My Latin Life's Peruvian Girlfriend Experience & The 1 1/2 Night Stand


"I want to have a short-term relationship. I'm tired of banging girls I'm not interested in."

It was my last few weeks in Mexico City and I was talking with my roommate and good friend. We were reminiscing about our sexual experiences in the Aztec capital, and I was reflecting on how empty mine had been.

"Well, you said you were thinking of going to Peru next, yeah? Why not give it a shot there?

"You know what, I will." I said.

And that's exactly what I did.

I wasn't even a month in to my stay in Lima when I found myself in a relationship with a girl I met online; I was only able to sneak in one other bang during the time before I committed myself to one vagina.

Now before you judge, normally I'd think long and hard before entering a relationship with a girl I met on the Internet, but this one seemed genuine. Cute, good personality, seemed wholesome, didn't speak much English. Plus, I wanted to give something more serious a try, I'd been doing the casual thing (i.e. banging sluts) for a long time and I wanted something different.

The first month was blissful. Tons of sex, exploring the city, eating excellent Peruvian food. We even took a small weekend trip to the sierra together. Stayed in a cabin. It was good shit.

But good things always come to an end.

When we got back to Lima, she started talking about our future and how she wanted to travel/live with me wherever I was headed next. Instead of seeing this as the massive warning sign it was after a mere 4 weeks of seeing each other, I saw it as endearing. I was flattered that she felt such strong feelings. I deflected the question and we went about our day.

A month went by before she tenderly raised the question again.

"Have you thought about what we will do together after May?" she asked, as we were lying in bed one night.

"We have plenty of time to figure that out" I said.

I wasn't leading her on - I was indeed entertaining the idea of bringing her to wherever I went next. Things were going well. I had visions of us living on a beach somewhere in Mexico or Colombia for a few months, eating tropical fruits and fucking.

But I wasn't ready to commit just yet. 

She was irritated with my response, but she let it be and we slept.

In retrospect, that moment was the turning point in the relationship.

Over the next few months, the sweet little girl I met began to turn sour. Our once pleasant days began to turn into a series of bitter interrogations:

Who are all these Mexican and Colombian girls you have on Facebook?

Why is this puta liking your Instagram photos?

I told her firmly that I wasn't going to put up with these nonsense questions, nor would I be judged for such trivial things, and she would usually let up.

But bad luck was just around the corner.

It was 2:00 am and we were having sex when my phone rang. It was a girl that I had been banging in Mexico. I hadn't heard from her in probably a year, but she was obviously drunk and saw it fitting to call. My girlfriend looked at the phone to see a big, slutty picture illuminating the screen.

Montse calling.

Needless to say, this set off a massive fit. Yelling, tears. The works. I calmly told her that I was seeing the girl for awhile in Mexico, but we weren't in touch anymore. She deserved that much of an explanation.

She chose not to believe it.

(in fairness, I probably wouldn't have either if the situation were reversed).

She eventually calmed down, but an element of trust was eroded that night.

The most frustrating part of this whole thing is that I wasn't actually cheating on her, which isn't particularly easy not to do if you're me in a city full of willing Latinas in little clothing (if you've been to Lima in the summer, you know what I mean). And she STILL didn't trust me.

I felt as though I was really trying this time.

Nonetheless, in spite of her trust issues, she still wanted to live and travel with me, and despite her hysterical behavior, I was still considering it. I had a case of oneitis. She was sexy and I was drawn in by her brand of crazy.

A moth to a flame.

It was Saturday night, and my friend from the UK had just arrived. We had planned a trip to Ecuador together and wanted to fit in a weekend in Lima to hit the clubs. I'd made plans to stay with my girlfriend so he would be free to bring a girl back to my empty apartment if the opportunity arose.

He and I had some beers at the apartment before heading off to Lima's (in)famous Calle de las Pizzas. We hadn't been there two minutes when I feel a tug on my shirtsleeve. I turn around, expecting to see a club promoter, but instead I saw my little girlfriend, her big eyes peering up at me.

"What are you doing here?" she said. "Why didn't you tell me where you were going?"

I was so surprised to see her that I got tongue-tied. But it didn't matter. She carried on speaking.

"Do you know what kind of girls come to this street? I knew I would find you here."

My friend can see her getting upset so he takes over and suggests we all get a beer at a restaurant adjacent to where we're standing. After ordering she proceeds to yell at me through tears in rapid-fire Spanish as my friend sits awkwardly at the table.

Now, in more normal circumstances I'd simply send her home and go out with my pal. But I was mindful of the fact that all of my worldly possessions are in her apartment, and since my Airbnb checkout is tomorrow, I have no other options for storing my stuff while I'm in Ecuador. 

I have to play it cool.

After several minutes, it became clear she isn't going to calm down. My friend turns to me and says, "Take her home man, let's call it a night. We'll save it for Ecuador."

I take his advice.



Ecuador & The venezuelana 

Her public tantrum was the final straw for me. I knew I'd have to break up with this girl upon my return.

A trip was exactly what I needed to take my mind off of all the bullshit. And it worked wonders. The first week was chalked full of hikes, mountain biking, rafting and tours. A nice detox for my cigarette and alcohol-riddled body.

We saved our last days for Quito.

Up until then, nightlife hadn't been a big part of our trip - we were moving around a lot and staying in small cities. Quito was our chance to have some drinks and kick back a bit before returning to our respective jobs. 

Night falls and we hit the somewhat seedy nightlife district around Plaza Foch. But apart from Rastas and Colombians trying to sell us cocaine, we encountered little of interest. The only bar that had people in it was Finn McCools, a hit among backpackers since it's safe and stumbling distance from most of Quito's hostels. We wandered in to discover (to our horror) that it was some sort of English-speaking trivia night. 

We promptly left after one beer.

The next day, after some sightseeing and drinks at the apartment we were renting, we decide to check out one of Quito's go-to nightclubs: Bungalow 6. There was no cue so we walked right in. We immediately notice that the ratio was not in our favor: 2 guys to every girl, and for the few girls that were there and not paired up with guys, the quality was dire. We get beers and do a tour of the different rooms of the club. 


On the top floor we get accosted by an affable Argentine who enthusiastically asks us questions about our countries. At some point during the conversation he mentions that he has a table and a bottle and cocaine so we decide to indulge him for awhile, but ultimately determine that he's not going to help our cause.

At the upstairs bar, my friend notices two overweight, slightly older Ecuadorian girls eyeing us.

"Well, we could just drag those two back," he sighs.

"I'm not quite there yet," I laughed. "Let's see what's happening back downstairs."

We set up close to the door so we can see who comes in the club. Not the most ideal spot, but since there aren't any lookers inside there's little recourse. I check my phone: 1:40am.

"Let's finish these," I said. "If it doesn't get any better, we'll leave after this round."

My friend agrees.

I scanned the crowd again and, much to my surprise, a good looking girl emerged out of the back corner with an equally attractive female friend and two presumably gay male friends.

They were facing our direction but too far away for me to initiate contact, so I basically just stared at her until she noticed and threw her a smile (only not creepy if you're above average looking). She smiled back, and I turned away to pick up the conversation with my friend.

After chatting a bit and relaying the new possible lead, the girl's gay chaperone pops up out of nowhere.

"You want to dance with my friend?" he said, in what was neither a statement nor a question, nodding his head in the girl's direction.

"Of course," I said, half irritated that he had ruined my opportunity to open her, half glad that I didn't have to do the work.

She and I were making out halfway through the first song. It was late, and I knew I'd have to escalate quickly if I didn't want to go home alone. It was around 15 minutes of dancing and kissing before the two of us exchanged words.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"Canada. And you?


Both satisfied with the responses, we continued dancing. A few minutes later, my friend approached with her friend. The two had found each other and were getting up to the same naughtiness as we were on the dance floor.

"Let's go to our apartment" he proposed. "We're staying close by."

The girls had a little two minute conference so as not to seem like sluts, but eventually agreed to come with us.

Back at the apartment, my friend's girl was telling him a sad story about how her brother was just killed in Venezuela as someone tried to steal his gun. I was listening to the story when I noticed that my girl had fallen asleep on the kitchen table. Like the gentleman I am, I brought her to my room and went to the balcony to smoke, realizing that sex probably wasn't going to happen that night (I'm not into somnophilia).

The following morning, we had a chat about life and then got to business. I was only about 5 strokes in before we heard her friend calling.

"Hey, I have to go to work...Let's go!"

"Let's see each other tonight," mine said.

I walked them down and let them out of the building.



My Last Night In Quito

It was our last night in Quito, and my friend and I were debating what to do. Since he had given his girl a good banging the night before, he wasn't overly keen to see her again tonight. Unfortunately, I still had business to take care of with mine, and the girls were a package deal. Eventually, I convinced him to take one for the team and stick around to entertain the other one.

So I called them over. And after a few drinks and some cheeky banter, I had mine in my room again. The sex was decent, but I didn't last very long - I hadn't fucked in nearly two weeks. She was super Venezuelan about the whole thing too, calling me "papi" and "macho," which I honestly didn't mind at the time.

Afterwards, we talked. She asked me what I did for work, lamented a bit about the state of her country, spoke about how terrible it was to live in Quito and told me about her dreams and aspirations. She told me how she had to work 60+ hours a week for little pay because Ecuadorians were reluctant to hire Venezuelans. A very sweet girl. She had to leave early for work that day, so I walked her out and promised to ring her up again if I was ever in Quito. She asked me to send photos of my travels.



My return to Lima

Shortly after returning to Lima, I broke it off with my girlfriend. Needless to say, I didn't mention my romp with the Venezuelan. I simply told her that I had realized I wasn't ready to live with her and that I had no plans to return to Lima anytime soon after my stint here comes to a close. She took it hard, but I think she saw it coming. I also gently mentioned that she perhaps needed to grow up a bit more before thinking about living with a boyfriend.

I like to think that she'll take my advice, but experience suggests that she won't.

In about two months time she'll find another guy, probably a foreigner not unlike myself. She'll have learned to control her emotions a bit better, and he'll be more willing to put up with her shit than I was. If he sticks around long enough, they'll get married. He'll probably take her back to Germany, France, the United States, wherever he's from, and they'll have a life together.

As for me? I'll keep on going. Perhaps she'll cross my mind every now and again, after hearing a particular song we listened to or a movie we watched together.

But for the most part her memory will be buried alongside the others.

It never gets any easier, but it becomes more normal each time.

Victims of the road. 



Thanks for listening,