I’ve been in Serbia a little less than a week and feeling properly run down. Yesterday’s escapades (post coming) were great fun but left me with a minging hangover, blue balls, and less than three hours sleep…. and suddenly it’s Saturday which ought to be the best day. Robusto and I do a few half-arsed opens mid-afternoon but there’s not much to shoot at and our heart isn’t in it anymore. I’ve been ground down having spent a week or two in each of Lithuania, Croatia, Turkey, Bosnia and Serbia without a night in my own bed back in glorious London.
My cute Serbian librarian starts missing me and decides she does actually need a revision break and would love to meet me for coffee at 8pm. I tell her to wear a dress so I can see her legs and to style her hair down. She follows instructions admirably. This girl is really falling hard for me, giving me a carefully chosen book as a leaving present, her favourite bookmark and an inscription of romantic poetry. She’s adorable too, fitting my newly-defined type exactly – exotic look, introverted, thoughtful, innocent. I know pulling her home is too soon so I just fingerfuck her in the cafe and say my goodbyes. She gets parked into long game and a possible import.
The main reason I cut that date short is because my Hail Mary text to yesterday’s SDL-near miss results in a 10pm date. I’d already told her I want to fuck her so there’s no question what’s up. She’s either DTF or wants me to validate her all night and it’s up to me to figure out which.
We have drinks in one of the many pavement cafes then I move her on to a bar near my apartment. It’s on. Easy, really. She downs a couple of vodkas then tells me she doesn’t want to go to an apartment I share with other men but will happily take a cab home to her own apartment where she lives alone. So we go. It’s effortless, all the work having been done the day before. Afterwards I cab it back. I’d put her as a high six, probably late-twenties.
I get my Serbian flag, +1, regain F-town. Sometimes it’s that simple.