PART 1 (Written in Uganda, mid booty call)
I haven’t slept with anyone who made me question the direction of my life in quite a while… This one, however… I’m really thinking hard about my life choices.
So this started out as a refreshing nod to when sex had to be arranged the old fashioned way. In this case, he was a referral from a friend. That lovely friend had unwanted attention from a certain 6’5″ personal trainer. I told her that he sounded like my type.
So she gave me his number, and I texted him something like:
“Hi. This is Cristina. I’m Carlie’s friend. You sound like my type. Let’s meet up.”
He responded a little too eagerly, and we set up a meeting the following day.
Then he called me. I don’t know why…
He said many unfortunate things, such as that he lives with his family and doesn’t have a car. I’m not being judgy, I’m just saying that those two things make my life harder.
But… He was 6’5″ and I literally had nothing better to do (on account of the Ugandan political unrest not allowing me to venture in to the city)…. So I decided to meet up with him anyway.
About an hour before he was supposed to pick me up, I realized that I was out of lube. Where would I even buy that in the Ugandan countryside? I briefly considered cooking oil before remembering that I didn’t want to risk a yeast infection without consistent access to running water.
I had seen what I thought was lube during my last grocery trip… But it turned out to be liquid deodorant (like the roll-on kind from the 1980s).
So (keeping it classy), I texted him and asked him to get some (lube, not cooking oil) on the way to pick me up. I also made sure to mention that I already had condoms (so as to try to avoid his requests to have unprotected sex later).
He said he would pick it up on his way to get me.
So he showed up to pick me up with someone else, who was driving. He introduced the man as his brother, Alan. I don’t think he was his brother (as he was about half as tall as my hookup). Maybe cousin, maybe stranger. Who knows.
Also, he was not 6’5″. He was maybe 6’2″. And his body definitely wasn’t as stacked as I had hoped for. He was muscular, but not incredibly defined. Maybe the standards for personal trainers in developing countries are different… I hadn’t really looked into it.
I asked him where he lived and I got the typical African answer I have gotten for every question: “not far.”
Thirty minutes of Alan’s reckless driving later, we pulled up to the worst motel I’ve ever seen.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had many hookups in cheap hotel rooms… But this was definitely the worst. It cost 25,000 Ugandan shillings… Which is roughly $7.
It was a 10′ by 10′ room with cement floors, a drop toilet in the corner (behind a curtain), and a fake plant hanging in the corner. There was a very small bed with sheets that didn’t look clean (on account of the hair and stains on them).
I was also motion sick from the car ride on windy dirt roads.
In a very long story in broken English, he told me that he hadn’t picked up the lube…
So I asked him to show me how big his dick was so I could figure out if we could do without.
He pulled his pants down, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that his dick was pretty big. Really big, actually. It was an honest 8 inches (hard) with proportional girth. So I told him to put his pants back on and go get lube.
“What kind of lubricant do you need?” He asked.
“What do you think?” I asked with a level-10 scowl on my face.
“Well I would think it would be a special kind of oil.”
I googled him a picture of a generic water-based lube bottle.
Then he asked me for money…. For the lube, not the sex.
I gave him $6 and sent him out.
Now I’m sitting in the world’s shittiest hotel room… And I’m retracing the events of my life that led up to this moment. I concluded that, while I realize my behavior is often risky, I believe that living an uneventful life is the biggest risk of all.
That said… as I’m writing this, I am hearing farm animal noises from outside my window. The window is covered by the world’s dirtiest curtain… So I would rather not touch it to peak outside.
Fuck it. It’s probably cleaner than the bed.
Yep, the back of the motel is a small farm… I see chickens and a cow.
I can also hear someone calling out in Arabic over a loudspeaker… I guess it’s time for the final prayer of the day (not for me).
And he just came back (hopefully with lube).
PART 2 (Written from home)
Yes! He did manage to find lube… a medical-looking package of KY Jelly. I was instantly reminded of my teenage years (because of the KY usage, not because of the unclean plumbing-less setting for casual sex).
Whatever. It was lube.
He pulled his pants down and I was suddenly able to forget that I might be getting lice from the bedding.
The sex really wasn’t bad, although it definitely wasn’t great. I should say that it was pretty good for a short time (I was surprised I was able to come). He came in about 5 minutes. Unacceptable, but I was hesitant to yell at him, as I had no idea where in Uganda I was, and would have been pretty screwed if he had left me there.
I decided to call it a day since I got mine. I asked him to call Alan.
“Oh yeah, well it might be awhile,” he replied.
“Please call him now,” I asked with very fake pleasantness.
He finally obliged, and told me Alan said he would be at least 20 minutes (this quote was in African time, which is about 45 minutes in Western time).
He started to take pictures of me and tell me how much his mom was going to like me.
He then started talking about how he imagined “our life” after we got married.
No matter how many times this happens to me (and it happens a lot), it is equally horrifying each time.
I told him that I had no interest in a relationship, let alone marriage. I went on to tell him that I would not be meeting his family.
He ignored this and started asking me how many kids I wanted to have with him.
He started to try to show me pictures of him on his phone while trying to hold my hand (which was absolutely as awkward as it sounds).
I suggested we have sex again. And it went exactly the same was as the first time. And then he resumed telling me about “our” future.
His wedding planning was interrupted by Alan’s arrival. I have never been so happy to see a grumpy child-sized man before.
The entire (very long) car ride back involved him holding my hand in his sweaty hands and trying (unsuccessfully) to get me to commit to seeing him again.
As soon as he dropped me off and drove away, I breathed a sigh of relief. I thanked my lucky stars, filed his dick pic away in the appropriate iPhone folder (called “dick pics”), and went to yell at Carlie. JK. I love her.