Secretos Cubanos

Today, at the height of Hurricane Season, which has been relatively calm so far, there was a storm that came close in the Gulf, just close enuf to give us that pre-storm moist warm air and passing bands of rain. Just enuf to bring back memories of Hurricane Georges in September 1998 a category one storm that I sat out in my apartment on Miami Beach – but with a most interesting guest.

His name was Humberto and he was the maintenance man at our Miami Beach apartment building. He was in his late thirties, fairly well built with the typically handsome face of most of the Cuban men I've seen. I first met him when my wife and I were together and I noticed that when he would work in our apartment he seemed intrigued by my nude/erotic art and photography that was displayed on our walls. However, we rarely spoke at the time.

Then I separated from my wife and found a smaller apartment, one of those one-room efficiencies that are so common here on the Beach in another building of the same owner. So, Humberto was still around. In fact he lived in an efficiency a few doors down the veranda but our involvement was no more than a nod and smile and a few pleasantries. He had a girlfriend or wife who lived with him and I often wondered just what Humberto thought of me and my openly erotic life, especially when he saw some young man leaving my apartment, often with a parting hug and kiss.

Then Georges came. Not a terribly big storm, there were no mandatory evacuations so I elected to sit it out in my apartment a block away from the ocean. Humberto had been busy all day picking up loose items around the complex, and throwing pool chairs into the pool. Not much else to do except hope things don't leak too much with the sideways rain.

That evening the lights went out and I got the kerosene lamp lit with a few strategically placed candles around the apartment. There came a knock on the door and when I opened it, there was Humberto, large flashlight in hand saying he would be around if I needed him for anything. The wind was getting to almost gale force by now, so I motioned that he could step inside the door.

Blame it on The Storm

For those who have not lived with hurricanes, you may not know of the camaraderie that often occurs during this force of nature. Hurricane parties are quite common because there is something about sitting out all this noise and power with other people. Or, another person, which is why I asked Humberto if he would care for a glass of wine. It wasn't like either of us had anything better to do at the moment than sit and idly talk over a drink so he gladly accepted my invitation.

Actually, it was quite pleasant talking by lamp light while the wind gusts rattled the sliding glass doors to the balcony. Even with the wind blowing the air was warm from the tropics. I was already shirtless, wearing only cutoff shorts, my normal attire at home and Humberto soon removed his damp T-shirt as well.

I had never seen him without a shirt and now in the dim light of the lamp I could see that his entire muscular back and chest were covered with tattoos. Not fine ink work but crudely drawn pictures and little verses written in Spanish – the kind of tats guys do in prison. In our talking he told me he had come here in 1980 from Mariel, Cuba and that he had been in prison in Havana – for killing a cop. But he said it was alright because the cop was shaking him down. OK! So, here I was sitting out the storm with a killer Marielito!

I guess there was an element of risk with my guest, but somehow he seemed harmless enuf and it all seemed to fit with the howling wind and bursts of rain outside. We had some more wine and Humberto stretched out on my bed nearby.

As we talked I could sense that Humberto was quite comfortable lying across another man's bed and I invited him to take off his shoes and stay a while. He happily obliged, telling me how he had really worked hard today getting ready for the storm and was a little achy from it. Of course I offered to massage his sore muscles and he said that would be great.

I got the oil and warmed it in my hands spreading it over the black-ink tats on Humberto's white back. He had a workers tan on his neck and arms contrasting with the white skin under his T-shirts. I enjoyed the feel of another person gliding under my palms and with the subtle moans I could tell that Humberto enjoyed the touch even more. In fact, there was a certain shared intimacy that belied Humberto's usual macho posturing that I've seen him assume around other guys, his deriding other men by calling them maricon or by talking of his exploits with las putas. And yet, here he was moaning so softly under the gentle touch of my hands on his back.

After kneading and rubbing the muscles in his back for quite a while, I quietly moved down on the bed and rubbed oil along his legs, sliding my hands under his loose shorts all the way up to the edge of his briefs. This too he seemed to really enjoy as I twisted and kneaded the tight muscles in his legs, enjoying the friction of his coarse hair under my palm.

I told him it would be better without the shorts in the way and he quickly slipped them off revealing a very nice, round butt straining the fabric of his white briefs. As I sat with one foot resting on my shoulder, rubbing deep into his leg muscles, I was getting quite turned on by this macho maintenance man in his tighty-whities laying before me on my bed. After deep massage on his legs I started long effleurage strokes from his ankles all the way to the bottom of the briefs. I told him that this particular massage is intended to go all the way to the arms, but the briefs stopped the flow. Without a word he slipped the briefs off and now lay before me with his fine, round, white butt exciting me further. I did the long strokes along the sides of his legs and abdomen, but when sliding over that butt, I let my fingers dip into the crack. With each pass on both sides my fingers probed deeper into his butt crack to which he did not object, but lay quiet and relaxed before me.

I asked if he would like me to do his front and he said yes as he rolled onto his back. Sitting at his head, I started massaging his pectorals and deltoids but my thoughts were on his thick, uncut cock that was slowly starting to rise. As I made long strokes across his pecs, feeling his stiff nipples on my palms sliding over them pushing down his abs, I could see the movement of that ever growing cock with each pass. My strokes were now very slow and light, one flowing move across his chest and down his abs to the pubic hair. It was obvious that he had a full hardon now and seemed unconcerned about it as my hands went even further and were now playing with his hair, almost touching the base of that engorged cock.

It was time. It was obvious – he was turned on by a man's touch and would not object to my touching him more intimately. I slid my hand thru his hair and touched the base of that cock, gently wrapping my fingers around it. The glans was just pushing thru the skin, moist at the slit, a bead of pre-cum forming on the top. Humberto slid his hands up my arms, raised his head up and kissed me on my chest which was above him. I knew the game was up.

I moved to his side, wrapped my fingers around his thick, stiff cock, my other hand played with his balls. I knew that many macho guys have no qualms about letting other guys suck them. I knew the latino tradition, that a guy could even butt fuck another guy without being seen as gay. I was about to enjoy that thick uncut cock in my mouth and slowly slid the skin off the head, rubbing my nostril on the freshly released cock scent before licking that slick, viscous fluid that covered the head.

I knew I would have fun servicing this young man but what I didn't expect was when he pushed his hand up my shorts and put it on my own hard cock. He unzipped my shorts and slid them down my legs and off. I was sticking straight out and Humberto swung around to take me in his mouth. This gave me a whole new image of the macho straight guy – He wasn't just passively going to get his nut off but wanted to feel a big cock in his own mouth. Who'da thot?

I was really enjoying playing in his crotch, sucking his hairy balls into my mouth, then back to that cock, sliding deep into my throat. I wanted to get between his legs, to bury my face in his sweaty crotch, to smell his intimate scent, but he would not let my cock out of his mouth. He was as much into me as I was into him.

"Espere te," I said as I slid between his legs pressing my nose between his balls and his leg, inhaling his sweat. I lifted his legs sucking his balls into my mouth before licking below them, enjoying the taste of his salt on my tongue. In the dim lamplight I could see his tight asshole as I pushed his legs back, could smell the pheromone sweat of his ani glands as I rubbed my nose in his butt crack, then impulsively ran my tongue across his ass. Humberto gave out a moan as I licked again, exploring the bumpy creases of his asshole, pushing the tip of my tongue into the center. He started writhing and got even more excited as he pulled his legs up to give me clear access to his ass.

Was that a signal? Is he ready for this? I got up and grabbed some lube and a rubber from my dresser. Humberto watched me roll on the condon without a word of protest. I then squeezed some lube onto my finger and rubbed it on the outside of his asshole, making little circles before gently slipping inside. I pressed up, stroking across his prostate as he moaned with pleasure – the pre-cum dripping from his cock. Smearing more lube onto my cock, I pushed it to the center of his ass, which parted, accepting me as I pushed into him. He seemed very pleased to have me inside him.

Humberto was really into getting fucked in the ass – it was like his natural state having a bugaron thrusting in and out as he wrapped his legs around me. We were humping and sweating in the warm moist air, the wind howling outside rattling the windows with pelting rain. There was literally excitement in the air as I came in his ass and he came on his abs and we both collapsed together wet, sweaty and panting.

We laid there a long while in the lamplight exhausted, feeling the rivulets of sweat rolling off our bodies and listening to the storm outside. I was sliding my fingers on his belly, smearing the cum and sweat around while nuzzling my face in his moist, fragrant armpit. Humberto did not use deodorant so I could smell his intoxicating, natural fragrance and lick his pit, tasting his salt.

Eventually it was not only the storm but his woman who was howling outside, looking for where he had gone. Humberto went to the bathroom to clean up and get dressed. When it was clear between storm bands he slipped out of my door and into the wind.

The macho man returned to his woman.