My oldest friend decides to come. It’s our second day in Florence; we get back to the hotel from a long walk and some mind-blowing gnocchi. We both decide to download Tinder because…why not?

I match with Julia (Juliette), a Parisian who was also on vacation there. Our exchange is brief, we get to the point. Within 5 texts we decide we’re going to meet up that night. She’s vacationing with a friend too. We decide to bring our friends; an impromptu double date, one of them blind.

Her friend is a little heavy. Cool, funny, but chunky. She comes from a wealthy family. My friend is blue collar. The chemistry isn’t there, but they get along well enough.

Julia has long, jet black hair. Down to her lower back. Her eyes are sexy, soft, and penetrating…slightly slanted. I later learn that she’s a French hapa. I don’t remember the other half, sorry, race scientists.

She’s newly tanned from walking around Florence in the spring. She’s wearing a tight black dress and has smooth, supple, perky cleavage. We meet at the bar, her and I start talking, our friends are talking next to us. Julia and I are making intense eye contact and smiling at each other as we’re making bullshit conversation. We can also both tell it isn’t going anywhere for them. We take the last sip of our first drink, I put my hand around her waist and say in her ear “I think we should leave the two of them alone.” She giggles, rubs her fingers against my lower back and says “Let’s go.”

We’re walking down a street that is loud and alive. People are dressed well; they’re smoking cigarettes, drinking wine, talking and eating outside. She grabs my hand. The chemistry is palpable. I know where this is going, we’re in for a fun night. We walk into the next bar and she insists that we get a table instead of sitting at the bar. Great, I don’t care. I just want to keep this going.

We get a table and sit next to each other instead of across and she plants one on me. Didn’t waste a second’s time. We’re now making out in a restaurant. Intensely. She’s an incredible kisser. My first French girl. Very sensual. I can tell that she’s very conscious of what she’s doing with her tongue, her lips and her teeth. Biting my lip in the most subtle way. I want to take her back to my hotel immediately.

We end up ordering drinks only because the waiter interrupts us while we’re kissing. “Yeah uh, two sauvignon blancs. Whatever you want, surprise us.” We don’t even notice he brought us back drinks, we’re all over each other. The patrons are either uncomfortable or turned on, but they’re looking.

The next thing I remember is Julia pinned underneath me on my hotel bed. Her eyes looking up at me like Nala in The Lion King. She looked unbelievable naked. The details of what happened after that are hazy, but I distinctly remember that she reached in between my legs to play with my balls while I was fucking her. To any women reading this post: you should do that.

This isn’t a sex story, this is a romance story. Julia and I didn’t have a one night stand.

We wake up, cuddle for a bit, put our clothes on from the night before and walk to meet her friends for breakfast at a café. As we’re waiting for our coffee she tells me that she’s living in a small town with no internet an hour outside of Florence for a few months. She’s a nomad; one of those girls who likes living in new places. She comes from money, she’s able to do it. A lot of people think those women are “whores” but I don’t necessarily agree and either way, I don’t care, I like girls like that. They’re usually more interesting and mysterious than a high school townie.

She asks me if I want to come see her again that night. I wish I could tell you the name of it. It’s quiet, beautiful and rustic. This is the morning view.

The story between Julia and I is becoming very romantic very quickly. I tell her that I’ll talk to my friend about it as I don’t want to leave him stranded. I invite him, he says “Of course dude, no brainer.” He doesn’t care if he going to fuck her friend or not. Who’s going to say no to staying in a small town in Italy with no internet? He’s rooting for me either way, he’s a good friend.

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I jump on the subway to head home and see this incredible Italian girl walk past my subway car. Tall with long, tan legs. Brunette, hair down to her ass. She was wearing a white and yellow tanktop and bright yellow shorts with her stomach showing. I said “Fuck it”, walked to her subway car and sat next to her.

I made up some some excuse to start talking to her. I said “Sorry I’m not from around here; do you know if this stops at Bedford Ave.?” She said “Yeah, I’m getting off at that stop actually.”

I told her I was crashing at a friend’s house there. We start making small talk about what we did that night. Keep in mind, I’m wearing a suit and am looking and feeling excellent. I said “Feel like grabbing a drink with me?” She said “…now?” It’s a Tuesday at 1 in the morning. I said “Yes.” She’s goes “Hm…yeah, let’s go.” At this point we both pretty much know what’s going on on here.

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Few women understand what men want because women have a, let’s say, selfish relationship with the truth. What a woman feels in each moment is the truth, always was the truth and will always be the truth, until they experience their next emotion. Their model of the world is entirely subjective and each event is part of a narrative that relates to them, whether it does or doesn’t in reality.

I’ve never heard of Nina Power before I was asked to review her book, so “What Do Men Want? Masculinity and Its Discontents” is my first acquaintance with her point of view. Nina very much has a woman’s point of view in the sense that she is naturally a socialist. She wants everyone to get along. She wants this thing to work out well for everyone. It’s cute. It’s endearing. This natural yearning is something that very few women can reconcile given that they’re born equipped with the hormonal tools that improve their success as mothers, which is to excrete whichever hormone that manifests compassion. When a boy scrapes his knee, his mother’s natural impulse is to say “You poor baby. Come inside, I’ll clean that up for you.” while the father may lovingly give his son a light kick and say “You’ll be fine. Get back out there and keep playing.” This is a good polarity in the home, bad when implemented in society. This biological difference between the two sexes explains why COVID-19 was handled the way it was and is proof that we live under a matriarchy.

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I was walking around Palermo and downloaded Tinder. I matched with this incredibly sexy, vividly slutty Sicilian girl. Almost all of her pictures were of her stretching out a loose tank-top to the point where you could almost see her nipple.

We start talking. Her English seemed good. She was telling me she loves going on dates with men from other countries, particularly Americans. It seemed obvious she was looking for a sugar daddy or an excuse to get a green card, but I didn't care. I was there for 3 days and just wanted to fuck an Italian girl. I didn't care about her long-term aspirations.

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