Manolo

I Was Manolo's Toilet

by Arablover

In my twenties I was out of work a lot because I hated the 9-to-5 world and had a habit of quitting one job before I had another to go to. Until I did find another job, money would be tight. Even paying the rent on the cheap apartment I had on Manhattan's East 100th Street could become a real challenge. Nevertheless, taking Manolo's money in exchange for sex wasn't my idea. It was his.

Until that first time I licked his ass, he was just someone I passed in the hall. And lusted for. He was always friendly but bluff, always asked "Que pasa, Jimmy?" or "How goes it, babyface?" and, if I were in front of him, he would then push past me on the stairs. No apology, and no rudeness intended, the action was unselfconscious, natural restlessness, natural impatience. Besides, I liked having this young Latino's ass at face level. Manolo's ass was wide and heavy, like his arms, like his lips and nose, but I was sure that if I grabbed his buns (had I dared), they would be firm. Following his ass up the stairs, I would silently sniff at it hoping for aroma, but no smell came through the pants. One time, though, I had been watching from my window as he helped someone move in across the street. Heavy, rolled-up rugs, an easy chair, a mini-fridge: those powerful arms and shoulders hoisted them with ease. When I saw him come out later, heading across the street to our building, I hied myself out to the landing and headed down the stairs. To stop him, as we passed, I asked why he was out of breath. I wanted a moment to get the full waft of his sweat. Heat was coming off him and his smell was of raw meat. He told me what I already knew. I said, "Drink something cool," and started away but I'd wanted to bury my nose in his armpit, drop to my knees rub my face in that steamy crotch. As we parted, I halted, ostensibly to check my pocket for my mailbox key, but really to get any back breeze as he went.

One day I told him the drip in my kitchen faucet was getting worse. "I'm just helpless when it comes to pipes and faucets and things," I said. I was surprised at how quickly he offered to change the washer for me. Delighted at the prospect of getting him in the apartment, I, of course, accepted his kindness.

After he finished banging in a new washer, I popped open a beer for him and invited him to the couch in the living room, a ratty old wreck that had been there when I moved in.

"I'll take the chair," he said, dragging the swivel chair after him from the kitchen table, the only chair in the house. I was let down that he didn't want to sit with me on the couch.

"When I get back to work I'll pay you for doing the faucet," I said.

"Beer's enough." Manolo took a long gulp from the bottle and plopped down in the chair, tipping it back. He braced his foot against the couch.

"My Cielita has the rag on," he said. "I can't get laid."

"That's too bad," I said, feeling a bit awkward. "That's a pretty name. Cielita."

"Muchos gracias," he said. "Even when I can lay Cielita, there are other things I want that she won't do."

Emboldened, I said, "Like blow you?"

"Ah, she will do that. But she's not great. There are other things she won't do."

"What other things?" He didn't answer. "It's nice that you're a faithful husband," I said to break the silence."

"Fuck that shit. It jus' that having an extra woman is too much fucking trouble. And hiring a cunt costs too much. You'd be cheaper."

Me? He stood and pulled out his wallet. Manolo took out a ten dollar bill and stuck it in my shirt pocket. "You can earn some money from me. Help you with your rent."

He never asked if I was gay (could he possibly have guessed?) or if I wanted his money: I certainly didn't want his money. But being made into a whore for pay was deliciously degrading. I got into the scene instantly.

Manolo turned his ass to my face and dropped his pants. He pulled down his boxers.

"Now, give my ass a good licking, Jimmy. That's what I want."

Lick his ass? I may have liked the vicinity of a man's buns but I had never put my tongue there. Bare, Manolo's ass had an unwashed, angry smell to it. In your face, it was a demanding customer with no manners. But I was a "prostitute" now. God bless him, Manolo got me into to kink years earlier than if my natural resistances been allowed to rule. I was a good working class kid and I had a duty to perform what I was being paid for. Without a word and with just a moment's hesitation, I servilely spread those buns and got the first breath of his shitty ass. I stuck my face in and started licking and laving and slurping inside his bushy crack. My tongue ran over a piece of crud stuck near his hole. I licked at the bitter tasting scab of feces to dissolve it but it was stubborn.

"Eat shit, blondie," he said. "Clean me up." Only when I stuck my tongue under the edge of it and pried it off did I get to swallow my first piece of manshit. Delirious from the overpowering stink and the delicious thrill of licking Manolo's ass, I bared my teeth and, opening and closing my jaw, I gently scraped my teeth against the inside of Manolo's crack and on his asspucker. He gave out a moan that turned into a yell and he jammed his ass tightly against my face.

"Suck it now," he hollered. "Suck it." I did as I was told and sucked as his pucker blew open and he farted in my mouth. I just kept sucking and suddenly, unexpectedly, I had his dump on my tongue. Surprised, I pulled away and it fell out of my mouth onto the floor. Though I learned later that this wasn't Manolo's first "accident", he must have been surprised, too, because he turned and looked at the floor, amazed. Now I saw his beer-bottle thick, dark, uncircumsized cock. It was softening beautifully into semi-repose. Though neither of us had come, passion had been temporarily doused. Manolo pulled up his pants enough so he could walk. He went to the john to wipe his ass and when he came back he brought fresh tissue with him.

"Here, Jimmy" he said, handing me the tissue. "Pick it up, please, throw it out. Don't leave it there." I bent over to pick up his shit. "First wipe your mouth," he said. Obediently, I wiped my lips and tongue, though I was already enjoying having the acrid taste of this man's shit in my mouth, in the back of my throat.

I went to the toilet with the hard turd and flushed it. When I returned, Manolo's back was to me and he was jerking off energetically. His grunts told me he was about to come and obviously didn't need help from me. His splooey hit the wall and he was done.

"I didn't have enough to pay you for a blow job, too," he said. "Maybe, next time."

I started to say that paying wasn't necessary, but I didn't. Obviously, paying was necessary to him.

Manolo left and I scanned the wall behind the couch until I spotted the pearly gobs. With a fingertip I helped some of the cooled scum from the wall and put in in my mouth, lolling Manolo's congealed ball spunk around on my tongue until, with my own boner revived and in hand, my jizz splashed on the living room wall near Manolo's.

Months later, Manolo finally detailed for me his frustrations in trying to get Cielita to lick his ass. Only once had he induced his wife to use her mouth on his crack. She flicked a few times, her head snapping back every time her tongue touched his pucker. She begged him, "Manolo, por favor. No puedo. No mas. Puedo no." It was no use.

If you saw the couple together you could tell somehow they were not all that much into each other, physically. But there was a mutual respect. She was the mother of his little son and he was the father of her little son. Ask Manolo about Rinaldo and his face would brighten. On a Sunday afternoon on the stoop, you might see Manolo, absorbed and joyful watching Rinaldo running around or making faces or trying to play catch with his Dad. If between Cielita and Manolo there was not much physical passion, there was liking, caring. They listened to each other with real interest. He was a gentleman around her: he held the door for her, let her go first, walked on the outside if they were on the street together. I came to know that though he had once had a drug problem, it ended when he married. Obviously she was good for him. But, clearly, Cielita was not the one who turned him on to getting his ass sucked. That, he told me, went back to a six-month bit he had done on Riker's for drug possession.

"Norma" was a black queen whose man rented her out. One time Manolo took her for the night. He got his rocks off in her mouth, up her ass. When he was done, she washed her shit off his dick with her tongue and, as was customary for the men to do after sex with a fag , Manolo pissed in her mouth after she cleaned him. For the fag, it was as ordinary and expected as a cup of coffee after a meal. Afterward they sat and let down together on his bunk. Since Norma was Manolo's for the night, he asked her what else she could do to get him off again. She suggested a nice long asslicking, like she did for her man. It would get him off one last time and then they could both go to sleep. He'd try it. He put a pillow on the floor of the cell for her head and squatted over her.

Norma went to work. To Manolo, it felt good. The 19 year old was hard again in no time but he didn't want to come too soon. He was enjoying this too much. Norma was switched on by this young guy's ass with its wiry bush growing up from behind his balls and into his crack. It was deliciously funky, too. (Inmates were allowed just two showers a week). Without being guided, Manolo spread his asscheeks and found himself riding up and down on the bitch's tongue as his hole relaxed more and more. Norma was one moaning, happy fag. The "accident" that was to happen with me a few years later, happened first with Norma that night on Rikers. Without expecting it, Manolo expelled a dump in the fag's mouth. At first he wasn't sure he had given one up until the smell bloomed in the air. He stood and looked down at Norma. Incredibly her mouth was full of his brown shit and she was chewing it up. Manolo was not a cruel or sadistic man but the image of the fag jawing away on his dump gave him a rush of power, an intense sexual pleasure at this image of total degradation he had created. He creamed again right then.

But they were together until morning. In a locked cell. The stink from Norma's mouth was inescapable the whole night.

He never did a shit scene again while he was in jail. But he thought about it. Whacked off about it. When he realized what he had in me, possibilities reopened. And with me, he could always walk away from me and the stink and go back upstairs to his family.

Manolo was a sexy, virile guy. He could have found queers who would have paid him to for the pleasure of eating his shit . He didn't, I think, because to take money for sex would have been an offense to his dignity. It would have made him a slut. Like me. Still, there was no reason why he had to pay a guy for sex. Why did he insist on paying me? I believed then, and now, that the reason he paid me, even after I'd gone back to work, was to keep the situation safe for him. As with the black queen in jail, it was a business proposition. As such, he was relieved of any responsibility to care for me, although he was never physically abusive. He had no emotional debts to pay, although I know he liked me. There was no relationship to cause him to question his status as straight, as a "man". As he saw it, he had certain desires that were too difficult or too expensive to satisfy with a woman, so he took his comfort where he could and kept it on a cash basis.

The week following our first sex, I gave his ass another good sucking. This time, his shit was no mistake. He was straining and I could feel his rectum distend as the dump traveled to my mouth. When it landed on my tongue it was long enough that a good inch or two stuck out from my lips. I held it. He turned to me. "Keep it there, Jimmy" he said. "Lay down on the floor." Careful not to disturb the delicate log in my mouth, I got off my knees and onto my back. His fished in his pants and came up with a five dollar bill. Manolo threw the money on the floor. For the extra five (he had paid me the usual $10 before we started), Manolo said I was to eat his shit.

"Cram it with your hand, all the way into your mouth." I did as I was told, then started chewing. Yes, it tasted disgusting but the personal denigration was so intensely pleasurable that it overpowered any revulsion. My dick was as hard as a rock. I looked up at Manolo watching me. His face had changed. He was pale and clammy looking and somehow even the shape of his face had changed. It was rounder. His black eyes fixed on me desperately. "Swallow, swallow," he said. I did. I did. Before I had gotten the last of it down, he had scummed on me.

After the last gulp, I got up on my elbows to see him standing with his forehead resting on the wall. He was more spent than I was.

"Gee, Mister," I said, "if all you're paying is a crummy fifteen bucks, the least you can do is provide the mouth rinse."

"Is that what you want?" he asked.

"I'd like to try it."

He threw another dollar on the floor. "First this," he said. I lay back down and he gently lowered his asscheeks to my face. I spread his buns and licked him up and down and around till he was clean. Then I ran my finger through his crack.

"See," I said, holding up a clean finger.

He stood and I opened wide for him. Immediately, his flood was in my mouth and washing my face. He hadn't skinned back his long, delicious foreskin, so what I got was more of a rainstorm than a stream. When I had a mouthful of his piss, I closed my lips and before swallowing I sloshed the salty water around my mouth to clear the shit residue. He kept on pissing on my face. I opened my mouth again for more. Fortunately, he had a lot to give me. In spite of what was wasted on my face and 'round my head on the bare floor, I had gotten enough to clear my mouth and to subdue the taste of his shit. By the time I got the last mouthful of his water, I was able to savor it for itself. I knew now that I also liked Manolo's piss in my mouth, Manolo's piss in my belly.

When Manolo's wife and little boy were away visiting her ailing father in Puerto Rico, I convinced him that he could come down to fuck me in his wife's absence at no charge. Hell, he didn't have much dough of his own. He sold hardware in a store on Third Avenue. As it was, he could only afford the price of shitting in my mouth on paydays. I assured him my ass was "included in the overall service." He appreciated the courtesy and I appreciated that bottle-wide dick up my fuckhole. Once when he complained that his feet hurt from standing all day, I took off his shoes and socks and massaged his feet and made love to them with my tongue. He did not protest.

There was never any verbal abuse, such as "eat my shit, you dirty faggot pissmouth" or any other name calling. His manner was very matter-of-fact. For me, his casualness was a turn on. He had certain needs and I was a utility existing to service him. Even between paychecks, he could always spare a few singles to piss in my mouth after fucking me. He would just nod at me and I knew what he wanted. He would haul it out and I would fall on my knees and wrap my lips around the head. And glug that piss on down. I'd have paid him.

Manolo's wife and son did not return. Her father died and the grocery store in Ponce he gave his daughter was now Manolo's to manage. In the last week before he left for Puerto Rico I rarely saw him and our sex life was ended. He didn't come to me to say goodbye. Just as my adventure with Manolo had started from our passings in the hall, the last time I saw him was in the hall. He patted me on the head.

"Bye, bye blondie" was all he said.

comments welcome arablover100@hotmail.com