I enter a smelly, dark den with pink coral tiled walls. A short, chunky female in a black thong whirls and jiggles her wares in all the wrong places on top a tiny stage of glittered stucco. Bar had only two others, junky cholo in white tank top and baggy khaki pants who sat on the nod like a fool on a stool against the pink wall and a flabby, sweaty American who eyed me fingering his camera so nasty.
I was about to take my pesos elsewhere when a tall, handsome Mexican with distinctive Aztec features and pencil moustache donning a blue mechanic’s tunic walked in and made a bee line for the men’s room. Quickly knocking back my beer, it was on like Donkey Kong: I am in the pissior languidly jacking off with the guy in the mechanics uniform as the obligatory old fart with the camera looked on. The hottie possessed the most exquisite penis I had seen in many a moon. One hand on my soldier; the other traced black hair on a brown, flat abdomen. Me and the hottie cum in spurts onto lemons and ice and left the quivering codger standing there wondering where his youth had gone.
The mechanic – Miguel, he says - and I drank a couple more bottles and I bring up if he cared to go back to my room for an afternoon of filthy, rotten sin. Nope, it’s back to the wifie and kids, he claimed. Shake hands and part. Old queen leer at me from furtive shadows. Frustrated fruit. Short cholo with shaved head and wife beater is hip to the fact of our homosexual tendencies and smiles with silver capped tooth, short and thick hard on a-pulsing in dirty khakis. I exit - leaving the cholo to the whims of that withered vampire.