UPDATE 2018: This was originally posted a few years ago. While the experience was fun, today I would simply get an African freelancer in Bangkok instead – to save both time and money – and have a better sexual experience overall!
Language Exchange Sex … it’s quite an experience.
Don’t worry. No more lay reports. Ever.
When I moved to London in 2003, finding people with similar interests was easy. Meeting girls was a different story. Online dating came to mind, but it seemed to be too much work.
I speak a foreign language, there must be girls interested in language exchange.
Scanning through a couple of sites, I quickly found a couple of willing girls. From there on, it was as easy as setting up a profile, uploading a picture and blasting messages.
The two girls I ended up chatting with were 24 and 17, both practicing their Finnish.
Writing on WhatsApp quickly gets boring, and there’s few things I hate more than boring smalltalk. At a certain point, I either tune out or start talking rubbish. Self-amusement is an art, and at times, I feel like I have it down.
Speaking your mind is awesome and a great way to give yourself a laugh.
It might have been my comments, but the entire conversation turned sexual very quickly. A couple of days later, she had already sent a naked picture and it clearly wasn’t about language exchange anymore. We never articulated it, but now it was only about planning the hook up.
Language Exchange Sex … About To Happen
When we met at East India DRL, a metro station close to my crib, I felt quite at a pinch.
I’ve never met, kissed or fucked a girl before. Now, this girl was expecting a full-blown session right after the meetup.
The moment you’re about to die, this is what it must feel like.
I was nervous, really fucking nervous.
When I arrived, she was already waiting downstairs. I clearly saw her, but told myself otherwise, while still standing on the first floor. 5 minutes passed. Yes, I tried to bullshit myself out of the situation.
She calls. I don’t respond.
When I finally took the elevator downstairs, we met for the first time. In an attempt to break the ice, I initiate awkward smalltalk.
We walked back to the area I was living in, looking for a place to have coffee. She wanted to have coffee upon meeting. So, we wandered around for quite a bit while still pretending this is language exchange.
Poplar, London, is a great place to feed yourself with kebab, apparently not for coffee dates. It started getting cold and I suggested going to a nearby mall, one that had Starbucks.
Will you go upstairs and change?
To paint a clear picture, I was wearing a jogging suit and hoodie.
No, I certainly wasn’t changing anything. She suggested meeting another time, so I walked her back to the metro station. Farewell said, and I was heading back home.
Prior to this date, I had a clear goal in mind.
Make it last 10 minutes.
Goal accomplished, but I couldn’t deny my disappointment. After all, I thought this was a sure thing, that I was getting laid.
Back at home, I sent her one more message saying that it was hilarious and a bit weird. We both didn’t know what we wanted.
I knew what I wanted. I just wanted to have sex. lol
Not the response I expected.
Is this a fucking joke?
This girl had been super confident all along, she would’ve said something if that had really been on her mind. I was literally waiting for her to articulate what we both had planned.
She didn’t and I concluded she’s not interested.
When I talked to her afterwards, things started to make sense. I didn’t compliment her, in her mind I wasn’t interested. I, on the other hand, thought meeting up is a clear enough signal for my interest.
I told her to come back now, and half an hour later, she was knocking at my door. One would think the summit of awkwardness had already been reached. Apparently, not quite.
Life is full of surprises.
As we were sitting on my bed, I was too scared to make a move.
I know, this girl came to get fuck and I was still bitching out. Raw masculinity, right there. Without any prior experience, it seemed to be a bit too much, too fast. After all, I only met her minutes ago.
Oh my God, this is so awkward!
I couldn’t have agreed more. She tells me to lie down and things go primal. Statistically speaking, this went down as sex, although it didn’t looking anything like it. I was so nervous, an entire pack of Viagra wouldn’t have done much.
What about the other girl?
She also ended up sending me naked pictures, but we never met. I wanted to stay in touch with both of them, but things went south.
When I read this stupid pickup advice that you should never lower your standards and only ever go with your perfect girl, I cut out both of them. We never talked again.
Well, that’s the story of how language exchange sex can happen. Really nothing spectacular and if you ask me, “language exchange” is often times only a code for “hook up“.
How is language exchange sex different to regular dating?
It’s not really much different except that you and the girl are usually from different countries or culture – adding a certain exotic factor, which can make things easier.
Of course, for the girl, it’s easier to meet/hook up because the overall excuse is that you’re simply doing an innocent language exchange.