My Junky Roommate.

So, last night I met a really handsome guy laying on the concrete floor of Old Andy’s roach-infested apartment. The kid was of Mexican Indian descent and had smooth Aztec features, piercing green eyes, straight black hair, and a copper-smooth torso. He was leafing through a Mexican tabloid paper and introduced his name as Hector.

"Hey, howzit goin'?" I croaked, extending my hand in friendship.

Hector, it seemed, was just released from the Tijuana City Jail that afternoon. He sure smelled of unwashed bodies and sour feet. As I stared a gazeless glare down at his scrawny sprawled form, I wondered how attractive this young man was in a Diego Luna way.

Well, it seemed Hector had nowhere to stay, so out of the goodness of my heart, I invited Hector to stay in the small extra room in the back of my apartment. He agreed and followed me downstairs to my trap.

However, he invited some 40-ish whore along with him. She seemed to materialize out from the dark, musty shadows of Old Andy's apartment like a phantom ghost; black matted hair, sunken cheeks, red lips turned down in a permanent grimace with a cigarette hanging out. And really big floppy titties. Hector stared at her with the look of a lizard following the course of an ant. Can't curb the enthusiasm of a horny teenager, I guess.

 As we sat in the kitchen, the Whore clopped around preparing a late-night snack of cheese and tortillas. Hector and I gobbled them down with cans of ice-cold Tecate and spoke very little.

I occasionally glanced across the green Formica table at the young boy and had the bad urge of stroking the strand of black hair in front of his eyes. The old Whore farted and giggled to herself.

After eating, Hector said that he was tired and wanted to go to bed. I showed him his room and said goodnight. Not five minutes after I laid down, the bed springs in the other room were squeaking out a symphony and the old Whore began to sing opera for the next thirty minutes. Twice more, Hector banged the old broad as I lay in my room listening to the radio and toking on a joint.

I lay there in the heat, sheet clinging to my body like a wet condom envisioning Hector in bed with me. I would casually stroke my fingers up alongside his ribs, feeling with trembling fingers.

 As I heard Hector finally moan out in orgasm, I whispered, "Jesus Christ!" And turned up the radio. El Sirenita by Plastalina Mosh blared from the speakers.

The following morning, Hector was up early in the kitchen. I came in as he poured me a cup of coffee. The Whore was gone. I looked at Hector and we both smiled...his neck and shoulders were spotted with a mass of "monkey bites".

 "That whore really fucked ya good?" I asked.

"I haven't had sex in six months...I needed that." Hector said, lighting a cigarette from the gas stove.

"Well, as I said if you wanna live here you are more than welcome." My eyes flickered over his thin muscular frame with a ghostly white flash of lust.

At that moment there was a knock at my door. When I answered there was a kid standing there; he introduced himself as Carlos and he asked if he could speak to Hector. It seems that Old Andy told this Carlos where to find him. I invited him in and after some chit-chat; I found out that this was Hector's older brother. He resembled Hector very much, except for the macho mustache and thinning hair.

We all eased into Hector’s bedroom, littered with used Kleenex from the night’s previous fuck fest. Carlos promptly went to the armoire and pulled out a syringe, a foil of heroin, a blackened spoon, and a lighter. Hector sat on the bed like an immobile lizard and I stared in wonderment at the situation. I opened the drawer on the nightstand and pulled out a joint.

Carlos cooked down the shot and, looking in the mirror on the armoire, jabbed the syringe deep into his neck. Hissing through his teeth, Carlos pushed the plunger and the solution drained into his waiting veins. Muscles going slack and with a vacant look, he passed the needle over to his brother who did the same. Eyes rolling back and with a sigh of junky orgasm, Hector lay back on his bed and dreamed of dark and troubling things.

I sat there, legs crossed, sucking on that reefer so nasty.