A Beta Male’s Letter to Penthouse

Hotel Bar

Photo by olliethebastard

Dear Penthouse Forum,

I never thought I’d be writing to you, but my story is just too hot to go untold. And when I say “hot”, I mean hot. We’re talking Bridges of Madison County hot!

I don’t ordinarily go to bars, nor do I attempt to solicit beautiful women apart from that time I got a retweet from Felicia Day. Nevertheless, there I was, out of the blue, having a Kiwi Sangria in a local pub. You only live once, right?

And that’s when I saw her. A dark-haired, long-legged beauty posing with her back arched against the bar. She was like some erotic warrior queen out of Heavy Metal magazine — except she was holding an Appletini and wasn’t mounting a giant were-bat.

Our eyes met, but I couldn’t bring myself to go talk to her. I didn’t want to appear like every other guy who goes to a bar and, you know… enjoys talking to women. Besides, I’ve found that it’s always best to let the woman make the first move. This allows her to set the pace, and invariably allows me to get a good night’s sleep.

Well, my quiet, manly impotence must have hit her like a thunderbolt, because she soon sauntered my way. “Buy me a drink,” she said. What luck! Here was my chance to score big points by showing her A.) I have money, and B.) I’m subservient. Eat your heart out, Justin Timberlake!

As the night went on, I was clearly winning her over. I knew things were going really well when she asked me to hold her purse so she could hit the dance floor. As I watched her grinding her body up against other men on the dance floor, I imagined I was one of them. I became so excited I had to take a few hits from my inhaler. People would walk by and see me standing there holding a woman’s purse, and they’d smile and chuckle to themselves. Oh yeah. They knew what kind of a wild night I was in for!

Forty-five minutes later she said, “Okay, Action Jackson. I’m going home.” I handed back her purse and asked if anything was wrong. She said no. Then I said, “Well, can I… uh…” I couldn’t get the words out, but she knew what I wanted. “Sure, why not,” she said. “Come back to my place, stud.”

Let me tell you… we stayed up aaallll night long, the two of us, sprawled out on her sofa, overcome by our emotions, as we watched The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. And as you can probably imagine, this led to several more hours of heated passion between us — debating which was the better of the Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan matchups.

But the best part came at the end of the night. She held my face gently in her hands, looked deep into my eyes and said, “Let’s be friends.”


Step one in my plan to win her heart was now complete. It was only a matter of time before she would succumb to step two: consoling her as she tells me her relationship problems with other men.

She will be mine. Oh yes… she will be mine…

— D.A., Sheyboygan, WI.

Categories: Satire
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