Sex/Life 31

11. At this very same time, 11 days from now, she'll be lying in bed with me. 11. I'll be so deep inside her mind, body and soul she won't be herself anymore. Neither will I. It's gonna be Us, one single entity made of flesh, sweat, warm fluids and skin, wrapped in the sheets of a broken bed. Hands on fire, eyes wide open, absence of consciousness. Breathing heavily, moaning we'll break the silence of the room. Hours shall pass and we'll never lose the embrace, as we try to erase all what happened since the last one. And we will. 11 days to go. Just 11...

Sex/Life 30

She didn't cry, but I saw the sadness in her green eyes. The Mancunian girl looked at me and said “she's better fucking worth it.” I agreed. “Me too” I responded, feeling like shit. It was me who provoked that sorrow in her, but not even I was sure I was making the right choice. Felt the need to confess that I had been talking with my Norwegian ex, the infamous “viking”, and that she wanted to get back with me. And it was me too who invited her to live with me, knowing beforehand that I was still in love with that ex. It was me who couldn't let go the opportunity of being with both of them again. I was the one who got his feelings confused every day of the three weeks she had already lived with me as my lover. And it was me who cried. For her, for my ex and, most of all, for the old version of myself who used to believe that the British girl with whom he bonded so easily could be one he could love. It were tears of mourning I cried. He had died.

Sex/Life 29

A number. I'm drunk and stupid and all I can think about is a number. Her number. Left the party early, overwhelmed by Saint Patrick's celebrations and all those green and happy people. I thought about her and her bloody fucking number. One, two, five thousand figures. It was a mystery to me. Rushed back home. On the bus, more joy. Saturday party people going somewhere to have fun. Me, already drunken, felt pathetic. Why was it so important? What difference did it make? Whether she slept with half the men in the world or with just a few guys, did it really matter? Was it so important if, after all of those motherfuckers, she chose me? Should I hate them all or actually thank them for throwing her into my arms? Opened the door, spread my stuff all over my flat and sit in front of the computer. Started writing. “Her number” I typed. Outside, people laugh and drink and fuck. And cry. I cried for her. She cried for me. And we fucked. And we laughed. Now her number seems irrelevant. I love her. She loves me. Only me. “Thanks guys. Thanks for being so shit. So shit she couldn't but fall for me” I type. But don't smile. I remember her. I miss her. Shit, I wish I could just keep thinking about the stupid fucking number.

Sex/Life 28

She couldn't begin to understand what was so different about me, what was this thing about honesty and emotional openness. “I'm naked all the time... metaphorically, mostly” I said. She laughed. She always did it, a lot. I really liked her for that. “You are a fascinating man” she responded. So she came back. The Mancunian came back to Santiago for a second round of the Eduardo Experience. But things changed not long before she arrived. “I came to be with you, but feels like there are three people in your bed when we sleep together” she said, a couple of weeks after coming to live here with me. She had a point. Being in touch again with my Norwegian ex collapsed my inner self and brought back to life zombie feelings of past love. I wasn't that fascinating man anymore.

Sex/Life 27

She broke my heart. I broke my bed fucking other women, trying to forget her. Couldn't. It was her whom I was shagging. She, with different face, smell, taste. She and only she. How many of those girls did I hurt? One, two, four, all of them? I did feel bad. Felt bad but did it anyway. Brought them close to push her away. Pushed them away to get her back. But she was gone. Long gone. I was alone, and even lonelier while accompanied in my broken bed.

Sex/Life 26

Her room was a mess. Dozens of papers, magazines and books piling up in every corner. Clothes spread all over the place, like victims of a fashion terrorist attack. Pictures, notes, newspaper scraps, all taped to the wall. And her bed... oh, her untidy bed. We laid there, me hugging her from behind, while she was going through her music on her laptop, singing along. Me, silent, watching her whispering lyrics to the beat of the music. “I know you are in love with me” she said. I wasn't. Not there yet. Changed the subject and had sex with her, not minding she was on her period. She was a mess, just like her room. Soon after I was caught in love with that mess.

Sex/Life 25

She's leaving today. My Danish friend, the Scandinavian lover, my Nordic nurse. She, who has taken all my broken hearted shit, who has dealt with my commitment phobia , who has taken care of me while I couldn't walk. She, M, has shown me that I can be treated right, that I deserve better than I've had before, that no matter if I haven't achieve any of my goals or that I hardly know what I want, I still can be appreciated for what I am. All of that even though I've been an asshole to her. Yet she's always been there, always caring and, on top of that, willing to have sex with me. Because she's great at it and, after all, that was the nature of our “no relationship.” But it was that and much more.

Here's to my lover and friend. Here's to M. Farewell, baby. Your latin lover won't ever forget you.

Sex/Life 24

Closure. After six months of suffering varying from zero to “I can't fucking take this shit anymore!” levels, I decided it was time to move on for real. Yes, she was the most beautiful woman I've been with, and yes, she is still the best shag I've ever had, but holding on to her memory and keeping remains of hope that I could eventually be with her again was a big mistake. Her ghost haunted me constantly, invading my everyday life, some of my dreams at night and, most of all, my sex life.

I couldn't shake her off my head, no matter who the new girl was. Nobody could live up to her image or make me forget about her for too long. Even if I was having a great time, I could close my eyes and from the deepest and darkest places of my mind, she emerged. Not anymore. Today she responded to my yesterday's email, intended to be the last, and killed all hope in me. This, which may sound devastating, was the best start I could have for this weekend, this month and most likely, the rest of my life.

I'm free! She is no more, not in my head nor my heart at least. I now can finally be at peace and devote myself for somebody else, starting by me. Now the viking's soul is in peace, her ghost fading away to become a precious memory and a lesson learned at last.

Closure, what a beautiful word.

Sex/Life Special 04 – Left behind

A friend of mine a few weeks ago asked me for advice. He met a Canadian girl who was soon going to leave Chile for good and he wanted to get with her. I told him my ultimate technique: no fancy dates, no clubbing or eternally delaying things, just be direct and tell her “I want to have sex with you.” He first freaked out, but realized he didn't have anything to lose and tried it. He spent the following three weeks having a very good deal of fun with this woman. When she left, we talked about dating foreigners and he shared with me this article “Don’t date a girl who travels.” Reading it got me to think about my own love life and some transcendental moments I've lived.

Scene 1. Ezeiza Airport, Buenos Aires, Argentina.

We hugged so tight I felt our bodies merging in this tender embrace. I still remember that like it was this very morning and not six months ago. Her face, beautiful even though she was crying ever since we left the hostel, sought comfort on my chest. I caressed her thin blond viking hair, trying to catch its scent as long as I could, until it was finally time to let her go. We kissed one last time and she walked to the counter, passed her ticket and walked through the boarding tunnel, looking back at me with a sad smile. Once she was out of sight, I sat in front of the waiting area window and patiently waited for her plane to leave, weeping. A couple of texts she sent me from the plane cheered me up a little, but once it took off, I couldn't help crying again. My Norwegian girl was gone. The one I loved, my soul mate; flying back to Norway, away from me.

Here there's some more to that story and tips to survive a girl who travels.

Scene 2. My apartment, Barrio Brasil, Santiago, Chile.

She faded away at the end of the hall, leaving my story as quickly as she's got into it. Our “thing” was short, but intense. We had less than a week to know each other, and time flying when we were together didn't help at all. Despite that, I liked her a lot and I could always tell she felt the same for me. Sex was amazing and we could spend hours talking, laughing or just cuddling. This English gal was very pretty and I loved her British accent and humor. But she was passing by Santiago in her way to keep traveling up South America to Mexico. Her plans didn't change for me. I was never part of her plan to begin with, so moving on was the sensible thing to do for her. A hug, a few kisses and a goodbye. That's all I got before she walked out my door, waved her hand at me and took her way down the hall to the elevator, to turn in that corner and disappear both from my sight and my life. Perhaps it was for the best. The “thing” could have got way more intense soon and the imminent farewell would've been devastating.

The story got way more fucked up. Some more details here.

Scene 3. TBD (To Be Determined).

In a little more than a week she, my lover, will be gone. I met this cute Danish girl unexpectedly. I came to that party chasing a British gal I knew before, so things between us worked organically. In less than 10 minutes we talked, danced and said our goodbyes. I kept chasing after the the Brit and left the building, what was a big fucking waste of time. Nevertheless, next day my future lover had friended me on Facebook and the following week we were shagging at my flat. I said I didn't want a relationship nor commitment, and she agreed because she knew she was leaving a few months after that. We maintained an only sex thing intermittently, while at the same time I was fucking around as much as I could. Only my accident in San Pedro de Atacama, with the whole near to death experience, made me settle down for a bit and scalate our business to a more official level, yet keeping it as non exclusive. We became lovers and friends. Very good friends. But after all my suffering I just couldn't do or give more than what I have so far. Again, I think not getting attached is for the best. She will soon go back to Denmark, half way around the world from me

After all this, I wonder why I keep doing the same to myself. Why do I keep engaging in relationships that are going to be over in a predetermined period of time? I think I'm terrified of serious commitment. Spending almost 9 years in a relationship messed me up apparently. But, on the other hand, I also believe I'm a romantic. Why does love have to be right next to you? Isn't it more poetic to find it in the other side of the world? I mean, what are the odds? Why not believing in fate for a while? Why not just live this adventure instead of being sensible, at least just for a moment?

Just before I started writing this I read the response to the column that inspired me. It's “DO date a girl who travels”, and there was a part that really got my attention. It says that a girl who travels will know when to change her plans for the chance to love. Yes, no woman has really changed much her plans for me before. I'm still waiting for that to happen. Will I finally find love when this occurs? I'm not sure, but wouldn't hurt that much to keep trying, expecting not to be left behind again.

Things have changed a lot! More to that in "Long Distance."

Sex/Life 23

Get Lucky, Daft Punk. “God, how I hate this fucking song” I thought. Seemed to be the only one who hated it. Everybody in the club cheered when it started playing, even the friends I were with just loved it. She loved it too. “This is my summer song from Chile” she told me when we went clubbing and the song came up, one of the last nights we were together in Santiago. I couldn't shake that phrase off my head every time they played this tune anywhere I went after she left. Shit, and did they play it. And yes, I got lucky a lot after her disappearance, but that didn't matter. This song, every fucking time... Until, pretty much like the main character in this movie, “Silver Linings Playbook”, it stopped bothering me. To hell with those robot looking motherfuckers and their repetitive lyrics. Screw every new version that came up of this music hit. Fuck last summer in Chile, it was shit anyway. New year, new life, new songs to hate. And, of course, much more getting lucky.

Sex/Life 22

“I'll send you selfies of my cock... doing a duckface” I said, answering her how I would keep passion flowing. She looked at my naked body, lying next to her after a very intense session of sex. “Doing a duckface?” she asked, but after a closer look she realized what I meant. “Oh... gross...” she said, and then laughed as she always did at my jokes. Pretty smile, pretty face, pretty girl in general. I never did actually send her the selfies, neither tried to take any. We did sexted for a while, though. Now she's gone. Long gone.

Sex/Life 21

What color were her eyes? I couldn't tell. Not when I met her at the bar in which we dated for the first time, nor when we were sitting on my couch and it took me ages to finally dare to kiss her. Neither the times I spent hours lying in bed with her, counting the freckles on her bosom while she just stared at me, smiling. Not even when I literally asked her “what's the color of your eyes?” and she couldn't answer me because she'd never wondered about that. And I could never find out. I just couldn't. Not when she kissed me for the last time and walked away from my life, with those beautiful eyes looking back at me as she disappeared in the distance.

Sex/Life 20

One said she wanted something more than just a man who talked about feelings. The other says what she likes about me is that I talk about my feelings, and that I actually have feelings. One saw me only when she had some spare time. The other always has time for me. One I liked so much I took any shit she did to me as part of the package. The other is just too nice and I accept gladly everything she does for me. One I loved. The other is my lover. One broke my heart. The other I seem to be breaking her heart constantly... I think I'm a fucking asshole.

Sex/Life 19

It died. 2013 was gone, and the last remains of it were burnt down in multicolor fire. Fireworks that, for 25 minutes, enlightened the dark skies of midnight, getting me to think in the year that was just over. Eight girls. No, eight women. One of my New Year's resolutions was to be open to find love, but, in the meantime, have sex with as many girls as I could. I managed to fulfill that one resolution. Now, looking back, I got nothing out of it. Fireworks. That's all they were. Sparks of colorful life that, after exploding, just left some smoke fading away in the night. I did find love, though. That big, shiny, warm light in the dark. But it was another firework. The most beautiful and long lasting firework there is. Smoke, fading away, blown by the winds of change. 2014...

Sex/Life 18

“That's her. She's the one” said my mother when I showed her the picture of this girl on my phone. This was the second time in my life that my mother was foreseeing my future partner. The first time it was my ex who she told me about in a tarot reading. I spent almost nine years of my life with her. So this time I could have easily freaked out, but I was kinda happy. I could do this. The new girl was really beautiful.

I met this British girl on Facebook. I knew her two best friends in person, and I saw her a couple of times in real life, but we never talked. I regretted that later. When I finally had the chance to meet her again, after I was constantly hitting on her online, I was drunk and being pathetic after I was kicked out of a club. All I could say was “hi” and those were some really awkward 15 seconds. We never met again and after that things got cold. To be honest, things were never good. I screwed any chance with her the minute I hit on both her friends before talking to her.

Despite the odds, I gave it one last try. I was going to San Pedro de Atacama in a few days, decided to change my life for good. I could feel things were going to take a big turn, just didn't know how. I asked her to go have a coffee with me. She said no. Some days later, alone with my left foot broken and my ass sitting on hot sand, 200 meters over the ground in a hill in the middle of the desert, I felt life fading away. I said out loud I didn't regret anything, but I was lying. I wanted to see my family and friends again. And, fuck, I really wanted to get that bloody coffee.

Sex/Life 17

She looked at me and said “beer is your drink. You look really good drinking beer.” That was the weirdest compliment I've ever got. We were at this pub in Buenos Aires, near our hostel, and I was having a pint. I just laughed and kept drinking. I do like beer a lot; it's actually my favorite beverage. Not too long after that I met a girl named Beer. I didn't even know that was an actual surname, but it did gave me ideas. What if we had an affair? Saying “I love Beer” would've proved to be right twice. It ain't gonna happen, though. She hates me.

Sex/Life 16

I wake up. A thin line of sunlight points to the right side of the bed. Her side. She's not there. Haven't been there for quite a while now. I stretch, fart and yawn. My broken foot hurts. It hurts every fucking morning. Carefully I get out of bed and jump in my one good foot to the bathroom. Piss. Jump back to bed. Put the music player on random in my phone. “Writing to reach you” starts playing. Every day I wake up and it's Sunday. Shit, probably. I don't really know what day it is now. Whatever's in my head won't go away. It does go away. Sometimes. I stare at the ceiling. “Where are you now?” Cause I'm writing to reach you now but I might never reach you. I smile. “Am I trying to reach you?” And you know it's you I'm talking to. Song ends. I turn on my laptop. Facebook and the same old shit. It's Sunday. It doesn't matter. Everyday feels like Sunday.

Don Jon

Hace rato que no veía una película buena. “Don Jon” es buena, y mucho. Combina algunos de los factores que más disfruto en una cinta, humor y sexo (y Scarlett Johansson, que es una virtud en sí misma.); pero con un toque extra. Porque para mí esta película fue más que sólo una hora y media de diversión. Fue un descubrimiento.

La trama es sencilla. El protagonista es un tipo con mucha suerte con las chicas, pero que no encuentra satisfacción sexual con ellas como la que sí halla en el porno. Aburrido de ésto, busca una relación significativa con la chica más linda que había conocido, sólo para descubrir que ni aún con ella podía dejar el porno de lado. Gracias a una mujer mayor que aparece en su vida descubre su problema, y de a poco se va haciendo cargo de éste, cambiando definitivamente su vida.

¿Por qué me llamó tanto la atención este filme? Creo que llegó a mí en el momento preciso de mi camino vital. Hace un año, o incluso 6 meses atrás, no hubiera tenido ningún impacto en mí. Pero luego de todos los cambios que he tenido en el presente año, y especialmente los que me están afectando ahora, puedo ver con claridad cómo mi historia tiene ciertas similitudes con la retratada en la película. Al igual que el protagonista de la misma, yo estoy en búsqueda de una relación significativa, profunda. Él y yo tenemos el mismo objetivo. Queremos cambiar.

Ya llevo más de un año soltero y me aburrí. Sí, el sexo casual es divertido, pero se acaba la libido y no queda nada, sólo el vacío. Termino y sólo quiero que me dejen solo, tranquilo. Anhelo poder disfrutar de mi cama sin sentirme obligado a mantener una conversación superficial para llenar el silencio incómodo que se produce cuando el deseo sexual desaparece.

No tengo claro qué es lo que ocurrirá el próximo año. 2013 ha sido una época de experiencias extremas en todas las áreas de mi vida, y si los eventos siguen dándose como hasta ahora, no sé en qué mierda voy a estar en 12 meses más, en esta misma fecha. Lo que sí tengo muy claro es una cosa: sea lo que sea que este viviendo, quiero que sea junto a alguien. ¿Cursi? Quizás. ¿Cierto? ¡Por supuesto!

Sex/Life Special 03 – Fucking up and around

“I will never have a relationship again.” That's what I constantly repeated to myself every time I was feeling fed up with my ex during the almost 9 years I spent with her. I broke up and acted accordingly. As soon as I improved my game, it was on. I made out and fucked around the more I could, like if the world was coming to an end.

Everything was going smoothly. I rediscovered myself as a charming, smart and attractive young man. Never knew I was that until then, and started making good use of this new found sex appeal. Can't say I had an astonishing success, but it was good enough to shake off the remains of my long relationship and to finally leave it behind for good. I was a changed man. I was the Eduardo I wanted to be.

A few months after my break up, I was in Brazil. I arrived to Sao Paulo looking only for one thing: sex. I had already been talking with this Brazilian girl who lived there, so the moment I was in the city, I arranged a date. I mean, it wasn't a date; it was more like she was going to show me around. But, well, I was on fire and we ended up making out in a bar in Rua Augusta. The problem was that she wasn't as open minded or liberal as me (and the rest of the world) think of Brazilians, and popping the sex subject freaked her out. After that encounter we never met again.

During the rest of my stay in Brazil and for some days after I came back, there was this strange feeling harassing me. I kept thinking about this girl; not for the chance of fucking her that I missed, but for something else. We clicked. We had a connection, that one when the conversation flows, as well as the laugher, and you just vibrate in the same level, to the point when you start finishing the other person sentences. Yeah, she was special. I've found her, but I was too stupid to tell until there was no way to fix it.

I moved on pretty quickly. Didn't gave much attention to what happened back in Sao Paulo and kept the wild life in a more relaxed fashion. I was broke after so much traveling and partying. Had some more luck here and there but, suddenly, it all faded away. No sex for 4 months... until she happened.

I've gone over the vikinga issue for too long, so I'll just jump that part. What's important of that story is that I found out that I did want a relationship after all. The Brazilian girl was the first clue, a hint that I totally ignored for a while. Then it was very obvious when I found myself in love with this beautiful Norwegian, hoping she'd be with me forever. But she wasn't and there was nothing left. Or was it?

A month passed since she broke up with me from the distance and I came back to my old ways. Needed desperately to feel something different than sorrow. With all the sexual knowledge I inherited from the cold Scandinavia, fucking around became so easy. I gained so much expertise and self confidence during that relationship that it was a breeze for me to get started in the business again. But my sex ride involved messing up with people feelings. I fucked up more than I can forgive myself.

There's not much damage I can do now, sitting on my ass all day at home for the next 6 weeks, after I broke my left foot in the desert. Life, destiny, God, or all of them combined as karma, gave me the chance to rethink my life. I've hurt people after I got hurt, hurting myself in the process. That has to stop. I've fucked up and around, and now I'm fucked myself. Thought I wanted to be a womanizer and behaved like one, only to realize that all I wanted was what I first said I will never do again: to love.

Sex/Life 15

She was a Scandinavian. Well, she didn't look like the picture I had in my head of one. Born and raised in Denmark, Chilean dad and Danish mom. She looked Chilean, but acted and thought as just another viking. We met at this house party. Within 10 minutes we talked, laughed and danced salsa. That was enough to date a week after. A date that leaded to a night of wild sex and a morning of... hmmm... awkwardness. “You are too complicated” she said to me several times. Yes, I was. Still I was her first latin lover.