Anna (Part 5 of 5)

PREVIOUSLY: Part 4

After my orgasm it was honesty time. I could now think clearly and know if I just wanted to fuck her one time or if I wanted to keep her. I looked carefully at her face, her hair, her body. Her beauty did not decline in my mind. She still looked the same as when I first saw her.

I slipped on a pair of shorts and gave her a white t-shirt. Back in the kitchen I put on some music and began cooking. She begged me to help but I told her to sit down and relax. This was hard for her to do since she has too much energy. She hopped around the kitchen, dancing to the music, telling me little anecdotes. She was on standby to wash any utensil I used, but she was washing things I still needed. I told her to stop cleaning. “But I like cleaning!” she said. I knew if we dated, I’d have trouble keeping up with her, but at least my kitchen would be spotless.

My dish was not turning out so well. I was trying to make a white wine sauce with heavy cream but I mistakenly bought fat-free sour cream instead. When I added it to the pan, the white substance instantly disintegrated into unappealing chunks. Anna took a look at it and frowned. “I think I’ll let you cook next time,” I said.

“Oh no, it’s okay, it looks good,” she said, trying to make me feel better.

There was too much liquid and I had no flour to thicken it up, so we had to wait a while for it to evaporate. I figured that it would be prudent to have sex again. We went back in my bedroom and this time I weaseled it in without a condom. It’s easy to do with emotional girls, but I had to block out thoughts that if she was doing it with me, she has probably done it with other guys.

The sex was spirited. Anna was a wildcat and could take whatever I could give her, preferring it deep and hard, saying “Da, da” when I yanked on her hair. Her pussy was a perfect fit for me—not too tight, not too loose, and with extra lubrication. I went a long time, as if I subconsciously wanted to perform well, and eventually pulled out to cum beside her.

There was a surreal feeling to what was happening. I fornicated with a gorgeous girl, who had an amazing personality, who really liked me, who was dynamite in bed, and who cooked me a goddamn cake. The insecure part of me wondered what I did to deserve this.

By the time we made it back to the kitchen, my dish was burning. I patched it up by adding more wine. It was edible but probably the worst thing I made in years. I teased her that it was her fault. While eating, I wondered if I should tell her that I’m planning to leave in two days, but decided that would be a mistake. I didn’t want her to know of the decision I was facing and for her to realize the turmoil she was causing me. I had to be silent about it.

We got to talking about roommates and she said she once lived with a boyfriend. “He was a sailor, and had to leave for a few months. During that time away I started to compare him to other guys who were talking to me, and realized I didn’t want that kind of relationship. So when he came back I told him I didn’t want to be his girlfriend anymore.”

This revealed two things to me. First, she had suitors constantly hitting on her, so there would probably never be a moment when I felt she was “mine.” The fact that she was hit on when I met her, from guys who were completely blind to my presence, told me what I was up against. I’d always have to compete and be on top of my game, never able to rest, when the point of dating Eastern European women is being able to relax and not worry about “relationship game.”

Second, she would have no patience for a guy who didn’t give it his all and treat her like a princess. If I left the country, I’d be gone at least four months, which she indirectly told me was too long. At some point I’d have to leave, the suitors would attack, and her email response times would get longer until there was prolonged silence.

She would never be mine, I knew that, but I wanted to be able to take the relationship to its natural conclusion, to say, “Well, I’m kind of tired of fucking her anyway,” and just move on without regrets.

After we ate, she pulled out her cake and cut me a slice. I counted six layers. It appeared just like the cakes I buy in the cafe. “This looks hard to make,” I said.

“Yes it took me a long time because of all the levels. You have to wait 15 minutes between each one.”

“How long did it take in total?”

“Three hours.”

“A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” I said. She never heard that expression before so I could sense her making a mental note of it to use in the future.

The cake was delicious. I ate a second piece and thanked her. She then got up and began the dishes. I wanted to tell her to relax, but I remained silent and let her clean while I watched her, with the bottom of her ass peeking out from my t-shirt.

We went back to my room to lay down, but it was getting late and she said she had to wake up early for work. I urged her to stay five more minutes. I was still surprised she didn’t ask me when exactly I was leaving the country. I felt like I had to say something.

“I’m not sure when to leave,” I said. “I like Odessa, and was thinking of going to Poland, but I don’t know. I just have to visit America in December, so I’m free until then. There is a gym nearby I like, so I guess I can stay a little longer. I was thinking of studying Russian again.”

Still nothing. She didn’t ask me any questions. Ideally I wanted her to say, “Please Roosh stay in Odessa forever!” But it didn’t come. Maybe she didn’t care, I don’t know.

I then asked her, “If you’re dating a guy, how often do you want to see him?”

“Every day!” she replied.

“Every day? I see.”

“But it doesn’t have to be every day. I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”

“Don’t worry, do what you want and if I think you are acting crazy I will tell you.”

At no point during our entire seduction did I feel that she was playing a game with me, but several minutes later she hit me with one.

“Can you get my phone in the kitchen?” she asked. “I need to call a taxi.”

“I’m tired,” I replied.

“Please get it!”

“Your legs don’t work anymore? Next thing you will ask me to carry your purse around.” I’ve seen Ukrainian guys do this with their girls. While I was considering changing my entire travel plans for her, there was no way I’d get her phone.

She didn’t get mad, but there was a minute of coolness while she got dressed. She called the taxi and then retrieved her cake plate. My mind was really churning now, thinking, “She’s not coming back again, that’s why she’s getting the plate.”

I escorted her downstairs and the coolness seemed to end. She kissed me with passion and said she had a great time. I slipped the taxi fare ($6) into her bag in spite of her protests, my usual habit with the girls I sleep with. I never wanted them to balk at coming to bang in the future because of a taxi fare that was insignificant to me.

Now that I slept with her, I felt a little aimless, unsure of what to do next. More severely, I was feeling on edge when I should have been soaking in a glorious sex afterglow. Where was the anxiety coming from?

I had a good guess: I was set to leave for Poland in 36 hours.

In the past year, I’ve noticed that my decision making process has a loophole. I decide primarily based on how much pain my current experience has. Decisions should be made looking into the future, but I’ve been making decisions based on avoidance of current pain.

The original plan was to stay in Ukraine for six months, studying Russian throughout, but the “pain” of both the language and the sexual slowness of the women had my mind floating to the easier option, Poland. I had come up with other excuses to leave, including bad restaurant service and strangers who don’t smile at me, but that seemed insignificant while my dick air-dried from Anna’s vaginal juices, especially since Poland is not exactly the land of smiles. I just wanted easier sex, and was willing to rationalize getting that in any way.

Poland has a lower level of pleasure that exists most times, while Ukraine has long doses of pain followed by incredible spikes of pleasure that can surpass what Poland gives. Ukraine is for growth, frustration, and excitement while Poland is for comfort, contentment, and relaxation. I had decided to leave for Poland because I was fatigued from studying Russian, tired of the crappy nightlife, and bored of sleeping with one other girl who wasn’t close to my Ukrainian best, and then Anna came along with this injection of pleasure. All of a sudden, the Ukrainian downsides were fading into the background.

I didn’t know what my next step should be. I went to sleep hoping for some more clarity the next day, my last full day in Ukraine before I was supposed to leave.

I woke up after only five hours, unable to sleep. I fantasized about boning Anna for a few minutes then started debating my course of action.

Any decision I was about to be make had to be based on the assumption that I would never see Anna again. Too many times I have been disappointed by women, disrespected by them, flaked by them. In spite of the fact that Anna did seem to genuinely like me, I’d be a fool to depend on her to come through in any way, no matter what she has said and no matter how many layers her cake had. I had to assume the worst, and ask myself what I would do if I stayed and she disappeared.

I’d study Russian.
I’d approach girls every day.
I’d keep up my gym routine.

I started to investigate my options. I called the airline and they said I could change my flight for a nominal fee. I called my landlord and she said I could stay an extra month. The Polish apartment company said I could use my deposit for a future stay. The path was open.

It has been said that smart people make better decisions, but I believe smart people make better rationalizations. Looking back on all my big decisions, which I thought I made with logic, I actually used emotion. The logic was just there to give the veneer of making the better choice. I now understand I’m using emotion when I make a list of logical reasons for doing something, since my mind already decided what it wants well before I knew it consciously. For this decision I had to forget about logic. And so it was very easy.

There was no guarantee anything would come out of me and Anna, but I looked forward more to the mere possibility of seeing her again than going back to Poland. While this made me nervous, it was a truth I couldn’t deny. I didn’t care how badly this would end for me, as long as I could say I gave it my all with her in my hunt for pleasure and happiness.

That afternoon I opened my Russian notebook, scanned the work I did three weeks before, and began studying. Midway through I received a text from Anna. She wrote “good morning” five times, followed by four smiley faces.

CONTINUED: Epilogue

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