Dude, No

Trigger warning - contains sexual references and misogynistic remarks.

“Dude, why would you want to date her? You don’t even speak the same language.”

“Yes we do … por favor, me llamo Christian.”

“That doesn’t count, man. How are you meant to get to know each other?”

“There are other ways to get to know each other… if you know what I mean,” he said with a wink.

“You’re gross. Obviously that’s why you’re looking for a woman that doesn’t speak your language.”

“There’s room for interpretation. That’s not always a bad thing.”

“Not for you, dude.”

Ryan waved his hand without turning back as he left Christian behind. He had work to get back to instead of the idle chit chat Christian subjected him to every time he entered his office.

They both worked in the same building. Ryan was a worker. Christian was a charmer. He seemed to have more success than Ryan doing the same job, putting in a third of the effort. Every time Ryan called into his office, Christian seemed to be lounging on the couch drinking something he suspected wasn’t just water. But everything was always in hand. Christian had a secretary that tripped over herself to do whatever he wanted. She would have swum to the far side of the country if Christian told her he felt like some fresh gumbo. She was a people pleaser in a pencil skirt: just meat with a few brain cells thrown in as far as Christian was concerned. He hadn’t exactly been brought up to respect women. His dad had two-timed his mom for the entirety of their marriage, leaving her in the dust as soon as her looks started to fade. His mom was smart, but all Christian saw was beauty. She’d been a weak woman, in his view, for putting up with his dad. For some reason, that made her more hateful to him than it made his dad. At least he was a go-getter. He’d followed in his footsteps, becoming a lawyer for a firm that didn’t have his name on the sign – yet. All in good time, he thought.

At a work event, a colleague had brought her friend along. She was stunning, in Christian’s estimation. She had dark eyes with huge eyelashes. He suspected they weren’t even extensions. She had a pleasant face, but her accent was even better. Most importantly of all to Christian, she had a killer figure. It made him feel woozy just examining her. The dress she wore was a combination of formal and revealing and she acted like she knew it did her shape justice. Each stance she took seemed to model her body to him. It wasn’t entirely his fault, he thought, that he had this response to her looks. She was well aware she was putting them on display. She was like one of the overdressed dishes on the buffet table – one that people greedily dipped their spoons into before moving on to the less conspicuous ones. The caviar that topped it was all but gone, the middle of the masterpiece scooped out. That comparison made Christian feel things he knew he shouldn’t be feeling at a work dinner.

He threw back another JD and coke and moved in for the kill.

“What’s your name?” he asked. Christian was never one for wasting a minute, unless it came to his work.

“Ciara,” she said, with a soft c, rolling the “r.” It sounded like she’d just propositioned him. He liked that.

“I’m Christian. I’m one of the lawyers at the firm. Do you work here?”

“Oh, no, I just to come with friend. Sarah.”

Christian acted like he knew Sarah but he didn’t have the foggiest clue who she was. He suspected she was just an assistant to someone that did important work for the company. He ranked her well below his own assistant and she already ranked pretty low on his sexist scale.

“Your hair, I like,” the Spanish enchantress said.

He ran his fingers through it immediately, smirking. He always prided himself on his appearance and went to great lengths to make sure his hair was sitting perfectly from the minute he opened his eyes until the minute he said goodbye to his mirror before bed. His dad had Italian genes and he was glad he’d inherited the voluminous dark hair that was his family’s greatest feature. He’d probably never go bald, he thought, proudly. He’d still rival men generations younger than him whenever he was well into his old age.

He returned his attention to Ciara, but he was already hazy about the pronunciation of her name. He made his best attempt at it, and it didn’t seem to bother her. In fact, she seemed to find it charming, luckily for Christian.

They stood looking at each other for most of the evening, talking about surface subjects. He wasn’t sure if that was all there was to her, or if that was all she knew how to discuss in English. Either way, it was working in his favour. He didn’t seem to have said the wrong thing yet, and she hadn’t either. She’d just admired his physical attributes, smiled that big white smile of hers and regarded him from head to foot like she was mentally assessing how he looked “sin” clothes.

The evening continued in much the same way. Christian made sure to obtain her phone number and to call it while she stood next to him, making sure he had got it exactly right. There would be no risk of him not being able to reach her again. He couldn’t rely on her friend – Susan – whatever her name was to get it for him. He no longer even had a clear image of what her face looked like, never mind the department she worked in. Still, he felt like he owed her a debt of gratitude, for introducing him to the gorgeous Spanish lady whose name he could barely pronounce. He believed it was Siera, or something to that effect. She gave him a smouldering smile, and he took her number away with him, planning to use it before the night was out. He’d send her a WhatsApp message when he got home, suggesting a dinner date the following night. She’d be free; they always were – the women he dated. Whatever plans might have pre-existed him seemed to go out the window whenever his number popped up on their phones.

The next day, Ryan had been his usual disapproving self. He liked Christian – that much was clear. They were best friends, even though he disagreed with everything Christian did in life. He seemed to find his humor funny enough that he could manage to put up with the rest.

Before Christian could invite Siera, whatever her name was, out to dinner, she invited him to a party at Sarah’s house. He was reluctant to go. It sounded like something it would be hard to extricate himself from at the end of the night – or sooner, if it went well. But he was desperate enough to see her again that he agreed to go along.

In the kitchen, he handed Sarah – he’d been sure she was called- Susan but apparently, he’d been mistaken - a bottle of Champagne. Her eyes lit up and it was obvious that expensive fizz was the way to her heart. She’d likely give her approval to her friend now, he thought. She was probably on a crappy salary. She probably drank five-dollar cava on an expensive night out. He had no problem introducing her to the finer things in life if it got him closer to Siera.

After Sarah left the room, he found himself alone with Siera, fortuitously. She didn’t make the first move towards him. Maybe she hadn’t had much to drink yet, and she was feeling a bit less courageous than before. It was strange – she had come across as someone so forward and brimming with confidence, but it seemed diminished in the different light of this apartment. Maybe she had got herself nervous about meeting him for a second time. She was no less beautiful. Her eyes were mesmerising, and her lips were moist with gloss. They were full and he imagined biting them. He was finding it hard to contain himself. Since his teens, he’d rushed into things like that. He couldn’t help himself. It just felt like it was an inbuilt thing.

It's nice to see you again,” he said to her, leaning in to kiss her cheek. He went for one on the other cheek too, not knowing much about her country’s customs, not having shown the slightest interest in learning them until that moment.

She looked taken aback but she smiled at him. She obviously liked the touch of his lips on hers. He knew she’d like them elsewhere too. He could read her like an overly condensed, large print study guide. In his mind he named it “how to get in pants,” and laughed to himself. She smiled at him.

“How do you spell your name?” he asked her.

“Eh…. S, I, E, R, R, A,” she said.

He congratulated himself on not being far off with his own guesswork.

“I not ask spell yours,” she said. “The letter … they are hard to me.”

”I wonder if I’d be hard for you too,” he said, laughing.

She laughed along, oblivious to the underlying connotations.

He liked the fact her limited language skills granted him a free pass to say whatever he wanted, however offensive, without causing the least bit of offence.

He was eyeing her in a way that required no translator. She still acted shy but didn’t seem opposed to his advances. Christian thought they could have talked all night, but he wanted to get down to business. His approach to dating was in direct opposition to his approach to work.

Sierra tilted her head to the side like a peacock in mating season. To Christian it was like the traffic lights finally changing from a slow red to a vibrant green.

He kissed her. No one was watching so there was no one to pass judgement on them. She wasn’t as forward as he expected her to be. She was more of a follower than a pursuer, but Christian had no problem with that. “Why don’t we take this elsewhere,” he suggested. “We could slip out and no one would notice.”

She gave him a small smile and nodded. Her understanding of the situation didn’t seem to be compromised by her lack of English. She said something in Spanish, and he didn’t know what she was saying, but he didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, she could have been declaring her support for a crazed cult and it wouldn’t have mattered. He didn’t understand, so her words couldn’t bother him. In theory, nothing could go wrong.

He thought about offering to get her a drink enroute, but he decided there was no reason to delay. She was definitely receptive to his advances. Unless she was dangerously naïve, or stupid, there was no chance that she’d missed his meaning. He took her back to his apartment. He would have preferred to go to hers, so he could leave whenever the mood struck him, but he didn’t want to deal with possible roommates, so he kept it simple.

She gasped with amazement at the sight of his apartment. Clearly, she wasn’t used to such living conditions. He was glad he impressed her. He poured her a glass of wine from the best bottle he had and handed it to her. She joined him in his love-seat, and he quickly wrapped his arm around her, drawing her in for more kisses. He’d always been a bit of a player, but he could really see himself falling for her, he thought. It didn’t matter what the future held. In that moment, he was certain of that feeling. Things progressed to the bedroom remarkably quickly, but that was Christian’s usual pace.

Later that week, he sent a message to Sierra. He planned to hint at their night of passion, hoping it might repeat itself the same day. He had never found giving short notice for a date to be a problem before. He hoped she would be able to read the meaning in his message.

“Sierra,” he said. “The other night was amazing. I hope it wasn’t just a one-time thing.”

He waited with his phone clenched in his clammy hand. He was acting like a desperate girlfriend, but he didn’t have that level of commitment yet. He was still just testing the waters, seeing if she’d willingly play along. He could see she was typing but she kept stopping, the moving dots torturing him with each passing second.

“Sierra? This is Ciara.”

“You told me it was spelt Sierra. I spelled it the other night and you told me I almost got it right.”

“No, I’m Ciara. How you meet Sierra?”

This conversation wasn’t going as smoothly as he had hoped. He was wishing he’d skipped the back and forth and just asked her outright to come over.

“I keep thinking about you without clothes on. Do you want to come over?”

“You are thinking that I have no clothes on. We have not kissed.”

Christian shook his head. Was this chick forgetful or did she just like mind games? He’d kissed her so many times he’d lost count. His lips were chapped after the last day, and he had a bit of a rash around them that looked like a cold sore. Not too attractive, but worth it.

Now he was the one typing and pausing, typing and pausing. What would he say back to that?

Thankfully his quick wit won over his confusion. “I must have made you lose your mind.”

“What is this… mind I am losing? she replied.

The conversation was getting frustrating now. He decided to nip it in the bud, to cut to the quick.

“Want to come over?”

“To your home?”

“Of course. You do remember where it is, don’t you?”

“How I know this?”

He shook his head. “It’s 47 Oakland Street, apartment 5.”

His patience would pay off when she was back under his bedsheets.

“Ok, I find it. Sarah my friend say you just want to see me, and you say things like this to make me happy.”

He was starting to really appreciate her friend Sarah.

An hour later, the buzzer sounded. He practically did a long jump to the door, hitting the button to open the door without even exchanging words first. It could have been anyone: a serial killer, a debt collector, but he didn’t care. He was thinking only with his pants.

He opened the door and found Sierra or Ciara leaning against the door trim. She looked confident, like he remembered her that first night. There was something different about her, but undeniably Sierra-like, or Ciara-like too – however she spelled it. That long glossy hair, those big dark eyes – you couldn’t mistake her for anyone else even if she was acting like an alien had taken over their phone conversation.

“What you mean – you kiss me?”

He leant in and kissed her, to refresh her memory. She tasted totally different. She was minty fresh and her tongue was playful. She wasn’t reserved the way she’d been the other night. He guessed she was feeling more comfortable with him. They had already done much more. He was ready to have a replay of it. It seemed clear she was too. He pulled her to him, whispering compliments into her ear. She loved every one of them. He could tell it was turning her on. She led him to the bedroom. The door was wide open, and she seemed to remember its location well.

They climbed into bed, and she got on top of him, removing the few layers she was wearing as she went. “Are you ready?”

“Of course, I’ve been ready since I met you.”

“Once we do, we cannot change.”

“Change what?”

“It is a big thing – this moment.”

He didn’t know what she was talking about. It was like she had no recollection of the other evening. He thought they'd already got intimately familiar then.

Things progressed and it was all wrong. It was different in ways Christian couldn’t even have explained. She stopped midway.

“Why you call me Sierra?” she asked. “You know Sierra?”

“Yes, you told me that’s your name.”

“No, that is name of my twin sister.”

“You have a twin?”

“Yes.”

“You look the same.”

“Yes, the same.”

“Identical?”

“That means same? Yes.”

The way she said their names made them sound identical too. “Sierra, Ciara, Sierra, Ciara.”

"Oh well," he thought, "Potato, potahto."

They proceeded anyway.

Ryan would probably have a few things to say, but Christian never paid him much heed. He didn't get much action in work or in dating. Christian, on the other hand, was getting double.