Sat in the bar scoping out the few hotties who congregated around the old, wooden counter. Some sullen and alone as only faggots could be, others in animated conversations with friends or tricks. Each of us had the all mighty caguama in front of us. I was feeling it - being my third one. I swear I am becoming an alcoholic.
The bar-maid slash waitress, Rosie - only cunt I ever cared about - pointed out that Joshua, my flavor of the week, was standing just outside the rotted swinging double doors - waiting. Waiting to talk with me. I uttered that it was a public bar and he could come inside if he wanted to talk. You see, we had an argument a couple of days ago and I supposed he thought I would be a simpering faggot squirming back to him for forgiveness with beating of chest and great, gasping sobs. How little he knows this cold, imperious homo, right?
So, he's standing out in the dust and the smog with the honking night traffic, when finally Rosie beckons him to come inside. Meekly Joshua sits next to me - we shake hands. The wonderful thing about alcohol is that it has a tendency of making things better. We talked and drank and shot a few rounds of pool - all was okay again. As a fact, after I left the bar and stood in the lurking shadows of the dark street - Joshua followed me. I had the intention of going back to my hotel room alone. But, looking into those beautiful, brown eyes with the thick lashes - What the fuck?, I thought.
Back at my rented room, Joshua was garrulous - going on about his wife and kid, family, general life of his.
"You gonna stay the night here or you wanna go home?" I asked. "I'm tired and want to sleep."
He optioned to stay and I commanded that he sleep in his boxers. At that moment, I was tired and in no mood for his horny-ass shenanigans. Peeling off each other’s clothes, we lay on the coverlet entwined like hibernating pythons. Kisses in the deep night turned into a massage. Rolled onto my stomach, Joshua smoothed away much needed tension - have to admit, the boy can give a mean massage. I reach up and brush against the erection in his boxers.
"Que es eso?" (What is this?) I say jokingly.
"Si sabes." (You know.) He smiles in the dark.
My boxers are pulled so slowly halfway down my legs and with saliva applied, Joshua slides in. He grunts and puffs, lunging and thrusting into me before he yanks himself out and shoots his semen onto my ass. He plops down onto the bed next to me - still drunk out of his mind. My buzz still buzzing. Light laughter. Pecks on the forehead and cheeks. Arms wrap around smooth brown frame.
We shower and dry and lay quiet in the warm darkness under the noise of the omnipresent ceiling fan. Suddenly, Joshua bolts up, dashes to the restroom, and vomits loudly and abundantly into the toilet. Poor, drunk kid.
He mentions it would be better if he went home and - after borrowing taxi fare - we dress and I walk him to a taxi stand, making a date to see him Sunday afternoon for a movie. In the musty warmth of the night, I stroll back to my room, realizing I really am begining to care about that guy...