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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1748343-A-Miami-Playboy
by linggy
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Romance/Love · #1748343
I want to become a better, more caring, compassionate person.
A Miami Playboy

I woke up late and thought, damn now I’ll never make it to class on time. I have to drive up Route I-95 to Boca Raton to the F.A.U. campus where I study psychology. Why don’t I just live in Boca instead of commuting sixty miles one way daily from Miami? Please! Boca and nearby Delray Beach are so boring, I can’t imagine a single person choosing to live there. Where would I go? There’s nothing to do except go to the beach, but hey, the beaches in Miami have about the same quality with way more gorgeous women on them. Besides, I’d only be driving to Miami all the time, especially evenings and that’s totally impractical.

Let me explain. I don’t date students––never! I also don’t date Americans––never! You’re probably wondering why. I’ll tell you, but you probably won’t like it. You see, I’m a hunter and connoisseur of enchanting women. I don’t want relationships, movie dates, dinner with somebody’s parents, or anything of the sort. I want romance, wild ecstatic romance.

I want vacation urgency where you go crazy right away before one of you is back on a plane going home. So I exclusively date foreigners. Germans, Scandinavians, Swiss, Dutch, British, the occasional French or Italian lady when I can find one, and, as you probably guessed, French Canadians. No, I don’t date British Canadians. They remind me too much of my classmates. You see, I love the excitement of the unknown. I also love the down to earth, let’s-be-completely-honest, let’s-make-wild-love attitude of these young women.

Miami gives me the opportunity to live this lifestyle all year round.

I usually meet someone either at a hotel beach or in a club that tourists frequent. I can imagine girls reading this and saying: this guy is afraid of a real relationship. He’s totally insecure. You are correct about my aversion to forming a relationship. I am paranoid about settling down for a year or even six months with one person. I’m only twenty-four years old. I have six short years left. Thirty just sounds terribly old. So when I’m thirty-something and practically over the hill, I figure there will be plenty of young women in their twenties with whom I could start a relationship. But right now, I want to be free. A predator, if you will. I want a wam-bam one or two week party. But the cool thing is with the women I date, nobody gets hurt, nobody feels used, cheated on, or exploited.

Let’s say I meet a Karen from Germany. She’s twenty-six, blond, attractive, well-dressed, and a secretary for Daimler, Bosch, or some other high paying firm. She’s got money and she’s on vacation. In her country, she expects to pay her own way when she goes out with a guy. That’s how it works there––women don’t just talk about gender equality, they live it. When they come here, they don’t expect to be wined and dined all the time like little princesses. Sometimes they even invite me out, knowing that I’m a poor college student.

So, this Vanessa, or Mona, or Rebecca might ask me to dance at some club. Frequently, everybody is just dancing alone or with friends, and I’ll latch on to someone interesting on the dance floor. By the way, dancing is my thing. Salsa, reggae, rock, I can dance with the best of them. Either way, we’ll chat and flirt, and perhaps she won’t ask me up to her room for one more drink toward the end of the evening. That’s okay. I’m not upset. I’m conservative, well- mannered, and definitely not pushy.

Most likely, I’ll invite her on short notice to some place off the beaten tourist path, and she’ll accept. Maybe we’ll go snorkeling off Key Largo, or go for a long stroll in Fairchild Tropical Gardens where we’ll probably just experience the trees and vegetation, look into each other’s eyes, maybe even hold hands.

That evening, after I cook her a gourmet candlelight meal at my place, then for sure she’ll proposition me in an adult way. I’ll laugh a bit shyly, and then we’ll bounce off the walls and furniture like two cats in heat. After that, if we both had a great time, we may see each other almost every day for the remainder of her vacation. Then she’ll cry when she leaves, and I’ll be honestly sad, but then what can I do? Life goes on.

At least I was a goodwill ambassador, of sorts. I mean, most Europeans think young Americans are uncouth garbage eaters who don’t read, play video games nonstop, and watch football on television all weekend long. Through me, they get to see the other, more refined side of U.S. culture.

Anyway, I rest a few days, hang out with the guys, and then that hunting urge comes back, and I’ll hit the clubs again. Maybe this time––so I won’t be reminded of sweet Karen–– I’ll seek out an olive-complexioned, black-haired Canadian from Quebec. Actually, I’m kind of partial to brunettes, at least I think I am.

Sometimes prowling around in the Miami clubs, I check out the Latinas from the city dancing salsa, and I think they’d be really cool to date. But then I remember all the ones I did date when I was younger, and all the hassle that was. They’re all pretty much the same: one hot heavy step forward, followed by two catholic steps back. Cat and mouse, back and forth, and you can’t figure out who’s the prey and who's the predator. That game might actually be worth the wait, but not now. Maybe when I’m thirty or thirty-five––maybe. I wish more Italians came to Miami, but they don’t, that’s why I call myself a hunter. I always seek them out first like I’m tracking a prized catch.

Oh ladies, I bet about now you figure that I’m some totally insecure, incompetent loser. You’re thinking, he won’t commit—not even to seriously dating someone. Well, I prefer to think of it this way. I am dating all the time. And I’m learning. Aren’t you always looking for some caring, understanding, sensitive, reliable guy? That’s a tall order. I’m only twenty-four. I’d only disappoint you, but ten years from now …

In fact, that’s why I prefer to date women a bit older than I. To be frank, they treat me … well … let’s just say––better. No, I’m not talking financially. And, I can honestly say that through them, I believe I’m truly becoming a better, more caring, and compassionate person.



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