Devin Dearing Preston: NYC writer, playwright, and storyteller

Everyone deserves a Latin Lover

August 5, 2010

I am hispanic. This is a very little known fact about me. Most people are shocked when they find out. Admit it, you don’t believe it either. The fair skin, red hair and freckles usually throws the general public off of the sent. I exhibit none of the classic visible signs of my ancestors except maybe for a deep love of spicy food and a larger than average rear end. It’s from my Dad’s side. His mother, Maydelle, is Mexican. Which makes me a 25% Latina. And also gives me an unexplainable fascination with Latin men. 

I love them. And if you were honest with yourself, you would love them too. Their caramel skin. Their dark smokey eyes. Their agile tongues. This is a culture were machismo and swagger are alive and well. Men are still men. And they love women. I would even dare to say they worship women. Every size, shape, and disposition is on the menu. And they still believe in courting her and wooing her and making her their own. This is a really fun dance if you have the right partner. Being desired for our luscious femininity is something that the modern American woman misses out on most of the time. In a world where it seems like romance is dead, Latin Americans are keeping the fires burning.

Now, I’m not speaking about the men who stand around on my block for a living, warmly greeting me with “Mmm, God Bless You, Mami,”  as I make my way down the street. But, as far as cat calls go, Latin men know where it is at. Yes, it is profoundly dirty. But, its hard to grow indignant when they bring God into it. My beauty makes you want to bless me? Well, okay, I can be okay with this. And I carry on with a little extra sway in my step. 

I met a Columbian. He was raised in Queens. And is still very close to his large latin extended family. I might like him more than I want to. 

We met online. Incase you didn’t know, that’s how I’m meeting guys these days. And we chatted almost nightly before he invited me to work the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle with him over brunch. Now, I have two not so good associations with crossword puzzles. My distant father did them religiously. He had a clipboard with the weekly crosswords attached by his brown leather easy chair in the living room which he bragged he only worked in ball point pen. As did the last asshole who broke my heart. He hadn’t accomplished anything in his life, but completing a New York Times Sunday crossword made him feel better about that sad fact.

So, I shouldn’t say I hate these mind fucks. Because I have never really tried to like them. But I refuse to feel dumb because I can’t solve them to save my life. That kind of thinking brings me no joy. I’m not insecure about my intelligence. I know it’s not comprised of useless trivia. And just because you can solve one and I can’t doesn’t make you smarter than me. So there.

But, I can’t tell someone I don’t even know about my complicated relationship with bright men, so I agree, secretly hoping he isn’t crazy crossword guy. He wasn’t. He couldn’t even find it in the paper. He was thankfully almost as unskilled as me. Almost. And we answered maybe ten questions and chatted the rest of the time. It ended up just sitting on the table, mocking us.

The most striking thing about my Columbian is his confidence. That, and his quick wit. This is a man who gets it. And that is infinitely sexier to me than rippling abs and a strong square jaw line. Yes, he might be a little short, squishy and shaggy. But he is working it. He doesn’t apologize for it but instead owns it and makes me feel like I am lucky to be out with him. This is an amazing feat because at a glance, we clearly are playing in two different leagues. He also tells great stories. And gives me permission to be my honest true self.

Yeah, I’m in trouble.

My trepidation is his ease with women. It’s a double-edged sword. Because it’s very disarming but you still have to keep your guard up because its hard to judge sincerity when dealing with a real smooth talker. I do love me some smooth talkers. We have been out twice now. Date three is tonight. Dinner and an independent movie in DUMBO. I am approaching with caution but must admit I am enjoying the time I have spent with him more than the time I have spent with any of my other dates. He’s a joy.

I think his heritage has a lot to do with it.

Categories: See Jane Give Up Dick

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