Drama, Vodka, Sex, and Blood

Before I came to Denmark, Henrik introduced me to his Swedish fuck buddy over Skype. At that time I was planning to go to Sweden, so he was trying to do me a favor by setting me up with a local. The Swede and I friended each other on Facebook.

Unfortunately, he told her about my blog. It was upsetting to her since she was a diehard feminist, as most Swedish girls are. Our subsequent chats consisted of her bitching me out about my sexist beliefs, so I was forced to remove her on Facebook and block her on Skype. She’ll become important later.

Henrik adamantly refused to take my advice on dating a new dream girl he had met right before I came to Copenhagen. She proceeded to dump him after the second date, before they could do more than kiss. He was much less responsive to my ideas than when we were in Rio. It seemed that spending a year in Copenhagen with his old friends had caused him to fully regress to being a nice guy.

For the first month, Henrik and I went out one or two nights a week, reliving some of our Rio days. We joked about how our friendship was unlikely since we believed essentially the opposite of everything, especially women. He was a romantic beta who wanted a long-term relationship, and I the shallow gash hound who just wanted to fuck something for the night.

Over the next few weeks, I started to develop a mild resentment that he didn’t see things the way I did, even when I led by example. How could he not come to the same conclusions I had? Why did he insist on spitting a game that made it harder to get with women? A crack in the friendship developed when one night I got angry at him after he pulled me away from talking to a girl at last call. The reason? He was “bored.” He wanted entertainment while I was focused on getting laid.

I tried my best to rationalize how much his friendship meant to me, but now he was doing actual harm. I began to see only the negatives. Instead of bickering with him like my instinct was telling me, I realized that with only one more month remaining in Denmark it would be best to just take it easy until I left. There was no point burning a bridge when in all likelihood our friendship was going to dissipate anyway.

One night I convinced him to go out with me to a bar. He met a tall Polish girl. They connected quickly and the following Friday he invited me out to dinner and drinks with her and her friend. It sounded like a four or five-hour affair, so I asked him to send me a picture of the friend. If she was at least a 6, I’d go. She turned out to be a beast, so I told him, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Then he disappeared. I didn’t hear from him in more than a week, even though we had been contacting each other almost every day. He finally messaged me to say he was going on a two-week trip with his buddy Paul to the Middle East.

During the three weeks I didn’t see him, I experienced a hot streak. It felt like pussy was falling from the sky. I was getting so much more going out alone than with Henrik as my wingman that I began thinking hard about our friendship. I concluded that we were friends because of my loneliness, not because we were a good match.

In no way did I blame him for not getting laid. I take full responsibility for my sex life, but his absence made me realize that I no longer needed him, or any other guy, to help me meet women. I didn’t need a guy to put me in a social mood, and I didn’t need him to wing me. A can of worms opened up where I asked myself what was more important to my life, friendship or casual sex.

Fast forward a month to my last Saturday night in Copenhagen. Henrik came back from his trip and I was genuinely excited to hang out with him for what would probably be the last time. He told me he had invited one of his friends for my goodbye celebration. It turned out to be the same Swedish girl who had beefed with me online.

I was annoyed, but tried to keep a positive attitude, saying I’d be nice to her. I went to my favorite bar and told him to meet me there.

While waiting alone, I talked to three friendly Danish girls, one of whom I took a liking to. Our conversation was going well when all of a sudden an ugly hog came between us and started stroking my arm.

“Excuse me, but I’m having a conversation with someone,” I said to her.

She didn’t move. I increased my volume: “I can’t talk to you right now, so can you please move?” I wasn’t surprised because it has actually happened before where Danish beasts had come up to me and refused to take no for an answer. Then I saw Henrik out of the corner of my eye, laughing. It turned out that the beast was the Swedish girl.

I put on a fake smile and politely asked the Swedish girl if she would move so I could resume my conversation.

“You don’t like me, do you?” the Swedish girl asked.

“You’re very quick.”

“But why not?”

“Look, I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t like you, and now you’re interrupting my conversation with someone. Leave me alone.”

She walked away while giving me the middle finger. I resumed my chat with the Danish girl. Ten minutes later, the Swedish girl interrupted us again.

I looked at Henrik and said, “Hey buddy, thanks a fucking lot for bringing this stupid bitch here on my last night. That’s how much my friendship means to you, huh?”

“I’m not a bitch!” the Swedish girl shouted.

“Yes, you are. A stupid, ugly, fat, cockblocking bitch. Now get the fuck out of my face.”

“Don’t try to intimidate me!”

Then Henrik said, “Don’t talk that way about my friends.”

“So now she’s your friend and I’m not. Okay man, I see how it is. Well you know what? She can fuck off and so can you.”

“You’re just being angry now,” Henrik said.

“No shit I’m angry. What kind of friend are you? You know it’s my last night and you bring a girl who gives me shit and then cockblocks me. You disappear for a week because I don’t want to go on some lame double date. Fuck all that.”

“And do you know why I disappeared on you? Because I was trying to teach you the value of friendship for not wanting to hang out with me and my girl’s friend.”

The bar was dark, but my face was shining a molten red. I felt ambushed, like it had been his plan to start drama with a girl he already knew had been giving me problems.

I said, “Hold on, let me get this straight. You ditched me because I didn’t want to waste a Friday night with your girl’s ugly ass friend? Are you my dad, trying to teach me a lesson?” I took my phone out of my pocket, removed the SIM card he had given me when I arrived in Copenhagen and threw it at him. “Take your fucking SIM card and go fuck off with that ugly fat bitch. FUCK YOU!”

Did I overreact? Possibly, but I didn’t want a friend who was capable of making me that upset. Our friendship, spanning two continents and seventeen months, was over. They walked away and left the bar.

The Danish girl I’d been talking to witnessed my temper tantrum, freaked out, and also walked away. I was no longer in any mood to talk to girls. I just wanted to go home, but it felt like that was what Henrik and the Swedish girl would have wanted. I decided to stay. In the next hour, I slowly got my mood back. I focused on drinking vodka from my spot, making small talk with the guys and girls around me.

I started chatting with a 28-year-old woman. Things were going well, but then I got into a heated argument with a drunk Danish guy who almost pushed me off my chair as he tried to get a drink at the bar. I told him to stop, he didn’t, and we were on the verge of blows until his friend broke it up. He was considerably bigger than me, but I had so much anger bubbling underneath that I was ready to fight and get beat up. The Danish woman walked away. Scandinavians are a peaceful bunch that don’t like displays of violence or aggression.

I was very edgy, but tried my best to remain calm. I knew I was failing when a gay guy came up to me and said, “Man, you look really pissed!”

Two ugly girls approached me but I didn’t indulge them for long. It was getting late and I was losing hope. Sure, my mood could’ve been better, but there just weren’t any cute girls to talk to. I sat in silence for what seemed like forever, stewing about the night’s events, when two young girls came into the bar. I forced myself to approach.

“You guys don’t look like you’re from here,” I said. I went through the motions until a conversation hooked. I ended up talking to the blonde while her brunette friend flirted with the bartender.

The night before, I stupidly told girls I was leaving “in a few days.” I went home alone, without a number or a kiss, the first time I’d gotten absolutely nothing since flying solo without Henrik. I’m positive my knightly honesty was the reason why. I find it weird that even when a girl wants a one-night stand, she needs to be able to rationalize it by saying to herself that a relationship could have developed.

I learned from my mistake. When the blonde asked me when I was leaving, I said, “I live here,” even though my flight was scheduled to leave in four days. Twenty minutes later I was making out with her while the friend was making out with the bartender. I bought a round of drinks and soon it was almost five a.m. I asked if she wanted to go. She said, “I can’t leave without my friend.”

Her friend told us she wanted to wait for the bartender until he was done closing the bar. Of course she didn’t want to wait alone, so the three of us sat on a bench outside, in the cold, for an hour.

My girl was falling asleep, so I talked gibberish to keep her awake. Finally the bartender came and took the friend away. I said to my girl, “Do you want to hang out at my place for a little while?”

“Yes, but we can only sleep.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “I’m tired anyway.”

We walked to my apartment.

Once on my bed clothes began coming off, but I was getting a shitload of resistance. She said, “I’m not very experienced at this.” She was 18 years old.

I said, “We can take it easy and slow, no rush.” Then I uttered the biggest lie of the night: “I want it to feel good for you. I’m not worried about me.”

It worked.

The poor girl was so self-conscious that she didn’t even like it when I looked at her pussy to do the insertion, and insisted on leaving her shirt on. Centimeter by centimeter, I worked it in by feel with the help of about a gallon of lube.

I can assure you that the sex didn’t feel good for her, but toward the end I could get some rhythm going and actually busted my nut. Then I saw all the blood on my bed.

The sex was awful, but I didn’t care because wounding that 18-year-old pussy left my dick hard until she left. I don’t know why, but the fact that she was thirteen years younger than me aroused me tremendously. She asked if I wanted to hang out again and I told her maybe, but I’d be out of town for a while. I didn’t feel at all bad or guilty about what I did.

I never spoke to Henrik again.

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