A Different Color Blue
Erotic Non-Fiction Series: Chapter 1
We’ve been encamped in our oasis in the desert for several years now.
Truth be told I have lived here in this desert all my life, but this oasis is special. Even if it is largely man-made. Reclaimed from the desert that surrounds it.
We are surrounded by green. Grass, trees, flowers, water and more. It’s a far cry from the cacti and sagebrush a short distance away. Long lost are the images of yesterday with cowboys and Indians roaming the land in traditional garb. What reminders of that past which still are around is in the shape of small signs marking old “Pony Express” routes, a few odd buildings and that “Old West” attitude or mentality. The Oasis of today would never be mistaken for a “Western” TV or movie set.
Even though the Reservation is less than a mile to the East of us it means little today socially or geographically. “The Res” is a place of commerce not a no man’s land, at least at their borders to the rest of the world. Today’s Native Americans look like anyone else. They are doctors, lawyers, teachers, architects, engineers, politicians, creative artists of all stripes and high-end chefs. They have part ownership in casinos. They shop in the same stores everyone else does and wear the same clothes pretty much everyone else does. No more gingham dresses and mother of pearl snapped buttons or “squaw” anything anymore for anyone. Regardless of race, creed, gender, sexuality or what side of the bed you got up on this morning, nobody wears that shit anymore. Unless you are about eighty years old.
The only time most cowboys get near a cow today is when they’re ordering a steak at a steakhouse before they go to a country/western bar.
Horsepower is defined by Porsche, Mercedes, Lamborghini, Maserati and such. Not the living, breathing breed one once rode. Gone are the “Ranchos” of the past and are now replaced by million-dollar condos.
The Bible-thumpers of the Conservative Right and Left, more today than before, spout the demise of morality while publicly getting their hands caught in the cookie jar… or someone else’s pants.
Yet some things stay magically the same in a surreal, almost terrifying way. It still feels like the “Old West” as we sit and talk about politics, creative things, love lives, sex lives, gossip and more with friends in our favorite bar or plan a movie project in a café or restaurant that does not involve “Western” themes and look only slightly out of touch doing it these days. Images deep and sometimes disturbing, but never horrifying. Always filled with color and passion that reach inside and wake something sleeping that may have been hiding longer than anyone cares to admit. Still not remotely touching on “traditional” southwestern themes and safe tranquil images.
Nothing is hidden anymore. There isn’t enough clothing to hide what we have or what we want the world to see. We dare people to look and touch. It’s all there for the taking and as the drinks flow and the music soars… the taking is easy. Sometimes, too easy. What’s inside can be another issue. Hidden in the confines of our minds, only to be shown to a rare few…if any. Everything else people seem to desire is painted on a wall or printed on a page and in some cases… spurting from a garish fountain or screaming from a sound system inaudibly understood.
The land of Spirit Catchers has given way to Dream Chasers filled with Fantasy people that are not at all real and after a few too many drunken nights are found cast off at the edge of the oasis. Left to rot and wither in search of the glory and the money that never came to them as their plastic melts inside themselves in the sun and makes them older than they really are. But they feebly chase their dreams at night like vampires stalking the neon halls and streets looking for redemption and victims to give them new life and youth at any cost regardless of the humiliation.
Sadly, they get old fast in this cauldron. Quickly before they realize they have in some cases and often before they have realized what a cartoon they have made of their lives. Long before their potential and/or sexuality has even been fully blossomed in most cases. Many times, before they have even understood who they really are, were or possibly should be. All too many times… turning to dust believing in a false sense of what they expected or demanded themselves to be instead of what they really were or might have been.
There are many bodies of water within our oasis. Some are small man-made lakes and ponds, some are pools. The lakes and ponds are there to look pretty and left for the animals to live and grow on, which we take great care to protect and see that they survive untouched.
The pools are inhabited by animals of another kind. Wearing practically nothing, dancing to unknown tribal rhythms as they drink ritual concoctions made of trendy alcohol to the Sun God as they seek out mates for the evening’s questionable sexual festivities… these are the dangerous animals in the oasis. Their hunting ground is often the pools and bars of the high-end hotels of the oasis.
They are not looking for blood or food. They are looking for something far worse… your livelihood. They want everything you have… and then some, and they will enchant you to give it to them. Male or female, they will try.
From the first “Hello” everything will be choreographed and well thought out. The perfect tan, designer clothes and accessories. Even the names and what they do (or do not do) are perfect. It all becomes surreal in an instant. And everyone is sure they have seen you someplace before. “St Bart’s (or Barth’s depending on who you’re talking to), Spain or Cannes’ during the Film Festival perhaps (Why YES, we DID have the villa next to the Clooney’s and we DID lunch on Armani’s yacht every day… NOT) or was It, Las Vegas? we know we’ve met you before”.
Fishing for places of wealth around the pool is a great way for people to narrow down their prey. The more exotic, the greater the potential reward. A great many of them have never left the oasis and wouldn’t know St Bart’s from Akron if they saw it. Those that do know what to look for and what to ask then who to spend time with move quick and deftly. It’s also easy to tell the beginners from the pros this way.
Some of them have been to Vegas where they stood in line while trying to convince the gatekeepers of some new trendy night spot that they should be let in for free because they were “Influencers” on some social media platform or another. Never mind, nobody cares regardless of that fact. Think of it as more of an “Out of Town Try-Out” for their act. (If it works, they keep it… if it doesn’t, they tweak it for the next time.)
Then there are the other animals at the pool. They come in all ages these days and travel in packs filled with bright colors and shiny things. You cannot tell if they really have money or not, but they like to spend it like they do. They are there for one reason and one reason only… to find playmates for the evening. In many cases younger than they are. They will circle their prey with glitter, laughter and invitations to sit with them in reserved cabanas.
You will be dazzled by the jewelry on their bodies and the stories of sexual conquest in far off places like Hedo, Temptations, Desire, Cap d’Agde and so on as they ply you with food and drink while inviting you to their rooms. A blue pill may need to be swallowed, or a cock may need to be injected before things roll along, but they do roll along… sort of. A few too many shots of that awful shit “Fireball” will render the evening useless. The passions will be generally ho-hum and pedestrian as is the sex and not worth writing about in detail, so you quickly dress say good-bye and stumble out into the warm evening looking for the nearest bar to forget what you just did and with whom leaving the “porn star wannabe’s” to themselves.
Sadly, the pack will not be too far behind in search of more conquests before the sun rises and they either turn to dust or regular moms and dads again.
Fortunately, the oasis is full of nightclubs, and it took us only a few feet down the sidewalk to find a suitable spot to deposit ourselves and enjoy a drink as we watched all the lovely people pretend to dance. Nobody really knows how to anymore these days, but it’s amusing, none the less. It somehow made the memory of the last hour or so melt away quickly.
The competing rhythms flowing from the nightclubs up and down the streets trying to lure people inside mixes in the air through the open windows. As my wife and I watch the bodies move on the dance floor I cannot help but think about donning some outrageous straw headdress shaped like an exotic animal and join them on the dancefloor prancing like an idiot through the crowd. Surely no one would notice or get the joke. A fertility dance to an unknown god or spirit. The neon lights inside mixed with wild lights and carnival atmosphere outside always makes for a suffocatingly fun time.
Before long, the packs start arriving and we take that as our cue to retire for the evening and give our brains a chance to decompress.
The further away we get from the nightclubs (even though it is just a few blocks) we are quickly reminded we are on an oasis. We can hear the nocturnal animals baying by the lakes and knowing there are silent ones out there you do not want to meet for any reason at any time makes one cautious on your journey home, so you don’t run into one “critter” or another.
As we walk through the door of our apartment the conversation turns to tomorrow’s tasks and where to start. It will be busy for us on the oasis, but tonight we sleep.
Read AZLifestyles “A Different Color Blue” Chapter II in LSM FEB 2025 issue.
