Lakes of Malabar
by Habu
10 Mar 2022 2760 readers Score 9.1 (58 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt
Fat lot they knew about Mr. Dawson, Julio thought. They certainly didn’t know as much about Mr. Dawson as Julio knew.
He went out into the covered lanai bordering on the pool terrace and saw where Mr. Dawson’s lounger and table, half in the shadow line from the lanai roof and half out, were located. The small wad of folded-over bills was there, with a clip around them and the Post-It note, with Julio’s name scrawled on it. Julio picked the money up and went back inside. He counted it there, behind a counter—$100 in twenties. He slipped it into the pocket of his shorts and went into the men’s locker room. There, he stripped off his shorts and T-shirt and exchanged his sneakers for sandals, and secured his clothes in his locker. He was a very fit twenty, hard-bodied and golden brown, part from heritage and part from the sun. He also was a handsome lad, turning heads wherever he went. He was attending the local community college, studying to manage what he was doing already at the Lakes of Malabar—maintenance of a community park and facility.
He had been wearing a shiny black Speedo under his shorts and T, so he was ready to go. He looked magnificent in the skimpy bathing suit. The last thing he did before going out to do morning maintenance in the pool was to check out the small sauna to ensure it was turned off. He left on the subtle recessed lighting in there giving a reddish glow on the cedar wood walls, though. He put the “Closed for Maintenance” sign on the door to the sauna before sauntering out to the pool.
When Julio came out onto the pool deck with a leaf pole, the colonel, Dawson, was out of the water, doing calisthenics on the pool terrace. The man’s body was hard as a rock. He exercised all of the time—or at least all the time Julio saw him. The others at the pool, some not as old as the colonel was at, the young Hispanic estimated, sixty, but none as fit as he was, were watching the man with envy or with what passed at their ages, lust. He was tall and lean, hairless-skinned even to the billiard-ball head. He had bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows and an intense look out of dark eyes out of them.
He, like Julio, was in a shiny black Speedo, which showed that he was still flat-bellied, narrow hipped, and hung. His skin was dark tanned and leathery from having been in the sun for decades. He was wiry, his body so lean that the veins in his arms, legs, and chest popped out on the surface, having no fat to burrow through. His biceps were massive even for his age and he had a swirl of a tattoo covering his left pec. His nipples popped out.
If his nation called, he still was ready and able to go.
All the time Julio was walking around the pool, skimming leaves and twigs out of it and Dawson was doing his calisthenics the colonel’s eyes were glued to the young Hispanic, boring into him. Julio was not unaware he was being watched.
His exercises finished, Dawson went into the locker room, the pool facilities being a wing of the community center, and to the showers. He came out of the showers with a towel around him, his manhood swinging free, proud, and low, and, ignoring the closed sign on the sauna door, went in, climbed to the second tier, opened his towel under him to sit on, and spread his legs. The tan lines from his nearly bikini Speedo, contrasting the whiteness of his midsection with the leathery mahogany brown of the rest of him, highlighted how hung he was.
His hand grasped his long, thick half-hard shaft, and he slow stroked himself, seemingly uncaring that the moist heat was not going in the sauna. Ten minutes later, Julio entered, having showered, naked, with a towel in his hand. He too was deep bronzed everywhere, but what the tan lines showed from his past Speedo coverage, as was the case with the Marine colonel, highlighted that the young man was well endowed and in erection.
Julio shot the lock on the sauna door home from the inside, folded his towel, and spread it on the bench below where the colonel was sitting, legs spread, cock in hand. Julio raised his eyebrows and gave a little groan deep inside him when he saw how thick and long the old man was—and that he could make it rock hard. Everything about the colonel was still rock hard. Julio knelt on the towel, leaned in, took Dawson’s cock in his mouth, and gave the colonel head. Dawson put his hands on Julio’s head, running his fingers into the lush, black curls of the Hispanic’s hair, and guided the deep-throating suck. Julio gagged as he found out just how deep in the throat he’d have to take it.
If there was mercy in the colonel’s makeup, he wasn’t showing it now in how fully he as making Julio throat his erection.
Ten minutes later, the two had exchanged positions. Julio was perched on the upper bench, legs splayed wide, toes pressed into the lower bench, knuckles pressed to the slats of the upper bench beside him, torso reclining back, shoulder blades pressed to the wall, head arched back, eyes flashing, his mouth hanging open in a yawn of suffering-pleasure.
Dawson crouched below the young man, between Julio’s spread, extended legs. The colonel was, in turn, giving the young man vigorous head. One of Dawson’s strong hands was palming the young man’s heaving belly to hold him in place. The other hand was snaked under Julio’s balls. As the colonel sucked Julio off, he opened the young man’s channel up with first one, then two, and finally three fingers penetrating up to the knuckles. He finger fucked the young man’s passage hard and deep for several minutes, as Julio groaned and moaned and, eventually, unloaded in Dawson’s throat. Unwavering, Dawson pulled his mouth off the cock; laughed; grasped Julio’s ankles in his fists, wishboned the young man wide and high, rolling Julio’s pelvis up; and dove for the young man’s now-gaping hole with his mouth.
The Marine colonel was on campaign, pursuing his goals; Julio was docilely lying there, giving the soldier value for his money. The older man clearly was in charge.
Ten minutes later than that, the lower bench had been pulled out to the center of the small space, Julio was lying on it on his back, his legs were raised and extended in a wide V, and the colonel was crouched between his thighs, one hand gliding over the young man’s belly and pecs and the other one beating Julio’s cock off again as, taking long, strong thrusts, Dawson was power fucking the young Hispanic.
Well into the fuck, the intensity got to the young man, writhing under the older man, and Julio pressed the heel of a hand into Dawson’s sternum to try to push the man away a bit, signaling that it was a bit too vigorous. Dawson was seated on the bench, in a standing crouch over it, using the powerful muscles of his thighs to enable power thrusts, each one jolting Julio and causing the young man to jerk, gasp, and give a little cry with each thrust. Looking intensely down into Julio’s face, a little cruel smile on his lips, Dawson slapped Julio across the face. Julio gasped, his head snaping back over the top edge of the bench, the power of the thrusts having inched his body up on the bench. With a little laugh, Dawson grabbed the young man’s ankles and hooked them on his shoulders. A hand went to Julio’s throat, holding the young Hispanic’s head down. Dawson remained in the standing crouch and continued his power-thrusting strokes. Julio was cowed and under the older man’s complete control.
Julio grasped his own cock with one hand and palmed Dawson’s flat lower belly as it moved into his shaved pubes, stroking himself off and symbolically signaling the colonel to thrust slower and without as much power—but not receiving any mercy there. With a little cry, the young man came again, spouting cum up the older man’s belly. Dawson fucked on, not breaking his stride. For Dawson, it was all about him. He’d paid for this. The young Mexican was just a male whore.
The colonel stood up in place, grasping Julio’s ankles again, stretching and wishboning the young guy’s legs, pulling Julio’s pelvis up, getting into a position to reach deeper, and pounding, pounding, pounding.
Julio’s arms dangling off the side of the bench and his head was turned toward the door of the sauna, from which he seemingly sought, but could not expect, help. His eyes were wide, wildly searching around the corners of the wood-paneled almost-closet, as if looking for but not finding relief from some quarter. His eyes flashed with a mix of pain and passion. He was getting one of the fucks of his life—who would have known a sixty-year-old man could have this power and could be so cruel in dispensing it?—but he was being overwhelmed. The man was thick and long and still virile and full of power.
And he was fucking, fucking, fucking. Stretching the young man to the limit inside, working him deep, punishing him in his soft core, caressing and punishing . . . and . . . release, release, release . . . breeding him. The Marine colonel jerked and tensed and spouted. Jerked and tensed and breeded. Jerked and tensed and laid his marker of possession. Whimpering and gasping, Julio felt every blast deep in his core.
Letting Julio’s legs down, the young man’s toes touching the cedar floorboards; standing full up; and hovering over Julio, conquered and lying, moaning, on the bench under him, Colonel Dawson shook out the last of his cum on Julio’s belly, leaned over and slapped the young man on the hip, smiled, and said, “Good job, soldier. We’ll go again real soon. I like a guy who has a little ‘No, please don’t’ in him but then gives it up as easily as you did.”
Julio groaned in reply.
“We’d maybe go again right now but I’ve got a golf date.”
That earned another groan from Julio.
Moments later Dawson was gone, in the shower, humming. He’d gotten his hundred dollars’ worth. For twenty minutes after that, Julio was still lying on his back on the bench, both arms and legs dangling off to the sides, face turned toward the now-slightly-open sauna door, blowing bubbles, a silly little grin on his face, panting slightly, and moaning lightly.
As he mentally checked over his body for damage—bruising and straining—he cursed the advice he’d been given. Get in with doing seniors for pay, his friends had told him. The area’s swimming in old folks’ communities. Older guys are generous, being happy you’ll lay down with them, and it won’t be strain. If you can get them up just enough to dribble cum, they’ll love you forever. Easy, right? This guy had ravished him. Julio couldn’t help giving a little smile, though. It might have been the best fuck he’d ever gotten.
He wondered what this “real soon” for another session was. He hoped it wouldn’t be too long. The Marine was a master.
* * * *
In the men’s locker room in the Lakes of Malabar community center, Julio pulled on a jock and his athletic shorts. He put athletic socks on his feet and pulled the work boots he wore to do landscaping work around the complex out of the locker. He went to the toolshed, pulled the power mower out, and started it up. He’d finished mowing around the community center building and was doing the center strip up to the park’s entrance gates when he saw old Mister Goldberg walking his pug.
Sol Goldberg stopped and watched the beautiful, bronzed young Hispanic man mowing the grass in just athletic shorts and work boots. The sixty-three-year old Jewish former owner and manager and still owner of a string of laundromats in nearby Melbourne sighed as he watched Julio and his pug, Hector, did his business by a fire hydrant. At length, he caught the young man’s attention, motioned that he wanted to talk to him, held up three fingers, and gave Julio a questioning look. Julio switched off the mower and walked across the entry drive to where the short, pudgy little man with the unruly gray hair and bushy beard was standing, in shorts, knee-high compression socks, and a loudly colored Hawaiian sports shirt, tail out.
“Any chance of a visit at 3:00?” Goldberg asked.
“I’m free, yes,” Julio answered. He saw that the old man was extending his hand, and he felt the small wad of bills in Goldberg’s mitt as their palms met. Goldberg maintained the grip.
“You know that you are what keeps me alive,” he said, his eyes misting a bit. “I live for these visits of yours.”
Julio lowered his eyes. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but it was men like Mr. Goldberg—and Lenny, four manufactured homes up from the Jewish guy—who kept Julio feeling human in doing what he did. The former Marine colonel was a predator and a desire that Julio himself needed to have itched. Conversely, men like Goldberg justified what Julio did in his mind as a beneficial and needed service.
“I’m glad of that, Mr. G.”
As he was going back to the mower and before slipping the wad of bills in his pocket, Julio checked. Five twenty-dollar bills, just as agreed. It was every two weeks with Mr. Goldberg, as steady as clockwork.
Julio appeared at Sol Goldberg’s house at 3:00 p.m. The Jewish man had one of the larger two-bedroom units, backing onto one of the small, almost canal-like lakes in the community that justified its name. So, he was one of the better-heeled residents. He’d been here since the park opened, moving into the park right after he had become a single-person family. The unit was crammed with heavy antique furniture from the old country. Goldberg had no idea where that would go after he died, but he didn’t really care. He was the last in the line of a family that had been battered about for centuries and still managed to survive to this point. The only possession he worried about finding a home after he died was Hector, his pug.
For the next half hour Goldberg and Julio sat on the screened porch overlooking the canal and the tight line of manufactured homes pressing up against the other side of that and drank beer and exchanged stories of how they and theirs had fared in a white protestant man’s world, both of them admitting that they were better off here than in some of the places their ancestors had been. This was perhaps the favorite part of the visit for Sol. He would have paid $100 just for this half hour of the visit. Julio found the time centering as well.
“The only thing I regret about leaving is Hector,” Goldberg said.
“Hector? Leaving? You going someplace you can’t take Hector?” Julio asked.
“Yes, eventually. We all do.” Sol strongly suspected his eventually was sooner rather than later. “Hector, my pug. I worry about where he will go.” Recognizing his name, Hector, who was lying at full stretch on the cool concrete between the two men, looked up at his master, prepared to respond to anything the man wanted him to do. Everything the old man asked of him was something Hector enjoyed.
“You don’t need to worry about that, Mr. G.,” Julio said. “Hector, he’s a good dog and no trouble. You don’t find anyone else you prefer to take him, I’ll take him if you move away to someplace that won’t let you have him.”
“That’s a good thing to hear—you’re a good boy, Julio.” The young man had no idea how much of a relief that was for Goldberg to know. “Maybe we go into the house now?”
Sol Goldberg fucked Julio on a huge, heavy, mahogany four-poster bed that had started its life in some Rhine River castle. Julio was stretched out on his belly on the bed, moaning, as Sol, three inches shorter than Julio, pudgy, and hirsute, moved on top of him. Sol was embarrassed by his age and physical condition and the need that he couldn’t deny, and thus always insisted that Julio be on his belly, not looking at him. There was nothing inferior about the thickness and length of him or, even at sixty-three, his ability to harden and plow.
He spent an interminable time preparing the young man, crouched below Julio and between his spread thighs and working the young man’s hole with his tongue, while pulling Julio’s cock through his legs and stroking it and playing with the young Hispanic’s balls. Sol’s hands were everywhere on Julio’s very fine body, exploring crevices, gliding over mounds, brushing the young man’s back with Sol’s silky salt-and-pepper chest hair, making love to the youth with all of Sol’s long experience pleasing young men with the limited endowment but unlimited skill he possessed.
“Oh, fuck, Mr. G. You’re gonna make me come. Now. Now. Stick it to me. Fuck me,” Julio moaned.
It wasn’t feigned. Goldberg was old and dumpy and well beyond his “sell by” date, but he hadn’t forgotten the skills of a lover. He had prepared the young man well. He always did. When the old man moved up Julio’s body, his silky chest hair brushing up from the young man’s buttocks to his back, and he was saddled on the boy’s hips, Julio raised his buttocks to the man. Goldberg embraced him close from above, nuzzled his face into Julio’s throat, brought himself into position, slid inside the young man, and started a slow pump.
Julio moaned and moved a hand under his belly, stroking himself off as the old man stroked inside him. Julio gave a little cry of “Fuck! I’m gonna . . .” And then he did and collapsed under Sol on the bed. Sol fucked on toward and to his own finish.
At Sol’s climax, he cried out, “David!” This wasn’t the first time he had done so at the height of passion. Julio never asked who David was or had been to Sol. Some things were just too private to ask about, Julio thought.
Julio’s grandmother’s house was two streets over, in a two-bedroom prefab house on a lot not much bigger than the footprint of the house. The house was within eight feet of those on either side and the one it backed on, with no screened porch or anything else off the back. The house was sparsely furnished with thrift-store pieces, but the house was spotlessly cleaned, just as Consuela kept the houses she cleaned for other people. Julio had lived with her, sleeping in the house’s small second bedroom, for the seven years his mother had been in prison for killing his father while he was beating her.
“You going to be here for supper, Julio?” the old woman asked. “We’re eating early ’cause I have girls coming over for a card game later.”
“No, Abuela, it’s Tuesday. Lenny’s caregiver has Tuesdays off now, and Wednesday. I’ll go fix his dinner and stay and eat with him. He likes the company and I can see if he needs anything he’s not asking for.”
“You’re a good friend to that poor man, Julio. I hope he appreciates it. He pays you, doesn’t he?”
“He pays $25 for each visit. The State pays that, so I don’t feel like I’m taking money from him that he needs.”
“You need money too, Julio. You need to get a better job. You’ll come right back home after that, won’t you?”
Julio suspected he knew how those two thoughts went together. “Sí, Abuela. But I’ll go out later tonight. Just for a while. And I’ll get a better job after my studies are over. Then I can get a better job. I make enough now, though. There are a couple of small units here in the park for rent. I’ve figured out how I can afford one. Maybe the one on Pond Drive with a bit of backyard. One that would be good for a dog.”
“Your thinking of getting a dog? You haven’t mentioned that before.”
“I haven’t thought of it before, but I’m thinking I might be getting one soon.”
“I know what you make working for Mr. Brown here in The Lakes, Julio. It’s not the house rent that kills us; it’s the rent for the ground it’s on and the community center.”
“Which is what pays my salary,” Julio said, with a smile, hugging his grandmother. “I’ve got it worked out.” He did have it worked out, but it relied on income he wasn’t about to tell his grandmother he was bringing in. He’d have $225 extra just for today. That was nothing to sneeze at considering the maintenance job only paid $500 a week.
“Good. You come home for a while after Lenny’s, please.”
His grandmother’s interest in Julio making more and moving out wasn’t hard hearted. She’s virtually raised him through his teen years—and pretty much for the years before that too, and she worshipped and spoiled him. But she only had the two bedrooms here. Eight more months and Maria, his mother, would be coming out of prison. She’d have nowhere else to go but here. Consuela would move into Julio’s room and give her room to her daughter. Julio needed to be out on his own and settled before then. He needed to do that anyway. A man shouldn’t have to be living with his grandmother in a glorified trailer park.
“I know you’ll figure it out, Julio,” she said. “You’re a good boy; you always were. You didn’t ask for any of this. If it don’t work out, there’s always the couch—not for you, of course. I’m small and old; it’s good enough for me. I’ve had it worse. Why, in the old country . . .”
Julio didn’t pay much attention to her story. She’d told it to him hundreds of times before. But he’d patiently listen to her. He dreaded the day that her stories were gone and he couldn’t hear her voice.
* * * *
“No, you needn’t do that for me. You’re too good to me, Julio. Oh, fuck, you’re so beautiful.” Julio stood by the wheelchair, naked, one hand ruffling Lenny’s hair and the other one cupping the man’s cheek, as Lenny took Julio’s cock in his mouth and gave it suck.
They had eaten and Julio had listened to Lenny telling him about Afghanistan and how it had changed his life for all time—essentially ended his life in many ways with him not being beyond his mid-thirties. Lenny had alluded to the roadside bomb that had put him in a wheelchair, his legs useless to him, during earlier caretaking visits Julio had made to the small Lakes of Malabar prefab house, sparsely furnished to ease Lenny’s mobility in his wheelchair. But this was the first time Lenny had opened up about what he had experienced, what he had lost out on in life after Afghanistan.
“A dancer? You worked in a club, dancing a pole, before you went into the army and shipped out to Afghanistan?” Julio had asked, and when Lenny said yes, he had, Julio had said, “Neat. I’ve always thought about dancing a pole.”
“You’ve got the body and good looks for it; you’d drive the men wild,” Lenny had said before thinking about it. “Sorry, Julio. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“That I’m gay? That I go with men?” Julio asked, giving Lenny a little smile.
“Well, yes . . . I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I am and I do. Is that OK with you? You say you danced a pole—in a gay club? You are gay too?”
“Yes . . . or I was. Not anything going in that way now, of course.”
“Why of course? Is it more than your legs that are bad? You can’t—?”
“Well, I can. But who would have me in this condition?”
“You’re still a hunk, Lenny. You still can get it up?”
“I take care of myself.”
Julio stood up from the table and moved out to the center of the room. “I’d like to know how to dance. Can you show me some moves to make? Is that record player by you working?”
“Show you some moves? Yes, the record player works. What are you doing, Julio?”
Julio was stripping down to his bikini briefs. “You didn’t dance the pole with clothes on, did you?”
“No, I didn’t,” Lenny said, his voice thick with arousal. “Here, let me put one of these records on.”
For the next twenty minutes, the record played, Julio swayed to the music, taking a few pointers, but doing just fine by himself—and without a pole.
“Shit, Julio, you’d be a natural at this. You look so sexy.”
“It probably would be better with a pole,” Julio said. The record ended. “Put another record on, Lenny. Maybe something with a good beat to it.”
When the record started up, Lenny looked up. “What are you doing, Julio? Oh, fuck, Julio.” Julio had stripped off the briefs and was swaying there, erection in hand, stroking himself off to the beat of the music.
“You too, Lenny. Don’t be shy.”
Lenny unzipped himself and his own cock, fully erect, popped out.
For a few minutes the two men stayed that way, each half in his own world and half in the world of the other, stroking themselves to the beat of the music. But then, that’s when Julio moved to the side of the wheelchair, Lenny murmured, “No, you needn’t do that for me,” and Julio moved Lenny’s lips to his cock.
“Did you do this before? You haven’t forgotten how to do this, have you?” Julio murmured.
Lenny sighed and opened his mouth to Julio’s cock. While Lenny gave him head, Julio reached down and stroked Lenny’s cock.
“Oh, god, Julio. Oh, shit. You’re so beautiful,” Lenny whispered, as Julio moved a leg over Lenny’s lap, straddling the wheelchair, reached under him to hold Lenny’s erection in position, and slowly descended on it.
“Oh, fuck, Julio. Oh, shit. You would do this for me?”
Apparently Julio would, because Julio did. Lenny moaned, wrapped his arms around Julio’s chest, and moved his lips over the young Hispanic man’s chest. His hands gripping Lenny’s shoulders, Julio rose and fell on the young man’s cock.
An hour later Julio was back at the house he shared with this grandmother. Her card game had wound down and the women were leaving—all but her friend, Sheila, who didn’t live in Lakes of Malabar. She was a widow with a very nice, fancy house closer to the ocean. Consuela cleaned her house. Sheila was a lonely woman and the two had struck up a friendship that went beyond rich lady with a nice house and the Mexican lady who cleaned it for her.
“Glad you’re home, Julio,” Consuela said, as he came into the house. “Sheila here hoped you’d be back before she had to leave.”
“Hi, Mrs. Shields,” Julio said, reaching for one of the cookies his grandmothers card party ladies hadn’t managed to inhale. “How you doing?”
“Just fine, Julio,” Sheila said, giving Julio a “God, you’re sex on a stick” look that Julio had seen before but didn’t have any hopeful response to give to.
“Mrs. Shields has a landscaping business, you know,” Consuela said.
“Yes, I know, Abuela,” Julio said, going a bit tense and wary. “It’s a big business, I hear.”
“Your grandmother has been telling me about all the work you’re doing here in Lakes of Malabar. I noticed that it really looks spiffy around here. And she told me you have been studying landscape management at the college—they’ve got a good program in that.”
“She’s got some openings, she says—even at the supervisor level,” Consuela broke in to say. Julio couldn’t help but notice that excitement and hopefulness in his grandmother’s voice. He had no intention of going to work for Mrs. Shields. He knew she was looking for more than a landscaper worker or supervisor. But his grandmother was sounding so hopeful.
“Yeah, it won’t be long before I’ve got an associates degree. I’d like to finish that before I start looking for some other job. When I’m seriously looking, I’ll be looking for a career, not just a job.”
“So, maybe you’ll let me know when you’re ready, and you can apply at Shields Landscaping?” Mrs. Shields asked.
“Mr. Brown isn’t paying you near enough now,” Consuela interjected.
“Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Shields. Thanks a lot. We’ll see after I get my associates degree. Mr. Brown says he’ll pay me more when I had a degree, though, so we’ll see.” He smiled at them both. They both smiled back, thinking that some progress had been made here. Julio went into his bedroom while the two ladies went over to the front door to begin their ten-minute ritual of saying good-bye by bringing up topics they just had to talk about but hadn’t brought up in the previous three hours they’d been together.
As he moved around his bedroom, getting ready to take a shower in the small bath and laundry room connected both to his bedroom and to the main kitchen and dining room combination, his thought was, You have no idea what Mr. Brown pays me for my job here, Abuela. I have no intention of working for Mrs. Shields and giving her the service she really wants.
* * * *
It was 10:00 p.m. when Julio pulled out his old Mustang and drove north into Melbourne, across the 5th Avenue bridge over the Indian River to Indialantic outer banks on the ocean and back down to Atlantic Street. On Ocean Avenue, he turned west again, parked in a closed pizza joint parking lot and walked back to Atlantic Street, with its big mansion on the beach at Ocean Park. Picking out two houses that were dark, he walked between them down to the beach and then north again until he was on the dunes opposite the house he was looking for.
The house was lit up like a Christmas tree and was mostly glass and decking on the ocean side. He’d brought a blanket and a six-pack of beer. He boldly walked down the side of the house to the top of a wooden stairway and walkway across the dunes to the flatter sand. The beach was closed at this time of night, but not to Julio. He picked a spot where he was near the top of a dune, hard to see from the beach but easy for him to see both the ocean and the lit-up house.
For an hour he watched the family moving around in the house—a big black man in his early fifties, but a bodybuilder type. The woman was white and a trophy wife blond. Three kids from lower teen down to kindergarten age were bouncing all over the house until a little after eleven. The children went to bed first, with lights slowly going out on the second floor, in all but must be the master bedroom, as, after the black guy and the blonde drank for a while on the first-floor deck and did some necking and petting, the first-floor lights went off one by one as well. Then it was only the master bedroom.
The couple went to bed but not to sleep, and they didn’t turn the lights out. Julio settled down to watch, pulling his T-shirt over his head and his shorts and briefs off his legs, sitting there, cross-legged, and watching. He could see the foot of the bed. The black man, his back to the window, was naked. Body muscular and perfectly formed, he was heavy but carried it in all the right places. His back muscles bulged but tapered down to a relative narrow waist. Below the waist he flared back out to bulbous glutes. His thighs bulged and his calves were muscular. He was crouched over the foot of the bed. Two shapely, raised and spread white legs rose in a V from the other side of the black man’s buttocks.
For twenty minutes Julio watched the black guy fuck the blonde in that position. He sat on the blanket on the sand dune, the sound of the surf behind him, and he masturbated to the image of the big black bull in the ocean-side mansion on Atlantic Street fucking a blonde woman. He wasn’t a man fucking a woman that had him aroused and coming across to the outer banks to stroke off. It was watching the butt cheeks of the big bull, moving back and forth and clutching and releasing. He could tell, by the increased intensity of the thrusts and the black guy arching back, thrusting harder, when the climax came. He worked on timing his ejaculation with the man’s. He had practiced this before. This time he succeeded. As the lights went out in the master bedroom, Julio sighed, laid back onto the blanket, and dozed off. It was after 1:00 a.m.
He woke to the feel of the hands gripping his ankles, and turning him onto his back on the blanket. The hands were strong and brown. Julio looked down between his thighs, which were being parted, his legs being bent, his feet being pressed flat into the surface of the blanket, which gave way to the loose sand under it, and he could barely make the man out against the dark blue sky over the ocean. The man was black, massive, muscular, a black bull.
Julio moaned and whispered, “Fuck me. Put it in me. Fuck me good.”
The man’s cock was huge, in half erection. Soon, though, after the man had saddled himself on Julio’s chest, held the young man’s arms out from his body, pressed to the sand, and fed his cock into Julio’s throat, he was in full erection. Then the man moved down Julio’s body to stand between the young man’s legs. He reached down, grabbing Julio by the waist, and pulled the young man’s pelvis up to his groin. He worked his huge cock inside Julio’s channel, as the young Mexican groaned and panted, and, Ralf Brown, the owner of the Lakes of Malabar retirement community and Julio’s boss, gripping Julio’s hips between his hands, moving his bulbous glutes back and forth, the mounds contracting and releasing, fucked Julio in long thrusts for fifteen minutes before releasing his seed.
Julio had every reason to think that Mr. Brown wasn’t going to fire him anytime soon and would give him a great deal on the ground rent and community amenities fee on a prefab house at The Lakes that Julio decided to rent just as soon as it suited him to do so. Julio would move out of his Abuela’s house as soon as his mother got out of prison, but until then he’d tell her he couldn’t get his own place yet—Consuela was getting on in age and sometimes didn’t remember to turn the burners off on the stove. He’d stay with her until she didn’t need him anymore even though she didn’t realize that she needed him—or someone—with her now.