After Luigi left, I saw Riga in a different light. I felt like every responsive girl was playing some sort of angle and wanted to get to know the monetary part of me instead of the real me. It seemed pointless even to try.
But my dick. It wanted to fuck something. It didn’t care that whatever I fucked would probably try to scam me. It needed release inside a real vagina.
I went into a quiet coffee shop for a couple hours to catch up on work. I walked out late, around 11:00, and stood in front of the door to zip up my jacket and put on my scarf. It was a Tuesday night, not the best day to go out. A girl with brown pigtails walked by, giving me eye contact. In an instant my hand went up and made the universal “wait a moment” sign. It took about three more seconds for an opening line to enter my head.
“Do you know a good place to go on Tuesday night?” I asked.
“Actually, I could ask you that. I don’t usually go out on this day.”
I eliminated her as a scammer since she was alone (they always operate in pairs), but something just wasn’t right about a pretty girl walking alone trying to find a place to go out in her own city. Even so, I decided that as long as I controlled most of the variables, I’d come out on top.
“There’s a bar near where I live that usually has people,” I said. “How about we go there for a drink?”
She agreed. She didn’t hook my arm or grab my hand, a telltale sign of a scammer, but my guard was still up.
“What do you think of Riga?” she asked.
“It’s hard to find a normal girl here. In a lot of the places I’ve been to the girls are working, trying to trick guys. I know there are a lot of sex tourists here who don’t mind that, but I just want a nice conversation.”
I told her about the scammer clubs and she said she had never been to them before. I wanted to think she was telling the truth, but I had decided not to believe a single thing that came out of a Latvian girl’s mouth.
My apartment was next door to the bar. I told her that I wanted to drop off my laptop bag.
“You can meet me at the bar or come in with me.”
She decided to come in, which I thought was peculiar. She had only knew me for ten minutes. How did she know I wasn’t going to rape her?
I couldn’t help but ask once inside my place. “How do you know I’m a good guy?”
“You have an honest face. You seem like a nice person.”
She unzipped her coat to reveal a thin body. I brushed my teeth and changed my clothes. When she saw me shirtless, she gasped, “Oh my god!”
“You’re so… hairy. It’s amazing. I love hairy men, but I never meet them. It’s hard to find that here. You’re like a bear.”
“Not many girls like it.”
“No, it’s very nice. I have hair, too. Do you want to see?”
Was she about to show me her vagina?
“Yeah, sure,” I said.
She slipped one side of her dress off and showed me an armpit full of hair. I can’t say I was expecting that.
“A lot of guys like it,” she said.
“I find that hard to believe, but okay.”
Everything else about her checked out, so at that moment I still thought I could bang her. During the sex act I wouldn’t even see her pit hair, but I wished she hadn’t shown me. Curiosity killing the cat, and all that.
Before leaving for the bar I showed her a bottle of champagne I had in the fridge. It was my afterparty move since finding out that girls in this part of the world went crazy for bubbly.
At the bar we sat on a couch, getting to know each other a little. As I told her some of my recent travel experiences, I noticed that she was much more comfortable with silences than I was, something I had noticed about Eastern Europeans in general.
I said, “We Americans have a need to talk constantly. When we hear a silence, we get this urge to fill it. I know it’s something that’s a product of my culture, but I can’t help feeling that silences are weird.”
“So everyone just keeps talking?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s a little different if you’re in a big group. Then it turns into a competition to talk. People have a list of things that they want to share and then, at the hint of silence, they blurt them out. So everyone is talking about their own thing, but hardly anyone is giving feedback to what was just said.”
“That’s stupid. There’s nothing wrong with silence. Sometimes you can understand a person more with silence than with words.”
“I’m starting to see that here.”
I told her that the biggest challenge for me was understanding a culture as quickly as possible, not only so I can write about it, but also so that I could get along with “the people.”
“When I go to a country,” I said, “I like to notice what’s different. How human beings, even though they’re the same animal, have a wide range of culture, beliefs, and behaviors.”
“So you see a lot that’s different, but what have you noticed that is the same?”
My mouth opened, but no words came out. I wanted to say sex, but that can actually be quite different. I mean, the act of sticking your dick into a woman is the same, but the moment leading up to it and what a girl does during the sex act can vary widely.
“You know, I don’t really know,” I said. “That’s the first time a girl has ever stumped me with a question. I’ll have to think about that.”
She smiled as if to say, “See, I’m not a typical Latvian girl.”
She said she was only 26, but I was sure she was hovering near 30. Earlier she had mentioned having a boyfriend, so I followed up to see what the deal was.
“I live with my boyfriend,” she said. “He’s 55. He’s a famous artist who has published a lot of work.”
“He doesn’t mind you going out alone?”
“He doesn’t care. Our relationship is open. I think the best relationships are open, or else the passion dies and it gets boring.”
I started to relax, convinced that she was just a horny chick out for an easy lay and not running a scam. It helped that she wasn’t talking on the phone to coordinate with a potential accomplice and that I was in a bar I had been to many times before. All seemed right in the world, except for the armpit hair.
When I came back with a second round of drinks, our faces got quite close and she kissed me. Then she asked, “Do you want to fuck?”
“Maybe,” I replied.
“50 lat.” [$100 US]
Oh, come on.
I maintained my composure. “Look, I don’t want to waste your time, but I’m not going to pay for sex. You should move on to another guy.”
“I’m just joking,” she said, kissing me again. “I like you.”
My shields were now fully up. I figured her Plan B was to get me so turned on that I couldn’t help but pay, and that was exactly what she tried to do.
We talked for another half hour and she didn’t bring up money again. She was actually an interesting girl, raised in the school of hard knocks where she tried to take advantage of every situation. I wanted to proceed with the interaction, not necessarily because I was dying to bang her, but because I wanted to see what would happen. As long as I watched her like a hawk, I was straight.
We went back to my apartment to open the champagne. We sat on my couch and she started stroking my dick through my jeans. She took off her dress and sat in her bra and panties. I wasn’t surprised to see a carpet around her vagina. With her panties on it looked like a mustache. I still had a boner, but I can’t say I enjoyed the hairiness. It was more novel and weird than gross, like something out of an old porn movie.
She went to the bathroom and asked if I wanted to watch.
“Why would I want to watch?” I asked.
“I don’t know, some guys like it. They pay me 5 lats.”
She came back and I asked if she normally tried to get money for sex.
“I only did this one other time, with an English guy. He was a doctor and very nice. I think he was a virgin.”
“Only one time?”
“I swear. But I’ll have sex with you for 50.”
“I’ve never paid for sex in my life,” I said. “I want to see how long I can go until then. Tonight isn’t the night I’m going to do it, sorry.”
“You never paid for sex in America? Girls don’t ask for money?”
“No, they don’t ask for money. If a girl likes me and my personality, we have sex. There is a song that goes, ‘The best things in life are free.’”
“Well, that’s stupid. They should ask, because if you ask you get to have sex and you get money, too. It’s normal here to ask. A girl should always get the best deal possible.”
“I don’t know if that’s really sad or really smart.”
“But I like you, so if you don’t want to pay then just give me an orgasm.”
“And how do you want me to do that?”
“Lick my pussy.”
I looked at her vagina mustache. She moved her panties over so I could see a little bit of pink. She started playing with herself and making fake moaning noises.
“Is there a third option?” I asked.
“No, orgasm or money.”
“Maybe my dick will give you an orgasm.”
“And if not, you’ll fall asleep, and I won’t have orgasm or money. I’ve learned that a man must give you one of the two upfront, so no matter what, I get something out of the sex.”
“Yeah, I’m never coming back to Latvia.”
I turned on the television and we watched some music videos. When she realized I wasn’t going to give her orgasm or money, she started telling me a sob story. The government had just levied a 1,000 euro tax on her. Her parents were suffering in some shack. Her boyfriend didn’t give her passion. She started crying and said it was my fault that her parents were poor.
“Why is it my fault?” I said, unmoved.
“Because your parents have a pension. Your pensions fucked up our economy!”
“Neither of my parents have a pension. They work for themselves. Good try, but it’s not my fault.”
“Okay, fine, but help me. Give me some money.”
She was crying and shrieking, doing the whole bit. There were actual tears, but the only way I could have been more disaffected was if I had been snacking on some popcorn.
“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend for money?”
“He won’t give it to me!”
Smart man, I thought.
Then she leapt up and snatched 25 lat that was sitting on my dresser.
I grabbed it back and said, “Look, I’m not a charity. I’m not giving you money. I told you an hour ago to go find another guy. Go to Scandal where guys will pay you to fuck.”
“But I like you. I’m scared that if I have sex with you I’ll fall in love with you.”
“Right. Hold on, let me call the Academy to nominate this performance.”
It’s interesting that telling a whore you don’t pay for sex doesn’t discourage her. She thinks she’s more seductive than the other whores and can get you to open your wallet. Whores probably think a guy like me is just being coy.
As she put on her dress, I heard a crumpling sound and instinctively reached for her pocket, thinking she had stolen something. Inside were four condoms.
“You’ve only done this once before?” I asked. “It seems like you’re mighty prepared.”
“Okay, well, tonight I wanted to make some money. I’m just in bad situation right now.”
“Why don’t you get a job?”
“There are no jobs.” What she actually meant was, “I don’t want to work in a coffee shop. Tricking guys for sex is a whole lot easier.”
The whole charade was starting to bore me. My dick had been soft for quite a while. If we weren’t going to fuck, I wanted her to leave me in peace so I could jerk off.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” I said. “I want to shower and do some other things.”
“Go ahead and shower, I’ll wait,” she said.
“No, that’s okay. It will be a while.”
“Do you want to hang out tomorrow with me and my boyfriend? We can show you some art.”
“Sorry, but I have plans.”
She persisted in seeing me again, in what I think may have been a genuine desire, but I’ll never know for sure.
The thing I had been hating most about Latvia was the acting. I thought I was good at detecting lies, but Latvian girls were on a level I hadn’t seen before. I didn’t know what was real or not, so I assumed they were acting about everything. It wasn’t a good way to build any sort of connection or normal relationship, but at least I wouldn’t be surprised.
After she left, I scanned my apartment for missing items. Nothing was gone. Then I thought about what she had said, how it was stupid for American girls not to ask for money before sex. Was it possible that the sexual culture in America and other Western countries is fantasy, and that the best move for women was to get as much as she could out of a guy? Or was she just lying about Latvian culture to make me feel better about giving her money?
It makes logical sense for a girl to get paid for something she was going to do for free anyway, but it would change everything—the dynamic, the game, and even the sex act. To me it’s unbearable to think a girl might be spending time with me only because of money, something that isn’t an inherent part of me. If she was into me solely for my looks, I’d more be okay with it. I wonder if I’m being insecure for thinking this way, but I’d rather play in the fantasy world than in a place like Latvia.
The above article was adapted from Don’t Bang Latvia, a 63-page hater travel guide that teaches you how to sleep with Latvian women while simultaneously convincing you not to go. It contains tourist tips, game advice, sex stories, and hate. Click here to learn more.