The sun shifted and long yellow rays beamed through my living room. Dust danced in the light. Miles Davis tootled over the dusty stereo. I stood there, took a gulp of my rum and coke from the dirty highball glass I held.
Oscar sat there, shirtless in khaki pants. Hunched over with little beads of sweat rolling down his thin copper-colored frame – my desperate eyes lingered on those dark nipples poking out, those rock hard, jagged abs. He lifted his head at me - wet, shaggy, black hair hung 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. A psychedelic photo of Marsha smiled back at me.
“Of course,” 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’s cigarros?”
I took a long drag, exhaled, “They have mythic qualities.”
Oscar laid back, hands clasped behind his head, “Eres raro.” (You’re weird.)
Later that evening…
Dressed to the ninths and tenths, Oscar and I entered Café Central, a 24hr restaurant located on Avenida 16th de Septiembre in downtown Juarez to meet with Esperanza Robles and others.
Esperanza, or Espie, was another longtime friend. A beautiful college girl who studied Economics at the University in Juárez. So smart and so wild.
Espie smiled her smile big under a giant, red poster of Che Guevara that bore down on us like some communist Big Brother. Clinking coffee cups with her was another chic chick named Maria and a fellow student named Xavier.
All three looked like models off of a runway from some foreign competition. Hugs and kisses and what ever happened to so and so’s issued and Espie invited the whole lot to a rave party up in the hills, in the Old Colonias. Juárez style.
Jumped a cab to ProNaf, the uppity-high falootin’ district of Juárez City. Espie read a map that was given to her by a friend.
Espie studied the map, “The bitch that gave me this better not have screwed us. Hmmmm…it says to seek a man in a parking lot wearing a Cat in the Hat hat.”
“That’s kinda vague.” I droned. “Which parking lot?”
“Wait!” Espie laughed. “There’s more. Here! The S-Mart on Calle Obregon!”
We followed in party atmosphere and childish glee with two other revelers in cars searching for this hidden and illegal fiesta.
Eventually, in the parking lot of an S-mart, there be he...a dumpy man that sat against a post wearing the Suessian haberdashery.
The chubby, tired looking man poked his head in the car window, “Go to Los Gatos de la Muertes. A coffee shop two blocks away.”
The cab driver laughed and muttered, “Pinche ninos.”
The meter ticked in the cab as we raced over to get more directions. Catch! We zipped through dark and trash filled barrios at break neck speeds and eventually came to a huge concrete warehouse in a desolate factory laden part of town.
“Oh, this is it!” Espie shrilled.
The wind was blowing and dust and debris swirled in little eddies. Music from inside the old, corrugated, iron-roofed building resonated and thumped as a hundred catatonic youths dressed in Day-Glo costumes meandered outside drinking cervezas, talking, smoking mota.
The new fashion with the guys was gangsta faggito, I called it. Pink and black, flashy, saggy, baggy, frilly clothes with little Band-Aids on their faces and oversized, tinted sunglasses, baseball cap sideways. They were out in cloned droves.
Esperanza 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, smiling.
I mentioned, “Look at you, Ricardo! Wow! Really, you should try your hand at modeling.” The boy was strikingly handsome.
He laughed, hooked his arm with mine and said, “Let’s all just go in.”
We smacked down our fifty pesos at the door and entered under the watchful glare of several gorilla looking bouncers. I expected machine gun nests and barbed wire.
The warehouse seemed far more spacious inside than outside and hosted a seething mass of gyrating, sweating bodies. Scattered throughout the dark and cavernous space were several boxes with dancers precariously perched and jerking to the techno and house beats. Glittering, multicolored lights splashed over the candy-colored masses.
“I’m thirsty, dear.” Ricardo said to me, the disco lights playing in his big amber eyes. “Let’s get some beverages.”
“Good idea.” I said, hooking Espie’s elbow in with mine.
Ricardo and Oscar followed us through the crowd to the bar. This was 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, shirtless fellows from Paraguay and seemed to be having the time of their lives.
From behind, I was shoved so hard that I was almost lifted off of my feet and up onto the bar. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that it was a muscular cowboy in a wife beater and white cowboy hat, 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 started.
“Hola.” He smiled.
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 laughed – pop – and returned back into the smoky darkness.
After we had gotten our drinks, finishing them and taking in the surroundings, we hit the dance floor. Espie, Ricardo, and I jumped up on a nine-foot high lime-green box and shook a tail feather as Oscar found an anonymous broad and remained on terra firma.
The DJ from Argentina was good and the music selection kept us going for hours – techno, trance, house, reggeaton, European disco, local Mexican music and others I hadn’t a clue. Then, they let the foam go – huge, billowing oceans of it.
Everyone was waist deep in the stuff and began to knock beach balls around. From the rafters, someone had constructed a couple of swing sets and kids would precariously swing screaming at supersonic speeds through the writhing crowds.
A hippie girl walked by and pinned flashing neon flowers on us without saying a word; she just smiled like the Cheshire Cat. Espie and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.
An old lady skated by on rollerblades and gave me a can of liquid soap and a ring to make bubbles and I began blowing thousands of glistening bubbles all over the twisting, gyrating masses.
Ricardo, high off of whatever he had been consuming, yelled over the music, “Where did you get those delicious bubbles, mijo?”
“A lady said if I took my clothes off she would give it to me.” I joked.
Ricardo then striped down to his boxers, ran off, and was lost in the crowd.
Hours passed and Espie and I were ripped. Somewhere – where? I have no idea – Espie or I found a frame to a television screen in the junk that littered the corners of the warehouse.
With elbows hooked, Espie and I would work the crowd, with me yelling, “Make way! The television lady! Can’t you see you are in the presence of a Star?!”
Espie held the frame up to her face and waved as we walked by.
The people applauded, the fags cooed and screeched – “Fabulous!” “Look at her!” “Love the TV 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, only to receive 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 wanna buy some beer? I got a case for fifty pesos.” He asked, 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.”
I walked on. Then – ding – an idea hit me as 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, a little, red tongue licked his thick lips, “She doesn’t mind?”
“You don’t mind, Espie? I mean, the bar is out of beer and we do need more and this gentleman is offering us this case. How about it? Pleeeeez!”
She smiled glaring at our benefactor, “Porque no?” (Why not?)
We slinked behind a large trash dumpster that was against the far wall. Under the glare of a naked, yellow lightbulb, 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, slinked this guy’s friend, similarly dressed, except tall and thin – hard and with his wiener out, long and skinny – so, there was Espie, crouched down, taking turns sucking off these two vatos.
That was until a bulky 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 your car!”
Great idea, I thought.
We four staggered outside the warehouse to Chuey’s car. Chuey being the guy with the case of beer and his friend was Francisco.
Francisco and I sat in the front seat drinking our cerveza Tecate as Espie and Chuey got undressed in the back of the car and put on a porn show.
Francisco watched wide-eyed with crotch throbbing as his friend Chuey banged away. I liked the show, too. What a tight body Chuey had, and a little, round, brown ass. That turned me on. Ten minutes went by and Chuey 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 were lucky indeed.
Skinny Francisco finished in a few minutes and pulled his long penis out, hard and still dripping semen.
“I think he wants 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, “Orale!”
Chuey laughed and did the same to the two in the back, “Orale, compa!”
We all began laughing. Francisco slid out and began dressing; Espie did the same.
In the most boyish, timid way, Francisco whispered something to her that made her smile.
She leaned over and kissed his cheek, saying, “No importa, 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 Café Central at four in the morning for much needed coffee and sweet bread and talked of things that friends talk about - politics, The Jetsons, and Oreo Cookies. Afterwards, we four crashed on my bed, back at my house to sleep a contented sleep.