Site by Ian Coburn
Rated best in Feb/Mar '09 Issue!
"Best book I've read" - Amazon review
"Hilarious!" - Amazon review
"Funniest book I've read" - Amazon review
"Best book to meet women" - Amazon review
"Best advice for women" - Amazon review
"Best dating advice out there" - Amazon review
"Refreshing and enlightening" - Amazon review
Grand Prix Fiancée (Chapter)
Except for its spelling, Albuquerque is a pretty cool city; better than a lot of other U.S. cities. I’ve played there several times and all the visits have merged together in my mind. With the exception of the first one—that trip I’ll never forget.
I was featuring at Laffs Comedy Corner. Sonya White, a talented comedienne with whom I had worked before in Wisconsin, was the headliner. (The headliner is the main act, who closes the show with forty-five minutes or more of material. The feature act performs a thirty-minute set just before the headliner. The emcee opens the show and introduces the other acts.)
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 South Carolina. She was very friendly; working with her was like having a cool big sister around.
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.”
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, 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.”
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 Albuquerque, I didn’t have to worry about the purse.
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.
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?”
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.”
“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.”
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 New Mexico, I live in Chicago. I travel all over the place. You’re engaged. But we have this week and I think we could have a really great time that we’ll remember for a long time.”
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 New Mexico?”
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:
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.”
“I have three girls in every town. I’m going to need you to introduce me to two of your friends.”
“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 Boise.
“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.
Copyright by Ian Coburn 07
Available wherever books are sold