As I sipped the cool glass of Ovaltine, savoring the milk chocolaty beverage that awoke me from my slumber, I studied the circled date on my Star Wars Limited Edition calendar. I’d been preparing for this moment for weeks, and the day finally came when I was to break my cycle of reticence. I just couldn’t let another day go by without my voice being heard. There is a point in every man’s life when he escapes his doomed fate, and pioneers his own path-I was going to talk to a girl.
Jane and I were in the same biology class this semester; this was not chosen by fate, but by a friend of a friend who slipped me Jane’s schedule. I would always eye her from the corner of the room, admiring the way she diligently took notes and eagerly raised her hand to participate. In fact, I even planned to talk to her a few weeks ago when we started the unit on reproduction. I naively expected the chapter’s subject matter to emit a palpable air of sexual tension, but still no luck. I suppose my attempts at seduction were to blame, blundering out an awkward “H-hi Jane” and then quickly retreating to my locker without awaiting a response.
But things were going to be different. My diffidence and social ineptitude would fade into extinction, as I had stumbled upon the secret weapon. It was the bestselling self-improvement book Seducation, and I believed it would guarantee my “getting a girl” within the next two months. I knew this because the cover read “GET A GIRL IN THE NEXT TWO MONTHS, GUARANTEED!” Although such a crude simplification of my heart-wrenching love was a bit offensive to me, the guarantee far surpassed my progress thus far, so I figured the book was a good idea. I found it ironic that a book would be the answer to all my girl troubles, since the comic books and fantasy novels I spent hours over did not exactly attract the ladies like bees to honey.
My expedition into the social frontier began as I read the book alone, in my room, with the door closed. I slyly nestled the book within the pages of my biology textbook to fool my unsuspecting mother when she would routinely barge in to notify me that the Ovaltine was ready. Studying the pages attentively as I would a textbook, I imagined approaching Jane with my new facile tongue. Of course, I hadn’t had any real practice talking to girls, but Mom and I had had some pretty gripping dinnertime conversations, (and she claimed to be “quite the looker in her day”), so I thought myself ready for the real thing.
After poring over each and every enlightening page, I prepared to talk to Jane the following school day. Our biology class was particularly riveting, as we were still trudging along through the reproduction unit. I scoped the room as usual, marking the half-concealed chuckles of my immature classmates. “…And when the female perceives the pheromones of the male, she will present herself as ready to mate,” the teacher droned. Studying the mating habits of other species got me thinking. I wished that I wasn’t a human being, hurled into society against my will. The animal kingdom seemed much easier. I would definitely prefer attracting Jane with the odor of my masculinity than with awkward, embarrassing, face-reddening verbal communication. As I found my attention in class slowly drifting, I daydreamed a fantasy of Jane and I frolicking in a meadow, adorned in tattered loin cloths, absorbed by the sweet songs of nightingales and RINNG-class dismissed for lunch.
Jane and I both scurried to our adjacent lockers (again, not by fate; I know a guy who knows a guy who can arrange that sort of thing). Lucky for me, I’d remembered rule one of “The Pick Up” (Chapter One): always look your best. That morning I wore a finely pressed red-and-white checkered shirt, tucked into a pair of never-worn dull yellow khakis with blade-sharp creases. I borrowed my father’s old tin of pomade, slicking my hair back into movie star fashion. I didn’t skimp on the stuff either; my hair transformed from a frizzy distraction to a smooth (yet goopy) mold of confident masculinity.
Failing to catch Jane’s attention with my physical presence alone, I decided to employ a technique learned from my lady-killing weapon of choice. Muttering the mundane greeting “Hi Jane” got me nowhere in the past. I had to grasp her attention with style and charisma. The book preached that initial physical contact was key, so I planned to “accidentally” bump into her in the hallway.
The stage was set. The sunlight from the rear window bounced off the luster of the bright yellow lockers, shining a spotlight upon my face that would signal the commencement of this golden moment. The intense reflection cast a halo effect on my heavily made-up hairdo, highlighting my painstaking efforts to be noticed. The dark green carpeted floors and sky blue ceiling created a natural landscape for my pursuit. I retreated to the drinking fountain at the other end of the hallway, mentally preparing for the hunt. As Jane softly closed her locker and headed toward the cafeteria, I casually walked in her direction.
One could easily see my new confidence in the swagger of my step. I inconspicuously inched into her trajectory, staging the seemingly fortuitous collision. But sabotage was in the midst! The brilliant light that had aided my appearance suddenly betrayed me, blinding me from the sight of Jane. I tried not to panic but it was too late. Our bodies careened into each other with the force of two hefty SUVs drunkenly handled on a highway. Due to my significantly larger stature, the thud of the crash caused Jane to bounce to the ground like a rag doll. Her books and papers scattered around her shocked body.
“Oh I’m so, so sor-” I blurted, forgetting that apologizing was a sign of weakness (page 23). I put on an affectedly smug smile, and said “Uh…let me give you a hand with that,” immediately correcting myself.
“Umm thanks. We had quite the little collision there,” Jane said with an awkward smile, trying to conceal her embarrassment.
I lent her my hand to help her up, and she reluctantly took the offer. I hadn’t realized it until that moment, but Jane was a shy girl. Her face was aflame, not from the fall, but from the attention I gave her. This put me at ease, knowing that we shared the same social foible. But I was a new man; I’d abandoned the diffidence of my formative years and was ready to put my new confidence to the test. I then reached into my mental bag of tricks, and conjured up a reason for me to talk to her further (page 31).
“Hey you’re Jane right? From biology?”
“Yeah, I thought you looked kinda familiar.”
“Yup, I’m the one usually sleeping in the back of the classroom,” we both chuckled. “Listen, it seems like you really know your stuff, and there’s that midterm coming up this Friday…Do you think you could help me out with a few things?”
“Well I uh…” Jane’s face reddened even more. She clearly wasn’t used to the attention, especially from an unfamiliar classmate, but I persisted.
“It’ll only take a few minutes, and I’d really appreciate the help.”
“Uhh…Ok. Sh-sure. Yeah, no problem,” she stuttered. I started to see that mask of a smile turn into that sweet, angelic smile that had originally stirred my affection.
I was surprised at the facility with which the words rolled off my tongue, and a sense of accomplishment washed over my face. I felt indebted to that magical book that was the focus of my extracurricular studies. I’d won myself the opportunity to win her heart, and I was not going to blow it. Of course, the beginning of our relationship was based on a lie, as I didn’t need tutoring at all, but I think we’ll both be able to laugh about it during our honeymoon.
As we both walked through the cafeteria, I substituted my usual tuna sandwich for a Salisbury steak (establishing masculinity through food choice, page 42). I directed her to the outdoor lunch tables and chose a far table by the grass. The pavement was bordered by a lush, green lawn spotted with oak trees, and the air had that sweet smell of spring. The fresh air and scenery inspired an animalism within me that manifested itself as a suave bravado. I was ready for round two. Before our conversation, I remembered an important tip from Chapter 3: mirror the woman’s speech and body language, as women strive to be understood. This one seemed easy enough.
“So what can I help you with?” Jane asked, trying to avoid any awkward silences.
“Could you help me with the stuff on meiosis? It’s really complicated.” My performance was Oscar-worthy.
“Well, basically you just have to remember that you get four haploid cells from one diploid cell.” I could tell that Jane was enthusiastic about her studies, as was I; well, the real me was. She sure did have a knack for helping people.
“So, basically I just have to remember that I get four haploid cells from one diploid cell,” echoing back to her.
“Uhh, yeah, you got it.”
The echoing continued throughout our conversation. I mirrored her every word and gesture (page 35). I inquired about her feelings (page 59). I kept that fake smile throughout the entire conversation (page 3). And I lied. I lied about needing to be tutored. I lied with my wardrobe. I lied with my hairdo. I lied with my smile. I probably went through dozens of techniques, citing page after page in my head. None of it was me; it was all a sham. I grew nauseous from the sound of my own voice. I was seducing my crush, seducing her with artificial words that I learned from a book. I was no better than the serpent in his seduction of Eve; I was evil incarnate. Well, the mere fact that I felt remorse made me a little better than evil. But still, I was bad, and I had to tell her the truth.
I interrupted Jane in the middle of her explanation of what a sperm cell was (I know, I’m pathetic), and said “Jane, I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to be honest with you. I didn’t really need help with biology. I uh … I’ve been trying to seduce you.”
Jane tilted her head down, and slowly brought her right hand to her face, covering her mouth. She didn’t say a word, so I lowered my head to read her expression. Whether it was embarrassment, anger, or sadness, I was ready to handle it and accept the consequences of my actions. What I saw was a repressed smirk on her face.
“I’m sorry, is something funny?” I said, puzzled, but honestly concerned.
To this Jane responded with a snicker, then a chuckle, until the crescendo of laughter climaxed with a boisterous belly laugh that caught the attention of the other students. She could barely get out her words. “You mean, that was seduction?!”
I solemnly nodded, and politely let her continue.
“Wait, so is that why you kept repeating what I was saying? Was that your attempt at flirting? And that goofy smile?! Wait, wait. Wait a minute. Did you purposely bump into me so you could talk to me?”
‘Yes Jane, I’m so sorry. I beg your forgi-”
She cut me off with an even louder guffaw than before. “I’m sorry, really, I’m sorry. But that’s, wow, that’s just funny. Thank you for this. I needed a good laugh. You really made my day.” And with that, Jane sat up from the table, waved me goodbye, and walked to class with a huge smile glued to her face. I sat there, feeling partly embarrassed and partly confused, but mostly I was admiring Jane as she ambled with a certain bounce in her step that wasn’t there before.
I made her day, eh? Oh yeah. She wants me.
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Seduction | Dick Mane | 
April 7, 2012 11:32 am | 
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