Love on Site

by Plakcy, Neil

  He was on the phone in his office when I walked in. He waved at me and said into the phone, “Listen, I’ve got to go. Thanks for the heads up.”

  I leaned on the door frame. “Long week,” I said.

  He looked up at me and smiled. “Any plans for the weekend?”

  I shook my head. “You?”

  “I’ve got something in mind for this evening,” he said. “But it requires that the door to the trailer be locked. You think you can get that?”

  “Sure.” I stepped back to the lobby and flipped the interior bolt on the trailer door. When I turned around, Walter was there, and I only realized my dick was stiff when I pressed against him.

  We kissed, and he reached down to stroke me. I shivered under his touch. “You make me want to do all kinds of things to you,” he said. He backed me up against Estefani’s desk, then lifted me so I was sitting on it. He got down on his knees on the trailer floor and nuzzled my dick through my pants.

  I quickly undid my belt and spread my pants, and as if it had a mind of its own, my dick popped right out of the slit in my boxers. “Somebody’s excited,” Walter said; then he took me in his mouth.

  It was obvious that he’d been paying attention to the way I had treated him, because his cocksucking technique continued to improve a bit. He varied the suction with some licking and fondling and jerking, and just as I couldn’t hold back any more, he swallowed my dick, and my cum spurted down his throat.

  He gagged but smiled as he backed off and stood up. “I wanted to see what that felt like,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Swallowing. It takes some getting used to.”

  I stuffed my softening dick back into my pants and stood up. I leaned forward to kiss Walter, and as I did I reached over to his crotch and caressed it. I could feel his hardness through his khakis.

  “Do you want me to suck you?” I asked in a low voice, almost a growl. “Or do you want to fuck me?”

  “I want so much from you it scares me,” Walter said.

  “But for now?”

  “For now, lean against that desk and show me your ass. I just happen to have a rubber and some lube in my pocket.”

  “Oh, so that wasn’t your dick I felt?” I asked teasingly as I turned my back to him and dropped my pants.

  Before I could get my boxers down, he slapped my right butt cheek with the flat of his hand. I yelped.

  “You’ve been a bad boy lately,” he said, and he slapped the other cheek. “Broke the coffeepot.” Another spank. “Mouthed off to Camilo.” Another. He yanked down my boxers, exposing my ass to the air.

  The next time his hand came down, it landed on bare flesh, and I felt the sting. But then he leaned down and kissed my neck, and he began caressing my butt with his work-roughened hand. I shivered and felt flooded with love for him.

  There was some fumbling behind me as he struggled to get his pants off, the condom on, and my ass lubricated all at the same time, but he managed. The lube was warm after spending time in his pocket, and I loved the feel of his finger pushing its way in my hole, widening me and preparing me for his dick.

  And then he was nosing at my hole, pressing forward, and I took a couple of deep breaths and relaxed so that he could slide into me. I felt the rubberiness of his cockhead against the walls of my chute, and he was inside and pressing forward, struggling to get his whole length inside me, and my whole being was focused on those inches.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Yup,” I grunted. I flexed my ass muscles and felt Walter shudder behind me. He started a slow, sensuous movement, in and out, and for a moment I wondered if this was something he had practiced with his wife, this rear entry, or if he just knew how to fuck because of all his experience with women.

  And then it didn’t matter how he had learned what he had, because he was so good at it. I felt him sliding inside me, rubbing up against my prostate, then gradually picking up speed until he was banging his balls against my perineum and my whole world was rocking.

  He held one hand on my waist and waved the other in the air like a cowboy at a rodeo, whooping with joy. I reached down to touch my dick, which was hard again, and began playing with myself, stroking the area below my dickhead with the edge of my thumb until my whole body was strumming to a melody Walter Loredo was conducting.

  He banged into my ass one last time, so hard he knocked me forward. I lost hold of my dick and it sprayed a second load of cum all over Estefani’s desk as Walter yipped and slumped against me.

  “Who needs a bed?” I said. “We’ve got a desk.”

  Walter laughed. “I guess I don’t have to ask if it was good for you.”

  “You’ll never have to,” I said, turning around to him. We made a comical couple, both of us still wearing our Loredo polo shirts, but bare-ass naked from the waist down, our pants pooled around our feet.

  An alarm beeped on his phone, and he pulled away from me to shut it off. “I wish I could stay here with you all weekend,” he said. “But I’m supposed to meet a buddy of mine for a drink in the Gables.”

  “Not a buddy like me,” I said.

  “Nobody is like you. And nobody else is ever going to be what you are to me.”

  I leaned up and kissed him again. “Good to know.” We cleaned up Estefani’s desk, and Walter left for the Gables, and I drove home, happy as I could be, even if it was tough to find a comfortable driving position.

  I ate dinner with my roommates but punked out on a bar crawl. I rubbed some ointment on my ass and went to bed, and I was still asleep Saturday when Gavin came in to wake me up. “Get up, bum,” he said. “We’re going to Sawgrass Mills.”

  I sat up and yawned. “For what?”

  “Shopping, what else?” he said.

  Sawgrass Mills was a huge outlet mall out at the edge of the Everglades in Broward County. I’d been there a couple of times with my parents but not for a while. “Come on, we can all use a wardrobe overhaul,” Gavin said.

  Larry drove and I rode shotgun to navigate. Gavin lounged over the backseat, at one point kicking off his shoes and sticking his bare feet out the side window. “Dude, that’s gross,” Larry said. “Get your skanky feet back in the car.”

  Gavin pulled them back in, lifted them up so they were resting on the front seat backs. “Like ’em better this way? Want to suck my toes?”

  “Don’t make me pull over,” Larry said.

  Gavin drew his feet back, and I turned to him. “You like that?” I asked. “Sucking toes?”

  “I’ll suck on anything,” Gavin said. “Fingers, toes, nipples, dicks. You name it, I’ve had it in my mouth. I dated this guy once who had his frenulum pierced, right under the base of his dickhead. Loved to suck that little ball and tease my tongue around it.”

  “TMI,” Larry said.

  “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen on a guy?” I asked. “I saw a frenum ladder once. This whole line of rings all along the shaft of this guy’s dick. I kind of freaked out. I didn’t know what to do with it.”

  “That’s nothing. I went to fuck this guy once, and he had all these piercings along his perineum. And each ring had a little cross hanging from it. It was like fucking along the stations of the cross or something.”

  Larry groaned, and I said, “Even I think that’s disgusting. What did you do?”

  “What do you mean, what did I do? I opened his legs really wide and fucked him.”

  “All right, that’s enough,” Larry said.

  We rampaged through the mall, shopping like maniacs. Stuff was a lot cheaper there than in the boutiques on the Beach, and I stocked up on jeans and polo shirts and even splurged on sexy underwear. I don’t like thongs; wearing one feels like I have dental floss strung through my ass. But I do like bikinis, especially the funky-looking ones—with net pouches, or with metal rings connecting the pouch to the ass, or with dirty sayings on them.

  We ate dinner there and saw a movie, and didn’t get back to South Beach until it was
time for clubbing. As usual, Gavin ditched us quickly and found himself a sugar daddy to buy his drinks. Larry and I drank for a while, then danced until we were covered in sweat and ready to call it a night.

  Sunday afternoon I headed out to Westchester for dinner with my family, though I was dreading it. Why did everything have to be so dramatic with my parents and my sisters? The world would not end if Maria del Carmen and Hernan divorced, or even if Beatriz ran away with her Charismatic Christian boyfriend.

  I couldn’t park behind Abuelo’s car; there was an older model SUV where I normally did. Instead I had to find a spot a couple of houses down. I assumed the SUV belonged to someone visiting one of our neighbors. But as I walked up the concrete path to our front door, Del opened it and came outside.

  “How are things with Hernan?” I asked after she closed the door behind her.

  “I moved back yesterday,” she said. “He’s up for a big promotion, and we’ve both been pretty stressed about that. We had a long talk and decided we’re both going to try harder to make time for each other.”

  I sat down on the wrought-iron bench beside the front door. “Then what’s up with the special welcome?”

  Del sat beside me. “Beatriz’s boyfriend is here,” she said.

  “What’s he like?”

  “Disgustingly nice. Papi and Mami will have a hard time finding anything to complain about.”

  “They liked Hernan right away, didn’t they?” I asked. “Why should they want to find something bad about this guy?”

  “Have you lost your memory?” she demanded. “Don’t you remember how much they hated Hernan when I started dating him?”

  I cocked my head. “They hated him?”

  “They were sure he was only after one thing,” she said. “You know what that is.”

  “And wasn’t he? Isn’t Fabi the proof?”

  She punched me in the arm. “You know what I mean. They were afraid that he would knock me up and we’d have to get married.”

  “So you waited to get knocked up until after you had a ring on your finger.”

  “Manny.”

  I shook my head. “What was the problem? You found a nice Cuban guy with prospects. He got himself a good job; you moved only a few blocks away; you gave them a beautiful granddaughter. If this guy is as good for Beatriz as Hernan has been for you, they’ll be happy.”

  “Are you really Cuban?” she asked me. “Where is your sense of drama?”

  I laughed. “I know how to create drama. Right now I want to eat.” I stood up and walked into the house, Del behind me. Mami, Papi, and my grandparents were all sitting in the living room. Beatriz and her boyfriend were perched on the edge of the sofa, a carefully defined distance between them.

  Everyone stopped speaking as I walked in. Del continued out to the backyard, where I figured Hernan was hiding out with Fabi.

  “And this is our son, Manuel,” my father said. “Manuel, this is Jesus.”

  He stood and offered me his hand. At first glance, he was exactly as Del had described—quiet and polite. He was a bit older than Beatriz—I guessed him at nineteen or twenty. He had a narrow face, with a dark mustache and goatee, and looked like an El Greco saint with his soulful eyes.

  “Well,” Mami said, standing up. “We can have dinner now.”

  Usually we spent at least an hour or two in family conversation before we ate, but it looked like everyone was happy to get to the table. We sat at our regular seats, but Beatriz scooted over, and Hernan brought in another folding chair, so Jesus could squeeze in between her and Abuela.

  The meal was remarkably subdued for one in our household. Hardly a raised voice, and only polite topics of conversation. We avoided religion and politics, which didn’t leave us much to talk about. Papi discovered that Jesus was a big Miami Marlins fan, as he was, and they talked about players and trades. Mami chattered about the meal, fishing for compliments as usual. Every now and then Del would catch my eye, and we shared raised eyebrows over something someone said.

  After the meal, Del, Hernan, and I went out back with Fabiola. Del put the baby in a bouncy swing and said, “What did you think?”

  “He seems perfectly nice,” I said. “Remember when Beatriz was going through her Goth period? We kept expecting her to bring home some guy with black eyeliner and multiple piercings.”

  “That might have been better. This one is some kind of alien.”

  “Maria del Carmen,” Hernan said, in an uncanny imitation of Mami. “Can’t you be happy for your sister?”

  “Why? What gives her the right to be happy?”

  I decided things might be easier inside. “I need some café con leche. You guys?”

  “We’re fine,” Del said, speaking for her husband as well.

  I knew enough not to get involved with whatever was going on between them. I went back in the house.

  Punch List

  Midmorning on Monday, Walter’s friends showed up at the site, and when I walked into the trailer, I asked Estefani, “No meeting today?”

  “He hasn’t cancelled,” she said. “I’ve been collecting orders from the guys.”

  “I’ll have the chicken sandwich,” I said. “Side salad, though. No fries.”

  “You’re not going on a diet, are you, Manny?” she asked as she wrote my order down on her yellow legal pad.

  “If you can pinch more than an inch,” I said, squeezing the bit of fat at my waistline. I had always been a slim guy—not skinny like Larry, but not fat enough to shop in the husky section. I wasn’t interested in starving myself, but I wanted to make sure I didn’t pork up, either.

  We all assembled in the conference room at noon, but Walter remained closed in his office with his friends, and Estefani didn’t want to disturb him. “As long as we’re all here,” Adrian said. “Let’s run through what’s happening. Manny, you take notes, and fill Walter in when he’s finished with his meeting.”

  I wasn’t thrilled to become a secretary, but I did appreciate Adrian’s faith that I could transmit the information clearly to Walter. I hardly had a chance to eat, because I was busy scribbling down the status of each trade. As soon as everyone had reported, they all scrambled to get out, carrying their food with them.

  I was left in the conference room, eating and trying to make sense of my notes. I heard Walter’s voice as he said good-bye to his friends, and then he stepped into the conference room. “Estefani ordered your usual,” I said, pointing to the Styrofoam container in the center of the table. “I had to protect it for you, though. You know how ravenous the guys get.”

  “It’s good to know you’re looking out for me,” Walter said, and he grinned. He filled a paper cup with cold water from the cooler and sat down across from me. I pushed his lunch container to him—a grilled chicken breast over white rice, with black beans and plantains on the side. He ate the same thing almost every day.

  “I hated to miss the meeting, but I needed to have that conversation,” he said.

  “Everything all right?”

  He shrugged. “Hard to say. That friend I met on Friday night? He was giving me a heads-up. There’s some shit going down with the bank that has my construction loan. The friend of mine who arranged things, Sal, is worried they’ll get nailed for improper lending practices, and wanted to make sure I’d stand up for him.”

  “Improper how?” I asked.

  “Different standards for different borrowers,” he said. “You been reading the papers about the mortgage lenders accused of discriminating against African American borrowers?”

  “I don’t read the paper. Mostly I just listen to the radio while I’m driving.”

  He shook his head. “Manny, if you want to succeed in this business, you’ve got to know what’s going on in the world. Banking, employment statistics, environmental studies—all those things have an impact on construction. If you don’t have the information, you can’t make the right decisions.”

  He speared his chicken and sliced into it. “Sp
eaking of information. What happened in the meeting?”

  I went through my notes with him as he ate. He nodded a lot, asked a question or two, then pushed the Styrofoam container away. “Good job, Manny. Maybe I don’t need to go to those meetings after all.”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “We need you there.”

  He laughed. “None of us are irreplaceable. I learned that a long time ago.” He clapped his arm around my shoulder, and I could smell the faintest hint of his cologne. “Though you’re doing your best to show me I need you around—in many ways.”

  I went back to my office, glowing with Walter’s praise. I worked on the punch list for the rest of the day, making double and triple sure that I had done everything I needed to. I went outside to check a couple of last things when Walter went for his run—in the morning I wanted to be able to tell Adrian that everything was finished.

  As I walked back to the trailer, I realized that the rest of the site was empty, with only my car and Walter’s remaining in the lot. I was hoping for some special time with him, but when I saw him crossing the parking lot in his T-shirt and electric-yellow shorts I realized he was limping.

  “What happened?”

  “Stumbled over a ditch,” he said. “Stupid. Think I twisted my ankle.”

  “I sprained my ankle in gym class in high school,” I said. “Did you know there are twenty-six bones in your foot?”

  “I didn’t.”

  I stepped up to the trailer door and opened it. “Sit down at Estefani’s desk, and I’ll take a look.” As he limped over there, I said, “One way to check whether you have a sprain or a break is once you’re sitting down. Put your feet flat on the floor. Now, does your ankle still hurt?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay, now stretch your injured ankle in all directions, but carefully. If it hurts in any direction, you’ve got a mild to severe sprain.”

  He gritted his teeth, and I could see he was in pain.

  “All right, there’s definitely something wrong,” I said. “Can you wiggle your toes?”

  “A little.”

  I knelt down and carefully untied his running shoe. My head was right at groin level, and I could see his dick was still hard, the skimpy fabric stretched taut across it. Walter didn’t wear anything under his shorts when he ran.