You ever see a guy so insanely attractive you don’t even know what to do with yourself? The kind of guy who is distracting to look at? The kind of guy who immediately has you under his spell, and you start to figure out ways to get him to go home with you at least just once so you can tell your friends about it. A guy who knows he looks like a Greek god and you have no problem with allowing to hit and quit it and never call you again.
Well, that was Chames.
I went out to The Abbey, a gay club in West Hollywood, on Christmas Eve with my friend Ashleigh. It’s one of my favorite places in LA, especially on Christmas Eve. It’s become our tradition to go to The Abbey and drink tequila and slide $1s into sexy male go-go dancers booty shorts. (Hoe hoe hoe, right?)
We walked into the appropriately festive club, couples hiding from their families, scantily clad men wearing Santa hats, and no shortage of attractive people. As we went to the bar to order a drink, this gorgeous, shirtless man took our order while giving me the sexiest smile I think I’ve ever seen. I swear he looked like a hot, bearded Aladdin with a thick French accent. It was almost dizzying to look at him. Ashleigh and I got our drinks and retreated to a spot towards the side of the dancer’s stage to admire the view and catch up. Ashleigh was in the process of moving to Los Angeles from Australia and splitting up with her fiance, so we had lots of catching up to do. But it was difficult to pay attention to Ashleigh because each time I went back to get another drink, I’d notice sexy Aladdin run from the other end of the bar to take my order.
After playing this game for a few rounds, Sexy Aladdin altered his serving loop and took a holding pattern by the area where Ashleigh and I were standing. This seemed odd to me—this guy was beyond out of my league and there was no way he was actually looking at me of all people, but then Ash nudged me and said, “He’s totally checking you out!”
“No way,” I said. But when I looked back, I caught his eye again. Sure enough he was up-downing my leggings and tight sweater, smiling that sexy smile again. Holy shit. Sexy Aladdin was definitely checking me out.
I began to throw glances his way too, returning his smile, and finally it happened. He crossed the dance floor to me, leaned in, and whispered in my ear, “You have the most beautiful smile, I have to take you to dinner. I’m Chames.” It was like James, but with a shhh in front, like he didn’t want me to tell his secret. Cue the fucking waterfall in my panties. I gave Chames my phone number, and he texted me later that night that he couldn’t wait to see me.
Our first date was the next day, Christmas. We were both away from our families and didn’t have the chance to go home for the holidays, so it seemed like a perfect opportunity for a first date. Chames took me to a little sushi place, one of the few places open in West Hollywood, and we had a great time. He was funny and sweet, a total gentleman and incredibly well dressed. I swear he was in head to toe Balmain. He confessed was a model, because of course he was, and that he was originally from Nice, France with family in Morocco. He was into real estate and had plans to become some sort of international real estate mogul, which was a pleasant surprise from the usual ambitions of the typical LA “model” guy. After dinner we kissed goodbye, and he said he had to see me again soon, so we scheduled another date for later that week.
We went on a couple more dates—a late night drink at a little speakeasy near my place and dinner at this incredible pizza place in Sherman Oaks. This boy knew to take me to pizza within the first 3 dates? Um yeah, he was definitely coming in hot. Pizza and champagne are pretty sure-fire ways to get into my pants, and after that night, finally, he came home with me.
Just seeing him naked was enough to turn my panties into his personal Slip N Slide. Chames was the perfect mix of sensual and aggressive, kissing that felt romantic and soft, but with a firm handful of my hair to show me who’s boss. As turned on as his body made me he seemed to be obsessed with mine, which only made me that much more into him and ready to do just about anything he wanted to. And the French dirty talk. He could have been telling me I was ugly and he hoped I got hit by a bus, I literally would have had no idea, but it sounded so hot, and the orgasms kept coming (pun absolutely intended).
We continued seeing each other and having amazing sex for about a month. And when I say amazing, I mean hot, sweaty, multiple orgasms, and positions you pretty much only see in porn, fully utilizing the fact that an entire wall of my bedroom is mirrored. I mean, I took dance growing up and everything but I had no idea I was still that flexible. I noticed that he never went down on me, which, in my experience isn’t all that surprising with men like Chames. It’s like the hotter they are the less they feel they have to try to please you. Not that it ever stopped me from agreeing to sex with the guy. We soaked my bed nearly every time which only turned him on more. I literally had to change my sheets every time we had sex.
Hoe tip: never assume you’re not a squirter.
I thought I just wasn’t able to do it, but apparently if you get into the right position and have a guy bang you out just right (and a nice sized dick helps) you too can have to do laundry every fucking day. I’ll be real honest here: I can do without squirting ever again. It really did nothing to enhance my sexual experience and as someone who likes having clean sheets at all times, it really just annoyed me when it was all said and done. But Chames was allll about the squirting. I swear the things we do for hot guys…
After about a month of exciting sex and what I thought was the beginning of what could possibly turn into a relationship, things began to fizzle out. The nice dates and sweet texts stopped, and the only times I would see Chames were when I went to The Abbey or when he’d come over and fuck my brains out, then leave. Seeing Chames became less frequent as our schedules were very opposite, and it became purely sexual. (Or maybe it had been sexual the whole time? Maybe he was simply playing the game well and I was too blinded by his beauty to care.) As with most things, I started to lose interest. Mostly because I don’t particularly enjoy just being a thing of convenience, but also because he didn’t eat pussy, and I don’t care how hot you are, you gotta eat pussy to remain on my roster.
I still hear from Chames from time to time, and I’m sure I’ll fuck him again at some point because it’s fun to have a hot French model bang you out every now and then. For now, I’ll see him at The Abbey and brag to anyone within earshot that I’ve hit that. Guys like Chames are so alluring and it’s fun bragging rights to say I’ve had sex with this guy who’s so hot most women would only dream of sleeping with him. Next time I don’t think I’ll delude myself into believing this would ever be more than just sex. Charm, hotness, and a French accent can make you believe all kinds of things, but at the end of the day a spade is a spade, and a fuckboy is a fuckboy.