“What do you want to eat?” He asked. “I don’t know. I don’t like making decisions. I just don’t like dairy. Oh sorry, Dutch people don’t know what that is, right? I don’t like milk products.”
“Are you allergic?” he asked.
“No, I just don’t like them. I’m weird.”
He decided on tortellini. Pork grosses me out and the tortellini without cheese had ham in it. But I decided not to be difficult and just eat it. Food in the Netherlands was at least better than in the US right? Maybe their pork wasn’t bad for you. Besides, I’d tasted a Mealworm and a cricket this morning at an art exhibit. If I can eat bugs, I guess that I can eat port, I told myself.
“I used to be a chef. But don’t expect too much,” he told me. He explained that growing up, everyone in his fancy school wanted to become doctors and lawyers so he rebelled and decided to be a chef.
“What happened that made you decide not to be a chef?”
“I was only doing it to rebel. There’s a test that we do that’s very important and determines what career path you will take. But I wasn’t mature and filled it in to make a nice design. I didn’t read any of the questions. But I really love marketing. It’s like telling a story.
We picked up some beer and got on line. I tried to pay but he insisted that he wanted to. I even tried to throw a 20 at him. He took it but warned me that he’d give it back later.
We got back to his place and I asked to shower. I’d been in the rain all day. It felt amazing. His roommate even had conditioner! I’d been traveling without my toiletries for 2 weeks so showering was always a gamble. I left them in one of the hostels and didn’t want to buy new ones. I still had a razor. That was all that mattered.
I got out and sat on the couch beside Martin to look up train times to get to Cologne, Germany. I couldn’t believe that my flight was tomorrow! After 3 months, I was going back to Colorado. It looked like I should take the 9:28 train. Not too bad.
We put down his MacBook and Martin inched a bit closer to me. “Am I too close?” He asked.
“It’s fine,” I said, realizing that I had distanced myself a bit. He leaned in to kiss me. Our lips locked. He through my legs around his waist and I was dry humping him on the couch.
“You’re so hot,” he told me. I kept dry humping him. “You’re really good at this. When I saw you in the Apple Store, I thought we had a connection.”
“I was just trying to charge my phone to be honest,” I explained. “You’re really cute though.” He was so talk and had a really sweet face. His glasses gave him that distinguished look but now that he had them off he looked like such a nice blonde boy.
But then… The dirty talk. I hate dirty talk. I think it’s gross, fake, awkward, and funny. And I can’t help but to laugh out loud. In a matter of seconds his “dirty talk voice,” a deep, maleficent whisper had transformed him from sweet to disgusting. All I could focus on was his stomach. Because he was skinny-fat and although he said that he did sit-ups, you couldn’t tell. He tried to have me dirty talk. And then he tried to have sex. I explained to him how I felt about dirty talk.
“But Babe,” he said in his stupid whisper. Ugh, don’t “Babe” me.
“Can we have some wine?” I asked. “I feel weird. I just broke up with my boyfriend.” He kept trying to sleep with me. “I’ve know you for like an hour. Can I hear your life story?” I was staring at the candle light flicker.
“I grew up in a family that cared about material goods. We had a big house. We had a pool. But my parents worked many hours were rarely home. My sisters and I aren’t close.”
“Why not? How old are they?”
“They’re 2 years younger. They’re twins. They had friends who were prejudice and I had a Turkish friend. Their friends would beat me up for it really badly. Sometimes I had to go to the hospital. And my sisters would just watch and let it happen.”
“We’re your sisters prejudice?”
Martin paused. “My sisters and I used to be very close. Very close. Until I turned 12, I didn’t know what we were doing was wrong. Do you know what I mean?”
I looked away from the flickering candle light into his watery, green eyes. “Wow,” was all I could muster for words. I gave Martin a kiss on his fat lips. What he did what obviously gross but his honesty with me, someone that he just met, was endearing. “You’re so interesting.” I put my hand on his leg.
“When we found out, we stopped talking. And I couldn’t sleep. I once didn’t sleep for 5 days. I went to a doctor who gave me medicine. But the medicine made me worse.”
“What kind of medicine was it?” My eyes were primarily focused on the candle flickering. Looking at Martin would melt my heart.
“Sleep medicine. When I took it I slept really well. But then all I wanted to do is sleep. Most people take 20 MG but they prescribed me 150 MG.”
“That’s a lot,” I commented, adding absolutely nothing of value to the conversation.
“So I stopped taking the medicine. Later, I had problems with sex. I used to say this it was the girl. That she wasn’t hot enough or cool enough. But it was me. I went to this doctor’s office. I was in a room full of 80 and 90 year old men, some with their wives. The wives were telling their husbands that it was normal. But it wasn’t normal for a 20 year old. A doctor came into my room with a whole slew of curious observers. But I wasn’t about to be their case study. They were disappointed but how embarrassing! When the observers left, the doctor put gel on my penis. And slowly it grew! It was the first time that this happened in many years. “In now how do I get it to shrink?” I asked the doctor.
“With everything good comes the bad,” he responded. I was in excruciating pain. It felt like my penis was on fire. But after that I had a 31 year old girlfriend. And she could get me hard. It’s rare, but if I have a special connection with someone, I can. I don’t want to just be a one night stand.” Martin kissed me.