Note to readers: the story items about the Miami Police are a total fabrication, none of those events happened.
Chapter 12: Crossing off the older generation.
November, 2018.
Over time my employer stopped calling every day believing I was going to un-resign and finish the Miami case. I knew I would never be safe in Miami, there was no way I could adequately protect myself or my team. Every time they called I reminded them that all my notes were stored on their server, they had everything I knew in writing (except the understanding that came with doing the interviews myself).
The hard part for them would be finding someone willing to risk his life to learn the case and assume responsibility. And I was confident they would find a smart young Cuban lawyer near Miami willing to take over, and it probably should be staffed by a local crew too. My employer refused to acknowledge that the freaking police threatened to kill me. And even after I notified them in writing twice they still expected us to work inside the Miami city limits! They thought I could be bribed to come back. What's the sense in getting an eighth hundred thousand dollar gift if you're not alive to enjoy it?
When they called I asked them to tell me what steps had been taken to protect us, but they always changed the subject to: I should come back `for the defendants.' That line may have worked in 1942 but it sounds ridiculous today.
During November since I was unemployed I focused on preparing for my sailing trip to California. I moved the departure date two weeks earlier so I'd arrive in LA with a couple weeks to get settled before work started. The new date was Tuesday January 15th. The trip would really be like two consecutive voyages. I felt that way because the entire world was different once you crossed Panama. The culture, the ocean, the weather, tides, language, and people were very different on the Pacific side.
I downloaded the form on pancanal.com (Request for Transit Booking, Canal Authority form # ACP4623) to register to cross the canal. Most of the information they wanted was specs on your boat: depth of the keel, displaced weight, propulsion, width of the boat, number of passengers, their names, nationalities, and cargo info. It seemed to me all they actually needed to know was the size of the boat, depth of the keel, and number of passengers.
Their website had a calculator to estimate the fees to cross via the canal, but what I read people actually paid was much higher than their web page estimated. It would cost about $2,800 to cross, and they might require the use of registered (unionized) rope handlers on my boat while I was inside the locks, they required at least three able bodied people on each boat (one to pilot and two as rope handlers). If you were sailing alone you could rent rope handlers, they climbed on board outside the locks and left while the final gates opened.
All crossing fees had to be paid in cash in advance unless you had an account established. What I heard was the difference between the fee schedule and the actual cost was the money that disappeared into the hands of local politicians. The canal used marine VHF channel 12 on both ends, and your boat was likely to be inspected (for another fee) prior to approaching the locks. They had people available by VHF radio to assist if you ran into problems during your crossing.
They ran twelve hours a day with all canal traffic heading in one direction, then it reversed. Sometimes to clear up a backlog of smaller ships they ran both directions simultaneously. They expected notice of your arrival four days (96 hours or more) prior, and they allowed sailboats two days to cross Panama, but they must maintain 5mph minimum speed at all times (in controlled waterways) under their own power. No open sails were allowed in the locks or the canals.
They even specified the types and dimensions for ropes (length, strength, and thickness), and each one had to have a three foot loop in one end to secure it to the wall of the lock.
On Thursday November 15, I talked to Carlo for a couple hours and invited him over, he said he worked that day and they were going to visit his father that evening.
I asked him how his father was doing and he explained he had good days and bad days, his outbursts were worse sometimes and he had started to spend entire days in bed, unable to speak. He said his eyes looked empty on those days like his soul had left but his body forgot to die. He doubted they would take him to Sunday Mass ever again but his mom always wanted to see if he was up for it. She brought his suit on a hanger every Sunday, just in case. He said their priest had visited his dad several times but stopped after his dad punched him in the face for stealing his girl friend in 7th grade. The priest wasn't even born yet when his dad was in grade school.
I mentioned the voyage to Panama and my new target departure date but he never said anything about it, I told him some of my research. He said they were interviewing for his replacement but not interviewed anyone yet. Whoever they hired would need to have a strong Mexican family culture background personality. The business was a family run operation and they treated all the employees like family, which was what they were looking for in someone to take Carlo's position.
I told him he could call me anytime he wanted, then we got off the phone. On the laptop I opened a new tab for one a gay porn site with live video chat and checked out a few trans guys and found one with a body like Carlo and jerked off while I watched him stroke and troll the viewers for tips. He had a pink tail hanging out his butt, I think it was supposed to vibrate when someone tipped him with their app.
The videos I watched on YouTube about sailing the canal said he heard the form data ended up in the hands of the CIA. They kept a close eye on the canal since it was a major hub through which most of the illegal drugs for North America crossed. Narcotics by the truck load crossed above the Culebra Cut on its way north, and eventually were loaded onto freight trains for a trip to the Texas border. Not only did they watch canal traffic but they also closely watched truck, and car traffic crossing the three bridges that crossed the canal. In the old days the bridges were built into the original locks, but those one lane bridges are gone now so people have to drive to one of the three large bridges over the canal. That's where some of the canal crossing fees went. Two of those bridges were shiny new cable stayed behemoths.
The video I watched said narcotics coming to the USA in powder form had to go by train or truck on land because they could not tolerate the humidity exposure going by boat over the ocean.
For Thanksgiving I had dinner at the Yacht Club bar with my fellow marina rats. They were closed for Thanksgiving, but the holiday meal/party was Wednesday night. The club had a Thanksgiving buffet set up that was quite good. That was my one meal of turkey the year, I am not a huge fan of turkey. I took some extra food home as leftovers. I think they served about 50 people that night, it was catered.
On Thursday and Black Friday it rained and felt cool out, but was still okay for running. I pushed myself hard and ran an extra mile.
On Black Friday (the day after Thanksgiving) afternoon Carlo was supposed to come over, but he called and said his car died and he was waiting for the tow truck.
"What happened?" I asked.
"I was driving along at 72mph, then my car started to slow down and a ton of smoke came out the back and it rolled to a stop, dripping oil and antifreeze on the highway."
"Oh shit that's bad. Where are you? You need to be rescued?"
"Yes, I'm standing on I-275 at 22nd Avenue, southbound, on the shoulder, watch for the oil stain."
"Cool, I'll be right there, I got one quick stop to make on the way. I should be there in half an hour."
"Cool, I'll be here, I ain't going nowhere."
I jumped into action and got in my car and drove to the bank and took out seventy five thousand in cash then raced as fast as I could to the interstate, I got on northbound and went past him to 30th Avenue, got off and right back on the southbound side. As I approached them the tow truck was driving away with his dead car, Carlo stood on the rocks watching his dead car roll away. He looked freaked out, but was glad to be rescued by a familiar face.
I stopped on the shoulder and he climbed in and told me it looked like a cracked block, maybe a busted piston rod, but it sounded like it was dead.
I asked what kind of car he wanted as I punched the gas pedal and merged back into traffic. "Wow, this thing really scoots!" He said when we went from zero to sixty in a few seconds.
"Six cylinder." I reminded him.
"Huh, what kind of car, that's hard to say. I haven't looked at new cars in years, they're not in my budget right now."
I knew there was a GM-Chevy dealer over on 14th Avenue so I drove there and parked by the showroom and we got out and went inside. Two sales babes with obvious breast implants and short skirts swarmed him and when one of them approached me I pointed to Carlo and said he was the customer, I was the driver. They got us both bottles of water. Carlo was smiling a lot talking to the new-car babes.
The one woman told him to ignore the sticker price and they could finance or do a lease any vehicle with very little down. He smiled and walked towards the SUVs. Carlo got inside a 2019 Chevy Equinox and after a few minutes he said he'd like to test drive one, so they arranged that.
While they were gone driving on the interstate I talked to the sales manager and told him I was ready to pay cash for a car today, it was a gift and Carlo did not know yet.
We discussed price, incentives, factory warranty, and we looked at one with a deluxe interior package and also talked about insurance, then we agreed on a price. I got nine thousand off the price and handed him cash and told him we were in a hurry, the car was to be registered to Carlos Silva.
Twenty minutes later they returned from the test drive. By then they parked the more expensive model beside my Toyota, outside the showroom door. I told Carlo to go drive the other one, so they did.
He came back fifteen minutes later smiling and told me it probably cost as much as his parents doublewide and the property too. I asked him for his driver's license and current insurance card, and told him to go check the cargo space and the back seat, pop the hood and look at the motor and the list of included options on the window sticker. While he was busy I gave his cards to the sales manager.
Twenty minutes later I asked Carlo if he liked it and he said, `yes, but it's a rolling palace,' he probably couldn't even afford the insurance premiums. I asked him if it looked big enough to fuck in the back seat, he laughed and said definitely yes!
We sat at a table, the sales manager had him sign several papers. But Carlo sort of didn't understand what was going on, the idea that he was looking at cars but somehow it wasn't going to cost him anything never clicked in his brain. But I kept re-directing his attention back to where to sign to rush him through the process. I waved my hand in front of his face then tapped the place to sign for the license plate and registration forms, sign here.' Eventually he got all the stuff signed and initialed. When it came to the initial here' that you are refusing the extended coverage and paint protection I just slid it back and said no thank you. The sales manager said the car was ready, they nearly sold it yesterday but the customer picked the less expensive model. He slid Carlo the keys and shook his hand. There was a guy outside putting on the temporary plate and an office girl (no fake breasts) handed him his license and insurance card back, and handed me a receipt for the cash.
As the sun was setting as we left the dealer for my apartment, but he had to park on the street. He jogged across during a break in traffic, we went inside and waited for an elevator.
In the elevator we started to talk.
"What just happened?"
"I got you the car you needed right away."
"Holy fuck, I can't accept something like that! How much did you spend?"
"Carlo it sounds like your car's dead. You gonna ride the bus or a skateboard from now on?"
"I still owe on the Impala."
I told him to take a good cell camera photo of his next statement and email it to me right away, make sure I can read every digit in the image. He leaned back against the wall of the elevator and closed his eyes.
The door opened and we went down to my door. He walked directly to the patio door and stepped outside and stared down at the roof of his new car. I walked up behind him and rubbed his shoulders. Moments later, staring off towards the harbor he told me he loved me, and thanked me for rescuing him.
I leaned forward and whispered "Can you make me some milk?" Carlo glanced over his shoulder at me and mumbled, "I'm a twenty eight year, of course I can! All day -- every day!" We both chuckled and I hugged him from behind, kissed the back of his neck, and pressed my nose into his hair and inhaled.
We turned around and went inside. He stopped by my bed and pulled off his shirt, then his shorts. He climbed into bed and slipped down his underwear and spread his legs wide and stared at the ceiling, then he watched me undress as he wiggled his limp dick to start the wake-up cycle.
I took off mine and crawled on top of him and we kissed for a while. I felt him getting hard between our bellies.
He reached down to work his dick while I got up on my hands and knees and licked his tits, then his belly button, then down to his dick. As always, it fit neatly inside my mouth, my nose pressed into his soft smooth belly. He moaned, I wished I could purr. With his dick all the way inside my mouth I could rub my face side to side on his lower belly, which was something I really liked doing because his flesh was very soft.
It didn't take long until he came, I swallowed most of it but some leaked out around my lips and puddled in his short pubes.
Something we've only done once before, he climbed over me, reached behind him and directed mine inside him and rode on top until I came inside him. I played with his tits the entire time he rode, with his half hard dick bouncing around between us.
After sex we showered together and for the first time he actually lowered the seat and used the toilet while I was in the room.
After that we left in his new SUV and drove to a hotel on the coast for a late dinner then went back to my place. He said he could spend the night. So he made a tall cocktail in a glass while I turned on a Buster Keaton movie on TCM, called The General. We drank and watched this silent movie era comedy and laughed. Carlo leaned against me and told me again that he loved me, I told him I loved him too.
That was the first time we clearly said it out loud to each other.
We spooned in bed that night with my face against his shoulder, my arm across his chest.
The next morning at Waffle House he said he was going to sell his car as junk. He might get $100 for it. I asked what year it was and he said 2012 but he'd only had it two years. Thinking it could be worth a bit more than $100 I asked him what condition the tires were in. He looked at me, smiled and with a chuckle called me an asshole, we both laughed. But I said it knowing that in any neighborhood the house most likely to have a leaky faucet in the kitchen was where the plumber lived.
I reminded him to photo and email me his next payment statement, both sides. He asked about insurance and I told him I pre-paid twelve months of full coverage with Allstate. He asked how much all that cost and I told him it was $59,800 and came without any strings. It was a gift not an obligation.
Carlo mumbled to me that he'd like to crawl across the table right then, but I told him, "Down boy, eat your breakfast."
He gave me a weird look then went back to smiling, and said he'd need to leave around lunch time because he had stuff to do at home for his mom. After eating we walked back to my little condo and he said the place looked empty. I told him I hadn't been there in weeks because of the shit I did in Miami. I told him we'd probably never meet here again, it was up for sale and the furniture goes back next week.
"Back?" He asked.
"Yep, back. All this furniture is rented." I told him but he looked surprised thinking only poor people did that.
He said, "What about all your stuff?"
"My Rav4 is pretty small, its gonna take a while to get everything moved."
"Let's use my car."Carlo offered, I agreed. We got up and started moving stuff to the floor by the door. I had a bunch of empty grocery bags in a holder on the side of the refrigerator, we used them in place of boxes and emptied my dresser drawers, the bathroom, and packed all my clothes from the closet. He bagged everything from the kitchen along with the video projector and DVR. Then he slid the stacks of cases of wine out of the closet and set them by the door too. We moved everything to the elevator door and once it was all in the hallway we slid everything into the elevator and rode down to the garage. He went outside and drove his car over and we spent the next fifteen minutes carrying my stuff from the elevator to his car. I rode back upstairs and pulled all the stuff off the mattress, which left the toilet paper as the only thing left in the apartment (and the furniture which was leased). We drove to the marina, I got out the folding cart from my car.
On our first load as we stepped onto Pier-K I we saw a man stepping off the back of Susan, he looked at us and slipped on his cap and pulled the brim down.
"You see that?" Carlo mumbled as we neared him.
"Don't let him get away." I whispered.
"Say there, what you doing on that boat?" We stood on the pier blocking his path and it was two against one.
"My hat blew off and landed on that boat."
Carlo raised his arm and pointed down at Susan, "The cabin door's wide open." I pulled out my phone and stepped back and started to take his photo, but the guy (Hispanic looking middle aged guy) took a swing at Carlo, but he ducked. I dropped my cell on the pier and lunged at him, Carlo also dove forward and tackled him on the pier and started a fight.
The guy punched the side of my head and knocked me off the pier into the water, but Carlo wouldn't let go. The guy almost got away but Carlo grabbed him around the neck and pulled him backwards onto the pier as I struggled to climb out of the water.
The guy reached under his shirt and pulled out a pistol and tried to shoot, but when I saw it emerge I reached down to wrestle it from his grip. At first I couldn't get a good grip on it then I used both hands to peel one of his fingers backward, the guy screamed as I felt the finger pop out of joint but the pistol fell to the pier and slid off into the water.
Then Carlo got into a better position and started punching his face, I don't think he ever saw the gun.
I watched as Carlo almost went crazy and smacked his face over and over and over. I looked down at his foot and ankle and jumped up in the air and landed with both feet on the joint, probably breaking a couple bones. For now, he wasn't going anywhere unless it was hopping on one foot. A couple other people from Pier K walked up when they heard the noise, I shouted that we needed a bright flashlight. When I stomped his ankle I fell over and landed on the pier and got to my feet then reached a hand out to Carlo.
The guy on the pier moaned and rolled on his side, I picked up my phone and got close enough to get a decent photo of his bloodied face, then called 911. I pulled Carlo to his feet and we stood beside him to make sure he didn't produce another weapon.
Carlo stepped over where I climbed out of the water and was watching down Pier-K as one of the other owners ran back with a big flashlight in hand. The guy shone it at the sandy bottom, we could clearly see it on the sane, I told Carlo it was about nine feet deep, same as the Yacht Club pool. He looked at me, smiled and handed me his cell and car keys and stepped off the pier into the water and disappeared. I saw his feet kick as he swam down to recover the pistol from the sandy bottom.
I saw Carlo under water as he spun around and kicked off the bottom with his arm held up above his head.
Fifteen seconds after he jumped off the pier a cloud of bubbles broke the surface then a hand emerged holding a pistol, then his smiling face popped up and I reached out to take the pistol and then pulled him back onto the pier. Carlo looked super proud with huge smile on his face as he panted and tried to catch his breath.
"Good job sailor!" I whispered and patted his wet back.
In ten minutes the cops arrived on the Yacht Club employee golf cart and handcuffed the guy moaning in agony on the pier. One of the cops called for an ambulance, the guy's right ankle was badly deformed, his nose probably broken, and one finger was dislocated. We told them what happened and they decided to carefully inspect my boat. The cabin door still stood wide open.
Moments after they entered the cops raced out and called for the bomb unit, they'd found a device on the cabin floor. It appeared he was trying to install it to explode when the cabin door opened but we got there at just the right time. All of us had to move back away from the boats.
While the cop show was going on the guy that brought the flashlight said he had painter's overalls, Carlo was welcome to use them. A few minutes later he returned with a towel and overalls. There in the dark on the seawall I got Carlo undressed, dried, and into overalls. I was going to kid him about how he looked but decided not to. He seemed to be unaware how much he was trembling in his wet clothes.
Within an hour the device was disarmed and removed and the perp was long gone in handcuffs to the hospital facing several felony charges, his ankle and nasal bones needed surgery, maybe a finger too.
After all the commotion and the bomb sniffing dog was gone I took our clothes to the laundromat. Then we sat inside Susan with the detective and finished writing our statements and carried the rest of my stuff from his car (and some things from my car too).
Carlo carried two cases of wine, one on each shoulder. It took three trips to finish. On the first trip after the cops left I dropped the teller envelope on the front seat floor of his car but never said anything (he already knew why the money was wet). After moving my apartment stuff I ran to the laundromat and removed our clothes from the dryer. Back on Susan Carlo acted like he was ready to leave but I grabbed his arm and pulled him to the sofa and dropped his shorts and blew him again, but he couldn't get hard. I licked other parts of his body then we left.
During our walk to the club he told me I sure knew how to show a guy a good time. I patted him on the shoulder and thanked him for the Indiana Jones movie quote and walked beside him to his car, still parked along the street. The envelope I dropped in his car had over fifteen thousand in it, which would surely help him and his mother. Because of our agreement about doing gay stuff in public we shook hands and he started the engine. As he put it into drive he looked at the speedometer and with a smile he said, "It's almost got forty miles on it now!" I told him he looked good in it.
After he drove off I took a shower in the pay bathroom then went home. It felt weird being on Susan after all those cops were inside it today. My bed sheets even had paw impressions from the bomb sniffing dog they brought over to check the entire boat and in the bilge too. I wondered how long it would be until my enemies in Miami tried again.
One hour later I got a phone call from an older woman, at first I had no idea who she was, but with her accent and a few things she said I figured out it was Carlo's mother. She was sobbing and thanking me in her squeaky voice that was nearly impossible to understand. I just said `you're welcome' over and over, then I said it in Spanish.
Carlo told me the next day they used the cash to buy cemetery plots for his parents and a granite headstone too, paid in full and still had cash left over. He also told me they've interviewed two men to take his place at the business and had three more interviews on the calendar.
We got together that weekend (at the yacht club bar) but only for a couple hours that afternoon, his mom made plans for them to spend the evening at a church party for the seniors. His father was still the primary thing on his mind. We sat at a small round table along the wall and talked. With elbows on the table, four glasses of beer, and a bowl of pretzels I got the updates from him, but I wished we'd been in bed with him safely inserted inside my mouth.
"So how's your dad?" I asked him.
"Uhhhh bad. He's barely eating and losing weight. His behavior is calmer but he's spending more and more time like a zombie. I've seen it, even when I got on my knees and looked in his eyes it's like he can't see or hear. He's like that most of the day. They roll him over and sit him upright and feed him with a spoon like a baby, but sometimes he hits the dietitian. When he does that he's done for the day. The good part is when he gets fed by spoon they can crush his daily pills into powder and put them in apple sauce so he's taking anti-psychotic meds now and that's why he's better behaved."
"When he hits staff they switch over to a pair of big dudes that take care of him for the rest of the day and they don't mess around. Dad never hits them because they're huge guys with big arms and big voices. Sometimes they loosely tie a bed sheet around him then they spoon feed him but he only takes a little food before he stops eating. I think his sense of hunger stopped working too. Mom thinks he had a stroke."
"Last weekend when Mom and I went to see him he was wide awake but didn't recognize us. He talked about playing baseball like it was yesterday. But I bet what he's remembering never really happened. All he could talk about was baseball and girls. Mom cried it hurt her feelings so bad. He looked drunk."
"So, to answer your question, my father has left the building, his body is still alive but his entire life is gone. I almost wish he would just die and get it over. But at the rate he's losing weight he won't last long, they said he was down to 96 pounds. We signed the papers so if he stopped breathing or got sick he'd be allowed to die naturally. They wanted to do a scan of his brain but Mom said no, and asked what good that would do?"
"Wow, that's freaky. Stuff like that scares me," I admitted.
"Yeah, me and Mom too. And what you said is correct, he's fading lots faster than the doctor said. They said he'd last one to two years but it's only been four months."
"How's she doing?" I asked about his mother.
"Better, she's smiling more and doing stuff with her church friends. There's a group of neighborhood ladies that walk two miles every morning before the sun gets hot. I hate to admit it but Dad leaving really improved things."
We paused our conversation for several seconds then I asked the big question: "Any luck finding someone to take your place?"
Carlo's face suddenly lit up and he smiled and said, "Yes! We hired a guy with management experience, he ran a tire store in South Carolina until his wife left with another woman." We both smiled at each other when he said that.
"Holy smokes, so how long until you know if he's the one?"
"Probably January, `til then he's assistant manager but he installs tires in the mean time. It's actually not a hard job, but its dirty work, dirty and loud. We get our share of small injuries."
I started to tell him about my official departure from the law firm but he interrupted me, "Oh that reminds me, Mom heard from my uncle in Cozumel, he'd love to see me. I wrote him back and said I might sail across the Gulf and come see him with a friend that has a nice sailboat. We exchanged photos and letters."
"That's cool. So he's active and healthy and stuff?"
"Oh yeah, he'll probably live to be a hundred years old."
We both laughed. "What's his name again?" I asked just to see if he was kidding.
"Miguel Octavio Silva, he turned eighty last week. He is one of the best known citizens on Cozumel."
"English and Spanish?"
"Yes, since he was a baby. He was actually born on Cozumel in his parent's palm leaf hut on the beach, probably caught his first fish before he could go all night without peeing a diaper. Mom said Tio's first word was Fish, or maybe it was Pescado."
That, I did not believe, but whatever. We talked for another hour then after a loving embrace he left. As we walked out to the parking lot he told me about the old ladies party at the church tonight he had to attend with his mother in nice clothes and a tie.
As he walked across the street I shouted to him to have his mom take his picture, I'd never seen him in a tie before. He reached up and flipped me off over his shoulder, I laughed.
Two days later he emailed me a good photo of the monthly invoice for his dead Chevy Impala, I called their 800 number and paid the balance, but I had to lie and say I was his father. I never told him I did that but he'd find out soon enough. They wouldn't let me use a credit card (because of the name mismatch) so I had to pay it off with a PayPal transfer, but it was only like $1,600 left on it. I think Carlo was paying high-risk interest rates on that car, I'd like to know why.
The Wednesday after Thanksgiving I got the call I dreaded, it rang at 6am from the nursing home in Tallahassee, my mother died overnight, the funeral home would be there in a couple hours. There was nobody else to call that I knew of. The funeral director handled everything, even the newspaper listing. I needed the death certificate, she said it would be listed as natural causes. Then I overnighted the certificate to her lawyer to settle her affairs and fedex me a certified check. That would probably happen just after January 1st. I knew Carlo would soon face the same situation so I did not tell him my mother just died.
On December 7th he called and said his father died, his heart got too weak and his weight was down to 86 pounds. He weighed 162 pounds when he arrived at the nursing home. We talked on the phone for a long time, which was nice. He told me a lot about his father's life then abruptly changed the subject.
He said he's been personally training his replacement and his mom decided to split the week between the two of them so they both had days off, each working three days in a row then had four days off. They were teaching him the business end of the company, ordering, repair services, customer complaints, tire machine problems, and everything Carlo was able to slowly learn over time.
He said they mailed a cell phone with six month pre-paid card to his uncle Miguel and now they're able to talk on the phone, he said Miguel's voice sounded just like his father years ago.
Carlo told me his uncle invited him to visit or stay on Cozumel and he'd teach him to fix outboard boat motors. Then he clarified that Miguel was his father's cousin and they spent summers together when they were kids almost every year.
The comments he made about his uncle gave me a pain in my chest I could only describe as a sense of fear, that it could be the end of us, he might choose family over me. Considering how he was raised that would not be a surprise. Carlo feared his father but also admired him and wanted to be like the mental image he had of him from his childhood. But Uncle Miguel never experienced the disappointment like his parents when they figured out Carlo was gay, he suspected his mother already told Miguel. Living his entire life on Cozumel his uncle surely had been around gays for nearly 80 years now. Wealthy gays from around the world have been vacationing on Cozumel for over 100 years.
After we got off the phone I had to think about if I was going to give him cash for Christmas like I sort of already asked. But after hearing him go on and on about Uncle Miguel this, Uncle Miguel that... I started to wonder if this was the beginning of the end of us. Blood truly runs thicker than water. I decided to hand him a Christmas card without money, I'm not supposed to have his address.
We never really had much time together during December, our meetings were usually in public, he always had an excuse not to spend the night, even with four days off a week.
I invited him over for New Years Eve but he said he was going to a church party with his mom and the huge number of elderly Mexicans at the Catholic Church they attended. He also said the New Year's Eve party at the church usually had spiked punch for the old ladies and a huge glass bowl of Hawaiian Punch for everyone else.
I was going to ask him what he was doing with his time off but decided that might upset him so I didn't ask. I suspected he spent time at the tire store every day just in case they needed help.
December 31st 2018
I was invited next door to the Peterson's party boat next door for New Year's Eve, they invited a smaller-quieter crowd and hired a catering service. I gladly accepted their offer and had a great time. I'm sure they noticed I wasn't leaving for work in identical suits every day like before but they never asked so I never explained.
At their party an older woman flirted with me, which I thought was funny. They had the best dinner buffet catering service I've seen in my life. The invited guests totaled eleven, plus them made thirteen and me made fourteen. Nobody was drunk or too frail to walk around without help.
Everyone needed help with their food. Their ladder took two hands to use. I sat by the ladder and held plates as their guests climbed back on board since the food service was on the pier and not the back deck. In doing so I noticed I was taller than all their guest by at least two inches.
They had a rental porta-potty (what the marina called their Party-Potty service) set on the pier near a twelve foot long catering service set-up with such favorites as prime rib, smoked pork ribs, spaghetti and meat balls, baked salmon, fried cod, and about every steamed vegetable you could name. All of them were in brass serving trays with candles to keep them hot. They had 1940s era big band music playing (Kay Kyser with Ish Kabibble) and a full (free) bar inside the cabin, the bartender was with the caterer. They had the neatest little folding bar that reminded me of the back street tiny pocket bars in downtown Tokyo, but he had everything except the means to frost or clean glasses. They served drinks in nice Crystal plastic highball glasses.
They had all the lights on and the AC running in the cabin with the door and hatches wide open. It was actually a very nice looking boat, very modern looking and comfortable. The boat really looked wealthy and sophisticated, so did most of the guests. Sandra forgot to introduce me so I was left alone to eat and drink and watch everyone else get drunk. I think most of the guests were former coworkers of his.
I had two slices of medium rare prime rib, mashed potato, a mix of different veggies, and a very tall glass of Miller Lite. It was served on white plastic plate with steel flatware. I sat in the cabin on their folding sofa and ate (the plate on a small tray on my knees, the glass on the floor between my feet) and kept an eye on the bartender. It was the only spot I could find where there was no room beside me for that lady to sit next to me and talk about her money and needing a boyfriend to kiss.
The bartender was a young Hispanic man, maybe my age, slender and very attractive but he wore a formal barkeep uniform so there was no exposed flesh, I watched his white shirt for signs of titties or a large belly button. After I emptied my plate I went back to the pier to get a refill from the steamed veggie pans. Back at their cabin door I saw my seat was taken so I went along the gangway and sat alone on the bow and watched the lights around the harbor and ate my veggies with my fingers. Midnight arrived with great fanfare.
`Hooray! Happy 2019!' everyone shouted at midnight.
Several people around the area shot off fireworks, it was also the first time I got a look at Susan from another boat. While I sat alone on the bow I noticed I could see inside the front cabin windows and the shape of the bartender's butt, which looked very nice. His black hair was thick and luscious, but he was way too thin.
I got to thinking about me and Carlo and decided we were probably over, but I had no idea what I did wrong, except being myself. I can be hard to take sometimes if I got stuck repeating things or talking about stuff. But I honestly felt our biggest problem was cultural, he felt some real guilt about leaving his family and his culture. I think there was no amount of money I could flash in front of him that would win that contest. Inside, Carlo was a very traditional Mexican boy. I don't think he was aware of how much that affected his mind, he talked as if he was a Mexican by name only.
Luckily, over our months together I was able to take lots of photos of his body so I had something to jerk off to. For me his body was like the fulfillment of a lifelong sexual fantasy, my deepest and most secret desires manifest in one guy.
But the best wild card I still had was I knew exactly how to make him orgasm and I could offer him a king's future. With almost anyone else he'd be a wage slave for the rest of his life. I believed he was sincere when he told me he loved me but inside the conflict between cultures never went away.
My family history was Dutch, but I never once felt any cultural leanings because of it, I was (fifth generation) 100% American. Any remaining cultural remnants were buried with my grandparents. That made it hard for me to understand how Carlo felt, but he was born in Mexico and raised in a Texas border town.
Contact the author: borischenaz gmail