Good Boy, Bad Boy (2015) – Part 2

Bad Boy


The city of Cordoba finally came into view. It has been 20 hours on the bus from the North of Argentina but there is no better feeling than heading to see someone you like; every minute, every hour bringing you closer to where they are.

I must admit: I hoped I would meet someone else. Yes, I liked Fran, and yes, we had some sort of weird connection, but he would never be someone I would end up with. He spoke no English. He had never had a girlfriend. He wasn’t a real gentleman. I would never trust him to be faithful to me. There were many things that I just couldn’t and wouldn’t tolerate. When I pictured my perfect guy, I didn’t see him in my head. If I had met someone else, I would have probably reconsidered this trip. After all, I was heading to see someone I had no future with. There were two choices: either we would end up fighting and what we had before would be ruined by this new memory or I would get so close to him it would be more painful leaving. Neither of these seemed like a good option.

Yet, here I was – on the bus, knowing all this and also knowing that I wanted to see him. These two weeks, he was all I thought about. What’s more, he became a kind of friend too. He wanted to know everything about my trip. He wanted to help me with my new video. Our conversations kept me glued to the screen when I should have been out meeting new people, yet, he was the one I yearned to talk to.


“Che boluda! Como andas?”

I felt and looked horrendous, after our two sleepless night when I was attacked by bedbugs in the little village close to Bolivia. There was no way I was staying with him as he suggested I do. The other reason I was scared of staying with him is that now there would be no way for me to look independent. He would get used to my presence and no longer be scared to lose me. As I said, I seemed to care too much about how this guy felt.

So my German friend and an amazing confidante Tina (poor girl!) and I ended up booking a hostel in the center of the city. We finally took a shower, and I texted Fran to let him know I have arrived, but he was at the river outside of the city which put a bit of a dumper on my day. Why did he leave the city when he knew I was coming? After we returned to the hostel from fruitless shopping, I got a message from him offering to grab some food. Since I just ate, I offered to go drink something with Tina, his cousin and I. However, he didn’t reply for an hour. So this was it, I said to my friend, now that I was here he is no longer interested. I lay on the upper bunk miserably unable to do anything else but talk about him, tap my foot and check my phone every two seconds.

When he did reply, he was cold and told me if I wanted to go to a bar, I should just do it. I didn’t want to play these games. I want to see you, I told him. As soon as I did, he offered to drive back to Cordoba.

“Mia, please just say yes. You will kill yourself if you don’t” – told me my poor friend who has been listening to stories of Fran for weeks now.

I could hear his voice before I saw him. His strong Cordobes accent asking for me. His sun-tanned face grinning at me with the happiness of a child where I again tried to play it cool.

In the car, he explained the situation:

“I didn’t know what you wanted! I thought you were staying with me and then you switched to a hostel! You told me you were tired so I thought you wanted to sleep, but you offered to go to a bar with some other people. “

He took my face in his hands and kissed me. Just like that we were back in Mendoza.

That night after spending some time in the bar, mostly staring at each other, I went to his place – a high condo tower in an island of towers.

We spent the night together and he drove me to the hostel the following day, both of us dead from the night before. I ran back to tell Tina about my night, and slept for one hour before receiving a text from him asking me if I wanted to go to a city on the lake with him. He had to go for work and I would accompany him there. I was dead tired, but the thought of spending the day with him on the lake sounded great.

Mostly I had to accompany him to different places as he went about his job, so granted, I was bored out of my mind. There were many negative things about Fran that definitely outweighed the positive. On the walk, I talked about some guy, possibly trying to make him jealous though I can’t quite remember. All I remember is he suddenly decided it was a good idea to begin flirting with the girls at the “information” booth.

“You are obviously trying to make me jealous” I pointed out.

“Just trying to show you it can be done so easily.” He grinned mischievously.


Carlos Paz

He would kiss me and grab my hand, then withdraw and not crack a smile for a while. When he was like this I didn’t bother trying to play clown and entertain him. He wanted to be like this? I would do the same.

As we sat in the car, he grabbed a bit of fat under my tricep with a playful smile on his face. I did the girly thing and tried to hit him, but the truth is it didn’t infuriate me. I knew what he was after. He enjoyed the push and pull of our temporary relationship. He enjoyed playing around. There was a certain element of sexual tension created by that though I will agree – it is not a healthy one. But as he grabbed me and I hit him, the more I hit him, the more he enveloped me, with me wanting him right there. I think it was the element of dominance present in all our interaction and that was the other thing that kept me wanting him over and over again. He was not nice.

That evening, I checked out of the hostel and moved into his place.

“You know what” He told me as we lay in bed “I am constantly aware that you are gonna leave soon and it keeps me hanging.”

Sleeping with him every night, I grew close to him. The sex that started out so terrible, has now evolved rapidly. I loved the smell of him, the imperfections he had, his soft lips, his eyes as he looked at me, the way he touched me – both sensually and possessively. The way he tried to make sure I would get an orgasm (as it is really difficult for me), almost going so far as to organize a daily ‘activity’ so that I would feel comfortable with him. The selfishness he possessed in daily life was replaced to utter selflessness when it came to pleasing me. He would completely forget his needs just to focus on me. I think again, it was his love of challenge that also drove this need. Either way, I began feeling so connected, that when he would wake up to head to work, kissing me and cuddling close to me before he put on his work clothes, I would feel completely and utterly alone, missing him immensely. The loud lock of the door was always somehow a reminder that this, whatever it was, would end really soon.bed,bw,coupling,dontwakemeup,love,sleep-930e8c23bd4b9c852ed236ced6a5b3ca_h

He began calling me “his woman” after I cleaned up the house and cooked a meal the first day of our “life together”. Of course, the chicken didn’t seem edible to him, and I might agree it wasn’t amazing, but he was a complete machista when it came to certain things. In real life, I doubt I would have survived one day being married to him.

He would do certain things that drove me crazy. As we went out one night, I remember, he poured beer first to his cousin, then to himself and only then to me. I stared at him straight in the eyes:

“You have no manners.”

He ended up apologizing right away, enjoying my lack of tolerance. I didn’t talk to him after, a twisted enjoyment of a certain argument that would lead to makeup sex. And yes, that night, as we came back he lifted me up and carried me to bed. It seemed like he couldn’t wait long enough to undress me.

The other day, as we met in the center, he told me I was beautiful then shut down and walked around grumpy.  The final straw came when we approached the car and called out to me like I was a cat.

“Do not call me like I’m an animal” I told him calmly with a strong edge to my voice. I was always careful to put my words simply (not hard since Spanish is not my first language) and be angry instead of wailing like a woman. Again, I ignored him in the car and he threw many looks my way.

As we got out, he kissed me softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Of course you are. You know exactly what you are doing.”
“I guess I am” He admitted.

“You like me getting mad, don’t you?”

“In a way I do.” He smiled. “I mean, that means you have your own rules, that you won’t take crap from me.” He didn’t want to push it far enough, but he definitely enjoyed the sexual tension, the certain drama that established attraction. Shouldn’t you already have attraction? Would ask most of you. Yes, we should have. We shouldn’t have played games, but Argentina is a country of games, the game of power and a certain part of me enjoyed it.

And the funniest thing is that even through all of this, he never truly pissed me off. While many nice guys I have dated in the past irked me so much, I would start arguments myself. I explained this strange phenomenon to him after his little argument. We loved discussing little psychological things like that.

“Exactly!” he exclaimed. “You see what I mean? When someone is too nice, you take advantage of them. It starts to get boring”

Did he try to make me jealous? I must say, Cordoba is a city of beautiful women and while you are always aware that there is someone gorgeous in front of you, you must not let it show. On Friday, we headed to his cousin’s condo for some pre-drinking. As the main character of my new video on a single guy in the city,  Alex, his cousin decided to invite two girlfriends of his. One, Laura was gorgeous. I mean, as soon as I saw her my heart dropped.

I was aware that he was observing her and at the same time conscious of my reaction. This was the moment I would not show any kind of jealousy. After a few moments of feeling a bit uncomfortable, I turned the situation around. I focused my attention on her and began telling stories about my experiences. Soon enough, everyone at the table tuned into my story. With all this attention energizing me, I glowed as I talked. I could see his face as he observed me. He found me the most interesting person there, it was clear.

His cousin struggled to find a girl in the club, and as he called one girl after another at six in the morning, Fran exchanged a look with me that said “poor guy. Thank God we are together.”

“You know what is weird” He told me the next day “I always look for something else. I go to a club and search for the prettier and the other… but with you, I only had eyes for you.”eye

Weird? You might ask. What kind of effing compliment is that? Of course he should have eyes only for you. He has just started seeing you and on top of it all, you are leaving. And yes, you are right. Of course it’s a ridiculous compliment. But it was an honest one. Fran was a player. And him saying he could see no one but me said a lot.

I could feel he was falling for me. It was the fact that I was still this independent girl that would leave, travel by herself. It was the fact that I wasn’t from there. And the fact that as opposites, we still somehow clicked.

The last night, he enveloped me in his arms.

“I love how your passion for what you do makes you glow. You are so special to me.”

That morning I cried. I took out the old sarcastic letter I wrote to him, turned it over and wrote another letter.


Best buses in the world!

He was at the station wearing a yellow dress shirt. I had tears building up in my throat and couldn’t wait to get on the bus so I could finally let them out. Those final minutes before you know you will never see this person again are the worst to bear. As much as you want, you can’t breathe enough of them. You want to hurry up time and just leave as it is more painful waiting it out, finding words to say. Nothing meaningful comes out anyways. He slowly kissed me goodbye, taking time to read me for the final time with his eyes.

“I’m really sad, Mia” he told me. “I will miss my little wife.”

With one final smile I got on the bus. I sat like that, looking at him through the dark windshield. A fountain of tears he wouldn’t see poured down my face. Suddenly the bus began moving back and all I remember is him smoking and looking at me driving away. An unexpected wave of pain covered me. I never thought I would get as addicted to him as I did. Driving away from Cordoba I couldn’t stop my tears. It rained the whole night. I cried most of the night until I finally tuned out and fell asleep. I felt so extremely alone. After a week of sleeping in his bed, inhaling his clean smell, his stubble against my skin  I was now completely and utterly single.

Why was I putting myself in the same situation time and time again? Was I some sort of masochist, addicted to the finality of all my romances? I yearned just to have a boyfriend. Someone I didn’t have to say bye to, someone I could travel with and not from.

“I just read your letter” came the text “I feel so much emotion. I have no words. It was weird sleeping without you. No one woke me up because it was cold”


Carnaval en La Pedrera

I was now in Uruguay, surrounded by beautiful Argentinian and Uruguayan men. It is not often you see so many bronzed, hot men in one spot, but here I was for the carnival. I finally distracted myself, yet sometimes the pang would come unexpectedly. I thought it would all be gone by now. Yes, I liked him, but the truth is there was nothing special about him. I doubt I would have noticed him among this football team of men.

“There is no point to any of it” we both wrote to each other.

“Actually” he texted “we shouldn’t even be talking by now”

“I agree” I said. “But I’m not sure I can just stop like that”

That night he sent me a voice message telling me nothing in particular, but that nothing in particular told me he missed me. I cried listening to it.

“You confused me” he wrote next time “I don’t know what to do anymore. I miss you. I want to travel with you.”

“You want to travel with me?” I asked “You can’t even come to Buenos Aires to visit me.”

I took a bus to Iguazu falls, then came back through Buenos Aires to stay on the seaside city of Mar del Plata when he texted me he might be coming to Buenos Aires in one day. Sure I wanted to see him, but changing my plans just to see him one more day before I had to leave the country for good seemed like it would cause me more grief than happiness.

Next day, when I finally decided that I did in fact want to come back, he told me it was too late. The chance to come to the city has come and gone. The next morning I woke up feeling empty and missing him with a great ache in my body. How was I still feeling this? It was not possible. It was the fact that he was now distant from me. The regularity of our whatsapp messages: photos, nicknames, voice clips have started to diminish.  I could visualize him going out to a club and picking up women, having sex with them in the same bed we shared. It was a painful visualization.

It was now me initiating most of the conversations. Yet, he still wanted to see me. He begged me to come over, saying we had a week left and could be together that one week. I just couldn’t imagine myself spending my last week bored out of my mind in his condo, waiting for him to come home from work. I wasn’t a housewife. I couldn’t imagine myself doing the exact same thing, of being with him, with now a more painful thought – I had to leave right after. Before, I still had plans ahead of me: travels, people and now there would be nothing else left. I couldn’t say goodbye once more, knowing I would never see him again.

I offered a compromise of sorts – he takes 2 days off work and meets me somewhere in between. If he was willing to do that, it wouldn’t just be me doing what he wanted.

He didn’t bother to reply to this request.

Good Boy


La Plata

The night city of La Plata came into view from the window. Now I wasn’t excited or eager. I sat in the bus holding back tears each time I thought of Fran, with a feeling of nervousness and a big question in my mind: Why was I doing this again?

Alfie and I began talking two weeks before I had to leave back. I guessed it was my photos with Fran that didn’t make him too eager to write to me. So one day I wrote him, and then he started writing me and just like that, we re-established some sort of a connection.

I found Alfie attractive and sometimes even more interesting than Fran, but I wasn’t eager to see him. I wanted choice number 3 – not Fran, who would just hurt me, and not Alfie.

He lived near Buenos Aires, in La Plata and he invited me to come down for a couple of days. I started thinking about it. I knew he would offer me romance, some beauty during my final days in Argentina. We already knew each other. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. But what if being with him would be a constant comparison to Fran? The kisses, the looks, touch – it wasn’t him I wanted.

I guess I didn’t want to be alone those last days. But repeating the same old with Fran just didn’t feel like the right option.

Alfie jumped up when he saw me get off the bus. We kissed each other. He looked the same: boyish face, tall and built, less bronzed than on vacation. Our conversation was really easy. Actually it was way easier than it was with Fran. He kept on asking me questions, I joked around. Maybe this was a good idea after all.

He took me to a Tapas restaurant where we shared the tastiest plates of food I have tasted since coming here three months ago. Meat, potatoes, bread and empanadas really quickly lost their charm. I think I was starting to turn vegetarian.

“So, let me tell you where I went.” I talked on and on, knowing I had to explain the Fran situation right away. “From Mendoza I travelled up North and after that came down to Cordoba. You remember Francisco, right?”

Alfie nodded, an ironic smile on his tight face.

“Well, I met up with him. He’s actually kind of a friend now.” I added really quickly.

Alfie laughed. He didn’t believe me.

“What?” I looked at him. “He is. You saw photos of us, didn’t you?”

“I did. I was really surprised. I remember you told me nothing happened yet I was seeing you all over Facebook.”

“I get it. It must have been weird” I agreed, not knowing what else to say. Really, there was no need to explain it to him. It seemed like both of us knew that this, whatever it was, was second best to something else. Maybe it was an energy radiating from me. Maybe it was him. The point is, it was far, far different from the first night out in Cordoba with Fran.


Fifty shades of white

As we walked out on the street, Alfie grabbed me to him and kissed me passionately. Finally, it felt like we could let loose and get some sort of intimacy. Unfortunately, the rest was not so great.
His sister’s house was something out of 50 Shades of Grey: minimalist white and black, sparkling counters, huge spaces, enormous windows. As soon as we walked in he walked me to the sofa, pushed me on it and began undressing me. Moments later, I was against the wall as he excitedly rubbed himself all over me. Fran made very little sounds during sex, Alfie made way too many sounds. The groaning, the dominance, the “look at me” as we had sex, the disconnected look on his face all reminded me of a porn clip. It’s not that I felt cheap per ce, as he always made sure I was okay, and no, he did not use whips or hit me like the infamous movie, but it was zero enjoyment for me. There was a lack of intimacy, a lack of playfulness, a lack of sensuality that I experienced with Francisco. After we were done, I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom crying. I started considering going home the next day.

But as we lay in bed, him pressed up against me, I felt something for the boy. I mean, he was different than Fran, but I should enjoy the time with him as it was.

“If you have a diary” he told me later “Do you have a little space reserved for me?”

It seemed like he knew he was my second best and maybe that affected how this short trip ended.

The next day we spent at the pool, having an interesting conversation about everything in the world. We had so much more to talk about than I ever did with Fran, but missing was the flirtation and playfulness. He never touched or kissed me, but as we went upstairs we ended up having sex again. I was sure now – I wasn’t enjoying any of it.

He dropped me off to visit a girlfriend I met the same time in Mendoza ( who knew the whole story) and picked me up afterwards.

“Let’s watch a movie!” he suggested grinning to me as we drove back.

“Sure!” I exclaimed, feeling a little surge of emotion for him, this boy who I couldn’t really understand.

We lay down to watch the movie, my legs on his lap, but it was too long and he had to drop me off at the station at 6:30 am. A few hours in I told him I was tired.

“Do you want me to accompany you?” he asked, the gentleman he always was.

“However you feel” I answered, giving him a chance to step in. He had no problem telling me what to do in sex.

“I think I’ll finish it” he answered, resolutely.

I kissed him goodnight.

woman-crying21Fran would have continued it and we would have ended up having sex on the couch. Alfie did no such thing. Our kiss stopped short and I left across this empty house feeling equally vacant. I sat on the floor of the bedroom, crying once more. I didn’t want him. I didn’t want more porno sex with him. I wanted Fran, with his impish smile and his possessive touch. I wanted our messy bed, the messy sheets we changed together, falling asleep on his semi hairy chest, his puffed up lips in the morning.

I went to sleep alone and saw Alfie get into bed hours later. He knew I was awake yet didn’t kiss me goodnight or hug me to him.

“Do you maybe want to drop me off later?” I suggested in the early morning. I was dead tired and it would make little difference to him.

“No, it’s better we go now” he said firmly.

We talked about nothing in particular and kissed quickly at the end. There were no more beautiful words from him.

He did write to me when I returned to Canada but his texts no longer included ‘kisses’ or ‘hugs’ at the end. Whatever started out as warm, has finished with polite pleasantness. A girlfriend of mine looked at his face in one of my videos and said “But he’s cold, Mia. He’s impassive and emotionless.” I agree that this boy who seemed “good”, “romantic” and a “gentleman” now seems to me troubled and withdrawn.

And do you think Fran with whom I shared a bit of history acted any different? I was flying through the Chilean airport when I finally had a chance to connect my phone. He knew when I was leaving and yet, never had the decency to write me a goodbye text. Hurt, I told him so. He offered me an excuse of thinking of me and wanting to text me, but it was clear this, whatever we had, whatever connection we shared has extinguished.

This pendejo (asshole), as I called him warmly, who seemed my imperfect, sometimes irritating ‘bad boy’… yet someone who constantly inquired about my day, my plans.. who seemed part of my life there in Argentina, has proved to be just that – an asshole. A boludo. A selfish guy who, after not getting to see me again, decided it was not even worth it to inquire about me. To send one sentence. One word.CheBoludoLogo

Now, writing this I am hurt. Editing his cousin’s video, I see his stupid, regular face and want to cry. I know this will pass. I know that a memory of him is the memory of my world in Argentina, of a life I will never experience. I know that his city stands somewhere, his apartment still the way it was when I last saw it, his clothes scattered all over the chair. And yet, while that apartment stands, I am here – miles away from him.MapaArgentinaCanada

Good guy, bad guy. It is the person you find a connection with. And when you do, they are your guy. And that’s the best feeling in the world.

PS. And then Fran and I found contact again.


Good Boy, Bad Boy (2015)

The story of my fling with two Argentinian guys and one connection that is hard to explain.

dating“Hey, Canadian!” He yelled to me mischievously in Spanish as he sprinted up the stairs of our hostel. I smiled to myself. This guy was exactly the type of Argentinian that was fun, easy going and a bit of a player.

I have arrived to Mendoza, the wine region of Argentina a few days ago, from Buenos Aires. I loved the feeling of the small city, surrounded by mountains and my hostel – a little resort with a pool in the middle. I turned thirty exactly one day ago and though I have to admit I did cry on the eve of my birthday, consoled by a thirty one year old Argentinian girl, the day I actually turned thirty – I felt like finally there was nothing to dread. The day I dreaded to change my life came and went and I was still the same. And that I was actually doing what I wanted. I’ve always had an incredible interest in the Argentinian culture and it has been the first country on my list for ages. Now, I was here, with three months to travel, speak Spanish, meet locals and focus on the dating trends for my Youtube channel.

My main focus was chamuyeros – the men that smooth-talked women for the game of seduction. Here in Argentina, they were a penny a dozen and though fascinated by the whole concept, I wanted to show any guy who tried it on me that I was aware of his tactics.

mendoza inn

Our hostel

This guy seemed just that.  A fun loving, easy-going chamuyero. Within moments of moving into my dorm with his cousin, he chatted me up in a very self assured manner. Moments later we were drinking wine with them on the terrace. Right after, he had the decency to tell me to change into something nicer for the club. It was pushy and presumptuous, while at the same time kind of nice. Seemed we skipped all the niceties and headed straight for saying what we thought. He did for sure.

Francisco was nothing special. He was somewhat taller than me, with dirty blond hair, liquid caramel eyes that seemed to read mine, full lips and a very Italian look to him. Even though he came from a line of Southern Spaniards.

But instantly, without any thought or reasoning I was attracted to him. Now thinking about it, I am sure it was the way he carried himself. Self assured, relaxed, sarcastic and mischievous. And his way of looking at me, like he was really seeing me.

We formed a little group of us: me, two of my European hostel friends and his cousin Alex. On the way to the door, another guy came up to me. Alfie just arrived with a helmet in his hand, later turning out to have motorbiked all the fifteen hours from Buenos Aires. He was tanned with dark hair and dark eyes, tall and had a body to die for, from what I saw as he hung around with his other friends (shirtless). Instead of arrogant as I initially placed him, he spoke to me in a really friendly and well-mannered way. I immediately invited him to join us.

So here I was – two guys I found attractive and not sure which one to go for. Fran was not someone I would ever consider seriously, while Alfie was both attractive and a decent guy. So decent, he didn’t carry himself with the same ease Fran did, even though he had more of a reason to.

Bad Boy – Monday

“Ugh, this Fran is such a player” I told my English roommate, one of the Europeans who joined us “Look at him chatting girls up”. I was jealous. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him strutting around confidently, looking like the club – boliche was his playground. And wearing a pink t-shirt of all things! He had to be a douche-bag.

A few minutes later, Fran grabbed me by the hand and offered me to go ask the DJ for another song. As we walked away, he stopped in the middle and simply began dancing with me. Alfie threw a look at us.

“Let me get you a drink” offered Fran in a bit.

“Sure. I will go to the bathroom and join you after” I lied. I didn’t want to be too easy. I didn’t trust this guy. I didn’t think he was a good person. I thought he was arrogant, and I wanted to make him wait.  At the bottom of my heart, I wanted to be different. A bit aloof and unattainable.

So I did. I danced and danced as he sulked by the bar staring expectantly at me.

A girl who he earlier talked to and who for the record turned out to be a lesbian, approached me to find out if I was interested in Francisco.

I remember telling her, very convinced: “No, nothing will happen with this guy. He’s just a player and I hate players”.

But let’s be honest. I’m not a bitch. I’m very bad at toying with someone’s emotions and his look of desperation combined with the fact that Alfie was now chatting with my English girlfriend, completely ignoring me, spurred me to walk over to the bar and take a seat near Fran. Soon enough everyone, Alfie included (not without giving me a bit of a look) left, leaving me relieved. I knew Fran was a player, but I justified it as “Whatever, I’ll just have fun” to my English friend who nodded in (somewhat of an) agreement.

It was obvious he was gonna try to kiss me. And he did. Three times I pushed him away. “Not yet”, “Do you know how to wait?” “I said no”. He was a typical pushy Argentinian and having done lots of research on them, I was more than wary. I mean, he barely waited to make a move and even when I turned him down, did not act rejected. Any North American guy would now be swallowing more beer to feel like a man. Here was this guy who could care less. Actually he seemed to enjoy a challenge, which is why I gave it in the first place. But secretly, I wanted him to kiss me.  When he kissed me for real, I was hooked. It was a strangely sensual, unhurried kiss… It was a personal kiss. Something you share with someone you like. I can’t explain it, but there was something deep in it. It sent a wave of tingles down my body.

We kissed, danced, and he even managed to sing me some song during the dance. He was a natural with no inhibitions and someone to have a bit of a fling with, but nothing more. Nevertheless, I was scared to lose control with him. From this point I became the girl I wanted to be – fun, independent and sexy. For some reason, it was natural with him. Pushing his kiss away at first separated me from the other girls– I knew it. If anything would happen, it would be by my rules, not his. I knew Argentine men. I didn’t trust Argentine men. They were good with women. He was good with women. I didn’t want to be the one he would use and forget.

Back at the hostel, he got into my bed and offered to ‘lie there’ with me, but as much as I wanted to have him near me (and as adorable as he was cuddling next to me), I told him to go back to his bed. Not before I made out with him against the wall.


That, without the frilly dress

The next morning I woke up extremely happy. Sure, I’ve kissed lots of guys in the past, but there was a surge of excitement pulsating within me. He woke me up. At the tender age of thirty, I felt younger than ever. I went biking in the park, singing to myself and looking around at everything in wonder. Thank you, Francisco, no matter if you are an asshole or not.

Next day, they had to switch hostels. Not only that, they might leave to another city if the car starts working again, Fran mentioned, not forgetting to look at me directly with a certainty in his eyes – I know you don’t want me to go. They did not end up leaving. Instead he asked me to give him my phone number, in a very old fashioned way – on a piece of paper. I took this opportunity to act my sarcastic self.

“Did you want me to write you a letter?” I asked

“Ok” he smiled slowly looking into my eyes in that way he did.

I took the paper and wrote down how special he was to me. However, with my voice I showed that in reality, he meant nothing to me. (a month later I would write a different letter on the back of that paper.) Smiling, with no further comments, he kissed me goodbye.

Good boy – Tuesday


Mhmm… asado

That evening I kept on waiting for him to come through the door. Sure, it was a fling or whatever, but I missed seeing his stupid impish face. We were eating asado (Argentinian barbecue) in the hostel and Alfie has barely exchanged two words with me, but I noticed him sitting on the other side.

When I was finally bored of all the conversations around me, I went to lie down on the couch. Minutes later, Alfie sat by me.

“Mia” he looked earnest and young (five years my junior). Though Argentinian, Alfie resembled a quarterback in an American football team. Sometimes I could swear he just stepped out of a Freddie Prince Junior movie.

We started talking and after some time it became obvious he 1. Liked me 2. Was jealous of what happened with Fran 3. Really didn’t like Fran

“He’s just such an arrogant asshole. I hate guys like him and I don’t know what happened between you two, but I think you are much better than associating with guys like that”.

“I know, Alfie.  He’s no more than an acquaintance. How can I take him seriously?” I lied of course. What would you do if you had two guys you were interested in, have been single for an eternity and had one guy fawning over you while the other didn’t even bother to text? They thought they could use me? Hah, I would take advantage of the situation and be the one to play a game. It was fun and it kept me from falling for any of them, especially Francisco.

wallA conversation later, we ended up in the park as he lifted me up and pressed me against the wall. He was definitely the one girls would call hot, and more so someone I would envision having a romantic fling with. However, that kiss lacked something. And that night I thought about Francisco’s stupid face with his long eyelashes, caramel eyes and mischievous grin.

Bad Boy – Wednesday

Next morning, Alfie went rafting and Fran came by to pick me up to the go the thermal baths. He texted me right after I got back from the park to say he wanted to see me. No matter what happened with Alfie and no matter the fact that this guy had the word ‘untrustworthy’ written all over his forehead, I grinned as I read it.

Thermal Baths

Thermal baths!

He stood on the sidewalk smiling at me as I walked by to him, kissing him on the cheek. We headed down to the thermal baths in the mountains with him smiling to me through the windshield as he drove the car. We spent the day cooking asado, swimming in the cold pools and tanning. He refrained from kissing me, but as we swam through the tunnel, he finally pushed me to the wall and kissed me sensually. Seeing as there were people coming, we stopped, but his hard-on prevented him from coming out of the water.

After we ate, he hinted that they were going to play cards with some other guys and I instantly left to tan. The last thing I wanted was to look like I needed him. I wanted to be as independent as possible, always at the brink of leaving, never lingering. As I lay down on the grass, I knew I was into him. I reenacted the cave kiss in my mind, feeling the tingling feeling every time I thought of his lips touching mine. It was an exciting feeling. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. Seduction, a bit of danger, the sense of possibility and yearning.

He came to find me after and we headed to the hot baths where we lay together and talked. We were close but did not kiss. He looked at me intently as I talked, but all of the actions were unhurried and calm. I yearned for him to kiss me, but the closeness of our faces without it was even more of a turn on. Soon enough his cousin found us and smiled in a bit of a surprise. I assume we looked like a couple, cuddling together in the bath.

They switched to the hostel right by us. My French friend Simone, who now knew bits about the story, as well as two Argentine girls in my room, told me what I was doing would be impossible to pull off.

“Mia” she said in her extremely strong accent “If they come tonight for the dinner, you have to choose one boy. Which boy you like?”

“I like him” I told her. “I’m extremely attracted to him. But I don’t want to have sex with him.”

“Why not? You say you are attracted. What is the problem?”

“The problem is that is exactly what he wants. He is chasing me to get sex. Once I give it up, he’s gone.”

“But the boy seems like he likes you.”
Now” I pointed out. “He likes me now. He likes other girls too. I just don’t trust him.”

“And so, Alfie is a better choice?”

“Alfie is someone I trust. And even if he leaves, I know I won’t hurt like I will with Fran.”

Sometime during this conversation, Alfie came by to kiss me hello. He looked cute and boyish. Someone I might have actually wanted to date. Tanned, toned and earnest.

I wanted to have my Argentinian cake and eat it too.

 Good Boy – Wednesday

That night, Fran disappeared on me again. I felt down.  He was right by me! He was on the other side of the wall! And yet, he didn’t care what I was doing or where I was. He didn’t care that I was hitting it off with another guy. The reality was that even though the game was fun, I just wanted to see him. I’m not the type to date two people at the same time. Date or fling, whatever that was.

“He is an asshole!” exclaimed Simone, sounding as French as ever. “Why he is not texting you. Better to stay with Alfie!” she said.

The other girls – Rita and Elvie, who spoke virtually no English like pretty much every Argentine I met, including my main characters Fran and Alfie, and who were now completely tuned in into my soap opera grinned at me as I walked out of the shower.

“There was a cute boy at the door looking for you.” Said Elvie.

I found Alfie in the patio.

“I wanted to know if you wanted milanesas.” He told me with a genuine look in his eyes.

“Aw.. thank you. “ I said. “I just ate.”

“I hope you are going out with us tonight.” He looked at me earnestly.

I was. Thankfully for my plan,  Fran never came into the hostel to have dinner, so now I was free to get away with my outing with  Alfie. A great guy, who actually came into my room to inquire if I wanted food. A part of me was disappointed though. I really expected to hear from Fran tonight. To know that he was interested and was not a player I didn’t trust.

So we ended up going to the club. I wore a dress and heels and Alfie was tall and built in a collared shirt. There were lots of girls, but he told me he could see no one else but me. And as sweet as that was, I couldn’t help feeling I was in some cheesy prom movie.

Yes, like a cheesy Freddie Prince Jr. movie

The cheesiness.. oh the cheesiness.

“That is so disgusting” said Simone. “I do not like this Alfie guy. He sounds so too much!”

Yet him and I danced all night and I almost killed my neck looking around for a shorter guy with the stupid face of Francisco. A few times my heart almost dropped – was it him making out with this girl? Touching that girl? I knew he might be doing the same somewhere else.I just didn’t want to face it. I missed him. My heart was not in the whole romance with Alfie, yet, somehow – it was him I ended up having sex with that night.

Ok, let me explain. We got into some stupid fight over paying for a bottle. Him and his friends were each buying a bottle and since I was sharing drinks with him, he assumed I also wanted to join in on the group ‘fun’ of buying booze. I thought that was completely tactless and anyways, he explained it was a cultural thing but I couldn’t understand it. After the fight, we both felt more honest and less perfectionist (on his part). There was a nice real part of him that I saw and as he invited me to sleep near him, I actually said yes. I trusted him, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. He couldn’t hurt me, because while I did like him somewhat I had no fear of being too involved.

However, it was far from good. He was big. I mean, really big. Also, hard. Not just his penis, but all of him – well defined, muscular, sporty. Incredible, no? Who doesn’t want a tall, tanned, sporty Spanish looking man? But the sex was something out of a porn movie. Wham, bam. Wham bam bam. It mostly hurt, I didn’t relax or enjoy any of it. I felt like I should have been filmed. Afterwards, he passed out near me and I sneaked out of the room feeling like the cheapest woman ever.

I knew I chose the wrong guy. So what if he was safe? I still wanted Francisco. That night I fell asleep with thoughts of his his long eyelashes, bedroom eyes, slow smile and the sensual way he kissed me.

Bad Boy – Thursday

“Senorita” blinked a message on my Whatsapp.

I didn’t respond. Make him wait, for not getting in touch with me. Plus, how the hell am I supposed to respond to that?

Minutes later I saw him waddling over to my table. Why waddling? He sometimes looks like a penguin when he walks fast.  Awkwardly he said hi to Alfie’s friend, who was chatting with me and sat near me. We sat there hypnotized, our eyes never leaving each other’s .

“How was your night?” he asked.
“Great. Really good” I answered, showing with my secret smile that anything could have happened with me. Ironically I wasn’t bluffing.

“You seem busy” he said. He seemed awkward around me now that I was so poised, acting busy and like I had no need of him. We always played this game. He stood up. “It would be nice if you showed some creativity and invited me to go somewhere.”

“Ok” I smiled, looking up at him. “I will think of something”

How about a lake?”I texted him as he left.

“Come over!” he answered back. I put some makeup on, my face literally glowing. Through the consistent lack of sleep, I looked fresher than ever. I suppose feeling and drama do that to you. Oh and vacation of course.

We took the car and drove up to the mountains of Mendoza. He held my hand in the car. The atmosphere of our so called relationship seemed to shift. Here was a guy who was spending his whole day with me. Would he do that with someone he just wanted to have sex with? He has not tried anything yet. He looked at me with real emotion in his eyes. This was something that couldn’t be faked. We lay by the water and just looked at each other, as he caressed my face and lifted the hair from my face. I loved being with him: the fresh scent of his skin, his full lips as he kissed me, the slow smile that spread on his face as he looked at me. I was falling for him.

....Saddly the water only looks blue from a distance - a metaphor for many things in life

….Saddly the water only looks blue from a distance – a metaphor for many things in life

On the way back, he suggested we head to the hotel.

“No” I said immediately.

“Why not? I like you. You know that, right? “ He looked at me, while keeping his eyes on the road.

You like me. You like other girls. You like everyone. I still don’t trust you.

Maybe that’s why he was so romantic with me in the car. In order to get me to sleep with him. And yes, of course I wanted to, though I just spent the night with another guy. I wasn’t ready. I wanted to do it by my own rules, at my own time. I knew that if we went up to the hotel and he disappeared, all the effort I put into playing it cool, into being different, into waiting it out would fail and he would hurt me deeply. I was too invested to just ‘have fun’.

“So what do you want?” He asked.

“Let me think about it” I said.

He dropped me off and I ran up to my room, pretending not to see Alfie. Alfie was leaving the next day and here I was, completely ignoring him. I sat on my bed.

“What do I do, girls?” I asked my roommates who lay on their beds listening to yet another story of mine. I hoped I wasn’t annoying them. But I guess I replaced television somewhat.

“But you want to have sex, Mia” said Simone. “Why not do it?”

“Because I still don’t trust him! What if that’s the only thing he is after?”

“But you want the same!” exclaimed the Argentines in unison.

“Yes! But I want it to mean something. With Alfie, it was something I knew I wouldn’t regret because I wasn’t so invested. Here, I like the guy. I mean, I really like him. If he disappears afterwards, I will feel horrible.”

“Then don’t do it. You just answered this for yourself.” Answered Rita, who after seeing photos of Alex, Fran’s cousin decided to join me for a beer at their hostel. I knew that meant I wouldn’t see Alfie but I was so preoccupied with thoughts of Fran I couldn’t care less.

Francisco greeted us coolly, no smile on his lips. He brought us a beer and while Alex talked to Rita, we sat in silence. He barely had two words to tell me and then told me that I was the one that was being boring.

“You know” I told him. “You being an asshole, a boludo, is not going to help you. I really don’t appreciate you acting like this.”

He somewhat nodded. Fran was a very conscious guy. He picked up on cues perfectly. He knew well what he was doing.

“Did you want to go watch a movie?” he suggested.

“Let’s go” I agreed. I just wanted to feel close to him, but his response to what happened today really bothered me. Lying on the couch, we started kissing. There was that closeness that we shared. What was the truth? When we were together it seemed we had something but I always had a nagging doubt it was all just for sex.

After falling asleep twice, I told him I was heading back to the hostel. He didn’t even pretend to smile. “You can stay with me if you want” he said. I ignored the remark and headed back. He blew me a kiss, his face as sour as a grapefruit.

Good Guy – Thursday

Frustrated and upset, I walked by Alfie’s table and threw him a quick look. Registering my presence, he immediately came up to me.

“Hey” he said.

“Hi” I smiled.

“You look gorgeous” he admired my red dress. Fran never even mentioned how pretty I looked. It was nice to be appreciated.

“Thank you” I hugged and kissed him on the cheek, thankful for someone who I didn’t have to play games with.

“Look, I’m sorry I fell asleep last night. I wanted to see you today but it seemed you were gone. I just felt like we never actually had the time to just talk.”

“Let’s talk.” I said. I kissed him on the lips, suddenly overcome with emotion for this genuine guy. I was suddenly tired of playing the guessing game with Fran and wanted something simple and straightforward.“Hey, you know, I’ve never been on a motorcycle. It would be great to get on one with you.”

“Sure” he smiled. He put a cask on me as I got on the back. “Hold on to me.” He pushed the bike back and off we went, riding around the half empty dark streets of Mendoza city. Glistening sidewalks, swaying palm trees, my red dress, my arms on his torso and his hand caressing my knee – all of it as if written from my dreams. It was beautiful. He was a beautiful person. Sadly, it was not him I wanted. motorcycle

We sat in the park talking about lives and on the way back he stopped the bike and bought me a variety of chocolates. We almost parted with a kiss, but still ended up having sex. I know it is weird that I spent the day and evening with one, then was off to have sex with the other. In a way, I wanted to feel power. I liked playing with two people, because I love the drama, because I enjoyed the thrill and because that kept me away from getting hung up on one of them. And now that one of them was going, I was left pining over the one that was left. Like I pretty much was all along.

Bad Boy – Friday

Friday he never got in touch with me. Alfie went off, not without hugging me and telling how incredible I was. Now I was no longer part of an intrigue. I was alone and so very crazy for Francisco. I looked at my phone the whole day, moving it from one hand to the other, turning it on to see if there are any messages I might have missed, my heart sinking a little bit more with nothing from him. And of course, there are your girlfriends who tell you that nothing will happen if you text him. So I did. And he invited me to the pool. And I played it cool and said I would see him later. And he called me a histerica – an Argentine term for a person who changes their mind a lot.

And he never got back to me after that.

I couldn’t concentrate on anything. There was a fresh wave of new tanned men in our hostel. One, Italian douche-bag Francesco kept on pouring more wine into my glass. But after forcing myself to enjoy what was out there, I suddenly couldn’t be around more people so I went up to my room and lay there, staring up at the ceiling and resisting the strong urge to cry. It’s kind of hard to with a lack of privacy in a dorm.

This was ridiculous. I mean, who was he for me to cry over?

blue haired girlIt was the fact that he was seconds away without the need to see my face, to touch me, to spend more time with me before we both left. The fact that he would go to a club and meet another woman. The fact that I would never sleep with him again. I finally fell asleep and woke up early in the morning with thoughts of it.

Bad Boy – Saturday

Sitting at my laptop, I got a message from my Argentine girlfriend. I recounted her the story and called him a jerk for disappearing like that. She put a different spin on the situation, telling me that he actually seemed like a decent guy. Any other Argentine would have already given up and not invited me anywhere, yet he was consistent in his contact with me that that said a lot. I guess I wanted to be convinced so I didn’t think twice about messaging him.

“I’m translating my video from Spanish to English. Want to come over and help?”

It was better than the standard “how are you?” It made me sound independent and yet someone who could use his help. For some reason, sending this message felt right. Just because we didn’t see each other, didn’t mean I couldn’t be the first to initiate contact.

He answered back in an hour.

“I always want to help. Be there right away.”

He was swimming in our pool when I came down. I made breakfast and he joined me in the kitchen, looking over at what I was doing.

“So, what is the plan tonight?” I asked, scanning the kitchen for a pot.

“Well, I was going to spend time with my cousin. Unless you have another plan” he waited expectantly.

“You can spend time with him or you can spend the night with me.” I blurted out. This was completely unlike me. This time, though, it felt like I was making the choice to be with him, not vice versa and it no longer made me feel like a victim.

“Which one would be more fun?” He flirted.

“Depends on your definition of fun” I answered back neutrally, not meeting his eyes. I knew I had a certain power over him. I could feel his attraction for me. For the independent, fun and playful girl I was when I was with him.

He laughed at the reply.

We watched the unedited copy of my video about “Argentine smooth-talkers” with a serious face.

“I don’t agree with how these guys pick up women.” He finally said. “In my opinion, in order to get a woman interested you shouldn’t comment on broad things like beauty. Lots of people are beautiful. Instead, you should focus on a specific personality trait. Something that makes this person stand out.” He focused his eyes on me.

We headed to the pool, meeting up with his cousin there. I was scared to find out anything about last night and he was clearly interested in making me jealous.

“My back hurts” he told me “I think it’s from the girls of last night.”

The fact that he tried to make me feel jealous that obviously meant one thing – either nothing happened, or he wanted me to know something happened. Either way, I refused to get jealous and laughed it off.

He was into me.

It got clear in the pool. His eyes scanned me constantly. He would come over and kiss me. He would nuzzle his head against me. Lying next to me, his light brown eyes seemed to almost read mine. It was like we didn’t need to speak.

We did that too...

We did that too…

On my part, I continued being a bit unreachable. He commented later on that I would never stay long enough, always leaving him first to go swim or lay down. It was a trick of mine to show him that I was not his. That I didn’t depend on him. That he should appreciate my presence while I was there. In reality, I was scared that he would get bored. I’ve never known this fear with anyone else, but with him I couldn’t just let go and be. If he talked to any other girls, I would close my eyes or switch my attention to something else, so he could see I didn’t view them as competition. Always he would come back to kiss me in front of them,seek me out or smile at me. He pushed the jealousy just far enough without making me feel angry.

We decided to meet for drinks, so I got ready and put my dress on. They were still shirtless, eating pasta, when I came in. He stared at me, finally saying “wow”. I told them they could come see me when they were ready. I would be drinking at my own hostel.

I was playing a drinking game and checking my phone every two seconds when he finally showed up, dressed in a collared shirt and jeans. He sat next to me.

“So what is the plan?” he asked soon enough. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“Yes” I answered simply. I wanted to, no matter what happened after.

He seemed to exhale a sigh of relief as if he was scared I would say no. He wouldn’t have pressured me had I said no. He never pressured.

The plan was to go to some swanky club on the outskirts of the city. I just wanted to stay with him, but it was Saturday and his last day so I agreed to it. But as we took separate taxis on the way to the club, me in the front seat, barely listening to the chatter of the girls in the back, I was no longer certain I trusted him again. What if now that he knew I was interested he would look for someone else? What if he was an asshole in the club?

On top of it all, the club was eighty percent women. Not just women, but beautiful women with careful makeup, glistening long hair, perfectly assembled clothing. I told myself to breathe – I had to believe I was hotter than anyone else. He was at the bar getting drinks and it irked me that he never asked me what I wanted. He was trying to make sure everyone was having a good time, but was all over the place. He would come and dance with me one second then leave to do something else the next. I felt second best. At one point, after his return to me, I pushed him away when he tried to kiss me. I was starting to get pissed off and I didn’t want to be.boliche

After this, he pulled me away from the crowd and we danced together, under the open sky of the club. Finally, we were together and I felt the connection once again.

“I hate you” he told me, his eyes on mine.

“Why do you hate me?” I asked laughing.

“Because it’s easier to say this than anything else I want to say.”

We took a taxi and told the driver to drop us off to a hotel on the way. They dropped us off in the parking lot. We spent all our money and on the taxi and he had barely enough to cover the hotel. LOVE HOTEL. That was the name. I’m not even kidding. We had no food or water and couldn’t stop  laughing at how ridiculous this all was. As our kissing escalated in the parking lot I joked that when the hotel staff would come and get us, we would be done. He looked at me.

“I love how much we have shared together. It feels like I’ve known you forever. ”

And yes, the truth is that by now we had a much stronger bond than Alfie had with me. It wasn’t romantic and perfect like it seemed to be with Alfie. It was just a real connection. It was completely imperfect, and that made it stronger.

love-hotelFinally we picked up our keys. There was romantic music playing from the radio. Thank God for no rose petals. I asked him to please turn the music off as this was extremely cheesy. He seemed confident as he waited for me on the bed, but the whole thing was so pre-planned, that both of us were awkward. He couldn’t come for ages. He was going soft. The sex lacked the fire of our kisses.

“I’m sorry” he said afterwards “I’m just nervous”

“Nervous because you like me so much?” I teased.

“Yes” he answered simply.

It was ironic really. With Alfie and his words of romance, you would expect slow lovemaking. Instead we humped like two Duracell bunnies. With Fran and his lack of romance, you would expect the wham-bam sex. Instead, the experience seemed slow, soft (not just his penis) and close. While the sex disappointed, I loved that he enveloped me in his arms afterwards.

“I love sleeping with you like this” he told me.

However, it seemed like our time limit was two hours. We barely got a chance to cuddle and have sex one more time before we were asked to leave. On the way back into the city, I half slept on his shoulder as he caressed me, watching the sun rise over the mountains.

Bad Boy – Sunday

He came to see me after our nap in separate hostels. We went back to the pool and lay side by side kissing and looking at each other. Soon, he came to tell me they were leaving. He looked at me in the eyes, reading me and I looked back at him. We didn’t break eye contact for at least one minute.

Then we started kissing, ending up having sex in the bathroom, which I must say was a definite improvement over the Love Hotel as there was no more softness to be had.  We ate pasta at their hostel and he fell asleep, at which point I left.

After a short nap, I texted him to tell me when they would be leaving only to get his text apologizing for not telling they already left. I was angry at him for not saying goodbye.

“I hate goodbyes” he answered “but I am sure, actually I’m hoping I will see you in my city really soon.”

We talked almost every day for the next two weeks.

What’s a Girlfriend Got to Do With It? (2013)


Does culture dictate what is acceptable for men or are there simply assholes regardless of their country?

I was in Panama for a teaching job I found accidentally. You can’t imagine my happiness at leaving behind freezing Canadian winter and heading off to the land of sun, beaches and Latin dancing!

Before I started my job, I decided to take two weeks to travel the country and got a volunteering gig as a hotel helper in a surfing town of Santa Catalina. Basically all I had to do was lie in a hammock waiting for guests, reading a book or sometimes dozing off after a day at the beach.

lazy life in the village

lazy life in the village

I worked alongside a very nice but quite smelly and unattractive bearded American guy Rick who had a crush on me. For the lack of any other company, we would go out at night to one of the few little bars followed by the owner’s dog Darly. The dog would run alongside us, barking at anyone who would get close.

I have spent a few days in Santa Catalina and loved the little village atmosphere, the endless fruits on the trees and the lush nature, but I was bored. So, so bored. The bars closed at ten p.m. so that the surfers could wake up at dawn to do what they do best… Surf.

One night I walked into Chile Rojos pizza bar with Rick, and a bit fed up at spending all my time with him (as well as tired of his arm-pit smell) I joined a table of four guys. Two guys were serious blond Fins, and the other two dark shaggy haired Argentinians.

Chile Rojos

Chile Rojos

One, Pablo, was the most attractive one. Rather, he exuded a mix of confidence, easy-going charm and ruggedness all in one. With a sleek body covered in a few tattoos, he was shaggy haired and slightly bearded. I didn’t fall for him, rather he won me over with his easy demeanor.

At first we became something like friends. We got along perfectly and understood each other’s sense of humor, even though we spoke only in Spanish. That night, as the electricity died in the bar (which was a normal occurrence in Panama), us and the Fins plus Rick and Darly walked to the beach. Pablo and I walked together and he sang me songs in Spanish. Cheesy maybe, but he made everything seem natural.

“That was so lame the way he kept on trying to win you over. He just wants to get into your pants.” hissed angry Rick as we walked home.

“Pablo?” I laughed. “I am not taking him seriously.”

I really didn’t. Pablo was fun, relaxed and sexy. And that was enough.

The next evening I saw him again. He was sitting with his friend Pato (who spoke even less English but was the nicest person) in Chile Rojos and was very excited as I came in. As we started talking, he went over the list of all the guys I know and began quizzing about me about who I found attractive, clearly sorting out through the competition. First came the Fins, then Rick. It was a big bold NO for all.

“What do you think about me?” he asked me in his sing-song Argentinian accent. A little knowing smile on his face.

I avoided the topic and looked a bit uncomfortable, so he gave up. At least for that night.

santa catalina2

I didn’t see him the next day, so I started to miss him a little. He didn’t show up to Chili Rojos for a couple of hours, so I sat there with Rick and another guy hoping and wishing he would come through the door. And just as I was about to give up, in he came with that relaxed grin on his face and that shaggy hair of his sporting a regular attire of T-shirt and surfer shorts.

He sat down near me and began flirting mercilessly.

“So is it a yes?” he asked finally, in a cryptic voice.

“It’s a maybe” I finally uttered, unable to keep on prolonging this any longer.

He seemed to take it as a yes and as we began to part, he offered to go to the beach. Rick thankfully declined and Pato came for a bit, then with a not-so subtle look from Pablo finally said he had to go sleep. As he left, Pablo decided to romance me the Latin way and put on some romantic Argentinian music for me. And he even sang along to it.

We started kissing and then he began to kiss my breasts. I was going to say no except it has really been a while and at this point, who really cared? We went further and further.. until he wanted a blowjob.

OK, so my rule with blow jobs is that I only give one after sex.  After all, I don’t know where his penis has been! Why would I put some unknown object in my mouth? Kids are taught not to do that.

I told him NO. And what did he do? He stood in front of me with his penis sticking out and his arms on his sides. He even tried to grab my hand so I could touch it. And believe me when I say, there was not much to grab onto there. But that’s beside the point. Exasperated, I told him I was leaving. He followed me, now with his penis in his pants, thankfully. We were also accompanied by Darly, who jealous or angry began jumping on me and biting me, seeing as how some unknown boy was all over me. She wouldn’t leave me alone, so Pablo tried to calm her down.

“I want to stay the night with you. We are not going to have sex” he said firmly, holding the dog with the other hand.

I shook my head. “You are not”

“I am. I am coming”

“No. I said you are not”

“Yes, I am grabbing my things”

“Pablo! No!”

“Ok, wait for me. I am coming”

The forest

The forest

And apparently this pushy Argentinian logic worked since the next thing I knew we were walking to my place. By place, I mean an attic in the middle of nowhere. Downstairs lived Rick and if you climbed the ladder up, you would have to sort of walk/crawl through my wooden door. Thankfully Rick never tried it.

“How long has it been since you had a girlfriend?” I asked him.

“Hmm.. Long time” he said as he held my hand through the woods.

I missed sleeping near a guy and living in a little village with woods on both sides of me didn’t help matters. It was really nice to have this shaggy haired VERY PUSHY Latin man with me. Even if he did just stick his wiener in my face.

Pun intended

Pun intended

After we got heated up again, he gave me oral and asked me to reciprocate (which I admit, I hate. It’s almost like ‘I do you. You do me’). I told him about my rule.

“You have some stupid rules” He said. I should have been mad maybe, but it was kind of funny and in fact, maybe he was right. I ended up giving him one. But on second thought, personal rules are good to have and no one should ever argue you out of them or you lose your sense of integrity.

We slept in each other’s arms and in the morning, he rose early for surfing. I looked up at him a bit bewildered. I have never spent the night with a surfer/hippy/tattooed guy. But I figured that was one experience that would be interesting.

To be frank, I avoided him the whole day. I mean, OK,  I wanted to see him but that would entail something else. I couldn’t continue sleeping with him and not having sex. I also couldn’t just walk away. Rather, he probably wouldn’t let me.

That day, however, I didn’t see him and though relieved, I began to wonder – maybe he left!? What if he left? What if I never saw him again?

However, the night after I was walking home when I saw him and Pato strolling towards the beach with a surfing instructor Ronaldo. They asked me to join them and I succumbed. Besides everything, I loved spending time with them. They were funny, friendly, playful and so easy going. If it wasn’t for the almost sex I was having with Pablo, we could be great friends.

Sitting on the beach, Pablo didn’t try to caress me or kiss me in front of the guys.. So when Ronaldo offered me a massage to “relax me”, I saw it as okay. I didn’t see it as anything else. Pablo, who was gone for a few minutes, came back to see Ronaldo massaging my back. Clearly irritated, he offered Pato to leave the beach and when I looked at him quizzically, ignored me.Beach_Bonfire_by_anarsil1

“It’s great, I will drop her off” offered Ronaldo.

“No, no!” I protested “I am coming with you, guys!”

As it turned out on the way back, Pablo did in fact get jealous and could not understand why I would let another man massage me. I couldn’t understand how a massage turned into something so serious? After all, he didn’t act like we were anything more than friends/almost sex partners.

Ronaldo followed us on a bike, clearly thinking he still had a chance but Pablo would not let that happen.

“I am staying with you” He whispered to me. No please. No maybe.

Ronaldo’s face fell and Pablo’s brightened as we walked away together. As we lay together that night (without sex still) we began talking about our lives. He opened up about his life, his mom dying.. And then he uttered my favorite phrase which at the time seemed so genuine but now I have no idea.

“You are my perfect girl” he whispered “I mean we have fun, you are hilarious, pretty.. Everything I want. Would you consider coming to Argentina? We could try dating.”

We could dance tango

We could dance tango

I don’t know if that worked its magic or maybe I was just horny, but we ended up having sex that night. The sex was nothing special, I think it was more the closeness I craved.

That morning was a soap opera. Rick, for some unknown to me reason, decided to practice yoga under my attic window.. meaning Pablo couldn’t get down or he would be seen. I climbed down and tried to distract Rick. I offered him to go surfing so he could finally leave and when that worked, told him I would meet him halfway. Pablo during this time, was browsing through my underwear collection and smirking. This went on for an hour, until he finally climbed down my window and we arranged to meet on the beach.

That day he taught me how to surf and acted as the sweetest guy ever. He only bit my ass twice, and was excited every time I got on my board. “Agarra el tablero!” He would yell on top of his voice and cheer me on as I shakily managed to stay on long enough. You see why I am still of a good opinion of this Argentinian boy.

Oh yeah, a pro like me

Oh yeah, a pro like me

That night, however, he never came and as it turned out later, spent the night on the beach. I left for another place the following day, having cried a bit as I walked home the night I didn’t see him.

Bocas del Toro was comprised of three islands, and close to the border of Costa Rica. I was there for four days when  I saw him randomly strolling down the street. On Valentine’s Day of all days.


Sure, I was still mad he didn’t come, but to hell with it.. I thought. We spent the day on the beach and the evening eating pasta and flirting furiously. People turned around at us with smiles as we fought and made up playfully within a matter of minutes. His hair was tied up in a small ponytail and he looked a bit like Orlando Bloom from Pirates of the Caribbean. At least that’s what my new friend thought. The poor girl didn’t speak any Spanish and had to spend her dinner listening to us bickering in a foreign language.

We spent the night dancing. Actually, he would stand there distracted watching surfing one second. The next, he would press me to the wall with his body. He told me I was like “a thousand girls in one” – meaning I was that amazing and energetic.

He rented a motel room that night, but for some reason I felt cheap. Especially when coming out of the bathroom, I saw him fully undressed lying on the bed waiting for me. The sex was average once more.

The morning after was my last day in Bocas. I had to return to Panama City to start work. That day however I met Giles (See the French) and since I was extremely attracted to Giles, I later on hid from Pablo in the club.

And good thing, because this is the conversation Pablo and I had two weeks after.

“So Pablo, what are you doing? Are you coming to Panama City?”

“Oh I don’t think so. My girlfriend is coming tomorrow so we might go back to Santa Catalina”


“Why, does it matter?”


“Well I didn’t think it mattered. You never asked.”

“I asked how long has it been since you had a girlfriend. I didn’t assume you actually HAD one.”

Thus the story ends, with a little insight on Argentinian culture, in which it is apparently normal to have an open relationship and cheating is considered as normal as peeing. Who knew? It was my first experience and it shocked me.


Who has any similar experience with Argentinians? I would love to hear your stories!