It was the beginning of the 1990s. I was working at Camila, a high-class women shoe store in Mendoza city. Most customers were Chilean because the exchange rate was favourable to them and they were crazy about Argentinian footwear.

My salary was confiscated by my father. I had overturned my mother´s Renault while driving under the influence on Acceso Oeste. My friendGurka and I had been to La Chimere, the most popular club in the city. I drove my friend Gurka´s hook up to Unimev neighbourhood and then my friend Gurka to the city. Then I took my hook up to Maipú, a town that was kind of far from downtown. I felt myself on a cloud, almost half an hour in the car, with a bottle of Gancia at 7AM, feeling like my duty was fulfilled. When I was coming back to Mendoza city, I fell asleep and overturned the car.

That is why I was working. To avoid the filicide was old man wanted to commit.

It was a Saturday morning when two Chilean cougars entered the shoe store. They looked kind of easy, with money. They were practically perfect. While I was helping them to try shoes on, they started to flirt with me and told me that their husbands had left them in Mendoza and had gone on a business trip to Buenos Aires. The one that looked the easiest and had her chest worked on swore that their husbands were partying in Buenos Aires. I sold them a total of fifteen pairs of shoes. I helped them stop a taxi. When they were getting in the car, I manned up and asked them out. They said yes quickly, and that I should bring a friend. They took off after asking my age and realising they were twenty years older than me.

That night, Gurka and I went to have dinner at Sancho, the hotel restaurant were the cougars were staying. I felt like Gardel playing an electric guitar. I was twenty years old, and two grown ladies were waiting for us.

Dinner was kind of fast. After a little chatting we were holding hands and telling double-meaning jokes. Then, even before my food was digested, my friend and I were with a cougars in a hotel room. I could not have asked for more. Just looking at the concierge´s face when we headed towards the elevator was enough pay for this adventure. Already inside the rooms, Gurka and I were talking over the phones. In one of those calls, Gurka practically gave me an order:

-Let´s have breakfast at Strauss, 6AM.

I got to Strauss first. A little after that, my friend arrived. We asked for ham and cheese croissants, and since we had not spent a peso the night before, Gurka ordered Chivas Regal for the both of us.

At some point, I told my friend that he should thank me for what I got us: food, room and sex. Gurka toasted kind of unwillingly. I saw a look of contempt in his eyes. He did not say a word until I questioned him:

-What the fuck is wrong with you?

-Nothing. It´s just that I don´t like it that easy. –Gurka said. Apparently, I did not need any more explanations.

I got pissed off, obviously. He was being ungrateful and was ruining my winner´s happy face. Si I told him:

-Listen to me asshole, I got you some serious piece of ass, you ate at one of the best restaurants in Mendoza and got laid in the same hotel that once would not hire you. What else to do you want? –I asked angrily-. We live thinking about getting laid. It´s all we do. And when you finally got it, you come to me with this bullshit. And instead of celebrating, you go all cheap philosopher on me, minimizing the situation because the other team was easy. Go fuck yourself!

-Yeah sure. We scored, -Gurka said-. But I enjoy a 1-0 over the minute in a tough game. I just can´t deal with being a sexual object.

That joke loosened up the tension. We laughed, ordered more whiskey and we started talking.

Gurka´s theory was that those difficulties at the moment of getting laid were ´the salt and pepper of sex´. I told him that they were inevitable but that they were not nice at all. On the contrary, every time a chick wanted to introduce her parents to me, or told me she was a virgin, I convinced myself that in-laws and being a virgin were devil´s tales, just like any other situation that prevented me from screwing. And if there was a God, chicks would hit on us.

That is when my friend told me some of his stories. For example, he pretended to be a member of a temple just to screw the pastor´s daughter. Another time, he tested himself with a nun who was a cousin´s friend. -I stole a kiss from a nun at the door of the convent man. Got it? It is like playing arm wrestling with God. That kiss was worthier than doing some Chilean slut.

I was beginning to understand his logic, and that is when Gurka went overboard. -Do you want to know my dream? For real? More than San martin playing in First Division? Screw a guy…

I could not tell if he was serious, drunk or crazy. So I told him: -Go to Mitre and Necochea, downtown. There lots of fags waiting there.

At that moment, he showed his cards. –I said a guy, not a fag, moron. –He took a sip of his whiskey-. A man, a guy. Someone who does not want to. Someone that could get angry or that could beat the crap out of me. Let´s say, for example, Bear´s father.

I almost chocked on my drink. Bear´s father, Atilio, worked for Banco Nación. He was a big guy, loved football and was an excellent rugby player.

Gurka continied talking. –Imagine convincing Atilio to get on all fours. That´s a challenge, not screwing some Chilean slut. Do you know why San martin crossed The Andes? Because it was difficult. He didn´t give a shit about his Latin American brothers or sisters. He wanted a challenge. Get it? If everyone had your way of thinking, San Martín would have settled for crossing the pond and liberated our neighbours.

I asked for a cup of coffee and started talking about the playing the roulette at the casino in order to distract him. Around 9AM, when Strauss started to get crowded by old guys, we left, already arguing whether a croupier could hit you with three fourteens straight or not.

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