Thank you! I appreciate everyone voting! People voted for the Cuban… and I tried so hard!
Long story short… I may have yelled at him and called him homophobic… And he blocked me.
So I jumped back on tinder to find a suitable replacement penis, which was not easy because the men in Budapest are not very attractive to me.
I was thrilled to find a very buff (and young) boxer (and former professional soccer player) who was willing to meet up for “dinner.”
What he neglected to mention in his tinder messages was the reason for his trip to Budapest: getting dental work done. Apparently, he had lost his front 2 teeth in a boxing match.
He was mid-way through the process (of getting implants, I assume)… So he had temporary crowns or something for the front teeth… Which were super fucked up. They looked like chicklets to me. They were way too big for his mouth (and also too big to resemble human teeth). As such, they fit in his mouth at an angle. Well, not just one angle.. More like one was going one way, and the other another way… At 45 degree angles.
He reminded me of the landlord from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” If you don’t remember, it was a white guy doing a very racist buck-toothed impression of a Chinese person… which was apparently ok in the 1960s (I’m referring to the racism, not the dental problem). #makeamericagreatagain
Thank God I’m not a face person! But even still… Holy shit was it distracting.
While he was from Switzerland, he had come to Budapest because the dental work was more affordable (perhaps because they give you plastic chicklet teeth to wear around).
He was actually quite pleasant (a quality I find very underrated in men). We did legitimately have dinner, only because I was traveling and was sure he wouldn’t get the wrong idea about my intentions.
I chose a Mexican restaurant (very smart in a city with no Mexican population, I know), only because I could not eat Goulash for one more meal. My burrito (I think me eating burritos before sex must be a passive-aggressive thing I do) was surprisingly edible, although I had more margaritas than food. Also my standards for food were quite low after eating Hungarian food for a week (it is my humble opinion that there is a reason Hungarian restaurants are not thing elsewhere). I digress…
We went back to his room, which was in a very cute boutique hotel. Unfortunately, the prematurely bald white guy working reception was seated exactly 4 feet outside the hotel room door… And I’m sure he heard everything…
Keeping it classy, I pulled out my off-brand ziploc bag full of condoms (of various sizes) and lube packets.
I realized my hookup was not as slutty as I had hoped when he asked me about the bag.
“Why do you have that?”
“Why do you not?” I asked, although it was more a (judgmental) statement than a question.
While I didn’t answer him on principle, I will answer it for you: it is because traveling with lube is a bitch. I used to have packets loose in the bottom of my purse, but they have exploded all over the contents of my purse on more than one occasion… Hence, the children’s lunch bag.
“Do you always have that with you?” He pried.
“Most of the time,” I replied, staring at his (ridiculously nice) abs.
He had an acceptable dick. It was probably 7 inches, with moderate girth. I didn’t regret my decision to be there, but I also didn’t think it was worth taking a picture of… Especially since he didn’t seem slutty, I suspected it would have upset his delicate sensibilities.
The sex was mediocre at best, as he was clearly not very experienced.
When he was on top of me, he tried to support himself with his hands on my chest… Like a woman would.
“No! Off!” I said in the same tone I use with dogs when they jump on me or the furniture. If I had had a squirt bottle to spray him with, I would have.
He came too fast (maybe 10 minutes), despite me yelling at him I yelled at him a little, and told him that I expected him to get it right back up… which he couldn’t… probably (at least partly) because I had scared him (and scarred him) and was then glaring at him.
I turned my head away and glared at the wall. It didn’t work.
He eventually got it back up. He gave another mediocre performance during which I barely managed to get off.
That said, for the benefit of Mr. Clean outside the door, I made sure to keep my language colorful. Some excerpts included, “I want to see you stroke your black dick” and “fuck me with your big black cock.”
After that, I told him to stop because I had to go back to my hotel.
He offered to walk me back to my hotel.
“No, thank you,” I replied as nicely as I could manage.
“Aren’t you scared to walk across the city by yourself at 1am?” he asked.
“No. I am very tough.”
I guess I appreciate his concern on some level, but I was torn as to whether I would rather be mugged or have to talk to him for another 30 minutes. Well, not so torn. I chose the mugging scenario (although I did not get mugged). And anyway, I could have taken a taxi if I had actually been worried.
I don’t think I’ll be returning to Budapest unless I bring my own hired penis (when I’m ridiculously wealthy and can afford to pay for sex).