Tales From a Telo

***Preface: Dear Mom, Dad, Nana, and Grandpa: Please know that what I am about to write is not from my own experiences. It is a finely crafted account of tales from friends, and is thus a fictional story. Please don’t think any less of me.***

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Imagine this: you’re out with your friends at a disco and you meet an amazing guy; he’s gorgeous, tall, Argentine… You hit it off; one things leads to another, and you decide to leave with him.

You stroll hand-in-hand past the hoards of people still on the prowl. He shoots you an irresistible smile and you can’t help but think to yourself, “This guy could be the one.”

Clearly, it’s the fernet and coke talking.

You try to dazzle him with your Spanish language skills by throwing around “vos” and “che” to show that you’ve pseudo-mastered Porteño slang. Really he isn’t listening to a word that you’re saying because lets face it, no man truthfully cares about what women say, in any language.

You suavely throw out your hand to flag down a taxi, all the while teasing the Argentine with your hands, your tongue, your body, to show him that American girls aren’t as frigid as everyone says.

You get in the taxi and are smacked by reality: he’s a 26-year old Argentine, who lives with his parents, and you live in a house full of girls, in a little bed, with walls so thin you could hear an ant sneeze…

Rule number one for mastering the hook up in Argentina: do you homework, know your neighborhood, and scout out the local Telos. “Godoy Cruz y Güemes, por favor,” you say to the taxi driver without skipping a beat.

He is impressed with your working knowledge of Argentine Telos, the infamous rent by the hour hotel rooms.

15 minutes, and a good deal of ass grabbing later, you’ve reached your final destination of the night, Telo “X.”

Now is a pivotal point of the night that will show you just how well you’ve seduced your prey. He ops for the most expensive room; you smile to yourself, satisfied knowing you did your job correctly.

The hallways of the Telo snake and turn like a labyrinth. Room 25. You two walk in and are greeted by an Middle-Eastern scene, complete with sari-draped walls, smiling Buddhas, and the faint smell of incense. Outstanding selection, Argie.

The bathroom is outfitted with a Jacuzzi, jasmine bubbles, and his and hers toothbrushes. Upon closer inspection, you notice that above the four-poster bed that a large, ornate, and somewhat gaudy mirror is fastened. The room reeks of male interior design. The linens are of a high thread count and you could get lost for days in the tenderness of the pillows.

He orders a bottle of wine from the 24-hour bar, but you know you’ll never get to enjoy it because in the 5 minutes it takes to get to the room, you’ll already be submerged in your own version of Arabian Nights.

Your phone alarm sounds at 9:00 am; you realize that the night and the fantasy, is over. Like a great dream, you try to slip back into your role, but you know it’ll never be the same.

The suns rays splash your face as you leave the Telo and make your way back to your apartment. Your Argentine softly kisses you as you say your goodbyes. He whispers, “Nos llamamos,” or “We’ll see eachother,” into your ear and jumps into a taxi. Whether or no you’ll see him again is unknown, but you’ll always have that one perfect night in the Middle-Eastern themed Telo.

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There are a few things that Argentines have mastered, Malbec and fútbol for instance. Another is their insatiable thirst for all things sexual. They aren’t coy about what their intentions are; they want sex and a lot of it, hence the success of Telos, Swingers Clubs, and the age-old profession of prostitution.

They put their sexuality out there, and you can’t fault them for that.

I think I've found my knack for fictional writing, no?