The Unrequited Fantasy

For a long time I’ve had this fantasy of going to Brazil and having a cross-cultural affair with a hot Latino who barely speaks English. It wouldn’t matter what he said to me verbally as I would only listen to his body language. It would be hot and lustful and animalistic.

I thought last week that Brazil had come to me instead. We’ll call him The Brazilian. That’s where he said he was from. I found his profile online. He was beautiful. Like a male model. Like there was no way he could be real. Dark hair, sun-kissed skin, muscles in all the right places. It was lust at first sight on a grand scale.

We had a brief online affair. In other words, we sexted. Fast and furiously. Hard. I sent pictures of parts of my body I wasn’t sure existed. It was raw and dirty. It was….. holy shit!!

The next morning he asked if I wanted to get together on Friday, two days later. Yes. Holy fuck, yes!! I mean, yeah, whatever. He suggested getting a hotel room since he has a roommate and I have a kid (19, nearing 20, please-for-the-love-of-lust, move out!!!). I was taken aback at first, but it made sense. What else were we doing? We weren’t going to go from sexting to some sedate coffee date.

On Friday, he sent me an address with a time to meet him. An address for a decent hotel downtown. It gave me hope. Hope that he wasn’t some weird sex troll. That he might actually turn out to be the sculpted marbled body he appeared to be. Plus, he had messaged me every night in between. Sort of sweet.

The Bestie and I went downtown for dinner and drinks as The Brazilian and I weren’t meeting until 10:30. Because he’s a nurse. A hot nurse. He had hot nursing duties.

Near the appointed time, I messaged him to alert him to the fact I might be a few minutes late. No problem, he was still at the hospital. I dropped the Bestie off at her car and drove over the hotel, valeting my car. I wandered to the bar to pass the time. What I thought would be just a few minutes. He messaged me that he would be another hour. Whatever,  you save lives or something, take your time.

I closed the hotel bar.

At this point I was quite inebriated but still hopeful. I settled in the lobby for a bit. He was hurrying. I went to the bathroom for a while. He was changing clothes, on his way. I went back to the lobby. I messaged that I was tired and needed to go home.

This is the part of the story where my bestie says, Really? What? Seriously? And I keep saying, No, there’s more, just wait!!

So I’m tired. It’s late. I don’t know where he is or why he’s so late. I tell him I’m going to leave. He tells me, No, please wait. I’ll give you $200.


That’s a new one. I’ve never been offered money before. Probably because I’m not a fucking prostitute.

Soon after I tell him no, I’m done. It’s time to go home. He asks if I’ve had a threesome. Yes, why? Oh, because he has shown my pictures to his friend and they both want to fuck me.

So…… I’m a prostitute and you pay for time to be with me and then I’m just an object, a Nothing to do what you want with?

No. I’m going home.

The next day I woke up So Disappointed. How did this happen? I read everything wrong. Of course he was Too Hot to Be True. Of course he was. But being hot doesn’t give you the right to treat people like shit and keep them waiting and assume they are sleazy enough to accept payment.

I’m a fucking lady, assface!!!!

It was a little rough the next day. A little ego-bruising. I recuperated by going to the dog park and allowing myself to be buried by the four-legs attending a pug meetup. Which is a real thing and totally awesome. And also like magic medicine. Because who can concentrate on how used they are when they’re surrounded by pug snorts??

Thus I dusted myself off. Realized how far Fantasy is from Reality. I took a literal tongue bath and cleansed myself of all the dirty insinuations The Brazilian had heaped upon me.

Two days later he messaged me. How was the night before? OH…. MUCH better than the night I was basically stood up and treated like a prostitute. Because that was fucked up. His response? What did you do last night. I did not respond.

Another two days went by. I got another message.

What do you want?


You fucked that up. No apology, no nothing?

It seems he had administered some invisible test. I had passed 200%!!!

FUCK your test!!!

It seems he doesn’t sleep with women he meets online. Okay, so say that in the beginning? He thinks I’m a “good woman.” Yes. I already know that. And I know that I am done now. I don’t need validation from some arbitrary, passive-aggressive “test.”

For the record, I asked him why go through all the trouble? Why the ruse? I didn’t get an answer.








~ by Kat on February 3, 2016.

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