Deep Down, They’re All Greek.
Or, “Why I chose to romance a Canadian while on vacation in Europe.”
I was traveling alone for quite a bit of my trip, and quite frankly I didn’t think I had any more to fear from strange European men than I did from strange men in New York. Less, actually – have you seen what haunts the subways here?
Turns out, I was wrong. Europeans like-a it, the anal.
My first warning came courtesy of an Italian. We were rounding second base, and then when he stuck a finger up my ass, I screamed and resolved to research who the FUCK came up with, “When in Rome, do as the Romans.”
Next up was a smarmy Spanish man who propositioned me in a club. I shamelessly told him that I was bleeding from my coño, to which he replied, “Don’t worry, I don’t have to put it there.” To quote one of the smartest women I know, “Um. Die.”
Then I made friends with some Croatian dudes, and ruled all of them out instantly when one saw a girl he thought was pretty and commented, “First I’d fuck her normal. Then I’d fuck her pussy.” and they all laughed and slapped him on the back.
So when I met a tall blonde Canadian fireman from Vancouver who actually took me to dinner, then down to the beach to stare at the water and talk (i.e. makeout), my joy at meeting this decidedly North American man knew no bounds. God Bless Canada; European men be damned.