go have fun, Brian. At least one of us should get laid tonight,” I tell him, getting up and giving him a hug. When we hug, I catch traces of his Tommy Hilfiger cologne. It never fades from his skin, and I feel a slight warm tingle breathing it in.
“Talk to you soon, Ted. Go and have fun inside, will ya?” Brian walks off and then disappears into the black darkness of the club.
With the guys gone, I decide to sit back and order one more drink. I watch all these younger guys with their lives ahead of them, some are with couples, others have met tonight. I twirl my straw in my empty drink as I await its replacement. I can’t help but think it’s just another Friday night in South Beach. Some men walk by and say “Yo! Mr. Deco Time!” Some older women stop by and ask me to autograph a napkin for their children.
At 2 a.m., I decide to call it a night, too, since I don’t notice anyone I like or anyone new. I leave the man-boy waiter a ten dollar tip. As I head back to the parking garage, I get a text message from Brian.
Eros has such a big cock! Whew. Qué rico! I felt it in the bathroom. I’m gonna have so much fun tonight. Hope you get home okay. Talk to you soon.
That’s great, Brian. Be safe. Be careful,
I reply. I drive back home to Max. Like I said, another Friday night in South Beach.
3
Brian
“Yeah, yeah! Yeah…just like that, chico. That feels so good, Eros.”
“Te gusta?” He tugs at my hair, which makes my back curl up into an arc.
“Si, papo. Me gusta, a lot!” I whisper back in my Spanglish. I’m still learning Spanish to meet Miami’s Latin papichulos. I love the culture, the food, the music. Such warm and passionate people. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to them.
Eros is lying on top of me, our bodies flowing up and down, our skin producing suction noises that I haven’t heard in a while. I stare straight into those deep mocha eyes of his, like patches of night. His tight curly fro tickles my face whenever he nuzzles his nose into my neck. Every time he leans in, I notice his bicep tighten into a smooth ball, with a rope of a vein in the middle.
I taste every bit of him. I kiss his biceps, lick his smooth, dark, tanned chest, which is as hard as the jetties off Government Cut. I feel his muscular legs and arms pinning me into submission. I give in easily. I’m his, and I feel that he’s mine. I can just sense it. Eros radiates such a powerful spiritual and physical energy that I haven’t felt in years.
“You close, papito?” he says, thrusting his fat Puerto Rican dick faster in between my legs. I feel the warmth and wetness of his rubber-wearing cock jetting in and out of my ass.
I turn my face away. Looking at him makes my insides want to explode. I can’t take this much longer. He suddenly grabs my face and makes me look at him. He puts his finger on my mouth, traces my lips, and tickles my goatee. Our eyes lock, and I disappear into those trance-inducing eyes. I take a deep breath.
“Yeah, Eros. I’m…I’m…oh wow!…really close.”
“Yeah, you like that?” He pushes deeper into me, like a Puerto Rican drilling machine.
“Oh…oh…God…BRIAN!” He pushes more than before which sends wild waves of insatiable tingles all over my body. I can’t take this anymore.
“Oh…Eros…ahh…oh God!”
I instantly come with him, shooting my load all over his tight abs. I see the cum trickle back down onto my stomach like clear dripping paint. He lets out a big sigh and collapses on top of me. I feel the wetness of his hair against my face again and the moistness of his skin from the sexual workout. His grassy cologne smells even sweeter than when I first caught its trace on Lincoln Road, outside the Starbucks.
“Whew, chico. That was intense,” Eros says, catching his breath and speaking in his Spanish-laced English. His voice reminds me of a far-away island in the Caribbean, the crashing of waves against a shore and sunsets smeared with orange and purple ink.
“Yeah, tell me about it. I can’t remember the last time I came like that.” I feel a peaceful exhaustion that makes my eyes flutter and want to stay closed. Eros moves to my right side and holds me close to him. I swing my arm around him and tickle his left shoulder softly with my fingers. I smooch the top of his arm, which carries a tattoo of a sunburst. It’s hot, not just because he’s gorgeous but because his body feels so warm right now after our romp in the bed.
He passes out as we lay in my king-size bed, the one in my bedroom, not the one I share with Daniel. That would be the master bedroom, and only Daniel and I sleep in there. No tricks are allowed. That’s one of our rules.
My bedroom is somewhat smaller than the master bedroom. Sometimes I sleep in here when Daniel and I erupt into one of our vicious arguments. When you have two Scorpios together, things are going to get loud every now and then. We’re like two alpha males always trying to be in control, two roosters trying to be the big cock. It’s always been like that, ever since we met seven years ago, when I was twenty-one and Daniel was thirty.
The image comes to me as I lie here and look out the grand windows of my bedroom and see the cruise ships sit still in their berths glowing with their nighttime lights at the Port of Miami. With the windows open, I smell the saline scent of ocean wafting into the bedroom and cooling me off. Seagulls chirp above and a tug boat chugs by and sounds its horn. Those sounds transport me back to Chelsea Piers, where I met Daniel.
I remember walking along the waterfront to pick up some dinner, which in those days was a slice of pizza and a Coke. I had just finished my shift at Food Bar and had a hankering for a pizza and a view of the water. It was a bright sunny April day, and I wanted to be outside around people as soon as my shift was over. As I walked up to the window at the pizza place, I noticed a handsome George Clooney type in a three-piece suit staring my way from across the skate park. I thought he was one of the hottest Latin men I had ever seen, with his olive skin and dark features. I smiled. He nodded. A minute later, he crossed to my side of the pier and introduced himself.
“Hello! My name is Daniel, and I have to say you’re one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. What’s your name?” he said, gripping my hand in the strong handshake of a straight man. I noticed the masculine strands of black hairs on his arm.
“I’m…Brian,” I paused. His salt-and-pepper hair and the penetrating gaze from his big brown eyes almost made me stutter. I was like a gushing schoolgirl. It was my first year in New York City after leaving Charlotte, North Carolina, and I still wasn’t used to meeting guys from all sorts of backgrounds.
“Can I buy you another slice of pizza? Maybe you can join me for a bite. I’m hungry myself,” he said.
Daniel didn’t just buy a slice. He bought a whole pizza heavy with chicken, green peppers, and tomatoes. We sat by the edge of the pier, where it faces the high-rises on the cliffs across the Hudson River on the Jersey side. We ate and talked for hours.
I learned that he was born in Israel, where he served as a captain in the Israeli army. He dreamed of being a successful businessman in the States to help support his two brothers and three sisters in Tel Aviv. He came here five years ago when an old family friend asked him if he wanted to help run his printing press. Within two years, Daniel rose from supervisor to manager and saved up enough money to buy half the company. When his friend decided to move back to Israel, he sold Daniel the entire business. Immediately, Daniel began expanding, taking on more clients, such as post-card companies and small newsletters for local colleges and other businesses. He eventually bought two other printing companies in Brooklyn and Queens and now owns four all together. On the side, he buys and sells real estate.
“You’ve done so well for yourself, Daniel. I’m sure your family is very proud of you,” I said, shoving the last piece of pizza into my mouth. I couldn’t believe I ate more than half of the pie, but I was hungry and he paid.
“My goal was to be a multimillionaire