Medellin was a tough city to settle into in the first few weeks. While I expected the same warmth, flirtatiousness, and femininity from the girls that I was basking in Brazil, what I discovered instead was that most of the girls were spoiled, picky, and very savvy in taking advantage of a newbie gringo anyway they could.
Practically all of my dates started out great, with mutual attraction, passionate make outs, but somehow ending with me going home solo each time. So after spending all that money on liquor, clubs, taxis, the only person wasn’t “getting paid” at the end of the night was me.
I was determined to put an end to this, and the turning point eventually came in the form of Eliza.
I met Eliza on a busy street corner in downtown Medellin. I was running late for my BJJ class, and having forgotten to get off at the right bus stop, ended up getting lost in downtown. She gave me that warm Paisa* smile, provided me with directions, and immediately asked me where I was from. We chatted a bit and I ended up leaving with her cell number and Facebook id.
We spent a couple of weeks flirting on Facebook, each time unable to make concrete plans to go out. Finally, sensing that I wasn’t giving up, she yielded to my persistence and decided to go out to a club in Medellin’s nightlife area.
I picked her up at the closest metro stop, and together we hopped into a taxi and headed to the club.
In the club we joined some of the other friends that were already there. We ordered the standard Medellin club fare: a bottle of rum, coke and plenty of ice.
I sat next to her, and slowly began to stroke her thigh. I started off with innocent, ‘accidental’ touches, until eventually my hand became a permanent fixture on her left thigh.
We danced to reggaeton for a while. Then we salsa danced (at least she did, while I tried my best to imitate her). At some point our eyes locked, and we kissed. It was a short kiss, her feeling a bit embarrassed with all my friends watching. Later on I pulled her into a corner safe from prying eyes and heavily made out with her with my hands freely running up and down her slim and tight figure.
We went to another club and repeated the process all over again. Again the bottle, the chaser and ice. More dancing. More kissing. More touching.
She was mine and she knew it.
It was getting late by now. My friends and their dates were ready to call it a night, and so was my date and I. It was a perfect first date with chemistry, passion, and soon to be followed with more perfect love making at my love shack.
But things don’t always work out the way you want.
As soon as we stepped out of the club, she announced that she won’t be spending the night with me and will be going home. Fine, I thought, as I was no stranger to this type of behavior from Medellin girls.
Then she made a request, that astonishes me to this day.
"Can I have cab money to get home?"
At first I thought I misunderstood, so I asked her to repeat herself. She repeated the same sentence again.
I looked at her in disbelief. I couldn’t comprehend the utter arrogance of what she’d just said.
In the last few hours, I paid for everything: the taxi to the club, the cover charges, the bottles of rum, in the first club, then in the second, yet here she was asking for yet another handout completely unashamed of how ridiculous her request is.
"I don’t have any money on me." It was a lie; I had plenty of money on me.
"What do you mean? You asked me out, how would you come without money?"
"It’s a dangerous city, and I don’t like to carry a lot of money on me."
She turned away and suddenly started to cry right there on sidewalk outside the club. I don’t remember the last time I saw a 28 year old woman cry over something so childish.
"I find it hard to believe that you would go out without any money at all," I persisted
"I only brought enough for the metro. Also, when guys ask girls out here in Colombia, it’s expected of them to pay for everything," she sobbed while trying to guilt me with the cultural angle.
I turned around towards the road which, at this point, was rapidly being filled with queuing cabs waiting to be dispatched.
I was wrestling with a dilemma. On one hand I felt truly sorry for her and wanted to help her as a nice a guy, on the other hand I was sick and tired of being blue-balled by countless Colombian girls where all I gotten was a make out and nothing else.
I really didn’t want to go home alone again, and was willing to take this as far as I could.
"Ok, you will get your money, but first we have to go to my place so I can get it."
She knew my place was on the very opposite side of town as her place, so for her to agree she was making a big commitment
She refused, saying how she didn’t want to come over, and that all she wanted was to go home. She continued to cry without saying another word.
I didn’t say a word, and after five minutes of deliberating just walked towards the curb and signaled to the next available cab. Bracing for more resistance, I nevertheless grabbed her hand to lead her in. Surprisingly, she came quickly, got inside the cab, and off we went.
She kept crying on the way to my place, while I put my arm around her constantly repeating that everything would be OK.
Fifteen minutes later we arrived at my apartment complex. I paid the driver and both of us got out and made our way towards the elevator. At this point most of the
tears had dried of her face, but she was still skeptical of my true intentions by prudently choosing to walk few steps behind me.
She barely entered my apartment. She came inside, and stood next to the front door, getting even more suspicious and watching my every move.
I went to the kitchen and asked her what kind of drink she wanted. She refused any offers, so I poured her a glass of Medellin’s finest tap water and slowly handed it to her.
I tried to put her at ease by asking her to sit down, telling that as a guest in my place, I don’t feel comfortable when someone views me, as a host, with so much suspicion and hostility.
She finally eased a little, and sat on the couch with me. I sat next to her giving her just enough space to remain comfortable.
I looked deep into her eyes, and told her how much I enjoyed finally meeting her after talking so long on Facebook. I told her that I had a great night with her, and that I greatly enjoyed her company. Then I told her that it made me very upset seeing her cry earlier, and that I hate to see any girl cry especially if she’s with me.
I asked her if she had a good time with me. She nodded slowly, but decisively. I told her that she looked very sexy that night, and how every guy was checking her out and was probably jealous of me.
She let out a slight smile, then looked down at the floor in an effort to avoid any further eye contact.
I commented on how delicious her lips looked all night, and how much I wanted to kiss them. She eased up a little, her body becoming more relaxed and comfortable. I paused, looked away, looked back, and slowly leaned in for the kiss. There was slight resistance, but nothing that I haven’t experienced before.
We made out for a bit on the couch, slowly escalating the sexual tension. After it was too much, I grabbed her hand and lead her to my bedroom.
I pushed her onto my narrow bed and began removing all her clothes, while kissing all over her smooth skin. Once the clothes off, the true extent of her slim and tight
figure was revealed. She was maybe 5’6 and weighing not more than 100 lbs.
We made love several times that night. Around five in the morning, remembering that she had somewhere else to be early in the morning, she started to get ready by putting on sexy clothing that covered her irresistible body.
I walked her to the door, gave her a kiss, and wished her a nice day.
Several hours later, after I woke up for the second time, I finally realized that she went home allegedly penniless since I never gave her any cab money.
The next day, she sent me a series of Facebook messages accusing me of being "bad" by "taking advantage" of her and luring her into my home, etc. She messaged me almost every evening from then on — a marked change from a couple times a week before we went out.
She wanted to see me again, but never did. I was too busy luring new prospects into my man cave anyway I could, and by pretending that the cab money is safely stored in my apartment usually worked with predictable accuracy.BTW, have you seen my new Facebook page? Click here to check it out, and click Like :)
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