Nice to Meet You - Let Me Tell You About My Foreskin
I do not usually write particularly feminist things. On the contrary: My own writing does not even pass the Bechdel Test (as was painfully pointed out to me by my best friend ).
But this time I do feel the need to report from a feminist perspective, and I do think it is important to share these stories and to stress that certain things are not ok, even though they might seem incredibly funny, bizarre and completely absurd in retrospect.
I like to travel, and I like to travel alone – your eyes seem to see more, your ears to hear more, your nose to smell more and your heart to feel more when you wander the streets of an unknown place alone. And you seem to radiate an aura that invites people to approach you and talk to you, which is one of the things I greatly enjoy.
I love crazy people. Crazy people attract me, and I attract crazy people, so very often I find myself having completely absurd conversations with total strangers, which do, at least to some degree, always add a certain value to my everyday experiences.
So when I strolled along the old port on the very first day of my trip this summer, I was invited aboard by the only crazy person around.
“Where are you from?” He yelled from his boat.
“Germany!” I yelled back.
“Oh, Germany! How nice! Come here, come here! Have some wine and enjoy the shade!”
“Sure, why not!” Sure, why not! He looked like a funny old man who had lost his mind a bit in the heat. Perfect company for me. Plus, I had been walking in the sun for quite some time and did not mind at all the idea of sitting down in the shade and having a cold drink.
He was nice, chatty, quirky and very welcoming. We were sitting on his yacht which was decorated like a second hand flea market – an old couch, antique chairs, a half broken guitar and countless brass bling-bling artifacts dangling everywhere. He grilled me a fish, served me wine and then, quirky as he was, invited another couple that was just passing by to join us for drinks. People knew him around there and just called him “Doctor” – because he was a doctor.
“This is so great, I really need this. People like you, positive people. See, in my job it is not always so happy. So I really need this.”
I just laughed, he was such a character, and had he not told me I never would have guessed he was a doctor – or had a job at all.
“Good thing you don’t see me at work. See, women at work fall in love with me immediately, just because I am a doctor. You would have to tell your parents you are never coming back, because you lost your heart to that man!”
Again, I just laughed and did not take him seriously at all, and just wondered how a person could possibly have such a giant ego. But he continued, and it became obvious he was not joking but meant what he said. And then I thought “Oh no, is he flirting with me? He cannot possibly be flirting with me!” But he was flirting with me. Until then I had thought he was a gay, crazy old man living on a boat.
I will not lie, the doctor was in good shape, and given he must have been at least 20 years older than me he was attractive. But: he was nevertheless 20 years older than me. 20 years. Full stop. Now if I were the doctor, that would have caused me some kind of self-doubt, or insecurity, or at least a bit of humbleness or shyness. But I am not the doctor. The doctor was a man with a giant ego. So he suddenly kissed me, a much younger woman, at a public beach, even though I had not given him any hint I might like or even want that and then told me that he really likes “to be rough with women.”
“Oh,” I thought to myself, and just laughed to and about myself and the bizarre situation. Typical me. That happens when you talk to crazy people. Lesson learned. I found the entire circumstance rather amusing, but decided nevertheless to head back to my hostel despite the very generous offer of living on his boat during the time I was there. How very altruistic of him. Despite all, to me this was the perfect introduction to an interesting time with countless absurd encounters.
And the absurd encounters were sure to come.
Every time I went outside someone would come up and talk to me. Every time. And by “someone” I mean men. Sometimes I was wearing a bikini, sometimes I was fully dressed, sometimes it was daylight, sometimes it was evening. But: every.single.time.
“I have a theory,” said a guy, sitting down next to me. “I believe,” he says, making a dramatic pause, “that people with interesting tattoos are also really interesting people.”
Wow, mate, just…wow.
“You have really nice tattoos…”
When I tell him where I’m from, he said:
“Oh cool, I know one word in German!”
“Nice, what is it?”
“Vorhaut!” Which means foreskin.
I laughed. I did, because it was funny, and because it was unexpected and at the same time somehow a cliché that he would know especially that word.
And then he continued to talk about his foreskin, or rather the lack of it, and how this effected his sexual pleasure, and how he would enjoy sex so much more if he still had his foreskin (though I did wonder how he could possibly know if he was circumcised at an early age, but never mind the contradictions).
“I love sex, a lot of sex, but I think it could be better!”
He said all this in a jokingly manner, so of course I laughed as well, because it was absurd and the guy was really unattractive and I wondered if he’d even ever had sex at all. And then I wondered if he just walked around the beach all day and talked to women about his dick. What a weird way to spend your afternoon, I thought, and then was drawn back into his stories about his penis which at some point turned into details about his sexual preferences, and I still laughed because the entire situation was ridiculous and again I wondered how I ended up in this.
“Oh look, you are laughing. You are very happy. You are so happy because you are here with me!”
I stopped laughing. “No, sorry, I was quite happy even before you came.”
“Oh, don’t be so serious now. Now you are very German, you have no sense of humour!”
This went on for a while with him giving me more details about his guilty pleasures and trying to get me to tell him my favourite position in bed.
The most terrible thing about all this? I gave him my phone number! I gave him my number so he would fuck off and leave me alone! Easy way out.
So just to sum this up: A guy sits down next to me, talks about my tattoos, takes this as an excuse to touch me (and my tattoos), then talks about his foreskin, his sexual preferences and then makes racist remarks because I stopped laughing at some point. And for all his efforts I gave him my number. I gave him my number! I want you to really take this in, and then try to imagine the situation in reverse: A woman walking up to guy, touching him out of the blue and complimenting him on his body art, then talking about her clitoris and how that dildo of hers really nicely stimulates her clit and how most guys just don’t really know how to do it and that she’d enjoy sex just so much more if guys just knew a little better how to use their tongues, oh yes, she loves sex a lot…
Oh, I apologize. Am I making you uncomfortable? Do you find this vulgar? Well, thank you very much, this is what I got to listen to – a lot – from complete strangers. Why? Because I was sitting there. And I was alone. And I am female.
Yes, I am a female. Yes, I was sitting at the beach alone. Yes, I was wearing a bikini (just like everyone else around me I should mention, locals and visitors alike). And yes, I have tattoos. But wait, sorry, did I forget to take down the giant sign that says “Free fucks – Can touch – No effort needed”? Oh, no, I did not forget to take that down. It’s not there. Just look. Seriously now, just look around me, there is no sign now, is there? If I had put one up, it would have said: “At least buy me dinner first and pretend you’re making an effort, 40+ need not apply.” But there is no sign, mate. There.Is.No.Sign.
“Hi, I’m so sorry, I know this sounds really stupid, but I need to say this: You are just so beautiful! You’re such a natural beauty and you have such a beautiful body, really.”
“Thanks.”
“No really, you have such a beautiful body. Will you just come to the water with me, just three minutes. I just really want to appreciate your beautiful body.”
???
???
?
Eh?
What does that even mean? I really don’t understand, what does that mean? Does he want to look at my body? Because when you’re in the water you cannot really see anything, right? Does he want to fuck me in the water? But then three minutes is not really a great offer and rather speaks for a poor performance. He clearly hasn’t understood female sexuality…
“Where are from from?” asked me a proud bellied man while I was listening to music, lying on my towel.
“You are very beautiful. A very beautiful woman. I can see you are very intelligent. Yes, yes, you are a very intelligent woman.”
???
?
??
How, I wonder, did he see that? I was wearing sunglasses, I could have been completely cross-eyed, and I did not say more than 5 words, but wow, must I have seemed intelligent! Well, now that you’re saying it, my tits are pretty smart. And I mean like proper smart, like. You know like they’ve like seen stuff, and they’re like so convincing, I’d say that makes them like super smart. They’re like the most intelligentest thing about me. Or about I? Is it I or me?
Maybe I should ask my breasts, I feel they might know.
“Hi, where are you from?”
“Germany.”
“Why are you just sitting here? Come to the water with me.”
“No thanks, I enjoy sitting here. Plus, there are too many jelly fish at the moment, I don’t want to go in.”
“Oh you don’t need to be scared of the medusas, I am here, I will protect you.”
Mate. The thing about medusas is that you do not see them coming. They’re basically invisible, and then they just burn, and there is no chance you can properly swim away. So unless you’re a shark and I am a mermaid, which we probably are in your dreams, there is no way you could protect me from jelly fish. And if I were a mermaid and you were a shark, I wouldn’t need your protection, because I could just very gracefully swim away and would probably be friends with the pretty jelly fish and sing gay medusa songs. And you would not be invited to that party.
“Hi, I’m so sorry, but my mother and I were just sitting over there and looked at you and thought you were so beautiful! And my mother said to me ‘Enrico, you have to go over to that woman and compliment her’, so I just wanted to say how beautiful you are, you have such a classy face.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I sit?”
“Sure!”
So his mother happened to have gone back to the hotel, which is why he had plenty of time to talk to me.
“Oh, Baby, you’re making me so happy!”
He kept calling me “Baby.”
“See, I learned so much from my mother. My mother always said to me ‘Enrico, go for the best. If you cannot have the best, then don’t do it!’ My mother taught me so much, so I really just had to come and talk to you. And I can tell you are such a good person, you have such a great heart.”
Again: ???
In fairness, his mother sounded incredibly cool. Apparently, he helped her divorce his father and start a new life. Now she’s bisexual and – at the age of 72 – has a much younger boyfriend and a girlfriend. Good on her, that’s inspiring! Unfortunately, Enrico’s mum sounded a lot cooler than Enrico himself. But Enrico had a few more cards up his sleeve. In case telling me that he works out a lot has not convinced me yet, he told me about his beautiful penthouse just outside the city, which I could come visit anytime. He had a jacuzzi, cold champagne and a nice view onto the sea. To make sure I believed him he showed me a little video and gave me a virtual tour through his seaside apartment. I could have gone with him right there and then, but unfortunately I was waiting for a friend. I could see the disappointment in his face when I mentioned that.
“Is your friend just as crazy as you are?”
“Oh, man, she is a lot crazier then me, she is nuts!”
“You can tell her about this then, she can come too.”
“Sure, I’ll let her know.”
“So, will you tell her about this?”
“Oh yea, I’m definitely gonna tell her about this!”
Enrico also owns property in Barcelona and Amsterdam, where I could always come and stay with him and relax. Wow. Why did I ever bother finding a job and earning money if I can have all this for free? Amazing. I think I need to reconsider my life choices. But: I gave him my number.
I have never given so many people my phone number just to be left alone. I never even gave it a thought. Once it was even I (yes, “I”, I know when to use it, and I didn’t even have to ask my tits!) who suggested it. You want my number? Yes please, here, take it, we can totally be in touch later then!
“Hey! Hey…hi!” whispered a guy only dressed in a towel, brushing his teeth when I passed by the shared bathroom in the hostel. He gestured me to come back.
“Hey,” he said again. “Do you maybe wanna do something crazy?”
“Like what?”
“Like take a shower?”
I had never seen or talked to him before. My initial thought was “but I just took a shower!” and then giggled to myself and thought, ok, that’s not what he meant, and you’re not twelve. So, at the end of my trip, I finally was able to react cool. I looked at him, scanned him from head to toe, and then said:
“No, sorry. If you had asked me about a week ago, maybe I’d have said yes. But now, no.”
“Why not?”
“No particular reason.” I scanned him again. “You look nice, but I don’t think I want to right now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Good byyyeeeee,” I purred, walked off and let him watch me close my door in front of him.
I love speaking with strangers – even the creepy ones. But, dear men, please consider the following if you want things to work out when you are approaching someone you do not know:
Do not talk about your dick.
Do not walk up to women and touch them just because they are wearing a bikini.
Do not say that you like to be rough with women when you are kissing one – might seem intimidating, if not threatening.
Bear in mind that everything you say has a different tone when you are only wearing a towel.
Your penthouse cannot make up for your creepiness.
Good luck, and good bye.
