Otherwise, There Is No Man

Seduction was a man’s game, he thought. Seduction is different from wooing. Any two bit freshman with descended testicles can woo a woman. No seduction is for grown men, men with something to lose and more to fear. Tonight, he would seduce.

He arrived at the hotel bar promptly at 9:50pm so as not to appear too anything. He wore a sleek suit that just intimated his earned physique and motioned for the almost-as-well-appointed bartender to come hither. “Dewars on the rocks.” A man’s drink, he thought, a goddamn proper drink for a man. The first sip took the edge off and as the bartender sauntered off he scanned the room but not too quickly as to appear lustful or vindictive. Some usual stiffs to be sure but there was beauty in the room as well. Seduction wasn’t just about beauty oh no far from it. Needs can be met without beauty and sometimes they have to be met without beauty. What mattered tonight was needs being met, period. A man’s needs must be met, otherwise, there is no man.

He knew he was angry but must not let it seep out, show, frame any of the seducing. That had been a grave mistake in the past. A grave mistake. What is it about a look from a woman that lets you know to approach? What is it that transpires in those mere seconds that communicates so very much and leads to the walk across the bar? His thesis on this would have to wait as he began the act.

It was funny how the act hadn’t really changed since college. It was the same principle with different details. He quickly, sagely, sized her up and provided the requisite details or just inquired about the details for future reference. She provided. Like a woman she provided and like a seducing man he accepted. “Hello I’m Martin” with an all-too-lucky smile and not-lucky-enough twinkle in his eye was more than enough. “I’m Jacqueline.” Between the architectural digest bar and the watery blue lights that shimmered as she blossomed like a fresh rose, he was as smooth as the silk caressing her skin. He knew his looks helped, he knew that but he also cared about the act. It didn’t have to be insincere or rushed – from the time he was a teenager he learned there are a million ways to tell the truth. “How did you end up here” meant more when it was earnest and not rushed. Of course she saw him notice the outline of her breasts and of course they both noticed her flip her hair away from her neck to expose it as she answered and he listened. Slow and mildly sadistic it was for both of them, the build-up. Of course…but necessary.

The outside world melted away and like an athlete or an inspired poet he found the quiet place with her among the din of immorality and sin and body and bodies and objectification and most importantly self-hatred. Alone in a crowded room they were. She with him and him with the act. Both content.