NO ONE WILL SUSPECT A THING!

Always aim for plausible deniability; it protects the other person. Much of social interaction, especially in public, should necessarily be about giving other people an 'out'.

For instance: the other night the Englishman left the bar with a 'friend'. He is my age, a bit of a vulgarian (though likable), and thrice my girth at least. Definitely not in the best of shape, and he reeks of cigars.
She was all cleavage, tight little dress, and go go boots.
Half his age at best.Though it seemed less.
Both of them walked with a roll.

It was very crowded, but us sane and sober regulars have eyes in the backs of our heads, as well as on our long stalk-like feelers.

After he left, we all exclaimed "did you see that?!?"

And "how delicious!"

Well, except for the female cigar smoker among us. Her response was "that's just wrong!"
She's right, of course, but she fails to realize that men are born gossips, and love nothing better than one of our own doing something scandalous and stupid. With any luck, the Englishman will wake up bound, gagged, and dead, while a tribe of drug-addicted scallywags raid his apartment and steal all the wine. While smoking his Cubans.
We'll read about it afterwards, and invent colourful details.
His funeral will be truly epic.


The point here is that no one was even remotely primed to believe that what happened was a totally innocent occurence; we know him.


Wise men and women NEVER leave bars together after meeting by chance while having a drink in the same place. It sets tongues awag.

It's probably also best to arrive together, and even if you are involved in mutually enjoyable depravity, have a cover story, or make sure that your appearance suggests something entirely blameless.
Her reputation, and his, depend upon it.

"This is my cousin Sylvia. She's studying for the priesthood. She's only in town for two days, and wanted to see what the seamy underbelly of Sodom and Gomorrah by the Bay looked like. So I brought her here.
Please don't shock her unduly; she's rather innocent."

And the person named 'Sylvia' looks suitably quiet and serious. She's got her hair neatly controlled in a loose bun low at the back of her head, spectacles, just the merest touch of a gentlewomanly lipstick, no eyeshadow or fingernail polish.
Plus her clothing is totally unrevealing. Maybe a cardigan, a collared blouse, and somewhat baggy corduroy pants in a style that suggests chosen for "durability & comfort", rather than immodest effect.
No cleavage, no go go boots, no tight cocktail dress.
Plus she blinks sweetly, fresh and nice.

Her smooth velvety cheeks blush easily, but there isn't even a hint of rouge or guile.

Adding believability, her vocabulary is well-chosen and polysyllabic.

Hastings, Heidegger; Nietsche and Nabokov.

Did she just say 'existential'?


Unfortunately, if I were to show up at the cigar bar on Saturday evening with someone like that, every one would suspect the worst.
They'd know immediately that something was up.
My friends would worry on her behalf.
And profoundly distrust me.



They've got me quite pegged, I'm afraid. My oblivious reactions to "total sex-bombes" and "hot babes" flashing cleavage and crimson come-hither lips have convinced them that I am utterly depraved.
Rather than ice in my veins, they suspect that hot lava flows instead; a seething cauldron of perverse Victorian immorality.


"He's gonna take her home and bore her to death with conversation! While eyeing her with sweaty hands!
Oh the humanity!"


"Maybe he'll feed her at the very least. She looks a bit pale. She'll need energy to break free of his tongue"



Some of them would be utterly convinced that both hanky and panky were taking place, because they know my type. They would rightly worry that I might take advantage of the poor thing.
Which, indeed, could be likely.


Always watch out for the innocent.



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