Once upon a time there lay the most
beautiful, young man, lost in a deep slumber. His jet-black hair glinted in the
sunlight, his rosebud lips were parted in peace. On, he slept, as the town
jostled to life outside his window, oblivious to the world, deep in an
enchanted dream. On, he slept, until the sun had slid beneath the horizon. The
spell was broken. He opened his eyes.
He awoke in the dark with a jolt, swore,
and immediately fumbled for his cigarettes. After many deep drags, he swore
again and slid out of bed, his sweaty hair stubbornly clinging to semen and
sweat stained sheets. Cigarette in mouth, he staggered towards the bathroom,
last night’s underwear still trailing miserably around his ankles. He shouldn’t
drink so much, he decides. Gives him the most fucked up nightmares. His eyes
are glued shut with kohl but the harsh fluorescent bathroom light still made
him shudder and squint. He ignored the dirty socks drying over the bath, and
the bloodied boxers lying in the sink, and reached for his makeup bag.
He’s been in this hotel room before. He
remembers the distinct stain on the ceiling; if he squints and turns his head
it almost looks like a spider, stretching out long grotesque limbs to catch him
and gobble him up. He suppresses a sigh and instead forces out a theatrical
moan, to spur on the stranger on top of him. It works, and the stranger pushes
harder, mumbling that he’s the fucking best. He pushes away the stranger’s
slobbering mouth and twists his watch around; the stranger has three minutes
left to use him and take him back on her corner. His Handsome Prince for three
minutes; after all, the stranger’s taking care of him, crying out that he loves
him. He moans a little louder, and decides he’ll need alcohol to sleep again
tonight.
1 comment:
I like reading about your experiences in Tijuana. I visited Tijuana from Los Angeles very often as a single guy. And now I still go regularly with my Guatemalan partner. Last week we went to experience the gay pride parade there. A few highlights were:
We stayed at the Hotel Economico on Madero, after years of staying next door at the San Nicolas. They have a cage in the lobby with chinchillas in it, and they offer a free breakfast. We discovered that the breakfast was only 1 per room, but only had to pay an extra 55 pesos for another breakfast.
Our Peruvian friend had a mysterious rash, and wanted to see a doctor in Tijuana. We searched all of Saturday morning for a dermatologist, and finally found one that was open for business. It turned out that he had scabies, and was given a prescription for treatment. We tracked down the medication, and raced back to the Plaza Santa Cecilia. We had a satisfying lunch at la Tradicion, after falling for 2 for 1 watered-down margaritas at Taco Loco earlier in the day.
We saw the parade in the afternoon. It wasn't a huge event. Just a few truckloads of ancient drag queens and a couple of gogo boys waving to the crowd.
My partner wanted to visit an old friend from Guatemala, so we abruptly caught a taxi to Rosarito, where his friend lives in the neighborhood of La Gloria. We met him and his wife and little boy and his baby girl with the whooping cough. We got back to the plaza in time to see a fake Juan Gabriel lip sync for the crowd. We had a final coffee at Los Boys Cafe, and went back to the hotel to sleep.
We waited four hours in our friend's truck to cross the border the next day, until a belt broke and we stalled right before the final stretch to the checkpoint. Luckily, a mechanic popped out from nowhere and fixed the belt, and we were on our way. We were stopped too long while looking for a place to eat in San Juan Capistrano, and got a scolding from a rude cop. It was all very tiring, but still a good escape from the routine of life in LA.
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