I met the Peruvian on a warm autumn night in New York. The hot moist air put a spring in my step as I nearly skipped down the street to meet my friends Devin and Natasha for drinks at the Olive Tree Café. After two orders of nachos and a round of beers one thing led to another as they always do, and before I knew it I was standing in the notoriously long line in front of Marquee with the Peruvian. He was 6’4’’ with short black hair, tan skin, smoldering brown eyes, and an adorable little gap between his front teeth. He wore a black long sleeved v-neck sweater that hugged his biceps, dark blue jeans and a small black scarf draped around his neck. Usually I wouldn’t find a man scarf attractive, but on The Peruvian it looked divine. There are some things that foreign men can pull off that American men just can’t, and the man scarf is one of them. I was, of course, head over heels for the Peruvian upon looking at him (as any straight woman would be). That night inside of Marquee the Peruvian bought me drinks, held my hand as we maneuvered through the crowded nightclub, and pressed his rock hard body against mine as we danced. With every drink I fell harder and harder for the Peruvian and with every swivel of our hips I wanted him more. As the night came to a close it came out that he had a girlfriend and I went home alone.
3 months later at my birthday party Natasha runs up to me, grabs me with both hands, looks straight in the eyes and says: “The Peruvian is single!”
4 months after that I found myself at a Bar-B-Q in Princeton, NJ. Devin, Natasha, The Peruvian and his new girlfriend were all in attendance. My purpose in going to NJ was to scope out the Peruvian’s new girlfriend: the girl that was chosen over me. And as I suspected she was tall, blond, and skinny. Not “Victoria Secret Model” thin; “Runway model in Paris” skinny. And even though her hair was long and shiny, Natasha and I decided that I was much prettier and (after 30 seconds of listening to her speak) smarter. I spent the majority of the party staring at the Peruvian and his girlfriend wondering what it was about her that was so great. She didn’t seem particularly nice, smart, or funny. At the risk of sounding conceited I will say that I was definitely the better catch. The only thing she had on me was skinny. She was skinny and I am, well, not skinny. I wondered if maybe she was really great in bed, but there was no way of knowing. While I was staring at the Peruvian and his girlfriend a very tall young man with dirty blond hair, a scruffy beard, and the most amazing blue eyes you’ve ever seen sat down next to me. His name was Justin. He started asking me questions about how I knew Devin and Natasha, and what I wanted to do with my life, and before I knew it I had forgotten all about the Peruvian and was totally into Justin. After two months of dating Justin I broke up with him. To this day I still don’t know why I did.
One night that next fall the Peruvian was standing in my bedroom/living room with his entire life packed into a duffel bag. He was drunk and angry.
“What happened? Why are you here? Why did you need to come over?” I asked climbing back into bed after letting him in.
“I’ve just been thinking about things. Like who I should be with and who I shouldn’t,” he replied in a thick accent.
I stared at him in silence for a minute wondering why he had such a thick accent if he had been in the US for over ten years. Then I asked: “What does that even mean?”
He put his bag down on the floor and threw his jacket on top creating a mountainous pile in the middle of my room.
“If you were me; and you had a girlfriend; and she kissed another guy in front of you; What would you do?” he asked as he sat on the end of my bed in a slump. “And she says he’s like a brother to her,” he added staring at the TV.
“Is he gay?”
“No. He dated her sister.”
“The guy she’s kissing on the lips dated her sister?” I asked to clarify.
“Yeah,” he said as he laid back on the bed.
“Well I guess I would ask her to stop.”
“I did.”
“Well, I mean I guess it’s a little disrespectful if you asked her to stop and she didn’t,” I said so unconvincingly I didn’t even believe myself. “So that’s why you broke up?”
The Peruvian sat up suddenly and looked at me.
“She kissed another guy in front of me!”
“Yeah, but I mean is that a really good reason to break up with her? Don’t you think that you are being a little juvenile?”
The Peruvian just stared at me in silence. I worried for a minute that maybe I had hurt his feelings. He said nothing and returned to his horizontal position on my bed. I stared at the Peruvian out of the corner of my eye and I wondered what I should do. If I slept with him would I feel like a whore in the morning? If I didn’t, would I regret missing the opportunity to see him naked? While I was debating whether to sleep with the Peruvian or not I drifted off to sleep only to be awoken by long muscular arms being wrapped around me. I jerked awake and turned on my side to look at the Peruvian.
“Were you having a nightmare?” he asked me sweetly.
I nodded.
“Come here,” he whispered as he pulled me closer to him and began to gently rub my back. After a minute his hand drifted to my stomach and started making its way North.
“I really don’t think we should do this. You just broke up with your girlfriend.”
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
Immediately his hand drifted back to his side of the bed.
In the morning, the Peruvian left promising to call me later that day. Her never called. That evening, Natasha called and told me that the Peruvian went back to his girlfriend.
“So did he just fake a fight with his girlfriend so that he could try to sleep with me?” I asked.
“I guess. I don’t know.”
“Does he think I’m some whore that he can use for sex when he’s bored?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do I look like a whore?”
“No! Of course not! I think it was more of a hope… Besides, you proved him wrong, because you didn’t sleep with him!”
“I know,” I say distractedly. “I still feel used though.”
“I’m sorry hunny. I told him that I would never talk to you about him again, and never talk to him about you. I can’t believe he did that. He’s such an idiot. I’m sorry that I ever introduced you to him.”
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
That night, I stood in my bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. I stared at my face so long it didn’t look like a face anymore. All I saw were shapes, skin, and hair. I stared and I saw an embarrassed, angry, scared young woman. I stared and I saw a lost soul, a broken heart, and shattered self-esteem. I stared and I saw hunger and longing. I stared. I stared. I stared. I stared until everything got blurry and I had to look away.
I turned off the bathroom light and wandered into my bedroom in a haze. I crawled into bed wondering if the Peruvian would ever know how what he did, or tried to do, made me feel. I wondered how one man’s actions could make me doubt myself; how something so small could effect me so much.
I stared into the blackness of my windowless bedroom until I feel asleep.
