Why does this always happen to me?
As of last Thursday I’ve been with 22 sex partners. I was a little hesitant about sharing this number with you, because I feel like people do judge you based on your number. Remember that movie “What’s your number”? It’s a ridiculously stupid chick flick, but it kind of proves my point.
However, since I always share my personal details with you guys, I figured that was the next step in our virtual relationship! I’m thirty and two of my longest relationships were a year each, so I suppose it’s not very surprising that my number added up so fast. It’s ironic – I hardly have sex back in Canada. In fact, my apartment has been man-free ever since I rented it (a year and a half ago) and the last time I had sex, I was in Argentina – and if you read it and remember the story: it was bad. So, when I’m back at home, I approach dating way more seriously. And if I miraculously meet someone I like (which happens rarely in this impersonal city), I wait it out before I have sex. But of course, nine times out of ten we never even get there. Nor do I want to.
Ever since coming from Argentina I briefly dated a Russian guy who then disappeared into thin air and reappeared on Facebook with photos of his fake-assed, fake-titted Colombian girlfriend. And there was an English guy who was amazing, but who I barely any physical attraction with. And of course, the French guy from my past story who simply disappeared when I didn’t have sex with him… So out of complete and utter boredom, I was beginning to develop feelings for my hot Brazilian student, who unfortunately had little topics other than his love of the gym and eating tuna to stay in shape. After I dragged him to a bar for language practice and spent the night correcting his English, I realized I was getting desperate. Out of a lack of options, I exploiting my workplace now.
The next day I was supposed to meet Emilio, a friend of mine with whom we recently drifted apart. He told me he had the ‘perfect specimen’ for my international web-series who just came from Switzerland. Since I never interview random Europeans for my channel, I figured it was a set up. Emilio was sarcastic and constantly poked fun at my love of European and Latin men, so I expected he would bring someone attractive. Or I hoped.
I dressed casually in jeans and white tennis shoes and went to meet them by the lake. As soon as I hugged Emilio, I saw what I can only describe as the ‘most European guy I have seen in a while.’ Bright blond hair with some sort of Avicii type haircut, big light blue eyes, full lips, very tall. I guess if I lived in Scandinavia I would most likely be completely desensitized to this, but as a girl who loves everything European and lives in North America, I practically salivated over him. He represented to me everything that I craved.
He confidently introduced himself as Frederic and I think I put on my interviewer mode, which is what I do when I am nervous and into someone. I was very conscious of being interested but for some reason I was picking the worst things to say to this guy. I started saying the Germans made fun of the Swiss accent, out of all things. Then I told him Switzerland must be boring as hell. Why can’t I just be the girl that smiles sweetly, listens and looks extremely feminine? Why do I need to dominate every conversation with my ‘world knowledge’ and wit?
We met a few more friends and began walking in search of bars. I had to get up early next day for a school BBQ, but I was too interested in this guy to go home. And of course, shall I say it yet again? He was leaving in a day. Damn that. Frederic looked a bit younger, but he made a deal of telling people he was 26. It wasn’t my age, but I suppose it was old enough. By that, I mean – I never meet guys my age that I’m actually attracted to. When I do, it’s a cause for real celebration.
He was very flirtatious. If I could say one thing about Swiss-Germans is that they are a strange lot. Mostly I found them to be aggressive, kinky and very sexual, so it was interesting that Frederic was also very forward. At first we walked side by side talking, but soon enough he began touching me with a certain ease, sending me prolonged looks full of meaning and acting like he just arrived on some Italian boat of seduction.
“Your friend must do this a lot, huh?” I light-heartedly asked Emilio, trying to be casual, but actually really hoping he would say no. “You would be surprised actually.” Emilio answered with a shrug, showing me it was indeed a no. That lifted my spirits up immensely and I agreed to go dance with Frederic as soon as he asked me at the bar. Man, I can’t even remember the last time a cute guy asked me to go dance in this city. It’s such a rare and wonderful feeling. We walked out on the empty dance floor and awkwardly danced to horrible R’n’B oldies.
“I would like to kiss you” he told me with no hesitation. He said it genuinely, with no fear of rejection, in such a lighthearted manner that I gaped at him in awe. How was this person Swiss? I loved that he was so forward. In a city where everyone is constantly scared of appearing too invested, too interested, too vulnerable here was Frederic who wanted to kiss me and didn’t try to hide it. It was playful, it was easy, and of course I wanted to kiss him too but I answered “Not during this horrible music” and softly pushed him away.
We went back to drink and then as the music changed, he led me on the dance floor again. No less empty, at least the music was beginning to sound somewhat romantic. They were playing some weird mix of Titanium, but it was a step above Get Low by Lil Jon. We gave each other a few prolonged, awkward stares and then he took my face in his and kissed me. I thought “what the hell” and kissed him back. Relieved, he smiled and said “And now, we can dance!”
As we left the bar in search of another place, Emilio and my other friend told us the directions and asked us to meet them at the next place. As they drove away, we stood on the sidewalk for a split second before he took my face into his hands and began kissing me. Moments later we were up against some wall right in the midst of nightlife, making out like we were in high school. Even the police drove up and told us to get a room. Then they just sat in the car laughing. People passed by us staring at us, but I didn’t care. I don’t feel that young, spontaneous and carefree often so I enjoyed the feeling of standing against some wall and just kissing.
But he was set on going to my place. And I wasn’t planning on inviting him over. Like a very good salesman, Frederic wouldn’t give up. I think we went back and forth for two hours, but my mind was set.
“Look” I finally told him the truth. “I just don’t like the one-night stand thing. I don’t want to feel used. It’s not a pleasant feeling.”
It seemed as if he liked my honesty. “I will tell you the truth” he said “I didn’t like you when I met you.”
“That’s definitely helping.”
“No, really” he looked at me seriously. “You kept on asking me all these questions interview style.. I wasn’t interested. But when we got to the bar and I got to know you a little, all of a sudden that changed. By the way, I’ve never had a one-night stand either.”
Come on! He is bullshitting you – you are all thinking. I will admit, his approach was very flirty, very easy and reminded me of someone who was used to getting women. I mean he sang me the song “I feel so close to you right now” as were left behind the other group. I sang back: “When I met you in the summer..” (to keep in the theme of Calvin Harris songs)
But, the one thing that I love, absolutely love about Germans and Swiss-Germans (and Austrians, I suppose) is their ability to tell the truth. The cold, hard, bitter truth. I prefer that over hearing a bunch of lines anytime. Like a quality Swiss watch, this guy just had to be trusted. And I haven’t had sex since March.
“I have a two day rule” I told him. Actually, it used to be a three day rule, then turned into “the last day of the days we have together before one of us ultimately leaves” rule.
He stepped back. “That makes you very unattractive” with his soft German accent making the last word into ‘unatractif’.
“Why?” I couldn’t understand how having rules made me ‘unatractif’.
Later he told me he thought the rule implied not sleeping with two guys in a row. Like I needed a day of rest or something. When I told him it’s been quite a while for me, he was ecstatic. Finally he took my hand and led me down a path where we climbed over some fence and proceeded to do I don’t know what. At this point I realized I might as well just invite him over to my house. Whatever this was, it wasn’t much better than a one-night stand. And what was I loosing exactly? This was the most excitement I have felt in a while.
We took a taxi over and I rapidly cleaned my mess while he stood outside the door. I mean, how would I know a live man would come into my house on a Thursday? On top of it all I have books like “Fifty Shades of Grey” and “Why Men Love Bitches” on full display.
He was so nervous, he went soft soon after we started. What is it with me? Either I am so sexy men get intimidated or I’m that unattractive they can’t get excited. After Fran in Argentina and his initial softness, I was starting to sense a pattern. But strangely enough I kind of liked it. It showed me that he was just as nervous about it as I was and it somehow brought me closer to him. I told him it was absolutely fine and instantly relieved he enveloped me in his arms and kissed me with fervor. He couldn’t get enough of me. I couldn’t get enough of him. We hugged each other close and ended up cuddling for the longest time. Before we fell asleep we ran out of condoms, and when I woke up early on next morning all I saw were those big blue eyes staring at me counting down the minutes until Drug Mart opened. He didn’t take his hands off of me the whole night. Before I went to work, we took a shower together, washing each other’s hair. This no longer seemed like any kind of stand.
This night instead of sporting jeans and tennis shoes, I made sure to dress up in a red dress and heels. When we met by the water, he couldn’t get enough of how I looked saying “wow” every minute or so and kissing me. We watched the fireworks on the bridge and held hands.
“You know, when we took a shower today.. it almost felt like we were a couple.” He focused his eyes on me. “I don’t want to scare you..”
“No, you are not scaring me” I told him.
He was doing the opposite actually. We stopped by to say hi to Emilio and a few other guy friends of mine, who were the witnesses of our quick romance the other night. We were welcomed by clapping in unison. “You look so radiant” one of my guy friends mentioned and I really felt it.
After we took off, we sat on the dark beach talking. He was telling me he was thinking of studying to be a doctor, even though he just finished an engineering degree. Something about it didn’t add up though. I mean, at 26 he should have already started working, not just finished university. When I asked him about when he was turning 27, he told me “Age is just a number” which could have meant it didn’t matter, but it got my wheels spinning.
Sex that night lasted for ages. Rather, it started out hot and passionate, then very close, and by the end (about 2 hours later) we started having a regular conversation both falling asleep and laughing from the ridiculousness of it all. At one point he looked down at me and said: “You are so beautiful. You know, I really like you Mia”
“I really like you too.”
It’s not that the sex was the best of my life, but during this night and this morning, the bed had become our world as we talked, had sex, cuddled, moved around, laughed, had sex… over and over and over again as some strange continuous motion, our hands never leaving each other. I imitated German accent, he tried Indian accent that sounded like he just hit puberty and made me burst out laughing. As usual, with some of my long distance flings I started feeling a connection. And of course, then I began thinking “Maybe it could work.” He had invited me to New York as he was still traveling around North America until September. Maybe it was the beginning of something? But that nagging thought didn’t leave me.
“Frederic. Can I ask you question?”
“Mhmm” he looked at the ceiling.
“Are you 26?” I held my breath.
“Age is just a number, Mia” he repeated.
“Just how old are you?”
Maybe he was just playing with me. I mean, he did say he was 26. He knew I was 30. My friend Emilio was 34.
He grew quiet clearly debating telling me or not.
“I’m 22. Almost 23” he finally said.
I covered my head in my hands and uttered “Oh my God!”
“But come on. Does this really matter?”
“Yes! Of course it does! I am a pedophile!”
He lay there scared to hug me.
“But this doesn’t change anything. I mean, I’m the same guy”
“Yes. I but thought you were 26.”
“But what does it matter? I mean, it’s a fling, isn’t it?” he asked, crushing something inside of me. Not only was I attracted to younger guys, but I was actually considering having something more with him just a few minutes ago. Now all of these illusions made me feel even more pathetic. Just how old was I?
He was mature.. for his age. But now that I looked him over – he did look younger. Young, blond – the European type guy that goes to Avicii concerts and stays in hostels. The guy that I’ve always wanted to have when I was younger and never met. Was I making up for some sort of lost time?
“So when you say I’m the best you have had, how many were there? Two?” I probed.
“Well, there can’t be two. I mean I told you I had my girlfriend and I was dating a girl in the USA. And you”
“Three?” I exclaimed.
“Four girls” I muttered to myself. “Oh God.”
Of course, it was all ‘wow’ and ‘this is amazing!’ and ‘I can’t get enough of your body’. If I could pinpoint the time my subconsciousness was yelling at me to give him another look was when I was on top of him during sex.He was grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat.
“How many did you have?” he asked me back.
“I’m not gonna tell you.”
“I’m not gonna think you are a slut, don’t worry. Was it 22?”
I turned around so quickly, there was no way to cover it up now. “How did you guess?”
“I just named my age, that’s all” he smiled. “And when did you lose your virginity?”
“When I was 22” I muttered. Apparently this was my lucky or most likely cursed number.
“On vacation?” he asked innocently. Did this guy have access to this blog or something?
I still liked him. Hell, I was still naked in bed with him. But now, I didn’t know what to do. He was still the same guy that I got along with so well, but I was concerned about myself. I was becoming that woman. A puma.
Once, when I was in Miami I met a what seemed to be a 38 year old woman: long hair with a very weathered look, who would spend hours in a bar flirting with an Italian bartender. At the end, she picked up a young Australian guy who was so thrilled about the prospect of getting laid he didn’t care how old she was. That evening, I quickly kissed some guy in a club. On the way out, he went to join his friends and I remember her turning to me and telling me to go after him if I wanted to ‘get laid’. I promised myself – I would never, ever become that desperate woman. I would save my dignity and integrity and never chase men, especially young men, just to get a sense of validation.
I didn’t feel the age gap with him, but I was much, much older. Eight years ago, I lost my virginity and he barely hit puberty. And that doesn’t even say much considering I lost my virginity very late.
We slept one hour only because I forced him to. He was ready to stay up all night, praising my body and jumping on me.. oh the stamina, but I was dead. Finally, an hour later, he got up like a zombie, but still tried one last time. Then he dozed off holding me, almost missing his bus to Montreal.
You would think I would no longer talk to him? Yet, not a day has gone by that we haven’t engaged in long conversations over Whatsapp. Sure, this is completely and utterly pointless, but I just can’t lose him yet. He tells me he misses me, that he thinks about me, that age doesn’t matter. But it does.
Yet, while we get older and let our past experiences get to us, as we lack the courage
or the interest in putting ourselves out there, as the novelty of certain feelings wears off and as we start yawning at 10pm because we would rather be in bed than attending some party, I think we need to revert back to our 22 year old self. (In my case, my 25 year old self as my 22 year old self was scared of everything)
The zest for life. The ability to be vulnerable without any guards up. To say what is on our mind. Not to behave in a certain way because we feel it is expected. To actually go after someone and let them know it. To risk looking unatractif. To look at someone and tell them you want to kiss them. I mean if you do, why not just state it? You might just disarm someone.
How many sex partners have you had?
*To add onto this story – Frederick ended up coming back to stay with me for a week only to postpone his ticket 5 times for a total of 2 months. Was I stupid to let him stay knowing we had no future? I suppose I was, but I missed the companionship of a man and with him, I could finally feel I was with someone. The first time he considered extending, I put up a fight saying he could only stay a week more. I knew I was losing time with him, yet the longer he stayed, the more I got used to him. I wanted him to leave so I could finally focus on something serious yet I was scared of being alone once again. He told me he loved me a few weeks into it and I didn’t say it back. I didn’t believe him, really. I knew he was in love with an idea of love, with his experiences, but not with me as a person. Another few weeks into our so called relationship, I lost my job and we ended up going to Cuba on a vacation before he would leave back home. And yet, he ended up staying 3 weeks more and I let him. Finally, there was no more postponing medical school and by this time, we began fighting more and more regularly. I was upset about him leaving, but I also knew that even if he had been my age, I doubt I would have wanted a serious relationship with him. We both cried at the airport, but at the bottom of my heart, I was actually relieved. For weeks, I missed the empty space next to me in bed, but I didn’t miss him, really. I missed having someone near me. We stayed in contact for a few months, and at the end we stopped. He hasn’t written to me in a month now and though it definitely hurts, I stopped thinking about him to the point where it doesn’t matter much. Oh, and by the way, he has access to this blog, so should he read this.. well, he might as well find out.