The Bangover Diaries: The Ravishing Romanian
And so it happened that the next evening after my JIF with the dark haired Colombiana, I walked thru the casino to meet Alfredo, she and her sister. We soon moved over to the restaurant and had dinner, but I wasn’t ready to commit to a rematch; she started to act jealous as I looked about the restaurant and casino, and later during the course of a bathroom break, I decided to check on the action in the Blue Marlin, and so when I walked past the bar and saw a heart-stopping beauty sitting alone, I sat down and introduced myself.
Although she was dressed unprovocatively, in a white blouse and jeans, I could easily see that she was built for speed, taller than average height with full breasts, jet-black curly hair and a stunning face that resembled a young Cher Bono, but even more beautiful.
She seemed a little shy and modest, yet cheerful at first as we spoke, and she spoke very good English with an Italian sounding accent. (which I soon found out was Romanian) I wondered if she had a little Gypsy blood, even though her skin was perfectly white, and perfect like the rest of her.
We ordered a drink. The evening was young and the crowd small, and so we talked a while. She told me she was new in town, and new to the game, and after some small talk I felt the rush and the need to drag her down immediately.
After a little more small talk, we finished our drinks and I went back to the casino to tell Alfredo I would be back in a while, getting a very memorable glare from my Cali girl from the night before.
Soon I retrieved the smiling, ravishing Romanian from the bar and we immediately went up to the room, and after preliminaries she stripped down to only a thong, stopping for a moment to stand back and strike a pose, and ask me how she looked with that delightful accent, and a smile.
In that moment I was able to appreciate the fact that I was indeed about to experience a world-class beauty. She was built like an athlete, on the tall side with perfect skin, hair and eyes; Beautiful, perfectly full breasts, and a perfect feminine shape; and of course, a face that would certainly let her get her way with any man, at least at first.
As they say, though, no matter how beautiful a woman is, somewhere there’s a man that’s tired of her shit, and as we spoke she told me about how she’d been engaged to be married before leaving her country only a couple of weeks before, giving me the strong impression that the heartbreak was the reason she left.
My first indication of why her man could have let her go came soon enough, as she began a routine that seemed as fake as it was rehearsed.
First, she took off her thong, slowly peeling it down to her knees, then off one leg at a time, then throwing it aside. Then she proceeded to lay next to me on the large bed, spreading her legs as she looked me in the eyes and started teasing her pussy with her middle finger.
As I came around to watch up close with delight and moved in position to administer a tongue lashing, however, this seemed to interrupt her and she said no with a suddenly harsh expression, covering up her beautiful shaved gash with her hand, and giving me a look at her true face, one that was 180 degrees turned from her accommodating smile of before, as if to say, “How dare you think I’m going to let you eat MY pussy, little man”?
After this reaction, I instinctively knew that the GFE was out of the question; having put me in my place, so to speak, she went to her next step, rolling me on my back and placing a condom on my manhood and beginning a most forgettable blow-job, then quickly getting on top for the main event.
Aside from the stunning visuals, she was at best an average lay, our session rushed and her attitude cold, mechanical and seriously lacking; and, after I grunted, she slid off and quickly removed the bag, then soon began to put her thong on, ready to leave long before our agreed-upon hour was up, despite my protestations that she relax beside me for a few minutes.
(This also shot to hell any hope for a second round, hence my dismay)
She stood there in only her thong, telling me she liked me and she wanted a boyfriend (?) but she had to go. So strong was her desire to leave once the deed was done that it seemed she felt dirty or ashamed; which would be understandable, if not excusable, for one so new to the game.
It seemed to me at the time, however, that she was simply anxious to either (1) get more money from me or (2) get back to the bar and turn another trick, for which there is always time enough.
This was certainly a flagrant violation of rule number one for a whore, which is, never act like a whore, unless you want to be treated like a whore. Whether out of shame or calculation, though, she had definitely violated the first rule, and as I bid her good night I felt tinge of regret at having taken her in the first place, a feeling even her stunning beauty didn’t compensate for.
This was a familiar feeling, and not a good one, and although I’ve dealt with many a woman who’s used to getting her way with men, one expects a little more consideration from paid companionship, and the combination of her shy beauty at first, contrasted by her whorish attitude in the room caught me off guard completely.
Somewhere in Romania, thinks I, there’s a guy who feels like a new man having gotten rid of this one……..and as for her, on our next trip to San Jose 6 months or so later, I recall sitting at the Del Ray’s restaurant and getting a glimpse of her in a tight, slinky blue dress and high heels, looking every inch the whore she was.
One of the ladies present remarked what a bitch she was, and how all of the other chicas hated her; I was glad then that I’d apparently experienced her before her transformation was complete, although it was clear, in retrospect that her inner-whore was emerging when we met.
This too was a little sad, because the reality is that there’s no reason to think or wish ill upon women who are doing what they do to survive, support their families and simply make a living; but it’s a two-way street, and a woman who acts like a whore deserves to be treated like a whore, no matter how beautiful she is.
It also reinforces the lesson, dear reader, that a plain looker (like my Cali girl) with a great attitude will give you a far more memorable time than a raving beauty with a bad attitude.
On the other hand, one can’t easily pass up a stunner like the Ravishing Romanian, either; But, being forewarned is being forearmed. One must always accept the possibility that a world-class beauty can turn out to be a world-class cunt; there are ways to detect this also, but for now, let’s preface things up with a simple “Buyer Beware”.
If your urge, like mine at the time, is to experience as much variety, and as many different women as possible, then it’s important to know how to navigate the minefield, so to speak.
For me, both of these experiences were memorable, in their own ways, and both held lessons worth recalling. In honor of the Ravishing Romanian, Alfredo and I devised the truest test of a good attitude, and our strong recommendation is to make this your acid test, dear reader; reject the women who fail it, and rattle the hell out of the ones who pass, and your chances of a good time will increase by magnitudes.
It’s to simply, once you get down to business with a whore, before you even think of taking her out of the bar, ask for a blowjob sin condon, (without condom) aka a bare-back-blowjob in American.
It’s amazing how this single question ferrets out the teasers from the pleasers, separates the women who will mix business with pleasure from those who are all business.
While it’s certainly possible to get a dud who will pass the test, or even one who will lie to you straight-faced in the bar and refuse to do it in the room, a woman’s willingness to say yes is not only a test of her willingness to please, it’s a test of her desire and inclination to give either the aforementioned GFE, or even the PSE.
I’ve met women who were touching and kissing me in the bar, and this, too can be an act (although usually not) but without a BJ sin condon, there is no GFE, and certainly no PSE.
‘Nuff said.
