Friday, January 20, 2006

Trick.

I hurriedly walked over the bridge that spanned the Rio Grande from El Paso into Juarez City. The cold windy air whipped up a dusty funk. I ignored the taxi and farmacia hawkers on the hustle and bought a pack of Lucky Strikes from my friend who is a vendor, huddled in a concrete nook off the street in someone else's overcoat. He smiles silver teeth, takes the crumpled two dollars in dirty junky fingers, shiny over the dirt.

I cut through the cold down towards calle 16th de Septembre for a cuppa coffee and some warmth when I hear my name. In English. Being yelled across the street. I cringe and keep walking. Twice more my name is called. Damn. I turn around and standing in the glass doorway of a tourist bar is an old friend--no wait, an acquaintance, thank you--from the Rescue Mission. Cristiano DeMarco. Half Italian half Cuban. Got stuck in El Paso on his way back to Miami because of drug problems. He stands six feet three. Black wavy hair cropped short. Barrel chested, arms with muscles made out of concrete. Handsome face, thick neck with a white knife scar that went from his left ear down to his chest. I remembered him from the Mission, lusted after that fucker when I was there. All he did was stomp around grabbing his crotch and going on about how many bitches he banged back in Miami. But he was thrown out of the shelter for drinking and beating up the security guard. He was a sloppy violent drunk and a crack junky. Horrible combination.

So, I smiled my smile and with big sweeping arms he came across the street and gave me a bear hug, lifting me up offa the broken concrete. Crushed in those rock hard biceps I about busted a nut right then and there, buckos. Dropping me back to earth, he asked what I was doing here and I sad that I live in Juarez which knocked him into a whooping frenzy. He was so overjoyed, he said, to meet a friendly face. Cristiano explained that he had just spent the last three nights in the Juarez City jail for not having an I.D. and possession of a knife. Yup, I agreed, that would do it. I also noticed that he was already very intoxicated.

"Well...uhm...nice seeing you. I gotta go." I smiled and turned to leave.

He grabbed my arm and whirled me around and breathed drunkenly, "C'mon, dog, lemme roll with ya..."

I said yeah or something like that and me and this big lug went walking through the dark streets to my apartment. I kept an eye out for the placas. All I needed was the heat to rumble me with a violent drunk by my side who didn't speak a lick of Spanish. Once at my flat we drank some beers and we talked. He slurred that he always thought that I was always so cool and treated him with respect at the shelter. God, I just wanted him to fuck me. We drank and smoked and talked. I explained to Cristiano that I had to get up at five the following morning so I was to turn in early. I was very tired.

"Well, I gotta go anyways. I gotta hustle up some cash...." He said, guzzling his cerveza Sol.

"Where are you sleeping tonight?" I asked.

"Oh, I´m goin' back to El Paso and stay with my baby's mother...she lives on the West Side." He paused, taking a drink and said. "How much interest will you charge me fer twenny bucks, dog?"

My eyes glazed over like a predator. I leaned back on the chair and took a long drag offa my cigarette. I drew the word out slow. " Twenty dollars...twen-ty...dollars." I bit my bottom lip and glanced over his boxer physique. Those big arms, that chest, those legs. "You don't hafta pay me back in money, Cristiano."

He looked into my eyes with vapid stupidity. Red-bloodshot-ignorant. I turn to my audience: Really folks, do you really think this boy is that stupid? Surely someone this fine has have had congress with the same sex in his short lifetime. He struts around like the perennial rooster bragging of all the pussy he has banged and how he loves kicking in the heads of fucking faggots on a daily basis. And yet, here he is, spread eagle...drunk...on my couch and in desperate need of funds. I have seen this man rip guys apart in a drunken rage and further more...
"So, how much ya gonna charge me fer twenny bucks, man?" He said, staring at me intensely.
I looked straight at him and said. "A mouthful of your cum, Cristiano. I wanna suck your cock."
Silence.
"Yeah, all right." Pants came down to his ankles and I did my service for King and country. And it was good. A thick, uncut Sicilian cock. Great balls. His powerful, muscular hands guided my head up and down roughly. With a guttural way-too-fucking-sexy grunt he came a load full, too. Well, after that, I cleaned him up, gave him twenty dollars and he cut.
I still feel good about that. And you know what? I'd do it again. Wouldn't you?

4 comments:

ML said...

makes me wanna become a loan shark. lol.

Luis Blasini said...

It IS a lucrative business, my lad, and it does have some perks! Jajajajaja!!!

jjd said...

o my o my. my kingdom for 20 yankee dollahs

katehopeeden said...

God, I just wanted him to fuck me.
Isn't that always the way...
He sounds yummy but, like all yummy men, he sounds like trouble.
Why is it that all the hot guys are always
He was a sloppy violent drunk and a crack junky.
If it weren't for your description of this man, I would think you were lusting after my ex.
~K