• Franz Saint-Fleur

First Night In Santo Domingo



“You’re a piece of shit—you know that?!!” I could hear the anger in her voice, but there was desire hidden behind those eyes. I knew how to unleash it."So do you want to drink tonight or what?" I asked. She grabbed the cup out of my hand, taking a drink as I led her to the balcony. She was mad as hell, but we were going to fuck tonight. She'd just taken a thirty-minute taxi drive, costing half a week of her salary, and I knew she had more in mind for the trip than simply telling me to fuck off.

We were in Santo Domingo, my first night in the Dominican Republic. Why was she so angry with me?

Back in January of 2015, I had just broken up with my girlfriend of ten months. I loved her, but there was a bigger pull on my heart. Wanderlust, and straight-up lust… I wanted to explore the world and its women. I had a childhood dream of being a Casanova, a renaissance man who romanced the pants off women in new and exotic places.

I could have lied to my girlfriend; told her I was traveling for business. It would have been easy to hide. But I'm a romantic with honor—I couldn't do that to her. Sleep with a foreign girl and come home to see her waiting with love and excitement. Look into her trusting eyes and lie. So I ended it. It was better for us both.

Immediately I decided I'd go to Santo Domingo for my first solo trip. I'd been there before, but not alone, and definitely not with the intention of meeting—and hooking up with—beautiful foreign women. To meet women, and hopefully some romantic prospects, I went online. Tools like Skype and WhatsApp are great ways to make those connections.

One day a skinny Dominicana named Paola sent me a short message. "Hola, you look like LeBron James.” Whoa, I thought, that’s one way to start a conversation. Paola’s profile seemed suspicious—her description read like a job interview, the photos seemed taken by a professional. I wondered with apprehension if it was fake. I have a method for dealing with accounts that might be catfishing. I send a message like “Hola, what type of dog do you have?" This weird, non-flirtatious message will either tip off the web-bot to auto-respond with something like "Hey, I am deleting my account but follow me on this other website” or “Hey I like your profile and find you cute, let’s talk what’s your number?” (Don’t respond to these—they will send you link to bullshit websites) OR the woman on the other end will show their hand as a real human. Luckily, the latter is what happened with Paola.

“I don’t have a dog??” she quickly responded. Ok, great, I think, human not a robot.

“Never mind,” I reply, “So I look like LeBron James lol, thanks, I guess." I still have my concerns this profile is fake. But after playing along for a while, I discover Paola is a pretty cool chick. We chatted on Skype a few times, and she became very excited to meet me.

A few days before my trip, I go out to have a few drinks—when I come home, I’m not alone. After hooking up with—Nicole, I think it was?—I notice that Paola had sent me a long message. She wants a serious relationship, not a fling. She dreams of her and I being together. And talking to me every day made her realize that she and I belong together.

Wow, I think. A serious relationship is the last thing I’m looking for right now. Before I can reply to her message, Paola calls me via Skype. I hear an erotic voice through the speakers—“Hola babe," she coos. "Hola," I respond, not knowing what else to say. "Did you get my message?" she asks? I can hear the excitement in her voice. I hesitate to respond. “Si, I just read it…” Without missing a beat, she answers “Ok—so, we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now?”

Just then, the girl I brought home from the bar walks out of the bathroom and loudly asks for a paper towel. Paola hears it. "Who the fuck is at your house at 3 am?!" she yells through the speaker. "I'll call you back," I say in Spanish, struggling to speak as my nighttime fling pulled my waist close to hers. Paola cries "Go to hell Franz" and hangs up with a click. At that moment, deep inside the girl from the bar, I didn’t care.

A few days later, I land in Santo Domingo and can't wait to turn loose. Right off the plane, I message every chick I'd been talking to online. I intentionally told them the wrong arrival date—they had all been expecting me the day after. (This way, I had no worries about meeting somebody who had guys set up ready to rob me. If I meet the girls in an open public place, on my timeline, I can watch my back>)

Jenni was the only one available to meet up at the last minute. We shared a quick dinner and then we head back to her place. Jenni had assured me she wasn’t a gold digger, but I soon realized she had played me false. She asked me for $30. Shocked, I said, "Wait, are you a prostitute?" She acted offended. "No! Who you calling a ho? I just wanted some money to buy you groceries so I can cook for you." "Ok," I said, testing her, "let's go to the store together then." She was full of excuses; the store's too far, we shouldn't spend money on a taxi. I tried to end her requests for money, suggesting we just stay at her place and drink. She shifted gears; "I just remembered that I have to put my son to sleep—so I have to leave. But I need taxi money." Jenni was becoming frustrated, but I was done. I called a taxi and put her inside. "Wait—what about taxi money?!" she called. "Oh—I just remembered I have to put my son to sleep," I said with a smirk. "What son?!" she yelled. "Exactly," I told her as the doorman shut the taxi door.

The whole thing pissed me off a bit. Are all Dominican chicks like this? I thought to myself. I’d heard stories about the cunning gold diggers from the DR, but I hoped it wasn’t true. As I’m wondering if coming to this country was a good move, I got a message.

“Hola, you'll be here tomorrow, right?" It was from Paola. I'm confused but pleasantly surprised. I poured myself a drink. "I thought you were mad at me?" read my reply message. "That doesn't mean I don't want to keep talking to you." I think, if I can spare this from getting too dramatic we might have a very good time.

Thirty minutes later, she is sitting in my apartment. We don't speak for thirty seconds, but it feels like hours until I break the silence. "You look sexy," I tell her.

This is the part where she started going off on me. Calling me a piece of shit. But as she's yelling, fire in her voice, I feel the alcohol kicking in. I don't respond because all I can do is take in the beauty of her body. She notices and starts to become nervous. Her shoulders shiver with the electricity of desire. The energy in the room is so tense, so full of lust, she can't breathe. "I, I need some air," she stammers. As I lead her onto the balcony the words pour out. "I can't stay mad at you," she says. "I like you so much that it scares me." We both stare up at the night sky. The world around us slows, time stands still. I can feel our beating hearts sending ripples of energy through the air. Time slowed so much I could have seen the wings on a hummingbird flapping with complete clarity; every millisecond dragged out to eternity. Her next question hangs in the air, unspoken, and I know exactly what she is about to say.

“So, what are you looking for? Why did you come here?” I was ready with my answer. “I want a friendship first—no rushing things. Let’s enjoy the moment and see where it goes.”

I move towards her across the balcony, setting my cup on the railing as I reach around her and pull us both together. I lean in for a kiss and as our lips met a wet, smooth, soft sensation dances electric in my mouth. Our tongues in delicate and insistent exploration. Her hands grip around my waist with emphatic desire, as if their clutch could hold me to her for much longer than just tonight. Without my direction, my hands find their way to her hair, pulling it back behind her neck as I suck on her neck, nibble on her earlobe.

We quickly found ourselves in my bedroom, clothes flying off with assertion and hitting the walls of my room with a fast tempo. I begin to pull her small purple panties off when she stops me. "Wait… I can't. I just met you," she sighs. "You're right," I reply. I will have to give her space. But her desire for me doesn't diminish, and it is only a few minutes before we're at it again. This time, we go further, and she lets me put my middle finger in her warm, wet pussy.

“Papi, do you have a condom?" she asks. The golden words. When a woman lets you know she's ready to fuck, those words can feel like a choir of angels is beckoning you into her pearly gates. I reach over and grab one. As I rip open the package, she opens her mouth, her finger pointing inside. My confusion was clear and she explained that she wanted to get me nice and wet first. As she begins to swallow my dick, I cry out "STOP! You're going to make me cum." Popping my dick back out from her mouth, she rolls the condom down the length of my shaft and a thought of my ex-girlfriend flashes through my mind. I quickly shake it off as I slide into her pussy—tight, wet, like a sweet warm glove encasing my dick in a humid island dream.

Through my reverie, I hear her say "Cuatro papi, ponme en cautro.” She wants it doggy style and I quickly oblige. I release my cum on her soft, tan back and she looks back at me with a sly smile.

As we rinse off in the shower I think about her fiery emotions—love, to hate, to lust—and I think that maybe her hot-headed nature is what made this sex so caliente. The night was full of surprises, and the rest of my trip is another story that will have to wait..