The First, the Last, the Boy

There is a protocol to sex: Everyone needs to make sure that everyone else is having fun. I went out with the 21-year-old American boy after we returned from Munich, and what started out as intrigue soon dwindled into an akward union that left only one of us satisfied.

Monday night we met on Ponte Vecchio, and walked over to Pop Cafe in Piazza Santo Spirito for an aperitivo. The conversation was nice, but I felt that there was a change in our chemistry since returning from Munich. He seemed more reserved, and I was ... I dunno ... I was feeling more direct, or domineering. Perhaps it was because we were back in my home, a place he would soon be leaving and I felt, he really did not understand.

After we finished our wine he walked me back to my place. Once at the foot of my building door, I asked him if he wanted to come up.

"I don't care," he said.

"Is that a 'yes' or a 'no,'" I asked.

"Maybe" annoys me. What does "I don't care" mean? Is the person interested or not?

Throughout the evening he spoke of an animated Disney film, about two robots that fall in love, shocked that I had not seen it, he suggested we watch it. So we snuggled up on my tiny bed to watch a free download of "WALL-E." It was cute, but I can't remember the last time I watched a movie with a guy as a prelude to sex. Wait, wait now I remember. Yes, the last time that happened I was in college.

He made his move. He gently tickled my back with soft kisses. Being with him was sweet, no sparks, just sweet. And I thought he was a nice boy. Despite the thoughts in back of my head that said, "be careful he's just a boy. Don't get caught up," in all honesty, he just seemed genuine and good looking, and respectful of a woman. A precious boy. And I told him that.

"You're so sweet," I said in between a kiss.

"That's weird. No one's ever said that to me before," he responded.

That's when I knew this was not going to rank on the top 10 best sexual experiences of my life. What else do you do in these moments? You say nice things. In love or not. You compliment your lover. Those sweet emotions pull at you when your lying in bed with someone.

I love pillow talk. That's the honey of romantic trysts; spending time, clothes off, talking about nothing in particular. Maybe the American did not know who he was yet, because if he was secure with himself, as so he should be, he would have taken the compliment with a smile.

He was taking his time, and I was asking him to hurry up and get to it. Maybe I was being too Samantha, but after him not taking to my compliment, it became apparent that I would just have to use him. But unlike my hopes of repeating certain acts throughout the night, he said he would only be showing for one single performance. And if I was not satisfied at the end of it, so be it.

And I was not satisfied at the end, middle or beginning. Maybe he did not know how it worked. It's called reciprocity. On top of that, he kept his socks on. Doesn't he know the rules: No socks, give and receive, repeats are a must, and its rude not to spend the night.

"Look at you, you look so mad," he said jokingly, laying there, acting like he just ran the New York City Marathon.

"This is an exchange," I said.

Of course I was pissed. Are you kidding, that's it? I felt bad for being demanding, but I chose him for certain reasons, just as he chose me.

He left in a rush. I think he was embarrassed, although really there is nothing to be embarrassed about. Things happen, chemistry is not right. I would have liked to try again, it took Carrie and Burger two times before they got it right, but the boy never surfaced again.

I think about what I did wrong. Maybe I was too mean; maybe I should have been nicer; maybe I should have just smiled and kept my mouth closed; maybe...

Now I figured it out. Maybe he was just too young.