mASF post by "GoneSavage"
posted on: mASF forum: Field Reports Discussion, August 8, 2005Saturday July 30th… This post details my first SDL in Montreal. The experience
was both very challenging and very rewarding. We’ll call this 22 year old
HBfrancofolies. The prevalent theme here is persistence.
I’ve encountered a couple people that assert that Québécoise (French-Canadian)
girls are “easy.” In my experience so far, I disagree. I’ve had plenty of
girls not open up whatsoever and I’ve lost plenty due to ASD or bad logistics.
However, I offer the following observations on Montreal:
--PDA (including girl-girl PDA) seems a little more socially permissible.
--I’ve noticed a disproportionate amount of hot chicks with ugly guys.
--Prostitution and ‘contact’ strip bars and sex shops are commonplace.
--The city is huge; there’s a lot of intermingled cultures and festivals every
summer night.
It really appears to be a laid-back chill kinda place that seems remarkably
socially tolerant. One of the first things I tell new people I meet is that
everyone I have met so far has been really kind, open, receptive, and
responsive. I believe it sets the stage for them to be the same. A few more
observations:
--Québécoise girls respond to me in spite of the fact that I am American,
certainly not because of it.
--Francophone girls respond to me in spite of the fact that I speak no French,
not because of it. (In fact, it downright annoys some to have to speak
English.)
--Speaking English in addition to French is a matter of attaining a proper
education. It has been explained to me by several people that the francophone
have resentment for going to a poor school or for having not done well in
school to be truly bilingual.
--Quebec has its own sense of regional pride. The Québécoise express disdain
for the United States, as well as other Canadian province, especially Ontario.
And also the “from-France” French.
--Quebec has its own laws (including those enforced by “language police”),
customs, music, cuisine etc, etc.
--Virtually no one can tell you how many states are in the US or how many
provinces are in Canada. No one cares.
--Monday, one day shy of three weeks in Montreal, I officially lost my
tourist-aura; three people asked me for directions. As such, my stories as a
visitor are much less potent.
So what about the fucking lay report?!? Onward…
I’m at this street festival called FrancoFolies. It’s a huge free event that
features seven stages of francophone musicians. Very diverse crowd. Very
crowded. Very loud.
I’m watching this French hip-hop group end their set. I pass behind the stage
(it’s in the street) to avoid the crowd at the front and make my way to a
different area. I notice that there are actually young teenage girls with
little autograph books waiting. A few meters away there is a really cute
blonde standing alone at the side of the stage. Average height, average
attire, fit body, but her face is really super beautiful. I notice she has a
laminate around her neck.
“Hey are you waiting to get an autograph? Are you a groupie?” She
misunderstands. She’s telling me to go behind the stage if I want an
autograph. I drop the thread. “Hey what’s this for?” I grab her laminate.
“What’s your role in all this?” She tells me to speak French. I tell her that
it’s International English Day and everyone worldwide is speaking English today
and she can go back to French tomorrow.
You know how Mystery says that the most important state to be in is talkative?
And Juggler says that you have to be willing to carry 90% of the conversation
in the beginning? Well, it’s not always the case. But with the francophone, I
think it’s mostly necessary—and I just keep talking. I’m telling her how much
I like the city and how nice everyone is and how it’s so nice to have stumbled
upon this festival and how I need a tour guide and a French teacher.
Finally she asks where I am from. Finally she tells me that she works for the
record label that handles the rap group that we just saw. So you do know some
English, you bad girl. She tells me that she has to go meet someone at another
stage. I’m like, “Cool. What band? Are they any good? I’ll go with you. What a
beautiful night…” Blah blah blah…
We walk to the other stage. She asks my name and we shake hands. I tell her
to spin and she’s reluctant. I tell her to lighten up and smile.
HB: “Look, I’ll hang out with you. But this isn’t going to go where you want
it to go. I have a boyfriend.”
GS: “Cool. Don’t make assumptions. I’m just here to smile and laugh and
enjoy the moment. That’s it. Be nice and I’ll treat you to the captivating
company of a perfect stranger. Hey, you going to the fireworks competition? I
was about to go to the Old Port…”
HB: “I know a better spot. We’ll have to take the Metro though.”
GS: “Okay, but if we miss the fireworks, I’ll be so disappointed and I’ll go
find a new best friend. Hey, what’s ‘fireworks’ in French?”
Honestly, at this point, I think it’s a loss. She’s really standoffish with
her arms crossed and such. I figured we would separate once we got to the
vicinity of the fireworks, where I wanted to mingle anyway. But I still get
this oh-so-slight vibe of interest even though her demeanor changes not at all.
Damn she’s cute. And this poker face is so alluring.
And she asks me if I have ever had a Queque de Castor (Beaver’s Tail). It’s a
flat deep-fiend pastry topped with cinnamon and lemon juice (or other
confections). I have not had one, but they have been recommended to me. She
tells me that she is addicted to them. So we stop walking and I thought she
was going to order one and give me a bite. But she orders two. Cool. I thank
her for being such a sweetie and I give her a big hug.
We eat our snack and head to the Metro. On the train, I just keep conversation
light and playful and I continue smiling at her. I ask her words in French,
which gives her a chance to correct me and make fun of me. We get to Papineau
and “it looks like everyone knows about your secret spot.” The sortie for the
station is so densely packed with everyone coming to watch the last night of
the Fireworks Competition.
I extend my hand to her. She shakes her head and says, “No.” I grab her hand
and lean in and say, “So we don’t get separated.” I’m holding her hand and I
initiate a little light finger rubbing. It is not returned. But she continues
to hold my hand after we are out of the crowd. The whole area is chockablock.
I casually let her hand fall.
We sit and chat a little. She’s frustrated that I can’t speak any French. The
fireworks begin and the crowd falls silent. It’s a half hour show. At one
point I take her hand and put it on my knee. She pulls it away, “Why is it so
important to you?” I say, “Because it’s fun and it makes you feel good. This
isn’t going anywhere, so we might as well be close for the few minutes that we
are together. Just pretend.” I take her hand again and give her a big grin.
I hold her hand between both of mine. I look to the sky, not at her. The show
is amazing. I start, ever so lightly, rubbing my finger in circles across her
hand. Slowly building in pressure and variance. When I stop--what do you
know--she’s ever-so-lightly rubbing my hand.
After the show, I spin her and hug her and thank her for showing me such a
wonderful spot. We walk to a Depanneur to get some water. “What next?” I ask
if she wants to get a beer or a coffee. She says she just wants to sit and
talk. It’s Saturday night and people are everywhere and she wants to get out
of the crowd. I ask if she knows of a little park. We walk to one she knows
of and it is blocked off for the night. I lead her to this concrete railing
big enough for us to sit upon.
Oh yeah, right before this, there was another point where I almost walked away:
HB: “Don’t touch me. I told you I have a boyfriend.”
GS: “Sure, okay. I only have a couple days to enjoy the excitement and energy
of this city. You seem pretty cool and I’d like for you to just relax and show
a little enthusiasm in these moments that we have together. There is nothing
that I expect from you except that we just show each other mutual respect and,
you know, smile and laugh. Like this!”
HB: “I don’t really care. I could be all like this flirty tour guide of yours
and say ‘Look at this! Look at this!’ but I don’t feel like it. I don’t feel
comfortable with you.”
GS: “No problem. I’m sure you are tired, we can talk, or maybe I should go off
and find someone with a littler more enthusiasm and energy. I rather enjoy
your company and your perspective on things, but I’m only here a couple more
days…maybe we can do something tomorrow. Do you have email?”
HB: “This isn’t fun anymore. I have to go.”
GS: “Sure, let’s just sit down and talk for a minute…”
So we sit on the concrete railing and talk. I tell her that she seems a lot
different than me and that we butt heads too much. Bu if we had like a whole
day to just focus on getting to know each other we’d be the kind of people who
align their energies and just “get” each other and we’d be best friends. “Hey
let me show you this cool visualization exercise. Once I tell you the secret
it will be something you’ll want to share with all your friends. Most of all
it will let me know of you are the kind of person I’d really enjoy spending
time with…” So I introduce her to The Cube. Spot on.
I love when you’re with a woman and you can see the transformation taking
place. Like the walls, the barriers are just melting away. She’s laughing
more, she more open and expressive, she’s more receptive to touch. I love
that.
So we continue talking and I ask some fun questions. She’s comfortable holding
my hand. I feel its time to kiss her. I go in and it is eagerly accepted.
Devoured.
Suddenly things are comfortable and fun. I spin her and tickle her and we kiss
some more. We talk about getting a drink or bungee jumping off the Olympic
Stadium. We walk hand in hand. It’s midnight and the Metro will close soon.
I find out that she can drive and that she has a car (kinda rare here). So I
say, for us to hang out, we either have to get my car and drive downtown or go
get your car and drive downtown. Or we’ll be stuck until the subway opens in
the morning. We look at the Metro map and decide to get my car. We sit
outside the Metro and hold each other and chat.
She’s close but she’s still telling me how she has a boyfriend and she lives
with him and she can’t do anything with me and she knows she is passing up an
opportunity. I just smile and nod. She goes on to tell me that she wishes it
didn’t have to be that way…she wishes that we didn’t have to be so exclusive
and monogamous. I say “It doesn’t have to be that way; you just ended up with
someone who’s not me. I would have so much to teach someone as open and
adventurous as you. It really is too bad I can’t let this happen.” (Notice
that I act as if it is not going to happen for my reasons.)
So I talk about how I screen women for good energy and intelligence and high
self esteem with The Cube and questions that I ask. I talk about how for the
right woman, I provide fairytale romance. I put her on a pedestal and treat
her like a queen. I tell her that even if out time together is short, she will
be adored and fulfilled beyond her dreams. She tells me that she knows she is
missing something, but she just can’t. Okay. She tells me that her
relationship with her boyfriend was open and rewarding long ago, but now they
are in a lease together and he’s the jealous type, etc. She also tells me that
she has been with women and I ask her what she finds sexy about women.
I tell her that there is someone she has to meet. I tell her about this
gorgeous and passionate woman that will just love her. And even though I will
be gone and never get to see this, I will put them in touch because I know they
will enjoy each other. I’m trying to get her to accept the idea of
cheating—just not with me. (Another woman—that doesn’t count, right?) I borrow
her phone and call HBcafe.
GS: “Hey sweetheart, I have someone I’d like you to meet…”
HB: “Is it a girl?”
GS: “Mmmhmmm…and she’s absolutely adorable. I could just eat her up she’s so
gorgeous. You will like her. She’s so breathtaking and passionate and she’s
am amazing kisser.”
Anyway, I’m stroking HBfrancofolies face and kissing her while I talk to
HBcafe. She tells me that she is already drinking, is going to get hammered,
and can’t meet us. But she tells me to have fun and come see her one last time
on Sunday. I agree. Meanwhile, HBfrancofolies reminds me that we have to rush
and catch the last Metro. Okay.
So there was a minute of deliberation and she talked herself out of going to my
station to get my vehicle. Okay, I’ll come with you. There’s still
hesitation. “We’ll go get your car and drive back downtown and have a drink.
All in casual fun. Don’t you have a CD that you want to give me?”
So we get to her place. Nice loft apartment, kinda messy. She gives me about
ten promo CDs. We kiss a few times and share a Corona. She plays some music
and shows me the hammock on her terrace. When I try to take things beyond
kissing, she says, “No. I told you it wasn’t going to happen. I have to drive
you home now.”
“Okay cool, what do you want to listen to on the ride? Pick out a good CD.” I
know it seems like I got rejected. But somehow I’m thinking…she just doesn’t
want it here; it’s his place too… when we get to my wheel estate, I have
home-court advantage. It’s ON.
So we drive across the city. We’re just talking about music and travel and
such. I have her park next to the van. I hop out and pull my computer out of
the van and I tell her I am going to show her some pictures. I show her a few
shots outside the van, and then, noticing that it is lightly raining, I invite
her to come into the van.
Of course she thinks it is cozy. She divulges that for like a year she crashed
at the apartments of different friends while all her belongings were kept in
her car. A little different than my story, but relative. I like her openness
now. So I show her a few pictures and close the computer with some Bonobo
running.
I pull her close and we proceed to make out. She reminds me that she can’t do
anything even though she really wants to. She says I am “cute” and that she
knows it would be really amazing. Okay, cool. Now is the time that I break
into sensual talk. Seemed wise to save it until I could get her close and in
isolation. We’re lying down with our limbs intertwined. I’m whispering in her
ear. Themes of sensuality and desire and arousal. I describe how aroused I
know that I have her and how I can tell she is wet without touching her.
We’re kissing and caressing each other and I’m not blocked reaching into her
jeans. Of course she is soaked and I tell her so. She reminds me of the
boyfriend one more time. I say, “At this point there are only two options,
either you leave him for more fulfilling options or you allow yourself this
intense, passionate, juicy secret that you’ll remember and cherish for the rest
of your life.” I slide my finger deep inside her and whispher, “I want to
taste you…”
“Do you have a condom?” This was actually unexpected. I said, “Of course…I
wouldn’t have you any other way…but, right now, I just want to taste you.” So
we rip each other’s clothes off and I tease her while she is literally begging
for cock. “I want you in me…I want you in me…now…”
She says, “Don’t you leave a trace of this on me.” And it was wild. Very
intense, thrashing about kind of sex. She was quite verbal and obscene, which
I like. “This is so fucking amazing…I love the way you fuck me…” alternating
with a few French expressions.
When we were done, she dressed, then drove away with this devilish grin.
Love Life. GoneSavage
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