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If you surround yourself with fun, attractive, flirty gals, then other beautiful, intelligent women will find their way to you. At least that’s the theory of “wing women.” There are many reasons why this philosophy of hanging out with babes is supposed to work better than guzzling with beer buddies and approaching honeys with a hand puppet and Fuzzy Bear voice.
Personally, I do prefer to nurture my independent, career-minded, zestful inner women by keeping the company of a gaggle of gorgeous gals. Hanging out with beer-swilling loogans often results, for some reason, in my getting broken, while the worst that can happen in the Posse of Pussy is that I hear some lurid tale about an under-performing boyfriend.
Lately, my little group has been scattered by careers, and I’ve embarked on a self-imposed exile at the Creative Wellness Centre and Ferret Reserve.
The flower that is my inner women is shrivelling, but I managed to rally the posse after coming across the devious New York-based dating service www.wingwomen.com.
“What’s better than a good Wing Man? A Good Wing Woman.” Is this a new low for mankind?
The service hooks up schmucks who don’t have their own pussy posse with women who get paid $50 an hour, three-hour minimum, just to hang out with the customer in the hope of attracting actual dates. Apparently, the lasses see a guy with wing women as approachable and non-threatening. Best of all, it brings out their instinctive competitiveness.
My petite young hat-wearing thespian friend Tess says, “Sistahs before mistahs” when asked if she would home in on another women’s action and become more intrigued if a suitor already had a hottie or two on his arm. Tess says she’d get the impression that the guy was a playa, or “why would he be interested in me if he has all these other women?”
Tess is cute, naive and puppy-loyal to her girlfriends. Give the thespian a few years of working the dating scene and she might develop the “my vagina before anyone else’s” fighter mentality that some of my experienced, life-in- the-fast-lane friend girls possess. Now, these lovely ladies wouldn’t trample on their friends, but in the big dating pond they are great white sharks.
Poor little Tess is a guppy compared to some of these fantastic women.
These gorgeous sharks would most definitely take the wing women bait and ferociously rip it to shreds. They are accustomed to getting what they want, immediately, and have honed their flirty skills to the point where they easily outmanoeuvre the inept. Resistance, as the Borg say, is futile.
“I wing for no one,” writes my sensational, saucy, sexy, UK-residing muse.
She adds, “The only person I’m interested in nabbing beautiful male partners for is me.”
It’s been some time since we’ve downed martinis together, but I’d say her fantastic flirty nature would hamper my style. She’d frighten off all competition. Then I’d end up acting as a “wing man” with my girly, petite, easily beat-upable profile attracting loutish blokes thinking they’re manlier than me.
Ideally, we wouldn’t just be seen as a dynamic duo using each other to attract the opposite sex. But what if we leave potential suitors with the impression that we’re a couple?
To avoid the dilemma, wingwomen. com offers a discount on multiple dates.
Two women seems to be the safe number. Then the message being sent to the pack is that this group is out for a good time, so stop by for a chat. The service’s founder claims that he came up with the idea when he was in the company of two friend girls, Karen and Danielle. He writes, “They are both attractive girls with great personalities. In the past, I was hesitant to go out with them because I thought they’d hurt my chances of meeting women.
“Then, the first night I hit some bars with them, I was having such a good time that I didn’t even care about meeting other women. As the night moved along, I ended up meeting four girls. Karen introduced me to two of them and the other two actually approached me. The girls could see how much fun we were having and wanted to be part of it. I wound up going home with two phone numbers that night.”
But partying with too many women can apparently send a wholly unintended message: one of the ladies will seem to have a claim on the man or the casual, easy feel might suggest that the man is light in the loafers.
“You might be confused with a gay guy. That could really ruin your chances,” remarks my L5R-card-player, live-action role-playing, coffee jockey friend boy Robert.
An opportunity to put the wing women theory through its paces hasn’t presented itself yet.
Though my inspiring, heavenly, babe-alicious muse and I are both seeking hot summer flings resulting in regular sex, the logistics of managing to prowl the pubs together makes this unlikely to happen. The muse doesn’t need a wing man, but I can use all the hare-brained schemes the Internet is capable of spewing out.
