Friday night and studies were out, it was time to hit the town. Mi Amigos and I wanted to get a round in, hear a band or two, and maybe find some ladies to dance with. Nothing serious, no hookups or trouble.
I was thinking of a new club down in Polanco that often had some top Corridos dropping in for surprise performances. Miguel just shook his head and said, "No vatos; we're going somewhere special. La Conneja. It's a little basement place not far from Ciudad Universitaria."
"Really vatos; I've passed by that place. It's just some run down hole in a basement for my grandpa to get wasted in," I said. I'd been in this alley of shops before, for a class photography shoot, precisely because the area had that traditional look to it.
"Yeah man, what gives?" Jose looked at Miguel and gave him a play shove. But this week was Miguel's turn to pick the spot, so we had to go. Waste of a good summer evening, but you gotta stick with your bros even if they make a mistake.
"You'll see," was all Miguel said.
The place was a bit... quaint. Like a sing along bar for old people. Lots of traditional Mexican flourishes around the walls. Sombreros and Vaquero hats with a bit too much dust on them, flores painted on the walls around cactuses in the desert themes. If mi padre had owned a bar, this would have been it. "You've got to be kidding me Miguel," I said with a roll of my eyes toward three old guys doing a mariachi routine on a stage.
It was a long rectangle of a basement club. The stairs down dropped us on one end. A back right corner facing the long path forward. Along the left side maybe only 3m away was a long bar running two thirds the length of the room. Two doors for the restrooms came after that along that same wall, then double doors to a kitchen or back area. Three arches evenly spaced on the right side after the halfway point led to another area just as wide, but with tables. At the back end there was a stage with a mic, a few old wooden chairs, and some crates and boxes tossed into the corner. The air was thick and I noticed they didn't seem to have any fans or air conditioning. A couple middle aged working stiffs sat at the bar. Three guys and a woman, chatting randomly. There were two bartenders, both looked to be in their late 30s or early 40s. I couldn't see who was sitting in the tables as it was a little dark over there, but I watched as a middle aged guy with a little bit of a belly came out the double doors with a plate of chips and went in there.
Jose turned to Miguel and said, "that it's vato; I'm out. This is like..."
"Just give it a minute," Miguel said. "Sit down at the bar. Trust me, you don't want to miss this."
When the old guys of the band lit up with a mariachi rendition of "La Bamba" I glared daggers at Miguel. The singer looked like a nice guy, but his voice was worn out and he could barely carry the tune. Old folks always loved those traditional songs, so I'd grown up hearing it more than my own name.
That's when I saw them. Two knockout girls, maybe a year or two within twenty in age, like us; came out of the alcove and started to dance. One a Spanish girl in jeans and blouse, the other Mestizo in a red skirt and halter. Not too different from us; Jose and Miguel were Spanish and I was Mestizo. We all worked out a bit so that kept us fit enough. "Yo vato they're hot but... there's a lot more of that in Polanco. We could be drowning in university girls right now if we'd gone to the club."
Miguel just grinned and whispered, "any moment now..."
One of the old guys a few seats down the bar from us burped out loudly, distracting me. The woman next to him held up her beer, looking to the stage as she raised the bottle in salute. My eyes followed along and that was when I pretty much fell off my stool.
I'd heard about them. Everybody had. But Mexico City is huge, and even with darn near ten thousand of them living in the city, I'd yet to see one before then. Let alone one like her.
She was taking the mic and getting ready to sing, and suddenly every part of my existence was paying attention.
She was stunningly beautiful. Long hair, fully lips, gorgeous eyes that seemed to brilliantly offset her long lashes, and she was completely, utterly naked.
And of course, she was green, with bright violet hair, and long pointy ears. Those eyes, were amber color, and those lips had a bluish tint to them, as did the lips below, framing a clit prominent enough for me to see all the way across the room. If only I had my photographer's camera with me.
"She's a fucking alien," Jose said. His beer slipped out of his hand and hit the bar counter.
The bartender gave her own chuckle as she caught it and kept it from falling over. "Every time," she said in a quiet voice I almost missed.
"I've never seen anything... anyone... that amazing," I said. "But what's she doing here?"
"That's what I want to know," Miguel said. "I've seen her in here a couple times when I was making deliveries."
"Oh yeah..." Jose said. "That's how you ended up in here then?"
Miguel had a side job to pay for his hobbies beyond just being a student. He delivered supplies to restaurants around the university. "I'm too chicken to walk up to... that..." he said.
I didn't blame him. No guy wants to admit he's too chicken to hit up a good looking woman, but she was on a whole other level.
"Plus her two friends there," Miguel waved at the girls that had stopped dancing. They were looking up at the alien girl on the stage as the three talked. "Solid security detail there vatos," Miguel shrugged. I noticed her eyes looked up briefly in our direction, then she looked down at her friends and giggled as I got myself back onto my stool.
The aliens had only come a year ago, and not that many of them yet. I knew there were a few of the guys working in the university but not anywhere I went. And the guys wore clothes. I'd heard there was some weird reason the girls were naked, but not having met, or even seen one in person before... All I had was weird stuff you'd read on the Internet.
When she looked at us I got a better view of her face. Perfect almond eyes, a cute button nose, cute puffy cheeks, and the bluish tint of her full lips seemed natural rather than makeup.
As a guy I would always classify attractive women into one of three groups. Some were beautiful, some were sexy, and some were cute. Beautiful women were the ones you couldn't approach. They looked like models and were the sort regular guys found unapproachable. They never looked at you, they only looked down at you. Sexy women looked and moved like it was time to get busy, they and you only wanted one thing from each other. Cute women, they looked like you could just cuddle them all day long, they weren't just for romance, they'd probably also be your best friend.
She was somewhere between beautiful and cute. Even standing up there naked, something in the glance she gave me said "hold my hand and laugh with me" instead of "lets find a room." I was terrified to approach, but I also knew that if I made it past security, her friends and my own guts, she was just there waiting. If she wasn't a naked alien girl, I'd have probably already made my move.
She stepped back to the mic, turned to say something to the band of old Mariachis behind then, and then began to sing.
Cielo Rojo, one of those classic songs. She wasn't the best singer. Not as good as the original, nor the professional covers. But she wasn't bad. And she seemed to really come alive in the song. She seemed to be looking right at me as she sang the first two lines;
