Rain pounds hard and I mean from nowhere baby - like outta some damn Micky Spillane novel. I stand on my balcony, sucking on a Lucky and a whiskey lost in the nights darkness drops bounce up splattering my khakis when my phone rings - "Yeah?"
"What up, fool?"
Ugh - hetro. Still have no clue who it is, so - "Who is this?"
"It's Roberto." Oh yeah - Roberto, that friend from my job who was tricked in screwing the old switcharoo in J-Town (That's Juarez City, south of the border to El Paso to you ignorant fucks.) with the tranny last week. Freaked out, quit his job and high tailed it back to Idaho all the very next day - that Roberto. Well, seems the freaky fucker had since returned and with some friend in tow - and now wants to troll the streets of J-Town. "Nope. No more Juarez for you, kiddo - not after last time. You're cut off. Plus it's raining - and I don't do rain."
"C'mon, man - I wanna show my friend around and if I go by myself I'll get lost." Roberto began to whimper.
Ugh - "Look - by now the fucking city is a vast mud hole with a fine layer of stinking garbage. You wanna trudge around a mudhole?"
Well being a kind hearted faggitto I eventually gave in and so did the rain and an hour later I found myself crossing the International Bridge with said hottie and his rather thuggish and unfortunate looking friend 'Mike'. Damn - the boy was hard on the eyes - like a deformed hairless gorilla albino. Ew.
We sloshed through stinking heaps of feces smelling sewage and taxi drivers all on the hustle to Hollywood Club the best titty bar in lower J-town and sat ordering three sets of cervezas Dos Equis. We sat and drank as up on stage the hoochies jiggle and quivered in all the wrong places. Then the bitches started to slither over. My homosexual genes where screaming to get out and get out now but with iron will I kept my cool as I was pawed and stroked by these diseased she-bitches. The boys had a ball - $250 worth of lap dances later we split. And of course they now were hornier than hell - so it was off to a house of ill repuke.
This one cooze was good - as we walked by a cathouse, this white spandex clad ho sprung outta her trap like a jack in the box onto the side walk in front of us in a lucha libre stance ready for the kill and began her babbling spiel with Roberto that does he wanna come in a bang the bajeebus outta her or is he a fag. Well - after much debate if the bitch was a he/she (remembering his last faux pau) he finally succumbed to the Medusa and paid for her advances and bought Mike a jiggly tart, too.
I sat with the old haggish Mamacita in the foyer sipping on a Pepsi Light - hearing the bed banging and pounding like crazy in Roberto's cubicle - staring at the old wooden door with ravaged disembodied ghostly lust - sat crossed legged on that old leather hotel chair sucking that Lucky so nasty. The whore moaned and Roberto grunted and fifteen or so minutes and a loud sigh later Roberto walks out looking like he just took a shower and I am so pent up with jealous frustration. Fuck!
A few moments pass and that ugly lump of flesh Mike wobbles down the hall buttoning his pants. We all say adios and step out into the dark drizzle and much bravura and back slapping and cigarettes are passed as we walk back to the International Bridge. A short preliminary check against the wall by the police patrol - but they were cool about it - small chit-chat with them, search of pockets and let us move on.
Once stateside we rush back to Roberto's apartment and break open a bottle of Jose Cuervo and start drinking heavy - Roberto takes a quick shower - "I hate that stink of bitch on me." He jokes. I can relate.
The night progresses and the more drunk we get the funnier things start to become. Of course, my flirting gets outta hand - Mike asks if I am a faggot or something - I answer, "Heh - or something."
Eventually, Mike passes out in his bed room and I make my move - on the living room floor to the green light of the stereo hi-fi the classic seduction without boundaries and without scope. What ensued with Roberto, that beautiful Mexican - I haven't been screwed that hard with that much passion since grade school. Next morning - woke up with a hang over and a sore ass. The three of us enjoyed a somewhat stifled breakfast at IHOP. Roberto and I averting glances - he swirling toast crust in his egg yolk - mumbling vowels and consonants. Good coffee, though.
I had to sleep - after breakfast, dropped off at my flat, goodbyes where said and went up to my trap. In the case of Roberto - Prometheus, what?