The Adventures of RF: All Night with a Venezuelan Chica
When I’m in the mood to come up for air from being submerged in a Puritan culture, I can really go through women and engage in risky behavior. During a month long adventure, I probably went through a dozen women in Colombia with nightly drinking and dancing and occasional binging on cocaine.
It started the first night as I was whisked away from the airport to the clock tower at the center of town by my taxi driver. That night, I ended up in a club getting hit on by sexy South American women eager to get my clothes off. It was literally like being in a different universe, transported from stolid, work-obsessed, sex-hating Anglo America to the Garden of Eden. The first night I ended up on top of a very pretty Colombian girl who was dancing naked for me in my room while doing lines of some very good blow and taking Aguardiente shots.
I continued sampling the poon of different girls each night.
Little did I know, I was becoming something of a legend among the girls who frequent the clock tower. It seems after a few of them got a piece of action with the white boy in the fedora who speaks Spanish fluently, likes to party, and knows how to have a good time, all of them wanted to compete with each other to see who could show me the best time.
As it turns out, a girl I had only talked to in passing a few times during my month-long adventure in South America would turn out to be my most memorable experience. While I was partying and screwing other girls, she would calmly tell me to come with her, that I’d have a better time with her than those other bitches.
I figured she was just trying to get a free ride at my expense, but nonetheless took her number down. I wasn’t to hang out with her until my last night in Colombia. In the haze I finally decided to start texting her. And, she finally talked me into it. There was just something about the fire in her dark, pretty eyes when she talked about fucking me that convinced me I needed to sample this Venezuelan chica. I remembered that fire as we texted even though we had only talked in person for about 10 minutes.
She told me, “Me encanta follar, y me encanta cocaine. Yo se que te gusta los dos. Mi amiga se me lo dijo.” She was heavier than the other girls but it wasn’t an American heftiness. No fat rolls or sagging, she was just plumper than most of the girls I normally sleep with.
I ended up taking her on a nice date that evening, drinking my usual Caipirinhas (which she didn’t like, so she drank beer) only to realize after we had eaten our steak dinner that time was running out if we were to have a full night sinning together. I had to go out with a bang in South America! I originally wanted to head out for dancing, but decided it was best we head back to my room.
We spent the entire night doing lines, talking about everything under the sun, kissing, and screwing. We stayed up all night learning about each other, talking about our hopes and dreams and life experiences. We’d get high, then end up in all kinds of interesting positions sexually. I personally like to have a bitch sit on my face and wriggle as I lick her vagina before we have intercourse. (But I won’t just lick any girl. I have my own personal criteria.) I do remember she liked having her hair pulled. Ah, that luscious, long, flowing dark hair. It went all the way down to her waist.
I also remember her tattoos. And her honey-colored skin. What it felt like to be on top of her as she looked up at me with a smile and demanded I give it to her hard. And her sweetness and vulnerability. Much like my own, well-hidden vulnerability after my hopes and dreams were destroyed by the reality of the world of media and female nature.
It was a magical night, and it all seemed to pass by so fast. What I liked most about the Venezuelan chica was the fact she made me feel good inside, as a friendly, feminine, human version of the White Lady we both were enjoying. This is the point American women always miss about men. They think we just want sex. Of course we want sex, but there’s more to it than that. As any good whore will tell you, men want to be loved on, and crave female companionship and friendship as much or maybe more than the sex itself.
Before I had to leave for the airport with a nose full of rocks, she put a smiley face sticker on my phone as something to remember her by. Being the terribly sentimental man I am, I still look at this sticker at least a couple of times a day and remember the Venezuelan whore who made me feel happier than any American girl I’ve ever dated. (This is a recurring theme, as the $40 Mexican whore also made me feel happier than any American girl I’ve ever dated.)
I still stay in contact with her, and consider her a close friend after the night we spent together. This is why I left corporate America. I have been starving for life experiences like these for half a lifetime. And now, I finally get to have them.
Like this article? Has the blog helped change your life in a positive way? Buy one of my books from The New Modern Man Originals section of the Recommended Reading and Viewing page or buy anything from Amazon using this link. You can also sponsor The New Modern Man or make a donation for as little as $1.