I bang my first 24 year old Croatian cocktail waitress
August 1, 2012 7 Comments
It’s the end of my holiday and everyone is tired. Bhodi has a bad case of weasel flu and Robusto is just dreaming of his oneitis down on the coast who he’ll visit in a few days. I’m worn out after a hard weekend followed by a rickety bus ride from Belgrade to Zagreb. I polish off a bowl of pasta in our favourite lunch spot then Robusto wants to do sets.
My intent is somewhere around zero. It’s late-trip, I’m tired, and I’ve gotten two new notches in seven days, a bunch of makeouts, two new (as yet unfucked) girls in love with me and all I can think about now is getting home to Dark Souls. So I game vicariously through Robusto, picking out sets for him with my superior hawk-like eyesight. He’s having a good day, harvesting numbers from good looking girls.
He’s in set with a cute little squirrel when a tall girl walks past and I feel the familiar blood-bubble. I know I can’t weasel this set. She’s 5’9″, beautiful swimsuit model proportions, flowing black hair, and under her thin skirt I can see a perfect ass. I give chase. Sometimes life is just nice to you and within two minutes I know this is a Set of Glory. She’s loving it and everything she says or does confirms she’s my type of girl. I see Robusto hanging out five yards away until I finish but instead I walk her off onto an idate, giving him a stupid grin.
I lean back, sip coffee and run my usual idate game (I’ll probably post more detail on my model soon). She’s leaning into me, filling silences, opening up and gradually falling for me. I’m the shiniest coolest thing she’s seen in years. After a half hour or so I walk her down to Alcatraz bar where I am quickly developing a reputation with the staff (it’s been my kiss close venue for the past five dates). The whole date feels like freewheeling downhill to glory and my SDL sensors are buzzing…. but then logistics intervene and I have to take the number and a promise to meet later that night. Ten minutes after letting her go I send my follow up text.
Me: It was a pleasure to meet you [her name]
Her: It was pleasure to meet you, Nick. Thanks for kisses, very, very nice… ummm,
Simple nice guy stuff. Later we set up an 11pm and she ditches her friends at a house party to see me. She’s got an early train leaving town the next day so this is saying two things to me :
- She’s up for it
- No time to waste
I walk her to a bar and we get some rum down our necks. There’s lots of kissing and we enter that strange vibe where our brains shut down and she’s just leaning in on me, quietly, while I scratch her head and let her absorb my presence. Very little talking. My main enemy is her forebrain. The hindbrain is ready to go but that pesky forebrain critter is telling her it’s too soon, reminding her of the boyfriend, and so on. We try to get another drink but it’s past last orders. I know it’s in the balance and my conduct over the next half hour with be the decider.
We walk to a park next to my apartment then lay on the grass. My whole plan is to let her absorb the masculine energy until her hindbrain overpowers the forebrain. We kiss, lie together, I suck on her tits…. the hindbrain is winning. I can see the fog come over her eyes. She’s like an open book. A beautiful girl, a pleasure to have next to me, and I see the forebrain pack it’s bags and sleep in the spare room.
So I walk her upstairs, texting Robusto and Bhodi to clear out. On the bed, a bit of Fleetwood Mac, and I’m quickly undressing her. Stunning figure and a good lay. Afterwards she’s kneeling wide-eyed next to me muttering “I can’t believe I just did that. I never do this”. Cue comfort, showing her Facebook photos, swapping youtube music videos, then I parade her past the boys (“low eight”) and walk her to the taxi.
I feel invincible. It’s like I couldn’t fuck up a set if I tried. If only life was always like this….