(Excerpted from God is a Woman: Dating Disasters. All rights reserved by Ian Coburn
and Firefly Glow Publishing. Print version. Click here for more
stories from the book on www.godisawoman.net.)
Grand Prix Fiancée
Except for
its spelling,
I was
featuring at Laffs Comedy Corner. Sonya White, a
talented comedienne with whom I had worked before in
I was
pleased to be working with Sonya, as she was a lot of fun and offered lots of
advice about the business. I was just out of college and this was one of my
first big road tours. Sonya was maybe ten or twelve years older than me and
from
The first
show of the week went great. I couldn’t have had a better set. After a show, it
was customary for me to stand near the exit and mingle with the crowd as they
left. I was always flattered to get requests for an autograph. I stood just
outside the door and shook hands with customers on their way out.
“Great show; really funny.”
“Very, very funny.”
Abruptly, a
blonde with more curves than the Autobahn stepped out of the club. She and her
friend, who I can’t describe at all because I was looking at the blonde so
intently, walked up to me.
“Hi, I’m
Lori.” She pointed across the street, “We’re going over there to sing some
karaoke; you should definitely come.”
They walked
away while I and the rest of the men watched Lori’s shapely nineteen-year-old
ass try to wiggle out of her skintight jeans. She was around 5’7” with long
legs, long hair, and green eyes.
About ten
minutes later Sonya came out of the club.
“Hey Ian,
before I forget, this sweet young blonde girl wanted me to tell you she was
going across the street to sing some karaoke. And she is hot.”
If a woman
says another woman is hot . . . she’s hot. I was getting all kinds of good
signs. Lori made a point of telling me where she was going and hinted that if I
followed, I would reap rewards. The fact that she made a point of asking Sonya
to be sure to let me know where she was going was huge. It was obvious she
wanted badly for me to follow. Sonya and I headed over to the karaoke bar to
see what would unfold.
My first
concern was locating Lori. Would the bar be too crowded to find her? Would she
forget who I was by the time I did find her? Most likely, I’d find her in a mob
of guys. I decided that was the best place to start looking for her—in a mob of
guys.
I needn’t
have worried. Despite the huge size of the karaoke bar, when we entered we
discovered that there were only a few patrons scattered about. No one was
singing. In fact, there wasn’t even any music playing, an interesting strategy
for a karaoke bar.
Not only
that, but Lori was sitting near the entrance with her friend, staring at the
door. Before I could say anything, she raised her hand. “Hey, Mr. Comedian Guy,
over here!”
Good thing
she told me; otherwise, I never would have found her. If a woman is 5’7” with
long legs, has straw blonde hair that drapes over her shoulders, along with a tight rotund butt, and taut, mouthwatering
breasts, she doesn’t need to tell men where she’s sitting; we already know. Sonya
and I joined them at their table.
“Wait,
let’s not sit here; there’s a better table over there.” Lori and her friend got
up and we followed them to a table smack in the middle of the bar, away from
everyone else.
All right,
things just kept looking better. She was sitting at the door only to make sure
I found her; gotta like that. We all sat down.
“I’m Lori. What’s
your name again?”
“Ian.”
“Ian,
that’s right. I just love that name so much.”
“Thank you.
So, I thought you’d be singing something when I came in. I’m kind of
disappointed.”
She smiled.
“I don’t sing, except in the shower.”
“That’s
kind of an odd place to hold a concert, but if you give me some tickets, I can
sell ‘em at the show tomorrow.”
She laughed
and placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’re so funny.”
She ran her
fingers all the way down my arm and over my hand. Wow, getting all kinds of
great signals here. She over laughed at the flirting then made a point of
touching me for a few seconds. Touching? Scratch that; more like stroking me
for a few seconds. We looked into each others eyes for a moment and suddenly I
didn’t know what to say. Sonya knew something was up and quickly interjected,
“I love to sing. I’ll sing a song, but only if you two promise to dance.”
Gotta
love Sonya; how come I couldn’t work with her every week? Sonya got up and sang
some slow song. I was impressed with her voice. Lori and I danced by our table
for about one minute. After that, I thought I was going to have to track down a
local dentist in the morning to replace all the fillings she was sucking out. She
was a very good kisser and knew just how to press against a guy and pull away,
so as to get him all worked up and thirsty. She was also quite a talent with
whispering in the ear, “Oh, baby, I want you so bad. Do you like the way my
breasts feel against you? Are they nice and firm?”
All I could
do was manage a nod. She giggled and began to probe my mouth again with her
tongue. We continued to make out long after Sonya finished singing. Suddenly,
Lori pulled away and exclaimed, “Let’s go dancing!”
“We are
dancing.” I tried to kiss her some more.
She
laughed, “This is not dancing.”
She stepped
back and turned to her friend, who was long gone. She looked around the bar. “Oh
. . . I guess my friend left.”
Meanwhile,
I located Sonya. She was sitting at the bar with some of the staff from Laffs, who had since closed up the club and come over to
hang out. Lori grabbed her purse and took my hand. “Come on, let’s go dancing.”
Now this
was an odd request. We were having a perfectly good time and suddenly she
wanted to go dancing? I’d noticed this before with women; when things start to
progress quickly with someone they’ve just met, they’ll suddenly change gears
all together, in fear of being labeled a slut. So it wasn’t unexpected and I
could understand her sudden concern, although completely unnecessary in my
case. I was only in town for the week and knew none of her friends. What was I
going to do? Spread rumors?
I walked
over to Sonya and informed her Lori and I were going
dancing. Several of the staff decided to join us, while Sonya resolved to
retire to the condo. We left for the most popular dance club in town. When we
stepped out of the bar, Lori led me to her large 4X4. She opened her purse,
took her keys out, unlocked the truck, and tossed her purse inside. Then she
handed me her keys. “Here, hold onto these for me.”
This was
unbelievable. It kept getting better and better! I had her keys, so she wasn’t
going anywhere without me and I no longer had to concern myself with her purse.
Guys, always know where the woman’s purse is because
she sometimes forgets. More than one night has ended tragically for me when a
girl and I got back to my hotel room. We’d kiss a little more, I’d unlock the
door and start to open it when suddenly she’d shriek, “Oh my God! My purse! Where
is my purse?”
Next thing
I know, instead of a night of being naked together, I’m driving her all over
town trying to locate her purse.
“I think I
had it when we are at the second bar. Did I? Maybe I left it at the first bar.”
When the
purse is finally located, or worse, chalked up as lost, the moment is gone and
her mood is completely changed. In fact, many a woman will blame the guy for
not making sure she picked up her purse before leaving an establishment.
“I can’t
believe you let me leave my purse there!”
Let her. Yes,
I did; because, believe me, running around town all night looking for a purse
is so much better than having sex over and over and over, until the sun comes
up. What’s going on tomorrow night? I say we lose the purse and do this all
over again, it was such a blast! Best time of my life! But this particular
night in
I drove my
car around the dance club’s crammed parking lot for about ten minutes before a
spot finally opened up. There was a long line outside the club.
“Shoo, I
hate it when there’s a line. We’re never gonna get
in.”
I smiled. “Don’t
worry about it.”
We stood
near the main entrance and waited. The staff from Laffs
showed up and then I headed for the doorman. My fate was in his hands. If we
had to wait in line, things would fade away and Lori would start to lose
interest. She wanted to dance and dance now damn it, not wait in line to dance!
I wasn’t worried, though; I didn’t even give it a thought.
“Hey man,
how’s it going? Busy night, eh?”
“No more
than usual; it’s cool.”
“Good deal.
Hey, I’m the comedian at Laffs this week. These guys
are the staff over there—”
He unhooked
the velvet rope without me even having to ask. No line, no waiting. Plus, I
looked like an important dignitary all of a sudden. She had already been into
me before; she was into me double that now.
“Thanks,
man. What’s your name? I’ll leave it at the club with some comp tickets for ya.”
The club
was mobbed inside. Lori led us to an area that was somewhat open, where, of
course, we ran into a bunch of guys she knew, all of whom wanted to fuck her. The
Laffs staff went their own way and it was just me,
Lori, and the wolf pack.
I was a
lone wolf dangerously trekking through their territory, and they weren’t about
to have any of it. They used every trick in the book to cut me off from her. Two
would step between us and ask me questions about comedy while another led her
away and bought her a drink. Another would point out other women in the club to
me.
“Damn,
she’s hot. You should be talking to her. Do you want something to drink? They
have some cool stuff here. Let’s go over to the bar and check it out.”
Yawn. I
simply grabbed a stool and sat down. My only need was to keep Lori in my sight.
I had to know where she was, that was all. What about a drink? Of course, at
some point, the wolves slipped up by buying them for me.
For the
next hour I just sat there. The guys thought they had me out of the picture. I
just sat and smiled. This was perfect. I didn’t like the music, so I didn’t
want to dance. Didn’t have to; they were dancing with Lori for me. I didn’t
spend a dime on alcohol; they bought my drinks and hers all night. I just sat
on my stool, smiling while they hi-fived each other over their victory. I still
had Lori’s keys. And they say what people don’t know can’t hurt them.
At one
point, I did run into trouble. I had to pee badly. If I left the area, the guys
would try to move her to another part of the club, or, if they could manage,
out of the club entirely. I wasn’t about to be ditched and even if Lori no
longer wanted anything to do with me, I didn’t want to leave her without keys. What
to do? Think, damn it. I looked around the club. Ah, yes. I walked over to a
couple guys I recognized from the comedy club. They had shaken my hand after
the show.
“Hey, it’s
the comedian. What’s up, man?”
“Hey guys,
how are you doing?”
“Having a
good time, man; just enjoying the scenery, you know?”
“I hear ya, man. Speaking of scenery, see that woman over there?”
I explained
my predicament.
“No
problem, dude. We gotcha.”
I walked my
“comedy boys” over to the wolf pack and introduced them; then I headed for the
bathroom. When I returned, it was just as I suspected. The pack had relocated;
but, one of my comedy boys had stayed behind, while his buddies stayed with the
pack. He beckoned for me to follow him to them.
Now, it was
not enough for me to just relocate. I would have looked like a candy ass. So, I
walked up to Lori and said, “Hey, there you are. Can’t take my eyes off you for
a second; I go to the restroom, come back and you’re gone.”
She smiled
and kissed me. I led her back to our original spot. The pack and the comedy
boys followed. I sat back down on my stool. Lori resumed dancing with the pack,
soaking up the attention. She loved it. One of the comedy boys walked up to me,
“Dude, aren’t you worried? Why are you letting them in there? You need to knock
that shit off.”
I shrugged.
“I have her keys.”
The guy
spilled his beer all over himself as he let out a guffaw. He told his buddies
and they nearly peed themselves, they laughed so hard. The club thinned out as
the night went on and my comedy boys went home. Still, the wolf pack was
strong. I decided it was time to leave. I stood up and walked over to Lori,
pushing my way through the pack as they tried to block me.
“Hey, let’s
get going. Ya ready?”
She
seductively replied, “Yeah.”
I took her
hand and started to lead her away when the pack converged.
“Where ya going, Lori?”
“I thought
you were coming back to our place? We’re having an after-hours party.”
“Oh, that’s
right. They’re having an after-hours party, Ian. Do you want to go?”
Yes, I want
to go. Instead of heading some place where we can be
alone, I want go to a place with you and a bunch of drunken guys. Woo hoo!
“Na, he’s
not invited; just you, Lori.”
This was
getting out of hand. Lori was wavering and in about ten seconds she was going
to ask me for her keys. I did the only thing a 5’10” 120 lb. guy could do in
that situation. I bent over, picked up Lori, and slung her over my shoulder. I
turned away from the pack and headed for the exit.
Lori looked
back at them and waved, “I guess we’re leaving! Bye!”
I glanced
back at the bewildered faces of the wolves: I had made such a bold and original
move they didn’t know how to react.
Back in my
car, Lori couldn’t keep herself off me. I wanted to head back to the comedy
condo or to her place, but she insisted that we stay in the car. As we made
out, she started with the questions.
“Am I the
prettiest girl you’ve ever kissed?”
“Am I the
sexiest girl you’ve met in all the cities you’ve been to?”
I have no
idea why some women ask such questions. I suspect it’s a self-esteem issue. I
would never ask a woman if I was the biggest guy she ever had or the hottest. These
questions just aren’t pertinent. Besides, what idiot is going to answer them
“No,” even if that’s the honest answer? A murmured “Yes” and “Mmhm” here and there satisfied her. One question she asked,
I did fully answer.
“What’s the
best part about meeting me?”
That was
easy.
“That it
happened on the first night. We have the whole week to hang out together. We
can grab dinner at a nice restaurant, maybe hit a museum.”
Typically,
when a comedian is fortunate enough to meet a woman, it happens on the last
night he’s in town. There’s no time to spend together. This . . . this could be
like dating someone for a week, something road warrior comedians don’t get to
experience. She liked that answer.
I kept
trying to get Lori to head back to the condo with me, but she insisted on
staying where we were. I was awfully worked up and couldn’t handle it anymore. While
people filed out of the closing club, I took off her shirt and bra.
She had the
second best pair of breasts I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. (At the time,
they were the best.) They were nice and large but very taut. They didn’t drop
even slightly when the bra came off. The ratio of breast to nipple was perfect.
I was extremely pleased by this.
Usually
large breasts have surprisingly small nipples, while small breasts may
unexpectedly be almost all nipples. That’s the best part of getting to a
woman’s breasts for the first time for guys; we’ve been wondering what they
look like and having that answered is always extremely fulfilling and erotic.
“Do you
like my breasts?”
All I could
do was nod and gasp. She smiled. “Show me how much you like them.”
I started
to reach for them when the catcalls began from the scores of people leaving the
club. She quickly threw on her shirt, “Let’s get out of here.”
Now I was
the one reluctant to leave. I had just seen the best breasts ever for only a
moment and now they were gone. I managed to start the car and pull out. “Back
to the condo it is.”
She shook
her head, “No. I know a place.”
I listened
to her directions intently, switching back and forth between driving too fast
in anticipation, and too slow for fear a cop would pull us over and put an end
to it all. I had to see those breasts again! Remember, I hadn’t even had a
chance to touch them, yet.
“How much further?”
“Not far.”
I felt like
a kid—Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Every now and then
she let out a laugh; she knew full well what she was doing to me and it made
her hotter and hotter. We drove for what felt like forever–four minutes–when we
came to the back of an empty warehouse.
“Pull in
here.”
I parked in
privacy behind the warehouse. Loving the build-up to things myself, I slowly
began the process again, instead of just going straight for the breasts. We
made out for a while. I teased her every now and then by starting to remove her
shirt, then stopping. Eventually neither one of us could take it anymore. I
took off her shirt.
We were
parked right under a light. Thank God, because I loved those beautiful breasts
and I could see them perfectly clearly in the spotlight that rained down on
her. It was like a light from Heaven was shining on her half-naked body, while
I sat right beside her in darkness.
“Now, where
were we?” she asked.
“I think
right about here.”
I began to
caress her breasts and then went to town on them with my mouth and tongue,
which I only mention because I didn’t know such action
was acceptable until the third or fourth time I got off a woman’s top. (Think
about it; it doesn’t exactly come up in sex ed. How’s
a guy or girl to know?) I was careful to give each breast equal time. I’d had
enough candid conversations with waitresses to learn that women notice when
guys favor a breast, which we typically do. It freaks them out some, so try not
to do it.
She went
crazy, “Oh, God, Ian, baby, Jesus! Oh God, I love it when you suck my tits. Jesus
Christ! Ahh! Mmmm. God, if my fiancé knew what I was doing right now, he’d be pissed.”
What?!
“You have a
fiancé?”
“Mmm, yeah.” She shoved my head back to her
breast.
Well, this
was an interesting turn of events. My engine had long since started, though,
and I really couldn’t even consider what she said beyond being momentarily surprised.
I felt I had to say something, though. I think I managed a “That’s cool” and
went back to the breasts.
“I have to
pee.”
Finally! She
had to go back to the condo now; even Taco Bell was closed at this time of
night. She put her bra and shirt back on as I drove to the condo.
“Do you
want to just sleep with me?”
“No. If we
don’t have sex tonight, that’s fine. I’m actually looking forward more to
getting together for some dinners and hanging out . . . if your fiancé doesn’t
mind.”
“He’s huge.
He’s like six-two and really built. He’d come to the comedy club and kill you
if he ever found out.”
“That’s
nice.”
Back at the
condo I was surprised to find Sonya still awake. She was chatting in the living
room with another comedian who was passing through town. He had been given
permission by the club to crash in the condo for the night. (The emcee was a
local act, so the third bedroom was open.)
Lori
politely said “Hello” and headed into the bathroom. Our guest made a beeline and
accosted me just outside the bathroom door. “Whoa, she is smoking hot. Did you
fuck her, yet? God . . . mind if I do?”
“Actually,
I’m thrilled I met her on the first night. We have the whole week to hang out.”
I led him
away from the door, as he continued to rant and rave about how hot Lori was. I
shushed him, I told him to be quiet; he simply wouldn’t shut up. Obviously, God
had brought him here for the sole purpose of screwing me over.
Lori came
out of the bathroom. She was not happy. Surprisingly, the bathroom door was not
made of three-inch thick steel. Furthermore, the bathroom itself was not
soundproof. Huh; who would have thought it? She heard what was said.
“I want to
leave. My keys, please.”
I could see
there was no talking her out of it, so we headed back out to my car. I fished
out her keys and handed them to her. On the way back to her truck, which was
still parked in the comedy lot, I smoothed things over. She massaged my lap the
last few blocks. I barely pulled into the lot and threw the car in park. In an
instant, I had her top off again.
“Oh, God.
It’s going to be so hard to date you. I just don’t think it would work. Do
you?”
Date me? What
the hell was she talking about? Before long there was a lot less fooling around
and a lot more talk from her about us dating.
I don’t lie
to women; it’s unnecessary and disrespectful. I never understood how someone
could fool around with someone they didn’t respect.
“Look,
we’re not going to date. You live in
Surely she
realized that she was being unreasonable and would be as happy as me that we
had a whole week together. She was not.
“You don’t
want to date, huh? That’s because you probably have a girl in every city.”
She put her
bra and top back on. I told her I didn’t have a girl in every city; that I
rarely hooked up with anyone, which was the truth. She kept insisting that I
did. The more I refuted it, the more she insisted I had a woman stashed in
every city.
“Look, I’m
flattered that you think I’m this stud, but I don’t have a woman in every city.
We have a chance to have a really special week here. Don’t you want that?”
We argued
for a while longer. Abruptly, she stopped. She began to kiss me again.
“Sorry, Ian. I don’t know what came over me.”
We necked
for a few minutes then she decided it was time to call it a night.
“Walk me
back to my truck?”
“I’ll just
drive you over there.”
“No, I want
you to walk me. It’s more romantic.”
I smiled;
we were back on track. We got out of my car and walked toward her truck. After
a few steps, she took my hand. This was nice, really nice. We reached her truck
and she gave me one final long kiss goodnight.
“Let me
write down my number for you. I have a pen in my purse.”
She opened
the truck and climbed inside. She started it. She rolled down her window and
looked me square in the eyes, “Save your lies for all your women in other
cities!”
She threw
the truck into gear, floored it, and started to drive away. I called after her,
“Lori! Lori! Come on, Lori! What are you doing?”
I stood
there for a moment, wondering what the hell had just happened; but, I didn’t
have much time to think about it. Lori’s truck was heading right for me. She
wasn’t driving very fast, but she did aim the truck right at me. At that point
I thought to myself You know, it’s quite possible this woman’s not
entirely stable.
I jumped
out of the way and she spun the truck around. She headed for me a second time. I
looked to my car. Damn, it was still way on the other end of the parking lot. Where’s
KITT from Knight Rider when you need
him? I didn’t know what to do. No way could I outrun her to my car. If I tried,
would she run me down? It suddenly occurred to me how little I knew about this
girl. Was she psychotic? A criminal? Or just angry she
cheated on her fiancé and taking it out on me? I decided to keep walking to my
car, nonchalantly. At least I’d die with dignity.
She ran at
me and veered away a few more times. Then she drove circles around me as,
little by little, I worked my way closer to my car. It’s funny, but even while
freaking out and feeling my heart in my throat, I was still a comedian. I
yelled to her, “Is this how they do foreplay in
I have
never been so happy to climb inside my car. I started it and threw it in drive.
She ran at my car a few times. I drove slowly, turning my car around so I could
get out onto the street. She made one last run at me then veered away. She
flipped me off as she drove out of the lot.
I stopped
my car and just watched, waiting until her taillights were barely a dot in the
distance. What the hell had just happened? My hands were trembling. After a few
minutes I relaxed.
I realized
that I had just had a complete relationship in one night. We met, we had
chemistry, we dated for a short time, I sucked some tit, we argued, we fought,
she tried to run me over; a complete relationship in one night, Jerry Springer
style.
I drove
back to the condo and lay in bed, replaying the events to figure out where I
went wrong.
I learned five
things from Lori:
·
Women
just want to be right.
·
Women
assume that a guy they just met is lying about something and they’ll analyze
his comments to identify the lie.
·
Women
have to create an expectation they know is false in order to permit themselves to act on something they want to do.
·
Don’t
directly confront a woman when she is wrong.
·
No
matter what, ALWAYS STAY IN THE CAR.
I heard,
“You must have a girl in every town,” or some variation of that phrase, from
almost every woman I met after Lori.
“You have a
girl in every state.”
“You’ve
probably slept with a hundred women.”
“You have
sex every night with a different woman, don’t you?”
Some of
them were women I was interested in; most weren’t. I had learned from Lori that
it was no good to refute the statement. These women all wanted to be right. They
were wrong, but if I called them on it, they would simply get defensive and
agitated. They were right; how dare I question them!
Instead, I
decided to go in the opposite direction. I wouldn’t refute their statements; I
would diffuse them by agreeing with exaggeration.
“You must
have a girl in every town.”
“No.”
She’d
frown.
“I have
three girls in every town. I’m going to need you to introduce me to two of your
friends.”
—OR—
“You’ve
probably slept with a hundred women.”
“No I
haven’t.”
Again, a frown.
“I’ve slept
with ten thousand . . . and three . . . wait, four . . . no, three . . . yeah,
ten thousand and three. I’ve slept with ten thousand and three women. Wait, are
we counting oral sex, too?”
In
virtually every single case, my exaggeration got a laugh and the topic was
dropped. I had shown them that their statements were wrong by pointing out how
ridiculous they were. I did it, though, in an indirect, non-confrontational
way. They still felt like they were right and I wasn’t challenging them. I
simply pointed out through humor that how many women I’d had or hadn’t had
didn’t matter. Just to test my theory, every now and then I would refute them
when they accused me of having a woman in every city. Sure enough, it got ugly
every time.
I used the
same approach when a woman started to create a false expectation. For example,
consider a woman I met in
“I think it
would be hard for us to date. Would you call me? Do you think it would work
out?”
“Work out,
are you kidding me? While you’ve been talking, know what I’ve been doing? Thinking up names for our kids. We should have three. Ooh, and a dog. Do you like the name Rex for a dog or is that
too cliché?”
She laughed
and punched me, “You’re silly; we’re not going to have kids and a dog. We’ll
probably never even talk again after this week.”
Again, the
topic was dropped. I don’t know why, but for some reason indirectly pointing
out the folly of their false expectations with exaggeration puts women at ease.
It was like I was saying, “Yeah, I feel the same way you do. I’d like to date,
too; but we both know it’s not going to happen.”
They needed
to create an expectation of dating to allow themselves
to have a level of intimacy with me; otherwise, they would feel like sluts. I
told them I knew what they were doing by exaggerating it and that I understood;
we were on the same wavelength. I couldn’t say the actual words, “Yeah, I’d like
to date, too; but, we both know it’s not going to happen.” Why not? Remember,
women assume a guy they just met is lying about something. They’d assume I was
lying and become insulted that I was trying to “humor” them by saying what I
thought they wanted to hear.
Exaggeration
worked great because it left them nowhere to go. They didn’t have to ponder Wait, I know he’s lying. It sounds so good,
though. He is lying, but where is the lie? Is he lying or not? My
exaggerations were so preposterous, there was nothing to analyze. Clearly, I
was lying. It was an obvious lie, though, which made it not a lie.
My
exaggerations also got the smallest part of them to worry Oh my God; does he really think we’re going to date? I better make sure
he doesn’t. Suddenly, they had to make sure I had both of my feet on the ground, as opposed to me having to make sure they had both
their feet on the ground. Sound complicated guys? Think of it this way: I
switched them from defense to offense.
Also, I
think they were flattered that I made the effort to be so elaborate in my
exaggeration. Best of all, I stayed true to myself and respectful by not lying
to a single woman. It’s very important to stay true to oneself.
Of course,
I never, ever, not even one time, walked a woman from my car to hers again. I
always drove her . . . every single time.