Sunday, June 30, 2013

Mexico 1987, Part 5: Object of Interest

Oct 29
Vera Cruz
Besame mucho
Como si fuera esta noche
La ultima vez
The song gets fairly romantic - and no wonder, Latins are sex crazed and repressed. Mexicans seem almost too friendly, friendlier than Brazilians but I hope I'm not generalizing. I sent a letter off to Werner, my sex-crazed fantasy:

This heat intensifies one's dreams, makes them touchable. At the beach, I put my feet in the water and it is soft and swells around my legs, as the sea breathes in and out and the warm fingers of the wind caress my face and neck, my body: we are making love. The crash of the waves and crash of your body on top of me, bones against bones, thrusting and swelling inside of me. Even the cool rush of tide cannot quell the fever that burns on the sand. Of many men, few have taken me to the edge of ecstasy and held me there for so long. I must feel you inside me again or this fever will make me crazy.
I'm sitting in the 3 o'clock sun - an American "loca" because it's pretty hot, yet here I sit. I'm getting on a bus tonight, bound for Campeche, where I'm told I might find some nice beaches to langour upon. It's been a fun 3 days in Vera Cruz. After I got off the train last Monday I walked up to the zocalo, where there's a beautiful plaza filled with shade trees and a fountain in the middle, and encircling it are cafes and people, many people gathering here night and day, from all around Mexico, from around the world. A port city, this is, my favorite kind. In the plaza the sounds of birds crooning and music - mariachis and marimbas - and people talking and laughing and the splattering of the fountain dance in the cool shade. The bands are always competing for airspace, for money - no sooner does one stop then another begins, sometimes 2 or 3 bands at once, each a different song, and voices and guitars and xylophones, drums, bells, trumpets resound off each other and up, out, over the square. This is the zocalo, called by the same name in cities throughout the country, the center of town.

I have yet to sit alone, you can't go out if you want to be left alone. That first night I got my drink and sat on a bench to watch the spectacle. I sat next to two chubby, unattractive women, thinking this way I could be left alone. Soon, they got up and left and two men sat beside me. They struck up a conversation, which is common around here, and we got to charlando (chatting). Jaime and Soltero. Soon we were in the bar drinking, laughing, singing, dancing. The next afternoon I sat alone to have lunch and fill out my postcards and was joined at my table by two Cubanos and a Czech. One of the Cubanos wanted to know if I was Cubana. I said no. Mexicana? No, Americana. Oh, he has family in Miami and wouldn't it be nice if I could meet them sometime? The Czech also wrote out his postcards and then had each of us sign them. Eventually they wandered off.

That night I was standing in the plaza waiting for Jaime and Soltero - we were going dancing - watching the marine band practicing for carnaval (samba dancers and drums practice each night for about and hour outside my hotel), when a man with a heine haircut came up and said "no es rockenroll" and I said "thank goodness." He was from Kansas City - Iowa, really, I found out later - and he told me about the culture here, what hotels the prostitutes hang out at, which bars stay open all night serving food, who the local characters are. He's been living here a few months a year for 6 years? How long did he say? Then I spotted my friends and they took me out to dance the salsa in an old club. We were there 'til after midnight, then back to the plaza, then to another place to have a bite to eat. I got in at 3:30 am.

Last night I was too beat to go out so I stayed in. But as I was walking toward the hotel in the late afternoon, I was stopped by 3 teenagers. They spotted me as an estanjera and wanted to know where I was from. I've figured out that it's the shoes. The flat shoes are a dead give-away. But 4-inch heels in this heat? Forget it! These boys wanted to exchange postcards, they collect them from tourists around the world. So we exchanged addresses. It started to rain so we moved inside the hotel lobby. They fired questions at me right and left about the usual - where was I from, did I come here alone, wasn't I afraid, was I married (I've taken to telling people I'm engaged, it seems to ward off any misguided attention) - and told me in between about themselves while they chided each other. They went from travel to sex to religion - one believing in god, Jesus, the virgin and all the saints, one who just believed in god, and one who didn't believe in anything - until I had to tell them I was tired and wanted to turn in. That was not well-taken, but oh well.

It gets tiring after a while. A guy just came up and asked in English with a Mexican accent, what was I doing? And I said, what does it look like I'm doing? And he said, writing something, but what? And I said, I'm just writing. As he sat down he said, I don't want to bother you, I'm just interested, and I said, I'm enjoying myself right now, thank you. And thank god he got the hint! I was annoyed and I know he meant no harm, he was truly interested. As I have said, Latins are not shy, they have little sense of personal space or privacy, but I've nearly had it for today. After a while you get to feel like just some article of interest, something to gawk at. I'm just tired today. This heat makes me sleepy.

Mexico 1987, Part 4: Dirty Old Train

Oct 26
Off in the the distance are 2 pyramids of Teotihuacan. We're headed east out of Mexico City on a dirty old train, moving slow. There's a dirty little bushy kitten falling asleep on the floor under the seat in front of me. It wouldn't eat my saltines. I never met a cat who didn't like saltines. It's just beginning to warm up from the chill of morning. I had to get out of bed at 6am with a fully sprawled, fully naked man beside me, in the deepest stages of sleep, no kisses would wake him. Now I will dream of him; I'll be hungry for months . . .

The universe has sent me lots of help, friends, so far. Clearly I am moving in the right direction. I need to refigure my budget. Even w/people having paid for various meals, I've been spendthrifty. Now the kitten is in the middle of the aisle, curled up, eyes drooping, head dropping into sleep, with people walking down the aisle stepping over it, it doesn't move, must've found a warm spot.

Now La Palma. Now Irolo. We stop at each one, it'll be hours before arriving the 250 or so kilometers to Vera Cruz. There's a young boy singing a campesino song at the top of his lungs. Werner was so cute when he came home last night, very drunk, someone had taken his shirt, a beautiful light and dark coral red vertical striped silk shirt, and he was wearing their cheap white cotton shirt with blue stripes. It probably wasn't a cheap shirt. He hangs with some affluent people. I think I'm gonna undo my bags and send a few articles back, loosen and lighten my load, then I can BUY more CLOTHES HERE!!

This train ride turned out to be fabulous, scenery-wise, and I'm no longer enervated by it, even though these fucking stops seem to keep us forever from our destination. I feel like I've been on speed for days, or acid. Hallucinogenic sex. It's getting hotter and more humid, the climate that causes one to dream mad dreams. We went through some high misty mountains that rose green around us, out of nowhere. Now we're in the jungle, having left the dry flats. The composer in me is already writing a letter to Werner and the images get hotter the farther I get. It's gonna make a fever rise in him that he won't be able to put out until he cools the fire inside me. There are few men that I fully enjoy sex with, without inhibition, timidity, mistrust, when the shell is broken and there stands a person, not proud - no ego, just the soul and body. This man, his flesh, his bones on top of me, thrusting inside of me, his hot breathed moans from deep inside, has pushed me to some ecstatic hallucinogenic planet where the mind and the body truly lose themselves in each other.

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Mexico 1987, Part 3: You Can Leave Your Boots On

Oct 24, going on 6 a.m.

Well, isn't this interesting? I've not so recently woken up to one of those sleepless nights from all the excitement. I had a similar experience my first night on the NE coast of Brazil. Tonight is just a tad different circumstance, however.

I spent the day SHOPPING in the ritzy Zona Rosa - I only bought one black rayon mini skirt and one pair of way cool silver earrings of the stone faces. Anyway, my left knee has been giving me pain after work or walking a lot, so I got some "bar" clothes on and went to sit in the BAR and relax and find someone to talk to (or maybe subconsciously, to fuck), and have a couple margaritas. He was sitting on the only bar stool at the bar and offered it to me after the second margarita. The first thing he said to me was what was my tattoo. Turns out he's German, from Munich, and has been living at this hotel for about 11 years off and on, and he's in the export biz. Nice fellow, sort of handsome in a sort of German way, tallish (for me), slender, nice ass in cotton pants and cowboy boots, a particular weakness of mine. Eventually the bar is full of regulars, friends all of them, and I have gone off maggies and onto less face-reddening vodka tonics. After about 4(?) hours, I figure I should get something to eat, not having anything in my estomick since breakfast huevos rancheros. So Werner, a VERY German name, orders me a pepper steak to be sent to my room. He wasn't going to eat but would keep me company and watch the news. (Excuse me a moment - the tequila is not agreeing with me and I must get to the toilet!) . . .

(I'm back - those maggies sure gave me the shits!) He stretched out on my bed and turned on the TV as I ate and tried to get hold of my dad. I was feeling pretty randy by now and needed no further invitation, so I pushed aside the zen remains of my dinner and crawled across the bed and kissed him, straddling that oh so tempting pelvic triangle. And OH! MY MY MY!!! I had a suspicion that he would be good, "TASTY," after the other, younger German that slipped through my hands at the bar in Amsterdam. HE wound up chewing on a Dutch girl's ear on the dance floor, while I sat, trying not to be rude to the Norwegian, drooling out the side of my face! Maybe it's just a stereotype, but thank god it held true!!

NASTY MAN ooh la la!! We must've fucked for 2 or more hours, until my body was numb and I had lost all sense of dignity; he teased me and teased me and then LEFT to take a SHOWER in HIS ROOM!! And I should mention here that he NEVER took off his BOOTS!!! He said he'd call and come back later; I fell asleep but woke up with a premature hangover.

I should've guessed at the start that he'd have a woman here: I heard them arguing in the courtyard, mostly HIM calling her an ASSHOLE for getting upset about it. I just stood in the darkened window hoping this didn't mean he was sleeping with her tonight. What a bitch I am!

Tempest Tossed

I love you, Strawberry Daiquiri.

That's the text message I sent Thursday morning. You'd think I was texting a current lover. But no - this one I'm trying to get over.

The tempest of emotions can be suffocating. One minute I'm smiling, remembering the music, the laughter, the  dancing - fun we threw ourselves into with abandon. When I was with him, the stresses of my life - my impotent job search, the tedious daily grind, the moments of terror about the future - fell away. People were magnetized to us. He said that people didn't get us but they loved us; we made friends wherever we went. The time we spent together was an oasis. It was magical.

Then I remember the bad times. We had some of the worst fights and went through drama I didn't know was possible for me anymore.

With him, my basest nature came to the surface. Jealousy, suspicion, insecurity, neediness - emotions I haven't felt in decades. He also brought out my purest nature: unconditional love. I love his ability to live in the moment, his love-the-one-you're-with attitude, his restlessness, his resistance of the status quo, his sense of fairness, his bright colors, his blues. Whatever he thinks, he says. He is on the verge of becoming a man whose words and actions align with his values of honesty and integrity. He's not there yet - he can be judgmental, mean and self-serving. He is prone to making excuses and justify lies, white or otherwise. He was a handful, but I let him be him. Yet these characteristics often broke my heart, when those moments were not spent together and that person he was loving was not me.

I'm warmed by the memory of our last conversation, in which he copped to all the bullshit: the selfishness, the unresponsiveness, the lack of responsibility for this relationship he co-created, the admission (or excuse) that he doesn't have his shit together enough to participate in the kind of relationship I want. That conversation validated my faith and love for him as a human with great self-awareness and the vulnerability to express it. It also confirmed that I have to let him go.

At dawn, when I sent the text, I felt right to have ended the affair. I am in love with him and he, although he loves me like crazy, is not so in love as to place me above other concerns.

Three hours later I'm sick with longing to see him one more time, to have him lift me up to meet his lips, wrap my legs around his waist and bury my nose in his neck. I could cry right now from wanting him so much.