Over the Border

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Maria watched the beat-up mint green truck navigate the rutted dirt road. The truck snaked through the cacti, throwing up a cloud of dust that would be visible for half a mile or more. The old man next to her rose to his feet and smiled.

"Bueno," he said. Maria said nothing in return. The old man dusted off the bottoms of his denim pants and positively glowed at the approaching vehicle. It pulled up to them and driver cranked down his window.

"Maria Luisa de Los Cinco Reyes?"

"Si," Maria said.

"Eduardo Vizciano?"

The old man nodded in acknowledgement.

"En la camion, por favor. Vamos a salir ahora."

Maria waited for the old man to get into the bed of the truck. She stepped forward and took his hand. He effortlessly hauled her up. She grunted at his strength as she was no longer a petite 110 lb girl. She had put on weight over her 40-odd years in Mexico despite missing a meal every so often.

But now regular food awaited her. As did a place to stay for a while. As did a position as a maid at a motel across the border. Maria was interested to see what the new life would like. She was warned about the possibility (probability) of sexual violence or abuse in the crossing but her life had hardened her. She was fine with whatever happened as long as her extremities stayed intact and she wasn't tortured or killed. She looked up to God in the Heavens above and asked quietly for nothing too horrible.

They drove through the day and the night, stopping only twice for toilet breaks. Both the driver and the old man turned their heads away as Maria pulled her simple cotton dress up and squatted near a massive saguaro that might have been 100 years old or more. They were quiet and respectful.

Arrival at the border was easy. They followed a dusty path that led to a massive gap in the chain-link fence halfway between Douglas and Nogales. Maria didn't need to climb over or under anything. She simply put one foot in front of the other.

Their driver, who never gave his name, pointed northwestish.

"Hay un hombre con burros alla," he said while Katy Perry sang on the truck's radio, "Dos kilometros ... mas o menos."

The old man thanked him and Maria quietly nodded. The driver turned and left, singing something about kissing a girl and liking it. The old man turned to Maria, shrugged, and they walked. It took half an hour of steadily covering rough terrain before they found a short, chubby Hispanic man with a pair of donkeys. Maria could tell he was American by the way he dressed and his body language. His non-native, American-accented Spanish confirmed it.

"

We are riding an hour north and we are coming to a road."

He said in halting Spanish,

"We are getting ride from a friend. We might are meeting U.S. Border Patrol but they are not harming us. Please this way

."

Maria, short as she was, needed help to get on her donkey. The young man boosted her up, his hands planted firmly on her bottom. She glanced down and he was staring at the ground, blushing, while he pushed her.

"Lo siento," he said, quietly. His dark face was nearly purple with the red blush climbing to the roots of his hair.

They rode for two hours. No one said a word. Maria was happy they didn't meet snakes or U.S. troops. She was truly afraid of the civilians whom she heard took it on their own to patrol the open spaces along the border. One friend described the difference. "The U.S. Army sodiers are professionals and predictable. They know what they are doing. Normal Americans are dangerous because they are volunteers and completely unpredictable."

The three crested a low hill and were met with a road. It was a beautiful road, Maria thought, wide, paved, painted, without the holes and damage she was used to in Mexico. The only problem was the young blonde man wearing a tan and green uniform standing next to a large black SUV. A rifle was propped up against the driver-side door and a big pistol was holstered at his hip. Mocking friendliness radiated off him from his reflective sunglasses to his shining black boots.

"Hola," he called out.

Maria's heart hammered in her chest and the old man next to her stiffened as he kept walking. Their young escort moved forward confidently.

"Hi, there," he called out, "Good to see our borders are safe. How are you?" He extended an open hand to the officer.

The officer frowned at the hand shake. He focused on Maria and the old man instead.

"Citizenship?" he asked quietly.

"United States," Maria replied in soft, heavily-accented English. "I am from Belen." It was a line given to her in the event of this exact problem. She doubted she would pass muster but she gave it everything she had.

"I know everyone who lives in Belen," the officer said, "You're not one of them. And no one really lives there anyway. You?" He directed his attention to the old man.

"I'm actually American," the old man said in nearly perfect English, "I grew up in Spokane. We're just on a hike with our tour guide here."

"You don't look dressed for hiking. Where's your water?" the guard countered.

"Over there," the old man said and pointed down the road. The young escort of theirs nodded and chimed in with his own accent-free English, "Yeah, we parked a bit back. We just came off the trail in the wrong spot. We'll take a ride."

"No, you won't," the young officer said, "But she might get one back to Florence." A detention site was in Florence, southeast of Phoenix. Not good news to say the least.

Silence followed. The officer stared at Maria.

"You're not American. But if you're going to be here, I need to make sure you have no guns or drugs. Do you have guns or drugs?"

Maria didn't speak English well but she understood the words "guns" and "drugs."

"No. No tengo armas o drogas."

The officer reached out and grabbed her wrist. He pulled her toward him, spun on his back heel, and marched her toward the SUV. Her two companions wandered off for a bit.

"Let's just make sure, shall we?" he said.

Here it was. Maria sighed and hoped it would be over soon. The officer led her to the hood of the truck.

"Manos en el capo," he commanded. Maria put her hands on the hood, leaning forward slightly. The officer reached down behind her and grabbed the hem of her dress. He pulled it up her body and over her hips, exposing her legs and white underwear. One hand slide along the insides of her thighs, feeling her skin. His hand climbed higher and crawled inside the waistband. He squeezed the flesh of her buttocks, grabbing one cheek then other. He took his time playing with her ass, enjoying her curves. Fingers teased at her asshole.

The young officer yanked her dress up over and off her shoulders. Maria's hands were still planted on the hood and the officer pulled the dress down her arms, leaving her in only her white bra and underwear. He undid the hook on her bra with a quick pinch of his fingers. Her bra came off her chest. The officer pulled it down to her elbows, freeing her tits. He moved behind her, his crotch in the small of her back. His hands came up, cupped her tits, squeezed her, pulled on her nipples. She didn't move a muscle, frozen, and tried not to make a sound. The officer was rough and she refused to wimper so she wouldn't upset him. He played with her breasts, weighing them, and final stepped back.

"Turn around," he said, pulling her wrists off the hood. She turned, her back to the truck, and the officer pulled her bra off her and tossed it on the ground. He pulled her underwear down to the ground. Maria stood nude from the ankles up. The officer stood next to her, pulled his phone out, and tapped the screen. He posed next to her, his arm around her body, his hand on her breast. He held the phone up and took a few pictures. That done, he gave one last squeeze and looked her up and down.

"Get the fuck out of here, you fat pig," he said.

Maria stood quietly, looking down, while the officer climbed into his truck and drove off, wheels kicking up pebbles and dust. She got dressed. Two minutes later, her companions appeared again. Neither said anything but the old man patted her hand as they started walking toward freedom.

It took a mile before Maria stopped shaking.

Maria sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the motel's business office behind the front desk. Ken, the manager, was going through the basic expectations of what a hotel maid does. Maria, who had been a maid before, understood the work.

"So," Ken said, standing, "It's straight-forward. You'll live with the other gals out back and the shift is 10 to 4, seven days a week. Days off are scheduled by Lupe and the four of you will figure that out. I don't care as long as our guests are ... taken care of and the rooms get cleaned."

He walked behind her. She involuntarily tightened when his hands rested on her shoulders. He massaged the thick knots of muscle under her skin but Maria was not relaxed. She anticipated where this was going.

"Also," Ken said, 'The pay is ten bucks an hour. We have, uh, opportunities for bonuses once a week. They're, well, I like to call them oral evaluations, if you know what I mean." He laughed at his own wit. Maria's English was good enough to understand ten bucks and she understood what bonuses were.

Her guess as to what he meant about bonuses was confirmed when his hands moved forward from her shoulders and his fingers slid lightly over her collarbones. She didn't dare shake away or move.

Ken abruptly stopped touching her. He stood in front and got a uniform out from the closet behind his desk. The blouse was white with blue stitching. The pants were dark blue.

"Try this on," he said, "And make sure it fits."

He watched as Maria unbuttoned her dress. She pulled the sleeves down off her shoulders and dropped the dress to the ground. She tried to ignore Ken who rubbed his crotch over his denim jeans. On went the uniform pants, on went the white blouse.

"Now," Ken said, "To keep our guests happy, we don't do the buttons up on that blouse."

The blouse fit snugly around Maria's body but it was loose in the front.

"Bend over," Ken said. Maria bent at the waist and the material hung off her chest, showing the tops of her breasts inside her bra. Ken grunted in approval.

"Very good," he said, "You start tomorrow morning. Go over to the gray building and meet the other women. They are expecting you."

Maria folded her dress on the chair and carried it with her out the door. She crossed the asphalt parking lot to the second building. The parking lot looked mal-treated. Clumps of weeds forced their way through the cracks and no one had even tried to keep them in check. Broken glass glittered in the late afternoon sunlight. The building looked no better. It was a dull gray Quonset hut, hunkered between two hills rising out of the desert landscape. There was a cement patio in the front with a battered hibachi. A screen door led to the inside of the building.

Maria walked up to the door, not sure if she should knock or not. The question was answered when it flew open. Spanish filled the air as she was greeted.

"Hello!" a young Mexican woman said, a massive grin spreading on her face, "You're Maria!"

Maria nodded and accepted the embrace. The young woman pulled her into the building.

"Yes, and I'm sorry, I don't know any of your names," Maria said, "But you hug like you mean it."

The young woman laughed. There were two other women, one Hispanic, one Asian, inside the Quonset hut. They were pulling canvas folding chairs off the wall and carrying them toward the door.

Maria glanced around. The outside of the building was drab, blending with the tan color of the great desert outside. The inside, though, was full of joy and energy. Christmas lights hung from the low ceiling and gave a festive look even though it was late June. Four comfy beds were pushed against the walls and a large oval rug with rainbow colors lay in the middle of the room. A bookshelf was filled with books, a refrigerator hummed in the far corner, and flowers and plants filled their air with their earthy scent.

It was comforting.

The women escorted Maria outside. The Asian woman, named Bai, told Maria it was time for dinner and she, Bai, could grill steaks better than any man. Maria was impressed with her confidence and her flawless Spanish.

Sitting in one of the chairs, holding a cold Tecate, the women made the introductions. Guadalupe, the young one, seemed to speak for the group.

"You can call me Lupe," she started, "And you met Bai, who can cook. Juanita is quiet. It's nothing against you, she just doesn't have much to say." Juanita smiled, nodding and shrugging. "Anyway, we have a good thing here because we get paid cash once a week on Mondays after Ken makes a bank run and he pays fairly and you can check the math but he's never cheated us and we work until about 3:30 or so because we get done quickly and cleanly but it's more important to be thorough than fast but you'll figure out your own pace."

Maria nodded, wondering when Lupe inhaled.

"So on Tuesday we each pool 50 U.S. dollars together and have a group bank account so we can buy big things if we want them and it pays for steaks and food and beer and tequila and you just keep the rest of it after and I know you didn't come out with anything so I'll loan you 200 dollars so you can get some clothes besides the uniform and that one dress, though it is pretty, because we take that beat-up Mercury Topaz into town every Wednesday for things we need like toiletries or whatever and they have a library so you can borrow Juanita's card to get books and she doesn't mind but she does like reading a lot."

"Oh, I'd hate to borrow so much money right away," Maria said, "That's not a good start."

The women laughed. "It's okay, honey, we all have to start somewhere. We're glad to help," Bai said, lighting the charcoal on the small hibachi. The other two nodded agreement.

Maria had a bellyful of steak an hour later and her head was a teensy bit woozy from the beers she drank. Things were looking up for her. Lupe confirmed they started mid-morning, worked hard and got extra tips from some men who showed off. "Sometimes they touch but you can back away if you like," she told Maria. Maria nodded. Bai wasn't against a lot of physical contact and made big tips because she would do extra for the men.

"Ken, too," she said.

"What?" Maria asked.

"I suck his dick once a week or so," Bai said, "It only takes a few minutes, he doesn't have much to swallow, and it keeps him off everyone else. I never minded it and it helps you ladies."

The other two murmured thank-yous. Things got quiet.

"I'm lucky to be here," Maria said, "Thank you for accepting me."

The three others laughed and a guitar appeared. Juanita didn't talk much be she sang beautifully and Maria watched the moon make its trip westward across the sky. She was wrapped up in a warm blanket as the cool desert air blew through the hills and she cautiously contemplated happiness for the first time in a long time.

There was more, of course. The motel had two rooms specifically used by a few prostitutes from town. Their pimp, a black man named Rox, had twice told Maria she could be making a lot more than the shit she was paid by that faggot Ken. Maria politely told Rox she was happy doing what she did. She was entirely certain Ken was not a faggot the way he looked at her and the others as well as his ongoing agreement with Bai. Rox was probably just tired of getting bottom dollar for the strung-out girls who constituted his harem or stable or whatever it was they called a bevy of whores. Maria had never wanted to try meth but Rox's girls confirmed her suspicions of it being a terrible recreational activity.

And it was only two days of work before Maria had the opportunity to make what Ken called "extra tips."

It caught her completely by surprise too. Maria had expected to be halfway assaulted every time she saw any guest but she was left alone. The other women, "girls" as they called themselves, were too.

But upon knocking and entering Room 125, Maria came up short. She called out "Housekeeping" and there was no response. She waited an extra beat and entered as usual. A man was inside wearing a pink fluffy robe. It was unbelted and hung open, exposing the middle strip of his chest, his round belly, and a crotchful of gray pubes. A stubby penis poked out through the hair and large testicles hung down between his legs. He was simply standing, hands on hips, waiting for her.

Maria wasn't sure what to do. She was hoping she could get away without dealing with this but she knew the motel ran on a certain ... reputation. She decided to start picking things up, staying at least an arm's distance away from the man.

He became more bold when she didn't flee. His hand went down between his thighs and he massaged his balls. His eyes were watching her every move. Maria fought the urge to leave and turned to face him. She forced her own gaze to go between his legs and she plastered a tight smile on her face. Anyone would have known it wasn't authentic but the man was focused on himself. He kicked a leg up on the bed and moved the robe out of the way, displaying most of his nude body.

Maria suddenly worried he might fall and break a hip and had to fight the giggles.

The man, encouraged by her sudden good humor, stroked his cock until it was hard.

"Tu mano?" he asked, trying to get her hand on him. She shook her head quickly but sat at the chair, putting her eyes level to his hand. He shrugged out of the robe and, now nude, rubbed faster. He was staring at her face and she kept her eyes on his cock, simply waiting until it was over. A minute later, his body started tightening.

"Towel, please?" the man nearly begged.

Maria got up, handed a towel to man, making sure to stay as far back as she could. His eyes crawled up and down her uniformed body and he came on the towel, his bulk shaking with orgasm. He collapsed to the bed, a light sheen of sweat forming on his body, his legs wide apart.

Maria smiled at him again and headed to the next room, closing the door gently behind her. Twenty minutes later she went back. The man had left, checked out, and a $20 was sitting on the pillow. Maria picked it up and stuffed it into her back pocket. She hadn't enjoyed it but twenty dollars was, after all, twenty dollars.

Maria had paid Lupe back within the week. She, Maria, hated owing anyone money and Lupe waved her hand to show the unimportance of the whole thing.

Life had become extremely bearable for Maria. She had an encounter once a day with men but she hadn't had any serious problems. They simply pretended to drop towels or be caught coming out of the shower or other such nonsense. She could make an extra 10-50 dollars simply by watching them masturbate. It was easy money. And she was generally safe doing it.

"A half a year ago, one guy," Lupe was telling her, "Tried to force himself on Bai. Ken happened to be around and put a couple of bullets in the man. He was a drifter, a meth addict, and no one missed him. No one wants to call the cops out here anyway so if anyone heard gunshots they sure didn't say anything."

Maria was impressed. They had armed protection no less!

"And men are a little less handsy since then. Tips have gone down but now it's better. Besides, we are doing well for ourselves on just the cash, right?"

Maria agreed but having that little extra for watching someone jerk off every other day wasn't bad.

On a Tuesday, Maria entered one of her rooms. She had learned to be very quick about entering in case someone was in there. They liked pretending they were surprised and didn't have time to cover up. Men, she laughed to herself, with their plans and their schemes. She had figured them out in no time.