My night with Casanova

Why the anonymity? Well primarily for my reputation’s sake. Imagine Nouse publishing a story that revealed who I really am, do I really want my tutor to read that? Also, if guys know what I look like, they will either run the other way or attempt the challenge. But that’s not fair. I want this to be real.

So when a sexy but arrogant guy approached me the other night, I was worried by the excessive attention. I had been neither particularly flirtatious, nor was I dressed to kill, yet he was working overtime to keep me entertained. I am very aware of how a usual arrogant guy would work the ladies: minimal effort, maximum pouting. This was not normal behaviour.

His conversation was forced, his witty jokes just missed the mark and his compliments seemed rehearsed. Just as I was searching for the most plausible excuse to ditch him, he bought me some wine. Rare, especially from a guy who is so good looking he probably never lifts a finger to get a girl into bed with him. Putting it all together, I realised this must be Casanova, and that he had, by some stroke of temporary genius, discovered who I was. I assessed the situation.

The problem I have with Casanova is not that he’s misogynistic or inconsiderate towards women. No, what annoys me is how easily he plays the game. Convincing girls to sleep with him when he has only bought them a VK is incomprehensible. I had concluded he has either exaggerated his conquests in his column, or he only slept with girls when they were feeling insecure, or that he was ridiculously good looking.

Meeting him face to face, I realised that perhaps the latter was closest to the mark. It is so unfair how some people just exude gorgeousness. Angry that he had the pulling scene so easily, I decided to play my own games.

I don’t flatter myself, I realise that had I not been Mademoiselle, I would have just been one of the many potential shags on his long list. However, with this column has come power and desire: he wanted me for what I represent. At first I was tempted, this guy is hot stuff. However, not wishing to be shamed in orange, I took the initiative and strung him along long enough to be seen with this eye candy and for him to devote his night to me.

Once I’d lured him back to campus, however, I left him outside. For indeed, he deserves to be brought back down to earth every once in a while. You can’t always have everything you want, especially not through looks alone.

Two personal victories for me then. Firstly I had ruined Casanova’s usual pulling spree and secondly, I had demonstrated self restraint despite the alcohol running through my veins.

Perhaps it should be more important to consider who you could have pulled rather than only counting those you actually end up with. It's arguably just as rewarding to know a guy wants to kiss you than to actually kiss him. Avoiding the act allows you to remain friends or flirt buddies or whatever it was and prevents rumours about debauchery from spreading.

So girls, if you want some arm candy, give Casanova a go. However, his ego is inflated enough already, be careful not to let it explode.

My night with Mademoiselle

Summer term is nearly over at York and I have to say that it has been a very productive year. Girls wise at least. However, seeing as it is my last few weeks as a fresher I wanted to finish on a high.

After accomplishing so much this year I wasn’t sure what I could do to put the cherry on top. I wanted the perfect story to tell the lads when I went home from York. Something they would not top. I talked to one of my mates about what I could do and he said I should try to sleep with Mademoiselle! It sounded perfect as my mates from home know all about her escapades. The only problem was that I did not know who she was!

Asking around proved worthless. Everyone has heard of Mademoiselle but no one knows who she is. Then, at the Yorker awards dinner, I finally managed to figure work it out. I had been looking out for any clue that might give away who she was and eventually I found one. They were giving out all the awards (of which I received none!) for the year when they called a girl to the stage to receive the ‘Lifestyle columnist of the year award.’ They did not come out and say that she was Mademoiselle but they made it fairly obvious. I will not tell you what she looked like but I can tell you that the only thing running through my mind was that ‘I definitely would.’

After the elation of finding out who she was I now had to try and chat her up. I thought that it would be best I skirted around the fact that I was Casanova as it would probably ruin my chances. After all, seeing as I had only just worked out who she was I was hoping that she did not know my true identity.

I waited until the awards were over and the real socialising had begun to start chatting her up. I congratulated her for her award and the talk went from there. The only sticky situation was when she asked me what I wrote for the Yorker so I said I was fairly new and had written a few sports articles. Good save I thought.

The next move was to buy her a drink. About to go for the VK, I decided that a glass of wine might be the better choice. The VK might have given me away and I did not mind paying the extra money for a glass of wine, this was Mademoiselle I was trying to pull after all!

After a while she said we should get a taxi back home. I immediately agreed and we took a taxi back to hers. She started opening the door to her block and I started preparing the opening to my story when she hit me with a bombshell, ‘not tonight Casanova,’ she said. With that she walked into her block leaving me outside and alone.

I was in shell shock. I could not believe that I had been played so effortlessly and led on so well. Worse, I had bought her a glass of wine and paid for the taxi home! It certainly taught me a lesson; my reputation had preceded me and was the reason why I went home alone. What I learnt was that if you play the game then you have to be prepared to deal with the consequences.

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