Chapter 9

Nine

Pedro could not stop thinking about Titus.

If asked the day before whether he'd be returning to a customer's house after hours for a date, he would have laughed. Recalling his conversation with Miguel earlier that morning, he felt almost like a hypocrite. How could things have changed so fast? How could someone he'd just met dominate thoughts of anything else? Titus had completely surprised him, sweeping in and knocking things off kilter, like a bowling ball blasting pins for a strike. Pedro was perplexed, his periphery a hazy sea, with Titus being the sole beacon.

It hadn't been the first time that day he'd felt disoriented, though. Miguel's astute comment had also jarred him, forcing him to consider his perception of himself.

Am I uptight?

He didn't think so. Performing a mock-striptease splashdown on the job would certainly not qualify as being uptight.

But that's why you did it, isn't it? To prove to yourself that you can let loose when you really want to .

Partly. But it was more than that. Truth be told, Pedro had sensed Titus's arousal upon meeting, and something deep within him had wanted to reciprocate that urge.

Booty call .

Just considering the suggestive slang made Pedro blush. The flesh of his face and forearms tingled.

Is that what this is?

Could be. He wasn't opposed to it. Titus was a handsome man, and a generous portion of Pedro's initial attraction to him had been physical. He hadn't been intimate with a man since coming to the States–almost two and a half years now–and the mere thought of sex with Titus reignited his blush.

He'd been drawn to large men early on, as a boy, watching his father's beloved western reruns on a local Mexican television station– Maverick, Gunsmoke, Bonanza . His favorite was a series called Cheyenne , starring an enormous man named Clint Walker. Walker's character, Cheyenne Bodie, was ruggedly handsome, at least six-foot-six, and–to Pedro's early adolescent fascination–went shirtless seemingly every episode. Walker was a cuddly colossus, effortlessly charismatic and sexy.

Titus Shepherd was the modern equivalent.

Maybe it is a booty call .

Heat flared in Pedro, coursing through his frame so pervasively his muscles felt like they were melting.

Fine. No big deal. Just punch the numbers .

He was sitting in his pickup truck outside the gate on Sun Hill Road, just staring at the keypad.

B-T-2-3. Remember?

He remembered. He also remembered that Titus said his sex life had ended when his wife had become ill. That meant he and Pedro had both been celibate for over two years. He'd recognized desire in Titus's eyes, much the way he'd seen the urge in potential tricks back on Holbox. But something about Titus was different, something beyond the physical allure that made Pedro quiver.

Don't even think about it. You just met .

To add seasoning to an already confusing stew, the song Tonight , from West Side Story , had been playing on a loop in his head ever since agreeing to this date—an earworm, at first enjoyable, but now, as he sat in front of the imposing gate, it grew louder and more intrusive. The softer Tony and Maria duet was gone, replaced by the clash of the larger full-cast quintet, foreshadowing danger and the tragic conclusion of the story.

Drama much?

This seesaw of emotion was familiar, a result of his tendency to overthink things—as Barb had suggested. His mother was obsessive-compulsive, mildly, but enough so that Pedro had researched the disorder, discovering it was genetic and that they likely shared symptoms. Neither had been officially diagnosed, but self-medicated in their own ways. His mother had coped by learning to sew at an early age. Making clothing for family and friends was meditative for her. Pedro preferred gardening. Nothing soothed his addled mind more than being outdoors.

He'd felt a similar calm with Titus earlier, hand in hand, his soft grip tentative, yet reassuring. Even his baritone voice was soothing, the lazy drawl of his native tongue punctuated with a smile or the twinkle of an eye. He recalled the sweet way Titus had spoken with Tucker and Shelly, and how thrilled they were at the promise of pool play.

Pedro could relate. He wanted to spend more time with Titus, too.

His mind continued to drift—He remembered Titus walking away, wet and dripping, the round globes of his rear supplely swaying beneath the towel, and the curved indentation between.

Stop it. You need to focus .

He rolled the window down for some air, but like the song from West Side Story , Titus, too, lingered in his mind… his square jaw, his cleft chin, his wide, sculpted frame, chiseled with curves and recesses, his thick legs, calves, and thighs, and his hourglass waist which tapered oh-so briefly before expanding again toward a massive back and shoulders.

That is not what I meant by focus.

Pedro punched the code on the keypad.

Football. He didn't know that much about American football… only that it was like a religion to some, especially college football in the south.

The gate opened slowly, and while he waited, Pedro imagined the glare of stadium lights, heard the staccato punch of brass and percussion, and saw Big T running out on the field in his jersey numbered twenty-three. He knew exactly how the scene would play–from the movie Rudy more than anything–the lights, the cheerleaders, the crowd roaring for the hometown hero.

The gate was fully open now, and he drove his little Dodge Ram 50 through, bearing right again, as Roz had instructed earlier in the day. Titus had left the second gate open for him and Pedro rolled up to the guest house, killed the engine, and sat there for a moment, listening to the soft ticking as it cooled.

Twilight was nearly gone, and fireflies were flashing as he opened the door and stepped out into the warm night.

There was music coming from the pool area, a soft instrumental jazz. Nice. As Pedro walked that way, he marveled at how thick the air was with humidity and how comforting its weighty tangibility felt, like being embraced by an invisible deity, protected.

When he stepped onto the pool decking, Titus was in the water nearby, his arms on the concrete lip, face in hands. He was smiling.

"Hello there. I was afraid you wouldn't come."

"How could I resist your indisputable charm?"

"I hope there's some truth to that, and that you're not just saying it to be nice."

"No. I wanted to come. Very much so. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous."

"Don't be nervous. It's just us."

"What about Tucker?"

"Roz took him. He's spending the night with Shelly at their house."

Pedro weighed the situation. Here he was, at the home of a man he had just met today, being invited into a whole new world—for the night, at least.

"The water's warm. Won't you join me?"

Pedro lifted the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. As he did so, he heard Titus swimming away to offer some privacy. He tossed the shirt on a neighboring lounge and turned back to the water.

Titus was out in the middle now, deeper. Fireflies darted above him, and, though the pool light wasn't on, Pedro saw his silhouette. He was naked.

"I didn't bother with a suit," Titus said. "Figured it's just you and me, you know? Two guys… swimming."

Heat stirred in Pedro again, wrestling with his modesty. He groped for an excuse.

"Oh. I just bought mine… for tonight… for you."

"For me? I like it. Looks very snazzy on you. I brought mine out just in case you were shy." Titus pointed toward the table they'd lunched at. "It's in that chair with the towels. Could you toss it to me, please?"

Pedro considered. He didn't want Titus to put his suit on. But it would be unfair, not to mention awkward, if Titus was the only one of them naked. Seconds passed, neither of them moving. Finally, Pedro lowered his swimsuit instead.

He couldn't see Titus's expression in the darkened distance, only the slight tilt of his head. "See how easy that was?"

"And you're certain we're alone?"

"Completely. You're beautiful, by the way."

Pedro gestured upward with his hands. "It's the lighting, I swear."

"No, it's not. Come join me. The water's nice and I don't wanna stare."

Pedro stepped out of the suit, puddled at his feet. Something shifted in him, aided by Titus's tender tone. His residual fears were dwindling, melting from the heat of simmering desire. He had been obsessing over this man for most of the day. Now, the fantasy was standing before him naked, encouraging him to come closer. Any concerns–worrisome gnats flitting about his thoughts–had dissipated. He was prepared to relinquish control, surrender his trust to another. It was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Pedro stepped up to the edge of the pool and dove in.

He glided beneath the water, stopping just short of Titus. When he went to stand, he was surprised to find the water too deep for him to touch bottom. Titus reached out and caught him before his head went under, pulling him tight. For the first time, Pedro knew what it was like to be held in Titus's substantial embrace. He caved, draping his arms over the large man's shoulders, and wrapping his legs around his torso like a child.

Titus chuckled. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Pedro. Finally."

"Sorry. I didn't expect it to be so deep."

Titus was already backstepping to the shallower end. Pedro loosened his grip, and when his feet brushed the bottom, he attempted standing on his own.

"That's good," Titus said. "Not too far, though. I kinda like you hanging on me."

"I'm sorry. I–"

"No, no. It's good. It's all good."

"Are we crazy, T? Am I crazy?"

"Uh, no. Not the last time I checked. Why would you say that?"

"I—" Pedro began, stammering. "I—I just worry. A lot. About everything. I get it from my mother."

"I can't wait to meet her."

"One day maybe."

The pool light clicked on and—even though it was a single bulb at the far end—suddenly, they were illuminated much more.

"Ah," said Titus. "Now I can see your face better. I could get lost in your eyes, you know? So dark, so sexy."

Pedro should have learned from experience, but old habits are hard to break. He shied from the compliment by averting his gaze down where he saw Titus below the waist, much better now with the light on.

"Oh!" he said, looking up quickly. "I, uh?—"

"Come here." Titus pulled him close again. "Nothing to be bashful about. I like looking at you, too."

They had drifted a bit into even shallower water, standing, but Titus still held him, slow-dancing to Miles Davis's So What . Pedro rested his head on Titus's chest, wrapping his arms around him, squeezing. He felt firm muscle against his skin as their torsos pressed together, slick with water. He wished he could hold Titus even closer, absorb him if possible. Titus responded to the embrace, both above and below the water.

"That's some grip you got there. I like a healthy man that works outdoors."

Pedro chortled nervously, feeling Titus's cock creeping against his belly.

"I want to kiss you, Pedro. May I kiss you?"

"Yes. Please do. I want you to."

Titus bent down and pressed their mouths together. It was chaste at first, but when Pedro's lips parted, Titus's tongue slipped in, gently exploring. Pedro welcomed it, roused, realizing how much he'd craved another man's touch.

When they parted, his eyes opened slowly. "That was nice."

"Yeah," said Titus. "Kinda makes me want to do more."

"Me too. But first, take me deep again, where I can't touch bottom. I like having an excuse to hold on to you."

Titus did as instructed, and Pedro again clung to him. Now, both men were sporting erections, though they were too close to see them, just brushing against each other beneath the water. Pedro's legs were wrapped around Titus's abdomen, pressing his hardness into Titus's stomach, and Titus's erection was below, nudging at Pedro's bottom.

They kissed again, more fervently now, as if this would be the only time and they had to make it count.

"Someone's perking up a little bit," said Titus.

"Sorry. Is it too much?"

"Nooooo. I like it. I like holding you, feeling you all wrapped around me."

"Do you want more?"

"Not if you don't. You're the boss. We're only doing what you're comfortable with."

"I do, T. I want it. Maybe too much."

"It's been a while for me. Going on three years."

"Me, too. Everything feels so new."

"It is new," Titus said, then added, "—for me."

"I know. And because of that, I want it to be special."

"This is special, P. I wouldn't change a thing."

"I'm so hard. It's embarrassing."

"I'm just grateful that I'm responsible." Titus reached down and took Pedro's cock into his hand, lightly stroking him. "How about that? Does that help?"

"Oh, God, yes." Pedro sighed. "Yes, that's good."

Titus continued with a slow pull on Pedro's cock, and on the upstroke, he would stop, using his thumb to circle the tip, feeling the slickness there even under water.

"I like that your hands and legs are occupied, but mine aren't," Titus said, reaching lower with his other and softly stroking Pedro's crevice with the curl of his fingertips.

Pedro moaned, kissing Titus again, anything to distract himself from the rising friction below. He pressed his tongue deep.

"Mm," Titus murmured into Pedro's mouth. He began moving them toward the shallow water again. He was strong enough to support Pedro, even without the added buoyancy. He lifted him high, setting him down on the pool's concrete edge.

"Wait," Pedro whispered, discombobulated. He sat there, all but his feet out of the water, warm air on his skin. His erection was in plain sight now, pointing straight up, shiny. Titus stood before him in the water, mammoth, a leviathan, large hands gripping Pedro's wet thighs. His body language had changed. There was something different in his eyes. Something near bestial.

"I feel like my whole life has been leading up to this moment," he said. "But I'll wait if you need me to. You're the boss."

Pedro had used the word gratuitously, filler while regaining composure. Titus had taken it literally, trying hard to subdue his budding libido. The beast was still there, though, beneath the surface–pure, undiluted desire. It was a shade of Titus Pedro hadn't seen, feral, and a tad fearsome in combination with his size. But Pedro wasn't afraid. No. He wanted Titus that way. Needed it. The realization was sudden and ridiculously obvious because he'd known it since first seeing the man wet and nearly naked that morning. Enough with the back-and-forth reasoning and indecision. Standing before him was a man in his most authentic state. Pedro was thrilled witnessing and–as Titus had said–being responsible for the transformation. To hell with playing slave to his inhibition, wrestling with notions like race and class. When you boil things to their essence and strip the baggage of generational conditioning, men are just men. The playing field was level in that regard, both of them now naked and vulnerable to their passion. So, Pedro yielded to his carnal cravings.

"Bring it on, big guy," he said.

Titus needed only that simple permission. He leaned down and took Pedro into his mouth.

The first thing Pedro felt was the hot, wet slab of Titus's tongue on the underside of his cock, painting it with strokes of slick movement. Second, he felt Titus's lips closing around his length, soft, but firm. Third, and best of all, was the sensation of beard scruff grazing his innermost thighs as Titus burrowed deeper between his legs.

"Oh, fuck."

Titus fed on Pedro, sucking at his cock wantonly, thoroughly, and attentively. Continuous waves of heat undulated through Pedro with this ravenous consumption. His hands fell to Titus's head for support, finger raking through his wet, wavy locks.

"Oh, T. Oh, that's good. Oh, yeah. Oh, God, yeah. This is?—"

Titus grunted, gripping Pedro's legs and yanking him closer. Pedro felt the brief burn of his bare ass cheeks scraping the smooth concrete, but he didn't care. Nothing could override the sensation of Titus's mouth relentlessly devouring him. He surrendered further, laying back on the decking while Titus continued to feed, feeling the still-warm surface beneath him as water droplets trickled down his sides.

Just when he was growing accustomed to what was happening, another shift occurred. Titus came up off of Pedro's cock and began licking at the surrounding sensitive areas—thighs, balls, taint—his tongue slowly but steadily traveling southward down his seam. Titus yanked again, pulling Pedro just over the rim of the pool decking, lifting Pedro's legs over his shoulders as he buried his face between them, his tongue lapping at the tender folds of his entrance.

Pedro's insecurity attempted to surface again. Ludicrously, he thought— Is this too far? He is a new client. Maybe you should stop.

But he didn't. He let Titus have it all. Truth be told, he didn't want to deny the man anything now. Intense and gratifying physical pleasure had overridden all anxiety. Pedro squirmed on the concrete, clamping his legs on Titus's head as the large man's tongue pried at his opening, snaking the slick and persistent muscle beyond the breach and inside him.

Pedro was mumbling in Spanish now—endearments, expletives, and sounds that weren't even words, just pure ecstasy spouting from his lips as Titus continued his feast, pleasuring, nourishing.

When Titus's hand found Pedro's cock again, the stroking was slow and masterful, his thick fingers slick with Pedro's juices as he glided up and down, thumb pad slightly pressing into the soft underside of the shaft.

"Oh—Oh, you're gonna make me come, T. I—I can't. I can't hold back. It's so good. It's all so good."

Titus probed deeper, perhaps encouraged by Pedro's declarations. His stroking hand squeezed tighter.

Pedro heaved, issuing another indecipherable utterance, guttural, as his legs squeezed again, pulling Titus closer. Titus chuckled, snorting like a muffled pig.

Pedro erupted in Titus's fist like a miniature volcano, no squirt, just release, hot and flowing. Titus continued stroking him steadily, each pass easier than the last. He freed himself from Pedro's loosening legs and stood up full-height, still stroking, his face red and grinning from ear to ear.

Pedro did not see this, though. He was too busy slapping the concrete, convulsing, shaking his head back and forth, and muttering gibberish. Then he felt Titus's mouth on his cock again, warm and wet, collecting evidence. It was too much. He shoved at Titus's head, forcing him away, flush with hypersensitivity.

"NO. NO. NO."

Titus laughed, backing off. Pedro was splayed on the concrete, shielding his face from the world with an arm draped over his eyes.

"Don't be so modest. You're quite tasty. And I don't know about you, but I've been dreaming of doing that with a man since I was—I don't know—ten? Twelve? More than a decade, for sure."

Pedro dropped his arm, but remained flat, panting. He felt Titus take his cock again, but this time more gingerly, lifting it out of the way as he licked around it. Curious, Pedro propped up on his elbows and observed.

When Titus finished, he lapped at the back of his hand, cleaning himself like a cat. "Finger-licking good," he said, grinning.

"You're an animal."

"We're all animals."

"Are you really a virgin?"

He nodded. "With men. What about you?"

"No." Pedro sat up. "But after that, I feel like I might as well have been."

"But I'm not your first."

Pedro took Titus's face in his hand. "No. You're wrong. I think this is a first… for both of us. Even though you were married?—"

"It was never that good," Titus said.

"Because you longed for something else. And even though I experimented with guys in Mexico… teenage stuff?—"

"You longed for something else, too. Here, maybe?"

"Yes. In the States. You made me break a promise, T."

"What's that?"

"I promised myself I wouldn't have sex until I was a citizen."

"How long is that?"

"Five years. Maybe longer."

"Whoa. I don't recommend waiting. Believe me, I speak from experience."

Pedro rested his hands on Titus's shoulders. "Then it's your turn," he said. "You've been waiting longer than me."

Titus kissed Pedro. lifting him off of the edge and back into the water. "In a minute. I'm good right now. I wanted to take care of you first. I want you to trust me."

"I do trust you. But I feel like I'm dreaming."

"Well, you're not. You're with me."

"Mi gordo."

Titus was moving to deeper water again, Pedro in tow. "Did you just call me fat?"

Pedro laughed. "It doesn't just mean that. It means… large, as in my big love ."

"Hmm. Does that mean you love me, Pedro?"

"It's a term of endearment. But you make it quite hard not to."

Titus stopped in the center of the pool, squeezing Pedro to him. "Good. Cause I don't get out much, you know? I kind of see you as a gift."

"See only me."

"I plan on it. If you'll have me."

"That's a line."

"No, it's not. I swear."

"No. Sorry. I meant mine. See only me . Tony says it to Maria in West Side Story ."

"That's the second time you've mentioned that movie today."

"It's my favorite. The song Tonight has been in my head ever since I left you. Just like in the movie. When I was a child, I dreamed of coming to America and finding my Tony. It's why this feels like a dream to me."

"Well, you're not dreaming. You're with me. We're out in the country a good two miles from the nearest house. It's just us, the stars, and the fireflies. My name's not Tony, but it does begin with a T."

"Big T," Pedro said. His blush returned.

Titus stirred beneath him. Pedro reached down, taking him in hand and exploring his girth. His eyes widened.

This time, it was Titus who blushed. "Let's have a drink first," he said. "I want to hear more about you."