About the Author
Okay, here’s the last in my three part series on my worst cheating experiences. I want to prelude this story by saying that this one of those stories that makes me question my own moral character. I mean, this is an all time low, even by Bobby Rio standards. But what’s done is done….
Two years ago a college friend of mine, John, was getting married in Buenos Aires, Argentina. He had lived there the past 4 years, and although he had planned to move back to the US, he fell in love with an Argentinean girl, and the rest is history. He invited a bunch of us to the wedding. Out of all our friends, only myself and my friend Jake decided to go. We had both been to South America enough times to know not to bring sand to the beach, but the both of us were in the thick of relationships and our girls jumped at the chance to have a romantic getaway in Buenos Aires.
I was still within the first 3 months with Kate, my girl, so I didn’t necessarily mind having her tag along on this trip. Jake, on the other hand, had been with his girl close to two years and was miserable that he wouldn’t be able to tag some new Spanish ass.
Needless to say we were both ecstatic when we get a call from John’s cousin the first night down there informing us that his bachelor party was tonight. We had arrived just in time!! The girls, although not happy to be spending their first night in Argentina alone, had no choice but to go along with it.
The bachelor party was the most sick experience I’ve ever seen. I could write an entire post on the bachelor party alone, but the party isn’t the point of the story so I’ll sum it up quickly. A bunch of John’s Spanish friends, Jake, and I, kidnap John from his apartment. Force him into woman’s clothing and throw him in the back of a van. The entire drive in the van we are guzzling beers, wine, and whatever bottle of hard liquor that is currently be passed around. John is blindfolded and mouth duck taped, and we are shouting derogatory things at him while harassing him physically. His Spanish friends were down right cruel. At one point they put duct tape over John’s hairy nipples, then ripped it off. Then they open up the back of the van and made John (still in women’s clothing) run behind the van tied to a leash. (the beauty of 3rd world laws) This part of the story climaxed when we arrived in a park that was filled with transsexual prostitutes. I’ve never seen so many trannies in my life. We take John out of the car and tie him to a fence and pretend to drive away, leaving him to be ravaged by Planet of the Shemales. We let him sweat it out for about a half hour, then we loaded him into the van and headed to the strip bar.
The strip bar was a full frontal festival of beautiful busty Latinas…or as I like to call it; heaven. Unfortunately most of John’s friends were married and were more excited about the kidnapping part of the night, then the titty bar. Jake and I had other plans. We are sitting on a couch with two of the strippers listening to them tell us how much they love our blonde hair and blue eyes (i think thats code for “I love your money”) Anyway, Jake who speaks some Spanish asks them if they want to hang out tonight. They say they can’t leave the bar till 4, but give us their numbers and make us promise to call them this week. We take the numbers and leave.
The next couple days of the trip are quite civil, involving a lot of sight seeing, big dinners, wedding preparations, and getting dragged to every clothing store in the city so that our girls can take advantage of 3rd world bargains. All the while the stripper’s phone numbers are just burning a hole in our pockets.
Finally the 4th day into the trip Jake can’t take it anymore… He say’s we have to go meet the strippers. “Just for kicks,” he says. I am honestly pretty content at this point with Kate, and am in no rush to go sneaking around with strippers, on what was supposed to be a romantic getaway with my girlfriend. But I’m a good friend, and I can see how much Jake needs this. So I agree to hang out with the strippers. Our plan is to just meet them for lunch or something, just flirt a little bit, let them grope us, and go home. That’s all we was gonna do.
Jake calls the stripper, and after some back and forth conversation in Spanish that I couldn’t understand, he turns to me and says “They want us to meet them at their apartment. They gave me the address.” Meeting them at their apartment was a little more than I bargained for, but “what the hell.”
We make up some excuse about going to meet John for one last guys only luncheon. The girls look at this as an opportunity to go on a shopping binge without us, and don’t seem to mind our departure.
A cab drops us off in front of a large brick building. We stand outside the building giggling nervously like a couple of giddy teenagers. We muster up the courage and walk in. We have to walk up 8 floors of stairs to get to their apartment. I am quite winded by the time we reach the top and barely notice the 2 two middle aged white men that just exited the apartment we were about to enter. Jake looks at me with a “what the fuck” type of look. I just shrug.
It is immediately clear upon entering the apartment that we have just entered a classic South American Brothel. There is a madame sitting at a desk, who asks us our names when we enter. We make up a couple fake names. She asks us who we are hear to see. Jake pulls out his paper with the phone numbers, and reads two names. The madame tells us to take a seat.
Jake and I sit and give each other little looks. We are both in shock, dissapointed, disgusted, confused, and are trying to gauge the other’s desire to go through with this. After a minute of stern deliberation it is settled. We will fuck the whores!!!
My fake name is called first. I walk toward the desk where the madame asks me for $35. (Yes $35…And our girlfriends thought they were getting bargains in the malls) I hand her about 100 pesos, roughly $40, and wait for my change. I look at Jake, who is grinning like a kid in a candy store. My stripper, if by stripper you mean prostitute, comes out of a room and hand signals me to follow her.
I feel a little… I don’t want to say sleazy… you know… just a little creaped out… but she’s wearing only a robe and I keep hearing my dick say “follow her boy… faster…dammit!!!” A minute later I’m in a dingy little room filled with a small bed, a television set, and a night stand. I’m slightly embarrassed by the situation and the fact that a language barrier prevents us from communicating. I’m really not sure how I’m supposed to proceed with the scenario.
My prostitute’s face is a little less pretty than I remember.. Her body’s alright, except for a really nasty c-section scar. She is drenched in hooker perfume (presumably to cover up the smell of her previous appointment) She is smiling and rubbing her titties under the robe. She takes my hand and puts it on her breast. I feel extremely dirty. But oddly, my dick is quite hard. And he wins.
My performance is adequate, if not stellar. She is happy. I am probably the first guy under forty she’s fucked all day. She wants to cuddle… We lay there with about twenty minutes to kill. Her perfume is giving me a headache so I have my face buried in the pillow. She is running her hands through my hair and licking my ear. I am no longer turned on.
Now that I’ve cum she looks even less pretty and the c-section scar looks even uglier and nastier. I want to get the fuck out of there… but I don’t want to sit in the lobby waiting for Jake. My prostitute is whispering something in Spanish. I think she is telling me she loves me. She tries to kiss me on the lips. I try to gesture that I have a headache. She just keeps trying to tongue me. I may throw up. I get out of the bed and begin putting my clothes on.
Jake meets me in the lobby a few minutes later. He gives me a nod. We both hurry out of there… through the halls.. down the staircase… out the door… and smack into the cold light of day.
After briefing one another on the gory details of the last hour, Jake starts sniffing me. I back away. He moves forward and smells me again.
“Dude, you fucking reek of hooker perfume”
“Fuck! That bitch was drenched in the shit.”
I attempt to smell my self several times.
“I need a shower badly. I can’t show up at our hotel smelling like a whore.”
“You need to burn those clothes, too” Jake is laughing.
“This ain’t fucking funny man. ”
We go through my options:
1. Show up smelling like a whore.. Deny and play dumb. 2. Call John see if I can go to his place.. shower, borrow clothes, and hope Kate doesn’t notice I’m wearing a different outfit. 3. Buy some cologne and drench myself in enough of it to override hooker scent.
I call John from a pay phone. I try to explain my situation but the reception is horrible. I shout “can I come over for a minute” into the phone. He shouts “Sure”
Jake and I take a cab to John’s apartment. We jump out of the cab and ring John’s bell repeatedly. We’re buzzed in and quickly rush up three flights of stairs. We need to take care of this as fast as possible as the girl’s are undoubtedly beginning to wonder whats taking us so long.
John’s finance answers the door. I am stunned. I try to hide my stench behind Jake. She motions for us to come in. I reluctantly enter. Once we get in we notice that not only is Mariella, his finance there… but so is Mariella’s mother and father. She wants to introduce us to them. She grabs my hand and leads me toward them.
She introduces us as “John’s amgigos de Estados Unidos”. I try to wave to avoid a handshaking and kiss, but its too late. Her mother comes over and kisses me on the cheek. She almost chokes. Her father gets a whiff of the smell and starts sniffing suspiciously. He smells his wife (like she might be the one drenched in whore juice) John then walks out of the bathroom and immediately blurts out “Whats that smell?”
Jake points at me. My mind is blank for an excuse as to why I smell like whore. I point back at Jake. Everyone in the apartment is completely uncomfortable with the situation. No one wants to ask me why I smell like I’ve taken a bath in cheap perfume. I ask John if I can use the bathroom.
Once I get in the bathroom I start washing my hands, face, neck… fuck it.. I take off my shirt and start washing my chest and stomach. I am now completely naked scrubbing myself with a sponge that was in his shower. I can only imagine the conversation that is taking place outside the door. I start to put my clothes back on and realize that it would be defeating the purpose of washing if I put the smelly clothes back on. I lean out the door and call for John. John comes to the door.
“You guys went to meet those strippers didn’t you?”
“I’ll explain later… can you please get me some clothes to wear?”
“Yea… but you’re bigger then me. They’re going to be a little tight.”
“I don’t fucking care… ”
I put on Johns clothes. Which are a quite tight on me. The shirts not bad. But the jeans make me look like an 80′s rocker. I exit the bathroom, and in an effort to avoid any more embarrassing conversation I quickly announce that we have to meet our girlfriends back at the hotel. Mariella and her parents are still in total shock, and barely acknowledge me when I wave goodbye. I thank John for the clothes and grab Jake and we bounce.
We finally get back to the hotel. I hesitantly enter my room. Kate is waiting for me. She is lying in bed… relaxing after a hard day shopping. She is happy to see me. Then she notices the clothes I am wearing . I make up an excuse about spilling spaghetti sauce all over myself at lunch… had to go to John’s to change. She believes my story.
Just my luck… she’s horny. She gives me the “fuck me eyes” I try to tell her that I’m tired. Not in the mood… but apparently my tight eighties rocker jeans are turning her on. She starts nibbling my ear. I feel to guilty to speak. I am afraid I might blurt something stupid out. So I just go along with it. She pulls off me for a second.
“Are you wearing perfume?” she asks.