When I was thirty-five years old I went to Mexico City and fell off the airplane drunk just like Falstaff falls off the boat drunk in William Shakespeare’s Henry VIII while bellowing: “I have come to wive and thrive.” I met a nice Latina and got married at Sacred Family in La Zona Rosa. The license and civil union were both here in el norte in the Downtown City of Angels but the ceremony, ritual and dogma were all sur of the border. We had seven years of bliss and she was perfect but I obstinately refused to find a way to treat my own alcoholism until my mother passed in 2003 and Veronica had already done the only sensible thing possible and returned to Chapultepec in 2001.
I was partly inspired by Mexico City Blues by Jack Kerouac and the story of William and Joan Burroughs. Mainly I did it because I wanted to reconnect to my mother’s Mexican DNA and her abandoned Roman Catholicism. The truth is that Veronica Sanchez de Figueroa McAdams was a stellar human being and provided accelerated social mobility when I was stalling in life during my mid-thirties. Plus she was ten years younger than me and her family owned a travel agency . . . I saw a LOT of Mexico in the 1990’s . . .
I truly love women but I was unable to emotionally connect back then because I was drunk all the time. Does that make sense or should I spend another 10,000 lifetimes reading The First Third by Neal Cassady in order to shower finer grained semaphore and expository luminescence upon downtown Denver when Jack Kerouac and Dean Moriarty merged into the city driving a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air with no heater because Neal could only afford the radio option when he drove the it off the lot where he worked as a salesman trainee while Carolyn was being born into infinity by Jack’s kid brother Gerard dying during childhood thereby providing Jack with the sauce he needed to type it all out into sweet oblivion under the Fellaheen skies On The Road to America.
There is so much more to lovemaking than just sex. Mexican lovers take the extra loving care to stroke the full body, not just the concentrated nerve endings located around the genitals. Legs and feet also have erotic capability in the highly evolved Latina lover. Mexicans are made for sensuality. My Mexican blood makes me feel sensual and erotic and has helped my sexual evolution. My body temperature is hotter and lovers remark about it when they touch me. My hot Latin skin is a receiver of human and spiritual communication. My hot Mexican blood enables me to have a rich and rewarding experience at the banquet table of life.
Developing my Mexican sexuality has given me sexual confidence. When men look at me I want them to see a sexy masculine Latin man capable of divine femininity. An educated and sophisticated brown-skinned lover is an exquisite companion and invaluable partner and teacher. The women Mexico City taught me to be elegant and sophisticated. In Mexico City only bad people have bad manners. In California it is cool to be rough and vulgar. I’m feeling done with being street hip. I am retiring to the sophisticated elegance of the gentleman’s life with the smoky sexy brown girl in the mirror.