Everyone tells you that you're a good listener, and because you are -- you listen attentively and look in their eyes while they say it. But what they're really saying is that you have no game. Being a good listener is essentially the opposite of having moves with the ladies.

It makes you wonder if they value your skills as a listener, or are just appreciative that you bother to listen at all. Because so many of the bad listeners out there – you know, those other guys women try to talk to, the ones who don't really take the time to understand or won’t hear what they're saying end up sleeping with them instead.

Women generally regret jumping into bed with bad listeners. You know this because you’re a good listener.

There's nothing wrong with caring about people, enjoying good conversation, or being a good friend. But the cold truth is that you would much rather be sleeping with this girl than hearing about her last relationship, and you're pretty sure she knows this fact. But you have no real angle to play, and she's equally aware of that too -- so it's this or nothing, pal.

And so a Sunday after a far-too late night Saturday stretches again into evening darkness. Either with or without friends around, you've spent the better part of the weekend with this girl. Not on a date or anything like that – you were just both around. And she likes you being around, because you’re a good listener – and also because she asked if she could have the pickle spear that came with your dinner, and you said yes. In between conversations with others, you catch her sticking her tongue out at you.
It probably means nothing.
Eventually the time comes to sign tabs and go home, but despite the smiling glances and playful shenanigans, there’s no real indication that she sees you any differently than she did before.

So when the group hints that they might go back out to another bar a little later, you say something about maybe joining in. But you don’t mean it, because you’re pretty sure they don’t mean it either. It’s been a long couple of days, and the gang seems pretty beat. But then as you're driving home on what seem like deserted streets, the phone lights up and buzzes in your pocket.

It’s not a text from the gang. It’s a text from her. Because you're a good listener you know that she was trying to choose between one or two places if everyone did decide to kick in for a second shift, so the text you got from her was surely one of many sent in succession to those who had been at dinner.
But you somehow get it in your head that she sent yours first.
You're tired. Close to broke. Your throat is killing you from a flu bug, lack of sleep, and whatever was in that last shot glass. The alarm at your apartment is set to go off early tomorrow morning to remind you that you have to go to work. Going to another bar, which could easily mean another bar after that is every kind of bad idea. Had one of the guys sent the group rally text you’d have likely waved it off with some sort of pleasant apology. But they didn't.

So you turn the car around. One bar becomes two. Two drinks become three. The guys never show; it’s just you and her. Hugs and a smile when you first reappear, her head on your shoulder as the night winds to a close.

Could these things have meant something else? Was there an opportunity there where some well-timed assertiveness might have done you some good? Just like so many times before with other people you more than liked who still only value how good a listener you are (and nothing else)?

You've long resigned yourself to the fact that more often than not, you friend-zone yourself. That even if those imagined moments did exist, even if somehow after spending the night being the guy in her life who didn't just take, take, take that it might have been OK for you to take a little -- you get stuck in this place where after listening to many hours of how she's tired of all the other guys who just want to fuck -- wouldn't suddenly turning into yet another one would be the worst kind of betrayal?
Yes, you want nothing more but to lean in and kiss her -- but didn't we just split an appetizer and sip on cocktails for hours on end discussing how much she hates when guys do that?
Your hope is that she makes the first move. That the attraction was there from the beginning to some level, so much so that even if she does appreciate your being a good listener, eventually she'll reach a point where she's done talking.

But more often what happens is that point comes along and you're supposed to know it. The conversation breaks, and she looks at you quietly. Perhaps steering a lock of hair behind her ear, perhaps not. Whatever the accompanying body language -- there's going to a point where she wonders if you're going to make a move. A point where she maybe wants you to make the move.

If you can see it coming and take advantage of it -- anything is possible.

But if you aren't sure if she even feels that way about you, or if you can't detect it until after the moment has come and gone -- then you're screwed. If there was a moment where you should have done something, but you didn't -- and how could you have possibly not have realized that was the moment..
The most important thing she was trying to tell you all night, and you weren't even paying attention.
..Some listener you are.

[Now Playing:  Rick Ross - "Aston Martin Music" ]


wigsf3 said…
I've been that man. I hated him. He's dead now.
Campari Soda said…
rule number 1: stop going dutch.

seriously. nothing says "just friends" like splitting the check.

if one person pays for the whole shebang, it's suddenly a date. them's the rules. I don't make 'em, I just play by 'em.

and once you're on a date, it's open season.

rule number 2: be the driver. don't meet her anywhere. pick her ass up and take her home. at the end of the night, when she's in YOUR car, the deciding moment will always be there.

rule number 3: girls should never make the first move. never. it ruins everything.

if you're chicken, loosen the mood. tickling is great. wrestling is great. thumb wrestling, even. but if she's too comfortable, you're dead in the water. adrenaline is your friend.

rule 4, and this is the worst coz it's pure instinct: don't hesitate too long. a little hesitation is sexy. too much hesitation is a girl boner killer. there's only so much anticpation a chick will be willing to sustain before she gives up hope and moves on.

play by the rules, sir and you will bag your marlin. now go forth and fish.
Campari Soda is 100% right. Source: my girl parts.