Back in the Saddle

Last night, the night before my first ride in over a year, I unfortunately had the great idea to get drunk and go to whorehouses with Miguel, the Colombian ninja. We visited two of them, the first filled with the ugliest whores I've ever seen. I had them play "4 No Se Ve" by Nejo and Dalmata, telling the fat whore that should be the theme song of the place. She didn't understand. The second whorehouse was better and we wasted the night drinking with a table full of whores. Cops raided the place and Miguel and I just barely got our knives hidden in our shoes before we were searched.

I woke up terribly dehydrated and hung over and forced myself to get on the road. I threw up 3 times on the Pan American, bonked once, and stupidly didn't stop for lunch when I passed a roadside comedor. I had to ride 40 km with only a banana until the next roadside restaurant. I arrived shaking and starved but felt too awful to eat much. I told the waitress to watch my bike and passed out on the table for an hour and a half.

I tried a new way into Cali thinking it would be better than the old, shitty, dangerous, pot-holed, traffic-crazy route I normally take. In fact it was much worse and involved significantly more riding. I got lost in some shit poor barrio on the ege of  the city but then somehow came upon Eclipse, a sex motel I had taken some girls to. I remembered that cab ride back to Grenada clearly and made my way across the city as the sun went down behind the mountains. Ran into a coke dealer on Sexta I hadn't seen in years. He pissed off the wong guy and someone had fucked up his hand. His pinky and the finger next to it were curled up into his palm and useless. Cali hasn't changed.

Miedo

Outside the salsa bar the group said goodbye. We kissed and hugged and plans were made for other days, and they got into taxis and drove away. I was standing alone on the corner when I heard Oye and someone call my name. It was the young homosexual from the boarding house.

We greeted each other and talked of where we had been that night, the great concert at Las Canchas, and he explained he was now going to a gay club. Where was it, I inquired politely. In the south of Cali, he told me. But it is not for you, he said. No, I said, such a place would not be of interest to me. No, it is not for you, he repeated. But there was a hopefulness in his tone that I might yet decide to accompany him.

We were interrupted by two black prostitutes yelling at each other as they walked past.

The young homosexual watched after the prostitutes nervously. “I have fear here, parcero.”

“Do not have fear. I have trained as a boxer.”

He smiled uneasily. “Yes, parce, but I still have fear. It is my first time in Cali.”

I heard footsteps and a bazucero came running around the corner and seeing us he stopped. The homosexual stepped back behind me and I shifted up onto the balls of my feet. The bazucero's clothing was filthy and his face and skin darkened by dirt and sun. He stood just out of my range leering at us, wide-eyed and shaky, but I didn't yet put up my hands. I looked hard at him and began to curse him in English. He frowned and mumbled something, took a step to leave, looked again at me strangely, and then broke into a run down the street.

"What did you say, parcero?"

"It is too vile and I would not translate it to you if I could. It would damage you to know it."

The gay youth forced a smile. “Still, we must find a taxi, parce. I do not like it here. I have much fear here.” I could see he was shaken.

“We will walk to La Sexta,” I assured him. “It will be more easy to find a taxi there.”

It was past 4 am and we walked briskly through the dark, palm tree lined streets. There were some beggars asleep in the entrance of a building and I caught the eye of a thief checking us as he passed on the other side of the street. Then I saw two security guards with batons and I knew we were close.

“I am the cousin of Oriana,” explained the gay youth. She was the daughter of the couple who ran the boarding house. “She said that I should not talk to you because I am a homosexual. She did not wish for you to be disturbed.”

“Homosexuals do not disturb me. I know them in my country and there is even one who is my friend. In my country the homosexual is not so disturbing.”

“Parce, you are the friend of a homosexual?” It impressed him.

“That is what I have said.”

“I am very excited to go to this gay club.”

“For that you should be.”

“It is said to be a very exciting gay club. But it is not a place for you, parce.”

“Claro.”

“I am going there alone,” he said now with confidence.

“With luck you will not be alone for long.”

The gay youth laughed. “Si, marica. I hope so.” He was more relaxed now.

We arrived at La Sexta and the first taxi I waved for was empty and it stopped.

“I am going now to the gay club,” he declared. “Parcero, can you do me the favor to take my bag? I will receive it from you tomorrow.”

I took his bag and we shook hands and I wished him much luck and I shut the taxi door behind him. As the taxi pulled away I saw his face in the window looking back at me.

A Typical Phone Conversation in Colombia

"Hola Jesse."
"Hola. Qué tal?" Caleñas are always calling from numbers other than their own and I'm not yet sure who I'm talking with.
"Bien. Qué hiciste ayer noche?"
"Nada."
"Liar."
"Hablas en serio?" It must be Jacqueline I'm talking to.
"Mentiroso. Estoy seria."
"I don't believe this."
"You were with other girls."
"I was sick."
"Liar. Mentiroso."
"I really am sick." I cough for effect.
"Listo, listo. Where are you now?"
"In my room."
"Solo?"
"Yes, I am alone."
"Estas solo? Verdad?"
"No," I say. "Con Luisa. Hey, como te llamas? Leidy? I am here with Leidy too."
"En serio? Two girls!?"
"Si."
"Malo! Eres hombre malo!"
"Ja ja ja ja ja!"
"Estas bromeando?"
"Claro que si. Of course."
"Estas solo?"
"Si."
"En serio?"
"Si, tonta, si. Vamos. C'mon."
"Are we going out tonight?"
"No."
"Por qué?"
"I'm going out with other girls."
"Malo! Malo!"
"Ja ja."
"Are you serious?"
"Vale. We can go out."
"I will come to the hostel. Vamos a ir al sex hotel."
"Venga a las nueve."
"You will pay my cab ride?"
"Por qué yo pago para todo contigo?"
"Estas serio?"
"Si."
"Mi tia va a pagarme manana. Voy a llevarte al cine el miercoles."
"Maybe."
"Por qué quizas?"
"Nada. Just come at 9. Nos vemos."
"Nos vemos. Chao."

Hungry (Leaving Cali)

1. Where the hunt is comfortable, the terrain known, the feeling of danger gone, he will find nothing. The land is overhunted. The animals have moved into the new territory. The hunter must go to where it is uncomfortable and unknown to find the great beast.

2. Women now pick berries in the clearing where he killed the great bear. In the once dangerous forest he hunted, the women walk alone. The triumph of the bear is long ago, and the men and women no longer speak of it. Without meat protein his muscles have thinned, his strength lessened, and he has begun to resemble the women.

3. He must go to hunt in the unknown lands, in those darker forests: his constant hunger is a constant reminder of his lack of courage.

A Tiny Opening

There had been a murder at the Eclipse and she wanted to go to a different love hotel. I said there was nothing to worry about. A man had simply strangled his girlfriend after a quarrel. No one had burst into a room and shot someone. There was nothing irrational or dangerous about the strangulation of a lover. I liked the Eclipse and wanted to return.

I liked the clean rooms and hard white beds, the porn that looped on the television, the modern elevators, and how the first floor reception area was also a garage where taxis and cars and scooters pulled in and out, allowing visitors to not be seen entering and exiting the hotel. It was a fine sex hotel and if it had been located nearer to Granada instead of the poor, far south of the city I would have considered getting a membership card to take advantage of the weekly discounts and specials.

_________________________

I felt of the outside edges and then I pulled her thigh open to take a closer look. She realized what I was doing and squeezed her legs together but I had seen it. It was the smallest vagina I had ever seen. With my hand trapped between her thighs I prodded it a bit, searching for the clitoris. I wasn’t sure I found it either. Everything was in miniature. It was as if the rest of her had grown up but her vagina had remained that of a little girl. Her being cleanly shaven only added to the effect. The tiny vagina explained her pain during sex and my aching cock after returning from the love hotel. It wasn’t deep enough or wide enough. Still, she insisted on seeing me. She wanted me to return to Cali in two years, when she was 24, to implant inside her the sperm to make her first baby.

Sobre el Techo

I lie awake in my sleeping bag on the hostel rooftop.
I look out across the city.
Cali is aglow.
The tiny lizards make a squeaking sound before they feed.
Tomorrow I shall learn to climb the mountain ahead of the rain.

Back in Cali

“I am sure that’s a man,” said Andreas as he sat down. “She has the hands of a bricklayer.”

“Why are you touching her?”

“Sylvana keeps making her dance with me. That ladyboy keeps grinding her ass into my dick.”

I laughed. I was very sick and weak and while everyone danced I sat at the table coughing and spitting mucus into napkins. I shouldn’t have been out in Menga but I was enjoying this. Andreas was a very serious Austrian and I very much enjoyed listening to his Austrian accent.

“Her hair stinks. It stinks horribly.” Andreas was disgusted. “Only black people are able to smell in this way.”

Sandra was rubbing the back of my neck and kissing me as we talked. Like Sylvana, the ladyboy and the gay cousin, Sandra didn’t understand English. The rum was cheap and it was starting to work and I was feeling a little better.

“I want to leave right now,” Andreas announced.

“Just wait,” I said. If he ran out I figured to get stuck paying for Sylvana’s taxi, and maybe the gay cousin and the ladyboy. Sylvana had pulled the old caleña trick of bringing her friends out on Andreas' tab. My girl Sandra knew better than to try that shit.

“You’re gonna get laid tonight, man. Just be cool. She knows we’re going to the sex hotel afterwards.”

Andreas and the gay cousin took Sylvana and Sandra to the dancefloor and I was now sitting alone with the ladyboy. The ladyboy leaned across the table and asked me something. I asked the ladyboy to repeat it.

“Do you think I am ugly?” she said. Her voice was very feminine.

I looked at her and smirked. She couldn’t have been more than 17 years old. She had done alright with her face but her body and chest was clearly that of a boy. I said she wasn’t ugly and made a point of using the masculine form. She must have figured my Spanish was bad and she took it as a compliment. I poured out the rum and the ladyboy and I did a shot together.

Four hours later at Motel Deseos I was ramming away at Sandra from behind. Reggaeton was blasting on the radio, porn on the flat screen, and I was watching us in the mirrors above the bed and on the wall, her big tight black ass smacking back against me. But like last week it became too painful for her and though she didn’t bleed, we had to stop. I was too big and she was too small. I told her we were incompatible and there was nothing to do about it and she began to cry. I pulled the condom off and rolled over and went to sleep. I could jerk off tomorrow if I needed to.

Intro to Sex Tourism (Part 3)

Previously: Part 1, Part 2

While we ate Rocky began to talk about the Jews, Hitler and the Holocaust. The Jews were clearly a favorite topic and I was trying not to listen to it. He got Sofia to look up from her texting and asked her if she knew who Hitler was. She didn’t. She had never heard of the Holocaust or the Nazis. Rocky began to explain the second World War to her. In his version the Jews had brought it upon themselves.

Then he asked Sofia what she wanted to do with her life. She smiled at him playfully. Rocky told her she was beautiful and 19 and not working and all the guys were chasing her--but what did she want?

She wanted to be a model, she said, and I realized then that she believed she was gorgeous. Had I cared at all and actually been annoyed by her texting, I might have said something nasty about her having no chance and pointing out all that was wrong with her, but I was thinking about how I needed a ride back to the hostel. I didn’t want to walk back with this hangover.

Rocky switched topics to another favorite, bee pollen. He claimed bee pollen was more powerful than steroids or human growth hormone and insisted that after taking it a few times a young person could grow an extra few inches and have his mind improved. Bee pollen was a secret supplement used by all the top athletes and he tried to convince Sofia that it was what she needed to improve herself. She could become a model or maybe a telenovela actress with it. Sofia listened to him carefully and seemed to consider it. Then she went back to her texting.

I turned to Rocky and told him I was going and stood up.

“Okay, bro, but Sofia’s really into you, y’know?”

I looked at his pock-marked pathetic face and smirked. “Yeah. I know.”

The girls got up too and we all walked to the car and left Chipichape. On the ride back nobody said anything and Sofia sat in front texting on her cell phone. Rocky and I got out and said goodbye to the girls and I went back to my room and fell asleep.

A few days later I was reading in bed when Rocky came to my door and announced we were neighbors. He had moved into the privado next to mine. Then he walked into my room in his bare feet and scratching at his genitals proceeded to tell me about some black girl who had given him her number.

I was horrified that he was standing in the middle of my room in his bare feet. I don’t like them real black, he said, but he was going to give this one a try. I was giving him the subtle signals to leave. A doorman at a hotel had gotten the number for him, he said. You should see the body on her though. I turned over in my bed and looked away. And she has a sister. Maybe you’re interested, bro. And Sofia’s been asking about you too, man. I closed my eyes.

But Rocky did not leave in time and my room would have his odor for the next few hours, part sickness and part decay. I had to keep my door shut after that. When I left for Argentina a few days later he was in the common area on his laptop and I said goodbye to him. He winked knowingly at me and I winked back at him. We did not have to say anything more. It was an exchange of winks that no doubt confirmed for him the special bond that existed between us.

Intro to Sex Tourism (Part 2)

Previously: Part 1

I was hungover from the night before and figured I would say hi and get a look at Sofia and take her number if I liked her. Rocky and I walked down to a beat-up sedan parked at the bottom of the hill. The windows were tinted and the girls did not open them and I opened the door to look in. Rocky pushed me inside next to a smiling pretty girl with braces in the backseat. An older fat girl was driving and had a little hairless boy standing on her lap staring at me and sucking his thumb.

“Sofia’s in the passenger seat,” Rocky said. But Sofia did not turn around. Rocky pushed in next to me so that I was wedged between him and the girl called Luna, and then the car started and we were driving somewhere.

“Where we going, Rocky?”

“Chipichape,” he winked. Chipichape was the big shopping mall.

My head hurt and this was the last thing I wanted to be doing. I tried to get a better look at Sofia but she was wearing big sunglasses and texting on her phone and didn't look back at me. Nobody said much as we drove the 20 blocks to Chipichape, but Rocky kept grinning at me and winking. It was disgusting to be pushed up against him in the little car. I could feel the heat of his sweaty body against me.

We parked and walked inside the mall and Sofia still had not said a word to me. We ordered lunch at a parilla with Rocky and it was expected we pay for the girls and the little boy. My head hurt and I was finding it hard to believe what I had gotten myself into. I gave Rocky 25 pesos.

After we sat down it became clear that Rocky wanted to use me to impress this girl Luna and to build his rep with her--that he was friends with a young, cool guy-- and maybe also for me to occupy the 19 year old and the older one so he could get Luna alone. But our table only seated 4 and Rocky had seated himself at the next table leaving me with the 3 girls, with Luna sitting next to me. I had expected Rocky to do most of the talking since he had taken these girls out before, but by choosing to sit at the other table it was up to me to make conversation if there was to be any.

The older girl spoke mostly to the one year old Juan-Jose and Sofia sat across from me still wearing her big glasses and texting. Luna, the girl Rocky wanted, was the only one who spoke and she would make little jokes to me and touch my shoulder. But since it was the girl Rocky was after I smiled at her and didn’t say much.

By the standards of Colombian women Sofia was not a beauty. She was not well-dressed and was already top heavy with a badly done breast job and I could see a few dark hairs poking through the poorly applied mascara on her cheeks. She was not at all the great beauty Rocky had made her out to be.

“Sofia’s like that, man. With the texting. Take her out a few more times and she won’t do it as much.”

“A few more times?” I said. “I should break that fucking phone right now.”

Rocky smiled. The man had no game and this was the shit he not only tolerated but paid for to get laid.

For awhile nobody said anything at the table. Rocky stared at the girls and smiled and winked at me. Sometimes he said something in English about how cute Sofia was. I tried to enjoy the awkwardness of it all. I studied the other tables of Colombians and wondered if they recognized what was going on and had picked Rocky and me as sex tourists. I made faces at little Juan-Jose and made him laugh.

Under the table Sofia’s foot would touch mine and she would hold it there. She still had not looked up from her texting and I would make a slight movement to see if she would take her foot away but she did not. She did this throughout the meal and I supposed this was her way of telling me she was interested.

Intro to Sex Tourism (Part 1)

There was a older American staying at the hostel. He was 6 ft 5 with graying black hair, beady dark eyes and a pock-marked and badly ravaged complexion. His nose was strangely pushed off to one side as if it had been broken and left un-repaired.

On some days he had a smell about him. It seemed to come from his whole body, as if something was rotting. The German girls complained to me that he had one night stunk up all three rooms of the upstairs with his odor.

The American man arrived 2 weeks before I did and planned to stay another 2. He sat all day in front of his laptop in the common area and did not seem interested in the events of the feria or even to be aware it was going on. He rarely spoke to the young people at the hostel. There was something sick about him, debauched, and I did not want to know more about it.

From my room one afternoon I overhead him telling the Israeli girl that Jerry Seinfeld was the least popular comedian in the United States; that his humor was Jew humor and incomprehensible to most Americans; that his show had continued only because of the manipulations of Jews in the entertainment business and that now Seinfeld was broke and unable to find work. He told the Israeli girl that Seinfeld’s humor would work in Israel and that he should go there. The Jews of Israel would find all his jokes funny.

A few days later I was going out for dinner and needed him to lock the door behind me and he asked me where I was going. I told him. “I’m hungry too, bro,” he smiled. I paused at the door and thought about it. Then I invited him to accompany me. I was wrong to do it and I knew it.

The American and I sat down at a restaurant a few blocks from the hostel. His name was Rocky and he lived in Los Angeles. He had been coming to Colombia every year since 2004 and he told me he had Colombianas in all the big cities. He met them online after paying a website for their pictures and personal information. He paid $12 per girl.

Rocky told me sex stories throughout the meal and I had a hard time eating. Bogota was the best he said and he spent $200 a girl at The Castle and La Piscina. Those were clubs right next to each other and nobody knew about them and all the best looking girls in the country went there to work. I shouldn’t miss Bogota and Rocky encouraged me to go.

The other girls he saw lived with their families and he had to spend money on the entire family to have an opportunity with them. In Pereira he stayed with a 20 year old girl in her room, with her brother and parents in the same apartment, and Rocky took them all on a one week vacation to a finca in the mountains where the father at last let him have his young daughter.

The stories did not stop and I tried to change the subject to football. But Rocky then began to tell me about the mental inferiority of black quarterbacks and how they were unable to read defenses and audible at the line of scrimmage. He presented this as common knowledge and instead of disagreeing with him I quickly finished eating and asked for the bill.

The following day, after having the almuerzo at the panaderia down the street, I returned to the hostel and Rocky told me Sofia was asking about me. Who was that, I asked him. It was the 18 year old sister of Luna, the girl he was after. He had told Sofia about me saying I was a 25 year old American friend of his. “She wants to meet you, man,” he grinned. Oh, I said. I didn’t think much of it and went to my room and took a nap.

When I woke up Rocky was waiting around my door. I could see he was excited. “They’re coming, bro. They’ll be here soon. You should see the tits on Sofia. She really wants to talk to you, man. They’re driving here right now.” An hour later Rocky told me they were out front of the hostel.

Postscript

When I was caught up with the caleña at the concert at the Barrio de Gaubal I missed some things.

Alejandro told me that the Swiss girl Romaine, who I already knew had gotten brutally drunk again, had during the concert walked over to 2 different Colombian guys and without a word taken from them the chorizos they were eating and eaten them herself in front of them. Neither of the Colombians protested. Later when Alejandro found Romaine dancing with a known thief, who was certainly looking to steal from her, he tried to get her away from him and she refused. Alejandro finally had to pull her away.

And later, with the 4 of us squeezed into the back of the cab on the way back to the hostel, with Romaine passed out across his lap, the other Swiss Francoise passed out with her head against his shoulder snoring loudly, I did not know it but the caleña I had picked up--who was sitting on my lap, my head hidden in her hair against her neck--she began to stroke Alejandro’s hand thinking it was mine. We do not know how she thought his hand was mine, but she certainly did and stroked it gently and sensually using her fingers and her nails while I was touching and kissing her. Alejandro told me he knew I would fuck her because he turned his palm upwards and she touched her index finger lightly into the center of his palm, a signal of sexual intent in Colombia. And with that knowledge, Alejandro carefully withdrew his hand.

I learned of these stories last night while drinking rum cocktails on the roof before the New Year. Romaine did not remember the taking of the chorizos or the incident with the ladron, and she did not want to believe Alejandro. To test Romaine’s memory and to use the opportunity to retell a funny story, I asked her if she remembered the first night she had arrived at the hostel. She said she knew she got drunk and threw up all over the outdoor area of the hostel and that Derek the young American had tried to clean it up. Yes, that was true. But did she remember what she did earlier at the concert at the Panamericana? Romaine and Francoise looked at me funny. They had both been with us in a group there and they did not remember anything other than the concert.

I told Romaine that she had gotten hungry and gone and purchased a large plate of French fries which she then squirted with ketchup. She returned to the group and put the plate of fries on the ground so that she could kiss the young American. She surprised the young American with her kiss but he did not resist her and they held the kiss for a time. But then she must have felt tired and told the American and she sat down right where she was standing, sitting down on top of her plate of ketchup covered French fries. She then laid down on the ground and passed out with the plate of fries beneath her. She had not eaten a single french fry.

Alejandro and I were laughing and the Swiss girls looked at me and did not believe it. Francoise had been too drunk to remember either. Romaine considered it and then said to Francoise that this now explained all the red she had on her dress the next day. We all had a good laugh together. They were both fun girls, but they both drank too much.

Danger Left Out

But there was much left out of the other account. When there are long days and nights and much drinking there can be danger and Cali has it. Yesterday the Chilean couple was robbed in the middle of the day on a busy street, one big black guy grabbing the little Chilean girl while two others pushed away her Chilean boyfriend. There was pushing and pulling and fighting but then a caleña stepped in with a knife to stop the Chilean and they ripped away the little Chilean girl’s bag and ran off. They only lost some money but the Chileans seem to have lost their will to go out.

Not far away the day before, one block from our hostel, as Hector and I were walking back 2 guys and girl came to the window of an apartment building and called out frantically to us to call the police. They had been held at gunpoint and tied up for hours while 2 men and a woman stole everything from their apartment. In fact it was a professional crew, with 5 more well-dressed and well-armed guys with earpieces working the door and the other floors, taking everything out of the 7 other apartments. Computers, tvs, jewelry, cash--they worked all 8 flats of the building and took it all and loaded it into a van parked in front.

And the other night at Menga, after the hottest girl in the club ran up to me and danced with me for 30 seconds then disappeared and Hector and I went looking for her, and when I stopped and stood to study the club from the back looking for her this fat man with glasses walked towards me and stood in front of me staring. I could see from his eyes that he was a bad man and I politely asked him what was wrong and he did not say anything. He did not stop standing in front of me staring and I did not know what to do and then a big muscular black guy came and stood behind the fat man. Hector ran up and tried to work it out and we thought we had settled whatever it was but even Hector did not understand the problem. The pretty girl had not been a part of their table.

Then I went to the bar and Hector to the bathroom and I did not know until Hector told me later that the fat man and the big black guy had followed him in. We had been to JalaJala the night before and Hector knew the bathroom attendant and when he saw the fat man and the black guy he started up a conversation with the attendant, trying to keep the attendant near him. That was when the fat man interrupted and finally spoke. He was a sicario, an assassin of the paramilitaries. It was heavy shit and he still did not know about what and Hector talked his way out of it and exited the bathroom.

We grabbed the Dutch guy who was working some caleña and forced him to leave the club. We were outside a few minutes when the fat man and the black guy walked out and the fat man got on his phone. I had visions of a hit being called in with the sicarios on motorcycles coming down from the mountains and I told the guys let’s walk quickly and grab a cab up ahead where the police were stationed.

The fat man and black guy didn’t see us as we ducked into the one room strip club owned by the one legged old man on crutches and I took the number of the black stripper I had danced with earlier. She was a pro and would no doubt cost me a lot of money if I called her. Then we ran out to a waiting cab and went back to the hostel in Granada, the Dutch guy refusing to believe the story of the assassin and annoyed we made him leave his girl at the club. But he got her number and would leave with her for Popayan the next day.

And on our first night I remember we were in a taxi on our way home from Menga and the short, dark Israeli with long hair was sitting in the passenger seat playing with a glock. He was high and fidgety on too much blow and was scaring the shit out of the taxi driver with the gun. Where did the gun come from? The Israeli talked like he had marbles in his mouth and was incomprehensible, flipping the gun from hand to hand and jittery. The Israeli girl asked him in Hebrew. He didn't know where the gun had come from. She asked him for it and he wouldn't give it to her. Finally she convinced him to give it up and there was a round in the chamber and we all felt better the gun was out of his hands. She sold the gun to a Colombian a few days later for $50.

And there was the other taxi ride the other night when three kids on the roadside hurled a rock at the open passenger side window where the blond haired Dutch guy was sitting. The rock hit the door just below the open window and the driver stopped and started to back up. We were in the car with 3 other girls and I told the driver if he is going to confront these 3 guys we are getting out right now and we won’t pay him a peso. He thought about it and then drove ahead. You had to be careful in Cali even if you weren’t a gringo.

A Cali Story

We were in the Menga club district. It was the French guys from Toulouse, the 3 German girls, Hector the Peruvian, the English guy and girl, and 2 other Colombians. I did a line with the English guy before leaving and am feeling it and I'm talking in a mixture of Spanish, French and English.

We were trying to get into Praga but it was a mess with Linda, the prettiest of the Germans, questioning whether we should go in or not because she was insistent on dancing “crossover”, a music mix of salsa, bachata, merengue and reggaeton. Hector negotiates a price at the door since we plan to buy a couple bottles but then the club cashier doesn’t have change and the night is becoming a mess. It fell apart like this a few nights earlier at Eliptica, the dance club in the jungle on the top of a mountain. All the girls left then too and I danced alone.

Its starting to rain and Hector and I have had enough and we walk off in the direction of two other clubs and walk into an open air bar with 2 dance floors. We assume the others will follow us but it doesn’t matter. Its gotten too complicated with this group anyway. We go in and order beers which come in a huge plastic cup and cost 10,000 pesos and we start to walk around the place.

We’re not in the place 10 minutes when a Caleña approaches us from behind and invites us to her table. She’s sitting with 2 other girls. Two of the girls are sisters, 20 and 21 years old, the younger light skinned and the older one a dark amber color. Hector takes the lighter skinned girl to the dance floor leaving me with the other two. They can’t stop talking about my blue eyes and I’m keeping up with the conversation pretty good until it starts to slow. A guy comes to the table and ask the black girl to dance and she brushes him away. I realize dancing is what I should be doing with her.

Hector and the other girl come back and sit down and the girl is wiping her lips. Hector’s got a grin on his face and I know he’s been kissing her. I get up and drag the black girl onto the dance floor. Its salsa and we’re moving good and I’m getting into it, leading her likes she wants to be lead, spinning her, and then into a slower song and she’s singing along. I dance her into a dark corner and start kissing her, her little tongue working around inside my mouth, her lips soft, her mouth hungry. Then she’s giggling like a school girl.

Back at the table we order a tall vessel of beer for the table and we’re talking some more and all the girls are eating up my stories of New York and Miami and Europe and they keep leaning in asking to look at my eyes. I take the black girl back onto the dance floor and we start grinding. Electronic music and reggaeton are playing now and her ass and whole body is young, voluptuous and tight--all sweet smelling soft skin, powerful hard legs and ass, her breasts natural and soft, pressed up high together in her black dress. She loves to dance and she’s singing along to the songs and we’re kissing some more.

Back at the table Hector says we should bring the sisters back to the hostel. But guests are not allowed and I’m thinking about the next morning bringing this girl out in front of the German girls and I’m not too interested in doing it. It would be fun to do though, Hector and I agree. I am about to mention a love motel to the black girl (named Sandra, I think) but she asks us to come back to their place. All three of them live together somewhere.

First we eat chorizos at a street side stand outside the club and watch the sun come up. I’m having a lot of fund watching Sandra bite away at a chorizo on a stick while sitting my lap, giggling and babbling away to me in Spanish. She's got all kinds of questions about my old novias, whether I have been with black girls before, do I like Caleñas, etc.

We finish the chorizos on a stick and take a cab back to their place and we get undressed and her body is all curves and solid, with a perfect hard shapely latina ass. Her body feels young and packed to burst.

Just as we begin fucking someone starts knocking on the front door. The front door is right next to Sandra’s room and she’s telling me to be really quiet. She’s not answering the door. I’m trying to work her slowly but the knocking continues and we’re trying not to make any noise. I ask her who it is and she says its her grandmother.

Suddenly a slat on the bed breaks with a loud crack, the bed sagging under us in the middle. We lay there laughing silently and now her grandmother is pounding on the front door. But its not her grandmother. Its some guy and he’s yelling out for Sandra and Paola. I ask her who it is and she says its her cousin. We’re both laughing quietly but I’m getting a little worried.

Now the guy is banging on the window of our room, right behind the bed. We pull the mattress off the busted bed and put it on the floor and get back to fucking with this guy banging on the window and yelling. Then he’s back hammering on the door and calling out the sister’s names. Sandra still wants us to be quiet even though this guy must have heard something going on inside.

I’m pretty fucked up from the drinking and with this guy hammering on the door and window I don’t get off and just give up. She’s all over me kissing my dick and telling me its rico and she’s singing that song again which went something like “uno beso para uno marido” and we’re just rolling around and enjoying each other. The attention of a Colombiana is something entirely different. I pass out and when I awake she’s ready for me again and now the guy banging on the door is gone and we fuck properly for awhile but I don’t get off and fall back to sleep. I’m too tired. She sucks and jerks me and wants me to come on her belly and chest but I’m too drunk. She wants to get my leche out, she says, and she wants it all over her. We wake up a few more times and mess around and we talk awhile.

We get up around 2pm and Hector comes down with the other sister dressed in a towel. She’s really cute too and the third girl is sitting on the couch and starts with all the questions. Where are we staying, what’s the phone number, and Sandra is trying to get me to promise to call her and take her to the horse parade today. I’m glad I don’t have my phone working and I give them a little information about where Hector and I are staying but I don’t even know where the hostel is. The third girl writes out the phone numbers for both sisters and Sandra pulls me back into her room to say goodbye. Hector goes upstairs with Paola to do the same. We mess around a bit and we come back to the front door and all say goodbye to each other.

Hector and I walk into the hostel around 3pm with the German girls and the English girl staring at us. They were asking about us all morning. I’m mysterious about where I was and what happened and take a shower and go to my room. Hector and I are planning on going to a concert tonight. He’s my age and a good rolling buddy, has lived in New York and traveled much of the world, and being Peruvian can handle the Spanish when I run into trouble.