The Belgian – A Little Too Late (2014)

backpackerSince I recently moved to a new apartment downtown I was eager to host someone on Couchsurfing. However, a bachelor isn’t exactly an ideal place for it since you are pretty much face to face with the person day and night. For those who do not know – a bachelor isn’t a TV show, it is an apartment solely comprised of one room.

This guy’s message was asking me to host him for a few days. He seemed cool – extremely well travelled, worldly, he spoke German, French and even Argentinian Spanish. But I was too lazy and uncomfortable to host a guy in the same room. I clicked a ‘no’ and faked a reason. He told me he understood but was a bit upset. It seemed like he couldn’t get hosted at all these days and was losing all faith in Couchsurfing. Something in me felt like I should prove him wrong and take a chance, so my ‘no’ turned to ‘yes’.

Next week, as he walked through the door, I knew we would get along just fine. Eduard was relaxed, easy to talk to, very genuine and sarcastic (which is my weakness in men actually). And to top it off – he was quite attractive. Tall, dark haired, with a longer nose, which actually gave him more of a personality, and a soft accent that would change from German to French to Spanish and even to Irish when he said ‘Fock!’

When he noticed I was cooking dinner, he offered to run to the store and get wine and even brought me some Belgian chocolate.

Over dinner, we talked about our lives. I was slightly envious of his free lifestyle. Having completed his Masters, he was travelling around the world on a whim. He has lived in Argentina and Egypt, has been to India three times and had no fear of going to places like Lebanon and Syria. He owned a motorcycle and was free as the wind, while I was working 9-5 and feeling like I could use a three month vacation.

As it turned out later, he wished he had a life like mine. He wanted to be more stable, he no longer took any pleasure in travelling and while he was a daredevil in many parts of his life, Eduard seemed to lack the confidence to initiate anything with a girl he found attractive. From his stories I gathered he didn’t have a serious girlfriend and seemed to over-think every move he made.

When I took him to a Couchsurfing meeting, he seemed to see other guys as competition and I couldn’t understand why. He was a great guy, with an impressive life, and a cool personality. He exuded confidence, but deep down he was way more complicated and lonely.

Most people at the Couchsurfing meeting knew I was filming a documentary about sex and hook-ups in the Couchsurfing world. I focused on guys that used the site as a tool to get laid with exotic women, and was even going to NYC to stay at a Brazilian guy’s place with my camerguy in April. How ironic was it when I came in with a guy and announced I was hosting him for a few days. Most people winked and nudged me all over the place, while he pointed out that I seemed to enjoy the attention.

And I think it was really funny that while I was focusing on this topic, I really wouldn’t have minded if he made a move on me. I just didn’t want to initiate anything. I was tired of having international flings that were momentary and having already found one boyfriend on Couchsurfing I didn’t want to continue the pointless trend.

We grew really close over the course of the three days. My building had a problem with the water, so we made salads with bottled water, took showers in the gym next door and made countless jokes. He would get vegetables and cookies and we would drink beer and talk. Everything was smooth, easy and I even got used to having a companion. It was kind of nice to come back home and spend time with him, to feel that there was this great guy I could just be with – no games, or pretending or any other crap involved.

But I wouldn’t make any sort of a move. And I was almost certain he wouldn’t either. The last night we lay down on his mattress bed and were very close. Had it been a year ago, I would have probably been more obvious about my interest but at this point I didn’t want to this more awkward so I just let it go.

As I got in bed, he said :

“You know.. Your mention of the documentary about sex made me feel like I had to prove to you that I was different. I wish you never told me”

He left the next day but this is when he finally got enough guts to tell me how he felt. He told me he hardly experiences a strong connection with someone the way he did with me. He was terrified I would turn him down and this made it really difficult to make a move. He wished he could be close to me, not as a hook-up or a fling, but something way deeper because even though he has been around the world he rarely felt this way.

I suspected something similar but this was huge.

And the worst – he was so scared I would turn him down, he never even tried. He waited until he LEFT to tell me how he really felt. He had no fear of booking a ticket to the most remote place in the world, but he couldn’t reach three inches to kiss a girl he really liked. He was so scared of looking vulnerable, he didn’t do anything at all. So now, all we had was something that did not happen. And that, in my opinion, is one of the biggest regrets people have. Wanting to do something and being afraid it doesn’t work out.

I think women like men who take charge, who can initiate something, who may be afraid of rejection but have enough confidence in them to go for it anyways. And this is probably why, while Eduard and I had such a great connection, I failed to see him as the real man. Of course, being hosted is a tricky situation and he was not sure how I would react so I understand completely. But what is the point of wishing I was ‘beside him’ right now when we are miles apart is beyond me.

Guys, and girls – I know it’s hard. But it is better to be rejected than to forever wonder what might have been. I know this is cliche and you have probably seen tons of ‘inspiration’ posters with those same words – but still it doesn’t sink in. Life doesn’t give us second chances. So take the first.

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Why I Always Choose a European over a North American

9540868“I thought you were twerking”, uttered a Canadian guy to my friend as a way to get an intro. He has been eyeing me awkwardly for about fifteen minutes and finally he had his ‘in’..

My French girlfriend just had some beer spilled on her and she made a quick motion clearly resembling Miley Cirus. Clearly.

Let me say this first. I hate the new lingo. Selifes. Twerking. Chillax. I cannot stand this fake culture built on media references. It annoys me that bars in Toronto on a Saturday night resemble a zoo where the guys are like apes, walking around pumped up, trying to awkwardly get action, not sure how to act, except to flex their biceps, offer lame pick-up lines, yell a lot, high five even more and look like they haven’t had sex for ages. Except for those really good looking ones who look like you are fully beneath them to even look you in the eyes.

How I miss the feeling of looking at someone and them looking right at you with a twinkle in their eye. Not something that happens often in this city.

Right after I almost puked in my mouth, Senior Twerker came up to me even though I looked like I wanted to teleport myself out of that bar and country.

“Where are you from?” he asked. In Toronto, no one is really Canadian, so we are constantly curious.

“Russia”

“Wow” he exclaimed. I was all ready for – “Russian women are hot” which is always the second line, but thankfully he restrained himself before I would seriously puke in my mouth.

“And you?” I offered for politeness sake.

“Italian” he said.

OK, I know what Italian is and that boy could not be it. It’s not that I idolize Italians. I definitely do not. Nor French, German or Spanish men. But I can tell the look of an Italian a mile away. It is the intensity, the raw sexuality, the directness, the openness, the confidence in his role as a man that cannot ever be confused with Canadian blandness.

“Let me guess” I offered “born in Woodbridge (Italian part of the city)”

“Wrong. Toronto. Better?”

I shrugged. Sure, I was being mean but I was in a bitter mood, tired of all this fake jargon and lame conversation. It has been a while since I have felt attracted to anyone and he was really getting on my nerves.

“Not really”

“Well, what kind of men do you like?”

I hesitated for a split second before blurting out “Europeans. Real ones.”

It took him about a minute to take off. And I didn’t even feel bad.

Ok, so in hindsight I was horrible. I judged a guy for something he had no control over. Not his fault he didn’t know any other food than meatballs and pizza. Not his fault he has probably knows three obvious words in Italian and says them with a thick Canadian accent. Or that he introduces himself as Niko without ever having ever experienced more than two weeks in Rome or Sicily.

But TWERKING!? He really had it coming.

And let’s be real. European boys are not all that great either. Just the other day I had a dull and shallow date with a French guy. Even though wine tasting was involved, it was still lackluster. And we split the bill equally. The evening before I had to endure a German guy tear down my video channel ruthlessly until I had no hope in it or me any longer. And yesterday, I spent a few hours in a club with a Spanish guy who was too awkward to make a real move. So, okay, Europeans are not all intelligent, worldly, cheeky and sexy.

But at least there are many that are.

Canadian boys – or at least Torontonian boys, you need to step it up and offer a girl something other than a lame pop culture reference in order to introduce yourself and maybe if you look her deep in the eyes and talk to her like a woman will she actually feel like one. And then, possibly, she will finally not care that you are a just a regular boy born in Woodbridge.

But for now I will stick with my Europeans.

Momentary Illusion – The Puerto Rican (2013)

446011_f520An quick obsession. A quick fantasy. Then waking up.

Luminescent eyes – that was the first thing I noticed. They were the colour of the Caribean sea on a sunny day. And they lit up his whole face. With his bronze tan and white smile, he looked like he just stepped off of the big screen.

I was in Puerto Rico with my dearest brother with whom we fought every day about one thing or another. The biggest argument of all centered around my video. Recently, I have started my own International Dating channel  and part of my trip to Puerto Rico, besides getting away from the severe Canadian winter, was interviewing people to find out the whole appeal of Latin men to women. I was trying to find sleezy, over the top Latinos but all I found were regular guys who seemed just as lost about women as Americans.

Isla Verde Beach

After begging my brother endlessly about acting as the videographer, I decided I would take matters into my own hands and walked around the streets of Isla Verde to film taxi drivers and bartenders. And now, exhilarated by the thought of finally doing something with no help from anyone else I ran onto the kite surfing beach where my brother was hanging out near his kite waiting for the wind. Kite surfing was just as annoying to me, as my Latin man episode to him.

To help me out a bit, he pointed to a shack on the beach and told me I could interview one of the surfers there. From a distance I saw an attractive guy in a purple shirt and sauntered over to recruit him.

“Would you be interested in doing a video?” I asked with little hesitation. How much easier it is to start a conversation with a “real” reason for it! However, I literally couldn’t tear my gaze away from his sparkling eyes, that crinkled in amusement and some interest as he saw me.

“Sure” He answered in an almost perfect American accent.

“You are Puerto Rican?” I asked.

Livin’ La Vida Loca!

“I am” He smiled. Tanned and bright eyed, he looked like a beautiful mix of European and Latin. Something like a (non-gay) Ricky Martin.

We continued with the interview during which he confided in me (and the World) that Latin men make the best lovers and that Puerto Rican girls are his preference out of all women. At the moment, I was only observing him as a very attractive object for my documentary. I thought that if I had any ratings to boost, he would be the one to make it happen.

Once we were done, I tried to prolong our contact by telling him to look over the release form and asking questions as he started signing his name. Turned out Franko was of German descent, went to a boarding school in the USA and worked as a doctor, not as a kite surfing instructor as I initially thought.

He was extremely attractive in the way he held himself – self assured, calm and collected and at times he would look at me directly and a beautiful smile would spread over his face. What bothered me, however, was that he would also look into the distance when talking which made me mimic him and try to look away as much as I could, so as not to appear too invested.  And he never offered to meet up even though I let him know I had no plans for that Saturday night. I might as well have written a sign on my head saying “Single and Looking”, I felt so obvious. Finally, just as I was about to leave, he asked me to take down his number so we could meet that evening. Still, it wasn’t like he asked me for mine.

Kind of like that, but with dark hair.. and no flower

Kind of like that, but with dark hair.. and no flower

Did I mention I had two days left? Oh fate, thou art unjust indeed.

Then, as I was sitting on the beach with my brother, he sat near us. Turned out they met prior to our Latin interview, and began discussing kite surfing since they were both obsessed with it. Though in the words of my brother, Franko was terrible.

“The guy just constantly goes against wind! How can you like someone who can’t learn to kite surf?”

Yep, going with the wind is definitely an important quality for a future husband…

Franko didn’t even look at me as he talked to my brother and when Alex got up to get something, he literally waited two seconds to leave himself. I just sat there, completely dejected. Both of us came to the conclusion that Franko might be gay. He did pay way more attention to my brother. Though at the bottom of my heart I knew – the guy likes girls alright, just maybe not me.

So why push it, right?

Well this is where my sense of reason fades away and the only thing that remains is the need to be with this person, regardless of the circumstances. It has been so long that I felt something as crazy and as instantaneous as I did with Franko, that I wanted to lose myself in the feeling.

Old San Juan

Old San Juan

That evening I was heading off to Old San Juan with my brother and we wrote to Franko to invite him out. Turned out he had a family function and only got back to me later saying he might not be able to make it. I danced salsa with another guy (who really liked me by the way) and desperately waited for the song to finish so I could check my message from sparkling eyed Franko. I have never known that salsa songs take like ten minutes!

While he couldn’t make it, he texted, he would love to see me at the beach tomorrow. I dismissed the message as him being very polite and not actually wanting anything with me and sat the rest of the night crying my eyes out of the deserted beach.

“Please” I said to no one in particular, possibly God, who is most likely too busy to listen to idiotic complaints like this “Let me at least be with him a bit, even if I get hurt.”

Wish granted.

Enjoy my child. But only until the morning!

Enjoy my child. But only until the morning!

The next day I came to the beach more self assured and calm, which always works to my advantage. As I stepped out of the water in my bright pink bikini, I noticed a guy eying me not very discreetly. Turned out it was my luminescent eyed guy.

“Mia?” He asked. I looked up. “Sorry, I just didn’t know if it was you. Didn’t want to be a creepy Puerto Rican.”

He sat near me and we talked about nothing in particular until my brother called him to help launch the kite. Still, that look in his eyes at least proved he was interested in me.

Later on, as I was filming scenes on the beach he called out my name again. We talked a bit, during which I asked him to be a star in my video. Then I muttered about how dirty that must have come out.

“I am leaving to eat” He stood there smiling at me, his eyes lighted up by the setting of the sun. He usually looked so confident, but now it almost seemed as if he was nervous. At least I wanted him to be. “I would like us to see each other tonight.” Of course, by us he also included my brother. I felt he wanted to invite just me, but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

I said bye to him, filmed a bit, then came back to find him still standing there smiling in an adorable way.

“So” he said “do you still want me to be the star of your video? What do I have to do?”

“Hey, you know what you can do?” said my brother coming up “You can go pick up girls on the beach and Mia can film you.”

I almost smashed the camera in my brother’s face. Of course the guy can pick up girls. All he has to do is look at them with those gorgeous eyes and smile charismatically.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea” I stated. “Technically it should be me he is picking up. I am the host after all.”

We decided maybe we would film something later on and stayed around flirting like there was no tomorrow. Hah, finally I knew for certainty he was interested! The feeling was incredible. The only thing that I really didn’t enjoy was how part of his flirting involved telling me all Latin guys were “built like Black guys down there.” Obviously that’s not true and clearly he meant himself and wanted me to find out. Coming from a doctor, I didn’t appreciate it. I thought he would have more class than that. But at that moment, any desire of his to attract me was welcomed by me. I just wanted him to like me.

We finally parted an hour later. Though my brother was invited, I let him know this trio of ours would be awkward and he should conveniently feel tired so I could leave him at home. He agreed but not without some fuss.

“You know what you are getting yourself into!” He pointed at me as I was doing my makeup back at the hotel. “Don’t cry tomorrow when you get hurt. It’s like banging your head against the wall over and over again and not learning!”

I knew I would get hurt. I was confident I would cry. And I still wanted this. As I sat there, waiting for him, my hair pulled back in a ponytail and my skin glowing from the sun, I felt alive. Anxious, sad, curious, excited, yearning… Every feeling was heightened. I think that all life is comprised of moments. Little moments, significant moments.. but at the end of the day, maybe that’s all we will remember. I think I will remember these moments the most. The ones where my heart beats quickly.

Feeling alive

Feeling alive

He picked me up in a silver Mercedes and we drove to Old San Juan, where we walked out to walk a cobbled street to an outdoor bar. So far, the conversation lacked emotion.. Sure, he told me about his childhood, asked me questions about mine, even gave me some history on San Juan.. But he didn’t smile, hold my hand or even look at me much. It felt quite official.

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Cobbled Stone Streets of Old San Juan

But as we sat down at the bar, without even starting to drink, our conversation quickly turned into personal. We talked about our love lives, families, wants, dreams… And at one point, when he asked me what I looked for in a guy, I tried my best not to blurt out – you. But I think he figured it out. As I looked at him: his slow smile, intense gaze, the fact that he bore an uncanny resemblance to Stefan (see the German), I knew I was head over heels. Though now I think I was just obsessed, just as someone might be over an actor in Grey’s Anatomy. Fitting, no?

He even told me he used to take Xanax for anxiety, as he used to get very anxious while studying for medical exams. Apparently he didn’t share this a lot, so I felt he could confide in me.

He said  that he wanted a relationship, children, that he would provide for his wife, but she could work if she chose to. I laughed and actually said “Marry me”, to which he responded with: “Move to Puerto Rico.”

As we had another drink, he told me he didn’t want me to leave. He would come and visit me in Canada. I gladly accepted the proposal.

As we walked over to the other bar, he repeated it over and over.

“I really don’t want you to go”

“Me neither” I sighed.

Then that thought escalated rapidly, and he proposed something I hoped for desperately.

“Stay here for a few days” He offered. “I can pay most of your ticket and we can travel.”

“You are crazy!” I exclaimed. At the moment, I felt like I was in a chick flick. This was the perfect night, with a gorgeous guy, in a foreign country and he was offering me to stay! I could fly.

“I know, but it would be great. We could travel the island. I do have to go to my family’s place for New Years, so you would have to come with me.”

“Are you sure you are not just saying this because you are drunk?” I asked.

“No, I thought about this yesterday and I am sure. I will talk to your brother and we will make all the arrangements”

And now he was offering me to meet his family. This was incredible insanity and I agreed immediately. Finally, it seemed like my life was getting somewhere. Maybe he was “the one”? Now I cringe when I write this.

Fantasy

Fantasy

He told me he liked me as soon as he met me that day on the beach and I told him I felt the same. We kissed and kissed… But what surprised me was there were no fireworks in our kiss. Thinking about him, I expected a gust of passion. This was just… okay.

And then I got drunk. I am Russian and can drink without losing my head or blacking out. I don’t know how I got so wasted off of three Cuba Libres and one shot of rum, but I don’t even remember getting to the car. What I do remember is him opening his car door so I could puke out the water on the street. He was extremely sweet and supportive about the whole thing, holding my hand, kissing me on the forehead and telling me he has seen way worse. This is the worst state I have ever been with with a guy. And him, out of all people!

We had to also pick up his sixteen year old cousin. I don’t even want to know what he thought of me when I barely squeaked “Hola” before running for the bathroom.

“You are staying with me” he told me as he parked the car.

I just wanted to go home and sleep but at this point I was in no state to argue. Or to stay in the car any further. I wished I stayed classy.. Well as classy as I could be at this point and ask him to drive me back, but I felt so much closeness between us, I naively thought it wouldn’t make any difference.

More nothingness, and then I remember him getting me a new toothbrush, water and his T-Shirt. I put it on and sank into his huge bed. I was awoken out of my stupor by his kiss, or was I awake before it? I can’t recall. All I know is that we were kissing, and then he was kissing my body. Please don’t judge me girls, as I did begin to give him a blowjob. Honestly, I don’t know what was wrong with me! I knew I wasn’t going to have sex, yet I was doing this? I didn’t finish it and he pretty much jerked himself off. How romantic this evening was.. Wow, indeed. Of course at this point I was naively thinking we would have many more moments, seeing as how I was staying and everything.

We slept the whole night in each other’s arms. Even in the morning, every time I would turn over, he would follow suit with his arms around me protectively. I woke up early, both dizzy and confused: was I really staying longer with him in Puerto Rico? I was dying to.

As he woke up, he tried again to make a move, and when I said no concluded aloud : “We did not have sex” as if that wasn’t obvious then proceeded to get out of bed, to go to the bathroom. At one point, I actually thought he was gonna come in with breakfast, but he came back and told me I could get dressed. He just wanted to finish playing Fifa video game with his cousin and then we could go.

No mention of the ticket.

We drove back uncomfortably. His hand was caressing my knee but I knew that he was just doing it to be polite. Whatever he said or meant last night was gone just like that adoring look in his bright eyes. My heart sank. He didn’t even have to say anything, but I wanted to make sure anyways.

“Those were some crazy things we said last night…” I looked straight ahead, afraid to look at him.

“Yeah. I mean.. we don’t know each other so well. Maybe it’s better if we stay in touch and I come and see you in Toronto” he threw me a look and caressed my knee again to make me feel a bit better.

All of the images of us dancing on the beach, bronze faced and carefree, just like visions of me sitting at the table with his Puerto Rican family suddenly vanished and I now knew – I would be back in the winter tomorrow morning. The surreal dream he has shared with me was only that – a dream. I would have stayed if he simply said the words. I suppose some things are too good to be true. Perfection doesn’t exist and he was definitely not perfect. The way he quickly discarded me showed just that. No apology, no sincerity.. I felt like we were now strangers, and hey, we really were all along.

“Are you okay?” He turned to me as I sat there staring into space. I tried to say something, anything, but I was just at a loss for words.

“I’m just tired. Sorry” I smiled.

“We will see each other at the beach, won’t we?” he kissed me a brief goodbye.

sleep,lonely,,bed,girl,alone,drugs-05e2e83f94238f6c24775bdcb9798e12_h

Reality

Once he was out of the hotel room where he dropped me off, I sat on the bed and began wailing. Sure, I barely knew the guy, but how often does it happen that you fall so hard for someone and feel like your dreams have finally come true just to have it all gone the very next day? I’m sure most of you have been through worse.. but it still didn’t lessen my pain. And now I was leaving this beautiful city for minus twenty temperatures, while he was still here – tanned, beautiful and able to look at as many bikini clad bodies as he wanted to.

My brother, a smug know-it-all, just laughed when I recounted the story to him. “What did you expect from a Latin guy?”

I did see Franko on the beach. He approached me by kissing me as a boyfriend would do. All of the kite surfers watched us with smiles. They all knew about my project and my fleeting romance with him. I played it cool, following my brother’s advice to be happy, but I feel I smiled too much and was too peppy, so much that even he got a bit thrown off. In reality, I have only consumed one dry bun full of guava and cheese. I didn’t care what was in it, as long as it could stop the dizziness. I had no appetite. I was anxious. But I wouldn’t show it.

Parts were okay. We took photos of each other. We kissed under the towel. He came by to look for me a couple of times. I gave him a massage. He told me he wanted me back with him at his condo. He looked at me with some emotion, though it was difficult for me to predict what it really was. I couldn’t figure him out. I was addicted to his face, his manner of talking, but I knew this would be the person that would drain me emotionally. But what did it matter? This would be the last time I would see him.

At the end, he simply walked up to be and kissed me.

“I wish I met you earlier. Stay in touch” and walked away leaving me standing there completely dumbfounded and at a loss for words.

On the way to the airport, while crying my eyes out I received a text which said “Already miss you!” Sure, it made me cry with joy, but at the bottom of my heart I felt he didn’t mean it.

I wished him a Happy New Year next day, while at a party back in freezing Canada, where I couldn’t stop thinking of this weird bright eyed boy. He only replied to my text message today, two days later.

You know, I think I finally reached a point in my life where I can say – you are not worth it. Obviously he doesn’t even live here in Canada, so that’s a given, but even if he did, it would never work. Sure, he makes my heart beat, sure he looks good on paper, but at the end I want someone who wants me. Someone who would ask me to stay and not back out of it. Someone who looks in my eyes and actually sees me. Someone with whom I don’t have to play the game of who cares least. Someone with whom I feel a genuine connection and so far I have not met this person.

But you will be the first to find out when I do.

PS. I will also refrain from getting into bed with a stranger. Be it a gorgeous one or not. Some things are better be left a mystery and I think I have learnt from my mistakes never to repeat it again.

The Confident Spaniard (2013)

Tres-Metros-Sobre-El-Cielo-tres-metros-sobre-el-cielo-27970844-1600-1067

A story of obsession.

Confidence is one of the most attractive features a man can have. Looks, we get used to. The good looking, insecure man will only hold our attention for so long. But what about the regular guy that has charisma, a sense of mystery and inner confidence? That, girls, is what gets us hooked.

Hugo had all three qualities.

I was dancing on a rooftop bar in the old area of Panama City when a curly haired guy approached me, rather swaggered over with the most relaxed confidence I have ever seen.

the bar

the bar

“Whoever the DJ is, he should be shot.” He confided in me as if I had known him for years.

The song playing was: “Tonight I’m Loving(Fucking) You.” Loving was the clean version of the song. I guess Enrique Iglesias thinks love is the synonym for fuck. That, or thinking for him is as overrated as good singing.

Hugo’s manner put me at ease immediately, so I laughed and asked him if he was Argentinian. He had an accent in Spanish I couldn’t identify. But it did sound charming.

“No, Colombia” he smiled. “Don’t I look Colombian?”

“You are Spanish!” I finally realized. That’s where the Spanish lisp was coming from. Argentinians always talk with a sh, like plasha instead of playa.

At first Hugo was just a regular guy. Curly black hair. Dark eyes. Boyish look. Tall. At the first glance, attractive I suppose, but nothing special. It is the way he stood there, confident to the bone, nonchalant and sarcastic with a slow smile and a mysterious aura about him. He had a feel of the ‘bad boy’ but he didn’t try to act like one. He simply knew that he oozed sex appeal and that meant more than a leather jacket and a motorcycle combined. I was so drawn to him, I actually gave him two phone numbers. One local and one Canadian for texting.

He wrote me a message that night but I decided to play it coy and wait a day or two. Except that the next day, during a trip to the caves, I dropped my phone in the water and as destiny (or luck) would have it was now unreachable. If you don’t count phone number two, that is.

evening-casco-v1

Casco Viejo

A week later, still phoneless, I went out with Nadia, a blonde Russian with whom we were inseparable. We were quite sick, actually I think we had a fever, but I forced her to leave the house for a ‘drink’ which turned into another drink and yet another drink… It was late and we were heading home, through the old part of Panama, when who do I see, but my bad boy Hugo and another Spanish friend of his heading our way!

Somehow, my girlfriend being the flirt she was, already met and kissed Hugo’s friend that evening while withdrawing cash. Don’t even ask me how that’s possible. Now, he came up to her and almost immediately they started making out as if they were in a room and not a street.

Hugo and I were not. Instead he was trying to understand why I never replied to his one message. I told him the story and gave him the number of my Panamanian cell, even though he had to have it already.

After taking it down (again) he moved closer to me and I slightly leaned back on the car behind me. I was dying to kiss him. But he clearly enjoyed torturing me, knowing the power he had over me. What he did next was the most seductive thing I have ever experienced, and the irony in that is that it was not even foreplay. He took my face into his hand and brought his face to mine. Then he lightly kissed me, and just as soon as I thought he was going to go further he backed away. He leaned in again, now more aggressive and pulled away slightly. It was getting more and more passionate by the second and I have to admit, I loved the teasing.

I realized then that all of us are suckers for anticipation. We love a man who has the power to tease us, to keep us intrigued and yearning. And this is why, we tend to go for the ‘bad boys’. We want to experience the passion, the seduction, if only once in our lives, even if we know it will be accompanied by pain. And by the way, I tested the Spaniard’s technique on guys and it works like a charm. As soon as you back away,The-seduction-of-mystery they literally pounce on you. (Except for Theo, the Virgin who asked me what was wrong)

We kissed and kissed until a car drove by us and a man screamed: “Get a room”. Except it was in Spanish, which made it even funnier.

Hugo invited Nadia, her kissing friend and I to eat. He sat in the front of the taxi and I ended up in the back with Nadia and the Spaniard practically glued to each other.

Finally we got out and as I looked around I realized that Hugo lived five minutes away from me in a building ironically called “Madrid”.

clamsWe all ended up back at his place which looked like a dump but he did end up cooking a delicious meal of mariscos (seafood) at 4 am in the morning. Nadia couldn’t stop commenting on how good it was, while I sat there with what she later described as a dumb smile pasted on my face. I don’t even remember if it was the alcohol or being around him that made me act this way. Actually I didn’t even understand half of the things he would tell me, due to his heavy Madrid accent. It was all corathon, tranquila tia and joder.

Nadia and her Spaniard disappeared soon after they finished the mariscos. I suppose they were proceeding to their second meal of the evening. That left me alone with Hugo, who instantly suggested he walk me home. Aww, right? Well, that was before we stood in front of my building and he decided to invite himself up.

I should have said no.

Instead I said yes. Actually I told him he could come up but there would be no sex to be had. Which, if you have read my stories is an unfortunate, over-used line with me which works only half the time. At this point, I have realized that it would only make sense to prepubescent boys.

First I wanted to show him my roof. Seriously, my roof was amazing. I would sit there some nights just listening to music and overlooking the bright skyline. Other times, I would cry over a guy. But the best part was the little pool which couldn’t be used so much for swimming as for soaking there or romancing, as in this case.

Hugo got in the water as I sat on the ledge in my red shirt and black skirt. He swam to me and started taking them off. No questions asked. It was hard to complain when it was done in such a confident and sexy manner. When I ended up in my panties, I lowered myself into the pool. The slow seductive kissing from earlier was now much more heated as he pressed me to the wall. But two could play that game. I instantly backed away, which made him smile and move into me like a hungry tiger. We must have looked like two boxers (in a game of seduction!) but wow, the swimming in the pool that night still stands out as one of the highlights of the experience in Panama.

Rrrr!

Rrrr!

Wet and dripping all over the marble floor, we walked down to my apartment. I shared the place with four other people so we tiptoed into my room, where he continued his game of seduction made easier by the fact that we were now on my bed. He definitely knew what he was doing, but I applaud myself on the fact that I did not have sex with him. My reasoning was simple: he lived a block away from me. If I succumbed immediately, I would never see this guy again. And I was actually so attracted to him, I knew he had the power to hurt me deeply. Power – the tool of the person who cares least.

We slept the whole night intertwined. This intimacy gave me a false feeling of connection to him. But in reality, I didn’t even know him. Not only was he a box of secrets, but I couldn’t even understand his version of Spanish! Sorry – Thpanish!  I was sure he was playing around. He was three years younger than me, working around the globe, not even thinking of settling down. And why would he? In Panama, as in many countries, Hugo could use his sensual Spanish to the full degree. Latin girls seemed to be dropping panties at the word foreigner and Spaniards took full advantage of that.

Hola chico!

Hola chico!

Me, on the other hand… Well, I wanted to find something meaningful and I knew that Hugo would not be it. Still, when he asked me if I wanted to go to the pool that morning, I took that to mean he was interested. Right after, he seemed to have changed his mind. The phone rang and soon after talking with whoever it was, he sprung out of bed and began to get dressed. “Call me” was the last thing he said before leaving.

Hard Rock Hotel

Hard Rock Hotel

At first I was in a great mood. Who cared about Hugo? It was convenient he lived close by and I could see him whenever I wanted. I would wait for him to call but I would not contact him first. I spent the rest of the day at the pool at Hard Rock Hotel we used to sneak into with the girls. We discussed each other’s guys as if we were on the episode of “Sex and the City”.

So needless to say I was in high spirits. I was young, in a new country and having wonderful adventures.

But a week later he didn’t call me. And another week after that. And I began to get obsessed. I couldn’t understand why a guy who practically lived near me, who almost had sex with me, who asked for my number, could not now ask me out or at least write something? Didn’t he want to eventually “seduce me”?

At the end, I couldn’t wait any longer and wrote him a message. The worst? He didn’t respond. I waited one day, two days… Maybe he didn’t get my message? We over-analyzed this situation on Nadia’s balcony countless times. But at the bottom of our hearts, I knew: if you are asking your girlfriend why he did this or that, he is unfortunately not just that into you. The truth hurt.

“Stop thinking about this guy.” Nadia told me countless times. “I don’t even know what is so special about him. I remember him as a bit of an asshole.”6a00e54ef2e21b883300e5503564568834-800wi

If only I could stop.

He finally replied two days later, saying he just received the message and that he would love to see me. I was so excited, I jumped up and down on the balcony. The next day I texted him the date and the time, but guess what? No answer again. To take my mind of off this nonsense, I went out with a group of friends only to receive two calls from him that night at 11 am. If this wasn’t a classic booty call, I don’ t know what is.

So ended any attempts on his part and I would have never seen him again, if it wasn’t for Nadia who kept on repeating over and over how she missed the mariscos he prepared for us and was wondering where he bought them. Ok, now I will admit. It wasn’t Nadia’s doing. It was mine. I needed any reason to text him again and now I had it.

Hugo texted back that he was really happy to hear from me and invited us over for dinner at his house. Apparently a new Spanish friend was visiting and needed entertaining. Nadia told me she would not have sex with the Spaniard. “I am not some entertaining committee here!” she told me. Good, because I wasn’t planning on sex with Hugo. Again. So why the hell was I prancing over to his place? Again? Had I become the stray dog, begging for scraps?

And if this could get any worse, here it is. Hug was pushing me to bring another girlfriend with me. Apparently he also had a Spaniard roommate and they were all thinking of playing couples Twister. I will repeat. Couples Twister. Is that the new lingo for an orgy? This Hugo seemed to have an array of male friends coming from Spain. Nadia and I joked about the huge line forming all over Madrid of the hot guys waiting to be sent over to Panama.

I wonder how this game ends

I wonder how this game ends

And if you were not yet convinced how low I could go, I will tell you: I actually saw Hugo with a Latin girl a couple of weeks prior to this. I swore to myself that I did the right thing in not sleeping with a man who is clearly sleeping all over Panama and now I was eagerly hopping to his house at the slightest beckoning.

The Spaniards were all there when Nadia and I came in the door. Hugo’s friend Javi was actually quite attractive and he flirted with me, until he realized that his friend was ‘with me’ (for that evening). It would have been brilliant to start flirting with Javi and leave Hugo hanging, but I really couldn’t control myself around this guy. Hugo was cooking chorizo, as apparently he had no time to go to the supermarket and get seafood so the whole pretense of dinner was obvious. The guys wanted sex, they wanted it easy and we came to accommodate that need. On a Tuesday.

After he finished cooking, Hugo sat by me, leaning back on the sofa and I sat near him, trying to seductively nibble on my chorizo. If you don’t know chorizo is a Spanish word for sausage. So now you get the pun. He talked to me but I also felt like he was flirting with Nadia, maybe to make me jealous or possibly because he actually didn’t give a damn about me. At one point he caressed my leg, in a way that said “Ok, Ok. You are with me. Don’t you worry.”

“I understand you” Nadia told me afterwards. “He is beautiful. He is deep. He has crazy charisma and mystery. This was from the girl that thought nothing of him when she first met him.

Her and Javi left right after (with no sex this time), leaving the other roommate alone on his cellphone looking dejected since everyone coupled up. The poor guy must have really been looking forward to the game of Couples Twister.

Low and behold, Hugo offered to walk me home. We didn’t kiss up until the building and there, as he kissed me, I no longer felt the same excitement. I knew I was being used. I was letting myself be used, rather and that felt low. Again, he wanted to come up and again I let him. I knew that no matter what happened that night – we would never see each other again. I could have sex and get hurt or I could simply spend the night with this overdue obsession of mine. I went with my heart and what it wanted for that night and that was to be close to him.

He lay down on my bed and we began kissing. As he removed my clothing, I told him I was not going to have sex with him.

“Why not?” he asked in that arrogant way of his.

“Because.. I just don’t trust you!”

“You don’t trust me?”

“What do you expect me to say after you disappeared that time?”

“What would you like me to do?”

“What would I like? Normal things, like a date”

“A date, huh.” He started thinking. “Ok”

He kept on talking in that self-assured way of his and I, deciding to take full control told him to shut up and actually gave him a blow job. In a way, I wanted to feel full power over him, to let him know just how good it could be with me but not to succumb to his power. At the same time, was I really gaining control or was I like a teenage girl thinking she could win a guy through ‘good head’?

The first thing he said was: “You don’t trust me? What if I don’t trust you? You know what you are doing. And I don’t know how many guys you have done this with.”

The guy was a bullshitter through and through. I can tell you that.

But thankfully I never had sex with him. Although letting him sleep in my bed the second time around and doing everything else but the actual act was just as good. And not seeing him again would hurt just as much.

That night, as we slept intertwined; I remembered his scent, the feel of his curly hair, the weight of him. I wanted to save it for the future, because I knew that when he walked out the door in the morning, that would be it. I felt it in my bones. As the morning came, his alarm sounded. He had to get up at dawn for work. As he got dressed, he stood there, looking at me almost as if he felt bad he couldn’t promise me anything. Then he kissed me on the cheek and left. Right after the door closed, I began to cry. The smell of him on my pillow lingered for another week.

He did ask me on a date (rather an invite to hand out with his girl friend, and possibly ‘walk me home’ again). I declined but hoped he would ask me out for real. It never happened and that was the last I saw of Hugo.

Nadia told me that she ran into him in a club not so long ago. He asked how I was and she told him I left Panama. He pondered over it and asked her why I never said bye. He could have driven me to the bus terminal.

Why I never said bye. Good question.

It is a story that stops without a proper ending, but it is also one that contains important lessons. The person with control is the one who cares least. Confidence changes the perception of looks in mere minutes. Heart sometimes makes us do low, desperate things. And bad boys do not always come on motorcycles, but they will ride all over your self worth. So put yourself in control, instead of secretly enjoying the feeling of being pulled like a puppet on a string and for the love of God, wait before you invite him up.

Sexy Jewish Men – When a No turns to Yes

Image  Let’s start with the fact that I am not a slut. I am a classy girl and a strong believer in waiting to have sex. At least beyond one day. I think waiting a week to a month is a good way of getting to know the person, gaining respect and separating yourself from every other one night stand. Believe me. I have read tons of books on the subject and have an older brother.

There are instances in life, however, when your heart and body completely dominates your head. There are men that make us lose our senses completely, because they generate ease, sex appeal and real confidence. They are masters at selling sex to you. They do not hurry you up or plead with you with “please, can we just a little bit?”. They just know how to phrase the proposal and to kiss you so well, that any resistance melts away and your mind literally shuts off.

Both of these men for me happened to be Jewish.

I have never been attracted to Jewish guys, I will be honest. Being half Jewish myself I always went for the opposite, but when it comes to sex, let me generalize and say “oh, my God!” The regret is totally worth the experience.

The first one was from Israel. I met him in the summer while vacationing in Costa Rica. He was much younger (as it is sadly a trend with me), a surfer travelling for months ‘in search of the perfect wave, dude!’ He was working as a receptionist at a surfing hostel when I met him. Super relaxed, witty and flirty, he was charming but not my type. I didn’t even seriously consider him until he came to a party that night and we began flirting. When he offered to go to the beach, I thought we would just do some kissing.stock-footage-silhouette-of-couple-during-beach-sunset

When he tried to go further, I stopped him saying I wasn’t going to have sex. Believe me. Up until this point I was positive I wouldn’t. OK, he agreed, let’s just talk and look at the stars.

I can’t believe I actually bought that line. We talked for I think, one minute in total when he started at it again. His mouth was on my neck as he was sensually kissing me, going lower and lower until I had to stop him again. No problem, he agreed casually. We talked again. He tried to make it romantic by asking me questions. When I said no the third time, he became a salesman.

“It is up to you of course” He said “But you have two days here. If we had sex today, tomorrow would be so much better.” It was kind of “get one, get the second half price” kind of a deal. Oh Jews – what salespeople indeed.

This line got me thinking. Hmm. I did want to have sex with him. Did it matter if I waited one more day? We could be together for two whole days. He was really good at kissing, so I wondered what else he might be good at… and ok, OK, I stayed in a surfing village in Costa Rica. The sand, beach, surfing and drinking combination do not make for a clearly reasoning mind.

He invited me to his room and I agreed saying I would only spend the night with him. Sure, he agreed.I am tired anyways.

You know what happened at the end? You guessed right. He didn’t even have to convince me. He merely asked “So, how are you feeling about this?” when I said “I want to have sex”.  How great is that? Great seduction skills plus wonderful tactic equals stupid girl who offers to have sex with you. I gotta say though, the sex was completely worth it. Probably the best in my life so far. He was very dominating and he knew how to take charge.

The ironic thing is, we never got to have a second time. Mr. Israel figured he has had enough and ditched me the next evening, but I suppose he got lonely at night because he left a note asking me to spend the night with him. ‘He didn’t like to sleep alone’. Thank God, I put my scrambled brains in my head this time and simply left that day.

Unfortunately, my bad judgement does not stop there. 

A week ago, I received an email from a French guy I once met on the street in Barcelona. All I remembered was he was really tall, dark and quite handsome.  He was coming to my city so we decided to meet for a drink on the rooftop. Oh and he was part Moroccan Jewish, of course.panorama-1

He was extremely stylish and smelled amazing which I suppose comes with being Parisian. And definitely out to get me. To bed. He actually told the waitress to get me something strong so he would be able to seduce me. In front of me. He openly flirted with me throughout the whole date and at one point I classified him as a douchebag. Then, as I showed him I was resilient to his cheesy charms, and shot down all his attempts at flirting with sarcastic comments and “does this actually work?”, he finally seemed to take me seriously and we had a genuine conversation.

Again, I told this guy I was not going to have sex with him. He was in my city only for one night and I am classy enough to end it at a kiss. Usually.

I have experience with French guys, I have watched countless movies and I have seen the whole hand kissing thing enough to know it is a ploy, but when he began kissing the back of my wrist, I swear – I melted. I became a living and breathing stereotype for a girl who swoons upon hearing the words amour and cherie.  Living in North  America, we don’t get a lot of sensuality, so French men can use that to their full advantage. Assholes.

After we shared a really passionate kiss, he started convincing me to come up to his hotel room. He continued kissing my neck literally to the point where my mind temporarily shut off. And if you know me you know that I always over-analyze everything. I wouldn’t come up to his hotel but I also didn’t want to leave him. I mean, damn, I am human! And the neck kissing was out of this world! What is it with the damn French guys? Do they go to a special school or something?Shoe Wine

I suggested we take a taxi to my place and I would maybe consider letting him up. He didn’t expect such a turn of events and said I really surprised him, in a good way. But then, I surprised myself more. I allowed him to stay the night, telling him I would not have sex with him. Seriously. Never try that. I hope you are smart enough not to. I mean, how the hell did my train of thought even work at that moment? “Oh, I will spend the night with a horny, grown man who is not my friend but wants to get into my pants. And I also want him to. We will do other things, but not more. Oh, and he is part Moroccan. That will help matters.”

It is miraculous –  the winding paths my logic sometimes follows. You would think I was sixteen (and pregnant).

I have to say though – I lasted until the morning. I tried really hard to fight the urge. He was dominating, sensual, knew exactly what he was doing and curiosity won the best of me. Again, really worth it, but what bothers me is that I became like every other girl. A girl who says no, but ends up saying yes. Oh, and to make it worse? I didn’t use a condom. And now I have to go through a check up. Why? Well, let’s just say at the tender age of 28 I completely lost all my wits.

It is difficult being a girl sometimes. Especially if you feel like you should be classy. I want to be classy. I think I am. But sometimes, there is a part of you that says “What about now? What about this feeling? What if you die tomorrow and this would be the greatest sensual experience of your life?” And some guys know how to play on that. These two guys are a great example of how to seduce a woman. Both waited and slowly seduced me until I just succumbed. I beat myself about it afterwards, but do I regret it really?

I’ll end this with a line from a movie called “Spread”. In it, the character of Ashton Kutcher gives tips on seducing women. At one point he says “If a girl says she is not having sex with you, before you can even blink, before you can even think – she is having sex with you.” It is very upsetting to me that I watched this movie before my recent experience and became the rule rather than the exception to this theory.Spread_poster

Alas, seduction wins. But now, I have to listen to my head.

Reasons for Moving to Montreal: Men

guy“Fuck, that’s a hot dress” a drunken guy yelled at me as I got off the streetcar in Toronto.

“Do you really have to use fuck when complimenting a woman?” I really was trying to see if he would grasp the concept of classiness.

“I’m not tryina pick you up” he grumbled angrily.

I sighed, exasperated. Trying to get some understanding into this guy would be like banging your head against a brick wall.

This is just one person, you might say. One example of a drunken guy trying to chat up a girl. Having lived in Toronto all of sixteen years now, I can safely say this classless boy is my representation of the guys in the city.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not saying that all Toronto guys lack class, but they surely are lost when dealing with a woman.  I used to think that it is the way it’s supposed to be. It’s normal to walk down the street and not be acknowledged with a smile or a meaningful glance from an attractive guy. But when it becomes nearly impossible to meet a quality man on the streets, bars and at events, a girl really begins to run out of options.Men flirting with woman on street

This is why I love Montreal. Only five hours away from Toronto, it has a culture unique to our typically North American city. Even with its freezing, depressing winters and piles of snow, Montreal has retained an air of possibility that Toronto simply lacks (but the damn snow, alas – not). I can walk through the streets and be met with inquiring, interested and flirty gazes. I can look at the guy I am interested in and get a real reaction, unlike the glassy, scared deer in the headlights look I get in Toronto.  Let me really break down why I believe artsy Montreal has way more potential than busy Toronto.

1. Guys are much cuter. Not only that, their eyes flicker with a spark, a sense of interest… while Torontonians generally look bland with eyes that express nothing

2. They know how to dress

3. The know how to flirt. They can strike up an interesting conversation, during which they look you in the eyes and seem actually interested in what you have to say instead of too busy thinking how to get with you. Toronto guys on the other hand, really don’t know how to approach you in a classy way. This is the way I have been flirted with in the past.

a.       Hey, so my friend is thinking of getting a beard. What do you think?(The friend comes up conveniently) Beard, no beard?

b.      Hi, uh. So you come here often, uh? (eyes are usually huge and all over the place)

c.       Dude, look at your shirt. That’s awesome. You’ve been to Costa Rica! High five! (I unwillingly raise my hand so he doesn’t look completely lame. I can’t believe I have just been called ‘dude’. I can assure you I don’t look like one)

d.      Awkwardly staring. Even if I smile, he doesn’t approach.

e.      Heyyyy, whereyougoingprettygurl? (drunken group slur)Comeback! Wewannatalktoya.

While Montreal flirting usually goes along the lines of simple:

a.       Hello, I am Frederick. What is your name?

Easy, breezy and under control.

3.       Men have more of a sense of who they are. They have a culture, an individuality, a personality and something to say. They do not use lines from “The Anchorman” or “The Game”. They do not treat you as a “dude”. They are quite aware that you are a lady and should be treated as such.

4.      The hipsters ACTUALLY have a personality! Whereas the Toronto hipsters are a pretentious wannabee sack of nothing interesting to say and no personality underneath all that get-uppretentious_hipster_by_jakumetsu-d3be765

5.       There is a sense of playfulness and possibility in the air, whereas Toronto lacks all of the above.

I am aware that Toronto women are partly responsible for the lack of action on the guys’ part. I know from talking to countless guys that their bitchy attitude scarred the guys for life and now they are too wounded to make a move. So, they would rather pretend they are better than you or ignore you. The reality is that even if they do talk to you, there is no sense of spontaneity in them. The conversations are a bit pre-programmed and even the voices sometimes sound robotic. I used to try all sort of book methods such as smiling, approaching even and asking questions that might lead to a conversation. I used to think it was me that did not make enough effort. Montreal shows all girls that there is no such thing. That we do not have to make it seventy percent easier for the men, but instead the men should find the courage to approach you. You smile to the man and BAM, he smiles back, following it up with the approach. This is the way it used to be and we seemed to lose all sense of this flirty culture, if we ever had it to begin with. Yes, our economy is better, but the passion truly thrives in Montreal.

Please share where you live and how it compares to my observations.

The Virgin (2013)

forty_year_old_virgin_ver2

Never get involved with someone for the reason of “helping them”. 

When he walked into the club, he stood out. First of all, he was tall. He also had an attractive face and I swear I could feel his European-ness a mile away.

We were in a fifties style club, for a friend’s birthday. He seemed to know all of my friends. Everyone, except for me, which wasn’t a surprise – I pretty much just got back from Panama.

I waited and waited to be introduced. This is my new tactic – relax and let things happen. When I realized I might wait the whole night like this, I reverted to my old technique – make the move. I walked up to my friend and got him to introduce me to the guys, which he did with a sarcastic grin on his face.

Lenard, the chubby shorter guy was the chatty one. Theo was the one I liked. Both were from The Netherlands studying for their masters.

Theo was cute. With dark blue eyes, light brown hair falling in strands over his forehead and a nice built he looked as if he had no trouble getting girls. But when he talked to me, I didn’t sense his interest. His eyes did not gaze into mine with meaning. He seemed detached, completely disinterested and not in the least bit flirty. He talked and talked, but never actually took the time to slow down, smile and really look at me. I figured he really wasn’t interested and I was just wasting my time. So I reverted to my new technique of not giving a damn and excused myself to go to the bathroom. In addition, he was only here for the remaining month and I have been through and over this with similar consequences. Another guy who would leave. Another, whatever it was. I was getting quite sick of it.

I spent the night dancing and fighting the urge to initiate conversation. My new motto was: if someone wants you, they will make it happen. Especially if you already took that extra step. His friend and he never danced. They simply walked around talking to people and when they left, he walked right by me without saying bye.

The next day I noticed that he added me on Facebook and I was slightly surprised. I guess waiting did pay off in the end. When he began chatting to me online,  I figured he must be somewhat interested.

I didn’t hear from him for a couple of days and let’s be honest here. I didn’t really care. I thought he was cute, yes, but was I really attracted to him? He seemed to miss a presence, a spark – something that would really get my heart beating faster.

A few days later, I got a text message out of nowhere asking me if I wanted to grab a drink. I got a bit excited until I realized – his friend was coming too. When we met, I noticed that Lenard was much more engaged in a conversation with me, while Theo never gave me a prolonged stare to show his interest. He talked, surely enough, but there was no extra attention. It didn’t disappoint me as much as add more water to my already melting interest. Also, I didn’t appreciate the fact that I was treated like one of the guys. They had this rule that each person would buy a round of beers for the other two. I thought it was a ridiculous rule, given that I am a girl, but went along with it.symw-beers-joe-via-thebrokenheeldiaries-dot-com

Either way, they were both fun, more so Lenard who was very opinionated and cracked jokes about everything, including his love of sexual innuendos Theo seemed uncomfortable with. But Theo was good-looking and European and I suppose, it made me feel good to walk around with him, as shallow as that sounds.

The next day we met for the Rugby game and after, joined a rooftop party my friends invited me too. They were very surprised to see the Dutch boys there and threw me a couple of inquiring looks. I stayed with Theo the entire evening, slightly interested in him and flirting as much as I could, touching him constantly, but there was no sexual energy between us. Again, he stood out of the crowd, with his big hands moving his unruly hair back every so often, so much that all the girls seemed to drink him up. I felt a sense of pride at this, knowing he really was interested in me. I felt it, though he has made no move up to this point.

By the end of the night, as they walked me back, I really gave up. I have had enough of both of them, inseparable, and Theo who was too chicken to make a move.

And so continued a couple of weeks. He would write to me and invite me out, always accompanied by his best friend. I began to get irritated and bitched to my guy friends about his lack of initiative.

“Maybe he only likes you as a friend?” suggested one of my female friends a little smugly.

“Well why does he keep on inquiring about my day, what I do, where I am?” I almost yelled at her in frustration. I hate it when people turn the problem around and make you sound like you are inventing problems. And they make you feel almost guilty for being so arrogant to assume that someone actually likes you!

My guy friends found this hilarious. I couldn’t care at this point. It was getting ridiculous and I was too old to deal with childish behavior. So, one night when he invited me over to his house to watch “Die Hard”, I told him my perfect Saturday evening did not involve watching an action movie with two guys. Get the point there, mister!die_hard_two_ver2_xlg

But as I was walking down the street the next day, I ran into the Dutch guys by some weird stroke of .. luck? Theo looked me up and down, but let Lenard initiate the conversation for most of the walk. We were going to the same barbecue as it turned out.

It was a freezing August night and I didn’t bring anything to cover myself so as I stood on the street, he offered to “keep me warm”. Keeping me warm consisted of hugging me and awkwardly and tapping my back, as if I was a male buddy and not a girl he was actually interested in.

“Theo” I said “That’s not how you hug a girl!”

“Let me hug you again” he offered awkwardly. I swear to God, good looks can go to waste when someone is that insecure.

This time the hug lasted longer, but just as I began to relax and actually feel he was treating me like a woman, he tapped me again.

ARGH.

Towards the end of the night, we stepped out of the bar. My friend let me borrow her shawl and I put it on to keep me warm for my forty minute walk home. Theo hugged me again, this time with no tapping and I found myself learning into his warm body as he gently caressed my shoulders. Leonard looked us up and down. I suppose we looked really intimate.

I figured Theo would say goodnight and join his inseparable self, but instead he asked me if he could walk me back.

“It’s a thirty minute walk” I said, both challenging and warning him.

“It’s OK” He looked me straight in the eyes uncomfortably.

“You don’t have to” I emphasized. I didn’t actually know if I wanted him to agree or disagree. We have never been one-on-one for longer than ten minutes and this might have gotten awkward as I always felt around him. After seeing he would not give up, I shrugged with a smile. OK, let’s go.

We walked hugging each other all the way back and I think that this physical closeness made it easier for us to be honest.

“So” I asked “What do you think about Dutch girls?”

“How is this related to our conversation about people?”

“Well girls are people. This is merely for anthropological purposes” I added.

He stalled. “I don’t really have much experience with girls.”

As if I couldn’t tell at this point.

“I mean, I know what to do.. I am just too shy about actually doing something” he continued, afraid to look at me.

“I can see that.” I said “You just don’t know how to make a move.”

“The thing is I know what to do. I just don’t know how to get around to doing it. I get nervous”

I looked at him. “Are you nervous right now?”

“Yes” he said looking straight ahead.

I stopped in my tracks and he looked at me questionably. Then I did something I haven’t done since my early twenties, when I thought that making the first move would at least rid of the awkwardness of having to wait for the guy. I leaned in and kissed him. The thing is,  he needed this. This would be the only thing that would make him feel more comfortable and it was long in coming. Poor Theo was not a good kisser. He wasn’t bad, but he was really nervous and that made the kiss unnatural and awkward. I felt like I was kissing a boy and not a twenty-five year old man. His birthday was in a few days. He would be twenty-six. The age when a man has normally experienced a string of dates, one-night stands, relationship(s) and possibly even a threesome.

“That was awful” he admitted after we stopped kissing. I shrugged it off and said “practice makes perfect”. We walked back a little more comfortably and when we were in front of the condo,  I asked him if he wanted to get some water.

He jumped at the opportunity to come up, so we did. Once he got some water in him, I told him he could technically stay but..

He didn’t let me finish the end of that sentence, saying that it was late and he would much prefer that to the hike back.

I offered him the couch, but figured he was harmless and let him sleep on my bed.

Do I look like I would make a move? He confirmed for me and I actually felt sorry for him.

But surprise of all surprises came when he pulled a what I call “Italian” on me and his hands started wandering. I could have stopped him, I know that, but a part of me felt bad. The poor guy needed this. The other part was intrigued. The last one was kind of horny. After all, I was in bed, half naked with a good looking guy. And his kissing was progressing at a fast rate.

“You know” He told me “I really have limited experience. This is as far as I have gone”

I was shocked. I really didn’t know what to say to that. So, I didn’t say anything. I half expected it but to actually hear someone was a virgin at the tender age of almost 26  was unbelievable. The worst is, he was way better looking than Lenard, yet Lenard seemed to have almost a porn star experienced compared to his.

However, I stuck to my rule and did not have sex with him that night. I don’t think he even wanted to. He was still dazed from being in bed with a naked girl. It was amazing to watch his expression as he ran his hands over my body. It was as if he was a sculptor observing a beautiful sculpture he had just molded.

We slept together and the next morning he had to go home, since I was having a barbecue, inviting all of our now collective friends. Had my guy friends found the guy I bitched about in my condo, they would have never let it go.

During the barbecue I ignored him mostly. Being around him was slightly awkward and Lenard with his annoying remarks that got under my skin didn’t help matters. All the winking and giggling made me feel like I was back in high school.

My girlfriends who now saw him for the first time expressed their thumbs up and told me to “go for it.” He was “so cute”! Even when I pointed him out to my brother, he dropped his mouth. I guess I wouldn’t have believed it either. But the reality was, he just wasn’t my guy. Eloquent and confident as he seemed, he lacked fire and sex appeal. So I ignored him until I started to feel bad and then led him onto the balcony and kissed him.

“Just sleep with the guy” offered my brother. “I mean,  it won’t be a big deal for you but it would mean a lifetime for him.” Yes, in reply to your answer. My brother and I talk about everything.

I pondered this thought. Yes, he wasn’t really for me, but I have been with quite a few unworthy guys and here was one who really deserved it. I could change his life. I could be his Stefan (read the German). I have never been anyone’s first.. Not that I have wanted to be. I prefer experienced guys.. but hell. Why not?

I think I was really bored and have not felt anything for a while. It is really sad that I did this for such shallow reasons, because it did not make this ‘thing’ any more memorable.

I suppose a part of me wanted to feel a power that Stefan must have felt when he made me a woman. The other part felt sorry for him. No one should feel inadequate for being a virgin at such an age. Having lost my virginity late in life (two weeks away from my twenty-third birthday) I knew what that felt like. Theo would lose his at twenty-five. I wanted to help him. Hmm, maybe I could also put that on my resume. Teacher/virgin helper.

He stayed over that night and early in the morning, as we woke up and started getting kind of worked up I offered it to him matter of factly. “Soooo.. Theo… you wanna have sex?”

“Um. Yes?” he finally got out. I could have laughed then at how well his serious face concealed the emotion. Ah, good old Northern Europeans!

So we did. It was less awkward than our first kiss and actually not bad at all. Afterwards he took a shower and sat in the living room with his hair wet and an entranced expression on his face. Finally he got up and said he had to go but hoped to see me before his birthday.

He had a week left in Canada.

I guess I was so set on being some perverted form of Mother Theresa that I didn’t bother thinking about the ‘what would happen’. Theo  began to see me as his girl. It was obvious to both of us he was leaving but he was fully set on returning in four months. He didn’t bother me, send me love letters or cry at my doorstep but I felt his need for me.

birthday_cake

Kind of like that. Except I am not blonde

I saw him on the day of his birthday that he was celebrating on the lake shore. I didn’t bring a present. Actually I told him that was his birthday present after sex. I told him no one else would bring such a great one. Not even Leonard.

When he actually paid for my drink and began offering me more, Lenard looked at me in awe and said “You made a Dutch guy un-Dutch.”

All of my friends realized we had a thing going on and made hilarious faces behind Theo’s back. The joke centered around how I made Theo a man. Little did they know how close to the truth they were.

I realized how much Theo changed when on Saturday, who, while we were at a Greek restaurant had walked in wearing a new collared shirt, with his hair freshly washed, smelling of deodorant. There was a Greek festival on the street and everyone was dancing in circles, so he jumped in and began dancing in a circle. When I met him he seemed deadly afraid of dancing and now he was practically turning Greek. When we entered the Latin club, he offered me drink after drink, even though I knew he would normally not do that. In fact, he once mentioned he would never pay for a girl. Then, he asked me teach him salsa and actually turned out to be a great dancer.

Not quite as great

Not quite as professional

When I couldn’t stop laughing at this sudden change, he looked at me and said “You woke me up. You know that, right?” I told him that was probably the most romantic thing anyone has said to me. Seriously. It sounds like a line right out of the movie. I almost answered with “You had me at hello”.

The sex has gotten way better and I quite enjoyed lying next to him as the freezing August weather made it too chilly to go outside. He was so much more relaxed, so much more open and more of a man too. Apparently, having spent lots of time in front of a computer when he was a child, he felt socially awkward for quite a while. I hoped what I did would help him. On the flip side, it could also hurt him and close him off even more. I didn’t want a future with him and he began talking about coming back to stay in Canada indefinitely.

The last night I was at his place, we were watching movies on his couch and I got quite pissed off at him not having bought a bottle of wine. I sat there quietly and he broke the silence, saying he felt really guilty. Then he finally took initiative. He ran out and went to buy a bottle. When he came back, he offered to take me out for Mexican and then he took another one. He paid. (A guy who said he would never pay for a woman. Praise Jesus!)

q

The sex didn’t quite look like that either

The last morning he told me I was the best thing that has ever happened to him. I guess it was a sweet thing to say, but I was his first.  Of course I was the best thing that has ever happened in his life. I gave him the gift of SEX.

The last day was very hard for him. Not only was he leaving me, but he was leaving the closeness that we shared and he wasn’t sure he would find it again. After all, it took him years to find me. By that, I mean a woman willing to de-virginize him.  As we kissed goodbye, I could still see him on the other platform – his eyes red. I was upset for him, but I wasn’t emotional. In a way, I was happy to be rid of him.

Theo was a great guy, he would be a good boyfriend and maybe he would definitely make some girl happy. But for me, I need someone with presence, someone with passion, someone who is strong and who knows how to take initiative. I was still on a quest to find him however long that would take and wherever he would be from.

exposedFor now, nothing is better than settling.

PS. I recently ended it with him and he wouldn’t listen when I told him to remember life is full of pain and disappointment, but you have to take risks. For me, I learned that people need to help themselves. Sure, I made him a MAN. But it doesn’t mean I made him happier. And I surely didn’t make myself happier nor more powerful. The only thing that can make me feel is actually FEELING.