The infernal banging, chipping, and hammering continues; and my lover lies still as a portrait, sleeping right through it. May the Gods bless that man for being able to snore away blissfully through a nuclear holocaust, but I wasn't so lucky. It's eight-something in the morning and I'd finally fallen asleep about three hours ago. This has become all too common; ever since Patch's neighbors started remodeling their house. I often lie awake in the early morning listening to the contractor, the workers and/or apprentices bustle about and chitter on in muffled Spanish through the paper-thin walls.
I realized when this whole thing started that giving into him was a big mistake. It had been a reckless and hasty decision, seeing as how we'd only been a couple for four months. He hated the small, crumbling room that I had been renting after Natalie pulled her stunt and got us both kicked out of our apartment. She invited these two biker dudes back to our place while I was out one night. They had a huge party/threesome, left used condoms and cigarette butts everywhere and set the couch on fire. She left for work that morning and left them there alone. They called a bunch of their friends over to have a party of their own; stole her stuff, broke into my room to steal half of mine, then knocked on our landlady's door to ask if she knew where to score some coke. Needless to say, she flipped her shit. Went up there and saw what they did to the place and when I arrived home, I was told to pack what was left of my crap and get out. I never forgave her for forcing me to move back into a shitty room in a lousy neighborhood. It was only supposed to be temporary, but Patch feared for my safety. The strange thing was, I had never felt threatened; in fact, for the time being, I was content with my little cubbyhole of serenity in the midst of a demilitarized zone. I guess I relented just to make him happy... or to shut him up.
Despite this, life with Patch has been pleasant so far. He's been very good to me, if not a bit on the demanding side, and I've tried to be as good to him. A lot of times this means giving into those demands, however inconvenient or absurd they may be. There are a few quirks I've had to learn to get used to, including one rule of his that I'm finding very difficult to get past: he will never, ever, under any circumstance, allow himself to be penetrated in the ass. Our sex life, though pretty much fulfilling in every other aspect, sometimes leaves me with a sense of one-sidedness. Aside from this, we co-exist quite well; and due to his influence I've cut down on spitting, cursing, and making gratuitous references to my balls. Whether that's a good thing or not, I haven't decided yet.
There are a few other, minor things that bug me: he doesn't like me watching cartoons because he says I'm too old. I can't eat cereal straight from the box, drink stuff out of the carton, or pet stray cats while walking with him because it's "filthy and embarrassing". He made me get a cell phone so he can contact me whenever, and I had to get my sister, Saskia to show me how to use the damn thing.
When I contacted her again (after I got myself off the street), I found out that my mom was living with relatives in Florida now. Saskia lives with her boyfriend, Pablo; he's a nice guy, but the biggest dumbass on the planet. All four of us had dinner once. We had somehow gotten on the subject of the noises animals make, and Pablo asked me what sound a goat made. Before I could respond, Patch asked him what sound he thought a goat made, to which he replied, "I dunno, ggooooaaaattt?" It got Saskia and I laughing hysterical, but after that, Patch decided he didn't much care for either of them. Later he told me that as long as he and I lived together, he'd appreciate it if I never invited them over. When he's not home, I do whatever the fuck I please. What he doesn't know won't hurt me.
I've been told I have anger issues. Mainly because the thought of stringing these Mexican retards up by their albondigas with piano wire is the only thing keeping me from kicking through the wall and beating them to death with one of Patch's wooden bedposts. After an hour or so of tossing and turning, wishing the Punisher had a toll-free number, I decide to get up for something to eat.
This place would be so much richer if we had a dog or a cat; even a ferret or a goddamn goldfish. Something to keep me company when I'm up late on the computer, or up early eating my cereal. All I can think about is how tired I'm going to be at work today, and how awake I'm going to suddenly be when I get home.
To my disgust, that's exactly what happens. I go to work pissed off, the customers piss me off even more, I come home and Patch expects me to be this sweet, endearing little powder puff willing to crawl into bed and spread my ass cheeks for him. Well, tonight I tell him I'm not feeling well. It actually brings me a modicum of joy to deny him.
"Hey, Douggie, is everything okay?" He comes up behind me as I sign onto the computer, raking his boney fingers through my long, messy brown locks.
"My stomach hurts." I lie, my half-drawn olive eyes never leaving the screen. "Go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."
I hear him sigh. "Alright, I hope you feel better. There's Maalox in the cabinet if you--"
"I'll be fine; I just had a bad day. I'll be in bed soon. Goodnight."
There's a long pause where he tries to process the fact that I just cut him off. I don't usually do that. In light of this, he decides that I really must be out of sorts. "Goodnight, baby." He mutters, leaving me to my business.
The next morning he's gone when I wake up. It's a Monday and I expected to be woken up at the butt crack of dawn, but it's after ten and I don't hear a thing. Finally feeling rested and less irritable than normal, I get up and make like I have somewhere to be; which thankfully, because it's my day off, I don't.
I open the apartment door to take in the paper and there are these three Mexican guys loitering outside in the hallway. The door to the apartment they've been working in is closed, which probably means their employer has yet to show up with the keys to let them in. They look so tired that I feel really bad for them; despite the fact that just yesterday morning, I was content to fantasize about their grisly, untimely deaths. I go back in and fill up three glasses of ice water, then carry it out to them on a tray. I reach way back into my very, very limited Spanish vocabulary in order to get their attention. "Uhh, tu quiero... agua?"
Their faces light up like Christmas trees and all three of them come at me at once. There's a chorus of sincere "gracias, amigo"s and "thank you"s as they drain the water. "Thank you verr much." One of them nods to me with a thick accent,�handing me back the empty glass. "We no eh-have breakfast." Oh, thank the Gods he knows English.
"Oh, what a shame. What happened, your contractor hasn't shown up?"
"No, he suppuss to come eh six." The one guy shakes his head in disapproval, and the other two grunt in irritated concordance.
"Wow, you've been waiting here for four hours?? At my job, if the store isn't open and my manager doesn't show up for a half hour, I'd go home."
"We no can do this, we need the money." They look really sad and uncomfortable, and my heart bleeds. I glance into the apartment Patch and I share, and think to myself that my bleeding heart's going to get me in big trouble one day.
"Shit, guys. If you want, you can come in for a while. I was gonna make some eggs and toast anyway; I can make enough for all of you." The other two look at each other in confusion. "Yo uh, tengo... comida? They exchange words in Spanish and nod their heads like bobble-head dolls. Yeah, I'm definitely insane. I let them come in and use the two bathrooms. In the meantime, I make the entire carton of eggs, an entire pound of turkey bacon, three boxes of breakfast sausages and toast up half a loaf of bread. We even eat cereal right out of the box. These guys and I eat like kings on Patch's once spotless kitchen table while laughing hysterically at Tom and Jerry cartoons. They tell me about themselves and their families here and back in Mexico, show me pictures, teach me a little more Spanish and just shoot the shit.
Javier and Rolando are both married; one with five kids and the other with three. They only met when they came here two years ago and realized their wives were second cousins. Adelmo, the guy who speaks English the best, is a widower. He's been here for about seven years and he has a five year old daughter. In honesty, I like Adelmo best; once he takes the nasty, greasy bandana off, he reveals thick, beautiful, shoulder-length raven hair. His eyes are a light amber, almost orange; and his face, though slightly scarred from working with dangerous tools with no formal training, is rugged and chiseled. (Yet strangely enough, he's the most soft-spoken out of the three men.) There are times where I find myself staring at him, unable to help myself. He turns away from the TV several times and I instinctively look elsewhere. Not wholly sure if he notices, but if he does, my intentions would be more than obvious. That kind of body language is universal.
We try calling their boss several times, as they had done earlier this morning. We end up filling his voicemail box with "where are you?" and "you know you're paying us for today, right?" messages. As awkward as I felt about letting them in, these guys are such a trip that I end up having the best day off I've had in a good long while. By the time I realize what time it is, I have only forty minutes to erase any evidence of company before Patch gets home. I explain the situation and they dutifully help me clean up. After they leave for home, I make the few last minute finishing touches to ensure that Patch remains oblivious to our little pow-wow.
"Hey, how was your day off, baby?" Patch comes over to the couch to kiss me hello when he arrives.
"Oh, you know." I bat my eyelashes at him; the picture of innocence. "It was relaxing. But it went by so quick, I barely noticed." I offer him a big, toothy smile. "How was work?"
"Eh, it was boring." I watch him as he goes through his methodical daily ritual of washing, changing, and putting his work binders away in their proper, color-coded spots. I roll my eyes and change the channel. He continues to make mundane small talk and I pretend to give a shit.
That night when he takes me, I pretend he's Adelmo, which makes the experience infinitely more tolerable. It's a good thing I'm able to fall asleep right afterwards, because the next morning at 6:30 sharp, the chiseling and hammering resumes. I sleep in spurts after that, still thinking about Adelmo's cute laugh, his beautiful hair, his perfect smile, and the way he kept looking over at me yesterday while we were watching TV. I know he's most likely straight, but the thought of going over there right now and taking him up against the partially finished sink is giving me a raging hardon.
The alarm goes off and Patch gets out of bed. I have to turn towards the wall so he doesn't spot my erection. As usual, he doesn't say anything to me at all; he just gathers his things and leaves for work. Not ten seconds after I hear him lock up, there's a knock on the door. I drag my carcass up to answer it and see Javier and Adelmo standing there smiling at me. They get a good chuckle when they realize they got me out of bed.
"Joo-eh, sleeping? I sorry." Javier proudly holds out a tupperware container in a clear plastic bag. "Mi wife, I ehh, tell hurr joo help jesturday. She make-eh for joo. Is-eh pork and squash. For thank joo."
"Oh wow. I reluctantly take it from him, eyes wide, mouth agape. I didn't expecting anything like this; and honestly don't know what to say. "This is... just... *wow*. You really didn't have to." My gaze darts to Adelmo who's merely smiling. "Thanks, man. Tell your wife muchas gracias for me. This is incredible... I mean would you guys like to come in?"
They shake their heads no, and Adelmo points back at the open door where I see Rolando and some Arab guy hauling buckets around. "Ah, no. Boss is here. We get only two minute break, we have to go back."�
"Oh well, what happened to him yesterday?"
"This BIG big boss; regular boss get hurt on other job and go to hospital. We get pay though, is okay."
"Hey, that's great! Thanks again for the comida, amigo. This is huge." I shake both their hands. Without meaning to, my contact with Adelmo lingers, and I suppose the squeeze could be taken as platonic affection or a subtle come-on. To my surprise, he squeezes my hand back the exact same way. I try to read his face, but can't. They nod at me and say goodbye. After the door closes, I take a moment to breathe. He's so hot!! I feel like a smitten schoolboy! I know that it's wrong to want to sleep with someone else when I'm with Patch, living at his house, but a large part of me doesn't care. I think back to when Patch and I met and he had used sex to manipulate me into a commitment I wasn't ready for. To some extent, I've remained slightly bitter over it. He's a lot older than I am and we have very little in common. Not that Adelmo and I are a match made in heaven either; I want nothing more than to fuck him witless. With that raunchy thought in my head, I have myself a nice, long shower and take care of the aching erection that's been bugging me all morning.
That night when I get home from work, Patch is sitting in the dimly-lit kitchen waiting for me at the table set with his finest china, taper candles, soft music, the whole shebang. And I was planning on having the pork and squash for dinner, oh well.
"Hey, hun." He grins as I put my things down sloppily in the fouyer, giving him a bewildered look.
"Uhh, hey."
His face drops suddenly. "You forgot, didn't you?" Forgot? Forgot what? Is it his birthday? My birthday? What day is it? I don't even know!
"I... uhh..." I shrug like a moron.
"It's our anniversary, Douglas! What's wrong with you??" His face turns red. Aw, shit.
"Augh." I throw my arms up. "I'm sorry, Patch. My head's been up my ass lately."
"You can say *that* again!" He huffs, standing up, balling his fists at me. "You know how much preparation went into this? And you can't even be bothered to remember?!"
"Oh sweat, you know what?" I point to the door out of desperation. "I totally did remember, and I got you something! But I left it at work. I'll go get it now."
"You're so full of shit!" His eyes actually tear up, like he's some prom queen brat who can't decide between throwing a temper tantrum or handing me the world's biggest guilt trip. I can understand if it was a milestone anniversary, like six months or a year, but it's only four months, for cripes sake. Is it really such a big deal? "You can't even admit you forgot! You're *pathetic*!!" He grabs one of the steak knives from the table and throws it at me to emphasize.
"Whoa!" I shield myself and back up towards the door. "Okay, I forgot! Calm down!"
"Don't tell me to calm down!" He hisses, grabbing one of the empty wine glasses. With that, I race out the door, slamming it behind me; the sound of shattering glass against the other side prompts me to run faster out of the building.
Going to sleep on the train; boy, this brings back memories. It's funny how life comes full circle. I'm half-expecting to run into Marlo while I'm out here, as silly as that sounds. When I leave the train to get something to eat from the subway consession stand, a weak signal comes through on my phone and I get all these texts and voicemails from Patch cursing me out one minute, then apologizing up, down and sideways the next, begging me to come home. He says that he'll forgive me this time, but I'll owe him big. Psycho, please.
He'll be lucky if he sees me as I'm packing my shit to leave. Where will I go? Who knows; maybe somewhere less dangerous, maybe somewhere more. One thing's for certain: I've definitely learned that moving in with a new lover is a recipe for disaster.
After a while of attempting to sleep on the F train, I realize how badly the working-class world has softened me. I end up calling Saskia and asking if I could borrow her kitchen floor for a few hours. She reminds me that what was once our mom's bedroom now lies barren and if I needed to, I could use the bed. The room is complete catastrophe when I show up, but I smile, thank her and settle in. She and Pablo grill me on what happened with Patch, but I betray very little, saying we're just fighting. I wake up with my back in shambles, and my stomach in knots from having gummy candies and combos for dinner. I blow up their bathroom, say goodbye to their cat and go to leave, thinking they're both still asleep. When Saskia calls my name from her bedroom doorway, it visibly startles me.
"Oh shit, Sas. You scared me."
"Is everything okay with you?"
I turn away. "Yeah."
"Bullshit, Douggo. C'mon, tell me."
I sigh, figiting with the doorknob. "I'm leaving Patch."
She doesn't miss a beat with her response. "Good, he's old and ugly, and he smells bad. Come move in with us. You can have mom's old room."
I look up and her brown eyes are sparkling with joy. "You serious?"
"Hell to the yeah, bro. It'll be awesome, the three of us. Go get your shit right now."
I can't help but grin. "Okay."
"Okay then!" She runs over and throws her arms around me. "Call me when you're on your way."
"Thank you." I hug her back, kiss her on the head and duck out the door.
I call the house phone a few times to make sure Patch isn't home. Satisfied that my bag-packing won't be interrupted, I ascend the steps and I'm just about to unlock the apartment door. "Doug?" Adelmo's voice startles the shit out of me once again. He laughs at me. "I scare you? Sorry."
"A little. What's up?" I unlock the door and go inside as he's talking to me.
"I just... I no work today and..." He trails off, watching me run around looking for things, halfway ignoring him. It's rude, I know, and I wouldn't normally do stuff like that if I wasn't in a hurry. He follows me inside the apartment, closing the door behind him, watching me rummage through closets trying to gather my duffle bags. "Doug?"
"I'm listening, go on." I find one of them and start stuffing random things inside.
"You... leave your boyfriend?" He leans against the doorway to the bedroom, still watching me.
"He's a freak." I reply without looking at him. I merely keep shoving as much as I can into the bag.
"He hurt you?"
I stop for a moment, sighing, still not looking up at him. "He almost did. Would have if I hadn't left."
There's a thoughtful pause. "You want...I kill him?"
I chuckle at his words and then realize from his tone of voice that he's not kidding. It suddenly occurs to me what he'd said out in the hallway. I squint at him. For the first time, I notice that he's cleaner and better groomed than I've ever seen him. His spotless blue jeans appear to have been ironed, and the thin, silky purple button-down shirt he's got on betrays his lean, muscled figure and hairy chest.
"Adelmo, if you're not working today, why are you here?" It's such a cruel thing to say; especially since I already know the answer. He takes a step back, and his face contorts with such profound humiliation and rejection that my thoughtless comment is responsible for. I realize what a complete dick I must sound like and immediately attempt to fix things before he runs off and I never see him again. "Not that I mind..._" I take a step towards him and hold out my hand, as if by sheer force of will I could keep him frozen there. "I always enjoy seeing you. I mean, I just don't want you to see me like this."
He blinks a few times as my words register. He shrugs, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. "You look... okay."
"Haha!" I hold my arms Akimbo and glare down at myself. "Please, I slept on the subway part of last night. I'm a smelly, stubbly mess. And you're always so beautiful; I don't feel worthy of being in the same room as you."
He shrugs again, no doubt still hurting from my retarded words from earlier. He's a sensitive one, and it'll take more than random compliments to heal his wounded heart. I walk over to him and reach up to brush my knuckles against his chiseled face. I can now smell the sensual cologne he'd picked out for me; it's spicy and sexy, and makes me want to jump his bones. The cheek I'm stroking is where one of his larger scars lies. Self-conscious, he shies away from me. "Por favor, parado." He whispers, begging me to stop.
"I'm sorry, Adelmo." I stare longingly into his deep, golden-honey eyes. "I just want you to know that I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since we met." He stares back at me; his face conflicted, as though he has no idea where to go from here. "But you know that, don't you?" I smile at him. "It's why you came to see me."
He lowers his head shamefully, confirming my suspicions. It elicits an even bigger smile from me.
"But I need to know: are you genuinely attracted to me, or are you just lonely and I'm the first person who's shown interest?" I stroke his face again and this time he doesn't stop me.
His eyes search mine, struggling with either his pride or limited vocabulary. "I want you." He finally states, putting a hand over mine, stroking my knuckles softly with his calloused fingertips.
That's good enough for me.
Without another word, we close the distance between us and engage in a passionate, heady kiss. His arms wind around me, pulling me flush against him by my waist. My fingers rake through his silky locks, the other hand goes right for his jean-covered ass, squeezing and kneading his flesh through the fabric. He groans against my mouth, body stiffening at my touch. Following my lead, his hands sink down to my ass freely, squeezing as well. My cock jumps to attention and I press it hard up against him, letting him feel how hard he's got me. He breaks the kiss for a moment to moan something raspily, perhaps a word, though unintelligible; squeezing my ass with both hands now, grinding against me. He too is deliciously hard, and before long, we can barely continue to kiss due to the lack of oxygen.
My lust depletes my patience; what little of it I had, to taste of him, breathe of him, be one with him. I need to fuck him- to fuck something, *anything* -and my mind reels with a thousand different tactics to get him to submit to me. My mouth roams over his neck; teeth scraping down his jugular, tongue greedily lapping up that spicy musk. Fingertips clawing at him, tearing away his clothing. Sharp nails claw rough and harsh into his blushed, bronze skin. It's as though my need has grown too big for me, that my body's just too small to contain it. It's overwhelming and painful. I need it so bad; right now, right against this fucking wall, and I cannot relay this to him strenuously enough.
I'm a man who's been made a bitch for far too long.
I tear his shirt off of him and fling it across the room. I'm already working on his pants before it hits the floor. My glasses go flying off somewhere when he yanks the shirt over my head. The sheer fury of my lust would frighten off most people, but he's standing his ground and even matching my enthusiasm.
He seems to be just as hard up as I am. He's gasping, sweating, his body shuddering from need. I take control and push his back up against the china cabinet with a sound of a dozen crystalline clanks against glass. My hands explore his bare chest and down to the fat, throbbing package in his boxers. He's got an amazing, solid, powerful body peppered with scars and beads of sweat. His head lulls back against the wooden cabinet as I lick the sweaty pearls from his skin, pulling his pants and boxers down at the same time.
Both of his hands grip huge fistfulls of my long brown hair, urging me lower, flexing his pelvis so that his cock arches up into my face. His meat is very much like the rest of him; short, thick and uncut. And it has a shiny purple crown, leaking precum that I find too irresistible to ignore. My tongue bathes his swollen cock from head to base, then down to his bloated balls.
"Ahhh-yeee,Papi!" He drawls, mouth hanging open, gripping my hair the entire time. "Chupame mi pinga!" I decide to plunge it down my throat and really let him see what this mouth of mine can do. I let his meat push all the way to the back of my throat, again and again, sliding the head against my tongue on every up stroke. He groans, guiding my efforts, and I hear him banging the back of his head against the cabinet. He twitches and leaks inside my mouth. I glance up and he's got his eyes shut tight, mouth wide open.
I'm still preoccupied with getting inside that ass. My hands roam all over those heavy orbs, slowly rubbing my way down the taint. He spreads his thihgs a bit to give me easier access. Oh yeah, good sign. My middle finger brushes against his pucker and his cock jumps.
"Chingao." He croaks, eyes still screwed shut.
By now, I've got my cock out and I can't help but stroke it with my free hand. Now that I know he wants it just as much as I wanna give it to him, my meat is turgid and dripping with anticipation. My tongue strays from his balls to take the same route my fingers had taken, and the tip ends up pushing against his anxious little bud. He lets out this long, pained growl and tries in vain to spread his legs while standing; but with his pants pooled at his ankles, it's difficult at best.
"The couch, Papi, por favor..._" He mutters, unable to stop my tongue's ministrations.
We eventually make our way over there, past the table, knocking a candle holder onto the light beige carpet that had been spotless until my arrival. He pushes his tongue into my mouth, clinging to me in desperation. I back him up against the arm of the couch and push him face-up over it, then yank the jeans off his feet, tossing them to the side. I clamber on top of him, just high enough to crawl between his legs. He spreads them wide for me, as though he's done this many, many times before. I push my tongue against his opening, my thumbs kneading teasingly into the soft, sensitive skin of his inner thighs.
He's panting, his chest heaving with delight. He's gripping me by the head again, urging me not to stop. I hold his legs open wide and plunge into that pucker, more and more, deeper each time, getting it all wet."AI!! Ai, Dios mio!" He cries out in pleasure. His dick thumps against the pool of moisture on his belly. "Fuck me, Doug! Fuck me!" Those simple, beautiful words were all I needed to hear. I pull away from his ass, once again substituting my tongue with my fingers; they glide into his moist canal, but it's a tight fit. I can barely get it past the first joint. We have a lot of work to do. He throws his head back and groans out a guttural curse.
"Ohh, you want it so bad." I moan, listening to his sweat-glistening body huff and pant.
"Yesss!" He hisses through his teeth, the back of his head still buried in the couch, his legs spread wide like a whore for me. "Dios mio... Dios... Ahhh, Doug! Fuck my ass, I need!"
"And you'll get, baby, believe me. But I need to stretch you out first." My voice is soothing as I wriggle my digit inside him, slowly, gently forcing it in further. I lean down to coat it in more saliva to make it glide. He lets out a hoarse cry, his body shuddering around me, his thick meat twitching and pulsating, leaking so much precum onto his stomach that it drools down his hip. Watching his willing body writhe before me, it's extremely hard to wait. I've waited so long already and holding out even longer is taxing; but having a cock of significant size and girth comes with responsibilities. I don't want to be a cruel, selfish lover;€ he hasn't had anything back there in some time, and I need assurance that my entry won't tear him apart.
I manage to fit my entire finger inside him, then rest to let him get used to feeling so full. He squirms and clenches his ring tight around me, and it makes me want my cock in there all the more.�"Papi!" He begs, and it breaks my heart. "Fuck me, please!"
"I don't want to hurt you, baby." I remind him; though I know deep down, nothing would bring me greater pleasure than to just say 'fuck it', stuff myself wantonly into his tiny hole and rend him asunder. For now, my willpower holds...barely. I slowly work a second digit into his wet, widening duct.
"AAII!" He cries, and it's pure pleasure. He grabs a firm hold of his cock and pounds it like a madman. "Hurt me, Papi, me vale! I need it!!" He sits up a bit to glare meaningfully into my eyes.
You know what? "Fuck it," I growl. "You want it so bad, you got it!" I think I heard a snap somewhere in my brain; that was the sound of my resolve breaking. It's been too damn long, and I've waited long enough.
I sit up on my knees and he dutifully lifts his legs up in anticipation. My weeping crown pushes against his opening, and I lean down to drool liberally over my cock and his eager bud. My cock is so pale compared to his body; and the irrational part of me isn't sure it'll all fit inside him. But I give it my best shot anyway. I begin to saw my throbbing manhood into him, slowly working the lube in, making the passage nice and smooth. He shudders and moans, jerking himself off wildly. I'm now halfway in; he's huffing through his teeth, head tilted back, eyes closed. Feeling his amazingly tight, white hot body enveloping me is too exquisite for words, and almost too much to bear. I stop inching myself in, just to allow him get used to it, and to simply relish this feeling.�
"Ai, Dios! So big!" His voice is overwhelmed by emotion by this point. He's breathing so hard I'm almost afraid he might have an anxiety attack. To my surprise, he arches his hips up to meet mine, forcing the rest of my cock inside, spearing himself on me. I gasp in shock and he lets out a scream.
"Fuck! Ohh my gods, are you okay??" I grab his hips and hold them still as he quivers, panting like a dog. Being buried inside him to the hilt is so incredible; I could swear I hear angels sing.
"Pump it, Papi! Ai! Is okay, do it!" He pulls himself off my stick, and we meet again halfway. I groan and run my nails over his thighs. He strokes his dick like this was his last few moments on earth. And now I'm shoving myself all the way in on every stroke, and I don't recall having felt this good in years.
His ass is so unbelievably tight, so smooth, so weightless. He takes it like a pro; legs pulled back to his shoulders, yet still able to maneuver his hips to meet my heated thrusts. It prompts me to consider how often he might have gotten fucked before he met me; from all kinds of men, in a variety of positions, in all kinds of seedy places. My cock rages from renewed arousal at the thought of my hungry little Adelmo lying in some truck stop bathroom as men use his hole, one after the other, blowing their seed in his ass, on his back, his stomach or on his face and in his hair, leaving him quailing and wide open for the next guy. Gods, what a filthy whore! And right now, he's all mine.�
"That's it, take my cock!" I grit my teeth and pump into him with unleashed aggression. "Ohh, yeah, bitch. Look at that ass, slurping me up like the whore you are!" I'm getting off on this. I am not solely submissive. I am not one man's fuck toy. I find myself making up for it by taking all my grief out on poor Adelmo's canal. He doesn't seem to mind, though. In fact, I can feel his body stiffen, and his sphincter tighten around my intruding shaft.
"YES, Papi, AI! Fuck me! Fuck me so good!" He hollers, gripping desperately onto my leg with his free hand. His brows are scrunched tight; his mouth hangs open. I keep up the pace, now grabbing his hips with both hands, pulling his body up to meet mine.
"You gonna cum for me, whore?" I hiss at him, bruising his ass without mercy.
"Ai, CARAJO!" He grinds the back of his head into the couch again. "Yes, Papi!" He gasps, working just the head of his bulbous cock. "Ohh! OHH, YES, PAPI! NOW!" He lets out a raspy scream just as his cockhead spews a plume of thick, pearled seed about a foot into the air before it splatters all over his heaving chest. His ass clenches impossibly tight around me, trying to milk my balls. A second and third stream arc halfway as high, leaving streaks across his chest and stomach.
His ring finally relaxes as the last few droplets of his load leak from the slit. Now his passage is so smooth, so wet, and somehow still tight. It's pure heaven. He wraps his legs around me and I lower myself down on top of him to give my knees a rest. He grabs my hair and yanks my�head down so that his tongue can push past my lips. We make out like that as I fuck him nice and slow, groaning against him. Our bellies slide together on the warm liquid he left for me.
He breaks the kiss in favor of chewing on my neck, and running his nails down my back. I groan in delight, bucking my hips into that willing hole and his legs grip my waist. "Ohh, fuck yeah."
"Feel good, Papi?" He mutters in between nibbles on my earlobe. He's driving me crazy.
"Holy shit, do you feel good." I shut my eyes, reveling in the feeling of my balls rising and tightening; and the tongue bath he's giving my collarbone is a fantastic touch. It's such an amazing, powerful build-up. "Fuck, baby, I'm so close!"
"Shoot for me, Papi." He moans into my ear, squeezing his legs around me. I spear into him hard, my strokes now more purposeful. For an endless moment I'm riding the razor's edge of orgasm. I shut my eyes and see nothing but white, and feel nothing but the overpowering surge of ecstasy in my loins, shooting through every nerve in my body. It's staggering; I'm barely aware of what I'm shooting into at this moment. I'm rendered unable to form coherent thought or speech, I can only cry out in primal bliss as this sensation claims and undoes me. It might have been only moments, but when my senses return to me, I feel like a new man; like I've had some sort of startling epiphany.
Even if I did forgive Patch, how could I go back to him, knowing he'll never let me have this?
I withdraw from Adelmo and use my dirty t-shirt to clean the two of us up. We clean up properly in the bathroom, come out and neaten up the place a bit, eventually sitting down to relax. He grabs my hand and laces his fingers with mine. I glance at him and he's displaying this sad, lost expression. "What?"
"Where you go now?" He pouts, those almond eyes wide.
I shrug. "My€sister's place, I guess. She's got an extra bedroom in her house. I saw her this morning and she said I could stay. And you know, she could probably use my help with the rent anyway."
"I help you move." He tries to look enthused, but fails. He's concerned that after today, he'll never see me again. This is probably his sneaky way of finding out where I'll be if he wants to hook up again.
"There's a lot of stuff, are you sure?"
"Uh-huh, I help you. I get mi hermano to bring hees truck. Is okay." He nods and gives me this big, dopey smile that causes me give him one in return.
"Okay, I'd appreciate it." I glance at the time on the DVD player. "Patch will be home in about four hours. Call your brother, I'll get back to packing."
We put on some music and for the next few hours work like demons to pack up all my shit. I would have only taken what I really needed and sacked Patch with the rest, but now that we've got a ride, why not take it all? (Plus a few things of Patch's I could use or sell) I call Saskia and she gets all excited that I'm moving in. She ends up keeping me on the horn for twenty minutes complaining about how bored she's been living with just stupid Pablo who'd rather watch TV than talk to her. (Gee, I wonder why?) I cut her short when Adelmo's brother arrives with this ratty old pick-up truck, half held together with duct tape. It's both an anomaly and a miracle that the thing even runs; but it putts and putters its way to Brooklyn, then clanks and hisses to a stop in front of my sister's apartment building.
Adelmo and his brother look absolutely nothing alike, so I'm assuming they aren't truly related, just good friends.
They help me upstairs with my crap and meet my alarmingly excited and talkative kid sister. She can somehow tell right away that Adelmo and I were intimate, because she gets me on the side and makes a comment about what a cute new boyfriend I have. I don't know how the hell she knew. Must be a sibling thing; or maybe I'm just that transparent. At any rate, it'll be an adjustment living here with them and the cat, but at least I'll be able to drink out of cartons, eat out of cereal boxes, and wear my shoes past the front door. The room is nice, and the bed is nice and big. The two men stay for pizza and meet Saskia's boyfriend when he comes back from work. The three of them go back and forth in Spanish for about an hour, laughing and shooting the shit while Saskia and I catch up with our Mom over the phone. Mom's thrilled that we're living together. Then again, Mom's usually bored off her ass because nothing ever happens in Florida so just a mere phone call thrills her. After her third stroke, she had to move into an Assisted Living facility down there. Sas couldn't nurse her anymore, and the nursing homes are too expensive. So her cousin, Jayden and his wife in Pam Beach offered to watch over her while she was down there, visit her, take her shopping and just generally keep her company.
While I was living with Patch, I wasn't allowed to call long distance. But now, Mom says she can make one call and reach both of her children, which is great. Yeah, great. We'll see how long it takes before we're at each other's throats.
After we say goodbye to Adelmo and his "brother" (He and I make sure to trade numbers), Sas gets a phonecall from a fuming mad Patch. I never gave him my sister's number, he must have lifted it from my cell pne day. Sas promptly tells him I'm not there. They argue for a few moments and she hangs up on him. I'm just sad I didn't get to see his face when he got home and realized all my stuff was missing- and even some of his. That's what happens when you try to housebreak a wild animal, baby. You get your eyes clawed out.
Haha. Holy crap, that's brilliant. Somebody should be writing this shit down.
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