When I got off the plane I thought the time had stopped. Hardly felt the hours between Caracas and Amsterdam, which was a further joy: Apart from the plain and simple fact that implied already in my destiny, my energies exceeded expectations. As he descended the stairs and began to imagine, or rather, I started plotting my plan perfect, rationale that had led me to the land of tulips. The weather was the best, with a touch cold all my life I've longed for since these hot flashes, typical spring afternoon. I kept the jacket a few days earlier he had bought in a store Upata, and added a scarf motif Yogi Bear Raúl's cousin gave me when he learned of my trip. I took a taxi. As I understand I did: I wanted to go to the home of Eric, the Ukrainian friends not seen since college days, who lived in this country thanks to a grant for doctoral studies and then at a formal daring that led him to choose for a professorship at the university dividends and threw very interesting to stay forever in the land of your dreams.
After installation, take a shower and eating as God intended, I took another taxi. The Red Light District, a small space that had long had caught my attention was now at hand. The driver left me in the heart of the site tailored for an adrenaline rush. That neighborhood meant nothing less than the ability to hear, see, breathe and feel the erotic in the street, in the light of day, Tuesday, Friday or Sunday, the transaction of pheromones, the fluid network of sex in the swing states bodies, members and lust. I paid, I got, then thought he had come to my island of happiness. It was forbidden territory. I was face to face with my dream.
In such situations, is a delight to wander. The pleasure of doing nothing, just looking, is to have it all. I went to a bar that caught my attention because of its facade chiaroscuro in which a great woman on her back, legs spread, served as the front door. I ordered whiskey and watched. Swarmed around me pairs of lovers, fairies in bulk, elegant whores, half-dressed girls.
continued the ride. A woman with long hair, especially beige and leering almost haunted me. Was a queen in the street, a kind of goddess incarnate someone ordinary. Through his clothing loomed large breasts, waist is outlined, you attacked her hips. It was passed by, but had left a mark, I felt his presence as a pain in the nose. "These are women who are worth it," I muttered. I continued my way by chance.
supplies products include aphrodisiac, sex shops of every variety and for both sexes nude bars attracted me the windows decorated with girls offering their charms. Women who, posing as God brought the world, wrote the price in a pink carton. None of tricks, no traps, no vile deception: here I am, you are there you, and in the middle figure of the approach, orgasm promised.
A brunette shines. I walked, talked, was Barquisimeto. I turned into the world to see what has always been said, that have no competition here, that in terms of femininity and charms like no other here. I checked ten thousand miles of this place. María Alejandra Zambrano, as they called that girl was the perfect equation.
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