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"Tired of love taking its
sweet time?
Ross Jeffries Tells you how to cut to the chase"
Article by Peter Alson
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The Phone wakes me. It's
8:15 A.M. and I'm still groggy as the machine picks up. A mysterious
female voice invades my bedroom.
"Hey, Peter, this
is Vanessa. You called me and left a very compelling-psychologically
compelling-message."
Suddenly I am
wide-awake, sitting up in bed, giddy and slightly in shock.
Jesus, it worked.
I feel like the skeptic
who finds out that a magic potion actually does what the snake-oil
salesman said it would do. Let me explain: A few days ago I began
listening to a set of tapes titled Advanced Speed-Seduction, 13 hours
of instruction in the art of getting laid, taught by a California geek
turned lothario named Ross Jeffries. On the tapes, Jeffries says that
for practice he sometimes leaves messages on women's voice mail, and
that he has devised one that never fails to get a response.
After having wasted a
bit too much time trying to snag the perfect woman, I admit to being
intrigued by the concept of seduction and speed in tandem. The
personal-ad gambit seemed the ideal litmus test to Jeffries' claims, a
safe and anonymous way to try out his "speed seduction"
patterns. So yesterday I called a personals 900 line advertised in The
New York Observer, listened to a number of voices and selected
Vanessa. ("Hi, fellows. I'm looking for a guy who's looking for a
girl who likes to read Baudelaire in bed and take long, luxurious
baths and is not afraid to say what's on her mind.")
But first a confession:
A year ago, on an evening when browsing personal ads was not part of a
magazine assignment, I left a phone reply to another woman's
advertisement, in which I described myself in a straightforward manner
as a Harvard-educated journalist who likes travel and adventure.
Surely, I thought, she would be impressed by the resume and my
sensitive, honest voice. I am still waiting to hear from her.
Rewind to yesterday and
my Jeffries-scripted message to Vanessa, spoken in a bedroom voice,
with lots of suggestive pauses: "Vanessa, have you ever been
really attracted to a man's voice while listening to your messages?
And the warmth of that voice just began to wrap itself around you and
penetrate your thoughts? You began to have certain ideas. And maybe as
you allowed that warmth to heat up into a fire, and as your heart
began to pound with the excitement of that, you realized there's
something you've got to have, deep inside. You know this is true. So
listen, I really liked your message and if you find yourself reaching
for the phone, I just want you to know that you should take all the
time you need in the next 30 seconds. Here's my phone number."
You realized there's
something you've got to have, deep inside?
Are you kidding me? Did
I actually say that? Did she actually respond?
Just to be sure, I ask a
friend to call and leave her a normal message. In other words, to be
my control group. Five days after her psychologically compelled
response to me, he still awaits a reply.
Despite my glee at this,
I'm in no hurry to establish in-person contact with Vanessa. For one
thing, I'm not sure what to say to her for an encore (I haven't
listened to all the tapes yet); for another, I don't want to puncture
the fantasy, which right now is perfect.
Like almost all ordinary
guys who have seen a beer commercial, this is my fantasy: to be able
to seduce any woman I want simply by talking to her. Since I don't
look like Mel Gibson or have Bill Gates' money, words are my only
hope.
The fact is, I have
known lotharios whose only special attribute was a good rap. I had a
friend in college whose success with women was mind-boggling, given
his Napoleonic stature and receding hairline. I tried to emulate him;
we talked about strategy and approaches. But his gift was his and I
could never get it to rub off on me. I wasn't hopeless, I just found
that whenever I got anywhere with a woman, it was a mysterious
occurrence, an accident. My friend would ask, "Did you get
lucky?" not only because that was the euphemism we used but
because luck was the only reasonable explanation for my occasional
success. The knack, I concluded, isn't something you can learn.
That is, I thought so
until I got Vanessa's message.
Had I always been wrong?
Ross Jeffries certainly thinks so. Nine years ago, as a failed comedy
writer, he penned a self-help book called How to Get the Women You
Desire Into Bed: A Down and Dirty Guide to Dating and Seduction for
the Man Who's Fed Up With Being Mr. Nice Guy that gave a Nineties
twist to the Seventies Eric Weber (How to Pick Up Girls) approach.
Warming to his subject,
Jeffries combined some of the ideas from his book with the principles
of neurolinguistic programming and began developing Speed Seduction.
Neurolinguistic programming, co-founded by Richard Bandler and John
Grinder, is an approach to psychotherapy that used language patterns
and metaphor to communicate with the unconscious mind.
For Jeffries, a
self-confessed nerd, the development of Speed Seduction was a personal
triumph. By breaking down the art of seduction into patterns of speech
and word formations that would eliminate chance, he transformed
himself into the Don Juan he had always dreamed of becoming. The
concept also became a small cottage empire for Jeffries. The home
study tapes go for as high as $345, the video version is $195, and the
three-day "get laid" workshops he teaches several times a
year will lighten your wallet to the tune of $895. He also markets
other paraphernalia to help shy guys snag women, including a
handwriting analysis prop that is called the Grapho-Deck and a video
titled Flirting With Magic.
When combined with his
overheated back-of-the-comic-book sales pitches ("How to Totally
Mind-Fuck almost Any Woman Into Screwing Your Brains Out and Make It
Seem Like You're Just Having a Normal, Innocent Conversation!"),
one might easily conclude that Jeffries is just a cheap huckster
trying to take advantage of lonely, horny guys.
"Talk to my
students," he said to me when I raised the issue. "Is it
'taking advantage' if the stuff works?" And while he admits that
about 30 percent of his followers are "what you would expect them
to be," he claims the other 70 percent are "edge
junkies." "They want to beat the system and they don't want
to play the dating game. I teach them how to get that edge."
Jeffries tells his
students that "women don't really want a guy with a great body, a
handsome face or lots of money. What women want is the emotional
states they experience when they are around a guy with a great body, a
handsome face, etc." And he guarantees he can show them how to
create these states "in virtually any woman, using simple but
powerful language patterns."
Among the NLP crowd,
Jeffries is not the most popular guy, the feeling being that he is
using their great invention not for good but for evil. Nevertheless,
his teachings have elicited delirious testimonials from his students:
"I used your 'have you ever weasel pattern to score my ultimate
fantasy: two girls in bed at the same time! Thanks!" Hayden
Basanta, Winnipeg, Manitoba; "Using your 'instantaneous
connection' pattern, I got a bikini model in bed the same night I met
her." John Kent, Woodland Hills, California; "Not to brag,
Ross, she has a boyfriend or husband or if I'm her type nothing
matters! You're a fucking genius!" Mark Cunningham, Maumee, Ohio.
Whatever qualms I have
about Jeffries and the concept of using conscious manipulation to
seduce women (certainly many of my friends, especially the women, find
Jeffries' ideas repellent), I wonder if I can really claim to stand on
Higher moral ground. I mean, when I go out with a woman I've just met,
don't I take care in selecting the clothes I wear? In choosing the
right restaurant? Do I not tell her things I think will impress her,
stories that have made other girls laugh and admire my wit?
Is that any less
contrived or manipulative than what Jeffries teaches? OK, maybe I'm
not using someone else's words. But is that even true? I've uttered
lines from Gide and Whitman as if they were my own; I've repeated
things friends have said that I thought were clever or interesting;
I've affected other people's style, the cool way Jean Paul Belmondo
rubbed his thumb on his lower lip in Breathless or the way Bogart
inhaled his cigarette. And why? To get laid, of course.
Listening to the tapes,
my slight queasiness about morality gives way to my real fear: that I
am seeking help in scoring chicks because I'm some kind of loser geek.
I can picture my fellow geeks at Jeffries' seminars as they sit in
masking-taped glasses, discussing the science of getting laid.
Jeffries says that everything he teaches is designed to "capture
and lead the imagination," but some of the strategies and
language patterns sound as if they were lifted straight out of a
Saturday Night Live sketch about seduction. There are
"blammo" patterns and "weasel" phrases. The
"boyfriend destroyer." And, of course, the "blow
job" pattern, in which the would-be Speed Seducer says to an
unsuspecting target, "I used to think my best ideas came from
above me, but now I know they come from below me."
As in blow me.
I'm not kidding.
Jeffries is defensive
about this material. When I talk to him by telephone, he says,
"Don't knock this stuff until you try it. The metaphor I use is
fishing you don't bait the hook with the kind of food you like to eat,
you bait it with what the fish are going to bite on."
Will the fish bite if,
beyond "below me," you pepper your conversation with words
such as "penetrate," " come inside,"
"hard" and "surrender," as Jeffries suggests? I
don't know, but I'm of the opinion that if you use the right
inflection, as he also suggests, and pause mid-sentence to create a
sense of anticipation and mystery, it's possible.
I ask Bruce Goldberg,
hypnotist and author of Soul Healing and New Age Hypnosis, if sexual
double entendres and embedded commands can work. He says,
"Numerous studies have been done, and they've shown that you
can't make someone violate moral and ethical codes. However, if you're
dealing with a woman you're attracted to, and she's neutral, or not
opposed to you if she's acting like 'If he shows me something, I'll
give him a shot' that's a different story. Particularly if she's in a
naturally altered state for instance, if she's jogging or listening to
music. Now, those embedded commands might sway her. They might make
the difference. If she's open but doesn't want to make the first move
because of her puritanical upbringing or whatever, the right words can
make the difference, absolutely."
I remember my college
friend playfully turning every conversation with a girl, no matter
where she would try to steer it, into something with sexual
undertones. He'd get her thinking about sex, and pretty soon she was
thinking about having sex with him.
I am also aware that the
gulf between the sexes is large enough that language that seems
ridiculous to me might not seem that way to someone without a penis
(or "ha-penis"). As Jeffries says, the proof is in the
pudding ("deep inside" it). After all, most men find romance
novels laughable, but there is a huge female audience for them.
A friend of mine wrote a
romance novel once, and as part of his preparation he was instructed
by his publisher to read Nancy Friday's My Secret Garden, a book in
which women talk about their sexual fantasies. Additionally, he was
made to include a scene in which the heroine was served her lover in
the form of a stew (my friend referred to this as the "praying
mantis" scene). He was dumbfounded, having never engaged in a
sexual fantasy that involved cannibalism (even the unwitting variety).
But what left him baffled apparently struck some chord in women. The
book sold more than 300,000 copies.
I mention this in part
because one of Jeffries' followers actually recommends romance novels
as a source of powerful language patterns. "I admit these books
are difficult," says Mark (the housewife banger) Cunningham,
"because you're reading through them and you're going, 'What the
fuck are they talking about?' But if you lift some of the ideas and
the language from them and say them in a slow, relaxed and powerful
manner, women melt. They've finally found a man who knows how to
communicate with them in a meaningful way."
Jeffries also advocates
reading women's magazines to better understand the female psyche. It
all comes down to knowing who you're trying to seduce. Jeffries says,
"When most men meet a beautiful woman, they're so wrapped up in
their own feelings that they neglect what the woman is feeling. If you
want to be successful with women, focus on their state, not
yours." Pay attention, in other words to something besides the
thing in your pants.
"If you listen to
what a woman says, she'll give you all the information you need to
seduce her," Jeffries continues. Often his technique consists of
extracting that information with a series of questions that begin with
what he calls his "weasel" phrase "If you were to...,
"If I were to..., "Have you ever...," etc.
For example, you might
say to a woman, "If I were to ask you" the implication being
that you're not really asking "what's the most important thing in
a relationship, how would you describe it to me?" In listening to
her response, you would pay particular attention to her
"trance" words the words she puts particular emphasis on or
repeats frequently (e.g., "I want a man who makes me feel
comfortable with myself") then simply mirror her answers to her
in the same language: "Wouldn't it be nice if you could spend
time with a man who makes you feel like you could let down your guard
and just be comfortable? Whose voice soothed and at the same time
stimulated you? I get the feeling that this could happen to you right
now, with me."
"The effect of this
kind of pattern is powerful," says Jeffries, "and it gives
the woman the sense of having an incredible connection with you."
Instinctively, this
makes sense to me. Most men don't listen; so obviously those who do
(and who prove it by mirroring what they've heard) are going to score
some points. Does it matter whether you are listening because you are
genuinely interested, or just listening because you have an agenda (to
get laid)? As Jeffries says only half-jokingly, quoting George Burns,
"Sincerity is everything. And once you learn how to fake that,
you've got it made."
Eager to test out what
I've learned from the tapes, I visit a Barnes & Noble Cafe near my
office, which is listed in the Zagat Guide to New York restaurants
with the warning: "Good coffee, but beware of Casanovas."
I find a table where a
dark-eyed young woman in skintight black pants and black boots is
reading a magazine.
"Do you mind if I
sit down?" I ask her tentatively. She barely shrugs. She's got
the high cheekbones of a model and a red-lip-sticked mouth that Mick
Jagger might envy. I've made some notes from Jeffries' tapes and I
open my notebook to do a last-second cram. Then I launch into my
spiel.
"Excuse me," I
say to her. She looks up, eyeing me like I'm something that was left
in her refrigerator too long. "I just have to tell you
this," I continue. "You are absolutely stunning."
She keeps looking at me
coldly. I bravely forge onward.
"I'm Peter Alson.
Did you ever meet somebody for the first time and just feel absolutely
comfortable with them?"
Without saying anything,
she gets up, picks up her cappuccino and moves to the other side of
the cafe.
I'm just following a
script, I want to shout after her. I would never tell a woman that
stuff about feeling absolutely comfortable 30 seconds after meeting
her. Really!
A glutton for
punishment, I try out this rap a couple more times, improvising
slightly to make it less jarring. The results are better but still not
great. I don't get kicked, spit at or arrested, but beyond getting
more comfortable with approaching and talking to strange women, I'm
batting zero.
At dinner later, with a
friend who is much amused by my stories, I am asked for a
demonstration of Speed Seduction. I decide to have a go at our
waitress, using a different Jeffries approach. Waitresses are the
perfect test, actually. They have to talk to you. But if they are
attractive (as ours is statuesque, blonde, with a cute English-girl
overbite), you can be reasonably sure they get hit on all the time and
are well practiced in the art of the polite but efficient brush-off.
I notice that our
waitress' voice has an odd inflection, so I use that observation as my
low-key opening. "I was just wondering where you're from. You
have an interesting accent."
She tells me she's from
a place on the Canadian border.
"Really?" I
say. "Is that a small town? How many people?"
She doesn't know, and
after she moves on to another table, my friend says, "She
probably can't count that high."
But she seems sweet, and she's
extremely pretty, and when she comes back to take our order a few
minutes later, I go into the next phase.
"You must get
awfully tired by the end of the night," I say. She nods, taking a
deep breath.
"Do you ever get a
chance to go on vacation?"
"I went home for a
couple of weeks over the summer. Does that count?"
"Hmm, not really.
But I'm curious: If you were to take a real vacation in your ideal
spot, what would it be like?"
I get the feeling she's
surprised to be asked a question like this, and intrigued. A light
comes into her blue eyes as she describes her ideal place, a lush,
tropical island where drinks are served on the beach in coconut
shells.
It's a pretty pedestrian
fantasy, but her manner is charming as she spins it out, and in a way
it's as if I've taken her there. I've flown her out of this restaurant
to a hot beach in the Caribbean where she's getting drunk!
A few minutes later, I
see her standing by the bar with another waitress. They're looking at
our table as they talk. When she brings our entrees, she puts them
down and says, "And what about you? If your ideal vacation spot,
what would it be?"
My friend is impressed
by her willing participation in my seduction demonstration. I am as
well. It's like we've mixed up some chemicals in a laboratory and the
test tube is beginning to spew smoke.
"Before I answer
that," I say, "let me ask you something else. You know that
feeling you have when you get home after a hard day of work and all
you can think about is stripping off your clothes and sliding into a
hot bath or taking a shower?"
I'm shocked I'm saying
this, but she seems OK with it.
"Which do you
prefer?" I ask. "Bath or shower?"
"Bath."
"You know how
sometimes, before you even get in, you imagine the heat just working
its way through every part of your body and then you actually slide
in, and that warmth just takes you and you surrender to it?"
My friend is looking at
me. I can feel his struggle to contain his hysteria.
"Oh my God,"
he finally says, laughing, as the waitress again travels out of
earshot. "What?"
"You know, you're
actually kind of scary with that stuff."
"What do you
mean?"
"It sounds so
natural coming out of your mouth."
I don't know if this is
intended as an insult, but I have to admit I enjoyed my little
performance. Because I was looking at the whole thing as an experiment
and parroting someone else's words, it didn't feel like my ego was on
the line the way it normally does.
Maybe that's the key. If
I don't get over with her, it won't be a personal rejection of me. She
just didn't go for the material. Jeffries emphasizes this point in the
tapes. "Don't worry about results," he says more than once.
"Just have fun trying the stuff out."
"So how do you
close the deal?" my friend asks.
"Watch," I
say. When the waitress comes back, I ask her what her name is. She
tells me it's Sandy.
I say, "Well,
Sandy, it's really been fun talking to you. It's too bad that we won't
get the chance to do it again without all these distractions and
interruptions."
She nods but doesn't
take the bait. No problem. On my way out, I go up to her and say,
"You know, I meant what I said about it being fun talking to you.
Maybe we could meet for coffee sometime. Like tomorrow?"
"I can't this
week," she says. "I'm in a play this week."
"Really?"
"You should
come," she says. She writes down the information for me.
Not bad, but too
involved. Going to a play doesn't fit into the Speed Seduction
formula. The whole point is to avoid extended courtship (besides, the
play might stink). In the language of Jeffries, I'm on a fishing trip,
and I want to see if I can land something quickly. I'm not going to
get hung up on any one fish.
Over the next few days,
I go to coffee shops, bars and department stores. I even try a street
pickup. I get a few more nibbles but don't manage to reel anyone in.
Curious, I tell one girl, after she blows me off, that I am writing an
article; I ask her to explain her response. She says, "Oh, I
don't know," and repeats with disdain the lines I approached her
with: "'I have an intuition about you'? 'I think you're a very
visual person'? It's a little lame, don't you think?"
I do. To me that's the
main drawback of Speed Seduction: The actual language tends to drift
too often into the areas of lame and embarrassing. It's not only the
language Jeffries teaches but the language he uses in his teaching:
"I 'morphed' it." "I 'time distorted' it."
"Let's 'chunk' for a minute." Chunk? Even in California it's
not a happy concept.
All the same, I can't
help thinking that it's good that Jeffries is helping propel guys like
me, making us feel bold enough to approach strange women. Truth is,
most successful seducers I've known don't hit for a high average.
James Toback, the writer and director of The Pickup Artist, whom I met
in Los Angeles in 1980, was as compulsive and tireless in his pursuit
of women as anyone I've ever seen, and a lot said no. But Toback told
me he never took rejections personally: "If someone didn't
respond to me, the only effect was to make me think I was wrong about
her, that I had made a mistake."
As Jeffries says,
"The difference between losers and winners is that losers don't
fail enough." And he's right. You have to step up to the plate.
If it's not your natural inclination, than having a strategy is
helpful and using suggestive language is good. Even if the NLP stuff
is a gimmick, a lot of late-night hooey, you'd be better off out there
using it than you would be at home in front of the television,
watching the infomercial.
I know better than to
bore a woman with "What do you do?" questions, or, worse,
with self-involved this-is-what-I-do monologues if I'm making them
interested in me. The goal is to engage their imaginations. To
intrigue. I want to create rapport and understanding. I mean, isn't
that what everybody wants? To feel understood? What could possibly be
more seductive than that?
On the subway a few
mornings later, I find myself squeezed in beside a blonde in a navy
pea coat, who's peeling an orange and putting the peels into a brown
paper bag on her lap. Before my recent experiences, I wouldn't have
dreamed of talking to a woman on the subway. It's just too tough, the
K2 of pickups. But there's something about this blonde in the pea
coat, maybe that she's unselfconscious enough to eat in public that
makes her seem approachable.
"I'm just
curious," I say to her in my best Warren Beatty stutter.
"Where'd you get that orange?"
"What?"
"I'm just curious
where you got that orange. See, I really love oranges, but this time
of year I have trouble finding good ones. That looks like a really
good one you have there."
She shrugs, chewing on a
section, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead.
At least she doesn't
reach for a can of Mace.
"So . . . Do you
have some special place?"
"No. You just have
to know what to look for," she mumbles. I'm making her nervous.
We rumble into a station. The doors open.
"You mean the good
ones are there among all the others, but only you can tell the
difference?"
"Mm-hmm."
There's the barest hint of a smile, followed by a brief moment of eye
contact. The doors close and the train lurches up to speed.
"Well, that's
amazing. How can you tell? What's the secret?"
"No secret,"
she says.
"Is it just the way
they feel? The way they look?"
"Both."
"Hmm . . . I think
you're being too modest. I mean, this is an important skill."
She laughs and looks at
me, but again just for a moment.
"Because,
really," I say, "there's nothing better than a good orange.
You know? The kind where you bite into it and it's sweet and juicy,
and it's almost like you can't get enough, do you know that
feeling?"
She nods.
"Is that what
you're feeling right now? I mean, with me . . . if I find that perfect
orange, I'm just, I get transported...."
She's looking at me now,
no incidental eye contact, and I'm thinking to myself, This is
working. I'm not sure where I'm going from here, but this is working.
As she starts gathering
herself, I ask, "Is this your stop?"
"Yeah."
"That's
funny."
"Why, is it your
stop, too?"
"No, but it will be
if you'll let me buy you a cup of coffee."
She shakes her head and
smiles. "OK."
Just like that.
"OK."
It's like the "Jedi
mind" shit that Vince Vaughn did to the Vegas cocktail waitress
in the movie Swingers.
The funny part is that I
immediately start sweating. I know that I'm supposed to be
concentrating on her state, but shock has momentarily obliterated my
powers of concentration.
So what happens next?
Well, I'm tempted to
claim that after a couple cups of caffeine we make a beeline for the
nearest bed. That would be a good ending. But the truth is we sit and
talk (a lot) and I discover she'' an NYU graduate student who takes
her coffee black with sugar, that she likes to read Baudelaire and her
name is . . . Vanessa.
That would be a good
ending too, wouldn't it?
(Parenthetical note for
the curious: I did call back Vanessa of the voice mail. We even got
together for coffee. But that was where my curiosity and her
psychological compulsion ended.)
As for my subway baby,
her name is Ruth (well, it is as long as I have to change it for this
story) and she is a graduate student. She has a small gap between her
front teeth, a charming habit of brushing her hair away from her face
with one hand, and green eyes that remind me of a girl I once loved.
Also, she talks extremely fast and her parents divorced when she was
three (she grew up with her mother in Schenectady; her older brother
grew up with their father in Albany) and if she could imagine her
ideal vacation spot it would be . . . well, I didn't get around to
that.
See, what happens is,
we're sitting there in this cafe, and she squints a little at me and
says, "OK, so have you ever done that before, picked up somebody
on the subway?"
And I tell her no,
though I can't quite suppress a smile.
She doesn't believe me.
"I'll bet you're
one of those guys who goes around picking up girls all the time,
aren't you?" she says.
Now I'm laughing and she
says, "What?" and I shake my head.
"No, come on,"
she says. "You really can't do that."
I look at her and she
looks at me with those luminous green eyes.
"And you probably
don't even like oranges," she says
At which point the urge
is too strong, I can't help myself, I want to share the joke with her.
"Look, there's
something that I want to tell you, but I'm afraid if I do, you won't
like me."
"What? Is it
bad?"
"No, but---"
"Then you have to
tell me."
So I spill the beans. I
tell her about Speed Seduction, the article I'm writing.
There are a tense couple
of moments while she digests it all. Then she laughs.
"You mean I fell
for it?"
"Well, not really.
I mean, the stuff about oranges wasn't actually from the course, it
was just me." "But it worked. I'm here with you."
"So you feel
duped?"
She thinks about it.
"I'm not sure."
"Don't. I mean, I'm
really glad you're here, and if I weren't doing this piece, I never
would have had the nerve to talk to you."
"But now I am going
to wonder if everything you're telling me is just a line."
I start to laugh again
and she joins in. "I guess I blew it, didn't I?" I say.
"Why? You really
think I'd go right to bed with some guy I just met in the subway
anyway?"
"I don't
know."
"You really don't
know?"
"I'm sure that you
probably wouldn't. You know what the crazy part is? Women have The
Rules, which tells them to put off sleeping with a guy if they want to
make him fall for them, and men have Speed Seduction, which tells us
not to date a woman until after we have had sex. I think that if you
meet the right person it doesn't really matter what you do."
"Really?"
"Sure, it's
probably doomed either way."
She looks at me.
"That's a
joke."
"So is that what
you want to do?"
"Well, Ross
Jeffries would probably kill me, but would you like to have dinner
with me?"
She twists up her mouth
for a moment. "When?"
"Tomorrow?"
"I think we should
wait."
"For what?"
"For you to finish
your article."
"You mean so I can
call the article Slow Seduction."
What can I say, Ross?
Even in the land of fast everything, some things are just worth
waiting for.
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