Fate Would have It.

The day began weird. In the morning it was sunny and hot. By mid-afternoon it was overcast and sprinkling. When twilight hit, a goddamn dirt storm began coating my entire apartment in a fine layer of yellowish dust. Fucking desert. Can't wait to high-tail the hell out of here come September. If my patience lasts that long!

During the day, I took a walk through park Benito Juarez near my apartment - I hadn't even made it to a bench when I heard my name being called. Which disturbs me, especially down here. Who the fuck knows I'm here?

Maybe it's another person with my name he's calling out? No such luck, I can hear him tramping up rapidly behind me. I turn and notice some fat fuck grinning at me. It took a moment to sink in that it was Carlos, whore-boy extraordinaire I had associated with from the last time I lived in Juarez some five years ago. Back then, Carlos was thin, muscular, and attractive. Now? Well, stating that he had let himself go would be an understatement. He was the size of a Volkswagen. As he approached, he saw that I recognized him, grinning at me stupidly. Staying true to form I call out, "Winnie Poo! Que pasa?" A cheap shot, to be sure, but we did not part on good terms.

After formalities, he asks if we could sit in the shade and talk, his blubber was obviously overheating in that spring sun. We sat, talked of old times. Then he became silent and I waited for him to drop the mooch bomb. I could see the question of asking for money on his protruding lips. I stood, extended my hand, and said, "Nice seeing you again, Carlos. Maybe we can talk in another five years?" And quickly strode the two blocks back to my flat.

I pushed that goofy fucker out of my mind and spent the rest of the afternoon writing and editing my next novel. Took a nap and woke to ready myself for a night out. 

As the sun sank behind the cathedral, I strode over broken sidewalks covered in trash and dog shit to bar Buen Tiempo, my old watering hole. The place was not that crowded and I found a stool at the counter with a great view of the bar and it's clientele. A spattering of old whores, bloated cowboys, and screeching fags encircled the wooden bar.

I sat and ordered a chilled caguama Sol, striking up a conversation with an old drunk who sat next to me. Around his shriveled neck, dangled a permit. He worked the circuit selling wallets and belts to tourists. Surprisingly he did not bother offering me any of his wares, guess he was off duty.

A tall, handsome guy strode in and plopped next to me and ordered a Carte Blanca. He was extremely attractive. Not faggy at all. There was something about him that I could not pinpoint. Anyway, his striking good looks and macho air garnered the attention from the other fags in the room. On the far side of the bar, a lecherous and scheming queen in denim jacket and pants, scowled at me as I checked the new guy out. Eventually, dreamboat and I began to talk. His name was Oscar and he was serving his term in the Mexican Army at the moment.He explained that he and his squad was on leave. Since he had "different needs" than his military buddy's, he decided to go drinking alone.

Oscar was quite funny and, as the alcohol began to effect me, I found his good looks less intimidating. During our initial chat, the monstrous queen on the other side of the bar decided to spin his web of shade by sending a note via the bartender to Oscar. Scribbled in Spanish it read, "Why waste your time with that American? Can I have your phone number? besos" Oscar chuckled "Besos, he says. Pinchi joto vulgar." Oscar then went into a long tirade on how he is not a piece of meat and was weary of going to bars only to be scrutinized over like a cow at a bazaar. I thought, I have found my soulmate...

That was until this Jorge character shows up and plops on the opposite side of me. Jorge was tall and thin, dark skinned with very strong Aztec features. The wind up was, as I spoke to Oscar, he kept eyeing Jorge. Eventually, in a vain attempt to nurture international diplomacy, I invited Jorge into our conversations even to the point of relocating Oscar on a stool between Jorge and I. The beer flowed and a good time was had. We three chatted on the various music of Mexico, the differences between beers, and a multitude of vapid subjects. Jorge, eyes crimson and voice slurred, confessed that he had a wife and two daughters, but enjoyed the company of men on occasion. God bless the men of Mexico.

The fag from across the bar eventually slithered over and attempted to seduce Oscar to sit with him. I did not catch the conversation, but Oscar told him basically to fuck off. In which the queen did a dramatic exit from the bar to spread it's vile venom onto new prey, one could only imagine.

The clock on the wall spun as a group of lesbians who huddled in a corner howled along to every song which emitted from the rockola. With the sudden departure of that shadowy queer, the attitude of the bar in general changed to unbridled levity. Me, along with my two new friends, smoked cigarettes, drank uncounted glasses of chilled cerveza and basically got shit faced. To quote the infamous Major Grubert, "If a thing was meant to happen, it will happen."

I excused myself to take a piss. In the foul smelling mensroom, I stood at the piss trough running along the floor as two drunken cowboys languidly masturbated each other next to me. Eventually, they left to commit crimes against nature on one another in some sordid hotel. As I relieved myself, Oscar entered and whipped out his dork to pee. Pee he did not. He stood, casually stroking his stiffening cock. He leers with bloodshot eyes, "Why don't we go somewhere to play, guero?"

I stood hypnotized on his undulating organ, "But, what about Jorge? I thought you two were hitting it off?"

He rolled his eyes, placed his dick back in his pants and said, "Bueno. Let's go drink some more."

Watching him walk out, I chuckled inward, I didn't say I didn't want to!

Back at the bar, Jorge was chatting with two friends. A short guy named Caesar and a tall guy named Tony. Both were quite gay, but well dressed and weren't the regular condescending queens who pollute our fair society.

Caesar invited us to his apartment nearby for drinks. We all agreed since the bar was closing soon, anyway. We stumbled the few blocks to an apartment over a tortilla mill. It was a nice place. Sparsely furnished with Mexican oil paintings and knick-knacks sporadically placed about. the group sat on overstuffed couches sipping tequila and listening to ranchero music on an out dated stereo.

As fate would have it, Caesar, Tony, and Jorge disappeared into the bedroom. It was obvious what was going on as Oscar and I sat silently in the living room as the bedroom had no door and only a ratty, laced curtain as a partition. Caesar eventually emerged wearing nothing but blue underwear briefs - his erection predominant with a wet spot seeping through the briefs. Oscar and I smiled at him as he nonchalantly stood in front of us.

"Why don't you join us?" He asked.

Why not, indeed? I earlier stated to Oscar at the bar that I believed we were put on this planet to experience everything we could. Don't ever say no to anything. If you enjoyed the experience, continue doing it. If not, don't do it again. "Except murder, that is frowned upon in most societies." I quipped.

We three entered the dark bedroom. In the gloom, there were piles of folded clothes on chairs and on a dresser. The queen-sized bed took up most of the room. It was a mattress and box-spring on the concrete floor. Lying akimbo on his stomach was Tony with Jorge on top fucking him slowly. Like a fragmented dream, hands began to undress each other, probe, stroke, masturbate. Caesar, Oscar, and I climbed onto the empty space of the bed and sucked and kissed one another. Erections were put to use as they found their way into awaiting mouths or asses. Amid the clanking tootling of the ranchero music, the passionate, random sounds of sighs, gasps, and moans permeated that concrete, windowless room well into the early morning.

I was fucked fore and aft by both Oscar and Jorge while being milked dry by Caesar and Tony. Tony, who at the bar came across as timid and reserved, transformed into a lust filled sex fiend as several times he found his lanky body being tossed about and screwed all over the room by both Jorge and Oscar. As Caesar sucked my cock, I lay, my back propped up against the cold wall, smoking a cigarette and watched as Jorge and Oscar took turns grunting and rutting like a porn stars on top of Tony.

Before the roosters of the neighborhood had time to begin crowing, we lay in a pile with each other bathed in sweat and semen, whispering and laughing in that silent gloom.

Around 5am, I stated I had to leave and after taking a whore's bath at the kitchen sink (there was no sink in the bathroom), I dressed and said my goodbyes. Oscar decided to walk with me, stating he had to get back to his garrison. His intentions made clear halfway to my house as he hit me up for 150 pesos. At first I was put off, being it years of tolerating mooching fuckers down here. But, he made a good argument that the military doesn't pay shit. So, after I slapped 200 pesos into his paw, we shook hands on a corner and parted.

After a hot shower at my place, I lay in the cool darkness as yellow light of dawn crept through the blinds of my apartment and thought, I knew there was a reason why I came back.