Alternate Title: ¡Qué Pena! My Querer Hates Me
My last girlfriend in AQP, ‘Milagros’, has learned about this blog and hates me. Not only did I document every step of the way in our mostly sexual relationship, but I also cheated on her from the start. She knows everything and isn’t answering my emails.
This is horrible because I really liked her.
My Swiss roommate Nicolas had seen me with the other girls and noticed a difference with this one. He asked early on, “You like this one, don’t you?” It was obvious. With the others, I’d try to get them out of the house soon after waking up or whatever. With Milagros, I’d try to get her to stay. I had fun hanging out in bed.
The older I get, the less I believe in real love, soul mates, and that Hollywood nonsense. Milagros and I spent days in bed. Days. That’s love. That’s how babies get made. We’d only leave my bedroom for pollo a la brasa when we had to eat.
Milagros didn’t have the brichera issues. A gringo and Peruvian girl get stared at in the streets of Arequipa. Sometimes guys yell insults. I sensed from the other two girlfriends that, even if negative, they enjoyed the attention. Women’s vanity. Milagros, on the other hand, hated it. She was noticeably uncomfortable. She didn’t want to stand out. She’d have been happy to stay alone in bed forever.
Milagros’ genes would be an ideal match. I have height but, unfortunately, I don’t have good genetics for muscularity. I have to work hard and keep a strict diet to stay fine. She, on the other hand, doesn’t have an ounce of fat on her body. She’s super-skinny and strong as shit. A body full of fast-twitch muscle fiber that burns everything she eats. My height and her genes would produce excellent athletes.
How do I know she was so strong, besides the time she slapped the shit out of me? From her hugs. I miss how much she worshiped me. She would spontaneously grab a hold of me and hug as tight as she could. With other girls, I can wriggle out of that easily. With her, I’d have to peel her off by her hands. One day I was eating pollo a la brasa when she wrapped her arms around me like that. I’ll never forget the contrast of how tight she held me and the softest, most delicate, wet kiss she planted on my cheek.
She would stare into my eyes with such intensity during sex, never looking at anything else (unless the position didn’t allow it). Her stare was piercing. The sex was amazing. It seemed every time I’d be getting close, she’d get one first and we’d change positions. So I’d have to start all over. That’s how we’d carry on forever and it was great. I’d be exhausted afterwards.
And afterwards, she’d give me backrubs. Long backrubs that I enjoyed very much. The only thing I didn’t like is when she found a pimple on my back, she’d squeeze it. I scolded her every time but she’d always do it anyway. I always thought this was weird so I never told anybody. In the States, an old gringo I know told me how much he liked Latina women, and how a Panamanian girlfriend of his did that. He considered it her caring for him in every way possible. So I mentioned it to another gringo down here, who confirmed that he’d had Latinas do that also. I guess it’s a good thing – a good thing you won’t find American or European women do. That’s in addition to cleaning your room and folding laundry.
I told Milagros the fact that we had sex the first night we met didn’t matter. However, no guy can eliminate that from his evaluation of a girl’s long-term prospects. I also told her that her age (20 to my 29 at the time) didn’t matter, but it certainly did. 20 year-olds get attached easily.
One night we threw a party and Milagros tried to make me jealous by talking to a German guy for a long time at the end of the night. I was drunk and apparently her plan succeeded. In the morning, she wouldn’t shut the fuck up teasing me: “Tú estabas celoso, tú me quieres mucho.” I wouldn’t tolerate that kind of behavior if it continued.
Another limiting issue was Milagros’ not being rich. After living down here for a while, a gringo realizes he has access to the upper crust of society. Milagros was the daughter of a Peruvian cop, and she was studying to become a nurse. When you’re all liberalized / first-world / Americanized, you think that stuff doesn’t matter. But after acclimating to Latin America you think, “How could I go out like that?” A daughter of a cop?
So those were the pros and cons. My target age for marriage and family is 35. I told Milagros when I left that at 35 I might come back for her, and I meant every word of it. Have a quick marriage and pump her full of kids. Why not? Well, that option’s off the table. She hates me.
This is us:
This is the song I listened to for hours on repeat while getting drunk after realizing she’d read the blog:
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