Oh, Boys…from Spain, Part I

*Taking a deep breath.

Let’s get down to business.
Or should I say “pleasure”?

Please allow me to be disgustingly honest here, and then think what you may.

Yes, the main purpose of studying abroad is to improve your language skills by completely immersing into the culture. Blah, blah, blah. You can find more information from a study abroad office near you.

I’m not about that life.

Sure, I wanted to speak Spanish with the locals like a local and learn their way of life. But, come on, now, I would be lying if I say that I wasn’t looking to learn more about relationship, love, and…even lust.

First of all, relationship? What relationship?

Nobody seems to be in that mood in the summer…or maybe not with a foreigner like me. I’m not really sure. It’s one of those things that I’d rather not find out, to put it quite frankly.

Either way, clubbing is not the first to find love.

Or so I thought. While I was in Spain, I had the pleasure to know an American lady who met her Spanish husband in a nightclub. She’s now expecting.

I, on the other hand, did not find “the one” in the midst of the vibrant and vivacious Spanish nightlife. You see, I had been out a few times and every night started off in the same ritual: wait in a line, get in, stand awkwardly in front of the bar at the mercy of the bartender, drink, dance – until some guy come up behind you, attempt to understand each other over the banging music, and dance some more, etc. etc.

My first night out was something like that, too, but stuff happened. Unforgettable stuff, such as, oh I don’t know, my first kiss.

I promise I didn’t mean to let it happen. Know that.

The saddest part is that I wasn’t even drunk. Ok, I had been dancing (read grinding) and flirting with the guy for a bit. Not the best idea to reassure him after denying to kiss him that he isn’t ugly and then touch his face. But I blame it on the forever-blinking lights, too, because the next thing I know, he was in my face.

Regrettably, it was the best kiss I had so far. His lips were smooth as hell and it felt very natural to be kissing him…up until the point that the guy stuck out his tongue. I immediately pulled away, but I continued to dance (because, I was there to dance, boy)…up until the jerk put his hands down my jeans. Needless to say, I screamed my head off and left the dance floor.

But being the stingy idiot that I was, I didn’t want to leave the club just yet. It was the last venue of the 10-euro bar crawl deal, so I wanted to make the most out of it. Anyhow, I went to the restroom with my friend who was dancing near me with another guy, who bluntly asked her to go to the restroom with him. I also learned that the guy who was dancing with me first attempted to pull a move on her. After he was unsuccessful, he moved on to me, the oh-so-naive one.

Just to reiterate how naive I was before going to Spain: I had never been with a guy… You know, literally and figuratively. So my experience with the opposite sex was zero. Nada. Negativo.

Sad to say that it all could change in one night. So when you are out and about in Madrid, please be careful. Take care.

This post is only written to tell my stories with hopes that other students planning to study abroad may find informative and helpful. It’s the first of my “Oh, Boys…from Spain” series, which I hope to continue because, oh boy(s), do I have a lot to tell.



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