"So, what do you do?," she asked as on cue.
The brief name exchange was over, and now it was down to business. She was a cute Latina, with dark long hair and dark eyes. Maybe 30 years old.
–
On an invitation of my friend, Ronnie, I came to this fashionable lounge for a happy hour in San Francisco’s fashionable SoMa district. I’ve been back in my stumping grounds of San Francisco Bay Area less than a week and still in Brazil mode both mentally and literally (by proudly demonstrating still being on Brazilian time by being 45 minutes late).
I originally met Ronnie in Brazil through an old friend. He was only to be in the country for a week, so our mutual friend arranged for us to meet up. I showed him a great time by taking him to some of Rio’s less known clubs and areas where only locals go.
I was upbeat to be back in San Francisco, a city where I lived for many, many years before I left on a one-way ticket to Brazil. My libido was at an all-time high, and I was eager to restart gaming local girls after having a blast in Brazil.
–
Immediately after entering I noticed a group of rather cute girls seated down not far from the bar, and thoughts of a great evening followed by a great night began to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
I imagined approaching one of them, starting a conversation, quickly winning her interest, and just enjoying each other’s company in the lounge and then at my apartment.
–
"I, umm, well I just came back from a long trip abroad…" I usually pause in order to sense the girl’s interest if I should continue.
Unmoved, and devoid of any emotion – be it excitement, curiosity, fear, jealousy, enviousness, anything — she sat there waiting for my response to her original question.
At this point, I didn’t need to date this girl for six months to know that she’ll never be my soul mate or my "other half". Still, I wondered, how does a relatively cute Latin girl with beautiful long black hair and big brown eyes managed to squeeze every last ounce of charm of the interaction so effortlessly and precisely?
As I felt our chemistry seemingly evaporate into the thin air, I leaned back to recompose myself and scan for more possible targets. There were certainly more women than men in the lounge, but they all seemed too businesslike, rarely smiling unless on their fifth drink. None seemed particularly approachable; they seemed perfectly happy mingling in big sets of women, as if radiating a hidden force field that men weren’t allowed to penetrate. A marked difference to what I was used to experiencing when I went out every single night during my last week in Belo Horizonte, one of Brazil’s most awesome, but underrated cities. In Brazil, women seemed to always just eagerly wait until men approached them.
As the evening was winding down, and the charmless women were making their way towards the exit alone – exactly how they came in, I offered to buy Ronnie a drink in order to reminisce our adventures in Rio.
We sat down, and he immediately wondered what I thought of the cute Latina he introduced me to.
"She was nice, I guess, but we just didn’t click." I summed up my thoughts
"Oh, that sucks. When I saw you guys chatting, I was sure you’ll hit it off. You like Latinas don’t you?"
"Yes, of course. But she was different than the Latinas I’m used to."
He shot a quick smile easily piquing my interest.
"How well do you know her? Did you guys ever go out?" I felt there was something he wasn’t telling me.
"Kinda," he replied as he put his vodka tonic down as to prepare before a long story.
–
They met via a colleague from his work, and they’ve been friends for a few months. The relationship was purely platonic (my friend isn’t much of a "hunter"), and every now and then he would invite her to a happy hour, or she would invite him to some after hour party.
One late night they after yet another bar outing, they decided to share a cab home. His Marina neighborhood apartment was first en route, so the cab pulled over and stopped. My friend reached for his wallet, pulled out the money and handed it to the driver. Just as he was about to get out, the girl grabbed his shoulder and asked "if he was going to leave her alone for the night."
Ronnie paused, turned around to look at her, confused and dumbfounded. She stared at him, her face devoid of any smile, instead having a facial expression of someone without a home to return to. A homeless puppy, perhaps. My friend, still speechless, shot a quick glance at the rear view mirror only to find the Jamaican cab driver’s huge ear-to-ear smile exposing a perfect set of white teeth. "I know what I would do," was the cab driver’s wordless response.
Shy, but not an idiot to squander such an opportunity, my friend grabbed the girl, got out and went to the corner liquor store to load up on some booze. As he remembered, the sex was good, although not great.
They continued to "see" each other for several weeks. But things started to quickly get weird. She became more and more jaded proclaiming her hate for men, saying how all they wanted was "pump and dump" her and not single one wanted any real commitment. He traced her issues with men to never having a real father after her parents divorced when she was five.
He continued to deal with the drama only to be rewarded by wet pussy from a passionate Latina, but overtime it became less and less worth it.
Finally she dropped the bombshell.
She told him that since she’s already 37, she wanted to freeze her ovaries so that she can still become a mother later, if she chooses. She was desperate to start a family, but her unabated loyalty to work and unyielding hate for men were a barrier to making that dream a reality.
At that point, my friend has had enough. He thought she was a complete psycho, so he promptly cut all contact with her and refused to answer her barrage of phone calls and emails.
She continued to pursue all means to reestablish the relationship. She even stalked him by waiting by his apartment door few nights. Eventually she got the point and left him alone.
Ronnie slowly grabbed his drink and took another sip, while I sat there speechless trying to process the story of a girl I had just met.
It was hard to believe how such a nice looking Latina could ever do such things. First, thanks to her great Latin genes, I wouldn’t had given her more than 30. However, I do know that in most of the world, a 37 year old single and childless woman is pretty much a pariah; it’s an obvious sign of something seriously wrong and no one would consider starting a family with such a person. Successful and healthy men would rather go for much younger women in the 20-26 range, than 30+ or 35+ year old woman.
But in America things are different. Such women can keep asking "So, what do you do?," of every potential suitor, while secretly cursing men and pretending their biological clocks matter less and less thanks to the wonders of modern ovary freezing techniques.
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