The Game

ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend. “It’s their New York seminar, ‘Advanced Anchoring and Other Sneaky Stuff.’”
    “What’s anchoring?” I asked.
    “My wing Twotimer will show you when you meet him. Ever experienced condiment anchoring before?”
    I had so much to learn. Men generally don’t communicate to one another with the same level of emotional depth and intimate detail as most women. Women discuss everything. When a man sees his friends after getting laid, they ask, “How’d it go?” And in return, he gives them either a thumbs up or a thumbs down. That’s how it’s done. To discuss the experience in detail would mean giving your friends mental images they don’t really want to have. It is a taboo among men to picture their best friends naked or having sex, because then they might find themselves aroused—and we all know what that means.
    So, ever since I’d first started harboring lustful thoughts in sixth grade, I’d assumed that sex was something that just happened to guys if they wentout a lot and exposed themselves to chance—after all, that’s why they called it getting lucky. The only tool they had in their belt was persistence. Of course, there were some men who were sexually comfortable around women, who would tease them mercilessly until they had them eating out of their hands. But that wasn’t me. It took all of my courage to simply ask a woman for the time or where Melrose Avenue was. I didn’t know anything about anchoring, eliciting values, finding trance words, or these other things Grimble kept talking about.
    How did I ever get laid without all this technology?
    It was a quiet Tuesday night in the Valley, and the only place Grimble knew to go was the local T.G.I. Friday’s. In the car, we warmed up—listening to cassette tapes of sarges by Rick H., practicing openers, faking smiles, and dancing in our seats to get energetic. It was one of the most ridiculous things I’d ever done, but I was entering a new world now, with its own rules of behavior.
    We walked in the door of the restaurant—confident, smiling, alpha. Unfortunately, no one noticed. There were two guys at the bar watching a baseball game on television, a group of businesspeople at a corner table, and a mostly male bar staff. We strutted to the balcony. As we pushed the door open, a woman appeared. Time to put what I’d learned to the test.
    “Hey,” I said to her. “Let me get your opinion on something.”
    She stopped and listened. She was about four foot ten, with short, frizzy hair and a marshmallow body, but she had a nice smile; she would be good practice. I decided to use the Maury Povich opener.
    “My friend Grimble there just got a call today from the Maury Povich show,” I began. “And it seems they’re doing a segment on secret admirers. Evidently, someone has a little crush on him. Do you think he should go on the show or not?”
    “Sure,” she answered. “Why not?”
    “But what if his secret admirer is a man?” I asked. “Talk shows always need to put an unexpected twist on everything. Or what if it’s a relative?”
    It’s not lying; it’s flirting.
    She laughed. Perfect. “Would you do the show?” I asked.
    “Probably not,” she answered.
    Suddenly, Grimble stepped in. “So you would make me go on the show, but you wouldn’t do it yourself,” he teased her. “You’re not adventurous at all, are you?” It was great to watch him work. Where I would have let theconversation wane into small talk, he was already leading her somewhere sexual.
    “I am,” she protested.
    “Then prove it to me,” he said, smiling. “Let’s try a little exercise. It’s called synesthesia.” He took a step closer to her. “Have you ever heard of synesthesia? It will enable you to find all kinds of resources to accomplish and feel the things you want in life.”
    Synesthesia is the nerve gas in the arsenal of the speed seducer. Literally, it is an overlapping of the senses. In the context of seduction, however, synesthesia refers to a type of waking hypnosis in which a woman is put into a heightened state of awareness and told to imagine pleasurable images and sensations growing in intensity. The goal: to make her uncontrollably aroused.
    She agreed and closed her eyes. I was finally going to get to hear one of Ross’s secret patterns. But as soon as Grimble began, a stocky, red-faced jock wearing a pocket undershirt marched up to him.
    “What are you doing?” he asked