MEDELLIN IN THE AGE OF FACEBOOK
“You can’t go home again.”—Thomas Wolfe.
*DISCLAIMER: This report is a documentation of the personal experiences of Pauly Vegas in Medellin, Colombia in June & July of 2016. It’s not a statement of objectivity. Your miles may vary, I believe is the monger expression.
9 out of 10 of you will disagree with my conclusions. If you just got back from Medellin and had a grand time, this report will bear no resemblance to your reality. You should skip it, is what I’m attempting (badly) to say.
I went to Angeles City in late May, returned to Chicago for 48 hours, then came directly to Medellin. I’ll do two reports on the two cities, starting with this one.
The trip to Medellin gave me a new appreciation for Angeles City. Big time.
This is not going to be pretty.
PREPARATIONS & FLIGHT:
It was crazy to think I could deal with the usual jet lag from Angeles City in a 24-hour period. In that time I had to shuttle from my O’Hare Super 8 hotel to my apartment (that I’m subletting), get my Colombia pre-packed bag, get downtown for cash to change, do laundry, make a Target run, and about 20 other things—while jet-lagged.
The forecast for my flight day was not just lightning. It was lightning, hail, and major flooding. I didn’t expect to get out. But we beat the clouds and made it out via Avianca.
Connection through San Salvador. 8 hours total, a puddle jump compared to the 24-hour Philippines endurance test. It’s no wonder Medellin is popular. $500 bucks, 8-hour flight and no jet lag.
ARRIVAL:
Arrived at midnight. Huge line at Customs. When the lady cop asked me if I had gifts I laughed, being as I was carrying a full 50-pound bag of high heels, negligees, hot club wear, vibrators and such. “Si,” sez I. Luckily she waved me through without inspection. Fernando, the long-time Mansion driver, was waiting for me with a little sign and off we went.
Here’s another reason why you come to Medellin: The air! Cool breeze blowing in from both windows positively licked me with a feeling I haven’t had since I de-boarded into 90 degree/ 90% humidity that is Manila at midnight. What a joy to be in a country that doesn’t make stepping out of your air-conditioned hotel room a total drag.
Arrived at Castillo and up to Room 3. Too small for the price and the AC not kicking. I moved into Room 2, which is a terrific room.
So far so good, right? Don’t worry, the BS comes later.
A FEW WORDS ABOUT THE CASTILLO/MANSION EXPERIENCE
I haven’t been here since 2010. That’s six long years.
Medellin has changed.
So has the place of the Mansion and Castillo in the monger realm here. They used to be the only game in town. No longer. You can do an Airbnb in Medellin for $30 bucks and get a full apartment. If you’re coming, I’d suggest doing what I did not, which is explore your options, because there are many.
I didn’t do this because I’m a creature of habit. A sense of nostalgia had me stay at Castillo. This place meant a lot to me. So many great times. Aussie Greg, the enigma, one of a kind. Robert is from Chicago, always considered him a pal. They have great people running this place. Laundry done cheaply, free breakfast. Not to mention you get cut in on the Mansion network of chicas.
That’s the major downside of taking an apartment for $30 bucks instead of spending $60 per night here. You get cut out of their network of about 100 chicas.
It’s not news that Poblado changed in recent years with major construction in and around the Mansion. The wild pool party orgies are no longer appropriate. No amount of netting over the pool would mask what was going on and the local politicos were coming down hard on the Mansion. So Robert built every adolescent boy’s dream: A treehouse with chicks. Only the treehouse is a cave, built into the basement of the Mansion.
While 50 people no longer scream as a dancing chick sticks ice cubes into her vagina, it’s not rare these days to see chicks naked in “The Cave” practicing their strip pole technique. The dream didn’t die, it just moved downstairs.
On Sunday when there is zippo to do in this town, you can descend into Robert’s subterranean clubhouse and find a half-dozen Paisas ready, willing, and able. I was well-fucked by five Mansion chicks in my 15 days, one of who shot cum into my mouth as I licked her (yuk) then three more times via my Magic Wand (guys, they like vibrators, so bring one.)
Before I close the Mansion chapter out I just want to thank Robert for all the good times.
I’m taking the high road with this report so I’ll only say I was sad to discover that a friend I thought I had here is not a friend, and never was. No need to name names. You keep getting yours, B. I’ll get mine. None of this matters. It’s just sex addiction par excellence.
“I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And for just that one moment I could be you
Yes I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You'd know what a drag it is to see you.”—Bob Dylan, Positively 4th Street
GETTING AROUND CENTRO
Traffic. Maybe the worst thing about Medellin. Can’t overemphasize how bad it is during the afternoon. Ended up days taking a cab to Poblado station, then Metro to Parque Berrio to avoid traffic. Coming back at 3-5pm, straight Metro back. Nights, keep the taxi, stay inside and hit your spots. If you fuck in Centro, you can get back by Metro until 11pm. Very few taxis downtown at that hour. You do not want to get stuck down there.
TOURIST SHIT: Metrocable up to Santo Domingo. The view is still a wow. Get off at Acevedo and walk right to the cable cars. Gave a kid 10K for 3 photos (and for handing him my camera and him not running away). Pictures with “the view”. The town is still barrio poor, small red brick houses with tin roofs piled one on top of the next. Like a poor man’s Florence. Red tiles and red brick everywhere. People live on top of each other. Chicken lady next to the Chicklet guy next to the avocado and fruit lady. Walking the same paths I did six years ago by muscle memory. Tiny streets, vibrant people. Cool wall murals. Don’t get shook up by the cable cars occasional shaking and jolting hundreds of feet up in the air. Sure death if they fall, of course, but try to forget about that.
Botero Museum: It almost didn’t matter what was on the walls. I was ALONE! Walking the city’s largest museum passing empty room after empty room. Had flashbacks of Paris last year, the hour-long lines in front of the Museo D’ Orsay and Rodin Museum, the July hordes. Delicious emptiness! Room after room of my fav, Botero. Love his conception: everyone is fat. And his choice of subjects: Car bomb, fallen toreadors, death of Pablo Escobar, fat boy horseman, fat prostitutes… eso!
MEDELLIN BY THE NUMBERS
Math is objective, so here are some numbers that sum up my trip:
• I cut my trip short by 5 days. I take these sex trips once a year and have to work like a dog for even that. I have never cut a trip short since I started mongering in 1990, so this speaks volumes.
• Medellin: 15 days: 24 chicks, 14 rubber fucks, 14 no photos please, $4,200 cost, average cost $290 a day. Angeles City: 20 days, 42 chicks, 0 rubber fucks, 0 no photos please, $5,800 cost, $290 a day.
• Medellin: After one week, of the 11 women I was with I had 24 pictures up on my Flickr account. In Angeles City in the same amount of time I had 312 photos. I took 24 pictures of one woman in one hour on one single day in Angeles.
PAISAS IN THE PHYSICAL REALM
Let’s define terms. The Physical Realm is the world, chicas working in MP casas, clubs, street action, and Mansion girls.
The Realm of Facebook is digital. Online connectivity. We’ll get to that in a minute.
Hey, I’m 60 pounds overweight. No hunka hunka burning love. I shouldn’t be casting stones, but C H R I S T…Lots and lots and LOTS of chicks in Medellin are FAT. Firm but gigantic. Or just sloppy fat. Because there’s fat and there’s S L O P P Y fat.
Yeah duh, there are fat chicks everywhere. Fat chicks, thin chicks, tall chicks, short chicks. But here in Medellin, in the MP casas, in the clubs, on the street…it’s an art-form. I mean that literally. If you know Botero’s Prostitute painting—that is not a caricature. 75% of casa and club chicks have that EXACT dimension. Right now the Medellin experts are laughing—all of their chicks are tight and gorgeous Paisas. And that might be…I’m talking about what’s out there in the physical world that I encountered during my trip.
Somehow the locals love this oblong look because the chicks seem to cultivate it. Silicon tits, gigantic bundas. I seriously don’t know how they balance themselves on high heels. When you go to these clubs or MP joints it’s the same body, over and over, like a conveyor belt model. The jaw drops when you see one walk out who is even the least bit flaccita.
This is my fifth trip here. I know every door to the Abyss. If there were a few new places I hadn’t seen, like La Isla, I checked them out. I checked out every club multiple times, multiple days. I’m trying to tell you I didn’t miss anything in the Physical Realm. If you’re coming, sure hope you like Botero asses and plastic surgeon tits. Oblong, misshapen women who never met a McDonald’s Soft Serve Ice Cream stand they didn’t like.
ONE NIGHT’S CLUB CRAWL (JUST ANOTHER 50,000 PESO CAB RIDE)
I spent 1/4 of my Medellin trip in taxis.
That’s not an exaggeration. That’s a dude turning over every stone without the help of a Facebook/WhatsApp network. That’s me going to every club in town looking for action (you know, like you USED to have to do). Tonight was no different. Jump in a random cab and found a great cabbie. Need wheels in this town, a trusty driver. The cabbies are great. So we set out to find THE 8. The reason I came; the hottie I can’t find in Angeles. In the next 90 minutes we hit five clubs: Luna Lunera, Show San Diego, Apeteosis, Executivo, and Maracaibo. The cabbie and I are laughing our asses off. We arrive at each club. I am greeted by the hustling doorguy sensing a pigeon. I pay the 10K entrance fee ($3 bucks) and go inside. Everywhere, everywhere— gorditas. Rice bellies. I’m not even talking the Plastico La Isla chicks with their bicycle-pumped asses and tits. There, we’re talking 5’s. The high end chicas conceal it well with nice hair, nice clothes, perfect club lighting. But it’s the same Wonder Woman on Steroids look, over and over. This is on a Saturday night, prime time. I do a single swing through, observe the chicks, and walk right out. Until we get to Maracaibo. I shit a brick when I see Vanessa. THE 8. 18 and not an ounce of fat on her. Lean dancer’s body, black hair to the ass. So many great times in Maracaibo and this one carries on the tradition. Practically beg her to come home with me. 70K barfine and 200K to her= $100 bucks but I don’t care. Lots of laughs on the ride home, the driver smoking weed. Praying her ID is genuine, she makes it past the Castillo inspection. We had a good fuck (rubber). Bucking bronco leche, look at that 18 year-old in the mirror. She allowed me only a couple photos (She erased some when I was in the shower. Yeah, she did that. Chicks in Angeles would never presume.) 4 hours later, I counted the evening as a success. I found a single hot chick to fuck. This is victory in Medellin.
FUCK THE WHATSAPP REVOLUTION
I’m not on it. I’m not with it. I’m not about it.
Cool Paulyvegas, then you get left behind. It’s on you, man.
Cool, then I get left behind, it’s on me.
The 8’s have disappeared into the cellphone and being as I’m one of the 7% left without a cellphone, I guess that’s the ballgame. While others let their fingers do the walking, I spend 50,000p on cab rides throughout this city trying to find the single 8 left still in the physical world. Digging out the gems. You know, the way it USED to be.
Ranting to myself here, but I did tell you to skip this report.
When I walk out on the pool deck of Mansion to find 5 girls at the picnic table, 4 of them fully engrossed in the cellphones and the fifth a so-what 6, that’s not why I came here. I came here for 8’s, for the chicks I can’t find in Angeles. The gazelles, the chicks on the Channel 99 music videos, the Miss Universe babes.
But Pauly, those chicks still exist. They’ve just moved into the digital realm. You need to get with it, buy that Apple product, work social networking for six months before you get here, arrange dates with women you “chat” with but never meet. Gotta work at it in NEW ways, man! Gotta network with other mongers, get into their lists, make Friend requests, engage in Whatsapp chats. Then when you get down here you can sit around the pool, relaxed and comfortable that your next date will arrive. No need to even venture into the physical realm of clubs or MP’s other than for a diversion, a brief taste of “strange”. Gotta take those short trips into Strange so you can tell yourself you got out there during your vacation and mixed it up! Doubtful you’ll ever need to walk on the wild side to look at women who actually sell their bodies on the street. My god, how positively primitive!
PAULYVEGAS TRIES THE FACEBOOK WAY
Try it, you’ll like it! Sure, I’ll give it a shot. I’ll give anything a shot. I asked gringos for access to their lists. Two guys felt compassion and said OK, but neither actually followed through on my Friend requests. Robert opened the exclusive Mansion list to me one afternoon. I picked out 6 names. I met with exactly none of them. I found chicas I liked on the Friends list of the few Paisas I have on FB, sent a half dozen requests. Got one Friend acceptance back. Send her a message how about meeting. She never got back to me.
Funny thing. It’s like the chicas can sense I don’t belong. I spent hours in Medellin hitting people’s lists. Too late, I know, but I did make an attempt. I’m sure I did something wrong but being a stranger in a strange land, I wouldn’t know. The concept of asking a chica I’ve never met, never talked to, never bought a drink for, requesting her to fuck because of a carefully-angled Facebook photo—is absurd to me. But it’s the only game in town at the moment.
I’ll accumulate numbers of a half-dozen great chicks this trip. I’m supposed to peruse their Friend lists and send Friend Requests, WhatsApp text with their friends, expand out for next trip and the next, watching my network grow. No worries about afternoon traffic jams in Centro with 100 chicks at my beck and call! You got this Pauly, you tech stud you! Too bad it can’t all be done virtually like in the movie Lawnmower Man.
Speaking of which…
WHO IS LAWNMOWER MAN?
Remember the movie? http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0104692/
Jobe is a “mentally-challenged” kid who becomes the patient of Dr. Angelo. He develops telekinetic powers through injections, moving in and out of a Virtual World. Eventually his pyrokinetic abilities develop to the point of a God Complex as Jobe relinquishes the physical world for the virtual, his body and soul eventually moving entirely into the virtual realm.
What the fuck does this have to do with mongering or Facebook?
Medellin has changed. It has split into two realms: The physical world, and the Facebook/Whatsapp world. You better have a Facebook network before you come down here. I did not. Haves and have nots. I’d say the vast majority of mongers now have these networks and are wondering what the big deal is. Adapt or die, Paulyvegas!
It might be pure paranoia, it might be an incorrect generalization, but it seems to me the Medellin 8’s have disappeared into the cellphone. They’re still around, but they’re shadow presences. They’re working from home, honing down client lists, boosting their per-hour price. It’s why the physical club scene is filled with so many Wonder Woman Wannabes, so many plastic surgery superstars. You know, the chicks R. Crumb would drool over.
THE RISE OF THE LAWNMOVER MAN
Did I mention not even thinking of coming down here with a Facebook network? I had this image of Medellin in my mind, but it was the Medellin of 6 years ago. I’ve danced this dance with Costa Rica which was WIDE OPEN in every sense of the word when I first got down there in 1990. It looks nothing like that world now. Bye-bye Park Hotel oil shows. Hello airport warnings about sex with underagers, hello sky high Jaco chica prices, hello progress.
I was told the political landscape had changed and that the crew here was forced years ago to get-tough, crack down, build the Mansion basement boys club and up here, institute a rock solid ID rule at the door. Things have tightened up. But all this has nothing to do with the rise of the Lawnmower Man.
Mongering is a use of the application WhatsApp of which the creators never dreamed. An instant text system that instantly connects mongers and chicas. No more 90-minute round trip cab fares, no more fighting the heat, the noise, the commotion of Medellin. Sit back at the Mansion picnic table, see who’s available in your network, hit a button, walla! Mongers have become Lawnmower Men.
How do you become a Lawnmower Man? How do you access chica networks in advance of your trip? You can’t invent names of people you’ve never met. Don’t overthink this. You need access. How do you get it? You get it through someone whose got it. Who’s got access? Mongers on social media boards. Local interactive chat and dating websites. Work your social media before the trip. Days and weeks and months of working social media. Find dudes on the message boards who’ve been down here, get them Friended, access their lists, cherry pick hot girls, send Friend requests, get Friended, cherry pick the friends of the hot chicks, send Friend requests, get Friended. Rinse, lather, repeat.
Don’t forget to follow up via WhatsApp. It allows a personal connection, matching a “voice” to a Facebook face. Set up dates in advance of your trip. Set up plenty of dates as several chicas might cancel. Doesn’t matter, you’re in the network, wired in. You’re a Lawnmower Man!
LAWNMOWER MAN PREPARES: Talked with a guy who prepares a spreadsheet, conceives a grid, categorizing them in DEFINITE, MAYBE and NEWBIES. He books dates weeks in advance and some trips fully books a 10-day schedule before his airplane even sets down in MDE. When a chica stands him up he heads down to Robert’s cave for some “strange” or just rests his weary body. Life is good in the cyber-bubble. He claims gorgeous girls but my entire time here—15 days, while I saw cute or curvy or powerful 7’s many times, I saw few stunners. Of course your stunner might be my 7. Robert suggests I need to have a drink, relax, and see what develops. Great, so the plan is I get drunk in your cave and HOPE a spinner/flaccita shows up? Once again, control. I’m no passive protagonist.
YOU’D THINK MEDELLIN WOULD BE CHEAPER
But it’s not—when you tack on the taxi fares, drinks and club entrance fees, not to mention the ALA CARTING of photos and fucking without a rubber--it’s as expensive to get laid here as Angeles. The lawnmower men don’t have this problem. They don’t leave the Castillo. They let their fingers do the work. They’re smart. They’re also devoid of the experience of having to track these women down. Here what you don’t get guys: it’s ALL part of the experience. The BS and the good. The notion of sipping a beer, dipping in the pool waiting for your babe to arrive, it’s all so streamlined.
And fucking bloodless.
I can hear you laughing now. It’s cool. You get yours your way, I’ll get mine.
It goes back to a class discussion I had with freshmen Millennials about dating and hook-up aps. Why would someone go to a bar for some random experience that might turn UNCOMFORTABLE when you can vet your partner online. So much more efficient and saves on potentially AWKWARD experiences. That was their argument. Then I said something stupid like I usually do, like: “Yeah, but you’re killing the element of CHANCE. Living through your technology, through that box in your hand. It’s only living through the unexpected and bad shit that makes the winning memorable. And now you’ll tell me people who use Facebook and Whatsapp get into just as much bullshit as those who don’t have it. On and on. I’m tired of the whole fucking subject.
A NEW MONEY MAKER FOR ENTERPRISING LAWNMOWER MEN
Seriously, somebody needs to invent an app that works with a live camera (like they once installed at the Hotel Del Rey). Install a camera at every Massage Parlor in Medellin. Then sync it up to a cheap app. This will allow Lawnmower Men wanting some “strange” to view the lineup of girls for that day. Link it to Paypal to pre-book for certain time slots allowing for certainty and avoiding the utter waste of a trip downtown only to find gorditas waiting. Seriously, why isn’t this a reality? Pre-scan, pre-book, pre-pay. Put linked cameras in every club too.
Here’s an even better one! While we’re at it, let’s have every chica working at an MP or club be required to sign in to the network. Create a master virtual list. Have each chica upload photos of herself (non photoshopped!) so Lawnmower Men from the comfort of their pools can pick and choose the best MP girls in the city without moving an inch, book a time slot, then hit the app for a taxi and head down there. Pity there isn’t an app where you can hit a button and materialize right into the MP, no time wasted. An idea for future sex perverts perhaps!
LAWNMOWER MEN, THE FINAL FRONTIER!
While today’s technology is marvelous, we’re still a step or two away from the final stage. Think about it—mongering is not yet 100% efficient. Even with the instant texting of WhatsApp eventually she still has to take a taxi to and from your location. That’s time consuming. Not to mention the drinks, the chitchat, the showers before and after, then the sex itself—what a messy affair! Wouldn’t it be so much better to avoid all that inconvenience? Let me suggest that the future of mongering will be you removing your iPhone 212 and sticking your dick directly into a shock-proof, water and liquid-resistant socket. Meanwhile the woman sticks a probe into her vagina and connects via headset tele-dildonics, enabling a physical connection without ever leaving the comfort of your hotel room. Wired in, you will commence the sexual adventure with your digitized lady of choice. All efficiencies attained, you can literally go fuck yourself. Make it so, Lawnmower Men!
MEDELLIN IN THE AGE OF FACEBOOK
“The Atlantic Ocean was something then. You should have seen the Atlantic Ocean in those days.” -- Atlantic City
Mansion pool, afternoon. Sit down and engage one of three dudes on his cellphone. Sez he preps for days and weeks and months in advance. Hits the local “interactive” boards—Colombian Cupid, etc. Gathers 12 names, dates 6, ends up with 3 GFE’s. Contento. Doesn’t bother with the casa or clubs. This way is so much more efficient.
Is this what’s required of Pauly Vegas to continue in his mongering ways? Days and weeks and months of prep?
Alas, never going to happen. See, I’ve got a life outside of getting my dick wet. All the Lawnmower Men reading this just laughed. They have lives too and manage to get the prep work done. Stop whining like a bitch, Pauly! Get with the times, man!
Talked to another Hombre, asked him how he got on the network. Says he was given access long ago to another monger’s list of over 300 names. He picked and chose, sent Friend Requests, some accepted, cherry picked their lists, sent Friend Requests. I said I was interested in this phenomenon and he said he’d Friend me (he never did).
Talked with another long-time CRT guy (who hugged me and remembered me from back in the day) He’s been down here 50 times since we last saw each other. He’s manicured his list like a Fontainebleau hedge. His chicas now propose bringing sisters, friends, co-workers. He’s living large in his jacuizzi’d Mansion room. No endless traffic and taxis for him. Let the girls take the taxis, he’ll just soak up the sun until they arrive, never venturing forth from Mansion walls.
“It’s not a trend, Pauly. It’s reality.”
MY FIRST FACEBOOK DATE: ALE QUINTERO: I’ve never met Ale Quintero. Invited her over based on Facebook photos. Never spoke to her. Never bought her a drink. She’s coming to service me. Another first. Of course I’m on Facebook in Angeles City. But that’s for favoritas. They pester me day and night for dates. These are women I’ve known in some cases for years.
I’m already rehearsing speeches for when I see her in the actual flesh and she disappoints. What lie will I come up with to get out of fucking her if I don’t like what I see? She shows up 90 minutes late. I wrote her off and started looking for other options but eventually she shows at the Mansion.
She’s thinner than I’d imagined, beautiful face though. We have a drink so I can decide what I’m going to do. I like her jaded attitude and even though I wouldn’t have chosen her in the physical world, I take her back to my room. She’s a pro from way back and knows how to please in bed. The Magic Wand kills her 3x and it’s a nice date. She also, amazingly, was fully into photos. She owned that black outfit and blonde wig (see photos).
MY SECOND FACEBOOK DATE: ANGIE MUNOZ. Cool, beautiful chick. Good with photos. Knocked at my door. Opened up and I was happy. She looked like her pictures. Pure escort mentality—hello stranger, let’s fuck. We go around the horn (missionary, spooning, riding me, doggie). Look at that beautiful girl ride me in the mirror. She’s busy artfully texting the next date, leche 3x for her in 40 minutes and on to the next. Nice work if you can get it!
CLUB CHICKS:
DOES IT MATTER THAT THE FUCK SUCKED IF YOU FUCK THE HOTTEST GIRL IN THE CITY?
THE 8, #2. That’s one more than I met in Angeles so in the category of pure beauty, let’s give MDE the edge. Found her in Linda’s Chicas (pictured in report). Only 5 days in the biz. Not on the Facebook net yet. Magical face. Fine china skin. Wow girl. 19. You learn early on in Angeles to throw the new ones back. They’re not trained yet. Let other dudes put some months on them. This girl’s innocence though, impossible to say no to. 300K. Another 50K to get the rubber off. And a pair of $50 high heels as a gift. The crotchety old Madame counts every last bill and frees us to head upstairs to quite a nice bedroom. Photo session is quite good. Down to cases. Look in the mirror at my hands running up and down that beautiful teenage body. Fuuuuuuck…. Hit her up with that Magic Wand, the one laying waste to Mansion girls. Nada. How’s that work? She’s as good as a cherry girl in bed, laughing the whole time. Kinda threw me off my game. Stop asking questions, babe, get into it. I’ve spent $120 before in Phuket so this doesn’t take the record, but it was a lot for a so-so lay. But I’ll remember it, oh yes.
2nd LINDA’S CHICAS GIRL: The old bag at Linda’s Chicas brought one girl down another night. Unconventionally hot. Ripped. Olympic gymnast compact. I could stand on her six-packed stomach. Michelangelo cut. She tore apart my room during the fashion show. Had to give her the tiger boots, vivacious! One of the few who didn’t wait to be asked to try out the French Maid’s outfit. I can understand why the local dudes like a little cushion for the pushin’, or as Charles Holiday, a Redd Foxx look-a-like once told me—“it’s your duty to please the booty!”—sizing into this girl’s ass made for one of the better hours on this earth for one, Pauly Vegas. Pictured and recommended.
MASSAGE PARLOR CHICKS
Two trips with Fernando. Hit 10 MP’s Day 1, 5 more on Day 2. Found exactly two non-Botero gordas. Two entire afternoons, found two women. Both in Turcos Paradise (Calle 54 Caracas N 42-13). Best MP girl in the city was Andrea, a verifiable hottie fucking for 40k(she gets 20!) per 30 minutes. How come she isn’t in the network? She will be shortly. Hey, anyone else have a moral issue with these women getting seven bucks per lay? Fucking slavery, man.
MP TRIP #2: The guys around the picnic table at Castillo say I’ll have no problem finding flaccitas at Energy. Got Fernando driving, early 10:30am start, let’s see what develops. Hit Abydos. Too early. Won’t be open until 11. Fine, we’ll be back. Head to Blue Room. 3 fatties paraded in front of an aquarium. Fantastic for a Fellini movie. Ypara mi? Ciaooooo! Hit Energy. The “can’t miss” lineup is 8 chicas—7 fatties and a so-so 6. Sure, I could go with the 6(though the price here is 140K) but is that really why I came to Colombia, to fuck chicks who are just OK? Vamos…. Back to Abydos. Ring the bell. We waited 40 minutes, now we’re back, so bring on the chicas. Duena says she has only 1 chica, who is 40 years old. Did I hear that right? I mean it’s fucking laughable. Vamos…. Traffico, traffico, waiting…heading downtown to New Life. Missed it the first Centro tour (where we hit 10 casas and I found exactly one fuckable chick). So here in New Life, always good for the biggest lineup. Waiting for them to bring ‘em out, thought I saw a flaccita heading downstairs with a gringo. Beat me to her, huh? No problem, I’m sure with this massive lineup there’ll be options. And out they come. 3 guys presented to, 14 girls presenting. One after another appears. I love the whole ritual, the intro, the name, permisso, and they’re gone. So out they come. Wow, it’s like a factory conveyor belt. SAME IDENTICAL PLUMP SAUSAGE BODIES. Same Fellini tits. Silicon dreams, right here at New Life! Local dudes like this look? Mutter something to the dueno and away I go, back to Fernando and his car. Only one stop left, the place where I found Andrea first time around. Had luck there, let’s try again. I do end up fucking one. 18, nice enough face, solid body, cost is 50K. Rubber fuck, no photos, little passion, but cheap! Is that what guys are coming down here for? Utterly forgettable. The takeaway: MP fucks are cheap and available, but……
MANSION CHICAS
LUNA: Was it Luna or Lina? Well known Mansion girl. When I brought her up to Castillo the guard just waved her through, only chica to get that privilege. Lucky to have found her outside Robert’s Cave at Mansion on a religious holiday. Powerful body. A little crashed having only 3 hours sleep from the 4th of July pool party yesterday. Hungry, but time for a quick one with me. Well, I’m honored. Shoots down the photo request instantly, guess she’s been burned (whatever that means in the Facebook reality). Big tits and ass, far bigger than I’m used to, but powerful, not fat. Whole body covered in tattoos. I don’t hate them like some guys. Kiss that body and clit, break out the Magic Wand and she cums in 45 seconds. Violent! Jacks and sucks me, rubber on, rides me animalistic…PSE confirmed.
MARJANA: Another Mansion girl blew me off so went down to find Marjana poolside. Blonde highlights, 18, compact and firm bod. Is she the 8 I imagined? Nope, not even close. But she delivered one of the best sessions of the trip. Seek her out.
ADRIANA: Super intelligent, not the first girl you’d pick purely on looks. Great ripe tits. I saw something in her eyes drinking with her and we booked an appointment. Holy shit, she shows up five minutes early? Blonde highlights in her hair. Good with photos. Give her the red dress. One of the few to ask about the Chicago poster I had hanging up. The only one to ask about my movie (we watched the trailer). Sexy as hell. Pounding on her from behind, look at us in the mirror, baby…GFE to the max.
Good as she is, my meat and potatoes are street chicas. Medellin changed, I didn’t.
STREET CHICAS
THE SAD DEMISE OF 53 & DE GRIEFF
The ghost of Radioman prowls these streets. What this place ONCE was! Not sure which saddens more, the here and now present reality of Calle 53 or the fall of Raymond Street back in Angeles. They resemble each other. Fall from grace. Nuked. Get the picture? There’s no there there. Am I the only monger who gives a shit? Probably.
YULI, SIX YEARS LATER
Walking 53 & De Grief the first night, I heard my name called. Looked in the doorway of my favorite crappy hotel to find a gordita. Something about her. “Es Usted, si?” Wow, it’s Yuli. I’ve gained 15 pounds since 2010. She’s tripled that. Used to be absolutely devastating. Took pictures of her naked with Bird Of Prey flowers. She’s still works the same joint? Six years on the street. Amazing. And depressing. I give her 50K and take the girl next to her who is only half fat because she’s literally the only fuckable thing on the street. Yuli warns me she’s lousy and Yuli was right. Came out 20 minutes later, kissed Yuli and headed out. Yuli, you were the real deal. Miss you, babe. Miss us. Who we were…
MAYORISTA
Same deal. Went 6 times. Found 1 girl. In previous trips I’d find gold here. Check my reports for 2009 & 2010 for evidence. Saturday night at 11pm you’d have five or six young hotties willing to come back to Castillo (no IDing at the door then). It’s like a fat bomb was dropped. Vacas. Cerdos. Botero asses.
SANDRA: The one Mayorista non-gorda. Had to practically get on one knee to convince her to come back to Castillo. 19. Hard body. Was “allowed” to take just one photo of her. Chastised when I tried for more. Control, always comes down to control. Chicks in Angeles don’t chastise. There it’s “up to you” all the way. I don’t like chicks laying down rules or telling me how it’s gonna go. I buy you out, you don’t buy me out—bitch. Rubber lay, no kissing, a five-guys-a-night hardened street chick. And that’s the one that made the cut!
TWO WORDS THAT SAVED THE TRIP:
VERA CRUZ! This one block stretch behind the Vera Cruz church (just off Plaza Botero) is all that’s left of the vibrant street girl scene. Pulled 5 in 15 days, no other location even close. Best two chicks of the trip came from here. Every street flaccita is town seems to be here. Radioman would have a field day.
CELESTE: The blonde I had seen so many times. Fleeting. Finally tracked her down. “Vamos”. No talk of money. Why bother, it’s going to be 40 or 50K. Up to love motel Mairubo, 20K for room, drinks and condom. She undresses and wow…. 18. Natural blonde. Exotic face, and the body…maybe the best natural tits of the trip. Champagne glass fitting. Perfect. Amazingly she won’t take the rubber off (the first time) so it’s 80K for an hour, kisses, and photos. She’s good with it. Hands over that perfect stomach. Wow and wow. And this was the worst of the bunch.
LAURA: Like all of the street chicas, took off the rubber for extra $$$. Last remnant of the old guard. Rock ‘n roll chica helped me find an upscale Centro hotel. It was a miracle when I saw this little hottie among the Botero borachas. One of the best lays of the trip. Adventura, Pauly! Squeezing her youth into me like a blood orange.
JULIANNA. Best of trip. 30 seconds after fucking another chick, I stagger out to see Juliana. OH! Hottest piece of ass on the street. Savage 18. We find a decent hotel around the corner. Once inside with J, short shorts, powerful legs, waist of a wasp…for some reason she gives me a big kiss the minute we get inside. Wow…I’ve got the big bag with me and she squeals when she sees my stuffed snake. “Mio! Mio!” Sure, ok, if the session is good. OhmyfuckingChrist, the session was good! She got the snake. Never forget her coming out of the shower dripping wet, asking for a towel. I gasped, seeing her teen body. This was the Aschenbach moment, the kid Tadzio pointing out toward the Adriatic sunset and unattainable worlds, as Aschenbach lay dying on the beach, going out in gloriously debased sensuality. I handed her the towel.
A TYPICAL DATE WITH VANESSA
4pm date with Vanessa. Gave her the exact address of the motel. 4pm comes and goes. Call her, what’s up. She babbles something I don’t understand (see, I just want to talk English like I do in Angeles City. There I can understand what chicks say no matter how fast they talk. and please don’t tell me about the free google ap for language translation I’m not hip to!) I say are you coming or not? She says yes but she can’t find the church. I say can you find where you work, she says yes, I say 10 minutes, she says ok. 25 minutes later she’s a no-show. Chicks here are on their own clock. Your time is meaningless. I’m about to bolt and she shows up. I’m not happy and we walk the block and a half to the spot. I say see, there’s the church, there’s the hotel, now you’ll know for the next time. FACIL. I’m desperate for FACIL here. Of course after all this she delivers with great sex and I’m left to accept the experience as a whole, or not.
VANESSA GOT MUGGED:
Happened the night before our third date. Two guys at knifepoint, knocked her down, took her phone and 100k. Nasty cut bruised at her ankle. Yet after being assaulted 12 hours ago, here she is with me at a love motel, selling her body, needing to get 150k to buy her kid a birthday present. That’s some courage. Give her an extra 50K. Big kisses. She then proceeds to fuck my brains out. Training my Vera Cruz ladies to say the nasty things that come so easily for my AC gals.
I’ll always love street chicks like this. See, there are STILL some girls who don’t freak about taking photos, who will take off the rubber for a little more, who will fuck better than any Mansion girl, and who aren’t available on the web. FUCK YEAH! Some of them, yes, slip through the cracks. This is Paulyvegas’ “network”. Still living in the physical world.
ADVENTURA! ONE LAST FERNANDO TOUR:
Fernando is a pal. Top Mansion driver. Recommended! One night we hit all the old nasty Centro spots looking for “adventura.” The Lawnmower Men don’t come down here. No need. Why put themselves in harm’s way?
Fernando drives the boat. Never get out of the boat down here at night on abandoned streets. Mayhem artists. Glueheads on 33/San Diego buying at 500p a pop. Perrico-fried junkies sway and jerk at Prado. Vera Cruz, 53 & De Grief, maybe on up to Mayorista. I’m in the back not so much looking to get laid as to observe all the old playgrounds on this sauve Sunday. I see a blonde on Calle 33. It was hard to pass her up (remember her, we’ll meet her again later). Transvestis up around the church and 33, garbage pickers, purgatorial… We ride on… Prado area. No no no, you cannot get out of the car here. Death wish. I’m loving every minute of this.
Back up to the market area. Cantinas of night. Bukowski would approve. Beer costs what, .50 cents a bottle? Cardboard box men, men dragging matresses on their backs (yeah, there was more than one), more junkies and borachos, neon pink and blasting cantina music up and down the Calle. We drive on…
Stop at Linda’s Chicas. This place isn’t on the street tour but I miss the old bag who runs it. She lies about recognizing me but I had a great girl from here dog years ago, MariLuz. She tells me her girls are eating hamburgers and will be back in 10 minutes. I wait 20, no girls, so I leave. Another day I’d find one of the few 8’s of the trip here. Recommended. We drive on…
Fernando knows a club and we drive by…. Gorda, fea, fea, gorda… Radioman’s ghost is howling—is this all that’s left of these hotel doorways? Memories of great chicks pulled here. 53 and DeGrief. Nada, just nada. May as well head home, down my sorrow in rice pudding. Vamos, amigo. Onward to the last stop, Vera Cruz. Drive by, not much. Then, in the last 13K per hour short stay hotel doorway…SHE! A bit of a paunch but positively anorexic compared the vacas and cerdos I’ve seen. Great face. 21. “Cuanto?” “50.” “No 100. Sin condom.” “Esta bien.” Eso! Upstairs we go.
Roach motel. Single exposed light bulb. Sheets that I’m hoping have been cleaned sometime this week. This is where you fuck for $18 bucks. Where no Lawnmower Man has ever fucked. She showers and dries off with the towel they gave us. It’s a hand towel. We laugh. Any way you slice it, that’s a fucking hand towel! She became one of the best of the trip. Fernando was waiting for me outside. Fist bump. Successful trip? Yes, sir. Home Jives, got some rice pudding to eat.
CENTRO LOVE MOTELS
All highly recommended:
Hotel Mairuca: Calle 52 Calibio #53-17 (231-7250)
Hotel Romanza: Ave El Palo Cra 45 No 46-43 (251-5433)
One other is called Zona Rosa, right across from Vera Cruz church in Plaza Botero.
THE NIGHT INNOCENCE WON
Innocence won tonight. Sweetness beat the predatory. Yet another 3-hour journey: Leave the Castillo at 9:30, back a bit after 12 with Samanta. 3 hours work for one chick. It’s a victory. From the top….
Find another great cabbie and use him to shuffle around town. I bolt in and out of joints, see the lineup and almost always am be back in the car five minutes later. This night started at Fase Dos. Hot Frankenstein chicks. Might fuck one of these just to experience it but even though I walk in with plata to do the deed I can’t pull the trigger. 200K all in, no photos, rubber fuck, fake tits and ass, professional and bloodless fucks…Pass.
Onto Internacionale in Itagui. Tiny club but I had good experiences here back in the day. Few cabbies know this place but my guy did. Out we go (same street, further along than Mangos), in I go. SOS. Fatties and feas. Que lastima. Have a drink and tell the duena about the old days. Man, nobody wants to hear about that! Ciaoooo! We’re close to Mayorista so let’s go. Fifth time I’m here, found exactly one mediocre chick. SOS. Nada aqui. Muerto. Don’t even have to get out of the car. I could weep thinking about all the great chicas that came from here. Gone now. Vamos….
Onto Calle 33/San Diego. I last about five minutes in clipjoint Show San Diego. Dude at the door assures me of flaccitas, inside I go to find 7 bored to death chicas, all the usual bored big bundas. I’m happy to pay 10K for confirmation that there’s zero here (and PLEASE don’t tell me I need to stick around for hours or come another day or that the day you went it was popping. I don’t care. My experience was this. Nuked. Zero. Zip. Cruising past the streetwalker area I saw a blonde. Wave her into the cab. Wow, she’s got a hot friend too. I want both of them. Coin flip, Blonde’s friend goes first.
We head to La Romanza, my love motel of choice. She’s thicker than I like but 19 and willing. 100k, no rubber. She says yes. Eso! OH SHIT—I forgot my baby oil! Practically tore up my dick trying to fuck without lubrication. Drop her off and pick up the blonde. The great cabbie finds a 24-hour drug store to pick up acete and off we go to La Romanza. In the car the blonde is nothing but friendly, nuzzling and cuddling. A real blonde, and 18. Get into the room and we talk it over. 100K, no rubber. She sez ok and asks for the money up front. No red flags so far so I give it over. She locks it up. I start undressing. She gets half undressed, down to the bra, doesn’t take her skirt off. I say que pasa, she says what, I say how are we gonna fuck with your skirt on, she sez 100K was for a hand job. I say W H A T??? I say we’re fucking todo, complete. She says no no no, 100 was for a hand job. I say the fuck it was gimme my money back and she begins to SCREAM. She cursing me out, on the phone to the duena, trying to get out of that room as fast as possible. The duena shows and I tell her about this ladrona. The negotiation was a private one and this cunt is already out the door, cursing me out, and there goes my 100K. I get down to my waiting taxi driver and tell him what happened. He says “it’s all part of the adventure”.
He's right. I somehow felt better. It IS all part of the adventure. Not to mention it was a grand total of $30 bucks I got taken for. *Note: Calle 33 BY FAR had the most scamstresses this trip, so beware this area if you’re actually mongering in the physical world. Never be fooled by appearances. Never give them the money up front. Never give papaya.
Headed down to CENTRO. It’s 11pm by now and I’ve pretty much given up on the night. Pass 53/DeGrief because my mind simply won’t believe this once-fertile area has been nuked. Well, it has. There’s nothing here. Radioman, I weep with you. Pass Vera Cruz but there’s nothing—days are far better than nights (3-4pm is the best). Being as we’re down here amigo, one last stop, Maracaibo Club. The street is closed off but this cabbie is willing to wait on the next street up. Good thing, there are zero freaking cabs in Centro this time of night. I’ve spent 3 hours, been to six clubs, had my dick torn up, been ripped off, seen gordita seals and cows try to pass themselves off as hot, all in search of a single flaccita hottie to come home with me. I stumble into Maracaibo with zero expectations… and I see her. As if I’m looking at a mirage. 5-1, 100 pounds. Dancer’s lean body, un milagro….the last girl in the last cantina of night. Braces, innocent, oh my God…you can’t be real. Come home with me. Yeah yeah, I know, 70K buyout, 200K to you. Vamos, ahorita!
Back home. Holy cow, her cedula checks out?! Increible! Give the cabbie 100K for 3 hours of driving (in the USA this would have been 100$ easy) Into Room 3. She laughs at all the gag stuff I brought—my humping hound, my repeato monkey, Willie the Pee Pee Boy. She puts on the rock-and-roll guitar glasses and I break out the camera and she doesn’t stop me. Wow!!! Turns out she’s a sweetheart. In bed she’s got a dancer’s flexibility. Helps that she’s 19 too. When I break out the Magic Wand she cums in about five minutes. Will never forget the look on her face at that moment. And so innocence and good won over the predatory and ugly souls of night. With all the trials and travails, a happy ending after all.
AN HOUR TO KILL: Heading down for another Centro afternoon with my street chicas. Have my large black bag packed: Shampoo/body wash/baby oil/6-inch heels, wig, skin-tight outfits. Head down to Mansion, check the hook-up picnic table. The usual 6’s assembled and various lawnmower men. 4 guys, 3 chicks, all but one of them on a cellphone. Zero interaction. Aha. Ciao, amigos.
I’m heading down to where the web doesn’t shine. Vera Cruz. There to greet me is Julianna, who absolutely destroys me. I’m up to paying her 200K now for two hours/two pops. She’s been fully trained with wicked tongue and plays the part well. She’s also the hottest piece of ass on the street. This is an Old School street chick, hit and run, deliver the goods, outta there. Hamming it up for photos between sessions, laughing it up at the porn on the TV and end up watching cartoons for 20 minutes while I recover enough to fuck her again. I can palm her ass. I can literally palm her ass! Try to do that with the Centro casa chicks. I do swish twice which just doesn’t happen anymore. I think using rubbers is somehow forcing sensitivity back into my dick, so when the rubber ain’t there, the swish returns.
CONTROL: It’s about control here, the loss of control. In this scene, you cede control.
The Lawnmower Men are laughing at me again. Poor fool Pauly, the fuck is he talking about? Think about it. Today’s MP tour. No idea of the chicas waiting. Driving, stuck in traffic, going from house to house. Time flying by, driving, waiting, driving. Get down here and gorditas await. You go home to meet up with your 3pm date to discover she’s running late. Promises to get there immediately in her “camino”. So now you’re waiting again. This is how the day goes by…
How’s Angeles City different? Daytime I walk to Raymond Street or Santos in TWO minutes to see the lineup of two joints. No taxis, no traffic. Nothing there? Trkye FIVE minutes out to Perimeter and walk in and out of 10 joints. I make a choice and it’s done. Nighttime I walk 20 paces in ONE minute out to Fields where one thousand women are on display. There is a glorious randomness to this. I can walk left or right and know I’m going to find someone—WITHOUT being a Lawnmower Man and having a carefully cultivated network.
I’m bugged all the time on Facebook. I use it. I have 10-15 friends from years back who are always bugging me. It’s not like I don’t use it. But it doesn’t dominate me, and if I’m not on, I have HUNDREDS of options. Tell me you have hundreds of options in Medellin off the web.
My time has value in AC. Here it’s “she’s on the way”, a guaranteed rubber fuck because, oh yeah, she controls that too, along with no photos. But I’m sure you guys are working on an app to make a rubber fuck feel exactly like a no rubber fuck. All the sensation without the risk! Praise technology!
MANSION 4TH OF JULY PARTY: I’ve been to a few of these. Even though I cut the trip short I couldn’t miss this. The gory spectacle of days past was something to be seen. Dozens of folks crowding around a hot dancer filling her pussy with ice cubes, the crowd roaring in approval. Or, in a private room, three girls pleasuring themselves on a Sybian for the entertainment of Mansion guests. To be witnessed was a privilege. This year’s version, totally predictably, wasn’t anywhere near as Roman. I’d wager about 30 women, about 40 guys. Meeting and greeting. In the age of Facebook, you pay the 150K entrance fee just to collect names and numbers. I met four guys who admitted that this was their prime reason for attending. Of the 30, I wish I could say there were more than 3 I would have paid to fuck, but that’s it, max. And at night’s end I bailed on 1 of the 3 who was young, wasted, and mercenary, asking for 200K before even saying hello. She made a big splash on mongers by jumping into the pool and the next day over eggs the Castillo’s Southern Fried Yoda and three other guys got Friended by her, Chica Problematica. Now you got her, now you bring her over when she’s not so wasted, not so mercenary. Smart, these Lawnmower Men.
Around the breakfast table sat the lone wolf: listening to the lawnmower men compare notes on a chica in all their networks, laughing that she put down U of Michigan in her education profile, all on cellphones, passing along names, add friend requests—this is how it’s done. Southern Fried Yoda is there, speaking into his cellphone: “would you like to come over for a meeting and pool. Today.” Hey, how about that, he speaks and it becomes what, a text in Whatsapp? Isn’t technology wonderful?! You won’t find Yoda on the mean streets of Vera Cruz anytime soon. By day it’s a leisurely breakfast, then by the pool, wait for your girl to arrive, cellphone never leaves the hand, wired in. This is what it is to monger in Medellin today. Anything else is…well, so 2010!
NEXT TO LAST DAY: Mansion picnic bench: 5 chicks, 5 guys. Nothing I want to pay for here. Ciaooooo…. Grab yet another kick ass taxista, aka Speed Racer. Let’s do this one last time:
MAYORISTA: Last time I’ll see it. Actually saw a flaccita. Least I thought she was. Made her an offer and was heading back to the waiting cab when I saw her flabby ass and made a feeble excuse, bolting to the cab and an exit. I’m not going to say goodbye to this hallowed place by fucking a 5. Ciaoooo….
CENTRO: No Jenni at 53/DG. Bye doll, you and Cindy were special.
MARICAIBO: Samanta and Vanessa not working tonight. I tell the owner I want both of them for my last night tomorrow. He says be here at 8:30. Done deal. Moving on….
LA ISLA: 10pm. Huge guard says there are 15-20 ninas inside. I pays my money and move in. About half of that number on display, all solid but typical Wonder Woman style. A real charmer named Andres says he’ll hook me up, what am I looking for? How about 5 foot nothing. 90 pounds. Young. Enough tits to fit in a champagne glass. Enough ass for me to palm, no more. He goes into the back room and proceeds to find me—a spinner! Hey, she’s not bad. Probably a 7. Even seems enthusiastic. Cool. How much to buy her out? 650k! My face drops. But I can fuck her here, only 300K for 40 minutes. Ahhhhhhh, no. Ciaoooo!
Looks like another night of going home empty handed when Speed Racer recommends stopping by Parque Lleras. Some working girls there. Why not, it’s on the way. He twists and turns through side streets until he finds…whoa! Smoking hot spinner. I get out of the cab and approach. She’s with two friends but is pretty clearly interested. “Hey how you doin’ you look beautiful how much?” 300K. That’s $100+ but it’s my next to last night and after looking for 2 hours I’m not letting her go. Vamos up to Castillo. Give the cabbie 50K on a 38K meter (about average for these nightly excursions). She passes the cedula test and into 3 we go.
Find out pretty quick how mercenary she is. She wants all 300K up front. After what happened with the Blonde from Calle 33 I say no way. She says yes, or it’s not happening. Rather than say fine, it’s not happening, goodbye, I seek a compromise. Reluctantly she says ok to taking half up front half at the end but reminds me she’ll call the police if I renege on our deal. Not exactly the stuff of romance. We get down to cases and I was frankly surprised how sexual she was. 4X leche, first time with my tongue. Even got some photos from her. Paying 100 bucks and hoping for the best is the best you can do many nights around here.
LAST DAY IN MEDELLIN—EVER? Had it planned out. 3PM, hit Centro with the big bag. Give away tons of shit, not taking anything through customs, all photos on Flickr, nothing on the computer. Do 2 or 3 of my Vera Cruz chicks. Back up for a last steak with cebollas at the former Texas House in Mall Oviedo. Then 8:30pm down to Maracaibo for two of the best of the trip, 8-girl Vanessa and GFE Samanta. On the way down in the taxi I stuffed my socks with credit card and ½ my cash. Remember that for what happens next…
After fucking Vanessa and Juliana (more on that later) I get on the subway at Parque Berrio. It’s 5:30pm and if you’ve haven’t experienced the Medellin Metro at rush hour, well, it’s something else. I’ve been through Chicago CTA rush hours for years but this is a different level. A wind vortex of people, cramming on. Really dangerous. Just a crush. Had my black bag in hand and could barely hold it and the rail and the train started moving. Every new stop was a new nightmare as a few people left and a many more crammed in. Now, as I said, I had the CC in my sock earlier but after clearing the danger of Vera Cruz I put my CC and cash back in the wallet thinking I was heading into the SAFETY of a subway filled with “decent” people.
Wrong!
When I stumbled out at Poblado with my bag I reached for my shorts to discover my wallet had been pickpocketed. Now I’m racing to find a taxi at rush hour and you don’t race to do anything in Medellin. I luckily find a female cabbie and tell her Loma Alexandria and off we go into rush hour traffic, nowhere fast. I tell her what happened and she looks genuinely concerned. She brings us up the Street of Sighs and as usual it takes a solid 10 minutes just to clear this one street to get up the hill to take the left to take the right to get onto Loma Alexandria because it’s one FUCKING WAY and EVERYTHING IS COMPLICATED HERE! Race into Castillo and Lilliana is on the phone trying to stop me. I’m racing up the stairs to get the CC # and Lost 800 Master Card #, come back down to discover that someone on the subway had found the wallet, contacted Fernando and was bringing it back to me! Wow. Was the credit card still in it? I had to wait for Fernando to bring the kid who found it. Shake his hand and thank him. Look inside, the money is gone but the card is still there. Stupido ladron picked the money out and ditched it, not understanding that the CC was worth 20x the cash. Pay the kid 100K propina and Fernando 50K for bringing him to me. TOTAL loss: About $150 bucks. Mansion guy says Medellin is filled with good people like this. I don’t doubt it. But this is the memory that will stick with me on my last day.
It was 8:30 by now and I say bye bye to the idea of two Maracaibo dancers to close it out. Just pack it up for my red eye. With four hours to spare I end up going down there after all. Neither Vanessa or Samanta are there, but two other hotties are. Maracaibo—easily the winner this trip for hottest club. I say ok, 200K for the girl, 70K to buy her out (as was our previous arrangement). The girls say no, they want 300K. I laugh. Mercenaries. 200K was good enough three days ago, but not tonight? I say it’s 200K or nothing. They shake their heads no.
CIAOOOOOOOO, MEDELLIN!
VERA CRUZ, GRACIAS!
Appropriate I get robbed on my last day after a perfectly raw, raunchy Vera Cruz afternoon. Waiting for Vanessa amidst the Mercado fruit vendors selling yucca root, papaya, cabbage, bananas, onions, carrots….one stand on top of another.
Love the rabbit and bowls guy—where will the little rodent run? I wonder how he games this—he must have an angle for sending the rabbit to a bowl that nobody bets on, right?
Avocado guys with their pushcarts, lime guys with their tiny stands, guayabana juice ladies-- it still looks like cum with pits to me.
One last time at 53 and De Grief, looking up the empty staircase; Christ the shenanigans up there! Get back to the Zona Rosa hotel for Vanessa at 3.
She looks great in that red dress. Saw her coming from halfway across Plaza Botero. Tell her it’s 150K today and she grumbles. We’ve come a long way from that 50K she was happy with 14 days ago. But she’s been trained now to say all the nasty things I want. We go upstairs and fuck. Dreamy, somnambulistic kisses, missionary GFE with a street girl. This is certainly the last I will ever see this woman. It’s sad to think about it and I don’t think she does. I’m her Winnie Pooh, kissing on parting—sweet sorrow.
Onto Juliana. Find her on Vera Cruz surrounded by faces so real they belong in a Peckinpah movie. Born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead. Chinaski would have loved this place. Juliana never shows emotion on the street but when we get in the room it’s a big kiss for Pauly Vegas. You’d think the mercenaries would be down here but it didn’t play out that way. Porcelain face. Mesmerizing body. Up the stairs of Hotel Mairuca, we’ve done this before. 20K buys 3 hours, drinks and a condom. The sex is unconscious. I was showering after 3x through with her and came out to find her still vibrating herself. WOW! Bad nina! Oh hell yeah I’m giving you that vibrator. When she finally showers I keep the single towel with me so she has to come out dripping wet, like she did the first time we met and I gasped at seeing that miracle. She did it again, I move to her and kiss her wet belly, “por suerte”. We kiss and leave it as tight as you can. Not drippy though. She bounds out on the street like nothing, leaving me in the shade of the Mairuca, knowing these things will never happen again.
pp
Photos: Medellin FB 01 02 03
Photos: Medellin FB 04 05 06
Photos: Medellin FB 07 08 09
Photos: Medellin FB 10 11 12
Photos: Medellin FB 13 14 15
Photos: Medellin FB 16 17 18
Photos: Medellin FB 19 20 21
Photos: Medellin FB 22 23 24
