Monday, September 12, 2011


Moon Over Miami

Miami Trash

Miami Trash is different than Miami Vice.

Forget the glam and deco glamour stuff. I heard rumors about South Beach being hot Cuban Boyz City, but, well, by the time the ‘80s had burned out, Miami was just a maudlin Mausoleum full of fags with lotsa varicose veins.

The sherbet-pink chic and tan stucco decay outta the ‘30s had oozed right into the next crummy century, so that by 2012 all the gay flamingo boyz had gone to the Elephant Graveyard.

The tender hustlers and cute male prostitutes were long gone too, along with all the Cuban chicken queen hangers-on. Miss Real Estate was Queen of Miami once again, art deco condos had replaced all the charming redone deco hotels.

Seedy middleclass shabby fags and glamour queens from the Big Apple, had replaced all the old queer baby boomer deco queens. Now there was just the usual masked bourgeois gangsters, christened with tattoos, flexing their built bodies outta the gym for each other...

Self-love, designer food chains, flaunting their lurid-abs at each other. Like so many of the Fire Island and former P-Town beach crowd, it had been a slippery slope down to what had become slimy South Beach hell.

Jesus Gets a Blow Job

The cute Cuban kid was 18, but that wasn’t good enough. I wanted him innocent all the way, as innocent as Fidel Castro was back when he was a chicken in Havana.

Fifi Castro as Reinaldo Arenas called him, the cute young dictator getting sucked off by Batista and the Mafioso boyz, gringo gangsters who ran the whore houses, bookie joints and gambling casinos.

“Bad boy,” I said to him. His name was Jesus Armando. “Just look how much you’ve grown. At least an inch or so. But first you’ve gonna be chicken again, baby. So spread 'em for Big Daddy...”

So I'd get out the Norelco and shave his teenage pubes. Viola, he was a Twink again. Worthy of my filthy rich divine lips. He was worth a thousand, but I only gave him a hundred. He was my chicken chauffeur too.

“Oh, Jesus!!! Gimme that big fuckin' enchilada, baby!!!”

A year had gone by since Castro had amazingly apologized for ditching all the fags, dumping them all on the boatlift exiled to Florida. Putting the rest into work-camps and prisons, what a waste. What a fuckin Cuban closet case.

I apologized to the Cuban kid too, hot Havana boyz really turned me on. I'd get carried away sometimes, a little too arriba. But Armando just sneered at me as he left, for giving him a lurid hickey on his haughty Havana swollen uncut dickhead.

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