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My goal for Hallowe'en is to get down with a woman in a cat costume. Tight slinky body suits, yum. In the immortal words of The Nuge, "make a pussy purr with a stroke of my hand."
Last year it was all about the cowgirls. But this year I just want to make out with a cute little kitty cat.
Don't be alarmed! I always pull out when I come.
Many years ago, at the dawn of time, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, I was involved in a long-term committed relationship. Six or seven months into our merry monogamous ride, my partner and I decided to stop using condoms. She was on the Pill. I got in the habit of withdrawing before ejaculation, however. Just an added precaution.
Doing something two or three times a day for three years has a wonderful conditioning effect. By the time I became single again, pulling out had become a reflex; one that continues to this day.
I've grown to prefer it. Having a walloping orgasm seems to require some room for me. I like having the space. Varrroooom!
Sometimes women will want me to leave it in. If that's the case with you, let me know, and we'll see if we can work something out.
My bedroom is a condom graveyard and October is exactly what it's cracked up to be.
Guys: just get out of the house and walk around. The women in this city are out of control.
I don't have any tattoos or piercings. As a conversational topic, body modification interests me about as much as stamp collecting.
Why would I want to modify my body?
...Whereas the woman on Saturday night got it right: "You're very pretty, Philip Clark. Let me buy you a gin and tonic."
Why are you all calling me by my full name, anyway? I'm a slut and I don't know any of your last names.
You can read all the stories you want in Cosmopolitan or whatever about how men don't know how to kiss, and only women know how to enjoy a slow, lingering, seductive kiss. But I've met three women in the past three days who have just been, BLAMMO, right away sticking their tongue down my throat.
I happen to prefer slow, teasing kisses; at least when I'm getting warmed up. But last night a woman actually chastised me for wanting to "take my time." What's going on with women these days? Always in such a rush.
Last night was actually pretty funny, as it came right on the heels of that whole how to buy me a drink" spiel.
I noticed a cute blonde woman checking me out at the club last night. I had finished work, and I was standing around relaxing and minding my own business. Then she came up the stairs and accidentally bumped into me on purpose.
"My name is -----," she said. (I'll call her Jane.) "What's yours?"
"Philip," I said.
"Philip?" she said. "Philip who?"
"Philip Clark."
"Oh my god, you're Philip Clark," she said. She rolled her eyes. "I can't believe I'm talking to Philip Clark."
(This is the kind of place Halifax has become for me.)
"...So are you going to buy me a drink, Philip Clark?"
(I felt like saying, "Wait a minute, that's not how this is supposed to work.")
"Come on," she said. "Buy me a beer. I want to talk to you."
In my experience, if a woman repeatedly pesters you to buy her drinks, it means one thing: she's an alcoholic. That can be a turnoff sometimes.
I suspected Jane was well on her way to drunkenness, but anyways, I figured I'd sit down with her and see if she was worth talking to.
And so it came to pass that we wound up at the little bar under the stairs in Hell's Kitchen. Theresa the sweetheart bartender said, "How about a shooter?"
"Nah," said Jane. "Shooters are boring." (I sat there and remembered what I'd written about women and shooters and thought, "This is hilarious. This is too perfect.")
"So if I buy you a drink, will you make out with me?" I said.
"Sure," she said.
"Okay," I said. "Theresa, we'll have a couple of gin and tonics."
To summarize: Jane was drunk, she had a boyfriend, and half the city of Halifax watched us leave together. "You are sooo busted," I said when we got out on the sidewalk. Needless to say I found all of this highly entertaining.
Jane had been pulling this psychological domination stuff all evening, like trying to make me take my shirt off in the bar and whatnot. So while we were talking, I walked slowly towards her, and she walked backwards, and I marched her right up an alleyway and threw her against the wall.
She bit my neck, which is a good sign. But soon she was all over me. All lips and tongue and whatnot. I found myself thinking, "I wonder if she's a better kisser when she's sober."
Apparently she sensed my hesitation, which is why she said, "Come on, why do you want to take your time?"
Maybe I frowned a little bit.
We wound up talking, and things seemed on the verge of turning awkward. "I better go," she said. I shrugged and walked over to my bicycle.
"I'm going to the party at so-and-so's," she said. "Come to the party." But instead I got on my bike and drove all over Halifax.
I think Jane went back inside the bar after that. I hope she did, if only for the sake of her reputation, and mine.
October is a great month to be a single male in Halifax.
The next six weeks may be represented as sort of a bell curve, with Hallowe'en at its apex. Hallowe'en is one of the sexual peaks of the year in this city.
I've really been able to feel October kicking in at the club. I've been making out with friends and strangers alike. I just hang out and do my job, while suffused in the warm glow of love for the beautiful women of Halifax.
After Hallowe'en, everything goes slowly downhill until the last weekend of November. That's when all the girls go out and contract boyfriends. The first three weeks of December is a lousy time to try to get laid in this city.
Fortunately, the week after Christmas, it all busts wide open.
The hot action guide to buying Philip Clark a drink.
Buying someone a drink is a great way to say, "I like you and I would like to sit down and talk to you for a while, and maybe get you a little tipsy in the hopes of having my wicked way with you." Not that I'm a heavy drinker, but I am easily susceptible to this common form of social interaction.
- I'm allergic to beer and wine and a few other things, which cuts down the options. Lately my poison of choice has been the double White Russian. It tastes like a yummy milkshake, but it has to be a double to pack any sort of kick. I'm also partial to a nice gin and tonic.
- If a woman says, "Let's head over to the shooter bar," then she'll probably turn out to be a fun person to hang out with. I prefer Liquid Kocaine shooters (1/2 Jagermeister, 1/2 Goldschlager).
- Getting loooaded is not generally a good idea. There are times when I've wanted to say to a woman, "Whoa, you're drinking awfully fast, slow down or you'll be of no use to me later." But I didn't say anything, because she's an adult capable of making her own decisions and so on. And then the bar is closing and she's off puking in the bathroom, or sloshing around unable to keep her head up and saying, "Arrre you coming home with me or what" and I say, "Um, I'll call you a cab" because I find it creepy to have sex with a woman whose eyes are rolling up into her head.
- I've been guilty of drinking too much or of drinking the wrong thing. I hardly ever get drunk, but last December and also last March I got wasted. Both times I drank Smirnoff coolers that triggered horrible migraines. I wish I could relive the encounters I had those nights, because I'm sure it could have been super hot if my head had not been pounding.
- Be sensitive to the chemistry of the situation; buying me a drink doesn't automatically mean I'm going to go home with you. I might already have plans (although plans can be broken...).
Also, if you offer to go buy me a drink and then disappear for more than nine-and-a-half minutes, I reserve the right to go talk to someone else.