The Puma and the Rose

This is a living story. Everyone is invited to post a comment related to the characters, how they (mis)behave, and the progression of the story. Your comments may be in Dutch. Although the storyline is authentic, names, place names and naming of events have been changed.

Dit is een levend verhaal. Iedereen wordt uitgenodigd om een reactie te plaatsen die betrekking heeft op de personages, hoe deze zich (wan)gedragen , en het verloop van het verhaal. Uw commentaar mag in het Nederlands. Hoewel de verhaallijn authentiek is werden namen, plaatsnamen en het benoemen van gebeurtenissen gewijzigd.

Part 1

He was not impressed. Not at all. He had seen her, sitting last row in the middle of the class room acting interested and blond. From her accent he could tell she was from abroad; could have been some Balkan country ?

After some courses it was clear to him that she was not the average student but belonged to the group that you take your car or a plane for, and try to do something in return for the expensive course fee. That was an issue all students complained about, but some more than others. Let it be just the ones that ask the most intelligent questions and give the most lucid answers that are complaining about the fee the least. But then again: what’s new after so many years of teaching.

He was never keen on coffee break chats and the fact that she always talked to the same people did not really help. She seemed to get along well with the boss, a German lady with a Dutch name but living in Spain. He could imagine why there was a common vibe. They have that same aura around them although they look differently. I guess what attracts them to each other is that they both look women with an attitude : strong, independent, ready to kick your ass if you get into their way.

He was more focused on the fact that his friend and mentoree was also teaching. He is a nice looking guy. Elegant, sportsman, romantic eyes, honest look, his successor and heir of all his teaching materials. He never understood why this German friend had an earring and a thumb ring but there were some signs to explain this : Queen poster on the wall, motorcycling and Rock ‘n Roll as a hobby. Even his name was “anglified”: Ronald became Ronny. Fits the profile doesn’t it ? He wonders why the tattoo’s and the hasj did not find their way into Ronny’s life?  Maybe not compatible with his professional life? Or maybe this was just too much for the in-laws to bear?

He never asked his friend….now he wonders why he didn’t….

The blond chick was off the radar…

And then he came to Munich having talked to his ear-ringed friend in advance. They both shared the love for everything that tickled your senses : good food, good booze and beautiful women. They had been talking many hours about these things and came to a meaningful male chauvinist conclusion: the food, the booze and the women can differ, as long as everything reaches the high quality standard. Surprising from 2 petrol heads that have testosterone levels, only tempered by the scars and bumps of life ?

Conversation would not end there.

Mozart, AC/DC, the Stones, Roman and Greek culture also circled the room as if they were to claim the right to exist. But then the more sense-tickling-things kicked in again as if they were overruling ancient cultures.

So there he was on that Thursday night, his car loaded with prime stuff : snacks of all kinds, 2 of the best single malt whiskeys - the kind you don’t buy yourself because they are way too expensive. You get them because you reached stages that prompt people to give you expensive presents, like your 50^th birthday or providing BIG favors – different bottles of champagne – different white wines – different red wines – and of course soda’s for those who lack the drive of feeling alive….

And let’s not forget : the different kind of glasses that suit the drink you’re having. Living in style, right ?

Although it took him 3 rounds to the garage to get everything out of the car, he was sure of one thing : His friend and him were going to have some quality time on Friday evening.

For some reason, way beyond remembrance, word got around and more than 10 people showed  up at the hotel room door. The blond highly IQ-ed student was there too…with an uninvited friend. But hey, he didn’t mind sharing, even though he was worried there would not be enough of all the goodies.

The friend of the Balkan connection made it very clear : Slovakia country is NOT the Balkan, you moron.

Point well taken. Of course it’s not the Balkan but how could he know she is, or both are, from Slovakian Republic ? Believe me, now he knows !

The unexpected move from the uninvited friend killed the interest he might have taken in her presence. “She was not unattractive but rather outspoken, a nasty property in a woman’s character”,  he told me.

Then came a back and forth conversation with the party crasher that went from a difference of opinion into the gap between crap and cheesecake. Interest ? Sympathy ? are you kidding me. He was determined to cut her loose in the conversation. Amazing how someone can lose his or her beauty when a civil conversation disintegrates. And down the tubes she went.

He removed himself from the conversation and started to clear some of the damages caused by the illegal hotel room Covid gathering. You now, the stuff guests don’t care about because it’s empty. Paper bags, packages, empty bottles and glasses. Especially the glasses. After all, it is a hotel room and you can’t get enough of those , can you?

He reached across the table, or should I say multifunctional piece of furniture, to get a glass, when the she made her first move. Copying his movement she pushed her lips onto his in a quick frontal collision. Most collisions cause damages. This one was no exception. What is going on here he mumbled to himself, the blond tornado following him into the “bathroom” to do the dishes.

An unclear conversation developed. He can’t really remember. One of the side effects of substance abuse I guess.

One thing was sure: he went for the final kill of the uninvited friend. He called the uninvited one a girl and threw the contrast in blondie’s face by calling her a real woman. That must have done the trick because the flirting stopped. Probably the need for noticing her and the need for recognition were caressed enough to ease the pushing.

The snacks, booze and flirting ended before the evening did, but as it often happens with empty bottles, they make a tinkling noise prompting people to leave.