"Puerto Rico, you lovely island, island of tropical breezes."
The lyrics from West Side Story wafted through Reilly's mind as he sipped on his daqueri -- an actual cocktail, not one of those God-forsaken neon-colored slushies -- while sitting at the bar at the open-air beachfront salloon. That musical is what had made him first entertain the notion of coming to Puerto Rico for his first visit more than 20 years ago. It had been February and a brutally cold stretch of winter. The man who would later become his husband had come home.
"We need to go somewhere warm for a vacation," Larry had sputtered through frosted lips, shaking fresh snow from his overcoat.
Since the musical had been on television only a few days before, a particular phrase sprang into Reilly's mind. "Nobody knows, in America, Puerto Rico's in America," Reilly had recited.
Two weeks later, they had gotten off the plane in San Juan, Puerto Rico, and both had fallen in love with the food, the culture, and the people. They would return regularly together -- both before and after their marriage -- to lie on the beach, eat Caribbean seafood, sail around the bay at twilight, and unwind from the world. While Spanish was the predominant language, almost everyone understood English to some degree or another, and both Reilly and his husband spoke a smattering of the local language. The islanders seemed to appreciate it when you at least made an effort, even if your syntax and pronunciation were clumsy or childlike.
"I'm going to buy a house and retire here," Larry said during each trip. It all but became a mantra.
Now it was 27 years after that first visit. This time it was summer, not winter. The twilight sail happened just as it did every time they came to the island, but Reilly used it to scatter his husband's ashes into the waters off the island to which he had wanted to retire.
Death had been sudden, about three months previous. The worst of the grief was over, but there had been some final wishes to address. Reilly had spent the last several days going back to places they had visited together. He had gone to a favorite restaurant in San Juan to have the fish tacos Larry had adored. He had driven into the mountains to Caguas to sip at the factory for Sangria Los Hermanos. He had travelled to Ponce to see the Fuente de los Leones one more time.
Reilly noticed that his glass was empty and signaled for the bartender. He fully intended on getting completely shitfaced tonight. If you can't get drunk on the day you lay your spouse to rest, when can you? He had only had one drink so far, but he was sure that the bartender would be happy to arrange more so long as he added a tip from time to time.
"Hey, mister," said a lightly-accented voice to his left, "do you want to buy me a drink?"
While faces may change between visits to the island, the presence of rentboys at gay bars on the beach never did. Without turning his head, Reilly responded only semi-sarcastically. "You working?"
"Working? Me?" queried the voice. "I don't work here, but I'm happy tonight."
"And I'm not," Reilly muttered under his breath.
"Come on, mister," insisted the voice. "I got a letter today with good news. Be happy with me."
Reilly's ear twitched, and he lifted an eyebrow almost involuntarily. He had heard most of the pick-up lines that the hustlers used over the years, but this was a new tactic. Despite his caution and suspicion, he was intrigued to see where that particular track might go. He had no intention of giving this man any money, but his curiosity was piqued. "Curiosity killed the cat," he thought to himself, "and satisfaction brought him back."
He turned his head ever so slightly to look at the source of the voice out of the corner of his eye. He noticed tanned skin, bushy black hair, and a huge beaming smile. The rentboy's face was slightly too long to be considered conventionally handsome, and his nose was maybe just a bit too large for his face. He seemed genuinely joyful, though, as his dark brown eyes flashed in Reilly's direction.
Turning to look at this young man more fully, Reilly got to the point. "What makes you think I'm looking for company tonight?"
The younger man cocked his head to the right, quizzically. "Who said anything about company? I am happy. You look like you are not. I have good feelings to share, and I think you could use them."
"Do I?" asked Reilly acidly.
"Yes," said the younger man emphatically. "Besides, all I asked for was a drink to help me celebrate." He smirked. "I didn't ask you for a blowjob."
"Not yet, anyway," Reilly said under his breath. Still, maybe it was best to give this guy the drink he wanted so that he could move on to the next potential customer. Louder, he replied to the young man, "I don't feel like company, but you can have one drink." Reilly beckoned the bartender over again and muttered a drink order.
"You look sad," the youth persisted. He sidled up to Reilly, "and I am Rafael. And I am celebrating tonight!"
"So you said," responded Reilly, trying to keep mockery out of his voice. Could this guy be on the level? A sex worker usually didn't lay things on this thickly. They usually looked for easier pickings.
"¿Como se llama?" asked Rafael. "What are you called?"
"Most people don't call me anything these days. But you can call me Reilly."
"It is good to meet you, Reilly. Can you get me--" Rafael's banter was stopped by the bartender putting a shot glass in front of him. Layers of brownish liquid were topped with a small swirl of whipped cream. Rafael looked at it blankly. "What is this?"
Reilly smirked. "It's exactly what you did and didn't want from me at the same time." A puzzled look furrowed Rafael's brow. Reilly continued. "You didn't ask me for a blowjob, but I'm giving you you one, anyway."
"¿Una mamada?"
"Exactly," said Reilly, suppressing a smirk of his own. He looked meaningfully at the shot glass. "This drink is called a blowjob. No manos para beber. You don't use your hands to drink it. You just open your mouth, take the glass in your lips, and tilt your head back."
Rafael looked at Reilly skeptically. "You want me to look ridiculous." This was a statement, not a question.
"Maybe," conceded Reilly, "but shouldn't you act a little crazy if you have something to actually celebrate?" Reilly was trying to stay sarcastic, but this guy had a quality that was a little disarming. It was nothing Reilly could put his finger on, but he might have been a little hasty in his appraisal of the young man.
Rafael looked thoughtful for a moment. "I will," he said, "but only if you get a blowjob, too."
The corners of Reilly's mouth quivered briefly. Maybe he had been right after all. This was awfully flirtatious -- unless Rafael was even more naïve than he let on.
"Why not?" Reilly had intended on getting drunk, anyways. Nothing said he had to stick to only one drink. With a gesture and a few words, another shot was placed on the bar in front of Reilly. Turning to look at Rafael, he lifted the glass in the young man's direction. "Salud." His shooter was then returned to bar.
Rafael returned the toast and then put his glass on the bar in front of him, watching what Reilly did with an amused eye.
With a small shrug, Reilly turned to face the bar. Gingerly, he positioned his glass directly in front of him close to the near edge. He clasped his hands behind his back and opened his mouth wide. He lowered his head and took the shot glass firmly in his lips. He could taste the whipped cream, thick and sweet. With a quick jerking motion, he popped his head back, with his eyes looking straight up. The contents of the glass drained immediately into his mouth. With a single gulp, he swallowed the sweet contents.
Lowering his head, Reilly took the glass from his mouth. He flipped it upside down and smacked it noisily on the bar. In his younger days, he was an expert at this, but it'd been a long time since he took a drink in this manner. Sometimes old habits die hard.
Turning to Rafael, Reilly looked him squarely in the eye. "Your turn."
Rafael immediately positioned the shot glass directly in front of him and took a deep breath. He mimicked Reilly's motions as best he could. He was a little awkward, and he was more careful about tilting his head back, but he took the entire drink without touching the glass with anything but his lips. Removing the glass with his hand, he slammed it onto the table in triumph.
"Now you can tell all your friends that a stranger gave you a blowjob in a bar on the beach," Reilly said in a deadpan voice, "after he gave himself one."
Rafael burst into raucous laughter. "That is funny," he roared.
"Not THAT funny," muttered the older man.
"But it was!" exclaimed the youth between guffaws. "And you-- drink-- and your--!" The poor fellow couldn't string three words together at the moment, much less form a coherent sentence. He held up his hand in the universal gesture to wait as he bowed his head and tried to collect himself until his laughter subsided into giggles. After a moment, he was able to continue. "Can I fix something?"
"O.K.," said Reilly skeptically. Why was his permission needed?
Rafael immediately took the sides of Reilly's head in his hands and held it still. Before Reilly could register what was happening, Rafael's face closed in. Reilly closed his eyes instinctively, and he could feel the young man's tongue licking roughly at one side of Reilly's lips.
Reilly drew his head back roughly. "What the hell, man?" he exclaimed.
Opening his eyes, he saw Rafael looking at him with his tongue sticking out. Directly on the center was a blob of whipped cream that must have been smeared on Reilly's lips when he took the shot glass in his mouth.
Rafael drew his tongue into his mouth, closed his lips, and visibly swallowed. Breaking into a large grin, he said, "Now I can tell my friends that I took your sweet cream down my throat, too. After your blowjob."
Despite his situation and the circumstances that led him to be at this particular bar at this particular time, Reilly found himself warming a bit to Rafael. He appreciated someone with a quick wit. Despite his initial suspicions, he was reasonably sure that this not-quite handsome young man might not be a rentboy after all. He was flirty as hell, yes -- but not on the prowl to offer sex for cash. Maybe this was just a guy on his own trying to have a good time, and there was no denying that he had a certain charm. It was hard not to be disarmed.
Two beers were ordered, and Rafael drank deeply when his was delivered. When the glass was drained about half-way, he asked, "Why did you come here tonight looking sad?"
"It's been a sad day on a sad vacation," responded Reilly. He recited the highlights of his trips to Puerto Rico over the past 27 years and how his husband Larry died unexpectedly before they could come back to the island this time. "We made plans. We bought tickets and made reservations. And then he died." Reilly took a deep, steadying breath. "I couldn't cancel the trip that he was looking forward to. In the end, this was to remember him and the times we had on this island."
Rafael sat quietly for a long moment. He swirled his half-finished beer in its glass contemplatively. Then he rose from his bar stool and stood on the floor. He lifted his beer glass high with one hand and banged loudly on the bar with the other. Slowly, the bar quieted.
Looking directly at Reilly, Rafael said in a loud and clear voice, "A Lorenzo, esposo de Reilly. Que descanse en paz. To Larry, husband of Reilly. Rest in peace."
"A Lorenzo," the bar patrons echoed lowly, each raising their glass in Reilly's direction. Quietly, they drank to the memory of a man they did not know and had never met while honoring the one that was left behind.
Reilly closed his eyes, touched. He did not cry, but he was moved by the people here and also the consideration of a young man who said he just wanted to be happy that night. Opening his eyes again, he looked at Rafael in emotional appreciation. "That was very kind. Thank you," Reilly croaked, his voice cracking.
"If I can't be kind to someone else when I have good news, what would be the point?" he asked rhetorically. "Would you like to see my good news?"
"You brought it with you?"
"Of course. I want everyone to know." He fished in his back pocket, pulling out a folded envelope. He removed a letter printed on thick stationary, and he put it on the bar in front of Reilly to read:
"Dear Mr. Rafael Vega Guzman,
The College of Liberal and Creative Arts at San Francisco State University wishes to congratulate you on your admission into our graduate program for music performance..."
Reilly was taken aback. This guy hadn't been yanking his chain; he had been on the level the entire time. "You weren't kidding, were you?"
"No!" exclaimed Rafael. "I tried last year but didn't get in. But I got in this year!"
"Good for you," said Reilly, putting his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Well done!" He paused. "You know, I actually live across the bay from San Francisco. It's only a train ride on public transit away from me." It was not a short ride, but it was not impractical.
"Is that true?"
"Absolutely."
Rafael paused. "So when I go there to study, maybe we can be friends? Talk on the phone? Have lunch? Things like that?"
Reilly swallowed a small residual lump in his throat that remained from Rafael's toast to his husband's memory. He wrote down his name and cell phone number on one of the disposable coasters at the bar. "After I gave you a blowjob and you swallowed my cream, the least I could do is buy you a meal and talk to you on the phone. You have been friendly to me here, and it's only fair that I try to be friendly to you there, if you want me to."
Rafael beamed. "My friend Reilly, you have made me even more happy!" he exclaimed. He leaned forward and gave the older man an intense -- but close-mouthed -- kiss.
Despite his shock at Rafael's actions, Reilly realized instantly that this was a gesture of friendly affection and not necessarily sexual attraction. The youthful enthusiasm and energy were difficult to ignore. Reilly did not resist, though -- out of respect for the reason for his trip -- he also made no effort to turn the kiss into something more.
The disposal of Larry's ashes officially closed that part of his life. Meeting Rafael -- and the serendipitous fact that he would be coming to his part of the world to continue his studies -- was an odd occurrence, though welcome. Reilly did not quite dread going home quite as much as he expected to.
"And now," said Rafael, "celebrate with me. There is something we must do."
"And what is that?" asked Reilly.
"We must give each other blowjobs." Rafael signaled the bartender as he collapsed into semi-intoxicated giggles.
"What the hell," smirked Reilly. He pulled out a credit card and tapped it on the bar. "Let's give a blowjob to everybody here."
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