I don’t care how old men get, how many chicks we hit, or how difficult it may be to garner; men always want a new woman, if you get my drift. It’s like a code programmed into our DNA. Search and destroy. Don’t get me wrong, I love my sistas but I have occasionally walked on the other side of things. It’s exciting sometimes. After you’ve been with a certain number of sistas, you kind of expect the same experience. Some might be a little louder than others, but for the most part you know what you have to do to get the job done.

Now, as I’ve said, I am no stranger to dating different ethnicities. I encountered a few back in school and now I travel overseas so I meet international women too. Recently, I traveled to France for the first time and had the chance to add to my collection. This brings me to the story of Shawty.

When traveling abroad, I always look for familiar things. McDonald’s, Burger King, K.F.C., things like this always bring a smile to my face when I’m in uncharted waters. However, there’s one thing I always welcome that’s not so familiar, women.

It’s always crazy to get close with a chick that can’t understand what you’re saying and vice versa. I remember being in Norway about three years ago and getting with this young lady after a show. Neither of us knew what the other was saying but I guess sex is a universal language because before I could say ‘where’s the bathroom,’ we were getting it on. I didn’t know what she was yelling but she definitely got her point across, if you know what I mean. On this particular trip to France though, I didn’t have that problem. To my surprise most of the French people I met knew a fair amount of English (The US public school system has failed us as a people- why don’t I know French? ).

When I touched down in Paris, I had a vision of the women I expected to meet. I pictured a nice petite white woman wearing a beret and holding a croissant (ok, no croissant). I didn’t expect to see so many black people, but I forgot that the French colonized quite a bit of Africa, so subsequently there is a large African population in France. However, at my show, there were more white folks than anything, and ultimately that’s what I forced to work with.

The first show went well. We were getting our rhythm down, even though the crowd wasn’t as energetic as I would’ve liked. On top of that, the venue was open to 16 years-old and over so I didn’t go at anything (hey, you never know-we see you R. Kelly- Steely D). The next night when we arrived at the club, the promoter introduced me to a girl that he knew. I said “hey” and kept talking to my homeboy. As we cracked jokes and got ready for the show, Shawty kept interjecting in the conversation and really putting out a vibe. She wasn’t super bad, so instead of pursuing her, I opted to see what I could pull out of the crowd.

The show was the best during our trip, and there were a lot of available women after the performance. While my man took to the dance floor looking for potential candidates, I played the VIP, signing autographs and taking pictures. When I looked up Shawty was sitting next to me, and every chance she got she struck up a conversation about the states, rap and how much she hated living in France. The more she spoke, I noticed that she wanted to be from Atlanta. She could lean and rock with the best of them and as sick as its sounds, she even spoke with a southern accent.

As the night progressed, I made my way to the edge of the VIP and as the DJ ran through the latest southern hits, I started to dance a little (I blame the trees). Out of nowhere, Shawty came and stood right in front of me. With each song she got closer to me and after about six songs, she went for the pot of gold. I’d contemplated getting with her, but I wasn’t excited enough to take her back to the hotel (plus I didn’t really trust really her). Instead I pulled her into the dressing room, told the security to not let anyone in, pulled an Usher and made love in that club. The sex was ok, but I was more taken by the club’s atmosphere, and the possibility of the door swinging open and someone catching us (and a story to tell my friends didn’t hurt either).

When we left the dressing room, she told me that she’d never had a white boyfriend and how she loved black men. Before we left, I gave her the number to my global phone and told her to holla at me before we went to the next city (I didn’t think she would really call).

Well, she did. We had two days off so I figured what the hell? If she was going to make the drive, the least I could do was service her. When she got to the hotel her hair was different, but, surprisingly, the fake southern accent was still heavy. We started talking about rap again and she ran down a list of her favorite MC’s, then she pulled her phone out and started playing all of their songs. Part of the way through, I really lost my urge to sleep with her but with nothing else to do I handled business and got her on her way.

Two days later, when we made the trek across the county (I can’t remember how many kilometers), Shawty was still willing to make the drive for a shot at the title. By the time she made it to the hotel it was late and she wanted to stay the night. I wasn’t with it and I didn’t even want to sleep with her anymore. But the final straw broke when Shawty turned to me and, in her best southern voice, asked if I was “gon’ give her some mo’ cut cut.”

Without a second thought, I told Shawty to leave so I could get some sleep. After some initial resistance she left and sent me a scathing text accusing me of not knowing how to treat people. I wasn’t really bothered by her words but I was a little nervous that she might do something stupid. Luckily Shawty got over her attitude and continued to text me for the rest of my trip asking if she could come and see me. I politely turned her down citing no time as the reason.

Since I’ve been back home, Shawty’s hit me on MySpace and I even added her as a friend. I’ve got some more shows over in France this fall, and hey, I might get bored. You never know.

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