Sex/Life 38

“You are amazing. I love you” she whispered. I smiled and tidied up her fringe, stuck on her wet forehead. Stayed in silence, staring at her blushing face. HER face. The one who left me behind. The one who broke my heart. The one I had to imagine in other faces because I thought I'd never see her again. Her beautiful face, even more beautiful than every memory I had from her. And there she was, staring back at me. Finally together again, in the other side of the world.

A drop of my sweat fell right on her naked chest. She laughed and goosebumps rose all over her skin when I tenderly attempted to dry her up. “I love you too” I said.

Always have. Always will.

Tel-Aviv taxi

The driver looked back at my girlfriend in the rearview mirror. “Norwegian? No, no, we don't like Norwegians” he said roughly in his very basic English; “they only like Palestine and talk bad about Israel.” My gal, in her very polite Scandinavian custom, responded with a “but my boyfriend is Chilean.” The cab man changed his aggressive tone for a smile and said “oh, Chile! South America! Very good football! I like Chile!” I, condescendingly, replied “yeah, very good football.” Inside, I was laughing, ironically. If Israelis knew that Chile openly supports Palestine and has the largest Palestinian community outside of the Arab world, they would have treated me as bad as my girl. Ignorance is a blessing.

Love Trip, Episode 02: London, England.

What can I say about London? Not much, really. Only spent one and a half days there, so I'm not able to give an advanced talk on the city and everything related to it. But I can share some facts I saw during my stay. London is big, so it has a clock of similar proportions, The Big Ben. And lots of bridges. And very expensive beer. And many museums called “Tate”, of which I could only see the modern one.

London subway, a.k.a. “the Tube”, is massive, and has so many lines and colors that looking at its map makes you feel trapped in a fucking maze. Lucky me, I was with my girl. She definitely knew her way around. Well, didn't pick the hostel pretty wisely, but can't blame her. St Christopher's Inn sounded like a nice place, but ended up being shit. Mixing a busy pub with a hostel is not a great idea.

Anyway, and this may sound very shallow, there was something about London that got my attention: the racial variety. I mean, I know it's the 21st century and this shouldn't be a detail at all, but I come from the ass crack of the world. In Chile, there is no mix at all. We had our first black people 5 years ago, for fuck's sake! So, as you can imagine, London was a revelation. Variety wherever I looked, like being in a United Colors of Benetton ad. Amazing!

And, shallow as this comment is, I really liked the people in general over there. Most of them looked so good. Well dressed, fit, tidy. It was a real fashion capital. In Swansea, I felt so disappointed about the people there and their overall trashiness. “Where's the so called euro look?” I thought. But London was basically being in another world; a world of good looking citizens in which I felt a bit out of place. Ironically, many girls checked me out, which was new for me in Europe. The more multicultural the city, the more attractive you get? I don't know. Somebody should look into that.

And that's what I have to say about London. Huge city, very trendy and multicultural, with an apparently infinite subway and the most expensive pints of beer I've ever seen. Yeah, London is the shit. Chaotic, enormous, expensive and beautiful shit.

PS: I'm not joking about St Christopher's Inn, it is shit, and not in a good way -if there's any-!

I died in San Pedro

I closed my eyes, the sun shinning on my face. “I'm dead,” I thought. My whole body was shaking, still shocked after sliding downhill over 90 feet. My left foot was broken and my ass was frying on the hot sand and salt crystals of the hill I was sitting on. I was in the middle of the desert, two miles away from the nearest town and at least one mile from the road; still just half way down the hill, with a thousand feet to go to get to the ground. I was pretty much fucked.

I had come to San Pedro de Atacama to die. I mean spiritually, not literally. Being suicidal wasn't one of my issues. I had enough already with my shit career going nowhere, my heart hurting after a bad break up and my sex life on hold, because I was failing miserably to get with the girl I wanted. I needed a change.

Got to town looking for some sort of enlightenment, a sign from the Universe, God or whoever that could tell me what the fuck to do with my life. Instead of that, I just got bored. So bored that I decided, the next morning, to go for a little walk in the desert. It was 11 in the morning, already 30 °C under the sun.

Should have know better. It was very obvious that climbing that hill, all alone and with no enough climbing experience, was reckless. Yet there I was, half hour later, about 500 meters -1600 feet- high, looking down to the sandy void around me. The view was stunning, but the heat at that time was too much. I had to go down.

It happened very fast, but felt so slow at the same time. While I was going down the hill, the terrain -basically dirt with salt crystals sticking out- yielded to my weight and I started sliding downhill. I held onto the scratching surface with all my strength, knowingly, even in my desperation, that rolling would have meant dying. Then I felt it, just when I had a free fall for a second. My left foot crashed a rock and broke. Luckily, the pain was diminished by the adrenaline.

When I finally stopped falling, the blinding dust and deafening sound of rocks falling on and around me, gave way to absolute silence, where I could only hear my moans and myself, heavy breathing. I tried to stand up, but the pain on my foot was too intense. I sat and closed my eyes. I felt hopeless. Doomed. Dead.

“Spiritual journey” my ass.

Then, a realization. I couldn't go like that! I thought about my family, my friends and that girl that wouldn't date me, no matter how hard I tried. “Fuck this shit! This motherfuking hill is not gonna defeat me!” I said out loud. I couldn't walk, but I crawled, sitting on the burning ground, scratching my ass and tearing my shorts on the pointy salt crystals of the surface.

Finally on the ground, at the foot of the hill, my mobile phone got some signal. I called Emergency, feeling safe at last. I wasn't, not yet. I spent over 2 hours under the burning sun of the Atacama desert, while help was trying to find me. No shade, almost no water left, only a light jacket to cover from the merciless rays and the 40 °C thermal sensation of the afternoon.

By the time the rescue team finally found me, I felt I was born again. And, as a new born child, I didn't care my scratched ass was exposed through my ripped shorts. I was even laughing and cracking jokes while they moved me in a litter to the ambulance. I was safe.

My life changed, yes, but not at all of how I expected. Didn't get a mystical revelation nor a sense of purpose. Got instead a big hospital bill, eight steel screws inside my foot, plus two months crippled and unable to walk. Although, there's a bright side to the story. All the good things that happened to me afterwards were only possible because of that fall. And, as bullshit as this sounds, if that was the price to pay for my current life, I'd do it all over again. Sort of.

Seekers, Settlers and real love

Our generation is fucked in the love department. Everyone born before the 2000's has grown up watching Disney animations and all sort of romantic flicks with perfect couples and happy endings. Those Utopian fantasies, subconsciously, crash against the reality we see around. Divorced parents, domestic violence, switched gender roles, the ever increasing race for financial or intellectual success, or the pursue of success in general. All this has led most people to take part of two toxic groups when it comes to approach their romantic lives. I call these groups Settlers and Seekers.

Settlers are the conformist side. Whether they are helpless romantics or extremely rational characters, they have the same factor in common: they always go for the wrong partner and stay with them. They may choose them for all “the right reasons”, like good financial situation, interesting hobbies, nice physical appearance, passionate career, and a long list of etceteras. Or, on the other hand, for many of the wrong reasons, from mommy/daddy issues to sexual fetishes, savior complex or fear of abandonment. Whatever the reasons are, none of them is enough to have a healthy relationship with.

No matter how unsatisfying, frustrating or even hurtful things are, Settlers will do everything they can to stay together with their partner. Why? Causes vary and may be very different to every person, although it is easy to detect the main problem for them. They just can't or do not want to be alone. The thought of getting old; peer, cultural or social pressure; insecurity and a large number of reasons, plus the obnoxious feeling they get when exposed to romantic stimulus while single. All of that leads to desperation, and desperation leads to the need to fill the empty space in their beds and lives with someone, regardless of this person provides what they require to actually satisfy their emotional needs or not.

On the opposite side of the scale we find the Seekers. They literally won't settle with anyone. The search for them never stops, because they are looking for Perfection (yes, capitalized). It's because, most of the times, Seekers are highly successful or remarkable people. Intellectually, financially, career wise and even physically; Seekers appear to be flawless, and that's exactly what they seek. They are after a partner as good as they think they are, or better. In the meantime, they'll try out different options, quickly moving on to the next one after finding the first flaw in the other person, as minimal as it might be.

Even though these two groups are very different, they are not as apart one from the other as it seems. A frustrated Settler, after things finally go to hell, can become a Seeker for a while or for good, not to suffer with the same mistake again. Or a Seeker, in a rough path of their life or just tired of the never ending search, can simply settle with the closest partner they'll find.

Nowadays, it's really hard not to fall in one of these two groups. Emotions have been replaced by individuality, and romantic relationships look more like business partnerships than selfless unions. But there is a third group that doesn't even need to be named; they are the people with healthy relationships. Not perfect, not ideal, not Disney-like. With flaws and up and downs, fights and disagreement, struggling every now and then. You'd hardly see their stories told in a movie, because they can be considered boring or too complicated to tell. They are real, and reality is not something attractive.

If you find yourself caught in any of the two toxic groups, don't feel hopeless. As you can switch from Seeker to Settler or the other way around, you can also step out that vicious circle and turn to the third group. Almost everyone there was like you. Stuck in a frustrating, life-sucking and unfulfilling relationship, or in a exhaustive search for Mr or Mrs Right. In any of those cases, always with the same consequence: failing to get what they needed.

I myself was a Settler. Spent years and years in an unhappy relationship, and after breaking up, became a Seeker. I was decided to get my life back, not wasting another day with the wrong person. Only dedicated my time and effort in the search for “the One,” jumping from one girl to the other and not getting attached with anyone. What changed? I met an imperfect person who was perfect for me. I realized that none of the approaches I had taken before in my love life were right. Either settling for someone who seemed perfect or looking for somebody perfect, none of those ever gave me what I needed. In fact, when I finally gave up my expectations and fears and just let myself enjoy and be surprised by the virtues and kinks of my girl, I fell in love. Real love.

Nobody is perfect, yet we feel forced to constantly look for or to create perfect romantic relationships, and to demand perfection from our partners. Truth is Perfection is just an illusion, product of decades of self-help books, consumerism, movie love stories and ever evolving technology. Once you understand that, pressure to be perfect fades away. Then you only need to connect with your own feelings and emotions; that'll help you comprehend yourself better and to figure out what you want and need. After that, finding a partner that meet your necessities and for whom you'll do the same, will be an easier task. Happiness will be yours and love -the real kind- will come naturally. Guaranteed.

Real love quote 07

Even when you look like shit, you are beautiful.

Incluso cuando te ves como la mierda, eres hermosa.

Real love quote 06

I love you for most of the right and some of the wrong reasons, in a very profound and shallow way.

Te amo por casi todas las razones correctas y algunas de las erradas, de una forma muy profunda y superficial.

Sex/Life 37

Tuesday, April 29th, around 9:02 AM. That was the last time we had sex. Rushed and quick sex before hitting the shower to go to the airport. A mock shag compared to the exhausting erotic sessions we had in the previous three weeks together. Now, 8 days after she left, frustration is taking over. Shit, not much more than a week and I'm already going crazy! It's been such a hard change. From an average of three shags a day to nothing. From her smell, her sounds, her softness, her warmth, her laugh, her presence; to nothing at all.

This entire sacrifice is supposed to pay off in the near future. Her absence now will become a life together afterwards, hopefully. Every hour without her will turn into a kiss, an embrace, a hand caressing my face or stroking my hair. Every day apart will convert in a belly laugh, holding hands while staring at each other eyes, a nice meal with friends. And making love. Hours of mutual touch, skin on skin, our bodies so close against each other that we'll forget who is who, and we'll be One. Us. Forever.

Sex/Life 36

A piano. Say something, I'm giving up on you. She looks at me. I'll be the one, if you want me to. Her blue eyes turn red, tears stream down her cheeks. “Say something” by A Great Big World plays in the background. We are having a bowl of cereal, naked in my bed. She's crying. “I'm so, so sorry” she says, weeping. I draw a sad smile on my face. “It's ok, babe; you are here now” I reply, wiping her eyes. Anywhere I would've followed you. Now I'm crying. And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you. Everything is so fucked. I kiss her. Her skin is still wet with her tears. “You are here now” I say again.

Sex/Life 35

My breath has enough alcohol to get someone drunk. I'm not. Wish I was drunk, maybe that way I'd forget that I'm alone. She's gone. 2:42 AM. This will be the seventh night I'll sleep without her. I miss her so fucking much. My whole body longs for her. Autumn. Nights feel colder than ever, her side of the bed frozen, abandoned. It was 5 de Mayo just now. Tequila runs in my blood. My guts feel warm, my heart is cold. L, my love and lover, thousands of miles away, waking up now as I'm falling asleep on the keyboard. Fucking long distance.

Real love quote 05

Yeah, I'd marry you right now. I'd wake up and everyday would be sunny, just because the first thing I'd see would be you.

Sí, me casaría contigo ahora mismo. Despertaría y cada día sería soleado, porque la primera cosa que vería serías tú.

My apology

- Do you want to have sex with me? -I said.
- Really? - he asked, surprised.
- Yes.
- Just like that?
- Sure. Works every time -I replied.


I was telling an ex schoolmate my ultimate technique to get with a girl. Being as direct as it gets, which, shit you not, works like a charm. If you don't believe me, ask him. A few days after, he came back and told me that he had followed my advice and it did the trick for him. Since that day he calls me “Captain.”

Captain. Sounded good. It was a nickname I never thought I would get, especially not for my womanizer skills. Yeah, me, a ladies man. Unbelievable! Me, a guy who lost his fucking virginity at 21 and stayed with his first and only girl for over 8 years just because he firmly believed he sucked at getting laid and, basically, everything related to the opposite sex... or sex, period.

What changed? Well, I was miserable and the sex with my ex, if I got any, was extremely boring and frustrating. Breaking up was a good start, I guess. Coming back to the “meat market” also helped. Experiencing things I should have experienced during my 20's in only 4 months, before turning 30, was an excellent boost, too. But I wasn't quite there yet. I wouldn't think of that version of myself as the ultimate Casanova, nor I would expect to be called Captain for that. What changed then? More than what, it was a who. She changed me.

I loved her. And, along with her, I loved the man I became while being with her. Because even though, before she appeared in my life, I had already realized I was way more attractive and interesting than I used to believe, I was still ashamed of my performance under the sheets. She changed that. Oh, God, the sex! Un-fucking-believable. If there's something she left in me, besides a broken heart after dumping me, was the sex.

I had nothing to brag about before. Then, all of a sudden, I found myself in a spiral of sweat, warmth, nudity and pleasure, seasoned with some awkwardness and emptiness every now and then. I felt like I had a power, a gift. Thanks to this new found arousing knowledge and the improved sexual performance that came with it, I rebuilt myself as the character I always wanted to be, but never had the guts to. Yes, I had changed, but to be this new person I had to leave behind fundamental values. I cheated, I lied, I fucked up and around and, when I had the chance to stop, I kept doing it for one last time, because it wasn't enough yet.

With her, my beloved, out of the picture, I was devastated. But soon the devastation gave way to a fruitful sex drive. The more I got laid, the better I got at it. My self-confidence reached the skies and I was feeling like I was touching the stars with my dick. I got cocky and stupid. Met a very nice Danish girl and, despite I knew she was interested in me, I just kept her as my fuck buddy while I tried with some other girls. Breaking a foot didn't stop me. Internet became my allied to keep shagging other girls while I was with her. One of them, a British girl, was the more important. So important that almost made me forget the Norwegian who'd broken my heart. Almost.

The British girl was on her way back to me, after being traveling around. I knew things could get deeper than occasional sex, and I felt ready to give myself to this new relationship. I cheated on my previous girl before to be with her, and now this foul was going to be worth it. Yet I had a hunch, a distracting feeling that wouldn't allow me to fully focus on what I was starting to feel for her. To shake this thoughts off my head, I contacted my Norwegian ex. “What if there's still a chance?” I thought. Miraculously, there was. But there was also lots of resentment on my side; so much that, although I loved her, I let the British girl come to live with me anyway. It was a fun month, contaminated by mixed feelings of joy and self-loathing, and that ended with me telling the truth on the last days and breaking the Brit's heart.

Now that everything is over, I'm back with her. She, my first and only love. She, the one who showed me there's more to life than the depressing sexual and affective ways I'd suffered before with my ex. But I can't be with her at peace knowing what I did. I can't enjoy her as much as I'd like, not without offering her my apology.

I am very sorry for being a jackass to you and to your gender, in general.

Sex/Life 34

She's gone. While I write this, her plane takes L thousands of miles away from me. She left and the emptiness there is now in me can't be filled with the remains she left behind. Instagram pictures, Facebook posts, a stack of Philippine coins on my drawer and three books. Unmade bed, dirty dishes, a towel drying in my terrace. All signs that she was here, reminders of the three weeks we spent together. Memories of laugh, tears and sex.

L, my lover, my dream of a future.

Jeg elsker deg. Te amo. I love you.

Sex/Life 33

We fucked on the couch. We planed coming back to my place from the airport in complete silence, and once back at the flat, throw away all of our shit and clothes to have wild sex on the table. That was only one of the many things we planed during these two months of endless Skype conversations, unstoppable Facebook messages and occasional Snapchats. One of the many things that, 9 days in, we haven't done.

Expectations hit the brick wall of reality and our dreams of passion and romance got so disfigured after this crash that they needed urgent plastic surgery. Now they don't look as beautiful as before, yet I couldn't say they are ugly. They look normal now; as normal as it feels going to bed and wake up next to each other every morning. As normal as it is for me to cook and for her to wash the dishes, or just sitting in my terrace to have a laugh drinking cheap beer. And, you know what? I fucking love it! I've never felt more comfortable in my life, so understood, so accepted, so embraced... so loved.

Nope, we did not have wild sex on the table, but it was great anyway. We fucked on the couch.

Once again

I can clearly remember the song I heard the first time I got drunk. I was seventeen and, while I zigzagged to the bathroom of that beach bar, Space Oddity by David Bowie started playing. I can also recall that, the first time I kissed my long lasting ex, we were listening to Travis and their version of Britney Spears' Baby one more time. But when I think about who I believe to be the woman of my life, the song that pops in my head is one I fucking hate: Get Lucky, by Daft Punk. And I don't hate that song only because I literally heard it EVERYWHERE for several months. The reason because I hate it the most is because it reminded me of her, L, during that horrible period after she broke up with me.

I was a complete mess for over 6 months. L had taught me how to love and showed me this feeling is real, despite of what I'd learned before with my previous experiences. She became the sweetness that justified living 30 years of bitterness. So you can imagine it was really hard for me to let her go after she called the end of our relationship. How was I suppose to do that? My head understood her words, her rejection; but my heart was stuck on her past “I love you's.”

Had to go through many processes, from unconditional love to unleashed hate, to get to a point in which I could feel I finally moved on. And, right then, the impossible happened. L, having realized she never stopped loving me, came back into my life. It was great, yet absolutely shitty in its timing. Moving on hadn't only meant turning the page and jumping to the next chapter of my personal history. It also implied starting a new relationship and a life change; all things I wasn't willing to give up so easily.

Did what I had to do, or what I thought I had to. In the end, I just fucked up. Gave a try to the new relationship while I wouldn't stop talking to L. When the new girl realized there was something odd going on, I had to confess the whole deal. She left me with her heart broken, but she wasn't the only one hurt. L suffered the whole time, knowing that after I turned off Skype I would go and sleep with another person. And I can't even say I enjoyed myself either. The guilt for the damage I was causing to everyone involved in this strange situation wouldn't leave me alone.

After the new girl was gone, things didn't get much better between L and me. She was half way around the world and I was surrounded by temptation. Add a great deal of resentment on my part, justified mistrust on her side, and you get an awful mix. Plus, the distance wasn't helping. What's the point of having a disfunctional relationship if you can't even have epic sex to make it be worth it?

Nowadays I wonder if there's a happy ending for this story. I could only rely on wishful thinking to say “yes.” I made a big mistake, and L did her own share. Don't say it's gonna be easy to leave all that behind us and focus only on our common present and possible future together. There's a lot to fix yet. Although I cannot say I'm pessimistic about it, because she already took the first leap of faith to make up for her errors. Right now, as I write these words, she's on a plane from London to Santiago de Chile. I have no idea how tomorrow's reunion is gonna be and I won't hide that I'm very nervous about it. However, this feels right. Messed up and all, I think our love story deserves we give it a try, at least once again.

Real love quote 04

I never wanted to marry or have kids, not until you came along in my life. Now that I want the whole package, I wonder: did you change me or is it just that I was waiting for you the whole time?

Nunca quise casarme ni tener hijos, no hasta que apareciste en mi vida. Ahora que quiero todo el paquete, me pregunto: ¿me cambiaste o es sólo que estaba esperando por ti todo este tiempo?

Sex/Life 32

We spent over half of our relationship in bed, naked, both physically and emotionally. It was winter in Santiago. Too cold and gray outside to go out, too warm and cosy under the sheets to ever leave them. But she left. I didn't wash those sheets for more than a month after that, until she broke up with me. I listened to Keane's Hamburg Song and cried every time. “I wanna be the place you call home” they sang. I was home, but it never felt like it was my home anymore. She was. Could feel it in each embrace, stare, kiss, smile, shag...

...I'll be home soon.

Real love quote 03

Sometimes when I see you smile I feel I was made to love you from the womb to the tomb.

A veces cuando te veo sonreír siento que fui hecho para amarte de la vulva a la tumba.

The boy done wrong again

Has it ever happened to you that there's this song you've listened to for a while now but you've never really payed attention to the lyrics, until once you did and it absolutely changed the way you felt about this particular tune? Today it happened to me. Walking back home, listening to Belle and Sebastian, I played this quiet song, The boy done wrong again. Standing in the corner, blank staring at the traffic light, the music streamed from my ears to my soul, making guilt take over my feelings with these lines: “What is it I must do to pay for all my crimes? / What is it I must do? I would do it all the time.”

Looking back in my love and sex life I can't but regret so many things I did. I've hurt anyone that's ever been with me, everyone that's liked or just cared about me. It's like a reflex, a mean instinct from some dark place in my mind. Why am I like that? How is it possible for me to get away with that every single time to move on to the next “victim”? I have no idea. Ironic as this sounds, I consider myself a good person. There are never bad intentions behind my acts, nor I do any of this things on purpose. Just happens.

Daddy issues? Sure! Growing up in a home dominated by psychological violence -or even physical sometimes- didn't help me to get the notion of a right behavior towards women. My father, an old fashion sexist Latin man, set the perfect example of what I didn't want to become. I admired my mom for how she remained a strong woman and did her best to raise me and my three siblings as good persons with profound values, given the circumstances. After that, I tried to keep on her good work, but failed miserably every time.

I spent way too long stuck in a relationship that didn't fulfill me. She, among all the other girls of my life, was the one who had to put up with the more shit. I can partially understand why I did that. I was unhappy, frustrated, nagged. Never loved her and I never felt loved. Probably it was this phobia I got after breaking up the cause of the damage I caused afterwards. Relationships scare the shit out of me. Remind me of those almost nine years of constant emptiness I went through with my ex. Each start with a new girl, even if it was just a one night stand, took me back to those gloomy days.

There was just one girl I never hurt; on the contrary, I was nothing but good to her. I fell in love. But it wasn't enough, or maybe it was just me who wasn't enough. She treated me very poorly and then dumped me, despite she said many times that she loved me as well. The grim era that started after she left me was in which I caused the more sorrow. I had opened my heart and all I got in return was suffering. Therefore I was closed, a huge wall guarding my deepest feelings. Fucking around I tried to forget her, but only got to replace my pain for the one I caused to others.

Now I'm retired. The girl that I once loved came back into my life, and guess what? I hurt her too. The only difference this time is that I could say I was hurting her back, but that doesn't make it any better. I'm not seeking revenge. I am on a quest to find and experience true love and, finally, to establish a relationship with all the ideals I write and dream about. Because if I have learned something from all the wrong I've done is that it hurts both them and myself. This has to stop. That's why I'm retiring from the market. Seems my journey has come to an end, and that end looks pretty much like love. She and I brought sadness to each others life, yet the joy that came with it shines a light more powerful than the darkness we've been blinded with. For the wellbeing of she, me and all the girls that'd come after her if this doesn't work, I hope it's fucking worth it this time.

Real love quote 02

Thinking about all the men you've fucked feels like peeing kidney stones, only that my penis is my heart and the stones tear my soul on their way out.

Pensar en todos los hombres que has follado se siente como mear cálculos renales, sólo que mi pene es mi corazón y los cálculos rasgan mi alma al salir.