PREVIOUSLY: Part 2
The following weekend we went to a party hosted by the rich guy with the Mercedes. All you can drink for 50,000 pesos. Supposedly all the hottest girls in Medellín were coming and only fat gringos would be the competition. One month in Colombia and still no sex, I was hoping the party might turn things around, but when Karl began hyping it to the moon I knew it was going to be bad. Turns out there were more fat gringos than girls, and only two were cute.
Karl was trashed and mostly incoherent by midnight. I ended up meeting an Australian guy named Dan who was going on six months in Medellín.
“Other gringos keep telling me how friendly the girls are here,” I said, “but I’m not seeing that yet. I’m having some trouble.”
“It’s because the girls here are idiots, “he said. “They don’t work or have education. Talking to them is a nightmare and after six months I can’t even fake a conversation. Here you ask a girl what she’s up to and she just says she’s hanging out at home, or how she went to get her nails done, or how she went to the mall. You won’t have anything in common with them, but since they’re pretty they expect you to buy them dinners and shit. They’re spoiled from all the drug guys they have dated who take them out and pay for everything. When they meet a gringo they expect the same.”
“Have you been to Argentina or Brazil?” I asked.
“Yeah, both. Brazil is the best I think for girls.”
“So why are you here?”
“I’m a teacher here.”
“So your Spanish is fluent?”
“Yeah it’s decent,” he said.
“Is it helping you?”
“Of course but I’m at the point where I’m just tired of the girls. They’re all the same, all boring and fake.”
Could Argentina be better than this? I know the girls there are a lot crazier, but it was easier to talk to them in clubs. They don’t hang in these massive groups of guys.
Another Aussie guy overheard me talking about Brazil. “Brazil is good for sluts?” he asked.
“I mean, better than here. It’s easier to pick up in Brazil.”
“Where do I go in Brazil for sluts then?”
“Do you mean prostitutes?”
“No, just sluts.” He was getting impatient.
“Well I’ve only been to two cities in Brazil, but you can’t go wrong with Rio and points north. If you go south then it gets harder. But Argentina has the hottest girls I think.”
“But are they easier than Brazilian girls?”
“No, definitely not.”
“So for sluts I should go to Brazil?”
“Uh yeah, but Peru is easy too if you’re a gringo.”
“Just tell me where to go for the fucking sluts man, fuck.” He squeezed his lips tightly and leaned his body
closer. For a second I thought he was going to punch me in the face.
I looked at Dan and said, “Your friend is creeping me out.”
“And the funny thing is he teaches English to little kids.”
“What the fuck, I just want sluts. What’s the big deal?”
“Okay then go to Cuzco, Peru. Definitely. You’ll love the girls there—they are surprisingly pretty. Not indigenous-looking at all like in other parts of Peru.” Truth is Cuzco had some of the ugliest girls I’ve ever seen in my life.
After trying our hand on a couple of girls with fake tits, we decided to head to Parque Lleras, the most popular nightlife zone in the city. Dan suggested we all go to Blue, a rock club.
“I hear there are a lot of gringos there,” I said.
“Yeah but there’s a reason for that—the girls there like gringos,” Dan replied.
“It’s the only place where you can pick up a slut in this town,” said the creepy Aussie.
Karl was talking to a part-time gringo prostitute that both Aussie guys had already fucked. Her going rate was 150,000 pesos but supposedly you can bargain her down to 70,000 towards the end of the night. We convinced Karl to meet us at Blue, but in his stupor I had doubts he would make it. It’s a miracle that he’s still alive with the way that he gets shitfaced every single time he goes out.
Blue was a dingy Colombian club with American rock music. The middle of the club was full of tables and there were two dance floors, a large one in the back and a smaller one in front. I saw a Colombian girl sitting at the bar watching her two friends dance. I slowly made my way over, leaned towards her ear a bit and said, “Let me guess… you’re from Colombia.” She laughed and asked me where I was from. She spoke English and even though she wasn’t particularly cute, I decided to stick around because there weren’t many other options. It appeared that every single hostel in Medellín had unloaded their predominately male clientele in the club, and though I didn’t count I’m pretty sure there were more gringos than Colombians.
The Aussie guys were talking to other girls until they disappeared, which was a shame because I wanted to exchange numbers with Dan. Then Karl arrived with his whore, who eased him into a chair at the bar because of the trouble he had standing up. He gave me a slight smile of recognition. I winked back at him.
I knew I was lowering my standards in order to get my Colombian flag. This awareness wasn’t helping my cause so I kept ordering more drinks for myself, until my inner monologue quieted down. I sat on a stool next to the girl and we chatted on and off, in both English and Spanish, until almost an hour in when I asked her to come to the dance floor with me. I wanted to get the kiss out of the way. She shook her head no. Ten minutes later I asked her if she wanted to go right outside to get some fresh air. She shook her head no again. Frustrated, I went outside alone and sat on a stool meant for smokers. I didn’t believe I wasn’t getting anywhere with a girl that I didn’t even like.
A random American gringo sat next to me and I told him the story of the girl. He said, “Well the club is closing in 15 minutes. You might as well just hang in there and see what happens.” He had a good point. I went back inside and when the girl saw me her eyes lit up. She did a 180, grabbing me and bringing me close. I kissed her right then. It’s like she wanted to give me enough love so that I wouldn’t leave her again.
Karl asked me if I had any money. My guess is that he wanted to fuck the prostitute, who was looking pretty decent as the night went on. His decent fashion sense made it seem like he was rather wealthy, but I’d seen him go stretches of three or four days surviving on nothing but his beer tab, a bag of white rice, a cheap package of hot dogs that smelled like cat food, and assorted foodstuffs left over by guys who had checked out, until casino robot monies finally got wired into his account (in the meantime he’d stay home all day and flirt with girls on the internet). Then he’d blow it all on drugs, rum, and women, only to repeat the process a week later. I don’t know if I loved hanging out with Karl because he was an interesting guy or because I wanted to be there at the exact moment his life imploded. He was the type of guy I thought only existed in Hunter S. Thompson novels.
I pretended I didn’t hear him and then he got leaned in closer and asked for money again. I lied to him and said I only had 10,000 pesos for the cab ride home when I actually had close to ten times that. The prostitute left, angry at Karl for wasting her time on a weekend night. I’m sure I did Karl a favor because she would’ve robbed him of his money without putting out. My girl’s friends eventually ditched, leaving her with me and Karl. I looked at her and said, “The roof at our mansion has a great view. Why don’t you come for a little bit and then I’ll take you home afterwards?” She agreed to come back with us.
It was pretty routine after that. I had to act like I was interested in her as a human being when I just wanted to stuff my dick inside her hole. I fucked her two times and then in the morning escorted her to the front of the house after telling her to write down her number on a piece of paper. On the way out she swiped a promotional flyer of the gringo mansion that contained its address and phone number. That worried me terribly so when I went back into the room I grabbed my used condoms from the trash can to make sure my sperm was still inside. Then I flushed them down the toilet so the maid wouldn’t see. She thought I was a nice gringo unlike the other prostitute fuckers and I didn’t want her to know that I was sexually active. I saw her as a motherly figure.
Karl came into my room with his hands on his head, complaining about his hangover. “So how was it?” he asked.
“Have you ever fucked a corpse before?” I said.
“No. Wait. Yeah no.”
“Yeah well I have. It was awful—she didn’t do anything. Just laid there and the only noise she made was grunts of pain, which actually kind of was a turn on, but the mere act of sex hurt her, in every position. It was the worst sex I’ve ever had.”
“Ooph. That sucks. Hey how much money did you spend last night?”
TO BE CONTINUED