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Before meeting Hava Gjika, I reviewed my notes for the interview and took another look at the photos she’d sent us. In the airport, the hotel and on the street, most of the women I saw were dark, not unlike Vittoria and Maria. You know the Mediterranean type: olive skin, dark hair, dark eyes.

The photos Hava sent, the ones that got thousands and thousands of votes from our viewers, showed the most perfect pinker than pink pussy surrounded by just whisps of blonde pubic hair. From the moment Sandra first saw it, “Mal, if I ever get a chance, I’m going to want some of that.” Like everything else, Sandra was blunt.

Unlike the thirty-year-old Vittoria, and the fifty-something Maria, Hava was nineteen and like her pubic hair, the blondest woman I’d ever seen. To say she was spectacularly beautiful would be an understatement. When we met, Sandra whispered, “like I said, I’m going to want some of that.”

I couldn’t help myself, “me too.”

As it turned out neither of us bedded Hava Gjika.

She was dressed modestly when we met in the hotel; room that Micah had converted into a studio.

When I asked her why she’d sent the photos, “it was not my idea. My mother thought that it was time to see a doctor about women’s health. I was embarrassed, but to my relief, the doctor was a woman, and her nurse was a woman.

I was still uncomfortable, but the doctor was very good about relieving my anxiety, but it was the nurse, a woman my mother’s age who took me aside as I was getting dressed after the exam. She asked if we could meet for coffee.

When we met, she had her laptop and showed me your website and your challenge.

Hava did not say Pussy Challenge, and although I took the lead, I could see Sandra salivating. I think she thought that the nurse seduced Hava and that Sandra herself wouldn’t have a difficult time getting her in bed.

It wasn’t like that.

“The nurse told me that in all her years, Hava, I have never seen a more beautiful vagina. We’ve examined teenagers to women in their seventies, and yours is by far the loveliest. You should enter the contest. I was red with embarrassment.

I had no interest, but the nurse sent me the link. For days and days, and nights, one side of my brain fought with the other side. Mal, Micah, Sandra, I’m a virgin. I expect to be a virgin on my wedding night. My husband will expect me to be a virgin on my wedding night.

I thought Sandra’s eyes were going to pop out of her head. Later, after the interview and Hava left, she told me what she was thinking. “Mal, can you imagine what it would be like for a woman like me, at my age, to have a virgin pussy? It would be a feather in my cap. I’d brag to all my friends and give them a minute by minute replay of eating her.”

Like I said, Sandra was blunt, and no I couldn’t imagine.

Although Hava made it clear that she was off limits, that did not deter Sandra. She sent her flowers. She invited her to a romantic, candlelight dinner. Sandra might have been a great seductress, but as she told me, “she’s like ice, Mal.”

In the meantime, Micah and I were preparing for our trip to Barcelona where we would meet the Moroccan woman, Zuhur Al-Halimi.

When Sandra opened her email after striking out with Hava, we received good news and bad news from Mrs. Janowicz. The bad news is that Ms. Al-Halimi has been delayed, she wouldn’t get to Barcelona until next week. The good news was that Mrs. Janowicz booked us into a hotel on

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