...

A Long Trip to Mexico

MM, humil, tort
Alex

Andy Ramirez and Brian Fulbright were in heaven. They were freshmen at Stanford, and this was their first Spring Break. They had crossed the Mexican Border at 6 AM in Andy's classic '65 Mustang convertible and were already four hours into the country on their way to Andy's family condo in Cabo. Brian and Andy had met in the registration line at summer orientation and quickly became close friends. They had everything in common. They ended up two floors apart in the same dorm and were both tapped for the campus' best fraternity. They both came from very wealthy families who provided them with the best of everything. Their brains, good looks, and almost unlimited allowances had given them their choice of Stanford's female population, and they had already sampled it in copious amounts.

Andy's father was a television producer and his mother a famous soap opera star. They didn't spend much time with him or his younger sister, but their childhood in the Hollywood Hills had been a series of loving nannies and servants. He had received the best genes of his mixed Hispanic and Norwegian heritage. He had jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes. He had his mother's almost white complexion, with his father's fine bone structure. Private high school for Andy had been paradise. He was one of the first to go through puberty, and the rich, black, growth in his armpits and groin made him the envy of the freshman showers. His early maturity, stunning looks, and star-studded home life had made him a favorite with even the most jaded California girls. Years of surfing, skiing, and wrestling had given him a ripped physique that was the envy of all who saw it and arrogance to go with it.

 

Brian was All-New England Lacrosse. His family had money before the Revolutionary War. His father owned a prestigious Fifth Avenue auction house, and his mother was the hottest designer on both coasts. He was an only child and attended an all-male New England prep school. He was a stunning blond with flashing green eyes. He had graduated at the top of his class and had found his athletic niche in the fast moving, rigorous sport of lacrosse. Unlike Andy, Brian could still clearly remember checking every morning while at his home in Newport in the summer after eighth grade for his first blond pube. It never came. His pride still stung from his introduction to Mark Fairchild and Chip McGloghlin on his first day when he had been assigned to fag for the two sophomores. When he reported to their room he and Eric Harrigan, the other fag, were told they were going to learn how to care for their new master's affairs. The first order of business was caring for the sophomores’ clothes. Each boy had to remove successive pieces of clothing so the room's proprietors could show how they should be handled. In no time, Brian could see where this was going and broke into a cold sweat. As he stood in his y-fronts and Eric in his boxers, the dreaded statement came, "Underwear goes in the top drawer and will be folded as followed."

 

Throughout prep school, he matured, but he was always the last to evolve. Pubes didn't come until late in his junior year and hair under his arms first appeared when he was ready to graduate. Even now, as they drove down a dusty highway in Mexico, Andy's offhanded remark about his clearly beardless face brought rushing back his embarrassment during the numerous debaggings his extreme modesty at school had brought on.

 

As Andy regaled Brian with his high school conquest of a rock star’s daughter, he paid little attention to the speed limit and the placement of the centerline. The sound of a siren snapped Brian's eyes to his rearview mirror, where he saw a 1970 vintage police car with a single flashing gumball.

 

"Shit, I hope this doesn't take long."

 

Andy pulled over to the side and watched as a mustached policeman, who appeared to be in his early twenties, approached the car. said the officer in crisp Spanish, referring to Andy's erratic driving.

 

"Hola, señor, ¿te diste cuenta de que superabas el límite de velocidad en más de treinta kilómetros por hora y zigzagueaba por la línea central?" said the officer in crisp Spanish, referring to Andy's erratic driving.

 

["Hello, sir. Did you realize you were exceeding the speed limit by more than thirty kilometers per hour and zigzagging across the center line?" said the officer in crisp Spanish, referring to Andy's erratic driving.]

 

"These chilies are such fools, their brains are as small as their dicks," said Andy. "I'll wave a fifty in front of the dirt-poor taco's eyes, and he'll piss his pants while trying to kiss my ass."

 

"Puedo ver la licencia de su conductor, los permisos de entrada y el registro de vehículos,” said the officer, requesting Andy's ID and papers.

 

["May I please see your drivers' license, entry permits, and vehicle registration," said the officer, requesting Andy's ID and papers.]

 

Andy dug his wallet out of back pocket and pulled out a crisp fifty dollar bill.

 

"HEY, ENCHILADA," Andy said in a loud voice Americans reserve for people who don't understand English, "YOU TAKE," he yelled, pointing at the bill, "WE GO," pointing at the road. The policeman stared blankly. "These wetbacks don't have a fuckin clue, do they?" sneered Andy.

 

He stuffed the bill in the officer's pocket and turned to start the car. A cry from Brian made Andy turn to look directly into the barrel of a .44 magnum.

 

"First of all," said the police officer in perfect English, "Wetback is an insulting term only associated with our brothers and sisters who cross the border in search of a better life, and second, it is a very serious crime to attempt to bribe a Commissioner of Law Enforcement. Please keep both hands in sight and step out of the car."

 

Andy slowly opened the door, mumbling abject apologies. As he stepped out of the car, the officer asked for some identification. When Andy handed him his driver's license, the officer said, "this permit expired six months ago. I'll need a current form of picture ID."

 

"That's all I have," whispered Andy.

 

The officer waved to his partner, and when he arrived, he instructed him to handcuff Andy.

 

"Okay, young man," he said, turning to Brian. "Please take the keys and step out of the car. Let's open the trunk and have a look at what you're transporting.”

 

Brian stepped out, opened the trunk and pulled out their three suitcases. The commissioner motioned Brian to step back and hoisted the first suitcase onto the trunk and opened it. Brian watched as the officer threw his clothes, a piece at a time, into the back seat of the car. As the man moved onto Andy's leather bags, Brian could see that Andy was clearly worried. As the commissioner rifled through the second bag, he stopped and smiled. He unzipped the side pocket and pulled out a half pound of marijuana and a small handgun.

 

The commissioner barked at his assistant, "take off the cuffs!"

 

Pointing his gun at Andy, he said, "Open your mouth, wide."

 

Andy stretched his mouth wide, and the policeman slid the barrel of the large gun in.

 

"You son, are in very serious trouble. Trafficking drugs and arms, and using expired, probably false, ID is not looked on kindly in these parts. I trained in America for three years to learn about dealing with your kind. The first thing I want you to do is slowly remove your clothing and throw each piece to the deputy. Stand out in the open and no fast moves."

 

Andy backed into the road a little and opened his mouth to speak.

 

The cop said, "not one fucking word until the only thing you're wearing is a smile."

 

Andy hesitantly kicked the Gucci loafers off his sockless feet. His hands moved to the half unbuttoned orange silk shirt he had just bought on Rodeo Drive and undid the remainder of the buttons. The sheer material slid off his shoulders revealing a pair of slightly hairy, quarter-sized nipples. His shaking hands next went to the custom weave belt holding up his fine, white linen pants. After undoing the buckle, pants fastener and zipper, the pants slipped quickly off his hairy legs. Andy was left, standing in a pair of white, bikini underwear, staring at the policeman with pleading eyes. The thick, black hair in his armpits and his ample treasure trail stood in stark contrast to his white skin. As the cop raised his gun, Andy hastily yanked down and off, the last of his expensive apparel.

 

The officer walked up, backhanded Andy across the face and jerked a gold chain from around his neck. This brought Andy to his breaking point, and he started to cry.

 

"I said, naked boy! Get that watch and those rings off, get your hands on your head and spread your legs wide."

 

Andy clumsily unhinged his Cartier and slid it off. He then pulled off his diamond pinky ring and ruby high school ring and handed the lot to the deputy. As he resumed his stance, Brian stared at his friend mesmerized. He could hardly absorb that in a scant thirty minutes one of most sought after hunks on the Stanford campus had been reduced to a naked, blubbering child. Brian listened as Andy begged and pleaded for understanding, although it was clear his words were falling on deaf ears.

 

The officer walked over and pinched the head of Andy's fear-shrunken penis a said, with a smirk, "Looks like your comment on brain size and dick size comes from personal experience. Cuff him," he said to the deputy.

 

"Cuff this one too," he said, shoving Brian.

 

Once the boys were secure, the police commissioners grabbed a still crying Andy by the hair and drug him over to the back of the patrol car.

 

"This one is trouble, lock him in the trunk!"

 

The deputy opened the trunk, and Andy was awkwardly forced in. Brian could hear him howling even after the trunk lid was slammed shut. The officer then pushed Brian into the back seat of the patrol car, slammed the door and spoke extensively to the deputy. The deputy climbed into Andy’s Mustang and drove off. The commissioner returned and climbed into the patrol car. He drove in silence until he turned off the highway onto a dirt road, about ten miles down the road.

 

"You boys have made a terrible mistake. The governor of the province is up for reelection, and you happen to have gravely insulted the Commissioner of the Territorial Prison, ME. My name is Commissioner Suarez. I'll have you in court in the morning, and with the evidence you've provided, you'll be convicted and on your way to my house before noon.

 

“You and your fancy-ass, racist friend will be sucking taco dick while taking enchilada up the ass by suppertime.”

 

Tears came freely to Brian as he tried to take in what was happening. After fifteen minutes, the car pulled up in front of the police station, which was in the central square of a typical, dusty Mexican town. When people realized there was an American prisoner, the car was surrounded by a mob of curious five to fifteen-year-old boys. As three young officers came out of the building, the Commissioner climbed out and opened Brian's door. He pulled Brian out and told one of the officers to take him inside. The other two, he motioned towards the rear. As the trunk lid came open, the boys surged forward to see its contents. For a moment there was a stunned silence, then the boys erupted in chatter and laughter. A very dusty Andy was unceremoniously lifted from the trunk and dropped in the street. The commissioner then grabbed him by the hair and stood him up. He then hauled him up the steps of the police station and turned him to face the crowd.

 

"Esta es la primera fase para este joven en su nueva vida," said the commissioner. "Él ha elegido este camino mediante el tráfico de drogas y armas de fuego." Lifting Andy's genitals with a nightstick, he said, “Si así quieres que tus senoritas vean tu virilidad, siéntete libre de seguir sus huellas.

 

["This is the first phase for this young man in his new life." He has chosen this road by trafficking in drugs and firearms. If this is how you want your senoritas to see your manhood, feel free to follow in his footsteps."]

 

He spun Andy slowly around a few times to give the laughing crowd a good final look, then pushed him towards the door. After a few quick words from the boss, the two young officers pushed Andy towards, then out the back door of the station. They grabbed a straight-backed chair and roughly seated him in it in the middle of the courtyard. They tied his feet to the front legs and his arms to the back uprights. They left him facing the early afternoon sun. Andy was overwhelmed with emotion. He knew his father would get him out of all this, but how could he ever live down the mortification. In front of his best friend, he had cried and begged, then been stripped, laughed at, and physically and mentally humiliated. As he looked up from his prone position, he could see several groups of boys peeking over the fence to get another look. He could also hear them talking and laughing.

 

Brian could see the back of Andy's head out the door. He was shaking with fear as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

 

"I'm glad you came along," said the commissioner. "This will give me a perfect opportunity to demonstrate proper strip search technique when drugs are involved.”

 

As Brian was pushed to the center of the room, he could see the faces of boys and teens pressed against every window.

 

"Caballeros, por favor, reunidos," ordered the commissioner.

 

["Gentlemen, please gather round," ordered the commissioner.]

 

Four young officers and the desk sergeant came and formed a semi-circle in front of Brian. Brian listened uncomprehendingly as the commissioner spoke in Spanish to the group.

 

"Lo primero que debe hacer un prisionero es quitarle el calzado, y tiene la mayor probabilidad de causar una lesión a un oficial.”

 

["The first thing a prisoner should do is remove his footwear. It has the greatest chance of causing an officer injury."]

 

He turned to Brian and said, "Please take off your shoes and give them to Officer Sanchez."

 

Brian bent over and slipped off his Ralph Lauren deck shoes. He remembered clearly how his mother had commented on their price when they were shopping for a complete wardrobe more appropriate to California's climate.

 

“La anticipación de estar completamente desnuda frente a un grupo de personas completamente vestidas suele ser más aterradora y humillante que cuando se hace, y da tiempo a que sus pollas se contraigan de miedo, lo que siempre es bueno Para una risa cuando finalmente caen sus cajones.”

 

["Take your time making them strip. The anticipation of being completely naked in front of a group of fully clothed people is often more frightening and humiliating than when it's done. It also gives time for their dicks to shrink in fear, which is always good for a laugh when they finally do drop their drawers."]

 

Brian listened to the small group chuckled derisively as they stared at him and he knew the commissioner was talking about his forthcoming disrobing.

 

"Let's get that fancy shirt off first," he heard.

 

He knew the words were coming but hearing them made him break into a cold sweat. He tugged the pink and cream hooded pullover up and off revealing a new, white wife beater. He held the shirt in front of his chest until one of the officers grabbed it and threw it behind them.

 

"Get the t-shirt off too!"

 

As Brian peeled it over his head, he clearly remembered his personal terror as his sophomore big brothers laughed and taunted him about his small, hairless genitals.

 

"Ya que sólo hemos conseguido sus pantalones cortos y ropa interior para ir, este es un buen momento para iniciar la búsqueda de cuerpo y cavidad,” said Suarz.

 

["Since we've only got his shorts and underwear to go, this is a good time to start the body and cavity search," said Suarez.]

 

Grabbing a stool and turning to Brian he said, "Place one foot at a time on the stool and spread each toe to show nothing is concealed between them."

 

As sweat now freely flowed in his armpits and on his forehead, Brian performed the pointless and demeaning exercise.

 

"Now, open your mouth wide and lift your tongue."

 

Again, Brian did as he was told.

 

"Next, we'll have a look under your arms. Lift them straight over your head and stay that way."

 

Brian began to be painfully aware of his exposed condition. The relatively few hairs that had sprouted in his armpits had always embarrassed him. As he lifted his arms, he watched as one of the officers noted this, whispered to his friend, and they broke out laughing.

 

"Looks like the boys expected a little more hair on a big drug runner," said the commissioner. "I guess you're short in the man fur department all over," he said, as he rubbed Brian's cheeks.

 

"Las axilas deben ser pasadas completamente a fondo porque el alambre fino puede ser ocultado allí. Quitar el pelo completamente es una opción aceptable."

 

["The armpits should be gone through thoroughly because fine wire can be hidden there. Removing the hair completely is an acceptable option."]

 

He grabbed a pinch of a few hairs and yanked them out by the roots, causing Brian to give a startled cry.

 

"What do you say, boy," said Suarez; "should we continue with our lesson," as he grabbed Brian by the hair, making him nod in exaggerated agreement.

 

"Una lección valiosa con las búsquedas de la tira, especialmente con los hombres jóvenes, es que se hacen para quitar sus propias ropas.Los club o las bofetadas si es necesario, pero hacen que se desnuden.La humillación de tener que desnudarse frente a los demás Es diez veces más de lo que sería si te despojan de la fuerza Ver a un joven punk como este tratar de dejar caer sus cajones, mientras trataba de cubrir su polla y no mostrar su culo es siempre una comedia Mantenga el comentario rodando y no dude en señalar. El hecho de que no entienda español es mucho más desconcertante.”

 

["A valuable lesson with strip searches, especially with young men, is that they are made to remove their own clothes. Club them or slap them if necessary, but make them disrobe themselves. The humiliation of having to strip down yourself in front of others is tenfold what it would be if you are forcibly stripped. Watching a young punk like this try to drop his drawers, while trying to cover his dick and not show his ass is always a comedy. Keep the commentary rolling and feel free to point. The fact he doesn't understand Spanish is that much more unnerving."]

 

Brian still stood with his arms stretched over his head as the Commissioner came over and hooked one of the legs of his baggy Hugo Black shorts and said, "Guess it's boxers or briefs time."

 

Brian reached down, undid his belt, unbuttoned the shorts and slid them off. He now stood barefoot and bare-chested in a pair of white boxers, covered with red hearts. The officers let out a series of whistles and jeers.

 

"Let's move right along to the main feature. Lose the hearts."

 

Just as the commissioner had predicted, Brian shoved his right hand into his boxers to cover himself and used his left to tug and squirm out of them without exposing himself.

 

"If you're anything like your buddy, you ain't got anything to hide. Let's get those hands up on top of your head."

 

Slowly, Brian gave up his last shred of modesty and put himself on display for those in the room, as well as the forty boys pressing against the windows. As his hands slowly moved away, a small circumcised penis of about two inches with smaller, hairless balls came into view. As with many real blonds, his bush was small and not very thick. The sight of the less than well-endowed, almost hairless boy brought a hail of comments and laughter from the officers. Brian turned bright red as the peanut gallery outside echoed their catcalls.

 

"You wait here," said Suarez, as he kicked Brian's legs wider apart. "We're going to check on your pal, and then we'll be back."

 

He could sense Brian's mortification, and he said over his shoulder to the desk sergeant, "Vamos a ir todo el camino con este. Frote algo de ese removedor de pelo en él."

 

["Let's go all the way with this one. Rub some of that hair remover on him"]

 

As the small group walked outside and approached Andy, they could see the sun had started to do its work. His formally white skin was already a medium pink.

 

"Well, Mister, I'm better than the stupid chilies, how are you enjoying your chance to suntan?"

 

The commissioner put his booted foot on the edge of the chair, just pressing on Andy's penis. Andy started to beg, but the commissioner pressed down hard with the toe of his boot.

 

"Not interested, you racist piece of shit, we just wanted to make sure you had sunscreen on the sensitive spots."

 

Suarez pulled a tube out of his back pocket and waved it in Andy's face. Andy couldn't read the writing, but the moment the cap came off, he knew it was some form of Mexican Ben-Gay. The commissioner grabbed Andy's penis and pinched open the piss slit. He pressed the end of the tube up tight and squeezed hard. He could tell by Andy's eyes that plenty had gone in. He emptied the rest of the tube in the V of Andy's legs. With a strong hand, he then massaged the ointment into every fold, including a good greasing between Andy's ass cheeks. By the time he finished, Andy was howling like a high school freshman at his soccer initiation.

 

"Desert nights can be cold," said Suarez, laughing. "We just want to make sure you stay warm."

 

They left Andy to reenter the building. Through his tears, Andy saw that his young watchers were now boldly sitting along the top of the wall.

 

On seeing Brian's face, the commissioner knew immediately that the desk sergeant's work was paying off. Tears were running down Brian's cheeks from eyes that were fixed on once proud hairs that were being carried down his sides by his profuse sweating. As the commissioner entered, he stooped to grab a dusty, burlap bag. He threw it to Brian.

 

"Put this on. Us dirt-poor cucaracha's can't afford real prison clothes so this will have to do."

 

Brian looked and saw holes had been cut in the seams. He opened the filthy bag and slowly pulled it over his head. It was rough and scratchy against his skin, and the dust caused him to sneeze. Commissioner Suarez chuckled at the sight before him. Dust clung to the gelled spikes of Brian's hair and the tear tracks on his face. The loose-weave sack came to the top of his thighs, barely covering what he wanted to be covered most.

 

"It's time we put you away for the evening so you can be well rested for your court appearance tomorrow," said the commissioner.

 

He pushed Brian through a side door and down a row of empty cells until they arrived at a large cell at the end. Inside, sitting on the bottom bunks of four bunk beds were eight young locals all dressed in jeans, tee shirts, and thong sandals.

 

“Hola muchachos,”said Suárez. "Este es un gran americano," bringing Brian into the cell, "que usualmente sólo se cruza con su clase cuando está gritando sobre lo mal que un trabajo le hizo la limpieza de su piscina.No piensa muy bien de sus vecinos, al sur de la frontera."

 

["Hello boys," said Suarez. "This is a big-time American," bringing Brian into the cell, "who usually only crosses paths with your kind when he's squawking about how poor a job you did cleaning his pool. He doesn't think very highly of his neighbors, south of the border.”]

 

"Estoy dispuesto a dejarles salir todos temprano en los cargos de pelea si pasan esta noche y esta noche lo que le permite tener un poco mejor comprensión de lo que pensamos de las personas que nos miran hacia abajo. Estoy seguro de que conoce varios pasos de baile, pero tal vez usted podría enseñarle algunos otros. No quiero que le toquen el culo, pero parece que disfrutará de unas cuantas lecciones de música sobre cómo tocar la flauta de la piel.”

 

[“I'm willing to let you all out early on the brawling charges if you spend this evening and tonight letting him have a little better understanding of what we think of people who look down on us. I'm sure he knows several dance steps, but maybe you could teach him some others. I don't want his ass touched, but he looks like he'd enjoy a few music lessons on how to play the skin flute."]

 

The commissioner left Brian standing in the middle of the cell as he walked out and locked the door. All Brian could do was pull down on the front of his sack, which then made the back ride up. He backed up against the door as he took in the eight faces that were maliciously staring at him. Brian listened uncomprehendingly, as the boys started talking to him.

 

"Lo que te metí debajo del vestido, chico lindo, por qué no vienes aquí y nos da un pico, no te vamos a lastimar, solo queremos divertirnos un poco."

 

["Whatcha got under the dress, pretty boy. Why not come over here and give us a peak. We're not gonna hurt you, we just wanna have a little fun."]

 

The two largest spoke to each other, stood and walked toward Brian. With beaming smiles, they stood at his sides and put their arms over his shoulders, each grabbing one of his wrists.

 

"Nooo..., Pleease..., Leave me alone…, Pleease," pleaded Brian.

 

A boy no older than fifteen walked and lifted up the front of the sack, and the room erupted with laughter. The bag was yanked over his head, and he was pushed to the center of the large, well-lit room where he was surrounded by all the cells occupants. Brian's hands instinctively covered his penis, but hands started pinching his ass and nipples. Brian began to cry, as the longest night of his life began.

 

When Commissioner Suarez came in early the next morning, he checked first on his inmate in the courtyard. He found Andy still tied to the chair. The neighborhood boys and mosquitoes had taken a heavy toll. His face and chest were covered with bites and drying cum. One of his eyes was black and swollen shut. His penis was bloated and blistered, and it appeared that his pubes had been burned off. On his chest was written, `me and drugs suck.'

 

When Suarez arrived at the cell, he found Brian dancing drunkenly about the cell while the rest of the occupants were sound asleep. Brian's ass was flaming red. His hair, face, and chest were caked with cum. He also had a black eye, as well as a bloody nose and very swollen lips. His shrunken penis bounced in time with his internal beat. When he saw the commissioner, he fell to his knees and cried.

 

By the noon, the beat up boys were out of court, and by five they were doing their intake routine, in the nude, in the central courtyard of the Santa Maria prison in front of two hundred fifty jeering inmates. They had been given twenty-five-year sentences. By ten pm they had both learned how to say, "SI, SEÑOR."