My freakin’ weird ten minutes

I was tired and I was three hours away from my next flight.  It was just after 2′ clock in the afternoon.  I arrived back at the hotel just to use the last few moments of free wi-fi and maybe get some e-mails out, write a report or two.

I opted for a table outside, sitting in the sun, maybe catch a slight breeze coming from the ocean spread out in front of me.  On my approach I saw a middle aged man with big rimmed mirror sunglasses.  Looked like he was on vacation, alone.  In front of him was a Heineken draft.

It was a tall glass, with the clear yellowish liquid shining in the light, the white foam lying on top like cream on pudding.  The humid air created a thousand droplets on the side of the icecold beer glass.  My throat went dry.  I couldn’t resist, “Look’s good”, I said, as I passed his table, I think he lifted the glass and smiled.

I sat down a few tables away and immediately ordered the same.  I opened my laptop and waited for the automatic connection.

“I always change into more casual clothes when I’ve finished my work for the day,” someone said.

“Excuse me,” turning to the source of the voice.  It was the guy with the glasses.

“I said, I always change into more casual clothes when I finished with my meetings.  So then I am relaxed and I can enjoy the beer and the sun even more.  It much better this way,” he said, nonchalanting indicating to his own body posture.  He was wearing a thick golden chain, barely visible between the chest hair, and a white cotton shirt.  He had a porn actor’s moustache and a few shortly cropped grey hair.

“Yes, I suppose, but I am flying in a few hours, and work needs to be done,”  I replied friendly.

He said, and I quote: “I know, but to only work does not create for a balanced soul, you also have to take a moment and enjoy your surroundings appreciating where you are, before the moment goes away.”  That should have been my queue that this guy was on something.

“I suppose,” and returned to my work.  He persisted with comments about living your life, and enjoying the sun and embracing the moment.  Eventually I found out that he was a German, working in the light fitting industry, and also travelling on business.  When my beer came he invited me over to his table.

When I read this story again and think of the conversation we had, I am still surpised that I joined him.  My mind must have been altered due to the lack of social conversation after a week.  I assumed at that point that any company would be great company.  Not the case.

So now we are chatting away on trivial things like travelling, business in Oman and the coutries where we come from.  Everything seems relatively normal, until he started unbotting his shirt.  At first I didn’t think anything of it, just enjoying my Heineken, but then his questions became slightly altered.  Sfuff like my relationship status, and if I normally travel alone.

My radar went on high alert and he kept on unbotting his shirt, looking at me through his mirrored glasses.  My situation became desperate and my mind was in flight mode.  Eventually he untucked his shirt which by now was totally unbottened.  He laid back exposing a very hairy chest and stomach region.  I think my bottom jaw cracked the table.

I wanted to puke at this point, but wait there’s more!  He started stroking his chest!  I still gets shivers thinking about it, the image that has scarred me for the rest of my life.  The middle aged German stroking his exposed chest hair..Uggh, shivers again.  I ducked, couldn’t take it when; and this might be my imagination, which I sincerely hope it is, he smacked his lips…

Sitting back at my table I downed the rest of my beer and ordered another one.  I sat like a wounded animal licking my wounds.  I was replaying the last 10 minutes of my life, the freakist conversation of my life.

I am still trying to figure out what happened that day.  Maybe the guy was a bit hot from sitting in the sun, maybe he wanted to get a tan, maybe he didn’t even realise what he was doing.  But there are two questions that bug me the most:

1. Is this how woman feel when approached by a sleazebag?

2. Why do I feel so dirty?

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