He lay in the top bunk only in frayed
undershorts. His long, bare feet hung off each side, bottom sole’s callused and
dirt under the toenails. He bore a pale, slim torso with wisps of black hair
across a flat chest. His face was handsome with the masculinity of a
twenty-three year old but could pass as eighteen. His jet black hair was shiny
and tossed into a gravity defying mane. Green eyes complemented the white skin
of his face splashed with a few freckles across a long, straight nose. He was
five days late of a shave. I paused to admire him briefly as I readied myself
for the day. He said the previous night his name was Nicholas. He came in from
Flagstaff two days prior, originally hailing from somewhere deep in Minnesota.
I knew his type: soft spoken and polite, yet attaining the familiar effluvia of
truck stop restrooms, back booths of dive bars, public toilet glory holes, and
cheap hotels. The smell of cigarettes and meth clung to his clothes.
“I never knew that’s what they were
saying…” He croaked, eyes focused at the stained ceiling.
“What?” I asked.
“The Winkies. From The Wizard of Oz. I
was just thinking all these years they were marching back and forth in front of
the Witch’s castle singing about ‘oreos’ but that wasn’t what they were saying
at all.”
I smirked at this out from left field
conversation, “Really? What were they chanting?”
He began singing the tune, eyes focused
on the ceiling “All we owe, we owe her….all we owe, we owe her…”
I chuckled, “That’s utterly amazing. So,
Nicolas…what are you up to today?”
“Oh…I haven’t a clue. It’s supposed to
rain. So, most of my time will be keeping dry, I suppose.”
“You want to get a coffee?”
“You buying?” He smiled.
“Of course.” I said.
Thirty minutes later, we were ambling
through the pristine streets of Santa Fe. We remarked on the southwestern architecture,
talked of our travels, our dreams and shattered nostalgias. We grabbed a coffee
from Starbuck’s and made our way over to the Railroad Park and sat at a bench
listening to an impromptu garage band wail at the tourists and locals
frequenting the nearby Farmer’s Market.
“So…what is Mexico like?” Nicholas
asked.
“Why? You thinking of going down there?”
“Maybe. I want to get to Phoenix first.
I have unfinished business with a family member.”
“Can’t leave them hanging. “ I said,
fishing a pack of cigarettes from my pocket, handing one to him. I looked
around the park. Sighed. “There is absolutely nothing here. This trip was an
utter mistake.”
“Tell me about it. I feel like a fish
outta water.” He watches two women walking a dog pass. His face is slack and predatory.
“Damn. I need to get laid. But, these snooty-assed rich bitches are only
interested in you if you are named Skylar and drive a Lexus.” He adjusted his
crotch. “Fuck. I haven’t busted a nut in over two weeks.”
I chuckled, “Calm down, cowboy, or take
your ass over to the porno shop and stroke one out.”
“Shit,” He leaned back, folding his
arms across his chest, “I’m broke.” He paused. Took a drag. “There’s a porno
shop near here?”
I pointed in the direction, “Yeah. Just
up that way, two blocks. I noticed it when I was on the bus the other day.
Wanna check it out?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Sure. Nothing else
to do.”
Entering the small shop with walls
covered in boas, dildos, and leather toys, we meandered through racks offering
videos ranging from Finger Banging Lesbos to Gay Midget horrors. The bloated
clerk with acne scars sat glass-eyed and uninterested as Nicholas and I entered
the dark alcove holding the booths. We both slipped in one together.
Sliding a five dollar bill in the slot, I
sat side by side with Nicholas on a padded bench with elbows touching as our
faces were bathed in blue from the flickering cathode rays of the screen.
Nicholas pressed the selection button with long, bony fingers finally settling
on a blond bitch amped on meth slobbering on the cocks of two black studs. We
sat in silence momentarily as the slurping and over-acting gagging filled the
small cubicle.
“Well, that five dollars isn’t going to
last forever.” Nicholas stated as he stood up, slid his pants and shorts to his
ankles, and sat back down. His circumcised cock jutted up, firm and throbbing
with a pearl of precum that formed at the tip. “You gunna jack off or what?”
I did the same as he and we sat next to
each other jerking ourselves as the video went into hard drive with the two black
studs spit-roasting the blond. Out of peripheral view, I watched as Nicholas
mechanically slid his clenched fist up and down the rigid penis. I could not
hold back my lustful intensions. I wanted to taste him. To devour him. To drink
from his cock all he emitted from that beautiful penis. However, the moment I
was about to offer him a blow job, he issued a little, surprised “Oh!” and
spurted thick strings of semen onto the monitor. At that moment, I too blew my
frustrations out into the darkness of the cubicle, my own liquids splattering
loudly onto the tile. I sighed in relief as I watched Nicholas wipe the residue
from his hand onto the sides of the cushion of the bench.
We darted out of the booths and into the
cloudy afternoon of Santa Fe. We walked in awkward silence.
“Wanna smoke?” I asked, breaking the
tension. No need to deal with that post macho guilt now. Wasn’t in the mood.
“Can I ask you a question?” He said
taking the cigarette, lighting up.
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
“You gay?”
I faltered, then said, “Yeah. Yeah, I
am.” I half expected a bleating soliloquy on masculinity and the evils of sodomy.
“That’s cool. It doesn’t matter. Can I
ask you another question?”
“Sure.”
“Can I go to Tijuana with you?”
I smiled, “I wouldn’t mind. I wouldn’t
mind one bit…”
As we walked, talking of casual things,
the clouds let loose and the rain began to fall…
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