After I chewed and swallowed the last of Manolo's dump I washed it down lapping at the yellow water in the toilet bowl. I put my hand to my face to wipe off some of the wet. It came back brown. I stood up. I didn't want to ruin a towel so I swiped my hand on my leg. In the mirror I saw that the residue of Manolo's shit was caked in a sloppy circle around my mouth.
Shoulders drooping I slouched back to the living room. Manolo's eyes were on the game but his mind was on me. He looked over at me sternly. His thinking was loud enough for me to hear. Yes, I was a real piece of work.
But then he looked down. His expression softened.
"It was my fault," he said. "I sent Diego to you. I should have told you where to draw the line."
"I should have known where to draw the line," I said.
"Now you do know, don't you, Jimmy?"
I sat down next to him, tears starting down my messy face. "Yes, I know now, Manolo. It's wherever you say."
He stared at the floor. "I know I haven't been in the best mood. Things are not good between me and Cielita. Did I say to you she is pregnant again"
"Congrats," I said.
"We are doing even less in the bedroom now. And it never was enough even before.Cielita loves me but she doesn't want me enough in the ways I want her to want me."
I knew.
"I want to fuck you again," he said. "Go take a shower very well. Wash out your mouth really good. Use the disinfectant, too."
"Sure, Manolo," I said. Obediently I went to the shower.
When I came back that gorgeous man was sitting naked on the couch in the dimmed light. He radiated power. Six foot plus. Large, beefy, not buff, not prettied up by any gym. Manolo was big because he simply was built that way. Kept in shape playing baseball with his buddies in Central Park and down in Ponce.
But all of him was magnificent, including the slab of meat that hung between those massive legs.
As usual I started get on all fours with my ass sticking up.
"No, Jimmy," he said standing up. "Lay on your back." This was a surprise. A pleasant one. I lay back on the rug.
Manolo crouched over my face so I could suckle him. His dick was at attention very quickly. He put my legs over his shoulders and lined his big boner at my puckering asshole. He thrust and we both gasped. Then the piledriving began. Manolo always fucked me hard. But in this position I loved it even more. Not that I hadn' t enjoyed the delicious debasement of having my ass in the air for use as his cumdump. But this new way was...romantic. He put his face to mine and I opened my mouth. His tongue explored my mouth. He had never kissed me before. Now it was like I was his woman.
"Manolo...," I started to tell him I loved him but stopped myself. He never responded when I said that. His thrusts got faster. He was getting close to exploding now. "Manolo..." I moaned again.
"Say it! Say it" he shouted.
"I love you." And then he blew off in me.
And it was over. Manolo collapsed on top of me. We both were out of breath. He put his lips close to my ear. It was heaven.
"I don't know where this is going," he whispered.
"When you know how far you want us to go, that's where we'll go," I said softly. I meant I'd take Manolo any way he wanted to give himself.
He kissed me deeply again. He got off me and sat back on the couch. I stayed on the floor and licked at his toes a little.
Manolo stood. "I'm going to take a shower," he said like a man who is sobering up to a headache.
We watched some TV later. When he was ready to call it a night, he lay on my bed on his belly and let me lick and gently suck on his asshole until I lulled him to sleep.
In the morning Manolo was his usual upbeat self again. Friendly but matter-of-fact. He squatted on my open mouth and gave me his dump for my breakfast. Unlike other straight guys who occasionally let down their guard, he wasn't defensively cold or rude the next morning. He wasn't afraid that he had given away too much of himself last night nor worried that his passionate kisses made him seem weak. He had no need to retrieve his superior position. He hadn't lost it. Manolo was not just straight, he was a natural man and would never concern himself about such things.
But though there was no more soft talk, there was an easiness in the place. Even intimacy, I guess. Something had changed between us. For the better.
Another thing happened that really didn't surprise me. After all the trouble between us because I ate Diego's shit, Manolo suggested that maybe I could be nice to another of his buddies. As long as I accepted the limits he set on my service, he was comfortable with sharing me. And, as I was to find out, his limits were modest. What really mattered to him was that I bowed to his control. It was a matter of respect as he saw it, a matterof my accepting him as my man.
One Sunday he agreed to help his old pal Jorge paint his apartment in Washington Heights. He took me along because we only had the two days a week together and I didn't want to miss any time to be with him. And I could help out. Go for beer, make sandwiches, clean brushes. That sort of thing.
Jorge was okay. About as big as Manolo but older. Manolo wasn't even 25. This guy was late `30's. And Manolo's physique was dense with strength. When you touched his back or his upper arms or his massive thighs you could feel how solid, how deep went his muscularity. Jorge was getting a little stocky. It wouldn't be long before he should join a gym or start watching the calories. I flounced around the men, kind of femming it up as a way of showing friendliness to Manolo's buddy. After all, Manolo had told me to wear the jeans that accented my ass. The ones with the seam that went down the crack of my ass and separeted the cheeks.
One time when I went in the kitchen for a soda, Jorge was showing Manolo a picture of some other guy's girl. Jorge grabbed his crotch and made grunting sounds. "Si?" Manolo said,"Si, whoa!" I stuck my head between the men for a look. The gal in the pic was beautuful. Skin like silk, tight body, nipples like Chocolate Kisses. "Very nice," I said, meaning it. "If she only had a dick," I said heading to the fridge. The talk stopped and meaningful glances passed between them. I heard Jorge mutter "maricon?" and then there were more silent signs between them. On my way back to the living room Manolo said in a low voice: "Ciertamente."
Shortly, Jorge was on the bed naked from the waist down with his knees up to give me full access and I was sucking on his dick. With Manolo's blessing. At his suggestion. While he, Manolo, kept on painting in the kitchen. But he did look in to see how things were proceeding. He said something in Spanish to Jorge. I looked up at him with Jorge's cock still in my mouth.
"Show Jorge how good you can make his asshole feel," he said putting his huge hand gently to the back of my head. I let Jorge's dick slip from my lips as Manolo guided me into his buddy's crack. It wasn't clean but neither was Manolo's usually. But I loved Manolo. This guy: well, ass crud is ass crud. But what could I expect. I'm an ass sucker. Among other things. And Jorge was groaning from pleasure. What greater compliment could I get?
Jorge finished himself off whacking, while I sucked and licked on his hole. When I came upfrom his crack I had his shit streaks on my face.
"Look at you!" Jorge said. " And phew, you stink!"
"You smelly cabron ," Manolo called from the kitchen."It's your stink.
Jorge laughed. "Not anymore!"
"It was a pleasure," I said archly and went off to the shower. When I was washed I discovered there was no towel in the house except the one Jorge had under him on the bed.
Both guys were back to painting when I came out of the bathroom. Unintentionally (maybe intentionally) I must have been shaking my smooth white ass as I brushed past Jorge because he gave my cheeks a playful but sharp slap. I started. But Manolo's reaction was amazing. In a second he had dropped the brush and was on Jorge pinning against the wall by the throat. A cute afternoon of play had, in an instant, turned deadly serious.
"You are never to hit him." Manolo was murderous. "You understand Jorge?"
Stunned, Jorge nodded, trying to breathe. But Manolo held him in place for long seconds. Finally he dropped his hand.
"I was just fooling around," Jorge said. "What's the matter with you?"
"Never hit him," Manolo said again, low and evil.
"What is he to you?" Jorge gestured toward me. "Your boy? You didn't have a
boy in jail."
Manolo shook his head "yes" without breaking his stare on Jorge. "He's mine," he said.
To be continued.
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