When the late-night commuter trains out of Grand Central pulls into the last stop at the New York border, all the dumb white overprivileged Connecticut kids shout out derogatory comments. This stop is . . . Mexican Town!, they’ll giggle, like it’s the funniest shit in the world. This stop is . . . Little Puerto Rico! The village has a heavy concentration of Latin neighborhoods, though, and as I’m driving through the landmarks of one just outside the little downtown area, late one night on my way to a fuck, I’m suddenly struck by a thought. This street seems awfully familiar.
A couple of years back I had some spectacularly awful sex with a Brazilian guy who lived just off this street. His photos had been hot, but the reality of him had been less than attractive. I’d let him climb on top of me and wiggle around and attempt to kiss me despite the fact his breath was rank. Finally he’d shot prematurely and I’d wasted absolutely zero time standing up and fleeing from his apartment with my pants barely buttoned. When he kept nagging and nagging me to come back, I finally had to block him on every sex site.
The guy I’m supposed to be seeing isn’t that guy, I’m wondering, as I start to panic a little. Oh, fuck. What if it is? The photo this guy had sent was of a handsome Latin thirty-year-old wearing big sunglasses. I’d seen his muscular body and photos of his jocked, worked-out ass. I hadn’t seen his actual face. The Brazilian had decent photos too. Oh, fuck.
Then the GPS directs me down a street that is definitely not the Brazilian’s, and my fears subside a little.
He’s sitting on the front step of his boarding house when I approach. In the lamp light of the front porch I can tell he’s not the Brazilian. So that’s all right. What I discover is that he’s more handsome than I expected. In his clinging sport shorts and tank top, the dude looks like a muscular soccer god. “Hey,” he says, looking me over. Then he stands, and offers me his hand. His clasp is firm. Then he looks over his shoulder. “Come inside,” he whispers.
The place where he lives is one of those old turn-of-the-century houses that’s been updated and expanded and retrofitted with a dozen or more apartments. The hallways are like warrens. He takes me through a maze of them before leading me down one staircase and up another to the back of the old structure. Finally he opens the door to his apartment, and the muggy summer night’s air gives away to the coolness of a dark, air-conditioned interior.
It’s a small apartment. There’s just the living room, a kitchenette, and the bed. He stands there with his hands on his hips, like he might break into jumping-jacks or something, staring at me. I decide to break the ice. “You’re a sexy man,” I say.
The words are barely out of my mouth when he lunges at me. His mouth covers mine with a hungry kiss. The breathing through his nostrils is already feral; I feel the heat of him all over me as his hands grope and rub every part of my body. “I need you inside me so bad,” he whispers, as he strips naked.
Jesus. The man is built. The photos he’d sent me were of himself lying by a pool. He’d been muscular in that, but in front of me—crap. He looks like the cover of a fitness magazine. His cock is an uncut monster, about six and a half around and seven and growing. I suck in my lips, shake my head, and breathe out in surprise. “Fuck, you’re hot.”
“Then fuck me,” he whispers, hopping up on his mattress. It creaks under the athletic bounce. “Get that dick inside me, daddy. You like me? Fuck me.”
Daddy likes. I slip out of my sneakers and my jeans, slide out of my T-shirt, drop my shorts. My cock is hard and point out straight in front of me. Immediately he dives to the bed’s side and lets his head hang off the mattress to suck it. In and out of his mouth I slide, hardening with every stroke.
Then he’s on his back again, rubbing lube in his butt and lifting his feet to the ceiling. I take my place at his ass and position the head at his hole. He grinds, and grins, and urges me in. The head disappears, then an inch of me. His face contorts with pain and pleasure both as he draws me deep inside. “Fuck me, papi,” he whispers, looking me square in the eye. “Make babies in me, daddy.”
Daddy starts to fuck. His hole is unbelievably hot around my dick. There are holes that are simply receptacles, and then there are holes that live to be filled. His is the latter. He’s not content with lying there, with being fucked. He wants to prove himself worthy of my cock. He pulls me down to kiss him, and grips my arms and shoulders tight with his muscles. His hole clutches at me just as eagerly, inviting me to sink deeper, fuck hard, shoot more.
And it’s not long before I’m dumping a load inside him. The whole situation has pushed me over the edge more quickly than usual. I’m shooting and I’m shooting hard, bucking and straining against him as his large brown hands hold me deep inside him with a vise-like grip. “Give me your sperm, daddy,” he says. “Give it all to your boy. Yeah.”
“Christ,” I say, as the last of my deep dribbles into his guts. There’s almost a milky film before my eyes, I’m so fuck-blind. I blink it away, and topple back as the blood drains from my head. Almost solicitously he catches me and lays me down on the mattress, so that he’s kneeling between my legs.
“That was so good,” he says, reaching for his hole. His hand comes away with a streak of my load across it. He uses it to lube up his cock. “So good, daddy.” Again he reaches behind himself, draws out more of my fluid with his fingers. This time he rubs it on my hole. Almost involuntarily my legs part, rise a little. He notices. “You like to get fucked, huh? Daddy like to get fucked too?”
“I—“ My head’s still spinning. He’s driving a finger in there. Two.
“You want me to fuck you? You want it raw, baby?”
“I—“ I try again. “It’s been a real long time.” He’s got that enormous uncut cock pointing straight at my hole, slicked up with sperm and lube. Like a pro he grabs the underside of my thighs and pulls me into position. “You’d have to be really, really gent—“
Too late. He’s already driven that fat pinga up to the nuts by the time I’m halfway through my warning. And you know what? The fucking thing feels good. No pain. No fear. Just fuck. He didn’t meet with any resistance at all. “Yeah daddy,” he’s already saying, as he starts pumping. He’s mirroring the same grinding motion I used on him, getting it in deep, letting his fat head mash and crush my prostate.
I’d just shot moments before, but the sensation is driving me crazy. My dick’s rock hard again. I take it in my hand and let its cum-covered skin slide up and down in my fist. “Let me cum in your ass, daddy,” he’s growling. “Let me fill up that ass for you, papi, please.”
I shoot again. I don’t even feel it coming. One minute I’ve just got that sweet fat cock pounding away at that button deep inside, and the next I’ve got a molten load spilling onto my stomach. The sight of it drives him crazy. He’s got me bent nearly double as he lifts himself up to a semi-standing position on the mattress to drive himself in. His hips buck. Once. Twice. Three times. He’s growling, and baring his teeth at me like he wants to rip into my very flesh. Then he shudders. Ceases his pistoning. Brings my ass gently down to the mattress, and lays it down. Then his cock flops out.
From under the bed he produces a towel that he uses first to wipe my stomach, then his hands and cock. “Thanks,” I say. “That was a hell of an unexpected thing.” I’m not kidding, either. My ass is both twitching and stinging from the rough treatment.
“You single?” he asks. He’s sitting on the bedside and pulling up his shorts. I shake my head. I’d told him that before I’d come over. “Oh yeah. Married, right?”
I nod. “How about you?”
“I have a boyfriend,” he says. “But.” Then he shrugs. Chuckles a little.
“But?” If anything, I feel like I’m butting in. He’s the one who brought it up, though.
“But he fucking cheated on me.” He watches as I pull on my tee, drag on my shorts leg by leg. “So you’re what I’m doing to get back, I guess.”
“I’m a revenge fuck, huh?” I say the words slowly, kind of relishing them.
He nods. “Yeah. I guess so. Huh. You mind?”
I shrug. “It was good revenge. What’s to mind?”
“Yeah,” he says, laughing to himself. “I guess it was real good revenge for me too. Let me see you out.”
I’m probably not going to see this kid again, I realize. He’ll think about the encounter and masturbate to it for months, but now that he’s gotten the fuck out of his system, he’ll be a contrite boyfriend again.
“Thanks,” I say at the door.
“Hey,” he says, before he lets me crack open the entrance to his apartment. Then he grabs the back of my head, pulls me to him, and kisses me deeply. I have to blink away the haze when he finally finishes, again. “Maybe we can revenge again some other time, huh? You wanna, daddy?”
Daddy wanna. Maybe this kid’s not the contrite type, after all.