Tonight is the Longest Night

The wind blew dust and garbage down the long dark streets. The gusts were so fierce, the lamp posts were wobbling - causing the shadows to play against silent lonely brick walls.

We slipped through the cracked glass door of the De Soto hotel, but not fast enough not to let in a woosh of gritty wind. The door snapped shut.

"Hey!" Roared a voice. "Can't smoke in da lobby!" It was the fat receptionist behind the desk.

I turned quickly and flicked the half smoked cigarette out the door. It didn't even hit the ground, zipping off into the gust.

The lobby was a small oblong room with flaking paint, bare with the exception of a well worn red carpet, and faded dusty prints of bullfighters on the wall. The yellow light from the high florescent lamps gave the room a ghastly tint.

We three - Manny, Juan, and I - walked up to the old dark wood reception desk cluttered with paper work and dust. Manny was the skinny, handsome friend I had known for a while, his friend Juan was a squat cholo with a boxers physique - wife beater and khakis with shaved head and gold steel rimmed glasses. He claimed he was a member of the Aztecas - local charter group of wannabe gangsters here in our fair city. Couldn't finish a sentence without the word fucker in it.

A fat Mexican with a lined face full of moles sat there eyeing us in hostile contempt. His baby blue t-shirt was soiled and spotted from sweat and food and God knows what else. He stank like baloney and farts. "Whattay boys need?"

We explained we were here to visit a guest named Kamal. He grudgingly grabbed a phone, dialed - dialed! - a few numbers, "Kamal...yeah...yeah...well, they're three guys here to see ya...yeah...ok." He hung up the receiver and buzzed us through a metal gate. "Go on up, room 219."

We started up the old wooden stairs that creaked under us to the third floor, we walked along the dark shadowy halls on faded red carpet that smelled of mildew and bleach. Here and there, small bags of garbage sat neatly tied outside a few doors. Reaching Kamal's room we knocked.

Kamal answered the door - a grotesque, pot bellied redkneck in torn black t-shirt and dirty jean shorts. I knew him from my time at the mission. He was unshaven with a buzz cut. His teeth were long and discolored. What he lacked in outward offensiveness he made up for his sociability. With loud gaffaws and back slaps he invited us into his room.

There were two old hotel chairs, an antique bureau with a small television perched on it, a worn bed was against the wall with the smelly blankets and sheets wadded up into a corner exposing a sagging mattress. The carpeted floor was littered in food containers and cigarette butts and unwashed clothing thrown about. The room smelled of sweat and dried semen mixed with tobacco ash.

Kamal asked blubberingly if we had it and Manny pulled out a little baggie of coke.

"Awright! Let's get this party started!" Kamal stood up and took the mirror off the wall placing it on the bed, wiping the dust off with a soiled, ratty towel. With a Cosco card, Manny cut out four fat lines of the whitish powder. Rolling up a dollar bill into a cylinder, we took turns snorting that stuff.

First Kamal - it was his room - so, I guess the fat fuck went first, then Manny. I stood there and watched as they snorted the dope up into their nostrils - Juan watched too, with concentrated hostile glare on his face.

I leaned over the mirror, glancing at the other anxious faces lit by the dim light of the sole lamp in the room and said, "No body sneeze."

Juan snapped, "Just do it, fucker, and stop playing around!"

Kamal made the off kilter comment stating as matter of factly, "Man, Juan - lay offa my buddy, Louie. He's my bestest friend - he may be gay and all, but he's cool as fuck!".

Juan glared at me as I inhaled my line in a steady intake, "You gay, man? Shit, you don't act queer."

I just shrugged it off and lit a cigarette. The effects of the coke popped and tingled up my spine and activated in my brain. Everything sharp and clear. I snorted and hacked the residue down my gullet.

Manny cut out four more lines and we repeated the ritual - almost silently, with reverence. We did more after that.

"Fuck! We need beer." Kamal blurted, the effects of the drug showing in his face - his jerking movements.

"What's open?" i asked.

"There's a Chevron gas station open near - we can get a thirty pack there." Manny said, taking one of my smokes.

Kamal and Manny took donations to make a beer run, leaving me alone with Juan. Juan plopped on the bed and I sat twitching in a chair. Juan was still lit from the fifth of whiskey he bought before we found him wondering the streets earlier that night.

Juan sat up and turned on the television. We switched on the set and found a channel playing porn. Two lesbians went at it. I started making gay cracks and Juan just mumbled shut the fuck up. He was horny, laying on the bed, back propped against the wall with one leg up obstructing my view of his crotch.

He lay there, uttering comments at the screen, "Yeah, bitch - eat that pussy. Yeah - like that. Go ahead, put them fingers up there. Oh, yeah, that's right."

"You never ever done anything with a dude in your life?" I asked, taking a drag, blowing blue smoke up to the peeling ceiling.

He briskly shook his head. Eyes blood shot, squinted - feet twitched in amped convulsions. Silence. Another lesbian scene started as Juan continued with his commentary.

"What you need is a blow job." I said. "When was the last time you came?"

"Shut the fuck up, dude!" He snapped, eyes glued to the images flickering onscreen. "Fucking faggot..." He pronounced it 'feggit'.

Long silence as I sat there watching this brute watch the porn. The scene ended and another started with some tired looking guy getting his cock sucked by a coked up blond.

"Fuck yeah, suck on that shit." Juan whispered - head full of liquor and coke.

I finished a cigarette in silence - vibrating off that great coke. Manny always has good shit and was always liberal with it. On various occasions we would meet in bars and with a look in the eyes, we were in the bathroom stalls snorting that shit off of the toilet paper dispenser cover.

Eventually, Juan twitched and mumbled something that sounded like "C'mere."

"What?" I said softly.

He lowered his leg exposing his erection in his khakis. "C'mre, you wannit - c'mere?"

I stood up from the chair plopped next to him, placing my hand on his cock, it was long and throbbed through his pants. I reached for the zipper, but he pushes my hand away. "Nah...nah, just play with it."

I stroked it a few times, going for the zipper. His cock throbbed three times up through his pants. He pushed me away, "Nah...I'm done...I'm done."

I noticed a big wet splotch on his pants. The fucker shot off in his pants! No grunt, no heavy breathing. So fucking masculine...

"Why don't you go wash yourself off?" I recommended.

"Man, you better not fucking say anything to fucking anybody - got that?" He stated, pointing at my face.

You can count on me!

I returned to my chair and sat watching a big, giant cockroach skitter up the wall disappearing behind a framed picture of the sea. As Juan walked out of the bathroom - the splotch still noticeable, flipping the channel to Rambo. We sat in silence a few minutes watching the movie as suddenly the door banged open with Kamel and Manny charging in with several cans of Steel Reserve.

"All right!" I said cheerfully. "About time! What took you maniacs so long?"

"Dude!" Kamal stuttered. "That bitch at the store was giving me the heat about all those pennies ya'll gave me! Fuck that cunt!"

We sat for the next two hours drinking and bullshitting. I sat quietly as they stated how they wanted to fuck every woman that popped on screen in every commercial - Juan even more dramatically so.

Manny busted out four more lines and we all took our turns. Kamal howled his conversations in a drug fueled frenzy. The discussions fluctuated back and forth between girls, Mexico, girls, beer, girls, coke, girls, movies, girls, sports, girls...

Round 3:30 in the morning - my mind swimming from beer and dope - I said my good byes and started out, down the silent stairs and past the fat asshole glaring at me through the lobby. Fuck you, too.

Dark winds were blowing in the night, a train howled echoing in the distance, and somewhere a dog barked. Feeling that burn of solitude gnawing away like a stomach full of maggots. Strutting with hands in pockets and shoulders up to my ears in a vain attempt to hide from the vile gusts, my mind raced, reflecting on past loves. Where have they all gone? This life is long and inside it is getting colder...

The Town and the City.

Last night the storm passed over The City and washed away the filth leaving lakes of smelly garbage. Old Indian women wrapped in grey rags against adobe wall. The rain fell in buckets. Into a dirty muddy taxi. Pablo and I raced through puddles of sewage to several small nightspots until we reached El Mansion. Small but obviously the spot. Rent Boys poised with hooked hips by the jukebox. Sugar Daddies flutter around them in a stylised ballet. Towering Drag Queens in The Darkness. Smokey with the red fireflies of cigarette cherries. Purple and red and yellow flashes fill the air sparkling off of the walled mirrors. Bodies gyrate and simulate fucking on the small dance floor. Danced and swirled and drank. Several heroes sided up to me and asked a million questions in a foreign language. I nodded and smiled with brown hands touching my arm, my leg, my face. Guapo. Mumbled several times like natives around a fire.
Beer flowed, conversations stuttered, words found and then lost in a disco beat. Entered the men's pissoir, was cruised only as Mexicans can. A foreign tongue hit its mark and was pushed against the white tiled wall and kissed with passion and hatred. Pablo enters and stopped the luche amor.
Drunk I was, tittering, dropping my beer, knocking over a chair. Still more alcohol was bought for me, seems I was the Guest of Honor. El Primo Faggito. Macho Rent Boy, hot with square jaw and Poncho Villa moustache the eyes alive with cocaine fire tapping my chest hard, "What ya want, gringo? Want my beeg dick, joto?" Only straight men say dick, fags say cock. Funny. I am jerked away by four hands onto the dance floor and showed 'em my moves. Doin' The Elaine--Ha! My pack of Lucky Strikes are emptied by begging hands and the beer flowed.
Stumbled out into the night, Pablo and some other wrapped around me giggling and talking in the dialect as we stomp through the rushing water. Flop into a booth in an all night food joint - neon arabesques flicking in purple - and I slouch down zonked into the booth, eyes fuck'd up, held up by Pablo. Or maybe his friend, who cares. Coffee is ordered for me and can I get a fucking cigarette, please? Chatting. Blah. Blah. I look at Pablo and Pablo looks at me and I place my hand behind his head and brings him near and our tongues touch. Tastes like coffee and cigarettes. Warm and wet. Pablo's friend - what the fuck ya say yer name was, cutie? Ah, yes, Manuel - Thank you. Wanna take turns on Pablo, I say in English, Manuel just shrugs and shakes his head, no intiendo. I like Nintendo, I say in English and Pablo tongue wrassles me some more and the waiter comes over and tells us to knock it off. Putos.
With a grunt of stripped gears the taxi (Driver mumbles pinche jotos) whirls away into the night, the three of us in the back seat. Me in the middle, Pablo embraces me and we kiss, as my wondering hand gropes Manuel's well endowment. Screech of old fucking tires in front of my hotel. A debate of what to do with this gringo. Manuel sinks into the seat, arms folded stare into the back of the driver seat, the cab is paid and takes off into the downpour with one sad Mexican.
Up three flights of tiled stairs, shoes sloshing, and slamming the door behind us. I pull my shirt off and lean on the wall as my pants are yanked down and I say, Fuck yeah. Pablo sucks my American cock like a champ. He stands and undresses his self, hard on poking out straight and free, I wrap my arms around his thin brown torso and we plop onto the bed. A rubber is applied as I rip open a small packet of lubricant. Lay onto my stomach. Pablo glides on top of me. Little bites on the back, fingers sucked. I grab the pillows as Pablo grabs my shoulders and lunges and thrusts. I grunt through clenched teeth as Pablo jacks me off from behind. Si, tu gusto, baby? The bed creaks and squeeks and boings and thumps, pillows fall onto the tiled floor and sheets and blankets are twisted as much as my body. Thwap-thwap-thwap-thwap-thwap his brown hips smack against my ass doggy-style and then Aiiiieee! He squirts his semen and lays there ontop of me kissing my back with his penis still in me for a long time. I roll over, still a little tipsy and we kiss and fall asleep, ass throbbing and sore.
Morning. Coffee in the corner shop and he goes to work. I sit in the Internet cafe and I watch him work. He keeps smiling. "What are you writing", he asks in Spanish, smiling his smile. "All is lost. All is lost. That is all I ever write", I say in English. No intiendo. Afterwards, I go to my feelthy hotel room and sleep.
Mexico is a dream.

FEARLESS

"You gotta admit, Oscar - it's some good kicks"

Through the sunless cobblestone streets of The Market, whores, fat and nasty, sat and waited forever. Old vatos cried out selling razors and socks, lottery tickets and batteries. Teeming with a mass of people doing their shopping.
Oscar and I stopped for chicken tacos, slop on a plate, chugging cold agua tamarindos then down Calle Mariscal, evil glances from pushers who spat on the side walk as we dodged junk buses and hurtling taxi cabs air so dirty that it clogged your pores.
Up to Burrito Row. Ten corrugated iron shacks in a row that catered to puta, junky, and fag alike - they don’t discriminate.
Crazy lady sat in shit and filth and babbled as a mongrel looked on speculatively under that big blue Mexican sky. Pimp eyed me and nodded, I nodded back, he took a toothpick out of his mouth examined it, his shades turn the other way.
Door attendants at a titty bar across the street caught sight of my gringo ass and started the hustle:
“No cover!”
“Nice lady!”
“Pussy girls! Titty women!”
I waved them on with a poker face through my dark wraparound sunglasses, cause I meant business and they sulked away only to pounce on two other American assholes. A ver.
Oscar couldn’t score, so we jetted across the corner to a pool hall. Dark, smokey and the air filled with blaring Pink Floyd.
Fat Mexican with a mullet shook his head - eyed me with suspicious contempt - sneered through silver capped teeth, “No got.”
So, we walked half of a block over to El Arbolito, one of the oldest bars in Juarez City. Oscar and I swung through the rusted metal door and slide up to the bar. All action stopped in the little cantina and all eyes fell on us.
With a loud scrape of stools, we plunked down and both ordered double tequilas each. The owner, ancient and obese, scrutinized us with glassy eyes, crouched in the dim corner like a khaki clad Buddha.
With a flashbulb of urgency, I took in the trap - small; three booths, three metal tables with chairs, a piss trough at the base of a goddamn huge mahogany bar warped to Dr. Suessian contortions.
I asked the owner’s son about the warped bar - to break the ice unnerstand - and he related that was is due to the constant flooding of the Rio Bravo - that’s the Rio Grande to you pinche gabachos.
The sprinkling of working stiffs sat indifferently around the cantina chatting with each other, laughing, drinking, ignoring us. The atmosphere was very relaxed.
Oscar and I ordered another tequila with a cold cerveza chaser. As I lit a Lucky Strike and drank, Oscar and the owner’s son were in an animated conversation. Then Oscar handed him some crumpled pesos, which were placed under the till, a small packet of wax paper was placed in Oscar’s hand and we walked out the door; both saying, “Gracias.”
“Gracias.” Everyone said back.
The sky was a clear blue, the air clean and pure. The pedestrians happy and carefree. An old man smiled toothlessly at a joke from a young friend, a cop bent down to hand an ice cream to a child, two lovers strolled embraced down the avenue.
We cut across Juarez Avenue, winding through cars of tourists bitching to get back to the U.S. of A. goddammit, and down my dead end street paved in blackened beer bottle caps, clanged through the metal door, up the green concrete stairs, unlocked the deadbolt - ah, home!
Clothes were flung off and a snort or two off of the dresser - wheeeee! - fell onto the bed naked, clinging to each other, kissing passionately. Fingers, tongues, and cocks were sucked. Rolled onto my stomach and lubricant was applied, Oscar slid himself in so long and nasty.
With quick savage thrusts he pounded my ass for a good half hour, more or less - bed springs boinging and pinging - his muscular brown hips slapped against my smooth and tenders - smack-smack-smack-smack! Ground his cock up in my ass so hot and savage; whispered into my ear, “I’m almost there, baby, where you wanit?”
“You kidding?” I groaned. “On my face!”
He yanked himself out of me and flipped me onto my back.
Sitting on my chest, he masturbated wildly. “GODAMGODAM!” I felt hot licks of semen splatter across my face. He rubbed his erection across my lips, my tongue licked the head. I looked up at him. Pause. Laughter.
“Let me get a towel, baby.” He said and went into the bathroom, cock semi-hard and glistening, swinging free.
After I cleaned up, we lay side by side and shared a joint. Oscar lay on his back with his arm folded back under his head. My head was propped up by a pillow by his side. Silence.
Everyday is Like Sunday by The Smiths warbled over the radio. Oscar took the joint from his mouth and placed it in my lips. I stared up at the ceiling fan whirling slowly.
He is the one, I thought, He is the one. If not…the prototype. I think I am in love...again.
3:45am. Lo que paso, paso by Daddy Yankee bopped over the hi-fi. Only the fluttering light from two scented candles and the orange flame of the gas heater lit the dark room. Shadows jiggled and danced.
We lay naked in messed sheets, with drained scrotum, embraced. Oscar stretched on his back and I lay on my side propped up on one elbow. My thumb brushed gently across his thick black eyebrows. I looked deep into his brown eyes, distant sparks deep inside. My finger glides down the bridge of his nose, notice the light freckles, to his thick lips, he kissed my finger. No words were uttered.
What if he is just playing me? He sees a lot of girls, what if he just is using me? Or worse, fucking some other person behind my back? The doubt surged in my heart, I could not control the rush of blood to my face and I blushed. When he leaves my apartment, does he go to lie in someone else’s bed?
I kissed his lips, so sweet, a peck on his chin, a smooch on his neck. Mmmm, God, he smelled so good. Slowly, up and down his neck. I nibbled his earlobe, my nose brushed against his neck. My hand brushed across his pecks, down across the rib cage, the hard brown stomach.
Is he just after my money? Does he plan to steal my things? My CD’s? My DVD’s? My cell phone? If I gave him the key to my apartment, who else would he fuck on my bed when I am at work? Would his friends help him carry out my television...my stereo? Steal my clothes? Sell it all for junk?
With his hand, he held my chin and reached up and kissed me, his thick tongue flicked in my mouth and we exchanged saliva. Sweet and warm. He pulled away and laid his head deep into the pillow. He stared into my eyes, my soul. There was admiration and serenity in his face as he stared at me. His thumb caressed gently across my lips. His other hand stroked my back and it felt so good. It made me feel so comfortable, so calm. I lay my head on his chest and I heard his heart beating, beating, beating. So warm. So smooth. No words were spoken.
Does he shoot up like his brother? Is he infected with diseases? AIDS? Hepatitis C? Will he kill me with a virus?
Presently, his breathing went calm and regular and I noticed he had fallen asleep in my embrace as I cradled him in my arms. I casually stroked his shaved head before I drifted off into sleep. All is well in the universe at this moment.

"Create"

Schitzophrenic Freak.

And now I unleash my Word Hoard:

Every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all to his advantage.

I came to realize the reason that I am in El Paso is that I thought at the time that I was very lonely. Let's face it, in Tijuana I was spiraling into a full fledged junky..."Addicts are as boring a bunch of people as I ever encountered. They've got this one track mind.''...and that was a path that no one wanna slide down, ya dig.

So's I find myself in Chuco Town - flat on my bloody sore ass and see a shrink who thought after I told my tales of woe of the last five years of my life thought that I should be locked up and throw away the key no rampaging roaming queens aloud in my district, sweetypuss, but I digress the now is happening and the thought of returning to San Diego and all points south has been tempting my wondering baby blue eye and I have been suffering from insomnia for the last 48 hours with these fucking thoughts: I want to go back to Tijuana but I don't want to go I want to stay in Juarez City but I don't want to stay the lure of drugs and corruption seduce my being on both sides and both decisions have their good points and their bad points which of coarse sucks like a fairy in a bath house...an old ugly fairy. So I went to MHMR and talked to my shrink and she took notes and scribbled little scribbles never looking at me you understand coz I'm soooo feelthy but wanted to put me back on mind-fuck medication and I told her she can stuff it up her wrinkled snatch and stormed out because more or less and generally more I like my self I always say if I die tomorrow I'd die happy I have no regrets but I will write these events my purpose in writing it as "shitting out my educated Southern California background once and for all. It's a matter of catharsis, where I say the most horrible things I can think of.

This stream-of-consciousness spewing is apparently an attempt to free myself from the social and familial conditioning that controls me, that hems me in, that ultimately drives me - in desperation or rebellion - to self-limiting and self-destructive choices but I am evading the issue I can't make up my mind what to do Juarez City pretty much offers the same as Tijuana but without the high-paced stress but the pay rate in El Paso is below poverty level and I am a faggito that has high standards, bitch, and I won't get fucked behind any old dumpster so I talked to my shrink "Urgent warning.

I think I'll stay here in shriveling envelopes of larval flesh...

One of the nastiest cases ever produced by this department." and wailed I feel so lost I can't think there is only a big fat blank as far as my future is concerned I mean, Dear Reader, I wish I could be like you and go to work regularly and pay rent regularly and have a big screen television and a PS2 and an electric can opener and a mustang convertible with all the trimmings and go to prim and proper little dinner parties with polite laughter at stupid jokes made by simpering fairies but I can't and the fucking problem is that I don't know why I know what I do is not normal, I mean the blog that I spill forth is not fiction how can anybody make this shit up continuously for a EIGHT whole fucking years I was there I seen smelled and touched everything that happened so I know it's real, so fuck you you faithless philistines anyways ever tell ya the time I was in Tijuana I once saw a seventeen year old Mexican Indian boy Azteca who could play the flute with his ass, and the fairies told me he was really an individual in bed...ahem, I read other blogs and I wonder am I the only one in the world who travels and has a sex life (I miss you so much Saul "muthafukuh makes love like a pimp!") and enjoys everything that this big blue marble has to offer ah, yes but therein lies the problem...

Do you see a contradiction here? Perhaps the essential writer's contradiction? It is making me crazy and so I guess I will continue to roam and drink and smoke and fuck to the bitter end and the only way I will be able to save my soul is to write my way out.

A word to the wise guy.

damned

Well past midnight and I lay here in a cocoon of darkness. No sound but the tapping of these keys and the steady hum of the air conditioner. It doesn't work to well. As I said - I lay here in paranoid angst. I feel if my chest is going to explode - as if my very heart is going to give out. Is it too late, I wonder - too late to fix this train wreck of a life that I had created? I can not take this existence much more. A long list of failures and let downs on all fronts. My life has been a poisoned river and I think I have come to it's end. Maybe I want it to end. Really, what is left?

I am so bored of it all.

Everyone is Gay

I paid for the cigarettes and as the sun came down and the stars faded out I started home with my bundle. Turning the corner on my street, I stopped to light a cigarette and I hear, “Hey, guero, got a smoke?”
I looked to see a short skinny guy in wife beater, baggy khaki pants, with a skinned head. His brown eyes are large and sparkle with inner youth, brown freckles splashed across his cheeks and nose. He had a smile like a predator, showing small white teeth. Nice toned pecs. I hand him a cigarette.
“Thanks. Where ya going?” He asked, lighting up.
“I was thinking of going to get a bowl of menudo. There is this restaurant that I know and the menudo is quite toothsome.”
“For reals! I love menudo. Let me go with you.” He smiled that smile again.
“Uhm, what's your name?” I asked.
“Oscar.” He said.
I told him mine and we walked the couple of blocks to Cafe Central, a ratty joint but have the best menudo in greater Juarez. We sat and talked. He is twenty-one years old and he used to live in the States for eleven years, hence his perfect English, but was deported with his illegal parents two years ago. He can live in the States, but prefers to stay with his ailing mother. He then went into a long tirade about how he was hit by a truck while crossing the street and lay in a coma for three months, showing the scars here and there on his lean torso to accent his story.
“I'm a little crazy. They took some of my brain out.”
“Really.” I said, slurping down my menudo. This person is cute but definitely a strange character.
Several cups of coffee later, he asks, “So, watta ya gonna do right now?”
“I was thinking of spending a day at the movies.” The porno movies that is. Juarez has a nefarious porno theater that is legendary - seemed like a nice way to while away the afternoon.
“Can I go with you? I haven't been to the movies forever.” He asked, lighting up another of my cigarettes.
“Well, I'm going to the porno theater. You might not like it...a lot of fags go there and suck each other’s cock.” I stated matter of factly putting on my sunglasses and reaching for my wallet to pay the bill.
“Oh, man,” He smiled. “I haven't had a blow job forever. If you don't mind...can I go with you?”
Sure. Why not?
Cross Park Independencia and pay the lady the sixty pesos for us both and enter the two-theater building. The inside smelled of mildew and semen. Several Mexicans walked out of one theater into the other one, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. Oscar and I walked into the cavernous first theater. Once a grand movie palace, now it was in ruins with huge gaping holes in the roof and great cracks rendered the flaking cement walls - looked as if the building would collapse at any moment. Feeling our way in the darkness, we found the balcony and sat next to each other in old wooden seats.
Flickering on the torn screen was an old American porno from the eighties, dubbed in Italian with Spanish subtitles. Scattered around the large theater sat several Mexicans, some in pairs, some alone, others cruising up and down the aisles.
Oscar noticed some young guy blowing another a few rows away. “Hey, look! Omigod! Is he sucking that dude’s dick?” He whispered.
“No, he's probably looking for his lost contact lens. Of course, tonto, what do you think they're doing?” I joked.
“A guebo, that's hot.” I heard Oscar whisper from the darkness.
I felt Oscar take my hand and place it onto his crotch. He was very excited. Zip and pull his penis free of his boxers, playing with his foreskin and the little drop of lubricant that formed at the tip. With the wacka wacka wacka music of the porno movie wafting through the stale air, I leaned over and gave Oscar a blowjob. Hissing “Aye que rico!” emptying his semen into my mouth.
“Wow, that was the best head I'd ever had in my life!” He blurts out way too loud.
“You need to get out more often.” I say.
We sit through two movies and five blowjobs later, the young boy is getting comfortable and clings onto me like a little monkey.
I look down into his face in the gloom, “You know, when I first met you I never thought you would be gay.”
“Everyone is gay.” He said flatly and held my chin and gave me the most sweetest of kisses.
We sat there, arms wrapped around each other until the movie was over.
Outside, I invited Oscar to dinner and as we ate our burritos al fresco with a Sol cerveza each - we talked of Nike sneakers and science fiction, fat transvestite hookers and the fact that he never has seen the ocean, Mexican wrestling and the latest model of Mustang. Getting late, he had to take the bus back to his barrio that was a million miles away. I walked him to his bus stop.
“Can I see you again? I really like you.” He said, eyes looking deep into mine.
We made a date for tomorrow night, to go to the regular movies. With people bustling around us, shaking hands, he squeezed my fingers, and boarded his bus. As the old bus farted out black smoke and chugged down the bumpy road, I turned and walked away wondering why I am such a sucker for love. Yet, my lust is drowned out by doubt and mistrust from a thousand nameless assholes.
Just the same, I want to see him again.

Devendra Banhart Foolin' lyrics

Cold Twilight

I'm hungover trying to write this, so fuck you. Mornings when you wake up with that flashbulb of terror - did I do that last nigh? Did I say that? It is normal, I suppose to black out - everyone does. Well, everyone who lives on the edge of madness.

Spent the evening at Sonny's Bar with the El Paso irregulars. sitting out back in the dusty dirt with mismatched, rickety chairs sinking into the litter of a million cigarette butts and chewing gum wrappers.

As Joe and I drank our dollar mugs, thirsty hobos would stand at the fence gawking like at a zoo with desperate dry eyes blinking in the midafternoon sun in dirty shabby dark clothes - a few had the cajones to ask for a dollar. Shooed them away.

Gotten drunker, you bastards and with the alcohol came brazen unhinged faggotry. Hollering hello's and flirting and waving at passing neighborhood boys and slinking bebopping cholos swaggering in packs of two or three who either waved back or yelled, "Pinche jotos!"

That eye candy Jacob slithered in and plopped at our table - his pink eye had healed nicely. However, he was already shit faced from downing High Gravity tall boys all day in some dank alley with his homies from the Opportunity Center. Indeed, nice and drunk and an easy target, me thinks.

So, the next couple of hours I laid the sexual innuendos thick - slamming them onto the boy like a mallet. He kept droning on that he was straight and would never have sex with a man as I just kept ordering beer after beer. Joe, thank God - returned inside to stalk some other barrio boy that he had his eye on.

Finally, after hours of sloppy, drunken seduction - I guess it paid off.

Leaving the smokey bar, Jacob and I walked the two blocks through trash and dusty shrubs, no sidewalks, to my humble trap . Dogs bark ferociously out in the darkness. Door unlocked and step in room with white cracked walls and thin gray blankets with cigarette holes hosting the stale aroma of mold and unwashed linens.
Jacob goes to take a piss, door closed, I sit on the bed and light a joint. He exits wearing his boxers.

"Don't waste no time, do ya?" I mumbled.

I'm pushed down on to bed, he on top, thick oily tongue probed 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 begun 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 clenched 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, dude?"

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

Jacob lays on top of me and strokes my hair with his coarse hands. When his breathing subsided, he slid off of me and lay in the dark shadows on his side, his back towards me with arms crossed. I could feel the guilt emanating from him like television broadcasts. I dare not touch him and in any case moments later he fell into a deep, drunken sleep.

Next morning, I awaken with Jacob snoring next to me. I sit there a bit, studying his long muscular body - tattoos, pale torso. Clothes are put on and I slip into the kitchen to make coffee. Sun blazes in the early morning as storm clouds roll in from the distance. Jacob stirs and staggers silently into the bathroom to take a piss. I offer coffee, but it is declined. The conversations fall flat and stilted. He mumbles he has to go. Without shaking hands and diverted eyes we say goodbye and Jacob softly leaves the apartment.

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