Anna (Part 3)

PREVIOUSLY: Part 2

I didn’t want to give up, but the resistance was tough. I put her hand on my dick and again she did nothing—not even a pinch or a twist. I wanted to see if she liked rape game, so I got on top of her and physically separated her shut legs with some muscle. She made a moan and told me she liked being taken. I then tried to take but again the resistance was too much, and she wasn’t responding to me rubbing her vagina. It was almost an exact replay of the previous night.

It was about 7am by this point, and I was exhausted. We took a rest. She put her head on my chest and told me some more compliments about how she was happy to meet me and so on, but without physical consummation, it didn’t have much effect on me. I felt myself shutting down.

Eventually she said it was time to go. She fixed her blouse (I managed to undo three buttons in my excited rage) and we went to the living room. Our friends were in slight embrace, falling asleep on each other’s shoulders. Anna took a picture. Roger deserves a wingman medal for keeping Anna’s friend occupied for so long.

Anna and I exchanged numbers and then she left with her friend. Roger left soon after. I was so tired I couldn’t even be bothered to masturbate.

I failed in my mission to get a one-night stand in Ukraine, but the fact that my last two nights brought me closer than my previous six months in the country was a sign of progress. This minor success could be because of my Russian knowledge, or my increasing Ukrainian girl knowledge, but I believe it was my hunger. I was more ready than ever to put in the work to succeed, and I believe that made the difference. While I still came up depressingly short, I have no doubt that if I repeat this effort anywhere else in the world, I would receive the fast sexual results that I desire. For whatever reason, it just wasn’t enough in Ukraine.

One-night stand failure or not, it was worth pursuing Anna before I left because of the two day window between her period ending and me leaving. My plan was to squeeze in an early date to put in face time then go for the vaginal gold the day it ended.
I considered my options on how and when to contact her. Since the fire was so hot, and she was so affectionate with me, I decided to contact her the next day. She was very insistent on telling me to “call” her, so my plan was simply to ping her with a text on Sunday evening about my intention to call her on Monday. Then I’d try for a Tuesday night date. The relationship was such that two days of silence seemed prolonged and distant.

I sent a message on Sunday night saying it was nice to meet her, and I would call the next day. I didn’t ask her a question, but girls usually respond to such texts with at least a simple “Okay.” By the time I went to bed, Anna didn’t respond. I knew this was a bad sign.

On Monday I went about my day; I did some light work and then went to the gym. It was crowded and I had to wait a long time for the bench press. I went home, ate, took a shower, and called Anna. With her not having acknowledged my text, I wasn’t expecting her to answer, and sure enough she didn’t. In the vacuum filled by her indifference, I decided to text the girl I brought to my bed on Friday, Marina, who I remembered firmly telling me we could only be friends. She replied quickly, but when I went for the date, she offered no response.

That night I sat at home staring at a quiet phone. I had nothing to show for my hard work from the weekend. Most importantly, a girl who I thought felt strongly about me didn’t even care to respond. I went to bed certain that I made the right decision about leaving Ukraine, because even when I met a girl that I clicked with, the result still turned out negative.

I woke up the next day in a sour mood. Marina’s flake wasn’t a big deal, but Anna? I knew her behavior was perfect game to get a person’s emotions heated, but I couldn’t help but desire to speak to her. I had to pursue. After rationalizing to myself that I was just doing a “game experiment,” I sent both Anna and Marina the same text: “What happened… you already forgot all the good things about me?”

I wasn’t expecting anything from it, but Anna instantly called me.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m sorry, I’ve been really sad the past day.”

“Sad? About what?” For a second I thought she found out about my blog.

“It’s… it’s nothing.”

“It’s okay, I thought something happened. You said so many nice things to me that it was weird not to hear from you. I didn’t remember you being a cold person.”

“I’m sorry, I think too much sometimes. What are you doing?”

“I’m relaxing at home. What time do you get off work?” She seemed quite eager to make plans for later that evening.

Marina also texted me, saying she didn’t think there was a point in us meeting since I would leave soon. Usually I’d try to keep it going, but since Anna agreed to a date, I didn’t even bother to reply. She was an inferior prospect in every way, and seemed to want me to beg her just to meet for a pizza.

I wasn’t sure what to expect with Anna, but I was pleased she came through. The clouds around me lifted, and I knew that I was in deep trouble if a girl could affect me so.

For the date I dressed casually in jeans and a light sweater. I sat on a bench near the main fountain waiting for her. She arrived dressed like she was going to the club on a Friday night—high heels, tight pants, blouse, and white jacket. Her hair was done in an elaborate style and her nails painted a new color. She greeted me with a hug and kiss. We started walking to a Spanish restaurant I knew.

“I’m not happy with you,” I said.

She put on a sad face. “Why not?”

“I contact you and you don’t respond.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just—I had to think if you were the right man for me or not. I thought about you all Sunday, and I like you a lot, but I’m scared to fall in love, and I didn’t know what to do.” If I didn’t send her the hail mary text, I wonder if I would have ever heard from her again.

I noticed her personality upon our first meeting, but it was more clear to me sober. She seemed to possess a child’s spirit where the smallest thing would open her eyes wide and elicit an emotional response. She alternated between rapid speech when excited and a methodical slowness when she wanted to stress something, between a melancholy fragility at life’s burden and an infectious liveliness that was so spirited she could have read a television manual to me and I would’ve been entertained. As her nature became apparent to me, I started to get depressed, because I knew she was a potential “dream girl,” a phrase I hate to use because of the value it bestows upon the girl, but which no other phrase is worthy. She simply had most of the qualities I wanted in a woman. Only two previous girls in my life could match her, one from Brazil and one from Poland.

The sex component was still missing, so I did my best to bury positive thoughts about her, but the more she talked, and smiled, and laughed, and touched me, and complimented me, the harder it was. I felt like I was falling, and this made the depression deeper because I was leaving in only four days. I wanted her to do something gross in front of me like eat her boogers so that I could easily write her off, but every extra minute I was with her, the more I enjoyed her company. I was getting sucked in, and there was nothing I could do about it but slump my shoulders, look at her with blank eyes, and curse my luck, both the good and the bad.

We drank sangrias while waiting for my paella (she abstained from eating), and discussed our backgrounds. She told me that she felt capable of much more in life but didn’t exactly know how to apply herself. She wanted to travel, she wanted to see the world, but felt limited.

I gave her the brief version of my work and travel history. She was impressed. I told her more specifics about my writing and added that I also love reading. She said she doesn’t have the attention span for reading, but she liked the Twilight books. I was reminded yet again how a quality I would have despised in an average girl was endearing when coming out of Anna. She could have told me she loved to wait in long lines to buy cupcakes, and it wouldn’t have decreased my attraction for her one bit. It made me believe that all the preferences I list in a woman simply applies to a merely pretty girl, but when the girl is your top ideal, none of that really matters.

At one point we discussed how people get colder as they age. I told her that girls become increasingly scared of being hurt. “They don’t want to feel pain, but they don’t realize that the man who can cause them pain will also cause them pleasure. So by avoiding pain they also avoid pleasure.”

Most girls have a hard time with this concept, stressing that a girl must be careful, but Anna surprised me: “Yes, I completely agree! The person who makes you sad can make you happy.”

This was the first time a girl ever agreed with me on this point. I was happy for a moment, but then I remembered that I could not have this girl for the long-term, and so I’d snap out of it and go back to trying not to see her in such a positive light.

I inhaled my dinner and we finished our drinks. I sat next to her for some time. She said I was a beautiful man, which I’m not sure is praise to me or an insult to Ukrainian men. She gave me other compliments, and with each one I started to feel like a scumbag because I was allowing her to develop feelings for me when I knew I was leaving in four days. I had the choice to feel something for her or not but she didn’t, and I knew that wasn’t fair. Still, I wasn’t going to tell her. I knew she would instantly close up like Marina did and everything would be over. I suspected that whatever hurt she would feel from my actions, I’d end up feeling the same when I had to reveal the truth.

We talked briefly about her woman problem. She said it would be over in a day or two. “I want you to come over on Thursday for dinner,” I said. “I will cook.”

“Do you want me to bring anything?”

“Not really. You can bring a cake, if you want.”

“What cake would you like me to make?”

“You’re going to cook it?” I asked.

“Yes. Do you like Napolean cake?”

“Sure. And there is one thing I have to tell you.”

“What?”

“When you come over on Thursday, this is what’s going to happen: we’re going to eat good food, drink good wine, listen to good music, and then I will take you to my room, and we will make love. You have no choice. I don’t care about anything else, but this will happen.”

She kissed me and I rubbed her leg, inching up to her vagina. A part of me wanted to give her a tough ultimatum to prove to myself that I wasn’t getting too needy, even if there was a danger she would be turned off. As long as I was less affectionate than her, which I was, I figured I was safe, but I can say that with Anna it felt more unnatural holding back than simply telling her what I was thinking.

Later, I asked her what she wanted in life. Did she want marriage, kids, love?

“I want love,” she said.

“And what do I get if I give you my love,” I replied.

“I’ll give it to you twice in return.”

A warm feeling overcame me, one I hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe this was her game, her way to trick men into falling for her, and I would end up feeling stupid and humiliated afterwards, but even if it was, I didn’t want her to stop.

I paid the bill and we walked outside to the taxi she called. “Do you need money for the taxi?” I asked.

“No I’m fine.” Some Ukrainian girls say yes by shrugging their shoulders.

“So I will call you Thursday afternoon.”

“You won’t call me tomorrow?” she said with a sad face.

“You want me to?”

“Yes, why not!”

“Okay I will call you tomorrow after I go to the gym. Maybe you will answer this time.”

She smiled and said, “I will wait for your call.” She gave me a kiss and sauntered off to the cab.

The wind was blowing strong. I walked home slowly with my head down and arms crossed. I was conflicted. I was creating a scenario where I’d lose either way. Even if I have sex with her, I’d get attached, and probably her to me, and parting would be painful. If I didn’t have sex with her, I’d be bitter that I found such a beautiful girl and couldn’t thrust inside her. Thoughts of forgetting about Poland entered my head, of eating the cost of the flight and completely changing my plans, but I deemed it ridiculous and pushed it out of my mind. I will go to Poland. There’s no way I could stay in a city just because of a girl, but at the same time I knew it may be a long time until I meet another Anna. I wondered if I should have sent her the hail mary text. I would have forgotten about her, went to Poland, and enjoyed my time there.

A couple hours later, I received a text message. It was her, telling me she couldn’t sleep because she was thinking of me. “This feels like a fairy tale,” she wrote.

CONTINUED: Part 4

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