Reflections on the Nature of Spice
Written for the Men of Few Words Community’s Spice and Reflections Prompts
***
“Well that wedding needed a touch of spice, if you ask me!”
“There is such a thing as too much spice.”
As soon as he said it, Ash regretted it, but the argument had gone on too long and too intensely for him to immediately retract the words. The fight between Ramon and him had started at the wedding reception, right after Ramon dirty-danced that salsa with Ash’s cousin Victoria – his trampy cousin Victoria who was separated from her third husband – and got the whole family raising their eyebrows. It continued through the tossing of the bouquet, reaching gale force level with the throwing of the bride’s garter – which Ramon caught – and was tropical storm strength by the time the taxi dropped them off in front of their apartment building in East Harlem.
Following that last exchange, an icy silence prevailed until Ramon followed him into their apartment. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against it and stared somberly at Ash.
“Once was a time you liked spicy, said there was no such thing as too much,” he quietly reminded Ash, his dark eyes filled with hurt. With that, Ash’s anger melted and he was filled with remorse. Taking a step toward his partner, he said, “Ramon, please, forgive ....”
He didn’t get a chance to finish before the other man had opened the door just wide enough to slip through...and leave.
“Fuck,” Ash whispered, sinking down onto the worn sofa. He leaned back against the cushions and couldn’t stop his mind from drifting back, reflecting on all the ways that comment was the wrong fucking thing to say.
***
Flashback-2004
Ash was working on dual Masters degrees in Sociology and Psychology, living in New York City and dating a pretty blonde debutante from Bryn Mawr named Patti. They looked great together, both tall and good-looking in a blue-eyed blond kind of way. His life was perfect--and he was perfectly miserable, only he was in too much denial to acknowledge it.
“I don’t understand why you prefer taking a smelly old bus instead of letting me run you up to the City in my Lexus. Sometimes you are completely ridiculous, Ashie!”
Ash winced at the pet name, especially when he saw how it amused the hot looking young guy leaning against the fence a few feet away, also waiting for the bus. He was dark and slim, maybe about five nine, but there was a wiry grace to the way he moved that hinted at hidden strength. Ash tore his eyes away reluctantly and returned Patti’s kiss half-heartedly.
“I’ve told you before, we need to reduce our carbon footprint or this planet is doomed. Have you read Al Gore’s book yet?”
“You’re kidding, right?” She looked at him from under her mascara-laden eyelashes. He sighed. He hadn’t been, but he hadn’t been very hopeful either. Patti didn’t read anything more challenging than Vanity Fair. And that was pushing it.
“Here’s the bus. Look, I’ll call you later in the week when I know my schedule, okay?”
“You will be back for the Thanksgiving Ball at the Club, won’t you?”
“Can’t say, bye!” He managed to avoid the lingering tongue kiss she wanted, and got away with just a brush of lips, managing to be one of the first people on the bus. He grabbed a seat by the window in an empty two-seater. He congratulated himself that he’d have the space to himself, right across the aisle and a row back from the dark-haired guy. That guy, like most others who scored a two-seater alone had chosen the outside seat, or Ash might have been brave enough to try sitting next to him – yeah, right, he mocked himself – and he learned the reason for that seemingly selfish maneuver when the bus made one more stop. Ash had thought the stop out near the University was the only one the bus made before heading for New York City.
He was wrong. It stopped for a second time at the other end of the city, and a couple of older, poorer looking people got on, most notably a very large, gray-haired Latina lady, dragging a wheeled cart. She moved slowly on swollen legs and Ash could smell a distinct aroma of onions and garlic when she was still three rows away.
And heading directly for the seat next to him.
Just as she drew even with the hot guy, Hot Guy stood up and said something to her in rapid-fire Spanish. There was some back and forth, and at one point, she looked over at Ash and smiled, a wide, cheerful smile that he couldn’t help returning with his own, less dentally challenged but no more charming, smile. He was conscious of feeling ashamed as he watched Hot Guy help the lady put her bag in the overhead compartment and then assist her in lowering her considerable bulk into the seat.
To Ash’s surprise and delight, Hot Guy then turned and sat down next to him.
Hot Guy turned his head and smiled, and Ash decided that there should be a different word for the beautiful expression on this man’s face than what he and the lady had done. This, this was dazzling.
“Hi, I’m Ramon. Ramon Lopez.” He offered his hand. Ash grasped it and felt a connection immediately, something he’d always scoffed at when other people claimed it happened to them.
“Hi, I’m Ash...”
Before he could say the rest of his name, that beautiful smile broadened into a mischievous grin.
“It really is Ash? Like the Pokemon kid? I thought maybe that blonde was just trying to tick you off...or sneezing.”
Ash rolled his eyes.
“It gets worse. Ashford Worthington Edwards...the Fourth,” he confessed.
“Damn, the closest thing to a real first name is your last name.” Ramon looked sympathetic, though still with a twinkle in his brown eyes. “I guess I would have gone with Ash too. But Barbie…? I don’t know, man. That voice could peel paint.”
Ash’s instinct was to defend her – she was kind of his girlfriend, sort of – but his innate honesty made him concede the truth of the assessment. So, he changed the subject. The WASP way, as taught to him by his mother, and to her by her mother, and on back for generations of Ashfords and Worthingtons, who went back to the Mayflower, as opposed to the Edwards, who only dated back to the American Revolution.
“So, do you live in New York?”
Of course, he thought, as soon as he asked the stupid question and saw those brown eyes dancing with mirth, one should try to make the new topic something that was not totally obvious.
“Yes, I do,” Ramon answered, his voice teasing. “And you,” he asked, in mock inquiry.
Ash rolled his eyes.
It turned out that Ramon was a second year law student at New York’s School of Law. He lived only a few blocks from Ash. As the bus made its bumpy way up the turnpike, Ash had felt his attraction growing. But he had no clue what to do about it. Or whether he was even ready to do anything about it.
Around Exit 13, he noticed that a young couple a few rows in front of them had disappeared into the small toilet located in the middle of the bus. He turned to Ramon, shocked.
“They’re not....”
“What’s the matter? You never heard of the MHC?”
“The MHC?” Ash repeated blankly, his mind racing through acronyms.
“The Meter High Club,” Ramon dead-panned, then laughed at the expression on Ash’s face. “Makes you want to rethink that whole carbon imprint thing, doesn’t it?”
“Makes me wish I hadn’t had that last coffee before getting on the bus,” Ash replied fervently.
When they arrived in New York, Ash assisted Ramon in helping the older lady off the bus. She insisted on pinching their cheeks and giving them some highly seasoned sausages from her shopping bag to take home for dinner.
Holding his sausage, not quite sure what to do with it, Ash looked at Ramon, who smiled that brilliant smile and held the solid looking sausage up between them.
“So, maybe we should go share these somewhere or something?” he suggested, raising one eyebrow, his brown eyes looking intently into Ash’s blue ones. “That is, if you like spicy food.”
His throat dry, Ash could only nod at first. After swallowing a few times, he managed to say, “No such thing as too spicy as far as I’m concerned.”
***
They stopped at a market and got some more ingredients for making what Ramon assured him would be fajitas to end all fajitas. Ash insisted on helping, so Ramon passed him a cutting board and some of the vegetables. Ash happily chopped away at the jalapenos, insisting to Ramon when he saw the other man’s skeptical look at the number that he was preparing, that he liked his food spicy hot.
“Man, there is spicy, and then there is burn up your mouth and throat and....”
Ash laughed. “Just because I’m blond doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy spicy things,” he told him, popping one in his mouth to prove his point. “Believe me, I meant it when I said there’s no such thing as too spicy.”
Ramon grinned and moved closer, wrapping his arms around Ash’s waist.
“Baby, I not only believe it, I’m kind of counting on it,” he murmured, tipping his head up invitingly. Mesmerized, Ash lowered his head and kissed the full lips offered up to him. As the kiss deepened, he felt himself harden; he was thrilled at the feeling of the other man’s cock pressed against his.
A few moments later, they had to break for breath. They smiled at each other.
“Yep, I’d say you’re pretty fond of spicy,” Ramon teased.
Ash laughed, feeling freer than he had in years.
“Let’s finish fixing dinner and then we can get to know each other better,” Ramon suggested.
“Sounds like a plan.”
While the vegetable and sausage mixture was simmering and the tortillas were warming, Ash asked where the bathroom was. Ramon pointed him in the right direction. Before Ash closed the door, he heard Ramon call out, “Be sure to wash your hands first.”
Ash wondered if Ramon thought he had to be reminded to wash his hands, which was pretty funny, because if there was something his mother had been especially anal about, it was bathroom etiquette. Though why Ramon would tell him to wash his hands first....
He found out what he meant within seconds of starting to urinate, when his jalapeno tainted hands came into contact with his cock.
“Fuck!”
He finished as quickly as he could but the burning just got worse. He was yelling in real anguish when the door opened. Ramon stood there, eying him as he stood by the sink, trying to wash his dick off, tears of pain streaming down his face.
“You didn’t wash your hands first like I told you, did you?”
Ash shook his head, in too much pain to feel as embarrassed as he no doubt should. He just looked to Ramon helplessly, hoping he had some magic cure.
Without another word, Ramon dropped to his knees and took Ash’s cock into his mouth. Ash was slightly afraid that their kissing might have left a residue of the pepper’s oils in Ramon’s mouth but within seconds, the pain receded. It was replaced with steadily increasing pleasure. A lot of pleasure. He leaned against the sink, his knees buckling slightly.
“Oh, fuck, Ramon, you’re fucking amazing...oh...oh...yeah, yeah....” Ash had never received a blowjob from a man before and had no clue what the rules were but he knew he was a second away from coming in Ramon's mouth, something he'd never done with anyone though God knew he'd wanted to. He tried to pull away as he felt himself coming but Ramon’s dark eyes looking up at him, his lips spread wide around his cock, made Ash lose all ability for cognitive thought. He’d never seen such a beautiful sight in his life.
Until he saw Ramon swallowing his come, licking at the small amount that escaped, and he thought he just might have a second orgasm on the spot.
Later, lying in bed, having returned the blowjob with a great deal of enthusiasm if not as much skill, Ash ran his hand along Ramon’s tanned, wiry body, marveling at how much his life had changed in one short day.
“How come your mouth didn’t burn me?” he suddenly asked.
“Real fast, I rinsed it with milk before going to you. I'd heard you yell and figured you hadn’t taken my advice. The milk balances out the pepper.”
“You’re pretty smart,” Ash noted, feeling pretty dumb.
“You’re smart too,” Ramon told him, his tone serious. “We’re just smart in different ways. Kind of like milk and jalapenos.”
Ash felt a little better, though he wasn’t sure how he felt about being the milk in the equation even though he had to admit it was apt. “It’s a good combination,” he noted softly.
“Most people won’t think so,” Ramon warned.
“Most people can go to hell,” Ash said, rolling over and covering Ramon’s body with his.
End of flashback
***
Ash felt like six kinds of ass. Even after five years, he made mistakes. Of course, they both did, but his tended to be the spectacularly stupid ones.
Like hot pepper juice on his dick.
It was so like Ash’s family that they never minded his coming out as gay anywhere near as much as they minded that his partner was Mexican. Ramon was great about putting up with the small insults that his family excelled at, ignoring most of them, turning away others with a joke, but when it got to be too much, he reacted. Like he did today, at the wedding. Ash’s uppercrust, stick-up-the-ass family had made their usual racist comments about immigrants especially Mexicans, ignoring the fact that Ramon was not only Ash’s chosen partner, but a successful lawyer with an excellent education. They treated him like he was on par with the waiters, which, as Ash’s conscience pointed out, was just another sign that his supposedly liberal family treated all working class people like second class citizens, which was wrong in so many ways.
Ramon usually pointed that type of thing out when it was just the two of them, and Ash always agreed completely – until Ramon decided to act like a Mexican gigolo because they were treating him like one. Which was also ironic, Ash thought, since Ash’s salary as a social worker was about a quarter of Ramon’s as a lawyer in a big criminal defense firm.
Ash should have stood up for Ramon. He should have told his father to shut up, and his mother to stop her tight-faced not-quite-smiling thing that she did, and he really should have told that cunt, his Aunt Jean, to go drown in the champagne fountain. And to take her tramp daughter with her.
And he should have cut in on the salsa, instead of sitting at the table, looking like a Ken doll who’d lost his Barbie doll or his Juan doll, which was more to the point.
He should have told his family that he would never, could never, have enough spice in his life.
But, maybe it wasn’t too late. He picked up the phone.
“Mother? It’s Ashford. Yes, the wedding was lovely....No, I did not enjoy the reception and no, Ramon did not either. I don’t care what you thought from seeing him dance.” Ash heard the front door open but he kept talking, his back to the door.
“Mother, I feel I must tell you that I do not like it when you and Father treat my partner rudely....Yes, you do and it must end. I love Ramon and I love everything about him. His family treats me like another son and if you cannot find it in you to treat him the same, then you will be seeing a lot less of this son. And you can tell Aunt Jean and Uncle Warren this goes for them too...No, I am not drunk. Stone cold sober....Yes, he is full of life and yes, he is different from me, and I thank God for that, Mother.” Ash felt arms come around him and he leaned back against the slim chest of his partner.
“Mother – I’ve got to go now. We’ll have you and father to dinner at our place sometime. We’ll make you some fabulous fajitas. You’ll love them. Trust me. Good night.”
Turning in Ramon’s embrace, Ash murmured, “Forgive me?”
Ramon sighed theatrically. “Yeah. I hate dancing with chicks. The tits get in the way. Come to bed with me?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Sometimes, the oddest combinations work the best, Ash reflected, as he followed his lover to bed.