Sunday, January 29, 2006

Killer in Drag.

Work crawled as work will and work did. When the whistle blew I jumped and yabba dabba dooed to the border, stopping at Panguini's for a quick spaghetti and meatball dinner - delish! Anyhoo, I had a meet with Ricardo and Esperanza at eight in Bar Nebraska down in J-town and since I had some time thought I'd take a cat nap before I hit the bar. Silly me woke up 'round ten-thirty. Jumped in the shower, shaved, donned my best black and grey Kenneth Cole's and ran out the door. Had to admit my hair looked fierce.
Well, at said bar the two were not to be found. Tiny place so it was not hard to try and locate them. Jolted across Plaza Las Armas in the cold blustering wind to Bar Buen Tempo and nada, not there either. Crap. So, I resigned to the thought that I am going solo tonight and chose to haunt this disco called Freegay on Avenida Mariscal. Lemee edjacate you 'bout Freegay and Mariscal, 'kay? Mariscal is the scummy strip where all the hoochie houses and drug barons lay...pretty notorious. And Freegay is an upstairs disco barn, the only gay bar on the broken boulevard that caters to hard convict cholos and drugged out transvestites and killer bull dikes. Seedy and furtive. My kind of place.
Paid the ten pesos fifty centavos at the door and climbed the soiled carpet up, up to the entrance and bought a caguama of carta blanca cerveza. The place was a little crowded, always dark and smokey, and not an empty table. As I mention, young hipsters in their goof suits, cholos in their khaki baggies, trannies in their dazzle-glitter, and dykes in their mullets glided about in a nonstop ballet. So, I stomped over towards the restroom entrance (always a good spot to stand.) and sat my bottle on a table that looked empty, well, there was a box of beer on it. I suspected it was being used by the wait staff for storage. I soon found out that it was occupied because this towering cholo stood up and politely asked me to move my bottle offa his box so as he could get himself a beer. He was hot. And so started an inneresting conversation. Every time he said something, he would press those full lips and pencil moustache against my ear and that made my heart race every time. And I think he knew it. Pretty damn suave. He introduced me to his companions: firstly his younger brother, Alfredo...jesus, drop dead grrrjuss ran in the freakin' family (though in that teenage cholo gangster attire he'd look like he'd kill you on the spot. Tattoos and all.), some cat in cowboy a cowboy outfit; kept calling him Texarcana, never got it, and a wretchedly horrid transvestite with pimples and scrawny physique.
Well, the guy who did the intros called himself Salvador and was actually very sweet. We all talked and they all asked questions about where I was from, where I lived, how I liked Mexico. The normal routine I get when I meet folks here and I don't mind. Alfredo, with his bi-sexual self met this girl and while making out with her, asked Salvador for some pesos to buy her a rose, which Salvador bought two, one for her and one for me. Aw. He got a kiss on that square jaw for that one. The music switched to a mambo and it was so hot seeing Alfredo and Salvador dance to it together at the table, man can they mambo. I gotta learn the mambo! I can be such a gringo sometimes!
Anyways, things were going great, Salvador was putting the moves on me, complementing my baby blues, towering over me with his tall self, and asking me to dance when some reggaeton started blaring, I obliged. We hit the floor and danced so nasty. Eventually our lips touched and then our tongues and then some fucking fat transvestite pulled us apart and started yelling at Salvador and bitch slapped him right there on the dance floor. Then, are you ready, Dear Reader, she turned to me and smacked me! Well, fuck that! My fist automatically flew up and popped her in the teeth. I mean, I ain't no passive fairy, folks. The bitch went flying and skidded across the dance floor. She sprung up like a jack-in-the-box and I readied my self for a full on fag smackdown rumble, but she just held her bleeding mouth, "Oy! Oy! Por que? Soy un mujer! (Ow! Ow! Why? I'm a woman!)" I pointed at her and roared in furious hatred, "You fucking hippopotamus! You NEVER hit me! You are a fucking man in a clown suit! A man! And you'll be treated like one!"
I would like to make a side note right now that I am not a drama queen. Okay?
Back to the story in progress: So, Salvador walks over to this simpering thing...obviously his novia, and cradles him in his arms, dabbing her lip with his handkerchief. He glares at me like I just strangled his newborn child and I realize it's time to cut. Sigh. I light a Lucky Strike and walk to the bar and order another caguama. I nuzzled into a dark corner and fumed when I was lucky enough to be approached by Tralala. Let me take a moment to describe this creature in gold lame. If you were standing with Liza Minnelli next to a fountain and suddenly grabbed her by the throat and held her head under water for say...thirty minutes, what comes up gasping for air is this mess of a transvestite Tralala. Poor heroin addicted Tralala. Fun for a few kicks, I suppose.
As we were talking of what just happened the lights come up and the club closed, so outside amid the bustling and drunk crowd, as we are about to say goodbye, she introduces me to her friend Carlos. Wow. Shorty, but real cute. We hit it off well. I invite the two for coffee across the street. Carlos and I walk across to the cafe laughing and talking with Tralala following us pulling her panties outta her ass.
After some small talk and jokes, Carlos makes his intentions quite clear, as do I, looking into those big brown eyes. Luck has it, I live just four blocks away. We leave Tralala tottering on that corner, y'all. Sidewalk rushes beneath our feet. Keys jingle open the door. Clothes are flung off. Fingers glide over smooth skin, both pale white and Mexican brown. Tongues lick and suck...teeth bite. Carlos pushes me up against my credenza (Yes, I have a credenza, so what of it!) And spitting into his palm, lubes up his short thick penis- Ahhhhh! - with quick hard thrusts he lunges into me talking real dirty in Spanish and that drives me crazy. My face is pressed against the wall as he bites up my back, it hurts but feels so good. He's jacking me off as he's ramming into me and I can't help but cumming. He yanks me down onto the couch and throws my feet up over his shoulders and stabs it in. Pile driving his cock into me until he yanks it out and with hot spurts it shoots his semen across my stomach and chest. We kiss and then shower. Carlos gets dressed, at the door says thank you and hails a taxi home.
I put on Go With The Flow by Queens of the Stone Age and smoke a joint before I go to sleep.


rich said...

...not a drama queen but a princess.

ML said...

PRINCESO!!! jejeje!! you are too perfect ! :)

jjd said...


a drama princess?

u get into more fights than a burly straite man (sans credenza)

Jose said...

LOL Best Liza Minelli reference EVER.

katehopeeden said...

You seem to be swimming in men while I, dear friend, am experiencing one helluva drought.

But, I am glad you didn't bitch slap him back. Because then, "queen" (drama or otherwise), you would be.

Jay said...

Another great post, man. I love reading this site.