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Limp Dick and Death
Yes, I will tie that title in...
I had found paradise on earth during this time of utter stupidity…
Upon arriving in the cartel-run beach town, I immediately hopped over to the barber.
As I’d been in the city before, I knew him. Great dude, spoke English, cut hair for the cartel on and off.
We start catching up as he cleans me up.
Of course, being in a barbershop in Latin America, one topic comes up time and time again…
My barber starts asking me about the girls in Colombia, Brazil, etc. Then proceeds to whip out his phone and show me what he’s working with in Mazatlan.
I’m like, bruv: “When you gonna hook with up with some of their friends, ser?!”
My barber laughs: “I got you!”
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He “Had” Me
Later that night, I get an Instagram notification.
My barber had posted my fresh cut on his story with the caption:
“gringo en Mazatlan buscando novia jajaja”
I laughed…what a cunt!
Then didn’t think twice about it and went to sleep.
In the morning, I checked my phone and had a handful of messages from local girls in the city.
Ummmm, apparently he did “have” me.
A few of the girls were cute, so I started talking with them. Of course, I sent the messages to my barber to get the inside scoop on em’
One of the girls my barber said was solid was also antsy to go out, so we made plans for the following week.
This is where the story starts to go downhill.
Being on TRT, I had planned to give blood on Monday morning. So I woke up and went to the lab to give as much blood as humanly possible.
While I’m giving blood, the nurse says:
“No exercise today, no alcohol…just relax for the rest of the day. You’re giving a lot of blood today.”
I had given blood before, so I brushed it off. Never been an issue before.
Plus, I had a date last night with the girl from Instagram my barber hooked up.
Go hike the lighthouse in Mazatlan and then have some food and drinks.
Aka: exercise and alcohol.
So we meet up around dusk, complete the hour-long hike — which was exhausting, watch a bit of the sunset, and then head to a bar.
We drink 3-4 beers each and eat some ceviche, then head back to my apartment for some wine.
After a couple glasses of wine, one thing leads to another. As per usual.
I won’t get into the gory details here, but yeah…
My shit was flopping in the wind.
Limp as can be.
Floppy as f*ck.
I tell her about giving blood and how the nurse said not to exercise or drink alcohol. And how we literally did everything the nurse said NOT to do. Explicitly.
She laughs: “No te preocupes”
We part ways an hour or so later. No hard feelings. Make some tentative plans to meet up again later that week.
I end up seeing her a few more times — without the “floopy-ness”
She was a cool chick overall.
I stopped hanging out with this girl, even though she was cool, as I got a bit more serious with another girl I was seeing.
No hard feelings.
I certainly wasn’t the only man in her “rotation” — and well, I was handling my “business” too.
Fast-forward a few months…
I get a message from my barber:
“Have you heard from [redacted] lately?”
Me: “Nah broski, haven’t talked with her for awhile…why?”
Barber: “Fuck. Well, she has gone missing.”
Me: “What? What do you mean?!”
This girl had told me a few things on our dates I didn’t think twice of previously.
Like how her brother is an accountant in California — or how she goes to California every tax season to “help” him when he gets busy.
Here’s where it gets sketchy:
My barber filled me in…
Her brother is apparently not just an accountant, he’s also a member of a certain cartel — and helps them with a little laundering here and there.
Since she works for him during tax season, rival cartels viewed her as:
A few weeks later I’m at the barber shop and my barber fills me in on the full situation:
The rival cartel had kidnapped her.
There was some negotiation, but everything fell through.
She was then murdered by the rival cartel.
I stared at my barber:
“Wait, what?! She’s dead. Like officially?!”
Barber: “Yes, bro. They found the body. You don’t want to hear the other details.”
My barber must have saw the depressed look on my face. I’m not gonna act like I was devastated, but it was definitely a depressing wakeup call.
When in Rome.
He yelled at his receptionist: “Bring us a couple beers!”
He cracked em’ open and we cheers. He put on a weak smile and tried to laugh: