I must be the world’s worst shopper. Nine times out of 10 when I go shopping I end up not buying anything at all. In fact I have turned window shopping into a never ending, empty activity. So when I was in San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica, one Saturday afternoon I decided to take a break from my “lèche-vitrines” as the French say, which literally means “lick windows” and have a coffee in a nearby hotel.

Beautiful Young Latina Girls

As I crossed the threshold, I immediately noticed, being the hot blooded male that I am, rows of beautiful girls, mostly young girls, probably in their early twenties, and mostly latinas, many of whom were gazing, and smiling even, at me. This somewhat flummoxed me.

Was it the logo on the front of my freshly laundered black T-Shirt which had caught their attention? Did the cologne which I was wearing actually live up to its advertising hype, and prove irresistible to women? Was there some other explanation? I could not think of one. The last time I could remember attracting so much attention from the opposite sex was when I was in my early twenties, and I sported a pair of extremely tight fitting flared trousers called “loons” (anyone remember them?) which displayed too clearly the lines of my bottom. One girl even came up and squeezed it. Ah, those dim and distant sweet memories.

Then again I have heard that many Costa Rican women are attracted to older men. They apparently don’t mind the age difference, and are able to ignore the bald head and thickness of girth, and concentrate instead on the thickness of wallet. Could this be the explanation?

I shrugged it off and walked through to a smaller, quieter area, and found a seat at the bar. Before I could even say “Café con leche, por favor”, there was a set of gleaming white teeth smiling up at me, with shining black hair above, and a voluptuous chest remarkably well displayed, below.

These most appealing physical characteristics belonged to a young latina girl of about twenty years. She was pressed up so close to me that I could not see anything else of her.

“Hello, my name is Maria. What’s your name? Where are you from?” she inquired with her eyes fixed on mine.

I managed a perfunctory reply; unsure what was happening, and why such a beautiful young lady was apparently irresistibly drawn to a middle aged man, who was old enough to be her father or even her grandfather. She had, perhaps, witnessed the reception I had received, and so was willing to take the initiative, and forego the usual formalities in order to get to know me as quickly as possible, and before any of her friends could.

Judging by her doe eyed gaze, and body language, she had obviously fallen for me instantly, and big-time. There was the look of love in those dark brown eyes. Even though I have not seen such a look directed at me for quite some time, there is still no mistaking it.

She advances her hand and brushes it ever so gently against mine, as she looks longingly into my eyes. She is indeed very beautiful, and the words “sweet and innocent” spring to mind.

“Do you want to buy me a drink?” she asks, whilst simultaneously pressing her thigh against mine, all the time fixing me with her gaze, and stroking the back of my hand.

“Of course I will buy you a drink”, I reply. I call the barmaid, and my ravishing companion orders her drink.

“Are you staying in the hotel?” she inquires. Followed by “Do you like me?” Ah, now, upon hearing these stock phrases, the “P” word rolls slowly into my mind, but she is so charming, so delightful. Surely not?

It is only when I manage to drag my eyes away from her gaze and survey the other bar that I see there are many men of my age or older, and every single one of them has at least one young girl hanging on their arm. All of the girls are beautiful, and all are equally completely and inexplicably captivated by their aging, balding, pot-bellied and spindly legged companion; delighting in his every word.

Ah, I see! The penny drops firmly and I understand what is going on here. I decide to test the water.

“How much?” I ask Maria, my beautiful companion.

She looks offended. “Don’t talk money here. You like me? You want me to come to your room?”

I explain that I like her very much, but that nine times out of ten, when I go shopping I don’t buy anything, and today is one of those days. I am just window shopping.

Once she understands that I am not going to pay for her services, she quickly loses interest in me. She downs her drink, and with a smile, a squeeze of my hand, and a “Thanks for the drink”, she is gone and slips back into the crowd.

What happened to my irresistible charm and good looks, I wondered? Is my appeal to these young ladies now measured in percentages according to the size of the number on the back of the green bill which they think they can extricate from me? $100 dollars equals 100 per cent appealing; $50 equals fifty per cent, and so on. It would appear so.

Alas for the ladies of San Jose, a confirmed window shopper such as myself is not easily persuaded to part with his hard earned cash, especially when the goods on sale, appealing as they are, may prove to be detrimental to my physical health.

I must admit however, that I did enjoy the sales pitch.

END

Copyright © 2009 Michael Curley. All rights reserved.