Was bored so I went for a walk in the Old Mercado of Tijuana - found myself on the off-off district were even the well to do Mexicans would dare not tread after dark. It was the lowest of the low - rock bottom. But, the Great White Explorer was looking for adventure and risks were part of the territory. Can you dig it, pendejo?
Walking along that small strip at dusk, I received a feast for the eyes; the buzzing, flash of glaring neon, the putrid drunks lying on the grungy broken sidewalk in their own waste; ugly, mangy dogs eating out of rubbish piled in dark doorways, catatonic and filthy Mexicans dressed in rags glared at me as I walked by. The smell of cheap greasy fried food mingled with the stench of sour beer, piss, and shit.
I was buffeted by ugly forms of hookers on all sides.
"Wanna fuck, meester?"
"Twenny dallah make you hallah."
"Watch me fuck my brother?"
Good God! What was next: Me so horny?
I was asked several times by some scary looking tattooed covered cholos if I wanted to buy any heroin or crystal. I said no and just smiled like the stupid gringo and moved on.
It also seemed all the taxi drivers were on the hustle.
An ancient bent over gnarled man approached me. "Senor...just a moment, Senor." He pleaded.
I stopped. "Yeah? What is it?" I asked looking down on that shriveled thing.
He put his hand on my arm and whispered through yellow decayed teeth, "I got the biggest pussy in Tijuana."
"You!?" I asked incredulously, lighting a Lucky Strike.
"Yes!" He cackled.
"Man, you're in the wrong line of work as a taxi driver." I laughed.
"No! No!" He chuckled, realizing his mistake of words. "No, I take you to the big pussy!"
I declined, walking away smiling to myself.
In Tijuana, female prostitution is largely confined to licensed houses. On the other hand, male prostitutes are everywhere. They assume that all visitors are homosexual and solicit openly in the streets. I have been approached by boys who could not have been over twelve. That appalls me - I loathe pedophiles.
I stopped at a taco stand and ordered three tacos carne asadas and a Sol cerveza. There I struck up a conversation with a Mexican named Roman Torres. A slender well built guy from the state of Zacatecas. He dressed all in black - and he was hot. Tall with a shaggy goatee. We talked for awhile then Roman invited me back to his apartment. With a stirring in my nether-regions I agreed. Wouldn't you?
We took a taxi libre, since he lived up in the hills, stopping first at an all night market for fruit and groceries, with the taxi waiting patiently outside. Once at Roman's place, he didn't have money for the fare and neither did I. The angry taxi driver chased us up the stairs to Roman's flat with a steel pipe and banged viciously on the metal door until eventually giving up and going away. The two of us laughed at that juvenile act. Roman grabbed me and kissed me with his tender lips and hot tongue. Next thing I know, we're in the back bedroom. He didn't say a word, but the stiffening of his penis under his black jeans spoke for him.
Closing the door, Roman pushed me back on the bed and lay on top of me - clothes were thrown around the small room. His tongue wrestled with mine as my legs wrapped around his brown hips. Rolling me onto my stomach, the hottie spread my cheeks and flicked his tongue in and out of my ass. Fumbling, he slid his erection into me and I swear that long fucker poked my intestines. Roman started banging me like his life depended on it. Fifteen minutes must of passed and -squirtsquirtsquirt- he was done. He kissed my upper back -"Gracias"- and lay on top of me in a tight embrace until his heavy breathing subsided. Breakfast was a wee bit yummier the following morning I tell ya.
Roman invited me to stay the day with him and since I didn't have to work, I obliged. He lived in a small one-room efficiency and the entire apartment building shared the same bathroom and shower - the restroom was a biological horror. I never agreed to the fact that Mexicans wiped their asses and tossed the used paper into the trash can instead of the toilet so that shit stained paper always littered the floor.
Roman lived in the "Old Colonias" - and is all that you expect it to be: a maze of narrow, sunless streets, twisting and meandering like footpaths, many of them blind alleys. The smell is incredible and it's difficult to identify all the ingredients - marijuana, seared meat, and rotting sewage are well represented. You witness filth, poverty, disease, all endured with a curious apathetic indifference.
Roman and I spent the afternoon in and out of intercourse until he had to go to work. Roman was a security guard that worked the graveyard shift for some computer store. I expected to be hit up for some money, but the subject never came up. He walked me to the corner, we shook hands, and said our goodbyes. Once home, I lit a joint and watched Desperate Living. I laughed my ass off. John Waters is a comical wizard!