It's about 9PM and my friend Oli and I are sat in my car, outside Jake's house. We just dropped off our buddy Josh and had made plans to come over to Jake's to hang out and talk game. However, just as we got here, I found a message on my phone from him, telling us he was real tired and was going to sleep. We call him, but he doesn't answer. Asshole.

Oli & I met at an old job a couple of years back. He's tall (but not as tall as me), with a straight guy haircut and he wears glasses. Tonight, he's dressed in blue jeans & blue trainers with a striped blue & brown jumper (it's gross) over a blue polo shirt and a faux, racer cut leather jacket over the top. I am wearing black jeans with a red mark on the back of one of the legs, canvas shoes, a baseball shirt that I'd worn the night before, a purple hoodie from the strip club (they had given me it to wear when I went on tour with my music, for promotional purposes), a faux leather jacket over the top and a black mesh baseball cap, slightly to the side. We are dressed for hanging out at Jakes. Oli has not showered today.

Except, Jake has made that impossible with his pussy sleeping. What a fucking asshole.

We're sat in the car messaging girls, working out what we're going to do with the night. Jake's house is on what is probably the most student-oriented street in town - there is always energy here. It's a Sunday night. At the bottom of the road, there is a venue named Tofts. Sunday nights are good at Tofts. What else are we going to do? Oli has work in the morning but the night is young, at 9PM. We head there, dishevelled and unprepared for game.
Tofts is a bar. Upon entering, you're greeted with a wide, high cielinged room. The decor is chique - blacks, whites, golds. On the left are tables and booths for people to sit. At this point of the night, it's the same to the right - however, within a couple of hours, the tables on this side will be moved and the area will become a dancefloor. Opposite the entrance is a staircase leading to the upstairs dancefloor, but it won't be open tonight. To the right of the stairs is the bar. We head there. On the way, I spot a girl who's number I'd gotten two nights before, at another club across town. Her name is Megg. She is a cutie pie, and a singer. I'm a music producer, so we had plenty to talk about. I wave to her, she smiles and waves back. I will talk to her later.
I don't drink alcohol, so I get a lime & soda water. Oli does, he gets a pint of beer. We sit in a booth by the window and start talking game. I grab a candle, our drinks and our wallets and begin making the shapes of sets on the table, using the props to represent people.

"How would you approach a group that looks like this?" I ask Oli, creating a 3 set.
"Uhm... like this?" he moves his phone (representing himself) towards the collection of items on the table in an angular sort of movement.
"Yeah, that's good, man. And what would you have me do in that set?" I ask, handing him my own phone, to represent myself.
"Like this?" he brings me in on the other side, signifying that I would entertain the two girls he isn't interested in while he works on his target.
"Sure, yeah. Cool."

We do this for a while. Oli & I went out to a club the night before and his game made a pretty spectacular quantum leap - usually he would only approach if he were pretty drunk and he's just kind of chew girls's ears off until they either friend zoned him or quietly slunk away. Last night, he approached on only two drinks and managed to make out with some little cutie while her boyfriend was there.

A 3 set materialises from the ether - they are standing at the bar. I tell him to go open them. He needs the practice more than I do.
"Go outside." he tells me. I oblige. Oli hates approaching in front of me. He feels scrutinised. Which is fair enough, because I am scrutinising.
I head out to the smoking area and wait for Oli to make his move. There's nobody out here, so I just chill. I go back inside when I see him open - however, shortly after I do, Megg and her friends head out to the smoking area, so I follow and sit with them for a bit. Megg looks great - she's about 5"4' and is wearing a green checked shirt, buttoned right up to the top, like a little indie princess. She has short, Halle Berry style hair (but she's as pale as a snowflake) and a beautiful curvature to her body - tight at the waist, round in the hips and blessed up top.

After chatting with her for a little while, Oli comes out and tells me his set went well. He is pleased with himself for opening, as he was bricking it. His state is adequately lifted for the evening. We go back inside - the tables have moved and the dancefloor is open. We hit it.

At this point, nobody else is dancing - but Oli and I are not shy. We both love to dance. Sometimes, we go out with no other purpose but to dance. We've been known to dance for five hours straight, necking glasses of water at regular intervals as if we're on speed. We're not on speed. We're high on music & rhythm.

Lately, I've stepped up my moves - I've learned to shuffle, a little bit of c step, some street dance stuff, a little bit of MJ etc. and because I don't drink, I'm used to going pretty hard without needing to 'warm up' psychologically or anything. I don't really get self conscious. So, I bust a move. People watch us, and it isn't long before the dancefloor is full. This immediately establishes Oli & I as high value, leading the people to find rhythmic bliss.
We dance. It's warm inside the bar. We sweat. It's gross. Luckily, it's November and it's fucking freezing outside, so we dip in and & out to manage our temperature. I play with the dancefloor, moving between groups of people. Nobody else can dance like me here. This is fortunate as I'm not actually that spectacular a dancer - I just happen to know a few moves that look super impressive in comparison to the drink-in-hand, lackadaisical swaying that men at most clubs consider dancing. That's all it takes - just something to set yourself apart.

There are fucking loads of guys in suits. Many of them are good looking and they pretty much all look rich. However, they're all fucking morons, sidling up to the girls and buying them drinks and stumbling about, wasted. One of these dudes sees me shuffling and interprets as an invitation of friendship. He staggers over and shakes my hand and points at my feet and says some stupid shit. Eventually, I get him to buy Oli a drink - partly because I'm an opportunist and partly because I want him to go away.

The night goes on. It's maybe 10:30, 11ish now. The DJ is one of the best in town - he gradually increases the BPM, track by track, seamlessly, so that it's almost undetectable. He begins with RnB at about 90BPM and by the end of the night, he's brought you up to house tempo, 128. His choice of tunes is mostly on point, too. I really admire a good DJ. There's this one guy at this one club here who just plays 30 or 40 seconds of each track, shouts at the crowd to jump and then switches the song. It's fucking annoying. I can't get into anything because by the time I'm really starting to feel it, he's yelling at some white guys in the middle of the room to start a mosh pit. It's just like, shut up, man. Anyway, I digress.

As I'm cutting the proverbial rug, I turn my head to the left and BAM, I see her. Fuck. Where did she come from? How did I miss her? And she's looking me right in the eye, mouthing the lyrics to the song at me, inviting me to dance with her.

She's about 5"8, maybe 5"9. She has huge, deep eyes, embellished with expertly applied makeup. Mousey brown hair, tied into a cute bun at the back. Perfect, white teeth. She is beautiful and she is always smiling. She wears a soft, grey, off the shoulder dress that drapes over her body. I would guess that she's a size 8 - 10, probably 34C bra size. And I'm exceptionally good at guessing sizes. So you can probably bank on that.

Her confidence threw me a little, at first - especially as I had to process how fucking sexy was in the same moments as I had to process her interacting with me. I don't think it showed, though. I moved towards her a little and she returned. We dance together a little, touching. I grin at her and push her away from me, returning to dancing with Oli. When it comes to women of great beauty, my game spikes. I am ten times better with a girl I'm absolutely attracted to. High stakes are my optimum environment.

I keep an eye on her as we dance. She glances at me often, biting her lip - but she is constantly dancing with other guys, too. She is value playing and she is exceptionally good at it. I watch as she pulls the suited dudes in, gives them a little sugar and then pushes them away, leaving them frustrated. She even gives some of them little kisses on the lips before mugging them off. It's kind of fascinating.

I leave her to do her thing for a while. I dance with some other girls. I go outside. Megg is sat by herself. I go over and speak to her for a while, she is very receptive and tells me that she doesn't like my chest hair and that “we'll have to do something about that”.

“That's okay. You don't have to like it. I'll keep it.” I reply.
“Fine then, if you'd rather have chest hair than me naked, that's upto you.” she snorts.
I laugh to myself, “I don't change myself so that people will have sex with me.”
Her demeanour changes drastically and she backtracks, “Oh... that's good, I admire that.”
“Don't you think it's pretty shallow not to like someone because of something like that?”
“Well you might say you only like people with big tits or something!”
“I might like a certain size but I wouldn't like, not be attracted to someone because of it...”
She is digging a hole now: “Have you not seen my exes?”
“...obviously not...” I respond.
“I've been with all kinds of people... I wouldn't not be with someone because of it... I'll probably be so embarrassed about this conversation tomorrow because I do really like you, I'm sorry.”

Cute.

I return to the dancefloor; high value girl is still fucking with all these suited guys. After a few minutes, our eyes meet again and the game is back on. She dances over to me and moves her body close to me. I put my arm around her waist. Our faces are close together. She maintains my eye contact. It's pretty intense. I take her hand and ask her name.

"Becky." she smiles.
"Alex. You are fucking adorable." I reply.
Her head falls back and she grins at the ceiling, squeezing my hand. Again, I push her away again... then I realise something. Holy fuck.

Everybody else has left the dancefloor and is now standing around us, watching. We are engaged in a sensual danceoff and the entire bar is our audience. Locked in rhythmic combat, we circle each other. We are value sparring and it is absolutely vital that I win; if she sees weakness in me that reduces me to the same level as the half a dozen other men she's teased tonight, it's all over. She dips and twists and sways her hips. I am far more captivated by her than I am letting on. Maintaining an impish grin and eye contact laced with intent, I keep up with her movements for a while. She grinds on me. I squeeze her hips and body, communicating my attraction to her. In a situation where everybody is watching, no-one can see how much my fingertips are telling her. A few minutes pass and people begin to filter back onto the dancefloor. Becky and I return to our friends, a connection made.

Oli is staring at me.
“What the fuck just happened?” I ask him.
“I don't know mate.”
“It was like a scene from a movie or something!”
“Yeah, it was like Dirty Dancing or some shit...”
“Did everyone else leave the dancefloor?”
“Yeah, it was just you guys. She is so fine, as well.”

I go get myself a drink. Everyone is staring at me now. I am the highest value male in the venue. The girls are trying to catch my eye and the guys are trying to copy my dance moves, as if my (relative) success with Becky is down to a few shuffle moves and not carefully executed push/pull technique. I come up behind her again and she grinds her hips against me. I say softly into her ear, “Did you see everyone move to the side to watch our dance off? It was like a scene from a movie”. She smiles and nods and grips my hand again. Me and Oli then continue to dance for a while – my high value status and boosted confidence mean I can smoothly and effortlessly transition between groups, further boosting my social proof. I am now the king here.

I spot Becky and her friend going outside – I take the opportunity to speak to her properly and follow her. She is standing in the doorway – I offer my hand and tell her to come here and talk to me.

“Come talk to me inside.” she says.
“I can't, you're always dancing with guys.” I shoot her an unimpressed look.
“Fuck off, come talk to me anyway.”
I follow her back inside and we start to talk.

“Your name is Becky.” I say to her. She nods.
“How old are you?”
At this question, she pulls an embarrassed face.
“What?” I ask her, smiling.
She leans in. “Thirty two.”
“Okay. I'm twenty five.” I tell her. At this, she squeezes my hand again, as if to thank me for not being put off by her seniority.
This is interesting to me – this is a woman seven years older than me. She is beautiful and elegant and very, very sexy but clearly her age bothers her. Instead of looking at me disparagingly and commenting on my youth as a negative, she is physically thanking me for my open mindedness. I like this girl.

“What do you do, Becky?”
“I work at Ann Summers.”
“Okay, that's kind of sexy.” I smile. “Now, I think...”
I pause for effect...
“I think that you might be my favourite girl here.” She smiles at the ceiling again, her white teeth illuminating the whole fucking venue.
“I think you are. It was dependent on this conversation.”
She smiles at me. A girl of few words – but she speaks to me more with her body than most women say in hours of conversation.
“Listen, my phone is dead but I wanna exchange.” I tell her.
“Okay,” she digs her phone out of her bag and lets me input my name for Facebook.

There is no signal in the club, so she goes near the door to see if she can get some more but it doesn't work, so she screenshots my name and assures me that she will add me. We go our separate ways again but not before I give her sides a little affectionate squeeze, which she validates with a grin over her shoulder.

I go get another drink. On the way back, this kinda cute blonde girl is boogie-ing towards me, with her back to me. If I don't move, she's going to boogie into me. I had noticed earlier that she is with this guy with a beard and a man bun so I shoot him a glance and he smiles at laughs at the situation. I put my hands in the air as if to say 'hands off, man' but when I do this, he pulls a face and shakes his head, as if to say 'no man, we're not together, do what you want'. I make an executive decision not to 'do what I want' right now as my eggs are already firmly placed in a more promising basket but a little later on, I approach the guy and speak to him as he's wearing a t-shirt branded with a local rapper's logo that I recognise. As we're talking, this blonde girl comes right over to us, interrupts our conversation and asks to wear my hat. I tell her I've been sweating and it's kinda gross (which it is), so probably best not. It's interesting how the higher value & social proof makes it easier for girls to approach you, almost as if it's now socially expected and acceptable for her to do so.

20 minutes or so later, all the suited guys have left. The dancefloor is mostly empty now, although another group have shown up – a mixed set. They all look like posh students but they are STOKED on my shuffling, man. We have a little danceoff. One guy does the worm. I respond with a kip up (where you kick up onto your feet from your back, like in Kung Fu movies). Everyone's having a good time.
Oli shows me the time on his phone: 12:20. He is telling me he wants to go soon, as he has work. I nod. We dance to a couple more songs and decide to make a move. I go over to Becky, to say my goodbyes.

I waltz right upto her and pull her aside.

“We're going now.” I announce.
“Oh, fuck off.” she looks genuinely heartbroken, her huge eyes communicating all kinds of disappointment.
“Yeah,” I say, “Come on, give me a hug.”

I put my arms around her middle and lift her up into the air. She makes a cute little squealing noise and wraps her legs around me tightly. My face is an inch or so away from her neck, so I kiss and bite it a little, playfully. She does the same to mine in response – but she keeps on kissing, over and over, moving up my neck, across my face and finally, as she lowers her legs back down to the ground, her lips find mine. The moment is triumphant – nothing like the teasing, split second kisses she'd been dishing out to the hapless suited men earlier in the evening. She means this – and so do I. I move her over a little so she can rest against the table (if we'd have been anywhere else but in the middle of the fucking room, I'd have pinned her against a wall) and grab her face, her neck, her ass. Her mouth is wet, her tongue busy. With passion and validation throbbing through my whole body, I tell her “Yeah... I like you a lot”. She just grins and keeps kissing me.

After what seems like both an eternity and a fraction of a second at the same time, we crowbar our lips apart and I go to leave. Oli is staring at me again.
“I just have no words. I don't even know what to say.” he stammers, “Did you get the deets?”

Although she had said she'd add me on Facebook, I've known girls to say that and then never do it – I don't really know why this happens, I think there are a variety of potential reasons. I try to switch my phone back on so that I can get her number. Success! It flickers to life and I go back over and have her give it to me. We kiss goodbye again, briefly.

Then I was gone.