Winter Prelude

I.

He stood at the far end of the corridor. His face was bathed with the red light coming from some cheap bulbs somewhere and I could hardly see his face. His white, for sure. Everybody's white here except me and a Nigerian rent boy who earlier asked me for 40 euros for his services. "I charge a hundred , honey..." I told him and made my way to the deepest darkest corners of the labyrinth.

Welcome to the darkroom.

I stood beside him and leaned against one of the six cabin doors, all of them closed and quiet aside from the occasional slapping, moaning, cursing, and sometime shouting noises coming from within. The place would make the sauna blush. It was a wicked combination of the mid-august draught and bodily heat coming form the packed dancefloor just above it. Some of the creatures inside were half naked, seemingly proud of their muscles, fully soaked with sweat and other bodily fluids, glistening with sin. The smell was despicable. I choose what I wanted to smell and my nose and brain conspired to the idea. Tonight, I would only smell the cheapest perfume. Cheap perfume goes well with cheap sex and I was up for a ride.

I looked at him intently. I didn't wear my contacts and my eyes are sore from the smoke and the heat. He gave me a rather sly look. He then moved like a skilful eagle swooping for its prey...his hands journeyed onto my body. The door to our right opened and came out a couple. An octogenarian and a bear. A fabulous concoction to a horrid orgasm. With our lips still locked and our bodies entwined, we managed to enter the cabin that has just been abandoned.

"Hmmm...", he moaned, eyes half-closed.

We then flew to oblivion.


II.

"So are you on a holiday?", I asked while drowning on vodka tonic. The music was just too loud and I had to keep close for him to hear me. The guy has taste and I could smell it. He was wearing L'Instant De Guerlain.
I wanted to tell him I know his perfume but it sounded inappropriate so I didn't. Instead, I quickly scanned the place for more prey that might come my way.
By now, almost everyone was ignoring the ongoing drag show and seemed to have lost interest with Starwoman, the transexual drag queen from Granada who was responsible for the noise on the stage. She was singing a Sevillana though she can never do any other impersonations other than Isabel Pantoja and the deceased Rocio Jurado--- Spain renowned flamenco divas. Her stunt tonight was the same as last week's and her face becomes whiter and whiter everytime I see her perform. On a recent interview with a local event magazine, she said she aspires to become a go-go dancer someday and appear on TV. Her greatest ambition though, as it turns out, is to marry her (straight) boyfriend, adopt kids and become a happy family.
I wish I could develop selective reading sometime. I just read anything.

" Yeah, for two weeks" he said. His eyes surveying another drag queen on the bar flashing his wrinkled genitalia to a leather practitioner.


"Okay. With friends?", I said extracting more facts.


"No, I'm with my wife and children", he said; his sad eyes full was transparency. I could almost feel his pain and pride.

I tried to conceal my small amount of shock. I've been with several married men in bed and I confess I am fascinated by their ability to enjoy sexuality of both species, men and women.

"Where are they now?", I asked

"Sleeping"

"Where did you tell your wife you were going to?"

" To take a walk"

" That's a long walk...It's almost 4 am now"

The mood cleared up. We shared a laugh.

Over another glass of drink, he told me how he "turned" gay. It was when his brother died six years ago when he realized that life is too short not to do the things you are reluctant to try at least once. He put up a list that included skiing in New Zealand, sleeping with a black woman and trying it out with a man, among others. He tried the last on his list first and soon enough the "man" became "men".

I guess I've heard the story a million times before but in different versions. It was like watching popular Mexican soap operas back home, only this time it was dubbed in Chinese or Swahili--- difficult to comprehend but at the end of the day, you get summary and it's disappointingly unmoving. Watching those telenovelas for me was like witnessing the fall of civilization; the only saving grace was I learned a few Spanish words like "Gracias" and "Por favor".

I gazed intently to his face while he was telling me about his gay conversion. He was amusing. He gave out a hearty laugh when he recalled how he was initiated by a Taiwanese guy in London and how he was so nervous, he was shaking when they did it. I tried to recall my first time ever with a man but my memory failed me.

The guy was no Pierce Brosnan but his face was kind and seemingly intelligent, the light shone on the strands of his slightly overgrown blond curls and his lips moves with grace as he spoke. I tried to calculate how tall he was but he was no more than two or three inches higher than my 5 foot 8 inches frame. His body was not of an athletes though his arms were strong and firm perhaps by playing golf or something. He was on his mid forties, I reckoned. Just my cup of tea. His skin was paler than usual but I bet in two weeks time, it will change into a lovely sun kissed color.

" My last boyfriend wanted me to leave my family for him and I can't do that, that's why we broke up", he said. I thought that was too much information but I was a willing listener and from the looks of it, he badly needed one.

"That makes a lot of sense to me". I agreed.

It was about 5 am and I was controlling my yawns. Sure, the guy was interesting but no one can stop me from taking my usual eight hour sleep. I suggested we better get going.

" I hope to see you again", he said.

"Maybe". I tried not to meet the sad eyes but it was a feat to do so. I was trapped by my own game. I had to resist.

" Could I have your number , just in case?"

" There is no just in case, the chances of us seeing again would not be circumstantial, I am sure", I said. I don't have problems giving my number to people especially when they're seemingly nice. A number is a number and if push comes to shove, I can always get a new SIM card.

" By the way, it's xxx".

" Nice to meet you xxx", and I gave my name.

" See you around", he said while he waved at me.

" Yeah, maybe you will"

We then both disappeared in the dark alleys of Torremolinos, him to the North, I to the East.

Epilogue

7 am. I wake up to the sound of my mobile phone. It couldn't be the alarm as I've turned it off the night before as I went to the club. It's only been half an hour since I've gone to bed and I am being disturbed by some pathetic ringtone. It was a text.

Hi. It was nice to meet you last night. Let me know if you want to have coffee with me sometime soon. xxx Mr. XXX.

I turn off the phone and place it under my pillow.

The breeze invades the room through my window and it is cold so I pull up my sheet and curl up like a foetus on my warm bed. My Spanish professor may probably be right; winter might arrive sooner this year....