Goldilocks and the Three Rides

So, it’s back to reality here. And I’m mostly glad to be back. To be in my own bed which is always clad in good linen and smells of Lenor. Not to mention being much more spacious than any of the single beds that I had while I was away. But there really is nothing like your own bed, the comfort and familiarity and the release.
So on holidays I was Goldilocks and the 3 rides and ultimately learned 3 lessons that I will now share.

Lesson 1: Cher was right, we should have all listened to her sooner
Lesson 2: GOTN was right, is right and doles out very handy advice
Lesson 3: The BFF is a tolerant and lovely person who doesn’t hold grudges
(These will all become clear, I promise)

The first encounter I was too drunk to remember any of it, I couldn’t tell you anything about it except that we were definitely careful and I might have told him I was a sex blogger – what a fucking idiot I am. Oh and I got a UTI from it also. Relax, those of you out there not versed in these things; UTI’s or the most common one, Cystitis, is an infection caused by soft tissue damage. It’s not caught or given. It’s …. Inflicted. Draw your own conclusions because I have none. Really, make anything up, it could have happened.
So ensued an agonising 26 hr bus journey and a lovely trip to the chemist to explain in my really shitty Spanish what the problem was. Thank god the pharmacist was lovely and this was South America, they hand over the good drugs straight away i.e. strong painkillers and antibiotics. All in all a very high price to pay for some sex that I essentially don’t remember. You think I would have learned my lesson but I don’t think I did.

 

 

The second was an unmitigated disaster. I did my best to salvage it but there was nothing to be done. I’m not sure whose fault that was? I suspect there were drink issues, that’s what was declared anyway and there might have been condom issues too. That’s ok, it happens. There are loads of other things that can be done and more fun to be had…? No?
No, it would seem was the answer here. I’m sure I was patient, I know I paid a lot of attention to a lot of places and was encouraging and put in some back work. I can’t say I felt that much or any of that was reciprocated. There also seemed to have been a bit of a miscommunication regarding one other thing? I think I know how it happened but I’m not sure how it got so out of hand…? So when we had been kissing in the bar, out on the terrace, basically everywhere, at one point he was at my neck; we were in company and he was kind of absentmindedly nipping it but I came to my senses and sort of yelped ‘Don’t dare mark me!’. Everyone laughed, he reassured me that he wouldn’t. I turned to him and privately said that he could mark me anywhere that wouldn’t be seen, just not my neck or anywhere highly visible. Somehow, this seemed to have translated into: Please leave as many bruises on my body and you possibly can, either by squeezing too hard or just outright biting me. I bruise like a peach, I really do. Any tiny little grab of my arm will leave a mark. This works out well with most partners where I will find discreet little finger marks on my inner thighs or if I’m lucky a well-placed and not noticed when administered, little bite. This was none of those. I’m sure I noticed some roughness at the time but the bruises that came up? It looked like I had been kicked down some stairs.
Ok to be fair, I had knocked myself up a bit, the lower leg bruises were mostly my own doing. But them added to the ones ALL OVER my torso and the giant set on my left breast? Sigh…. Once again I was all injured and had nothing to show for it. Literally all pain and no gain.
But I feel like I should have seen this coming. I should have known. How, I hear you ask? Well, while the kissing was good and it went on for two nights before the non-sex happened (I was too drunk the first night) there was no actual spark. I enjoyed the attention, I loved joking with this guy, he was funny and clever and we were like kids chasing each other around. I was having a great night the first night. And an even better night the second, knowing that it was definitely going to end in sex and we were both (so I thought) taking it easy on the booze. I was busy playing beer pong and giant jenga, he would occasionally run up behind me, grab me and swing me round – what was not to love? I think I love someone being all over me when I’m into them. The kissing was good, he was a good kisser. But. And here is lesson number one that was learned too late; it didn’t ignite anything, there was no pull in the belly, no tingle happening. And you should feel that as soon as someone touches you, it’s an indication of actual chemistry and of how things might play out later.
I think I got my person-crush and my actual crush mixed up. I think I just really liked this guy as a person. I’d say he felt the same about me. That’s my guess anyway. I don’t really have anything else to go on.

 

 

 

So then there was the third bowl of porridge that was just right.
It’s Sunday night, me and the BFF are not finding the crazy parties everyone has told us about in Bolivia. Regardless of that we are dragged to a club any way in a last ditch effort to find some craic. We’ve had a dodgy taxi ride to the ‘club’ and for some reason we’re ushered in without paying? We have no idea what’s going on neither of us is looking our best. The music is rubbish, no one from the hostel seems to have followed us here as arranged. We’re on our first drink when two young fellas approach us and ask us to dance. They’re very pretty and they’re clearly a lot younger but they speak spectacular English and are very polite. I love polite.
I tell my suitor that I can’t dance to this music, he laughs, agrees that it’s a bit heavy while simultaneously having taken my hands and gotten me off my seat. He now has me standing and facing away from the BFF and the rest of the group that had finally arrived. This is a key move apparently, separate your target from the herd.
So I’m standing and he has my hands in his, he leans in closer, to chat in my ear. He says the music will change soon and there will be something better to dance to. I want so badly not to be a big fucking cliché, it’s why I let him take my hands and get me off the stool, I wanted to dance with him, to be polite and not be so, so, fucking Irish. And then – this happened. I suddenly get all self-conscious, I remember that I actually can’t dance and that I’m fairly sober. (ok, I can dance but not with a partner. I can lap dance, I can dance by myself, I can hold my own, but with a partner? Leading? Terror strikes me. And when I realised what kind of dancing he meant? Well I immediately became a walking cliché.) I giggle (god I hate myself) and I tell him again that I can’t dance to this, he says he’ll show me, I make it worse and say ‘I think I need 4 more drinks’ Let’s have them, he replies and goes to get me a drink, which I of course refuse to let him buy me. I’d be odd like that.
But we are chatting and the harder I try not to be a stereotype the more I become it. He again asks about the dancing and I, to my utter shame, tell him that I’m Irish and we can’t dance unless we’re drunk. He looks at me like I’m stupid, I know he’s heard me and that he understands me, so I ask him what he knows about Ireland and shockingly the first 5 things he says include neither booze nor potatoes. Despite myself, I’m impressed. At this point, or possibly before that, his friend had pointed out how fit my suitor was by subtlety pulling up his shirt and announcing that this, his totally ripped torso, was because of Cross Fit training. This does not have the desired effect, both me and the BFF burst out laughing. Because this, as a tactic is fucking ridiculous to us. We are of course impressed, but what are we supposed to do with that? It’s like walking up to a guy and flashing your tits. I decide at this point, conclusively that there is nothing going on with this guy and me. He is way to pretty and I am wholly intimidated by his physical perfection. I can’t understand why he is still trying to score me? I think maybe it’s a bet, or cos I’m a tourist and that’s what they’re into on this night? Or maybe cos I’m blonde?
What I know is that no matter what the truth is, I can’t get naked in front of this guy. I would not enjoy myself as my own fucked up mind has no intention of letting me. That’s right readers, I am writing this guy off because he is too hot.
But I’m not impolite. I of course keep chatting, he’s pretty funny and after he talks me into dancing (not actually together but kind of near each other, as you would on any normal dancefloor, not a big intimidating South American one). And as we’re laughing about something (I think it was my name – which is hilarious here) he asks for my number. This makes me spit my drink out laughing. ‘What do you want my number for! So you can go ahead and not call me?! Stop it now, I’m a tourist and I’ll be gone in 3 days’. This stops him in his tracks and he laughs himself and says it’s a reflex action and of course I’m right. And then he drops in the line that possibly hooks me. ‘You’re so much fun to actually talk to’. OH yeah? How’s that – is my sceptical response. ‘Because the extent of the conversations I have with girls my own age is how good the latest iPhone is’. I know this is a line, but he’s absolutely barking up the right tree with me.
I laugh my head off and swear to keep my international politics convo up to speed. I think it’s here that he grabs one hand and slips the other around my waist. There is a natural gap between my top and my pants so his hand was fully skin on skin, at the small of my back and I felt it then. Right when his skin connected with mine I could feel it. He pulls me in close and rests his mouth on the nape of my neck but doesn’t kiss me. It’s as if I haven’t given him permission, which I haven’t, and he is waiting for it? We keep talking, this keeps happening and eventually he does kiss my neck, briefly. I’m clearly not giving any signals away because he doesn’t act on it. But now I really want him to. The electricity when he touches me is so delicious.
I’m so terribly aware that the BFF is not having a great time and I do keep trying to turn back to her and see how she is. I’ve sworn that we are leaving after this drink and I did mean it. I tell him this and he ups his game and he kisses me. And here it is, the categorical proof that Cher was right, it is, and always has been, in his kiss. This. THIS here is what I should have felt before I went and slept with anyone else. I should be feeling this taught, obvious, punch of genuine desire that is washing over me. THIS is real chemistry and I know it, I recognise it it’s my fucking barometer and it RARELY sends me wrong so what the hell had I been playing at with the other two guys?? Why had I been ignoring my own internal signs? And of course, why was I ignoring the sage Cher advice? Never wise.
I’m hooked. I want this guy, I want him so badly. I can feel that he’d be good, the senses are on fire and my need is off the Richter scale. I have mostly gotten over being intimidated but there’s still no way I’m going to sleep with him. He does try to persuade me – fleetingly, with the requests that he come back with me. HA! Does he realise that I’m staying in a hostel! So he switches tack and tries to persuade me to go with him – that is categorically not happening. The BFF says she doesn’t mind staying, I know she does and I don’t want to stay. It’s time to go, what the hell would I be doing with this 22 year old anyway.
So I make my excuses and try to leave. He kisses me again and I devour each one that he gives. He kisses my neck and whispers to me. And then boldly takes my hand and puts it on his cock. It’s a brave move but he obviously has the measure of me, I loved it. But it wasn’t enough to get me to stay. He throws this in at the end – he says he doesn’t have to leave til 5pm the next day and I should give him my number so we can meet up tomorrow afternoon, because even if nothing happens he wants to see me again. So I give him my number because I suppose I’m an optimist and hoped that maybe something would happen? And because this guy was hilarious and way cleverer than me and I enjoyed his company and his audacity immensely.

 

 

My phone is dead. I charge it the next morning and there’s 4 texts from him. He’s managing to pull off cheese and still be funny e.g. ‘hope you and your boy’s name and potato accent slept well’. So I respond. And I waste a morning like this. Eventually the BFF tells me to just go and meet him, she’s only on for movies and reading today (it’s chilly enough in Bolivia).
He meets me outside the hostel. Rips the piss out of me for staying in an Irish Hostel, fair enough, and then tells me I sound way more Irish this morning, but not to worry, I’m still comprehensible – very cheeky. It’s still not clear what it is we’re actually going to do? So we take a stroll, he points out some cultural features and gives me a bit of background to Bolivia that I didn’t know. And all the while his arm is around me and he is intermittently kissing me? I don’t know what to make of him but he makes me laugh and his knowledge of what seems like the whole of Europe, including Ireland, is putting me to shame. He’s just short of saying something in Irish to me. But he seems as delighted to be with me as I am to be with him. And so he suggests we go to his friend’s house. I’m not mad about this idea. I don’t know this city, I don’t really speak the language and of course I could be murdered. Or worse, just tortured and never found again. You know the things that go through your head, while simultaneously your loins are working overdrive to try and come up with some way to justify actually doing this.
I’ll cut to the chase, because this isn’t a suspense thriller, I went with him. I didn’t get murdered. And so brings us to lesson 2. I read, probably not that long ago, but for some reason I can’t find it readily now, a top tip for getting the sex while possibly being in a dodgy situation somewhat safely. GOTN suggests that you ask the guy for his wallet or some other valuables which you then hide until you are ready to leave. If the guy happily hands them over, then it might be a barometer of his intentions. Obviously this works way better with say, his car keys being hidden somewhere in my house which he wouldn’t be able to readily find, should he need a quick getaway after, you know, murdering me. But god, I wanted this guy and this nugget was what my loin-to-brain minions came up with. So I asked him for his wallet and he handed it to me laughing, no hesitation.
Off we went to a rather swanky suburb of La Paz. I was still nervous but I was genuinely having a lot of fun.
I think it’s now time to confess what I did. The BFF’s phone wasn’t working in this country, stupid Meteor BUT her wifi was and we were able to Whatsapp. I promised to stay in regular touch and not to go anywhere without telling her. But as soon as I stepped outside the hostel into the beaming smile of Cross Fit boy – I absolutely forgot this fact. Forgot that her phone wasn’t actually working.
To add to this, as soon as I was outside the walls of the hostel, sure my wifi no longer worked. So all my (normal text) messages were not getting to her. At first I thought she was busy watching a movie. Then I thought she was ignoring me because she didn’t want to hear what I was getting up to. And then I started to worry myself. The young fella offered to call her, but to no avail. If I had have stopped and thought for more than 2 seconds I could have asked him to Whatsapp her. Or I could have texted anyone at home and asked them to tell her I was ok. But I didn’t stop to think, I was absolutely cunt blind. It’s pretty serious, it’s the worst kind.
More chase cutting to. We’re in his friend’s house, he sits down and pulls me on top of him and starts kissing my neck. My breath is gone straight away. I rub myself up and down his crotch as he reaches around for my tits. This feels amazing and we’ve barely done anything. I know I’m wet and he utters the only Spanish that comes from his lips. My last boyfriend was Spanish, I know the filthy words and I know what he’s just called me – I am so turned on by it. But I don’t tell him.
I’m still kind of scared, I don’t really know where I am, it’s the middle of the day and I am stone cold sober and about to get naked in front of what is possibly the fittest man I’ve ever been with. Ok, I’m terrified. I don’t have a tan, I’m covered in bruises and fecking mosquito bite scars. But there’s no way I’m going to stop, I know if I can just get over myself this could be great.
And then it starts. The things he does, the only move he could make to make all this ok; he started talking like I was some goddess and that he was lucky to have me there? And even better, he highlighted all the things that I can possibly believe might be hot about me. In order this is how it went. I pull my clothes off and he freaks out for my underwear ‘Holy shit, look at this lingerie, what the hell’ I go to kiss him and he won’t let me, he holds me at arm’s length and takes another look. Then he grabs me and pulls me into him. He then starts to compliment my tits ‘These feel amazing, ok get this bra off I need to see them’. Perfect. When I pull the bra off he then goes on about the nipples, how hard they are, how you could hang something off them. Well spotted, you could. I can believe all of this. And he’s touching me everywhere, complimenting my skin, stroking me. And key to all of this, he’s rock solid. And he’s not standing there expecting to be worshiped even though his body is worship-able. He’s just getting on with it and so am I. I joke that he looks ridiculous, that he’s not real, that it’s painted on or something. It’s fun, he’s fun. Neither of us is hung up on anything. He goes to take my knicks off and I stop him, I’ve been traveling for 3 weeks, I’m not freshly waxed. His response is perfect ‘What? Shut up! and get them off, I don’t give a fuck and I want to eat that now’. (Boys even if you do care, it’s always so great when you just say you don’t.) And he did eat it, oh so very well stopping to let me taste it every time I asked, which was often because I love that.
And when I suck his cock he freaks out, I give it everything, every trick I know and it works. I lick all the way from his balls up and back down. Then I take all of it in my mouth, right down until I gag on it and then a little bit further. I get it so wet and stay at this until he can barely take it. He is sitting on the bed, legs spread, back against the wall. I’m between his legs, on my knees, bent forward angled so I can get the best leverage while I work his shaft but also so my hips look their widest. This doesn’t go unnoticed. ‘I cannot believe your ass for a white girl, your hips are unbelievable’ this again I can tolerate to hear because I love my hips. And then I go in for the deepest of deep throats. He tells me he doesn’t think that’s ever happened before and he loves it.
I have to say we’re both having a great time.
This is how it’s supposed to be. Both parties doing the best they can to make sure the other is having a great time.
He makes me come with his mouth and his hands, and we have sex three times. I make him come twice with my mouth, both times.
And in between we lie and chat and laugh and it’s so easy. He kisses my face and runs his hands over my skin. I admire his, and tell him he should give me one of his flaws, to point one out – he stands up and gives a lame one about his chest. I kneel up and punch him, he picks me up and wrestles me back onto the bed and it starts again. This is the most fun and the least pressure I’ve felt in months.

 

But I still haven’t heard from the BFF and I’m anxious now. So he says he’s going to bring me back to the hostel. I tell him there’s no need, as long as he tells the taxi driver where to bring me, I’ll be fine. He looks at me perplexed and says ‘But I want to bring you back’. The cab takes forever to come and when it does I insist that I’m ok to go back by myself. He looks at me really unsure but I think common sense wins out. He kisses me again like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted and then puts me in the cab. I’m not in the door of the hostel when there’s a text from him checking that I got there safely.

This is possibly the most perfect one night stand I have ever had.

I’ve learned to listen to my body, wait to feel the pang of desire. Not to write someone off just cos I think they’re too hot for me – it’s almost as insulting as writing someone off because you don’t think they’re hot enough. Chemistry is chemistry regardless of physicality, when it’s there you’ll just feel it. I slept with this guy not because of his super-hot body but in spite of it. Because really, how we look is the smallest part of real attraction.

And the last lesson? Well while I was trying to get back to the hostel, fearing that the film I was actually in, had the twist where I didn’t get killed as expected, but that the BFF did. That she got murdered in the hostel (can I say that word enough times) and it was all a ruse when she was the one in danger all along. But she wasn’t dead. Or kidnapped. Just annoyed and worried about me – and had been for about 4 hrs. To her credit she didn’t give me a hard time and I was genuinely very sorry.

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