It had been six months since Peter and I had broken up. It had been a sudden end. Everything up to that point had been incredible. We were best friends and spent our free time going on all sorts of adventures. Hikes, road trips. Once, we even drove to Canada just to see if we could. We laughed and sang "I'm Going to Be" by the Proclaimers over and over and over again. We slept in the car, cuddling and fogging up the glass by the morning. It ranks among my top memories of all time.
One day we were fighting over something or another, I can't remember what, but it must have been serious. We both were proud people and refused to apologize when it was over. And suddenly we found ourselves declaring that we didn't need the other person and that we were fine being on our own! Unlike with other fights, this one didn't end in make-up sex.
Since then, we've texted a few times but agreed that it was probably healthiest to go without talking for a while. More than once I drafted a message telling him I wanted to see him, before deleting it, not wanting to be the one that caved first.
Then he went abroad. After the last day of classes, he flew to Quito, Ecuador. I learned about it on social media. He had been learning Spanish for a few years and told me frequently how he wanted to try out his language skills on some grand adventure. Through Instagram, I saw snapshots of his trip. Hiking to the top of Machu Pichu, colorful ceviche dishes. Selfies at bars with a group of mid-20s backpackers. In one photo, at the top of a hike, he had his arms wrapped around two people. Both looked Ecuadorian or at least South American. One guy and one girl. I paid no attention to the guy. Peter had always been gregarious and this was probably another of his unwitting 'fast friends.' The girl on the other hand was petite, with an angular face and absorbing golden-brown eyes. I had no right to feel it, but a pang of jealousy stabbed at my chest.
I wanted to text him to figure out who this girl was. I wouldn't come right out and ask, but maybe start slowly with something like "Hola! Looks like you're having fun with your adventures. We should catch up soon!" before finishing off with "Looks like you've made some really good friends." He would pick up on the message.
But as much as I wanted to get to the bottom of it, I doubted the text would go through. He was always talking about disconnecting and going off on a grand adventure. I'm sure the airhead purposely didn't buy an international phone plan. For a second I thought about booking a ticket to Quito and trying to win him back, 90s rom-com style. But then what? Walk around a foreign city, hoping to run into him? Asking random strangers "Have you seen a tall, brown-haired boy, floral tattoos down his right thigh, and vibrant green eyes that you just want your kids to inherit??" Lo siento, no entiendo español. Hablas ingles?
Instead, I scrolled through our old photos and fitfully drifted off to sleep. I had what at first was a nightmare. It looked like a tiny hotel room, maybe a hostel, but what threw me was that it was remarkably clean, not like what you see in the movies. A warm light showed through a large picture window and bathed the hardwood floor with a reddish hue. The walls were stark white and a big bamboo-framed bed sat against the wall. Of all people, Peter was perched at the edge of the bed, his shirt unbuttoned down to his chest.
"Peter?" I murmured, but there was no response. The squeak of a sink shutting off and a door unlocking came from the adjoining bathroom. Bathroom lights flicked off as the same girl from the photos stepped out drying her hands on a towel. She was prettier than in the photo in the photo and was dressed in a flowy, matching sleepwear set. A breeze through an open window pane brought a chill to the air and her nipples hardened, outlined through her waffle tank top.
Oh no, I thought. No, no, no. This can not be what I think it is. I watched in horror as John said "Maria, eres hermosa, eres sexy" in stilted, goofy Spanish. Maybe he is not as good as I thought. Maria laughed and blushed and stepped closer to him. I knew I should be irate, but I couldn't peel my eyes away. I wanted to see what would happen next.
She kept walking until she finally stopped, standing between his legs on the edge of the bed. He pulled her in closer by the backs of the thighs as she bent down to kiss him. Slow up to this point, their heads became magnetic, attracted to one another. Their kiss was passionate and rhythmic, opening their mouths and exploring each other with their tongues. They held each other's heads both gently but with a sense of immediacy. She grasped his hair tightly and he bit her bottom lip, dragging it back towards himself playfully.
His hands, at first resting on the back of her thighs, had now moved up to her peach-shaped butt. She moved closer to him and slid her lips from his mouth down to kiss his neck, something I know he loves. His head rocked back as she kissed lower and lower on his neck till she got to his prominent collarbone. She left a trail of kisses from his chest until eventually reaching the waist of his pants. He leaned back on his hands watching intently. Then she began kissing him through his pants.
She unbuckled his belt (a belt I had unbuckled many times before) and unbuttoned his pants with ease. As she did this, he played with her black hair with one hand, propping himself up with the other. She slid his pants and underwear down to his ankles in one motion. He was already hard but got even harder as she licked his shaft from base to tip like a lollypop. She ran her tongue around his head before beginning to bob up and down slowly. A deep moan escaped Peter's closed lips.
