“DAVID’S BROKEN LINE”
By: David Ley LIFE BEFORE THE TRIP 1995 was a year of changes. For starters, the new reelected Fujimori government was beginning and people were full of hopes, Peru has always been a politically troubled country and the general situation was one of pessimism. Such was my mood at the time; seemed like I’ve just tried everything to make ends meet but it also felt like the whole fucking life has conspired against me. Disaffection was taking over my person and I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. I needed a positive change, soon. My name is David Ley and I was 26 years old at the time. For as long as I remember life has been a struggle for me; to begin with, my childhood wasn’t one of lovely dreams and colorful rainbows, but one of wants and wishing. Being myself a white boy in a country predominantly of indians or ‘mestizos’ made my childhood twice as hard. In Peru it was expected that a white boy should belong to a good established family with a reasonable financial status, but it wasn’t my case. I was a kid of refined manners and great dreams, and that made me the target of other boys of my age and situation. Life was
real hard for me then. My father was an alcoholic and a womanizer, and as such he hasn’t been living with us for as long as I could recall. I have a few sporadic memories of him being at home with me, my mother, brothers and sisters, but for short periods of time. It always ended with my mother calling the police; my father was abusive and quite violent under the influence of alcohol. So, he wasn’t my best role model. My mother took the burden of raising all the seven of us on her own; for a single mother it was quite a chore, working day and night just to cover the basic necessities of all of us, no toys were on our agenda but basic basics. My older sister looked after us while my mother worked outside non stop. When she died, God bless her, she left me mature enough to earn a life for myself, so I decided to use all my chances to try to be someone, no matter how difficult or disgusting. I was going to do whatever it takes to succeed.
At that time I was doing non-paid practices at a Lima five stars hotel, hoping to get a contract after six months of practices. I was in month four when a blast knocked down a nearby hotel, the five stars Maria Angola killing 18 people, among others my then girlfriend, Hannah, who worked in the casino, and two ex-promotion friends. The explosion was so fierce that she totally vanished in the blast. My moral was shattered too; hopes of a normal life vanished too and confusion became part of my daily mood, I felt dejected. Afterwards, my hotel fired most of the practitioners so I was out of work. My way to cope with frustration was sports, specially working out in a gym, which gave me a well shaped physique on the side. I tried teaching in the gyms for a change, competed and won a few local trophies in weightlifting and bodybuilding, and became very popular in the circles. Being a monitor in my early twenties allowed me to meet fit girls and good lads; I felt physical and showed off my great body with pride and attracted a lot of attention. It was a lifestyle I enjoyed, but it wasn’t a profitable one. I had to give my attributes a better use though. I did a few TV advertisements and photo shots for magazines and whatever other publicity job available. It all gave me some exposure but not a permanent source of income, it was fancy work. One day a friend of mine, Luiggi, suggested me to join a group of strippers, they used to give shows in nightclubs, hen parties, old girls join-together and even gay clubs. I was hesitant at first but soon I got the fun of it all. This business went on for a couple of years; I was dancing and fucking my way to comfort, I had what I needed, I was being used as a toy boy for cash and I couldn’t care less. If you had the looks you had to use them I thought, but at the end always felt empty and lonely, my life was unusual. Being myself somehow a kind of analytical boy I always thought for how long I was going to lead that sort of life and for how long it was going to last, what it’s going to happen in the future; the old fallacy of matching up with an old rich girl (or queen) to sort our financial troubles forever was simply that, a fallacy. We were just a kind of fast food for lonely souls. I had a few tries living with an older richer person, but in each case it did not work out. I was too intelligent for my shoes, and to be an accessory to loner’s whims you have to be a stupid cake, the idea depressed me shitless.
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