We went out for some daygame and a cheeky pint. A few conversations around South Kensington, a stop at the Admiral Codrington, then a walk towards Eclipse on Walton Street. Nothing was going anywhere, and I was getting fucking annoyed.
Then I saw her outside the bar. I went straight over, said something spectacularly unsubtle, and she loved it. Minutes later, she was inviting me upstairs. Tom came along, still grinning at the whole thing.
I remember the black-and-white tiles. Then this enormous flat, a pole, and two older blokes in fur coats with cigars and canes. I looked at the adult-entertainment posters and recognised the woman standing beside me. As far as I was concerned, she worked in adult entertainment. I never confirmed it.
My attention stayed on her. Tom ended up keeping the men talking. Then he was outside the bedroom telling me we had to get out. The rest involved those stairs, a very conveniently placed taxi and two men waving their canes behind us.
There is a useful lesson in that ridiculous evening. In my book Straight Line Sex System, I talk about catching your reaction before you carry it into the next conversation. I knew the idea. That afternoon, I was still wound up.
And in The Bible, I explain the limited job of an opener. It starts a conversation. Her response tells you what happens next. One outrageous line working with one woman does not mean you have cracked women.
Her interest also told me nothing about that flat or the people inside it. Tom had information I didn't. When he said we needed to leave, we moved. We could discuss it in the taxi.
This episode is my narrated recollection, illustrated with reconstructions. The pictures are not footage of the encounter. Make your interest clear, notice the response, and keep enough of your brain switched on to notice the rest of the room.
