One time I went on a really bad date. Well, not really bad in itself. In itself the date was fine.
It was what happened directly afterwards that pissed me off.
The girl, Janine, showed up on time and she was serviceably pretty (although a little too plump for my liking). She was from Essex, though, which is not a particular preference of mine. Plus she was thick as fuck, as it turned out.
Still, she had OK legs, and a nice smile. Despite the fact that I’d been of a mind to cancel before we met anyway (we’d connected online), when she walked into the lounge bar I was cornered and had to go through with it.
After a slightly stilted start, I quickly relaxed into my usual seducer patter. Things started to go well. She laughed at my jokes. She turned her body towards me. When I took her hand in mine she made no effort to pull away. And when I drew her close to me for a makeout, she put her tongue in my mouth straight away.
She told me she’d been married once, for nine months. She’d been together with this guy for seven years beforehand. Then, after they’d tied the knot in South East Asia (she’d shipped the whole family over there for the celebration) she’d realised that, actually, she wasn’t really feeling it after all. So she dumped him.
‘If you’re not in love then there’s no point carrying on, is there?’ she said.
‘And what happened with the next guy after that.’
‘Oh,’ she said, tossing her hair. ‘He was just . . . bad news’.
In hindsight I guess this was something of a red flag.
OK, I thought. This girl isn’t great, but she could be a convenient shag. Nothing to write home about (which is a shame, as my mother loves those letters) but a notch is a notch.
We had three drinks before I decided it was time to call it a night. I’d put out the feelers for her coming back with me that evening, but logistically it didn’t likely to work out since she lived a long way outside of London and claimed to need to get home for an early start the next day.
Fine, I thought. We’ll cut this now and get the deal closed on our next meeting.
Towards the end of the evening, though, I noticed that she kept looking back at something behind me. Glancing behind me I noticed a couple of guys behind us, braying, drunken banker types. One of them, a particularly alpha, intense-looking fella, seemed to be eyeballing me.
I ignored them. But at least once I caught the girl smiling at him.
It was almost like they knew one another.
OK, whatever, I thought. She can smile at who the fuck she likes. I have no claim over her (we’d only just met that evening) and anyway, I wasn’t really all that interested. I was only in it for a shag, which could be secured regardless of who else she smiled at.
We discussed heading out to get our trains. She’s be going from Fenchurch Street, me from Liverpool Station. We got up to go. I walked straight for the door, disregarding the drunken guys. She followed slightly after.
We reached the atrium of the bar, where the loos were situated.
‘I’m going to say goodnight to you here,’ she said. ‘I’m going to go to the toilet and then walk down to Fenchurch Street. It was really nice to have met you.’
‘OK,’ I said. I pulled her towards me and we made out lightly once more.
She walked into the ladies’, and I went into the gents’. I needed a piss, but even more than that, although I was now certain what was going on, I had a perverse desire to verify my suspicion.
I left it a few minutes before coming out. When I did so, I took out my phone then walked back through the bar with it pressed to my ear as though I was on a call.
Sure enough, as I went by I saw her sitting beside the alpha dude from earlier, locked in conversation with him. She clocked me as I passed and stared at me like a rabbit in the headlights, as though surprised that I’d seen through her extraordinarily obvious deception. I smiled, walked to the lift and took it down to the ground floor where I walked out into the street.
How did this make me feel? Like shit. Why? Not because of the girl—I couldn’t have given a fuck about the girl. It was because another guy had got one over on me.
This had never happened to me before, and I am never normally AMOG’d (and this was a species of AMOG’ing, despite the fact that the dude didn’t challenge me directly). So I was pissed, because, well, there is no greater blow to the male ego than to have another guy swoop in and ‘steal’ a girl from you.
It goes without saying that I never spoke to Janine again.
What lessons can be drawn from this sorry incident? The first is that you should never be knowingly out-alpha’d. How? Get as ripped as you can and give out a look that says you don’t take any shit as a start.
Plus, make sure you dominate her attention on the date (or wherever you may be) so she doesn’t even notice anyone else.
Second, that women (and maybe men also, being fair) will always trade up if there’s an opportunity to do so and they don’t think they’ll get found out. So much so that you can meet a girl who seems nice as pie and who’s all over you on the date who will sneak off to meet another guy as soon as your back is turned. This is called hypergamy.
Third, the sexual marketplace is harsh, it is ungoverned and ungovernable, and at one stage or another nearly all of us are likely to come off worse in some shape or form.
There is some (cold) comfort in knowing and accepting these painful truths ahead of time.
For exclusive additional free content every week join my subscribers list here.
For daily updates follow me on Twitter