Tapati (tapati) wrote,

Spanish Guy--or When It Rains It Pours

Chicago 1976 April

Spanish Guy

One night I came back to the Indian home I was staying in and they didn't answer the buzzer. Someone else let me in the building. I went up and knocked at their door. I could hear sounds of people there so I was surprised when no one answered. Not wanting to spend the night on the street I kept knocking, thinking maybe they don't hear me.

Suddenly the door across the hall opened. A young Spanish man was standing in the doorway, asking me if I needed help. He was perhaps a few years older than I. I explained that for some reason the people I was staying with weren't answering the door and I wasn't sure what to do. He invited me in to wait with him and his parents.

They were all very kind and his parents didn't speak more than a word or two of English so he undertook to translate. After the introductions were made and I was offered some juice, he and I began to chat.

It wasn't long before he was asking me, as smoothly as perhaps only a Latin-bred man can, to have sex with him! Yes, right in front of his parents, who did not look like the kind of people who would approve of such a thing.

I explained my religious convictions to him. This began a long debate about why having a consensual sexual experience could possibly be a bad thing.

I must say that he was quite good looking in that dark, Latin way and I was amazed to even be propositioned by him. I really had a poor body image. I weighed 165 lbs. and am 5 feet 5 inches tall. I was self conscious that I carried so much of my extra pounds on my hips and buttocks. (Little did I know that with some men this is a selling point--but "Baby Got Back" hadn't been written yet.)

It was the most surreal experience, the parents, the traditional looking living room and conservative atmosphere, and this absolutely gorgeous guy smoothly trying to talk me into bed.

People say that when you look back you often regret most the things you didn't do. I can only say that if this man had been my first, I wouldn't have put up with Mahasraya for a second. He had the air of a man who has made it his business to excel in the erotic arts. One night with him would have been better than a thousand with Mahasraya. Unfortunately, I declined.

After an hour or so of this unusual conversation, I heard the Indian mother leave for her night job and I went to try the door again. Her husband opened it this time and let me in. Because he had some friends over he said I could sleep on the second bed in their bedroom, a small twin by the window. I assumed when the party broke up I'd be moving into the living room on the floor, as usual.

Later he came to bed and simply got into the master bed in the same room. He started up a conversation with me when he realized I was awake, telling me stories about his workplace, a five and dime store. He made it a point to tell me that the young girls there would flirt with him. After some time he suggested I join him in his bed! I was shocked and mortified and simply told him that I was tired. He gave up and went to sleep after a time but I lay there for a long time, rigid, wondering if he would try something more direct once I was asleep. It was after this that I arranged to go to the homeless shelter for runaways at the Salvation Army. To this day I have some affection for SA for rescuing me from this situation. In retrospect, I think the wife was beginning to realize her husband's intent and she deliberately didn't answer the door because she saw it was me. This was after the man she tried to set me up with also tried to talk me into bed. When it rains it pours, I guess.

I do wish I had thought back to all of these guys trying to "get" me and realize that I really wouldn't be alone if I left Mahasraya. Though another factor in that was the vision of becoming a "white sari woman." I had seen so many young women at the temple wearing white saris and constrained to be alone the rest of their lives. They had either become widows or their husbands had left them. If they had children, they weren't supposed to remarry. I wasn't anxious to join their ranks. Mahasraya had to make me so miserable that I finally didn't care if I had to be alone--it was better than being with him for another moment.
Tags: bio, mahasraya, writing

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