“Shut up!”
Isidoro seemed startled.
“Not you,” I said, chastened. “I was talking to myself.”
“You tell yourself to shut up?”
“Frequently.”
He laughed. “You like living in America?”
“It’s home. How about you?”
He shook his head. “I like living in Mexico.”
“You were born here?”
“Yes. I have nine brothers and eight sisters. I can’t go anywhere. It’s always a wedding or a baptism going on in my family.”
That made me laugh. “And you’re gay?”
He nodded. “The only one.”
“How do your parents feel about it?”
He mimicked crying, making me laugh again.
Isidoro was fun to talk to and had an interesting perspective on life. He asked me if I had a garden in California. He seemed to know my neighborhood well and ticked off several canyon roads that were excellent for hiking. I knew them all. He surprised me by continuing to prod me about my garden at home and what it looked like. I had some potted plants, but nothing terribly fancy.
He compared all things to gardens. He considered some people in his past as weeds and his most recent ex was an aster.
When I asked why, he explained, “Asters take over the garden. He took over my life. He was a bad flower.”
So, I assumed, like a weed, his ex had been obliterated from his garden. He proclaimed me an ‘as yet unnamable flower’ and said he’d get back to me on that. He made me laugh and I seemed to make him smile an awful lot, too.
We’d been talking for a couple of hours when he put his cup on the coffee table, reached across for mine and put it down too. He moved his face toward me.
“My family lives in Jalisco. I go back and forth—just so you know.”
I had no idea where he was going with that information, but I soon forgot about it when he kissed me. He was a wonderful kisser and I returned his impassioned embrace fully. His kisses went on and on in a lingering, sensual way. I was drowning in his arms, wondering how far he’d take things when he suddenly released me.
“And now I have to say goodnight.” He kissed me one more time.
“Goodnight?” I couldn’t believe my ears.
“I have to work tomorrow.” He kissed me again, as if to soften the blow. “We’re all going to the soccer. You’ll still be here, won’t you?”
“Er…yeah.”
“Very good.”
He got up, sporting a very obvious and very big boner. Oh, boy!
I walked him to the door, wondering when I’d last been kissed so thoroughly or left dangling so impatiently. It was all I could do to let him leave me.
* * * *
“So what did you think of him?” Angus asked me the next morning, when I sauntered into the kitchen to follow the smell of sizzling sausage.
“He’s wonderful.”
Angus sighed. “Isn’t he?”
“How come you never told me about him?”
“Yes, I’m sure I did.” His evasiveness gave the lie to his words.
“No, you didn’t, and I want to know why.”
He shrugged. “He had a bad time in LA. I knew he’d probably never come back there and I’ve been trying to get you down here for months.”
That was true. I accepted my plate of eggs and chorizo and joined Santos at the breakfast bar, where he was reading the local newspaper, Frontera. I was saddened to see the headlines here blazed with the American elections and Donald Trump in mid-scream on the cover.
“What does the article say?” I asked Santos, pointing to the front page.
He gave me a dirty look. “It’s about the Trump University fraud trials and how he attacks the judge, calling him a Mexican, as if this is a bad thing.”
I’d read about it back home and was already sick of the election coverage.
Santos closed the paper and jabbed a finger at the front page. “This judge is a very good man. He’s survived two hits on his life by the Félix drug cartel down here. I am impressed by a guy like this. Trump, on the other hand, we have a name for people like him. We… Mexicans.”
“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”
“I prefer not to say when I am enjoying a good meal.”
That made me laugh, and Santos smiled again. Whenever I thought of him, Santos was always smiling in my mind.
He squeezed my shoulder. “Isidoro is my cousin. I think you two will like each other. A lot.” He winked at me.
“You mentioned he had a bad time in LA. What happened?” I asked.
“He’ll tell you if you ask. Want another sausage?” Angus plonked it onto my plate as his cell phone rang. He checked the readout.
“It’s the dog sitter.” Angus took the call, listened for a beat and his face registered complete shock. “The vet called. Our girl Querida belongs to some guy who dated Lisa Bird and apparently when he broke it off with her, she went nuts. His dog went missing a few days ago.”
Chapter Three
“She’s a dognapper, too?” I asked.
“Apparently. The guy is freaked out. He’s in Orlando, Florida, on business and won’t be back until Monday. He wants his dog back.”
Angus was crestfallen. “I love that dog.”
“We’ll offer him money,” Santos said.
Angus brightened at those words. “You think he’ll take it?”
“We can try, querido.” Santos beckoned Angus to him. They exchanged some hot, toasty kisses and drifted off toward their room.
“What time do we leave for soccer?” I asked before they disappeared.
“Noon,” Angus said over his shoulder. I was surprised that they were so heavily into soccer. To be honest, I didn’t know too many gay guys that were into sports, unless you counted Naked Kombat as a sport. I had fleeting thoughts of rolling around naked on a wrestling mat with Isidoro and had to race to the bathroom for a quick, cold shower.
I looked forward to seeing Isidoro again and wasn’t disappointed when he showed up a couple of hours later. He smiled and hugged me, then exchanged rapid-fire Spanish with Santos about their favorite team. A few of their other friends arrived and we set off on foot with picnic baskets, blankets and hats. Excitement was in the air.
Angus took me gently aside at one point and said, “I need to tell you something. I love the hell out of my man, but he is a different person when he goes to a soccer game.”
“He is?”
I caught Isidoro’s curious gaze as Angus muttered, “I’m serious, Ky.”
“What does he do exactly?”
Angus’ cheeks flamed. “He turns into a soccer hooligan.”
I laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
He was shocked. “No. I’m not. He yells things at the referee. He shouts at the players. He shakes his fist. It’s really embarrassing.”
“Why do you take him out to the soccer games then?”
“Everybody else in Mexico thinks it’s fabulous. It isn’t a soccer game without Santos Mayorga screaming obscenities at you.”
That made me laugh.
“Consider yourself warned.” Angus sniffed. “Just do what I do. When he starts”—his voice dropped again—“pretend you don’t know him.”
The things we do for love.
We stopped at a grocery store on the way, the guys all digging into an old-fashioned Coca-Cola cooler, getting iced bottles of alcoholic cider. I dug in and grabbed a couple, too.
“Have you had these before?” Isidoro asked me.
I shook my head.
“They’re very strong. You may just want to try one.”
“No, no. I’ll be fine.”
Geez…did he think I was a lightweight? Did he think I’d had a few too many last night? Had I somehow turned him off?
I had little time to ponder all this. We reached the soccer field and a huge group had already assembled in the stadium seats. Covered by a hat and sunglasses, Santos was incognito and t
he perfect gentleman until the match started. Within minutes, he was on his feet, climbing onto his seat, pumping his fists in the air.
The people around us egged him on. I cracked my first bottle of cider. It was hot and I was sweaty just sitting there. I took a deep, appreciative slug as Santos raged at the referee, calling him a chaquetear. Man, this cider was good stuff.
“Oh, my God,” Angus moaned, covering his face with his hands.
“Chaquetear! Chaquetear!” Santos chanted.
A few of the men around us picked up the cry, a mother turning around, covering her small son’s ears.
“What is he saying?” I asked Isidoro, whose arm rested lightly around my shoulders. He didn’t touch me. It might have been a casual gesture since his arm sloped around the back of my seat. Occasionally I’d sense the flash-feel of his thumb or forefinger against my shoulder, but I couldn’t tell if it was accidental or not.
“He called him a masturbator.” Isidoro smiled, his gold tooth gleaming. I was mesmerized by it.
The crowd cheered, Santos going berserk with new and even more colorful language.
“Why do you have a gold tooth?” I asked Isidoro.
His glance bathed my face. Man, he was lovely.
“If I tell you, you will laugh.”
“I won’t. I swear.”
“My father’s donkey accidentally head-butted me.”
I laughed.
“See. I told you.” He laughed, though, making me feel all warm and squishy inside. I slugged away at my drink.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Oh…me? I’m fine. So why did you pick a gold tooth?”
“It was cheaper than porcelain.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing. I can afford one now, but I just never got around to fixing it.”
A guy wandered by, selling churros and peanuts from a cart.
“You want a churro, little boy?” Isidoro asked me.
“Does it involve being naked?” My spirit was still in bed with him, having fun with his cock.
“Sadly, no, but you may enjoy it all the same.”
He paid for our sweet, donut-like pastry sticks and watched me bite into the long, sugary goodness.
“This will do for now,” I said, moaning around the warm, soft explosion of sugar and cinnamon in my mouth. Santos went mad two seats away from me. The crowd roared, taking up his cry when his team scored a goal. The ref considered it a foul and Santos screamed at him. I was giddy…from the alcohol, from sudden feelings of passion, camaraderie…who knew what? But before I knew it, I was on my feet, too, screaming at the ref. I didn’t know what I was shouting at him, but figured from the aghast expression on Angus’ face that I wasn’t telling the ref to have a nice day.
I had just discovered my latent inner soccer hooligan.
Isidoro sat beside me, arms folded, staring up at me.
“No more cider for you,” he said, when I sat back down. “I can’t believe you know language like that.”
“Yes,” Angus said, his face looking pinched and somewhat purple. “Where did you learn a word like mamagüevaso? The Rosetta Stone course?”
“Er…no. I just said what he said.” I jabbed my thumb toward Santos, who was now running down to the fence that separated the fans from the players.
“What does it mean?” I asked Isidoro.
“That he’s a big cocksucker.”
Oh. My. God!
Isidoro laughed. “I don’t know if the referee is, but I am. Would you like to go home with me and I can show you?”
“Yes, please.”
“You’ll need a key.” Angus sighed. “Look at my husband down there. He’s making such an ass of himself. And that’s with his team winning. You should see him when they lose.” He handed me a key card for the guard gate and a house key.
“Let’s go, before I kiss you in front of everybody,” Isidoro said.
Angus gave us a finger wave, and we took off. He stalked down the stadium toward Santos, who was leaning over the fence screaming at the goalkeeper.
“What’s he sayin’?” I asked Isidoro.
“He’s telling him he’s going to shit on his mother.”
We both laughed.
“You were very cute yelling in Spanish,” Isidoro said when we’d walked a couple of blocks.
“Yeah?” I was still pretty sloshed from the cider and gave him a cocky grin. “Well, I always told my dad that being the class clown would pay off one day.”
He shook his head. “You were the class clown? So was I.”
We swapped clown stories and, once we reached the building, exchanged kisses inside the elevator. I wanted to maul the man right there and then, but he said we had to wait.
“People are not so open in Tijuana,” he said. “It’s not West Hollywood.”
I couldn’t see or think straight. I was already missing him at the mere mention of West Hollywood. My life in LA felt not only worlds away, but so unreal at this moment. What was the matter with me? Missing him? I’d only just met him. We kissed each other as soon as we got into the apartment.
In my room, we undressed in haste. He had soft, smooth skin and a scar on his shoulder. I ran my fingers and tongue over it. He shivered appreciatively at my touch. His body was beautiful, his cock sweet and juicy, once I liberated it from his tight, tiny, colorful briefs.
“You even like a garden in your pants,” I said. His undies were fun. I liked them, even though they took me by surprise.
“Of course. No weeds here.”
I laughed. We got on the bed, falling in a wild heap, attacking each other with our hands and mouths. I had no idea what kind of soap he used, but he smelled so sexy and spicy. I caught hints of sandalwood and even rose. He was divine. I sucked his length enjoying the silky, solid feel of it. He was an active, noisy lover. When he came, he let out the sexiest cry. Then it was my turn.
He knew what he was doing. He pressed me back on the bed and kissed my shaft licking it from the base up. He murmured things in Spanish I couldn’t understand but drove me crazy. He kissed and licked my thighs, working his way back to my balls. He looked so beautiful sucking me, his hair falling over his face, I felt like I’d been graced by an angel. He sucked me until I came then glanced up at me, swallowing hard.
“Wow,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “you are a ball of fire.”
I grinned. “Speak for yourself.”
He was fun in bed and I found myself wanting to go further than sucking and licking, but it wasn’t my thing the first time, usually. Turned out it wasn’t his, either.
“I hear the others,” he said. “Time for lunch!”
He bounded out of bed and I was astonished to see a long scar, almost like a whip lash, down his back that I hadn’t seen before, curving from his shoulder across his body to his hip. It was very faint, but there.
I wanted to ask what happened, but Angus was hammering at the door.
“Come on you two—we’re ready to eat.”
We redressed, swapping more hot kisses. I brushed his hair back from his face with my fingers.
“Who hurt you?” I asked.
“Long story.” He leaned in and kissed me. “Someday I will tell it to you. When I feel like pulling a few more weeds.”
* * * *
Isidoro chatted so easily with Angus and Santos. In the kitchen, he rubbed Santos’ head until Santos laughed and pulled him into his arms. He seemed his usual cool, calm self, but it was hard to forget the screaming lunatic spurting bad language.
“You had a good time?” Isidoro asked him. “You happy now?”
“Of course. My team won,” he said, as if this explained everything. “I am a thankful man. They finally listened to me. Yes, that’s why they won.”
Angus rolled his eyes behind Santos’ back. Isidoro and I grinned.
“What were you two like as kids?” I asked.
“We got into a lot of trouble,” Sa
ntos said, a wicked smile on his face.
“All because of you.” Isidoro plucked a few grapes from a bunch on the counter and popped them into his mouth.
“Me? I was the perfect child!”
Isidoro stared at me. “Perfectly bad, he means.”
“I was adorable,” Santos insisted.
“You cut off your sister’s hair!”
“She asked for it.” Santos shrugged. “I was only five, but every hairdresser has to start somewhere.”
“You wanted to be a hairdresser?” I asked.
“Until my father spanked me.”
“For cutting off your sister’s hair?”
“She didn’t ask for it,” Isidoro chimed in. “She agreed to a trim. She ended up looking like a billiard ball.”
Angus and I laughed.
“It wasn’t that bad.” Santos sounded exasperated.
“All right then. A billiard ball with a fringe,” Isidoro said. “I have photos to prove it. “
“How come I never heard this story before?” Angus asked, glancing from Santos to Isidoro.
“I was being polite.” Isidoro gobbled a couple more grapes. “I’ll bring photos over sometime.”
“Do that.” Angus’ eyes sparkled.
“Careful, or neither of you will get steak,” Santos said, opening up a paper-wrapped mound of meat. He got busy seasoning, and Angus made coffee.
“Coffee?” Santos squawked.
“Yeah. You can have tequila later.” He paused. “If you don’t cheat at cards after dinner.”
Santos’ mouth dropped open in apparent protest and he slapped the heck out of the steaks. He liked cooking alone so, with coffee in hand, Angus, Isidoro and I went to the balcony outside and lounged in our chairs, watching the late afternoon sun kiss the tallest buildings in the neighborhood.
“See that very tall white skyscraper?” Isidoro asked, leaning into me. “That’s the first fully sustainable building in Tijuana.”
“Does it have a garden?” I asked.
He beamed at me. “A beautiful one. I’ll show it to you one day.”
One day. That spoke of a future date, didn’t it? Relax, loser, he’s just being nice.
Santos came out with a tray of steaks and burgers and made magic on the barbecue of the terrace. Angus rushed inside and brought out a bowl of salad and empty platters that soon contained grilled meats and vegetables.
About You Page 4