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Ever since moving to Europe three years ago, and particularly since launching this male-objectifying exercise of a blog, I have been repeatedly advised – no, instructed – to go to Scandinavia.

I’m talking about friends, coworkers, readers, you name it, all promising me some sort of cathartic experience in the land of herring and Ikea, complete with the discovery of my own 7-foot tall Bjorn Ironside with superpowers in the sack. To be frank, I went at a time that I’m sufficiently satisfied with my love life (blame it on the new moon), hence this was more explorative research than Viking-hunting mission.

As I mentioned above, I once had a sort-of-bf before who hated Denmark and wanted to leave the country ASAP.

(He used to live in the US and somehow was temporarily living here.) I said “HAD”, meaning it went bad. No more expat bf, or sort-of-bf(that was even worse, he was not even a real boyfriend but a maybe boyfriend, kept me being temporary due to his life problems.

In an effort to impress us, he proceeded to demonstrate that Swedes were terrified of confrontation by yelling “SWEDES ARE TERRIFIED OF CONFRONTATION JUST WATCH THEY WON’T SAY ANYTHING TO ME” at the top of his lungs. Apparently, one-night-stands are the first step to relationships, and you don’t even have to flirt or talk much beforehand – they like to skip the awkward part and just go home together at the end of the night!

I almost had a heart attack, expecting a fight to break out on the spot, but was even more shocked to discover that our new Swedish friends had slipped through thin air and disappeared. I do hear that Swedes are excellent family material, especially if you’re all about splitting household responsibilities and taking turns changing diapers and all that other progressive stuff that us Russkis will probably never evolve to.

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Even though everybody did seem to be massively inebriated, the pickup scene fun and non-sleazy, not to mention refreshingly easy due to the Danes’ mastery of the English language. The people are hot, fun, and inexplicably happy to be alive, which is pretty refreshing and a bit surprising, considering the arctic temperatures 9 months of the year. Maybe we looked in the wrong places, but judging by the size of the city and the blisters on my Converse-clad feed, not a neighborhood was left unexplored.

Many expat blogs or articles said that Danes start their relationships from one-night-stand and they decide to continue it or not in the coming morning after that.

However my colleagues said that it’s not so classy and that’s not the way they start relationship, saying that one-night stand ends up being one-night-stand in most of the cases from their experiences.

Unlike French hipsters, most of them looked like they actually showered, although I was slightly thrown off by the abundance of bizarre tattoos decorating the entity of their bodies..

bathroom-blowjob

It wasn’t rare to spot a female face adorning a body part, which led me to wonder – what one has to do to become a permanent fixture on one’s thigh?

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dudux.drev-sov.ru

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