Towards Multilinguism

I've been trying to learn Spanish since it's so much like Italian. And I miss learning. Here are some words I learned after a brief tryst with a Spanish speaking fellow.

me gusta........I like
sonreí smile
contigo.........with you
te quiero.......I love/want you in a sexual manner, rawr
hacer el make love
te extraño......I miss you trust lie
mentiroso....fucking liar
enojada.........angry cry
puñetazo........punch break up/end

Bachelor #1: What Will We Do On Our First Date?

On a Saturday, I went to a show. At this show, I met a beautiful black hippie. He was tall and thin. Dark skin and a beard. He wore one of those giant reggae hats that I hoped held oodles of natty dreads. Sexy little hippie!

He carried a professional looking camera with a long zoom lens. Of course he asked to take my photo. And then one in black and white. Then he asked me to take his. I took one of the ceiling. One of his neck. One of him. He told me photography was his love.

It was noisy, so he stood in close. He smelled really good! I was afraid he'd smell like patchouli. I asked him what else he liked to do, besides taking pictures of things. He looked me in the eye and said, "love god." I gave him my number anyway. Then I told him if he didn't call me, I'd punch him in the stomach next time I saw him at a show.

He called me two days later. My brother told me that was a bad sign. I told him I chose to see it as he liked me so much that he couldn't wait the arbitrarily determined number of days to call me. My brother just raised his skeptical eyebrow. Thinks he's so smart...

Talking to Mr Hippie was like listening to a Common cd. He asked me if I'd share some time with him that evening. He would be in my neighborhood dropping off some photos, anyway. That sounded lovely. We went to the hill overlooking the lake.

We sat on a bench and it was cold. We were a bit closer than I'd have liked, but I stared resolutely forward. He told me he loved love and god. I told him of everything in the world, those are the things I understand the least.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him slowly moving closer. But in a peculiar way, not as though to put his arm around me to protect me from the cold. He leaned in slightly, like a stealthy vampire. I turn quickly to face him, to ask what he's doing and he says,

"It's this thing I have...I want to smell you. May I?"

I agree, because, I can understand. He buries his nose in the crook of my neck and inhales as deeply as he can. I worked that day and hadn't showered or changed since then. I wondered how stinky garlic and sweat and random body spray was. He was overinflating his lungs sniffing me, as if he was attempting to pull my soul free through his nostrils. I finally pulled away from him. He smiled and kissed me. I was confused.

He said we should walk, and we should go stand under a weeping willow tree. I told him I liked the tree and he told me he'd climbed it. Then he asked to smell me again. Then he said,

"Women often find it strange when I want to smell their underarms. Smell them. And kiss them."

"I can understand that," I said.

"It's nothing strange you, know. Freshly showered, shaved, but no deodorant."

"I like this tree..." I said.

"May I smell you?" He came in closer to nuzzle me again.

"I'm kind of a sweaty girl," I said, spinning away from him. And I laughed.

We talked about my love of writing, and I mentioned writing with a pen name.

"How many personalities do you have?" He asked, excited all of a sudden.

"" I said. "Why, how many do you have?"

"I have no idea how many people are up in here," he said, pointing at his head and laughing.

He took me home. We sat in his car, talking about our schedules. He asked to see my tattoo, as it was peeking out of my sleeve. I took my arm out of my coat and showed him. He cooed and told me how he likes to kiss from the palm of a lady's hand and up her arm. He kissed the palm of my hand and bit it. Then he kissed the flower in the crook of my elbow. I felt his tongue and took my arm away. Did he just lick my arm?

He stared at my forehead, “Why do you think we met Saturday?”

“Because we were both at the show at the same time?” I said slowly, cautiously.

He laughed, stared out the window, then back at my forehead. I put my hand over it, and told him I know I have a giant forehead. He corrected me. I have a high forehead and it's wonderful. He asked if anyone had ever kissed it. Confused, I say yes.

He pointed in between my eyebrows. “There. I want to kiss you right here. May I?”

I laughed and said, “You wanna kiss my third eye?” This made me laugh a lot.

With utmost sincerity he said, “Yes. I want to kiss your third eye.”

Without really thinking, I leaned forward. He took my face in his hands and gently kissed between my eyebrows. Then again, his lips lingering longer, then again and I definitely felt his tongue. Before I knew what was happening, he was tongue kissing my forehead. Sloppy, slurpy, tongue kiss in between my eyes.

The worst part of all of this is, he didn't call me. What the hell is wrong with me that the dude who frenches foreheads won't call?