49# Thunderstruck

Updated: Jan 18


- I can’t believe it! Just like that.

- Yeah man, neither can I. This is crazy.

- I wanna know everything when you come back... IF you come back!



We entered Palenque in the late afternoon, and booked a room in El Panchan, in a tiny neighborhood bordering the jungle. The jungle was hot, humid, and loud. Animals and insects screamed at each other, and the plants were so dense we could almost see them breathe. People came from around the world to trip on acid in El Panchan. There was a freaky energy about the place, something wild, powerful, and scary.

Emma was returning to Germany in a few days. She wanted to optimize her last days by stacking as many activities as possible. Marco turned his brain off, and outsourced all decision-making to his manhood. He agreed to anything that might get him laid. They planned a full day of touristic activities and took la Chichona for a ride. Meanwhile, I stayed at the hotel.

The humidity and heat weakened me. I spent the entire day reading in bed with the fan blowing on my face. Marco and Emma came back at the end of the day, sunburnt and exhausted. While Emma told me about all the beautiful things they saw, I stared at Marco with eyes wide open. He grinned and nodded… Haaaaaaaaaallellujah! After so many failed attempts and cockblocks, he had finally scored. Perseverance pays off.

The mood was quiet. We dragged our feet to the closest restaurant and waited for our food, too tired to talk. The plates were big enough for six people, but we finished them. After dinner, we were more useless than before eating; three bloated idiots unable to move.

As we waited stupidly for our bowels to start their work, I saw a familiar face among the crowd. It was the teacher I had met at that rave party in San Cristobal a few days before. I waived at her. She saw me and came by. We had small talk, and I invited her to join us for a late drink at the hotel. We exchanged phone numbers. Her name was Ximena.

We gathered our strength and walked back to our room. I was craving the bed and the fan, but Marco bugged me about Ximena. “She’s super hot! You gotta text her, just to see what happens. Come on man, just a text”, he insisted. Emma seconded him, and peer pressure prevailed.


I texted Ximena to come but she declined. “I don’t want to meet your friends”, she said. That was blunt. Instead, she suggested that the two of us do a “junta de ombligos”. We resorted to the Mexican urban dictionnary for help. Our jaws dropped in unison. We could not believe it. Even Emma, who was such a tease, had never seen a girl that straightforward. Ximena wanted to hook up, plain and simple.

A beautiful woman I barely met wanted to have sex with me! I must have done some good deeds. I thought of the horny Moroccan youth trapped in porn, and felt the burden of responsibility. I imagined my friends judging me, remembered my lonely days, and realized that such opportunity does not come often. For some, it does not come at all. Marco was giggling.

I texted Ximena to meet me in twenty minutes in the parking lot. I jumped in the shower while Marco rolled a joint. I grabbed two beers, the joint, and walked to the parking lot, more anxious than excited. Ximena was waiting. I slid la Chichona's door open, turned on the candles, and closed it behind her. She sat down, took out her phone and said,“I told my friend you’re the last person I was with and sent her the GPS location, in case you want to abduct me”. I was offended, but then it made sense. After all, I was a stranger in a van, and the world is full of creeps.

We talked, smoked, finished our beers, and stared at each other. In that revealing silence, I grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her toward me. Our lips touched. The temperature in la Chichona rose higher than the jungle’s. I undressed her and stopped to realize how beautiful she was. The frenzy started. Thank you Marco, I owe you one!

Sex is like a tango. There is no percussion in tango, which makes the dance subtle and difficult. Its beauty comes from the chemistry between the dancers. The leader sets the tempo and the follower stays on the beat. They mimick their partner’s breath and body movements. An assertive leader and a sensitive follower make the tango sensual and graceful; the most beautiful dance.

Ximena led the dance, and I stayed on the beat. We went from tender love making to spanking and choking. Ximena knew exactly what she wanted and ordered me around like a well-trained dog. Only pride and a wicked patriotism kept me going. We collapsed three hours later, wheezing in our sweat. I got hit by lightning. Mindblown. Thunderstruck. I wish the world knew more Ximenas.


Ximena left and I walked back to the room, barely conscious. Marco looked at me the same way I looked at him earlier that afternoon. My smile said it all. I shared my shenanigans in French. Yet, Emma understood everything; my expression and body language gave it all away. Ximena reminded me of the Amazons who used men as tools to procreate. On the same day, la Chichona hosted two parties, with two elementary teachers, and two horny dudes. Marco and I were bonding.

Was it a gift from the heavens? A psychedelic experience? A miracle? To this day, I can’t fully grasp my head around it.

There is nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she wants.






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