No Homo.

Flying high off a caffeine buzz. It was packed - and I mean fucking swamped - at Cafe Central. I sat slurping down my third cuppa joe pretending not to be annoyed by the tiny tot who sat with the obese family behind me. The brat kept slamming a spoon onto the table. Ghastly. Pay the mesera and cut out into the bright blue cloudless Mexican sky of a Sunday morning. Even at this time the streets were teeming with early morning shoppers bustling about their various affairs.

Cut across park Independencia and was pleased to find a vast art fair going on. Several tables and stall were strewn about vending local artworks, vintage records, antique furnishings (i.e. radios from the 1930's and long forgotten hi-fi phonographs from the early 1970's) I struck up a conversation with one of the art vendors, he by the name of Edgar.

His table displayed a plethora of vintage knick-knacks and photos from the Way Back When Times. I was very impressed. We chatted on various subjects. I mentioned that I was good friends with the two owners of the coffee shop Percolator in El Paso and was scoping out antique things to dress the shop. To make the cafe more funky.

I stood around, smoking a ciggie and watching the mop-topped jugglers, a couple of bands, painters, poets. I felt alive. So...bohemian. Just another beatnik liberal commie, I reckon.

Inspired, I headed over to Avenida Lerdo and took in an afternoon at the local adult theater. I tell you, in the darkness of one of those seedy joints, I just like to sit and let my mind wonder. I get my best literary ideas surrounded by the grunts and moans of random, broken lust.

So, I'm sitting there watching the stylized ballet of the cruising fags in the isles when this tattooed cholo flops down two chairs from me. It is bitterly cold in the dank darkness of that crumbling cinema and seriously I am not in any mood for his mooching shit. I glance over and notice in the strobing blue light of the video that he has his impressive sized dork out and languidly stroking it. Is he watching the video? No. His eyes are set on yours truly. My sight adjusts to the darkness and notice he ain't bad looking. He was wearing a black ski cap, Dickies jacket, and khaki pants. his face was very Mexican. so, I scoot over and sit next to him. He doesn't move, doesn't say a word. As soon as my freezing fingers touch his erection he asks in perfect English, "You live in El Paso?"

"No. Not at all. I live here. My apartment is just a few blocks away." I state.

After hitting me up for a cigarette, he mumbles something to the fact that we should go to my place. "It would be more private, no?"

Now, first glance at this character would dictate that as soon as my door is closed, a knife would slit my throat, and this guy would rob my apartment blind.

"Okay. Let's go." I say.

We briskly walk through the long shadows of late afternoon over broken sidewalks to my place. I unlatch the door, we enter. He sits on the chair, looking around. "Not bad place. You got anything to eat? I just got deported. I was in jail Stateside for two weeks. I'm starved." He brazenly confessed.

After preparing him a grilled ham sandwich, I sat on my bed and watched him devour it veraciously. Afterwards he asked if my apartment had hot water. "I really need to take a shower. It's been a couple of days."

"Sure." I said. "Let me get you a towel."

He undressed, took a long shower, I snapped a picture, he didn't mind. Afterwards, he came out of the bathroom with only the towel.

"By the way," I asked. "What's your name?"

"You want a name? Does it matter?"

"It would be nice." I said. "I can make one up."

He smiled, "Tony."

Tony went into a long spiel about how he was attempting to get to Tijuana. He had friends and family there. He was working in the state of Washington when he was nabbed and detained by the INS. I asked where he was staying at and he mumbled the streets. Before I could inquire about anything else, Tony leaned over and, in the most masculine, and assuming way, began kissing me. Fumble, stroke, peeling off clothes. He pushes me back and takes my erection in his hands, muttering, "Just because I'm going to suck your dick don't mean I'm queer."

"Thought never crossed my mind." I sighed.

He did what he did. We did what was needed. Tony rolled me onto my stomach, slid his arm around my neck, and then slid himself inside. Thrusting and rutting like a gasping baboon, he hisses in my ear, "Fuck! You're driving me crazy!" Squirt. Cigarette. Shower.

We lay in the darkness side by side, the only light and sound coming from the electric heater on a nearby table.

"Hey." Tony began. "Can I stay here until I get enough money to get a bus ticket to TJ?"

"I have a better idea." I said. "How about tomorrow we go to the bus station and I get you a ticket?"

"Seriously? You'll do that for me?" He laughed in the dull orange glow.

"Why not? You need to get home."

Tony rolled over on top of me and whispered, "Well, let me pay you back, then..."