b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Flirting » Page 8 | Search
This is a question Flirting

Do you flirt with check-out girls just for the heck of it? Are you a check-out girl and flirt with sad-looking middle-aged men for fun? Are you Vernon Kay? Tell us about flirting triumphs and disasters

Thanks to Che Grimsdale for the suggestion

(, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 13:00)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

If anyone's interested
Dakota Fanning is about to turn 16 in 10mins time. Just thought that it might be convenient to know.
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 23:50, 6 replies)
How not to flirt with a young woman.
Don't stop her in a deserted stairwell when she is by herself and you are with your really tale male friend.

Don't swarm around her.

Don't keep telling her over and over and over and over that you really like her style and her hair. A small compliment is very flattering. Overdo it and insincerity abounds making said young woman feel very uncomfortable.

Don't then grab her hair for a feel.

Don't pester and pester her to give you a phone number/e-mail address/facebook name until she feels obligated to give you something to get rid of you.

Don't do this especially after she has told you she is very much taken.

Don't then overdo the compliments in the e-mail you them manage to send to her mysteriously scribbly and illegible e-mail address she wrote for you.

Don't let your friend find her sister on-line and over-compliment her so that she too feels harassed and cornered.

Don't let your friend tell her sister she is so pretty he feels he could fly and to have a "very well adjusted evening".

Thank goodness my sister is more sensible than me! She simply told him she doesn't like people who focus too much on looks and that she wasn't interested.

EDIT: Nope, it was a "correct day" she tells me. Apparently she has a shining beauty that can't be stopped by a fire service.
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 23:49, 2 replies)
Lurking and learning
Being of the non flirtatious type,
I have read and absorbed much of the wisdom imparted on this here QOTW .
Sage words indeed from many wise and knowing regulars.

Can I just take this moment to say

Your advice on flirting sucks.

Sitting home alone again looking askance at a cucumber who wont object ;)
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 23:28, 14 replies)
Staring & Stalking
Whenever I fancied someone, I was normally completely dumbstruck, so I tried to convey the message non-verbally, by staring at them.
At one point whilst I had a huge crush I was tempted to go hang out near where they lived in the hope of bumping in to them, so I could stare at them I suppose.
this didn't fail completely all the time, sometimes people threw themselves at me, which would result in me running away or insulting them in some way
I'm married now, jebus knows how
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 22:31, Reply)
It was a dark cold night.
Due to a gas leak my train had terminated at Craven Arms which is a pleasant enough place but not on a November evening. As we were the first one affected I knew we were going to be there for at least an hour before any buses could be whistled up and as I work for the railway moved away from the crowds so I didn't have to listen to their whinging.
A young lady about 15 years my junior comes over to me and we exchange social pleasantries, where we're going and how annoying it is and she mentions how cold it is. I had noticed that she wasn't exactly dressed for standing in a car park in winter and had appreciated it. Ever the gentleman I offered my coat. I had a curt no thanks and she walked away. I still wonder if she wanted me to keep her warm.
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 21:25, 1 reply)
Thanks b3ta!
After reading and empathising with so many "if only" stories this week I decided to do something about it. So struck up a conversation with a cute girl on the train home tonight and I'm taking her out Friday!
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 21:05, 15 replies)
My Flirting Fail
A Vet, living over the meadow from me, classy British bird, jodpurs, leather boots etc, a wank bank of memories (but she was the mistress of the father of the daughter I had a big crush on), she was at an xmas drinkie poos party at said father's home that daughter had invited me too. Trying to chat up daughter and the posh vet is grinding her cunt into my shoulder as I sit and try make conversation with said daughter.

Leaving (coincidentialy) with the posh VET (alone), she says "Hot isn't it", I mumbly reply, yup the weather forecasters got it right for a change.

It was Winter FFS. Suicide was thought of the following morning.
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 20:41, Reply)
It's been so long
Having failed to pass the school of flirting as a horny teen, see my greatest regret post. I have been with my current lady Deskbound for nearly 11 years (still not married - eek! But insanley happy).

I still like the window shopping side of things, but am amazed at the times I'm
told by 'er indoors that said lady I have been, served a drink by, sold clothing, walked past etc, has checked me out or made a pass. I just seem to be completely oblivious. Perhaps this is for the better, or maybe she has altered my programming or something.
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 19:34, 5 replies)
Nice Monkey...
There's a woman I worked with for a while last year who was drop dead gorgeous, to the extent where I was, and still am, lost for words when I go to talk to her. She has now left and I try and keep in contact but get the feeling she really doesn't fancy me (which sucks). But I can remember one occasion (that won an award at a works Christmas do for most inappropriate innuendo) where I had a PG tips monkey on my desk. I had broken my collar bone and wrapped my x-ray bandage around him as a souvenir.
Que her coming to my desk, spying the PG tips teddy and loudly and innocently saying "Ohh, can I have a look at your monkey please?"
Much laughter ensued and I went bright crimson to match her as she realised what she said...
If only I had some witty comeback she could be looking at my monkey most nights rather than making excuses to avoid me at all costs :p

Length, he's about 4" tall...
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 19:28, 2 replies)
Slightly expanded repost from a couple of weeks ago...
At Christmas all of my department went out for a few drinks, as you do. Chatting to a girl I knew reasonably well, who I'll call Stacey, I had the following exchange:

Me: Nice shoes
Her: Nice shoes as in nice shoes, or nice shoes as in you want to nail me?
Me: ... (equal parts amused and lost for words)
Her: Sorry, I'm rubbish at flirting... *blushes*
Me: That's okay, I was just a bit surprised, is all.
Her: God, I'm really embarrassed now! *blushes more and looks mortified*
Me: Er, right let's change the subject then. Wow, look at those pool tables, they've got red cloth! That's just crazy, man!
Her: Yeah, pool tables. So, would you want me bent over one, or on top of it?
Me: ... (as before, but even more so)
Her: Sorry, I'm really rubbish at flirting *blushes about as red as one of the pool tables*

(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 19:00, 10 replies)
I try to be a gentleman.
It rarely happens, being that I'm a bumbling idiot whose mind seems to "work" independently of the rest of his body; each part of which seems to work independently of every other part. But I try, in spite of myself, to be as gentlemanly as I can be and during such efforts my feeble flirting is often to be found. I favour a polite and cheeky charm, rather than the innuendo fuelled, sexually confident approach that in the past has caused numerous women to eye me with the sort of wariness usually reserved for those wandering the streets with their gentleman's area wilfully exposed, and I can occasionally muster whole minutes worth of passable charm and wit before my natural, crippling idiocy takes charge of my brain or tongue or a limb, an eye; you name it, I can't control any of it, and brings my efforts to a crashing, shameful halt. It's akin to watching a child run: they may make good their efforts for 10 or sometimes even 20 meters, but you can see from the moment they set off that their momentum is driving their upper body ever further beyond their feet and it's only a matter of time until it all ends in a grubby pile of grazes and tears.

So it was that when I noticed a beautiful Spanish woman struggling with a weighty case about the unforgiving flights of underground stairs at Green Park, I seized the opportunity not only to perform a karma boosting good deed, but also to seek instant return via a spot of harmless, ego boosting flirting. I proffered my assistance (not too eagerly) and she greedily accepted with a smile that wobbled my legs. I unplugged from my ears the headphones that had previously been pumping music directly into my head at the expense of all other sound and grasped the wheeled end of her case.

I knew instantly that I'd made a grievous error. I will never be described as big or strong and I certainly didn't have the power to lift this case for any meaningful length of time with the one feeble arm that wasn't otherwise holding my headphones away from wrapping themselves around my legs. I considered letting them swing freely on their overly long cables in order to afford me a second case-carrying arm, but they were new, expensive and really very good, and besides, such an act would be like a red rag to the blundering bull that was my inescapable mongitude.

The first set of stairs were blissfully small and I survived my one arm lift long enough to breach their peak. Knowing there would be further steps to conquer I decided to accompany this young lady on her passage through the station. She wasn't going my way but I could pretend she was for a while, after all, I do try to be a gentleman at times. I was in rare form and she was all toothy smiles and sparkly eyes as we strolled together through the long mazy corridors. I’d cursed the vastness of this station almost every other day but now I wished its white tiled walls would go on forever so I could spend eternity talking to the beautiful eyes that shone into mine and cast a fuddled web about my mind.

They didn't. We soon reached another flight of stairs and, with the earlier lesson unusually learnt I plugged the phones back into my head and lifted my end of the case with two arms as I should have done in the first place. We dispatched the stairs quicker than I'd expected and my sole sought a final step that had never existed, meaning I lurched forward quite unexpectedly as I arrived at the top. Since I was still holding the wheel end of the case my sudden lunge propelled the other end, still held by its owner, away from me. Meanwhile I'd controlled myself and stopped, meaning the case was yanked from my hands and two heavy wheels landed noisily on the shiny floor and sped the case towards the unsuspecting owner. The handle shamefully planted itself firmly in her beautiful midriff, immediately turning the olive coloured skin an unfortunate shade of red; one which matched my face which, with music filling my ears, simply shouted "ALRIGHT? THERE YOU GO." at her swiftly retreating form before turning tail and making good an escape back along the corridors that now stank of shame.

I don’t flirt often, I can take bruises to my pride, but I have no excuse for bruising innocent bystanders.
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 18:17, Reply)
bricking it
this is more about someone flirting with me, albeit in a very strange way.
when i was but a wee smash, there was a lad called matt who lived in the same street as me. he would occasionally say hello, then immediately turn crimson with embarrassment. i was fairly sure he liked me, he just didn't have the nerve to really speak to me.
one day, matt's friend - i forget his name - said to me "matt wants you to meet him by the bin sheds." classy, eh?
i went to the bin sheds, where matt was sitting on a stone ledge. i smiled and sat down next to him.
after what seemed like ages, matt looked at me and said "nyurgh." i looked at him. he looked at me. "what the hell was that about?" i asked. matt was by now a deep shade of almost fluorescent maroon. screwing his little eyes up and stammering, he reached down beside him, picked up a brick and hit me in the face with it.
yes, this suave little motherfucker bricked me in the chops.
i sat, too stunned to even cry. not that this mattered, because matt had decided to cry enough for both of us. howling like a soggy banshee, he hopped down off the ledge and ran home. he couldn't even bring himself to look at me after that.
little freak.
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 18:15, 5 replies)
At a house partya/bbq nd i was chatting to a very nice young man.
The two of us were getting on quite well, i'd not embarrassed myself yet and we were sitting in the conservatory while watching my friends attempt to get the bbq going.
Next minute he started to laugh and said

"Oh look at that!" pointing at something through the window.
Well i tried to suppress it, i really did try but i couldn't hold it back.

In the most shrill voice i could manage i replied:
"What? The curtains?"
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 17:34, 2 replies)
Which end of the bath do you sit then?
Was a 'joke' chat-up line I heard a mate describe once at school, and for some reason it made me laugh.

Years later, as a first year undergraduate, I was taking the long, slow cross-country train home for Christmas and shared a compartment with a gorgeous woman with feline eyes and honey-coloured hair. After some general what-course-are-you-on pleasantries, the conversation lulled and she looked worrying close to getting out a book to read, so to keep the chatter going I wheeled out "So, which end of the bath do you sit then?"

She comes back with "It depends whether I'm sharing it with my boyfriend or not", and puts nose in book.

As it turned out, we met again later the next term, while I was recovering from being hit by a car while walking back to halls of residence, and we became good pals for quite a while but that's another story.
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 16:34, Reply)
Just remembered my mates old 'tactics'
My mate who shall remain anonymous (i.e Darren) used to 'bump' into ladies on the dancefloor and immediately 'apologise' with a hug and the offer of a drink. This was quite often a rewarding tactic.

This worked far better than Mark's tactic of just staring at crowds of ladies in the hope that his Peter-Sutcliffe glare would somehow enchant them.

Tim would always just chat shit about The Beatles or Bob dylan and pull someone twice his age. I think many of the ladies who he had his 'way' with just felt sorry for him and wanted to Mother him.
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 16:27, Reply)
"Do you like Buck Rogers?"
Try it, works like a charm!
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 16:23, 3 replies)
Whether you need directions or not...
...when you're out and about, and preferably not with your other/better half, approach the nearest and hottest girl/boy (delete as applicable) and ask the way.

That way you get in a whole minute or two of "listening intently" (perving) and you both walk away happy: he/she happy to have helped, you happy to have added another to the bank.

Extra points to those boys that manage to get really hot girls to include pointing - cleavage looks so much better in motion...!
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 15:21, 9 replies)
Lovely oirish lasses
Damn this site for dredging up memories. Another one I'd successfully repressed has come floating back up, like that monster turd that you finally and with no small relief manage to flush, only it's not actually cleared the U and was only teasing you.

Night out in Cork, I had my hands handcuffed together. Can't even remember why, not really important. My friend had the key. A very very pretty Irish girl came up and asked for the key. He gave it to her. I then pleaded with her give it back to me. She put it down her (already well-filled) top and with a filthy look told me to get it myself. After a moment's pause, I said 'but I can't use my hands!'. She paused for a moment, I expect dumb-struck by the idiocy on display in front of her, then winked and told me that I'd just have to use my mouth instead then.

Now, thinking back on this I'm squirming in my seat, partially from the offer itself, but mostly because of my response. I stomped back over to my mate and whined 'Daaaaan, she won't give it baaaaaaaack!'

(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 14:44, 14 replies)
Flirt fail

It happened one Saturday last autumn. I'd arranged to meet Mrs G in the Starbucks inside Borders in York. She'd been doing some shopping and we were going to do a bit more shopping after coffee, then go home. I got there first and was going to get the drinks and find a table. There was a bit of a queue and a couple of places in front of me were four girls, about 18 or 19 years old. It sounded like they were hoping to enter the regional finals for the four-girl chatting championships. One of them though, was the prettiest girl I had seen in a long time; a very long time. She was wearing those leggings that look like very opaque tights and leave bugger all to the imagination, and because her top was barely waist long, I could see that she had, in my books, a perfect bum (and I'm talking those books which leave you a bit hot under the collar and have plenty of illustrations).

Now, normally, I try to behave like a gentleman. I may wistfully admire a pretty girl, but I try not to perve or leer, both because I don't like to think of myself as a letch, but also, I don't like to make girls feel uncomfortable. This time though, the girl caught my eye and in that second, I saw that flash that made her look like startled doe or a bunny in the headlights. I could feel her begin to blush. She quickly turned back to talk to her friends who were, luckily unaware of the frisson in the air. I tried not to glance at her bum too often and was glad that when Mrs G turned up, I was facing the entrance of the coffee shop. We got a coffee, sat down and chatted, I made sure that I wasn't facing the group of girls.

They left before us and, behind Mrs G's back, I took a last, brief glimpse at the departing girl's rear view. She turned just before they disappeared and again caught my eye. We drank up and left, drifting around the shops with all the other Saturday couples. But the story doesn't end there, three more times that afternoon, our paths crossed - they were drifting through town in the same direction and at the same speed as us. Now there is nothing in this world more likely to put me in the doghouse, than to be caught by Mrs G ogling a girl young enough to be our daughter, so I was very careful not to even glance in the direction of this group again, although I was painfully aware of their presence and could feel the girl's eyes on me. It would have been bad enough for me to appear a perve, but if we'd been clocked exchanging a glance...well, it doesn't bear thinking about.

Finally, we headed home, and who should be walking along, in the same direction, not 20 feet ahead of us? Have you ever tried to NOT look at a girl's bum when she's that far in front of you, and yet not appear to be 'not looking', which would imply that you were very well aware of it and so deliberately 'not looking' as you knew you'd be in trouble if found out? It's not easy.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not looking to have a fling with 19 year old beauty (so not much point gazing me girls). I'm fairly happy with many aspects of my life, and I certainly don't want to upset Mrs G, because she's a diamond... But, if I'd been on my own that day, I could have engaged in some more Stage One Flirting - i.e. eye catching and sharing of visual signals that would mean that, in a parallel universe somewhere, the two of us could have spent two weeks locked in a luxury flat somewhere, while I introduced her to the intricacies of love-making, and she could abandon all teenage angst and self-consciousness to discover what it means to be truly loved by a mature man.

Don't you just sometimes wish that YOU lived in that parallel universe?
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 14:33, 5 replies)
flirting by absence of rejection....
I have no gay friends. It's not a decision, I am not homophobic, it's just worked out that way. In some respects I'd quite like one of my current friends to come out, just so I can ask them about it. (Surely it really really hurts. Pooey willy?) But I'm not going to try and force a friendship just to ask bizzare and quite possibly very offensive questions (innocently offensive mind. Offence born of naiveity. Or stupidity). Also, I went to an all-boys school so lots and lots of the *cough* humour cough* was homoerotic. So......

Few years ago a friend of mine was giving me a lift back to my home town. I was at uni, he was at a naval base nearby. He was also giving one of his navy mates a lift too. Perfectly pleasant car trip, although Tom did look a bit nervous throughout. After he'd dropped off his friend Johny he told me that he was gay, and the entire trip he'd been expecting me to say/do something stupid/potentially offensive. Again, from the silly homoerotic humour, not from any kind of prejudice. Well, twas fine, but we'd arranged to go out with Johny and his flatmate in town later. So.....

Met up with the guys. Fun being had by all. Tom and Johny are mostly talking to a bunch of other navy guys, so I'm left chatting to the flatmate (can't remember his name, let's call him Dave). Now I'm not great with chicks, so I'm not going off to try and chat any up. Tom and Johny are increasingly absorbed with navy guys and Dave is jsut talking to me. He's a really nice chap and we're getting on very well indeed. Yay! I've made a gay friend! I'm one step closer to being a normal person!

OK, finally come to flirting bit. We move to another bar. Dave leans closer. It's cool, I think, it's just noisy in here. Next bar, Dave is lightly touching my arm. It's cool, thinks I, some people are just touchy-feely (I hate it). Next bar, and more touching. Starting to fret a bit now, but am paralysed by a crippling fear of appearing homophobic. I don't know if this is just being friendly or if Dave is making a pass. So I say nothing.

Then his hand is on my cock. Now, for most I'm sure that this would be the line. Not for me! I simply sort of freeze up. What un-freezes me is Dave's face. Approaching mine. Then making contact.

I turned around and literally ran away.

So I'm sorry Dave. Clearly I led you on all night. Then left you standing confused and alone in the middle of the dance floor in a third rate club without a backwards glance. I did it because I wanted to be sure you were flirting with me and was too embarrassed to ask. But you were.
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 13:56, Reply)
My story of shame.
It was her eyes that held me. That and her perfect face - I couldn't stop staring. Usual wokplaces pleasantries were exchanges and I think I was slowly advancing, until ...
It was freezing out, I came in and she said 'Your hands look so cold'.
'Ah, well' I replied, 'You know the old saying'.
'?' she said.
'Cold hands' pause for emphasis - I may have leant in - 'Hot cock'.
Dead silence. Although I heard that door being slammed and bolted.
Two days later she was made redundant and left - no connection, another story - and we hadn't spoken in the meantime.
I could have got her address easliy enough. Perhaps gone round and attempted some apology, explanation, remorse. Professed undying love and desire - but would she have forgiven me? More to the point - would my wife?
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 13:50, Reply)
One good, one bad, and two sides of ugly
My coolest flirting moment was meeting a girl from Reading at a college buddy's housewarming in Swindon, where I now live. She was a mate of one of his housemates or something. Helen, I think her name was (it can be that for the sake fo the story, anyway).
Anyway, we clicked straight away and were chatting in the kitchen quite happily. She excused herself to go to the loo, and I let her get about 5 paces away then said, as if I'd remembered something I'd forgotten to mention earlier "Oh, Helen?".
She turned and I had my hand outstretched toward her, she took it, I drew her towards me for a passionate and romantic snog. Inside, I was thinking both "YESS!!" and "Blimey! That was actually quite cool!".
We spent the rest of the evening canoodling in various corners. Unfortunately I didn't pace my drinking, so I ended up getting hideously, spewingly drunk, and tried to put my hand down her tights while we were sitting/lying on the stairs, at the bottom of which were all the friends she'd come to the party with.
We half-heartedly met up a couple of times after that, but my more characteristic cack-handed relationship skills trumped my one-off ace flirting.

The sister of a girl in my am-dram group at Poly came to see one of the plays I was in, and was being flirted with outrageously by her at a cast party. She (the sister) was intimidatingly attractive, certainly when compared to her rather plain Poly am-dram sibling. She was a couple of years older, too.
To defuse my nerves, I tried to use humour on a subject we had in common. Unfortunately the only thing we did have in common was the plain speccy am-dram sister. I made some weak gag about how her specs looked like the "joke-shop coke-bottle glasses", only to discover she was legally considered to be partially sighted.
It wasn't the end (she actually hung around Brighton for another week or two and took a job at a cafe across the road from my flat), but my fear and embarrassment meant I couldn't ever look her in the eye after that. One of those occasions where, with a time machine, I'd give my younger self a dead arm and say "for Christ's sake, just fuck her!".

Side 1 Ugly
In the first flush of full manhood in late teens and early 20s, I was a skinny, snake-hipped young thing, with cheekbones you could cut paper with and an almost full head of hair.
Met a scorchingly fit Asian girl (I've alway had a penchant for the dusky) at a student party back in 1987. We were both very drunk in that happy, everyone's your best pal sort of a way. I made a clumsy pass, she politely rebuffed, and we carried on happily chatting for the rest of the evening. An odd-looking chubby fellow could be seen lurking on the other side of every room we went into, but I thought nothing of it until much later when he confronted us with a lengthy rant.
"Just because you're so good-looking doesn't mean you can monopolise all the best-looking women", he shouted at me. Which was both hilariously pathetic (for him) and rather complimentary (for me).
Side 2 Ugly
Fast forward 10 years, to my days sharing a house in Acton in my first remotely well-paid job, after years of struggling to make ends meet. My first investment was in pies, which made me somewhat porkier than the girlbait I'd (mostly unknowingly) been at college. One of my house mates was a stunning Sikh girl who I had the hots for big style, but in my callowness "didn't want to spoil the friendship with" (code for "didn't want to risk rejection by making a move, preferring instead to worship her from afar"). With hindsight, she probably felt the same way and was waiting for me to make a move, then got bored of waiting and hooked up with another guy.
She moved out of the houseshare to another out further North, perhaps in part to get away from my moping, but we were still pals and I got an invite to the housewarming. It was fancy dress; not knowing what to wear, I decided on impulse to shave my head, dress entirely in black denim and cowboy boots (yeah, I know!) and go as Yul Brynner. Of course, the effect was more Buster Bloodvessel, and far from realising the error of her ways, my sultry love goddess continued her pursuit of the blond and athletic guy she'd latched on to.
Glowering across the room, getting steadily more drunk, I eventually confronted the "blond, good-looking bastard" for managing to pull someone I'd held a candle for much longer than he'd even know her.
Then heard the hollow, decade-old laughter of a skinnier, hairy-scalped me echoing around the room. It was the only thing anyone could hear, since the party effectively stopped until I had left it. I never did see her much after that. Who says there's no karma?
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 13:37, Reply)
Bony Cheezes
I know a guy who 'is' called Bony Jesus.

His chat up technique is to go up to the most attractive girl in the pub/club/queue/cage and try to chat her up. When this fails he waits a few minutes, then tries with the next most attractive, and so on.

This sequential approach to dry humping is sometimes successful, sometime unsuccessful, and always insulting when you explain it to someone he tried to chat up at 1 a.m.

I told a couple of (female) friends about this, and, now they are aware of it, they see it everywhere. And when they see it they point at the guy and shout "Bony Jesus".

I look forward to the time they are in the same club as him.
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 13:36, Reply)
Winona Ryder flirts with me quite a lot.
Eg in the 48th minute of Heathers, or minute 93 of Paris Je T'aime, or, for that matter, minute 25 of the latest Star Trek.

But the moment I turn up naked?


(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 12:58, 4 replies)
Shes out of my league...
This phrase keeps popping up in many of these flirtatious exploits and does bother me that guys/girls genuinely believe this...

Alongside my 9-5 job, Im a dating coach and have worked with clients all over the world. The 'out of my league' excuse is possibly the number 1 thing I have to fight to get out of their heads; why should a girl/guy you don't know be out of your league?

I genuinely believe no one is out of anyone's 'league' - its b0ll0cks - its just an ego protection device to avoid dealing with being rejected by said 'out-of-my-leaguer'

Almost 100% of the time, its not *you* thats being rejected - its your *approach*.

How can he/she reject you as a person, they don't know you. Therefore, lose the part of you that gives a toss what a random person thinks about you.

Confidently (& preferably soberly) approach people you like, whether its in Starbucks or a night club, have a plan of what you're going to say and I think you'll be surprised...!
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 12:02, 43 replies)
chat up lines of the EU
Some bloke in Copenhagen tried to chat me up with this:

"you know, I have the only dog in Copenhagen with blue eyes, would you like to come and see my dog?"

In Barcelona someone opened with:

"Hey, do you take coke?"
"er, no"
"oh, no me neither. What's your name?"

Suffice to say neither was onto a winner here.
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 11:42, 5 replies)
A tale of flirting
in the style of Robert Browning. 700 words so in the reply..

may be fabricated horseshit
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 11:28, 7 replies)
Masterclass Lessons in Flirting
During the second year of my degree, a new student joined our class - Richard. I say new, but he actually transfered from the Typography course, and believed he was the greatest designer and artist of all time.

He wasn't THAT arrogant or anything, just, how should I say, on another planet. He was generally a nice chap, but could be a bit unpredicatble and odd.

To put this in perspective, he believed he was a dashing 1950s gentleman and dressed accordingly, who would offer you cigarettes out of a custom made case with his own personal logo on each cancer stick.

He had a seriously unhealthy obsession with hunting and guns -an obsession that resulted in him pulling a gun on a fellow student after he took a light hearted prank the wrong way (but that is another story for another QOTW).

He also fancied himself as quite the ladies man, despite having all the tack and charm in those situations as roadkill.

Myself, some mates and Richard all left the Uni' one lunchtime to go in search of food, as was the fashion of the time and we made our way to the near-by Shopping centre/mall's food court.

Richard spied two young ladies (in their twenties) sat at a table. He held up both his hands to halt our little group

"That Brunette looks cute; guys, watch a master at work!"

Richard strolled up to the girl on the left of the table, with his most alluring walk, one eyebrow raised and his most charming smirk.

"How would you like to go out with me for a drink, sometime?" he said, in an overly loud tone, one hand on the table, one on his hip, and obviously way to close to the girl as she recoilled back.

"Errrmmm... No thankyou..." she muttered, with just a hint of shock.

Without a pause, and only moving his head to face the girl on the right, he then asked:

"how about you?"

All we could do was slowly back away as this car-crash of a proposal turned into a full-blown pile-up with exploding petrol tankers and everything.

As the second girl turned him down, he walked away, and on passing us uttered the immortal phrase:

"Well, I didn't like them that much anyway..."
(, Mon 22 Feb 2010, 11:21, 4 replies)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1