Drunken Faggots.

Hector Mercado.

Bastardo.

I sat in Taco Lucas chomping down some crunchy flautas on the corner of Avenida Juarez and Calle Ignacio Mejia - eyeing the hot vaquero with his henpecked wife two tables over - he looks over and smiles - I smile back lighting a Lucky and my blue eyes all sparkly and the man blushes. Bitch grabs his square jaw and jerks him around, "Are you listening to me?!"

Ugh - women.

Well - Hector decided to show up and looking like Hector does his lateness was pardoned - he kissed his wife hello - yup, the cashier - the fucking hostess, Gracelda - was his wifie. Nice as far as broads go. Hector was dressed in his dark denim and black leather and I nearly creamed my dry goods lusting over that thick stocky man frame as he scraped up a chair to my table and ordered a beer and some tacos al fresco, cabrone.

We ate as men eat - great gulps of flesh and swigs of beer and laughing of antidotes of wild drunken times and adventures and sexual escapades. A few of my cigarettes later, Hector asked "Hey, guero, have you ever drank a tequila called Xuxupaste?" Pronounced Chu-chu-past-eh for you dumb fucks that don't know Espanola.

"Nope." I said, ordering another beer. "Can't say I have. Is it any good?"

"Aie, guey - the best. Finish up - I'm taking you around the corner to the oldest bar in Juarez that has the best Xuxupaste." Hector said like an excited teen ready to burst my cherry - eyes a poppin' and biting his bottom lip.

"Okay." I sighed. As we walked to the door where are you going or more like donde esta was roared at us from that mammoth woman of his. Whirling around - Gracelda stood there like some supreme Aztec earth goddess arms crossed and flanked by the condescending greasy cook.

"Out for a beer." Hector said to her. She clomped over and towered above - holding up one finger. "Bueno, Hector - ONE BEER! Okay! Solomente - one!"

"Okay, baby!" He smiled - kiss on the cheek. "One beer - I promise. I love you."

Out the door - hot concrete under our feet. Past the crumbling adobe and the ravaged heroin hookers - past the piles of garbage and the roving packs of cholos - we came upon a small cantina called El Arbolitas. Entering the bar was small with two metal tables three booths and a huge mahogany bar that was warped to Dr. Suessian proportions. The bar was populated by the friendliest group of working class guys I have ever encountered in Juarez City.

Behind the bar, the bartender was a friendly jovial man that emitted warth and hospitality. Hector ordered one beer each, cerveza Sol. He then order two shots of Xuxupaste. It cam in a clear bottle with some sort of large root in it - to me it looked like a petrified hand. Slice of lemon - salt on the wrist...Slamming it back - the taste was bitter, with a hint of gin. Not bad - good kick.

Ten more and Hector and I were fucked up. And we still hadn't finished our first beer. Some fat guy took out a guitar and the entire cantina burst into singing old Mexican folk ballads - it was something out of a movie. We all laughed and slapped each other on the back - told jokes and stories and downed more of that delicious Xuxupaste.

Eleven thirty rolled around and the bar shut down. Hector and I - arms around each other for support - stumbled back to Taco Lucas. waiting at the door - arms folded and mad as a hornet was Gracelda. "Look at you two! I told you - one beer!"

Hector looked at her - focused for a moment, "I didn't brake my promise, honey - we had one beer. Ten tequilas - but one beer."

We both fell on the concrete laughing. Gracelda hit Hector across the back - "You're impossible!"

Hector and I were both so gone that two Mariachi had to help us to a table and Gracelda brought us coffee - however when Hector went to the washroom - he never came back. For over an hour he stayed in there. First, Gracelda was at the locked door banging on it - calling his name - but to no avail. Then a line of mariachi kept knocking calling his name - but Hector still wouldn't come to the door. Finally, the police were called to force open the door - there was Hector - curled up on the floor under the sink with a smile on his face passed out.

With a splash of bucket water - Hector was revived and it was my duty to walk his drunk ass the two blocks to his house. Fine - I told Gracelda I'll crash on the sofa. "And don't wake up my children!", she shrilled as I helped Hector down the cobblestone sidewalk. Once back at Hector's house and after thirty minutes of drunken Three Stooges comedy of trying to get the door open - Hector and I creep into his bed room. It took Herculean effort to control myself as I stood there watching Hector peel of them clothes and crawl in bed. Damn - he has a physique like a pro wrestler - muscles bulging all over the damn place.

The only thing I can report is he pulled me on top of him and we made out. Kissing those thick soft lips - feeling that hot fat tongue - I was so excited. But - he passed out again. So - I just left the house, walked across the border and returned to my apartment.

Hector - you make me so anxious...