I bang my first leggy 27 year old Russian programmer

I bang my first leggy 27 year old Russian programmer

Sometimes game comes down to recognising a small number of key signals and then acting accordingly. There’s always a reason why girls behave the way they do. Even when the signal is buried in a wall of noise if you know what to look for and how to read it, you can make things happen.

I’m in Russia with Steve Jabba. It’s my second day so I invite my gypsy fuck-buddy over for a rumble at 7pm. She’s the fourth girl to receive Krauser-lovin’ in the past nine days so when I’ve shot my bolt I collapse into bed and don’t want to leave for love nor money. Then Jabba gets on the blower telling me how much we need to go nightclubbing. Fucking hell….. that’s the last thing I want but he drags me out. We roll into one of the better clubs at 10pm on a Thursday night. It’s far from rammed but enough hot girls to make it worth the effort and this is Russia, after all, so they are way way hotter than the equivalent London club.

After a quick look around I sidle up to a bar in a quieter room next door to the main dance floor room. Leaning over I order beer and see a leggy blonde come in. She stands next to me to order. I roll off and tell Jabba (half-heartedly) “I’ll call that a proximity IOI”. That’s Signal One. At the time I’d have said it was 30% likely to have been a real IOI. She stays on her stool to drink. I’ll call that Signal Two, essentially prolonging the proximity IOI and now I think its 50% that she’s into me. She appears to be alone so far but its early days for the club. I open over my shoulder. Can’t remember what I said but it was playfully accusatory.

with worse fashion

with worse fashion

She hooks immediately. I can’t quite believe it because she’s taller than me, a typical long-legged Slav, and its not really in my reality to get girls like this in a club. So I stay diffident and low energy just pushing the conversation along then briefly bounce her to the nearby sofas. She wants to dance so I let her go. For the next twenty minutes or so I’m just talking to Steve from the edge of the dance floor.

Him: Somethings not quite right.

Me: What do you mean?

Him: She’s just dancing by herself on the edge of the dance floor. It’s not right.

Me: You think she’s a tart? She’s just in normal jeans, doesn’t look like a tart to me.

Him: Yes, but just something is a bit off.

I’m inclined to agree. A hot tall bird shouldn’t be in the club by herself, dancing. We are looking for needlessly complicated answers when I find out later the real reason. She looks at me a few times (Signal Three). “Get on the dance floor” admonishes Steve so we both go on and do some low-technique don’t-give-a-fuck dancing. Within a song or two the girl is dancing with us (Signal Four). She’s facing me the whole time and when I’m off to the toilet she’s doing the same to Steve. He later tells me she would’ve probably fucked both of us. I can believe it.

So I’m just dancing like a tool and it’s stalling out a bit. I don’t really know what I’m up to. It seems too easy, I can’t believe it could be like this. I’m looking for too much confirmation, too much signal rather than just trusting in what is there. Steve has a more intuitive grasp and nudges me, “take her off the dance floor”. So I do. She follows without a murmur.

We sit down on the sofas and I become more sure of myself. I give her five minutes of comfort, play with her hair and then kiss. She goes for it strongly. There’s still no friends interfering. She really is here alone. I review the signals:

  • Signal Zero: Girl comes alone to a nightclub on a Thursday night and just dances around by herself.
  • Signal One: Girl locates herself next to guy to order drink despite the bar being empty with lots of space.
  • Signal Two: Girl remains next to guy even though normal thing to do is take drink away from the bar.
  • Signal Three: Girl continues to snatch glances at guy from dancefloor.
  • Signal Four: Girl maneouvres into dancing close to the guy and smiles when he reciprocates. She doesn’t leave.

So really is there any doubt? One or two signals you could make a case for coincidence or an alternate reading but all together they point in one direction: it’s a DTF girl who fancies me. She’s latched onto the first guy who hit on her. I tell her “let’s go somewhere else” and she agrees. Taxi. Home. Shoes off. Music on. She just jumps me and tears my clothes off. She really really wants this. It’s an earth-shattering fuck. She’s gobbling my dick like a fatty at a McDonalds and screams in ecstasy anytime I touch her pussy. By the time I’m fucking her she’s got her eyes popping out of her head, clawing my back and screaming the house down. Fuck me does that bolster one’s confidence. Once I’m done she asks for my number and gets a taxi home.

Fuck me, that was easy.

Sure, I'll take that

Sure, I’ll take that

Discussing it over coffee with Jabba the next day I ask him to give his analysis so I can bring out the learning points for my lay report. “There’s nothing to analyse, she was just up for it” he says. Yup, it was that simple. It turns out she works hard as a computer programmer and just came out of a long relationship. She was due to return to her hometown for the weekend and wanted some fun. I was the right guy in the right place at the right time.

I meet her again a few days later for seconds. Over drinks she tells me “the sex was fantastic” and slips that she’s been thinking about it non-stop since. I take her home for another blinder and get to practice my one-man-DP on her again (fuck me, she likes that).

The moral of the story is be alive to the signals when something falls into your lap. Don’t overcomplicate it.

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