“I finally got a good piece of ass last night,” said Ron from the doorway, where he was smoking a fat joint.
It’s like I’d been thinking of nothing but how much ass he had.
“She was real sexy, dancing, shaking her ass. I ate her pussy. We fucked around.”
“What was her name?”
I feel like an old lady asking this silly question.
“I forget. Maybe Crystal
“Ah.”
“Her pussy tasted good. Sweet," continued Ron, "I fucked her in the shower. You know that old trick? Always fuck a whore in the shower first. Most of them are junkies and don’t take care of themselves. This one was all right.”
I said I'd keep that old trick in mind for the next time I rented a junkie teenage Mexican whore.
Ron grunted satisfaction.
I punched a button on the dvd remote control. “Err” said the screen. Ron had called me over to get his DVD situation under control. He had two non functioning DVD players and a bunch of 20 peso pirated DVDs purchased on the street. Angels and Demons, Gran Torino, Crank 2, etc. But they weren’t playing. They were not loading.
Ron grunted satisfaction.
I punched a button on the dvd remote control. “Err” said the screen. Ron had called me over to get his DVD situation under control. He had two non functioning DVD players and a bunch of 20 peso pirated DVDs purchased on the street. Angels and Demons, Gran Torino, Crank 2, etc. But they weren’t playing. They were not loading.
“This thing is fucked up.”
Ron kicked the sofa.
“That figures! You buy one thing and it breaks. So you buy another and it is brand new and it doesn’t work. Motherfucker! Why doesn’t anything work?”
“It’s just crap. You paid for crap. This is globalization.”
I shook my head and looked at the brand name: Majesty. Good lord. It was pure Vietnamese slave product. There was blood on every component of this DVD player from the silicon and silver and gold to the neatly tied wires in the back. Dozens of oppressed, feeble, struggling Vietnamese slaves had worked on this DVD player and now it didn’t even work. My mind recreated the horrible, chaotic conditions that this DVD player had existed in during its assembly. If it were human it would be psychotic. How many African conflicts were caused to secure the rare earth metals used in this piece of shit, I wondered to myself.
“Just when everything was going good. Just when Jesus was on my side again and I was getting good pussy, this has to happen and fuck everything up.”
“Don’t give up yet,” I said optimistically, though I was sure the player would never work.
“You know, after I fucked that one girl…”
“Crystal
“Yeah, and kicked her out, I started thinking about how tight her pussy was and got real horny. I mean, her pussy was tight and I could tell by her nipples that she’s had a kid or two. Still, it was like an asshole. So I called the guy up and said ‘get me another’ I only want one for an hour. So that should only be 500 pesos since whats her face cost 1000 pesos. He didn’t go for it.”
“Right.”
“I just beat off,” Ron said casually, shrugging his tattooed shoulders.
“I wonder,” I said, “If these DVDs aren’t just so poorly burned that…”
“You know renting pussy is kind of a bad deal.”
“Yes. Yes it is.”
Ron nodded and puffed on his joint, brooding. He offered it to me but I waved it off.
“The real problem," I began, "is that more than half of the whores you talk about I wouldn’t fuck for free. I mean, really. I would not fuck them for free because they are not my kind of person.
Ron spent a decade in prison for something I don't really want to delve into and I can tell by his evil look he thinks I'm spoiled and full of shit and if I talked like this in prison he'd bash my skull in, but he's winning the battle against these demons and allows me to continue.
"They have bad priorities. (I say about the prostitutes) They want money. They just want money. So they will suck cock for money. What kind of a priority is that?”
"To be fair, their priorities are their two kids at home."
"Two kids?"
"Of course, you think they'd fuck a disgusting pervert like me just so they could buy nice clothes? They have kids but have no money. The money is just a means to feeding their kids."
"God, I don't know what to say. That seems wrong."
“Works for me. Works for the kids.”
“But...a dog has more self respect. What kind of a person sucks cock for money? Or even washes cars for money or sells cars for money or builds or designs cars for money? They are all whores with bad, bad priorities.”
Ron cracked another beer.
I held up the remote control as "Exhibit A" in my bad priorities argument. Ron yawned as ashes from the joint fell on the tiled floor among our abused flip flop sandals.
“I just wonder why the fuck they think getting money will offer some solution. It solves nothing. Money creates other problems, but they are the problems we are trained to deal with.”
Ron shrugged his shoulders again and scratched his sweaty arm pits.
“I love banging young pussy. Mexican, Thai, American, doesn’t matter. I fucked these four beautiful Thai girls once. They couldn't have been more than 16 years old. They did everything! I thought I was in love with one of them but then she stole my wallet.”
“I love banging young pussy. Mexican, Thai, American, doesn’t matter. I fucked these four beautiful Thai girls once. They couldn't have been more than 16 years old. They did everything! I thought I was in love with one of them but then she stole my wallet.”
I hit a few more buttons on the remote, without any result. The disk was not being read by the player and it was the fourth disk that would not work.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. "They get it all in the end."
Ron grumbled, “You’ll see in a few more years when you get your driver’s license in the mail and you say, ‘What the fuck? They sent me the wrong license. This is a picture of some old fucking man. This is a picture of my father. This is…wait…this is me. This is my face and it looks like an old handbag!’ Then you will know that getting old is almost intolerable. I feel like a fucking coward every day I get up. Nothing works like it used to.”
“I like women who are nice and have good priorities and have good body image. Is that too much to ask?”
“How many fat 60 year old women have you fucked? You know what a 60 year old pussy tastes like?”
I remained silent. “Errr. No Disk,” said the other brand new DVD player even though there was a disk in there. Why would it say there was no disk when I had personally put the disk in there? The Error message was understandable, but I knew there was a disk in there.
“See? See?" goaded Ron, "You don’t know. You don’t know yet what it means to fuck a 60 year old broad. You want to talk about a bitch? Think about this indignity: a 60 year old woman fucks like a 15 year old boy, but a 60 year old man fucks like a 60 year old man. See? Women are bitches no matter what age they are. Are you listening? I’m 66 years old and I know!”
I threw my hands up in a gesture of surrender but Ron continued in his lecturing tone.
“Oggy, you can still sleep with a beautiful woman. You are young. I don’t think I was as good looking as you when I was your age. Shit. How old are you again? 38, 39? You’re a kid. A child. You can still get a hard on. I gotta smoke two joints and get a hooker to do a lap dance for twenty minutes before I can even think about fucking. Then I gotta eat her out. She's gotta be sexy. And then she’s gotta go down on me. And she’s gotta be good. If she’s bad then I’ll kick her out. I mean, a lot of these whores will just jerk you off. For $100 they’ll give you a bad blow job and then jerk you off. Then leave. I mean, I could do that myself!”
“Whatever happened to quality control?” I’m talking about the dvd player but the real problem is the pirated DVDs that Ron bought. I know these are the cause of the problem because they were created under the shadiest of situations. Second hand camcorder files burned with bootleg software on stolen dvds, shipped from The Russian Federation in leaky containers on a poisoned ocean. If I had anything else to do I would be doing it. This is not how I envisaged my Mexico United States in search of a culture where simplicity prevails
“You can choose to fuck an old ugly broad who will turn out to be a bitch or you can pay a young broad who will also turn out to be a bitch but at least you can bust a nut. You can’t win. All three of my wives were beautiful. But after three months I couldn’t stand to kiss ‘em. Not even look at ‘em. The last one, the Russian one, what a mistake, what a bitch. She threw a fucking toaster oven at me. I liked her kid. What was his name…”
"What about love," I said feebly.
"Love? What does an 18 girl know about love? She only knows how to fuck and have babies. Shit, women only think about sex and money. Put the two together and they are in heaven. Right? Right?"
"If I wanted loveless sex I'd've stayed with my last girlfriend," I muttered.
"I don't know about yours, but my cock and balls don't know the difference," is the response. After a pause to burp, Ron continues,
"You know what your problem is, Oggy? You're a romantic and you haven't figured out that women are about as romantic as an ATM machine."
I almost tell him maybe that's because he only associates with hookers and pimps but I know he's probably right. All my noble ideals about romance are pure projection and a sad substitution for the Valentine's Day card I never got from the popular girl back in 1st grade.
"I've had three wives," says Ron definitively, "Dozens of girlfriends and thousands of hookers and one-off fucks. I know. Women are ovaries wearing nail polish."
"What you're saying right now provides me no comfort," I said with a clinical tone.
"Why?" asked Ron. "Because you can't afford to pay young whores to fuck you?"
"If I wanted loveless sex I'd've stayed with my last girlfriend," I muttered.
"I don't know about yours, but my cock and balls don't know the difference," is the response. After a pause to burp, Ron continues,
"You know what your problem is, Oggy? You're a romantic and you haven't figured out that women are about as romantic as an ATM machine."
I almost tell him maybe that's because he only associates with hookers and pimps but I know he's probably right. All my noble ideals about romance are pure projection and a sad substitution for the Valentine's Day card I never got from the popular girl back in 1st grade.
"I've had three wives," says Ron definitively, "Dozens of girlfriends and thousands of hookers and one-off fucks. I know. Women are ovaries wearing nail polish."
"What you're saying right now provides me no comfort," I said with a clinical tone.
"Why?" asked Ron. "Because you can't afford to pay young whores to fuck you?"
I groaned and drank some Gatorade and stared at the remote control. “Error. Error. No disk.” That’s all I saw.
"Well, I think..." I mumbled before Ron cut me off.
“You gotta remember that I’m in the twilight of my years. I could die any day. I can’t live with anyone. I actually hate people. I can’t move around like I used to, my dick doesn’t work most days, I gain weight no matter what I eat. I can’t work. All I can do is get high and fuck pretty young broads. That’s it! I like tight pussies and nice tits with a pretty face to look at when I'm fucking her. If it costs me $100 bucks then good. Problem solved. After I'm done, she gets the fuck out!”
I give up on the DVD.
“Dude, you gotta get a different player. Get an expensive one. Spend $100. That’s the best chance you have at being able to play these pirated dvds more reliably. This one was manufactured in Zanzibar
Ron taps the ashes of the joint onto the floor.
Ron taps the ashes of the joint onto the floor.
“Fuck it. You’re right. Let’s get another one. I’ll just skip some pussy for a week. It’s like, what, $50 more. That’s half a piece of ass.”
The mystery of how American Social Security benefits is being spent is suddenly clear to me. I said, “In your currency, yes. Half a piece of ass.”
“This broad last night could have used to lose half of her ass. I mean, it wasn’t repulsive, but if I hadn’t been so horny then…”
Ron crushed his joint in the ashtray and eyed me over his bifocals with a look that suggested he would only pay to fuck a fat ass under the worst conditions.
"I could smoke this Mexican ditch weed all day long and not get high," he grumbled. "They must grow it in a goddamn storage locker."
He bundled up the DVD and off we went to the C.C.C. to exchange the player. He needed me to translate. I had asked him if he had the receipt when we left, but when we got there all he had was a receipt for some cds and condoms. The exchange could not take place.
"I could smoke this Mexican ditch weed all day long and not get high," he grumbled. "They must grow it in a goddamn storage locker."
He bundled up the DVD and off we went to the C.C.C. to exchange the player. He needed me to translate. I had asked him if he had the receipt when we left, but when we got there all he had was a receipt for some cds and condoms. The exchange could not take place.
“Mother fucker! I’m so fucking old," groaned Ron. "I can´t read anymore without my glasses. I thought...this...ah, fuck it.”
Ron slammed the car into gear and tore out of the parking lot, ignoring the awful speed bumps.
“My brain doesn’t work at all. It must be the LSD. I took hundreds of hits of acid back in the sixties.”
Ron slammed the car into gear and tore out of the parking lot, ignoring the awful speed bumps.
“My brain doesn’t work at all. It must be the LSD. I took hundreds of hits of acid back in the sixties.”
I argued, “That wouldn’t explain the memory loss for people who never did acid. My grandmother…”
Ron plunges on through the streets...“You ever fuck on acid? I once did some blotter acid and the broad I was with, this sexy bitch, said, ‘You better fuck me, boy, or else I’ll find someone else who will.’ I’m telling you that the television was two inches small and shit was coming out of the wallpaper. I think I fucked her. Anyway, she stopped bugging me. I must have fucked her and thought about something else. I can’t do that anymore. Now I’m forgetting receipts. Age is a cruel fucking mistress and it’s got me by the balls.”
Ron continued with the tired details of how much he could once bench press and how many times he has to piss at night and how constipated he is while I nodded my head and gazed longingly at innocent pedestrians walking the streets of La Paz, couples embracing romance, elderly picking flowers. Maybe it is because I´m getting older or believing I´m getting older or maybe it is Ron´s constant complaints about age that has me wondering if I too am past my prime. I decide that the very fact I am sitting in a car with Ron instead of my wife or even a girlfriend or classy prostitute is proof that I am on the wrong side of the sexual bell curve. It´s a horrible feeling and there is nothing I can do about it. It will never be as good as it was...and it wasn't very good to begin with. And even if it was as good/debauched as Ron´s stories, I will still end up like him, bitter and dejected, hunting for receipts so I can return broken merchandise.
I expressed this in not so many words and Ron says, "Huh?" as though he were not paying attention. Then he gestures his burning cigarette toward some teenage school girls walking in a group on the sidewalk.
"Just the sight of that fresh young pussy gets my dick hard. Man, I'd tear them open. Hey, you speak Spanish. Ask them if they want to make fifty dollars." He slowed down and I hid my face while he yelled, "Fifty dollars! I give you, you show me Pussy!" The girls laughed in oblivion and Ron drove on.
"Just the sight of that fresh young pussy gets my dick hard. Man, I'd tear them open. Hey, you speak Spanish. Ask them if they want to make fifty dollars." He slowed down and I hid my face while he yelled, "Fifty dollars! I give you, you show me Pussy!" The girls laughed in oblivion and Ron drove on.
"By the way," I asked, "Exactly why does a 60 year old woman fuck like a 15 year old boy?"
"Because," said Ron casually with a cigarette drooped over the steering wheel, "as soon as she orgasms she falls asleep...leaving you with a limp dick in your hand. You want to talk about pride? Huh, cowboy? You try beating off in the bathroom because some fat old broad didn´t even wait for you to get off before falling asleep. Pride couldn´t be further from your life at that moment. Uh, where the fuck are we?"
We missed our turn home when he was ogling the school girls and I didn’t say anything. As Ron looked at the strange, dusty Mexican curio shops and cantinas and began to swear desperately and savagely I was thinking about a bird we killed on the way to C.C.C, a sparrow foraging for food in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ron hadn’t even noticed it in front of us but I heard it hit the wheel, one more victim in the life of that DVD player.
Want to read more stories about Ron?
Want to read more stories about Ron?
