Punch It

I was at a 7-11 in El Paso purchasing a carton of orange juice and a pack of Little Debbie’s before I had to go to work, when I ran into a fellow employee waiting in line behind me.

He was a new hire and introduced himself as Roberto. I had my eye on this person for some time. I mean, there was a lot of eye candy at my job – but, this guy was different in some way.

Not homo him - definitely hetro - however, I was to learn he was not from these parts; he was born and raised in the wilds of Idaho on his father’s ranch. No wonder the guy was built like a brick house and he had manners - real country politeness to him. And, just a spry twenty one - small town rube. Actually thought El Paso was a big city.

Roberto and I hit it off and after work, being his polite self - I was invited to his house for drinks.

As we drove away from work, Roberto confided, “I have a girlfriend here. We have two baby daughters together. I’m glad I met you, man - you’re cool. I just moved here three weeks ago and don’t know nobody.”

“Well, I’m here for ya, brother.” I said. “Let’s go for a beer at your house.”

“Not my house.” He stated, flatly. “Not yet. Where ya wanna go?”

“I don’t know - got any ideas?”

“Yeah!” He squealed. “I know! Let’s go to Hooter’s on the eastside!”

Yeah. Hooter’s, I cringed inward.

I reckoned that I should not drop the fag bomb right now and ruin a good time. I could handle being stuck in a chain restaurant with a bunch of slobbering Neanderthals guzzling pitchers of watered-down beer and gobbling hot wings.

“Sure. Punch it.” I stated.

At said restaurant, we sat drinking three pitchers of Bud and gobbled spicy Buffalo wings as the Hooter girls did their stylized ballet throughout the restaurant, making every guy in there horny, save one.

All the while, Roberto was getting a buzz going and confided in me on how much he hated his girlfriend and wanted to leave her. The alcohol was kicking in me, also - the sexual flirtation began and yup, you guessed it - Roberto took it, hook line and sinker.

“Have you ever had sex with a guy?” Inquired I.

“Nah - but, you know, I’ll try anything once. Like you said, ‘God put you on this Earth to live, so try experiencing as much as you can - if you like something keep doing it - if you don’t - don’t. Life is too short’. I like your philosophy.” He slurred.

However, Roberto was quite the pussy whipped - after a brief cell phone conversation, he promised his girl that he would return home within ninety minutes.

We drove back to his apartment - stopping for a case of beer - and got plastered on his patio with the help of Steel Reserve and that’s some evil shit.

To my surprise - Roberto started to flirt back in the cutest of ways - loudly boasting at who had the biggest cock between us.

“You just wait, guero - if we ever tag team some bitch, I’m gonna put you to shame.” He howled with laughter.

I think his girlfriend caught on - that blubbery, pinch-faced cunt - because all of a sudden, her sister invited them to dinner. How convenient.

I was driven to the border (not invited to dinner, family only) as Roberto mentioned he would call me later - pealing out, back to pick up the girl and kids.

After eating a can of Ravioli’s and conking out - several hours later my cell phone woke me up and Roberto slurred, “I wanna die, dude.”

“That’s stupid talk, man.” I said groggily - stirring outta my drunken sleep, the clock read 8:45pm.

“I hate her so much - I gotta get outta here. Can I come over?”

“My door’s always open for you, baby boy, you know that.”

“Let’s hit some bars in Juárez - you think fifty dollars is enough to have a good time?”

“More than enough - just bring forty - don’t waste your money.”

“I’m on my way.”

Twenty minutes later, I met Roberto at the International Bridge on the Mexican side - Roberto excited in the fact that he had never been to Mexico.

I helped him find some cheap parking - strolled down the main drag that was Juárez Avenue, lit up with the neon grotesques of discos and juke-joints.

Playing the guide, I attempted to give Roberto the grand tour, but the young buck was a kid in a candy store. He kept babbling, “Take me to the whores - I want some pussy - I gotta have some pussy, now.”

“Slow down - don’t you wanna look around first?” I kept saying.

We cruised a couple of strip joints - Hollywood, Virginia’s, Fausto’s - but the kid was just antsy.

I began talking to my over-sexed friend like Master to Student, “Now, calm down, buckaroo. Take your time and look around. When you go to purchase a car, you don’t go for the first one you see. You shop around, right?”

“Yeah.” He breathed.

We walked over to the dark and foreboding whore sector and out slithered a prostitute straight from some old French movie: red sequins, black satin corset, fishnets, titanic ta-ta’s. Roberto nearly came in his baggy jeans.

The tall, stoic hooker stood in the doorway to her crumbling cubicle – the window had red drapes that were open, displaying a sagging bed covered in a pink, frilly comforter. She stood sighing as one finger trailed her cleavage and shapely torso. Her heavily made up eyes flashed at Roberto and she smiled with a great row of white, carnivorous like teeth.

“That one!” He spat, wild eyed.

“Okay, I'll wait here.” I said, reaching in my pocket for my pack of smokes.

Standing outside the room, sucking on a Lucky, I wondered why this boy would pay money when I would give it for free.

Ten minutes – no, had to be less than that - Roberto stumbled out, grabbed my arm and mumbled, “Just walk, c’mon - let’s go.”

Depressed and frustrated, I asked, as I had asked a million straight boys before. “Well, how was it?”

“It was a fucking dude!” Roberto shook like a leaf. “A motherfucking faggot!”

“Really?” I said, without shock. “What did you guys do?”

“Look at me, my hands are shaking - I hope I don’t have AIDS.”

“What did you do?” I repeated, slightly annoyed.

“I fucked it in the ass - but the condom broke. When I pulled my dick out - the condom was ripped! You don’t think I will get AIDS, do you?”

“You have a better chance at winning the lottery.” I assured Roberto, who was obviously a nervous wreck. “But, you might want to get checked, anyways.”

Well, that burst the bubble. He was so freaked out - cursing fags and queers and transvestites under his breath.

Roberto sighed, “I just want to go back home.”

On the return walk to the border, he kept mumbling, “I hope that thing didn’t give me anything - Oh God - I’ll hunt it down and kill it if it did!”

Sigh.

Shaking hands at the international bridge - we said goodnight and good luck, see you at work Monday, and all that jazz.

The poor kid was now obviously scarred for life - another homophobic asshole created by a deranged and monstrous tranny.

I returned to my flat, fixed me a martini and settled down to watch Todd Browning’s Freaks. Perfect - gooble gobble.