Am I Too Dirty? Am I Too Flirty? Do I Like What You Like?

So, continuing my tales of what went on in Morocco...I kind of met someone there. Let's call him Don Juan de Morocco. Don Juan de Morocco works two jobs, one of which is at the carpet store where I met him, and has a masters degree in psychology. When we met at the carpet store, I looked like the wreck of the Hesperus, but he still zoomed in on me. He was chatting me up while he showed my married friends and me around the weaving area and the view over the city, and he asked me if I have a boyfriend. Since I thought he was smoking hot and rocking the body karate (we were all invited to the guns show), I admitted that I do not. He said, "The men in your country have no eyes." Swoon. He tried to get me to have dinner with him, but I said that I couldn't because I was obligated to have dinner with my tour group. He wanted to give me his contact information anyway, and while he was off fetching one of his business cards, my married friends urged me to give him the address to our hotel and suggest meeting for coffee or tea after dinner. He agreed to meet me at 11 that night. We spent the rest of the group's time in the carpet store chatting. He even asked me how many kids I want.

It occurred to me after setting up this date that it might not be the smartest idea in the world to go off late at night by myself in a strange city where I don't really speak the language with a man I've only just met. Occasionally, I use my brain. So, I invited my married friends and my other friend to tag along and keep me from being dragged along to the raperie. My tour guide was not so thrilled about my going out with a local, which I understand because if I disappear like that poor Natalie Holloway girl in Aruba, he's going to be the one to explain to my furious mother and the international media that he let me go because I'm a grown up and he couldn't physically restrain me. He visibly brightened when I told him that I intended to bring along chaperones.

The date was a mixed bag, but I had a great time. At the carpet store, we had been chatting pretty casually despite obviously being into each other, but he came on stronger when we grabbed a drink. I had spruced myself up as much as I could considering that I hadn't brought anything appropriate for a date, and he told me I looked beautiful, which was very nice to hear. He also wasn't any too amused that I brought my friends along. At one level, I understand his disappointment but at another level, he ought to at least make an effort to understand that you don't develop enough trust in a person to be certain he won't date rape you or abandon you late at night in a sketchy part of an unfamiliar city after knowing him less than one hour. My friends sat at a different table, so we had some privacy.

He gave me a lot of compliments during the date, which I enjoyed. Who doesn't like to hear that she has beautiful eyes and a beautiful smile? It's something I never hear except from my mom, so it was really nice to hear it from a hot guy. He also told me that he wants to be in a serious relationship, and that he really likes me and that he wants me to allow him to love me (whatever that means). That was also nice to hear. I have struggled for the past decade with the issue of always being the pursuer, so it was refreshing to be pursued, especially by someone much hotter than the guys I've been chasing around for ten years.

There were also things that I didn't like so much about the date. Mainly, there was a lot of talk about s-e-x. It wasn't dirty talk exactly but rather puns on the words "come" and "eating" and a soliloquy (by him) on the difference between having sex and making love. (Frankly, the only person I want to hear say "making love" is Sami Brady.) I am prudish when it comes to talking about sex. Even if friends want to tell me a story that involves a sexual escapade, I like them to plow through (no pun intended) the sex part as quickly as possible and get to the part about the emotions so I can give advice. He also laid it on pretty thick with a couple of stories that seemed a little dubious. Namely, he supports his parents and younger siblings financially (I tended to believe this part, and I have heard that it is actually somewhat common in Morocco for this to happen, especially given the country's high rate of unemployment) and that his last serious relationship ended two years ago when the woman died in a car accident. My friends did not believe his stories at all, for the record, and thought he was way too smooth.

I don't know what to think. He invited me back to his apartment, but he didn't push the issue when I declined. He wanted me to promise him that I would come back to Morocco to visit him and suggested that we could keep in touch via Facebook, instant messenging, Skype, and so forth. We discussed whether he would ever move to the United States (yes, if he met the right person, which is a fair enough answer), and whether he would want me to convert to Islam (he said I didn't have to but that he would be my slave if I did). We also discussed having kids (he wants two or three compared to my none and volunteered to take care of the kids under the belief that I would eventually grow to love our children). Did I mention this date took place in under an hour?

The other thing that I felt ambivalent about was the fact that he kissed me at the restaurant twice. We were seated outside, in front of Allah and the world. In Morocco, public displays of affection between the sexes are just not on. Men are more affectionate with other men than they are here and women can be affectionate with other women, but there is no public crossing of the gender line really. He's a good kisser, so I liked that part, but I felt a little uncomfortable about it as well because I doubt he would have done that if I were a girl from his own country. So, in that sense, I felt a little bit disrespected even though he asked my permission before kissing me. That doesn't make much sense, but even though I wanted it to happen, I felt like he should treat me the same way he would treat a girl from Morocco.

Anyway, we ended the evening with his letting me know that he doesn't have any of my contact information and I have all of his, so I should get in touch. My friends were happy for me that I enjoyed my evening, but they thought he was way too slick and disingenuous and that all he wanted was s-e-x. I wasn't so sure one way or the other what his deal was. It was kind of telling that I didn't really feel that excited about continuing the conversation beyond the brief period of time we had together -- when I hear "how we met" stories from couples I think are good together, there is always a component of wanting to talk to each other for hours and hours.

Given my confusion, I decided to invite him to be my friend on Facebook. It's a non-threatening way to get to know someone. You can restrict how much information the person gets about you while still having email and even chat access to him. He has yet to approve my friend request, so I'm coming around to the idea that my friends might have been right about his unsavory intentions. I'm not too invested in the situation, so if he doesn't want to be my Facebook friend, I'm not too torn up about it. It still makes for a great story, and it really kicked my self-esteem up a notch to have someone hot and smart showering me with compliments and putting forth such effort, even if the effort was only to get me to sleep with him. It gave me hope that one day, someone more appropriate and accessible might come along and see those same things and put in that kind of effort to win me over.