From Singapore to the World: A Journey of Lesbian Love Across The Globe

Chapter 7: The Unknown from Berlin

I can't even remember her name. She wasn't meant to be forgettable, but somehow, she slipped into that category. It was the eve of my birthday, and I was determined to make it memorable. I wasn't expecting it to turn into a one-night stand. We had met up for dinner earlier, and I thought maybe this could lead to something more. After dinner, I casually asked if she wanted to come see my hotel room, and she agreed.

We sat there in my room, talking, and everything felt casual—there was no pressure. After a while, I just asked, *"Would you like to have sex?"* I wasn't expecting much, but I thought it might be the start of something intimate, even special. She agreed, and that's when things began.

At first, the anticipation made it exciting, but the moment things became physical, it all went downhill. When she tore off her winter clothes, I realized she wasn't exactly my type physically, but I pushed that aside, thinking I could still enjoy the experience. I asked her if she wanted to freshen up, and I even helped wash her, hoping it would make things more comfortable for both of us.

But as soon as we got intimate, the excitement faded. She went down on me first, and I tried to reciprocate, going down on her in return. That's when I noticed it—the distinct and unpleasant smell of urine. Despite having just washed her, the odor was unmistakable. I was caught off guard, unsure of what to do. It wasn't just the smell; it was the taste, too, and I couldn't bring myself to continue. I was turned off completely. The thought of it stayed with me, lingering and ruining any desire I had left.

This was supposed to be my birthday—a night where I had wanted something fun, something exciting, maybe even passionate. Instead, I was left with an experience that felt far from celebratory. I had imagined something much more thrilling, but without any emotional connection and with that overwhelming discomfort, it became a huge letdown.

After that night, I ghosted her. It wasn't something I did often, but I didn't want to talk to her again. It wasn't just about closing the door; every time I thought of her, the memory of that smell and taste hit me, and it was too much to bear. I couldn't get past it, and it wasn't worth trying to force a connection.

In the end, I realized I didn't really feel bad for ghosting her. We hadn't known each other well, and from the few hours we spent together, she didn't strike me as someone I particularly wanted in my life. I needed emotional connection, and at the very least, basic hygiene.

The experience taught me more than I expected. I realized that I wanted intimacy to be more than just a physical act—I wanted something real, with someone who cared about the details, who cared about connection and respect. That night became a reminder of what I didn't want and a push toward seeking something more meaningful in the future.

Eventually, she kicked me off her Instagram, and I let her fade from memory. It was a fleeting, disappointing experience that I was happy to leave behind.