My First Threesome

"You can kiss me if you want." Tank Girl says.
"Cool." I say. It is cool. We kiss. When we break away, I lean back in my chair. I look at Pocahontas. I raise my eyebrows. She nods, smiling. I lean over. I kiss Pocahontas. We
come up for air.
"I've never had a three way kiss," says Pocahontas.
"Well come on then," I say.
We all share a three way tonguelashing. I love my life.

Just to clarify, this is me and two hot American chicks I've only just met. We're in broad daylight in the smoking area of a pub on Edinburgh's Royal Mile, one of the busiest streets in the city. It's very picturesque. Do check it out sometime. There's a castle and everything.

After some more playful banter, Tank Girl gets up to use the toilet, and I'm left there with Pocahontas. A quick word on being tactile with the ladies. There's no such things as good touching or bad touching in my eyes. All non-sleazy physical contact is good, as long as the woman accepts it. The way I like to break down the initial barriers with chicks physically is a little like the way you use italics in a sentence for emphasis. This is a bit random, but it's the cheapest, most inoffensive kinesthetic contact this side of a backrub. Use touch to emphasise your words, in exactly the same way that you use italics in a sentence. Hold the touch for the duration of the emphasis – the italics – then take your hand back. Hold their eyes the whole time.

To be honest, I don't even think about it now, it's just part of how I relate to people, and especially women. It makes them like you. It's weird. The thing is, though, it comes in completely under radar – women just think you're a touchy feely kind of guy, and that it's normal for you so to be. This is obviously cool. But their accepting your tactile nature as totally normal is a double edged sword. For many guys, getting touchy with a chick is a sign you're coming on to them, and so it acts like a statement of interest. I can get incredibly tactile with a woman, and she still won't really know if I like her sexually, which can be a bit of a fucker, especially if I assume I'm being so obvious it's silly, and she's still blissfully living in blonde-world.

This was exactly what happened here.

"You're very tactile" said Pocahontas.
"Really?" I ask, innocently.
"Yeah, it's fine, it's just that when a guy touches me as much as you do it usually means that they're hitting on me."
"Oh." I say. There is a pause. I try not to giggle.
"I..." She splutters "I mean... are you? Are you hitting on me?"

There are a number of different ways in which you can answer that question in a bad way, and there are a number of different ways you can answer it in a good way. Sure, you could go cocky, and turn it round on her. Sure, you could segue into a feelings/values/emotional connection spiel. Or if you were so wont, you could play hard to get.

Or you could swing for that pitch so hard you damn near smash the bat, and put that ball into fucking orbit. After a careful process of selection lasting all of no seconds, I decided to opt for the latter option.

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask.
"Are you hitting on me?" She asks again. I look at her, incredulous.
"You're asking me if I think you're hot?" Little bit of a reframe. Hope you see why.
"Yes."
"Are you from Mars? Have I not made that sufficiently clear with the kissing? Ok – look. I'll answer your question. Yes, I think you're HOT. You're so hot, I could fry BACON on your ASS. I would do things to you that decorum prohibits their mention here. I'll HAMMER you into the MATTRESS until you don't know who you ARE. I'll pound you in ways God has yet to invent. I would love to do that. Hell yes. Hell. Yes. Oh, c'mere you little monkey." I kiss her again. Lots of tongues involved. "Does that answer your question?"