Monday, June 29, 2015


I stood in the door to the manager of the mission’s office. We chatted casually about the upcoming Star Wars film. The pro’s and con’s, our opinions shooting back and forth like seasoned internet nerds. My attention was caught from a shadow blocking the main entrance. He was in his early twenties, athletically built in black t-shirt and shorts. He wore a black baseball cap which covered equally black and closely cropped hair. His dark, Mexican features where boyish in a machismo kind of way. He attained that look that so many desperate old fags from the States fight and quarrel over down south of the border.
He smiled at me and said Hola. He thought I ran the joint, but in Spanish I directed him toward the manager. I gave his appealing torso a once over and returned to the dim coolness of my bunk.
I must had dozed off for a bit from the heat of the day, because when I awoke, the guy was lying across from me smiling. He inquired in Spanish if I worked for the mission in which I stated I did not. He introduced himself as Ramone and he came over from Mexicali to gain employment harvesting the local fields for melons as did the other residents of the mission, sans Your Author. We chatted casually of things: my travels, writing, his wife and child and how to attain better employment within the States. He had a positive attitude and it did lift the bought of depression I was currently fighting.
Thirty minutes before dinner, I decided to take a shower and wash off the day’s sweat and grime from the humid climate of Calexico. In the shower, as I was lathering up, I noticed through the slight break in the dingy shower curtain Ramone standing there watching me. I peeked through the curtain, smiling, to ask what he was doing, yet he quickly and wordlessly returned to the dorm.
After my shower, I went to my bunk and Ramone began a stilted conversation concerning his wife and how he missed her. Okay. Ignore what just happened then. Play it cool.
Ramone and I ate dinner sitting across from each other, silently watching the boxing match on the cafeterias television screen amid the slurps and chatter of the other dozen or so clients. Intermittently, we would comment on the match, although other than that, he said nothing.
Later, Ramone lay in his bunk, listening to ranchero music through his headphones as I scribbled notes for my novel in progress. Promptly at 9pm, the lights were shut off. The standard orchestra of snoring and farting escalated as the clients fell asleep. In lieu of the heat, Ramone stood and disrobed down to his boxers and lay above his blanket. In the dim, green glow of the exit sign attatched to the opposite wall, I noticed his hand was down his shorts and rhythmically moving. I stood up and hissed, “Ven.” And nodded towards the bathroom.
Quickly, we found ourselves facing each other in a mildew splattered shower stall with curtain closed.
“Why were you jacking off?” I whispered.
He smiled, “I was thinking of my wife. We had such good sex the day I left. I miss her.”
I looked down and his shorts were poking out. He noticed my lurid gaze and I was surprised when he didn’t flinch as my hand languidly brushed across it. The stiff organ throbbed in waiting anticipation.
“You like?” He asked in Spanish.
I sighed yeah or some mundane remark as I yanked his shorts down to his bare ankles. His penis was short, thick, and un-circumcised. A pearl of pre-cum formed at the tip. From my view, I glanced up and noticed that look of acceptance in his eyes. I devoured his erection, swirling my tongue along the shaft as I slid my lips up and down along the shaft. I massaged his sagging testicles with my hand as my other hand grasped his flexing buttocks. He must had been pent up, because after only a few quick minutes, his penis sprung up in my mouth and ejaculated his semen. I swallowed. No need to leave evidence.
Quietly, he pulled his shorts back up and returned to the dorm. Not before a whispered gracias from him and a casual hand through his hair de nada from me.
The following morning, when the lights snapped on at six, Ramone's bed was empty and his bag gone. I felt somewhat saddened. I rose, washed my face, brushed my teeth, dressed, and got ready for another day.

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