Battle of the Sexes: Round III

Finca Don Gabriel is part coffee plantation and part enchanted tourist kingdom. No doubt the honeymoon ambience contributed some to my curvaceous partner's increasing apprehension that she'd be expected to put out. My drooling may not have helped either.

(Feminists of the bat-shit-crazy variety can now add obscene natural beauty to the list of things that conspire to create rape culture. Sensitivity police can now be offended by the preceding rape jest, refusing to accept that people often choose laughter as the best medicine for a sick world, even though they care deeply about humanity's spiritual maladies.)

The hacienda's festive rustic restaurant and pristine comfy rooms sit atop a lofty ridge with coffee-studded forest descending steeply on all sides. The horizon is an ocean of lush blue mountain ranges. Our plush fragrant linens and bamboo-frame bed overlooked a 20-foot-wide window displaying a hammock on a red-tile patio, pine trees full of songbirds, and an endless alpine panorama. The lady was delighted.

Okay, I'll admit it. The prospect of exploring the mountains, valleys, forests, and rivers of this plush fragrant young woman with some equally-glorious geography falling away before our eyes didn't seem too horrible in my estimation. (I'm sure there's a support group somewhere for twisted bastards like me, but the fine ladies provide all the support I need.)

As my princess shed her clothing, turned on a steamy cascade, and stepped in to bathe, I tapped my fingers in a futile effort to maintain mental control of the other plumbing fixtures she'd turned on simultaneously. 

(Woman-hating readers who rival feminists in their bitterness and insanity can now feel free to pinch my friend's ass on the street, since she has undressed and bathed in front of the online global community, thus is obviously asking for it. [When will normal people with deep respect for both genders take a stand against machismo and feminist lunatics who destroy the next generation's spiritual capacity to find true love as nature intended?])

With a fiery sundown on the horizon, she emerged from her bath fresh and moist at 7:00 then lay next to me on the bed. Remembering that Mexican girls only go to sleep at 7:00 when they plan to wake up at 1:00 and go dancing, I assumed this was my cue to express my undying affection.

I curled around her, tenderly kissing the hairline behind her ear. In one seamless motion, she sprayed an entire bottle of mosquito repellent over every part of her body, kissed me on the forehead, whispered “I'm sleepy love, good night,” and rolled over into a fetal position. Both the abruptness and gentleness with which she slammed the garage door of love down on my middle leg astonished me.

While American girls claim they've been “psychologically raped” because a politically-incorrect speaker was allowed to voice an opinion on their campus and American guys whine they've been “helplessly emasculated” by their feminized culture, a Mexican chick half my height, half my muscle mass, half my education, and half my age sweetly and firmly explained to me who's boss in a secluded room in a remote wilderness with no self-defense weapons but her wits, her guts, and an aerosol can she purchased without money simply by fluttering her eyelashes at me.

Yes, I paid far more than market price for the cow, while she made me await another day for a sip of the cream. Still, this hopeless romantic wouldn't want her any other way. I salute all the gorgeous powerful women out there who give ape-like men a vision of something beautiful in a lost world. I hope all readers are enjoying this occasionally-ongoing series Chocolate, Vanilla, Tortillas & Salsa: trekking the birthplace of food and will purchase my books, so I can continue buying food in said birthplace, despite being constantly robbed of all my money by dangerous female natives with cruel primitive weapons that I can barely understand much less resist.

P.S. For those feeling sympathy that I lost this battle of the sexes (both of you), I should mention that there was a rematch. I'm a somewhat seasoned combatant, who can abandon my gentlemanly fighting stance to hit below the belt when things get scrappy. I only had to go out on one date with her cousin before that little heifer delivered hot fresh milk to my doorstep. I encourage all the men and women out there to stay in the ring, but let's have a good clean fight!