Oct., año del chicano

It was in the year of my awakenings social, sexual awakening that came about in Juárez. Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua, México, that is. I was not less than twelve nor more than fourteen years old, when I first crossed the border with a couple of friends. We were not only young, but also a mean motley looking trio.

Three pachuquios with burning eyes-coal black-ducktail haircuts, jitty kind of walk (hands swaying to the ritmo of our bodies, an almost sing song walk that kept our bodies attuned to our sing song speech), and the perceptible coraje that came from living en el barrio del diablo in east el paso. We were from the X-9 gang-batos muy locos, so we thought, and the switchblades in our pockets gave us both security and a throbbing itch to go out assailing a non-caring world, and thus by our strongly proving ourselves, we would be able to redeem ourselves.

Late fall weather was bristling about us, and though we had no coats or jackets on, we pretended not to feel the nip in the air. Eramos muy machos, and that being the case we would not allow our images to tarnish in the least. Around us people stared, for almost everyone had on a coat or jacket-while still the rest had on sweaters, and there we were: walking down El Paso Street toward the Santa Fé International Bridge, our light cotton shirts flapping in the autumnal windwhich had become rather brisk-and our long ducktailed hair becoming unruffled.

On tenement walls we could see scribbled down messages, as if they were talismans indited to providence-to a god who might care more than the suffering christ the catholic church had deigned to give chicanos: "El Heman del 2nd, con/safo 1952," "el alácra, 1953, c/s," "que chingue su madre el gringo-pero, en abonos y sin safo, hasta la eternidad." "Lalo el poéta trae los calzones rotos...... el focas del 7X, c/s," "SEFY del 9 del diablo, 1950, c/s........."

I smiled at all the different bids for eternity and immortality made by unknown people of the night; pachucos, sensing the loss and hurt of their humble yet rebellious lives, striving to impress their names and histories on crumbling tenement walls, hoping against hope that somehow these same walls would last and become the eighth wonder of a society falling apart at the seams all around them. We walked on and on until we came to the bridge. Hesitantly we dug into our pockets and pulled out the required fee to cross the bridge-two cents each. Our pennies clanked down the coin box and we walked across as jauntily and cockily as possible, while inside we all felt ill at ease, though we tried to act nonchalantly ....

Early Friday night and Juárez was beginning to fill and expand; tourists flooded the streets-gringos looking for an easy lay at $3 to $15 for the night, and long legged gringas searching for an earthy, machistic mexican (a passionate spaniard cum latin lover cum fucking meskin) to give them the thrill of their lives-for after all, this was the land of super sexuality and total immorality. My eyes were taking in the hedonistic élan vital of Juárez-I was mesmerized and hypnotized by neon lights and blazing posters announcing and pictorializing the buxomy qualities of Torcha Flame with twin 44's (tits) or Ima Cocker, that beauteous blonde bitch from the old sod-a ge-nuuu-ine belle exotique from Erin, etc. My gonads kept driving my mind off cliff after cliff, as I eviscerated the lust/hunger of a child becoming aware of the scintillating allure of woman-any woman.

We turned at the first street beyond the bridge on Avenida Juárez; we walked a block over to Mariscál and walked down three blocks to a little club called the Chihuahua. I had often heard about this place. Mirna, one of the choicest putas in Juárez, worked there. She was already almost a legend on this part of the border. Every taxi driver in El Paso knew her-and I happened to have a first cousin who drove a hack for Yellow Cab out of El Paso, and he had filled my mind and soul with images of her; within me already existed an immeasurable hunger/need for her bartered caresses. No one was surprised to see us in that place, for at that time they would serve you whatever you wanted as long as you could reach the bar for what serviced you, as long as you could pay your way. We selected a booth and sat down to wait for the mesera to take our orders.

A young girl approached us-she was only about three-or-so-years older than me. Unblinkingly she took our orders. Not knowing much or anything about mixed drinks and having heard at some point about Scotch and soda, I asked in a rather feigned manner for a Scotch and soda, being sure to admonish the girl that I preferred coca cola with my Scotch. She merely shrugged in assent and proceeded to get our orders filled. Just after we had been served and had paid for the drinks, a slinky, well filled woman approached us. She asked us if we were buying, and, if so, would we buy her a drink.

We were so unaccustomly worldly, so sure of ourselves, that we gave her the once over in what we presumed was a man-of-the-world manner and droolingly nodded yes. She smiled at our callow youthfulness, turned to a couple of girls, and called them over. They joined us. The bargirl came over and set their drinks down. We each strove to outdo the others in paying for this tab, vainly trying to portion out bigger slices of manhood-desperate bids to prove that we were already man-size, not only in our minds, but in our ways.

The one with the piercing eyes and a soft curving roundness sat down next to me. She reached over and placed her hand on my leg and commenced rotating it over the joining of my thighs to my body. We exchanged names, and joyfully-nay, triumphally, I discovered that she was the legendary Mirna. The answer to my hungered prayers.

"Mirna, Mirna," I explosively burst out, "Cuanto cobras? How much for all night long?" My eyes, my very youth, my eagerness caught her fancy. She began toying with me. Her hands kept massaging me and I was being driven with the raging fury of demons burning me inside and out. I was febrile; I was raucous; I was blind youth! Andava caliente-muy decioso, carnales!

What pleasure she got out of playing with me I'll never know. All I recall is that I felt like a man. Her hands crescendoed symphonically all over me-I shuddered to this long expected initiation to the realm of manhood. Her perfume was sticky and sweet, so sticky it was palpable. Her eyes seemed to penetrate, and her lipstick clung to me each time we kissed. She joked about robbing the cradle and teaching me how to be a man. And I? I was impatient to commence my education! Yet, I must admit that I was also leery in fear I might fail.

"If you are that impatient to become a man," she told me with a twitch to her voice, "let's get going." With that she took hold of my hand and let me down a long corridor. We stopped at the door, she knocked, and an old, fat woman opened it. I was confused, for I was expecting to go into a room with her, and here we were talking to another woman.

Mirna caught my confusion. She smiled, then she told me to pay my money to the lady, for she was the one who collected the money.

"Estás muy chico para andar visitando las putas, chamaco," the old lady laughed. "ójala y puedas cumplir con Mirna en la cama y no nomas con su pago." She continued laughing at me.

I felt mocked, but I wanted to prove that though I was young, I already had the makings of a man. "No nomás le podré complir a e11a, pero también a ustéd si gusta," I responded. With that I reach down and grabbed myself, showing the woman the outline of my manhood. She merely nodded and smiled.

Then she surprised the hell out of me. "Take it out and let me inspect you," the woman told me.

"Why," I asked.

"I have to make sure that you do not have a sickness before you go to bed with one of my girls. I run a clean house here," she said.

Feeling a mixture of fear, embarrassment, shame, and queasiness, I complied. She held me and squeezed, then patting my testicles, she told Mirna, "He's big enough, now go see if he knows what to do with what he's got." With that, Mirna and I walked over to her room.

Once inside the room, Mirna mechanically undressed. I stood rock still watching. She saw me then walked over to me and helped me undress. I was nervous, very nervous. She reached for me and began kissing me. She motioned for me to return the kisses. I did. For a long time we explored each other's bodies-with tongue and lips, hands and finger tips. Then she slid under me and I needed no more coaxing. My animality exploded time after time til I was sapped. Still she persisted in more and more and more sex. Her knowing body, her caressing lips, her ravenous tongue, and her velvet fingers drove me til nothing more was possible. I was drowsy, almost asleep. She made me get up and dress. We walked out of her room. She went with me to the door of the club and handed me a slip of paper with her address on it. "Take a taxi there and wait for me," She said. "Later tonight we shall finish making a man out of you."

The process of making a man out of me was long and enjoyable. The last time Mirna and I worked on that project was when I turned 18, just a week before I joined the army....