Posted by Farsider on April 16, 2001 at 13:58:40:
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Wednesday, 4/4/01 During the morning, I picked up a rental car. No more trolley. And I could stay at AB as late as I wanted. I left my hotel that evening, trying to time it so I'd arrive at AB at my usual time of 9:00. I had a coupon for a dollar off at Border Station Parking, so I left my car there. As I was walking past World Parking, I saw how much closer to the border gate it was, and vowed to park there the following night. Screw the dollar. Clang-clang went the turnstiles, as I felt my adrenaline flow. I knew that one way or another, an adventure awaited me. You can't miss in the Zona. There was a larger turnout at Adelitas on this particular Wednesday, but the crowd still wasn't so bad. I made my usual left turn upon entering, then went up that one step near the bar to get a good vantage point for observation. I knew Jasmine often hung out in this area. The chicas were out in full force tonight, but at first glance, I didn't see one I recognized. I kept moving, heading towards the back wall and swinging around through the area directly behind the central stage. I stopped, and before I knew it, I was greeted with a smile and a hug. It was Elisa. I hadn't wanted her to find me right away, but she had, and now I was powerless against the aura she seemed to exude. I was trapped in her web. There was an open booth nearby, and we sat down for a minute. She moved in close and shivered, and decided to gauge my knowledge of Spanish. "Frio," she told me. It turned out that I knew that word. With the low cut mini-dress she was wearing, I wasn't surprised that she was "frio." But there was a slight chill in the bar this evening, even near the back. I put my arm around her and began to caress her bare shoulders. "Better?" I asked her. "Mmmmmm. Caliente. Muy caliente," she replied. Then she grabbed my expanding member through my pants. "Muy caliente," she repeated with a giggle that had me raring to go. I saw a pattern developing here. Seconds later, I was following her up the stairs. If an attractive woman puts her hand on my genitals and speaks to me seductively in Spanish, I'll follow her anywhere. In the room, she proceeded to thoroughly rock my world for the third consecutive night. By now she knew all the right buttons to push. And lying there on the bed afterwards, the idea of "variety" that I had been pursuing up to this point suddenly was starting to look less and less appealing. We had developed an unspoken system for the money exchange. At the end of the session, when we were getting dressed, I would put the money on the bed. She would take it later when I wasn't looking. I loved that... the exchange, though it definitely occurred, was totally, completely de-emphasized. Downstairs, she once again went her way and I went mine. But I knew I'd see her again that night. She and I had similar habits in that we both liked to roam around the bar. Plenty of opportunities for meeting up. A few minutes later, I ran into Jasmine. I had to tell her that I wasn't up to going to the hotel with her, and I could tell that she knew exactly what I meant. That was the last time I talked to Jasmine; I never did manage to have a session with her. Though AB was rather crowded that night, it was slow in the sense that few people seemed to be going upstairs. Everyone seemed to be watching and waiting, both the men and the women. I kept moving around, and as I had expected, I kept meeting up with Elisa. We would stand together and chat for a few minutes, and then she would smile and squeeze my hand, or kiss me on the cheek, and say she needed to get back to work. This happened about four or five times. The last time, I watched this tiny, spirited chica walk slowly away, and realized that perhaps I was taking her a wee bit for granted. I decided then and there that when we met up again, I would not let her get away for the rest of the evening. It didn't take long. I offered to buy her a drink. She nodded and smiled, and directed me toward one of the booths up against the wall, behind the upper bar on the left side. I liked it up there; it was relatively quiet and out of the way. She asked me where I was from. I told her, but she had never heard of my home town or even my home state. If I could reveal it here, you'd understand why. I told her that it was a six-hour plane ride from San Diego. "So you won't be back?" she said. "After tomorrow, not for a long time," I said. She told me, with a smile, to masturbate often and think of her; then I'd want to come back sooner. I laughed; I wished it was that simple. Then came a Kodak moment. A song began to play that Elisa knew and liked. She began to sway in the seat in her usual manner. But then she grabbed my hand, pulled me toward the nearby dance Like many of her amigas, Elisa is a wonderful, sensuous dancer. The same, however, cannot be said for this two-left-footed, East Coast gringo who has always avoided dancing like it was herpes. I won't even dance at weddings. And these Latin rhythms? You've gotta be kidding... or so I thought. But the impossible happened, and I wound up giving it a try. Of course, I butchered it completely, drawing sympathetic laughter from Elisa. But she stuck with me until the song was done, and gave me a big hug at the end. I didn't realize until then that we were the only ones on the stage. A smattering of applause ensued from several people sitting at the bar. If anyone reading this was among those clappers... yeah, that was me. Back in the booth with Elisa, I started to wonder what had made me attempt something so out of character. It was the aura of Elisa. It was the spirit of Adelitas, the spirit of the Zona. Anything is possible. I looked at Elisa sitting next to me, her glass still half full. I realized something. Tonight, she had not asked me to buy her one drink... not one. I felt bad for mentally labelling her a drink hustler the previous night. She caught me looking at her, and gave an embarrassed giggle. At AB, there is always a sense that the clock is running. If you are sitting with a girl, someone (either the girl or a bartender) pressures you to buy a drink. Then, when the unseen clock runs out, either you get her another drink or she walks. It's the same upstairs; you are always listening for the dreaded knock on the door in the back of your mind. If you find a special chica that you hit it off with, though, you can slow that clock down. I don't know how long we sat in that booth after dancing, but my best guess is over an hour. We talked a little, laughed a little, and snuggled a little. I was sexually satisfied; life was good. The clock had stopped, and time had stood still. This, my friends, was a true girlfriend experience. We decided to move to a different booth down by the central floor stage. By now, I was getting sleepy, and I sensed that she was too. I told her that I had better leave soon. She responded by reaching up, giving me a kiss on the cheek, then pulled my face down into her neck. She loved having her neck nibbled. I kept my face buried in her neck for several minutes. I wish I could have bottled up that feeling. I kissed her goodnight. She told me, "We will have more time tomorrow." I took this remark at face value. Days later, upon reflection, I realized that she was hinting at a longer session or an all-nighter. But I failed to pick up on it at the time. On my way out of AB, I ran into Victoria for about the fifth time. This chica didn't mince words. "Let's go upstairs and make love," she said. I just smiled. She was a sweetheart, but my mind was elsewhere at the time and she just did nothing for me physically. I gave her a peck on the cheek and said, "Buenos noches." "Oooooh... espaņol!" she squealed. Newbies... even if you only know three or four words of Spanish, use them. You'll be amazed at the payoff. Outside, a cab driver quoted me $7 to the border. I walked past him to the next cabbie, who quoted $6 in earshot of the first cabbie. I gave a sarcastic shrug to cabbie #1. I was getting better at dealing with these guys. Driving back to San Diego, I had a lot on my mind. It had been a memorable evening, but the euphoria had begun to wear off. The rules of the game had changed. New issues had been raised. I realized that my fascination with Elisa had progressed to a deep infatuation. I told myself, for Christ's sake, get a grip! She's a sex worker. She's in it for the money. She makes a living by telling men what they want to hear. But no matter how jaded I tried to be, I believed that there were several times that evening when she had gone well beyond the call of duty. I felt that the evidence was compelling and impossible to ignore. I tried to look at it from a different perspective. No matter what, tomorrow would be my last evening there. That was a given. I had a non-refundable plane ticket that my employer had paid for. So, what harm could there be in letting this thing play out and develop over one more night? And then the other side of that particular coin presented itself to me. After tomorrow, how much would I miss her? I went to sleep well into the wee hours, without reaching a conclusion of any kind. The following morning, I had to get away for awhile. Away from the world of the Zona, but also away from the world that I knew regularly. I headed out onto the road, and went eastbound on I-8. I went through the mountains, out into the desert, all the way to El Centro. Then I turned around and came back. I thought, analyzed, and broke everything down to basics, but I still couldn't make sense of it all. I knew that I wanted to spend the entire upcoming evening with Elisa, but I had no clue how to approach it, and what the ramifications would be. I began the week with an agenda, and one lovely chica persuaded me to toss it aside. How ironic it is that on that last night, when I really could have used a game plan, I decided to just wing it. Thursday, 4/5/01 This was a Thursday evening that I will not soon forget. Heading south on I-5, looming in front of me was the now-familiar sight of TJ at night. A twinkling, otherwordly array of sparkles, unlike anything you'd see in the USA. "Otherwordly" is a fitting word, for it truly feels like another world down there. Viewed either from I-5 or the trolley, it's a spectacular sight. Despite that, as I pulled into World Parking, I was still in a melancholy, out-of-sorts frame of mind. My trip was almost over, and I had, as Elisa would say, some business to take care of. I hoped that I would be able to bring the week to a fitting conclusion. I had a nagging sense of doubt that time would not allow me that opportunity. Instead of pulling around in front of AB, the cabbie practically kicked me out on the far corner of Coahuila and Constitucion. Still not comfortable walking on the streets of the Zona after dark, I made a mad dash through the taco stands, parted the curtains and entered Adelitas. This was Thursday night, and the bar was distinctly more crowded than on the previous evenings. On this night, unlike before, I had my sights set on one girl. I made a couple of laps around the club, keeping a lookout for Elisa. I was accosted by the lovely dark-skinned Marissa. She diverted my attention momentarily; I found myself running my hands up and down her body. Then I looked sideways, and there was Elisa standing nearby, sticking out her tongue at me. Part seductively, and part mockingly. That could have been awkward, and I'm not sure exactly what happened here, but everything worked itself out. I smiled at her, then turned to Marissa. I used what had become my standard turn-down line: "Maybe next time?" Elisa said something in Spanish to Marissa, who nodded to her and smiled, then nodded to me and proceeded on her way. I couldn't help but check Marissa out a bit as she slinked away across the club. She's a hot one. Maybe on another night, another time... But now, my attention was on the chica who was leading me by the hand to a nearby booth where we sat down. I bought her a drink, then another. Strangely, on this night, though she was her usual exuberant self, she did not initiate going to the room. It was me who finally said, "Upstairs?" She grabbed my crotch, motioned toward the door with her head and away we went. In the room, she quickly turned tigress as usual. She ran her tongue all over me. It truly amazed me, the things this girl could do with her mouth. She enveloped me, took me deep, and did that thing that she does better than anyone I've ever experienced. And... that's when things began to unravel. Maybe it was the fact that this was my fourth session with her in four days, and it's been forever since I've had that kind of action. There was the strange session with Marisol thrown in the mix. Some of it was just plain performance anxiety, something that has afflicted me from time to time. But I think it was mostly the result of realizing that my time with her was almost up, that the clock was running, and that she would exit my life after that night, likely for good. I became the victim of too much thinking on my part. Gradually, I began to go soft. She made a lengthy, pull-out-all-the-stops attempt to resuscitate my dying member, but in the end, it was a lost cause. Every man's worst fear. "Que pasa?" She laid down next to me on the bed, and looked up at me imploringly. "Que pasa, que pasa?" she pleaded. I gazed at her, there in the faint illumination produced by the bathroom light, and I could see that her eyes had clouded over. Her lower lip began to tremble, and a tear rolled down her cheek. I wiped away the tear with my finger. I had no idea how to communicate to her, with her limited comprehension of English and my nonexistent Spanish, exactly what happened. I started to explain in English, in my long-winded manner, but she continued to look up at me and said, "No comprende..." Becoming increasingly desperate, I took her hand in mine, and touched my now-limp member. "The problem is not here," I said, "and not here," I said, touching my hand and hers to her mouth, "but here." I touched my hand to my head. "Comprende?" She appeared somewhat appeased. "Comprende." I held her for a minute or two, and then, in her fascinatingly unpredictable manner, she turned the tables on me. "You are loco in the cabeza?" she said, then giggled. At least she was joking around, and I felt better myself. We heard some voices outside in the hall. All of a sudden, Elisa sat up on the bed, and let out a simulated orgasmic moan, getting louder and louder, almost loud enough to be heard downstairs in the bar. I just laid there, speechless, wondering what she was up to. She stopped, smiled, and told me, "They will think you are mucho grande." What a woman. "Are you happy?" she then asked. She was referring to the session. I wanted to tell her that I was happy for every last moment I could spend with her, but rather than confuse her further with my rambling English, I told her, "Yes, I'm happy." "My happy is to make you happy," she replied. I understood exactly what she meant. Then came the damn knock. Elisa shouted something, but another knock ensued, louder and more obnoxious. We looked at each other, and realized that was it. And as we got dressed, the playful, gregarious Elisa once again became quiet and withdrawn. I'm still not sure what was going through her mind at this point, but it was apparent that she was, once again, upset. It was a very tense walk down the stairs and into the bar. We entered, and she squeezed my hand and walked away. I couldn't believe it. Was this it? Several minutes passed; they seemed like an eternity. I decided to walk around a bit, and try to get my wits about me. I began to get desperate, for I could no longer see her. Where was she? Had she gone up with someone else already? I camped out in the area in front of the entrance to the men's room, which gives you sight lines to nearly the entire bar. No sign of her. I turned around, and suddenly, there she was, walking past. She acknowledged me with a curt nod, and kept walking. My desperation quickly turned to resignation. Somehow, I had blown it with Elisa. That was it. In an irrational, spontaneous, incredibly stupid about-face, I went to a half-baked Plan B. I figured, let's grab a trophy girl and go to town on her, and then leave. And if I fail with her, it's no big deal. I'll be out of there, and no one will ever know. I decided to go for the gusto, and offered a bartender a dollar to point out the blonde bombshell Sylvia for me. He took my dollar, then told me she wasn't there. I didn't care one bit about the dollar; I wanted to find me a hottie. I picked one out; I never found out her name. But she was in the process of being spirited away by someone, probably for the umpteenth time that night. I knew she wouldn't be up there long, and I decided to camp out near Hottie Central to await her return. But at AB, things can change from one moment to the next. I went over to the bar to buy a drink, and was intercepted by a very attractive redhead. She said her name was Marvieta (I think), quoted me 40 dollars and gave me a french kiss right there in the bar. Upstairs, and off to the races. Ten minutes later, sitting there in the dimly lit room by myself after the worst of all possible sessions (see my chica report on Marvieta), I was feeling about as low as anyone could feel, and trying to make sense of this bizarre series of events. Quick or not, Marvieta had claimed the ejaculate that I had wanted so badly to give to Elisa. My sex drive had betrayed me, in just about the cruelest manner conceivable. I thought to myself, I have this room for 20 more minutes, let's just stay here, calm down and figure out what to do next. At first, I wanted to go downstairs and beg Elisa for an all-nighter. But what good would that do? I had already shot my load. Truth be told, I would have been more than happy to spend that night with her with no sex. But what would that make her think? Besides, I'd have to get some more cash, get a room, and who knows what she'd say? And it was already after midnight... if only I had thought of it earlier. I wanted to tell her how touched I was to see her emotional reaction earlier. You can't fake tears. It hurt her feelings that she wasn't able to get me off. I felt terrible about that, but it showed that she really did care, in one way or another. I came to a decision. I would go downstairs and attempt to reach out to Elisa, the woman, and not Elisa, the sex provider. It was all I could do at this point. I hoped she was still downstairs. And if not, I would wait there the rest of the night. Down I went. No sign of Elisa. Had she gone? I made a couple of slow, careful circuits around the place, looking everywhere. And at last, I saw her. She was standing near the entrance to the men's room, in the exact same place I had seen her before, swaying to the music and sipping a cup of coffee. I was pretty sure she had not seen me go up with Marvieta. I stole up next to her, put my arm across her waist and gave her a squeeze. Startled, she looked at me, then her face relaxed, and she scrunched up her nose in an affectionate gesture. She smacked her lips at me. "Comprende?" I asked her. "Comprende," she replied. I breathed a deep, deep sigh of relief. I told myself, here goes nothing. "I must go soon, but I want to buy you a drink first," I told her. Without speaking, she led me over to a table behind the bar on the left as one enters the club. It was the same table from which she had dragged me onto the dance floor the previous night. She snuggled up against me as we settled in. The waiter took our drink order. I asked her why she was drinking coffee. "I hate coffee. But I drink one cup a night. I need to stay awake." We both laughed. "I hate coffee too," I replied. Our drinks arrived, and I had ordered my usual Coke. "You drink too much cola," she told me. "Not good for you." I smiled and nodded my head in agreement. "You drink beer? Alcohol?" she asked me. I said no. "No smoke? Drugs?" I said no, I don't do anything like that. "I have no vices, I guess." She didn't understand the word "vices", so I explained it to her. "No smoke. No drugs. No vices. Comprende?" She indicated that she understood with a nod and a smile. "You have one vice," she said, looking at me sideways. "Elisa." "Elisa is not a vice," I replied with a wink. "No vice. Then come back to Mazatlan and I will make you my husband." I guess my jaw must have dropped to the floor, because she stuck out her tongue as if to say, "Gotcha!" She began to talk openly at that point about a lot of things; life in Mazatlan, her family, how she hated weekends at Adelitas because of the crowds, etc. I just listened to her. Sometimes she switched over to Spanish, and I couldn't understand her. I didn't mind a bit. I wanted to hear her talk to me, because it assured me that things were okay between us. The clock was running, and I could hear every tick in the back of my mind. I became withdrawn, and she picked up on it. "What are you thinking?" she asked. I started to tell her how much I enjoyed just being with her, and how she and she alone had made my trip a memorable one. But as usual, I stumbled over the words, and she didn't get my drift. "No comprende," she said. A quick, concise response was needed, which summed everything up in a manner that left no doubt in her mind. I pieced together a few words of Spanish that I knew, and told her, "Elisa es muy bonita." The look that crossed her face when she heard that is what I will forever file away in my memory bank under "Elisa". It was indescribable. We talked a little more, then she uttered the words that I was dreading: "I must go back to work now, baby." The clock had struck midnight; the alarm bell had rung. It was time for her to go back to the reality that was her world, and time for me to go back to mine. She kissed me on the lips, then on both cheeks. I told her, "I won't forget you." She replied, "Be well," followed by a few words in Spanish. She got up, and I watched her walk across toward the maze of bodies near the men's room and disappear into the crowd. Then, having managed to script a conclusion that I could live with, I immediately left the club. The foreign world that is the Zona Norte is more complex than I could have imagined. On the surface, all personal interaction seems to be controlled by time, and more accurately, money. And for many of us, the language barrier is another obstacle. With the majority of these chicas, it seems like the best that you can hope for is a brief, fleeting glimpse of the woman that lies underneath. But I had been lucky enough to spend time with one who had allowed me prolonged access to the "real her." And that, for me, is the Holy Grail of mongering. When I left Adelitas that night, a passing shower had left the streets of the Zona wet and glistening. I flagged down a cab. At the border taxi stand, I handed $7 to the driver without even inquiring about the fare. One of those omnipresent small boys opened the cab door for me; I handed him a dollar. Over the pedestrian gate I went. Across the highway, up alongside the row of stores and through customs. I hopped into my rental car, and headed out onto I-5 north. In my rear-view mirror, I could see the galaxy of lights that was TJ at night. Eventually, it faded out of view and into my memory. Who knows when, or if, I'll be back.
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