Miami, early 2026. Rooftop of the 1 Hotel South Beach. Still waiting for Xmas Lady to arrive.
Xmas Lady: “So how many girls did you meet that day while you were waiting for me?” ndXmasLady.
Me: “Hey, I was on vacation!“
Xmas Lady: “Don’t you have a better use for your time on vacation?!”
Me: “Well, that way I meet so many interesting people… It’s a way to deeply understand the place, to enter the Gestalt of where I am… I’m a Fuck-Tourist!“
The cheerful buzz of patrons spreads among the elegant tables. In the background, the sea, the inevitable palm trees in the distance. In front of me, EsotericPussy. Eyes of a calm and intense blue, full lips, elegant even with filler, very graceful features. Her gaze is determined but kind. Perfect physique, athletic, slim. Pretty nice tits, obviously fake, but tastefully done.
She emits a calm, deep energy; she’s in control of the situation, open to the person in front of her, an excellent observer. A spiritual being in the body of a total babe. But she’s sneaky. She’s Russian, it’s inevitable. Her profile says she’s 31; in my opinion, she’s 3 or 4 years older. In her photos, she’s a being of exceptional beauty; in person, she’s just super-hot. Okay, let’s not complain.
The numerologist with the cleavage
I take her hands. She asks for my birth date. I answer, looking at her surprised. She does some mental calculations and then tells me:
Her: “You’re a 10”
Me: “Oh, thanks, my mom always told me I was handsome!”
Her: “No, you got it all wrong! 10 is your soul level!”
Me: “Oh, thanks, my Aunt Piera always tells me I’m a good person”
Her: “Forget Aunt Piera! That has nothing to do with it! This is a serious conversation!”
Better get serious,I think, otherwise there’s no fucking tonight!
Okay, I pull myself together and look at her with an interested gaze. I ask her to explain better.
She:
“I’ve done extensive studies. I follow a Russian Master who travels the world. We firmly believe that the soul reincarnates multiple times, moving from level to level.
And each level corresponds to a purpose, a mission to fulfill, a situation to heal or overcome. Only by finalizing its purpose can the soul access the next level.”
Souls and fur coats
My gaze drops down her neckline and lingers on her breasts, which I desperately want to lick.
Me: “Wow, and what happens when it reaches the final level?“
Her: “Once it reaches the final level, the soul is ready to stop reincarnating and move to a different level of knowledge. Some call it Nirvana.“
Me: “You know, this reminds me of a conversation I had with my friend Daniela. We were talking about life and she argued that everyone attracts their own pain and their own experiences.
As soon as I heard that sentence, I stiffened up: “what you’re saying is very cruel! Think of a terminal patient, a rape victim, etc… By saying this, it’s like you’re blaming them for what happened to them!“.
With a loving tone and the bored expression of someone who always has to explain the same thing, she tells me: “No, I’m not saying it’s the victim’s responsibility. Simply that the soul needs to go through that experience to purify itself, grow, and resolve past traumas. And it attracts someone with similar needs. For a shared experience of catharsis.“
My gaze returns to her tits, I think “yeah, oh god, actually my soul really needs to put my dick between those!“.
A slate plate full of sushi lands between me and the tits, interrupting my gaze. The waiter smiles at me, with that kindness typical of places where tips cost as much as dinner in Milan.
EsotericPussy tells me about her life.
Inevitably Russian, moved here before the war, marriage for citizenship, close to divorce, full of interests.
Her gaze is bright, she’s aware of being attractive, but without that typical arrogance of the SuperGoddess.
We move to the bedroom. She stalls a bit, she wants to talk more and more. I don’t mind; she’s an interesting person to get to know. I fix her a “healthy vodka,” whatever that means (great strategy with girls who have food obsessions… the same steak becomes “healthy,” “vegan,” “biodynamic,” “local,” “kosher,” or “grass-fed” depending on whether you are—in order—from Milan, a fake Milanese, a third-generation Milanese, Jewish, or paleo).
The hookup and the integrity account
My hands undress her. She has an incredibly fit physique, sculpted abs, zero fat. They must really care about their bodies in Miami. I compliment her on her Pilates “core.” She smiles, says thanks, and tells me “well, come on, in the end, I’m just like in the photos.”
me: “…”
her: “ Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you saying I’m not like in the photos?“
me: “…”
Her: (with a shocked look) “What do you mean!”
me: “well, you’re super cute, perfect body, beautiful girl”
her: “you’re still not answering… am I like in the photos or not?”
Me: (thinking the photos are at least 4 years old) “no, you’re a bit different, but you’re super beautiful anyway”
her: (looking at the sky in exasperation) “Anyway?!?”
Me: (caressing her breasts to comfort her) “I’ve rarely seen a woman so fit”
Her: (removing my hands with annoyance and suddenly playing hard to get) “And my face? Do I look older to you?“
I think: “damn me, when I promised myself not to lie to a woman! Oh God, here, whatever I say, I’m dead“.
I tell her “I love your eyes”
Her: (more and more annoyed) “Are you really saying I’m old?!?!”
I have only one way out of this to make her stop talking: I pull out my dick and place it 5 cm from her mouth.
She takes it in her hand, looks at me, and continues to complain.
Me: “Do you want to cancel? Should I walk you downstairs?“
Her: “No, no, but let’s be clear that you’re a jerk. You don’t treat a lady like this!”and she starts playing with my majority shareholder.
I take her to the bed. Her face is still marked by disappointment over the photo talk. I put a hand on her belly, flash my best “tender motherfucker” look, and say to her: “ come on, let’s make a baby! It’s my destiny, right?“
She bursts out laughing, smiles honored, and says shyly “well, but I’ve only known you for a little while”
Me: “But the numbers, the soul, destiny! You told me, you can’t take it back now“
Her: “Well, but let’s at least get to know each other a bit first… come on, at least for 6 months”.
Me: (with a contrite look) “Well, but think how beautiful a child with my nose and your abs would be! We’ll call him Magnum P.I., in honor of the city where we met”.
She laughs.
I pounce on her.
She asks for a condom.
Feigning deep disappointment, I put on the condom with theatrical gestures like Mario Merola (for the foreign audience, Mario Merola is one of the greatest exponents of Neapolitan melodrama…).
Anyway, decent fuck but no blowjob “you know, because of diseases!” Bah, I think it’s still because of the photo thing. I say goodbye.
She texts me two hours later, saying she forgot a ring. She makes sure to let me know it’s diamonds worth 6 thousand dollars, given to her by her previous boyfriend. Just to set the standard, lest I truly desire to have a child with her.
She comes back to get it.
I dramatically get down on one knee.
I look her in the eyes.
I slide the ring onto her finger.
“So, future wife, are you going to give me that blowjob now?”
She bursts out laughing, we talk, we joke, she has me talk on the phone with her friend (“listen, can you tell your friend it’s a shame not to give me this blowjob?”) but finally she leaves without the blowjob.
This is the cost of integrity!
Of honesty!
So, dear male readers, do your majority shareholder down there a favor: lie, always lie and get it sucked!
Meanwhile, SuperGoddess contacts me again to ask for a third round (I haven’t written about the second one yet). I tell her I’ve run out of money and I’m looking for work as a pizza maker to pay for my return ticket.
She’ll try a couple more times to get me to buy her something from a distance; I’ll keep telling her I’m poor… until she realizes there’s nothing to take and blocks me everywhere; the tramp!
The story of the kids
Considerations
So, this whole kid thing got to me.
Not that I believe in soul numerology, but actually, something in that talk resonated within me.
I’m a very paternal person (as the high number of little slutty daughters can testify) and I feel I’d be a very loving dad.
And, in fact, shortly after, Xmas Lady’s offer to have a child with her will arrive, saying she doesn’t care if I fuck around, in fact, she’s happy if she has other “sister wives” to live with, in a super extended family.
What do you think?
A kid?
Write it in the comments! The first one who convinces me wins the privilege of having my first child named after them (No, that doesn’t count for you, Ermenegildo!)
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