Puerto Rican Tales: No por mucho madrugar amanece más temprano. (Getting earlier does not guarantee a sunrise)

Puerto Rican Tales: No por mucho madrugar amanece más temprano. (Getting earlier does not guarantee a sunrise)
By Carlos T. Mock, MD
January 31, 2010


“Can Juan come out to play?” I heard Tito’s voice. Tito was my alpha, the leader. He and his brother Willie were my closest friends. Tito was a year older at 14, two years ahead in school and tall for his age. His blue eyes set him apart from the local crowd; his wavy bangs gave away his northern gene pool. He had a high forehead, long nose, and a confident face. Although not buff, his figure asserted his authority. He was the oldest in our group with a reserved, almost formal manner until he smiled, and then his eyes nearly shut, his skin stretched as thin as parchment across his face, and something Romanesque appeared. His voice was thin and faint, contrasting with his muscular, thick necked, powerful body. He was completely masculine. Willie, one year my junior, at 12 was the perfect balance for us. Always cheerful, always enthusiastic, he complemented the strong brother with the feeble me. Willie was as slender and as smooth as I was. He had large blue eyes; a long face and he exuded sweetness, a quality that I found irresistible. He was shy, and always trying to please his brother, another reason why I identified with him: we both were always trying to please Tito.

I had not seen them since way before exams. I was wary of sharing my secret about my ability to ejaculate, yet, I always thought of Tito as the wise one, and the energy generated from my anticipation of the summer ahead was an easy introduction to the theme.

Tito was quite sympathetic. He told me that there was nothing wrong with me and that I should be proud of my developments. Tito, while he already had the changes that came with puberty, was still unable to achieve orgasm. He was very proud as he showed me all the hair in his crotch.

We lived in Santa Maria, a middle class development in the outskirts of San Juan. Back in the late 60’s there had been a surge in construction and most of the lots were already being built on. In hurricane country, and since there aren’t enough trees left on the island, houses are built with as much concrete as possible (concrete is actually considered a status symbol.) It was not unusual for the work to start and then the concrete shell would be left unfinished until more financing became available. When Papi bought property in the new sub-division, my grandfather made fun of him for moving into the country and out of the city (San Juan). That subdivision is now in the center of the city and the country is many miles away.

Tito led us to an abandoned lot. The past school year had seen a huge rush in construction. Somehow, this lot, which was parallel to my house four blocks east, was unfinished. It had the skeletal four walls and no roof.

As soon as we were inside with all the privacy provided by the four walls, Tito wanted proof of my newfound talent. He was as helpful as he was curious. As soon as all three of us had our pants down to our knees, Tito insisted on helping me. I screamed like a young girl when he touched me (my voice was still changing).

Tito tried to soothe me by informing me that he and Willie were always doing this. It was as normal as changing your underwear and I should be learning to enjoy it. Wary at first, I discovered the pleasure of my friend’s hands. Somehow, it was a lot better than when I did it on my own; either with my left or, my much preferred right hand. While all three of us were able to get erections, I was the only one who was able to ejaculate. The warm fluid that shot out of me amazed both Tito and Willie. They were immediately jealous. It was as if somehow, by beating them to this rite of passage, I had inherited the power of the most powerful army. I was suddenly the new general and these were my loyal soldiers

The empty lot was soon christened “el fuerte” (the fort) and these meetings became as much a part of this hot summer as the smell of chlorine left over from the pool had been the last year. Tito, as alpha, would call meetings to the fort and we boys were soon to follow. Trying to get both Willie and Tito to ejaculate, I soon learned to reciprocate in the manual activities: with both hands.

Around this time, I named my hands, Rosie and Louie. I would have Rosie days and then I would have Louie days. It was as if I was dating two separate people. I even had the courage to introduce them to my friends. I would either give them Rosie jobs or Louie jobs. Tito had a love affair with Rosie, while Willie was head over heels over Louie. This was the extent of our little family for a good while….

Tito and Willie, bragging of my prowess, were soon to introduce another fellow to the club. Tabito was already fifteen and in Tito’s class. He was what you might call a sex maniac, but he was an amusing and generous one. He was like a lovable, mischievous cartoon character; a giant anvil might fall on him, but he would just pop right back up, dust himself off, and go on to find more trouble. He was never repentant for his actions because he never saw any of them as bad. Because he was a year older, he was always boasting about his ability to ejaculate.

The first time that Tabito was invited to the fort, he was not only eager to drop his pants, but forceful in trying to engage in closer physical contact. It was the second time that I looked at a fully developed organ (first time being my brother Manny) and I was both impressed and scared of its size. While Tito calmed Willie and me by saying we would have ours grow that big some day, I had my reservations. Tabito’s eagerness drove Tito to such a state of excitement, that he joined that day in the exclusive club of those boys that had become men. (Gay Latinos, latent or otherwise, maintain aggression as a way of life strictly due to a society that sees aggression as a normal way of dealing with the world around them. Indulging in pain – seeking it for itself or afflicting on others can become quite erotic. As he breaks away from the adolescent sex games where it’s easy to have “sex” with other boys without much societal restraint, the Latin male has to fundamentally become a top. As long as he is the active one, he does not have to think of himself as gay. He may even have a wife and kids. As if by being very aggressive, he can hide his homosexuality and survive.) All three of us were taken aback as Tito ejaculated, and the rules of engagement were formalized. Since Tito now possessed the gift, he was soon to become the true alpha-male of the group again.

Somehow, rumors spread of the club’s activities and other members joined. Since Tito was ahead in school, he was the one who brought new pledges to our fraternity. Soon we were six or seven boys: the contests were organized in a circle, and were determined by the speed of the deed, the size of the member, and the number of times the deed was achieved (ties were decided by distance shot). One argument was resolved by convening at a later time to bring a ruler to measure organ size and it could not be resolved because Tito was unsure as to whether width or length was more important. It didn’t matter that I thought the shorter, yet much wider one was very cute.

As summer vacation ended, the fort was lost to the returning construction crew and the club dissolved due to lack of meeting facilities.

I was transformed by this summer. Soon the frequent dreams of arousal had a recurring male theme, and my lieutenant pillow/lover was replaced by memories of classmates. One boy in particular would come back to haunt me next year at school.

Confessions at church were also transformed. Now I was shamed by the fact that I had done sexual activities in the company of strangers. Unable to justify them with my usual confessional jargon of impure thoughts only, and taken aback by the transfer of good Father Roberto to another parochial district, I was soon to endure this Sunday purification ritual with a new priest.

Having fasted the usual hour before communion, and after a very good thought-out act of contrition, I was presented with the task of choosing a new partner in sanctification. I read the names of all the priests on duty at the confessional, and mysteriously I was drawn to Father Eduardo.

Father Eduardo was new last year and had come to my Religion class. He was clad in black pants and his black robe. When the weather would cool (in PR “cold” means below 75 degrees), he would wear a smartly tailored matching black jacket. He knew how to wear his Jesuit collar with style – if there had been a way to accessorize a priest’s collar, he would have found it. His hair was neatly styled in silky short waves and he wore large Ray Ban gold-trimmed sunglasses as he assessed us from the doorway, as if reluctant to enter or leave the room. He was very sensitive and all the students felt they could trust him with their problems. He had a unique technique in didactics, where he used church teachings only as they applied to regular people’s lives. I had felt very at ease in Religion class, and not being bored like the year before, thought Father Eduardo might bring me back to my lost state of “Grace”. It helped a lot that he was nice to look at.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned” I began. “It has been one week since my last confession,” I continued. “My sins are: I lied to my friend Tito, I forgot to return my friend Willie’s GI Joe rifle and then I lost it. I had impure thoughts and could not contain myself and acted on them”

“Were you alone at the time?” interrupted Father Eduardo.

“I don’t know where I was.”

“You don’t know where you were?”

“Yeah, I lost his rifle sometime, but if I knew where I was, I probably could find it.”

A pause. Then, “No. When you acted on your impure thoughts.”

Long silence. Astounded by the interruption of my ritual and not knowing what to say I added, “No I had company”

“Who was with you at the time?” Father Eduardo inquired.

“My friends Willie and Tito” was all I could get out. Barely, at that.

Miraculously, things got easier very quickly. Not only was Father Eduardo inquisitive of, or shall we say probing into, all the details of the fort activities, but also he showed so much interest and enthusiasm that I almost missed Holy Communion. Father Eduardo kept me for forty-five minutes, almost throughout the entire length of the Holy Mass, and amazingly, was very lenient in the Penance. Instead of Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers, I was told that my sins were forgiven and, I didn’t understand why but, with a subtle increase in his breathing, he requested full reports every week of my activities. And, as his breathing started to return to normal, Father also encouraged me to have my friends Willie and Tito come to him for confession. That was the beginning of a bond that would be present for the next four years of High School.

Dr. Mock has published four books with Floricanto Press, Berklety, CA. His articles have appeared on publications like The Chicago Tribune and several gay and lesbian newspapers. He was inducted in The Chicago GLBT Hall of Fame in 2007. He can be reached at: www.carlostmock.com