Love on Site (8 page)

I caught my breath and saw stars as the force of my orgasm pounded out of me, semen spraying out of my dick and onto my shirt. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the toilet in my bathroom and I was a mess. Hopelessly intoxicated with Walter Loredo, drained and cum-stained and very much alone.

I drank a tall glass of water and took a couple of aspirins, stumbled back to my bedroom, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. The next day, though, I resolved to push all thoughts of Walter out of my head. I had a date with a real man, not a fantasy, and I was going to get laid if it killed me.

I took a long shower, making sure to clean my ass really well. If I was lucky Roberto would get his tongue up there, and then his dick, and I wanted to be spick-and-span for him. I dug around in my underwear drawer for a pair of bikini briefs that accentuated my assets, and put on a pair of silk slacks that clung to my body.

Roberto was a fancy dresser, so I paired the slacks with a starched white linen shirt with abstract embroidery in a faded bronze color. I thought it looked terrific against my neck and lower arms, tanned from so much time out on the site. I took my time walking to the restaurant, not wanting to get there too early, nor to sweat up in the evening heat.

When I arrived, Roberto was in conversation with the maître d’, who led us to a sheltered table at the back of the restaurant. “How have you been this week?” Roberto asked. “I’ve missed you.”

Then you could have arranged to see me earlier, I thought, but I didn’t say that. “Working hard.”

“I can’t see you on a construction site,” Roberto said. “You are too handsome and too delicate. You should be in an office somewhere, in a three-piece suit.”

I didn’t think that was flattering—I’d had enough of the “pretty” comments from my female relatives. “I can be macho when I need to be,” I said.

“I’m sure you can be.” Roberto smiled, and I felt a tingling in my groin. He ordered us a bottle of wine, and we clinked our glasses together. “To this evening,” he said.

“To more than once this evening,” I said and arched my eyebrows.

Roberto laughed. “You are quite the little rascal, Manuelito.”

As we ate our appetizers, I kicked off my shoe and stroked my toes against Roberto’s leg. He took a couple of deep breaths, but he didn’t tell me to stop.

“What is it that you do, exactly?”

“Wealth management consulting,” he said. “I create customized investments for the assets of non-US persons. They often have complex situations—some family members in the US, some abroad, subject to tax in multiple locations. My clients must have investable assets of at least ten million dollars.”

“Sounds very cool. Maybe someday I’ll have enough money to use your services.”

“Perhaps.” Roberto looked over at me and smiled, then patted my thigh. “You are still very young. Who knows what your future holds?”

We talked and flirted our way through our entrées. The waiter took away our dirty plates and Roberto asked me, “Dessert?”

I lowered my voice. “I’d rather have you.”

He laughed. “Well, that can be arranged. You live near here, don’t you?”

“A few blocks.”

He ransomed his car from the valet and negotiated the local streets over to my building—harder than you might think because of the intersection of roads and canals. I was fidgeting by the time he pulled into a guest parking space at my building. I leaned over to kiss him, and he pushed me back gently. “We are in no hurry,” he said.

I took a deep breath. I could be patient, I thought, especially if I knew my reward was ahead. I led him through the building and into the elevator. We rode up in silence.

“Most of the furniture doesn’t belong to us,” I said as I opened the door to the apartment, praying that Larry and Gavin were still out on the town. “So don’t get the wrong idea.”

“It’s lovely,” he said, taking in the expanse of starlit Biscayne Bay outside the sliding glass doors. “But I’d like to see your room.”

I took his hand and led him down the hall. Once we were in my room with the door closed securely behind us, he wrapped his arms around me and pressed his lips to mine. I couldn’t get close enough to him; I tried to wrap my leg around his butt and pull him into me.

He was a slow, deliberate kisser. Our lips met, still flavored by the wine we’d drunk at dinner. His kisses were delicate and feathery against my lips. I tried to open my mouth, but he wouldn’t let me at first, pressing them closed with the tip of a finger. Our noses rubbed together, and our cheeks, and I felt how very smooth his were, as if he’d shaved again just before.

I inhaled his scent of bay rum, so old-fashioned and different from Walter’s fresh lemon. He put one hand on the back of my head, the other around my waist. I felt like I’d stumbled into a black and white movie.

After a couple of minutes of kissing, I pulled back and began to unbutton my shirt. “No, please, allow me,” Roberto said.

He leaned close to me, and once again I inhaled his aftershave as his fingers slowly undid my buttons. “You are such a beautiful young man,” he said as he slid my shirt off my shoulders.

I shivered with the suddenness of the air-conditioned air against my skin. Goose bumps rose on my arms as I longed to feel his skin against mine.

He laid my shirt carefully on my desk chair, turned back to me and unbuckled my belt. My dick quivered at the proximity of his hands, pressing forward against my briefs, which felt soaked with precum. I was so impatient to be naked with him, but I forced myself to submit to his careful ministrations.

He spread open my pants and admired the silhouette of my dick against the white fabric. “
Ay, qué lindo
,” he said, and I blushed. I wasn’t sure if he meant my dick or the whole of me, but it didn’t matter.

I kicked my shoes off and stepped out of my pants. I would have left them pooled on the floor, but I knew Roberto wouldn’t appreciate that. So I bent over in my sexy underwear, showing him my ass. I heard him suck in his breath.

I stood up and turned to him and began to unbutton his white linen shirt. He had a skinny chest, covered with silky black hair, and I longed to run my fingers over it. But I mimicked his behavior, laying the shirt carefully over the same chair as my shirt and pants.

I turned back to his belt, hand-tooled leather with a gold buckle engraved with his initials. I opened it and undid his pants, then knelt. I lifted his right foot, slipped off the loafer, and peeled down the thin black sock. I repeated the process with the other leg.

Roberto stepped out of his slacks and folded them on my desk. We faced each other, and his dick pushed against his nylon briefs, furled up like a snake waiting to strike. I was still hard, tenting my briefs. I skinned them down and stepped out of them, and Roberto did the same.

He led me to my bed, then pushed me down on it. In a moment he was on top of me, all his smooth flesh pressing against me, skin to skin. Our dicks rubbed together as he slid his body up and down over mine, keeping our lips pressed together. It was an amazing moment, one I had been waiting for, but it wasn’t enough. I kept comparing his chest to what I’d seen of Walter’s. Walter’s was so much broader and more muscular, and Roberto’s seemed that of an old man.

I felt my dick soften and didn’t know why. Roberto must have sensed it too, thinking what he was doing didn’t please me. He sat back on his haunches, and his skinny, stiff dick faced me, curved like a banana. I leaned down and took him in my mouth. He tasted clean and fresh, like rainwater with a touch of salt. He rubbed his fingers through my hair and said, “You are so beautiful, Manuelito.”

I responded the best way I knew how, by sucking him until I felt his body start to stiffen, then pulled back. My dick had hardened again, so I squirmed around so that my dick was at his mouth. He began to suck me, and I could tell right away that mine wasn’t the first cock he’d chowed down on. He really knew his stuff—licking me, tonguing my slit, nibbling the mushroom head.

Even so, I couldn’t help thinking of Walter. Was this what he wanted too? Had I read that look in his eyes correctly? I closed my eyes and pretended that those were his lips around my dick. Between that image and Roberto’s technique, I was in ecstasy. This was why I liked older men, I thought. I tried to imitate everything Roberto did, but before I could practice too much, he had me on the brink of orgasm, and I had to focus on things like math problems and women’s vaginas to bring myself down.

It didn’t work. I shot off into Roberto’s mouth, but he swallowed everything I had to give and kept licking me. I squirmed in ecstatic pain, unable to concentrate on getting him off.

Finally he let my dick go. I tried to start up on him again, but he had gone soft, and he pulled me away, up toward him. “But you didn’t…” I said.

“You gave me much pleasure, mi amorcito. Do not worry if I do not demonstrate my appreciation so openly.”

Well, if that was okay with him, I thought. I snuggled up to him, our heads on the pillow facing each other, and dozed off. When I woke up, it was two o’clock in the morning and Roberto was gone. He had left his calling card on my dresser, though—
Roberto Vicente Medina Arroyo
in a curling script. According to the Spanish style, Medina was his father’s last name, and Arroyo his mother’s. He had scrawled
xx RVMA
on the back. No address, no phone number or business affiliation.

Not that I had expected one. Roberto had been cagey about telling me much about his personal life—I knew his career but not his employer; his cell phone but not his home number; and his e-mail address was through a generic provider.

It didn’t matter to me. He was old-school, after all, the kind of man who didn’t flaunt his sexual orientation. Probably closeted at work and with his family as well. I wasn’t going to marry him, just have some fun.

I rolled over and went back to sleep with the taste of his kisses and the wine we drank at dinner still on my lips. But it was Walter Loredo’s face that remained in my memory.

Site Specifics

I texted Roberto Sunday afternoon before I left for my parents’ house, thanking him for dinner and dessert. He responded with the word
encantado
—charmed—and his initials once more. I couldn’t figure him out. Was it because he was older that he wasn’t as interested in getting laid as I was?

Maybe he just didn’t like me as much as I liked him. Or maybe I was obsessing needlessly. Roberto had a whole life beyond me, and until I knew more about it, I wasn’t going to waste my time worrying. But as I got dressed for the drive west, I compared him to Walter.

Roberto was at least fifteen years older than Walter, and his hair was thinner and grayer. Roberto was a snazzier dresser than Walter; I couldn’t imagine him in a sleeveless T-shirt and tight-fitting shorts. Nor could I see Roberto with a five o’clock shadow or hair mussed the way Walter’s was after a run on the site.

Roberto’s body was slimmer and less muscular than Walter’s. Walter was more robust, Roberto more delicate. Walter was boisterous, Roberto courtly. I felt guilty when I realized that Walter was the more attractive to me. That was stupid; I needed to focus my attention on where it was rewarded.

But then, I thought as I rode the elevator down to the garage, Walter had sent me a couple of signals, most recently when we stood side by side at the urinal on Friday night. He thought I was handsome and charming, and his eyes had glinted with sexual longing. Was he as unavailable as I’d thought?

I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on driving to my parents’ house. Once there I was caught up in family drama, and I didn’t think of Roberto again until midmorning on Monday, when I was observing the fine grading of the first warehouse pad.

A rolling mixer, which kept the concrete moist until pouring, stood idling beside the building while Camilo argued with a guy in a yellow hard hat. Finally they came to some agreement, and one of the men stepped over the hose, guiding it with his legs, and the mix began to spew out. A team of men finished the backbreaking work of spreading and smoothing it out.

That was probably the way Roberto thought of men on a construction site. No wonder he didn’t see me in that kind of role—I didn’t see myself doing it either.

I was finishing up that afternoon when Walter appeared in the doorway to my office. “You’re a good guy, Manny,” he said. He hesitated, and I looked up at him. “I hope you didn’t take anything I said at the bar the wrong way.”

Oh, Jesus. When I thought he was flirting with me at the urinals, had I responded in some way that he misinterpreted? I did a quick rewind of our conversation in my head. “You mean you don’t really think I’m smart and hard-working?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

He tilted his head a bit. “That’s what I said?”

I wasn’t about to remind him he’d also said I was handsome and charming, especially if that’s what he wanted to take back.

“That, and a bunch of stuff about aiming high in my career.”

He nodded. “Good. Because anything else would be inappropriate, you know, because I’m your boss.” He rapped on my door frame with his fist. “Anyway, get out of here and go have a life. You don’t want to end up like your old boss.”

What did that mean, I wondered as I packed up and drove back to the Beach. Walter wasn’t old, and it wasn’t like he had no life—I’d seen photos on his office wall of him socializing, and heard him talking with his friends about weekend plans.

The next day, when I went to place my lunch order with Estefani, she said, “No meeting today. Walter’s got a lunch date.”

“So we’re free?” I asked.

“
Como un pájarito
,” she said. Like a little bird. She leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “He’ll be out for hours. I’m putting the phones on night service and meeting my girlfriend for lunch.”

The front door opened, and two Cuban men in business suits stepped inside. They were the kind of successful, assimilated guys I aimed to be like, kings of their own worlds. I moved over to the file cabinet as they flirted with Estefani. As I pulled out the contract I needed, Walter’s office door opened and he stepped out, greeting the two men with hugs. They laughed and joked in Spanish as he led them into his office.