Cristiano Ronaldo: debatably the world’s best footballer, 24 years old, Portuguese, perma-tanned, tweezed, primmed, plucked, waxed.
He’s a multi-millionaire metrosexual mama’s boy who has entertained some of the world’s most famous women.
But who really IS the Real Madrid star and what actually goes on in his weird world of socialites and supermodels and, of course, now a mystery baby?
I first met Cristiano Ronaldo in the small and exclusive Los Angeles night club Villa in July 2008. He was 22 at the time and stood on crutches like a little prince surrounded by his usual entourage of five or six most trusted men. They are the crew he rarely goes anywhere without who he generously pays all travel and accommodation costs for on their various escapades around the world.
The flashy footballer once spent £30,000 on one weekend in Vegas where he flew himself and five of the crew to meet a gang of Portuguese girls for fun and games.
i used him as a TOY
Typically Ron will not approach a woman himself, preferring instead to send one of his merry men to do his dirty work for him while he watches on, flashes a toothy smile and offers an arrogant wink in their direction.
He gives the impression to the majority of women he has liaisons with that his ability to speak English is limited. Actually, it’s not, it is simply selective.
He is entirely able to hold intelligent conversation, but becomes conveniently verbally disabled when being confronted by a scorned woman at which point everything becomes “que que que” and “I don’t understand”.
He sent his main man Rogerio to ask me where I was going after the club and if they could all come and have a “sexy time”. I politely declined, offering instead to give Ronaldo my number if – and only if – he came and asked for it himself.
Entertained by my unwillingness, he eventually did before loading what can only be described as a white limousine party bus full of giggling girls and retiring back to the Beverly Hills Hotel with them.
Obviously no one told Ron that it was supremely unfashionable to ride in limousines around Los Angeles any more, particularly white ones. Ronaldo had just broken up with Spanish model Nereida Gallardo after a relationship of six months but you could definitely not describe this man as heartbroken. No, he was determined to enjoy all that Los Angeles had to offer.
He text messaged furiously until two days later I agreed to meet him.
I said I would not be going to his hotel but if he wanted I would pick him up and he could come and spend a couple of hours over at my place. And I made sure he understood I was not the type of girl to involve myself in group activities or late night “sexy time” parties. He had no idea what he had let himself in for. I stripped naked, slipped on my black Louboutin heels and jumped into my Lamborghini Murciélago and headed down the hill to pick him up.
He was running late, having therapy on his broken leg, meaning I had to spend a full 20 minutes parked in a bush in the driveway of the hotel dying for the toilet and entirely unable to do anything about it as I had decided to rock up in my birthday suit. And there was absolutely no way I could run through the lobby of such a prestigious hotel naked to try to make a dash for the ladies’ room.
Eventually he came out with one of his aides who was obviously stunned by my lack of clothing and asked, “Everything will be OK, yes?”
“Sure,” I said, “I’ll drop him back in a couple of hours,” then laughed and pulled out of the drive as Ron clung nervously to the door of the car repeatedly telling me I was crazy. I’d love to tell you we sat and made intelligent conversation about politics or something – but we didn’t.
I have an incredibly male approach to sex and this was a game for me. He was a toy and this was a show. I wasn’t interested in wooing him or winning his heart. In truth I wasn’t even attracted to him. His shorts were SHORT, his top was TIGHT and the pink colour of both was …just not for me. As soon as he encountered my German Shepherd dogs and started screaming and waving his crutches at them in total panic and fear I realised perhaps this wasn’t going to be Mr Right.
I prefer my men a little rougher round the edges. I don’t like to feel more man than the man I am in bed with. Things went from bad to worse fast. You might well be wondering, why did I do it then? The only explanation is that while I wasn’t attracted to him, I enjoyed the fact that he was so taken by me. Some sort of power trip, I suppose. Soon after entering the bedroom, I did indeed catch sight of the REAL Ronaldo. Now, while a lot of women appreciate a well-endowed man, this was just RIDICULOUS...intimidatingly so. “Oh for God’s sake”, I thought, “let’s get this over with”, although I wondered how long that would take. Not long was the answer...perhaps he was having an off day!
I rebuffed his suggestion of dinner immediately and dropped him back to the hotel. Despite attempts to contact me for the remainder of his vacation I decided I’d had more than enough Ronaldo already. This wasn’t something he cried over and proceeded to bed a number of women that week, some of whom shared their experiences in interviews. Oddly enough this was not the last I heard of our Portuguese Lothario. We remained in contact for three more years by phone and email. But, as he was living in Manchester when he played for United and me in LA, there were no further sexual escapades.
He touched base with me on his second vacation to Los Angeles which saw him “hooking up” with my friend Paris Hilton – someone he later told me his mother disapproved strongly of and he didn’t care for. I gained an even greater understanding of the lover-man when he contacted me to ask if there was any way I could possibly get the number of a Russian model named Irena Shayk “for his Real Madrid team-mate”.
I immediately knew it was for him and after making unsuccessful attempts to get hold of it suggested that he contact her agent. He did and several weeks later was floating around the Med with her, grinning from ear to ear.
Ronaldo describes dating as a “hobby” of his. There’s glamour model Rhian Sugden who he listed as having had “a relationship with” on his Facebook page which he recently set up.
There’s ex-Big Brother reject Imogen Thomas who he flew to the Ritz in Madrid in June for three nights, an Italian girl named Aurora who he refers to as his “mistress” and a long-term lover Nicole from Manchester to name just three. Then there’s his actual “girlfriend” Irena.
His appetite for women is insatiable. He boasts of sending group text messages when among friends to women saying “Hola bebe, I am thinking of you” and seeing how long it takes and how many replies he receives.
He also talks of allocating time slots for his women to “skype date” with him over the internet. One of his latest conquests was the American socialite Kim Kardashian.
Ron and women almost inevitably ends in disaster. He explained to me that nearly every time he has a female house guest he loses his temper and the women end up sleeping in separate bedrooms to him.
HIS TEXTS AND TANTRUMS
On occasion I saw a softer side to him though. Like when he spoke about the death of his father, and how sad he felt that he did not live to see the luxuries he is now able to provide for his family.
Or his mother’s battle with cancer and what he went through with her, donating £100,000 to the hospital he credits with saving her life.
These moments were, however, few and far between. They left me confused as to who he really was. Was he a womanising egomaniac or simply an immature kid with too many “yes” people around him and a lot of growing up to do?
I was happy to entertain hours of late- night conversation in a quest to work this out. But it became hard work. Receiving up to 15 messages a day from him, it was exhausting trying to please him/entertain him/keep him satisfied.
This all became too much for me as he started to throw tantrums when I wasn’t able to provide the constant attention he wanted.
One evening he messaged me saying “I will call you in 2 mins” to which I responded “I am so tired I will call tomorrow I promise”.
This wasn’t good enough. I received a spate of further messages becoming increasingly more aggressive.
The following morning I woke up to “ola? bebe?” this was as close to an apology as he was able to pull off.
At first I let this behaviour go, but it became more regular and on the third occasion in a week I’d had enough.
He may get away with this with other people, but not with me. I simply won’t accept it. I explained this to him, wished him well and asked him politely to leave me alone.
He made a large number of attempts to call and recover the situation before licking his wounds, jumping on an aeroplane and heading to New York for a weekend away with girlfriend Irena.
Rather her than me.
Poor Ronaldo guyz
Source: The Mirror via Dlisted via the great KICKETTE