Online Dating Secret Sauce

Judging by my spambox, online dating push-marketing overtook Canadian drugs and Nigerian "lottery" scams a while ago. Every day it seems a new website matching singles in progressively smaller niches is born.

At this rate, the dating demographic will be so atomized that by next Christmas every one of us will be running our own dating sites, all with the same photos, profiles and secret-sauce matching algorithms. Each one will guarantee a connection with your dreamboat, or your money back. Here are some of our success stories...

...et cetera.

I've never been convinced of either the value or the longevity of even the best online sites. They always looked to be the answer to a question that no-one was asking, namely; how can I effortlessly find a decent mate? Effortlessly in the sense that by inputting our vital details and a few photos, the cleverness of computers combined with the awesomeness of the internet should spit out the right person in less time than it takes to order up a pizza.

Can our biology and instinct be so easily circumvented? Is this the experience of discovery we want?

After we found that hardly anyone pairs off instantly, the online dating model morphed slightly to reflect the notion that browsing lots of profiles and meeting lots of people would up the odds of finding #1. Note the sites' subtle change of emphasis to...

Here's a bunch of people who say they're single: good luck. 

Unfortunately, widening the dating river didn't necessarily deepen it, and some backwaters normally cut off were suddenly re-connected to the mainstream. Heaven for the previously high and dry, not so much for everyone else - there was a reason they'd been abandoned.

From this thin gruel of self-selectors, one could choose at one's leisure the most likely candidates to date and then figure out if they were suitable.

I don't buy it. And apparently I'm not alone, because this article in New York magazine asks:

Has the Online Dating Backlash Arrived?

(Worth the time to read.)

NB: Of course there will be many successes in the online dating world, but it's way more fun arguing an almost indefensible position.

Bottoms Up, In Your Facers.

The David Copperfield Moment

Reading online profiles is engaging sport. By looking at the photos and comparing the narrative with the headline I try to put together a general abstract of the woman and what she's thinking.

You need to be an amateur cryptologist to do this, because no-one displays their complete self in a personal ad. Once you've spent enough time puzzling over a lot of these things, patterns become clear. Successful decryption begins with finding repeated words and phrases. These commonalities, repeated in many separate profiles, form the starting point from which entire messages can be cracked.

What is interesting is how few profiles stand out from the crowd. A lot of the time it's like reading the equivalent of - sorry to say this - a whole bunch of classifieds. This is not criticism, merely observation. Revealing telling insights with a coupla snaps and two-hundred words isn't normal, with good reason. Self-protection is a valuable instinct.

Near the top of my 'memorables' list is a woman who posted a confident, breezy profile with some likewise upbeat photos. One pic, of her standing beside an F-250 in jeans and heels, had the following caption:


Me and my truck - when I'm wearing a skirt you will probably want to help me up! ;-) 


Wombat Decode Report:

1. I understand that if ever you're my boyfriend, you'll be interested in my body.

2. I'm good with that.




Bottoms Up, Magicians.  

Heaven on Earth

With the female to male ratio of US colleges at 60:40, the obvious place to be is at a US college. Now, I had not the pleasure of attending university here in America. What I remember from my engineering undergrad days in Oz, however, is a sea of sweaty blokes - NOT a heavenly cloud of perfumed mademoiselles.

No wonder I dropped out.


If I found myself in one of these babe-rich campus situations today, I'd totally be considering, like, a four-year degree followed by some (not too taxing) post-grad work and then a little doctoral dabbling. What red-blooded bloke wouldn't want to exercise both his mind and his body for as long as possible before dealing with the real world?


Colleges are sufficiently like the real world in one respect: If we subtract the geeky, virginal, religious, frightened, stoned, gaming and clueless dudes from the student population, we're left with around three guys at each school getting all the action.

That's what I call winning life's lottery. Plus you might even get a job afterwards.




Bottoms Up, Education Firsters! 

You're Such a Dirty Bitch

 Manuela Arcuri photo credit.

You're such a dirty bitch.

God you're so wet, I love it.

Oooh, yeah, that feels great.

Your pussy feels so tight. 

Mmmmm, I could do this forever.


Guess what we're doing here? Yes, I'm talking during sex, and now that it's written down, it's kinda lame - unimaginative, even. But  when I start thinking about improving my sex-talk repertoire, the right words elude me.

My working theory is this: If a woman is sharing her mind and body with me in heavenly congress, she wants me to be as close to her ideal lover as possible. I guess women have the two extremes of men in mind - the worst possible and the best. The worst kind of lover sticks it in, wiggles it around for a bit, ejaculates and remains silent throughout. (Although under some circumstances I can see some women wanting precisely that. Tricky creatures.)

The ideal lover is skilled at making her feel beautiful and sexy; understands just how to help her mind and body stay horny; exerts the right amount of authority; talks eloquently and sexily; and fucks her long and often.

Frankly, that doesn't seem like such a big ask, especially in a loving marriage or committed LTR. Still, the right kind of talking during sex looks to be the most elusive element. From personal experience, men should avoid:


~ laughter. Women seem to take this personally, rather than as an expression of joy.

~ filth-talk if she's not in the mood. Best to discuss this beforehand.

~ comparison to other women, even if positively. Duh.

~ explicit functional chat if she's not prepared for it. Body parts have distinctly unsexy names.

~ anything that makes her feel self-conscious. Until she's comfortable with admiring honesty.


That's a start. As with much surrounding sexual preferences, it's best discussed away from the heat of the moment. Start when fully-clothed, and over dinner, ask:

Darling, when we're making love, do you like it when I tell you how hot you are in Latin?

With luck you'll be able to capitalize on the feeling and try your sex-talk immediately. Practice makes perfect.



Bottoms Up, Woman-Whisperers.

Wingmaniac

Thinking you're a good Wingman and exhibiting good Wingman skills aren't the same thing. A useful Wingman should...well, just what constitutes a good Wingman?


A competent Wingman or Wingwoman should:

-> Act in the interests of the Leader at all times

-> Put themselves second in the pursuit of a mate (deferring to the Leader)

-> Do whatever works in attracting likely love interests (for the Leader)

-> Give honest and accurate feedback to the Leader

Wingmanship is all about unselfishness and reflecting of one's ability to attract (however small) back onto the other guy. It's like being a birdfeeder next to a cat's hiding place. Here birdie, look at the tasty sunflower seeds.

But when my Leader said the following, he needed to hear the truth:

Okay, Wombat. When Stephanie comes in, I want you to find a way to let her know that I'm interested, but I need to know she's not just being touchy-feely, and really wants to be touchy-feely.

Hmmm. This sounds bad. Male uncertainty resolves only rarely in his favour. And, as expected, Stephanie arrived in a wave of perfume and hugs...for everyone. She did reserve special attention for my Leader, but the energy shouted "amused interest" rather than "take me now". Although I have to say there was a spark of something there, to which my buddy had assigned sexual possibility.




So I invoked Wingman's Responsibility #4. He needed to know that while Steph was certainly worthy of his exploration, the green lights he saw where faux. His instinct was telling him this, hence my involvement.


When she's really interested, you'll be in no doubt, I advised. Oh. And when she's over her ex. 






Bottoms Up, Wingpeople.

Lessons From My Cat Part 2

Male metaphors tend towards the active: hunting, chasing, holding, making her mine. Let's be kind and say that there's a certain carnivore and prey smell to our way of thinking. The implication is that women in the wild are innocent unwilling participants.

Which is dumb. Male metaphors can be crap.

As I noted previously, the humble house cat gives us fundamental clues about female human behaviour. Think of her as woman stripped of overthinking and emotion - she's the essence of feminine...in a soft, seasonal fur coat. Not that I am suggesting women are large upright cats without tails. It's that I see more than coincidence in the commonality of feline and feminine. Plus I love both cats and women.

But back to the chase metaphor. Yes, on one level men hunt for women, but it's like describing the Champs-Élysées as a Parisian street. A street takes you somewhere. A French avenue is for strolling. One takes one's time, checking out the boutiques, being surprised by what one finds along the way. Waiting for just the right moment to steal a kiss. Waiting for her to tell you by her actions when she wants a kiss.


Which is the way my cat works. Most of the time she's engrossed in her own world. There's stuff to look at, food to eat, naps to take. Washing. Grooming. Exploring. But once a day, she makes it perfectly clear that we need to be affectionate. She'll jump on my desk and sit on the keyboard. Or she'll climb onto my lap. That's the point at which I have to - I must - stop everything and focus completely on her. A petting session or a few minutes of brushing is enough...physical contact to reconnect with each other before we get on with everything else.

Observing and reacting. Not hunting.



Bottoms Up, Tail-less Ones.

Friday Fluffer - A Tribute to Lady Jockeys

UK Sun photo credit.

In Louisville, Kentucky, they're already mixing the mint juleps. Ladies are at the salon pouffing their hair. Men are checking the form. Yes, the Kentucky Derby is this weekend, a celebration of fancy hats, fantabulation and failed bets.

If you think the only flesh celebrated at racetracks is equine, think again. A small(!) but sexy group of women jockeys purge and puke right along with the guys. Today, we celebrate one of them, Kirsty Milczarek, shown here in racing silks.




Bottoms Up, Hayriders.

wombat@kissnblog.com

La Petite Mort

There's a part of me that envies the complexity of the female. I have way fewer moving parts than a woman, and some days - like today - I wonder if being a chick would stave off the boredom.

The reason any given woman will suffer less from boredom than any given man is because you have more mental rooms in which to play. You can take your emotions out for a spin and see what happens. There are always your sisters with whom to share. And if you're in the mood, you can always unbridle your sexy side for some fun.

The sisterhood is really important, because y'all are way more social animals than men. That means there's always someone at the end of your street or the end of your cellphone who might have something to say that will alleviate a dull day. At the very least, she'll call you "Sweetie" and "feel bad" for you. Women empathize.

Maybe life really is more dramatic for babes. Male orgasm (I imagine, backed up by porn) is a pretty standard thing. But female O is Shakespearean. (Irony of a using a playwright and actor noted.) Memories of ex-g/f Os are some of my favourite mental images, especially the near-death-like Petite Mort kind.

I like the Urban Dictionary's definition:

The little death is translation from the French "la petite mort", a popular reference for a sexual orgasm. The term has been broadly expanded to include specific instances of blacking out after orgasm and other supposed spiritual releases that come with orgasm. Speculations to its origin include current connotations of the phrase, including: * Greco-Roman belief that the oversecretion of bodily fluids would "dry out" one of the believed four humours, leading to death.

Seems I'm not the only one who enjoys the memory of climax past:

This is quite the discovery [link]<-----Interesting Link SFW


Bottoms Up, Climaxers!




Pic from here {link}

Friday Fluffer - Talk Dirty To Me

Talking dirty is another of those bonking skills that improves with practice. Some are better at filth-chat than others, so here are two videos to help. (The first one won't allow embedding, but it's worth the visit to YouTube.)

Both safe for work.


It's not what you say, it's how you say it. [link]<------Amusing video.









Bottoms Up, Trash-Talking Sluts!




Foul mouthed woman from here [link]

Friday Fluffer - Freedom of Speech

Pussy Power might work on heterosexual men, but the 'tween legs dynamo does not influence the majesty of the law.

Jennifer LaPenta wore her I Have the Pussy, So I Make the Rules tee in the gallery during her friend's court hearing. The Judge was not amused - and Jennifer was cited for contempt.

She left the court in cuffs with a 48 hour sentence to serve. Unfortunately for Jen, this was not an elaborate submission game, and the man who led her away was not taking her to his dungeon for some fun.

The Smoking Gun has the story and the pics. [link]



Bottoms Up, New Inmates!

Brodeo

I pretty much gave up on my regular Friday bar on Friday. A long day labouring for money gives a bloke a thirst, and when booze alone can't release the animal spirits, the potential for finding women will tip the balance. Still dripping with Working Stiff cologne, I made Happy Hour with a minute to spare.

It's a hamster-wheel life, single maledom. It's one in which we are handily practiced at dismembering women with a head-to-toe glance. (That's a metaphoric dismemberment, but no less vicious for it.) She's either a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down, after which comes the calculation of whether she'd have an interest in a chap with twelve-hour-shift hair. Looks like another hundred scampers around the wheel when she sashays to the guy with the Bentley key fob.

Mr Nights, my drinking companion, looked kinda peeved. He'd been sipping tequila for an hour, and peevishness is a common-enough side-effect. But in this case it was the lack of women in the bar that had gotten to him.

It's a brodeo here, he said, despondent.

And he was right. Over his left and right shoulders was a herd of men, rather like beasts at a waterhole. In nature, a regular mix of sexes would naturally gather at the cool corner of the bar - which I think was the reason Mr Nights was off-balance. Absence of females felt all artificial and dysfunctional. The livestock references aren't accurate either. All showered and shaved and Alpha-ed up, the guys looked as useless as show-dogs. Bulls never looked so pouffed.

The good news is that even if one is stuck hamster-wheeling through life, it's possible to have more than one hamster wheel.



Bottoms Up, rodents!

Cupcakes

I went on a sixth date last night. I wasn't my sixth date, you understand, which sounds like eating a cupcake without the frosting, but a sixth date it was. In fact the daters were strangers to me, and I didn't even know we were all on the date together until after the first bottle of wine. Which is exactly how these things should go.

Date six is pretty close to the perfect time to introduce the rest of the world to a relationship. At that point there's enough understanding and empathy for the couple to weather the inevitable new stuff that crops up about each other. Questioners and cynics like me are the worst people to have around, because directness has unintended consequences.

Despite that, I'm wondering if it might be the smart way to go about easing a new relationship into the universe - first introduce it to strangers rather than friends or family. Strangers don't know exes, history or quirks, which leaves them only with observation and perspective. What better way to close a few small gaps between newbies than an evening chatting with a dispassionate but well-disposed unknown? Perhaps I can turn this into a business - a kind of third wheel dater to check if you're both ready for the big leagues of Thanksgiving or your mother's birthday party.

I am relieved to say that that the (very cool and entirely charming) couple looked quite on track for a seventh date when I excused myself. In fact, I'd say they looked like they'd both discovered a limitless supply of cupcakes with frosting in (on?) each other.



Bottoms Up, Cupcakes!


Cupcake with cupcakes from here [link]

A Bird in the Hand is Worth More Than Two in the Bush.

Unless you are Mr Pitt or Mr Clooney, a single man would do well to not approach two women together in a bar. The chances of a lone male detaching one from the other are slim at best, verging on impossible at worst.

If you like a challenge, just try. Proceed into a bar on your own, purchase a cocktail, and walk up to to a birdie pair. You will not separate them, no matter how good your script.

Men rarely share this kind of folk-lore. That's because we see all other men as enemies in the game of finding willing women, an insane way to behave.

There's a great deal of fun to be had trying, though. If you're in a group, or just up for the rhetorical sport, give it a go one day. Women stick together like God's adhesive if they're in even numbers. An odd-numbered group gives the man way better odds until the number of females is greater than five, when it's cash bar time.

My friend Sam (who happens to be a woman, so her real name is Samantha) was intrigued by all this at happy hour this evening.

But Wombat, she said, tilting her head suggestively to two ladies along the bar, Don't you like the blonde with the pink pig-tail?

Sam. No. I'm a brunette aficionado, and in any case it's a pair of women. I'm not stupid.

Sam and I need to talk more.

Bottoms up!




Picture is from somewhere, but I am too mesmerized by her bust to worry about linking.

Edited for all kinds of horrid abominations of HRH English.

Friday Fluffer - Be My Valentine

Sunday is Valentine's Day, some bogus made-up celebration designed to make men anxious.

For those of you with nipples and an interest in low-energy technology, this might be a pleasing VD surprise - the LED Pasty.

Talk about green lights. [link]








Or if you are looking for something less outré, this might be more valuable. [link]

Fluffer Friday - The Crochet Bikini

Crochet bikinis - crochet anything, really - send a mixed message. On one hand, there's the loose-weave lewdness of sweet lady-parts so covered.

On the other is the 'my mother made this and sells them at the local craft fair' stigma. Not so sexy.

I guess it's not a mystery why our beaches aren't awash with multi-coloured unravelling wool 'kinis.

And here is Friday's Fluffer photo - safe for work. [Link]

What is she saying? Do I care?

If in doubt, I refer to Sun Tzu:

It is said that if you know your enemies and know yourself, you will not be imperiled in a hundred battles;...

In warfare, as in mating, a few simple rules can save us from calamitous mistakes. Avoiding a hundred unsatisfactory encounters with women, looking for green lights, confused about body language, is easily done: ignore them.

No, I am not advocating completely rinsing women right out of your hair, that won't do at all. But a way to remain calm and unconcerned is to stop looking. This might not make much sense if you're a woman reading this, but consciously giving up the eternal pursuit of skirt (if only for a night) can be liberating for a man. It is similar to the day your mother says you can - after years of work - quit the piano lessons you loathed. Release, blessed release.

A man thusly at peace with himself has mental energy to burn. Avoiding the manic effect of trim-chasing mode lightens the heart, creating a sense of cool engagement with women. If she's interested, she'll talk to me. If she wants to kiss, she'll initiate. If she's discreetly handing your her underwear under the table, she probably wants sex.

See how easy that is?

Calm men, not on the lookout, will attract women. It hands us the decision - yes, or no?




Green Lights Part One, Green Lights Part Two, Green Lights Part Three, Green Lights Part Five.

She's talking but I don't understand.

Experts, by which I mean random articles from the internet, agree that it's best not to listen to a word women say. Did that come out right? Probably not. Let me start again.

Experts agree that what a woman says is less important for determining her interest in you than her body language. That's better.

It's obvious to anyone who has given this more than a passing thought. Yet it continues to baffle many men, including me. The truly in-your-face green lights are those when she touches you. The 'touch and laugh' is a sure sign, as is the 'touch and whisper in your ear.' If a guy doesn't pick up on her deliberate entry into your deepest personal space, there's no hope for him.

There are many more subtle ways that women work their bodies which can be misinterpreted. Dilated pupils can be interest or a cocaine habit. Hair flipping might just be because she's overdue for a cut. Legs crossing and uncrossing could be a symptom of thrush. There are multiple explanations for many behavioural tics, and I know from horrible personal experience how easily one can be mistaken for another.

I think the biggest difficulty we have decoding lady body language is tuning out the words. We train from birth to listen to what people say rather than what they're expressing, a fine distinction I know, but an important one. Because none of us controls our body language to the same degree we do our spoken language, it will reflect more accurately our state of mind. Therefore, for a window to her heart and mind, watch, don't listen.

So that's the logic behind observing body language, now, how to create enough mental space for us to see it. The only way I have found is to start a woman talking on a favourite topic. This might take a little while, especially if you're new to each other. A smart thing to do anyway, when she's off and running along, talking ten to the dozen, you can zone her voice out a little - just a little - and take in what her body is saying.

Warning! Remember to snap out of it quick, because if she notices you mentally drifting from the convo, the red lights will come out as quickly as you can say Manhattan rush hour.

*

Women's Green Lights Part One, Green Lights Part Three, Green Lights Part Four, Green Lights Part Five.