Saturday, April 30, 2011

Good Vibrations

What a great Saturday!
The weather is perfect and downtown El Paso is throwing a shindig called the Neon Desert Festival - this huge ass band festival! Hordes of hipster kids are stomping around enjoying the pleasant weather and great music.
As with me, I will be screening John Water's Female Trouble in the theater at the cafe that I haunt. All summer, like last year, I will be screening cult and underground films to terrify the locals.
I have sent off for - hopefully - the last proof of my new novel. I really like it! It is awesome! I am almost done with my TEFL course and will be receiving my certificate - then it's off to wherever! Haha!
Yea, I'm feeling pretty good today!

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Flecks of Dust in the Night

Nothing on television, so I took a walk at 11 at night.
The wind was blowing in one of those typical sand storms that make El Paso so memorable. The news was clocking the gusts at 60 miles per hour. The trees danced and bent in an obscene mambo. Trash flew about me and the dirt stung my face. I took the walk downtown, anyway.
Downtown was normal for this time of night, besides the wind - the streets were vacant in long shadows from street lamps - no cars, no people. Deathly quiet except the whispering of the gusts. I held the brim of my black cap in a vain attempt from letting it soar off into the gritty night.
I walked and I thought.
I thought of where I was going after I received my degree in TEFL. I knew that I was consciously giving up a life of cocooned comfort, a life of no worries by being fully supported of by the State. once overseas, I realized I had three - maybe four - months before SSI caught on that I would be abroad and cut off the benefits that I was receiving. But, after four years of doing relatively nothing - I just felt like a ghost living - and not doing a hell of a lot existing. I came to the finality - I had to do this.
At the time of this writing, I have been flip-flopping at what locale I wish to choose - Peru I thought would be the best choice. The schools are lenient at hiring new teachers and I am well versed in Latin American customs. However, the pay is low. I had been scouring hundreds of other blogs by expat teachers and now it seems the logical choice is Korea. They pay the best concerning new teachers and pretty much flip the bill on housing. For what I am going to attempt - Korea is the logical choice. I tried to rationale my choices - I know nothing of the language, the customs, the country. And it seems that the race is VERY homophobic.
However, I knew nothing of Mexico when I first moved to Tijuana back in 1993 - so, perhaps it would be a wonderful, positive adventure. Yet, the United States border will not be just a few feet away like in TJ if I needed to make a hasty retreat. If I go to Korea - it is a year. Good or bad. Hell or high water.
I am so confused.
I stood at the corner of the Plaza downtown blinking away the debris that flew into my face and that's when I saw him. The upper half of his thin body was in black shadows as a cherry of a cigarette glowed in the dark of his hidden face. He stood in the tan, stucco alcove of a building. He saw that I was staring at him. His thin, brown hand grabbed at the crotch of his baggy, khaki pants. The limp penis was long - and even though it was not erect, he held only half of that fucker.
I took another drag from my cigarette and stared. Watched as he slowly stroked the growing monster in his pants. I casually looked around. Nothing. No one - no traffic. The wind howled. The street signs wobbled and made noises lost in the whipping winds.
With thin, spindly fingers, he casually unzipped his pants and pulled out the long, floppy organ. I watched as he slowly slid the foreskin back and forth over a shiny head. The semi-erect penis dangled as his hand disappeared up towards the obscured face and returned with wet fingers, smearing saliva across the fat head of his cock. He continued to slowly stroke his penis in long, mechanical glides.
With a burst of both intrigue and excitement, I walked across the street towards him. He sank deeper into the alcove, deeper into darkness. As I approached the alcove, the tang of old piss blew downwind at me. The ratatatatat of a discarded Styrofoam cup swirled in eddies of dust and trash.
Huddling in the alcove, I saw he was a tall, thin man in his late thirties, Mexican, a drooping moustache over thick lips. He had a long nose set between dark, brown eyes. His hair was shaggy with flecks of grey. A ruggedly handsome face.
He mumbled something in Spanish that I did not get. I just reached out and grabbed the throbbing organ. It was enormous - as long as my lower arm and almost as thick. I slowly stroked the fleshy cock, it was still only semi-erect. Without a word, I squat down in front of him and took his penis in my mouth - adjusting to the girth and sucked it in deep strokes.
He groaned and uttered dirty words in Spanish - near orgasm, his penis stiffened entirely. It still curved downward. I worked faster and saliva flowed as I tongued the head and worked the shaft with my hand. He yanked his fully hard cock out of my mouth - holding my head away with his left hand - and dribbled globs of semen onto the dusty, street lamp splashed concrete. The thick semen hit the ground with audible splats.
I stood up, looking at him. He exhaled and smiled as he shoved his dick back into his pants. He smiled, said gracias or some equivalent and strode back out into the sand storm.
I lit a cigarette and began the walk back home. I thought of how I really need to escape this vile city and get back on the road. It is who I am. It was what I needed to keep on living.

Peephole confessions

Repent and you will be foreskin.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Voyueristic Intensions

Spent the afternoon in Cuidad Juarez, Mexico.
Ah, yes - Juarez. It has finally become a burned out cinder - a literal, beat ghost of it's formal self. The wild and woolly heyday that I previously lived had been put on a bloody hiatus.
Before I left that morning, the Stateside news droned on about more cops being killed, pedestrians shot for no reason in the streets. One unfortunate paleta seller witnessed a gang of cartel pull up to a car on a busy street and spray all within with machine guns. When said seller pulled out his cellphone to call perhaps relatives, the gang thought he might had been calling the cops and filled him full of lead. A ver...
So, myself trudging over the International Bridge in gusty heat - wind whipped plastic trash bags that snagged on razor wire fences causing horrible noise. I dodged flabby locals and begging junkies as I eventually passed the bored and uninterested Mexican custom agent. I met my friend Eduardo waiting for me on the other side all decked out and handsome in his vaquero gear. Old friend, new him for years. He had a wife and two kids but was up for some filthy homo-buggery now and again. Never met a Mexican that wasn't.
He was glad to see me and I him - it had been far to long that we had trolled the Red Zone together. After fist bumps and howdy's, we darted over to the El Paso bar strictly from thirst. Stomping along Mariscal - the whore district - you could smell the tension mingled with rotting garbage and urine. The fact that shocked and depressed me the most that all - ALL! - the places I used to haunt are now gone. Not vacant buildings replaced by other businesses - but, vast dusty lots - even the rubble had been cleared. Fausto's, El Arbolito, Nebraska bar, Freegay, Rex's billiards, Hollywood bar - all gone. Sigh.
I gawked in beat sadness as the hookers of both sexes huddled in the shade of crumbled walls of what was once majestic and quite popular whorehouses - sorry, I mean strip joints. They all looked so sad, so lost - dusty relics with no clients strictly from fear. Even their clothes of calling - bright yellows, pinks, blues - faded in that horrid, unrelenting desert sun.
The El Paso bar is a small joint run by a fat hag with a mean streak. Never ask for credit - bitch will shank you. Long bar with red topped stools a few dented, metal tables occupied by bored-looking hookers and a mix of locals and loud Americans. Eduardo and I sat at the bar and ordered Tecates. The jukebox wailed ranchero as the sun swung around and all just sat mostly silent, sweating in the heat.
Two girls slinked up to us, both short, big tits, fat asses, thin waist (which is rare) - flirting and grinding their wares onto us - I, of course politely declined, yet Eduardo was being his macho ass self. So, under Eduardo's plea - bought the broads a drink and invited them to stay.
The two girls who sat with us were actually nice and I had to admit they were very pretty. Alma, the shorter of the two - she held copper skin and an indigenous face - Alma talked to me and was very amused when I stated that I liked men. She actually became friendlier and we hit it off. Eduardo and his girl, Clarissa - long black shiny hair and her boobs always seemed to want to bust out her blue dress - sat together, arms draped around each other. I noticed every single time her hand dropped down and squeezed Eduardo's cock. I wonder what she would say to the fact that I had sucked that fucker a few times before?
Side note: Any of you straight guys want to easily score with women? Invite a gay to come with you. We are pussy magnets. Trust me on this. You get hit on far more than usual and you don't have to worry about competition from your gay friend. Win win.
The beer flowed and Alma and I sat giggling and talking of men. She was actually really funny. I started interviewing her on her job - she related stories about some interesting men met in her career. She came from Mexico City when she was twelve and her aunt was the one that pimped her out. I love family. I related some of my crazy adventures - even pulled out a dogged copy of a novel I was working on. She shyly stated she couldn't read.
Eventually, Alma slipped a small paper in my hand and said, "It's for you, guedo." I knew what it was and leaned over to Eduardo, said into his ear, "Hey, man - this chick just handed me some coke. Follow me into the bathroom."
Nothing in this world is free, of course - I slapped a ten into Alma's hand as I slid off my stool, "Don't you go nowhere, we'll be right back."
Eduardo and I walked into the dingy, foul smelling mensroom. At the long piss trough, some old fat fucker had his dork out staring at us as we huddled in the corner. Rolled up a twenty-peso note and snorted that junk up.
We got back to the bar all twinkly-eyed and shit. Eduardo, Alma, Clarissa, and I sat and laughed and joked. Drank and got pretty happy. It was a good, drama-free time spent.
However, it was getting late and I surely did not want to be in Juarez walking back to the border at night - not in this part of town. I mentioned to Eduardo that I needed to get going.
"No wait." He said. "Come with me."
I followed Eduardo into the back of the bar and up some stairs. The short, dingy hall was lined with wooden doors. From a couple of rooms came the muffled banging of a bed and distinct moaning of a hooker making that rent.
Nice. I thought, A whorehouse.
A thin old man in a bow tie and white shirt approached us. Eduardo and he gabbed in Spanish a bit as Eduardo slapped 200 pesos into his hand. The old man took a ring of keys from his belt and ushered us to a door.
Drunkenly, we went into the room - which consisted of a ratty, sagging bed and a nightstand along with the wafting mildew smell of a million fucked vaginas. The old man took off as where as Eduardo began pealing off his clothes and lay on the bed. As he yanked his blue man-panties off, he was already hard and rarin' to go! Damn, he looked fucking good! Sprawled out on the bed fully aroused, he was nice enough to let me snap a picture of him.
Suddenly, Clarissa came in as Eduardo said, "We got some business, guedo. You want to wait outside?"
Damn! I though I was were going to get some!
Shut the door behind me and waited in the hall.
Alma approached smiling, "You're friend is busy?"
"Yeah. Lucky fucker." I said.
She put a finger up to her lips and took my hand, leading me to a small alcove. She pointed to a slit in the wall. When I looked, it was a pretty good view into Eduardo's room. I stood and watched as Eduardo tussle in pre-coital grope with the hooker he had purchased.
Alma's hand slid a small hand across the erection in my jeans. I kindly pushed her hand aside.
"You sure you don't like girls?" she whispered.
"Definitely." I smiled.
"Wait here." She smiled.
Two minutes later, she comes back with a tall, lanky guy in his midtwenties. I grinned at him, looking the boy over. Not bad.
"Have fun." She smiled and walked away.
The guy glanced through the slit in the wall, sucking air between his teeth and mumbled something in Spanish. He pointed at the hole for me to watch. I did as he squat down in front of me, unzipped my pants, and sucked my erection like his life depended on it.
I stood there watching Eduardo - a sweaty mess pumping his gorgeous cock into that whore, he thrust and lunged as she squirmed, grabbing his slender ass. She threw her feet up onto his shoulders as he banged her harder. I couldn't take both the awesome visuals and that guy sliding his lips and tongue up and down my dick - I blew my load into his mouth. He leaned over and spat the matter onto the dusty, warped, wooden floor. As I zipped up my pants, he asked in Spanish for ten dollars. I reached in my wallet and pulled out a twenty,
"Ten for you and ten for Alma, okay?"
Before leaving, he hit me up for five more. Sure, why not. Boy's gotta make rent, right?
He slinked off and I turned back to the hole - my friend was pounding fast like a rabbit, he grunted, then slid his dick out as sperm dribbled out of her pussy and spilling down, pooled onto the bed.
"Fuckin' A!" I whispered.
I walked back to the hall and lit a cigarette.
Eventually, Eduardo came out of the room, dressed but dripping from sweat, "You ready? I'll walk you back to the border."
As we were walking through the bar, we said our adios's - Alma sat at the bar smiling with her friend that blew me. She gave me a hug, while rubbing my back, asked, "When you coming back?"
"This weekend." I lied.
Eduardo and I quickly strode through those darkening, mean streets littered among piles of garbage the grasping hands of clawing hookers, dodging police patrols and rumbling paramilitary vehicles - angry brown eyes under black ski masks eyed us as the troops fingered their Ak-47's.
At the international bridge, I said my goodbye to my old friend and darted over that long stretch under a twinkling navy sky. Damn, I miss Juarez...

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Things Out of the Blue

I had spent the afternoon at the cafe editing my novel. Tired and hungry, I left in the late afternoon. Golden sun rays beamed all slanted and shit between the dusty, vacant spires of downtown. Trudging past a Subway restaurant, I hear behind me a baritone voice, "Hey! Joto!"
I turned to see standing with outstretched arms and Cheshire cat smile a phantom I hadn't seen in almost eleven years. A tall, lanky handsome Mexican named Tony. He stood there in well-worn jeans, jean jacket and black workboots.
Tony and I used to run amok through dark nights of drunken shit way back in the day until like most others, he had burned out with El Paso and returned to Maine to be in the arms of a girl.
After back slaps and howdies, I sat with him in the restaurant and a long string of whatever-happened-to-so-and-so's issued. He had married the girl in Maine and lived in Canada with her and their ten year old daughter. I related the best i could on the events of my life.
He stated that he still spun around the country taking high paying odd jobs and was on his way from Cali to Houston - his bus leaving at 9 tomorrow morning.
"Well, Hell" He laughed. "Let's go drink!"
"I'm up for that!"
We crossed the street and hit the Tap Bar - sat with frosty brew and dredged up all kinds of forgotten nostalgia. We both agreed how we had aged - weathered and gray. Played pool, drank, ate tacos, drank, all night digging our minds into crazy past nights of forgotten memories. Pitcher after pitcher - we got fucked up.
Eventually, the bar had to close and inviting himself - Tony and I drunkenly stumbled back to my flat. After casual conversation and a bit of joking, wearily we both stripped to our boxers and crawled into my bed. For the next hour we banged around - sucked and fucked each other until we passed out covered in each others semen and saliva.
Next morning, I made pancakes and walked Tony to the busline. He said before I left for wherever when my TEFL classes are done and when he had finished the job in Houston - he wants to return and us both hightail it a few days to Vegas.
I'm looking forward to it.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

How many cigarettes does it take to wait? How many cups of coffee? Paul sat in the dead-end diner with napkin firmly under coffee cup - he was told in that style, you can tell when someone was waiting - watching nothing out of the big, dust streaked pane window.

Outside, it was cold and colorless. Gritty wind whipped eddies of trash down a lonely street. A long cry from the sunny, warm surf crashing against the beach that he was anxiously anticipating to see. Here the sky was a harsh, cold blue - though dazzling bright, gave no warmth - only a bitter cold, you could feel it in your marrow.

Paul sipped more coffee, took another drag.

Across the street, a bum, the same colorless shade of everything else, stood in front of the Roman Deco post office hitting passerby for change. Paul looked around the café - a cavernous room and only he occupied it. Every sound was amplified.

El Paso is a dead, nowhere town.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Saturday, April 09, 2011

Scam them before they scam you.

This just in - I was notified by several teacher acquaintances around the globe that attaining a fake degree in something is a cheap and quick way of jumping these Kafkian hoops of needing said document to get a worthwhile job overseas. Hmmm. I don't know. Last thing I need is to be stuck in some foreign village and their Thought Police show up and boot me out of the country for false documents.
Opposed to popular opinion - I do have a conscience.

Anything Goes.

I had recently been in contact with a gentleman in China on starting my teaching career there. At first, from the brief comments I had read on websites - you not only need a university degree, but also your TEFL certificates. In Latin America - they seem a bit more lenient.
This is starting to not be the case.
The gentleman that I am in contact with runs an agency in mainland China that will not only help you settle in - i.e. apartment, living expenses, visas - but, most importantly he has contacts of a shitload of schools that require only that you speak English and have the gumption to teach. I got that and soon to have four certificates from a world renown TEFL school.
I think China and/or the Orient is quite rather tasty at the moment.
Received my rough proof of Dark is the Night. I must say - without bordering flagrant ego - that is my best work, yet! I am juggling with the online classes and editing this book. I am planning to leave and have the book available online by August.
Life is weird.

Sunday, April 03, 2011


2:13 on a Saturday night. Dark winds howl dust and debris outside my window. I sit in my favorite chair - overstuffed espresso colored lounger - in the darkness of my apartment lit only by the crimson of my cigarette tip - watching the green velvet curtains breathe. A long streak of white crosses the dusty mosaic tiled floor from a baneful moon shut on and off by the undulating curtain.

I sit and I smoke and I think. I feel so empty. So emotionless. So lost.

I seriously need a change in lifestyle.

Saturday, April 02, 2011

Times a Changin'

I have set the gears in motion. I am halfway done with my TEFL course and have begun to sell the furniture that I had accumulated over the year. In a few weeks I will have my certificates and I plan to be in South America by August. During that time, I will need to acquire all the necessary paperwork - visas, permits, vaccinations - for my relocation.

I may start in Ecuador to get teaching hours under my belt, explore the country then off to Peru and Colombia. If I was to settle anywhere, Costa Rica is high on my list. I guess I will just have to see where the winds if fate blow me.

I can't wait.

On the writing front, I had just ordered a rough copy of Dark is the Night. 436 pages. And there will be more. It is my swan song of American decadence, my final say on the broken shambles of the American Dream told in the usual raw, peeled way. And, it is my first largely heterosexual work. Only one chapter is puto queer - so, you can buy a copy for grandma without her getting her panties all in an uproar. I really like this book. I look forward to writing more about my travels across the globe.