Culture Class(h) 101

Sometimes you have to just sit back and look at the bigger picture. It’s not easy, and it can really do your head in. Being raised in a mixture of small town America and backward hicksville, it really takes a miracle, or my mother remarrying and an eight-hour flight to Europe, to turn my world up-side down. Being only 16 years old, unpopular, and having a police record, surely made me want to leave my hometown A-S-A-Fucking-P. Once I had cried my crocodile tears to all my family members, and jotted down every friend’s phone numbers and e-mail addresses, I threw it all in the trash the second I stepped off the plane and lit up a smoke. I’m not in Kansas anymore. Kansas can go fuck itself.

My mother marries yet another husband, and I have to move yet again. But this time, I can start over. I’m in what my great grandparents would call (in such a cliché manner) “old country”. The air is cooler than I’m use to, but I’m sure it’s going to be better than anything I could have had back where I was born. Just moving out of a town with population of only 13,000 people and into a European metropolis, is like running out into a brothel when all you did was hastily walk out of the classroom so that no one would see the uncontrollable erection starting to make a tent in your jeans. No matter how overwhelming it is due to lack of experience, it was exactly what was needed. I was looking to experience something I’ve never known before.

It took awhile for me to get use to the fact that this is supposed to be my home now. No matter how much it felt like it, this wasn’t a vacation. So, about 3 weeks into living in The Netherlands, I started going back to school. I had to learn the language, I was told. The lucky thing for me was, was that everyone here spoke English. Dutch, one could say, is the Mandarin of European tongues. I still learned it though, out of respect for the natives.
And if one should think that I sound like colonist, I apologize. But I will confess, one of the goals I had when coming here was to “bring American flavor” to this country. Something McDonalds and 2Pac beat me at.

My clash of culture started when I met my first girlfriend in this country. I met her through a few friends about a year after I moved here. Curly haired, Turkish, and tainted with a scent of martini. Despite the fact that she was Muslim, and a bit drunk, she too wanted to start dating me. Her wanting to date me confused me. I always thought Americans dated because the purest doctrine of the US states that a boy and girl must get to know each other before they may fornicate on their parents’ bed. Luckily I was gifted with a quick-witted mind that allowed me to figure out that her culture was quiet the purest one as well. (This was before I discovered Turkish porn from the 70’s, mind you)

Our relationship started out as any normal teenage relationship. Meeting after school, smoking pot at the skate park, talking with friends, occasionally going off to an ally by ourselves to make out a little bit. It always ended with me wanting to have my way with her right there and her having acted like nothing had happened. Keeping face as most of us alpha males would call it. Everything went on as normal as it could. Maybe even a bit boring, until we finally decided to have sex. She was a virgin and this was going to be her first time. For those who say that a virgin doesn’t bleed that much, I will let you know right now; I freaked out making sure I didn’t have a shard of glass or a piece of sharp metal on my dick after I penetrated her. Blood was all over the place. She ran to the bathroom after my 30-second fun parade, crying how much it hurt, dripping blood on the floor. In my drunken state, I decided to use the host’s girlfriends’ red shirt laying on the floor to wipe up the drippings. I figured no one would notice.

3 weeks after this incident, she acted distant. At first I blamed myself for being…
That’s when I realized that I had done nothing wrong. I tried to talk to her about this, however she always changed the subject or would blow me off with an attitude. I wasn’t going to take this lying down. Five months into this relationship, and we had only had sex once. I didn’t understand what the problem was. Was the first experience that bad?

After thinking for 5 hours one Sunday evening with a joint in hand, it finally accord to me what the issue was. She was upset because she had lost her virginity. She was Muslim, mind you. So this, I thought, could be the problem. She was supposed to keep it. I asked to meet her for a cup of coffee at a local tea-house, a bit confused by my request she declined, but I told that it was very important. Half an hour late and stoned she finally showed up. I told her what I thought and I apologized. I told her that I should have taken her faith into consideration before I start getting pissed off by the entire situation.

She looked at me with a disgusted face and left. I followed frantically after her, but she kept telling me to leave her alone. For weeks I tried calling her, e-mailing her. She never let me near her house, but it didn’t matter because she was living at a shelter home for troubled youth by this time. I was desperate to see her. I needed to know what I did wrong! No amount of coke, toke, or liquor could help me understand what was going on. I spoke with several friends about it, and they told me to either just forget about her and move on, or give her the space that she needs.

After about 4 weeks she called me and told me that she needs to speak to me. We met outside of her school when she was done. We walked hand in hand for a good 20 minutes. The noise of the city helped to make the silence between less uncomfortable. Finally, she sat us down at a bench, and asked if I understood that she cares about me. I raised my eyebrow in curiosity with a sinking feeling beginning in my chest. She told me that she just didn’t feel the way she did about me when she met me, and feels that we need to move on. I walked away, and lit a smoke. Told her to fuck herself. Two weeks later, I found out that she had been seeing someone behind my back for a month before she broke up with me.

Although it all came out like this, I don’t regret what happened. This is my first experience with a European raised woman. Perhaps, she had never really dated and wanted to see what it was like. Perhaps she really did love me, but fell out of love with me. Perhaps it was my constantly wandering eyes, or my over use of substance. Whatever the case, it was a great experience. I really learned how European women can be with a man. Although, it was painful for about a week, when I look back I just don’t understand some women now. I enjoyed being used.

Culture Class(h) 101


Joined October 2008

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Artist's Description

A short story about my first experience dating a European woman. Slightly finding the darker side of myself aswell.

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