The Sex Dude

Fellas, we have a serious problem. Contrary to popular belief or what your older brother Tony still has you believing, the days of getting the green light to the vagina highway simply because you have cool hair, a thick wallet, or a Tommy Lee sized-penis are over (although the latter still helps). In other words, chicks want more from us these days and we’re literally losing our touch because of it. Of course, most of you can’t fathom what more could possibly be needed to obtain a face full of va-jay-jay from Miss Right (or at least Miss Right Now). And while there are many avenues you can drive your blame-mobiles down in an effort to find the source of this pussy-protection epidemic (I’d start with Oprah), I’m going to save you a drive by taking you down a street that most of you have never driven. It’s a street where who you know, what you know, and how you know it doesn’t mean shit. On this street, size does matter—but not when it comes to your Johnson, bank account, or your ride. On this street, it’s the size of your ears that matter.

Why “ears”, you ask?

Because today, the key to getting any girl you could possibly want is to just listen to her—the one thing we’ve neglected to do for years simply because, well, we have dicks.

Now, before you go believing that you have the whole “listening” thing already covered, playa, just slow your roll. If you think you’re money just because you banged Tina the Shell Gas girl on the hood of your Corolla last night between her complaints about her convict ex- boyfriend and her cigarette break, you’re sadly mistaken. Some chicks don’t want to be listened to—some chicks just want to fuck. And Tina just wants to fuck. The girls that need our big ears are the A+ plus girls, the hot & classy ones, the potentially “out of my league” ladies. “But dude,” you say, “Any schmuck can listen.” And to that, I say you’re right. You see, this is a three step process. So you’ve got to do more than just listen, you’ve got to do something with that information. But before you do something with that information—and this is going to suck to hear—you’re going to have to learn to think like her, too. Calm down. I know it’s confusing, so let me explain.

For example, what do you do if a smokin’ hot piece of ass tells you that her longtime pet fish, Wilbur, just died? Well, for one, what you don’t do is stay focused on fishing for her vagina. Or at least don’t let her know it. Instead, focus on what she would do if this had happened to her best girlfriend. Think like her, fellas. What would she do? She would find the nearest pet shop, pay $5.99 for a new fish and bowl, and tape a note to it that simply says “While I know that Wilbur can’t be replaced, here’s someone that will keep you company until you feel better. P.S. I’ve banned my personal consumption of seafood for eternity.” The last step, the delivering of the fish, is what I call the follow through, the part that seals the deal. It almost seems to easy right?

Easy, yes. But sincere? Let’s be honest, it probably isn’t for most of you dudes. The majority of you reading this just want to get in her pants, which makes you a typical asshole. But, for many of you Captain Sensitive’s out there, it just might be genuine. And rest assured, just listening to her doesn’t always have to be used for instant pussy-getting gratification. For me, It’s worked in a variety of ways. In one of my most infamous cases, what started with “Hi, I’m gonna listen to you and then I’m gonna bang you,” quickly changed to “Hi, I’m gonna listen to you and then I’m gonna ask you to be my girlfriend.” Yeah, it’s quite powerful and if you’re not careful, it can turn you into a pussy if you don’t know what you’re doing.
So you can really understand, let me tell you about this classic just listen to her moment…

One of my best friends, Sammy, is gay. Sammy often refers to me as a “nebbishy, nerdy, small-town Jewish guy.” Now, while I am Jewish and don’t necessarily like to think of myself as Sammy described, let’s go with it so you can appreciate what I’ve accomplished simply by listening.

Unbeknownst to most heterosexual men, one genius aspect to having a gay best friend is that their girlfriends are always the hottest, coolest chicks on the planet because they know their gay friend is never going to try to bang them. And I’m not just talking “cute” girls here. I’m talking HOT. I’m talking centerfold, spread your legs, show the world your vagina, jerk off too, hot. In fact, one of Sammy’s girlfriends, 25 year-old Rona, who I met one memorable night at a bar in West Hollywood, literally was a centerfold. She was hands down one of God’s greatest creations. She literally was 5′7, 110 pounds and looked more like Angelina Jolie than Angelina MaFuckin’ Jolie. Her toes were perfect, her mouth was perfect, her teeth were brilliant and her tits were so fake and so wonderful that you would literally consider trading a year of your life for one night of slapping your salami right between them. Thank God for Sammy, because she probably wouldn’t give me the time of day if it wasn’t for our mutual friend. 

Rona turned heads wherever she walked–and somehow, that night, turned a corner right into me as I was leaving the restroom. Nervously, I said hello and we ended up talking and walking on the way up to the bar. I literally had “walk wood”–which is awful. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, imagine being an adult and walking around with a hard-on… in the middle of a bar. It’s not cool.

Thankfully, the bar was busy, which gave Rona and I a minute to talk, but more importantly, it gave me a minute to listen. Knowing that my just listen to her moment was limited, I asked her anything I could think of that would possibly give me something to connect with her on. Something that I could hear now, and bring up later that would make her know that I was paying attention–but ultimately put me eye level with her vertical taco.  In that short time, I learned that Rona was from Hawaii, lived in Japan, modeled in London, had two dogs named Misha & Marley, loved Red Lobster (who the fuck knows why), banned guys from her life that used the word whore, and didn’t drink until three years ago because she always just sipped on Shirley Temples with yellow umbrellas. Apparently Shirley Temples reminded Rona of the “good times she had as a little girl.” And now, they reminded me that I had a place to start. All because I asked and listened. I paid for both our Vodka-Sodas (a must if you have any plans of reaching the promised land) and we headed back to our group.

For the next twenty minutes, I purposely didn’t say a word to Rona. I didn’t stand near her and hardly even looked her way because she was the longest shot of my life and I didn’t want to be that overbearing dude. I hate that dude. But, just listening to her is all about planning, and I did have a plan. When I did look her way, I was looking at her glass, monitoring her every sip as she drank her way to the bottom of the cocktail. She was drinking quickly and I was thinking quickly. And, jussssst as she took that last sip , I took off for the bar, where I ordered two more Vodka-Sodas, as well as one Shirley Temple…with a yellow umbrella, of course (Remember step 2…Thinking Like Her).

Let me simply say , what happened after handing her that Shirley Temple and simply saying, “How about we remember the good times tonight,” you WONT BELIEVE.

Come back TOMORROW to thesexdude.com to read it with your own eyes….