Burracho y Loco.

Friday at work all clandestine like I ask him what are his plans and nuthin is the answer. So, Toby Bustamonte happily agrees to spend the evening with me, since the next day was my birthday. He gets offa work before me, so later that after noon, he meets with me on that side and we enjoy the best barbaocoa on this hemisphere at Los Azules and can't finish it all between us who woulda think a kilo of juicy meat would slow us down but slow us it does. We retire to my trap and idle the setting sun away in sixty nine -squirt!squirt!- and a viewing of David Lynch's Wild at Heart. After the DVD, we take a siesta and when we awake in each others arms, I gots the belly ache from said barbaocoa and he is down with some type of flu. I feel his forehead and Toby is quite warm and hacking like a withdrawing junky, but is still up to going out tonight, what a trooper.

We shower and to the throbbing beat of the Party Monster soundtrack we ready for a night of festivities and hit the cool night air in search of my friends. We enter first Bar Buen Tiempo and down a caguama of Carta Blanca, digging the scene. Toby notices that the gay bars are quite different as in more relaxed and not full of with screeching contorting queers. I explain it is just this one. There are others more flamboyant. We finish up and head over to Bar Callitas in the Old Mercado and guzzle another caguama of same concoction. The joint is jumping, the hideous trannies are crooning over Toby and one, who Toby has christened "La Gueda", coos and flirts with him in the most nasty of manners. Enough to turn one to stone. But, still no amigos mio in sight. Tony says he wants to dance, so we finish our beverage and skedaddle over to Freegay, that notorious cholo infested disco on Mariscal Avenue. It is almost empty and stayed that way until we left. However, while we were there, we boogied a little to some reggaeton beats, but as the minutes passed Toby's health began to deteriorate and we returned home, stopping only to joke with the ugliest transvestite hooker known to man.

Once in bed, the poor boy was burning up. I mean practically on fire. I held him in my arms the entire night as he sweated and shook through his illness, coughing and hacking horribly. The farmacias didn't open until eight in the morning and I couldn't buy him anything...I felt so bad.

The following morning, Toby peeled himself outta bed, sheets soaked through, saying he felt a little better and had an appetite. He kissed me and wished me a happy birthday. We walked over to La Nuevo Central for coffee and menudo and talked. He agreed he said at my invitation to move in. I was very jazzed, but hesitant. I still had the sour taste of William Wiggins in my mouth and was afraid of going through the same shit...again, I am Toby's first homosexual relationship and I don't want it to get freaky. I thought I'd play it as cool as possible, be as non-threatening as I can be - just let it take its coarse, right?

After, breakfast, we went to the farmacia and I bought Toby some medicine for his flu and spent the afternoon at me house watching the first three episodes of Star Wars, Toby wanted to relax and get his strength back for the evening. I dozed on and off most of the day. After, Revenge of the Sith, we went for burritos and beer and talked of our relationship and I explained my hesitations. Toby told me not to worry.

As the night progressed, Toby's health returned thanks to the medicine and rest; so we dressed and went out. We met my friends at Bar Callitas and got ripped. The beer flowed. Toby made the mistake of showing them his body tattoos, and those horny bitches began pawing him. But, he seemed to like it. The night went, the caguama bottles emptied and everyone got a good buzz on. We all skipped next door to Elvira's, a bi-sex disco and drank more and danced and had a good time. Around two thirty, Toby said he was tired, so we said our adioses and left for home.

This is when it gets stupid.

Once in bed and with Julee Cruise crooning in the dark, Toby started going on about how horrible my friends are, how he didn't like the fact that they were touching his tattoos, how I was forcing him to do thing that he doesn't like to do, how I am very demanding, how I disrespected him in front of my friends, how I am throwing a bad attitude at him all the time, and other gibberish.

Dear Reader, I need not tell you these things were fabricated for no apparent reason. Was it the booze? Was it how he really felt? Both? I lay there listening to this crap. Every time I tried to speak, his drunk ass would cut me off with another intoxicated accusation. I lept out of bed, flung on my clothes, turned on the lights and growled, "I have shown you nothing but kindness and respect, Toby...But, you wanna see bad attitude? You wanna see the extent of my disrespect? Get your fucking ass outta my bed, get you clothes on and out of my house!"

"But, I's three thirty in the morning!"

"You want sympathy? You have a better chance talking to that cold brick wall. Get out!"

Ah...Alcohol. Well, as he drunkenly dressed, he changed his tune and started in about how much he wanted to love me and wanted to live with me and blah, blah, blah yakkity-smakkity blah blah. I explained to him that he must've expected a simpering passive fairy, something I am not. He must've expected me to cringe and beg him to stay and take his abuse, see how far he could push me. I guess he found out. Slam. He was gone. I do not regret my decision. I felt nothing inside. The problem is, I never feel anything anymore inside. Nothing. Only I have to see this fucker again Monday morning. Sigh. When will I learn? I am such a fool in the romance department.