Mulatto

Paco Salmeron was definitely not one to be fucked with. Not just because he was taller and stronger than all the other kids, but mostly because he was mulatto. Mulatto was a Spanish word I had learned upon moving to Florida. It meant half-black and half-white, but in a school full of rich little Jewish kids, that meant one hundred percent bad mother fucker.

I had been in Florida, at this new school, for two weeks without even seeing this bad mother fucker Paco Salmeron. I heard the rumors that he had been suspended from school for a month for killing a teacher. Well, maybe he didn't actually kill a teacher, but the rumors had him doing a lot worse than that. On my first day at the school some dorks took me aside and told me to never, under any circumstances, screw with Paco Salmeron. He wasn't just a normal bully, he was an outcast. He was unpredictable and wild and nobody was certain what he was capable of.

It turns out that I wasn't that popular either. Kids were calling my sister and me "hillbillies" after only two days there. I guess the jeans and flannel shirt look hadn't made a big splash yet in Florida, but hillbillies? We were from fucking Philadelphia, they were the fucking hillbillies! But that was the eighties, and super tight jeans and Izod shirts were the shit in Miami. In Miami, I was the one out of fashion. I also had broken front teeth, a ghoulish scar on my lip and a serious speech impediment. All that didn't add up to Mr. Popularity.

The only one more out of style than me was my teacher. His name was Mr. Schneider. On my third day in class he was wearing these skin tight black polyester pants, Italian leather boots, and a bright red silk blouse. I made a joke involving him and Neil Diamond and that was that. I earned Schneider's wrath. For the rest of the year he made my life hell. And he really got his back into it. Up until that time I had always thought adults were just mean by accident. Schneider showed me just how premeditated they could be. He was vicious, and he stayed that way for as long as I knew him.

Being singled out as a fuck-up didn't help my social standing at all. A few little ugly-duckling smart girls with glasses looked at me with pity every now and again, but for the most part I was, "that bad kid" or "that weird hillbilly kid." I did what I do, and settled in to my new role. I even started to enjoy it sometimes. I didn't have many friends, but being the bad kid with the wicked scar kept the older kids and the bullies off of my back. I didn't know it yet, but I was slowly becoming like Paco Salmeron. The rumors started flying about what I had done to get Schneider so mad at me and I have to admit, the truth was boring in comparison.

Paco came back to school and I saw him one day in the halls. He was tall, dark and just as scary looking as everyone said, but we didn't have any classes together so he never bothered me. I figured that he had heard the rumors about me and I had gained his respect. You know, the way two outlaws respect each other? So the last thing I was expecting when I was taking a piss in the boys bathroom after school one day was Paco Salmeron walking in and declaring,

"I'm gonna fuck you up hillbilly boy!"

I guess I would have pissed my pants if I hadn't already had my dick out. I just couldn't stop pissing, if you could call it that. What was previously a vicious stream of piss had suddenly turned into a tiny trickle of pee-pee. After Paco's opening line I suddenly found myself doing what so many grandmas call "tinkling", and it was at that very moment in my life when I realized what "tinkling" meant. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity in total humiliation with little sprinkles of pee-pee sputtering out of my pathetic little wee-wee.

It was as if my dick had decided that if it never finished pissing, then we could possibly avoid the ass kicking that was coming after. Maybe we could wait him out? Maybe he didn't want to get any pee on him. In the end, I couldn't stand the humiliation anymore; the pitiful sound of my own urine trickling down, well mostly trickling down my leg. I decided to override my dick and just put it away still dripping.

When I turned around, there was Paco, still waiting. Begging for a stay of execution, my little peashooter shot one more viscous spray of piss out to form an embarrassingly large wet stain on my jeans. I tried to say something witty and limit the damage but Paco grabbed my throat so fast I didn't get the chance. Then I was back in the urinal, only backwards this time. The porcelain was cold on the back of my arms and the stainless steel flusher handle was jammed into my back. I couldn't help but notice that now the back of my pants were getting wet too. Paco had one hand around my throat and he slowly raised his other hand back by his head and balled it up into an enormous fist.

I don't know what I was thinking. It's strange, but I don't think I was thinking at all. Of course I can tell you what I thought I should have been thinking, or what I wished I had been thinking, but in a crisis, my mind is mostly blank. If I would have been thinking, I would have thought of something better to do than what I actually did. Anything at all would have been better then that. But I was scared, and so I did what I do. I started to cry.

The next thing I knew, Paco was hugging me. Not some guy hug with pats on the back and all that bullshit, he was more like holding me, tenderly, like a mother would, or as I imagined a mother would. My mother never held me like that. And then I was really crying. I was sobbing and having trouble breathing and my whole face and neck were covered with tears and Paco was just holding me there, so tightly, so close to him. And then he was crying too and I could taste his tears in my mouth because he was so much taller than me and his tears were all running down onto my face. I can't even tell you how long we stood there like that. If felt like hours. I had never before in my life felt so close to another human being. That was my first real intimate experience with another person and probably still is the most poignant.