The Crazy German (2015)


The red flags, oh the red flags…

Yes, it has finally come! My new post. For months I have been thinking that it wasn’t such a big deal I stopped posting. I mean I am still single – of course. I haven’t really had anything super worthwhile to write about. I have been going crazy over my channel and trying to get it as famous as possible so I can finally be location independent, work from anywhere and hopefully have more success in finding the man of my dreams than in freezing Toronto with its equally lifeless robot people who barely exchange eye contact with each other.

Until, today I stumbled into my junk mail and realized with a shock that I had messages upon messages of support, personal stories and touching words. When I abandoned blogging for my channel, I thought that my page would soon lose its flow and grow weeds, and when I discovered all your messages I told myself that no matter what – I will continue writing more stories. Actually, I would do it right away… or a few hours later. So, I took out my laptop and here is my semi-latest story.

A couple of months ago, I realized I needed a break. I realize it all the time. Actually I always need a break. Don’t we all? Some of my girlfriends don’t think they are entitled to one due to work or school, but all I ever think about is lying on the hammock on the beach, not going to yet another club, lounge, bar and feeling bored and restless, which is how I feel a lot lately.

miamiLong story short, I ended up in Miami with a German girlfriend Marta, who I met while backpacking in Argentina. That night her and I went to the cheesiest club of all “Mango’s” and had our two other hostel roommates join. As soon as we walked in men surrounded us like prey. I guess they sniffed out fresh blood of newly arrived foreigners. I managed to break free from the grasp of a puny and sweaty Chilean guy before he managed to kiss me and went to watch the show, wondering how I was going to get home now that all of the girls were occupied.

Just at the moment when I was getting bored of standing in the corner watching a Michael Jackson show, I saw an enormously tall, blond and built guy coming into the club. He was joined by a much shorter bright blond man (who might I add looked just like he stepped out from a Nazi movie!) As someone who has an unhealthy obsession with the Germans as caused by my very first experience, I got excited and tried to get close to them. Finally, I did something I would probably not do back home. But as you know, we are at our best and riskiest self outside our comfort zone.

I touched the Nazi lookalike on the arm as he walked by me and asked, rather stated. “You are German, right?” He stopped in his tracks and asked me “Why do you sink vy are


Mango’s insanity. The cheesiest club in all of Miami.

German?” What a difficult question, indeed. He was really intrigued so we talked for a bit. He went off to find his friend and as I went around the club, I ran right into both of them chatting to Marta, who was standing right by the tall friend. As soon as he noticed me, he stopped the conversation with her and introduced himself to me excitedly.

Hanz was a teacher from some village in Bavaria and he was on a sabbatical to travel the world. He was staying one more day and then he was off to Asia, lucky bastard. He looked like a very German basketball player with a cute face and an incredible physique.  He was just my type. Physically, at least, because I wouldn’t say we had some great connection or anything. He was trying hard to give me backhanded compliments, to be funny and to challenge me every step of the way. Marta thought he was a full of it asshole.

“You know!” she told me with her harsh tone which she used most of the time. One time when we were late to return the bikes she yelled “Vy are late!” so much that I actually got terrified.  She could sound like a lieutenant sometimes. “You know. I found your German attractive at first. But zen! Zen I realized he was an idiot!” Of course, I knew she was into him so I took her harsh comments with a huge grain of salt.

There was something so endearing about him waiting for me in the crowded dance floor as I came back from getting water. He was just waiting there, unsure in what to do and as I touched him on the back, he turned around with a child-like smile, excited I came back.

As we danced, he bent all the way down to be at level with me, kissing my forehead and I closed my eyes against him, feeling so content I actually felt sorry for myself. I was so tired of being alone. So tired of fooling myself that these flings would lead to anything. I was no longer after an exciting time, a fun and memorable adventure. I wanted a future. I have always wanted a future, but now it was clearer than ever. I missed the security of someone hugging me close, of being next to me. A feeling of a strong man I could lean against – physically and emotionally. I danced with my eyes closed. I wanted to savour the feeling of it. We kissed and kissed and danced some more.

At the end of our night, he told me he regretted meeting me so close to the end of his trip. He wished he could have spent more time with me, because I was just his type.  As much as it disappointed me as well, I knew we at least had one more day left. One more day to let him fall for me, to possibly continue into something more. Who knew? I was always open for a chance like this. These were the only chances I got. I was always meeting someone on vacation and falling for them. It always ended up in something. I don’t know if I was attracting this, but it was a repeat of my life.

“I would invite you back” He told me “but I’m staying in a hostel…”

“Who said I would go back with you?” I asked him playfully. “I can be kissing you the whole night and it means nothing else.”

“I like that you have standards” he said. He seemed to be fully into me, or as much as he could have been after one evening together.

As soon as I got back to the hostel, my phone pinged with a message from him. Marta iphone-messages-eraser-1542301climbed onto my bunk and we whispered girlishly: a 30 year old me and a 35 year old her – two idiots who really yearned for love. Hanz wanted to see me tomorrow, but mentioned he would love to get a hotel room. I wasn’t planning on sleeping with him, but even if I were I wouldn’t want it to be so open, so out on the table. It was much too programmed for me.

The next day, he texted me good morning. The guy was clearly hooked, but at this point all I could see was that he was hooked on having a good night. Having just come back from Latin America, I’m sure this blond Trojan man would have zero problems getting women. I’ve lived in Latin America. I know what the blond hair and European passport would do to a woman. This made me even more wary.


Hola! De donde eres, guapo?

Hanz mentioned that he was going to a basketball game but would love to meet after. He was still set on the hotel, but I wouldn’t budge. I told him that if he wanted to see me, he would make it happen without a promise of sex. As we went out that night, I was not mentally there at the party. I kept on trying to get wifi signal (even going so far as running across the street to a taco place), glancing at my cell phone every two minutes and letting all conversations drift past me in a haze. Finally, he texted me back and told me that they were back at the hostel and wouldn’t be able to go as far as our neighborhood. However, he surely would be glad to book a hotel for us.

Again, the damn hotel.


Did you say “affordable”?

Apparently, the hotel would be ‘much more affordable’ if it were booked in advance. German logic indeed. Affordable is the most seductive word, is it not? How can a woman not fall to her knees at the word affordable, right? Also, if throes of passion came upon us or in his words “If we became hot and bothered” we would find no ‘affordable’ hotel in Ocean Drive at night! Gasp. Hey ladies – want passion in dating a German? You got it! Affordable is the key! Book ahead and the passion is at your feet.

It is not to say that I haven’t considered having sex that night. It’s been a while, I was really attracted to him and my skin has been so bad lately, apparently good sex would clear it up a bit. I’m not joking, I read that somewhere and actually narrated it to my roommates who looked at me like I was slow in the head. Anyways, why not? But the point is even though Marta proudly produced some terrible condoms and handed them to me for later and that I was really starting to consider it, I could not for the life of me have such a pre-planned evening, where the man did not spend one minute on actually seducing me, on talking to me, on taking advantage of the beautiful Florida scenery but right away booking the hotel. It felt cheap and predictable.

I suggested over and over that we meet, talk and then possibly I would agree to it. I made it so, so easy and even then he did not want to meet unless I gave him a warranty that meeting with me would equal to sex (or money back guarantee). And just because I tell you everything, I will admit that at one point I almost succumbed. I wanted a chance to stop a taxi, slip away from this terrible party and drive up to where he was waiting for me. It almost seemed romantic. That is until Marta ripped the phone away from me and hissed “You are not doing zat! Are you CRAZY!? He should put the effort.” Of course. This was the girl, that once told me to dump the guy because he didn’t buy me a drink in South America. But she was right. I was losing my sense of self here. My pride. Once again my desire to feel something beautiful was really me heading off to bed with yet another 2 day guy. Tomorrow he would be off booking hotel rooms in Asia. Probably more affordable ones, too.

So, I changed my mind and stayed at the party. At first I said “screw it” and danced my heart out. Then I cried my heart out. Let me just say – I wasn’t fun for anyone that night, least of all myself.

When we got back to the hostel, I realized that he had been writing to me. Even though we never met, he still couldn’t stop. He was angry at himself, at us for not meeting. He regretted missing the chance to be with me. He was questioning why we let it all slip away. I was sick of going round and round as my whole night has already been ruined by him so I wished him a good night.

Yet, even the next day as he was leaving back to Germany he kept on writing me. He couldn’t believe it. If we could have, should have, would have.. If we just had… If, if, if…

Once back in Germany, he wouldn’t stop. I was his type. I was the woman he was dreaming of. He might have been stupid in being so organized, but he couldn’t help it. The poor lad was German. It was in his blood. He was crazy for me. He couldn’t stop admiring my photos. He regretted everything.

And I let him continue writing that. I’m a very soft girl and when I fall for someone I can ignore all the red flags. In this case – there were so many red flags I could have re-built communist Russia. I still imagined that, who knew? Maybe I was the woman of his dreams. But how could I be? He met me once for two hours. Not only that, he failed to spend time with me had it not been on his terms. He didn’t want to have a romantic evening with me if it didn’t lead to sex. This was not an ideal no matter how you twisted it.

He didn’t stop writing for a few weeks he was back in Germany. At the end, I got enough of the round and round talking of could haves and should haves and told him that had he wanted to see me, he could come to Canada and stop wondering what if. He laughed it off and said he had no time before going to Asia.

But at the end, it got too much. He would always comment on my appearance and talk nothing of substance and when I called him out on it, he got angry and said he wouldn’t do it again. This perfect looking guy with happy traveling photos on Facebook and an array of friends seemed quite troubled. Getting angry when I wouldn’t answer back to him, sending me enormous text messages and arguing like he was my husband of 5 years – all of this had to stop.

The best was when he decided to send me videos of himself singing. Apparently, apart from a teacher he was also a ‘musician’ who made his own original videos. One was of him dressed as the devil and the other of him dancing with a mannequin. When I told my friend this story over sushi, she told me “Man, Mia. You have to start writing about your crazy stories.” Ha!

Hanz is still traveling Asia and has stopped writing to me for now. I have a feeling he will somehow reappear in my life and finally get around to booking that hotel. Of insanity. At least he will have enough time to book an affordable one.

Do you have stories of mentally unstable men you have met? Share them below!



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


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


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!

Good Boy, Bad Boy (2015)

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

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

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

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

mendoza inn

Our hostel

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

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

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

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

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

Bad Boy – Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


That, without the frilly dress

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

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

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

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

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

Good boy – Tuesday


Mhmm… asado

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bad Boy – Wednesday

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

Thermal Baths

Thermal baths!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And so, Alfie is a better choice?”

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

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

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

 Good Boy – Wednesday

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

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

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

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

I found Alfie in the patio.

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, like a cheesy Freddie Prince Jr. movie

The cheesiness.. oh the cheesiness.

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

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

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

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

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

Bad Boy – Thursday

“Senorita” blinked a message on my Whatsapp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No” I said immediately.

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

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

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

“So what do you want?” He asked.

“Let me think about it” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good Guy – Thursday

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

“Hey” he said.

“Hi” I smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bad Boy – Friday

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

And he never got back to me after that.

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

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

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

Bad Boy – Saturday

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

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

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

He answered back in an hour.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughed at the reply.

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

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

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

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

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

He was into me.

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

We did that too...

We did that too…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes” he answered simply.

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

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

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

Bad Boy – Sunday

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

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

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

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

We talked almost every day for the next two weeks.

My Greek Hook-Up Story ( by K)

photo1My best friend and I decided to leave Montreal for a two week vacation. We spent the first few days in Athens, went to Cairo, got traumatized and came right back to Greece to forget all about it.

Namely to Mykonos.

By that time it has already been nine days that we were out of Canada and I have not gotten laid yet. The blood was boiling inside of me. And it just happens that I got my period when we got to Mykonos. My dream of tasting a Greek man kinda faded away at that moment.

We rented this cute room/villa at this hotel on a hill about 10 minutes walking from little Venice.

The view was just dreamy! The smell of sea air, the mountains and the view of the turquoise water was incredible. Perfect place to fall in love/lust.

Once we got there, my friend Carla went to shower and I went to the pool bar to get our welcome drinks. As I walked through the opening, I saw these hot Italian looking men. So hot, they were probably gay. As I turn my head towards the bar my eyes rest on a good-looking bearded man behind it staring back at me. Jackpot.

While I’m sipping this whatever fruity drinks he made I am super aware of his eyes on me. He walks up and asks me where I’m from and we end up chit chatting. His name is Vasilis, he is Greek and twenty minutes later he is already inquiring about my plans for that night. Upon hearing my friend and I are thinking of hitting the party scene, he offers to show us around, throwing in “we can have a lot of fun together.”

I’m thinking this man either really likes me or he’s genuinely nice to hot tourists. I found out later that “we are gonna have fun” in Greek translates to “We are gonna have sex”. Me and my naive self. Oh well… What did I care? I knew nothing was gonna happen. It was my time of the month after all.

After walking around the beach and eating at a seaside restaurant with Carla, I was dying to go to the bar and see Vasilis, but it was already midnight so I figured “oh well… Another time.” Let’s see what Mykonos has in plans for us.

After a pretty crazy night out in Club Paradise, and a great start to the day at the pool, I was still hoping to see Vasilis. Instead, I see this other Greek stud. And I think to myself…. “Will I ever be able to stop falling for these Greek Gods?”

We have breakfast. He makes us freshly squeezed orange juice and adds some vodka in. Way to get the two hangover girls drunk again.photo3

We rest around the pool, sleeping, enjoying the cloudless sky and the hot weather of Mykonos.

Then, in the corner of my eye, I see Vasilis at the bar, who seems like he sees me too. As I wake up from a nap after, I feel a little tap on my shoulder. I turn my head and guess what I see – Vasilis’ face looking at me with his big eyes, a drink in his hand.

“Hey K, this drink is for you. You never came to see me after and I was waiting for you”

“I was going to see you” I said “But it seemed kind of late”. That part of it was true.

photo2After he left and I rested some more, I figured, hey this is my last day in Mykonos! I might as well go and innocently flirt with the bar boy. I will myself to walk up to the bar, giving a sign to Carla that I am abandoning her for an hour or so.

As Vasilis and I talk, I feel his eyes burning into me. He asks me what I’m doing tonight and I tell him I’m leaving back home.

“Oh no…” he says “I thought you were gonna stay longer. I could bring you to the beach and we could have fun there!”

“Yes I know” I sigh.

“You know, we can still have a lot of fun” he hints.

Ok, so I know where this is going, however I’m bleeding, but this is probably my last chance to get laid while I’m in Greece with a hot Greek man. I think “screw this” and grab his hand as I finish my cigarette. “Why don’t I call room service?”

I offer him to wait a few minutes then come up with a pretense of  giving me my phone charger.

I said wait a few minutes then you can come by and give me my charger.

As I leave the bar, I am walking slowly. When I am sure nobody can see me, I charge. I tell Claudia that I’m gonna be busy with the boy so she can tan somewhere and read a book.

Get to the room. Clean myself. Pick up the messy clothes scattered everywhere. Get ready to greet him in my bikini.

He knocks. Comes in. As I close the door, he grabs my face passionately and kisses me.

Ouf…. I’m in heaven. We keep on making out, then I realize I’m still on my period, so I have to tell him. I start laughing and he’s a bit bedazzled, so I come right out and say it.

He looks at me with his wide eyes “Are you serious?”

I’m thinking this guy is probably feeling like he has made a bad choice! First I gotta leave in two hours, and then this surprise!

But then he surprises me even more by offering “other holes!” I guess it’s true what they say about Greeks!

I offer to go to the shower instead.

We get in the shower. The window is open so you can see the mountains outside and the breeze is coming through. We have the best sex ever: it is passionate, unexpected and incredible!

As we finish, we dry ourselves, kiss, and I thank him for his “room service” which makes him burst out laughing. Before he left the room he told me to pass by the bar and say goodbye.

Truth is, I didn’t wanna say goodbye. I just wanted to stay in perfect Mykonos forever. My face was glowing so much, Carla looked at me and started laughing.

As I walk up to him to get my final drink, it’s sunset and my body is filled with all kinds of emotions. I feel like crying of happiness, because I had such a wonderful experience with this place. I give him one final hug and I leave.

As we’re in the car to get to the ferry and my mind is still in the clouds, I receive a message from Vasilis: “I will miss you. Hope to see you again :)”

Even though we are leaving this paradise, I’m in heaven.

By next day, I came down to earth. Through Facebook, Carla and I realized he lied about a couple of things. First he lied about his age. Twice! First he told me he was twenty two instead of twenty five. Then it turns out he is actually twenty years old. Way to feel like a craddle robber instead of a man eater I initially considered myself as!

Second it turns out not only does he actually have a girlfriend, after telling me he was single, but that they have been together for three years!

Don’t get me wrong, I was still on a high because of what I’ve experienced. But let’s just say that I felt bad for that poor little girl who trusted this man whore.

And the worst is yet to come. When I get back home and we chat, he tells me he is waiting for both Carla and I to come back because he would love to have fun together. By this time, I get the full definition of fun.

About the writer: Vietnamese, born in Montreal, 27, single, and living the life.

I Want to Read & Feature YOUR stories!

TravalotHi everyone and thank you so much on your warm comments about my posts! It really meant a lot that you spent hours going over my extremely lengthy stories and even sometimes sat through my entire blog!

I have to say, I really  loved sharing these sometimes funny, sometimes emotional and oftentimes embarrassing stories. At first it was simply an outlet, since my friends got tired of me talking about it and I loved to! Later, it because a hobby, and from time to time, I actually noticed myself getting into these stupid situations as a way to get content for later. The Dutch story started like that. I was literally bored and I needed an interesting tale, which actually ended up being the least memorable.

This blog led to me to a bigger video project, which I wish I could share with you! It is now my main priority and takes LOTS of my time, but I love it beyond anything I have ever done before. Ironically, once I started the dating project, I also stopped dating. This brings me to the fact that yes, I love sharing stories, but besides having no time, I have NO STORIES! I am a single, boring girl with no more international dating.

A lot of you spent time writing your own personal stories to me and from the jumbled up version, they seemed quite interesting and worthwhile sharing, so I figured, why not create a community of international daters? If you have an interesting story to tell, email me at If I like your story, I will make sure to feature it on the blog. If not, I will ask you to spend more time on revising it in order to make it presentable (and relatable!)

Looking forward to your stories!