The one who won't leave me alone

This entry is going to come at you in more than one installment. There’s a lot to say.

This redhead hasn’t left me alone since I met him in 1993. I was 13, he was 14.

I call him Firecrotch

Firectorch was my first kiss. Like, real kiss. With tongue. Like, my first make-out session. Both of ours actually. My memories of that kiss was the same as Harry Potter’s first kiss with Chou Chang: wet.

Firecrotch, the pain-in-the-ass, likes to remind me sometimes, that I have a soft spot for him. Just a couple words or phone calls here and there that makes me remember.

He tends to pop back up in my world every-so-often, especially when I’m not crushing hard on someone else. And if you’ve read any of the other entries in this blog, I crush a lot and I crush hard. I admit it is kind of obsessive. If I were one of these dudes and knew how hard this girl was crushing, I’d be scared. And that’s why I give these guys props when I think they know it.

Anyway, I went to an overnight camp in junior high and Firecrotch was my “boyfriend” for about two weeks. I remember the precise moment when I decided I liked him; it was on the volleyball court. I loved the combination of his strawberry-blonde jew-fro and the weird acid-washed bright blue t-shirt he was wearing. I told my friend that I like his hair.

She runs off and tells him I have a crush on him. How junior high is that?

Somehow it gets discussed that he likes me too and that he should “ask me out.” And at some point a couple days later, we were playing capture the flag and we end up alone.

“I have something to ask you” Firecrotch says.

“I know” I say.

“Will you, um, go out with me?”

“Yeah”

Granted this isn’t exactly how the conversation went, but it was something like this. We “dated” until camp was over. I kissed him good night on the cheek once probably almost a week after we started “dating” and he went “wooooo!”

We argued about the Batman and Robin cartoon that that was on tv, I had a crush on Robin (for some reason I found a cartoon character hot. See that looking at that picture up there at the top? he's totally my type, buff with glasses!)

There are a couple really cute pictures that I have of us cuddling during the after dinner song sessions. Come to think of it, I don’t know if I have any other pictures like that with any other guy, I wonder how much this says about my love life... I’ve hidden these behind other pictures. I won’t get rid of them, but I don’t want to look at them.

My brother was a CIT, a counselor-in-training for my group session. Basically he was a camper who got to go to camp for free in exchange for sitting around in the evening waiting for campers to sneak out of their cabins and more time to make out with members of the opposite sex. My brother was Firecrotch’s CIT. I think it freaked Firecrotch out a little bit. My brother liked to tease him, of course, that's an older brother's duty.

We never really “broke up.” I think it was just a camp-is-over type of thing. I called him when there were raging fires near his house. He was terrible on the phone.

We stayed friends. He came out of his shell once he got to high school. He was girl crazy. Girls loved him. We never made out again. But we would hang out whenever he was in town visiting family.

I developed a real crush on him. I never knew what to do about it. I still don't.

Part 2

The one who had an open marriage

Yes, I was the other woman, or An-other woman. But I didn't want to be a home wrecker.

I met Paul at the airport when an ice storm kept me from making the last leg of my trip. Not knowing how long we would be held up, a group of us decided to band together and figure out alternate ways of getting home.

First four of us tried to get a rental car. But decided that it might not be a good idea because of the ice. So we were directed to the train, which would only take a little bit longer than driving, and would be safer and cheaper.

Paul was a normal looking guy who was coming back from a job interview. He had been in the Navy and was very outright flirty (and a little dirty). It was pretty insane. I was very embarrassed and flattered all at the same time.

He honestly explained to me that he had an open marriage with his wife. They could sleep with whomever they wanted as long as they told the other person and kept the details to a minimum.

Paul had only used this freedom only once before while his wife engaged in extramarital sex quite frequently. He said it didn't bother him. As long as it didn't detract from their relationship, it was fine.

I was intrigued, I had never been involved in anything like that before. Paul had a lot of sexual energy which I thought was hot and he was totally digging me. I believed him (my friends were skeptical) and figured as long as it was all part of the arrangement, I wasn't doing anything I would later regret. And, well, I could use some amazing sex. Couldn't we all? I was okay with the fact that it might only be that: sex.

So we made out on the train a little and Paul was an amazing kisser. I was excited to see what the future might have in store.

We emailed back and forth a few days and he ended up coming over during one day. I'm pretty sure he thought that I was this wild thing that had all of this kinky sex. In reality, I haven't, and am still learning the basics of what I like and what really works for me.

He asked me all these questions and I didn't know how to answer them, and I was kinda embarrassed that I couldn't answer them. Like, "can you have multiple orgasms?" I mean I don't even necessarily even know how to answer "what's your favorite position?" I know it's sad, and hopefully I'll know the answers to these questions. Just blame it on the one who didn't know how to make up for it (who's going to be in town soon and wants to see me, what do we think about that?? Please comment.)

And being with Paul for a couple hours in the middle of the day was not the time or place for me to spill my guts on the emotional and sexual disappointments of my previous sexual relationships. So I just got quite and said we could do whatever he wanted.

It was certainly fun, but what I really didn't like about it was that after he would finish, he would just hop off of me and head to the bathroom to clean up. No cuddling, no kissing.

I'm done and I'm dirty! Need to clean up. Thanks, I'll call you later when I have some time between classes and feeling horny!

Talk about feeling weird. Not cheap, but it was definitely strange.

I was not upset that I would never exclusively have him, it never entered my mind since it was never a possibility.

He came over one other time after that. And I'm not super proud of this, but he told his wife about me and she got jealous and didn't want to have an open marriage anymore. It came out that she had been using the arrangement as a way to make him jealous, which I assume didn't work. But he told her that he liked me and wanted to see it out. For some reason I didn't kick him out of my apartment right then and there. We had sex again, I felt the same way and didn't want to see him anymore after that. It certainly wasn't worth it.

I then started seeing the one who had been celibate for five years and Paul helped me through a momentary freak out that I had over him.

Paul and his wife moved away. He had been offered several jobs, a couple in really cool cities, but she wanted to be closer to her family and ended up in some awful suburban town in the middle of nowhere.

I definitely don't regret the encounter, but I did learn about myself that sex just for the sake of sex was really not fulfilling to me at all.

This is why I've happily made a decision to stay away from situations like that. There's nothing wrong with sex for the sake of sex, but maybe it's just not for me. It also means that I only had sex once in the year after that.

The one who really just needed to get laid

There was this guy named Glenn in one of my grad school bands, that as far as I'm concerned, just dripped sex. There was just so much sexual energy between us, it was ridiculous.

He had gorgeous long dark curly hair, not so different than the one who had great hair, had an awesome body (and wore t-shirts that showed it off), had a sweet disposition and would just smile at me. I'm sure I did the same back.

Man oh man, that year my band was overflowing with hotties; Thursday nights was three hours of eye-candy pleasure. The tattooed Eastern religion student, the flakey yet talented guitarist, the hot laid back lesbian keyboardist/saxophonist, the silly and conceited vocalist, and Glenn, the sexually frustrated percussionist.

There's not much to tell here but I would stare. I would. It was bad.

I learned at one point from a mutual friend that Glenn had recently gotten out of a bad relationship and was probably still very much healing from it. He had made out with a female friend of mine who would become the one and only girl I have ever referred to as my girlfriend, and she said that he was very sexually uptight because of the ex-girlfriend.

Well, we kinda skirted around actually hanging out, and one night we were supposed to have a drink and he just invited me over instead. And I'm like, "okay."

We had some beers, had sex and I went home early in the morning. Simple as that. Sometimes it just happens like that.

It wasn't so great unfortunately, but we both needed it, BADLY. Glenn met the love of his life soon after that. So I figure it was good that the sexual tension between us had been broken. There are times that it just needs to happen. And I didn't have to see him much after that, and when I did, it was fine.

Sometimes it's just been too long since the last time you got naked with someone, right?

The one who had been dancing all night

It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged about steamy romance, and this one’s gonna be a little longer than normal. But here goes…

I was on a choir trip in college that toured through England, France, Belgium and Holland for about two weeks. We got to sing in amazing spaces like Chartres Cathedral in France. It was a fantastic time and an incredibly amazing opportunity. One of the perks of traveling through Europe is, of course, the European men that you might come in contact with. And since the group I was traveling with was compromised of women only, any attention and/or distraction we could get from the opposite sex was welcomed.

In my experience, I’ve found that traveling with large groups of people can be rather exhausting. Nerves and patience become rather sensitive because you just can’t get away from someone if they’re bothering you and attitudes can get ugly. At least my attitude can get ugly.

Traveling with a group of all women is different from traveling with a group that includes men. When you’re traveling with men, at least there is the possibility of flirting, or watching the boy you like flirt with someone else (stay tuned for, "the one who my friends thought was an unattractive douche") or be witness whatever scandal that might occur from male and female hormones interacting with each other.

Other possible tensions arise simply from specific personalities clashing with one another, whether or not they are based on romantic or sexual circumstances, and not getting a break. Of course some of these possible situations do not provide a positive and healthy environment, sometimes quite the opposite, but they at least do make for a lively one. Traveling alone is great, but it can get boring.

Traveling with a large group of only women takes away the sexual tensions (unless there are at least two lesbians or bi-curious ladies along) and just leaves the silly, stupid and annoying drama that occurs when women spend too much time together.

I’ve never considered myself a girly-girl and tend to stay away from women who seem to fall into this category. I’ve found that I tend to make friends with edgy, dorky, intelligent women who don’t get overly excited by all things makeup, shoes, hair product and clothes.

So a small group of women (mostly altos, interestingly enough) found ourselves to be the gals who sat in the back of the bus. Ironically when I was on a bus tour with men, I was among the same category of women, but we sat in the front of the bus. What’s up with that?

I mention the dynamics of traveling with all women because you need to understand why it is so amusing for me to compare my experience to some of those I overheard from these more frivolous girly-girls. Let’s call them Sopranos. And yes, I am generalizing. These were nice girls, very sweet, but I had no real interest in becoming lifelong friends with them or swapping makeout stories on the way to Brussels, like:

“Oh, we met this good looking Frenchman last night who bought us all drinks and promised to meet up with us in the next town.”

or

“Did you kiss him? I can’t believe you KISSED him!”

or

“That gorgeous Italian really wanted my email but I wouldn’t give it to him! I mean what’s the point?”

Jeeeeeeeez, how BORING. WHO CARES?? Maybe I was just jealous, it’s certainly possible.

So us Altos would hang in the back of the bus feeling like the high school outcasts that just couldn’t be bothered with these silly Sopranos. And, like, the front of the bus is for teacher’s pets or something.

One of my favorite memories from this trip was at a bar in Holland where one of the specials of the night was an “Orgasm.” I, new to this whole drinking thing (you know, being under-aged and all), asked the bartender “what is an orgasm?” which I realized was the wrong wording for the question because he grabbed my wrist and said “Come, I show you!” HA! Silly Dutchman. So cute!

But I’ve not gotten to the crux of the story, the one who had been dancing all night. So here goes:

On our last night in London, my friend and I found our way into a dingy club that we had gotten a flier for, advertising cheap drinks and cheap admission for ladies. There was hardly anyone there that night and in typical clubbing fashion, the music was terrible. But we had paid to get in, and we really didn’t want to wander around looking for something else considering we didn’t exactly know where we were anyway. So we got our drink and dance on and ended up having a darn-tootin’ good time.

I met this little Irishman named Sean. He was your typical light haired bloke, keen on showing a cute American bird a good time (sorry, but my British vocab was dying to be used just there). He bought me I-have-no-idea-how-many Mike’s Hard Lemonades (don’t make fun! That drink was new to me at that point! Didn’t matter what country I was in!) My friend met a guy too, a cute curly haired English one.

I don’t know how it happened, but Sean invited us ALL back to his house and he and the English guy didn’t even know each other, or so it seemed. I figured that since I was with my friend, it would be fine. We were meant to catch a plane to Amsterdam in the morning, but we would be able to take a cab back to the hotel from Sean’s house and we would totally be fine.

Sean rented a room above the Irish pub he worked at and we all piled onto his bed, turned off the lights and put a movie on, I think it was, umm…I think, maybe… you know what? I have no freakin’ idea what the movie was, cause it took no time for us to get, uh, distracted...

My friend and the English bloke left Sean’s room and I assume found a couch in the hallway, leaving us alone to get up to our own debauchery. At this point I was still very new to all of this, you know, intimacy with men thing, especially the taking clothes off bit. I was VERY new to this oral sex thing, I had never done either form of it and asked Sean if he would. Well, he did, and honestly it was pretty horrible. And in typical first time fashion, I didn’t really know what or how to tell him to do it any better. But since he at least made an effort, I figured I would offer to return the favor.

He said, “No, thanks.”

Seriously?

Even now, years later, I’m still amazed by this. I mean, and I’m going to put this bluntly, WHO SAYS ‘NO’ to a blow job??? Who!!??

His reason?

“I’ve been dancing all night and you just don’t wanna go down there.”

How freaking decent is that?

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

It’s not like I wasn’t fumbling around down there anyway. Even though I had little to compare it to, I was already aware of Sean’s size and the fact that it did kinda curve to the right. So it’s not like he was ashamed of it or something. He was just concerned about his “swamp crouch” and how gross it might be to really get down there.

Incredible.

Anyway, in the morning he puts the three of us in a cab, gives me his address (not email) and cash for the cab. (Why do I meet the decent ones in other countries??)

My friend and I get back to the hotel, pack our stuff and get on the bus in just enough time. No problem.

We get on the bus and I’m looking at all these girls, beaming with what I thought at the time to be the best secret in the whole world. You know that morning-after-hookup-glow? I love it. I love feeling scandalous. It’s invigorating.

I just sat there smiling as the Sopranos told the newest round of foreign men stories.

It was a long time before I got to engage in the afore mentioned sex act but was incredibly excited to have made out with a cute boy with a hot accent in another country. I think you’ve learned that is something I take pride in.

I think I might have sent Sean a postcard just for shits and giggles, but never heard back. Didn’t expect to.

But one thing I can credit Sean for is jump-starting my fascination with Irish boys. They seem to like me, I don’t know why.

Eat your heart out Sopranos!

The one who paid my $250 parking ticket late

Cory was adorable. A bit of a whiny, worrying, emo kid, but adorable. And he was about 9 years older than me.

I was an intern where he worked and was therefore off limits, as far as having a relationship went anyway. This didn't stop him from making comments that were blatant come-ons, but I was still supposedly off the table. He would even tell me this. "Our time will come if it's supposed to come" Cory would say, or something stupid like that. I think he had just gotten out of a serious on-and-off relationship that left him a little wounded. Timing IS everything ain't it.

Cory would come to where I was working and just kinda hang around. He was totally a grown up version of that dorky, four-eyed, over-eager boy in high school that you'd get annoyed with but know he really does mean well.

He made it clear to me that he liked me and that whatever kind of relationship I was up for (as long it wasn't a REAL relationship) would be fine with him: friends, lovers, mortal enemies, whatever.

I remember going over to his place a couple times, he wanted to show off his original Fela Kuti LP set and watch the Ramone's movie Rock'n'Roll High School. He said that I reminded him off the main character Riff who is madly in love with Joey Ramone and brings rock and roll to take over the oppressive school administration. It's so 1979.

So one time while I'm over there, it starts snowing, like hardcore blizzarding. So OF COURSE I can't go home. He invited me to stay, and even though there is talk of him sleeping on the couch, not surprisingly, I ended up in his bed and we had some fun. Nothing serious, or incredibly memorable, but it happened. Although I do remember that he was more attentive than most.

I get up the next morning and my car has been towed. Since it had snowed the night before, The city needed to plow the street that I parked on and gave me a freaking $250 dollar ticket! I tell Cory about it and he offers to pay it since his parents just sent him a generous check. So I give him the ticket and he pays it, supposedly.

A few weeks later I get a letter from the city saying that since they got the payment late, there is a late fee which needs to be paid. And that fee is DOUBLE the original ticket. I'm not about to pay another $250, I'm an intern, I work for free. And I'm definitely not about to ask Cory for another check, I felt weird enough about him paying the first time.

I had to ask Cory if he had indeed paid the ticket late. Did he have a copy of the check so that we could prove it to the city? No. Did he have the receipt? No. I could have gotten pissed at is lack of organization, or at his lack of responsibility if he did pay it late. But like I said, he did pay for it. He didn't have to. I couldn't get mad.

So I take it up with the city. I go to the courthouse, I fill out appeal forms. All I remember about that was that by the time I moved away months later, the matter hadn't really been officially settled. I just never heard about it again.

I saw Cory about three years later and had dinner with him and a friend of mine that he didn't know. He tells me about his new 23 year old girlfriend who he has a long distance relationship with (barf!) and casually brings up in front of my other friend that he and I had had a "tryst" once before. What the hell? I just looked at him and said "do we really need to talk about this here?" and dropped it.

I'm still trying to figure out if $250 was worth all of that.

The one who managed a magician

It's like in the movie American Pie when Jason Biggs' character wakes up alone after losing his virginity to Alyson Hannigan; he's all excited that someone's used him for sex. That's sort of how I felt when I woke up alone after hooking up with Phil, the magician manager.

Phil was a friend of a friend of a friend, and we all went out drinking one night during the summer after I graduated college. Usually on nights like these I'm feeling good for a little while but then get bored of the people I don't know and hate the bars we're at and all the stupid drunk people in them.

But in this case I was feeling sassy! Well, sassy or just really drunk. I think we went to a couple crappy bars near campus and then ended up at a house party. I was drinking Mike's Hard Lemonades, I used to love that stuff.

I decided that I really liked Phil, he had a gorgeous body, he was interesting (manages a magician!! when do you meet someone like that?? I know, I find strange things sexy) and I wanted him to come home with me. And my inhibitions were down enough to let him know I wanted him to come home with me, which meant I had had a few too many. I don't normally just invite boys home with me. I don't, really, I don't.

For some reason we didn't want to tell our friends know he was coming over, so we concocted a lie: instead of driving the hour home, he was going to crash in his car for a little while, sober up, and then drive back. I have no idea why we couldn't just tell our friends that he was going to sleep at my house. But that's what happened. It all made sense at the time.

This was the year I lived with 11 people in a co-operative living community. I invited Phil in and we hung out in the kitchen for a little while probably to have a late night snack. I explained the living situation to him and that there were several other people in the house, so try not to wake them up!

We had some fun, he was pretty good in the sack. There was no sex however, which makes me seem a little less trampy in this story. I remember him getting up a some point and putting on clothes as it was getting light outside, but in my half-waking stuper I figured that he was just going to the bathroom, and fell back asleep.

I woke up hours later by myself, and had my Jason Biggs a.k.a. Jim Levenstein moment. And I was a bit proud of myself and didn't feel too bad about it. Anyways, I had already graduated and was moving away in a month or (I feel that this might be a pattern for me?), so who cares that I was never going to see him again!

I went down the street to a friends house for a birthday brunch and returned back to the house in the early afternoon. I was chatting with a couple housemates in the kitchen when one picked up something off the kitchen counter and asks, "What's this?"

Phil left his card on the kitchen counter I shared with ELEVEN other people!!! He knew this. I did happen to have my own room, he slept in it!! Why didn't he just leave the card in my room? I didn't find the card until the next afternoon, so it was possible that a housemate might have gone and moved it and I never would have seen it.

What I think is so funny is that this means that on his way out the door at 6am in the morning, Phil stopped by the kitchen to do whatever and leave his card. Was it an afterthought? Was he too lazy to go back upstairs or afraid that if he came back in he would wake me up?

I saved the card because I thought it was so damn hysterical. On it, the card has his magician friends' name in huge letters and Phil's name in tiny print underneath, which is why it took me a second to figure out the card was his. And not only that, but the contact information on the card is the business' information! So if I had emailed or called him (which I didn't), what would I have said? "Hi Phil, this is Kinky, the girl you hooked up with and then bailed on! wanna hang out?" No. I don't think that's an email or phone call I wanted to make.

I eventually checked out this magician guy's website. He does that super cheesy shit with confetti, a silly looking 80s tux and bad synthesized dramatic music.

I wonder where Phil is now? I sometimes think about if he really did want me to call him. Does he feel bad because he thinks I used him and never called him? Maybe he had his own American Pie moment.

The one who loved Led Zeppelin

He was my 23rd birthday present.

I worked with Ron for about a year and I thought he was adorable. He was a short, but not too skinny, funny, cute, lover of music, especially Led Zeppelin, and was a total flirt. But of course, he had a super hot Phillipino girlfriend.

But they eventually broke up.

We bonded over Zeppelin. He gave me copies of some of the many Zeppelin CD's he had including a couple of those really cool "Influences of" they made now featuring Muddy Waters and old British folk music tunes. He even overdubbed 2001: A Space Oydssey with Zeppelin music, I think we were stoned when we watched it. It was one of the coolest things I had ever seen, it was like playing Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon while watching The Wizard of Oz. He said he would make me a copy.

We had a good makeout session after that, which made my actions on my 23rd birthday understandable.

I had my 23rd birthday celebration at a martini bar and got just completely wasted. Everyone kept buying me expensive and exotically flavored drinks that I would never order myself.

There are pictures of me from that night hugging my friends in pure glee, my eyes are totally glazed over. I'm in total bliss.

Someone took me home and Ron got out of the car to give me a good night hug and I drunkenly said,

"Aren't you coming in?" and he just looked at me and responded,
"You're horny aren't you?"
"It's my birthday!" (This was the only thing I could come up with?)

So we're making out on my bed and my roommate is making out with her quasi-boyfriend on her bed. My roommate and I shared a room in the attic of a large house, the room was kinda an "L" shape," so I couldn't see her bed from where I slept, although this doesn't make the situation any less bizarre, but hey, it was college and we were drunk. Very drunk.

At some point we convinced the boys to do a little striptease for us. It was pretty awesome, I have not had the pleasure of anyone since entertaining me with a striptease. Ron got totally into it, my roommates' boy was a little embarrassed. At some point, I just jumped Ron cause he's just so damn cute.

He later tells me that we can't have sex because I'm just too good of a friend. Which was absolutely fine with me since I was still a virgin. It is funny though that we could do all sorts of other things, but actual sex was out of the question.

We stayed friends (unfortunately without benefits from them on) until I moved away and we then sorta lost touch.

He randomly called me last month wanting to know if he could enter my name in the competition to win tickets to the Led Zeppelin reunion concert in London in honor of late, great Ahmet Ertegun, the Producer from Atlantic records who discovered and signed them. He said that if I won, I had to take him. Sure Ron, sure.

I'm still waiting for that Zeppelin/Space Oydssey DVD.

The one who was so hot and didn't speak much english

You would usually see this is as every man's fantasy, right? A hot blonde Swedish woman who speaks broken English, like Ulla in The Producers, and is just fine with putting out.

I met Reuven the evening before my birthday while I was in Israel at a hot springs near his kibbutz. Something told me that I wanted to talk to him, maybe the sulfur fumes had gotten to my head. But, he was a young, wet, good-looking Israeli. They make them hot over there I tell you! We start talking and he invites me to meet his two American friends and have a cigarette, which by the way, was a special kibbutz brand that is strong enough to make a non-smoker feel like you've just taken a hit of marijuana. nice.

I was feeling giddy and bold and invited them back to where we were staying for pre-birthday celebrations of beer, vodka and juice and hookas. I didn't think he would show up, but he did! But only for 20 minutes or so before his friend needed to leave for some I-not-feeling-so-good reason. I was sad that I didn't get a picture with this hottie. But I was glad to have "pulled" a nice young man, as the British would say.

Even though I was super hung over the next morning and puked all over the parking lot of a Golan Heights military fort (a totally different story) I had a wonderful birthday and a sweet Valentines day, which is a day after my birthday. Reuven kept sending me text messages in his horribly broken english like "Happy Valletimes Day sweety."

He invites me to come up to visit a week later. My cousins encourage it. I feel weird about getting on a three hour bus ride for a booty call! But I do.

This man is hot, and he knows it, people told him this when he was in the army. But since he lives on a kibbutz near his family, he doesn't get out much. He works in the kibbutz greenhouse with his plant "babies," which I'm sure added to the romantic fantasies of this lazy American city gal.

We watch Friends and The Simpsons and he laughs at all of the stupid jokes that a foreigner would enjoy, like the fart jokes. We make out, go to a local bar 20 minutes down the road, take funny pictures, we sing in the car to Joe Cocker (who they all LOVE over there) and I mostly talk to his American friend. We get back to his little room and make out under the large poster of the half-naked women on the wall.

As you will soon learn, I seem to attract men with sexual problems that the ladies in Sex in the City dump boyfriends for. This hot Israeli can't keep it up after a condom has been placed on his member, but I'm happy to make out all night. The next morning, he goes off to work and I go back to Tel Aviv.

I go back a week later, for more of the same. But this time just the two of us go the bar on the "mighty" Jordan River, where people from all over the world come to get baptized. And we don't have much to talk about since there's this language barrier. We go back to his room nonetheless and try again, the same thing happens.

Whatever, it's fine, no threat of having Jewish babies for me at this juncture.

Reuven sends me emails sometimes. He asked for a picture of me and wants to come visit me in the United States. He wants me to come travel with him in Central America. I'm happy to have him stay when he comes, but we'll see about Honduras and Beliz. Is this part of the fantasy? Are you supposed to get emails months after? But he's sooo hot!

His emails are hysterical and adorable, they go something like this:

hey girl how you doing? i had some problems with my
internet and now i can send you an e-mail.  so what
are you doing in these days? are you working or
something like this?

One of the best parts about all of this whole encounter is that before I left his place the second time, he gave me this silly fake Hawaiian leis he had lying around. I found this so funny on so many levels:

1) The "I got laid" joke is always funny!
2) I didn't get laid.
3) I said "I got laid" out loud and laughed in front of him.
4) He didn't get it when I said it.

classic.