Liquor in Front, Poker in the Rear

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How I found my first love at the Apache

As a lifelong resident of Central Texas, I have driven Interstate 35 between Austin and San Antonio more times than I can imagine. And even though Cheryl and I have been happily married for over thirty years now, I still get a tinge of nostalgia every time I pass a particular spot where the freeway takes a slight dip and passes over a small creek.

If you’re heading toward San Antonio and happen to glance right just before crossing that particular creek, you’ll see an old, dilapidated stucco building with an even older two-story frame farmhouse attached to the back. The building has been abandoned now for more than twenty years, but a keen eye can still make out the words “The Apache” that are still barely visible in faded red letters against a rapidly graying stucco wall.

The creek serves as the county line between Hays County to the north and Comal County to the south. As the story goes, after prohibition, Comal County (Lutheran/Catholic) went wet, and Hays (Southern Baptist) remained dry. And as it happened all over the South in those days, enterprising farmers that happened to have owned land on these boundaries of morality became the proprietors of mom and pop liquor stores and roadside taverns. In Texas, these were generally known as Roadhouses or Ice Houses, and the Apache was the one of my youth.

I grew up in a middle-class neighborhood of Northwestern San Antonio, and as a high school senior, I considered myself a somewhat regular guy. I made better than average grades, I was reasonably buff, I played varsity football, and I had a pretty cool car. But despite all of these attributes, something was tragically missing in my life — I had passed my eighteenth birthday and yet I’d still never been laid. Oh, I tried; I dated cheerleaders, honors chicks, band geeks, and even the girl next door and yet nothing. Yeah, I got to second base a couple of times, but I never got my finger wet, not even once. And as for getting my dick wet, well forget it. My balls were bluer than a Smurf, and I was hornier than a herd of Texas longhorns.

I’d heard rumors that the Apache was more than just an icehouse ever since I was old enough to jack-off — in other words, liquor in the front, ‘poke her’ in the rear. Now, this wasn’t the famous ‘Best Little Whore House in Texas,’ that was in La Grange about eighty miles northeast. So, it was much closer to home, and the thought of what went on in there always intrigued me. And as my ‘personal problem’ got worse and worse (harder and harder, you might say), I frequently considered a quick knock on the Apache’s back door. Now it wasn’t love or romance I was looking for, it was sex. It was that first piece of ass, just enough to break this dry spell I was stuck in and put an end to this horrible mental stigma of being a virgin. I was totally convinced that if I could just get laid once, even if I had to pay for it, the rest would come easy.

The problem, however, was twofold. First, the place was actually a bar, and though I was now eighteen years old, I was nowhere near the legal drinking age. And secondly, I didn’t know anyone who had actually ever been there. It’s possible, of course, that the whore house aspect of the place was just an urban myth, and since I had no idea what the cost might be, or how skanky the girls might be, it was always just enough to keep me away.

But that wasn’t true for Nuevo Laredo. The stories of Chiquitas for rent just across the border were so well known that they were more than just legendary, they were a rite of passage for many a young man in South Texas. Many of my friends got their first piece of ass down there; my coach freely admits he got his there as a young man, and I’m pretty sure my Dad got his first taste of the hedonistic arts just several hundred yards south of the Rio Grande as well. I know my uncle did, or at least he has always claimed he did ever since I was old enough to understand that boys’ and girls’ body parts below their underwear were different for a reason and not just a biological accident.

By mid-October, our football team had yet to lose a game and to tell the truth, we were all feeling pretty God damn invincible. Testosterone was flowing like beer at a frat party, and I for one, never felt manlier — except for that one major shortcoming. I still had yet to get laid, to get some stink-um on the dink-um as they would say in the locker room.

My best friend, Brian, was pretty much in the same state of affairs I was in. And though he swore he had gotten to third base a couple of times, Brian admitted he’d never gotten his wick wet. And to be honest, I’m not even sure he’d ever made it to third base, just so much male bravado if you ask me.

So, after our high school won the district championship, the two of us decided it was time to celebrate. The next weekend our team had a bye before the first playoff game, so we made plans for a quick run to the border. We used that expression bonus veren siteler long before Taco Bell. I had a car and enough money for gas and Brian had $40, which he said was plenty for both of us to get laid. I honestly had no idea, but he’d apparently been researching the subject, and he was convinced we’d be good.

Saturday morning, I picked Brian up a little before seven. He was obviously ready to go as he was standing on the curb as I turned down his street. It is only a three-hour drive to Laredo, and by the time we found a parking lot on the Texas side, paid a dime to cross the international bridge and walked the short six blocks to the Cadillac Bar, it was already eleven o’clock. Now I don’t know if this was ‘the’ Cadillac Bar, as I think every border town has one, but it was Nuevo Laredo’s Cadillac Bar, and that’s all that mattered.

We were coached by several of the guy’s back in the locker room before we left. They all agreed that we’d just needed to sit down at a table or stand at the bar and order a beer. The girls would all be at the back of the room, and if you wanted company, all you had to do was to make eye contact with one of them, and she would be right over. The general consensus was, she would ask you if you wanted any company, you’d say ‘sure,’ and then you’d offer to buy her a drink. She would probably decline the drink, but then she’d say something like, “you boys are so handsome, you’re making me horny.” And then you’d discuss a price and off you’d go. It seemed simple enough — even a virgin high school kid could do that.

As I said, the bar is about six blocks south of the river and then maybe one or two blocks east. It is still in the tourist shopping district, so not really that bad of a neighborhood. The building is your typical white stucco with numerous red brick arches along both the front and side streets. The sidewalk was only about three feet wide, so when you stepped from the street and through one of these arches — you were inside the bar which is open to all the bugs, sights, and smells of a typical Mexican border town.

Walking in from the bright sun, it took a minute for our eyes to adjust to the dim light. Inside the bar was basically unlit except for the ambient light from the street and a few neon beer advertisements that hung behind the bar. A stand-up bar ran the length of the back wall, where a couple of locals were standing drinking beer. They glanced over at us as we walked in, but quickly returned to their conversation without any other recognition of our presents.

The rest of the room was crowded with square metal tables, each with an ad for a Mexican beer emblazoned in fading enamel. The border-town décor was accented with three or four vinyl-covered chairs on rusting chrome legs surrounding each table. Other than the two or three Mexicans standing at the bar, there were no other customers in the place, so we picked a table in the center of the room and sat down. Almost immediately, the bartender stepped from behind the bar and walked up to our table.

I guess he knew we were Gringos (doh) as he asked in near-perfect English, “What can I get you boys?”

Being under the legal drinking age in Texas, it always felt weird asking for a beer, and him calling us boys didn’t help either. But Brian quickly responded, “How about a couple of Corona’s.”

To which the bartender said, “Sure,” without batting an eye.

As he turned to head back to the bar, I said, “Hey, is it too early for lunch?” We hadn’t had breakfast and I was starving.

“No problem señor, what can I bring you?” he responded.

“Cheeseburger,” I said, not really knowing what else was safe to order in a place like this?

“Two?’ he held up two fingers.

“Sí, dos cheeseburgers,” I quickly responded in my best fractured Spanish and a big smile. I was trying so hard to be cool, but in reality, I was about to pee my pants.

As we gobbled down our cheeseburgers and swilled the mildly cold beers, we both kept an eye on the table back in the corner. There was female activity back there. The girls would come out from a backroom, get a beer, maybe stand, and talk for a moment, before returning to the backroom. They never sat down, and as far as I could tell, never tried to make eye contact with us.

Just as our greasy but otherwise empty plates were being cleared away and the bartender brought us two fresh beers, a young Mexican woman was suddenly standing at our table. Our eyes certainly did meet then as we had not seen her approaching — she was just suddenly there, standing in front of us.

“Would you boys like some company?” She asked in a heavy Mexican accent.

“Sure,” I said, almost choking on my fresh beer. Brian jumped out of his chair and tried to help her into an adjoining one. But apparently, she didn’t need any help as she was already settled in by the time Brian got his feet untangled and was fully able to stand. It was, of course, the bedava bahis thought that counted, so I assume he got some credit for that.

She was probably in her late twenties, five foot nothing, and perhaps a little on the heavy side for American tastes, but pretty typical for the Mexican girls. She had huge boobs, in fact maybe the biggest I’d ever seen in real life. She was wearing a black skirt and a white peasant blouse that was perhaps two sizes too small as it was barely able to hold in the mother lode just beneath that handmade lace.

There was an awkward moment of silence as Brian, and I tried to remember our lines and to get focused on something besides that Grand Canyon of brown cleavage. “Hi, I’m Brian, and this is Thom,” my horny companion finally stuttered as he stuck out his hand to shake hers.

“I’m Maria,” she said as she reached for Brian’s hand. “And you are Thomas,” she said, letting go of Brian’s hand and reaching for mine.

I don’t usually go by Thomas, but I didn’t correct her as I reached for and gently shook her hand. “Can we buy you a beer?” I asked.

“No,” she said. And after a short pause followed with, “You boys are so handsome, you make me so horny.”

We both started to laugh as we had apparently been given the correct script, word for word. We glanced at each other, and I wondered how many of our classmates had already fucked this chick.

Brian again took the lead and said, “Well, you’re pretty hot yourself, and you certainly make me horny.”

Without another word, she gets up and starts to walk to the back of the room. After a few steps, she turns to make sure we’re following her. We were both standing at that point but had not taken a step yet. We looked at her, then each other. “Both of us,” Brian asked.

“Sí, both of you,” she said as she motioned let’s go, let’s go.

Maria grabbed both our hands and with a beer in one hand and hers in the other we were led like lambs to the slaughter. She leads us down a dingy hallway to a room marked with a rooster painted on the door. Inside was a single bed against the wall, a bedside table with various lubricants and powders, as well as a small basket of condoms. On the opposite wall was a low chest of drawers with a lamp on it and a single wooden chair. The lamp had a thin red neckerchief hung over the shade, giving the room an eerie reddish glow.

As soon as the door was closed behind us, she turned and looking us both in the eyes asked, “Fuckie?”

“How much,” Brian quickly asked with a smile?

“One hundred doll’r” she blurted out.

“Wow,” Brian said with a surprised shock in his voice; “Is that for both of us?”

“Sí — yes, that is for both of you. Fifty dollar each,” Maria said, probably back peddling a bit.

“Well, we don’t have that much money.” Brian objected. And after an awkward pause added, “We only have $40.”

“No fuckee for $40,” she quickly protested.

That was way more than Brian and I had expected, and this chick was certainly no fashion model. I tugged on Brian’s sleeve, suggesting we depart, but in the true spirit of the border-town trade, Brian was prepared to bargain. “So, how much for a blow job?” he asked.

“Forty doll’r,” she offered, with a ‘let’s-make-a-deal’ smile.

“Forty dollars for both of us?” Brian said. “That’s $20 each — right?”

“Sí, yes $20 each, I give you a very good suckee,” she said with a tone of lament but still managing a friendly if not forced smile.

“Alright,” Brian said as he pulled a wadded $20 bill from his front pocket and handed it to her. He was clearly hornier than me as I was still a little uncomfortable about the whole thing, but apparently not him. As I took a seat in the wooden chair across from the bed, he kicked off his shoes, pulled his shirt off over his head and started unbuckling his belt.

Maria stuffed the crumbled bill into a small purse and placed it in a drawer of the bedside table. She then pulled her blouse off over her head, revealing a dingy white bra that struggled to hold back those massive chalupas of hers. Maria waited until he dropped his pants before reaching behind her back to let those brown jugs of hers go free. She never did drop her skirt but motioned for Brian to sit on the bed, where she then pulled his jeans off over his socks.

As Brian swung his legs over into the center of the bed, Maria sat on the edge and then bending over him began dragging her massive boobs back and forth across his quickly hardening pecker. I just sat there in silence, watching this surreal scene unfolding before my eyes. I’d known Brian since fifth grade and I’d certainly seen his dick before — in the locker room at school, peeing in the woods together on hunting trips, etc., but never with a hard-on and certainly never under circumstances like this. On the one hand, this whole scene was sexy as hell, but on the other hand, it was totally revolting, and I guess my brain was swirling with every possible deneme bonus emotion in between.

Maria pushed one of his legs to the floor and then repositioned herself on the bed between his legs. She was partially blocking my view, but I could still tell she place one hand low on his dick and braced herself on the bed with the other. She then lowered her head over his erect staff, and I watched in amazement as it disappeared between her ruby red lips.

Brian gasped as her mouth closed around his woody and her head started bobbing up and down. He first put his hands behind his head but soon moved them to her back, giving her sort of a mini-massage. I could tell Brian wasn’t going to last long, and of course, he didn’t. It was probably less than ninety seconds before his breath quicken, his eyes rolled back in his head, his face turned red, and I knew he was just seconds away from blowing his load.

As his moment of fulfillment came, he let out a cry of ecstasy. Maria quickly raised her head and jacked him off the rest of the way. He must have loved it, as he gasped for breath over and over like a drowning sailor pulled from the frothy brine just in the nick of time. But I figured he was okay as he began running his hands back and forth across her dangling hangers, with a smile as big as Dallas rapidly spreading across his face.

Once he was finally able to breathe normally again, she reached under the bed and pulled out a roll of paper towels. Jeez, paper towels, but I guess it’s better than a dirty old rag. She first spit into a wadded towel before wiping her mouth with it. She then used the same wad of towels to wipe Brian’s quickly softening pecker and stomach.

“There you go Mister — you had a big load, didn’t you?” she said in broken English as she dapped the last bit of cum and spit from his body.

She then turned to me and said, “Okay Mister, you next.” She had obviously forgotten both of our names.

I just stared at her and slowly rose to my feet. “No — no, I think I’ll pass,” I stammered.

“Oh, come on Mister, he liked it,” she said as she glanced over at Brian, who was still breathing pretty hard and was just trying to find his clothes.

“Come on man,” Brian said. “It was good, you’ll like it.”

If I had dropped my drawers, my dick probably would have looked like a mushroom, and I knew there was no way I was going to get it hard. I was glad Brian had a good time, but I was still in shock from watching the whole thing. And besides, this Chiquita gave me the creeps. She made a big pouty face as she realized she had just lost out on twenty dollars, and I began to wonder if there was some big Vato out there in the hallway waiting for me.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out five bucks and stuck it in her hand. “Oh no,” I said, looking her in the face but trying not to make eye contact. “You’re fine. I’m just not horny — not feeling good — maybe too much beer — cerveza.”

I held my stomach like I wasn’t feeling well. Maria looked at the five dollars and looked back at me, but I’d already opened the door and was trying to hustle Brian out of the room.

“Come on man,” I said as I grabbed Brian’s jacket. He followed me, limping, and shuffling as he tried to get his pants buttoned and shoes on at the same time.

On the drive back to San Antonio, we didn’t speak much for the first hour or so, and when we did start talking, it wasn’t about our recent experience. I guess Brian realized I was somewhat freaked out by the whole thing, and we really didn’t discuss it much after that day.

Nine months later, I was a freshman in college and still a very frustrated virgin. The situation gnawed at me constantly. It occupied so much of my conscious thought that it was distracting me from my schoolwork as well as my part-time job. I did make plenty of new friends, and some of those were girls, of course, but nothing romantic ever seemed to develop. If I’d ask one of the girls out on a date, the standard answer was, “Let’s just be friends.” Jeez, I had enough friends — I needed to get laid!

I was going to school only fifty miles north of San Antonio, and as I made frequent trips home for the weekend to see the folks or to just get laundry done, I always past that infamous spot on I-35 and that now long forgotten Apache roadhouse. Memories of the dick-wilting experience in Laredo were fading from my memory, and my curiosity about what really went on in there was driving me crazy.

It had been over nine months since my fateful border crossing experience when my youthful hormones finally overcame any remnants of hesitation and uncertainty. I had saved up sixty bucks from my part-time job as a supermarket shelf stocker, and though I realized that wasn’t a lot of money, I had convinced myself it was enough to get the job done.

I told my roommate that I was going to the library to study, got in my car and drove the short nine miles down the road to the Apache. I took the back roads, not the interstate that would have been faster, but I guess I was giving myself time to chicken-out if need be. I pulled into the gravel parking lot just about sunset and parked where you couldn’t see my car from either the freeway or the old highway.

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