Bath House Blues.

I was horny. I like that word. Horny. If you say it out loud, by itself, it is a funny-sounding word.

Horny.

Anyhoo, it's my day off so I decided to go to Banos Romas, for a spot of unclean fun. The Banos Romas is a trendy hangout. You always meet someone you know there. The hissing of the steam and the high-decibel Mexican music filled the air. I pushed fifty pesos through a grill. An old Chinaman unlocked the door to my cubicle and dropped a ragged towel on the chair. Tipped him ten pesos. I folded my pants and placed them over the chair; I dropped my shirts and shorts. I sat down naked on the edge of my small cot. A short Mexican guy appeared in my doorway. He didn't say a word, but the stiffening of his penis under his towel spoke for him.

Closing the door, he pushed me back on the bed and lay on top of me. His tongue wrestled with mine as my legs wrapped around his brown hips. Rolling me onto my stomach, he spread my cheeks and flicked his tongue in and out of my ass. Fumbling, he slid his erection into me and I swear that long fucker poked my intestines. He started banging me like his life depended on it. Five minutes must have passed and -squirt- he was done. He kissed my upper back -"Gracias"- and exited the room.

Later, as I sat in the steam sauna, I was surprised to meet little Timothy, a good friend from San Diego. He is an Englishman who works in a coffee shop in the swanky Gaslamp District of Downtown San Diego. He always reminded me of a young Truman Capote with thick black-rimmed glasses. As the steam swirled around us, Timothy confided in me that he had been living in Tijuana for about a month. Somebody had stolen Timothy's radio, his biker boots, and a wristwatch. "The trouble with me is", said Timothy, "I like the type that robs me."

"Where you make the mistake is bringing them to your apartment," I said. "That's what hotels are for."

"You are right there. But half the time I don't have the money for a hotel. Besides, I like somebody to cook and sweep the place out."

"Clean the place out."

"I don't mind the watch and radio, but it really hurt losing those boots. They were a thing of beauty and a joy forever."

What a queen, I chuckled to myself.

We sat watching a three-way between some Mexican men. Two older guys were fucking a young skinny kid.

Timothy smiled, "Did I ever tell you how I did a cop on the beat? He's the vigilante, the watchman out where I live. Every time he sees the light on in my room, he comes in for a shot of rum. Well, about five nights ago he caught me when I was drunk and horny, and one thing led to another and I sucked him off."

"So the next night I was walking by the cantina on the corner and he comes out borracho (Drunk.) and says 'Have a drink'. I said, 'I don't want a drink'. So, he takes out his pistola and says 'Have a drink!'. I proceed to take away his pistola and he goes to the phone for reinforcements. So I had to go in and rip the phone off the wall. After that madness, when I got back to my room, which is on the ground floor, he had written El Puto Gringo on the window with soap. So, instead of wiping it off, I left it there. It pays to advertise."

I said my goodbyes and returned to my cubicle. Later that night, in my apartment, as I sat watching Eraserhead and nursing my throbbing asshole (I had a run-in with Enrique and his friend back at the baths. Enrique's friend, whose name I don't recall, had a huge penis and wasn't shy about using it. Both of those guys took turns on me. It was really hot.) Anyway, I sat there thinking of Alfredo. I had decided it was too painful to have him in my life. Though it will hurt, I am going to cut him loose. Why? I bought him that new model of PlayStation 2 and as soon as he held it in his hands, he was out the door. He mumbled something that his wife was taking him to dinner. As I took a sip of my rum and coke, I sighed and whispered, Goodbye, Alfredo, I truly, deeply, and honestly loved you.

Why is there so much heartache in the world?