Posted by RickFeliz on October 31, 2000 at 05:08:29:
|
"Bienvenidos al Lado Oscuro de la Luna" (Welcome to the Dark Side of the Moon) It was one of my first times in the old Las Chavalas before they added the back dance floor and bar. The place was more Mexican than Adelitas. A live band was playing ranchero music and the Mexicans were hopping up and down and back and forth on the dance floor. It reminded me of the polka back in Wisconsin. I looked around and noticed I was the only gringo in the place. I was beginning to learn Spanish and more about the Mexican culture. Although I felt a little nervous about the language, I'd learned that I could manage by smiling and saying "Dos Equis, por favor". When the waiter or bartender brought the beer I handed them 2 one dollar bills and that usually worked. If they said anything I'd give them a dollar more and that had always satisfied them. "Los hombres" (The men) in the place looked like they'd put on their best Saturday night duds, jumped in the pickup, and rode into town. "Sombreros" (hats) everywhere. Short, round guys with big hats, cowboy boots, and large belt buckles. I thought of the Smother's brothers, smiled, and listened to the words of the song in my head, "I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy". As you walk in the place there's a bar that runs along the left wall, some tables on the right followed by a dance floor in the middle. I had walked past the bar and was standing against the wall on the left. I looked around at the outfits and contemplated getting a sombrero. My mind was engaged in trying to decide the appropriate symbolism - a black hat or a white hat. Neither seemed appropriate when I saw a grey hat and thought, "yes, that's it - a grey hat". I was aroused from my sombrero meditation by a perky young female standing next to me. "Hola" (Hello). I smiled at her and she returned a large, enthusiastic "sonrisa" (smile). She was young and vivacious. All of 22 years old - less than half my age. Her name was Patricia de Culiacan, Sinaloa. Her eyes were bright and her voice sparkled. She was slim and trim - full of youthful vigor. She'd studied English in high school and I'd had a year of Spanish. Her English was better than my Spanish and we conversed in a combination of the two - Spanglish. This was her first night working there and she didn't like it. "I no like trabajo aqui." (No quiero work here). She didn't smoke, didn't drink, and didn't dance. She said the only times she had danced was with her brothers at weddings. I offered to buy her a coke and we sat at "una mesa" (a table). She came from a very poor area of Sinaloa to Tijuana to find work. She found a job as an office cleaner. She worked from 4 in the morning to 1 or 2 in the afternoon for $1 an hour. Four women in the cleaning crew and she made $40 a week. It wasn't really enough and she was looking for a second job. Las Chavelas wasn't it for her. I offered her a week's wages for a fiesta in the hotel and she enthusiastically agreed. This was before Hotel Cascadas was built and the senoritas from Las Chavelas used the hotel Ritzo de Oro across the street. I could tell she really was new when we stepped out into the street. Instead of leading me to the Ritzo de Oro she told me she'd found a very reasonable hotel. She took me around the corner and into Callejon Coahuilla (the alley) to the hotel where the crack whores hung out. $3 for the room without "un bano" (a bathroom). She seemed very proud of her bargain find and that she was saving me the price of the more expensive hotel. Watching her use toilet paper to carefully wipe off the tabletop where we put our clothes, I could visualize her working in her other profession as an office cleaner. Since this was about two years ago I really don't remember the sex but it must have been good since I saw her several times afterwards. Since I was going home and she'd decided that she didn't want to work at Las Chavelas anymore, I offered to share a taxi to drop her off at her apartment and then "la linea" (the line) for me. She gave me her address at the "Apartamento Rosa" (Pink Apartments) in case I wanted to see her again. The taxi ride seemed kind of silly when I found she lived about 2 blocks away on Revolucion about 3/4 of a block north of Calle Coahuilla (the street Adelitas is on). She didn't have a telephone. We made a date for dinner the next weekend at 7 at night. I was to pick her up at her apartment. The following weekend I got down there early, got a "penthouse suite" at the Hotel Leyva and set up Casa de Ricardo. I could feel the tension in my stomach as I nervously walked past the Chicago Club to Calle Coahuilla and turned left into the dark street. I walked in the street on high alert and at top speed. When I got to Revolucion, I turned left and continued walking quickly the 3/4 of a block to her place. I remember thinking "What am I doing here? This could be dangerous. It's incredible what guys will do to get laid." At the same time this was an exciting adventure. Off the beaten path. Requiring using all your senses and keeping your wits about you. I ducked into the entrance to her building. It was a long hallway that led to an iron grillwork gate secured by a chain just before a staircase. I walked down the dark hallway, stood under the light before the gate and tentatively said "Hola". A Mexican guy in jeans and a torn teeshirt appeared at the gate and said something in Spanish that I didn't understand. "Patricia, por favor". He didn't seem to understand. "Numero ocho, por favor". "Numero ocho?". "Si, Patricia, Numero Ocho". He yelled something up the staircase. It was an open staircase that rose to the second floor, turned right, and then came back leading to the third floor. You could look up through the gate between the stairs and see the top floor. Suddenly, she appeared leaning over the railing and flashed me a smile. She was putting her earrings on and told me she'd be right down. I waited rather awkwardly in front of the closed gate. Two hombres came in and looked very surprised to see me. I nodded and they nodded back. Although I was still a little nervous being there, I was starting to feel more comfortable and thinking that some things are the same everywhere. Here I am - a guy waiting for a date to get dressed. Some things never change. And then there she was. She was absolutely stunning in a bright red dress stretched over her youthful trim figure. She looked freshly scrubbed, healthy, and genuinely pleased to see me. What a fantasy. "Ricardo" (Dick) immediately sprang to attention and I instantly decided that dinner could wait. We scurried down the sidewalk toward Casa de Ricardo as she talked excitedly about her week and I kept noticing her incredible ass outlined in the tight red dress. We swept up the stairs of the Hotel Leyva. I quickly fumbled with the room key and opened the door. We rushed inside, quickly removed our clothes, and jumped into bed. Wild, passionate kisses. An enthusiastic bareback blowjob until I was almost about to explode. She looked at me with a wild look and growled, "what do you want?". I hastily slipped on a condom, flipped her over, grabbed her incredible ass and pulled her down on me. Oh, god, did it feel good. My hands holding her incredible cheeks, she moving back and forth enthusiastically, and yelling "Yeah! f**k me!". I looked down at her slender young body, grabbed onto her slim ass, was overcome with desire and raced into overdrive. "Yeah! f**k me! f**k me! f**k me!" - "Ahhhhhhhhhhh!". Afterwards, we lay in bed talking. She had been afraid that I wouldn't show up. Her sister had told her that I probably wouldn't and they had gotten into a fight over it. She had just had her 22nd birthday and was quite pleased with her present - a toothbrush. Time for a late dinner. We got dressed. She wanted me to take a nice picture of her that she could send to her mother in Culiacan. I'm looking at it right now. I see a slim, attractive, enthusiastic, healthy, young girl. Bright eyes. Big smile. Full of youthful vigor. She doesn't smoke, doesn't drink, and doesn't dance. But she does get wild in bed. We took a taxi to Los Arcos. Great seafood. We had the seafood special. She drank iced tea and was very polite in the restaurant. She watched me and followed what I did with the napkin, etc. I was beginning to feel like "El Patron" introducing the young girl to the nicer things in life. There were mostly Mexican families in the restaurant. There was a family of four sitting at the table next to us. I noticed "el padre" (the father) looking over at us from time to time. I couldn't read the expression on his face. Maybe just curiousity. We continued to see each other for about 6 months. I never had any problems picking her up at her apartment. After awhile people seemed to know who I was and seemed to accept it. I really enjoyed my time with her. Although the sex was great and she began telling me that she loved me, I never believed her and never "fell for her". I did, however, believe her when she would tell me that she missed me. "I missed you. Yeah. It's true." My "amiga especial" (special friend) had come over to my room for a wakeup call and to give me my morning's exercise. Afterwards we had taken a shower together and gone our separate ways. I had leisurely packed up and closed down la casa de Ricardo. I was "contento" (happy). I left my bag at the desk and intended to grab a bite to eat and head north. A habit I'd picked up from my amiga especial was to not waste anything. Since I always brought my own condoms, I didn't use the condoms that the hotel provides. I scooped them up to give to the street girls and headed out into the bright sunlight on Calle Coahuilla (the street). I turned left on Ninos Heroes, walked down to the alley, and turned left again into Callejon Coahuilla (the alley). Just past the bar on the corner and on the left is another little alleyway that I've always avoided because it looked dangerous to me. It looked like a great place for rateros to hide while looking for victims. There was a street girl with a nice smile standing against the wall just before the little alleyway. I approached her and we were engaging in a little light banter when a rather fat, dumpy girl with a black eye, bruises, and scrapes came out of the little alleyway. We looked at each other, stopped, and then stared. She said in English "I know you". I looked at her chubby face with the scrapes and the black eye and couldn't believe it. "Patricia?". "Si." "Patricia de Sinaloa?" "Si, Patricia de Culiacan.". Without thinking I invited her to join me for lunch. She said "un momento" (one moment) and waved for me to follow her back into the alleyway. With a little trepidation I followed her fat ass stuffed into bluejeans as she waddled into one of the hovels back there. I stayed outside and noticed a small Mexican guy called her by a different name and slipped something into her back pocket. It was a small white package about the size of those tiny salt packages that you get in fast food places. We went into the restaurant and sat in a booth up front looking out. The waitress frowned at her but didn't say anything when she brought us the menus. As Patricia took the menu I could see the inside of her right arm was bruised black and blue. She quickly covered up her arm with her sleeve. She then jumped up and said she had to go to the bathroom to wash her hands. While she was gone I began thinking that I had made a mistake. What was in the tiny white package? Were those bruises on the inside of her right arm from needles? What's she doing in el bano? If la polica come by do, I want to be caught associating with her and whatever she has on her? When she came back and sat down I noticed how dull her eyes seemed. She tried to smile at me but it wasn't a very enthusiastic smile. Her face and arms were scraped and bruised. I was thinking that some guy must have beaten her up. She seemed distant. Her reaction time was slow and her speech was slightly slurred. When the food came, she just picked at it and wasn't very hungry. We didn't seem to have anything to talk about and the time passed slowly. I stopped trying to carry on a conversation and ate quickly. She barely touched her food and had it wrapped to go. Finally I paid the bill and we left. In the street she asked me what I was going to do now. "Voy al mi casa" (I'm going home). This incident shattered something for me. A glimpse of life on the other side of the mirrors and glitter of Disneyland. A few days later I was in a Barnes and Nobles bookstore just as they were closing and saw the cover of a book by David Lida, Stories of Mexico. I didn't have time to look inside but remember the cover: Stories of Mexico - the beauty and the horror. And now I was beginning to see a little clearer and had my own stories. "Estorias de la Zona" (Stories of the Zone). Regards,
|