These pictures were taken at Ocean Beach, California during Super Bowl Sunday. I wish we had a better camera to capture the beautiful colors.
It is Wednesday late night and my mother and I are quickly making on way to UCSD hospital for a late night visit. As we get closer to the hospital my stomach starts to rumble and I can taste the emptiness in my mouth which always makes my breath smell.
“Ama, I’m really hungry. Podemos parar a comprar algo?” I ask her.
“Si, que quieres de comer?” she replies
“El Taco Bell esta abierto.” I suggest.
“Ok.” she agrees.
We spot the Taco Bell with its bright purple and white neon sign that reads 24 HOUR DRIVE THRU and we pull in.
“Hello! Can I take your order?” says a women through the old speaker located at the bottom of the menu.
“Can I get the Southwest Chalupa meal?” I yell out from the passenger seat as my mother leans back.
“What kind of drink would you like with your order?” she asks.
“Coke please!” I respond immeditely
“Quieres algo?” I quietly whisper to my mom hoping the womn doesn't hear me through the speaker.
“No.” she tells me quietly.
“The total will be $5.27 at the window. Thank you!” the woman says and turns off the speaker.
We quickly pull up to the window and grab the brown bag. I reach into it and grab the warm paper wrapped chalupas. I open a packet of salsa with my teeth and squeeze it onto the chalupa. By the time we arrive at the hospital’s parking lot, I eat both chalupas. My mother parks the car, pulls up the handbrake, rolls down the window, and turns off the ignition.
“Ahorita regreso.” my mom tells me.
“Ok. Deja las llaves.” I respond.
“Ok.” she says as she shuts the door.
I put the keys into the ignition and give it a quarter turn. The radio turns on and I shut my eyes and enjoy the satiation. After resting for a few minutes I quickly open my eyes and feel my stomach cramping. The chalupas I ate a few minutes ago are speeding through my stomch. The waist of my pant starts to tighten and as I look down I notice that my stomch is very bloated. I reach down besides the passenger seat to recline it and I unbutton the seat belt to relieve some of the pressure.
After 15 minutes I glance at the hospital door and see my mother headed towards the car. I quickly turn off the ignition and swing open the door. I half walk half shuffle towards my mother squeezing my ass checks as hard as I can for fear that I might shit my pants.
“Que trais?” she asks me while laughing at the way I was walking.
“Me duele la pansa! Ocupo ir al baño.” I plea to my mom.
“Ok.” She tells me.
With my asshole holding on for dear life we make our way past the front door, past the brawny security guard, and into a stainless steel elevator. I can’t stop looking at the red digital display that shows our climb to the 7th floor.
The elevator finally stops with a ding and it starts to slide open. I’m impatient so I squeeze through the doors and quickly look left and then right in search of the restroom. I spot it a few doors down the hall. I swing the restroom door open and go into the only stall available. I notice that there are no seat protectors, but I don't care because this is an emergency and I’m going to have to do bust out with an aguilita.
Aguilita: A position that requires you to squat with your back straight and your arms out to the side mimicking an eagle. When done correctly, your butt and anus are hovering directly over the toilet. This position is commonly used and referred to as an "aguilita" in Mexican families. It stems because most bathrooms in Mexico, that are public, are really shitty and seat protectors are not provided.
Example 1: “Oscar, te pones de aguilita para que no toques la taza”
Example 2: “El baño estaba bien sucio y le tuve que hacer de aguilita.”
Frantically unbuttoning my pants I pull them down and squat over the toilet and my ass lets it rip. The sounds of my farts echo off the walls and after a few moments beads of sweat start forming on my forehead and my leg muscles start to burn. I can’t maintain the position much longer and my ass starts to slowly rise as I’m still shitting. I feel like a deflated balloon and small little farts start trailing and fading away towards the end of my epic shit. I stand up for a moment, pants still down, and my legs still burning and make half a turn to reach for the thin toilet paper and I gasp in shock.
“Shit!” I say to myself.
The back wall, the stainless steel side walls, and the whole toilet are full of shit. My heart drops and the guilt and embarrassment of this shitty situation start to kick in. What am I supposed to do? Should I clean it? Should I tell someone?
I wipe my ass and quietly sneak my way out of the restroom looking left and looking right to make sure no one is coming or sees me quickly and shamefully exiting the restroom. I spot my mother waiting on a plastic chair by the elevators.
“Estas bien? Te sientes major?” she asks.
“Si. Vamonos,” I respond.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
The sounds of camera shutters, and tourist expressions fill the main streets of Barcelona. Illuminated “souvenir” signs light your path to make sure you don’t get lost within this childish maze.
Maybe it was the most Spanish city at one point, but this city is now a carefully planned trap. It's fake. And Madrid is not the only city to suffer from this fakeness. Lisbon is added to the list, as well as Salamanca and Barcelona. Everything is set up to satisfy its tourists. And why wouldn’t it? The experience that these cities have adopted is the consequence of junk consumerism. Don’t let the different languages spoken within these cities fool you. Take a look around. The security cameras around every corner give you a glimpse behind the oz.
Step into an upper class hotel in Barcelona and you can overhear an odd sense of humor and bland jokes. The fake laugh from the barkeep you will not miss. But don’t over stay your welcome because the hotel bar is carefully set up for its international first world travelers. They might become aware of your presence.
Be careful with pick pockets or else they leave you without money and documents. God forbid your pre-meditated path is interrupted. Step off the track and you have KFC, McDonald’s, Burger King, and Starbucks to make you feel safe again.
During our dinner conversation it dawns on me that I might have the opportunity to sleep with this young beautiful woman. She is intelligent, entertaining, and curiously wild. The tequila is flowing, Bonobo is playing in the background, and the sensual energy is perceptible.
"I want more Tequila," she bids me to give her.
"Take your pick," I respond.
Tequila collecting over the years has proven to be useful. Luna Malvada is her choice. It’s a silver tequila with hints of mint, citrus, and agave. One drink turns into three and four. Before we know it we are embracing and vehemently kissing each other. Her tongue inside my mouth awakens my senses. She bites my lower lip playfully. I like it. She does it one more time, only stronger. I smile and let out a moan. I let the instant consume me. I caress her legs, her back, and firmly grab her ass. Her soft sleek skin feels electric. I take a deep breath and grab her again, this time stronger as I pick her up and carry her. Her sensual legs wrapped around my waist as we continue to kiss and move to the bedroom.
I drop her and she furiously unbuttons my shirt as I breathe in the aroma of her hair. It further ignites my energy. She commands me to stand up. I comply. Powerless I am at this point. Before I know it she undoes my belt and my pants and as if pressed for time, she pulls them off. We pause for a moment.
"It's so easy to get you naked," she says laughingly.
I'm not sure how to respond. It doesn't matter. She pushes me down and crawls closer to me. How lucky a man must be to receive such pleasure from a beautiful woman? She quickly moves closer to my face. Biting my lip again she pulls fiercely. A little more painful, but I let it happen.
Approaching my ear she blows and then whispers, "You're a dirty boy, huh?"
"Excuse me," I confusingly respond.
"You're a dirty boy,” she tells me a little louder.
"Um...yes...I guess...I am," I tell her stumbling over my words.
As if my lip hasn’t had enough attention, she aims for it again only this time she pulls so hard that I quickly start yelling, as best as I can considering my lip is lodged between her teeth, "SAFE! SAFE! SAFE!" I figure this is the universal word for too much pain during sex. It isn’t.
"Too much?" she asks me in an innocent voice.
"Just a little,” I say with an exhilarating grin.
With my heart racing and my senses screaming with joy, we continue. But what happens next throws me off. She asks me to talk dirty.
"Talk dirty to me in Spanish," she directs me.
My mind quickly starts digging through past memories in search of sex talk content that can be rehashed. Nada. I panicky choose a few phrases.
"Chupame la verga?" I say and immediately feel like a fool. Not only do I say it timidly, but I think it comes out in the form of a question.
"Quieres que to coja?" I ask shamefully.
Twenty minutes later, my limbs tired, my body dehydrated, I finally surrender to sleep. I lie in bed, close my eyes, and think to myself…
I need to brush up on my dirty Spanish.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited."