Beautiful Illusion

C
opyright
© 2016 by Aubrey Sage

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Q
uit judging and start loving
.

I
passed
through the door of Tiger Club with a strut in my step that screamed confidence. Heads turned as I passed, men and women, all interested in the three new arrivals who suddenly seemed to command the atmosphere of the room.

Most of the guys were overdressed, wearing suits, slacks and tacky dress shirts. Some even had on ties, like they were going to some kind of corporate business meeting rather than trying to find a piece of ass for the night. Try-hards is what I called them. All trying to display some sort of fake wealth and power, when it was clear that they had just pulled something off the $200 sale rack at the Men’s Warehouse.

I, on the other hand, threw on a pair of faded black jeans with a couple of pre-manufactured tears in them and a contrasting, fitted, white button-up with snappy collar. Some would say that I was too casual, but I would say that I was just different. The last thing you want do is blend in when you’re trying to be the one guy who stands out.

Women want the unusual, something unique; a guy who piques their interest.

And I was a master of that.

Following behind me were my two wingmen. Cobra—six-foot tall, white V-neck tee, partially covered by a thin leather jacket and dark denim jeans. It went well with his honey complexion and slicked back, black hair. He’d been my wingman for several years now. In fact, he’d been one of my best friends all through college.

Then there was Ziv. He was fairly new to the game but a fast learner. A little bit shorter and a little bit older than Cobra and I, he wore a pair of slim slacks and a long white shirt with an open vest over top. His previously wispy brown hair had been shaved into a buzz cut. Hell, I barely recognized him from the day I brought him on board 6 months prior.

But Ziv and Cobra weren’t their real names, and Enigma wasn’t mine. They were just made-up, fake handles that we used in our elusive community of master pickup artists.

And I was their eminent leader.

An illusionist, mentalist, and social-guru-elite, I was recognized by men around the world for my ability to pick up women. In fact, I had founded a large pickup scene in Southern California and had helped countless men hone in their seriously lacking game.

The base of the loud dubstep music rattled through my bones as I slid my way through the countless bodies huddled around their tables. It probably looked like I was simply heading to the bar or looking for a table, but with each and every step, I scanned the house, looking for the perfect target.

There seemed to be slim pickings at the club that night. Lots of short dresses hiked up a little too high, miracle bra cleavage, and thick makeup all trying to disguise the fact that none of the girls were better than a 5 or 6. Every girl we saw got a number rating. 1 being the completely undateable, and 10 being the kind of girl you’d find in a magazine. If I couldn’t find a girl who was at least a 7, then there was little chance I would bother.

I slid up to the bar and made brief eye contact with the blond, male bartender.

“Gin, tonic,” I said before turning back around for another scan of my surroundings.

Cobra and Ziv slid up on either side of me and placed their orders.

“See anything?” I asked in Ziv’s ear.

“The place looks dead tonight. Nothing but grenades.” Grenades were women who fell into the same undateable category.

“9 o'clock, right,” Cobra called out and poked me lightly on the shoulder.

I turned around to pick up the drink that the bartender had quietly left on the counter before swinging my head in the direction that Cobra indicated, while I sipped the pungent liquid. Two girls, a skinny blonde in a red dress—roughly a 7 or 8—and a curvy brunette—a 9—wearing a black skirt and pink blouse. She was the best looking girl I had seen thus far and immediately became my target.

Flanking the two girls were two tall, stuck-up suits, grinning and laughing amongst each other, but other than a few fake smiles, both of the girls looked bored out of their minds. And judging by the fact that the guys were drinking Manhattans, they were probably just as uninteresting as they seemed.

“Looks like a 4-set,” Cobra said. A ‘set’ indicated any group of people that contained a girl that we were interested in. In this case, since their group consisted of 4 people, it was a 4-set.

“I’ll open this one,” I said with a nod. “Ziv, get the camera ready.”

The goal of the night was to open up sets, get numbers and display our pickup skills, in order to advertise those skills to the community. While my dream was to become a world-renowned magician, working as a pickup and dating coach is what paid the bills. Men would fly from all over the world and pay thousands of dollars for my monthly training sessions, and seeing me and my men personally in action was one of the best forms of promotion.

Once Ziv had his hidden button-hole camera properly aligned on his vest, I double-checked to make sure my equally hidden microphone was working, then went in for the kill.

The two suits frowned and straightened their posture as I approached their table, sensing an intruder threatening their pack.

The obvious thing to do was immediately scoot close to the 9, whisper something in her ear and try my best at getting her number, ignoring the three people she was with. That’s probably one of the most common mistakes that average men make when they’re trying to get the girl who’s already busy with other people. Instead, I taught my guys how to integrate into the group well before making a move on their target.

“Hey.” I made direct eye contact with one of the suits and spoke loud enough that the whole table could hear me. “What do you think about kissing in public?” Inane banter? Yes. But it didn’t matter what I used as an opening line, as I knew it would all be forgotten in a matter of minutes. I just needed to ask something non-threatening that got them thinking and engaged in a conversation.

“I dunno,” the suit shrugged. “I guess it’s alright…”

I turned to the other three. “What about you guys? Is it tacky or no?

“I think it’s okay,” the blonde answered. “I mean, as long as it’s not full-on making out and face smashing.”

“Yeah,” the brunette agreed. “I don’t see any problem with it.”

“Yes! Thank you!” I made a quiet cheer. “I was just arguing with my friends about public kissing, and I was the only one who said it was acceptable.”

“It’s totally fine!” The brunette smiled.

The blonde pushed far up on her toes and looked around. “Where are your friends?”

“Yeah,” one of the suits added. “And where did you get those jeans? You couldn’t afford a pair without holes in them?”

He was making it far too easy for me. Men love to try to out alpha-male other men with put-downs and negativity whenever they’re feeling threatened. And a lot of time it works if the receiver backs away or, even worse, responds to the negativity with anger or aggression.
But the only alpha-male in the club that night was me
, and the suits were only hurting themselves with their childish demeanor.

“Oh, these old things? They’re Zuccanis.”

“Oh my god. I love Zuccani,” the blonde squealed.

“You do? I didn’t even know about the brand until a couple weeks ago when my sister bought these for me.” That was a little lie. I didn’t even have a sister.

“Your sister bought you Zuccanis?” The blonde gawked. “Those are like $1500 jeans.”

“Come to think about it, you look a lot like my sister.” I quickly navigated around the table, ‘til I was shoulder to shoulder with the blonde. “Here let me show you a picture.”

I flipped my phone and started scrolling through pictures of me and some blonde bimbo I had met a couple weeks back. I spent a couple days with her, which was a lot longer than I usually wasted with girls, and had a plethora of pictures of us out shopping, partying, and other family-safe things. My other, more naughty pics with her were tucked away safely in a hidden folder.

“Wow, your sister is gorgeous!” the girl wailed.

“You think so? I don’t really pay that much attention.” I shrugged my shoulders and changed my phone from photo album to camera mode. “Selfie!” I suddenly ordered.

The blonde instinctively leaned in and stuck her fingers up in a ‘peace’ sign as I snapped a photo and then another one. She was smiling and having a good time already, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see the brunette brooding.

It’s pretty typical of hot babes. They’re so used to getting attention from guys, that any moment they’re being ignored, they can barely hold in their jealousy.

The two guys just looked on, having no idea how I had so easily penetrated their group, nor what they could do about it without self-destructing themselves more than they already had.

“I’m sorry,” I said to the blonde. “I didn’t get your name.”

“I’m Jessica.” The girl smiled. I reached out and shook her hand.

“I’m Tanya,” the hot babe jolted her hand out between us, eager to get some attention.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied.

“You from LA?” one of the suits spoke up. They could sense that they were getting boxed out of their own set and needed to make a move. “What do you do out here?”

“Yeah, I stay in Studio City,” I replied.

“Really?!” the blonde asked. “Tanya and I live in Studio City too!”

“Oh that’s awesome,” I replied, trying not to look overly interested. I switched my attention back to the suits. “You guys are from LA too, right? You look important.”

One of the guys straightened his posture and gave a confident, cocky grin. “Yeah, we’re both branch managers at JPMorgan Chase.”

“Wow!” I popped my eyes open and tilted my head back in faux surprise. “Bank management sounds really interesting.”

More like really boring.

“You didn’t tell us what you do,” the brunette reminded me.

“Oh me?” I shrugged a shoulder and tilted my head a little. “I’m an illusionist… or a magician, depending on who you ask. It’s nothing—”

“Whatttttt?” the girls said in unison, their smiles wide with disbelief.

“Magician? Like you do magic?” the blonde queried.

I nodded humbly.

The brunette pushed me lightly on the shoulder. “You’re kidding. I want to see a trick.”

“Hmm… I don’t know. I usually charge money to show people my magic tricks.”

“Oh come on,” she pleaded.

I really wasn’t in the mood to perform illusions, and if I did anything too interesting, that would probably lead to them asking me to do magic for them all night. Plus, I planned on the video of my pickup being used as a promotional tool. If I did any tricks that the average Joe couldn’t do, they would simply credit my pickup capabilities to my ability to perform magic.

“Okay, I guess I can do a little mind-reading trick. I want you to guess a number between one and ten.
But
,” I stressed, “if I guess your number, you have to give me a kiss.”

Tanya cackled with laughter. “A kiss? If you can guess my number?”

“Yeah, a good one.” I smiled and gave her a wink.

“Okay, whatever,” she said. I could see the wheels in her head turning, calculating the odds against me.

“And just so I know you aren’t lying to me, I want you to write the number down first.”

I pulled out a pen and a small pad of paper that I carried with me at all times and handed it to the girl. The pen was rigged and sent vibrations and other digital input to my phone when anyone used it, letting me know exactly what was being written. But I wouldn’t need that technology this time around. This particular trick was so easy that a child could do it.

I handed the two items to the girl and she began to write. She pulled off the top paper from the pad, then handed both the pad and pen back to me before folding the piece she kept.

“Finished?” I asked.

The girl nodded.

“Okay,” I said and took a deep breath. I closed my eyes and put the fingertips of both hands on each side of my temple, making a concerted effort to appear that I was thinking hard. I removed one hand and held it out comically as if I was trying to read the mind of the girl.

“Is it…. Wait…. This is a hard one…. It’s … umm…. seven.” I opened my eyes and shook my finger at her.

Of course it was seven. I have no idea why, but women were always drawn to the number seven. The odds of a girl guessing the number seven were around eighty-seven percent, and in the odd event that they didn’t guess that number, I’d just lean in and pull seven cards that had the actual number that they guessed out of their shirt, which made it appear like my incorrect guess was all part of the act.

The girl’s mouth dropped. “How did you know?” She lifted the folded paper, opening it to reveal a large number seven. She looked at her friend and the two guys, who were torn between amusement and irritation at the act.

“I can’t explain it. It’s just magic,” I replied. “And now… I think you owe me a kiss.”

The girl rolled her eyes in delight and smiled as I quickly moved in close. I wasn’t going to give her a chance to second guess our agreement.

She closed her eyes and slightly puckered her lips as my hands made contact with her waist. I pulled her right against my body, and lightly pressed my mouth against hers. After a millisecond for her to adjust, I added more pressure, then a little bit more. My hands became extensions of my lips, caressing the curves hiding under her skirt the same way my lips worked to relax her own. A second later, her head was turned, and her lips were fully parted, our tongues darting round and round while we pawed at each other.

Once her breathing grew heavy and I sensed her need was too strong, I pulled away, leaving her purring and wanting more.

“Whoa, we barely know each other,” I teased. The girl’s chest heaved, looking at me like she had just woken up from a crazy dream. “Why don’t you give me your number so we can start on that?”

The brunette nodded her head as I pulled out my iPhone, and then she typed in her contact details.

I turned around and noticed that the two suits were gone, probably deflated after losing one of the two girls they were trying to snatch up, and off to look for a table a little less challenging.