#49 When Alain Delon screwed it up with Sharon Stone

This is my second dating desaster, technically—four years after #50 and of course years before I would knowingly “have a date”. However, according to my definition for the stories that I’m posting here it was another dating desaster: sex was on the table but I was I too blind to make it happen (or too blinded or scared by the opportunity).

I was 15 and a half years old back then and my main interest were the home computer and comic books. My parents went on a camping holiday to a lake in southern Italy with three other befriended families and their kids of different ages. In the seventies, mom and dad were kind of hippies and one father there was the founder and owner of a small but legendary indie rock music club, a funny guy with a super relaxed attitude.

The camping area was in walking distance to the lake and we passed the days on the beach while dinner was taken altogether on a very long table with loads of food, booze, cigarettes and board or card games. My parents were still a couple and I remember it as one of the happiest holidays of my life.

Only the story that follows left me utterly confused and frustrated at the end.

I got used to that feeling. It stayed and grew over decades, whenever I dealt with girls. Only quite recently that veil of ignorance was lifted and eventually taken away by my friend Puntozenon.

Now, the reason for that early confusion was blonde, taller than me, had a normal slim female figure and must of been around 20 years old. I forgot her name, let’s call her Michaela.

One hot, dry afternoon under the Italian sun we walk back from the lake, Michaela, me and club owner’s daughter who is about my age. We do small talk, I’m thinking about the muesli I plan to eat and my comic book when Michaela starts to banter and the other girl laughing, then

Daniel, tell me, do you have a girlfriend?

I’m not prepared at all for such a question and not even trying to make up a story—no clue about DHVing and preselection yet. I openly admit that I don’t have one. She continues

Oh, that’s interesting. Why not?

I’m of course even more dumbfounded now and just mumble some words, no idea.

Well you know, you should have one. You’re smart and handy, to me you look like the young Alain Delon.

I do not know who that guy was but I do have an itchy feeling somewhere. I sense that something’s going on here. Not least because the other girl, not as attractive as Michaela, is giggling and looking away. When we reach the tents and tables in front of them, I notice that she disappeared. Turning around I see her heading back to the lake. Girls know all the time. I don’t care, I’m hungry and already building my super duper muesli.

I’m also happy that I’m off the spot and can distract the situation by fumbling in my parents’ camper’s kitchen box. I’m still ruminating the pros and cons and the why she’s recommending me to get a gf.

Then we sit at the camping table in the shadow, me reading and eating for some minutes when she goes to her tent and comes back shortly after.

Do you mind?

She’s sitting very laid back in the camping chair opposite me and I need to have a second look to understand her question: she’s fumbling near her stomach and now I’m seeing that with a tweezer she’s plucking her pubic hair above the bikini panties which she has lowered slightly.

Er… Me? Er… no

I hear myself saying. No clue, no meta reading, everything at face value. But some more itching down there.

Silence and me looking down into my comic magazine.

I’m done with my food, looking at her. She decides we should go back to the lake and join the others. “Just wanting to change her dress”, she goes into her tent and takes some time while I continue reading my comic mag. Then she calls me for some reason, I approach the tent and talk to her from the outside.

I don’t understand you, come in for a second.

With today’s knowledge I must say, she had her shit together. In the tent, she’s acting that she needs to change her wet bikini and take the other one—while reaching over, she accidentally flashes her sanctuary towards me. Now, it’s not itching any more, I have an outright boner.

Poor girl: she does everything right and pulls off a very smooth deduction that should of worked for sure, despite my younger age and inexperience. Sharon Stone would rise to a global sex symbol a decade later with the same move. However, my self-esteem issues, my core belief of not being worth to enjoy the gift, lead to me doing—nothing.

And as a self-protection, I probably erase any memory of this awkward situation. Only thing I recall is that we walk back to the lake, in silence, and my head raging, trying to process what happened. I feel some hunch that I didn’t take a huge opportunity and that I would have needed to initiate at least that very last, tiny step.

Michaela must be very frustrated but doesn’t say anything. A day later, my mind invents a weird strategy to turn the story around: a tease. While she’s taking a shower, I’m pushing her cotton flip-flops underneath the wooden door so that they get wet. Top player move, isn’t it?

Of course, that was it, everything going south from thereon. However, I still remember that I was surprised back then that she got so pissed by my joke with her flip-flops, didn’t understand her behaviour, thought it an obvious overreaction. This cluelessness repeated countless times as did the attempts of women trying to seduce me. I’m just warming up.

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