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.
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.
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?
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.
Alas, seduction wins. But now, I have to listen to my head.
If you browse the internet, I’m sure you will find many articles describing the beauty of being courted by a French man. First he will dine you at a five star restaurant, where the conversation will flow like sparkling champagne. He will look deeply into your eyes and insist on selecting the best wine on the list. After the bill is paid, by him of course, he will suddenly surprise you with a silk shawl that he bought for you because it matches your beautiful eyes. You will stroll through the misty boulevard and he will cover you with his jacket, in case you are cold. At the end of this perfect night, he will kiss you goodnight and insist on seeing you again. You will walk away feeling like you will never date another American, Australian or Englishman again.. because wow, Frenchmen really know how to romance a woman. And spend money on her.
If that’s how you picture dating a French man, you have watched way too many movies or maybe, just maybe you’ve been so lucky to meet a few quality men.
I, on the other hand, have not.
I really liked Jean-Pierre. He was cute, fun and an incredible kisser. We only saw each other at a New Year’s Party where we made out for some time, and he treated me to a few rum’n’cokes. Now we met in a bar for our first official date and after much thought I ordered a beer. I know it’s quite unladylike like to go for a beer, but it’s not like he asked me to get what I wanted nor did he look at the wine list. After an hour of talking, my beer slowly came to an end. So did his. “Did you want anything else?” asked an upbeat,slightly fake bar girl. I didn’t want to end the date yet, but he didn’t insist on me getting another one. “You could try the sample first” She suggested. I thought about it, waiting for him to urge me on. Instead he said “Maybe we could do some samples instead of ordering?” I laughed it off because I couldn’t admit he might actually be for real and ordered a beer. It was six bloody dollars after all. His face dropped. I swear I have never seen a shadow cross someone’s face like that. After that, the mood was gone. He seemed so distant, I really almost regretted getting another drink. When the bill came, he put down about 75 percent
of the bill, waiting for me to drop another five dollars. It was like a slap in the face.
He never asked me out again, but wrote me a message inviting me to his house for lunch. I am assuming that that would be a sandwich with kool-aid on his cheap bed, followed by some non-committal sex with no protection. After all, that costs money too!
We went out for a drink one spring day. He was a stereotypical French guy with curly brown hair, intense gaze, serious chain smoking and thought-provoking topics. This is where the stereotype stopped. He offered to get a jug of beer, instead of savoring a bottle of wine like a classy man would do, but I agreed. After our thought-provoking discussion and his chain-smoking, the bill came. He put down half. I put down half. That was the end of our romantic get together. Fin.
I met Silvain this year when I was on vacation. You would think I would have my fill of French men by this point as this whole damn year was filled with one after another, but no, I just had to go after another one. I noticed him in a club in Santorini and then somehow we ended up on another Greek Island together. He was an engineer and a professional runner from Paris, cute in a skinny but toned and tall kind of way, all of the above made me die with glee and we proceeded to meet later in the evening. We made out the whole night until the roosters started singing and then walked me to the taxi stand. “I will not let you go by yourself” he insisted as he held my arm and kissed me romantically in the middle of the now puke-and-passed-out teenager-filled street. The next day he invited me to meet again. I dressed up excitedly, thinking it was for dinner, but ended up joining him and his friend in a bar feeling very uncomfortable as they sat engrossed in the Euro finals on TV, realizing I was there every so often to mutter an apology. When I ordered a drink, he merely glanced my way and never offered to pay. And yet, stupidly I stayed, though I should have walked away.
Though I mentioned him a few times, I thought he would be a great last example! When Florent came to visit me he brought me a book Le Petit Prince, so I could learn French. Sweet, no? Unfortunately, the book was used and had a message written to him from his friend.The next day we went out to eat in a cheap restaurant, and when the bill came which was maybe 30 dollars, he only put down half. And this was for a girl who hosted him in her apartment, cooked and put effort in making sure he had a good time. For me, it felt like a bit of a slap in the face. We managed a somewhat long distance relationship, but even though he stubbornly repeated over and over how he wanted to see me, at the mention of “I am really broke.. and don’t have sixty bucks to spare” told me I didn’t want to see him enough instead of offering me some money. When I did manage to scrape enough cash, I got greeted by a vegetable salad instead of a nice dinner out. Or any dinner out for that matter. Our dates seemed to center around the living room/bedroom area and no mention of restaurant was brought up again.
So ladies, before you start dreaming of a romantic gentleman with a French accent who will show you what romance is all about, tell him about how much you would love to get that amazing French perfume. And let’s see what he says.