, even watch you and your loser team play softball in the bone-chilling cold. All she wants your hands on her. Everything you say is funny to her.
This is what we commonly refer to as "the honeymoon phase." While it lasts, there ain’t nothing better.
We all want it to be easy. But life comes down on the honeymoon phase as quickly as a trannie on Eddie Murphy.
One day—oh, say about 6 weeks in—you find you’re no longer thinking about her all the time. You go back to work. She goes back to work. You start attending your weekly poker game again. You no longer leave a meeting to take her calls at the office. You begin to compartmentalize again. You’re serial multi-tasker. Your mind functions like a Rubik’s Cube. She doesn’t understand this. All she knows is that you seem to be preoccupied, pulling away. As far as you’re concerned, you’re not. But she’s beginning to wonder if you still care as much as you did when you were spending 24/7 making out.
You, being the serial multi-tasker, eventually get around to noticing this. So you decide to go out of your way to a mall after work to get her a little something-something. She’s your wet dream girl. She deserves it. Hmm…flowers? No, they die. Might as well burn money. Jewelry’s out of the question—it’s just a little token gift.
Ah—there it is, tempting you from every Gap-filled corner of America: Victoria’s Secret! You come home with a beautiful, delicate peignoir. Pink—kinda virgin-whore fantasy. And with the tiniest little thong.
Your sweetie greets you at the door with a warm hug, a deep kiss, and then she eyes the package. For her? How will she ever thank you?
Blowjob of course—after she opens your gift.
Or maybe not.
She sees the lingerie she throws it in your face.
And so the dance begins.
She: “A THONG? You expect to get laid tonight!"
Translation: “Since when do you decide the fate of my pussy?”
You: “What did I do?”
Translation: “What did I do?”
She: “This isn’t a gift for me, it’s a gift for you."
Translation: “Work’s been a real bitch and my mother is driving me crazy and now you come home with a cheap polyester thong and expect me to bend over ass up?”
You: “I just wanted to get something for my baby.”
Translation: “Sex would be nice."
She: “You can’t just spring this on me. It makes me feel like I owe you sex.”
Translation: “The honeymoon is over.”
Sadly, yes. You’ve had your six weeks of blow job bliss, now it’s time to pay for the piping. I’m not saying there won’t be periods that remind you of the honeymoon stage. But the reality is, if you want your needs met, you’re going have to do some work.
Not that it’s going to be a constant battle or you’re going to have to go at it hard like Olin Curtz and Fred Miller—you’re just going to have to be smart.
I’m gonna school you.
Women are like new baseball gloves—you have to work them in and grease them up until they get all soft and curve to your every digit. If you’re gonna do that for a new baseball glove, you might as well do it for your woman too. It’ll make your life a helluva lot easier.
Rule #1: Never, I mean never, make the assumption that bringing home lingerie to your girl is going to pop her weasel. She really will think it’s a gift for you and not her. She will feel like she is trapped and obligated to bang you. This will piss her off and you will be eating kibble out of your not-so-theoretical doghouse.
You need to do some prep work if you’re gonna get on the fuck dance floor.
So to get what you want and what she wants, you’re going to have to man up and put in the work. This means a few days prep before you treat her to your favorite lingerie.
Tell her she looks unusually pretty in the morning.
Ask her if she’s sporting a new dress because her figure looks fantastic.
Rub her back when you pass her by.
Kiss her on the forehead for no apparent reason.
Do the dishes just because.
And if you really want to get her in that thong thing, take out the garbage without being asked.
She’ll want you so bad she’ll have that virgin/whore lingerie on faster than Ben Johnson can run the hundred-yard dash.
Of course you still care about her. But now you have to show her.
That takes a little work.
It’s the fuck dance, gentlemen. It’s not that difficult.Just remember to grease the glove.