He Faded into the Darkness.

Felt quite drowsy after work, so I dragged myself to bed and took a snooze before I decided to go out. Out. The word itself held notorious implications. I was in a party mood. The week was weird and I had to let off steam. I showered, had a small toke of ganja, gulped a shot of tequila and bolted out the door.

I first hit Burrito Row to yak a bit with Beto - the eye candy that worked at one of the stalls.

As I munched burritos mole and smoked a Lucky, we chatted and chortled about cars and cocaine, in which Beto swindled me out of fifty pesos to purchase said narcotic.

Both of us stood in a filthy back room, amid the pungent reek of old cooking grease and rotting vegetables - snortwheee! Took off like a rocket, daddy-oh!

Feelin’ it, I walked down the strip, checking out the chilangos in their goof suits and dashed into Bar Buen Tiempo for a caguama.

However, the place was devoid of any acquaintance of mine. Three chilled caguamas later and one mean buzz, I decided to call it quits, after talking to an interesting character in the toilet.

The handsome little shit stood next to me in the urinal. Obviously, he drunk as I was.

He looked over at me with glazed eyes, “Hey, chief - welcome to my country.”

He extended his hand in friendship - the same hand that was holding his pecker while he pissed.

I looked down at it, smiled, “Dude, some folks just do not need to shake hands when they are taking a leak.”

Don’t care how your cock looks, you know?, I thought.

I must of insulted his virtue about cleanliness, he snarled, “Man, take my hand and shake it!”

I finished up and silently left him mumbling obscenities.

I walked out and into the cobblestone maze of the Old Mercado and over to bar Caletilla.

Let in the steel door by a grinning dyke; the place was packed and after being served by a tattooed and well scared cholo named, well...Cholo - I was finally reunited with my good pal Erik. Next to him, perched on stools like two vultures, squat the Isidios.

Much gay faggotry commenced and a good time was had. Hit on by some hot hotties, but I was coming down with a flu or some kind of cold virus. I wasn’t in the mood for no homosexual hanky-panky, so I simply played it cool with these characters.

Never saw so many horrendous transvestites outside of New Orleans before - it was a goddamn freak show. Amazonian half men in multicolored spandex that many resembled Neanderthals in drag, paraded around in flowers, furs, and fluff. The screeching and squawking! Ech!

Erik, the Ignacio’s, and I stumbled next door, over cracked and garbage covered pavement, to a shabby, barn-sized disco.

The joint was called Elvira’s - reminded me much of Freegay. Many a gay cholo and bi curious men strolled through the dank, smoke-choked darkness. Mexican Ranchero music mixed with Reggeaton kept the small dance floor packed in which Erik and I would frequent often. Still gotta learn that mambo!

This one skin-headed shorty asked me to dance, I obliged and we boogied. Next thing I knew, we were tongue wrestling up against the wall and he kissed so hot, I could feel his stiff organ through his khakis.

Nevertheless, his friends had to go and he left with them...oh, well.

Another skinny cholo with a scraggy, black goatee sided up to me, smiled, “Hey, guero, buy one beer for me?”

I blearily looked at him and smirked, “Sure, if you kiss me with your tongue.”

Shaking his head curtly, he mumbled something to the effect that he wasn’t queer.

I drunkenly stated, “Well, that’s my price.”

He faded into the darkness.

Eventually, Erik and I decided to split...I felt tired from a head cold that I had been nursing a few days. We said good night to the Ignacio’s and took off.

I walked Erik to his bus stop. However, since we both were hungry, Erik and I stopped to get a bite to eat at an all-night chicken joint, Pollo Feliz.

Erik asked, “Hey, you want to go to Baños Roma with me tomorrow?”

“Sure, why not?”

Baños Roma was the city’s notorious bath house. I had never been there, only hearing of it from embarrassed friends and old American perverts.

After the late dinner, I said goodbye to Erik and went home and crashed.

Waking up with a slight hangover, I downed a shot of tequila and showered, dressed and clomped up to a small cafe to eat breakfast of huevos rancheros.

At ten in the morning, I met Erik in front of the Cathedral to start our day of wicked debauchery at Baños Roma.

We briskly walked the short blocks to the corners of Mejia and Constitution and entered the old, dilapidated building.

In the lobby, an old man took our personals and placed them in a lock box. We paid him 76 pesos each and then entered the baths proper.

The interior was overtly dingy. There was black mold in the cracks of the pink and white tiles and the paint peeled off of the moist, green walls. We found a little cubicle that was covered in obscene graffiti, had rusted hooks on the walls, and a small cot. The attendant issued us each a ragged, brown towel.

Erik and I both undressed and split up. I eyed several good-looking men walking around naked. I felt kind of self-conscious, everyone was dark brown and my skin was so pasty and white...but that was soon to become an advantage.

I found the steam room and was quite the popular one in there. I was fucked fore and aft. Over and over and over and over - Dear Reader, I lost count. There was so much good cock.

Around the middle of the afternoon, I confessed to Erik that I had to leave. I was worn out. There were hickeys all on my back, between my legs, on my ass...I had no sperm left, cock didn’t work no more...ass sore...

Erik and I dressed, tipped the towel guy, and left. I wobbled with my good friend to his bus stop and said my goodbyes. Returning home and to a deep sleep. I realized, I now had a new place to while away my Sunday afternoons.