As if After Sex by Joseph Torchia

Author:Joseph Torchia
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: doncarlos
ISBN: 9780312017316
Publisher: Henry Holt & Co
Published: 1984-02-14T21:00:00+00:00

But first there was Puerto Vallarta, where we would spend several days before we took the boat to Yelapa. Where we landed as planned and made our way through customs without incident—as Julian predicted. We changed our dollars into pesos and then checked into a hotel and quickly changed into our shorts and headed directly to the seashore to get an immediate start on that deep, rich tan that would last long after we returned to San Francisco. But it didn’t take us long to realize that Puerto Vallarta was also a city, at least by Mexican standards, which meant it was more like a large small town that thrived almost entirely on the tourists. All the streets were cobblestone and all the hotels were built around courtyards and the beach was lined with restaurants and shops and high-rises and even discos that played very loud American music until the early hours of the morning. And then there was Carlos O’Brian’s, where all the oiled tourists sat in the late afternoon and tempted each other with stares and even winks as they sipped tequila and ordered hors d’oeuvres and kept applying lotion as if it were emotion to their tans. And the local cinema was named after Elizabeth Taylor and one of the bars was named after Richard Burton and heaven knows how many people mentioned the fact that the movie Night of the Iguana was filmed just down the coast, just south of town—and yet we loved it. Loved all of it. The whole tourist bit! We shopped every morning and sunned every afternoon and drank every evening and when somebody asked if we were brothers Julian just laughed and said, “Yeah, in a way we are.” And at night we did everything except go to the discos. That’s because they wouldn’t admit men who weren’t accompanied by women. That’s because there were so many Mexican men hovering outside, trying to get inside to put the make on American women and so they had to keep them out somehow. But we had no interest in American women, or even Mexican women. Or even Mexican or American men. We were happy just to have some exotic seafood at a beach-side restaurant and then to head to some quieter bar where we could brush legs and touch arms and compare tans. And then we would go back to our hotel and make love beneath that monstrous ceiling fan which was always in motion, accompanied by

the perpetual sound of immense waves crashing and kissing the seashore just off our balcony—as if the ocean itself were inhabiting our sex. As if nature herself were nodding approval!

How it hurts for me to go back to that time. I can actually feel the ache of wanting to return there again. Those opening days were like the first act of a play—dazzling in the display of sets and thoughts that unfolded so quickly, with such certainty, as if they had a purpose. As if every look we exchanged was destined to deepen—to reveal an even greater truth as time went on.

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