Sunday, January 29, 2006

Killer in Drag.

Work crawled as work will and work did. When the whistle blew I jumped and yabba dabba dooed to the border, stopping at Panguini's for a quick spaghetti and meatball dinner - delish! Anyhoo, I had a meet with Ricardo and Esperanza at eight in Bar Nebraska down in J-town and since I had some time thought I'd take a cat nap before I hit the bar. Silly me woke up 'round ten-thirty. Jumped in the shower, shaved, donned my best black and grey Kenneth Cole's and ran out the door. Had to admit my hair looked fierce.
Well, at said bar the two were not to be found. Tiny place so it was not hard to try and locate them. Jolted across Plaza Las Armas in the cold blustering wind to Bar Buen Tempo and nada, not there either. Crap. So, I resigned to the thought that I am going solo tonight and chose to haunt this disco called Freegay on Avenida Mariscal. Lemee edjacate you 'bout Freegay and Mariscal, 'kay? Mariscal is the scummy strip where all the hoochie houses and drug barons lay...pretty notorious. And Freegay is an upstairs disco barn, the only gay bar on the broken boulevard that caters to hard convict cholos and drugged out transvestites and killer bull dikes. Seedy and furtive. My kind of place.
Paid the ten pesos fifty centavos at the door and climbed the soiled carpet up, up to the entrance and bought a caguama of carta blanca cerveza. The place was a little crowded, always dark and smokey, and not an empty table. As I mention, young hipsters in their goof suits, cholos in their khaki baggies, trannies in their dazzle-glitter, and dykes in their mullets glided about in a nonstop ballet. So, I stomped over towards the restroom entrance (always a good spot to stand.) and sat my bottle on a table that looked empty, well, there was a box of beer on it. I suspected it was being used by the wait staff for storage. I soon found out that it was occupied because this towering cholo stood up and politely asked me to move my bottle offa his box so as he could get himself a beer. He was hot. And so started an inneresting conversation. Every time he said something, he would press those full lips and pencil moustache against my ear and that made my heart race every time. And I think he knew it. Pretty damn suave. He introduced me to his companions: firstly his younger brother, Alfredo...jesus, drop dead grrrjuss ran in the freakin' family (though in that teenage cholo gangster attire he'd look like he'd kill you on the spot. Tattoos and all.), some cat in cowboy a cowboy outfit; kept calling him Texarcana, never got it, and a wretchedly horrid transvestite with pimples and scrawny physique.
Well, the guy who did the intros called himself Salvador and was actually very sweet. We all talked and they all asked questions about where I was from, where I lived, how I liked Mexico. The normal routine I get when I meet folks here and I don't mind. Alfredo, with his bi-sexual self met this girl and while making out with her, asked Salvador for some pesos to buy her a rose, which Salvador bought two, one for her and one for me. Aw. He got a kiss on that square jaw for that one. The music switched to a mambo and it was so hot seeing Alfredo and Salvador dance to it together at the table, man can they mambo. I gotta learn the mambo! I can be such a gringo sometimes!
Anyways, things were going great, Salvador was putting the moves on me, complementing my baby blues, towering over me with his tall self, and asking me to dance when some reggaeton started blaring, I obliged. We hit the floor and danced so nasty. Eventually our lips touched and then our tongues and then some fucking fat transvestite pulled us apart and started yelling at Salvador and bitch slapped him right there on the dance floor. Then, are you ready, Dear Reader, she turned to me and smacked me! Well, fuck that! My fist automatically flew up and popped her in the teeth. I mean, I ain't no passive fairy, folks. The bitch went flying and skidded across the dance floor. She sprung up like a jack-in-the-box and I readied my self for a full on fag smackdown rumble, but she just held her bleeding mouth, "Oy! Oy! Por que? Soy un mujer! (Ow! Ow! Why? I'm a woman!)" I pointed at her and roared in furious hatred, "You fucking hippopotamus! You NEVER hit me! You are a fucking man in a clown suit! A man! And you'll be treated like one!"
I would like to make a side note right now that I am not a drama queen. Okay?
Back to the story in progress: So, Salvador walks over to this simpering thing...obviously his novia, and cradles him in his arms, dabbing her lip with his handkerchief. He glares at me like I just strangled his newborn child and I realize it's time to cut. Sigh. I light a Lucky Strike and walk to the bar and order another caguama. I nuzzled into a dark corner and fumed when I was lucky enough to be approached by Tralala. Let me take a moment to describe this creature in gold lame. If you were standing with Liza Minnelli next to a fountain and suddenly grabbed her by the throat and held her head under water for say...thirty minutes, what comes up gasping for air is this mess of a transvestite Tralala. Poor heroin addicted Tralala. Fun for a few kicks, I suppose.
As we were talking of what just happened the lights come up and the club closed, so outside amid the bustling and drunk crowd, as we are about to say goodbye, she introduces me to her friend Carlos. Wow. Shorty, but real cute. We hit it off well. I invite the two for coffee across the street. Carlos and I walk across to the cafe laughing and talking with Tralala following us pulling her panties outta her ass.
After some small talk and jokes, Carlos makes his intentions quite clear, as do I, looking into those big brown eyes. Luck has it, I live just four blocks away. We leave Tralala tottering on that corner, y'all. Sidewalk rushes beneath our feet. Keys jingle open the door. Clothes are flung off. Fingers glide over smooth skin, both pale white and Mexican brown. Tongues lick and suck...teeth bite. Carlos pushes me up against my credenza (Yes, I have a credenza, so what of it!) And spitting into his palm, lubes up his short thick penis- Ahhhhh! - with quick hard thrusts he lunges into me talking real dirty in Spanish and that drives me crazy. My face is pressed against the wall as he bites up my back, it hurts but feels so good. He's jacking me off as he's ramming into me and I can't help but cumming. He yanks me down onto the couch and throws my feet up over his shoulders and stabs it in. Pile driving his cock into me until he yanks it out and with hot spurts it shoots his semen across my stomach and chest. We kiss and then shower. Carlos gets dressed, at the door says thank you and hails a taxi home.
I put on Go With The Flow by Queens of the Stone Age and smoke a joint before I go to sleep.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Tender Lumplings.

Let's enter the wayback machine, kids. The year is 1993, the project of a nuerotic junior graduate at the Pasadena School of Fine Arts; Cinema Department.
Tender Lumplings

Friday, January 20, 2006


I hurriedly walked over the bridge that spanned the Rio Grande from El Paso into Juarez City. The cold windy air whipped up a dusty funk. I ignored the taxi and farmacia hawkers on the hustle and bought a pack of Lucky Strikes from my friend who is a vendor, huddled in a concrete nook off the street in someone else's overcoat. He smiles silver teeth, takes the crumpled two dollars in dirty junky fingers, shiny over the dirt.

I cut through the cold down towards calle 16th de Septembre for a cuppa coffee and some warmth when I hear my name. In English. Being yelled across the street. I cringe and keep walking. Twice more my name is called. Damn. I turn around and standing in the glass doorway of a tourist bar is an old friend--no wait, an acquaintance, thank you--from the Rescue Mission. Cristiano DeMarco. Half Italian half Cuban. Got stuck in El Paso on his way back to Miami because of drug problems. He stands six feet three. Black wavy hair cropped short. Barrel chested, arms with muscles made out of concrete. Handsome face, thick neck with a white knife scar that went from his left ear down to his chest. I remembered him from the Mission, lusted after that fucker when I was there. All he did was stomp around grabbing his crotch and going on about how many bitches he banged back in Miami. But he was thrown out of the shelter for drinking and beating up the security guard. He was a sloppy violent drunk and a crack junky. Horrible combination.

So, I smiled my smile and with big sweeping arms he came across the street and gave me a bear hug, lifting me up offa the broken concrete. Crushed in those rock hard biceps I about busted a nut right then and there, buckos. Dropping me back to earth, he asked what I was doing here and I sad that I live in Juarez which knocked him into a whooping frenzy. He was so overjoyed, he said, to meet a friendly face. Cristiano explained that he had just spent the last three nights in the Juarez City jail for not having an I.D. and possession of a knife. Yup, I agreed, that would do it. I also noticed that he was already very intoxicated.

"Well...uhm...nice seeing you. I gotta go." I smiled and turned to leave.

He grabbed my arm and whirled me around and breathed drunkenly, "C'mon, dog, lemme roll with ya..."

I said yeah or something like that and me and this big lug went walking through the dark streets to my apartment. I kept an eye out for the placas. All I needed was the heat to rumble me with a violent drunk by my side who didn't speak a lick of Spanish. Once at my flat we drank some beers and we talked. He slurred that he always thought that I was always so cool and treated him with respect at the shelter. God, I just wanted him to fuck me. We drank and smoked and talked. I explained to Cristiano that I had to get up at five the following morning so I was to turn in early. I was very tired.

"Well, I gotta go anyways. I gotta hustle up some cash...." He said, guzzling his cerveza Sol.

"Where are you sleeping tonight?" I asked.

"Oh, I´m goin' back to El Paso and stay with my baby's mother...she lives on the West Side." He paused, taking a drink and said. "How much interest will you charge me fer twenny bucks, dog?"

My eyes glazed over like a predator. I leaned back on the chair and took a long drag offa my cigarette. I drew the word out slow. " Twenty dollars...twen-ty...dollars." I bit my bottom lip and glanced over his boxer physique. Those big arms, that chest, those legs. "You don't hafta pay me back in money, Cristiano."

He looked into my eyes with vapid stupidity. Red-bloodshot-ignorant. I turn to my audience: Really folks, do you really think this boy is that stupid? Surely someone this fine has have had congress with the same sex in his short lifetime. He struts around like the perennial rooster bragging of all the pussy he has banged and how he loves kicking in the heads of fucking faggots on a daily basis. And yet, here he is, spread eagle...drunk...on my couch and in desperate need of funds. I have seen this man rip guys apart in a drunken rage and further more...
"So, how much ya gonna charge me fer twenny bucks, man?" He said, staring at me intensely.
I looked straight at him and said. "A mouthful of your cum, Cristiano. I wanna suck your cock."
"Yeah, all right." Pants came down to his ankles and I did my service for King and country. And it was good. A thick, uncut Sicilian cock. Great balls. His powerful, muscular hands guided my head up and down roughly. With a guttural way-too-fucking-sexy grunt he came a load full, too. Well, after that, I cleaned him up, gave him twenty dollars and he cut.
I still feel good about that. And you know what? I'd do it again. Wouldn't you?

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Crossed Wires.

God what a redundant title in my life. Anyway, in a fit of coffee amped writing spree at two in the morning and a whole pack of Luckies in a 24hr cafe in Juarez, Mexico I wrote the next film that I will start production on. Bouncing ideas offa Ricardo who vibrated with me as the cold wind blew with that big white moon hanging in the crystal clear starry sky. I have acquired a neat little camcorder with cool features and have bought the program to edit my film digitally on my computer. The look of the film will be like a film noir set in the middle forties. What follows is the rough draft:

Synopsis. Rough Draft. 1/17/06
Crossed Wires

Large grey concrete sanitarium - The Detective walks in - Surly attendants - Lunatics muddle about - Old man on gurney screams - The detective interviews the short fat and quite demented Dr. Benway. He explains that he must see Carl Peterson a patient in the ward and very, very dangerous.

Cut to Carl Peterson - handsome, mid thirties - Carl murders the night nurse - Steals her uniform and escapes the sanitarium - He steals a car after killing the lot attendant.

The Detective and Dr. Benway are notified and the Detective goes on the hunt.

Carl goes to a gay bar dressed as a transvestite hooker - he follows a john out into his car - kills him - an old fat man leaves a suitcase by a payphone and Carl kills him and takes the suitcase. The suitcase is full of heroin (or cocaine or money.) - Carl wants to sell it.

Hiding in a shabby hotel - He meets a young handsome trick and they have sex - his trick steals the suitcase - Carl follows him into a carnival where the young kid works - We meet the tricks friends who are the sideshow attractions, the freaks - they protect the boy - Carl finds and kills the boy and takes off with the suitcase.

The freaks chase Carl into a cemetery where Carl, after opening the case finds it contains a pair of sawed off legs - in a rage he bolts across the cemetery - he trips and falls into an open grave, breaking his neck.

Back at the carnival, in a trailer, two queens slow dance to a waltz with a pile of money on the bed.

Okay, I admit it can use work, but I think it will make a cool film. I want to film it entirely in Juarez to give it an off kilter foreign look. It will be very, very violent and very raw. I think it will be a great picture. Watcha think, my tender lumplings?

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Disposition on a Sickness.

I have come a long way in the health of my mental illness. The psychotropic medication that they have me on has balanced me out and most of the time I feel quite optimistic. Not as negative as before. The Wellbutrin XL and Topomax are working wonders with this diagnosis of Manic-depressive with schizophrenic tendencies. Or so the good doctor has claimed. This blog is for the world to see, but I kept a handwritten journal for my doctor to read and I was going over it. Can't believe I thought like this.


Thursday 11/2/05
Third night without sleep. Lie in my bed wracked in pain - loneliness - black sadness.
Around 3:30 am uncontrollable fit of crying - sobbing in great sadness - How did I allow myself to degenerate into this state? I am better than this - obviously not. Alone. Can't hold a job anymore - forced to live in this filthy shelter. I come to the conclusion that there is no reason to exist - this thought makes me cry even more. Perhaps Angela (My doctor) was right - my only way through this is to write my way out.

4:00 a.m - As I set pen to paper, sitting on this warped wooden bench in this filthy shower covered in slime, mold, and shit - Angela was right, this writing has calmed me somewhat. I don't feel like yelling obscenities at the top of my voice or committing random acts of mayhem. Back to my bunk I guess amid the snoring and farting and hacking and smell of sour feet, unwashed bodies and halitosis...when will it end?

4:35 a.m. - A resident hobo comes to take a shit and asks what am I writing. "Nothing", I say. But that is not true I am writing 'All is lost, All is lost' That is all I can ever write - truthfully.

All is lost.
All is Lost.

Saturday, January 14, 2006

King Neptune's Wet Dream.

Ten years pass since I have enjoyed the decadence of a rave and the night has brought me into one and this time one in a foreign land.
Esperanza look jaw dropping in her dazzling blue velvet dress and Ricardo was dressed all in black as so was I but I sported a green plaid blazer. We three were stunning. Jumped a cab to PRONAF, the uppity-high falootin' district of Juarez City. Espie read a map that was given to her from a friend. A friend I hope she could trust. It read we were to seek a man in a parking lot wearing a Cat in the Hat hat. We followed in party atmosphere and childish glee two other revelers in cars searching for this hidden and illegal fiesta. Eventually, in the parking lot of an S-mart, there be he...a dumpy man sitting against a post wearing the Suessian haberdashery. Go to Los Gatos de la Muertes. A coffee shop two blocks away. The cab driver laughed and said, "Pinche ninos." The meter ticked in the cab as we raced over to get more directions. Catch! We zip through dark and trash filled barrios at break neck speeds and came to a huge concrete warehouse in a desolate factory laden part of town. A multitude of cars were parked outside and young hipsters in their goof suits loitered about, drunkenly. The smell of marijuana and the sounds of Reggaeton filled the air.
"This is it!" States Ricardo. And the cab screeches to a halt. We pay the bewildered man and the three of us walk inside arms wrapped around each other like entering the Emerald City. The warehouse was huge and it was packed! The light show was amazing! Kids danced on boxes thirteen feet high and others swung through the crowds on swing sets tied to the rafters lost in the smoky darkness high above. Balloons and other inflatables bounced through the crowds.
Instantly, we hit the dance floor and shook a tail feather to the tribal beats of salsa, techno, and a myriad of other international dance tunes. Espie and I lept up on a box and danced for hours as Ricardo, who somehow became shirtless ran through the crowd dancing with anyone he could. The heat was unbearable, but a gang of scantily clad Atlanteans on a flatbed was pushed through the crowd and hosed down the masses with water cannons. Everyone was issued squirt guns upon entrance and that became quite festive. Then the foam dropped and we were hip deep in the stuff.
The booze flowed and I got very drunk. I met a handsome guy named Enrique and we danced for a bit. He had some weed and Espie and I shared with him. This girl walked by and pinned flashing neon flowers on us without saying a word, she just smiled like the Cheshire Cat. Espie and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. An old lady skated by on Rollerblades and gave me a soap can and a ring to make bubbles and I started blowing bubbles. Ricardo, high off whatever he was taking yelled over the music, "Where did you get those delicious bubbles, mijo?"
"A lady said if I took my clothes off she would give it to me, "I joked.
Ricardo then striped down to his boxers, ran off and was lost in the crowd. Last seen dancing with a short hottie on a box in his tightie whities. Enrique, my new friend, took me by the hand and led me up a flight of stairs, through a maze of dark vault like hallways and when we emerged we where on the rickety fire escape far up near the roof of the warehouse. The view was fantastic. There were a couple of guys and girls up there already and they were making out. Enrique leaned towards me and we started kissing for a very long time.
Eventually, all hot and bothered, Enrique and I returned to the dance floor to get Espie and Ricardo (Who at least put his pants back on.) Unfortunately, I had to leave around 2 a.m., because I had to be at work at 6:30 the following morning. So, I said my goodbyes and took a cab back home.
I had a super time and am glad I spent it with the greatest friends in the world.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

The Late Night Picture Show.

I have just aquirred a very snazzy computer. Do you know what that means? Do you? Next pay check I will buy myself a camcorder and start making movies again!! I am sooo complete!! Can life be ever so much better?! In a few short months, this will be me!!! Is the world ready?

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

The Classic Roll.

Espie looks over her glass of wine and smiles. She tells me how much she really digs this Manuel, the hunky boitoy she met last weekend. I am happy for her. They do make a great looking couple. I twirl my spaghetti and mention that he is perfect, she agrees.
"What about Ricardo? You seem to be hanging around alot together." She asks.
"Just friends." I assure her with a sniff. "No, my dear, a friend last far longer than any boyfriend and Ricardo is too precious to lose."
"He is sweet isn't he."
I confide in her that I finally contacted that William Wiggins after an eight day hiatus and the response I got. It was typical and immature and as follows:
Well, William, I thought that I would contact you perhaps for this last time. I guess you life is going better than any way I could assist you in. I take your silence and obvious avoidance of me means that all is well. I am glad that all is going good and that my assistance is not required. I apologize for me being cross on the phone last Saturday, but I was dealing with four complete morons in front of me and could not talk. Your request came as a surprise. Plus, I had plans for that night. I freaked. However, I did wait for your call Monday which never arrived so I am under the assumption that you must be doing so good that my friendship is no longer needed. Well, if you decide to respond to this and continue what friendship we had, that is cool. If you decide to ignore this and not respond I will accept that to.
Ten minutes later this is the response I got:
whats with the attitude? i didn't do shit to you. but if you want to end our friendship over something like that fine, be an asshole.....i have other things in my life besides you...i think you told me that is vice versa as well..
Sigh. Indeed.
Espie's retort was that why I waste my time with this vulgar little creature. I stared at my coffee and it hit me. She was right. This guy is a worthless loser. A sycophant and a grifter of the worst nature. As far as I am concerned, he no longer exists.
She then invited me to this new club that is opening this Friday in the PRONAF section of Juarez called King Neptune's Wet Dream, she said it was a rave party. Cool! I have not been to a rave in years!
After dinner, I walked Espie to her bus stop and after a short chat and a goodbye peck on the cheek, she took off on the bus back to her colonia.
The stars were out and the moon was full and I decided to take a stroll through the plaza in front of the Guadalupe Cathedral. There was a crowd watching a group of youths dressed as Native American Indians dancing to a tribal beat. While I was playing spectator, these two American tourists approached me. Young, early twenties and obviously lost.
"Hey man." Said the tall blond one. "Do you speak English?"
I took a drag on my cigarette and said, "Fluently."
"Do you know of any hotels?" Asked the other blond one with the goatee.
I explained I knew several, all within five dollars, but since they wanted one that was safe the price jumped up to twenty dollars. I asked them to follow me to the Hotel Bombin. A shabby whore hotel near the frontier. "You'll like it. It's clean and it has three channels on the t.v. English. Spanish. And porn."
As we walked through the dark and bustling streets of the whore district, they blabbed on nervously that they were coming from California on their way to Florida and stopped over to enjoy Mexico for the first time. And I also found out that they were speed junkies. Could tell that the first time laying my eyes on them. Well, we get to the Hotel Bombin and crawl up the grimy white porcelain stairs to the reception where a queer bodybuilder with a ponytail checks them in. They stash their bags in their dingy double-bed room and after asking several times if their shit was safe we hit the streets.
Walking down the dark lit calle Mariscal, it was bound to happen: like barracudas on bikes, three cops rolled up on us.
Please senor against car please senor hands against car step up to car.
We all knew the position and spread out on the hood of a nearby parked car. Our pockets were emptied and by luck I was cool enough to get the intelligent cop. As my two knew friends were being picked over, my interrogator and I had a hearty discussion on my literary interests and love of Mexico. He was quite pleased and interested. Also, I didn't have centovo one in my wallet-I live in Mexico, Senor, I'm poor!- and he laughed. Unfortunately, my two comrades were rolled for sixty dollars. Eh.
Welcome to Mexico, gringos! While the cops continued to harass the two tourists, I shook my cops hand, offered him a Lucky Strike and said in Spanish and smiled, "Well, enough of this circus. If that is all, Officer, I'm going home." In which he gave me a happy good night. I wished those to guys good luck, waved good bye and walked the few blocks back home.
Once home, I popped in the DVD Kung Fu Hustle and snuggled down to a quiet night at home.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006


So I'm waiting, right...I'm sitting in this coffee shop on Avenida 16th de Septembre watching my cold coffee swirl with the thin skin of curdled cream float on top. My cigarette is burned down to a nub, but I'm waiting. And I hate waiting. The clock up on the wall crawls like the clock in the Machinery of Metropolis and just as painful. This old fart, winkled and the color of a brown paper bag sits starin' and a-starin' and I glare at him but he won't stop. What? He think I'm queer or sumpthin'? So I gulp the coffee and ask the obese and overworked underpaid masera fer another cup and she look at me like I just fuck her virgin daughter and slosh haffa cup full. (Make mental note to slam down two pasetas and dramatically storm out. Cunt.)
Sigh. Stare out the big window and the world is cold and the wind is blowin' dust and the Mexican folk they walk briskly by huddled in their trappings to avoid the cold, but it's cold in here too and I sip my coffee and that shit is hot. I make a little yelp and the old coot giggles. Wyoncha go watch the toilet flush, Gramps? So, I'm waitin' and I got one Lucky Strike left and I got like twenty two pesos and he's late. They are always late. Goddamn, like there are two time zones, American and Mexican and Mexican is always outta whack.
Two Mexi-fags enter and coyly scope out the gringo before sitting at the booth but I just watch the cockroach skitter across the diner bar. I flick it with my finger when it comes to close and catapults it into an eclair that some fat bitch rich and nasty eats later. Where the fuck is he? I can hear the ticking of the clock over the fucking chachacha music. I straighten the wrinkle in my black chinos and gaze over and watch two hoggish couple slurp and kiss each other inna booth. Revolting. Wonder what would happen if me an my boy started frenchin right here in the middle of the cafe? One of the Mexi-fags catches my eye contact and smiles. Flames and knives shoot outta mine in return.
Ding! The door...but no, just some shoe shine boy asks the gringo inna shop fulla customers but asks the gringo only if he wants his shoes shined. Nope. I says. Kinda cute. I give the kid ten pesos and tell him go buy him some marijuana--he laughs--then I follow with 'and come back inna few years to make some real money.' And watch the cutey leave the cafe.
Finally, with a blast of cold air the glass door swings open and in all his hottness Ricardo comes in and he looks tall and fine in black leather coat, black sweater, black slacks and boots. "I hope you weren't waiting long, mijo?" He asks and smiles that smile that melts hearts.
"No, not long." I return. "I was just finishing a cigarette. Ready to go to the movies?"
"Let's go." And we both hit the cold pavement. I walk next to him, laughing and thinking what a beautiful night.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006


I hate him.
Great way to start a new year. Oh, well...I tell you it's a solo year of drinking and fucking and living. Fuck this relationship crap.
Love is hate. Oh, how they cancel each other out.
My heart seaths with such anger.
I hate you.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

New Year, New You.

Greeting Citizens!
Damn what a year. And I can truly say just that: what a fucking year!
Got outta bed, bleary eyed and dangerous, showered and dragged my ass across the border before the sun came up. The blast of cold winter wind freezing the tips of my pink ears and dripping nose. It being a holiday, I walk to work for the bus schedule in this burg is all fucked up.
Work dragged as it does and doubleplus so because I was sad of the flop with William the couple of nights before and that put your Reporter in a funk. My heart burned like a solar flare. Even when hot boitoy/dishwasher Salvador R. (Sally to his closest friends) said I could take nude photos of his chiseled and rock hard form in the company restroom for a late Christmas present didn't raise my spirits it was time to pack it in. (Thanks Sal.) Man I was one depressed cowboy. I love him so much and I hate him, too. Being New Year's Eve I want to spend the night with him but I was sure I would never see him again, but sure as Elton John is a prissy overpaid faggot, William Wiggins shows up at my job and during a touching and moving moment straight out of a Mexican novella he apologizes for being a selfish ass last Thursday. He confesses his feelings for me are true and that his emotions are deep and sincere.
I love you, God.
Well, after work, the boy and I make haste to J-town and my pad and rest up before the nights festivities. Decide to play it cool and not plan anything. One thing we agree on, no gay bars. No need to be pestered and harassed by a gang of bitter petty queers trying to pry between us. He and I want to take this slow and see how this little experiment runs. Allreet? So, for the next few hours we are curled up in each others arms like hibernating snakes and around nine at night we get ready and hit Centro Juarez for a night of Whoop-Whoop! Man, William look so fucking hot, he was turning heads walking down the street.
Well, we get there and it's a fucking ghost town. Buy a pack of Lucky Strikes for me and Marlboro's for him and the first place we hit is La Cruda a cool little bar where the caguamas are cheap and the clientele are laid back. Knocked back a few and shot some pool with the locals, joked with the waiter Pablo, an old friend from my long dead junk days. The bar closes, right, so the hottie, Estefan, that William was playing pool with invites us over to Virginia's, but I decline because I was looking for a friend that flew in from Puerto Rico at the Kentucky Bar on the main drag. Are you paying attention? There will be a quiz afterwards. Bitch.
Well, didn't find no one at Kentucky Bar but did get some cool party hats and clakkers and stumbled over to Virginia's for the rest of the night and where William and I brought in the New Year. Met some cool bi-sex guys, took a ton of photos, drank a good share of al-kee-hall and boogied with fat and nasty strippers, flashing silver teeth and stretch marks. Beautiful.
Eventually, the club closed and William and I stumbled down the dark piss and vomit splattered sidewalks to my apartment were we sat and talked more. He is very serious in this relationship and exploring homosexuality and doing it with me. He loves me, he says and would die rather than see me hurt. Brought me to fucking tears, ya'll. To tears.
So we retired to bed and after a good fuck in the ass by a highly energetic twenty-one year old we snuggled down into a blissful and contented sleep.