Five weeks in Rome and I’m back in the dating pool

“Dating is a lot like fishing, sometimes catch and release is the best method.”

– Unknown

There hasn’t been a dull moment since we last chatted a few weeks ago. My life has been full of new and interesting people as I’ve jumped back into the dating pool in Rome. I hope you find the topic a bit more interesting. Spoiler alert: I’m going to talk a lot about sex in this blog.

The dating pool European style

Of course the word romance has latin roots based in Rome. The website Brittanica states that it was derived from the vulgar latin adjective Latin romanicus. It was a specific type of Roman dialect spoken throughout the Middle Ages. Perhaps it was the beginning of the language of love?

When speaking of Rome, it’s impossible not to think of romance and the search for l’amore. At this point, I’m quite happy just to be dating. I can wait a bit longer for the amore.

One of the pitfalls of living in the French countryside for 18 months with the pandemic was the limited social interaction with like-minded single men (or eligible gay-bachelor targets as I called them.) Around my little village in France, the dating pool was about as thin as Kate Moss was during her cocaine years.

When I would talk to friends they would ask me, “Are you meeting anybody interesting in your village?” The answer always was, “No, but a do have a family of wild board that are terrorizing me every night.” or, “Possibly, the exterminator for the killer hornets has potential…and a wife.”

I not only struggled meeting people, but the language added a layer of complexity to every encounter. It’s hard to get caught up in a passionate moment, while texting out a sentence using Google Translate. “Voulez-vous coucher avec mois, ce soir?” is not easy on the thumbs!

My heart really wasn’t even up for the language challenge either. It was easier to say, “Merci, mais non.” I left quite a bit of romancing for the native speakers. The dating pool was difficult. I did find a few French targets that spoke English, but that entailed trips to Paris, Bordeaux or Toulouse.

Also while I was in France, I had a keen talent for finding eligible bachelors that weren’t actually eligible. Meaning, after our introductions, they would layer on all sorts of complexities. They really weren’t single, or even worse, they had a wife and several children in another city. In many cases, people were living a a double life and weren’t able to be authentic. That wasn’t what I was looking for in dates.

The dating pool in Rome has vastly improved

After five weeks in Rome, the dating pool is remarkably robust. It’s as if the buffet table has been set, and I have to monitor portion control with my calendar.

There are few bars and restaurants that identify as gay-friendly, but it’s so much easier to find like-oriented people here. I’ve had the opportunity to meet many very interesting people, and of course, a few strange ones. The dating pool is not without its surprises.

All of my dates are typically native Italians at this point. I try to avoid English speakers because quite frankly, that’s a bit too easy. What a terrible outcome to find myself in Italy, with an American, Canadian or English boyfriend. I mean no offense to my native-language friends. However I am in Rome. Rome demands an Italian lover.

Another issue is that usually the English speakers are tourists passing through. They want their own memorable Roman “holiday” if you know what I mean. I’m looking for something that has the potential of something more permanent that doesn’t require a plane trip as part of the date.

In my experience the dating habits of Italians seem to be much more cordial. There’s less presumption and more social desire than in most countries in Europe and even America.

It’s not unusual to have your first meeting at a cafe or during a passeggiata. The conversation drifts around various topics such as travel, museums and family. Eventually you do get to preferences and dating aspirations. Yes, sex comes up, but it slips in as a casual “Of course we’ll talk about sex.” instead of, “I’m only here to talk about sex.” And sometimes you do have the occasional person on a lunch-break where the only topic is..well..you know, sex. La vita è cosi.

Fetishes are big in Europe. If you’re looking for feet, role playing, costumes, rubber or a good spanking – everything goes. I imagine it’s similar in America, but there isn’t the open dialogue that you find in Europe. You can learn a lot about dating extremes just by spending a few weeks in Europe.

To answer the question you are thinking, I’m not actually looking for any of that. I don’t even like my own feet. I can’t see myself enjoying someone else’s. And rubber or vinyl–are you kidding–certainly not in the summer months! I’m not attempting to judge it. However, I am becoming much more clear about what I want and what I need in the future.

However, after more than three years in Europe, I am surprised at how little I understand about the impact of my American culture on the taboo topics of romance, sex and nudity. Those puritans at Plymouth Rock did a hell of a lot of damage to our libidos when they landed 400 years ago.

I’ve had more than one person comment on the irony of American standards where we don’t tolerate a woman’s breasts on television, but victims of a mass-shooting are acceptable news imagery. Or the fact that we edit out the word “fuck” while you hear it used freely and loosely in the company of our children. We accept images and words of hate and racial-prejudice broadcasted into our homes without feeling violated. It’s a strange contradiction in principles.

It causes me to pause and question so much about my first 48 years in America. What an impact it had on sculpting my beliefs in so many ways. It still creates a strange discomfort when openly discussing all things related to sex with the Europeans.

I recently was on a date with someone who asked me about my underwear choice. The motive of the question interested me. I needed to know the implication of one’s choice.

His response was that underwear choice had a direct correlation to the level of inhibition or liberty one maintains in their overall life. Going commando without underwear was the ultimate in liberal living. Boxers signaled a modest constraint, while tight-fitting briefs meant you were only slightly adventurous. Bikini briefs put your level of sexual liberty just one step above a Carmelite nun.

I can’t say I disagree with the theory. I guess the tighter control you maintain on your “stuff” the tighter control you maintain on your overall life.

Rome is simply sexy

I remember flying to Rome in 2019 and watching a documentary about Christian Louboutin on my flight from Los Angeles. My friend Karen recommended it to me.

Christian Louboutin has the trademark for those famous red-soled shoes that “Sex in the City” made famous. They sell for well over 1000 euros a pair. He takes much of his inspiration from Italy, and in particular, Rome.

I remember him stating the one word that described Rome best was “sex”.

If Paris is magical, London could be cosmopolitan, but Rome is definitely sexy. I agree with Monsieur Louboutin.

There will be many stories to tell you about swimming in the dating pool of Rome and rediscovering my life again after age 50. I’ll be sure to include all of the joy and anxiety that come with it and perhaps inspire you to find a bit more Rome-ance in your life.

Perhaps it’s time to rethink my underwear choice?

Thank you for following along with The Spaghetti Diaries. Summer is almost upon us, and I think things are going to start getting a bit steamy in the Italian capital. I hope you enjoy the summer series ahead and I want you to know how much I appreciate your continued connection. If you haven’t subscriber, please do so below. If you’d like to share this on your social media pages, that would be great. Sending you lots of love and sexiness from Rome.