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Joey Porsche; that's not idea of sexy, thanks.
I remember one time I attempted dating a stereotypical Italian goom-ba from Boston's North Shore in the early 80s. About a month into it, we went over some of his friends' house to have dinner and watch a movie (
Splash, as I recall). I found the end oddly moving, and cried just a smidge. Instead of consoling me, he became irate at my tearing up. His exact words were "You've cried for a movie but never for
me?"
The ride home was uncomfortably silent, and we never saw each other again.
Now I've dated a planeload of pseudo-macho Latinos, including some that were extremely possessive, but I've never seen such blatant insecurity again: no thanks!