Well, yes. But they are not the raging inferno of love that was promised to us in the pages of Fanny Hill, either. Merely presenting a girl with one will not necessarily make her swoon with desire.
Well, yeah, and if he was offering to pay.
"Squirt some yuck on ya for a cigarette."
OK, I didn’t actually field that line (I’m a straight male), but I did hear it used once.
OK, I didn’t actually hear it used once… it was a line from a short screenplay I wrote about men failing with their ineffective pick-up lines. That one was pretty ineffective.
Just thought I’d share.
A friend of mine had some good ones laid on her while she bartended. Her favorite? A very drunk man plopped down on a barstool and told her that her eyes were like wrenches. Cause when she looks at him, his nuts tighten up.
This is more tacky than gross, but it stands out in my memory. On 9/11, I was working in the World Trade Center. A few days later, I was talking with my downstairs neighbor, who was a college friend of mine. I was wearing my bathrobe, though I don’t recall the time of day. Could have been any time. He offered me a comforting, friendly hug… and then tried to kiss me. Um, no.
“Want a blowjob?”
Sadly, it was said by a guy.
Not words so much as actions. The guy just put his hand on my crotch. I pulled it away. He put it back. I pulled it away again, and gave him a firm “Dude, don’t!” Then we spent another hour or so talking.
Good ol’ EtoH.
Yeah, I didn’t include offers essentially commercial in nature when I was thinking of these.
I remember being oh-so-proud of my new BMW. I had just gotten it after switching jobs, leaving behind the underpaid PD world for a life of glamour (and being single with no dependents, I indulged myself a bit…)
So I’m in my new car, shiny and fresh, less than 50 miles on the clock, and I’m waiting at a light… and this hot girl on the street looks at me and smiles seductively and says “Nice car!”
I grinned and said thanks, thinking to myself, “Yup, the babe magnet is starting already!”
Then she follows it up with, “You want a date?” And then it hit me – I was on 11th Street in DC, a well-known hooker stroll… and I took a second look at the hot girl and realized what was going on, started shaking my head no with the smile frozen, and she said, “I’ll suck your cock like you never had it sucked before!”
No regrets on passing that offer up.
My brother, a friend of mine and I were drinking in a sleazy bar in Tijuana. A totally naked woman walked over and sat down in my brother’s lap. All she said was, “lets talk price.”
My brother declined.
I’m even more astounded by the men who apparently honestly think that this is seductive and will actually cause you to have sex with them. Men who are sober and not obviously crazy, even.
What surprises me is how many of these stories in this thread are about women doing the gross come-on.
Not even curious how much she was willing to pay? 
Probably the gay guy at a party who comes up to me and says “Why don’t you suck my dick?” I declined his offer; but he was pretty insistent. He followed me around for the remainder of the evening and propositioned me repeatedly 'til I offered to beat him into a coma. I did try to make it clear that the beating was going to be for his being a clueless, obnoxious asshole, not for being gay.
My brother generally has a quick wit, but he was so surprised to have a naked woman suddenly sit in his lap that his wit failed him. Besides, it was a pretty rough place, and I don’t think they had a sense of humor. (Things kind of went downhill from there.)
I don’t think it’s that so much as, they think they can get away with a quick feel under the guise of “hitting on” someone.
This one wasn’t so much about what she said as what she did: at a party after a music festival once, a very drunk girl attempted to drag me behind some bushes into an alley alongside the house as she drunkenly insisted she “had something to show me.” This wasn’t a gentle escort, she had hold of my arm with both hands, her heels dug in, and was really putting her back into it, like she was playing tug-of-war for money. Despite my best efforts and protestations, she was really making some progress.
A woman at a party at a hotel (well, actually, she crashed the party, which explains something,) once slinked up to me and started to embrace me but then shoved her finger in a very uncomfortable place. This amongst her other flirty/molesty antics with other guys there caused us to not let anyone from her organization into our party room for the rest of the party (not that we had let her in in the first place.)
The times I was groped or otherwise physically assaulted are all tied for worst.
In terms of a purely verbal come on, the worst was one time in grad school when I went out with some friends after class. For some reason I got to the bar a few minutes later than my classmates, and found that they were politely humoring a couple of sleazy, thuggish looking guys who’d bought them a pitcher. I thought “I’d have refused the pitcher rather than put up with these creeps.”
It did not take long for my suspicions to be proven correct. I’d only been there a few minutes when one of these guys got up to go to the bar. As he passed me he leaned over and whispered in my ear. I was too horrified and disgusted to remember his exact words, but they were to the effect that he was sure I was “deep” enough to accommodate his no doubt enormous penis.
As you may imagine, this completely failed to persuade me to allow him to test his hypothesis. While he was at the bar I said goodbye to my friends and left.
Wise man. Her pimp was en route with a tube of molybdenum paste and a Shop-Vac.
I was eighteen, and just a few days past my high school graduation. I was stopped at a traffic light, and convertible full of giggling, pretty, twenty-something women pulled up next to me. The closest one held out a key with a tag saying Indiana Motel, and she asked, “Wanna make a baby?” The Indiana Motel, by the way, was our town’s best-known whorehouse.
The light changed. I said, “Not today,” and I left. At the time, I was nearly as preoccupied with not making a baby as I was with getting laid. I’ll never know why four professionals were out trawling for high school boys. If she had asked in a different way, would I have been less spooked? I’ll never know that, either.
My regrets about that day are mostly about not have something more witty to say, not about failing to hire them.