Lessons of Youth

“Beppo, I have to tell you something,” AlmostGF said to me in the back during some downtime at our part-time job. “CuteGirl only went with you to [Winter Dance] so she could try to hook up with [Very Effeminate Guy].”

I sighed. That explained why she acted the way she did at [Winter Dance]. I hadn’t talked to or acknowledged her since that night. Having a girl reject you, without an actual rejection does that.

“I’m so sorry,” AlmostGF said. “I introduced you to CuteGirl, and I feel real bad about it. I didn’t know what she was doing until recently.” She actually had tears in her eyes.

I smiled in understanding. “You had no way of knowing. Thank you for telling me. It clears up a lot.”

She gave me a hug and then went back up front. I wondered again for the umpteenth time: why did I not want to date this girl? She was into me, was cute, and was nice. That scared me for some reason. But that’s another story altogether.

More important: CuteGirl played me for months.


Flashback to September. I was getting ready to go to the Homecoming dance at AlmostGF’s school. Her school’s Homecoming was a week or two before my own. She had asked me a few weeks prior if I wanted to go, and I said yes. She was very happy about it, and I was looking forward to going with her.

While we lived in the same town, AlmostGF and I went to different high schools. There was a historical “rivalry” between them. I only cared about that “rivalry” when I was playing sports against them. Though it felt sneaky to be heading into “enemy” territory. I had never been to one of their dances, so this would be a first-time for me. Also a buddy of mine from my school was also going, so I’d see another familiar face there.

The plan was that AlmostGF would first come over to my house. This would let us put on her corsage and my boutonniere, and also have our parents take some pictures. I’d then go with her to another friend’s house for punch, followed by us going to the dance. Seemed straightforward.

AlmostGF was wearing a long red dress. It went very well with her fair skin. She also had her brown hair done up, but not in the over-fancy way you see with girls who’re going to prom. A touch of makeup to accent her blue eyes and lips. Looking back, she did look good.

After our parents took pictures, we went to the friend’s house for an hour for punch. Eventually we got to the dance and got into the photographer’s line for pictures.

I looked around and caught the eye of a few girls that I worked with. They came over, said hi, and we all chatted for a bit while the line snaked forward towards the cafeteria. The sun was still up with its rays lighting up the dance floor in the gym ever-so-slightly.

Eventually we had our picture taken. With AlmostGF slightly getting flustered about remembering her homeroom number. She was a nervous as I was. At that time, I hadn’t taken a date to any of my school’s dances. Taking or being a date was new to me. Going stag was alright, it did allow you to dance with a lot more girls.

Having gotten the pictures out of the way, we rejoined the rest of our group and went into the gym. The sun was finally setting, bringing darkness to the gym. The DJ’s accent lights poured out some faint illumination on the ceiling.

While inside I ran into another guy from my school: [Very Effeminate Guy]. I never actually had any problems with him personally. Though he did do two things that rubbed me the wrong way.

First was where the nickname I’m using came from. He came across as very limp-wristed and weak (or, to use another euphemism, he was “half a fag”). One of my buddies used impersonate him by putting on a very flowery and campy gay voice. Then he’d say, “I’m [Very Effeminate Guy]” while gesturing with a limp-wrist. I used to always laugh at that.

Second was that he used to talk a lot of shit, but would shrink when called out on it. We were in the same group in photography class my sophomore year. He’d start “commenting” on others with heavy passive-aggressive snark until someone else would get to a “put up, or shut up” boiling point. From there, he’d usually wilt like a violet and be quiet for a few classes, where the cycle would begin again. He wasn’t physically imposing, which was strange. He had maybe five to ten pounds on me, with none of it being muscle. Even the slightest threat of violence would have him stammering apologies and disengaging. There were a few times where I myself stepped up and he backed completely down. In his own mind, he was a wannabe bully.

A lot of people didn’t like this guy for obvious reasons. Like I mentioned above, I had no real reason to hate him. I tried to get along with everyone, since I floated through so many different social circles at my school. But I wouldn’t count him as either a friend or an acquaintance. He was someone to talk to in a sea of people I didn’t know.

The dance went on. I danced with AlmostGF and talked to my buddy and [Very Effeminate Guy]. Saw the girls I worked with a few times (one I had a slight crush on made a point to smile and wave to me every time she saw me). I clapped at the Homecoming Court being announced. I was having a great time. Then this girl walked over and began talking to AlmostGF.

She was very cute. Shoulder-length brunette hair. Italian. In shape. Elfin features accented by her being a full head shorter than me. I was enamored.

I asked AlmostGF a little while after, “Who is that?”

“A friend of mine, her name’s CuteGirl,” she replied. “Want to meet her?”

“Sure.” AlmostGF was a great girl.

We got introduced and started talking in a group. While I was there with AlmostGF as her date, she knew that I was smitten with CuteGirl and helped me along. There was only one problem. I was also competing with [Very Effeminate Guy] for her attention that night. I saw this happening and I pushed that thought to the back of my mind. Being the better guy, so I thought, I shouldn’t have any problems.

I ended up dancing with her later. Since this was before I knew what I was doing, we didn’t say much to each other while dancing. I did know that I liked her and wanted to see her again. The night went on and the dance eventually ended.

While we were waiting to get picked up, AlmostGF asked me with a slight smile on her face, “You like CuteGirl, don’t you?”

I shrugged my shoulders, but I could feel the heat at my cheeks from blushing.

“She seems pretty cool,” I replied.

“Okay, I’ll see if I can help you out with her.”

I was taken aback. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’ll see if she’s single or not. Promise.”

“Thank you, AlmostGF.”

“You’re welcome, Beppo.”


AlmostGF did follow through with her promise: CuteGirl was single. Going by the note she wrote me on the back of her picture (an “individual” from her swim team team photos of her in her team bathing suit), she seemed very interested. More important, she wrote down her number. I did a mental fist-pump.

“You should definitely call her soon,” AlmostGF said when she gave me the picture.

I was in uncharted territory at the moment and was both scared and elated. “I will,” I replied.

It did take me a few days before I gathered enough courage to call her. The first call went well, we chatted about nonsense for the most part. I was walking on clouds. The conversation then started to wind down.

“I have swim meets tomorrow and all weekend, but I can talk again on Tuesday,” she said.

“Sounds good, I’ll call you then. Good luck at your meets!” I replied.

“Thanks! Bye!”

“Good bye.” The line clicked off and I heard the dial tone.

I held the phone receiver in my hand for a moment before placing it back on its cradle. It felt like I had run a mile. My heart was racing and I could feel the burning at my cheeks. I was still nervous. Hopefully I didn’t mess up too much or sound like an idiot.

Over the next few weeks the calls got easier to make. AlmostGF tried to get CuteGirl to come out for Halloween, but it didn’t happen. Even my own date requests got brushed off with noncommittal non-answers. This was strange. I had fulfilled the last tic on my “stuff necessary to be able to date list” with getting my driver’s license. She was having none of it, and always gave some excuse for being busy.

Later in November, AlmostGF brought along CuteGirl to [Redacted] as a part of [Redacted] to hang out. To her credit, AlmostGF was doing all she could to help me out. CuteGirl was very hesitant. She seemed as if she wasn’t as interested in me as she first seemed. Gave one word answers to my open-ended questions. Didn’t stay in proximity to me. Didn’t try to start a conversation. I was flummoxed.

While we both were members of our school’s respective Indoor Track teams, I never saw her at any of the meets. They were at the same college’s indoor track every time and the same schools always showed up. She wouldn’t even come over to say hi to me and chat for a bit.

Looking back, I now can see that she had the “I’m just not that into you” vibe. I refused to see it in my idealistic, hormone-ruled teenager state. Catharsis is good for the soul, but I digress.

In spite of the coldness from CuteGirl, I decided to ask her to my school’s [Winter Dance]. She accepted, and I was elated. AlmostGF was going to be there too.


The night of the [Winter Dance] arrived and I was standing on CuteGirl’s porch about to ring the bell. Since I didn’t take Driver’s Ed that summer, my Dad was driving us. I had a license but it wasn’t the “unrestricted” license to drive after 9PM. My parents were strict about me driving after 9PM with my “restricted” license unless I was coming home from my part-time job. I even had a note in my wallet from my manager to produce in case I got pulled over by cops (which never happened).

Standing there in my pleather jacket and while holding the container with her corsage in it, I rang the bell. For some reason I had a lot of expectations about what was going to happen that night. I was psyching myself up. Taking a date to a school dance was something I hadn’t done before. Her mother answered the door.

“Hi! You must be Beppo, come on in!” she said while smiling. “CuteGirl is just finishing up getting ready. How are you tonight?”

“I’m alright. How are you?” I said while feeling my cheeks beginning to flush.

Pull it together Venerdi!” I told myself while taking in a deep breath and letting it out.

I ended up chatting with her mom and her sister for a few minutes before CuteGirl came downstairs. She was wearing red and had her hair done up in a bun of large curls at the nape of her neck. I blissfully ignored or didn’t notice the “let’s get this over with” look she tried very hard to conceal on her face. She put on the corsage I bought her (small roses), which her mom and sister complimented and admired. With that we were ready to go.

The drive over to my school was a quiet one. She really wasn’t that talkative, even with my Dad trying to prompt some conversation out of her. I probably should’ve took note of that as a red flag. We arrived at my school and my Dad dropped us off.

“I’ll be out here to pick you both up at 10,” he said.

“Alright, we’ll see you then,” I replied.

He smiled. “Have a good time.”

My Dad drove off and we walked up to the main doors to my school.

Now you might be thinking: “No problem. You both go inside to the dance without a hitch. After that was where things start getting weird.”

Unfortunately, you’d be wrong.

My school had a policy that you needed to have ID to get into the dances. When you bought the tickets, they were sold numbered. The person you got them from would write your name and your date’s (if applicable) name down next to each number. You needed both the ticket and some form of picture ID to get in. Most people used their school ID. There was also a safety aspect to this policy too.

Keeping that in mind, I did tell CuteGirl a few times before tonight that she did need to bring ID with her. The problem was that I didn’t check to see if she had it with her before leaving her house. Silly me for thinking people are responsible for themselves.

I pulled the [Winter Dance] tickets out of my pocket. “Do you have your ID?”

“No. Was I supposed to bring it?”

I bit back a curse. “Yeah, you were. Let’s see if we can still get in.”

This was 2001 and cell phones weren’t ubiquitous. And I didn’t have a quarter for the payphone.

What happened was that it took 20 minutes for me to get her in. Normally you breeze through, depending on the line length. My math teacher at the time had to take us down to the school office. This was so he could call CuteGirl’s home and make sure they knew she was going to the [Winter Dance] with me. I was both embarrassed and fuming.

“Next time, remember your ID,” he told us after hanging up. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” I replied as we walked out of the office to the cafeteria to take our coats off.

She didn’t even apologize to me for the mess up. A normal girl that legitimately forgot something would say “I’m sorry” at the least. Another red flag I should’ve noticed. I didn’t care, even with my enthusiasm beginning to drop.

We put our coats down on one of the tables and got in line for pictures. While we were waiting, I tried to make some small talk with her. She wasn’t having it, lots of one word or short answers. I gave up by the time we were next in line to be photographed.

A few weeks later, when I got the pictures you saw two different people in it. First was myself. I had a big genuine smile on my face and I looked happy. The second was CuteGirl. There was a forced smile on her face. A smile of obligation. One of “I don’t want to be here.” I kick myself thinking how blind and stupid I was. Live and learn.

We finished up with pictures and went into the gym. It was already dark and the music was playing. The clustering of groups of people chatting and having a good time. We found my friends and joined their group. Later on, AlmostGF and the guy she came with, [Stoic Guy], came over to join us too. It was a good time.

Throughout all this I’m talking to my friends. And while trying to include CuteGirl in the conversation. I don’t really remember exactly when I noticed she was gone. Around the time of the first slow dance, I couldn’t find her. She had disappeared.

“Where’s CuteGirl?” asked [Stoic Guy] while he was dancing with AlmostGF.

“Beats me,” I said while shrugging. “Maybe she went to the bathroom?”

“I don’t know. I was just in there a few minutes ago and didn’t see her,” replied AlmostGF.

“Shit.” I stood where I was and looked around for her as the last notes of the song faded away. A fast pop song started playing.

Where did she go?” I thought.

The rest of the night was a repeat of that. She’d be around for a little while and then disappear for long stretches. The disappearances happened around when the slow dances would come up. I was not amused at this.

I danced with CuteGirl a total of two times the entire night. Both times were when AlmostGF brought her back onto the dancefloor. She didn’t look at me or say anything. I was pissed, but I didn’t have the balls to address the elephant in the room: “Where did you go for most of the night?”

Pissed because of the disrespect. Pissed on the money I had metaphorically flushed down the toilet. Pissed on my expectations not living up to reality. Pissed at myself.

The lights came up. The [Winter Dance] was over.

“C’mon, let’s go,” I brusquely led her to the cafeteria where we got our coats.

She followed in my wake to my Dad’s car. We got in the back and he drove us back to her house. I was seething and staring out the window, knowing I’d been slighted. How I was slighted was the real question.

We got back to her house and I walked her to her door. I’d at least keep my dignity.

“I had a good time,” she said hollowly.

“Yeah, me too,” I replied. “Good night.”

With me saying that she opened the door and walked inside. I turned around and walked to my Dad’s car. Sitting down with a thump in the passenger’s seat I buckled my seatbelt.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said while looking out the window.

He was silent for a moment. “You can’t expect everything to work out the way you want it to, Beppo.”

“I know, Dad. Thanks.”

I felt the car shift into gear as my Dad backed out of the driveway to take us home. I tried not to look at CuteGirl’s house as we left.

That one question remained: Where did she go?


After the [Winter Dance] I never spoke to nor saw her again. I knew deep down that something else was going on. AlmostGF letting me know I was played (and for a guy that I deemed lesser than me!) gave some clarity and closure.

I did keep CuteGirl’s picture (I still have it in an album in a box). Using it as a reminder of my Dad’s words: “You can’t expect everything to work out exactly the way you want it to.”

The Lessons of Youth.

One January Evening

The new message window flashed on my AOL Instant Messenger (AIM) client one January evening. I got up from my desk and walked over to my computer to read it.

“i think its best if we stop seeing each other,” it read.

I expected a flash of anger, but got a cold and calculated intellect instead. I should’ve been angry. This was before the “free” texting and smartphone days. On the dumping scale, doing so by IM was pretty bad and disrespectful, if not the worst way to do it.

I wasn’t angry though.

Deep down I knew this girl was a rebound. Me trying to fill the hole FirstGF dug out of me when we broke up. A replacement of lower quality, if you did an honest side-by-side comparison. I know that I shouldn’t have gotten involved with her in the mental state I was in, but I did anyways because I was weak.

She had a lot of red flags that I ignored. Was my age yet wasn’t in college. Was sleeping on the couch at her sister’s. Had the “popular in the small town but a non-person everywhere else” complex. No drive. No plan for the future. Divorced parents. These rationalized away by me, the fool looking for love.

I stared at the window for a good while, thinking of some sort of reply. I wasn’t pissed or angry. The analytical side of my mind reminded me of a few ignored signs that a breakup was coming. The conclusion “she never was that into you anyways” rang with finality in my inner monologue.

“Shit,” I said to my CRT monitor.

Typing back, I said I agreed with her and this was for the best.

She was heading back home to her small town. I was full up with coursework and my part-time job work schedule (one of her complaints, actually).

In a hidden recess of my heart, I was glad it happened. That small mote of my psyche chastising me for being such a selfish chickenshit.

You deserved this! What did you expect?” the mote exclaimed.

It wasn’t wrong.

After I finished typing, I hit “enter” to send the message. Unsurprising to me, I watched her icon change. It went from “online” to disappearing with the door slamming sound accompanying a log off. I clicked over to my buddy list and removed her from it. I knew it was better to do this instead of seeing her everyday like I did with FirstGF. I was learning.

I logged off of AIM and stepped over to my open Chemistry book at my other desk and got back to doing my homework.

The Hottest Girl I Ever Dated – Part 3

Previously:  Part 1, Part 2

Location:  My Driveway, Buffalo, NY

Time:  22:00, Late July 2003

HotBallerina left a voicemail on my phone saying she wanted to see me when I got out of work.  Not thinking that this was anything bad, I just figured she was going to give me that blowjob she sort-of promised me earlier.  I figured I could change into more comfortable clothes, splash some water on my face and then make my way over to HotBallerina’s house.  However, as I pulled into my driveway, my phone started ringing.

Beppo (answering):  “Pronto?”

HotBallerina:  “Hey Beppo, where are you?”

Beppo:  “Sitting in my driveway.  I went home to change out of my work clothes.”

HotBallerina:  “How come you didn’t come right over after you got out of work?”

HotBallerina lived near the mall I worked at.

Beppo:  “Uh, your message didn’t say anything about coming over immediately.”

HotBallerina (slightly exasperated):  “Well, please hurry up.”

Beppo:  “Yeah, I’ll be right over.  Be patient.”

After ending the call, alarm bells were ringing in my ears. I knew something was up and it wasn’t going to be something good, like my dick moving in and out of the mouth of a topless buxom hot chick.  I sighed, went inside to tell my parents I was going to HotBallerina’s and then drove off into the night.


The end of June signified the end of my summer class and HotBallerina starting her second job at the playground.  After a few days she was telling me about her new job and her faceless (to me at least) male “coworker.”  She was absolutely gushing about this guy.

I was not enthused.

For example, one night at Marco’s:

HotBallerina:  “And my coworker said ‘By the end of summer all the boys with be in love with you and the girls will be like little sisters!’  I had to stop myself from saying ‘awww’!”

Other Girls:  “Awww!  That’s so cute!”

Yeah, she referred to this guy as “my coworker” in conversation.  Not a name like Jim, Mark, Bob or John, but “my coworker.”  I didn’t feel okay with this.  But what did I have to worry about, I mean, we were dating and it’s not like she’d be window-shopping for the next boyfriend, right?  Nah, never!

And if you’re a guy who hasn’t had experience in this type of unseen challenge, like I was, you try to do stuff so that you don’t lose your girl.  Spending more time with her, PDA (more than usual), nice gestures, having a stupid grin on your face most of the time, staying in proximity of your girl when out, etc.

Paradoxically, the stuff you end up doing to try to keep her will drive her away.

Long story short I beta-ed up pretty hard.


Location:  HotBallerina’s House, Buffalo, NY

Time:  22:30, Late July 2003

On the drive over, I kept telling myself not to get worried or excited.  The knot in the pit of my stomach, however, told me that this night wasn’t going to end happily.  Pulling into HotBallerina’s driveway, I parked and turned off my car’s engine.  Taking two deep breaths, I got out to go ring the doorbell.  HotBallerina answered the door.

Beppo:  “Hey.”

HotBallerina:  “Hi, come on in.”

I stepped inside and took off my shoes.  The house was quiet.

Beppo:  “It’s pretty quiet, are you the only one here?”

HotBallerina:  “No, my parents are in their room, so we can’t talk too loud.”

Beppo:  “Okay.  What did you want to see me about?”

She then uttered the words that men the world over loathe to hear.

HotBallerina:  “We need to talk.  Lets go sit down.”

I followed her dejected into the living room and sat down on the couch.  HotBallerina sat down as far as she possibly could from me without being on the floor.  I definitely noticed this action and erased any good expectations for this night from my mind.

She was slightly wringing her hands with her eyes held downcast.  It seemed she was trying to find the right words to say.

HotBallerina:  “You know I’m going away for school, right?”

Beppo:  “Yeah, you told me about it many times.”

HotBallerina:  “Well, why haven’t we talked about what’s going to happen with us when I leave?”

With my prior experience in the same exact situation with FirstGF, where we talked about doing a long-distance thing right from the get go (she went away to Cortland for college).  That failed spectacularly (FirstGF left Saturday, radio silence until the “we need to talk” phone call on Thursday).  I figured this time around I wouldn’t be the first to raise the issue and would wait until the fact that HotBallerina was leaving couldn’t be set aside any longer.

Call me a pussy or passive/aggressive if you want, but I didn’t want to be the one who calls to attention to the elephant in the room (or sword of Damocles, dealer’s choice).  Would it be wrong to want to focus on the good times instead of looking to the dark clouds gathering on the horizon?

Partly due to my logical/scientific nature, I actually wanted to see what would happen doing the exact opposite with HotBallerina as what I did with FirstGF.

However, I now knew for certain that I would be leaving HotBallerina’s that night as single man.

Beppo:  “You are leaving, that’s a fact.  Since there was some time before you were gonna go, I just…chose to ignore it.”

HotBallerina:  “Ignore it?  Why didn’t you bring it up, instead of ignoring it?”

Beppo:  “Like I said, there was still time.  It didn’t seem there was a right time or place to bring up…this issue.”

HotBallerina shook her head and looked back up at me.

HotBallerina:  “Well, then it would probably be good if we stopped seeing each other now.  It wouldn’t be fair to either of us if we stayed together after I left.”

Although I expected this outcome, my heart sank when she spoke those words.

Beppo:  “Yeah, I agree.”

HotBallerina (smiling):  “Good.  Friends?”

Beppo:  “Yeah…friends.”

We got up and walked to the front door.  I put on my shoes and got one last hug from HotBallerina.  I kissed her forehead.

Beppo:  “If I don’t see you before you leave, good luck.”

HotBallerina:  “Thank you, the same to you.  Good night”

Beppo:  “Buonanotte.”

With that I stepped out into the night for the drive home.



A few months later, I came to find out that HotBallerina was dating her playground coworker a week or so after this talk occurred.  When I heard the news, I was pissed.  Not at her, but at myself, because I knew I fucked up.  She was a great girl.  Smart, beautiful, laid-back, and fun to be around.  Girlfriend material (hell, even wife material).  She was mine to lose, and lose her I did.

Looking back at that time, I can recall a thought that occurred to me more than once while we were dating:  “Wow, I’m not the best looking, so what does she see in me?”

Sometimes I wish that the Manosphere existed when I was in High School and College, and maybe these fuck ups in the distant past may have turned out differently.

The Hottest Girl I Ever Dated – Part 2

Previously:  Part 1

Location:  Giacomo’s Basement, Buffalo, NY

Time:  Friday, Mid May 2003 (a week later)

Again we were hanging out in Giacomo’s basement.  Giacomo, Giacomo’s girlfriend, Marco, Marco’s girlfriend, HotBallerina and myself were killing time before going to meet Paolo and his girlfriend at Denny’s for food.

[Note:  Yes, my hometown is THAT boring.]

I was sitting cross-legged on the same recliner, shooting the shit with everyone.  HotBallerina sat directly in front of me on the floor and leaned back up against the recliner.  I wasn’t complaining.  My confirmation of her claddagh ring’s orientation would see what my next move would be.

Due to the significantly high Irish population in South Buffalo, a lot of the traditions of that ethnic group dispersed into my hometown.  For instance, St. Patty’s being (almost) a week-long Guinness/Jamison-fueled drinking fest, non-Mick girls learning Irish dancing, bars on almost every corner (often across the street from Catholic churches), and girls wearing claddagh rings to show if they were “taken” or not (as they’re supposed to be worn).

Wait a second, why am I trying to peep HotBallerina’s ring even though I deemed her “out of my league”?

Earlier that week, Marco’s girlfriend (HotBallerina’s friend and classmate) out of the blue hinted to me that HotBallerina was “really impressed” and “interested” by me leading her out of the basement last Friday.  Real subtle on their part, I know.  Even with my non-existent game and beginner’s-level experience with girls, I got HotBallerina’s telegraphed message loud and clear.

“I think you’re cute!  Talk to me!  Did I mention I’m single?  Talk to me!  I’m hot!  Talk to me!”

HotBallerina turned her head up to me, interrupting my thoughts.

HotBallerina:  “Beppo?  I wanted to let you know that I came prepared this time.”

Beppo:  “Oh?  Prepared for what?”

HotBallerina:  “Let me show you!”

She dug into her purse for a moment, pulled out a small key-chain flashlight and lit it.  I laughed.

Beppo:  “Yes, you definitely are prepared!”

She smiled brightly, laughed and dropped the flashlight back into her purse.  As covertly as possible I checked the orientation of her ring.  The point of the heart was towards her fingertips.  Sweet.

Later that night, it ended up that I was the only one able to give HotBallerina a ride back to her house.  Obviously this was planned beforehand.  Again, not very subtle, but I feigned being oblivious and rolled with it.  I knew I would be kissing her before she left my car.

She gave me directions to her house and we set off in my car.  HotBallerina lived in Hamburg, so we had a long drive (by Buffalo standards) before I got her home.  In the meantime, we just talked.  HotBallerina was telling me how excited she was about working a second job at a playground for the “Summer Program,” but wouldn’t actually start until the later part of June.  Even though she was getting an almost full-ride scholarship to Northeastern (she was the salutatorian of her class), she lamented the coming costs of her textbooks.  I silently agreed and nodded my head.

After almost missing the turn for her street (“Sorry, it does sneak up on you!”), we eventually pulled into her driveway.  I turned off the engine and turned to HotBallerina.

Beppo: “Shall I walk you to your door?”

HotBallerina: “I’d like that, but no, my parents are still up and my Mom is probably already looking out to see who pulled in the driveway.”

Her Mom would spy out the peephole in the door.  I’d later find out that her Mom was really weird, but in a way I couldn’t put my finger on.

Beppo (leaning in): “Okay…”

We had the initial kiss and then moved up to making out for a bit. The center console in my car made it slightly awkward, but it worked out alright.

HotBallerina (coming up for air):  “Let me get your number…”

Reaching into her purse, she grabbed her recently acquired cellphone and fumbled with it due to unfamiliarity.  It didn’t help that I was distracting her by playing with her hair.

HotBallerina:  “Sorry.  Lets see…”phone book”…”add number”…B-E-P-P-O…Okay!  Your number?”

I gave it to her and she called my number after saving it.

Beppo (saving her number to contacts):  “Do you know your schedule for the week?  I’d like to see you again.”

HotBallerina:  “I’ll know on Monday when I go to [Local Hardware Store Cashier Job] and I’ll definitely let you know when I’m free.”

Beppo:  “Good.  We’ll figure something out.”

She smiled and we leaned back into each other for a short make out.  A subsequent “Goodnight” and she got out of my car with a smile.  I waited until the front door closed with her waving before starting my car up for the drive home.  There was a big smile on my face the whole way back.


Location:  La casa dei miei genitori, Buffalo, NY

Time:  21.00, Early June 2003

HotBallerina and I were laying on my bed, alternating between talking and making out.  A little while ago she had finished reading the poetry I’d written so I could show her my “sensitive side” (and no, I didn’t write anything specifically FOR her, even back then I knew that was way overboard).

[Note:  I’m shaking my head now at how I believed this would help me in the long-run, but I’m letting you know what ideas/crap I had floating around in my mind at that time with regards to dating and relationships.  For example, I didn’t even own any condoms at this point and the concept of sexual escalation was foreign to me.  Again, this all happened WAY before I “woke up”, so to speak.]

I kept playing with the edge of HotBallerina’s shirt, pulling it up and running my fingers across her stomach and lower back.  I wanted to see those amazing breasts again, which I’d managed to do the third time we hung out (Giacomo high-fived me much later on for this, since we were the only two in our circle to “play with her perfect tits”).

HotBallerina (breathing heavily):  “Beppo…your parents…”

Remembering that they were downstairs and my room’s lock was non-functional (don’t ask), my ardor cooled slightly.

Beppo:  “Yeah, that would be a bit…awkward.”

HotBallerina:  “Too awkward!  By the way…I really liked your writing.”

Beppo:  “Yeah?  Any particular favorites?”

HotBallerina:  “[One of the first things I’d written].  I really liked that one.”

Beppo:  “Okay, not one of my personal favorites but I’m glad you liked it.”

Slightly later on in the conversation…

HotBallerina:  “…this creepy guy I work with won’t leave me alone.”

Beppo:  “Did you say something to him to give the wrong idea?”

HotBallerina:  “No, I don’t think so.  I’m just being friendly and all, and I heard from one of the other girls that he wants to ask me out!”

Beppo:  “Ouch.  You know…you could…you could turn your ring around, and that’ll let him know you’re taken.”

HotBallerina (smiling):  “Beppo, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Beppo (nodding):  “Yeah.”

HotBallerina’s eyes lit up, she reached down to her hand and flipped her ring around.  I kissed my new girlfriend thinking, “holy shit, how the fuck did I get so lucky?”

This thought would be the seed for future doubt/uncertainty.

The Hottest Girl I Ever Dated – Part 1

This is an interesting story where I managed to date a girl above my SMV (unknowing running of game) and then lose her when my beta tendencies drove her off (for other reasons too, as you’ll see).

The dialog below is approximate to what was said (it has been almost ten years).


Location:  Giacomo’s Basement, Buffalo, NY

Time:  Friday, Early May 2003, Around 22.00

I was tired.

Contemplating the half-finished can of Dr. Pepper in my hand, I wondered if I should have waited until Fall semester to take Italian.  This 9.00-12.00 Monday to Friday class schedule was starting to wear me out.  Coupled with my part-time retail job (now “full-time” for the summer at least) and having to study a language that I had no knowledge of made for tired feet, eyes, and mind.  Luckily, I got out of work quickly tonight and was off tomorrow, so I could try to sleep in and maybe enjoy the good weather we’ve been having.

Giacomo invited a bunch of people over to hang out in his furnished basement.  We would be there until his Mom started yelling at us over our noise level (“GIACOMO! KEEP IT DOWN!“).  At this point in time my friends were in their “we don’t need alcohol to have fun” phase, so even though we were all legal in Canada, we didn’t go out.  Also, Giacomo’s, Paolo’s and Marco’s girlfriends at the time all were not legal there, which was another reason we stayed home.

I was the only one who was single at the time.

Looking over at the ignored movie being played on the TV, I tossed back the remainder of the can of pop and adjusted myself in the recliner.  I was listening to Giacomo and Paolo talking about something when the barking of the Giacomo’s Mom’s rat dog announced the arrival of somebody.

Marco clomped down the stairs with his girlfriend at the time (nice girl, but still an overall succubus) and cute Curly-haired Brunette.  He handed the pizza and wings boxes he was carrying to Paolo.

Marco (grinning):  “What’s up bitches?”

Giacomo:  “Dude, you’re late.  We already started the movie.”

Beppo:  “Yeah, you sure took your time.  We’re starving.”

Paolo (eating):  “Did you have enough money?”

Marco:  “Just enough.  I had to get something taken care of before I got the pizza.”

He winked at us and looked over at his girlfriend.  Marco always talked in euphemisms when telling us that he just gotten a blowjob.  Paolo groaned and I shook my head.  Marco was a notorious horndog that the innate strict Catholic sexual prudishness he grew up with was constantly at odds with his raging hormones.  He had many happy-to-depressed mood-swings over the years because of this.

Paolo:  “You couldn’t have waited until later?”

Marco:  “There was some time before the pizza was ready and I had to pick up [Curly-haired Brunette] from her house, so I parked my car on a side street before getting her and…BAM!”

Giacomo:  “Alright, we get it.  You’re happy and content now.  Lets go eat before the food gets cold.”

I got a better look at the Curly-haired Brunette when I got couple slices of pizza.  Marco introduced us briefly (“Hi, I’m HotBallerina!  Pleased to meet you!”).

  • 5’6″
  • 18 years old
  • Blue eyes
  • Tight curly brown hair, shoulder-blade length
  • Buxom (I’d later find out they were firm C’s bordering on D’s)
  • Banging body from 10+ years of ballet
  • Smiled a lot
  • Girly
  • Sunny outlook
  • The second of three girls from a certain South Buffalo All-Girls Catholic school I dated/messed around with (locally known as the “Red-bricked whorehouse”)

As a result my appraisal, one thing jumped into my mind.

Beppo (thinking):  “Wow, she’s hot.”

Translating for scale would have her at a low to mid 8.

Automatically (as per my previous observations of attractive girls) I assumed she was taken, and felt she was way out of my league.  However, that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the view.  Thank the Maker for tight tank-tops!

Some time later, we were getting ready to go somewhere (a pool hall in Lackawanna, I think) and for some reason it took me longer to get my sneakers on.  HotBallerina was nearby getting her purse situated, when the basement lights snapped off.  I’m guessing it was Marco being a dick.

HotBallerina:  *Gasp* “Oh no!”

I hung out enough times in Giacomo’s basement to know the general layout, so I did something without thinking too much about it:

Beppo (taking HotBallerina’s hand):  “C’mon, let’s go.  Don’t worry, I know the way.”

HotBallerina:  “Okay.”

She squeezed my hand tighter and moved in closer.  I led her through the dark basement, up the stairs and out the front door.  Coming out the front door, I saw Marco rolling on the front lawn in tears from laughing so hard at what really was a dumb prank.  I shook my head and turned to HotBallerina.

HotBallerina (smiling):  “Thank you, I’m not a big fan of the dark.”

She squeezed my hand and my I felt my loins stir from her sincerity.

Beppo:  “No problem.  (smirk) Next time though, I won’t be there to lead you out and you’ll be stuck.”

HotBallerina (laughing):  “I’ll bring a flashlight next time!”

The Reunion

The Friday after Thanksgiving was the ten-year reunion for my High School graduating class.  It actually worked out for me that they had it on Black Friday, since I was in Buffalo to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with my family.  I figured it would be interesting to see how my classmates had ended up, who married who, and who had kids.

My knowledge of downtown Buffalo is almost nonexistent, since I moved away in 2006, so my buddy Paolo offered to drive and carpool to the bar.

I’ve known Paolo for years and he’s a solid guy.  His wife would’ve come along with us, but she was 8 months pregnant with their second kid.  She didn’t think she would have a good time not being able to drink and being hugely pregnant.  She told Paolo to have a good time and sent him off (Did I mention that Paolo’s wife is awesome?).

Originally I was going to wear a suit.  However, I changed my mind to a still dressy, but casual Navy blazer (with pocket-square), light blue dress shirt, dark blue jeans and black shoes.  I wasn’t dressing to impress my former classmates, but to wear something I wanted to wear to look good and be comfortable in.  For the most part, I was dressed better than most of the guys there.

Anyways, Paolo picked me up at my parents’ house around 18.30 and we went over to Giacomo’s to convince him to come with us.

A month ago when we talked last, Giacomo was stoked about going but then bailed at the last-minute.  Giacomo has menagerie of animals in his house (he does educational shows for kids) and one of his excuses for not being able to go with me and Paolo was that he hadn’t fed them yet.  I really didn’t understand why he didn’t want to go, but two of his Canisius friends showed up (early).  So he made his decision before we arrived.  Nothing we would’ve said could convince him otherwise.

Whatever, I was going to have a good time regardless.  We left and drove to the bar, which was on the same street as Shea’s.  The place was pretty small, whoever organized it very prudently rented out the upstairs area (which wasn’t big either).  So for $40 we got an open bar from 20.00-23.00 (no vermouth, and I really wanted a Manhattan that wouldn’t cost me $9) and a small spread of roast beef, pasta bake, chicken wings and sushi.  Not a bad deal, if you ask me.

Even though I wasn’t planning on drinking that much, I experienced one of my rare “no-effects-from-alcohol” nights.  My metabolism must have been running hot that evening or the Thanksgiving left-overs in my stomach lessened the numbing effects of the alcohol.  Either way, I didn’t feel anything even close to a buzz the entire night.

I drank Blue Light in a can, if you’re curious.

Mostly I caught up with people I personally knew (most of the girls were either married or engaged) and was enjoying a chill, relaxing atmosphere.

Here’s a few highlights from the people I talked to.


Guy I’ve known since first grade, Suffered through the same Latin classes as me, Very intelligent (Engineering, MBA)

(After telling me he was living with his 40-year-old girlfriend)

Beppo: “I hope you’re not planning on dropping a ring on her.”

Guy (Looking at me like I’m an idiot): “Beppo, I’m not stupid.”

Beppo: “I know.  Just making sure.”


Girl 1, From Chorus, Hugged before talking, Married, One kid (boy), Former cheerleader, Still hot, Real smile throughout the conversation

(Following telling her that I became a Chemist)

Girl 1:  “Wow, a Chemist!  You know that really suits you.”

Beppo (quizzically):  “Oh, really?  How so?”

Girl 1 (thinking she insulted me, qualifying):  “I didn’t mean for you to take it the wrong way…”

Beppo:  “No, no, no.  No need to apologize, I didn’t think you were being insulting.  You misunderstand, I’m curious by nature.  I just wanted to know the reasoning behind your observation.”

Girl 1 (smiles):  “Oh!  Well…”

I never did get her reason, as the conversation ended at that moment with the announcement of for the Split Club drawing.

I didn’t win.


Girl 2, Was in a few of my classes, Single? (not married), Former cheerleader, Still hot, Hiring person at some local company

I was standing at the bar talking to Paolo and nursing my fifth beer when Girl 2 came up behind Paolo to pay her tab (non-well drinks you had to pay for).  Somehow I caught her eye and she smiled at me.  I said “Hi” and we started talking.  Paolo moved aside to talk to someone else behind me.

[Note:  Throughout this conversation, I’m looking directly into her eyes.]

A few minutes talking about the turnout and quality of the venue, she dropped her eyes and then brought them back up to mine.

Girl 2 (sheepishly):  “I feel bad about saying this, but I don’t remember your name.”

Understandable, It had been ten years.  I had maybe two classes with her and our social circles from then didn’t overlap to boot.

Beppo (slight grin, sticking hand out):  “Beppo.”

Girl 2 (smiling, grasping my hand):  “Beppo, I’m Girl 2.  Sorry about that, some people have changed so much since we graduated.”

Beppo:  “I don’t know.  I don’t think I’ve changed that much in ten years, besides not having my curly and highlighted hair I had in high school.  We look older, obviously, and some of us like [Former Thin Guy] have gained some weight. ”

Girl 2 (giggling, slight slap on my arm):  “Ooh, you shouldn’t say things like that!”

Beppo (smiling):  “As an example of course, based on observation.  For the most part though, the people we graduated with look the same to me.”

About ten minutes or so later of conversation about jobs and life in general, her friend walks up (it was near 23.00 at this point).  Girl 2 greeted her.

Girl 2:  “Hey [Girl’s Name], do you remember Beppo?”

Beppo (extending hand):  “Hey.  How’s it going?”

Friend (over the top familiarity, shakes my offered hand):  “Oh yeah, of course I do!  I’m doing good!”

Beppo (thinking):  “I highly doubt that.

Friend (to Girl 2):  “I think we’re heading out in a bit. (To me) It was nice seeing you.”

Beppo:  “Likewise.”

The friend left and Girl 2 turned back to me.

Girl 2:  “We’re going to go out after this, you should come.”

Beppo (shaking head):  “Can’t.  I’m leaving to go back to Columbus tomorrow and I carpooled with Paolo.”

Girl 2:  “Aww!  That’s too bad!  We could catch up more somewhere else.”

I almost said fuck it (I had the money for a taxi, if necessary), but decided against it.  Leaving on Saturday would ensure that I avoided the holiday return volume traffic that would definitely occur on 71-S on Sunday.  I shook my head again.

Beppo:  “I want to be alert for the drive tomorrow.  Maybe another time?”

Girl 1:  “Okay.  It was nice talking to you!”

She hugged me (unexpected on my part), we said good-bye and I went to go find Paolo.


The interaction with Girl 2 demonstrated for me the power of strong eye-contact and body language.  I barely knew this girl in High School.  Now I had a 20 to 30 minute conversation that would’ve continued further (how far, who knows?) if the party didn’t end and I didn’t need to leave the next morning.

You know what else I noticed was gone?  The nervousness of talking to girls whom ten years ago I would have stood around mute, wearing a stupid smile while my heart beat a mile a minute.  I was being social (even though I don’t know how to “work a room”), but I wasn’t invested in an outcome.  I was having a good time catching up with former classmates.

And that’s all that mattered.

The “Lay-Up”

I fuck up quite a bit when it comes to girls (what up, Kid Strangelove), due to my novice-level game.  A few times though, I’ve gotten what at first seems to be a lay-up that turns into a blindfolded, full-court, backwards, on one leg shot at the buzzer.


Location:  Some Bar, Allentown-Area, Buffalo, NY

Time:  Friday Night, Late September, 2009

I didn’t know the name of the bar I was at.

The pregame beers and shots were kicking in, giving me a nice buzz.  Since I wasn’t driving, I didn’t care how much I drank.  Although I was nearing my “so-many-in-a-short-period-of-time” limit, which is both a blessing and a curse.  Time to nurse my next beer.

My friend Giacomo drove and we went to meet a few people he went to Canisius with.  He really didn’t know many (or in my view, any) attractive girls, so no extended social circle introduction for me.  But, it was a nice night in Buffalo so there would be girls out and about.

We found Giacomo’s friends, greeted them, had introductions around and then went to the bar to get a round of beers.  I was scanning the crowd behind me when Giacomo got my attention.

Giacomo:  “Look who’s at the end of the bar.”

He nodded upwards to our left at a group of three, one girl of which I recognized immediately as the very cute, but very bitchy girl with the fantastic rack from chorus in High School.  She was with her very hot older sister and non-MILF mother.  I looked for a moment and turned back to the bar.

Beppo:  “Too bad [BuxomBitch] still looks like she’s got shit under her nose.  Figured she’d eventually lose the attitude, I guess I was wrong.”

Giacomo:  “Word.  From what I’ve heard, she’s got no friends because of it.  But fuck her, here.”

He handed me a Blue Light bottle and we went back to join the rest of the group.

As per normal college-type bars, there was a DJ playing a mix of top 40 crap and hip-hop way too loud.  I was chucking at the couples trying to grind on the small walkway between the tables that functioned as the effective dance floor.  My eyes kept scanning the area I was in and none of the girls there got the juices flowing.

A few beers later, I noticed that this brunette near the wall would catch my eye and then look away.  Before I could make my way over to go and open her, one of Giacomo’s female friends started talking to me.

Girl:  “She’s been staring at you for the past hour or so.”

Beppo:  “I just noticed.”

Girl:  “I’m gonna go over and see if she’s single for you.”

Beppo (to her back):  “Wait…what?”

The girl walked over and began talking to the brunette.  I swore under my breath and turned my back to them, since I figured the girl would just fuck up everything (she knew I was single).  Since I didn’t know her wingwoman skills, I was planning on writing the brunette off.  While inside my thoughts, the girl came back and got my attention with a hand on my left shoulder.

Girl:  “She’s single and she thinks you’re cute.  You should go talk to her.”

Beppo (puzzled):  “Uhh, yeah…I will.”

Surprised that it worked, I went over and introduced myself.  The brunette’s face lit up as we started talking.  As unbelievable as this will sound, within the course of fifteen minutes or so, we were heavily making out.  Yes, we were “that couple” in the bar.

[Note:  She was drunk, if you’re curious.]

The brunette’s face wasn’t much to write home about, I’d say a mid 6.  Her body for the most part was average (B cup, needed to drop 10 lbs), but her ass was amazing.  If was just about the perfect size, firm and stuck out to the back and up.  It was the kind of ass you’d write a song about.

With all the grinding she was doing on me and the lacy thong she was wearing under her jeans (which I felt through her jeans’ front pockets), I figured she was down and started to angle for a pull.  I asked my normal first logistical question.

Beppo:  “Do you live nearby?”

NiceAss:  “No, Lewiston.”

Shit, Lewiston was a 45 minute drive from downtown, so no joy there.

Beppo:  “Okay.  Did you drive or carpool here?”

NiceAss:  “My friend drove.”

No joy again, I then jokingly floated the idea of sex in the backseat like we we’re “back in High School.”

NiceAss (giggling): “Noooo…”

Stymied and coupled with Giacomo being about to leave (he waited for me to conclude my business, like a good friend), we exchanged numbers and I went out into the night.  A number was better than nothing, the problem though was capitalizing on this momentum while I was in town.

Fortune favors the bold, as the saying goes.

As Giacomo was driving me to my parents’ house, my phone chirped with a text from NiceAss.  She wanted to hang out “tomorrow” (today) night.  We made plans to meet at a bar near the Galleria Mall since me being away from Buffalo for so long, I didn’t know what bars were still open.  I went to sleep looking forward to the next day, making a mental note to put a condom in my jacket pocket in the morning.


Location:  Bar Louie, Galleria Mall, Cheektowaga, NY

Time:  Saturday, Late September, 21.45

I sat dejected in a booth with NiceAss, her girlfriend and a guy friend.  Earlier, NiceAss texted me about “bringing a friend along,” and I acquiesced.  I figured that this was just the normal “guy-screening” girls do for each other.  Initially, I figured the girlfriend and the guy friend would find a reason to leave and I could go to work.

However, that didn’t happen.

After about an hour of boring inner-circle conversation over an appetizer I didn’t have to pay for and me nursing my first beer, they decided to go and check out the movies and possibly see one.  I wasn’t keen on seeing a movie, but went along with the flow.

NiceAss and her friend had free movie passes that were burning holes in their pockets, so they really wanted to use them.  There was nothing up at the time, but they settled on “The Last Exorcism.”

The movie was terrible.  Blair Witch (or Cloverfield) style filming with a bad script that killed a decent story.

It reaffirmed my belief that going to the movies was a waste of money.  I was out about $10 and two hours of my life.

Anyways, we walked out.  I was steaming at the waste of my time with this supposed “date” and left NiceAss and her friend at her car with a polite, but brusque goodnight.

[Note:  Yes, they came in the same car.]

They must have started talking, since they were still there by the time I walked to my car, started it and drove off.

As I parked my car in the street at my parents’ house, my phone chirped with a text.

NiceAss (00.23):  im sorry you didnt have a good time tonight

I considered burning the bridge and deleting her number, but changed my mind for some reason.

Beppo (00.31):  It was an interesting night.  I think we all agreed that the movie sucked.  Hang out next time I’m in town?

NiceAss (00.33):  haha, it was sooo bad

NiceAss (00.34):  i think we can do that 🙂


The next few months were strange.  Knowing full well that I live in Columbus, I’d get texts from her in the middle of the night asking:  “whats up?” or “hows it going?”

I was puzzled, it seemed like she was angling for a booty call but the geographical distance would kill any possibility of one.

Each time she sent these, I made a point of saying that she woke me up and that I was not pleased with this behavior.  Her “sorry”s and “ill make it up to you” for the most part fell on deaf ears, as I really couldn’t do anything to further or set myself back.

The ending of this came on the day before Thanksgiving.  I told her to meet me on Chippewa.  She agreed and we met at a bar down there.

Mind you, it was around freezing that night and I was wearing a jacket and long-sleeved thermal-type shirt.  So much to my shock when I see her roll up wasted in a slutty strapless black dress (her ass looked awesome), heels, a silver necklace and nothing else (I draped my jacket over her shoulders a couple of times, it was really cold out).

I came to the conclusion:  this girl was both stupid and a cocktease.

So what was I doing down here?  Paying cover for bars I didn’t like to buy more expensive beer for a possibility of banging a girl I was kinda-sorta interested in?

I threw up a Hail Mary.

Peeling her off from her friends I bluntly told her I wanted to fuck her.  She mumbled something about guys only liking her “because of her ass,” but essentially said no.  So with that cleared up, I brought her back to her friends at another club, handed her off and went out into the cold with my dick in my hand, deleting her number and the texts I received from her.

I felt played, but I didn’t get as angry as I used to when this happened.  Growth on my part?  So there’s probably a red-pill lesson somewhere in this.