Lonely Night Pick Up.

Leaving the smokey bar, Alfredo and I walk around the corner through trash and palm plants, no sidewalks, to a one floor shabby hotel with no name. Dogs bark ferociously out in the darkness. Door unlocked and step in room with pink cracked walls and thin pink blankets with cigarette holes hosting the stale aroma of mold and unwashed linens.

Alfredo goes to take a piss, door closed, I sit on the bed and light a joint. Alfredo enters wearing his boxers. "Don't waste no time, do ya?"

I'm pushed down on to bed, he on top, thick oily tongue probes my mouth. Before I am naked several marks are branded onto my neck. Hickeys make me hot! They are my Achilles heel.

Clothes come off and I am sucking his short thick cock, holding on to his large brown balls as his thick fingers wiggle up my ass. On my stomach, spit is applied and Jeeeeeeeesssssuuuussss! He began rutting like a overheated bull. Thwapthwapthwapthwapthwap! Our bodies smacking together rapidly in that unbearable humidity - writhing flesh began to sweat - sheets are messed, pillows knocked onto floor, bed springs overworked and loudly sing. Grunting and sweating, muscular hands brush my body, bulging muscles are kissed and stroked. The sagging bed squeaks in protest as my ass takes a pounding like I haven't had in a long time. My breath is quick, hissing through clentched teeth and behind my closed eyes I see stars. I can feel his penis growing and quivering, the thrusts becoming more frantic.

"Can I come in you, cabrone?"

"No.", I manage to grunt through clenched teeth - erection yanked out and gobs spurt onto my ass and upper back.

Alfredo lays on top of me and strokes my hair with his coarse hands. His eyes deep into my own. "You are so handsome. I like you white boys." We both fall asleep wrapped in each others arms.

Next morning, I awaken with Alfredo snoring next to me. I sit there a bit, studying his short muscular body - tattoos, dark brown torso. Clothes are put on and I slip out the door. Sun blazes in the early morning as storm clouds roll in from the distance. A taxi is called and bleary eyed I ride home. Later that afternoon, I buy a plane ticket back to Tijuana.

Yeah, life is pretty good, but for schizophrenics and manic depressives a sad one, too.