The Colombian Diaries, Part 7: Failure on the Coast

I had just finished the gym and strolled over to the mall to get some food with my friends. After eating, we walked over to the elevator and waited. Legs sore from squats -we couldn’t be bothered by stairs. I turned my head to see a stunning Colombian girl press the button for the elevator next to us. She was about a thick as you could get while still being rail thin. I’d describe her as, “elegantly thick” and I stared at her for a second as she typed on her phone.

elegantly thickThen my mouth opened. It wasn’t pretty, but it was something. “Que es eso?” I muttered in an attempt to speak Spanish without really thinking about it. She had a large bag in her hand filled with some bedding. She looked up at me and gave me the head to toe look. Then she tried to explain in Spanish for simpletons. I gathered she had just gotten a new bed and needing new bedding, but since she was a rich Colombian girl she had to get a bunch of random shit to go with it, too.

Then her elevator door opened. I tried to finagle my way into hers, but a family with four kids rushed in, and she was already inside. No dice, nigga. No dice. I figured I’d never see her again and chalked it to the game. You can’t win them all, but she was fucking sexy. I was happy my mouth just opened when I saw her. It’s a numbers game and as long as you’re continually shooting – you’ll eventually score.

Is It Fate?

A few nights later and my friends and I roll out to a few clubs. Bottle are bought. Intoxication is a given. Moves are made, and girls are kissed. A rarity in Colombia, as one night stands are not that common. The first club was fun, but small. We worked the place for an hour or so after finishing our bottle. Numbers and makeouts were had, but nothing was cooking. So we decided to check out another spot nearby.

We roll into the new club, and it’s popping. Multiple floors. Girls all over the place. Colombians were actually mingling. Crazy, right? I walk straight into the mix of it all and start to dance a little bit. Reggaeton blares and my friend grabs some drinks for us. We scan the room and see if we can see some targets. It’s Colombia, and you have to be careful. Spam approaching can cause you a lot of problems.

I make a quick glance over my shoulder for some reason, and I see a girl staring at me. The club is dark and crowded, but she just can’t stop looking straight at me. And while I tend to think I’m pretty damn good looking – girls don’t just aggressively stare at me often. I hold eye contact and begin to realize she looks familiar. In my drunken state, I can’t seem to figure it out. I turn to my friend and tell him. He makes a quick glance back and laughs, “Dude, that’s the chick from the elevator.”

It all made sense now. I walked over to her and said asked her about the elevator. She laughed. It was her. We started talking and eventually, dancing. She is a Colombian girl, after all. The reggaeton kept blaring, and her ass kept moving in a sensual manner. For the first time in ages, I had a dance floor boner. I tried to advance the night and even attempted to kiss her in front of her friends, but she was having none of that. She was the designated driver and had to take all her friends home. And my gringo charm was no match for her sober and with her friends. I finally relented and got her number before heading out of the club with my boys.

Date Night

We messaged a bit and set up a date for a Thursday night at a nice venue, but she messaged me first on Thursday morning to say she couldn’t make it. A mild form of flaking that was a rarity in Colombia. I wasn’t even upset, and she suggested a Friday night date instead. I took this as a good sign. She was giving me prime-time hours to do work. We agreed to meet Friday night at a different place.

colombian-beer-tagangaShe showed up only ten minutes late and looked stunning. High-waisted jeans and a crop top that accentuated every one of her “elegant curves” I was enamored by. She claimed she didn’t drink, but I bought a round of beers, and she sipped slowly. The conversation was about 70% Spanish and 30% English. She could speak some in English from her year in Miami, but she hated it.

We made it work and laughs were shared. She wasn’t giving me the doe eyes, but she was into me. I usually could read Colombian women like a book when out on a date, but she was smooth. I couldn’t read her like some of the other girls. After a few hours, I suggested one glass of wine at my place. She was very hesitant, but I finally convinced her. I knew I would have to go slow back at home. She was a cat that could easily be spooked.

We got back to the crib and spread out on the couch with wine. I threw on some reggaeton and let me hands roam over her things and arms as we talked. She was visibly nervous being inside my apartment and I noted the pace was going to be painstakingly slow. Then she got a phone call. Spanish was being spoken at a rate I couldn’t comprehend. Tonality was raised, and she looked a bit upset.

Finally, she hung up and said that she would have to go soon. Her sister needed to be picked up from a friend’s house, and she had taken the family car to come see me. I assumed bullshit, but she looked a bit upset. So I relented from pushing for her to stay. We finished the one glass of wine and headed out to her car. I hadn’t been able to get the kiss yet. I was not planning to make a move for thirty or so minutes when she got the phone call. And any vibe we did have was crushed by the call.

We were in the elevator, and I shoved her back against the wall slowly. I went in for the kiss, but she turned her head. I looked her in the eyes and laughed. “Por que?” I questioned. She held my gaze, but didn’t have a decent answer. I could see the wheels in her brain turning. I went in again, and she accepted. We went at it for a few seconds before the elevator door opened. I walked her to the car, and we made out once more before she left.

Put in Work

I figured the kiss was out of the way, and I’d be home clear on the next date. She liked me, although she didn’t drool over me like some of my other Colombianas did. That was just fine, though. The classic cooking date with wine should suffice in panty dropping goodness. We messaged a lot and things began to look even better. We had a cooking date set for a Thursday evening.

flakey girlThen she messaged me to flake, again. I contemplated being angry, but she said a Friday night date would be better. This again! I called her out on being Colombian a bit and then dropped it. We were set to meet Friday. She was taking a taxi so she could have more than one glass of wine. I was making dinner. She promised not to flake, and I felt good about the possibility of sex.

I messaged her four hours before our date on Friday. One hour went by, and there was no reply. Two hours, three hours. I knew I had a flake on my hand. Around 45 minutes before we were set to meet, she finally got around to messaging me. And I was right – I had another flake on my hand. She claimed her brother surprised her mom and can back to the city for the weekend. Blah. Blah. Blah.

It was over. She was damn hot, but she was just stringing me along. She liked the attention, but wasn’t interested in anything sexual with me. She invited me out to the club with her friends the following night, but that’s not a wise choice in Colombia. You’ll be buying drinks, and she won’t go home to bang you with her friends watching. I stopped pursuing her as my time in the city was coming close to an end. I would have put her on the “late night club creeping” list for nights when I wasn’t getting love at the club and messaged her a few times a month, but I was leaving. I never saw her again.

What I Could Have Done Differently

I’m not sure. I could have agreed to meet her at the club instead of my place, but that’s just a pain. She was probably a third or fourth date bang, not a second date bang – and I was pushing my second date frame onto her. Ideally, she probably wanted me to spend more money courting her, and I wanted to invite her over for a $5 USD bottle of wine and some dick. Sometimes it’s not cut and dry.

I suspect she had a high-value lover (read: rich guy) already, but he wasn’t into commitment. So she was enjoying my attention while getting railed by him. While I could overanalyze this all day – the only thing you can do is chalk it to the game. Move on and read girls better. She wasn’t DTF, but she was so hot that I ignored this fact to see if I could sneak a bang in. My game isn’t bad, but I’m no miracle worker.


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