Copyright Georgia Clark 2010
She was the man-hungry trysexual who ashion, f*cking and fabulous but could Samantha’s sexual appetite translate to real life?
BAR ONE: Dress: Low-cut. Eyes: Smoky. Nerves: In check (barely). Thanks to Year 12 Drama ,I was channelingsimpering sex-pot as I into the swish city bar peppered with suits. After attempted eye contact with three likely proved unsuccessful, I slid slowly onto a barstool “A dirty martini, please.” (It just seemed so Samantha). I crossed my legs, arched my back and positioned myself so I could look – okay, stare – at three guys. A few minutes passed. My drink arrived. I sucked my olives suggestively. Time crawled by. Finally, one of the guys stood up – he’d have to talk to me if he came to the bar! – and left. Then the other two left. Unable to afford another overpriced martini, I decided to move onto richer hunting ground.
SAMANTHA SUCCESS? NO.
BAR TWO: This time I decided to throw my bait out before settling in, which meant doing laps until I locked eyes with a vaguely cute guy sitting with two women. I paused as I walked past him. “Nice… tie,” I smiled, then winked. I could hear one of the girls laugh an ‘oh my god,’ as I headed for the bar, sitting shamelessly in my new target’s field of vision. Within minutes Nice Tie was next to me.
“Can I get you a drink?”
Success! “You can get me anything you want, honey.” My martini – and desperation for this whole adventure to bear fruit – had really gotten me into character.
“Um… OK,” If he was puppy-dog-shy beforehand, this had amped it up to nervous. “Another martini?”
“What?” Now he kind of looked frightened, but the fact my Jones-isms were having an effect was actually egging me on.
“A dirty martini.” I pouted.
“OK,” he squeaked. Minutes later I’d convinced Nice Tie to join me at the bar after his friends had recognized the potential for him to get laid, and disappeared. I waxed lyrical about being in PR (“publicity isn’t about who you know, it’s about who you screw” – yes, I said that), all while finding sexual innuendo in every comment either of us made. Channeling Samantha meant I found Nice Tie fascinating, funny and basically a huge turn-on. Even though I had no intention of taking anyone home, I was almost fooling myself into being attracted to him. After two more drinks (his shout) I made an excuse to leave, easily getting his phone number. Success oozed in every step as I strutted outside.
SAMANTHA SUCCESS: YES
BAR THREE Now well into my saucy character I decided not to bother waiting for the men-folk to come to me.
“Excuse me boys.” A table of no less than five guys looked up to find yours truly, hands on hips, smiling at them coquettishly through a coat of strawberry lip gloss. “I was supposed to meet a girlfriend for a drink but she’s just cancelled on me. Would you mind terribly if I…”
A second passed as the penny dropped. A chorus of instructions to sit down followed, and I began entertaining the two single guys of the group, as the other three watched on. I had to be less myself around these , feigning breathless excitement at talk of the new Batman movie (yawn) and an upcoming fishing trip (I’m a vegetarian). After a while I did start to feel like they viewed me as someone who was easy and thus a bit stupid – not exactly a turn-on – though you wouldn’t know it to look at me, and I left with yet another phone number. Overall it wasn’t hard to get my Samantha on, but frankly I was happy to take her off when I got home.
SAMANTHA SUCCESS: YES
What is it? A night spent like Sex and the City’s Samantha Jones.
What does it claim? Uninhibited sexual confidence and plenty of flirtatious fun.
The cost? Two martinis, then the drinks are on the boys.