I took a step toward her and winced in mock pain.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” I said. “When I got to the car wash, my nuts felt like they were on fire. They’re all swollen and sensitive. I think I need to go to the hospital.”
She gasped. “Is it that bad?”
“It’s awful,” I muttered. “I can barely walk.”
A guilty look washed over her. “When uhhm. When did it start? With your stomach problems last week?”
“No,” I replied. “It started this morning.”
“This morning, huh?” The guilty look worsened. “Is it really bad?”
“Believe me, I’ve been in a lot of pain and I’ve never felt pain like this in my entire life.”
“I need.” She sighed. “I need to tell you something.”
I took another step and nearly collapsed. After stabilizing myself against a rack of clothes, I met her worried gaze. “What’s.” I swallowed hard. “What’s that?”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “When you were asleep last night, I…I’d been having these ridiculous dreams. I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. So, I started sucking your dick, thinking you’d wake up. You didn’t. Then, I figured what the heck. One thing led to another, and I fucked you while you were sleeping.” She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry.”
“You fucked me while I was asleep?”
Her gaze fell to the floor. “I did.”
“In some respects, I guess it’s a relief.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s an easy fix,” I said. “All you need to do is finish what you started.”
“Oh, believe me, I will.” She looked at her watch. “In six hours.”
“I can’t walk,” I complained. “We’re going to need to do something right now.” I nodded toward the rear of the store. “In the dressing room.”
The guilty look she wore changed to one of worry. “Are you serious?”
“Either that, or I’ll have to get one of the nurses at Mercy to check me out. Rumor has it that they—”
“No random nurse is giving you a handy,” she snapped.
I shrugged. “It’s either her or you. I guess that decision is yours.”
“We’ll get this problem solved right now.” She reached for my hand. “Come on.”
I followed her toward the dressing rooms, limping and complaining the entire way. Once we were inside one of the private booths, she pushed the door closed and faced me.
“Get up on the bench,” she said. “That way no one will see two sets of feet in here.”
I fought to keep from smiling. “Okay.”
“Even if it hurts, you’ve got to be quiet,” she whispered.
“I’ll do my best,” I assured her, groveling in pain as I crawled onto the bench. “It’s just…this pain is…it’s fucking awful.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice sincerely apologetic. “I didn’t know this was going to happen. I was just having fun.”
“At my expense,” I complained.
While I stood on the bench in front of her, she unbuckled my belt. Using caution, she unzipped my jeans and reached into my boxers. When her hand cupped my scrotum, I folded at the waist in phony pain.
“Be careful,” I whined. “They’re killing me.”
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “They feel huge.”
With everything still nestled inside my boxers, she couldn’t see a thing. She relied solely on her memory of what my balls felt like, which was obviously skewed by my complaints.
“They are huge,” I said. “Someone didn’t bother finishing her job.”
She scowled playfully. “I’m finishing it now.”
I wanted to tell her it was all a big joke, but I couldn’t break my promise to Raymond. Feeling guilty, I watched greedily as she took me into her mouth.
Completely mesmerized by her oral fortitude, I stood in awe while she bobbed her head with the determination of a woman hoping to free herself of the guilt brought on by the previous night’s antics.
She excited me so deeply that I often reached climax in a matter of minutes, instead of hours. Succeed-or-bust blowjobs—like the one she was giving me—apparently reduced that time from minutes to seconds.
I arched my back and closed my eyes. The sound of my irregular breathing filled the small room.
Driven wild by the thought of completing her task, she gripped my ass firmly in her hands and repeatedly pounded the soft palate of her throat against the tip of my dick.
A tingling sensation surged from my scrotum to the tip of my cock. A low moan escaped me.
My entire body shuddered. Without warning, I erupted into her mouth.
She allowed the fruit of her labor to pulse into her throat. When it was over, she pulled away and met my guilt-infused gaze.
“All better?” she asked.
I let out a lengthy sigh and opened my eyes. “Yeah.”
“You came a ton.” She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry I did that to you.”
With my half-hard cock dangling between my legs and my mind floating in the heavens above, I stood on the bench wishing I could tell her the truth. Wallowing knee-deep in guilt, I reached for my jeans.
The door to the dressing room burst open. Raymond stood in the middle of the opening, wide-eyed.
His eyes shot from Reggie to my dangling cock. Then, they darted back to Reggie. “I can’t live with myself,” he announced. “I’m not worthy of either of your friendships.”
“Raymond!” Reggie gasped. “We’re—”
“I told him,” he blurted.
Raymond was right. He couldn’t keep a secret. Not even ours. I pulled up my jeans in case I needed to make a run for it when Reggie figured out what really happened.
“You told him what?” she asked.
“I told him that you rode him like a stolen bicycle while he was sleeping. I can’t play a part in weaving this web of lies.” He took another glance at me and lowered his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Taddeo.”
“That’s quite alright, Raymond.”
Reggie looked at me. “You knew?”
I nodded. “I did.”
“The swollen balls?” She looked me up and down. “It was a trick?”
I filled with shame. “It was.”
Her eyes shot to Raymond. “One that you helped orchestrate?”
“Orchestrate? Oh. My. God.” He shook his head. “No.” He raised his hand. His thumb and forefinger were a centimeter apart. “Assist?” He squinted. “Just a little bit.”
Her eyes darted between us. She huffed out a sigh. “I can’t believe you two.”
Obviously aggravated with our assembly of playful lies, she disappeared into the sea of clothing behind Raymond.
I stepped off the bench and buckled my belt. “That could have gone worse.”
“Mush worse,” Raymond agreed. “She’s got the temperament of a rabid badger when she’s angry.”
I stepped to the doorway and paused. “Good to know.”
He moved aside. “I guess if nothing else, you two could have makeup sex tonight. Hopefully you’ll be able to last longer than fifteen seconds.”
“You noticed?”
“I had my ear plastered to the door the entire time.” He glanced at me and then shook his head in disgust. “That was pathetic.”
I chuckled. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“I close my eyes and think about being chased by an angry mob of Blake Shelton look-alikes,” he said matter-of-factly. “It really helps with my stamina.”
“Thanks, Brother,” I said with a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
35
Reggie
Spending my Sunday afternoons with Hap and Braxton was a pleasure. Having them be a part of my life was reassurance that my relationship with Tito was built on a rock-solid foundation that included his family.
Hap reminded me of my grandfather. Tall with
broad shoulders and a muscular build, he had an attitude a mile long. One problem was that no one—me included—could figure out whether to take him seriously or not. With a heart fashioned of solid gold, he’d do anything for you as long as he’d accepted you as a friend or family.
Although Braxton was strikingly handsome and always well-dressed, there was something about him that left me wondering what was hidden beneath the outer shell of Tom Ford suits and Rolex watches he wore.
His attitude wasn’t masked by smiles or superficial remarks. He wore his bitter brashness like a crown of jewels. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but wonder if beneath the gray beard and tough-guy bravado if there was another heart of gold, just like his father’s.
I gave Tito my empty beer bottle. “Here you go.”
Tito handed it to Braxton, who exchanged it for a full bottle. Tito passed the bottle to me. “Here you go.”
Although there were no official assignments, each of us had our Sunday afternoon porch duty. Hap picked the topics of discussion. Braxton was in charge of the cooler—and of antagonizing Hap. Tito was caught between them, giving his opinions and often settling lop-sided arguments between the father and son duo.
I acted as a referee, letting the men know when matters got out of hand.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Pleasure’s mine,” Tito said with a smile.
“This heat wave’s killing me.” Hap tossed his empty bottle his in the air. “Heads up, dip-shit.”
The bottle flew past me. Braxton caught it with little effort, plucking it from the air in mid-flight. The show of talent was a tradition for Hap and a testament to Braxton’s hand-eye coordination.
Every Sunday, Hap would throw his empty bottles of beer, typically unannounced, toward Braxton. Each time, Braxton would catch them.
“Last one.” Braxton said, handing Tito the bottle. He leaned forward and peered toward Hap. “Go grab the reinforcements, Old Man.”
Hap stood. “Last one?” He gave Braxton a puzzled look. “I just filled that son-of-a-bitch last night.”
Braxton chuckled. “Looks like someone’s stealing your beer.”
“Stealing it? If someone was stealing it, why wouldn’t they take it all? Why not take the cooler?”
“They’re not taking it all because their little arms won’t hold any more.”
Hap glared toward the other side of the street. “Those little fuckers. I’ll wring their little goddamned necks.”
“Nothing worse than a thief,” Braxton said.
“I’ll drink to that,” Hap said.
Braxton laughed. “Just be careful how big of drinks you take, or we’ll have to cut this day short.”
“I’ll get those little pricks,” Hap said under his breath.
“Do you know who they are?” I asked.
“I’ve got a good damned idea.” Hap responded. He took a drink and wiped his mouth on his forearm before gesturing toward the house with a nod. “Those two that are always fighting across the street. That woman and her children’s father, or whoever that punk is. Their kids are a couple of fifteen-year-old delinquents.”
Hap set his beer aside and hurdled the porch railing. Halfway across the yard, he glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Braxton shot up from his seat. “God damn it, Old Man.”
“Stay where you are,” Hap insisted. “I can take care of this myself.”
“Stubborn bastard,” Braxton said under his breath.
“I heard that,” Hap said.
Braxton sat down. “One of these days, someone’s going to slap the shit out of that old man. Then, I’m going to have to slap the shit out of them.”
“Are those kids bad?” I asked. “The ones he’s talking about?”
“They’re not good, that’s for sure.”
“Have you had run-ins with them before?”
He shook his head. “I’ve never met the little fuckers.”
I took exception to his remark. For him to categorize the neighbors without ever meeting them was wrong. “How can you say they’re bad kids if you’ve never met them?”
“I’ve seen how they carry themselves. The way they walk, their hand gestures, their eye movements. Those things tell me everything about them.”
“Interesting,” I said.
Braxton gestured toward Hap. “Here we go.”
Hap sauntered across the street like he didn’t have a worry in the world. He hopped onto the porch and hammered the backside of his fist against the door.
In a moment, a woman answered. Dressed in a pair of oversized sweatpants and a stain-covered tee shirt, her pale arms were peppered with tattoos. Her hair looked like the Bride of Frankenstein.
Although we couldn’t hear what was being said, we really didn’t need to. The gestures from both parties was enough for us to get the gist of what was going on.
Hap waved his hand toward us. Then, he held his flattened hand parallel to the ground, even with his chest.
She shook her head.
Hap pointed toward the woman’s carport. What looked like empty beer bottles littered the area.
With her mouth going a mile a minute, she nudged her way onto the porch, forcing Hap to take a few steps back. Wild-eyed, and apparently convicted in her beliefs, she let him have it.
Hap gestured to us, and then pointed to the carport.
She flipped Hap the bird.
Hap returned the gesture.
Apparently done with the argument, she stomped into the house and slammed the door.
Hap stared at the door for a moment, and then retrieved one of the empty bottles from the carport. He looked it over, then raised it for us to see.
I didn’t know about Braxton or Tito, but Hap would only drink one kind of beer, Michelob Ultra. He claimed its low-carb content allowed him to maintain his “awesome physique.” The bottle he held, at least from what I could see, looked like one of Hap’s.
Clutching the beer bottle in hand, he checked for traffic and then bolted across the street. Upon reaching the porch, he tossed Braxton the bottle. “Have a look at that.”
“Not surprised,” Braxton said. “They’re a couple of little turds.”
“Well, the little pricks aren’t home,” Hap snarled. “According to her, they’re church-going saints who don’t drink beer, steal, or even fart. Sounds like the sperm donor’s gone, too.”
“He’s not any better than the kids,” Braxton said.
Hap picked up his half-empty beer bottle and looked it over. “What the fuck are we going to do? We’ll be out of beer in ten minutes.”
“What do you have in the house?” Tito asked.
“Wine. Been in there for a long while, too.”
Tito’s nose wrinkled in opposition. “No whiskey or anything?”
“What’s wrong with your ears?” Hap asked. “I could hear Braxton’s smart mouth from across the street. You can’t hear me and you’re only five feet away. I said I’ve got wine. That’s what I’ve got. Wine.”
“What kind?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Hap responded. “Some kind of red wine.”
Braxton reached into his pocket and retrieved a coin. “Heads, we’ll start drinking wine. Tails, I’ll go the liquor store and get more beer.” He flipped a coin high in the air and caught it. He slapped it against the back of his hand. “Call it, Old Man.”
Hap peered the length of the porch. His eyes thinned.
Braxton looked Hap up and down. His eyebrows raised. “Did you have a stroke?”
“Why the fuck would you ask something like that?” Hap growled. “You’re an insensitive prick.”
“Well, you were just standing there staring at me. I thought maybe you suffered a stroke.”
Hap looked down his nose at Braxton. “Fuck you, Son. I was thinking.”
“There are two available options, Old Man,” Braxton said, sounding frustrated. “Heads or tails. Call it.”
Hap nodded toward Braxt
on’s hand. “Heads, asshole.”
Braxton lifted his hand. “Tails. Looks like you’re drinking wine.”
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Hap said through clenched teeth. “Two out of three. Flip it again.”
“What’s in it for me?” Braxton asked. “I’m fine with wine. You’re not. I just won. You lost. Why would I want to chance losing on a two out of three bet?”
“Two out of three, you little prick,” Hap said. “Flip the fucking coin.”
“Tito and I can go get some beer,” I said.
“Sit down, sweetheart,” Hap said. “I don’t want you to go get it. I want Brax to go get it.”
“It’s three blocks from here,” I said. “It’s not a—”
“Two out of three, asshole,” Hap snarled. “Or, are you afraid to lose to the Old Man?”
“It’s not like we’re arm wrestling or target shooting,” Braxton said with a laugh. “I’m flipping a coin. It’s fifty-fifty. There’s no skill.”
“There’s skill in calling it,” Hap insisted. “Any whistle dick can flip a coin. Takes a man with skill to call it. Flip it, asshole.”
Braxton flipped the coin, caught it, and slapped it against his wrist. He looked up. “Call it.”
Hap crossed his arms over his chest. “Heads.”
Braxton lifted his hand and revealed the coin. Immediately, he started to laugh. “Tails.”
“Fucking horseshit,” Hap seethed, turning away. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Hap went into the house and clamored around for a few minutes. He returned with four glasses and a bottle of Pinot Noir. He lifted the bottle and peered at the label. “Pee-Noe Nwar. This ought to be fun,” he said snidely. “I’ll be surprised if I don’t barf up my lunch.”
“You shouldn’t have left the beer cooler out all night,” Braxton nagged.
Hap glared. “You should have flipped the coin higher, you weak-wristed turd.”
I glanced back and forth between them. “Do you two ever stop?”
“No,” Tito said. “They don’t.”
“Braxton’s difficult to get along with,” Hap said, straight-faced. “He got it from his mother.”
“He’s old and stubborn,” Braxton said. “He got it from his father.”
Tito Page 21
