Adolescent Sexuality, Bad Ideas, Courage, Dan Cohen, Free Spirit, Friends, Guilt, Honesty, Horniness, Human Nature, Judgementalism, Learning, Life, Living, Loneliness, Love, Lovers, Lust, Quality of Life, Relationships, Seduction, Self-Knowledge, Sex, Sexuality, Sexualization, Shame, The Art of Living Well, Values, Well Being, Wisdom

Sleep With Your Friends, Not Your Fascinations!

(About a 7 minute read)

Guys, I apologize for a bossy post title, but I just could not resist the alliteration.  A good phrase has so often been my undoing in life.  Twice, for instance, I said, “Make it happen!”, at the worst possible moment.

“Make it happen” is one of my favorite phrases.  I stole if from my younger brother. My bro is superb at making even seemingly impossible things happen.  But twice, I’ve said it when I should have thought before I said it.  “Do you, Paul, accept this woman as your lawfully wedded wife…”.

“Make it happen!”

“I’ll take that as an ‘I do’. You may now kiss the wench.”

Continue reading “Sleep With Your Friends, Not Your Fascinations!”

Adolescent Sexuality, Bad Ideas, Cultural Traits, Culture, Erotic Love, Ethics, Free Spirit, From Around the Net, Fun, Horniness, Human Nature, Jane Paterson Basil, Judgementalism, Learning, Life, Living, Love, Morality, Morals, New Love, Play, Seduction, Self, Self Identity, Self Image, Self-determination, Self-Flourishing, Self-Knowledge, Sex, Sexuality, Sexualization, Society, Stolen From The Blogosphere, Village Idiots

The Feral Sexuality of Teenage Girls

(About a 6 minute read)

It is easy to fall for the cliché that ours is the most sexually liberated age in history.  It might be actually closer to the truth if we were to think of ourselves as among the most sexually complicated ages in history.

Continue reading “The Feral Sexuality of Teenage Girls”

Adolescent Sexuality, Courtship, Free Spirit, Hate, Horniness, Human Nature, Jealousy, Life, Love, Lovers, New Love, People, Relationships, Seduction, Sex, Sexuality

“We’ve Entered Our Dangerous Years, Paul”

(About a 10 minute read)

Chris was one of the prettiest, most shapely beauties in our high school.  She was also one of the few in that category that I actually desired enough to want so much more than a casual friendship with.

You see, Chris was — like me — a bit of an outcast. We had the same bad reputation.  Folks said I had “quite a temper”, a “sharp tongue”, and that I was “contrary” — meaning that I tended to oppose things for no better reason than for the sake of opposing them.

Folks said exactly the same things about Chris.  She had quite a temper,  a sharp tongue, and — of course, being female, the word wasn’t “contrary” — Chris was a “bitch”.

Continue reading ““We’ve Entered Our Dangerous Years, Paul””

Abuse, Bad Ideas, Christianity, Ethics, Morality, Morals, News and Current Events, Politicians and Scoundrels, Religion, Religious Ideologies, Seduction, Sexual Abuse, Sexualization, Spirituality, Values

Should We Keep the Catholic Church?

(About a 3 minute read)

It seems it has been at least 20 years now since the first credible reports of wide-spread child rape and sexual abuse by Catholic priests began making the news.  Since then, the reports have spread to nearly every industrialized nation where the Church has a presence.  Even Poland, I recall, has reported victims in the thousands.

I suppose too, the documented numbers are most likely well below the actual number of victims.  Ten thousand children in all of Australia?  Seems incredible it should be so few over 50 years.

Continue reading “Should We Keep the Catholic Church?”

Celibacy, Courtship, Cultural Change, Cultural Traits, Culture, Happiness, Honesty, Late Night Thoughts, Lovers, Marriage, Poetry, Relationships, Seduction, Sexuality

Late Night Thoughts: Prose and Poetry, Children and Judgement, Priests and Celibacy, Culture and Change, plus more (July 31, 2018)

(About a 4 minute read)

Some of us who publish our poetry on the internet care more to get an idea across than get it across poetically.

We might break our sentences
Into several lines
As if they were poems
But they really are
Prose.

There’s no crime in it, of course. The gods know life has so many much bigger things to worry about than whether someone likes getting his or her ideas across more than they

Continue reading “Late Night Thoughts: Prose and Poetry, Children and Judgement, Priests and Celibacy, Culture and Change, plus more (July 31, 2018)”

Becky, Coffee Shop Folks, Coffee Shop Stories, Jeff, People, Relationships, Seduction, Sexuality, Theresa

50 Shades of Jeff: Profile of a Promiscuous Man

(About a 14 minute read) 

Jeff and I had an oddball relationship.  We were not truly friends, we certainly were not enemies, but we were more than casual acquaintances.

We met at a coffee shop where we were both daily customers.   Luke introduced us one afternoon.  I noted that Jeff was a handsome, rather short man, with a somewhat deep, slightly husky voice.

A few minutes later,  a couple of people walked up to Jeff with one of them saying something along the lines of,  “Jeff!  You’re back in town!  When?”  Luke promptly took advantage of Jeff being distracted to take me aside a few paces. He whispered, “He’s always carrying. Just so you know.”

“What does ‘carrying’ mean?”

Luke very briefly looked surprised and then whispered again, this time slowly, “He conceal carries a Beretta 9mm pistol in a holster strapped under his left arm.  You will never see it, but never forget about it, because it’s always there.”  I nodded and then we rejoined Jeff, who was no longer distracted.

About a quarter hour later, Jeff said something to Luke that I no longer recall, but in response to which Luke laughed loudly and said, “You’re a sick, sick man, Jeff.  But we all love you!”

It was the first time I ever heard that cliché and so I thought Luke was being witty but serious; and it stuck in my head as a first impression of Jeff: Something was wrong with the man, but he seemed well liked.

I soon enough learned that Jeff saw himself as some sort of pick up artist.  He had a little two or three sentence long speech that he told anyone at the coffee shop who’d listen.  The part I remember went, “I lost count of the number of women that I’ve slept with at 200 women.  When I reached 200, I thought, ‘Why should I count anymore?'”

One night during the summer I met Jeff, I was sitting on a park bench at two in the morning one night, enjoying my insomnia by savoring the night air,  when two teens jumped me without either one of them making even the least discernible effort to politely introduce themselves beforehand, an appalling lack of manners that I found rather alarming at the time.

I suppose they wanted money.  Unlucky for them, I miraculously mucked my way into somehow gaining the upper hand. They fled down the street, and I –without really thinking it through — instinctively chased them for a few yards like an idiot before realizing that they were both faster than me and — after all — still outnumbered me.  I decided not to tempt the Goddess of Luck, Spontaneous Erections in Men Over 80, and Durable Chinese Goods any further.  Besides, my usual policy is to back out of any confrontation unless I’m forced to fight, then I try to fight like a wildcat and just as dirty as river mud.

The next morning I woke up with a gorgeous black eye.  When Jeff saw it at the coffee shop later that day he asked for the particulars.  I told him the story and thought it would end with that.  But Jeff wasn’t content.  “Can you tell me anything, Paul, anything to identify them?”  I described the kids as best I could recall.  Jeff pressed for more.  I couldn’t recall anything more about their looks, so I speculated about their habits, “They’re most likely local kids and night owls, Jeff.  So I bet they hang out at the Denny’s”.   That seemed to satisfy him.

A day or two later, Jeff had some news for me.  He had decided to indulge himself a bit of good old-fashioned vigilantism.  Reminding me of my speculation that the teens were night owls, he gone to the Denny’s in the wee hours of the morning.  As it happened, he’d overheard two teens talking about encountering an “old man” [Author’s note:  “OLD man”? The nerve!]  in the park the night before.

Jeff waited until the teens left the restaurant then followed.  Presently, the two split up, most likely on their way to separate homes.  Jeff trailed the boy he’d overheard claim credit for “popping one right in the prick’s eye”.  He caught up with the unfortunate boy, attacked him, reduced him to the ground, and then jerked and twisted the boy’s right arm up and in way that Jeff knew was pretty sure to rip tendons.

“I want to make this clear Paul.  I didn’t do it for you.  I did it because this is my town.  My town, my home, and I take it personally when someone messes with the quality of life around here.

“By the way, I watched which hand he used to pick up his soda glass at Denny’s.  I wanted to make sure I tore up the correct arm — the arm he used in punching you.  He won’t be punching anyone else with that arm for a few weeks now.”

That night I myself went to the restaurant.  I wasn’t looking for the teens, I didn’t think they’d be around after what had happened.  But there he was: His arm raised up in a cast.  As I passed his table he looked up at me, “Is it over?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s over”, I said, feeling an improbable empathy for him, “It’s done if you’re done.”  The boy nodded and assured me he was done.  I secretly hoped Jeff thought it was done, too.  If he didn’t, I aimed to have a word with him.

Jeff and I didn’t start hanging out daily with each other until a few weeks later.  It soon seemed to me that he had an opinion on nearly everything, and that he delivered his opinions authoritatively, as if thinking himself equally well-informed on all subjects.  I seldom more than half-listened to him.  Still, I wasn’t in the habit back then of avoiding people, and Jeff always came over to sit with me when he saw me at the coffee shop,  so we spent considerable time together for awhile.

His single most intense, sustained effort to get his opinions across to me came about due to a miscommunication.

A couple days before the incident, Becky had introduced me to her younger sister, Theresa, who was visiting from Los Angeles.  Theresa was an erotic dancer so drop-jaw, stop-in-your-tracks gorgeous that a bad night for her as a dancer was to earn only $1000 in tips.  She was also, I thought from the moment I met her, obnoxious.

I tried to hide my instant distaste for her, which was almost solely based on her use of the word “darling” when first addressing me.   But Theresa picked up on my feelings.  Instead of firing back at my momentary insanity, however,  she much more reasonably decided to simply change my mind.

The next day, she invited me to breakfast at Becky’s house.  I went, Theresa cooked a delicious breakfast for me, and I left in honest admiration of her clever “hash browns diplomacy”, and also feeling rightfully guilty for having put her to it.

Later that morning, I was sitting at a sidewalk table with Jeff and three other men when Theresa walked by, dressed for the summer weather in a tank top and tight pair of shorts.  When she saw me, she burst into a huge, friendly smile, waved, and called to me by name.  But she didn’t pause, and instead kept on walking.  Every eye at the table followed her receding figure raptly.  Then, once she was well down the street, every eye almost at once turned to me.

“How do you know her?”, someone demanded.  “Can you introduce me?”, someone else laughed.

Without thinking through the impression my words would make, I answered the first question, “That’s Theresa.  She’s a new friend, I just met her.  She made breakfast for me this morning.”  I looked around.  Everyone had knowing smiles on their faces, and some were nodding approvingly.

“She’s just a friend”, I said.  Someone mumbled, “Sure”, and there were a couple short laughs.  I decided to remain silent and thus dig no further down in the hole I’d made for myself.

Jeff had remained silent through all of it.  But the moment the last person at our table save him and me had left, Jeff stood up, removed all the chairs from the table except our own (“So we won’t be interrupted”, he mysteriously said), and then sat down opposite to me.  Leaning forward, he demanded with unusual intensity, “Truth!  Did you two fuck?”

“No!”, I was a bit pissed he’d even ask, but I added, politely enough, “I’m voluntarily celibate, Jeff.”

“Voluntarily. Celibate.”  He slowly repeated, while looking at me like I’d just then told him “roses make great lawnmowers”.

Jeff then launched himself into what can only be described as a two hour pitch directed at selling me on becoming a pick up artist.  I simple zoned out, leaving him to ramble on while I enjoyed the beautiful weather.  Today, I don’t recall a specific word of what he said, but I do remember the passionate intensity with which he spoke.

From the day forward, he seemed to feel a need to save me from my incomprehensible celibacy.  I sometimes thought he was behaving like an Evangelical preacher who can’t restrain himself from proselytizing atheists, and that I was the king of atheists to him.

One thing Jeff never did is tell anyone who he slept with.  Even if the woman herself openly claimed she’d slept with him  — and a few did — and Jeff knew she openly claimed it, he would refuse to confirm it.  I once, and once only witnessed Jeff “pick up” a woman.

I’ve come across websites that teach step-by-step methods for picking up women.  Jeff’s approach was nothing at all like theirs.  Sometimes those sites recommend that you attack a woman’s self-esteem in order to tear her down psychologically and thus make her vulnerable to your advances.  I think Jeff would have reacted to those sites like he once reacted to my telling him I preferred to be celibate.  What I witnessed  was Jeff doing the opposite of what those sites recommend.

Watching him was, to an extent, like watching a chameleon change colors.  I stated earlier that Jeff usually came across as opinionated and perhaps even arrogant.  Normally, he would talk to both men and women that way.  But all of that dropped like a mask the moment Jeff got serious about someone.

Suddenly, he was the woman’s favorite brother, or her most trusted confidante, or her most down to earth friend, or her oldest friend, as comfortable to be with as worn shoes.

Moreover, Jeff did nothing that came across to me as “making an effort to impress”.   He seem  to put his ego aside and was instead attentive to the woman.   He displayed unforced, effortless curiosity about the woman and an easy-going respect for her.

It was quite the tour de force, and it reminded me of an extraordinary salesman I once knew — a man who had broken 100 year sales records for a Fortune 500 company that he’d worked for — and who had mentored me when I was relatively new to sales.

Over the years, a small number of women  — maybe five or six — have either mentioned to me, or at least hinted to me, that they slept with Jeff.  Only one of those women had a wholly negative view of him, claiming that Jeff had gotten her pregnant.  Jeff himself claimed that he’d had a vasectomy, and he was rather proud that he’d “never left any unwanted bastards in this world”.  One woman spoke of him as if Jeff was some fondly remembered, but hopelessly crazy friend that she kept at arm’s length.  Another confessed to me that she thought herself “superficial” for wanting sex with him, but she loved it anyway.  The rest, so far as I can recall now, had wholly positive views of him.

Did Jeff really sleep with “hundreds of women”?  Naturally I don’t believe that for a moment.  But for various reasons, I suspect that Jeff slept with more than his fair share, as they say.  Yet, despite the women in his life, Jeff was a fundamentally unhappy man.

In addition to his little speech about the number of women he’d slept with, Jeff had another little speech he seemed to have memorized from repeating it so frequently to so many people.  “I’m giving myself until the day I turn 45 to get myself straightened out.  If I still cannot hack anything but a twisted, fucked-up life on that day, then I’m going to put an end to it.  One way or the other, the mess I’ve made of my life is going to be over.”

I never knew whether to take Jeff seriously or not when he’d say that.  I knew almost nothing at the time about the psychology of suicide.

What did Jeff mean by his “twisted, fucked-up life”?  I think it’s most likely he was referring to two things at once.  First, Jeff seemed unable to keep a steady job.  Mostly he did  piecework for people, such as painting their house.  There were often long periods between one job and the next.  I knew Jeff to now and then go for a few days without food, or to live in no more than his pickup truck for up to months at a time.  And I know from remarks he made to me that his instability bothered him.

The second thing you might find ironic.  In the time I knew him, Jeff fell in love with three or four women in widely spaced succession.  Each time, he tried to make a life together with her.  Get a place, keep a job, practice monogamy; that sort of thing.  It never worked out for him.  I think the longest relationship he ever had with someone he loved lasted less than six months.

Jeff took the breakups hard.  And whenever he spoke to me about them, he blamed himself.  The sad irony, of course, was that the guy who could get all the women he wanted could not keep even one.

Jeff hanged himself on his 45th birthday.  Either on that day or very near to it, so far as I can recall now. There was a memorial set up for him at the coffee shop, with a jar for donations that would go to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.   For a couple weeks to a month afterwards, people brought him up in their conversations, saying for the most part the usual things that people say after someone kills themselves.  Then, the conversations about him dwindled in number, faded into time, and he became rarely spoken of.

 

Adolescent Sexuality, Courtship, Family, Learning, Love, Psychology, Relationships, Seduction, Sexuality

How to Ask a Woman for a Date?

Yesterday, I spoke with a fine young friend who lives in another state about the world’s most common near-death experience — also known as asking a woman for a date.

As you might expect, the conversation began casually enough with his desperately begging me to drive to Nebraska that evening and shoot him so he could avoid asking out a certain woman he works with.  Yet, shrewd, natural-born psychologist that I am, I sensed he might be beating around the bush.  So, I asked him, “Dan, I’m getting subtle vibes here — vibes that suggest to me you could possibly maybe just might be a bit troubled.  Is that correct?”

“Yes!  Please make it a head-shot.”

“Dan, I’m not going to shoot you….”

“Paul, you callous bastard, what have I ever done to you to deserve such a betrayal?”

A bit further down the sunny lane of our conversation, Dan finally admitted to the truth that I — with my sure-footed powers of insight into people’s very souls — had almost begun to suspect: He feels out of his comfort zone when asking women for dates.

It will astonish you to know that I utterly failed to put enough thought into what I said next: Out of sheer, unthinking sympathy, I immediately promised Dan I would write for him an informative post on how to ask a woman out.  He profusely thanked me.  And thanked me.  And thanked me.

That’s when I realized I’d committed myself to the deepest possible waters without an inflatable yellow duck ring.

As some of you might recall, I’ve chosen to remain celibate for the last 15 years or so.  And that’s my main excuse for having by now utterly forgotten everything I once knew about asking women out on dates.  So, although Dan doesn’t know it, yet, the total value of the advice I’m about to give him is — let us use a nice, polite word here — “modest”.

Poor Dan.

Unfortunately, a promise is a promise, and I have promised Dan that I will inflict on him a suffering greater than any he has ever imagined my advice.  So here it comes, Dan!  “An Honest Guide to Asking a Woman for a Date: May the Lord have mercy on you that you want Sunstone’s advice.”

To begin with…

To begin, Dan, let’s be brutally clear about the nature of advice.  Neither mine nor anyone else’s advice on how to ask a woman out is going to save you from ever experiencing defeat.  No mere words, no book, no lecture, no blog post can turn you into a pro.

Only practice can do that.

That’s because asking a woman out is fundamentally an activity, just like playing tennis is fundamentally an activity.  You can have the best tennis coach in the world, but that coach cannot save you from ever missing the ball, ever loosing a game. So, please give up any illusions you might have that the advice you are about to hear will turn you pro.  Only your commitment to practice, practice, practice will make you a pro.

I suspect you were not entirely happy to hear that, but it is the first and most important lesson you must learn.  Just as you cannot learn how to play tennis merely by thinking about tennis, you cannot learn how to successfully ask a woman out on a date just by thinking about how to do it.  You must get out there and try. Success is all about commitment to trying again and again until you perform at your best.

That was the bad news.  Now for some good news.  Through determined practice you can master the art of successfully asking women for a date.  I did it — I was once very successful at it — and you too can be frightened into celibacy by the weird women you’ve managed to date can succeed beyond anything you currently imagine is your doom possible for you.

Why you should be scared, Dan.  Very scared.

Correct me if I’m wrong, Dan, but during our conversation yesterday I somehow got the impression you feel out of your comfort zone when asking women on a date.  Of course, that’s because you’re scared.  So, it stands to reason that if you can get beyond your fear, you will find yourself smack-dab in your comfort zone.  And that would be a good thing.  Right?

So, let’s focus on fear.  It seems to me there are at least four possible causes of your fear.  First, I’ll list those four causes and then tell you how to deal with each of them.  In the end,  I assure you that you will have gone beyond mere fear and reached the sublime state known as “terror”, for by then you will have realized that terror is the only appropriate response to receiving advice from me.  Here, then,  are my guesses about why you might fear asking a woman for a date:

  • You do not believe in yourself and/or your motives in asking her for a date.
  • You sense on some level of your being that you and her are basically incompatible.
  • You are uncertain how to go about asking her for a date.
  • You fear rejection.

Let’s now blithely discuss each of those common fears in turn.

You do not believe in yourself and/or your motives in asking her for a date.

It’s quite common for folks to not believe in themselves. Even many successful folks or outwardly confident folks do not believe in themselves.   But unless you are really, really foolish — so foolish, in fact, that you would do something as foolish as take the advice of a 51 year old celibate male — in other words, laughably foolish — you have nothing to worry about, Dan.

I hope I have reassured you.

Here’s the work-around for this source of fear:  Begin by asking yourself, “Why would she want to go out with me?”  Now, if you are like most people who suffer from not believing in themselves, you will immediately start thinking of all your flaws.  You will say things to yourself like, “Why would she want to go out with me?  After all, I am poor.”  Or, “After all, I am fat.”  Or, “After all, I am ugly.” Or, “After all, I am known to listen to the advice of a 51 year old celibate male.”  That’s the sort of mind-garbage with which most folks who do not believe in themselves answer the question.  All it does is heighten your fears.

The correct answer to, “Why would she want to go out with me?”, is another question, “What can I offer her that she will really want to do?”  In other words, do not think so much of yourself as think of her — her desires, her needs, her wishes, her tastes.  Those things vary from woman to woman even more than do shades of nail polish, so it’s a very good idea to ask her, rather than guess.

As often as possible, I used to do that sort of asking far in advance of actually asking a woman out.   Say, a month or so before I would inflict the “big question” on her, I would very casually begin asking her about herself, what kind of hobbies she had, what she did for fun, and so forth.  “Do you have any hobbies, Marie?” “Why yes!  I’m a serial killer, Dan.”  You see how easy that was?  Good.

Once you have an excellent idea what sort of things she finds attractive, you should figure out what would be a fun date for her.   That might be pretty standard fare — such as dinner and a movie.  Or it might be something like rock climbing.  But tailor it to her.  If you are going to ask her to dinner and a movie, know in advance which cuisines she likes and what kind of movies she likes.  Don’t go generic with women.  Ever.

Are you following this, Dan?  Dan!  Wake up!

Do you see what’s happening here?  If it’s true that a source of your fear is you do not believe in yourself and/or your motives for asking her out, you can work around that mess by focusing on what she would like to do.  Let her happiness mean more to you than your fears.

You sense on some level of your being that you and her are basically incompatible.

Now ask yourself, Dan, if you are compatible with her.  Basically, fundamentally compatible.  It’s a hard question to answer, but you need to bring it up with yourself.  How well do you get along with her? If you don’t know the answer to that question, then you have not spent enough prep time with the object of your wanton desires to be asking her out yet.  So, go back and spend more time just getting to know her first.

On the other hand, if asking that question reveals the two of you are basically incompatible, then make plans to find someone else to ask out — but not her.  By the way, that might seem like simple advice, but you would be surprised how many people don’t think to take it.  They date people they are fundamentally incompatible with, they marry people they are fundamentally incompatible with, and — then they divorce people they are fundamentally incompatible with.

You are uncertain how to go about asking her for a date.

This is a question of technique, of course.  Americans are big on technique, Dan.  Or have you not noticed that most of the advice you have seen on how to ask a woman for a date has focused on what technique to use?  Since there is so much advice already out there on specific techniques, I am not going to concentrate much on what words to say, etc.  You can find more (and better) suggestions about that elsewhere.

Instead, I will simply say this: Since you have told me you are very scared about asking a woman out, adopt a technique that will reduce or ameliorate those fears, rather than attempt one which will heighten your fears by requiring some great art or skill to pull off.   Don’t think technique is so important that you must flawlessly execute some pick up line that is absolutely fabulous and mind-blowing.  That’s nonsense.  Most of my dates came from very simple lines like, “We should go see it together!”

The key is to be casual and take it easy.  Don’t ask one big question, such as “Would you like to go out Friday night?”  Instead, ask a series of little questions.  Get her feedback as you go.  If she stops answering affirmatively, then you can easily back out without too much embarrassment.  For instance:

“Hey, Marie! Didn’t you tell me once that your hobby was streaking monasteries and convents?”

“Sure, Dan.  What’s up?”

“Well, I heard the brothers over at St. Francis De Assisi are holding a special mass for children orphaned by rabid mice Friday night — have you heard of it?”

“No. Really?”

“Really! I’ve been planning to streak the brothers forever!  This is a dream come true!  You should go yourself!”

“Well… maybe I will.”

“Good!  It would be cool if you can make it!”

Notice how in the above conversation you suavely match her level of commitment with yours, Dan.  When she responds to your subtle request (i.e. “You should go yourself”) with a non-committal reply (“Well… maybe I will”), you respond with an equally non-committal reply (Good! It would be cool if you can make it!”).

In the little dance men and women do when courting — and asking a woman for a date is the start of formal courtship — you should lead your partner one small step at a time.  If she responds affirmatively, then take another small step forward.  If she responds in a non-committal manner, then match her non-commitment.  And if she backs off, then back off with her.  In other words, don’t drag her around the courtship floor — dance with her instead! Now, let’s pick up the dance where we left off:

“Good!  It would be cool if you can make it!”

“Actually, I’d love to go, Dan, but I don’t have any way of getting there.  My car will be in the shop having a cow catcher installed on it that day.”

“Wow!  You’ve been hitting cows, Marie?”

“Children, Dan.  They’ve been messing up my grill.”

“Oh, how awful of the negligent brats!  Well, I can give you a ride.  And it would please me very much if you would accept.”

“Thank you, Dan!  Well, since you put it that way, I will.  After all, I aim to please!”

“Fine.  The mass is at seven-thirty.  Say, how about we get together for supper at six!  We can try out that new Italian restaurant you were talking about last week.”

“Oh, that would be great, Dan!  What time can you pick me up?”

Dan, do you see here how you make it a dance?  Don’t think technique is so important you must flawlessly execute it.  Much more important than any technique is you’ve done your homework, know the two of you are compatible, and know what sort of date or activity will make her happy.  Asking for a date is in some ways remarkably similar to making love — it should 80% about her, and only 20% about you.

You fear rejection.

It’s finally time to be honest with you, Dan.  I can’t help you much here. There are several proven, but very specific ways to overcome the fear of rejection.  Some might work for you, but some will only work for someone else.  Before I could with confidence recommend a specific technique that’s best for you, I would need to give you a couple standardized psychological tests and know more about you as a person.  I don’t have the space to do that here, so I’m not even going to try.  Instead, I’m going to give you a worthless pep talk.

I’m pushing 52 years old now, and when I look back on my life, I realize I do not regret the many times some woman has said, “No” to me.  Instead, I regret the times I did not ask one or another woman out because I was afraid she would reject me.    You see, I started out being just as scared as you are.  It was only through repeated trial and error — and sometimes the help of others — that I learned how to work around my fears, get pass them, and successfully ask women out.

The moral is: You can do the same.  You can successfully ask out tons of women — but you must be to willing to learn how.  And that means practice, practice, practice.  So, beyond all else, make a commitment to learning how to play the game, how to dance the dance, how to ask the babes out.  That’s the single most important thing you can do.

I hope all this has helped.  I am now going to ask anyone who has read this to chime in with their own advice for you.  Maybe we can get a thread going here that’s full of good, sound advice and help.

Anyone want to pitch in and help Dan here?