Every intimate story holds two truths.

Find the his perspective at the end.

A Date With The Universe

I've always believed in traveling alone. I call it "a date with the Universe." When you're with others, you become a closed system, complete within yourself. But alone, you're open to anything. I learned this lesson years ago, touring with a theater group through more than fifty countries. While my forty-something colleagues retreated to their hotel rooms, my twenty-something self would venture into the nights of Rio, Seoul, or Sydney, letting each city reveal its secrets.

That morning in Puerto Escondido, I checked into an Airbnb I had, for some reason, only booked for one night. I had been in town for almost a week, but I wasn’t connecting with it. Something felt off. I clearly remember thinking, It’s time to move on. But I had no idea where to go next.

I chose Malagua Cafe deliberately. I knew about their communal tables—a perfect stage for chance encounters. When the waiter directed me to a table where a woman sat alone, I was curious.

My chair was the kind that needed a pillow—without it, you’d leave with marks on your butt. I noticed that the woman had her bag resting on a pillow on the chair next to her. Perfect conversation starter.

I asked for the pillow.

Her response wasn't what I expected. Usually, people welcome the interaction, let the conversation flow naturally. She just handed it over, eyes fixed on her plate, creating an invisible wall between us.

So I observed. Her plate was fascinating — a small portion of eggs drowning in an abundance of bacon that she seemed to be negotiating with rather than enjoying. Something about her energy felt different from the usual breakfast crowd. I thought she might be Scandinavian. And yes - I looked at her breasts —is it okay to admit that? I want this book to be completely honest. I looked into her soul through them too. She seemed to be wrestling with something internal, and I found myself wanting to lighten whatever weight she was carrying.

The bacon became my ally. "How is your breakfast? Is it making you happy?" I asked, letting a hint of playful teasing color my voice.

When she finally looked up and spoke, the wall began to crumble. Then came the surprise — Russian. Our shared mother tongue. It felt strange at first, like trying on an old favorite shirt you haven't worn in years. Living in New York had changed my relationship with the language, especially when it came to flirting. Finding the right words felt both challenging and delightfully nostalgic.

I sensed something ethereal in her energy — something airy and light. (She later corrected me, insisting she was grounded and material. I’m still not convinced.) I assumed she was into spirituality, so I casually touched on a few spiritual topics to see if that would help her relax. She picked up on them easily, and soon we were talking about past lives, aliens, and other fun things. When she mentioned working in Web3, I imagined her as a spiritual tech geek, a combination that made me smile.

Then, I checked her Instagram. I was not expecting what I saw.

A completely different vibe — model energy, an openly seductive feminine presence she projected online was so different from the contemplative woman sharing breakfast conversation. Intriguing.

Two British women joined our table. I noticed how easily T engaged with them. I was leading the conversation, but she was right there with me — witty, present, little awkward with her English and her Russian accent (hey, I have it too, I know!), but socially fluid. I liked that.

The bill came with its own little cosmic joke. The check arrived. I paid without thinking.

Then the waiter returned, apologizing.

Apparently, they had mistakenly added her bacon feast to my bill, and I had already covered it.

I laughed. A gift from the Universe I will never forget.

I made a joke and took my chance —“Do you have a deal with this place where men pay for your breakfasts?”— and told her she owed me dinner. What a smooth way to plan the next meeting, thank you Universe!

Growing up in Russia had instilled traditional values about men paying for everything, but a decade in New York had taught me that there are as many perspectives as there are people. Each connection creates its own rules, its own dance of giving and receiving.

Her blue eyes stayed with me after we parted. The openness of her goodbye hug told me she felt safe in my presence — something I've learned to read carefully over the years. Back at my new Airbnb, just a door away from my old one, I felt inspired. I picked up my ukulele and learned Bruno Mars and Rose's "Apt"—a song about the simple joy of being together. I recorded it, posted it online, and sent her the link.

She responded, “Top!” I doubt she even watched it. Though I knew we'd see each other again that evening. I had a few places in mind for dancing, but mostly I was curious to see how our energy would shift in the darkness of night, away from the safety of communal breakfast tables and morning light.

The Jaguar Awakens

I found her on the beach, finishing a sandwich. Is this the dinner she owed me? I took the last bite and couldn’t help but tease her again.

Like all Oaxacan sunsets, this one was shamelessly romantic. The waves provided the soundtrack, the sky painted itself in impossible colors, and somehow we found ourselves sitting closer than strangers should. I didn’t feel like talking about Web3. Instead, I invited us to explore a different kind of space—something more spiritual, subconscious, unknown.

She lay down on the sand. It was fully dark now, stars above us. I took this as an invitation and lay next to her. I mentioned the hypnotherapy book I was reading, curious to see if she’d pick up on it. A few questions in, she suddenly said:

“Close your eyes. Imagine you’re going down into a cave. What color do you see?”

I was amazed. She was leading me into a hypnotherapy session. Just like that. Who is this woman? I was sure she was a witch. The essence of the dark feminine, the other side of the moon.

Her voice had a sacred quality. She guided me deeper, asking questions about shapes and colors. Each time I answered, she whispered, “Wow.” I have a strong, stress-resistant heart — but if this moment didn’t make it beat faster, I’d question whether I had a heart at all.

I surely do.

After the session, she suddenly said her head was hurting. As we left the beach and walked into town, she told me she wanted to go home.

No dancing.

I was a little disappointed, but I wanted to make the most of the evening. I offered to walk her back. I suggested ice cream as a cure — partly hoping to extend our time together, partly genuinely wanting to help. I had some experience with healing and thought maybe I could offer a head massage, but the moment never quite arrived.

We went inside, and she tried to get rid of me — but not too hard. She went upstairs, then immediately called me up to her room. And then — to the rooftop. In my experience, a woman doesn't invite a man up unless she feels either completely safe or somewhat intrigued.

Maybe both.

And then, she started talking about Mazunte.

I knew this was my chance. By then, I knew we both had to check out of our hotels the next day. What if I could lead a spontaneous adventure with this intriguing woman? Could I book an Airbnb for both of us?

I suggested it, and she didn’t say,

“How dare you? This is the most ridiculous idea!”

Which, in my experience, is a yes in the feminine vocabulary.

“Do you want to help me film content tomorrow morning?” she asked.

She pulled out a reference shot. A stunning image of a woman, bare-backed, sitting by a pool. Oh. “Mmm… let me check my schedule, and I’ll get back to you about that on Wednesday. I’m pretty busy these days…”

Of course I didn't say that.

“I’ll be here in the morning.”

“Little hugs,” she said as we said goodbye.

I let her hug me. I kept my cool. But inside, I could feel the spirit of adventure stirring in my solar plexus.

Walking home, the night felt electric. I watched couples dancing salsa to live music, complimented some particularly skilled dancers, enjoyed the night air, — until I was nearly eaten by street dogs.

And then, I felt it. The jaguar spirit inside me. When one particularly aggressive dog approached, I picked up a stone. I love all beings, but I made it clear that peaceful humans should be treated with respect.

I was ready for tomorrow — but I had no idea how surreal it would actually be.

The next day, I would literally have to pinch myself to make sure this wasn’t a dream. Or another hypnotherapy session...

To Be Continued...

Every intimate story holds two truths

This was his.

Read her perspective here

Brookyn, June 3, 2025

Two Perspectives by Fruit & Flowers