by Eurydice (c) 1999
BEAUTY AND SEX
Once in his life every man needs to boff a perfect physical specimen. Perhaps the oldest of humanity's fantasies, dating from the days of the ancient goddesses, nymphs, and ominous mythological enchantresses,
our beauty fetish is nature's Darwinian way of strengthening our gene pool. Inner beauty can't compete with the aesthetic and social fulfillment of having a radiant dreamboat—it's like you've communed with the divine. The important question is how to get her.
Sex is a superficial business. A set of eye-popping knockers stalking the streets on stiletto-heels is enough to lure the common man. And top-to-bottom perfection will launch the proverbial thousand ships, stop traffic, make you 'drop dead'. Even the most analytical, hypochondriac male will face some day somewhere the overwhelming spectacle of an authentically magnificent piece of ass coming toward him and will realize that if this woman were to ask him then and there to leave everything and follow her, he would; and knowing that no such moment may happen again in the whole of his life, he may decide to get closer to her, perchance to have her; she may look, as vanity is wont to, presently confused, like she can't find the exit, so he may say, trembling, 'Can I help you?' and she may well respond, 'Fuck off'; an answer he'll take months to recover from, if it doesn't crush him forever. So if chance or blind courage or a bolt of lightning gives you a shot at baiting a masterpiece, and you are a paltry normal guy, this is what you do: Don't worry that you don't deserve her. Don't get excited. If next to her you feel like a slob, a bounder, a pimple in shoes, don't look into her vacant bedroom eyes and say what you feel. You must approach her differently than other women. Act overconfident and be overcautious. There's a reason she's called 'drop-dead' gorgeous. An eye-popping, top-to-bottom knock-out that can launch the proverbial thousand ships, whose sight takes your breath away and stops you in mid-sentence, is teeming with hidden dangers. True beauty is mythic.
Myth #1: Beauty is hard to approach. Even though beauty is an accident of nature, she can be found in abundance. But the common man gets intimidated by her tall, transcendent otherness. Aside from dyed-in-the-wool hounds whose only job is to make the rounds of every place beauty treads, most mortals don't dare hit on her; this betters the odds for you. If you don't live in an urban nexus, you'll find traditional classic beauty, girl-next-door beauty, and untouched-nymphet beauty in the watering holes of the local youth, if you peruse them soberly. In N.Y., L.A., Miami, and other model-friendly areas, you can spot mobs of lovely creatures running around carrying portfolios with tear sheets from test shoots. In either case, follow her down the street, mark her destinations, find the nearest coffeeshop and spend some hours casing her comings and goings. Access is the first key to success: hang out at the 'in' bars or clubs, befriend the owners, promoters, bouncers, busboys, bartenders; they can get you introductions, insider tips, invites to parties, and phone numbers. Patronizing the trendier establishments also trains you to be nonchalant around traffic-stopping life-forms. Observe and adopt her habitat's manners. Your looks don't matter, so long as you're not obtrusively unattractive; dress loose and simple, with one black or leather item and no underwear. Look comfortable in your skin, even if your toes are sweating. Give the impression of being both sincere and careless, accessible and unattainable. Buy a drink near her at the bar near her and throw away a friendly comment at her; don't use a coin phrase, use a voice that sounds sincere; you want to seem accessible but also give the impression that you have places to go, things to do.
You must have the balls to try the above approach even if she's surrounded by a crew of women or surrounded by a pack of macho suits. Ignore her companions; your rudeness will flatter her. (Don't try to get her jealous; you'll hurt her pride and by the time you make a move she'll already dislike you.) It's a cliché that beauty wants to be recognized for another talent; beauty loves being beautiful, wanted. She knows you're standing there because she's beautiful and she can force you to treat her as if she were also brilliant. Use small talk. Beauty likes it because it makes her feel part of the ordinary world. If she smiles shyly, shaking her head in disbelief, keep talking. Beauty is passive: your vibrant energy can overwhelm and mesmerize her. If you can play off being a poet, do. If you can hit on a shared experience (car crash, rehab), milk it. Your talk must be unabashed because it's your mating game. Signal that you see in her what no other man has: imagination, empathy, genius. Be seriously passionate—it's what extraordinarily beautiful women know least about, ironically. Restore a dimension of seriousness to her world, and she'll submit to your will. If you command her respect, beauty is obedient. Your goal is to make it seem the most natural and sensitive thing in the world to slip your hand in her pants, your tongue in her mouth, etc.
If she's a regular, take off before she does, leaving her cold, her half-finished drink in hand. She'll remember you.
Myth #2: Beauty is hard to impress. Beauty does come off as arrogant, even forbidding, but her control is only as broad as your susceptibility. Never make a federal case out of telling her how pretty she is. If you can't help noting the obvious, confine your comment to a particular (her neck, her imperious eyes) and be chatty. She's heard it all before. Instead, knock what in her you most admire. Because beauty is self-absorbed, she responds instantly to criticism and respects it as a sign of discerning taste. Commiserate: 'You're yellow today' or 'You look worn-out.' Sound caring, while actually being deprecating. Rehearse this so that, if in the presence of a flawless Dutch Valkyrie you freeze, you can go on automatic. Work on her insecurities, whether you talk her language or bring up brainy subjects that intimidate her. Your strategy is to shake her belief in herself. Impress her. Convince her you're special and she'll please you, slavishly, because deep down beauty has no self-esteem, because she suspects her worth is superficial and temporary and, unlike genius, contributes little to the well-being of the species. That's wrong, of course: we need beauty in this ugly world?to get aroused and laid and procreate clear-skinned, strong-boned, healthy babies; the social uses of beauty (aside from selling products and charging the economy) are vast. But the beautiful don't need to know that. Let them think they're getting a free ride. Take charge: beauty is passive and accustomed to taking direction from parents, directors, leaders. Never let her know she's got the upper hand. At heart, beauty is homely, small-town, small-pleasure, unoriginal. Work with her bovine essence. Keep her busy. Like the ox, when beauty knows its strength, it can kill you. History is littered with corpses of great men ruined by great beauties (Samson and Delilah, Anthony and Cleopatra, Mozart and Constanza, Mao and Madame Tsang). Beauty is trouble. Beauty can make you pine away or leap off a cliff. Fuck her, don't fall in love with her. This is one occasion where your fear of intimacy is legitimate. Women who are stunning and know it are lethal.
Myth #3: Beauty is hard to get. Not true. Models, for instance, are the easiest beautiful people to fuck. They put out faster than regular girls because they travel and have the promiscuous mentality of a female on vacation, when an one-night stand with a stranger doesn't mean anything. They're used to being pieces of meat, they're always around drugs and alcohol, they're young, inexperienced, hormonally tortured, in competition with other beautiful women for approval, and they're narcissist enough to be up for two-girl threesomes. They need to feel irresistible and you need to not resist them.
But on their first try with a model, some men experience performance inadequacies due to aesthetic overload and visual overstimulation. If you're not a machine, don't allow yourself to pull back and marvel at the scene, or you'll be too busy admiring what you got your hands on to sustain a hardon. Despite your awe, it comes down to visceral hydraulics; once you get caught in the plumbing, you'll be fine. The best scenario is an impromptu quickie, say behind the bathroom door, where, before you know it, she'll be ass first and only semi-naked, you won't have to undress at all, and you'll have to ram in and out fast because of people lining to get in. You'll have no time to think about what you do, and you'll have a great story to tell. Or have phone sex first, to break the ice. Or go with an ugly Calvin Klein model and do your absolute best. This will build up your confidence and your reputation. Once you're known as an insider, they'll come to you.
Also, sleeping with beauty is not essential; it's a jolt of validation to walk into a room of your peers with a trophy on your arm who looks like she makes a fortune off her looks. Let others infer what they will.
Myth #4: Beauty doesn't get dirty. OK, the best fuck of your life isn't necessarily the best-looking. It's a truism that beauties fuck listlessly whereas ugly, insecure girls work hard in bed. Sex doesn't correct beauty. But, luckily, insecurity is not the exclusive province of losers. Within the parameters of the beauty rat race, your prey ranks second in fame or youth or height or cleavage to at least a few fellow beauties, and those are the names to invoke when your anxiety rises to unbearable levels as you enter the important stage when the two of you get naked and you're in her ballpark of unique and commonplace physical samples. But mention her cellulite only if you're queasy; her distress may loosen you up, but it will clam her up. If you trust your lovemaking talent, don't say anything.
Here's where your reward becomes your punishment: as she lies before you waiting for the adoration to begin, your work is cut out for you. Beauty loves stroking, feathers, massage, butterfly touches, gooseflesh. Considering you're in bed with the most beautiful woman of your life, do treat her to the mincing pussified foreplay she expects. By all means, keep a light on her. You'll have to lead her like a burro to a stream. Patiently, tenderly, without getting sloppy, pay your dues at the trough. Once a woman decides a man is a great lover, she will, for a while, let him do anything to her. Up the pressure until she reaches the thrashing animal stage that will let you, if not her, forget that she's far above you in the food chain. Now you can start?or stop?thinking about baseball and, at last, be yourself.
(The point of getting beauty into bed, you may discover, is not what you thought it was; if, rather than bask in her splendor, you get off on spoiling it a bit, hey, it's human nature.)
Myth #5: Beauty is icy, self-contained. Not so. If she falls head over heels for you, she'll talk your head off. Now her aforementioned insecurities work against you. Be prepared to deal with the emotional garbage of someone who expects to live in a fairytale but lives in a world where men are predators and women enemies. Your job is to reassure her day and night, coddle and egoboost, indulge vague jealousies, pettinesses. She has a low threshold of complications—if you complain, she's out. She's self-conscious, paranoid. And you need to keep her paranoid; because the only reason she's with you and not a tycoon is that you give good patter. Restlessness is another negative: because every man is a rival, you live with the daily fear that she'll leave you for a better Joe. This leads to another built-in uneasiness: beauty makes you self-conscious. You're never attractive or worthy enough; her proximity brings up your dormant insecurities and creates new ones. Your hauntings grow as your pride in being Mr. Jane Beautiful grows.
So, like in any paradise, tread with extreme caution. Beauty covers up sin. Beauty makes you less critical, so it's easier to fall in love with her. And she doesn't have to be interesting; she looks interesting. Even her neurosis seems interesting. It's what I call the Pygmalion-syndrome (the sculptor who made the statue of the most beautiful woman, Galatea, brought her to life by infusing her with his ideas, feelings, etc. only to realize that she still wasn't human): you assign to her qualities that aren't there and fool yourself because you so like to look at her in your home.
One day the fun of partaking in her aura may wear out—man can get inured to anything that becomes quotidian—and you'll know it's an unsustainable long-term commitment. It's hard for one man to support her, even if he's more rich and famous than anyone she meets, and idle, and loves shopping and going out. So—unless you're a pervert or beauty-junkie—get out. The main reason to fuck beauty is to look back on it. By the time you do all this, you may find that a woman with wit, style, a moral center, and an understanding of life's complexities that keeps her strong and motivated is who you want to spend your days with and carry forth your genes. Be original.
