Adonis Diaries

Posts Tagged ‘“Chica Lupita”

San Francisco: Soothing recollections May 31, 2009

The trip to San Francisco from Oklahoma to attend the Human Factors convention lasted almost 3 days and I spent my money on junk food. This is a period I’m still not ready to face much less to write about but I finally came around to tell it. Suffice to admit that I roomed with my adviser in the hotel and that he woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me that my snoring was loud.

After the convention was over, I was on the verge of joining the file of the homeless. I stayed at the studio of a referral that I got in Norman for one night in Ashbury Heights. I had later many occasions to walk this famous street during the period when the hippies selected it as headquarter for their movement.

The next morning I was feeling sick because of too much nervous tension. I called my cousin Nassif in Vancouver and all that I got was a reprimand “Adonis, you are always in trouble”. I called Ali who was working in Canada but he had no referrals in San Francisco to stay over. I used an old number of Ali’s in Houston and it seems that this number connect him everywhere he relocates.

I know that I slept one night at an Algerian student who was the manager of the restaurant “Marrakech” that served Moroccan dishes; it was one of the longest nights and the most nerve wracking wait for this Algerian student to show up and pick me up.

It was a cold night and I waited for over three hours sitting on my suitcase wondering if he is ever going to show up. I had nowhere to go and no money for any decent lodging facility.  The next day I slept at a hostel for foreign student visitors for two nights in Downtown San Francisco.

The Algerian student referred me to two Spanish students living in a foggy neighborhood; the fog enveloped this quarter 20 hours a day. I had shelter for a week at the foreign students from Spain and they were very nice.

I managed to be hired in a full-service retirement hotel, for room and board in exchange of 4 hours work a day. The Spanish students could not believe that I landed a job that quickly. I accepted all the overtime I could get in all the departments, until I was offered the job of assistant to the manager three weeks later.  I was fooled by the offer of $1,200 a month which turned out to be less than $900 after all kinds of deductions but I fulfilled my “word” to stay a whole year in that position.

My cousin Patrick visited me once when he was attending a conference in San Francisco for the anesthesiologists. I enjoyed my stay in this lovely city of San Francisco and visited frequently all its parks and waterfronts and beaches, carrying a book with me.

I had also located a nearby covered swimming pool that I patronized three times a week.  I had the opportunity to tour the neighboring towns around San Francisco with co-workers and a French older woman called Michelle that I helped secure a part-time position at the Hotel.  The red headed Michelle carried all her belonging in the trunk of her small beat up car and she invited me on her many excursions out of town.

I saw many famous locations because I was responsible for arranging tours to the elder residents and I was to be part of the trip for supervision purposes.  The City offered a van with a driver and we toured San Francisco once a week and I took pictures and described the tour in the monthly promotional brochure along with the monthly events in the Hotel.

I was caring for elder persons, mostly ladies, but in my state of confusion for my future and frustration in not finding within my spirit of what I loved to do for a job didn’t leave much space in my soul for sincere compassion.  Practically, I cared better than most of the managerial staff because I was new to this environment of human spiritual misery and I was highly respected by the “clients”.

The retirees knew of my higher education but never asked me “why are you working in such an institution with your degree?”; it is as people in the US are accustomed to seeing all kinds of individuals working temporary jobs that turned out to be more permanent than proclaimed.

One elder man of over 80 of age, tall and of powerful constitution, committed suicide a week after his “incarceration” by falling in a stairwell from the eighth floor.  Many of the elder ladies whom I cared for passed away during my job but I was not shaken emotionally, or that what I thought at the time.

I think that I read most of the famous authors who lived in and around San Francisco. I had a Mexican girlfriend. (You may read my post in the addendum to my introspection “Chica Lupita”)

I have toured Marin County, the forest of the highest Red trees, ventured to Monterrey, Big Sur, Little Sur, Carmel, and all the environs.  There was old Jake who was a gambling addict; he used to receive invitations from the casinos for free rooms in Reno.  I joined him twice because he needed company.

I played little and ate a lot; food and drinks were cheap and in abundance, and enjoyed looking at pretty servers too.  We traveled on two occasions as a group in a van belonging to an employee and spent glorious days up north and tasted wine in wine counties and farmhouses.

I recall that I had an interview for a job in statistical analysis and had to board several ferries to reach destination; luckily, I didn’t get the job but it was a good exposure for various transport facilities. All in all, my stay in San Francisco was the loveliest and most enriching experience in the US.

During my stay in San Francisco I took the bus Greyhound to Boulder because my adviser sent me a letter that he was to deliver part of my dissertation to the convention of Human Factors Society and I wanted to attend it. It was a long trip of two days and we passed through Salt Lake City and I visited the temple of the Mormons.

There was snow and the University of Boulder was lovely. During the second day of the convention my advisor failed to show up and I had no copy of my dissertation and I felt frustrated for not being prepared to deliver anything even though I was invited by the chairperson of the session to do it.  I had the opportunity to tour Denver by night and boarded the spacious and large bus that crosses Main Street.

The return trip was long. A week later I was to battle a discrimination case.  There was this girl who claimed that I harassed her sexually and the case was dropped after weeks of hassles; she had no one to testify on her behalf.  The girl was pissed off that I got the position of assistant to the manager. I had no hints of the power struggle that went on before I arrived to this hotel.  I wanted to resign but the manager convinced me that when I finish the whole year then I would be eligible for unemployment benefits of around $450 a month.

I finished the year and started to look for a steady job commensurate to my education.  I thus patronized an office on Van Ness Road that was funded by the City and aided with unemployment cases, such as writing CVs and how to tailor make your resume, and checking on the latest openings for work.  In one of my posts titled “Are you searching for a job?” I wrote:

“I recall that in 1991 the US was in serious recession during the Bush Sr. Administration and jobs were frighteningly scarce.  I had graduated with a PhD degree in Industrial/Human Factors engineering and missed better periods for hiring academicians.

I was working as assistant to manager at a retirement community in Downtown San Francisco and visited an employment center on Van ness Road. It was a center meant to help you out rewrite your CV for the nth time anytime you wanted to apply for the scarce job announcements posted in the center.

People swarmed this center just to feel busy and serious about searching for a job but not that hot for finding one.  I guess the center was one of the hundreds of facilities with the sole purpose to blaming the citizens for failure to doing their due diligence and compete since no one is about to beg you to work for them.  If you failed to re-write your CV and spent more money on useless stamps per day then you are not making good use of this “valuable” help facility.

This was the period when ridiculous denials were the custom of the land. For example, this custodian at NASA who claims that he is contributing to sending astronauts to the moon; or redefining their jobs as sanitation “engineering”.  I recall that I was forced to accept a job cleaning and vacuuming the main library while working on my dissertation.

I fooled my spirit into believing that as long as I am doing my job perfectly and with excitement then I am learning the value of a job well done, sort as a training period for toughening my character.  A state of denial is not a bad reaction; it is successive states of denials that can be deleterious to your development”.

I was very curious and enjoyed being among crowds; I attended the public events such as Shakespeare in the park, the free open concerts, joined the homosexual yearly celebrations, and the Latinos Days of Independence.  Unfortunately, I was mugged on a wonderful evening 50 feet from my hotel and I was hospitalized.  I never believed that I might be a statistics. Nobody in the hotel heard anything or even noticed what happened when I returned from the hospital.

I refrained from going out for three weeks.  Walking in San Francisco even during the day was no pleasure anymore: there were too many beggars along the streets and they were not a peaceful lot.  I was glad to move to Washington DC for a change but no city compares to San Fran in variety, beauty, and recreational facilities.

I never walked as much as my two years stay in San Fran.  This was a wonderful period when I devoured all kinds of books on a daily basis; I had the pleasure to be acquainted with most of the famous Bay Areas authors from Henry Miller, to John Steinbeck, to Jack London, and the Beatnik movement.

Introspection: Chica Lupita (Addendum #9), (Dec. 2002)

Ariadna is from Atlixco in Mexico. Her English is poor. My Spanish is no better.

Our conversations were plagued with divergent misunderstandings. One time, after we made love she asked me how serious is our relationship.

I told her that we barely can communicate and that I can’t see much future with us together.

She jumped out of bed and cried, sleeping on the floor. Minutes later, seeing that I did not come down to console her she joined me in bed. We used to sleep on opposite side of the bed when not making love. I guess she could not stand my smoky breath.

Chica, or Lupita, or Chica Lupita, as she liked me to call her, rubbed her right leg on my dick several times. We made love again on the opposite side of bed this time: my head looking at her feet. 

Lupita has very white skin and a rather aquiline nose, like mine.  She liked to wear dresses that show a major part of her bosom. She was rather short and had her reddish hair cropped short. The tops of her feet were large and her heels very thin: She walked on tip toe and her heels barely touched ground. She never walked bare footed: the ground is the domain of the Devil.

Lupita held her head up, always looked straight ahead, back straight, and confidently conscious of people sizing her up. Chica was married to a young American. Her man committed suicide two years after their wedding.

I met her at a full-service retirement community. She worked as a cleaning lady. I worked odd jobs there for two weeks before I was later promoted as assistant to the manager. Chica was jealous of her superior at the cleaning and washing department; a lady from Guatemala who had an eye for me.

I asked Lupita out one day and we went walking Downtown. During our bilingual and confusing conversation I said: “The only real thing is the moment. Let us enjoy the moment.” She retained that sentence and reminded me of it during our many painful separations.

We went out again and then we started meeting in my private room at 2 p.m.

I asked permission from the manager to rest for an hour around that time. Chica used to join me surreptitiously for an hour before ending her daily work. We used to undress completely, kiss, make up, and cuddle.

Two weeks later, she allowed me to investigate her rosy pussy. I licked, kissed and rubbed her pussy; I thought that I was very gentle but her pussy must have been virgin for these caresses. The next day at lunch Chica said: “Me duele. I am in pain.”

Chica pointed toward her vagina.  She would not let me lick her lower lips again.

A month later, Lupita let me in her. The moment I entered her she whispered: “You are for me.” I told myself that I am in trouble and cut my activity short for the moment.

We used to go to a semi private beach, at the foot of a villa perched on a high rock.

The villa belonged to a famous brain surgeon or a brain researcher; I could not get further intelligence of Lupita but that it was related to brain. Chica used to clean the villa on weekends. The small beach was hidden from the crowd by a large rock and we were tender behind that rock.

Chica used to hold and rub my dick and when I felt too excited she would laugh with pleasure.

We never had an apartment for ourselves. Lupita used to rent a room in apartments of some Latino families. Our privacies were restricted to a room with no private bath. Once, we had a great time when the apartment happened to be vacant. We took a long hot bath together and made love all morning.

I was introduced to her two brothers who were working and living in San Francisco.

At one stage of our relationship we stopped talking for two weeks. When we made up, her brother Juan said during lunch: “Finally, my sister is smiling, talking and happy.”

Chica loved me to give her massages.  She would lay on her stomach completely naked.  I would smear her entire body with cream and diligently rub her neck, back, arms and legs.  When I get tired of massaging I would lie on her back lightly and ask her to insert my prick.  We would lie still for a long time. Lupita’s moments of laziness could be highly luxurious.

Lupita used to spend her summers in Mexico. She used to have her physical check-ups and everything relating to her health and teeth. She invited me several time, with insistence, to visit Mexico with her. I was ready to spend all my savings to be with her in Mexico, but I could not leave the USA because of problems with my stupid visa. She brought me gifts on her returns to San Francisco.

One gift was a crucifix on a necklace that I still wear all the time. Some people were amazed at my guts for wearing religious icons in Lebanon. I could only reply: “This is a gift from a dear friend.” On one of our walks in downtown San Francisco, Chica liked a pullover and bought it for me. I bought her a red skirt, I guess, and she was all love.

The night before leaving to Washington, D.C. for good, I saw her in her apartment that she rented with her brother Juan.  I saw Chica crying for the first time. She said: “You are going to leave me all alone?”

I never went back to San Francisco: I could never afford it, but she kept calling me and sending letters. The first couple of sentences in the letters were attempts of sort of English and the rest in plain Spanish. Once, Chica asked me to write her a very intimate letter showing affections in order to chase away a guy who was crazy of her, as she said.

I satisfied her with a letter filled with lies, like that I enjoyed visiting her last week and that I’ll be calling her every day and on and on …Two weeks later, I received from her a letter in Spanish. I could feel anger in the words and something of an order to return all her photos. I showed the letter to our secretary from Salvador. After she read it she simply said: “She is very upset.”

Chica might have called one Saturday evening, the first week of my return to Lebanon.

My mother answered and hung up because she could not understand a word. End of a relationship.

Chica Lupita: Introspection, Songs for women (Written in Dec. 2002)

Note: names of characters are fictitious, but the events are real to me.  These songs for women are fragments of my existence that I tried hard to gather in order to understand my individuality. 

Ariadna is from Atlixco in Mexico; her English is poor.

My Spanish is no better.

Our conversations were plagued with divergent misunderstandings.

One time, after we made love she asked me how serious is our relationship.

I told her that we barely can communicate

And that I can’t see much future with us together.

She jumped out of bed and cried sleeping on the floor.

A while later, seeing that I did not come down to console her,

She was back in bed.

We used to sleep on opposite side of the bed when not making love.

Chica or Lupita, as she liked me to call her,

Rubbed her right leg on my dick several times.

We made love again on the opposite side of bed this time.

Lupita had very white skin, a rather aquiline nose,

Liked dresses that show a major part of her bosom.

She was rather short and her reddish hair cropped short.

The tops of her feet were large and her heels very thin:

She walked on tip toe and her heels barely touched ground.

She never walked bare footed: the ground is the domain of the Devil.

Lupita held her head up, always looked straight ahead, back straight,

Confidently conscious of people sizing her up.

Chica was married to a young American.

Her man committed suicide two years after their wedding.

I met her at a full-service retirement community.

She worked as a cleaning lady.

I worked odd jobs there before I was later promoted as assistant to the manager.

She was jealous of her superior at the cleaning and washing department,

A lady from Guatemala who had an eye for me.

I asked Lupita out one day and we went walking Downtown.

During our bilingual and confusing conversation I said:

“The only real thing is the moment. Let us enjoy the moment.

She retained that sentence and reminded me of it

During our many painful separations.

We went out again

And then we started meeting in my private room at 2pm.

I asked permission from the manager to rest for an hour around that time.

She used to join me surreptitiously for an hour before ending her daily work.

We used to undress completely and kiss and cuddle.

Two weeks later, she allowed me to investigate her rosy pussy.

I licked, kissed and rubbed her pussy so hard

That she said the next day at lunch: “Me duele. I am in pain.”

Chica pointed toward her vagina.

She would not let me lick her lower lips again.

A month later, she let me in her.

The moment I entered her she whispered: “You are for me.”

I told myself that I am in trouble and cut my activity short.

We used to go to a semi private beach,

At the foot of a villa perched on a high rock,

Belonging to a famous brain surgeon or a brain researcher,

That she used to clean the villa on weekends.

The small beach was hidden from the crowed by a large rock

And we were tender behind that rock.

She used to hold and rub my dick

And when I felt too excited she would laugh with pleasure.

We never had an apartment for ourselves.

She used to rent a room in apartments of some Latino families.

And our privacies were restricted to a room with no private bath.

 Once, we had a great time when the apartment happened to be vacant.

We took a long hot bath together and made love all morning.

I was introduced to her two brothers who were working and living in San Francisco.

At one stage of our relationship we stopped talking for two weeks.

When we made up, her brother Juan said during lunch:

“Finally, my sister is smiling, talking and happy.”

Lupita used to spend her summers in Mexico.

She used to have her physical check-ups and everything relating to her health.

She invited me several time, with insistence, to visit Mexico with her.

I was ready to spend all my savings to be with her in Mexico,

But I could not leave the USA because of problems with my stupid visa.

She brought me gifts on her returns.

One gift was a crucifix on a necklace that I still wear all the time.

Some people were amazed at my guts for wearing religious icons,

I could only reply: “This is a gift from a dear friend.”

On one of our walks in downtown San Francisco,

She liked a pullover and bought it for me.

I bought her a red skirt, I guess, and she was all love.

The night before leaving to Washington, D.C. for good,

I saw her crying for the first time.

She said: “You are going to leave me all alone?”

I never went back to San Francisco but she kept calling me and sending letters,

The first couple of sentences in a sort of English and the rest in plain Spanish.

Once, she asked me to write her a very intimate letter

Showing affections

To chase away a guy who was crazy of her, she said.

 I satisfied her with a letter filled with lies

Like that I enjoyed visiting her last week

And that I’ll be calling her every day and on and on …

Two weeks later, I received from her a letter in Spanish.

I could feel anger in the words

And something of an order to return all her photos.

I showed the letter to our secretary from Salvador.

After she read it she said: “She is very upset.”

She might have called one Saturday evening, the first week of my return to Lebanon.

My mother answered and hung up because she could not understand a word.

Table of contents

Short stories on women (started in 1998)

1.  Songs for women

2.  Raines’ my initiator   

3.  Twenty kitties around Josephine

4.  Decked in black

5.  You’re hungry, eh!?

6.  I could break your eyeglasses

7.  An inch taller than her country girls

8.  Chica Lupita

9.  I should have told Barbara

10. I’m in love with you kid

11. “Marie”, she said

12. What’s wrong with you men?

13. Smiling for three

14. Rachel’s sixth sense

15. Eve doesn’t mix sex with business

16. Taking a full bath is taboo for her


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adonis49

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