Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Cancún





Cumplí una nueva fantasía sexual y su ejecución, fue magistral.
Tuve que hacer una escala de cinco horas en Cancún. No bien me bajé del avión quise dirigirme de inmediato al mostrador de la aerolínea para poder deshacerme de mi valija, no sin antes ofuscarme en el camino, tratando de descifrar las confusas señales del aeropuerto.

La dependienta de Avianca me dijo era muy temprano para registrarme en el vuelo, de manera que me fui a buscar un sitio en donde pudiera almorzar algo, tranquilamente. Cuando caminaba buscando una excusa para emputarme otra vez por alguna idiotez, ví que venía caminando un hombre altísimo y muy guapo. Ya eso, me dejó  sonreír. Traía una valija mediana y vestía una camiseta naranja, pantalones cargo color caqui y unos zapatos de trekking.

Un  cazador avezado, identifica en segundos lo que quiere y lo que el instinto le pide; para ello se alista, se pone en posición, sin que se oiga ni siquiera el murmullo de su respiración.

Sin el más mínimo apocamiento me quedé viéndolo desde la distancia, y mientras yo sonreía, pensaba, ¿de dónde será? Tenía pinta de ser un infante de marina gringo y dije, gracias Dios.

Entré al bar, pedí una cerveza y una hamburguesa, mientras las pantallas de televisión se dividían entre noticias de la Fórmula 1 y fútbol, un partido entre Inglaterra y Alemania. Estuve allí cerca de una hora, fui de nuevo al mostrador de la aerolínea dejé mi maleta y me dirigí hacia la puerta de embarque. Una vez pasada la requisa de seguridad, busqué un espacio en el  salón correspondiente a mi vuelo, acá ninguna puerta de embarque estaba separada excepto por números en las paredes. Y allí lo ví, otra vez. Estaba caminando, llevaba un 'backpack' y varias bolsas, como si hubiera estado de compras en los almacenes del aeropuerto. Tras un par de horas, decidí tomarme la última birra antes de abordar, y de nuevo él,  deambulando, como buscando algo.

El bar estaba en medio de las salas, y tenía vista a todas las puertas para embarcarse, así que dónde él estuviera, lo iba a ver. Confieso que levanté la mirada de mi libro más de una vez, para espiarlo y poder adivinar a dónde iba, pero sobre todo, por que me encanta mirar. En una de esas, coincidimos y en ese gesto se resumió  una conversación a distancia. Se sentó diagonal a mí. Le dí tiempo, que viera el menú, que ordenara, que se acomodara. Una vez tenía su margarita en mano, le pregunté en inglés hacia dónde viajaba. Me dijo, voy para Colombia. Y le dije, ah qué bien. Yo igual. A lo que responde, voy por poco tiempo, tengo una escala de cinco horas. Me quedé pensando y le dije que cinco horas en El Dorado iban a ser aburridísimas a esa hora. Llegábamos cerca de las 11 de la noche. 'Todo va a estar cerrado' qué te parece si más bien, dejas las maletas en mi casa y nos vamos a tomar tragos a un bar y luego te devuelves, estoy a 20 minutos del aeropuerto. Lo peor que te puede pasar es que llegues muy borracho a tu próximo vuelo.'

 'Jajajaja, es una magnífica idea'.

En el avión nos sentamos juntos, la silla contigua a la suya, estaba vacía. (vaya, vaya, rompiendo con todas las leyes, nunca se sienta el chico guapo al lado, nunca el chico guapo te habla o le hablas, nunca la silla de al lado está vacía).

Bebimos unas cuatro cervezas en el avión, tomamos un taxi, llegamos a casa, salimos a un bar. En el bar hablamos de su natal Suecia, de su cumpleaños número 40 que había ido a celebrar con amigos a Cancún y de su partida inminente hacia Perú.

Las horas pasaban y yo no podía evitar pensar en morderle la boca, un poquito. Volvimos a casa, parece que la altura bogotana me estaba haciendo un numerito e igual a él. En casa, sentados en el sofá y tras repetidos silencios, me dice, en qué estás pensando ahora, y le dije, en cómo es tener sexo juntos. (porque a decir verdad, yo ya entraba a la hora número seis, en esas)

¿Y, te gustaría probar? responde.

Lo tomo de la mano y subimos las escaleras, se acuesta en la cama, dejo la luz encendida porque ya les dije que me gusta mirar y más, si es lo que me llevo a la boca. Yo lo contemplo y lentamente me acerco. Acaricio los contornos de su cara con solo un dedo, lo miro. Acerco mi cara a la suya y le doy un beso profundo, largo, sentido, sólo así sé besar. Nos entendemos, nos perdemos.

(Una vez más estoy desnuda y él todavía no.
Clásico.
Me parece que ellos me sacan la ropa muy rápido.)

Le quito la camiseta. Él es suave, lechoso, macizo, verlo cómo es, me hace venerarlo a él y saborearme ésta narcosis.

Se me llena de agua la boca.

'Esto jamás me había pasado' 'ni a mí' respondo, no es como que yo me ande levantando a todos los tipos que me gustan en los aeropuertos y me los lleve al hotel ó a casa, que haya querido, es otra cosa. Que hoy me esté pasando, es una conspiración exquisita.

Reconozco en él algo muy familiar, que ya había sentido con un amante sueco que tuve hace años en Nueva York. Es una especie de bestialidad muda, entregada, lenta, dedicada, comparable a un estado de meditación profunda. No hay barreras, ni consciencia, se meten peticiones prohibidas entre susurros, no hay ansiedad, el hambre no gana. Él es una fiera poderosa y es gentil, y minucioso.

Disfruto cada segundo de esta derrota sin sangre, pero en algunos momentos allí, caída, la escritora, la esclava de la cacería y la recién rescatada mujer inocente en mí se pregunta, qué es lo que me induce a este sometimiento: ¿reconozco verdaderamente amor en el otro?, ¿busco armar a un hombre que se me extravió en la geografía y en el tiempo y éste fragmento de la vida, me es suficiente? ¿ó, lo que me envilece son éstos cuerpos y a ellos, me daría entera mil veces?

No tengo la respuesta. Pero si sé que desde hace unos meses, tras la muerte de mi madre, la niña ha vuelto y rescato su sexo, ya no más con dolor. Acá solo hay amor.

De pronto, esa es la única respuesta que necesito.

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Beaten




The days that leaded to Prince Mischief downfall, on one of my beloved night outings, I went home with one of these boys that normally, would make my senses explode.  During and after sex, I was still comparing how I did feel with each one of them: why little rascal made me go outside of myself in spite of being the total oppossite of what I like in a man, and why I did not feel much with this gorgeous creature.

People, rest assured that this is me, trying to get a grasp of what is it exactly that I look for, what do I prefer and what I would commit to.

I did not know much about this guy, just that he was on a sabbatical and was traveling around the world. I did know his name as he added me on one of his social networks after our first night together. For some reason I am still trying to figure out,  I have decided with some men, to dispossess them from their names; I do have on my contacts, a list of people identified as If they were gang members: The Chilean, xxx, a.m, Texas, Lux.  Perhaps as they say, If you don't name them, they do not exist.
 I have said many times that in the business of love and sex I am pretty practical. Or so I think.
He did leave the next day, and that was that for me. But having met him made me reflect on the type of men I feel extremely attracted to -and that is exactly what I want- I have seen (and I am absolutely grateful to all of them) that each one of my dudes bring something to me, that helps me complete the puzzle of him. This one was 6'2'' blonde, long wavy hair just right above his shoulders. Blue eyes, scruffy -almost yellow- beard. Thick, red lips. Hoarse, raspy voice just like the voices of these men that articulate directly from the throat. He reminded me of a devoted lover from Sweden who kept calling for 3 years, 2 of them from Sweden, whose phonation, speech pattern and demeanor was very similar.

After a couple of weeks, on a fateful Friday afternoon,  he asked me out. I thought the boy was long gone. Following night we met, and I saw him walking towards me and I just really couldn't do anything else but smile and prepare a sumptuous feast in my head. I was sitting there, all weaponry out. Not in the way you think. What I mean by this, is when I am at my most masculine-feminine killer-lover innocent-fierce 'A' fuckin' game.

We were at the bar and sitting -not side by side- but facing each other, eyes locked. Very close, occasionally grabbing legs, shoulders, backs, whispering, drinking, laughing. It was one of those moments where your surroundings matter very little and you are not interested on how anything or anyone looks. Conversation flowed, sense of humor was spot on, there was nothing odd or out of place.

He kissed me.

Hours later we came to my place, poured -at this time- unnecessary drinks, he started a fire, lit up candles and my favorite incense. I was laying on the sofa, just contemplating the entirety of the scene, he came to me, kissed me, and undressed me. Took me upstairs and we made love before instantly surrendering to what was left of the night. We spent the whole day together, fucking, drinking wine, bathing, watching a downpour of epic proportions, napping. Nothing I recalled from the last time, was similar to this one.  Nor the way I felt, nor the way he felt.
Maybe I did not recall shit. Maybe this was the real deal. Maybe we did open ourselves in a different way.
He was a caring lover, dedicated. A good listener. Very close and intimate. He would lay right below my chest for hours and would never stop caressing me, and it felt natural. He would allow all kinds of love on him and like he said 'sugar, was never enough'.

Boy, these people, I like.

Appetite was easy, but making the meal last what it had to, was not a challenge. This is what happens when you cut deals without knowing, but understanding, how both of you feel best. After all, I do think of everything as the now. Now. Now.

This was everything I wanted. He was leaving the country the next day. He left at night, and he asked me if I was going to miss him.

'Oh, yes. (Every inch of you.)'

I woke up the next day with the sensation of a void in my heart. I felt lonely. Why there isn't the same human being that I wake up next to for days, months, years, and we end up kissing endlessly? Where is this one that will make me share all I am, all I know, all I do, all I regret, all I miss?

I did think: if this is the level of love we can exchange with some people that you just met (yes, this is love, don't kid yourselves)  I can only imagine how great and infinite our love can be. I have had that.
I do long for the depths, twists, turns of a whole discovery of two, and nothing would make me happier than sharing this with the right one for a longer period of time, wherever you are, puzzle man.

I love being in two, my 'nows' are filled with two, but my 'nows' are full of different ones. Perhaps, my ego is so big I need to feel that power of getting yet another conquest. Maybe I cannot bear not being with someone. Perhaps I don't want to be comitted, perhaps this is the way it works for me. For some of you my 'nows' can be distracting. Truth is, I just really want one who fills my 'nows.' And I, will keep looking.

(In the meantime, I will just let these feelings sit until the next best thing, comes along.)

Thursday, February 25, 2016

The Mirror



It was months until I finally decided it was time to cut the cord. It was extremely easy and I will get into that in a moment.
Our story was stained from the beginning: I saw in him nothing else than this spoiled kid that was good in bed and that was all. He possessed no other value to me than the fact he and I crafted perfectly sequenced orgasms but I knew from the get go, that I could never fall in love with this guy. I passed sentence to the whole relationship since I pronounced the first 'hello'.
He remained nameless for my friends -even thought they knew I was getting 'some'- therefore there were no stories related to him, no dates, no social events where I would wanted to take him, no feelings he sparked in me, no emotions.

I had a non human friend that made love to me, period.

What was the trigger for me deciding, I had to put an end to the whole thing?
After the boy was M.I.A for a few days I met a gorgeous man, nor was I looking for it, nor did I initiate anything. I was sitting talking to some new friends, and he approached me. His nordic height, hair, accent were an easy sell and boy, when I have these encounters I realize how much I crave the company of these humans that are so astonishing to me. Later that night, we became this convoluted mass of bicolored everything. I would stop just to see how his long hair would look next to mine, when he was under me and our foreheads were brushing each other. We made love many times, we laughed, we had champagne for breakfast and we also played dress up with my fur coats. He would prove my point as he looked better in them.

Sex was indeed pleasant but I couldn't help to compare between the two. Where was this boy that will take me to extremes and made me so hungry for us? Where was the one that while making love, made me feel we have known each other for centuries and with just a glimpse, we shared in silence our fears, our sins, our love, our inner battles. Our loyalties and our honor for both?

I missed him.

Over the weekend we met again with Mr. Mischief but since I saw him, I felt something changed. The night ran its course, with his usual routines of not listening to any conversations, to overcompensating for his lack of purpose and trying so hard, oh God, so hard to make himself useful with new acquantainces but not quite getting there. The run-ins for drugs, the lies, the tricks, the friends that were not for real. The absolute power, given to everything outside himself.

We came home and made love and everything I had for him, was gone.

Days after, I called him and said just exactly that: babe, I just don't feel it anymore...

I didn't want to get into the fact that I was never fully IN. I didn't want to say that I was completely worn off by the fact that I did see a human being with a lot of talent and potential regardless of what I saw our relationship shaping up to be. I saw a man trying to be liked, lost in his own mind, falling for every vice because being numb was always the option, a man for whom the word sobriety was closest to eternal pain, someone that had let his self love slip through his own hands every time the sun went down.

...And I started to despise him.

Maybe he was a mirror I did not want to see anymore, maybe he reminded me of me.



(Peace, bro)

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

The L Word



Over lunch I distinctively remember saying these words: 'for now I am in the clear, he has not asked me shit... but I know the clock is ticking' In a strange turn of events, the boy that had no option, no future, no nothin' dared to have the conversation, that dreadful talk for many about 'feelings'.

It usually starts with the question, How do you feel about me (us)?  And this time, was no different. I certainly was not expecting it to happen at the time it did, but once we got on that subject -and after I spat my tequila- I knew there was no way around it. But why was I dreading this particular conversation, if in general, I do complaint about the fact that people are not brave enough to talk about it even if it means shit needs to be over? I for one, end things with peculiar demeanor, and often.

The reason is kinda simple: I was going to be blunt and say the words that were the complete opposite of his feelings. So there I was. Eyes on the horizon, breathing in an unsucessful attempt to buy time with each intake, and thinking to myself (let's try  not to be so brutal) So I said: I do enjoy having sex with you, very much...

He did not let me finish, when he asked me,

Do you love me?
Because I love you. And I love you, a lot.

(Fuck)

And then, I felt like those dudes from the movies that give the chick some lame ass answer so they can get laid that night and if they are great at delivering their lines, hopefully many more times. 'Cause once you say I love you, chances are that if the receiving end doesn't replicate, with words and body language, he or she is getting fucked eventually and not in the good way, my friends.

... And I said, I love you too (pause) in a very special way. (oh shit def. not my best performance.)

My 'special' way of loving him was fucking his brains out with full dedication and why not, borderline devotion, because I do adored the way my body received his. With him my petite mort was a sacred, godly place we did build, that we shared in solemn silence and it also was, the most honest moment of us.

Shortly after, he made me wonder if this is the only way I learned to love.


Monday, December 28, 2015

Just Fuck Your Lover





Ladies and gents, the eternal question prevails: Am I falling for my lover?

You and I know that the answer is NO. Is simple: If you would've wanted something serious with him or her you would've open your mouth for something different that wouldn't involve just fellatio.

Let's make this shit personal. I fucked this dude, and from day one, I decided he would only fell in the category of lover. This contract also included the fact that I wouldn't be seen in public with him, nor will meet my friends or will join me on a social gathering of any kind or will I accept any invitations to dinner, hangout during the day, anywhere or go shopping for shit. Why? Well, he was not at all my type -phisically speaking- he was too immature for some things that mattered to me, he was too fucking enthusiastic about a cloud, an accent, the shape of a head, and the likes (a characteristic so annoyingly engrained on this demographic below 30) and frankly this last thing seemed like a waste of precious energy (yawn). It appeared he has no sense of control, selfworth, respect  whatsoever and his surroundings seemed to not include anyone but himself. He could pick a fight just for the fuck of it and he tended to gravitate between maximum euphoria, followed by moments of profound sobbing (perhaps If I enter those last words I may find a diagnosis on WebMd that very likely will result on something like: bipolar, drug addict, psycho, schizo... you catch my drift).


So, outside of the bedroom, no sir. Nada.

But it happened he was just hanging too much at my place oh, 'cause did I mention he also lived with his parents? (lmfao) so nights that will turn into days, he will stay with me, have breakfast with me, lunch with me, get drunk again and will linger for fuckin-ever. Honestly I didn't have the heart to kick him out, but when he talked too much or wanted me to resolve some of his inner sorrows I gladly would've opened the gates of hell. Please for the love of God, just fuck me, fuck me good and shut up. And please, don't overstay your welcome. I already told you, you are my lover.


So, being with this boy made me wonder if I really wanted a relationship or just to keep fucking around. Or If I am really just a terrible cynic that goes around taking bodies and having no mercy with those I see vulnerable. But after thinking about it, I came to the conclusion that it was not 'them' with whom I didn't want to pursue a fulfilling love life as a couple. It was him. Although my body fully enjoyed what and how we did it together,  the truth is that  I did not see myself with someone with those qualities. I didn't and still don't want to teach anyone anything, save his sorry ass from his demons or act as his mom.

Sugar, I didn't and do not wish to raise you, I hope you come to me taking it like a champ, assuming your feelings and fully understanding that this, we both make. So let´s leave role playing, only for sex.

To sum it all up, in case you have any doubts, the only place you should fall in, is on his or her face.






Tuesday, December 15, 2015

My Reasons to Fuck a Punk




Laura Linney once said to Richard Gere on Primal Fear  "This was a one night stand, that lasted six months" In this case the month mark has not been reached, but still, the point is exactly the same. I have been wondering why is it that I keep opening my door to this trickster, mischief-maker, borderline delinquent, anytime he wants.

I am claiming full responsibility for deciding I wanted to fuck him. I am claiming full responsibility for still keeping him so tight between my legs, and voluntarily deciding I didn't want to let go.
Here is the thing. When I look at him, I see a kid. I hear a teenager and I touch a boy.

I also deserve to be called a liar if I'd dare to say that I didn't taste a man and felt one. And let me tell you how a man taste like for me: it is combination between sugar cane, and night, and cigarretes, and alcohol, and all of that transformed in this delicious elixir that makes me wanna -not drink- but eat everything inside. And I felt him, when in his bedroom assertiveness  he tells me what to do and exactly, how he likes to fuck me. This is the man that can't contain himself when we are together and all the time wants to be inside of me. And... I want him back. That is probably the reason why we end up fucking an average of 9 times in less than 24 hours.

Yes, I count. I count because that shit, is crucial to me.

His endurance matches my appetite. Punks have 'calle' calle makes people gain a certain behavioral quality that makes them eat, fuck and live as if  everything was going to hell in a second.

In the stupor of sex, I have found his wisdom simply precious and I have reached the point where I understand the many tribulations of his soul, which I am almost sure, know by heart. I know how I sound, but examine your own life and tell me that more than once, you have also felt this type of intimacy. He has been condenmed by his lineage and suffers the pain of a privileged life without substance. This motherfucker is a devoted lover, only dedicated to  my orgasms and is a generous partner that also shares his feelings and talks about what no ones does 'cause people are too fucking afraid to admit that yes, you fell in love, if only for a minute. And so fucking what.

You and I have.

Punk has no past and no future. Particularly the latter.



Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Tinder Dating in Colombia Part 1

Alright. Buckle up.

I started using Tinder the day after I moved to my pad. That very same early mornin' I left my hand play the swiping game. I was bored and hungover. So, WTF.

Up until then, I have heard many horror stories about how escort-looking some girls were, and how short, motorcycle lovin' ('cause that is minus 30 pts if you must know), sun glasses wearing to small   for their faces, guys were.  Well, in my case yes, there were those dudes, a lot of local military folk (I am a big fan as you know, just not in some latitudes) bold dudes at the age of 36 and one that was like: 'hey I am happily married, but let's have fun.' (This dude automatically won 10 pts for honesty)  ... and let's call him Steve. Well, Steve looked handsome, had a good selection of pics, was tall, fit, and he was half Canadian and half  Panamanian.

I'll take that.


I said... jack-fuckin-pot.  Dude gives me a heart and BOOM: It's a match. Dude texts me, dude calls me, we arrange a date and like I said I was moving so I had lots of stuff hanging around and I am not the kind of person who has boxes and paintings laying around forever. So he offered to help me move. I said to myself you know, why not. I can use someone that uses the hammer, the drill etc. etc. FYI I can manage too, very well in fact, but I just didn't want to.

Steve gets home and shit, he is hot. He thought the same as I kinda heard that silent 'Wow' behind the 'Hi'.

He came in, I showed him around, he loved it. We came upstairs and first thing he did was to sit down in my bed and kinda bounced. I was like huh? and also said mentally 'Oh honey I have a rule, nobody gets or sits in my bed wearing street clothes.'  I said nothin' cause in this non context, words and actions can be misinterpreted EASILY. I know what you are all thinking: how can she invite a total stranger into her house, didn't she think he could've been a serial killer or a thief or a hacker (that's what  I thought) or a rapist or ALL of the above? To be quite frank I did think about it, but I thinking process went someting like this: I have a doorman, a friend is coming, my mom will arrive in a few hours.

So, I felt safe.

Within the first 10 m he said 'Boy you are very beautiful'. I said 'thank you' while I kept on sanding a table.
Listen, I am not a jerk but I do get some things about me.

My friend arrived, my mom arrived -this was not the first time I have made first dates with an audience present- and everyone seemed to be getting along pretty well. Everyone had a chance to talk to each other alone and it all went smoothly except that the dude was all hands and arms and everything in front of my mom and my friend, who knew by know that we just met using TINDER for fuck's sakes. I absolutely love touching people, but this one, dunno, I felt cornered, uneasy. Weird.

Later I found him making a very ellaborate coffee, chatting up my mom, doing the dishes cleaning the  kitchen and for a brief second I said, Do I smell bullshit or do I smell bullshit?

My friend left, my mom went to bed and he said, come sit here with me - I gotta say that I didn't have any chairs so the other option was the floor. He didn't approve of the way I was sitting on my hammock so he guided me on  'how to sit'. His way was open legs, mine and his and our crotches kind of locked. Pfff. (I know many tricks in the book, this one made me laugh) but being the cynic I am I was trying to be less of Erik and allowed him to show me his utter most feelings by you know, rubbing our bodies... and this seemed to make him feel right at 'home'. 

We shared life stories and at a moment he seemed pretty moved to the point of tears when I shared the story of the tragic death of my father. Hours into the conversation, he grabbed my legs, he kissed my feet (and he was not being shy about it) and I let him. Then, I stood up to check on my mom and when I was going upstairs he said, I guess I can't sleep over, right? In my head I went -What gave you the hint that you were going to sleep over? Was it my reaction everytime you put your hands on me and I moved away? Was the fact that after moving I forgot to buy soap so I washed only with water and I told you about it? Was the clear sign that I didn't shave my legs and you saw them? Was it the mistake I made of forgetting to wear deodorant and laughing while recounting the facts of the day with you? That had to be it, honey- I was deliciously dirty and sweaty so I could enjoy myself in the fact that I was a magnificent, flawless, divine queen, dame of pleasure, that was dying to share the finest of this human after a long couple of days of wrapping, unwrapping, stocking, organizing, sanding, painting.

Steve, said: Can I see you tomorrow? Believe or not I said yes.