D Melting Pot

As a Trinidadian male in his twenties living in New York, I make it my business to get out and meet women. Pussy is a powerful thing: strong enough to force me out of the comfort of my warm room, possibly shave, throw on some good threads and hit the cold, expensive, unforgiving, concrete jungle known as the city. All in the prospect of tail...or maybe, though unlikely, someone girlfriend worthy.

Women in NY are completely different to those in Trinidad. The likelihood of an arbitrary lay in Trinidad is as realistic as Manning's vision 2020. It'll take your typical middle income 'beta' male months, if not years in some cases, to get into a Trini girl's panties. After months of the same old shit (Zen, 51, Morvino, Movie Towne etc) the poor son of a bitch will have nothing more than an empty wallet and an elephantiasis sized case of blue balls to show for it. His aspiring conquest will end in gross dissapointment, the prospect of vagina nothing more than a frugal dream. Left with only a Sunday Punch and Palmela to comfort him he'll once again cry himself to sleep wondering where it all went wrong.

Take the same guy and throw him in NY, perk up his style, teach him some game and he'll be rackin' 'em up. Most women in NY are nothing more than a WYSIWYG plethora of makeup, Louis Vuitton and broken goods funded by daddy's credit card. Instant gratification is the name of the game and if you play your cards right you'll come out a winner. Play'em wrong and they'll suck you dry for all your worth financially and emotionally.

The emphasis on conservative Catholic and Hindu religious traditions in Trinidad has reinforced the notion of: "make him wait". Logic like that will turn your potential nice guy boyfriend from:

into

The socialite logic for these girls is one of 'brakesin' d bull', as we say back home. Trinidad is too small too be promiscuous; your slutty reputation will get you known as the village bicycle faster than you can say Dana Alleyne.

If you've lived in Trinidad for most of your life, you've come to terms with the fact that you'll see the same fucking people at the same fucking places week after week, year after year until you die. Think Bill Murray in Groundhog Day except with no sex.

Despite being Trinidadian, I'm often taken for your typical American dude. Needless to say my accent has assisted in establishing the divider. Openers are helpful for any situation when approaching a woman but often irrelevant if she hears my voice. It's a nice ace in the hole that has procured numerous nights of

This is all well and good of course, but grows increasingly trite when searching for a woman of substance. Most NY women I've met are corporate driven slaves. So caught up in a mans world and rising to the top they forget what it is to be a real woman. The rat race comes at a price as they abandon their feminine sensibilities and replace courtship with happy hour and eHarmony.com. In like manner, desirable traits and skills like cooking and cleaning, are acutely and conveniently labeled as the sexist expectations of a misogynistic pig.

The other half are emotional shipwrecks. The pump and dumps who's past relationships have left them in shambles. They're so busy compensating with huge Prada sunglasses, eyeliner and blush they forget to fix the real problem. When it comes time to get to know them, conversation is often dull and hollow leaving little to be desired, much less a second date.

I feel no sympathy for women swayed into bed by the exotic nature of a foreign voice and some travel stories. Shit, she's enjoying the sex as much as me and at the worst gets a good story to tell her friends. If anything I commend American girls for giving it up as compared to snobby, spoiled, trini girls. I praise them for at least thinking for themselves. Edit: they let the O.C., Sex and the City, Vogue and MTV do that. But hey, as crazy and fucked up as city girls are, at least they put out. As beautiful and wife worthy as Trini girls can be, too many are anal about sex.

Even if it's for all the wrong reasons I can't help but prefer these City girls, at least for now. Shit, I'll pretend my name is Carlos and blurt arbitrary phrases in Spanish like, "No pantalones danza en me casa, ahora, ahora!!" if that's what gets me laid. Does it bother me? Fuck no. In a world of burgers, pizza and tacos I'm the callaloo, the exotic outsider that offers so much prospect. I'm that breath of fresh air she's been waiting for in a city of guidos, emos, meatheads and posers. I'm the worldly traveler full of class and culture. As the infamous DCB might put it, I'm winning the game of life.