Around the World pt 2: The Welsh-Mexican

I often told him that Welsh-Mexican was a weird mix of cultures. "Welsh-Mexican is a really weird mix of cultures", I'd tell him. "It's a really weird mix of cultures, Sven."

His grandparents on the Mexican side had fled to Wales as teenagers - stricken by the Great Fajita Famine of 1912, which reduced the economy of a great nation to nacho hats and cocaine. The Welsh side had farmed there for generations, in abject poverty until Sven's father (the first to be educated) suggested milking animals other than pigs.

His father and mother were married in the spring of '83, and met only moments later, consummating the marriage atop her father's largest shed, as is the Welsh tradition. From then until now, the rest is history.

Two months in, Sven and I were dining in London's swanky Chinatown ("if you can find a more authentic Chinese, you're in a different Chinatown"). Our relationship was at a crossroads; the kind where I could either go forward, or back. Forwards would mean losing my virginity to Sven. Backwards meant not losing it, and staying in the same place. I gazed into Sven's eyes, as they peered out from beneath his sombrero.

"We've got nothing in common", he said.

And I said, "What about Breakfast at Tiffany's?"

He said, "I think I remember the film. And as I recall, we both... kinda liked it."

And I said, "Well, that's one thing we've got."

I'd gotten through to him. Within seconds he'd thrown down his burrito - how he'd snuck it inside I'll never know - asked for the bill, paid, waited for change, and got it. We dashed outside, and he kissed me passionately. I bathed in the scent of leek and tequila. He was the one.

It was all I could do not to undress him then and there. The next minutes flew past in a blur. Next, I was on a bed. He was undressing me, by taking off my clothing one piece at a time. He kissed me, panting. "My first time", I thought. He breathed sweet nothings into my ear.

"You know, Tiffany's wasn't the only film we watched", he whispered at me.

"What others?", I asked him, begging for more with my eyes.

He undid my bra, and kissed my breasts.

"Patch Adams?", he said.

My skin quivered with anticipation.

"I don't think it was Patch Adams", I said.

He stripped me naked, and drove me wild with his hands.

"The one where Robin Williams plays a quirky outsider unwilling to conform to the rules of his strait-laced superiors?", he said.

I gasped at what he could do to me with just a fingertip.

"I think you mean Dead Poets' Society", I said.

He slipped his boxers off.

"It wasn't Dead Poets' Society", he answered.

I gazed into his eyes. I wanted him more than anything; I wanted us to connect, for me to surround him entirely, for us to intermingle and become one.

"Mrs Doubtfire?", I suggested.

He was rock hard, eager to please me. He wasn't wearing a condom, as it was my first time.

"No, not that either", he said. I grew wetter in my longing.

"One Hour Photo? Bicentennial Man?", I pleaded. "Jack?"

He entered me, and I could feel his hardness inside. My first time!

"No, Jack was the kid with the ageing disease", he replied. I gasped.

"Hook!", I cried. "Hook!" I could feel the pleasure welling up inside of me.

"Nowhere near", he whimpered. "Hook was the middle-aged Peter Pan returning to Neverland. Which, though critically mauled, was nominated for a number of Osc-ah-ah-ahhhhhhhhhh".

I could tell he was close.

"I suppose the conclusion we've reached here is that Robin Williams has had a cinema career of little to no variety", he screamed.

"Yes!", I yelled. "Yes!"

"Eureka!", he yelled. "Good..."

"Good what, darling? What's good?", I asked.

"Good... MORNING VIETNAM!!!"

With that, we collapsed into each other's tired arms.

I guess having "good morning Vietnam" screamed in your face as your boyfriend ejaculates when you're losing your virginity might not be what you'd call classically romantic, but at least it wasn't "JUMANJI". For a first time, I couldn't have asked for more.

Sadly, Sven's back in Wales studying for a PhD. But I'll never forget watching some of the finest Robin Williams movies of my life with him, and some of the best sex I've ever had.

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Just a quick thanks to all the fans of this blog - at the time of writing, my last two posts have had 21 comments overall, while that Sex at Oxbridge imitator's only had 20! Cheers to you all for making my blog more popular, and therefore better than hers!