Gay Guide to Tijuana.

You asked for it...you took it and moaned for more - Here is the semi-definitive Gay Guide to Tijuana. I am an American gringo puto who has lived in Tijuana pert near ten years now...I think I know a little something of this town. I have included pretty much everything your faggoty little heart can desire. So grab your ruck sack....pack light, only the necessities and let´s have some fun down ol´Mexico way.

Okay, kiddies - we're going to the happiest place on earth: TIJUANA!

Let's take for granted that you have a Friday, Saturday, and Sunday to kill. I'll break it all down for you in a suggestive day by day routine. Of course these are only suggestions and you can mix-n-match to whatever your perverted little minds can decide on. Also, the addresses and directions may seem a little vague, but really isn´t exploration half the fun?

NOTE: It is a fact...a tired, long winded, well known atrocity of a fact that Americans come down here and treat the locals like crap. Like you're visiting freakin' Disneyland and the locals supposed to cater to your every whim. Leave that attitude at the border, bitch! You'll be eaten alive. Respect the locals and everything will be fine. Okay, on with the report:

FRIDAY:

Do not drive across!!! Walk, fatso! It's not that far. Take the blue line trolley from San Diego or leave your car on the American side. There are many cheap parking lots to choose from - most run about $5 to $10 a day. Don´t worry they´re safe. Then again, who would want your old clunker, anyway, right? Once on the other side, it takes fifteen minutes to walk to Revolution Avenue. If you don't want to walk, take a cab, chubby...but only TAXI LIBRE, they have meters. It'll cost you about twenty pesos. (Two dollars for you gringos.) If you take a yellow cab expect to pay up to seven dollars. So, pass those fuckers up. Taxi Libre's are white and orange. Once you pass the metal revolving gates at the border you will see a McDonald´s. If you can resist the temptation of stopping to stuff your face, waddle the next block south of Mickey Dee´s and you will come upon the stand for Taxi Libre´s. Ask the cab driver to take you to Plaza Santa Cecilia. With any luck he will either drop you off under the Arch (you'll know it when you see it.) or on the corner of Avenida Secundo (Second Street...learn Spanish, ferthechrissakes!!!!) and Constitution Ave.

 If you are going to walk, then go with the flow. Follow all the tourists to that big ass arch in the distance. With elbow and teeth you have to make it to that arch at all costs!! Pass all the little rug rats asking for change, dodge the filthy heroin addicts screaming obscenities at you, take a big whiff of Rio Tijuana as you stumble over the footbridge into downtown. You have to make it to that arch and to the beginning of Plaza Santa Cecilia! C'mon, move it, princess - I don't have all day!

Now, the point of this is that Plaza Santa Cecilia is Tijuana's Castro St., Santa Monica Blvd., Greenwich Village, South Beach...it's fag central, folks. It is a block of innerestin' gay bars. Once you depart the cab, and please tip the guy at least a dollar, you will notice the Plaza is perpendicular to Revolution Ave. (the main strip of shops, bars, and restaurants.) and very crowded with vendors and shops. Walk around and enjoy the scenery. But first, you might want to find a place to rest your little head.

On the north east of the Plaza next to the Arch corner is Hotel Nelson. It is clean but pricey. They don't mind if you invite visitors up into your room for a little hoodlyhoo. A block north is Hotel Alaska...cheaper, rattier but they do not mind visitors, either. This hotel Alaska also caters to hustlers. Many live here, so watch it. Don´t let the outside fool you though, it´s all right. Clean rooms, but real thin walls. I´d rented a room there once with a boy and me and the kid competed with the straight couple in the other room in who could fuck longer and louder. We won.

But, hell, there are hundreds of hotels within a block of the Plaza, from fancy to jesus christ I paid for this trap, so just pick one that suites your whiny ass. All you need is a bed and a hot shower, right?

"But I don't want my things to get stolen!" You shrill.

Leave the freakin' tiara at home, only bring a toothbrush and clean shorts, okay!? If you have personal items that you think will get stolen, leave them behind. Use your street smarts 'cause I tell you, you're gonna need them.

Okay, so you found a hotel. Let's knock out the bars in the Plaza.

El Ranchero:

The famous...the notorious Ranchero Bar. For the first five years of my move here this was my second home. Everything you have read online about this place was probably true. When you enter, there will be a bottom (stop giggling!) floor. Here it is a little more relaxed. They have strippers every Friday and Saturday night. Shoo away the first three guys that ask you to buy them a drink - they are probably going to rob you anyway. The economics of Tijuana have risen. So, if the asshole can't buy his first beer, he needs to go back home. Check out the scene, the waiters are pretty cool. Tip them! But, don't overdo it, you start waving the green backs and the hustlers will be crawling all over you like flies to honey and within minutes you will be broke and frustrated. Check out upstairs. Go ahead...don´t be a fraidy cat. It's a bit more social. Younger crowd, too. Dance floor and drag shows. You'll get the drift.

Villa Garcia: 

A couple of bars down the plaza and there's the Garcia. It's just like Ranchero except a little cleaner. Though the penis peepin is more rampant here in the bathroom than at other places. Same thing, Drag shows below, Strippers upstairs. Buy a beer and then move on.

Hawaii Bar: What freakin' American pansy opened this eyesore?! It's a new bar/restaurant that opened a few years ago. Between Ranchero and Garcia. Real snooty. Food sucks. Waiters pushy. Not a second in the door a waiter asked me what did I want, I said I just want to check the joint out, he asked me to purchase a beer or leave. I left.

Bar D.F.: This is a fun little place on the south end of the plaza. Older crowd but real laid back. If you've met somebody by now, here is a good place to kick it and get to know them better.

Okay, ask somebody where the hell is Bar Taurino. Then walk around the corner to it. It's a hellifyingly huge turquoise building with a giant red neon sign on it that says "Taurino" on it. By the way, look to the right and above Taurino and see "Banos" don't worry your gringo ass about the name of the place...you can't read Spanish, anyway, remember? Just remember "Banos" is "BATH". Ding. Ding. Ding. Guess what that is?! Yes, Virginia, you're right. It's a public bath house!!! Now if you are going down first street around from the Plaza to Taurino, on the right hand side above those feelthy chicken restaurants is another "Banos" Dig it? That's two. But don't go ape shit just yet, you'll have plenty of time for that later.

Bar Taurino:

A loud den of locals and a smidgen of Americans. This is a pretty cool place. Unlike Ranchero you don't have hustlers flinging and clawing at you at every step. I know you are lonely and like the attention, but they are only out for money and usually just end up robbing you. Bar Taurino is a nice dive with a dance floor and friendly people - on the weekends ask for the waiter Gustavo, he'll take care of you and how. Highly recommended.

Want skanky? I know you do, you perv. Find your way to Avenida Coahilla. Exit Taurino and head down the sloping sidewalk. Dodge the prepubescent girl hookers. (Girls, ewwww!) At the first corner, hang a left and gawk at the street that you just stumbled upon. Every horrid vision you ever had about Tijuana nightlife comes true on this street. Row upon row of whorehouses bathed in candy colored neon, trashy multicolored spandex clad hookers stand shoulder to shoulder grabbing at your crotch. Drunks materialize out of dark cracks and bum you for money. Intoxicated and rowdy military stumble around incoherently sprayed with their own vomit. Walk to the end of the street and make a right. Look across the street. Find the bar called Kin-Kle. If you don´t see it ask around. Trust me you will get a chuckle or a raised eyebrow and expect to be hit up for a tip. But it is worth it.

Kin-kle: (Pronounced Kin Klay.) I recall that bar in Star Wars...the drug crazed transvestites paw you as you come in the door and you will be greeted by a cadaverous waiter. He is a tall, thin man in a dirty ill fitted tuxedo. Real nice guy. That's not sarcasm, he really is a nice guy. Order a beer and sit and watch the show. Meaning the people around you. Transvestites, junkies, parolees, deportees, thieves, super butch dykes, and they are all queer. Trust me, people will sit with you and they will strike up a conversation. It won´t matter if you speak Spanish or not...they will talk to you. I love this place! Go into the restroom...go on, I DARE YOU.

The Anchor: On the corner next to Kin-Kle is the Anchor. It's about six notches above Kin-Kle but caters to the same clientele. Lots of locals for you to talk with. You´ll be sitting alone then all of a sudden, some guy sits next to you finger bangin´ a hooker, while some cholo sits opposite you passing around a joint and asking you all kinda dirty questions. And the beer´s cheap!

Noa-Noa: A block around the corner from the Anchor is Noa-Noa. Amazonian Transvestite Street Hookers patrol the front door flashing their post-op silicone atrocities at passing cars and if yer lucky one will hit you up. ¨Wanna plo chob?¨ It has a bar and a dance floor with the obligatory Drag Show. The last time I went into this place the waiter had these boys do a line up in front of me and asked me wringing his hands lasciviously, "What do you want?" "Uh, a Tecate?" I stuttered. A thirteen year old boy flopped next to me and smiled, "You like beeg one, Meester?" I got up and left. I'm not a pedophile.

Okay...so you wanna dance? You just gotta dance!!! Fag. There are several Discos to choose from so's ya can shake a tail feather. Find yer ass back to the plaza. Heading east away from the Arch...the way back to the United States, after you pass the first bridge over the bubbling Rio Tijuana (Take a whiff...Ah, the smell of untreated sewage right next to all them restaurants!) you will head into Plaza Viva Tijuana, the gaudy tourist plaza. Scream at those little Indian kids to leave you the fuck alone...Once in the Plaza, go left of the bridge, behind "Mr. Taco" and you will find:

Extasis: You've heard of this disco right? Why don't you just go to snobby Hillcrest in San Diego and dance there...no big difference. Glitzy, gaudy, attitude, rich, snobby Mexicans. I blame MTV. I went there with friends once...lasted ten minutes. But they do have an innerestin' dark room if you wanna play duck, duck, goose...

Run as fast as you can back towards the Arch. Whilst you’re in the neighborhood, have that boy you found to take you to Mike's. You did find a boy...right?

Not yet?

Loser.

Oh, well...remember you gotta dance!!!

Back at the Arch and you find yourself at the foot of Revolucion Blvd. Breeder Heaven. Primly sashay down the way and gawk in horror at all the drunk college kids. Gasp in terror at the Strip Bar Doormen pounding you to come see their "Titty Girls and Pussy women". Shriek in passion at all the horny drunk military stumbling out of said strip clubs with hard-ons ready for the pluckin'! But, YOU GOTTA DANCE RIGHT?!!! So down on the corner of Fifth and Revolucion you will find:

Mike's: Very popular and very trendy. It was THE dance club before Extasis opened up. Real friendly crowd. They have the obligatory drag show at midnight, so expect everything to grind to a halt at these untalented escapades.

X Palace: Pronounced Eckies Palace. Another boogie down disco across the way from the Jai Alai Stadium. A nice little place. Good dance floor. Eclectic crowd.

It's late. What to do now? What else, take the boy you found back to your hotel and fuck the shit outta him!!! Give 'em a good helpin' of God Bless America! (Use a condom. No wait, like my Dad said, "Condoms are fer sissies, whatcha think the face an' ass are for?" Serious, he said that. But, use a condom anyways...YOU KNOW WHY!!! Don't want my pretties to become another HIV statistic.)

SATURDAY:

God, your ugly in the morning. Drag your ass outta bed, take a shower and head down to the Plaza for breakfast. Ah, the smell of coffee and refried beans. Makes me mouth smack just thinking about it! Okay, as you will notice there are several restaurants to choose from. THEY ARE ALL THE SAME. Choose the one with the cutest waiter and sit the fuck down. May I suggest La Fuenta - cause that's where I eat. 

After you slopped down some grub, here's what your gonna do. You’re horny and that boy you met last night took off. (With twenty dollars and your bracelet! Asshole!) So what to do? Go take in some theater, of course! Find your way to the corner of Second Street and Constitution. Walk kitty corner across the street. Walk up second until you come to a touristy plaza selling a shitload of candy, cheese, and nuts. This is the 2nd Street Old Mercado. The smell alone will knock you on your ass!! Stand there a moment and watch the flies do the Macarena on the candy. Find your way inside, all the way to the back. Make a left and:

Cinema 2000: Oh, yeah...a freakin' porno theater right smack dab in the middle of nowhere! Plunk your 25.00 pesos down and go in. Grainy Italian porn from the seventies with American overdubbing and Spanish subtitles! It doesn't get any better than this! Wocka-wocka-wairn-nair!!! Look around at the clientele. They're locals. They're men. And they're reeeaaalll horny. I dare you to whip out your big nasty...they'll be all over you like vampires to a nekkid virgin. Go into the bathroom. So you don't know Spanish? Just point at their crotch and make slurping sounds. I have participated in full blown Roman orgies in this place. It's a hoot.

Okay, you freakin' cockjunkie...still want more? Wipe your mouth and exit the plaza. Walk straight out and across the street you will see a big brown department store called Dorian's. It's the Mexican version of Macy's. Fight the urge to shop, you little queer, and turn left out of the plaza. You are now on Ave. Nino's Heroes. Walk a couple of blocks to Fifth Street and you'll come upon a tan and purple theater. I know, sometimes I think Mexicans are color blind.

Cinema Latino:

To the left of the main entrance is a small arched door. This is the entrance to the porno theater. Waddle your fat ass up the ramp and pay the 40.00 pesos. This place is a porno palace - A cockjunkies paradise. There is more action in the theater seats than there is up on the screen. Your mind will reel at the amount of cock sucking in this place! Go into the dungeon like restroom. Trust me, even if you look like Ernest Borgnine, you will get some action here.

CRUISING TIP: If someone is rubbing themselves. Sit next to them and grab it, it means they want to anyway. Americans are so fucking paranoid and defensive. You are in a Porno Theater. In a foreign country. No one knows you. Do what you want!! Let loose!!

Okay, after that madness, your mouth is tired and you need a message. Down on Revolucion Blvd, behind the Gigante Supermarket is Tijuana's only all male ethical massage parlor. I'm talking 100% all natural Crisco oil neck to balls body message! I asked the owner what the name of his establishment was. He just shrugged and said, "All Male Message." I thought, how boring and suggested calling it "Me Rub You Long Time."

So every drop of semen has been drained out of you and you still want more! Oh, you randy bitch!! Well, stumble down fourth street west of Revolution to Ave. 5 de Mayo and you will find a very pretty park. Have a seat on one of the metal benches under a gently swaying tree and watch the parade of hot men stroll by. The boys here are rather delicious and is worth the trip.

Just sit yer ass there and twiddle your thumbs. Do not worry, within minutes a guy will sit with you and start up a conversation. It's funny, these guys are so blunt and will flat out ask you to go somewhere. Maybe his house? What? The guy you found lives with his Aunt, six cousins and a chicken named Pepe? Not to worry, on the far corner off 4th and G St. across from the park you will find Banos De La Parque. Yessiree, Bob! It's a conveniently located Bath and only three fuckin' dollars per head! (Stop snickering!) Go on in with the guy and have a spot of unclean fun. Don't forget to clean those nooks and crannies!

Bet you are hungry. I know you are. On the opposite side of the park is a chain of family owned restaurants and are frequented by the local queers. The food is cheap, a plate of carne asada, beans, salad, and a drink will run you around two fifty, and the dishes are finger lickin' good. You can sit there, rehabilitating your asshole, watching the boys walk by, and occasionally flicking the small roach off your table.

After eating, why don'tcha go back to your hotel and take a nap. It's Saturday night and yer gonna do it all again. You're a pro this time - a seasoned traveler. You'll be all right. If yer lucky you won't get robbed and your ass kicked for being a snotty American.

SUNDAY:

Go home. Please. What else you want? Shop? A taco? GO!! It will take forever to cross the border anyway, so start early. And as you stand behind that fat tourist with the whining kid you can relish the memories that you will take back home. Some memories you will never forget. Some will take up to six to eight weeks to get rid of.

"What's with all the Mugwump jissom?"

Spent the previous night wracked in pain on accounta this damn virus I had gotten - most likely from some transient when I had eaten lunch. One hella hobo-virus - kicken my ass! On a lighter note, and this is kinda good - I have attained employment as a Reservations Agent at some company that does those things. I start tomorrow at 9:30am. It will be a relief to finally shred this poverty that I had put myself in and get on with the bigger more important shit in my life. But what person will I metamorphosis into?

"He has the mark of a certain trade or occupation that no longer exists. If junk were from the earth, there might still be junkies standing around in junk neighbourhoods feeling the lack, vague and persistent, a pale ghost of junk sickness...

So this man walks around in the places he once exercised his obsolete and unthinkable trade. But he is unperturbed. His eyes are black with an insect's unseeing calm. He looks as if he nourished himself on honey and Levantine syrups that he sucks up through a sort of proboscis. What is his lost trade? Definitely of a servant class and something to do with the dead, though he is not an embalmer. Perhaps he stores something in his body - a substance to prolong life - of which he is periodically milked by his masters. He is as specialised as an insect, for the performance of some inconceivably vile function."

Meet Lack.

Spent the morning - beginning anyways, drinking coffee with the Old Man, that is the Canadian Chuck and his bevy of boys. I cut into the cafe and there is Chuck huddled in someone else's overcoat looking like a 1910 banker with paresis, and Old Joe, shabby and inconspicuous, dunking pound cake with his dirty fingers, shiny over the dirt. Had to jet for an early meet with RJ - he had extended an invitation to his home in Rosarito for an afternoon barb-e-que.

Stood in the Plaza for three hours waiting - chain smoking, people watching. These people in this Plaza…well Mexico for that reason basically a machisimo culture that reflects two thousand years of disease and poverty and degradation and stupidity and slavery and brutality and psychic and physical terrorism. It is sinister and gloomy and chaotic, with the special chaos of a dream. A square tourist wants to come on hip....Talks about "weed," and smoke it now and then, and keeps some around to offer the fast Hollywood types. "Thanks, kid, "I say, "I can see you're one of our own." His face lights up like a pinball machine, with stupid, pink effect.

Was accompanied by a waiter from El Tourino named Gustavo. Hella handsome - has a sincere little boy look, burns through him like blue neon - but un burracho. Wasn't feeling it for work today so he called in sick - so he claimed. Sexual innuendo flew out of his pouty lips like Niagra Falls but I wasn't gonna have it - not in the mood me. He left and RJ never arrived - three hours had past.

Bit disgruntled, I returned home and lie in my bed wracked by waves of anxiety and depression before falling into a troubled morbid sleep. Was awoken by me cellphone and it was that bitch RJ stating that he overslept and for I to meet him at Bar Villa Garcia for drinks. Okay.

A bucket of Lager waiting and we both got ripped playing coy with the Rentboys and the trannies. Again - my head was pounding so I called it an early night and returned to my trap.

Penniless and without food - with no aspect of what to do with my life at this moment - I actually had a good time. I sat on my balcony in a major frump, smoking - lungs are searing with pain and I decided to do nothing. I always state that I am on a precipice looking out into a deep black void - metaphorically speaking and I wouldn't have it any other way. But about that precipice - I think it is time to jump.

Dream.

A bad dream from one of my favorite films. Classic and disturbing.

Down but not Out.

Bright sunny morning - layed in bed smoking a Faro empty bottle of Fundador on the endtable - like I said layed there forming a plan, depression weighing on me to much to get out of bed but I gotta. Shower brush up pull a comb through my hair - vision staring back at me from the mirror a disembodied phantom - where has my youth gone? Yup, I am feeling it.

Coffee with Chuck and he flips the bill - for now I am without funds. Jealousy burns in my mind with him - Chuck receives monthly check from the State on account of his depression - he´s happy as a lark. Shoulda stayed in El Paso, me, and waited it out for my SSI benefits. Another if and shoulda in a long history of let downs and bad choices.

The Rentboys can sure smell Chuck´s money because soon there is a table full of these fuckers working the morning circuit. Chuck offers to loan me some cash to pay next weeks rent. I agree only unless my food stamps - in which I plan to apply for this afternoon - do not pull through. I confide in him my plan to sell them and use the money to pay rent until that gig at Petco Park rolls in. Another if.

So I start my cross to the frontera - stop to chat with MS13 hottie covered in innerestin tattoos working a taco stand. Que onda, pelon - que dices? Takes forty five minutes to walk across and another forty five for the red line to San Diego.

The train arrives in downtown Diego just in time to zip over to Vinnie´s for lunch - puke on a plate but it is substance, I reckon. Head over to Human Resources on 9th and Avenue C for my food stamps. Processed quickly - young black queer tries to put the make on handsome sullen Pacific Islander in the lobby, he yawns at the queers blatant advances - I am interviewed by a case worker and given appointment to return Monday for my EBT card. I can work with that. While standing outside waiting on the train back to the border, my name is screeched out - always a bad omen - the squawk belonged to a rotund albeit plump white piece of trailer trash named Krissy. She bounced out of a barber shop and we both greeted each other with a what´s up. Krissy was waiting for her boyfriend - that lanky drunk Raul to get a haircut. Both were acquaintances from my days at St. Vincent de Paul.

As we sat joking and me making witty quips of Raul´s cut, she invited me to dinner with them to the Outback Steakhouse up in Mission Valley mall. Least I´m eating dinner tonight - life is funny, huh?

Raul was already lushed - Puerto Rican rum stashed in a Pepsi bottle - so the dinner was not only delicious (I had a 16oz. prime ribeye steak, steamed broccoli, and clam chowder - best meal in a long time.) but entertaining. After I had hid Raul´s spiked Pepsi bottle under our table when he stepped out to the men´s room - whining and moaning like an alcoholic about his missing bottle - the drunk crawled on his hands and knees under the booth to retrieve it in front of appalled diners. I walked out to smoke as Krissy laughed like a herniated donkey - never a dull moment with these two.

Stuffed, we wobbled back to the trolley line for downtown - saying my thanks and so longs - I returned to the border and sanity of Tijuana. Walking under the navy starry sky over the bridge spanning the polluted Tijuana river - I wondered what other surprises await me in these turbulent days ahead...

Coffee Hag.

My life is one long wacky soap opera.

To save money and just for the fuck of it, my pal o' mine RJ invited me to flop fee and gratis at his beach side mansionette in the town of Rosarito and I happily agreed - could use a change of scenery, you know?

A good thing too, my fifty bucks a week rent was due and I possessed a paltry hunnert. So, I packed my shit and headed out for a coffee with that tried and true expat Chuck. Text on my cell from RJ noted that he'd meet up with me at 7:30pm - so I had a day to kill. After I left old Chuck, I decided to wait in Cinema Latino - wouldn't you?

Paid the forty pesos and entered the stagnate gloom to some moaning cooch getting bulbs yanked out of her hieny. Sat up in the balcony and quickly hooked up with a Johnny Depp clone and that boy sucked cock like a champ - and his wittle wiener was an olympic ceiling squirter! After that joker split back to Stateside (?!) some chunky joto buzzed me but I made it clear I had no interest in his unappetizing person. Plus side was - I learned the Mexican slang for goosing someone - wowies they call it. Had to laugh at that one.

After that hippopotamus wobbled off tail between his fat ass legs, a bonefide male prostitute - super macho with muscles like bricks - flops next to me bums a smoke, whips out his steel cock and hits me up for $100 pesos - all in one movement. What a professional! Scattah, I say - but before this fallen adonis splits - Fat Boy returns and gobbles the manwhores big and nasty like Sunday buffet. The macho brute comes to a quivering climax - a dramatic act on my behalf I'm sure and Chunky pulls out some coins and hands it to the man. I am left alone for a bit to chain smoke Faro's. Twenty year old cutie is next - Valfredo he says his name is - and I blow the fucker twice. We make out a bit like high school lovers on the lips before I jet for my meet with RJ. - leaving Valfredo heart broken in darkness.

Stopping to down some Chinese food - and that crap was nasty - I hightailed to the Plaza to wait for my rotund negro friend. And I waited and waited and waited and waited - during this and amid six cups of strong coffee I am happily reacquainted with an old transsexual friend from my salad days - her being Felicia. I am jazzing her with hints of remodeling her crappy flop house into an international bed and breakfast. We nibbled pan dulce with two old relics of hers - a snaggle toothed old thing that waitered at Villa Garcia and a drunken bejeweled hag.

Time dragged and they split and I still wondered where the fuck RJ was. Rapped with the cafes cutie waiter and joked with my rentboy friend Diego who was on the clock for hotel money. However, I would not help him - no matter how hot he is - because he had been branded a thief.

So 'round eleven I recall - I gave up on that fool RJ and trudged home with my sixty dollars - fifty for rent and ten to sustain me until when ever. Well, this shall pass - I been in stickier situations...

The Thought Police.

Ever since my return to Tijuana it has become an almost nightly ritual: I am walking to my home or some other destination and I am called over by some sneering Tijuana cop on patrol. It is always the same - they roar up in their vehicle, ask were I am going, bark for my identification and before I can answer I am spread eagle against the wall with brutal hands probing my person as they start "looking for it".

The routine has become a bit excessive and quite a bore. Mu sunny outlook on TJ is starting to dim.

Tonight was no exception - after trudging through another day of mounting depression - I went to the job fair the previous day at Petco Park - aced the interview and was hired in lieu of a wiz quiz; which I did this afternoon. Thing is I smoked that weed a few days before with Mario and Saul.

Before going to bed I downed a cure of vinegar and water - recommended by the local hippie who runs the Cafe Internet I haunt. Hippies are a fountain of knowledge I have discovered.

Anyways, I am getting sidetracked - tonight I am coming out of said cafe...it is dark cold and raining...not three steps out the door and seconds after lighting a cigarette does a patrol truck race by hits the breaks; backs up with me up against their vehicle being interrogated by two hoggish cops - my glasses fogging up - but I play it cool and smooth with these characters. Eventually I am sent on my way.

In all the seven years in this country - a country that I have grown to adore - I have never experienced such an excessive harassment such as these past three weeks.

Perhaps it's time to lay tracks for other parts of the world...

Dreams of the Father.

Your Reporter has copped out as a schizo possession case...

Awoke with a hangover me and I sit outside the cafe drinking coffee - I am drowning in depression and under the sky, that shattering bloody blue sky of Mexico, the plaza specially designed for containment of ghosts: precise, prosaic impact of objects... washstand... door... toilet... bars... there they are... this is it... all lines cut... nothing beyond. Dead End...and the Dead End in every face.

Chuck ´the canuck´ - his face retains its form in the flash bulb of urgency, subject at any moment to unspeakable cleavage or metamorphosis. It flickers like a picture moving in and out of focus. His voice drifts into my consciousness from no particular place...a disembodied voice that is sometimes loud and clear, sometimes barely audible, like music down a windy street.

"He´s a good boy." or " He´s such a thief - boy would steal his grandmas dentures for a hit of ice." And Joselito who wrote bad, class conscious poetry began to cough.

Bum kicks wrack my form. I pulled a peso note out of my pants pocket pay the jovencito for my breakfast. Adios to my company and I stroll out of the Plaza lighting a Faro - the way is strewn with broken condoms and empty prescription bottles and K.Y. tubes squeezed dry as bone meal in the glaring sun. Walls of street and plaza are perforated by dwelling cubicles and cafes, some a few feet deep, others extending out of sight in a network of rooms and corridors.

One´s Reporter walks past the hustling taxi drivers and dirty Indian family - hands out blinking in the sun - to an Internet cafe to converse with a young lad in Costa Rica and it was dull my God - I have no feeling for no one. "You need to get down here quick, I am tired of waiting." Shaddap. Bored of this tripe, I repair to my small blue room and undress, I fall asleep.

Broken images explode softly in my head...I am living in my parents house and can´t leave my room to look for a job on account of viscous black guard dog roaming the halls - argue with my father - long tableau of quarrels that had last a lifetime. I realise what I have come to accept - I loathe and hate the old monster. Pure white hate.

Wake up flesh dead doughy toneless, bitter and strictly from the long hunger, jet to corner taco shop for a couple of carne asadas. Waitress notices my funk: "Don´t worry about the past or the future. Live for the moment, live for the now. Life is good!"

I take a walk down the strip and ignore the barkers pass the casino under the watchful eye of The Man into the Plaza for a coffee and a smoke. Fags pass outside in droves as I sit and think and think hard. Radio plays national program in Spanish about catching crabs. The bar across thumps where fraudulent Rentboys put the make on you in favor of The House and there is no health in them clap boys rotten to the apple corer of my unconsummated cock.

Yawn and sigh I head back home ready for the long day of job search. The way is long. Hard-ons and bring downs are frequent.

Boozehounds.

Beautiful sunny day and I check out the scene at Plaza Santa Cecilia - stop at Cafe Nortenos and down some spicy delicious menudo and coffee. Blabbed the morning away with Chuck and flirted with the young waiter that they had hired - he makes my mind move in strange and sinister directions. Family to be sure - but we must do these things delicately so as not to hurt the spell.

After that coffee orgy, I walked over to Cinema Latino to check out what was what and what was what is the norm, my little faggitos. Cocksucking antics in the murky dark depths of the back of the theater and I curtailed headlong into that mess. Sat and enjoyed the company of a Mexican Indian - tall thin with jet black hair tied back into a ponytail, dark hawk-like features - anyways, need to stop drooling and get on with this shit, he whips out his gun and I proceed to go to work. Halfway through, and believe me when I tell you this boy was wiggling close to climax - my cellphone rings and it is my old friend RJ asking to go to cocktails...sure. Bidding adue and leaving the hottie holding his erection I jet over to the Plaza for my meet with RJ.

I sez howdy and he sez hi and we hit Bar Villa Garcia and downed Sol and tequila and the music thumped and the rent boys paraded to and fro in there carnival of sex. All was well if it weren´t for the evil meddling of some drunk tranny. I said it once and you´ll hear it again to be sure - I hate transvestites! Make up your fucking mind, you quacking bitches - you wanna be a man or a woman?

Not wanting to hear anymore of that clowns shit, we jolt around the corner to Bar El Tourino. A seedy furtive joint on the scuzzy edges of The Zone. We both got pretty lit as Gustavo, the handsome waiter, kept making his intentions very clear to me in person - even going as far as asking where I live. More boys paraded by and up to us, showing their wares - fat whirling fag giving me the eye bought us a round of beer, old coots scamming and cursing their lost youth.

Eventually, some fat broad and her dim boyfriend shows up - acquaintances of RJ´s from his wild years. Both already plastered, the girl blows halitosis in my face exclaiming it was her birthday. So a bucket of beer was somehow purchased by time I returned from the wash room and that just added fuel to the fire. We danced and I acted like a drunk fool - which is cool. Bought another bucket as another friend of RJ´s shows up - some beefcake in black named Manuel.

Money running low, RJ and I said our goodnights and went back to Villa Garcia´s not before stopping for a plate of greasy chicken and cold tortillas. At the bar, hit on by several hustlers but I was done. I guess my age is catching up to me - shagged tired I said goodnight and thanks to RJ and trekked back home. Of course being stopped by a squad car before I reach my trap. Listening to Jeff Wayne´s War of the Worlds before I fell into a fitfull troubled sleep.

Dog Days.

That randy old fruit Father Flanagan - he of Boy's Town - once stated, "There is no such thing as a bad boy." Well, obviously the old bitch never set foot in Tijuana. About 5:30 this morning I was awoken by the resounding pounding of a neighbor at my front door. Staring blurry eyed out into the misty rain drenched dawn was Carlos waiting down in the street. Ugh. I thought I made myself clear that no more money was coming his way...I hissed at him, "I ain't got no money for you - beat it!" He looked wounded and stated that he was not here for cash but just to give my a kiss before going to work. How could I say no to that? Throwing on my pajamas, I sloshed out into the rain and opened the gate letting him in.

Not in my room five minutes and he said he had to go - after asking for some cash. I explained that the Banco de Luis is closed permanently and went to the restroom to swish Listerine into my early morning mouth. As I came out - Carlos gave me a peck and said he had to jet. And poof - he was gone like a thief in the night. Thief is right - worthless motherfucker rolled me for my cellphone. Rage and bile erupted - once just once, I'd like to meet a Mexican National that does not rob gringos blind. And if they say they don't - they are the biggest thieves of all. I say this from experience, dearies.

So, donning my clothes and thinking on my feet - I bolt to the border and the Wal-Mart stateside and purchase another, cancelling out my former phone. Ha! Now the bastard is carrying around a useless piece of plastic. I am glad he is hungry. I am glad he is homeless. I am glad that his life is void of friends and happiness. He is just like me...

I returned to Mexico, not angry - just disappointed. The human species is a cruel bunch.

Sat in Plaza Santa Cecilia for the next four hours with that old canuck, Chuck and his very handsome young student friend Theodoro - had a pleasant conversation. Took the edge off a shitty morning. After five cups of the best coffee - ever - I bid my adios' and curtailed it to the Cafe Internet on 2nd and Constitucion to pound this shit out when to my thrill and deboggled mind I receive a phone call on my spankin' brand new cell from a ghost of the past - on old fan from the early days of this blog - a handsome lad by the name of Mario L. - ah, Mario...finally to meet the Jack Kerouac to my William Burroughs. Mario's writing I have always admired - genius acid-based poetry . He stated that he was a few blocks away - returning from his studies of mind expansion in the wilds of southern Mexico.

After begining pleasantries and a handshake, we repaired to the Cafe Norteno and drank coffee and nibbled tacos - smoking and laughing and talking of adventures past. Like any good kid, he invited me to smoke weed with him and materialised in a puff of ganja back at my flat. After getting smoothed out on that shit, he took off for appointments and I snuggled down into sleep to dream of horrid images of monstrous sea creatures and Argonauts of fiery ships.

Woke up several hours later, showered and hit the Zone. Not five minutes in Bar Villa Garcia and I run into Saul - my beloved friend Saul. This day was just getting better and better. The both of us decided to bar hop and got tore up from the floor up, cabrone!

Stopping at my lair - I whipped out the mota that Mario so graciously left me and the two of us were Lucy in the Sky...with diamonds. Saul and I sat on my bed - toking and suffering from a bad case of laughing jags. It being cold and late, Saul decided to kick it for the night at my pad. Tongues probed, fingers poked, and erections were exposed. Saul always was proud of his very long penis and had no qualms of using it. Clothes thrown around the room. Hair is pulled, sweat is licked off of writhing thrusting bodies. Slap-slap-slap-slap went the sound of his brown hips smacking my white and tenders. We fucked on the floor in the rickety wooden chair and came up with the nastiest of positions. Saul talks filthy too me in espanol as he devours my soul. I am seeing stars as that boy rams it home. Squirt! Squirt! Squirt! Our racket echoes on the dirty blue walls of my cheap room as we both moan out in orgasms. Oh shit! Aye caray!

Beaten, bruised and covered in sweat and semen, sheets on the floor and soiled, Saul and I lay there entwined like two snakes - afterwards we shared a Faro cigarette. Showered and went downstairs for some well worked eats. The taco shop on 5th and Martinez was teeming with life. A life that had been squelched in the States and one that will never resurface again.

The States is old and evil. The evil has always been there. Before the settlers, before the Indians. It's been there...waiting.

Inland Empire.

David Lynch has a new film out and I have no idea when it will be released in San Diego. I hear it is quite good. Another DVD to put on my wish list.

No es sympatico.

I have attempted to look for work because my money is beginning to dwindle much like my hopes. If I do not find employment fast - my ass is out onto the streets again. It doesn´t help that Carlos - that hottie I met in Cinema Latino a few nights ago - has been coming over nightly and pumping my wallet dry. I believe it´s time to cut him off - hot and sexy rent boy, but he ain´t cheap!

On the other side, I have started communications with someone I care deeply about - it is so rare that you get a second chance. However, on all fronts I think I have dealt my last hand...

Nothing is Real. Everything is Permitted.

I am William Lee, the junky writer agent - until you have tasted complete dispair, until you have lost everything - only then are you free to do anything. To be liberated and write it as you see it. Just remember this. All agents defect, and all resisters sell out. That's the sad truth, Dear Reader. And a writer? A writer lives the sad truth like anyone else. The only difference is, he files a report on it.

And so I will painfully continue...

Rentboy Extraordinaire

He sat in the darkened porno theater as outside rain came down in sheets - yawning loudly at intervals. On screen some Japanese bitch getting pounded by buff gym bunny - is that makeup and lipstick the onscreen stud is wearing? Attention drawn back to the dark form scrunched in his seat feet propped up on forward chair, black hood pulled over his head so sinister, so mysterious, so dark...

Several faggots I have noticed approach him and he sneers disapproval. I light up a Lucky Strike cigarette and he asks for one - plan is working so far. He wants to hold a conversation so I move and sit right next to him and he remarks on the cockjunkies doing their silent ballet like phantoms without purpose.

“Enjoy.”, he says and with a flick of his lighter he illuminates the tattoo scrawled the length of his thick brown penis - Enjoy. I smile and mumble amazing - I get a good look at him - handsome pelon with goatee.

Conversation on his part is where I live and let’s go - wet sidewalks and incandescent puddles of black sooty water move under our feet - around the block to my trap make no time getting undressed.

His skinny well toned brown form is like a dream - Aztec tattoo on right arm and wings tatted across his upper back - my Dark Angel. It is damn cold and we both jump under the blankets and wrap around each other like hibernating snakes. We kiss, sixty nine and I mention his cock is too much for me - fat and long - but he don’t care and slide it up in me anyways. Thrusting and lunging for half an hour he cums and we share a Lucky shivering under the messed blanket. He said his name was Carlos.

Dressed, we cut to the corner taco shop and gobble grub and talk of shit while drinking good coffee. He mentions something afterward to the effect that all his clothing is being retained in lieu of not paying hotel bill for two days. Under the green awning rain bouncing up on my pants leg I hand him sixty dollars - we shake hands and mumbles after he takes care of his debt he’ll be back to cojer. I watch him disappear into the grey haze.

Adios, Carlos - it was fun.

Get the beat kicks and trudge to centro to Plaza Santa Cecilia and drink coffee and smoke a cigarette wanting really to go. I can’t connect with anyone any more.

More and more I have become anti-social - not in a mean spirited way - I don’t wanna be around anyone. Everything bores me. I have no urge to do anything. I sit in the cafe coffee getting cold rain coming down - two rentboys sit across the cafe chatting and sipping hot cocoa - eyes meet but mine are dull like dead fish eyes void of interest and life. Time drags.

Pay up and walk into an Internet cafe and check out airfares to Hawaii, Puerto Rico and even to El Paso - fucking depression kicking my ass. I stare at the screen and wonder when this wandering will stop.

Past flickers by like a film negative. Can’t keep a job, boyfriend, apartment, friends - why? I understand how - but I don’t understand why? Cold wet and dark the night has become, Dear Reader - just like Your Reporter - and that is one coldness you cannot beat. I walk the few blocks back to my room, shoes sloshing wet coughing my smokers cough. Attached to the gate of my building was a note for me written in red marker:

Luis - I came back but you were not here. It is me - Enjoy!

Yeah. That was the kick in the ball’s I needed. Just tromped up the dripping stairwell and into my dark trap snuggled down and watched my favorite movie of all time.

i give up.

For whom, it suddenly occurred to him to wonder, was he writing this diary? For the future, for the unborn? For the first time the magnitude of what he had undertaken came home to him. How could you communicate with the future? It was of its nature impossible. Either the future would resemble the present in which case it would not listen to him, or it would be different from it, and his predicament would be meaningless. - Winston Smith, from Orwell's 1984

The Grandmother.

This is a short film that paralles my childhood to the exact degree. Right down from the abusive parents to insidious loneliness...

Tainted Moon.

Warm night like an Indian summer, so I decide to peruse the bars. El Taurino, Villa Garcia - sit there guzzling icy cold Sol and not an amigo around. Hit the broken streets and they are bustling with late night activity, damn festive mood but me getting the bum kicks cause there nobody I know. But as fate would have it I run into an old acquaintance - a portly screaming fag named Derrick Osbourne. He and his roomie are out and about and I tag along.

Hawaiian Bar is closed - guess they didn't pay the right officials - so we hit a new joint called Azteca and it is jumping. Wall to wall hotties and we are the toast of the town. Much liquor is consumed and ciggies puffed and we go on a crusade down Revolucion to bar hop - amid the catcalls and witty comments of the machos.

First place we go - up flight of dangerous stairs but rolled out the literal red carpet - was a swanky clip joint called Exotics. Nice - like some snooty fag place in New York. Fuck danced with three very hot locals and downed more orange juice and vodka till we sauntered over to Medusa's - new place, so I am told. We's the only fags in the bar but enjoyed a good transvesti show and then the best stripper ever! What a body - and with each bill I caressed that adonis physique like the perv I am. Danced to great reggeaton - and you bet I used that brass stripper pole in the middle of the dance floor like a pro - wild applause from the staff.

Stumbled back to Azteca - first Derrick stopping to purchase $150 gold bracelet like the glamour puss he be - made good contacts with the handsome waiters at Azteca. I like their type - will come home with ya if you are so inclined. One tried to impress by balancing a shot of vodka on his head. Danced, drank, smoked, yapped.

Round four I call it a night - cause I am way fucked up - say adios and stagger home. A block from my room the obligatory stop from the cops - against the truck spread eagle and asked the routine questions Wass ur naim? Tienes ID? I reply drukenly holding up my card, "Corben Dallas Multipass." - at least both were cute. No prob - so I get home and crash in my king size. Perhaps I will stay in TJ a little longer to soak in the sights...

Hot Fuzz.

Walking up from that cesspool of Coahilla - the Red Light District, ignorant asshole - I turn the corner into Plaza Santa Cecilia accosted by screaming queers on all sides - man, they were out in force tonight - and a truckload of Tijuana fuzz gang fucks me. Encircled by these menacing black uniformed stormtroopers - the little one asks where am I going and before I can answer barks for my identification. Tall, smooth cop explains in English - now get this - ¨We had a report of a white American that fits your description of buying drugs here in the plaza. May I have your permission to search your person?¨

Why not? You´re hot. So, up against the adobe wall and goosed - asked if I ever take drugs. Never. Never? Never.

¨We are just doing our job, senor - we are here to protect el touristos like you.¨ Says hot cop, giving me his One Adam 12 production as he empties my pockets, placing items on the filthy concrete. Opens wallet fat with peso notes all the colors of the rainbow.

Can kiss that wad goodbye, I thought. But the troopers took nary centavo one and let me be with a cuidado and roared off in their Keystone Cops paddy wagon.

Casually lit a Faro and walked into the darkness - teeming with the perverse and sexual predator, the thumpthumpthump of the queer bars rattling in my skull. Cute Aztec Indian lad smiles hand out for the soft touch. I drop a fist full of coins into his calloused hand. Have always been a sucker for a pretty face. Stopped in a cantina and downed two quick beers Sol - nasty hooker cooch eying me and I give her the leave me the fuck alone back.

Shuffled back to my trap on case that my stomach was aching. Hope it ain´t ulcers.

Cinema Latino.

Rain fell hard the night before, I bolt out of my room and head to Plaza Santa Cecilia stepping around incandescent pools and dodging stands selling mouth watering tacos to the bustling metropolis. Nearly dive into the street and sideswiped by a kamikaze taxi yells obscenities. Bolt into the Norteno Cafe and there is old Chuck sitting furtive and emaciated like an old time schmecker. We shoot the shit as only two queens can, grrl - guzzling coffee and scrutinize the parade of boys under that bright blue Mexican sky.

Say adios to Chuck and on a caffeine buzz I decide to take in the feelthiness of Cinema Latino - the local porno theater. Slap the forty pesos down to the pinch faced cunt at the window and enter the cavernous hall amid the grunts and slurps of jotos doing their thing. On screen some bitch is getting it good and plenty as I take a seat up in the balcony. Eyes are adjusted to that murkiness and when I look to my left there is some joker in a gold and blue luche libre mask going down on some vato. What the fuck with these citizens? I repair to the bathroom where I am cruised by some slick and sexy cat - he follows me out to the foray and chatting begets touching that begets stroking that begets kissing that begets us two leaving and repairing to a local taco shop where we get to know each other over fruit drinks. Miguel Angel is his name - a cutie, too. Real pretty eyes.

After gobbling lunch, we walk over to my trap and gobble each other. Bed boings and bangs with our hoochie ass acrobatics - vecinos hear Miguel moan as I go porno on his ass. Good time had by all and we both come to some sort of climax - lying in sweat and saliva and semen, Miguel is one hella of a fella. So, on the corner we shake hands and he mumble something about seeing me another time, another day. ¿Por que no?

I walk over to the border and after waiting a fucking hour to cross - I jet to centro San Diego on the red line and take in a screening of Smokin´Aces. This movie was good, it can be complicated for some people and maybe they need to watch it for the second time, because your common movie goer is vapid as cows. The story, acting, and visual effects pretty damn good - during the movie you will be all hyped up and like to know what will happen next. Working Title Pictures made a great action/adventure movie, and they chose the great actors such as Ryan Reynolds, Roy Liotta, Jeremy Piven. If you like some movies like Snatch, Departed, Sin City, this movie is the best choice. Get off that fucking computer and go see it.

After the movie, I wonder around - visiting Border´s Books and wish what I could buy. Run in to an old friend and after a bit of whateverhappenedtosoandso I return to TJ in that chilly night. Stop for a cuppa joe at a cafe - wink at a sweetie cause he´s sweet - I gulp my 4th coffee and light a Lucky and walk the dark quite streets back home.

Mexico is a dream.

The Heavy Metal Fluid.

"See, you can't rewrite, 'cause to rewrite is to deceive and lie, and you betray your own thoughts. To rethink the flow and the rhythm, the tumbling out of the words, is a betrayal, and it's a sin, Martin, it's a sin." Luis B. 2:42am on a coffee binge in a Tijuana cafe. And I was DEAD serious.

Old School Trannies.

Another WTF movie moment brought to you by Ed Wood. From that cinematic opus Glen or Glenda - this is the film that inspired me to go to film school and make my weird little movies.

The Deadbeat Club

What an insidious sickness I have.

My idle thoughts and rapid reactions got the best of me once again and out of the fucking blue - the blue I say - okay my manager worked my last nerve so the only resolution to this problem was I quit. I quit the best job I ever had...

Why?

It was time to go, I reckon. To go - and go now.

So where is fate dragging me kicking and screaming like a preteen rape victim? I am leaving for Costa Rica next week - damn all costs! I have contacted my constituents in that faraway paradise and I will roll up tent and take a bus down through Mexico, Guadalajara, El Salvador and eventually into the unknown of Paradise Lost.

I am all aquiver with anticipation...

Coffee and Cigarettes.

Nothing is better in the world - the world - than sitting in an open air cafe on a brisk morning sipping coffee and enjoying a smoke and having an old friend join you. Saul - my bestest rentboy - staggered over to my table at Cafe Norteno all bleary eyed and dangerous and we shot the shit, you know what I mean? I have had the pleasure of his acquaintance for a good four years now and he is quite the hottie in bed.

I mention I haven't seen him in a while and that was on the account of him being in jail - I hear the Tijuana jail can be downright nasty. So - after a few cups of joe and a plate of eggs and beans - Saul and I decided to cruise around centro, I needed to go shopping for some articles for my new trap.

I was approached by two Mexican boys and asked if I wanted to make $800 dollars, suspicious I asked why - 'All you hafta do is drive across the border.' Nah - a coyote I ain't.

Saul says he needs some mota - and why not, I feel like getting a little high myself. We strut down into the Old Mercado past the come hither hookers and cop a bag of weed from some Azteca tattooed kid and repair back to my flat. Saul is one hella roller - fat he makes 'em. We sit on my couch listening to reggeaton and toking some blunt - it was tastey.

Went to bed with Saul - was a treat - man, he screws like a muthuh fuckin' pimp! Boy really knows how to work that shit, you dig?

Twice 'round. Half a bottle of Fundador. Reefer by candle light. Watch the news - Anna Nichole Smith overdosed. Saul asked who she and my reply - 'She's dead.'

One Night Stand.

Was bored so I went for a walk in the Old Mercado of Tijuana - found myself on the off-off district were even the well to do Mexicans would dare not tread after dark. It was the lowest of the low - rock bottom. But, the Great White Explorer was looking for adventure and risks were part of the territory. Can you dig it, pendejo?

Walking along that small strip at dusk, I received a feast for the eyes; the buzzing, flash of glaring neon, the putrid drunks lying on the grungy broken sidewalk in their own waste; ugly, mangy dogs eating out of rubbish piled in dark doorways, catatonic and filthy Mexicans dressed in rags glared at me as I walked by. The smell of cheap greasy fried food mingled with the stench of sour beer, piss, and shit.

I was buffeted by ugly forms of hookers on all sides.

"Psst. Psst."

"Wanna fuck, meester?"

"Twenny dallah make you hallah."

"Watch me fuck my brother?"

"Plo chob?"

Good God! What was next: Me so horny?

I was asked several times by some scary looking tattooed covered cholos if I wanted to buy any heroin or crystal. I said no and just smiled like the stupid gringo and moved on.

It also seemed all the taxi drivers were on the hustle.

An ancient bent over gnarled man approached me. "Senor...just a moment, Senor." He pleaded.

I stopped. "Yeah? What is it?" I asked looking down on that shriveled thing.

He put his hand on my arm and whispered through yellow decayed teeth, "I got the biggest pussy in Tijuana."

"You!?" I asked incredulously, lighting a Lucky Strike.

"Yes!" He cackled.

"Man, you're in the wrong line of work as a taxi driver." I laughed.

"No! No!" He chuckled, realizing his mistake of words. "No, I take you to the big pussy!"

I declined, walking away smiling to myself.

In Tijuana, female prostitution is largely confined to licensed houses. On the other hand, male prostitutes are everywhere. They assume that all visitors are homosexual and solicit openly in the streets. I have been approached by boys who could not have been over twelve. That appalls me - I loathe pedophiles.

I stopped at a taco stand and ordered three tacos carne asadas and a Sol cerveza. There I struck up a conversation with a Mexican named Roman Torres. A slender well built guy from the state of Zacatecas. He dressed all in black - and he was hot. Tall with a shaggy goatee. We talked for awhile then Roman invited me back to his apartment. With a stirring in my nether-regions I agreed. Wouldn't you?

We took a taxi libre, since he lived up in the hills, stopping first at an all night market for fruit and groceries, with the taxi waiting patiently outside. Once at Roman's place, he didn't have money for the fare and neither did I. The angry taxi driver chased us up the stairs to Roman's flat with a steel pipe and banged viciously on the metal door until eventually giving up and going away. The two of us laughed at that juvenile act. Roman grabbed me and kissed me with his tender lips and hot tongue. Next thing I know, we're in the back bedroom. He didn't say a word, but the stiffening of his penis under his black jeans spoke for him.

Closing the door, Roman pushed me back on the bed and lay on top of me - clothes were thrown around the small room. His tongue wrestled with mine as my legs wrapped around his brown hips. Rolling me onto my stomach, the hottie spread my cheeks and flicked his tongue in and out of my ass. Fumbling, he slid his erection into me and I swear that long fucker poked my intestines. Roman started banging me like his life depended on it. Fifteen minutes must of passed and -squirtsquirtsquirt- he was done. He kissed my upper back -"Gracias"- and lay on top of me in a tight embrace until his heavy breathing subsided. Breakfast was a wee bit yummier the following morning I tell ya.

Roman invited me to stay the day with him and since I didn't have to work, I obliged. He lived in a small one-room efficiency and the entire apartment building shared the same bathroom and shower - the restroom was a biological horror. I never agreed to the fact that Mexicans wiped their asses and tossed the used paper into the trash can instead of the toilet so that shit stained paper always littered the floor.

Roman lived in the "Old Colonias" - and is all that you expect it to be: a maze of narrow, sunless streets, twisting and meandering like footpaths, many of them blind alleys. The smell is incredible and it's difficult to identify all the ingredients - marijuana, seared meat, and rotting sewage are well represented. You witness filth, poverty, disease, all endured with a curious apathetic indifference.

Roman and I spent the afternoon in and out of intercourse until he had to go to work. Roman was a security guard that worked the graveyard shift for some computer store. I expected to be hit up for some money, but the subject never came up. He walked me to the corner, we shook hands, and said our goodbyes. Once home, I lit a joint and watched Desperate Living. I laughed my ass off. John Waters is a comical wizard!

This Is How Doves Cry.

Moving with the hand of the Evil Spirit - this is how lives are ruined in fiery catalysts.

ME: You are right - I am suffering. But not in the way you think. My doubts in this relation started far before you not showing up online last Tuesday - I wasn't even angry, Jeffry. A little let down...but not angry. I guess I used it as an excuse to get out of a deal that I had felt as bad. Why? Allow me to explain - I am under so much stress, Jeffry. Let me describe my living conditions: Take the filthiest homeless person you see on your street in downtown San Jose, and multiply him by 300. That is what I sleep with every night. The building that I live in may look good in that picture you saw online - but indeed it is a vermin infested nest. The people act like savage animals, yelling and fighting among themselves over food, cigarettes, drugs...and the smell is enough to make you vomit. Yeah, you try to stay in a good mood, Jeffry... On top of that, I had to clean myself up neatly and go look for work in offices and hotels each day worried that I smell like that place. Every morning they wake you up at 4am and you must be out in the freezing cold by 6am to look for work. I have not worked in almost a year. Something I have to explain in an interview - I went to El Paso for psychiatric help, Jeffry. That excuse does not go good in interviews. By time I even got to an interview, especially if it was in the afternoon, I was so tired and burnt out from what ever crap I had to deal with in the morning that I would probably lose the job. Now you understand when I said that day at the library my Internet time with you was precious? It wasn't just being with you only; it was a release from that mayhem that I have to live on a day to day basis. And then there was the added stress of you. Worrying what the hell you were doing down in Costa Rica. "I spent the weekend at my gay friends house and they had sex in front of me but I didn't join in." What the fuck?! What do you think I was going to think, Jeffry? I don't know you - you are capable of lying. Why? Because I am capable of lying. To this day I still think you are jacking off with other guys that have web cams online. Before you get upset - give me one reason why I shouldn't think that? And the drop of a hat weekend visit to an gay friend in December - all I was thinking was bad, bad, bad. And the disrespect you kept giving me online. I was your boyfriend, Jeffry - I commanded your full attention! That lame excuse you came up with that I would give the impression that I wouldn't allow you to have friends was completely pointless. I don't care if you have a thousand friends and you chat with them, doesn't bother me. But, I chat with you - what? An hour a day about three times a week? If that? You can't grant me the respect of putting off your other friends for that? You have a computer at home, Jeffry - you can get online whenever you want and chat with your friends whenever you want. But for me I have to be put on hold? Very disrespectful and insensitive. So - how could I believe what you were saying when you said you cared for me? Yes, I tolerated it but then I started doubted and mistrusting you and it just built up and up and up. You never tell me what you do, where you go, if you go to parties or what - so my imagination took over and believe me it was all bad. And when you confessed at those things that bothered your last boyfriends and that in itself I thought was shameful and appalling that you would even think those things were not wrong to do in front of your lover - that was it. I thought, jeez - what the hell had I done? This boy thinks I am one of those sappy Americans that goes crazy over any cute little Latin boy and jumps when he says jump and turns his head away to let him do what ever he wants as long as he gets the boys ass once in a while. Well, no I am not. And then the thought of rushing down to a country to meet someone I hardly know and it all blows up horribly and I am stuck in a foreign country with nothing but bitterness - with the aspects of returning to San Diego and going through this all over again? No way! Jeffry, I had your classic mental breakdown. And I'm still sinking. I just thought you deserved a reason why. I know it's too late and everything is fucked up but hey - life is shitty right? And true, you will not find anyone like me and that is a fact... And Jeffry, If it matters - I meant every single word I said to you before. Every one.

HIM: you know what pains me more of all this?that i know you are suffering, i care too much about you, i don't want you too be hurt, and in the other side i know i wont ever find someone like you. Luis if only you could trust me, don't make us loose this opportunity, i love you, and i know you love me too, is just you are blind for your anger, my best friend told me to give you time, but i cant live without you Luis. i love you and i know i have to change many things, but also you have to trust me, a relationship that is not based on love and confidence cant work.please think about what you want Luis, think about all our plans, don't look at the black dot in the white paper, look at all the white space, at all the good moments. i love you, i sincerely do Luis and i don't want to loose you. I'm hoping that if this is real we will come back together, if not well... maybe there is something better waiting for us(what i doubt because i know i cant find someone like you, and even if you don't believe it, you wont find easily someone like me, because i really love you) take care, be safe, and don't ruin your life again for my fault, i only wanna make you happy.

well Luis i cant give you a reason for you not to believe all the things you imagine, i cant give you proofs, unless record in video my whole day, the only reason i have is cuz i say it, if you don't believe me is not worth even to give a reason. i told you since we met that i don't like to lie, and i told you I'm not a bitch, my friends wouldn't ever let me join them in a threesome because they respect me, and they knew i was "with" you, and about the jackoffs... well we already talked about that, you don't want to believe me, so what can i do? and what gay friend did i visit in December? i just don't remember, i visited my best friend, but he is straight, i told you i don't have too much gay friends.is true Luis, you don't believe me, that is our problem, i really tried to tell you about me about my life, but you didn't believe a single word, you created a world for me in your imagination where i cheated you with every guy that passed in front of me, where i lied to you every time we chatted and where i was playing with you all the time, a world where i was Felix, THAT is your problem, you still don't forget him, and think that i will be like him, you really don't know me Luis, I'm not that kind of person.
i know life is not easy for you, but what can i do? i was trying to be strong, but then... i saw your card there in my desk next to my mouse, where i left it to see it everytime i missed you, now that i see your writing i feel a knife that passes through my stomach and a pain in the heart that i cant describe. i miss you Luis, i wish we could talk - Show quoted text -
that would really be a lie tried to make this as real as possible, because i knew an internet relationship can take wrong directions, imaginary ones, i think it was a mistake talking with you about that things that could happen maybe probably someday, but i did it to take out all the things that i had in the inside all the things that i was keeping of my exs. well it is in the past and whats done is done i cant fix it, i know i should have pay more attention to you when you were online and not to let you hanging on there, but Luis, i cant be infront of my computer all day, i have many things to do, and believe that even so i always tried to be here for you, but sometimes i just couldn't, and about the chats, well i already told you, i never put a friend infront of you, and most of the time we used to chat alone, only a few times, maybe two or three, i remember i was talking with you and another person.
you don't know me Luis so is normal you don't trust me, but don't you think i could also think things about you? specially after reading your blog, because you are not a saint, but NO! i didn't! i always trusted and believed every single word you told me. maybe it was a mistake to think you could be like me, maybe i should have waited to know you better, but we had so much things in common, i just built up hopes...
to tell you the truth at this moment I'm not feeling anything, I'm feeling like a piece of ice, i don't want to stop talking with you, i still consider you a nice guy, a friend if you let me.
maybe we were meant to meet each other but not to be together, so what do you think? do you really want to talk with this immature kid?
i want to be with you, i want to know how goes your life, because if you are happy i am even happier, i just don't want to lose you Luis, maybe time will give us another path to follow, maybe if you decide to come here in some years we can meet and this time for real, and well... you never know, maybe that time it will work, just don't go away Luis, believe it or not, i care about you, and i really meant every word i said too.
i wish i could do more to make you feel better in that horrible place you are, but i cant, i just can offer you my friendship now, and I'm sorry if i hurt you, i didn't mean it, is just we started this to fast, without knowing each other, maybe this time, if you want, we can get to know each other better, i really want, believe me, but I'm letting it all to your decision.
take care, be in contact

ME: "to tell you the truth at this moment I'm not feeling anything, I'm feeling like a piece of ice..." Now you know how I feel. You leave it in my hands? Fine. Do not contact me again, erase everything you have on me like I have done on you. As far as I'm concerned you do not exist - My advice, young man - date people in your own country... Goodbye forever.

HIM: ok it was a pleasure Luis will really miss you wont forget you, i hope you don't do it too i love you and thank you for all the good moments its a shame it has to finish like this

ME: How else did you think it was going to fucking end? I do not stay 'friends' with my ex's that's even worse than staying mad at them - like Felix you wanted to stay friends, just to save face? Well, fuck it - I'm not letting you have that pleasure. You hurt me and I will return the favor - 10 fold. And I thought I told you not to fucking contact me anymore? I already deleted every scrap of photos, letters, and whatever else I had on you - guess I'll have to block you, too? DO NOT CONTACT ME AGAIN!

Wanna play with Jacksy and Fruitpound?