Chapter 21

Late afternoon had surreptitiously slipped into early evening, but the heat of the day had been only slightly blunted. The raucous, never-ending festivities at the sweltering Adelita Bar were in full swing. Patrons of the male persuasion made their rounds, in search of female company to lift their spirits, or libations to deaden them. The women of the bar, seemingly oblivious to heat or any other environmental inconveniences, strutted about, their bodily wares on full display. And, as always, available for a price.

Mark, who'd been perspiring all day, wiped his forehead with a wad of toilet paper he'd swiped from the men's room. He and Jack had arrived via cab a couple of hours ago. Jack's BMW had remained in the same parking lot where he'd left it earlier, and he still had every intention of heading north before dark. As a result, he had one quick beer with Mark, and then moved on. The familiar I'm-up-to-no-good smirk spread across Jack's face as he got up to leave. "I need to pass by one of the bars down the street before I head home. There's a cute young thing down there who promised to help me with a, um, problem."

"You never let up, do you, Jack," Mark commented in amazement.

"I just do what my dick tells me to."

Mark, of course, could relate; he got up to shake Jack's hand. He'd grown fond of the wise old man with the jolly demeanor, a skirt-chasing adolescent in the guise of a kindly senior citizen. "You old horn dog. Thanks for all your help and advice. I do appreciate it. It's been fun."

"I'll see you next time." To Mark, the grin that accompanied this statement of Jack's seemed almost taunting.

"Next time..." Mark repeated, his voice trailing off.

"Tell Gary I'll get in touch with him soon," Jack called out as he made his way toward the exit.

Still seated in the same booth, Mark was now on his third beer since setting foot in the place. He'd kept his alcohol intake at a moderate level so far on this trip. Now, however, he was beginning to feel the effects. The thump of the music seemed ever so slightly muffled; his peripheral vision a little clouded. But as his eyes roamed about, they landed on an inviting sight: the youthful, vivacious Gabby, seated in front of the bar, swiveling back and forth on the rotating stool, swinging her bare legs, seductively fucking him with her eyes. He recalled his romp with Gabby a few days ago. And as he got up to greet her, he realized, I'm just doing what my dick is telling me to.

He didn't say much to Gabby this time, despite her chatty nature. Right now, he was merely in need of a first-class fuck partner. Gabby's specialty was straight-ahead, no-holds-barred sex. She seemed to have unlimited stamina, countering Mark's thrusts with short, quick, rabbit-like upward thrusts of her hips, accentuated with the occasional squeal or moan. Her tight little vagina seemed to accommodate Mark's cock perfectly. His adventure with Rosie earlier in the day, plus his alcohol consumption, made reaching orgasm difficult. By the time thirty minutes were up, Mark still had not found release.

"More time," muttered Mark when he heard the knock on the door, momentarily breaking off his coupling with Gabby. He fumbled around on the floor, found his pants, pulled out some cash, and handed it to the hotel employee standing outside the door. He then climbed back on top of the supine Gabby and resumed pounding away at her. She merely flashed a bright smile; she was more than game. A few minutes later, Mark blasted his seed into the condom. He then collapsed, exhausted, onto Gabby, whose response was a bout of giggling. Shortly thereafter, the proceedings moved into the bathroom.

These post-session showers are a lot of fun, Mark thought as he ran his hands over Gabby's wet, soapy body, stopping at times to explore her firm, pointy breasts and her meticulously trimmed bush. But I hope I have something left for Pati later.

It was this realization that caused Mark to send Gabby downstairs before him, and forgo the usual hand-in-hand walk back down the stairs. His watch said eight-thirty; the possibility existed that Pati had already started working, and Mark didn't want her to see him entering the bar in the company of someone else. He afforded Gabby the required monetary compensation, and sent her on her way with a smile.

He lay back on the bed, and waited a good five minutes before going back downstairs. The second knock on the door induced him to get moving. As he descended toward street level, he still felt a little tipsy. He resolved to avoid alcohol for the rest of the evening. As he made his way back into the bar, a waiter accosted him; he ordered a Coca-Cola. A vacant stool by the bar beckoned; he took a seat.

For a while, he became oblivious to the swirling madhouse around him. Before he knew it, an hour had slipped past. As contemplative as ever, Mark reflected back on the past five days, what he'd learned about himself, and how his values had changed. Now, a return to the real world loomed right in front of him, with the resumption of dealing with a suspicious wife, and the managing of affairs with multiple women. Non-commercial affairs, they were; and their legitimacy complicated matters greatly. Mark knew that the Tijuana experience had transformed him, and a question was rattling around in his brain. Would the always-perceptive women in his life pick up on the changes? And how would he re-adjust to his complex existence back home, now that he'd sampled the fruits of a permissive lifestyle in which opportunities were boundless, and personal accountability was zero?

He could not know the answer at this point. Not until he had immersed himself once again in the midst of his primary existence. And the issue was shelved, at that instant, for here she was.

Mark drew in a sharp breath as he viewed Pati. She looked radiant; she had on a pastel blue dress with short, ruffled sleeves. Her high-heeled shoes and earrings were the same color as her dress, as were her newly-manicured nails. Her hair, free-flowing and wavy, was suspiciously close to her natural color. Mark saw fit to comment on that last matter.

"No wig tonight?" he grinned.

"No. I know you don't like, so tonight, I use my real hair. For you. Your last night."

Mark knew he'd never tire of her fractured English. She snuggled into his arms. Mark felt a need to just cuddle up for a while, so he held her, and they just let the world pass them by for a while. Pati's perfume was more intoxicating than the beer; it was different than that used by any woman Mark had ever known. He'd asked her earlier what scent it was, but she'd been vague with her reply. He guessed that she didn't care to reveal any trade secrets.

As he looked over Pati's shoulder, his cheek against hers, he saw Gary standing across the bar, regarding them from a safe distance, the usual simpering grin on his face. Thanks in no small part to the earlier conversation with Jack, Mark was growing less and less disturbed with Gary's foibles. Gone were the jealousy issues of a few short days ago; Mark now believed that he understood the rules of the game, once and for all. In his own way, Gary had really gone over and above the call of duty to help Mark get his feet wet. Mark knew that he viewed things differently from Gary, and always would; but he now realized that the best and healthiest way to classify Gary was as a misogynistic but innocuous curmudgeon.

In a highly suggestive gesture, Gary inserted his index finger into his other fist, then drew it in and out several times, simulating sex, strongly hinting that Mark should waste no time in taking matters to the room. And right on cue, Pati expressed similar desires, as if Mark needed any encouragement. "Vamos al cuarto, " she whispered into his ear.

Off they went. Pati pulled out her entire bag of tricks. But Mark knew that his well was dangerously close to dry. After the first half hour was up, he hadn't come close to orgasm; this was what he had feared. He threw in the towel, and signified to Pati that he wished to just lie still and relax.

Pati, rather deliberately, rose up and fished into her purse. She produced a rubber band, which she used to confine her hair. She crawled back onto Mark, her breasts poking into his torso. The stone sun pendant, which Mark had never seen her without, pressed into him uncomfortably. Sensing this, Pati got up slightly and swung it around so that it now rested on her back. Folding her hands together, she set them down on his chest. Finally, she rested her chin on her hands, a serious look on her face. She had adopted this exact same position on the previous night. Mark was getting to know her better; he realized a lecture was coming. With her hair tied back severely, the heart shape of her face was plainly evident, striking and disarmingly beautiful.

"You are thinking many things," she said, scolding him lightly, tapping him on the side of the head. "Not good."

"Not good?"

"Muy malo."

When Mark gave no immediate verbal response, she continued. "I see this all the time." The statement was rife with cold reality.

"All the time?"

The advantage momentarily swung back to Mark. Pati nodded by way of response, but didn't elaborate further. Mark wanted to know more. He wanted to know how many fat, sweaty, impotent old men she'd lain on top of, delivering similar words of encouragement, trying to build up their confidence. And, Mark was a scientist; he required data, in order to reach a conclusion. He wanted a detailed description of what it was like to work under these conditions, nine hours a night, seven nights a week, selling her soul to each customer. He wanted to know what it had done to her self-esteem. How it had distorted her view of interpersonal relationships. There was a curtain that needed to be parted, but it required a degree of conversational dexterity and tact that Mark just couldn't summon. And unlike the curtain at the entrance to the bar, this one was barricaded and locked. Mark had no idea where to locate the key; hence, he remained silent, just staring dumbly into her face, losing his edge. There was simply nothing he could say.

It was a poignant moment; Pati was an intuitive woman, and sensed his inner turmoil. She, too, said nothing, although the weight of her own thoughts was plenty apparent to Mark. He detected a slight moistening of her eyes, a faint quiver in her lips. Just when the situation appeared to be spinning out of control, it was Pati who recovered first, and went off on a blessedly different tangent.

"You will miss me," she said, simply and directly. "When you go home."

"Yes. More than you know." And more than I'd like to admit, Mark added silently.

"You will come back," she said, repeating her theme from the prior night. An ambiguous smile slowly spread across her face.

Mark laughed; this broke the tension further. "We've been through this already."

"They all come back," Pati replied. Which induced Mark to wonder, why is it that everyone I run into in Tijuana keeps dwelling on that same theme? Coming from Pati, however, it sounded different.

The brief conversational interlude faded off into silence that even the noise from the bar below could not dispel. Gradually, Mark became aware of the cool fingers dancing through his crotch, walking across his balls with feathery steps, a finger rubbing the side of his cock, rousing it from its slumber. Pati had moved the pendant back into its usual position, directly between her breasts. She leaned forward, pressing her cheek against his, as she had down in the bar. The intimacy began to have its effect on Mark. Pati whispered in his ear; some in English, some in Spanish, some nonsensical. She'd found an opening, however tiny, and she was forcing her way through.

Mark tried to imagine taking her out of her world of commercial sex, and into his. He dreamt of making love to her in a snow-covered house, or in a sleeping bag in an old New York apartment; but he let those thoughts flee, since they had connotations which subtracted from, rather than added to, the aura which was driving him into isolation with her. He envisioned her at the Jersey shore, in a bathing suit, where they would go behind a secluded dune, or underneath the boardwalk, and he would take her while she moaned beneath him, the sand under her back.

Pati did not put him inside her. Neither did she take him into her mouth; she just continued to stroke him gently with her hand, with hypnotic, metronomic rhythm. She was able to draw out just enough sexual energy from his exhausted, passion-depleted body to put him over the edge one more time. The orgasm that resulted was not so much a runaway train as a tranquil, serene moment of satiety, the likes of which Mark had never before experienced with a woman.

They elected to each wash up at the sink, bypassing the customary shower. They got dressed in silence. The emotional nature of what had just occurred was not lost on either of them.

While Pati was washing up, Mark left the payment on the bed. He studiously avoided looking in that direction for the remainder of their stay in the hotel room. Although he expected her to take it, for some reason, he didn't want to know for sure.

The sights, sounds and humidity of the bar quickly restored normalcy to their interactions. No sooner were they seated at a table that Pati was chattering away, pointing at the girls around the bar, indicating which ones were her friends.

One lady, standing off by herself, saw Pati motioning toward her. She waved back, a gesture indicating for Pati to come over. Pati smiled at Mark, hesitated for just a second, then grabbed his hand. She hauled him up out of the booth with a suddenness and strength that amazed him. "Where are you taking me?" Mark laughed, trying to snake his way through the crowd behind her.

"This is my roommate, Gloria," Pati said to Mark. "We stay in a room upstairs."

Gloria was taller than Pati by a few inches. She had a slender body, fair skin, and medium-length black hair. Though she was amiable enough towards Mark, she was quieter than the bubbly Pati, and wasn't anywhere near as proficient in English.

The two ladies chatted away in rapid-fire Spanish; Mark tried to pick up a word or two, but had no luck in doing so. Finally, Pati pulled Mark aside for a second. "I need to talk to her. She has ... problem. Can I see you later?"

"Of course," Mark replied. "It's still early enough. I'll look for you later."

Pati stood up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. He watched as the two girls settled into a different booth, talking in tones that were just a bit too animated for discussing a "problem".

He turned around, trying to think of a way to pass the time, and broke out into a broad grin. There was Gary, standing just a few feet away. Once again, he'd been watching him. Gary motioned over in the direction of Pati and Gloria.

"You know, Mark, I think she really digs you. No accounting for taste, I guess." Before Mark could express surprise at Gary's apparent attitude shift, he qualified the comment by stating, "But that still doesn't change the facts."

"You're ever the cynic, aren't you. We've had a fun time tonight, though, that's for sure."

"Oh, I'm sure you have. But I have a suggestion. Take Gloria for a spin next time. She's one hell of a fuck, too."

Yet another row on his spreadsheet, noted Mark silently. Audibly, and facetiously, he replied, "I wonder how one roommate would respond to me giving the other my business."

"They're roommates?" Gary commented rhetorically, a touch of sarcasm creeping back into his voice. "You found that out, too?"

"Didn't you know?"

"I guess I never cared to know. Doesn't matter, anyhow." Gary pointed at the exit. "Want to take another stroll around the block? Believe me, no matter how often you do it, it never gets old."

Mark found that suggestion quite appealing. "Good idea," he replied, following Gary as he strode out through the curtain. Mark turned briefly, and shot one final furtive look back into the bar. There were Pati and Gloria, seated at their table, watching him leave. Giggling and whispering, like a pair of twelve-year olds discussing their latest crushes.

The night was cloudy and damp; a stark contrast to the heat of earlier in the day. No rain had fallen, although the air seemed as though it was ready to burst forth with moisture. Along the block, the revelry of the evening carried on, oblivious to changing weather conditions. As they forged onward, Gary saw fit to resume the conversation they'd momentarily abandoned.

"So ... has she given you the line about you being special?"

Mark prefaced his reply with a nervous laugh. "She didn't put it like that. She just said I was ... different. That could mean a lot of things."