There’s always a sign. A girl will always let you know if she wants to be approached. Sure, there are direct invitations, such as a look, a stare or even a smile, but betting your game on those is like trying to constantly win blackjack in a Las Vegas casino. The hallmark of a seasoned seducer is being able to decode the really, really subtle signs, so subtle that even the girl isn’t aware, at least consciously, that she’s covertly trying to invite a new man into her life. Human beings are, after all, continuously communicating with their immediate environment.
Approaching a complete stranger will always be challenging because you don’t know how the stranger will respond — that is if they’ll respond at all to a lowly pedestrian like yourself. But if you know that the person is itching to meet someone new, approaching is simple and straightforward, like telling a barista what kind of coffee you want at your favorite coffee shop. This sixth sense has gradually seeped to me via years of experience of crossing the unspoken chasm by talking to hundreds of strangers in all corners of the globe. I could explain it you in greater detail, but I don’t want to bore you with the technical nuances.
As I slowly descended the escalator in one of Sofia, Bulgaria’s barren metro stations, I spotted her in the distance. Something about her caught my eye. Nothing purely obvious, at least nothing that I could’ve put my finger on. But something about her, from the way she walked or from the way she observed the environment that I had a hunch she was open to meeting a new man in her life.
I slowly worked my way in her direction, making sure the whole process was as natural as possible. After all, I was just a tourist wondering around, looking for a metro map. Once I got close to the map, I stopped in front of it and began carefully studying it. I don’t know if studying it is the right term; there was really nothing to study as Sofia’s metro had grand total of two lines. Kind of pathetic for a capital city of a decently sized European country.
Just like on cue, she also walked over to the map and began studying it. For a moment there, I felt like I was playing a part of a movie and directing it at the same time. At first, I found it rather suspicious that a Bulgarian girl would need to study the metro map of her own city — I’ve never in my life seen an obvious New Yorker come and look at Manhattan’s subway map — but who knows, people do strange things to pass the time.
I got a better look at her once she turned around. She was tall, maybe 5’10″-5’11″, and had smooth olive skin and straight long dark hair. She was wearing a black leather jacket that nicely hugged her skinny body. She had a beautiful Balkan / Southern European face. I was intrigued.
There are moments in a man’s life when not proceeding with an action should be considered nothing less than cowardly, a moral crime against masculinity that’s duly embedded in every man’s DNA; it’s what separates the heroes from the zeros. Every single man knows this moment because that’s also exactly when he automatically begins to talk himself out of going through with the prescribed course of action, either by creating a lame excuse, or, even worse, a complex rationalization. Even an experienced seducer goes through this from time to time. Fortunately, I solved this problem long ago by viewing seduction as an integral part of my daily life, like the air my lungs inhale or the ground that I walk on.
The way I see it, people are meant to be approached. Thus, approaching for me is no longer something I force myself to do. It’s no longer a process where I put myself on the line. The world is my playground and every new interaction with a stranger is a new experience that enriches my life.
“Excuse me, does this line go to the center?” I asked her as I pointed to one of the two metro lines. She was still looking at the map when my question entered her ear canal. After the last syllable exited my voice box, I carefully waited for her (hopefully positive) reaction. That first millisecond is the most crucial, and can sometimes feel like an eternity.
I kept looking at the map, but every neuron in my brain waited for her response. The key is knowing that non-verbal responses are always much more accurate than their verbal counterparts.
To my surprise, she began replying in a relaxed natural tone without taking her eyes off the map. She was completely unfazed and calm, almost as though she was expecting my question.
“Yes, you take this line, and in two stops you’ll be in the center,” she replied without asking anything in return.
“It’s so nice to have such a simple metro system. Makes it really difficult to get lost. Completely different from the metro systems I’m used to,” I said with a slight smirk. It was my not-so-subtle way of projecting that I’ve been in great cities with complicated subway systems, not this two-line joke of a metro.
Now I had her attention. She turned and faced me directly, scanned me up and down, before asking the inevitable question, “What city is that?”
“New York City.”
“You don’t look American,” she replied immediately, even before I closed my mouth. She had a skeptical look on her face.
Ah, an opinionated woman, I remembered thinking to myself. She must be really good in bed. I’m beginning to like her more and more.
“Maybe that’s because I wasn’t born there,” I confidently answered, making sure she knew never to judge the book by its cover. I always make sure to give out information bit by bit as though I’m feeding someone via a narrow straw. The more someone works for something, they more they appreciate when they finally get it.
“Really? Why is that?”
“You look Greek or Romanian, maybe even Spanish,” she answered, still studying my face with a perplexed expression. I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult, but trying to get to the bottom of that remark was meaningless to the greater goal at hand.
The train finally came. We entered the train together. Since all the seats were taken, we moved quickly to a spot next to the backdoor. I came close to her, slowly studying her reaction as to whether her level of comfort increased or decreased. As a confident alpha woman, I noticed her feeling slightly aroused.
I had no specific plans for day, and, while, I had already asked her for directions to the center, a mere two stops away, I knew that I would casually “miss” my stop and try to stay with her as long as possible. It’s a strategy that I’ve used many times in the past with great success.
We talked about different things. I usually let the conversation take a natural course, except that I always make sure to pay careful attention to what she’s saying. Listening is a very underrated skill.
I learned that she was a civil engineer and moved to Sofia from a smaller city because of better job prospects. She was also studying Spanish, which I noticed was a common pattern with other young Bulgarian women. I made a mental note of another conversational topic I can circle back to, if needed.
We clicked right away. Even now, after hundreds of approaches, I never cease to be amazed by the quality of women that one can meet in all random places in the random corners of the globe simply by putting oneself out there. Had this been at night in some posh club, a girl like this would be all but unapproachable. I don’t blame her. I was also amazed that a girl of such high caliber was seemingly single.
When you spend time with a person you click with, time flies by at an accelerated pace. The fifteen or twenty minute train ride felt like a mere second.
“Hey, didn’t you miss your stop?” she finally exclaimed as the train rolled further and further from the center into some unknown part of Sofia.
“Oh, shit, I think you’re right!” I feigned surprise while looking around the metro car in a frenzied state.
“It’s good I didn’t have a job interview,” I replied looking confused but composed at the same time. Her worried look morphed into a smile.
“Well, my stop is next. It was really nice meeting you.” She told me and paused, as though waiting for me to ask her something.
“It was my pleasure. Hey, let’s hang out sometime. Maybe in some place that’s not moving,” I joked, but she knew that I was dead serious about getting to know her better.
“I can’t. I have a boyfriend. We live together. That’s where I’m going now.”
Ouch. I’ve rebounded from different situations of various difficulties throughout my extensive seduction career, but this was a long shot. A girl who lives with her boyfriend in a relatively conservative Balkan country? Not gonna happen, at least not in the near future.
Like a supercomputer, I quickly analyzed my various options. I could’ve gotten her number and gone from there. If not a number, maybe ask for something more innocent like an email. Maybe I can befriend her and eventually date her when or if she comes back on the market. Lots of maybe’s, but nothing definite. I had lousy odds.
“I understand. Well, it was nice meeting you as well. Good luck with everything,” I replied, trying hard to mask any signs of disappointment.
Many guys are, what I call, serial number collectors. They collect them like baseball cards, praying that things eventually work out down the line. On the other hand, I live for the approach and a series of digits doesn’t mean much to me if the actual intent is not there.
I got out of the subway car and switched platforms to take the opposite train back to the center. I was feeling great on this beautiful spring afternoon in the Bulgarian capital.
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