Rookie Files, Columbia

Before I flew down, I read this post by Roosh, (here). I was a little concerned. Could it really be that hard? I talked to Roosh about it, and he confirmed how tough it would be. “Good luck,” he told me. Hmmm. Now I figured I’d see a sign like this as soon as we land at the airport:

But then I thought about my last trip to an overly-catholizied Latin American country. “Nah, I can do this,” I told myself. I was determined to prove Roosh wrong. It could be done!

There’s so much to discuss about the trip. But I’m going to fast forward to the last day me and my friend were down there.

It was Monday night. We had been drinking all day. It was what we did all the time down there. So this last day, we chilled at the usual spot and pounded 2 pitchers. It was the only bar at the complex that was jumpin. Lots of girls there, in their groups. Mighty Wingman tried to talk to 2 girls sitting close by, but they were Americans, proud to be waiting on their Colombian BFs. We weren’t sure if we were supposed to be impressed. We weren’t. So, we were just about to pack it in, when I saw her sit down by herself with a beer.

It was a no brainer. I was going to approach. This was it. My trip would be defined by the amount of ass I got, and this was my moment. So I went over there with my perfect Spanish opener. It was grammatically correct and observational, yet spoken slowly and without an accent so she’d know Spanish wasn’t my 1st language: tengo una pregunta. ¿Por que bebes sola? Translation: I have a question. Why are you drinking alone? She said she was there by herself, so I invited her back to our table.

Now, my Spanish isn’t as good as it used to be. I hadn’t really spoken it in 2 years. But that’s part of the fun. Maybe Hollywood fantasies led me to believe that, never mind.

The 3 of us chatted, took pictures, and we started flirting back and forth. She showed us pics in her phone: of her daughter (yawn), and then some of her in various poses.

Eventually we moved to another bar, where she said they were playing salsa. We got there, started drinking more.

At this point I was really getting aggressive, and went in a few times for a make out. She was resistant, only letting me kiss her cheek, at first. But I kept pushing. Closed lip kiss. OK I’m getting somewhere. I give Mighty Wingman the signal, and he bounces to holla at other girls.

The 2 of us are alone at the table, watching the dancers, and she’s leanin on me and feelin all on me, flirting back and forth in Spanish. She asks me if I like girls that dance. Duh, who doesn’t? She tells me that guys who watch her dance, pay her. I’m like “so?”

Later she says something. I can’t remember what exactly it was, but I remember that it was some shit test. I gave her a look, removed my arm from around her, and watched the salsa dancers. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her stroking her hair, fidgeting, getting impatient that I wasn’t focused on her anymore. It was a good feeling, cause I knew she would come around. And she did: she grabbed me and gave me such a wet kiss yet. Then she asked me how many other girls in Colombia had I kissed. Will these shit tests ever stop? But I was somewhat stumped. I knew what I wanted to say, but couldn’t figure out how to say it. Never had I said “none of your B I” in Spanish before. After some pause, I said something to that affect, and she was satisfied.

By this time my snake was preparing to moan. I put her hand on it, and her eyes lit up as she smiled. It was time to do the damn thang, what’s my name. “It’s you and me tonight?” she asked. So we all piled in a taxi and headed to some random hotel.

In the room, we were all over each other, but then she said “so, you’re going to pay me, right?” My answer, of course, was an emphatic “no,” and with that, she grabbed her purse and left the room so fast I honestly didn’t see it happen. As I laughed to myself, all I could see in my mind was:

Burned. Not even a negotiation, or a pleading about how she had to feed her kid. Nothing. I might have given her the last $5 I had in my pocket, but she’ll never know.

But what I know is that I can’t wait to go back. That spot we were at? Money. We sat outside, and there were at least 8 girls there that I’d turn in my player card for. Colombia is no joke. But it will have to wait.