Mistake # 3: Non Parle Americano (2011)

How are Italian men so good at getting you into bed and making you regret you got into it?

Being almost single, I joined my brother Alex and his twenty year old Sicilian/Canadian girlfriend Sandra on their romantic trip to the Dominican Republic, made less romantic by me tagging along everywhere and whining about my lack of love life.  Even though my brother and I were super close and shared all our ideas and even dating stories, I still couldn’t help but feel a little bit like a loner third-wheel on their ‘honeymoon’.

I was to be twenty-six within a couple of weeks and my life was in severe need of adventure and passion. Spending all my days teaching in a private school and coming home when it was already dark just added to my misery. To top it off, I started seeing this guy I met on a dating website. Dominick was a New Zealander who spent most of his life in Australia and has only just recently moved to Canada, where he was more miserable than me as he had never experienced any temperature below zero.

“Ahe these trees pehmanently dead?” he would ask me in a hybrid of Kiwi/Aussie accent and I would laugh. He pronounced dead like deed. And bear like beer.

He was a wonderful guy. Not bad on the eyes either. He was generous and kind, smart and successful. And I, for the life of me couldn’t understand why I felt absolutely nothing towards him. He seemed perfect. I could keep on listing his attributes forever. However, the prospect of dating him did nothing to lift my spirits up. If anything, it made me more depressed. Was I dating him because he looked perfect on paper? Because I was scared I would never fall in love? Or because I was lonely?

New Years

This trip was meant to be a little getaway, before the rest of my cold and monotone life would envelop me once more. I planned to spend it in total relaxation. However, I became very antsy when the first few days were fully uneventful. There was nothing to do, not too many interesting people to meet and most unfortunately, no cute guys besides the typical douchey baseball hat wearing and peacock strutting Canadians. They all looked the same and sounded the same. No matter how bored or desperate I was for some passion, I could not for the life of me lower myself to have a fling with one of these typical macho men. So I would keep up my boring routine of going to the beach, waiting in anticipation until it was time to eat, drink some more Mojitos and eat again. All the while I felt restless. Had I paid all this money just to lie around like a beached whale?

You see what I mean?

You see what I mean?

The next day after New Year’s has passed and by the time I gave up looking and actually started enjoying my vacation, I finally saw a guy. I was waiting near the reception with Alex, dripping water on the marble floor after my swim. The guy was standing in front of us, angrily cursing the wait up in another language. He was dirty blond with light blue eyes and a sporty build. I gazed at his passport Passaportoitaliano2006– red. He must be German, I figured.

After we left the reception, I was set on seeing the cute guy again. Sure we had only two days left, but there was finally something for me to look forwards to, besides the seafood buffet, and I would go after it. That evening, I saw him enter the restaurant by himself and observed him from afar like a spy. I reasoned he was by himself and who goes alone unless they are single and looking?

That night I was on a prowl. I generally prefer to be the one who gets prowled really, but I didn’t have a lot of time to spare for any sort of courting rituals. I had less than two days.

There was a show happening on stage and I positioned myself at the entrance, so I could see him if he would come in. There was nowhere else to be that night. And I already checked the bar.

Suddenly I spotted him sitting outside on the bench. He held a drink in his hand and seemed as bored as I was. Except probably less desperate, which wasn’t difficult. I slowly walked up to where he was sitting and pretended to watch the concert, my heart thumping against my chest as it always does when I try to make the first move.

“Horrible concert, right?” I said, not able to come up with anything more clever to say.

He looked up at me in some confusion. “Sorry?”

“I said this concert is bad” I smiled. He probably thought I was a complete moron.

“It is? Maybe is not so bad” he answered. “Sorry, my English is little rough.”

“That’s ok” I smiled. His English was pretty terrible, but somehow I always found a way to find a common ground. And sometimes my knowledge of Spanish helped.

We got to talking, if that is the proper word for it. Mostly, it was him looking uncomfortable and me guessing his words for him. He introduced himself as Rafael and as I realized the second he opened his mouth, he was not German, he was so very-a-Italian! Definitely what I never went for. However, this eased up my situation as I could now use my knowledge of Spanish to bridge the gap between Italian and English. Thankfully, Rafael also spoke some Spanish, which was of course mixed up with a lot of Italian words, but it somehow worked.pitalong

Rafael arrived to the Dominican Republic only a few hours ago. It took him fifteen hours to fly from the North of Italy and now he was staying for two weeks. Little did he know, he would be greeted by such a wonderful welcoming committee as myself.

He really looked Northern, as I have never seen an Italian with such clear blue eyes and light hair as him. And what set him apart from the others was the calm way he spoke to me. There was none of that Bella spiel that Italian men are so proud of. Really. Who wants to hear Bella yet again. Barf.

The bar

He suggested we walk to the seaside bar and we did, talking about God knows what but actually able to understand each other. The more we drank, the easier our conversation got. We spoke a mix of English, Spanish and Italian and somehow managed to get a full discussion going. Now, if only I could remember what the discussion was…

It was me who suggested ‘checking out’ the beach. And I suppose I was once again responsible for my own mistakes, if I should continue calling them that way. I did want to kiss him. Rather, I wanted something beautiful and romantic before my passion would come to a  screeching halt. I wanted to rebel against the safety of my job and the safety that Dominick seemed to embody. Dominick and I haven’t had sex yet, we haven’t even kissed and the lack of desire for either actually confused me. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex and I still didn’t want to have it with him. He was predictable, he was safe, he was boring. I wanted passion and excitement. And the Italian was sexy. He was unbelievably sexy, but that did not mean I wanted to have sex with a total stranger. At that moment, a kiss would suffice.

So we walked to the water, where I awkwardly positioned myself on a hammock as we talked.

“You are comfortable?” He asked me, a small smile on his face.

I waited a beat. “No”

He laughed and stood up. “OK, give me your hand.”

I reached for his hand and as I stood up, he kissed me. He was a wonderful kisser and we kissed for some time.

Then the Italian in him woke up.

“Come” he said.

“What? Come where?” I asked, confused.

“Come to my room” he smiled.

“I’m not going to any room, Rafael!” I said. Really? Did a kiss now mean I was ready to go to his place? Are all foreign girls considered easy? Me being Russian didn’t help matters.

They ruined it for all of us

They ruined it for all of us

“OK, how about your room?”

“Are you serious? We’re not going to my room”

“We will not have sex, Mia. I will not pressure you” he said and kissed me again.

“You think I’m stupid?” I asked.

“OK, so let’s just walk.” He offered and kissed me once more. We walked and kissed sporadically. The last stop happened to be near my building.

“So, Mia” he said. “Your hotel room is right here.”

“Thank you. I know.” The subtlety was too much to handle.

“Can I come in?”

So you would think that a girl who doesn’t want to have sex and is so explicitly encouraged, rather pushed by an Italian would have enough brains in her head to know that should she engage in this wonderful activity, she will then count to five to see how fast this Italian stallion will run out the door. And run out the door he will. Unless he wants to run back in for a quickie.

I don’t know what it was that came into my mind when I let him in my room. Number one reason was the crazy sum I spent for this one room, only to sleep in it by myself. Number two reason was that I was very attracted to Rafael and did not want to say goodnight to him just yet. And in reality, I was more than confident I would have enough brains and willpower to stop him before we got down to anything serious.

I was wrong.

As we came into the room, I began picking up the clothes that lay scattered on my floor.  He came up to me and pressed me to the wall, causing the clothes to fall back down. He pushed my hands to the sides and began kissing me, slowly,  then led me to the bed, where the passionate kissing continued.

“I’m not having sex” I kept on saying to remind not only him, but also myself I would not go through with it.

“Ok, ok” he kept on agreeing with me, knowing that actions speak louder than words. Especially when you don’t speak the language.

devil_angelIn my head there were two people arguing against each other. One kept on reminding me that I was as dry as an old lady and it made no difference to anyone if I had sex with this gorgeous man. It might even be good for me. The other one was prudishly screaming at me to stop. After all, I didn’t even know him. Tomorrow he would not remember my name.

And then he took off his shirt.

I am no longer sixteen to be screaming in glee at an image of a six-pack, but I have never before seen such a perfectly defined male body in my life. Rafael should have been sculpted, he was that perfect.

I work out

I work out

I kept on saying no, no.. and then I let it happen. He never turned the lights off which made a bit uncomfortable, nor could I fully enjoy what I felt was a mistake. Though others might call it a one-night stand.

He was masculine, he was dominant, he had an incredible stamina. The bed moved around, the bottle of water fell to the ground, I was exhausted. For a guy who spent fifteen hours on a plane, he sure did have some stamina. During sex, Rafael seemed to lose all ability to speak English or even Spanish for that matter. I think I actually learned a few Italian words, though not many that I can use on Italian men without similar consequences.

After it was over, he didn’t stay. He excitedly talked about heading to the gym first thing tomorrow morning. “I will go to gym tomorrow!” he exclaimed happily in his horrible English. I nodded and let him out the door, where he kissed me one last time. That is after I congratulated him on a wonderful start to a year. Ha.Ha.

I then lowered myself to the floor and took my face in my hands. I was a complete and total moron to let this guy convince me into having sex. But it felt good to let my guard down and actually do something so unlike me. Although, with the past two mistakes, it was strangely beginning to be like me.

The next morning, I ignored him as much as I could. After all, what would I now have to say to him? Besides ciao? I guess my face gave what happened away, because my brother and his girlfriend guessed it.

“Have you no self control?” Alex looked incredulous.

“Oh leave her alone! Let her do what she wants” Sandra came to my defense.

“Exactly” I said. “It’s not like it’s going to hurt me. I don’t even care for the guy”

Wrong again. As soon as I saw Rafael, I realized I wasn’t the only one avoiding him. He was definitely ignoring me. He, now having made some Italian friends, was completely oblivious to my existence. I didn’t want to speak to him first so we actually avoided looking at each other.

That evening, I dressed up and put on more makeup than usual. I was in a weird, anxious mood and no amount of makeup could erase that feeling.  Sure, one-night stands could be fun, considering you chose to sleep with the guy, but I felt used. Like I was yesterday’s news and today he would look for someone else. I urged Sandra to sit with me in the restaurant and waited anxiously until I would see him enter.

Soon, he came in with his friends and noticing me, came up to say hi. He kissed me European style and said hi to both me and Sandra. He asked if we were going to the bar afterwards. I told him we were. We will see each other there, he said. His English was far worse than I remembered.

Pretty much my expression

Pretty much my expression

“Mia, he’s very hot” said Sandra as we drank cocktails by the bar. “But I really think he’s a player. The way he looked me over, I don’t know, to be honest”

“I know” I lowered my head in my hands. “I’m so stupid. I told myself it wouldn’t matter, but it does. This really hurts.”

He came by the bar later on with another two friends. Two sat by my side, while he so conveniently seated himself by Sandra. I introduced him to her and my brother last night, but it seemed that he didn’t remember she had a boyfriend, as he talked to her with interest and paid almost no attention to me.

I tried to keep a happy face, but all I could do was glance his way to see if he was looking back at me. He wasn’t. Fully engaged in a conversation with Sandra, he not so much gave me as a second glance. His friends, interested in me, kept on asking me questions, but I was too upset to put on a happy face.

Soon, Sandra lowered her face to mine and whispered. “Leave him. Let’s go.”

I stared at her. I knew she was right. He was a jerk. A player. I needed to leave to preserve any self-respect I still had. Believe it or not, a huge part of me did not want to go. Had he offered to have sex with me again, I was not sure if I would have the guts to say no. So I had to leave.

“We’ll be back” I told them, looking straight at Rafael. He looked at me in surprise and confusion, probably wondering if he would have sex with me that night. Sandra and I walked around the hotel and talked. Most of this talk consisted of me crying in the bathroom.

“I am so stupid!” I kept on repeating over and over again.

“Stop blaming yourself” told me Sandra, caressing my hair. “There are many jerks like that. You just have to see them for what they are.”

There it was: a twenty year old giving a twenty-five year old advice.

When we came back, they were gone. Apparently, they sat there for an hour waiting, then figuring we weren’t coming back, left.

I hoped he would knock on my door that night, but he didn’t. Not knowing why it hurt so much, since I barely knew the guy, didn’t erase the fact that it actually hurt like hell.

I ignored him the next day, even when he tried to smile to me. However, right before we had to leave for the airport I couldn’t help glancing at him. He lay there, with his white Gucci shorts, and even Sandra gasped at how well-defined his body was. He looked like some sort of Italian God. However, he was definitely more like an Italian Douche.

At the end, I gave up trying to ignore him and wished him goodbye. Ciao, was all he said to me from his lounge chair. He didn’t even get up.

Ah Italian men. They are romantic, they are passionate, they know what women like and 7483765-an-italian-boy-on-a-scooterthey like women. They are hunters and they know that no many times a woman says no, she will ultimately say yes. The point, I know now, is to look at them with a bit of humor and to know that they will do everything to please you, but don’t expect them to be gentlemen after they have achieved what they came for.

And no matter what, don’t ever be the one who chases an Italian man!

Advertisements

Three Days und Three Years (2007)

My first real romance and how it has affected me as a young(ish) girl. We knew each other for three days and I thought about him for three years. It’s true that the first time hurts… like hell!

Being a late bloomer, I was still a virgin at twenty-two. I could not figure out why,  but I was never physically drawn to any guys that I’ve shortly dated up to this point. While I was dying of curiosity and of course dying to have sex with someone, I could not for the life of me do it with someone I was not attracted to. Unfortunately, all of the boys I have dated  did not fulfill the ideal of the strong man that I so wanted. Even kissing them stirred no sense of longing in me.

I have not had a boyfriend for an eternity. Up to this point kissing was just okay and sex was an illusion I felt would never become real. I have started to consider myself an ‘old virgin’ and began to think there might be something wrong with me. Maybe I was abnormal? All my friends have already had sex and here I was, not even really wanting to.

That December, I took a trip to the Dominican Republic with my mother, thinking that I needed to get away from the cold Canadian winter and the disappointment the lack of my love life was causing me.

Welcome to D.R.

Welcome to D.R.

The first three days were uneventful and one day it rained so hard that I felt like heading back home. My mom and I sat in the lobby staring at the entrance and I moaned aloud about how much I wished someone cute and European would arrive.
Day 0: The Staring

I saw him the next day as I was lying on the beach lounge chair. He stood there very built and confident alongside a shrimpy-looking friend, looking at me with no hesitation in his dark eyes. I glanced at him nervously, then as he caught my gaze, quickly averted it to make it seem I was starting intensely at a palm tree. Minutes later he walked by me, throwing me another intense stare. That evening, I waited to see him at the resort club, but he never showed.

Day 1: Meet Ze Germans

I finally spotted him the next day. My mom and her new friend were urging me to go to the beach with them. However, I was fully set on hanging out by the pool in order to see him again. Surely enough, I finally saw him lazily strutting to a lounge chair. My breath caught and I raised my magazine to look like I was reading.

He noticed me and seated himself on the other side of the pool – right across. However, he made no move to talk to me, so I decided to take proactive action and lowered myself in the pool, as sexily as I could. Deeply inhaling, I swam along the donut-shaped pool, attempting to look both nonchalant and sexy. When I  swam by him, however, he did not even look at me. The jerk was too busy reading a book.

The view of the pool from my window

Dejected, and somewhat relieved, I swam back to my lounge chair. Now he would have to make a move, I told myself. I’m done.

I raised the magazine back to my face and lowered it slightly to be able to observe him at the same time. Just then, he finally put his book down, stretched out slowly and threw me a direct look. Getting in the water, he swam to my side of the pool, to the basketball net which was located immediately by me. Clearly showing off his physique, he started throwing the ball in the net, and might I add – missing a few times. His shrimpy friend came by and they exchanged a few words in what definitely was German.

“Damn… Germans” I thought. I never liked them. They were rude. They were efficient. They were cold. They were cheap. I could go on. I have never actually met a German guy, so these were all based on many World War II movies and the stories of others. But I guess I had to give this a chance. Maybe he was all of the above, but I was on vacation. Normal rules did not apply here.

His goofy friend and he started to play basketball and I, unable to take any more of this bravado and eager to start a conversation, sat on the ledge of the pool. “Who’s winning?” I finally mustered.

The macho man turned toward me with a smile. “I alvays lose.” The goofy friend giggled.

“Can I join?” I asked.

“Ah. Of course!” He smiled widely. “I am Stefan and zis is my friend Christoff. Vy are from Germany. And you?”

As if that isn’t obvious by your thick accent, I wanted to add.

“Well, I’m Russian, but I live in Canada. Did you just arrive?”

“Russian!” He exclaimed. “Yes, vy arrived ven it vas raining very hard. And vy have ten days more. And you?”

“ Three more days.”

“Oh, zat is all? It is too bad.” He looked sad, then smiled charmingly. “Vy should take advantage of the tree days zen!”

No, danke

No, danke

And by advantage, I assume he meant ‘German sex, ya?’ I could laugh at the arrogance! No one was taking advantage of anything. Here he was thinking he was going to get laid, but there was no way I was going to have my first time on vacation. That was not like me.

Stefan was not my idea of gorgeous. I have always gone for the commercial boys, but he was much more manly and strong. The quality that attracted me about him was his confidence, charm and the ability to be so damn relaxed. He knew I would say yes to him, even when I did not yet know it.

“So vy can meet after dinner, yes?” he continued. The basketball was moving from one of his hands to another.

“Sure” I smiled. “Okay”

He passed me the basketball. “You vould like to try?”

I took the ball and threw it in the net. To my surprise, the ball went in perfectly.

“Beginner’s luck” he winked at me.

I swam back to my lounge chair. My mom has returned from the beach and was smiling widely at me. “Who’s the guy?” She asked me in Russian. I told her the story as I’ve always told her everything about my love life. Which to this point has all been PG13. She approved, thinking that Stefan was extremely charming. She then made me go ‘for a swim’ around his lounge chair, which was the most awkward thing in the world, topped off by her flirting in bad German.

As we walked out after dinner, I noticed the Germans standing by the restaurant. I began toNervous_Girl_by_themedusa hyperventilate. To make matters worse, my mom noticed them as well and began to push me in their direction. “They’re waiting for you” she said. “I need to catch my breath” I whizzed, my knees wobbling. Thank God I didn’t wear heels. “You can breathe while you’re talking to them.” She said.

Okay, here goes – I told myself and wobbled towards them. Both smiled at the sight of me. We sat down on the curb and started talking. Stefan told me that he was a professional boxer and was apparently ‘quite well known in Deutschland’. Christoff also used to be a boxer, but now worked as a trainer. The image of skinny Christof getting punched in his goofy face was a bit too much to handle. Stefan, come to think of it, really did look like a 1386-0905-1204-5728professional boxer with his buff body, short hair and somewhat broken nose. Yes, he had a broken nose. Definitely not a picture of a an Abercrombie model.

I drank rum and coke and suddenly it seemed we all spoke English fluently. At least this was the most fun I’ve had in a while. And I felt so wonderful talking to Stefan. He was funny, he was sarcastic and he was definitely sexy. And a surprisingly great dancer. I think it’s all the dancing you have to do in boxing in order not to get punched. That I realized when we went dancing that night and he led me effortlessly. But his manliness was a bit too much. He opened water bottles for me, he threw an angry gaze at a man dancing with me and when I commented I felt bad for leaving Christoff alone, on our way out of the club, told me that “Christoff is not a child. Vy don’t need to babysit him.”

We walked together through the resort and sat down near the pool. The conversation, from what I remember, did not consist of much depth. And really, how could it? We spoke two different languages and no matter how many drinks we had, we would never be completely fluent. All I remember is discussing the word “trousers” for hours and wanting him to kiss me. However he stood in the pool in front of me as I sat on the ledge, looking very relaxed and nonchalant. Definitely in no rush.

I asked him to teach me how to box, because frankly the kissing wasn’t coming, and he started showing me how to avoid punches.Then when I tried to punch him, he twisted my arm around with an ironic smile on his face. Then he kissed me.

I’ve kissed quite a few guys to this point, but this was not a guy. I felt like I was kissing a man. As he continued kissing me, I felt like I had actual desire for him. Many of you will say it’s normal. Of course it is! But not for me, who up to this point had no idea what it was to feel this desire. Usually, I would check off lists in my head, make plans or count. As in 1, 2, 3 aand done! Ok, maybe a 4,5. Now, done for sure.

As I pressed my body to his hard rock chest I felt a curiosity about what it would be like to

I couldn't help putting this in here

I couldn’t help putting this in here

have sex with him. Most guys just kissed me. He kissed me like he wanted me. And it made me want him. After, he held me close to him. He invited me back to his room and of course I declined.

Day 2: Like a Virgin

The next day, I felt a little nervous about seeing him. However, he was playful and just as into me as he was last night. Christoff also helped diffuse the atmosphere through his giddiness and ridiculous jokes.

Stefan threw me into the pool, then jumped in and pressed me to himself. “Everyone’s watching!” I complained, my usual paranoid self.

“Who is vatching?” he would turn me around in the water. “Look.” I would take in all the sleeping red people or others with magazines who really did not give two damns about us making a show in the water. “See?” He would smile to me, a Cheshire smile and then lean in to kiss me and I felt him go hard against me, which was a curious sensation since I’ve never felt anything like it before. Only heard about it. Yes, fo real!

That evening I decided to show off and joined the animators in a Bachata lesson. I knew how to dance Latin and did not need a lesson to learn the basic moves of Bachata, because the dance literally consists of 3 steps. I did it only so he could see just how sexy I could be.

All the animators were impressed with my moves and the instructor ended up dancing with me after the lesson was over. This was perfect as Stefan was right there, watching us. As I walked over to his lounge chair and lay near him, under the towel, he looked at me – with those lust-filled eyes.

“You’re really great at dancing” he said. “I wonder vat else you are great at.”

Really. How romantic, right? To top of the douchy machismo, his hand was slowly running over my leg as his eyes were drinking me in. This guy was clearly interested in having a vacation fling. Why wouldn’t he be? And why wouldn’t he be convinced that at twenty-two, I was no longer a virgin? Even I couldn’t convince myself that was possible.

“What a jerk” I thought as he looked at me with those piercing dark eyes. “There is no way he’s going to get anything. The joke is on him.” However, a part of me wanted him so badly that I did not push his hand away or say anything to put him in his place.

As I was taking a shower later on, I started thinking. Why not have sex with him? Sure, he was from another country. Sure, I would probably never see him again. And yes, he probably was not in love with me and couldn’t be in the one and a half days that I’ve known him. I was certain it would hurt me more than I’ve ever been hurt. I was positive that it was ridiculous having your first time on vacation. However, there was one loud voice within me, telling how much I wanted it. I was twenty-two. I was not a child. The reason I have waited for so long was that I did not want to have sex until I would have felt a desire for someone. And here was this desire. I knew that no matter how painful it would be in the future, it would be worth it. I would remember this beautiful vacation forever. And I still remember myself in what was probably the longest shower in my life.

He knocked on my door later that night and we walked to the beach. We lay down side by side on the lounge chairs and slowly he started to kiss me. As things began to heat up, Stefan looked down at me.

“Mia, you vould like to go to my room?” he asked quietly.

“Stefan, I should tell you something” I began. “I’m a virgin.”

As I uttered those three words, I swear to you, just as in a cheesy chick flick, rain started to pour down. Stefan stared at me, a look of pure bewilderment.

“But you are twenty-two.”

Yes, thank you. I know. Please remind me again so I don’t forget.

“I always told myself that I would know when I wanted someone.. but I have not wanted anyone until now.”

“But I do not vant you to feel bad afterward. I vant you to have sex with your boyfriend. I don’t vant to hurt you.”

“ But you won’t! I know what I’m doing and I know what I want.”

“Ok” he said, as we walked under the pouring rain. “Come to my room. Just to talk.”

We went to his room and because I needed to get something from mine, I told him I would be back. However, by the time I got to his floor, the number of his room completely eluded me. I walked around, quietly knocking on doors and whispering Stefan? but no one responded. Dejected, I walked barefoot to reception and asked them for his room number, but they could not help me. As I walked back up, I felt crushed that I might not be able to find him, but somehow I finally found his door. He opened it in his boxer briefs.

“You left for thirty minutes. I thought you vould not come back” he said angrily and pulled me into the room. We kissed on the bed, but he never took my clothes off. Then, he pried a pillow under him and looked at me with a smile on his face.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“This is sex” he said. The cocky asshole. But his slight cockiness was unfortunately the thing that drew me into him in the first place.

“I do not feel right about this” he continued with a sigh.

“Look, I told you. I’m fine” I said. I have set my mind on this and there was no turning back.

That seemed enough to convince him and we continued our make out session, until the door opened and Christoff stood there with a silly grin on his face. I was so embarrassed, I almost threw Stefan off of the bed.

“Christoff!” yelled Stefan. “Didn’t I tell you to sleep on ze beach?”

Even though Stefan kept on convincing me to stay with him and even gave me his toothbrush, I decided to leave back to my room. We had one more day left. The final third day.

Day 3: The First Time Hurts…

sunset_033That last day we spent hours just lying by the pool, looking at each other and as the sun started to set down, I realized that this sunset was bringing the end of this short vacation romance. I left him with Christoff and sat on my balcony, putting on makeup and crying. As a result, smudging all the mascara around my eyes.

I put on a light green halter top with a white skirt, my skin glowing from the sun. As I walked by the bar, he called out my name and I saw him sitting by himself, looking quite dejected. I sat near him. He looked at me for some time then said:

“I do vant to see you. I will try to come to Canada in the summer.”

“The summer?” I exclaimed. “I would have forgotten you by then.” As it turned out, I would not.

He asked to have dinner with me and afterwards, we sat on the side of the pool.

“Look, I still feel bad.” He told me. “ You should be with someone you know. Someone you are in the same city with. I do not vant you to regret this.”

“Stefan” I said. “ I am attracted to you. This does not normally happen to me and I told myself that once I’m really attracted to someone, be in Canada or abroad, I would go for it. The only way I would regret something is if I did it with no feeling.”

He looked at me thoughtfully for some time and finally said: “Come with me.”

cartoon-of-excited-kid-receiving-a-gift-isolated-clipart-83383871

Sorry for the perverted comparisson

It sounds very funny, but it is incredible how giddy I was before going to his room. I danced in front of a mirror to “I’m a Slave for You” which was playing through the windows. The irony. I was curious and happy, and not at all nervous. I literally looked like a kid at Christmas.

So, most people tell me their first time was terrible or boring or nothing really amazing. Stefan and I only had one time, but it was the most memorable time I have ever had. Possibly because it was so limited. Granted, I should be honest and say he was a bit of an arrogant prick, even then. Standing in front of me, very toned and quite sexy, he asked me “Have you ever seen a naked man before?” like he was Michelangelo’s David or something.

“Yes” I mumbled. I have not. Only on TV or my brother, accidentally; neither of which counted.

However, it was one of the most exciting moments of my life. Even if it hurt a little. I think because he was the first, and I would spend quite a lot of time comparing others to him. Though to know what I was comparing them to was strange as we only had that one time.

like-a-prayerAfterwards, I changed into a blue dress and we went dancing. I remember that we danced to Madonna’s Like a Prayer, because anytime I hear that song I get a bit wistful. I also remember my mom crying on the side, because “it was just so sad and romantic”. I had to send her back, so she wouldn’t embarrass me.

“I will not sleep tonight!” Stefan told me, but as we lay in bed, he dozed off. I studied his face as if I was saving it for the future. Would we ever see each other? Would we even want to? Something that you share together on vacation does not transfer to real life. Vacation was not real. We were not real there. We didn’t have school or jobs. Hell, we didn’t have anything else to do rather than go swimming, eat, dance, drink and make love.

When I went back to Canada and he to Germany, we would realize how little we had in common.  I stared at him for quite some time, cried a little and left.

Day 4: Road to Nothing

The morning was difficult. He woke up early to say bye to me. I remember that the sky was cloudless, the water crystal clear and it was so just hard to leave. He has offered me to stay many times, but he has never offered paying for the return ticket.  Now, sleepy eyed and clearly wanting to still be in bed, he carried my luggage out of my room. We sat in the lobby for some time, but I just wanted to leave. There is a Russian saying that goes: “You cannot breathe too much air before you die.” I could not get enough of him before I left. I had to leave regardless.

The bus arrived and I gave him a quick awkward hug and kiss before scurrying off to sit down. Tears were pouring under my sun glasses. Stefan came in the bus and sat near me.

USL6000A“You think I am not sad? I vould cry too, but I am a man. I can’t” he smiled to me. “ My little Karandash.” That was his nickname for me. In Russian it meant pencil and that was the only thing he knew how to say. I was trying to stop crying, which was futile as tears kept on running down my cheeks. The whole bus was watching this like in a movie (except no one clapped at the end). We kissed again. “Don’t get burnt” I think was the last thing I said to him. How trivial and ridiculous are the last things we sometimes say to people. He left the bus and stood outside it. Though I believed he was sad too, just for a short moment I saw him exchange a laugh with Christoff. I dismissed it but it hurt me.

Then the doors closed and the bus began moving. Even now, four years later, I still remember the terrible sadness that rushed through me.  We were moving to nowhere, I felt. We were going further and further away from him. Only in the movies, would I ask them to stop the bus and run into his arms. The end. But in reality, I sat there, watching the dry Dominican scenery pass by us. I was certain that this vacation would affect me more than I ever thought. And it did.

2008-2009: The Pain

I came back to the cold winter, that has just began. Days were short and everything seemed so dull and gray. I remember running on the track at my university and looking at the planes whizzing past me in the sky. I yearned with all my heart to go to Germany. I was obsessed with the language, with the country, with the WWII, you name it. Just the mention of anything German would send a pang into my chest. I always wanted to cry.  The only thing I looked forward to was talking to him, but the distance left its mark. Now hequotes-about-long-distance-relationships was no longer on vacation, but back to real life. He talked to me and he told me he missed me, but I didn’t feel it. He never called me on the telephone and he could not even install Skype.  I tried being friendly, I tried being fun and easygoing, but it was all pointless as I felt pure indifference from his side. We weren’t just separated by distance. We really had nothing in common besides those three short vacation days. Our conversations were hollow and filled in by my constant chatter, trying desperately to create something out of nothing. I got angry at him a few times, but afterwards realized just how ridiculous it was to fight with someone who really did not care. I remember that New Years and how I sat in the bathroom crying. He did not even wish me a New Years and when I offered to call him on my birthday a few days after, told me that he was leaving to a friend’s house.

Two months later, I met a Russian guy and started going out with him. At first I was excited about the new relationship, but soon, that nasty feeling caught up with me again. I cried in my boyfriend’s kitchen. I looked up pictures of Stefan online, as they filled the internet. I would see someone who looked like him enter a subway and get a pang in my chest. It hurt to know I couldn’t even see him on the street. In fact, I would probably never see him. The amount of crying he caused me was very cruel. He cut me off so easily, and I was still there waiting for him. I daydreamed constantly about our beautiful meeting in the future. The scenarios and locations would change, but it was always the same image. I would stand in the middle of the city in some bright dress and heels and he would come up to me with that impish smile and tell me just how beautiful I have become.

2010: Switching the Roles

Just like that maybe?

Just like that maybe?

We have stayed in some form of contact over the years and later the roles have switched as he started writing to me.  I just came back from the animator position in Mexico and he saw all the photos I have posted of myself: confident, better looking and more of a woman.  Suddenly, we found contact again and he apologized for the way he has treated me. He asked me if I ever regretted that night and my answer was no. Truthfully, though it has hurt me, made me depressed and full of constant longing for him and for that vacation, I have never until this day regretted my decision. Mostly because I really wanted to have my first time with him. However, it has definitely caused for a lot of vacation flings in my life. It seems that I’ve been wanting to recapture this first time with him. Most importantly, I think it was him who started my obsession with the International dating.

Over the few years, the pain and the longing has subsided. I stopped feeling a pang when I thought about him, I stopped longing to see him and I would only Google his name out of boredom. Last winter, he reappeared again with the invitation to LA because he had a fight there. He emphasized how much he wanted to see me, how sexy I was and how wonderful our reunion would be.

At this point, I was in a relationship with Dominick, but I was not in love with my boyfriend and once again I started fantasizing about meeting up with Stefan. Me coming out of the airport with a feminine coral dress and white heels and him looking incredulous at how beautiful I’ve become. It seems, however that Stefan was much too cheap to actually consider paying for me and thankfully I’ve come to have a much bigger backbone than to fly myself to LA in order to provide free sex on wheels.

At this point, I was not hurt nor surprised as I’ve seen this side of Stefan all throughout the years. And in all honesty, the fact that he never showed any real kindness to me, after being my first was a clear bright sign. However, even though there was no feeling towards him left in me, I still needed some closure. I finally got a wonderful one last summer.

Dreary Hamburg

2011: The Closure

I was in Europe for the summer and my last stop was supposed to be in Berlin. I was not planning to go to Hamburg, though a part of me was interested in seeing him. It was my first time in that part of Germany and the idea of finally realizing that dream that I’ve been having for years was surreal. At this point, I still had Dominick back home, but was planning on breaking up with him. Additionally, I have met Luiz (see the Portuguese) who has flown in to stay with me in Germany for four days. Needless to say, I had no room for another guy. The problem or the interesting fact was that the cheapest ticket I could get out of Germany was of course out of Hamburg, so I would have to go there whether I wanted to or not. And of course, after going over it (for maybe five minutes) I decided, what the hell, I’ll write to him. He was very happy to hear from me, though he was in a relationship. We arranged to get in touch again before I got to Hamburg.

I told Luiz I was meeting with a good friend of mine and he was clueless as to who Stefan actually was. So clueless that he even gave me his phone to get in touch with the German. The first time I heard Stefan on the phone, I felt like we never lost contact. It was just so effortless and natural. We laughed a little and he poked some fun at me trying to pronounce German street names.Then he asked me if I was with a friend. I told him I was. He asked if it was my boyfriend. I told him it was complicated. He asked what my ‘friend’ would do if we met. I told him that my ‘friend’ could manage on his own. He said OK. He would pick me up tomorrow.

All I remember is that the big letters spelling out Hamburg stood out for me, as if they were the eighth 6500287_983ceddec1_mwonder of the world. This regular European city was the one I’ve been striving to get to for years and finally I was here. It was difficult to even believe it. Not only that, I was here with another guy I met on vacation, who while I was staring out the window and trying to register being here, was trying to hug me from behind.

Unfortunately, unlike my dream, Hamburg was dreary, cold and it rained almost non-stop. Also unlike my dream, I was not glowing with a bronze tan, but looked like a pale pimply ghost and I could definitely not wear a dress in this horrible weather. Out of the limited clothing I brought for the cold, all I had was tights and a few sweaters, which was definitely not what I had in mind for all these years. Nevertheless, I got up the next day and piled on tons of makeup I bought in the Berlin bus station, while I told Luiz I was looking for food. Sure, this was not ideal, but at least I would finally see him.

When I didn’t hear anything from him, I checked my email only to see a message in which he told me he had a meeting for boxing and was busy the whole day. When was I leaving? I told him that I was leaving tomorrow and that it was today or never. He told me he would call me later on.

He never did.

He never apologized. He never made an excuse. He said absolutely nothing. So that was it delete-all-tweets-300x243– three ridiculous days, three long years and many excuses. But to actually do this to me when I was steps within his house, was even beyond him. I wrote him that I was done with this, wished him a good life and erased him out of contacts and finally my life.