A Step Into the Unknown

Before I even stepped into the vibrantly coloured 1950’s Chevy from the front entrance of the club, I knew a night of debauchery was imminent.

As we drove, my mind was in a flurry of anticipation – I was kind of drunk, but very lost. All I knew was that it was at least three in the morning. I could not understand a word of what was being said and my knowledge of the area was fuzzy; the brightly painted cement buildings and resorts which peppered the Hicacos Peninsula made everything into an indiscernible touristy blur.

My unofficial tour guide for the evening, whom I met at the club, was the archetype of a beautiful Latina girl, though she did not understand much English. Through our conversing of broken English and Spanish at the club, I had figured out she was a local, and found myself enticed by a proposition she made with one of the few Spanish words I knew: “sexo?”

We exited the mobile relic of the Cold War at a gas station and I paid the driver with a bundle of crumpled pesos. She and the cabbie discussed something heatedly as he aggressively rolled up his window and sped off onto the autopista, toward the bridge into Santa Marta.

Looking at me with her perfectly mascaraed eyes, the beautiful seductress gestured to follow her and so, can of Cristal in hand, I followed her slowly into the seedy alleyway before us.

I recall contemplating on leaving, but my drunken libido prevented me from adhering to such logic. Also, leaving an exotic beauty on the side of the road for the familiarity of the resort just seemed like an anti-climactic way to end the evening. Besides, I thought, I don’t even know where I am; where would I even go?

She faced me as I proceeded slowly into the alley. It was a long paved path, closed in by the backsides of small apartment buildings on both sides. The tiny backyards for each apartment were made inaccessible from the path and were connected to each other by massive dog cages; most of which being occupied by great beasts of canines that barked and growled menacingly at us.

Bewildered at this sight, I continued to follow her to the end of the pathway which veered sharply left into a square courtyard, surrounded by a motel with outside doors. The girl rushed to a door and knocked. A short, older woman emerged, entanglement of keys in hand, and led us to a room.

We stepped into the shoddily decorated room and I shut the door staring at the buxom figure of the beauty, who began to lift her tight sparkly dress...