Vallarta Day 10

I decide to tough it out amongst the mosquitos at Coco’s as I just can’t resist her breakfast. It’s Sunday morning and in addition to the occasional occupied table of other singles and couples, there’s a large table occupied of 8 guys still out partying from the previous night – some of which I find quite attractive.

Just as my food is served, one of the boys comes and sits with me. His name is Oscar or Oliver, or some O name I can’t recall. Appears to be around 20. He is not one of the guys I find attractive.

Crossing his legs, he leans in closer to me and says in his Mexican-laced English, “Do you want me to feed you that omelette?”

“Are you kidding me?” I respond.

“No, it would make me very happy” with his best seductive smile.

“No gracias.”

I’ve got to wonder – has this guy been at it all night long? He still has energy for this at 8:30 in the morning? I hear a couple of his friends chuckling at his audacity from the next table as I eat the omelette. On my own.

“Where you from?” He inquires?


“Minnesotttuuhhh, huh?” He’s clearly aware of the accent.


“I’m from San Diego,” he reports in a flirtatious, yet somehow condescending tone – as if he’s from a better place.

“That’s nice. I’m going to eat my breakfast now. You can go.” I don’t want to be a part of this game.

“Are you asking me to leave?” Astonished I’d suggest it.


“Okay, I just have to stay a little longer to make it look good to my friends.”

I continue eating.

“Are you sure you want me to leave?”

I swallow, and then, “Yes.”

“Okay, bye.” He finally leaves.

I finish my breakfast and ask for the bill. Before it comes, they all leave and pile into a Jeep, circus clown style. Considering most of the cars here are smaller than American cars, it’s amazing how many people they can cram into them.

The Jeep’s windows are rolled down as it drives up the hill. Oscar, or Oliver, or whatever his name is, hanging from the window and waving, “Bye, Dan!”

Dee’s is rather uneventful. I get my morning coffee and blogging in. It’s Sunday and the gym is closed, but that’s okay, because it’s sunny and beautiful out – perfect for the beach!

It’s only around 11:30 when I get to the beach – the earliest I’ve been down here. I find a palapa and hunker in. I order a mineral water and fruit plate, soaking up the sun on my front. My rear is a bit red after laying out the the day, so after I get warm on the front, I retreat to the cover of the palapa.

I’m reading a book on my iPad and catch a Jack Russell out of the corner of my eye. It’s Alfredo from the other day with Canica. We chat a bit and he sets up camp at the palapa next to mine. A few friends join him minutes later and I return to reading my book.

I see a large man walk onto the beach with a couple of companions and set his belongings down. He appears to be about 40 or 45 years old, and large – probably 6’4″, very tan, beefy and muscular, but with the tiniest little pink speedo you ever did see. It barely covers the anatomy not suited for public appearance. I chuckle to myself a bit – you just don’t see these types of scenes back in Minnesota.

He gazes around and his eyes catch mine. Shit, I look back to my book.

Please don’t come over here. Please don’t come over here.

I look up without looking up and see his feet approaching.


I look up and he greets me, asking about my iPad. This damned iPad has given more strangers permission to come up and talk to me! I knew I should have just gotten a standard net book.

“I’m Ricky” he says at he plops into the chair next to mine.

“Hi, Ricky – I’m Dan.” I try not to look very interested, because I’m not.

“Are you a top or a bottom?”

Good lord, I think – it’s just noon and already I’ve had two very forward Mexicans ask me inappropriate questions. I feel my head – double-checking I don’t have a sign stuck on me.

“That’s a personal question.” I say back to him, smiling a bit, as if he should know better.

“I don’t think it’s a personal question. Americans seem to think it’s a personal question, but I don’t.” he says matter-of-faculty, in his broken English.

I look back at my iPad, ignoring him.

“I have a bottle of tequila. Do you want some tequila?” He asks.

Not looking up, “I don’t drink.”

“Oh, that’s good – I don’t drink either,” he reports with some feigned relief.

“Then why do you have a bottle of tequila?!?!” I ask, this time looking up.

“Oh, well, I only drink on the weekends. And I need it for sex. I cannot have sex without tequila.” he says, as if what he’s just told me makes any sense.

My patience is wearing thin. “You only want sex,” I declare, making it clear that I’m not interested in sex with him.

“You think I only want sex. I do not only want sex.” He’s trying to backtrack and redeem himself a bit. “Do you know where Guadalajara is?”

“No.” My gaze returns to the eBook.

I wonder what this looks like to an outsider. Me, pale white, in my little skin-tight bathing suit and sunglasses, sitting next to this huge bulky man, tan, in his tiny little pink speedo. My body language displaying my displeasure, and his, showing his machoism, regardless of the speedo, confident in himself.

He continues narrating his story to me, “I am an architect in Guadalajara. I have only been living alone for two weeks. It’s the first time I’ve lived alone. My boyfriend kicked me out two weeks ago. Suspecting ahead of time, I prepared another house, where I now live alone.”

“You could come live with me there.” He states, posing a question.

“So you’re not only looking for sex, you want rebound sex, and you’re trying to ply me with tequila to get it.” I state my case.

“No gracias.” I declare judgement.

“Well then how about a visit? It’s not far and it’s a very beautiful place. You would like it very much. I am a wealthy man.”

I’ve had it at this point.

“No. I’m not interested. I’ve tried to be nice to you, but you continue. Leave. Go. Get away from me.”

He finally departs and I enjoy the rest of my time on the beach alone, with my book.

Later at home I shower and take a nap, getting up to head over to the Alano club. I stop by the Coffee Cup to get a protein shake, but their closed. DIsappointed I head across the street to the Cyber Smoothie internet cafe. Their product isn’t as good and I was looking forward to chatting with the cute guy at the Coffee Cup.

The guy working at the Cyber Smoothie cafe says he recognizes me from sitting at Dee’s. We chat for a bit. He seems nice enough, but his shake isn’t that great and he doesn’t have a lid, so I have to take extra care not to spill it on my way over to the Alano club.

En route to the Alano I run into Jose, the cute time-share salesman guy with the drinking problem. He smells a bit like booze, but reports to me that he’s “taken a step” and not drank for today. I’m not sure what he means in regards to the step, but I guess it’s just a translation blip in regards to the 12 steps. He goes on to tell me that he got in a fight at the bar the previous night. Some jealous boyfriend drama on the dance floor.

Thank god I’ve been given the blessing of not having to deal with that crap any more.

I continue onto the club. The NA meeting has a couple of the same folks, and a couple of people who weren’t there yesterday. One of the guys, a very nervous fellow with a severe speech impediment, shares. I’m guessing he is about 40 years old. He talks about how he was raped as a boy. As a result he became a mute, not speaking one word from the age of 4 to 19. Wow, I think, I’ve got a lot to be grateful for.

Carlos, the nearly 90 days clean guy, is there again. He’s got a lot of gratitude for being clean and good energy – I like him and he greets me again as if we’re old friends.

The meeting concludes and there is a 30 minutes break before the AA meeting starts. The crew starts to trickle in. I am getting a bit sleepy, but I promised Dudley that I would be in attendance for his 10 year sobriety anniversary. Besides, he’s bringing a carrot cake.

As it turns out, I’m not the only one determined to make this meeting, as the room quickly fills and Dudley’s cake proved much too small.

After the meeting I meet up with Jamie for dinner at La Palapa down on the beachfront. He gets the pork and I get a beat salad and the filet. Everything is delicious and the setting on the beach is unbeatable. A man performs in the bar, and I could swear Sting was with us – his voice was a perfect match. Undoubtedly aware of this, he sang a couple of Sting hits as well.

We head up to Cafe de Angels for dessert and to see Jamie’s “Boyfriend” – a guy who frequently sings and plays guitar at the cafe. This guy’s talent is truly amazing that it’s almost a shame he’s playing on a street-side cafe in Vallarta. We share a piece of the tre-leche cake. It’s very yummy.

The rain has created a river in the street by this time, coming down so hard that it actually penetrates my umbrella. I stay at Jamie’s place up the street and we watch reruns of Glee, finally falling asleep on Episode 4, featuring the football team performing Beyonce’s Should Have Put a Ring On It.

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