One Fucking Favor

Mateo felt like such a little chica carrying the icebox pie down the street. He could see if he was still seven years old and was doing this as a helpful favor to his single mom, like walking alongside her carrying an armful of groceries. Oh sure, Mateo might’ve gotten joned by his little running buddies for being so poor that his family had to catch the bus to get to the grocery stores or that he was such a “little big man” for daintily totting dessert like some punk instead of flexing his budding muscles by hauling heavier stuff. But, at least, he could walk down the street gaining the respect of most of the elders that lived around the way. Folks that was certain to spot him a couple of quarters or two for doing them a solid later on down the road.

At nineteen, Mateo knew that this was just plain old sad, carrying a homemade banana cream pie wrapped in a plastic grocery bag like some low-rent baker making a fucking delivery. He wouldn’t have even been on foot if Moms wasn’t so damn stingy with her car keys. If she hadn’t, Mateo probably could’ve held onto what was left of his once-promising manhood around his old running buddies turned gang bangers who littered the streets with their tricked-out low riders, making catcalls at him like he was some kind of good pussy.

“One little favor,” the tall lanky Chicano boy cussed under his breath, repeating his mom’s famous plea as the gang bangers joned him about packing some long and thick cream-filled éclairs for his sweet potato pie hole.

 

It was all her fucking fault, Mateo thought, scratching his whiskery mustache, one little fucking favor.

Mateo’s mom was always yapping about him doing this one little favor for her. And yet, like clockwork, that one little favor always came around every hour on the hour.

Mateo swept the floor. Mateo washed the dishes. Mateo washed and folded the clothes.

Mateo couldn’t say anything to the contrary because her ace in the hold was her legendary guilt trips, complaining that she was the only one bringing in any money into the house. She needed all the help she could get. He was grown now. He could move out. If he chose to plunk down on her couch, the least he could do was help out. Moms was right, of course. Considering that her son sucked at being a curbside drug dealer and slinging dick for sell to rich thirsty broads on the good side of town, leaving it up to his mom to support him and his newborn baby that he had with his ex-girl’s sister.

Mateo had no problem thumbing through his abuela’s old cookbook to find the pie recipe. He didn’t mind hopping on the bus over to the grocery store to get all the ingredients nor, after he saw how tired his mom was working both her jobs that day, did he put up much of a fuss about going ahead and making it for her. This, even after he learned that the pie wasn’t even intended for them but for the man that bought the house down the street. He was cool with it just the same. He didn’t even mind her sashaying her way down there to make a play for him after word got around that he was a widow. Mateo figured the more she got out of the house the more time he could get with his new girl. When his mom thought it would look less obvious to send him down there to deliver it, appearing as if she was too busy to deliver it herself, Mateo was on the verge of cocking an attitude with her before she affectionately asked, “one little favor.”

Mateo made it behind the fence to ring the generic doorbell when he saw the man come up behind the screened iron door. Even though his mom and every other woman around the rough neighborhood had been drooling over this older man ever since he moved in, Mateo, seeing him for the very first time, was quite shocked to see how short the mixed brown man really was.

“Yeah,” the fair-skinned man gruffly barked, looking and sounding like an old bulldog. “What is it that you want?”

Mateo towering over the man shrunk down to the size of an ant stammered out his words. “My-my-my mom wanted me to-to bring y-you this.”

Mateo presented the plastic covered pie with both hands as if he was a child.

“What the fuck is it?” The man cracked opened the door and poking his portly hand to seize the pie.

The man wasn’t huge. He just had incredibly rounded shoulders and a diesel-cut chest with distinct prison muscles that bulged out of his tight shirt and well-fitted jeans.

“A banana cr-cream pie…t-that she made…sh-she wanted to be n-neighborly.”

“Are you slow or something, kid?”

The man tone was so harsh, Mateo was afraid he was about to crap in his pants.

“No, sir,” Mateo said barely stumbling to get his words out as his hands trembled violently with the pie still in tow.

“Then stop acting like you’re scared then. Damn. I ain’t going to bite.” The man barked aggravated, forcing Mateo to hold the pie with him.

“I’m not.” Mateo said, trying his best to sound like the man he wanted to be. Strangely, his dick got stiff in his sagging pants getting a whiff of the man’s scented fragrance.

“Who’s your mom, man?” The man asked, not ready to take the pie away from him.

That knocked Mateo’s boner cold. He was able to talk more steadily. “We live about six houses up the hill in the green and yellow house.”

“The green and yellow house, huh?” The man said, sticking his head out the door and looking up in the direction Mateo was pointing.

“Yeah,” Mateo said, with the man’s cologne wafting up his long nose.

“The long-haired Latina with the huge tatas,” the man said with a devilish grinned branded across his wide face, showing off his shiny bald head with two gold hoops pierced in each ear. He had a smoky-colored mustache and goatee and part of a tattoo that started around his neck and disappeared underneath his shirt.

Mateo nodded. The guy stepped back into his house, using his foot to keep the door open as he took the pie inside with him.

“No disrespect, man.” The man apologized profusely, and then smiled again. “I guess she not only got the looks to catch this old man’s attention, but she can cook too.”

“Yeah,” Mateo lied. His mother couldn’t boil a pot of water without burning it to save her life.

“Is it any good?”

“Yeah,” Mateo told him, and then lied again. “She got the recipe from my abuela.”

The man smiled looking at the pie in hand. It wasn’t until he looked at Mateo still standing there that he thought to invite the boy in to join him for a slice, a thank you for delivering it, as the man was not exactly sure what to make of his stuttering form earlier.

“What’s your name, boy?” The man queried, moving the pie through the living room over to the dining room table.

“Mateo.”

“Mateo.” The man opened with a Spanish inflection that could be heard on his way to the kitchen. “Chicano?”

Mateo nodded like the man could see him.

“Melvin Oscar.” Mr. Oscar said, moving back into the dining area with a couple of saucers and a butter knife.

He cut the pie, doling out small slices to each plate.

“What do you think?” Mateo asked after a taking a couple of bites of his delicious creation.

“Yeah,” Mr. Oscar salivated. “Your mom can throw down! Let me ask you, kid–how old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Be straight with me, kid. Is your mom doing this just to be neighborly or is she doing this to get my attention?”

Mateo could’ve ratted out Moms, but he knew that Mr. Oscar knew what was up brandishing a stupid grin. Instead, Mateo announced, “Let me say this: There aren’t a lot of men over the age of thirty living in this neighborhood, so when one moves in, everyone within a ten-block radius definitely takes notice.”

Mr. Oscar laughed. “I bet they do. Too bad there all young enough to be my daughters.”

“How old are you?” Mateo asked abruptly. He couldn’t see the man being a day older than forty-five, and even then, that was a generous stretch given with the premature strands of gray and white sprinkled in his face.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, young man?”

“Sir,” Mateo guessed, not accustomed to using the word that often.

“Good. You got some manners. To answer your question, I’m sixty-one.”

Mateo was short letting out a cuss looking at the handsome man when his ears were flooded out by the rattling of a barrage of bullets a couple of houses over.

Mateo stayed low on the ground, making his way over to the burglar-barred window as his elder, Mr. Oscar, walked over to it unfazed by the gunfire glory. It wasn’t hard for him to see it was a rival gang doing a drive-by shooting at the parked cars as some of the local street gang members attempted to fire back at the speeding vehicles.

Mr. Oscar laughed, looking down at Mateo.

“What’s so fucking funny, hommes?” Mateo asked letting his dormant Mexican accent override his typical American dialect. “They’re shooting to kill.”

“Nothing, man,” Mr. Oscar offered, as one of the cars in the middle of the street opted to have an in-depth shootout with one of the parked cars. “When you showed up on my doorstep, I sort of pegged you for one of those boys that got around on their knees.”

Mateo wanted to get up and fight for his honor, but as he tried to get up and confront the old man, he lost his balance and accidentally grabbed a chunk of Mr. Oscar’s sturdy thighs, which he quickly let go of.

“Needy, too,” Mr. Oscar laughed some more.

“That shit ain’t funny.” Mateo offered defenseless.

“Yeah, it is,” Mr. Oscar looked down at him.

Mateo was tempted to get up and go after him again but promptly decided better against that move. Mateo saw there had to be something hugely off with this man as he stood unmoved in the curtain-less window watching the shooting action in this street move to the house right next door.

“Yo! What’re you doing, man? Are you crazy?” Mateo asked fearfully, looking up to find Mr. Oscar undoing his pants like he was getting ready to come out of them.

“I figured while you’re down there you could put this in your mouth and shut your sweet-ass up for awhile.” Mr. Oscar said with his pants down mid-thigh, letting his soft musty dick flop out.

It wasn’t the longest ruler in the kit, but it had a nice admirable bulk to it along with these gigantic lime-sized nuts.

“I don’t swing that way, man.” Mateo protested like he was scared that the dick eyeing him was ready to attack.

“Tough shit,” Mr. Oscar growled, stroking his meat. “You can get with the program, or you can get up and leave.”

Mateo sank. His choice, if he had one, would’ve been to get out of that house. Even if he made it out the door without catching the attention of the shooters, he still had to fumble with the gate to get out. If he got passed that without notice, he’d have to sprint down the street in the other direction. And even if he jumped those hurdles, he risked being shot in the back or later for being suspected as a possible snitch.

“C’mon, Mr. Oscar, man,” Mateo pleaded.

“I told you how it goes down in my cage, man.” Mr. Oscar said against the rapid succession of bullets flying about next door. His reference to his house being a cage only confirmed to Mateo that Mr. Oscar had been to prison. “If you don’t like my rules, you’re more than happy to leave.”

Before Mateo could say anything to the contrary, Mr. Oscar was peeling off his shirt exposing a handsome torso envious of men half his age. The only distinction was that his chest and rounded hard belly were thickly covered in these wild strands that were the same smoky color as his goatee.

“Please,” Mateo said with tears swelling in his eyes.

“Please, can I have some more porridge, sir?” Mr. Oscar mocked in an Old English accent, laughing.

Mateo thought this was crazy. He had never seen another piece outside of his limited porn collection, and he was being asked to suck dick as if he was a ho in one of those videos.

“What? You think your crying is going to change my mind? I spent forty-five freaking years in the fucking slammer. I didn’t blink twice about running trains on sissy punks like you.”

“P-please, don’t do this!” Mateo folded at the serious terror in his voice.

“There’s that sexy stuttering again.” Mr. Oscar noted, as he unexpectedly seized a chunk of Mateo’s hair. “Do it again.”

Mateo shuttered at the sudden jolt to the back of his head, causing his swelling tears to pour down his face with more to follow due to the excruciating pain. Mr. Oscar beamed at the masochistic beauty behind this, leaning down and darted his tongue between Mateo’s trembling lips as the gunfire rattled on.

With his strong painful grip still present at the back of the boy’s head, Mr. Oscar finished his thought, “You know why I don’t mind running freight trains on punks like you? Well, after sweet boys like you get turned out by your first stroke of pipe, it’s nothing more profitable than pimping out a fiendish whore!”

Mateo wanted to speak but couldn’t find the voice to do it. He was deathly afraid of what was to become of him as well as absorbing the shock that this most masculine brute kissed him.

“I ain’t gay, man.” Mateo finally found his voice.

“They weren’t either,” Mr. Oscar rubbed his handheld crotch against the pair of lips beneath him.

“No,” Mateo called out, struggling to get away from Mr. Oscar as the gunshot seemed to be quieting down from their high.

“You might as well make it easy on yourself and open up,” Mr. Oscar let it be known, fighting back. “Or I might decide that I just want to plug some beautiful butthole with no lube.”

Mateo stopped fighting. He thought about his outs in detail and accepted there weren’t any, especially if Mr. Oscar locked his front door after he let him in, as most of the doors in the neighborhood were locked inside and out with a key.

“That’s better,” Mr. Oscar grinned, guiding his thick jock through the warm trembling lips of his unwilling submissive. “Don’t you dare fucking use those teeth on me either, you hear!”

Mateo begrudgingly let the hard salted flesh enter his reluctant mouth. As the fat piece of man-meat made its way through, Mateo instantly wanted to throw up around it, like so many first timers. Like them, this was all new to him. He didn’t know that the thin strip of foreskin covering the back of his dickhead was going to taste like molded cheese and potent nose spray. He didn’t know the sheer bounds of Mr. Oscar’s dick would make his jaw sore. Just when he thought he was making some leeway, trying to breath around the awkward thing, Mr. Oscar grabbed the side of his face and started raping his throat like it was whore pussy.

“There you go. That’s that good boy pussy. Watch those fucking teeth and shit.” Mr. Oscar growled, not knowing that Mateo was slipping in and out of consciousness with a hard-on pressed in his jeans.

Mateo was spilling spit and snot out of his nose and mouth with Mr. Oscar going in for the kill, slamming his powerful hips into his mouth, heaving his hefty balls onto his pointed chin. Mateo didn’t know if he was going to live or die from this ordeal, but he was certain something had to give with his captor grumbling incoherently through his clenched teeth.

“Open up, bitch.” Mr. Oscar reported after a deep, laborious exhale. He was breathing hard and fucking throat like a rabid jackrabbit desperately needing to get off, holding steady the head beneath him with his sweaty palms. “Oh, that’s it! Aw, that’s the shit!”

Mateo came back into full presence as he began to struggle harder against Mr. Oscar who began to slow down, swell in his mouth, and start up again the violent plunges.

“Drink my fucking babies, punk!”

A second later, Mr. Oscar blasted off, shooting an explosively hot thick load into the newly broken-in teen.

“Oh damn,” Mr. Oscar breathed. “Don’t spill a fucking drop!”

Even as Mr. Oscar came to, Mateo couldn’t help but to feel used by the powerful dick spurting more and more throbbing shots down his throat as he worked his mouth overtime to take in the unique fluids.

“There you go. I knew you were a punk in training. You just needed a daddy figure to teach you how to appreciate a man’s dick.” Mr. Oscar coughed coming down from his high point.

As Mateo tried his best to pinpoint his feeling about this, about giving head for the first time, Mr. Oscar heaved out a great sight and the felt the overweight hand push him back off of him and back onto the floor.

“Get on your back, pie boy.” Mr. Oscar commanded.

Mateo trembled, doing what he was told, and then asked, trying to clear his throat of the sticky salty flood that invaded it, “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Mr. Oscar straddled his chest putting his softening dick back to his lips. “I need you to do your job of cleaning up this mess you made. Take off your pants.”

The last thing on Mateo’s mind was that a blowjob wasn’t enough, figuring that Mr. Oscar’s dick was still soft in his mouth, and that as old as he was he needed a blue pill to get going again.

Mateo reached around over Mr. Oscar and undid his jeans the best he could. He got them midway down his thigh to his knees and tried kicking off his boots, but both managed to get tangled up on his heels.

It wasn’t hard for Mateo to put the pieces of the puzzle about what was to come next. Yet, he was surprised when Mr. Oscar’s dick sprung back to life like a comatose patient back at warp-speed recovery. Mr. Oscar slid back down Mateo’s legs, bringing his pants down to his ankles along the way before knocking off his boots and headed off to the kitchen.

Mateo could have made a break for it, or at least tried, but he was still in a state of shock. He never thought of dudes this way, and after he sucked and swallowed another man, he was feeling less than a man. Then again, he couldn’t see how refusing Mr. Oscar was going to make him any less gay, especially if he was right in suspecting that the door was locked from the inside.

“This shit is as good as gold!” Mr. Oscar announced seconds later with a nice two-fingered scoop of lard, smearing the stuff on Mateo’s naked pink bootyhole.

Mateo didn’t know what to make of the weird sensation back there. It was going from a creamy stiff solid to a melting better as Mr. Oscar fingered him without tender. Mateo was amazed how much fingers hurt digging up in him, but he tried playing it cool, keeping it in, but the hurt got to him a little bit, letting out a yelp.

“What you crying about, fella?” Mr. Oscar inquired sexily. His fingers were still invasive yet much gentler. “Are you thinking about the dick that was in your mouth going inside your guts?”

Mateo hadn’t a chance to respond. The commotion pinned up inside of him roared out, causing him to arch his back and his virgin hole to open threefold. Mr. Oscar found that spot inside him that would turn a he-man into a sissified bitch for cock.

“Stop!” Mateo cried. “I feel like I’m about to pee.”

“Go ahead.” Mr. Oscar dared him.

Mateo swore he would several times over, but he was never able to. He just brought his ass up to those greedy fingers conquering him. He was starting to feel good at this touch, this thing inside of him that he never knew existed, and still there was something about the pain that made him hot, made him moan.

“Sounds like it’s time to pork the pig.”

Like a pro, Mr. Oscar raised Mateo’s legs and got right between them, placing his chunky dick at the top of his crack. Mr. Oscar smoothly slid down to the slick-wet deep valley to where his thick dickhead kissed the furrowed opening. He wasn’t even ready to push in when the hold just flared open and let him slip the head in. Mateo was just that slippery.

“Relax,” Mr. Oscar coached.

The virgin was easy to slide into because of the lard, but he was beyond snug against the engorged invader.

“Ohhhhh,” Mateo bemoaned in defeat.

Mr. Oscar smacked him on the ass. And against his conscious will, Mateo opened up and let the hard dick dive deeper into him, cutting him like a special ops knife, forcing him to scream and holler against every painful inch. Once Mr. Oscar felt he was bolted inside Mateo, smothering his balls into his crack, Mr. Oscar reached behind Mateo’s back, scooped up by his rear and hoisted him up on the table.

“That’s it.” Mr. Oscar said, reaching around to cuff the front of Mateo’s thighs.

Mr. Oscar pulled back and sank into his suffocating hole again and again, pounding Mateo’s sweet spot with every stroke as the old man tried not to work himself into such a fantastic frenzy so soon.

Mateo was up there feeling light-headed, trying his best to make sense of this feeling. It was obvious he was on the other side of getting fucked, no doubt. Mateo just wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull away from this ravenous monster or wrap his legs tighter around the waist that was digging him out.

“C’mon, bitch boy, throw it back at me.” Mr. Oscar growled as sweat sparked off his thick mat of smoky hair. “You know you enjoy riding this dick.”

Mateo hated to admit against this rising tide of pleasure that this man was absolutely right! Mateo knew slinging the pipe felt good. He had no idea that his ass could feel right at home on some dick. Even going so far as to think that maybe he might give some of those cream-filled éclairs outside a chance to shove it in his pie hole.

Mateo let loose before long really getting into it, throwing back on Mr. Oscar after the sound of his strong thighs slamming against his ass got the best of him. Mr. Oscar rewarded him by reaching around his lifted legs and pinched his nipples, giving him another powerful sensation that sent his head spinning around the room.

“What are you doing to me, pa?” Mateo conceded in his natural accent.

Mateo had no words, just incredible moans and groans to give to Mr. Oscar who found places inside of him he never knew existed. Mr. Oscar went from this sort of smooth and rough fuck to just hammering out his holes with these balls-deep thrusts.

“Ah, shit,” Mr. Oscar grunted hard. “I’m about to blow it up your sugar tank!”

Mateo felt Mr. Oscar pile-drive him hard before he came to a screeching stop, holding hard steadily dick in place. Even though Mr. Oscar came to a stop, Mateo was surprised that there was still movement down there, as he soon realized that his asshole was quivering uncontrollably over the dick that had been assaulting him most of the afternoon.

“Take this nut, punk! Ahhh!” Mr. Oscar screamed holding Mateo down, shooting a nice powerful nut deep into his hole when the milking of ass muscles proved too much.

Mateo laid there sweating, letting his body drink up this insane amount of white-hot seed that painted his inner walls, slowly making its way back out of him.

Mateo panted heavily trying to catch his breath when he looked over at the pie lying beside him, reminding him of the reason he was down here in the first place.

“Oh damn, I got to go,” Mateo said nervously, getting his clothes together.

Mr. Oscar unlocked the door to let him free.

“Hey, son,” Mr. Oscar called out as Mateo was halfway down the walkway to the gate. Mateo turned back. “If you’re mom’s pie is as good as that in there, tell her I wouldn’t mind being that daddy figure to her either!”