And then there were 29…


Last night was one of those surreal moments that nobody will believe unless you have video evidence and a wild imagination. Well, I’m going to preface the following by stating that I didn’t have my video camera with me and I do have a wild imagination… however, the following is true. And it is too awesome not to tell.

First and foremost, the plan was to go to the Drunken Monkey and watch college football. It’s not the most ideal situation, watching the worst games at 6 pm but I figured that going out to a place showing American college football would at least have Americans… or people that seemingly spoke English. Even if it meant being forced to watch Notre Dame vs. Pitt.

But I never made it there.

As I was walking I got bumped into by an exceptionally attractive female that wasn’t really paying attention (neither was I — I was staring at a map), and she lost her footing on the cobblestone streets. I kind of caught her — and then after apologizing asked if she knew where the bars address was. She did — but then said, “you should stay in the main square tonight though, much more fun”. I thanked her and said I would if the bar was boring. Then we dispersed. I believe it was 150 yards before I turned around and started walking back to the main square. I never did find the girl again… but there I was heading to the main square. Just for the curiosity. It wasn’t far away anyway — so if it wasn’t my cup of tea, I’d just go back to the bar — no harm, no foul.

So no to college football and Americans. I grab some food in the square and then I just go to a stand up table and eat.

But before I tell the story of the night, if I were to pose a question like: In the “How-will-Searle-get-indoctrinated-into-the-world-of-Eastern-European-sex” game, how would you think it’d go down?

Did you think I’d pay for it, find an American girl that was on a study abroad program, a recent graduate that went to school in the States, get sloppy drunk at an Irish bar and just take down whoever was willing (just to get it over with), find somebody in the same situation as me and just share a moment, or something else entirely?

Well, if you said… “Searle is going to take down an Eastern European model during fashion Weekend in Prague,” you sir/madam would be half right. If you said “Searle is going to take down an Eastern European model — and some random girl he was talking to at the time — during fashion Weekend in Prague,” you’d get a cookie.

Yes, that’s right — the “much more fun” thing the girl described was Prague Fashion Weekend. And little did I know that stumbling girl was Nostradamus. Classic Boy meets girl, girl has friend, friend knows supermodel, shit gets done story. The three main players in this are Masa — the girl that chatted me up after I had made my way to the place where more and more people were congregating… Eva — the friend that was apparently in the fashion circles because she knew this other girl… and this other girl that will be undressed soon.

I’m sure this will mean something to girls I know reading this — but the catwalk was like a full NYC block long and it was featuring Nina Ricci — Obsession — Paris.  And this was right after the Fashion Has A Future campaign that might as well have been Lady Gaga wear. I did see a stellar catsuit with completely exposed tits and a tassle for the nipple. That sounds like a fun thing in the future (or in Madonna’s Express Yourself video 20-something years ago). Yawnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn… I mean the stuff was I guess nice, and the Ricci collection wasn’t like Zoolander stuff or anything — but it was somewhat pointless for me since it wasn’t showing off any dude threads (which, believe me, I’m 100% okay with). It’s just that I went to window shop. And because every single hot girl in Old Town Square was making her way to the catwalk. So I followed suit. I’m not dumb.

Now I’m not sure if it was just dumb luck or the fact that I was lazy, but I ended up standing near the camera people at the end of the runway. Sure enough that was the “give the bitchy look, then pirouette” section that Miss Jay (who was there by the way — and I only know who he/she is because of how flamboyant he is) is all about. Cameras flashing, hot models close by, and me. So I get tapped on the shoulder by this one girl who comes up to my waist. She’s like “You’re super tall, I’m guessing you American.” I say that I am. She’s like, “my friend Eva is one of the girls that is helping promote this, is there any chance you can see her.” [Hands me a picture] I look over and say, “No, but I can do you one better, how about putting you on my shoulders to see if you can find her yourself?” Suddenly, I’m carrying a grown women on my back. She confirms sight of her friend and then proceeds to tap me on the head… “I see her, I see her!”

Great, so now what?

“Walk over to the barricade and go down… I’ll get her to come over.”

Done. Okay, well have fun tonight……

“Not wait, you stay, we get closer.”

Umm… (thinking to myself, never trust a stranger, never trust a stranger) ok… (she was nice after all).

So I drop the little one off and her friend comes by and she (Masa) introduces me as the tall guy from America that got between her legs. I start laughing like a sophomoric idiot. Nice work, Czech girl. Then Eva — who is 100% fluent in English — is like “Hi, I’m Eva, thanks for that. You want to come right by the stage?”

I really shouldn’t……….

So there I am with the camera people right in front-row seat on the edge of the catwalk. Ten feet from the cookie jar. After the weird Future campaign happens I’m like WTF is this? And then Eva sits down next to me and was like “really thank you for helping out my friend. Sorry about her limited English. I think you should hang out with us after this. Maybe you can help her a bit with it.”

So I ask her why she’s there: “I’m Czech. I work in NYC for an Aviation company. We work with the models a lot.”

Fashion? Aviation? Nothing in common but okay, fine. Europeans work like 100 different jobs to stay in America anyway — cardiologist, plumber, bouncer, policeman, actress, park ranger, whatever. We then chat a bit during the lull and I tell her that I’m from Philadelphia. She laughs — “yeah, you look like it.” I called her out on it — saying that Philly is a state of mind, not of fashion. She said that she’s there because she visits her family whenever she can — and Fashion Weekend is always fun. Then she ran away to work for like 20 minutes getting the Emcee and DJ ready to go for the real shoot.

Pavlina: Czech for hot, I think.

Then it starts… and this is where the night just goes to you-really-had-to-be there. Suddenly Pavlina Nemcova is sitting next to me with a seat open for Eva. Now she’s certainly not Petra Nemcova… but still — its a world-renowned supermodel. I’m in an Ivy League t-shirt that I’m throwing out after I wear it again tomorrow (Packing Yourself Homeless, remember?) and a pair of white Tommy Hilfiger pants that will hit their demise after I wear them tomorrow and on Monday for my travel to Budapest. Not exactly sex appeal style over here. Then Eva returns. Alex, meet Pavlina. Alex is from the United States. Supermodel starts talking English to me. I make fun of supermodel. Then apologize for my clothing.

The fashion show gets into full swing, and stunning women are everywhere. I don’t even know where to look. But then, just like the Virgin Atlantic flight attendants, the best looking women start coming out at the end of each rotation. And naturally, they are blonde. Eva says to me that she’s good friends with the one that just walked out of the partition — who I haven’t seen yet — and she’s possibly 300 yards or more away from me. She starts to inch closer and I start to realize that this is one of the top-shelfers since I haven’t seen her before. And she’s wearing a maroon leather skirt… better looking… better looking… better looking… each step, better looking… better looking… and finally she’s 10 feet in front of us and she breaks the bitchy pissed off face to smile at Team Eva, Pavlina and me.

And the Red Sea parted like the Ten Commandments. In the words of Mortal Kombat: Fucking flawless victory. Babality. Then she came back out in some other thing and then some other thing still. Each time the same routine. Bitch-face. Stop. Big smile. I also cannot help but notice that she has way bigger breasts than any of the other models.

Then the whole thing ends at like 9:30 and we’re all told to stay in our seats while crowds disperse. So I do. Figuring that somebody is going to throw me out eventually anyway. But to my surprise nobody does (except Pavlina) — and Eva comes back (she had to go ensure everything was OK) and says, we have a party if you want to go. Masa says that she’s going to meet her boyfriend or something (in Czech so I didn’t really understand) — and Eva’s like, “how about you, America?”

America is up for it. She asks if I have a car — which I don’t — and she asks where I’m staying at and I tell her… and she’s like okay, come with me. We walk to her car parked behind the stage, and I get into the passenger side. And at that moment she’s like “Well, we can drive you home tomorrow.” Um, who’s we?

Singlehandedly the greatest moment of my life.

And the back seat door opens and I hear “Dobry den, my name is [redacted].” Now usually I don’t redact anything or anyone but felt the need to do so because I found out she is pretty famous and should this humble blog get into the wrong hands it could present a problem for her.

Suddenly we’re driving and supermodel is asking me questions from the back. We hit a red light and ask if she wanted to sit in the front because, well, something inside of me said that me sitting in the front seat was wrong. She laughed and was like “please, I’m fine in the back seat. I’m just [redacted].” Yeah, the supermodel that was just on the catwalk, I know.

Anyway — we’re driving and I’m like “so where’s this party at?”

Supermodel: “Oh, it’s not really a party, a couple of us are going to my house for some wine.”

Oh, ok.

She's magical

We get to her house, which we’d call an apartment anywhere in the world. I realize soon after that a couple of us are going to my house meant exactly three of us. Turns out Eva and Supermodel have been friends since childhood. It also turns out that wine makes them both extremely horny. Now I don’t like wine — but Supermodel has something that is intriguing… you want Absinthe?

So I tried it. And, yeah, liquid viagra my friends. Absinthe makes the penis grow fonder.  Having one of the most beautiful people on the planet certainly didn’t hurt, but yeah — this shit was magic. I only had a small amount, no hallucinations or anything… but if you have ever had whiskey dick, I can assure you that Absinthe made me do exactly the opposite of that.

It was so incredible that I needed to excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I had drank a lot of water, so it was an easy excuse — but it was more or less to calm down. Then I walked back into the room and Eva’s glass (which was filled to the top) was gone and Supermodels was nearly 2/3’s done.

“It helps relax and ease the tension of those runway things.”

Now I am sitting there trying to have an intelligent conversation and asking about the shoot and her career and whatnot, and that her dress was sexy. “Yes, I very much like that dress. Did you see my boobs in the beginning? Those nipple cover things are so annoying.”

Figuring I was being tested, I said that “well I saw somebody in a catsuit that had blonde hair in a ponytail, but there were a few blondes in the show — so I saw that girl’s boobs.”

“Well then.” [dress comes off and I’m staring down a landing strip] “You’ve seen them now. And will play with them soon.” And she starts hooking up with Eva.

And just like that… I’m sitting there thinking that the Czech Republic is the greatest place on Earth. Now I am not often one for one-night stands. In fact, I really detest them because I think everybody deserves a second chance… but what happened in the moments after is what I now know will not just be a one-night stand, but also a once-in-a-lifetime night stand. The night stand that can never be defeated, the one that will hold dominion over all others. Because I don’t think I’m going to see Supermodel again around here. But we’ll always have Fashion Weekend 2011. It was seriously amazing. I rarely say that was the best sex I’ve ever had — but it finally unseeded the best sex I’ve ever had, which was with a friend of mine in her apartment in Gainesville. And, it took a whole lot to topple that session: a Czech supermodel +1. However, I must say, the +1 wasn’t really a part of the agenda.

Soundtrack of the Moment: Orgazmo Theme Song–Now You’re a Man

This morning, Eva drove me back to my apartment and we went with round two — I told her about my ONS thing and she was more than down for another round — then she left around 6 am (I guess – not having a clock is somewhat troublesome).  Figured I’d be gentlemanly and give +1 her fair share. We did not exchange contact information and didn’t mention Supermodel except for “Please tell her thank you, from me, as that was the best thing I’ve ever been involved in.”

Life is reflective of several distinct moments than define us. I kept coming back to that statement. Because last night defied logic, defied consequence, defied realism and basically defined my first 31 years. Awesome and borderline surreal. The only thing that would have made it better is if some soccer mom came through and gave us orange wedges and Capri Sun. I started writing this entry while the details were still fresh in my mind. Then I assed out around 7. I think I got two hours of sleep before the cleaning lady woke me up.

Today will be brutal (but so fucking worth it). Oh castles? That’s nice. I banged a Czech supermodel yesterday and some random girl twice. Hard to compare even if they have been around for thousands of years. And I didn’t even have to pay. This means that I have earned a Czech flag! Two (three) of them, in fact.

Off to take pictures of Old Town Square during the day before a final night out in Prague (with video camera in hand this time — albeit mostly for shooting landscapes at night). However, it IS still Fashion Weekend… maybe I’ll find lightning in a bottle (of wine) again.

Good luck keeping up with this one, other Eastern bloc towns.

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