“I am what I am, Oscar.”

Decided to spend the evening wallowing in my own depressed jealousy after the predicament over Oscar - and doing it the best way I knew how. Swimming in bottle after bottle of bitter tasting booze.

I sat in Bar Buen Tiempo and shortly after my arrival, I struck up a conversation with a tall Mexican Indian who sat a stool away from me.

“Hello.” He said, extending his hand. “I am Javier.”

“Hello, Javier.” I croaked.

The beer flowed, as did the mutual flirting, and we became quite lit - both meeting eventually, by chance, in the restroom and with him pushing me against the mildew stained tiled wall, Javier kissed me passionately, while pulling out our erections and casually masturbating each other, our intentions became obvious. That was until the cantina’s security guard came in and ordered us to knock it off.

Javier and I drunkenly joked and laughed the night away - flirting with a few handsome men that sat around the warped, mahogany bar.

Across from me, on the other side of the bar, was a dark skinned, curly haired lad who kept winking every time he caught my eye. When he walked over to the jukebox to select a few songs, I worked my faggoty wiles.

I slid off my stool and stood next to him at the jukebox.

As he flipped the button selector, I slurred, “So, where you from?”

He smiled, “I just arrived from Acapulco.” He plunked a few pesos into the machine and continued, “I really like Americans.”

“You’re in luck, I happen to be American. What’s your name?” I grinned.

He extended his hand, “I am Jose Luis.”

As the night progressed, the drunken debauchery continued with both Javier and Jose Luis. That was - until he walked in.

Straight, jet-black hair parted down the middle, full lips with goatee, beautiful amber eyes and slim physique - he stared at me as he passed on his way into the mensroom.

I excused myself from my two new friends and followed him into the restroom.

He stood alone at the urinal trough as I sided up next to him.

“Hola.” He said.

“Hola.” I said, as I blatantly gazed down at his dry goods.

With overly bubbly enthusiasm, he spat, “Hey. You wanna buy some cologne? I got all kinds!”

“Sure.” I agreed, as he quickly reached into his tattered backpack. “Let’s see what ya got.”

I walked out with a bottle of Kenneth Cole signature cologne for fifty pesos. I even invited him to share a beer with Javier, Jose Luis and I.

That crafty cologne peddler - Ezra he stated his name was - and so gosh darn adorable in a hippie, air-headed kind of way - he just charmed the pants off of me.

For some odd reason, we three - Javier, Ezra, and I - walked the few blocks over to Bar Nebraska, wherein Ezra became a wild eyed, hard-on of passion.

He groped and kissed me with such ardor; one of the waiters ordered us to cool it - we just ignored the chilango midget and continued.

Eventually saying adios to Javier, Ezra and I hightailed it to my pad, where we flung each other around the bed thrashing and moaning in the still of the night - best one night stand in many a moon.

Lying there afterward, bathed in sweat and spunk, Ezra stated, “I got to go, guero. I have to be at work early in the morning.”

It already being 2:45am - we showered, got dressed and I walked him to the corner and shook hands - just as Oscar came slinking around the corner, literally out of nowhere.

 After shifting silence and awkward glances, Oscar and I sat on the ledge of a crumbling brick wall and talked.

We sat there silent for a bit. Not looking at each other. A gang of mariachi stood in the dusty park by the curb in an attempt to solicit business.

“How you been?” I said, as I lit a cigarette.

I handed one to him, he took a puff, “Cool. Cool – just trying to make ends meet, you know?”

As I stared wantonly, my emotions for him washed over me. He sat hunched over with elbows on his knees, loose tank top draped over his sinewy frame. His eyes darted nervously at the intermittent traffic that crawled down the street.

“I missed you.” He whispered.

“I missed you, too.” I repeated.

 Another long beat of silence.

“Look, Oscar – I understand I can be a little overbearing at times and ask from you perhaps too much. But, the point of the matter is – I really care about you. I really like you.”

There was another long pause.

“I am what I am, Oscar.”

He said, almost at a whisper, “Please understand, guero, the gay life is difficult to transition into and you have to come to terms that it will take time for me to become comfortable with it.”

Oscar stated slowly, “I do have an affection for you, guero, but, we need to work things out - slowly.”

I said, “I could deal with that.”

Eventually, we repaired to my apartment where we both lay on my bed; casually embraced and discussed further his romantic interests concerning me.

“I’ve never met anyone remotely like you.” He said. “When I am with you, you make me feel good and smart - I can’t talk to anyone like I talk with you. All my other friends are either air-headed girls or guys that go on about beer and futbol. I really do like you.”

And so, this soft spoken and sincere banter went on until 5:30am - cigarette after cigarette, as Angelo Badalamente wailed his dark jazz over my stereo.

After a tight embrace, Oscar left - we both saying goodbye on the corner - and I returned to my flat. Lying in darkness, I pondered the prospects of a relationship with that boy and the outcome if it does come - sounded positive.