Sunday, April 30, 2006

Ravey Rave.

The sun shifted and long yellow rays beamed through my living room. Dust danced in the light. David Bowie warbled The Man Who Sold The World.

“It’s mighty hard to get at any price,” Oscar said, looking for a vein in his leg. He finally hit a vein and shot the liquid in with an air bubble. “If air bubbles could kill you, there wouldn’t be a junky alive,” he said, pulling up his pants.

I stood there, taking a gulp from my rum and coke from the highball glass I held, watching the junk hit him. Oscar sat there, shirtless in khaki pants. Hunched over – little beads of sweat rolling down his thin copper colored frame – those dark nipples poking out, those rock hard, jagged abs – he lifted his head at me, wet shaggy black hair over dilated eyes, hawk-like features, asked slowly – dreamily, “Are you still going to that rave with Espie and Ricardo, tonight?”

I looked at the invite card on the end table. It read Marsha Brady’s Bedroom. Why would they call it that? A psychedelic photo of Marsha smiled back at me.

“Of coarse,” I said, lighting a Lucky Strike. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I pronounced it wurlt.

Oscar smiled, “Hand me one. Why do you smoke these 1950 cigarros?”

I took a long drag, exhaled, “They have mythic qualities.”

Oscar laid back, holding his head, “Estan raro.” (You’re weird.)

Later that evening.

A cab was called and we found the gang outside a large warehouse somewhere southside Juarez City. The wind was blowing and dust and debris swirled in little eddies. Music from inside the corrugated iron building resonated and thumped as a hundred catatonic youths dressed in Day-Glo costumes meandered outside drinking cervezas, talking, smoking mota. The new style with the guys is gangsta faggito, I call it. Pink and black, flashy, saggy, baggy frilly clothes with little band-aids on your face and over sized tinted sunglasses, baseball cap sideways. I think it looks cute.

Espranza looked great in her shiny black tube dress and her hair was fierce. Big smiles from ruby lips and hugs and kisses. Ricardo, already drunk, tottered up looking like a Latin model for Abercrombie and Fitch. I mentioned he really should try his hand at modeling, the boy is strikingly handsome. He laughed and said let’s all just go in. We smacked down our fifty pesos at the door and entered under the watchful glare of some gorilla looking bouncers. I expected machine gun nests and barbed wire.

The warehouse seemed more spacious inside than outside and was a seething mass of gyrating sweating bodies. Scattered throughout the dark cavernous space were several boxes with dancers precariously perched and jerking to the techno and house beats. Glittering multicolored lights played over the candy colored masses.

“I’m thirsty, baby.” Ricardo says to me, the disco lights playing in his big amber eyes. “Let’s get some beverages.”

“Good idea.” I say, hooking Espie’s elbow in with mine and with her, Ricardo, and Oscar follow us throw the crowd to the bar. This is the best kind of rave; the beer was only five pesos. But the line was hella long and we had to elbow our way up there. The two beer attendants were a couple of gorgeous guys from Paraguay and seemed to be having the time of their lives. From behind, I am shoved so hard that I am almost lifted off of my feet and up onto the bar. I look behind me over my shoulder it is this cowboy in a wife beater, sweaty and puffing from the dance floor, with his crotch well planted firmly against the backside of my black Kenneth Cole pants.

“Excuse me,” I start.

Hola.” he smiles. Handsome in a rough Mexican Marlboro man kind of way.

“Would you kindly take your cock out of my ass, I’m trying to purchase a beverage?”

He laughs – pop – and returns back into the smoky darkness.

After we attained our drinks, finished them and take in the surroundings, we hit the dance floor. Espie, Ricardo, and I jumped up on a twelve-foot high lime-green box and shook a tail feather as Oscar found some broad and stayed on terra firma. The DJ from Argentina was pretty good and the music selection kept us going for a few hours – techno, trance, house, reggeaton, European disco, local Mexican music and others I haven’t a clue kept the place jumping. Then they let the foam go. Everyone was waist deep in the stuff and knocking beach balls around. From the rafters someone had constructed a couple of swingsets and kids would precariously swing screaming at supersonic speeds through the crowds.

Hours pass and Espie and I are ripped. Somewhere – where? I have no idea – Espie or me, found a television picture frame in the junk that littered the corners of this warehouse. Well, elbows hooked, Espie and I would work the crowd, Wonka glasses and all, with me yelling, “Make way! The television lady! Can’t you see you are in the presence of a Star?!” And Espie would hold the frame up to here face and wave as we walked by. The people applauded, the fags cooed and screeched – “Fabulous!” “Look at her!” “Love the show!” Yeah, two drunk fools.

Because of this debacle, we had lost Ricardo and Oscar in the mix. Esperanza and I hit the bar tore up from the floor up with the terrifying news that they had run out of beer. Run out! What now? We stumbled around the warehouse and towards the back, standing by one of the huge concrete girders that supported the building was this little cholo. Hidden in half shadows.

Psst –psst. Hey, you want to buy some beer? I got a case for fifty pesos.” He asked me, putting his hand on my arm. He was one of those little tattooed, shaved head, tank top, khaki types.

“I don’t have any money, man.” And I walked on. Then – ding – an idea hit me and I drunkenly dragged Espie back with me to the little cholo.

“Hey,” I said. “If my girlfriend sucks your cock, can I have the beer.” I mean he wasn’t that bad looking. He looked at me, looked at Esperanza; Espie was splashed and just drunkenly tottered and giggled.

His eyes widened, little red tongue licked his lips, “She doesn’t mind?”

“You don’t mind, Espie? I mean, the bar is out of beer and we do need more beer and this gentleman is offering us this case. How about it? Pleeeeez!”

She smiled, “Por que no?” (Why not?)

We walked behind a large trash dumpster that was against the far wall and with the glare of the yellow light above, the cholo pulled out his short fat dick and Espie went to work. I leaned up against the wall and drank a beer and had a cigarette watching. Out of the shadows, like a cockroach, comes this guy’s friend, similarly dressed, except tall and thin – hard and with his wiener out, long and skinny – so, there’s Espie crouched down, taking turns sucking off these two cholos. That was until this big ass security guard showed up waving his flashlight all over the place, snarling “Hey! What’s going on!? You can’t be doing that shit here! Take that bitch out to you’re car!”

Great idea, I thought. Both these guys were kind cute in an I’ll cut you and steal all your money kind of way and Esperanza agreed and by this time was very horny. So we four went outside the warehouse to Hectors car. Hector being the guy with the case of beer and his friend was Francisco. Francisco and I sat in the front seat drinking our cervezas Tecate as Espie and Hector got undressed in the back seat and put on a porn show. Francisco watched wide eyed with crotch throbbing as Hector banged away, what a tight body he had, and a little round brown ass. That turned me on. Ten minutes went by and Hector squirted into Espie. Switch and Francisco jumped in the back. And began rutting Espie like his life depended on it. These guys must’ve felt special getting someone this beautiful – they are lucky indeed. Skinny Francisco finished in a few minutes and pulled his long penis out, hard and still dripping semen. “I think he want some more, Espie.” I breathed.

Vamanos.” Esperanza moaned, rubbing her red vagina. Francisco rolled back on her and began thrusting and lunging. Sweat rolled down his lean back and off his muscular smooth ass as he pumped furiously. Grunting, he let loose a second orgasm and collapsed on top of her. I raised my beer bottle,¨Ole!” Hector laughed and did the same, “Ole, compa!” We all began laughing. Francisco slid out and began dressing; Espie did the same. In the most boyish timid way, Francisco said something to her that made her smile, she leaned over and kissed his cheek, saying, “No import, Mi amor. No importa.”

Saying our good-byes, Esperanza and I walked around front to find Ricardo and Oscar waiting for us. Hailing a taxi, we stopped at CafĂ© Central for four in the morning coffee and sweet bread and talked of things that friends talk about. Afterwards, we four crashed on my bed at my house to sleep a contented sleep. If I wasn’t hooked on junk again, I would be content, but I am, so I am not.


1 comment:

monsoux said...

I wanted to leave a comment to this post, but this is not it. My thoughts are failing me. That'll have to do for the moment.