Parte 2. Los hombres latinos de “If you want my body and you think I am sexy” . . . Don’t tell me!

Cont. from Parte 1. Sunday. I return home from El San Juan Hotel at 3am. For some reason, I wake up at 6:45am and decide to seize the day. I am walking my dog, as a car passes me, “heeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!” Two men are inside. I thought the driver was the gentlemen from dinner the night before. However, as I walked up to their window, I quickly realized I was wrong.

I assessed that they were not starting their day as I was, but instead, were still out from the night before. I walk away. Feeling silly and too trusting for walking up to a car. Moments later, the car does a u-turn and the driver, is excitedly saying, “I know you!!!” It was Caballito! A well-know Equestrian here. They ask me to join them for beers. Perhaps, coffee? They propose a hotel where we can fulfill all of our wants. Shouldn’t I bring doggie home first? No, it will be fine . . . .

As i closed the car door, I smiled at that spontaneity and the randomness of this Sunday morning. Caballito, his Amigo, I and doggie sit at the bar. We all drink from plastic cups. Afterwards, I lead them to the beach desiring some sun time. I take off my dress and leave doggie with the guys as I run into the ocean. I look to the shore and His Amigo has every intent to come in. He disrobes, completely, he is now nakey. The man meditating on the rocks attempts to stare away. Ommmmmm. An hour later they won’t let us back into the hotel.

3 hours later, we reconvene. They are now with their swimsuits. We sit, talk and laugh. The man I know, Caballito, tells me he likes me. His Amigo takes turns attempting to kiss me on my lips. Jokingly, but with full intent. Uh . . .

Caballito, serious and humble, says again, “I like you.” He searches for words. Lifts his glasses to unveil the stunning blue of his eyes, “but, I don’t think I can give you want you want.”

I smirk. Amused. “And, what is it that you think I want?”

He stumbles with his words again. (At least, he speaks English.) “I don’t want to be your boyfriend. I just want to F___ you . . . . and I could.”
If anyone else said this, I would hit him, but, he is humble and simple. Awkward, as if he is a schoolboy. Genuine, and despite his words, not cocky. Either way, there will be no romance and/or sex with Caballito. I do hope that a friendship will bloom and result in horses and more random moments.

The weekend ends. I can’t bring myself to see Rediscoveringme. Too much time has passed. It seems as if it would be a meeting of physicality. . . and I have no interest in just sex. I need his soul first. And then I need the sex. Want it VERY MUCH. But, his soul is too far-gone when I am left here alone. I remember Marriedwithababy’s ending statements from last night after I turned both him and Shaker down. “What the hell are you interested in?” He was desperate to see me interested in someone, anyone. “Kiss a girl even!” “You must be asexual.”
And with a hmmmmph, he walked away.

And I thought and continue to do so, why am I unable to crave sex without affiliation, just pure raw sex? Maybe I should see Rediscoveringme, stop being so evasive. I am longing to feel alive. Longing to be one with him. Our bodies . . .

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Parte 1. Los Americanos de “If you want my body and you think I am sexy” . . . Don’t tell me!

A random weekend. One chock full of straightforwardness. It reminds me of the time I smiled at drop-dead handsome man at the gym, amazed at my candor. I had returned from PR and I suppose the sun-kissed me, was also a more confident and secure me. Fast forward to him insisting on getting to know me right then and there. Initially, over coffee, which progressed to us on my roof. I assumed it was to continue chatting . . . yet as he breathed into my neck, he told me he only had interest in getting to know me physically. A perfect arrangement. We would be monogamous sex-buddies. I walked away from Mr. Handsome . .

So, this weekend has left me wondering . . . why am I so incapable and/or uninterested in only physical relationships and where is it written on me that I am the perfect candidate for such? Is this normal? Surely, it is known that for women, the emotional aspects of sex are crucial. But, I also doubt that all women are as cold as I? And is it common for men to be so straightforward?
Shaker, a friend of my ex’s, randomly texted me on Friday night stating he was at the El San Juan Hotel with his buddy, Marriedwithababy. I was giddy with excitement. I felt as if a gift from New York was here to satisfy my longing for the city and friends.

2am He is kissing me. Telling me how he always felt a connection, about the unexplored passion between us. How much he always wanted to get to know me. How he was drawn to me . . . yet, I was the ex. “Timing is everything,” he said.

Quizzically, I look and I said, what happened to your girlfriend. Aware that Shaker finally had a girlfriend from his birthday I attended a few weeks ago. He was happy. He was no longer the single bachelor, the typical guy of New York. Now in front me, he tells me, “She is still around. Perhaps, she is the one. My life is lacking passion.”

Ok. Great Shaker. So come have a passion infused weekend with me and cement the fact you should break up with her? Why is this so common? The comforting stage of relationships. Your heart is already gone, but your unmentionables need to stay?

I have no respect and/or empathy for people who stay in relationships past their expiration.
I leave the El San Juan Hotel. Erasing the ink of the laid-out itinerary for tomorrow. I want to hang out with them. Want to fill my New York void. However, my body is stuck in bed the entire day. In the evening, I go to dinner. Conveniently, an hour late. I ask for a glass of wine. He raises an eyebrow, “no cocktail?” No, I immerse myself in conversation with one of the other gentlemen. I enjoy myself, but I realize perhaps I turned my corner of the table into a private date. My body turned away from Shaker, I wanted to make it clear that I was not his.

Shaker, Marriedwithababy and I go to drinks afterwards. I am enjoying myself. We are laughing-it’s not an awkward affair. The evening continues. Then, Shaker restarts his engines.

Shaker: Attainingme, kiss me.
Me: No. You have a girlfriend.
Shaker: But, you agree there is something between us.
Me: It’s irrelevant.

At this point, I believe there was a rant asking for confirmation that we could go on a proper date and he would have a real shot if he broke up with his girlfriend. At some point during the rant, I turned from the object of pursuit into the evening pimp. Amazed at his admitted transparency–how evident his pure goal of sex was.

I gave a full run down of the girls that would be found in the lobby of La Concha: Attractive. Fashionable. Champagne drinkers. La Placita: Younger. Beer. Return to college days. El San Juan Hotel. We both agree that logistically, with his room upstairs, that this is perhaps, the best bet. However, we took a detour to Divas, a strip club. It was unlike the clubs in New York. Only lightly littered with some overweight men. It was dead. Depressing. Shaker found a girl with a nice bottom. Took her upstairs. Marriedwithababy turns to me. Makes his proposal. What the fuck am I? Why, oh why men? Someone restore my faith.

Continued . . .