by Jerry Cole
In defense of the poor woman who made this mistake, I had instructed them to start with windows and floors and had warned that the job might take all day. It was only natural for her to get right to work as soon as she arrived. And Marcelo has asked me, specifically, to tell them not to vacuum upstairs. I’d been too busy mentally masturbating to tell anybody anything, and so when the sound of that whirling, sucking engine echoed down the stairs I knew I was in trouble.
The next two minutes were both the longest and the shortest of my life. The sound of the vacuum running went on unabated for nearly a minute before the scream of a cat sliced through the house. If you’ve ever been privileged to hear two cats having rough sex in an alley, you know exactly what kind of unearthly howl I am describing. That sound came echoing down the stairs followed by the equally alarmed wail of a woman.
The two screams intertwined and sent me flying up the stairs to see what hell had been released by the evil machine. When I got to the top of the stairs, I was greeted by the sight of a petite middle-aged woman engaged in a fierce catfight with a large orange cat. The screaming feline had wrapped itself around the woman’s head and, although I can’t be sure, it definitely looked like it was trying to either claw her face off or suffocate her with its hefty, fluffy butt.
From behind me, a soaking wet and equally alarmed Marcelo came running down the hall. The tiny towel he’d grabbed on his way out of the bathroom was hastily wrapped around his slim hips. Once again my mind slipped right into the gutter as a distinct imprint became visible as he entered the bedroom where the mauling was proceeding.
“Ginger!” He reached for the cat, who seemed unaware of his presence despite the fact that he was calling to her. After a few seconds of tugging at the fat cat, he finally convinced her to let go of the cleaning lady’s face. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the unthinkable happened.
Ginger, the little darling, decided that I was a much safer perch than the cleaning lady’s head. She had, after all, brought the suctioning monstrosity that began this nightmare up the damned stairs and into the bedroom to begin with. And so, the fluffy behemoth leapt from Marcelo’s arms and clung to my chest, still screaming only slightly less emphatically than before. The feeling of those tiny claws piercing my skin caused me to cry out, not unlike the poor maid who was, at that very moment, sobbing on the floor.
I didn’t speak very good Spanish but I could tell by her tone and the words that I could make out that she was convinced that her life had taken a fateful turn and she was attacked by a demon. At one point I thought I heard her praying to God for forgiveness for whatever sin had caused her misfortune. I hated to burst her bubble and explain to her that her ruined face was the result of my own negligence and Marcelo’s decision to own this great orange hell-spawn.
In an effort to extract the cat from my chest I spun around in a circle, and while Ginger did make an interesting propeller, she was not dislodged.
“Wait! What are you doing?” Marcelo jumped toward me and tried to grab for the cat. At the same moment, the cleaning crew’s Chief came up the stairs and pushed past me to his sobbing employee. The force caused me to lose my balance and with a quick jerking motion, I fell...on top of Marcelo.
The sound of the screaming quieted almost instantly, replaced by a much more ominous sound of cracking and grunts. I looked down at Marcelo and the orange cat that was stuck between us, struggling for breath. Marcelo looked just as shocked as I felt. It took us both a few seconds to regain our bearings and when I did I pushed myself up from on top of a very naked Marcelo and a very flattened orange cat.
“Ginger!”
There was no mistaking the panic in his voice. There was also no mistaking the fact that the fat marmalade tabby was not going to last through the next hour. She was a goner. Even under the best of circumstances, being crushed between two grown men would be hard to recover from. Something told me that Ginger probably wasn’t in the best of health, to begin with, and this sort of blunt force trauma was more than even her nine lives could cover.
“I’m so sorry, Marcelo,” I could barely make out the sound of my own voice. Despite the stinging in my chest I really felt bad for the creature. She probably had some deep kitten-hood trauma associated with vacuum cleaners and it had finally cost her life. She didn’t deserve that.
But more importantly, Marcelo looked devastated. So, devastated that he didn’t even seem to care that he was naked as the day he was born and kneeling over a dying cat as a semi-circle of strangers gathered around. It would’ve been an almost touching moment if all of the details of circumstances weren’t so ridiculous. Still, human empathy won out in the end. The crew Chief escorted the injured worker down the stairs. I promised him to cover any cost for emergency room treatment she may need. I snagged a terry cloth robe from the bathroom door and draped it over Marcelo’s shoulders and a few of the cleaners who’d stopped to see what caused the commotion took a moment to say a small prayer for the wild cat as she hissed and gurgled her way into eternity.
Then, Marcelo cried, and I almost cried with him.
Almost.
The pain in my chest wouldn’t allow me to be that generous. Looking down at the wounds I could tell I would most likely end up with small scars. Damn this pasty white skin of mine.
When it was clear that it was over, somebody handed Marcelo a black plastic bag to dispose of the body. He took it, but instead of putting it in the bag, he wrapped the body with it.
“She should get a proper burial,” he said.
“We’ll make sure she gets it,” I agreed.
It wasn’t until he tried to stand that we noticed the larger, more concerning problem. Somehow, in the fall, he’d very clearly done major damage to his left foot. It looked as if it had been subjected to a medieval torture device or pounded by a hammer. He collapsed as soon as he attempted to put weight on it and closed his eyes as a fresh round of tears, this time from the pain, leaked from the corners of his eyes.
This, I knew how to handle.
“Let me help you put some clothes on, we’re going to the hospital,” I said. He looked at me as if I’d just spoken a foreign language but didn’t argue. For the first time in our relationship, it was my turn to take care of him.
I had to admit that it felt good. It was better than anything I could recall.
Chapter Six
The house was spotless when we arrived. The cleaners had come across a fancy box that was just big enough to fit the dead cat. I’d asked them to lay the poor thing to rest in the box and leave it for Marcelo to handle. I’d settled accounts with the injured cleaner and the cleaning crew chief while we were all sitting in the emergency room. She had a few nasty scratches across her face but didn’t require stitches. I called my lawyer and let her know what happened just in case things turned nasty later on. Evelynn, my bulldog in high heels of a lawyer said that I’d already screwed the pooch by admitting fault and paying for the cleaning lady’s hospital fees. I told her it wasn’t the first time and she laughed. It was a deep, smoky sound that meant she would probably have to do something underhanded to settle the account and she couldn’t wait to get started.
To his credit, the fresh-faced doctor who saw Marcelo took one look at his mangled foot and sent him straight to radiology. The foot was clearly broken, but, as I was told, broken feet were tricky to handle. There was a hell of a lot of tiny moving parts in feet, and he’d need to see a specialist to get it set properly and determine whether or not he would need surgery. The lumpy discolorations across the bridge of his foot were not a good sign.
“I’m sorry,” I kept repeating. And I was. I hadn’t meant to injure him or kill his cat or detail his day off with an impromptu visit to the emergency room. But it was deeper than that. I was sorry that after seven years together this was the first time I remember holding his hand or helping him up. It was the first time I held a door open for him or poured him a cup of water. Seven years, and I’d never looked after him properly un
til that day.
So, I kept saying I was sorry and he kept saying it was okay. But it wasn’t.
When we got back to his home I still felt like shit. But, he was high on massive doses of painkillers and wobbling around on crutches with a giant cast on his foot. It turned out he wouldn’t need surgery if everything went well, but it was a pretty nasty break and it would be several weeks before he would be allowed to limp around in one of those giant boot-looking things.
“Where did they put Ginger?”
I hadn’t bothered to ask.
“I found her,” he called from the kitchen.
I followed him in and saw the small, wooden box sitting in the kitchen sink on a bed of ice. I guessed that it didn’t seem right to leave her dead body on a table or countertop to rot and putting it in the freezer had to have been a health code violation. Marcelo opened the lid slowly, unsure of what he would find inside. I held my breath, hoping that she wouldn’t have already decayed into a putrefied mess.
Strangely, she looked almost as if she were asleep. Aside from the tongue lolled out to the side and the swelling in the mishappen abdomen, she looked good...for a dead cat.
“I’m sorry for your loss. You must have really loved her. How long did you have her?”
I wasn’t sure what to expect from Marcelo. I knew the drugs would make his reactions a little slow, but when he finally responded it was with tears of laugher. He nearly doubled over, tears streaming down his face and a merry smile on his lips.
“Okay, I’m not sure what to do with that,” I admitted.
“I hated that damned cat,” he barked, grabbing his sides as he tried to regain his composure. “She was always so mean. Ariana was the only one who could pet her.”
“Oh,” I said. “So, it’s not really much of a loss for you.”
He shook his head.
“I was wondering what I was going to do with the ugly old thing,” he said. “I didn’t have the heart to give her away. She was already so old and Ariana had her from the time she was a kitten.”
“How old was she?”
“Nine,” he said.
“So, you were just holding on to her?”
“I dunno,” he settled down, leaning against the kitchen counter opposite the chilled cat. “I suppose I already lost Ariana, I wasn’t ready to lose Ginger yet.”
“Yeah, I’m still really sorry about that,” I said.
“Don’t be. This is better anyway. I’ll bury her someplace nice, and then I think I’ll be ready to move on. I have a bad habit of holding on too long. It’s time I learned to let go.”
The way his eyes melted into deep pools of chocolate syrup told me that he wasn’t talking about the cat any longer. Although he was still smiling, there was sadness behind his expression.
“Ah, right. Well, I can’t say I blame you. I discovered something today,” I said, trying to sound bright and nonchalant.
“What’s that?”
“I missed out on a lot. I mean, I was physically present but I wasn’t aware, you know? I missed out on a lot because I was only looking out for myself when I should’ve looked up every once in a while and checked on the people close to me.”
“You don’t have people you’re close to.”
“Maybe…but that doesn’t mean I didn’t miss out.”
“Missed out on what?”
“Like, the way you bite the inside of your cheek when you are trying not to look weak. Or the way you like your coffee. I had to ask Helen. Do you know how humiliating that is? Or the way you—”
I didn’t get another word out because he leaned forward and kissed me. Maybe it was the cocktail of pain and loss and the fact that I was the only person there, but he let his guard down and slipped his tongue into my mouth and stirred up a beehive of sensations.
The feeling buzzed through my head, shutting down all of the parts of my brain that should have told me that this was a bad idea. All I could think was “more”. I wanted this. I craved it. When was the last time I’d kissed Marcelo? When was the last time I’d kissed anybody like this?
I grabbed him by the neck and pulled him closer, forgetting his injury. He stumbled forward, grabbing my shirt for support.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“You say that a lot,” he teased.
“I know. It seems once I get started I can’t stop.”
“I think I like it,” he took my mouth again, nipping my bottom lip between his sharp, white teeth.
I tried to think of something clever to say, but my mind was blank and the buzzing was back. This time it made its way down the back of my throat and into my chest where it coated my insides in warmth. I felt like I was standing next to an open flame, but I liked it. Marcelo slipped his strong, warm hands under my shirt and ran them across my back, pressing me closer against his body as he indulged himself.
I tried to keep my legs firm, despite the fact that I was the one propping us both up. But the buzzing was doing some very pleasurable things to my crotch and making my knees increasingly less effective as time went on.
I broke away from his kiss and shifted until he was stable on his good foot.
“That was unexpected,” I panted.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. Don’t ever be sorry about that,” I said. “That was amazing. I forgot it was like that with you. Was it always like that?”
He touched his lips with the tips of his fingers and chuckled.
“I always thought it was.”
I hung my head with shame.
“I really am an asshole. You’re right to leave me. I really don’t deserve you. It’s a miracle that you lasted this long,” I took his hands and looked him in the eyes. “I’m so sorry, about everything. Not just today, but every day for the last seven years. I’m sorry for not letting you know how much you mean to me and how lost I am without you. I’m sorry for not paying attention to all of the things that make you an amazing person. And I’m fucking gutted that I didn’t even try until you already had one foot out the door.”
He looked me in the eyes and they filled up with tears again. I braced myself, not knowing what tears meant in this kind of situation. SO far he’d cried while laughing, and while in extreme physical pain, and while explaining to me that I was the world’s worst boss.
“Well, one broken foot. And it looks like I chose a hell of a moment to walk out,” he chuckled.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep your health insurance current until you get on your feet again. Pun intended,” I said.
“I don’t want any charity from you.”
“I’m not being charitable. I broke your foot, killed your cat, and may have made you a co-defendant in a nasty liability suit. The least I can do is make sure you can see your doctor without worrying until your foot heals.”
“You’re right,” he nodded. “It is the very least you can do.”
“Right, so...unless you need anything I think I’m going to take off.”
I had every intention of leaving. I swear I did. I knew he would have some trouble getting around by himself but I doubted that I was the best person to help him. Besides, this was Marcelo. He was the miracle worker. He would figure out how to bath himself and navigate the stairs in no time. I wasn’t worried.
Nope.
Not worried at all.
“Do you want me to—”
“Would you like to—”
We both stopped talking abruptly. It seemed like we were both having the same thoughts. Marcelo smiled, blushing in a way that made his sexy smile look almost innocent.
“Would you like to stay the night?”
“I would love to, but I don’t think you and I have the same thing in mind.” I leaned against the door frame and wiggled my eyebrows at him.
“Okay, would you stay the night...with me?”
Chapter Seven
It was just sex.
That’s what he said to me.
It didn’t feel that way to me. I turned
over and looked at his sleeping face. Twenty minutes ago, he’d been alive and electric against my body. We’d tumbled into bed, forgoing any flirting or small talk. We both knew what we wanted and neither of us seemed opposed to giving in to the other’s demands.
Once his lips were on my skin I was under his thrall. He may have been injured but I was the one at a disadvantage. I clawed at my own clothes, helping to remove the only impediment between us. He blessed each inch of exposed flesh with his fingertips and soft kisses. I cradled his head against my body, encouraging the slow torture of his lips.
His tongue touched the head of my erection and I felt my body clench in anticipation. I wanted to be tasted by him. I wanted to fill his mouth and his nose and all of his senses. I wanted to be consumed. The buzzing that he’d stirred downstairs in the kitchen had grown, filling every inch of my body. Everywhere his skin touched mine was engulfed in flames and his rough fingers clenched my body as he sucked and licked my cock.
He separated himself from my body just long enough to retrieve the condom and lubricant that he kept in the nightstand beside the bed. He obviously hadn’t been experiencing a dry spell since our separation. I felt a little offended for a moment, and then I recalled the dozens of men I’d forced him to manage after a one-night stand. I didn’t have a right to be upset.
He rolled the condom down the length of his thick cock.
“Don’t do that yet,” I whined.
“I know how you like it. I still remember,” he said, referring to our hot and heavy sessions. There was no foreplay then either. It was always hard and fast; against a wall, in a closet, under a table, it didn’t matter.
“I was thinking about changing things up a little,” I argued.
He lifted my chin with a finger and kissed me deeply, caressing the inside of my mouth with his tongue.
“It’s just sex, Patrick. Let’s not make it more complicated by changing the script.”
I had no chance to object. Before I knew what was happening he was on top of me, his slim hips cradled between my thighs. His cock rubbed against my own, making my whole body shudder. He pulled one leg over his shoulder and easily found my passage with his fingers. He coated the area with a thick coat of warming gel and entered me with a single, savage thrust.
