Lay Your Hands On Me

It’s easy to sleep in late at the Villa de Zaragoza. Those rooms that face the inner parking lot don’t get a lot of sunlight, and if you are like me and rely on the sun’s rays to wake you, you’re out of luck. Then again, if you’re a real night owl and not stuck on Eastern Daylight Time, that’s probably a good thing. It was almost 10:00 before I jumped up out of bed.

I got myself decent, and then went outside and banged on Bill’s door. He had similarly slept in late. As soon as he came to, we wandered over to Revolucion and spent the next few hours doing tourist-type stuff like shopping for gifts and food items. I’m kind of embarrassed to acknowledge that, but after that mishap at the hamburger stand, I have no shame.

Around 1:30 or so, we met up once again with Erip, and had lunch at Ricardo’s. On a Sunday afternoon, this place has a family-type ambience that’s quite different from the venues I usually frequent in TJ. We hung out there long after our food was consumed. Erip is a true font of knowledge when it comes to TJ and the Zona. I’ve always had an interest in the history of the Zona Norte and the pay-for-play scene in TJ, and occasionally during my spare time, I enjoy perusing through the Redsnake archives and ASPT to see how things were several years ago. It was quite enjoyable speaking face to face with someone who’s been around long enough to have witnessed things as they used to be.

It was around 4:00 when we finally left Ricardo’s. Bill and I were ready to hit the Zona at that point, but Erip suggested a pit stop along the way, and upon further discussion, we readily embraced his idea. His recommendation was a massage at Azteca.

Ever since I’ve been going to TJ, Azteca has been a place that has intrigued me. Yes, from the start, I’ve been aware that it’s a strictly legit massage parlor, with no extras to be had. But I’ve always thought of it as potentially a nice appetizer before the main course. It’s just that I could never fit it into my schedule, for my time in TJ is always limited, and my focus has always been elsewhere.

But next thing I knew, Erip, Bill and I were ascending that long staircase. I’d often peered up the stairwell as I walked past, and wondered what was at the top. I found a rather professional-looking lobby, complete with a waiting area stocked with magazines and newspapers, and a reception desk with a receptionist seated behind it.

Erip, who is quite familiar with this place, spoke engagingly with the receptionist in Spanish, making arrangements for the three of us. We all wanted the full hour massage. This was yet another occasion when I wished that my Spanish was better. I now have two generalizations with regard to speaking Spanish in TJ. If you don’t speak any Spanish, you can have a damn good time in TJ and the Zona. But if you do speak Spanish, your experience will be greatly enhanced, and additional doors will open for you.

The waiting room was empty, and within a few minutes, we each had been directed to our respective rooms. While waiting for my masajista to arrive, I wasn’t sure of what decorum called for. I just stripped off my clothes, piling them neatly in the corner of the room, and lay down on the massage table. Soon, the door opened, and a petite, attractive girl entered. Her name was Aricela, and I would later learn that I had wound up with the best-looking of the three girls who had been assigned to us.

She asked me to turn over, face down; there was a conveniently-placed hole in the table for my face, permitting comfort, and allowing me to breathe at the same time. She placed a small red towel alongside of me, and I knew that towel would be used to cover my nether regions once I turned over to allow her to work on the front half of my body.

I had never before had a professional massage, so I don’t really have a basis for comparison. But I have to say that this was definitely an enjoyable experience. With the exception of your genitalia and your butt crack, liberal attention is paid to literally every square inch of your body. When the hour was up, I felt like a million bucks.

This was a strictly professional massage, and nothing that would even remotely constitute “extra” touching occurred; exactly as advertised. But that was fine with me, since “extra” activity is readily available a couple of blocks away.

I was handed a white robe, which doubled as a towel, and shown the way to the shower, taking my clothes with me. The showers were clean, a little cramped when trying to get dressed, but nothing that couldn’t be dealt with. Outside in the reception area, I paid the receptionist $30 for one hour, and handed Aricela a tip. I’m glad I had the chance to check this place out, and in fact, I’ve decided that on all future TJ visits, I’ll make time for a massage at Azteca.

Bill and Erip had both finished up at the same time, and we descended back down to street level. Bill and I had phone calls to make, once again, and we decided that rather than rely on spotty cell phone service, we’d just make use of the phone booths at the Internet café near 2nd and Revo (20 cents a minute, anywhere in the US). We agreed to meet Erip later at Tropical.

I still had trouble getting through, however, so as soon as Bill was finished with his call, I told him to go ahead over to Tropical. I logged onto the Internet, and ended up paying $1.50 for one full hour. I spend a lot more time on the net in TJ than I probably should admit to. I began to devise an agenda for the coming evening. I’d do one more session at Adelitas. My first choice would be a repeat with Yuri, who had assured me that she’d be expecting me. If I couldn’t find her, I’d indulge in a romp with Evelyn. I knew, however, that agendas in the Zona should never be set in stone. That’s something I learned way back during my first-ever Zona visit.


I Want Candy

Dusk was falling as I made my way down the hill on Constitucion, past the hissing rows of street girls, and then made the left turn on Coahuila. I split the curtains at Tropical. Bill was waiting inside; he was trying to lay the groundwork for a session with Letti. Erip, meanwhile, had headed over to Adelitas, and was in the process of having his world rocked by Candi. Let me tell you, these guys waste no time in getting down and dirty.

A few minutes later, Erip showed up, looking quite content. I mentioned my own lack of success in hooking up with Candi, despite a few attempts over the years at doing so. Erip pointed out that right that very minute, she was over at Adelitas, free and unoccupied. Both he and Bill directed me, in unison: “Go!”

What’s doubly ironic about all this, is that it was Erip who first recommended Candi to me, over four years ago. Since that time, I’d always had her on my radar screen. But it seemed like every time I saw her, she was either in the company of another guy, sitting in a booth or heading out through the curtains. Or else, I was fresh off a session of my own. I’d spoken with her a few times, as well; but actually experiencing her talents in the room (which by all accounts are quite remarkable) seemed to be something that was perpetually just beyond my reach. But now, it appeared as if the chance was there, and I decided to cast aside my agenda for the evening, in search of a taste of Candi.

By now, Bill had nailed down a one-hour session with Letti; he was waiting for her to return from the ladies’ room. I agreed to meet him back in Tropical an hour later. Erip, meanwhile, needed to head for the border at this point. So, we both bid him adios; it was great to finally meet him, and have the chance to spend parts of two days running with him in the Zona.

Outside, it was now dark, and the “real” Zona was beginning to emerge. That is, if there is such a thing. Like I said before, the Zona is not reality, so who’s to say what is real and what’s not? As I split the curtains at Adelitas, it occurred to me just how little time I’d spent in that establishment over the past couple of days. On this visit, a lot of barriers had tumbled down for me. But at the same time, I felt like I was back home, for AB holds many great memories.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the spot under the large TV, in the back. That’s Candi’s usual hangout. She wasn’t there, so I circled the bar, keeping my eyes peeled. Finally, I spotted her… in a booth with another guy.

It figured. But I wasn’t about to give up. I found an empty stool nearby, and just camped out, waiting to see what would happen. Twenty minutes passed. And then, Candi and her male companion stood up. Hand in hand, they walked out through the curtains. I wouldn’t see her for the rest of the evening.

Foiled again!


Wind of Change

I had some time left to kill before heading back to Tropical. Angela hunted me down again, and this time, I sat with her for a bit and bought her a couple of fichas. Finally, I decided to go outside, and hang out beyond the curtains for a few. On the way, I passed Evelyn, who had just arrived for her shift, and was wearing this outrageous skin-tight pants suit that was pretty much a pasted-on American flag. Red, white, and blue, complete with stars and stripes, accentuated with silver glitter. Every inch of my body wanted to stand at attention and sing.

As had been the case each evening, once the sun vanished, the temperature dropped sharply. I merged into the peanut gallery. I happened to glance into Monte Carlo, the eatery next to AB. And sitting in there, all by her lonesome, picking her way through an order of food, and looking quite ravishing, was my longtime acquaintance, Veronica.

When formulating my agenda for that evening, I’d completely overlooked Veronica. I recalled how, the previous afternoon, she’d stood up out of her seat to give me a friendly wave. And I remembered how, during my last trip to TJ many months ago, I’d met up with her at AB right before heading north to catch my flight. I’d been unable to take her upstairs, since some disreputable employee at the Zaragoza had stolen my credit card number and drained my bank account. I’d had to settle for a single ficha drink, and Veronica had spent upwards of twenty minutes molesting me there in the booth.

This was a story that needed to be continued. I mentally re-arranged my agenda, once again, pushing all thoughts of Yuri, Evelyn and Candi out of my mind.

I headed over to Tropical at that point, with the full intention of coming back to AB at the earliest opportunity. Had I thought about it a little more, I would have marched right into the restaurant, sat down with Veronica, and offered to buy her dinner. But I would have been severely pressed for time.

Bill appeared less than ten minutes after I arrived back at Tropical. He reported a wonderful time with Letti. We decided to head over to Revo to have dinner, and as we passed by AB, I mentioned to Bill that I wanted to stop in for a few minutes. It was getting to be prime time, but this being a Sunday night, AB was much less packed than the previous two nights. Wandering toward the back, we spotted Angela sitting by herself in a booth. Bill, who also knows Angela pretty well (better than I do, in fact), went over to greet her, and elected to buy her a drink. That gave me a moment to roam around, and look for my number one target. I didn’t have to look very far. There was Veronica, standing on the rear stage, looking alluring in a blue-green top and a pair of jeans. I waved at her, and she bounded over to greet me. Veronica is a bubbly little pixie with an uplifting demeanor; she always has a smile on her face.

I immediately pointed at my watch. “I have to go now,” I told her, “But I’ll be back later. Ten o’clock, okay?”

She nodded, assuring me that she would be around. I began to head for the exit, to wait for Bill, but then I thought about it a little more. Bill was tied up for a little while. He’d bought Angela a ficha. Wait a minute… two can play at that game!

I went back and practically dragged Veronica to a booth. I was glad to discover that she was no less affectionate in the booth that she had been on that occasion several months ago. We were positioned directly facing a TV suspended from the ceiling. The TV was tuned into the ESPN Sunday night broadcast of the Chargers-Giants game. I was only paying attention to the game peripherally, but the Giants, who were getting trounced, completed a long pass. Veronica squealed in response to the action, and started clapping happily.

I looked at her incredulously. “You like football?” I blurted out.

“Si,” she replied, still clapping.

I couldn’t believe it. An AB chica who liked American football. “What’s your favorite team?” I asked her.

“Giants,” she said, pointing at the TV.

Now, for this Eagles fan, that was exactly the wrong team to cite. Only the Cowboys would have been worse. As fond as I am of Veronica, I had to let her know where my rooting interests lie, and I did so. “Eagles,” she repeated. “You from Philadelphia?”

I always tell the chicas I’m from Philly. It’s not strictly accurate, but it’s close enough. She started to ask many questions at this point. I was struck by how much her English had improved. When I first met Veronica a few years ago, she couldn’t speak a lick of English. Now, her dialogue was a quite understandable brand of Spanglish. And when I spoke to her in English, she more or less understood me. I don’t know if this improvement was the result of working at AB, or if she’d been taking classes. But this was another most welcome development, as I’d never really had the chance to communicate verbally with Veronica in the past.

Finally, Bill managed to break free from the jaws of Angela, and came over to join us. He was ready to chow down, and so was I. “Ten o’ clock,” I confirmed with Veronica as I got up.

Bill suggested that we hit the smaller Sanborn’s near 4th and Revo. This place, though it’s often labeled as the Denny’s of TJ, has always been a sentimental favorite of mine. I ate my first-ever meal in TJ there, during a non-mongering visit back in 1999. The newly-rebuilt interior is brand-spanking-new, and the place looks great. The food is pretty much run-of-the-mill, geared more for north-of-the-border patrons than south, but the Swiss enchiladas I ordered were actually very good. And the new restrooms upstairs, complete with motion-sensor activators on the toilets and sink faucets, and squeaky-clean tiled floors, are the nicest I’ve seen in TJ.

We hobbled back to the Zona; all that walking was starting to get to us. I, of course, had some business to attend to with Veronica. Bill wanted to mosey over to Tropical in the meantime. We agreed to meet up inside AB a little over an hour later.


Veronica

It took me a couple of laps around the place, but I found her. Veronica appeared immensely pleased that I’d kept our date and shown up on time. We’d already had our catch-up chat earlier. No fichas this time. I took her hand and led her toward the curtains.

Once in the room, I sat down on the bed and started to disrobe, while Veronica excused herself for a moment, and drew off into the bathroom. I like achieving a certain level of comfort with a particular chica, which is why I’m drawn to doing repeats. I relish the opportunity to build up a level of trust. I have that with Veronica. We never discuss anything monetary. She gets paid afterwards, and neither of us needs to say anything. This makes the whole experience more realistic (or as realistic as it could possibly be).

I was in my birthday suit. I walked over toward the ledge by the door, on which my wallet rested. I wanted to separate out the cash for the session ahead of time. But Veronica emerged from the bathroom, naked. Astonishingly, she left the room light on, and I had the chance to drink in her petite, small-breasted but luscious nakedness in full illumination. I made a move for the bed, but she instructed me to stop. I stood there in the middle of the room, bewildered, for just an instant; but she proceeded to make her intentions known. She produced a condom and, squatting down before me, installed it in its intended location. Then, with me still standing there, she proceeded to begin to service me orally. Every so often, she’d look up at me, with a fiery look in her eyes, the likes of which I’d never seen from her.

Now, this was an interesting development. Up till now, every session I’d done with Veronica had been of the fun and sweet variety. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But this was not merely sweet. This was smokin’ hot.

The shift in her demeanor was an incredible turn-on, and the sight of her bending down before me could have induced an orgasmic explosion right then and there. But I wanted to make it last, to see what else she had in her bag of tricks, so I motioned toward the bed.

She rolled over on her back, and I mounted her in missionary. Right away, I noticed another change from previous sessions. Normally, she likes to talk during sex. I always thought it was kind of cute; she would talk in Spanish, but still, I always got the impression she was talking to me rather than at me. At the same time, though, I used to wonder if this was her way of distancing herself from the act that was, when all was said and done, her end of a commercial transaction.

But that wasn’t the case right now. She locked eyes with me, not saying much, maybe uttering a word or two every now and then. Her gaze was fierce and unyielding; there was an intensity there that I didn’t know she had.

Abruptly, she said, “Arriba,” and as I rolled over, she switched to cowgirl. Then came doggy-style, and my pump was still primed. She was out of breath by this point, but motioned for me to lie on my side. She wrapped her legs around my waist, in a most inventive position, and drew me inside her. And the newness of the experience quickly pushed me over the edge.

As I began to get dressed, the still rather quiet Veronica spoke up. “Hora?” she asked. I would have been up for the extended session almost anytime, except for now. “No dinero,” I told her. For dramatic effect, I opened my wallet, which contained far too few bills for another half hour; this elicited a laugh from her. “Next time though. For sure.” The fact that I uttered those words, “No dinero,” to Veronica is important when considering what was about to happen afterwards.

I was dressed first, and I watched her put her face back on in front of the mirror. Many girls are self-conscious about this, but not Veronica. She was a bit more chatty at this point. Unbelievably, I’d done two AB sessions this trip, and both had run over thirty minutes with nary a knock on the door. Finally, we were ready to go, and Veronica walked slowly back down the stairs with me, hand in hand. I said before that this is important to me, and Veronica has always indulged me here.

I walked her back into the bar, and then bid her goodbye with a kiss on the forehead. I told her I’d look for her next time I was in town. I’d had good times with Veronica in the past, but she really kicked it up a notch this time. That session was as good as it gets.

I considered walking over to Tropical at that point, to see what Bill was up to, but I decided to hang out with the crowd on the sidewalk outside AB. It’s fun to do this on occasion. I really believe that a lot of the guys who lurk outside the bar are too afraid or shy to go inside, and thus get their jollies by watching the chicas parade by in the company of other man. What strange behavior. For me, it’s a momentary reprieve from the heat of the bar, and I find myself increasingly taking refuge outside for a spell after a session.

I decided to take a walk back into the bar. Though the music was loud, the aisles were relatively clear. I like AB on Sunday nights. It seems like most of the girls are there, and the amount of guys is way down. I circled around the back, and caught another glimpse of Veronica. She was standing directly behind the rear stage, back in circulation, chatting with an amiga. She turned and smiled as I walked past. I affectionately stuck my tongue out at her, but continued to move toward the back of the bar. Before I got there, I felt a hand slip into mine. Turning around, my eyes beheld Veronica. She’d chased me down.

The bubbly, carefree demeanor I’d become so accustomed to was gone. She said, so quickly it startled me, “In December… no more work.”

I looked at her quizzically. I thought I knew what she was getting at, but I wanted confirmation. “I have business back home. In December… no more Tijuana. No more work.” At last, I got the story from her. She intended to retire from “the trade” in December, because of a business opportunity back in her home town.

Veronica clearly wanted to talk. I had enough cash on hand for a couple of fichas, so I directed her over to a vacant booth. She continued to chatter away in Spanglish; she seemed excited about the opportunity, but also had mixed feelings. To be honest, I wasn’t really listening. I was thinking conflicting thoughts. One of my favorites at AB was leaving the trade, and I likely wouldn’t see her again. But wait a minute. Shouldn’t I be happy for her?

Before I go any further, yes, I know chicas tell stories like this all the time. Sure, it could have been a sob story, or a ploy to draw some cash from a repeat customer, although she knew that I didn’t have much in hand right then. And perhaps her intent was good, and she really does have plans to retire… but a few months down the road, something comes up, or she can’t break the cycle and leave the lifestyle. Or the business opportunity turns out to be something less than desirable. I read about stuff like that all the time on the boards. However, I realized that I was in a situation in which I’d always wanted to be with one of these chicas. There was a little speech I’d always wanted to give, and I knew my words might be fruitless, but I wanted to speak them anyhow, if only for myself. And, more so than at any other point during this visit, I wished that I was fluent in Spanish.

She had taken her feet out of her shoes, those very high heels those girls wear, giving them a rest. I took both of her bare feet, placed them in my lap, and turned and faced her.

“If you have a chance to leave this place, and do something better for yourself,” I told her, “you should take it. If I come back here next time, and you’re not here, I’ll miss you. But I’ll be happy for you.”

She rested her head against my shoulder, appearing to be deep in thought. I began to massage her feet; most of the girls seem to love this. Although the crowd was thinner on this evening, it was still hot in the bar; Veronica took the napkin from under my glass, and wiped the sweat that was building on my forehead and the back of my neck.

I don’t know how long we sat there, talking a little, but mostly silent. It must have been at least twenty minutes. I wondered about what I had said to her; I hoped I wasn’t out of line. I hoped I hadn’t come across as patronizing. And I knew that the chances were pretty high that in the long term, it would merely go in one ear and out the other. Words from one paying customer pale in comparison to the easy haul of cash that many of these girls bring in, night after night. I don’t know how they do it, but then again, I suppose I do. It’s the lure of easy money. And it may be easy in one sense, but the price they pay for that cash is far higher than they, or I, can imagine.

I rubbed her feet for a good long while, and when I was finished, she lowered them part way toward the floor. Finally, Veronica pointed at someone standing nearby. It was Bill, and he was biding his time, waiting for the little snuggle session to break up.

I waved Bill over. At this point, Veronica’s feet were off of my lap, and protruding slightly from underneath the booth. Apparently, the sight of a woman’s bare feet awakens some weird, depraved tickle fetish in Bill. He reached under the table, grabbed Veronica’s feet and laughed fiendishly as he began to tickle her. Veronica just stared at me in shock, and then began to laugh hysterically. The look on her face said, “I can’t believe he just did that.” But she loved it. Bill doesn’t know this, but his timing was perfect. Veronica was instantly restored to the bubbly, happy-go-lucky sprite I’ve always known.

Bill, as it turned out, had made arrangements with a girl over at Tropical. He was to meet her in a half hour. I told him to wait for me outside for a few minutes.

It was approaching 11:30, which was the end of Veronica’s shift. “I go now,” she told me. “I visit my amiga, and then I go home and sleep.”

I got up to let her out of the booth and gave her a hug. She drew away from me and finally disappeared around the corner. Every trip of mine, it seems, has a scene like this, and up till now, the lady has been “Elisa”. Now, in Elisa’s absence, I was projecting it onto someone else.

I sat down for a few minutes, just to gather my thoughts, pretending as if I was watching ESPN’s late-night Sports Center on the TV. But realizing that Bill was outside waiting for me, I pulled myself up out of la-la land and got up to leave, but I didn’t get very far.

From the corner around which she’d just disappeared, maybe five minutes ago, Veronica re-emerged. She ran up to me, and threw her arms around me. “Muchas gracias,” she said, pressing her cheek against mine. “Thank you,” she whispered softly into my ear. Then she drew off once again. I was stunned; this was certainly the last thing I would have expected.

I made my way outside, and there was Bill, part of the peanut gallery. He had a few more minutes, so we went into Monte Carlo, the restaurant next door. Neither of us was hungry. Bill ordered a single bottle of water. I was still holding the bottle of agua natural I’d ordered in the bar. So, between the two of us, we paid for one lousy water bottle. But the waitress didn’t seem to care; the place was empty anyhow.

I told Bill about what had just happened with Veronica. One of the great things about doing the Zona with an amigo is that you have someone to bounce this stuff off of in real time. It helps to keep things in perspective.

Soon, Bill was off to Tropical. With time to kill, I did the predictable thing, and went back into Adelitas. And one predictable event soon led to another. Who should I encounter but Yuri, the bespectacled one, provider of an excellent session earlier in my visit. And there was another issue to deal with as well. I’d virtually promised her a repeat session. And for a number of reasons, that wasn’t in the cards this time.

Yuri began to kiss me, on the mouth, as she had the previous day. Mwah-mwah-mwah. Well, I had to at least get her into one of the booths for a little while. The ficha game commenced. Seated in the booth, she turned toward me, wrapped her arms around me, looked deep into my eyes, and repeatedly kissed me, again and again. I couldn’t help but reflect back on what had transpired with Veronica, and what a strange world I was in the midst of. I’d enjoyed my time with Veronica, even cherished it, and now here I was, shamelessly sucking face with another girl in public, as if it was nothing.

And so it goes at AB, or anywhere else in the Zona for that matter. You meet a girl, and share some illusory type of intimacy that, at times, for transient interludes, might inch beyond the boundaries of a client-provider interaction. You relish these moments. You’re a human being with human needs, and on some level, you try to believe there is a reality-based component in all this. But the thing is, in this setting, you’ll never know for sure. And so you rationalize; you tell yourself that all is well and good, and is just part of the game. You forget that the girls are human beings as well, have needs of their own, and experience human highs and lows just as we do. But even so, you convince yourself that for them, it’s all about the money. Not because you really believe that to be true in every case, but because it makes things simpler. Human beings crave a simple explanation.

I bought Yuri two ficha drinks, pretty much depleting the cash I had on my person. She took her blessed time, willingly engaged in some touchy-feely, and continued to liberally apply those kisses. Mwah-mwah-mwah.

And then came the inevitable question: “Upstairs?” I, of course, demurred, saying I was tired. A confused look spread across her face. Due to the language barrier, I switched over to hand gestures. I put my palms together, placed both hands across the side of my face, and titled my head sideways, in the universal gesture signifying “sleep”. I responded to her next “upstairs” inquiry with a “not now” and a shake of my head.

The look on Yuri’s face changed from confusion to one I know well. I’ve seen it on the face of loved ones, casual acquaintances and bitter enemies. Its name was Hurt, and she let me view it for a few seconds, before getting up from the booth and shoving off, with no further expression or articulation.

I got up as well, and stepped out through the curtains, I elected to take a walk though the alley, an activity that never fails to clear my mind. After a complete circuit of the block, I found myself back at ground zero, just outside the curtains of AB.

I happened to glance over at the illuminated stairwell, and the sight I beheld was the last thing I expected to see at that point in time. Descending the stairs, alone, was Veronica. Appearance-wise, this was not the same Veronica I’d said goodbye to a short while ago. Gone was her sexy work attire; she was now sporting civvies. In a simple pair of jeans, a T-shirt covered with a blazer-type jacket, and flat shoes, she looked like a girl returning home from a shopping trip or other casual activity. Her makeup remained more or less intact, but in every other respect, the transformation was amazing. I have to say, though, that the different look was quite becoming.

I was positioned near the street, and I watched her walk roughly toward me, heading down in the direction of Constitucion. As she passed me, her eyes caught mine. She gave me a broad smile and a wave, and then continued on her way. I suppose I could have intercepted her, or initiated a brief conversation. But she was off-duty, and the decision to make further contact should rightly have been hers. I now realize that my judgment here was sound. The right and proper thing to do was to let her go, in every respect.

I watched Veronica get into a nearby cab. I thought about how much she had changed in the time I’d known her. Way back when, she had a fun, almost terminally child-like charm. Now, she’d morphed into a complex young woman with some major life decisions ahead of her. I hope she’ll choose wisely.

As the cab pulled away, just for an instant, I reflected on the fact that there was now a second AB chica with the ability to touch me in a forbidden and dangerous way. And I also considered how likely it was that I’d never see Veronica again.

Then, I came to my senses. I figuratively slapped myself upside the head. “Knock it off,” I admonished myself, and went off to look for Bill.


Closing Time

I found Bill sitting by the bar over at Tropical. He had closed out his TJ adventuring career with a session with one of those fresh-faced Tropical newbies. Both of us needed to get up early the next morning to catch our flights, so we didn’t stick around. We made the long trek back to the VZ, one last time, on foot. Before heading for our respective rooms, we stopped into the office and made arrangements for a 6:00 wake-up call.

More often than not, when in TJ, I find it difficult to fall asleep after returning from the Zona. This was one of those occasions. Even though I needed to wake up in a few short hours, I headed outside once again, on my own, to relieve those all-too-familiar late-night hunger pangs.

As soon as I approached the hotel office, I could hear a commotion around the corner on the sidewalk. I turned the corner to find a young American guy and a Mexican girl engaged in a heated argument. The confrontation was distinctly one-sided, as the guy was screaming at the girl, his face about two inches from hers, “You bitch! I come all the way to your country, and you treat me like this!” The girl, meanwhile, was replying apologetically through tears, “I’m sorry… my baby is sick.”

Trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and their drama, I high-tailed it down to the corner near Ricardo’s, then turned left up towards Revolucion. Even up near the AM/PM, I could still hear the guy yelling, but the only audible words at this point were “fuck”, “bitch”, and “cunt”.

I located a food cart at 8th and Revo, and quickly wolfed down one of those bacon-wrapped hot dogs. I would continue to maintain my streak of never having a food-induced upset stomach in Mexico. Knock on wood.

As I made my way back toward the hotel, the battling lovers were nowhere to be found. Approaching the entrance to the lesbian bar next to the VZ, I was startled to see a weathered, drunken woman, walking with the help of one crutch, struggle out onto the sidewalk. She gingerly attempted to sit up on the nearby window ledge. Before turning off the sidewalk into the hotel proper, I heard a dull, resonant clapping sound, followed by a thump. I looked back, startled. The woman was lying on the sidewalk, having tumbled off the ledge, her crutch on the ground nearby. A couple of other women were standing over her, attempting to help her up, and out of her stupor. I quickly turned around, and headed off to my room.

I awoke to the unfamiliar sound of my hotel phone ringing. Incredibly enough, the staff remembered to make the 6:00 wake-up call. I showered and packed, and met Bill outside before 7. We decided to take the Mexicoach bus to the border. A wise decision, for it enabled us to bypass the long Monday morning wait for passing through customs. Then, it was off to the airport, and the return trip to our respective real worlds.


Reflections

Despite the relatively minor trials and tribulations, this was a great trip. It was particularly gratifying, coming on the heels of my previous journey, last January. That trip, partially ruined by a credit card scam at the VZ, was definitely the worst visit I'd experienced so far. It caused me to take a step back and consider the wisdom of continuing to visit TJ, even on an occasional basis. And coinciding with my move back east, I even went so far as to publicly announce a temporary halt to my TJ life, although I remained active on the boards. Having had the chance to return, and look at things from a new perspective, I now realize that I was too quick to judge, and underestimated the lure of TJ. I now feel recharged in that respect.

Mongering with buddies, which I'd hardly ever experienced before, is something everyone needs to try. In the case of Bill and myself, doing TJ together was something we simply had to do once. Given that we'd met up through the TJ online scene a few years back, and have always had very similar views about the adventuring hobby, it just had to be done. And now, we have a few more witnesses to the fact that we are not the same person.

I'd also like to publicly thank Erip, who went the extra mile to impart some of his expertise upon this not-quite-so-seasoned vet. I've been around this scene for a few years, but my actual time spent in TJ is still pretty low. Having Erip around helped open up new doors, and I'm sure Bill would say the same thing.

As for Bill, well, he has reached the end of the adventuring road. He is at a point in his life where I hope to be someday. He's taken the knocks, paid the price, and come through better than ever. I don't wish to speak for Bill, but I think I can safely say that he too enjoyed this visit, but is happy to be moving onward.

And what about me? Well, it looks like the TJ itch is still there, and I'll have to find a way to keep scratching it. There's a definite opportunity for me to get back there next year, maybe more than once.

If you guys don't mind, I think I'll stick around for a while longer.