A little out of order, but he is the start of the adventures of my abroad quest. This post is also an indicator of my "dating myself" mentality.After contemplating if I really wanted to go to the pub crawl that I am pre-payed for, is 30 minutes away on foot, in the rain, AND I was experiencing pesto pasta overload (from the greatest damn tortellini I've ever had my life), Ruby lipstick motivated me to go alone. The walk there was pretty interesting because I felt invisible on the streets during the day when I was sightseeing, but something about the moonlight and street lights in glistening rain kissing my glasses, I received warm smiles from gentlemen, teenagers, and a bus driver even waved at me. The people here are not that friendly, so that was definitely out of character I had seen. After feeling pretty good, I got to the meeting spot 30 minutes late. A dashing Italian girl with dark hair and dark eyes greeted me and wrist-banded me. She told me the open bar has just begun and it only lasts an hour. Skimming the bar with my hazy eyes, she returned with my drink and introduced me to the crawl group thus far. It was comprised of two hott American guys, one hott British, and then three other people in the tour. .... haha they're great too, but I was just, you know... giving the highlights. After introduction, the 4 Americans of the group bonded. The two hott Americans were both from Austin, Texas. Go fucking figure. It's my least favorite cities in the entire country, not to mention my sister lives there. So, I'm pretty familiar with the streets and social activities, if you will. Well, these two guys, for the sake of the story and the fact that I can't for the life of me remember either one of their names, will be called 6th street (the very wild child; I could smell it on him) and the other one, we will call Congress Street. Both are lively streets in Austin, so I found it amusing. Also, I'm not able to bake well in hostels so... I found another sweet comparison. Well, Congress St. made the mistake of hushing me. As if being hushed was not bad enough, it was because Miley Cyrus was playing-- Instant declaration of war; I can't stand her! There is no minuscule amount of toleration I have for that bazaar product of a washed up country star who became a disgrace to fans, especially young girls. From then on, we just argued about everything! Ariana Grande, New Orleans, beer pong and then I was his team mate. Naturally, I kept losing and his competitive nature playfully lashed out at me. A game later, he went to the bathroom and gave me his phone unlocked. So, naturally me and this girl from Northern Ireland peeked through his text messages and saw he was texting a couple girls about his tattoo, but none of them were like "I love you baby" or anything. When he returned, he was really flirty and Fahrenheit 51 hott so, when we walked to the next bar, he walked with me. I don't really remember the second bar that much... I do know that his friend, 6th, was really hitting on me at the second bar. He even tried to steal a kiss. I stopped him in his tracks, "dude, I'm talking your friend." "Ha! like you like him?" "Maybe." His response was typical of a sore loser. I could tell they went round and round for girls. That doesn't surprise me since they are from Austin. Not everyone there is like that, but I've met my fair share. "He has a girlfriend." Earlier when Congress St. had given me his phone, I remembered one of the names. So, when he came back into the conversation and his friend left to talk to another girl, I brought it up. Bold Stephanie, that wasn't even the alcohol talking. Pointing at 6th, I said, "He said you have a girlfriend? Is that Hannah?" "Hannah's is my first love and things didn't work out and so we're still talking but, it's just cordial. Then I inquired why his friend would say that, and he plainly informed me that he's not a great friend but, he's his main friend abroad because they're both military. They're been stationed in Germany since May. So, I accepted the explanation and next thing you knew, we were at the dancing bar. Well I'll be damned if the boy could keep up with me on the dance floor! They played lots of Spanish music, so we danced salsa as I gripped his muscular biceps in between spins. Swaying our hips nearly in unison, the third or fourth time he pulled me close, he kissed me. Our combined movements were the highlight of the Dance Floor a couple of points in the night. He pull me closer and continued to impress me with his moves. Then, when we retreated to a booth, he kissed me and almost instantly we argued about more things. Without bothering to gaze at a clock, we hit the wet Roma streets and began trekking to my hostel. "Where's your friend?" I questioned at 3:38 am. "Oh, he's got the tour guide with him, so don't think I'll be able to get into the hotel; he's not answering his phone. Minutes from my hostel I said, "well my hostel is very small." "That's fine," he smiled. He walked me and got in my tiny bed. It kind of brought me back to my RA (Resident Assistant) days in the dorm. I lost count of how many times I snuck the same fellow RA into my twin bed on school nights. It was invigorating. Here I am, 6 years later, and still sneaking a guy into my twin sized bed. His body was so nice; shaped just like an active military man's: smooth with definition my fingers couldn't help but trace. One of the many things we argued about was his statement that: "sex is just sex." I tried to explain emotional connection, which was like talking to a wall; emotionless and apathetic. He was a very set his ways, so I was sure it not to engage in that kind of interaction. Since we obviously know where he stands. I may be enjoying my adventures in new countries, but I'm not seeking stupid, shallow decisions with repercussions I'm well aware of. He continued to kiss me and we found a lot less material in the thin hostel sheets. Before falling asleep, my phone clock read 5:38. We slept on top of the covers, me in his arms, in a twin bed resembling that of a dorm room. I know, I know! This whole time I:
I'm almost positive he didn't know my name either. So, that should ease my conscious, right? He never said it just once, he never got my number or my Snapchat, and he left at 8 in the morning with a "thanks." I guess that's part of a wild euro Trip.
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AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
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