I like having guys at my place. No, not a group of guys. Just one guy. The one I'm hooking up with.
It took me a few years to understand the advantages of having a hook-up buddy spend the night at my place. But it makes all the difference.
At the time of my realization, I was hooking up with a dude I'd met in a bar. I'd go to his place as our love (eh, sex) affair blossomed, just because his apartment was closer to my office than my own apartment was.
Laziness, though, wasn't exactly working in my favor. Let me tell you why.
Before even walking into my hook-up buddy's apartment one summer night, I could smell the stench of sweat and Natty Light from a few flights of stairs away. Great, I thought to myself. I'm walking into a low-key frat party.
“Hey, Sheena!” the guys enthusiastically said in unison as they opened the door for me.
“Hi, guys,” I said, begrudgingly picking up a can of the sh*ttiest beer on God's green Earth. I slurped some beer off the rim before deciding I definitely did not want it. WTF was I doing, drinking that? Sheena drinks red wine and only red wine.
I spent the next two hours sitting on the living room couch with my hook-up buddy and his two roommates to watch soccer or football or something. I honestly wouldn't know because I don't follow sports. And my pent-up arousal, the excitement I had felt burning from my vajay all the way down to my big toe, the one I had been feeling not just on the subway ride over, but ALL day long, completely dissipated.
As I stared at my hook-up buddy in his dirty socks, on his equally dirty, depressing and disheveled-as-hell couch, I couldn't help but think one thing: Ew.
But alas, I'd have to tickle my libido and wake it up. I came this far; not getting what I came for would be a waste. So I drank. And I drank some more. And eventually, I was mounting him on his couch. I don't know who that girl was or where she came from, but there she was, and there was no stopping her.
It wasn't exactly how I imagined our evening going. If I had invited him over to my place, I could have seduced him with my apartment's quaint, cozy charm. But here I was, inhaling pizza grease and watching a bunch of people run around in the mud, and there was nothing sexy about it.
So the next time he hit me up at midnight, as hook-up buddies often do, I suggested he come to me.
"Nice curtains," he said with a gleam in his eyes. The man was clearly enchanted.
“Thanks. Wine?” I said, smiling, bottle in hand.
Before he could even nod, I poured him a glass. Now this was more like it. I was the master, and he, my student. I was the queen of the castle, and he, the mere peasant. Yes, the castle was my less-than-500-square-foot pad, but whatever. You get my point.
It quickly became clear that I had the upper hand. I told him to take his shoes off at the "Welcome" mat by my door because I had just scrubbed the floors. Handing him the wine, I set the drinking pace. Then I told him to make himself at home, which is exactly what he did.
It all felt like my little project. I got to create a scene of something I'd fantasized. I lit some candles, turned on my favorite music and laid him down by my plush, purple pillows. The whole vibe really put me in the mood because my vision was coming to fruition. My wildest fantasy was no longer a fantasy.
This time, I wasn't thinking ew. This time, I couldn't help but think mmmhm.
I didn't have to deal with annoying frat boys or worry about pizza sauce staining my cute, white dress. Those things are nuisances. Loud background noise. Distractions from the hot and heavy moments you scheduled beforehand with your dude.
These distractions are not OK. So teach your hook-up buddy a thing or two by bringing him to your place.
In order to truly master the art of seduction, a woman's got to feel confident, and to feel confident, she's got to feel comfortable. And it just so happens that we feel the most comfortable at our own places. We also don't have to compromise anything, which is always optimal.
The next time your hook-up buddy wants to get some of ya, don't pull a "me" and go to his place just because it's easier. Tidy up your place the way you want it. I'm not talking about deep-cleaning the bathtub so he doesn't see the little baby leg hairs that fell from your razor and scattered all over the place; I'm talking about creating a mood that perfectly reflects your soul.
Your room should be as inviting as your pussy. And he should always be willing to travel halfway across the world to get to it (I'm talking about your pussy, not your room). If he isn't, scrap him.