My First Threesome

"I fucking love Blackadder. How the hell do you know about it? You're American." Please God, I think - let her not be Canadian...
"My mom watches it - she's got all the scripts and everything." Thank fuck.
"Fucking cool." I turn to the group, to the chick who Tank Girl was originally talking to. "Blackadder," I continue, "is a comedy series from the 90's - it's written by Richard Curtis, the guy who wrote Four Weddings and a Funeral."
"Oh," She says. She had no idea.
"Yeah. It's brilliant, but the first series was a bit crap. Blackadder's character was a bit of a clown, but he turns into the most acerbic, sarcastic bastard in the second series. He's brilliant." Tank Girl perks up.
"That's exactly what I was going to say!" She says, brightly.

Houston, we have lift off. We're talking about Blackadder, swapping impressions and jokes, going into general comedy chat. It's all pure gold. We go inside. We drink. We talk about porn. We go outside for more cigarettes. I give the girls alone time for a chat every now and then when I'm getting indicators of interest from one of more of them so they can all have a girly giggle about how hot I am.

After a while two of the girls leave. I pull them both in for a hug, and they love it. They go, after telling me that they'll be in X bar tonight and I should really be there. I'm left with Tank Girl, and a pretty blonde chick who I discover is half Italian, half Native American Indian. Nice. I shall hereafter refer to her as Pocahontas.

So were chatting, and one of them makes a wisecrack about something. We all laugh.

"Aw shit, you girls are lovely. I'm really glad I randomly started talking to you." I say.

This is good shit. In a one-on-one with a chick, or in a group when you get them laughing, when you sense that they're happy you can roll this shit out. Technically (in Style-speak) it's a way to force, and to make explicit, a hook point. It's like using crampons to climb a mountain. It doesn't really matter how they respond either. They don't have to come back with a compliment - although they will if you've gauged it right - as long as you're not phased by them not telling you you're cool in return, they'll feel guilty when you just keep on talking. They'll feel guilty because you show that you weren't trying to play them, you were just being genuinely nice. They'll definitely tell you you're cool the next time you tell them you're glad you spoke to them. If you gauge it right, that is. Just make sure you mean it. It makes all the difference.

They look very slightly taken aback, but then Tank Girl picks up the ball and runs with it. "You too," she replies "absolutely. You seem like a really cool guy. The only guys we've met here have been really sleazy or weird. You're just really cool. Isn't he cool?" "Sure, he's great" says Pocahontas.

You can just say thanks to a compliment, or you can be cocky. But the best thing I've ever found is to really, genuinely take compliments to heart. It feels good, for one thing. It helps your self-esteem. It shows you're not invulnerable for another thing- it shows you're human without being a big pussy. It creates a real and powerful emotional connection with people. Finally, if someone senses that they've given a compliment and someone is really impressed with it, they usually elaborate on it. This is brilliant. The following I said in a level-headed, non-gushy but totally genuine way. Because it was genuine. I meant it all.

"That's really, really nice of you to say. Thanks. That means a lot to me. You have no idea."
"No, I mean it. You're fantastic," says Tank Girl. "You're funny, you're cool, you're great fun." She's beaming at me.
"Yeah, really" says Pocahontas. She smiles at me, and drops her eyelids ever so slightly.
"Shit girls, that's lovely. You're both so fucking sweet. I could eat you both up. Come here." We have a three way hug. I kiss them both on the cheeks.