Sleeping With Women

Noticed on Homersexual :

In a word, avoid it.

It’s a motto that’s served me extremely well over the years, let me tell you.

But sometimes, you just have to bite the bullet and sleep with the bitches no matter what you do.

It’s a sad fact that among the more liberal of the hostels scattered abroad, mixed dorms are a reality. Usually, most make at least a token attempt to keep the sexes segregated, but some ju rent the beds to bodies regardless of any other concern. Most of the girls who travel stay in hotels, judging by the number of women I’ve had to sleep with in the same room over the years, but many don’t. Women should always stay in hotels, because hostels just aren’t their kind of place. Hostels are basic. A bed, sometimes the bed comes with linen, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes they have lockers available sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they’re free, sometimes you have to pay.

They also almost always stink of sweaty feet at night. I’m not a foot person, so that does nothing but make my eyes water and not in a good way.

Men are rowdy and rude and walk around in their holey underwear. They fart and burp and snore and don’t make any special concessions because women want to be one of the boys and sleep their version of rough.

Showers are sometimes shared, sometimes private. Shared ones are sometimes good and sometimes bad, depending on whom one shares with.

The Hostel here in Brussels is nice, clean and well-maintained. They have perhaps the best shower situation I’ve encountered with three individual little shower/lavatory combinations off of the dorm I’m in. Each of these little shower rooms has a locking door, a sink, a couple of hooks for your clothes and a little shelf for your toiletries. The shower curtain encompasses both the shower stall and the lavatory making washing your socks out while showering a breeze. Always on hot water and plenty of it, provide your own soap and towels. The sheets are clean, serve yourself, starched and ironed. There’s a little reading light above every bed and my single bed is located just under a small skylight that opens.

Heaven, if they just had free wifi or even a fucking electrical outlet near the bed, it would be perfect. The open window made up for a lot of faults, though.

Something the girls who slept in the bunk next to mine in the little end of the “L” that makes up the 16-bed dorm didn’t appreciate at all.

The radiators are all working well, which makes for fast drying of socks and towels, but a hot room. Add 13 other men with stinky feet and two bitchy little French-speaking South American princesses and I needed that damn window open. I fought about it with both of the girls. First the businesslike wing-woman, the plain-to-ugly friend of the not-that-pretty-her-own-damn-self bleach blonde (who was the more dominant of the two) was sent to try and close the window silently and secretly when they thought I had dropped off. I don’t understand French, but I understood enough to know they were discussing it for some minutes before the failed attempt.

I just put my hand around the sill so that the window wouldn’t shut and said, “Non, si vous plait.” and rolled back over at her glare of intense hatred. Girls are always cold natured with very few exceptions (my Mom would have never argued for anything less than opening the window wider). A little later, after I had dozed off, the “pretty” one tried her hand at it. (Pretty being a relative term here.) She too just tiptoed over (as much as she could, girls have no concept of silence or quietness in a setting like a hostel, they always keep everyone awake laughing and whispering so loudly that they can be heard three rooms down. Men, on the other hand, speak in normal, but low voices which don’t carry as much and keep their conversation to brief one line or even one word observations. Instead of

“Oh my GOD it is so cold in here! Girl, isn’t it cold? Don’t you wish he would shut the window? It’s raining, why isn’t the rain coming in the window? I wish it would come in the window and pour all over him! I wonder what the humidity will do to my hair tomorrow? You know I need to look good tomorrow because we’re going to go shopping at the Royal Galleries and I just can’t be seen there with kinky hair, of all things! Why don’t you go poke the pig and see if it’s asleep yet?:”

 A man would simply say something like “Cold.” to which anyone who might be so inclined might grunt his assent.

If that hint wasn’t taken and the window remained open, then that would be the end of it, unless it were life and death, the guy would just pull his coat out and add it to his blankets if he were cold natured and call it a night.)

When the “pretty” one put on her “if you want something done right” attitude and came over, I just said (in English since they’d obviously been practicing both for my benefit and this confrontation) “Please don’t do that again. I like the window open and couldn’t sleep with it closed. Besides, fresh air is good for you.”

She acted like I’d said “Dog shit is healthy to eat.”
“He said, Fresh air is good for me! Good for me! can you imagine, The nerve!”

They banged and pounded their bags and toiletries all night long, it seemed. After their next failed attempt at socialization outside their species, which was to appoint me their luggage minder

“If I notice anyone near it, I’ll say something, but you know, I’m not going to just sit here watching it for you, that’s what the lockers and the luggage room downstairs are for.”

They decided that I was a pest fit only to be eradicated.

Each time they banged or dropped something, then laughed when I woke up, I opened the window a crack wider.

It took them a surprisingly long time, they say that women are more intelligent than men, but you couldn’t prove it by these two, but they finally got the connection and shut the fuck up so that all of us could get to sleep.

Well, the poor Latin schoolboys who were sharing the room with me were all a ga ga over having actual disrobing girls sleeping with them in the same room and kept drifting over and looking and running off and laughing together like a bunch of schoolgirls themselves.

Which treatment the girls much preferred to my complete lack of reaction to their limited sexual charms.

When they found out I’d booked my bed for another night, they moved to a different hostel.

Bu bye, we’ll miss you.

Not.

I’ll keep you posted!

http://homersexual.wordpress.com

PS: Why am I still in Brussels? Well, I saw an ad for freelance English teachers paying 48 euros an hour (38 euros a class hour/45 minutes)
I also saw an ad for a room for 150 euros a month.

Amsterdam is only 2 hours or so away by rail that runs every hour until three am.

You do the math.