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.”
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?”
“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…