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The Cuban 2004-09-02

Remember the Cuban girl? Yeah, I'm sure you do.

Well ... she asked me out. And being both male (with normal male urges) and also quite fascinated by anyone who is willing to put up flesh-y (or, in SF terms, bootay) photos on a site such as Friendster, there was no way in hell I was going to say no.

(Not to mention that we had been conversing heavily over email and so far she had been nothing but charming, sweet, and eloquent.)

So we went out tonight - nothing special, nothing too adventurous, just your standard fare drinks-meetup at a bar of her choosing.

I got there a little bit early - which, as the avid readers would know, seem to happen to me a lot. It's not something I do on purpose, though; even after 4 years of living in San Francisco, I still suck at finding my way around and know that no matter where I need to go, I will probably get lost on my way there.

She, however, got there right on time - looking gorgeous and latin and tanned and very sexy in jeans and a skimpy top. She also recognized me straight away, which is never a bad thing - and when you couple that with the fact that she seemed genuinely happy to see me, I had a feeling that the evening was going to be rather pleasant.

And it was.

To make a long story short, there was heavy drinking involved - multiple bar-hopping - an akward run-in with an x-girlfriend of mine (not her, of course) and an x-boyfriend of hers - kissing during a feverish cab-ride to my apartment - and an equally urgent synchronized mass removal of various parts of clothing.

I like this girl ... she may be a bit too much for me, too outgoing, too uninhibited, so I have no clue what'll happen, but for the moment she might just possibly be exactly what I need; one beautifully-wrapped prescription of forced social behaviour coming right up.