Tracey Parker is an urban explorer, based in Mexico City, who discovers and presents unique gay cultures around the world. Every so often, he takes us into the gritty, hot, unique and horny hookup spots where gay men go to let loose and fuck. This time, Tracey takes us to Peru one more time for a local market where men gravitate to this particular gay cruising bathroom to get lucky.

When I was traveling to Lima, Peru, I decided to put “Where does cruising happen?” on my gay hookup profile just to see what would result. I got a surprising number of replies. I wrote them all down in my journal, and many of them I checked out myself.

I chose to stay in an Airbnb in a neighborhood called San Miguel, which is right on the ocean but not as touristy as Miraflores or Barranco. I wanted to get a taste of what real life was like in a local neighborhood in Lima, and I sure did.

On one of my first nights, I was lying in my Airbnb when I got a message from someone on my phone. He was located close by and wanted to talk to me about cruising. He told me there was a good scene in the public bathrooms at the local supermarket and shopping mall in the neighborhood.

I asked him when the best time to go was, and he told me afternoons from 2:00 to 5:00. I wrote this in my journal and planned to check it out the next day. Then something happened that I wasn’t expecting: he asked if I wanted to go with him.

I loved the idea. In Mexico, I often saw younger guys attend bathhouses and other cruisy places with friends, but I was always more comfortable going alone. However, meeting someone from hookup apps who wasn’t already a friend—especially in a foreign country—sounded like a great plan.

I tried not to get too excited because, in Latin America, the men you make plans with almost always cancel. We agreed to meet there at 2:00 p.m. to see what happened. We didn’t even exchange numbers. His profile name was Dano, so I decided I would call him Danny.

The grocery store was one of those new complexes common in the U.S. as well. It was located above a large parking garage with a few other stores nearby. When I walked in, the store was buzzing with a light crowd. I looked around for signs for a restroom.

I considered asking someone, but I didn’t want to stick out. I figured I was already too recognizable as the only white guy in the neighborhood, and I didn’t want anyone to notice me, especially given what I was planning to do. Eventually, I saw a female employee and, out of nowhere, I asked her in Spanish where the bathroom was.

Her reaction felt like an accusation. She seemed surprised I was even asking, and I could tell she was disappointed in me; it was as if she could see right through me. She answered quickly and dismissively in a Peruvian Spanish I could barely understand. I politely thanked her and continued on, no closer to the cruising than I was before I asked. I was disappointed in myself for asking because I felt I had already been “made.”

I went back to the front of the store. I saw a small set of stairs that looked like they might be for employees only. The main escalators, wide enough for shopping carts, were the ones everyone else used. I walked over to the stairs, expecting someone to stop me, but nobody said anything. I walked through the door and began to descend.

As soon as I went down one floor, I knew I had found the place. There were about five guys leaning against the wall of a hallway leading to a bathroom. I couldn’t believe how obvious they were. They all watched me without moving so much as their necks. No smile, no hello—just a hard look that made me feel horny the moment their gaze hit me.

I made my way past them and into the bathroom, where two men were standing by the sinks. There were six stalls, three on each side, and all the doors were closed. I stood there wondering what to do next, feeling the gaze of the other men on my back. I decided to go to one of the urinals to pretend I was peeing and buy myself some time.

I looked to my left and saw a young guy standing far enough back from his urinal that I could see his long cock pointing straight out. He turned his entire body toward me, revealing a forest of black pubic hair surrounding his thick cock like a lion’s mane. He waved it at me while gesturing with his eyes toward the stalls. 

I zipped my pants, ready to follow him, when the oxygen suddenly seemed to get sucked out of the room. All the men who had been lounging like they owned the place began scurrying out like field mice.

Then I saw a “rent-a-cop” walking through as if everything was normal. The guys walking out looked so guilty that my instincts told me not to follow them. I stayed put and acted like the guard—like everything was normal. I washed my hands and left right behind him. He went upstairs, while I went down toward the parking garage.

There was a landing at the bottom of the stairs with benches where many of the men were sitting and waiting. That was where I saw Danny. He was handsome—tall, thin, with an olive Peruvian complexion.

“Buenas tardes, Tracey,” he said in Spanish. “I didn’t see you upstairs. I was sucking a cock inside one of the cabinas.” He pointed to a bulky guy about his age and used his fingers to demonstrate the size of the man he’d just been with.

I smiled, admiring how comfortable he was. He made me feel at ease immediately. Even as he talked to me, he was surveying the room seriously. The men were slowly trickling back upstairs. Danny explained that they always left the bathroom out of respect for the security guard. He also claimed the security staff knew what was going on. According to him, the only people who ever gave them trouble were the women working in the supermarket, but they mostly stayed away because there was nothing they could do.

As he spoke, he let his cock grow until it made a “teepee” in his pants. Only then did he look me in the eye with a penetrating gaze, alternating between my eyes and his growing erection.

“Do you want this?” he asked. “¿Vamos?”

“Vamos,” I replied.

He proceeded hastily up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Back in the bathroom, he opened a stall and stood aside for me to enter first.

I pulled down my pants, stepping one foot out so I could straddle the toilet. I heard him close the door, drop his pants, and spit onto his fingers. I followed his lead, spitting onto mine to get ready for him.

He tried to enter too fast, and I had to tell him to stop. He responded by loudly shushing me, reminding me to be discreet. If I hadn’t been in such sharp pain, I would have noted the irony of their “discretion” versus the blatant way they hung out in the hallway all afternoon. I still couldn’t believe this was happening in a heavily trafficked facility at this hour—but that is why gay travel can be so exciting.

Danny finally found his way in. He was long and reached deep inside me, sliding in and out smoothly. I knew I couldn’t make a sound, but it felt so good that my breath began to hiss through my teeth. He shushed me again and kept fucking me until, suddenly, he stopped. Before I knew it, he had pulled out, zipped up, and walked out of the stall in just as much of a hurry as when we’d started.

I felt a little rejected as I put myself back together, but I was still high on adrenaline. Danny didn’t say another word to me for the rest of the time I was there. I exchanged glances with a few others, but the crowd was thinning out. I left shortly after and never had the chance to return, but I’m sure I’ll never forget that encounter with Danny.