You can call me Rey (or why Brighid loves La Lucha Libre)

The dust from the arrid plane around me choked my lungs and I sputtered awake. The drum solo playing in my brain made me—well the only word that came to mind—nauseous. Goddesses are not supposed to have hangovers, I thought. Of course, the last thing I remember from the night before was Quetzalcoatl asking me if I’d like to join him in Cabo for a few drinks. Judging from my surroundings, I wasn’t in Cabo anymore. I made a mental note to stay far away from liquor of the agave cactus and stick with my usual champagne.


I pushed myself upright my sarong and bathing suit an unacceptable mess. Pulling myself together with a flick of my wrist, I prepared to sublimate to my own realm when a simply dressed stranger headed straight for me. He wore only a pair of baggy pair of jersey pants. Sweat glistened on his flawless, caramel skin; his dark hair had been combed back to reveal a remarkable, chiseled face.


Señorita, necesitas ayuda?” he asked in a baritone voice I would’ve expected from him.


Mexico, I thought. I was still in Mexico! Were he speaking ancient Gaelic, I could’ve kept up no problem, but I’d been remiss in learning more contemporary human languages, though I knew a few phrases.  Hablas inglés?”


“Yes, I speak English.” A California accent took over. “I asked if you need help, miss.”


I could’ve kissed this angelic young man for calling me ‘Miss.’ Four millien—ahem, the considerable length of time I’d been in existence far precluded me from such a youthful honorific, but who was I to correct him?


The wind kicked up another cloud of dust and he flexed his substantial body against it. This was no Calvin Klein underwear model or young man content with the slim form of post-adolescence. His body consisted of a certain mass, muscles bulked up from plenty of food and strenuous weight lifting. I silently applauded his effort being of the firm belief the male body should never appear gracile.


“Actually, I could use some help. I’m lost and I need some way to get back to the US.” So it was gross exaggeration of the truth, but selfless kindness in humans should be encouraged.


He nodded, his handsome face cracking a boyish grin, “I think I can help you with that.”


“You’re an angel” I laid my hand on his meaty forearm.


“Um, I was about to head to my hotel room for a shower. Nothing inappropriate intended, but would you like to get out of the sun for a while?”


“Oh yes,” I replied, “I certainly would. I freckle terribly, you know.”


He laughed and offered me his elbow.

Looping my elbow in his, I remembered I hadn’t introduced myself. “I’m Brighid, by the way.”


Mucho gusto, Brighid. You can call me Rey.”


And I would call him Rey…he turned out to be the king of a great many things. (to be continued…)


4 Responses to “You can call me Rey (or why Brighid loves La Lucha Libre)”

  1. 1 jambrea
    October 13, 2008 at 9:57 am

    Yummy! You go Brig. I want to know more about this Rey!

  2. October 13, 2008 at 9:59 am

    Ohhh…Brig, sweety, where have you been hiding this one? Does he have a brother. *giggle*

  3. October 13, 2008 at 6:47 pm

    Great story Brig. Can’t wait to hear more about Rey. 🙂

  4. October 14, 2008 at 8:35 am

    The king of many things, eh?

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