What Happened to Them? (2015)

People are not characters and even as the story ends, they continue to live on. So, most likely some of my faithful readers out there have wondered – hmm.. What happened to this guy? Or that douchebag? Did she ever see them again? I’ve decided to do something different and give you a continuation of the stories. Only the ones that had some sort of continuation of course.

The German – Stefan

1386-0905-1204-5728 The guy I lost my virginity to? His girlfriend is having a baby. We no longer speak to each other. I no longer care either, though of course, even years later I still remember him. Who can forget their first?

The Chilean – Javier

This guy bears UNCANNY resemblance to Javier Remember the nineteen year old I met in Mexico and decided it would be a great idea to have a long distance relationship with him? Wonder of wonders, I was passing my Chile a few months ago and he met me at the airport. With his new girlfriend of course. At this point, I had no idea what I could have seen in this guy. Empty blue eyes, nothing interesting to say.. Yes, he definitely grew from a boy to a man, but now at 29 I no longer saw what my 25 year old self was attracted to. The whole thing was quite awkward as his girlfriend seemed very jealous and at one point, as he asked me about the past, started caressing his arm protectively. Any look in his eyes suggesting interest raised red flags in her. To be very honest with you – I didn’t even want to make her jealous. I thought both of them looked perfect for each other – like a clothing ad. Even their names were similar. I’m not saying I became a better person or anything, but I think I matured to the point where I no longer felt the need to prove something to myself or anyone. I was too busy looking for my own person.

The Argentinian – Fran

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This is the newest story of all… And at this point, I no longer feel anything for Francisco either, though I still get a warm and fuzzy feeling when I get a message from him. We talked recently right after I uploaded a new video featuring his cousin – the player. The lover of attention was quite disappointed I never included his highness in the video. I told him I would include him in the next. I will not.

The Argentinian – Alfie

motorcycleWe are not in touch, but whenever I see his face on Facebook it literally makes me sick. There is something seriously off with that guy.

The Portuguese – Luiz

Some of you have mentioned to See? Not prettyme that this is your favorite story. Actually, it’s also one of my favorites. It is not every day someone flies to see you in another country. And someone that gorgeous either. But sadly enough, looks quickly faded for Luiz and he is no longer the “Brazilian model” young guy he once was. I was in Lisbon in the summer and only wrote to him the last day of my trip. I suppose I didn’t want to ruin a good memory and see Luiz as he is now, but then had a change of mind. We never managed to meet. It was too late in my trip and he now has a girlfriend that controls his every move. I think it’s a good thing we didn’t. Some memories are better left alone.

* and even though this is a story after the story, there is still another story that follows! A day after publishing this entry, Luiz decided to call me and we had a conversation on the phone during which he told me that he broke up with his girlfriend of five years. My romantic and idealistic Luiz sounded the same and yet different. He told me he learned English (through watching the Game of Thrones) and even though he was still a romantic at heart, his last girlfriend killed the idealistic streak in him. “No!” I yelled into the telephone “You were my one super romantic guy! Don’t tell me life destroyed that!” Seems that Luiz and I can’t seem to lose the contact and even when you think the story is over, life suddenly surprises you.

* And no, Luiz is still the beautiful Brazilian looking guy. Maybe even more so in his maturity. But after a Skype call, after hearing from him that he has never experienced what he had with me, I still knew that he is not the man I want. And I doubt I would move to Portugal to live with him.

The Puerto Rican – Franko

446011_f520Oh, my crazy obsession! The biggest obsession I have ever had over someone I barely knew. But someone who I now know is a self-obsessed, self-entitled asshole who feels he can get away with treating people any way he likes. The guy had the audacity to repeat his Puerto Rican episode not one more time, but TWO more times. The first was a year ago, after my video has come out. Clearly he felt special so he decided to invite himself to Canada to visit me. When I told him that he wouldn’t be able to stay at my place, he answered back with “I’m not going to sleep on your couch after a long flight!” Even though he didn’t bother messaging me for over 2 months, the royal douchebag still expected me to welcome him into my bed. Then he disappeared.  But the last straw happened when I was in Buenos Aires a month ago. He wrote to me to say he was coming to the city, but as soon as I stupidly expressed interest in his arrival, he just blew off. Didn’t even bother responding. The only way I could redeem myself is by erasing him off of Facebook. What a blow, right?

The Cuban – Christian

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The romantic Cuban and I wrote back and forth for months. And no guys, he didn’t ask me for money or a visa. Finally, I stopped this useless interaction. I knew that there was no future in this. Sure, he was a beautiful person and it was a warming memory but who were we kidding here? A couple of months ago, when living with Fran in Cordoba I wrote to him again. I guess I missed the romance he and I shared when Fran and I did not. The Cuban was now working in a resort as an entertainer. The last email I received from him said that he waited for my email for 11 months. Heartbreaking right?

The Belgian – Eduard

backpackerThe one guy nothing even happened with, yet I have been in consistent contact with. He even offered to fly to Argentina just to see me. And when I was in Europe blamed me for not letting him know since he would have flown anywhere in the continent to see me. Totally beating any Latino man, right? Sadly, I don’t think I felt enough for him. I told him that and he accepted it, but we still have not lost contact. Once in a while he messages me and we talk back and forth like friends. I almost feel like if all else fails, maybe he can be my back-up plan. Don’t call me mean. I just wish I had more feelings for the guy! So here we go. So many stories and yet not one with a great ending. Do you have someone that you keep thinking about? Do you wonder what it would be like to see this person again? Share your own stories and experiences. I love getting messages from you, so send them over and I will do my best to respond to each one of you!

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Good Boy, Bad Boy (2015) – Part 2

Bad Boy

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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.

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“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.

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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.

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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”

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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

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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.

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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.

Never Have I Ever… (2013)

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I collect moments so I can look back at them when I am old.. but which are the moments that we really remember?Which do we keep on recounting over and over again?

Upon request from one of my readers to write about Swiss men, I have decided to share a fairly old story about a Swiss-German guy I met while working in Panama. The reason I didn’t write about him write right away is for some reason he didn’t stick in my mind. There are men I have had the most romantic experiences with, only to forget them as soon as the wheels of the plane took off the ground. While others, like my friend Franko, still make me sad with every Facebook update.

Anyways, requests from you guys are important to me, so here goes…

The rainy season wasn’t coming for a month, so in order to conserve electricity and not use up the so needed AC, Panamanian workers received a week off from work. When I realized I would get a four day long weekend, I quickly decided to head back to Santa Catalina for a break. There was an international surfing championship happening there, so lots of parties to look forward to. Two busses and a long walk later, I arrived to the surfing hostel with two new friends I made on the bus – one Australian and one German.

The owner of the hostel was away so in charge were his two pot smoking young Brazilian sons. One, Gabriel, was gorgeous. I stared at him on my way in and he at me. He couldn’t have been older than 24, so it was a definite no go. Still, the attention he showed me was really flattering. When I asked him a question about why there was a closet full of surfboards instead of a bathroom as the sign showed, he stared at me for ages before coming out with a response. And ok, he might have been stoned, but he also looked mesmerized by me, which felt great.

That night, the German, the Aussie and I headed to Chili Rojos. If you read my Argentinian story, you will know that was the same place I met Pablo. We stood in front of the bar, when a car came to a halt in front of us and a blond boy with a very German face leaned out of the window.

“You know vere zer is good place to eat?” he asked in a very thick accent.

We directed him to where we were going and soon enough, ended up joining his table. He was with two other guys and a girl with cropped hair, who later turned out to be his brothers and sister.  Being very German in behaviour, the guys were very nice, but quite robotic and awkward around me. Erich seemed to be the fun and loose one of the group. When we played a game of “Never Have I Ever”, he seemed to be the most experienced one. He was also the most flirtatious with me, and of course quickly established himself as the leader, being the oldest.

After we headed to another bar, where I felt more awkward by the second as the brothers surrounded me and flirted with me. They were all over me, hanging on to every word I said and instead of flattering it began to feel slightly creepy. Flirting is definitely not the Swiss-German forte. Nor the German. Instead of the natural fluidity of the Italians or the Spanish, Germans are stiff and uncomfortable, which makes you equally so.  Once the brothers realized I was into Erich, they grew visibly sad and just stood there even more awkwardly.

Erich offered we go for a walk to the ocean, which was about a twenty minute hike in absolute darkness made only lighter by the bright stars that covered the sky. During the walk, he kissed me and we kissed the whole dark way down to the water. Once on the beach, our little adventure got crazier.

He removed my clothes, and almost ordered me to get into the water. With his thick Swiss-German accent, it actually sounded quite dominant, so I obeyed. Curiosity tends to get the best of me as I always long for adventure and new experiences. Well, this was definitely an interesting one. Naked, and emerged in shallow water, with him over me and melodic trance playing far off in the distance, I felt weightless and carefree.This is when he scooped up mud and began ‘drawing’ on me. Yes, I am not even kidding. The whole thing was surreal but I enjoy people with a sense of creativity and this Swiss boy had more than enough of it.

Never have I ever lied naked in the water with a stranger covered in dirt and here I was. Mr. Artisto decided to stick his cell phone in my bag and hang it across himself.  It wasn’t a surprise when it fell in the water and died. By the end of this adventure, we were both shoeless, (as our flip flops got carried away with the tide) and dirty.

We walked barefoot to my hostel, laughing about the whole thing, only to find out that there was no water back at my hippy place and we would have to sleep dirty. Using the only towel I had, we dried ourselves off, or rather – scrubbed the dirt away and got into bed.

I shared the room with another girl who slept off to the other side. However, we ended up having sex in that same room, and then Mr. Commander decided he wanted to try it on the balcony until the rail almost gave out and we had to step away quickly. Otherwise, they would have found two muddy, naked people lying on the grass underneath the window.

Why did I have sex with Erich the first night? Well, he was definitely inventive and there was not a dull second with him. And even though he definitely had a few slightly crazy ideas in his head, I fully trusted him. The guy spent majority of his twenties in a serious relationship. Now, he wanted to try something new, to experiment, to have crazy moments in his life. I felt we both wanted the same thing. Not even the sex itself, more an adventure to share.

The_Beach_at_Santa_Catalina,_Panama_(8369739920)Early that morning, we walked down the beach in search of our shoes and praise Jesus, there they were! Rejoicing, we hugged and kissed. He went back to his hotel and I went back to get some breakfast. He told me he would contact me that evening.

Meanwhile, Gabriel, the Brazilian kept on throwing longing gazes at me. I wasn’t really into anyone. If I really fell for Erich, I wouldn’t have noticed anyone around me, but I was bored. Life in Panama didn’t give me what I wanted – feelings. And if I couldn’t get feelings, I would compensate for something memorable.

“Are you going to the party tonight?” Asked Gabriel.

He was behind the bar serving drinks and he looked gorgeous – curly hair, full lips, that bronze tan that comes with life on the beach.

“I think so.”

There was a surfing championship end party happening that night and the whole hostel was going. Apart from me, there were only a handful of girls staying at the surfing hostel and as flattering as the attention was, ten guys to two girls ratio got to be a little much. The Swiss brothers, the Brazilians, men everywhere. You could probably smell testosterone a mile away from Santa Catalina. That and horniness.

I wasn’t sure how, but I wanted to have something with Gabriel, even though Erich texted he would see me later. I drove to the area with Gabriel’s brother and soon we got a group of Panamanians dancing to reggaeton. Neither Gabriel nor Erich were anywhere to be seen. Suddenly, as trance began playing, I could see a group of blond Europeans charging our way, their fists pumping the air.

One of them was Erich and his brothers, who now actually began to act coolly around me. I hugged him to me and we all began dancing. An hour or so later, he had to drive everyone back.

“You will wait for me, Mia? I will be back in twenty minutes!” he told me.

“Sure” I said. “I will wait.”

At first I danced by myself, feeling quite awkward amongst a crowd of people I didn’t know. Then, I saw Gabriel. We talked a bit, then began dancing – closer and closer until his breath was on my face. He seemed nervous as he leaned in to kiss me, but relaxed as I reciprocated. We kissed and kissed, until I realized it was time Erich would be returning. Like a complete bitch (I still feel kind of bad for it), I told Gabriel I had to go to the bathroom and walked the other way.

Just in that moment, Erich saw me. One second earlier and he would have seen me with the Brazilian. I jumped into his arms and he hugged me tightly to him. I thought I saw Gabriel looking at us, though I wasn’t so sure. We danced, then went further on to the wooded area to continue dancing barefoot until he forgot where he left his shoes. Again. We searched for them until even the police themselves decided to help us out with a flashlight.

After the dancing, we drove to the beach where he played commander, part two. He took me in his arms and asked me to lean backward on my hands as he kissed my body. I don’t even know why, but I was relaxed and eager to try all these things with him. Never have I ever done acrobatic tricks on the beach, and here I was, completely out of my body, not thinking… and as an over thinker, that was a refreshing sensation.

Never have I ever had sex in a car” I offered as we got into the comfy minivan.

He eyed me. “We can arrange that.”190342482_552ad209ac

We drove into the woods, ‘parked’ in a ditch and moved all the seats back.  The windows got fogged, as if we were both in “Titanic” (except without the hand imprint), when the police decided to check up on us. They thought something might be wrong with the car. Erich, his hair discheveled and his face flushed, opened the window.

“No, todo bien. Gracias” he said in his broken Spanish.

I killed myself laughing.

Later, we sat naked on the floor of the car with the door slid opened, naked, my head on his shoulder and talked about life in general. I wish I could remember what we said to each other, but time erases memory, leaving only the most significant conversations in your head. Next day, I was leaving back to Panama City and he told me he would visit me before he left back to Zurich.

Last time I saw him, he took a taxi to the old part of the city just to meet me a couple of hours before he had to leave.  He spent those hours giving me a massage and did not even instigate sex until I lunged at him, which showed to me I gave him more than just a great sexperience. He lay next to me, caressing my face until it was time to leave and after kissing me softly, closed the door behind him.

I asked him to mail me some Swiss chocolate.

We wrote each other back and forth until we had nothing more to write about. I will be honest – I hardly ever think about Erich and had it not been the request to write about a Swiss guy I never would have mentioned him.

There are guys we can have the craziest, most amazing few days with, but not remember, and there are those we barely know or exchange one kiss with, but that is the one kiss that we keep on reverting back to over and over again. I’m glad I did those things I have never ever done, and wouldn’t have if I didn’t meet Erich, but real feelings are so much more important than just a sum of experiences.

When you like someone, really like them – every look is meaningful, every touch is electrified and every sense is heightened. And even the most regular experience can take on a new meaning. It is not the moments I tried so hard to collect, thinking ‘that would make a good story’ that I recall, it is those that I lived and breathed through, the ones when I really lived in the present.

Believe it or not, but never have I ever been in love. I write about dating, I make videos about dating.. but I have yet to feel an overwhelming emotion. And that, my readers, is the biggest irony of all!BeFunky_970981_409179255857516_1613477559_n32.jpg32

Please share with me any story of mine that really caught your attention and tell me why. Thanks for reading and keep asking for requests!

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.

Etrange Garçon (Strange Boy) (2013)

Greeneyes-51366609578

A story of a guy I was really attracted to who I both understood perfectly and was baffled by at the same time.

His bright green eyes gazed at me from across the room. He was just my type. Tanned and dark haired, with an athletic, well built body and attractive face.  We locked our gazes over and over again as I waited for my food.

I was in Bocas del Toro, Panama. I came to Panama for a teaching job and was traveling for two weeks, before I had to start work in Panama City. That day was my last day of ‘real’ vacation. And that’s (conveniently) the day I saw him.

We received our food simultaneously. We ordered the same thing – hamburgers and fries. They called our order at the same time. When we both asked for mayo, I realized it was now or never.

Where we met

Where we met

“You are Spanish?” I asked in Spanish. He looked it.

“I am French” He responded still in Spanish.

We sat down at the same bench and began talking. Giles was from a small French city close to the Spanish border and that is possibly why he looked so damn Spanish, but also had his mesmerizing green eyes. I just had a huge zit under my nose. Don’t you just love how on time zits are? I was trying to hide it underneath my glasses the whole day, but now without them I felt like it was dominating my whole face. Thankfully, that didn’t faze him.

As I talked to him over our burgers, I realized he was exactly what I was looking for: attractive, smart, witty, easy to talk to and very genuine. Why, oh why did I only meet him today? Little did I know we actually spent an entire week in the same surfing village prior to this and never met. What an irony indeed.

After eating we headed to the beach where we lay around and talked about everything in the world. He told me about his anxiety over flying and I, who also sort of battles with the same fear, understood him perfectly.

I loved that he could talk to me as if he had known me for years. I felt an ease and a depth with him that I don’t usually feel. There was no pretending, no awkwardness, no guessing.. It seemed natural and effortless: this chat on the beach. We swam around and jumped from the dock holding hands. Then took a boat to the main island and made plans to meet that evening in the park.

bocas2

He came bringing candy and talked so quickly I could tell he was nervous which made me feel a little more confident.  We walked to a bar on the dock and sat in a boat. Up until now, I think that was one of the most romantic nights of my whole experience in Panama. At least that part of it. We drank rum’n’cokes on the boat next to the bar, listened to Latin music and finally he leaned in to kiss me.

The rest of the night we danced in the outdoor bar, kissing over and over.. I felt alive. And the strangest thing? He told me the same.

“I feel alive when I am with you” He told me and I believed him partly. It was a little too much, since we only met each other a few hours ago, but he was from France and they love to throw romantic words around.

It was perfect. Up until we went to the beach.

I have this rule of telling guys that I will not have sex. And of course that is the goal. However, my weakness lately has been that I couldn’t resist the foreplay and that had some not-so good results. The point is to decide what you want right away. I am way too curious and unable to think with my head sometimes. This was one of those incidents.

I told Giles I wouldn’t have sex with him, but it was actually my idea to go to the beach. I just needed to spend some more time with him. And to touch him more. As things got heated up, he started expecting I return the favor. Except, note: he never gave me oral. So I am not sure what favor he was really expecting.

Either way, I hate the tit-for-tat childishness, so I gave him a firm NO. Now, instead of acting like a 29 year old he was, he got MAD. He got up and began removing sand from our towel but literally whacking it against the tree. I just sat there with my mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe someone over the age of puberty could be so mad about a lack of a blow job.

We walked in silence, which was broken by me.

“Are we seriously not talking because I didn’t give you a blow job?”

“What do you think?” He replied bitterly and I swear I saw a kind of mental glimmer and even his eyes got darker. But maybe that was just my imagination.

“This is crazy.” I said. “I am not some sixteen year old girl to be forced to give you oral.”

“What? What does sixteen have to do with this?” He almost yelled and walked away, leaving me alone under the rain.

I stood there, unable to process what has just happened. And please believe me when I say that even though what was happening was crazy I actually wanted him more. This fiery exchange ignited some weird twisted feeling in me.

He was waiting for me near his hostel. As I approached he took my head into his hands gently and told me he meant when he said he liked me. He kissed me then. I wanted him even more. How messed up is that?

I agreed to spend the night in his uncomfortable bed just to be close to him for one more night. Then, at dawn, I kissed him and left.

In two weeks, Giles was coming to Panama City for three nights before flying back to France. I knew what I saw were red flags, but I still yearned for him and the fact that I felt lonely didn’t help matters.

Panama City

Panama City

We didn’t meet the first night due to miscommunication, and I should have been very wary when he offered to meet on the last night only. At the end though, he managed to make a plan to meet me in the park near my house. I knew I shouldn’t have gone, but what do you do when you want to see someone so damn much?

As I saw him sitting there in the park near the giant Einstein head, all my negative emotions went away. He was wearing a gray t-shirt that made his tan stand out more and lit up his green eyes. I came in a flowery dress he couldn’t stop fawning over. Our eyes locked again and we couldn’t stop staring at each other as if we were dumbstruck teenagers.

We met near the Einstein head on my street

We met near the Einstein head on my street

As we had drinks and tapas at a nearby Spanish restaurant, he caressed my cheek.

“I remember why I like you so much” He said in that deep voice of his. “I am really glad I came to see you. And now we get to spend the night together. This couldn’t be better.”

I didn’t bother to tell him that he was being presumptuous in the whole ‘spending the night’ idea. Even though he technically wasn’t since I was dying to have sex with him.

We listened to a band play as he caressed my hair. It has been so long since I have had a boyfriend that I allowed myself to fantasize that he was actually with me. My own slightly weird but gorgeous and charismatic man. The man that then pressed me to the wall and kissed me passionately. I wanted him so much. No matter the consequences.

We took a taxi to his hotel and as he took a shower, I lay on the bed pretending to watch TV in a sexy pose, which I adjusted a few times.  He walked out dripping water,a  towel on his hips and lowered himself on top of me. Afterwards, as he entered me a crazy thought also entered my mind.

We are now one.

I have never had this thought as loud in my head, even though I have liked other guys so this surprised me.

The other thing that surprised me even more was that when I tried to actually give him the blowjob he desired so much on the beach, he felt all uncomfortable about it. Actually, he said his body was getting all tingly and he couldn’t handle me even kissing his stomach. What was this, Fifty Shades of Grey? (You can only get this joke if you read the book)

And the final thing that surprised me was that after all the post-sex kissing we slept separately. He never hugged me to him, and even said something along the lines of:

“It looks like this bed has three people in it. There could be another person on your side the way you are so close to me.”

Didn't see the third person

Didn’t see the third person

At that moment I told myself I had imagined it. But now I know it was real.

All night long I kept on dreaming about hugging him close to me. I yearned for it with all my body, but even as I complained about the cold air conditioning, he got up and turned it off but never cuddled me close to him. I have even had a one-night stand cuddle with me in bed, and a guy who seemed so genuine now felt colder than the air conditioning itself.

The next day was his last one. He watched me get ready for work with an adoring smile on his face, then kissed me goodbye, telling me we would meet at 5pm.

I left work early so I could move to my new apartment, get ready and meet with him. But he never wrote me. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t think of anything else. I was on pins and needles  the whole day. I was actually concerned he got killed and ended up calling his hotel twice. Later telling him it was once.

I sat here, unable to eat anything

I sat here, unable to eat anything

He wrote to me in the evening to tell me he was at the Canal, that his day was “amazing!”, that he was with a friend and that he would meet me at eleven a.m.

I was very hurt he wanted to wait until night to meet with a girl he was spending the last day with (make that last night), and the reasoning was that he made some friends he wanted to spend time with. However, I didn’t want to become the nagging wife and sadly,  I wanted to see him too much.

But he never wrote to me  by eleven and as I sat there, staring at the city out my window and crying like there was no tomorrow, I decided “screw this” and removed my makeup. The whole day I felt like there was a knife stuck in my throat. It hurt that much.cryingwoman2

As soon as I was getting into bed, I got a new message.

“I’m so sorry!” It said “Meet me at 12:30 in the park”

And what did I do against my better judgement? I put the damn makeup back onto my puffed up face and ran out the door.

He got outside of the taxi and ran to me, lifting me up in the air. Some guys clapped for us. We got some drinks and talked, but I saw his eyes were different. He no longer looked at me with the affection that lit up his face, and he actually looked troubled. I thought it might have had to do with the anxiety over the upcoming flight. But the point is, the connection we had was gone. He seemed a different person.

We went to dance, but he no longer actually wanted to dance. He didn’t even want to try salsa – too scared he would fail. I realized that he had quite a lot of hangups and there might have been some mental issues he was dealing with.

The sex was also different. It seemed as if he was going through the motions, no longer connected to me. If he ever really was.

As we fell asleep separately I was prepared to say bye to the boy I never really knew. But then came another surprise.

As I woke up early in the morning, the place beside me was empty and the door was left ajar. Assuming he went out for a drink or to the bathroom, I waited for him to come back. He never did. His flight was at 3pm.

There was no note and no explanation.8_fin40

PS. Since he is still on my Facebook, I asked him why he left like that. He said I looked so beautiful he didn’t want to wake me up. Of course, that is a load of bull. He still writes little things to me, but he has yet to write an email explaining his behavior. This is the reason I have not acknowledged them. Not that he deserves it either.

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

surfer

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.

bocas

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”

“…Girflriend?”

“Why, does it matter?”

“…YES!?”

“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.

Corazon

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

Let’s Talk about Stereotypes! – Italian, French, German

Every time I am interested in a guy from a different country, I make sure to read some of the ‘truths’ of dating this specific culture. I type in something like ‘dating a Spanish guy’ and get a variety of articles about how the Spanish are romantic, passionate and should call you often. I must admit, it’s very entertaining, and there is definitely some sense to them.  I live for stereotypes, as I’ve been told countless times… but how true are they? Or is it just easier to make an assumption?

After all, how many ‘do you drink vodka and do gymnastics’ do I get just because I’m a Russian. The best is ‘But you are not BLONDE!?’

So let me break down what I believe are facts and myths of popular stereotypes.

The Italians

Stereotype 1: Italians are whores.

Fact: Obviously there are great guys that are looking for a serious relationship, but to be frank with you, many of them are just not that good looking or confident.  The majority of the good looking guys will never be faithful to you. Even when they’re fifty. Even when they can’t get it up any more. The important part of their southern culture is passion, which is a great thing. The bad part about it is this passion will need to be fueled up every so often, preferably by different women. If you notice a man holding his girlfriend’s hand and eyeing you, he is doing that mostly to feed his own ego and to feel he still ‘has it’ in him. And we wonder why Italian girls are so high maintenance! What would you do if your boyfriend couldn’t be faithful to you for one minute? In the words of Ariana who scored a beautiful ‘Dolce and Gabbana’ lookalike Alessandro “Once a bitch was looking at him. I say ‘Ey,you. Who you looking at, Puta?’ I have to be like that or someone else get him, you know?”

Stereotype 2: Italian men are in love with themselves

Fact: If you’ve ever been to an Italian beach and seen a man spray-tanning himself and orlebarbrownthen staring at his chest with a mix of awe and love, you will get what I’m talking about. What about the crazy bright colors that the men so enjoy? Pink polos? Green capris? A variety of scarves?Tiny white shorts? Styled hair (that literally waves in the breeze) and plucked eyebrows? In North America, all of the above mean only one thing: you are gay, my friend. (But just for the record, I love it)

Stereotype 3: Italian men are beautiful at seduction

Fact: One thing that I find Italians are wonderful at is getting you into bed effortlessly. How do they manage it? Well, for one, they understand that we girls are starved for attention, passion and spontaneity… especially if residing in countries where men are too scared to make a move and even if they do, it is more robotic than sexy .  On the contrary, Italian men ooze sex appeal, they know how to make you feel like you are the center of the universe, how to create romance and how to convince you that if you don’t have sex with them it will be your loss, not theirs. After all, you will miss out on the night you will never forget. Probably a week of tears as well, especially if you were convinced he really liked you.

simonThe French

Stereotype 1: The French are the best dressers

Myth/Fact: This one really depends. I have dated two French guys who had very little sense of style, but Parisians are a whole different matter. I recently went out with a Parisian who was dressed to the t: stylish jacket, collared shirt, impeccably smelling. As in any culture, it depends on the person, but when they have it, they really have it. Not only that, most French guys will appreciate a woman to be well put together. By that, I don’t mean short dresses that show off your crotch. They appreciate a woman who has an elegant style, good hygiene and classy perfume. Bonus to you if the perfume is French as well!

Stereotype 2: French look down their noses at everyone

Myth/Fact: I was sitting at my friend’s house when his Parisian roomate I just met, decided to share his opinion on people from Montreal. It went along the lines of “Zos people sink zey are French, but zey are NOT! Zey speek sheet language! It is not French! It is like saying Americaines are from England. It is simplee not true!” And this went on for a good half an hour. But again, Parisians are special. We all know that.

Stereotype 3: French men are worldly and well-rounded

Paris-wedding-France-romance-wedding-dress-arinab-photography-vintage-inspired-wedding-wedding-in-paris-3Fact: So so so true! One guy I was seeing could start the conversation with politics and end with history. He had an  opinion about everything and always thought hard about any question I asked him, then would come up with a well-detailed and thought out response. But beware ladies.. while it is all very charming and deep at first, it will soon turn into over analyzing and annoying. Such as: Isn’t this skirt a bit too short? Why are you wearing a bikini in your Facebook profile? You seem bored.. You do not like spending your Sunday watching a French theater about restorative justice? (All of the above from a real experience.. within the same day) So while at first this philosophizing is wonderful and is such a great contrast from North American guys, many of whom will quote “the Anchorman” as their source of information… this nagging, obsessing, and overly critical approach to life and to you will soon have you running up the walls or rushing at him with a knife.

 French are great lovers

Double Fact: YES!!!!!!!!!!! Not that I’ve been with the whole of the French population. But two of the best lovers I have ever been with were French so that has to say something. They put so much emphasis on your satisfaction and they will do anything to live up to their reputation. And yes, they are very sexual. Being naked is natural to them. Sex is natural and there is nothing that’s off limits. In the opinion of my past boyfriend – making love or faire l’amour is passion, craziness, wildness, softness, dominating.. while having sex is just ‘useless’. Also, having sex on the first or second date doesn’t label you a ‘slut’ or put a dead end to a relationship like we tend to believe in North America (and in fact, most of the world)

The Germans

Stereotype 1: They are pragmatic

Fact: Instead of providing you with my opinion, I will tell you a true story told to me by my German girlfriend. “On my first date, I was with my then boyfriend cutting up potatoes for the soup. Don’t even ask me why I was cutting up potatoes on the first date. Anyways, I was cutting them perpendicularly, when he stopped me and suggested I cut them the other way. After all that would save time and make them boil quicker, as a result, saving energy. So there you go, Mia, those are Germans for you in a nut-shell. First date: potatoes and saving energy.”

Stereotype 2: They are horrible in bed

Myth: Ok, not a lot of experience. But they are apparently rated number 1 worst in bed because they are ‘too smelly’. From what I’ve seen (or rather smelled), no, they are not. Not bad either. Probably a bit robotic and aggressive. Also they make some strange/interesting sounds…

Stereotype 3: They lack a sense of humor

Myth: No, they’re very funny. Just in a very dry, sarcastic and dark kind of way.  So when they make a joke, sometimes it’s not clear if it actually IS one. It’s like “ha..ha… Is he joking or should I be scared?” But, really, I love their sense of humor because it is so unexpected and because it is that dry. But that’s just me.

In conclusion, I definitely believe in stereotypes. I enjoy them. I laugh about them. I write about them, but I do think that while stereotypes are there for a reason they cannot ever be applied to the whole country. Also, this is a new generation of people which has been raised with internet, Facebook and Hollywood movies, so the whole world has become a bit Americanized.

coloStill, many men are aware of their cultural stereotypes and try to use it them to their full potential. After all, how many girls go to Paris just to be swept off their feet? And we are still asking why European men love tourists. Because they CAN easily sweep them off their feet using the cliched phrases (amour, bella.. lieben?), postcard locations (Eiffel tower, Colosseum.. the Berlin Wall?) and their ‘sexy’ accent (German? ya?) to finalize the deal.

PS. All these observations are generalizations. I am aware that there are faithful Italians, stupid French people and passionate Germans.. so do not take this too literally.