Boys In Heat, page 8
All this came later. That day on Black’s Beach, Colin and I did not converse. Our eyes did not meet. I was too shy. I kept my eyes lowered, fixed on the two silver orbs flanking the ruddy knob of his penis. I was transfixed by the sight.
Our eyes met that night at Club San Diego, the city’s liveliest bathhouse. I couldn’t really afford the admission fee, but it was Saturday night and I needed to be elevated from my shift at House of Hunan. Besides, I had an inkling I would see Colin there.
I found him in the steam room. In the misty half-light, the silver orbs glowed softly, guiding me like a lighthouse. Colin sat on the top bleacher, thighs apart, towel at his feet. His hair was slicked back and his goatee glistened with droplets of sweat. A duet of Latin men, smooth and lean, hung on either side of him. Their bodies formed a tight knot of limbs and lust.
I sidled into the room, pretending to mind my own business, but it was hard to ignore the heat emanating from Colin and the Latin lovers. I shifted my eyes to peek at them.
Colin was looking right at me. He held out his hand in a gesture of welcome. As though under a spell, I walked toward him. Colin’s outstretched hand yanked off my towel. Then, grasping my buttocks, he pulled me forward. At the same time, the Latin pair enfolded me with their arms. I was absorbed into a vortex of heat.
Sex with three men is at least three times as pleasurable as sex with one man. There are thrice the number of tongues, thrice the number of fingers to act as instruments of arousal and stimulation. My body exploded with sensations.
Colin leaned in and tried to kiss me. I pulled away. That was my rule. No kissing. The bathhouse was for sex: casual, anonymous, impersonal sex. It was not the place for intimacy or romance. Kissing, while undeniably sexual, hinted at intimacy and flirted with the possibility of romance. Therefore, no kissing.
That’s not to say I didn’t want to kiss Colin. On the contrary, I longed to kiss him. His breath was warm and sweet and perfumed with tobacco. I had a mere week before given up smoking. I would’ve given anything to put my mouth on his and suck the nicotine out of his lungs.
“You know,” said Vijay, my counselor at the community health clinic, “kissing is not against the program. You’re allowed to kiss, even if he’s a smoker.”
“No,” I said, “no kissing at the bathhouse. That’s the rule.”
We all came, all four of us. Colin came first. He was the leader of our little ménage, the first violin of our quartet. He chose our positions and determined the pace of our playing. For people who were strangers to each other, we played together with remarkable synchronicity.
I came next, my eyes closed, hissing softly through my teeth, my hands clasping Colin’s. In the third and final act, the Latin duo brought our playing to a crescendo. To my everlasting amazement, they came together at the exact same moment. I may be wrong, but I got the sense they had practiced this many times before, not that this in any way diminished my awe at their prowess.
There are men who get their money’s worth at the bathhouse. They arrive early, stay all night, and enjoy a full sampling of the treats offered that evening. I am not one of these men. I leave immediately after I come, if I am lucky enough to come.
“Going already?”
I turned to see Colin saunter into the narrow locker room. I struggled into my jacket and slammed the locker door shut.
“I’m Colin, by the way. You are…?”
I smiled politely but said nothing. No names at the bathhouse. That was another rule. No let’s have dinner next week.
Colin smiled back. “No worries, I understand.” He reached into his locker and fished out a pack of Marlboros. “Got a light?”
I stuck my hand into the back pocket of my Levi’s and, sure enough, there it was, the box of matches I always carried.
“Keep it,” I said, tossing the red and white box with House of Hunan printed on it over to Colin. “I quit last week.”
“Better you than me,” said Colin, lighting up.
“You can’t smoke in here.”
“I know,” said Colin, giving me a good-humored wink. “My bad.”
He turned and headed out of the room, swinging his hips and blowing smoke rings in the air.
House of Hunan was dead. A late summer storm had brought down lashings of rain and sent the street litter scuttling along the sidewalk. Normally, on a night like this, Manuel the busboy and I would hang out in the kitchen sharing a pack of smokes. Since I’d quit two weeks ago, Manuel was too kindhearted to smoke in front of me. Instead, we sat at the rickety kitchen table chatting companionably while we helped Cook remove the tails from bean sprouts piled high on the table. We were so engrossed in our banter we did not hear the chime of the front doorbell. Seconds later, Mr. Yang stuck his head in and growled, “Customer, table four.”
Colin sat alone in the musty dining room. He was dressed in a San Diego Padres sweatshirt, jeans, and a pair of flip-flops. His jeans were sodden from ankle to knee. Behind him against the wall stood a long, sleek surfboard.
“Hello,” he said, eyes widening in surprise, “I didn’t know you work here.” He dug in his pocket and held up the box of matches I’d given him a week ago. “I was in the mood for Chinese.”
“What can I get you?” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too unfriendly. No fraternizing with tricks from the bathhouse. Another rule.
“You’re very attached to your rules,” said Vijay during one of my visits to the clinic.
“We all need rules to live by.”
“Why?”
I was nonplussed. “Because without rules, life would be…”
“What?”
“Chaotic.”
“A little chaos can be good for the soul.”
I snorted. I liked Vijay but, at times, he could be pedantic in an insufferable, Deepak Chopra sort of way.
“What do you recommend?” said Colin, scanning the menu.
“The cheeseburger at Leticia’s across the street.”
Colin laughed. “Funny. But seriously…”
“I’m serious.”
Colin eyed me for a second. “What, you don’t want me to eat here?”
I shrugged. “It’s a free country.”
“How about we make a deal? I’ll go across to Leticia’s if you’ll join me there.”
“No, I…”
“C’mon, where’s the harm? Burger, fries and beer. Say yes.” I cast a wary eye at Mr. Yang behind the cash register. He did not approve of chatting with the customers.
“All right, one beer. I get off in thirty minutes.”
“Attaboy!” Colin pushed back from the table and started gathering up his gear.
I picked up the menu from the table and walked back to the kitchen. On the way, I said to Mr. Yang, “Changed his mind. What can you do? Assholes, some people.”
“I saw you at Black’s last week,” I said, practically shouting. Leticia’s was packed in spite of the storm.
“I saw you too. You were checking out my balls.”
“Oh…” I felt myself blushing up to the tips of my ears.
“No worries, everybody checks them out.”
“Did they…did it hurt a lot, getting your dick pierced?”
“A little.”
“Why did you do it?”
“No particular reason. I guess because everybody said not to.”
I was more curious than ever. “Have you had any trouble with them? Rust, infection, getting them caught in your zipper?”
“Nope, nothing like that. Only spot of trouble is at the airport. Metal detectors. Sets them off every time.”
“That’s a pain.”
“Actually, in my line of work, that could be rather useful.”
Colin, it turned out, was a smuggler. He was hired by clients to carry illegal Brazilian emeralds from Tijuana to Amsterdam.
“What are illegal emeralds?” I asked.
“Emeralds not certified by the cartel. Officially, the idea is to certify the quality of the stones, but in fact it’s just a scam to keep supply low and prices high. I carry illegal stones to Amsterdam that aren’t allowed in because they have no certificates.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Only if I get caught.” Colin laughed. “Twenty-five years in jail. That’s where my balls come in handy. They set off the metal detectors and the security goons get so flustered when they find my balls they forget to search the rest of me. I’ve been doing this for ten years. Fuck, everybody deals in illegal stones.”
The contours of his penis and orbs showed clearly through the denim of his jeans. Colin rubbed himself enticingly. Leaning over, he whispered, “Let’s go back to my hotel.”
I instinctively shook my head. No going back to hotels. But we’d had three rounds of beer. We were both a little tipsy and more than a little aroused.
I had an idea. Colin paid the bill and I led him across the street to the back door of House of Hunan. The kitchen was dark. Manuel had finished cleaning and locked up hours ago.
In the dark, I took Colin’s hand and guided him to the anteroom where Cook stored ten-pound bags of onions and garlic. We tore off our clothes. Naked, Colin’s mouth worked its way from my neck down to my nipples, then down to my crotch, and back up again. He kissed my nose, my chin. Licking softly, he hovered over my mouth, breathing lightly. I sighed, inhaling the warm smell of tobacco and beer. Then, I turned my head away. Rules were rules.
“Okay, no worries,” said Colin good-naturedly. He pushed me down until I was supine on a bed of garlic and resumed working his mouth up and down my body.
This time, I came first.
Tubes flowed like rivulets into different parts of Colin’s body. The hospital room was unnervingly still. The only sounds were the intermittent beep of the heart monitor and the almost inaudible drip-drip-drip of the iv machine.
The ER nurse had called me at House of Hunan. “He named you as next-of-kin,” she said. “It’s our policy to notify you after surgery.”
At first I was annoyed. Colin named me next-of-kin? That was presumptuous. We fucked a couple of times. That hardly qualified me as next-of-kin.
Then it dawned on me. He was a visitor. I was probably the only person he knew in San Diego. Well, sort of knew.
“I hope you don’t mind,” said Colin. His blond hair was darkening and his goatee had lost its shapeliness. “They kept bugging me for my next-of-kin.”
“I don’t mind,” I said.
“You were the only person I could think of.”
“It’s cool.”
Colin looked wan but he was happy to have a visitor.
“Well,” I said, struggling to keep up the flow of conversation, “the nurse said something about a surfing accident?”
“Yeah,” said Colin, brightening up, “it was a mother of a wave. I thought I had it licked, but I miscalculated. Must have thrown me ten feet in the air. I hit the water in the worst possible way, with my back.”
“How are you feeling now?” I asked.
“They tell me I’ll live.” He didn’t say the wave had snapped several of his vertebrae or that they had almost lost him on the operating table. I learned that from the nurse.
“You’ll get through this,” I said. “I know you will.”
“Yes, of course.” But his tone did not match the confidence of his words. His eyes clouded over and he looked away.
“Are you afraid you’ll…you’re not about to die, you know.”
“I know.”
“What is it then?”
“You don’t need to get involved with my problems.”
“I’m already involved.”
Colin was silent for a long minute. Then he said, “I don’t know how I’m going to manage the hospital bill. I don’t have any insurance.”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“The pickup is tomorrow in Tijuana. I’m going to miss it, so I won’t get paid.”
I looked at Colin aghast. Here was chaos of the first order.
“What are you going to do?”
“There’s nothing I can do.”
“Would the pickup cover the hospital bill?”
“A big chunk of it. One thing I will say,” Colin said with a weak smile, “money’s good in the stones business.”
The room fell silent. Colin was wrapped up in worry while I struggled with myself. Why was I even bothering? I hardly knew the guy. He was nice and all, but this was not my problem.
And yet, I was getting a little weary of my problem-free life. I had made all these rules just so I wouldn’t have any problems, wouldn’t be besieged with any of the headaches of romance, love, couplehood. It had felt like a good formula in the beginning, but, in truth, life without problems was a tad empty.
“How about I pick up the stones for you?” I heard myself saying.
“What? You’re crazy, no way!” said Colin.
“Why not?”
“Because this is my problem, not yours.”
“I’d like to help.”
“Not like that! I’m the smuggler, not you.”
“But you can’t do it tomorrow, I can.”
“Look, I know you mean well, but there’s no way I’d let you do this. It’s dangerous. You could get caught.”
“You’ve been doing this ten years and you haven’t been caught.”
“That doesn’t mean…”
“Colin, let me help. I want to do this.”
“Why?”
“Because it’d be fun.”
Colin’s eyes narrowed. He fixed his gaze on me and searched my face for a long time. I looked steadily back at him, noticing for the first time that his eyes were pale green with flecks of gold.
Finally, he let out a sigh. “All right, I think you’re crazy, but if you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.”
“You’d be saving my ass. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Just tell me where to go tomorrow.”
Colin scribbled the address on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “Be there at noon sharp. Don’t carry a backpack, don’t carry anything.”
I nodded. “Will they give the stones to me? They’re expecting you, not me.”
Colin pondered this for a moment. Then, he slid open the drawer of the nightstand, removed an article and thrust it into my hand.
I opened my palm and looked into it. There, sitting snugly in the hollow, was a pair of silver balls.
“Show them my balls,” said Colin, chuckling. “They’ll know I sent you.”
The departure hall teemed with Dutch tourists wearing Mexican jewelry and California tans. Colin stood next to me, smiling benignly at the hurly-burly around us. His hair had grown long during his two-month stay at the hospital. Thick and wavy, it hung loosely around his shoulders. His goatee had regained its shapeliness. Trimming it was the first thing Colin attended to upon hearing murmurings among the doctors of his discharge.
Colin traveled light. He checked no luggage. He never does, he told me. He shouldered a leather duffle bag and a Mexican cloth pouch was strapped around his waist.
I missed him already.
“I’ll be back, you know,” he said.
“I know.” I longed to ask when exactly, but I refrained.
“I know I’ve said this already, but you saved my butt. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“You had fun?”
“I had a blast.”
The address in Tijuana he had given me was in a part of town no tourist would dream of venturing into. The air was thick with dust and heavy with humidity. Mosquitoes glided languidly in the dank corners wedged between the tumbling down houses.
None of this made an impression on me. I was so intoxicated with adrenaline, so charged up with the pickup, I could have been on a glacier in Alaska for all the impact my surroundings made on me that day.
The pickup fulfilled every suspense thriller fantasy I had. A man with a narrow, pockmarked face had answered the door. He wore heavy black shades even though the interior of the house was shrouded in darkness. His hands were empty but a heavy blunt object bulged menacingly under his jacket.
He said not a word to me the entire time, merely grunted when I showed him the silver balls. Receding behind filthy brown curtains, he left me alone in the windowless room, bare except for a wooden crucifix hanging on the wall. A few minutes later, he reappeared, handing me a slim white envelope sealed with many layers of duct tape. I was then escorted to the front door.
It had been sublimely cool inside the house, but as I stepped out into the murky sunlight, I noticed my armpits were soaked.
“I should get going,” said Colin. “It takes forever to get through security these days.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Colin stepped closer, leaning in until his face was next to mine. Holding my gaze, he brushed his lips lightly over mine.
This time, I yielded. I kissed him back, letting my tongue touch his, savoring the taste of the stick of Marlboro he had smoked in the car on the way to the airport and the sweetness of the man. With our eyes closed, we kissed slowly as if we had all the time in the world.
He kissed and kissed, and I kissed back, making up for all the times I had longed to kiss him but had not allowed myself to. And then I let him go. I let him pick up his duffle bag, give me one last kiss, and join the line at the security checkpoint.
I stood and waited while he inched his way toward the X-ray machine and the metal detector, not wanting to lose the last few moments when we could still exchange smiles. I waited until he deposited his duffle bag and pouch on the conveyor belt of the X-ray machine and stepped through the metal detector.
As expected, the alarm went off, sending a pair of uniformed guards scurrying toward him. Brandishing detector wands, they pulled him aside and herded him behind a curtained off area, but not before Colin was able to turn back and give me one last smile.
