Player’s Guide: How To Bring a Girl Home

I slam her ass against the car hood and Jam my mouth onto hers. Our tongues collide and she releases a whimper. Then I push her off and say, “Stop that!

What!? I didn’t do anything!” She replies.

You know what you are doing. Come on, let’s go.

It’s sitting pretty at just below freezing on New Years and there isn’t a cab in sight. I met my girl Blondie at a bar. One of many I frequent. She was wandering around with a giant grin on her face. I see them from a mile away—the ones that separate themselves from their friends, smile, play with their hair.

Make Luck Happen

I grabbed her arm and pulled her in saying, “Are you lost? You need a tour guide?” Five minutes later we are kissing, ten minutes later we are stroking each other’s junk. Sometimes you just get lucky. Sometimes you make luck happen.

Now its twenty minutes later and we’re going to my house. It’s cold, late, and a very long way home. “Are you sure there are no taxis? She pouts.

Hey don’t worry about a thing little girl!” I say sternly. Then I tickle her armpits and start a snowball fight. I let her win, and then grab her face and kiss deeply. Some strangers from across the street holler with approval. I give them a wave. We continue walking in the ankle deep snow.

Baby, we’ve been lost in this storm for days, I don’t know if we will survive,” I say.

She laughs. “Yeah honey, I hope we make it ok.

I grab her hand and whisper, “If I die…you can eat me.

The snow is coming down a little harder and I’m starting to worry. That’s when I notice the glowing sign of hope. A pub! “Of course!” I yelp. “Alcohol is required!

Always keep moving

I take her into the pub and order strong beverages. We warm ourselves on the nectar. A random douche attempts feebly to steal my prize with a lame comment, but I put my tongue in Blondie’s mouth and he wanders off defeated by superior game. Under the table she is squeezing my honker. Recharged… we head back into the cold night.

I continue to play fantasy games. First we are being chased by Nazi’s, then by a rapist dressed as Santa Claus, but the games always involve haste, and the prize of a warm rum and hot chocolate and pillowy soft blankets. She’s a trooper and has ceased all whining.

Finally, forty five minutes later, we arrive at my apartment. We sneak up the stairs and past my roommates’ bedrooms, into my den of joy. “This is my den of joy,” I say, and she laughs. Without the slightest provocation she strips off her clothes and jumps on my bed. Five minutes later I am in her mouth. It is one of the worst blow jobs of my life, all toothy and nasty. I pull out and scold her.

Lead the way

I flip her over and have my way. And she is very appreciative. I tell her she is a trooper for making such a dangerous trek in the snow. I sleep comfortably beside a beautiful girl I met only hours earlier. I wonder if it’s me, or if she arranged this whole situation. I quit thinking and sleep.

If you want to bring her home–realize that logic is not your friend. It’s much more critical to make the trip an adventure, a playful time with no expectations, no pressures. Keep her horny and in high spirits. Use the time to work her into a frenzy of expectation. Challenge her to be her best, most creative and sexy self, all the way home. Make her earn the right to be pleasured by you.