Dance With Me

by Lexus Love

  Shifting his weight again to help ease the pressure in his thick 8 ½ inches of swollen cock, Jaime tried to rationalize with his body even while the words “Sure, no problem, Papi. Take your time.” came out as a husky rasp out his mouth.

  With narrowed eyes, the boy nodded, returned to the cantering he was doing on the AC unit before Jaime had interrupted him earlier, totally clueless of how the fabric of the blackwork jumpsuit stretched over his apple-shaped derriere, was screwing with Jaime’s mentality.

  Pivoting around on his heels on his sneakered feet, Jaime shoved his hands into his pockets to grab hold of his leaking monster to discreetly rearrange its angle; he made his way back to his overheated students, fingers snapping loudly to gain their attention, his new mantra drumming in his mind "He’s just a kid. He’s just a bloody kid! "

  2

  Nigel Swayne listened to the retreating steps of his boss behind him and quickly tuned out the deep voice of Mr. Marba as he addressed the scarcely clad people in the large echoic room.

  He shook his head, not in amazement but annoyance at the whole situation.

  Just last Thursday, he’d checked the valve in this piece- of- shit AC unit when this evening, he noticed a small puddle of water pooling in front of the old unit closet, onto the new floor he’d slaved over to install.

  His frustration grew as the dripping mess increased rapidly while he worked on repairing the busted valve and caused more harm to the gleaming oak flooring.

  It wasn’t just the fact that this stupid piece of crap just seemed determined to piss him off, but he had to put up with the complaints from those niggas who came here every other day, only to watch the chicken heads dance around in their skin-tight leggings, short shorts, and cotton tank tops and to have those same chicken heads who complained even more than the niggas, when they had to cover up their skin and deny that one-track– mind– broke - ass niggas, a show of supple breasts and thick thighs.

  You’d think their mamas never taught them that the only men worth seeing their naked behinds should only be their future husbands.

  But Nah.

  Things just were not that way ‘round these parts. Some of them had even given him the eye. Not that he minded, especially if the girl was foine.

  However, he was not amused when he received the same look from his male employer or a few of his employer’s less than subtle male clientele.

  In the months he’d been serving his time here as an unpaid jack- of- all- trades-plumber, carpenter, painter, maintenance man and whatever else he could fix or build-he’d caught the unsettling looks on more than one of those queens and Mr. Marba himself, once or twice when they thought he was not looking.

  Courtesy of Judge Nicholas, who was an active member and a good friend to Pastor Albert John of the New United Baptist Church upon Mermaid Ave. in Brooklyn, Nigel was introduced to Mr. Marba -also an active member of the church - as a handyman to complete his eight-month sentence - had noticed the older man’s effeminate ways from the get-go and hadn’t batted an eye.

  Nigel got the opportunity to work with his hands, learn new things in the trade he loved more than life and complete his education right on schedule, so all was good and just fine by him.

  What the man did in his own time and his bedroom had no effect on Nigel, just as long as he kept himself on the 411 and away from Nigel’s ass cheeks, is all he was saying.

  Nigel was a man’s man, a real lover of women. All women. The bigger, the better. Simple and true.

  Especially the little plump bird he’d noticed from day one which made his blood boil every time he saw her. She had curves in places that made a man overheat even in the dead of winter. Like -40º winter.

  Fifteen minutes later, as promised the AC unit was up and running but was now set on frigid.

  With that, all the boiling blood up in the building cooled to a low hum.

  The satisfying clang of metal on metal made him happy as Nigel dropped his tools into his work bag and wiped his hands on the stained rag, he’d pulled from his pocket.

  The low hum of conversation under the blaring music from the recessed speakers in the ceiling turned to concerned whelps and cries as a sharp snap was followed by a hard thud and a low wail filled the room.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God! Help him up!” the girl who was practicing with the dude wailed as all at once the crowd moved to help the hissing dancer who held his right leg to his chest, rolling from side to side on his back on the gleaming hard floor.

  “No! Leave him!” the deep rumbling voice that carried the harsh retort stunned everyone crowding the prone body of Tyrese Smith.

  Jaime, going to his knees to survey the cause of the young man’s pain, muttered a stunned “What the hell?”

  The boy they all knew as the maintenance guy strode over to the now silent group, knelt on one knee, and grabbed Tyrese's shoulders to stop him from rolling about.

  With a quiet, “Hey man. It’s alright. It’s cool. Just let me check this out for you” and the grace and smoothness of a big cat, he gently cupped the offending ankle, his face an emotionless mask.

  “Ahhh!!!” Tyrese cried out as pain shot up his leg and sweat gathered on his cool skin, his face a mask of pain, slim shoulders tensed, and his washboard abs cramped.

  The women gasped and the men hardened themselves against the uncomfortable weakness of a grown man wallowing in pain.

  Nigel knew the sound of snapped bones so well that when the man went down hard, he remembered the brutal pain from his falls and broken bones as he tried to escape the rise and fall of his father’s fists and hard kicks to the ribs and legs that came rushing back at him in that instance.

  “Call an ambulance; he needs to go to the hospital. Probably a broken leg sprained ankle or tearing a ligament or something.”

  He held the rapidly swelling ankle away from the floor as he spoke.

  “Lisa -” Jaime, who was more than a little surprised at the boy’s calm assessment of Tyrese’s injury, he had somewhat figured out, felt his pride and a little something else rise at attention as he motioned to one of the five blonde-haired dancers in the group of people of mixed heritage, hovering around like a nervous mother over her hurt baby.

  Go call for an ambulance. And Jerry -” he gestured to a dude who was a soft shade of bronze, had chiseled features and light brown eyes dressed all in white, as he got to his feet, “ get me a bag of ice from the freezer downstairs.”

  Nigel had left the man on the floor still surrounded by his friends, grabbed his bag of tools and quietly walked out of the brownstone long before Jaime could calm the crying female in his arms and the sound of wailing sirens could be heard a block away.

  ◆◆◆

  “Oh my God, Kita! Eric! You guys would not believe what happened today in class!” Debbie exclaimed as she broke away from her best friend’s embrace and kissed her fiancé full on the lips.

  Sitting down to eat around the table, Debbie started off her story about the thug that was now doing community service at her second place of employment, the accident that occurred, the way the thug just took over the situation and didn’t let up till she’d told all.

  Her two companions laughed in the appropriate places and were horrified on her behalf when she told them who the little criminal was.

  3

  Friday 03:53 am…

  In a large, dark master bedroom of a two-story bungalow, down on 88th street….

  Sigh.

  Turnover.

  A glance at the glowing numbers on the digital clock brought forth another sigh.

  “Oh Gawd!” the desperate, frustrated plea rang out through the shadow enshroud room. Jaime had been tossing and turning for the last hour, trying to get some shut-eye, but soon gave that up since that was not going to happen.

  The guilty thoughts of what had kept him ‘up’ in more ways than one brought on a bit of sweat on his flushed skin.

  Oh Gawd! If only I’d paid more attention to the group at large, watched how
they practiced their routines, instead of watching the broad back and hard profile of that young man, I would have seen this coming.

  I would have noticed what was wrong before it happened.

  How Debbie and Tyrese turned and twisted practicing their Kompa dance routine, and how Tyrese’s steps to the music were not all that sure as he too ran hot eyes over the hard body of their recently court-ordered juvenile felon- handyman.

  How he came to have a torn ligament in his leg and sprained his ankle from one of the dance’s complex moves.

  Tyrese Smith, 5’11” in height, at age forty-four, whose current license said he was thirty – yes, that his honest-to-god age– the ‘drama’ queen of Latin Heights, was born, raised and still lived in Jackson Heights like Jaime himself.

  He was very effeminate, with his twists and turns in the sultry dances like the Salsa, Kizomba and Kompa– something Jaime had spoken to him about on numerous occasions-we’re gay, it’s an already known and clear fact, so easy on the ‘over- doing-it’ Ok, Papi?- to the calm and elegant in the waltz and foxtrot.

  Whereas Deborah ‘Debbie’ Nicole Wilson, a caramel-colored African-American girl, age twenty-seven, at 5’4” had an exotic mixture of features inherited from her St. Lucian grandfather and African-American grandmother and had an unnatural love for five-inch high heels or higher, came from uptown Manhattan and was as open as a piranha in deep water.

  She’d moved to the Bronx with her baby sister two years ago after the death of their parents respectively; her father, a cop in the line of duty, her mother, in a car accident.

  She was pure sensuality in all her moves but needed the right partner to pull it out of her. Those two were the founding parties in his company, both great dancers, struggling partners trying to work together.

  They were the highlights of the showcase set for July 24th, in nine weeks!

  What was he going to do? The pair had promised to partake in the showcase, but now….

  Who was going to take Tyrese’s place in the coupled showcase?

  Will Debbie not be able to help him in his time of need?

  She would never let him down, that he was sure of. But who?

  Who could partner Debbie well enough to help pull this showcase off?

  Who?

  Goddammit!

  The conflicting thoughts swam round and round in his head, making him almost nauseous.

  He’d almost boiled over with smothered rage when the handsome Irish doctor Matt Lawson– no Mrs. insight -had told the concerned group of dancers Tyrese’s inability to dance for the next three to four months with constant therapy.

  Jaime wanted to go into the sedated patient's room and strangled the bloody queen with his bare hands, but there would have been a problem with disposing of the body and he would have broken a nail.

  Uh-uh!

  Miss Thang -finger snap- wasn’t worth breaking a nail over, no matter how good he was on his feet or in bed. Jaime kissed his teeth harshly.

  Serves him right for not paying attention to what he was doing.

  Instead, he was staring at the boy’s behind, whereas he should have been concentrating on the dance steps which Jaime hadn’t noticed he was doing until it was too late.

  Debbie had taken the blame onto herself and had confessed to him that it was her fault that the accident happened, that she had not been paying attention to the dance steps.

  That her mind was elsewhere worrying about her sister and her teenage problems.

  Another sigh escaped the full pouting lips of Jaime’s mouth. If only she knew the truth, she may just call the cops on them both.

  He should have put a stop to it when he noticed Tyrese’s mind was not on the sultry dance with the woman in his arms but on the kid who at eighteen?! Looked like a seasoned pro-wrestler or a heavyweight MMA fighter.

  Jaime, who at thirty-two years old was not into young, dumb boy toys, neither was Tyrese, no matter how hung they were.

  Yet something about that kid made one forget he was a teenager and made you want to have an ‘open season’ sign painted on his foine behind.

  The thought brought back the image from earlier that day of the sweaty youngster.

  Jaime’s hand slipped beneath the band of his green satin boxers and grabbed hold of his straining 8 ½ inches of pulsing flesh in a hard grip as his flexed ass cheeks.

  Clenched in his fist, stroking his meat to a fierce tempo, Jaime let his compelling problems slip away as his shattering climax washed over him.

  4

  Five days later brought good news and bad news for Nigel Swayne.

  The good news; the air conditioning system had settled down for a while until the new one was delivered so he could replace it.

  Now, he could concentrate on painting the rest of the now fully repaired large open brick dance studio and the city official had called him up to set up a meeting so he could receive his building permits for his special project.

  No one had expected he would complete the renovation so quickly on his own.

  Now the rest of his community service hours could be served elsewhere.

  The bad news?

  His father was actively looking for him.

  Nigel had stood that very morning drinking a hot cup of herbal tea all cool, calm and collected as he surveyed the large pile of carpenter debris he’d left behind when he’d started the demolition of his 1950’s kitchen a month ago and the 20,000+ square foot expansion he was working on adding to his own home when he received two calls to deliver the good news and then the bad.

  He was happy to know he could dismantle the old AC unit any day now

  But he was not bothered about Harold finding him. He would be patiently waiting.

  When his no-good daddy threw him out after graduation, and he was sent to juvenile twice, Nigel was not worried.

  Though many of his former neighbors thought that was why he destroyed the man’s prize possession and was now doing community service, it wasn’t.

  At age fifteen, Nigel had had enough of Harold’s sick sense of humor and the numerous broken bones and bruises he’d had to suffer over the years.

  He’d known all along where he was going to end up when he left that night. His paternal grandfather made sure of it.

  To plan his revenge on his dickless-bitch-of-a-man father, it didn’t bother him one bit when Harold had screamed at him to get the hell out, in retaliation of his beating on Lucy, Nigel's mom.

  Nigel had punched him in the face and broken his nose, for daring to raise his hands on the woman while she begged him to leave her alone.

  Harold had come home that night, like every other night. Drunk as a skunk, wanting sex from the same woman he used as his punching bag.

  No greeting, no love words, no hugs or flowers.

  He just pulled her from their small kitchen table where they were having dinner and dragged her to their bedroom.

  Nigel was not going to interfere, because every time he did, he got a beat down from the piss pot and the following day, scolding words to stay out of grown folks’ business from his mother.

  But when the sound of crying and pleading had turned to panicked screaming and rapidly felled punches, Nigel had had enough.

  He’d kicked down the bedroom door of the small stuffy one window bedroom, grabbed the back of big man’s pants, threw him against the wall with ease and let loose the bottled beast inside him.

  By the time the red haze had cleared from his view and he was standing over the prone figure at his feet, Nigel heard his mother’s shrill voice screaming at him to stop before he killed her husband.

  Nigel refused to think of that maggot as his father as his mother tugged and pulled at him away from the fallen twat.

  Harold was lying on the dirty carpet, bleeding from the nose, mouth, and ears, his right eye was swollen shut and the left one well on its way to swelling shut, his dark face was puffy and his left cheek was cut open.

  His chest had deep scratches that were bleeding ste
adily, and a look of fear mixed with hatred flooded his swollen face.

  “Get out!” he shouted at the beast that had taken the form of the boy staring at him with pure malice on its dark face.

  “I said get the fuck out! Now!”

  The boy had stepped back and in disgust turn his back on the scene that had sickened him for so long; Lucy, her face swollen on one side, falling to her knees, crooning and crying over the prick, begging for forgiveness and Harold, even in pain, placed his hand on her face and pushed her away roughly from his side as he struggled to rise.

  Nigel was already in his room packing the meager number of personal items he kept in the apartment and was heading out the door when he heard his mother gasp, “No!” Nigel ducked in time to avoid the swinging bat coming fast at his head.

  The bat hit the drywall and broke in two.

  The heaving man stood before him pointing the sharp end of the splintered wood at his chest, Nigel felt his humanity rapidly slipping as his rage rose with lightning speed.

  He took a step forward, ready to break every bone in that pig’s body, when his mother ran to him, trying to act as a shield between her husband and her baby boy.

  “Harold-” she pleaded, “please put that down. He’s leaving. Okay, baby?”

  Harold gave her a black look for interfering. “I don’t want him here! I want him gone!” he shouted at the crying woman.

  “That’s what he’s doing, Hun’. He’s gone stay away for a couple of days and when he gets a job, he’ll move out into his own place. Right baby?” She’d looked back at Nigel to confirm what she was saying.

  Nigel had stood there poised and ready to attach, his golden eyes held those of Harold, who still pointed the piece of wood at him.

  Harold's face became a mask of righteous fury; he didn’t address the woman but shared an understanding with the boy as he stared him down.

  “You ever come back here, and I’ll kill you.”

  “No! Don’t say that! Harold! He is your son!” Lucy shrieked in fear, but she quickly recoiled in horror as Harold’s look of fury turned to one of murder.