Life
by Jack Dalton on December 28, 2012

The following is an excerpt from Jack Dalton's e-book, “Hesitation Leads to Masturbation: A Gentlemen's Guide to Getting Laid.”

It’s like harvesting crops: there are simply some months of the year in which you are more likely to get laid (December vs. October). You need to know when to pick the fruit in order to get it sweet, and there is one time of year when women (everyone really) are at their sweetest: the Holidays. From the beginning of December to the beginning of January, people walk around with shit-eating grins on their faces. Complete strangers are holding doors open for you. This chivalry lasts about a month, and makes it the perfect time of year to recruit.

A few years back, I made plans to go out with my cousin Rob on a cold January night right after New Year’s. I hadn’t seen him in a while, so I stopped by his place to do some pre-gaming. If I’m Bob DeNiro from Cape Fear, Rob is DeNiro from Casino. He’s a fucking legend. Though he’s Irish-Italian, you’d think he has some black in him too! He has the rhythm of Michael Jackson and the charisma of Burt Reynolds minus the stache; I’m covering that end. Rob can go up to any girl at any time, say the most outlandish shit you can imagine, and still disarm them all. He’s so good, he could take out Tom Brady’s wife with the Pat standing right there.

PREVIOUSLY: Always Be Qualifying: How to Meet a Woman Without Losing Face

We decided to head to Murphy’s Law, a little Irish Pub a few blocks away. It was always a good time because they played great 80’s music, and chicks love 80’s tunes. Rob and I were on a mission that night and taking no prisoners!! As soon as we walked in the place, I could feel the eyes on us. The energy was magnetic as we made our entrance, like Johnny Depp and Ryan Gosling walking down the red carpet… together. Maybe it was because Duran Duran’s “Girls on Film” was cranking, but I felt like we were walking in slow mo.

I ordered a Ketel One and Seven Up and my cousin ordered vodka and soda. It didn’t take long for the first girl to approach us.

Coming up to me, she said, “Hi, aren’t you Nick’s brother?” 

Just to preface her appearance… She looked like Mila Fucking Kunis. Long dark curly hair, light eyes, and a huge rack. Her tits were dying to jump out of her button down. Holy shit, those things looked fun.

I paused for a secondas if I was on Jeopardy and Alex Trebek was asking me a question of justice because, sometimes, sexual espionage demands that we use a cover or at least a cover story.

Here’s the deal: It’s okay to stretch the truth a little bit. Sure, you risk telling some extremely detailed story and can’t remember what you said, but don’t kid yourself, women do it all the time. That’s why you should always go with “less is more” and keep the fibs harmless and simple.

Unfreeze: I smiled widely at little Miss Mila, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Yeah, of course I’m Nick’s brother!! How have you been?”

She leaned over and gave me a hug and a kiss though her tits were so big, I think my hands only reached her shoulders. Meanwhile, I had no fucking idea who this chick was.

Thankfully, my crusher cousin provided instant ground support; that’s why he was a legend! Rob got busy talking with her friend who was also very cute, which took some of the pressure off me and allowed me to work my girl. Asking her questions was like walking on a high wire: one wrong move and I was done. I kept thinking: don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up; she’s a goddamned blue bird.

Before I knew it, Rob and I had gotten us so many drinks in, I figured it was better to get her number and get together some other time. Then, when we were both sober, I could explain that I wasn’t Nick’s brother. Only an amateur would have stayed at the same bar all night and worn out their welcome.

She gave me her number, and I called her right there. Two reasons: that way she had mine, and, that way, I knew she didn’t just give me the number to a local diner.

Sure enough, within the hour she shot me a text saying how great it was to see me. I told her it was great seeing her too and said we should get together soon. Who cares if she thought I was someone else? We had chemistry, and that shit’s unstoppable. As the alcohol continued to set in, I crept into a drunken abyss, almost forgetting about the details of my conversation with Mila Kunis. All I remembered was that I wanted her and she wanted me AKA Nick’s brother!

The next night we made plans. We decided to meet for drinks at 9 o’clock, a perfect choice for two people who had just “run into each other” the night before. It was a cool, clear January evening, with left over snow outlining the urban streets. My goal that night was to explain that I wasn’t Nick’s brother, take my lumps, and then hopefully proceed to hang with her.

We took our jackets off and were seated at a cool little table that had a view of the entire bar. She sat across from me and had a smile from ear to ear. Although she was wearing a sweater, I couldn’t help but notice her perky chest protruding from under it. I have been with many, many women, but it felt as if we had known each other for years. The longer we talked, however, the deeper I went with my lie. I still hadn’t said the words, “I’m not Nick’s brother.” I was like Donnie Brasco. There was no way I couldn’t blow my cover without blowing my chances.

As we laughed and drank for hours, the bar could have been on fire, and I don’t think we would have noticed. We were finishing up our final martini when I asked her if she wanted me to walk her home. She said, “No, why don’t we go back to your place?”

She didn’t have to ask me twice. I wonder what the statistics are on guys that have said no in history to a hot chick asking to go back to their place?

“Sure,” I said as though she had just asked to borrow a pen. I cleared up the check and helped her put her jacket on. My place happened to be a stone’s throw away, which was strategically planned!

It didn’t take long to begin going at it; our hands were all over each other; our clothes were flying off faster than Michael Phelps swimming a kiddie pool. We began on my couch, which didn’t give us that much space, but I had to get the momentum going before we moved the show to my bed. At that point, the only articles of clothing we had on was our underwear. She had the body of a porn star, and her chest was a work of art. I took her hand as if I was taking her on a long, exciting journey, which I was, five feet away to my bed. I asked if I should grab a condom. She firmly replied, “Yes.”

The next hour of our session consisted of a lot ewwssss and ahhhhhhsss. Even though it was the holidays, we sounded like we were watching fireworks on the 4th of July.

As she bounced on my meat, I kept thinking, “I have to thank Nick’s brother! I have to thank Nick’s brother!”

​Have an epic New Year's Eve story? Send it to us…. 

Jack Dalton is the author of “Hesitation Leads to Masturbation: A Gentleman’s Guide to Getting Laid.” When he’s not banging chicks, he is busy inventing the next Mars Rover, working on the perfect Cantonese accent, and operating a towing company using only his moustache.