Steve returns, I’m loving Tull
“She might want to French Kiss, do you know what that is?
My look must have said it all. He sighs, gotta teach the idiot more about life.
“Girls love to talk. She’s gonna stop kissing and ask you about anything from your family to what TV shows you watch. Think of stuff you’ll say, it helps to ask her stuff. Ask about Doug, her parents. Compliment her clothes or hair. But not too much, you’ll sound like a phony.”
[Note: these instructions were overwhelming. When I got home, I wrote them down in a notebook. This notebook became a ‘journal’ of my time with Alison. When I found it last year stuck in a yearbook I was trashing, it became the impetus for this blog.]
“But beware of traps! She may ask you if you think so-and-so is cute or ugly. Figure out who she hangs with, they may be sea hags, you never say so. Assume 90% of rich town girls are her enemies.’
“You’re entering into a relationship–there’s no ‘you’ or ‘her’ it’s ‘us.’ You will have shared experiences and words. Give and take, you have to sacrifice or say stuff you don’t believe so you stay together. She’s in control now, but you need to shift things ever so gently.”
I roll my eyes. “How the fuck do I do that?”
He winks. “You instigate the kissing. If she’s yakking and yakking, say “I need to kiss you now.’ Later, you can be a smart-ass and say “Kiss me, stupid.” You kiss her standing up, lay her against the wall, and step slightly between her legs, not touching her. See how you can be the one who makes the first move to go downstairs. When she’s talking about running the show, you can say ‘Well, suppose I really want to see you that day? I’ll go down and wait for you’.”
“And–of course–she’ll say ‘what do you like about me?’ Be ready: her eyes, legs, clothes, lips, hair.”
“And never her boobs.” I reply. See? I’m catching on!
“If, by some miracle, you two last til Christmas, I’ll give it more thought. But for now, save up questions ’til next Thursday. Bring your own binocs. Good luck, you lovesick fool.”