Mateo

Dear diary,
Peru has taken my breath away — and not just because of the altitude.After a night in a small hotel in Cusco, I set off for the famous trail to Machu Picchu. The air was crisp, the mountains impossibly grand, and every step felt like walking through centuries of history. I stopped now and then to sketch the jagged ridges and ancient stone, losing myself in the stillness.By late afternoon, I decided it was time to head back. Maybe I was too tired, maybe I lost focus — but in an instant, my foot slipped. A bolt of pain shot up my ankle, and I felt myself teeter dangerously close to the cliff’s edge… when a strong hand caught me and pulled me into a solid chest.He was tall, broad-shouldered, with smooth bronze skin glistening in the sun and dark, hypnotic eyes. He steadied me, then guided me to a nearby rock. Without much ceremony, he took my leg in his hands and examined it carefully.In a deep Peruvian accent, he said, “Just a light sprain. You’ll be fine.” He introduced himself as Mateo, a local guide. His group had finished the tour, and he was heading back alone to search for a client’s lost earbud.“I guess I was lucky you were here,” I said.
He smiled. “It’s my pleasure to save the life of such a cute little chulo.”The heat rose in my cheeks — and he saw it.
Before I could react, he leaned in and kissed me, hard, urgent, claiming my lips like a mountain lion pouncing on prey. I melted instantly, kissing him back until the sound of an approaching tour group made us stop.Without a word, he lifted me into his arms and carried me down the trail. On the bus back to town, I sat beside him, listening to his deep voice explain the history of the mountains to his group. That voice… I could have listened forever.When we arrived, he said goodbye to his clients, then turned to me with a hunger in his eyes. He slid my arm around his neck and guided me through the winding streets to his small apartment in the city center — a modest space with a bed, a wooden table, and little else.He sat me on the bed, removed my shoes, and began undressing me without hesitation. I was too stunned to protest — and, truthfully, I didn’t want to. Then, without a word, he left the room, taking my clothes with him.Moments later, he returned and lifted me in his arms, carrying me into the bathroom. A steaming bathtub waited, fragrant with herbs.
“Healing water,” he said softly.Lowering me in, he began to massage my ankle, the warmth easing away the pain. My body relaxed, my guard dropped — and then he began undressing himself.Standing naked before me, he looked like a figure carved from the mountains themselves — powerful, commanding, yet calm. He stepped into the tub and pulled me back against his chest. The heat of him seeped into me. His hands explored with slow certainty, and soon our bodies moved together in the water, a rhythm as natural as the river outside.He turned me to face him. I climbed onto him, kissing him deeply as I lowered myself down, the water splashing wildly around us. Every movement, every sound, felt amplified in that steamy cocoon. And when it was over, we dried off and collapsed into his bed, skin against skin, drifting into the kind of deep, dreamless sleep you can only find in the arms of someone who feels like home.In the morning, Nico took me on a private tour of the city — the markets, the plazas, the hidden corners he loved most. He told me about his family, his life here, and I found myself imagining what it would be like to stay.But my time in Peru was over. Brazil was calling. Saying goodbye to my gentle giant was harder than I expected. We promised to stay in touch, and I invited him to visit me someday.As the bus to the airport pulled away, I thought about the version of my life where I stayed in Peru — where love and mountains and healing water were my everyday.For now, it’s just a dream.
But it’s one I’ll carry with me.