3. Prostitute Stories
The night is chilly. So is the beer. We sit in the round aluminum table with a huge umbrella on top. CADA Café is the place to meet and exchange stories and future attack plans on women. The first time I was here, I hated beer. Just swallowing it was a big undertaking. But all my buddies were downing the plastic cold jars and I wasn’t going to send the message that I’m a total introvert and that I’ve never had more than two friends at a time. There are five of us sitting around the wannabe Arthur’s table.
Tonight I’m getting drunk for sure as I try to forget about the horrible taste of the beer that I’m holding and the past few days not talking to Elizabeth and her new boyfriend. My mother was very pissed after the car stealing fiasco. I think more than pissed she was hurt that I had sneaked up on her like this. I had never done something like this in my life. I’m the eldest, so my mother has always thought of me as the leader of my brothers, the one to give the example, the one who has to work the most and discuss the least our parent’s orders.
I came back that day from Elizabeth’s house completely distraught, swearing to hate her for the rest of my life. I parked the car in the garage, got out and slammed the door shut. I went to the backyard of the house and released the lump in my throat I had carried all the way back from her house. The tears flowed freely and my body trembled. I felt stupid and worthless. I didn’t even have the balls to say it to her. Not even when she told me the great news that she had fallen in love with someone else.
“Hey, Julio, drink up man! We’re hitting the whores after this.”
“You know I don’t go for that shit, Barry.”
Barry leads the pack into a funny inquisition on me. “Okay, man. Can you please tell us why the hell not?”
The truth is I’m a virgin. There, I said it. I’m seventeen and a virgin. “Look, I’ve been with prostitutes and it’s not the same as being with a woman you have feelings for.”
“You’re such a pussy!” Barry blurts out laughing
I can feel my head filling up with blood. “Have you ever been with a woman that was not a prostitute?” I glare around the table. “Any of you?”
There’s a silence for a moment. I think I might have gone too far. I stare into space for a second. “Alright, alright, I’m coming with you.”
The boys whoop and laugh, exchanging high fives. My act of courage is followed by a slight dizziness.
I am really going to do this tonight. I have this theory that being a virgin is the main reason why I’m so scared of women. Of course imagining I’m naked and about to have sex with a woman is an easy thing. But the whole process of getting there is what really worries me. I can’t talk to girls. I don’t have a car. I don’t have any money. I’ve never masturbated. I’ve never been in a whore house. I’ve never met a prostitute. I guess sex has been a taboo in my house and for that reason I’ve always evaded the subject. Doing that during your early teens is easy, I would guess only sick people are doing it at that point. But the thing gets dicey when you turn seventeen. You’re expected to have passed the sacred moment of being with a prostitute. In this town, most of the times your own father is the one to lead you to the small back room where you find an older woman naked, ready to introduce you to the wonderful world of sex.
My dad? He would change channels immediately if a kissing scene came about on “Starsky and Hutch”.
We finish the beers and pay. None of us have a car so we all begin our march down the dark town’s streets towards the fun place where women sell themselves. Barry puts his arm around my neck.
“You’re not a virgin are you?”
I put my best performance. “Barry, come on!”
“I’m just asking, man. There’s some weird people out there.”
“The poor bastards.”
We finally arrive to an old two story house. From the outside you wouldn’t think there’s anything going on in there, the only tell tale signs are the hum of a loud salsa song and a huge black man leaning against the door ledge. Barry approaches the man.
“We’re five.”
“You got money?”
Barry chuckles. “Of course, man.”
My legs will give in any second now. Crossing that ledge means leaving behind a part of my life and changing it forever. Do I really want to do this? My brain tells me “you’re doing the wrong thing, Julio, get out now”. Making up an excuse is the easiest thing and in no time I could be on bed, lying on my back, thinking about that bitch Elizabeth and her new boyfriend, Lucas.
