Chloe G. Wilde - Guys around the Globe

After a couple of dates we ended up at his place, which was a slight shock, to say the least. He lived in a single room and shared his toilet and bathroom with the rest of the tenants on his floor (yuck). I will spare you the details about the state of the bathroom/toilet and his immediate neighbors, but something like this was the last thing I had expected from someone who gave off such a cool vibe. So much for the impression people give off and the cold truth behind the façade. It’s all about good marketing, I suppose. Granted, I had not expected him to live in a penthouse, but I had certainly not pictured this type of scenario.

However, the next shock was to follow soon after, namely once his boxers came off: the size of his you-know-what. And this is where he holds a sovereign record: the record for the smallest penis ever! To this day I wonder whether my utter astonishment and disappointment showed on my face when he took off his boxers, although I did try really hard to conceal my disappointment. At that point I was still very inexperienced when it comes to sex, but I knew that 3 – 4cm in an erect state was not good. Yes, size is only one factor when it comes to good sex, I agree, technique is far more important. But in this case not even technique helped considering that I didn’t even feel anything when he was inside me. Nada, zero, zilch. I was trying hard to feel his movements inside me, but even with my wildest imagination… Nothing! Meanwhile he was fascinated by my curves and kept saying that I looked like a woman out of a Goya painting, hence his nickname.

And here I would like to award myself an Oscar for best lead actress in the show I put on, pretending that I was enjoying myself while I wasn’t even sure whether the guy was inside me! Now try to moan rhythmically without hearing the beat of the background music (in this case, without feeling his movements inside you). Somehow I managed to pull it off, and I even returned one more time in the hope of … I don’t actually know what I was hoping for. Overnight penis enlargement? We stayed in touch for some time, but needless to say, the sexual part was over, thus his guest appearance in this book has also come to an end.

***

German specimen No. 3 was in his prime when I met him, good-looking and fit, a tennis instructor and party animal. I met him while he was a bartender in a bar where I spent a lot of time, I loved the naughty expression in his eyes and his insolent manner and humor. It took a while before we ended up in bed together, I actually don’t remember how it happened, but it did happen. It happened a number of times, but I don’t remember the actual acts as much as the complete mess in his room. From tennis rackets and dirty socks, to random items strewn all over the floor, an utter mess. Funnily enough the rest of the flat was neat and tidy thanks to his roommate. I also remember that he was extremely annoyed by the fact that I could never spend the night at his place because of my parents. I was still living at home at that point, and staying out all night was a no-go in my proper catholic home, with parents still hoping for a chaste daugther.

The guy, let’s call him Bartender, was a lot of fun, unless he talked about his best (female) friend by the name of S. It drove me up the wall to hear “S. this, S. that” as he constantly talked about her. He kept assuring me that there was nothing but friendship, which I believe now, but which, of course, fell on deaf ears then, in the midst of my possessive tantrums. The two of them were constantly together, and when I had to go back home after a night out together, they would stay out and party together till dawn, which drove me mad, needless to say.

Bartender and I dated for a bit, I was growing ever more annoyed by his relationship with his best friend and his love for cocaine, while he got ever more annoyed by the fact that I wasn’t free to stay at his place all night and that I hated his best friend (fyi, she hated me equally as well). I broke up with him after a couple of months because the relationship simply wasn’t going anywhere and his coke habit was seriously getting out of hand. He was all cool about the break-up, no reconciliation attempt, which admittedly hurt. I know he cared, but at the same time he was too caught up in his party world to be bothered. But in light of the pain that I was to experience years later, this ‘lovesickness’ was nothing when looking at it from today’s perspective.

I kept bumping into him whenever I went out since he was omnipresent in the nightlife scene in that particular town, and there was always a spark between us and lots of flirting going on, but we never actually went back together. Many years later he admitted that it had been his fault that the relationship had ended and that he regretted it. C’est la vie, as the French would say… Soon after our relationship ended, I left Germany (for good, as it turned out), and whenever I would come back for a visit we’d meet up, but it was never the same again. He certainly tried to rekindle the flame, but the well-shaped, hot tennis player had slowly turned into an enormous mass of fat! I have nothing against fat people, but I simply cannot be sexually attracted to a guy with a huge, wobbly gut who is breathing heavily at the merest exertion and who shoves absurd amounts of food into his face while producing disgusting sounds.

Although Bartender was aware of the fact that he had grown out of proportion and even cracked jokes about his obesity, he obviously still thought that he was hot, which baffled me, to say the least. Whenever we’d meet up, he would hit on me, make sexual allusions or try to kiss me. I really don’t think I’m shallow and superficial, but his attempts to touch and kiss me made me feel sick to my stomach and I’d shrink away from him as if he were a leper. He must have noticed, but his self-confidence was as enormous as his body, so he didn’t give up.

When I was working on my thesis, I had to spend a week in the German city Bartender lived in, so he offered that I could stay at his place. I accepted the offer because he was living with a (female) roommate and because I had my own room. My room was right across the hallway from his room, and I did consider locking my door at night, but figured he wasn’t the type of guy to attack me in the middle of the night, and luckily I was right. But as the days of my stay at his place advanced, I grew ever more uncomfortable around him and ever more disgusted by him, and I was very happy when my research came to an end. It’s not like he was cornering me or trying to rape me, but he kept making insinuating remarks, he tried to be physically close to me and I was constantly making sure that my body language and hormones clearly told him to stay away. It was tiring to keep a three-tonner in check.

Now, instead of calling me arrogant and insensitive, do me a favor and picture the following scenario: Picture one of your exes who was hot and slim at one point (male or female), and now picture that same person being a complete slob, someone who grunts like a walrus while moving around, who loves to drench obscene amounts of food in ketchup, then heaves his enormous corpse onto the bed, places the plate on his (or her, although her breasts would get in the way?) enormous gut and noisily shoves the food in its mouth (‘its’ was intentionally used here due to the lack of human characteristics during the food inhalation). And now imagine (sound effects included) this huge mass of wobbly flesh attempting to have sex with you. Now you tell me whether I am being superficial!

For some odd reason he absolutely loved to walk around in his ribbed undershirt and boxers, and it literally made me gag to watch all that fat move around as if it had a life of its own. He had this certain familiarity around me many people probably have when being around their exes, but to me it seemed outrageous that I had ever had sex with someone like this. Granted, back when we used to be in a sexual relationship, he hadn’t been fat, on the contrary, but at this point I was so disgusted that I couldn’t even remember what he had looked like as a fit tennis trainer.